Saving Julias So Sexy Ass

Author's Note

This story picks up from "Holding Out for a Hero", "Irresistible Attraction" and "Sexual Desire". Usually I try to make every story readable in its own right, to save readers who missed earlier episodes having to backtrack. Things have become a little complicated this time, however, so I'm going to recap below, to bring everyone up to speed, just in case!

*****

Heather Hunter recently made a citizen's arrest in a corner shop, knocking out and damaging a much larger, male would-be-robber in the process. Suddenly somewhat of a celebrity, she'd been inundated with requests for girl-on-girl dates ever since, up to and including one from the WPC who'd been there first on the scene.

By chance she then met the would-be-robber's sister, who had to be easily the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, as well as a fellow student at the local uni. Initially their acquaintance didn't go so very well, with the sister saying Heather had fucked up her life. Later she apologized and outlined the stress she'd been put under.

Her brother's drug debts had been transferred to her with options to repay limited and unsavoury, the threat of rape and her brother's murder left hanging over her like the sword of Damocles. She was at her wits' end.

Cue Heather to ride to the rescue.

*****

Chapter One

(October 2001, Lancashire: the early hours of Monday morning)

By the time Julia Amos appeared in her kitchen Heather had abandoned her beloved Shiraz in favour of gallons of coffee. But not through betrayal to the cause; she'd had a hunch she might need to stay sober.

'I didn't expect to see you again so soon,' she said in greeting, doing her best to keep her eyes away from Julia's simply awesome body.

And what a task was that! She'd put the semi-drunk beauty to bed maybe eight hours ago. And she'd taken care to leave her skimpy panties on, hastily covering her bare chest with the duvet.

Removing Julia's sweatshirt had been a major test of will. After three triple brandies Julia had been a little fresh. Heather had been more than a little attracted to everything about her. Not diving face-first into her simply marvellous boobs had taken supreme self-control.

The girl was stacked beyond belief . . . but she was also straight and in dire straits. Diving face-first in such circumstances would have been unfair.

(Well, according to some viewpoints, it would.)

Now Julia was mostly naked. She was still wearing the same skimpy panties but she had replaced her sweatshirt with one of Heather's tighter T-shirts; one she'd probably picked off the chair Heather used as a makeshift wardrobe, used once and discarded, not yet quite ready for a wash.

Except "tighter" didn't come close to explaining the glorious vista. Julia's bra-less boobs had life all of their own. So too did her nipples as they poked the thin fabric, maybe trying to force their way out into daylight.

Not that there was much daylight at this time of night.

Taking a seat across the kitchen table the glamorous black girl radiated sexual attraction. There might have been a sexier sight somewhere in the universe . . . but it sure as heck wasn't anywhere close.

And by the way, what were the women like around Alpha Centauri? Green with aerials on their heads, or were they more like Julia?

Imagine, a second. You're a woman who has sex with women and suddenly, out of nowhere, you are alone with a girl who is straight but sexy as hell; a girl who makes Dianne Lewis look ordinary.

Dianne Lewis . . . Beyoncé . . . Iman . . . Julia outshone all of them.

Why oh why was she so straight! If Heather didn't have bad luck she'd never have any luck at all!

Oblivious to the effect she was having, Julia asked if she could help herself to the coffee.

'You can have wine if you want,' Heather replied. 'Red's over there on the worktop, dry white's chilling in the fridge.'

'I'm never touching booze again. Sunday lunch with you has put me off forever. God only knows what a full night out with you would be like.'

'You could give it a go,' said Heather, mock-hopefully. 'Suck it and see.'

Julia poured herself a coffee and drank it without a hint of milk or sugar. 'This plan of yours,' she said, 'have you refined it?'

Heather forced her eyes up, onto her visitor's face, away from her tantalising nips. Business, she told herself, keep focused on business.

'Your brother needs to be out of the equation,' she began earnestly. 'He is the lever that those effing bastards have over you. Get him out of the way and you can tell them to go swivel.'

'They're still going to maintain I owe them Blackie's debt.'

'And I'm going to get someone to have a word and convince them you don't. But getting Blackie out of the way is the key. I've thought of three ways we could do that.'

'Go on.'

'We could try for protective custody.'

'You mean Blackie surrendering to the Filth?' Julia laughed shortly. 'It ain't going to happen. Even if it did he'd only end up in some nick. And the likes of Mickey Walsh would have his throat cut inside of a nick for less than a packet of fags.'

