Guess Who Just Got Ditched Today

'I had you down as sporty. Shame I can't buy you dinner.'

'Shame about your wife,' I said. 'And shame I'm not your type.'

'I wouldn't say that.'

'You would if you met my live-in girlfriend.'

He nodded and muttered something about Auntie Cathy. "She never married," I deciphered, "perhaps that's why she headed south."

"South" down in those parts meant anywhere below Exeter, so I disregarded his words. And, following his directions, I left Maxine 2 in a tiny parking space outside a simply scrumptious building that looked to be hundreds of years old.

Talking about simply scrumptious, the young blonde on Reception was beyond compare. My old pal Fervent wanted to do the ripping off clothes and fucking all night routine on sight.

So too did the rest of my secret buddies: even my little white angel clasped her hands and said oh me oh my, yes, yes please.

'Excuse me,' I began, 'I'm looking for Cathy.'

'Found her in one,' the blonde vision said with a dazzling smile and a lovely Scottish accent.

To say I was gobsmacked would be an understatement. Andrew looked to be mid-to-late thirties. I'd assumed his aunt would be mid-fifties. But this drop-dead babe wasn't out of her twenties.

Was she?

'Andrew is the same age as me,' she said, reading my mind. 'I'm the youngest of five. And I came as a late surprise. I am actually older than my nephew, but only by three months.'

'You've aged better than him,' my mouth said dumbly.

'Thank you,' said Cathy, laughing. 'I'll be turning forty next month and I feel like I'm seventy. But that's the cross we all have to bear one day, isn't it?'

By then I was entranced by her voice and doing my best not to ogle her breasts. I have a thing about Scottish accents that's nearly as big as my thing about tits. To witness both at once made me go very mushy inside.

No, it made me gush in appreciation.

'Your room is on the top floor, next to mine,' she said, handing me the key. Then, smiling widely, she told me she'd hear if I tried sneaking in some young man I'd met in a pub.

'I don't do young men,' I replied. 'And I'm not going out on the town. I intend to freshen up then spend the evening in that lovely little bar I see behind you.'

Chapter Six

What I actually did was scale the Everest-like stairs, shower and change into my off-duty clothing. In other words I swapped my Widget Company sweatshirt and sensible work trousers for a white T and loose-fitting blue jeans. Then I went down for an early dinner.

Cathy was supervising the dining room. In fact she was supervising everything. She had a waitress to bring out the meals and a chef in the kitchen to prepare them. And she played the hostess as if she'd been born into the role. Chatting and joking, knowing when to linger and when to withdraw, she was a natural. And all the while she was manning reception and running that dinky little bar or hers.

For all I know she was doing a dozen other jobs as well. All I am sure of is that she looked good and sounded even better. I doubted there was a more perfect people-person anywhere on earth.

Fed and watered, I at last retired to the bar. Cathy instantly appeared behind it, a beautiful genie out of an invisible bottle. And Logical Dave surprised both of us by ordering coffee.

'I have a long drive ahead of me tomorrow,' she explained aloud. 'I'd best start off slow.'

At that moment we were alone in the bar. A handful of diners were still in the dining room while other guests were no doubt out, sampling the delights of Torbay.

Cathy smiled at me. 'You really aren't going to go out on the town, are you?'

'Not tonight. Usually I can drink like a fish but I want to be home for the weekend.' I hesitated before adding: 'My girlfriend is missing me.'

Her smile was all-knowing. 'There's no danger of me finding any young men in your room, then.'

'Correct; I don't do men, young or old. There's absolutely no danger.'

'Welcome to the sisterhood.' Cathy offered up her knuckles as she spoke.

I laughed. 'I've been in the sisterhood for years and years,' I exaggerated, bumping knuckles all the same.

Then I staggered back at the shock that instantly passed between us.

'Omigod,' I gasped. 'That's never happened before.'

'Static,' said Cathy, although her appearance was, to say the least, ruffled. 'Goodness me girl, you're crackling with electricity.'

'It takes one to know one,' I responded.

Then we were cackling like witches . . . the sort of witches who've known each other since God was a lad.

*****

I spent most of the evening in that cosy little bar (Cathy called it her "snug") and avoided alcohol for at least two hours, overindulging in newspapers instead. Cathy's B&B had every daily possible, ranging from outrageously headlined tabloid red-tops right up to The Times, between them covering just every political viewpoint imaginable.

