At the early age of seventeen and a half the British Army declared me a man and sent me off for my adult military training. Having done 2 years in the draconian and authoritative Boys’ Service, this was a doddle. While doing this training for “man’s service” I frequently witnessed a group of soldiers who shared the outer reaches of our barracks.
These guys drove their cars across the parade ground, the greatest sin any soldier could commit. On top of that, in those days, no ordinary solider had a car. These guys only saluted their own officers, they walked to the front of every queue, had long hair and generally did whatever they wanted. Better still, when they went to the pubs in Aldershot, the girls flocked round them. I wanted in. I wanted to wear the same maroon beret they did. It took me 6 months of test and rigorous selection, and then close to my eighteenth birthday, I joined the 9th Independent Parachute Squadron, Royal Engineers. I thought I had arrived but the road ahead would still be long and mind stretching.
Time for another beer, memories of the past and my discovery of real sex.
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