Chapter 34: Greater Love Hath No Man

May Day dawned bright and sunny. Spring had sprung, and I waved Meg and Mo off from my apartment on a glistening morning after a fun filled night of fornication with the pair. We had attended a corporate hospitality event the day before which had finished earlier than anticipated. I dropped the other girls off at their flats, and brought Megan and Maureen back to Iver. It was Mo's birthday, so I treated her and Meg to a dinner at the Trattoria di Stephano, before taking the pair back to mine for more eating out, and our now customary three-way fuck fest.

The two girls assumed the 69 position, and I positioned myself, kneeling behind the girl on top. As it was Mo's birthday she had pole position —pun.

Due to my inability to deliver more than one discharge a night we had worked out a routine; a game of musical orifices, where I was presented with three holes to fill; anus and vagina of the girl on top, and the mouth of the girl beneath.

The top girl, in this case Mo, had the remote control for my CD player close to hand, her mouth of course was engaged in licking and sucking on Megan's minge, and also her bottom if Mo could extend her tongue far enough.

Top girl would press the on button and music would play —the choice of music was usually Megan's. My prick would be placed into one of the two orifices of the top girl by the hand of the bottom girl, and I would merrily pump away until top girl pressed the pause button on the remote, whereupon bottom girl would remove me from which ever hole of the top girl she had first placed me and suck me into her mouth.

The music would recommence, and I would have my cock sucked until the music was again paused, and my appendage was then slid into top girl's vagina or anus — bottom girl had to remember where she had last parked me.

During such an evening of musical appreciation, punctuated by having my prick sucked, licked, kissed, gobbled, squeezed and clenched, I managed to build up a substantial head of steam. The game ended when I blew my wad.

Everyone was a winner in this contest; I got my rocks off — if only the once, one of the girls received a hot sperm delivery in one of her three holes, and the other had an eating out from me as second prize. In fact I would usually give both girls a good licking and sucking as they both had very tasty twats.

The three-way brought back memories of Belfast, with Gino Frascetti and me tangled in lust with the two randy cousins, Francine and Rita.

I felt a pang of remorse thinking where Gino was now, and where I was, having my cock enthusiastically gobbled in Meg's avid mouth. However, I knew Gino would always find a willing and available woman no matter wherever he was dumped, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was engaged in a similar activity somewhere in Afghanistan.

The music stopped, and Meg disengaged my prick from her mouth and slid me into Mo's cunt. All thoughts of Gino disappeared as I was drawn deep into her velvet flesh lined tube of delight.

Afterwards, well sated and satisfied after a round of musical holes, we fell asleep in my king sized bed. With all the changes of venue for my prick it had taken quite a while to build up to my climax, making extra time for extra pleasure. Next morning I cooked the pair breakfast before ordering a taxi to take them to Iver railway station. They lived in Hayes, which was only a few stops up the line towards London.

As Megan kissed me goodbye, she said, "The waitress in the restaurant last night was giving me and Mo the evil eye. I reckon she fancies you, and was warning us off."

"Annamarie is not a waitress, she's the daughter of the owners and helps out in the restaurant when she's home from working on cruise ships as a deputy purser. As for her fancying me, that's bloody ridiculous. I've known her since she was at school, and I look on her as a sister."

Megan grinned. "She's hot for you, Des, and certainly doesn't regard you as a big brother; take my word for it. She's a very sexy piece of goods, and me and Mo wouldn't mind if she joined in with us for a foursome some evening."

Mo nodded eagerly. "She looks to be a hot blooded sort of girl. Italian or Greek I suppose?"

"You're winding me up, girls. Annemarie is far too young for me, and anyway she has a boyfriend on the cruise ship where she works."

Megan and Maureen glanced at each other and laughed. "It's amazing that even a switched on bloke like Des doesn't pick up the signals when a girl wants a shagging," Megan said. "She's waiting for you to make a move on her, Des. She's ready, ripe, and randy, and will probably blow your mind once you get her knickers off."

They waved as they got into the lift, and I wondered if they were right about Annamarie or were just pulling my pisser.

