The Navy Diary - Chapters 1 - 8

By IanHamshaw2

Chapter one

Cigarette 15 or maybe 17? Regardless of the count my lungs were repelling the smoke. My body began its simple anti tobacco mechanism; the cough. Once the cough started, fuck knows when it would end. The cough cared not for time or location, its sole focus was to create space in my lungs. I never thanked the cough for the relief it would eventually deliver. I simply went red attempting to suck in air; no gasp for air, the tiniest morsel of oxygen. I will never smoke again if I get through this. Deep intakes producing harrowing wheezing sounds happened time and time again as I wished I was free from this curse.

Never again I thought, fuck this habit. I did not believe this statement of course. And to be honest I was simply waiting for the agonizing pain that was crushing my chest and tightening my throat to pass. A celebratory hocking of black tar was the signal it had ended. My freedom to smoke returned.

“Ooh you fucker” I said aloud in a comedy voice to no one, but for everyone who witnessed the coughing. My right hand now instinctively in the pocket the Marlborough lights were located; regardless of my previous promises. Swoop, click, click, “Fucking lighter” I groaned. Wondering not for the first time, why I had not paid the extra for a clipper. Jackpot. Oh yes, here we go. My smoke was alight and burning with the intensity and relentlessness of a bush fire, administering a long deep pull, smoke began gushing into the small pin hole left in my throat beginning the journey to my charred lungs. This along with the fact my smokes where being illegally landed from the coxswain office onboard HMS Sceptic; tax and duty free, made me smile.

“Big man, give us a pull on that” roared Pat “Bring em” Young.
The fucker! Bring em had been squeezing smokes out my packet since the first pint. “Fuck you” I replied with a simple arrogance. “Fuck you six” Bring em spat back. “Buy some, you jock cunt.” I yelled with sincere venom, slowing the word cunt, to emphasize my annoyance. Now Bring em the smoke grabbing bastard was not what I would lovingly call a slack jawed faggot - a name won by anyone I felt I could fuck up with a single haymaker. This guy was different. A man to be feared purely because of his lack of IQ. Put this man to work cleaning two deck passage way on a submarine and he would scrub out all night, put him in a spelling test and he would sweat like a pig. Pat was a sonar operator; though I think they kept him to boost moral more so than his ability to spot another vessel.

Standing just shy of six feet, probably 16 stone - 10 of which I reckon was his gut alone, this boy could deliver the goods if pushed. Pushing is good though, pushing takes an easily remedied situation to the next level quickly; if you push hard enough. The fight.

Blood has a weird and wonderful taste and the thirteen pints inside Bring em’s belly were in the mood to extract mine so he simply administered the famous “Glasgow kiss.” Head butts give real pleasure to those who execute them and often stun the recipient long enough so a killer blow can be dealt. No killer blow came; stupid. Two old bill witnessed this perfect kiss and sped over, well sped over in the waddling way old bill do, due to carrying so much crime fighting gear on their belts. One of them was simply a fat cunt who wheezed his way over behind his more professional partner. I explained to the sweaty, wheezy one it was my fault, we were friends, had too much to drink and now needed only to catch the train home. I gave my friend a hug to hammer the point home. No further action would be taken as long as we caught our train. We boarded.

When your nose is flat and you have dried blood over your face and shirt, seats on trains are generally easier to come by. This short ride home though I was in no mood for a seat. “Not fair really” I said in a rhetorical fashion. “Had no chance to get you back because of those fucking pigs coming over.”
“Ok big man” Bring em replied in a soft voice that was really saying, “I am sorry and want no more trouble.” Too late you fat sack of shit, I thought. I am going to fuck you up. I enjoy the hate building up in me, it powers me, gives me the ability to destroy without question, the way Special Forces would go about a mission. Bring em knew this and could see I was going to get my revenge.

“You seen fight club?” I asked
“Yeah” Bring em grunted
“We do this correct then”
“Do what correct?
“Even this shit up Bring em, you aren’t getting away with this”
“Don’t you think its unfair love?” I said turning my head to well dressed plump black lady sat on the train, quietly, minding her own. No answer came back, but why should it? She was on her way back from the office and here was me with my nose smashed and blood stains, fresh and crusted over the front of my black Ralph Lauren polo shirt. She was still a fucking bitch though for not agreeing with me.

“We get off at our stop and duck into the small car park at the back, away from the taxis” I spoke instructionally. I knew there was no CCTV in this car park; or at least, I had taken a piss and snorted from my percy bullet almost every time I got off the train and so far had never been reprimanded. Anyway I was not about to kill the guy. “Teach him a lesson, your honour” I would say in court. The judge would agree with me. I always get my own way.

Bring em looked sad and nervous when the doors to the train opened. He knew he could hold his own and he also new he was a fat unfit cunt, who might do well in a wrestling match against a smaller guy, but verses someone his own size, who’s nasty streak was curtailed only by his fitness level, mine surprisingly above average judged on running a mile and a half in 9 minuets 18 seconds just last week for the Navy running test; he knew pain was coming his way.

“Do we really need to do this” was Bring em’s final plea
“Don’t embarrass yourself mate” I replied.

Bring em was a willing drone and I knew he would obey. We staggered the few hundred yards to the back car park in silence. I walked ahead in the most trusting and dangerous manner you can pre-fight, in front of my opponent. You question a mans honour when you walk to a fight with your back turned to him. It had cost me several unseen blows in fights past. Keeping the nerve the other fighter will not pussy out and attack you from behind gave me a feeling like a spy who is trained mentally to not turn around in the street when walking away from a daring espionage raid, so as to give themselves up, whilst aware, a knife, gun or needle may strike them down. Was I a spy? What the fuck was I? Did not know, did not care. STOP THINKING!

“Right shit lips” I was cranking up the verbals
“No kicking in the nuts, no more Glasgow kisses, no kicks to the head and we stop and start again when someone goes down” I instructed
“Agreed” Bring em said quite enthusiastically.

Double dropping ecstasy at the rave scene was the only synthetic drug I could remember giving me a buzz similar to adrenaline. Not the same; similar. I was pumped and ready to wreck getting myself into position. Any on-lookers this night would have simply spotted two over weight, larger louts, stumbling around each other in a dirty, half lit car park that night. What they would not, could not of seen was inside my head now the adrenaline was arriving. It always starts in the tips of my toes. A tingle, slight at first then gradually faster becoming a twinge before blossoming into a full shake of the legs. The leg shake, kicked the juice into my belly, breathing life into the killer in me. In all of us. A deep breathe was needed, the same type of breath you need when enjoying a particularly good hit of fat joint. The oxygen was not for me it was for the killer. Once the oxygen was in the fist was out. No grace, no poise and certainly no Queensbury rules. My right hand was locked together; white knuckles so pumped up no pain would be felt regardless of what they hit. Powered by, hate and anger I had thrown the first blow.

First blows against a drunk opponent are usually easy to connect; as long as you are not to far gone yourself. Getting the first blow in you can go one of two ways: pause to savor the moment and watch the inflicted make their decision to retaliate or have no choice as to their move. Secondly you can wade in with a second blow with the left fist, then the right and then the left and then the right, windmill the fucker in front of you until they stop moving. Dig your feet into the ground, balance out the bulky frame and pummel the cunt until blows stop coming your way. Bring em was down. I wanted to kick him in his face, put my Ben Sherman boot heel square in his face or grid as the sweaty socks say. Of course I did not as we had agreed no kicking. I allowed, no, in fact helped the wounded back on his feet, asked him if he could continue and on receiving a yes, planted a plum head butt which simply obliterated his nose, dropping him to the cold car park floor. Fuck rules.

