Davina Does Easter Read online

  ‘We’ll be crashing about in the back,’ she said, missing my (admittedly feeble) joke altogether. ‘And I won’t be drinking. I promised Mum I would never drink and drive and I never will.’

  ‘What does your mum do?’ I enquired, curious.

  ‘She manages a big office in Bradford. She’s worked there ever since I first went to school, getting one promotion after another. She never has any time off. Well, she did have a week when Dad died, when I was seven.’

  Oh bother! I hadn’t seen that coming. I’d assumed “Dad” was an absentee, not in a grave.

  ‘It was an industrial accident,’ Meryl said matter-of-factly, ‘in a foundry in Keighley. Mum got a mega payout from their insurers . . . after a bit of a wait, naturally.’

  ‘Has she been on her own ever after?’

  ‘Apart from me, you mean?’

  I nodded and said nothing, afraid of putting my foot in it yet again.

  ‘Aunt Doreen lived with us for years,’ Meryl went on. ‘Of course she wasn’t really my aunt; really she was the woman who shared Mum’s bed. Then she got breast cancer and it simply wouldn’t go away. She died the summer before last. Since then there’s just been the two of us.’

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. My own home life (safe, secure and with only the danger of being suffocated by love) suddenly seemed unfair. Anger raged inside my head. Ellie had better not call Meryl “Miserable” ever again; not unless she wanted a punch on the nose.

  Or maybe a head-butt.

  ‘Are you ready for another pint?’ Meryl was on her feet.

  ‘Hey, I’m taking you out. I’m buying.

  ‘Let me get this round,’ she said. ‘That bar steward of a barman keeps looking our way. He fancies one of us; I want to see which one. I’m betting he’s gay . . .’

  My God, I thought as she went back to the bar, taking a lot of male attention with her, she was ribbing me! And she was almost subtle with it!!

  Draining the last of my pint I (literally) licked my lips. There was even more to the girl than I’d credited.

  A whole lot more.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Meryl had indeed lowered the back seats in her mum’s Disco . . . both rows of them.

  ‘There’s enough room for a ten-girl orgy,’ I said as she pulled up just short of Morton Institute.

  ‘Two will do for now,’ she said. ‘If you can get another eight interested parties we can try it some other night.’

  I wasn’t sure how serious she was but chuckled anyway. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I’ll be happy with just you.’

  ‘Correct answer!’

  We’d stopped up in an approved (I hoped!) parking area outside a terrace of houses. Meryl proved she was at least slightly nervy by asking me about our invite.

  ‘No worries,’ I replied. ‘There won’t be bouncers or girls behind reception desks at a place like this. There never is. We’ll just walk straight in.’

  ‘Are you saying you haven’t brought it with you?’

  I laughed out loud at that. I’d checked the invitation that morning. It was addressed only to “Dave”. But the ink was easily matched. The card tucked in my wallet now read “Dave and guest”.

  ‘I’ve got it but like I said, we won’t need it,’ I assured her.

  ‘Let’s go then.’ She clasped my hand. ‘’If all’s well and I’m not going to be kicked out on my ass. . .’

  *****

  I was right about the lack of bouncers, and the closest to “reception” was a pair of forty-something women sipping from outsized wine glasses. I guessed they were Ralph’s mum and her backup but never got to find out which was which. They never got to find out who we were either. They just met us with smiles and pointed the way to the bar.

  Not that I didn’t already know!

  As eighteenths go that was a good ‘un. None of my friends could have been accused of shunning my date as an outcast and a lot of them were drooling over her. Take Ellie, for example. She cornered me on my way out of the ladies’.

  ‘Is she fit our what’ she exclaimed. ‘Give her to me when you’re done. I have sooooo many tricks in store for her.’

  ‘I thought you had tricks in store for me.’ I replied, somewhat awkwardly.

  ‘I have, but tonight I’m seeing Meryl in a whole new light. I really, really want to screw her.

  ‘Honestly and truthfully?’

  ‘So much so it hurts,’ Ellie admitted. ‘I want her nearly as much as I want you.’

  We stared at each other a while. I didn’t actually love Ellie (not in the depths of my brain), but I did like her a lot more than I let on.

  Cards on the table: I keep maintaining I’ve only had three true loves but Ellie could have made it a top four. Half a sincere gesture and I’d have wilted like a reed in a storm.

  That was her big chance but, sadly, she had different ideas.

  ‘Next Friday,’ she began, ‘my old folk are away again. Are you up for as much as you can take?’

