It was a time of disenchantment and cold despair. A time of failure and much ridicule. A time of longing and much nervousness. A time of shock.  A time of ultimate joy. But fortunately, it was a time long ago.

The year was 1953, and all the above emotions amalgamated in my mixed-up eighteen-going-on-nineteen-year-old mind.  National Service brought me a two-year stint in the RAF as LAC Tony Teller, radar operator, and found me posted to a small village on the east coast of Scotland. From there we were transported daily up to a higher stretch of land where the radar masts beamed searching signals across the North Sea.

Fear of the Germans was long over, now the threat from Russia was reckoned to be real. So, we operators sat in the dark marking the movement of all flights within a wide radius. One of these might be carrying an H bomb. It never happened!

A pub, a café and a lone cinema in the village relieved our boredom. Off-duty daytimes, were for coffee in the café, watching the girls go by, or hoping they might drop in, which they often did. Rare evenings were spent in the pub pretending to be experienced drinkers.

Films were often repeated at the small cinema. John Wayne in ‘She Wore a Yellow Ribbon’ occurred several times. Donald O’Connor and Debbie Reynolds in ‘I Love Melvin’ I went back to see for a fifth time because I had forgotten some of the words!

The clue to my mixed emotions is in the mention of ‘watching the girls go by’. That really summed up my life to that point—I had only watched. All right, I had kissed girls at parties, had wondered what their boobs might feel like. I had enjoyed my hardening, without having the impulse to do anything about that, except in the privacy of my own bed, where release was brief, and the resultant cream was caught in toilet paper.

My mother’s advice about ‘always respect a girl,’ or ‘keep it for marriage’, seemed to have dug deep into my psyche. Living in a barrack room though, where extravagant tales of sexual conquest were never far below the surface, made my shyness so galling.

And it was shyness. Picking up the courage to even speak to a girl was a massive achievement, especially if she was attractive. However, things were about to change, even though the initial stages were fragile.

There were one or two girls in the village who, according to my companions, although they were good kissers, wouldn’t put out. “Scottish virgins are the worst,” Jack, my closest mate would declare. “That Vera Mc Stern might suit you. She’s got good tits.”

Consequently, one warm evening I had the chance to walk with Vera, a chunky lass, pound for pound heavier than me. Kissing her was like dipping my face in a saucer of milk, as we lay on a grassy bank, where nervousness and disenchantment took their place as she pulled my hand onto a mountainous covered breast that hardly produced any sparks, except for an uncomfortable stirring in my cock.

“Tell me I’ve got good tits,” she demanded.

Hesitantly, I told her. My words were like a trigger as she used all her considerable strength to heave my body on top of her. My encased erection pressed against her encased pudenda and contact as simple as that had me spurting madly.

“Enjoy it?”

Hardly, but I said nothing, as I became aware of the large wet patch showing on my pants. How could I avoid the ridicule that I knew would be mine? Truth was, I couldn’t. Heading for the toilets back at camp, I hoped to clean myself up. Underpants could be removed, but the stain on the front remained like a beacon.

Dashing for my locker, I heard the derisive calls rise around me.

“Spilled the cream, Tony?”

“A rushed job?”

“Cum quickly?”

And much chuckling. Jack, my friend, was the only consoling voice. “Next time will be better. Especially if you can spill it in, or on—whoever.”

Next time, despite my determination, was even worse. Jeannie Evans, a skinny bank worker, led me to a patch of woods above the camp, where, with her back against a tree, we kissed, and she showed rather more passion than Vera. Her tongue worked into my mouth, and I was able to welcome it with some relish. My cock responded too, and she felt it pressing.

“Ooh, that feels eager,” she whispered, her eyes bright, despite the gloom. And before I could react her hand dropped to grab at my cock through my pants. Too much, too soon.

I pulled away, feeling the grim pulsing and wetness. No sense of release, just shame, and despair for what I would have to face. And it was as though the fates had conspired to have my weakness broadcast. In my obvious state, I seemed to be jeered at by so many more observers. It was as though they had been posted all the way to my locker to catch sight of this stain on my peace of mind.