Whatever thoughts I might have had on the availability of Annamarie were swept from my mind when I switched on the TV for the mid-day news.

The tasty female newsreader, the one with the sexy voice and big tits, had her serious face on. "The Ministry of Defence have issued the following statement regarding the incident near Lashkar Gah in Helmand province earlier today." She glanced at the auto cue. "This morning, at six hundred hours local time, an armoured vehicle of ISAF was blown up by a suspected IED. Three of the seven occupants were killed instantly and the other four injured, two of them severely. Next of kin have been informed. Further details will be released after a full investigation into the incident has taken place."

I sat in front of the TV, my eyes unseeing and my ears deaf to what else the newsreader said. I felt in my water the APC was from 4 Rifles, formerly 2 RGJ, Gino Frascetti's unit. I looked at the telephone, debating whether to ring the Regimental association to get more details. If next of kin had been informed then the welfare unit of the association would have been alerted, and might pass on the names of the squaddies involved. I hoped against hope it was none of my friends still serving in the Rifles, although only Gino and a few others were left of those I had known in 2001. My hand reached for the handset and I quickly keyed in the number of the regimental association's London office — the line was engaged. Of course, there would be dozens of former Greenjackets going through the same routine as me. I sat back, and then decided to go for a run to clear my head from the previous night's activities, and to plan my next action.

On my return to the apartment I had a swift shower, then wrote an email to the association asking for details of those killed and wounded in the incident.

Two hours later a reply landed in my in-tray. For several minutes I dithered, half afraid of what I might learn, but then I bit the bullet and opened the message.

'Killed:

Corporal Thomas Catesby; Rifleman Vincent Singleton; Rifleman James Tatler.

Seriously Wounded:

Rifleman Michael Briggs; Rifleman Shane Lennon.

Severely wounded:

Rifleman Eric Donaldson; Staff Sergeant Gianlucca Frascetti.'

The screen of my PC monitor blurred as tears filled my eyes. Whether in relief that Gino was alive, if wounded, or because Tabby Catesby, who had been in my section in Bosnia, and Toddy Singleton, the boy with the dyslexic tongue, who had been with me in the First Gulf War, were dead. It was probably a mixture of both.

My first thoughts were for Gina. 4 Rifles had been stationed in Paderborn, Germany, before their deployment to Afghanistan, and Gina would probably be in married quarters there, unless she had come over to the UK to stay with her in-laws in Barking during Gino's absence. Either way, I didn't have the guts to pay her a visit or even telephone.

For the next few days I was in a waking dream, and drove the Shagging Waggon on autopilot, my mind filled with thoughts of Gino, and the last time I had seen him. Did he have a premonition when we had last met at Catterick? He had certainly been in a strange mood.

"Come on, Des. Get fucking, and get me off." Izzy's voice held an edge of annoyance. We were in my bed, and I was in her, but not with her.

I made a few more ineffectual thrusts, but my heart wasn't in it, and Izzy could tell. "OK, Des ... another no show." She pushed me off her and sat up.

"I know you're upset about your friends, " she flicked my limp prick, "but you are no good to me, or any of the girls, with a cock like this." She gazed at me with a pity her eyes. "Ask Baz for some time off. You need to get your act together."

"Shall I use my tongue on you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No, Des. I can see you are not really interested in sex at the moment, and have other things on your mind. I want a man who has nothing on his mind other than giving me a good hard shagging, or a mega eating out." She got dressed, then gave me a hug and a kiss and left.

I took her advice and asked Baz for a few days leave.

"Take as much time as you need, Dave. I know you've been hard hit by what's happened to your mates."

On the day the bodies of those killed were repatriated I stood, tears streaming down my face, as Tabby Catesby and Toddy Singleton's hearses paused in Wootton Basset High Street, allowing flowers to be placed on the coffins.

