Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 37

After spending a couple of weeks researching and developing our plan of attack with my team, we were ready to head off to Wales. There, we’d been told, due to extensive improvement works taking place on junior ranks accommodation, we would have to be put up in civilian bed and breakfast digs in nearby Holyhead. A nice little bonus for us.

The first week of the exercise went smoothly enough. It was a matter of going through all of the squadron’s processes and procedures, finding out what they did, why they did it that way, how they documented what they’d done and so on. This involved asking loads and loads of, what must have seemed like stupid questions, over and over again. This must have pissed off the local engineers no end, but give them their due, they cooperated fully with us.

We put in six full, extended days that week, but managed to gather all the evidence we needed to generate our report. But that was the next week’s task. Sunday we would award ourselves a day off. A lie in in the morning, then a pub lunch and a few bevies, before a relaxing afternoon in front of the telly, then more bevies in the evening.

They say that most battle plans fail when the first shot is fired. So it was with ours. Sure, we got the lie in, but then discovered to our horror, that that part of Wales was dry on a Sunday at that time. The only places that could serve alcohol were private members clubs. We were fucked. Or were we. One of the team suggested “Is there a British Legion club here? As servicemen, we’re automatically Legion members”. Not strictly true, but most branches will welcome serving personnel as guests.

It turned out there was indeed a Legion club. We tried our luck and were admitted, “Provided you behave yourselves!”; as if we wouldn’t! It was a typical drinking club, with basic furnishings and fixtures, but exactly what we needed, a well stocked bar and snacks and sandwiches for sale, for our lunch. The local clientele was mostly aging veterans, some with WW2 service to their credit. We probably nearly halved the average age there (at 22-years I was certainly among, if not the, oldest members of my team). Many of them came over and chatted with us, to tell us their ‘war stories’ or wanting to hear ours. There was a common thread from some of them though, “Watch out for Maggie-Mai, she likes the young uns.”

Maggie-Mai, it turned out, was a fifty something widowed grandmother. Her late husband had been a former Royal Navy sailor and later trawler man. He’d died in a tragic accident at sea on his fishing boat, some fifteen years previously. Maggie had never remarried, but allegedly still had a fearsome sexual appetite, particularly for her ‘toy boys’.

She was, at that moment, at a table across the room from our group, but could be seen glancing in our direction every now and then, I assume trying to decide which of us would be her target. How to describe Maggie. Well, the polite word would probably be ‘matronly’, but hell, there is no point in trying to sugar coat it. She was short, plump and had the ‘lived in face’ of someone who’d had a hard life.

Long before it became popular amongst women, Maggie’s arms bore several intricate tattoos, and some that looked distinctly prison cell applications. I was never brave enough to ask if she had indeed served time. Her clothes were ‘charity shop chic’ and far too tight for a woman of her stature. The button up shirt bulged, struggling to contain her massive breasts (42G it transpired). The short skirt barely covered her arse, leaving her chunky orange peel thighs bare. Another simple de***********ion would be ‘fucking scary!’

We were several pints in, as the 2pm closing time drew near and I needed to take a piss before we started the walk back to our digs. The bogs were tucked away at the back of the building, out of sight of the bar area. I took my piss, washed up and started back to rejoin the others. But on exiting the gents, there, blocking my escape route was Maggie-Mai (gulp, target acquired it seemed).

Speaking with her lyrical Welsh accent, she basically went straight into chatting me up and propositioning me. Where was I from, what was I doing in Holyhead, did I have any plans for that afternoon, would I like to come back to her place for ‘coffee’, etc!

I was flabbergasted. This was the stuff of ‘Penthouse Forum’, and I never believed those letters were actually true. But here I was, being offered sex on a plate by a grannie. Every instinct in my body was telling me to run like fuck, as quickly as possible. Out of politeness though (after all, we had promised to behave ourselves), I made up some lame excuse about us all having to get back to do some ‘homework’ ready for the following day, or some such bullshit. “Pity,” she said, she was fantastic at ‘making coffee’. But that she’d be there, in the Legion bar, that evening if I changed my mind. With that, she grabbed me and before I had chance to react, planted her mouth directly on mine, screwing her tongue into my mouth, before reaching down and roughly grabbing my genitals through my trousers.

I was petrified, but for some reason I’ll never be able to explain, I did not try to break off the contact. She did that after a few moments stroking my slowly growing cock, and headed back to her table in the bar. I stood, planted to the spot for several minutes, dumbfounded at what had just happened. After gathering myself together, I too returned to the bar, where the others were waiting on me to leave. As we exited, I could not help but glance back at Maggie, who grinned and furtively blew me a kiss. Holy fuck, I hadn’t imagined it then.

On the walk back to the B&B, I told my team what had gone down, thinking they would get a good laugh out of it. To my total surprise, the general response was along the lines of, ‘what are you doing here. Why aren’t you taking her up on her offer. You’ll never see her again, and if she’s as good as she claims, it would be one for the wank bank in later years. Go for it Titus’. I brushed there comments off. Told them no way was I going to fuck an ‘old woman’, I wasn’t that pissed. I wasn’t that into that sort of thing; or was I.

Back at the digs, I went to my room, with the intention of having a nap, to sleep off the lunchtime beer. But sleep would not come at first. My mind was reeling. Yes, Maggie-Mai was at least twice my age, and yes she was rough as fuck, but she was no doubt an experienced woman, in many ways. Perhaps those letters were not all fabricated. Perhaps the lads were right. Perhaps I should ‘go for it’ and find out if sex did indeed improve with age. I drifted off to sleep for a couple of hours, and when I woke, my mind had been made up. Fuck it! Why not. I’d go back to the Legion that evening, with my minders, and if Maggie was there and still wanted me, she could have me! You only live once, so experience what you can, when you can.

Later, after we’d found a place to eat our evening meal, we all headed back to the Legion at about 8pm. I’d not said anything to the guys about what I’d decided, but the fact that I was even there probably gave them a good inkling that I was not running scared. As we entered, Maggie-Mai was indeed present, sat on a barstool, chatting with (or maybe chatting up) the barman. She grinned lasciviously when she saw me. It looks like it was on.