Bring em lay on the floor squealing, hands clasped around his broken nose. Money was coming out of his pockets as he rolled over. I was up at least £30 up as I stole this money but more than money, any money, I wanted to watch him in pain. I was victorious, the last gladiator standing and I my wanted to watch what the price of defeat looked like, and Bring em was illustrating a reminder to me; fuck up or get fucked up.

I took the cocaine bullet out my pocket. It was medicine time. I never charge myself up with extra Percy prior to a fight as the face stomping could easily become reality, swiftly afterwards I would indulge though. Have to get through all the cocaine on the Friday night as it takes 48hrs to clear your system. Any later than the Friday and you ran the risk of the CDT - compulsory drugs testing team - turning up for a sample of your piss on the Monday. The bullet twists both left and right. Left is a small portion, right a greedy boy’s. The bullet only twists right after a fight. I rolled a decent enough spliff for the occasion in my usual military fashion and began to blaze and watch my prize writhe in pain.
Chapter Two

22nd January 1999. This was the day I had invited discipline into my life. I was 22 years old and 13 stone. 13 Stone being the least I had weighed for 5 years. A steady drinking habit from school was compounded by a move to Tenerife at age 17.

I needed the Navy more than the Navy needed me. Who gives a fuck though? It had taken me almost a year to gain entry. Mentally I was there physically I had run my engine at least 5 stones to heavy. In true style I did fuck all about the weight loss until the very last moment. I put myself through a month of eating cabbage soup. The kind of cabbage soup they give to heart patients to lose weight prior to a life saving operation. The Navy was my re-birth but this food was foul! I would go for muck out and simply piss out my shit. It worked though.

Arriving at HMS Raleigh, I was confused as to what was in store for me having attached more effort to heavy drinking in celebration of acceptance than of research of what lay ahead for me as a servant of Her Majesty the Queen. I heard from old sailors the horror story’s that always turn out to be bullshit. Though I met some guys who would have welcomed their turn in the barrel. I hate queers.

Too pass through this place all you needed was the ability to iron your clothes and clean the area you’re allocated. Simple. That is it. Mind numb the fucking new guys so the RN can re-mould its sailing drones to obey without question.

Ok you have to go to bed at a certain time and sleep in a room with a load of other guys that you can handle. The line is drawn when the fish odor from cheap sausages punctures the nostrils at breakfast. Later I was told the runt pig, useless, poor meat type was fed fish guts for monetary reasons and the RN purchased these animals full of fish guts to feed to their runts. “Submariners get the best food” the cunt at the recruitment office sold me not just told me.

Passing out day arrived, flags blew with pride in the steady wind, whilst family and friends enjoyed the glow of an unusually warm March afternoon. Inside the drill shed our troop; the team, where waiting nervously to march out. Really the team was myself who was leader [of course] of the class, a cute blonde chick with an ass worthy of following all day and a couple of lads worthy of a chat, but mainly a motley crew of people I had no time for, were sweating in heavy number one uniforms with full dress and bearing the SA80 assault rifle with bayonet for our forthcoming walk to glory. What a sack of shit, I was thirsty, eager to finish so I could ease off my hangover with a little rum. Why not I was a sailor now?

The troop marched, turned, smiled and did what they were ordered like good drones, until finally a reckless moment of throwing your hat high in the air to celebrate and greet kin, with kisses and tears. I kept my hat on, pointless in throwing the thing, the bar was open and I had my pass stamped like a good drone which I produced to some fuck at the door with an open look that told him I would be trouble. It was a look I carried; always have, even when I mean no harm.

“Rum, straight, no ice - thank you” I finished the disjointed sentence. Maybe I was in double figures maybe it was still single whatever the total I was running aground.
“Six pies” shouted Dolly across the room. More inaudible Scottish mumbling followed; you good big man I think he said.
“My cousin Wee Tommy has sent some sweets for us” he added with enthusiasm, before I replied.
My reply was a slow lift of the head with the type of nod a mafia Godfather would give to indicate that the death of a man was to happen. My day was over now. Certainly did not need to eat sweets from Wee Tommy the coke dealer. I was off the drugs now, I was a sailor. I added a robust “fuck off” after the nodding donkey head, so Dolly was clear of my posision.

Brutalised on Rum and the good cheer of others as I had no family in attendance; actions some years ago meant contact was purely now to indicate I was alive. I had a new family now the Navy. NO! My family was the drink, my faithful friend and we were about to have the most wonderful adventure together, fuck all these cretins in here. Tenerife was back in my blood, the players may have changed but the game remained the same and I was the king.

During my slump at the bar someone I had paid slight attention to a guy call Pat Young, was looking in similar shape to me. I had always chuckled when he was given the nickname “bring em” a pretty sick term really when added to his sir name. Still like most other sick jokes it made me laugh. Pat was looking drunk and sorry for himself as his family left hours before to begin the 500 mile trek to return to some backwater Scottish village, leaving Pat to celebrate with his new friends. What friends? No one really liked this guy. I knew then this was the type of degenerate I was looking to spend my time with. Spurred on with the realization I had nothing else to do it was time for the black Ralph Lauren Polo shirt to come out. The body was picking up pace and I was ready to party now, my night was not over it was just beginning. The second wind is the most dangerous wind. Fuck it. I was going out tonight and Bring em was coming.
Chapter Three

The day after passing out is Saturday and it is yours to do as you wish, some people remain with family members whilst others engage in as much sex as possible with their partners. The statement “I will never cheat on you” keeping the pace of the passion high or at least the guys said they banged the ass off their birds.

My Saturday began as many previously. Contemplating if it is possible for your brain to dry out? I mean completely be void of all fluid having had such a barbaric volume of booze sluiced for more than twelve hours. Miniscule movements resulted in my brain being so dehydrated it felt like it was banging against the walls of my skull. The pain so vicious it prevented any part of the body moving or it would deliver pain with the precision and power of a baseball pitcher never showing mercy.

This type of hangover prevents you from toilet trips; luckily I had swamped myself the night before! There I was my first day as a qualified sailor lying in my wank chariot unable to move, fully dressed and covered in urine. Still I had not shit myself. Later investigation also showed an unidentifiable but sickening colour of something crusted on the black Ralph Lauren. Was I sick? Was it kebab? Was it blood? Fuck it; right now my head hurt so much I could not give a fuck if I was wanted for murder.

There was no point in looking at my watch, time was not a factor. I knew how long I would have to wait for the pain to pass. When it subsided, I could slide from my bed, wearily undress and make my way to the heads for a shower. In the shower I found the pain eased; out of the shower it returned. I therefore took my standard twenty five minute soak, where I would clean my teeth at least 5 times. The foul dank taste in my mouth the evidence of what I shoveled down in last night’s second wind. My hangover routine would have me sit on the edge of my bed after washing - which was number 12 in 32 man mess. Water brought assumptive the night before, to aid consumption of 4|X 500mg Paracetemol, 4X 400mg Ibuprophen, 3 Alka seltzers and a hearty slug of Gaviscon. This mixture turned my brain from booze confused, to drug confused but less able to think about the confusion, which in turn bought me a few hours relief. I would peace the previous day together later but now I needed my drugs, I needed to vomit and I needed some food.

