Friday Night Fun 10

Chapter One

(Friday 11th October 2002)

'Hello sexy,' Heather began the moment her call was picked up, 'how's your ass for spots?'

'It's even smoother than yours,' Taryn replied predictably. 'To what do I owe the honour?'

Heather allowed herself a girlish giggle. Taryn was one of her three current girlfriends and (in keeping with the rest of her body) her ass wasn't sexy at all. Not unless you preferred females who were built more like men; on a guy her ass would be sexy as hell.

Heather liked girls in all their various shapes and sizes but, just lately, she'd developed a "thing" about mannish ones. Taryn wasn't particularly attractive until you saw her for what she was: a short-haired, butch-looking and stocky young dyke with flawless white skin. And that skin really was flawless; she'd probably never had a spot on her bum in her life.

'I'm ringing about Katie's party,' Heather said. 'I wondered if you needed a date.'

Taryn cackled like the witch she was. 'Sorry,' she said, her voice dripping insincerity, 'I've already got the hottest date I could ever hope to have.'

Heather wasn't jealous or even slightly put out. Her relationships were always founded on freedom. The way she saw it, there was never any need for jealousy. She was, however, as curious as a barrel of monkeys.

'I thought I was the hottest date you could ever hope to have,' she replied, mock-indignant.

'Yeah, well I've had you loads of times, haven't I? This is breaking into new territory, my friend. This is an offer I can't refuse.'

Heather was sure of the date's gender but couldn't begin to guess her identity. Taryn only ever dated girls, and the university's pool of really hot dates was (sadly) not too big.

'Who is she?' she demanded.

'You just wait and see,' said Taryn, deliberately evasive. Then, being curious in her turn: 'You're going with Caroline, aren't you? Why are you suddenly wheedling up to me?'

'Caro's got the flu,' said Heather, not bothering to fib. 'She'll be playing the dying swan all weekend. I left her with a bottle of whisky and a cartload of Lemsips.'

'Typical.' Taryn snorted. 'You only want a date with me because Miss Supermodel is in dock.'

'No, I want a date with you because you're terrific in bed and I'm crap at comforting dying swans.'

'Too bad; I'm fixed up already. You'll have to wait until I've a gap in my social calendar.'

'It'll be a while before you get a gap that matches with one in mine.'

'Ask me if I'm bothered.'

'Okay, I give in.' Heather chuckled. 'You've got a super-hot date and I'm not getting a look-in. Serves me right for neglecting you recently. So who is she?'

Taryn's latest witchy cackle was straight out of The Wizard of Oz. 'You just wait and see. But trust me, you'll be drooling. Bye for now. See you at the party.'

For perhaps ten seconds Heather wondered whether she should ring around for an alternative date. It wasn't often she got turned down. Come to that, it wasn't often that she was the one asking. She had spent most of her life declining offers from ardent young men and accepting offers from equally-ardent females.

At that point she grinned. University for her had been like a big, free sweetshop. She'd not kept count but reckoned she'd had sex with as many guys as she had girls. That was only the tip of the great big iceberg, though. Guys quickly lost their allure where she was concerned. Most of them got one night or . . . if they were exceptionally lucky . . . two. Girls tended to get lots and lots of nights.

And the "female factor" made a difference. As well as having more nights in bed with women, she also had much more sex during a night with a woman. When she added in those two important elements, it probably meant ninety per cent of her shared sex had been girl on girl.

Of course that only backed her frequently aired claim that she was "well on the lezzie side of bi".

Dateless, Heather laughed. So she was going to Katie's party alone. So what? It wasn't a "girls only" gathering but there was always the chance of a pick-up. No, there was more than a chance; if she put her mind to it, it would be a dead cert.

She might even have a go at Katie herself. Katie was decidedly bi-curious: she just didn't realize it.

Not yet.

*****

Heather had a second reason for not phoning around: she was very proficient at karate and the inter-university championships were coming up soon, including a championship she intended to win.

She was, she knew, blessed in dozens of ways. Not only did she have the looks and a body to die for, but she was smart with it. And she was also naturally gifted at hobbies she tended to like: hockey first and foremost, but also golf, football and (from out of simply nowhere) martial arts.

Karate was a relatively new find for her. She'd only started two years ago, as a young undergraduate, eager to try everything. And she'd soon become really good. In fact she had got so good that she had been beating her university coach since last Easter; so good that she had recently been matched with guys. And so good that none of the guys anywhere near her weight wanted to fight her anymore.

