tagErotic CouplingsGoodbye Girl.

Goodbye Girl.

bykaraline©

Hello there,

This is my entry for the Literotica April Fool's Contest, so please vote. I'm not very good at writing to order, but this story idea seemed to have enough of contest themes in it (deception and chance), so I thought I'd give it a go.

As ever, huge thanks to North200 for editing and excellent feed back, and squeezing me in despite having had a busy few months. Do read his work if you haven't, he's a regular to the erotic couplings category. Thanks also to thelaughingcat, DeathAndTaxes and jennyb2492 for stepping in at the last minute to help with final edits.

In case anyone's wondering about the title, I borrowed it from a song by The 80's UK pop band Squeeze.

Feedback is most gratefully received


They were all 'round Rachel's getting ready to go out dancing. The Duke held an event on the last Friday of every month, which promised disco tunes from the 70's, retro club classics from the 80's, and old school house from the 90's. Orla was planning to come back here later and crash in Rachel's sofa bed. Orla and Vanessa lived too far out of town to go back there after midnight. The buses stopped running at 11:30pm in Bath even on a Friday night.

Getting all dolled up to go out wasn't Orla's thing, but Vanessa was her oldest friend; they'd gone to school together. It was a Hen night of sorts. Not a hen night in the true sense; they weren't going on a pub-crawl, dressed in matching bunny outfits. And as far as she knew nobody had hired a stripper, but Vanessa wanted one last night out with the girls before she committed to a lifetime of wedded bliss with Dave.

Orla didn't understand why people still got married in these days, but he was a nice enough bloke. And anyway she liked a good dance as much as the next person.

She pushed her arms through an electric blue shift dress and pulled it down over her hips. It was short, and she never wore dresses; she felt too self-conscious about her knees, which were knobbly and always so scuffed.

She returned to the lounge, where the other girls were putting on make-up and doing their hair. Mandy was perched on the arm of the sofa applying smoky eye shadow to Vanessa. Everyone looked up, and there were murmurs of approval.

"Wow, you look great Orla!" someone called.

"You should keep that dress Orla, it really suits you." Rachel told her.

"Thanks Rach," she replied, wondering if she did, whether she would ever wear it again.

"But you need glitter, you definitely need glitter." Marie was holding a large soft brush and a pot of something shimmery.

Orla took another fortifying gulp of prosecco. She was already tipsy, and they hadn't even made it out of the door yet. She needed to drink more often, so she had better resistance.

Marie brushed a fine layer of the glitter on her shoulders and cheeks. She wouldn't normally wear much make-up either, but she had to admit she was enjoying herself. Rachel was styling her hair. This was the first time Orla had been out since she'd broken up with Tim six weeks earlier.

He'd shagged someone from work while he'd been at a conference in Nottingham and ended the relationship as soon as he returned. She'd never been dumped before. It was devastating -she'd been crazy about Tim, but before too long, to her surprise, she was enjoying being single again, enjoying not living with Tim and his moods.

A few weeks ago he'd turned up at her work looking tired and in need of a shave. She'd happily agreed to go for a drink. She wanted to try and salvage a friendship. They'd been together for almost three years, after all.

He'd told her that he'd behaved rashly and begged for forgiveness. He wanted to get back together. When he took her hands, she pulled them away as if it burned and changed the subject. As the evening wore on, their glasses emptied. The entreaties grew.

He loved her. He couldn't live without her. Could she at least stay for another drink?

She thought it was best if she didn't.

Could he walk her home?

No, he couldn't.

He got nasty after that. She didn't want him to walk her back, so she must be seeing someone else. He followed her most of the way home, calling her names, accusing her of random stuff that ranged from being an emotional cripple to sleeping with other men.

Thank goodness Vanessa had been at home.

"Orla?" Rachel was waving a pair of strappy beige sandals at her. "I think these would go with that dress."

Orla shook her head. She drew the line at heels.

Rachel had dozens of pairs of shoes, mostly heels, but Orla stuck with her Converse. They were comfy and better for dancing in. And it wasn't like she needed to add height, she was already the tallest among them by a good few inches.

"You have to wear sexy shoes, it's a vital part of your outfit, and those trainers are grubby." Rachel tried to insist. The others nodded in agreement.