Knowing what I needed, I took myself to a small bar; away from sailors and any potential witnesses from last night. I ordered myself a £10 glass of Baileys or however many shots I could get for that money. “Tall glass, plenty of ice” I would always demand from Tony the owner who would always give Ian what he wanted. The Baileys was my friend when my stomach and mind were awash. I lit my first cigarette of the day having completed the coughing ceremony earlier. At this point I thought of Bring Em, I had not seen him all day and at this point had no mobile number. That is as far as my concern went. Whilst still in need of real sustenance [good food and water], I was half way down my Baileys, smoking hard and looking in the back section of the local paper under the classifieds where escorts were listed. What a great system, no need to buy a dirty magazine or a paper like the Sport, you could by the local paper, take your time to slip through the pages until you reach the classifieds title Escorts.

What is it about a hang over that makes a man want sex? A man is at his least able yet that release is all that can be thought about. Sometimes you can take care of yourself; sometimes you have a girlfriend, sometimes you pay. It just is what it is; that is what I believed. Well believed it more than the descriptions of some of the prostitutes who put their bodies out to rent, to anyone who had the cash. I always treated sluts with respect to get me in the door, but when the cash had exchanged hands I would get aggressive, sometimes nasty if I was struggling to cum; I often thought about punching them. Why not? For another few quid I bet they would let me smack them in the face.

I finished my baileys, collected the numbers I needed so left the bar. My game now was to get set up with a slut, fuck, eat and get to bed with no one I new seeing me. Another bar by the docks with a small and uncomfortable but very private back booth allowed me to call the women for rent. I ordered triple baileys with a single shot of Whiskey in as I was starting to feel a dip. I called each of the numbers and there was no answer. What the fuck is going on in this world when a prostitute does not work on a Sunday? Still having not eaten and my hunger growing as the sex element dissolved I lit another smoke. I needed to think.

Think is a misleading statement. What was going to happen in the next few hours was going to happen and other than death nothing was going to stop the hangover train rolling into the next station. My intention was to get a taxi to a small café where they bragged over the largest breakfast in town. Next door to this café was a building named studio 3. Now if this were Thailand, the massage on offer would be delivered by a gracious well trained owner of healing hands that would twist and turn your joints for a small fee. The massage here however started at £15 for 15 minuets and doubled similarly for extra time. Usually the off watch ugly bird would greet you at the door. Whilst being a hooker there is still a sad look in the eye of split when you immediately ask “who else is working please?” Sometimes you get lucky and there is a half decent girl with age on her side but the standard operating procedure is for some rank old hag to slither out in panties that only accentuate the parts you want to dodge. You reluctantly hand over the cash - always pay for the first 15 minutes and decide if you want more, rather than pay for say an hour and get fucked off with your hired hand inside ten. The receptionist will come in your room with a portable cash point so you can pay with minimum disruption.

Many people go about the same task in many different ways. I used to get in the small room, which would have a permanent play of the Titanic soundtrack in the corner on a piss poor stereo and a table/bed that looked more like the Taliban where about to produce an internet production on some western infidel rather than a place I was going to pay hired help to rub me up. I simply entered the room and asked straight out, “how much for a wank?” Normally £20 covered it, though some wanted more which was remedied with a look of you are getting no money out of me but not too strong as there was security. Getting busted with ones pants down isn’t good.

It’s not the using girls for rent that cuts at you; it is the cost of them. I had to pour Baileys down my neck faster than a waterfall flows before the big push. I had to be drunk to go to Studio 3 as the birds were fucking guttersnipes. The type of whore you fuck represents the type of man you are, from the lowest paid man to the president of America. Nothing in my head told me what I was doing was immoral and I had any excuse needed to combat that thought. I am always correct, I always win.

I produced my credit card to gain cash back by ordering a stupefying round of booze. I was set, enough loud mouth soup down my neck, 12 fags left and a cheeky century in pocket. Time to flag a cab and spend some of the free money the world just wanted to hand out to people. Control the debt, control the people.
Chapter Four

Hurry up to wait is an activity that I have played before. In this case I was directed by the printed orders of the day to have all my kit stowed and be ready at 8am for the move to the other side of the coast where they train the elite submarine crews. 3pm the driver turned up with some old wagon. Still his epilates had an anchor on them; mine where grey to show I knew and was fuck all. He was now on a level with the old bill in the civilian world; this guy had an anchor. Where have you been you fucking cock, was the only question I would have for this twat, however; as he has an anchor I waited for my instructions. In a voice so gentle it betrayed the gruff and haggard look of this well drank sailor a simple and friendly set of instructions were imparted “load your bags and jump on lads, smoke if you got em, though wait until we get off the base” improved my mood, after 3 months of people speaking to me like a cunt I gazed out the truck window at the building which had been my home for 12 weeks growing smaller as we trickled away in our slow boat and for a briefly thought how quick the adventure there had passed, how many drinks had gone down my neck and how much money had been spent. Some diazepam a friend had sent me through the post was opening up into my head and helping disperse any bad thoughts. I was away to my next base and my professional training. I would shake off recent parties and knuckle down. Fucking liar.

Pulling into HMS Submarine Base, the pain in my ass and back was alleviated visually by the pure sloppiness shown by a disheveled looking thing in naval uniform. This vagabond in crimpled garden gates (Number 8 uniform) made his way in a sloth like fashion to the manual barrier. For the first time I did not have to show my ID card on entering a base; a lazy look inside by the indolent porky fuck on duty was enough to be safe in mind of our security clearance.

The bags piled up outside the accommodation block as they where gleefully flung from the back of the Cannonball run vehicle we had happily driven our way across the south coast in. Hateful looks of the razor Sharpe ninja type were aimed at the two duty monkeys whose shot put efforts to unload our bags from the tuk tuk, resulted in a ant hive bundle of valuables. Folk raced in with the same speed Bring em could fuck off to the toilet, cometh the hour of his round. I think I saw a punch, but nothing of any standard. I stood back and had a smoke; nothing in my bag to brake.

.At least 8 smokes later a tight ass little wren, looking no older than 23, strutted out of the guard room with a clipboard and a look at me boys attitude. “Fuck me, she must be important” I whispered to Pinky the fat cunt stood to my left. A small grumble was what I took as a positive reply; at least from a porky fuck who still buys dirty magazines to masturbate too. “Fuck you pinky. You should give up jacking off so much and fuck a real bird”
“Never seen you pull a bird” he replied sounding hurt at my opening statement.
A quick response was needed but the fit blonde chick called for our attention.

“Block A people left”
“Block B people right” an over practiced but very respecting voice instructed the drones where to stand.
Simple enough instructions from a cute little split issuing our new homes. My prostitute habit had kept my lust stable for weeks but this blonde haired, blue eye, 5’ 5” 34b, fit ass, long haired uniformed temptress appeared and I simply wanted to fuck her doggy style so I can pull her hair and switch the role of subordinate rank. These thoughts were turning me on. This was a real living breathing women. A species I now had trouble simply talking with as I had fucked so man whores; I believed all women were whores. I simply wanted to fuck her and fuck her hard. I would consider a life style change for this chick! Just give me the chance to settle with a girlfriend, I can change. Fuck off! Anyway my 4 second acknowledgement was over with the issue of a key, small map and standing orders. The chubby cheeked dullard Pinky I spoke with before [the cunt] asked a sensible question regards curfew.

