Date: Fri, 16 Dec 2016 11:41:35 +0000 (GMT) From: "rampage938@btinternet.com" Subject: RAMPANT RANDY RECRUITS - Chapter 1 Chapter 1 : Making Decisions The early 1960's saw Dayton Cunningham (known as DC to his mates) developing into a rebellious, randy sixteen year old who had not long left college. He was a big lad for his age and most of the kids he had grown up with thought twice - or even thrice - before attempting to mix it with him. He had an average life in an average town somewhere in rural England and had got himself a job in a local timber yard. It was noisy, messy and bloody hard work hauling baulks of timber around all day, six days a week, but he was rapidly putting on muscle which, combined with his dark Saturnine looks, made him a formidable guy for even adult men to throw down a challenge to. He was in the Air Cadets and a former Royal Air Force boxing champion was coaching him and a few other teenage boys in the sport. He was also 'champion' at coaching the horny teens in other 'strictly man to man' activities, but that is another story! DC knew he could look after himself alright. Yes, DC had certain feelings, certain fantasies, but don't we all get those from time to time? He had tried dating girls but without much success, went through the agony and bewilderment of puberty in the parochial narrow-minded environment which surrounded him. College was an opportunity for a young, healthy boy to have fun, nothing more, nothing less, and DC had his share. He'd had his first piece of pussy at 15, his first experience of oral sex and his first taste of another guy's dick, all in that one year. He had more than he expected that year, but probably no more than he needed. He and his mate Butch got drunk after an unsuccessful double date and experienced the ultimate adolescent 'sexperiment' as they went down on each other. Butch was sleeping over at DC's place and a blending of bewilderment over the lack of response from their girls and the emancipating effect of the alcohol they had drunk worked their magic on their hormones. They lay naked and horny on DC's bed facing each other, their eager mouths having no trouble in finding each other's willing willies, working each other in the classic 69 position into a feverish pinnacle of combustible teenage lust. However, being novices at these games they did not take it to its normal conclusion, content that they had done enough to justify a private pact between them. They did not talk about it the next morning nor the next week for that matter, but as sure as eggs is eggs they found an opportunity to do it again the very next weekend. While they both thought of themselves as straight, they both agreed that what they were doing was different - but it was FUN; they found every chance they could to do it regularly. It was strange: they knew what they were doing and they enjoyed it. DC thought about it often, convincing himself as Butch had convinced himself - or so he said - that it was just a natural thing for two developing horny teenagers to be doing. They had never heard of bisexuality and probably would not have known what it meant if they had. They only knew that sucking cock was 'queer sex' but as neither of them thought they were queer - they both screwed girls, right? - they shrugged off any thought that what they were doing was anything other than standard exploratory and pleasurable boy fun. They did know enough, however, to keep shtum about it, both of them well aware that if that secret got out... well, let's just say they did not want it to. DC was not a star student in college and university was out of the question with the grades he got in his exams, so he looked around for something to do which might offer him a chance to leave that stultifying small town and see something of the world beyond his front door - and that is where the Air Cadets came in. DC had kept one secret of his burgeoning sex life to himself, not even hinting about it to Butch. He had only recently lost his virginity to a young man who was serving in the Army. DC was entering his mature teen years with a dense bush of pubic hair and a rapidly expanding dick, dropping balls encased in a hairy ultra sensitive sac and a sore arse. Within a mile or so from where he lived with his Mum and Dad was a moderately good cinema, the Regal. It had nothing pretentious about it but definitely was not in the flea-pit class. The seats were reasonably comfortable after the Spartan discomforts left over from the War; there was even carpet on the floor. As provincial cinemas went in those far off days it was not too bad. If you wanted to take a girl you were keen on to something grander, more 'posh', then you had to endure an hour's bus ride there and back. For something really exceptional - like Star Wars - you had to slog up to London and back by train: that was expensive, usually beyond the means of even a working, over-sexed sixteen year old. When DC began frequenting the place the new seating had not long been installed and had yet to be ravaged by wild youths rockin' around the clock to Bill Haley and The Comets! If anyone had told him that one Saturday afternoon he was about to embark on a life-changing visit to the Regal Cinema, he would have told them they were pissing