New Beginnings Advance

Then her right tit slipped out.

'Oops,' she said, tucking it away again. 'Where was I?'

Gobsmacked (another of our quaint Yorkshire sayings), I took in her attire. Joyce tended to dress the same for work, day in, day out. Black skirt, white blouse. No change there . . . except that day she'd undone a few buttons. And where oh where had her bra gone? Come to that why, precisely, did she keep leaning over my desk?

'I understand you have issues with the Huntly account,' she said out of nowhere. 'Call it up. Let's have a look.'

Okay, she was the boss. I called up the account in question, grateful it was in as good a condition as it had been in weeks. 'There's less than a grand overdue,' I said. 'And all of it is individually queried. If they dealt with just one branch instead of thirty, there wouldn't be any problems at all.'

'Flipping queries,' Joyce said. 'Which branches are dragging their heels now?' She leant even farther over the desk, twisting her body so she could see my screen. Rather predictably, her left tit slipped out.

'Oops,' she said, clearly not giving a toss. And not hurrying to tuck herself away. 'Clumsy me.'

*****

Lunchtime was lonesome without Dave. Then I got a text.

FIXD IT, AS GD AS!

HOME TMRW. CU 4

LUNCH. CAN'T WAIT.

Relieved and refreshed, hangover forgotten, I looked around me. Attempting to be scientific, trying to answer questions I'd been asking myself a while, I assessed the sexual attraction of my fellow canteen inhabitants.

Take note of my words: I assessed the sexual attraction of my fellow canteen inhabitants . . . in a scientific sort of a way.

Okay, so I majored in English Lit. I know infinitely more about George Eliot and the peerless Jane Austen than I'll ever know about Lister and Crick. But I could apply scientific principles. And (hopefully unobserved), I did.

First up was the canteen manager. Tall . . . six four at least . . . he has short-cropped ginger hair and looks quite athletic. Not athletic enough to pass, though. Dismissing him as unfit for purpose, I moved on.

Three female canteen staff. The youngest is blonde, bubbly, and decidedly attractive. Almost certainly straight, she gets picked up by her boyfriend outside work every day. Not bad at all, I concluded. No way would I kick her out of bed.

(A brief aside: in my neck of the woods the statement, "I wouldn't kick her out of bed," is used in more ways than one, ranging from admitting sincere admiration to curmudgeonly implying any girl would do in a pinch. I, of course, use it sincerely.)

Next in age is Debs, who might be twenty-five. Debs looks a bit like Christina Aguilera and probably has an active sex life. Also not bad. I wouldn't kick her out either.

The third one, Becky, is maybe twenty-eight with a mane of black curls. She's on the short side and has a figure I'd describe as "dumpy". She has, however, eyes like blue diamonds and tits which enter a room minutes before the rest of her.

Mmmm, mmmm, I thought, Becks is better than a bit of all right.

Then I shook my head. In my tiny little word I was only allowed to fancy Dave. Men didn't count and girls shouldn't feature at all.

I'm only doing what-ifs, I told myself sternly. It's fun and completely harmless . . .

Determined to complete my preliminary research, I cast around the dining hall, assessing everyone, male and female, young and old, storing the results in my head.

*****

That afternoon passed smoothly. Our valued customers weren't so grouchy, the salesmen and saleswomen weren't so frustrated. Punctuated as it was by our monthly team brief (Joyce managed to contain her chest whilst briefing us), I sailed through it.

Glad to be out in the open, wishing the air was a sweet as it had been in Ambleside, I made my way to Keighley railway station, smiling as I arrived on Platform 1. The station has four platforms. Two of them are on the main line, connecting places like Leeds and Bradford with places like Skipton, Morecambe and Carlisle. The other two are the terminus of a heritage railway that runs authentic steam trains between Keighley and Oxenhope (via the capital of Bronte country, Haworth).

Please don't put me down as a train spotter or rail buff, but I love the contrast between the modern platforms and the old ones. The modern ones are spartan, with no avoidable expense ever having been spent. The heritage ones are majestic, well-maintained and feature floral displays worthy of awards at the Chelsea Flower Show. Period films and TV shows have often featured them. And, of course, the heritage line itself starred in the 1970 version of The Railway Children (admittedly before my time, but regularly shown on the box, even now).

My train arrived shortly after I did. It was a brand-new one, but I wished it was powered by steam.

Two stops and a short walk later I was in the fish and chip shop, buying my evening meal. Two minutes after that I was home, washing it down with the remains of yesterday's wine. Then, feeling sweaty and grubby, I decided a shower was in order.

Warts time again. I masturbated under the jetting water, concentrating on my clit and hood, thinking about Dave all the while. Taking my time about it, I built and built and built until I finally went off like a volcano. Then, towelling myself dry, I retired to the bedroom to continue my research.

Men, I thought. Can I even touch myself while thinking about men?

