Victoria's Third Secret

Sales yap over. Apologies for that; picture yourself in a room with a beautiful girl and an authentic four-poster and perhaps you'll see where I'm coming from.

Chapter Three

Somewhat surprisingly Dave resisted my attempts to immediately throw her onto the bed.

'I fancy a drink first,' she said, accepting the kiss but delaying the carnal cavorting, 'and you're way ahead of me.'

I fancied a fuck but was too polite to say so. Well, just about.

'We are still . . .' I nodded to the bed. 'Well, we are sharing, aren't we?'

'Too right we are. And you can take the lead if you want. But I need Dutch courage. I have never been so nervous in all my life.'

I wasn't nervous but I could see she was. And seeing it excited me. Good little girl that I was I led her downstairs and bought her a pint of Robinsons. Conscious of my bladder capacity, I went for a large glass of Shiraz.

And that ice between us was broken better than ever. Still skipping the awkward history we talked about shoes and ships and sealing wax . . .

By ten o'clock, fortified by several drinks, we were back in our room.

'I'm all fingers and thumbs,' Dave said shakily, unfastening her blouse.

I was probably as anxious as she was by then. But I wasn't about to crumble. Taking over all the unbuttoning duties I eased the blouse off of her. And leaning in, I kissed her nips.

Flat-chested as she is, Dave has always had wonderful nipples. At that moment in time they were fully erect and could have won prizes. They won my heart; that was for sure.

Greedily using my tongue on her I undid her smart work trousers, tugging them down before very rudely thrusting my hand inside her panties.

And what a shock I got! Previously Dave had maintained a thick bush of reddish brown pubic hair.

Make that a very, very thick bush.

I'd liked that about her. Okay, so a girl had to work to find her way through it, but it was different, no? Just about every last one of my countless other girlfriends shaved to some degree . . . but not Dave.

Not until now.

Now she was as bald as a badger.

'Nice, nice, nice,' I whispered, delving ever deeper, not sure how much I liked the new look but determined to act as if it was the bee's knees.

'God yes,' Dave sighed, 'you're the best. Do me . . . do me, please do me!'

So I did her . . . and more than just once.

*****

Having sex in a four-poster bed was, by the way, very moreish. So too was having sex with Dave, full stop.

Leastways it was when her nerves finally abated. At the outset she was like some character in an old black and white Ealing comedy: the sort where overly polite English gentlemen kept on saying "No, no, after you . . ."

You know the ones I mean; the ones where it takes two guys half an hour to enter a room.

But never mind her nerves . . . or mine for that matter. They did finally abate and from then-on the sex was stupendously good. Oh it was familiar, maybe even very, very familiar, but stupendously good for all that.

Call me sentimental, but fucking Dave was like coming home after circling the globe.

Fucking her was fucking fantastic.

It wasn't half bad when she took her turn to fuck me, either.

Normally I exaggerate (a bit) about all night sessions but that Friday night we were restrained, in a relative sort of a way. Swapping roles every hour, on the hour, we fell asleep together at around four in the morning.

And we awoke together to find that the snow was still falling.

Forgive me a snigger at this point in the tale. I don't dislike walking but being unable to march up and down mountains wasn't ever going to be a disappointment.

'Bastard weather,' said Dave, staring out of the window at a whiteout.

'Guess we'll have to stay in bed,' I observed. 'Quelle horreur!'

*****

We did eventually get up, shower and go down for breakfast. According to the (quite exceptionally sexy) waitress who served us, the snow was due to fall until midday. Then it would stop, freeze a while and start to thaw late afternoon. And as for the Kirkstone Pass . . . forget it. Maybe it would be reachable tomorrow, if the thaw continued as forecast.

'We could try a short walk,' Dave said.

'My arse,' I replied, 'we're going back to bed.'

And that's what we did.

Well, once the chambermaids had vacated our room, leaving fresh bedsheets behind them, that's what we did.

No resistance from Dave. No resistance unless you count her insistence that we used a strapless toy by means of a change.

As an aside, that came as no great revelation. Dave loved that strapless toy, even if she did use it in one of her several harnesses, as often as not.

Dave and her toys! For a genuine gold star lesbian she certainly loved to be penetrated, and in a lot of weird and wonderful ways.

When was that snow forecast to stop? Did I say noon? We took turns to fuck until about then and, after sharing another shower, we took a short walk.

Make that a very short walk.

