Davina Does Easter Read online

  Davina Does Easter

  By LimeyLady

  Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017

  Distributed by Smashwords

  All characters and events in this publication,

  other than those clearly in the public domain,

  are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

  living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Saturday Afternoon with Lorna

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Dick’s

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Keighley Gate

  Chapter Thirty - Mmmm Meryl . . .

  Chapter Thirty-One - A New Deal

  Chapter Thirty-Two - Val

  Chapter Thirty-Three - Camping in the Lakes

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Night School

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by LimeyLady

  Introduction

  This is going to be a short intro because by now you either know me or you don’t. I’m twenty-six, a devout lesbian and I have a penchant for beautiful girls. By that I mean my ugly mug attracts a lot of stunners and I’m never capable of saying “no”.

  Well I wouldn’t be, would I?

  Okay. So last time I left you rather abruptly, halfway through a sexual extravaganza of a weekend. In fact I was spending Saturday afternoon in the Hottest Girl at School’s bed, making her cum and cum and cum.

  Hard work I know, but somebody had to do it!

  I won’t waste time with any more background. Let’s just say that, as an eighteen-year-old in late 2008, I was developing a taste for “different” and “new” . . . or, in other words, “the more the merrier”.

  And let’s also get back to me and Lorna, picking up somewhere between two and three hours after we’d kicked off . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Me being a lifelong IT nerd, it feels odd when I take a break without being aware of the exact time. I live by the display to the bottom right of my screen. Right then (fresh from a sexual haze) I was lost. Was it nearer four pm or five? How many minutes did I have to get home, showered and changed and back out again? And would I have the seconds to spare to eat “tea”?

  Come to that, would there be anything for me to eat? Mum had had reservations about her only child going rock climbing in torrential rain, expressing concern about the risk of broken necks. She’d clearly thought I would end up eating all my future meals through an NG tube. Would she have even bothered to prepare enough food for stubborn old me?

  Lorna’s hand pulled me out of my reverie, landing on my thigh nice and high up, close to my groin.

  I chuckled, glad she’d last done something apart for moan, groan and orgasm. Not that I’m knocking her in any way. Making her moan, groan and orgasm had been a simply massive turn on. I wouldn’t really have minded carrying on like that forever.

  Well, not much, anyway. Still, having her touching me even innocuously was great.

  ‘Mmmm,’ I went. ‘Keep going.’

  Lorna’s hand brushed my swollen lips, light as a butterfly’s wings, and she echoed my chuckle.

  ‘How much will you tell Sara?’

  ‘Eh?’ I replied, oh-so articulately.

  ‘About this afternoon, I mean. Do you really tell her everything you get up to?’

  ‘We’re grown women and jealousy-free,’ I replied with the sincerity of a girl who had never been badly let down (not yet!). ‘But we don’t tittle-tattle. What I do without her is my business. So is whatever she does with Ray. Not that I want to know what she gets up to with him. Or what you do with Steve, for that matter.’

  ‘Steve’s probably not so jealousy-free,’ Lorna said. ‘And he fancies you. Don’t get me wrong; inside his head he’s a liberated man. In his heart he’s a Neanderthal.’

  ‘Neanderthal’s were relatively civilized,’ I said automatically. ‘They just get bad press.’ Then, frowning: ‘What was that about Steve fancying me?’

  ‘He’s like his mates. The whole rugby team wants to get into your knickers. They’re all scared though. None of them want to be the first to get shot down in flames.’

  I mused on that a moment. ‘I must be at the back their queue,’ I said finally.

  ‘You’re ahead of most of us,’ said Lorna. ‘Trust me, Dave; you have a lot of men’s hands moving very rapidly every night.’

  My retching sounds weren’t entirely faked. ‘Please,’ I said, ‘I’m nobody’s dream girl. And that imagery is making me sick.’

  ‘Welcome to the club.’ She laughed. ‘What about Ellie? What do you tell her?’

  ‘I tell her even less than I tell Sara. And believe you me, Ellie’s hard work. When it comes to prying for information, she got kicked out of the Gestapo ages ago. For excess cruelty, I believe.’

  ‘But you can deal with her?’

  Lorna’s hand had moved higher; it was cupping my pussy now, not actually doing anything apart from being warm and cosy.

  ‘Yeah,’ I gasped, ‘I can deal with both of them.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lorna, beginning to rub.

