Imagine South Germany after WW II. In 1955, the war had been over for a long time; we lived in an entirely new world, a world guided by American humanism. Our government and public institutions were citizen-friendly; we had a strong - yet scarce - new currency, new fashions in dress and music: Jazz, and names like Rock Around The Clock, Shake Rattle 'n Roll, See You Later Alligator, Only You, Divine Elvis, all this had been brought to us by our liberators who were good and friendly. We loved them and we love them still. In 1945, on the last day of war in our village, we farmer children sneaked around the machine-gun hole where the Americans had controlled the Danube Bridge down in the valley; the soldiers were gone but they had left exotic sweets and some corned beef cans, we thought for us. The following day, an armored tank rattled upward into the village and stopped in front of our farm. The gun-tower turned in our direction, the whole family stood in the courtyard, waving white bed-sheets. I, a tiny little boy in leather shorts, was standing in front of all on the road, rowing the air with a white pillow-cover. Suddenly the top of the tower opened, and out came a soldier, a heavy black man as I only had seen in the Christmas crib. Was it possible that the Black King had exchanged his golden crown against that funny round helmet and that he fought on the side of the Americans? Suddenly, the soldier burst out in roaring laughter, showing two magnificent rows of teeth. Then, he pointed a metallic object at me – my heart stood still "Soldiers Do Kill" – and he took a photograph of me. Finally, he slapped on the tower and the tank continued its way with rattling chains towards the forest where some lost elements of the German army were said to hide. It is easy to understand that such first encounters marked the children and the adolescents they were to become. Ten years later, 1955. The neighboring cities of Ulm and Neu-Ulm, separated by a State border, were both situated in the American military occupation Zone. We listened to AFN and every night to Willis Connover on the Voice of America. We tried hard to get blue jeans that molded the body ("outrageously obscene" our mamas screamed, and the fathers, who had lost their soul with the war, growled: "In MY house, never!") Many young women had particular contacts with the white and with the black soldiers (with these, the "shame" appeared some months later, actually lovely dolls); us boys traded smuggle goods like Lucky Strikes and Old Spice, and we were proud to speak a rather fluent Texas drawl. Poor English teachers who defended Her Majesty's English: "Oh Paul, you haf an awfull emeriken aktsent." "Better than a Germ'n accent, Ma'am.” The GIs were incredibly clean. We were told they took hot showers every day, whereas we had just one water tap in the kitchen, very embarrassing for girls as well as for boys. The GIs smelled so good. In the street we used to walk closely behind them, especially behind the black soldiers whose musk smell from Old Spice inspired in us unexpressed and inexpressible temptations. Not all boys of my Gymnasium had contact with or interest in the American soldier, his shrill popular culture or his language. Only some of us were focused on them, as I was. I talked about that to my class comrade Erwin who did not have any idea about that little universe next to our city gate. On one Saturday night, I played the camel-driver. We went to Metro Bar in Neu-Ulm, then a roaring GI hangout – floats of beer, ear-deafening noise and Rock 'n Roll. In one word: wonderful. I shook hands with some GIs, very proud to demonstrate my popularity in front of Erwin. We had some drinks - it had to be Tom Collins (with the cherry!) and at eleven, Erwin wanted to return home. On the Danube Bridge to Ulm where we lived, we crossed two men, not so much older than us, trench coats, crew cut, two clean, blond young people. Obviously, they were returning to their barracks on the outskirts of Neu-Ulm, after having some drinks in one of the old inns in Ulm. We engaged in some friendly small talk, and were about to separate, when one of the men who had done all the talking suddenly said with a friendly smile, "Do you want to suck my dick?” Just like that: Do you want to suck my dick! That knocked me down. I knew the meaning of "suck,” even if I did not understand the word dick. I just guessed that "my dick" had certainly something to do with the body of the friendly gentleman. Fear and panic seized me: had Erwin understood? He looked sheepishly as ever and did not say a word. What to do, what to do? In 1954, man-to-man sex was a capital crime pursued mercilessly by criminal police and society. The parents, the college career - imagine all that! Add to this, I was an inhibited Catholic schoolboy who feared like hell the confession "Did you do impure things with yourself, with a boy or with a girl?" (They had to shove that under our noses and to arouse our curiosity. Next