The answer from leading seaman Wax, The dirty bit of snatch I would like to drill. Was simply astonishing; following the twelve weeks routine we had endured in basic training. Today was Friday and we were free without any passes to come and go as we please. LS Wax also instructed us of several bars and clubs to visit. One club she claimed to frequent was NO TIME and with a seductive glance indicated she might be attending tonight. Returning swiftly to the professional superior rating Wax then detailed our basic duties which in my head translated to be outside the coxswain’s office at 11am on Monday for roll call. Until then, it was time to adventure, find the dregs, drunks and whores of this area. Fucking Wax was not going to happen; you could see the mermaid charm. No way! You pay back 3 times what you wish for when you go over a split like Wax; or at least I remembered and old movie that may or may not of quoted that line. Still I wanted to bend her over, which confirmed I had taken the bait.

My mind was firmly on getting into my luxury four man bunk space and aggressively interrogating my new sleeping partners.

I only had one room mate, and what a dull fuck this boy was. At 23 he had involved himself with a 40 plus hag, whose baggage included, two ex - husbands and three kids. Mobile bills were offered for my amusement showing debts of £300 per month, so he could, “just calm things down” he would preach to me. This fuck slut washed his clothes and let him invade her old and worn body maybe once a week and in return: most of this guy’s salary. She extracted a high price from this boy, but he shot his muck weekly so I guess they were even.

I pure hated this dumb inbred fuck the moment my eye caught the dullard. Further conversation was only confirmation. The chap also took a dislike to my smoking in the room. Sarcastic comments would convey the distain for tobacco. I would now smoke as hard and long as my lungs could run, fuck him; I would passive smoke the twat into a cancer. This guy would for sure graduate to ships cock (the worst man on board) this was no nick name; more a tag. Every submarine had one and the bedroom lottery placed me a few feet away from this moron.

My gear stowed, I informed fuck wit I would be back late and in all honesty I would wake him when slumping and battering my way in the door. I intended to get on it proper and would be annihilated. I explained to Gateweed. “Try to keep it down a bit please” the fuck wit requested in a meek voice that made me want to punch him. “Yeah” I replied as my attention focused on turning the percy bullet left for a small snort. No need to be off your tits on the base, so a left turn was sufficient. The late afternoon was turning swiftly into evening; I needed a blast of deodorant and change out of uniform.

My black Ralph hung like a fine art painting; having undergone a rigorous wash. My Jeans though a little tight were acquired on credit from Jack the Bastard and they felt good; well for the £140 I had, kind of parted with on credit. The world had money and everyone wanted to lend it. Hell I bought £25 lacoste socks of this cunt! I was ready for my first beer.

I was happy to indulge my own pleasures alone on a night out, though conversation with a couple of the lads standing waiting for an ordered taxi was acceptable - one of which was Pinky the fat mumbling cunt from earlier. Bring em was stood to my left listening to my conversation with Pinky. A tall, sharply dressed guy called Andy Ashley offered his hand, informed us both his name was Andy but requested that we call him Skibdy. I had been in a different class from both Andy, Pinky, I new their faces but this was the first time we had a proper chat. Skibdy spoke in a gentle voice with little confidence. Though he dressed like a GQ model, which I felt was his confidence shield. His face was pot holed with small scars and he had many angry looking spots that looked you straight in the eye testing your nerve. Would they burst on you, shoot straight out and hit your shirt or would they remain calm and wait, get you when you least expect it. What the fuck? The pull to the left my have been a small charge but my head was scrambled. I wish the taxi would hurry up, and then I could concentrate on fucking Bring em over for my share of the cab.

As novices to the town, we took a silent relief as we four entered our cab. “Town mate” I ashamedly voiced, rather than show some decorum and nominate a watering hole of distinction. Fuck it, I knew none of them. I also new any driver worth his salt in town would have in-depth knowledge of where four, cash loaded, fuck ups wanted to spend their night. “After a bit of cunt tonight mate” I said quickly and for seemingly no reason
“Not talking about paying” swiftly followed. My speech disintegrating a little each time I opened my mouth.
“Good girls and cheap beer”
Our driver, who reminded me Devon Miles from the TV series Nightrider, was a simple chuckle. “I know where you want to go” was the answer from Devon Miles. I glanced at the pay meter which was beaming out in bright red lights our debt. “How much further to the pub” Pinky asked. “Up here mate, just around that corner” a reply which satisfied all us. “Bring em, you get the cab mate, I got pop to the bank, square you up on the drinks round” I shouted out. I had to shout I was so quick out the cab, I was 100 yards from my degenerate drone bring em. I had money, I would get a little more money from the ATM, but make Bring em, pay for as much as possible a full scale attack, get him so fucking drunk his memory goes, take money from him at the cash point and put him home in a taxi early. Everyone is a fucking winner and he never, ever remembers the century he always slips to me prior to thanking me for a good night out. The dumb fuck, come midnight I will have spent all his money, got him ruined so I could send him home and squeeze an amnesic wedge of cash from him whilst my only penance is to carry his lumbering frame to cab, take more money out of his pocket so I can heavily tip the driver to return him to the Submarine base. I would then be free of that dullard, a century up and feeling good. A cheeky left twist, for a boost I reckon.

A punch; you can take one, or you cannot. Many famous boxers were ashamedly known for there glass chins then there hammering right hooks. Tonight I would probably test my chin. Like a hawk I would watch my prey in and around the bars on this night out.

My night had flowed to perfection, after several drinks with Pinky and some random meetings of others of an interesting nature. Pinky and I made our way to NO TIME. Though I am sure he was aware, I never indicated I wanted to party with Wax. He wanted to party with Wax, so a silent pilgrimage to NO TIME began. Unlike Bring em, I was a little weary of this guy Pinky, but currently relations where sound and the boy looked like he could swallow most booze shoved his way. I had a random coke rush but my failings in history subdued a thought I had regards our power drinking. Better sometimes to be quiet and let people think you’re stupid rather than open your mouth and confirm it! I wanted to know what the most relentless; full blooded attacks in history were and relate it to our future consumption of brandy. I could not think. Fuck, I was not even sure what was happening, multiple visits to the coke bullet had left me an internal mess. Physically I could still stand and sip my drink. Vodka red bull I think? Charged at a price you wanted to spit at the bar man. I was losing control, just the way I liked. Maybe I would fight Pinky?

Arriving at NO TIME, asking for a lighter from a door man turned out to be a blessing as LS WAX had put the name of all the new arrivals on the guest list. Did she fuck the doorman, manager? My lust also turned to curiosity as to what this woman was up to?
Chapter Five

No Time, a perfect summation of the joint. A place over ambitious in its attempt to appeal to the higher end spender. A red carpet outside, gated by ropes, to hold I suppose the crowd back? No, that was the job of the mutant on the door whose reading skills stretched to that of recognition of the syllables of my name spoken aloud to the words printed on his card. Fuck him, me and Pinky had made it in, Bring em was in a taxi home and Skibdy was; well I am not sure.

