A young London reporter gets more exposure than she expected up north
An Under Cover Reporter
We were sitting in the snug at the ‘Dog and Duck,’ on King street in Wetherfield one night a while back, there was me and Siggy Embray, Kabul Kenny, Big Norman, Harley Charlie, that's the bloke with the little Honda Moped and a few other lads drinking Stella and Strongbow like you do of a Saturday, you know, play pool, get bladdered, try to pull, not necessarily in that order.
I saw this bird come in around ten-ish, sort of fish out of water you know, nice coat, posh shoes, buying a Campari and Soda for herself at the bar, poor old Denny who was doing the bar nearly choked seeing a shaggable bird buying her own drink, must be a lesbian he thought.
She sat in the corner twiddling her phone, god knows why when there’s no bloody signal, on account of the gas works wall being between us and top of town hall where the transmitter is so I thought she must be waiting for the local Liberal Democrat meeting in the skittle alley to finish like.
Their meeting dragged on like Lib Dem meetings always does and this bird looked so lonely and she kept looking at me so I had to go over didn’t I, just to be friendly, “Hiya darlin’, you looking for somebody or do you just want to get laid?”
“Johnno Allthwaite?” she queried, “I was hoping to see Johnno Allthwaite?”
“What the Pedo de bollocker in chief,” I says, “You want to get laid?”
“And you are?” she asked.
“Andy, Johnno’s second cousin twice removed, Andy Parsons,” I said, “So what you want Johnno for, he got you up the duff or summat?”
“No, I want to interview him, about developments with regard to Pedophiles,” she said all posh like, “The recent Harris case has put a different emphasis on the type of person we imagine to be Pedophiles, I wondered if Mr Allthwaite had any comment?”
“Buggered if I know,” I said, “I’ll ask the lads.”
I went back to me mates, “Gagging for it, wants to meet Johnno,” I explained.
“Shouldn’t mind a piece of it me self,” says Harlie Charlie, which set me thinking, “Hows about we all grabs a piece of the action?” I suggested, “You got anyone stopping round yours Henry ‘cause I got an idea?”
Henry looks up, weedy little git about twenty something, works for Council IT department, “No,” he admits.
“Number twenty that right?” I asked.
“Yeah, Twenty Mandeller Rise,” he says, “Why?”
“Cos I told her Johnno is into kinky three way sex,” I said, “And she wants to do a story.”
“But he ent,” Charlie said stupidly.
“No but we fucking are, ent we, take turns, right,” I said.
“Right,” they said, “How?”
“We tell her Johnno and a load of mates have organised a tart for the evening,” I says, “I offers to sneak her in and that’s when she finds that she’s the fucking tart!”
Well it seemed a good idea at the time.
“Sounds all right,” Charlie said.
“So meet up at Henry’s about half twelve?” I suggested, “I’ll bring the tart?”
They agreed so I went back to her, “They reckon Johnno has got a tart booked for the evening that’s why he ent in the night.” I said.
She looked very interested, “A tart?”
“Prossie,” I says.
“I didn’t think you meant a Bakewell,” she said which confused me, I thought she meant the old bitch as did the holiday programs on BBC.
“So they says,” I explained.
“And you know where I suppose?” she asked.
“Yes, why?” I asked.
“Look, can you get me in there?” she asked.
“Now hang on a minute,” I says, “Johnno is a mate.”
“Five hundred pounds,” she said, “To get me inside the room.”
“Now hang on,” I says.
“A thousand,” she says.
“So how do I get you in?” I asks.
“That’s why I’m making the offer,” she says.
“I suppose we could order a Pizza,” I said, “Or we could say we fucked up the booking, double booked the tart and you’re her.”
“And how would that would work?” she asked.
“It would get you inside,” I suggested, “Johnno, a bunch of naked blokes and a tart.”
“And all I need is a couple of pictures on my cell phone,” she agreed.
“Two fifty up front,” she said, “The rest when I get the story.”
“I’ll ring our April and check where they’ve gone,” I said, “Hang on a tick.”
I went to the phone booth, as it happened trade down town centre where our April was was a bit slack so she jumped at the chance of a hundred notes for a three way with Henry and me at Henry’s place so that was the first part sorted.
“I got the address,” I said, “I’ll take you round.”
“I have my car,” she explained.
‘Bollocks,’ I thought, ‘How will the lads get to Henry’s first,’ then I thought ‘She’s a woman, she’ll get lost with a bit of help.’
I made me apologies to the lads and said for them to leg it around Henry’s toot sweet, thats French, means quick like, and then I took the posh bint for a guided tour of back streets of Wetherfield, twenty five minutes easy and we ended up less than a hundred yards from where we started.