Beating up men was fun, but she was never sure how hard they were trying. And they didn't represent the opposition she would meet in the championships. Her female opponents would have much faster muscles and much more flexible hips than any of the men she'd been up against. She would have to use different tactics altogether.

She was, after all, in it to win it.

And so was the opposition.

Before Heather could voice her concerns about lack of competition, clearly having thoughts along the same lines, her coach had come up with a solution.

The coach's friend was called Jenny. Jenny was thirty-something and, her academic life over, worked in "finance" in the centre of Manchester. She had also been a black belt forever and, whilst secretive about her actual ability, had once kicked heck out of a male 6th Dan.

'She won the title you're going for,' Coach told Heather,' 'over ten years ago and stylishly. Since then she has only got better. She's the best opponent I'm ever likely to come up with for you.'

The good news was that Jenny, for the sake of Coach and her old alma mater, was happy to instruct Heather, taking her on as a "six week project". The bad news was that she wasn't a typical nine-'til-five office worker; the best she could do was one or two sessions a week, at times that seemed to be picked at random. This week's second session was tonight, at seven o'clock.

How inconvenient was that for pre-party pints in the Union Bar!

Heather wasn't really put out by the timing. She was grateful for the extra coaching and, by now three weeks into the "project", she had come to like and admire Jenny. Superb fighting skills aside, she was a perfect specimen of womanhood. Beautiful and blonde, she was built like an Amazon warrior: very visibly powerful but shapely with it.

Yes, Jenny had featured in several of Heather's bedtime fantasies.

Not that she fantasized while they were on the mat. She had to keep her wits about her. Being kicked in the ribs by that particular blonde was not an easily forgettable experience.

Normally their sessions lasted ninety minutes. That Friday it was closer to a hundred and twenty when Jenny finally called time.

'That's me done for this week,' she announced, hardly a hair out of place. 'The weekend starts here.'

Heather wasn't nearly so unruffled. She felt good though, and not too badly bruised. She also felt very impulsive. 'Talking about the weekend,' she said, 'I'm off to a party. Do you fancy tagging along?'

'I fancy that a lot,' Jenny replied, 'but Maggie'd have my ass in a sling.'

"Maggie" was also known as "Coach". Heather had harboured a few suspicions about her new karate instructor but none at all about the long-term one.

'Maggie's got a boyfriend,' she said, assuming an innocence she'd never possessed. 'Surely she'll be out with him on a Friday night.'

'I've got a boyfriend,' Jenny replied, maintaining intimate eye contact. 'But boys aren't in the frame for tonight. If you know what I mean.'

Heather had a fair idea. 'You're sleeping together,' she said, stating a fact rather than asking any sort of a question.

'We have been for years,' said Jenny. 'Boyfriends come and go but what we have just carries on.' She laughed infectiously. 'I owe you a vote of thanks, by the way. Normally I only get half a dozen nights a year in Maggie's bed. Tonight will make it half a dozen in less than a month.'

Heather laughed with her. 'Glad to be of service,' she said, dropping a curtsey. 'That's the third time I've been turned down today, but with far and away the most credible excuse.'

'Turned down?' Jenny raised an eyebrow. 'Sorry Heather, I can't believe you've had three noes since you were at school, never mind three in one day.'

'Well I have. One girlfriend reckons she's got flu. Another is already on a red-hot promise. I didn't ask my first reserve in case she made it a hat-trick of fails. So I asked you instead.'

Jenny smiled at the very deliberate surfeit of information. 'Maggie and me aren't committed,' she said. 'I suppose we do have something going, emotionally, but we've never sworn vows. We're both free to do whatever we like. Except on occasions like tonight, when plans are already in place.'

Then, her smile stretching into a grin, she added: 'Mind you, she won't be expecting me much before half past nine. I could be free until then easily enough; assuming you could be, too.'

The elevator in Heather's tummy must have had its cables cut. It fell like a lead weight. 'That's always been the way I operate,' she said, as brightly as anyone without one single air molecule in her lungs ever could. 'Born to be free; that's me in a nutshell.'

Jenny linked arms with her. 'Let's go check out the dressing rooms. If they're quiet you might talk me into soaping your back.'

Chapter Two

It was late by then and the usually busy changing rooms were deserted. Even the sportiest of sporty girls had already headed off for bars, restaurants, parties and pubs.

