Davina Again

(To the right of the pub I could also make out part of the cottage that would one day become my first non-rented home. Unaware of that eventuality, content we weren't in its line of view, I dismissed it as not currently relevant.)

'We're out of sight in the shadows,' said Ellie. 'And the grass couldn't be drier.'

I had to agree with that. There hadn't been any rain in the last fortnight and the ground was solid, as proved by her smooth progress in heels. And a swift feel proved that the grass was indeed dry. It was short too; it must have recently had its last mow of the year.

Isolated and hidden in the shadows. What more could a girl ask for?

I grabbed Ellie and kissed her fervently. She accepted my attentions a moment then sank down onto the grass, pulling me with her.

Now Logical Dave should have been worried. What if one of those Busfeild smokers had the eyes of a barn owl? What if the grass was dewy after all? Had Ellie checked for dog doings?

Fervent Dave didn't waste time on such trivia. She pushed Ellie onto her back, making sure she was lying with her head on the upslope . . .

And then she ravished her.

Chapter Fifteen

I can't begin to tell you how good it was being Fervent Dave. And I can't remember enough of all the nitty-gritty details to give you a blow by blow account. Here's the abridged version instead.

I unbuttoned Ellie's blouse, quite skilfully removed her bra and set to work on her tits. After maybe half an hour of that, still nibbling and chewing, I put my hand on her thigh.

And omigod, the feel of nylon under my fingers! Trembling, I traced a line upwards, swiftly confirming she was in stockings and not the dreaded tights.

Not that I'd really expected tights; it was just nice to know for certain.

Ellie moaned and sighed as I examined the straps and followed them up to her suspender belt.

Oh good, I thought, she's put her knickers on over the straps. I don't have to undo anything fiddly.

Sighing harder than ever, she lifted her bum, enabling me to remove her rather wet panties, sliding them down her lovely, shapely, stockinged legs and over her heels.

Then I got my face into her fanny and ate and ate and ate.

Everything about it was great, from my first real taste of her to her endless cries and begging for more and more. Don't ask me how many times she came or how good it was to feel her contracting around my fingers and tongue. All I know is that the number was exponential and sensations were out of this world.

That is to say the overall sensations were out of this world; every time she came they got better.

Blowing my own trumpet for once I must say I'd placed her just so. From a lower elevation between her legs I had perfect access and she was able to flex and twist and thrust up to meet my mouth. And, even if the details are now hazy, there are some things I will never forget:

Ellie's tiny squeals punctuating her never-ending stream of moans and sighs;

The sleek feel of nylon brushing my cheeks as I licked her stocking-tops and the inch or so of smooth bare flesh above them;

The juices leaking out of her faster than I could gobble them up;

The way she kept trying to grab my too-short hair;

The way she gave up with my hair and grabbed my ears, using them to pull me even closer for every cum;

My own cums, rocking-horse dropping scarce compared to hers, but there all the same . . .

Yes, between us we'd got it just so.

*****

The weather that day had been glorious but the night did get chilly. Not that I noticed until late on in proceedings, when I paid a return visit to Ellie's boobs and found them to be like frozen melons.

'Why didn't you tell me,' I said, scrabbling around for her bra.

'I didn't notice I was cold until you pointed it out,' she replied, 'and you don't have to stop yet, do you?'

I'd located her bra and was trying to suss how to put it back on her. I was also suddenly aware that it was very quiet. Wondering where the time had gone, I looked towards the pub.

Oh bother, it was virtually in darkness. Only ten minutes ago it had been lit up like a Christmas tree. Or was it a little more than ten minutes ago? Was it hours and hours?

According to my mobile it was half past midnight. I got Ellie to check her phone too, thinking mine had malfunctioned. But no, her time-check coincided with my own.

'I never hear car doors or anything,' I said as Ellie redressed herself. 'And why didn't we notice when the disco in the Institute shut down?'

'I didn't notice because I was cumming like an express train,' she replied. 'And I doubt many people drive home from this pub. It's too risky drinking and driving these days, isn't it?'

I called Bingley Taxis as we walked arm-in-arm back towards the very obviously closed Institute. 'We must have been out here for three hours,' I said after closing my call.

'Three very satisfactory hours,' said Ellie. 'I'll have to repay you sometime very soon.'

The cab arrived as we got back to Main Road, before we made it to our agreed pickup point at the bus shelter. Quarter of an hour later we were safely deposited at the top of Ferncliffe, having what I had intended to be a goodnight kiss.

But Ellie's hands were roving; they didn't seem to believe the night was over.

'Hey,' I said as she rubbed me through the crotch of my jeans, 'we're in full view.'

'Yes,' she said provocatively, 'and you're one of those super-butch girls who doesn't want to take any of her own medicine. Not ever and never, never, never in full view.'

I bit at her words. I suppose that, up until then, some part of my brain had believed if I touched while remaining untouched I was, somehow, not being altogether unfaithful. By that I mean some part of my deep subconscious. As you are already aware, the rest of my brain hadn't been working properly ever since school finished on Friday.

