Blown Away by Francesca

Chapter 1

Tom Jeffs was called home by his mum to attend a cocktail party.

He scowled into the phone and complained, "Why?"

"Because there's someone coming that I'd like you to meet," Avery said.

"Aw, mum."

"Now Tom, be a good boy for your mother. You know you haven't been home for almost eight weeks."

Tom weakened and thought he shouldn't deny his mum the pleasure of his company any longer. Actually, he believed it had been ten weeks since he'd last visited his parents.

"Mum, if she's the horse-faced daughter of one of your horsey friends, I'll walk out on you."

He was told not to be rude. She hadn't met Fran who was the daughter of a new neighbour Veronica Giles and Mrs Giles was a handsome and elegant lady.

"Can females be described as being handsome?"

Avery sighed and said yes of course they could although it rarely was used in respect of females but the word was non-sexist.

"Am, I pretty mum?"

She sighed and told him the function was on Sunday at 11:00 and not to be poorly dressed and to come alone rather than have one of his sluts in tow.

Her 28-year old curly-headed son protested and said the truth was most young women's mothers were sluts but found he was talking to himself because his mum had guessed what was coming and had cut the call. He grinned, knowing his mother hated being lectured.

No matter what the mother looked like, this young woman would be horse-faced with not much by the way of tits because all the fat would have slumped to her arse. His mom was attracted to potential daughters-in-law who looked like that and she usually attempted to dump one of them on to him three or four times a year and had been doing that since he was fourteen.

Hmmm. His mom had never before described the female's mother as being handsome and elegant, or for that matter she'd never mentioned to him that any other of her friends were elegant. Perhaps this filly might be one out of the box and he thought it would be improbable that his mother would always make bad choices for him.

Tom decided to make a grand entrance. He'd satisfy his mother by dressing smart casual but he would come sweeping up the driveway in his dad's old and noisy Honda dirt bike that Tom had borrowed and no longer used and was well-overdue to be returned.

Tom arrived at the Brimley Hill Farm where his parents raised Hereford cattle for fattening and also run a highly rated Dorset Horn and Poll Dorset sheep stud on 930 acres. His parents had everyone down at the tennis court and a marque he been erected.

Goodness, why did his folk bother with all the top shelf glitter. What was wrong with inviting just a few people over and shipping in a few crates of beer, cartons of wine and having pizza delivered?

Oh fuck, the bulls were in the paddock down by where the guests were being entertained. If he roared down on the bike for an impressive arrival, he could stampede the herd and his father would bawl him out.

He leaned the motorcycle against the fence and vaulted the fence and walked down to where the 20 or so bulls were gathered and heard a woman scream, "Run, a bull is charging you."

Tom looked around wondering if a rogue bull was in amongst this docile lot.

He grinned as he saw his old hand-reared Bertie, now eight and who'd been kept for breeding, bearing down at him, head and tail up and yes, it did look menacing.

Bertie skidded to a stop and they did the 'Hi how are you mate' bit and Tom then jumped on Bertie's back, steering him down the gentle slope by the ears and knowing most of the people would be watching agog. Well, he supposed that was a bit of an entrance.

He slid off, patted Bertie and then placing a hand on a fence post vaulted over the fence to the applause of some of the watchers.

Kip, his Border Collie, raced up to him and leapt to be caught as he'd been trained to do and Tom obliged.

There was more applause and even more when his mother said sarcastically, and loud enough for Tom to here, "This exhibitionist is our second son Tom."

"Son, your zip is undone," Brian his dad called.

Tom zipped up thinking well yes, overall it could be considered a noticeable entry.

The closest woman to him dressed in white and black and looking really cool was assessing him and he said, "Hi Veronica."

She responded in surprise, "Do you know me?"

"No but mum told me she had a sexy and elegant new friend called Veronica Giles."

"Ooh, and you managed to pick me out from the large group of people?"

"It's not so large considering about half of the people are male."

She laughed and said he was very sharp

"And I believe you were to bring your daughter to look me over."

Veronica gasped lightly, put a finger over her lips and said quietly, "Very sharp. Here she comes now."

God, he enthused, the lass was more handsome than her mum and had bigger tits and her a glimpse of her backside as she turned to wave to someone made him note that her arse was well-shaped and relatively slender which was something, as usually with females it was a standard combo of big tits and a big arse.

