I Want Your Sex

'Don't worry; I'm not in danger of relapsing. I asked because I'm a nosy cow, aren't I? So what happened?'

'Do you want gritty details and all?'

I recalled my recent failure to climax and chuckled. 'Go on. I think my old heart can stand it.'

'As you know,' Nina began, 'it was his birthday, so he got three goes. The first time I sucked and swallowed.'

That was hardly surprising but made me shudder inside. Keeping a poker face, I nodded.

'Then he rode me round the Grand National course,' she went on. 'And then I climbed on board and rode him around the course another four times. Not that he came another four times. Three's his limit.'

'Sounds about right,' I observed as casually as I could.

'I insisted on condoms,' Nina persisted. 'Well, not for . . . you know, my opening gambit . . . but all the rest of it was protected. I knew I was coming here, you see. I didn't want you-know-what to be contaminated when I got here.'

'Do you mean your fanny?'

'How succinctly put.'

'Thanks for being considerate,' I said after a pause, 'and how soon did he fall asleep?'

Nina snorted. 'It was maybe as long as three seconds after his third cum. Like all the rest; strike three and he's out for the count.'

'You sound dismissive.'

'Aren't we all?'

I nodded at that. 'When you said he's out of the equation . . .'

'He is. He just doesn't know it yet.'

'Didn't you leave him a Dear John?'

'No, we have a barbecue on Sunday. He's getting the bad news after that, one way or another.'

'You're having a barbecue in March!'

'Apparently it's his family tradition. They have a back yard with heaters and all. It's going to be like the closing ceremony on the week of his birthday.'

'And you're going to pee on his parade.'

'No, I'll leave it a day or two. I'll probably pee on him by telephone Tuesday or Wednesday.'

'You're a heartless bitch,' I said, fastening my body around Nina's, squeezing her tight, 'but I'm so glad you keep coming back to me.'

'Me too,' said she, resuming her impressive, irresistible momentum.

Chapter Seven

Now I will skip a bit. I had plenty of frolics with Lizzie next night, Friday night but I was just a tad sleep-deprived and my memory is slipping.

I know, I know. Not so far back in the day I used to believe that sex revitalized and energized me. I'm not going to completely drop that belief but, as a thirty-something, I do admit that recently I am not bouncing back as efficiently as I did as an eighteen-year-old.

Maybe I've been shagging too many younger bimbos.

No, scrap that; who could possibly ever shag too many younger bimbos?

Maybe I'm not shagging enough of them!

In my defence I'll add that by Friday I had been shagging quite a few nights in a row.

Anyway, whatever the state of my revitalization, I was ready enough for another night with Lizzie. It helped that she wanted to spend much of the time talking about the Saturday to come. Would her "swap" want to be kinky? Would she want to be submissive or dominant?

I have already suggested Lizzie is somewhat gushy. Truth is she could make any politician you care to name seem reticent. Good grief, could that girl rabbit on.

So that was Friday. We shagged a bit, chatted a lot and even found time to snooze. Yes, it was a Friday night best skipped over. Not that we didn't enjoy ourselves. And not that I didn't give her a few clues about Kat's preferences, some of them true, some slightly fabricated.

Naughty of me I know. I just couldn't resist the impulse.

As a manicurist Saturday morning was Lizzie's busiest time of the week. She needed to go in to work and, as I could always find something to do, so did I. Five hours of productivity and I picked her up outside her salon. Ten minutes later our taxi dropped us off in the Busfeild Arms car park.

'I'm so nervous,' she said before we took a step towards the imposing old building.

'Are they sexy nerves?' I asked, silently praying.

'Of course they are.'

And thank goodness for that!

Kissing her nose, I took hold of her hand.

'I'm nervous too,' I told her. 'If you ask me, swapping is one of the biggest thrills a girl can get.'

'I can't remember ever being so thrilled,' she admitted.

'In as one lezzie partnership,' I reminded her, 'out as another, brazen as brass, loud and proud.'

She squeezed my fingers in reply.

'Okay girl, let's do it.'

*****

I was under no illusions as we walked hand-in-hand through the middle lounge bar. Between us we four had been in the Busfeild on many occasions. Dave was actually a local who went in just about every day. Kat had lived with Dave more than once, so qualified as an on/off local. Lizzie was a once-a-month sort of girlfriend who'd been in with Dave quite often.

