If you recall one of my previous posts about taking on a new customer, well, I forgot my initial meeting with John as I was totally distracted because Mr E (Ed) took me for a spin in his helicopter. Thankfully John was very gracious. After I’d recovered from my whirlwind trip with Ed to Glasgow, I rang John and we rescheduled for Monday evening.
It’s dark as I drive so I use my sat nav to locate John’s house, which is near Bramley Park.
If I’m honest, the area looks a bit rough. Most of the properties are a hotchpotch of stone and red brick terraced houses. The stone brick has a dark, coal like tarnish, harking back to when the area was more industrial.
Don’t pre-judge Carla, don’t pre-judge.
– You have arrived at your destination, the sat nav says.
‘Thank you,’ I say. I often speak to the sat nav – it’s one of the side effects of working alone. I scan the house doors looking for John’s house number. I’m pleased to find myself right outside and, there’s a parking space, which is always a bonus.
As I get out of my car and lock the door, I notice the street is quiet which I find reassuring. There are no hoards of teens looking for mischief.
The house is red brick, mid terrace with brown upvc windows and front door.
And remember – don’t pre-judge… don’t pre-judge.
I ring the doorbell listening to see if I can hear it ringing inside the house. Don’t you just hate it when you’re waiting for ages on a doorstep because the doorbell doesn’t work!
I can’t hear it so I rap on the door using the tip of my car key. A light comes on and I hear muffled footsteps and a key turning in the lock. The door opens revealing a smart looking man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties .
‘Carla?’ He asks warmly?
‘That’s me,’ I say.
‘Come in,’ he says. ‘Come in.’ He stands back to let me pass.
The door opens straight into the lounge which immediately tells me this isn’t a big house. The first thing that hits me is the smell. It’s like someone used air freshener to hide another smell, but not very well. The smell of marijuana and cigarette smoke hangs heavy behind the thick smell of orange air freshener.
‘Wow!’ I say. ‘Big TV.’ He’s got one of those massive TVs, attached to the wall above the fireplace. Eastenders is on. Not having a TV I have no idea which character is currently giving another character an angry talking to, but to me it doesn’t look like the programme has changed much over the years.
A straggly collection of wires hang down from the back of the TV leading to a unit on the corner with a digital TV box of some kind and what looks like a couple of games consoles. I’m not au fait with consoles so I really have no idea what I’m seeing.
An old leather two seater sofa faces the TV, and in front of it is a glass coffee table that looks like it doubles as a foot rest and a stand for empty pizza boxes and mugs. Behind me in the window area, is an armchair with rather threadbare arms. It doesn’t match the sofa. And nothing in the room matches the, what once was a light brown, plain carpet.
‘Let me turn that off,’ he says, reaching over the back of the sofa for the remote and clicking the TV off. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘A cup of tea would be lovely,’ I say realising that I am really quite thirsty. It’s been a busy day. I’ve cleaned Harry’s, Ed & Lucy’s and Clive’s (which reminds me, I really must tell you about Clive one day.) I’ve only snacked throughout the day so I’ll be glad to get finished here and get home for something to eat.
‘Coming right up,’ he says. ‘Why don’t you have a look round and see what you think, while I make the tea. Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk please, thanks. Is it okay if I start upstairs?’
‘That’s fine, go right ahead. The stairs are through here in the kitchen.’
I follow him through the lounge door into the kitchen and he waves me towards the corner of the room. The staircase is walled with a fixed wooden handrail painted white leading to the top. I say it’s painted white, but it’s more of grimy looking than white
What a waste of good wood.
The carpet is dark green and whilst it looks old it doesn’t look in bad condition. At the top bearing right there’s a small landing, and to there’s a door on either side.
‘My room is the one to your right,’ John calls up the stairs. ‘At the back of the house.’
Okay then, I’ll check that first.
The smell of weed hits me like an assault on my senses.
‘It might be a bit pungent,’ he calls up. ‘I like a smoke before bed. You know how it is.’
‘Of course,’ I shout back, having no idea ‘how it is’ at all.
The room is dark and all I can see is a shard of light cutting through the closed curtains. It’s getting dark outside so there must be light in the alley behind the house. I reach my hand into the room, fumbling along the wall feeling for a light switch.
‘Ah, there you are you little bugger,’ I mutter to myself as my fingers find and click the switch. The light reveals something resembling a clothes bomb explosion. The room itself is looks quite large, or should I say it would do if you could see it properly. There are literally clothes strewn everywhere, some worn and looking like they need washing, some still new with tags on.
There are clothes on the floor, on the chair in the corner of the room, on the drawer unit and scattered all over the floor. Only the double bed has escaped, and the bedside table, and judging by the large baggie on the bedside table that’s where the smell of weed is coming from.
If TK Maxx did jumble sales, this is what it would look like…
‘I’m afraid it’s a bit messy,’ he calls up.
I hear one of my mantras going off in my head like a triggered alert. It always reminds me of Patrick Sawyze in the film Roadhouse where he’s training bouncers.
Be polite… always be polite. Honest; but always be polite.
‘Yeah, it could do with a bit of a tidy,’ I call back. ‘Is that something you’d be wanting me to do?’
‘I think so, yes.’
Fuck! I was hoping he’d say he’d do it.
I flick the light switch off and close the door. I’ve seen enough. Dare I look in the other room? I take a deep breath.
Well, in for a penny…
I open the opposite door on the landing. The curtains are open and the last hints of daylight are streaking through the window. I find the light switch easier this time and it casts a glow on a much tidier room.
John can clearly hear my movements. ‘That room isn’t so bad,’ he calls up, and he’s right. It’s the only room I’ve seen so far that fills me with a sense of relief. Mind you, I haven’t really looked around the kitchen, or seen the bathroom yet! Nevertheless this room is tidier. There’s another double bed, a couple of guitars on stands and guitar cases stacked against the far wall. There’s also a small table and a couple of chairs. It’s dusty in here, but otherwise it doesn’t look too bad. Having switched the light off and closed the door I head back downstairs, taking in the kitchen as I descend into it.
There are all the tell tale signs of this being home to someone who doesn’t do a lot of cooking. Salt and pepper shakers, HP Sauce, ketchup and a couple of bottles of mustard are the only visible foodstuffs.
I bet that oven has only ever seen frozen pizzas.
A kettle and a 4 slice toaster are the only visible surface appliances.
‘Tea’s ready,’ says John. ‘But if you want to check the bathroom first, it’s through there,’ he says, pointing to the door to my right.
‘I’ll have a quick look.’
On entering I immediately wish I hadn’t.
What a shit hole!
The inside of the toilet has clearly never been introduced to Mr Toilet Brush. There’s a limescale marked bath with an overhead shower unit and a low scum line suggesting the water drainage is poor. The pale blue shower curtain is black with mould from the bottom to about halfway up. And don’t get me started on the hand basin.
I don’t want to do this.
To say John looks quite smart in his clean looking jeans and t-shirt, it’s quite incongruous with the rest of the place.
Something’s just not right here.
I can’t put my finger on why I have that feeling, nevertheless I decide I’m going to try and politely put him off using me.
‘I’ve got your mug,’ he says as I re-enter the kitchen. ‘Let’s go and sit down.’
He leads the way into the lounge, parks himself on the sofa leaving me the armchair with threadbare arms. I sit on the edge of the seat, trying to let as little of me as possible make contact with it. His place makes me feel dirty.
I’m definitely putting him off.
‘What do you think?’ he asks handing me my tea.
The mug has runs on it from a previous drink. I shuffle it round in my hands casually looking for part of the rim that doesn’t look like it’s been used. Satisfied I’ve found a bit, I take a sip and nod my thanks at him. My inner voice starts chanting my mantra again.
Be polite… always be polite. Honest; but always polite.
‘Okay, well… it needs some work, but you already knew that,’ I begin.
He nods. ‘As I say, my girlfriend won’t stay here.’
I can see why, you filthy bastard.
Be polite Carla… polite!
‘And,’ I continue. ‘Getting it looking acceptable is not going to happen over one or two visits, especially as you only asked for a fortnightly clean.’
‘Could you do weekly?’
I could yes, but I’ll be damned if I’m telling him that.
‘No, sorry. I’ve only got capacity to fit you in fortnightly.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘How much will it be?’
Damn, he seems okay with that. Here goes…
‘Fifty quid a session.’
He raises his eyebrows like he’s surprised.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘That’s doable.’
‘Are you sure?’ I ask, giving him a chance to get out. ‘You don’t look certain.’
I’m charging him way more than my normal rate and he’s accepting it. What the fuck!
‘No, it’s okay. I can do that. So, on the phone we said Wednesdays, starting this Wednesday. Is that still okay?’
No no no no…
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I say through a gritted smile. ‘Right, I’d better get going. I haven’t eaten much today and my belly keeps giving me grumbling reminders.’
I plonk my undrunk tea on the table and make to leave.
‘Thanks for coming Carla,’ says John. ‘I’m looking forward to getting things sorted.’
‘That’s okay,’ I say and I make for the door.
‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ He asks.
I tap my pockets checking my car keys and phone are still there. ‘I don’t think so,’ I say.
‘You need a key.’
‘Oh yeah,’ I say with a half-hearted chuckle.
Dammit! That would have been a good excuse not to come.
There’s a lounge drawer unit at the back of the room I hadn’t noticed until now. He takes a key from it and hands it to me.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘How do you want paying?’ He asks.
Shit. I’m forgetting everything tonight.
‘I prefer cash for the first few sessions. If things work out and we’re both happy and you want to ultimately set up a standing order, then I’m okay with that too.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ he says. ‘I’ll leave the cash on here,’ pointing to the top of the drawers.
‘Brilliant,’ I say.
Okay… I’m out of here.
This time I know I haven’t forgotten anything and I make my escape.
‘Thanks again for coming.’
‘It’s my pleasure,’ I say, knowing full well I don’t sound sincere at all.
I wait until I am in my car and have driven to the end of the street before a massive sigh of relief escapes me.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something about being there made me feel on edge and uncomfortable.
There’s something not right. But what the hell is it?
I get the car started and make an effort not to speed away too fast. Driving helps me relax and my mind starts to settle down as I head out of Bramley towards the ring road. I normally take my time with new people and have a good general chit-chat. It allows me to find out a little about them, and them a little about me. John and I never really did that, and considering it’s normally me that initiates it, it’s not surprising it didn’t happen.
I never asked what he does!
That’s right… I never asked what he does for a living. That info tells me how they can afford me and gives me some indication as to how long our working relationship might last, whether it’s likely to be long term or not.
I never asked anything about his girlfriend.
There’s something about his girlfriend story that doesn’t ring true and I can’t…
There were no traces of her.
That’s what was missing! I know he said she doesn’t like staying there, but you’d have thought there might have been some trace of her, like a photo, some underwear or some of her clothes, or a deodorant or something, anything.
There could have been some of her clothes in all that mess in his room somewhere… no one would know unless you went digging about.
And that’s when another of my mantras kicks in. Well, it’s more like a guiding philosophy really.
First impressions can be wrong.
I’ve made so many rash and wrong judgements in the past that I’m wary of my first impressions. Once when I was managing a team of cleaners and I was interviewing a chap for a vacancy, I remember thinking which village is missing their idiot, because he’s here in front of me! His name was Steven and I was desperate for staff at the time so I gave him a chance. Steven turned out to be one of the best cleaners I ever employed. Some people just don’t interview well.
I’ve never told you about Mr E, and for good reason – he’s my highest profile customer.
All I can really say is he’s a professional sportsman and he lives on his own in a bloody large detached house between Leeds and Harrogate. I spend 5 hours at his place once a month. When he first contacted me asking for cleaning services I told him to get stuffed. I thought it was someone taking the piss so I hung up on him. He rang back immediately and something about him sounded sincere, so I heard him out. Some of the things he told me about his sport sounded convincing so I decided to follow it through, and I’m glad I did because he’s my highest paying customer. I make as much cleaning his house for 5 hours as I do over 2 to 3 of my regular full days.
He’s the only customer I have as a regular on a weekend, a Saturday, and that was my justification for charging him more – not because of his status. At least, that’s how I rationalise it in my head. Nevertheless, to be quite honest, given the size of his house I feel I really earn it.
After the first time I’d cleaned Mr E’s I had the idea that I’d start looking for other customers like him, so I could work less hours, less days and have more money. However that idea conflicted with my reasoning for starting this way of life in the first place, which was to have lots of smaller amounts of income coming in, so that if I lost one, or even two, the bulk of my income would still be coming in. In other words if you’ve got a job and you get the sack or made redundant, then you lose all your income in one fell swoop. Whereas if a customer sacks off my service, I only lose a small portion of my income, which can more easily be replaced by another customer. Okay, I’m rambling again… However I have to say, being self employed has been one of the, if not the best decision I’ve ever made in terms of securing my overall income. Ramble over!
Anyway, back to Mr E. As I say, he’s a sportsman. He lives in a 5 bed detached property set in 3 acres of land, which means nothing to me, but apparently 3 acres is about the size of 2 football pitches – it’s pretty big; certainly big enough for a helicopter landing pad, which he has because he also likes to fly. So, 5 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 WCs, a massive kitchen, a dining room, a lounge, a snooker room… and so on. There’s just so much to it. Granted not all of the bedrooms get regularly used, but he does have guests over from time to time, so they need attention as and when required. He also has someone else go in during the week who changes and cleans his bedding and does his washing and ironing, which leaves me free to concentrate on what I do best.
If I was the type to be enamoured by stardom I would be totally smitten by him. He is charming, handsome and as you might have gathered being a pro sportsman, he’s pretty fit, a bit like Jim. I am pleased to say that he’s not the type to let success go to his head, which is surprising given his working class roots. So often in those tittle tattle gossip mags or on the front pages of red headed tabloids, you read about people reaching the top of their game and then losing the plot, which is mostly because they’ve come from a background of poverty and failure, and not one that would have taught them how to deal with success and excessive financial rewards. That might not be true in all cases, but it certainly seems to hit the mark for most. No, Mr E has clearly had some good guidance along the way, and whilst it’s clear he has his vices, they’re not in control of him – at least not at the moment anyway.
I generally drive to his for a 10 o’clock start and most times he’s out doing his sport thing. Today is one of those days.
His kitchen always takes me a good hour to clean, sometimes more if the oven needs some love. Mr E’s house is one of where I bend my own rules a little because the flooring tends to need a lot of attention and takes a big chunk of time, so, after the kitchen I clean the WCs and the bathrooms then, and this is where I bend my rules, I do his floors before doing and wiping down and polishing.
After I’ve got the WCs and bathrooms looking so sparkling they could be adverts in a Bathstore catalogue, I make a start vacuuming. At Mr E’s I use his vacuum rather than carry my own from the car. He has a Bissell Powerglide ‘Lift Off’, which I have to say is a cracking machine. It sucks like Aurora Snow did in her glory days. One of the best features is the option to use the canister as a handheld vacuum come duster, so it saves me a lot of time and means I can vac the house and dust the furnishings at the same time. I’ve been vacuuming for over an hour when, through the window I glimpse Mr E’s Porshe coming up the gravel drive between the hedges on either side. I carry on working; if he wants to see me he’ll come and find me.
I’ve finished vacuuming, I’ve mopped all the laminate and tile floors accordingly, and I’ve started burnishing the floor with the small burnisher he has in the house. I’ve always loved burnishing, or buffing as it’s more colloquially known. There’s something about the gentle side to side action I find kind of meditative, almost therapeutic in fact, and on top of the effect it has on me, there’s the effect it has on the floor itself. When the work is complete you’ve effectively turned a floor from a dull matt finish, to a glossy shine.
I miss doing this.
When I used to work in the commercial sector, buffing was always my favourite activity. There’s a knack to handling the machine which is basically a handle, a motor on top of a fast spinning disc, and a pad held in place under the disc. It’s the pad that does the work on the floor. The knack is to learn to hold the handle at just the right angle so the disc and pad are completely flat on the floor; once you’ve cracked that it takes only minute action lifting and lowering the handle to move the machine right and left. Many inexperienced people positively fight with buffers, trying to force them to go where they want them to, but really, very little effort is needed. Having said that, sometimes they do ‘bite’ the floor and buck like an angry horse. Anyone who’s used one will know what I mean. I’ve always prided myself on my buffing ability, and the only chance I get to keep my hand in these days, is at Mr E’s.
It’s easier to buff a floor working backwards, well, I find it’s easier that way, but some like to go forward. Anyway, I’d buffed the laminate in the lounge and I was working my way backwards down the hallway.
It occurs to me that I can’t keep referring to Mr E as Mr E, so I’ll call him Ed for the sake of convenience.
His voice makes me jump. ‘Jesus Ed! I was miles away then.’ I release the power lever on the handle and the buffing disc comes to a stop.
‘Ha! I could tell,’ says Ed. ‘Why do you think I did it.’
‘You bugger,’ I say. My heart realises there’s no threat or danger and starts stepping down from red alert. ‘How’s it gone today?’
‘Excellent session,’ he says. ‘Coach was chuffed with me and says I should have some fun for the rest of the day.’ He’s wearing casual sports attire namely a branded tracksuit and trainers. He leans back against the wall looking relaxed and pleased with himself. His side parted, brown hair is a little matted with the tell tales signs of recent, sweaty activity, and I guess he hasn’t showered after training.
‘Cool. Have you got anything planned?’ I ask.
‘Nope. I was wondering, how are you getting on?’
‘Pretty good actually. The kitchen and bathrooms are done, including the second ensuite.’
‘Ah. I’m glad you spotted that. My parents stayed over for a few days the other week.’
