Heather's Busy Week Pt. 01

'How old is he?' she wondered.

'He's twenty-five, doing incredibly important research at the University of Leeds. I'll let him tell you about that. It's scientific stuff that goes straight over my head.'

'You never told me he was twenty-five.'

'Loads of students are twenty-five. There are plenty who are thirty-five as well. Surely you've known a few mature students.'

Carrie was at it again. She said "known" with the same distaste she'd put into "lesbian". There was no future in protesting, however, because she was right. Heather had had mature student phases. Twenty-five-year-olds were youthful compared to some. And she'd committed to this. There was no honourable way of backing out.

'Okay,' she said. 'Can you do the introductions?'

*****

Carrie didn't linger over that particular hostessing duty. 'Heather meet Ross,' she said. 'Ross this is Heather. 'Get you free drinks at the bar while the going's good.' Then she was gone. So too, disturbingly, was Ross's audience. The small cluster dispersed the second Carrie opened her mouth.

'Heather,' Ross began, 'I've heard so much about you.'

'All bad I hope,' she replied, smiling at him friskily.

She shouldn't have bothered because he wasn't listening. 'I understand you're a star,' he said. 'First-class honours guaranteed, finals only needed to demonstrate your magnificence. Even if you don't show up for the exams, you'll almost certainly top your class.'

Heather cringed. What he was saying was true but embarrassing. Where had he got it from? And what else did he know about her?

'Enough about me,' she said. 'Tell me about you.'

Too late, he already was. For the next ten minutes or so Heather just stood there, a substitute audience of one, not willing to make comments that wouldn't be heeded. To begin with, stung as she was by his rudeness, she tried to follow his words. That wasn't easy because he leapt from topic to topic with lightning speed. She supposed that might be a sign of genius. Or, she also supposed, it might by a sign of ignorance and lunacy.

As Carrie had said, Ross was heavily involved in scientific research. His lightning leaps made it difficult to know what type of research, exactly. He went from stealth technology to splitting the atom in two seconds flat. Then he seemed to be restructuring DNA and curing cancer. He had, of course, topped his degree class, sailed through his masters and quite recently got his PhD. He was so well regarded that further research funding wasn't an issue. Budget-wise, he could write his own, and the labs were his to use in perpetuity. Not that he was all work and no play. He was an ace sportsman, exceptionally good at everything but a great specialist in basketball, and even better at cricket. In fact he'd had trials for Yorkshire on many occasions.

At that point Heather switched off. She could, with reservations, believe him about basketball, but cricket! If this beanpole stepped out at Headingley the prevailing wind would blow him all the way to the North Sea.

Still reluctantly committed to her date, she assessed Ross as a man. He really was painfully thin. Despite his exaggerated height he couldn't weight as much as she did. His apologetically hanging suit was expensively cut (except to fit someone else, not the man himself), but it was badly crumpled, as if it had been recently slept in, possibly under a hedge. Smell-wise he was passable. A lot of students and lecturers had BO and/or bad breath, but not him. Ross smelt of Lynx and Colgate. He had good teeth too, even if he did seem to have an awful lot of them. Trying to be positive, she had once shagged a bloke of similar build. As well as having a long, thin body that bloke had had a very long, thin willy. And he'd known precisely how to use it. If Ross's was as long and thin . . .

'Forgive me,' he said suddenly, making her start. 'I haven't got you a drink.'

Heather just looked at him.

'I'm such a klutz,' he went on. 'What's your poison?'

'Shiraz,' she said cautiously.

'Wait here. I'll be right back.'

Wait here? Not likely. Heather stayed put until his back was turned then legged it towards the ladies', post haste.

Good grief, she thought as she peed, is that guy for real? Come to that, what's going on? Is Candid Camera out there somewhere? Or am I on You've Been Framed?

Heather's hands were shaking as she washed them. Suppressed rage? Maybe so. It certainly wasn't anticipation. She had never anticipated a new lover less. Her eyes moved to the mirror, expecting to see shock and disbelief. All she saw was the usual impeccable countenance. For some reason the sight brought more melancholy. Not that her appearance had anything to do with this fading phase of life. She'd always had flawless, naturally tanned skin. Mary Rose had speculated that one of her ancestors "must have had a touch of the tarbrush". Heather quite liked that idea and wished it were true. In reality she feared six generations of ancestors had had more than a touch of Yorkshire weather. Farmers all, they hadn't done days off and never sheltered from rain. Dad's skin was like brown leather, even in the depths of winter. Her own was softer, properly moisturised and never contaminated by foundation or any muck like that. And it was radiantly healthy. She didn't need makeup and rarely used it. Tonight, by her usual standards, she'd gone to town. Meaning she'd applied Red Hot Red lipstick and a smattering of Smoky Emerald eyeshadow. That was next to nothing for most girls, more than enough for her.

