Wanker Crosses the Pond – Chapter 1

Coming to America

by Alan Wills

I awake with a start, not remembering where I am. A pair of red lips are by my cheek whispering something in my ear but my mind is slow to comprehend “….said I think you should cover your wife.” As the flight attendants lips move away, they are smiling a very all knowing smile. I look down and realize Nancy’s skirt is up around her waist exposing her long tanned legs and her beautiful round white bare bum. I feel my face flush, and I grab the blanket from the floor and drape it over us. Luckily most of the other passengers are asleep.  Nancy stirs and looks back over her shoulder. “Good morning Sunshine.” Her voice is soft, almost a purr. She gives me a wink and looks content. She snuggles into me.

     “Nancy, the bloody stewardess thinks we did it last night. But at least she thinks we’re married”.

“Good for her. Did she look envious?” she asks.

Christ Wills, I think, I knew it wasn’t a dream. You made love to this incredibly beautiful stranger. 

Made love, that’s a joke! I had little to do with it! Nancy just had her way with me! But if this is what American girls do in airplanes, I can’t wait to get to Los Angeles?

“Nancy, hope I wasn’t out of line last night? Being scared of flying, I drank too much!”

“You were just what I needed. Don’t worry about the stewardess. I’m sure we’re not the first couple she’s known to join the Mile High Club?”

“The what?”

“Doing it a mile above the ground.”

 “Nancy how can you be so flippant? Didn’t last night mean anything to you?”

“What did you think, my Cockney lover?  Because we screwed, we’re going steady?”

“Course not! I was just, er, er!  But ain’t you embarrassed that she knows?”

“Why are you so uptight, Alan? It’s the sixties and we are the love generation. I travel so much as sales-manager for Liberty Records, I have no time for a real relationship.”

I feel used and my mind can’t handle it. Christ, I think, she sounds just like a man. 

Realizing we are still spooning I quickly sit up. Seeing that Nancy has her eyes closed, I close mine. I drift off to sleep, but have a nightmare. I didn’t escape after all. The Mob finds me at the London airport and Luigi shoots me just as they call my flight to freedom.

My eyes fly open and I realize I am safe, and on my way to California. I drift back to sleep and my mind reflects back. I’m telling the Pan Am check-in person, I’d like a seat next to a gorgeous blonde, preferably with loads of money. Then I’m shocked to find myself seated next to Nancy. I guess she’s in her thirties. A tall, stunning, business-woman, in a powder-blue blazer with matching high heels, a white pleated skirt and a high-necked white lacy blouse. I tell her I’m twenty-three and she flips her long blonde hair back, and runs her fingers through it in a very provocative deliberate manner. During the many flight hours we eat very little, drink a lot, and flirt like crazy. The last thing I remember is Nancy turning on her side and saying goodnight. So I assumed the spoon position behind her, then with caution move closer and closer until I feel her bottom against my rock hard member. Achieving such closeness to this beauty was the ultimate conquest, and content I fell asleep.  During the night dreams and reality become confused. I feel my zipper being unzipped and my naked manhood being touched and taken out. I feel her satin panties brush my pride and joy as she pulls them down. I clench my teeth and close my eyes tight in fear I might explode. Then she guides me into her warm dampness.

Am I dreaming? Petrified by fear I don’t move, however, the undulating rhythm of her hips does it all. She reached back and touched her finger to my lips to quiet my moans just at the right time. As we drift off to sleep I think how strange it is that we hadn’t even kissed.  In fact there had been none of the prerequisites of promising to love her till death do us part, required by most English girls to get into their knickers.

Nancy nonchalantly reaches down and pulls up her satin panties, then stands and straightens her white pleated skirt. “Why don’t we switch seats, I’ve seen LA from the air a million times. I think you’ll get a kick seeing it for the first time.”

The  view out of the tiny window takes my breath away. “Wow, Nancy.  LA is larger than I ever imagined. There’s snow-capped mountains, and millions of homes spilling into the valleys, and lots of swimming pools. Your roads are wide and lined with palm trees. Your freeways look as though they’re suspended above the streets, with an endless stream of cars.” I sigh, as my words can’t keep up with my racing mind.

“Look over there.” Nancy points, her cheek now toughing mine. “We’re passing over downtown; the tall white building is City Hall. Now, look up in the hills. See the Hollywood sign: that’s Tinsel-Town where I live.”


“Now look to the horizon.  See the Pacific Ocean, and over there is Catalina Island.”

