Gaydar What gaydar 2
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It was a Saturday evening and my friend, Lilly was holding a party to celebrate. When I asked what she was celebrating, she explained simply that it was exactly one year since the Saturday evening when she discovered her husband, Bernard, in bed with their neighbour.
‘Thanks to him and her too I guess, I could afford to buy the pile.’
“The pile” in question was a substantial house and large garden she had been able to afford with the enormous settlement she had received from her banker (or wanker) husband and she now lived in the manner, as she put it, that all divorcees aspire to.
‘I’m absolutely loaded now, darling,’ she told me in her aristocratic way. ‘The bastard pays me £100,000 big ones a year and the lump sum bought the pile. I’ll never need to work again even if he drops off his perch which I sincerely hope he will.’
And so it was that Saturday that I was leaning against the back of a large sofa clinging to a glass of wine which was by no means my first of the evening and rather wishing I could have taken my ex to the cleaners in similar fashion when an Indian woman of about forty five years and wearing a stunning saree of blues, reds and golds wandered past. She stopped.
‘Are you Faye?’
‘It rather depends how you’re spelling it.’
‘Oh, how’s that?’
‘Well, if you spell it f-a-y as in Morgan le Fay then, I admit, I lack the supernatural skills but if, on the other hand, you spell it the boring was with an e on the end, then, yes, I am.’
She smiled. ‘I thought you might be. Lilly said I might try to prevent you from wallowing in your recent misfortune.’
The misfortune she was referring to was almost certainly the circumstances which had led to my being alone at the party instead of being accompanied by my faithless ex who had gone off to the United States to pursue her illustrious career.
‘I’m going alone,’ she had said. ‘I don’t want to be held back.’
What had made it worse was that she had said this on a Friday morning, precisely twelve hours after she had taken me to bed and fucked me senseless. The fuck was not unusual but the Friday morning conversation was so utterly unexpected that I’d had nothing to say, no words to plead or persuade; all I had was a numbness that left me speechless but by no means without tears. That had been just two weeks earlier than the night in question.
I studied the woman. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Anita. Anita Choudhury if you want to be formal. What do you do?’
So, Lilly had not told her everything.
‘I’m an actress.’
‘Would I have seen you in anything?’
‘You might have seen my award-winning performance as a goose in an advert for foie gras, the humane kind of course, although you probably wouldn’t recognise me without the beak. Or possibly in my world-famous role as a tea bag. I do a lot of commercials.'
She smiled and what could have been a rather miserable countenance was transformed; gleaming small, white teeth showed against her full lips which were, I noted, painted a delicious deep red that contrasted beautifully with her mid-brown skin.
‘Are you doing anything at the moment? Apart from drinking wine that is.’
I slid my arm through hers and led her out into the garden through the wide French windows that made one wall of the large sitting room where she’d found me.
‘I am currently playing the part, rather convincingly though I say so myself, of a waitress in a small, family-owned restaurant. The owner is a lady who cooks like an angel and takes pity on thesps like me who cant get a proper part because there are too many of us and not enough parts to go round.’
The evening air was warm, the sky that lovely blue that an English summer evening can make it when everything that is good about an English summer coincides.
She looked down at my arm encircling hers.
‘Why have you dragged me out here?’
‘Because it clearly hasn’t escaped your notice that I have taken one or two glasses of wine and when I meet an exotic like you it pays for me to be as far away from the bottle as possible for a while so I can avoid making a complete tit of myself. What do you do? No, let me guess. You’re a teacher.’
‘Sort of, I suppose.’
‘What does “sort of” mean?’
‘I’m a consultant in A and E at the BGH.’
The Bath General Hospital is a tribute to the National Health Service; a straggling Victorian monstrosity that is home to one of the finest teaching hospitals in the UK.
‘I am suitably impressed. So you are not someone who is experienced in the noble art of waiting at tables?’
‘Actually I did rather a lot of that when I was a student. What did you mean by “an exotic like me”?’
