Testament of Dorothy Lawrence, AKA Private Denis Smith. Third of October 1919.
How did I end up sucking a penis in the trenches on Flanders Fields?
I could start with the long nights reading father’s newspapers, dreaming of the places I read about. Picturing exotic places that took weeks to reach, like India and Japan and Jamaica, wondering how a girl like me could ever hope to see them. But the story really begins when the war broke out.
I was eighteen years old at the time, and I wrote all day, every day. I’d had a few pieces published and made a little money. But I needed a scoop, a big break to stand out and make my name. So, I asked the editor to send me to the front line. I would be a war correspondent, reporting on the conditions on the front line and telling the stories of our heroic boys.
He had the good grace not to laugh me out of the room, but he told me firmly that it was out of the question. The Maginot Line trenches were no place for a woman, he said. I retorted that they were no place for a man either, which he conceded, but that was not the point.
So I watched as my brother John was called up. I was dying of jealousy, although even I had to admit, he looked handsome in his uniform. The worst thing was how proud mum and dad were. And there I was, standing there like an idiot, condemned to being stuck at home and missing out on the action.
The first chance I had alone, I snuck into John’s room and put his uniform on. I brushed my hair back, like a boy, and stood in front of the mirror. It was a size too big for me, but I looked as smart as hell. And that was when I had the idea of signing up in drag. I could disguise myself as a man, sign up for the army, and go off to prove myself in the war, then return and write the journalistic scoop that would make me famous.
I casually asked John where the uniforms came from. He said the army distributes them, but there were surplus stores where you can buy old gear. He didn’t say so, but I realised they came from men who had been killed. Next time I got a paycheck, I took the train to London and bought a uniform. I told them I was purchasing it for a propaganda film about the war and, luckily, they didn’t ask questions.
I decided I needed to test my disguise. I waited for Saturday, when John and his best friend, William, met for their weekly beer on the Edgware Road. William had given me my first kiss and received my first handjob. Surely if neither my brother nor my first lover recognised me, no-one would!
I dressed up as a soldier. I padded my stomach slightly so that attention would not be drawn to my chest. I took tremendous care with my hair. I practiced my bearing, making sure my back was straight. When I practiced walking, I ensured my arms swung confidently.
I walked down the road where my brother and his best friend were sitting. I saw them from a distance, but I knew I had to keep my eyes on the road. If I looked straight at them, it could arouse suspicion. I marched briskly past them. John looked up, looked right at my face, but didn’t give me a second glance. It worked!
I crossed over to France by ferry, still dressed as a woman. It was lucky I went that day, because two weeks later they introduced passports! I met some friendly guys on the boat, and we practiced drill together. We marched up and down the deck and mock-saluted the commander. When I told them what I was up to, one of them thought it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that!” he said, and we all laughed. But they helped me find the station in Paris, bought my ticket east, and wished me luck.
I reached a British camp. A few miles before we got there, I put on my disguise in the lavatories of the train, which were so foul-smelling I almost wretched. I marched to the camp and asked to sign up, under the pseudonym Denis Smith. I told them I was British, but had been living in Paris since childhood and just wanted to serve my homeland.
I was questioned pretty strictly. There was a colonel, a captain, a sergeant, and a female secretary taking notes, which both impressed and annoyed me, considering I’d not been allowed to come. But my story was good and, thankfully, the physical didn’t include stripping, so I passed. I was sent to join a unit in the trenches that night.
My God! The mud and the puddles that they were living in! I’d heard it was rough, but nothing prepared me for the sheer squalor. It was as if the earth had opened up at that place and all those men were struggling to keep Hell bursting out from under them. And almost all day, shells were whistling over our heads, both from our side towards the Germans and missiles aimed at us.
That night, with the tacit permission of the commander, most of the guys slipped out to the brothel in town. I heard them talking together, and I soon realised they were discussing whether to invite me, as the new guy. I was rather flattered that they did, although I declined, of course. There’s nothing more likely to blow your disguise as a member of the opposite sex than a trip to a brothel!
I told them thanks, but I had a young wife at home, and I wished to remain faithful. They didn’t argue and went off. Now, that would have been the end of it. But half an hour later, the Captain who had quizzed me as I signed up arrived in the trench. I was worried that my story had been suspected. But he had a wholly different motive!
“Young wife at home, eh? Yeah. Sure.”
“I’m sorry, Sir? I’m not sure I understand…”
“I know a member of my tribe when I meet one.”
“What?” I said, although a moment later I realised what he meant.
It was true. I had noticed that he was good-looking. A single glance, perhaps a flash of my eyes, and a quiver of my lips into a smile had betrayed my thoughts on seeing this handsome man in uniform.