We make small talk about the health of his parents, and it seems they’re doing well.
‘So,’ he says. ‘You’ve only got the buffing to do?’
‘Well, that and some damp dusting when I’ve finished.’
‘So,’ he tries again. ‘The bulk of the work is done?’
‘And what are you doing after you’ve finished here?’
He’s obviously fishing for something.
‘Going home,’ I say. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Have you got anything planned tonight?’
‘Jesus, what’s with the Spanish Inquisition?’ I ask laughing.
‘I was just wondering if you’d fancy a flight in the chopper?’
He’s never asked me before, and I feel my excitement brewing in my chest. The prospect of a helicopter flight is thrilling, in fact a helicopter ride has always been on my bucket list. Granted… my bucket list helicopter flight idea is more akin to being flown over the Grand Canyon, or over the Hawaiian Islands… something like that.
‘Ooh, I’d love to,’ I say. I know my eyes are shining with excitement. ‘A friend of mine took me up in a hot air balloon last year, which was one of my bucket list items, and ever since I’ve been mulling over the idea of just booking a helicopter flight at a place near Leeds Bradford airport, just to see what it’s like.’
‘Wonderful,’ he says. ‘Now you won’t need to. And seeing as you’ve nothing to do tonight, we’ll do dinner somewhere.’ He strokes his chin looking thoughtful and paces from side to side in the corridor.
I glance down at my cargo trousers and t-shirt. ‘I’m hardly dressed for dinner,’ I say.
He stops and looks me up and down. ‘You’re right, that won’t do for where I’ve got in mind, but don’t worry. You know the smallest bedroom next to bathroom in the corridor?’
‘Have a look in the wardrobe.’
He’s still looking me up and down, like he’s measuring me up. ‘I think you’re a similar size to my sister, Alice, and she’s left some clothes in there for when she visits. Go and see if there’s something you like that fits.’
‘Won’t she mind?’ I ask, somewhat inanely.
‘She won’t know,’ he says.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘You’d better not be thinking Italian then. I’m sloppy with spaghetti.’
He laughs. ‘Jean can always wash whatever you wear,’ he says, referring to his laundry lady. ‘Now, off you go. It’ll take me about an hour to get Nelly ready.’
‘Yes, Nelly the helicopter,’ he says and starts back down the corridor. ‘Now go… shower if you need to. You know where the towels are.’ With that he disappears through the door at the end of the corridor leaving me stood watching.
Right, I’d better get a wriggle on.
I leave the buffer where it is, reasoning that I can always put it away when we get back, but more so thinking that I’d better get a move on because a shower is a good idea considering I feel dirty from working. I run up the stairs and head towards the small bedroom. The word small is used loosely in this context because it’s only small relative to the other rooms.
I certainly wasn’t expecting this today!
Just shy of an hour and a half later and I’m heading back down the stairs wearing a knee length, black, pencil skirt, a red crossover top and some black, strappy, closed thong sandals. Thankfully Alice was the same shoe size as me and there were a few pairs to choose from. The sandals looked new so I picked those. I’d even been able to accessorise with a small black clutch bag.
I’d been particularly delighted to find some toiletries I could use including a new red lipstick, a packet of razors, shaving crème, and a couple of different deodorants and perfumes. I was especially glad of the razors because it had been a few days since I’d done my legs and I didn’t want my stubbly, stumpy pins showing. Alice had good taste in perfume too – I opted for Issey Miyaki.
‘Wow,’ says Ed following me down the stairs. ‘You look great.’
‘Where did you come from?’ I ask, ignoring his compliment and noticing that he too had changed clothes.
‘Once I’d got the checks done I came back in and heard you still in the shower, so I grabbed a quick one myself and got changed.’
He looked really cool sporting a pair of tight, black jeans and a white shirt with the top two buttons casually undone. ‘I see Alice’s clothes fit you well.’
‘They do, thanks,’ I say, giving him a coy twirl.
‘You look amazing,’ he says, brazenly looking me up and down again, this time a little more slowly.
I blush as his eyes meander north and south then paused in my chest area. The cross over top was quite short, and tied off at the waist revealing a bit of my belly fat. I’d spent a good while looking at myself from all angles in the mirror, before finally deciding I didn’t look ‘too’ fat in it. I didn’t fancy wearing my bra underneath as it was one of my old ones that I only wear for work – it’s comfortable, but not pretty, by which I mean it’s been was white originally, but having been washed so many times with a mix of my coloured clothes, it was now a crappy shade of grey. The last thing I wanted was that peaking out from behind the pretty, red top. Thankfully the top was doing a great job, so far, of holding my breasts in place, nevertheless, there was a good amount of my cleavage on show. Ed fails to hide the fact he’s noticed that.
That was my only shortcoming. Whilst Sarah had left some in the wardrobe, I didn’t feel comfortable wearing another woman’s knicks, so I kept my shabby work ones on. But it was playing on mind.
‘Right, where are we going?’ I ask.
Ed looks up from my cleavage.
‘Right, yes, come on then, let’s go,’ he says, setting off at a pace down the corridor.
His long legs and quick pace soon had him ahead of me and I struggled to keep up, the pencil skirt shortening the length of my gait enough to make it look like I was trying to run to keep up.
‘So where are we going?’ I call out from behind him.
‘Glasgow,’ he says.
He turns and stops in the doorway at the end of the hallway while I catch up. ‘Sorry, I’m marching ahead and leaving you behind. Yes Glasgow, well not actually Glasgow, but pretty close. There’s a lovely hotel on the banks of the Clyde with a helipad. They know me there.’
All of a sudden I feel really vulnerable.
‘I’ve just realised,’ I say. ‘I don’t have any money, and no one knows where I am if we have an accident, and there’s my mum, she’s ill at the moment.’
His eyes get serious looking and I can tell he’s weighing the situation up, weighing me up. ‘Look Carla, you don’t need money, this is my treat. And don’t worry, I’ll still be paying you for today. Do you want to ring someone and let them know where you’re going?’
‘I really ought to tell my brother, just in case.’
‘That’s fine,’ he says reaching in his pocket for his phone.
‘I’ve got mine I say,’ and pull it out of the hand bag.
We walk into the massive lounge and he parks himself in a chair while I ring Jamie. A few minutes later and I’m feeling better.
‘Jamie thinks I’ve gone nuts,’ I say.
‘I gathered,’ says Ed with a smile. ‘And so you have… swanning off in a chopper with a strange man to Glasgow for an evening meal. Who would have thought!’
We both laugh.
It does sound fucking crazy though… how the hell did I end up here!
‘Are you okay now?’ Ed asks. ‘Do you feel better?’
‘Yes, much better thanks.’
‘Good to go?’
‘Good to go.’
Apparently the hotel is just shy of 200 miles away and it’ll take about 2½ hrs in his ‘copter. Some can do it faster he’d said, but his is a mid range one. They all look the same to me, with the exception of those bloody big ones that they use for sea rescues or air ambulances.
The experience is better than I thought, and a hell of a lot noisier than I imagined, which scared me a little initially. When it took off I found myself gripping onto my seat until my fingers hurt, but after I got over my nerves and the noise, my heart rate settled back down and I was able to appreciate the experience.
About an hour and a half later we’ve flown over the outskirts of the Lake District and we’re crossing the Scottish Border. The views are absolutely amazing and whilst we can talk using the headphones and mics, we haven’t said a great deal, mostly because I don’t want to distract him. Every so often Ed points to something for me to look at, like the sun over the mountains and lakes, and I nod enthusiastically as I see what he sees. There’s always something new to notice, and I feel a little like a blind lass that’s suddenly been given the gift of sight.
I am so bloody lucky! Just how did I end up here!
It’s only at that point I wonder why Ed doesn’t seem to have a girlfriend.
Why is he bringing me, his scrubber, to this posh hotel?
Why isn’t he bringing a celeb girlfriend or someone like that?
I must ask him about that later!
Another question pops into my mind and this one can’t wait. Even though I don’t need to, I still find myself shouting into the mic. ‘Don’t we need to stop and refuel?’
‘Don’t worry Carla,’ says Ed. ‘Nelly can do about 300 miles on a full tank.’
‘Is there a fuel point at the hotel?’
He looks round and gives me a reassuring nod. ‘It’s all taken care of.’
‘I was hoping we’d need to stop,’ I say.
‘I need to pee.’
He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Didn’t you go before we left?’
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I had one while having a shower.’
He turns and looks at me aghast.
‘Of course I didn’t,’ I say laughing. ‘Jesus, I can see I’m gonna have fun winding you up tonight.’
He turns back to watching where we’re going.
‘But don’t tell me you’ve never done that,’ I say. ‘’Cause I won’t believe you.’
His tone says he’s jovially lying. ‘Never,’ he says. ‘Nope, not me.’
‘Yeah right,’ I say laughing.
Silence falls between us again, and I really do need to pee.
I decided to distract myself and fish my phone out of my bag. The indicator light is blinking away so I turn the phone on.
I was supposed to go round to meet him at 4pm and it’s gone 5pm now. I don’t generally book anything in on Saturdays, so when Ed had asked me to go with him my intro meeting with John didn’t even enter my head. John sent a text at 4.27 –
Hi Carla. Are you still coming round? Have you been held up in traffic?
I’d better text him back.
Hi John. I’m really sorry, something came up and I completely forgot. I can’t talk right now, is it ok to call you tomorrow and reschedule? J x
I put my phone on standby and keep it in my hand so I can feel it vibrate. There’s no way I’d hear it over the sound of the rotors. It vibrates within less than a minute.
Yes that’s fine. I hope everything is ok.
I message him back…
Everything is fine. Thanks for being so understanding x
Phew, that’s a relief.
I pop a reminder in my phone to ring John tomorrow.
Another hour or so later and I’m making my way as fast as I can into the hotel lobby with
Ed by my side.
‘Toilet!’ I say, my sense of urgency removing all politeness.
Ed points in the direction of the WCs and I hastily head over.
While I’m sat having the best, and quite possibly the loudest pee of my whole life, I notice the condition of my panties.
I look quite good, but they’re just so ugly.
They’re making me feel ugly.
On a rational level I know this is utterly unreasonable because it’s not like anyone can see them. At least fifty percent of the people we see tonight will be looking at my chest, the other fifty percent will probably just think I look like a slut.
Okay that does it, I’m going commando.
The best pee of my life has finally finished flowing so I wriggle my legs and let my pants drop to the floor, scooping them up after I’ve wiped my foo-foo. As I exit the cubicle I make for the marble surround sink units and try stuffing the pants in my clutch bag, but there’s no way my Bridget Jones knicks are going to fit in there alongside my phone and wallet. I’m busy trying cram them in when a poshly dressed lady walks through the door. She glances across, gives me a little not, and heads straight for a cubicle, closing the door behind her. I quickly wash my hands looking round for paper towels and a bin into which I can also leave behind my old knickers, but all I can see is one of those electric hand driers.
What kind of toilet doesn’t have a bin!
I quickly dry my hands and check my lip-stick in the mirror. Alice’s lip-stick is one of those really good ones good and I don’t even need to touch up. I grab my bag with one hand and my conceal my knicks in the other and make my escape before the posh lady comes out.
Ed is loitering in a corner of the lobby casually checking out some of the events literature displayed on a large, very solid looking mahogany table.
‘Can you hang onto these for me?’ I ask holding out my hand.
Involuntarily he reaches out for what I’m handing him and I drop my crushed up panties in his hand and close his fingers around them.
He opens his hand and gives me a questioning look. ‘Is that what I think it is?’
‘Shush,’ I say with a smile. ‘I’ve got no where else to put them,’ I say holding my hands up in a look-no-pockets guesture.
He laughs and says, ‘Well you could have just kept them on.’
‘They were ruining the way I feel about how I look.’
‘What?’ he says, shaking his head in confused disbelief. ‘That makes no sense.’ He quickly stuffs my pants into his jeans pocket before anyone sees. ‘Come on,’ he laughs. ‘Let’s go and eat.’
I can’t explain why, but knowing I’m not wearing my work panties makes me feel so much better, and knowing I’m not wearing any underwear at all makes me feel rampant like a rabbit on Viagra.
I was so preoccupied with needing to pee that I didn’t pay much attention to the hotel, both as we flew in or as I dashed through into the main entrance. Walking down to main hallway to the dining room we pass large period windows with beautiful expansive views of the grounds and surrounding countryside. On the opposite wall there hung what looks like a tapestry depicting a battle, which I guess is probably a famous Scottish one. The seats and tables look like an eclectic mix of restored antiques in various dark woods.
Ed was obviously expected as we are greeted at the door to the dining room by someone who looks like the maître d’ and he leads the way to our table. He pulls my chair out and slips it under me as I sit.
‘Back in a minute,’ says Ed. ‘I’m just going to the bar.’
‘I can fetch whatever you’d like,’ says the maître d’ looking a mixture of flustered and ‘put out’. His accent is pure Scotland but I couldn’t tell you which part it was from.
‘That’s okay thanks James,’ says Ed. ‘I’m glad to stretch my legs.’
First name terms with the staff – he must come here a lot.
‘As you wish sir,’ says James. ‘I’ll come back and take your order shortly.’
‘As you wish James,’ says Ed with a hint of mockery. James nods and gives Ed one of those reserved smiles that makes me wonder if he thinks Ed is really a bit of a dick.
‘I’ll be back in a minute Carla. Do you like red wine?’ He asks as he walks away to the bar.
‘Love it,’ I say nodding enthusiastically, and Ed saunters off in the direction of the bar.
Well Carla, just look at you!
I take a deep breath, settling myself into my setting. The dining room is magnificent and
unlike the main hall, all the furnishings match. The walls are decked with a mixture of ancient and modern art. I do like artwork and I decide I’m going to have a closer look later on. The room is well over half full with people at various stages of dining. I check out the women and I’m pleased that I don’t look underdressed. Whilst there are couples dressed in formal attire, there is also an equal mix of people dressed more casually.
I wonder how many of them are completely commando.
Actually you never know in a place like this – rich people are often the kinkiest. I notice a couple of women clearly not wearing bras which makes me look down and check myself out. I’m pleased to see the girls are behaving themselves and are still well contained within the top, which I adjust nevertheless, just to make sure there’s sufficient cleavage on show, but not so much that I look too slutty.
‘The waiter is corking the wine,’ says Ed returning. ‘He won’t be long.’ He sits down and for the first time today I see him start to relax. ‘What do you think?’ He asks, glancing round the room.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I say. ‘How often do you come here?’
‘Not often, once every month or two.’
‘Alone?’ I ask, wondering how many girls he’s used this place to impress.
‘Sometimes, but usually I have company. It’s a great place to entertain potential sponsors… you know what I mean?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I say, having no clue what he means. ‘So, Ed, why am I here?’ I ask, feeling brazen. It’s about time I found out what he’s after.
‘Are you hungry?’ He asks, sidestepping my question. ‘James will be back soon to take our orders. Let’s order and I’ll answer your question over dinner.’
I know full well that James won’t come back until Ed beckons him, but I accept his ploy and check out the menu.
‘By the way, order whatever you want,’ he says.
This is obviously Ed’s way of saying the price doesn’t matter and to be honest that’s good to know. You know what it’s like when a friend takes you out for dinner and says to order whatever you want – you don’t feel like you can go too high up the price ladder, but not too low either, so you opt for mid range. But Ed’s just flown me up here in his private helicopter, so I figure what-the-hell!
‘The salmon looks good,’ I say. I love salmon, and the menu says this is organic Shetland salmon.
‘Don’t you want a starter?’ he asks.
‘I’m hungry, but I don’t think I can eat both.’
‘You realise what type of restaurant this is don’t you? It’s one of those where you get a sliver of salmon, a few artfully placed asparagus stems and a drizzle of sauce. Trust me… you’ll want the starter too, especially as we’re drinking.’
I ponder his suggestion and then the menu. ‘Okay, I’ll have the scallops.’
‘Sounds good,’ he says. ‘I’ll have the scallops too but I feel the need for something meatier, so I’ll have the ribeye steak.’
The waiter appears and pours a tot of wine in the glass for Ed to sample, which he does with panache. He nods and the waiter half fills both our glasses.
‘I think you’ll find it to your palette madam,’ Ed says mockingly.
I pick up my glass, swish it round a little and sniff it as though I’m some kind of fine wine connoisseur. ‘Full bodied, fruity with a hint of tannins, and oaky with a smooth finish… Cabernet?’
He gives me a look of surprise. ‘I’m impressed. How did you become a wine buff?’
‘Oh, I’m not really,’ I say. ‘My brother used to belong some club or other and he taught me to pick out a few scents and flavours.’
Okay, time to turn my flirt on and see where the land lies.
‘But really,’ I say, carrying on my spiel and adding a little cheekiness to it. ‘I just figured you for a guy who likes a full body.’
For the first time today he laughs. ‘Well, I like yours Carla,’ he says, then he looks over at James and gives him a nod.
Ed leaves his comment hanging while James weaves his way through the tables to ours. ‘Are you ready to order sir?’
Ed orders our dinner and James tootles off leaving us to enjoy the wine. He returns with a small platter of assorted bread rolls and a dish of butter curls.
None of that butter sachet crap here.
We break a roll each, butter them and eat between mouthfuls of wine. Ed refills our glasses when he notices they’re both nearly empty.
‘Hey! It’s just dawned on me that you’re drinking,’ I say. ‘You’re not planning to fly that thing home pissed are you?’
I must have said that a little too loud because the couple at the next table look round, giving me one of those condescending looks you see posh people in movies dole out to the great unwashed. Ed gives me a little frown.
