Colliding Worlds 1

I will say that this is a name change and reedit of a previous story. If you read it before, I am sorry.

However the English has been improved, as has the smoothness of the plot.

Feedback is always appreciated.

Bazzle

Colliding Worlds

Sharon Andrews strode her long slim legs confidently down the carpeted central corridor. With her head held high, and her blonde shoulder length hair gently swaying, as she wore her power dressed formal weekday attire. Her firmly fitted black jacket, that hid the fact the white blouse hadn't yet been washed, having been dug out of her work bag half an hour ago, along with a below the knee black skirt. Her still rather crumpled black lace slip gently swished against her equally black stocking covered thighs as she purposefully moved forward. She had to keep focused on the mission that was in front of her, and not get distracted.

Sharon had just got out of the lift. She hated getting in on a Monday morning. Firstly it was scary looking at herself in the large mirror on the wall. Secondly she hated the jolts. It was, though, a hundred percent easier than taking the stairs. Now she had to get all the way across the office to her desk. It meant going between half a dozen waist high plain grey dividers with plastic screens that split the large bright and airy fourth floor office space out into several open plan pods. Her pod was the last one on the far right. With her stomach still churning from the lift it was still quite a distance away. Effort was required to get there. She had already walked a few blocks to get to the office building.

The advantage some could say was that her desk was in the most important corner, she had the ability that she could see out over everyone. It was also the closest to the kitchen for the all-important and the often necessary coffee run. By two pm she would predictably start yawning. The corner also gave her oversight, that she could hear all the gossip amongst the managers and subsequently laugh at them, when in the most sexist way possible called them all their 'clucking hens'. It was also in the corner, where she could slide down in her seat and technically hide from everyone. As more often than not she found that with her eternal throbbing headache she really needed too.

As it was eight fifty-eight and thirty seconds on Monday morning, her path was now clear. Sharon was almost always the last in, but no one seemed to care, as long as she was sitting at her desk bang on time. Sharon almost always got everything anyone needed done and as she was willing to stay on later than others, they respected her. It was even better if it coincided with a Friday night. It was easier to stay out if she worked later. She was the best at what she did, and management knew it.

Sharon took deep, regular breaths. She had been sucking on mints since getting in the lift the menthol was tickling her and clashing with the caffeine. Then focusing on her destination as she carried her takeaway cup of double espresso shot in her right hand, it was her third coffee of the morning. It was still not enough, she was contemplating having a fourth. Her black pleather handbag was on her left shoulder. She was polite and said morning to everyone by nodding or raising her mug. All whilst keeping one eye on the management offices and forcing a grin. Hoping to get to her seat as quickly as possible.

With a deep breath of preparation she sighed and quickly settled down in her black office chair as the clocks around the room clicked nine. Feeling safe and now hiding from everyone a wave of relief flowed across as she kicked her black 2" heeled shoes off under the desk. Instantly annoyed with herself as it was obvious that her chipped painted big toe was poking through the 40 Denier fabric. She was sure it was fine when she put them on. With her painted toe poking out she noticed that she really needed to find time to cut and paint them again. The carrier bag of last week's clothes was under the desk. She would carry them home later.

Sharon then stretched her neck hoping to remove the crick in her back from sleeping awkwardly again. Yet again falling asleep on the sofa was never a good idea. Then opened her drawer and amongst the stash of chocolate bars and emergency sweets, and two "if desperate" cigarettes she pulled out her pack of paracetamol popped two tablets through the silver foil into the palm of her hand. Then shoved them in her mouth and then swallowed them down with the remaining drips of her strong caffeine wincing in the process. She really hoped both the caffeine and the tablets would kick in sooner rather than later.

