Jamilla’s crucifixion

Jamilla was already awake when the sunlight entered her cell. After the Romans had captured her a week ago at the villa of her master, they had locked her up in there. They had stripped her and tied her up tightly, her hands behind her back, she was forced to sit here in this dark cell. She have had a lot of time to think about what has happened, and, more important, the things to come. At first she had been scared to death by the thought of being crucified, but right now she had found peace with it. Jamilla knew what she had done, and she also knew that she deserved nothing better. There was no doubt that, if she was to be killed, it would happen out there for every one to see. She was just to beautiful to let her die in here. After all she was the most beautiful girl in and around the city, In fact the thought of starving in here scared her even more than a public humiliation. Being tied up all the time and at least raped and tortured, imagine taht! No, no, all well considered, crucifixion was the best she could hope for. At least her pain would be over in a few days instead of years. She didn’t dare to think that the soldiers wouldn’t come for her.

But then the door opened and a couple of men gave entered her cell and removed the ropes from her hands and feet. Jamilla felt some sort of relief when she left the cell. They would not let her starve. Thus far she had been very lucky. It was only now that she realized that nobody had abused her until now. She wasn’t raped, she hadn’t been whipped. The fact of being nude don’t scare her, as a slave girl she has experienced this form of humilation many times, it was usual for the female to walk nude trough the city up tot he crucifixion side, while the men are allowed to wear a loincloth.

As they came out of the dark hallways into the inner yard of the camp, Jamilla spotted a long, thin, wooden cross lying on the ground. “Pick it up!” one of the soldiers said. Jamilla walked towards the cross and lifted it on her shoulder. There was no use in trying to resist, which would only make it worse for her. Two soldiers came standing next to her and one of them hung a wooden plate around her neck with her name, her age and her crime carved in it. Jamilla expected them to push her forward in to the streets of the city, but they didn’t. Both of the soldiers were looking at a little door behind them. As Jamilla looked at it as well, she saw an other soldier coming out with a hammer, a ladder and a basket with nails. Long heavy spikes…

“So it ’s going to be a full nailing” Jamilla said to herself. Until now she had hoped that they would only use ropes or at least only nail her hands, but as she could count more than two nails, she knew she wouldn’t be that lucky. The soldier loaded the gear on a donkey and the other two gave Jamilla a gentile push on her shoulder. “Let’s go.” They said and the campgates opened.

Jamilla carried her cross through the narrow streets of the city. It wasn’t very heavy but despite the early hour the sun was already shining hot. As she came closer to the crucifixion site, more and more people were watching and following her, yelling things at her. She noted the views of the men, on her slim body, her well-shaped breasts, with the long nipples. Her master has pierced them years ago, she has to wear rings there, and the nipples has grown considerably. Except her long hair, her body has been shaved completely, even if the pubic hair has started to grow back, her crotch is visible for everyone.

“Look at you, you stupid basterds,” Jamilla said to herself “ shouldn’t you be working? No you just want to see me suffer, you want to hear me scream on the cross, you want to see the extreme fear in my eyes when they nail me to it. Well screw you! You think I’m afraid but I’m not, you think I’ll beg them for mercy, beg them not to nail my feet, but you’re wrong, wrong, wrong! I won’t. In fact I’ll show you that it doesn’t scare me, I’ll show you how a proud girl faces her destiny!”

As she took the last turn to the marketplace, Jamilla felt this strange sensation in her underbelly. She knew she was walking her last few steps ever. On the market place, one of the soldiers gave the order to stop right in the middle of the square. She let her cross slip to the ground, took a few steps back and looked at the people that came to see her humiliation. One soldier held a hand on her shoulder and took back the wooden plate as the other one unpacked the gear. The third one began to declare her verdict and why she deserved it. During that time Jamilla realized that the strange feeling in her underbelly wasn’t fear as she thought it was, but pleasure. Her crotch has become wet, she noticed it. Every single person on the square wanted to see her young, nude body exposed on the cross. She knew she turned on every man that came to see her today, but none of them would ever have her. She would remain an unreachable ideal forever. She knew she could give them a spectacle they would never forget, that would make every other women look like durt.