'I thought you might say that. Option two is to put him in rehab. You know, in a sanatorium where they lock folk up for their own good. Detox him while we're at it.'

'I couldn't afford it and he wouldn't play along. And they'd find him anyway. But you have given me an idea.'

'Have I?'

'Yeah, we could try his dad.'

Heather gaped at Julia. Option three was going to be refuge with some distant relative, with the stress on "distant". But she'd never imagined Blackie's dad was in the frame. Indeed she'd expected a total lack of relatives, full stop.

'He's a decent guy,' Julia enlarged. 'He paid child support while Blackie was growing up, even though Mum had thrown him out on his arse. That's more than I can say for my own dad, who I've never even seen.'

So much for Carole's theory of parental genetics, thought Heather.

Then she thought again. Her early upbringing had been a loving one, if rural. Dad was ever-present on the farm; she'd seen him a hundred times a day; never seeing him even once in her whole life . . . well, it was unimaginable.

And not being constantly ordered about by her mother was unthinkable. Milk the cows; shoot me two rabbits; go bring back the bull; stop that flipping ewe from mewling. . .

Cautiously, she asked more about Blackie's father.

'He showed for Mum's funeral,' said Julia, 'unlike his no-good son. Don't ask how he knew she'd died, but he did. And he travelled north for the occasion. He was the only attendee I didn't know, so I asked why he'd come and it all came gushing out. He was sincere too. I liked him on sight.'

'What does he do? And where does he live?'

'He's some sort of social worker in Bristol. Is that far enough away?'

'Sounds like darkest Australia to me. What do you think? Will he want to get involved?'

'When we met I told him what a prat his son was . . . about the drugs and all. He said he'd helped a lot of druggies go cold turkey, officially and otherwise.'

'When was this again?'

'It was September last year. But I've spoken to Bob several times since. He's always insisted he could cure Blackie, given the chance; except the chance has never arisen.'

'Until now,' said Heather.

'Too bloody true,' said Julia, leaping to her feet. 'I'll go get my mobile.'

So much for focusing on the girl's face! If the front view was spectacular Heather struggled for words to describe the rear. Already a big fan of Julia's ass, this was system overload. Her earlier rear-view experience had involved leggings and a sweatshirt. This involved a T-shirt that had ridden up lots and a pair of skimpy panties that may as well have not existed.

Good grief, she could see that slim-line waist, those gorgeously curvy hips and nearly all of her buns!

As for her legs . . . Her legs had to be three miles long and as shapely as any supermodel's.

All of her seen in that beautiful, deepest brown.

The memory hit Heather like a sledgehammer. I jilled most of Saturday afternoon away as I fantasized about her; I came a dozen times, wishing my tongue was on her, in her . . .

Then her serious persona took over. The girl's on the edge, Ms Serious snapped, she needs help, not a slobbering whore who's only after one thing. Remember the things you say about the guys who only want to poke your hole?

'Rats,' Heather muttered, 'foiled again!'

Chapter Two

Surprisingly, Julia came back into the kitchen to make her call. Hearing one side of the conversation Heather still felt included. And she was grateful for that. Julia was making a plea and counting her in. In her opinion that went beyond thoughtful; that was partnership.

Oh, if only . . .

'Hi,' Julia began, 'it's me. Sorry to ring at this late hour.'

The guy on the other end of the line must have joked; Julia laughed politely. Then she grew a lot more solemn.

'You know what you proposed about Blackie,' she said, 'I think the time has come.'

Whatever Bob said in reply had to be encouraging because she laughed again. 'He's gone crazy,' she said, 'he tried to rob a corner shop with a very big blade. He got himself arrested and he's facing a lot of time inside. But he's just as bad as ever on the dope. As you know, I hadn't seen him in ages, but I have now. And he's a mess of a person. If anyone needs locking away from the world, it's him.'

Silence ensued. Then Julia spoke again.

'I didn't think you'd go through with it.'

Another silence ensued, followed by: 'Sorry Bob. I'll never doubt you again.'

Julia's eyes were filled with tears when she rang off to look back at Heather. 'He'll see Blackie through his cold turkey, and he'll make sure he's sober and repentant.'

'Is he capable? I mean Blackie's a big brute of a man.'

Julia laughed. 'Bob makes Wladimir Klitschko look like a pansy. Trust me, Hev; he could cope with my brother with his hands tied behind his back. And why are you grinning?'