“Nancy, it’s all beyond my wildest dreams. I had no idea.”

“OK, now we’re passing over Hollywood Park, that’s a racetrack. In no time at all we’ll be on the ground.”

Walking to the baggage claim I am on cloud nine, and just can’t stop smiling. My mind goes crazy:  I’m in America, my new home. Everything looks so clean and bright. It’s March and people are tanned, wearing shorts and summer dresses. I must look like a spare prick at a wedding in my suit and heavy coat. I remove my overcoat and throw in over my arm.

“You look like the cat that just finished a big bowl of cream.” Nancy says.

“I can’t believe I’m actually in California!  It all looks so different from London.”

“Thanks a lot! Thought you looked happy because I took care of you last night?”

I look away feeling myself blush.

 Standing at the carousel, I observe the many races and nationalities that make up the throng of passengers waiting for their belongings. Realizing most of us are foreigners in this new land, I don’t feel so out of place.  Still searching the many faces trying to guess countries of origin, I’m stopped dead by a very tall stunning redhead. I can’t take my eyes off her and cannot believe she’s walking in our direction.  Her red highlighted hair bounces as she walks, as do her more than ample undulating breasts beneath her flowing, flimsy low cut dress.

Damn Wills, I think she caught us looking at her!  I look away, knowing I’m way out of her league.  But the temptation is too great, and after a few minutes, I have to sneak another peak. Where did she go?   I’m torn by mixed emotions. I know she wouldn’t be interested in a poor chap from the East End of London, but I have this burning desire to look just one more time at this exquisite, slim, well-endowed woman with flaming red hair.

“Nancy, watch my carry-on bag and coat.  I have to go pee.” I say, and push my way through the crowds looking in all directions, but with no luck.  I realize how insane my quest is, so I head back to the carousel. I’m shocked, the redhead is standing next to Nancy.

“Alan this is my sister, Audrey.  Alan is from the East End of London.”

What a cow! I think. Why did Nancy have to put the East End kiss of death on me?

“I saw you looking at me across the baggage area.”

Nice girl Wills, I think, dropped you in the shit with Nancy right away, then holds out her bloody hand like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth!

 My old Cockney way would have been to totally deny I looked at her, dismissing her as  unmemorable. But this is a new country and a new start.  No more lies.

“Nice to meet you Audrey.” I say, and take her hand ignoring the accusation.

My eyes meet her bight green eyes. Wills, I think, isn’t evading the truth still a lie.

“Your sister told me so much about you, but she didn’t say you were so stunning!”    

 “Thank you kind Sir!  Next to my big sister, I’ve always been the ugly duckling! So Alan what brings you to the Golden State?”

Nancy beats me to an answer. “Alan’s been a naughty boy. The English police want to lock him up for bilking the public with a TV scam.  As if that’s not enough The Mob wants to fit him with cement boots and drop him in the River Thames. They made him a loan that they say he forgot to pay back. So you could say he’s in L.A. for his health.”

“Well Alan, how naughty a boy can you be?” Audrey say with a wink.

“Down sister! I invited Alan to spend a few days at our house to show him L.A.”

Audrey looks me up-and-down, and I feel like a piece of furniture she is considering for the home. “Well sis, we only have the two bedrooms.  Shall we flip a coin for him?

“Ladi..es, ladi..es, I really have to go to Glendale as my relatives are expecting me.”

“Alan, you told me you had forgotten to tell them your flight information and that you planned to call them when you arrived.” Nancy says, with the grin of a victor.

“Well then, I had better call them.  Otherwise they’ll be worried.”

“Couldn’t be you’re the one that’s worried being alone with two single women in a strange country, could it?” Audrey says as we walk out of the sliding doors into the bright sunlight.

Wills, I think as we cross the road, she could be rightMaybe you can’t trust yourself being under the same roof with these two gorgeous creatures.

 No! Maybe, I’d shag one, then head for the other’s bedroom and do the sister. Ya that’s it!  Maybe, it would be like that every night of the bloody week.

Yah, Wills, like you’re some big lover. They’d find you a skin and bones skeleton in the first week shagged to death by these two Amazon women.

Get out of my head, idiot!                                                                       

Crossing the road between these two tall, long-legged, beauties is beyond my wildest fantasies.  If only me mates could see me now.  “Do either of you ladies have a camera?”

“I have one in the car, Alan.” Audrey says pointing, “In that parking structure.”

