I do like a man in uniform, so I advertised for one on the Internet. I got a reply from a military man, who said he’d seen active service. I emailed back and told him to make sure he arrived in full military uniform ready to give me orders.

I was very naïve, and didn’t even think of requesting a photo or asking for personal details, but then I didn’t much care. So long as he was a soldier dressed in his uniform, that was good enough for me.

I looked forward with increasing anticipation as the day and then time arrived for his visit. I had many wanks in the days beforehand thinking of what this big, butch soldier would order me to do, and the various ways he would make me pleasure him. I imagined every fetish and sexual position possible.

Finally the day arrived, and as the hour approached I got increasingly nervous, but also excited. He was 10 minutes late arriving, which I thought a bit odd for a soldier, but even stranger was the time he took from the entry door to my block of flats to my front door. Perhaps he got lost I thought, and was just about to go and look for him when my front doorbell rang. I glimpsed thru the spyhole, and saw a scarlet uniform.

Oh, he’s come in ceremonial guards uniform, I thought to myself. I’d have preferred khaki, but what the heck – it might be fun to have sex with a guardsman in his ceremonial uniform.

I opened the door and – shock, horror!

In front of me stood a Chelsea Pensioner well into his 80s or possibly even in his 90s, in the scarlet and black uniform of the veterans who live at the Royal Hospital Chelsea. He had a walking-stick, and could hardly stand up, was out of breath and shaking with exhaustion.

‘Ooh, them bleedin’ stairs,’ he wheezed (I was only up one flight) ‘they nearly killed me. Must sit down.’

He pushed past me, and hobbled across the hallway into my lounge where he collapsed in an armchair.

I saw something orange on the floor in the hallway, and bent down to pick it up. It was his senior citizen’s Freedom Pass giving him free travel on public transport, so I picked it up and gave it to him.

‘Oh thank you, couldn’t go anywhere without that,’ he said, then gave me my first military order. ‘Get an old soldier a nice cup of tea, two sugars please!’

What could I do? I went in the kitchen and made some tea, found some biscuits and sat down on the sofa with this old boy, sipping tea and chatting about his experiences back in the Second World War.

He was, in fact, 90 years old, so was 20 when World War II broke out. He showed me a photo of when he was first called up, aged 18. Even in the old-fashioned uniform with the 1930s Brylcreemed hairstyle, he looked really handsome, and I’d have certainly had sex with him then, but not now.

How could I tell him?

‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘they all expect a young serving soldier and get quite a shock when I arrive on their doorstep.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I was rather surprised,’ I said with considerable understatement.

‘I promise you I will give you a good time that you’ll remember all your life,’ said the old soldier. ‘Nobody has ever complained yet. In fact they keep coming back for more.’

I found this very hard to believe, but the old man then went on to make a truly fantastic claim.

‘After I left the army, I became a scientist and an inventor,’ he said. ‘I missed all my old comrades who died in the War, and I became obsessed. I got involved in Spiritualism, and contacted a lot of them thru mediums. According to how the mediums described my old friends, they had apparently remained young, fit and good-looking, as I got older and more decrepit.

Anyway I decided I was going to try to realize H. G. Wells fantasy and create a Time Machine to take me back to those days at the beginning of the Second World War, and finally I succeeded. Would you like to come back with me and see all the fun we had in the War? When we weren’t actually fighting, it was going on everywhere. Here at home in the air raid shelters, parks, in the barracks and on the battlefields abroad. I’ll show you if you like.’

Thinking the old man had completely lost his marbles, I politely thanked him, but said I thought I’d pass on his kind offer.

‘You don’t know what you’ll be missing,’ he said. ‘I know you think I’m crazy, but why not just come along to my little laboratory and see for yourself. Can’t do any harm can it?’

I thought about it, and what Heath-Robinson type contraption this nutty old professor might have built in some laboratory, and decided it might be good for a laugh, and it would humor the old chap, who was nice enough even if completely nuts. I was a muscular chap in my 40s, so even if he turned out to be a homicidal maniac I was confident I could overpower him very easily – indeed he could hardly stand up, and needed the aid of his walking-stick to remain upright.

So the following Saturday I traveled to the address he gave me, which was an allotment in Chelsea. He was waiting at the allotment gates, in his scarlet Chelsea Pensioner uniform. I shook hands with him, we went in and I followed as he hobbled along the grass path between the plots, till we got to his one. There was a small tool-shed built up against the far wall of the allotments. He fumbled with some keys, and finally opened the door. As we stepped thru the door I was amazed – it was so big inside. It was like stepping into the Tardis, the Time Machine used by Dr Who in the TV series.

‘Yes, we’ve already entered another dimensional space,’ said the old chap. ‘Time only exists as we know it in our own dimension. That machine over there is constantly ticking over, so the whole interior of the shed is in another dimension, outside of Time itself.’

This was incredible, but I had to admit the old boy was not crazy. Whether the odd looking contraption in the center of the room could really take us backwards and forward in Time or not, certainly something had happened already. The inside of the tool-shed was at least 20 times bigger than the outside, or we were 20 times smaller. Or else, as he claimed, we had entered another universe or dimension altogether.