Right now Jamilla realized that her time had come. The third soldier reached the end of his speech.

Jamilla knew what she had to do, she would show the crowd she was not afraid. Slowly she walked towards the cross, looking at the soldiers. Then she turned around, looked at he crowd and went lying down on her cross. Before one of the soldiers could grab her, she placed both of her wrists on the crossbeam, waiting for the nails.

The soldier that was going to nail her held back his two accompagnons. “No, no, don’t grab her. I want to see if she really can take this.” Jamilla looked at him as he put the first heavy spike right on top of her wrist. There was no one holding her wrists in place, yet she did not pulled them away, when the soldier raised his hammer for the first blow. Jamilla looked closely as the point of the first nail was driven into her wrist. “Aagh!” The pain was more than unbearable, it didn’t just stay in her wrist. Like water spilled on a flat stone, the pain started to run in various directions, all through her body. Yet the nail had only cut a few muscles and flesh. Right now he was only pushing on her wristbones, slightly driving them apart. As much as Jamilla was suffering, she couldn’t move her arms. She could only watch how the hammer came down a second time. This time the nail crushed her wristbones. Jamilla could feel the couldnes of the steel against her bones. Again she could not hold back a short scream. The pain had now turned into a supernatural form of agony. One of the soldiers who was standing next to the cross, noticed how Jamilla was rubbing her beautiful bare feet over the sand in a useless attempt to lighten the pain. Although the nail hadn’t reached the beam yet, she managed to keep her tortured wrist in place. Her most beautiful body was already covered with sweat when the hammer came down for the third time. Finally the nail came out of her wrist again and made his first contact with the crossbeam. Jamilla felt a bit relieved because she thought the wrist part was over. Once the nail was through, it would be easier to bare. But she was wrong. The hardness of the wood made it very hard to finish the job. The executioner needed six more blows to get her wrist fully nailed to the beam, every blow causing Jamilla more and more pain in addition to the already unbearable agony…

At the first blow, Jamilla had pulled back her second wrist. “Aagh!” A short scream escaped her mouth every time the nail went deeper. Finally the last blow was given and the executioner stood up. Shortly he admired his work, then he walked over to the other side of the beam to nail her other wrist. Jamilla didn’t know how she did it, but she had managed not to cry. Although only one of the four nails was in place, she was already covered with sweat. She looked at her unnailed wrist once more, then she placed it on the crossbeam as she saw the executioner approached with the second nail. He looked at her beautiful young face while he went across her wrist with his fingers to locate the bones. When he found the right spot, he place the nail on it, held his hammer high up in the sky. Then he waited for a moment to see if Jamilla really wouldn’t pull down her arm now that she knew what it felt like to have one nailed wrist. Then he started his horrible job.

Jamilla thought she knew what she had to expect, but no one could ever get used to a sudden explosion of pure pain like that. Again her short screams filled the air, again her beautiful bare feet rubbed against the sand, but yet the agony seemed like at least a thousand times worse. Again she felt how the nail crushed some of her bones and drove others apart. It was in this pure sensation of nothing-but-absolute-agony- that Jamilla realized something strange. With every blow she screamed her little “AaAgh’s” as a message to every one on the square that she couldn’t take it any more. But now she realized, as her pain reached a new, horrible peak with every other blow that she wanted more. Though the agony made it quite impossible to keep her wrist in place, as long as the nail hadn’t pinned it to the wood, Jamilla realized she was able to do so, because she loved it. From this moment one, she could kill and love the executioner for what he was doing to her at the same time. She hated and admired him because he was able of hurting her like this. Though her agony reached unknown hights with every blow, she couldn’t wait for the next one. She watched closely how the nail disappeared deeper into her wrist and into the wood. When the executioner stood up after the nailing, Jamilla felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. Her body was under tension, shivering, excited, despite the heat her nipples remain hard all the time, and she notes that her juice has started to leak.

