Sex and War

This past summer Francis Coppola released Apocalypse Now Redux. The director restored several of the film's missing scenes, including a long interlude between Martin Sheen's character and a widow on a French plantation, and an odd bit of business involving Playmates who trade sexual favors for helicopter fuel. In December, the History Channel aired the documentary The XY Factor, which examined how the Vietnam war affected sex, both overseas and at home.

These events inspired us to ask our readers who served in Vietnam to recall their sexual experiences during the conflict. We put out calls to friends and to visitors at Playboy Online. Some vets remembered the awkwardness that they felt as young, sexually inexperienced men thrown into a foreign culture under extreme circumstances. Others suggested that Vietnam gave many young American men their sexual confidence, much as the French are said to have educated the Americans who fought in the world wars.

One vet told us about visiting a brothel, walking past rooms where buttocks moved up and down, imagining that it was just like a college dormitory. Trust us: College wasn't that wild until long after the conflict ended. Some encounters were catch-as-catch-can, sex with "anything that would lift a leg." Another told us about liaisons bartered at the perimeters of base camps, blow jobs given through barbed wire. Some vets described encounters as luxurious, sensuous evenings that combined massage, baths and hand jobs in brothels with unlikely names like the Perfect Hotel Room. Were the massage parlors that proliferated in the U.S. in the Seventies a legacy of R&R encounters overseas? More than one vet confessed that after meeting the unfettered women of the East, the girls back home seemed almost coarse.

Skimming through histories about that time, we spotted few references to sex. Colin Powell and Norman Schwarzkopf, in writing about their time in Vietnam, insist that on R&R they spent their time drinking beer and shopping. Schwarzkopf admits visiting a steam bath at a base camp and being surprised to find it was a brothel. He also talks of having a local girlfriend, and how Tu Do Street in Saigon grew to resemble Dodge City as the American military presence went from a handful of "advisors" to more than half a million men.

We were surprised to find that some rumors of war were still alive and well. We heard about the Black Rose of Calcutta, a horrific sexually transmitted disease that was supposed to make your penis shrivel and fall off, and something called Hammerhead Clap, caused by microbes with claws that embedded themselves in one's most sensitive spots. We were asked to investigate stories that MIAs were actually soldiers who had contracted incurable venereal diseases. (Supposedly, they were quarantined on an island in the Pacific.) What astonished us was the variety of stories. Everyone, it seems, had a different war. Here, in their own words:

The Flashback

When I was 19, I wasn't a sexual veteran. I was part of a reconnaissance team, and we would go to villages to partake of the local prostitutes. I had heard rumors that the Viet Cong would wait until you were about to have an orgasm and then strike. To this day, as soon as I feel myself starting to blow, I disconnect mentally from my partner and become acutely aware of my surroundings. I listen intently for the enemy. Are they there? Are they coming? I have tried to prevent this, but I can't. I retired on July 17, 1969 at the age of 20 for wounds received in combat. Vietnam affected my life in many ways. The sex part bothers me to this day.

S.J. First Infantry Division

What Sex?

I was in Vietnam eight months as a Marine machine gunner. I was wounded twice. I spent nights at ambush sites or stalking trails on kilo tangos [kill teams]. The closest thing to me was my M-60 and around 500 rounds of link-belt 7.62mm. I spent seven days on R&R drinking screwdrivers in the bar of the Ala Moana Hotel in Honolulu. I was old enough to kill or die for my country, but I wasn't old enough to rent a car. Besides, none of the round-eyed women there wanted anything to do with any cat they even remotely suspected was in the military. The haircut gave me away.

A.R. Second Combined Action Group, Marines

Rumors of War

The story, if I remember it right, was that a patrol had stopped to rest. One of the Marines actually sat right on top of a trap door covered by sand. The Marine could see sand seeping around the edges of the door. With his hand, he cleared away the sand and then flipped open the trap door. In the small hole in the ground was an NVA soldier and a Vietnamese girl. They were nude. The rumor had it that they were in the act of making love when the Marine patrol shot them dead.

