Follows on from ‘The Buffalo Roams’.

……………………………..

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.

…………………………………..

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 Sahabet 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.

………………………………

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.

……………………….

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.

Joey had a pint of beer and I had a small cider. He kept looking at his glass like he couldn’t quite understand why the beer was warm.

He said that he owned a ranch in Ohio. I didn’t have a clue what part of Italy that was but I wished that I hadn’t asked when he burst out laughing. It turns out that it’s in America. By the end of the evening, I found myself bent over behind the Rose and Crown being fingered then fucked.

I didn’t really expect to see him again but the next day he was back in Woolies. He told me that his name was Private Joseph Bonavita and that he was a General Infantryman. I thought that he’d done well to be a General at his age, he wasn’t much older than me. He asked if I was free for a drink that evening? I was.

This time when I was bent over being fucked behind the White Horse, I was clinging tightly to two pairs of nylons and a bar of chocolate.

Joey kept coming back. This was unusual, they didn’t often come back.

By the time that I found out that I was pregnant, Joey had gone. I went up to the American Army Camp and spoke to the bloke in charge. He told me Private Joseph Bonavita had shipped out already. So, I enquired, who it was that I could see through the window carrying a duffle bag?

The Major asked me if I was certain that it was Joey’s child. I said, “Absolutely!” By absolutely I meant that Joey was on the shortlist. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very short shortlist.

Joey said that he was sure he was the father and he wanted to do the right thing so the Major made all the arrangements and eventually we were married. I flew off to start a new life on a ranch in Ohio.

……………………………

It turns out that the ranch was in the middle of Cincinnati and consisted of two bedrooms and a kitchen sitting room. The place belonged to Joey’s widowed mother. They called it an apartment but I knew that it was a flat.

Joey’s father had been killed in France during the Great War so his mother was convinced that Joey wasn’t coming home. She was thrilled to see him. She wasn’t so happy about his pregnant English bride.

She wanted to know why Joey couldn’t get a nice Italian girl pregnant. He told her that he hadn’t got that far during the war. When she found out that I wasn’t Catholic, she nearly died. She sent us to see the priest. He said it wasn’t a problem, I could be converted to be a Catholic. He said that I was an Anglican at the moment.

I told him that I was no such bloody thing. I explained that, in England, the King had his own church called The Church of England and that was what I was, Church of England. I didn’t go to church anyway so what was the point in changing churches. We left it at that.

That was only the first of many upsets.

I tried to make Joey’s mother understand that you could make pasta any shape you like but it would still taste like bloody Sahabet Giriş pasta.

My grandmother always made a lovely Steak and Kidney pie. I thought that it would be nice to show my new family what proper food was like. Apart from the fact that the crust was rock hard and the filling smelt of piss and the mashed potato was lumpy, it wasn’t bad.

There is a long tradition in England of giving credit to those who try hard but fail. Evidently, this is not the case in America.

The whole Italian thing was a mystery to me, none of Joey’s family had ever been to Italy. It turns out that his great great grandparents had left Italy because there was a famine there when the poor people starved and the rich people got richer. They now called themselves ‘Italian-American’.

It was the same with every family in the block. They all thought that they were Italian but none of them had ever been there. None of them really liked me because I wasn’t Italian either.

Two blocks over, every family thought that they were Irish but none of them had been to Ireland. Their great great grandparents had left Ireland because there was a famine there when the poor people starved and the rich got richer. They now called themselves ‘Irish-American’.

Most of them didn’t like me because I was English. I tried to explain that I’d never been to Ireland, nor had any of my ancestors.

When my daughter was born, I wanted to call her Tess after a character in a book that I’d started to read once. In the end, as an olive branch to Joey’s mother, I named her Teresa. Mrs Bonavita was delighted, she said it was a good saint’s name. So at last I’d got something right.

Tess was a beautiful baby, just like her mother. She had dark hair and pale skin (thank the Lord). The family all said that she got her dark hair from Joey. They said it was a shame about the skin colour.

Before the war, Joey had worked in his Uncle Carmine’s clothing factory. Carmine was Mrs Bonavita’s older brother so he said Joey could have his old job back. He was never happy working there.

When Tess was about a year old, Joey heard about a Dry Cleaning business that was for sale on our block. He thought that he could make it work. He had saved quite a bit of money and he thought that Carmine would lend him the rest.

I wasn’t convinced until he said that there was an apartment above the shop that came with it. We went to look at the place. It turned out that it was really a flat but it would be better than living with Mama. I desperately wanted a place of our own.

Joey said to me, “Uncle Carmine will give me the loan. Will you go and collect the dough from him?”

“Why?” I asked.

“He says he likes you. I really want for us to get a boost up. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need too. Please do it for me, cara moglie, please.”

“Do I just have to fetch the money or is there more to it,” I asked.

“He’ll expect you to be nice to him. You know, flatter him, whatever it takes,” he said.

“Whatever it takes?”

“We need to get an apartment to be on our own. You’d like your own home wouldn’t

you?”

………………………………

Uncle Carmine was a bit oily and a bit overweight but he was middle-aged. I knew how to bring out the best in middle-aged men.

I had him lean against his desk while I undid his pants and played with his dick and bollocks. Once he was up, I slipped his knob into my mouth. I sucked and licked and nibbled and bobbed my head until he blasted down my throat. I swallowed it all.

It turns out that Italian men are just as keen to have their cocks sucked as every other man. What they are not keen on is anyone else knowing about it. They seem to think that it is something reserved for faggots. So, sucking off Uncle Carmine was a little gem of information that I could keep locked away.

