Thursday Night Delight

'You didn't know me the first time I called. And you took to me like a duck to water. If you just be your natural, super-sexy self you won't get any complaints.'

'Well,' said Mandy, 'if you insist . . .'

*****

When Hev's number two mobile rang she was on her back, frigging herself with number one again. It was one of those déjà vu moments . . . she'd known they were approaching sun-up and her alarm call gave her the usual ten-minute warning.

That's to say her number one phone was still functioning, and Mandy was speaking to her from inside her kitty-kitty.

How sensual was that? How on earth was a totally sodden mobile still in full working order? She could vaguely remember being given a "waterproof" assurance but had not really believed it. The salesman would have said that, wouldn't he?

And never mind salesmen, Henry was awake, watching her in the same overhead mirror that she was watching herself.

'I'm gonna cum,' she announced, perhaps ungrammatically.

Then, proving she didn't always (under- or over-) exaggerate, she went off like Krakatoa.

*****

'Say hi to Mandy,' she said when she finally caught her breath, passing Henry her somewhat stinky phone.

'Hi Mandy,' he said gingerly.

'Hi big boy,' Mandy replied, loud enough for most of Micklethwaite to hear. 'Put Hev back on. We have plans to be making.'

Henry passed back the mobile and Hev spoke into it, or maybe panted. 'What plans?'

'Depending on how Friday . . . meaning tomorrow . . . goes, I intend to call in personally next week. Maybe I will be there on Tuesday. Does that fit with your social diary?'

Hev thought of the image of the girl, of her imagination and the way they worked together verbally.

'Too fucking true it does,' she said eagerly.

Mandy burst out laughing. 'And I believed you never use swear words.'

'I lived in Australia for over a year. I might rarely use them, but I know what they are.' Then Hev joined in the laughter. 'The natives in England are probably even worse. That's where the poor Aussies got it from in the first place. Not to mention you unruly Yanks.'

'Let's get through Friday and, all being well, I'll book a flight next day. Can you sort me a hotel?'

'Stuff hotels, you're staying here with me. I'm due time off so, once I know the dates for sure, I'll make myself available. Sounds like a deal?'

'Sounds sweeter than sweet.'

*****

Heather had as good as forgotten Henry. One glance upwards provided a reflected view of a hard-on of major proportions. Again!

Sad to report (for him, anyway) hard-ons could not get in the way of her eight o'clock meeting. And it was after seven already.

'Sorry Hon,' she crooned, 'I need to fly.'

'We could shower together,' Henry ventured.

'And then I'd miss my ten o'clock meeting as well. I have compulsive issues when a shared shower is involved. You'll have to wait until next time.'

'Next time was supposed to be next Wednesday,' he said sulkily. 'You've just promised that to Mandy, or as good as promised it.'

Good grief, the guy had a point.

'You could make up a three,' Heather suggested, as tentative as she'd been in years.

'And Mandy would buy that?'

Heather shrugged. Mandy liked to gossip about having male-female sex but hadn't ever confessed to any sort of indulgence. Probably she did, but maybe not. The only threes properly discussed had all been totally feminine.

'Sorry,' she said firmly. 'We will have to wait until the week after. Wednesday after next in the Potting Shed at eight. And you get to call all the shots. I'll be as obliging as can be. I'll do whatever you want.'

Henry grouched a bit but at last nodded consent.

Who wouldn't go for an open-ended offer like that?

Chapter Five

Showering separately, Heather going first and dressing yet again in a mannish shirt and a very, very girlish skirt she called Bingley Taxies while Henry washed away the cobwebs and dressed in clobber he'd had on yesterday. Not that he didn't scrub up well.

A week on Wednesday was by no means an ordeal to be dreaded.

Okay, it wasn't likely to be patch on Friday night or Mandy's unexpected visitation but hey, girls wanna have fun, no?

When the working day is done, and all that . . . and with apologies to daddy dear.

'Drop in here a sec,' Heather instructed the cabbie as they started up Main Street, directing him into a mini car park on their left.

'You should be clear of alcohol by now,' she told Henry, 'but driving into Leeds this time of day might be a challenge.'

'I'd rather drive than catch a train,' he countered. 'And I've got my own parking space in the city. Rare as rocking horse shit, they are. It'd be rude not to use it.'

Then he was history and Heather was in WYB, supplying herself with two cups of Columbian coffee as she made her way to her executive desk.

Much the same as when I left, she thought with a rueful grin, apart from the million and one emails all waiting for me.

