>>24 I seem to recall you wrote something heartwarming about a Medic's first time - the one where his Heavy had to stop partway through and make a run for duct tape Did I write that? Gosh. It does SEEM like the type of thing I'd write... but I can't remember. What on Earth were they using the ducttape for?! I had to re-image my computer a while back, and apparently I lost some funny stuff. I do still have this one, though: ------------------------------------------------ SPY COMES CLEAN With a month furlough stretching ahead of him, the RED Spy returned gratefully to France. There were so many things he had missed. Fresh bread. Profiteroles. Drinkable espresso, instead of the Sniper’s drip-brewed coffee-like swill. However, what he was really looking forward to, more than anything else, was feeling properly clean. He had spent most of the past year stationed at the aptly-named Dustbowl base. There, an insidious wind had driven fine grit into everything- his mouth, his eyes, his cigarettes, his bed. Somehow, it even penetrated his suit, carrying dust into every conceivable crevice of the human body, where it had stuck to the sweat generated by the pervasive heat. As soon as he locked the door behind him in the little pensione where he stayed in France, the Spy stripped off his suit, underclothes, socks… everything except his balaclava. The precaution of protecting his identity was too ingrained to shed so soon. He folded his clothes neatly, but would not put them on again until they had been laundered. He had another suit, one that he never wore on base, to wear once he was clean. As he stepped into the bathroom, the sight of his bidet almost rendered him weak in the knees. When he first travelled to America, he’d been appalled to learn that the entire nation did without this basic hygienic appliance. Now, though, the homely comforts offered by this small hotel seemed like the epitome of luxury. As if to justify himself, the Spy quickly used the toilet, then sat gratefully on the bidet. It wasn’t even the most comfortable or best-designed example of its type, but now it seemed like a little slice of Heaven. Sighing with anticipation, the Spy angled the nozzle down into the basin and turned on the tap. Once he had the temperature right, the Spy redirected the nozzle toward his groin. The caress of the warm water over his penis and testicles made him groan with delight, and he noticed that he was getting hard. It was childish, getting aroused by simple hygiene, but it had been so long since he’d been clean. He rolled back his foreskin to wash it properly, and gasped with the sensation of the gentle jet on his glans. Trying to control himself, the Spy shifted the jet from his penis to his ass. However, that stimulation wrenched a wanton moan from his throat. Oh, oh mon dieu, he thought. And after all, why resist whatever pleasure offered itself after months of deprivation. Steadying himself on the towel rail, he shifted forward to centre the stream of water more directly on his ass. He stroked his cock gently, occasionally dipping it down into the flow for a change of sensation. This was amazing, ecstatic. Better than the BLU Scout’s mother… better than the BLU Scout. The RED Spy briefly entertained the fantasy of having them both at the same time, their tongues touching him as the jet of water did. The woman’s beautiful mouth around his cock, while the boy lapped and moaned at his ass… his eyes slid closed. Then, he turned up the pressure on the taps, and even that fantasy was washed away by the sheer physical bliss of running water. Holding his cock directly in the centre of the stream, clutching the towel bar for dear life with his other hand, the Spy came. The sensation of the semen being washed away along his glans, down his shaft, over his balls and ass even as he came was incomparable. Even after the pulses of pleasure had stopped, the Spy was unable to move for several seconds, paralysed by the surging water as his erection softened. Finally, tingling, over-stimulated, wrung out, he came to himself enough to turn off the spray. Shuddering and panting with exhaustion, he slumped against the bathroom wall. He never wanted to leave France again. Up in the ventilation ducts, the BLU Spy carefully stowed his telephoto lens and replaced the lens cap on his camera. He idly wondered who would pay more for the negatives- the RED Spy, or the BLU Scout. He’d have to keep a set of prints for himself, of course.