ONE
'Damn it!' said Eleanor under her breath, as the police motorcyclist in her rear-view mirror gestured for her to stop by the side of the road.
She wound her window down as requested and prepared to hear what the cop had to say.
'Do you realise one of your brake lights isn't working?'
It was a woman's voice. A voice that was strong, yet feminine at the same time. A middle-class voice - not the kind that Eleanor associated with a policewoman.
'I'm sorry, officer,' Eleanor replied - resigned to receiving a ticket.
Eleanor had to go through the normal procedure of showing her driving license and volunteered a copy of her insurance cover note for good measure. After making a note of Eleanor's details, the officer told her to remain in the car while she walked slowly around her vehicle, using her torch to check the tyres and Eleanor wasn't sure what else. When she returned to the driver's position, she told Eleanor to get the light fixed the following morning. Eleanor waited for the ticket, but it never came.
'You're free to go,' said that strong voice, but the modulation had changed, subtly; she sounded warmer, more human now.
On an impulse, Eleanor reached for a business card, and scribbled on it with a biro she kept in the car. She handed it to the officer, who hadn't moved, even though she might have. The officer took it in her hand, without looking at it, and Eleanor drove off. It was only when she got back to her bike that the officer glanced at the card. It read simply, 'Call me.'
The following morning - a Saturday - Eleanor went to her local garage and got the light replaced. On a whim, she asked Mick, the proprietor, if he could service the car that morning, and he said one of his phone bookings hadn't shown, so she was in luck. Walking the 20 minutes home, Eleanor wondered if the cop would call. From what she had seen of her face under the helmet in the gloom, it seemed like a nice face. She hoped she would.
When she was getting ready to go out with friends that evening, she got a call from an unknown number. In normal circumstances, she wouldn't have answered, but on this occasion she took the call, thinking it might the policewoman. But it wasn't - just someone trying to sell her insurance. When she still hadn't called by noon on Sunday, Eleanor had reconciled herself to the fact that she wouldn't be calling at all. In all probability, she had thrown away her card, perhaps before she even read it. She headed off for her regular brunch meeting with the two women she'd met 18 months before at yoga class, when she first moved to the area, and pretty much forgot about the mystery woman in the leathers and the helmet.
And then, quite out of the blue, she called on Tuesday afternoon. Eleanor would always remember exactly where she was when she took the call, walking to her colleague Andy's office to check with him about some issue that had come up with one of their key accounts. She stopped so suddenly in her tracks when she recognised
that
voice that the office messenger ran into. Blaming himself, he apologised profusely before racing away in confusion to perform whichever task he was attempting to undertake when he had bumped into one of the senior staff members in the company.
'Sure, it's a good time,' said Eleanor, gesticulating to Andy through the glass of his office to indicate that she needed to take this call.
'I don't think you ever got my name,' said the policewoman. 'It's Laura. I'm sorry I didn't get back to you earlier. I've just come off five 12-hour shifts.'
'You'll be exhausted then,' said Eleanor. 'Perhaps we could meet later in the week.'
'Actually,' Laura continued, 'I'm always buzzing after a five-day shift. If you had nothing on this evening, I thought we could go out for dinner - maybe dance the night away!'
'On a Tuesday evening?' said Eleanor, realising that Laura was joking, but playing along anyway. 'I have a meeting at five o'clock, which will probably go on till 6, 6.30pm. How about you come to my place at 7.30? If Chinese is good for you, why don't you bring some along?'
'You're on,' said Laura. 'I'll bring a bottle of wine too. White or red?'
'White, Sauvignon Blanc, if you're okay with that.'
'Perfect! I'll see you then.'
Eleanor, who had had no sexual partner for several weeks since Keira suddenly developed cold feet, got that tingly feeling that the anticipation of great sex always produced in her.
'Kiera!' Eleanor smiled ruefully, as she reflected on the 'change of heart' that Quixotic woman claimed to have had after what was by any standards an explosive introduction to the joys of girl-girl sex. Apparently, she had felt that she owed it to her husband Bob and her kids to make a real go of their marriage. Why it had taken her more than three months to come to this conclusion, during which time they had spent many magical moments together, Eleanor couldn't quite work out.
Anyway, she thought, as she walked into Andy's office, Kiera was history now, as far as she was concerned, and Laura - the mystery woman - was the future. The time couldn't fly by quickly enough before she jumped in her car, drove home, took a shower, dressed in something appropriate and opened the door to the mysterious policeman as well as, hopefully, a new chapter in her life. Rising 33, she had achieved a measure of professional satisfaction, culminating in her elevation to the position of deputy head of the cybersecurity division of the quantum technologies company where she worked in north Manchester's major technology hub. In terms of her personal development, though, she recognised that things had stalled, and that, unless she was proactive in seeking out opportunities and willing to take the kind of risks that characterised her professional life, she was in danger of drifting along from one one-night-stand to the next. She had seen other women of her age who had ended up like that and the vision was a scary one.
