Confessions 2 Page 2

  JIM - Basildon

  Blitz Bums

  I’m older than almost anybody now, so may have had experiences in which others would be interested, and which I would like to write down while I have the chance.

  Things were very different before the last war, more different than perhaps you realise. I am always amused and a little irritated when I hear people making judgements based on modern morals but with respect to times past. Insulting the memory of Sir Winston Churchill, for instance, because his actions don’t suit the modern moral perspective, which is just plain foolish. Make no mistake, he was a great man, and we’d be a sight worse off without him.

  It was the same with sex. There was a great fuss made about homosexuality, for instance, which was illegal and pretty well unspeakable, although I dare say there were as many of them then as there are now, and not so very different in their tastes either. Other things you simply didn’t mention, but no doubt they went on just the same, and it wasn’t really considered done to boast the way everybody seems to nowadays. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

  I read somewhere that every generation thinks it invented sex, which always amuses me, and it’s true. Looking back across my life, I can see it clearly. The 60s generation was the worst, so full of themselves, and so ready to look down on the very people who’d fought for them just twenty years before. They really thought they’d invented sex, and to hear some of them talk, it’s a wonder the human race managed to get as far as it did. One thing’s for sure, every one of them had a mother and a father, and they all came from the same place.

  We weren’t so very much better, I don’t suppose. To us, everything from before the Great War looked old and staid, so that “Victorian” was said in the same way a young man or woman in the 60s might say the word “square”, and the older generation made just as much fuss about jazz back between the wars as the next lot did about rock and roll in the 50s and 60s. All I can say is, there was plenty going on in my day, and if we’d didn’t speak about it so much, that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.

  I suppose I was lucky, in a sense, although if I had a chance to live my time over, I’d want to be born thirty or forty years later than I was. The war caught my generation, and a lot of us died before we had a chance to grow up properly, but I wasn’t one of them. I was in pest control, a rat catcher if you want to look at it that way, which was a reserved occupation, and gave me access to a lot of places other folk weren’t allowed.

  All that time, up until then, I’d never really thought of myself as a ladies’ man. I was a bit shy, and spent a lot of time reading, which never did much to catch the eye of the girls. After the war broke out, it was all different. I was there, and so were they, and often enough with both of us scared out of our wits, which to my surprise made getting what I wanted a lot easier than you’d expect. Don’t get me wrong, I never forced anyone in my life, but when a woman’s trembling scared, it can be quite easy to slip a hand in where it might not otherwise be wanted, especially underground and in the dark. And where your hand goes one night, your cock is quite likely to go the next night, or even five minutes after.

  There was another thing too. During the blitz, you didn’t know if you’d be alive the next day, or the one after, or if you were, whether it wouldn’t be under the Germans. That made it a lot easier for the girls to let their knickers down, and there aren’t many men who won’t take advantage of what’s on offer, war or peace. Between my lot and the Yanks, I reckon half the people born during the war think their father is someone other than who he really is, if you get my meaning. I was always an optimist, me. I reckoned we’d come through OK, and I was more mindful than most of unwanted pregnancies, so I used to bugger them.

  That may sound hard, but, like we used to say, one up the bum, no harm done, and it’s surprising how many of them were all for it, at least, once they’d got used to the sensation. Girls who want to keep themselves pure for their husbands can have fun that way, too, but I’ll come back to that in a bit. First, I want to tell you how I used to do it. It’s not always easy to get your prick in up a girl’s bum. You may need to take her a bit by surprise, but once it’s up I’ve generally found they like it. I always used to cuddle up to them, with her bum in my lap. That always got me hard, double quick, with a nice round bum nestled in my lap. You can kiss their necks easy that way too, which always drives them nuts, and, once they’re randy, it’s a great way to feel their tits and all. A little rummage, skirts up, knickers down, and when their legs come up a bit, you know they’re ready.

