Heather Falls in Love Pt. 03

Big crumbs from the table or what! It was surprisingly easy to settle for the unexpected treats she was getting, to smother her darker desires and concentrate on the places they'd been and places still to come.

Not that they weren't pushing boundaries along the way. Ingrid wouldn't admit it, but they weren't just sharing cums now. With all that boob-play and leg-wrestling they were often making each other cum. And chews often became bites. Large purple hickeys were commonplace on necks and shoulders. In equal numbers, that was; theirs was an equal partnership in every way, a very equal, ever-evolving partnership. All told, Heather was only too happy to let things drift along at their own pace.

One day, she'd think on a night, verging on sated sleep, one day soon.

Biggest hickey of all, right on her . . .

*****

The girls' next stage covered the north coast of Spain. Dry white French gave way to rich red Rioja. Then they veered south into Portugal, making their cheerfully lazy way to Lisbon, where they were awed to see the statue of Cristo Rei overlooking the city. Next, as they had both previously done the Algarve, they took the world's slowest train to Seville, followed by another down to Cadiz. And only then, after a day trip to see the monkeys (not apes, Ingrid insisted, "monkeys") in Gibraltar, did they finally make it to Ben Maddener, determined to save their sexy selves no longer.

Finding a touristy hotel that would have them was easy for two such seasoned travellers. Impressed by their attempts to speak the lingo . . . although more probably not . . . the manager of the first place they tried told them, in perfect English, they could have his one spare room for twenty Euros a night, as long as they took it for ten nights and paid cash up front. A Blackpool landlady couldn't have been more eloquent . . . or tougher.

Their room was bog standard Spanish Hotel: marble floor with twin single beds and not much even the drunkest holidaymaker could smash. It was only then, as they took off their hiking boots, that they started to realize exactly how much walking they had done.

They spent the afternoon and much of the following day lounging by the pool, topping up tans that were already far darker than most of the locals'. Relaxed and refreshed, they made their first serious venture into the bar on the second night and ordered sangria: lots and lots of sangria. Before long they were joined by two guys from Carlisle. Billy and Ken were halfway through their fortnight and seemed anxious for company. They also seemed keen to share the benefits of being all-inclusive with two girls who weren't.

Heather didn't madly fancy Billy, but there were extenuating circumstances to consider. Meaning one of Ken's ancestors looked to have had a close encounter with a pillaging Scandinavian. Consequently she played along for Ingrid's sake, enjoying the low key flirting. And it really was low key. The sangria kept flowing all evening but nothing happened; nothing except lingering kisses in the corridor outside their room.

Well, nothing happened between the guys and gals that night. Plenty happened later between Ingrid and Heather, but strictly no biting. They'd been bite-free for the last week or two, wanting to be rid of those colourful love bruises.

'It's obvious which one you want,' Heather said as, appetites satisfied, they drifted off towards sleep.

'Oh yeah . . . assuming I ever see him again.'

'Oh you'll see him again, I guarantee it.'

Sure enough, the guys turned up next morning at the pool, quickly making themselves at home. And to be fair, they were fun to be with, laughing and joking at everything, even their own hopeless efforts at trying to race Heather above and below water. They ate a light lunch together and then, as secretly planned in advance, Ingrid led Ken off to their room. Meanwhile Billy took Heather to inspect the ceiling of the guys' sleeping quarters.

Not that she bothered studying every last crack.

Or any cracks, come to that.

Despite being not particularly good-looking, Billy was more than acceptable in bed. In fact he kept going for over an hour and was happy to do everything she wanted. The only problem she'd had was getting him down again, which needed some ingenuity and lots of cold water.

Ingrid and Ken were already waiting on sun loungers when they got back. Heather took the fact they were holding hands as a good sign. When the guys went to get drinks she asked if Ingrid was all right. She got a "God, yes" in reply, and had to laugh.

The rest of the afternoon slowly slipped by, oiled with regular beers and filled with easy conversation. Not to mention plenty of simmering sexual tension. Heather couldn't help noticing the way Ingrid kept touching Ken's he-man body. She even wondered if he'd needed to put her under an ice-cold shower earlier, when he'd done with her. Her friend wasn't hot for him; she was on the verge of spontaneous combustion. It was amusing to watch and put her in the mood for more Billy.

