Heather Falls in Love Pt. 08

'Don't you think their closeness is unhealthy?'

'Not really. They like threesomes. And there are plenty of guys and gals out there happy to oblige.'

A light bulb went on inside Heather's head. 'I think we should broaden their horizons,' she said. 'Why don't we have a barbie on Saturday? You can have another go at comforting Lauren. I'll have a go at Leigh.'

'A barbie!' Claire pretended to swoon. 'It's the middle of winter.'

'I've seen the weather forecast,' Heather countered. 'It's going to be twenty degrees at the weekend. Trust me, the barbies will be burning in Yorkshire this Saturday, and it won't be much hotter.'

'Hotter in Yorkshire!' Now Claire nearly did swoon. 'I can't be having that. You set it up with the twins; I'll get the steaks.'

*****

Heather had no problem persuading the twins to come along on Saturday. She simply told them they were having an "intimate barbecue" and that they should "bring a toothbrush". They assumed she was inviting them to a foursome and were all for it.

Claire was all for it too. And talk about curious! She tried every trick in the book to get Heather to tell her about the things Lauren liked to do. Heather resisted it all, even the merciless tickling. She wanted Claire to be as surprised as she'd been that first time.

The thermometer actually reached twenty-one while they were barbecuing, with Claire self-appointed chef and Heather self-appointed drinks supplier. Attire was, in true Aussie style, informal: tiny bikinis were worn and the four of them were barefoot on the lawn. And, as secretly planned in advance, the twins were gradually lured into separate conversations.

And then they were lured into separate bedrooms.

Well, maybe "lured" wasn't the right word. Heather had been getting off on the anticipation for days. The need to get on with actual action grew with every bite of burger. No way could she make it a slow, simmering seduction. As soon as the last of Claire's steaks had been eaten she made her move.

'Come on,' she said, taking Leigh's hand, 'I've something to show you.' Then, remembering the beach party: 'I'm sure you'll like it.'

Leigh looked puzzled but accompanied her to Claire's bedroom.

'What am I supposed to be looking at?' she asked.

'That lovely bed,' said Heather, removing her bikini top. 'And my throbbing nips.'

'But . . .' Leigh began.

'Don't you like my throbbing nips?'

'Yes, of course I do. But . . .'

Heather silenced her with a kiss. Leigh responded immediately and didn't object when eager fingers unfastened her top. She didn't object when her bottoms came off either. And she positively beamed when Heather's bottoms followed suit.

Determined to do this right, Heather picked her up and carried her across the bedroom. Then she had her against the wall, just like she'd had Lauren, not sparing the horses. Leigh, like her sister before her, was helpless to resist. And, like her sister before her, she didn't want to resist. Locking her mouth with Heather's she simply took it.

And took it and took it.

Earlier, in anticipation mode, Heather had mused about Leigh. If Lauren was the passive one, would she be the opposite? Or would she be something different altogether? That musing had been fun but not as much fun as finding out for real.

Heart pounding, she led Leigh to the bed and went down on her. When she showed no inclination to take over she had a long, leisurely go at her boobs then belowed her again, and then they sixty-nined for maybe an hour.

The whole experience was weirdly familiar. It was like shagging a carbon copy of Lauren. Everything Leigh did was the same. Every moan and groan. She even used the same wriggles and writhes as she was being licked and nibbled. For a moment Heather wondered if she was shagging the wrong twin.

But no, there were tiny differences. Some of the freckles on Lauren's nose formed different patterns to Leigh's. And Leigh had a mole between her pubis and belly button; Lauren did not.

It was nice shagging her, though. The fact she was familiar yet different added an edge too. So did the knowledge she was Leigh's first lone woman. In a way Leigh was giving away her virginity. And wasn't she giving it gladly!

Smiling inside, Heather switched into hurricane mode.

This calls for a good seeing-to, she thought. It's what we both want.

*****

Dusk was falling. Snuggled side by side, Heather and Leigh listened to the sex sounds coming from the spare bedroom. Lauren was getting a seeing-to of her own, and a very good one at that.

'Oh, oh, oh!' she cried. 'Yes, yes, yes!'

'Claire's fucking her with a strap-on,' Leigh said. 'It's black and longer than Martin's donger. It's a lot thicker as well.'

Something in her voice made Heather turn her head. Leigh's face was dreamy; her eyes seemed far, far away.

'Lauren's liking it very much,' she went on. 'She's cumming again. Here goes.'