‘Sorry,’ I say a bit quieter. ‘But it’s just dawned on me.’
‘I’ve booked us a room…’ he says. I butt in before he can finish.
‘Well aren’t you Mr Presumptuous!’
‘Each!’ he says. ‘A room each.’
‘Oh. Sorry,’ I say, blushing and feeling a bit stupid.
‘But you’re right, it was presumptuous of me. I didn’t ask if you needed to be back because I just figured with it being Sunday tomorrow…’
A silence falls between us.
The cheeky bastard.
He breaks the silence. ‘Carla, in my game you learn a lot about psychology and how people tick. Let’s be honest here, I made you an offer to come here and you did. Girls don’t just fly off in helicopters with a guy unless they like the guy… or if they’re a bit nuts. You’re not nuts are you?’ He flashes me a rueful grin.
It’s a good job he’s hot!
But I’m not going to make it too easy for him…
‘Probably the latter,’ I say, and then a little louder, but this time on purpose. ‘But I’m not the one carrying a pair of panties in their pocket!’
This time he flushes and shakes his head.
Maybe I’ve gone too far.
But thankfully he throws his head back and laughs. ‘Touché,’ he says. ‘Tou-fucking-ché!’
The couple at the other table look over again, and we both stare back before breaking down in a fit of giggles.
‘I knew this was going to be fun,’ he says. ‘And I could do with some fun after all the seriousness of training and competing.’
‘It’s funny,’ I say. ‘I never really think of you that way – serious. But I guess it is really, especially if you want to stay on top of your game and at the top of the pile.’
‘You bet it is,’ he says.
At that point James returns carrying our starters. After he’s laid the plates Ed asks for another bottle of wine. ‘Is that okay with you?’ He says to me.
‘Yeah, I reckon so,’ I say returning his smile.
For the next hour or so we dine on the finest cuisine I reckon Scotland has to offer. The food is sumptuous and Ed was right about the portion size – a main course on its own wouldn’t have touched the sides. Our conversation flows and we talk about all sorts of subjects. The thing I liked the most was it wasn’t all about him. He asked me about how I got started working for myself and what I enjoyed about it. He was attentive and courteous and the more we talked the more we both relaxed – of course, the wine helped.
‘Dessert?’ He asks.
‘Nah, let’s go find somewhere to relax and sit and talk.’
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Let’s go.’ He stands up and waits for me to walk round the table to him. He makes a loop with his arm like my dad used to do when walking down the street with my mum, her arm hooked into his loop. I slip my arm through Ed’s and he leads us back to main hall then towards the lounge bar, where we find a leather sofa near the window. It’s quiet with only a few others dotted about, sat chatting.
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Bacardi and coke please, full fat.’
He laughs realising by full fat I really mean not diet coke. ‘Sounds good to me,’ he says. ‘Large?’
I can’t help admiring his shape as he leans over the bar. His muscles fill his shirt but not in a body builder way, more in an athletic way. His shoulders are broad and his back tapers down in a v-shape to his rather firm, denim covered buttocks. I get a sudden desire to spank his arse and squeeze his muscular cheeks.
He’s confident, charming and good company. It’s good that his success hasn’t gone to his head and made him into an egocentric dick.
‘Hey, I’ve just realised something…’ I say, as he places our drinks on the table and sits down next to me.
‘What’s that Carla?’
‘You never did tell me, why me?’
‘Why you what?’ He says. The look on his face tells me he’s teasing me.
‘You bloody well know what,’ I say. ‘Why me? Why ask me to come here? Surely you must have a posse of possible hot dates, all dying to spend time with you.’
His expression changes, his smile dissipating. ‘Actually, you’ve just summed it up nicely. Girls want to hang with me because I’m successful, not because they want to know me… to know the real me. Whereas you don’t seem to give a shit about all of that. You already know me pretty well. You know I play games consoles and I’m guessing you’ve checked out my bookshelves?’
I had. And yes I was surprised to see a varied mix of reading material – natural history books, philosophy and religious books, pop psychology, and Sydney Sheldon and Jilly Cooper novels. Sheldon and Cooper – what the fuck!
‘You’ve seen me come home both devastated and elated depending on how well I’ve done. You’ve seen how I live and just about everything about me, and you appear neither affected nor enamoured by any of it.’
‘Because I’m not.’
‘I know. And I love that about you. To you I’m just another customer, albeit probably your best paying one, but just another customer nevertheless.’
I shrug, nodding my head. He’s totally nailed it.
‘I can’t deny any of that. Don’t get me wrong,’ I say. ‘Initially I was enamoured with the idea of having a wealthy customer, but that soon wore off when I realised you were just an ordinary bloke, with an extraordinary lifestyle.’
He placed his hand on my bare thigh and sighed. ‘You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that. My life is filled with people who want something from me – agents, sponsors, fans, reporters and so on. You… you don’t want a damn thing from me other than to come to my place, do your job, get paid and then fuck off home. It’s just so refreshing.’
He leans back in the chair, his hand still on my thigh. It feels warm and I like it. He’s holding it firmly but sensitively. I place my hand over his and smile at him.
‘I wouldn’t want your lifestyle,’ I say. ‘All those demanding people. I like my lifestyle. There’s a freedom to it. I answer to know one but myself, and I make my own fun.’ I cock him a coy look and raise an eyebrow.
‘No pressure. No demands,’ he says.
‘No pressure. No demands,’ I echo back and I lean in and kiss him softly on the cheek. He shuffles round so he’s facing me and kisses me properly. His kiss is firm but tender and feels a little restrained. I run my hand up his chest between his open shirt, slipping it round his neck and behind his head. His lips immediately relax and his tongue gently pushes into my mouth. I reach for it with my mouth and suck his tongue as I pull away and sit back.
‘You’re good,’ he says.
‘Thanks,’ I say, ‘I practice on my pillow.’
We both laugh.
I notice him looking intently at my lips.
‘How the hell has that lipstick not smudged?’
‘You’ll have to ask Alice,’ I say.
‘Alice! My sister Alice?’
‘Yup, it was in the wardrobe and new, so I kind of borrowed slash stole it,’ I say making a slow slashing motion with my hand between borrowed and stole it.
‘I want to kiss you again, but not with that on your lips. Apart from the fact I don’t like the feel of it, you’ve just told me it’s my sisters, so now it feels weird.’
‘You weirdo,’ I say. ‘It’s just lipstick.’
‘I know, but really I don’t like the tacky feel of it.’
I look around for a napkin or something else to wipe it off.
‘Hang on, I’ve got hanky in my pocket,’ he says and fishes about in his jeans. He pulls out my panties and looks up at me with wide eyes.
‘Oops,’ he says.
We both laugh. He looks round like a little boy caught being naughty as he stuffs them back in his pocket.
‘You know I’m keeping them don’t you…’ he says. ‘As a memento.’
‘No you bloody well aren’t,’ I say. ‘They’re hideous.’
‘I bloody well am,’ he says with a cheeky grin. ‘Anyway, what are we going to do about that lipstick.’
‘We could always go up to your room,’ I suggest.
‘Actually I’ve got a confession to make.’ He looks down sheepishly.
‘Really…’ I say. ‘Let me guess… there is only one room.’
He looks up at me, like a cheeky little boy hoping for forgiveness.
‘Ha! I knew it. I was right, you are a presumptuous bastard,’ I say laughing.
‘Personally, I prefer confidant bastard,’ he says with a grin.
‘Bollocks,’ I say. ‘Presumptuous bastard it is. Okay, come on then.’
I stand up, grab my drink and tuck my bag under the same arm, and with my other hand I reach for him.
‘Take me to your room you presumptuous bastard. It’s time I showed you how I’d handle your chopper flight stick…’
Obviously when you’re self employed, you need new customers from time to time. At some point all of my customers were new, and as you may recall from my post Not About Oliver, I don’t engage in extra curricular activities with all of them. In fact I never start out with that as a priority because my first aim, as you might imagine, is to make a living. It’s a bit like Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, in that I can’t feel relaxed and have fun if I’m worried about whether or not I can pay the rent or the electric, and so on.
Income first and foremost.
I get a few new customers through personal recommendation, and I’ve had a couple through Richard in the past, although they’ve since moved on. The way I feel about Richard would make me feel funny taking new customers he’d recommended and having fun with them. I’m taking the fact that he hasn’t done that for a while to mean that he might not want to think of me having fun with anyone but him. I hope that’s what it means anyway.
Actually, thinking about it, I’m not sure what I’d do if he ever does tell me he likes me.
What would I say to my other customers, the ones I have fun with?
I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it… or should I say, if I come to it.
Richard’s not there yet so I guess I don’t need to concern myself about that at the moment.
I don’t have much work on a Wednesday so, prior to my mum becoming ill, I’d asked a few of my regulars if they knew anyone who wanted a cleaner. Up until the other day when my phone rang I hadn’t had any response.
‘Hello, Carla speaking.’
A pleasant sounding male voice answered. ‘Hi. I’m looking for a cleaner. Is this the right number?’ The voice sounded confident and also a little hesitant.
‘Yes, that’s right, how can I help?’
‘Well, my name is John,’ he said.
Like most people do, my mind started creating a picture of what he, John, might look like. I had an image of someone with a medium build, professional looking and probably quite smart.
‘I’ve got a small house on the outskirts of Leeds, in Bramley. Is that within your area?’
Hmmm, Bramley… it doesn’t have a great reputation.
Don’t pre-judge Carla!
‘It’s a little further than I normally travel to,’ I said. ‘But I’ll consider it. What are you looking for?’
‘Well, my girlfriend says my house is dirty and she doesn’t like coming round.’ He laughed and I found myself mirroring and laughing along with him. ‘She’s been asking around and got your number from somewhere.’
‘Do you know where from?’ I asked. I like to know if any of my adverts have worked, or if it’s a referral which might mean I’m wasting my money on adverts.
‘I don’t I’m afraid, but I can ask her. She just said she’d asked around and been told you were good.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Not to worry.’
‘So, I’m looking for someone to come round for a couple of hours once every couple of weeks and make the place look respectable. Then maybe my girlfriend will spend more time here.’
It’s nice that he’s making an effort.
‘Okay. I can probably fit you in on Wednesdays if that works for you?’
‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ he said. ‘What time?’
I see Dave and Pete alternate Wednesday mornings, so I quickly calculate how long it will take me to get from both Dave’s and Pete’s to Bramley.
‘Well, I can make it anytime from twelve if we started next Wednesday, or anytime after one if it was the week after.’
‘So about the middle of the day,’ he said. ‘Either of those work for me, but I might be out at work some weeks.’
‘So you’d want me to be a key holder,’ I say. I’ve done this so often that my patter flows naturally. ‘In which case I’d like to come and meet you because I know it must feel funny handing a key to your house over to someone you don’t know. It’s hard to get a proper feel for someone over a phone call, so I always like to meet people beforehand so they can get a feel for me and me for them.’
He was sounding more relaxed now. ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ he said. ‘When can you swing by?’
‘I’m out and about late Saturday afternoon. Are you are around?’
‘Saturdays are one of my busiest days, but I can make time,’ he said.
‘Cool. How does around four o’clock sound?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said John.
‘Cool. All I need now is your address…’
John gave me his address and I popped all the details into the calendar app on my phone.
And there you have it. My professional side in action.
However, before I can tell you how my first meeting with John went, I need to tell you about Mr E!
I appreciate this is a bit of a cliffhanger. If you’d like the Mr E post sooner than my regular Wednesday posting, let me know via my pinned Tweet on Twitter.
If you read my first post about Saff & Lilly you’ll recall they are in a lady marriage. They are totally adorable and their terraced house decor is a testament to the strength of their love and relationship. It’s in the northern suburbs of Leeds in an area considered to be quite affluent. They’re both degree educated and have jobs fitting their education level giving them a relatively large amount of disposable income. Saffy once said I was a nice ‘treat’ to have, meaning they enjoyed being in a position to be able to afford a cleaning service.
I’m not sure whether it’s despite of, or because of the strength of their love for each other, nevertheless they ‘play’, always together, with other girls. I guess you’d call them female swingers. And they’re often quite flirty with me. Today was no exception, and given my recent experience with Kat I was feeling playful too.
‘Hi Carla, how are you doing?’
I was concentrating on buffing up the chrome Victorian style double tap and shower fittings on the side of the bath. I was so engrossed I hadn’t heard the ninja footed Lilly climbing the stairs, and I started when she spoke. ‘Oh god,’ I say. ‘You made me jump.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ she says so seriously and sincerely that I immediately feel bad for making her feel bad. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘It’s okay, I didn’t hear you coming up the stairs. What are you…some kind of ninja?’ I look at her feet and see she’s probably slipped her trainers off at the door. They have an office extension at the back of their house. In essence it’s a small wooden summer house adjoining the kitchen that they’ve converted into a workspace with two desks and computers etcetera – they both regularly work from home.
Lilly laughs, looking down at her rather dainty, sock clad feet. ‘Maybe I should have called up first.’ Whereas Saffy has long, wavy blonde hair, Lilly has a short brown bob. She has a cute face that often makes me think of a dormouse.
‘You want to use the bathroom don’t you?’ I say with a grin.
‘Yes please,’ she says, making a show of crossing her legs as though desperate to pee.
‘Okay, I’ll get out of your way.’
‘There’s no need,’ she says striding over to the WC. Before I have chance to do anything she’s lifted the lid up and hitched her tracksuit bottoms down, taking her panties with them. She’s about to sit down…
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘You need to flush it first. There’s bleach in there and you don’t want to…splash your lettuce.’
‘Splash my lettuce!’ She repeats, laughing uncontrollably. ‘Oh Carla, you’re so funny.’ She reaches behind her and flushes the toilet.
I don’t know where to put myself. She just stands facing me wearing a tight t-shirt and a big grin with her pants round her ankles.
She’s got great legs, I find myself thinking. They’re slim, but with defined curves from her sporty lifestyle. I’d guess she’s a size 10 top and bottom, but she’ll be at the top end of the size 10 scale so that often she’ll have to buy size 12s. And she’s got a kebab. Some of us ladies have what looks like a sliced burger bun, but Lilly is more like me…her foo-foo looks more like a kebab.
There’s that ruddy foo-foo again. Where the hell have I got that from!
I stare absently at her hairless pubic area. No Brazilians here, I think, my mind harking back to Kat’s neat and tidy little line of pubic hair. I’m comparing her labia with mine, which as I say is very much like mine. It protrudes and looks, for the want of a better word, meaty. I t suddenly dawns on me that I’m staring, and I feel like I’ve been staring at Lilly’s lady bits for an uncomfortably long time. Lilly doesn’t seem to have noticed and hastily I turn back to buffing the taps to a shine.
‘How’s your mum doing?’ Asks Lilly sitting herself down now the loo has finished
‘Much better, thank you,’ I say, not turning round.
I hear a hissing, splashing sound behind me accompanied by a sigh of relief from Lilly. ‘I needed that,’ she says. ‘Having said that, I’m only going to top it up again with another coffee. Have you made yourself a drink yet Carla?’
‘No, not yet,’ I say. ‘I like to get cracked on with the job.’
‘I’ll be making one when I go back downstairs. Do you want one?’
‘I’d love a coffee, thanks.’
It sounds like she’s peeing for England.
That’s something I’ve never understood. Golden showers. How can you be turned on watching someone pee? Or even worse, turned on by being pissed on. I don’t get it. I have to say I’ve never tried it, nor do I particularly care to either. Nevertheless I do tend to fall into the ‘never say never’ category of people who will try anything once, just to see if I do actually like it. I also feel can’t really judge something, unless I’ve at least given it a go.
I hear Lilly rip some toilet paper off the roll followed by the sound of her wiping herself, and finally her pulling her tracksuit bottoms back up.
‘Those must be the shiniest taps in the whole of Leeds,’ says Lilly, flushing the loo again. I know she’s being a cheeky bugger, and referring to me not being distracted from buffing the taps the whole time she was peeing.
‘Well, what did you expect me to do?’ I say, feeling a little exasperated.
‘You could have just sat on the bath side and talked to me,’ she says.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m just not used to… this.’ I don’t know how to refer to what’s just happened.
‘It was just a wee,’ she says. ‘You surprise me Carla, I didn’t think you were so… old fashioned.’
‘Old fashioned,’ I say.
I actually consider myself to be quite liberated, but I guess we all have things we feel more reserved about, probably because of our upbringing or other early experiences. I feel a little affronted about being called old fashioned. ‘Old fashioned,’ I find myself repeating.
Lilly smiles. ‘I’m not trying to be insulting, sorry if it came out that way. I just mean I didn’t think something like that would bother you. I’ve always had you pegged as being quite liberal. Coffee?’
‘Yes please. And I think I am quite liberal. Only last week I posed as a life model for one of my customers.’
‘Really?’ She says, sounding incredulous.
‘Really,’ I say.
‘Ooh, what was it like?’ Her face has taken on that look office gossips have when they’re sharing the latest scandals. ‘Wait. Tell me over coffee. Come on…’
‘I’ll just finish up in here,’ I say.
‘Those damn taps are shiny enough. Come on.’ Lilly can be quite assertive when she wants to be… well, she’s not the only one.
‘I’ve got the sink to finish yet. I’ll do that while the kettle is boiling.’
Lilly concedes. ‘Okay, but don’t for a minute think I’m letting this go.’
‘I’m sure you won’t,’ I say with a laugh.
