Date: Mon, 05 Aug 2002 22:31:54 +0000
From: Jo Vincent <joad123@hotmail.com>
Subject: Taming the Phobes:  Part 3

Usual Disclaimer: If you are not of an age to read this because of the laws
of your country or district please desist.  If you are a bigot or
prod-nosed fundamentalist of any persuasion find your monkey-spanking
literature elsewhere and keep your predilections and opinions to
yourself. Everyone else welcome and comments more than welcome.

As far as I know the story is mainly fiction but it does contain some
elements which did really happen.  When you write a yarn some happening
triggers off the sequence.  Over the past few weeks several incidents - on
the news, in the papers, a conversation, recollections - set me thinking,
et voila.......

                    Taming the 'Phobes

                         By

                               Joel


Part 3:

     I woke with a start, remembered quickly where I was, looked at my
watch and saw it was half past four in the morning.  I rolled away from
Royston and pulled up my boxers and combats.  A sleepy voice whispered in
my ear.

     "Good job you didn't make me lick the grass clean last time we were
out, I don't think mine tastes so good as yours, Jack Sprat!"

     Jack fucking Sprat!  He wasn't asleep that last time when I'd licked
the platter clean - strange he should think of the same metaphor - and he
must have shed his load too after I'd dropped off to sleep that time.  What
a waste of an opportunity!

     Later that morning as we tramped up the last long lane behind the
other pair to the pick up point he filled me in on his past life a bit.  He
said he'd slept in the same bed with a cousin who was three months older
than him from the age of seven until the cousin had left to go to Uni and
he'd joined the Army.  The cousin had been dumped on Royston's mum by a
rather wayward sister who had conveniently disappeared so Baron had been
brought up with Royston almost as a twin brother.  They were ardent wank-,
suck- and fuck-buddies and he confessed he missed Baron although they had
both fucked girls as well and he had to balance all this against his
mother's and his own religious principles.  Without asking him how, he said
he'd figured out if the Good Lord had given him a nice prick, a nice body
and a sturdy right hand then if he used them for his and other's pleasure
without harming anyone it must have been in the Good Lord's intention for
him to do so.  He did say that what had triggered his mother's worries
about him and his decision to join up was his performing as a strip artist
at a club.  He shyly said it was a gay club but he never got involved with
the clientele but his mother had somehow found out he wasn't always down
the gym!

     I liked Royston more and more as we talked and I 'fessed up I'd also
had a very close friend and we'd satisfied each other's urges since that
momentous time I'd first experienced orgasm.  I asked him about his growing
friendship with Wayne and Ferdy and he said they had been most welcoming to
him after that episode in the barrack room.  They realised they were also
minority as well, Italian and Irish, so they'd better stick together.
Actually, he said, he felt very much at home with all the members of the
squad and even Jason, who was still a bit wary, was feeling wanted.

     We were on time, the truck was slightly late as it had to wait for a
tardy four who, collectively, were very dirty, dishevelled and stank,
having tried to ford a stream before realising it was an outflow from a
farmyard.  We got back in good time and were showered, shaved, etc., etc.,
before most of the others returned with tales of being ambushed, chased by
cattle and, in one case, being fed cream teas by a sympathetic farmer's
wife.

     So, basic training was fast coming to a close.  At the beginning we
had been given a number of tests to do and also had interviews to find out
what we thought we wanted to do in our Army career.  I hadn't been very
positive - I thought being in the Army meant you had a rifle and you went
out to war or to keep the peace..  Yep, there were those roles but quite a
few had chosen to join up because of the promises of trade-training.  That
meant as the last three weeks progressed so more interviews took place and
promises were made.
  The two lads from the Homes who had become very friendly both wanted to
become cooks.  Both were accepted.  Two others were going to use already
acquired driving skills, and so on.  Then, on the Thursday before the final
week of training with our passing-out parade on the Wednesday, just as we
had fallen in for drill at O nine hundred hours Bungho came marching up
very importantly.

     Every time we saw him somebody suffered - the previous week he'd
threatened two stragglers to put them on a charge - a fizzer - for being
late and to relegate them for a fortnight.  Bluster, but effective.  No one
wanted to spend their evenings washing down the Company Office window sills
in full uniform and pack as several poor buggers were seen doing the night
before, or being kept back and placed in a new squad going over all the
training again.  We had two of them in our ranks, one for getting into
trouble on a weekend pass and spending fourteen days in the Guardhouse for
his pains and a second, who through no fault of his own, spent ten days in
hospital..

     Bungalow cornered our Squad NCO and then marched stiffly and stopped
in front of me.

     "Squad Lance-Corporal Boon to report to the CO's Room, Company Office,
for interview, at fourteen hundred hours, Monday," he intoned importantly.
He paused.  "And do not be late."

     That was odd.  Interviews were usually listed on Company Orders and
took place in rooms in the lecture block.  No one we knew of, when the
matter was discussed later, had experienced an interview in the Company
Office of all places.  Actually we had all been seen by the Commanding
Officer, Major Stephenson, on arrival but that was en masse, and that was
outside the Company Office.  I was to enter the hallowed portals themselves
rather than just visiting the Post Room tacked on the end.

     Also, that last weekend of training, those who wanted could have a
forty-eight hour leave pass - Friday sixteen hundred hours to Sunday
twenty-three hundred hours. I decided against.  Letters from home were
still not very friendly.  I wrote home diligently, mainly to my mother,
every week and she replied.  Little news from Dad.  About half the squad
went off and we had another visit from Bigelow on the Friday afternoon just
before being dismissed for the weekend.

     "Right," he announced, "Those of you going home to fond mothers and
fathers or to wives and girlfriends or friends of any persuasion, fall
out!"

