Disclaimer: This story is a complete work of fantasy and has nothing to do with any of the celebrities, politicians, trade union leaders or historical figures involved. In fact the laws of physics as they are currently understood mean that it never could have happened. It should also not be read by anyone under the age of 18 due to its graphic sexual nature.
“So Captain, do you believe in safe sex?” breathed Nicola Roberts.
“Indeed miss, I always face the direction of travel with one eye on the spectacle plate” replied the man in the brown boiler suit, tenderly cradling her flowing russet locks and parting her moist lips with his as he pressed her firm, lithe body against the steel wall of the locomotive cab.
“The it’s time we let a head of steam build up!”
Glancing right for a moment to the needle on the pressure gauge hovering at ninety pounds per square inch, her paramour began to shrug off Nicola’s purple blazer and scoop up the white satin of the camisole beneath, oily thumbs gently circumnavigating the tumescent nipples of her 36 inch B cup breasts.
“They’ve been rubbed so much already today – they feel so firm and tingly” moaned the Girls Aloud singer, “now reach round to my peachy bottom and drop my skirt.”
“Such abbreviated undergarments, such unfamiliar fastenings,” gasped the Captain as his hands ran over the reverse curves of her tiny waist, ” I’ve not had so much fun since the passing of the 1896 Light Railways Act!”
Pulling Nicola close to him again, the Captain’s hands and brain conspired to pop the buttons, pull down the zip and lower the matching purple pencil skirt to her ankles, revealing the white silk French knickers over her matching suspender belt. Free to spread her thighs for the first time since leaving Liverpool that morning, Nicola stepped out of her skirt and wrapped her long, shapely legs around those of her older lover, grinding her lingerie against the coarse buff canvas between it and a growing bulge at the Captain’s loins.
“One hundred and twenty pounds per square inch miss. We’ll soon be ready to move,” the Captain managed to advise between the oral intromissions of her darting tongue.
“Then it must be time to obtain the staff for the single line!” teased Nicola, before kissing him back open mouthed and dropping her right arm, aching as it was with cramp, to release the lower buttons of the Captain’s boiler suit.
Her neatly manicured fingers, so recently contoured to the curving knob on a power controller, first thrashed around inside the woolen long johns and then wrapped instinctively around the Captain’s thickening penis, stroking it from broad, flared glans to tightening scrotum as her left hand tugged aside the gusset of her knickers. Driven to distraction, the Colonel reached out to his right, the merest twitch of the regulator powering a rigid piston down the well lubricated waiting cylinder.
Nicola was thrown back against him by the starting of the train, gasping as her pink, gaping quim accommodated the true Hundred of Manhood and knowing no more how the day would end that when she had arrived in West Sussex less than half an hour before…
“Nicola,” asked Karen Gillan, peering towards the twinkling oil lamp on the buffer stop through the enveloping fog, “Is this Chichester?”
“Earm,” replied Nicola, twisting round in the driver’s seat of the Virgin Super Voyager, “Your guess is as good as mine la. All I know is that we can’t go any further forwards, the instruments have all gone haywire since we hit that bank of fog just outside Havant and my right shoulder aches.”
“I thought you had a, what is he called, a traction pilotman showing you the ropes?”
“Since we left Lime Street this morning I’ve had three different traction pilotmen showing me the ropes – all sticky white ones. It’s hard enough driving a train left handed without them coating the dials. In fact when we had to change direction at Havant I was quite pleased when the last one went to look for some wet wipes. I barely had the energy to carry the headboard the length of five carriages but at least I can see the engine revs and speedometer again. In fact I was even keeping to time until the fog came out of nowhere. Then I heard the detonators go off and slowed down so I could see the sleepers in front of me.”
“I see you’ve been reading the manual”
“How it works: The Locomotive – yeah, it was dead kind of Mick Whelan to give us it – especially after Bob Crow came over at that rail union barbecue and said that if Girls Aloud AND The Saturdays didn’t do an encore just for the Rail, Maritime and Transport Workers then he and his Executive Committee would get their members out. And if that failed call a strike. What else could the Associated Society of Locomotive Engineers and Firemen do but sign us up for our own protection?”
“In my old job I’d have aimed for the probic vent at the back of his neck. You’ll have to brief Una Healy about this before she drives us back.”
“Well as railtour organiser I hope you’ve been keeping her off the Guinness. I could hear the other Ginger Girls singing through the cab door!”
“That was mainly Geri Haliwell and Carol Decker before Patsy Palmer and Paloma Faith came round with the jellied eels. Luckily Jane Asher then got on at Reading with the cakes – not that Hazel Blears cared with her own supply of House of Commons Kit Kats!”
