Best Served Cold

by Limey Lady

  In the end they'd agreed to revert to occasional phone sex and Joanna had promised to find herself a decent boyfriend. Then, since it was still early Sunday morning and they were both wide awake, Joanna had volunteered to be the aggressive, realistically masculine partner for her one and only time.

  ‘I might as well,' she'd said, smiling that smile. 'Seeing as it's my one and only chance.'

  Getting the harness on Ms Jones' sexy ass had been an adventure in itself, but well worth the effort. Armed with Heather's favourite (extra-long and very, very knobbly) dildo she'd soon got the knack. Indeed she had quickly developed skills ranging from tender through regular and frantic to downright, beautifully brutal.

  Beautifully brutal was best. Thinking that this was definitely the best closure for both of them, Heather had wrapped her legs round Joanna's back and stared up into her eyes.

  ‘

  ‘Oh Ms Jones,' she'd sighed, in-between genuine moans, 'please fuck me harder.'

  Joanna faltered at that but Heather had been relentless. Fuck was her second most-hated word; she usually avoided it, although Vic and Mary Rose used it all the time. Right then it was appropriate. Making love right then would have been a mistake whereas you didn't need treacherous emotion to fuck.

  ‘Harder,' she begged. 'That's it, Ms Jones! Fuck me! Fuck me harder!'

  They had always been on a similar wavelength so perhaps Joanna understood. Whatever the reason, she rose to the challenge splendidly, not to mention tirelessly. Aided and abetted by that killer dildo she’d pounded away faster and faster and faster. Heather's orgasms (all fifty thousand of them) didn't stop her. Oh no, sweet, sensual Joanna carried on and on, if anything becoming increasingly vigorous, frequently letting fly with strings of expletives of her own.

  Heather had been amazed and delighted by the whole experience. For once she more or less stayed in place and took it, offering up many urgent pleas and entreaties but not too much physical input. All said and done she'd taken lots and lots. By lunchtime she was grinning from ear to ear and her legs had gone all wobbly . . . but not nearly as wobbly as most of Ms Jones.

  ‘There,' the older woman gasped as she finally flopped, 'consider yourself fucked.'

  ‘I consider myself very lucky,' Heather purred. 'It's my turn to thank you for having me.'

  ‘It was my pleasure. But never again.'

  ‘Don't say “never”, Ms Jones. It sounds so awfully final.'

  ‘Final? I'm almost terminal.'

  Heather did manage to drag Joanna back to bed for a last sweet course after lunch, but the poor thing was exhausted. They passed most of the afternoon sleeping. Well, a goodly part of it. Heather had had a little energy left and made sure she used it up . . . without detracting in any way from Joanna's wonderful and dominant morning, of course.

  Nowadays, three or so years later, their friendship was as close as ever, even though the phone sex was endangered, almost gone. That was Joanna's fault or, rather, her latest boyfriends' fault.

  Yes, boyfriends' in the plural. She had had half a dozen by now, running them one after another. As Confidante Number One, Heather knew all about these men, possibly way too much. While she admired the healthy churn, her criticism was that Joanna always went for older. Okay, so that made the men more reliable, but it hardly made them what she needed. When it came to needs Heather knew best.

  Joanna didn't need a fellow fifty-something in a hand-knitted cardigan; she needed someone younger and fitter, able to shag her to Heaven and back. How could a fifty-year-old (or, like the one before last, a flipping fifty-five-year old) shag Joanna nearly enough?

  Tonight’s celebration had been girls only, with the current boyfriend promising to collect Joanna after the meal, firemen permitting. Heather had secretly appointed herself as first reserve, determined to be on hand in case he didn’t show. Whether she likes unnatural sex or not, she’d reasoned, tonight of all nights Joanna would not be sleeping alone.

  Now, back in the Kings, she smiled and sipped Shiraz. The current boyfriend had turned up bang on time, bearing flowers and Belgian chocolates. This wasn’t as intriguing a sight as the gift that strippergram had been baring, but Joanna had been pleased to see him and the man with the hose had made his quick getaway.

  So maybe it was a good time to go over old ground after all.

  *****

  Opening his eyes was unusual. Instead of staring helplessly up at the ceiling as he was obliged to these days, Geoff was looking horizontally, like a normal person. And the bed was gone. Come to think about it, his body was gone.

  Not just numbed and lifeless but gone. He wasn't exactly floating as he had floated in other dreams; it was more as though the tiny bit of him that thought and made sense of what he saw was . . .

  Was . . .

  Well, it was operating entirely on its own. That was odd, but at least that dreadful ringing had stopped and all the tubes and masks had vanished. And weird and wonderful things did happen in dreams, didn’t they. Hadn't he tried to go to sleep in this one? That had to be a first. He’d tried to wake himself from bad dreams before, but surely he’d never tried to fall asleep in one.

  Not that he was convinced this dream was necessarily bad.

