Chapter 3
Shane left the cadets in due course and was snapped up by the RAF for recruit training some ten months after the party in the Community Hall. He had been promoted to Cadet Corporal and had his picture published in RAF News a couple of times for being "an outstanding Air Cadet who has received several awards." He had also been an efficient and cheerful right hand man - and secret bum boy - to CWO Lambert, who was still waiting for his papers to come through. Before Shane left, he and Matt gave each other departing gifts that their bum holes remembered for days afterwards.
Life in the real RAF was just what Shane had hoped it would be. He needed the ordered ways of military life to bring out his real potential. In the first few days he did commit a few inevitable minor breaches of military etiquette, the worst being a failure to salute an officer as he was walking briskly to the Station HQ on some kind of admin business. He and the officer were both wearing uniform and he should have thrown up a smart salute as they passed each other and said, "Good morning, Sir" in a loud, clear voice. The officer, of course, would have returned the salute but on this occasion stopped and bellowed, "You, airman, do you not recognise an officer in uniform?" Shane jumped to attention, saluted and stuttered an apology, which the officer accepted but warned Shane he would have to report the offence to the officer in command of his Flight. Shane got away with a ticking off from the Flying Officer (who had come to enjoy Shane playing sexy tunes on his skin flute) and for the rest of his career Shane was never to commit an offence against military etiquette again. To the surprise of a lot of people, including his parents and his buddy down the road Matt Muldoon, he had decided to become a clerk in Air Force Intelligence, at least to start with. He was not discouraged when he learnt from the Education Officer at his last interview as a recruit that he would have to undergo a further nine months of instruction and preparation. Curbing any intention of indulging his secret, burgeoning desire for sex with men, he became a model airman and student, close to the top of his class. Much to his surprise, he had discovered during those months of self-denial that he seemed to have a natural aptitude for 'intelligence' work - what Matt called "nosey parkering."
He was made to realise how much he might be valued after completing the nine months Trade Training course (with distinction) then sent home on fourteen days disembarkation leave. He had been notified completely out of the blue that his first posting as a fully paid up member of the RAF would not be in the UK but abroad. It was not until he was ready to go home for his leave that he was told where his first posting would take him. It was a huge NATO air base somewhere in West Germany. His Dad, who had been in the Army for a while, could not quite grasp the significance of his son's posting. It was normal practice to send newly qualified military men to a quiet sort of place on home ground to get used to working and living in a military milieu and to gain some experience of what military life was like, before being sent on to more responsible duties at a larger operational unit. Certainly no inexperienced new boy would normally be sent straight off to a posting overseas. Shane was under instructions that he must never, ever tell anyone, even his family, where exactly he would be located. They would find out soon enough.
There was another rat in his cellar: since 1948, Germany had been partitioned between the Western and Soviet powers. The respective armed forces of the nations and their allies seemed to delight in continual eyeball to eyeball scrutiny of each other. It was a perilous deadly game of chess. The centrepiece holding everything together and stopping any actual hostile action from either side was down to the efficiency of their intelligence set-ups. The result was that surveillance aircraft were airborne 24 hours every day keeping an eye on what the other side was doing; on land, whilst there had not yet been an actual physical confrontation they literally gazed at each other across No Man's Land threateningly toting high powered guns. At sea, every time an unfriendly ship came too close to national waters, submarines suddenly appeared from the depths and destroyers and frigates dotted the surface waters in large numbers. "Dare you to be the first to press that nuke button!" was the silent message constantly being sent to and fro between each other.
While Shane was at home on his leave, he found that he had little time to himself as Mum and Dad insisted on showing him off in his brand new, shiny uniform to almost every relative he could remember. Several of Mum's female friends had to have a go at ogling this good looking shy young man (with a conspicuous bulge and a well-formed arse) about to go abroad. As Bronwen, Mum's best mate, said in her lilting Welsh accent, "There's brave of you." Matt Muldoon came over a couple of times, doubtless hoping for another sleep over - not that they would have enjoyed much sleep! - but at first they did not have sufficient time to do anything other than jerk each other off in any spare moments. Shane did manage to lick some of Matt's jism off his fingers on one occasion. This was Shane's first taste of a man's sex juice. It tasted salty but really good - and left him hungry for more. Then, in the middle of his fortnight, Mum and Dad announced they had to visit an aunt who had not been feeling well and they would be staying overnight at her place. He caught up with Matt at their favourite coffee bar in town and told him they had a chance for a good session. They arranged for Matt to come over as soon as the coast was clear. Shane did not expect anything more than resuming their mutual incomplete blowjobs; however, they were going to be alone in the house that night. It all began as usual but things were destined to go much further than either of them had expected. They lay on Shane's bed in their accustomed sixty-nine positions. Frantically sucking on Matt's dick, Shane felt Matt's finger gently probing and stroking his arsehole. Shane freaked.
