Chapter 1

To:

Caroline Bates

Editor, High Girl

Strand, London

Dear Caroline,

It was great to meet up with you again after so many years and it pleased me greatly to learn how you had been able to get on in your chosen profession to become editor of a prestigious magazine. Still you always were the clever clogs in school. I was only a little jealous of that, I much preferred to be doing practical things while you always had your head in a book. It was a rather strange relationship we had. What a pity we couldn't talk for longer in the café and find out how each other's lives fared after I was moved to the posh girl's school. You seemed to hear of some of my exploits from the newspaper reports but I'd completely lost touch with you and what you did. Maybe you and Geoffrey would like to come over for dinner sometime and we can do some more catching up.

You asked me to write the story of how I became a tower crane operator (driver), and most of the writing has actually been done on my laptop whilst sitting in my cab waiting for orders from the ground crew. The manuscript is, I know, far too long and is intended more to bring you up to date with my life from when our paths parted. You did ask me to give all the sexual details so I hope you won't find them too explicit. You will have to edit them considerably for use in the magazine otherwise you could end up with a libel suit. Please omit all references to Lord Brackenbury's family so as not to cause offence to them. I have no objection at all to you using my name or any of the others contained within.

Please let me know if you decide to publish the article(s) and when they are likely to be found on the bookstalls.

Yours sincerely.

(Signed), Deborah Wesley-Harris

Hi, I'm Deborah Wesley-Harris, usually everyone except my family and their posh friends call me Debbie, Deb or Debs. I'm twenty-eight years old and I'm employed as a 'builder' or perhaps more correctly, a 'civil engineer' with Hanson and Weeks, a firm specialising in restoration of churches and cathedrals and other ancient buildings and the building of huge shopping malls and office blocks. Yes, I actually work on the buildings, laying stone and bricks and humping mortar and concrete or doing whatever else needs to be done. At least that used to be my main job, now I drive cranes, usually one of those tall tower cranes you see looking like flimsy toys on the skyline. Not the normal sort of job you would expect a woman of my so-called 'breeding' to do but I've been with the same firm for ten years now and have risen in status from labourer to their chief crane driver. It's a job that I enjoy doing and is far removed from the plans my parents had for me. When I was eighteen I finally rebelled against them and decided to go my own way. For the previous five years I attended a private school for girls where the emphasis was on academic education, which bored me stiff especially as the only subject I excelled in was handicrafts particularly pottery but we only had one hour a week at that. Early on at that school I kicked against the system and paid the price but I was able to get some concessions. When my education looked likely to end without sufficient grades to get into a good university, or indeed any university, I decided to take a civil engineering course. My parents practically disowned me and it was our housemaid that persuaded them to let me do the course. It was only the fact that I am a fairly attractive woman who, in their minds at least, might be persuaded to use her wiles to marry the unsuspecting son of some nobleman or other, that they didn't throw me out of the house there and then. Not that would have mattered; I have enough money of my own from an inheritance, that I have no need to work for a living.

So why did a rich, or at least well off, young lady decide to become a labourer doing manual work alongside burly men on the hurley-burley of large building sites with men who swear and use crude language in their general speech? I guess the answer to that goes way back to my childhood and to a stubborn streak in my nature.

My parents, Roger and Emiline, (never are the names shortened), made their money from dot-com enterprises and are now part of what is termed the 'nouveau rich'. Both are highly skilled in computer / Internet management and academically brilliant. Unfortunately for much of my childhood, and even now, they are frequently away from home. Cecelia, my older sister by six years, is much more glamorous than I am, and has an outgoing personality. She's more of a socialite too and is always concerned over her appearance. In many ways she takes after my mother and seemingly flew through the courses at university and came away with an honours degree. Through the hi-tech consultancy job she obtained, she met Pierre, a wealthy Frenchman and moved to Lyons to live with him. Again this wasn't really what our parents wanted but they had to accept it and found that the contacts she made with Pierre's rich friends helped their business. I was expected to follow her through university but even in Junior school I was only a mediocre student. Much of my childhood therefore was spent alone in our big old house. Well not really alone because 'Auntie Laura' was always there to look after me. Certainly she was more of a mother to me than my real one.

Auntie Laura was not a real aunt but I always called her Auntie, (and largely still do even though she tells me not to), when she was really only our live-in cook, housekeeper and a nanny for me in my early years. She's a big, friendly woman and didn't mind when I wanted to help in the kitchen and encouraged me with any craftwork I wanted to try. She didn't stand for any nonsense from me though, and several times I felt her hard hand on my bare backside. It was perhaps one of these spankings that got me into my building career.