As other guests drifted away to get ready for dinner, the four of them strolled a mile into town and ate a couple of steers at an Argentinean steakhouse. Then they hit every drinking den on the way back to the hotel bar. And now the agreement wasn't at all secret. Now, when Ingrid and Ken got up to leave, all four of them knew they were spending the night as a couple in the guys' room. The blonde beauty had been blatantly up for it ever since her après lunch appetizer.

So why did she have misty eyes as she bent to peck Heather's cheek with a soft, goodnight kiss?

Heather didn't know. She also didn't know why she felt such a sense of loss watching her friend leave without her. Shrugging it off, she took Billy to the gals' room and let him stare at the plastering while she showed him how sex should be done. To her delight his problem hadn't gone away and neither had his enthusiasm. Seeing as time wasn't now an issue they went at it again and again, lasting for ages before alcohol and vigorous exercise finally carried them off to slumberland.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

(September 2002)

The sound of the door opening and closing woke Heather. She was lying on top of Billy, both of them naked on her single bed, sheets kicked off and crumpled on marble, skins sticky together with juices and sweat. She was still yawning and ungluing her eyelids when the heavy blackout curtains swished unceremoniously, flooding the room with dazzling sunlight.

'Come on you two lazybones,' Ingrid said, far too brightly. 'Rise and shine.'

'Where's Ken?' Heather asked.

'He's gone for his morning jog. We're meeting up by the pool at ten. Which means you two had better get a shift on.'

Heather climbed off Billy and took his hands, pulling him to his feet. 'I think that means it's time for you to leave us girls together.'

After Billy had gone she turned back to Ingrid. 'Are you okay?'

Ingrid had a peculiar expression on her face. 'Of course I'm okay,' she said unconvincingly. 'I've just had enough of this tourist lark. And . . .'

'And . . .'

'And I can't bear sleeping without you snoring beside me.'

Heather snorted. 'I missed you farting all night too,' she said. 'I nearly cried last night, when you left the bar without me.'

'I did cry when I left,' Ingrid admitted. She held open her arms and Heather stepped into her embrace. The hug quickly became a kiss . . . and a proper one at that. It was all at Ingrid's instigation and by no means sisterly. Heather's head started to swim. She always enjoyed snogging but this was something else. She could gladly do this all morning. Knickers to ten o'clock by the pool!

Talking about knickers . . . she wasn't wearing any and Ingrid's hands were gripping her bare bum. It felt utterly fabulous, even if she was suddenly aware the other girl was freshly showered and dressed. And she'd borrowed Ken's toothbrush and deodorant too, by the taste and smell of it.

So I'm fur-toothed, sweaty and smelly and still she's breaking all her rules. Wow! she thought. Could this be the time to give her that killer hickey?

Heather was about to drag Ingrid onto the unused bed when the blonde stopped kissing and spoke again.

'Let's go,' she said impetuously. 'Let's get a cab to the airport and fly to Madrid this morning.'

'What about Billy and Ken?'

'Nuts to them. We've all had our bit of booty. It's time to move on. Leave a Dear John at Reception if you want.'

And that is exactly what they did. A taxi arrived for them at ten thirty and, as she climbed in, Heather could see through to the pool. Ken was walking back to their usual place, carrying two big beers and saying something to someone just out of sight; probably: Where the hell are they? to Billy, if she had to hazard a guess. Two hours later they were flying over mountains.

'I want to skip the Costas part of our tour,' said Ingrid. 'I know we were only in Ben Maddener a few days, but all those British voices were doing my head in. So many after ages with hardly any at all. It was too much.'

'Not to mention the Germans and Irish,' Heather said. 'What do you fancy after Madrid? Shall we go straight on to Barcelona?'

'Yes, but walking it. Let's get back in tune with the real, unspoilt Spain before we start on the rest of Europe.'

They enjoyed beautiful Madrid but were uneasy in their hotel room. It was simply too luxurious, even though it was fun jilling together in the very stylish shower. It was also fun jilling together in the double bed, despite Ingrid's determination to revert to the old rules.

Never mind, Heather consoled herself, shortly before talking her best-ever friend through her most graphic fantasy yet, we'll always have Ben Maddener.

Agreeing it was time to be back under canvas they set off east early the next afternoon. The plan was to head for Guadalajara (thirty-five miles away for a crow, considerably more by road) and, from there, to veer northeast to Zaragoza. Walking and talking, they had made about fifteen miles when the sky darkened and they saw a flash of lightning in the far distance. Up until then they had been incredibly lucky with the weather. In nearly three months they'd had no more than a handful of showers, none heavy enough to make them run for cover. This, however, was going to be much more than a shower.

