This tale is a continuation of "Substitute for Dad" and goes back to the good old 1980's in the glorious days before the proliferation of mobile phones, the Internet and always on communication.
*****
I had not long turned twenty-one years old and it was my first week as the on-call technical specialist. The week had been quiet until the previous evening, typically a Friday before the spring bank holiday. I had been halfway home when I was paged and had to return to the office. A power failure had crashed the computer systems and although the power was back by the time I walked in, it had taken me until 1:00 am to fix the chaos left behind. My senior colleague, Dave, had been next to useless as although onsite at the time he was "completely wankered" as he had been at the local pub all afternoon and had only gone back to the office to pick up his coat and briefcase and to call a taxi. I just left him head down on his desk for most of the time until a security guard called to tell me our technical manager was on his way up to help handle the crisis. I managed to drag Dave to the men's toilet, push him into a cubicle and persuade him to be quiet until I got rid of the dopey twat of a manager.
Luckily our much 'disrespected' manager just wanted to make sure his name was included in the major incident report that he insisted was completed before I left site. I almost forgot about Dave when I was reminded by the appearance of a trainee programmer called Jessica who was equally inebriated and demanding to know where the 'dag' was as he owed her a drink. Absentmindedly I told her he was in the toilets and went back to the report I was writing.
Just as I finished the report a security guard rang to ask if I had seen a young woman wandering about as her friend had just turned up demanding to see her. I said I would find her and bring her down as I was about to leave anyway. First port of call was the men's toilet partly to find Dave but mainly to have a pee before I drove home. As I pushed open the main door I could hear muffled talking coming from the cubicle I had left Dave in earlier. A pair of ankle boot clad feet stuck out from the cubicle doorway then Jessica's voice rang out, "Told you I could do it!"
I purposely banged the outer door and called, "Are you still in here Dave?"
The sounds of frantic rustling and a cubicle door rattled before Dave replied, "Yes, I dozed off. I'll be out in a sec!"
I walked over to a urinal and began to take a long piss then said, "Everything is back up and working. The security guards are getting a bit pissed off with all the drunken people onsite."
"I'm going home anyway," came Dave's reply accompanied by the sound of flushing water.
I shook off, zipped up and washed my hands as Dave emerged from his cubicle. He staggered a bit and struggled to wash his hands. I was about to ask if he was okay to get home when there was a splashing sound from the end cubicle (locally known as trap six) and Jessica's voice echoed, "Aw fuck me!"
Pushing open the cubicle door I found Jessica slumped on the floor with one foot in the toilet bowl. Being a gentleman I burst out laughing before she shouted at me, "Quit laughing and help me get up you pommie bastard!"
As I pulled her to her feet a half-bottle of scotch slipped from her coat pocket which I managed to grab before it hit the floor. Saving the bottle made me lose grip of Jessica so she fell against me making my free hand slide up from her waist to her chest. My hand lingered on her unfettered left breast as she pulled herself to a standing position.
"Have you finished sizing up my tit, mate?" she asked, "Or do you want to check the other one?"
"Sorry, darling," I replied releasing her small but perky breast, "I was just trying to help."
"I'm not your darling," Jessica slurred with venom, "And if you want to cop a feel again just ask first!"
"I'll remember that," I said with a grin, "Here's your bottle and your friend is downstairs with security waiting for you!"
Jessica shook her soggy foot, swore under her breath and tried to take a step. She winced with pain exclaiming, "Aw fuck I think I've busted my ankle!"
Dave began drunkenly giggling at Jessica's plight which only made her angrier, "Shut the fuck up, you dags and help me get downstairs!"
She held on to my arm limping as we followed the weaving figure of Dave out of the men's toilet to the lift. I leant Jessica against the wall and pressed the call button, "Hold the lift for me while I get my keys and jacket," I said and dashed back to my desk.
Just as I came back into the lobby I saw the lift doors close so I took the stairs the four floors down to the main entrance. I emerged from the stairwell to find Jessica, her friend and Dave arguing with the security guard. They were trying to persuade him to phone for a taxi but he was adamant that they should leave the premises and walk to the local cab office or he would call the police. Luckily I knew him from my time on shift and managed to calm him down by suggesting I could give them a lift home.
Jessica introduced her friend as Heather, who apparently worked for the company out of a different office. I was half expecting Heather to have an Aussie accent too but she slurred her thanks for the lift with a distinct Surrey plumy twang. Leading them to the car park I had to support Jessica as Dave and Heather struggled to keep each other upright. Jessica seemed to be calmer and even pulled closer to me wrapping her arm around my waist; I kept my hand between her hips and chest just in case she thought I was trying to grope her. She was tall for a woman (almost my height in her heels and I stand at 6' 2") and slim with long limbs. Heather by contrast was average height with a shapely figure and what at first glance seemed heavy breasts and a nice rounded bum. Both women seemed to favour the bohemian styles of the eighties feminist although I suspected Heather need to wear a bra under the mannish style clothes.
