(c) DAR 2009
I'm not sure about what follows – should I tell you more, or have I told you too much already? There is more to be told, it's true, but do you want to read it, and do I want to admit to it? I'll read what you say – if you comment – and decide what to do.
I kept telling myself I was just flying to Southampton to sort out a new job - a promotion. That was all it was. Fly down Friday afternoon, fly back on Sunday. Or just possibly on Monday morning, that was always a possibility. I just had to spend some time with the girl who would be my new boss if it all worked out. We were going to go through some plans, try to work out the basis of a couple of new courses - we're in training, you see - so we could see if we worked well together on this kind of thing.
Her husband worked in the Middle East, the oil business, and mine was staying at home for the weekend, poor lamb. I was just visiting her to get the new job, because we needed the extra money. Spending the weekend with her at her house so we could work on what we needed without interruption. I was just going to spend the weekend with a colleague, that was all.
Except that I knew it wasn't going to be like that at all. I was quite certain that Sarah had long since decided it wouldn't - that was her name, Sarah - and I can't help wondering if Alex, my husband, didn't perhaps suspect what was really going to happen. To get the job I had to be able to show I could do it, of course, but everyone concerned knew I could. I'd demonstrated that before when I'd had the opportunity. Indeed if I hadn't lived in Northumberland, hundreds of miles from company headquarters, I'd probably have been given the manager's job instead of Sarah.
No, what Sarah wanted to know wasn't whether I could do the job. She wanted to know if I'd sleep with her, and she also wanted to know whether, if I would, she'd enjoy me enough to want to keep on having me. Would I be her mistress, and would my husband be a problem that would make that difficult? Would I be good enough in bed to keep her interested?
She hadn't said any of this, of course. I'd just worked it out from various things I'd heard or seen. Not least from something said to me a couple of months ago by another of the trainers, a younger and prettier woman from East Anglia, married to a former football star and suitably glamorous and high-maintenance. She'd made some comment about Sarah coming on to her, asking her to come to some hotel for a weekend, a study weekend or something. She hadn't gone, said she knew what Sarah wanted, and she didn't fancy the idea. I'd scoffed at it at the time, of course, but later...
And now Alex's career had gone pear-shaped - he said it was only temporary - and we needed the promotion, needed the money. Sarah had asked me down for the weekend, dangled the promotion in front of me, said her children and their au pair were away at Granny's, and said we'd be alone in the house. And in a meeting the week before, when she thought I couldn't see I'd noticed her eyeing me, eyeing my body.
I'm not bad looking for 45 - slim, good skin that doesn't need make-up, trim hips, neat if small boobs which have stayed in good enough shape that I can and do go topless on the beach, and cropped blonde hair - but I don't get eyed up so often that I don't notice it when it happens. The fact that it was a woman doing it gave me the shivers. I've never gone that way, never thought about sleeping with another woman. Not before this, anyway.
And now here I was on the flight to Southampton wondering how she'd get me into her bed, what it would be like, whether I'd enjoy it, determined not to let myself enjoy it. The further south the plane went, the more scared I got. What had I got myself into? What would she do to me if I was right about what she wanted?
Before I could get into too much of a state we were preparing for landing, and in what seemed like moments I was pulling my overnight bag out of the locker and heading for the exit. Sarah would be waiting for me in the arrivals lounge. I was hoping she'd like what she saw - I hadn't been sure what to wear, and had eventually settled on some nicely tailored trousers in a lightweight fabric that I thought made my bottom look really good, and a long-sleeved cotton tee-shirt that was quite clingy and again made of rather thin fabric.
Sure enough, there she was, looking very trim herself in jeans and a white shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck rather more than I would have expected from seeing her in the office. I put my overnight bag down to exchange pecks on the cheek, and when she bent quickly to pick it up couldn't help getting a good look at her generous cleavage. I wondered if this was coincidence, or if she was trying to send me a message.
I certainly got a pretty good look at her boobs, which are bigger than mine, and looked quite enviable, the skin flawless and firm. But then she's only 34 and quite well off, so she should look good. As she led me out of the terminal was it my imagination, or was she swaying her hips more than usual. No doubt that the jeans were from a designer who knew how to cut them to make a woman's hips look good. I saw a couple of guys giving her a second look; indeed I saw one guy give us both a good look, and couldn't help wondering what he'd have thought if he'd known what was going on.
