Robot Ponygirls
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Working Girl 1 free porn video
I originally wrote this in 1999 and the first 2 episodes went on a few
sites. Unfortunately, I had a computer meltdown and lost these literary
gems. Being as thick as two short planks, I didn't back them up and I
even forgot where on the net I put them. If anyone knows where I can
find them I would appreciate some help in recovering them. I would like
to thank Denise Em for help in finding part 3 and 4.
Anyway, I have rewritten the lost episodes and I hope you like what you
read. If you do then I will carry on, if not well I can always take up
knitting.
Working Girl 1
By Susan Brown.
Okay this is a personal journal for my eyes only. God knows what I
would feel if this got out into the open for anyone to read! The only
reason why I'm doing this is because my therapist said it would help
with some 'issues' that I have. In my opinion, it won't do any good,
but here goes.
'But Mr Davis, I will get you the rent money by next week, I promise.'
The creep looked at me with an expression that indicated that he had
heard that one before and if pigs had wings they would be called
pigeons.
'Look Tony, this is the third time in 4 months that you have been late
with the rent. I'm a nice guy but not that nice.'
He sighed, his bad breath nearly knocking me out. A gross lump of a man
with sweaty armpits and an odour to match. His mother probably loved
him, but no one else would. Had he never heard of personal hygiene?
'Okay, you have until Wednesday to pay of all you owe or you're out.'
I shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief.
I made myself a coffee with slightly shaking hands and sat down in the
deck chair that served as my best chair.
I looked around the apartment as I sipped the hot drink and noticed
that the damp patch on the wall now looked like the shape of Africa. It
was growing, it used to be Japan no doubt it would soon take over the
whole wall. What a dump.
I suppose, as this is a sort of journal, I ought to mention how I came
to be in this flea-infested hellhole of an apartment. You never know,
my great grand children may want to know about me someday.
I was born 18 years and 6 months ago. (The six months are important,
you will see why in a minute).
I had a happy childhood living with my mum and dad in Kent (England).
My dad was a computer software designer and my mum was the secretary to
the managing director of a large company that made ball bearings and
stuff like that.
We lived in a large detached house in the commuter belt, about 30
minutes from the centre of London.
I was an only child and I suppose a bit spoilt. I had a big garden to
play in and doting parents who liked to be generous with birthday and
Christmas presents.
I went to a local private school. It was okay but being a bit shy and
small for my age, I didn't make many friends. Luckily there was no
bullying at the school, so I wasn't too badly off.
Life was quite good for me until I was 16, when disaster struck. My Dad
died in a plane crash. I won't tell you how much grief that caused my
mum and me. It was a period that I try to forget about, even now.
Dad was well insured, so there were no financial worries. About a year
later, mum married her boss.
It was mutual hatred at first sight. David Roberts was a man who liked
to bully people. What mum saw in him I will never know? They say that
love is blind, so that must have been it. I think that he was a bit of
a control freak. He was always bossing me about, you know what I mean.
'Don't do this Tony, Don't do that Tony. Don't stay out after dark,
bla, bla, bla.'
Mum and David were married about a year and I was three days short of
my 18th birthday when the next terrible day happened. I came home from
the cinema to find a police car and an ambulance, just leaving my
house.
I ran in but was stopped by a policewoman.
'Who are you?
'Tony Summers, I live here. What's going on?'
'Are you Mrs Roberts's son?
'Yes.'
'Come and sit over here. I need to talk to you.'
Mum was dead. She had been washing her hair and used a hair dryer with
wet hands. The dryer was faulty and she had an electric shock.
I was numb. The ambulance had taken my mum away and I had lost the only
two people in the world that loved me.
The next week went in a sort of haze. I saw little of my step dad. He
appeared to be upset about my mum, but not unduly. A control freak to
the last, even when his wife had died in such tragic circumstances.
My birthday passed without any ceremony. The funeral came and went. I
was still in shock and I had not cried, God knows why, I had good
reason to.
A couple of days after my mum's funeral, David called me into his
study.
