I hadn’t set out to do it. I had never thought about it or planned such a thing. It just wasn’t me, it was not my thing, well it had never been until then. Something must have changed, but was it with me, was it circumstances or what?
I was Acting Head Copywriter in a big ad agency. Acting, because I was not a full time employee, but a freelancer, as they call self-employed contractors in the ad business. Things were booming and the agency was stretched. With the typical lack of loyalty and ‘sell yourself to the highest bidder’ attitude of that crazy business, job jumping was rife and good employees were on a merry-go-round of moving from agency to agency. Hence the agency’s need for an ‘Acting Head Copy Chief.’
I usually worked from home. The flat I shared with my twelve year old daughter in London Docklands was both my home and work place. It was certainly big enough and the great views over the rejuvenated docks and beyond to the Thames were highly conducive to the creative mind. The sort of word orientated mind needed to produce elegant plagiarism, which was the ‘grift to the mill’, for most copywriters.
I had been there three years at the time. That made , well nearer forty really, single woman, trying new things, working out where I was going and where I would like to go, I was redefining mysel; life-style re-engineering as some of those ‘up their own arse, magazines term it.
I didn’t want to take the job. I don’t like the pressure of managing others and I don’t like going to work. Working I don’t mind. Hard work I relish, but I hate the corporate bullshit of companies, especially ad agencies. That, and it made easier for me to look after Sara, was why I was freelance. Oh yes, I also didn’t like the macho, totally non PC way of agency life anymore. Whilst by no means a feminist, I do feel females are entitled not to be continually sexually or verbally harassed in the work place, but that is a concept that has not reached the ad business: especially where thirty something divorcees, ‘who must be gagging for it’, are concerned.
Mike, the MD and I went back a very long way. We went back to before I had even met Kevin. In fact he was instrumental in me meeting the man who became my husband, for he was an Account Director at the agency on Kevin’s account and I was the copywriter. We had kept in touch throughout my marriage, but carefully resisted getting too close in fear that we would rekindle to the powerfully sexual relationship we’d had pre Kevin.
“Look Mands, we’re in deep shit,” Mike said.
“So tell me something new,” I replied into my mobile as I sat in my apartment naked apart from a pair of pale blue, lacy shorts.
He went on to tell me about the agency’s staffing problems, the projects he had in process, the backlog of copy to be written and the new business pitches he had lined up.
“So why call me? You know I’ll take all the work you want to give,” I asked idly stroking my right breast with my fingertips.
As part of redefining myself after all those years with Kevin, I had found chat rooms and from that, exchanging mails with people I met on there. Obviously, the content of both was rather, shall we say ‘intimate and personal?’ No, let’s call a spade a spade, it was fucking horny, well most was, some was just pathetically pornographic and I quickly got away from that.
“You should write stories,” one of the guys said in a chat room one day.
I had previously exchanged a few mails with him describing some of my sexual experiences. I found that interesting, quite sexually stimulating, remember I was now single after fourteen or so years of three or four times a week sex, and strangely cathartic; it was helping me find myself again after the devastation of my marriage break up.
“I couldn’t do that,” I had said to him, “I’ve got an eleven year old daughter.”
“So?” He had persisted.
“If they were published she might see them.”
“Not if you published them on Literotica,” he suggested.
I looked it up, liked it, read some fantastic erotica and was on my way.
“I need help in the agency,” Mike was saying.
I was only half listening for I was proof reading a piece I had just written for Lit, called The Mirror. That describes my body and how, by writing about myity, I aroused myself and ended up naked on the floor of the apartment masturbating in front of a floor to ceiling mirror. As I chatted to Mike, I glanced over at that mirror wondering ……………………?
“Really?” I murmured probably sounding absent-minded as I read my lengthy description of my full, heavy, at the time, 35 D breasts which I was fondling as I read about them.
“Mandy are you listening to me? I’m in deep shit and I need your help,” Mike said, dragging me away from my sexual meanderings. I closed ‘The Mirror’ and let go of my breasts, although they were still tingling and I had that lovely warmth of arousal all through my body.
In the end I agreed. I would do three months, pretty much full time. I would spend the mornings in the agency, the early afternoons with clients, but would generally leave to be home by four when I would then continue working from home. We agreed a great package, including a Porsche 911, my dream car.
I was two months into the contract. It was working well. I had sorted out many of the problems, had called on a number of old contacts to overcome the copy backlog and do the pitches and had recruited a few key creative and production staff including four copywriters, one of whom was a senior writer, earmarked as my replacement.
I was running a weekend workshop for the copy team. Sara was away for a few days with her father, so I had set it up at a lovely country hotel, not far from Windsor, just outside London. The arrangement was to meet for dinner on the Friday evening and discuss the loose agenda I had prepared. The overall objective of the workshop was to improve both the quality, but as importantly the speed with which we turned copy projects round, at present it was too slow and cumbersome.
On theFriday morning we would discuss the overall problem as a group, have a brainstorm and develop loads of potential ways to improve, irrespective at that stage or their practicality. We would then break into four smaller groups of three and investigate the suggestions and come up the best three workable suggestions from each group. Later, maybe the next day, these would be presented to the main group and fully discussed with a view to developing one from each group into a workable system the next morning.
The back end of the Saturday afternoon was to be one-to-one counselling and coaching sessions pairing the more senior with the more junior team members; this was recommended by the training facilitator I had invited. He paired us by the most experienced with the least experienced and so. I was thus paired with the second least experienced, Sammi.
She was twenty two or so and had just left Bristol University with a solid 2:1 in English and Psychology, a perfect combination for a copywriter in the ad industry. She was on the company’s graduate trainee scheme and would spend a time in different departments eventually finding a permanent home with a job in a department that was most suitable for her. She had spent a few months in accounts, which was where all the grads started, and had been in copy for just a few weeks.
I knew that she was very popular throughout the agency, particularly with the creatives, but also she seemed to making quite an impression on the suits in account management. But then, when you looked at her golden blonde hair, her blue eyes, her pretty face, her youthfully rounded figure and slender, tanned legs, it wasn’t hard to see why, and I realised a little ashamed of myself, I did look at them quite a lot. When you added in her bubbly personality, her smiling, chatty, friendly demeanour, her willingness to help and her apparently strong work ethic, the reason for her popularity and why most of the department heads, me included, were already making overtures to capture her for their group was pretty obvious.