It worked a treat, April got there just before us, fucking open crotch fish net tights, red PVC jacket, yellow polka dot minidress what showed her knickers or would if she wore any, fucking lipstick that was so red it almost fucking glowed and blonde hair that glowed gold in sodium street lights she couldn’t have looked more tarty if she tried.
“Gosh!” the posh bint gasped.
“Yeah, Allthwaite likes classy birds,” I said.
“Right,” she said sarcastically.
“So what do say you’re called?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, “You go in and I’ll leave it, shall we say half an hour and I’ll knock and say the agency sent me?”
“Right,” I said.
“So you let me in,” she suggested, “You make sure Mr Allthwaite looks up so I can get a picture of him, and I will make my excuses and leave.”
“Sounds like a plan, except you don’t look like a tart,” I said.
“I’ll over do my lipstick,” she said, “Will that help?”
“Mess your hair up a bit, button your coat up wrong like you was pissed when you buttoned it,” I suggested.
“Yes, right,” she said, “Good idea!”
The party was in full swing when I went in, Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits were blaring out of Henry’s dad’s Gramophone, Harley had his kecks off, April had her tits out and was showing how she could pick up a bottle of Stella without using her hands, (she used her cunt) and the lads were watching Match of the Day on iPlayer. About a bloody dozen of them in a two bed flat, god knows how word got around so fast.
Someone ordered Pizza, fucking Pizza when I paid good money for a tart.
“Hey, Andy lad, where’s me cash?” April called.
I flashed a wad of notes, “Here, you want to put it somewhere safe?”
“Yeah right,” she said, “Give it us last thing all right?” she said, “Right, which of you lucky lads is first?” she said as she fished a condom filled with condoms from her pocket.
“Me!” Harley Charlie announced and no one was brave enough to argue.
There was a knock on the door, it was too soon, but it was far worse, “All right Andy Lad,” said Johnno himself, “Al said you had party the night.”
“Only April and a few beers,” I said apologetically.
“That’s all right, fucking Pedo kneed me in the nuts, need to do a road test and MOT make sure nothing is fucked,” he explained.
“And the Pedo?” I asked.
“Fucked off,” he said, “On the ebb tide, somewhere near Isle of Man by now, water wings round his ankles fucking brick tied round his bollocks with barbed wire, he won’t bother no kiddies again in a hurry.”
“Hey Johnno!” April shouted, “Room for another downstairs!”
“No there ain’t!” Willy Acort shouted and he rammed his cock right up April’s ass hole.
“Oooh you filthy bugger!” April cooed.
“Right, where’s the bog,” Johnno asked, ‘how could he not know?’ I wondered as it was a sodding two bedroom flat but then again it was pretty crowded.
“Round there,” I said, “I reckon there’s a queue mind.”
Just as he went through bog door there was a knock on the door again, it was her, “Hi, the agency sent me?” she said.
“Right,” I said, “Only April’s here already.”
“Where’s Allthwaite?” she whispered.
“In the bog,” I said.
“Really?” she said.
“Hey Johnno,” I calls, “You order this tart?”
“He’s in the bog,” Harley Charlie shouted, “Here Johnno, some tart asking after you.”
“Tell her to fuck off I’m on bog,” Johnno’s muffled voice replied from the depths of the flat.
“Oh christ,” she says.
“What’s your name, like pro name?” I asked her.
“Oh, Jasmine, say I’m Jasmine, oh christ,” she said, “I’ll just come in a minute until Allthwaite comes out,” she whispered.
“Jasmine,” I shouts, “Bit of class lads.”
“Bet she can’t pick up a bottle of Stella in her cunt?” someone laughs.
“Depends if you take the top off first,” she says with a big smile stalling for time.
I looked round, there was a selection box of 100 assorted condoms on the sideboard so that was sorted, and I had a good hard on so that was sorted, only problem was how to get her knickers off and give her one before she decided to blow her cover and fuck off.
“What you going to do?” I asked.
“Oh, oh well it’s not as if anyone here knows me,” she said thoughtfully.
“I’ll give you one,” I offered.
“Thanks all the same but that would be a last resort believe me!” she replied, the sarcastic cow.
“Gerrum off,” someone shouted.
“Who the fuck are you?” April shouted.
“Reinforcements,” ‘Jasmine’ shouts, “Andy called me.”
“Well just as long as its fair shares,” April said uncertainly.
“Gerrum off,” someone repeated, “Off, Off, Off.”
“Oh bloody hell the things one has to do for a story,” she said and she started to peel her jacket off all sexy like.
It probably wasn’t the brightest idea she ever had, no sooner had she undone the buttons than someone had swooped in and popped her tits out her bra so they flopped over her stretch top.
“Hey,” she protested, “Hang on a minute,” but her jacket was down her back trapping her arms and her top over her head before you could shout Hamilton Academicals Nil, Queen of the South two, and with a bloke holding her while his mate sucked her left tit to be honest she didn’t look all that put out, all things considered.