P.O. Fifth Marines

By the Numbers, Count Off

I served in Nam from 1966 to 1967. I was a Marine grunt, sniper and squad leader. Playboy was a given and a must, along with the New Testament. We would cut out the Centerfolds and stick them on the inside of a bunker or tree or in a foxhole. Outside of R&R, the only means of relief was masturbation. Prostitutes weren't available to grunts. Most of our girlfriends, if we had them, had long since dumped us. You can't crank it to thoughts of family and pets.

Did we think about sex? We were 18 to 20 years old. We would get hard watching the peasants tend to their rice crops with mud up to their vaginas. We dug in at night, which meant digging foxholes and standing watch while looking out into darkness. If you fell asleep, it could mean a loss of a stripe or, more important, an ass whupping on the spot. One way to stay awake was to jack off. One, two, three times, whatever it took. I used to hang tough till my eyeballs started to drift down and then beat the monkey thinking of the new Cinderella in Playboy. We all did it and joked about it.

On Operation Prairie in 1966, it was a hellacious night of rain and mud and the NVA lobbing mortars at us from a mountain across the way. The next morning, our squad leader put on his pack, ready to move out, and shouted, "It was a three jack-off night!"

My first R&R came nine months into my tour, after a horrific operation (DeSoto) in which most of my company had been medevaced or worse. I arrived in Bangkok with no expectations other than shelter and food. My only experience with ass had been with my high school sweetheart, who had Dear Johned me. My cabdriver asked if he could take me to meet a girl. I said OK. She was beautiful. The word whore never entered my mind and doesn't today. I felt alone and lost. I wanted to touch a soft body and forget about war and death, if only for five days. I went through seven of those soft bodies and wanted to die in the arms of each one. It beat dying facedown in the mud.

As much as I dreaded climbing aboard the Pan Am for Da Nang, I thought how far I had moved down the scale in a short time. I was not only a killer, albeit through war, but a sex maniac to boot. My sexual exploits and stories carried the other boot grunts until their number came up, one way or the other. I never felt the same after Nam. I couldn't go back to church. I shook off friends. But I was good in the sack because I felt love regardless of the situation.

S.W.G. First Marine Division

Rest and Relaxation

I was a Marine officer. In the spring of 1961, long before Uncle Sam indicated there were troubles in the Far East, I was sent overseas to join a special task force preparing to invade Laos if President Kennedy decided to do so. I had been married for two years and until that time had not entertained any idea of testing my vows. But the prospect of engaging in a secret war, and the intensity of that situation, led me straight to the bathhouses of Okinawa, where I found sexual release in a limited fashion, which is exactly what I wanted. Picture a large white-tiled room with a huge bathtub and a shelf to lie on. Picture a cute woman in a skimpy bathing suit who gives you a shampoo and lets you soak in the tub and then pulls you out, only to pour buckets of warm water all over you as she soaps your horny body. The hand jobs were divine, the blow jobs sensational, and I wish, to this day, that we had bathhouses in every city center here. It is a relatively innocent way for men to engage in what we now call stress management, and I truly believe we would have a more peaceful culture if the bathhouse became a mainstream American institution.

A.B. Third Marine Division

Breaking Out

In February 1970, on my way to Vietnam, off-base liberty was canceled in Okinawa. So I jumped the fence at the staging camp and flagged a cab. I asked the cabbie to find me a prostitute. It's hard for me to believe I was so bold and trusting. He took me to a bar and introduced me to a cute girl. She took me into the back room and put a rubber on me and it was over in a very short time. Later that night, the driver dropped me off in a field so that I could break back into the base. That was my first of nine encounters with Oriental women. It wasn't until eight months later and two cases of the clap that a much changed young man would return to Okinawa. I had been with two women in Vietnam. I had sex with a prostitute on Hill 85 with several Vietnamese soldiers watching me through a window in the bunker. I had sex with a 15-year-old wannabe prostitute in a burned-out building near My Lai.