No tax on the door but stung £2 at the cloakroom and £11 for two double vodka red bulls. Slugging my drink back I took a deep breathe and the toxic perfumed smell of dry ice entered my nostrils, I was pushing my head away from a strobe light the same you would the sun and now conversation was reduced to spitting in the ear of any person you wished to hear your voice.

I looked at the DJ and I was transported back to 1994 and Tenerife, this party DJ may have left the island but his aged dress sense, with baseball cap and use of Euro pop mash ups told me this guy sold his soul on the island. We all do what we need to on the island and everyone who goes leaves a little offering behind usually a stained part, best cut away and left. This guy had his removed before he flew out.

A gentle hand had been on my shoulder for a few moments but the Tenerife memory phased my senses and I had not noticed. Not to my surprise, but more my continued intrigue it was LS Wax. It was a Friday night so Wax had dressed in tight Diesel jeans that complemented every curve of her legs and that sweet, sweet ass. Her breasts were barely covered by a loose fitting crisp white top, which only amplified the yellow sunshine glory of her hair and the ocean blue of her eyes. I was fucked. Not the booze fucked, lust Fucked. This woman had cast a spell on me and we were yet to even speak. Fucking cunt, she has the edge and she knows it. I need to think hard before I spoke or maybe am spoken too.

“yououuwwwanananagogglood” was the mumbled sound in my ear when Wax spoke. I had to lean my ear in close to her face to listen again.
“You want to go somewhere quiet?” the question was revealed as I leant in smelling her radiant perfume and feeling her soft breath on my face. Rather than spit in her face I gave the nod and turned my head in several directions as I waited for Wax to leave. Walking ahead she did not see me give Pinky a nudge and wink as I followed. Arriving at the VIP area some balding fat cunt, who had probably been in the job all his life smiled at Wax and let her pass. I was stopped and scowled at. Wax had a quiet word with the brute and I was in. I am certain Wax could of spoken for me first but her pleasure came not from the fact she could gain entry to the VIP room but making the point, I could not; game playing little cunt, I thought. Better ease off the percy, I need to be on my toes. The brute let me pass but I would make sure he heard me telling a joke on how I could make a doorman sweat; the same as how you make a marine sweat. Put them in a spelling test.

A very pretty but extremely tired and fucked off looking student trotted to our spot and asked without tone what we wanted to drink.
“Vodka and tonic, tall glass, plenty of ice and lime” Wax requested, then paused. “Oh you should make it a double”
“Yeah, I will take one as well” I spoke casually
“You like Vodka, as well” Wax asked
“Vodka, Gin, Brandy, they all have their benefits” I replied
“Ooh, I have a live one here”
“I just like booze”
“What else do you like?”
“Dogs and walks in the park!” I was really nervous and where that came from I don’t know.
Wax looked at me for a long time, finally breaking into a small cheeky smile before she very slowly with a naughty tone asked the question, “Just booze?”
I paused before I spoke, sudden tremors jolted through my body, a quick spark of the lovely adrenaline. Had I left white powder on my nose or done a bit too much coke and not realizing how off my head I was. Had I read Wax all wrong? It’s amazing how quickly these thoughts go through your head and throw you off track.
“It’s cool” Wax spoke softly. “It’s why I brought you up here.” Wax then handed me a pill I had not seen in a long time. The famous Dove ecstasy pill “I bet it’s double dipped as well” I stated. “Have you done one tonight” I asked.
“No.” “I wanted us to take them together.” “Ok, let’s drop them now”
The following thirty or forty minutes whilst we were waiting to come up, past with ease. I slugged down three double vodka and tonic and talked general bullshit with Wax. We found very little out about each other in this conversation. I am sure once the pills kicked in we would open up more. I was a little afraid of this. Wax was after something, I could not work out what. It was not my great looks or six pack body as I don’t have either. It cannot be my money as she earns more than me.
Wax was a good bird, the type who could really pick the man she wanted and get him. Wax and me, getting it on? No, this was a 2am situation in reverse. Where you go to the dance floor just before the club shuts and start dancing with the fat girls you have ignored all night! I was the fat girl.

The pills kicked in. We danced, talked some more, drank some more and then the night was over. We spotted Pinky outside, stuffing a kebab down. We decided to dodge Pinky and get a cab back to the base. The car ride was silent with Wax being comfortable with me but suggestive enough that nothing was going to happen tonight. As I thought, we said thanks for a great night, had a hug and went separate ways. I watched her walk away checking out that ass for one last time before I banged my way upstairs and woke up fuck wit.
Chapter Six

It was around 3pm I awoke on the Saturday morning. This of course meant I had missed the early kick off for the football. That was my very first thought. Awake but still in my wank chariot, other thoughts of the previous night flickered in my head. As far as I could remember, I had fought with no one and spent 80% of my night with LS Wax. Pinky and Skibdy off doing whatever it is they did.

I lurched forward for my jeans crumpled besides my bed, pulled out my smokes and had a morning blaze. Realizing I was awake, fuck wit stood up. Gateweed had a look on his face, the kind of look a pussy who wants and argument but knows they are too chicken shit to start anything. The expression was that of someone who had been wronged. Not in a heinous way, but wronged; say for example his food was taken from a communal fridge, that type of wronged. Anyway, I was smoking; which I new pissed him off, I was hung over, had a mild come down and though the number was unknown, I was certain in the knowledge I would have swallowed valium to aid me sleeping. This cocktail of drugs amplified my already well polished could not give a fuck attitude.

Gateweed made his was over to my pit holding a large batch of papers. The papers were Gateweeds submarine course work. Fuck wit was two weeks into his foundation course that I was to start on Monday. The problem, which was duly pointed out to me was last night I had urinated in the corner of the room soaking the said submarine course work book. My immediate reaction was simply to laugh, this led to a heavy coughing session so Karma kind of got me back. “I am going to report you to the Coxswain for this” the meek little fucker announced.
“Go fuck yourself, you report me and I will make your life a living hell” I was sitting up in bed now. “Listen good you fuck wit” I was snarling. “This is my fucking room, not yours.” This took Gateweed by surprise. I figured the only thing left now was violence. Though hung over, I still had enough in me to leap from my rack, grab fuck wit by his collar and throw him to the floor. The simple weight advantage allowed me to sit on top of his back, bend his right arm back, holding it in a goose neck position. I rubbed his face in the harsh brittle carpet of MY room and informed him of his two simple choices. One move around the room quietly and speak when spoken too or inform the coxswain of my behavior. Should the second option be exercised, I would be able to produce a Hollywood standard performance for my time spent with the Coxswain. Then all my energies would be devoted to fucking Gateweed up on a daily basis. I emphasized this with an aggressive rub of his face, leaving a slight burn mark on his cheek. “Next time, I will fucking punch you to the ground, now get up and shut up you fucking cock” with that statement I let him go and returned to my bed, had three blasts on my asthma inhaler so I could light up another cigarette.

After a sustained period of smoking, I decided to shower. It was getting on for 5pm, I had missed the days offering of football but I needed to eat. Returning to the room, I was greeted by the trio from last night, all sat around the table in the room smoking. Bring em; though home first looked the most hung over. Pinky was stuffing down a savory pasty and Skibdy was looking immaculate as ever. Simple “alright” greetings were exchanged. I sprayed on some deodorant and again wore the black Ralph shirt.

