Virgin Airman

So spring turned into summer and then there occurred one of those coincidences which happen all the time in real life though are frowned upon in fiction (so you can work out which this is). Two RAF guys from our group were demobbed and replaced and one of the replacements was Jim Ross, now an L.A.C. (leading aircraftsman) as was I.

We had kept in touch, more or less, with occasional letters. He hated his time at Bassingbourne, the job apparently just consisting of his listening out on various frequencies and logging the conversations of the aircraft. There had been one occasion when he had heard a 'Mayday' (distress call) but it had been far away and the actual incident had been handled by another group. He missed me, he said, and, though I missed him too, I felt slightly guilty that I was having a good time at Kidlington. That makes me sound as if the only thing I was interested in was sex which wasn't quite true. I enjoyed the job. A few of us used to walk the leafy lanes of Oxfordshire into Woodstock. We might catch the bus into Oxford itself and walk around marvelling at the University colleges. In fact I knew that one of my fellow students from school was actually an undergraduate there having obtained deferment from National Service to get his degree though I never tried to get in touch. A couple of times we went to the theatre.

I vividly remember the morning of Jim's arrival. I'd been on shift that night - they did simulated night bombing too - but no one had booked a run so we had spent most of the night playing cards and smoking. I was tired and looking forward to spending at least half the day asleep in my bunk. The other group would be doing the day shift so there wouldn't be anyone making any noise.

I went into the hut and moved down towards the centre - by right of seniority I was nearer the stove now though as the weather was warm, this was no special perk. Someone was bent over putting his things into the bedside cupboard, arranging them with care though we rarely had inspections and if we did, they were always announced well beforehand. I admired the slim hips, the stretched material over his buttocks - you see I've obviously matured and become more sophisticated. Unfortunately I'm still a virgin.

The guy stood up and turned. My heart, my stomach, my cock, all gave a simultaneous jolt. I looked into Jim's handsome face, somewhat thinner than I remembered him, framed in dark hair, his brown eyes, thick eyebrows, a smile broad on his face.

"Jim," I said. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was still not brave enough to be able to hug him but that was what I wanted to do. Jim though was not so reticent. He came to me, arms open and enclosed me in an embrace. He pulled me to him and I almost thought he was going to give me a kiss except that he saw the others coming in behind me.

I introduced him to them.

"Do you know this guy?" asked my Lance Corporal, prick-squeezer friend, Rod. "You want to watch him; he's a sex maniac."

"That's good," said Jim. "That'll make two of us."

I could scarcely believe he was here. I kept wanting to touch him. The others retired to catch up on their night's sleep but I sat up on Jim's bed and we chatted quietly, looking at each other. Sometimes he would put his hand on my arm or our fingers would brush as we passed each other cigarettes.

But enough of this romantic rubbish. All I wanted was to lose my virginity - or at least I think that was all.

Life went on as always except that Jim was there and I was happy.

And especially when we introduced him into 'shaking hands'. Of course when it was my turn to be the 'victim', and if Jim was going up one leg (often with Rod at the other side) I'd allow Jim up quicker than Rod. To feel Jim's hand up there in my crotch, groping around, finding and grabbing hold, asking whether this was Rod's finger, while Rod was futilely trying to get past my knee was highly exciting, though Rod didn't seem to enjoy it as much as I did.

* * * * * *

Summer came and it was June. We'd been given a day off for June 2nd because it was the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth, King George VI, her father, had died from lung cancer the previous February aged just 56. There was going to be a parade in the camp but we weren't included.

The most exciting news though came over the wireless and through the Tannoy first thing in the morning. It was announced that the tallest mountain on earth, Mount Everest, had been climbed for the first time. Two mountaineers, Edmund Hillary, a New Zealander, and his Sherpa, Tensing, had reached the top yesterday but the announcement had been delayed until today to add even more importance to the coronation.

In Woodstock an ox was to be roasted in the village square and pieces distributed by the Duchess of Marlborough herself. There was to be free beer too which to us sounded more important. I wondered why she wasn't at Westminster Abbey for the coronation. Perhaps she hadn't been invited though I couldn't believe that, considering her relationship with Winston Churchill. Maybe she had been and then been driven back for her home celebrations.

In the morning Jim and I lay on the strip of grass between our hut and the one next to us. The sun was shining, birds of some sort - I wasn't very good at ornithology - were singing in the blue sky and in the trees around. There was the sweet smell of cut grass because the camp commander had ordered the grounds to be 'put in order' though I doubt the new Queen appreciated that.

I lifted myself up on my elbow and stared at Jim who was lying on his back, eyes closed, lashes long towards his cheek bones. His mouth was slightly apart showing a hint of white teeth. I could imagine kissing those lips, not as Bo used to do, the merest hint of touching, but full and hard, my tongue entering.

Suddenly Jim's eyes were open, the pupils brown like shiny butterscotch. "You're looking at me," he said quietly.

"So," I said. "Some people look at me too. Rod does quite a lot, though I don't know why."

Jim laughed. "You're dim as a NAAFI candle," he said. "If you don't know why."

"I'll show you who's dim," I said and flung himself at him and we wrestled. I suppose we were about the same strength but his upper body structure and arms were strong and developed. I managed to get on top of him with his arms trapped under my knees he couldn't escape in spite of his struggles. But then he cheated - not that we had any rules in our games. He managed to get one arm free and grabbed hold of my balls. It wasn't a painful grip but it was persistent and he was laughing in my ear. "Let me up, Pete, or you lose your balls."