I couldn't. I could when thinking about girls, though. Gently stroking as I pictured the bubbly blonde. Easing in a couple of fingers into my pussy as I drooled over Debs. And frantically frigging myself imaging Becky on top of me, her pneumatic tits crushing mine . . .

Cumming even more volcanically.

Okay, I concluded, recalling a definition I'd seen of "lesbian". I'm in love with Dave but I'm also capable of lusting after other women. I definitely qualify as lezzie on that score. But men . . .

Can I conclusively say men are ancient history?

I opened my bedside drawer and fished out my one and only sex toy. A fellow bar worker, Sue, had given me it as a twenty-third birthday present. She'd gift-wrapped it in a large box, using padding to make it rattle-proof.

'Here you go, maid,' she'd said in her Cornish way. 'I'd open it in private if I were you, mind. And let me know if you need showing how it works.'

I wonder if she was disappointed when I didn't ask for a demonstration. Perhaps she'd hoped for a threesome with me and the toy. Perhaps she thinks of me as "one of they tight northern cows with no spirit of adventure".

Sue's present is a dildo in tasteful green. I've used it many times, always successfully. Up until that Tuesday evening I had not, however, used it when thinking about men. So . . .

Purely in the interests of scientific research, I pushed my toy against me. It slid in easily but I hesitated. Who to think about? Not either of my two (pathetic) male lovers. So who, then? The canteen manager? No thanks. A film star or sporting hero? No, not in the least bit realistic. So who?

After some debate I settled on Tommy Smith, a friend from school. He hadn't got his shag on our one close encounter (I lied about the time of the month, remember?), but I had given him a hand job. And, although it wasn't green, his cock had been of a similar size and shape as my dildo . . .

(Confession: That last claim was just me, reassuring myself. I'm sure Tommy's cock isn't green but otherwise, at a distance of six years, I've no recall of what it actually looked like!)

Surprisingly enough, I could focus and fuck (sorry!) at the same time. And excitement built up inside me at the usual rate. Snag was, I just couldn't cum. Not while thinking about Tommy, anyway. Obviously psychological, you may say. Obviously, I would have to agree. Eventually, after trying my damnedest, I tossed the toy onto the carpet.

'Dave,' I murmured, feeling for my G-spot.

Cumming inside thirty seconds.

'Definitely lezzie,' I assured myself as I lay there, basking in the afterglow. 'Maybe so ever-so-slightly bi.'

I can't explain the relief I felt at knowing that. Okay, I want to be with Dave forever but nothing is set in stone, is it? And Dave has had plenty of relationships before. Plenty of relationships and plenty of breakups. We might be one angry word from . . .

From . . .

Well, I told myself, if we do ever break up, I'm capable of finding someone else. Someone female and fun.

I passed time thinking about types of females. The lesbians at uni came in all shapes and sizes. Some of them had been quite scary. Hell, some of them made themselves as scary as possible. Could I go with someone so purposefully butch? I wasn't sure. The canteen staff were . . . manager excluded . . . comely and feminine. But Dave was regularly mistaken for a bloke . . .

In the end I decided I'd wait and see. Hopefully I wouldn't be looking for a replacement any time soon. If and when the need arises, I thought, I can always go for character.

Then, realizing I was horny again, I resumed my research. My neighbouring lunchtime table had been occupied by four youngish women. In my opinion two of them were good-looking, one was glamorous and the other was simply gorgeous. The masturbatory potential there was massive.

But wait, wait, wait. What about Joyce? That tit-flashing routine just had to be deliberate. Was it inspired by my weekend with Dave? Was my line manager suddenly seeing me in a bright new light?

I closed my eyes and imagined Joyce as a child of the 60s. Bra-less, naturally, with braided hair under a massive floppy hat. Beads everywhere. A short, caftan-style dress with full sleeves. Barelegged and barefoot, ankle bracelets with quirky bells completing the image.

Omigod, I thought, reaching for my clit, I'm going to finish before I've even started!

*****

Wednesday evening. Dave was back. She'd been waiting for me in the canteen at lunchtime. I welcomed her home with a big sloppy kiss, not caring what others might think. Flushing but grinning, she finally fended me off.

'I've missed you too,' she said, 'but honestly . . .'

There had been no train journeys that evening and, as yet, no fish and chips. I had met Dave outside IT at five thirty and she'd driven me straight to mine. And then I'd dragged her straight into my bed.

Now, after two hours of bliss, our initial burst of passion was spent. I asked Dave about her day and she said it had been easy. Apparently, techies on call run up time in lieu as well as decent rates of overtime. She'd woken at eight, breakfasted in her Travelodge and then taken the M5, M42, M1 route north, arriving in Keighley at quarter to twelve. Then she'd updated her gaffer, lunched with me and gone to the gym.

'I popped back in for a couple of hours,' she said, 'to clear my emails before giving you a lift. I don't like clearing emails when I'm on the road. I tend to delete first, ask questions later.'

I suggested tea/dinner/supper and she laughed. 'There's something I want to do first.'

'Oh yeah?' I grinned.

