It's late at night. Outside the window, the city is sleeping. Hope gets up from the sofa, picks up the other DVD from by the TV, slides it into the machine, and curls up to watch. She hasn't seen this one yet. The other, the one she's just watched, was just a straight hardcore number. No plot at all. Just Opal and various other women involved in a series of bouts of extremely athletic, if not particularly imaginative sex with a variety of men, some of them one at a time, some more. At one point she managed to entertain four of them, but none of them, Hope thinks, were exactly what you'd call gorgeous. Why is it, she wonders, that it's always the women in these things who are good-looking? Hope considers herself very broad-minded and is happy to admit to being impressed at the enthusiasm and energy that Opal brought to all the fucking and sucking that came her way and what looked like the genuine enjoyment she got from it all, but that was about as far as it went. She certainly didn't enjoy it much, and no way did it turn her on. Too macho, too straightforward, too sweaty, too little dialogue, too little subtlety, too much testosterone, far too much of a bog-standard porn film, she decided a long time before the end. Something for the guys, maybe, but not for her. She hopes this other one's going to be a bit more interesting.
It starts off in an office setting. Opal is one of the first people to appear. It's not just her long straight dark hair, the structure of the bones of her face, and slender figure that make her stand out so, Hope decides, but something, a presence, perhaps, that surrounds her. The other people are all good-looking, too - it's easy to see, even from these first few moments, that it's a classier number than the other one was - but Opal is clearly one of the stars. By and by, through a series of glimpses, of words exchanged, of smiles and looks, the sexual chemistry of the place is revealed. Opal's main suitor, it seems, is the manager, a rather conventionally handsome guy of about thirty. But, it's soon made obvious, she's not interested. Nor does she show any more enthusiasm for the other guys who try it on with her, but they don't seem to have much trouble finding solace elsewhere. Opal may not be willing, but plenty of others are.
Just as Hope is about to give up on the film as a bad job and go to bed, it changes gear. Opal, she sees, is off on a business trip. Her companion is to be someone who has only appeared in passing so far, a woman called Veronica. She's older than Opal, in her early thirties, Hope guesses, and a very different type physically. Whereas Opal is slim and petite, with long dark hair, Veronica is broad-shouldered and full-figured, with her blonde hair cropped stylishly short. But, like Opal, she's very good-looking.
A series of stock scenes follow. A taxi ride. Check-in. The plane taking off. Veronica leaning across Opal to look out of the window. The two of them chatting and laughing over their airline meal. The plane landing. Another taxi ride. A hotel reception. The two of them riding together in the lift and then going off to their rooms.
Hope watches as Veronica goes into hers, throws her suitcase onto her bed, has a look round, and, without fuss or hurry, takes off the clothes she's been travelling in. Soft music, the sort of music you always seem to get in these films, Hope thinks, begins to play and the camera dwells on her as she strips, lingering on her face, her shoulders and back, her long legs, the curvature of her buttocks in the tiny white panties she has on, a little tattoo of a lizard on her abdomen, and then, as she removes her bra, her breasts, which are large but shapely, with very prominent dark nipples. The panties come off last, revealing a mons so severely trimmed that all that is left to decorate it is a little exclamation mark made up of a few short hairs. Not for the first time, Hope wonders why women like that don't just shave it all off; surely it would be easier that way.
The camera follows her from behind as, naked, she pads into the bathroom and turns on the shower. Her body glistens as the water plays over it. She takes the soap and raises a lather with her hands. She works it into her breasts, closing her eyes and catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she plays with her nipples, teasing and tugging at them, first one at a time, then both together. While her left hand continues to pleasure them, her right slides down, pausing to fondle her belly, then slipping between her legs to touch her sex. At first she toys with herself in leisurely manner, but then she sinks to the floor and gets more excited, touching herself more and more eagerly, the camera alternating between capturing the rapt expression on her face and the way she is caressing her breasts and close-up shots of her vulva, with her long fingers flicking over her clitoris and her shaven labia until, moaning and gasping in her excitement, she reaches her orgasm, her mouth open and face contorted with delight.