Her almost eternal weekday headache was loudly banging its large bass drum. What didn't help was it was assisted at certain moments by an untuned untimed warming up orchestra missing every note inside her still tired, very weary and rather delicate skull. She dug into her purse, pushed the black cotton fabric further down and then poking around found her lipstick and compact mirror focused on her face. She should have done It in the lift, but forgot. Her skin was scrubbed clean again this morning in a desperate attempt to feel alive, she had failed at that and also she hadn't time to put any makeup on. The large, tired bags under her eyes showed exactly how she was feeling. Shattered. Nothing could hide it now. Normally she would have covered it all up with foundation, but this morning, as with normal for a Monday morning she had been inevitably running slightly late. She had hit the snooze button on her phone three times too many. Sharon pouted her lips and applied the glossy red lip covering. She did this believing that alone it would help her appearance and by magic remove her headache and of course make her day go better. Then put everything away and through her thick rimmed glasses briefly focused on her computer screen attempting to start Monday for real and deal with the over the weekend emails.

"Ah Sharon, great you're in!" A loud voice coming from her manager soon disrupted her brief focus on the screen. His voice clanged around in her head coming out from his doorway. It travelled out over the top of the clattering of fingers on keyboards. Then in the style of a meerkat she quickly raised her head above the parapet of the divider and peered back over and nervously smiled in acknowledgement. Smiling hello. "Great, sorry to bother you, could you help me with something, nothing major I promise?" He practically shouted down the length of the room.

Everyone now knew that she was required. A double edged sword. With a deep breath she enthusiastically nodded and then instantly regretted doing so, as her brain sloshed within her skull as if it had disconnected itself from its anchors and was surrounded by wine. She politely smiled whilst looking at him and forced a big grin as a smile back at him in agreement.

"On my way." Her voice hoarsely crackled and croaked, the air from her lungs flowing up over what could have been sandpaper. In reality it was the effects of twenty or more Marlboro Lights Shazza had smoked yesterday. Sharon's lungs had done nothing but help her slowly walk this morning. Sharon quickly regretted talking as she then screwed her face up and brought her hand to her mouth as she shook as she hacked a cough. Having not spoken to anyone properly between saying good night to the taxi driver and waking up. Sharon needed to clear the Shazza sized frog that she had deposited in her throat.

Then with a deep sigh she almost crumpled in her chair as if her jacket shoulder pads were made with lead. Focusing intently at her legs annoyed with the reconfinement as she focused hard as she carefully put her feet back in her shoes. Slowly and purposely pushed back her chair and steadily stood back up, briefly wobbling on her heels. Sharon styled it out by adjusting her skirt hem. She had her new mission, to head down the way she had just come. Before departing she picked up some files off her desk before looking across at her bosses office and with a thumping heart joining the party she started heading that way.

***

The reason for her Monday morning headache is very simple, it's self inflicted. From around six on Friday night to a certain group of friends Sharon is not the office busy bee. She is Shazza the party animal. Shazza is the life and sole of the party, and to most of them if there is no Shazza, there isn't a party. A night out without Shazza being there is very much a bad one. She brought light and sparkle where there was darkness.

At eight fifty-eight on Friday, Saturday and more often than not, if the mood takes her on Sunday nights too, Shazza is more likely to be found at the seedy basement pub at the far end of town called FWB's. She is there from any time after six onwards with a collection of lone strays and acquaintances that would be on one mission. That of attempting to drink the bar dry.

Within the group she was almost always the first to arrive at the bar, and almost always the last to leave.

On the previous Saturday night Shazza had knocked back yet another neat double vodka down her throat. She grinned triumphantly, as it slithered down and she licked her lips, then wiped her face with the back of her hand ignoring the burning feeling and focused on the alcohol hitting the bloodstream. Then gregariously waving the empty glass around in the air shouted over the background music to the poor bar man "Another round for my girls! I will pay whoop-whoop!"

Shazza accidentally banged the glass loudly on the counter as apologetically smiled at herself in the mirror behind the optics. She couldn't help but notice her nipples were then proudly on show through her pink glitter covered boob tube. She instantly tugged the top back up, something she knew she would be doing all night long, as it was already slipping back down over her large braless breasts. Sharon and her love of bras, never had this problem.