The afternoon had gone well and we were onto the last session, the one-to-ones. Sammi and I found a quiet spot in an empty room off the bar. We talked about her career aspirations and why she had chosen to come into advertising and then she had shown me her copy portfolio. Her writing, though inevitably a little naïve, was sharp and punchy and showed a lot of promise, which I told her.
“Oh really Mandy,” she said leaning forward and grabbing my wrist, “You really mean that?”
“Yes absolutely Sammi, you have a good style,” I replied turning and looking at her. As she was leaning forward the long sleeved, low cut top had gaped a bit and my eyes confirmed what I had thought earlier that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“I do appreciate that, for really that is what I want to do,” she went on not letting go of my wrist or straightening up.
“What write copy?”
“Yes, just like you do.”
“You enjoy writing then?” I asked.
“Yes I love it?”
“Do you write for pleasure then?”
“Yes some short stories, essays, some script work, that of course never gets published; all the usual sort of stuff.”
We laughed at that and she asked.
“And you Amanda, what do you write for fun?”
I could hardly tell her that I exchanged e-mails with men I met in chat rooms and that I wrote erotic stories, both of which served as my masturbation fodder or that I published them on Literotica so I said.
“Oh this and that usual stuff.”
She had bent one leg and slid one foot under her bottom on the settee with the other foot on the ground. Her slender legs were very tanned and I could see lots of both for she was wearing one of those micro, hipster denim skirts. She was also wearing dark blue panties, I noticed, gulping a little.
I went through some work stuff with her, before we started chatting more generally about our lives, more girly stuff really.
Looking back later, I was surprised at how easily the conversation had flowed and how much I had opened up to her, something I rarely do and had never done before to a girl some fifteen years my junior.
I told her about my early days in advertising as a copywriter in the late eighties when I was about her age. As we chatted about that I even went as far as saying.
“Now don’t you do this and keep it to yourself, but I committed the cardinal ad industry sin of fucking the client.”
“Really?” She smiled, “How exciting, did it cause problems?”
“No not really, because I also married him.”
We both laughed at that.
“So you’re the footloose and fancy free divorcee now are you?” She asked.
“Well I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Are you over it now?” She asked leaning forward to look at a paper on the coffee table. I was leaning back on the settee and watched as her top slid up her back. The waist of the hipster skirt was well down on her hips so I got another view of the blue lace, which confirmed that she was wearing a thong. As she leaned forward so her hip moved a little and pressed against the outside of my jean covered knee.
“Are you in a relationship Sammi?” I asked to her back.
“No, I’ve had a few, but kids my age bore me and older blokes tend to get too intense or they’re married.”
“Yeah I know what you mean,” I replied, quite liking the feel of her hip against my leg, but realising I shouldn’t leave it there, so I moved a little.
“You reckon you’ll marry again?” She asked suddenly as she leaned backwards until her shoulders were against the back of the sofa, with her body stretched out and her legs under the table. This time her shoulder came in contact with my arm and her breasts and nipples were clearly outlined by the thin material.
“I don’t know, but at present I have no desire to get mixed up with any men.”
“Why not?” She asked as she turned her face and looked at me.
“Well after Kevin I just don’t want the emotional attachment and dependence.”
“Just the sex?” She smiled.
“Well I’m not so sure on that either really.”
“What, no sex?”
I laughed, “Actually not much no, but to be truthful Sammi, I find that difficult without some form of emotional involvement.”
“And that you don’t want so you have a classic Catch twenty two don’t you?” She asked seeming to press her arm more firmly against mine.
“Yes I suppose I do.”
“And I know precisely what you mean and how you feel Amanda, I am a little like that myself.”
“Yes, I sometimes go weeks even a couple of months without.”
I laughed. “You need to be careful, young lady, that can be bad for you?”
“Well you don’t seem to do too badly on it do you, and you go ages don’t you?”
“Well yes that’s true I do, if you mean what I think you do?”
She looked right into my eyes with an assurance that belied both her age and her organisational position in relation to me as she coolly said.
“I meant going ages without having a man Amanda, without having sex.”
I felt things were getting a little too intimate, too open and too frank. I knew that I shouldn’t be doing what I was doing, thinking what I was thinking and hoping for what I was hoping.
Would you like a drink or something?” I asked.
“I’d kill for a beer.”
“Good idea any type?”
“Becks preferably, but anything will do,” Sammi replied looking into my eyes and smiling.
I returned with two beers in the bottles and sat alongside her on the settee. She was still pretty much stretched out although her legs were bent at the knee and her bare feet, she had removed her shoes, were on the ground. Her skirt had risen just about as far up those beautifully tanned legs as it could and her top had also been stretched upwards leaving a three or four inch band of bare flesh round her waist.
She turned to look at me, our eyes met.
“So where were we?” I asked.
She stared right into my eyes and without smiling said quietly.
“Yes Amanda, where exactly were we? Something to do with not having men very often I think.”
Before we could follow that avenue the training facilitator came and advised it was time to stop and get ready for dinner.
Seeing my bloated nipples in the dressing table mirror as I stood there in just my jeans as I got ready to shower and change for dinner, my mind went back to when I was at university. It went back to when I was experimenting sexually, when I was examining my sexuality, when I was finding myself, when I was originally ‘engineering’ my life-style and sexuality.
I found myself recalling the feel of a breast in my hand, a female breast. I was remembering the sensations that raced through me as I cupped one, as I stroked, caressed, squeezed and rubbed it. The feelings that gave me, the emotions I experienced as I did that to a breast that was not mine, to a breast that was another woman’s, yes the feelings I got as I started to make love to another female.
The dinner was fun. We were all there dressed just slightly more smartly than for the training, well the females were. At least the guys seemed to have changed their tee shirts! Most of us were wearing jeans, what else? Sammi, though, was still wearing the ridiculously short skirt, but had put on one of those sparkly tops, with very thin spaghetti straps. I was wearing my tight jeans, which were slightly, but not overtly hipster, but which clung to my bum and pubic mound like a second skin. They were tucked into black, knee-length boots, very fashionable, I was assured by my daughter. I had slipped on a threequarter sleeved, white cotton, scooped neck tee which I was wearing outside the jeans. Over it I had a short cardigan with three buttons, which were done up. Nice package, I had thought, as I looked in the mirror just before leaving my room to go down to the bar.