The Mortal Man was perhaps ten minutes' trudge away. Maybe in the conditions it was more like twenty. All I knew was that I had been spared a hundred miles a day route march; Lady Luck was for once on my side.

'I wanted to do Ambleside,' Dave grouched as we settled down with brimming pints of ale.

'Get a helicopter,' I replied helpfully. 'Or else go down to Windermere and skate across the lake.'

'I don't think it's frozen. Not quite.'

'So swim.'

'Tee-hee, hee, you're so witty.'

'Nature's intervened.' I took Dave's hand as I spoke, stroking it. 'It's providence, isn't it?'

'Yes,' she said, 'I think it is.'

Chapter Four

We stayed in the Mortal Man a couple of hours then trudged back to the Queen's Head for a late lunch/early dinner of roast ox.

Okay, so I'm exaggerating again, but the country cuisine there is beyond excellent. Diners really do expect to see Henry VIII over in the far corner, munching on succulent chicken legs, quaffing tankards of fine ale and generally having a ball.

Or maybe the snow drifts held him up.

Or whatever; we made it there easily enough and so did dozens of others. The place was heaving when we got back and busier still when we finished eating and sneaked back up to our room.

Not that anyone seemed to mind the same-sex angle; male and female alike, they must all have known we were "an item" but no one commented at all. Well, apart from one guy who could not stop grinning at us; I think he was wishing he could come and watch.

At the risk of repeating myself; what did Tony out of Men Behaving Badly say? "If I was a girl I'd definitely give it a go" . . .

Strange that, isn't it? Men are only too ready to dismiss a certain sort of female as horrid lezzies. But make those lezzies physically attractive and suddenly they're all for anything and everything.

Call me cynical but it's true, isn't it?

Well, isn't it?

Stuff the deep thought angle; back to the tale.

Ascending with the unspoken blessing of all, we went up the staircase to our room and, not caring about the (thanks to that second session of ours) unmade bed and cum circles on the sheets, got back down to brass tacks.

And this time we got on opposite ends of the one sex toy I'd brought along. Quite appropriately, as it happened, seeing as it was a sturdy, double-ended affair.

Happy memories or what! We'd used to rock and roll like that for hours and, reliving the past to an extent, we rocked and rolled again for simply ages.

We were exceptionally good at it, too. I guess having hundreds and hundreds of hours of practice paid off for us.

And I guess that, if there to observe, the guy in the bar would have approved big-time.

*****

Yet again we dozed off in the early hours. And this time I woke alone. That is to say I woke first; it wasn't as if Dave had done a runner or anything.

Lying there in peace a while, I took in my surroundings in a lazy, self-contented sort of a way. At that moment in time I was . . . well I was not only contented, I was relaxed. Good sex always has that effect on me. And sex with Dave had always been good.

Outside the sun was up. I could see that through the curtains we'd forgotten to pull. Dark clouds still lurked but only amid patches of blue. I guessed it was somewhere between seven and eight and snow was no longer in the equation. That is to say freshly falling snow was no longer in the equation.

Did that thaw happen? I wondered.

Then, deciding to fuck with the thaw, I accepted the fact my right hand was on Dave's smoother than smooth abdomen. Half expecting to meet up with that long-gone bush of hers, I slid it ever lower.

Surprise, surprise! No lovely brown bush of crinkly hair. Better still, she was silky, hot and rather moist.

Girls feel so exceptionally good down there, don't they?

They always have done to me, anyway. As far as I'm concerned being silky, hot and moist only means one thing.

Yes, "silky" plus "hot" plus "moist" always does add up to "ready, ready, ready".

No question but Dave was still asleep. Keeping my thumb out of the way I began to slowly stroke her; so, so very slowly and so, so very gently.

Why I was possibly being even as gentle and tender as Vic had been with me.

Arbitrarily banishing other women from my thoughts, I focused on the job in hand: four fingers and little aim; that was my ambition. Never once targeting anywhere specific, consistently hitting all of Dave's best bits but subtler than subtle.

Dave was, coincidentally, still lost in slumber. At some stage last night she'd dumped her glasses on the bedside stand and looked youthful without them. Else maybe she would have if she'd not been obviously in the grip of the sweetest of dreams.

Trust me; that was a woman's dream, not a young girl's.

Enticing her as I was, I marvelled at the expressions flitting across her lovely face. Okay, so I was empowered by being the cause of those expressions, but I was also enchanted to be witnessing them.

Dave was so sexy.