The scene ends. Watching, Hope realises that for the last few minutes she has been completely absorbed by what's happening on the screen. She's always loved playing with herself and there is, she admits to herself, something very exciting about watching another woman, especially one as attractive as this Veronica, doing so in such an open way. Hope touches her own breast through the thin cotton of the gown that is the only thing she's wearing. It feels good, so she slips the garment off and lets her hands wander over the familiar contours of her body.
On the screen, she notices, Veronica and Opal are now working together at an exhibition stand, dressed in identical white blouses and navy skirts which are obviously their corporate uniform. They look crisp and clean and efficient as they deal with a string of visitors, most of whom seem to be men who want to ask one or both of them out. Politely, flirtatiously, they refuse all of them, smiling and rolling their eyes at each other every time they do so.
The end of the working day comes. All around them, people are packing up. Veronica stretches herself, arms raised above her head, and grins at Opal.
"It'll be good to get out of here," Opal says.
"Yes," answers Veronica. "After a day like that I think we deserve some fun. Don't you?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"Well, first of all, a long soak in the bath, and then, I think, what about getting dressed up and going out on the town? A few drinks? Maybe a bit of dancing?"
"Sounds good. Do you have any ideas where?"
"I know one or two places. Trust me?"
"Shouldn't I?" asks Opal with a smile.
The scene fades. The next shows Opal and Veronica getting out of a taxi, all dressed up for their evening out. Opal is wearing the proverbial sexy little black number, a sleeveless microdress that has a plunging neckline and leaves more of her back uncovered than covered, and whose hemline might just be as much as two inches below her crotch. She looks wonderful. Her hair hangs loose and the tiny dress shows off her body and long bare limbs to great advantage. The length of her legs is exaggerated still further by the black high heels she has on. Veronica has gone more for a period look, with a charcoal-coloured dress of some light and shiny material, silk perhaps, that is tight down to the waist and then hangs loosely down to her knees. It is kept up by spaghetti straps over her fine broad shoulders, which are otherwise bare, as are her arms. On her legs she is wearing what at first glance look like black tights. When she walks, though, a slit slashed in the side of her skirt that reaches almost up to her hip makes it clear, with a flash of revealed thigh, pale compared to the colour of her garments, that they are actually stockings. Hope, watching, thinks the two of them look stunning together.
They go down a flight of steps and ring at a door. After a moment a blonde woman in a man's black suit, complete with white shirt and black tie, opens it for them and ushers them in with a welcoming smile. The camera pans around the room. It's obviously a nightclub. There are no men to be seen, only women. Others are drinking or chatting. There's a dancefloor, but nobody is on in at the moment. Two women, both long-haired and attractive, both in long evening dresses, are sharing a long kiss on a sofa, their hands roaming abstractly over one another's bodies. The camera moves back to Opal and Veronica. They survey the scene and their eyes meet. There's a question in Veronica's. She wants to be sure that she hasn't made a mistake, that it's OK to have brought Opal to a place like this. By way of answer, she gets a smile.
She offers Opal her hand, which after a moment's hesitation, is accepted, and leads her to a booth with a sofa and a good view of the room. They sit down, side by side, and are brought drinks. They talk; it looks as if they are relaxing together and enjoying each other's company.
Most of the time the camera lingers on them, building up the atmosphere with close-ups of their eyes and mouths, their glances and smiles and laughter, of Opal's bare back and brown legs, and of Veronica's thigh encased in its sheer stocking, the slit of her skirt now wide open because of the way she is sitting, with her legs crossed. Now and then, though, it moves round the room, and shows that as the evening wears on it is getting much more crowded and lively. As the noise level goes up and the music gets louder, conversation gets harder.
Veronica leans forward to speak into Opal's ear. "Would you like to dance?" she asks.
Opal looks towards the dancefloor. There are quite a few women there now, but it's not exactly crowded. She nods.
