by Limey Lady
‘Yes,’ said Karin, her voice muffled by springy globes of flesh.
(Springy globes of flesh which just loved the vibration of a woman’s husky tones on them!)
‘Fancy picking up where we left off?’
No response.
‘Hey,’ said Angie, ‘I’m on a working schedule. And I’ll go any way you want. Show willing, can’t you?’
No response.
Or was that a sniffily sob?
‘Hey,’ Angie said again, pulling her lover up, getting a proper look at her face. ‘What’s going on?’
Karin’s brown eyes were brimming. ‘I . . . I shouldn’t have,’ she stammered.
Omigod, Angie thought, she’s full of regrets. Don’t say . . .
No. No way was that girl a virgin in any sense of the word.
‘Yes you should have,’ she said aloud. ‘And don’t try to tell me I’m your first girl. I’ve known high class whore’s with less talent than you.’
That got Karin’s attention. ‘Have you?’ she wondered, open-mouthed.
‘Well no, not really. I’ve never paid for it yet. But I’m experienced . . . and so, lady, are you.’
‘It’s my girlfriend,’ said Karin. ‘We’re supposed to be faithful.’
Angie groaned internally. Not another! Why didn’t they say before instead of after?
‘I thought that you were as up for it as I was,’ she said, as mildly as she could.
‘I was. I still am . . . it’s just . . . just . . .’
‘Last night’s party,’ said Angie; ‘was your girlfriend there?’
‘No. Nobody’s girlfriends were there. It was a . . . a night of freedom. What happens at the party stays at the party; that sort of thing. We agreed that before you got there.’
‘So what’s with all the tears?’
Seeing that actual tears were on the verge of tricking down Karin’s cheeks, Angie leant in and kissed them away.
Karin cheered up almost instantly.
‘That is so sexy,’ she said, breathlessly.
‘What happened at the party stays at the party,’ said Angie. ‘Everyone else agreed; yeah?’
‘Yes, they did.’
‘In that case my lips are forever sealed.’
‘Do you promise?’
‘My word has always been my bond. Whoever your girlfriend is, I’ll never tell. Now, we’ve got an hour before I need to split. Can you think of anything we can fill it with?’
‘I really shouldn’t.’
‘Shouldn’t and wouldn’t are different breeds, aren’t they?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Okay, so how about it?’
‘It’d have to be a once-and-for-all finale.’
‘That sounds good to me.’
‘It does to me too,’ said Karin, suddenly grinning, regrets miraculously cast to the wind.
It turned out that she could think of lots of ways to fill an hour.
*****
Sunday in the Union Bar was marginally busier than the day before (the quietest Saturday ever, in the opinion of those in the know). After filling the lulls with countless games of I Spy Joe told Angie that he was “sort of” an item with the dreaded professor.
‘We’re not moving in together,’ he added. ‘We’re just seeing each other a few times a week.’
‘Does being a one-woman man come into the equation?’
‘That’s still up for negotiation,’ said Joe, looking at her hopefully.
‘Good,’ said Angie. ‘I’d hate to think of Gloria going without.’
Joe shook his head. ‘You’re so cruel.’
‘No I’m not. I like Gloria.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought she was your type.’
‘Let me see. She’s older, good looking and bored of her husband. She sounds exactly my type, if you ask me.’
Joe shook his head again. ‘Gloria’s still a month away from coming back,’ he said. ‘And her no-good husband’s rallying round at the moment. She’s quite impressed by his dedication.’
‘I won’t ask how you know that,’ said Angie. ‘Are home visits strictly legit?’
‘No comment.’
After a lengthy silence (while Angie pondered on something beginning with WF), Joe spoke again.
‘This fidelity business . . .’
‘Not listening,’ Angie said firmly. ‘Honestly, Joe, I’m of no use to you that way. I’m virtually a nympho. And I’m virtually all-girl. I’ll never settle down. I’ve got a hot date tomorrow night that with any luck will take up most of Tuesday as well. New Year’s Eve and thereafter I’m back with Molly and Fiona. Then, on Saturday I’m catching a train home to spend five days and six nights with Sandra. And then, when I come back, everyone will be here, wanting to make up for lost time. My diary’s going to be fuller than Adrian Mole’s.’
‘Sandra,’ said Joe. ‘That’s the girl who rings on the bar line, isn’t it; the one with the voice?’
Angie dug out her wallet. ‘I don’t usually carry photos of my girlfriends . . .’
‘You’d need an album,’ he said smartly, ‘and a very big one.’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Joseph. Here . . . get a load of her.’
Joe did a double-take. ‘What are you doing with a snapshot of David Bowie’s wife?’
‘Look closer. That’s a nineteen-year-old, not Imam.’
