Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 12

With the resident base population being predominantly male, these functions would attract large numbers of ‘young ladies’ from the local town. It would also attract quite a few, shall we say ‘more mature’ females, if they could find a sponsor to sign them in through the guardroom. This gave the dance its derogatory name “Grab a Grannie Night.” After my recent experience at boot camp though, I was steering well clear of the older women, for now at least!

I was, however, keen to pull from among the younger visitors. I had received a Dear John letter from my hometown girlfriend, Gillian, so I was a free agent again. I had progressed greatly and was now more confident at the chat-up patter. I would “…fancy this, I would fancy that, I wanna be so flash. I would give a little muscle, and I spend a little cash.” But as the lyric continues, “all I got is bitter…” (actually, I was a brown and mild man). Oh, I got a few snogs and gropes, even one fumbled hand job in a deserted snooker room. But I just did not seem to be able to get repeat meetings out of it.

After one abortive Thursday night outing, I was brewing a cup of tea in the block common room, before turning in, no doubt to relieve my frustrations with Mrs Palm, if I could get away with it. I was about to leave when Garth entered the room. Greeting me, he flopped into a chair, looked me quizzically in the eye and said, “Not having a lot of luck are you mate? What’s going wrong?” I sat and told him my sorry tales. He thought it through a bit, then suggested he had a friend of a friend he could set me up with, which probably meant one of his cast offs. But that had to be a good thing, right? Hardly likely to be a simpering virgin. I agreed to give it a go, but to be honest, Garth was a bit pissed, so I was not entirely sure this would happen, but I went to bed that night, with a little bit of hope of good things to come.

Despite my misgivings, the following Wednesday, Garth sought me out and said that he had indeed set me up on a ‘blind date’ with one of his current squeeze Joyce’s, friends. Her name was Sandra, though she went by Sandie. They worked together as machinists at a local garment factory. And no, he had not been out with her himself. Joyce would bring Sandie to the dance the following evening, they would introduce me and stick around with us for most of the night. But, Garth emphasised, when the time came for him to get lucky, I was on my own.

At the appointed time, dressed up in our disco uniform (Oxford Bag trousers, penny collar shirts, Crombie jackets and Doc Martin oxblood shoes were the in thing at that time; yeah, I know!) we assembled at the guardhouse, to sign them in as visitors. Sandie was, to be honest, at first sight a pretty plain looking girl. She was younger than Garth and Joyce, and at nineteen, much closer to my age. She was quite short, at about 5’ 4” and ‘well covered’, but not excessively so. With coat off, when we reached the NAAFI, her plumpish body was dressed typically for the era. Colourful, widely flared trousers, baggy sleeved floral print blouse under a knitted waistcoat. Platform soled boots completed the look. Her short, naturally curly hair was a vivid ginger red colour, which I at first thought was dyed, though I found out later that was perfectly natural too!

We found a table in a corner of the function room and Garth and I went to the bar to buy drinks. “Well?” he asked. I answered that in truth, she was not the sort of girl I would be going for, she is a bit of a plain Jane. “Maybe that’s part of your problem mate, setting your sights too high.” That struck a chord. I was not exactly an Adonis myself. Maybe I was not the sort of guy that girls would be going for. Maybe I should see where things go with Sandie. Back at the table, we soon got chatting amongst ourselves. Sandie was very pleasant to talk with. Joyce and she had us all laughing at some of the antics they and their colleagues got up to at work, teasing and even groping the few male workers that kept the machine shop running, that would bring harassment charges these days, without a doubt. I found Sandie easy to talk to and felt more relaxed and open with her than I had with a girl for a while.

When Garth and Joyce got up to dance, Sandie looked expectantly at me. I have always been crap on the dance floor, and especially hated those 70s disco days, but I knew I had little choice. We joined the melee on the dance floor, she enjoying moving to the music, me prancing around like a demented sloth. Fortunately, after 10-15 minutes of fast dance, the DJ slowed the tempo down for us to take a breather. I think it was Phil Everly, or maybe The Hollies, The Air That I breathe. Sandie seemed to melt instinctively into my arms for the slow dance. We were both quite hot and sweaty from the bopping, but she smelt good. She linked her fingers behind my neck and pulled me closer, bringing her body against me, crushing her breasts against my chest. They felt good and I swear I felt her nipples hardening as they rubbed against me. As we moved to the music, one of her legs would often slip between mine unconsciously, or maybe consciously, I was not sure, allowing her slightly chubby mound to rub against my thigh. Again, it felt good to me, and I started to get semi-hard.

We danced on for a few more slow songs, before the DJ decided we were rested enough, and switched back to faster tunes, so Sandie and I headed back to our table. Garth and Joyce were already there, deep in conversation, and I could sense a bit of tension between them. It transpired later that Garth had been trying to get Joyce to leave the dance so he could get into her knickers, but she was adamant that she was not going to abandon her friend that first night in the ‘lions' den’ of our base.

The evening continued in much the same vain, with occasional rounds of drinking, chatting, and dancing. During the final smooch songs, before the lights went on, Sandie and I danced closer and closer. I reached down and placed my hands on her bum cheeks, pulling her lower body against mine. She must have felt my hard cock pressing against her. She did not react, but did not move away either. As the final song ended, still embracing, Sandie looked up at me, her eyes closed. I leant down and, rather chastely I guess, place a kiss on her lips. Finding she did not recoil in horror I repeated the action, a bit more forcefully this time. Sandie responded by slightly parting her lips, allowing our tongues to gently explore each others mouths a little, until the lights came on, ending the evening.

The girls headed for the ladies' room, to retrieve their coats, whilst Garth and I gathered our own belongings and prepared to leave the NAAFI. Garth was quite pissed at me as I had “ruined his chances of getting laid that night.” I countered that it was Joyce’s decision to stay with Sandie, not mine; and that anyway, it did not look like I was getting any that night either, though in fairness, I was used to that, he was not. This seemed to placate him a bit.

We joined the queue for a taxi to take the girls home. It was long but usually moved quite quickly as the local cabbies knew there would be fares to be had there at this time each week, so gathered there like flies on shit. Couples naturally gave each other a bit of space for privacy, so I found myself alone with Sandie. I did not have much time, so I gritted my teeth and went for it. I would like to see her again, was she interested? A few tense moments while she considered her options, then a “yes, that would be nice.” Joyce and she were doing overtime to earn extra money for a holiday that Saturday, but if I were free, she would be okay with Sunday afternoon.

We made arrangements to meet in town around midday, with the plan being to grab the train to a nearby seaside resort, where we would just go with the flow and see what happened. By then, it was their turn for the next taxi, and with a quick goodbye peck on the lips, they were off. Garth and I headed back to our block. He was still quite sullen, his only option now, he said was to go back to his room for a wank. I had much the same idea, but it depended if my roommates were in or not, otherwise it was another extended trip to the showers!

The following morning, around 11am, I rode my Bantam into town and chained it up in the station car park. I was well early, so had a quick mooch around the shops, mostly closed on a Sunday in those days, returning to the station around 11:50, to await Sandie’s arrival. A tense ten minutes. Would she show? Almost exactly at the agreed time, I saw her walking up the station approach. She was dressed in embroidered flared jeans, a plain white blouse and knitted woollen sweater vest, all topped of with the obligatory Afghan coat and a small leather shoulder bag, draped over her neck. She looked much slimmer and shapelier than I recalled from my first impression; me being less hypercritical for sure. She leaned in for a quick peck on the lips, which was a good sign. We headed for the ticket office, I paid our fares, and we went straight to the designated platform to await our train, which was due in about 15-minutes.