After making a single coffee, I joined the guys at the table and resumed smoking. Gatweed, left the room.
“What’s up then guys” I asked
“We have a plan” Bring em replied. I inhaled deeply and took a large slug of my coffee. “Go on then, tell me” I snapped impatiently. “I did a cracking prostitute last night” Skibdy announced. “She works out of a house not to far from here with six other girls” he continued. “I have the phone number” his face beaming with pride. “She told me there would be seven girls working today from 6pm”. Pinky leaped in at this point. “Look man, we are going to get some hair of the dog and bang these birds, you up for it?” I replied with gusto at the thought. “Yeah, cool”

The walk to the house was a short distance, which pleased me. What would please me more is if I bagged a decent hooker, the kind who enjoys her work. Looking as suspicious as possible the four of us stood outside a beaten, rotting front door, in a filthy road. Skibdy rang bell number three. A buzzer sounded shortly afterwards, allowing the door to be opened. We were greeted with a second door that was opened by a little Indian girl, dressed in blue bra and pants. She had a nice face, cracking set of tits but a relatively fat ass. I hoped there would be more choice. Nina as she introduced herself took us through to the lounge; where true to his earlier statement the room was full women, who looked ready to fuck and suck. I barely noticed any detail of the room and when I spotted a doppelganger for LS Wax, I immediately went to her. I had made my choice. Some pleasantries where offered but I made it clear I wanted to take this girl upstairs. So I did. I paid for thirty minutes. Paying for an hour is a waste of money as the girl often wants to talk and also offer a massage for forty minutes of your fuck time. I on the other hand simply wished to shoot my load. I went about pounding this girl in a non violent but aggressive style, whilst all the time thinking about Wax. After I am finished I don’t hang about for conversation, I shower if possible then leave. Manners were not important as my next visit I am sure would be in the early hours of the morning and I would be steaming drunk.

There was no more football on except for match of the day. Collectively we made it to a few pubs asking if they would be showing the programme. After a few knock backs, we simply began drinking. I was gulping down medium strength larger to begin. I was thinking about Wax still, hoping perhaps to meet up with her tonight. I had no phone number, made no plans or even seen her today, so it would be a case of going to the bars she had recommended originally.

We stuck together and did all the bars, but there was no sign of Wax. I had spent most of my time talking with Pinky who I was beginning to like. Before joining the mob, Pinky had worked as a car mechanic, which is what led him to want to become a marine engineer mechanic or stoker as his trade is known. Pinky also seemed to not give a fuck about most things and his morals were certainly as low if not lower than mine. Pinky claimed his morals were lower than snake’s tits in a tire track. I found this amusing. I pointed to a scar I had not noticed before and we had a good conversation about fighting.

The night was getting on, I was feeling jaded but brandy and a very small snort of coke perked me up. I was happy also that Pinky joined me for a snort. Whilst a fan of Bolivian marching powder Pinky had not seen a coke bullet before. So I explained it only turns right! His night would be fun. After the brandy and with renewed vigor myself, pinky and Bring em made our way to a club called Jugglers. Skibdy said he would join us later as he wanted to go back to the brothel.

Jugglers is a real shit hole, but drinks are cheap and they only let service men and local fuck sluts through the front door. Too make up for the sixty I spent in the brothel, I would work Bring em for my next five or so doubles and some shooters.

The straight line bar in Jugglers looks out to the small dance floor, were the usual carnival mix of people who cannot dance but insist on throwing themselves around like dying octopus, white guys who think they are black and listen to too much R & B, grinding their hips next to the guys that were hammered simply bouncing into everyone and finally of course the local slags interspersed looking for a meal ticket. You could be sure all the birds in here were single mums and living in council houses. Bagging a sailor was a good prize.

Though the awful chart music was offending my ears and the lights again making it difficult to see, I spotted a quite nice looking girl. She was petite, had a great rack, good ass and a face pretty enough. “Right I am off for a bit of that” I told Pinky. Reality was I was drunk enough to have the courage to speak to her and by thinking of her as a useless burden to society I reckoned I could be fucking her within an hour at the expense of less then three drinks. Still all my cash was on the credit card and when that was exhausted I would just get another. Pinky was buzzing his tits of and eagerly nodded, wishing me good luck several times as I walked towards my target.

Pulling a girl in a club like Jugglers is not hard. No introduction is really necessary. A simple can I buy you a drink generally was enough to get your target to a quiet area of the club so you could begin a well rehearsed patter and of course say anything you thought the girl needed to hear so you could have sex with her. She told me her name, but to be honest I forgot and never asked again. We spent about an hour talking and drinking. Anything longer than an hour and you have a talker; who isn’t going to blow you. I had bought the drinks; she knew I would pay for the cab, so we left.

I was correct that she was a council house bird and she lived in a really disgusting one bedroom flat. She shared her one bedroom with here 12 month old baby. I thought it might be a bit weird fucking a bird in front of her kid and as I had had hard energetic sex earlier, I was not really in the mood to pump whatever her name was. This worked to my favour as she handed me a cheap can of beer and we sat on the bed as she rolled a joint. Knowing how long the gear stays in your system I could not risk having a smoke. Still, I had shoved enough coke and drunk enough vodka to not give a fuck. She rolled a really good spliff and the lush, sweet smelling weed was some of the best I had come across in ages. “This gear smells and looks great” I commented. “My brother is a dealer, so I get good weed.” “Fair enough” I replied. We smoked the joint together, which allowed for a comfortable silence. I popped to the bathroom and took a couple of valium, I had little to no money left in my wallet, no expensive watch to lose, so falling asleep with this bird was risk free and of course better than returning to my castle where I am sure my jester of room mate would be dug in. I slid across the bed and assumed a good TV watching position. The TV was on very quietly so as not to wake the baby. A movie was playing, I think. Looking past the screen also heightened my awareness of the my surroundings. I noticed books in a corner, mainly pink in colour, so I guessed nothing I would want to read or steal. I was tempted with a stealing a couple of DVD’s in the morning, but the collection was so limited the theft would be noticed quickly. Dotted around the room where photographs, the only items in the squalid room that showed any pride. Nice frames and well hung. Most were of the bird herself, but others must be family and friends, I assumed. On the wall to the left of me I was impressed with a really cool picture of Jim Morrison . I like Jim but how fucked was I that I had only just noticed him. “Good weed” I spluttered out as my throat was very dry. I took a sip of some of the shitty larger she had given me to drink. “Yeah” was the reply, but the kind of yeah that stretches out over several seconds. Her next statement amused me. “Weed makes me really horny.” I smiled though she could not see my face and expressionlessly I repeated a statement made in Jugglers just a few hours earlier. “Hey, I am a good guy. I told you I was not coming back sex” Though my face told the truth the practiced line was delivered with such grace a tight hug was my reward. Being honest, the valium was kicking in and I had spent myself with the hooker earlier and simply could not be bothered to bang whoever this girl was.

