Davina Does Scotland: And I do a few older English women too!

by Limey Lady

  ‘All the society’s systems, right?’ she said.

  I nodded. There were ten or so lines on that menu, all of them familiar to me.

  ‘This one works,’ she went on, clicking on the third one down, opening a welcome screen. ‘And so does this one . . .’

  I watched as she demonstrated that four out of a dozen systems let her in and the rest did not. Then she asked Sandra, the girl at the next desk, to repeat the exercise. Sandra could only get into three of the systems, all different to the ones Sue could access.

  ‘It’s the same for all of us. We get three or four each but not the same ones. And nobody can get onto Possum. Did you hear it’s a promotion day tomorrow? Without Possum we’re doomed.’

  Sue’s accent was gorgeous. Even so, I had to smile when she said “doomed”. It made me think of the re-runs of that old Home Guard series.

  ‘It’s got to be the branch computer,’ I said aloud. ‘I’ll need to take it offline and investigate.’

  ‘You’ll need to wait ‘til five, then,’ said Sue. ‘Let’s go and drink coffee.’ Then, her brown eyes flashing: ‘God, what am I like! Have you eaten yet?’

  By then it was four in the afternoon. I admitted I’d got the call immediately before lunch and, airline peanuts aside, hadn’t properly dined. Sue took me into the back office/kitchen area and produced a Tupperware box of salmon and cucumber sandwiches.

  ‘I was too worried to eat,’ she said, ‘you have them.’

  I told her to stop worrying and insisted we shared them. She, reluctantly at first, complied and soon we were chatting as if we were old mates. Sue was, I discovered, thirty. She had been at the branch six years and manager for three months. Archie, the previous manager, had been in charge for ever and a day. Tomorrow was her first big promotional event; if it went wrong . . .

  By that stage my attraction to the woman was becoming dangerous. She had short black hair and, on first sight, seemed to be petite. But in reality she wasn’t much shorter than me. That voice of hers was addictive and her ass was as pert as could be. And yes, I know what you’re thinking . . . I had noticed her tits; for a slender woman they seemed to be beyond splendid, into miraculous.

  The only negative thing I could see about Sue was her wedding ring. Disappointing or what? Thirty years old and married; she probably had kids, PTA meetings, child-minders and all sorts of similar crap occupying her mind.

  How unfair!!

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Five o’clock rolled around and the rest of Sue’s team left. Only Sandra paused to say goodbye to me and I didn’t miss the way she said it. Although perfectly presented . . . as were all her colleagues . . . Sandra had the look of a punk about her. I found it only too easy to picture her with hair spiked up and face caked in eyeliner, pogoing away with the likes of Meryl.

  Dismissing her from my head, I set to work.

  Now, for reasons of confidentiality, I’m not going to tell you what the system problem was. Let’s just say it took two hours to locate and revolved around one supposedly unbreakable component.

  ‘It works with it taken out,’ I said to Sue, ‘but everything’s still haywire when I put it back in.’

  Sue had been drowning me in Kenyan coffee. She had just tried all her team’s PCs and knew I was right. ‘So what happens if we leave it taken out?’ she wondered.

  ‘It weakens a firewall,’ I said, ‘not massively, but a bit. In the unlikely event of a hack, the hacker may have his chances doubled from none to slim.’

  Sue asked for odds and I said branches got on average three unsuccessful attacks a year. She rang her boss at that; he said to leave the component out but to replace it as soon as humanly possible.

  I rang the appropriate manufacturer’s 24 hour help desk and got a guy who clearly knew his onions.

  ‘That component never fails,’ he said, ‘it’s unbreakable.’

  ‘Trust me,’ I assured him, ‘I’m looking at a broken one right now.’

  I heard him tapping keys. ‘Three broken in five years,’ he resumed.

  ‘Make it four; how quick can you get a replacement to Aberdeen?’

  ‘It’ll be there by tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘What if I bribe you with bottles of single malt?’

  He laughed. ‘Then I’d be eternally grateful, but it’ll still be tomorrow afternoon.’

  I rang off and turned to Sue. ‘Do you think you could replace this part if I show you how?’

  It was her turn to laugh. ‘I’ve had my new car three years and I haven’t yet opened the bonnet.’

  ‘Okay then,’ said I, ‘here’s the plan. I replace it now, so we’re secure overnight. Then I remove it in the morning before you open. Then I hang around until the spare arrives and replace it as soon as I get a window of opportunity.’

  ‘My hero,’ said Sue. ‘Can I feed and water you? My boss said I ought to.’

  ‘My boss said something very similar to me,’ I replied.

  *****

  I sincerely do not want to offend any Scottish or Indian readers (or anyone else, for that matter), but I had wondered what to expect from a Bengal restaurant in Aberdeen. Would the waiters be in kilts? Or would the background music be the Bay City Rollers?

  I needn’t have worried. The place Sue took me compared favourably with the better restaurants in Bradford (Bradford long being known as the Curry Capital of the UK). In fact it was right up there with the best one I’d ever been in, anywhere: up on the rooftop in my home town.