When we got to her house in an attractive and rather pricey suburb of the city, Sarah said something that made me pretty sure I was right about what was actually happening. I had made some remark about it looking a nice house, and she said that the trouble was it only had four bedrooms. The kids had two; the au pair had the third, so there was no spare bedroom for me.
She could, she said, make up a camp bed on the landing. Or I could share her bedroom. It was a double bed, but it was a big one, a king size. I said that would be fine, and we chatted about what we liked in sleeping arrangements - doubles, singles, hard mattresses, that kind of thing. And then she said she slept naked - not that she didn't wear anything, not even that she slept nude, but that she slept naked. I got the message, and said I didn't wear much in bed in the summer either. That way at least I could keep my knickers on. She seemed happy at the news.
I didn't want her thinking I was too easy. I slept with very few men before I met Alex, and nobody else since then. I wasn't easy. I wouldn't have been doing this at all if it hadn't been for a moment a few weeks ago, just before Sarah called me about the job, when I caught him on the verge of tears as he did the accounts. When I checked later I could see he was going to have trouble paying the mortgage any day now, and he was trying so hard to sort something out, poor lamb, and to be tough and not show how worried he was. In fact he was desperate; I'd never seen him that way before.
So here I was, waiting to be seduced by Sarah so I could get a job as her assistant, pay the mortgage and presumably have sex with her whenever she fancied it from then on. I had been hoping I could confirm the job before she had me, but now I wasn't so sure. If we were going to bed together tonight naked, then my chances of making it through the night without giving her what she wanted looked poor to me. I shivered again at the thought of it.
She got to my overnight bag before I did for the second time, giving me another good look down her shirt in the process, and led me into the house and upstairs to "our" bedroom. It was a big room, light and airy with a mirrored wardrobe down one side, which made it look even bigger. The bed, too, was a big one. Sarah showed me the en-suite bathroom, complete with double shower and huge corner bath. It was, I thought, a bit like a set for an up-market porn film, but I kept my thoughts to myself. It was also very luxurious and beautifully fitted out. At least, I thought wryly, I was going to sell myself in gorgeous surroundings.
Sarah left me to have a wash while she made some tea, and as I tidied myself up and unpacked my toilet bag I couldn't help looking in the mirror and wondering what she was thinking, how she was seeing me. There were, I had to admit, no signs that she'd gone off what I was assuming was the idea, and plenty that she hadn't. I went downstairs for a cup of tea.
After a cup of tea and a small biscuit we went through to her office, and she explained the projects she wanted us to look at. They did sound interesting, and we started work straight away. I enjoyed it, actually - it was nice just to concentrate on work again for a while. I made several suggestions Sarah really seemed to like, and the time flew by.
Before we realised, it was 9 o'clock and Sarah's stomach gave a loud rumble! After we stopped laughing she apologised for not making supper - she'd meant to - and phoned an Italian restaurant in town for a meal. They said they could deliver it in around 40 minutes, so Sarah opened a bottle of good red wine and we sat on the sofa in her large lounge.
"That was a really good session," she said thoughtfully. "We could do a good job together. Do you really want this job, though. I mean really want it?"
"Oh yes," I said as firmly as I could manage, "Yes, I really want it. I'll do whatever I have to do to get it." Sarah put her drink down, walked over to the window and looked out into the garden for a long moment.
"I need my assistant to be someone I can be close to, really close to. I need a special relationship with them so I can trust them absolutely," she murmured, so quietly I could hardly hear her. She walked back behind the sofa, leant over and ran her hand down my arm. " I can see how we could be good together," she went on, "If we can develop that closeness.".
For a second I had the oddest feeling she was about to say something important, something revealing, very personal ... and then the doorbell rang, because our meal had arrived, and the moment passed. The food was good, the wine was good, and we enjoyed them both, sitting chatting about families and children and the usual things that two women talk about in these kinds of situations, where they are getting to know each other. Afterwards I went to help with the washing up, but she told me not to be silly, I should phone my husband, so I did.