Jamilla looked at her beautiful nude body as the soldiers made preparations to pull up the cross. With her arms spread out like this above her head and her legs a bit opened to feel the sand under her feet for the last time, both her beautiful small breasts with their long and hard nipples and shaven pubic were exposed to the crowd. Yet Jamilla felt no shame, she felt only pain and a deep desire for more pain. Two soldiers were tying ropes to both ends of the crossbeam while the third one was placing some small pieces of wood at the bottom of the longpole so that the cross wouldn’t slide over the sand when they tried to raise it. Then they attached the ropes to their donkey as well. Then the executioner kneeled down at Jamilla’s feet. He grabbed them by the ankles and measured the length of her legs. He placed her feet on the longpole, right next to each other, so that her legs were slightly bent. He looked at it, changed the pose a bit, released her feet and carved a little bit of wood out of the pole, where he wanted her feet to be when he nailed them. Jamilla had observed his actions very well. For a moment she thought he was going to nail her feet before they raised the cross. She had loved the feeling of his hand around her feet. The two soldiers made the donkey pull up the cross while the executioner made sure the longpole would slip into the hole that was dug for it. As they raised her cross and her feet left the ground for the last time, Jamilla felt how her weight was no longer carried by the thin longpole but only by the two spikes that pierced her wrists. She had to scream. Little yelps of both extreme agony and pleasure escaped her mouth while the donkey was raising her cross. As her cross was almost in a complete vertical position, Jamilla spotted the carve made by the executioner to indicate the intended position of her feet. While the soldiers were making sure the cross wouldn’t fall back if they cut the ropes, Jamilla tried out her final footpose. With her feet against the longpole and her legs opened widely because of the roundness of the longole, she decided that it was both a humiliating and an exciting pose. Jamilla looked at her elegant ankles and her adorable toes. Soon her most beautiful feet would be nailed. To feel once more the pain of really hanging on a cross, she moved her legs away from the longpole, so that they were just hanging on either side of it. Now the executioner placed his ladder against the cross and climbed up to fulfill his duty.

As the executioner reached the final step of the ladder, Jamilla lowered her left foot and placed it right on the spot the executioner wanted it to be. He put the nail right on the most central spot of her foot, slightly adapted its pose so that the toes were really pointing towards the ground. Then he began the nailing. Once again Jamilla experienced a wave of fresh agony running through her body. Again she felt how the nail pushed against the bones of her foot and crushed them with the second blow. Again she let out her little yells every time the nail went a bit deeper. Even when the nail entered the wood after the third blow, she didn’t dare to put any weight on it. Her foot was causing her the same amount of agony as both her wrists. Oooh, she loved crucifixion right now; She thanked the people that invented this heavenly torture from the bottom of her heart as the final blows were given. As the executioner finished the nailing of her left foot, Jamilla felt a bit sad. Now her other foot was the only thing left. After that, her agony would slowly fade away … So she put her other foot right next to her nailed one. The executioner brought out the last nail. Jamilla closed her eyes as her bully raised his hammer. Very intensely she tried to analyze the waves of pain that were caused by the final spike. As the bones of her right foot were crushed she couldn’t hold back a small yelp. Also when she felt how the nail tore the skin of here sole apart, she simply had to release a little “ Ôah!” As the nail was driven further into her foot and the wood of the longpole, Jamilla first realized she was being put to death in the most cruel, horrible and agonizing way known in the whole of the Roman Empire, and that she just loved it. The soldier smashed the nail a bit deeper for the last time. Then he went down a few steps and nailed the wooden plate that quoted Jamill’s crime, name and age to the longpole, right underneath her beautiful, nailed feet. “Jamilla, twenty one year old, blonde slave, murder, theft and arson.” Then he stepped down, took away his ladder and together with one of his fellows he went back to the camp. The third one staid to guard Jamilla so that no one would get her down of there.