  Rafiq, the head waiter, obviously knew Sue. He led us to a table under a propeller fan and bade us sit before flamboyantly presenting us with leather-bound menus.

  ‘Will it be Cobra?’ he asked.

  Sue looked at me. ‘Do you drink pints?’

  I grinned at her. ‘I’m a Yorkshire lassie; of course I drink pints.’

  As if by magic two brimming glasses appeared together with a basket of poppadums.

  ‘Please,’ said Rafiq,’ ‘tell me when you are ready to order.’

  Sue showed no sign of opening her menu. Guessing they were waiting for me, I said, ‘Mixed tikka as a starter, followed by Keema Madras.’

  Rafiq bowed his head. ‘Where in West Yorkshire are you from?’ he asked.

  I frowned at that. I hadn’t mentioned “West” at all. There again, despite his local twang, his command of English was as good as mine. He probably knew British accents better than I did.

  ‘I’m from North Yorkshire at the moment,’ I conceded, ‘but I was brought up in Bingley.’

  ‘The Shama,’ he cried delightedly.

  ‘I used to go there all the time,’ said I.

  ‘It is owned by a friend of a friend’s friend,’ Rafiq told me. ‘And if you go there you won’t want rice, will you? Is it two chapattis or three?’

  ‘Three please,’ I said.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Sue asked when he’d retreated.

  ‘I think he was trying to impress me with his culinary knowledge,’ I replied. ‘In fact he did impress me.’

  ‘I think he was trying to get into you knickers,’ Sue responded, swigging beer and chuckling.

  As if I would have reacted to a prompt like that!

  *****

  Our meals were fantastic and, after tossing to determine the privilege, I settled the bill on the Callout Credit Card. Then, with Sue alternately saying “the night is young” and “I have to be up with the larks in the morning”, we retraced our steps towards the branch, stopping outside a good-looking pub.

  ‘The Bonnie Prince,’ said, I, ‘wasn’t he the enemy of all Sassenachs?’

  ‘Round here “Sassenachs” isn’t an insult,’ she assured me. ‘It’s people from Edinburgh we distrust. A Yorkshire lassie like you will be made welcome with open arms.’

  I was, too. We had perhaps an hour and at least four pints of Deuchars. Then, conscious it was going on for ten o’clock and Sue really did have to be up early, I feigned a yawn.

  ‘Me too,’ sh
e said. ‘I’ll get a taxi and we’ll have a wee nightcap while we’re waiting.’

  Twenty minutes later we were outside at the exact second a cab drew up. Greeting the Asian driver as “Fraser”, Sue said, ‘Drop me at home and my saviour at the Travelodge.’

  Fraser’s English was as perfect as Rafiq’s. Or should I say his Scottish? He rabbited away ten to the dozen as he drove; using the odd word that Sue understood but left me completely bamboozled. Not that I was complaining. I was well-fed and watered and at peace with the world.

  Sue’s place was in a large granite block. She thanked Fraser as he pulled up outside then turned to me.

  ‘I mean it,’ she said, ‘you are my saviour.’

  Then, to my amazement, she kissed me on the mouth and was gone.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It didn’t take me long to check in to the hotel. Valiantly walking past the bar I quickly found my room, shrugged off my clothes and tucked myself up in bed.

  But I couldn’t sleep. That briefest of brief kisses kept on replaying in my mind. Before I knew it I was masturbating and fantasizing about Sue. And, seeing as I had a semblance of control over both my hand and my pussy, I was able to make it a long, drawn-out fantasy. No, I was able to make it a very long, extremely drawn-out fantasy.

  Fantasies, huh! Who knows what murky part of our minds they come from? I can’t remember all the details of that one, but Sue’s tits and ass will no doubt have featured prominently. I strongly suspect that I conjured up unlikely scenarios, as well: the two of us being castaways, left naked together on a desert island, slowly but steadily falling in lust; that sort of thing.

  One major cum later and guilt crept into my head. And please don’t get me wrong: guilt about my one-nighter with Margot didn’t come into the picture; as far as I was concerned, Kat had gone for good and I was free to resume my whore-like ways of old. It logically followed that accepting Margot’s advances on my very first day of freedom was nothing to be ashamed of . . . unlike those calls I had immediately made to Sara and Meryl.

  How slutty had I been? How slutty and how utterly inconsiderate. Sara and Meryl were my friends, but I hadn’t called them for comfort or sympathy. Oh no, I had called them because I’d wanted to rut. And I would have called Ellie and the others too, if Margot hadn’t interrupted me. I’d have called and called until I found someone to fuck. What sort of a friend did that make me?

  My guilt wasn’t exclusively reserved for ex-schoolmates, either. I felt even guiltier for fantasizing about Sue. Sue was a good, kind and generous woman. She was also straight, married and quite possibly a mother. How could I use her in my filthy fuck fantasies! Heck, how could I ever look at myself again in the mirror!

  I trudged despondently into the bathroom, peed, brushed my teeth and (rather foolishly) splashed my face with cold water. Sleep was farther away than ever when I went back to bed. Sighing, having had enough of the home-focused character assassination, I began to masturbate again.