"I'm not out on the pull, I just fancy a bit of a dance."

"Oh, come on!" Vanessa dragged out the final word for theatrical impact. "You're young and free and single."

"Well, I'd like to stay that way for the time being if you don't mind."

"Oh Orla, Live a little. We attached women live vicariously through the love lives of our single friends."

The doorbell rang.

"It's the taxi!" Shouted Rachel from the bathroom, and Orla's love life was forgotten as everyone clamoured for the door. She caught sight of her reflection in the hallway mirror as they left. She felt like a gangly child playing dress up, but she looked like a proper lady. It was nice to go out, even though she couldn't really afford it. She'd just shelled out for the deposit on her new flat and her student loan repayment had just gone out. She was nearly at her overdraft limit.

They giggled as they climbed out of the taxi and made their way into the venue. The pub was packed and they fought their way through the crowds to reach the narrow staircase that took them to the function room. Of course they gained more than their fair share of attention from the other creatures of the night.

It came as a surprise when the function room was empty, except for a group of men at the bar. They turned and watched as the girls arrived. Orla felt over dressed, or maybe underdressed? Gradually more people showed up, gathering in small groups and standing in corners, sipping drinks and stealing glances at each other. No one wanted to be the first to dance. It was the school disco over again. Orla caught Vanessa's eye and they shared a smile.

She went to the bar with Rachel and bought a round of vodka and tonics, after that it started to pick up. It was hard not to dance when the DJ was playing Chaka Khan. And soon enough the room was filling up and they were all shaking their booty and laughing and singing along.

When the song finished, she was hot and thirsty, but she didn't want more vodka. She slid up to the bar and found herself standing next to a bloke. She sneaked a look. With his short, dark hair and his twinkly blue eyes he was a looker.

She didn't miss the appreciative glance he cast her way when he thought she wasn't looking.

*

Greg noticed her as soon as they walked in.

Her dirty blonde hair was short, pixie cut. It suited her. He liked short hair on a woman; there was something brave and adventurous about it. She was wearing a short blue shift dress that showed off great legs. Unlike the other girls, she wasn't wearing heels. Instead she was wearing sneakers, and he liked that too. She didn't look like she was trying too hard.

She seemed uncomfortable at first, with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets, toeing the ground like an awkward colt. As the room filled up, she seemed more at ease.

He looked away. He didn't want to stare. When he looked back she was, heading straight towards him, he couldn't believe his luck. She pulled herself onto a stool right next to him and leaned forward over the bar. He tried not to look like he was watching her.

Propping her chin up on one hand, she waved to catch the barman's attention.

Her back curved as she leaned forward into the bar. The dress was all straight lines. It was only now that she was closer that he got an inkling of the shape of her body and noticed the silver glitter dusting her shoulders.

"Hi," she grinned at the barman. "Could I have some water, please?"

He brought her a tall glass with ice and lemon. This was far more trouble than he'd gone to for any of the other punters. She took a big gulp, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then cursed as her fingers flew to her lips.

"I forgot that I was wearing lipstick, I never wear lipstick."

The barman grinned. "You're okay, it hasn't smudged."

"That's a relief, thanks." The smile was back, lighting up her face. The barman returned her smile indulgently. Greg felt a lurch of envy somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He wanted her to notice him. Picking girls up in bars wasn't his usual style, but he would make an exception for this one.

She took another swig of her water and rested the nearly empty glass back on the bar. It was now or never.

"Do you live in Bath?" It was more original than 'do you come here often.'

She told him she did, as she turned to face him.

When he asked if he could buy her a drink she looked down at her hands and worried her bottom lip with her teeth, but after a moment she accepted his offer.

The barman barely hid his scowl when Greg asked for two vodka tonics. As he handed her the drink she frowned again.

"Have we met before?"

He held his hand out. "I'm Greg and I'm sure I would remember you," he replied, trying for his most charming smile.

"Orla," she said cautiously.

She looked down again as she took the proffered hand but her gaze returned to his. Curiosity warred with trepidation in her eyes.

Why was she so edgy?

But the music had changed. Orla was already sliding off the stool.