As usual with a bunch of advertising creatives, all the arrangements quickly went to pot. We stayed in the bar far too long, drank too much and didn’t sit down to eat until nearly nine thirty. God knows what the other diners thought as we drank loads of wine, got louder and louder and continually changed places as about half the team in twos or threes went out for a smoke, well I think it was just that, but who knows?
At one time Sammi was sitting next to me. The men had sloped off to the bar and there was just her, me and three other girls still at the table. We chatted, but to be truthful I was a little pissed and I could not recall just what we talked about. I do remember, though, saying something about it now being all girls together and one of the others at the end of the table said.
“Bloody good job too, who want’s that macho bunch?” Given that rumour had it that she was near to being the ‘office bike’ that was a little rich I thought. I smiled at Sammi, who raised her eyebrows as we turned to face each other our knees touching under the table.
Looking right into my eye as she said.
“Remind me boss, where were we exactly?”
We both laughed and, as everyone was leaving, got up, gave each other a peck on the cheeks and went to be, rather regrettably alone, I thought as I opened the door to my empty room.
I was on my back, naked. The bed clothes were pulled back. There was a miniature from the mini bar on the bedside table; why, I don’t even drink Scotch! My mind was again recalling the feel of a woman’s breast in my hand. But not just recalling it, for now I was also actually feeling it. Not another woman’s though, not really, but in my mind it was someone else’s. Was it Susie’s, the first girl I had sex with, or was it Sharon’s the girl I had a threesome with, or was it Sammi’s? I wasn’t sure whose breast took prominence in my mind as I squeezed and moulded my own ample mounds of flesh.
The finger and thumb on one of my hands found the hardened nipple on one of my breasts; they pinched it. That sent such shock memories of times gone by through me that I grunted and moaned, yes at the same time, I also jerked and shuddered for good measure.
Oh the early memories of feeling another woman’s nipples, the rubberyness, the elasticity, the way it grows in your fingers or, more stunningly, in your mouth. And shit, what feelings thatwas giving me as I recall the sensations on my tongue and lips as they met and began to love Susie’s large, round, very dark areola or as they sucked Sharon’s nipple between my teeth and gently chewed it. What would Sammi’s be like I found myself wondering as I took a sip of the Scotch, almost burning my throat as it slid down? Small, pink with nice buds, I smiled as I pulled both of mine away from my breasts, making each nipple go to nearly twice its normal length. Mmmmm.
The next day we worked in larger groups and I saw little of Sammi, perhaps that was a good thing. We wrapped up around five and all headed home, some to see their families, others their boy or girl friends, most to go out on the town and me to sweat over a pile of e-mails and other stuff that had piled up.
Sara, my daughter, was staying with her father so I had yet another evening and night alone. I hate that. When I was married, Kevin was away a lot on business, well on shagging as well so I subsequently found out, and I never found that a problem even before Sara was born. Since the divorce, though, I have found it hard to cope with the loneliness of being by myself all night. Days are fine, I like the solitude, but as the evening drags on and bedtime alone approaches I get restless and edgy.
Often I drink too much and sometimes, come on don’t kid yourself with sometimes, try nearly always, I go into chat or messenger, find a ‘friend’ or meet someone new and get into conversation. Occasionally that leads to me masturbating either, as we send messages to each other or, when I log off from him. Now and then, I will meet a couple of ‘special’ guys and will have phone sex with them, I enjoy that, but as both of them are married, it doesn’t happen on weekends.
I undressed and put on my dressing gown, ostensibly because I was getting ready for bed, despite it being only eight o’clock. Deep down, though, as I logged on and found a US chat site I knew there was a more basic reason for being nearly naked!
I flicked around several sites and one caught my eye, it also caught my imagination and sent a surge of high octane lust through me. It was a bi ladies site.
I messed around from room to room for a while, as usual, becoming more and more pissed off with all the bots and the lack of what seemed to be real people. I was contacted by a few men stating their typical crap and making the usual sort of enquiries:
“I’m feeling very horny?”
“What are you up to,” or even worse, “Wassup?”
“What are you wearing,” and again even more crass, “What colour panties are you wearing?”
And so on and so on. Without having even loosened my gown, let alone put my hand inside on my bare tits, I was about to log off when a message came up on my screen.
“Hello, are you a real person, I am.”
It was from NYAnnie.
“Yes I am real, very real,” I replied.
We did the usual age, sex and location stuff with me quickly establishing that she was indeed real, was clearly more literate than most and probably was female and not some old bloke pretending to be so.
We got on well. Sometimes you just click in chat and we did. We shared similar senses of irony and humour and were quickly exchanging smartarse remarks and observations which drew us, intellectually, at least, closer together.
After ten minutes or so we both admitted to being bi, after twenty minutes or so we described our bodies to each other, after another ten or so we exchanged photos and after a further few minutes, Annie asked.
“Would you like to chat on the phone?”
After fifteen or twenty minutes talking on the phone, we told each other what we wearing; Annie was wearing a bikini in preparation for a swim.
After a further ten minutes we said how aroused we were becoming and Annie said in her twangy American accent.
“Oh God Mandy, I so want to fuck you.”
Lightheartedly, as it felt as though I had an electric shock running from my clit to my tits, I said. “Well then Annie, that is exactly what you should do isn’t it?”
As we told each other what we doing and as my fingers found my soaked slit between my wide opened legs, my thoughts again went back to my early twenties. They went back to when Susie and I fucked each other and when Sharon and I jointly fucked Karl and each other as he joined in.
It all came back: the taste, the velvet smoothness of their lips, the feel of my tongue on their clit and their’s on mine, the warmth and marvellous feelings as my fingers slid into them, the sensations of power as I made them cum and the sheer awesomeness of the orgasms they gave me were all in my mind as I moaned down the phone to Annie.
“Oh Sammi I am so near, make me cum, please make me cum.”
I don’t think Annie realised my gaff, but in any case she was cumming with me as I said the wrong name.
As we said our goodbyes and made probably, unrealistic vows to keep in touch, it struck me that I had not had any form of sex with another woman, in person, since before I married Kevin. Why the bloody hell I was now getting myself so emotionally involved with women on the net, why I was continually thinking back to the girls I’d had sex with and why I felt so attracted to Sammi then, I had no idea.
