Mayfair Lady

Hello. I want to tell you a story. I swear to you it's all perfectly true, which of course is a promise that means absolutely nothing coming from a fictional character like me.

Yes, that's right, I'm fictional. My name is Henry. Henry Higgins. I was created by my Author, Sub Joe. Joe himself is, of course a nom de plume, so he in a way, is fictional too. Nom de plume. That's French. It means "Name that Pen", which was a popular Radio Show in Canada in the 1950's.

You've heard of Pygmalion -- of course you have (ok, prove it -- spell 'Pygmalion'). What, you haven't? It's an ancient Greek tale by George Bernard Shaw, about a sculptor called Rex Harrison and a beautiful statue called Audrey Hepburn. In the story, Rex (Pygmalion) wishes the statue could come to life. He gets his wish, and is so bowled over by this he sings 'On the Street Where You Live'.

I forget the details.

Well, that story happened to me. I am not a sculptor. My name is not Rex Harrison. So how, you ask, could this be? And do I get the girl in the end?? Not Bloody Likely. We're going back to the GBS version here. No anodyne Hollywood endings.

Excuse me, hang on: Joe's trying to say something in my earpiece…

Ok... Ok...ok folks, change of plan, I've been informed that it is ok to run the Hollywood-style ending, so good news for romantics out there.

Also I anticipate quite a lot of fucking. Cuntjuice as well. I'll try to throw a little jism your way too.

Ok, lets go over to Joe with that story now. Joe?

Thanks, Henry. It all started a long time ago, in Covent Garden fruit and vegetable market, when it really was a market.

Early in the mornings the place would bustle with activity. Everywhere could be heard the awful Cockney accents of the street-merchants, never more perfectly captured than by Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins:

"'Oo will buy my pretty lavendah??"

"Getcha fresh sprouts 'ere ladies!"

"Weed? Speed? Skunk? Roofies?"

But who is this, sitting in top hat and tails upon an old crate, with notepad and pencil? I'll tell you. It is none other than Henry Higgins himself, listening to snippets of conversation and noting them down in a phonetic shorthand of his own invention. Unfortunately, Higgins is unable to read this shorthand, having never learned it. In fact he just makes scribbles.

As he sits and listens to the raucous cries of the barrow boys, egg-lifters and pudding-men, he hears a great hullabaloo. The Great Hullabaloo is a flightless bird sadly now extinct.

No, wait, it's not a Great Hullabaloo, it's the high-pitched yowls of an indignant woman.

"So what?" I hear you say. "When's the fucking and humping and grinding and so on gonna take place?" I hear you say. Well, skip ahead, read the fuck-bits, and come back when you've wiped off your knuckles. Right now there's a tale a-tellin', dammit.

So, like I said, it's the cries of an indignant young woman, almost incomprehensible due to her heavy use of colorful Cockney slang:

"OY YER GREAT GOB 'O WANK, GET YER BLEEDIN' BROLLY OUTA ME PUSHBUDGET 'AFORE I GET THE BOILERS ONTA YER! FUCK ME SIDEWAYS IF I EVER SAW SUCH A FLASHPISSER ON HIS FOUR-AND-TUPPENCE! DON'T YOU BE GETTIN' ALL SLARMY-BARMY WITH ME, MATE! AND ME A DECENT YOUNG LIDY TOO! AUUOOUUUAAWW!"

Looking up, Higgins sees a Fiery Young Gamin with a grimy but pretty face, a slim waist, thighs you'd be proud to wrap around your head any Winter day, firm calves tapering gently to a pair of dainty ankles, culminating in two feet that I can't find adjectives for. She's bawling her ass off at a distinguished-looking gentleman who is played by Wilfred Hyde-White.

He is Colonel Bickering.

He protests meekly, like this: "B-b-but I assure you, young lady, my umbrella handle did not penetrate your clévage de Venus in any way, shape or form. Here, my dear, you may sniff it if you don't believe me…" and he thrusts the handle up her nose to prove his innocence.

But she pushes him away and pouts, eyes akimbo. She turns to the circle of onlookers, who are laughing and masturbating at the spectacle. She appeals to them: "Look at how the working classes is treated! Just because 'e talks proper, 'e finks he kin tike all kinds a' liberties wiv the likes of us -- us who scratch and sniff to make a honest freppence-ha'penny!"

Higgins jumps lightly off the crate and enters the fray, imperiously waving his notebook to clear a path through the crowd.

The Fiery Young Gamin looks at him mistrustfully. "And 'oo might you be, Lord Luck of Leytonstone?" The crowd falls about in laughter at this, even though it's not funny, but actually quite sadly poignant.