  Using two hands that second time, I teased my clit and simultaneously eased two fingers in and out of my vagina. Setting a slow-slow beat, I was determined not to fantasize at all, but that was easier said than done. Images kept swirling through my head; images of Kat and Sara and . . .

  Dismissing them, I focused on Sue’s young colleague, Sandra. Sandra was clearly a bisexual if not an outright lesbian. She also clearly wanted to have sex with me. She might possibly have been frigging herself at that very moment, thinking about me. Surely fantasizing about her was permissible?

  Surely it was!

  But I couldn’t stay focused on the would-be punk. No matter how hard I tried, her face kept morphing into Sue’s. Sue simply wouldn’t go away. I could banish her but she bounced straight back. I tried and I tried but I couldn’t get rid. So in the end I thought bugger it and let her have her way with me . . . and not just once.

  *****

  The alarm on my mobile woke me from a deep and surprisingly satisfying sleep. Somehow I managed to get up and shower without resorting to further self-abuse. Then, after carefully towelling myself dry, I unzipped my overnight bag and had a quick inspection of the contents.

  (If that sounds odd it’s because that bag had been beneath my desk for ages, unneeded and doing nothing except get under my feet. I’d packed it weeks or even months earlier.)

  Fortunately everything smelt fresh and didn’t look too creased. I picked out skimpy black knickers and a pair of white socks before dithering over a top. It was September and a hot one at that. Yesterday’s sweat shirt had been borderline stuffy. In the end I went for a white cotton T.

  (And trust me; I never gave my outsized nips one thought.)

  Taking my bag with me as I went, I left my room for the last time and went down for a hearty “all-you-can-eat” breakfast that more than set me up for the day. Finished, I sipped coffee and was skimming through an abandoned copy of the local Evening Express when my phone rang. It was Sue, sounding bright and breezy and completely unsuspecting.

  ‘Hi Dave,’ I just wanted to make sure you were up.’

  ‘I’ve just had breakfast,’ I replied.

  ‘I’ve got Fraser standing by. Shall we say outside the hotel in ten minutes?’

  *****

  Sue was already in the branch when Fraser dropped me off. It was good to see her again; maybe too good. Maybe I was torturing myself with guilt and longing.

  ‘I haven’t tried the systems yet,’ she said, sounding as sassy as ever, ‘I don’t want to jinx them. I’ll get us coffee while you do your thing.’

  It didn’t take long to whip out the dodgy component. I was bolting everything back in place when she returned with two steaming mugs.

  ‘Cross your fingers and go for it,’ I said.

  I couldn’t help but admire her ass as she leaned over her desk, switched on her PC and logged in.

  ‘That’s one I couldn’t get into yesterday,’ she commentated, ‘and another . . . and another . . .’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said, admiring her enthusiasm as well as her backside. ‘Can you try Sandra’s?’

  She could and that worked too. Soon the rest of her team arrived and they all had all the access they needed.

  ‘Right ladies,’ Sue said, two minutes before opening time, ‘Dave’s waiting for a small part to install, so she’ll be here all day in the unlikely event something else goes wrong. Now let’s do what we have to do and give our customers what they want.’

  (Being “management”, she never mentioned the tiny risk of hacking; being IT, neither did I.)

  I had never spent a whole day in a branch before and, to be honest, time dragged for me, even if the minutes did probably whizz by for Sue and her gang. They were kept incredibly busy, you see. As far as I could tell the promotion was a roaring success. And, judging by the way Sue’s smile kept getting wider and wider, it could not have gone much better.

  ‘Lunch,’ she said to me shortly before noon.

  ‘I planned to nip out for a pie and a pint,’ I replied.

  ‘Go for a pint by all means but don’t bother with the pie. I’ve made extra sandwiches.’

  I was touched by her consideration and kicked myself again for the previous night’s filthy thoughts.

  ‘I’m taking my break at 12:45,’ she went on. ‘If you’re back by then we can eat together. It will be good to have another chinwag.’

  Chapter Fifty

  I treated myself to two Deuchars in The Bonnie Prince and made sure I was back for quarter to on the dot. Sue had done us proud: two crammed Tupperware containers, one full of salmon and cucumber, the other stuffed with cheese and tomato. We nibbled, chatted and sipped coffee contentedly.

  There was, I told her, a flight at half past six. If all went well and with a following wind, I intended to try to be on it.

  ‘Don’t go breaking your neck in rush hour traffic,’ she said. ‘You’re better late in this world than early in the next.’

  ‘That’s the sort of thing my mum
would say,’ I replied. A second later, clapping a hand to my mouth, ‘I didn’t mean anything ageist. You’re nowhere near as old as my mum.’

  Sue just laughed. Then she surprised me by suddenly mentioning Sandra.

  ‘She fancies you, you know. Surely you’ve noticed?’

  ‘No,’ I fibbed, ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘She’s been giving you the eye ever since you arrived. And didn’t her face light up when she saw that you were here again this morning.’