“Yeah, and if she hadn’t found out about the barbecue and proposed this trip to the Ginger Girls of Great Britain and Ireland Club Committee we might all have been on a coach to Cumbernauld for the traditional Irn Bru tasting. Except you said you’d had your fill of Irn Bru…”
“OK, so I partly brought it on myself, but this Captain Holman Stephens character did email me back with a very reasonable price for a steam excursion on his private tramway.”
“Hence our Super Voyager is about to put a Virgin on the Hundred of Manhood. How did your negotiations with Sir Richard Branson go by the way?”
“I think I’ll be advertising superfast broadband till I’m a granny, like someone else from Doctor Who – but let’s see who’s in charge here!”
With that, Karen scooped up the cast alloy Selsey Belle headboard under her arm, opened the cab door and helped Nicola down on to the deserted wooden platform. Turning to face the way that they had arrived, the pair began creaking along the planks towards the glow from the two storey signal box and the gantry next to it – one semaphore arm blocking the Voyager’s retreat with another erect to indicate an overgrown line around a left hand bend to the south.
“Ah, you must be the Temperance Outing….ladies?”
Having climbed the external wooden stairs, Karen and Nicola stood in the threshold of the signal box under the hissing gas lamp, not sure what to make of the scene in front of them. Staring back, equally dumbfounded for the moment, was a young man in a blue peaked cap matching his waistcoat and trousers – poised with a cloth to protect the polished signal lever tops from his increasingly sweaty hands. Above the signal levers stood a shelf of block telegraph instruments in their equally polished wooden cases. And a black rimmed analog clock on the wall ticked slowly and loudly until..
“The Ginger Girls Club of Great Britain and Ireland Selsey Belle railtour” confirmed Karen, holding up the headboard as proof. “Captain Stephens is expecting us – and we were expecting a steam train to the seaside?”
“I’ve just pulled off the signal for his return,” exclaimed the signalman with a slight stammer, ” He had to go down to Selsey on the engine with tickets for some mariners shipwrecked in the fog. He said he hoped that the excursion rolling stock would be on time so that they could travel aboard on the way back north to Chichester… and … I can see your knees!”
Karen and Nicola looked at each other for a moment. Being officials of the tour, both had opted for the formal Club blazer and split skirt ensemble – Nicola’s uniform being the noticeably more disheveled of the two, her jacket also being open to reveal a lacy white camisole.
“Knees turn you on do they?” smouldered Nicola as she stepped forward ” But what I want to know is, will Captain Stephens get back with the single line token before I manager to release your staff?”
At that moment the occupants of the signal box were distracted by a shrill whistle – as a small saddle tank propelling a pitched roofed salt van reversed around the curve and managed to stop just before the sticky cab of the Super Voyager.
Karen and Nicola immediately turned round and quickly descended the steps to the platform, greeting the steam locomotive crew as they stepped off the footplate.
“Captain Stephens I presume?” began Karen, addressing the older of the two men.
“Ah Miss Gillan,” replied the thick set fortysomething with the pointed waxed moustache, shaking her outstretched hand, “Most pleased to meet you at last after our alphanumeric telegraphic intercourse – and my fireman will be delighted to hear the lilting cadences of a fellow Scot.”
Almost before Nicola had shot a puzzled yet intrigued grimace at Karen, a tall young man in wire rimmed spectacles stepped forward with the salutation
“John Logie Baird of Helensburgh, Dunbartonshire – at your service!”
“If Johnny hadn’t joined the Hundred of Manhood Tramway to earn a groat we would never have received your, what was that whimsical appellation, email, Miss Gillan.” continued Colonel Stephens, oblivious to the shock of his flame-tressed guest, ” I had joined him in the salt van for a demonstration of his electric wireless kinematoscope idea – powered by steam from “Selsey” here – when the fog descended, making any travel impossible. Then instead of pictures of a tailor’s dummy we started seeing words on the screen thingummy and Baird here found a way of sending back a message through his Morse code transmitter. Now, what sort of engine brought in these carriages, and where’s the driver?”
“Earm, the engines are under the floor. Each carriage has a Cummins QSK19 developing 750 brake horsepower at 1800 rpm” began Nicola, knowledgably, “And..”
“I might have guessed from the smell of the exhaust!” Captain Stephens ejaculated, “A petrol electric railcar like the North Eastern Railway. John, think of the money we’d save on points for running the engine round if we had one of these with a cab at each end – and so streamlined too. I expect you had a good run with it on the main line.”
“Yeah,” replied Nicola, ” With the tilt mechanism working we touched 125 mph on one section of the West Coast.”
The two men stood silent for a moment before Captain Stephens burst into laughter.