I stepped away from her and looked her over. I had not been wrong. She was about 5’ 9” and slender. Her hair was long, thick and glossy black, almost jet and her body, draped as it was in the beautiful silk, was nonetheless obvious. She was bare at the midriff and a small jewel was visible in her navel; another in the left side of her nose.
I, on the other hand was not looking my best. Oh, sure I had made an effort but somehow distress has a, well, distressing effect and I felt positively dowdy by comparison.
‘Just look at you! You’re too bloody stunning for your own, never mind my good and that saree looks like it was made for a princess. If that’s not exotic then I have no idea what is. How do you get that saree to hang so perfectly and stay there?’
She smiled again and I noticed how natural the smile was.
‘Practice.’ She took my arm back through hers and we walked. Our heels (hers at least 5” and mine, 3”) clicked on the slate of the pathway that led us through a small, curved avenue of trees that suddenly ended with a view of the lake that sat like a jewel in Lilly’s huge garden. A long granite bench seat was placed strategically at the end of the avenue and we sat. I smoothed my long, dark blue skirt under my arse as we sat at either end and I turned to look at her.
‘Has Lilly sent you to get me sober?’
‘Her words were to distract you.’
‘It’s worked. Lilly’s a good friend. We were at school together.’
‘Oh God, am I never to be free of English boarding school girls?’
I looked at her questioningly but she smiled again and I realised she was teasing me.
‘I,’ she said, ‘am the product of a similar school.’
‘They let all sorts in these days.’
‘They do. At least they do if Daddy is an Ambassador and Mummy is a renowned surgeon.’
‘You see. Humble beginnings are no barrier to a good education.’
‘Quite so. But the aged parents are now happily retired in Bangalore and I, their sole heir, is earning a stipend curing the drunks and accident victims and fighters who pass daily through the portals of England’s finest hospital.’
‘That must be uplifting; to see the Brits at their best.’
‘It is the lot of the A and E department and, to be fair, I enjoy the buzz even if many of the patients are victims of their own stupidity.’
I couldn’t help wondering if this was a dig at my slightly inebriated state. I stood.
‘Shall we go back?’
‘I think I will stay here a bit longer. I haven’t seen this view before and I’d like to enjoy it while it remains so warm.’
‘Well, I need another drink.’ I was feeling a little rebellious and I wasn’t in the mood for a health lecture.
‘Okay. Perhaps I’ll see you later.’
I sat down again. “Maybe I’ll stay a little longer too.’
‘Fine.’
We sat in silence and I took in the view, the serenity and the warm summer hum in the air. A duck landed comically on the water, its feet hitting the surface followed by its rear end and we both laughed.
Anita stood then and took my hand. ‘It’s getting late. Come on, let’s go back to the party.’
I got up and allowed myself to be led back through the avenue and along the path back to those French windows. The light was failing and the house looked warm and inviting. Other guests stood around in groups, talking as people at parties always do about nothing.
I stopped and Anita turned to look at me.
‘Did Lilly say anything else?’
‘She said you were funny, her closest friend, a wronged woman and unhappy.’
‘Guilty on all counts except perhaps, the funny at the moment.’
‘I thought the line about Morgan le Fay was pretty good.’
‘Not, I have to confess, the first time I have used it.’
‘First time you’ve used it on me though.’
I couldn’t argue with that so I stepped forward and we went into the house. Anita led me by the hand to the sideboard where the drink was laid out and she grabbed two glasses of Champagne.
‘Are we celebrating something?’
She looked at me. ‘Saturday evening? How come you’re not waitressing?’
‘Madame Lefevre said I could have the evening off. She said I was like a spectre at the feast while I struggled with my emotional life and she thought my expression would either curdle her Hollandaise sauce or give her customers dysentery so she told me, nicely, to fuck off and have some fun and come back when I was feeling less like a bear with piles.’
‘She has a way with the English language.’
‘She has. How come you’re not mending the broken?’