I saw Sammi round the agency quite often over the next few weeks, but being incredibly busy, I had little to do with her. She finished her time in Copy and moved onto Production and Mike, at last, found a new copy chief, so I began to ease off and work mainly from home; he did though let me keep the Porsche until the end of its lease some nine months away.
One of the accounts I worked on had been nominated for an award at one of the numerous self-congratulatory ceremonies that the incestuous ad industry has each year. Mike had taken two tables of ten at two thousand five hundred pound a table, he was hosting one table and my successor as Copy Chief the other.
I often got invited to these dos as a spare bit of eye candy and that was the case this time, “Some clients prefer old biddies,” as Mike explained.
I got dolled up in a low cut, floor length, ‘little black number.’ My right boob was covered in sparkly sequins that ran in a slash about two inches wide down over my tummy to my left ankle. The dress had slits to mid thigh up both sides, so I wore tights, fishnet ones with strappy high heeled sandals. I had my hair half up with long tresses tumbling down my neck onto my bare shoulders. I felt very sexy and hoped I looked that way as well.
I wrapped a new, white cashmere pashmena round my neck as I ducked into the car the agency had thoughtfully sent me for the half hour or so journey across London to the Grosvenor House Hotel. As we sat in the early evening traffic jams round the Tower of London and along the embankment beside the Thames I found myself thinking ‘Who the hell was I dressing for?”
Mike an old and a current flame? The client, a very tasty Marketing Director, various other people in the industry or, the graduate trainee, one of whom is traditionally invited to each of these awards? Yes Sammi was on my table.
“Hey boss,” she said when I met her in the cloakroom “You look fabulous.”
“Thanks Sammi,” you look wonderful yourself.
She was also wearing black, but then nearly all the women were. Her dress was made from a thin voile and fitted her like a glove above the waist, but was slightly flared beneath it. It had a tie on her right shoulder and was off her left one. The skirt was one of those very modern jobs with a sloping hem, the right side of it being some six inches higher than the left, which ended in a point to the side of her knee. Having just been on holiday, I recalled, her bare legs were beautifully tanned and on her feet, with the scarlet painted toenails, she was also wearing strappy pumps. She had her hair up, which made her look unusually grown up and sophisticated, a look I hadn’t seen before. She looked stunning.
We had little chance to talk during most of the evening, for the awards ceremony dragged on for ages and was followed by several totally meaningless speeches and then a cabaret. Our job was to schmooze the clients so we had to chat to them and let them ogle our tits and legs: all part of being in advertising, I suppose!
Near the end, though, after both of us had danced almost continuously for about two hours, the ratio must have been three men to one woman, we managed to have a brief chat in a small bar off the main room. It was quiet and fairly empty.
“God, I feel like being at a meat market,” she said flopping down on a chair with complete disregard, or so it seemed, for her skirt riding up her stretched out legs.
“Welcome to advertising Sam,” I said looking at her. “Women are always just client fodder at these dos, get used to it babe, it ‘aint gonna change.”
“Fucking men,” she said slurring a little.
“Can be nice,” I smiled.
She laughed “Yes can be, but where were we exactly boss?” She said repeating our little in phrase that had no real meaning, but seemed to have enormous significance between us.
“Not sure where we were Sam, but I know where we are and we need to get back on duty. Come on,” I said holding out my hand.
She took it and I pulled her up, still holding her hand. We stood looking at each other, we were very close, so close I could smell her perfume and see the tiny hairs on her shoulders. Neither of us moved for a moment as we just stood there.
I knew that I should not be thinking the way I was. It just was not me, it wasn’t right, but I couldn’t help it.
I squeezed her hand and smiled. She smiled back and said very throatily.
“I think this is where we were wasn’t it?”
For one moment I thought of kissing her as her eyes seemed to be suggesting, but I didn’t.
“Yes Sam, this is where we were, come on, back to tit and leg flashing,” I said starting to walk out of the bar ahead of her. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard a soft “Mmmmmm that might be nice Mandy,” as we went our separate ways.
I’m ok for the schmoozing, I can cope with clients ogling my tits, I will even flash them a bit for them, hence the low cut evening dress. That’s all part of being a female executive in the ad business, well was, it’s changing now with PC. I draw the line, however, at sleeping with clients, even very important clients, even clients who win the prestigious ad of the year award, even those who have a suite at the Dorchester and even those who take me and a few others, regrettably not Sammi, to Tramp after the Grosvenor.
They had three Mercs waiting outside the hotel for the short trip to the night club. In the club there was a reserved table, one of the booths in the quiet VIP bar on the first floor. There was masses of booze, Cristal, Scotch, Armagnac, Cognac, Hine, VSOP I noticed, and loads of other stuff. It was now after two so it all seemed a little excessive but the dozen or so of us, eight guys and four women, each ordered something, I had champagne.
Dancing was a nightmare, but that I couldn’t refuse either to my client, the Marketing Director, or to his boss, the MD, both guys in their early fifties I guessed. The nightmare wasn’t just the crowded dance floor and the energetic antics of the many Russians and Arabs who were there. That I could put up with easily.
It was the pathetic way that the two mature and hugely successful businessmen turned into slobs that got me. No sooner was I on the floor with one, then his hands slid down my back and stroked my bum. It was just a few moments later that he wasn’t just stroking it but actually squeezing each cheek. Over the next hour or so both of the guys did that, rubbed the sides of my boobs, pressed themselves very obviously right against my pubic mound, licked and kissed my neck and tried to squeeze my tits and kiss me on the lips. Around three, the client said.
“Hey Mandy, we are all going to finish up at the company suite at the Dorchester for a few drinks. Like to come?”
“Well Jim and I and we thought maybe you and Sue would like to join us.”
I managed to find an excuse and escaped, just.
Overall, it was awful, but, I guess, all part of the job. The irony, though, is that in other settings I might well have fancied either of them.
“So how was your week?” I asked Sammi one Friday a few weeks later when I was making a rare visit to the agency.
“Fucking awful,” she replied, flashing me one of those lovely smiles.
She had now moved into account planning, which combined, research, media and competitor analysis and lots of other, almost incomprehensible statistical analysis. It was a boring, but essential aspect of modern advertising, particularly with the range of new digital and internet media opportunities. It was mainly an inside job, although trips to clients for occasional planning meeting relieved the boredom for the mainly, very young people in the department, the head was only twenty six and he was tipped to get a main board seat soon.