It took all of a minute to have her stripped to the waist, Lord knows where her bra went, Harley used the elastic to launch it across the room, and then with two blokes sucking her tits I don’t think she even knew they was taking her skirt and pants off, and if she did she was past caring.
I done me bit, mister responsible me, I handed round the condoms, nothing quite as funny as a bloke in a black leather jacket, white tee shirt and blue and jeans with his fly undone and a red johnny stretched over his straining cock, red against the white and blue, sort of patriotic in a twisted sort of way.
“Here Andy lad chuck us the Vaseline,” someone shouted.
“What,” I shouted back.
“Fucking lube mate behind you,” he said.
“Its fucking Vick not Vaseline,” I replied.
“Other fucking side, wake up,” he shouted,he was right, there was a small tub right by where I found the condoms.
“Right,” I says and I looks round, I could hardly believe what I saw, Jasmine, hoisted up a good six inches off the deck supported mainly by Harley’s cock rammed firmly up her cunt.
“Oooooooh” Jasmine coos, “Oh that’s soooo good,” whether she even knew Siggy was rubbered up and lubing it ready to spear her ass I ain’t sure but she didn’t look like saying no any time soon, “Ooooh,” she says again.
Now me I thought the idea was she got pictures of Johnno, instead of that loads of us got pictures of her on us mobiles to stick on Facebook, Kenny was getting bloody video on his flash 4G phone thingy to tick on porn tube.
”Oooohhh,” Jasmine cooed like she was really getting in to it but suddenly it changed to, “Agghhhh,” just about the time Siggy tried to split her ass in two by forcing his tool up it, mind you with half a jar of lube smeared over it and seventeen stone of bloke behind it, well resistance is futile so they says, “Agghhhh, dear god nooooo,” Jasmine wailed.
“Oh, oh god, oh bloody hell,” she gasped and then he was right inside her, shame he hadn’t got no sense of rhythm, Kenny, he were in Wetherfield band learners class once but he had fuck all rhythm and no ear for pitch so he had to pack it in and join a rock band.
He fought in Afgan did Kenny, fought in Kabul, in the NAFFI, he took on four yanks single handed, got six months and a dishonourable discharge, two of the yanks got medals, one got a compound fracture of the jaw and sent back to the states.
“Oooooh!” Jasmine gasped as the cocks pistoned in her holes.
“Christ shut her up old bitch from next door will be round,” says Henry.
“Yeah put a sock in it!” says Kenny.
Phil Jennings mis heard, “Stick a cock in it!” he shouted so Big Norman decides to oblige.
Now they don’t call Norman big for nothing, six four, twenty stone, his only problem was getting her head and his cock to the same height, well what else are coffee tables for?
“Ooooooh,” Jasmine gasps again, four blokes she had, Harley up her, Siggy up her ass, Tim the Strim what works works for parks department and his mate Tony tit sucking and now Norman up on coffee table wanging his tool around ready to stuff it down Jasmine’s throat.
On top of that someone was leaving huge love bites over her shoulders and she was bust frigging her own clit.
Even April came over to see what all the fuss was about.
“Oooohhhnnngggggg,” says Jasmine as Big Norman’s surprisingly small eight inch cock slid gracefully between her lips, she choked and coughed a bit but no one gave a fuck except it made Harley start to cum.
Now like I said the main thing holding her up was Harley’s cock, which sort of went floppy as he shot his load, which sort of unbalanced her, “Oh fuck!” shouted Big Norman as he started to fall forwards as the two front legs snapped off of the coffee table.
“Fuck it!” shouted Siggy and he tried to get his cock out her ass toot sweet, but like some horrible silent movie they all sort of fell in a heap,with her on her back and big Norman sort of half way up her after Harley crawled out.
So there she were, laid back, cunt all bare and waiting, sort of lonely, so I rubbered up like you do, and do you know when I looked up some other fucking cunt had beat me to it.
I looked at April, she looked at me, “Bloody amateurs,” she laughed.
“Me next,” I explained and then the fucking door bell went.
I answered it, it was the old bitch from next door, “I told you I would ring the police if you didn’t keep the noise down,” she said, “Can I use your phone?”
“No,” I said, and she looked down, saw me cock and fainted.
“Bollocks!” I said, as I realised I still had me cock out.
Anyway I sat her on doorstep outside and bolted the door and fucking left her.
They had sorted themselves out when I got back, Phil was in arm chair with his cock up Jasmine’s ass, Tim was fucking her, Tony had one tit April the other and there was fucking Mr Perfect Johnno Allthwaite giving April one doggy style as she sucked Jasmine’s tit.
