Archive-name: Samesex/v-ones.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Sex Memories - V-1's


This story has a historical and sexual perspective that I found 
very entertaining.  It was written by a retired colonel who is now
in his late seventies.  I will pass on (legitimate) comments you
have to him.  

Here it is (All the usual disclaimers apply):

------------------------------------------------------------------------

SEX MEMORIES
V ONES


I think no one enjoys being alone with his own thoughts when he is really
horny. It seems to be the nature of the human animal to want someone to be
the recipient of his horniness. I know it is true of me, and lest I be making
unreasonable assumptions, I trust it is true of others. The fact that having 
sex is now more difficult than it was fifty years ago does not mean that I 
can't think about it. Heaven forbid. I still believe God, in His wisdom, does
not fault a man or a woman for sexual desire or activity if it is done in 
Love and with compassion for the other.

The time is Christmas, 1943. The place is London, England, in the depths of
the search for an attack procedure against the Nazi war machine and Rommel 
who commanded it. The V-1s came over often and were rarely feared. They flew
low and always  announced themselves with the familiar put-put-put-put. People
in the streets  looked up at them, determined about when they would fall, and
scattered accordingly.  The results were not particularly horrible. Seldom was
anyone killed or otherwise harmed.

For the American troops Pub crawls were normal in any town of any size. 
London had the greater share. I frequently went with friends or with Gordon
and Betty, my  English friends, to see the town at night. It was more than
intriguing, it was  fascinating. Gordon showed me where the women who liked
women gathered, he  identified the bull dikes for me; he took me to where the
whores gathered and preyed on the  customers, he showed me the clubs where
the homosexuals (we had not yet started saying `gay') met, and he took me
and my friends to all sorts of `normal' public houses. It  not only was fun
but also instructive to a guy from Dullsville, South Dakota. The result was,
of course, the determination to try  all of them. Such is the nature of the 
penis drive!

Occasionally I traveled alone. There was one French lad whom I knew as an
eloper from his own country because he had been identified with the 
Underground. He was a super cocksucker, really an artist. I enjoyed him. Once
when I went to his particular Club to get his attention for the night, I met
another young man, thirtyish perhaps. We seemed to click. 

The talk was careful, as it must be, but it was clear we both were interested
in each other for the night. I do not know how we know each other so quickly:
I think I could make my second million if I were able to define that
phenomenon. But we did. It was definitely mutual.

The ensuing hour was devoted to becoming truly acquainted. He was an agent in 
the American OSS, the Office of Strategic Services, the forerunner of the CIA.
I had known several guys in the British Intelligence Service, but this was 
new.

We enjoyed our beers, we even had a couple of late martinis for a real night 
cap. At the time to leave I suggested he come to my flat and have a drink. I 
knew he understood what I meant. We walked. Jerry was sending over a few V-1s,
but no one paid much attention to them.


On arrival at the flat which I occupied with a Warrant Officer of some years,
we immediately went to my room. The understanding was tacit: the clothes were
removed in total silence as if the program had been rehearsed. There were arms
around each other, there were feels, there were touches around the buttocks 
and up the anal canal, with hugs and kisses on the cheek without any kind of
meaning except sex. 

We both fell into bed with his hand in my ass. He was probing, and I do mean 
he was putting his forefinger as far up inside me as he could. The sensation 
was unbelievable; I could hardly wait for his prick up my asshole - not a 
virgin one by any means, but a hungry one I admit. He entered, carefully. He
had done this before, this agent of the Intelligence Service. I was not his
first or his only conquest. And I wasn't exactly a virgin!

He fucked with a great deal of strength. He knew what to do. And he did it. 

Just then Winnie wailed. The alert was on. Everyone was to go to the shelter
as  bombs were expected. Total blackout was required. But the fuck was started
and  now had to continue; it had gone too far to stop.

The springs squeaked. The bed rattled. The fuck was great in the face of 
danger.

He was out of bed quickly, dressed, and I showed him an exit.

Then I went to the shelter, an old wine pantry on the lower level. The
roommate, the landlady, and someone I did not know were there. I just got
inside the door  when the landlady accosted me with, "Who was the girl you
were with, Captain, I demand to know. I will not have her here." Naturally I
denied the charge. She persisted. I also persisted that I was with no woman.


She said, "Captain, I know those sounds. You had a woman in your bed and I
demand to know who she was." I continued to deny it. I don't now know, and I
never did  know, what my roommate thought, but I suspect he surmised it was
a man.

I never told the landlady. I moved shortly after that. You are the only ones
who know.



I write this with tongue in cheek: you see, it is a true one. 
Please don't judge me too harshly. After all, I am one of the few who was
really screwed by the CIA! And lived to tell about it.

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