We had a new Landlady take over the Ruddy Duck in Entwhistle Street, and she told me this tale a few weeks ago as I waited for my Boyfriends Viagra to take effect.
Her journey from Yorkshire to starring in Top Shelf Videos sounded interesting, so much so that I have written it down for the enlightenment of others.
I have tried to capture the Yorkshire Dialect so I hope as you will forgive the non standard grammar.
Here is her Tale.
It were a cold winter night, much like any other, the rain were not too bad and the wind were whistling up from iron works carrying the sound of the Ironworks Band practising and that. lets face it, were enough to make any music lover top their self.
Trade were slow, I were working Cleckheaton Street from Co op to Red Lion pub, when I saw him coming up the hill, in a green Ford Mondeo.
"I say, are you doing business." he said.
"Bollocks to business" I said "I'm on game, do you want fucking or not?"
He looked stunned.
"Ten quid for half an hour," I asked, I'd bloody near of paid him just to get out of the cold.
"Yes, Yes, super." he whined and I were in car like a shot.
"Get the bloody heater working, I'm froze." I told him.
I remember he stared at me, "You're beautiful."
"Still ten quid" I replied.
"I'll just have a blow job I think," he said.
"Look its ten quid for a fuck, if you want kinky you go down Manchester, I ent sucking no fucking prick." I told him straight.
He drove me up on moor, I thought he might be Yorkshire ripper but Ernie Cleghorn reckoned Arthur Grimsdyke were ripper and he were a fat ugly sod what rode a push bike, not like this bloke.
The bloke stunk of summat, sort of like scent, most blokes stunk of machine oil round Worksworth, apart from them as worked in sewage works, and they had to make do with old Annie as no respectable prostitute would touch them, not till end of shift anyroad.
He stopped up on top of moor in Lay by on tump where you can see nearly to Birksbrough on a clear day and he started to undress me, "Its all reet, I can manage," I told him but he was insistent,and his hands were mauling me.
"Hey them's private" I told him, he had me tits out, I never let blokes have me tits out then me brassiere was right off, me knickers down, skirt up and there I were, and he was sucking me tits.
"You best buy a pint of gold top if you wants milk cause you'll get none there." I told him, but by Christ it felt good. Next thing me clogs and skirt were off and I were like naked were in back seat, yet his prick hung down limp.
"What's your fucking game?" I asked.
"Sorry, it needs a little suck."
"Fuck that" I said and whacked him round the gob. Suddenly it had uncurled, straining. Whack must have done the trick.
This must be a pervert I figured, I heard some of the southerners need a whack to get hard.
He took out one of them rubber things, Durex or summat.
"Hey, I ent got clap" I whined.
But a cock is a cock and I had money to earn so I held misself open and sunk down on it.
"Kiss me" he whined,
"I don't kiss Johns." I told him.
"I'm Stephen, not Johns," he said and he grabbed me cheeks and stuck his tongue down me throat.
By heck he could kiss, kissed and fucked at same time then he were messing me tits again, Old Annie always said stay in control, well I fucking lost it, old car must have been rocking fairish on its springs but I were having time of me life very near then he come, well it hardly registered, he sort of throbbed and then nothing, usually rubber just about bursts, especially if its third time its used, quite often them does bust but this were very disrespectful.
Christ was I disappointed.
"What's up, you a homo or summat?" I asked.
"Hey" he said.
"You hardly made me twat damp."
"You stupid bitch" he said.
Christ, I thought, he might be a man after all.
"I spent all afternoon fucking tarts in Salford looking for someone for me film and I'm shagged out."
"Why fuck me then?"
"Because you are beautiful."
"Look", I says, "lets call it fifty quid, take me home, I'll tell me mam and then take me to your place and you can fuck me proper come morning." He agreed, Mam said she would tell Annie what I were at, and off we went.
It turned out he lived in fucking London, fucking miles away from Yorkshire, so there I was, just clothes I stood up in. every body laughing at me clogs, me old dress stained, and him, his suit must have cost thirty quid in Charity shop even if it had been made my Italians, and all the tarts was smiling at him, we did not even get to his place till next afternoon, and then he lived in some bloody stables place round Kensington or somewhere useless, I thought I could earn me train fair if I could find Soho.
His place were flash mind, carpets from wall to wall, me mam says southern folk do it to hide rotten floorboards, but this did not stink of damp, then he had some ther woman, dressed like a French tart, black skirt white blouse except long and buttoned to the neck.
"What do you want me for with that Tart here," I asked,
She smacked me round the face so I punched her in the tit and then we was on the floor.
"Ladies, please," he shouted but she were bigger than me. and she had me pinned down.
"Chantal is my maid, and she is a, well she is not interested in men."
"You a Lesbo then?" I asked.
"Oui." she said.