Tom's dick stirred.

The young woman carrying two glasses of champagne glanced at Tom, looked away and looked back and stared.

"Hi, I'm Tom Jeffs. Are you a gate-crasher?"

She looked startled and turned to her mum who offered no assistance but continued to monitor this initial encounter with interest.

"No definitely not. I'm here at the invitation of Mrs Jeffs, who also invited my mother Mrs Giles. She's standing almost beside you."

"If that correct Mrs Giles, this person really is your uncontrollable daughter?"

"Mother," the woman appealed.

"Darling. It's obvious Tom is a bit of a tease. Just introduce yourself."

The younger woman handed one of the wines to her mother and offered the other to Tom.

"No thanks. I'll check to find what reds dad has assembled."

"Please hold my glass and I'll fetch a superior red wine for you."

He smiled and said no thanks. He'd use the opportunity to say hi to his parents and pick his wine carefully.

"You must think about telling me your name some other time."

"Oh god, sorry. It's Francesca."

"That's a cool name to go with Giles and suits your passionate persona."

"My what? You have no idea what I'm like?"

"Dark eyes, busty, you move quickly and engage full-on when challenged. Probably your maternal grandmother is or was either Spanish or Italian and I think Spanish and you have got more genes from that quarter than your mother who has almost violet eyes."

"How could you know this; did my mother tell you about me?"

"No one has told me anything about you Francesca but you did suggest I had no idea what you were like, giving me the opportunity to assess you. Aren't you used to associating with guys around your age who have a brain?"

She looked ready to flare.

Tom excused himself and walked off and heard Francesca say to her mother, "God what an asshole. It would be a strain trying to keep up with him."

He smiled when Veronica replied perceptively that sometimes, a first meeting could be quite disappointing.

He found his older brother Miles (30) and fantastic-looking sister Robyn (25) pouring drinks and greeted them. Miles shook his hand, saying hi without smiling whereas Robyn came around the end of the makeshift bar and kissed Tom wetly on the mouth and he clenched his teeth to avoid being tongued.

"I've missed you," she moaned, thrusting her groin hard against him.

Christ, he thought. Why couldn't she grown up and just treat him as her favourite brother not to be touched? Their mother continued to optimistically call Robyn's fawning of him puppy love. But get real, Robyn was almost twenty-six!

After greeting his parents, Tom returned to the bar thinking he'd been blown away by the appearance of Francesca, who appeared to be about his age, but her manner could take some getting used to. He wondered how soon could he nail her, and thought of something.

Walking back to his mom with a quality Bordeaux red, he waited till his mother was free and said, "If you intend inviting the Giles family to dinner, I could stay on."

"So, you are interested?"

"I didn't say that but yes. God, you will have noticed her tits and arse."

"Tom, I'm your mother."

"Stop playing cute with me mum. You'd hoped I be interested. I need to have more contact with her."

"Then I'll invite her to stay the night."

"Oh, very cute mother but just social contact will do for a while. She might be a bit too high-spirited for me."

"But she could be great in bed."

"Are you supposed to be talking to your son like that about a young lady he's just met?"

Avery sighed and said interfacing with Tom could be really hard work at times.

"Mum, I bought dad's dirt-bike back. Is there any chance of me taking one of your cars to get home?"

"Yes, take the Mazda MX-5, but make sure you garage it. I'll come down by train one day next week to recover it. It's time you bought your own car; I said I'd give you the money."

"I can get pissed more often if I don't have a car and occasionally females by themselves boldly ask if I'd like a ride home."

"Oh god, don't you have the life of Riley."

Tom spent the next ninety minutes talking to old neighbours he'd known since he was a child, and newer faming families to the district who included wives and married daughters, some of whom eyed him as if thinking they'd wish he'd invite them to a visit to the hayshed.

He briefly flirted with unmarried females he knew, including some with boyfriends who almost stood protectively in front of their girlfriend as Tom approach with a smile that looked close to a leer.

His greatest attention, however, was reuniting with some old mates who chatted about sport, beer, sex and nothing much else and Tom was left with the thought they were better as pals, being more interesting than many of his mates in the city.