There were also local papers, giving surprisingly touching insight into the plight of the fishing industry and the woes of Torquay United.

I tried a follow-up call to Kat around nine o'clock. When I'd called her earlier, hands-free on the M5, I'd asked if she'd be working all night again. She had said she would and not to worry; we could catch up with each other later. At the time she'd sounded distracted. I'd supposed she was still fault-fixing and keen to be finished altogether and off on her travels.

Yet again her personal phone didn't seem to exist. I considered calling her work landline and decided to give it a miss. Way I saw it, if her personal was off she was still hard at it programming. Interrupting that would only annoy her.

'Catch up later,' I muttered to myself, 'that's the ticket.'

Next time I went to the bar I ordered a large pinot. Cathy (doing her miraculous appearance trick yet again) held out her clenched fist. I obligingly bumped it. This time the spark was not nearly as strong, but it was still there.

And this time I noticed her ring-free third finger, left hand.

What had Andrew said about his aunt never marrying?

'Where exactly in Scotland are you from?' I asked, all innocent. 'It can't be Aberdeen because I've got a girlfriend there, and she sounds different.'

'Would that be your number one girl?'

'No, sadly she's not. She's probably number two. But we've known each other a long time. We have a very strong connection. Whenever I want to hide away from the world I go to see her.'

'Aberdeen's a good place for a hideaway.'

'One of the very best,' I agreed.

'I'm from the Highlands,' Cathy said. 'When I was a girl some of my elderly neighbours couldn't speak English, or at least they pretended they couldn't.'

'You accent is sexy as heck,' I assured her, 'and your command of English is perfect.'

'Hey,' she said, 'don't go mistaking me for one of those Sassenach so-and-sos from Edinburgh!'

I laughed with her, even though I didn't quite understand her joke.

Then a thought occurred. 'Why does your nephew sound West County born and bred?'

'My big sis married a tourist.' Cathy laughed. 'All this wonderful scenery down here and a local came to the Highlands of Scotland on holiday! He took Jules back home with him too, and got her with child in no time. Andrew was born down here. He supports Scotland at football and Cornwall at rugby.'

'Paignton isn't in Cornwall.'

'He's always been a rebel. I suspect he does it to annoy the locals.'

*****

Faced with a marathon slog up the motorway system, I had intended to have two large whites and go to bed. But, seeing as that dinky little bar was mostly unoccupied and Cathy wanted to chat, I had five medium-sized ones . . . and yes, I know that's over a bottle. But I was a fit and healthy young woman; I could handle my drink.

And I could handle Cathy's chat forever. The only issue as the vino went down was in me keeping my greedy eyes off her tits.

(Problem was . . . unnoticed at the time . . . my super-sized nips were prancing and parading inside of my not-so-tight-fitting T; more about that shortly.)

There was a minor bar rush around ten thirty with maybe a dozen new arrivals descending all at once.

'Parents with kids already in bed,' Cathy told me knowingly. 'They'll have one or two and then retire to do what holidaymakers do.'

'Lucky them,' said I, smiling at a young mother whose figure had returned without any problem at all.

'I'll be closed in an hour,' Cathy went on. 'I know my clientele. Half eleven and I'll be tucked up with a hot chocolate, ready to do it all again tomorrow.'

I fancied another drink but, not wanting to go too far into my second bottle, I said I'd go tuck myself up right then, and that I looked forward to seeing her at breakfast (included in Andrew's special deal for a special workmate like me).

Perhaps needless to report, I stripped naked and frigged myself in bed, using the image of Sinead on my phone but also visualizing Cathy's voluptuous body . . . and not least her tits.

You all already know I shamelessly masturbate. I think we humans all do, male and female. And while I think appetites vary, I sincerely believe there is nothing wrong with the practice. It's a release of a lot of sexual tension. Let's face it, what's the alternative . . . rape or subjugation?

At the risk of sounding nerdy, I cleverly drew out that first orgasm for eons. And trust me; it was as big a spine-cruncher as ever. I might even have yelled out loud.

Maybe as long as ten minutes after starting to cum I realized someone was rapping softly on my door.

Surely not here, I thought, picturing ladies of the night.

And surely I hadn't the energy left to go answer.

Somehow I managed to gasp out, 'Hello?'

Chapter Seven

Almost immediately Cathy came into my room, still wearing her super-efficient work togs, still looking like a million dollars.

'I saw the light under your door,' she said by way of introduction, 'so I brought you a hot chocolate to help you drift off.'