morning, during break in the schoolyard, the wise boys gave us the technical details). Could I ask Erwin to come with us? How would he react if the men explained to him what they wanted me, or both of us, to perform? Moreover, if I asked him to return home alone, that I would go with the soldiers, what would he think? Would he guess? It was a stupid idea, because we were not exactly friends, he certainly would not have thought about it and in particular, he was not bright enough to gossip about that. So I just said "Good night" and we separated. Ten steps further, however, I stopped and said to Erwin: "Wait here for a moment, I'll see if I can get some Lucky Strikes tomorrow from these fellows.” I ran after the two who were not yet far and said, breathlessly, "Yes, I understand what you want and I am ready to do anything you want, but first I must see my comrade home; he lives in the same street as me, near Opera movie theatre. Can we meet in one hour, at midnight precisely, at Metro Bar? I'll do anything." They laughed and agreed. After having dropped Erwin at his house door, I ran like a madman across the town and over the Danube Bridge. At ten to twelve, I was at Metro Bar, exhausted. They were there! Drinking and discussing with some other GIs. So I just waved my hand to greet in their direction. When I had finished my drink at the bar, I greeted again and nodded towards the door, but they did not react. I waited on the other side of the street, and a few moments later, they came out, alone. "That's great you could make it. My name is Harry, and this is Jeremy" (the silent companion). "My name is Paul (I pronounced it the American way). Where will we go?" "You will see. I know a quiet place." "What do you want me exactly to do?" "I asked you to suck my dick, to take my penis in your mouth and to make me feel good to be exact, and by coming with us now you show that you agree and that you are ready. You will love it." "I have never done that before, and I do not know how it works." "Don't mind. Just let yourself go and feel easy. I'll guide you, or you'll find out yourself." "But I'm afraid, and it is against the law and an awful sin and if I excite you, will you ... in my mouth?" "Stop that crap now. There are many ways of having pleasure with your body, and sucking dick is good for me and good for you and good perhaps for Jeremy. We are no homos, and you don't look or act like one. If you love God and do no evil to your fellow men, there is no sin, just a little pleasure. But we are arriving." Actually, we stood at a taxi stand, and entered the first in line. Harry ordered "To the concern" (that's how they pronounced Kaserne, the barracks) and showed the direction southwards. I was bewildered; did they intend to dishonor me in their dormitory, in front of their comrades? We saw already the lights at the gate of the barracks, when Harry suddenly told the driver: "Stop, stop, stop, I've seen somebody I had to meet tonight." We stepped out, and Jeremy paid the fare. We directed ourselves towards the barracks, but some 20 meters further, Harry and Jeremy engaged into an untarred field road on the left. We went for over hundred meters, and arrived at a downward slope with a thick hedge and a giant tree there. "That's the quiet place" chuckled Harry, and Jeremy chuckled "No noise!" It was obvious that they were not here for the first time. I whispered, "Please Sir, fuck me, fuck me in the ass. Last summer I was in Paris and got fucked by four Moroccan workers, and I supported it and I liked it. But I cannot take your penis in my mouth and swallow your ... Please fuck me, Sir!" Harry opened his pants and dragged his member into the open. "Take it, feel it," and he wrapped my hand around. It was large, and hard as a bone, but there was no skin at the tip as on mine and my comrades'. What was this? I shivered. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me deep in my throat. I was overwhelmed by that wonderful taste of a clean and fresh adolescent, that aftertaste of American chewing gum, the taste of man. "Now get on your knees you stupid bastard and smell it!" With his hands on my shoulders, he forced me down to the ground with a strength I had not expected from that friendly gentleman. The member, the swollen balls hanging out of the fly and the hair around smelled of soap and cleanness. Suddenly he pressed his hands around my throat, I gasped for breath and he shoved the dick into my mouth. That's what I had feared so much, and now it had happened. But it was easy, agreeable, like a big juicy fruit, giving a feeling of fulfillment that I wanted to last. I took a deep breath: "Thank you Harry, that's wonderful!" "I told you... But now suck me baby, suck me in rhythm and do not stop." He directed me, with his dick and with hot, frantic whispers. It did not take long before I had understood how to tease and excite a penis, aspiring and tonguing. Harry fondled my hairs and poked with his fingers