     A relieved set of travellers scurried off leaving ten of us who were
ordered to line up properly and promptly.  We were then informed there were
tasks for us on Sunday morning.  Four would be detailed to clean up the
Company Office and six the Lecture Block.  And..., if he, personally, found
a speck of dirt or a smear on a window, then he, personally, would see that
we would be repeating those parts of the course which would make soldiers
of us!

     Saturday it pissed with rain so the ten of us spent most of the time
in the barrack room bulling up ready for the big parade on Wednesday.
Taffy and I tossed up to see who would do what on Sunday and I won so chose
the Company Office with Royston, Yorkie and Dwayne as my cleaning staff.
Ferdy had gone home to make peace with his father and to see his aged
grandmother.  Jason had also taken the opportunity to go home to Luton but
was rather wary of meeting up with old acquaintances.

     Saturday night we celebrated somewhat at the NAAFI and two of the lads
had a bit too much to drink and were threatened with immediate castration
if they sicked up on the floor.  The threat was meaningless as both were
too far gone to comprehend, even when we put them to bed and pulled their
trousers and pants off to cries of "Off with them!" and their shrivelled
dicks and balls were revealed.  Royston nudged me later and whispered,
"They little white boys ain't got no good black dick, uh, like you?"

     Sunday morning I led my contingent to the Company office where the
Duty Clerk let us in, showed us where the cupboard containing the cleaning
equipment was then went off again, bleary eyed, back to his "sodding
wank-pit, no doubt, lucky bastard!"  according to Dwayne.

     I had a quick look round to gauge what had to be done.  The CO's
office was remarkably tidy, nothing on the desk except a blotter, two pens
and a black telephone.  The two glass-fronted cabinets held an assortment
of training manuals, five copies of Queen's Regulations and assorted books
on chess and bridge.

     The Adjutant's office on the other hand was a real shambles.  Two
desks pushed together covered with brown files, green files and the
occasional red one.  There were two over-flowing ashtrays and two
telephones plus a set of golf clubs, most not in the bag leaning against a
cupboard bursting with more files.  Hanging on the back of the door were a
rugger jersey, shorts, jock strap (well-worn) and two pairs of
mud-encrusted football boots dangling by their laces.

     I gathered up the dirty football togs and sent Dwayne off with a
fifty-pence piece to the launderette next to the NAAFI with instructions to
tell the oik in charge who they belonged too and he would be back in two
hours to collect hem, washed, dried, pressed and folded.  I said I would
clean up the Adjutant's office, Dwayne would do the CO's and the other two
the Chief Clerk's and the two smaller offices until Dwayne could help as
well.  However, before they started I checked what they had to do and, of
course, inadvertently, not on purpose, cross my heart, had a quick shufti
at the Chief Clerk's desk diary.  There it was.  Monday: 12.30 hrs Major
Bullivant, Lt. Campbell: CO lunch.  13.45 CO Transport GHQ 14.00. SLC Boon
E CO's office free.  15.00 Tea for three.  So, who was I to be interviewed
by and why?

     I remembered one of the books in the CO's room was the Army List so I
trundled back on the excuse of checking to see if shelves needed dusting
and quickly turned up, Bullivant, A. Major (Staff) and Campbell R. 2nd Lt,
Black Watch.

     Cleaning went well.  Even the Adjutant's office looked tidier.  I
didn't attempt to put the files, mainly training orders and nothing so
secret Saddam Hussain or the Argies would give a million pounds for, in any
sort of order.  They were dusted and returned, as far as I could tell, to
their original positions.  But ashtrays were emptied, surfaces dusted and
windows washed and by twelve hundred hours the suite of offices looked
clean, if not, other than the CO's, too tidy.  Dwayne went off and on
return the clean rugger togs and now un- muddy boots were placed
strategically on a chair with all golf clubs back in the bag.

     Bigelow came, looked, grunted and we went off for a substantial Sunday
cookhouse lunch, me with vital information!

     That afternoon Taffy and I went for a long walk, evading the
Guardhouse, and discussed how we felt about our training, our roommates,
our futures, whatever.  He was down for a Signals posting and was curious
about me not knowing yet my fate.
  I said I would be quite happy as a squaddie but he averred I would need
more than that to keep me occupied and motivated.  We discussed all our
room mates - real mates now, friends in the main, but, although he remarked
on the close friendship that had developed between Dwayne and Ferdy
especially and how pally I seemed to be with Royston, I did not enlighten
him over what Royston and I had witnessed, or done, on the long bivouac.
But, just for old times sake, Taffy and I ended up in the same old National
Service hut and tossed each other off as we had done just those few weeks
before.

     "May not see you again after we've finished here," he said, "But I've
really valued your friendship, thanks."

     I said the same and I think we were both a bit sad we would all be
parting soon.  To lighten up a bit we discussed what we would like to do to
Bungalow before we departed.

     Luckily all returned safely from leave that night.  Two with news.
One lad, who we didn't know until then was married, announced to general
congratulations that his wife was pregnant.  A second lad announced his
girlfriend was also pregnant and he was fucking certain it wasn't his!
Load moans and lots of advice to ditch the cow!

     That night I had a second wank of the day reviewing my three
encounters, two with Taffy and the extraordinary one with Royston.  It was
odd, I didn't have one image of Jake at all as my spunk squirted and
spurted into the sock held strategically round my cock.

     Monday morning came and so did Bigelow.  Our Squad NCO was urgently
required to take over a map-reading course so dear Sergeant Bungalow was
let loose on us.  By 1200 hours, when we were finally dismissed, he had
reduced most of us to quivering wrecks.  I was singled out for several
loads of invective, possibly because I had this mysterious interview to
come, but everyone suffered in some way.  At least half the squad had to
double round the parade ground for some perceived misdemeanour and he
particularly picked on the two lads who were going to be cooks - almost
saying they were a couple of effeminate poofs but disguising this again by
his recourse to 'pregnant fairies' - the 'poofs' was a general comment
about all of us when we didn't quite come up to slope arms with the
accuracy he required.  He gave both Royston and Jason a hard time,
squinting up and down at them and at one time telling the lot of us we
about as useful as two big tarts from Brixton.  As Royston came from around
that area I thought that was a bit near the mark.  Thankfully I wouldn't
have to endure him for the rest of the afternoon.

