Soft Cow Ch. 02

Long before I ever met Celia (Soft Cow - 1) I was working as an intern on the regional paper for which I now work freelance. I was covering the trial of an Albanian drug dealer who'd been using kids, some as young as 10, to carry and sell his goods. One of them was a 14 year old called Tommy. We'd been tipped off by Tommy's lawyer that he was prepared to talk to us and that his doing so might help other kids in similar situations. The sub editor told me to get a photographer and go and see Tommy, get his story and pictures. "Nothing that shows his face and call him something else in your piece. Now fuck off." Well, it was like that back then.

I went in search of a snapper and found a girl I learned was called Erin Grain. She wore brown trousers with pockets on the side, back and front, a sort of tool belt, a brown soldier's t shirt. Her hair was short and brown, her eyes green. Her feet, in work boots, were on her desk which was piled high with equipment and other paraphernalia.

"Hello, gorgeous. Looking to take me out on a date?"

'I was hoping you might come with me and take some photos."

"Photos? Me? That sounds like work. I was hoping a femme like you would find me irresistible."

"Work was," I said, "the idea."

Erin grinned, stood up to reveal she was about four inches taller than me and pulled on a leather jacket. "Oh well, once you get to know me you'll want to date me. Come on, slow coach, can't hang about here."

She had a car in the underground car park. She chucked fast food bags and other detritus onto the back seat and told me to get 'your pretty arse in.' The car was a tip and stank.

"You ever clean this thing?"

She smiled. "I live in this 'thing' far too much, I know. Next time I know I'm driving you, I'll tidy it up."

"You're assuming I'm gay."

She did a mock eye roll. "I know you're gay. You go to a club I use." She named it, 'Lena's.' It was a dyke bar I particularly liked.

"I've never seen you."

"Well, I've seen you."

We arrived at the children's home where Tommy was in care, spoke to the social worker who wasn't entirely happy but finally allowed us to meet him when his lawyer turned up and gave permission.

"Tommy," I said when the aparently confident young boy swaggered in, "I'm Eleanor, I'm a reporter."

I wont be able to give you the exact words that formed the following conversation but here's the gist. Erin sat down, and said something like 'Hey Dude. Want your pic in the paper? I'm the girl to make you look way better than you really do.'

Tommy grinned. 'Sure, you make me look taller too?'

'You gonna look like a goddam film star.'

'Works for me, bitch.'

The social worker, lawyer and I were gobsmacked. Erin was just so natural with him. As she set up I tried to get his story, but he was far more interested in her equipment. My digital recorder (state of the art back then) was nothing in comparison with her multitude of lights, lenses, tripods and things like umbrellas. Erin gave me a smile and, as she started snapping, she interviewed him for me! She got his whole story without, I suspect, him even knowing. By the time she'd finished I had recorded all I needed and I'd barely asked a single question.

She had a printer with her and ran off a couple of her pictures for Tommy and then she and the social worker went through every picture she'd taken and deleted any that could identify him.

Back in her malodorous car I said, "I have no idea what happened there."

"Relax, babe, I have four younger brothers around his age." I looked at her, assessing her age. 30 I guessed. "You're right, half brothers. My Dad died and mum remarried, silly cow. Two sets of twins."

"You were brilliant, thank you."


"Buy me a drink at Lena's"

"Happy to."

"Tonight?"

I knew I wasn't doing anything but it all seemed a bit quick, so I lied. "I can't tonight. Maybe later in the week."

"'Maybe' doesn't cut it. Name an evening."

We arrived back at the office having agreed to meet on the Friday of that week, three days away. Before we got in the lift, she gripped my arm. "Wear something femme for me, girl. You're gonna look great on my arm." She kissed my cheek and, when we were in the lift, she kissed me again, on my lips.

"You don't hang about."

"Too damn right." I watched her as she walked away and she gave a little wiggle of her fingers which told me she knew I'd watch her. She gave her arse a little roll. As she turned the corner of the corridor, she turned and smiled.

I sat down at my desk and tried to write a story that did justice to Tommy's story. He'd been orphaned at 6 and had spent his life since then in a variety of care homes and foster placements. Foster parents found him difficult. He often stayed out overnight, mixed with bad company and got into trouble with the police. His education had been at best sporadic but for long periods he'd had none whatever.