I got hard very quickly when the zip to my jeans was retracted. “I want to suck your cock” she said. I did not reply. I simply sunk my head into a surprisingly comfortable pillow, gazed at the ceiling and thought of LS Wax from the very moment the wet lips of no name girl touched my penis. This girl really could give a great blow job and I quickly got the impression she would be down there for sometime. I shave, so it is not an unpleasant place for a chick to visit.

I spotted my mobile phone next to me on the bed. No name girl could not see me pick up the Nokia, her head was down and she was working in a truly professional manner. I went through the menu and started the video player. I always mute my phone keys for these very such moments! Firstly I slowly scanned the phone over the room, starting with Jim and working clockwise, getting the peeling wallpaper, small collection of DVD’s, the random photographs, tattered curtains and finally the baby in the cot next to me. I focused the camera on the back of no names head and just let the film run. No name looked up and I was surprised when she performed for the camera rather than stop sucking and starting shouting, as is normally what occurs when you get rumbled. I filmed for limited period of time, as I intended sending the video to other people, keeping the movie short was for the best. My cock was in the film, but my face was not.

Though the girl could have been entered into a world blow job competition I was tired, wanted to shoot my load and get some sleep. I stopped her sucking, turned her over and straddled myself across her chest just underneath her breasts. I asked her to play with her breasts and said I wanted to come in her mouth. Whether she wanted that or not. “I want your hot cum” was the signal for me to start wanking hard. As she had closed her eyes and opened her mouth I was tempted make her face look like a decorator’s radio but I choose another option. I would wank, stopping moments before ejaculation and push my cock in her mouth and fire my cum down the back of her throat. Those that don’t like to swallow tend to gag violently. It always makes me laugh. This girl was a spitter so I was very pleased when her eyes opened wide at the realization of hot baby gravy gushing into her stomach. After satisfying myself, I rolled over and began to sleep. Sunday tomorrow, no need to get up. Nice. I watched no name run to the sink in the corner of the room to spit out what was left in her mouth, but the valium had me and I would not see her again until the morning.
Chapter Seven

Babies make noise; there is no contradiction to that statement. If you like babies, then their noise plays like a well practiced orchestra, harmonizing together, the life sound coming from the child created from the parents own bodies is a wonderful indication of the progress of a new young life. If you have a standard edition hangover then the noise is like a workman with power tools in your room during the day as you attempt to sleep following working a night duty. Oh, shut that fucking thing up. I wanted to shout at no name but my mouth arid, head sore and body aching I simply laid back in bed.

On my right side my clothes crumpled together made reaching a cigarette easy. The usual pantomime of effort to locate the lighter thankfully did not happen as the light was inside the packet. My throat was tight and I did not have my inhaler. The forthcoming smoke would not be pleasant but it should deliver the cough and relief. With no name messing around with the noise machine, I opted to take a hearty slug from the can of beer I noticed next to my clothes rather than ask for a glass of tap water. Thankfully I had not dropped the roach from last nights joint into the can.

Until you reach the complete cunt status there is a little battle in your head when lying in the rancid lair of some local council house bird of how to get the fuck out Remembering last night she was at least an eight out of ten chick, who now in the sober morning looks like a native Cambodian man! How did that happen? Holding her spawn prowling around the room, still unaware of what her name was I decided to sleep on the decision of how to get the fuck out of dodge.

It was 5pm when I awoke, the noisy baby was quiet and no name Cambodian man had washed, dressed and applied make up. Sadly she had also taken it upon herself to hold me in an embrace as I slept! Enough! I thought. I was rejuvenated from the extra sleep, hungry and wanted a wash. I stretched my body like a man on a torture rack which naturally removed no name. I non - intentionally passed wind whilst performing this stretch. There was no danger of a follow through but the noise and power shook the bed and thankfully offended no name. “I need a shower.” A pointed finger to the bathroom door was the reply.

When abusing those that have less than you the bathroom is a perfect place to exploit. Ok you have the usual tricks of taking one battery from the remote control or leaving a zap sticker (a foam sticker with the crest of your submarine) on the back of the head board for someone to find in the future. But the bathroom was the place when there was nothing of note to steal in the main room. So it began: Firstly I ran the bath, squeezing lotions and potions from every bottle I could find, in the sink I was gargling with mouth wash and wiping no names toothbrush up my ass - a little gift. I washed my face three times as that was how many facial products were available. I shaved with a new razor; which I ditched after. I took a short bath before switching the shower unit on and washing my hair with every product on the edge of the bath. I was clean, drying myself off and looking for some deodorant after this I would dress and leave.

“I have to go” I opened with the moment I stepped out of the bathroom “I am starting a course tomorrow and need to get my uniform ready” I followed up with. “Ok” no name said softly. “Perhaps I will see you in the club again?” “Perhaps” no name said knowing that if she did see me I would be hammered and simply be looking for a fuck. It is these moments the council house mermaids realize the sailor they had lured in was not going to pay the bills. “Oh, I was wondering; what is your name” I asked. “Just fuck off.” was snarled at me. I left to begin the walk out of the maze of the estate.

Desperate to share my night’s activities with people I quickly organized a video message and sent it out to 12 people in my phone! Watching the video again had made me horny. I had drunk and snorted so much last night that I did not have the energy to fuck no name. After passing a chemist, grabbing some hangover relief and water I found myself walking towards the brothel Skibdy had taken me. Would the little prostitute who looked like Wax be working? As I though of this a little shudder of excitement went through my body, it felt so good, so I headed for the knocking shop. The small Indian looking girl answered the door again - perhaps that was her job? I was welcomed and taken through to the lounge and shown the girls. I managed to contain my smile when I saw LS Wax sat down in tight French knickers and bra. I mean LS Wax doppelganger. I made the obvious choice but this time paid for an hour. I was hung over and horny but I also wanted some company. To me this was like going to bed with Wax. This was going to bed with Wax.

Lying on the bed I had a pleasant conversation with my chosen women who told me her name was diamond. I giggled at this and asked for her real name or at least a normal name. “Lisa” the beautiful blonde haired, blue eyed sex machine replied. This started what was to be an interesting forty minutes of conversation. We spoke about life, parties, football; really we just talked in the way a couple both with an interest in each other would. This was strange, as normal conversation with hired help is dull or does not exist. “I am only doing this so I can pay for my college course” that would be the standard line of chat from a hooker. You do this because you are an uneducated guttersnipe.

With around fifteen minuets left Lisa asked if I wanted to fuck her. I was still energy less so I replied no. This shocked Lisa, especially after my last fuck and run. “The next time I have sex with you, it will be because you want to have sex with me” “What” a confused Lisa asked. “I really like you.” I can understand that you don’t date clients so I am going to keep coming back and paying to talk to you” this shit was really flowing out of my mouth. “I want to show you I am a good guy and maybe we could go out one night together?” “Well let’s see if you come back first” Lisa skeptically replied. I kissed Lisa and left.

I ordered a cab back to the base as I needed to get my shit in one sock for the foundation course tomorrow. I would need to read the orders to find out what uniform I was required to wear and where and what time I should report. Daily orders were on a board at the bottom of the accommodation block. I read what I needed too and made my way to MY room. Opening the door, I saw Gateweed sat at the small table studying. I ignored him, my energy levels were low. Nearly thirty minutes passed and we had not spoken, I had selected my uniform, polished my shoes and prepared fully for tomorrow. “Are you going out again tonight?” asked Gatweed. “Fuck knows” I replied with an arrogance deserving a punch. “I was only asking” cried fuck wit. “Fuck off mate” I snapped back. I really did hate this fucking bastard. “The doctor has put me on anti depressants” fuck wit confessed. “Well being as dull as you, I expect you need them!” that answer ended the conversation and I left the room.