Roll on world tour. I'll shave and wash every day, and that'll be it.

She slowly opened the door back into the ballroom, making sure the coast was clear before leaving the toilets. Ross was easy to spot. Towering over everyone else, bearing two glasses, he was at the far end of the room, looking around, bemused. The idea of simply re-joining him was too much. Heather turned right instead. Sticking close to the wall, she headed for the bar. After two steps it occurred to her that, while a skimpy red dress was perfect for James Bond's latest girlfriend, it wasn't the best disguise for someone spying or trying to look inconspicuous. Aware people were already staring, she abandoned the wall and took a more direct route.

The scrum for free drinks was still ongoing. Using it as cover, she went to the far end of the bar and ordered a large Shiraz. Then on impulse, when the barmaid passed her an outsized glass, she ordered a gin and tonic.

I can't shag him totally sober, she told herself. And listening to him sober is too much like hard work.

Holding her discreet, sheltered position she raised the G&T to her lips, smiling when the fizz tickled her nose. She wasn't a big spirits drinker but did have a thing about gin. Whether with tonic or bitter lemon, gin had to be the most refreshing drink in the world. And it never made her maudlin. Perhaps it was that rebel in her, but gin always cheered her up.

'Same again?'

Heather glanced up into the disapproving face of the barmaid. Looking back at the bar top she realized she'd finished both drinks. Already.

'Just another G&T,' she replied, 'but make it a large one.'

Re-armed and not wanting to seem like a freeloader, she left the bar and set off on an anti-clockwise circuit of the ballroom. Her duty was obviously to re-join Ross, but she didn't feel any urgency to do that. The latest plan was to take her time about it, finishing her drink on the way. He'd have a Shiraz waiting for her; she'd thank him and suggest another couple of quick rounds might be in order. Maybe he wouldn't be such an asshole with alcohol inside him.

She had hardly begun her circuit when yet another hand landed on her shoulder. Fearing the worst she swung around.

'Alex! You scared the heck out of me!' Then, more or less calm again: 'Where's Rita?'

'She's showing the photographer out before powdering her nose.'

'He's done, has he?'

'Yes, and not before time. If I have to say "cheese" again I'll start making mouse noises. This is Gill, by the way.'

Heather took in Alex's companion. Perhaps five and a half feet tall, Gill had a stocky build and an intense expression. Her smile was even better than Rita's, though. It transformed her from almost ordinary into a great beauty. And it was Heather she was smiling at.

'Gill's a cricketer,' said Alex.

'That's two in less than half an hour.' Heather returned Gill's smile and wondered about Alex. He'd clearly been trying to chat the girl up, not realizing what she was. If he had any gaydar at all, it must be on the blink. 'The other one said he's recently had trials for Yorkshire ' she went on, still smiling into Gill's eyes 'Have you?'

'No I have not! I play for Lancashire and England.'

Heather had a closer look at Gill's face. 'You're a bowler, aren't you? I've seen you on TV.'

Gill was noticeably gratified. 'You're one of the few, then,' she gushed. 'Women's cricket gets hardly any exposure. I've only played in four televised matches. And they were just highlights, tucked away on BBC2.'

'We were talking about TV and women's sport,' Alex offered. 'The limited exposure miffs Gill. She says Wimbledon and the Olympics don't count.'

'Wimbledon and the Olympics come around once a blue moon,' Gill retorted. 'Men's sport is on TV all the time. I won't rest until we've significantly closed the gap.'

'Solidarity, sister.' Heather held out her clenched fist and Gill obligingly bumped it.

'I asked Alex to name ten male sports stars,' the cricketer said. 'He named twenty in less than a minute. Guess how many female stars he could name.'

'Two or three?'

'One. Anna Kournikova.'

'Typical man,' agreed Heather.

'I got Denise Lewis as well,' Alex protested, grinning as always.

'Even more typical. I wonder what made you notice her.'

'Ah,' a terribly familiar voice cut in, 'here you are!'

Heather surreptitiously ditched her empty gin glass and took the tiny wine glass Ross was thrusting at her. 'This is Alex, Carrie's brother.'

'Yes, yes, I know. We've met before.'

'And this,' said Heather, carrying on while the going was good, 'is Gill. Gill's an international sportswoman . . .'