  *****

  I declined the offer of a shared shower because somehow it had got to five twenty-five.

  ‘Let’s keep us secret,’ Lorna said before unlocking her front door. ‘I’m not ashamed or anything, but I want an easy life. And I want us to keep sneaking around. It adds an edge, don’t you think?’

  ‘You want to do this again?’ I queried, a little surprised, enormously gratified.

  ‘You bet I do. I’m missing you already.’

  Logical Dave muttered something about flings supposed to be one-offs. I ignored her.

  What did she know!

  ‘As long as you’re jealousy-free I’m your gal,’ I told Lorna, smiling into her eyes.

  She beamed right back at me. ‘Jealousy-free and sneakily surreptitious,’ she said. ‘And what Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him, will it?’

  ‘Yes, but he’ll find out one day. Somebody will twig and he’ll be the next to know.’

  ‘That possibility will add to the edge,’ she said, grinning ever-wider.

  ‘Seeing you naked is edge enough for me,’ I said as convincingly as possible. ‘But I do know where you’re coming from. As long as you’re sure he won’t react too badly when he does cotton on.’

  ‘He’d die before he even shouted at a woman, so I’ve nothing to fear. And neither have you. It’s me he’ll be jealous of. You’ll just seem more desirable.’

  ‘I wish,’ said I. ‘Er . . . when’s the next slot in your diary?’

  ‘My parents visit Sheffield every third or fourth weekend. And Steve has rugby all day Saturday at this time of year.’

  ‘Every three or four weeks it is then.’ I offered her my fist.

  ‘You betcha,’ she agreed, bumping it.

  *****

  My visit home was, to say the least, a flying one. My hair wet from the latest heavy fall of rain, I arrived in a flurry and shot up to the bathroom before I could be interrogated. Then, showered and dressed in my usual Saturday night clobber, I called in to the kitchen.

  ‘Home-made corned beef, potato and onion pie,’ Mum announced (as if the delicious aromas could’ve been missed!). ‘Have you time to wash it down with wine?’

  I had.

  ‘No fatal falls then?’ Mum asked as I tucked in.

  ‘Oh,’ said I, borrowing a tactic from Margaret Thatcher and disregarding the question altogether. ‘Kelly is calling round tomorrow. I’m helping her with some IT.’

  (Please note: I was actually making sure Kelly got some IT coursework finished; coursework that only I didn’t seem to be losing sleep over. It was my way of paying her for being my alibi. As
it counted toward Kelly’s A-level, Mum would have called that sort of help “cheating” so I didn’t go into the nitty-gritty.)

  ‘Is she the . . . ah, mannish one?’ Mum persisted.

  ‘She has the same tastes as me,’ I said patiently. ‘But we’re not an item or anything. We’re just doing some work together on . . .’

  Mum listened for maybe a minute before holding up her hand.

  ‘Whoa, enough! You lost me at the first NAND gate. You do whatever it is you have to do. At least it’ll keep you out of the pub.’

  ‘We won’t be at it long,’ said I. ‘I’ll soon explain the bits she doesn’t properly understand. Then we’ll probably get out of your hair and go for a drink.’

  Mum sipped wine and tried not to smile. ‘You and your love of alcohol! I honestly don’t know where you get it from.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Because my mum had old-fashioned values (like believing in love with - and faithful to - one person at a time), I had arranged to meet Meryl outside the Spar, taking care to keep out of direct line of sight of any of the night staff. I got there at 6:28, two minutes early. Meryl arrived at six-thirty precisely but, as she was in a fancy SUV, it took me a moment to realize it was her.

  (Confession: I was under the impression her mum was a single parent and had expected something less flashy, like the aging Mini my own mum ran around in. Meryl’s Discovery still couldn’t be due its first MOT. It wasn’t brand-spanking-new but it was seriously impressive.)

  No. it was awesome!

  ‘Wow,’ I said as she leant over and opened the passenger-side door. ‘Ace wheels!’

  ‘Ace you,’ she countered, kissing me quickly before pulling back, waiting for me to belt myself in. ‘So where to?’

  ‘I’m supposed to be taking you out,’ I protested.

  ‘Consider me to be the chauffer then. Is Dick’s all right?’

  Ralph’s party was in Morton Institute (again!). Dick’s was on the way, assuming we went via the more scenic route so I said yes, it would do for me.