I was about eleven years old and during the summer we employed a local jobbing builder to replace a dilapidated fence with a brick wall. There were only a couple of workers, one laying the bricks and another making up the mortar and doing the pointing. It was the start of our long summer vacation and Auntie Laura made tea at morning break and I went with her to take it to the workmen. We were surprised to find a lad of about my age there too, practicing laying some of the bricks. Auntie told me to run and get another mug of tea and more biscuits for the boy. When I returned I learned his name was Michael and that he was the son of the bricklayer. I watched him for a while and said, "I bet I can do that as well as you."

"Not in those clothes you won't," his father said.

"Well I'll have to go and get my 'clay-clothes' then," I retorted. My 'clay-clothes' were smock type overalls that I used for pottery and other messy work. It wasn't quite as easy as I thought, but after being shown a couple of times I could lay them as well as Michael. I suppose now with all the health and safety at work regulations, neither of us would have been allowed anywhere near to the site, but then it didn't seem to worry anyone. By mid afternoon my hands were quite sore from handling the bricks but I was determined not to give up and I think Auntie realised this and called me in to help in the kitchen when she brought out the afternoon tea.

For the next couple of days, I 'helped' build the wall whenever I was allowed and in the end, Bert, (Michael's father), admitted he couldn't tell which bricks I'd laid or where my pointing finished and Harry's, (the other man on the team), started. Mind you, Bert laid about ten bricks to my one! I also learned of some of the other practices that went on. Like how the men disappeared behind a bush when they wanted to pee. In those days there were none of those little chemical toilets that we have now. I even did the same and no one remarked on it. It was at that time that I got my first sight of a man's prick. Harry had gone for a pee and not knowing I walked around the bush and caught him in full stream. He didn't bother to turn away but after a few seconds, I did.

Michael and I got on quite well together even though there was considerable rivalry as to who laid the most bricks and who kept them in the straightest line. However, on about our fourth or fifth day, we were sat side by side pointing some of the work we'd done. Bert and Harry were making concrete ready to pour the next length of foundations. Pointing is a pretty boring job but one that Harry didn't seem to mind; he would sit for hours carefully filling and smoothing all the joints to a neat bevel. Suddenly a small dob of mortar landed on my smock and when I looked at Michael, he just grinned. For ever afterwards he staunchly refuted any suggestion that he did it deliberately but I thought he had so I flicked a bit from the end of my trowel on to his overall. Of course that led to a miniature battle with larger amounts of mortar being projected. Inevitably Bert caught us but by then we'd gotten the mortar all over us and in our hair. As was the fashion at the time, Michael's hair was shoulder length like mine.

Bert was not best pleased I can assure you and marched us both into the kitchen. "These two little buggers have got themselves into a mud fight Laura. Sorry to trouble you but would you mind if they use the sink to get the mortar out of their hair before it sets? I don't know what started it all and we'd only turned our backs for a few minutes and they were shying the stuff at each other. I can tell you there'll be one young boy who goes home tonight with a sore arse." Bert was not one to mince his words even when children were present.

"And there'll be a girl whose bottom will match it," Auntie Laura stated. She made us take our overalls off outside and then I had to wash Michael's hair and he mine. "Come back at break time and have your tea here and we'll deal with this pair then." Both of us apologised profusely, but it made no difference. Auntie Laura stood us in opposite corners until Bert and Harry came in for their tea. I was very worried. I'd had a few smackings from Auntie and she'd always put me across her lap and took down my knickers so she could lay the slaps on my bare bottom. "Will she do it like that in front of the two men and Michael?" I wondered and it was this thought that caused me more concern than the actual spanking, at least until I felt her hand. The answer was yes and she left me in no doubt that if I made a fuss, I would get more.

"I think we'll make it ladies first," she said when Bert and Harry were seated with their tea. "Come here Debbie, over my lap. You know the drill." I noticed she positioned herself so my bottom faced the men and also Michael who had turned round so he could see. No doubt she wanted to embarrass me a bit too. Seconds later my working trousers were around my knees and my knickers joined them. I know I blushed because at eleven, I had begun to know a bit about boys and was very shy about showing myself to them. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Auntie Laura seemed to be hitting harder than she'd ever done. Perhaps she was showing off in front of the men. Whatever, I was soon howling. Fortunately it didn't go on for too long, but my bottom was extremely sore and red when she'd finished.

One thing about Auntie's punishments, once they were over, that was it. Finish. She let me down and gave me a cuddle but didn't attempt to pull my trousers up and my bottom was too sore to even think about scraping the elastic of my knickers over it. I heard Bert order Michael to drop his trousers and pants and I turned to look. I caught a quick glimpse of his semi-erect prick and wondered if seeing me being spanked had caused it to harden. He draped himself quickly over his father's lap I think to hide his embarrassment from me. Bert wasted no time in pasting his bottom really hard and soon Michael was sobbing. I felt really sorry for him. When he stood up, I noticed his prick was soft again but his bottom was fiery red and I wondered if mine was the same colour. It certainly felt like it.