Being out was a reason to work late. Waiting until there was safely no one in the office she could happily get undressed at her desk, celebrate that moment of finishing work and unhooking and removing the bra, and then dropping her big Sharon style comfortable panties to the floor and then putting on just a Shazza looking top and far too short a skirt. If required Shazza would stretch to wearing a sparkling red G-string. Sharon was roughly stuffed in a carrier bag and forgotten about until Monday morning. The carrier bag was more often than not frequently left behind at the bar. Shazza was then doused in glitter and perfume before heading out hunting for fun.

That first cigarette outside work was bliss for Shazza. Sharon would have complained it was too early.

Shazza looked up from her drink at herself in the bar mirror. She was now three potentially four double vodka's down and she knew she looked fucking hot. Her blonde locks tied back keeping her weary work face taught, her eyes were surrounded by her glittery blue mascara, her lips were glossed bright red, she felt and to her, looked amazing. She just needed another cigarette, but also a drink. An empty glass was always a problem.

As the large, garish purple and green illuminated bar clock that very much fitted the decor ticked past nine, the cute dark haired, slim, and dark skinned, almost Spanish looking barman that she always called Pedro. Although he was actually called Steve, topped up six fresh glasses from the vodka bottle. Then predictably the girls all started banging their fists on the bar and chanting "down it, down it, down it." They all did and burst into a loud defining shrieking cacophony of giggles. The night was still very young. They were no longer sober. They were drunk and having fun.

With the glasses again empty, and music increased in level, this was the cue for Shazza to look to move. She then led the gaggle of girls to the empty dance floor, she swooped and on the second attempt grabbed hold of the shiny metal pole positioned in the middle of the room. With her left hand almost hugging it for stability. The DJ clocked that she was now in position and the music changed, and the volume got louder as the tempo increased, Shazza's vodka lubricated hips gyrated to the beat of the music. As her friends enthusiastically clapped and cheered. Whilst holding on to the pole she suddenly squatted on the floor, her short green skirt riding high up her sturdy white thighs as she tensed her pathetically small muscles. Her bouncing breasts tantalisingly practically falling out of her top as she stretched her arms up. Her bare, waxed, glitter covered crotch was effectively spot lit. For most of the next twenty minutes she seductively slid up and down the polished metal tube in what she perceived as perfect harmony to the music.

Shazza finally ran out of steam and stamina and stopped. The crowds quickly went back to doing their own thing as she had to visit the bathroom and then popped outside briefly to catch her breath by smoking a very much needed cigarette.

Sharon had always been a party animal, her mum and dad owned several pubs for over the years, as such alcohol was no stranger to her. It stayed in the family as her brother now owned FWB which is why she loved spending her nights there. Most people would want to bar hop, but she saw it as she was helping her big brother out. Plus, his staff would ensure if on rare occasions she was still there and alone at closing time that she was safely put in the back of the taxi. Craig was relieved that he could also keep an eye on his little sister. Ultimately she felt safe getting very drunk there.

The late-night lock-ins at her parents' pub were infamous in the village where she lived. Her mum used to throw the most amazing parties, with plenty of drinks and food, and they played music long into the night as people would dance away.

Shazza loved to dance too, as a child Sharon had dreams of being a ballet dancer, and then a little older as a professional disco dancer, but with bills to pay, her parents suggested a real job during the day. So, dancing in bars and nightclubs was the next best thing. Who needed a gym when you danced at least three nights a week all night long? She thought she was amazing; people occasionally actually stopped to watch and enjoy their drinks when she was dancing. Then because they watched, she thought she was that good as she flung herself around, however drunk she was.

When Shazza drank she felt invincible, she felt on top of the world, right at the very pinnacle of the snow topped Everest. Drinking and dancing made the world feel right. Her body and the music entwined together into a very special place; the alcohol blocked off everything and she could lose herself from every worry in the real outside world.