Looking back, it's hard to say how much my sexual experiences affected me. I feel a little ashamed and embarrassed, but I'm honest about my experiences. The fear of going to and fighting in a war was the driving factor behind some of the things I did.

B.R.M. First Combined Action Group, Marines

Line Up

Months had passed since I'd arrived in Vietnam. The only women I had contact with were those from the Red Cross (donut dollies), and hooch maids (local women who performed general cleanup around the camp). At long last, we were told that we were going to have a weekend off in Pleiku. We all knew we weren't going into town to attend cultural enrichment classes. The first sergeant explained the necessity of using condoms and avoiding venereal disease. I felt like I was in high school and about to go on a first date. We rode into Pleiku and turned down a road known for prostitution and drugs. In my fantasies, I hadn't realized that there would be dozens and dozens of GIs all looking for sex at the same time. I approached a ramshackle building that clearly housed prostitutes. I had never visited a prostitute before. In military fashion, there was a line, and I dutifully stood and waited my turn. I bought a few beers and several of us shared a joint laced with opium. I was a nervous wreck. Finally, I could at least see a bed and a naked Vietnamese woman having intercourse with a soldier. I was alarmed that he hadn't taken off his boots and that the sheets had mud on them from the guys who had knelt and humped before me.

It was finally my turn. A few prostitutes had spent time in line flirting with me and rubbing my penis. I wanted to say forget it right then. This was all too sterile--clearly nothing more than a business transaction--but I chickened out and went ahead. I dropped my pants, left my boots on and climbed aboard, as numerous GIs had before me. The prostitute seemed stoned as she gave me a half-smile when I entered her.

Within seconds I came, and it felt absolutely great. Just seconds later, a deep depression came over me as I realized that I had just paid someone to touch me. I never felt more worthless and can recall that feeling all these decades later.

G.S. Fourth Infantry Division

Round-Eye Revenge

I was 19 years old, serving with the 101st Airborne Division in Phu Bai. I had decided to go to Hong Kong for R&R. My buddy Doug wanted to go to Australia for the round eyes. Doug got his R&R before the rest of us and came back with stories about all the free sex he got from a girl he met on the beach. Each of us had our own vision of this ravishing blonde.

A few days later we had to go out on another patrol--without Doug. He had the worst drip from the largest swollen penis any of us had ever seen. I'll never forget the sight of him inside our hooch with a warm towel across his waist. When I went to Hong Kong, I visited a well-respected house where the madam kept medical papers for each of the girls. I had a pleasurable time, treated my lady around town and grew to understand that respect when given is returned twicefold.

F.J.D. 101st Airborne Division

Thunder Road

In February 1970 I left for Nam. I remember when we were near Xuan Loc, we would go down to the village at sunset, get these girls and bring them back to the fire base in our tank. (One of our tracks even had the Playboy Rabbit Head on it. Proud Mary 2.) We would take them shirts and hats as gifts. After dark we would do our thing. Then somebody got VD and we got caught.

Nam was an easy place to get laid. We would be miles from anything, near the Cambodian border, and the girls would show up on bikes and three-wheelers. I had a girlfriend from the village next to fire base Thunder 3. On my day off I would go into the village to see her. I remember some days right at noon I would hear some of the crew say, "Here comes K--'s girlfriend." I would look and see this dust cloud coming from the village. She would bring lunch, stay awhile and eat with me. Each place was different. At some bases, the girls would come at sundown and spend the night. I even had one girl offer to go on guard duty with me. I told her that was not a good idea.

D.K. Army Second Field Force

Fond Memories

I was a virgin when I arrived in Vietnam in June 1969 at the age of 24. I had my first semisexual experiences with Vietnamese girls. I learned to kiss and hug and talk with them. I was still a virgin when I left, but I'll always remember their willingness to be kind and help an overly repressed GI, even if they were being paid for it. My lovely wife was the one who finally broke the "barrier" for me when I was 27. But the whores of Vietnam, often unjustly maligned, did their part.