As he was walking to another group, he was stopped by Francesca standing in front of him. She smiled and asked why was he avoiding her.

Hmmm, she sounded more than a little interested in him. He must explain.

"Was that a reasonable question when you know I was busy meeting friends, family and our farming neighbours?"

"Yes," she said rather aggressively.

He let it go and offered to get her a fresh wine.

"No thanks."

"Francesca, I'll meet you at the nearest hayshed in ten minutes."

Her instant reply left him hanging.

"Let me think about that."

He was surprised how calmly she was in being treated like a whore.

Finally, she smiled and said, "Was that outrageous suggestion a test?"

"No," he lied.

"You best invite my mother because I believe she would last longer than me."

He practically spluttered, saying, "Enough of this nonsense."

"Yes of course, but I did enjoy that unexpected idiotic confrontation more than I could have imagined. Fortunately, my mother had warned that you were a tease."

"Thanks for being so frank, Francesca. I can be so stupid at times when talking to women."

"I bet some give the impression they'd like a piece of you."

Tom said, "A very few might think like that, who knows?"

"You'd know if my mother is correct. She thinks you are unquestionably a ladies' man."

"Ah, and warned you to have nothing to do with me."

Francesca failed to hide her surprise.

"How could you possibly have known that?"

"Easy, I know how mothers think in a discussion like this."

"It's been lovely talking to you Francesca but I shouldn't monopolize you and I make two suggestion. You could either walk off and find people of interest, or you could come with me to that group of guys over there, almost all of them I've known since I was not long out of nappies, which was probably a couple of years ago."

Francesca laughed and stepped beside him.

"Come on then. Like you, I'm from London at present, but I'll return here occasionally so it will be useful catching up with some of the people I'll meet here today. We must exchange phone numbers Tom and I'll probably invite you out for a drink or whatever."

"Whatever?"

"I guess the answer to that lies in whatever comes up when we are together," she said in a suggestive tone and he imagined, creatively or indeed totally wrongly, that she was forcing her tongue not to lick her top lip lasciviously.

She looked at him and raising an eyebrow asked, "What?"

He looked away replying, "Nothing" and felt his expression would be similar to a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I find that hard to believe," she muttered and he knew to change the subject.

"That's intelligent thinking."

Francesca replied she wasn't a dummy.

"I've already confirmed that, several times," he said smoothly.

"Ooh," she cooed. "Sweet talk."

"Interpreted well," he leered. "What do you work at to finance your outrageous life-style, Francesca?"

"I'm a junior solicitor in the legal offices of Graham O'Reilly Vaughan, hoping to become highly rated as a specialist in dispute resolution."

"What, solving disputes between new mothers and nappy manufacturers?"

"No, something you'd rate even lower, in the realm of the international trade wars, actually."

"I'm impressed," Tom said, looking genuinely impressed.

"And how do you finance your social life of whoring?" Francesca asked, her face devoid of expression.

"Actually, I occupy me social life as a devout abstainer."

"I bet," she giggled.

"I earn my weight in pound notes per annum working for Mitchell-Goldstein Advertising."

"But that's a prestigious advertising company internationally that an article in the Guardian newspaper, I think it was, claimed has a waiting list of job applicants almost as long as the River Thames."

"Yeah, newspapers specialize in showering their readers with bullshit.

Francesca said in challenging mode: "No bullshit now, how long does it take a recent media or marketing graduate to gain a recruitment interview with HR at Mitchell-Goldstein?"

"Anything from two to five years if they're lucky."

"And, Tom Jeffs, again no bullshit, how long did you wait?"

He mumbled the answer.

"Tom, that's being pathetically devious. The answer, please, clearly."

"I was recruited during my final year at my London university."

"Christ!"

"No, you're conversing with Tom Jeffs," he muttered.

Francesca smiled delightfully and said the truth was he's a rising star in advertising who expertly has developed the ability to move around publicly, giving the impression he was a nutter and his only interests were drinking beer, focusing on pussy and teasing.

"You have cleverly deduced that I'm gripped by schizophrenia," he grinned, pulling her to a halt and kissing her lightly on the lips. Come, let's talk to these lads and I'll see you later at pre-dinner drinks."