The Albanian, I'll call him Tarik, was an illegal immigrant who had, apparently, convictions in his home country for people trafficking and drugs offences, and had operated from a car wash in the city that also served as a money laundry. He never carried drugs himself but coerced youngsters with threats of violence or seduced them with money, drinks, cigarettes and drugs. To earn these, they had to deliver drugs to Tarik's customers, usually cycling around the city. They'd be out at all hours and were at risk in a variety of ways. If they let Tarik down they knew they'd face serious consequences. Tommy told us he'd seen other kids being assaulted. We also reported that at least one youngster had been killed by Tarik or a member of his gang.

Tommy was picked up by the police after a long investigation had led to a major operation to gather evidence to convict Tarik and his crew. They'd discovered a large number of deals in Tommy's pockets and concealed in the frame of his bike. Unusually, the lawyer had encouraged Tommy to speak to the police rather than 'no comment,' hoping that the police would see him as a victim rather than as a co-conspirator.

The officer leading the case had been sympathetic. I knew her, Inspector Anne Prentiss. She was one of the good ones and had quite often given me the inside track on an investigation. I was able, after the interview, to get a few useful quotes from her to add some weight and detail to my story.

That night, in my bed, Erin was all I could think of. My normal masturbation fantasy was a former girlfriend called Phillipa, who was by far the best bedmate I'd ever had to that date. She was uninhibited and sex with her had been exhausting in the very best of ways. Whilst she was not butch or domme, her favourite was to use her strapon on me in, as she put it, a canine manner. With me on all fours, she'd mount and fuck me, hard and not always stopping when I had cum. She could get herself off fucking me like that and, although it made my clit hypersensitive, I'd never have stopped her because she just loved it so much. Her orgasms were loud and lubricious. Occasionally she'd want my arse and despite initial misgivings I'd allowed and, ultimately, grown to love it. I especially loved the way she would prepare me for it, often with an oily massage with her fingers opening me and working oil into my arse until my muscle was relaxed and ready. The subsequent penetration was pain free and exquisite.

But that night, I was on my back, my legs wide, my knees tenting the bed as I penetrated myself with my fingers and, later, my slender vibrator. It was Erin who entered me, took me and lifted me over the edge and sent me to heaven.

The story was published as a feature in the Friday edition. Erin's pictures of the anonymous boy were brilliant and somehow conveyed his attempted swagger but also his vulnerability. I was glad she got the credit for them.

We'd agreed to meet in a bar that was close to Lena's so, in her words, we could have a quiet chat and get to know each other. The quieter booths at Lena's were usually taken, she said, and it'd be good to be able to hear each other before we get dancing.

"You're going to dance in those heels?" Erin had smiled at me as I'd entered the bar and given me a small wave and a 'come here' finger wiggle. She'd kissed me then stepped back a little to look at me.

I smiled. "You said to come femme. I'll take them off if we dance."

"When, sweetheart, not if. I want to get that body of yours real close."

I'd worn a crimson, short, flared dress, tight at the waist, loose at the bust and I knew that Erin would be able, given her height, to see a lot of my admittedly small. tits. The dress had buttons from the back of my neck to the small of my back which meant it was a bastard to do up, but looked, I hoped, pretty good. I had decided not to wear a bra but I had worn a pair of sheer red nylon knickers that showed my dark triangle of hair. I had found a string of pearls in my jewellery drawer and hoped they added to the femme look I'd wanted for her.

Erin looked good. Her trousers were black and high waisted. She wore a simple white, open necked shirt. Her shoes were moccasins with small leather tassels. She was what my friend, Sally, called 'good butch.' That meant, for both me and Sally, that she looked good, classy but was obviously not a femme.

"I'm glad you came." She gave me another kiss.

"I'm glad you cracked Tommy for me. I am here to buy you a drink to thank you."

"No, babe, you're here because we fancy each other. You look gorgeous by the way. I'll have a beer please. And I thought you did a great job with the story. And thanks for the pic credit - that doesn't always happen"

"Thoroughly deserved."

I ordered a beer for her and a mojito for myself. We talked about family, work, her career.