into my ears. And the felicity continued. After a while, his member seemed to stiffen and get harder, and his body shivered - I held myself on his ass, decently covered by his trousers. Suddenly my mouth filled with a warm, tasty liquid. It was perhaps only spurts and drops but they entirely filled the mouth. At first, I had thought I would spit it on the ground and then vomit, as do heteros who are drunk or threatened or blackmailed (as I learned much later) but I took all and licked my lips and the last drops on the tip of my dear friend's dick. Harry sighed and respired heavily, and he patted my head: "That was great. I never had a better relaxation, but I do not believe that this was your first time." Jeremy, who had made the sentinel behind the hedge, had approached us as Harry's climax was near. He did not speak; he just smiled over and over. I began to open my trousers and to jerk. Harry stopped my arm and said: "Don't jack off before your partner has come. When you have shot you will immediately cool down and be disgusted or bored. So keep your boner hard and enjoy the tension and the thrill. You come last. Believe me, that's better for both." And he whispered into my ear: "Jeremy is my friend. Not my lover. Feel the hard-on in his pants: he is excited, and he wants you to do him as you did me. He is too shy to ask you, but I know what he wants and what he needs. Do you accept, please, for me?" "You are the first man I ever had this way, and I'll never never forget you. A virgin never forgets her first man. I love you, I love you, even if you are not in love with me. I am bearing your mark for the rest of my life. Now, I'll do what you want me to do, I'll do the same but it will not be the same for me." I got on my knees, and swallowed the penis Jeremy had hastily got out of his trousers when he had heard his unexpected expected luck. It was not different from Harry's. Jeremy did not say a word. He only moaned when I sucked him as in ecstasy, he swayed forward and back, but he (nor Harry) did not fuck my mouth as I experienced many years later with portuguese marines and moroccan taxi drivers.) Finally, he shivered and with a heavy sigh he shot his warm load into my eager mouth. Now I could not refrain any longer, I lowered my trousers down to the knuckles and masturbated slowly, under the eyes of the two men who smiled with sympathy when I shot my white load into the bush; near a town, there is always some light from the clouds. Cautiously, we returned to the main road, near the junction we swayed as if we were completely drunk, in case somebody saw us and wondered what these three had done in the bush. Then we continued normally. We went back towards town up to a road-side bus stop, roofed, with a bench. Harry said: "If you liked what we have done, we can meet right here next time. There are busses until midnight. Nobody pays attention to a man sitting and looking at his shoes, or walking along. Never stand loitering, never look into people's eyes. You'll be invisible, and that's what we have to be if we are after boys. You got me?" We dated for next weekend here, and went to the gate of the barracks. Jeremy asked a taxi driver waiting there how much it would cost to Ulm railway station; they all understood as much American as they needed for their business. Jeremy paid and off I was. Next day I explained my parents that I had registered in a movie club, at reduced fee (they liked the word) which presented French films in original version on late night show. So I got the house key and could leave with my bicycle. I met several times again with Harry and Jeremy, and we always shared the same pleasures, each one keeping his role. I sucked them, and they were glad. Money was never involved, but Jeremy brought me small gifts from the PX: perfumed soap, magazines and other gifts soldiers use to give to docile native boys. ***** One night, Jeremy came alone to the bus stop. He waved to me, and we went back to the field road as last time. After some 20 meters on that road, he stopped and said, "Harry is on duty tonight and tomorrow." I asked, "Is Harry your lover? Do you..." Jeremy laughed. "Oh no, stupid! We never touched each other; that would be like incest. You know, we both grew up in a small mid-western town. When we came of age, that age, Harry began to go with girls, movies, dancing, but after a while, holding hands and shy petting were not enough for him. As our girls refuse to get penetrated, for fear of complications, the boys convince them to give them oral satisfaction. You see, we have no secrets, Harry and me, and when he told me about his first experiences, he pointed at my pants and laughed, ‘Your boner shows that you are interested!’ The next weekend, he came with two girls, and one of them went down on me. It was really great, and we continued on that way for a while. But then we got no more willing girls. They must have understood that we just wanted to get our rocks off and that we had no serious intentions. As for prostitutes, we were not willing or not able to afford their services. Besides, that can be difficult to organize. “One night,” Jeremy continued, “Harry phoned me to meet him in the dark street behind the town hall. I was intrigued while waiting, knowing that Harry always had ideas. A big blue car stopped before me, and Harry's voice came out from the back seat, ‘Hey, Jerry, get in the front. Quick, its me, Harry.’ The driver was a baldheaded man whom I recognized as a local businessman. He stretched his hand to me, ‘Hello, I’m Allen, and you must be Jeremy.’ And off we went. I turned back to Harry: ‘Wh...Wh...What is...?’ ‘Don't be scared, just relax. Wait and see,’ he replied.” Jeremy went on with his story. “We left the town, followed a path into the fields and stopped in a small woods, all lights out. The man stepped out and entered the back door. There was some moonlight that night, and when I turned back, somehow angry, to ask Harry what was going on, I saw that he pulled his pants and boxers down, and that the man bent as starving over his standing boner. Now I understood. “After a while, Harry heaved a deep sigh and the man did, too. My friend stepped out, straightened out his clothes and opened my door. ‘Go sit behind,’ he said. When I was seated, the man turned to me, smiling, ‘Now show me the good things you’ve got in your basket.’ I did as Harry had done, and the man did me, all the way down. His chin scratched a bit on my thighs, and I got excited as crazy. It was the best oral service I ever had. Actually, there had not been that many. “We immediately returned to town and Mr. Allen dropped us at the same spot where he had collected me. He gave us some pocket money, ‘for the movies, for dancing with the girls.’ “This very satisfying and not too frequent relationship lasted, without rumors or problems, until the time we were both enlisted. We had the chance to remain together during basic training in the same unit, and then we were transferred six months later, here to New Ulm." I had not thought that Jeremy was able to pronounce such a long speech. The story had heated me up, so I said, "Let's go to our place; I am eager to do my job." "No, wait a moment. You know how you always plead, ‘Fuck me please, Sir, fuck me’? Are you still interested?" "Oh yes, thank you, thank you Jere..." "No, it's not me. I have somebody who is very hot and decided. See the man there, standing at the corner? That's Winslow. He has followed us, and I told him to wait at the corner because I wanted to deal with you first." A car passing on the main road from the barracks threw its lights on the man. "But...but, he’s a Negro!" I stammered. "No, stupid, that's not a Negro; that's an ordinary enlisted man of the United States Armed Forces. He's a decent and educated Bostonian, rather an intellectual, but somehow vulgar in sexual matters. And very horny tonight! If you want to get fucked, you have the double chance to get fucked by a young black boy." "How did he know? Did you… you put an ad in the Stars and Stripes?" "No, you stupid thing. We had a casual conversation at the bar of our EM Club, the night after that very hot Monday. And he, Winslow, sighed, "I'm so horny tonight, I badly need to fuck a girl. Do you have a girl on hand?" "I have one, and I keep her for me. But if you don't find one, there are alternative ways, like men or boys, for instance. The feeling on the dick is the same, and the result’s the same, too." "Oh yes, in Miami I had a Puerto Rican girl, a very hot chick, and one night her younger brother came and said she could not make it that night, but perhaps he might replace her. I was surprised, but I tried. It was different, he had heavy muscled buttocks and an exciting narrow hole, but he suffered and told me he would never do it again with an animal like me. In this concern, can YOU perhaps help?" Jeremy told me he said, "If you think what I think you are thinking, better be prepared to protect your nose and your teeth!" “No!” Winslow protested. “I mean, do you know somebody, like a native boy or someone who..." "No, that's not my scene. However, I know someone who told me about a skinny (excuse me Paul) German college boy, always frightened but ready for absolutely everything if appropriately heated up. I'll try to give him to you on Friday night." "Oh, thank you, but will you accompany me for introductions?" "Do you really need me to introduce you...? But seriously: Friday night, no. I'll see, however, what I can do." “And here we are,” Jeremy said to me. “Winslow is waiting up there. Will you allow me to tell him you are willing, and bring him here? There won't be another chance for long, and I will not search for you anymore." "Ok, bring him here, but tell him to be correct and polite: I am a man, not an old whore. Do you think he will give me a little something after?" After that second long speech, Jeremy returned to the corner and spoke to the man who seemed