by Limey Lady
‘What happens next,’ Bethany wondered as she took the Addingham road.
‘What do you mean?’ I countered.
‘We’ve set up a love triangle, haven’t we? How is it going to work?’
I frowned at her latest use of “love”. Now, normally I’m insensitive, but even I had picked up vibes last night. For all her brash forwardness, Bethany felt for Stan. And, I was reasonably certain, Stan felt for her, too.
‘I’m not your rival, Beth,’ I said gently. ‘I’ll back off if you want me to.’
‘Please,’ she said, ‘don’t call me Beth.’ Then, concentrating on the road ahead: ‘Stan has big things going on just now. She’s due a promotion and the lease on her flat is up at the end of this month.’
That surprised me to hear. There again, Stan was secretive about personal details. While she would gleefully describe her most intimate preferences, she’d told me next to nothing about her. I had not a clue about her family background, the pop groups she’d followed as a teenager or anything like that. You know what I mean: all those tiny details you’re supposed to find out before jumping into bed with a girl.
‘Where’s she going to live?’ I asked.
‘It depends on her promotion. She could have to move literally anywhere. That’s why she didn’t renew her lease. If she gets to stay local she’s moving in with me. Unless she has made other arrangements with you, that is.’
My heart did that collapsing elevator thing.
‘Trust me Bethany,’ I said sincerely, ‘this is the first I’ve heard of it. And I’m not the flat-sharing type.’ I nodded as I said that, convincing myself it was true. ‘I’m too young,’ I added. ‘I still have lots of wild oats to sow.’
‘So has Stan,’ said Bethany. ‘That’s my reservation about the two us living together. I may be a bit old fashioned, but if we’re going to do it, I want to do it right.’
‘Stan’s course finishes tomorrow,’ I said carefully. ‘As far as I know she hasn’t signed up for the New Year. After tomorrow I don’t have to see her again; not if you don’t want me to.’
‘I’m not insisting on total fidelity.’ Bethany chuckled. ‘If it all comes off you’re welcome to keep seeing her now and then; just send her home at a reasonable hour when you’re done.’
*****
I was still brooding over the Bethany/Stan situation when Val dropped her bombshell. She met me after class (as was her wont on a Tuesday evening), and waited until we were safely seated in The Black Horse, armed with pints of Copper Dragon.
‘It’s good news, bad news,’ she began, uncharacteristically coyly. ‘In fact it’s bad news, good news, bad news.’
I invited her to enlarge so she did. It seemed that her old school had been in touch. Now this was her alma mater, a place with a reputation second to none. As I understood it, that establishment excelled academically and fared even better on the sports fields. Forget all the professors they’d produced, they’d also churned out several Olympic athletes and lots of professional footballers, including two or three currently active in the Premier League.
‘Colin Jackson has been involved in a car smash,’ Val told me. ‘They want me to stand in.’
It turned out that Colin Jackson was Head of Sports . . . answerable only to the Head of the School. He had mashed both legs and damaged his spine.
‘It’s not life-threatening,’ Val assured me, ‘but it is life-changing. He’s not coming back and they want me to take over.’
‘That’s a big step up for you, isn’t it?’ I said.
‘It’s like moving from Ben Nevis to Everest.’ Val smiled and made a disbelieving gesture. ‘It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’
I couldn’t help but be swayed by her enthusiasm. That classy school had always had the usual sexist undertones she told me, meaning that the “Head of Female Sports” traditionally had to report to her male “superior” and had no say at all with the board of governors.
‘Oh for the winds of change,’ said Val. ‘They want me to head up the whole shooting match. I’ll be the one everyone reports to, including the “Head of Male Sports”. It’ll be me who makes the applications and recommendations. I will be the first woman in a position of power in the whole school.’
‘What if Colin recovers,’ I asked, unable to stay myself.
‘He’ll be lucky to walk again,’ she replied. ‘He will be according to all the doctors and physios, anyway, and they know, don’t they? No way will he be reffing football matches. I’ll be doing all the big fixtures in future, regardless of the sex of the teams.’
‘Isn’t that a bit callous?’
