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Bertie meets Dotty on the |London train, Bertie wants to buy a toy train, Dotty to sell her virginity...
It was jolly hot. It was in the summer holidays. I had risen early and so had escaped from mother’s clutches as I was determined to go to Hamley’s toy shop to purchase the recently announced Bassett Lowke Flying Fox locomotive for my train set. Mother had forbidden me from having a car and it was against school policy to have a motor car anyway, so I was on platform one at Slough station waiting for the 9.15 to Paddington when I espied Dotty Collingwood waiting for ths same train.

“Good golly,it’s Dotty is it not,why you’re quite grown up,” I profferred, “Out unchaperoned, how adventurous.”

“Bertie it is nineteen thirty not the dark ages,” she reminded me, “Still at Eton I see,” she ventured noting my tie.

“Still can’t pass the bally exam for Civil servce college,” I explained.

“You must be the oldest pupil in history,” she laughed.

“Probably,” I agreed, “Stuck in a bit of a rut,” I explained, “Can’t get the hang of this buggery thing, Old Jankers says you need at least a D in buggery to get into the Civil service.”

“Really, too much information,” she replied,

“Thing is,” I explained, “We have double buggery between Prep and Latin just when the 7.32 Acton to Bristol West comes through with Forty or a Forty Seven and we can see it from my room so Withers Minor, my fag, and I watch that instead of practising buggers like we should.”

“Train’s coming,” Dotty said.

“It’s a County Tank Dotty, I have a model of one on my railway.” I explained as it hustled past and braked harshly.

Dotty went to enter the third class, “I say, that’s cattle class, we’re down here,” I said grasping her by the arm.”

She protested but I bundled her into first, “All wooded seats and saw dust, Mother says she knew someone who caught fleas in third class,” I explained.

“But I only have a third class ticket,” Dotty protested.

“Silly goose, good job I came along then,” I explained, "Third class is for tradesmen, Mother says you should always, always travel first”.

“I can’t afford it Bertie,” Dotty explained, “Daddy lorst all hs money in the Wall Street crash.”

“Oh, oh dear, which railway was that on?” I asked.

“In America,” she said, “Bank collapse.”

“Oh that one, I didn’t cause it,” I said, “Father says it was my fault, 'Never dabble in stocks and shares,’ he said so I sold the lot and bought gold.”

“No in the real world real people lost all their money,” Dotty said, “Why I had to borrow ten shillings from cook to buy my ticket,and I can’t afford the fine if I get caught in first with a third class ticket”

“So why go to London?” I asked.

“Daddy sold my virginity to a Arab Shake for a hundred and fifty pounds,” she explained, “There I’ve shocked you.”

“One hundred and fifty quid,” I replplied, “You could buy a Morris car for that, new one, with detachable wheels and a bulb horn, what is a Virginity thingy exactly?"

“It’s like buggery but with a front bottom,” Dotty explained.

“Front bottom? Don’t understand, anatonomy never was my strongest subject, now trains that’s a subject,” I explained.

“Oh for gods sake, you do know ladies have a front bottom as well as a back one,” she asked.

“Actually no,” I admitted, “Is that in front or behind your willy?”

“No Bertie, I don’t have a willy, ladies don’t have willies, surely you know that?” she queried.

“So that’s why you sit down to pee is it?” I asked.

“Not quite we have a separate pee hole,” Dotty confessed.

Quite suddenly the Vicar and his wife who were sharing the compartment with us stood up and left muttering darkly.

I quite failed to realise they were actually sharing with us, as I was so interested in Dotty’s story.

Anyway long story short the dashed Vicar fellow dobbed us in and the ticket inspector descended, I explained I bought her the wrong ticket and slipped him five quid to avoid the ten bob fine.

We were nearly at Acton West Junction before we got back to talking, and then I had to get the engine numbers at Acton yard, Old Oak and Ranelagh Bridge so anatomy sort of got put on the back burner.