"I love this one." she said. And she was off again, back to her friends.

As she dissolved into the crowd she didn't look back. Greg was reminded of a butterfly or a humming bird. Passing from flower to flower, gone as soon as the nectar was used up.

He consoled himself by watching her dance. She was a great dancer, reckless, uninhibited, energetic but with an innate sense of rhythm. She danced like there was no one watching. No, that wasn't it. She danced like she didn't care if anyone was watching.

She'd only drunk half the vodka tonic he bought her. He smiled to himself -She must have mistaken him for someone else. He'd only moved to Bath six months earlier.

He'd been offered a promotion from custody sergeant to detective inspector and he fancied getting out from behind the desk a bit more. And it was a nice change being in a small town. He seemed to get on well with the other officers.

"Alright Sarge?" Greg looked in the direction of the voice. Paul and Lewis were standing next to him.

"We're not on the job, Paul, you don't need to call me Sarge"

"Sorry Sarge."

Greg closed his eyes and breathed.

It was a 'leaving do' for Andy. He didn't know Andy all that well and he'd intended to just put in an appearance. Most of the other senior officers had left already and he would have left by now too if it hadn't been for her.

She was spinning round on the spot, with her arms pushed up in the air. Anyone else would have looked like a demented toddler who'd eaten too many sweets. But it wasn't anyone else. It was her. And she was totally carrying it off.

"She's a wild one Sarge." Paul supplied helpfully. "I bet she's good in the sack."

Greg wasn't aware he was scowling until both Paul's hands shot up, palms forward. "Alright, steady on. I was only saying."

She was with a group of four or five other girls. They were all pretty and dancing in a much more normal way.

*

"Hey!" Rachel wrapped her arm around Orla's neck. "Don't look now but you know those two blokes over by the bar?"

"Yeah?" Orla knew exactly who Rachel was talking about. Vanessa joined them, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"The big one with the blue shirt on?" Rachel continued, "He's had his eye on you all night he has."

Orla winced as the vodka and tonic that she'd left on the bar half drunk. She fought hard not to look round at where she knew they were. She hadn't mentioned her little tryst to the others. She was trying not to dwell on it. Of course it would be easier if she didn't fancy him. She didn't feel ready to think about anyone in that way just yet. It was too soon.

"I reckon they look like police," said Vanessa thoughtfully.

Orla glanced back at them. They were white, young, slim, well built, and impeccably turned out. They were the very definition of the phrase 'smart casual' right down to the beige Marks and Spencer's chinos the other guy had on.

And it hit her, like a wrecking ball, like a tonne of bricks, like a smack in the mouth. God why couldn't the ground swallow her up? He was the copper. She remembered him now. He'd been the desk sergeant on duty when she'd been arrested after that big anti-cuts demonstration in London last year. How on earth hadn't she recognized him right away?

She had to look again; she couldn't help herself. She needed to be sure. Oh it was him alright. He must have been watching her too, because as soon as she turned he looked away.

"Orla!" Vanessa hissed. "Stop staring."

How could she not have known who he was? She'd thought he was cute then too, but she had bigger fish to fry, bigger questions that needed answering like 'when were they going to release her?' and 'Was she going to end up with a criminal record?' And most importantly, 'What was her Ma going to say when she found out?

"Orla!" Vanessa hissed, louder still. "I told you not to be obvious. He knows we're talking about him now."

"Sorry," she mumbled, her scalp prickling.

"You okay?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." It came out shorter than she'd meant it to, but it worked. Rachel didn't press her further.

What would her friends think if they found out? She wondered, as she glared at her reflection in the unforgiving bathroom light and splashed cold water on her face. God, it was so embarrassing. She hadn't been able to stop herself from stealing glances in his direction every few minutes. Her lipstick was nearly gone; she should go and find her bag and reapply it.

He was always in the same place, by the bar, sometimes with another guy, sometimes not. He would catch her eye, and she would look away, but it was never fast enough. She could tell by his smug expression that he'd caught her staring.

She pulled out her phone and checked the time. She could go. She would just make the last bus if she left right now. No don't be daft Orla, she told herself. Just ignore him. You were having a fine time before you worked out who he was. And he doesn't recognize you. He's cute anyway, nothing wrong with a bit of a flirt, you'll probably never see him again.

