Follows on from 'The Buffalo Roams'.
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The first part 'The Black Widow'.
I was twenty-three when the war started. I thought, "Bloody typical, all the men will go off and get killed and I'll be left with no-one to marry".
Unfortunately, I thought it out loud and my mother said it was just like me to only think about myself.
My teachers all said that I would never amount to anything but I proved them wrong. When I left school I got a job at Woolworths in South Street, Dorchester. I was given the task of keeping the 'pick and mix' topped up. So that showed them, only fourteen and in charge of my own department. The bus brought me in each day from Troytown.
"You have to be a good girl," my mother always said. My Granny said it too, and so did my teachers. I tried, God knows I tried. But by the time I was eighteen I realised that good girls didn't have any fun. Even more than this was the revelation that I had something that was worth something. I saved my mother from worrying about my morals by taking a room above a shop on the edge of Dorchester. She said that that would be the ruin of me. We never spoke again after that.
The Plaza Cinema in Trinity Street showed all the latest films. It was the place to go in Dorchester, but it was expensive. Four years at Woolies and I hadn't progressed any further than the pick and mix. They said it was because I was so good at it but I knew that they didn't like me.
One evening, as we queued to watch 'The Thin Man' starring William Powell and Myrna Loy, I had a brain wave. I got close to the man standing in front of me and whispered in his ear, "If you pay for me to get in I'll let you finger me." He just nodded his head gently.
When we reached the Box Office the man asked for two seats in the back row of the stalls. I was pleased to save my money.
As soon as the lights went down, he put his hand on my thigh and caressed my suspender through the skirt. I parted my legs slightly and pulled my hem up to my stocking tops. The man, I suppose he must have been about thirty, rested his head on my shoulder and slipped his hand under the material and eased the gusset of my drawers to one side. It wasn't the easiest of positions but he managed to push most of one finger into my fanny.
All through the first feature, he fiddled and wiggled it about. It felt nice but I tried to just concentrate on the film and not think about what he was doing. After a while, I could feel a sort of pressure building. Like something was rolling over me. Slowly at first but then it came with a rush. I gritted my teeth and held onto the seat in front to stop myself from shaking or crying out as my fanny gripped his fingers.
Then it passed. He stopped his wiggling and fiddling but left his hand where it was.
As the film ended and the house lights went up, I slapped his hand away and straightened my clothing.
I turned to the man and said, "If you buy me choc ice I'll sort that out for you during the main picture." I nodded towards the massive bulge in his trousers.
The girl selling the ice-creams passed down two and he passed the money back along the row.
What a treat, I couldn't usually afford anything in the interval.
The audience settled down as the lights dimmed and the titles flickered on the screen. I reached across and grasped the huge lump through his trousers. Slowly, I just kept my hand moving around in circles. He groaned and his breathing shuddered.
"Shush!" said a man two rows in front.
"You sush yourself!" said a woman a little way off.
My new friend got up, keeping his hands over his crotch area, and said, "Excuse me!" The other people next to him stood up grumbling as he made his way along the row.
"Bad tummy," I said just loud enough for the audience around me to hear.
I watched the rest of 'The Thin Man' in peace.
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It was surprising what a man will give you in return for a finger and a wank. I only ever accepted gifts, never money; I had standards. Besides, my mother always said that girls who take money for sex end up in the gutter, and I didn't think that I would like it in the gutter.
The other great temptation that I managed to avoid was letting men fuck me. I came so close at times but Granny made it very clear to me that if you got 'tupped', as she called it, you were sure to get pregnant. Getting pregnant when you weren't married was nearly as bad as burning a church. If you got married, you were allowed to be pregnant before you got married and it didn't count.
I got a promotion at work. The manager, Mr ..... it doesn't matter what his name was, took me in the stockroom to give me the news.
He fingered me and I wanked him off by way of an interview. He suggested that we met in the stockroom once a week to confirm that I still wanted the job in Homeware.
I must admit that I didn't really like Homeware, it was far more complicated than the Pick and Pick, but it did pay better.
Like I said earlier, I was twenty-three when the war started. There were fewer young men about but I soon found out that middle-aged men were willing to part with the sort of things that were in short supply in exchange for a favour. Things like bacon, tea, sugar, butter and cheese. I spent much of my spare time in the backrooms of shops. The only difference was that the older men nearly all wanted me to put their knob in my mouth. The grocer told me to swallow his spunk, he said it would make my tits get bigger. His wife had an enormous bust so that's what I always did after that.
My Granny never once asked where the black market goods came from.
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The War was over and a lot of American troops were stationed in a camp just outside of Dorchester before they were ready to go back to the States.
Now, the gifts got better. I had so many pairs of nylons and bars of chocolate that I nearly asked Mr ....., you know who I mean, if I could sell some in the shop.
Unfortunately, with so many girls trying to get their hands on these things, a finger and a wank wasn't enough. I had to let the G.I.s fuck me.
I don't know if it is a American thing or just an Army thing, but they all made me bend over to be fucked. My supervisor on Homeware said it was the same in the Great War. She said that they liked to imagine that it was their wife or girlfriend they were tupping, she was a bit of a romantic like that.
I'll never forget the first time that Joey walked into Woolworth's. I don't know if it was his dark almost black hair or his dark almost black eyes or his glowing not quite white skin.
He walked around as if he was searching for something, anything, that reminded him of home. I'm not sure if it was my dark hair or the way I fixed my eyes on him but he asked me if I was free for a drink that evening? I was.
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He dressed like the other Yanks but he said that he was Italian. I knew that the Italians had been on the German side but now they were on our side so I guessed that it was alright.