crazy and to fuck off. When DC had begun going to the Regal on his own on Saturday afternoons, he always sat in one of the three back rows, as far from the centre aisle as he could get. If his luck was in he would have his developing cock and balls fondled by a 'mature male' sitting in the seat next to him. DC always made it a strict rule never to allow himself to fill his underwear with his goo, just in case his Mum noticed it next washday! However, he had no hang-ups about tossing off the guy sitting next to him until he made the guy shoot his load, usually all down the inside of his trousers or jeans. The guy would get up and go to the Gents, where he would remove his trousers and attempt to clean himself up. If he was youngish and a good looker, DC would go along as well and offer to help! Later on, when he was doing his bit for Queen and Country, he was reminded of those Saturday afternoons at the Regal when he saw lines of horny American or British servicemen waiting patiently outside a brothel. On more than one occasion, the waiting was too much for some of them and DC witnessed sexual activity between young males in the alleyway or up against the wall of a run-down tenement building which would have made Old Nick himself blush to the roots of his hair! It was not too long before DC was taking part in these activities - but he never, ever went into a brothel or sleazy club, he serviced his pick ups out of doors, which offered him a quick exit if the military police vice patrol was about - but all that was far into the future and to get there, DC must begin at the beginning. One Saturday morning he marched himself off, smartly dressed and presentable, to catch the bus into the nearest big town, Deepdean, where he knew there was a Recruiting Office jointly staffed by the Army, the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force. When he approached the glass doors of the building he had a momentary feeling of panic. Was he doing the right thing? Dad had been very enthusiastic and pleased that his son had at last found something worthwhile to work for, but Mum was not so sure and kept banging on about "You do realise you might be shot at, or bombed, or blown up by a mine, Dayton?" He replied to her fretting for the thousandth time: "Yeah, yeah, Mum but I won't be near any of that stuff. That's only for the Army. I'll be getting a proper education and a trade which I can use to get a decent job when my time is up, thanks to the RAF. Nothing's going to happen to me, don't you fret. I tell you, Mum, this seems to be the solution to my problem. Life in the RAF will be just what I need." He did not tell her he would also be able to indulge his other growing 'need' - sucking on hard boners or taking a fat, juicy cock up his arse! In the course of the next couple of weeks he received notification of where and when his first medical examination would take place. He had been advised at the Recruiting Office this would be on a Saturday, wherever premises could be found - a church hall, a drill hall left over from the War, even schools during the holidays. This would only be a quick examination to find out if he had the clap or any other kind of sexually transmitted disease (the medical people assuming that all horny male teenagers would probably be rotting away with syphilis or gonorrhoea.) His main medical would take place shortly after at the Royal Army Medical Corps establishment in Deepdean. This time he and a host of other potential recruits would have to face a battery of allegedly fully qualified Army doctors and nurses. The examinations would take most of the day and would include intimate scrutiny of hitherto very private areas as well as routine inspections. "Great," thought an excited DC, "probably get some hairy corporal poking about up my arse. Perhaps a dishy young medic will take a mite too long examining my dick, balls and arsehole. Mmm, that I would not mind!" In due course he reported to the RAMC establishment and discovered there were at least fifty or so youngsters like himself, excited but nervously covering up any trepidation they might be feeling individually by taking refuge in a noisy outburst of chatter and loud raucous laughter at each other's filthiest jokes. They were herded together into a bare room and told by a corporal medic to form a straight line and stand to attention. After some hesitant shuffling and muttered curses, the medic ordered them to strip. Some of the more timid lads kept their underpants on until the corporal medic bellowed, "I said, take 'em all orf! You lot deaf or somethin'? That means everythin', includin' yer knickers! GET 'EM ORF!" While the offenders removed their nether garments very reluctantly and tried unsuccessfully to hide their bits by covering themselves with their hands, the medic consulted his clip board. "Nah then, lissen careful. Anyone 'ere wanna be Mummy's brave little sailor boy?" Stony silence greeted his question. He waited, his pen poised over whatever it was on his clip board. "OK then, anyone for the Brylcream Boys intake?" No response. "That's wot we call the RAF, you ig'orant... Oh, fuck it! Listen fer yer name and if I call it aht, you will take one step forward. Never mind yer bits and pieces, if yer wanna be