Tommy Ainsgarth’s Third time

Tommy Ainsgarth’s Third Time

It were a dark November night in Yorkshire. Tommy and Fred Brassenthwaite were working local passenger north from Donaster wi a D1 class engine, built be Ivatt and as much use as a chocolate teapot.

Tommy were keeping a lookout for guards flag and whistle at Grisedale when he saw Dolly the girl he knew from the engineman’s lodging get off of train. Dolores were Landladies daugher, last thing Tommy knew she were at Grimsby college learning hospitality as she wanted be a hoo er.



She were a stunner, her tits were straining the seams on her cream gaberdine mackintosh, her lips were like rubies, her eyes were like, well eyes, one were blue and the other weren’t, her hair was pure gold wi black roots, and her face, had all the right bits and well thee don’t have to look at it when you’re close up do thee.

“Hey Dolly!” he shouted.

“Fuck off pervert,” she replied.

“Eee, that’s not very nice,” he retorted.

“Nor are you spunkin’ o’er me chin.” she chided.

“I were helping thee learn fellation,” he said as if wounded, “You ungrateful cow.”

“Yeah well I failed didn’t I and I failed again down London,” she sighed, “No bugger wants to screw a Hooer wi a Hull acent.”

“Gee Dolly I want’s to.” Tommy says reassuringly.

“And me,” says the driver.

“I’d have a go ‘cept the missus might find out,” agreed the stationmaster.

“Yer only sayin’ that to be nice,” Dolly says.

“Drop yer nickers and bend over and thee’ll soon find if we’s jesting,” Fred Brassenthwaite adds, “No bugger cares whether thee’s passed exams up yer, any port in a storm.”

“You rotten bugger no one want’s to look at me face when there’ a screwin,” Dolly protested.

“We all that makeup muck on thee looks like red Indian chief,” Fred jested.