‘Frig me,’ said Joe.
‘That was taken in summer,’ Angie went on, ‘so she was actually eighteen at the time. If anything she will look even better by now.’
‘Frig me,’ Joe echoed. ‘And I was jealous of you and Madhu. What else have you got up your sleeve?’
‘Oh,’ laughed Angie, ‘just the odd Brigitte Bardot lookalike. And by that I mean a lady who very closely matches the ultimate sex kitten . . . when she was in her twenties, of course.’
‘Have you a photo of her?’
‘No, our relationship is a little . . . illicit. Photos didn’t seem wise.’
Joe shook his head yet again. ‘Anyone would think you were serious.’
‘I am, Joe. That’s why I’m bad news.’
His laugh wasn’t nearly as hearty as hers. ‘Can’t you pull a twenty-year-old Raquel Welsh and pass her on to me when you’re through?’
‘Maybe I could. But I wouldn’t pass her on; I’d trade her for Professor Bitch.’
Joe rolled his eyes. ‘Maybe I should keep my big gob shut.’
*****
For a second night in a row, lacking serious drinking customers, Angie was sent home early. And by tonight winter was definitely drawing in. The wind had changed: instead of a mild prevailing west-to-east, something nasty was blowing in from Siberia or perhaps even the Arctic.
Yes, something nasty boding snow and ice.
It took Angie a moment or two to work out why she was jacketless. She’d taken it off at Damien’s and hadn’t seen it since. Passing the halls security desk with a nod, she made her way to the second floor and headed left towards 227.
And, raising her hand to knock, stopped dead in her tracks.
Those sounds were unmistakably sex sounds: the steady slap-slapping of flesh on flesh.
Damien obviously had better things to do right now than meditate.
Stuff the jacket; she could always collect it tomorrow.
Back in 444 she checked the time. It was 10:21 and she did feel sleepy. A full night’s shuteye seemed a sensible option, in advance of Monday’s date with the long-legged redhead.
Well, maybe she could lie abed awhile, anticipating the long-legged redhead . . .
Yes, yes, yes, please come on Eileen!
Or might she even cum on Eileen herself? The possibilities were endless.
Forgetting the prospect of sleep, she reached for her dildo of choice . . . and froze.
The rap on her door took her completely by surprise. Convinced for once she hadn’t done anything to upset anyone, she answered.
It was Karin. ‘My girlfriend�
�s not back ‘til tomorrow,’ she said, using those eyes on Angie to the max.
Angie gulped, sincerely taken aback. ‘I thought we’d had our once-and-for-all finale.’
‘Yeah,’ said Karin, producing her own, large and bright blue dildo, waving it temptingly, ‘but we forgot to make use of your harness, didn’t we?’
Chapter Six
(29th December 1997)
The “under the duvet girl” was called Nat; so Angie found out on Monday morning in the showers. Nat had, it transpired, similar concerns to Karin. In other words she didn’t want her boyfriend to learn very much about Damien’s party.
‘Everybody’s got something to hide,’ Angie assured them. ‘Well, everybody apart from me, and I don’t do rumours. If anyone asks, I’ll say I had an early night alone with a sex toy.’
‘Who are you calling a “sex toy”?’ said Karin, laughing.
‘At least you had the sense to go somewhere private,’ said Nat. ‘I can’t believe I made out in Damien’s room; there and then, where just anyone could watch.’
‘And I can’t believe you didn’t see what me and Angie were up to in Damien’s room,’ said Karin, ‘right there and then, where just anyone could watch.’
‘No comment,’ said Angie, grinning.
*****
On her way into work Angie diverted to 227 and listened before knocking. There was no ready response but she was sure someone was in there; she could feel a presence.
Impatient as ever, she knocked again.
‘Who is it?’ a voice said from close up on the other side of the wood.
‘It’s me,’ she said, slightly startled by the unexpected closeness. ‘It’s Angie. I need my jacket.’
‘What jacket?’ Damien replied. He sounded grumpy and not at all helpful.
‘It’s a denim one,’ she said stoically. ‘It’s got a Lesbian Society badge on it.’
‘Hang on, I’ll get it.’
During the wait Angie became convinced there were two presences in 227. Her logic backed intuition. There’d definitely been two people in bed last night, and there was no reason for them to get up early, was there? She’d no doubt interrupted something. No wonder Damien was grumpy.
Curious to see who else was in there, she stuck her foot in the door as soon as it opened.
‘Hey,’ went Damien, but Angie was far stronger than him. She easily pushed him out of the way and had a look inside.
‘Omigod,’ she said. ‘That’ll bring tears to Damien’s eyes.’
The androgynous buddy was a guy after all. He was on the bed, his back propped up against the wall at the head end. And his erection was simply humungous.
