by Limey Lady
Well, first time with a newbie was the biggest kick of all.
Even if the actual shag wasn’t brilliant, the anticipation invariably did the trick.
Witch, Heather thought cheerfully. Wet and wicked witch . . .
It took a while for her to realize that the loudest of the group of lads was addressing her.
‘I said, Excuse me miss,’ he repeated, ‘do you have the time on you?’
Heather smiled. She wasn’t going to fall for this clown’s party piece, no matter how good-looking he was. ‘According to that over there,’ she said, pointing to an old-style, railway station-sized clock, ‘it is quarter to seven.’
The clown immediately squinted and said, ‘I can’t see that. I’m registered blind.’
‘Two Landlords,’ the barman put in, placing foaming glasses on the bar top. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes, can I have two packets of crisps, please? Any flavours, as long as they’re different.’
The Kiwi produced a couple of enormous bags of crisps. Heather pulled the folded twenty pound note from her breast pocket and handed it over before turning back to the clown.
‘I bet you noticed, didn’t you?’
‘No,’ he said, hauling his still-squinting eyes up from her chest. ‘I mean . . . bet I noticed what?’
This brought more derision than laughter from the clown’s friends, encouraging Heather to go for the kill. Quietly, so only the group of lads could hear, she said, ‘When I first arrived, I bet you noticed how the cold air had made my nipples look like bullets, as if I was really, really ready to have sex.’
Five pairs of eyes instantly dropped to her boobs. The sixth, squinting pair grew as round as saucers and then dropped to her boobs.
Amid many groans and a few chuckles, she went on, ‘Luckily for me, it’s nice and warm in here so they’ve gone back to normal now. It’s a pity you missed them: all six of you.’
Heather collected her change from the barman and shamelessly deposited it in the same breast pocket. She was deciding how best to ferry everything to their table when the clown approached again, more circumspectly this time.
‘Sorry. But a guy’s got to try, hasn’t he?’
‘Apology accepted,’ she said. Then, grinning, ‘I’ll tell Goldie the Guide-dog she’s redundant.’
‘Can I help carry your drinks?’
‘Thanks but no. My partner’s probably impatient already. I don’t want to make her jealous.’
‘Her?’
‘Yes; she’s as much a “her” as I am. Now, if you really do want to help, you can put the corners of those crisp packets between my teeth, after I’ve picked up my beer.’
He obliged and she nodded thanks before leaving the bar.
My partner’s waiting. Oh good grief, my partner is waiting.
Chapter Five
Victoria had commandeered a table so far into the raised area it was hidden from the rest of the pub. She waited until Heather unclamped her teeth, dropping the crisps onto the table, and then patted the seat beside her.
‘I’m so nervous,’ she said as Heather sat. She was smiling but Heather could see none of the easy confidence she’d oozed in that morning’s meeting.
‘I don’t know why you should ever be nervous about anything,’ she countered, staring into Victoria’s lovely brown eyes. ‘Not when you’re perfect in every way.’
‘Me!’ Victoria exclaimed. ‘Haven’t you got a mirror?’
‘I’m a bit nervous too.’
‘Well you don’t look it.’
Heather picked up her glass. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘have a drink.’
They both took a couple of mouthfuls. Conscious her heart was off yet again, Heather turned to the crisps. ‘Which do you fancy first: cheese and onion? Or tomato?’
‘Tomato, but I need to ask you something.’
‘Go on, ask away.’
‘Is this . . . is it just a drink? Or is it a date?’
Don’t say I’ve got it wrong! Heather was alarmed. Linking arms, swapping stories about Lights-out . . .
‘Let’s think,’ she managed. ‘I did the actual inviting, and you weren’t sure whether I was proposing a few comradely drinks . . . or a proper date?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And by “date” you mean a romantic sort of thing?’
‘Romantic?’
‘Okay then, a sexual sort of thing.’
‘That’s more accurate.’ Victoria’s smile was less strained already.
‘So my invitation was ambiguous?’
‘Correct.’
‘But, not sure what you were agreeing to, you still agreed straightaway?’
‘That is also correct.’
