****Please Read This First****
Although I am posting this story in the 'Lesbian sex' category it's a love story, not a sex story and there is precious little sex in it. There's just enough, in my view, to keep it out of 'non-erotic' so, if you're looking for hot girl-on-girl action you will be sorely disappointed and I advise you to look elsewhere.
So, please, when it comes to time to vote – and I urge everyone to vote on all the stories they read – don't mark me down because there was insufficient sex. You were warned.
As ever, my gratitude goes out to Estragon, my esteemed editor, OneWhoAdores for plot advice, and MartiniMan who also provided valuable assistance. Thanks guys!
On with the story....
Chapter one – in which they find the ring.
"Ah, Rhonda, I'd like you to meet Jessica. She'll be joining the team as your assistant and I'd like you to show her the ropes."
Rhonda looked up from the collection of Aztec artefacts she was busy labelling to see Malcolm, the museum director, standing at the door to the room. He was accompanied by a tall, leggy blonde and, immediately, Rhonda's hackles went up. For months, even with working insane hours, she had been struggling to meet deadlines and, time after time, her pleas for an assistant had been turned down with the limited budget cited as the reason. And now, without one iota of consultation she was having this... clotheshorse... foisted on her. She knew she was being unfair, she knew she was letting her prejudices get the better of her, but from the stiletto heels to the Barbie pink hairgrip in her strawberry blonde hair, this woman had 'bimbo' written right the way though her like Blackpool rock. What was worse was the way in which Rhonda hadn't been brought into any part of the selection procedures. What was Malcolm thinking of?
"I thought we hadn't got any money in the budget for new staff," Rhonda stated testily.
"Ah, yes, well, err...," Malcolm was obviously flustered, "perhaps if I could have a private word. Jessica, if you would be so kind as to just wait here for a moment." He took Rhonda by the arm and led her to a quiet corner.
"Yes, there's no money in the budget and, yes, I've turned down every staff request you've made but that's why I thought you'd be glad of a little help."
"Help? Yeah, I could do with help but who the hell ever heard of an archaeologist in four-inch heels, a micro skirt and a boob tube? Who is she and why has she been chosen when there are so many good candidates crying out for work?"
"She's Jessica Poulton, sole daughter of Lord Poulton, the CEO of MegaCorp. Lord Poulton has just made a very generous donation to the facility, very generous indeed, and, whilst employing his daughter wasn't exactly a precondition of the donation, he did make it clear that he would be upset if we couldn't find a way to accommodate her."
"OK, OK. I get the message," Rhonda said with a sigh. "Money talks, as always. So, the bimbo, does she know anything about our work?"
"Please, Rhonda, she's not a bimbo. I wouldn't have countenanced accepting her is she wasn't properly qualified. Of course she has a degree in archaeology. She graduated from East Wessex last year; only a lower third, I'll admit, but it is a degree."
"And did East Wessex also get a 'generous donation' around about the same time?"
"I really couldn't say, although, come to think of it, their new library complex was only opened recently."
"And what about fieldwork? Has she done anything practical?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"So, let me put all this together. Daddy's little girl comes of age and for some daft reason she thinks she's Lara Croft or something. God knows why, archaeology is hardly a common fantasy job. Anyway, her indulgent father then starts pulling strings, makes lots of tax-deductible 'generous donations' and she ends up here. Heaven help us when she finds out that this is the real world and not Tomb Raider."
"Rhonda, you're so cynical, but, yes, that's about it, I suppose."
"Fabulous. And, having accepted your thirty pieces of silver, you chose muggings here to babysit her." Rhonda's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Come along, don't be like that. She may not be the brightest star in the firmament but at least she wants to work here."
"Unlike all the highly qualified postgrad students whose job prospects currently involve flipping burgers or stacking shelves at Tesco, I suppose."
"Rhonda, please, if you knew how hard it is to raise funds in this day and age.... With her father's money in the bank we might even be able to afford to keep this place open. And, if he can be persuaded to make another donation, we would be able, at long last, to think about some fieldwork. If we had some money in the bank we could, dare I say it, manage an expedition to Peru next year and, if such an expedition were to go ahead, I'm sure we'd give due consideration to those who had made the effort to assist in fund raising."
"Look after her for a year, get her to persuade daddy to pony up some more wonga, and, in return, I get to go to Peru; is that what you're saying?"
"I wouldn't start packing your suitcase quite yet but, put it this way, without her father's money, none of us are going anywhere. Anyway, it won't be forever. As you say, she must have some Tomb Raider fantasy; I'm sure she'll get bored rigid when she finds out what the job really involves. Look after her for me, maybe even butter her up a bit, and, when she goes, I'll see what I can do."