They were caught on an open highway in the middle of nowhere. With absolutely no shelter in sight their only option was to put up their tent. They were very well practiced at this, although never before under pressure. The way they coped delighted Heather. Without panicking, they found a patch of level ground about ten yards from the road and, slick as a Ferrari wheel-change team, had the tent erected in no time at all. Large round drops of rain were kicking up the dust as they crowded inside.

'Made it,' she cried. Then, realizing the sudden effort had turned her sweat tap on full: 'Wow, it's hot in here!'

She stripped off her shirt and bra, both already dripping wet, then wriggled out of her shorts. Wearing only her skimpy G-string, she leant forward and opened the front flap of the tent. The rain was falling steadily now; all the dust devils had been well and truly damped down. And that darkness in the sky was advancing towards them at a rate of knots. As she peered out a brilliant fork of lightning earthed somewhere away to her right. She counted to three before a deafening crash of thunder resounded, almost deafening her.

'Wow,' she said again. 'It's going to pass right over us. Aren't you going to come and watch?'

'No I am not!' Ingrid said. 'I hate storms like this.'

Heather looked round. Her friend was cowering in the back of the tent in her knickers and bra, arms wrapped around herself, the perfect picture of misery.

'I thought this was the work of one of your top gods.'

'Thor can stick his hammer for me,' Ingrid replied. 'Right now I'm all English.'

Heather crawled across the groundsheet and hugged Ingrid who immediately snuggled against her, burying her face in her boobs. The poor girl really was trembling. And crying too. Heather could feel tears running off Ingrid's cheeks, onto her own bare skin. She held her tight with one hand and used the other to keep stroking her hair. Apart from regularly murmuring, 'It's okay darling, it's going to be all right,' she couldn't think of anything else to do.

The storm did pass right over them, the gap between flash and bash shrinking from three to one then nothing at all. They had maybe five minutes while Thor slammed his hammer continuously over their heads . . . five minutes while Heather's murmurings were nearly as much for herself as for Ingrid . . . then at last the thunder began to recede. Soon there were three second gaps again, then five and then seven.

Then a new sound approached; a different sort of sound but just as scary: a heavy, rolling sound like millions of stampeding hooves.

'Rain!' they cried together, as the onslaught hit the tent.

And this wasn't just a heavy downpour like before, this was a proper monsoon. It was like being inside Animal's drum.

'I don't mind rain,' Ingrid said. 'It's the other stuff that gets me. I keep promising myself I'll stop being so chicken, but I can't help it.'

'Everyone has something that scares them,' said Heather, half-yelling to make herself heard. 'With me it's ladybirds; the black ones with red spots. Someone at school told me they have a poisonous bite. It isn't true, I know that, but I can't make myself stop hating them.'

The drumming was getting even heavier on the tent; Keith Moon must have joined in as well.

Both girls were still clinging to each other. Heather started to let go, intending to have another look out of the flap, but Ingrid stopped her.

'This bloke I used to know had an attic bedroom,' she said, 'one of those with a window in the slanty roof. When it rained it sounded a bit like this. It used to wake us up when I stayed over. Seeing as we could never get back to sleep, we used to take it as our cue to start making love again.'

Her eyes were massive. Heather could feel their hearts pounding in time (she'd swear to her dying day they'd been pounding in time), and guessed she'd never get a clearer signal in her life.

'Like this?' she said.

The first kiss was like the one back in their room in Benalmadena . . . not in the least sisterly. It was also long, long overdue, and not rejected in any way at all. They were both breathing heavily when they broke for air.

'Rachael bet me I wouldn't last to Madrid,' Ingrid said, taking Heather's hand, guiding it onto the very familiar territory of her boob then, after an intriguing pause, down to her groin. 'Seeing as I did, I can submit now, can't I? You can do everything you want. Every . . . last . . . thing.'

'Oh good grief, please say you mean that!'

'Kisses . . . everything . . . I mean the full works.'

Heather could feel Ingrid's clit through her thin, damp knickers. It was pressing against her as yet motionless palm and seemed to be pounding, as their hearts were pounding: very, very powerfully indeed.