She got off the bed and retrieved her handbag. Except it was more like a shoulder bag than a handbag. I have to say it was out of character because I hadn't seen her with any sort of bag before . . . not apart from backpacks and travel bags.

'Have you ever seen one of these?'

I studied the item in her hand. It looked like a red dildo but it had a bulbous sort of extension at a right angle to it.

'No,' I admitted. 'What is it?'

'It's a strapless strap-on,' Dave explained. 'This is the pony end.' She pointed to the bulb bit. 'I put that in me and rely on my Kegel muscles to hold it in place.'

'That sounds a bit optimistic.'

'I've practiced.' Dave had the decency to blush. 'I haven't actually used it, but I've practiced quite a lot.'

I had a big void in my stomach. Even though I was unsure if I was excited or afraid, I raised a grin. 'Tell me about this practice.'

'I've worn it while I've done housework.'

'What? Naked with that stuck in you?'

'Yes. And stop laughing.'

'I can't help it. I'm picturing you with a big red hard-on, feather duster in hand. What would you have done if Jehovah's Witnesses had knocked at your door?'

'Ha, ha, ha, Mikki.'

'Didn't it drop out?'

'Not even once.' Dave hesitated. 'If you must know I have my doubts. That's why I brought a harness as well.'

'It fits in a harness?' I gulped. 'Look Dave, I haven't ever tried anything like this before. I might disappoint you.'

'I want to make love to you,' she said softly. 'I want to be loving and tender with you. I want to prove that I'm better than any man you could ever have.'

'Okay,' I said, swallowing another gulp. 'If you put it like that . . .'

*****

Dave more than proved her worth. She was amazing . . . wonderful . . . marvellous . . . pick your own superlative. Having her on me, loving me like that was almost miraculous. If I tried to compare her to the two men in my life I'd die laughing. She was so many times better it was unreal.

And she was tireless! I came quite quickly but did that stop her? No it did not. She pressed on and on and on, driving me from one cum to the next. Again and again and again. I hung on in there as long as I could but eventually . . . for only the second time in my life . . . my body had had enough. I flaked out. I remember yelling, 'Yes, yes, yes! Proper job!' And then . . .

Nothing.

Nothing until I came round, staring up into Dave's incredible eyes.

'Davina,' I gasped. 'That was awesome. I love you, love you, love you.'

She smiled back at me and said the magic words.

'Me too you.'

*****

It's now Friday, over a week since Dave shagged me into oblivion. We've slept together most nights in-between and will do so again tonight, but we haven't used her toy again. Not yet.

I'm chuckling as I write this. I had taken Dave's tireless performance as testimony to her devotion to me. In fact I had believed that, for the first time ever, I'd been fucked (sorry!!) by someone who cared about my orgasm ahead of all else. Men care only about themselves, don't they? No? Well, the two I've known do, anyway. Dave, however . . .

Dave wasn't so altruistic after all. That toy of hers gives as much to the user as it does to her happy victim. The pony extension is designed to rock against the user's G-spot and cunningly placed ridges rub against her clitoris. Fucked (sorry!!) as I was missionary style, I got seven inches of "horse" in me while Dave's hairy pubic mound rubbed up my clit.

Win-win either way, if you ask me.

I found out about the dual-action element by doing some practice for myself. Not that I've worn it for the housework. I tend to tidy up after myself as I go, so housework doesn't really mount up for me. Okay, if you must know, I wore it during my weekly vacuuming earlier this evening. Otherwise I've trialled both ends alone on my bed. And I like it. I'm ready to be the driving partner . . . and just as well, because tonight is the night.

What else has happened over the last ten days? Well, I've learnt that I'm not just attracted to other women, I'm attractive to other women too. At work word has obviously got out about me and Dave and, rather than getting negative feedback, I've been getting approving nods and one or two words of encouragement.

Joyce definitely does fancy me, by the way. She's taking me on a "customer visit" on Monday. Now customer visits are few and far between. This one will be my first and it's in Brighton, of all places. We're going to have to overnight, so goodness knows how that will turn out.

Back on the words of encouragement front, I'm now on warm terms with one of my lunchtime neighbours, the glamorous one. And Becky from the canteen staff has never been so smiley. Yesterday, when Dave was in Stoke fixing something technical, Becks looked me in the eye and said she'd dreamed about me the night before.

'Did you?' I replied innocently.

'Oh yes I did,' she said. 'Three times!'

Tonight I'm going to break new ground. Believe it or not, up until now I haven't been to Dave's place. Walking holidays aside, all the sex has happened on or in my bed and on my scruffy old settee. To be honest, I'd been wondering if she has anything to hide. But she can't have because tonight is happening as per her suggestion.

Her place.

Her bed.

Her strapless strap-on.

I haven't told her, but I'm going to try a couple of new positions. I've been watching more videos, you see. Don't worry . . . I'm not going for anything outrageously gymnastic and I'll be using Dave's harness. Neither of us will come to harm.

I can hardly wait.