  Seeming very proficient in the driving seat, Meryl indicated to move out.

  *****

  The pub was an ivy-covered building on the fringes of the moor, miles from anywhere but very, very popular. Back in the day it had catered for packhorses, stagecoaches and the likes. Judging from the vehicles on its car park it now mostly catered for yuppies in Mercs and BMWs. Meryl’s (mum’s) motor didn’t look at all out of place.

  Unlike us when we went inside.

  Early evening and Dick’s was rammed with well-dressed folk, most of them already dining or about to dine. Not that you should be thinking ball gowns and tuxedos; it was very much smart/casual with few ties to be seen and no dicky-bows at all.

  Dozens of eyes fixed on us as we approached the bar. I’d like to think that my Saturday night clobber passed muster. My blue jeans were as smart as anyone else’s, my sweatshirt was a fetching if rather pale yellow and my short leather jacket was practically unbroken-in.

  Meryl was dressed as per Friday, minus the cape. Her F-me boots and half-unbuttoned waistcoat were black and her tight jeans were blue-verging-on-black. The only real difference in her that night was the choice of lippy: dark purple instead of blood-red.

  She looked hot, though. Posh women were snarling as their partners visually gobbled her up.

  The bits of her I hadn’t already mentally devoured!

  I grinned at Meryl as we waited to be served. No doubt about it, she loved the attention, and why not? At eighteen we were significantly younger than those well-dressed diners. It was our obligation to look rebellious, wasn’t it?

  So what if most of the hen-pecked hubbies were ogling my girlfriend’s lovely little, half-exposed tits? Ogling was as close as they were going to get.

  Me? I had my plans.

  And dirty ones at that!

  ‘What are you having?’ I asked her.

  ‘Britvic orange and lemonade,’ she replied, somewhat shattering her rebellious image.

  The nearest barman sprang into action, not waiting for me to confirm the order. In a matter of seconds a well-presented glass was on the bar before us, filled with juice, ice and a slice.

  ‘And you, sir?’ he said to me.

  I stared at him, for once taken aback.

  ‘A pint of Black Sheep,’ said Meryl, squeezing my bum, signalling me to keep cool.

  I think.

  I thrust a tenner at the frigging bar steward without speaking then, acting like the guy he took me to be, I crammed my unchecked change into the front pocket of my jeans.

  Asshole, I thought, quite viciously.

  Meryl led me to one of the few free tables; it was by a large window that faced south, downhill and towards Bingley.

  ‘The views are wonderful from here in summer,’ she said.

  I laughed shortly, still peeved with the barman.

  ‘Did you hear what he said to me,’ I asked indignantly, ‘that flipping bar steward!’

  ‘He’s visually challenged, obviously.’ Meryl’s laugh had much more humour in it than mine.

  ‘Here,’ I said, momentarily taking off my supersized specs. ‘I’ll give him these.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Meryl, ‘you wouldn’t be the same without them.’

  I shook my head, clearing it, reminding myself my date was probably nervous and I had no right to be sniffy.

  Pull yourself together, Logical Dave recommended. Forget it ever happened. And don’t be a grouch. It wasn’t exactly the first time, was it?

  ‘Not much of a view tonight,’ I said aloud, nodding at the window which was still rain-lashed from one recent downpour or another.

  ‘It is December,’ Meryl replied. ‘It’s been dark for hours.’

  ‘The view across this table is much better,’ I countered, sincerely if a bit gushy and predictable.

  ‘Did you notice the back of the Disco?’

  ‘Eh?’ said I, thrown by the abrupt change of tack.

  ‘The Discovery; I’ve put the rear seats down. We’ll have plenty of room later. Clever me, eh?’

  ‘Clever you,’ I agreed, amazed as ever by her bluntness but excited too. The idea of “plenty of room” equated to “plenty of fun”, and I was up for that.

  Wasn’t I just!

  ‘I have a surprise for you,’ she added.

  ‘Great. What is it?’

  ‘It’s a surprise, so wait and see.’

  ‘Have you been driving long?’ I wondered, speaking to break the ensuing silence as much as wanting to know.

  ‘Almost a year.’

  ‘You must have learnt fast.’

  ‘I did. Mum got me lessons for my seventeenth. I had them in a crash course.’

  ‘I sincerely hope we won’t be crashing tonight.’