There were many former Greenjackets present, including Toby Belcher, Spud Aytoe, and a dreadlocked Jetex Jackson, all of who had retired from the army several years previously. Toby appeared worn thin by exhaustion, but nevertheles extremely pleased with his life; being married to a female twenty years his junior no doubt accounted for both his exhaustion and his pleasure. After the cortege had passed, and the TV and newspaper men had finished badgering the relatives, the bunch of ex- Greenjackets went and had a farewell drink in the Wheatsheaf. Reminiscences of times past, and happy memories of the departed, took an edge off our pain, but of course the pain for Tabby and Toddy's wives and children would never ease.

Those severely or seriously wounded in Iraq and Afghanistan were transferred from Camp Bastion to a hospital in the UK when fit enough to travel.

Seriously wounded were those with the potential, or actual, loss of one limb; severely wounded encompassed those who had, or may, lose two or more limbs. Gravely wounded usually meant limb loss and/or head wounds/ internal organ damage, and these were flown back to UK in what were flying hospitals, with doctors and nurses in attendance, sometimes lifesaving operations being carried out during the flight.

More details of the incident which had caused so many causalities emerged.

The APC, which was on its way to resupply a forward position, ran over either an old anti-tank mine or unexploded bomb, which had been lying undisturbed since the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan during the 1980's.

The vehicle was torn apart by the resulting explosion.

Toddy Singleton was driving, Tabby Catesby was in the gunner's position and Gino had been in the commander's position.

The four riflemen in the back had been thrown violently against the armoured sides of the vehicle, sustaining broken bones, and in Rifleman Tatler's case a broken neck, plus all seven occupants suffering the effects of blast.

After the repatriation of the bodies I returned to work, but I was still one of the walking dead for several days, having no reaction in the groin area when the girls kissed me, or flashed their legs or their tits.

Gradually life returned, and after Natalie had gobbled me to an erection in the Shagging Waggon I drove her back to mine to fulfil the promise. It was a false dawn. What wood I sprouted when she stripped off disappeared before I could even insert the tip.

Natalie was as good as gold. "No probs, Des. Get your magic tongue working; you'll soon bring me off."

Thankfully I was ready, willing, and able to give her several mini climaxes.

At least the spirit was willing even if the flesh was weak.

Over the next few days I occasionally managed to fully penetrate my partner in fornication, even firing a meagre spurt into Megan during a threesome with her and Maureen, but it had been a slow and laborious job getting to blast off.

It was a Wednesday morning when the telephone call came which changed my life.

The evening before I had taken four of Butcher's Babes to a high class orgy at a gentlemen's club in Mayfair. The four girls, Mo, Meg, Elizabeth, and Sylvia, had been extensively and strenuously employed, so much so the two M's were too exhausted to come back to mine. However, I was surprised, but delighted, when Elizabeth invited herself. She and I met occasionally after work, not just for sex, which was generally of the romantic and slow build variety, but she also enjoyed watching the ice hockey at Slough Ice Arena. After an evening of watching hunks smashing into each other she would come back to mine for me to smash into her. This time hadn't been exactly smashing, as once again to fully puck her (that is not a typo) I had to resort to my tongue.

Next morning, after a late and a leisurely breakfast, I had just seen her off in a taxi when the phone rang.

"Colour Sergeant Frascetti has been transferred from Camp Bastian to Selly Oak Hospital, and is asking for you to visit him," a voice said.

I had picked up on the first ring, expecting it to be Izzy making a date, but instead it was a call from the Rifles/Greenjacket regimental association HQ in London, a Colonel Blakemore, who continued, "According to the hospital staff he has refused to have anyone, including his family, visit him, but has repeatedly asked for Dewey Desmond. We checked our records and discovered he was referring to you, Mister Desmond."

"Why me? We were at the junior leaders together, but have only served together on a few occasions."

"I have no idea, Mister Desmond. I am repeating what the nursing staff have told us. It seems Colour Frascetti is in a bad way; both his legs having been amputated above the knee, besides suffering some intestinal damage. The nursing staff say his mental state is causing more concern than his physical state at the moment, and are asking that you make a visit ASAP."

"Where's Selly Oak?" I asked.