As she turned the key in the front door of her pleasant terrace house that evening, she felt an excitement which had much, of course, to do with the thrill of the chase and of the promise of the first time with another woman, but which had another element besides. It was as if this woman, this Laura, held out the hope of kickstarting her romantic life, held in her hands the power of elevating Eleanor to a higher plain, emotionally and spiritually as well as sexually.
Eleanor took a shower, applied a bit of make-up and a few spots of scent, put on a white T-shirt without a bra, then changed her mind and put on a white bra. She liked it when a woman wore a bra on a first date because it delayed the moment when the breasts were revealed and so much of the enjoyment and the eroticism was in the build-up. She imagined - and hoped - that Laura would feel the same way. She couldn't decide whether a pair of sweatpants would best fit the bill or perhaps a pair of jeans or even a skirt. In the end, she went for her tightest blue jeans, under which she wore the skimpiest panties she possessed. They were nowhere near thong territory but were quite sexy, nonetheless. They might anyway be surplus to requirements if Laura pulled her jeans down in haste or with unnecessary force. In that case, they would be nothing more than a kind of de facto lining to the denims. She decided not to bother with shoes at all.
At 7.40pm the doorbell rang. Eleanor walked slowly to the front door, took a deep breath and turned the handle. Before her stood in every detail the same person who had flagged her down on the road four days before. Actually, there was one difference. This traffic cop was holding not a notebook but a stiff paper bag from the local off-licence, containing two bottles of wine, as well as a white plastic bag, from which emanated the distinctive aroma of Chinese food.
'Would you like to come in?' said Eleanor, wondering if she had misunderstood Laura, and she had come straight from work.
'Thank you,' her date replied, handing a still startled Eleanor the bags, walking past her and making her way into the sitting room.
To buy herself a bit of time, Eleanor told Laura to make herself at home and went to the kitchen. She put the bottles in the fridge and the food on the counter before pouring some mixed nuts and dried fruit into a bowl. She opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio that had been in the fridge for a while and took it through to the sitting room with two glasses and the snacks. When she got there, Laura was standing in the middle of the room, still wearing her helmet, boots and leather gloves - as well as the rest of her uniform.
'You must be very warm in that,' said Eleanor, trying not to sound as confused as she was feeling. 'Have you brought anything to change into? Perhaps you'd like a shower first?'
'I had a shower before I left home,' Laura said. 'I thought perhaps you might like to help me out of my uniform. Or perhaps you would like to watch as I take it off.'
Now she understood what Laura was up to, Eleanor relaxed. Or relaxed as much as she could, given that this woman had just been responsible for sending her blood pressure through the roof.
'Perhaps you might like to let me have your jacket?' said Eleanor, wanting to get that off first since it was fluorescent yellow and very ugly.
Laura unzipped it and handed it to Eleanor, revealing what looked to be a superb body clad in tight black leather.
'The helmet?' Eleanor prompted Laura, which was exactly what the policewoman seemed to want her to do - at the moment, anyway.
It was like a moment from a television commercial or a corny American film. Laura took off the helmet with both hands and shook out her long hair - not long blonde hair, but long chestnut hair. Beautiful hair that framed an equally beautiful face. She hadn't even bothered to pin it up, as she would have done if she was working. Eleanor took the helmet from her and placed it on a table.
'I would appreciate your help in taking off my gloves,' Laura said. 'The first one is always a bugger to get off.'
Eleanor found the zipper and removed first one glove and then the other. She had never felt such heavy gloves.
'You're very good with your hands,' said Laura. 'Maybe you could look after my jacket?'
The leather jacket was incredibly tight on Laura. Eleanor took great care as she eased the zip down. She had this irrational fear that the zip would snag on Laura's breasts, which wasn't really possible unless they were either huge or grotesquely misshapen. It soon became clear that neither was the case as the cotton undergarment she wore under her jacket became more and more visible as they jacket fell open. By the time that the garment had been removed, the mounds that were straining against the fabric appeared to be of a very acceptable size and shape.
Before she could find out for sure, it was time to help Laura out of her trousers. The zip for these was quite well hidden but she found it after a small delay. Before she pulled it down, though, she reckoned she would be better off taking the boots off first. Instead of being virtually knee-length, as Eleanor was expecting, they were much shorter - ankle-length, essentially. These too had soon been set to one side, together with the woollen socks which she wore beneath them. To say that the leather trousers were tight would be an understatement; they made her own jeans seem like old tracksuit bottoms that had lost the elasticity in their waistband. She managed to get them off Laura with much huffing and puffing and the odd bead of perspiration.
Despite the labour (or perhaps even because of it), she made sure that she didn't pull Laura's underwear off with the trousers. She was rewarded for her care and forethought by the beautiful sight of a pair of skimpy apricot panties - skimpier still than the pair she was herself wearing. Finally, the hard work was over and Laura was standing in the middle of her sitting room wearing only her vest (for such it essentially was) and her panties. Eleanor was going to make a joke about handcuffs, but thought better of it. After all, she didn't know exactly what Laura had got planned for the evening, and it was only a short walk to her bike with its various panniers, which might, for all she knew, contain all manner of items.
'It's the least I can do to return the compliment,' said Laura in her disconcertingly posh voice, which made her sound a bit like an actor playing a part.