I let go and tried to get up but he grabbed at my cock and balls again and took hold of a mighty handful. So I took hold of his. There we were rolling in the grass holding on to each other's cocks. And we both were laughing and in my hand I felt his cock grow large and knew that mine was growing too. I heard his voice in my ear, "Don't you think that's what he's after." I was lying on top of him and we lay top and tailed as it were - as the Corporal had told us to sleep that first night at Bawtry.

Suddenly he raised his legs capturing my head between them and now my face was near the fork of his legs and I could see the swelling that his erection made in his trousers. But I still had hold of his cock with one hand and I squeezed it, feeling its hardness. Then, because his legs were in the air, locked behind my head, with two fingers of the other hand I found his arse and poked him. He gave a cry, not of pain but of excitement and immediately he did the same to me, and now his hand was scrabbling at my waist band, going inside so that, when his hand next found my cock, I knew that he had hold of the actual flesh.

This was enough for me and I found his and fumbled it out from the restricting clothing. There it was just in front of my face, just in front of my mouth with his legs forcing my head closer and closer until the two must meet together.

And then, just as I was about to take that cock in my mouth, there was a shout from the hut. "What are you two wankers doing?" It was Rod looking out through the window. I don't think he could have seen anything because we were hidden by each other's bodies, but he may well have suspected.

I shouted the expected answer. "What do you think we're doing? We're wanking."

"Well, you better hurry up and finish," he said. "Spud's coming."

And P.O. Tate came round the corner of the next hut while we stood up, brushing off the grass bits, covering ourselves and hoping that our erections didn't show too much.

"Don't you lads want to watch the Coronation/" he asked, his voice posh and fruity and nothing like mine, I was sure. "It may be the last one you'll ever see. It's on the television in the NAAFI."

I knew there were other things that I'd prefer to do but the lads from the hut came out and we went in orderly fashion to the NAAFI and there on a tiny screen we watched the grainy picture of the scene in Westminster Abbey with all the pomp and circumstance of ancient tradition and the young girl, for that is what she looked like under that heavy crown, becoming a Queen.

They drew the curtains so that everyone could see better and Jim and I sat next to each other, hidden in the gloom, our hands in each other's laps.

Afterwards we had a special dinner, chicken I expect though I don't remember exactly and later as it grew dark the lads and I had showers to celebrate, changed into civvies and went into Woodstock to watch the celebrations there. In the market square a huge animal was being roasted over a fire, the fat dripping and sizzling in the flames. Crowds of people pressed around. The whole place smelled of succulent meat, A woman (he Duchess?) cut off slices and distributed them on cardboard plates while someone handed round bottles of beer.

There was a band playing and then some people did Morris dancing. Some of the lads laughed but I thought it was good even with all that handkerchief waving and stick rattling and bells on their legs because it was part of England and had come down from whoever knew how many hundreds of years.

We drank more beer and people danced. I would have liked to have danced with Jim but of course we couldn't so we moved in time to the music together and it was the next best thing.

When it was really dark and people were carrying lanterns and the ox roast fire was just red ashes, we wandered off together towards the grounds of Blenheim Palace.

There were various places where you could get through, over the wall and we found one and got in. There we found a secluded spot bordered round with bushes and the summer air was warm and smelled of leaves and honeysuckle from the gardens.

There on the soft grass Jim and I lay down together as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world and, as we had done so many times before in my mind's eye, removed our clothing and stroked each other's soft skin, arousing ourselves in the action.

Jim cupped my balls, moist and warm, in his hand and I opened my legs with the pleasure of his caress, exposing myself to a licked questing finger. He found my hole and pushed in.

"It feels so good to have you in there," I said. "Can't you go further."

"My finger is full in," said Jim. I sensed his smile in the darkness. "There is only one thing I have which is longer and of the right size." "I've already got it in my hand," I said and stroked the hard shaft of my friend's cock so that Jim shuddered.

"Shall I put it in?" he asked. "I wouldn't want to hurt you." Not answering, I opened my legs wider and pushed my body up so that I was open and available. "If you lie between my legs," I whispered, "and I rest them on your shoulders, you can enter. But first moisten the way with your tongue." "OK," said Jim, "and after that I have something which will make the entry even more smooth and easy - Vaseline. I have some here." "So you had some idea of doing this beforehand," I said.

"It crossed my mind," said Jim, going at me with a ready determination and much use of his tongue.

I arched my body with pleasure and my cock jerked in Jim's hand.

"Now the Vaseline," said Jim, suiting the action to his words "and now. . . gently, smoothly, in. Does it hurt?" "It's an odd feeling," I said, "but I could grow to like it. Go further. Yes that is better. How does it feel to you?" "It holds me so warmly. I think it is a taste of heaven . . . Oh yes! Oh yes!"

* * * * * *

Thank you, Sir Edmund Hilary K.B.E. (Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire)

Thank you, Sherpa Tensing Norgay, George Medal. (The highest award given to a civillian)

Thank you, Queen Elizabeth II, Dei Gratia Regina. Fid Def. (By the Grace of God, Queen, Defender of the Faith)

At last I am no longer a virgin.

Thank you, Jim, who isn't one either.

THE END