Dave was so evidently in ecstasy that it was impossible not to be delighted for her.

And still she slept.

Time was, by the way, meaningless as I caressed her. It may have taken ten minutes for her to progress from moist to soaking wet or it may have taken ten seconds. All I'm really sure of is that I kept gently, tenderly enticing her on and on.

Soon enough, her eyes still clamped shut, her breathing accelerating a little, Dave's lower body began to move, matching the rhythm of my right hand; matching it perfectly.

Watching her as avidly as ever, I pressed on.

By now Dave's mouth was open. She was gasping as she breathed but in a positive way, clearly building and building. Behind her closed lids her eyes were fluttering left and right, left and right.

'Oh, oh, oh,' she went, 'oh, oh, oh.'

What on earth was she dreaming of? I smiled inside. Was she dreaming of me? Did it matter?

'Oh my,' she said, her eyes snapping open. 'Oh my God yes!'

Was that the most violent cum ever or not? It certainly was in my experience. Gentle, tender or nay, I was suddenly drenched up to my armpit. And how the canopy over the bed survived I will never know.

Yes, it was a climax out of the top drawer, all right.

And I'm glad to report it wasn't the end of proceedings.

'More,' Dave pleaded, 'more, more, more.'

Naturally I obliged.

And from that point things only got better.'

Chapter Five

You know me by now. I'm one of life's blusterers, all mouth and no trousers, as they quaintly say in my part of the world. So for once I'm going to surprise or even astonish you. For once I'm going to speak from the heart.

Even though I would never admit it even to myself, I had loved Dave. Every time we split up I was devastated; ten million other break-ups and only the handful with her had ever mattered.

But now, back together again . . . yet again . . . the self-secret desire was gone.

Don't get me wrong, I still wanted to have sex with her. Her variety of sex was and always will be very, very good. No way will I lose my appetite for having sex with Dave anytime this millennium.

But that possessive desire was all gone.

Fortunately, she seemed to feel the same way. Or perhaps she was better at hiding her feelings than I was.

Whatever the reality, we had an in-depth post-coital conversation that really did belong between a pair of grown adults.

'I love you and I hate you,' Dave told me. 'I never want to see you again and I don't ever want you to leave me.'

'You know me,' I replied, 'I'll be off again in two shakes of a lamb's tail.'

'At the end of July,' she cut in. 'Off screwing Honey, and then off screwing half of New Zealand, no doubt.'

'I'm set for Tasmania,' I said. 'But New Zealand's worth a look-in. And whatever you may think, I'm quite reserved on my travels. I'm much worse back here in the UK.'

'Us Brits being totally STD-free,' she said with a shrill laugh. Then, intense and very convincingly: 'Where are we going, Kat?'

That question was very loaded indeed.

'I'm not going to settle down anytime soon,' I said after a pause. 'And that excludes being faithful in any way. I really would like us to stay friends but living together isn't on the cards anymore; not anytime soon, anyway.'

Dave laughed, not quite as shrilly. 'So you want to screw now and then and leave the future as a big unknown?'

'Sounds like a plan to me.'

'What do you see when you look ahead? I don't know, say ten years from now?'

'Same as always,' said I with little consideration, 'working and travelling. Same goes for twenty years from now. Once I'm beyond child-bearing age I might think again.'

'And can you see yourself still screwing me in twenty years' time?'

'Yes, God willing. Maybe then we can talk about co-habiting again.'

That time Dave's laugh was even less shrill. 'You're a tart,' she said.

'True,' said I, 'and proud of it.'

'So is there any chance of fixing me a date with Hev in the meantime?'

That particular question shocked me not at all. I'd seen the way the two of them interacted, hadn't I? And being asked the question was in line with the atmosphere I was trying to project.

It was even an atmosphere I might have really wanted to project.

Or so I told myself at the time.

'I guess it'd take me all of a second to fix you up,' I told her. 'Is there any chance of fixing up me a date with Lizzie, as one of your infamous wife-swap deals?'

That was a cheap shot, by the way. I had usually caused our breakups but she'd once seriously alienated me by setting up a series of swaps with a local couple. Naturally, she'd got the blonde with looks to die for. Guess who'd got the guy?

Not that Dave was biting.

'There's every chance in the world,' she said. 'I'm fighting Lizzie off as it is. I guess it'd take me a fraction of a second to get a yes. But I thought you had . . . er, reservations.'

I laughed. 'I do. But Hev's going to lend me a ball-gag.'

