Confessions Of A Muslim Squaddie: Flying With The Army's Porn Baron

As a virgin soldier all I had was a picture of a girl from Manchester, but as we landed on our latest tour I ended up hiding Steve's stash to stop him from going insane...
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As a virgin soldier all I had was a picture of a girl from Manchester, but as we landed on our latest tour I ended up hiding Steve's stash to stop him from going insane...

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The RAF announced that we were flying into a Muslim country and we would be checked on arrival for alcohol and pornographic material by the Royal Military Police.  Plastic bin bags were walked through the aisles into which soldiers surrendered their porn and hip flasks complaining that they weren’t Muslims and most soldiers followed this order.  Sat next to me was Steve who made a face.  “What’s wrong mate?”  I asked.  This is it, we’re here, we’re going to war.  Aren’t you up for it?  He wasn’t as bothered about the war than he was about the stash of porn in his bag.  He didn’t want to lose it, we’d been told we’d be in Iraq for around six months and he needed it.

 The British girls never sounded sexy on the films, the Americans were the best.  We didn’t know what the Germans were saying and couldn’t believe what they were doing, that was more education than arousal.

Steve was the man the regiment went to for their porn.  He had everything.  Lads would go around to Steve’s like it was a free Blockbusters, he had everything, white girls, black girls, fat girls, pregnant girls and even girls who weren’t girls.  Steve knew everybody’s secrets, he knew what porn they watched.  His room had cases all over it filled with porn from Germany, the States and the UK.  The British girls never sounded sexy on the films, the Americans were the best.  We didn’t know what the Germans were saying and couldn’t believe what they were doing, that was more education than arousal.

Steve showed me a book he’d made of his favourite girls and now I knew his secret but they were tame compared to his collection back at the barracks.  Steve would ask “How do you know what you like if you haven’t tried it?” which was a fair question, Steve had watched everything there was to watch and found what he liked.  All soldiers carried orders books which were A5, green and plastic with thick pockets into which went important aide memoirs and places to jot down orders.  Most bomb disposal soldiers carried diagrams of mortars with radiuses and diameters and places where they would jot down First Light and Last Light Timings using the twenty four hour clock, 1800hrs never 6pm.

Steve was the man the regiment went to for their porn.  He had everything

The last page in my book had a picture of a girl from Manchester in a bath torn out of a mens magazine.  She had a bob of black hair that touched her naked shoulders, big brown eyes and full lips made more dangerous with red lipstick.  Her skin was the colour that beautiful girls from warm places had and girls from cold places wanted - was she Greek?  I didn’t know, she was sexy though, very sexy.  The water was foamed and the photo was taken from behind, you could see her arse and a smile as she turned to the photographer.  And in between that arse and that smile was a smooth curved back which was as sexy as that arse and that smile.  She had it all but then what did I know, just a virgin off to my first war - I didn’t know anything about girls, I just knew I liked this one.  She was a student it read and her name had been left in the magazine as I’d ripped it carelessly.  A student in Manchester, I might even meet her one day.  But my student was nothing compared to Steve’s book.  Steve didn’t have any orders in his book, no pictures of mortars that we might see in Iraq, no radio frequencies, nothing military at all.  We’re off to war, Steve!  He had page after page of women who definitely should not have been taking their clothes off in front of a photographer.  Steve was into hairy women.  Very hairy women.

I told him it belonged in the bin and he looked at my girls bottom and asked what I was going to do with that.  Do with it?  I just liked looking at it, she was sexy I told him and he laughed.  “What the Hell are you going to do with that mate?” he chuckled.  This girl from Manchester was going to get me through the war I said, she’d keep me going in the trenches.  Just looking at her was enough.  Some girl who’d got naked in a bath in Manchester was going to win the war for me.  Steve grumbled as the RAF stewards came closer, he desperately didn’t want to lose his book so I grabbed it.  I stuffed it deep into the back of my rucksack where a bit of foam was supposed to be.  The steward was having a cursory look into the bags, I didn’t show him mine informing him I was a Muslim.  He nodded and walked on by and Steve slapped me on the arm and laughed and asked me to give him his hairy women back when we were safe.

Steve was into hairy women.  Very hairy women.

The plane started to lose height.  This was it.  I smiled and Steve grumbled.  As the plane made its descent, my emotions were mixed but overridden with excitement and as we left the plane we saw the RAF stewards flicking through our porn, at least it would keep them entertained on the flight back I thought and as soon as we neared the door we could hear the whining plane winding down.  In the door we felt the thick heat that was the air and we pushed our faces into the warm and stepped into Kuwait, here we were, off to war without our porn.

“Steve” is still serving in the British Army.

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