She moved very close to me then. ‘Perhaps I am.’
Lilly chose that moment to appear at her side. ‘I see you two have met.’
Anita asked her quietly, ‘Are you matchmaking, Lilly?’
Now I am known for having a total lack of Gaydar and her words gave me a jolt. Had I missed something here. It wouldn’t need a few glasses of wine to make that happen. Stone cold sober I am utterly hopeless at recognising a fellow lesbian until her hand’s in my knickers.
‘Matchmaking, darling, moi? As if. I just thought you’d like each other and I don’t want Faye here casting a pall over my party. I’m moving onto the gin if you’d care to join me?’
‘We’re fine with the bubbles thanks.’ Anita seemed to have taken charge.
‘Love the saree, darling. Everyone has commented. Don’t you think it’s simply gorgeous, Effy?’
‘I hadn’t really noticed.’ Okay, it was a lie.
‘Look, sweetheart,’ said Lilly, ‘One absolutely knows how your ex, Hattie or Hilary or whatever her name was, kicked you in the ego.’ Her hand rested gently on my shoulder. ‘I’m not matchmaking. I just want you to have a good time and forget the bitch for a while. Okay?’
‘Her name was Hannah.’
‘Yes, of course it was. Horrible Hannah, how could I forget?”
‘You never liked her.’
Lilly smiled. ‘No, but I’ve always loved you.’
And that was true. Since we’d arrived the same day at our ghastly school the Hon. Lilly Caterham had been my best and closest and loyalist friend. She had become captain of the school hockey team, Head Girl and my protector from all the bitchy things girls say about lesbians. They were the sorts of things that people who like to believe in the mythical rampant lesbianism of such English schools would never believe. I’d fearfully ‘come out’ to Lilly one night when we were sharing an illicit cigarette and a half bottle of brandy in the school pavilion.
‘Course you are, darling. No surprises there.’ That had been all she’d said at the time.
Her hand still on my shoulder she smiled at Anita. “Definitely not matchmaking, darling but you could do worse and so could this silly cow. Must dash before that bitch Jenny Cleethorpes moves in on the object of my desire. She’d fuck anything, the mood she’s in tonight.’
‘Her husband’s here,’ said Anita with a slightly surprised expression.
‘Trust me, girls, Jimmy Cleethorpes would rather watch Jen getting a bit than do it himself, lazy bastard. And Harry Lomax is far from lazy and I intend to exploit that in just a few minutes. Stay if you’re too pissed to walk home, girls. More bedrooms than I can count thanks to dear old Bernard.’
She swept away, her long, red dress floating around her as she made off with that look in her eye I knew so well. The one that says Lilly is on the hunt and that meant Harry Lomax was in for a night to remember.
‘She’s a bloody force of nature, that woman,’ I said smiling at her back.
Anita moved to my side and her arm rested against mine. For the first time I felt something other than mystification. I looked down and saw my nipples poking rather obviously through the thin silk of my white camisole. Anita’s hand went to my shoulder, just as Lilly’s had. Her face was close to my ear and she whispered in it.
‘I don’t care if she was matchmaking or not. How did you get here this evening?’
I half turned so I could look up into those gorgeous, almost black eyes.
‘I came in a cab.’
‘Shall we take up her offer?’
I hesitated. The effect of the wine seemed to have worn off and I am not normally the sort of woman who sleeps with anyone the first time I meet her.
‘I didn’t bring a toothbrush.’
‘Nor did I.’ Her free hand moved slowly up, the back of it brushing my left nipple as it rose to touch my face. ‘I don’t think that’s a huge problem, do you?’
‘Probably not.’
Anita’s hand dropped from my cheek to take my hand. She led me up the wide staircase to a landing and we wandered along it until she opened a door and closed it again, but not before we had both glimpsed Lilly astride a pair of male legs with trousers at the ankles and Lilly’s dress lifted just enough for us to see her bum. She looked over her shoulder and mouthed ‘fuck off,’ and she pointed vaguely in the direction of the next room.