  What I used to do then is rub my helmet about in their slits, which makes them as randy as polecats and gets my cock good and slippery for where it’s going. I keep on like that ’til they’re moaning, maybe slip it in up their cunts once or twice, then bumps-a-daisy and I’ve got it in up their bum. Often they didn’t realise I’d done it on purpose, which always gave me a bit of extra time to get it properly in, or if they did complain I’d start arguing the toss about not wanting to make them pregnant and that, which used to distract them while I got it stuck right up.

  Like I say, once they’ve got over their surprise and sometimes a bit of shame, they’re generally up for it, and come back for more as often as not. I’m quite small , which is an advantage as so long as I’ve got it nice and slippery in their cunts, it don’t hurt. When I used to play for my local team I’d get laughed at in the showers sometimes, but I didn’t care, because I’d just think of all those lovely round bums I’d had and all the lovely women who’d surrendered themselves to me.

  You’re probably thinking I’m a bit of a bastard by now, but that’s just the way it was back them. The girls knew the score, and so did we, so if they didn’t want a cock up them, it was best not to go off alone with a young man, and by the same token, if they went off alone with a young man, they expected a cock up them, although I admit not necessarily up their bums. Still, it’s the way I like it, and I don’t have to apologise to anybody, not now.

  My favourites were always the posh ones. You might not think there’d be many, not down the East End where I used to operate, but you’d be wrong. Doing their duty they were, and I’ll bet not one of the prissy little madams you see about the place nowadays would’ve had the guts to go within a million miles of the place. This was during the worst of the blitz, you see, when they were coming over just about every night, but we were getting used to it after a fashion, or at least we knew what to do. That said, it’s amazing what human beings can get used to if they’ve no choice. It was the same in the trenches, so I’m told. The thing being with air raids, you get your head down sharpish, and you’re not too fussy about where, or who with. Now on one occasion they came a bit earlier than usual, which rather took us by surprise, but by good luck I wasn’t too far from a place where I had the key, an underground place.

  I’ll not say where, because with that and the date you could probably figure out who she was, and however big a bastard I may be I do keeps a lady’s name safe. At the time all I knew was that I was about to shut the door when a girl comes running towards me with her coat held over her head, not that it would have done her a lot of good, but our guns had already started up and it might have stopped a smallish bit of shrapnel.

  It was pitch black inside, with no way of making a light, and all I knew was I had a frightened dolly bird with me, clinging on like she was a drowning cat. I gave her all the comfort I could, as you do, and before too long we were kissing and I was starting to wonder if it might not be time to let myself in at her back door. I took it easy, because I could tell from her voice that she was posh, unusually posh, but she didn’t seem to mind, and before long I had her knickers down and my hands full of the sweetest little bum I ever had the pleasure of.

  She had a darling bum, that one, small and round and ever so cheeky, soft like a woman’s bum should be, but not sloppy, and a shape that’d give a four-day corpse the horn. Now I reckon it’s fair to say that by the time their knickers are down they�
��re game, or why else would they let them down? So I turned her round and nuzzled it up between her cheeks, just to let her know what was coming, and when she stuck it out for more, that was that, she was getting it.

  I gave her the usual treatment, pushing my helmet in along her slit and wiggling it about, which got her moaning just like any other, and she was no virgin either, because when I pushed it in, up I went, nice and easy. She felt so good I could have done her that way, and sod the consequences, but I do like to do them up the bum and I couldn’t let one like that get away without a buggering, not on your Nelly. So I slipped my cock out and gave her another rub, just until she was moaning again, then back he goes, all nice and slippery now, only not to her cunt, but right on her arsehole.

  Took her completely by surprise I did. One push and I could feel her opening up around my meat, which is a feeling I love like nothing else. She gives a little squeak of shock, she does, and starts to move about, but that only encourages me. Oh, she was a right wriggler she was, squirming around in my lap and telling me I’d got it in the wrong hole over and over again, not cross exactly, more like in a panic, like when something’s gone wrong and you have to point it out to someone ever so quick or it’ll go a lot wronger. Of course I knew perfectly well I was in the wrong hole, because that’s where I’d intended to put it all along, and with her little bum wiggling and jiggling about in my lap I wasn’t stopping, not for anything. Women don’t know what they do to men, they don’t, wriggling their bums the way they do, and with my cock already half up I’d not have stopped if Adolf himself had come and tapped me on the shoulder.