Sure enough, Lauren cried out again.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck! Yes, yes, yes.'

'And again,' said Leigh.

This time Lauren's words were unintelligible. She made sounds like war whoops crossed with howls.

A thrill ran down Heather's spine. 'Leigh,' she said casually, 'has Claire used her strap-on on you?'

'No,' she replied, 'I didn't know she had one until just now. Listen . . . here comes another.'

More whoops and howls resounded.

'Leigh, if you didn't know, how can you describe it so accurately?'

'I can see it going in and out of Lauren's pussy, can't you?' Now Leigh turned her head and returned Heather's stare. 'It looks great. And Lauren's not just liking it, she's loving it. I wish someone would fuck me with a big black dildo.'

The girl's eyes weren't far away anymore; they were soft and pleading. And the howling coming from the spare room wasn't abating. Dismissing Leigh's second sight as another "twin thing", Heather rose to the challenge.

'I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you,' she said. 'Mine's big and blue.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

(July 2004)

Heather stared at Ingrid in disbelief. It was Thursday morning, just over a fortnight before the wedding and two days before the buck's night.

'Run that by me again.'

'I want you to be my secret agent on Saturday. I want you to use every means at your disposal to keep Bradley out of trouble.'

Heather chewed that one over a while. Ingrid hadn't quite put it like that a moment ago, had she? She had made it sound as if . . .

Well, as if she wanted the father of the bride to shag the groom.

In the labyrinths of her mind Heather was "off men" and had been since she caught Rod hard at it with Spyros. She hadn't told anybody, however, because she was still protecting Rod's reputation here in Albany (although God only knew why). Abruptly ditching dongers would blow that. Claire already had doubts about the alleged storm in a teacup. Given any sort of clue she'd put two and two together in no time.

And, of course, there had been Greg and Trent . . .

'These buck's nights can be pretty wild,' Ingrid went on. 'They can with Bradley's friends, anyhow. I've heard all sorts of horror stories.'

'Like being handcuffed naked to a lamppost,' Heather said. 'Or put in the guard's van of a train. Those things are part of the tradition. They aren't really horror stories, are they? And it's two weeks before your big day. It's not as if he's not going to turn up at the altar.'

'I wouldn't be so sure. We don't have trains here anymore but there's still the port. One poor sod woke up and found himself on a slow boat to China.'

'Did he get back in time?'

'No. And I don't want that happening to Bradley. More to the point, I don't want something even worse happening to Bradley. They try to outdo each other, you see.'

'All right,' Heather sighed, 'I'll do it. I'll behave like I really am the father of the bride. I'll keep sober and make sure he gets safely to Brett's.'

'"Brett" and "safely" aren't compatible words. He'll probably have hookers or lap dancers waiting there for them. If he hasn't already got Bradley laid along the crawl, that is. Honestly, Heather, I'm dreading frigging Saturday night. They have this unwritten law that says the prospective groom has to score at least once; otherwise he can't ever hold his head up again. Imagine that? Two pokes and a squirt else you're a pariah.'

'That's the bit I wanted to hear again. The bit about making sure he scored safely.'

'Well,' said Ingrid, 'you were told to bring a double supply of condoms.'

*****

For obvious reasons, Heather had never been on an English stag night or an Aussie buck's night. In fact she'd never even fantasized about being the only girl out with twenty men. The old Heather would have behaved badly, she feared. She might even have shagged all of them. But not the new Heather; the new Heather was saving all her shagging for the hen night next weekend.

Hopefully.

They kicked off in a large, city centre pub and, orchestrated by Brett in his best man capacity, agreed a "two bar strategy". Put simply, a lot of places didn't like twenty bucks turning up all at once. So they split into smaller groups in-between the bars that did welcome a mob of boozers.

'Don't forget, the first to score gets to wear the shagger's hat,' he concluded. 'And sorry Heather, that doesn't include you. You could score with your eyes shut.'

'I often do,' she said, not to be outdone.

Heather made sure she was in Bradley's group and, unlike everyone else, limited her intake. That was surprisingly hard because everyone wanted to buy her a drink. Or drinks. Jez was particularly persistent. He also noticed how close she was keeping to the groom.

'It's Brad's last night of freedom,' he said, drawing her briefly aside. 'And what happens on the buck's night stays on the buck's night. Give him a bit of rein, can't you?'

'This stays on the buck's night, Jez, right?' Heather kept her voice low, making sure she wasn't being overheard, 'Brad's definitely going to score tonight, without fail. But it's not going to be with a teenage floozy. Get my drift?'