The next bedroom was empty and we entered and Anita closed the door behind her.
I stood a little uncertainly and she closed on me, her hands holding both of mine as she leant down to kiss me. The first kiss. I slipped my arms around her waist, aware of the sensual silk of her saree beneath my hands as her lips touched mine. Her hands were on my shoulders and she slipped the tiny strap of my camisole off my shoulders, her hand caressing my skin as her tongue pushed gently but insistently between my lips. She tasted of wine and I could feel her hair as it stroked against my bare shoulder.
She stepped back and looked at me, the smile back and her eyes shining in the half-light. My hands wandered from her back to her hips and then slowly, very slowly up until I was palming her breasts through the sash of her saree on one side and the pale yellow silk vest that she wore beneath it on the other. Her nipples, like my own, were hard, the tip of one showing clearly through the yellow fabric. Brown hands, contrasting with the white of my camisole, mirrored the placement of my hands on her and I felt that rush when my nipples are brushed.
‘How do I undress you?’
‘Slowly and when I am ready. Her hands went to my waist and she pulled the camisole out from my skirt. She lifted it and I raised my arms so it could glide up and off, my hair falling back as she removed it completely.
Hair brushed over my skin as she leant to kiss each nipple tenderly. Her hand fumbled briefly with the button and zip of my skirt and then it was around my knees, one hand went to cover the sheer silk of my loose, white knickers, while the other covered my breast and her long, delicate fingers rolled my nipple.
It had felt like a storm was brewing and what followed was that storm. She took a step back and deftly threw the sash of her saree off her shoulder and I watched, spellbound as she unraveled the silk until it fell in a pool at her ankles. Beneath she wore only a pair of small, white silk panties through which her triangle of dark hair was visible, small hairs escaping from each leg of the tiny garment. I couldn’t help myself. I dropped to my knees, hands at her waist and pulled the panties down, burying my face in her luxuriant hair. She opened her legs and I nuzzled and kissed until my tongue was feeling her flowering under its attentions. Then she was gone and I looked up to see she had moved to the bed and sat on its edge, her legs wide apart.
I moved between those gorgeous, slender legs and renewed my efforts, hands caressing her skin, tongue lashing at her.
I cannot now say what happened. One moment I was on my knees, the next I was on the bed, lying on my back with her pussy on my face and I could feel her hair on my thighs and her face between my own, wide-spread legs, my knees bent so she could get at me.
I was moaning, groaning; we turned, lay side by side, then I was on her, she face down, me face down on her back, licking and kissing her neck then we were face to face, then face to cunt as the storm raged and I was lost in the deep sensuality of the moment. I felt a finger deep inside me and then another and I knew my fingers were in her but I don’t know how they got there. Then the unmistakable intrusion of a finger in my arse started to lift me into a different plane and my back arched as her mouth crushed mine and I was lost, thrashing and writhing as my orgasm rose and the force of the storm increased until I heard someone, perhaps it was me, crying out in unintelligible words.
They say there is a calm after a storm and there was. It felt like we had sailed across a raging sea and had reached a safe harbour. It was quiet and safe. I was in her embrace, she in mine. The bed was a mass of tangled sheets. My body was warm and hers, brown and shining, showed clearly against the white cotton. Hands caressed, mouths touched, legs entwined.
We made love again, slowly, deliberately. I don’t know how much time had passed between the passion of the first and the languid sensuality of the second but perhaps it was the third though because time meant nothing now.
When I woke up it was because Lilly had come into our room bearing two cups of tea. She was wearing a plaid dressing gown and her hair was a mess. She placed a cup beside Anita’s side then mine. She smiled at me.
‘Noisy cow,’ she said as she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Anita and I sat in bed, drinking tea. She took my cup from me, placed it on her bedside table and kissed me.
‘One for the road I think,’ she said, smiling. ‘Then, I think it would be a good idea if we made a date to go out to dinner and get to know each other?’