Chapter 2

Francesca answered her phone on Sunday morning two weeks after her enjoyable trip to the countryside and the male caller asked, "Are you nude?"

She was about to scream 'fuck off' and switch off her phone when her brain cut in.

"Is that you Tom, um Tom Jeff?

"Yeah, hi Francesca, may I woo you over lunch today riverside?"

"That sounds lovely. Should I wear kickers?"

Tom said hurriedly to wear panties and not to take him too literally. The focus would be on lunch and friendly banter mixed with some intelligent conversation."

Francesca invited him to call her Fran but he said Fran had the same appeal as the word gutter, at least to him. Her full name evoked a touch of history, multi-nationalism, romance and aloofness.

"Aloofness?"

"Yes, used in the sense of charmingly distant when on your best behaviour, which is a guess, because in our sole meeting to date you appeared mainly in your adversary role with me, especially when at the table when I had fingers tapping out a beat on the inside of your thigh."

"You clown," Francesca giggled. "I could have clubbed you for that intrusion when I was explaining why I had a fascination for dispute resolution at a commercial/political level."

"I have no need to apologise. I merely had chosen the most suitable surface to practice my drumming fingering technique without interrupting your high-powered speech."

"That explanation is unacceptable. You could have unzipped and tapped on your own thigh," she laughed.

He laughed too, and then said to meet him at the restaurant and gave her the address. He'd secured a table for 2 o'clock at the Coach House against the deck railing two weeks ago after a cancelled booking had just been received."

"Oh wow, I've read that its very classy which translates into being very pricey."

"In that case bring your gold card," he laughed. "I thought only the best for you on our first date."

"I'm pleased and flattered. You booked two weeks ago?"

"Yes, the day after our first and only meeting. Your mother said she understood you regard Sunday as your rest day of the week and rarely accepted invitations or arranged to go anywhere."

"That's true and you thought you'd impressed me so much and had I other things to do that I'd cancel them, just to be with you."

"Indeed, it pays to be an optimist," he chuckled. "That thinking was very accurate, I'd like you to know that and I'll add I would have been devastated had you declined my last-minute invitation. I must go as I'm in the office working for an impatient client. I'll see you at two. Kiss, kiss."

"I'm looking forward to it. Kiss, kiss."

She put down her phone and thought why on earth had she said kiss, kiss. That guy absolutely needed no encouragement at all.

Francesca screwed up her nose, thinking what should she wear and then gained her focus when recalling the guy had called her mother elegant with respect. Yes, being riverside he'd probably wear white pants and shirt, a bowtie, longitudinal striped jacket and a boater. Even the brash Tom wouldn't appear in white shorts and black hairy legs, a singlet and wearing a boater sitting at a rakish angle.

No? She signed and said she couldn't be sure of that.

Francesca arrived at the restaurant wearing a white linen skirt and matching jacket, a deep wine-coloured shirt with a long hanging chunky gold necklace and her dark hair hanging low and framing her dark sunglasses.

A waitress took her to Mr Jeff's table and said, "Your guest is here, sir."

Tom, who had his back to them, stood and turned. He was wearing a white suit with open-neck fawn shirt with a hanging silver pendant.

She was conscious other people had turned to look at them and stayed looking.

Tom said rather loudly, "Welcome Francesca, just look at you. You've blown me away. You ready for sex or are you here for lunch?"

There was a titter amongst the watchers and the waitress had a hand over her mouth.

Francesca felt like sinking through the floor but then felt rage rising and she clenched her hands.

Tom, bless him, laughed and said he was aware this was merely a date to lunch and grandly swept around an arm to her seat and the waitress pulled back the chair, and all was normal again.

When the waitress departed with their drinks order, Francesca hissed that he'd embarrassed her.

"That was intentional."

"What?"

"Primarily to set the mood and also to test your toughness."

"If I'd kneed you in the testicles and punched your closest eye further back into its socket, you would have your answer about my toughness."

"It's been well answered just by the comment," he said smoothly. "So that's why you didn't attempt to kiss me?"

She signed and told him to lean forward for a kiss but he declined, saying she'd probably racked her nails over his cheek and rupture blood vessels.

She glared at him and he said softly, "This meeting is off to an unexpectedly disruptive start for which I'm responsible for. But nevertheless, it was an interesting start."