“So how does this front bottom thing work?” I asked as we waited at the ticket barrier.

Do you know some vicious old biddy immediately assaulted me with her umbrella for absolutely no reason.

“Bertie keep your voice down,” Dotty said, “If you get me a Taxi to Garmin Street I’ll tell you.”

Well I was not that interested truth to tell, but I felt I should be a gentleman and see Dotty safe to her destination so I dutifully found us a taxicab and allowed Dotty to issue directions.

“Bertie surely you know ladies have a front bottom instead of a willy?” she asked.

“News to me,” I admitted, “Obviously they have titties and smaller brains than men, and are weaker and smaller and not as clever, but I never gave the willy thing a single thought.”

“Well they do,” Dotty insisted.

“Fair enough, do they pooh through both?” I asked.

“No babies come out of the front one,” she explained.

“Crikey, I thought the stalk brought them,” I countered.

“The stalk puts babies there,” she continued, “The Willy stalk.”

“Gosh,” I gasped, “Babies and pee.”

“No pee is separate, separate hole,” she said patiently, “Surely you knew this?”

“No, total blank,” I admitted, “No girlies at Eton and Mother forbade me to play with girls in any case, I think I will have to look this up in my encyclopedia.”

“Yes I suppose you will,” Dotty replied.

“So what is this Virginity thingy,” I enquired.

“It’s a thing to keep the cold out until I have a willy go up inside me to make a baby,” she explained patiently.

“Ghastly things babies,” I ventured, “Mother says I was ghastly and having me was the biggest mistake she and Daddy ever made.”

“Yes I can see why she would think that,” Dotty continued, “But Bertie dear I am about to have a willy rammed up my front bottom for the very first time in an hour or so’s time, I am told first time is excruciatingly painful, I am frightened and I really wish you would change the subject.”

“Yes of course,” I agreed, "Do you know the weather forcast for next week?, I missed the Long range shipping forecast.”

“Here we are Guv,” The Taxi driver announced and Dotty duly thanked me and left the cab. I saw she went to number 11 as we drove away.

“Hamleys!” I ordered and shortly I was delivered to that magnificent emporium packed with the most fantastic creations of Messrs Bing, Hornby and of course Bassett- Lowke.

I had already sent word for Hamleys’ to reserve a Flying Fox as soon as they received one and the chap behind the counter went away to find one, “It’s the first we had, and only one so far, the serial number is FF E20A/C 00001 the first electric one they made.” he boasted.

“Gosh,” I agreed

“Seven Guineas sir,” he added.

I fished around and found some money, evidently a guinea was twenty one shillings not fifty pounds like I thought so I had brought rather too much money.

I left before I bankrupted myself and went to Paddington station to watch trains for a while.

I began to get bored after about six hours or so and thought about having a bite to eat, then I remembered Dotty, she only had a one way ticket and little money so how would she get home.

I immediately hailed a cab and was soon at number 11 Garmin St. I knocked on the door. An Arab chappie answered. “I dropped off a young lady to have her virginny thing taken earlier, is she ready to go home?” I enquired.

He dragged me inside by my tie, “Keeping voices down please,” he insisted, “I shall enquire,”

He returned with another Arab, “You are the pimp?” he asked,"You want woman back after you sell her?”

“Good lord no, just wondered if she wanted some company on the ride home.” I explained.

“She home here now, my master have her for number twenty wife, Imman marry them and they have done deed,” he explained.

“Dotty only said about virginny thingy not marriage, she’s a dark horse,” I sighed, “I’d have got a wedding present if I’d known.”

“What is going on!” a more senior Arab demanded.

“I came to find Dotty but seems some Arab Shake has married her.” I explained.

“Yes she agreed to be my wife, I have one wife for every year over twenty one years and I am now thirty nine so I have now twenty wifes,” he explained.

“Crikey, damned glad I’m not an Arab,” I agreed, “I prefer models.”

“Yes Dorothy is slim like a model, I shall soon fatten her up,” he agreed.