Much worse this time, because it seemed the information of my spillages had become common knowledge around the camp. Airmen, who I hardly knew, would call out as I passed, “Oh, here comes the fastest cummer in the east.” Or, they’d shout, “It’s Mr Quickshot.”

Yes, a period of all those cruel emotions, which hardly faded. Even when we were seated in the café on a Sunday afternoon, somebody would laugh and call out, “Better look away, Tony, here comes Connie Summers. The sight of her makes even me want to cum.” Laughter but faces weren’t looking at me, they were glued to the window.

Connie Summers was arguably the most delectable female to walk the main street of the village, mainly on Saturdays and Sundays. Occasionally, she’d be driving an old little Austin 7, but most often she’d be seen, ‘parading her assets’, other airmen would say, by strolling in the Summer months in tight silken clothes, blouse and skirt or a dress, her lioness coloured hair sweeping around her face.

Whatever she wore, it did not disguise the wobble of generous unfettered breasts or the sway of rounded buttocks. Tony had often thought that she was the most-shapely woman he had ever seen, except, maybe, on the cinema screen.

As she sashayed past, Connie never looked towards the café window where hungry eyes followed her progress, and she always seemed so remote that Tony knew that there had never been a moment, despite what companions were saying now, that he felt aroused by her. She was simply a vision that drifted past his eye line and was gone.

“She never looks our way,” someone commented now.

There was a chuckle at the response, “She doesn’t fuck lower ranks.”

“Aye, Sergeant Casper has been screwing her for a while.”

“That bragging bastard, I never believe anything he says.”

I had heard much of this chat before and found it hard to believe that such a delectable beauty would submit her body to the sergeant, a rough full-time regular with a foul-mouth.

So, having already experienced most of the more-cruel emotions I was now due for the shock, or maybe just surprise. Whatever it was, it was definitely unexpected, given that it arose from my recent unwanted reputation.

It was a Friday night, and because the weather, although warm, had turned foggy and damp, Jack and I had agreed to settle for a beer in the camp canteen. I was sitting waiting for him, with my pint glass only a quarter down when I saw the lumbering figure of Sergeant Casper appear. He stood, glaring around the, as yet, quiet canteen, before striding directly to the table where I was sitting.

A little concerned, I took a nervous sip at my beer as he came up to the table, pulled up a chair and sat down, facing me. “LAC Tony Teller, isn’t it?”

I nodded, “Yes, sergeant.”

A little smirk played around his thick lips, as he said, “You can call me Joe in these surroundings. I hear you’ve been having—" He paused, glanced down at my crotch, and grinned before going on, “—a little cock trouble.”

“Everybody’s heard,” I said glumly.

Dark shifty eyes regarded me for a moment, out of a rugged face. I reckoned him to be in his late thirties. “Yes, I think you’ll be perfect to do a little job for me, tomorrow.”

“What kind of job?” I asked, a little worried by his apparent secretiveness.

“Just carrying a message to someone, that’s all.”

“What kind of message?”

Casper smacked his lips together in annoyance, glanced around, and lowered his voice as he leaned forward to deliver his stunning request, “You know Connie Summers?”

I took a sharp intake of breath, “Only by sight,” I gasped.

He chuckled, “Oh, I know you haven’t fucked her. But, given your—er—weakness - you are the only one who is not likely to try.”

God, the insults kept flying in. Sergeant Casper explained that he had been called to a sergeant’s meeting at RAF Leuchars and would be away all weekend.

“I should be seeing the luscious Connie tomorrow. We were to meet by the first bench up the clifftop path. You know it?”

I nodded, as he went on. Apparently, she was away most weekdays. “So, the only way is to have somebody, you, meet her up there at 2.00 pm prompt, and tell her. Can you do that?”

Meet Connie Summers face to face? My knees began to tremble at the very thought. How would I manage it? How do you speak to someone who had only been an image?

Sergeant Casper had one more word of warning, “Tell no one. Make sure you’re not followed. She’s such a fucking slut that she’d have her knickers off for any eager airman. That’s why I know I’m safe in sending you.”

Feeling I was being treated like some harem eunuch, I slept badly that night. What the sergeant had said about Connie Summers seemed so disrespectful.