Although it had seamed a lot longer, her crucifixion had only taken half an hour. Now most of the spectators resumed their work on the market. For Jamilla, the real horror of crucifixion was about to begin. Right now she realized that the pain in her wrists became too much to bare, even for someone who loved it, so Jamilla had to push up on her feet. Putting her entire weight on the nails piercing her feet caused her a wonderful amount of pain, yet she had to let go, if she didn’t want to faint, and she fell back on her wrists. But very soon, again, the pain in her wrists forced her to retry the push up. The Romans had spiked her in a very ingenious way. By bending her legs just a little bit, Jamilla had to face the problem where to put her weight, but she couldn’t suffocate that easy. As she looked around to see what the other people who had watched her crucifixion were doing. Some people were still looking at her, pointing out to each other how well she was nailed. Jamilla herself was also admiring the work of her bully. While she was at it, she saw that she wasn’t bleeding as much as she thought. The only blood Yamilla saw was the blood that had run out of the wounds when the nails were still driven in. Meanwhile the soldier that staid behind walked over to the fountain and took a drink. He didn’t return to the cross but went strait to one of the stalls on the market. He decided to watch over her from there, in the shadow. On the cross, Jamilla was exposed to the sun. Very slowly her bronzed skin was burning. As she saw the guard take a drink, Jamilla became aware of her own thirst. She wondered whether she could ask for some water as well. After a while her thirst became so big she decided to risk it. “Can…can I have some water to, please…?” she moaned. The guard fulfilled her request and put a cup filled with water on the top of his spear. Jamilla drunk it all and asked for more several times, especially around noon when the sun was burning every drop of liquid out of her.

Jamilla now realized that the pain wasn’t fading away at all. She didn’t know why but the spikes kept hurting her as much as they did when they were driven into place. She looked once more to the nails piercing her body. As she could clearly feel, al four of them were smashed through some bones. “I wonder…” she thought. Jamilla tried to move her fingers, but some of them didn’t react to her command. Also her toes weren’t completely movable. The sight of the spikes entering her feet and wrists fascinated her. Jamilla tried to reach the head of the nails in her wrists. Her fingers could only touch the top of the nails. Her excitement still remains, and her crotch has started to leak, she notes the liquid running down the lips, and the it drops down to the sand.

As the sun went down and the market became empty, Jamilla first realized she would never leave her cross again. Even her corpse would be left up there after she died. She wondered what it would be like, if she died. Would she pass out and never awake again? She didn’t know.

Jamilla’s first night on the cross was filled with agony. There was now way of getting some sleep up there. If the pain didn’t keep her awake, then the coldness of the night would make sure she didn’t sleep. The hours passed slowly, way to slowly, but when Jamilla finally thought she was used to it, the first rays of sunlight announced a new day….

As the market became crowded again, people returned to her cross to see how she was doing. "You 're realy enjoying this, aren't you?" Jamilla managed to ask her public. Of course they did. "Guess what," Jamilla moaned as a reply, "so do I..."

According to some spectators who had seen a few crucifixions already, Jamilla was “dancing” real nice. She was pushing herself up on the spikes piercing her feet and falling back on her wrists al the time. Even if she didn’t had to push up to get some fresh air, she still forced herself to do so. It largely increased her pain. It was her second day on the cross, but Jamilla felt far from exhausted. Now she knew why she hadn’t been raped or whipped: If she were still strong when they nailed her to her cross, she would last longer. Once again Jamilla looked at her beautiful body. The nails fascinated her, how they disappeared in her wrists and feet. Only four nails, but they put her in hell. Right now the thought crossed her mind that despite of the fact that she had been drinking quite a lot yesterday, she didn’t have to pee. The sun burned away every single drop of liquid, even the water from the fountain. In the afternoon, Jamilla felt how she was becoming weaker and weaker, how the pain slowly faded. Right now she wished she could live through it al again, from the cell, to the first nail, the moment of triumph when she exposed her completely nude body to the overwhelmed crowd, the nailing of her wrists and feet, her complete crucifixion. Later that day Jamilla lost conscience. She didn’t saw how a rich salesman paid of the guarding soldier and ordered his men to get Jamilla down from her cross. She didn’t even realized the nails were pulled out.