‘So I’m right in concluding you’d have agreed if I’d unambiguously asked you for either? Isn’t that also, also correct?’
‘This is like being cross-examined.’ Victoria’s smile was back to blinding. ‘But I can’t deny it’s also, also correct.’
‘Then there can be no doubt this is a proper date.’
‘And is it of a sexual nature? Potentially, I mean.’
‘It is from where I’m standing. Or rather, sitting.’
‘Then there’s nothing to stop me doing this . . .’
Victoria leant towards Heather and gave her one of those kisses that started off fiery then very quickly went thermonuclear. Heather soon decided her only choice was to hang on and enjoy it, which was easy enough. If she’d ever had any inhibitions that kiss would have blown them out of the water. Ten seconds later, when the other girl’s hand landed on her leg, inhibitions were the last thing occupying her brain.
Yes, she thought as fingers slid up her thigh. Good grief, yes!
Damp thighs and drenched thong dead ahead. But who cares?
Heather was only distantly aware of movement by the swing doors but suddenly Victoria had pulled away. Surprised, she looked around to see an odd-looking character, wearing a full-length coat that nearly touched the ground and an Australian bush-hat, minus the corks. Her first impression was of Doctor Who, as played by Tom Baker; meaning years and years ago, probably filmed in black and white before she was born. But that had to be the ridiculously long, knitted scarf wrapped round his neck, because at a second glance his face had no resemblance to Tom Baker at all.
The man had only just arrived. He was standing a couple of feet inside the doorway, in one of the few places from where their table could be seen.
‘Miss Hanson!’ he cried, sweeping the hat flamboyantly from his head. ‘And friend; I wish a very good evening to you both!’ He gave each of them a nod that was almost a bow before carefully replacing his hat. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to get sauced.’
Heather copied Victoria by giving him a small wave as he strode purposefully towards the bar.
‘Who was that?’
‘That was Dom. WYB’s best IT nerd. No, make that the most intelligent man at the Bank, bar none.’
‘Intelligent enough to recognize Act One of our live sex show?’
‘Oh, I’m sure he recognized what he was seeing.’
‘You don’t seem bothered that you . . . that we have been caught.’
‘I’m glad he caught us when he did. I was getting to the point where I soon wouldn’t have been able to stop.’ Victoria took a large swig of her beer then patted Heather on the knee. ‘Why are you bothered about being “caught” anyway? Are you ashamed of your sexuality? Or is it me you’re ashamed of?’
‘No . . . and no. I’m not ashamed of anything. I just don’t want you having problems with rumours at work.’
‘Dom doesn’t do rumours. He does gallons of beer yes, every single day, but rumours no, never. So relax.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Try while I get some more drinks. It should be easy for you; you’re just friend, not a known offender like Miss Hanson.’
‘Known offender? That’s not what I’ve heard. And where are you going? I’m buying tonight
.’
‘You don’t have to. Getting us together is more than enough.’
‘No, I insist. You can go if you want, but I’m paying.’ Heather went back in her breast pocket for the tenner that had come with all the coins. She waved the note at the alleged offender who raised both perfect, sexy eyebrows before finally taking it and heading after Dom.
*****
God help me, I’m turning into a gibbering wreck. Heather shook her head. Who are we going to bump into next, an ITV News crew?
Still, Victoria was cool about Dom. And Dom was more likely to be the one who’d blow the whistle, not Mr Carmichael. Directors didn’t do grapevines.
Did they?
Well, did they?
The tomato crisps were down to crumbs so Heather tore open the cheese and onion and picked out some of the nicest looking, brownest ones.
At least my heart’s behaving itself for now . . . until ITN turn up.
Shame about the thong . . .
Victoria returned carrying two new pints. ‘Those men at the end of the bar were asking about the state of your nipples,’ she began. ‘When I told them they’d have to ask me later, one of them said he hoped I’d find them like bullets again. What’s that all about? He seemed to know you; otherwise I would have supposed he’d escaped from somewhere.’
‘Was it the one in the Bench T-shirt?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know him. He just made an approach. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to pick me up or put me down.’
That cued more elegantly raised brows from the beautiful high-flier. ‘So?’