“No model trains, Bassett-Lowke, Oh gauge,” I continued.

“You have Bassett-Lowke railway?” he asked.

“In the attic,” I explained, “I just got a Flying Fox from Hamleys.”

“Flying Fox, I knew nothing of this, is it electric three rail twenty volt AC?” he asked.

“Oh yes, number one off the production line,” I agreed.

“I must see it!” he demanded, “I too have an O gauge electric railway and I have Solario and Flying Scotsman, already. Abdul is supposed to tell me when Bassett - Lowke bring out a new model.”

I opened my carry bag and showed him the boxes and the tender and engine were packed separately.

“It is beautiful, come we must run it, my railway is through here” he declared and he bade me follow.

I suppose you would call it a Library but all round the room was a railway track screwed to the carpet and arrayed with far too many trains, all a complete mess LMS and LNER mixed up with French and German.

I quickly unwrapped Flying Fox and oiled it with the little oil bottle provided before placing it on the track. It leaped forward as the Shake applied power. “Perfection!” he gasped, “I must have it, name your price.”

“I don’t want to sell it I only came for Dotty,” I explained.

“I swap it for Dorothy,” he offered.

“No!” I objected.

“I bash you over head and throw you in Canal and keep Flying Fox instead then?” he suggested.

“Make it Dotty and Ten quid and we have a deal,” I ventured.

“Ah a shrewd businessman, man of my own heart,” he agreed, “Yes Ten pounds and the girl it is.” he paused, “Fetch the girl.”

Poor Dotty she could hardly walk, she stumbled in, “I have sold you to this gentleman, and I divorce you, I divorce you, I divorce you,” he said. “If I say I divorce you, three times then we are divorced, it is one of our quaint customs.” he explained., “Please take her home, she wailed like an alley cat when I tried to mount her.”

“You nearly split me in half with your massive willy,” she protested.

“My other wives have no complaints,” he explained, “Your mother clearly neglected to show you how to please a man, now please go!”

Well I took the two fivers he offerred, shook hands and wished him good day.

Dotty grabbed my arm and we left the building in something of a daze.

“It was horrible, he made me undress and tried to put his willy up me but it was too big,” Dotty confessed when we finally hailed a Taxicab and set forth for Paddington.

“Should have had a little wank first,” the Taxi driver observed, “Or have him suck you tits stick his tongue up your puss even.”

“Who the hell asked you?” I enquired.

“All right squire, keep your wig on, only trying to help,” the taxi driver ventured, “Quite often get some toff in here lateish trying it on with a young un what’s too tight, “Suck her tits or give her a wank,” I tells them,last thing I need is some toff spunking all over me upholstery.”

“No I suppose not,” I agreed.

“Mama says bull spunk is good for leather,” Dotty explained.

“What is a wank?” I enquired

“Having fingers stuck up her twat,” he explained.

“Your what?” I demanded.

“Front bottom I suppose,” Dotty said hopefully.

“Yes, front bottom,” the driver said reassuringly, “Give her a little jiggle till she gets wet.”

“What pees herself?” I asked.

“No front bottom not pee hole," he said, “Are you for real?”

“Yes he really is that stupid,” Dotty confirmed, “But he has just rescued me like a Knight in shining armour.”

“Who spent a night in shining armour?” I queried.

“Shut up Bertie,” Dotty insisted. Suddenly I had a horrible feeling that Dotty was turning into Mother.

“Here we are squire, sleeping car train to Penzance is at platform one,” the driver explained.

“Why should I need a sleeping berth, we’re only going to Slough?” I exclaimed.

“Pay the man Bertie, and that is an excellent suggestion,” Dotty agreed.

I paid, “What on earth do we need a sleeping berth for?” I demanded.

“You’ll see,” Dotty explained as we climbed aboard without getting a ticket. Two minutes later we were ejected and had to obtain a ticket, then the damned insolent chappie wouldn’t give us a ticket to Slough saying Plymouth was first stop so we bought tickets for and caught the 9.36 semi fast to Swindon instead.