“A train that tilts at one hundred and twenty five miles an hour!” he guffawed, “Johnny, this young lady truly is a Liverpool comedian. She’ll be telling us next that she drove it here herself!”
“Well, with some help, I did.”
The two men stopped laughing, not sure whether to be angry or bemused.
“Look,” Karen interjected, “I thought I made it clear in my text that our party were going to travel to Selsey Beach in your quaint old wooden slam-door carriages. That was kind of the selling point of the trip?”
“Och, the carriages that we had to sell to pay off..” began John Logie Baird.
“The carriages that we suddenly had to transfer to my other railway at Tenterden” Captain Stephens corrected, firmly, ” And what better way to enjoy the Hundred of Manhood than by combining my steam locomotive with the undoubted creature comforts – not to say vibrating underfloor engines – of your own streamlined multiple carriage railcar? It does have a coupling hook I take it?”
“Earm,” replied Nicola,” Not as such like, but we do have someone on board who knows how to find The Strongest Link.”
“Splendid,” replied Captain Stephens, ” We keep some steel wire in the salt van for just such an occasion. Johnny banked up the fire after we took water at Selsey Beach so there will be plenty of steam to take the train there and back – even allowing for some poor shipwrecked mariners I’ve agreed to transport for nothing – all Sir Garnet by Railway Clearing House rules of course!”
“Of course,” replied Karen, ” and we agreed a very reasonable group rate of…”
“Twenty Guineas, five shillings and sixpence – yes, but I am a fair man Miss Gillan. As recompense for any misunderstanding over the newfangled apparatus, let’s settle on twenty pounds.”
“Deal!” exclaimed Karen, pulling a banknote from her inside pocket and placing it on Captain Stephens’ outstretched palm. He looked back up at her and breathed in sharply.
“Miss Gillan,” began the Captain, ” Forgive me for my directness to a lady, but first your fellow merrymaker and yourself mock the operation of my very competitively priced railway and then you attempt to remunerate me with an obvious counterfeit! Who is this E two R woman, some kind of suffragette?”
For a moment it was not just the cold of the enveloping fog that made the ginger hair on Karen and Nicola’s neck stand on end.
“You seriously don’t know who Queen Elizabeth The Second is,” began Karen, trying to contain herself, ” You advertise your tinpot heritage railway with no carriages on the internet, you insult your female guests and you’ve got a dweeb from Helensburgh running a steam powered IT department in a wagon. What year are you living in?”
“1910 – I’ve got today’s newspaper in my pocket. His Majesty King Edward VII taken ill in Paris – and on the back page an article about Manchester United playing in the First Division in their new stadium at Old Trafford. You can’t get more up to date than that!”
“Look la,” began Nicola, breaking the awkward silence, ” I know we’ve got off to a bad start, but the Ginger Girls Club of Great Britain and Ireland have a way of making things right no matter what we think the year is, eh Karen?”
Nicola fixed the Captain with her best come-hither smile, walked slowly over and kissed him on the lips.
“Och aye,” rejoined Karen, ” and if you too can generate enough steam together, I think I can find a treat for Johnny back in the railcar…
“You can call me Fred!”
“What?” shrieked Nicola, partly above the incessant chuffing of the tank engine “Selsey” as it rolled through Selsey Town station and partly against the wave of rippling orgasms that were sweeping through her body.
“The staff call me Captain – and I do hold that rank in the Royal Garrison Artillery Volunteers, maybe I’ll do even better in the fullness of time – but my middle name, the one my family call me by – is Fred. And I feel that your vaginal ministrations are about to make me impregnate you!”
Caught in a mixture of confusion about her position in time and space – and pure lust – Nicola now remembered that a condom was still rolled and packeted in her stocking top. Not that it would have fitted the girth of Fred’s pleasurably sizeable membrum virile, but evasive action had to be taken. Grabbing the base of his cock, Nicola squelched Fred out of her womanhood, sank to her knees on the metal footplate and took at least the tip of his penis in her mouth, running her tongue up and down the underside of the shaft before enveloping the organ with her lips. Nicola first felt Fred’s thighs stiffen and then his hot salty ejaculate fill her mouth, making her gag and causing the spilt semen to sizzle on the hot brass pipework. More jerkily than usual, Fred shut off the regulator and reached for the vacuum brake handle, ready to exhaust it on the approach to Selsey Beach station just as Nicola had exhausted him. Nicola, by the same token, struggled to her feet, exposed a ginger nimbus around her quivering mons, and started to mop his bell-end dry with the full depth of her silky knickers. Fred twitched, as if ready for another mindblowing fuck, just as a cheer erupted from the Super Voyager.