But now, accused of being a "type" . . .

I grabbed Ellie's hand, tugging her across the road and into last night's narrow track. This time it was me putting my back against the wall.

And this time I popped open the top button and unzipped my jeans. Then I took hold of Ellie's hand again and showed it where I wanted it to go.

Afterwards Ellie told me I was her first girl; that before Friday she hadn't even sneaked a kiss. Well, if that was true she was certainly a fast learner. I wasn't massively experienced myself just then, but it seemed to me she knew what she was doing all right.

Didn't she just!

She hesitated only once, as her fingers entered my panties and encountered my bush of pubic hair. It was not a reluctant hesitation. No, it was a taking stock sort of a hesitation. After two seconds and a sharp intake of breath she was burrowing away, finding my clit with ridiculous ease.

Again don't ask about orgasms. They were legion and by two o'clock I was still left wanting more. All fastened up again, back across the road having another goodnight snog, I told her she'd been simply brilliant.

'I still want to sleep with you,' she assured me. Then, probably mirroring something she'd seen on the Internet, she sucked her fingers and said, 'Yum, yum.'

My mouth moved without engaging my (dormant) brain. 'How's this for a deal,' it said. 'If you can find a way to wangle us a night together, I promise you I'll be there and I'll be all yours.'

Ellie frowned. 'How am I supposed to do that?'

'I don't know, but you're supposed to be resourceful. Come up with something and I'll prove I'm not in the least bit butch.'

'You mean like babysitting or a night in a hotel?'

'There has to be an unshakeable reason behind it. Like maybe housesitting and I'm the one everyone calls in to help.'

She nodded. I could tell from her eyes that she was scheming already. 'I have the inkling of an idea,' she said, 'but what about Sara?'

Good question! My mouth hadn't taken her into account at all . . . just as the rest of me hadn't taken account of her all weekend.

'I'll come up with something to keep Sara sweet,' I assured her. Then, somewhat spoiling the effect, I added, 'Somehow.'

Chapter Sixteen

I had reserved Sunday for A-level work. Not that I was behind or ever had been behind. No, I didn't have last-minute coursework to complete, only a bit of homework which I could clear in an hour or so. I did, however, have a habit of reading in advance. Using previous years' exam papers to steer me in the right direction, it was a practice which had always reaped rewards.

Terribly swotty, I know, but it made school life easier in the long run.

Rising at the early hour of 9:47 (before Mum could bring coffee and start crashing about), I showered and dressed and got to the kitchen as she was adding milk to my mug.

'You were later than usual,' she said in place of "Good morning". 'I thought you'd be in early with Sara being away.'

I mumbled something and sat at the table, pinching a slice of cold toast. 'Where's Dad?' I enquired. 'Or should I ask which golf course is he on?'

Mum put my steaming drink in front of me. 'I honestly didn't listen. He did mention St Ives, but I think that's next weekend.'

'Here's hoping you don't need him in a hurry.'

'Davina, whatever would I need him for on a Sunday morning?' Mum chuckled. 'No, don't answer that. Do you fancy a sausage and egg sandwich instead?'

I agreed with alacrity and sipped coffee before opening my phone. There were several texts including one from Ellie. It read:

"My scheming is working. Keep your fingers xd and a week on Sat free."

Yes, I mused, she's very resourceful.

Mum was buttering a teacake while the bangers sizzled in the frying pan. I pulled the HP Sauce a little nearer to me, ready for action. Then another text arrived.

Oh bother, it was from Sara.

"Cant talk I'm in the car. I have to speak 2u tho. Its mega urgent."

Double bother. Guilt came crashing down around my ears. She knew! Sara knew about Ellie!! Some rotten ratfink had grassed us up!!!

With numb fingers I sent a reply, trying to play the innocent.

"Sounds bad. What have I done?"

Her response bounced straight back.

"Cant say N E thing rt now. CU at 3 in the Sub?"

That was it; she didn't suggest we met on the way. No, she just suggested the time and place. It was a confrontation she wanted, not a date. And I knew when I was beaten.

"OK," I sent. "CU there."

At some stage I told you my mum's cooking is excellent. I'm sure her prime pork sausages and fresh farmyard eggs were as good as ever. But I didn't enjoy them that morning.

They tasted like sawdust and cardboard.

*****

I arrived at the Suburban Bar at three on the dot. Sara was already there. So were dozens of football fans. The big screen was showing Liverpool in the process of winning away at Chelsea and, although there were a couple of Chelsea supporters present, the atmosphere was tense but not hostile.

If I'd been a cynic I might have thought that the atmosphere was only hostile when it was Manchester United on the box. Not that the Suburban was the place to allow fighting amongst its clientele. And not that it was likely Man United would be playing their old rivals from Leeds anytime soon.

Sara had an opened bottle of Pinot and two large glasses. She pointed towards an internal staircase and we ascended into the elevated seating area, which was deserted apart from us.