We settled into the first compartment which was really reserved for railwaymen.

“Bertie, you know I said about front bottoms,” Dotty said.

“Yes,” I agreed, “Oh hang on we are off,” I lowered the window and leaned out to watch the engine and the driver as he worked away. I changed sides to check Ranelagh Bridge depot and back again for Old Oak.

“Sorry old bean, you were saying,” I ventured as we passed Acton West Junction, and I went to sit down.

“Front bottom Bertie, my front bottom,” she said and do you know she stood up and slipped her underpants down her legs and lifted her short skirt.

“Oh my giddy aunt,” I stuttered, “Good lord! where is this virginny thingy?” I enquired.

“Gone Bertie, the shake put his finger right inside me and it’s gone.” she said.

“Good lord,” I exclaimed, “Why?”

“He wanted to make it bigger so he could get his willy in,”she explained.

“Well that’s stupid,it’s only a little slit,” I opined.

“It spreads wider, look,” Dotty explained and she eased the sides apart to reveal a willy size hole.”

“Good lord, never would have believed it if I had not seen it,” I ventured, “So if I want you to have a baby I put my willy in and you have a baby?”

“I give up,” Dotty said and she pulled her pants up and sat scowling.

“Now what have I done to upset you?” I asked.

“You aren’t interested.” she said

I was shocked “Yes I am, all a bit of a shock, don’t want children, ghastly things, mother says.”

“It’s always your mother, you should be a man Bertie, not a bloody boy, leave school do something with your life.”

“What be an engine driver?” I asked.

“No Bertie put your willy in me like any other man would have done ten minutes ago,” she snapped.

“Not when you are snapping like snappy the crocodile I won’t, I’ll tell mother what you said.” I countered.

“Then I’ll tell her you did put your willy in me and you’ll have to marry me or go to prison,” Dotty threatened.

“Gosh.I hope they put me in Wormwood scrubs with a good view of the railway,” I answered.

“Arggghh,” she screamed and she attacked me. She ripped my fly open and attacked my willy. Of course my willy stood up."Stop!” I said but she pulled her pants down and tried to straddle me and poke my willy up her front bottom.

Of course the seat was in the way and her legs wouldn’t do the splits enough so he wouldn’t go in.

“Oh, if you are that determined sit on your seat and we will see if that works,” I suggested.

Dotty saw the sense of that and did as I said,she sat on the edge of the seat with her legs spread and she gasped as she guided my willy into her front bottom.

“What is the point in doing this if it hurts?” I demanded.

“Don’t you like it?” she asked.

“I don’t really know," I said and then we hit the pointwork at Dolphin crossing and I was thrown against her violently.

“Ohhhh Bertie,” she cooed.

“Gosh,” I opined, “That was Dolphin Crossing.”

“Do it again, push against me,” she husked, “Push it right in, right in.”

“Gosh you’re all wet,” I declared.

“Kiss me Bertie,” she said desperately, “Tell me you love me!”

“Hang on old bean, getting ahead of ourselves,” I suggested.

“Hardly,” she said, “You’re shagging me, kissing and saying I love you usually come first.”

“Thing is Dotty,” I replied, “I own this shagging as you call it is rather pleasant, oh my it’s more than plesant sorry old bean but,” and I started to shoop creamies up inside her from out of my willy.

“Oh my lord Bertie that was wonderful,” Dotty sighed.

“Yes we will have to go to London again,” I agreed.

“No Bertie, shagging, the shagging was wonderful, your willy inside me is really nice,” she protested, “For gods sake didn’t you like it?”

“Rather!” I agreed, “Takes it out of one though, how long does a baby take to make?”

“About nine months,” Dotty replied, "It might take several goes or just the one, it’s the luck of the draw.”

“Crikey, me a daddy, gosh.” I exclaimed.

Dotty cleaned up with her handkerchief, “Oh I do hope not,” she muttered.