Walking up to the car my mouth drops open, and I forget about a picture of the girls. It’s a very long shiny pale blue convertible with white upholstery.

Audrey presses a button and the convertible top opens and folds down behind the rear seat.

“Could I have your camera? Me mates will never believe the length of this car!” I say positioning the girls next to the car for the picture.

“Christ Audrey.  What a boot! You could put an English car in there,” I say snapping another picture.

“Here it’s called a trunk. The Bonnet is the hood. The windscreen is the windshield. Petrol is called gas. The pavement is the sidewalk and the road is the pavement!”

“Hold on a bloody minute! I came here because I thought they spoke bloody English!”

Nancy slides across the front bench seat. “Hop in Alan.  There’s plenty of room.” Audrey slides in behind the steering wheel and starts the engine. Within minutes we are on the 405 freeway, the bright sun on my face, and the wind blowing through my hair. It’s all like a dream, where I’m being whisked away to a magical land.  From the air I’d seen the vastness of L.A, but now on the freeway it feels more manageable.

Although I’ve never been here before, for some reason, it feels like coming home.

Once off the freeway Audrey drives us through Bel Air and Beverly Hills. I have never seen such huge homes, and each one has immaculate landscaping. A far cry from my parents eight hundred square foot terraced home in London, where I grew up; with the freezing outside toilet, where I would wank. No hot running water and no bath. Right then I decided one day I will have a big house with a gardener who will make sure all the blades of grass are facing the right way.

There are two new cars in the circular driveway of most homes, others have three or more car garages. There are no junk cars like in England. Everyone looks successful.

I ask myself, Wills, will I a poor boy from London’s East End make it here?  

We turn onto Sunset Boulevard, and I recall the TV show 77 Sunset Strip with Ed Kooky Byrnes combing his hair in the driveway. “That’s Dino’s.” I call out! The girls sneer, and I wish I hadn’t said anything, so I change the subject.

“What type of car is this Audrey?”

“It’s a 1962 Cadillac. Do you like it Alan?”

“What’s not to like! It’s a dream car.”

“Well to tell you the truth, it’s not mine! It belongs to a guy I date.”

“What does he do? Rob banks for a living?”

“He’s an almost known actor.”

My heart becomes a huge lump in my throat.  Wills, what did you expect, a girl this beautiful wouldn’t have a rich stud?

I slump down in the plush white leather seat, my eyes cast down to the blue carpet.

“You OK Alan?” Nancy asks.

“A little tired from the long flight. Someone kept me up half the bloody night.”

“Nancy you didn’t! You took advantage of this young man on the airplane?”

“Give me a break, Audrey! Do you think I’d jump someone I’d just met?”

“Sure you would, and twice on Sundays.” Audrey says with a laugh.

“Now see what you’ve started Alan!” My own sister thinks I’d drop-my-drawers in front of a whole plane full of passengers and shag a boy I hardly know!”

End of Chapter 1

By Alan Wills

Select all writings of  Alan Wills

Select biography of  Alan Wills


Confessions of a Wanker – Book 1, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Based on a true story of a boy’s coming
of age in London’s East End



Chapter 2



Living in Two Worlds

Me best mate Dave lives four houses up on our side, and Danny Silver, who’s a bit of a wanker, lives opposite him.  Everyone knows everyone’s business in our six block neighborhood.  Dad says the war brought everyone together.  Me self I think it’s the mums chin-wagging their gossip over a pot of tea after their old men go off to work.

At thirteen Dave is the oldest of me mates.  Danny and Eddy are the same age as me, twelve.  We’ve all lived on Albany Road since we were born.  It’s a short street with terraced houses on both sides.  Dad says they’re two hundred years old.  They look the same as all the working class homes in the East End of London.  They are narrow two story brick houses, with a bay window, a front door next to your neighbor’s door, and slate roofs.  They have a black cast-iron coal stove in the living-room for cooking and heating.  There’s no bathroom and no hot water.  The toilet, or loo, faces out to the back yard, and is bloody freezing cold in winter.  I don’t know why but the door has a big gap at the top and the bottom.  I always sit on me hands to take a poop, and get out fast, with no thoughts of wanking.

Mum’s sister Aunt Jenny and her hubby George, who suffers with terrible gout, lives next door at number 34.  Their kids, are me cousins. Paul is thirteen, who is a right prat, and his sister, gorgeous Patricia, is fifteen.  Eddy’s family lives opposite.  Something I still can’t figure is how Eddy can be their cousin, but they tell me he’s not my cousin.