'I don't know how to begin,' she said as we took pews opposite each other.

I was resigned to whatever tirade she chose to throw my way. 'Just go for it,' I said.

'I'm so, so sorry,' she almost wailed.

Eh! Wasn't that my line?

'It was all Jenny's fault,' Sara went on. 'I never intended anything like that to happen.'

My gran has all sorts of adages and sayings. One of her favourites involves not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Fortunately, for the first time in two days, my brain kicked into gear. Still uncertain where Sara was going, I summoned an expression of uncertain expectance.

Or maybe I looked constipated. Whatever; my policy worked. Sara hurried on without prompting.

To cut a long story short, Alan had an older brother called Keith. Jenny had known Keith as long as Sara had known Alan (obviously; they were holiday neighbours, remember!) and last year, she had made a move.

'Jen's always been man mad,' Sara told me. 'And going to uni has only made her worse. In Lanzarote our parents go out on a night with his. Not all the time, of course, but often enough. Starting from last year Jenny got into the habit of shagging Keith while the coast was clear. Me and Alan got the honour of being lookouts.'

Sara swore solemn oaths that she hadn't previously "done" anything with Alan; that the two younger siblings had been the better-behaved ones. But the situation had changed over the weekend. What, with both sets of parents out and Jenny shagging Keith as per usual . . .

Well, Alan's actual eighteenth had been on the Friday, he seemed to expect a "present" . . . and the obvious had finally happened.

'I'm so, so sorry,' Sara wailed again. 'It was his birthday and I know I'm a whore . . . and . . . and . . .'

I made a rapid and logical (no surprise there!) assessment of my feelings. The overriding sense was of relief. I was expected to be the one giving the tirade, not the poor so-and-so on the receiving end!

How lucky was that!

Perhaps strangely, I wasn't at all angry. We hadn't made any promises of chastity and we'd both had sex . . . and so what? Okay, two wrongs didn't make a right, but we hadn't broken any sacred vows so why be uptight about it?

That much said I was in no hurry to come clean myself. As someone who never lies, I had intended to honestly answer any questions Sara sent my way. With that onus suddenly off me, I saw opportunities opening up.

I leant across the table and took Sara's hand. 'Poor thing,' I said sympathetically. 'It must have been a really horrible experience . . .'

Chapter Seventeen

Please don't think too badly of me after these latest revelations. I was only eighteen, you know. And I had only recently discovered sex. The way I see it, it was my duty as a student to experiment a little. There was even a (thankfully brief) spell when I wondered if I ought to experiment with some guy or other. It's an age thing, isn't it?

Anyway, over two bottles of vino Sara and I arrived at an agreement. Until she went away to uni we would be each other's number one girl. We would be, however, free to have flings along the way. And we would both be allowed one "bit on the side". Saying I'd "sort of put Ellie on a promise", I nominated her. Knowing she had a holiday fortnight in April ahead of her, Sara nominated Alan.

And, miraculously, she never asked how come Ellie got her promise!

Much less miraculously, I changed the subject before it could arise.

'What's it like with a guy?' I asked after our deal was struck. 'Did he hurt you really badly?'

'It was different,' she replied, 'different but nice. And no, he didn't hurt me at all.'

Now you may remember me describing Sara as my first true love. She was and she still is to this day. It is a rational sort of an arrangement, though; rational and, over recent years, rather sporadic. Sara visited "home" regularly during her university days (all five years of them) then got herself a working position in Bath, of all places, and the visits somewhat dried up.

Not that we've completely fallen out of touch. We speak on the phone at least once a fortnight and I have lost count of the times I've received the same text.

"In Bingers 2mor. N E chance of sharing yr bed?"

Trust me; if my bed is currently unshared the answer is always a yes.

And it always will be.

*****

I'm going to take another break in a moment but, like Arnie at his best, I'll be back.

This second instalment has, I must admit, run on longer than I'd expected. Kat and Mikki haven't had even a look in. And there's still more about the upper sixth to come, not least my first night in bed with Ellie.

I have Robbie to thank for that, by the way. No, not Robbie my one-off dancing partner from school, I mean Robbie Williams. Resourceful little Ellie went online and found a bargain cancellation package for his sell-out concert in London, including two nights in the Millennium Hotel. From there, knowing that her mum was Robbie's biggest fan, the rest was easy . . .

Next time we speak I'm probably going to skim over Ellie and tell you about some of those flings. I'm also going to tell you about some of the women I met at night school (by that I mean older women not short on experience). And with any luck I'll get as far as hooking up with the second of my three true loves.

You might have heard Mikki's account of Kat and Kat's account of Kat, but just wait until you hear mine.

Yes, mine will be more truthful than either of theirs.

And if you're really lucky, I might spill a few beans about Val . . . that's Miss Williams to girls who have not been fortunate enough to sleep with her.

I'm boring and predictable? Hah!!!

Hasta la vista, baby . . . and watch this space. The best is yet to come.