“I’ll have to get a bally job,” I announced as we slowed for Slough Station.

We got down from the train and I asked the ticket collector chappie about a job portering or such like.

“Toff like you should be a director,” he said, “Portering is for working classes, if we let toffs in then they woud all want to be porters or engine drivers and the likes of we would be stuck in offices pushing paper around and that would not do at all.”

“Gosh yes, I do see,” I admitted, “What does a Director do?”

“Bugger all most of the time, sir,” he said, "Just swan about looking important, Good day sir, madam.”

I walked Dotty home, Her father was in the garden breaking up a dining chair for kindling wood and the staff were picketing the front door demanding payment of their wages.

“What the blue blazes?” I demanded

“We ent bin pade!” Cook exclaimed, “Where’s that ten bob I lent you, you said you was selling yourself up the smoke.”

“He paid Daddy,” Dotty explained, “Daddy where is the money?”

“Put it on “Lame Duck” in the 2-30 at Kempton Park and it came home last,” he explained

“Daddy!” Dotty exclaimed.

“It’s only money,” he said.

“But we don’t have any,” Dotty sighed.

“You can share mine when we’re married,” I offered.

“Miss, really, you wouldn’t would you?” Cook asked, “Marry that twat I mean, you would be far better off being some toffs bit on the side or sell yourself on the streets like.”

“You are quite right Mary” Dotty agreed, “Bugger off Bertie I would rather walk the streets than marry you.”

“Well really,” I exclaimed, “That’s rich I sold my Flying Fox to save you.”

"And I let you shag me as a reward,” she retorted.

“Wish I hadn’t bothered now,” I admitted.

“So do I Bertie, so do I,” she agreed, “Oh sod it, I might be pregnant, you’ll have to marry me if I am.”

“I suppose so,” I agreed, “Oh well let me know won’t you, good night.”

I went to leave, “Don’t suppose you would be my bit on the side would you?” I asked.

“I might,” she agreed, “If you rent a flat, or something for me, that way I could keep an eye out for someone better to marry.”

“If I pay five pounds can I shag you again before I go home?” I asked, only my thingy is stiff again.”

Cook answered for her “Of course, you pay her four pounds ten and give me the ten bob she owes me,”

“No!” Dotty insisted.

““Come on dear you can’t be fussy if you want to be prostitute,” her mother insisted, “For gods sake marry Bertie and sleep around like I did.”

“How much money do you have on you?” her father asked.

It was about ninety quid, “About ninety quid,” I replied.

“How about you pay say eighty quid for full board and lodging with an option to shag Dotty as often as you like.” he said.

“Do I get my own room?” I asked.

“No you sleep with Dotty,” he said.

“No, that wouldn’t do at all,” I insisted, “Withers Minor, my Fag, says I snore. No sorry I had better go home. Good night.”

So I walked home in the moonlight feeling lonely and sad at having "Flying Fox" slip through my hands so to speakbut excited at the idea of being a Railway Director..

Mother was absolutely furious when I got home just before midnight, “What on earth have you been doing!” she demanded as father dithered awkwardly in the background.

“Well” I said, “ I went to London and bought a Bassett - Lowke ‘Flying Fox’ for Seven guineas and then I dold it to an Arab Shake for Ten pounds and then I shagged Dorothy Collingwood on the way home, and the Porter at Slough said I should apply for a job as a Railway Director.”

“Sold Flying Fox? Why on earth did you do that, I was hoping we could use it onthe Scotch Express!” Father exclaimed.

“He has been playing with your trains again Bertie,” Mother agreed, “But why Dottie? You are supposed to be practicing for the end of term Buggery O levels? You will never get into the civil service without it.”

“He’s going to be a Railway Director,” Father said proudly, “I’ll have old Pongo Popplethwaite put a word in for you.”

Pongo was LMS Ghastly railway, it had to be GWR.

“No. I will apply myself,” I agreed.

To be continued.
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