Rhonda looked across at the blonde and sighed deeply. For all her misgivings she understood the realpolitik of fundraising in the current financial climate. If employing this bimbo was what was needed to keep the research institute alive and, with it, the promise of her dream trip to Peru, then so be it. Rhonda pushed her misgivings to one side and, together, they went back to where Jessica was waiting and started the induction process.
"It's not as if she's got two brain cells to rub together," Rhonda complained to her friend, Chris, as, that evening, they shared a quiet pint or two together in the saloon bar of the Golden Ball.
"Never mind her brain, what about the bod? Is she pretty? Does she make you hot? Do you dream of introducing her to illicit Sapphic pleasures? Would you shag her?"
"Sex, sex, sex, that's all you gay boys think about. Would I shag her? Nah, not my type. Ok, so I'll admit that she's certainly eye candy and she has got the cutest little tush, but I want someone I can talk to afterwards."
It said a great deal about Rhonda and Chris's relationship that they could have this conversation at all. Rhonda was an out lesbian and had been since the age of fourteen. Whilst she wasn't exactly a separatist, she was bored and exasperated by the way most men seemed fascinated by her sexuality and would focus on nothing else. Chris, an equally out gay, made a refreshing change from all this. They had been thrown together when they had shared student digs as freshers and now, nearly a decade later, they were still firm friends. He, at least, was free of the clichéd responses; he didn't want to "watch" nor was he convinced that she could "cured" by meeting a "real man", a viewpoint she had heard far too often and found deeply insulting. It wasn't just the clichés, her real bug-bear were those who thought that being a lesbian was all she was, who never went past that to see her as a human being.
Anyway, even if she did secretly fancy Jessica a little bit, her gaydar hadn't detected the slightest sign of any interest. Rhonda was not one of those who got off on seducing straight girls; she knew from bitter experience all about those who dabbled, those who played at being 'bi-curious', those who just wanted to 'try it once' or fool around with other girls so as to make themselves more alluring to men. No, there were plenty of other fish in the sea without getting involved where she wasn't wanted.
The next few weeks confirmed Rhonda's worst fears. Jessica was, indeed, a total airhead. Her knowledge of archaeology was sketchy at best and, without her father pulling strings in the background, she'd struggle to get a job on the checkout counter at the local supermarket, let alone a university research facility. Her main topic of conversation seemed to be her boyfriend, Jeremy, and what they did at the weekends. From Monday to Wednesday she'd rehash the previous weekend's activities, while Thursday and Friday were spent anticipating the next. Rhonda found Jessica's endless wittering about West End wine bars, hooray Henries, and all night parties tiring in the extreme. Worse still was the way that Jessica seemed to worship Jeremy and was, forever, singing his praises. It seemed that he was some hotshot in the world of banking and well on his way to being a millionaire. Other than that her main occupation was avidly reading 'Hello' and 'OK' magazines and she would comment endlessly on the comings and goings of the celebrities portrayed within.
But, to Rhonda's mind, far worse than her mindless gossip, were Jessica's limited aspirations. All Jessica's dreams seemed to revolve around Jeremy and Jessica seemed to think that the most important thing she could do was to be his wife and helpmeet, or, it would seem, personal slave. Even Jessica's quite genuine, if rather amateur, interest in archaeology was secondary to this. Jessica explained that, once they were married, she would be far too busy being his wife to keep up a career of her own. Just as with her magazines, Jessica seemed unable to define herself except through the comings and goings of other people.
So, driven to distraction by her wittering, Rhonda assigned Jessica to the easy, if repetitive, jobs, the ones she could be left to do on her own, and by doing so, she was able to free up more time for her to spend on the real work.
And then, one day, it all changed. Jessica had settled in and, despite her limitations, she could be relied upon to do the slow and steady job of cataloguing. With this in mind Rhonda set her the task of sorting out an old bequest. A local bigwig, Lord Breck, had died back in the sixties and, as part of dealing with his estate, the contents of his attic had been donated to the museum in lieu of death duties. Rhonda suspected that the museum staff had known at the time that this was a stitch-up because, for all those decades, the collection of tea chests had been left in a corner in the basement without so much as a formal inventory. Now the space was needed for a new x-ray machine and, rather than just chuck the whole lot in the skip, Rhonda tasked Jessica with making a comprehensive list, of sorting the wheat from the chaff. Together they went down to the basement and removed the dustsheets that had covered the collection for so long. What they found was a long row of tea chests, each bulging with odds and sods, the most obvious being a set of golf clubs standing proud above the rest. Together they hauled them out into the centre of the room.
"But it's all just junk!" Jessica complained.
"Did you think you were going to get Tutankhamen's tomb from the get-go?" Rhonda replied quite crossly.
"No, but this... this is just rubbish!"
