Author's Note: Although this story stands on its own (I hope!), and is the one I wrote first, it is loosely a sequel to events in "Cultural Exchange", which I'd planned out before starting writing either. You don't need to read that first - although some of its surprises will get spoiled for you by this story - but you should definitely read it if you like this one.
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It was the morning of a warm late spring day, the Saturday of the Late May Bank Holiday weekend. Paul was practically skipping along the street, making his way from the little flat he shared with his mother, up the hill to Windmill Drive, where the posh houses were.
Where Samantha lived.
Oh, Samantha; girl of his dreams - light brown hair past her shoulders, sparkling green eyes, button nose dusted with freckles. A little broad-shouldered perhaps, wide of hip and narrow of waist, which was not the fashion in the mid-90s. But big tits; they are always in fashion. Sexy Samantha; never Sam, she hated that - she was a girl, dammit. Paul had been in love with her since he knew what girls were, and had to endure seeing her at school every day, her and her bitchy bullying friends who were always mean to hm. He expected that kind of nastiness from the boys, but it just seemed meaner from the girls.
Then they'd gone away on a school trip together, her and the rest of the orchestra. Paul left a boy but came home a man; the family he'd stayed with had a much looser attitude to sex than he was used to. He'd got beaten up defending the honour of Sophie, the daughter of that family - but his chivalry had not gone unrewarded. Samantha had come onto him on the journey home, and invited him round to her place for this weekend, while her parents were due to be away. She'd slipped him a note during class with her address on it, and so he'd set off this morning, excited.
But the closer he got, the more the doubts circled. It seemed so unlikely. Why was she interested in him? Was he going there just to get mocked? Was it even her house, or was he going to knock on some random's door - or, worse, on Andrew or Simon or Jeremy's door, to get beaten up again? They'd all have a laugh at that, at pathetic Paul thinking he was in with a chance with one of the hottest girls in class.
But he kept walking. What if it was true? It seemed real enough, when she kissed him on the plane, when she let him touch her - when she insisted he touch her, and where, and how. He had to go, had to find out. He'd wanted a chance with her for years, and here it was. He couldn't pass up such an opportunity.
He walked up the gravel drive, long enough for four cars, and stepped into the porch. It had been a long walk, half an hour or so in the sun, and he regretted wearing the jacket. Great, turned up hot and sweaty to meet her. Oh well, nothing to be done about that now. He reached over for the bell-pull and gave it a yank with a confidence that he didn't feel.
From behind the door came the yelping and barking of the hounds of hell. Paul jumped back from the door, alarmed. Then the barks subsided into whimpers and then silence, and the door creaked open.
And there she was. Beautiful, stunning, sexy Samantha, opening the heavy wooden door to him, with a genuine smile and sparkle in her eyes. "You came!" she said, delighted. Paul nodded, shyly. "I was worried you wouldn't, that you'd think I was teasing. I'm sorry I didn't speak to you at school - I'm just not ready for that. Not yet. But come in, come in!"
He looked her over, quickly so as not to be caught gawping. Long bare legs, trainers, no socks. A pair of incredibly brief cut-off denim shorts, frayed along the bottom and faded and thinned to white string in places; so short they were basically underwear, Paul was sure he could see a hint of black lace along the torn leg holes. On top, a black vest-top with a Guns N Roses logo over one breast, that she'd tied in a knot behind her back to bare her midriff and show off her bellybutton piercing. The vest had a deep neckline, showing off impressive cleavage, into which a gold rope necklace was disappearing.
"Wow, you look incredible," Paul said, realising how lame it sounded just as the words left his mouth.
But Samantha seemed pleased. "What, this? This is something I just threw on." As Paul stepped forward to the door she reached out, pulled him in for a brief hug, and kissed him on the cheek. That already made this one of the top 3 weekends of his life. But before he could say anything else, brown and black fur leapt at him, full of teeth and eyes.
"Down! Get down!" Samantha was shouting.
"No, don't worry, it's okay." He let them smell the back of his hands. The German shepherds - two bitches - started licking his palms; nice and salty with sweat from the walk. Paul knelt so that he could pet them better, scruffing them on their necks and under their chins as they met each other. One of them started licking his face, and he laughed.
"That one with the tongue, that's Tegan," Samantha said, "and the one on the right is Nyssa. And this naughty boy," she said, as another dog came down the hall, with a suspicious look on his face, "is..."
"Turlough, surely," Paul said, smiling up at Samantha.
"How did you...?"
"Oh please, I'm chief geek, remember. And the Fifth Doctor is my favourite."
"Really? I've always been a bit of an Ace fan, myself," she replied. Paul was surprised - yes, Samantha did have a bit of a wicked air about her, but he didn't have her down as a Doctor Who fan. It made him realise that actually he didn't know much about her at all. She played violin in the orchestra, and... What? He had nothing. He wondered what other surprises there might be in store.
"Fancy something to drink?" Samantha walked off towards the kitchen, and Paul had a great view of her shapely arse, only partly covered by the ripped shorts and with definite black lace underneath, sway its way towards what he assumed was the kitchen. She looked back over her shoulder and beckoned him to follow.