While she fully appreciated IT advances, she had reservations about frigging emails.

Why did folk copy every woman and her dog into routine memos?

And why did so many obscure companies want to sell her Viagra?

As if she needed Viagra. She must have been blessed with a low need for sleep, but she'd also been blessed with a supersonic sex drive. Put simply, the more she got, the more she wanted.

Take right then, for instance. Following on from a virtually sleepless weekend she'd had a completely sleepless Wednesday night/Thursday morning. And she

felt good as gold.

Well, perhaps an early Thursday night might be advisable, in advance of Friday's extravaganza.

*****

Fresh back from both her early meetings Heather supplied herself with coffee (as per always) before taking a seat in her "office within an office". In cahoots with the startlingly beautiful Victoria, she'd won promotion after promotion there at WYB. According to their original plan by now they should both be multiple millionaires and ready to retire. But they had had to survive the credit crunch in 2008 and the Dow Jones flash crash in 2010.

Yet they were doing it right and were already paper millionaires, advancing rapidly on real wealth and behaving oh so properly.

What was another year or three of toil compared to high-flying execs throwing themselves out of high-flying office windows on the turn of a dice?

Okay, so global shopping might have to wait a tad, but not forever.

Grinning, she remembered that snap of her and Vic; the one she'd sent to Mandy. They had been on their way out of a quarterly board meeting after posting WYB's best results of all time.

Prompting their biggest bonuses of all time.

And things were only getting better!

With two hours to spare she decided to do a little desk tidying. Normally Janet took care of her filing and admin. In fact, Janet, who'd only been there a blink of an eye, had swiftly become indispensable.

How capable was she. Give her until Christmas and she'd have taken full control of Vic's moniker of "Miss Efficiency".

Unlike Heather, naturally. Janet filed whatever needed to be filed within moments, be it electronically or manually. Heather's middle drawer hadn't been opened in ages.

Well, not for a goodly while, anyway.

Determined to catch up, Heather picked out a sizeable pile of correspondence, turning it upside down on her desk-top, so she could address the oldest first. Her tactics were, to say the very least, basic. A lot of this guff was already stored electronically, only printed off for presentations and the likes.

Shredding was the order of the day for most of it. And she had a shredder situated close to hand.

Whizzing through the first half dozen documents, shredding all of them, Heather hesitated. She had come to Janet's CV which, roughly calculated, had to have been printed off three months ago.

Heather had been impressed by that CV and even more impressed by the girl herself. Professional as she was, she would never have made a recruitment decision based solely on appearance (not unless Victoria was involved; Vic would be a shoo-in in every sense of the term).

Anyway, Janet was about five foot ten but slender, narrow shouldered and had a sneakily attractive face. Her body was nice.

Well, her body was none of Heather's business. Their working relationship was the be all and end all.

That much said, she had a cute ass and a super-sexy waist.

Her boobs were small but perfectly suited the rest of her.

Eight weeks at WYB and Heather hadn't heard one bad word about the girl.

There again, whoever would have a bad word to say about her?

Sighing inwardly, Heather made a move for the shredder.

Then froze as she caught sight of the date of birth.

Good grief, it was right now, today. And it wasn't any ordinary birthday; it was Janet's thirtieth.

As a point of order Heather sent cards and gifts to close colleagues on every birthday. Okay, she had an awful lot of colleagues and had to pick and choose, to some extent. But her new right-hand woman should without a doubt be high on the list.

Generally, when Heather blobbed, she'd send her PA out to buy flowers from that lovely woman on the market square, plus chocolates, wine or both. Then she'd present "her" gifts later, pretending she had been tied up with directors, board meetings and the likes.

See-through or not, it had always worked.

Up until now.

How could she send her PA out to buy last-ditch presents for herself?

Heather's office was glass-walled. Janet's was in the same larger office space. Whether pre-booked or not, visitors could not enter Heather's sanctum without passing Janet first. And Janet could be as defensive as a sabre-toothed tiger in a bad mood. A junior director had once turned tail and ran when confronted with her.

And bloody right, too. The bastard had known Heather was working to a no-miss deadline and shown up out of nowhere over some triviality or other.

Idjit was lucky Janet hadn't bitten off a leg or two . . . if not his (no doubt) undersized balls.

Now, looking out through her glass wall, Heather could see there was no trace of birthday celebration on Janet's desk whatsoever. Not one card was to be seen. And balloons; there should have been a whole lot of balloons, most with the dreaded big 3-0 on them.