He went over to the machine, flicked some switches and pressed some buttons, then told me to sit in a chair on the side of the equipment and strap myself in. He strapped himself in a similar one, but his had a control panel in front of it. Pulling some levers and setting some dials, the machine began to shake and emit a loud hum. Suddenly I felt giddy, and the tool-shed and everything else became a blur then disappeared altogether.

I seemed to be in a spinning vortex, going down, down, down. It was quite scary, but in a few seconds it was all over, the machine stopped shaking and the hum died down to a slow whine. The tool-shed had disappeared, but the allotments were still there, bigger than before. We and the machine were in the middle of a grass patch, and all around us were vegetables of all kinds growing. I could see people in 1940s clothes gathering some of them – undoubtedly we were back in the Second World War, and this was part of the war effort in feeding the people from all available land.

I was amazed, and looked to my left to apologize to the old boy for doubting his sanity. He wasn’t there. In his place in the controller’s seat was the young, handsome man I’d seen in the photo the old guy had showed me, just a few years older than when the photo was taken.

I unstrapped myself from my seat, so did he, and he came over and shook my hand.

‘Well, congratulations! I’m astounded,’ I said. ‘You really did it, you’ve brought us back about 70 years to the Second World War.’

‘1942 to be exact,’ said the young soldier, who’s name was Charles by the way. Though he preferred to be called ‘Charlie’. ‘As you see, I added a refinement so when visiting a time when I was alive, I can at the flick of a switch set the machine so I return to my age at that time. This makes sure people recognize me, and has other advantages. Now, when the next air-raid siren sounds, I’ll show you what we soldiers did when home on leave.’

We left the allotment, and walked along the streets which looked much the same as in 2009. Only the gas lamp-posts and certain other things looked old-fashioned. Very few cars were on the roads, there was petrol rationing and few people could afford motor vehicles even in affluent Chelsea. We walked across Chelsea Bridge to Battersea Park, and I noticed the anti-aircraft guns and barrage balloons. We crossed Prince of Wales Drive with its posh mansions, and reached Battersea Park Road, which is fairly close to the railway lines leading into Clapham Junction Station, the busiest railway station in Britain. Here there was considerable bomb damage in the surrounding streets, worse as you got nearer the railway, which was obviously the target for Luftwaffe bombers.

‘I lived in Battersea with my parents and sisters,’ said Charlie. ‘Never thought I’d end up across the River in the Royal Hospital.’

He was going to take me to meet his parents and sisters. I thought I would look very odd in my 21st Century clothes, but when I looked down at myself I saw I had miraculously been re-styled in the clothes of the period. I felt my balding head, and was amazed to find I had a full head of greasy, Brylcreemed hair combed back with a parting on the left.

‘Oh don’t worry, I also built that facility into my Time Machine,’ said Charlie. ‘No good arriving in 1942 looking like aliens from another planet. We’d be locked up as German spies straight away.’

As we walked down the street towards the area where his family home was, there was the wailing of the air-raid sirens.

‘Now you’ll see what I mean,’ said Charlie, as he wheeled round and headed for Battersea Park again.

Here there was a public air-raid shelter, and Charlie explained that with Chelsea Barracks so near across the River, and so many soldiers arming the anti-aircraft guns in the park, there’d be plenty of young military men down the shelter.

We descended with a lot of civilians and soldiers into the musky, damp darkness of the air-raid shelter. It was very dimly lit, and Charlie led me over to a particularly dark corner, where a lot of soldiers, sailors and airmen in full uniform were gathered.

‘This area’s reserved for military men, and their admirers,’ said Charlie.

As my eyes got accustomed to the darkness, I was aware of people on their knees in front of these military men. I was shocked and amazed. Civilian men, and a few women, were giving blow-jobs to the soldiers, sailors and airmen in this dark corner of the huge air-raid shelter.

‘I could do with a good gammeroosh’, said Charlie, using an old fashioned word for a blow-job.

I didn’t need telling twice. I fell to my knees, unbuttoned the young Charlie’s flies (this was long before zip fastener flies), and started sucking on his delicious young soldier’s cock. As Charlie moaned in the darkness, I could hear the other military men moaning in ecstasy all around me. To my right was a guy sucking off a sailor. I heard the sailor moan, and dimly saw his spunk shoot out all over the guy’s face and in his mouth. Then a soldier behind me moaned as he reached a climax, and his hot load shot all over my hair. This was absolute decadence, yet the other civilians in the shelter were either unaware of what was going on in this dark corner, or simply didn’t care.

I continued sucking Charlie’s cock, and suddenly he shuddered and whispered, ‘I’m cummin’, I’m cummin’…’ as he shot a huge load of sweet soldier sperm into my mouth and down my throat.

I stood up, wiping the excess cum off my lips and chin, but Charlie said:

‘You’re not finished yet. There are loads of other soldiers, sailors and airmen waiting to be serviced, get on your knees and do your job – these boys are fighting and risking their lives for you. Show them some respect!’

He pushed me down to my knees again, and a Royal Air Force officer stepped up to me, unbuttoned his fly, took out his huge cock and barked, ‘Suck on this, and make it good!’