As for me, I'd been in with a lot of different girlfriends, Kat included. And, as a director of WYB, I was a known "face". Some of the locals worked for the Bank. Many of the others held accounts. I had no chance of sneaking in unnoticed and, although nobody had ever commented, everybody had to be aware of who and what I was.

More tellingly, everybody had to be aware of Dave and Kat's history. Being seen together again would be taken as proof their affair was back on track. Lizzie would have been noticed too. She would be taken as a passing fling of Dave's who'd now moved on to me.

And the lack of comment wouldn't indicate a lack of gossip, some scandalized, some grudgingly approving. Most would conclude we were modern girls with modern ways and leave it at that.

I was smiling as I walked hand-in-hand with Lizzie, feeling countless pairs of eyes on us, sensing tongues itching to wag.

What were they going to be like when we left! The atmosphere was buzzing as it was; how more charged could it get!!

Dave and Kat had already bagged a table for four. Dave was sitting with her back to the window, Kat was across from her. Between them was a full bottle of pinot and four glasses, two of them already in use.

I patted Kat on the shoulder, gave her a quick peck on the lips and took the seat next to Dave.

'Am I glad to see you,' Dave said, giving me a kiss that lingered beyond mere politeness.

Meanwhile Lizzie had plonked herself next to Kat and was chattering away. Kat poured wine as she listened, smiled and nodded. As promised in advance, she didn't appear to have cold feet.

Makeup-free as ever, Dave looked utterly gorgeous. Her skin tone and natural colouring was no less than perfect, just like all of the rest of her.

It was a physical wrench to tear my attention away. Consequently I didn't bother and watched her as avidly as I'd ever watched anyone or anything.

Hooked or what?

The next hour or so passed in a flash. In case you've never tried it, equipped with 250ml glasses one bottle of vino does not go far between four slightly anxious wife-swappers. We took turns to trudge to the bar for replacements, me with one eye on the clock all the while.

Yes, anxiety was in the air along with forced conversation (apart from Lizzie's; she didn't need to be forced to converse).

Later . . . days or even weeks later . . . Dave told me I'd seemed cool as a cucumber. As if! I was just as wound up as the other three. And I was having second thoughts about the "little surprise" I had set up.

But there was no going back so what the heck. Biding my time until a quarter to three, I landed a hand on Dave's leg, discreetly mind, hidden under the table.

Lizzie was still prattling on and didn't notice. Kat, who'd been bagging the lion's share of the pinot as she listened to Lizzie's onslaught, didn't seem to notice either.

Dave noticed all right. She leant in and kissed me, hotly and very, very appealingly.

'Your place,' I murmured. 'Let's leave these two and go to your place.'

'Okay,' said she, as simple as that.

I slid the keys to Hunters Farm across the table, more or less in Kat's direction.

'Doc and Bashful are already primed,' I reminded her. 'And they know you. You won't have much of a problem with them.' Then, spoiling my reassuring lecture, I giggled. 'If for some reason they cut up rough . . . Well it is tough luck, isn't it. The Premier Inn is reasonable enough. Call another taxi, put it down to experience and tell us about it back here at noon tomorrow.'

'High noon,' Kat said with a tipsy grin.

'Yes, and not a moment sooner.'

'You're all heart,' Lizzie giggled back at me.

'I can handle Bashful,' Kat added.

I tended to doubt that. If Bashful was feeling cantankerous no one could handle her apart from me. But it wasn't my problem, was it? I had bigger fish to fry.

'See you at high noon,' I said, 'and not one second sooner.'

Chapter Eight

Walking out of the pub hand-in-hand with Dave I felt all those pairs of eyes again. And that time I was sure the gossip would be hardly at all grudgingly approving, mostly scandalized.

I could almost hear fifty outraged brains screaming "lesbian whores!"

How empowering was that? Everyone noticing and caring if still purposely not commenting about the so-obvious way we were.

Goodness only knew what would be buzzing along the WYB grapevine on Monday morning. That grapevine was, coincidentally, frighteningly efficient. In fact right then, Saturday afternoon with all the Bank premises locked up and the staff scattered on the winds, nascent rumours were already probably starting to circulate.

I can't begin to name names because I honestly don't know who kicks it all off. All I can say is that whoever it is should be running Reuters or CNN.

Or maybe even the BBC.

Good luck to 'em as far as I was concerned. So I had girlfriends? So what?

But pride aside, it still seemed wickedly sinful to be so blatant. I had been telling the truth when I had said moments like that were thrilling.

And the biggest thrill was still to come: the thrill of being alone with a new woman.

For me being alone with a new woman was always the biggest thrill of all.