Five minutes later I walk into the kitchen, my nose reaching out for the smell of coffee, but to no avail. Saff and Lilly are great and they have quite cosmopolitan tastes when it comes to food and drink. They once gave me a bacon and avocado sandwich, which was something I would never have made myself, nevertheless it was really good. But with that in mind it surprises me that they drink instant coffee – at least it’s Douwe Egberts and not that Nescafé crap.
They’ve lived here for a little over a year and have been gradually doing the place up. I’ve really enjoyed watching the changes as they’ve put their own stamp on it. Originally it would have been a two up, two down but some previous owners extended the kitchen, built the summerhouse at the back that I mentioned earlier, and extended upwards building a room into the attic space. The kitchen is one of the last rooms on their to-do list and I can understand why. It’s painted white, with white cupboards and surfaces, which, aside from a few wear and tear knocks are in pretty good condition. The floor is made up of white ceramic tiles, some of which are cracked but not chipped- at least they’re okay underfoot.
‘Here you go,’ says Lilly handing me a mug of coffee. ‘Have a seat in the lounge.’
I’m on my way through the dining room when I hear Lilly calling out the back door. ‘Saff! Coffee’s ready.’ She holds the door for Saffy. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Carla’s got something juicy to tell us.’
‘Really?’ says Saffy, her voice trilling with an air of excitement. ‘How juicy?’
‘Grab your coffee and let’s go and find out,’ she says, and they both follow me through.
It’s obvious they like Ikea as all their furnishings and décor look like they’re fresh out of a catalogue. I opt for the arm chair with the back to the front bay windows, and they take to the sofa which is sideways to me.
‘Go on,’ says Lilly. ‘Let’s hear it.’
I open my mouth to talk…
‘She’s been posing as a life model,’ says Lilly.
‘Ooh,’ says Saffy. ‘Do tell.’
I start laughing. ‘I will, if you let me,’ I say.
‘Sorry,’ they both chime.
‘Go on,’ says Lilly. ‘I’ll shut up now.’
‘There’s not really that much to tell,’ I say, wondering just how much I should say about my experience with Kat. They’re only into same sex love so I don’t know whether or not I should be telling them about the bloke with the big cock, and even more so what I imagined doing to him.
‘Hey,’ says Saffy. ‘I was lured here on the promise of something juicy.’
‘Okay, okay,’ I say.
Right, if that’s what they want… juicy it is then.
‘I don’t know if I’ve mentioned her before but I clean for a lady called Kat, who is also a bit of an artist in her spare time.’
‘What’s she like?’ asked Saffy, and almost simultaneously Lilly asked,
‘Is she any good?’
‘Easy ladies, one at a time please. Saffy,’ I say. ‘Kat, is, stunning.’ I slowly emphasise each word to stress just how stunning Kat is. ‘She’s a slim size 8, soaking wet, but she’s curvy, in an athletic kind of way, a bit like you Lilly.’ I immediately realise my faux pas and I my face reddens.
‘How do you know Lilly has athletic curves?’ asks Saffy.
‘We shared a moment in the loo,’ Lilly says nonchalantly.
‘Did you piss in front of Carla?’ says Saffy. She looks directly at me. ‘Did she piss in front of you Carla?’
I don’t know where to put myself.
‘She’s such a filthy bitch,’ says Saffy laughing.
‘Yes I did,’ says Lilly. ‘Now, can we move on?’
‘Don’t worry Carla, she does it all the time.’
I let out a little sigh of relief.
‘That didn’t stop our Carla from checking out my muff,’ says Lilly, totally catching me off guard.
‘I did not,’ I say, hoping I sound convincing.
‘Don’t think I didn’t notice dear,’ Lilly continues. ‘I saw you out of the corner of my eye. You had a right good gander at my squish mitten.’
Squish mitten! I’m not sure which is worse, that or foo-foo.
I’m sat aghast with my mouth open. My mum would have told me to close it or I’d catch flies.
‘You took me totally by surprise,’ I say. ‘And I did offer to leave but you’d dropped your knickers before I had chance to turn, let alone get out of the door.’
‘Oh Carla,’ say Saffy. ‘This is what I have to put up with all the time. She’s such a bloody exhibitionist. That’s why she was excited when you mentioned being a life model.’
I take this opportunity to get back to my story. ‘So, back to Kat.’
‘Oh yes,’ says Saffy. ‘You were telling us what she’s like. We’d got to curvy and athletic. Now, do go on…’
‘As I say, slim size 8, and she’s got the most awesome breasts I’ve ever seen. To be honest I’m really envious of her body.’
‘It sounds like it,’ say Saffy. ‘But honey, you’ve got a lovely figure.’
‘Thank you,’ I say somewhat abruptly, trying not to get thrown off track again. ‘Well, the other day she’d only just got out of the bath as I arrived and she wore a bathrobe the whole time. Talk about if you’ve got it, flaunt it! Lilly, you asked if she was good, at art. She is,’ I say. ‘But I didn’t know that until the other day. She has a studio in her attic room and I’d only ever been up there once, just briefly when I first met her. She’s always told me to leave that room for her to take care of. I certainly didn’t know she only did life models, nudes…’
I carried on with the story, telling them how Kat’s model had let her down, and how I’d come to be naked on her sofa in the studio, posing while Kat sketched me.
‘It’s like Titanic,’ says Saffy dreamily.
‘That’s what I thought too,’ I say with a laugh.
‘I bet it’s a great feeling, having someone capture you in art form,’ says Lilly.
‘I have to admit, that was one of the things that made me want to do it.’
‘I’d love to pose for her,’ says Lilly somewhat wistfully. Saffy purses her lips and gives Lilly a look and a tut.
‘What?’ says Lilly.
‘As if we couldn’t see that coming,’ says Saffy. ‘Anyway Carla, what poses did you strike?’
Should I tell them the truth, or not?
Lilly did call me old fashioned!
Right, the truth it is then.
‘Well,’ I say, and I tell them how I started off by sitting on the sofa staring at the picture of Richard. (If you read that episode you’ll know that’s not my Richard. It’s a different Richard that Kat knows.) I add that I was quite mesmerised by the size of his Subway.
‘Well it wasn’t far off being a foot long,’ I say with a laugh.
‘Get away,’ says Lilly. ‘It can’t have been that big.’
Saffy turns on her again. ‘Know a lot about men’s knobs do you?’ She challenges.
‘Only what I’ve read sweetie,’ she says. ‘And they say the average is five to six inches, erect.’
‘Oh, they do do they!’
Lilly turns to me. ‘Just ignore her Carla, she’s on the blob.’
‘LILLY!’ Saffy screams. ‘Carla doesn’t need to know that.’
I’m helpless with laughter. These two are just so funny together. Saff and Lilly are soon laughing with me.
After we’d calmed down Lilly presses me further. ‘So, is that the extent of your saucy tale?’ The disappointment badly hidden in her voice.
‘Not at all,’ I say. ‘That was just the intro.’
And so I tell them about the gin and getting carried away with my posing.
‘Oh my god,’ says Saffy. ‘Wasn’t that embarrassing?’
‘I guess it would have been if I hadn’t had the gin.’
‘What happened after that?’
I go on to tell them about Kat dropping her robe, joining me on the sofa, and about our shared kiss.
‘Who’s old fashioned now?’ I say smugly giving Lilly a hard but jovial stare.
‘Carla, now you have surprised me,’ she says. ‘I always had you pegged as a pure sausage muncher, and despite you checking me out earlier,’ she says with a cheeky wink. ‘I still wouldn’t have said you’d ever munch rug.’
‘Hey, hang on… I haven’t munched any rugs just yet,’ I say, giggling inside about Lilly’s choice of expressions.
‘Maybe not, but you’d like to, wouldn’t you!’ she says defiantly. ‘You’ve been thinking about it haven’t you? Imagining what it would be like to get down and dirty with Kat… Go on, tell me you haven’t…’
She’s a bugger.
I grit my teeth. ‘Yes. Yes, I have been thinking about it.’
‘I bloody well knew it,’ says Lilly, unabashed in her smugness.
Saffy has been quiet for a while, sat quietly, listening and watching – taking everything in.
‘Go easy Lilly love, it’s not an interrogation. We’re here for a bit of juice, and I gather because Carla wants to prove she’s not old fashioned. Is that right?’
Lilly visibly softens, which makes me relax too. ‘Sorry Carla,’ she says. ‘I can be a bit like a terrier once I’ve sunk my teeth into something. Saff’s right. And as I say, you have surprised me. Okay, I take back the old fashioned comment.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, pleased we’re all smiling again.
‘Erm, hang on a minute,’ says Saffy. ‘At the moment, all we’ve got is a story from Carla, all in her own words. We don’t have any actual proof this happened. She could have made it all up to get us to think she’s not an old fashioned prude.
Oh Jesus, if only they knew. If only they’d seen me sucking Jim’s huge cock the other day while he devoured me. And that’s nothing compared to what else I’ve done.
‘Well, I can’t exactly bring you proof,’ I say. ‘At least, not yet. I might be able to when she’s finished doing me.’
‘You know what I mean… when she’s finished painting me.’
‘Okay, but in the meantime we’re going to need some proof.’
I can see where this is going. Saff wants to play.
Okay, let’s play.
I aim for innocent. ‘What did you have in mind?’ I ask sweetly.
‘Well, you were staring at Lilly’s muff earlier,’ says Saffy. ‘Tell us, what you thought.’
‘Oh nice one Saff,’ says Lilly. ‘Yes Carla, what did you think of my muff?’
‘I didn’t exactly see a lot. You were stood up at the time.’
‘Lilly darling,’ says Saffy.
‘Would you drop your trackies and pants and show Carla your goods please, so she can get a better look.’
Lilly needed no encouragement, which given her earlier willingness to drop her knickers, comes as no surprise. She promptly stands up, hitches her thumbs into her waistline and before you can say spank my arse and ride me like a pony, she’s naked from the waist down.
‘Now,’ says Saffy. ‘Sit back down, but this time please open your legs.’
Lilly does as she is told, which I find a little surprising.
Who wears the damn trousers in this relationship? Clearly not Lilly.
‘Right Carla, what do you think?’
I feel at a bit of a loss.
‘What do you mean? Am I supposed to be grading it in some way…? Where one is as tight as a mouse’s ear hole and ten is jeez, what’s that echo, echo, echo.’
Saffy laughs. ‘No, of course not. Just tell me what you notice about it.’
I look at Lilly and she gestures me to look between her thighs. ‘Go on,’ she says. She slides her hand between her legs and parts her labia giving me a closer look at her.
‘To be honest, it looks a lot like mine.’
‘Yes. I’ve got big…big labia.’
‘Oh, I like the sound of that,’ says Saffy. ‘I love Lilly’s lips. They’re so juicy and suckable. Can we see yours? Just to make a comparison.’
‘What? That wasn’t part of the deal.’
‘There wasn’t a deal,’ she says. ‘But it is only fair. You’ve seen Lilly’s and so now it’s time to reciprocate.’
‘Or are you too old fashioned?’ Lilly’s goading me, and damn it, it’s working.
I stand up and unbutton my loose fitting, cargo trousers. They fall easily around my ankles.
‘Nice pants,’ says Lilly looking at my white cotton knickers and flashing a big grin.
‘Look! I don’t always wear sexy pants for work, especially when I’m not expecting anyone to see them. I certainly wasn’t expecting any action today.’
‘Well, you’ve got it.’
What the fuck am I doing?
Ah well, in for a penny…
I hitch my thumbs into the sides and push my pants down, stepping out of them and my cargo trousers.
I’m so glad I showered this morning.
‘Now spread ‘em,’ says Saffy.
Clearly she is the one who wears the trousers.
I sit and lean back in my chair, opening my legs and resting one on each arm.
‘I see what you mean,’ says Saffy, looking back and forth between me and Lilly, comparing our foo-foos. ‘You do look very similar. Very suckable.’
Lilly jumps up. ‘I’ve got an idea. Hang on a minute,’ she says and dashes out of the room. Suddenly I feel self conscious being the only naked one in the room and I close my legs and sit up in the chair. Saff looks over raising an eyebrow. We can hear Lilly running upstairs and crossing the floor above into their bedroom.
‘I don’t know what she’s got in mind,’ she says. ‘But I’m willing to bet it’s naughty. Don’t get dressed just yet.’
‘What’s she doing?’
‘I have no idea.’
We hear drawers being opened and closed, then footsteps crossing the floor and running back downstairs. She runs in holding a small tube of something in one hand and what looks like a blindfold in the other. Sporting a massive grin she tosses the tube over to me.
‘Strawberry lube?’ I say.
‘Rub some into your skin, into your pubic area above your clit, and into your pussy,’ she says.
Saff grins. ‘I think I know what’s coming,’ she says.
‘Hopefully me and Carla will be soon,’ says Lilly. ‘Here, put this on, and no cheating,’ she says, handing Saff the blindfold.
While Saffy dons the blindfold I pop the tube lid, dollop some of the lube onto my fingers and do as I was told. Lilly holds her hand out and I toss her the lube. She does the same as me, rubbing some of the lube into her own pubic area.
‘Okay Saff, we’re going to play blind man’s muff. Get on your knees facing away from the sofa please,’ says Lilly.
Saffy duly does as she was told.
‘When you hear us sit back down, count to ten, then you can turn round, okay?’
‘Got it,’ says Saffy.
With her fingers to her lips in a ‘shush’ gesture, Lilly beckons me over to her. She takes my hands and drags me into a ring-a-ring-a-roses style dance. We dance around in a circle a few times then she pushes me onto the sofa and sits down right next to me.
‘One, two…’ Saffy begins counting.
Lilly indicates to open my legs and she does the same. We’re so close our nearest legs cross over each others and interlock. She grabs my hand and looks at me like a naughty school girl.
I can totally see what Saffy sees in Lilly.
Lilly’s face is full of mischief and glee and she clearly can’t wait for what’s coming next.
Well, this is a new take on an old game. Blind man’s muff. The thought makes my inner child snigger.
‘Seven eight nine ten,’ says Saffy rushing through the last few numbers, clearly eager to start the game. ‘Coming, ready or not.’ And we are ready, Lilly and I both sat facing her, each of us with our legs akimbo, waiting to see if Saffy can tell the difference between mine and Lilly’s luscious labia.
Saffy, turns 180 degrees and reaches out in front of her, trying to get her bearings. When she touches my leg she shuffles herself so she’s knelt between my legs. She purposefully doesn’t grasp my legs, which would immediately tell her they were mine as I’m a little bigger than Lilly. Instead she gently runs her finger tips up the inside of my legs until she reaches my sensitive, fleshy inner thighs. Her touch makes me tingle and a wonderful feeling of arousal builds in my groin. I’m about to moan when Lilly’s free hand covers my mouth. I face her and she shakes her head. I nod my understanding and bite my bottom lip to hold my voice back.
Saffy moves her fingers towards my inner sanctum and traces the tips, slowly, up and down my outer labia. It’s utterly thrilling and makes me shiver as my juices start to flow. She reaches her head forward and goes straight for the money shot, running her tongue between my wet lips. ‘Mmm,’ she says. ‘It’s very wet.’
I bite my lip harder and Lilly squeezes my hand. She looks so excited, like a kid at Christmas. Saffy takes one of my wet lips into her mouth and sucks on it. It’s so agonisingly stimulating that I almost cry out. Lilly shakes her head vigorously. Saffy does the same again on the other side and my buttock muscles twitch and shudder, thrusting my hips towards her tongue. Her tongue runs little rings around my clitoral hood, avoiding the sweet spot, teasing me. She does this for what seems like an eon.
Oh, my, fucking, god!
Saffys voice is muffled, literally, as she pushes her tongue onto my excited little bud. ‘I think I can make someone scream and give me a clue as to who’s who.’
I throw my head violently back over the sofa and Lilly’s hand appears over my mouth again; she’s shaking her head and mouthing ‘no’. Her nails dig into my hand.
This is so fucking erotic.
I’ve never had my pussy eaten by another woman before, and it’s absolutely exquisite. I’ve heard other women say that only a woman knows how really pleasure a woman, and I totally get it. There’s a sensitivity to it that men just don’t have. As much as I love a man pleasuring me, this is different. It’s softer, gentler and more knowing – knowing that can only come from the personal experience of owning a clitoris, and being aware of how to light the blue touch-paper and set the fireworks off.
Maybe it was the build up and set-up – talking about my experience with Kat.
Maybe it’s because both Saff and Lilly are as hot as jalapenos.
Maybe it’s Saffy’s tantalising tongue technique.
Maybe it’s because I’m just horny all the time.
Maybe it’s a little of all of those, but whatever it is, it’s bloody well working, and Saff’s tongue is raising a show stopping orgasm deep inside me.
I want to wrap my legs around Saffy and pull her as far into me as I can. My free hand reaches for the sofa arm and grips it, holding on for dear life as Saff teases and tickles my throbbing clit with her tongue. I’m writhing and thrashing around like a net of fish dropped on a trawler deck.
Saffy knows she’s got me right where she wants me and she clearly decides it’s time to finish me off. She runs a finger between my wet folds and it slips into me with ease.
OH, MY, FUCKING GOD!
She pushes it against the front wall of my quivering quim straight onto my g-spot. She begins rubbing, synchronising it with tongue strokes and flicks over my clit. I’m biting so hard on my lip I can taste blood.
Then I explode.
It’s like the New Years Eve fireworks going off over the Millennium Wheel. I’m dizzy with pleasure and with having to hold back my voice I feel like my head is going to burst. I feel Saff pull back but my free leg wraps round her back and stops her getting away.
Oh, my god!
My orgasm is all over in under a minute, but it feels like much longer, and I collapse into the sofa, an exhausted wreck, releasing Saffy leaving her now free to move.