Dave shook her head. 'Hev does ball-gags!'

'Not normally. But she has a reliable online supplier . . .'

*****

One very pleasantly shared shower later and we took occasion to examine the climate outside. It was, to say the least, iffy. The sun was probably still out there somewhere but those dark clouds had blotted it out, along with all of the patches of blue. And the rain was coming down in sheets.

'The thaw happened,' I observed brightly. 'The road's as clear as can be.'

'Did you bring wet weather gear?' Dave asked, not looking at me.

'Yes and no. I went more for cold than wet, but I could survive.'

Given a friendly following wind and a whole lot of luck, I added silently.

Blinking myopically, Dave kept staring out of the window.

I can't see without my glasses, I thought with an inner grin.

'We need to vacate the room after our breakfast,' she said. 'Way I see it that gives us two options. We can walk the Kirkstone Pass and go down into Ambleside and beyond. Or we can go to East Morton and afternoon in my bed.'

I must have gasped at that because she hurried on.

'Don't worry; I'm not proposing you move back in. And I know that you have a big meeting down in London tomorrow. I guarantee that I'll have you home at yours by nine at the latest.'

My mind swirled. Yes, I was reluctant to have sex in Dave's cottage. Having sex there wasn't co-habiting but did seem like a large step along the way. Leastways it did given what had happened between us before. But sod all the symbolism: having an afternoon of sex was so more appealing than footslogging up-hill hand down-dale . . . in increasingly wet clothes.

Well who wouldn't have chosen the obvious? Not me, that is for sure, and not that I had to make a choice.

'Nine at the latest,' my mouth repeated of its own accord. 'That's your idea of an "afternoon", is it? A whole nine hours screwing?'

'More like a mere seven,' she said nonchalantly. 'We can have drinks in the Busfeild first. And I'll need to get you showered at half past eight to get you home by nine.'

'You've got it all worked out, haven't you?'

'Too right I have. I've even factored in your need for beauty sleep. In other words I will do all the screwing. You can just lie back and enjoy.' Now she did look at me, and avariciously at that.

My head had the same lack of control as my mouth. It nodded okay.

*****

So that's what we did. We had a very satisfying breakfast in the Queen's Head before Dave drove us safely back south, along roads which increasingly looked as if they had never once seen snow in their life. Then we called in to her local and shared two bottles of wine.

Shiraz first, followed by pinot.

And then . . .

For once I'm going to skimp on the sex. Let's just say we had our seven hours and I played pillow queen for at least six of them.

Dave's toy drawer is, co-incidentally, almost as well-stocked as Hev's. Constantly telling me that I had to "relax" and "enjoy" she had me seven ways from Sunday. And, seeing that it actually was a Sunday . . .

Well let's just say she left me as relaxed as I'd ever been. And that I didn't just enjoy all the things she did to me, I relished every last second.

Two minutes before nine and we were parked up outside my latest crumby digs.

'This weekend was great,' Dave assured me. 'No, it was vastly better than just great. Is that it for now or do I get to see you again?'

I consulted my mental diary.

'You bet you do,' I said, 'it's just a question of when. As you know, I'm overnighting in the Smoke tomorrow. Then I'll need to recover. Then I've a date with Hev on Wednesday . . .'

'After which you'll need to recover again.'

'I guess, yes, in a nutshell. But . . .'

Dave shut me up by kissing me exceptionally thoroughly.

'Can you be free, recovered and available on Friday?' she asked when she finally broke off.

I nodded dumbly . . .

And next thing I knew we were naked in my bed.

Weekend marathon of sex or not, it seemed like Sunday to Friday was simply too long to wait.

Chapter Six

Obviously conscious of my need for "beauty sleep" Dave left my place around four in the morning. I then did my best to powernap, trying my utmost to remember tips I'd read in magazines, failing abjectly.

Why is it that experts sound . . . well, expert when they're giving tips and like arseholes when you for once need to follow their advice?

Answers on a postcard please, and expect a delay of months in receiving an acknowledgement.

And whatever you do, don't hold your breath.

I'm going to move on to my London jaunt in a moment, but first I have to record my exchange with Hev. Eight o'clock of a Monday morning, right? Despite my broken sleep I got into work as early as always. And there was an email awaiting me.

Yes, an email from HeatherHunter@WYB.co.uk.

"I hope you haven't worn the linings of your feet away on all those hills," it read. "And I hope you had as much fun this weekend as I have."