  I’d got myself about halfway up when she stopped fighting. Just gave in completely she did, with a long sigh. Then she calls me a name I’m surprised she even knew and sticks her bum out again, asking me to put it all in if you please. I tell you, just to hear her say that, in her soft, posh voice, that might have been enough to make me come, right then, if I’d wanted to. I didn’t. I wasn’t going to waste that moment. The bombs had even stopped, very courteous that was, I thought, and so I could give her my undivided attention.

  Bent over a water tank she was, by then, with her bum pushed right out to let me in as deep as I could go and her tits in my hands as I buggered her. I don’t think I’ve ever heard one moan so much, or use such language, even telling me how she could feel her ringpiece pulling about on my meat, and that’s not something you usually heard from a young lady, not then, and I bet not now either. She felt so good too, all hot and tight up her jacksie, and her little soft cheeks pressed up against me, with my hands full of a pair of the sweetest little titties and all. I wanted it to go on for ever, but there’s a point where you just can’t hold yourself anymore, and I gave her my load, right up that darling little bum.

  By that time the all clear had sounded, and as soon as we’d finished she smartens herself up, asks if I’ll wait five minutes before leaving so we’re not seen together, and thanks me for “comforting her”, if you please. I never even knew her name.

  Then there were my regulars. In normal times when a girl gets with you she wants you for herself, but those weren’t normal times. Soldiers and sailors like to think the girls back home are being faithful and all, but it ain’t necessarily so, believe you me. Only they don’t want to get caught, or make a mistake, and that’s where I came in. Three of them, there were, who once they’d got used to taking my cock up their bums just kept on coming back for more. There was Vi, my little blonde, whose old man was on the Rodney, her with sixteen inch guns and no arse. Vi had plenty of arse, like two piglets under a blanket. Just to watch her walk made me hard, with those cheeks wiggling about under her dress, and once I’d got her bare there was no stopping me.

  I met her in a shelter, but we used to do our business at her place off Roman Road. She was funny, she was, very practical, but didn’t like to talk about it, not straight out. Sometimes I’d meet her in the market, or down the Black Horse, but generally I’d walk up her road and if her nets were just a little bit open I’d know it was safe to come in and I’d be welcome. I’d knock on the door and she’d let me in quick for fear of nosy neighbours. We’d talk, just polite, over a cup of tea in her best china or a drop of something I’d managed to get hold of, and then get down to business upstairs, only not in the main bedroom, but a pokey little one she used to keep as spare.

  Like I say, she didn’t like to talk about it, so she’d always drop a hint, like saying she’d managed to get hold of some lard. That meant she had some between her cheeks and was ripe and ready for a buggering. Now I like to see what I’m doing, but she liked to do it in the dark, so we’d compromise, with the gas turned down low and I’d throw her dress up over her head so as she couldn’t see. I can see it like it was yesterday, her kneeling on that bed, always ever so neat, her dress right up high and that lovely round bum sticking up under her slip. She’d stay just like that while I got her bare, bra off, slip turned up and knickers pulled down, so I could see it all and hold her knockers while I had her.

  She always preferred to get herself ready, that one. Reckoned it was more ladylike, I suppose, so once I’d got her knickers down I could see the grease glistening on her ring, which was always just a little bit open, like she’d put her finger up, or maybe it was just because I had my cock up there so often. Anyway, I’d get myself hard over what she was showing and then put it up, nice and slow. She always used to try and keep quiet, like she didn’t want to show how much she was enjoying herself, only she’d soon be moaning. She couldn’t help it, and once I’d got right in, with a tit in each hand and my nuts pushed up against her fanny, then she’d let go, gasping and sobbing, but never once saying a word, except thank you, and that was once I’d done my business.