‘Well that was wonderful,’ she says. ‘Next!’ And she shuffles along on her knees using her finger tips to find Lilly’s legs. Having experienced what Saffy did to me, I now get to watch as she does the same to Lilly.
Lilly is already biting her lip and still firmly holding my hand. I give her a squeeze and she looks round at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with a bigger smile in my whole life; it seems to divide her face in two halves. Her eyes are lit up with anticipation and excitement. She’s nodding but I can’t tell whether it’s a voluntary action or not. I take deep breaths, still recovering from the thrilling I’ve just received, and I’m beginning to get how Lilly felt watching me. I’ve never seen another woman pleasured before; the idea of what I’m about to watch is intoxicating. I catch myself grinning at Lilly, much like she did at me. Saffy begins her finger tracing up Lilly’s thighs.
Here we go!
I have to concede that Lilly’s idea of using the strawberry lube to mask our natural scents was genius, although I strongly suspect Saffy will be able to determine who is who by the way each of use tastes. But to be totally fair she is playing her part in our version of blind man’s muff brilliantly. However we should really call this blind woman’s muff and sell the idea.
I bet someone has already thought of it!
Lilly’s reaction to having Saffy pleasuring her is the same as mine was and she throws her had back over the sofa. She looks like she’s wimpering with delight but holding the sound in.
Saffy is licking round Lilly’s outer labia, leaving little traces of saliva behind. ‘Hmm,’ she says. ‘This one is a little stubblier than the first.’
I had only Veeted mine the other day so it was still really smooth, Lilly’s last grooming must have been a couple of days before mine.
I’m totally captivated watching Saffy tongue Lilly’s clitoral hood and seeing the effect it has on Lilly. Lilly’s leg, the one interlocked with mine starts shaking in eagerness as she probably realises Saffy is about to go for her clit.
I’ve got to get involved!
The urge hits me that I want to be a part of Lilly’s pleasure and I release my interlocked leg. Lilly looks round questioningly only to see me coming straight for her mouth. I kiss her deeply, teasing my tongue gently into her mouth and reach for hers. Her surprise quickly subsides, her tongue finding mine as she relaxes into the kiss. It was like kissing Kat only Lilly’s is looser and more heated, probably because Saffy is firing her pleasure furnace up. Lilly grasps the back of my head, holding us close, using our kiss as a means of releasing her sexual tension.
Saffy’s muffled voice says. ‘This one is wet too, and much more wriggly.’
I move so I am on my knees by Lilly’s side and I slip a hand over her body reaching for her breasts. She releases me so I can get to her more easily, and I take her clothed breast in my hand and squeeze, searching for her nipple. She reaches back and pushes her
upper body forward and I know what she wants me to do. I grab the bottom of her t-shirt and lift catching her sports bra with my fingers until they’re both at the top of her shoulders, the she drops back raising her arms and I lift them both clean off her. Without hesitation she pulls my head towards her breasts, barely giving me time to admire them. They’re smaller than mine, I’d guess a b-cup and they’re capped with protruding nipples with small areolas. With one in my mouth and one in my hand I suck, squeeze, tease, bite and lick.
I feel Lilly’s teeth press into my shoulder as she struggles to keep silent. While I am pleasuring Lilly’s breasts I glance between her legs and see Saffy is doing her press and flick thing on Lilly’s clit. I guess it won’t be long before Lilly reaches her point of no return and I was right. Lilly starts thrashing against Saffy and me as her orgasm tears through her body, setting her muscles into spasm which is made worse by having to be silent. Lilly is clearly a screamer, normally.
Simultaneously Saffy and I kneel back and Lilly collapses back into the sofa, exhausted.
‘Well ladies, I’m guessing you both enjoyed that,’ says Saffy, to which Lilly and I both chime back enthusiastic responses.
‘So, who was who?’ she muses keeping the blindfold on. ‘I have to admit, the strawberry lube was a great mask, I couldn’t really taste much difference between either of you.
‘Both of your labia felt the same in my mouth. I was really hoping one of you bitches would moan and give the game away. You both wriggled a lot, but I must admit, the way the second one thrashed about though… Lilly’s not normally like that so that might have been Carla. Or could that have been a bluff? ‘
Lilly and I glance at each other grinning while Saffy tries to work out which of us was which.
‘Nope,’ says Saffy. ‘I’m going to say the second one was Carla.’
‘Ha! Take the blindfold off,’ shouts Lilly, triumphantly.
Saffy removes the blindfold, blinking as her eyes adjust to the light. Her mouth drops as she realises she’d got it wrong.’
‘Hang on… you’re naked,’ says Saffy looking at Lilly. ‘You weren’t naked when we started.’
‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ I say. ‘That’s my fault. I couldn’t help myself and got carried away. I got the urge to get involved.’
‘And I’m fucking glad you did,’ says Lilly. ‘Jesus that was intense, having my honey sucking my clit while you sucked my nips Carla. And that’s why I couldn’t keep still,’ she says looking at Saffy.
Saffy laughs. ‘Well, I think that qualifies as cheating.’ Saff gets to her feet. ‘There’s only one thing for it,’ she says. ‘My turn.’
Saffy strips naked, grabs a cushion and throw from the sofa, lays them on the floor and lays herself on top of them.
Lilly and I exchange glances.
‘Top or bottom?’ Asked Lilly.
‘Bottom,’ I say. ‘I feel the need to reciprocate.’
‘Actually, I don’t think that’s fair Carla. As I’ve said, Saff is on the blob.’
‘For fucks sake Lilly,’ say Saff, her voice stern. ‘For your information I finished yesterday…’
‘Really?’ asks Lilly. ‘Well that’s worked out wonderfully then, and Carla gets to munch her first rug.’
We all laugh at Lilly’s daftness, nevertheless, she is right.
‘Before you start,’ says Saffy looking at me. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘What about?’ I ask.
‘I think it would be fun to meet Kat, and maybe have her paint Lilly and me. Do you think Kat would do us?’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I think Kat would be more than happy to do you both.’
I’ve been to Steve’s a couple of times since I had a meltdown in front of him about my mum, but each time he’s been out, presumably at work.
The worst thing about my line of work is the loneliness.
That may seem strange given the tales of some of my exploits, but they’re not exactly daily occurrences. Before I became fully self-employed I always worked in environments with lots of people, whereas now, I spend many of my working days not communicating with a soul. For someone like me who enjoys socialising, it can be challenging and frustrating at times. Having all my kinky friends on Twitter helps…a lot! It helps to have a radio on while I work, and I always have one with me. My radio can take a micro-SD card and I filled one with my favourite tunes and used to listen to it while I worked, which was great for a while. However, the radio feels more… interactive, and I find myself getting cognitively involved with the DJ’s chatter.
Anyway I’m rambling, although having said that, writing is cognitively stimulating too. It helps me organise my thoughts which has been especially useful during the painful period dealing with my mum’s illness. I also like reliving my interactions and exploits with my customers. It’s affirming somehow, and strangely it helps satisfy my social needs.
I’m rambling again aren’t I?
Back to Steve…
He was at home today, and I was really pleased to see him.
‘Cuppa?’ He says after letting me in.
‘I’d love one, thanks.’
‘Coffee? Milk, no sugar.’
‘Have a seat,’ he says. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
I hear him in the kitchen, filling the kettle, rattling cups and grinding coffee beans. I park myself on his leather sofa. I’m not normally a fan of leather sofas but Steve’s is really comfortable, and the leather is soft and feels quite warm, which is surprising. I might be biased though. It might be because the last time I sat here Steve was comforting me while I had a breakdown about my mum.
Steve appears, standing in the kitchen doorway. ‘Kettle’s on,’ he says. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Better than the last time I was here,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry you had to see me, break down.’
The smell of freshly ground coffee drifts through from the kitchen and it makes me inhale deeply. I love the smell of freshly ground coffee and a bean grinder is the best Christmas present my brother ever bought me. The smell from Steve’s kitchen triggers feelings of being safe and secure, like being at home.
‘Carla, there really is no need to apologise,’ he says. ‘You’d obviously been carrying a lot around with you. It was inevitable it would come out at some point.’
‘I guess so,’ I say. ‘I just feel a little foolish.’
‘As I say, there’s no need.’
The kettle boils in the kitchen and switches itself off.
‘Back in a tick,’ he says.
A minute or so later he renters the lounge carrying two hot cups of coffee and places mine on a coaster on the coffee table.
How come they’re called coffee tables? Why not tea tables? Or drinks tables…?
‘How is your mum?’ He says, sipping his drink.
I hold my cup to my nose, breathing in the aroma. It’s rich and thick with nutty, chocolatey overtones. ‘She’s doing much better,’ I say. ‘Don’t get me wrong, she’s not better, better… I don’t think she’ll ever get back to how she was. It seems like the strokes were really the beginning of…’
A lump solidifies in my throat and I find it hard to find the words.
I don’t want to find the words.
If I say the words I’ll be admitting the truth of them, the power of them, the reality of her situation… the pain I’m ultimately going to have to go through.
I’m not ready for that.
I’m not ready.
I’m too young to lose my mum.
That’s the kind of thing that happens to people in their fifties, and not to people like me, not to people in their thirties.
I’m not ready.
Steve seems to sense my inner struggle and he looks at me with a look I don’t often see on a man’s face. He looks concerned.
‘I lost my mum when I was fifteen,’ he says.
His revelation stops my mind wandering like a slap in the face. For a few moments I sit completely still, stunned into silence.
‘Cancer.’ His eyes drop as he speaks. ‘Fucking cancer,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘Pancreatic. Malignant. It went undetected for way too long. By the time it was discovered it had spread throughout her body.’
‘Oh Steve, that’s awful.’
‘It’s nearly twenty years since she died and there are still days when I miss her.’
I shuffle forward on the sofa and reach out taking his hand in mine.
‘I sometimes think it would have been better if she’d died when I was much younger, so I wouldn’t have had so many memories of her. Then I feel bad for wishing she’d died younger. But I was fifteen.’
I squeeze his hand.
‘Fifteen years old and I thought I new everything – I thought I was in control of everything, just like a typical teenager. Then the universe showed me how wrong I was.’
‘I can’t imagine what that must have been like,’ I say. My words feel inane and inadequate and his words leave me feeling helpless, unable to help him in the here and now.
‘Cancer took my mum away and couldn’t do a thing about it. All I had was a big hole in my life… and memories.’ He looks me in the eyes, despondency no longer present, replaced with an intensity I can’t describe. ‘Carla, do you know what the problem with memory is?’ He asks.
‘No.’ I’m puzzled. I have no idea where he’s going with this.
‘The problem with memory is that it’s mostly haphazard, based on those moments we were actually paying attention to.’
‘How do you mean?’ I’m still puzzled.
‘Until we have a realisation that tells us to do otherwise, we drift through life remembering only the things and events that had some sort of impact or meaning, and they can be either big things or little things. For example, our first boy or girlfriend and our first kiss, the time a teacher told us off in front of the whole class, the day your dad lost his temper with you in the middle of the supermarket and clipped your lughole, the time when how to make a calculation in maths suddenly makes sense.’
‘Go on,’ I say. ‘I think I know what you mean.’
‘When my mum died I realised there was so much I couldn’t remember about being with her, because I’d been too distracted, or hadn’t tried, or been to busy. I have a lot of regrets about those lost memories.’
‘I understand that but…’
‘Sorry, hang on,’ he says. ‘There’s more. The other problem with memory is it’s subject to change.’
‘Okay, I get the last bit. I know I’ve had times where what I thought was the truth about something changed after I learned something else, something new. But, as for having regrets… you were who you were at the time,’ I say. ‘And you couldn’t really have done anything else.’
‘I know,’ he says, nodding. ‘I do know that, and it’s one of the reasons I started learning martial arts, and studying eastern philosophies.’
‘You’ve lost me…’
‘There’s a lot of emphasis and training to be more present in the moment. You’ve heard of mindfulness right?’
‘Yes, meditation and that sort of stuff.’
‘That’s right. Martial arts are really just a form of mindfulness practice, just with a more combatative emphasis. I have other reasons for doing martial arts but they’re not relevant right now.’
‘So you started martial arts so you would miss less in your life and have less regrets?’
‘Pretty much, yes.’
‘Okay, I think I get it,’ and I think I do.
What Steve says makes me realise I’ve been spending so much time worrying about what might happen, that I’m not enjoying and making the best of the way things are with mum.
I’m clinging to my memories of how things were and making the present painful, because that’s not how things actually are.
‘You haven’t lost your mum yet Carla, even though I think you’re worried about it happening. Is that right?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is,’ I say with a sigh.
‘Maybe it’s time to make some good memories with her.’
‘Carla, it’s the only way to avoid having regrets. It’s also a way to take a bit of control back, at least the feeling of control anyway.’
I’m still nodding. ‘Steve, that’s really helpful. Thank you.’
‘Thank you for sharing that about your mum,’ I say, giving his hand a squeeze in both of mine.
‘Well,’ he says. ‘She might be gone, but in telling you about my experience it means her life, and her death, still have value. She’s still having an impact, even though she’s not with us anymore.’
‘That’s quite profound,’ I say. ‘And maybe a little comforting?’
‘Yes it is,’ he says, a smile returning to his face. He gently pats my hand with his free one which tells me it’s time to let his hand go.
We both reach for our drinks from the coffee table.
‘So,’ he says, resting his cup on his lips. He has a cheeky smile in his eyes. ‘You tried to kiss me.’
The last thing I would have expect him to bring up was me trying to kiss him, especially after the deep, meaningful conversation we’d just had. I’m so surprised I find myself laughing.
‘Steve! You, bugger!’
‘What?’ He says, his face a picture of mock innocence. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t believe you’ve brought that up.’
I feel so embarrassed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says with a laugh. ‘It’s just that I wanted to talk about it.’
‘Why? I was upset at the time. It didn’t mean anything. I was just looking for comfort.’
‘And kissing me and maybe going further, that would have comforted you?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Well, I think it would. I don’t know, I was a bit messed up that day.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘That’s why I said no. It would have been for all the wrong reasons.’
I’m a bit angry and I hear it coming out in my voice. ‘Since when has comforting someone or seeking comfort been a bad reason?’
‘I would have been taking advantage of you in your vulnerable state, and that’s not the kind of bloke I want to be.’
‘Taking advantage? I tried to kiss you, not the other way round.’
For the first time he flounders. ‘Okay, maybe that’s not the right choice of words…’
‘So, what is the right choice of words?’ I say. I know I’m mocking him, but despite his kindness a few minutes ago he’s got me rattled now and I’m on edge.
‘And I wasn’t vulnerable. .. Jesus, you make me sound pitiful.’
‘There is no but! Why did you bring it up?’
‘Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’
‘Well you did, so clearly it was on your mind.’
‘Yes it was, but…’
I keep pushing. ‘There it is… that but again. Come on Steve, why did you bring it up?’
Steve gives me a look of infuriation, his face flushing. He’s clearly trying to control himself.
‘I’m waiting Steve…’ I say.
Then he blurts, ‘Because I fucking like you, alright! I like you. I like you and I didn’t want to kiss you under those circumstances.’
Fuck me. He’s done it again!
That’s the third time in just a few minutes he’s left me stunned.
‘You like me? As in like me, like me?’
It’s Steve’s turn to be angry. I’ve pushed him into revealing something he didn’t want to, and now he’s pissed off. ‘Yes, I fucking like you. I don’t know what the fuck it means. I just know it’s something I feel. And that’s it. I like you. Happy now?’ It’s as though a pressure valve has been released as Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly.
I didn’t see that coming.
‘Shit!’ I say.
‘Well that’s certainly what I feel like now!’ Steve says.
‘Steve, I’m sorry. I had no idea.’
I’m such a bitch!
Steve takes another deep breath. ‘It’s okay. To be honest I’m glad I got it off my chest.’
‘Carla, you don’t need to say anything. I know you don’t feel the same way about me.’
‘Carla, seriously, it’s okay. They’re my feelings – you don’t have to do or say a thing.’
‘To be honest, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Well, that’s probably a good thing. But that’s why I couldn’t take advantage.’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Look, because I like you, I didn’t want you to think I was one of those blokes who’d take advantage of you being upset. I didn’t want just a quick shag based on that. Does that make sense?’
‘I think so.’
‘Good, cos it’s a bit jumbled in my head, which is why I couldn’t explain what I meant properly. I didn’t want to be a solace fuck. I know we’re not, but if we were going to be intimate together, I’d want it to be because we both wanted it, because we both liked each other.’
‘Right, okay, that makes more sense. Look Steve, I’m sorry I don’t feel the same. I kind of like someone else.’
‘That’s fine,’ he says. ‘I didn’t expect you to feel the same way.’
The look on his face tells me he’s not really fine, hearing I like someone else.
‘I can’t help it,’ I say.
‘Me neither,’ says Steve.
We sit for a few moments, neither of us really knowing what to say next.
In all this chatter it’s like I’d forgotten why I was here in the first place. ‘Well,’ I say. ‘I guess I’d better get some cleaning done.’
He nods, takes our cups and heads towards the kitchen as I go to get my caddy.
‘Carla,’ he says, turning to face me. ‘There’s just one thing I don’t understand.’
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
‘You say you like someone else…’
‘So… well… Oh I dunno…’
It feels like he’s psyching himself up for something.