I went to look of a beer, the doorbell went again, “Can I have a glass of water?” the old bitch asks.
“Stop there,” I says but in she came anyway, I tried to keep the door shut and push her in kitchen but she saw enough.
“Worse than animals, worse than Chester Zoo,” she muttered.
I got her a glass of water, “Keep your paws off the phone,” I said, “Drink up, fuck off.”
“Don’t be so fucking hasty, Andy lad,” says Harley as he walks in with no trousers or pants on looking for somewhere to chuck the used condom, “Many a good tune’s been played on an old fiddle.”
“Oh for fucks sake!” I said as the old bitch’s eyes nearly popped out her head, I thought she would faint again so I went back in the other room.
I could hardly believe my eyes, they had shifted all the furniture back and Jasmine was sitting on the floor sucking various cocks in turn as she wanked a couple of guys back to hardness, she bloody winked at me, which was out of order because after all I done for her I hadn’t so much as touched her all fucking evening.
I went back in the kitchen, I really wished I hadn’t, the old bitch was sitting on the kitchen unit, her skirt round her neck, tits out, knickers down and Harley was busy giving her one and she wasn’t saying no.
I nearly threw up, she was old enough to be his grand ma, and as far as I could see they was going at it bare back.
There were no more beers left, and back in the front room some bastard had wanked over Jasmine and someone had spunked in her hair, filthy bastard.
April was out if it, I figured someone had been dishing out those dodgy legal highs they cobble up in chemistry lab at Wetherfield Tech, or High Grange, the University of Whetherfield as they calls it now “Lethal Highs," we called them and as I wanted fuck all to do with drugs so I fucked off home.
I turned in like you do, tried to kip.
Fucking doorbell rang, Dad went down, “Andy, copper for you,” Dad says.
“Tell him to fuck off,” I says.
“Don’t be a dickhead all your life Parsons,” PC Mulholland who is related to me Mam on her mother’s side shouted up the stairs.
I pull me pants on and came down stairs, “This young lady insists you know where her Bra is, lucky I knew where you lived eh?” Mulholland smirks.
It was Jasmine, christ what a mess, “Sorry,” she says, “Can’t remembering, was a party, cooo.” she said.
“You need a black coffee,” me dad says.
“You need a bath,” Mum says, “You really should know better than to spunk in your girlfriend‘s hair.”
“And next time you want to fuck use a bloody travel lodge Andy Lad,” me dad says “Your mother has a hell of a job getting spunk out of flannelette sheets.”
“So, what’s it to be, night in cells and caution for soliciting or you put her up for night?” Mulholland suggested.
“Night in cells,” I says.
“And the Astra, legal is it, MOT, Tax, right engine, right VIN, not nicked is it?” he said meaning my motor.
“Second thoughts she can have my bed,” I says.
“And where will you sleep?” Mum asks.
“On the bike shed roof where do you think?” I replied.
“Andy, don’t be rude to your mother that’s my job,” Dad says, “Tell you what she can sleep we us.”
“Norman Parsons!” Mum exploded.
“Only joking, lets get her cleaned up and some coffee down her,” says dad, “I got to be in work at half seven.”
So mum put kettle on and Dad and me run the bath like and Jasmine sat in kitchen drinking black coffee, then Mum helped her have a bath and did her hair like which completely fucked her expensive hair do and made her look like some council house slapper, and two hours later we was eating bacon and eggs round kitchen table.
“How long have you been on game?” Dad asked.
“I’m a reporter,” Jasmine insisted.
“Its good money,” mother insisted, “I often wished I went on game instead of factory, me friend Rita she were on game for years.”
“All right mother,” I said, “Give it a rest.”
“Steady money on game Andy, you could do worse,” Dad said.
“For fucks sake Dad, Jasmine is a London reporter, not a fucking tart,” I insisted.
“Not according to Facebook,” Mum says asshe stares at her Tablet, “Is that really a glass bottle?”
Jasmine blushed crimson.
“Bad enough thin end first but,” Mum says as she shows us the picture of a Stella Artois bottle rammed up Jasmine’s cunt.
“There’s a better one,” Dad says sheepishly, “I expect.”
“Oooh, is that up your backside, it is isn’t it, and is that Johnno with you?” Mum asked.
Jasmine’s blush turned to a sheepish grin, “Would you mind awfully if I lay down for a while?” she asked.
“Finish your breakfast first love,” mum said, “You sure you don’t want black pudding?”
So we went and lay down side by side on my bed.
“Thanks,” said Jasmine.
“You could thank me properly?” I suggests.
“Far far far too sore,” Jasmine apologises, “And it’s Claire I’m afraid. maybe next time I’m in Yorkshire?”
“This was Lancashire,” I says, “What about the rest of the cash?”
“Sorry,” she said, “But I will make it up to you, promise.”