enthusiastic, waving his arms. They approached. "Hello, I am Winslow, and you would be Paul? Would you like to indulge in some sodomy by me?" Oh no, what a style! He was an extremely handsome man, with fine eyebrows and a thin moustache, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. The most beautiful feature was his skin, a color that looked so appetizing as milk chocolate and felt as smooth as suede leather. We came to our usual love nest behind the hedge, and I immediately went on my knees in front of Jeremy who was already in position to be serviced. If Winslow was surprised by my spontaneous readiness and by our wordless familiarity, he did not show it. He could not ignore that one has to be prudent and to play first the tough and rough hetero. He stood near us and then unbuckled his belt. Oh no! What I saw from the angle of my eye was terrifying: a large, black pole thick as my wrist. Nevertheless, I brought Jeremy to a furious orgasm, without spilling a drop. But now I had to deal with Winslow! "Oh please Sir, I cannot take that thing; that's too big! Have pity with me...! "We are here for a good buttfuck. Don't fear, ANY BOY CAN, I have the method to lodge my piece in any hole, even virgin, and it never hurts. Now shut up, you stupid slut, and pull down your pants, you hear me? Pull your pants down, hands on your knees,” and he shook me violently. "Help me, Jeremy!" I implored. "You got what you wanted. Now relax, let yourself hang, it will be much easier if you don't upset yourself. Go fuck him, Winslow; he wants it, but smoothly." I felt something like cold oil around my butt hole, and when I looked over my shoulder, I saw that he pressed from a plastic tube that type of oil on his big thing. He entered one finger, then two into my hole, turning them slowly, and then came the thick end, as the Germans say, the bad news at the end. Again, it was not as I had feared; he did not penetrate me at once to full length, but pushed a centimeter, withdrew, pushed another centimeter, a very slow progression until I felt his pubic hairs and his balls on my skin. That slow, gradual method of entry allows to open any boy's hole for further action, even wild action, without causing pain or injuries. Being entirely engulfed, he began to move and move, and to draw my hips against his belly, the perfect fuck for him and for me. It did not hurt; it was just slippery. He came to his climax, with strokes faster and harder, and shot his juice. He withdrew his thick, glittering and drooling piece, seized my arm and said with a breathless voice, "And now you can suck that clean!" No way, this time no fake refusal to excite him more; I meant NO. Anything, anybody, but not that! "Explain him, Jeremy: it is NO or I'll run over on the street and scream.” "Quiet, little Paul, he won't insist." Winslow showed his anger with dirty words: fuck-pig and butt-whore and cocksucker and the like. He said, "I'll punish you, I'll fuck you now the hard way. Open that hole, wide!" He poured the entire content of his plastic tube on and into my butthole, and began to ram his monster into it, without preliminaries. He did not realize that it did not hurt me, because he had opened the road before and I was terribly excited by his humiliating insults. His orgasm was even more violent than the first one, and Jeremy had to slap him on the head to bring him to silence. He took his piece out brutally, and this was less agreeable. "I must go behind the tree,” I said, and Jeremy gave me a pack of paper tissues. When I came back, violently relieved, the men were sitting on the ground and were smoking. Jeremy took a flat brandy bottle from his pocket and poured it over my fingers to wash them; Jeremy always had resources. We all three smoked and relaxed, I'd say recovered. Winslow begged me to pardon him: "When I am overheated, I am a pig,” and Jeremy laughed. Now our breathing had gotten back to a normal pace, when suddenly Jeremy pulled his trousers and boxers down to his shoes. He looked at me, and smiled, "Paul darling, I could use some more of that treatment. Do you...?" I was tired now, but I loved to suck that lovely young dick and to swallow that fine liquid. Would I get fed up with that one day? To my surprise, Jeremy remained sitting on the ground, and I had to go down on my knees and elbows to service his hard member. So my butt pointed upwards, and there was already the other fiend, purring like a randy cat, rubbing my neck, my back, my buttocks and pulling my pants down to my knees. Again the lubrication, and again his thick thing in my ass, but smoothly, slowly, almost tenderly. When both had enjoyed their orgasm, into my mouth and into my backside, I lay back and jerked off, slowly to make it last, cooing and moaning. The two men seemed to like that exhibition, Winslow especially looked fascinated, if not excited. But now, that was more than enough for tonight. When we separated, Winslow put a bill into the pocket of my