Jamilla looked out of the window as the sun came up. Six months had passed since her crucifixion. Her wounds had completely healed. The salesman had dropped her of at one of his houses in a small village while she was still unconscious. An other girl slave had told her everything. She had never seen him until now. He was standing in the inner yard, saying goodbye to someone. Then he entered Jamilla’s room. “You’re so beautiful” he said. “You’re so beautiful that you can ask me anything. Ask me and I’ll do it!” Jamilla looked at him as he touched her face. “Well, there is one thing you could do…” She answered.

Later that morning, the entire village watched how Jamilla publicly undressed herself. Completely nude, she walked over to the cross and went lying down on it. She smiled at the salesman as he approached with the hammer and the nails. “Nail me!” she said.

http://motherless.com/GACB8EC9
Thanks, Scoutt, for these posts! This brings back memories.
I was in the US Army in the 90's, and there were a few hot chicks in uniform (though, most look heinous without makeup and with the BCGs [birth control glasses] on). I attended basic training in Ft. Jackson, SC, which happens to be the primary post for training female recruits (though I was in a male battalion). It happened that one of the female barracks was right next to ours. At night, they would strip and tease us while we watched from our windows (and, I was told that a few soldiers managed to sneak out onto the roof to have sex...but I didn't find out until after graduation, which sucked!).
Some time later, I had a one-nighter with a Private First Class while I was a Sergeant. It happened after a game of strip poker. Her body was BEYOND hot. Anyway, I crashed with her, but she had to get up at 5:30am (sorry...0530 :-) ) for company quarters duty. Watching her go from being naked and getting into uniform was weirdly a major turn on for me. Girls talk about being turned on by a man in uniform, but fucking a hot chick in uniform is off the charts.

This is going to be a little complicated, to say the least, but here goes. A few years ago in Norway, just before the worst pandemic I went out with a couple of female friends of mine and I met this very young woman in the bar. She was of a barely legal drinking age, 20. 
In the looks department, not much to write home about, but she was interesting for other reasons. Great body though, from what I could see. We talked about everything under the moon and sun. And after the bar closed I drove her home. As I was the designated driver, one more was not going to break the bank. She had only had a couple of beers and she confided to me that she had been drinking beer from 18, which is legal in Norway. 
My female friends were quite inebriated and they started to get a little grabby with her. Then one of them ripped off her top and I almost hit a fence in the commotion.
I was able to drop them off at their house and told this young woman I probably had some tops she could try on. I had been married once before and one of my former nieces had forgotten about the tops. Anyhoo, I did not know whether or not my new friend could fit into them as she had quite the caboose. As I had not seen my niece in a few years, I basically thought that she forgot about them. 
I found the bag with the tops and gave it to her. She had been holding on to her top for dear life and I had done my best to hide that I looked. I gave her the key to the bathroom and told her to go there and try them on in hopes that one of them could fit.