I was using a spare manager’s office in the creative department for I find writing proper, as opposed to plagiarised, copy, which most of us do most of the time, very difficult to do in the hubbub of an open office. I hadn’t realised how late it was until she popped her head round the door. It was after eight and the place looked to be deserted.
She looked gorgeous. She had her corn, blonde hair in bunches and she was wearing small, wire rimmed spectacles, which were perched on the end of her pert nose.
“Come in,” I said, a surge of unwanted lust running through me as she slid through the door and popped herself down on the long, black leather sofa.
I gulped when I saw what she was wearing. Mike had mentioned that ‘the kids’ in Planning were becoming more and more outrageous in their get ups.
“We seem to have got a group of particularly tasty young birds in there all at the same time and they try to outdo each other. It’s like going into a fucking brothel.” He’d told me a while ago.
“Is there any other sort”? I quipped back.
“Oh never mind and in any case what do you know about brothels?”
She was wearing a kilt. Short, mid thigh and pleated with a slight flair it was predominantly red with some black and green patches, very Scottish. On top she had a simple white, cotton blouse, with buttons all the way up the front, with one more undone at the neck than there really should have been. Sammi was wearing the hem of the blouse outside the waist of the skirt with the lower buttons undone, thus occasionally giving a nice flash of bare waist and tummy The outline of her bra was very clear under the thin cotton of the blouse. Around her neck she was wearing one of those highly fashionable, very long multi-string necklaces with beads, little square and round pieces of what looked like glass and other bits and bobs attached to it. As she moved, some of the necklace slid inside the blouse and some stayed outside, often resting on one of her breasts and stretching the fabric tight across the small mounds. Her dangly earrings matched the necklace. Her legs were covered in white nylon. From the way the kilt reared up her legs as she sat opposite me on the low sofa, I quickly saw that they were tights and not stockings.
“Drink?” I had asked.
“Lovely. So that’s what you bigwigs do behind closed doors after hours is it?” She smiled as I poured two glasses of Chablis Premier Cru and walked across the office and handed it to her.
“Oh you’d be so surprised Sammi what goes on.”
“Would I?” She replied seriously looking straight into my eyes.
“So why was it so fucking awful?” I asked in response to my earlier question about the weekend.
“Oh I broke up with my boy friend, had a smack in my car and a massive row with my mum.”
“Oh dear, that sounds tough,” I said walking round the room behind the settee where she was sitting.
“You still live at home don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes with a fifteen grand student loan to repay I need to for a year or so, I only get a fucking pittance here until I finish training and, hopefully get a permanent post.”
“Yes they do that on purpose to test the grads sticking power, or so HR say.”
“It’s bloody terrible for my sex and social lives, living at home.”
“Yes it must be.”
“I have been in more bedsits and had more shags in the backs of cars in the last year than when I was at uni,” she laughed adding quickly. “Just joking boss.”
A vision of her half undressed on the back seat of a car swept into my mind. I looked over her shoulders from behind and down her slim body and legs. God she was attractive and so fucking sexy. My mind again went back to those early times with Susie and Sharon before I was married and to that amazing sexual education and experiences I had with them.
“Well I do have a spare bedroom in Docklands,” I said, jokingly adding. “Yours for a small fee any time my daughter is away and most weekends for I stay with my parents in the country then.”
“I might take you up on that sometime, but then I’m now off men.”
We looked at each other and laughed as we said at the same.
“Where were we exactly.
I was still standing behind her and the settee on which she was seated with her white nylon covered legs stretched out before her. I rested my hand on the back of the sofa, just inches from her back.
“Well the offer still stands Sammi, anytime you’ve been out on the town and don’t fancy the slog out to Essex.”
“Is going out on the town first an essential?” She asked looking over her shoulder at my arm resting on the sofa.
I don’t know what prompted me or what gave me the courage, but I slid my hand along the back of the settee as I replied, rather hoarsely.
“No Sammi, you could use it any time that you don’t fancy the journey home..”
My hand reached her shoulder. I wanted to stroke it, but I couldn’t pluck up the guts to make that move, instead it slid behind her shoulder, she was leaning forward a little. I saw her look closely at my arm and I guessed she knew that my hand was behind her. Looking up at me, she leaned back so that she was pressed against my hand. It felt good, but I didn’t know whether it was an accident or whether she was showing out and giving me a sign and, presumably, she was thinking the same. Pulling a woman is fraught with far more challenges than a man!
“It is rather a tiresome trip to Chelmsford,” she said holding my gaze.
I smiled as my heart started beating faster. Was she wanting to stay tonight? Shit, it couldn’t be better, Sara was away for the weekend. I said, softly, my voice hardly louder than the Bach concerto playing on the iPod.
“Especially on a late Friday night Sammi,” as I wiggled my hand a little.
“Yes Amanda, especially then,” she replied leaning back more firmly against my hand. “I mean really now, not then, I know how particular you copy types are with the use of your words.”
I laughed. “Then or now doesn’t matter. Let’s call it tonight?”
“Yes tonight, may I stay?”
“Yes of cours.”
“But I need another favour as well,” she said looking into my eyes with a slight smile on her lovely lips.”
“May I borrow a pair of your panties, I haven’t packed a spare pair,” she laughed.
I joined in as I said, without thinking of the deeper ramifications. “Best excuse I’ve heard to get inside my knickers.”
She replied again seemingly without thinking. “I need an excuse?”
We oth seemed to realise what we were implying at the same time. I blurted out.
“How long do you need to finish off?”
“Twenty minutes or so, you? Is that ok?”
“Yes that will be fine, I need a bout the same. Give me a buzz when you are leaving and I’ll catch your lift on the way down. I’ve got the car.”
As we bowled along The Embankment which runs through London alongside the Thames, we chatted easily although my insides were in a turmoil. I just could not believe what I was hoping to do, it seemed outrageous, but so appealing. I was taking a young woman to my home to seduce her. It kept running through my head ‘I am taking Sammi home to fuck her.’ And what made it worse, or better, or both or fuck knows what, was that in a Porsche you almost lay flat. You can imagine what that does to a short pleated skirt, with white tights on the long slim legs stretched out in front of the beautiful, young woman who I was hoping to fuck.
“Like Chinese Sammi? I’m not much of a cook, I often order when I get to the Tower so it’s ready to pick up when I get onto the Isle of Dogs.”