“This is SO going on YouTube for the Club when we get back!” Lily Cole announced, holding up her camcorder for the other Ginger Girls to see the playback, ” Karen, we thought that you’d never top that kilted Highland piper as a strip-a-gram, but a John Logie Baird lookalike!”
“And we sure fixed his vertical hold! I don’t think he’d ever seen up a girl’s skirt, let alone my little lace panties.”
“I’ll just rewind a bit – yes, you going topless to start with mesmerizes him – and just look at his face when Lucy Collett joins in, filling his mouth with her big stubby nipples.. and his cock goes so STIFF – you can see the whole outline when you’re wanking him off in your silky petticoat.”
“And then Lucy takes off her floaty see-through teddy completely..”
“Where did it go by the way?”
“Up on the overhead rack, there’s just about room .. and he soon catches on when she sits on his face..and look, there’s you fingering your sopping hole before squatting on his cock like a cowgirl”
“Hence the expression Highland Steer.. and if you fast forward.. I’ve just come again, I’ve rolled off him and Lucy has his wet cock between her 34Gs.. his face is a picture..and he sprays the ceiling just as the sunlight comes through the window… and then listen.. the shame, the ignomony. I’ll have to move to Hastings… Priceless”
“Looks like we’ve stopped at Selsey Beach by the way”
“And there’s not many people about and we’re hardly wearing any clothes!”
“Yay, Ginger skinny dip alert! Last one in the sea is a strawberry blonde!”
“But wait, who’s that on the platform in the loud, clashing jacket and trousers talking to a raggedy bunch of sailors – he’s even got a film crew with him!”
“OK Michael, it looks like we’re losing the light again so let’s try and do this piece in one take. Straight into the camera and coming to you in three, two one…”
“My 1840 edition of Bradshaw’s Railway Guide doesn’t have a lot to say about mass pubic depilation but I’m here with Cecil Plimsoll and his class of trainee nautical barber surgeons. Cecil, I understand that you were sailing through the English Channel en route to the West Indies when your vessel suddenly became engulfed in fog and capsized?”
“That’s correct Mr Portillo, right in the middle of kit inspection on the upper deck, hence all the students swam ashore clinging on to their medicine chests while the rest of the crew drowned. Tragic loss, but that’s life at sea for you.”
“And for the ship’s doctor survival alone is not enough, am I right?”
“Perfectly correct, we have to be ever ready to assist other shipwrecked mariners and to do so keep all medical equipment thoroughly tested. And the Hague Convention clearly states that includes razors which must be moderated either against the hardest material available or coarse hairs”
“But isn’t Corsair another term for a North African pirate?”
“I’m not going to argue with the Hague Convention at a time like this sir, just look at the headboard on that locomotive!”
“Well can I join in then?”
“Not without the proper training, but we did find the ship’s bell attached to this piece of driftwood and regulations clearly state that former cabinet ministers turned TV presenters are allowed to ring it to start a testing session.”
Karen woke up with a start, her freckled fists squeezing the satin sheets just fallen from her breasts.
“You was ‘aving a nightmare my lover”, reassured Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, stirring a well-sugared cup of Earl Grey as the sunlight of Christmas morning flitted across her translucent blue baby doll nightie “And I bain’t zurprised the amount of strong drink youm’s put away laast night. Catherine Tate and Jennie McAlpine reckons they poured you into a taxi after the Ginger Girls meal and if Oi hadn’t been walking past there wouldn’t have been anyone to see you baack to your flaat. And if it hadn’t been for the fog I’d have been away with my suitcase back to Taavistock.”
“Nothing’s moving in London, not trains, nor planes nor coaches. You kept calling out in your sleep, and something about a Holman Stephens and a John Logie Baird. Well, John Logie Baird invented television, even us West Country folk know that, but I looked Holman Stephens up on moi laaptop. According to Wikipedia, so it must be true, he was a railway entreprenuur who also worked his way up the army until he was a Lieutenant Colonel and his railways did include this Hundred of Manhood and SelseyTramway, later known as the West Sussex Railway. But my dear he died in 1931, so it was all just the drink talking. Look, take your mind off of it, I’ve made you a cup of tea and brought up the caards I found a -laying on the mat when you stumbled in last night.”
“Oh thank you Rosie” cried Karen, giving her new found friend a hug, “but wait, what’s in this brown envelope with a Virgin logo on it? Puzzled, Karen tore the envelope open and, wide mouthed in horror, gazed at the invoice inside. It was for the overall internal cleaning of a Super Voyager diesel unit after an excursion, with the most expensive item being for ridding the carpet, seats and air conditioning of ginger pubic hair.