Please god, don't say she's unpopular!

That left-field thought was quickly dismissed. Janet had at least a dozen admirers.

And that was only the men without inhibitions! Who knew how many other admirers were lurking there in the background, worshipping her from afar?

Not that Janet let on. She was obsessively private and hardly ever smiled at any provocation at all.

Maybe she was terminally shy.

She can't have told anyone, Hev concluded. She must be keeping it secret.

Well tough shit. I've sussed. And am I the girl to sit back and say nothing?

Make that a no.

*****

Heather didn't exactly use stealth as she left her sanctum and marched up to Janet's desk.

'Hey, what's with all the secrecy?'

Janet had always previously deferred to her boss. Now she blinked and looked mildly belligerent.

'It's my fault, I know,' Heather persisted, 'but you should have told folk about your birthday. Sitting there pretending to be Billy-no-Mates, what do you think that makes me feel like?'

'I gave up on birthdays ages ago,' said Janet, somewhat limply, 'what's another year?'

'In any other circumstances I'd send you out for flowers and whatever,' Heather replied. 'Today I'm going to insist you let me take to out, wine and dine you.'

'Miss Heather, that's hardly appropriate . . .'

'Tonight, I'm Hev, not Miss Anything. And I am the boss. We're off out to dine after a horrendous five o'clock meeting. Leave it at that.'

'But Miss Heather, we can't hide away from the world.'

'Call me that once more and I'll smack your bum. Call me "Hev" and you might get a birthday kiss.'

*****

Up until her promise/threat of bum smacking Heather hadn't had any vibes from Janet at all.

But there again, big-headed or not, loads of people wanted to have sex with her. She'd taken a lot of "straight" girl virginities without ever feeling remorse. That is to say: none of her willing conquests ever expressed any remorse, so why should she?

Why when girl-on-girl was so madly addictive?

Now, back in her sanctum, Heather did her best to consider possibilities.

The chances were Janet was as straight as straight could be, only dining out through politeness and the need to favour her boss.

Hev grinned inwardly at the idea of "favouring her boss". The possibilities there were endless.

Bugger it, she ruled finally (in a distinctly Aussie accent). We'll eat, drink and make merry. Any luck and I'll steal that birthday kiss.

What more could a girl wish for?

Well, maybe just a tad more . . .

*****

The "five o'clock meeting" ended at quarter to seven and Heather had to scurry Janet down the Main Street.

'Where are we going?' Janet protested. ''Please don't say the Potting Shed. Not after last night.'

'What do you mean by last night?'

'The Grapevine has you in there last night, with a guy.'

Heather sighed. BYB's Grapevine made Reuter's look out of touch. Even the (long gone) News of the World would have killed for their sources. The sensible papers such as the Mail, Telegraph and Times didn't have half the contacts.

And as for the local Telegraph and Argus . . .

Forget it.

Surprising herself, Heather took hold of Janet's hand. Even more surprisingly, she didn't get knocked away.

No, midway down Bingley Main Street and their fingers were already intertwined.

Deciding oh bugger it, she stole that threatened kiss.

Objections? Like heckers-like.

Oh no (or rather, oh yes, yes, yes) Janet kissed her back in spades.

Tongues very much involved!

Result!!

Maybe there was a glimmer hope for the sorry old planet after all.

*****

'Where are we going?' Janet asked again, somewhat eventually and rather groggily.

'The Brown Cow,' Heather obliged. 'Seeing as you're hung up about other venues. And seeing as you are the birthday girl and I am determined to make your night.'

'The Brown Cow,' Janet echoed. 'That's like the most expensive pub on earth.'

'Would you prefer Wetherspoons?'

'Well, no. The Bingley 'Spoons isn't bad, obviously, but . . .'

'But their meals aren't a patch on the Brown Cow's.'

'Put it like that and I'd have to agree.'

'In that case we're bound for the Cow. And please feel free to order whatever. I'm paying.'

'Miss Heather, I'm not sure I can.'

'I'm Hev. True friends and lovers call me Hev. And here we are, better friends than ever.'

*****

The two were welcomed with open arms. And guess what: Heather had arranged a candle-lit table in a very discreet part of the pub. Janet almost swooned at the sight. Best courtesy she'd ever had was some guy holding an internal door open for her.

This was like having Casanova kissing her hand.

Not that she'd have appreciated Casanova kissing her anywhere, come to that.