Saturday morning dragged. I played a desultory game of football with a few of my comrades. The afternoon meeting played heavily on my mind. How could I avoid being an utter drip when faced with the sensuous Connie?

After lunch I took a long hot bath, having told Jack and others that I wasn’t in the mood for a trip into Montrose. The weather was set fine, with none of the chill easterlies that sometimes shave that coastline.

I dressed in a dark green sports shirt, and light green trousers, and at twenty minutes to two, I set off through the village, deliberately skirting around the back of the café, in case any airmen were in there.

Through a gateway at the end of the village, a shale path led to a bridge across the Gervie brook. The path curved up towards the clifftops, where, I drew a deep breath, Connie Summers waited.  

As I followed the path upwards, I could hear the waves splashing on the rocks to my right, indicating that it was high tide. But I knew I was trying to keep my mind off what lay ahead. Why should I be nervous? All I had to do was blurt out Casper’s message and leave. Why was I feeling that it wouldn’t be that easy?

Reaching the brow of the slope, I saw the sea, to my right, flat and calm and reflecting the sun like splashes of diamonds. And straight ahead of me was the bench, which I knew well. Just as well known, from a distance of, say, fifteen yards, was the profile figure of Connie Summers, the gentle breeze flexing her tawny hair.

She was staring out to sea, as I slowed, but the crunch of my footsteps on the shale made her turn her head. Seeing me, brought her to her feet, her eyes wide, and giving me a quick up and down look. “Oh, I was expecting someone else,” She said, in a surprisingly refined voice.

Drawing closer, I took in the way her blue summer dress clung to delicate curves. I quickly noticed the two lower buttons were undone. Shapely yet so slender was my hurried observation, as I told her, “Sergeant Casper can’t get away.”

“Sent his apologies, did he?” her voice took on a cynical edge.

Why should I lie? “Not exactly,” I said.

Her eyes on mine, her lips tight, she said, “Not his style, the self-centred bastard.”

Surprised at her reaction, I couldn’t respond. Job done, time to walk away. I couldn’t. Those eyes, green as emeralds held me hypnotised. The first time I had been this close, and all my image building from distance, was confirmed by proximity. Her skin, so smooth, a delicate nose, those eyes which showed some surprise.

“How come you get the honour of telling me?”

“Why not me?” I found responding easier than I’d expected. She looked so gently warming.

“Well, the jealous bastard wouldn’t usually trust me with another man.” Her green eyes stared into my face. “Unless. How old are you?”

“Pushing nineteen,” I said, fearing what she was thinking.

“You’re not called Tony something?” Biting at her lower lip.

“Tony Teller.”

“Oh, God, you must be the one he was laughing about?”

I said nothing, just stared out over the dappled sea. Jesus wept. Had news of my failings now extended beyond the camp?

Her fingers briefly touched my arm. Tingles, as she whispered, “He’s such a cruel bugger. Worrying about it will only make it worse.”

Her voice was so gentle, almost caring, I was compelled to look into those green eyes once more. I saw genuine concern as I said dubiously, “Think so?”

She shrugged, “These things take time.” Her smile was even more captivating, and I was hating Casper for what he’d said about her. Now she did a little skip backwards and said, “Look, it is such a lovely day, would you care to walk with me?”

I don’t know what my face showed, but she held her hands up, palms open, “No touching.” That gentle smile again, before she added, “Unless you want to.”

Why the hell was my heart beating so hard? Was it just the doubts that crowded my mind? My intention to just walk away had shattered. Being in the presence of this stunningly beautiful woman should be sending me scuttling, shouldn’t it? But it was as though she had thrown an invisible net over me. Her offer to walk, together with her promise of no touching, her sympathetic acceptance of my weakness, just could not be refused.

So, what was my response? “If you like.” How weak was that?

That smile again, brighter to match the sun, “No, if you like. Come on.”

I walked uncertainly alongside her, about a yard apart. My steps were slow and deliberate, whereas Connie, hopped, skipped and almost jumped along, her gait matched by her words, “Oh, I love strolling along the cliffs when the weather is like this.”

“Strolling? You’re almost dancing.”