  Janey was different, a right little tart. In fact she was a tart, sort of, because she liked a few shillings on the mantelpiece after we’d done it, whereas most of the others preferred presents. Not that it made any real odds on cost, and she’d have been worth double. That’s the thing when you’re paying for it, you can ask for what you want and you don’t have to pussyfoot around. With Janey the light stayed on. She only had a couple of rooms, a bit off my usual stamping ground in a block back of Argyll Square with the bog on the balcony and the top of St Pancras Station sticking up over the block of houses opposite. She used to say it was like my cock and she ought to know.

  She was proud of her body, Janey, and she liked to strip. I’d pick up a couple of bottles of beer on my way over and make myself comfortable in this tatty old armchair she had. She’d get my cock out and give it a quick wash with a soapy flannel, then a rinse, then a dry. I’d be half hard by then, what with the way she handled me, but sometimes she’d pop it in her mouth and give me a suck, just to make sure I got going. When I was nice and hard she’d open my beer for me and I’d settle down to watch her strip. She was good, very slow and she knew what I liked. Girls nowadays writhe around like they’re trying to win a dance competition or something, and they’re much too quick. Not Janey. She knew how to tease and she knew what men want. She didn’t mind me touching neither, but then she knew the score.

  First she’d take off her shoes, and believe me, the way she did that could’ve been enough if there’d been nothing else going. Woollen stockings, before the Yanks came over, nylons after, and she used to put one foot up in my lap and wiggle her toes on my cock and push down on my balls a little. Once she even got me right off that way, just to see if she could do it I reckon, with her dainty foot pressed onto my cock and balls and moving back and forth until I couldn’t take it any more. Then she complained because I got it all over her stocking!

  More usually she go the whole way, not nude, because we didn’t usually back then, if only because half the time it was bloody cold. She’d go down to her stockings and stays, with her fanny and tits showing and her bum bare behind. I reckon they look prettier that way. She always wore old-fashioned underwear, old-fashioned even then I mean, big knickers with a frill and a seam up t
he back, and a chemise instead of a bra. Watching her get her chemise off was always good, because she wore it under her stays to keep her comfortable and that meant tugging it out, which would make her tits jiggle like nothing else. Then there were the knickers, which she’d always leave to the last, then peel them down real slow with her bum stuck right out. Sometimes she’d tease, pretending to take them down a few times before she went bare, but she’d always go bare in the end.

  By then I’d be raving, except when I couldn’t hold it and had done it in my hand or all over the back of her knickers, which was quite often. She never took chances, Janey, and it was always straight up her bum. She wasn’t like Vi, not at all. She’d spit on her finger, would Janey, and put it up her hole, right in front of me so I could watch, something else that used to make me pop my rocks quite often. Or she’d use her own juice, because she always got horny, but either way she’d be playing with her hole for a couple of minutes before she was ready.

  Then she’d sit on my lap, the way a girl should, with a bare arse and a cock up her hole. I used to let her control it, because she liked to and because it felt dirty to have her easing my prick up her bum. She’d hold me with one hand, around my balls and cock so I was sticking straight up, and use the other to hold her cheeks apart, with two fingers so I could see her slippery hole and watch my cock go in, real close up, so I could watch her ring push in and then spread out to take me. One my head was in she’d feed me right up, slowly, only letting go when it was all in and she was sat down with her cheeks spread on my legs. Then she’d start to move, up and down, up and down, nice and slow, with her bum stuck out a bit so I could see. Sometimes I’d spunk, because it was just too much, but if I didn’t she’d stop after a bit and sit bolt upright while she got dirty with herself.

  That was always the best, if I could wait that long. A lot of girls had to be shown how to fiddle with themselves back then, and it was all a bit of a mystery. Not Janey, she knew exactly what to do, moaning and wiggling her bum on my cock while fiddling with her fanny, until she got there, and when she did her hole would go tight on my cock. That always made me come. It was like being milked up her bum, and I could never, ever hold myself back. She loved it too, and when she was done she’d give a little satisfied wriggle, and as often as not she’d leave it in while we had a cuddle and shared the rest of my beer.