  He seemed to be in a long corridor. In the real world he should be (on his back, in his surgical bed) in the corridor that ran more or less the length of the hospital, passing Ward 5 on the way. But that corridor had lights and windows and doorways. This corridor just had smooth-looking blank walls. It also seemed to stretch on nearly forever.

  Like the ultimate ghost train; an endless, featureless passageway into the dark.

  But it was not at all scary. For the first time in months he wasn’t scared or even uneasy.

  By concentrating, Geoff found he could turn through three hundred and sixty degrees. Behind him (back towards where Ward 5 should have been) there was inky blackness. In fact it was worse than just blackness; it looked like nothing at all. No way was he going back there. Lack of fear or not, back there did not feel right.

  It was easy to decide that ahead looked more promising. It looked to be far, far away, but ahead there was light. And it was a warm, welcoming light at that; the sort of light a concerned mother would leave in a window, hoping to lead her loved ones safely home.

  Blank walls of . . .

  Marble?

  No, it was something duller than marble, but equally cold and hard. Yet for all that, it was warmed by the glow of that distant light.

  It was cold and black behind; warm and bright ahead.

  Not much of a contest, really.

  He discovered concentration could make him move as well as turn, so set off towards the light. Again, this movement wasn't like anything he had experienced in other dreams. This was more of a controlled drifting than the loping, almost bounding sensation he would have expected. It was a speedy controlled drift though; there was no way of measuring his progress but he was definitely closing in on something. The light was steadily growing brighter, warmer. He had an increasing belief that when he got to that light all his worries would be over.

  Onwards he went; onwards . . . feeling steadily better as he went.

  Then the light flickered as a black shape moved across it and began to come towards him. Briefly it became the dark silhouette of a woman.

  Samantha, he thought, remembering the nurse in Leeds before realizing it was his own, long-lost first wife.

  Oh my God, Samantha! Samantha!

  She began to rush towards him. He tried to shout out her name, to throw open his arms but, being without substance, he couldn’t do either. Instead he concentrated hard and drifted as quickly as he could to meet her. Soon the gap between them was no more.

  But Samantha wasn't greeting him the way he had expected. She was shouting at him, beating at him, screaming like a mad woman.

  GET AWAY FROM HERE! GET AWAY! IT'S NOT YOUR TIME! GO BACK RIGHT NOW, BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!

  Geoff had no voice to protest, no arms to
hold her with; Samantha obviously wasn’t bound by any of the same constraints. Still yelling, she somehow blocked him and started to push him back. Bumping into her was like being a less-than immovable object hitting an unstoppable force. His forward momentum was instantly reversed. He was as helpless as a lone, amateur forward running up against the entire St Helens pack.

  Let me past, he thought desperately. Let me be with you.

  He concentrated even harder and managed to hold some ground. Over Samantha's shoulder the light brightened and beckoned.

  Please go back, Samantha said, her voice suddenly gentle, cajoling, the way she’d sounded at her sweetest, in bed, when he would have done anything and everything she ever asked.

  If that was supposed to break his determination, it worked. He stopped trying to resist and tried again to speak out loud. And suddenly a massively powerful grip seemed to take hold of him from behind.

  No, he thought frantically. Please, no!

  I shouldn’t be here, his long-lost wife murmured. And you definitely can’t go there.

  But I want to go on. I want to go to the light. Please take me to it.

  Geoff was concentrating harder than ever but struggling to hold position against that mighty pull. He dug his non-existent heels into the non-existent (marble?) floor and knew he couldn’t hang on.

  Not yet, Samantha whispered, not for many years yet.

  She had shifted position and for the first time he could see her lovely, long-lost face in the diffused half-light. She was smiling at him.

  I’ll be here anon, she assured him, when it really is your time.

  Then she blew as if blowing him a kiss.

  No, he protested.

  But it was no use. The tiny, immeasurable weight of her blown kiss rocked him as if he’d been hit by a pile-driver.

  Take care, sweetheart, she said softly.

  *****

  Geoff shot back into the black, his thoughts lurching like a heart going too fast over savage switchbacks. Before he could completely panic he slammed into something soft and cushioning and all sense of motion ended. He opened his eyes and this time he was staring helplessly at the ceiling; this time he was back in his useless body, back with the gases and tubes.

  The Acute Care faces were over him again, including just one he recognized; it was Louisa, a staff nurse from 5. Louisa looked extremely worried until he blinked which, for some reason, made her burst into tears.

  ‘Don't do that again,’ she said shakily. ‘Do not do that again.’

  For just one instant it seemed as though she was going to hit him.

  Attacked by two caring women in the same two minutes, he mused, and somehow found enough in him to weakly laugh.

  ‘Don't,’ Louisa said, ruffling his untidy, greasy hair. ‘We nearly lost you. Promise me you'll never do that again.’