'Sportswoman,' Ross sneered. 'That's a misnomer if ever I've heard one.'

And he was off again, launching into a diatribe Hitler would have been proud of. Beginning with physical comparisons, he seemed determined to prove that every female on the planet was worthless. He even said kitchens and bedrooms were more fitting arenas than sports stadiums.

By now Heather was used to Ross's bigoted nonsense. As soon as he started she grabbed Gill's hand, remembering that intense expression and suspecting she might react with quite justifiable violence. Gill accepted this, giving Heather an incredulous look before shaking her head and concentrating on the floor show. Alex was just as incredulous. His ever-present grin had been wiped. If he had met Ross before he'd clearly never seen him in full flow. Somehow stopping himself from gaping, he stood there and listened, his expression getting darker and darker.

Heather didn't waste the energy involved in listening. Not after the very first few sentences, anyway. Instead she resisted her own impulse to react violently. She could easily take Ross down. All it would need was a knee to the groin. That could be followed by a palm heel strike to the jaw as he doubled up. And a roundhouse kick to the head would finish the job off nicely.

Not that I'd really need to knee him in the groin. That'd be just for me!

Ross's diatribe ended abruptly. 'Comfort break!' he announced. 'Good to have met you, Gill. Happy twenty-first, Alex.' He took a step away before stopping in his tracks. 'I'll see you back here, Heather. Don't play hide and seek again.'

'Please,' said Gill, watching his long-legged march to the gents'. 'Please tell me he's not your boyfriend.'

'He's my blind date for tonight,' Heather confessed.

'No he's fucking not,' Alex snapped. 'I'm not letting you anywhere near him after that.'

'My hero.' Heather smiled at Gill. 'See, typical men aren't all bad.'

Gill beamed right back at her. 'Am I right in thinking there isn't a typical man in your life at the moment?'

'Yes, you are.'

'And am I right in assuming you've got a mobile?'

Grinning, Heather swapped numbers with the cricketer. 'One night next week?'

'Sounds good. We're mostly in nets just now, so I'm nearly always local. Let's make it sooner rather than later.'

'Is Monday soon enough?'

'It certainly is. Why don't you ring me tomorrow? We can plan in private.'

Alex was shaking his head in disbelief. 'I don't suppose I could tag along?'

'No,' the girls chorused.

Then, chuckling, Gill said, 'Look, I've got to go. I need an early night. And I don't want to hang around to say goodbye to Ross.'

'Can I call you a cab?' asked Alex.

'No thanks. My car's in the car park.'

'I'll walk you to it,' volunteered Heather. 'Alex can say goodbye to Ross for both of us.'

'Thanks a million,' said Alex. 'Mucho appreciated.'

Gill was driving a sporty white Golf GTI but didn't seem in a hurry to get into it. 'Monday night,' she said. 'When and where?'

'Seven o'clock in Ye Olde John of Gaunt. Do you know it?'

'I do and I'll be there. Now, do I get a goodnight kiss?'

'You'll get Red Hot Red on you.'

'Ask me if I'm bothered.'

That first kiss lasted ten minutes and did indeed transfer most of Heather's lipstick onto the cricketer's mouth. As kisses went it was very, very nice. So too was the mutual bum-groping.

'You're having a crap night, aren't you?' Gill was unlocking the car as she spoke.

'I was until just now. It seems to have picked up a bit.'

'Get in here.' Gill had opened the car door and tilted forward the passenger seat. 'I'll pick it up a bit more.'

Heather was too intrigued to even think about objecting. She got into the back and grabbed at Gill as she scrambled in after her. There was a lot more oomph in their kisses now. A heck of a lot more oomph. Heather wasn't in the least surprised when an intrepid hand landed on her bare leg. A moment later, when it started inching up and inside her dress, she was even less surprised. If her mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, she would have cheered.

Gill's kisses varied as she rubbed her hand against Heather's increasingly damp thong. She was patient, too. Instead of gamely going for a tongue duel, she went for a random selection of short, sweet pecks. Heather pecked back enthusiastically, moaning, groaning and sighing in all the right places. Not that she had to time it. Gill's hand movements were heavenly. She was refreshing the parts other lovers could not reach.

Nice, nice, nice!

Then, when Heather was seriously considering cumming like a volcano, Gill stopped.

'No,' Heather almost howled. 'Not now!'

'Want a little more?' Gill chuckled as she tugged aside Heather's thong and popped a finger into her fanny.

'God, yes!' Heather groaned as that solitary finger performed magic on her. Or rather, in her.

