Bertram & Gertrude at the sex shop.

Bertram & Gertrude at the sex shop.

The shop stood on the corner of two streets. It was quite old and looked as though it had once been a dressmaker’s or milliner’s and had now been taken over by the sex shop business. It had tall windows, reflecting Bertram & Gertrude as they stood marvelling at the goods on display.  The door into the building was sunk back a metre or so and the windows were set into narrow but shapely, turned wooden pillars, as was the door frame. Two wooden-framed glazed doors met in the middle of the entrance and their book-matched pair of polished brass handles in the shape of an elongated letter ‘S’ set the tone nicely.

Our heros entered the shop and found that it was long, narrow and lined with aging glazed wooden display cabinets in which the goods were accessible from a corridor at the rear. The whole place was painted ivory and seemed to have belonged in the nineteen thirties. There was a matching glazed sales counter in the corner, opposite the door. On display was a mind-numbing array of sex toys, intriguing latex and leather clothing, things that strapped on, things that plugged in, vibrators, dildos, dongs, gels, creams and things for immobilising and spanking naughty significant others. There were pussy pumps, cock rings, Arab straps, speculums, enema kits, penis pumps (both vibrating and non-vibrating) and stuff that Bertram had no idea what it could be for, but it looked painful.

Gertrude took a swift look around the shop, dodging the two or three other customers until she settled on a cabinet that was devoted to dildos and dongs. A misty look came over her eyes and Bertram was a little concerned that she might start to drool. She came-to again and addressed the proprietor. “Could I please see items 13, 16, 18 and 22 from this cabinet,” she said pointing to a display, “and items 3 and 6 from the next cabinet along?”

The proprietor, a small mouse-like man with balding blonde hair, a bushy moustache and a shambling gait, returned presently with his arms full of dildos, one of which was flailing around as he walked. He laid them out on the counter and took a respectful step back. Item 6 from cabinet No7 turned out to be a huge black latex-coated butt-plug of at least eight inches in diameter and after a quick glance and a sad shake of the head from Gertrude, it stayed adorning the counter, not to be purchased today – at least not by anyone that did not wish to tear themselves a new arse.

Gertrude picked up the longest dildo or dong (as she now understood that the larger non-motorised items were called) and laughed. It was an impressive beast, at two feet long with a hefty pair of balls to match. She gave it a squeeze and replaced it quickly. The next dildo was made of soft red gel and must have been fourteen inches long.

“I’ll take this one,” she said.

The proprietor took it from her and placed it in a large paper carrier bag marked Verdorven seksueel zwijnerij, presumably the name of the shop. Below this in smaller letters were the words, Dit brengt tranen in haar ogen which must have been, thought Bertram, the address of their other branch.

Gertrude bought four dildos in all and a set of three butt-plugs and was about to leave the shop on Bertram’s arm, when an angry, oriental voice pulled them back from their joint sexual reverie, to the reality where ‘shit’ happens.

“It’s da basta’d butt muncher!I goin’ fuck yu up good boy. No escape for yu naw. When I finish wi’ yu, yu goin’ be geoglaphy.”

Bertram looked across the room and then downwards. On finding the little Chinaman, he said, “Oh dear. Look at what the cat’s dragged in. It’s Won Hung Lo, the one-eyed camera man from the tourist boat. And for your information, you little twerp, it’s history not geography.”

The Chinaman was fuming. “Yu be fuckin’ geoglaphy when I finished wi’ yu. Bits o’ yu will be splead all over da place! Dat’s fuckin’ geoglaphy!” He continued at some length, “I go stick dis knife in your gut, yu bastaa’d. I fuck yu up big time.” He pulled out a rather nasty-looking short knife with a serrated blade.

Bertram swept Gertrude behind him with one arm and grabbed the huge dong from the counter with his free hand. The proprietor handed the carrier bag to Gertrude and evaporated into the service corridor, his hidden world behind the scenes. A security door closed behind him and there was the sound of locks snapping shut. The two other customers exited the shop as though their lives depended on it, which we will see, as events unfold, they probably did. Bertram held the huge dong out in front of him and swept it from side to side to keep the Chinaman at arm’s length, backing himself and Gertrude towards the exit door.