‘Yes and no. The school has vowed to be behind Colin, whatever happens, but the best he’s going to get is teaching maths.’
‘Maths,’ I echoed.
‘The same way I teach English when I have to,’ Val explained (perhaps not as “nicely” as Jane Austen might have). ‘Just you imagine it; I won’t have to be a form tutor or stand in for Lit lessons. I’ll be doing games all day, every day . . . just as I’ve always wanted to do.’
Chapter Forty-Two
So I was two lovers down in one day . . . that’s pretty bad going, even by my standards.
Actually the hardship wasn’t really severe. I had to agree that Val couldn’t turn down her big chance and we eased away from each other over the festive period, making it gradual. Stan didn’t disappear overnight either; she kept showing up unannounced for a while, complaining about Bethany’s “curfew” before leaving me not a second later than two in the morning.
And most of my old school chums landed home for Christmas. Half a dozen of them spent at least one night in my bed (Ellie and Meryl spent significantly more; Sara, off on yet another cock crusade, honoured me with her presence twice).
Even so, I attended my first evening class of 2010 with a heavy heart. By then Stan’s promotion had moved her workplace between Ilkley and Leeds, perhaps adding ten minutes onto her daily commute. She had also begun to distance herself from me. Val had distanced herself even more; she’d moved away as far as Leicestershire and, seeing as she had no family ties in Yorkshire, I was convinced she was gone for good.
To cap it all, my school chums had scattered too, back to their many-varied universities.
But then I met Margot.
*****
As a “next desk neighbour” I couldn’t have found anyone more different to Stan. On first sight Margot was about forty and high-maintenance. She had lovely, shoulder-length blonde hair with a few black highlights and a figure to die for. She also obviously liked crimson: her nails and lips testified to that.
And talk about bling! Gold was her thing and she had stacks of chains, lockets and bracelets to prove it. Rings were very much in evidence too; she had at least three on every finger except for the third on her left hand, which was as bare as could be.
Well, there was a noticeable lighter circle there, amid her tan, where one had certainly been . . .
To begin with I dismissed Margot as male eye candy, and unsubtle with it. The behaviour of our tutor might have had something to do with that: fifteen new students and who got ninety-five per cent of his attention?
Correct; got it in one.
Time passed, as it tends to do. While keeping my head down and doing simple “tasks” I’d practiced twenty times in advance, I was surprised to feel talons on my wrist. It was her, Margot, drawing my attention.
‘Learning is so much fun,’ she said, for once lowering her megaphone tone, ‘what happens next?’
I checked my PC clock. ‘Ten minutes and we’re out of here. You’ll be home in time for cocktails.’
‘You think I like cocktails?’ She laughed. ‘I’m off everything to do with cocks. Surely you know where we can go to drink beer.’
*****
I’m not going to tell you much about Margot. Let’s just say her personality was split just about equally between Narcissus and self-indulgent. That didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy having
her, though. She looked, felt and tasted fantastic; it was a pleasure to pleasure her.
But those nails!
I didn’t actually notice the first time she clawed me; I was too busy tribbing her. Well, I suppose I did notice, but only later, when I felt a strange burning sensation on my back.
(Try checking your back in the bathroom mirror, by the way; it ain’t as easy as it sounds!)
‘What have you done to me?’ I demanded, storming into my bedroom, finding her naked on my bed, legs still widely spread.
‘Oh dear, don’t say I’ve been naughty again,’ she replied with girlish, fluttering lashes. ‘Please do feel free to punish me.’
*****
Luckily for both of us, Margot’s idea of “punishment” only extended to smacked asses. But it was very good. After that opening night we smacked each other often and occasionally hard.
And she really, really loved to be taken with a strap-on while her bum glowed a fetching bright red . . .
So too did I, if the truth be told.
Yes, we had a lot of fun between us and the first half of the year flew by. Then our course ended and she decided she wasn’t off cocks after all.
‘You want to see his house,’ she cooed, ‘it’s like a mansion.’
‘You can chop and change just like that,’ I said incredulously, ‘just because he’s rich!’
‘A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do,’ she assured me. ‘And besides, he’s old and single as well as rich.’