Cool as a cucumber? Like heck I was!

Dave's cottage was just around the corner from the Busfeild, set back from Main Road by a short stretch of lawn and a high, privacy-preserving hedge. Going through the garden gate I drew in a deep, appreciative breath. The building was way over a century old, had been relatively recently renovated and was all fine Yorkshire stone, plenty of brilliantly white-painted divided windows and doors and sheer, sheer charm.

I'd done a job on my Hunters Farm revamp and Dave had done just as well here.

'Beyond beautiful,' I assured her.

'So are you,' she replied, kissing me more intently than ever.

Conscious of the time, I let her lead me into her dream cottage via the door to the left, which took us into her kitchen. And, even with my head swimming, I remained conscious of two things.

That kitchen was small yet designed with style, class and beyond divine granite worktops.

And it was almost witching hour. I let her quite aggressively snog my face off and didn't resist too much when her hands roamed up inside my T-shirt.

'Bed,' she said urgently, gripping both of my breasts in a very suggestive way.

'Coffee,' I spluttered, coming out with the first thing I could think of.

'What? Are you . . .'

A loud knock on her alternative front door cut Dave off.

'It's for you,' said I.

'It'll be Jehovah's Witnesses,' she countered.

'No,' I insisted, 'it's for you.'

Dave gave me a strange look and went outside. I heard a man's voice without understanding him and heard her say, 'Yes, that's me.'

Then I heard an audible gasp and the man casually saying, 'Cheerio.'

The minute it took Dave to return stretched into hours. Her expression was unreadable but behind her sexy specs her eyes were damp.

Good old Interflora had delivered again, as reliable as a Swiss watch.

'I've only ever been sent flowers once before,' Dave managed. Then the dampness in her eyes overflowed into streams of tears.

I was aghast. I'd wanted to impress Dave, reassure her . . . list considerate things and that's all I had wanted to do. Making her cry was nowhere on the agenda.

Doing my utmost to avoid crushing the twelve red roses, I embraced her, burying my face into her sexily short hair, whispering sweet nothings.

'I'm so sorry,' I assured her endlessly, 'I won't do it again . . .'

'You'd better do it again,' she finally sniffled, 'from now and ever after I'm going to expect flowers every time you come to ravage me.'

'I'm not here to ravage you,' I replied. Then, honesty being my byword, I enlarged. 'I always want to share. I don't mind sometimes buying all of the drinks but that doesn't buy anything else. And I sent flowers because I like you, not because I thought you were for sale.'

She looked at me closely, still wet-eyed but no longer sobbing; assessing me for sincerity, if I was any judge of character.

'I naturally share, 'she ventured. 'So . . .'

'So we're on your territory. I think that means you get first go.'

Dave's glasses had steamed up a tad. Suddenly she was embracing me a deal harder than I was embracing her. She also seemed to have zero regard for the roses.

'No stereotypes,' she said.

'It's your house,' I answered, doing my best to save those very fragile petals. 'And as far as I am concerned you get first go. As far as I'm concerned, I can't wait.'

Dave nodded. 'Do you still want a coffee?'

I shook my head no.

'Are you certain?' she prodded.

I nodded again. ''Never been readier for ravishment,' I said. 'Lead the way.'

*****

I know I keep saying this about every partner (and I know I have an awful lot of partners!), but sex with Dave was superb. Every last second of it was adorable, simply, simply adorable.

Her bedroom was delightfully refurbished but, in the heat of the moment, I took little notice apart from admiring her bed. It had a nice head to it, complete with vertical rails. Ideal for handcuffs and ropes . . .

Not that I was about to ask for that on a first date.

Getting naked with her took quite a while, even though, having left my jacket downstairs, I wasn't exactly dressed for the season.

'Take off your top,' she commanded.

Without hurrying in any way I removed my T-shirt, shaking my naturally firm, bra-free breasts as I did so.

Dave is two or three inches shorter than me. She did not have to stoop far to engage her mouth. And she hardly had to engage her mouth to make me cum.

Call it a fault, call it a blessing, I've always been orgasmic. Some even call me hair-triggered. I do my best to accept the way I am, gratefully, more often than not.

Sniggering but breathing very, very heavily, Dave slowly, quite deliberately took off her top.

At this point I guess I should remind you that she is an IT techie. Her weekday outfit consists of sturdy work trousers, Docs and a blue Widget Company sweatshirt. Perhaps I should also remind you that she sometimes gets mistaken for a man.