‘Well… you say you like someone else, so what I don’t understand is… why you’d try it on with me…’
Ernie is 85 years old and definitely one of those people you’d call ‘a character.’ He’s surprisingly sprightly and despite his years he still lives on his own in a two bed
bungalow. There is a care package in place meaning he has carers visiting him on a daily basis, mostly to check on his well being. Ernie is forever lambasting them – Ernie does like a good moan. As you might
imagine he is also old fashioned, by which I mean he likes me to wear a French maid’s outfit when I clean his bungalow. Well, he’s either old fashioned, or a little kinky – probably a bit of both.
‘How are you today sir?’ I ask as he opens the back door. The first time I visited him was an introductory meeting, during which he said from that point onwards I was to use the back door. He likes to think of me as his servant, so I use the tradesman’s entrance. The back door opens into a small utility room which leads straight to the kitchen.
‘I’m in excellent health thank you miss,’ he says. ‘I trust you are well?’
‘I am indeed sir, thank you for asking.’ I remove my long overcoat and hang it on a coat peg behind the door. As requested, I’m wearing the French maid’s outfit and under it nothing but a pair of frilly, white rumba panties. I bought the panties from an online burlesque store. I know they’re not traditional but I’ve always thought they go rather well with the ensemble. Besides, Ernie seems to like them.
‘I’m pleased to see you’re appropriately dressed miss,’ he says. ‘Inspection!’
It’s a ritual we perform each time I visit. As usual, I stand to attention like a soldier but without a rifle. Ernie circles me, eyeing me up and down, checking of the details of my attire. Facing me he grasps the cups of my outfit with his thumbs and forefingers, sliding his forefingers inside enough to just touch my nipples. He grasps the fabric and attempts to tug the cups up higher over my breasts.
‘Decency at all times my dear,’ he says. ‘We can’t have too much on show.’ His attempt makes no difference to how much of my breasts are covered, nevertheless, he seems content his efforts have made a sufficient improvement. He walks behind me and smoothes the skirt over my bottom, giving it a gentle pat on completion.
‘All set,’ he says. ‘Let’s go.’ He leads the way into the kitchen. When I first started working for him, I explained the best order to clean his house to avoid spreading germs, which means starting in the kitchen. ‘I’d like you to start in here,’ he says.
‘Yes, of course sir. Is there anything in particular that needs attention?’
‘I’ve been cooking some pork joints over the last month and inside the oven door has got a bit greasy,’ he says.
‘I can do that,’ I say. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, just the usual.’
‘Then I’ll make a start sir.’
‘Good, good. I’ll wait in the lounge until you’ve finished.’ With that he leaves me to my work and heads into the lounge.
Ernie has lived in this bungalow for about twenty years having moved here with his wife shortly before he retired. His wife, Edna, died nearly ten years ago and he’s been on his own ever since. It’s clear that Edna was the main influence when it came to decorating, and Ernie has had neither the heart nor the inclination to change much about it since he lost her.
I take a detergent spray from my caddy and a green microfibre cloth and get to work, wiping down the cupboard doors and surfaces. I find the oven door is indeed as greasy as Ernie said, so I don my marigolds and tackle it with an oven cleaner spray. It takes me about forty five minutes to get the kitchen spic and span, after which I meander into the lounge to see what Ernie wants doing next.
‘Look lively girl,’ he says.
‘Yes sir,’ I say. ‘I’ve finished the kitchen and I wondered what you wanted doing next.’
‘My otherhelpers have cleaned the bathroom, but I’d like you to check it to see if it’s up to standard.’
By ‘other helpers’ I know he means the carers who usually clean up after themselves. I’m assuming they’ve been helping him in the shower. I bet he loved that. One of the things I like about working for Ernie is that he trusts me. He knows my work standards match his high expectations. Well, I assume he does, however he might well be saying things about me behind my back and getting the carers to check what I’ve done. Somehow I doubt it though – I bet they don’t wear a French maid outfit for him.
I do as he asks and check the bathroom which has been converted into a wet-room. Wet-rooms are so much easier to take care of as they don’t have any shower screens. In general there are less little corners for damp to get trapped where mould can develop. The bathroom looks clean however I take some toilet paper and a spray from under the sink and clean up the rim. I flush the paper away and after the flushing has finished squirt some bleach around the inside of the toilet and give it a brush. It’s little details like this that let Ernie know I was in there and did indeed check.
‘Everything is okay in there,’ I say, reporting back. ‘In the interests of hygiene I cleaned the toilet rim and bleached the pot.’
‘Good girl,’ he says with a smile. ‘I know I can always rely on you.’
I imagine his lounge is pretty much as it was when Edna was alive, save for a few small changes. It’s been decorated since with some chintzy, flowered wallpaper, probably what Edna would have chosen had she still been alive. There are a few pictures hanging on the walls, mostly countryside scenes. I guess the biggest change in the lounge is the TV set up. There’s a small, two seater sofa on one side of the room but Ernie sits in one of those remote control, recliner loungers, which is smack in the middle of the room facing a very large TV. The TV is on one of those black glass stands. I really hate those things. Don’t get me wrong, they’re easy enough to clean, but no sooner have you wiped all the dust off then you can see it starting to settle again.
‘In here next I think,’ he says.
‘I won’t disturb what you’re watching?’ I say, nodding towards the TV.
‘No love, it’s only Homes Under The Hammer, and a bloody repeat at that. I swear I saw this one just a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Is it any good?’
‘All these improvements all look the bloody same. Same fittings, same colour schemes, same ruddy laminate flooring. They’ve got no character.’
I know what he means. I see a lot of different homes in my line of work and the trend for new-builds and make-overs do all look the same.
‘Well that couldn’t be said about your place Ernie,’ I say.
‘No love. My Edna would hate it if our home looked like that.’
‘I bet she would,’ I agree.
‘Anyway,’ he says. ‘That damn TV stand is dusty as hell again. Would you give it a good going over? Oh, and the fireplace.
‘Of course,’ I say.
I pop into the kitchen to get a mild detergent spray and a couple of cloths, one for general cleaning and a special one that buffs up glass to a streak free shine. By asking me to give the TV stand a good clean I know exactly what Ernie wants, but I’m going to make him wait. It’ll be like foreplay for him.
Back in the lounge I make for a dresser style cabinet and begin wiping the shelves, lifting each of the ornaments and giving them a wipe before replacing them. I don’t see Ernie as the type to collect ornaments, so I’m guessing they were Edna’s. There are a couple of porcelain cats, a working carriage clock, a couple of ballet dancers, and several decorative plates on plate stands. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ernie casting occasional glances my way, but so far there’s nothing to tickle his fancy.
I know he’s waiting.
When I’ve finished the shelves I squat down to wipe the cupboard doors. I hear a little gasp from Ernie. I know my skirt has ridden up and is revealing a hint of my white panties. His gasp makes me smile. ‘Are you okay there sir?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he says. ‘Carry on, don’t mind me – just have to catch my breath sometimes.’
‘Okay sir,’ I say, giving him a coy smile.
After I’ve finished the dresser I stand up and pull my skirt down. I decide to do the windows next, which are on the other side of the room. I could go round the back of the chair, but where would be the fun in that! I swish my way between Ernie and the TV, smiling at him as I pass. I notice one of his arms is resting on the chair arm, the other on his thigh, close to his crotch. If I’d been in heels it would have added to the effect, but I’m in flats, nevertheless, I make full use of my hip wiggle as I pass him. He smiles back at me in a different way to his earlier ones. Now he just looks downright cheeky, giving me a sense of the younger man he once was. Ernie was obviously quite a strapping chap in his younger days, and he’s lost none of his sense of style with age. He’s from the generation that still wears a suit everyday, regardless. I’ve never asked but I think, judging from his posture, that he’s spent some time in the armed forces.
I tuck the net curtains up over the wire hangers so I can clean the windows. As I reach up, standing on my tip toes, I feel my skirt hitching up. Ernie lets out a little puff of air and I grin.
The filthy old bugger.
I chuckle to myself, thankful that Ernie’s bay windows are hidden from the road by a high hedge. If they weren’t anyone passing would get a healthy eyeful of my cleavage as I lifted the nets. Cars might well have crashed had their drivers seen me. I’m an actual health hazard!
I spray each of the windows and begin vigorously cleaning them with the special cloth. As I do my breasts jiggle in the outfit, and as I’m stood slightly sideways to Ernie I know he’s giving me his full attention. I’ve trained myself to be quite ambidextrous while working which means as I move round, cleaning each of the windows, I can switch arms so that he gets a good view.
Once the windows are done and I’ve replaced and aligned the nets so they’re neat and aesthetically pleasing, it’s time to do the fireplace which is on the other side of the room. I’m purposefully leaving the TV stand until last. I swish and wiggle past Ernie again, exchanging smiles once more. His hand is now even closer to his crotch.
A gas fire now sits where, judging by the chimney breast, there was once a coal fire. It doesn’t take me long to clean the mantel after which I squat down to clean the marble hearth. When I first started doing this work, I quickly realised I was developing some bad posture practices, bending from my back to clean rather than using my legs. Since then I’ve always squatted to do low work and consequently developed strong thigh muscles. I’m quite proud of the strength in my legs, it comes in handy for other, more fun activities too, if you get what I mean, however it also means my thigh muscles are quite thick which causes the short maid skirt to ride up, considerably. As I move along in a squatting position I know Ernie is getting a great view of my panty covered bottom bobbing along too. I can hear him taking long, deep breaths.
I think I’ve teased him enough. It’s time to give him what he really wants.
‘I think it’s time to do the TV stand now,’ I say.
‘About bloody time,’ he says, unable to control his anticipation.
‘I won’t be interrupting your programme will I?’ I know I’m just teasing him.
‘Bugger the programme,’ he says.
‘As you wish sir,’ I say.
But I can’t help myself, I have to tease him a little more. I stand right in front of the TV, my legs slightly apart and I swish over the top with the cloth. Then I get on my hands and knees at the side of the stand and, resting on one hand I use the other to clean the sides of the glass stand. My breasts are hanging low, almost popping out of the top. Once I’ve done that side I crawl, slowly, to the other side of the stand and repeat my actions. Ernie can’t take his eyes off my cleavage, his hand has moved right up to cleft of his crotch and I love it that I’m teasing him and turning him on. It’s now time for his treat. Crawling again, slowly, I make my way to the front of the TV stand, positioning myself so I’m facing the stand with my bottom towards Ernie. My skirt has ridden up right up over my hips giving Ernie a full view of my panty covered backside.
‘Oh my,’ he says.
‘Are you alright there sir?’ I ask turning my head and flashing him my best innocent look.
‘Oh yes,’ he says. ‘Oh yes indeed.’ His head nods like one of those nodding dogs you used to see in the backs of cars, and he’s biting his lip.
I turn back to what I’m doing, which is actually making a show of cleaning the stand. In reality it won’t take me that long, not much more than a couple of minutes, if that, but after leading Ernie to this point it would be cruel to cut his treat short. I also need to make sure he gets the best view for the duration, so, starting at the left side of the stand and keeping one hand on the ground, I use my other hand to alternate between spraying the glass, wiping it clean and finally buffing it. I guess that for Ernie the best part is when I wipe and buff because that’s when my bottom wiggles the most.
Being such a proud man I don’t think Ernie would ever be so bold as to reveal himself to me, neither physically, nor emotionally come to that. Nevertheless I can hear his hand rubbing against the material in his trousers. I don’t turn round because I think he would be embarrassed if he was caught. I decide to up the ante a little, so, I part my legs a few inches and I lower myself, cocking my head to one side so I can make a show of looking under the stand for bits of litter. The outfit is quite tight around my midriff but by sucking my stomach in I know I’m giving Ernie a view up the front so he can partially see my naked breasts now squashed against the floor.
He’s letting out rapid, shallow breaths and the rubbing sound is getting more fevered. He lets out a stifled moan.
With my breasts still flat on the carpet I push my top forward a little, using the friction of the carpet against the dress to tug it down, just an inch or two. Then I lift myself up and carry on cleaning the stand, shuffling across on my hands and knees and making a show of cleaning every inch. My whole performance takes no more than five to ten minutes, but it’s enough. When I’ve finished and sit back and turn so I’m kneeling to the side of the TV and sideways on to Ernie. My show of looking under the stand has done what I’d hoped and the top of the outfit has pulled down over my breasts partially revealing my nipples. I take a deep breath as though exhausted from working, but really I’m just making a show of my chest.
‘There, that’s much better,’ I say. ‘What do you think sir?’ I look across at him.
His face is lit up like a child at Christmas. Brazenly he looks me up and down, wetting his lips a little with his tongue. His gaze stops when it reaches my chest and his ruddy, thread veined cheeks seem to glow even more than normal.
‘My dear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more wonderful,’ he says. I’m not sure if he means the stand or me.
‘But,’ he continues. ‘I’m not sure you’re good for an old man’s heart.’
I guess we’ve probably all, at some point, come out of a relationship, as either the dumpee or the dumped, and only afterwards realised how relieved we are to be free of it.
How quickly we adjust to our personal situations!
I’ve always found it a bit weird – the way we adjust to changes in our lives.
Sometimes that change isn’t good.
Like those times when you get used to your life being stressful and it becomes the norm. Then when you’re free from the stressful situation you notice the difference between the newly unstressed and the previously stressed versions of yourself; and it’s only then you realise how stressed you were.
These reflections have come about as a consequence of recent events, i.e. my mum having had a couple of strokes. It’s been a good while now since, what was at the time quite a major shake-up, and yet now the changes have become the norm. Even Alex, my step-dad has adjusted to his new role as carer for mum.
Yes, my mum’s life has changed and she’s much frailer.
Yes, Alex’s life and role has changed.
Yes, Jamie and I are doing more to help them, so our lives have changed.
Yes, my mum still isn’t well and still experiencing bouts of dizziness and nausea, but…
No, I’m not feeling so emotional about it anymore.
We’ve all settled into our new patterns and roles, resigned to the fact that in the here and now, there really isn’t anything else we can do. We’re all getting on with our lives in a kind of holding pattern – waiting for the next change and whatever impact that brings.
And because I feel more settled, and because my worries have died down…
I’m starting to feel horny again.
Really horny, in fact.
I think it was my session with Katas her life model that triggered this feeling.
It looks like it’s going to be Jim’s lucky day.
After my experience at Kat’s, Jim is the ideal person to get my mojo running again. Jim is a good looking bloke and he’s well hung in the trouser snake department. When I say well hung, I mean WELL hung. Some people have a face for radio… well Jim has a head for porn. Without exception he’s got the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. If you’ve read my Kat blog, you might understand why he would be a good follow up for my visit to Kat’s.
Jim is a personal trainer at a gym in Leeds. Jim who works at the gym.
Yes I know, but I had to change his name… and it was fitting.
Oh stop it now, judging my daftness – just carry on reading :p
I believe he’s popular at his work, especially with the ladies, and I’m guessing even more so when he wears his lycra shorts. When I clean Jim’s flat I usually wear something quite tight myself, and today, with my hornymones running high, it’s definitely a good day for something tight… and short.
Jim’s flat is a lovely little place on the outskirts of the city. Well, it’s lovely when I finish, but when I get there it always looks like a tornado ripped through it, scattering clothes, protein bar wrappers, and crockery and cutlery all over the place. Most people clear up before I get there so I can concentrate on cleaning – but not Jim. I don’t mind though. It’s not a big flat and there’s ample time to clear it up and give the essentials a good clean, and as I visit fortnightly I can work out ways to slip other tasks in so it all gets cleaned properly at least once a month.
Considering people’s work schedules and the times they hit the gym, Jim tends to have bookings pre 9am, 12-2pm and after 5pm. I do 2 hours at Jim’s generally arriving at his place just after 12pm. He often pops home as I’m finishing so he can rest before his later bookings.
I hope he pops home today!
I’ve cleared his flat of tornado debris and cleaned his kitchen and bathroom. I’m vacuuming his bedroom when I hear his key in the door.
YES, YES, YES!
I know what Jim likes, and I know what I want today. And, I know how to get it.
‘Hi Carla, it’s only me,’ he calls out. ‘Where are you?’
‘The bedroom Jim,’ I call back, getting myself into position.
I hear him padding through the flat.
He’s getting closer.
The door opens.
‘Holy fuck Carla,’ he says as he walks in.
‘I’ll be finished in a minute,’ I say.
I’m on my hands and knees, vacuuming under his bed. My skirt has ridden up revealing my tight panties that barely cover my foo-foo.
Foo-foo – where the hell did that one come from?
In this position my bottom is higher than my head. I look round at Jim and he’s staring at my arse. It makes me smile. The growing bulge in his skin tight shorts tells me he likes what he’s seeing.
‘Enjoying the view Jim?’
‘Hell yes,’ he says, rubbing his crotch with his hand.
I reach round and pull my panties to one side to give him a better view. I’ve been anticipating this so much that my pants are already soaking with excitement. My labia is so wet it feels like a horses mouth waiting for a sugar lump. I so love that feeling – my wet labia that is, not feeding horses sugar lumps. I give Jim a cheeky smile.
‘Oh my god, that looks amazing,’ he says grabbing and rubbing his crotch with increased vigour. His lunch box bulge is huge. As I’ve said, Jim has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen. He’s easily a good 9 inches when erect. On the plus side he’s also got the girth of a French loaf.
‘Is that a Subway in your shorts Jim, or are you pleased to see me?’
‘I’m very pleased,’ he says. ‘Why, are you hungry?’
With a cheeky wink I say, ‘I could eat a salami Sub.’
Staying on my knees I turn round and drag him by the hips towards me. I take hold of the top of his shorts pulling them outwards so I can slowly lower them, revealing his massive erection. I lick my lips.
God, I’m going to enjoy this.