Dave is the oldest in our little gang and we think he knows everything.  He is tall with a long face and square chin, sort of like a movie star, but with a big nose.  All us other boys on Albany Road have blue eyes.  We think Dave is smarter because he has brown eyes – plus he tells us he’s smarter.  He always says, “If I don’t know it, it ain’t worth knowing.”

Danny’s dad is old and crotchety.  His younger mum, who me dad calls a tart, shows lots of cleavage.  She always stops, in full view of us boys, and lifts her skirt above her knees; looks back and straightens the line on her stocking.  Friday and Saturday nights his crippled old man stands out front and yells up the street, “Piss off ya trollop” as she heads for the pub.

Danny’s a loner and a misfit. Even though we think him a bit of a wanker, all us boys feel sorry for him, so we let him tag along.

Due to the shortage of teachers after the Second World War, students are herded through school with little concern for education.  Unbeknownst, to me, it is impossible to fail the Eleven Plus exam.  Kids who spell their names correctly, know the date, and answer most of the questions go on to the better schools to prepare for university.  The rest of us are sent to Markhouse Road Secondary Modern School, just a five minute walk from me house, and a meager four year preparation for the rest of me life.  For some unknown reason, me attitude during me first year at this mediocre medieval school is that of an onlooker watching a mere rehearsal.  During the first year’s final exam it hits me. Wills, you missed the main performance.  Mother, I swear I’ll study hard next term.

     Me and me mates think Cockney is real cool.  So I live in two worlds.  With my parents I speak proper English, and with me mates Cockney.  Some people think, or as  Cockneys say it ‘fink, the Cockney dialect is low class.  For us, it’s a badge of honor to drop our H’s and “ ‘ope people fink we’re Cockney.”

We are also proud of our tough walk, not that I would let my mum see it; she calls it a cocky Cockney swagger.  She say’s Cockneys are ruffians and low life who will never amount to anything.  So as not to upset her, I keep me Cockney gear at me mate, Dave’s house.  Wearing Cockney gear is like giving the finger to English class consciousness.  On Fridays, as soon as school lets out, I rush home, kiss me mum, and tell her I am going to Dave’s “House” to study.  In front of her, I always emphasize H words.  But then discard all my H’s on the way up our street.  Dave’s mom, who is a real Cockney, opens the front door. “ ’ello Alan, Dave’s in ‘is room waiting fa’ ya, listening to ‘is bloody awful music.” Her Cockney lilt is music to me ears.  His dad calls from the living room,

” ‘ello Alan, you two lay-abouts going up ‘ igh Street to ogle birds (girls)?”

“More than likely Mr. Kent, bird watching is me and Dave’s favorite pastime.”

As I climb the stairs I think, Dave is lucky ‘aving young Cockney parents.  Wills, I think, you was a mistake! 

     Me parents are older, and don’t have a clue about teenagers.  I smile hearing Bill Haley’s Rock Around the Clock through the door.  Bursting through the door, I kick off me leather school shoes, tear off me navy school blazer with the school crest on the pocket, and remove the noose they call the old school tie.  With relief I kick off me gray short trousers, which label me a child.  In me Cockney “gear,” blue twill work trousers and the black pullover, I feel older.  Lying on his bed, already dressed the same, Dave watches me as I strut around him like a bantam cock.

“Ya such a wanker.” He says, as he jumps up, and opens the door. “Time to ‘ang out on street corners, and check out the birds.” He says, running down the stairs, and out the front door.

Outside of school, and church, our whole world revolves around the High Street. There are hundreds of stores, on both sides, all the way up the mile-and-a-half-long street.  On market days the road is closed to traffic and becomes cram-packed with stands, known as bargain stalls.  These are loaded with everything from clothes to china, to gold fish and cute puppy dogs.  Push carts known as barrows are laden with fruit, flowers, or cockles, mussels, and fish.  The barrow boys or costermongers, as some people call them, are all real Cockneys, and we hang on their every word.  For us boys, the walk up and down High Street is sheer heaven, or as we say ‘eaven.  We find it almost impossible to pass a store window without stopping to comb our hair in the reflection.   We always stop at Lou Rose, the one tailor shop that has a pair of America blue jeans in their window.  Dave says, “they’ll never ever sell ‘um ‘cos they cost more than a bleeding suit.  These ‘ere jeans came all the way from America.  They’re the same as them worn by movie stars, the likes of James Dean, and rock and roll groups.  You’ve all seen the pictures on me bedroom wall.”  Every Friday all four of us made a bee line for Lou Rose, just to look at the jeans in envy.

