Bottoming for the Enemy by R.J. Ridge

Author:R.J. Ridge [Ridge, R.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Indie Erotica Collective
Published: 2022-12-14T00:00:00+00:00

A dozen Russians in sore need of a drink

The Russians arrived with a glut of hastily put together fanfare. The general beamed and bonked and ‘bully for you’d’ his way through the meet-andgreet, while a chilly band played the old Soviet anthem since they didn’t have the sheet music for the new Russian one. Colonel Burnley was in a foul mood and excused himself before tea. So, it was up to me to walk them to their barracks: a hastily cleared out dormitory building of six double bunkbeds, with the occupants sent away to Dortmund for some R&R for the duration of their stay.

“If there’s anything you need,” I said to the group as they reviewed their quarters for the next forty-eight hours. A look of disgust settled over the majority of the group. Most were officers in their thirties and forties, seasoned professionals with a battle-hardened grimace who were probably used to kicking it up in palace-like digs while their men dug holes in the ground to sleep in. The only two younger members of the group, a couple of thin, lanky kids who didn’t look like they shaved either, seemed perfectly satisfied the dorm had a roof and four walls. “I guess I’ll be right outside.”

“We must to be going to meetings,” said the main big wig in heavily accented English. “We like drink vodka and tea when we return from dinner with your commanders. Sasha!” He barked to the first teen, who had a long, rounded nose and thin blond eyebrows. Something was barked in Russian, and a wad of Deutschmarks handed over.

And then the ten men marched out, walking two by two toward the main base just down the road, leaving me, Sasha, and his mate.

“Fyodor,” he said with an outstretched hand. I shook it with a smile. “We must to buy the comrades vodka or they will be very mad.”

“Very,” agreed Sasha, now unpacking the cases of his superiors.

“Well, I guess we better take a little road trip.”

I drove them up to Osnabruck, the closest town where we could get the ever-growing list of items on their list. I couldn’t read it, but it seemed to include far more than vodka. Sasha and Fyodor loudly debated the things they needed to get, Sasha in the passenger seat and Fyodor in the back. Every time Sasha stretched behind to pen another item to the now several pages, his shirt poked up from his trousers and showed of a white flash of hairless, skinny hip.

We stopped at the off-license for vodka, whisky, cognac, tequila, cigars, and cigarettes. Then the newsagents where the lads scooped up every top-shelf magazine in the store. along with a random selection of chocolates and chips that I doubted their superiors would want after a long night of drinking and soft-core pornography.

“Um, are you sure you want all of these magazines?” I said as the stoic shopkeeper rung up our purchases. The old man was used to soldiers and their weird tastes. But several of the magazines they’d picked up were gay.

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