Chapter 9: Life with Pippa. January 1988-October 1990

As I picked Pippa up from the armchair her mouth had fastened on mine like a love struck limpet. Our tongues delved into each other's mouths, sliding and slithering, as we gave ourselves over to the passion that had been building up since the day we had first met in the White Star cafe. Our teeth clashed; we gasped for air as we kissed, sucked, and licked.

I carried her towards the staircase, in a rather ungainly fashion, her arms around my neck and her legs gripping around my waist like an anaconda snake. I started up the stairs, but John Thomas was now boring into Pippa's silken covered arse, as she had slipped down my body with our movement. She pulled her mouth away from mine, and said in a husky, breathless, voice.

"I'm not going to make it to the bed. Your penis is rubbing my quim, and I'm going to explode."

I'd not heard a cunt called a quim before. Her words, and the manner in which she spoke, further inflamed Mr T, and me. I laid her down on the stairs and she slid swiftly out of her damp knickers, while I managed to wrestle my pants off without doing myself any genital damage.

Pippa took hold of my shaft in her soft cool hand. "You're uncut–marvellous. I love to feel a foreskin move when inside me."

Mr T approved and gave a twitch, and I started leaking pre-come. Pippa rubbed the head of my prick along her swollen labia lips; she was so wet my knob end slid right up and kissed her clit. She gasped. Looking deep into my eyes she placed the head of my prick at her entrance, and then put her mouth to my ear.

She gently bit on the lobe, and breathed. "Riflemen form!"

I slowly eased myself into her, allowing only the knob head to enter her cunt. I pulled back slightly, and she groaned. I slid in her a bit further, half my length was swallowed up by her wet dripping pussy, and as my foreskin rolled back she smiled her pleasure and kissed me. I pulled back, almost to her entrance, and she arched her back and gripped tighter with her legs, to prevent me leaving her body. I had no intention of doing such a stupid thing, and thrusting forward sank Mr T back into her. She moaned, and bit her lip. We looked at each other and smiled; it had been a long time in coming and now we were both relishing the moment.

I withdrew slightly, paused for two or three heartbeats, and then rammed into her, hard and deep, burying Mr T completly in her cunt. I was engulfed by her clinging sweetness -- it was like immersing my prick in a jar of warm honey, no wonder a woman's cunt is also called the honey pot.

My pubic bone was now hard up against her clitoris, which was as swollen as if I had been sucking on it for hours. I ground hard against her love bud, and she started to breath quickly and nosily, her mouth twisted in a grimace of delight.

Then John Thomas let me down. I was determined to bring Pippa to orgasm before I reached that pleasure myself, but I hadn't counted on her educated cunt. It clutched me; it gripped me, it sucked and milked me so expertly that I suddenly came with a yell of both gratification and surprise, as I hadn't expected to climax so quickly. Pippa looked at me; delight, mingled with triumph, on her face as I flooded her with my stored up load. She was still gazing up at me, my twitching prick shrinking inside her, when she reached her own orgasm.

She screwed up her eyes, her mouth opened in a gasp. She writhed, trembled, and shuddered beneath me; her whole body momentarily tensed, before relaxing, and she let out a great groan of pleasure.

We smiled at each other and kissed, with warmth rather than passion, in the knowledge that both of us had achieved that wonderful feeling of mutual release. I carried her up to her bedroom, where we made long, slow, heart stopping and breath taking love, until falling asleep, wrapped together in sated sexual satisfaction.

Happy New Year Dewey!

On the 2nd January, 1988, I applied to live out of barracks. There were never enough married quarters on site, and married men were allowed to live off base as long as they were immediately available, and could get into barracks for morning parade and duties, etc. My application had to be approved by the Lieutenant Colonel of the battalion, which in practical terms meant by the Adjutant (Adj). If he approved the application then it would be rubber stamped by the Colonel.

Harry Ledbetter was acting Adj. and he approved my application immediately. "Glad to see that Mrs Desmond will be joining you, Dave." He said as he signed the form.

"She's not," I admitted. Harry looked up in surprise.

"You mean I've just OK'd this so you can shack up with some Aldershot tart?" He was angry, I couldn't really blame him.

"She's no tart-Sir!" I replied in a military tone. "I intend marrying her-Sir!"

"Bloody hell Dave." Harry put us back on friendship status, "the Old Man will have a blue fit if he finds out you're living off camp with a woman not your wife."

"Others have had permission. What about Yeti Snowdon, and Tango Sylvester? They aren't married to the women they're shacked up with."

"Yes, that's true," agreed Harry," but they're also not married to anyone else. You are."

"There's nothing in Queen's Regulations to say that someone married cannot live off camp with a woman who is not their wife." I had gone over QRs with Rumpole Stillkins, who had actually trained as a lawyer.

"I've approved the damned thing now so it will go up to the Old Man. Just pray he doesn't find out you're living in sin. He will have your guts for garters."