So far I was just being a nice guy and not a dirty old man.
After a little while that changed. She had not locked the bathroom door and I could tell that she was not just trying on the tops but everything in the bag, which also held a very sexy nightgown. She was at times completely naked. As for the bag, I had not even looked inside that bag to begin with. And seeing that the sexy nighty gave me an instant woody. The thing is that I had not gone out looking to hookup, let alone to such a young woman.
But here she was. She opened up the door and asked me if I liked what I saw, which I obviously did and I told her so. She said she would love to pay me for driving her home to where she was staying.
Except she did not have any money left. But she hoped that her company for a few hours would be just as good as money. She gently let the nighty fall to the floor and she asked me nicely to take her to my bedroom.
I did not take a long time to disrobe.
I started kissing her, first her lips, neck, both nipples and I finished off around her wet cunt. I was not used to hairy ones, but I soldiered on as I then started fingering her. Finding her clit was easy, but finding her G-spot was a bit of a challenge, but I found it and pretty soon she was making sounds she never expected to make.
An old milf ex of mine taught me to find the G-spot as that would make a woman like puddy in my hands and that advice has never failed me. And this young woman I had just met, was just puddy in my hands.
Fucking her cunt after I made her cum was easy. She made me cum several times that night. Despite the fact that she did not suck me off, it was still like I just had sex for the first time. I could not even go to sleep at all that night. I just laid there looking at her naked body.
When she woke up that morning, she asked me if I had a good time because she had never really had sex like that before. Now I know that I am not that good, but I know a few things. And as long as I can make them cum, I am in the money. I told her that I had indeed had a good time with her. She kissed me on the mouth and then got up. 
She went to the bathroom and picked up the one top she could fit into, but she left the nighty where it fell.
And then we both got dressed.
That might not have been the ending I had hoped for, but that was the ending I got. I then drove her home and you might think that would have been the end of it all, but nope. This is where things got interesting 
As I dropped her off, I noticed what looked like an old female childhood former friend of mine come out to get her. I think nothing of it as I am in a hurry to get to work. 
A few years go by and I meet said former female childhood friend while hiking and we fall in love.
So where is the hiccup you ask?
Well, here it comes.
As I ended up proposing to her, she wanted me to met her family including her wonderful niece and grand niece. Except that was the one meeting that would have to wait as her niece and grand niece was living abroad with no intention to return home anytime soon.
A couple of months after the wedding I met my new niece. 
As I walked through the door to my in-laws house, I immediately recognized the young woman whom I had seriously fucked. And she recognized me.
And as you might have guessed, her daughter was born about 9 months after we had sex. And she swore that she had not been sexually active either before or after we had fucked. Obviously that conversation took place after we were officially introduced to each other and when we were the only ones in the room.
I asked her why she had not named me as the father, if I indeed was the father. She replied that she did not want me in her life. I could not help myself comment that would be a little bit difficult to avoid now.
And I was able to take a DNA test on the infant and I was indeed her father. 
That's my confession and finally I could get it off my chest. 

Salaam Aliekom I confess I've always wanted to meet a female soldier who's had strange fantasy about being capture in war and wanted to be brutally bred my group of muslim men take their seed.

I just want to share a story with you guys. Everything, every little detail outlined in the following story is ABSOLUTELY TRUE. It is a story of the trials and tribulations of a former U.S. spy, the rise and downfall of a former U.S. Army Intelligence Soldier named Eric Sykes. The story of Eric Sykes is broken down into multiple parts, about three or four. His story is that of not only a man who lost an internal battle with himself, but a harrowing story of betrayal that highlights the state of the United States as a whole, the lack of integrity and downright sleaziness possessed by U.S. senior leadership as a whole, on the Executive level. I may or may not be that soldier described. I will provide documentation proving of the soldier's existence. The stories will be broken down into about three or four parts. I would like to begin the series with a story that highlights Eric Sykes's rise as a US Army Intelligence Soldier. The following story was written by a colleague of his describing Eric Sykes's heroic actions will training in the US Army Intelligence training school:

"I was fortunate enough to have been there on his first day at AIT (Army Job Training). I remember him looking around nervously to see if he could find a friendly face at his first AIT physical training session. He excelled at physical training, that fact became apparent from this very first day. He performed better than the majority of us, drill sergeants were quick to point that out. We were the students on holding status, having just gotten in to Fort Huachuca, Arizona, and waiting to be assigned to a class. Some of us were here, unfortunately, from disciplinary reasons, expelled from our classes. It wasn't long before the drill sergeants assigned this very athletic soldier the position of squad leader. We were all jealous, we disliked him, I'm pretty positive that he could sense that, probably why he always remained quiet, always remained to himself. Admittedly, though, some of us disliked him simply because he was black and that he had been given a position of authority above us. But the fact remained that he was the best soldier for the position from what the drill sergeants could see, and the only medium they had was how we performed at physical training (not to mention whether or not we had some disciplinary problems). About as soon as he was given the position, he had secured a slot in a class and had to move to another squad to join the rest of the soldiers who had gotten a class.