I was heading to a room a few doors down where a kid who called himself “Lady - Killer” resided. I had met Lady Killer only a couple of days ago but he was a funny guy; he also was a friend of Wax. In the evenings he referred to himself as “Guy nightclub” This boy had some selection of names! All I was interested in was the huge DVD collection he had and getting away from fuck wit. I knocked and entered at the same time. “Big man” roared Lady - Killer. “What a fucking video man!” he smiled as he spoke. “Man that bitch liked sucking your cock!” “You got it then?” I spoke rhetorically. “Sit down man, its movie time” “Ok, what we watching” I asked. “Fuck it man, for that video you can choose”. I chose Predator, I needed some violence.

I left the room around eleven as I was tired; I took only one valium as my new supply was yet to arrive. I was in for a bumpy night’s sleep, so I took a good swig of some cheap red wine that belonged to Gatweeed as he was asleep already. I thought for a moment about what lay ahead with the course and who I would be with. Pinky was turning out to be a great lad and Bring em of course was a natural servant. I had worked out Skibdy and Lady Killer / Guy Nightclub (real name Paul) was legend. My thoughts were getting sporadic as the wine and tablet took effect. What did LS Wax want from me and why did I want to date a hooker who looked like Wax. I hated myself for a few moments as being a fat bastard myself I could not pull a nice girl or for all that I did show did not have the confidence to pull LS Wax. Truth was, I had always being really nervous around women. This is what led me to do more and more prostitutes. LS Wax had infected me though and finding her double was a way of getting what I wanted; I think. How many drugs had I done this weekend? What had I told Wax when I was off my head.

My thoughts were interrupted by my sms tone. I could not be bothered to get up and look at the phone; my eye lids were heavy and I was almost asleep.
Chapter Eight

After a heavy weekend of drink and drugs, getting up is a challenge. I had set two alarm clocks even though I did not have to muster until 11am. The clocks woke me so I rolled off my bed, grabbed a towel and shower, which was a mammoth effort. My head was very heavy, my lungs tightly clogged up with tobacco. Just another fucking day nothing different, where was the discipline I had joined for?

The shared bathroom was at the far end of the accommodation block, not too far but certainly not en-suite. I showered for over twenty five minutes, cleaned my teeth several times and drank shower water. I needed to shave; first day on the job I should make the effort. I am not a hairy person so the shave was a relative formality. I changed into my uniform of black trousers, white shirt. I almost forgot my hat as I made my way to the mess hall for some breakfast. Well whatever slop was on offer.

Mustered outside the main submarine building I estimate were fifty guys, all neatly standing up straight in lines four deep. I was tucked away in a back corner. Play the gray man, keep a low profile. The coxswain - along with pace stick - was a puce faced old man, who obviously had been in this gig since he was sixteen. I estimated now he was sixty, though of course he could not be that old. In a similar fashion but with far less aggression and more humor this man walked up and down the line of men, proudly stating the daily orders, adding his own little quirky comments, making gentle fun of some of the lads he had obviously got to know. After the rousing speech, I moved like a good drone with the others to where instructed. To my relief the lads; Pinky, Skibdy and Bring em were all in the same class as me. Lady Killer was sent to another group.

The man, who spoke with our group, was a small spectacled nerd; or so I thought. The kind of geek you question how the hell they ever got in the mob? This man explained the meaning of the word “Dead time.” Dead time, fuck me, trouble was going to follow. I could not believe what this guy was telling me. The lying fucks at the recruitment office never spoke of Dead time. The Navy or floating circus as was more the case, simply did not have enough man power to train the new drones. They also had nothing else to offer the unqualified, useless drone during Dead time. I was informed it would be six months before I got on the Foundation course and a further 10 months after that before I would get on my professional communications course at another base.

Ok, so it sounds kind of great, getting paid to do nothing. The implications for me though were disastrous. I knew that I would slowly kill myself with the usual vices as I had no responsibilities or duties. I panicked at first but this panic was quickly muted when the coxswain announced on the speaker system “Do you hear there? The CDT team has arrived” Calmly and clearly he continued. I was holding onto every word, my body starting to shake. I was done for; the joint with no name would be what would nail me to the cross. The coke I might get away with. My head was spinning and I felt dizzy and started to sweat. A million thoughts in my head based around getting kicked out of the Navy only months after joining. Fuck.
“All ratings are to report to the gym” the coxswain continued. “No personal are to exit the base” was the final statement.

I trudged to the gym, keeping a broad face but panicking inside. Pinky walked with me. We did not speak, but gave each other a confidence building nod. As there was such a volume of drones we marched in small groups rather than one long snake. We were in the open and quiet talking was acceptable. A tall, bald headed, young guy, who I did not know, began speaking with me. He explained this was the second test that he had done. “It’s a real pain man, you have to wait around for hours, and they look at you as if you are a smack head when they pass your beaker. The beakers have thermometers so you cannot cheat the test and a monitor follows you to the toilet to witness you pissing. Willy Watchers they were known as.”
“Thanks man”
“Yeah, no bother. It’s only the junkies that need worry about this anyway”
“Fucking junkies – I shit em” I remember a line from the film Transpotting and I was attempting to use humor to cover up my shattering nerves.

Once in the gym which now looked more like a science lab, an old fat miserable Chief petty officer, read names from a list. I jolted like a greyhound when my name was announced. I was to be a willy watcher and as such I would not have to take the test! What a fuckin result! I was issued a bright yellow vest and given my instructions by the fat CPO. When dismissed, the CPO walked over to me. I was stood alone. CPO Foxel looked at me hard, for what seemed like a lifetime. He knew something. My suspense was short lived when his only words to me were “Report to LS Wax, when you have finished your duties” Report to Wax? What the fuck was Wax to do with anything?

As with all Navy evolutions, the hurry up to wait rule is always in force. As a willy watcher, I was put in the room with the guys who could not muster up a piss on demand. This was good as I would not have to stare at dicks all day. I was the only person in the room as the pissing or not pissing exercise had not yet begun. I took the moment to look at my mobile. Mobiles are fine in the mob, but you cannot have them out every two seconds. I had three messages: the first from Lisa the hooker, who to my surprise said she wanted me to call her as she had enjoyed the previous conversation. That is a result. The second was an advert and the third was from Dolly who was the opposite end of the country. His message was written in capital letters. “CALL ME ASAP.” Yeah, whatever Dolly. I would catch up with him later; right now I wanted to get through what would be a long day. I asked permission to return to my mess as I had left my ID in the room. After a bollocking I was given permission. I only wanted to go back to grab a Valium, my card was in my pocket. I need to calm my head down, a lot had happened this morning.

After 8 hours of looking at glum people who could not piss I was free. The tannoy announced the testing was over. Leaving the building and having forgotten I needed to see Wax, I was reminded by a steel glare from CPO Fox. See Wax or ring Dolly? Dolly could wait, I though as I made my way to the office where I could find Wax.
Chapter Eight

Log in to post comments
311 reads

Go to first story