"I wanted, when I was at college, to work in fashion. I fantasised about photographing super models and loads of hot women. I got a job as an assistant to a fashion photographer and the dream wasn't like the fantasy. Sure, there were loads of beautiful women and some were even gay, but, fuck, the people around them were total bastards and bitches. Even my boss, Lynne, was, when shooting, a total cow. She shouted at everyone, including me, even when things were going well.

"Ok, I get that time mattered so if anyone fucked about it could get expensive but when things went badly, Christ, I mean she was fucking mental."

Erin was a good talker but she also had that most seductive of attributes, she was a great listener. It made me feel like I mattered and that is always special. She was also one of those people who touches a lot: my hand, my arm, my shoulder.

We held hands as we left the bar and, outside in the cool evening air, her arm went across my shoulders and mine around her waist and we walked the few hundred yards to Lena's. There were two bouncers on the door. One was a typically big guy in an ill-fitting suit. The other was a girl, no taller than I and pretty with short blonde hair. She wore a suit too but hers looked like it had been tailored for her.

"Hey, Erin."

Erin led me to the pretty, butch blonde. "This is Eleanor. Meet Lucy."

We both said hello and I felt Lucy's appraisal, We always do, don't we? Lucy smiled at me, "You got lucky, girl. Have fun."

Erin kissed me and led me into the lobby.

I said, "She doesn't look big enough to be a bouncer."

"She's a black belt in karate, judo and something else and she's a national team Thai kick boxer."

"Right."

Erin smiled. "She can take care of herself." She flashed a membership card (I'd never had one - they were invitation only) and we made our way through the bar area to the main room. It was loud, with bodies dancing with other bodies, a lot of skin on view and fondling, kissing and handling going on. Without stopping for a drink, Erin folded me into her arms and started swaying with me. We kissed, my neck bent so her mouth could get to mine more easily. She said, "You've been flashing your tits at me all evening. I hope I haven't been reading the signs wrong?"

I grinned at her. "This dress can be a bit revealing."

"Which is why you wore it." I felt her fingers run up from my arse to open the lowest three buttons and slide inside to stroke my bare flesh "Now, that is such a good idea. I like a woman who lets me in."

With my arms around her neck, I pressed myself to her and kissed her hard, opening my mouth and letting her in there too. I could feel her nipples, hard under her shirt.

We danced although we really only swayed, I think because she wanted me to keep my heels on. After a while, we went to the bar and she bought us beer. She slid her hand in between the buttons again as we stood at the bar, surrounded by a press of others. She leant very close.

"I want to take you home with me." Her free hand covered my breast. "I want to take you home and fuck your brains out. Will you keep your shoes on for me?"

"Of course."

Her hand moved down further behind me, a finger tracing the crack of my arse. I leaned into her and said, "You can have me however you want."

"Really?"

By way of answer I kissed her and said, "Could we go now?"

We left Lena's. At the door she kissed Lucy the bouncer and wished her good night. She replied, "Looks like yours is going better than mine." They laughed.

As we walked to Erin's flat, she said, "You know I was showing you off, right?"

"Were you?"

"Sure I was. Cat that got the cream, me."

"Can there be two cats who get the cream."

"Hey, girl, you're no pussy cat, you're my bitch tonight."

I squeezed her hand, which was my way of saying good.

Her flat was far neater than her car. It was spacious, the door opening onto a large lounge and dining room that smelt of home cooking. In her sitting room we kissed again and this time she undid the remaining buttons on the back of my dress and, leaning back from me, she pulled it away and let it fold down at my waist. She gave me a foxy grin and leant down to suck my nipples. They had grown hard, inevitably, and, I had been dying for her to touch them and suck them and the sensation was pure bliss. We broke briefly as she led me to her sofa, sat me down and started again to suck one nipple, while stroking the other. I was not exactly passive myself. I pulled her up so I could kiss her and, at the same time, unbutton her shirt. After all, I thought, if my girls were out, her's should be too. She didn't mind but her bra was a bit of a problem until I discovered it fastened at the front. It sort of snapped open and there they were; b cup and firm with dark nipples that were hard and proud.

We spent some time sucking and handling and kissing until she said, "How the fuck does the dress come off?"

I stood, unzipped the short zip at the side of my waist and the skirt slipped down my legs. She, still sitting, placed her hand flat on the front of my knickers and smiled. "Sexy. They show off your pubes beautifully." With that, she pulled them down. "Even better. Bedtime, baby."