     I rushed off parade, managed to get a quick lunch, showered and put on
my best uniform and presented myself at the steps of the Company Office at
13.55 hours prompt.  Bigelow was waiting.  He eyed me up an down as if I
were an increasingly large pile of half- warm shit.  He saw nothing to
criticise and at precisely fourteen hundred hours I was marched up the
steps and escorted into the CO's Office to the chant of "Lef' Righ' Lef'
Righ'...Halt!"  I saluted the seated figure smartly and stood stiffly to
attention as the seated officer dismissed Bungho with thanks.  The door was
closed behind me, a chair placed and the seated figure spoke.

     "Right, Temporary Unpaid Squad Lance-Corporal Boon you may stand easy,
in fact, have a chair.  Take your hat off too, it's much too stuffy to wear
that and have a decent conversation, eh, Roddy?"

     The second figure appeared from behind me and sat in the chair beside,
as I could see now, a Major with red tabs, aha, Staff!  The second figure,
in almost scruffy combats, had a single pip on his shoulder bands.  Then my
heart almost stopped.  He gave me the most winning smile, I felt the same
sort of 'zing' I had when I saw Andrew Forbes and he was naked!  The 'zing'
this time was even more so.  I daren't look at him, I knew I would sprout a
hardon, I fixed my gaze on the Major.

     "I expect you want to know the nature of this interview," he began in
a very friendly way.  "I ought to tell you we have already spoken with your
headmaster and Roddy had a trip to Oxford to talk to two of your friends."
He looked at the papers in the folder in front of him.  "Jeffrey Pringle,
reading Maths and Jacob Manners, reading History.  Good friends, eh?"

     I gathered my senses.  "Yes, sir," I said as clearly as I could, "The
very best!"

     "Heard from either about today?"

     I'd had a letter from Jake on Friday detailing some theory he had
about the Spartan Army.  As this was a running joke between us, as he had
informed me prior to my departure that the Spartans trained up their Army
in pairs from boyhood where they were encouraged to be whole-hearted
fuck-buddies as they believed that they would fight even harder in battle,
I had laughed to myself.  No, there was no hint of any fireside chat or
otherwise.

     "No sir, I had a letter from Jake Manners on Friday and there was
nothing to alert me.  I had a card of Christ Church where Jeffrey is a
student about a fortnight ago.  Nothing, sir."

     "Good," he said and sucked his teeth.  "I suppose you would like to
know why we are here?  It will be confidential and we will ask you to keep
whatever is said secret.  In fact, before we start I will ask you to sign
the Official Secrets' Act document, which you would do in any case on any
posting.  Roddy, please pass this over."

     Roddy, the Second-Lieutenant stood, picked up a piece of paper and a
pen from in front of the Major and came round, stood next to me placing the
document and pen in front of me.  He was standing so close I imagined I
could feel the heat of his body.  My body heat increased and I felt a
definite twitch down below.  I read through the document, picked up the pen
and signed and dated it.

     "Right," said the Major as Roddy resumed his seat.  "Now no names, no
pack-drill.  I will ask some questions and if the answers are as we require
we will go further.  Do you understand?"

     "Yes sir," I said, but I thought two can play at this game and I'd
better tell the truth.  "Sir," I said, "But I already know who you are."

     He raised one eyebrow, a trick I hadn't ever been able to master.

     He looked at Roddy.  "I thought nothing was supposed to be divulged."

     He looked back at me and the eyebrow raised again.  I thought I'd
better respond.

     "Major A Bullivant, Staff and Lieutenant, (here I made an educated
guess), Roderick Campbell, Black Watch."

     They both burst out laughing.

     "So much for military secrecy, eh Roddy?" the Major chortled.  "And
just tell me how you know?"

     I explained as succinctly as I could the happenstance of the office
cleaning, the look at the diary, the check in the Army List and the guess
that Roddy was Roderick.

     Everything thawed from that moment.  I was obviously someone after
their own heart.  I soon learned they were looking for individuals who
would join a specialised team who undertook undercover work of a highly
secret and often sensitive nature.
  I had been spotted and their checks on me had been positive for their
requirements.  I would undergo lengthy training, mainly in the company of
Roddy who was already under training and would be my superior in rank but
equal in the field.  Bloody hell, if only I had decoded the hidden message
implied by Jake's last letter!  Clever Jake had twigged the purpose of his
chat with Roddy and had given me ample clues but I was misled by his
original thesis that I'd better find a good fuck-buddy soon to fight for
and had thought this was just more of the same!

     At three precisely, I looked pointedly at the clock.  I murmured that
tea should be arriving.  They both laughed when a rap on the door sounded
and a sprog private on orderly duty marched in bearing a tray of tea and
biscuits.  He did a double-take when he spied another sprog deep in
conversation with two officers.

     At one point the Major asked if I smoked or drank.  I said I drank to
be friendly but had never been drunk. I said I didn't smoke, having had a
grandfather who had died of lung cancer, a father who had given up and a
promise of one hundred pounds if I didn't smoke before I was twenty-one.

     "But you smoke, sir," I said and the eyebrow went up again as I
continued, "Pipe and Three Nuns."

     "Roddy, no more to be said, I want him in!  How did you know?"

     "CO doesn't smoke as no ashtray on his desk when I cleaned it
yesterday.  The Adjutant had two ashtrays and that is one of them, courtesy
of the Imperial Hotel, Torquay, and I smelt the smoke as I came in.  My
Uncle Joe smokes the same.  Coming from a home with no smoking I know when
he's been round to see my mother."