"Pull your trousers up now Debbie and go and give Michael a hug to show that there in no ill feeling between you," Auntie Laura ordered. There wasn't any ill feeling anyway, at least not against each other. I suppose it was more against the adults who had spanked us for what was really only a game. We were allowed our tea and biscuits then and apart from our sore bottoms, things seemed more or less back to normal. Afterwards I was made to wash Michael's overalls and he had to do my smock.

"Will your dad let us continue working with him?" I asked as we hung the clothes on the line.

"Probably that will depend on whether he tells mum or not Deb." Michael answered.

Bert was non-committal when I asked him. "I will think about it over the weekend," was all he would say.

On Monday when Michael came to collect his overalls I thought we were forgiven and was surprised when Bert stood us side by side and gave us another lecture on how we should behave. Then he went on, "I'm going to give a chance to prove yourselves and to see if you can work together. Debbie, your dad has asked us to put in one of these new barbecue things. He wants a brick one like this." He showed us a drawing which we didn't understand until he did a rough sketch of the finished job. "First you'll need to peg out the site and then remove the turf to a depth of six inches. I'll want to check each stage so there's no mistakes..." He went on to give us detailed instructions on preparing the base. By the end of the day we were very tired and Harry had to help us shovel the sand and cement into the mixer but we got the base poured and tamped down. Bert praised what we had done so we felt very proud. "You can have a day off tomorrow," he told us, "The concrete won't be hard enough to do anything else." We completed the barbecue over the coming week and it is still there today, although the metal grill has rusted away.

I suggested to Michael that we might go and see my Uncle Joseph on our free day. He was a real uncle, my father's oldest brother and a keen model engineer and metalworker. He'd retired some time ago and lived alone in a large house across the fields from my home. Most of his time was spent in his very well equipped workshop. I loved that place and in the holidays, often visited him and he allowed me to use some of the machinery, particularly his Myford lathe. I had a little platform he'd made so that I would be high enough to use it and was in the process of making a simple oscillating steam engine. It was far removed from the traction engine and steamroller that he'd made or the triple expansion marine engine he was working on at that time. Yes, I knew the terms even if I wasn't too clear on what they meant and I was able to show off my knowledge to Michael. He seemed impressed by the workshop facilities but not by the state of the house when we went into the kitchen.

On the way home I had my first sexual experience with a boy although it was really only a minor one but I remember it clearly. It started innocently enough when Michael asked, "Has the redness in your bum gone?"

"Yes. Has yours?" We walked on a few steps and I asked, "Did seeing me being spanked make your Willie get hard? Did you see my... ?"

"Cunt?" Michael used a word that I thought very rude. "Yes, I saw it especially when you kicked your legs but I didn't get a good look. I'm sure it made my prick start to stand up. Did you get a good look at me? I kept trying to hide it but forgot when Dad beat my arse."

"Like you, I only got quick glimpses," I admitted.

Again we walked on and then he said, "Would you like to see my prick? A proper look? No one will see us if we go into the copse and down by the stream."

I can remember being strangely excited but it was some time before I said, "Yes. Will you want to see me?" Of course he did.

We found a sheltered grassy bank by a small stream but we were both hesitant to actually show the other until Michael said, "I need to piss and I'm going to do it into the water. You can watch if you want." To my surprise he turned his back on me and slipped his shorts and pants off instead of just opening his flies. Later he confessed he did it so that I would have to do the same. He didn't think he would get a good look at my slit if I only lowered my shorts enough to pee. There was no sign of his spanking on his white bum. His little prick had already started to harden and he held it so I could see and I watched as he used to it to hose his urine in patterns into the water. I felt a little jealous of the way he could play with his and wondered what it would be like have a prick and to be able to swish my pee around. "Your turn," Michael said when he shook the last few drops into the gravel at his feet.

When it came to the crunch, I almost didn't do it but knew I would have to put up with a lot of taunts if I didn't. Like him, I turned and slipped off my shorts and knickers before walking to the water's edge and crouching down. It took me a little while before I could pee and in the meantime, Michael knelt down so he could see between my legs. Finally I was able to pee into the gravel and by the time I finished Michael's prick was standing up and rigid. He stood so I could see it in all its glory. "Do you masticate it?" I asked. I was fairly well educated in what boys and girls did together from school talk but I'd no practical experience.

Michael laughed at me. "You mean masturbate. Wank. Yes. Do you?" I just nodded, yes. In truth I had only recently discovered the pleasure of rubbing my clit. "Show me what you do," he almost ordered me but there was a questioning tone in his voice.

After hesitating for a bit I answered, "Only if you show me how you do it." Probably it was more the feelings I was experiencing between my legs from seeing a boy's hard prick for the first time that decided me. The grass was warm and I sat and spread my legs and rubbed myself. Michael started to wank himself too and I watched as he pushed his foreskin back and forth at quite a speed. "Can I do that to you?" I asked.