“Ye gods!” Bertram said. “I don’t think that I have ever seen anything quite as ugly as you that wasn’t peering out from under a rock. Now keep back sir, or by God you’ll feel the sharp end of this man’s… rubber… cock!”

“Yu fuckin’ buttmuncher. I goin’ kiw yu. I goin’ chop yu into tiny bits an’ make yu into spling lolls for da local Chinese lestaulants. Oh, yu goin’ be geoglaphy for sure! Den, come to t’ink of it, yu goin’ be biology! My fliends come over here on holiday an’ yu go an’ get dem deported for pilacy! Yu goin’ play da’ yu ha’ never been born!”

“I think that in the fullness of time the records will show that they got deported for their scandalous behaviour, without any help from me. Oh and incidentally, the words are pronounced ‘pi-R-acy’ and ‘p-R-ay’. You really must learn to pronounce your R’s. Your p-R-o-n-u-n-c-i-a-t-i-o-n is t-e-R-R-i-b-l-e.”

The Chinaman had by this time trotted straight past fuming, vaulted over inflamed, barreled his way into infuriated leaving it flattened on the ground behind him, burst through incensed, head-butted enraged and had only skidded to a halt at incandescent because the author had run out of synonyms. He continued his badly pronounced diatribe, “I go stick my knife up your fuckin’ Rs yu twa’. My fliend, Hu Flungdung, is naw in plison for pilacy an’ afflay all because o’ yu.”

“Oh for goodness sake!” said Bertram exasperatedly, “The words are p-R-ison, pi-R-acy and aff-R-ay. With an R! How on earth you expect to be taken seriously with such poorly pronounced diction, I will never know… “

The Chinaman continued, “Yu goin’ take me seliously when I stlike yu wi’ my sellated blade yu fuckin’ toe-lag! My fliend, Sum Tin Wong is naw in plison for pilacy an’ afflay because o’ yu. My fliend, Yu Cum Kwik is naw in plison for pilacy an’ afflay because o’ yu. My fliend, Wan Kin Goff is naw in plison for pilacy an’ afflay because o’ yu. My fliend…”

Bertram cut in, remembering that there were actually quite a lot of people on the tour boat. “I don’t need a passenger list from you, you little oik!… Just out of interest though, how many were there?”

“Der were fir’y flee o’ dem!”

“Really? That’s rather good… I didn’t realize that there were quite that many.”

“Der were, bu’ my fliend, Lei Ying Lo got away an’ has gone into hiding. Now take da’!

The Chinaman lunged with his knife at Bertram, who feinted slightly to his left and brought the monster dong down on the back of the Chinaman’s head with all the force that he could muster. It connected with a loud and satisfying slap. At the same time, the pointy end of the giant butt-plug, moving at a truly impressive pace, shot past Bertram from behind, accompanied by Gertrude’s blood-curdling family battle cry of, “Always a Wusser! Never a wuss!” and jabbed the Chinaman in his remaining good eye.

Bertram turned admiringly to Gertrude and said, “Well done old thing! Now let us adjourn quickly to a desirable cafe and leave this little twerp to the authorities.”

However, as he ushered Gertrude towards the door, the now nearly blind Chinaman struggled back on to his feet and began slashing wildly in their general direction. Bertram walloped him again with the dong and backed Gertrude, the bag and himself out of the shop. When the door handles met in the middle, Bertram quickly passed the dong through them and left it hanging there by the balls, preventing the Chinaman, now the only occupant, from getting out.

Bertram whispered, “That went rather well! But look, old thing, I think that we’d better slope off to somewhere a little more private as the rozzers are bound to turn up and demand explanations that will take all weekend. It’s for sure that The Ministry wouldn’t like one of their chaps being involved in a butt-plug, dildo, knife fight in Old Amsterdam. Aha! I can hear police sirens already. Look, there’s a light flashing in the window!” he said, pointing. “The owner must have pressed an alarm button. What a thoughtful chap.”

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Agent Bertram. Bertram spends most of his time at The Ministry fulfilling his role as an intelligence analyst, looking after the interests of Her Majesty The Queen and finding ever more ingenious ways to ensure that The Duke of Edinburgh stays out of trouble... When the need arises Agent Bertram is seconded to The Netherlands Secret Service to help his chums fight dastardly crime in Amsterdam. This is where he has most of his thrilling adventures.

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