From the very start of class, we could tell that he was a very smart young man. He was very inquisitive and he always asked relevant questions that related to the big picture. Not to mention that he would score pretty well on tests. It wasn't long before he would earn our deepest respect, some of our respect was due to the fact that he was a quiet guy, you gotta respect quiet people. Mostly, though, our respect towards him is due to four near-miraculous, selfless acts of integrity.

His first act of integrity amazed us, but really wasn't surprising because we were all submerged, from basic training, in Army values. Every soldier was expected to live and exemplify the seven Army values - Loyalty, Duty, Respect, Selfless Service, Honor, Integrity, and Personal Courage. What had happened, in this case, was that he had gotten back his test that had a perfect score in the header, he had scored a 100%. Everyone else in the class were given back their tests and the Army instructors proceeded to go over the answers to the test. During our going over the answers to the tests, our soldier noticed that the instructor had marked an answer right which he really had gotten wrong. Our soldier wasted no time in raising his hand and rising from his seat to respectfully inform the instructor that his grade should be reduced because he had gotten one of his answers wrong. The instructor called our soldier to the front of the class to see his test. He recognized that a mistake had, in fact, been made. The instructor took his test and marked it down from a 100%.

Later, our soldier was called into a private meeting with the Army instructor where he was duly commended, in the form of formal counseling, for his amazing show of integrity in class.

Our soldier's second act of courageous integrity occurred in exactly the same manner as the first. He, again, noticed that the instructor has miss-marked his test. Again, our soldier wasted no time in informing the instructor of his mistake.

This time, our soldier was commended verbally, in the form of informal counseling, for his actions. It was at this end that our soldier had earned the hearts and respect of other soldiers, his fellow classmates - even to the extent where the soldier was referred to, by some of his classmates, as being their "M.I. Hero". Our soldier found himself being aggressively targeted by female soldiers in his class. Two of his female classmates even expressed, many times in class, that they wished to participate in a threesome with our soldier.

The third incidence of a selfless act of integrity was, no doubt, the hardest test for our soldier. What happened was one day, while all the students were exiting the class in order to go home, to the dormitories, for the evening, the entire schoolhouse was subjected to a surprise shakedown of all take-home school materials for classified information. All of the Army instructors in the schoolhouse participated in the event. How the event was set up was that the students were sequestered within a particular area of the schoolhouse waiting to be seen by a large group of instructors. Once they were called, the students were taken into a room, where the instructors were, where their things were torn through in an attempt to locate any classified materials in their things. Once the soldier is cleared, no classified information found within their things, they are sent to a cleared room to wait for the others to finish getting their things checked. The whole experience, to the unseasoned soldier new to the community that they were striving to become a part of, is quite an intimidating and disorientating experience.

Our soldier was shaken down and given a "Go" due to the instructors not finding any classified information among his things. Our soldier was sent to the cleared room with other soldiers having been identified as not having any classified information among their things.

While in the cleared room, our soldier was putting his things back into his backpack and arranging the things in his backpack into their normal positions when he found a piece of classified information among his things. Dejected and knowing the seriousness of what he had done, our soldier left the cleared room back into the shakedown area to inform the instructors that he had, in fact, had compartmented information among his things and respectfully informed them that they had been mistaken.

To have been faced with such odds, to have been subjected to the intimidating, near-violent experience of having been shaken down by instructors and his heading back into the fray to inform them that they had made a mistake and that he was at fault was, no doubt, an amazing act of gumption and integrity - especially when he could have easily hidden the fact from the instructors and gotten away with it.