in the Services then you start right here and don't mind who sees yer pride an' joy, you just do what they say when they give an order. Understand?" A slight murmur ran through the ranks. "If I say, 'Understand' you shout back, 'Yes, corporal!' in a loud voice so I can 'ear yer on the battlefield. We like to start as we mean to go on. So, let us try once more: Do you all understand me?" A thunderous "Yes, corporal!" greeted his ears. "OK, OK, that's enough joking. I'm now going to take you through to where the medics and doctors are eagerly waiting to inspect every inch of your flabby bodies. Try to keep together and act like soldiers or airmen. Don't forget, if an officer examines you, every other word you utter must be the word SIR! Understand?" Another thunderous "Yes, corporal!" shattered the quiet calm of the room they were in, still in their long line. Most of them were getting used to being stark naked and some were even comparing each other's size and shape, whether they were cut or uncut, how high or low their balls were hanging, and how bushy their pubic hair was. Suddenly the corporal bellowed, "AT-TEN-SHUN !" as the door swung open and five people in uniform and white coats, carrying clip boards, marched in. Dayton Cunningham had found out that these medicals were always conducted by a panel of five allegedly qualified medical students in their final year before being let loose on hundreds of unsuspecting 'victims'. He thought, "Shit, they don't look old enough to be fully qualified, nor to be military medics. I reckon they might be first year medical students from the local hospital." This particular quintet comprised three males and two females. When he told Butch about the medical afterwards he said, "Guess who was first to examine any lad who looked halfway attractive." Butch gave the correct answer, of course: "The fuckin' dishiest guy there, you lucky sod." As the examinations began, the youths were told to sit on the wooden benches running along the walls and wait to be called. While he was waiting for his turn to be dealt with, DC looked around. Large posters high up on the walls of the room demanded: DO NOT PASS WATER AS YOU WILL BE REQUIRED TO GIVE A SAMPLE. He noticed one lad sitting somewhat uncomfortably cross legged for what must have seemed like hours to the poor sod. When his turn came he was bellowed at by the corporal to "Stand for the medic!" and the lad rose unsteadily, his knees pinned together like a girl in a tight skirt. To the unfortunate lad's astonished discomfort, an attractive young woman gestured that he should somehow hobble behind a curtain. She had pulled it aside to reveal a large specimen jar awaiting his contribution. Confidently, with an expression of immense relief on his face, he began to fill the jar. Unfortunately, by some miscalculation, no contingency appeared to have been made for the possibility of any overflow. Under the disdainful eye of the young woman, he had to take a damp, smelly cloth she handed him and told him to mop up his excess. He realised he had made two vital mistakes. First, he'd had two full pints of best bitter for lunch. Second, he had stood with legs astride to piss in the time honoured male fashion. If only he had squatted over the jar.... Then it was DC's turn to be manhandled, prodded and probed. Before getting down to the really serious medical stuff, each would-be recruit was given the once-over by a QARANC (Queen Alexandra's Royal Nursing Corps) officer accompanied by several QARANC nurses. She and the nurses looked more masculine in their severely starched uniforms, brogues and thick woollen stockings than most of the male orderlies doing the actual inspections. The officer could have doubled for the late Hattie Jacques of Carry On fame when she played the part of a fearsome Matron. This dragon lady was brandishing a thin stick reminiscent of a bandleader's baton, which she waved at the orderlies who were still ticking things off on their clipboards. The timid shy lads were still very uncomfortable at being stark naked in front of these women and they used the bits of paper they had picked up as ineffectual fig leaves. Most of the others, including our hero, gave up the unequal struggle and brazenly flouted their wedding tackle, allowing it to start swelling and rising. However, hawk eyed 'Hattie Jacques' soon put a stop to that with a few deft flicks of her baton. One of the lads actually got an erection and she swooped down on him like an avenging angel and whacked his meaty cock with her stick. He yelled and bent double, dropping his bits of paper, his hands clutching his manhood. You could see tears welling up in his eyes. He swore afterwards "...that fucking bitch nearly took the top of my dick off." Finally, they were told that within the next fourteen days after the second medical, they would be required to take more tests. DC had to go back to Deepdean for these but found to his surprise they would also be taking an intelligence test, an aptitude test, and a third medical "just to make sure you're not contagious, young man. We don't want you going around giving people something nasty, now do we?" When they were all passed fit to do their duty for Queen and country, the medics seemed to be genuinely