shirt. When I was alone, later, I saw it was a five-dollar bill. The usual fee for good boys was 10 marks or $2.50, or so I heard in our schoolyard ("Oh, how dirty!"). I was very happy about that. But on the way home, I had to shove my bicycle. *** The following week, Winslow arrived alone to our meeting point. On the way to our love nest, he informed me that Harry's and Jeremy's unit had been transferred to Frankfort in order to be airborne to Texas. Oh no! "Harry sends you this," and he gave me a small silver ring, which I have still today in that souvenir box here. But no photo, no address; gone forever. Winslow had brought a travel plaid with him, and we made love lying on the ground in a nice, gentle way. He even kissed me. But then came the surprise: "Paul darling, I never had the opportunity to suck a white boy. I… I… I wanted to feel how you feel when you go down on Jeremy and on Harry. Would you let me?” On the way to our meetings, I always used to enter an inn and have a glass of brandy or two to give me courage. On this occasion, I always went to the toilet and, as soon as I was alone, I washed my private parts and in particular the glans with soap, in order to be clean when I jerked off. So there was no reason for shame and I had no objection. Very often, when a boy refuses to involve in carnal commerce with a gentleman, his body or his underwear are not clean that day. Serious hustlers therefore prefer to go to the trick's home or to a hotel room; a good shower allows to gratify the client with unedited vicious tricks and unrestrained lascivity. Winslow closed his mouth on my sex, but then he stopped and put his hands around my throat. "If you tell anybody in any place what I am doing I'll strangle you with these hands, here in the field." "Don't be stupid, Sir. Don't you know the situation here in Germany? I am under German criminal law. Do you think me stupid enough to tell my secrets, my sex crimes, to anybody? Did I ever tell you any one of my secrets? Okay, you saw me in action with Jeremy. If you want to know about me and Harry, you must ask him. And now, open your mouth, deep breath, and suck that white native boy! Go on, suck me hard, Sir!" I was overwhelmed by the exciting suction of that hot wet mouth with the closed eyes, the finely shaped lips, and the fine moustache. My whole body concentrated on my dick from which that beautiful black lad endeavored to siphon my juice. It was like swimming without trunks in a pool, the genitals hanging free in the warm water. Now I understood why these young men were so eager for willing partners. I also thought that Winslow was not so hundred percent straight as he always pretended. But Harry had taught me that all these were not homos, just men who liked pleasure, that simple pleasure which did not alter their behavior, or their personality. I met Winslow still on two other weekends, every time he sucked my dick, and I sucked his, and finally he fucked me at least two times; potency is quite normal at that age. I myself was able, on a moist summer night one year later, to make five hits with my girlfriend, a married lady. Finally, Winslow dropped his dirty talk when excited and our sex became almost sentimental, like among good comrades. Unfortunately, I had wished to know him better, to discuss on arts and literature, but our relation was what the song calls, "the love of the sailors who never stay long." On our last meeting, I made no new appointment. The summer vacations were approaching and I was going to work in a factory for travel money. During three months, I had an intense sex life, even if at weekly intervals. I was aware however of the danger of getting entrapped and becoming a ‘faggot’, and later on an old faggot focused exclusively on men's and young boys’ penises, and pursued day and night by police. I had nothing to fear from my experience with these clean and friendly GIs, and I never felt traumatized or gone astray. The only inconvenience was the stress caused by the permanent, complete secrecy. The thrill of the forbidden, the actual sexual abuse and the feeling of shame were my catharsis and had washed me clean from a number of social and religious superstitions. I'd better say “ecclesiastical superstitions,” because religion has nothing to do with sex and not much to do with the Church, which has transformed it into a kind of mythologized folklore. I was free now. But another chapter of my life was to come. The author (moran_nl@yahoo.com) would be grateful for comments and for similar experiences of former military occupants with native boys. There is a Dutch novel on the same topic, "For a Lost Soldier" by Rudi van Dantzig (1992 ). In www.amazon.co.uk there are very critical comments who consider that 11 yo Jeroen is in love with the canadian soldier but that one commits only sexual abuse on the boy and traumatizes him for long. The (english) movie version (1996, VHS and DVD in gay bookshops) differs considerably from the book.