"What the fuck are you doing?" he growled, leaving his throbbing rigid cock waving in the air.
"Aw, go on mate, let me stroke it for you. You'll love it."
Matt did not have to do a lot of persuading to get Shane to take his mate's dick back into his mouth and resume his ministrations. Shane felt Matt tense beneath him. "Oh, fucking hell! I'm nearly there!" panted Matt. He clutched a handful of Shane's hair, tugging it hard to get him to release his cock. Shane raised his head as Matt slid out from beneath him, leaving Shane lying on his belly with his steely hard dick, the veins of which stood out like knotted ropes. His cock head was a burning purplish red, leaking sticky clear pre-seminal fluid and before Shane knew what Matt was about to do, an agonising shaft of pain shot through him as Matt plunged his weapon into his buddy's arsehole. Shane yelped as that burning knob tore into him.
"Relax, you tight arsed faggot! I'm gonna give you what you know you've always wanted!" declared Matt. With that, he plunged deep into Shane's body and fired off a seemingly never ending salvo after just three or four vigorous thrusts. Shane felt Matt's load crash against the walls of his anal passageway, hearing himself yelling, "Yess! More! Gimme more!" Shane knew he was turning now, the signs obvious: he was to spend the remainder of his leave lying on his back on the back seat of his car on dark, country roads, perfecting his oral and anal skills. Both young men got better and better at it and the days passed quickly in a series of sexual couplings, whenever and wherever they could find privacy.
But soon - too soon - duty called and Shane found himself flying across the North Sea towards West Germany. He learnt later that the plane he had travelled in had followed exactly the same flight path as a Lancaster on one of Bomber Harris's 1,000 bomber raids during the War. Unfortunately, the omen was not a good one - the plane and all its crew were lost somewhere over Occupied France on its return flight.
West Germany! What an eye opener for a twenty-year-old horny young man from a sleepy, conservative town who had never travelled far, apart from a couple of school trips to London. Here, everything seemed to be for sale - and the price was cheap. Shane's work in the department he had been assigned to was mind numbing and the hours were the strangest he had ever encountered. Back home, his had been a straightforward nine to five job at the timber yard. Here, his shift pattern was evening-day-midnight with two and a half days off after that. His rest days quickly turned into an orgy of drinking and anonymous, gratuitous sex with prostitutes, bar girls and street girls - even on his meagre pay everything was affordable. He had been seduced back to fuck women, but he never truly enjoyed it with them. He always felt there was something missing. Even so, it was six months before his "alternative" desires could even think of reappearing, but reappear they did and he found himself thinking about men, more and more.
Once more, Shane found alcohol was his magical relaxant. He found his sexual yearnings came out more strongly the more he drank. After a few clumsy attempts at seducing some German cab drivers, with nothing more from them than a dismissive "Leck mich am Arsch!" or "Fuck off!", his Dutch courage was easily stifled. Then it finally happened. He had been in town alone one dark and drunken night, so he decided to take a cab back to the base. He was feeling as horny as a goat from hell so . . . he tried another come-on. This time, instead of waving him off as another drunken queer, this cabby drove to a deserted hollow close to the farthest boundary of the airfield. He parked in the dark, cavernous area amongst a stand of whispering pine trees and motioned to Shane to get in the back of his cab. While the cabby whispered words of encouragement in German, Shane knelt on the back floor and drunkenly swallowed the vibrant cock offered to him. He was so drunk and so hot for sex, he did not notice at first that the cabby filled his greedily sucking mouth with cum or that he had swallowed it. On the silent ride back to base, Shane remembered thinking, "Hell, I've just eaten spunk for the second time in my life!"
