November 1917
Marchwood had had very little experience of sex, in fact before coming out to France he had been a complete virgin. That had changed when the neighbouring French division had sent their mobile brothel to visit his own regiment as a gesture of good will. Three carts looking rather like the bathing machines he had seen on holiday in Brighton had rolled into their camp driven by French 'poilus'. There was great excitement among the men, especially when four women, presumably the prostitutes provided by the French, climbed down from the waggons. The women were rather garishly made up and not desperately attractive apart from one who looked a little younger and less raddled than her companions.
That night the three waggons were lined up and a queue formed in front of each one guarded by the burly poilus and a detachment of British military police. Underwood had informed him that each man was allowed five minutes with his chosen whore before he was replaced by the next customer. Marchwood desperately wanted to lose his virginity but wondered whether this was the ideal manner in which to do so. Underwood reassured him that the best-looking whore was reserved for officers and she was established in a private room in the local bar, ready to entertain customers. Soon Underwood and Marchwood were installed in the bar along with about a dozen other officers from the battalion. Underwood bought Marchwood a beer with whisky chaser and advised him to down them as they might have a bit of a wait.
Eventually, after several more drinks, Underwod announced that it was their turn and that he would allow Marchwood to go first. He had drunkenly staggered up the stairs to the room where he had been directed and then knocked on the door.
"Entrez!" came a shout from within.
Inside the room was gloomy with just single lamp turned down low. There was a smell of stale sweat and cheap perfume. For a moment Marchwood considered turning tail and fleeing. The whore seemed busy washing herself at the nightstand and Marchwood was a little relieved that she at least cleansed herself in some way between customers. He wondered whether the three whores out in the waggons servicing the other ranks were quite so fastidious. The whore crossed towards him wearing nothing but a silky dressing gown which was open at the front revealing a pair of well-shaped breasts above an expanse of pale belly and then a dark triangular matt of hair below.
"You are ready Monsieur?" she asked and without waiting for a reply she removed his tunic. She pulled his braces from his shoulders and unbuttoning his breeches pulled them down to his knees along with his underwear.
She dropped to her knees and taking hold of his partially hardened prick examined it for a moment then wrapped her lips around it. Marchwood could not believe it. He had heard whispers about whores and loose women sucking men's cocks at school and his chum Babcock Minor had explained that this process was called fellatio but he had never dreamed that he would enjoy this pleasure himself.
The whore was not exactly beautiful and her lips were painted into a bow in the most garish shade of red, along with the most ridiculously deep pink patches on her cheeks. However, for a moment this did not matter as she began to bob her head up and down on his cock, producing the most glorious sensations in his loins. In the front line there was little opportunity to gain any kind of sexual relief and even when the battalion withdrew for rest periods, he usually found himself sharing accommodation with his fellow officers. He had filched a few naughty postcards from his father's collection of pornography, which he in his turn had inherited from his grandfather. These provided a little stimulation, which helped him to relieve himself from his sexual frustration in the rare moments when found enough privacy to frig himself to a climax. One card especially, showing a lady bending over and being penetrated in her smaller orifice from behind, he found deliciously stimulating and this fuelled a whole series of fantasies involving him buggering beautiful women he had known.
Marchwood would have liked to ask the whore if she would permit him to explore her tight rear entrance but his French was not really up to it and he felt rather shy about doing so. In the event the action of her lips and tongue on his now rampant prick was bringing him closer and closer to ejaculation. He desperately tried to hold back as he hoped to use this opportunity to 'go all the way' with a woman. Thankfully just as he felt he would be unable to hold out any longer the woman pulled away. He was a little taken aback when she crossed to her nightstand and unwrapped a 'French letter' from its packaging. Before he could say anything she quickly unrolled it over his rampant cock. He was not entirely surprised as the army issued every soldier with a pack of these sheaths. Veneral disease was rampant in the ranks, so it was probably a sensible precaution to use one.