She laughed gave a twirl that set her dress, with the two lower buttons undone, swirling high enough to reveal elegant thighs. Then she stopped, facing me, her face more serious. “I wouldn’t be as light-hearted if that pig Joe Casper had been here.” Her brow wrinkled, “Oh, that surprises you.”

Her attitude had shaken me, “He made it look like you were his woman.”

Her lips tightened, “That’s what he thought. I was set to tell him I was moving away on Monday. I’m glad he’s not here. I won’t have to see him again.”

Why should that please me? But I had to ask, “Why take up with him?”

Her eyes regarded me from across the width of the path as though deciding whether to answer that. “I like sex, Tony. Depending on my mood.”

We were still walking with the sea lapping at the cliff face below us, as she went on, “I was ready for a bit of rough. But that’s all he is. Grab and take.“ She shrugged, “Oh let’s talk about something more pleasant. What will you do when you get out of the RAF?”

I told her about wanting to get into university.

“Good idea. I work as a sub-editor for a woman’s magazine in Dundee. How old do you think I am?”

I had wondered about that but was uncertain about how discreet I could be. “You have a young face, but,” I couldn’t say ‘with a sensuous body’, “with your job, I guess twenty-five.”

“Close. I’m twenty-six.” She had taken a step towards me. “Do you find me attractive?”

I could have hesitated, gathered my thoughts, but I just blurted out, “Very.” And my voice sounded like it travelled on a sigh.

“Thank you for that.  And you are a fine manly figure.” She was much closer now, and I caught a delicate aroma of what might have been lavender. Those green eyes were fixed on mine as she murmured, “Would a gentle kiss disturb you?”

Yes, it would. I would be in danger of further mortification. But her lips, looking so full of warmth and comfort, had me replying, “I hope not.” Yet, before any contact at all, my knob was twitching in my pants, and I took a quick nervous glance left and right along the deserted path.

Connie was only slightly shorter than me, as she offered up her lips, and I was accepting her kiss eagerly.

Her lips were warm, and they were softly gentle. At first. Her lips slightly parted, and the tip of her tongue touched my own lips. I saw that her eyes were closed, and I was sure her body shuddered, as tentatively I allowed my tongue tip to touch hers. Immediately, mouths were wider lips were wetter, tongues wrestled, and I felt my cock press against my pants.  

Only our mouths had linked up to that moment, but now Connie gave a little moan and her thinly clad body pressed into me. Yes, she felt it, and stepped immediately back, her eyes wide yet slightly clouded as she said, “No accidents, Tony. No embarrassment for you. Let me help you.”

She pointed to the low bushes that started the woods just ten yards from the cliff edge, “Can we go over there for greater privacy?” She sensed my worried hesitation. And it was a genuine worry as she added, “Honestly, I’m on your side.”

I allowed her to take my hand, noticing her eyes lowering to where my pants bulged.

In no time we were in the shade of high bushes, and Connie led me to a grassy bank where she lay down and patted the grass beside her. “I’ll save you from embarrassment. Promise.”

Questioning my own sensibility at going along with this, yet, at the same time viewing the curvaceous wonder of her lying there, slightly on her left side, I cautiously lay down facing her.

“Good,” she whispered, placing one hand on my cheek as her lips found mine in a sweet, brief kiss. “Now, just follow my instructions. You’ll soon see the point.”

That face, the tawny hair around it should have been a gift from heaven, and maybe it was, as her next request surprised me. “I want you to turn your back to me, Tony. Go on, completely round.”

This seemed so crazy. Wasn’t I pointing the wrong way for this? But Connie was close to revealing her intent as her mouth, from behind, came close to my right ear, and she whispered, “Are you still hard?”

God was I ever. I feared what she might do that would bring me on. It happened, but not in the way I expected.

“Tony,” she whispered, still close to my ear, “I’m not going to touch you while you do this, but just undo your pants, push them down if it's more comfortable. Get your cock free, so that you keep control.”

I had my hardened cock free and in my own hand in a very short time. My inherent shyness was at risk. Maybe from where she was, she couldn’t see it.

“Take your hand away, Tony”

So, I wasn’t going to wank, and almost before it happened, I guessed, and the thought alone, almost brought me on. Oh, God, this beautiful woman was going to see my bare cock. Not only bare but erect, and, as breathing became more difficult, I felt her arm reach over me and the next second her warm fingers were on my hardness. She’d touched it, touched my throbbing cock.