Yep, no wonder Damien was grumpy!
‘See anything you fancy?’ Buddy said in effeminate, sing-song tones.
‘Sorry duck, I’m due in at work ten minutes ago; got to fly.’
Grabbing her jacket from Damien, Angie flew.
*****
Angie had fibbed about being late. She arrived at the Union Bar quarter of an hour before it officially opened, as per always when she was working. A handful of early bird customers were in, playing the video games and occupying the pool table. And the jukebox was on as per ever.
The Bangles were kissing Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream.
And Ricky was already behind the bar.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘your train was on time.’
‘Good old British Rail,’ he replied with a grin. Then, more seriously: ‘I understand you saved Joe’s life while I was away. He’s ever so grateful. In fact he’s more in love with you than ever.’
Ricky was a final year undergrad who liked to gossip. Working in the students’ favourite watering hole was his dream job. Careful with what she divulged, Angie shrugged.
‘I couldn’t face the idea of him keeling over and the Union being shut over Christmas,’ she said. ‘And it’s not me he’s in love with. Ask him about his lady professor.’
‘What lady professor?’ Ricky asked eagerly.
‘I said ask him, not me. Where is he, anyway?’
‘He’s in the back, waiting to settle up with you.’
Angie went into the office/storeroom, conscious of a strange lump in her throat. When she’d stepped in to help she’d told herself her stint would soon be over; that bar work was boring but didn’t go on for ever. Now her stint was over and suddenly realizing that felt bad. No, realizing that felt like the end of everything.
Shit, she hated farewells!
Joe was behind the desk. Moving a large cardboard box of pork scratchings off the visitors’ chair, onto the floor, Angie sat opposite him.
‘So that’s that,’ she began. ‘All done with, and we never did try it over a beer barrel.’
‘I’m going to ban Gloria from talking to you in future.’ Joe coughed. ‘I’ve been adding up your hours. I make it a hundred and fifty.’
‘Nonsense; I’ve done twelve days at nine hours a day. And I’ve been sent home early these last two days. I make it a hundred at most.’
‘Angie, you’ve been in here every hour we’ve been open. You’ve helped out during your breaks and I am the boss. Therefore you have done one hundred and fifty. So here’s your money.’
She took the pile of twenties and counted £500. ‘That’s far more than we agreed.’
Joe tapped his chest. ‘Don’t argue or else you might stop the old ticker. And that would rather defeat the object of saving my bacon, wouldn’t it?’
‘This is far more than the minimum wage. And that’s not even come in yet.’
‘Not listening. Now then, what are you going to do with your free time; back to studying?’
*****
With time back on her hands Angie spent three hours in the library then, concerned about the cash in her wallet, went into town to visit her bank. £500 was more in hard currency than she’d ever had. Usually she got £30 a week from an ATM and lived off that, doing her best not to top up too often.
£500 tax-free! Joe had told her he’d put her down in the books as “casual labour”, making it look as if he’d paid smaller amounts to several individuals. Consequently the taxman wasn’t to know unless she foolishly included it on her annual return.
Not that she’d ever yet had an annual return to fill in.
Depositing £400 she left NatWest still feeling rich. Tonight Eileen would be expecting her to be behind the bar. Instead she was going to get taken out and thoroughly wined and dined. With no disrespect to Gandhi’s Revenge, tonight Angie was going to do the job properly.
Then she was going to do Eileen properly.
Oh yes, was she!
But she’d missed her usual lunchtime baguette and was peckish. And the alluring smell of fish and chips was in the air.
Eating them out of the paper, Angie made her way to Ye Olde John of Gaunt, easily her favourite of the town centre pubs. A quick visit to the ladies’ later and she was armed with a pint of Landlord. And, as she looked around the half-empty pub, she spotted two familiar faces.
Damien seemed surprised to see her. His buddy just smiled smugly.
‘I guess we’re all eligible for LGBT,’ said Angie, taking a seat. ‘And we’re the only students in here.’
‘Give it a fortnight and it’ll be wall-to-wall students,’ said Buddy.
‘What are you after?’ said Damien, rather rudely.
‘I’m after witty, intelligent company,’ Angie replied. ‘I’m after charming and amusing repartee. And yes, I must admit, I’m after some of your excellent grass.’
‘I’m smoked out,’ Damien replied, ‘mostly because of you and your girlfriend.’
‘Karin’s not my girlfriend,’ Angie corrected. ‘What happened at your party . . .’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Damien. ‘What happened stays at my party. Don’t worry. I know the score.’
‘So when are you scoring some more?’
Suddenly shifty, Damien leant across the table and whispered. ‘It should be tonigh
t, with any luck.’