The whore jumped on the bed and lay there, her legs akimbo, presumably waiting for him to mount her. He climbed out of his breeches and tentatively climbed between her legs. Although he had long ago cleared up his confusion over how many holes a woman possessed between her legs, he was still slightly vague about how to enter a woman. To his relief the whore seized his throbbing penis and gently guided into the richly forested crevice between her legs. The sensation of sinking his prick into that velvet sheath for the first time was exquisite. He tried to push the thought from his mind that this woman had already been penetrated numerous times that night by his fellow officers or that her vagina was so well lubricated thanks to their previous emissions. Instead, he began to thrust into her and the feeling was quite unlike anything else, certainly far superior to the basic pleasure of pumping himself with his own hand.
He accelerated his thrusts. He could feel a mounting wave of pleasure and although he would have liked to have prolonged the experience, he sensed there was no turning back. With a sudden rush he felt his sperm erupt from inside him and flood the sheath. He wanted to lay inside her for a few moments and enjoy the afterglow of his first fuck but he felt the woman squeezing the base of the sheath and easing him from her body. She skilfully removed it from his cock and dropped it into a chamber pot by the bed, which he noticed contained a number of other well-filled prophylactics.
"Merci monsieur et au revoir," the whore whispered motioning him to pick up his clothes and dress himself.
This he did, wondering what the etiquette was for taking leave of a lady of the night. He knew that the whores were provided free by the French army but he wondered whether he should leave a tip. In the end he embarrassedly thrust a couple of francs into the woman's hands and fled. He found Underwood in the bar just finishing his beer.
"I say old man, how was it?" he asked.
"Oh absolutely first class," Marchwood responded, uncertain what to say.
Underwood quickly took his leave, not wanting lose his place as the next customer. Marchwood ordered himself a beer and sat alone with his thoughts. He felt a sudden rush of elation, He had finally lost his virginity and this rite of passage meant that, somehow, he felt a man at last. On the other hand, the whole experience seemed to have passed in a whirl and been far too quick. He wanted to make a love to a woman in a leisurely fashion and explore every corner of her body. This hurried copulation had certainly satisfied his physical needs but he craved something more.
Paris, April 1918
It was on that leave in Paris that he really first began to understand the true variety of pleasure which lovemaking could offer. It was that memory which finally calmed his shaking that afternoon in the hospital, although it aroused him in other ways. When he and Underwood received the news that they were to be granted two days leave Underwood immediately proposed that they spend it in Paris. They caught a crowded train the next day, which was much delayed but eventually by early afternoon they disembarked at the Gare du Nord. They immediately found a cafe and ordered a slap-up lunch and a fine bottle of Bordeaux. They managed to find a cheap hotel and dumped their kit bags before heading off to see the sights, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and a quick tour of the Louvre. Eventually they were back in a café drinking cafés au lait and discussing how they would spend their evening.
"For myself, I have to say I am in desperate need of a good fuck," announced Underwood.
"So, are you suggesting we find ourselves a couple of girls?" Marchwood asked.
He had no idea where they might find a couple of girls who would be willing to sleep with them, no less of how to persuade them to do so but he was happy to go along with any suggestions from his chum Grafton.
"Well, that's a possibility," Underwood replied, "but it would probably be quicker and simpler if we just made straight for the most exclusive bordello in Paris."
"Oh, have you visited it before then?" Marchwood asked excitedly.
"Only once on a previous leave but it was an incredible experience. I got introduced to the place by an Artillery Captain who I met on leave. Apparently, it was a favourite of the late King when he visited Paris," Underwood explained.
They ate an early dinner and then Underwood led the way towards Pigalle where the bordello was located. A large swarthy African guarded the door but Underwood whispered something in his ear and they were swiftly admitted into the hallway. A large blowsy woman sat behind a desk for all the world as if she were the concierge of some hotel. Underwood spoke to her in his perfect French and she indicated that they should follow her. She led them into a large salon furnished with Louis XV style furniture. The walls were decorated in luxurious wallpaper with huge damask drapes covering the windows and statues of cupids and Venus stood around the walls. On couches around the room lounged a variety of French, British and other assorted officers and civilians, many of them accompanied by young ladies in varying states of deshabille.