It got better still. Somehow, inside the confines of that tight little red dress, Gill could curl her other fingers. As her hand moved she was stimulating both Heather's favourite areas. It was quite obvious she'd done this sort of thing before. And the pleasure she brought was simply too much.

'Good grief, yes, yes, yes!' Heather cried.

'Okay,' Gill said, suddenly nose-to-nose and as intense as ever, 'cum for me.'

Heather obligingly let Vesuvius erupt. And yes, good grief yes, it was a big eruption, followed by a rapid sequence of aftershocks.

That's impressive, she thought a little later, when she finally started to recover. There aren't usually aftershocks with volcanos, I must have had earthquakes, too!

Gill was looking pleased with herself. 'Did that do the trick? Have I brightened your day?'

'You certainly have.' Heather grinned back at her. 'What can I do to brighten yours?'

'Come back to my place and let me fuck you properly.'

Serpent speak or what! 'I'm sorely tempted,' Heather admitted. 'But I have to clear the air with Carrie. You'll have to wait until Monday.'

Gill frowned. 'What's Carrie got to do with the price of tea in China?'

'She set up my blind date.'

'Ah,' said Gill understandingly, 'you're going to bash her in the eye, are you?'

'No, of course I'm not.' Heather paused. 'I should bash her, I suppose. She must have known what Ross is like, but I couldn't do that. Not to a fellow female. Not outside of fair competition. The thing is, I'm renowned for taking up challenges. I never back down from a dare. And I never break a promise. Those are my two cardinal virtues.'

'Do you have any cardinal sins?'

'Hundreds.' Heather's grin was wider than ever.

'Any wicked ones?'

'All of them.'

'And am I on a promise for Monday night?'

'You most certainly are.'

'What about Ross? Isn't he a dare?'

'That's not how Carrie sold him to me.' Heather could feel her grin fading. 'She said he was a hunk straight off Mount Olympus. If she'd told me what he's really like, I'd have laughed in her face.' Now Heather did laugh. 'In a way, I'm glad she fibbed. If she'd told the truth and dared me to shag him, I might have had to accept.'

'I follow that logic. I think.'

'Trust me Gill, Ross is toast. The tricky bit is persuading Carrie that I never committed to more than an hour or two in his company.'

They got out of the Golf and Gill helped smooth down the teeny-weeny red dress. 'Have I any wet patches?' Heather wondered.

'Come under this light and give me a twirl. Nope, no wet patches. Everything's shipshape and Bristol fashion. Bristols very much included.'

'Thank goodness for that. I feel very wet down under.'

'You are. But I caught a lot of your overflow with my hand. It tasted yummy.'

Heather raised an eyebrow. She'd missed that altogether. Her eruption must have been even more powerful than she'd thought. No wonder there'd been aftershocks.

'Right then,' she said, 'I'll go face the music.'

'And I'll go have an early night after all.' Gill smiled. 'Who knows, perhaps I'll dream about you.'

CHAPTER TWO

(Friday, 19th April 2002)

Heather waved Gill off and went back into the hotel. By then the band was giving it big licks and the dance floor was bouncing.

Carrie was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Ross . . . thank the Lord!

Temporarily off the hook, Heather gravitated back to the bar and ordered an extra-large G&T. The barmaid poured it before gleefully telling her that the bar wasn't free anymore. While she was fishing a tenner out of her bag, Rita arrived.

'Best get the beautiful blonde a drink too,' Heather said. Then, trying to quench the barmaid's hostility: 'Get yourself one as well.'

Rita ordered a medium-sized wine and asked how the date was going.

'I'm on mother's ruin already,' said Heather. 'Is that answer enough?'

'I thought your eyes were a bit glazed. And what's happened to your lipstick?'

'It might have rubbed off on a glass or two.'

'More like a glass or twenty.'

'Don't pick on me, Rita, I'm an emotional wreck. If it wasn't for Alex and Gill I'd still be under the cosh.'

'Who's Gill?'

'A very sexy cricketer. Alex was trying to chat her up, but don't worry; it was me who got her number.'

'Hmmm. He's only supposed to have freedom to chat up blokes.'

'I don't know how hard he was trying, but he was on a loser with Gill. She's got a gold star.'

'I bet she's got your lipstick on her tonsils, too.'

Heather laughed at that image but had another matter to address. 'Rita,' she began, 'about you and Alex . . .'

'Yes?'

'You don't live together, do you?'

'Of course we don't. We sleep together once or twice a week. That's as close as we're going to get.'

'So the rest of the time he's got freedom, but only with blokes?'