Once I’ve got his shorts over his manhood I drop them to the floor around his feet. I start at his large, swinging testicles running my tongue from the base of his length, tracing and climbing it all the way to the tip.
‘Oh fuck,’ he says.
I grasp his shaft. My hand looks tiny wrapped round his huge girth and I run my tongue around the rim of his shiny red helmet, flicking it over his glans. He moans loudly.
‘Oh Carla, please… take me in your mouth. Pleeease.’
I oblige, pulling his cock into my mouth. It’s size forces my mouth open so far it stretches my lips into taut, thin strips. He pushes himself further into me and he hits the back of my throat before my hand on his shaft reaches my mouth. I move back and forth sucking and gulping his wonderful cock. I try to breath through my nose but it’s just too hard with something this size inside me. The need to breathe takes over and I pull back, taking a deep breath as I break free. I spit on the end and use my other hand to rub it in to lubricate him.
‘I want you inside me,’ I gasp.
‘You know I don’t do that,’ he says.
‘Just this once, please.’
‘Carla. No,’ he says.
That’s the only shitty thing about Jim. He says he’s saving himself for when he marries. He’s quite happy fooling around but he won’t go all the way with anyone – that’s what he tells me anyway.
‘You bastard,’ I say swallowing his cock again and at the same time slipping a hand under my skirt and into my soaking panties. I start rubbing my clit, and oh god it feels good.
Unexpectedly Jim grabs my shoulders and lifts me to my feet. There’s a popping sound as my mouth pops off his cock and it makes me snigger.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘I want to taste you,’ he says.
Wow. This is a first.
‘Yes,’ he says, lifting my skirt and dropping my pants to my ankles. I wriggle out of them and he lays on the bed.
‘Come here,’ he says beckoning me into a sixty nine position.
Oh, thank you god.
I waste no time, hitch my skirt up round my waist and kneel either side of his head, positioning my hips over his face. I lean forward, reach out and take his cock into my willing mouth, then I take my weight on both hands and start fucking him with my mouth. It’s at that point I feel my bottom cheeks being parted, realising Jim’s making it easier for his tongue to pleasure me.
‘Jesus Carla, you’re fucking soaking,’ he says.
I let his cock fall from my mouth. ‘Tell me about it,’ I say. I’m so unbelievably horny. Knowing that Jim is too, and that it’s because of me that he is, is only adding fuel to my raging fire. I shove his hard length straight back between my lips.
I feel his tongue gently lap at my love folds and it makes my thighs quiver.
I’m helpless with lust and I let Jim’s salami sub fall from my mouth. ‘Oh my god Jim,’ I say. ‘Oh god yes, eat me, just fucking eat me.’
It’s been far too long!
I take him in my mouth again just as he takes my labia into his own mouth. He gently tugs each of them in turn with gentle bites and lip grasps. Then he takes both of them and sucks out my love juice. He grabs me by the hips, tilting them so my love bud is closer to his mouth, then he runs his tongue from my hood, over my engorged clit, down between my wet lips before thrusting it as far inside me as far as he can.
I let out a deep, uncontrollable moan which vibrates his cock in my mouth, making him thrust himself deeper into me. I’m in heaven. I fucking love the intimacy of a 69 – for me it’s more intimate than sex itself.
He presses his tongue against my clit and rubs it hard which he does exactly 3 times, then he pulls back and gives it a few quick flicks with the tip. He keeps this up and it drives me wild. Each time he presses hard I press back against him, and when he flicks it my whole body shakes like a shitting dog. I can feel my excitement oozing out of my sex and every so often he breaks from his thrilling clit tickling to lick me out.
I hear his voice, it sounds muffled from underneath me. ‘Carla, you taste fucking amazing.’
I let his cock go, gasping for air. ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘So do you, and you’re amazing with your tongue.’ I swallow his massive cock again.
Spurred on, Jim keeps up his magic technique and I’m so turned on it isn’t long before I feel my climax building.
I need to enjoy this.
I let his cock go and flop down on top of him, resting my head on his crotch. He keeps going with the clit press and tickle… and then it happens – my clitoris seems to explode in a shower of sparkling fireworks and a massive climax rips its way through my whole body.
‘OH MY FUCKING GOD!’
I feel like I’m caught up in a rolling wave as it crashes on a hot sandy beach. My head is light and dizzy and I can feel heart pulsations in the roof of my mouth, in my chest pressed against his hard abs and in my finger tips. I swear I’m glowing like a crimson light, and as my orgasmic tidal wave slowly ebbs away, I feel weak, broken – shattered.
‘Was that okay?’ says Jim.
‘Okay! It was fucking amazing,’ I say. ‘Where the hell did you learn to do that with your tongue? Wait. Don’t tell me yet…’
I feel my strength starting to recover and it’s time to return the compliment.
I climb off from kneeling over his face and shuffle round so I’m kneeling more at a right angle to him. He’s still hard and I take his shaft, licking up and down his vein riddled length, flicking my tongue over his glans each time I pass. I take him in my mouth and suck him for a while and he lets out little moans of pleasure.
I really want to feel him inside me.
I pull back and spit on the end of cock, rubbing it in with my hands, and then using both hands wrapped round his full length I start massaging it. Jim’s is the only cock where I’ve been able to wrap both hands round the length in a one potato, two potato fashion, and still have room to move them up and down. I spit on the end again, rubbing it in and I tease his foreskin back and forth around the base of his tip. It’s not long before his breathing changes, which tells me he’s going to explode soon, so I ready myself in anticipation. He starts panting.
I drop forward using one hand to brace myself. I keep the other massaging his shuddering cock and take the end in my mouth.
Jim starts grunting and groaning like a feral beast as his orgasm takes control. His semen erupts from his penis into my mouth and hits the back of my throat. I keep sucking and swallowing until his shaking subsides.
‘Stop…STOP!’ He says, his body jerking as though in pain. ‘It’s so fucking sensitive.’
I laugh, collapsing on the bed by his side, both of us lay on our backs staring at the ceiling.
‘Yeah I know what you mean,’ I say. ‘The same happens to me.’
‘That was, amazing,’ says Jim. ‘Absolutely amazing!’
‘It really was,’ I say.
We lay together for a little while, both of us getting our breath back. Unsurprisingly, considering how fit Jim is, he gets his back first.
‘Jim…’ I say. ‘What made you want to… to pleasure me today?’
‘I dunno, you just looked so hot sucking me off with your hand in your pants. It made me want to…’ It seemed like he was going to say more, but the words never came.
‘Well, I’m glad you did,’ I say. ‘You have no idea how much I needed that.’
‘I’m glad I could help,’ he says with a smile.
‘So, where on earth did you learn your amazing tongue technique?’ I say.
He starts laughing. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘From Cosmo,’ he says.
‘Yup, one of my clients left a copy at the gym a couple of weeks ago. I was flicking through it and there was an article on how to get your man to give you better pleasure.
‘Well,’ I say with a snigger. ‘A big fucking hurray for Cosmo.’
‘It was that good?’ he asks.
‘Oh yeah, it sure worked for me. Mind you, maybe I’m not a fair test subject.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, I’m so fuckin’ horny today that I’d have probably had the same reaction if you’d tickled my clit with a cauliflower.’
He turns to me and laughs. ‘I can’t believe how wet you were.’
‘That’s what I mean… so fuckin’ horny!’
‘I really wanted to be inside you today.’
‘Oh god I wanted that too,’ I say, turning sideways on to face him, my head propped on my hand. ‘You still could and I wish you would. I’m good to go.’
‘Maybe, one day. But definitely not today. I’m a bit of a one hit wonder kind of guy,’ he says nodding his head down towards his groin area.
His once proudly erect cock is now totally flaccid. It’s still a good size, and no doubt many less endowed men would love to have the length of Jim’s flaccid cock as their own erect one.
‘Well that’s disappointing,’ I say flashing him a grin. ‘But maybe you can look for an article in Cosmo about developing repeat performance skills.’
It’s been a couple of weeks since Richard and I had our disagreement and I’m pleased to say that in that time my mum hasn’t got any worse. She hasn’t got any better either and she’s still experiencing bouts of nausea. Thankfully I’ve had my weekends free and aside from a pre-planned weekend break with Beth, I’ve been spending a lot of time with her and Alex and helped them keep on top of the housework. If you read the post containing my working schedule you might have noticed that I keep Monday mornings relatively free so I can take on any one off work like end-of tenancy cleans. It’s been quiet on that score of late which has given me more ‘mum’ time. Alex has his hands full now, taking care of both her and the house. Literally overnight he has become her carer, and it’s a lot to take on, hence why it’s good that I can help. Jamie has mucked in too. He’s good like that. Thankfully he’s got a caring nature.
Other than helping my mum, I’ve been carrying on with my regular work as normal. As I said in my previous post, I’ve not been feeling horny much recently, which I guess is understandable. Having said that, the itch I had for a good seeing to the last time I saw Richard keeps rearing its head. Maybe it’s good that today, Tuesday, I have a pretty normal day. I clean Nick and Nikki’s in the morning followed by Phil and Penny’s in the afternoon, after which I finish my day at Kat’s.
To say Kat is a looker is an understatement. That girl could turn heads in a room full of blind men. She just seems to ooze sex appeal and I felt it the first time I met her. I can tell you I’m more than a little envious – I feel as sexy as a Teletubby when she’s at home when I’m working, which is quite often. She works shifts as an A&E doctor at Leeds General. If I was one of her patients I’d be faking a slow recovery, just so I could stay longer and get more visits from her. Whereas I’m a size 10 to 12 in clothes, 10 up top and 12 from the waist down, she’s a straight size 8. I know because I’ve checked her clothes when she’s left them drying on the Minky.
What can I say…I’m inquisitive.
That’s just my way of rationalising my nosey nature.
Anyway, she’s a lithe size 8, brown hair, even darker brown eyes, and a Liv Tyler-esque, elfin face. Her breasts simply should not be allowed on such a slim frame. She’s a curvy C-cup.
Yes I checked her bra on the Minky too.
When she’s knocking about the house she’s usually in a tight t-shirt and jeggings, and unlike most size 8 girls with their somewhat non-existent bum cheeks, she’s got an absolute peach of a bottom.
If I’m giving the impression I’ve paid a lot of attention to her, well it’s right, I have. What can I say – I’m envy’s bitch.
It wouldn’t be so bad if she was a bitch, but she’s not, she’s totally adorable.
‘Have you forgotten your key Carla?’ She always asks as she lets me in.
‘No honey,’ I say. ‘You know I always knock. I always feel a bit rude letting myself into someone’s house when they’re in.’
‘Oh don’t worry about that – that’s why I gave you the key.
We’ve had that same conversation on so many occasions that I feel it might appear as though I don’t listen to her. So today I decide to let myself in.
‘Hi Kat,’ I say as I kick my shoes off in the hallway and slip into the flip flops I carry in my caddy. There’s no response, so I make my way into the kitchen and put the caddy on the breakfast bar. Usually when she’s not in she leaves a note on the bar with my money paper-clipped to it. Today there’s no note, or money. She must be in, somewhere.
Her house has an unusual layout in that there’s less floor space downstairs than there is on the upper floor. It’s got 3 storeys but the top two floors form part of an archway over the road outside her front door. The archway is completed by the house on the other side of the road, which I guess has a similar, but opposite layout to Kat’s. Downstairs the front door opens into a small hall with a WC and the staircase leading off it. Other than that there’s only an open-plan kitchen diner, which joins onto a small open-plan lounge. On the first floor there’s a massive bedroom and ensuite, a slightly smaller bedroom and ensuite, and another smaller bedroom which is used as an office. The third floor is a large attic room with an ensuite, but Kat uses it as an art studio. I’ve only ever been up there once on my initial meet and greet visit, after which she told me not to bother cleaning it.
I figure I’d better see where she is and check if she wants anything in particular doing today. I run upstairs.
‘Kat, are you there?’
Her bedroom door is open but her ensuite door is closed.
‘Kat. It’s me, Carla, are you there?’
The ensuite door opens and Kat strides out, totally naked. ‘Hey,’ she says facing me. ‘How are you doing Carla?’
I don’t know where to look. ‘Oh, sorry,’ I blurt out. ‘Sorry Kat, I didn’t know where you were.’
Eye contact, keep eye contact.
I look her straight in the eyes.
‘Yeah, sorry. I was just having a quick shower. You’re a bit early aren’t you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ I say, looking at my wrist, which I suddenly realise is stupid because I’m not wearing a watch.
Back to the eyes.
‘I don’t know why I’m looking at my wrist,’ I say. ‘I haven’t worn a watch for years.’
She laughs. ‘Old habits I guess.’
Her breasts are so firm and pert, and as she laughs I find them totally mesmerising.
What a cow!
Envy has me as her bitch once more!
I always think it’s okay to envy-hate someone. It’s not that you actually hate them, quite the opposite. But because you admire someone so much it’s okay to lovingly hate them too.
Carla! Eyes! EYES!
But it’s too late. I’ve already taken in her flat stomach, the neat Brazilian hairline leading down to her shaven labia, and those legs.
I’d fucking kill for legs like those.
‘I’ll wait for you downstairs,’ I say turning to make a quick getaway.
‘Hang on, I’m coming down,’ she says grabbing a fleecy bathrobe.
Time seems to slow down as she thrusts an arm in and flings the rest of the robe round her back, catching it nonchalantly, slipping her other arm in before pulling it closed and tying the belt off. It all seems to happen like a slow motion montage in a film, and as I come out of my reverie she’s already reached me.
‘Come on then,’ she says putting her hand on my shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Coffee?’ She says when we get to the kitchen.
‘Oh, not at this time of day,’ I say. ‘I try to avoid caffeine drinks after three o’clock.’
She flounces round the kitchen gathering cups, tea bags and boiling the kettle.
‘Is there anything in particular you want doing today Kat?’
‘No not really,’ she says. ‘Except I’d be grateful if you would do the upstairs first.’
Kat knows I prefer to do the bathrooms last in order to minimise the risk of spreading toilet germs into other areas of the house.
‘Yes of course. Is there any particular reason?’
‘Well,’ she says. ‘I’ve got someone coming round at five to pose for me.’
‘Ah, I see,’ I say, not seeing at all.
‘I’d rather we couldn’t hear you while I work. It doesn’t bother me, but it might bother her if she hears you pottering about.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I say. Now I see.
‘I can bring your tea upstairs for you if you like?’
She knows I like to get on with my work.
‘That would be brilliant,’ I say. ‘I don’t normally like to do the vacuuming first, but considering it’s the noisiest part I’ll get that out of the way, then do the dusting then the bathrooms. Is that okay?’
‘That’s brilliant, you’re a sweetheart,’ she says flashing me a smile that looks like it escaped from a toothpaste advert.
‘It’s no problem, really,’ I say.
‘The spare rooms won’t need much attention – just a quick dust round as they haven’t been used.’
A little under an hour later and I’ve finished cleaning upstairs. I bring my gear and the empty teacup back down to the kitchen to find Kat sat on one of the breakfast bar stools looking forlorn. Beautiful, but forlorn. She’s sat sideways on to me with her legs crossed, her crossed leg clearly visible as the robe has fallen to the side.
‘Is everything ok?’ I ask.
‘My model just text me. She can’t make it tonight. She says she’s not feeling well and wouldn’t be able to sit still for long.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ I say. ‘Isn’t there anyone else you can call?’
‘No, not at this short notice.’ Her vibrant disposition has been exchanged for something more glum. ‘Unless…’
I give her a questioning look. ‘Unless?’
‘Carla… have you ever been a life model?’
I break into nervous laughter. ‘What? Me? Oh no, I don’t think so.’
‘Why not? Why not you?’ Her eyes are filled with hope and she’s obviously delighted with her idea.
‘It’s just not me,’ I say. ‘I’m not life model material.’
‘Oh my god Carla, you’re gorgeous. And if you’d seen some of the old wrinklies I’ve had model for me then you wouldn’t say that.’
‘Really?’ I say, feeling a little flattered that she asked. ‘No, no, I don’t think I could.’
‘Carla, as I said, you’re gorgeous. But it’s not about that. It’s about capturing the light, or the negative space, or the subtle hues, or the shapes – it all depends what I need to work on. You’d be doing me a massive favour, and we can start now, right now – you won’t have to finish cleaning down here, and I’ll also pay you what I was going to pay the model.’ There’s a pleading look in her eyes. ‘Please honey. It’s an easy fifty quid.’
I take a deep breath.
She can tell I’m considering it. ‘Why don’t you come upstairs and have a look at my other work,’ she says. ‘Come on, you don’t have to agree yet. Just come and have a look.’
The extra cash would come in handy.
I’ve turned a couple of jobs down recently so I could help my mum.
And, I am already here.
‘How long will it take?’ I ask.
‘Only a couple of hours,’ she says.
Twenty five quid an hour, that’s more than my cleaning rate.
‘I can’t sit still for that long… not for two hours.’
‘You won’t have to honey. You hold a pose for twenty minutes or so, then we’ll change. And it won’t be just sitting. You can stand too, which will get your circulation going again.’
She’ll see me naked. God, I’m a beast compared to her.
‘Is it cold up there?’
‘Oh lord no, I’ve had the heating on all day, I promise.’
Her little face is so hopeful, but I’m still in two minds.
‘Please, come and have a look for yourself.’
‘Okay, I’ll come and have a look.’
‘Oh goody, thank you Carla,’ she says taking my hand. ‘Come on.’
As she practically pulls me upstairs I know in my head that I’m probably going to do this. It doesn’t bother me being naked… well maybe it does a little, but only because she’s so damn perfect.