  Ten out of ten for guessing my answer and “no” doesn’t come in to the frame.

  Not even close.

  *****

  As I mentioned a moment ago, all my friends went out of their way to be nice to Meryl. Sara said she looked “super smashing” and Jacqui and Roberta were particularly attentive.

  Especially Roberta.

  I chuckled at that. Roberta was one of the sexiest girls ever; she made your average beauty queen look like a shrivelled old glove. There wasn’t a guy in school who’d ever turn her down. And there wasn’t a guy in school who wasn’t envious of Jacqui for winning her heart.

  Straight up honest, Roberta was seriously fit. I regularly jacked thinking about her. I know that’s a terrible thing to admit, but it’s the truth. I used mental images of her while bringing myself off. And it was one hundred per cent sexual: I didn’t waste time conjuring up fanciful love stories and airy-fairy things like that. When I pictured her it was for one end only. I neither needed nor wanted anything short of release.

  Yes, I accept I was objectifying her, but is it really only men who commit that crime? How many of us genuinely qualify to cast that first stone?

  Anyhow I did it quite often and I did it thinking about other girls too. Burn me at the stake if you have to; I’m not going to lie and pretend it never happened.

  So, where was I? Oh yes, drooling over Roberta. Now, if I had one reservation about her it was that she could be a bit aloof. It was nothing extreme, please understand, but (Christmas kissing aside!) she did occasionally seem remote.

  That said, she wasn’t aloof on the night of Ralph’s party; not when it came to Meryl. Her attraction to the girl was as obvious as it was instantaneous. Jacqui kept trying to join in their (rather one-sided) conversation but Roberta rolled right over her attempts.

  Amused as I was, I kept an eye on Meryl. It was hard to believe she wasn’t flattered by the attention but even harder to read her thoughts. She might feel reciprocal or she might not. For all I knew she could have been scoffing inside at the two-faced cow who suddenly wanted to befriend her.

  By that I mean Roberta, not me!

  Lorna caught up with me in the toilets (the ladies’ being my second home for the early part of that evening; I’d switched to wine but those three pints in Dick’s kept nagging at me).

  ‘How unpredictable are you!’ she began.

  I had considered telling Lorna about my date with Meryl during our afternoon in bed but I’d chickened. Now, caught red-handed, I shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry,’ I whimpered. ‘I forgot to let you know.’

  ‘We’re jealousy and apology-free,’ she countered. ‘’And Meryl’s looking seriously good tonight. I can’t fault you for choice.’

  ‘So you’re not annoyed?’

  ‘Ask me a week ago and I’d have questioned your eyesight. Not now, though. Is there any chance of swapping her for a slightly shop-soiled, high-mileage rugby forward?’

  I did my spec-removing trick again then laugh
ed. ‘Nowt wrong with these, lass. You go practice your line-outs; leave Meryl to me.’

  *****

  We left the Institute shortly after nine o’clock; as soon as I was sure I’d regained control of my bladder and could prise Meryl away from Roberta and an increasingly green-eyed Jacqui.

  ‘Are you always the first to leave parties?’ she asked as we climbed back in to the Disco.

  ‘Only when I’m with the hottest girl in town,’ I told her.

  She gave me her mildest kiss for that (lukewarm by her standards, sizzling by anyone else’s).

  ‘I thought we could try Keighley Gate,’ she said.

  I grinned at her. Keighley Gate was a renowned lovers’ lane. I’d never been there before (naturally!) but everyone knew its name was a euphemism for “having sex”. In other words, if a girl said she had been there with a guy, it was taken for granted that she’d opened her legs. I was surprised Meryl had even heard of the place; surprised but game to give it a go.

  ‘Do you know the way?’ I almost jabbered.

  ‘I looked it up on the map. I’ll find it, no worries.’

  Proficient as ever, Meryl drove us past the Institute and out of the village, taking a right after the mini-roundabout. We soon passed the last houses and hit open countryside; very much uphill countryside at that. Then, when I was starting to think we’d end up in Silsden, she took another right.

  ‘It’s meant to get really busy up here,’ she told me. ‘Guys screwing other guys’ wives and what have you. And kids with nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Like us,’ said I.

  We passed a few buildings, some residential but mostly agricultural, then went down a dip and hit a new uphill stretch. I wasn’t to know it at the time, but the farm in the dip marked the end of civilization as I knew it. Maybe I should have guessed because the road stopped being a narrow-ish country lane and became no more than a single track; one with regular passing places on generous grass verges.