"It's in the Birmingham conurbation. Can I report to the hospital you will be visiting Colour Sergeant Frascetti in the near future? I have a number you should call to give them prior notice of your visit. Security is tight on the ward dealing with our chaps returning from Afghanistan and Iraq."

I agreed to make the journey to Birmingham, and he gave me the number to contact the military ward at the hospital. I rang and gave my name, and was immediately put through to a well-spoken female military medical officer.

We arranged my visit for the next day. I rang Baz for more time off, which he granted, but I had to do a delivery of four girls to a corporate nibbles do before catching the 4 pm train from Euston to Snow Hill station in Birmingham.

14th May, 2009: Selly Oak Hospital, Birmingham, England.

I hardly recognised Gino. He was in a room on his own, a High Dependency Unit, and attached to monitors and IV drips. He appeared shrunken, and so much older than when last seen some three months previously. Of course the number of tubes attached to him didn't help. I sat by his bed, and his eyes opened. The pleasure showing on his face when he saw me was worth the effort of getting to the hospital.

"Dewey, mate. I knew you'd turn up." He lifted a hand and I grasped it, willing my strength into him. He sat up, indicating I should place pillows behind him, which I did. He looked ghastly; black rings like a panda around sunken, bloodshot eyes, with deep lines of pain etched on his chalk white face.

Only his voice, although weaker, held any remembrance of the Gianlucca Frascetti I knew.

"Has Captain Starched Knickers seen you yet?" he asked; my blank expression gave him my answer. "Well, she will probably nab you before you leave this evening, and ask you to persuade me to allow Gina and the kids to visit."

His children were twins, Claudia and Roberto, and could hardly be described as kids as they were both in their first year at university.

"But your family will want to see you how you are, Gino. They will be out of their minds with worry."

His face flushed. "No bloody way, Dewey, do I want them to see me like this. Promise me you won't agree to her plan." He gripped my arm with surprising strength, and could feel his digging fingers through the material of my jacket.

"OK Gino, if that's what you want."

He gave a slight smile. "Captain Starched Knickers is the Senior Nursing Officer on the ward. Two months ago I would have had them knickers off her and been up her cunt faster than a rat up a drain pipe to give her a fucking she'd remember for the rest of her life."

"I take it Starched Knickers isn't the Captain's given name?"

"No, it's Vanessa Nightingale; the poor cow didn't have much of a choice of career with a surname like that." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Visiting hours finish in just over an hour's time. We aren't allowed any visitors after twenty hundred hours. Can you stay overnight in Brum, and come visit me tomorrow? The visiting hours are ten hundred hours to noon, and then seventeen to twenty hundred."

I hadn't booked any overnight accommodation, but had contemplated having to do so and had located a Premier Inn a few blocks away from the hospital. "Yeah, I've got a couple of days off work."

"Good, I want you to meet a bloke this evening. Lenny Benson is an army medical orderly here at the hospital, and he has a plan to help me out..."

"Help you out of where?" I said, puzzled.

"Out of here. Out of my fucking pain, and out of my fucking miserable existence." His voice had regained the force and intensity of the old Gino.

"You mean... ?"

He nodded and expelled a breath. "Yes, I do. Bloody right I do. Only a real mate like you will do what I want, Dewey. There's no one else I'd trust to do it." The yearning expression on his face tore at my guts.

"But Gino, what about your wife and family? You can't just leave them. Give it time and you'll get a pair of legs. They can do marvellous things with prosthetics these days."

Gino laugh was more a harsh bark. "Can they fit me with a prosthetic dick and balls, Dewey? It wasn't just my legs that got mangled in the explosion."

His voice caught. "My prick and bollocks went at the same time, and without a prick a man isn't a man. I love to fuck, and lived to fuck. I don't want to live the rest of my life as a eunuch. Gina deserves more than that; she loves fucking as much as I do, and the frustration would destroy her."

"Hold up, Gino. There's more to marriage than sex. You and Gina love each other; respect one another, there are many ways to satisfy a woman other than with a prick..."

