Hello there, I'm Sammy Jo, named after a character in my mother's all-time favourite TV show, Dynasty. I would like to say I look like the actress who played the part but, apart from having long blonde hair, I sadly do not.
Not that I'm complaining about my appearance. I'm just saying I'm not a star on the soaps, that's all.
My story is only a short one and is set a few years ago, back when I was twenty-eight and my life wasn't so complicated. Although, now I come to think about it, that summer was when things took a turn for the worse in a lot of ways. This isn't a tale of woe, however; far from it.
It was August but the weather gods thought it was still maybe April. It was also the height of the global financial crisis and I had just had the week from Hell. I was in banking, you see, and it had suddenly become apparent my employers were about to go tits-up.
You may wonder why my employers' failure bothered me. Well, I had invested the first six years of my career with them and promotions were starting to happen for me. And more to the point, I had recently bought my first house, aided and abetted by a subsidized mortgage. The way I saw it I was soon going to be out of a job and my interest rate was about to go through the roof.
So fuck it, I decided. It was Friday night. I was going to go out and get drunk and laid.
Now I'm lucky in that I live in a small town with lots of bars and pubs. It's the sort of place that is relatively sedate by day but booming on an evening, particularly at weekends. Better still, it's the sort of place where a girl can go out on her own unafraid and unmolested (unless she wants to be molested, that is!).
Maybe I've got a false sense of security but I've lived in Bingley all my life. I can't go in any of the drinking dens without seeing half a dozen familiar faces. And back then, before "settling down" and "kids" interfered with all my friends' lives, I'd nearly always bump into one gaggle of girls or another.
So off I went, dressed as if I was bound for an evening at a beach bar in Majorca, not out for an evening in a nippy twelve degrees.
Just so you know: I am a dyed-in-the-wool bisexual. My first lover was female and during my (sexually hectic!) three years at uni most of my partners came without cocks attached, rather than with. But I had become more even-handed of late. On the night in question I set out expecting to find me a guy.
(Please note: there aren't any gay bars as such in Bingley; a girl has to work at it to find herself a female one-nighter. It's considerably easier for a girl to find herself a male one-nighter. In fact it's almost impossible not to find one.)
The first couple of hours passed uneventfully. I began at the bottom of town and was soon caught up in a gaggle that held together for three or four pubs before breaking up. Then, alone again in the Suburban Bar, I saw her.
She was also alone, standing perhaps five yards away, leaning on a pillar and people-watching.
No, not people-watching . . . she was woman-watching!
All my guy expectations flew out of the window. I had to have her! Failing that, she had to have me!! The urge was absolutely enormous. Normally I like to do most of the doing but for her I'd make an exception. For her I'd dress as a clown and let her shaft me with a rolling pin!!
She was about my age and even taller than me (I'm five ten in my heels), with a mane of black hair that fell halfway down her back. Her face was the most beautiful I'd ever seen and her body made "to die for" seem like a feeble understatement.
Yes, we had to happen, and soon.
As I studied her she finished her drink. I waited until she'd woven her way through the throng and arrived at her side a nanosecond after she'd got the barman's attention.
'Make that two,' I said to him, 'I'm paying.'
The black-haired beauty was even lovelier close up. She was very deeply tanned and had simply astonishing green eyes.
'Why thank you,' she said, smiling. 'Er, are you from WYB?'
'Unfortunately not,' I said, 'I'm at B&B. At least I am for the time being.'
She pulled a face at that. Obviously the bad news had travelled fast. 'Put your money away,' she said kindly, 'I'll get these.'
Ignoring her, I made sure the barman took my tenner before she could get her wallet out. Then I frowned as I realized I'd just ordered and paid for two pints of Saltaire Blonde.
'Okay then,' she shrugged, still smiling her dazzling smile, 'I'll get the next two.'
'Do you always drink beer?' I wondered.
'I do when I'm out. Shiraz goes down much too quickly.' So saying, she drained about a third of her beer. 'That hit the spot.' Then, pointing at my right arm, 'I like your tat.'
I grinned at her. I have a few tattoos but the one she was looking at was the classic; the one that has two multi-coloured, interlocked circles with crosses.
'I got it as my nineteenth birthday present to me,' I said.
She laughed. 'My friend from uni gets herself a new piercing every year, usually in a very intimate place. She'll be up to twenty-seven by now, so I've a couple to catch up with.'
To my amazement she was signalling for more drinks . . . already.
'Make mine a Shiraz,' I said hastily.
She ordered two super-sized glasses then grinned at me. 'Did I tell you I get dangerous when I drink too much wine?'
'Dangerous?'
'Yes, I do rash and impulsive things, especially to girls with that tattoo.'
Within the hour we were in a taxi to mine.
*****
I think the cabbie enjoyed having us as passengers. That is to say I think he enjoyed watching us kiss and caress in his rearview. Then we were in my house and I was tugging her upstairs by the hand. She came willingly enough but stopped me short of my bedroom door.
'Here,' she said huskily, 'I want you here and now.'
I let her push me against the wall and stared into her eyes.
'Put your arms in the air,' she commanded.
I obeyed, feeling like a hostage in a bank raid. She immediately took both of my hands in her right hand and eased her left into my short, summertime skirt.
'You have wonderful eyes,' she said, bringing her face a little shy of kissing-close, 'I want to see the look in them when you cum.'
That was A-Okay with me and just as well; her fingers were already inside my panties. Less than two seconds later they were inside me.
I sighed and kept staring into her eyes, my baby blues fixed on her lusty emerald. Meanwhile her left hand had adjusted position. If my judgment was anything to go by, her thumb was on my clit, her first two fingers were in me and the other two were stroking anything they could reach.
'Let's see if I still have the magic touch,' she chuckled.
Then she gently squeezed and I immediately climaxed.
The sensations she caused in me! One little squeeze seemed to affect everywhere. My clit rolled under the ball of her thumb; the most receptive part inside me was compressed by her two intruding fingers . . . Well, it would have been rude not to cum.
'More,' she said.
