The sound of two car doors closing caught my attention. I looked between the slats of the white picket fence surrounding the Gumtree Café. I could see through to the car park beyond, but all I could see, because of the angle and the vertical lattice of the fence, were the slim legs and asses of two women walking past. One wore black leggings, hugging tight to her thighs and nicely curved backside. The other was wearing bike pants in a dark green cloth, skin tight with a black centre vee and silver stripes to catch at reflections.
I could hear the light chatter of two voices, then the clang of the gate as it shut. I turned back to my phone, scrolling through the news feed as I waited for my coffee. A couple of minutes later the two women came out to the courtyard and sat at a table several metres away. Covid spacing - the café had left it as it had been, before restrictions were lifted.
I looked across at them, to finish my appraisal. They were in their late twenties, two healthy looking girls who'd been for a walk in the nearby national park, maybe, which would explain the attire and their faces still flushed from the cold: a fast walk to keep warm. Dark leggings girl wore a colourful knitted jumper that hinted at curves but didn't reveal them, with shoulder length dark hair and dark eyes. On a second look she might have been a few years older than I'd originally thought, early thirties.
Her friend faced away, so all I could see was her tight little bum on the chair, her body hidden in a quilted jacket, and long blonde hair in a high pony tail.
My coffee arrived, brought by Jasmyn who I knew, this being my regular place. We chatted for a moment, and when she laughed, the two women looked towards us, curious perhaps at our happiness. The dark eyed girl saw me watch Jazz walk away, and she grinned, leaning forward to say something to her blonde friend, who turned her head towards me.
At that moment, the other waiter came out with their meals, looking down, looking sideways, as he always did.
"He reminds me of someone," the dark haired girl said when he'd gone, "from a movie."
"Borat," I called over, "that comedy movie," to save them from guessing.
"God yes, he does. Borat. That's right. Do you remember that one?" she asked her friend, touching her arm as she did so. "That daft comedy, a couple of years ago? Five years ago, even."
"I do." The blonde woman looked from her friend back to me, and shifted her chair around, so she no longer looked over her shoulder. I saw she had blue eyes and honey blonde hair and high cheek bones. She could be Scandinavian.
"Yah, I remember it." She wasn't Scandinavian, she was American. From where in America, I didn't know. I can't place all American accents - Californian, New Yoick, the clichéd American south, that was about it.
Wherever she was from, ice was broken, and for the next twenty minutes we chatted as if we were the best of friends. And by the end of it, we were, even though we sat at two tables.
"I'm Emma, and this is Bobbie," the dark girl said, as they stood up.
"David," I replied. "It's been lovely to meet you."
"Yes, you too. We might do it again, one day."
"Why, do you come here often?"
We all laughed, and as we went out to the car park, ladies first, Bobbie turned and touched my arm. "It really was lovely chatting. I liked it."
She looked up at me, and I realised how tiny she was. Barely there, snug in her warm quilted jacket.
* * * *
A couple of weeks later I went again to the café, and as usual went out to the courtyard after ordering. Inside was too noisy, and the tables outside caught the winter sun.
"David? Look, Emma, it's David."
Bobbie stood up and beckoned me over. "Hey, come sit with us, if you like." Emma stood too, and I went over to them. They both pressed up against me in a tight two girl hug, pushing themselves up to me. My arms went around them automatically, pulling them close to my body. I could smell the perfumes in their hair. Bobbie tippy-toed up to brush her lips against mine.
"That's a very nice greeting," I said, as we sat down around the table, the girls sitting next to each other.
"We were talking about you, actually, remembering last time, how we all got along."
Emma leaned forward, revealing a small slice of cleavage. It was warmer that day, her breasts revealing their curves in a button-down shirt. Several buttons were undone on that shirt. The girls looked at each other, and I sensed a conspiracy.
"Yah," said Bobbie. "We were kinda hoping we might see you. So we chose Wednesday, on the basis, it might be your day."
I cast my mind back to the last time we met, that first time. "Was it a Wednesday, last time? I lose track of days, to be honest."
"Well, it's Emma's day off, she only works four days a week, so every month or so I come up from town, stay over. And we have a day and a night to ourselves, just us girls." Bobbie looked at me, and her eyes were pale blue, like the sky. She caught a wave of hair between her fingers, up near her cheek, and coiled it around three times. I counted. She looked at me and smiled. "I go straight to work in the morning. With Emma, on the train. I don't bother going back to my place first."