F.P. 159th Transportation Battalion

Bangkok

In 1966 I was stationed aboard an oceangoing minesweeper--the U.S.S. Engage. We had spent 59 days on patrol off the coast of Chu Lai. When we were relieved, we were sent to Bangkok for nine days of R&R. There aren't many docks in Bangkok, so ships have to anchor in the middle of the river. We arrived and set anchor and the liberty party was taken ashore. I had duty the first night, so 11 of us were stuck on board.

There were several small boats surrounding us, trying to sell trinkets and souvenirs. One of us asked if the operators had any booze. An hour later, we were all shit-faced or stoned. Somebody asked a boat operator if he could get us girls. Ten minutes or so later, he returned with three of them. One girl worked forward berthing, one worked after berthing and one girl worked the mine locker. I was so stoned I thought my brain had melted out of my ears. Our master of arms, a deeply religious man, was beside himself. He grabbed me in the hallway and yelled, "Where is the officer of the day?" I said, "I don't know, man, last time I saw him, he was third in line at the mine locker."

I never did get to the girls, but two days later, I tied up with a bar girl in Bangkok and stayed with her for four days. I have never had such incredible sex before or since. It changed my perspective on what I should expect from sex. She did things with her vagina--it was almost like sucking me inside of her. The first 24 hours we were together we spent in bed. My cock was so sore. She took me to many sites in Bangkok and the countryside. She spoke good English and we were able to communicate fairly well. Filipino girls were shy sexually. Japanese girls were methodical. Hong Kong girls were too businesslike. But Thai girls, they never wanted to let you go. Once you have your cock in one of them, they have you forever.

The next time I was in Bangkok, it was 1970 and a lot had changed. But for me it was basically the same, just a different girl. We spent three days together. I have to say that I never once used a condom and I did not worry about the diseases, and never caught any. I was in the Navy for eight years and never had a problem, but I would not do that now.

B.T. U.S.S. Engage

Steam Room Sex

The steam room was like a prison cell straight from Turkey. There was a lightbulb, a wooden bench and a pipe in one of the top corners of this room that was supposed to be a showerhead but looked more like a leaky faucet. We (you never went in by yourself) would take our 16s and ammo with us. We would sit on the bench and smoke dope till we couldn't anymore. Nam grass was good. Then we would move to another small room. This time it was one-on-one. The mamasan would give a rubdown just to get you started. Then she would give the price. She wouldn't have intercourse. Only a hand job. She wanted 500 piaster. I tried to talk her down to 250 piaster. She wouldn't negotiate. I finally agreed to her price, but I told her she had to use both hands.I went back a second time but refused to pay her. I knew I wouldn't be in the area again.

D.P. First Infantry Division

Young Love

I shipped out for Vietnam during the spring of 1968. The next four months were unrelentingly brutal; as a replacement platoon leader I was mostly in the Iron Triangle, enduring some of the most ferocious combat of the war. When the tired remnants of my unit were finally reassigned to road security in the beautiful upland village of An Loc, there was much celebration. Not only was An Loc relatively easy duty, it was also best known for its short-time girls: "Hey, GI, you come spend a short time with me."

As an officer, I felt it would be undignified to participate in the mating ritual that took place every night just beyond our perimeter of barbed wire. But I was both amused and envious as I watched the bare white asses of my men bobbing up and down in the pucker brush through the lens of our starlight scope. During the day, my men teased me. "C'mon, sir, you're taking this war too seriously. Don't be so uptight."

The services being offered cost $3, and the girls themselves were not bad-looking, wearing tight little shorts and their hair in bobs. Still, I resisted, until late one night after I had climbed into the sandbag bunker I shared with my platoon sergeant, medic and radio man. There was somebody under my poncho liner. Somebody with bobbed black hair. Within moments I was lost in a bliss I had all but forgotten, while the other three men tried not to laugh. Then, on the roof of the bunker, a fourth man began to strum a guitar and sing Young Love. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

N.T. First Infantry Division

I felt alone and lost. I wanted to touch a soft body and forget about war and death, if only for five days.