Jessica climbed into the back of the car behind the driver's seat with Heather getting in beside her. Dave struggled to get into the front passenger seat and I had to help him put his seat belt on. The alcohol fumes from all three of them forced me to open the driver's window to keep some fresh air circulating. When I asked who I was dropping off first it started a debate about who lived closest, in the end I opted to drop the women off first and then take Dave home. I had a fairly good knowledge of the area their rented house was in so headed off without needing directions.
Fifteen minutes into the journey Dave had fallen silent and the two women were talking in hushed tones passing the bottle of scotch between them. I hoped none of my motley crew of passengers was going to be ill but as we pulled up at a set of traffic lights Dave hiccupped and reached for the door handle managing to open it just in time to throw up at the kerb. I pulled the car onto the kerb to let other cars pass and put the hazard lights on as I got out making sure Dave didn't fall out. Unfortunately two patrolling coppers a Sergeant and a WPC strolled over to check what was happening and give me a hard time for parking so close to a traffic light.
When they saw Dave they then decided to breathalyse me even though I honestly denied I had been drinking. Typically both coppers were annoyed I passed the test with not a trace of alcohol so they gave me a ticking off for where I had parked, letting Dave throw up in the gutter, having two now extremely pissed women in the back who weren't wearing seatbelts (although at the time not illegal) they gave me the run-down of all the dangers of death and destruction in the event of a crash. By the time they had finished the lecture Dave had finished emptying the contents of his stomach and had dropped off to sleep. So reluctantly they said I could go but not before insisting I swill Dave's vomit through the gutter. I always carried a bottle of water as the car radiator had a habit of boiling over when you least expected so I was able to comply.
The WPC asked if I had any questions before she let me go so I asked her for her telephone number on the off chance she was available. She blushed then refused saying she was already engaged and then the sergeant corrected her saying she was also on duty. Just before I got back in the car the sergeant poked his head in the car to ensure the women buckled their seat belts the WPC whispered, "I sometimes go to the Duke of Wellington in Forest Gate when I'm not on duty."
I smiled, "Oh I know it, I go there sometimes on Saturdays after playing Rugby," I replied softly.
"I'm off-duty next Saturday," she said quietly just as the sergeant stood up.
"You need to get those two home son before they throw-up like your mate," he said, "Oh , and keep you window open or you will be pissed on the fumes."
Finally back on the road I heard rustling in the back and glanced back to see Heather slip off her seat-belt and lean over Jessica. I nearly missed the slip road as I watched Heather begin kissing Jessica full on the mouth and squeezing her right breast. Jessica seemed to be responding and doing a bit of breast groping too. I felt my cock begin to bulge and wriggled in the seat to ease the constraint, checking that Dave was still passed out. All I needed was him to see me with a raging hard-on poking through my trousers.
Dave was in his forties and lived with his 'partner' Derek; although not fashionable at the time he had come out as gay to most of his colleagues and mainly due to his increasingly over the top behaviour was known behind his back at work as "Camp David". He had often joked with me when he had consumed a few drinks that he would like to take me home and share my young, muscled body with Derek. Now his comments would be construed as work place bullying but I just laughed it off and told him he would have to keep on dreaming. He had assured me that he would do more than dream generally accompanied by a crude gesture. No one in the office had met Derek but from the way Dave described their relationship it would appear that Derek was the dominant one.
I negotiated the roundabout at the end of the slip road and looked up to see Heather drop her mouth to Jessica's chest and appear to be sucking her left nipple through the material of her blouse. My cock stiffened further and I had to look away to concentrate on the road. The girls turning loomed up and as I turned into their road I asked loudly, "Which number was it Jessica?"
"Number 72," she replied slightly breathlessly and I heard rustling from the backseat as the two women broke their clinch and sat up straight.
The road was typical of suburban London and crowded with parked cars so I slowly drove along looking for the right door. I found a parking spot just a few doors down from their house and pulled in as Dave woke up looking confused as to where we was. Nobody seemed to move until I got out first surreptitiously adjusting my softening erection to be less noticeable. Heather managed to get out unaided and began walking to the house as Dave got out and followed. Jessica hesitated as her ankle had swollen up on the way back and she felt pain as she tried to climb out of the car. I held the door open for her and offered my hand to help.
"I suppose you want to cop another crafty feel?" Jessica slurred grabbing my hand and pulling herself upright.
"Only with permission," I replied adding, "Darling!" to the end of the sentence.
"I told you I'm not your darling," she responded but with less venom than before, "Now help me to get indoors."
"Better than that," I said and scooped her up and began to carry her to the door expecting some sort of protest but she actually snuggled closer and wrapped her arms around my neck pressing her breasts into my chest. I could feel her small, hard nipples poking through her blouse and felt my erection flutter back to life as fresh blood surged into it.
Reaching the door I carefully lowered Jessica so she could stand supported by the doorframe. She held on to my neck and pulled my head to hers.
"Are you coming in?" she asked breathing whisky fumes at me, "I'm sure I can find a warm place for you."
"Not tonight, I've got to get home," I said, "Maybe another time?"
"Ah, so is the little boy going home to his mummy?" Jessica asked teasingly.
"Yes," I replied, "Anyway I think you need to sleep off the booze!"
"Strewth, you're the first bastard I've met to refuse an open invite to my bed," she said, "I bet your mummy won't soothe that snake in your strides!"