"We're both single," said Emma, "and really, we're both straight. But sometimes, you know, it's just easier. We've known each other for ages, ever since Bobbie was here for a couple of years in high school. Her dad was in Australia for a big project."
I looked at them both, from one to the other and back again. They both gazed right back at me.
"Let me get this straight," I said. "You both like men, but sex with each other is easier, because you're both single? And you were hoping to find me here, on a Wednesday, because you talked about me? After our chance meeting, that last time."
"We figured," said Bobbie, "that since we'd already met, and you seemed really friendly, it would be, you know, easier. This next time."
"Plus you're older," Emma added, "so you'd appreciate it more. Two young women." She grinned. "On a plate!"
"And you'd know what women like. We thought you might, anyway, the way you look at that cute waitress. You appreciate women." Bobbie shrugged, as if to say, we're women, maybe you'll appreciate us.
"It's not every day one gets an offer like that."
"Well, it is Wednesday," said Emma.
"And I've got the day off," added Bobbie, "so it works out really well."
"Just as well it's not Thursday, then," I said.
"Is that your regular day?" Bobbie looked at Emma. "Wow, that's a piece of luck. That you came here today, Wednesday."
I laughed. "I don't have a regular day. It's completely random."
"So," said Emma, "completely random man. What do you say?"
"I'd say I'd like that, very much. Unexpected, I'll say that -"
"But easier," Bobbie jumped in. "And I mean, look at us." She curled her hands down in front of herself and Emma, like a magician's assistant declaring there were no tricks about them, none at all.
Just then, my coffee and snack arrived, and the spell was broken. The women finished their own meal - they'd already been served - and I shared my cornflake cookie, three ways. We talked for about twenty minutes, enjoying each other's company and the sun. It was on my back, warming me. The table was under an umbrella, and there was a line of shade that flickered and moved with the wind, right across it.
"Are you busy this afternoon?" Emma asked, returning to their earlier proposal.
"What kind of random question is that?"
They laughed, and Emma said, "Follow my car, then. It's not far."
As they walked before me through the car park, I saw that Emma was only a few inches taller than Bobbie, somewhat curvier, but not much. I began to think of their geometries and mine, and how we might fit together.
Emma's place wasn't far away, maybe ten minutes. I followed her Mazda through the houses, down a curved street, across a level crossing, and up into a cul-de-sac. She drove up a steep drive and parked in the carport, and I pulled up behind her. The house was typical Hills suburbia, blond brick, tiled roof, with a raggle-taggle native garden.
Beside the front door there was a sign on the wall, Emma's Place. I touched the sign. "I've arrived, then."
"You have." She touched my cheek. "Welcome to my place."
"My sign's at the back door," Bobbie said, and blushed.
"You Americans, all hint and no subtlety," said Emma, unlocking the front door. "Come on in. Sorry about the mess."
Bobbie's tight little bum had new meaning, as I followed the women through the door.
The house wasn't so much messy, more "occupied" by women who were both practical and time-rushed. They took their coats off and hung them on sensible hooks in the hall. "Here," said Bobbie, "let me hang yours."
"Could you take your boots off?" Emma asked, bending down to unlace hers. "I've got thick guest socks, keep your feet warm." She handed me a pair.
"My hands get so cold." She rubbed her hands briskly together, and put them up to my cheeks. "See."
"God, they are cold." I took her hands between mine to warm them.
"Ooo, nice, you've got warm hands." She looked up at me and smiled. "I do like a man with warm hands."
"What are yours like, Bobbie?"
"You'll see." Her eyes sparkled, and this time she'd didn't hide the blush.
"Would you like another cuppa?" Emma asked, "even though we've just had one."
And at that point I realised what I wanted more than anything else, was to be swept up into their domesticity, to be a part of their obvious, playful affection for each other, these ordinary, every-day women with uncomplicated lives. Who clearly liked sex. With a man they barely knew.
"Why not?" I replied, knowing that if I didn't drink it, it wouldn't matter. "Tea, if you've got it."
"No sugar," said Bobbie, knowing how I drank coffee. "Unless you take sugar with tea."
"No sugar," I confirmed.
"See, I told you he was a sweetheart."