"Quiet, you impudent vole! You are a disgrace to your family in Whitechapel!"

The girl opens her mouth then shuts it soundlessly.

"Yes, yes," continues Higgins irritably. "Whitechapel. Do you think I can't detect a Whitechapel accent's disgusting vowel movements?" He turns to Colonel Bickering. "Why she positively exudes Whitechapel from every pore of her filthy skin!"

The colonel smiles and introduces himself. "…and you, sir, can only be the famous philologist, Dr Doolittle. I'm pleased to meet you in person. You see I'm an amateur of the British tongue. I have seen your thesis on the local dialect of Twill-Milliners in Cumbria."

The girl interjects. "Oh, very cozy I must say! So 'e's a famous hexpert, is it? And you've seen 'is feces is it? I get it! You and 'im are a right couple of shitsnufflers, I'll bet!"

Higgins ignores her, but instead addresses me, Sub Joe, directly: "Look here old man, this story's getting a little slow right now. What say we just cut to the bit where Bickering and I give her the bath? Oh, and be a good fellow and use the past tense from now on, alright?"

I agree.

So they popped her in the bath. And when I say "popped", I mean fucked. They fucked her in the bath. Colonel Bickering, due to his many years in the military, naturally preferred the rearguard, while Higgins had the far more dangerous task of frontal attack. This actually constituted rape, and they were both successfully prosecuted for it, and each served seven years in jail for these acts. The judge, in his summary remarks, said in a landmark ruling: "Does anyone know how to remove spunk from my wig?" Eliza Doolittle was ordered to remain in the bathtub until they had both served the full terms of their sentences.

Thus it was that they transformed a dirty guttersnipe into a clean guttersnipe in a matter of seven years.

"Now that she's been cleaned up, you can see she's actually quite a pretty clit of a girl," shouted the Colonel over the noise of her deafening cries. He went downstairs and walked over to the drinks cabinet in the drawing room and fixed himself a Scotch. So long was his dick that he could do all this while still keeping it deep inside her ass, while she remained in the bath upstairs. Higgins continued thrusting away and shouted back. "Yes. Her front-bottom is surprisingly tight for an East-End girl. I detect a hint of Essex in her. Braintree unless I'm very much mistaken."

Eliza was infuriated by the casualness of the two men, chatting away lightly while molesting her so cruelly. She threatened them, swearing loudly: "FUCKIN' JACKBADGERS! CRAPSMUDGERS!! YER PAIR OF FUCKIN' SLOBGOBBETS ARE GOING TO GET A RIGHT STRIMPIN' FROM ME DAD WHEN 'E 'EARS ABAHT THIS!!"

Higgins snorted. "Your father! Pah, your father, my dear girl, has been paid off handsomely. You now belong to us. We're going to make a REAL WOMAN out of you. Heaven knows how, but we're going to do it. It's the main plotline of this story, so you have no choice in the matter."

"Now, I want you to say after me: "Carolina's vagina has been all over China".

"Caroloina's vajoiner 'as bin seen all ovah Choina."

"No, No, NO! CarolIna's vaGIna has been seen all over CHINa. Va-GI-na."

"vaJOIner…"

"Vagina."

"VaJOINER. Owww, I'm fuckin' knackered, can't we 'ave a break"

"Listen, you stupid ass! We're going go over your "Vagina" all night if we have to, until we've cracked it. Understand?"

Finally, when the clock on the mantelpiece struck four A.M, poor Eliza could stand no more pounding.

Higgins was sprawled on an armchair, his tired eyes covered with a pair of Damp Panties. "One more time. Vagina."

"Va-GI-na… Carolina's vagina has been seen all over China…??!!"

"?!"

"!!!"

"I think she's got, it! by George she's got it! Now say 'The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain'!"

"Carolina's vagina has been seen all over China."

"Perfect! BICKERING! BICKERING! I think we're ready to show her to society!"

Bickering, who had fallen asleep on the floor, woke with a fart. "Has she indeed! This calls for another bath! And this time, I'm retrieving the soap!"

And there we must leave them for the moment, while I think of what happens next. Actually I'm kidding. I have it all written.

All kinds of hilarious things happen in Chapter II. There's lots and lots of sperm from the men, and that other stuff comes out of the women. It's really very sexy. I also describe Eliza's body in lots of detail. Over forty thousands words of description are used in the Linguine scene, many of them are words like 'curves', 'slippery', 'butter', and 'throb'. Pretty good, hah?

Just vote if you want more, or even if you want less. Anything. Or send me an email saying how much you liked my story. In fact you can just email me telling me how much you like anything.

Best regards, Joe.