“Oh, yes, solid, fat, and,” Her fingers trailed along the length,” yes, lovely length.” And she immediately gripped it tightly and pulled.

I was already on the way, but that pull made sure, “Connie, I’m going to...“

“You’re meant. I told you I want to help you,” she whispered, adding, as I started, “Wow, look at that.”

 My lowered eyes took in the cream spouting volcano that was my own cock. The background noise was my own moaning, and Connie’s aim was directing spurt after spurt to streak long white strings across the grass. The shame of her seeing it almost took the edge off it but the relief was compensation. Two final dribbles and I was emptied.

Connie took her hand away, and I sensed her shuffling back, as she hissed, “All done? Now, you can turn this way again.”

I tucked my limp cock back into my pants and rolled to face her. What lay in front of me, literally took my breath away. At some point, Connie had unfastened all the buttons down her dress, and there was a gap of skin all the way from her neck down to her thighs.

That gap hinted at the twin mounds hidden there showed a flat belly and a tangled skein of tawny pubic hair. Her face, an inscrutable smile, and those green eyes regarded me as she said, “You can kiss me, and maybe discover some secret places, without any risk of immediate eruption.”

Christ, my hands were trembling. What kind of experience was I falling into? I’d had a kiss that was better than any I recalled. A beautiful lady had handled my erect cock and watched it pour forth its eager cream. Now I was being offered access to touch and explore a near-naked female body. I might have been dreaming.

“You want me to?” I asked dumbly, realising now why she had made me shoot.

“Let’s just take it step by step,” she whispered. “Kiss?”

I leaned over her and our lips mingled warmly, and this part I remembered. Connie took my left hand and placed it on her bare right breast. My first touch at a bare breast and my hand seemed to lock in a clutching shape.

Connie broke the kiss, and asked, “Have you never touched a tit before?”

Once again, I was a dumb school kid, way out of my depth. I shook my head.

“You like the feel of it?”

I nodded my head, and made one of my childish remarks, “Feels nice.”

“Nice, eh?” she said, smiling, not unkindly. “Wel, I suppose I’ll settle for that, for now. Just stroke it, savour it. Squeeze the nipple.”

Cupping her breast afforded me a perfect handful, and I stroked in a circular motion over her mounds. Breaking into my concentration, Connie hissed, "Don't caress a breast as though you’re taking the lid off a jar. Fingertips, and gradual... rub, tickle and away.”

Accordingly, I set about tracing the satin quality of her skin, which was mesmerising, gorgeous. The moonscape area around the nipple led my fingers to the nipple itself, which seemed to swell under my fingers. "Oh, good," Connie murmured, sounding slightly breathless, kissing my shoulder, "now use your mouth there, and your tongue.

My mouth on her breasts? What would that be like? I just had to hide my nervousness, not that she didn’t already know

I kissed from neck to shoulder and then my lips savoured the gentle swell of her breast. My tongue, almost without thought, played on the rough area around her nipple, before dabbing at it playfully. “Yes,” Connie said, on a shuddering sigh, “the areola can be very sensitive.” Then I was sucking on the nipple, with a wonderful sense of comfort.

"Ooh, I think your hand could explore lower. Feel how ready I am." Connie's gentle request revived my nervousness. Touch her down there? Without stopping my mouth's attention to her breast, I cautiously moved my hand across her flat belly. Now uncertainty crept in. Just what did my instincts dictate? I feared to be a crude simpleton.

I trailed my fingers around her navel and circled my whole palm over the silken skin of her belly. I was feeling excited without becoming erect. Fingers touched the fringe of her tawny bush, hands still trembling at how close that tempting jungle was to her secret entrance. Was there a vague spasm in my groin? Was my cock recovering with this new excitement?

Almost automatically, my hand moved lower, so my fingers were ploughing through that curly triangle. Could I explore deeper?  

My hand bypassed her pubes and drifted to her upper thigh. The smoothness of the skin there was unbelievable, asking to be stroked. So that's what I did, occasionally, gliding back into her pubic area. If I am making this sound rather too expert it is simply to move the story along. In fact, every movement, every advance I made over Connie’s wonderful body was a fearful action, a tremulous effort of concern.