  The terrain changed too. The dry stone walls gave way to a thin wire fence, presumably there to keep sheep safe from rare traffic. Beyond the fence the grass was mostly short but interspersed with clumps of much longer stuff that waved like banshees in the wind. As we went higher and higher clumps of black encroached, heather taking over from the grass. Then suddenly the grass was no more and we were surrounded by a sea of black.

  Now I like heather. At certain times of the year it can be purple and simply majestic. I don’t let it fool me, though. I’ve caddied for my dad often enough. Even the tame stuff on golf courses can come up to your waist and the stems can be thicker than my wrist. Hit a ball in there and you’re wisest to call it lost. In the unlikely event of finding the thing you’re never going to get it out with doing severe damage to your scorecard.

  ‘That’s it,’ Meryl said eventually, ‘Keighley Gate.’

  The Discovery’s headlights were illuminating a physical gate; a metal contraption with six or seven horizontal bars. Through it I could see that the “road” went on, but not in a usable state. The tarmacked surface ended where we were currently sitting. Beyond the gate were potholes and great pools of water. The Luftwaffe must still be strafing up there, as well as along that street back down in Bingley.

  In fact maybe they were making a bit more of an effort up there.

  Meryl jerked her finger at the gravelled parking space to our right.

  ‘Does that fit the bill?’

  I remembered the rumours of how busy it got at Keighley Gate and decided it wouldn’t do. There was room for several cars on that space and I didn’t want an audience (that was with me being a relatively innocent teenager and not nearly as naughty as I am nowadays!).

  ‘Let’s go back down a way,’ I said. ‘One of those passing places seems more . . . you know. . .’

  ‘Appropriate for being inappropriate?’ Meryl grinned.

  ‘Precisely,’ said I.

  Chapter Thirty

  We drove back perhaps a hundred yards and found a suitable position: stopping on a not-too-steep bit of verge with space for one Disco only. Car sex novice that I was, even I could see that dogging was not a possibility. Lights from any approaching vehicle would be visible before it got within a mile of us.

  ‘We’re in gear and centrally locked,’ Meryl announced. ‘We can bounce about to our hearts’ content.’

  ‘I’m so excited,’ I confessed.

  ‘Me too,’ said she, unfastening her seat belt and turning to face me. ‘And I’m going to get naked for you. Do you want the music on or off?’

  I wasn’t sure what the current CD was. It wasn’t bouncing about music, though; it was quite tuneful. I suspected it was very early Debbie Harry and guessed it was Meryl’s idea of “romantic”, so I said fine by me, leave it on.

  Then I watched her unbutton her jeans and unzip her boots.

  ‘Here,’ she said, extending one foot in my direction. ‘You do the honours.’

  I removed her boots and put them in the footwell between my legs, standing them erect like a pair of sentries on guard duty . . . or like my nipples, which were harder than hard.

  And don’t get me started on my clit. That was like a little diamond. Eight years have passed and it has never once been nearly so hard.

  Honest.

  ‘You’ll have to help with my Levi’s,’ Meryl said, ‘they’re very tight.’

  They were but I still had them off her in nanoseconds.

  Then she unfastened her waistcoat and made to shrug it aside.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Leave it undone but on.’

  ‘Kinky,’ she said, chuckling. ‘But I like your style. Knickers on or off?’

  I had to ponder that one. Much of my sex up to then had been outdoors and clothed. I actually liked it with knickers on. That is to say I couldn’t think of anything better than slipping my trembling hand into a girl’s wet panties . . . apart from a girl slipping her hand into mine, of course.

  Or pushing aside damp material and feeling hot, swollen lips parting in welcome. . .

  ‘Off,’ I said decisively.

  She lifted her bum and slid her underwear halfway down her thighs. I obligingly did then rest then passed her back a boot.

  ‘Back on,’ I instructed.

  ‘Kinky,’ she said again. Then, in boots, unfastened waistcoat and nothing else but a grin, she said, ‘I want you to eat me.’

  *****

  I made her wait for what she really wanted . . . unless she really wanted me to start on her tits. They had been driving me insane, you see. I simply had to chew them; to nibble and gnaw, kiss, lick and suck. I must have been at them for ages. They were so, so moreish.

  So was her pussy. I set out in this tale intending not to make comparisons and I mean to stick to that, somehow. In a way it is easy to do, because Meryl’s pussy juice was peerless. I’m sure there is a finer taste somewhere in the world but I’m yet to find it. And trust me, I’ve sipped from many wells in my hunt.

  And wasn’t she LOUD!!!