“It’s ok. Your secret is safe with me. It’s pretty rare to meet one of our lot here. Want to play?”
My first thought was delight at how successful my disguise had been. The captain really thought I was a man! But he had me cornered. Refusal could lead to trouble, but I could absolutely not get my trousers off. There was only one thing for it.
“Go on then,” I said, “Get it out.”
“Yeah?”
“Why should the heterosexuals have all the fun?”
“I’ll do you afterwards.”
Thinking on my feet, I said,
“No, thank you, sir. I’ve got the c-l-a-p.”
“Shit, really? We usually check for that, but we’re so short of manpower these days, we take anyone as long as they’re breathing.”
“You can help me out another day.”
The captain took his trousers off as I climbed down from my bunk. It sounds strange, but I felt sorry for him. Being homosexual in the army must be a terribly lonely life. And he was serving his – my – country. It wouldn’t hurt to give him a good time for ten minutes.
The captain’s penis flopped out. I crouched down, and I took it in my hands. I began to jerk him, and felt him gradually getting hard.
“Mmm…what nice, soft hands you have! How do you do it?”
Quickly, I said, “I was a clerk up in Paris. Not much call to rough up your hands.”
The Captain’s cock was smaller than William’s, but it felt nice in my hand. I closed my eyes as I ran my fist up and down his shaft. With my left middle finger, I stroked him under his balls. William had liked that, I remembered.
I pulled the skin down over his helmet and closed my mouth over his cock.
“Oh, God!”
It was exciting to touch a penis again! The Captain was handsome and fit, and when I reached around to grasp his buttocks, I enjoyed the feel of his muscular behind. I was starting to regret that I couldn’t get anything in return.
The Captain began to thrust his cock into my cheek, gently moving his hips. I stroked it with my tongue, savouring the moans he was making. The captain’s knees were trembling slightly.
“We’ll have to promote you, Private Smith!”
Squeezing the end of his shaft while sucking the end, I tickled his testicles. What on earth would that editor who had refused to send me to think if he could see me now, blowing an officer of the king’s army in the trenches! Come to think of it, what would my readers think?
“Faster. I’m getting close,” the captain murmured.
I sucked him with all the strength in my jaw, feeling his cock press my cheek, then I opened my throat for him, a skill I’d learned with William. His penis made me gag a little, but getting it deeper brought the end nearer.
“Jesus Christ, I’m going to…”
Suddenly, his cock juddered and semen shot out into my mouth. I pursed my lips around his cock, feeling his cum start to dribble down towards my throat. I sucked him more gently as his erection faded, then I let his cock go and swallowed his cum.
As he pulled up his trousers, the Captain said, “Private Smith, you have a real talent there.”
“Thank you!”
“You’re sure I can’t repay you?”
“Not today. Maybe after the war someday.”
“I owe you one.”
The captain slipped away, leaving me alone.
Aroused by the captain’s body, by the sex act, and the danger, I was desperate to touch myself. I jumped into the bunk, pulled the rough blanket over myself, and went to work with my fingers. I stroked my clit, then slipped three fingers inside my vagina. Closing my eyes, I imagined the captain naked, trying to imagine that it was his penis inside me. I pictured William naked too, pictured his cock erect in my hand…It took almost no time for me to come. It was the fastest I ever achieved orgasm through masturbation.
That night, I was unable to sleep. The bunk was uncomfortable. It was cold. The rain hammered on the corrugated iron roof. Plus, of course, I was scared by the shells exploding in the distance.
So I wrote up my impressions by candlelight until the men returned from the brothel.
The next morning, I was sent out on patrol. I spoke little, but observed as much as I could of life in that awful place. We were out for fourteen hours and returned exhausted and soaked to the skin. I started coughing that night. I lay in my bunk, shivering in wet clothes and coughing like an asthmatic, too ill to write up the patrol.
And the next day, I woke from perhaps an hour’s sleep shivering uncontrollably. When my bunkmates saw the terrible state of my health, they ordered me to the medical tent a few hundred meters down the trench.
I was busted. They’d have my shirt off. And, frankly, I felt so awful that I couldn’t bear to stay in that desperate place. I went to the sergeant and confessed my secret.
I was arrested, interrogated as a suspected spy, and deported from France. The military was furious. They were humiliated that I had fooled them. They let me go, but they made me promise never to write about my experience.
Later, after the war, I lived as a woman, of course, but I occasionally dressed up as a guy. Walking around in disguise was fun, and I wasn’t at risk of unwanted male attention. It was astonishing how it changed the way that people looked at me in the streets.
I got into a lot of trouble, but it was worth it for the adventure of a lifetime. I’ll always be the only British woman to do active duty service in World War One!