(And not only by visually challenged persons!)

On a personal note I find that mistake hard to understand. Dave's body is boyish and her chest is flatter than a board, true. And yes, her light brown hair is cut shorter than short, but is everybody looking in the wrong direction?

Can't everybody see feminine beauty when it's unavoidably there?

I for one freaking well can!

Being a Saturday Dave's sweatshirt wasn't standard blue Widget Company issue; it was white, a lot like my non-WYB issue T.

Hidden behind her deliberately shapeless clothes, her body was lean and surprisingly shapely. To my astonishment, uncovered, she curved in interesting directions and didn't look very much like a guy at all.

Well, if she did look like a guy she'd be one I gladly made an exception for.

Me being off guys and all . . .

Where was I?

Oh yes, Dave was divesting herself of her white sweatshirt.

Any human being with red blood should pause at this point.

DAVE

WAS

BEYOND

AWESOME!!

Flat-chested or not, her nipples were special. Here's a confession. I've got lovely, self-supporting breasts with nipples that are disproportionately large. Lovers love them and so do I. But whatever way I sell them, Dave's put mine in the shade.

Dave's nipples were astounding. No breasts but even so, her nips surpassed the best of any porn stars I had ever seen.

(When it comes to nips on female porn stars that is not a short list at all.)

Speaking from experience, I can enlarge. I can even confirm that Dave's nips enlarged as I slowly cajoled them with my lips and tongue. And what bliss was that! A fellow female becoming only too evidently aroused under soft, deliberately slow, deliberately delicate encouragement from little old me.

I'm wetting my panties as I write this.

Well, I would be if I'd bothered wearing panties in the first place . . .

Chapter Nine

Kicking free of my jeans I threw myself onto the bed and touched myself as I watched Dave take off her Levi's.

'I did this the other night,' I told her. 'I did it thinking about you, imagining this very moment.'

Dave took my forwardness in her stride.

'Was it a nice fantasy?'

'It was one of the best. But not as good as being here and now.'

Totally naked, smiling a Mona Lisa smile, Dave watched me bring myself off on her bed. And then she kissed and caressed me a while, bringing me off a second time.

Then, paying attention to every last square inch of me as she went, Dave gave me a master class in cunnilingus.

And I'd thought I had an A-level in the subject!

Good grief yes, yes, yes!!

Dave was exceptionally, brilliantly skilful with her tongue. Her fingers knew what they were doing, too. Gladder than glad I'd opted to let her lead the way I lay back and came multiply.

It would have been rude not to.

The tribbing followed on virtually seamlessly.

Now I have always revelled in tribbing. I like most forms of sex but tribbing with a like-minded lady does it for me every time. It's body-to-body intimate, hot, cosy and fun, fun, fun. I love it, whoever and however it's being done, simple as.

Still on my back, opening my legs in invitation, I soon realized that Dave was highly proficient. If she had a doctorate in cunnilingus then she must have taken her PHD in tribbing.

Yes, she was as good as that. She even made me think of a lover from university; a scary-looking skinhead whose tribbing was angelic and very, very more-ish.

Not that I spent long reminiscing. Believe me, when Dave's on the job a girl doesn't want to waste time reminiscing.

For my part, always happy to assist a fervent lover, I bent myself almost in half. Moving with her I allowed her total control, letting the bed springs do my side of the work, repeatedly bouncing with her steady, authoritative motion, my decidedly wet fanny gliding effortlessly over hers.

Bliss, bliss, bliss!

The sensations really were special: Dave's flat chest pressing on my eager breasts, her diamond-like nipples making big impressions, all the rest of us fusing together, hot, sweet-smelling sweat lubricating our skin, as much as it bonded us, uniting us as one.

Cue a miracle.

All things being equal . . . and Dave's orgasm control being vastly better than mine . . . I should have climaxed first. But suddenly, out of nowhere, her expression changed, and dramatically.

Trust me; you would have guessed what was about to happen.

Initially her motions had been smooth and subtle. As we'd progressed she accelerated a little but not much. Now she was grinding desperately, her glasses steamed up again, exceptionally sexy moisture flattening her exceptionally sexy brown hair.

'Heather,' she warned. 'Heather, I'm gonna . . .'

'Do it,' I gasped back at her. 'Don't stop to think, just do it.'

Heeding my words . . . or perhaps following her natural instincts . . . Dave kept moving on me all the way throughout her first cum. I felt hot warmth as she climaxed but my eyes remained fixed on her as she writhed in ecstasy.