He seemed OK - asked if I could talk, which with Sarah across the room I couldn't really - and a couple of times asked if things were going well, if there were problems. I'm really not sure if he knows what's happening, but if he did, that would be how he'd ask, I think.
By the time I'd said goodnight, and promised to phone him again tomo0rrow, Sarah had finished the washing up, and asked if I wanted a coffee. I said something about late-night coffees keeping me awake, and she said we didn't have to go straight to sleep, which made me think I knew why she wanted me awake, but I said I'd have a milky coffee. She drank black, as I'd noticed on other occasions.
So we sat on the sofa, drank our coffees and watched the news on TV. This time she sat right next to me, so our arms were almost touching. I was relaxing, my hand on my leg, when the news started to come round again, as it does on those 24-hour channels, and she turned and put her hand on top of mine, and squeezed gently, and said "Shall we go up to bed now?"
I said "OK" as naturally as I could, and she kept hold of my hand and led me out of the room, led me up the wide staircase. I felt like a frightened virgin, scared of the unknown and in my case worried that I might enjoy what was going to happen. I didn't want to enjoy sex with another woman, but I was beginning to be afraid I might.
Sarah led me into the bedroom, stood very close, and ran her fingers up and down my arm again as she said she'd use the bathroom first, then I could go in and get undressed. So I checked my toilet bag and tried not to think too far ahead. OK - a pair of clean knickers - I'd brought some spares - and some wipes for those special places, toothbrush and toothpaste, hairbrush, all there. God I'm nervous. What if I'm wrong?
The Sarah came out of the bathroom stark naked, her clothes in her hand by her side, and I was sure I wasn't wrong. I have to say she looked good naked. I'd have thought breasts as big as hers would have sagged a bit without a bra, but they didn't, just moved slightly as she walked, the nipples erect, which is why I was sure I wasn't wrong. The faint outline of a small bikini just drew my eyes to them, so that I also noticed how neatly trimmed the pale down on her mons was, how firm her thighs looked.
She smiled at me and said "It's all yours," with an inflection that made me wonder if she meant the bathroom or something else. So I went in and locked the door behind me and stripped and did the things I had to do, like brushed my teeth, and washed myself, and used the wipes, and put on my clean knickers so I wouldn't quite be naked when I came out, so I could keep something of myself to myself for just a moment longer.
I checked myself quickly in the mirror - not bad for my age, she should think herself lucky - unlocked the door and went out into the big bedroom to let another woman enjoy my body for the very first time.
And she did, right from the first moment she did. I could almost literally feel her eyes travelling slowly over me, lingering on my breasts, which may be small but are quite nice, with neat dark nipples that are, as it happens, incredibly sensitive. And as I walked over to the chair where I was going to leave my clothes I felt rather than saw her eyes moving down, lingering on the way my low-cut white cotton knickers swelled at the junction of my thighs, lingering again on my hips when I turned away and bent a little as I put my clothes down, travelling slowly up again across my stomach to my breasts as I walked over to the bed.
She was sitting up waiting for me, her full breasts bare, and as I got near the bed she swung the duvet and sheet aside for me so vigorously that most of her side and her leg were exposed, making it even more obvious that I was about to get into bed with a naked woman.
Anyway, that's what I did, slid down and pulled the covers over myself, up to my chin which made Sarah smile.
"You're a bit shy, aren't you," she said, "Which is a shame, because you have a lovely body. You should show it off more, at least when you're not at work." She just sat there, above me, those full, beautiful breasts still uncovered, though I noticed that the nipples weren't as erect as they had been. And once again we chatted, about husbands this time. She asked if I'd been separated from mine much over the years, and I told her about the time I had to spend five months in Australia - family emergency - and she said I'd understand how she felt, then, with hers away almost all the time.
She talked about the problems she'd had when her husband first went abroad. You just had to take charge, she said, decide what you wanted and go get it, when you didn't have a husband around sorting things out. I'm not sure what I said in reply, but we drifted on to talking about need, about needing touching, contact, closeness - not sex, though that was important too - but contact with someone special, someone who mattered. Closeness, she said several times, closeness, and when she said that her hand stroked my shoulder gently, her fingertips just brushing my skin.