Conscious she must have heard me climaxing like Bonnie Rotten at her finest, I said nix.

'Oh my word,' she said, audibly inhaling as she deposited a mug on the bedside cabinet. 'Oh me and oh my,' she went on.

Frowning, I eventually realized she was staring at my nipples, which were prancing and parading yet again. The bedsheets had drifted downwards, no doubt thanks to my wriggling and writhing. I made to cover my decency but Cathy was there ahead of me.

'Never conceal true beauty,' she said, perching on the edge of my bed and staying my hand.

'But . . .' I gulped.

'But nothing; leave the sheets where they are and forget the hot chocolate.'

'Don't say Errol Brown's dropping by,' I said in a final . . . futile . . . attempt at laughing her off.

'I've been admiring these all evening,' she said softly. 'But not as much as I'm admiring them now.'

By then I'd stopped trying to hide myself and she had fingers on each nipple. And wasn't she skilled! Somehow she varied her attentions without ever once stopping. It felt as though she was stimulating one nipple at a time, switching and changing; in reality she was stimulating both of them but to slightly different degrees.

Trust me; the sexual super-highway leading to my pussy was overloaded. I classed myself as expert in bringing me off. Cathy wasn't merely better, she was infinitely superior.

Maybe fifteen minutes after starting on my nips one hand slowly slid south.

'No,' I whimpered, 'I'm with someone else.'

That soft Scottish burr came into my ear. 'You're with me, now, baby, just say yes.'

A hot sliver of tongue followed those words into my ear. Three of my invisible sidekicks immediately locked Logical away again, this time in the red devil's deepest dungeon.

I was defenceless . . . and happy to be defenceless.

'Yes,' I complied.

Did I imply Cathy's fingers were great on nips? Believe you me; they were spectacular on all of me.

She was staring into my eyes, one hand now flitting from nipple to nipple, the other edging under the covers, teasing and tormenting me as it went. Finally (and at last!) it landed on my bush.

'Oh my,' she murmured, 'au naturelle! All my Christmases have come at once!'

Incredibly deft, her fingers found my clitoris and started to massage it. I stared back into her eyes and felt myself soaring on high. In no time at all my spine was arching again and I was biting my wrist so I wouldn't scream the house down.

And did she leave it at that? No, did she heckers like. Both hands still working my nipples and clit, she somehow held me right up there in mid-orgasm. And then, scarily (incredibly) she took me higher and higher until I actually began to fear the next climax.

Not that I didn't relish every second of God knows how long it all lasted. And God knows what sort of structural damage I did to my vertebrae and ulna.

Later, much later, after I ultimately stopped convulsing, Cathy got off of the bed.

Totally breathless, my lungs airless and begging for oxygen, I watched her unfasten her skirt and let it fall away.

'Say yes again,' she said, standing before me in little more than panties and blouse.

Somewhere, in the depths of what little sanity remained, I could hear Logical banging on steel bars.

Let me out, she yelled. You need to listen to the voice of reason.

Do you fuck, Fervent countered.

Get the hell out, the red devil added.

And, sealing the deal, the little white angel advised her to go away.

Sensible consultation or not, Logical kept on banging. But switching her off altogether was easy.

'Yes,' I said aloud, if somewhat hesitantly.

Cathy responded by unbuttoning her blouse and tossing it carelessly aside.

'Yes, yes,' I said, seeing her tits restrained in a sexy white bra, bursting to be free.

Then, as she unhooked herself and let loose, I practically wailed.

'Yes, yes, oh please, pretty please, yes, yes, yes!'

Naked, commanding, beautiful and there, right with me, Cathy took a hold of my (by then almost non-existent) bedcovers, pulling them off me and tossing them aside as carelessly as she'd discarded her bra.

'Time to dine,' she burred, grinning at me.

Still breathless and defenceless, I said what any girl with half a brain would have said.

'Take me. I'm yours.'

And omigod wasn't she brilliant! Starting off kissing my mouth she licked, nibbled and nuzzled all of me, taking ages and ages and especially feasting on my nipples, but not forever. And this time I got more than her hand sliding down me; I got all of her body sliding down me.

Yes, yes, yes!

In the spirit of complicity I raised my right leg while she attended to my chest, silently offering her the services of my thigh. In a similar spirit, she rubbed herself off on it whilst making me cum . . . twice.

Then she continued her southward slide and suddenly her tongue was on my clitoris.