The fourth incident of his having shown a tremendous, highly admirable display of all seven of the Army values happened in close relation to the third. The next day, an Army instructor sat down with our soldier in a private meeting to discuss what had happened the previous day and to discuss the possible ramifications of what he had done. The instructor sat down with our soldier and asked him, specifically, if he had, in fact, taken home the compartmented information. Reflecting back on the previous days events, it could not be proven if our soldier had really taken home the information, after all, the students were intercepted while on their way out of the schoolhouse, not outside of the schoolhouse. The instructor proceeded to pressure our soldier, cajole him to admit whether or not he had taken the compartmented information home. If our soldier had attested, at that point to the instructor, to have not taken the information home, it would serve as to remedy the situation, to some extent, that he was now facing, it would serve to rid him of a lion's share of the guilt of having compartmented information in his take-home materials.

Our soldier, upon contemplation of whether or not he had really taken home the information, admitted to having taken the compartmented information home the day prior to the day of the shakedown. The instructor then asked if he was absolutely sure that he had taken home the information. Again, our soldier admitted to taking home the compartmented information.

Even though the Army instructors never showed it out in the open, they could not help to be, behind closed doors, in awe and admiration over our soldier. Nevertheless, what was done was done, our soldier had to be punished for what he did. It was decided that our soldier was to be "rolled-back" to another class. He would have to be sent back to a class that had started much after his class had begun. Nevertheless, our soldier remained completely composed throughout this ordeal. He wasn't at all angry with the decision, rather, he remained apologetic about what he had done, he acknowledged that what was happening to him was the direct result of his actions.

Our soldier went to his newly assigned class and performed well. He graduated and moved on from the AIT environment to his very first duty station - which consisted of a highly coveted special assignment normally reserved for higher ranking U.S. Army Intelligence soldiers, most definitely not for soldiers fresh from AIT, still wet behind the ears. Did the ordeals that happened during his AIT have anything to do with our soldier being given such a specialized assignment? We all will never know.

Again, I must say that I am both fortunate and privileged to have witnessed such noble and heroic acts of such an amazing soldier. Even though these accounts are those of a soldier who goes on to be unknown, I feel that it is only right that the audience should know who this soldier was, so I am going to go ahead and subvert any mystery or ambiguity that could be derived from this story by stating that the soldier's name was Sykes."

The Lowly Hand Job

Someone has to take up for it. I am writing in support of the hand job (Hj). I am a lover of the hj. I do not like to masturbate but a good hj drives me wild. I just like them performed by someone other than myself (Female). Now, I'm not saying that I don't whup my mule ever so often because I do. If for no other reason , so I can sleep. But it is a rare ocassion. Being an exhibitionist, I do enjoy spanking it with a female watching but that is, some how, different. The hj is thought of, by many, as just a prelude to real sex. And just like a bj, It usually is. But why does it have to be? There is nothing better to me than a good slow, erotic hj. That is probably the reason, in the past, that I enjoyed the Nashville massage parlor so much. Don't get me wrong. I love most all forms of sex that doesn't involve pain or result in jail time. And I like nothing better than going down on a woman. I love the feeling of shooting in a woman, where ever she wants it and the feeling and sound of a womans orgasm cant be beat. But I believe that I could actually live on hj's alone. Not that I'd want to but I do love them so. Now, I know that there are some women out there who will take issue with me. But think about it. There are many times when, for one reason or the other, you just don't feel like going through the whole sexual thing at that particular time. Why not give your man a treat? Let him just lay back and enjoy. No pressure to perform. No trying to hold back. No worries about pleasing you at the time. Just a slow, sensual playing with his toy soldier. Just the way he may like it. Be gentile unless he likes other wise. Don't forget the testicles and the prostate, if he likes that, also. I know two women who love to give them and nothing else. One is a friend that I've already written about and another is someone I met a few years ago. The friend gave them to me because she knew that I like them and, more so, needed them. The other lady liked to tease and see the effect on a man and gave hj's as a relief. Usually in front of her husband. Now, as unlikely as it will be, I'd like to see someone else's thoughts about this. Photo is from the second lady.