I shook my head at that and kept schtum.
‘It’s been great,’ she said in parting. ‘If I ever drift back in your direction . . .’
I took that with a pinch of salt. Margot was Margot, after all. And by then I was getting used to lovers who drifted into and out of my life. In all honesty I liked it that way. I got to experiment with “new” and never got tied down (well, not emotionally . . .).
Somehow I made it through the first nine months of 2010. Margot helped, obviously, so too did the university break at Easter and that inexcusably long hiatus students got in summer. To top up the gaps I did do my best to explore Skipton’s lesbian scene, but that didn’t take long.
I have to laugh when I see TV programmes like Emmerdale. According to them every tiny village has a gay and lesbian community and even the small towns have “alternative” night clubs. It is not like that in practice. While I am absolutely certain those hamlets do have their share of unconventional people, the towns cater for locals and tourists, full stop.
Heck, Bingley was practically a city compared to most of those Dales towns, and the choice of lesbian bars there was, to say the least, limited. And compared to Bingley, Skipton was a backwater.
But I got through it as best I could. And then, when all those chums of mine faded away back to their cloistered seats of learning, I met Kat.
Or rather, Kat made sure she met me.
*****
For anyone who remembers it, Kat’s version of us getting together is typically exaggerated but not so far off from reality. It was my twentieth birthday and, although I’d escaped the embarrassment of an office presentation the year before, somehow someone had found out. Don’t ask how; maybe he/she got bored one day and hacked the HR records. Anyway, instead of the quiet start to the morning I had hoped for, I was pounced upon early, before my second cup of coffee.
And they even got me an “I am 20” badge.
Feeling like an idiot, I let a swarm of people give me cards (dutifully laughing at the one “signed” with an inky paw-print that had a cartoon mouse on the front). Then, when I was finally let alone, I checked my email and found one I’d never expected.
“Hi Davina. I’m only back today and didn’t know, so sorry, I’ve no card to give you. Can I buy you a drink after work to make up?”
It was from Kat. She had been away for a year and we’d never previously exchanged a word. I knew who she was, of course, but at the time I’d thought she was straight. Now I’m aware she swings both ways and fancied me to the point of masturbation. At that moment in time I just wondered why she’d bothered to ask so politely.
Still, she did look like Kim Kardashian (albeit younger and taller), and her breasts were very alluring.
Why not, I asked myself. I can have a good leer if nothing else.
“Only if you promise to call me Dave,” I sent back.
*****
We left work as soon as we could and were in the beer garden outside The Woolly Sheep by half past five, drinking pints of Landlord. I was mulling over that evening’s class (should I or shouldn’t I for once blob?) when, after the smallest of small talk, Kat suddenly asked if I preferred girls to boys.
Blushing furiously, I confessed I only ever did girls.
She grinned at me for a moment, all teeth and tits. ‘It’s your birthday,’ she said, ‘that means I get to do ninety per cent of the giving.’
And her account is spot on in at least one respect: within an hour we were in her bed.
###
Author’s Note: Thank you for reading more about Davina. Alternative versions of her story (some of them “alternative” indeed!) are available on Smashwords (see “Other books by LimeyLady” on the next page, specifically the New Beginnings series and Two Sides to Every Story).
And, if you like tales with a strong female lead, check out the Heather Hunter series. Heather really is something else.
Other books by LimeyLady
Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 01
Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 02
Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 03
Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 04
Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 05
Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 06
Heather’s Busy Week Pt. 07
New Beginnings
New Beginnings Advance
New Beginnings Falter
New Beginnings Revive
New Beginnings Conclude
Dangerous Dealings
No Holds Barred in London
No Holds Barred in Belfast
No Holds Barred in Boston
No Holds Barred in Munich
Two Sides to Every Story
Unconsecrated Ground
Heather Falls in Love Part One
Heather Falls in Love Part Two
Heather Falls in Love Part Three
Sammy Jo Has a Big Night Out
Sammy Jo Has Another Big Night Out
Sammy Jo Tries Team Building
Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part One
Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Two
Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Three
Heather’s Hectic Weekend Part Four
Davina
Davina Again
Davina Does Christmas
Davina Does Easter