Shazza drank a lot because it made her feel a better person. During the week Sharon would compensate for the weekend fun and sit there at her desk, drink coffee and finish working long after the others had left. Then as she slowly walked home past the pub at the end of the road. Shazza would then take her inside for a drink or two before going home. Whether Sharon really wanted to or not. There was no hurry to get home.

After a couple or more shots in the bar, they would go home. Where once undressed from her work clothes they would share a bottle of wine along with the microwave meal for one bought from Tesco for dinner, and half a pack of cigarettes. That would last the rest of the evening. Even Shazza tried very hard to be a good girl on weekday nights, partially to help Sharon. It was a different matter on the weekends. Shazza would like to drink until Sharon could no longer stand up.

The harder Shazza drank on the weekends, Sharon worked harder and longer during the weekday to compensate. Shazza would celebrate that achievement in the evenings.

They survived in tandem over the years burning the candle at both ends, but she got her work done and done well. She was lucky, throughout the years, even for the banging headache she never really got a 'can't move and need to spend the day in bed' hangover. She found that with paracetamol and plenty of water and coffee, she could soon luckily glide through the following day.

With yet another couple of cigarette breaks and a round of downed neat double vodka drinks Shazza was again dancing in the middle of her friends on the dance floor. Shazza loved being the centre of attention. Sharon would have hidden in the corner.

At a little after ten thirty a group of six well dressed, but obviously beer loaded guys heavily stomped down the stone steps. Shazza tugged up her boob tube and pulled down her skirt. Sucking in her belly she knew this was her time to shine. The men congregated by the bar, ordered their drinks, a round of Jack Daniels and cokes, and Shazza watched on, the world continuing to move around her as she was studying her sexy looking prey.

The gaggle of girls and their gay friend Dave created their own little fortress in the middle of the dance floor as they bounced, laughed, and swayed to the music.

Eventually when they were thinking about buying their second round Sharon nodded her head in the direction of the bar lined with blurry handsome men and made the internationally recognisable hand single for another drink, and the girls all soon agreed. They followed her like lemmings back to the bar, seeing their night's victims lined up.

It didn't take Tracey long in her low-cut glittery dress assisted by a wonderbra to get the dark-haired man called Chris to agree to buy the girls all a drink, and as ever it didn't take the girls long to down them. Then whilst they were all grinning and laughing to cheekily ask for another.

They did this most weekends, it was what they did best. They tried to drink the bar dry and life was even better if they could get someone else to pay.

For Sharon she didn't like this time, a good book on bed was her idea of a good night. Shazza thrived. The room was spinning along with the lights, music, the movement of her friends and the hot men were like waves in a sea of crowds. With the plenty of drinks in her bloodstream it was Shazza's perfect territory. With a holler she dragged the girls and the reluctant guys back on the dancefloor, she knew tonight was going to be fun.

The twelve of them bobbed and bounced to the music swinging their arms and wiggling their hips, her bottom kept colliding with a guy. She waggled her thighs, almost rutting against him in rhythm of the music whilst continuing to thud against him, letting him know she was there and like a bee available for honey.

With her glasses off, and the world swirling she just rode it like she was white water rafting, the lights flashing, her heart pumping, he spun around and put his firm hands on her bare hips and pulled her closer. They danced rhythmically, almost twirling together, his hands soon grabbing her buttocks through her skirt and pulling her closer into his hips as they danced. Neither of them was hitting the rhythmic beat of the music any more. The music was no longer the focus. They danced to their own tune as they moved their bodies together the best they could. His large firm hands squeezed her soft sweaty buttocks harder as she ran both her hands down his equally sweaty shirt covered back.

He smiled as he looked down at her and with his beery breath breathlessly said, "Sorry I need a piss; I will be right back!" Then dropped his hands from her body and wriggled free of her arms and disappeared through the bright lights and into the darkness.

She momentarily frowned and continued to throw shapes with her hips to the beat of the music as she tugged her skirt back down her thighs a little and then swaying in time to the music as she then moved through the dance floor, she then grabbed Tracy's arm and pulled her away from her catch to take her to the bathroom too.