We’re up both flights of stairs and heading into her studio in what would have been a record time if this had been a race. She was true to her word, the studio is lovely and warm. Kat gives me time to take it all in.
The floor is a hard-wearing, laminate looking composite, which I guess makes it easy to clean. There’s a large rug in the middle of the room, on top of which is a comfy looking sofa covered with a fleecy, fuscia throw. I find the smell of paints and pastels quite pleasant, I guess because my mum always painted and I associate it with her. Dotted around the room are unframed canvases of various sizes, most of which have paintings of naked people on, and Kat was right, some of them clearly were ‘wrinklies.’ Others however were obviously not. Life models were clearly her thing as I couldn’t see pictures of anything else. And…it looked like she’d had some well hung guys in her studio too, either that or she’d used her artistic licence.
‘What do you think?’ She asks, her face itself a picture of hope.
As I said, I already knew I was probably going to say yes, even though being naked in front of someone as hot as Kat makes me feel massively insecure. ‘They’re wonderful,’ I say. ‘Incredible infact. You’re clearly good at this. Okay, so what do you want me to do?’
‘Oh Carla, you’re a fucking star,’ she says. ‘I can’t tell you how much you’ve made my day.’ Her face lights up and she looks even more beautiful than ever.
Seeing all the pictures of the other models triggers something inside me and whilst I can’t bring myself to say it out loud, a part of me really wants to see myself on one of her canvases.
Kat points to a large easel with what looks like a pad of A2 paper on it. ‘The way I like to work is to make a lot of quick sketches, a bit like a photographer taking lots of snaps, except my process is a lot slower. I do that until one of them makes me tingle.’ She laughs. ‘I can’t think of any other way to describe it than that,’ she says. ‘I literally get a tingling feeling all over my scalp when I’ve found the right one.’
I laugh. ‘That’s weird.’
As she speaks she waves her hands about as though she’s drawing. ‘I know, right. Anyway, as soon as I get the tingle I grab the pastels and start putting some colour on. Then I put it to one side so I come back to it later. If I can do that for several different poses it’s great, but mostly it’s just one or two.’
‘Okay. So, do you want to start straight away?’
‘I’m ready, if you are…’ she says and points to an innocuous, old school coat stand in the corner of the room for me to hang my clothes on.
My heart starts pounding and with my back to Kat, I take a deep breath and start slipping out of my clothes. I can hear her behind me, getting herself ready – the easel dragging across the floor, the rustling of paper and the clattering of pencils being moved.
Another deep breath and I look over my shoulder. She’s watching me, smiling.
‘Ready when you are,’ she says.
I’d never noticed before but her smile is wonderful. She has beautiful, white, perfectly aligned teeth.
Okay, here goes…
My self talk isn’t helping my nerves, only action will do that now. Boldly I turn to face her and stride over to the sofa. ‘How do you want me?’
‘It’s up to you honey,’ she says. ‘Have you seen As Good As It Gets?’
I look surprised. ‘That comedy film with Jack Nicholson?’
‘That’s the one. Do you remember that scene where Simon is painting… I can’t remember the character’s name but he’s a bit rough, the guy that lets his mates in and they turn his flat over, beat up Simon and rob him… remember?’
‘Yeah, I remember that,’ I say.
‘Well Simon tells his model, whatever his name is, to be natural. He likes to try and capture something, real. I kind of want you to do the same. Just do what comes naturally. We can always do some fun poses later,’ she says with a big grin.
Taking my cue from Kat I plonk myself on the sofa. I sink heavily into the seat which was much softer than I anticipated, either that or I’m the weight of a small elephant. I prefer to think it’s the soft sofa seat.
‘Jesus,’ I say, catching sight of the rolls of belly fat round my waist. This sofa isn’t flattering at all.
Kat chuckles. ‘It is quite soft,’ she says. ‘That’s why I use it, so my models are comfortable.’
‘Very considerate of you,’ I say, trying to position myself so it doesn’t look like I’ve got several flesh coloured, cycle tyre inner tubes wrapped round my waist.
I finally settle into a more laid back position with my legs crossed at the ankle, one hand on my thigh and the other resting on the empty sofa cushion to my side. As I find my comfort level my eyes rest on one of Kat’s pictures just off to my side. It’s a man, sat in a similar position to me, clearly on the same sofa and clearly he was quite well equipped. It makes my mouth twitch into a smile.
‘Perfect,’ says Kat. ‘Stay right there.’
‘Like this?’ I say, not moving my body but turning my head to face her.
‘Yes, but turn your head back the way it was.’
I realise it was me noticing her picture and her model’s bedroom tackle that caught her attention, so I turn back and admire the picture again. Out of the corner of my eye I see and hear Kat dragging her easel into position, then I hear what sounds like chalk on paper.
‘I’m going to do a few charcoal sketches first,’ she says. ‘Just to get a feel for the lighting on your body. I find charcoal gets me in the right mood.’
Having little to no artistic talent I have no idea what she means. ‘Okay,’ I say, trying not to change position.
‘He’s pretty well endowed,’ I say.
‘The chap in the picture I’m looking at.’
‘Ah,’ she says with a giggle. ‘So that’s what caught your eye. You little minx.’
‘I might not be able to draw, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my own means of admiring good form.’
‘Really,’ she says in between strokes and swishes of charcoal on paper. ‘And do you have much experience?’
Her jocular, inquisitive tone makes me laugh. ‘I might have.’
It goes quiet between us and I sit in stillness for what seems like ages, but not in a bad way – if anything, quite the opposite. I find it both exhilarating and relaxing at the same time, just sitting there naked while Kat draws me. It’s thrilling because it’s me she’s looking at, and she’s taking how she sees me and transferring that into sketches on a piece of paper; sketches that may, or may not resemble me. I say may not only because I haven’t seen any of her other models, so whilst I’ve seen pictures of them I’ve actually no idea whether or not the pictures resemble the models.
‘Are you ready to change position?’ says Kat.
I look round, a little surprised. ‘Oh, yes, I can do. Have you done?’
‘Yes, I’m ready for a change. Hang on…’
She walked over to the picture I’d been looking at, pulled out another canvas from behind and placed it at the front.
‘Is that the same bloke?’ I asked.
‘It is indeed,’ she says. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Hell yes,’ I say, unable to hide my admiration. ‘I didn’t know you also did porn!’
We both laugh, but it’s not far from the truth. This time the man is in a full frontal position and he was clearly aroused.
‘How much artistic licence did you use?’ I ask with a grin.
‘Absolutely none,’ she says.
‘Jeez. He’s a big fella isn’t he…’
‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘And he knows how to use it.’
I pull my gaze away from to picture. She’s grinning like a Cheshire Kat and she tips me a cheeky wink.
‘So,’ she says. ‘Your next pose. How about adopting something you might do if he was actually stood in front of you…’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Why not… it might be fun,’ she says.
I’m still not sure and Kat seems to sense my hesitation. Clearly Kat has depths I didn’t realise she had.
‘Hang on,’ she says. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’ With that she disappears out of the room and I hear her padding barefoot down the stairs. I find myself looking at the picture again. There’s not a lot of detail in the facial features, nevertheless he looks like he’s a good looking bloke with short, styled brown hair and possibly brown eyes. Judging by his musculature he looks like he’s someone who likes to look after himself, but it’s his penis that draws my eye more than his frame.
That looks like a good eight inches. And I mean good!
I find myself imagining what it would be like to have that in my mouth and I feel the excitement developing between my thighs. Subconsciously I start caressing the inside of my thigh, the soft, pale inner part just above halfway between my knee and my crotch. I love it when I’m sat next to a bloke I fancy and he puts his hand on my thigh and does that to me. It gets me so fucking aroused.
I’m so engrossed I don’t hear Kat as she enters the room carrying a couple of large wine glasses. ‘Fancy a drink?’ she asks. ‘To help you relax…’
‘That sounds like a good idea,’ I say, shuffling on the sofa, hoping she didn’t notice me getting carried away. I give the seat between my legs a quick glance.
Thank god! No wet marks.
She shuffles a few canvases around behind her revealing a small fridge, out of which she pulls two bottles.
‘Gin and tonic okay?’
‘Lovely,’ I say, impressed.
She glugs gin into the glasses, half filling each one and tops them up with tonic leaving little space at the top of the glass. She puts the bottles back in the fridge and takes out a little click-lock tub, from which she pops a couple of slices of lime in the glasses.
‘Smooth,’ I say.
She grins at me. ‘I like to be prepared,’ she says handing me a glass.
‘Thanks,’ I say and take a couple of large mouthfuls. ‘Wow, that’s strong.’
‘Well, it’ll kick in quicker.’
‘It sure will, I haven’t had much to eat today,’ I say, taking another swig. Almost immediately I feel the alcohol taking effect. My head feels a little light and my body starts to feel warm.
‘Right,’ I say, taking another mouthful and getting into the spirit of things. I plonk the glass down on the floor and lay myself out on the sofa. ‘As though he were actually stood in front of me you said…’
I’m feeling less self conscious now, nevertheless I still stretch myself out, arching my back so my stomach looks a little flatter. I lay on my side with my legs apart, my bottom leg straight, my other leg bent at the knee. I tuck a cushion behind my bent leg so that, without feeling strained, it can relax against the back of the sofa. I drape my torso over the rest of the couch, leaning on one arm positioned over the sofa arm, the other with my hand touching the inner thigh of my bent leg. Almost immediately I realise I won’t be able to hold this position for long. ‘Hang on,’ I say, quickly tucking another cushion underneath me to add support, and I get back into position. ‘That’s better.’ I then stare longingly at the well hung man in her picture and let my lips fall slightly apart.
‘Fucking hell,’ says Kat. ‘Carla that’s fantastic… you look so erotic.’
Moving only my eyes I look up at Kat, raise my eyebrows and give her a cheeky wink, then I’m back gazing at Mr Eight Inches.
Kat drags her easel round to she’s more face on to me, flips to a new page on her pad and starts drawing. I try to imagine what I must look like to her. I think it’s my slightly open mouth and my hand, poised on my thigh as though ready to pleasure myself that she must like.
The image in her picture starts my imagination running wild again. I imagine him stepping out of her picture and changing from being a drawing to being warm flesh and hot blood. He grows in height to about 6 foot and moves towards me, his beautiful erect penis moving towards my open mouth. I lick my lips, preparing myself to take him. He grasps his shaft and points the head between my lips and pushes gently forward so his engorged penis enters me. I wrap my mouth around his girth, running my tongue under his glans, flicking and teasing them with the tip. He moans.
‘That’s good baby,’ he says. He’s so hard I can feel his pulse as the blood rushes through his veins. He reaches forward, placing a hand gently but firmly at the back of my head, slowly thrusting himself further into my eager, moist mouth. I close my eyes and surrender to his control as he uses me to pleasure himself. I trace my fingertips down my thigh and between my legs. My labia are soaked with my arousal and I run my fingers gently between them, avoiding my clitoris… for now.
‘Oh baby, that looks so hot. Pleasure yourself for me,’ he says, and I do. I can hold back no more, my fingers reaching for my sensitive little bud. I tease it, tickling it with the tip of my index finger until I can’t hold back any longer and start really going for it. I roll onto my back, bending my other leg and let them both fall apart as I bring myself to orgasm. He re-positions himself, kneeling over me so he can fuck my mouth. My pubis area starts to throb as my orgasm builds and explodes. My fingers are soaking, covered in the juices of my excitement and I moan deeply and loudly.
‘Oh my fucking god!’ I blurt out.
‘Oh my fucking god indeed,’ says Kat.
Her voice brings me to my senses.
I flush with embarrassment but I doubt it shows given I’m probably already red faced with arousal.
‘Shit, sorry Kat. I got a bit carried away there,’ I say. ‘It must have been the gin and an empty stomach. Shit. Sorry.’
‘Don’t you dare apologise,’ she says. ‘That was fucking amazing. No one has ever let themselves go like that in front of me before. Fucking amazing.’
It’s at that point I notice that she’s naked too, her bathrobe on the floor thrown on the fridge behind her. She’s still at her easel, drawing hand on the paper, but her other hand is clasped between her legs, as though she’s afraid something escapes from her.
‘It looks like I wasn’t the only one who got carried away,’ I say, hoping to deflect attention away from me. I sit up.
‘Carla, you are bloody wonderful. I was so turned that I had to hold onto myself, but also I didn’t want to miss capturing that moment.’
She puts her pencils on the easel and walks over to the sofa, sitting down next to me, her hand still between her thighs. For the first time I get to study her up close and I envy hate her all the more. Her breasts are so round and voluptuous that they almost look fake, but they move in a way that only real breasts do. Her legs are so lithe. I can’t imagine any bloke ever turning her down. She’s absolutely stunning.
‘Were you imagining giving Richard a blow job?’ She asks.
Hearing her say Richard gives me a start. ‘Richard?’
‘Yes, the guy in the picture. His name is Richard. Why, do you know him?’
‘No. No it’s not that. It’s just I know someone called Richard and…’ I don’t really know what to say next. ‘It’s just… well, he’s a customer of mine and when you said his name…’
She laughs. ‘You thought it might be him.’
‘Yes,’ I lie. I know exactly how big my Richard’s penis is. ‘That’s it. But clearly it’s not him.’
‘Okay. So, are you going to answer the question? Were you imagining giving him a blow job?’
‘Yes, I was,’ I say with a laugh. It seems stupid now somehow.
‘You must have one hell of an imagination,’ says Kat. ‘To get so engrossed like that. It was like he was here in the room with you.’
‘The drink, the lack of food,’ I say in an attempt to rationalise my losing control. Feeling like I could do with another drink I retrieve my glass from the floor and neck the remaining contents. It’s lovely and cold as it goes down my throat.
She looks a little sheepish. ‘I am so turned on right now.’
‘Really,’ I say, looking down at her hand, still clasped tight between her legs. ‘So am I, if I’m honest.’
‘I’ve never been with another girl,’ she says. ‘But I have always wondered what it might be like. Have you?’
‘Have I been with another girl?’ I say.
‘No.’ But like Kat, I have often wondered what it would be like.
I reach forward and gently take hold of her wrist and she lets me move her hand from between her legs. Her labia glisten with moisture.
Sheesh. She wasn’t kidding.
I lift her hand towards me, turning her palm upwards, and I close my eyes and breathe in the aroma of her arousal. It smells sweet and just a little musky. I take her fingers in my mouth, one at a time, sucking each one in turn finishing off by licking her palm clean of her juices. I shuffle closer and run my tongue up the inside of her wrist into the pit of her elbow. I look up at into her eyes, eyes that are filled with lust. Her mouth is slightly open and she’s nibbling her bottom lip. I lean in and kiss her. Her lips are warm and moist, and she’s a wonderful kisser.
She kisses like me.
I always think it’s important that when you kiss someone, they kiss like you – you fit each other like a jigsaw. There’s nothing worse than kissing someone who kisses like a washing machine, or someone who rams their tongue in.
Kat’s kiss is soft and tender. Her tongue slips gently into my mouth and probes mine, and she sucks it sweetly on the pull back. I gently bite her lip and she returns the compliment.
‘Wow’, she says. ‘You are so beautiful Carla. You know that, right?’
I blush and feel awkward.
‘It’s true,’ she says. ‘I always knew you’d make a great model, I just didn’t know how to bring it up with you. I’ve been dying to see you naked.’
‘Hmm. Did you set this up?’ I ask. ‘Today I mean. Did your model really cancel?’
Kat laughs. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I assure you it wasn’t a set up. It’s a happy happenstance.’
I give her a suspicious look.
‘Honestly!’ she says. ‘I promise.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I believe you… I think.’
‘Carla,’ she says, and pauses. ‘Carla, as I say, I’ve never been with a woman before, and as much as I’d like to play with you a bit more, I don’t want to rush into anything.’
I nod in agreement.
‘I think I need a few days to process what’s happened between us today. Is that ok?’ she asks.
‘Oh Kat, that’s fine with me. I’m in a funny place at the moment anyway, especially with everything that’s been happening with my mum.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
She poured us another G&T each, this time with a healthier proportion of tonic to gin then she slipped on her bathrobe and handed me a throw from the back of the sofa. I cover myself with it, sip my gin and tell her all about my mum’s recent strokes and the impact it’s had on our family. We talk for ages and it feels good to talk about it again; even more so to get another female perspective. Whilst it still makes my eyes fill up, it doesn’t quite have the same emotional hold on me and I manage to keep myself together this time.
‘Oh Carla, that’s awful. I can’t imagine what it would be like if anything like that happened to my own mother.’
Her natural sympathy and empathy warm my soul and I realise I haven’t felt this relaxed for ages. I also wonder how much the gin is helping with that feeling. After we’ve finished talking we sit for a few moments in silence.
‘Would you like to see the sketches I did?’ she asks.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Hell, I’d almost forgotten you’d done them.’ I wrap the throw round me like a shawl, convinced I must look like a bedraggled old woman and I follow her to the easel. Her sketches are wonderful and somehow she’s managed to make me look, thoughtful, alluring and…beautiful, especially the first one where I was just sat on the sofa.
‘I can’t wait to finish working on them,’ she says. ‘I’ll be doing that after you’ve gone.’
‘I can’t wait to see them finished,’ I say.
‘Would you consider modelling for me again, sometime?’
‘Of course, I’d love to. But, maybe give me a little more warning next time.’
We both giggle like little girls.
‘Maybe next time I’ll get both you and Richard to pose for me together,’ says Kat. ‘Now that would be fun!’
I still can’t get over him also being called Richard.
I have a funny feeling Kat and I will be seeing a lot more of each other.