'Not a soul to be seen,' said Jenny.

'Race you into the showers,' said Heather.

Along with the rest of the university's sports centre, the showers had recently been renovated. They had brand-new, adjustable fittings that could easily be redirected. Jenny redirected those either side of Heather's, aiming so they were both spraying directly at her, then joined her under the combined torrent.

'Feels good,' she said.

Heather had to agree. The triple dose of jetting water did feel very good on her bare skin. So too did the feel of Jenny as their bodies kept "accidentally" coming in contact . . . again and again and again.

'Feels wonderful,' she said, unable to stop herself laughing.

Usually Heather put her hair up if she had to take a second or third shower in the same day. She was glad she hadn't bothered this time because, without even a by your leave, Jenny started to shampoo it.

'Your hair is amazing,' she said. 'It's so long and thick! I've been admiring it ever since I first set eyes on you.'

Heather didn't answer. She liked the way Jenny's hands were moving in her jet-black mane, the way she was working in the apple-scented gel and the way the soapy suds were being rinsed away by all that jetting water. But better still, she liked the way their bodies were now in constant contact.

Good grief, she thought, my nipples have never been harder!

Jenny must have noticed. She was doing the hair-washing face-to-face and at close quarters indeed. Their boobs were among those body parts which were in constant contact. Yes, weren't they just! Sometimes directly pressing together, sometimes with Jenny's either side of one of Heather's as she moved to address a different bit of mane.

Most of those rinsed-away suds were running down Heather's back. But some were running over their fronts as well. The contact between them was slippery and slidey and out of this world.

'This is so sexy,' she murmured. 'No, you are so sexy.'

Seemingly having done with Heather's hair Jenny began giving her the promised back-soaping, using those strong fingers of hers to rub lather into her skin, massaging her muscle groups as she did so.

Ecstatic, Heather kissed her. Jenny didn't mind at all. She kissed back and kept on lathering. Heather, meanwhile, stroked her new lover's arms, admiring her shapely biceps, only too aware she was at the mercy of a highly skilled combatant, aware that for once she wasn't the alpha female . . .

And she came in a big warm gush at the thought.

'Oh my,' said Jenny, 'the thermostat must have just wobbled.'

Then she switched tactics. Abandoning Heather's shoulder-blades, she grabbed a bar of soap and set about her boobs. Heather came again, immediately and violently.

'Yes, yes, yes,' she gasped.

'There goes that thermostat again,' Jenny observed, laughing but not stopping. 'This is such fun.'

'Yes, yes, yes,' Heather repeated.

The bar of soap was the sort that had a string attached . . . they called it "soap on a rope", if Heather wasn't too mistaken. She almost wailed when Jenny ditched her breasts and slid her hand lower . . . much, much lower.

Oh my God, she's going to . . .

Heather squealed as the slippery, slidey slab teased her clit a while. Then she squealed times ten as it was eased inside her.

Oh my God, she has . . . she has!!

Contracting as she came repeatedly and mightily, a tiny part of Heather's brain hoped that Jenny had a firm hold on that string. The infinitely larger part of her brain didn't give a toss. She'd never shagged with a bar of soap before and was excited in more ways than one.

No, she was excited in more ways than a thousand and one!!

Perhaps a squillion orgasms later Jenny tugged the improvised toy out of Heather's very retentive vagina. It made a "plop" audible over the din of three full-on showerheads. And the feel of it leaving could only be described as one of great loss. Heather could have cried . . . if she hadn't been so determined to give Jenny several squillions of orgasms of her own.

'My turn, my turn,' she said, grabbing those strong, wicked hands before they could drift back to her boobs.

'You don't have to,' said Jenny.

'Yes I do! Yes I so, so do!!'

She might have been less of an alpha on the karate mat but Heather excelled herself in the showers. Ignoring Jenny's initial protests, she thoroughly washed that lovely blonde shoulder-length hair. Then she thoroughly scrubbed Jenny's well-muscled back . . . before giving her simply marvellous breasts a whole load of intimate attention.

And then, because the flipping soap had worn so badly its rope had come unattached, she sank down to her knees and ate pussy as if her life depended on it.

Pressed against new white tiles, her legs obligingly parted, Jenny took it and cried out endorsements as if she'd never had such an experience, not even in her wildest dreams.

Unable (or uncaring) to distinguish between the combined tastes of soapy suds, iffy shower water and oh-so-sweet lady juice, Heather ate her and ate her and ate her.

