Author's Note: This story contains a limited amount of male/female sex, which occurs as part of the main character's "learning curve". I have tried to keep this to a minimum without actually skimping. If anyone wants to avoid reading about sex with a man, start with Chapter One but avoid Chapter Two. From Chapter Three it's back to girl-on-girl.
And, with Angie being Angie, that means more than just one girl . . .
*****
Chapter One
(Christmas Eve 1997)
Angie checked herself in the mirror before following Fiona out of the ladies'. She had lipstick smudges around her mouth; otherwise her makeup was okay (because she never wore any). Using a tissue to wipe away the evidence, she reckoned she'd pass any inspection she was likely to get.
Or were her cheeks a little flushed from all that unexpected exertion?
She grinned as she splashed cold water over her shaven head. Fiona always looked immaculate. She had tripped off, pretty as a picture in her short and colourful girly skirt. Hopefully her live-in girlfriend wouldn't notice the missing lippy and wonder what she'd been up to.
With hope always springing eternal, no?
Thoroughly dried, Angie attempted a smile. Her reflection grimaced in response. She had never been great shakes at smiling. Still, she was tall, broad-shouldered and built like a man; a smile on her face wouldn't ever seem sincere.
Not even if she really was sincere . . . for a change.
God only knew why women found her attractive. In her opinion she was, at best, plain, although she'd often been told she was beautiful. Maybe everyone else could see something she couldn't.
And maybe she'd better check her knickers before she went back behind the bar. Brief as it had been, that unexpected little skirmish had ended very well indeed.
*****
'At last,' said Joe in greeting, 'I was expecting a much older woman.'
Working a week with Joe, seeing him virtually every waking moment, Angie was by then used to his particular brand of sarcasm. Not caring that he was her boss she simply stuck her tongue out at him and got on with serving some customers. Joe, meanwhile, got on with chatting to his lecturer friend.
Angie scowled as she pulled pints. Professor Parkinson was about forty, elegant and beautiful beyond belief. She was only supposed to be seen there in the Union Bar a couple of times a year, but tonight was her third visit since Monday.
Like three days in a row.
The cradle-snatching bitch was after Joe; Angie was sure she was.
Looking elsewhere she saw that her dart-playing friend, Eileen, had gone. On the positive side, Eileen had agreed to come across after Christmas. On the negative side, she would be away for another five days and Angie hadn't had a fuck in nearly two weeks.
Turning another virgin was nothing to sniff at, but five whole days!
And nearly two weeks without!!
Okay, so she'd just skirmished to an orgasm, but that hadn't lasted more than two or three minutes. It was marathons she preferred, not sprints. She was used to at least two or three hours a night, not two or three minutes a fortnight.
Thinking about skirmishing, Angie shifted her attention to Lesbians' Corner. Fiona was there, sitting with Molly at "their" table, along with a couple of guys from LGBT. Not that there was any seduction or hint of wife-swapping in the air. The two guys were hand-in-hand and Fiona was up close, talking very earnestly to her girlfriend.
Hmmm. Before tripping off Fiona had said she wanted more. Was this part of her cunning plan? Was she busy spinning Molly some yarn that would conveniently get her out of the way?
Angie rather hoped she was. Skirmishing with Fiona had only whetted her appetite. She was horny as hell in the afterglow. And Madhu had "borrowed" her strapless strap-on, "forgetting" to return it before going home for Christmas. So she had a strapless-less month before her. Unless Fiona's mysterious plan paid dividends, she'd be reduced to a common or garden dildo and her own left hand.
As if Fiona's plan could possibly pay dividends. She and Molly were inseparable. Practically joined at the hip, they did everything together, as if they were one. Fiona showing up alone in the restroom had been a major achievement. Escaping for an hour or more would be a miracle worthy of God Himself.
Serving drinks on auto-pilot, Angie watched Joe and Professor Parkinson. Joe kept on serving as he chatted, so Angie couldn't say that he wasn't pulling his weight. She couldn't immediately explain why she was jealous, either. Folk had assumed she was a lesbian for years. She'd assumed they were all correct, as well. And, once she'd tried it for real, she'd become convinced.
Yes, she was a lezzie through and through. So why was she jealous of the Parkinson bitch?
The answer to that was a no-brainer. She liked Joe and didn't want to see him hurt. Parkinson had to be ten years older than him. She also had to be well-off and in need of a gigolo rather than somebody masquerading as a husband. Face it; a good-looking creature like her could have secured a genuine hubby decades ago if she'd really wanted to.
No, the fucking bitch was after a stud . . . and a short-term one at that.
Poor old Joe was ripe for the plucking.
The juke box had been churning out all the Christmas faves. Abruptly the music changed and Chrissie Hynde was there. And yes, she'd got some lucky "babe".
Make that some very, very lucky "babe".
She probably had some brass in her pocket too. Next single up, hopefully . . .
At that point in her mental grumblings Angie chuckled. She had no room to criticize anyone for having a fling with an older woman. Or for having a varied sex life, come to that. Her first female lover wasn't very forthcoming about her age, but she'd been at least fifteen years older than she was. And she had given her a taste for variation, too.
And it was a very wide and much appreciated taste at that.
But never mind the history. Joe was one of the good guys, and he was being stalked by a predator; a predator who'd been in the bar with friends on Monday and conspicuously alone ever since.
Meaning she'd come back twice, solitary and prowling.
Fuck it, no; she really was stalking.
As Angie watched, Professor Bitch got off her barstool and pecked Joe on the cheek before leaving. It was the third time in a row she'd done that: given him just one miserly peck as reward for two hours of rapt attention.
What a horrible woman!
'She's teasing you,' Angie observed as soon as she got chance to have a quiet word.
'Kettle and pot,' Joe replied.
Angie winced reflexively. On Monday, perhaps influenced by the bitch's first visit, she had kissed Joe. No, she'd waited until everyone had gone then nearly snogged his face off. Enjoying it and pressing her groin against his erection. But had she fucked him?
Of course she hadn't.
He had asked . . . sort of . . . albeit tentatively, and she had reluctantly said no. And the silly bugger hadn't had the sense to ask twice.
Twice would have clinched the deal, wouldn't it? What girl could ever say no twice to a guy she really liked?
Basic orientation aside, she did like Joe. She liked him lots and lots.
Lezzie as she was, she'd have fucked him if he'd asked twice.
Frigging men! What did they know!!
'Sorry,' she said now.
'Me too,' said Joe. 'It didn't mean to come out like that. I've just been hearing about Pat's divorce. It was even messier than mine.'
'Pat?' Angie echoed. 'She's Professor Pat Parkinson? It sounds like someone out of Wacky Races.'
'There's nothing wacky about her,' Joe said defensively.
'Has she any children?'
'No.'
'I'm not surprised with a figure like that.' Angie sighed before continuing. 'So you're on a par then: two gay divorcées with no kids.'
'I'm not gay and no way am I on a par with Pat.'
'Listen, Joe, tell me to mind my own business, but . . .'
'She's out of my league,' Joe cut in, totally misunderstanding. 'Look but don't touch; that's how it is for me. Story of my life, isn't it? You, Pat . . . every beautiful woman I've ever met.'