"Only if I can do it to you." He paraphrased my words. It wasn't long before we masturbated each other but it was still a surprise when he spurted his spunk in the air and over my hand. "That's what makes babies if it goes up inside you," he informed me in a knowing way. I made him continue playing with me until I had a climax although he couldn't tell that I had.

For the next couple of years Michael and I were often together at weekends and holidays but only twice did we repeat our sexual play. The last time, Michael had me undress completely so he could see my tits that were developing. I know he wanted to have proper sex with me but I firmly resisted that and, as I was now bigger and stronger than he was, he couldn't force me. Frequently we worked on building jobs with his father and on several occasions, when they were sub-contracting, with larger groups of men. By the time I was thirteen, Bert acknowledged that I was better at the jobs he gave me than his son. That I think was partly because I had the tenacity or stubbornness, if you want to call it that, to stick at a job until it was finished. I also found that I was not afraid of heights, whereas he got squeamish if we were more than a few feet off the ground. We had a job to replace a stone coping on the parapet on a church tower a couple of villages away. I had no problem in leaning over and trowelling the surplus mortar from the joint but Michael would not go anywhere near the edge and only went up the tower once.

Unfortunately there were many times where Bert and Harry were working that we weren't allowed to go but then I or we went to Uncle Joseph's. I'd completed my simple steam engine and was working on a Heinrecci hot air engine using castings that my uncle bought for me. "There's a lot of work in it," Uncle told me when I started, "And many of the parts must be precisely fitted and free otherwise it won't work." The whole thing stood well over a foot high and I needed to use the big Harrison lathe to machine the flywheels. Uncle seemed very pleased with what I did and I didn't have too much to do to finish it when father dropped a bombshell. Or rather it was Auntie Laura who had the job of telling me.

It was near the end of the August holidays and I was a little surprised when Auntie Laura instead of telling me to scrub my hands after being in Uncle's workshop all day, told me to sit down. I knew from the look she gave me, that I wasn't going to like what she had to say but I couldn't think of anything that I had done wrong. "Deborah..." This was serious; she called me Deborah. "Your father has asked me to pass on this message although why he couldn't do it himself, I don't know. Probably knows what your reaction is going to be and he wants me to soften the blow. I don't think I can do that so remember I'm only passing on the message and had nothing to do with the arrangement." For the life of me I couldn't fathom what she was likely to say. She seemed to pause for the longest time and went on, "Debbie, your father has arranged for you to attend The Agnes Willishaw School for Girls and they take them from age thirteen. It's a boarding school." I knew that. I also knew that it was for snobbish girls and that I wouldn't fit in very well.

"Fucking hell, no!" I yelled forgetting that I didn't swear in front of Laura. "He can't do this! I won't go!" Auntie Laura tried to calm me down but without much success but she made it clear that she didn't agree with my parents. I was so upset I ran to my room and missed dinner. It was 10:30 before my parents came home and by then I had worked myself up into a fury. As soon as they closed the front door I stormed down and swore and carried on. At first I said I would refuse to go, then I pleaded, then begged. Daddy just listened and let me go on until I more or less ran out of steam.

"Deborah you WILL be going to the Agnes Willishaw School starting on September 16th. Cecilia went to a similar school down in Sussex and she got on very well. This school is closer to home and has an excellent reputation for getting girls into university and you will meet the right kind of girls to help you get on in life. It's a great opportunity for you to better yourself and get yourself in with the upper class crowd. They'll teach you deportment and the correct way to speak and hopefully you'll lose this tendency to swear like the builders you've been associating with. You'll be able to put all this building and engineering nonsense behind you and become a more refined person so that perhaps you'll find a suitable man to marry."

"I won't because I won't be staying there for long. I won't do any of their work. They won't be able to make me!"

"They might just do that. As they're a private school, they are still allowed to use corporal punishment and I've signed the form that agrees to it." I argued but both daddy and mummy were adamant that I would go. I was equally determined that I wouldn't.

Early on the morning of the 16th, I quietly dressed and opened the door of my bedroom ready to creep away. "Sorry miss, you are to stay in your room until I take you to school." A well-built man in chauffeur's uniform blocked my exit. "And don't bother trying the window miss, one of my colleagues is outside."

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck the sodding bastards." My swearing made not one jot of difference.

Auntie Laura came to see me off but I there were tears in her eyes and she again made it clear that she didn't agree with what was being done to me. "Sorry Debbie. Just go along with it the best you can and see if you can keep your nose out of trouble. That may be difficult seeing most of the girls there will have what they think is 'breeding' and I guess will consider you uncouth. Don't let them put you down though. You're as good as they are even if you don't have an aristocratic name going back centuries."