'Only lovers ever call me "Hev".'

'I've heard loads of different girls call you that.'

'I guess that makes me guilty of having had loads of different lovers. Although I didn't think you knew who I was before Saturday.'

Julia rolled those wondrous eyes, simultaneously grinning.

'You're quite notorious on campus. One or two describe you as being on a mission to sleep with every girl you ever meet. Of course I'd heard of you, even if I didn't know you by sight. Saturday was just the day I first put a face to the name.'

'I date guys too,' Heather said defensively, 'but I haven't had time for them this last six months or so.'

Julia just smiled and said nothing.

'Don't worry,' Heather went on. 'I admit I'm a sex maniac, but I can control it. I didn't molest you when I tucked you up in my bed, did I? What more proof can I offer?'

Julia laughed again and changed the subject. 'How are we going to deliver Blackie to Bristol? Bob is off work this week and I got his address, but it's hundreds of miles away.'

'Notice the coffee?' said Heather. 'There is method in my madness.'

*****

Julia couldn't drive but Heather could. She'd driven tractors and the likes on Hunters Farm from being quite young. And her fancy all-girls school had off-road lessons every week from the age of fifteen. As a consequence she had passed her driving test the day after her seventeenth birthday, half an hour or so before her nemesis, the two-days-older Mary Rose, passed hers.

In other words she did so just as soon as a UK citizen possibly could.

Result! And beating Mare to it was the icing on the cake!!

Having a driver's licence and having a roadworthy vehicle were different matters, though. Being a girl who liked a drink or two and lived only a short walk away from university and countless hostelries, the idea of having a car had not featured high (or at all) on Heather's wish list.

Fortunately there was a 24 hour car hire company in town. Even more fortunately, they did doorstep delivery. Within an hour . . . and denting her emergency credit card balance . . . Heather had the keys to a new-smelling Escort Ghia with 20,000 miles on the clock. Ten minutes after that they were in the back streets, Julia trying to remember exactly where her no-good brother was hanging out.

'Here,' she said finally, decisively. 'This is it.'

Heather pulled up outside a crumbling terraced house with a door peeling blue paint. 'Now comes the tricky bit,' she said.

They got out and Julia rapped on the tacky front door.

No response.

There again, it was two o'clock in the morning, very late (or early) for anyone, drug-addled or not.

Before Heather could ask what next Julia opened the letter box and triumphantly fished out a key on a string.

'Useless bastard was always forgetting or losing his key,' she explained. 'Mum left one this way all the time, to stop him breaking windows to get in. It seems like old habits don't die.'

The house was small inside and Blackie wasn't hard to find. The front door opened into a sitting room and there he was, crashed out on the couch.

'As stoned as a wall,' Julia observed. She made to try to rouse her brother but Heather stopped her.

And touching her arm was bliss. Thousands of volts surged through her. It was a miracle that her hair didn't stand up on end.

Or maybe it did.

'Let's just carry him out to the car,' she suggested, her voice surprisingly shaky, her hand trembling on Julia's beautiful bare flesh (yes, she'd stuck with that too-tight T-shirt, praise be).

'Trust me,' Julia replied, 'he can walk like a somnambulist when he's like this.'

Heather reluctantly let go of Julia. 'I thought I went to the posh school,' she said. 'But somnambulism is out of my vocabulary.'

'Just watch this.'

So saying Julia took Blackie's hand and tugged. She was half the size of him but he obediently stood and followed as she slowly led him out of his slum of a home.

'Spooky,' Heather observed when the ginormous thug was safely in the back seat of their rental, quite dead to the world again.

'He'll be out for a good while yet,' said Julia. 'How far is it to Bristol anyway?'

'It's two hundred miles and probably three and a half hours at this time of night. I don't intend to speed with him in that state.'

'I applaud your logic.'

*****

It turned out to be four hours because Bristol was a lot bigger and more complex than they'd expected it to be. In the end Julia had to ring Bob and let him talk them in and . . . six thirty in the morning or not . . . he gladly obliged.

Bob's house was in a well-to-do area and looked Victorian and grandiose. And her first glimpse of the man himself reassured Heather no end. From "social worker" she'd expected someone slight and very apologetic. As if! Bob had the body of a prop-forward with an oft-broken nose and cauliflower ears. No way could a drugged-up Blackie compete with a guy like that.

