You know sometimes you see or hear something that gives you a private smile? Well, occasionally I hear or see the phrase ‘3G’, and when I do it reminds me of an incident that took place a long time ago, and some distance away from where I now live. So read on if you’d like to find out why…
***
If I remember rightly, I was twenty three at the time. It was just after Christmas, and around the time of New Year, 1974. I’d left home about two months before, and I was still getting used to being my own shopper, washer-up, laundryman, cleaner, clothes-ironer, and general all round dogs body.
All this domestic stuff was new to me, because when I’d lived at home my mum had always done all the housework and chores, and I’d pretty much let her get on with it. Now it was a different story. It was up to me to do everything to feed, clothe, and perform all the boring domestic tasks for the most demanding of task masters, myself. The only thing I didn't do was clean my bed-sitting room, which was on the first floor (first is the one up from the ground floor, for our American readers) of a big Victorian terraced house, in the heart of bed-sit land, near the centre of a large(ish) city in the West of England.
I had my own front door key to let me into the house, and my own room key to let me into my room, but there was a cleaning lady who insisted on coming into my private space once a week to mop the walls and polish the carpet. Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean. She was a busybody if ever there was one. She took great delight in dishing the dirt on all the other tenants to me whenever she saw me, so no doubt she had a few choice words to say about me to the other tenants when she saw them too.
Well, this story doesn't concern her, although she does make an appearance in the epilogue, so look out for her at the end of the tale.
Like I said, I now had to do my own shopping, and the only time I could do most of it was on the weekends. I didn't finish work till nearly 6.00pm during the week, and in those days, in good old England, all the shops shut at 6.00pm.
And so it came about that one cold and wet Sunday afternoon I found myself traipsing around the shopping streets of my home town. I was looking for a shop that was open (most of them didn't on Sundays back then), so that I could stock up on cornflakes, bread, sandwich fillers, and all the other vital things a single bloke has to buy.
It was cold and it was wet, and I got cold and I got very wet indeed. By the time I got back to my room with my two heavy bags of shopping, my coat was dripping, my hair was dripping, the shopping was dripping, and my soaking wet trousers were stuck to my legs, and dripping into my squelching shoes.
Needless to say, the first things to do were put the shopping bags on the draining board next to the sink, then hang my wet coat on the back of the door, and put a towel on the floor underneath it to soak up the drips. After that, I took off my shoes and socks, wrung out my socks into the sink and then hung them over the edge of it, then stuffed my sopping shoes with newspaper and shoved them under the bed. Lastly, I peeled my trousers off my legs, then emptied the pockets of loose change, notes, keys, and wallet, and finally hung them up next to my coat, to drip onto the towel below.
I was now standing in a damp jumper, damp and tight T shirt, and very tight, skimpy black briefs (all the rage at the time). I took off the jumper, then found another towel and stood in front of the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door, and watched myself as I dried my shoulder length hair and soft scrubby beard (also all the rage at the time).
I thought I didn't too look bad really. I’d filled out a bit since leaving home, now that my diet had more junk food in it, but I was still the svelte young hunk that I’d been since my swimming days as a teenager. Well, I thought so anyway, and it prompted me to start thinking about girls, and my lack of regular sex with anyone other than my own two hands. Mind you, I was well practised at it, I’d been practising since I was thirteen, and by now I reckoned I must be pretty much perfect!
I remember looking at my sexy young body and thinking, ‘This is purgatory, and very frustrating. I do everything I can to be nice to girls, and all I get is, “But Jim, I couldn't possibly go out with you. I think of you too much as a friend, but I do think you’ll make some lucky girl a wonderful husband.” It drives me mad!’
It certainly did, and I remember my thoughts moved on to, ‘I don’t want to be a “wonderful husband, I want to be a despicable bastard, girls always go for the bastards.’
Feeling lonely, wet and miserable as I was, I just threw myself on to my bed at the side of the room. It made the bed bang against the wall, and a couple of seconds later the wall banged back.
‘Oops, I've upset old Madge again,’ I thought, ‘ah well, can’t win ‘em all!’ and with that I pulled the eiderdown over myself and curled up to try and get warm. I know I succeeded because when I woke up it was gone 7.00pm, and I had to get on with making myself something to eat, and trying to dry out my clothes.
The shoes would have to dry for a couple of days, but I had spare ones, so they didn't matter, and I had spare socks, but I needed my trousers for the following day, so after I’d forced down a rather unappetising meal of a hastily heated frozen fish portion and some baked beans, I had to get out the ironing board and try to iron them dry.
***
Time was getting on a bit, it must have been around 9.30pm, and I was happily ironing the steaming legs of my trousers, when there was a knock on the door.
I couldn't think of who it could be at this time of night. I didn't really know any of the other tenants in the house, and the cleaner wasn't due till Wednesday. So feeling a bit put out by someone disturbing my busy ironing session, I put the iron onto its stand at the end of the ironing board, and went over to open the door just a crack and look out to see who it was.
In the small pool of light that spilled out from my room onto the unlit landing, I saw a shortish, pretty blonde girl of about twenty two, with large brown eyes, a small mouth, and a pale complexion, wearing something light coloured, that was long and shapeless, and standing with a paper cup in her hand.
“Hello, I'm from upstairs, and I know this sounds corny,” she said, “but I don’t suppose you've got any sugar have you?”
I remember I looked into the attractive face the words had just come from, took in the soft brown eyes, the nervous smile that played around the edges of her pale pink lips, and the long straight blonde hair that framed it all so captivatingly, and couldn't think of anything sensible to say.
“I… I… uhhh… don’t have any I'm afraid.” I replied when I’d regained some of my senses.