‘If you think it’s a good idea, then it probably is.’ Who was I to argue?
‘Thanks to him and her too I guess, I could afford to buy the pile.’
“The pile” in question was a substantial house and large garden she had been able to afford with the enormous settlement she had received from her banker (or wanker) husband and she now lived in the manner, as she put it, that all divorcees aspire to.
‘I’m absolutely loaded now, darling,’ she told me in her aristocratic way. ‘The bastard pays me £100,000 big ones a year and the lump sum bought the pile. I’ll never need to work again even if he drops off his perch which I sincerely hope he will.’
And so it was that Saturday that I was leaning against the back of a large sofa clinging to a glass of wine which was by no means my first of the evening and rather wishing I could have taken my ex to the cleaners in similar fashion when an Indian woman of about forty five years and wearing a stunning saree of blues, reds and golds wandered past. She stopped.
‘Are you Faye?’
‘It rather depends how you’re spelling it.’
‘Oh, how’s that?’
‘Well, if you spell it f-a-y as in Morgan le Fay then, I admit, I lack the supernatural skills but if, on the other hand, you spell it the boring was with an e on the end, then, yes, I am.’
She smiled. ‘I thought you might be. Lilly said I might try to prevent you from wallowing in your recent misfortune.’
The misfortune she was referring to was almost certainly the circumstances which had led to my being alone at the party instead of being accompanied by my faithless ex who had gone off to the United States to pursue her illustrious career.
‘I’m going alone,’ she had said. ‘I don’t want to be held back.’
What had made it worse was that she had said this on a Friday morning, precisely twelve hours after she had taken me to bed and fucked me senseless. The fuck was not unusual but the Friday morning conversation was so utterly unexpected that I’d had nothing to say, no words to plead or persuade; all I had was a numbness that left me speechless but by no means without tears. That had been just two weeks earlier than the night in question.
I studied the woman. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Anita. Anita Choudhury if you want to be formal. What do you do?’
So, Lilly had not told her everything.
‘I’m an actress.’
‘Would I have seen you in anything?’
‘You might have seen my award-winning performance as a goose in an advert for foie gras, the humane kind of course, although you probably wouldn’t recognise me without the beak. Or possibly in my world-famous role as a tea bag. I do a lot of commercials.'
She smiled and what could have been a rather miserable countenance was transformed; gleaming small, white teeth showed against her full lips which were, I noted, painted a delicious deep red that contrasted beautifully with her mid-brown skin.
‘Are you doing anything at the moment? Apart from drinking wine that is.’
I slid my arm through hers and led her out into the garden through the wide French windows that made one wall of the large sitting room where she’d found me.
‘I am currently playing the part, rather convincingly though I say so myself, of a waitress in a small, family-owned restaurant. The owner is a lady who cooks like an angel and takes pity on thesps like me who cant get a proper part because there are too many of us and not enough parts to go round.’
The evening air was warm, the sky that lovely blue that an English summer evening can make it when everything that is good about an English summer coincides.
She looked down at my arm encircling hers.
‘Why have you dragged me out here?’
‘Because it clearly hasn’t escaped your notice that I have taken one or two glasses of wine and when I meet an exotic like you it pays for me to be as far away from the bottle as possible for a while so I can avoid making a complete tit of myself. What do you do? No, let me guess. You’re a teacher.’
‘Sort of, I suppose.’
‘What does “sort of” mean?’
‘I’m a consultant in A and E at the BGH.’
The Bath General Hospital is a tribute to the National Health Service; a straggling Victorian monstrosity that is home to one of the finest teaching hospitals in the UK.
‘I am suitably impressed. So you are not someone who is experienced in the noble art of waiting at tables?’
‘Actually I did rather a lot of that when I was a student. What did you mean by “an exotic like me”?’