‘So I defused him gently.’
‘Did you defuse him by showing him your nipples?’
‘No. They were discussed but never remotely visible, and in no way exhibited.’
Victoria had a drink before shrugging. ‘Well, whatever defusing action you took certainly made a large impression. Goodness knows how big an admirer he’d be if you’d tried detonating him.’
‘Right,’ said Heather. ‘Did you see Dom while you were there?’
‘Is that an attempt at changing the subject?’
‘You could call it that.’
‘In that case yes, I did see him at the other end of the bar, putting the world to rights with a couple of kindred spirits.’
‘You didn’t speak?’
‘No I didn’t. And stop worrying about him, please. He’s a true gentleman who wouldn’t even think about engaging in rude gossip. Not even faced with your erect, bullet-like nipples.’
‘He did seem rather gallant,’ Heather conceded. ‘The way he took his hat off. Well, that had to be gallantry or extreme sarcasm.’
‘It’s gallantry. He’s always like that. If he’d been close enough, he’d have kissed our hands.’
‘Okay,’ said Heather, ’you’ve convinced me. I promise I’ll stop worrying. In fact I’m chilling already. How about you? Have you sorted those nerves?’
‘You sorted my nasty nerves when you said this was a date. All I have now is sexy nerves.’
There was eye contact at that; very warm eye contact.
‘Mmmm,’ said Heather. ‘They sound nice.’
‘They feel nice in my tummy too. Like friendly butterflies. So friendly they lead me to ask . . . do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘On a first date . . . do you?’
‘Ninety-nine per cent of the time I do,’ Heather laughed again, ‘arguably ninety-nine point nine. What about you?’
‘Right now it’s a hundred. I’d say more, but we mathematicians don’t do more than a hundred.’
‘Spoilsports,’ Heather said, grinning.
‘I think you’ll find me sport enough,’ Victoria retorted. ‘I model myself on Maggie Thatcher. When this lady makes her mind up, she is not for turning. Apart from gymnastically, that is.’
Adrenalin surged through Heather at the images that conjured up.
‘I’m glad you don’t look like Mrs T.’
‘And I’m glad to hear it. I model myself on her stubbornness, but that’s as far as it goes.’
‘Your place or mine; isn’t that the next question?’
‘Anywhere is fine by me.’
‘No,’ said Heather, ‘you decide. I got us together. That gives you the choice as to where we burn off the passion’
‘It does, does it?’ Victoria’s smile was more dazzling than ever. ‘We’ll have to get a move on if we’re going to my bed. I live in Headingley and I’m on the train today.’
‘I always leave my car at home, because of the parking. I suppose we could go get it; it’s only a few minutes’ walk up the hill. But now I stop to think, I’ve got a cat to worry about. So, if anywhere really is fine by you . . .’
‘Oh no,’ said Victoria, ‘don’t say the girl of my dreams has a houseful of cats!’
‘You won’t find any cats in my luxury apartment,’ Heather replied, sounding snooty without meaning to. ‘The one in question lives next door. I’m looking after it while my neighbour’s in Mumbai.’
‘Can you keep cats in a luxury apartment? Surely not; where is this place?’
‘It’s on the top floor of the Old Tannery. I’ve got one of the two new penthouses.’
‘Very swish.’ Victoria almost cooed. ‘I’ve signed off a few mortgages up there as well. Not on a brand-new penthouse though. At least, I don’t think I have.’
‘It wouldn’t have been mine anyway. Dad bought it outright, although I never expected him to. I only wanted to rent somewhere while I found a job.’
Victoria’s sexy brows almost went into orbit. ‘Dad bought it?’
Heather winced. ‘Yes. But don’t go thinking he’s an eccentric millionaire. He’s just re-investing part of our windfall.’
‘He sounds prudent then, not eccentric.’
‘What can I say? He’s an ex-farmer. Won’t take out loans and can’t see the point in paying rent. I’d been at WYB a week before Mum dared tell him I was working for a bank.’
‘Mmmm,’ said Victoria. ‘My dad has a thing about banks too.’
‘Bloody moneylenders,’ Heather laughed.
