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The Benghazi Zig-Zig That Wasn’t

(Mostly fact, partly pure fiction)

Many moons ago before Colonel Muammar Gaddafi and his followers staged a coup making him the dictator of Libya the nation was ruled by King Idris. At that time the capital city of Libya was either Tripoli or Benghazi, depending on which city Idris was in at the time.

At that time the US Air Force had a station known as Wheelus Air Base just outside of Tripoli. As a young airman I was sent there on a two year tour of duty with the 633d AC&W (Aircraft Control and Warning) squadron. We jokingly called it “the sex thirsty third”.

On a weekend shortly after I arrived there in 1956 the Suez Canal Crisis erupted over a weekend when most of our personnel were off duty. I was a cryptographer, and our squadron message center began receiving high priority encrypted messages from headquarters in Washington, DC. Our commander sent out an order for cryptographers to report for duty to decipher the messages. I was the only one his dispatchers were able to locate in the barracks, so I reported for duty and went to work. My work was soon rewarded by being promoted to a higher grade.

A few months later, an opportunity to have my tour of duty shortened by a few months arose if I would transfer to a remote AC&W site of our unit that was situated in the desert a few miles outside of Benghazi. I leaped that the opportunity and was sent to the Benghazi site where there were a few dozen airmen and officers stationed, all of whom were males.

You can only surmise how horny all of us young virile guys were with no females on our site to provide relief to our natural human sexual desires and needs.

On the site we had a “Recreation” building in which a bar was created for our off-duty enjoyment. Then we learned that there was a British army hospital unit stationed not too many miles away where female nurses were stationed, so we organized monthly Bingo sessions and invited the Brits to come and play Bingo and down a few beers with us, Mingling publicly with those nurses, several of whom were very attractive, but not being able to do more than that, made us even hornier than we had been before. We couldn’t even cop a good feel of their buxom breasts.

“Stressful” doesn’t even come close to describing how we felt.

After “lights out” in our barracks I’d often hear the unmistakable sounds of guys masturbating, and I suspected that a lot more guys just found secluded spots on the site at other times and took care of their business.

One day a blip appeared on our radar screen headed in our direction out over the Mediterranean Sea from the direction of Italy. The siren sounded an alarm and a voice came over loudspeakers advising everyone to don their protective gear and take cover. The only protective gear we had other than steel helmets were some condoms that some guys had been carrying in their wallets for so long they had probably dry-rotted….and we knew it wouldn’t help to roll them up over our cocks.

A few minutes later a rather cryptic message came into our radio shack saying, “Friendlies approaching. Will land on your site in 15 minutes”.

Everyone relaxed and went out to see what was coming in from that direction because our supplies and mail always came in from Tripoli to our west.

A C-47 Gooney Bird approached and landed on our unpaved landing strip stirring up a huge cloud of sand and dust. After the engines were shut off and the cloud blew away the cargo door opened and the folding steps were lowered from inside to the ground. Then 6 lovely ladies, smiling and waving, deplaned and headed our way while shouting, “We’re with the USO and we’re here to entertain you!”

That evening they performed in our recreation building. Some sang, some danced, and some did both. At times some of them would perform in skimpy attire which they changed into in a corner of the room where all of us could see them in only their bras and panties while they changed. There must have been 40 hard, throbbing cocks in that room. This entertainment only made all of us hornier than usual and we couldn’t even touch these gals much less do anything with them to relieve our stress. I think a few guys actually shot their wad in their trousers just sitting there watching. But of those who didn’t, if they didn’t jack off soon after that they probably suffered from a severe case of blue balls.

I was hornier and hotter than a horned toad in an oven with the heat set on high.

As soon as the show was over I went to the main gate where a few local taxi drivers always showed up at night to provide transportation into town for us. I got in a cab driven by a guy named Mahmood and went to a restaurant/bar in town that catered to we Americans and the Brits, hoping to be able to hook up with one of the British army nurses….but none were there that night. I sat and had a couple of beers, listened to the music, and watched a belly dancer do her thing.

That only made things worse because she came to my table, put her tits almost around my nose, and gyrated her hips is the most sensuous seductive way. I got a boner that was hard enough to plow a field with. How damned frustrating can things get???

I decided to go back to the site and lock myself in the crypto room and fuck my fist the rest of the night.

Mahmood was outside and I got back into his taxi with my hard cock clearly visible through my trousers. Mahmood looked at it, then at me, and asked, “You want zig-zig?”

“What’s zig-zig, Mahmood?

He formed a circle with the thumb and index finger of one hand and then stroked the middle finger of his other hand back and forth through the circle while looking quizzically at me.


“OK, we go” he said as he started his engine and headed out into the desert.

We arrived at a spot where there were several tents, likely a nomad camp. Mahmood got out and spoke to a man who emerged from the nearest tent. Then he came back and pointed toward the tent and said, “You go zig-zig.”

The man he had spoken with met me and led me inside, then to a far corner of the tent where I could see the outline of what looked like a human lying on a cloth of some sort. He turned to me, gave me the same zig-zig sign with his hands that Mahmood had used, and pointed toward the figure. Then he reached down and touched my hard cock, smiled, and pointed to the figure again.

The figure stirred and lit a candle. I was facing a fat toothless hag who smelled like camel dung.

I gagged and said to myself that I might be horny as hell but I wasn’t going to poke my pecker into her pussy no matter how much I needed to get my rocks off. I shook my head “No” to the woman and man and hightailed it back to Mahmood’s taxi.

“You no zig-zig?”

“Hell no! Let’s go back to the base.”

We went a mile or so and then Mahmood stopped the car. He touched my cock and said, “Me help you.”

“Help me?”


“OK. Help me.”

Mahmood turned of the engine then reached over, unzipped my fly, and pulled my prick out. Hell, just getting it out of the cramped position it had been in for hours was a relief.

Then Mahmood stroked my cock like he knew what he was doing. He pumped it and pumped it until I shot string after string of long pent-up cum all over his hand, my trousers, and even the dashboard of his vehicle.

Mahmood just smiled, then started his engine and drove back to the gate to our site. I smiled as I paid my taxi fare and gave him a generous tip. Then I went in, undressed, climbed into bed, and slept like a baby.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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