     "And if you had been Sherlock Holmes..."

     I took the plunge and interrupted him, "...I would be able to
distinguish between one hundred and forty types of tobacco."

     That settled it, the Major took out his pipe and he and Roddy then
told me a few of the things I would be doing and I was instructed to tell
inquirers I'd been selected to join a new computer section and would be
going for training almost immediately.  At half past three - I mean fifteen
thirty hours - I was warmly shaken by the hand and addressed as young
Edward by the Major and given a more than warm handshake and a knowing look
by Roddy.  Roddy then said I would hear of my posting by Wednesday next.  I
stood, replaced my beret, saluted smartly, turned and marched out.  I knew
my life was about to undergo an enormous change.

     When I got back to the barrack room it was empty.  I sat on the edge
of my bed and reviewed what I had been told.  I knew there was danger and
excitement and a hell of a lot of specialised learning ahead.  Was I ready
for it and did I have the ability and, more importantly, the stickability,
to cope with it.  Then there was Roddy.  I knew I wanted him and that
decided it.  Come what may I knew in my heart of hearts I was made for him
and he for me.  All I had to do now was prove it!

     When the squad finally got back they were completely knackered.
Bungalow had taken over completely and had made it quite clear that unless
they improved to his standard by sixteen hundred hours tomorrow he would,
himself, personally, with intent, see that every member of the squad after
the passing-out parade would be doing the most heartbreaking, backbreaking,
mind-breaking, bollock-breaking fatigue duties until they were posted out
of his sight.  The squad was nothing more than a set of wishy-washy,
namby-pamby, big-girly, poxed-up self-abusers whose only purpose in life
was to make their own lives and the lives of their senior NCOs as miserable
and unpleasant as possible and he wasn't going to be fucking-well miserable
on their account.

     He had reduced at least three of the squad to shambling, almost
tearful, wrecks by his constant harrying and vituperative language.  Again,
he'd just about accused the two cooks- to-be to be addicted to sodomy and
other pastimes and had also got at Royston and Jason in subtle ways for
being black and probable possessors of larger than natural personal
attributes.  One phrase used which was dissected for possible slurs was
"Some of you shower ain't natural...".

     Of course, I was cross-questioned about my interview and, other than
being twitted about my luck in missing the afternoon with Bungho, my
explanation of being sent on a special computer course was accepted without
question.

     Bungalow was not in a good mood next morning and kept twisting the
knife every time there was some minor error.  At one time he had half the
squad, including me and Taffy, doubling round the square.  I got three
earfuls including one starting off with a denunciation of not being present
on parade the previous afternoon.  I kept my mouth shut as he knew full
well where I was as he had marched me in.  I think he thought I was in the
shit and that's why I was being hauled up to the Company Office.  Luckily
for all he had other duties that afternoon and our own Squad NCO returned
and we had a final rehearsal for the great day tomorrow.

     We all spent the evening bulling and polishing, seeing that trousers
were pressed, tunics were box-pleated, caps cleaned and badges shining.  We
all set too and helped each other so we had time to get the barrack room
cleaned up as that would be inspected by the CO himself.

     The next day was an anti-climax.  The barrack room and our serried
ranks were first inspected by the CO.  No problems.  On the parade ground
we marched past the Colonel in charge of the Depot after he had inspected
us and spoken to quite a few.  No problems. At last we were dismissed and
found Bigelow waiting for us at the barrack room.

     "Right, fourteen hundred hours sharp, fatigues," he announced and then
indicated a pile of clothing.  "Rig yourselves out in those coveralls."  He
turned and strode off.

     The grumbling over lunch was stupendous.  Bungho was cursed roundly,
soundly but we were there, waiting, when a corporal with a clipboard turned
up.  It wasn't too bad.  Royston and I were assigned to the Sick Bay where
we had to swab a couple of floors with mops and stack some shelves.  We
were told we could report back in the morning which we did.

     However, when I went to the Company Office at 16.15 to collect Company
Orders I was also handed a sheet with my posting order for Monday next and
a travel warrant made out to London, all stations, from the local station
near the Depot.  I noted it was all very vague.  I had to report to a
barracks in London and be on the local station at 10.00 to catch the 10.30
train.  I was to report to the Transport Office at 09.30 hours.

     Well, time passed quickly and most of the squad had a few drinks on
Saturday evening.  Quite a few had been to Church Parade on Sunday morning
to get out of more fatigues and, just before lunch, one of the lads who had
been on fatigue duty as Company Runner came pounding in.

     "Hey, what do you fucking think?" he yelled, "Bastard Bungho's in the
fucking Sick Bay.  Story is he was found by the old huts this morning,
fucking pissed out of his mind.  Fuckers said he was wearing a gold fucking
jockstrap and had a fucking banana stuck up his arse!"  He waited for the
effect.  A stunned effect.  Then he added, "And the fucking banana still
had the fucking Fyffe's label on it!"

     There was general laughter and cries of serve him fucking right, the
bastard!  But, I did notice some self-satisfied looks on the faces of
Ferdy, Dwayne and Royston!  I couldn't care less.  I was out of the place
the next day, so fuck Bigelow and his 'phobic ways!


     Next morning I paraded at the Transport Office with pack, issued
duffle bag and the best wishes of the barrack room.  I was going to miss my
mates but I was also rather glad I was going first.  I'd said heartfelt
cheerios the night before especially to
  Ferdy, Dwayne, Yorkie and Jason and particularly to Taffy and Royston.
In fact, Royston and I shared a brotherly hug.  There was little point in
saying 'keep in touch' as we were all destined for different careers and
would be scattered all over the place, probably all over the world wherever
the British Army served.  So, it was 'Best of luck' from all to all.