“Look in that pocket there’s a menu there, choose what you want?”
I flipped on the hands free and ordered spare ribs, some chicken, prawn and beef, rice and bean sprouts.
“Yes Miss Williams we have it ready in ten minutes.”
I parked in the underground car park and we took the lift to the first floor where the four two story apartments or duplexes as the flash estate agent described them. Unlocking the door I got that thrill I get every time anyone new sees the apartment. Even if I say it myself it is quite spectacular. Ultra modern and minimalist, its all dark browns and blacks, smoky greys and deep reds. Lots of glass, leather, tiles and wood. The apartment is comprised of a small entrance hall with straight ahead the kitchen and to one side the huge L shaped lounge which has floor to ceiling windows down one side. In a short corridor between the lounge and the kitchen, screwed to the wall is ‘that’ mirror
We ate the Chinese on the small balcony off from the kitchen, which overlooks the dock as opposed to the larger one from the lounge which looks out to the river. We drank a bottle of reasonable Beaujolais and some San Pelegrino.
It started to get chilly so we went inside. I flicked on my home iPod which is nearly all classical music and we stood and looked out the floor to ceiling sliding windows to the Thames with the outline of the Tower of London one way and the Thames Barrier the other. I was slightly behind Sammi and to her left, but very close. I could see all of her. Her hair in those delightful bunches, her slim neck, the white blouse, which was so carelessly buttoned up, or carefully unbuttoned. She had removed the dangly necklace for some reason and as she looked up and down the Thames she fiddled with one of her earrings. That caused the thin cotton to be stretched then relaxed over her boobs, it also made them jiggle deliciously. I was becoming intoxicated by her. I could see the swell of her small breasts and the darker patch of her nipples inside the blouse. Where it slightly parted near the buttonholes as she moved I could see the bare flesh of her boobs above her bra. It really was heady stuff for me. I could see the waistband of the kilt fitting so snugly round her, almost impossibly, narrow, I guessed twenty three or four inch, waist and the flair of the pleated skirt swelling out of her buttocks
“Wow that’s a great view of the Tower and Tower Bridge isn’t it Amanda?”
“Yes it was a big selling feature of the flat, well a buying one really for Kevin and me, when we bought it.”
“Yes it must have been, it’s a fantastic view,” she said quietly.
“You can actually see the Eye and Big Ben.”
“Really? I can’t,” she said leaning forward and looking to her right.
Without thinking, and I really mean that, I put my right arm round her and rested it on her right shoulder. Being slightly taller than her, when I leaned forward and pointed to our right with my left hand, my right breast pressed against her arm, just above her elbow.
“Look there,” I said pointing at the Eye, which was much further south than one imagines. There’s a big bend on the river past Blackfriars Bridge I explained.
“No I still can’t see it,” she said, very quietly.
I sort of pulled on her shoulder and said very throatily I think.
“Look to the left of Tower Bridge, past that big dark blob and then to the right a bit.”
I could feel that the point of my nipple, which I knew had hardened totally, was pressed against the back of her arm. She didn’t move away, but, if anything, or maybe I was imagining it, she pressed back.
“Can you see it Sammi”? I asked, my fingers pressing slightly more firmly on her shoulder.
“Yes, but I wish I couldn’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Never mind,” she said letting her head falling back against my arm. I went to move away, but suddenly thought ‘Why?’
I knew the answer to that. That was that I should not be doing this, contemplating what was in my mind and wondering at her potential reaction.
I pressed more firmly with my hand and said softly, as I pointed further to her right, my left arm now stretched across her body almost touching her boobs.
“If you look there Sam, you can see Big Ben.”
“Oh yes, so you can,” she muttered, not looking at Big Ben, but more at my arm.
I couldn’t stop myself. Now it simply was not possible. In one go, I squeezed her right shoulder with my right hand, pressed my right breast hard against her arm and let my left arm graze across her boobs.
Wonderfully, I heard a little moan slip from her mouth as she let her head fall further back against my shoulder.
She then said what I am sure is the most erotic phrase that has ever been said to me.
“Are you making a pass at me Missus Williams?”
Although I was extremely surprised, I somehow managed to remain cool and remarkably in control.
“Does it feel to you as though I am Miss Cannock?”
She seemed to snuggle her head deeper into the angle of my arm and shoulder so that the back of her head pressed against my other breast.
“Yes Missus Williams, it rather does feel like that.”
“Then Miss Cannock,” I said softly as I pushed my boobt against the back of her left arm and squeezed her right shoulder very affectionately, “I probably am making a pass at you.”
With that ‘on the table’ as it were, I pulled her so she turned , so that we were facing each other, my hands resting on her shoulders. We looked at each other. I could see what I thought was lust and want in her eyes as she looked at me.
“Kiss me Amanda, please kiss me.”
‘Oh fuck,’ I thought, ‘I really should not be getting involved, should not be letting my bi side out, I should not be trying to seduce this young woman. But then I thought, ‘Am I seducing her? Or is it just what she wants?
I didn’t reply to myself, for suddenly we were in each other’s arms and I was indeed kissing her, but I wasn’t sure just who was seducing whom, not really.
But at that moment that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not really. But then when you are aroused and the sexual adrenalin is roaring through you, very often nothing does matter. Nothing other than you and your lover exists, just your body and theirs. And that was exactly as it was as I kissed Sammi. No. It wasn’t me kissing Sammi, I realised, we were kissing each other, deeply and passionately.
I broke the kiss and held her face in my hands as I looked into her eyes. I smiled.
“Sammi, have you, er, you have haven ‘t you?”
She beamed me a gorgeous smile.
“What Missus Williams?”
“Done this before?” I replied running my hands up and down her arms and giving her a peck on her lips.
She looked very serious as she slowly reached up and cupped my breast.
“What you mean had sex with a woman?”
God that sounded so in yer face; so typical of the younh, I thought.
“Yes, you have haven’t you?” I groaned as her fingers kneaded my breast.
“Does it feel as though I have, Missus Williams?”
I found myself pressing my hot, aching breast against her hand as I replied, slowly and softly.
“Yes I think it does.”
“Then, Missus Williams, boss, I probably have haven’t I?”