disappointed they had not found a trace of any infectious disease amongst them! When all the prodding and probing and filling in of endless forms were finally completed, DC's intake was sent home to await the arrival of a buff envelope with the words ON HER MAJESTY'S SERVICE printed in bold letters across the top. It would contain an official letter notifying him at which RAF Recruit Training base he would be sent to do his training. They had all been told it would take about three weeks before they heard anything. For the first time in his life, DC watched anxiously for the postman every morning for the next three weeks and two days. He admitted to his Dad he was as scared as hell at the prospect of leaving home for the first time without family with him, to face an unpredictable future. Sure enough, he had been away with his fellow air cadets during the college summer holidays, but that was only for a couple of weeks and he would be going home again. It had dawned on him that this time it was serious, very serious. He was going off to Heaven knew where, to learn how to be a soldier (airman in his case) and learn how to kill or be killed. He poured out his feelings to Butch, who blanched a bit when DC got to the 'kill or be killed' bit. He said, "Sorry, Butch, if that upsets you, but that's the bottom line. That's what being in the military is all about." He did not see anything of Butch after that for some time. Three weeks later his marching orders came through. At first, he simply sat at the table in the dining room, staring at the large buff official OHMS envelope, which he and no one else had to sign for. He could not bring himself to open it. He was shaking as if he was suffering from palsy or delirium tremens or something. Finally, when Mum and Dad reluctantly went off to do the family weekly shop, he slit open the envelope. It contained a mass of official looking papers so he took the first one. It informed him that he had satisfactorily passed all his physical and other tests which, together with his College exam results, meant he would be accepted for service in the Royal Air Force. It took two sheets of foolscap size paper to inform him of this - this was his first encounter with military thoroughness! He got up, looked at the papers one more time, then leapt around the room, yelling like a madman. He'd done it! He had been accepted for the RAF! He ran out into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea just as Mum and Dad burst in with bags of shopping. They could tell just by looking at their son that he must have got some good news. When he told them, excitedly, that he was going to be in the RAF, Mum sat down rather heavily in the chair which he'd just been using while Dad came over to him and grabbed his hand, shaking it vigorously. "Well done, boy!" his father said. "Anything else in the envelope? Do you know where you'll be off to for training?" "Oh, I haven't got that far yet, Dad. Let's see what else is in there." Father and son spent the next hour going through forms, questionnaires and reading material. Mum busied about, occupying herself with storing the shopping and preparing a meal for tea. DC admitted to his Dad that he had a belief - misguided as it would turn out to be - that the RAF was less 'bull shitty' than the other Services and did not have as much 'horse shit' as the Navy and the Royal Marines. After the meal, DC said he wanted to go and see Butch. He was concerned why he had not been in touch for nearly a month. Their meeting was a bit frosty at first, but Butch soon picked up on DC's excitement. They went up to Butch's bedroom and talked until quite late in the evening and finished off with jerking each other off. When he got home, DC asked Dad if Mum had gone to bed. "Yes, she has, son. She's rather upset about all this but did not want to make a scene and upset your big day. She realises that you'd have to leave home some time, a bird leaving the nest. I want you to promise me that you will keep in touch with her and, whenever possible, come home even if its only for a weekend now and again. She'll come round soon enough, so don't worry about her too much. Just keep her aware of what you are doing. One thing she asked me to get from you, where will you be doing your training?" "It's a big recruit training camp near a place called Lavington. It's in north Yorkshire and I've got to travel up to London and stay overnight at one of the servicemen's clubs. Then I'll be travelling by train from King's Cross the next day. All my travel documents are in the envelope. I shall have just over two weeks before I go." The remainder of his time at home was spent in getting everything together for his journey northwards. He visited his grandparents and a favourite aunt to say his goodbyes and had a final night out with Butch and few other mates, all of which showed marked signs of respect for DC. One of them said to him quietly when the others were taking a leak, "Fuck me, DC, I never thought you'd have it in you to go for the military. You're beginning to look more macho and tougher every day and your voice has acquired a deeper tone already. Don't forget us lot, will yer, you son of a bitch, you. We'll miss you, you know." Next: Chapter 2 : Enlistment Day.