*

He was waiting for her when she emerged from the ladies, leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor. She walked towards him; there was nowhere else to go. She stopped when he didn't move out of her way.

"Hello again," he said, an eyebrow cocked and that already familiar smile spreading across his face.

Resting a hand on her hip, he used his thumb to trace the line of her underwear through her dress. His casual intimacy shocked her, but not as much as the accompanying stab of desire. She wanted to step away, to slide past him and get back to her friends. And yet at the same time, she wanted to lean into him, press her mouth against his, sate the sudden curiosity that seemed to be rising up in her

She didn't do either of those things. She couldn't find the self-control she needed to walk away, but at least she held back from touching him. Instead she gazed into his face, rooted to the spot, biting her lip to distract herself from the traitorous feelings he invoked in her. She tried to make out the colour of his eyes. They were blue, she was certain of that, but they seemed unusually dark in the badly lit hallway. He was talking again. She blinked and shook her head.

"I'm going soon, but give me your number. I'll call you in the week and we can go for a drink."

When she frowned he added. "I promise you'll have a good time."

HERE

When she still didn't speak he removed his hand from her hip and lifted her chin with his finger, tilting her face further towards his. He stepped forward and bent so his mouth was close to hers and stilled. Their lips were almost touching, and a small, excruciating lifetime passed while she waited for him to close the gap.

She thought it would never happen. But then it did. She was about to burst with all the anticipation when he pressed his lips against hers. The world seemed to stop as her lips parted and delicious, smouldering flames unfurled and licked at her insides. A tiny voice in her head whispered 'tell this overbearing hulk to back off and get out of your way' but the rest of her wasn't listening. The rest of her was sighing like a contented cat.

His hands gripped her waist, and he pulled her against him

Orla's arms, which seemed to have developed a mind of their own, snaked up his chest and entwined themselves around his neck. She stopped herself just before she slid her fingers through his hair. Her head swam. She was enjoying his large, taut body pressed against hers, but she'd had too much to drink, everything felt too raw to embark on any kind of liaison. Seeming to sense her reluctance, he pulled back and watched her through lust-laden eyes.

To begin with his movements had been slow and considered. She'd known what would happen before it did. They didn't have to kiss, but she'd wanted to. She'd wanted to know what his lips felt like. She'd wanted to taste him, to let herself fall into this reckless attraction and forget about the real world for a moment.

"I need to see you again." She couldn't see his face. His voice was a growl against her neck.

"No way!" laughter bubbled up from inside her.

Releasing her, he frowned and took a step back and studied her as though she was a puzzle he didn't know how to solve. Orla clasped her hands behind her back, locking her fingers together so she wouldn't give into the urge to touch him again.

"I've remembered where I've seen you before," she told him, cocking her head to the side and grinning.

"Where?" He asked, his eyebrows knitting together as he searched her face.

He couldn't have taken her seriously when she'd mentioned it first. She threw her hand over her mouth to contain her nervous laughter. She felt both reckless and giddy at the same time. A giggle escaped. His face was a picture and seeing her opportunity, she laid a hand against his chest and pushed him back against the wall so she could slide past him.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She said over her shoulder.

*

He watched as she shimmied away from him and back to her friends for the second time that evening. Fuck, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly he was almost beyond reason. And she was attracted to him too, he was sure of it. But he'd made his intentions plain and it was obvious she wasn't interested. Or at least she wasn't interested enough. It was time to go home, call it a night, before he drank enough to turn into one of those persistent wankers with an overblown sense of entitlement.

He downed the last of his drink and threw his coat on. He was sure the barman was smirking at him.

*

The table was deserted when Orla returned, but there was a new round of drinks. She could tell which one was hers; it was the one that hadn't been touched. Grateful for the solitude to process what had just happened, she sank into a seat and waited for her breathing to settle. She was thirsty. She snuck a look at the bar. The passing frisson has turned into a full-blown attraction. She needed to watch it. Another vodka and tonic and she'd be over there giving him more than just her number.

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bykaraline© 5 comments/ 12356 views/ 13 favorites

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