"Fuck off, Dewey. A man is designed to plug a woman with a prick. Tongues and fingers might get a woman off but it don't get me off." He gave a wicked grin, a sign of the old Gino. "Are you having problems in the bedroom department, you poor old sod?" He was about two months younger than me and teased me about my advanced years. He saw from my face I had, and burst out laughing.

"I bloody well thought so; either that or you've been listening to the gospel according to Saint Cantgetitup, the patron saint of eunuchs and the impotent."

To please him, and to steer him away from delving further into my sex life, or rather the lack of it— Gino was extremely perceptive when it came to matters of a sexual nature — I agreed to meet this Lenny bloke.

My instructions were worthy of MI6. I had to meet Lenny in The Navigator, a canal side pub. There are more miles of canals in Birmingham than in Venice, but fortunately the pub was only a kick up the arse from the Bull Ring, the centre of the city, and should be easily found.

"So how do I hook up with this Lenny geezer?" I asked.

"Sit in the pub at a table by the big window, which is supposed to be like a stained glass window with a barge depicted on it." Gino raised a rueful smile. "I've not been out and about much recently to know if that's pukka. Lenny will arrive at nine, and he will recognise you from the description I gave him. A tall, skinny, pug ugly bastard with a long nose."

I laughed. "That's me to a tee, Gino."

He had regained the verve and spirit of old now I had agreed to meet the mysterious Lenny, and we spent the rest of the time until visiting hours ended reminiscing, and laughing of our times together. As I stood up to leave the room he said, "I knew I could stand on you, Dewey. You're the best mate a bloke could have."

I hesitated. "I've agreed to meet Lenny, but haven't said I'll do anything ... illegal."

He nodded. "Yes, but you will when Lenny explains it all to you. I'm relying on you, Dewey, mate."

A tall, dark haired, slim and attractive female, dressed in the uniform of the Queen Alexandra's Royal Army Nursing Corps, who I took to be Captain Starched Knickers, stopped me as I walked along the corridor towards the lift and exit. As soon as she spoke I recognised the well-spoken voice on the phone when I first made my call to the hospital.

"I'm so glad you could make it, Mister Desmond. Staff Sergeant Frascetti expressly forbade visitors, other than you. It is his prerogative, of course, but at times like these patients need all the support friends and family can provide. I hope you can persuade him to change his mind?"

She gazed at me with such intensity in her beautiful blue grey eyes that I nodded my head. "I'll be back tomorrow and do my best, Captain..."

She held out an elegant hand. "Vanessa, Vanessa Nightingale." Her laugh tinkled like a silver bell. "Not related to The Nightingale, unfortunately." We shook hands and she accompanied me to the lift. "I hope to see you tomorrow, then, Mister Desmond."

"Des," I said as the lift arrived. She gave me a smile which brightened the corridor, and then swept away, not so much with a swish of starched knickers but with the sibilant whisper of silken lingerie.

I took a taxi to the Navigator pub, and had finished a tasty plateful of fish, chips and mushy peas when Lenny Benson arrived. I had noticed him when he first entered the bar, a small, quick, ferrety sort of man, carrying a small holdall.

He was how I imagined a bookie's runner looked in the days before street book makers became legitimate. He had taken a swift scan of the room before making his way straight to my table. He sat down and offered his hand.

"Lenny. You're Dewey — right?"

I nodded, and thought for him to tag me straight away I must really be a tall, skinny, pug ugly, long nosed bastard.

"Your mate Gino is the bravest bloke I've come across during my fifteen years in the army, six of those attached to the Paras," Lenny said, then turned towards the bar and called out, "Two pints of Mild and Brazen when you're ready, Tracy love."

The plump, attractive, girl behind the counter gave a smile. "Just a mo', Lenny, and I'll be right with you."

He faced me. "You'll love this pint, Dewey. It will put muscles on your spit."

I wasn't sure if I wanted muscles on my spit, but smiled and nodded.

He leaned towards me and spoke in a low voice. "Gino's had most of his lower intestine shredded, and has now got more catgut holding it together than in the string section of the Berlin Philharmonic. He is in constant pain; we give him as much morphine as allowed but most of the time he is in agony."