     I arrived at the station in good time and had dumped my pack and bag
by a bench and was idly looking in the window of the paper kiosk when I
recognised, in the reflection, someone on the platform opposite.  It was
Roddy and he was in civvies.  He was dressed like a student, complete with
large sports bag.  I hoped he hadn't noticed I'd spotted him so I went over
to the bench and sat down.  After a couple of minutes someone came and sat
next to me and a sports bag was plonked down by my feet.  He was sitting
pretty close to me as I stared idly across the platform.

     "I hope you aren't trying to pick me up, mate," I said in a low voice,
"I ain't that type of soldier and my mother told me about men like you!"

     There was a throaty giggle from the figure next to me.

     "Oh, fuck, am I as bad as that!  When did you spot me, Sergeant Boon?"

     I turned in amazement to look at him.  He had that wonderful smile on
his face.

     "I'm not a sergeant...." I began.

     "...You fucking are.. From this morning and now shut the fuck up and
listen carefully.  Go to those bogs at the end of the platform.  There's an
out of order sign but just go in.  Third cubicle, bag like this.  Change
your clothes for what's inside.  Stick all your clobber in your other bags
but get anything personal out you need then leave them in there.  The
porter over there will collect them.  And flush that travel warrant down
the bog, I've got your proper ticket here.  Now, back here in five
minutes."

     I stood, hefted my bags without looking at him and went over to the
bog.  Sure enough, a sports bag was there with a complete change of
clothing.  I was to become another typical student.  I was four minutes and
thirty seconds including stripping completely and donning a complete outfit
from jockstrap outwards and also having a much-needed piss.

     I plonked myself down next to Roddy and dropped my bag, purposely
hitting him on one of his feet.

     "All OK, Ted?" he asked and gave my bag a kick.

     "Yeah," I said, not knowing whether to address him as Sir or Roddy,
"Bloody jockstrap's too small, though."  It was a boyish waist size of
about twenty-six inches whereas I was about thirty-two.

     The laugh came again.  "Sorry, we forgot underpants so that's an old
one of mine I put in at the last minute...." he paused.  "...Just the waist
or are you boasting?"

     I almost said 'Wait and see' but hoped that might be at some time.

     "Humph, I hate to think where it's been then," I said, "But I'm glad
you put it in or else I'd be left dangling."

     He punched me on the arm.  "Cheeky bugger!" he said and that
infectious grin appeared again..  I knew then we were not just officer and
oik!

     By this time the 10.30 train was signalled but we didn't move.

     "Oh, by the way, call me Roddy and anyway we're going the other way on
the 10.35."

     Which way?  Either way I was rather confused.  We strolled slowly up
the platform and over the bridge.  The train was almost empty and we were
quite a distance from other passengers but we didn't talk.  As we went
further into the countryside the train more or less emptied completely.  It
was only then he filled me in with a few facts.  I had been promoted
acting-Sergeant, paid, with effect from that morning.  We were going to a
specialised training place which to the outside world purported to be an
up-market private sports centre, hence the outfits.  And he said, very
meaningfully I thought, that Jake had sent his best wishes.

     I was not prepared for what happened over the next few months.  If I
thought Bigelow was a hard taskmaster and flogged his recruits to
exhaustion and quivering masses of humanity then I, and the other eleven on
this intake, were stretched to limits we didn't know we possessed.  These
limits were both mental and physical but we knew it was all with purpose
and reason and we thrived on it.  I was mentally and physically stimulated
from day one.

     There were six pairs.  We never appeared in uniform.  In fact I never
saw mine again for almost two years.  Although I knew Roddy was an officer
we were all called by our first names or nicknames and no ranks.  It was
ages before I twigged that a crop-haired broken- nosed young bruiser, with
tattoos in most peculiar places, was a Captain and the younger son of a
Lord. His paired companion was a flaxen-haired youthful lad, same age as
me, who looked as if he belonged on the playing-fields of Eton but was, in
reality, the son of poor immigrant parents from Hungary living in the East
End of London.  So, we were a mixed bunch.  I learned very quickly we were
selected to be the basis for an undercover task-force ready to ferret out
terrorists, undesirables, etc.

     Learn we did, from the compulsory run at six-thirty a.m. each morning,
to lectures and practical exercises, to tests and exams, we were at it from
dawn to dusk.  I loved every minute of it, even when, at times I felt I
couldn't absorb another idea or climb another bloody rope suspended fifty
feet up a tower.

     But that first day on arriving at ............. (no names, no
pack-drill, as Major Bullivant had said!) we were welcomed by staff - in
civvies - as if it were a four-star hotel.  Roddy had already been in
residence for two months but his first assigned confederate had chickened-
out and had left after a month and I was found as a replacement.  When
Roddy told me that I knew he was desperate to succeed and I knew that we
would!

     I followed Roddy and the smartly dressed major-domo up the curving
stairs.

     "I've put you two in a double, Roddy, if you don't mind.  A bit more
spacious than the rabbit-hutch you had," he said as we reached the top of
the stairs.  He turned to me.  "I hope you don't mind sharing a room.  I'm
told he doesn't snore!  And lunch is at one."

     I said I didn't mind and was rewarded by another of Roddy's smiles.  I
also noted it was one, not thirteen hundred hours!

     We were shown into a good-sized outer room, equipped with two desks,
shelving and an assortment of books.  A door led into the bedroom where two
four-foot single beds were separated by a night-stand.  Another door led to
a small shower-bathroom and bog.

     "Marvellous, Tom!" said Roddy, rubbing his hands, "Just right.
Reminds me of my last years at Kinloch except we didn't have the luxury of
an en-suite bathroom."

     The major-domo looked pleased and said, "Anything for you, Roddy."

     After unpacking my washing and shaving gear I'd rescued from my bags
which were now Lord knows where, that was that.  Roddy was flat out on one
of the beds when I emerged from the bathroom.