I stepped away from her and looked her over. I had not been wrong. She was about 5’ 9” and slender. Her hair was long, thick and glossy black, almost jet and her body, draped as it was in the beautiful silk, was nonetheless obvious. She was bare at the midriff and a small jewel was visible in her navel; another in the left side of her nose.
I, on the other hand was not looking my best. Oh, sure I had made an effort but somehow distress has a, well, distressing effect and I felt positively dowdy by comparison.
‘Just look at you! You’re too bloody stunning for your own, never mind my good and that saree looks like it was made for a princess. If that’s not exotic then I have no idea what is. How do you get that saree to hang so perfectly and stay there?’
She smiled again and I noticed how natural the smile was.
‘Practice.’ She took my arm back through hers and we walked. Our heels (hers at least 5” and mine, 3”) clicked on the slate of the pathway that led us through a small, curved avenue of trees that suddenly ended with a view of the lake that sat like a jewel in Lilly’s huge garden. A long granite bench seat was placed strategically at the end of the avenue and we sat. I smoothed my long, dark blue skirt under my arse as we sat at either end and I turned to look at her.
‘Has Lilly sent you to get me sober?’
‘Her words were to distract you.’
‘It’s worked. Lilly’s a good friend. We were at school together.’
‘Oh God, am I never to be free of English boarding school girls?’
I looked at her questioningly but she smiled again and I realised she was teasing me.
‘I,’ she said, ‘am the product of a similar school.’
‘They let all sorts in these days.’
‘They do. At least they do if Daddy is an Ambassador and Mummy is a renowned surgeon.’
‘You see. Humble beginnings are no barrier to a good education.’
‘Quite so. But the aged parents are now happily retired in Bangalore and I, their sole heir, is earning a stipend curing the drunks and accident victims and fighters who pass daily through the portals of England’s finest hospital.’
‘That must be uplifting; to see the Brits at their best.’
‘It is the lot of the A and E department and, to be fair, I enjoy the buzz even if many of the patients are victims of their own stupidity.’
I couldn’t help wondering if this was a dig at my slightly inebriated state. I stood.
‘Shall we go back?’
‘I think I will stay here a bit longer. I haven’t seen this view before and I’d like to enjoy it while it remains so warm.’
‘Well, I need another drink.’ I was feeling a little rebellious and I wasn’t in the mood for a health lecture.
‘Okay. Perhaps I’ll see you later.’
I sat down again. “Maybe I’ll stay a little longer too.’
‘Fine.’
We sat in silence and I took in the view, the serenity and the warm summer hum in the air. A duck landed comically on the water, its feet hitting the surface followed by its rear end and we both laughed.
Anita stood then and took my hand. ‘It’s getting late. Come on, let’s go back to the party.’
I got up and allowed myself to be led back through the avenue and along the path back to those French windows. The light was failing and the house looked warm and inviting. Other guests stood around in groups, talking as people at parties always do about nothing.
I stopped and Anita turned to look at me.
‘Did Lilly say anything else?’
‘She said you were funny, her closest friend, a wronged woman and unhappy.’
‘Guilty on all counts except perhaps, the funny at the moment.’
‘I thought the line about Morgan le Fay was pretty good.’
‘Not, I have to confess, the first time I have used it.’
‘First time you’ve used it on me though.’
I couldn’t argue with that so I stepped forward and we went into the house. Anita led me by the hand to the sideboard where the drink was laid out and she grabbed two glasses of Champagne.
‘Are we celebrating something?’
She looked at me. ‘Saturday evening? How come you’re not waitressing?’
‘Madame Lefevre said I could have the evening off. She said I was like a spectre at the feast while I struggled with my emotional life and she thought my expression would either curdle her Hollandaise sauce or give her customers dysentery so she told me, nicely, to fuck off and have some fun and come back when I was feeling less like a bear with piles.’
‘She has a way with the English language.’
‘She has. How come you’re not mending the broken?’
She moved very close to me then. ‘Perhaps I am.’
Lilly chose that moment to appear at her side. ‘I see you two have met.’
