CFMB_fan
Literotica Guru
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- Jun 23, 2015
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Name: Adrian Clark
Age: 51
Height: 6 foot
Build: broad, stocky, a former rugby player he still exercised on his bike mostly but middle age spread was gaining momentum on im.
Hair: Dark, partially bald
Eyes: Sea blue
Brief Bio:
Adrian was a member of the British Reserves, but a proactive member, having served four operational tours, two as an infantry soldier, and the last two in logistical support. Having left the reserves when he was 50, he was now an active veteran. And so on a cold damp Sunday morning in November, he was partaking in the annual act of Remembrance......
“Eyes Right”
The Parade Commander screamed his order, as the succession of veterans, from the few remaining WW2 to those recent from Northern Ireland, Iraq and Afghanistan all threw their heads right to face the Old stone remembrance cross, almost 100 years old.
A tear ran down Adrian’s cheek as he remembered a lost friend and saluted the cross, to honour him and all others who have given up their ‘tomorrows’ for ‘our todays’.
His arms were straight, his medals clanked as he marched with dignity, with purpose as he past the memorial, full of swagger, his head looking at the right until he heard the next command.
“Eyes Centre”
He swung his head back to face the front as did all the other marchers, swinging his arms in total earnest. He hated drill, but today he ensured he could remember every ounce of the swagger. He glanced up the sky, yet another Remembrance Sunday without rain at 11 am. Sure it had rained before 11 and afterwards, but in all his 20 plus years of being involved in Remembrance Sunday Parades, it had never rained at 11am.
“Spooky” he thought, thinking about the grey skies, a cool breeze but no rain, yet again.
The public lining the route, though in small numbers were all cheering, applauding, helping the old and bold to keep in step. He saw a group of slightly unorthodox looking youths. One in particular had bright flame red hair, standing out in the autumnal cold of that Sunday Morning.
An hour or so later, he was sitting in a local public house, a load of veterans chatting away. Many had served together, but Adrian had moved into the area, and so whilst he knew a few of them, he didn’t have any close friends around. Like many of the other veterans, he was wearing a Pair of dark grey trousers, highly polished shoes and a black Regimental Blazer, his polished medals below the Regimental Crest that he had served for so many years of his life.
His wife unfortunately was away working, and so by two pm, he was alone nurturing his third pint. It wasn't that he couldn't afford another but rather he didn't want t get too drunk to soon. He glanced around as the pub started to empty, and saw a group of alternative young adults sipping their beers having a lazy Sunday afternoon. As he looked at them, he vaguely recall seeing someone with that similar coloured hair in the crowd earlier on.
She was quite striking, and pretty, her hair in a high ponytail. Her lips were pierced on her lower lip, whilst there was a piecing from the centre of her nose. He could see the body art on her shoulders and abdomen as she sat with her friends, presumably one of the guys was her boyfriend; she wore a goth looking ring on the all important finger. He continued to glance in their direction as he sipped his ale. She looked up and briefly smiled, he just smiled back and returned to his thoughts, remembering Karl
.
Name: Adrian Clark
Age: 51
Height: 6 foot
Build: broad, stocky, a former rugby player he still exercised on his bike mostly but middle age spread was gaining momentum on im.
Hair: Dark, partially bald
Eyes: Sea blue
Brief Bio:
Adrian was a member of the British Reserves, but a proactive member, having served four operational tours, two as an infantry soldier, and the last two in logistical support. Having left the reserves when he was 50, he was now an active veteran. And so on a cold damp Sunday morning in November, he was partaking in the annual act of Remembrance......
“Eyes Right”
The Parade Commander screamed his order, as the succession of veterans, from the few remaining WW2 to those recent from Northern Ireland, Iraq and Afghanistan all threw their heads right to face the Old stone remembrance cross, almost 100 years old.
A tear ran down Adrian’s cheek as he remembered a lost friend and saluted the cross, to honour him and all others who have given up their ‘tomorrows’ for ‘our todays’.
His arms were straight, his medals clanked as he marched with dignity, with purpose as he past the memorial, full of swagger, his head looking at the right until he heard the next command.
“Eyes Centre”
He swung his head back to face the front as did all the other marchers, swinging his arms in total earnest. He hated drill, but today he ensured he could remember every ounce of the swagger. He glanced up the sky, yet another Remembrance Sunday without rain at 11 am. Sure it had rained before 11 and afterwards, but in all his 20 plus years of being involved in Remembrance Sunday Parades, it had never rained at 11am.
“Spooky” he thought, thinking about the grey skies, a cool breeze but no rain, yet again.
The public lining the route, though in small numbers were all cheering, applauding, helping the old and bold to keep in step. He saw a group of slightly unorthodox looking youths. One in particular had bright flame red hair, standing out in the autumnal cold of that Sunday Morning.
An hour or so later, he was sitting in a local public house, a load of veterans chatting away. Many had served together, but Adrian had moved into the area, and so whilst he knew a few of them, he didn’t have any close friends around. Like many of the other veterans, he was wearing a Pair of dark grey trousers, highly polished shoes and a black Regimental Blazer, his polished medals below the Regimental Crest that he had served for so many years of his life.
His wife unfortunately was away working, and so by two pm, he was alone nurturing his third pint. It wasn't that he couldn't afford another but rather he didn't want t get too drunk to soon. He glanced around as the pub started to empty, and saw a group of alternative young adults sipping their beers having a lazy Sunday afternoon. As he looked at them, he vaguely recall seeing someone with that similar coloured hair in the crowd earlier on.
She was quite striking, and pretty, her hair in a high ponytail. Her lips were pierced on her lower lip, whilst there was a piecing from the centre of her nose. He could see the body art on her shoulders and abdomen as she sat with her friends, presumably one of the guys was her boyfriend; she wore a goth looking ring on the all important finger. He continued to glance in their direction as he sipped his ale. She looked up and briefly smiled, he just smiled back and returned to his thoughts, remembering Karl