Heaven!

Her fingers had felt good there but her organ of taste was ten times better.

And talking about fingers . . .

Out of nowhere she pushed two digits deep inside me, her tongue still working away at my clit.

Trust me; I came like an endless string of firecrackers.

Not that that stopped her. As soon as I finished she switched, her fingers and tongue swapping roles. And I have to admit it was an improvement on perfection. Her fingers already knew my clit's favourite rhythms and her tongue quickly discovered all my vagina's likes and dislikes.

(As if it has any dislikes . . .)

Three zillion climaxes later, Cathy slid back up me, kissing and licking and letting her tits send me an urgent message . . . except I was untypically spent.

Or so I thought until she rubbed noses and told me it was my turn to "have fun".

From somewhere I found the strength to push her off me, onto her back.

'Come on girl,' she invited, 'now you take me. This time I'm to one who is yours.'

So I did . . . and not just the once.

Chapter Eight

My one, solitary complaint about having sex with Cathy was that it didn't last nearly long enough. Sex with the likes of Alice tended to run somewhere between fifteen and sixteen hours. Cathy had a B&B to run and needed to be up to "sort out chef and breakfasts" by six thirty at the latest. So we were at it a mere seven hours and no longer.

Thank the Lord neither of us felt the need to drop off!

Breakfast was, I must admit, a little tentative. Cathy was doing her people-person thing again, talking to folk who wanted to talk, smiling and leaving those who wanted to read the Daily Mail in peace and quiet.

Me? I respected Cathy for the things we had done together . . . all the marvellous things we had done together . . . but I accepted we'd gone beyond the pale. She'd said as much before leaving me, saying she'd been "unprofessional" and her behaviour had been "inexplicable."

I'd responded by saying she'd been the most welcoming hostess in the history of womankind and that her behaviour had been very moreish.

She was, however, distinctly regretful.

Or so I believed until I checked out. Just me and she at Reception and she clasped my hand, told me there wasn't a bill and that last night had been "magnificent".

I told her I needed to pay on my Widget Company credit card, to "keep up appearances", then agreed about last night.

'We have loads of branches in the West Country,' I said, 'and I'm staying here from now on every time I'm anywhere near. We've got Exeter and Plymouth, Poole, Camborne and . . . and lots of others.'

'Camborne's miles away.'

'Ask me if I'm bothered. I'll still stay here.'

'Next time you're not paying.'

'Okay then, next time we're sleeping in your bed. Have we a deal?'

We rapped knuckles again and said "deal" as one.

*****

Sorting out the branch's IT issue was a piece of cake. Sadly, my replacement part wasn't waiting for me when I got there, but it arrived within the next twenty minutes (thanks again to good old Sinead). And, while Andrew smooth-talked his early customers and drowned them in coffee, I quickly whipped it in, tested and called it good.

'Your aunt is red hot,' I told him on leaving.

He grinned at me. 'She just called and said much the same about you. I won't ask for intimate details.'

The three hundred and odd motorway miles north did actually fly by. It was a dreaded Friday but I set off early, before all the rush hours, and Maxine 2 pulled into Head Office's main car park around three in the afternoon.

Patting my Mini on her bonnet, secretly thanking her for being a "good girl", I headed for the entrance to the IT department.

And I winced. Being no-smoking indoors, the area outside the entranceway had become a Mecca for tobacco addicts. It wasn't easy to enter without getting a lungful of finest Virginia. And it wasn't easy to enter without seeing Mary.

As well as being cigarette companies' best customer, Mary ran the Widget Company's very efficient rumour mill. I don't know if it's a "smoking thing" but she always knew everything about everyone. In fact she seemed to know secrets before her hapless victims knew it themselves.

'Well hello,' she said, dragging on her ciggie in a way Bob Marley would have been proud of, 'the girl with the most generous disposition in the world.'

Clueless, I nodded, smiled and did my best to ignore her.

Mary let me walk on a step or two before adding: 'Twice in less than a week. How understanding is that!'

Against my better judgment (and with Logical Dave still caged), I stopped and turned.

'Twice doing what, exactly?' I enquired.

Mary's eyes glinted even as she theatrically slapped a hand to her mouth (don't worry; it was not the one holding her precious fag). 'Dearie me,' she gushed, 'I do hope I haven't put my foot in it.'

'Drop the bullshit,' I snarled. 'Twice doing fucking what?'

'Kat and Craig,' Mary smirked.

'What?'