Then she turned my way slightly, those beautiful breasts swinging faintly with the movement, and she leant down close to my ear.
"Can I hold you," she whispered, "I so want to hold you." What else could I say?
She slid down the bed, her hand pushing the duvet down my body, exposing me so the top edge ended up across my hips, When she was lying down next to me I could feel her breast against my arm, the nipple stiffening again at the touch so I knew this wasn't just about closeness. Her hand stroked my stomach for a moment, ending up on the waistband of my knickers just above my mons. She leant forward and kissed my shoulder very gently.
"So close," she murmured, "I want to be so close." There was a long pause, the hand on my stomach occasionally moving just a fraction, her fingertips again brushing my skin so lightly. It was electric.
"Have you ever made love to another woman?" Her voice was throatier somehow, husky.
"What a question. No, of course not."
No 'of course' about it. I have. I've slept with several women over the last few years. I don't mean it's the same, it's not like making love to a man, to your husband. But it's good. Sensual. Very sensual. I like it." There was another long pause before she lifted herself on one elbow, looking down at me, her breast moving against my arm, soft flesh against my skin. Her hand came up to my face, her fingertips stroked my cheek, and then she gently turned my head so I was looking up at her, the grey eyes boring into mine.
"I don't suppose you've ever kissed another woman, not properly kissed one."
"No, I haven't. Never."
"Time for a new experience, then. I'm going to kiss you." She lifted herself more over me, so one of her breasts dragged softly across mine, looked down at me for a long time as the tip of her tongue flicked across her lips. Then she lowered herself against me, and her lips covered mine.
Soft and sensual - everything felt soft and sensual, her body, the length of it pressed against mine, her skin, her fingertips on my cheek, her lips. I could even feel one of her full breasts against my side, as it hung, swaying softly as she moved. Part of me was screaming that this was wrong but part of me was thinking how gentle it all was. The kiss lingered, then she sucked my top lip between hers for a moment, which made me tingle in spite of myself, and then she broke the kiss, softly pecked me on the cheek, kissed me on the ear lobe, and whispered in my ear.
"That was nice. Very nice. Now, about the job. You said you really wanted it. You do understand what you have to do to get it, don't you."
"Yes," I croaked, but it didn't sound like me at all. Someone else was saying it for me. "Yes, I understand."
This time when she kissed me her tongue was pushing against my lips, so I opened my mouth and let her thrust it in, explore me and flick in and out. Her hand left my face, caressed my shoulder, and then moved to my breast, stroking, gently squeezing, her fingertips moving to my nipple, feather-light touches that turned into a gentle pinch, a tender upward pull so that it hardened, tingled, stiffened and I knew I had to try and hold back, stop myself getting any more aroused than I already was, knew I had to try and keep control..
Her mouth moved to my ear - I hated it when she sucked on my ear lobe, sending messages I didn't want, didn't need straight to my groin, urgent, desperate messages. Her mouth, so soft and warm and sensual, her mouth on my neck, my shoulder, my breast. I felt her breath on my nipple as her mouth surrounded it without touching.
"No, please no." Did I really whisper that? I don't know, but if I did she took no notice, and I was drowning in the sensations as she sucked my elongating, hardening nipple, the tip of her tongue playing with it, her teeth gently nipping
And her hand sliding slowly down my belly. Sliding over the thin cotton of my knickers, fingertips pressing against the bulge of my mons, against the hood of my clitoris, pressing, moving, massaging, moving down to touch, feather-light, the thighs I was pressing together so tightly.
Thank God, her lips leave my nipple, her head lifts. Her voice, still throaty, is very quiet but very firm.
"Open your legs." A pause.
"Just do it." Oh no, not now, not this way, not now. Oh no, please no.
But I did what I was told, of course I did. I opened my legs, spread them wide as I thought of Alex, his fingertips slightly rough on my thighs, his penis hot and thick and hard against my leg. I tried to keep thinking of him, but her hand cupped my sex, her fingers squeezed my lips through the thin fabric and I moaned at her touch.