You won’t believe the trouble I got into when I said that in the South West of England we eat faggots. I had to explain that they are like giant meatballs but with hardly any meat in them.

……………………………………

Benny Carabelli worked at the Dry Cleaners when the old couple owned it. Benny knew everything about dry cleaning so Joey kept him on. Benny was so pleased because although he knew everything about dry cleaning he knew piss all about anything else.

Mama minded Tess each day while I looked after the front of the shop from early till late. Joey and Benny did the cleaning.

I tried not to go in the back, the smell of the Trichloroethylene that they used always made me feel ill.

We worked hard, slashed prices and slowly built on the number of customers. We soon had quite a few steady regulars.

……………………….

On Thursday of each week I had to take the loan instalment to Uncle Carmine. Each time I had to suck him off with my tits on show, a sort of interest I suppose. I guess he wanted to see if swallowing his spunk was making them get bigger. It never really bothered me because I knew that I wasn’t taking Sahabet Yeni Giriş actual money for sex so I wouldn’t end up in the gutter.

Joey never once asked me what went on at Carmine’s. He must have thought that he was fucking me. It’s strange but he would have been horrified if he knew the truth.

After a couple of years things were going really well. Sometimes we had more work than we could cope with. The dry cleaning machine couldn’t keep up.

Joey wanted to buy a second machine. I wasn’t sure.

We had most of the money but Joey needed another small loan from Carmine. He, Carmine, made a big fuss about how important it was to help the family out.

Fortunately, the interest payments were just the same as before, swallowing spunk with my tits out.

Just as I’d feared, two machines didn’t mean twice the business. We needed new regular customers.

Joey came home one day with a plan. He was at school with a bloke who worked at one of the big hotels. They always needed dry cleaning. Maxi could put in a word with the manager.

When Joey went to see the Hotel Manager, for some reason, I had to tag along.

The man was pretty reasonable, he wanted a 20% kick back on everything we charged. I thought that was OK. Joey thought that was OK. The Hotel Manager said that Joey should wait outside the office while he discussed the final details with me.

Joey must have thought that this was OK too, because he did as he was told.

“Stand up,” the man said, “let me see the merchandise.”

Guessing precisely what this meant, I got to my feet and pulled my skirt up over my stocking tops and over my waistband. I slipped my fingers into my knickers and pulled them down over my pubic hair, dropping them onto my shoes.

I stepped out of them, bent down, picked them up and quickly hid them in my handbag.

“Nice beaver!” the Manager said.

There was no way I was going to lay on that carpet and the man’s desk was totally cluttered so I turned around and braced myself against the chair.

I thought that he would just fuck me and get it over with but he came around in front of me with his cock out. I leaned forward to take it in my mouth. It seems that it’s not just middle-age men who like it.

He thrust it in and out a few times, I guess to make both of us wet, before he got back around behind me.

Strangely, the feeling of being fucked from behind when I knew it was wrong stirred a memory in me and once again I was back in a grubby alley behind a beer smelling Dorchester pub. God it felt good.

For a few minutes I wasn’t a respectable wife and mother, anymore. Then, he spunked into me. Hot naughty spunk in a bad girl. He gripped the soft flesh on my hips to stop me from moving. Obviously, the sensitive type. I felt his cock make a couple of final spasms and then he released me.

I was about to straighten up when he told me to wait. I put my weight back onto the chair.

“Maxi!” called the Manager and a side door opened and out came Joey’s school friend.

“Is it OK if I fuck her now, Mr McIver?”

“Sure thing, you set the deal up.”

I thought, isn’t any business done over here without someone getting a kickback?

So there I was, sucking Maxi’s dick before he got stuck up me from behind.

Mind you, he wasn’t bad. In fact he was quite good. A real salami. Bigger than Mr McIver and with a lot more staying power. I felt myself rushing towards an orgasm as the pressure inside me grew. At last, an Italian-Stallion who wasn’t just a silly rhyme.

I don’t know what made me do it? A little bit of resentment, I suppose. But as I tipped over the edge and I felt myself convulsing on his cock, I screamed at the top of my voice, knowing that my husband was just outside, “Fucking hell Maxi, your’e making me come hard!”

When I strode past Joey and out of the waiting room, I turned to him and said, “Is that what you wanted? Did your dick get hard?”

He didn’t answer.

As soon as we got back to the shop, Joey told Benny that he could go back to the dry cleaning. Without any warning I was pushed over the counter. Joey pulled my knickers from my handbag and breathed my odour from the crotch. He rammed into me hard and furiously. I don’t know if he was trying to reem the spunk out of my fanny or drive it deeper into me. Either way, it was more passion than he’d shown for a long time.

After that, whenever I returned from Carmine’s, Joey fucked me.

…………………………………………….

By the time she was sixteen, Tess was rebellious. She would argue with Joey about everything and anything. With me, not so much. But then again I showed an interest in the things that she was interested in. Her poetry, civil rights and the progressive arts.

Joey just wanted to tell her what she couldn’t do.

Once or twice the Dry Cleaning business went slack. We had to look for more hotel business. They always wanted the same kick back, 20% and a go on me.

A young man, whose father owned the hotel, insisted that Joey sat and watched while he fucked me. A sort of power thing, I suppose. Afterwards, we took the elevator down to the basement where Joey added his spunk to that of the young manager while it was still fresh. I made a point of telling him how much I liked it, both lots of it.