In the days that followed he would think about that cab ride over and over, jerking off two or three times a day. By the time of his next pay-day he was out on the town again, drinking with his buddies, but always finding an excuse to take a cab back to base on his own. Shane believed he had dipped out twice before an understanding cabby took him up on his offer to suck his dick. The cabby accepted the offer in broken English with a lot of visual aids. He backed his cab into a darkened alley in a section of the town that was off limits to Allied forces, letting Shane kneel on the front floor while the cabby humped Shane's mouth until he shot his load down Shane's throat. Shane went to sleep that night with the smell of semen on his breath and its taste in his mouth. To him it was the most stimulating odour ever. "Jeez!" Shane said to himself that night, "I'm in danger of becoming a cum junkie!" He'd learnt that phrase from an American chap in the office who was a notoriously horny guy who never stopped shooting his load and who had been trying to put the make on Shane since Day One but without success - so far. Within a week Shane had scored again: this time he showed the cabby the dark hollow and the young driver obediently pulled in to the murky interior. He sat tensely behind the wheel while Shane stretched out on the seat and took the man's rigid leaky cock in his mouth, moving up and down on it until he filled his mouth with the appetising sex cream he was becoming addicted to. On the ride back to base, the driver became friendlier, more talkative, suggesting they meet again, promising Shane he would take him to a hotel - and a bed. Shane agreed immediately and they planned to meet outside the Main Gate when Shane's next rotation ended in three days time. It was all Shane could do to function normally - or as close to normal as possible - for those three days. He repeatedly jerked off just thinking about it. Nevertheless, Time while not exactly flying by, did eventually give way; true to his word the cabby was waiting for Shane outside the Main Gate at the appointed time. Shane literally flew into his cab, pushing past several others waiting in line, not wanting someone else to beat him to it. The cabby was all smiles and explained that the hotel, again in an off-limits part of the town, would hold a room for him all night. Shane did not know what to say. The thought of a man wanting to spend the entire night with him made Shane feel great - and hornier than he'd felt for some time. He thought, "Fuck the off-limits regulations!"
The concierge gave Shane a knowing smile as he checked in and paid for the room. They had agreed that Shane would go first and the cabby would arrive later that evening when his shift was over. Shane had beer and sauerkraut for dinner, then more beer, then some more. One or two whores cruising the hotel bar tried picking him up - he overheard one of them say something about a fine arse and look at that bulge! - but he obviously had no interest in them and they soon left him alone. "Englische schwule!" one of them contemptuously spat at him. By nine o'clock, he was feeling slightly the worse for the wait but went up to their room, ordering more beer as he went. The concierge brought the drink to the room and he settled down to continue waiting.
He was slowly becoming pissed and was beginning to think he had been stood up when a soft knock on the door came at 22.30. He staggered over to the door, clad only in a white T-shirt, the rest of his clothes having found their way long ago to the floor. The T-shirt barely reached his midriff, his equipment swung between his legs for all the world to goggle at, but he had passed caring. The beer he had consumed had worked its usual magic on his self-control and he could hardly wait to open the door. The cabby crashed into the room, pushing Shane backwards a few feet and then indicating, none too gently, that he wanted him on his knees by pushing down on his shoulders. As he obeyed this reasonable request, he caught sight of him exposed in front of his face. Shane was never able to work out how the cabby unzipped and got his substantial dick out so fast but then, his mind was not concerned with such matters at that moment. Spontaneously Shane lunged forward until the head of the cabby's cock was planted firmly between his lips.
Bringing his hand to the base of the cabby's shaft, Shane slowly tried to force more of the rigid penis into his mouth. From the corner of his half-open eyes he noticed that the door had been left ajar and he dimly remembered later seeing a couple of whores from downstairs watching the action. Roughly three nanoseconds later a blinding flash illuminated everyone and every thing in its glare. Shane froze in terror, the dick was violently pulled from his mouth as the cabby withdrew and beat a hasty retreat, stuffing his rapidly deflating cock back into his pants. Three burly men burst through the open door.
Next: Chapter 4
Laurie, 15/03/17