     "No choice, Ted," he said pointing across the room.  "All your stuff's
in the cupboard by that bed."

     I opened the door.  Neatly stacked were piles of underwear,
tee-shirts, socks, sports kit and so on with a couple of suits and slacks
hanging beside.

     He laughed.  "If any of it doesn't fit you can change it.  And I want
my jockstrap back - it's a family heirloom and I'll pass it on to my little
brother when his balls drop!"

     I sat on the edge of the bed.  I must have looked a bit bewildered.
He raised himself on an elbow and looked me straight in the eyes.

     "Cheer up, mate," he said smiling broadly, "You and I are going to
have a ball!"

     Having a ball came on our third night of sharing the room.  That
Wednesday night was the turning point for both of us.  We'd had a rigorous
day.  The morning run, breakfast, two hours in lectures, an hour in the
gym, lunch, a battery of tests for an hour then an hour of very fast
six-a-side football.  Tea followed with another lecture, dinner at seven
and the evening free.  Free?  We had to prepare a digest of the main points
of the two morning lectures and answer a question on each.

     We turned in about half-past ten.  Weary, but I did feel exhilarated,
I was enjoying being stretched and also being pampered at the same time.  I
needed a shower so stripped and went into the little bathroom and had a
leisurely shower.  While luxuriating under the warm torrent I realised I
hadn't had a wank since Sunday night, that last night in the barrack-room.
I contemplated having one under the shower because I was already getting
the makings of a hardon.  But no, I thought I would try an experiment.

     I got out, dried myself and sauntered into the bedroom just with the
towel knotted round my waist.  Roddy was lying on top of his bed just clad
in boxers of a revolting pattern.  I went over to my cupboard and got out
his old jockstrap.

     "Thanks for the loan," I said, "I don't know what the system is for
our washing yet but you'd better have that done before you give it to your
brother."

     I stood by his bed and handed it to him.  He grinned.

     "Sorry it was a bit small.  I noticed you must have been very
constricted!"

     I grinned back.  "Checking me out, eh?  Care for a closer look?"

     I dropped the towel and everything then happened.  In moments we were
in each other's arms on his bed licking and kissing each other, feeling
each other's muscular bodies squirming and writhing with a passion and
ecstasy I'd never even felt with Jake.  I literally ripped off his
atrocious boxers and we were immediately head to toe, slavering over each
other's shafts.  I shot my load in his gasping mouth in record time and, as
I gave his slim, nicely proportioned dick a barrage of mighty sucks, he
unleashed a copious amount of his own cream into my waiting throat.  We
hadn't finished.  We lay side by side, mouths together, our tongues fucking
and exchanging the coatings of spunk.  His hand gripped my still erect cock
and a second stream soon squirted, this time all over his torso.  I
recovered my breath for a few minutes and did the same for him.  We then
lay for ages on our backs, an arm round each other's shoulders, idly
tracing patterns on each other in the splodges of our silvery juices.

     At one point, after he'd felt me all over, he whispered "Yeah, you
must have been a bit constricted.  You're a big boy, young Ted!  Must have
been quite a squeeze!"

     I was thinking up a suitable reply when he suddenly turned and looked
at me.

     "I love you, Ted, please love me."

     I leaned forward and kissed him tenderly.

     That began our, at present, twelve years of companionship and deep,
deep love.

     Over that time we've worked together, played together, been
unavoidably separated, saved each other's lives at least twice, survived a
bombing, and so on.  But every time we needed each other that spark was
there, a kindled lambent flame of love and absolute devotion.  More or less
successfully hidden from others we survived until the time came to make
momentous decisions about the future.

     I suppose I'd better cue you in on a few highlights, or even
lowlights, over those intervening years.  We didn't leave the Mansion, as
it was known, for the first three months.  Our tutors and instructors
ranged from erudite academic types to real, gnarled trainers in all sorts
of arcane arts.  One much loved old Sergeant, who had spent years in his
now amalgamated Scottish regiment, made a point of singling out Roddy, as
he was patently Scottish, and me for special treatment - not always too
pleasant - and had a fund of odd aphorisms and twisted proverbs which
popped out much to the amusement of all.  Once I had failed to do some
particular part of an obstacle course to his satisfaction, I was made to
repeat it until I mastered it.  He stood by me and commented in his rich
Scottish accent, "If at first you don't succeed, pull your foreskin o'er
your heid!"

     I learned to drive - not just the usual young man's fancy cars or more
sedate family saloons but also real high-performance monsters which, with
armour-plating, were said to weigh nearly three tons.  I and Roddy, with
two others were soon singled out for specialised computer training so when
the others had their own grooves to follow we spent hours learning things
no computer magazine would ever tell you.

     Every six weeks or so Roddy had to break cover, as it were, and show
his nose to his regiment.  The first morning he had to go off he dressed in
full Highland regimental dress, Black Watch kilt, big hairy sporran and
all.  As he turned to face me I laughed and he found himself on his back,
by the application of a particular martial arts routine we had practised
many times, with his kilt up and me checking that he wasn't wearing
anything underneath.  I was called a fucking Sassenach bastard so I gave
his balls a friendly tweak and said that every time he wanked off during
the next five days, and he wasn't to do it more than three times a day, he
had to remember he'd left me behind.

     We had that sort of relationship even then where we could say anything
and everything to each other.  As we lay in each other's arms each evening
after some form of love-making we told each other our life stories.  My
relationship with Jake was discussed at length and he laughed when he heard
of my little infatuation with Andrew Forbes.  I heard about his life at
Kinloch and his loving relationship with a lad called Miles through most of
his school life.  This lad, on leaving school, had emigrated to Canada and
after studying there worked for some organisation which seemed very secret.
He also confessed to having had a few other illicit liaisons while at
school but all had to be kept very circumspect.  Like Jake and me he said
he wasn't in love with Miles.  But, and this was the important point, that
interview meeting in the CO's room, was the catalyst for both of us.  I
told him about my 'zing' and partial hardon.  He admitted he couldn't keep
his eyes off me all the time we were in the room.  He said he had a clear
image of me that night as he spilled his seed, and for many nights after
that.