We kissed again. We touched each other again and then we undressed. Not each other, we didn’t claw at each other’s clothes or rip them off. Women together often don’t do that. Instead, facing each other, looking into each other’s eyes, Sammy undid her blouse and I pulled my white tee shirt and pink vee-necked sweater over my head. All the three garments were dropped onto the floor as we eagerly looked at the other’s covered breasts.
Mine seemed to be spilling out from the slightly too small bra. I often have this problem for I put on and take off weight easily and frequently. Hence, one month I can be a comfortable, but large C or D cup and then the next my boobs can have swelled up to double D. This plays havoc with my bras and often I can be wearing one that’s too large or, one that’s too small, as I was today; but I hadn’t dressed to be undressed today had? I thought.
Sammi was wearing a white, as good as transparent, bra, which was cut low across each of her boobs almost, but not quite, showing the edges of her areola. As she reached behind her to undo it, she pushed her chest out and I saw their full shape. Pert was the word that came to mind as the diaphanous material was stretched across the small mound and pert stayed in my mind as she bared them for me. They were gorgeous and I worried a little as I removed my bra at what she would think of my fucking great mammories; not all people like big tits. I needn’t have been concerned though, for the look in her eyes, the little gasp and her saying, “Oh Amanda,” gave me the reassurance I needed.
It can be so difficult for a woman when she is about to make love to another female. There is always that worry about comparing your body to hers; and that’s especially the case I was realising, when one woman is years older than the other, and fuck she was much younger than me, something I had never experienced before.
Almost as soon as I had released my overgrown tits from the restrictions of the Lejaby bra, we were in each others arms. We squirmed our mouths and writhed our bodies together. It was a glorious feeling, one that I had not experienced for so long and one that I had almost, but not quite forgotten; but then how can one forget the feel of another woman’s breasts against your own? Alright, mine rather engulfed hers but her youthful firmness more than made up for that.
I suddenly realised that we were still standing by the floor to ceiling window and that we the light behind us. Alright it was a longshot, but passers by and neighbours might just be able to see us. I pulled her away into the centre of the room.
“The window, someone might see us,” I explained.
“Oh yes, of course” she muttered.
She really did look fantastic. Now just in her kilt and white tights, I could see her lovely little breasts, which I noticed were fully tanned. It hit me, that at her age, she has always been able to sunbathe topless, so has probably never had white marks. It also made me wonder if she even had any white bits anywhere? ‘But I will soon find out’ I thought, nearly giggling.
Away from potentially prying eyes we kissed again. After a while, when both Sammi’s and my hands had visited the others back and bum, I broke away and murmured.
“Maybe madam would like to see her bedroom now?”
“Mmmmm, what a delicious thought Missus Williams.”
“Come with me then,” I said taking her hand.
As I led her up the open staircase and past the mezzanine floor where my daughter’s bedroom and the study were located and up the next flight to the master bedroom suite, I had those guilty feelings again, largely I guess because I was thinking of my Sara.
“Oh God Amanda, this is fantastic,” she said as I led her into my bedroom.
It was a nice room, but praising that as we made our way to the king sized bed hardly seemed appropriate, but then Sammi was young and hardly out of student life. So I put that to one side as she gushed over the size of the room, the bank of mirrored floor to ceiling wardrobes down one side and the sliding doors, again floor to ceiling, on the other. The thick pile, white carpet, the vast bed and the outside balcony that was facing south so was a suntrap and was totally secluded enabling me, when I wished, to sun bathe in the nude.
“Would you like the bathroom, maybe a shower?” I asked. I knew I was showing off a bit by opening the door to the wet room complete with a two huge, shower heads, a large cubicle, and a sunken kidney shaped bath.
“Oh Amanda,” she said grabbing me and kissing me as she pressed her lovely, slim body against mine. “It is truly beautiful, everything is, may I have a shower.”
Smiling, I thought to myself ‘My home has never seduced any one before.’
It was such a lovely, exciting, gratifying and thoroughly enjoyable sight to watch Sammi, quickly undo the button and zip on the kilt, push it down and step out of it. Now dressed just in her white tights with the outline of a white thong under it she looked even more fantastic, if that’s possiblec.
“I hope you don’t think I’m being forward, boss,” she said laughing, “But I just adore lovely showers,” she went on as with no sign of self-consciousness at all she rolled her tights down her legs. As this young, slender, vital and so attractive body was revealed to my gaze, the ache inside me reached extraordinarily high proportions. ‘God how I want her’ I thought, knowing it was probably wrong and that I should not be trying to indulge my bi desires on such a young woman. But as she stood there slipping her thong off, I wondered, ‘Am I really seducing her?’ I doubted it.
Naked she went to go into the wet room.
“Here let me show you how it all works,” I said going into the room first adding, “There are so many different settings.”
Impishly and quite coquettishly, with her arms across her breasts and her hands covering her pubes, Sammi said, softly.
“Well I assumed, Amanda, that you would be in the shower with me showing me the controls.”
Smiling, I replied. “Is that what you would like Sammi?”
“Yes very much,” she replied, moving her arms and hands and arms and revealing her entire body with all of its most womanly places to me. She was certainly a natural blonde.
As nice as it had been watching the young blonde undress, it was as daunting to me to do the same. I am always like that when with a lover, male or female, for the first time. I suppose it’s the fear of them not liking my ‘fuller figure.’ The concern at them being put off by the sag of my D and at times, and this was one of them, double D, child suckled breasts. The worry that the slight excess on my hips and bum and the discernible swell of my tummy due to my negligence after the birth of my daughter might put them off. All of those things combine as my last vestiges of clothing are removed and I am laid bare, as I have no place to hide, stretch my back, hold my breath in or turn away. So as all of that happened when I slipped my jeans down and wiggled out of the dark blue lacy thong, I was, almost, trembling with worry.
The adoring look in Sammi’s eyes and her exclamation. “Oh Amanda, you are so beautiful,” was precisely what I needed to overcome those doubts and feelings; I’m such a soft touch for flattery, especially where my body is concerned.
Showering with a lover is always a delight and with Sammi that was no exception. The water cascading down on both of us moulded our hair to our heads, necks and shoulders and made our skin glisten. As well as looking like drowned rats, we both also looked so smooth and svelte and, as we touched each other, we learned that was not just how we looked, but also how our bodies felt. Sammi’s was especially smooth, like silk, and soft, so wonderful to my touch. I had forgotten that. But I had not forgotten, although it was a memory from a dim and distant past, the feel of a woman’s body against mine. The sensations of having a female in my arms our bodies touching from our lips to our toes, our breasts and bellies squashed together our pubic mounds gently caressing the other, hit me in what was like a drunken surge of remembrance. It was wonderful.