Jez whistled softly. 'Lucky Brad.' Then, grinning, 'Do I have to get married to be so lucky?'

'You do tonight.' Heather returned his grin. Maybe it was all the masculine company, but she suddenly forgot all about being "off men".

'Do you still have Tuesday afternoons off?' she asked.

'I do.'

'Two o'clock at yours?'

It was as simple as that. Jez stopped encouraging Bradley to get laid and, although a few females still showed interest in him, Heather fended them off with glares.

By midnight the small groups had got even smaller. At first guys had gone missing for a while but later reappeared, as if by magic. By the witching hour the disappearances were more lasting. Heather may have been a novice as far as buck's nights were concerned, but she recognized the symptoms. Those earlier absences denoted quickies in alleyways; by now they denoted one-nighters.

After her, Bradley was probably the most sober of the survivors. He'd also put up with her being on guard duty. But she didn't know what Ingrid had told him in advance. As far as she was aware he may think she was being protective off her own bat. At least he hadn't complained. Not until they were here in the nightclub and he wanted a pee.

'It's my last night of freedom,' he said as she followed him towards the toilets. 'Can't you cut me any slack at all?'

'No,' she replied. 'If you get shipped off to Shanghai it's me who'll be for the high jump.'

Then, acting on impulse, she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the ladies' rest room. There were three or four young women fixing their makeup in front of mirrors. Apart from one wolf whistle nobody seemed surprised by the intrusion.

Two seconds later they were bolted in inside a cubicle.

And perhaps ten seconds after that he was bolted inside her.

*****

Sunday morning. They had been awake thirty minutes and she'd been riding Bradley for twenty-nine. He'd performed well during the night and was certainly keeping his end up by daylight. Heather could tell he was nearing a conclusion, though; she was familiar with all the unmistakeable signs.

'Come on,' she urged, 'cum for me.'

He did, and it was worlds better than two pokes and a squirt. Heather climbed off him and laughed as a gush of juice and spunk splashed onto his flat belly.

'Honour is satisfied,' she said.

'I don't know if I should have done that,' said he, a little shamefaced.

'What do you mean? You shouldn't have let me have my way with you?'

'I'm sober now,' he said, 'and it's not my buck's night anymore.' Then, getting increasingly manic, 'And I shouldn't have slept with you in the first place. You're Ingrid's best friend, for Christ's sake.'

'Don't worry about it. Ingrid knew how the night was going to end.'

'Did she?'

'Yes, I was under orders to protect you from floozies. And hookers and lap dancers too. She frowned. 'Do you have hookers in Albany?'

Bradley still looked remorseful. 'There's a few down the rugby club,' he muttered, 'otherwise I'm not sure.'

'It's the oldest profession and this is an old city, so I suppose there must be some.' Heather chuckled. 'Relax, Brad, I really was acting on orders. Just make out we used condoms and Ingrid won't mind at all.'

'We didn't use condoms.'

'I don't like them. Well, I like putting them on a guy, but I don't like anything else about them.'

'Are you . . . er . . .'

'Yes Bradley, I've been on the pill for years. I'm also STD-free, unlike the floozies Ingrid expected you to shag. So sing off my song sheet and everyone will be happy.'

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

(July 2004)

Rachael arrived on the next Wednesday. Heather very willingly made up a reception committee with Ingrid. And they both gasped when their friend came through Arrivals.

They had expected a petite punk with spiky blue hair, tattoos and a ton of facial jewellery. What they got looked like an updated version. Okay, she was wearing the trademark ripped jeans and Pistols T-shirt, but her hair was bright green. And there wasn't a piercing to be seen!

'Inga,' she yelled, abandoning her cases. 'Hev!' She ran at them and launched herself through the air.

Heather deftly caught her (saving her from a hard landing) and swung her around before hugging and kissing her. 'Look at you,' she said, grounding her and holding her a second at arms' length, 'amazing hair colour.'

Ingrid bagged a few hugs and kisses. 'What happened to all your piercings?'

Rachael turned up her pretty little nose. 'I did jury service and set off all the metal detectors. Someone told me the detectors at airports are ten times stricter. So I brought it all in my case. And what are you smirking at, Hunter?'

'The look on their faces when they scanned your luggage.'

'They'll have been more interested in the vibrators than a few rings.' Then, after recovering her things, 'Is there anywhere we can eat. I'm starving.'