I sucked on the airman’s big cock, and as I did so a sailor came over to my left and offered me his cock, and a soldier unbuttoned to my right and stuck his cock in my face too. I had to suck on all three cocks in turn – in fact all three tried to insert their penises into my mouth at the same time, stretching it impossibly.

‘OK, I’m ready,’ said the air force officer. ‘Make sure you swallow all this air force semen, it’s on ration so don’t waste it!’

With that he started spurting hot cum into my mouth. This is disgusting, I thought, but no sooner had he unloaded into my mouth, than the sailor stuck his cock into it and started unloading his creamy orgasm.

‘How d’ya like the taste of a seaman’s semen, matey?’ he asked.

I could only say, ‘Mmmmm!’ as my mouth was full of the air force officer’s and sailor’s spunky loads.

Then the soldier barked, ‘Open up, I want to feed you too,’ and his big prick pumped a hot, thick load of soldier’s spunk into my already overflowing mouth.

I swallowed this huge cocktail of military cum from the three armed services, and got shakily to my feet feeling I had already done my duty for my country and its servicemen.

However, in the next 20 minutes or so I sucked many more military cocks to completion, and was fucked, without condoms of course as this was long before AIDS, by at least a dozen military guys in full uniform, I lost count exactly how many.

Staggering to my feet, full of cum at both ends, and almost unable to walk, Charlie led me over to the civilian section, and I was amazed in the better light here to see men and women having full sexual intercourse in public view. Nobody seemed to care or bat an eyelid.

Charlie explained, ‘You’re shocked, I can see. You won’t read about this in the history books. But these people could all be dead tomorrow. A direct hit from a bomb would kill us all right now. They are grabbing every bit of pleasure when and where they can. And after all, what else can you do in an air-raid shelter, or in a blackout. You see why parents are reluctant to bring their kids down here, the ones who haven’t been evacuated to the countryside. Kids use the private Anderson and Morrison shelters in people’s gardens and kitchens, or else are taken down the Underground stations. These air-raid shelters were the darkrooms of the 1940s.’

As I stood there, opened mouthed with amazement, I felt my own fly buttons being undone.

Oh no, I thought. Not a woman!

I looked down, and saw a young man in civilian clothes, obviously on leave or exempt from the call-up, taking out my cock and then I moaned in ecstasy as the young blond started giving me an exquisite blow-job. His warm mouth expertly milked my now rock-hard cock.

Charlie whispered in my ear, ‘Feed the young man. He’s been kicked out of the army for being too outrageously gay. He sucked off every soldier in his barracks, and even dropped to his knees every time an officer approached him.’

I couldn’t hold back, and shot my load into the young guy’s willing mouth. He got up, and politely thanked me for feeding him. Then he turned round and went down on another guy.

‘This is totally unbelievable,’ I said to Charlie. ‘I had no idea this is what you all got up to in the War.’

‘Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,’ said Charlie. ‘Wait till the black-out tonight. It goes on everywhere then.’

He was right. We stuck around till after dark, and it was pitch black. People moved about with tiny torches (flashlights) with a pinpoint of light directed towards the ground. There were no street lights on, and no light came from the windows of houses due to the black-out curtains. As we crept along the dark streets, we could see people having sex everywhere.

Men and women up against walls and hedges, men with men (many in uniform), and women with women. Even when we got on a bus to go back across the River to Chelsea and the allotments, two men were at it on the back seat on the upper deck, one giving the other a blow job in the dimly lit interior with its blacked out windows, just a tiny hole to see where you were.

The bus conductor came upstairs, took their fare and gave them a ticket without batting an eyelid – he just said, ‘Enjoying yourselves, are you? You can suck me off when you’ve finished doing him!’

Sure enough, as we crossed Chelsea Bridge and got off the bus, the man who had been giving his friend a blow-job, was sucking on the bus conductor’s cock.
Such depravity everywhere.

Charlie explained once again:

‘People seem to think that free love and moral decadence started in the Swingin’ Sixties. It has always gone on, from very ancient times. Especially in wartime. In the Second World War, as you have seen, anything and everything happened. I could show you a lot more if we had time. Under Admiralty Arch at night you could get golden showers – piss all over you or in your mouth if you wanted. Whatever your fetish, whatever your sexual orientation, whatever your age you could get it in the Second World War and in the 20 years or so afterwards. Guardsmen were so poorly paid, they sold sex to men of any age in St James’s Park, Hyde Park and all over the place. And they didn’t charge much either, they were glad to get a blow-job from anyone. After the War women weren’t so free and easy and willing to oblige, not till the Pill came long in the 60s anyway.’

We reached the allotment and Charlie’s Time Machine. We strapped ourselves in, and all too soon were back in the boring (by comparison) 21st Century, where outside of gay backrooms and similar places, everyone seemed to behave in a very respectable, civilized manner.

But you can bet I’ll be visiting Charlie and his Time Machine again in the near future. I wonder what filthy era he’ll take us back to next time? Or maybe forward to some future decadence? The mind boggles!

This story was written by Ted Gay more of their stories can be found on [restricted content]