But then the whole experience was.
Kissing in the shower, feeling the water pour all over me, stroking her body, soaping it and washing it, making her perfectly clean for the lovemaking that was soon to come. Caressing the magnificently rounded orbs of her bum, running my fingers and hands over her glorious curves, upwards and downwards, into little crevices and over larger swells. Touching her back, her shoulders, neck and face. Feeling her collar bones and chest and then, wonderfully, moaningly magnificently and groaningly gorgeously cupping her breasts. Her full, yet small and perfectly formed, youthfully pert tits. Those squashingly arousing little mounds of yielding flesh, capped so beguilingly by her two, small, coral pink areolas and nicely sized and erotically erect nipples that I just knew would fit so wonderfully between my teeth when I sucked them later, as we both now knew that I would.
As effectively as the cascading water removed our signs of perspiration, so it washed away my doubts and concerns. Sammi’s eager acceptance of me and my advances, her avid responses and her readiness to reveal herself to me made this a mutual excursion into Sapphic delight. At that moment in that shower in my home we both gave ourselves up to the demands and needs of our bisexual tendencies. Yes at that time we became what our minds and bodies demanded of us, lesbians.
The, ‘I shouldn’t be doing this’ beliefs were totally replaced by my strong need to make full and complete love to Sammi. Of equal importance was my desire for her to make similarly complete love to me.
It’s so different to being with a guy. With him, one way or another, you are being taken, invaded, overcome and penetrated. With a her, it is so mutual. Maybe not for all women, for of course there are dykes around who want to dominate their conquest and consume them, just as a man does. But ‘lipsticks,’ as Sammi and I knew we were, are not like that. Sure, one may lead the other, the differing levels of confidence, experience and need requires that. But essentially, it is the most marvellous, two-way, mutually coming together, in more ways than one, that man, in its widest sense, has created. And during that marvellous night in my bed, we tried to explore every aspect of that.
We kissed for so long as our bodies became attuned to the exploration of the other’s hands. We kissed for even longer as we became used to the other’s fingers pushing, pressing and sliding. We gasped with the excitement of our lover’s hands on our breast, our nipples, our thighs and our vulvas. We opened ourselves up to our partner and gloried in the feelings of them entering our body and of us entering theirs. The feeling of Sammi’s warm wetness as I slid two straightened fingers inside brought back all those memories from so long ago; can a woman’s lubricated insides be so hot, I had to ask my self
I made her cum just before she did the same to me.
I sucked those lovely little nipples into my mouth just before she sucked my fuller, more bloated, child influenced areola and nipples into hers.
And I made her cum again sucking on her tits and finger fucking her cunt, which she opened for me by spreading her legs and bending her knees.
“Yes Amanda, I have been with women before,” she told me suddenly, obviously in response to my earlier question.
We rested, we drank some wine, we dried each other’s hair and we cleansed ourselves again. We went back downstairs clad in white robes and watched the river through the tall windows as a Bach Violin Concerto oozed from the stereo.
We went back to bed.
“No I haven’t,” she said as I rested my head on her frustratingly, but attractively flat stomach, when I queried whether she had made oral love to a woman.
“I have only had sex with girls in clubs and cars, never in bed,” she told me as I eased her slender thighs apart and gazed at my lovers glistening vagina.
She tasted so sweet. She was wet and ready and she held her own breasts as I sucked and licked her clit and lips and probed my tongue and fingers inside her. I was surprised at how long we went on like this. Either, I smiled after she moaned and grunted her shuddering body to a wonderful climax, I have lost my touch or, my memory is poor from when I last sucked a woman all those years ago.
But then, when just moments later her golden hair was rustling against my opened thighs and, regrettably not as, flat stomach, I too seemed to last for so long. She was such a natural, licking the length of my gaping slit, tonguing my clit and stroking her fingers all over my thighs, tummy and bottom.
We slept. Not for that long as it wasn’t late, only elevenish and we had the rest of the night and, presumably, tomorrow as well at our disposal.
And how ell we used that time. Sammi did stay all day on the Saturday and all night. We had a lovely girly time, and an amazingly sexual time, the combination creating for both of us a unique experience.
The girly time included brunch in Borough Market and buying food for our dinner, shopping in Knightsbridge and Chelsea, tea in Portobello Road and then a leisurely drive into Essex on the Sunday stopping for lunch in a delightful little pub in the country. Magic.
The sexual time included us making love several more times on the Saturday night. We made the other cum with our hands and fingers, tongues and mouth. Sammi licked me to a gigantic orgasm as I sucked her to an equally strong explosion. Just before we eventually slept for the night we lay side by side, head to stomach enjoying the most amazing mutual climax.
I had bought her some underwear in Harvey Nics and before we prepared dinner on the Saturday I said she should model it for me. Coming down the stairs in the ‘vamps uniform’ of all black bra, thong and seemed, fishnet hold-ups she looked awesome, especially because of the way that the colour of the sexy underwear was in such wonderful contrast to her golden blondeness.
“You look wonderful, Sammi,” I breathed standing up to take her in my arms. As I cuddled her and after we kissed, I mumbled. “So wonderful, I think you should stay like that for dinner.”
Beaming me that beguiling smile, which was part a cheeky schoolgirl and part that of a seducer she replied. “Gladly, Missus Williams, but of course that is on one condition.”
I guessed what she meant and smiling I said, “Shall I change now?”
She laughed. “We are getting to know each other well aren’t we?”
“Wow, I just love teddies,” she said when I came downstairs in the whit lacy, one piece garment. It was low at the front, showing most of my, unfettered boobs, and was cut acutely at the thighs showing the edge of my mound.
With most of a bottle of white wine drunk before the pasta and salad and the best part of a bottle of red consumed with it, we were nicely mellow during what was an amazingly erotic dinner.
“Shall we clear up now?” She asked, standing up.
“No let’s leave it,” I said as we both stood up. I held my hand out to her, she took it and I pulled her to me. Our bodies merged together. We kissed pressing our breasts and mounds together. Then I broke the kiss and whispered.
“Tell me Sammi, where exactly were we?”