Anita asked her quietly, ‘Are you matchmaking, Lilly?’
Now I am known for having a total lack of Gaydar and her words gave me a jolt. Had I missed something here. It wouldn’t need a few glasses of wine to make that happen. Stone cold sober I am utterly hopeless at recognising a fellow lesbian until her hand’s in my knickers.
‘Matchmaking, darling, moi? As if. I just thought you’d like each other and I don’t want Faye here casting a pall over my party. I’m moving onto the gin if you’d care to join me?’
‘We’re fine with the bubbles thanks.’ Anita seemed to have taken charge.
‘Love the saree, darling. Everyone has commented. Don’t you think it’s simply gorgeous, Effy?’
‘I hadn’t really noticed.’ Okay, it was a lie.
‘Look, sweetheart,’ said Lilly, ‘One absolutely knows how your ex, Hattie or Hilary or whatever her name was, kicked you in the ego.’ Her hand rested gently on my shoulder. ‘I’m not matchmaking. I just want you to have a good time and forget the bitch for a while. Okay?’
‘Her name was Hannah.’
‘Yes, of course it was. Horrible Hannah, how could I forget?”
‘You never liked her.’
Lilly smiled. ‘No, but I’ve always loved you.’
And that was true. Since we’d arrived the same day at our ghastly school the Hon. Lilly Caterham had been my best and closest and loyalist friend. She had become captain of the school hockey team, Head Girl and my protector from all the bitchy things girls say about lesbians. They were the sorts of things that people who like to believe in the mythical rampant lesbianism of such English schools would never believe. I’d fearfully ‘come out’ to Lilly one night when we were sharing an illicit cigarette and a half bottle of brandy in the school pavilion.
‘Course you are, darling. No surprises there.’ That had been all she’d said at the time.
Her hand still on my shoulder she smiled at Anita. “Definitely not matchmaking, darling but you could do worse and so could this silly cow. Must dash before that bitch Jenny Cleethorpes moves in on the object of my desire. She’d fuck anything, the mood she’s in tonight.’
‘Her husband’s here,’ said Anita with a slightly surprised expression.
‘Trust me, girls, Jimmy Cleethorpes would rather watch Jen getting a bit than do it himself, lazy bastard. And Harry Lomax is far from lazy and I intend to exploit that in just a few minutes. Stay if you’re too pissed to walk home, girls. More bedrooms than I can count thanks to dear old Bernard.’
She swept away, her long, red dress floating around her as she made off with that look in her eye I knew so well. The one that says Lilly is on the hunt and that meant Harry Lomax was in for a night to remember.
‘She’s a bloody force of nature, that woman,’ I said smiling at her back.
Anita moved to my side and her arm rested against mine. For the first time I felt something other than mystification. I looked down and saw my nipples poking rather obviously through the thin silk of my white camisole. Anita’s hand went to my shoulder, just as Lilly’s had. Her face was close to my ear and she whispered in it.
‘I don’t care if she was matchmaking or not. How did you get here this evening?’
I half turned so I could look up into those gorgeous, almost black eyes.
‘I came in a cab.’
‘Shall we take up her offer?’
I hesitated. The effect of the wine seemed to have worn off and I am not normally the sort of woman who sleeps with anyone the first time I meet her.
‘I didn’t bring a toothbrush.’
‘Nor did I.’ Her free hand moved slowly up, the back of it brushing my left nipple as it rose to touch my face. ‘I don’t think that’s a huge problem, do you?’
‘Probably not.’
Anita’s hand dropped from my cheek to take my hand. She led me up the wide staircase to a landing and we wandered along it until she opened a door and closed it again, but not before we had both glimpsed Lilly astride a pair of male legs with trousers at the ankles and Lilly’s dress lifted just enough for us to see her bum. She looked over her shoulder and mouthed ‘fuck off,’ and she pointed vaguely in the direction of the next room.
The next bedroom was empty and we entered and Anita closed the door behind her.