*****

'That was brilliant,' said Jenny.

Heather couldn't deny that. Standing and hugging under three jets of shower, they had just shared a long and lingering smooch.

'Come to that party with me,' she said. 'Else bugger the party, come home to my bed.'

Jenny smiled sadly. 'I'd love to. But I told you already, I've agreed to meet Maggie. I can't back out at the last minute. That's not the way we operate together.'

'And she knows you're here tonight, does she?'

'Yes.'

'Have you slept with her every time you've . . . given me lessons?'

'Yes. But I've always agreed in advance. Tuesday could be different.'

Heather frowned. 'What's Tuesday got to do with the price of eggs?'

'It's got everything. I've always agreed in advance, remember? Well, next time I can make it will be on Tuesday, and I only found out today. Maggie doesn't know yet, so I haven't agreed anything with her, have I?'

'Are you suggesting my place on Tuesday, after you've kicked more crap out of me?'

'Yeah, I'll kiss every last inch of you better. In fact I'll kiss parts you don't even know you have.'

'Won't Maggie suss us?'

'Of course she will. But if I don't agree to see her, I don't see how she can complain.' Jenny laughed. 'Okay, she'll be envious as hell but so what? If she didn't want me to fuck you she never should have introduced us, should she?'

Heather didn't want to fall out with her coach. 'Will she really be envious of me?' she asked.

'No, it's me she'll be envious of, not you. She's wanted to fuck you for ages.'

'She hasn't ever shown it.'

'Trust me, Heather, she fancies you like crazy. Once she realizes we've slept together, her approach to you will change dramatically.'

The hydraulic screech of an institutionalized door closer suddenly overcame the splash of water. So too did an authoritative female voice.

'Come on, let's be having you. Haven't you go no homes to go to? Ten minutes and I'm locking up. Be out or be locked in. It's up to you.'

Jenny probably didn't realize it, but Heather knew that if she took a couple of steps into the changing room, that staff member would be able to see into the showers. And, while she didn't particularly care if they got caught in the act, she didn't want some prissy-minded cow taking the huff and locking them in out of pure spite.

'Ten minutes and we're gone,' she called back.

'See that you are.'

Another hydraulic screech announced the departure of whoever it was.

'Better get dressed,' she said.

Jenny grinned as she slipped two fingers into Heather's pussy.

'It'll only take five minutes to get dressed,' she said. 'That gives me five minutes to do this . . .'

Chapter Three

Katie's place was a terraced house about a mile from uni. After kissing Jenny goodbye and asking her to "give Maggie one for me", she walked instead of ringing a taxi. It was early autumn and the night air was relatively balmy. And in those parts taxis were like gold dust on a Friday evening.

Alcohol was, naturally, a consideration. She stopped at a corner shop en route and grinned to herself. Like most everywhere else, Asians had taken over corner shops in her university town. Not this one, however. No, this one only had signs in Polish. Even the tins had indecipherable words on them . . . apart from one which, amongst a lot she couldn't translate, included "curry" in English.

Heather loved diversity in all its forms. She was always happy to see immigrants making businesses work in a (for them) strange and sometimes inhospitable land. She was happier to see the contents of the tall chilled drinks cabinet, though. Her purchase of two bottles of wine was quickly concluded and two minutes later she was knocking on Katie's door.

'Ah,' said Katie, opening it almost instantly, 'it's the late Heather Hunter; I thought you'd stood me up.'

She ushered Heather inside and had a peek inside her plastic carrier bag.

'It's Pinot,' Heather volunteered, 'you can help me drink it, if you like.'

'Tonight I'm the hostess with the mostest.' Katie thrust out her sizeable chest to prove her point. 'I am going to go steady for a few hours yet. But I'll stick these in my not-to-be-disturbed fridge and get you a glass. I know what you're like with your Pinot.'

'Not-to-be-disturbed fridge,' Heather echoed. 'What's that when it's at home?'

'I have two fridges: one communal, one exclusively mine. Hanging might have been abolished years ago, but it still applies for anyone who goes in the one that's exclusively mine . . . apart from you, of course.'

Katie's house was a typical "through terrace". Its front door opened directly into a lounge that probably took up three fifths of the ground floor. The rest of downstairs consisted of a kitchen and the staircase up to the first floor, which had two bedrooms, a small bathroom and another staircase leading up to a couple of attic bedrooms; the sort with windows in their slanty roofs.