  It was still impossible to speak but he managed the slightest nod.

  Then he slept peacefully.

  Chapter Nineteen

  (Wednesday 20th August 2008)

  Graham desperately wanted to cum. Vic was sure about that because he kept telling her so as he kept on pressing into her. She was fairly eager herself, but needed a little longer.

  ‘Not yet,' she panted, thrusting back at him just as furiously, 'not yet, not yet . . .'

  Then, feeling her mass go suddenly critical: 'Now, NOW!!'

  He instantly obliged, detonating ten megatons of orgasm inside her. Her yells must have woken half of Headingley.

  ‘Ye gods Graham,' she said, finally relaxing, 'the things you do to me!'

  ‘Aarrrgghhhhhh,' he sighed, flopping on her.

  Vic grinned. The wife swap had been a total success. Graham was indeed cute and not at all kinky. No, not cute, he was like a cuddly golden retriever, always wanting to please his new, ridiculously long-legged mistress. And he’d always managed it too, never once leaving her with anything to regret. Since that first wicked weekend they hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other. Heather was hardly getting a look-in. Not from them, anyway.

  But not to worry; whatever Hev might claim, she wouldn't be going without.

  She could be a bit of a whore, could Hev.

  Snow White! Yeah . . . as if!!

  Apparently Hev and Krista's first weekend had also been a success. As Vic had suspected, Krista had wilted under Heather's tempestuous opening assault. In fact diesel dyke Krista had suddenly turned into a pillow queen and proud of it. Trouble was, while Heather was happy enough to fuck her a few times every now and then, Krista wanted it every night. There were some very interesting dynamics going on. Heather would clearly walk away at some stage, but in the meantime she continued to provide a regular (without a doubted vigorous) servicing service.

  Graham and Heather, Vic thought, stroking the man in question's hair as he lay with his face buried in her tits. They really were like siblings. He only too obviously adored her and Hev was showing absolutely zero jealousy. If anything she was pushing Graham ever more firmly in Vic’s direction.

  Not that he could get much closer than he was right now; close and very comfy. One benefit of having way-too-big tits was, Vic supposed, that men always wanted to bury their faces in them. And the odd girl or two did as well. . .

  ‘Seven years of celibacy,' she said wistfully.

  ‘Sounds like breaking a mirror to me,’ Graham replied philosophically.

  ‘It feels a bit like that . . . or maybe not.’

  ‘Do you miss being celibate?’

  ‘I never was celibate,’ she laughed, ‘not in the strictest meaning of the word. I just limited my exposure to men. That’s over now, though. You’ve fulfilled all Heather’s outrageous promises and predictions.’

  ‘Is that it, then?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘”Fulfilled” means “had enough” doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not in my book. In my book it means I’m hungry for more . . . or maybe even ravenous . . . unless you are saying you’re the one who’s had enough.’

  ‘Not me. I'll carry on as long as you’ll have me.'

  ‘Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse!’

  Graham rubbed his nose all the way up and down Vic’s cleavage, making her shiver. 'I need to take five,’ he said. ‘You've worn me out. Let me recover and then I’ll show you what “ravenous” really means.'

  ‘Take ten if you like,' she replied magnanimously. Then, still stroking his hair, 'I wonder what Heather's up to.'

  ‘No good,' he said automatically. 'Except whoever she's doing it with won't be complaining.'

  Vic couldn’t help asking if Hev had been knocking at Graham’s door in the middle of the night lately.'

  ‘I don't know. I've been here more often than not, haven't I?'

  ‘You know that's not strictly true,’ she said, not so easily put off. ‘Has she?'

  ‘Would you mind if she has?'

  ‘No. I know your arrangement with her, which is why I prefer here to your place. So 'fess up, Graham, has she?'

  ‘I’ve only seen her once or twice. In over three months. That's nothing at all by her standards.'

  Vic kept on stroking, trying to decide if she was disappointed or relieved. She had only slept with Hev twice since the wife swap and Graham was right: by Heather's standards two sessions in three months was as good as nothing at all.

  ‘I wonder who she's been seeing, then, if not you or me. Krista keeps railing on about being rationed, so it's not always her.'

  ‘Perhaps she's been rationing herself as well.'

  ‘That’s a good idea but not credible, Graham. I’m sorry and all that.

  '

  ‘You have a point. But what does it matter? You don’t limit each other, do you?'

  ‘No, but I worry about her. Which is crazy, I know. If anyone's indestructible it's Heather.'

  ‘You really like her, don't you?'

  ‘About as much as you do.'

  Graham sat up in bed. 'I used to think I loved her,' he said ca
refully, 'but it was in a frustrated sort of a way.'

  ‘She loves you like a brother. She says so all the time.'

  ‘Does she?' He laughed. 'That sounds about right. She can act like an annoying kid sister.’

  ‘I hope you never tried any of Heather's favourite activities with your kid sister, Graham.'