"Well I won't tell him if you don't" I said, a bit cheekily. I'd pulled a fast one on Harry and I felt a bit of a shite for doing it.

Harry gave a sigh and put the form in his out tray. "Are you serious about divorcing ... uh... ? " He cast about for my wife's name and failed.

"Miriam..." I said, " ... and yes, I am definitely thinking of doing it. She has never joined me on camp, and to all intents and purposes we live separate lives."

"Well," said Harry wearily, "I hope you know what you're doing. It's a big step, finishing a marriage." He would know as his marriage had ended shortly after we came back from Germany.

I was down in regimental records as married, and so I didn't think there would be a problem. No one in the battalion had ever met Miriam, and in any case, according to Rumpole, they couldn't charge me for doing anything illegal. Rumpole Stillkins had joined the army after failing his law exams, so maybe he wasn't such a good legal advisor as I had thought.

Once permission to live off camp was granted I would be eligible for Living Out Allowance and ration money; the downside was if I spent any time in barracks overnight I would have to pay for food and lodgings.

I could use the extra cash of the allowances as I had taken out a mortgage to buy my mum's council house. Maggie Thatcher had forced local councils to offer council house tenants the option of buying their homes, at a very good price. It was an offer I couldn't refuse–and my mum was chuffed to buggery to be living in a house owned by her son–well it would be mine when I paid off the mortgage.

Telling Harry I intended marrying Pippa was right off the top of my head when he had called her a tart. I certainly hadn't thought about it before then, and it had surprised me as much as it had surprised Harry. However as time went by, and as I got to know her better, in all the meanings of the word, I began to think that it would be a bloody good move on my part.

Pippa was turning out to be the woman of my dreams; in fact of most men's dreams. She was sexily attractive, an excellent cook, she had a beautiful smile, a life affirming laugh, and a great sense of humour. She was extremely bright, in fact clever to the point of being a near genius, and she was an absolute genius in the sex department.

The first six weeks of living with her were non-stop shagging. We did it everywhere in the house, in every position known to man, and some I think we invented. We just couldn't get enough of each other. As soon as I came through the door after work Pippa would throw herself into my arms, and fill my mouth with her thrusting tongue.We would then make wild, abandoned, passionate love, rutting like dogs in heat. Sometimes we took it more slowly, but we always ensured that we both climaxed simultaneously, receiving and giving double the pleasure.

Our mingled juices soaked into carpet, cushions, couch, and bed sheets. The upholstery and carpets needed cleaning practically every week, and Pippa was always washing bed linen.

I didn't have any duties in barracks, or any field exercises, manoeuvres or detachments for those first six weeks of us living together. This was wonderful, as it allowed us an uninterrupted period of time to adjust to each other's foibles and quirks, which can always be a problem in the first months of a relationship. Neither of us had very much experience of actually having a close relationship with someone, other than just shagging them. Pippa and her former husband had lived separate lives soon after their marriage, whilst Miriam and I had led separate lives for all of our marriage. Although I had spent as much time off duty as I could with Annalise it was not really living with her as I only stayed overnight with her when on leave.

Pippa and I soon discovered that we shared similar tastes, in music, books, and humour, and of course, most importantly, sex. Those six weeks were probably the happiest period I had ever spent, as we got to know each other, and found we liked what we found.

However even in paradise there were problems. The main and major problems were the times we were apart. Although I was based in Aldershot there were numerous times when I was away from the place, sometimes as long as six weeks at a time, as when I attended the SNCO's course at Brecon. I had managed to get home to Pippa at weekends for the first 4 weeks of that course, which was mainly administration, and tactical paper exercises, based at Dering Lines in Brecon itself. However the final 2 weeks were spent up on the training area at Sennybridge, where we did the tactical exercises for real, living out in the field for the whole two weeks, up against the Gurkha's, who were acting as 'the enemy'.–And bloody hard work it was too.

Pippa had found the separations difficult to handle. "I was just getting used to having you around the house, and between my sheets and my thighs, and then you swan off to play soldiers" she complained. We were entangled in a sweaty love knot, after a hectic bout of sexual activity, at the time.

Pippa was usually gentle, soft and slow, in her love making, but after a separation she was like a tiger. She would ravish me as soon as I got in the house; tearing at me with her nails during her climax, gripping with surprising strength with her thighs, as she bucked and heaved on top of me. Oh yes, she always wanted to be on top at these times, which at first I quite enjoyed. However I came to realise she was punishing me, for leaving her on her own, rather than loving me on my return. I can hear you all saying 'some punishment, being fucked by some hot, sex-hungry, woman as soon as you get through the front door'.

After some detachments, when I'd been running about like a blue-arsed fly for a week or more, all I wanted to do when I first got home was to have a bath or shower, preferably with Pippa soaping me all over, followed by a quiet drink with her sat in my lap, and then a slow gentle night of lovemaking, with me calling all the shots. We often spent our evenings in this way, it wasn't always 'fucking our brains out' sex, except after I'd been away.