     At the end of three months we had a week's leave.  I'd written home to
Mum and Dad, to my sister Pam and to both Jake and Jeffrey as regularly as
possible.  We had been asked, nay instructed would be a better word, not to
reveal anything about where we were or our training.  We were on trust.  I
had an address for a military base a few miles away but mail came in very
promptly.  I arranged to go home for a weekend and then went to stay with
my sister who was starting the long haul to a PhD in Clinical Psychology.
Mum and Dad were pleased to see me.  Dad was unwell and, in fact, died
suddenly from a heart attack a few months later.  My appearance, looking
fit, healthy, but in civvies as I was not attached to any specific
regiment, cheered them up.  My apparent misdemeanours with a now absent
Jake were never alluded to but I did feel a bit on edge.  My cover story
was, as usual, that I was on specialised computer training.

     After further training Roddy and I were assigned to our first task.
This was to track some information concerning possible bomb making in North
London.  For this I was enrolled on a Business Studies course at a local
college and over Christmas had to make myself look like a typical
second-rate student to go with my carefully rehearsed cover story.  I was
found digs with a nice old lady and appeared on her doorstep in my new
role.  She wasn't fazed at my appearance - she'd had others looking just
like me before.  Roddy's parting shot was that I looked just like Shaggy in
Scooby Doo.  As he was working as a waiter in an Italian restaurant - no,
not one belonging to Ferdy's relations - as his cover, I retorted that a
greasy spoon was about the only thing he would be licking for the near
future.

     Suffice to say I was soon integrated with a little group of students
who drank in a local pub in the evenings.  I imbibed little, pleading
student poverty, but kept eyes and ears open.  One of the girls in the
group was obviously sounding me out and relayed things which I knew, and my
handlers knew, were incorrect.  Gradually as I was accepted more and more I
was able to identify two gents who drank regularly in the same bar in a
larger group as the most likely suspects.  After relaying names and
addresses through Roddy, on visits to enjoy large plates of pasta, the two
gents and the girl on the course disappeared and, when I left the course at
the end of the term - saying I was going to transfer to another college - I
heard that successful raids had been made and the miscreants were somewhere
safe.  I had a special commendation for that.  Roddy got a second pip and a
liking for Italian food as well.

     Further training ended up with both of us being sent to a somewhat
prestigious Northern university to take computer science degrees.  That was
the ostensible reason.  The powers-that-be at the Ministry of Defence had
discovered their network was vulnerable.  In fact, there was a high
probability it had been hacked into.  There was also suspicion that the
hackers were connected with the computer department of said university.  It
took us eighteen months of intensive learning and investigating before two
research students disappeared and were never heard of again.  The network
was not compromised again - mainly because we were able to advise on the
closure of back-doors, use of passwords, etc, etc., which was not helped by
the highly publicised loss of laptops in taxis and pubs by rather forgetful
MoD personnel.

     Our relationship continued wonderfully during this time.  After one
term in a Hall of Residence a flat was found for us.  Our handler was a
stunning blond, Mary, who came up to see us regularly.  Being seen in the
company of a stunning blond, albeit one who could stun with a jab of two
fingers, meant our relationship was never questioned.  By now our
relationship was an open secret with Colonel, as he became, Bullivant and
his small team.  At the end of the degree course Roddy was promoted to
Captain and I had a crown to add to my invisible stripes.

     Roddy, of course, had to keep up appearing at his regimental
headquarters and also at home at Linnhe Castle in Scotland.  I had no such
ties but had to keep a low profile wherever I went.  Not easy when you are
six foot two and built with it.  I kept in shape by regular work outs at
the university gym.  More than once I was propositioned by very
nice-looking, buffed- up lads.  No, I didn't waver, Roddy was mine and I
was his.  We spent many hours exploring each other and trying to give each
other the most pleasure our bodies could muster.  I was so glad we cared
for each other so much as we never relapsed into some sort of
stereotypical, stylised love-making.  Each act was a pure act of love.  We
use to joke about having a headache, or, it being that time of the month,
if there was something which was weighing us down.  If either felt too
jaded, or tired, or frustrated with problems, we worked all out of our
systems by the way we cared for each other.  There was a synchrony between
us which was uncanny.  Roddy said it was because we both had Scottish
antecedents - my grannie came from the Highlands to work and married
grandad - and so had second sight.  I don't know about that but we never
had a real spat - a few cross words at times, but never any quarrel that
lasted more than an hour or so.

     My first encounter with Roddy's family came one Hogmanay, the New Year
of 1996/1997, just before we finished the computer science degree course.
I was to be his driver and he was to make a two day visit only as he was
required for a meeting in London.  That was the story.  I had to be in
uniform and appeared as a corporal with false flashes and all.  I even had
to wear a kilt, or to be more exact, the kilt.  Naturally, being only a
driver, I was accommodated at Linnhe castle in the servants' wing.  Now
largely deserted, because servants were no longer in plentiful and cheap
supply, but comfortable.  I had royal treatment below stairs and found out
much more about 'Master Roddy' as he was known to the adoring staff which I
used to my advantage on several occasions when we returned..  I met his
elder brother, who Roddy was bunking in with, Walter the Banker.  He was an
older version of Roddy and accepted me quite naturally as a soldier with a
job to do.  His younger brother, Paul, was now a fully-fledged member of
Kinloch School having graduated from the preparatory department.  We got on
well and I had to give him several rides in the jeep which was our
transport.  He also asked me all sorts of awkward question about what I did
other than drive the jeep.  I told him I was the official haggis hunter for
the regiment and had to enter each kill on a computer and he gave me a very
peculiar look.