'I can't believe this is happening.'

'Well is. I'm ready for everything you've promised me in all your filthy fantasies. Assuming you really want to live the dream, that is.'

'Oh I want to.' Heather laughed. 'Rache bet me you wouldn't last to Bilbao. I've been dreaming of this moment for thousands of miles.'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

(Ingrid's Final Interruption)

It's time for a quick farewell from me. I'll leave you in Heather's capable hands after I'm done.

Did I just say her "capable hands"? I'm not going to tell you what she did to me during that monsoon, not in any detail, but she did it more than capably. In the not-too-distant past, Rache has referred to her as Hurricane Heather. What she failed to mention was the fact she's Category 5 . . . at least!

She's a very passionate woman, Heather; very, very passionate.

I was, coincidentally, telling the truth about Rachael betting on me lasting as far as Madrid. Well, I was almost telling the truth. She actually bet me I wouldn't make it past Bilbao, same as she bet Heather. I was trying to be quick on my feet when I substituted it with Madrid, trying to make myself seem to be less of an easy touch.

Anyway, at this point in Hev's tale, I've succumbed to the fate I've wanted all along. Part of me can't believe I played the tease for as long as I did. And part of me is dreading what lies imminently ahead. Were those prophets of doom right? Heather has certainly taken me to Heaven. Is she now about to break my heart?

I suppose there are those out there who reckon I deserve whatever comes my way. And, if it's a big, heart-breaking disappointment, I suppose they are right.

Here goes then. Consider my bow to be taken. I'll pass you back to the girl herself. Let's see what she does next.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

(September 2002)

At first it sounded the thunder was making a comeback. Then, when the noise rumbled on and on while their wet bodies kept gliding together, Heather realized she was listening to the complaint of an empty tummy. No, she was listening to two empty tummies.

Wow, she thought, we really are in harmony. First periods, now stomachs!

Ingrid had twigged too. She was grinning up at her. 'I don't want to stop,' she said, 'but I don't want to pass out, either. Feed me, and then we can start over.'

'I'll gladly start over,' Heather replied, 'feeding you might not be so easy.'

'Don't tell me you forgot to stock up.'

'Of course I didn't. But we should be in Guadalajara by now, looking for a curry house.'

Ingrid shook her head, still grinning. 'I don't believe you've blobbed today,' she said, 'on the one day we need emergency rations.'

Heather climbed off the other girl and, not bothering to dress, headed for her backpack. Stocking up foodstuffs was a duty they shared on a two days on, two days off basis. She had, thanks to their stop in Benalmadena, lost track. Ingrid was probably right though; she always was when provisions were concerned.

'It's not raining anymore,' the beautiful blonde said, her head out of the flap. 'The clouds have all gone and there must be a billion stars in the sky.'

Heather's watch was attached to a strap on her pack. She hadn't worn it on her wrist since she got on the ferry in England. Now, seeing it was after ten thirty, she made a mental calculation.

Good grief, we've been shagging for over four hours!

'So what have you got for us?' Ingrid wondered.

'Bocadillos, some of your favourite goat cheese, and a big packet of those crisps you like.'

'Not quite a curry in Guadalajara, is it?' Ingrid chuckled as she unfastened her own backpack. 'Luckily, I've got a few things myself.'

'Excellent. What have you got?'

'Some of my favourite goat cheese, a big packet of those crisps that I like . . . and naranjas.'

'Do you mean real naranjas, with peel and pips and everything?'

'Yes.' Ingrid passed over a red mesh bag bulging with oranges. 'I've also got a bottle of tinto.'

'Snap,' said Heather, producing an almost identical bottle.

Taking care to slice the bocadillos horizontally, she made two submarine-type sandwiches, going very heavy on the queso. Ingrid, meanwhile, opened some crisps and the first bottle of wine.

'It's quite cool outside,' she said as she poured generous amounts of viscous, full-bodied red into their well-cared-for "travelling glasses". 'We might have to huddle together tonight.'

Heather had a swig of wine and guzzled down a spare chunk of cheese. 'It's not really cold,' she said, 'but huddling's fine by me.' Then, noticing her friend's arched eyebrow: 'What?'

'You don't have to if you don't want to.' Ingrid looked away. 'I know you don't get involved.'

'I didn't at uni,' Heather conceded, 'but we're beyond that, aren't we? We've got months and months ahead of us, if not years.'