'I take it you're not jetlagged.'

'No, I was asleep most of the time. Trouble is my body thinks it's seven in the morning.'

'It's three in the afternoon,' said Ingrid, 'but I know just the place.'

*****

Ingrid drove them the few miles back into Albany and stopped at Heather's favourite boozer.

'They do an all-day breakfast,' she explained. 'That should work for your body, whatever time it is.'

Heather drank Swan and Ingrid sipped orange juice while Rachael regaled them with tales from uni.

'Angie's back,' she said, as if suddenly remembering, jabbing a laden fork in Heather's direction. 'At least she will be in September. I saw her in the Union Bar. She'd come to sign up for her MA.'

Heather's eyes filled with tears. Stabs of homesickness were becoming ever more common lately, but this was a big one. Angie was a couple of years older than her. To look at she was a scary skinhead with very hairy armpits, but in bed she tribbed like an angel.

And the Union Bar! The best boozing place on earth. It was a good job Rache hadn't said she'd been drinking Marston's; if she'd added that she really would have wept.

'How's your MA going?' Ingrid asked, seemingly immune to sentiment.

'I managed to drag it out,' said Rachael, grinning mischievously. 'Officially I'm waiting for the results. As it is I know I've sailed through.'

'So what's next? A PhD?'

'It certainly is, assuming I can fit it in with my lecturing and TV appearances.'

'Lecturing?' echoed Ingrid.

'TV appearances,' echoed Heather.

'I've been lecturing for ages now,' Rachael said smugly. 'That's how I dragged out my MA. The TV work is more recent.'

Heather and Ingrid exchanged glances.

'We won Society of the Year,' the punky girl enlarged.

'You win that every year,' said Heather. 'What's changed?'

'We win the university award every year. In fact we've won five years on the trot. But the year you left, we won the UK University Society of the Year award. That didn't stir up a lot of interest, but it qualified us for the European University Society of the Year. And, when we won, I had to make an acceptance speech in Zurich.'

She laughed. 'There were cameras and interpreters everywhere. I hadn't expected such a big deal. I'd brought along my flagship speech, though. The one that starts with me saying that my Girls' Society doesn't just further the interests of lesbians, it looks after the interests of every discriminated-against female on the planet.'

'I know the one,' said Heather. 'Then you bang your fist on the lectern and shout, "And by that I mean every female on the planet!"'

'That's right. And it went down a storm. I got a standing ovation. Then someone from Dutch TV asked me for an interview. Next thing I knew I was live on their version of Look North West. Well, I thought that that was it. I'd had my fifteen minutes of fame, thank you very much Andy Warhol.'

'But?' prompted Ingrid.

'But when I got back to uni there was a cheque for two thousand euros waiting for me. I'd been glad of the free publicity and they wanted to pay me! Then I started getting tons of emails offering me all sorts if I'd appear. I've done German TV, French, Spanish . . . lots of places. I've even done Latvian. I'm still waiting to do Italian, but I must have done everywhere else. And most of the ones I have done want to see more.'

'You've been to all those countries?'

'I wish! I've done a few, but most of them use studios in Manchester.'

'And they pay you for it?'

'Most of them do. Sky is the most generous. The BBC is stingier, but they always settle up. They're nearly as prompt as the Dutch.'

'What are you doing with all the money?' asked Heather.

'It goes in the society's account. But the members have insisted I use some of it, because they seem to want me to stick around. So I've cleared my student debts and paid for this jaunt out here. After this I'm only going to let them pay me for my food and rent. Does that seem fair to you?'

'It certainly does.' Heather held out her clenched fist. 'Solidarity sister!'

Rache bumped knuckles. 'Solidarity sister.' Then, slapping Ingrid's outstretched palm, 'Here's looking at you, Inga.'

'You were always a lucky cow,' said Ingrid, 'but this caps it all. Respect.'

*****

Ingrid started the watch-checking around five o'clock. 'I have to be home for Bradley at six,' she said in explanation. 'But don't let me tear you away, Rache. I'll take your bags and you can join us when you're ready.'

'I couldn't be wider awake,' Rachael admitted. 'But I don't know where you live.'

'I do,' said Heather. 'I'll walk you there. It's not far; not by Australian standards, anyway.'

'Don't you have to be back for Claire?' asked Ingrid.

'She's not as clingy as Brad. I'll ring her and make my excuses.'

'Claire?' said Rachael as soon as Ingrid was gone. 'Who's Claire when she's at home?'