He really was right up there with Wladimir!

And he was a white man, Heather couldn't help but notice. Blackie was nowhere near as dark-skinned as his sister but obviously mixed-race. Heather thought again. She'd sort of assumed that Julia's mum was white and that Julia had had a black dad, but now it seemed not. Now it seemed Julia's mum was the black person and . . .

And well, so what!

Skin colour never had mattered to Heather outside of mild interest. In other words she was capable of admiring potential lovers of every possible hue and shade. If anything different hues and shades only added allure.

Bob's oft-battered, smiling face was infinitely more handsome than his disgrace of a son's ugly mug. It made Heather feel a rush of affection. Julia was right, she instantly decided; Bob was one of the good guys.

Chapter Three

Bob was cagey about why he had a cellar equipped like a private suite . . . albeit one without a handle on the inside of the door leading back upstairs.

'I've come across lots who need help and can't get it,' was all he would say.

Julia was clearly half in love with the guy. She worshipped him with her eyes, making Heather jealous as heck. Bob didn't seem to notice. Having locked Blackie safely up down in the cellar . . . Blackie still being in a semi-comatose state and not caring . . . he insisted on making his guests a pile of sausage, bacon and egg sandwiches, all of which went down a treat.

'I'll introduce myself to my son in due course,' he said, as they scoffed breakfast and swigged tea. 'It's not the time right now.'

'How long will it take?' Heather wondered.

'It depends what he's been on. Heroin is probably the worst; that can take as long as a month. Coke's relatively quick. Believe it or not, pot is one of the longest, test-wise. You can get off it but test positive for ages after you've stopped.'

'What's the story with alcohol?' asked Julia, her eyes for once on Heather rather than their host.

'Alcohol is under-rated as a drug.' Bob laughed. 'God knows how long it'd take me to produce a clear sample. Maybe I should give up the Carling and drink lemonade instead.'

Driving away, still relatively early in the morning, Heather asked Julia how much she fancied Bob.

'He's super-sexy,' she replied at once, 'but he's my brother's dad. No way could I ever go there. My mum's ghost would haunt me forever.'

Coughing to clear her throat . . . allegedly . . . Heather asked if Julia had a boyfriend.

'I've got two or three on the go,' the beyond-beautiful beauty responded, 'as per usual.'

'Is there anyone special?'

'No, they're all exceptionally ordinary. How do you do for boyfriends?'

'I get offers all the time. But like I said earlier, just lately I simply haven't had time for guys. Sorry, but that's the way it is.'

Julia chuckled and said nothing for a while, letting Heather propel them up the M5.

Unsettled by the silence Heather pulled off the motorway and into a service station somewhere not so far from Gloucester.

'I need a pee,' she explained, 'but we need to kick into action part two of our master-plan.'

So saying she mentally crossed her fingers and rang WPC Carole Green on her personal.

'Hi babe,' she began gushingly, 'it's me, the love of your life.'

Carole was nothing if not straight to the point. 'It's not Friday yet, so what do you want?'

'I need a favour. And I'm putting you on speakerphone, right? I've someone here with me who needs to listen in.'

'That sounds very cosy. Is this a sex game at such an early hour? Or don't early hours really matter to you?'

'This is deadly serious,' Heather replied. 'So serious we've had to snatch Blackie Amos and move him to the other end of the country.'

'What?' Carole sounded outraged. 'He's subject to strict bail conditions. We need to know where he is and what he's doing between now and his trial. And by that I mean we need to know exactly.'

Heather quickly explained why they had done the deed. She also said Blackie was now being looked after by his biological father and gave Bob's address and telephone number.

'He's a social worker,' she added, 'he seems to specialise in drug addicts.'

'Has he dealt with the likes of Blackie before?' Carole asked, sounding a little less belligerent.

'Looking at him he's dealt with dozens of boxers and whole rugby teams. Blackie's a wimp compared to him.'

'I'll need to speak to this Bob,' said Carole, 'check out his credentials. Assuming everything pans out it will be favour granted. You've still got plenty of Brownie points on your side, luckily for you.'

'I haven't asked for my favour yet.'

Carole's sigh must have come up from the soles of her feet. 'Not arresting you isn't enough?'

'I need you to help Julia. She's the one facing a life of drug-dealing or prostitution, thanks to her no-good brother.'

'Is she the one with you there, wherever you are?'