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On our way back to her apartment she decided she wanted to walk on the beach. It wasnt far from the apartments so I thought it could be a good walk and more chance to learn more about her. As we walked down to the beach we talked and she didnt seem as drunk as I thought. We ended up sitting on the beach talking but I was somewhat surprised when she leant in and gave me a little kiss. I could tell by her face she was trying to gauge my reaction. I thought the best way to show I was okay with it was to kiss back and before I knew it we were laying on the soft sand, kissing pretty passionatly. My hand wandered up her leg and close to her panties. She didnt stop me so I kept going till I was on her lacey panties. It was then she stopped me and said “not here”. I thought that my luck had run out however was shocked when she suggested moving to a place she knew was quiet. I was curious to see where and let her lead me there. It was only around the corner from where we were where there was. I didn't know if Big Ben was married or not, but he never lacked for female company. He was a throwback to the Edwardian age, with his mutton chop whiskers, his flowery language – which some times could be quite fruity – and, especially when around females, his old world courtesy and charm. He wore a silk brocaded waistcoat, complete with a fob pocket watch, under his combat jacket, and took snuff, from an antique, silver, snuff box, which he would offer round at an Orders group. I tried some once, and nearly blew my head off with the sneezing. Why would anyone want to stick tobacco dust up their nose?That is really being eccentric.It was just as well that Big Ben had soon got to grips with the platoon, as our platoon sergeant, Neddy Claypole, was a complete tosser – and was also from the light infantry I might add. In fact Big Ben ignored him and dealt directly with the four section commanders.During the months we were at York Big Ben and I struck up a good working relationship. I.
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