"Good... ah... good teasing, Tony." Connie's voice sounded a little breathless. Was I really getting to her? Her thighs parted further as she gasped, "Now find my spot. Gently probe."

Breathing was difficult for me now. Excitement rose in my chest. From licking her nipples, I looked down over the curve of her belly and watched as my own fingers moved into the apex of her triangle. Oh, God, my erection was returning, that so familiar twitching as blood pounded through my veins. I had to stay strong this time--just had to.

des, here under my middle finger I sensed the start of a little groove. This would lead to Wonderland, my hazy knowledge advised me. My finger traced along what felt like special pouting lips.  Pressing deeper along the way, there was moisture, so much moisture

"Back, Tony - ah - that's so good... but back..."

Back? But I was there, wasn't I? My fingers flickered between those very wet lips. Why back? Unwillingly I drew my fingers back.

"Yes, yes, Tony. Just feel it. Feel the little button.

I was a bit puzzled by her odd request, but right then I became aware that my finger was touching what did feel like a tiny nipple. As I stroked it, it seemed to come erect.

"Ah, yes, yes... good... you've hit it. My clit. Love it, Tony. Very gently caress it." Her voice sounded almost desperate, and her words were punctuated by little grunts,

With great care, I stroked the little button between two fingers. Her moaning became louder and her head began to toss from side to side.

Two things struck me, first was that my cock was hardening and rising fast. When I was fully hard, if Connie was this wild, I should have little problem in making an entry into her without another embarrassing climax.

More importantly, where the hell was this magic entry? My breath quickening, I moved my fingers back through that tender wetness. As I moved away from her clit, Connie groaned, “No, give me your cock.”

At that moment, my middle finger was suddenly dipping into what had to be her entry. I pushed my finger deeper, and she gave a squeal and wriggled as she gasped again, “Now, Tony. Do it.” And I knew I had to, without delay or my heaving cock would be spewing out of control.

I rolled between her spread thighs and managed to place my cock head at those weeping lower lips. Any uncertainty I had at that point was settled when my hardness was engulfed as she heaved her hips upwards, and I was inside her. Immediately deep into hot wetness, an unknown world, where it seemed a hundred rubber rings drew me deeper. Connie's hands clutched at my buttocks.

"Tony… back, and push…" Her panted instruction was so strangled it was almost lost. I withdrew and plunged, plunged again. I was doing it. I was fucking a very sensuous lady but knew I was about to burst.

All too quickly, I feared.  Looking down at Connie, I saw her hair splayed out around her perspiring face, her eyes closed. Her mouth, wide in spasm, gave out strange little squeaking yelps.

Unable to hold it, I gushed into her and with a desperate lunge, I felt I had struck against some part deep inside her. I heard my own voice making sounds I'd never heard before. As I poured into her, I kept up the piston motion, so delightfully new to me expelling the last drop. Feeling so elated, I had a sense of total relief.

Then Connie gave an extended yelp and thrashed under me, her head jerking from side to side, her hips rising as though to drag me even deeper. Briefly, I feared I mustn't be big enough for her. But then her yelps became breathless words, "Oh, God, that was so..." Her eyes were glazed as she gasped, “unexpected.”

“Was I all right?”

“Tony, you have much potential.” Laughing she sat up and leaned over me as I rolled onto my back. “But practice makes perfect and you have much to learn.”

She must have seen the look on my face as I absorbed her critical words, “Would you like to learn more?”

What could she mean? My breath was only just returning to normal, as my brain absorbed the wonder of what I had just been involved in.

“I would, but…”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

I told her I was, and she offered to drive me somewhere we could enjoy extra privacy.

“After my Casper experience I think it would be a pleasure to help you gain a Casanova award,” she said, and after dressing, we kissed a controlled farewell.

Striding confidently back to camp through the village I was glorying in the fact that I was no longer a virgin and retained the everlasting memory of how it had come about.

Let the Russians come, I had experienced the ultimate joy.

And soon there would be tomorrow. Oh, yes, roll on tomorrow.