Tonight was one of those nights that in the past few months Second Lieutenant Theodore Stevenson had come to describe as quiet: although when was it ever truly quiet on the Western Front? He could still hear the spasmodic rat-a-tat of distant machine gun fire; the occasional whoosh of a sniper's bullet; and the muffled screams of agony and despair from a lone brave soldier lost in No-Man's Land. But mostly what the lieutenant heard as he strode along the trenches at night was the gentle rhythm of a soldier's snore or the paper-rustle of a letter either being read (and re-read) or being written.
But as the lieutenant turned the sharp bend into the next trench, what he now could hear was both unexpected and rather unfamiliar.
At first, the officer was unsure of the source of what he could hear. Was it the scurry of rats? Was it coming from a brave wounded soldier determined to smother his moans? Was it perhaps the slap of a domino onto a flat board? For these were what it sounded most like.
But it was none of these things. As the lieutenant could tell as his eyes adjusted to the gloom, the slatted walls of the trench he'd entered were lined with the shadows of squatting soldiers in the midst of which and for their fellows' entertainment were two men actively indulging in horseplay—and such queer horseplay at that!
One man had pressed himself against the trench wall, his britches about his ankles and an arse that would be brazenly on parade to any man that wished to admire it, except that it was immediately obscured by another man's arse, also bare, that was jerking back and forth upon it with an urgent machine-gun rhythm.
And the lieutenant was as sure as he could be that the man whose arse was most on display was giving the other (hidden) arse a right old imperial buggering.
Theo wasn't at all sure what he should do. He'd always been aware that such horsing around went on, of course, as it had at his old public school; although not between him and his school-chums. Theo had heard tell of how a senior boy or prefect might use his prerogative to take advantage of the prettiest fags. However much Theo might have been tempted by the pleasures of such horse-play, the opportunity had never come his way before and, in any case, he was betrothed to darling Susanne: a bonny lass from Kincardineshire whose family was both well-connected and long-acquainted with his own. Although she was as prim and matronly in her youth as a woman of more senior years might be and possessed of a laugh more like that of a horse than a demure young lady, she was the lass to whom he was content to one day be able to call his own.
"Would you like a ride, sir?" asked one of the soldiers crouched in the shadow of the trench, his face lit up by the smouldering embers of his hand-rolled cigarette. His East London consonants were like gravel in the lieutenant's ears. "I'm sure Dobby won't mind. He's a champion for a buggering, sir."
"I'm not sure if I should..." Theo protested, mostly with respect to his elevated rank and class. Was it right for a man of his status to sully his member in the darker confines of an artisan's most private orifice?
"You don't have to worry about the rest of us, sir," continued the soldier, gesturing towards his grinning comrades. "We none of us mind, sir. Not one bit of it. We've all had our turn at Dobby's arse. And he's had a good rogering in all of ours. We've all been pals a long time, so we know what's what..."
"We do that, sir," said another soldier squatting beside the first, face shadowed by a steel helmet and fist gripping his erect penis. "We all come from the Brickworks Lane down in Bethnal Green. When Kitchener came a-calling we all signed up together, we did. We're the Brickworks Lane Pals and together we're thicker than thieves ..."
"...Not that any one of us is less than honest, you understand, sir," said a third soldier whose voice grated equally as much the first two soldiers. "We all love an ale in the New Inn, followed by jellied eel and mash, and then a bit of rough and tumble afore heading back to the missis..."
"...Or the sweetheart, sir," chimed in a fourth soldier.
"But we all relish a sausage between the cheeks or prime brown sauce on the purple crown..."
"Don't you do also, sir?" asked the first soldier.
"Well, of course, private," Theo said to emphasise his superior rank. "What man wouldn't? But this is a war. We've got Huns to kill. Fritz could catch us all with our pants down."
"Not before we've got Fritz's bollocks between our teeth and given him the most brutal buggering a Hun could ever suffer."
"Come on, sir," said the first soldier. "Breezy's just about shed his load—look at all that fertile seed he's shed on the muddy Flemish soil!—and knowing Dobby: after only two cocks in the arse and one knob in the mouth, he'll still be begging for a buggering."
"Please, sir," said Private Dobson himself who was standing to attention in front of the lieutenant with his britches removed and his penis proud and erect and bent slightly to the left. "I ain't never had quality up my jacksie. Officer spunk is all a man needs before he clambers over the top."
"It'd be the sending off that Dobby needs," said the soldier known as Breezy who was now wiping a pale trail of semen off the tip of his flaccid penis. "It won't be many more days till the next push, sir. You can't deny Dobby a shot of best quality gentlemen's cream."
From the way Breezy was describing it, Theo felt that it would indeed be churlish to deny a soldier what he desired: especially when the throbbing of his erect penis was telling him that this pleasure would be shared at least equally between them. But Theo had never fucked a man before. He'd dallied with doxies and strumpets, but what man hadn't? A few shillings was all it cost to relieve his inner tubes of the seed that the Holy Bible forbid a man from wasting on barren soil. But a man's arse was a different matter. Even dallying with a trollop's buttocks with whip and cane and a satisfying release between battered and blue-striped cheeks was a lesser pleasure than that of a man's brawny arse.