'Sit down, Tony. We need to talk.'
I sat down and waited for David to speak. I somehow knew that I was not
going to like what he was to say.
'We've never really got on, have we?'
'No, I suppose not.'
'I am sorry about that, but it can't be helped. I am selling this place
and moving abroad. I think it best, now that you are 18, for you to try
to stand on you own two feet and make something of yourself. You are
not intelligent enough to go to university, so you must get a job and
perhaps an apartment somewhere. Here is a cheque for ?2000, which
should help you with the apartment deposit and other expenses.'
He handed me the cheque. I looked at it without understanding fully
what was going on here.
I cleared my throat and said, 'But Mums will, she left me something in
that didn't she?'
'No, when we were married, the will was changed.'
'Who gets my dad's money?'
'It wasn't your dad's money, it was your mum's and she decided when we
married that I should be the main beneficiary.'
I should have said something. I should have shouted at him, punched
him, done something, but I didn't.
I got up and walked out. Out of the house, my home since I was born and
out of David Roberts' life.
So that is how I came to live in this desirable residence. I had no
money no job and probably no roof over my head soon.
I had tried loads of agencies for jobs but I had no qualifications. I
just did not do well at school. I was always bored. My teachers all
said that I was intelligent and should do well, but when it came to
exams, I just did very very badly.
I had written to lots of different companies for a variety of jobs. The
problem was, I need a reasonable amount of money to come in to pay for
my apartment and that meant ruling out the MacDonald type jobs. They
just didn't pay enough.
I searched the papers every day and spent a small fortune writing
letters.
I was either too old (18!!!), too young, had no experience or no
qualifications to get the jobs I applied for. I tried shops, banks, the
police force and lots of different jobs too varied to mention. All I
got from the ones that bothered to answer were rejections.
I heard a knock on the door.
With dread I cracked the door open, thinking it was the odious Davis,
trying to pester me again. Luckily it was Sheila, my only friend in the
building.
I opened the door wider as she breezed in.
'Hi Tony, how's tricks?'
Sheila was about 28, a lovely red head and had a body that men drooled
over. She was still in her nurses' uniform and looked as sexy as any of
those pics on those magazines that I have to go on tiptoe to reach in
the newsagents.
She plonked herself down on my shaky bed and crossed here shapely legs.
I dragged my eyes away and said, 'Davis was after me for money again.'
'That turd should be put away somewhere. How long have you got?'
'Until Friday.'
'I'll lend you some money, but I can't afford all of it.'
'Thanks Sheila but I won't take your money; you can barely afford
living here as it is.'
'We'll talk about it later. Oh here's your mail, I picked up as I came
in.'
She gave me three letters.
'Thanks.'
I took them and opened the first one. It said that I am guaranteed to
win pots of money as long as I ring a premium rate phone number.
The second one was a regret letter.
Sorree, your application has not been successful this time, but
we will keep you in our database and contact you as soon as
etc...
I sighed and opened the last one.
Dear Ms Summers,
After viewing your application, we would like to see you as soon
as possible.
Please can you come for an interview on Monday the 5th of June at
10.00am?
We attach details regarding our location.
When you arrive at reception, please ask for Mr Summers.
If you are unable to keep the above appointment, please let us
know.
Yours Sincerely,
James Johnson
Director.
I was stunned; at last, I had managed to get an interview!
'Well.' Said Sheila impatiently, 'why have you got that goofy
expression on your face. Come into some money or something?'
I was speechless; I just passed the letter over.
'Wow, great news, Tony well done...'
She stopped suddenly and looked at the letter again and then grabbed
the envelope.
'Erm Tony, have you seen who the letter is addressed to?'
I came out of my dream state and looked at Sheila as if she had gone
crazy.
'It's to me of course' I said as I grabbed the envelope and looked at
the name,
'It says to Ms...'
My jaw dropped as I read,
Ms Toni Summers
I picked up the letter and saw that it started with Ms Summers.
'Oh God Sheila, they think I am a girl!'
To be continued
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