She stood up, her shirt open and her bra dangling, grabbed my hand and led me, naked but for my heels, to her bedroom. She took her shirt and bra off, kicked off her shoes and took me in her arms.

She kissed me, hard and deep, her tongue pressing into me. Then she stood back and started to take her trousers off. She peeled them down with her knickers to reveal an unruly pelt of hair. "I'm in charge tonight. You ok with that?"

I was very ok with that but actions speak louder than words so I dropped to my knees and kissed her cunt. Her fingers ran through my hair and pulled me tighter to her. A rewarding groan of pleasure made me work harder, spreading her lips with my tongue, finding her wet core, her hard clit. She tasted fabulous. I spent a good few minutes enjoying her.

Gently, she pulled me away by my hair and smiled down at me.

"Bitch time, baby. Get on the bed."

As I mounted the bed, she opened a drawer and pulled out a sumptuous leather harness with a slim dildo attached.

"Watch." Like I wasn't going to? She strapped on and, pushing me onto my back, knelt between my spread legs. She leaned over me, her mouth beside my ear. "If I do anything, anything at all that you don't like, say. If you want me to stop, I'll stop. Get that?"

Given that assurance, she backed up and bent down and started to lick me. Feather light at first, her licks gradually became firmer and my arousal increased. She clearly enjoyed it as I had enjoyed going down on her. She took her time, slowly working my state of arousal ever higher. She took so long that it was something of a surprise when she stopped, moved up and looked into my eyes. She leant in to kiss me and, as she did, so her strapon entered me, just a little as if she'd just let the first inch go into me. Her body was hard, firm and bearing down on me as she slowly increased the depth of her penetration. I wrapped my legs around her, pulling her into me deeper still.

At some point, and you'll forgive me that ecstasy can adversely affect the memory, I was on my front with Erin on top of me, her dildo in me and her legs either side of mine. Then I was up on my knees or it may have been the other way around.

I can't say how I came, how often, or even if Erin came at all. I do know I found myself breathless, sweaty, exhausted, elated and lying side by side and hand in hand.

"Fuck," said Erin.

I slowly turned my face from the ceiling to her. "Again? You're insatiable."

We both laughed and slept.

We did fuck again, in the morning. I stayed that night too. By the time I got home I had that beautiful, well-fucked feeling between my legs. Whilst she wasn't insatiable, she was enthusiastic and made me feel fantastic.

Erin and I stuck together for months after that. We didn't move in together although we talked about it. It worked for both of us to live alone, somehow making those nights we were together, sweeter, more exciting. We only ever went home together if we both wanted to, whether we wanted sex or not. We each respected that the other might be tired or simply needed to tidy her home or entertain other people.

"I'm going up to London, " Erin told me one lunchtime in the pub across the road from the office. "I'm seeing a girlfriend."

"Are you telling me you're going to fuck her?"

"How would you feel about that?"

I pretended to think about it. "I'd feel jealous, abandoned, and," a dramatic pause, "delighted for you. I don't mind you having sex with other women. Not remotely. We can both find pleasure elsewhere and remain good together. Cant we?"

"I like to think so. Some people get a bit funny about it."

I laughed. "It doesn't mean I don't have feelings for you. But we're both young and to commit to a monogamous relationship wouldn't work for either of us, would it?"

"No. Would you really be jealous?"

"No. I'd be hurt if you felt you had to lie about it. I don't want the details and I wont share the details of mine with you but I'll always be honest."

"As it happens, I wont be fucking her. But," she indicated across the bar to a woman in a long, black dress. "I'd fuck her given half a chance."

"Join the queue."

We did both have other sexual partners and it never caused a problem. What brought our relationship to an end was success. Success, that is, for Erin. She had been out shopping, her camera, as almost always, hanging from her shoulder. She'd witnessed and had taken pictures of a robbery in progress. The robbers were armed and had fired at her, missing her thank god. But she'd kept taking pictures despite the risk. The resulting images went global and she made a lot of money. She also was recognised as a real, serious press photographer and was offered a number of jobs including war photographer for a big, national paper.

We were out for dinner together when she told me. The Indus Indian restaurant was a favourite of ours and we were half way through our meal when she took my hand.