     On the way back Roddy told me he'd passed on the family heirloom, the
boys' size jockstrap.  He said he wondered if young Paul had discovered the
joys yet as he thought he was quite well-grown for nearly fourteen.  I said
no doubt as I had noticed the growth of hair on his legs when he was
sitting in his kilt next to me in the front of the jeep.

     With the end of the course in 1997 and getting our degrees new duties
came.  However, Mum and Pam came up and saw me arrayed in cap and gown at
the degree ceremony .  Roddy demurred from receiving his as his photo might
be seen by someone and he kept very much in the background.  Pam and Mum
knew I shared a flat but I explained, untruthfully, that my flat-mate had
gone home having finished and was looking for a job.  I said the MoD had
promised me a posting to do with computers but it was hush-hush.  They
didn't see me in uniform and managed not to blurt out anything when I
introduced them to a couple of my class-mates and to two of my more
favourite tutors as none of them knew what I really was.

     The next four years went like wildfire.  I was sent to Germany on one
assignment and who did I meet but Ferdy and Dwayne, resplendent in maroon
berets and sergeant's stripes having taken a parachute course.  They were
now instructors at the depot I was visiting.  They were pleased to see me
and twitted me that I was still one rank above them as Staff- Sergeant.  I
also heard what had happened to Bungho.  They and Royston, now a sergeant
at a depot in England, had found that Bungho always spent Saturday nights
in the Sergeants' Mess getting pissed as a newt.  They had spiked a
half-bottle of vodka with two crushed-up Valium tablets purloined by Jason,
who was in on the scheme but kept in the background, from his mum's supply.
They'd followed Bungho as he wove his way back to his billet and
solicitously offered him the bottle which he drank from greedily.  They
steered him to the back of one of the old huts where he soon fell into a
stupor.  His trousers and pants were swiftly removed and the gold lame
jockstrap - a relic of Royston's stripping and posing career - was
substituted.  The final act, the insertion of the banana up his arse, was
Dwayne's touch of brilliance.  I remembered how Dwayne liked his food and
always came back from the NAAFI with extra supplies!  When he recovered in
Sick Bay Bungho couldn't recollect what had happened to him.  His story of
having a quiet drink in the Mess was not believed and he had an almost
immediate posting out.  Dwayne said he was now Quartermaster at a Depot
near Aldershot and, true, he did have the smallest dick on the Depot!  We
had several drinks to that taming of a 'phobe!!

     Of course, I couldn't tell them why I was really there - my cover was
setting up a new word processing and database system.  In reality I spent a
lot of time in a prison cell, with an MoD interpreter, interviewing a
rather recalcitrant young German and finding out his more than odious
affiliations and his hacking secrets.  I'd spent some time exploring his
computer and had uncovered a whole range of well-hidden nastinesses but
there was much more in his spiteful little head.  I had made my displeasure
known after a couple of fairly fruitless interviews with the arrogant young
man.  My quiet complaints were taken on board by his keepers and the last
two sessions were much more profitable. He spilled many beans and whether
he survived I do not know. He was rather grey and sweating heavily when I
sat the other side of the table on the final occasion as he was brought in
by two ferocious looking Military Policemen.  But, he named names and
spelled out some very interesting codes with alacrity on that occasion.  I
got a very high commendation for that episode and a further promotion, to
Company Sergeant Major.

       During those years we had two spells in Ireland where once our cover
was nearly blown and we were nearly blown up.  A couple of times we averted
a dangerous situation at the last moment.  Not just there, but elsewhere,
as one time we were ambushed and only Roddy's driving skills saved our
bacon.  I don't think our love making had ever been so intense as it was
after that particular occasion!

     So, the time had come to make decisions.  In December 2000 Roddy had
gone off to Edinburgh as his now nineteen-year-old Officer Cadet younger
brother Paul was acting as sponsor for two of his friends who were making
their commitment to each other.  We had discussed many times how we might
make our relationship known.  Not in the Army.  As far as his new regiment,
another Highland one, was concerned, Roddy was celibate and spent his time
in London if he wasn't in Edinburgh.  Truth was we were together all the
time he wasn't reporting in.  I was a hidden cipher as far as the army was
concerned, well-paid, but under cover; he was the open part of the team.  I
was spending much of my time investigating all sorts of ways in which
networks could be and were compromised.  Don't ask me where, but I was here
and there.  But, the job was telling on me.  I was never rested.  I had to
be alert all the time.  I rarely had leave.  When I did, and Roddy was away
playing his role with his family in Scotland, I now tended to stay with
Jeffrey and his wife at the curate's house or with a sublimely happy pair
at Oxford, Jake and Andrew.  They'd become an item as soon as Andrew went
there to read Mathematics.  Jake was a Junior Fellow by then and now they
are both Fellows of their respective colleges and live together in Iffley
in connubial bliss.  Both are very lucky.  I never envied either, I had
Roddy.

     So, it's now the end of 2001 and the crunch has come, so had the
air-mail letter this morning.  It was strange.  It was from Roddy's friend,
Miles Turner, from Canada.  Would I be interested in setting up a very
secure computer network and be responsible for running it, at what I took
to be a vastly inflated salary, for the world-wide organisation he
represented?  He noted that Roddy had recommended me and that Roddy would
be based in Canada anyway.

     I had ten days to decide.  What to do?

The End


Previous stories of mine have been published on Nifty.  There will be more!
Be warned!

Spying on My Brothers: (45k: Incest Section: Apr 15 2000)
Easter Rugger Tours (Dir: HS Section: Jun 10 2000)
Jordan's Story (84k: HS Section: Jul 23 2000)
Flip's Tale (Dir: HS Section: Apr 17 2002)
                    Read and Enjoy.