Being the perfect hostess, assisted by an even more perfect waitress, Heather steered Janet into the best seat in the land. Then, asked for drinks, she wondered if Janet drank pinot. When Janet said she did a glance was exchanged between hostess and waitress.

'Make it two bottles on ice,' said Heather, as if she said it every night.

(As indeed she usually did, if not always right there, in the Cow.)

Menus before them, Hev insisted on chatting before ordering. 'This Grapevine nonsense,' she began, 'you don't take it seriously, do you?'

'Do you mean you weren't in the Potting Shed last night?'

'Okay, so I was.'

'And you weren't with a guy?'

'Yes. Guilty as accused. I copped off with a guy. But why not? I'm single and free to choose. Even if he was my first bloke since sometime before Easter.'

'Meaning you prefer that SJ?'

Hev's eyebrows shot up. Nobody but nobody knew she privately called Sammy Jo that.

Except Janet somehow did. Was she hacking her PC or what?

But no, it couldn't be that. SJ didn't even know she was SJ. There were no rogue emails to hack. SJ only existed inside Heather's murky mind cells.

So how in hell did her PA know?

Had she been talking in her sleep or what?

And even then . . .

'Rumours about me abound,' Hev said aloud, unsettled by a lengthy silence.

'I just happen to know you like her,' Janet volunteered.

'Just like that?'

'Yeah.'

'How do you know she's SJ to me?'

'She's beyond obviously special. The rest follows on.'

That sort of blew it for Hev. She'd never deny any lover and SJ was top of her pops.

She'd also run out of clever, leading questions.

'I cannot tell a lie,' she paraphrased, 'but I didn't chop down her cherry tree. Her cherry was long gone by the time I got there.'

The food waiter arrived before Janet could enquire further. She ordered soup and rolls and a rather large fillet steak.

Hev echoed her order.

'Great minds think alike,' she said when they were alone at their glamorous table again.

'What are you like?' Janet asked, earnest as ever. 'Are you really footloose and fancy-free?'

'I went to an all-girls school,' Hev admitted easily. 'That meant my early sexual experiences were all girl-on-girl. And I liked those experiences a lot. That's why I keep on as I do.'

'But you do men as well?'

'Last night's man was my first in months. I've promised him a second go but after that I'll be all-girl for a year or so. It's just how I am.'

Janet swigged pinot and said nothing.

'How about you?' Hev enquired. 'You must have some history behind your so-sexy ass.'

Janet swigged more vino.

'Come on girl, tell me. I can take your sex life however it turns out to be.'

After staring into her glass for almost a minute Janet looked up, meeting Hev's eyes. 'I'm a hundred per cent dyke,' she said. 'I fancy you like heck, but we're workmates . . .'

Inconveniently . . . or maybe arranged by the gods . . . their starters arrived just then.

We're not workmates when we're out of the office,' said Heather once safely secluded again. 'I fancy you as much as I've fancied anyone. Bugger the Grapevine. Let's celebrate your birthday in style.'

'Miss Heather . . .'

'How many times! I'm Hev out of the office. And what's more, tonight I'm going to be all yours.'

'Really?'

'Too true, that's how it's going to be. You choose: Smacked asses or kisses? And bear in mind, you'll get to do all the smacking and kissing. Kissing would be best by far for me but worry not; I will lie back and enjoy it, either way.'

Chapter Six

Janet's "I don't do workmates" objections didn't last beyond the second bottle of pinot. Come to that she did not object to anything. Maybe it was the Brown Cow's profiteroles that swung her.

Or maybe she was as up for it as Hev.

Boss in the office, equals out of the office.

Simples, no?

But Heather was still Janet's boss.

For a few minutes Janet tried to persuade herself to abort. Then, as their cab passed the remains of the old cattle market, common sense kicked in.

Yes, she had kissed and cuddled guys back in her youth. She'd even once given a boy a hand job in the back seat of his mother's car. But she'd never been penetrated by a real-life penis.

And she was determined to stay that way, come what may.

Hev was different, though. No, make that curiouser and braver.

Hev divided work with pleasure and who in her right mind ever declined pleasure.

Not Janet.

Not on her way to God knew what.

Bring it on, she thought, squeezing Hev's fingers, self-lubricating like a crazy woman.

*****

As it transpired later Hev lived at Hunters Farm, in what had been a large, mostly dairy operation. It seemed that finances (bloody supermarkets) had crushed them and her beloved dad had sold up in order to survive. Except he'd sold up for mega-bucks, hence Hev's single-sex education.