I stood a little uncertainly and she closed on me, her hands holding both of mine as she leant down to kiss me. The first kiss. I slipped my arms around her waist, aware of the sensual silk of her saree beneath my hands as her lips touched mine. Her hands were on my shoulders and she slipped the tiny strap of my camisole off my shoulders, her hand caressing my skin as her tongue pushed gently but insistently between my lips. She tasted of wine and I could feel her hair as it stroked against my bare shoulder.
She stepped back and looked at me, the smile back and her eyes shining in the half-light. My hands wandered from her back to her hips and then slowly, very slowly up until I was palming her breasts through the sash of her saree on one side and the pale yellow silk vest that she wore beneath it on the other. Her nipples, like my own, were hard, the tip of one showing clearly through the yellow fabric. Brown hands, contrasting with the white of my camisole, mirrored the placement of my hands on her and I felt that rush when my nipples are brushed.
‘How do I undress you?’
‘Slowly and when I am ready. Her hands went to my waist and she pulled the camisole out from my skirt. She lifted it and I raised my arms so it could glide up and off, my hair falling back as she removed it completely.
Hair brushed over my skin as she leant to kiss each nipple tenderly. Her hand fumbled briefly with the button and zip of my skirt and then it was around my knees, one hand went to cover the sheer silk of my loose, white knickers, while the other covered my breast and her long, delicate fingers rolled my nipple.
It had felt like a storm was brewing and what followed was that storm. She took a step back and deftly threw the sash of her saree off her shoulder and I watched, spellbound as she unraveled the silk until it fell in a pool at her ankles. Beneath she wore only a pair of small, white silk panties through which her triangle of dark hair was visible, small hairs escaping from each leg of the tiny garment. I couldn’t help myself. I dropped to my knees, hands at her waist and pulled the panties down, burying my face in her luxuriant hair. She opened her legs and I nuzzled and kissed until my tongue was feeling her flowering under its attentions. Then she was gone and I looked up to see she had moved to the bed and sat on its edge, her legs wide apart.
I moved between those gorgeous, slender legs and renewed my efforts, hands caressing her skin, tongue lashing at her.
I cannot now say what happened. One moment I was on my knees, the next I was on the bed, lying on my back with her pussy on my face and I could feel her hair on my thighs and her face between my own, wide-spread legs, my knees bent so she could get at me.
I was moaning, groaning; we turned, lay side by side, then I was on her, she face down, me face down on her back, licking and kissing her neck then we were face to face, then face to cunt as the storm raged and I was lost in the deep sensuality of the moment. I felt a finger deep inside me and then another and I knew my fingers were in her but I don’t know how they got there. Then the unmistakable intrusion of a finger in my arse started to lift me into a different plane and my back arched as her mouth crushed mine and I was lost, thrashing and writhing as my orgasm rose and the force of the storm increased until I heard someone, perhaps it was me, crying out in unintelligible words.
They say there is a calm after a storm and there was. It felt like we had sailed across a raging sea and had reached a safe harbour. It was quiet and safe. I was in her embrace, she in mine. The bed was a mass of tangled sheets. My body was warm and hers, brown and shining, showed clearly against the white cotton. Hands caressed, mouths touched, legs entwined.
We made love again, slowly, deliberately. I don’t know how much time had passed between the passion of the first and the languid sensuality of the second but perhaps it was the third though because time meant nothing now.
When I woke up it was because Lilly had come into our room bearing two cups of tea. She was wearing a plaid dressing gown and her hair was a mess. She placed a cup beside Anita’s side then mine. She smiled at me.
‘Noisy cow,’ she said as she left the room, closing the door behind her.
Anita and I sat in bed, drinking tea. She took my cup from me, placed it on her bedside table and kissed me.
‘One for the road I think,’ she said, smiling. ‘Then, I think it would be a good idea if we made a date to go out to dinner and get to know each other?’
‘If you think it’s a good idea, then it probably is.’ Who was I to argue?
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