GEWICHT: 46 kg
Boobs: 80 D natur
Ohne Kondom: +70€
Intime Dienste: Korperkusse, Sex im Auto, Franzosische Erotik, Toy-Erotik, Toy-Erotik
Contact Admin. Together with a number of NATO radio monitoring stations they were effectively what western political commentators liked to term, the 'eyes and ears of the 'Free World'. This was the decade during which political ideology seemed to boil down to a simple choice of who was your favourite uncle. These were the two main political rivals on the world scene. Communism or capitalism - just take your pick of one or the other. Well at least that seemed to be the choice.
I can't remember Britain having any sort of contemporary avuncular figurehead other perhaps than Prime Minister "You've never had it so good" Harold 'Super Mac' Macmillan. However, to be brutally honest at that particular juncture I couldn't have cared less about political ideology. As a callow Royal Air Force Senior Aircraftsman of late teenage years, my immediate priorities were, as I recall, to indulge as often as possible in an excess of - and here I borrow a line from a popular song of the era - 'Cigareets 'n' whusky 'n' wild, wild wimmin.
Handed a rail warrant, I was shunted away in one of the unheated, draughty rat-traps of a truck blessed with bone hard wooden-slatted seats that served as a second-class railway carriage of the German Bundesbahn. Dressed in full military rig, trussed like a Christmas turkey inside an RAF greatcoat itself strapped over with a bewilderingly-complex system of webbing accoutrements: heavy belt, various buckled shoulder straps, mess tins, large and small webbing packs, the lot topped off with a huge unwieldy canvas kitbag, thus it was - staggering under the weight of all my worldly goods and chattels - I made my solitary way northwards.
After one of the coldest, most uncomfortable journeys of my young life, I was met at Jever railway station by a churl of a Leading Aircraftsman whose undeclared objective in life it soon transpired was to paralyse with fear any innocent willing to step into his RAF Volkswagen combi. Depositing me - after a few truly heart-stopping, high-speed minutes - outside the camp guardroom, his excoriating parting shot: " Signals Unit?
Bunch of right bleedin' fairies they are, mate! Now before any newly arrived airman was allowed to commence official duties at an RAF station, his first task was to get an 'arrivals card' - more commonly known as, the 'blue card' - signed by the multiplicity of heads of sections at his new station.