A few months ago we all followed Dave up High Street to Joe’s half price stall, where he shows us blue work trousers, which when he rolled up the bottoms looked like jeans. “Now, as we’re all mates.” Dave said, “I need ya to cough up ya money so I can get the first pair.  Then every week each of ya can filch money from ya mum’s handbag and by months end all you wankers will ‘ave Cockney gear.”  We all empty our pockets into Dave’s hands, and he buys the blue work trousers.  Then he disappears into the public toilet, which we call the bog, and comes out wearing them with a tight black wool pullover.  “So what do ya ‘fink, gang?”

“Dave, where did ya get the new black wooly.” I ask.

“Sort of slipped into the bag with the jeans didn’t it?  When I pointed out the bird with the big tits across High Street, Joe turned around to look.”

“Dave, you’re our ‘ero, a true wanker.” Danny says.

By months end we all had our Cockney outfits.  For me the wooly itches like crazy. “Don’t be a bloody sissy!” Dave says, “It’s “in”, and remember, we’re tough Cockneys.”

In actuality, our town is a good sixty minute bus ride to Cheapside, and the famous Bow Church, where to be a real Cockney you have to be born within the sound of its bells.

Me mum enrolls me at Smiths Dance Academy to learn to ballroom dance.  Me partner is a very tall, older woman of about thirty, who has rotten teeth and bad breath.  I get the basic step but have trouble with the turns, so she lifts me up at every corner and puts me down, and we dance on.  I live in fear that me mates will find out I am taking ballroom dancing lessons.

Dave tells us that Rock and Roll will change the world, and us 50’s kids will do things our parents’ generation never even thought of doing.

“Can you picture,” he asks “ ya dad sticking ‘is tongue half way down ya mum’s throat, or shagging ‘er down an ally?”

The thought makes me sick.  I think, I know me mum would never let me dad do that.

Dave teaches us boys how to comb our hair in the latest styles with Brylcream hair grease.  He has sideburns, and combs his jet-black hair into a DA, (ducks ass) with a “Tony Curtis” rolling over to touch the center of his forehead.  Dave is “real cool.”

Dave is the only boy in his second year class who wears long trousers.  This was prompted by a note sent home to his mother from the girls’ gym teacher, Miss Babcock.  It informed Mrs. Kent that Dave’s manhood had outgrown the length of his short trousers, and that it was causing a major distraction to the girls in her gym class.

Miss Babcock is a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties who always wears shorts.  All us boys gave her ten on a ten-scale.  Eddy is crazy for her, and gave her a twenty.  Eddy and Danny are like chalk and cheese.  Eddy’s dad, who was a officer in the army, marches him to the barbershop for a short-back-and-sides every couple of weeks.  He has almost white blonde hair, what there is of it, and there is never a hair out of place.  He has to call his dad sir, and we are sure he would be court marshaled if he ever answered him back.  Eddy has three brothers and two sisters, all much older than him.  Even though he sits at the back of the class with me and Danny, we ain’t real close mates.  His dad won’t let him out to play much, and he’s always doing chores or reading.  I’m still confused, me cousin Paul says Eddy ain’t me cousin, but he’s Paul’s cousin?  It must be true as Eddy never tells me no personal stuff, like cousins do.

Today our science master was taken ill, so Miss Babcock comes into our class and says she’s our substitute teacher.  Fortunately, this voluptuous gym teacher knows nothing about science, and agrees to read us a story.  Me, Eddy, and Danny, are sitting in the back of the room and are going nuts over her short shorts, and bulging white cotton shirt.  Frantically I wave me hand in the air,  ” ‘cuse me, Miss.  Me and me mates can’t ‘ear ya from way back ‘ere.  Can we come up front and sit on the floor?”

She agrees and we position ourselves in front of her with our eyes bulging.  The direct view up the leg of her shorts, into the dark unknown, more than compensates for her poor reading abilities.  At the bell, we rush to find Dave and tell him what we had seen… or, should I say what we hope he’ll believe we’ve seen.  In actuality, by squinting hard I almost saw her underwear.  Well, at least I thought I almost did.  The memory of Miss Babcock is great every day for three or four wanks!


End of Chapter 2

By Alan Wills

Select all writings of  Alan Wills

Select biography of  Alan Wills