“I don’t use it myself. I've got to look after my sylph like figure you see.” and I smiled a short thin smile. It was the same sort of half-hearted smile you’d give a stranger you met in a lift.
That was the trouble with being shy. How do you react when a perfect stranger starts talking to you? Especially if that stranger looks to be perfect in more ways than one?
I’d always had problems breaking the ice with girls, and even in my twenties, I still struggled to overcome the fear of saying or doing the one wrong thing that could end a relationship before it even had time to realise it existed.
The girl smiled sympathetically at my feeble attempt at humour, and I felt the warmth in her eyes like the kiss of the sun on a mid-summer beach. Then her expression changed to one of disappointment, and she turned and walked along the landing and grabbed the banister, ready to go back up the stairs to her room on the next floor up.
“ ‘s okay,” she said, “I thought I’d ask on the off chance. The shops round here are all shut on Sunday, and I like to have sugar on my cornflakes in the morning.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I gave up sugar nearly a year ago now, …when I noticed my trousers were getting a bit tight.”
She looked back at me with an odd, but not unpleasant expression, and I swear her eyes were scanning slowly down the door, hoping to get a good look at said trousers. Then her face lit up a bit, and she smiled again as she started climbing the stairs.
I closed the door, then realised that opening it had moved the towel away from under the coat, and now it was rucked up in a crooked line on the carpet. So I moved the towel and spread it out under the damp coat again, then picked up the iron from the stand and continued trying to smooth the trousers the girl had been so eager to see. A few seconds later I heard the door of the bed-sit above clunk shut.
When I heard the door go, I stopped ironing for a second, shrugged my shoulders, shook my head, and smiled to think of the strange encounter I’d just had. Then I dismissed it as a one-off, a never to be repeated event, like winning the pools, or being struck by lightning.
On some kind of subliminal level I recognised there was something else going on than just a request for sugar when she’d knocked, but what it was I really couldn't tell. However, I did notice that not all of me was happy to treat the event as being over and done with, and I had to adjust my pants to allow for what was growing inside them. The trouble was, I couldn't forget the pretty face, the long blonde hair, the sparkle in the soft brown eyes, the warmth of her smile…
I started to hope she might come back and give me the chance to offer her some honey as an alternative to sugar. So I found myself straining to hear any movement in the room upstairs while I turned the trousers first one way, then the other.
I’d never really bothered to listen before. The new couple had only been up there for a couple of weeks, and in the past I’d just silently sworn at the noise they made when they clumped around in heels and heavy shoes.
‘Neither of them was brought up in a flat,’ I’d often thought.
Presently the muffled sound of voices floated down through the ceiling. I found I could distinctly make out the blonde girl’s voice as she talked to (presumably) her boyfriend, but I couldn't quite hear what was being said.
‘At least the floors aren't as thin as the walls in this house,’ I thought, although it felt like it sometimes.
The voices stopped, and a little while later the sound of the door opening and closing upstairs sounded with muffled vibration through the ceiling and walls of my room. Then I heard the sound of shoes clumping down the stairs, and after a few seconds there was another knock at my door.
This got me worried. I thought it might be the boyfriend coming down to have a go at me for talking to his girlfriend. After all, she’d looked as though she was wearing some kind of night dress when she’d visited me, and perhaps the boyfriend was the jealous kind? I wouldn't put it past him, most blokes I know are very possessive about their girlfriends, and don’t like any other men even looking at them, let alone passing the time of day with them.
After a few seconds, while I was still debating in my head whether it would be safe to answer the door or not, there was another knock, and this time a voice came with it.
"Hello? Can you hear me?” said the female voice outside the door.
‘Phew!’ I thought, ‘had me worried there for a moment’, but I still wasn't sure how many people there were waiting on the landing. The thought came to me that perhaps they’d both come down to have a go.
‘Well if they have I’ll just be as nice as I can and hope to calm ‘em down,’ I thought, ‘and just for good measure I've got the iron handy.’ and with that I cracked the door open just enough to look out.
The short blonde girl was standing there in the shadows on her own, and looking different somehow from our last meeting.
“Hello,” I said, “you had me worried there for a minute. I thought it was your boyfriend coming down to beat me up for talking to you.”
“No,” she said, “he’s going to sleep now, coz he’s knackered.”
I remember I smiled when she used the word ‘knackered’. Back in those days it was almost a swear word, and I hadn't expected someone who looked so sweet to use such a word, and spoken as though it was part of her normal speech.
“But won’t he mind you coming down here again?” I said, “Or does he think you’re going to ask one of the other tenants for a cup of sugar?”
“No, I told him you looked a bit down when I saw you just now,” she said, “and I told him I was coming down to cheer you up.” And with this she held up a full glass beaker toward me, while she smiled in the semi darkness behind it.
I opened the door a bit more, the better to see her in the light.
“Can I come in?” she said, “I don’t bite you know.” and with that she pushed the door fully open and started walking in to the room as bold as brass.
I was a bit distracted for a second or so by the thought that the towel would get all rucked up again, but then I couldn't help but stare when she came into the light. The something light coloured, long and shapeless she’d been wearing before had now been replaced with something short, frilly and transparent.
At the same time she started to stare too, when she saw me standing there in just a small tight T shirt, and very skimpy underpants that were rapidly getting tighter.
“Uhh… are you sure?” I said, and feeling a bit embarrassed, I quickly turned my body away toward the ironing board.
“Course.” she answered, eyes aimed squarely at the bulge in my pants while she moved further into my brightly lit room.
“Oh! And by the way, you do know your nightie’s a bit see-through? And I can see your uh ...nipples.” I said, and looked away for a second.
“Course,” she said, “and you do know you’re not wearing your kecks?” Then she stopped, turned, and looked me straight in the eye.
“Anyway, I said I was coming down to cheer you up. So I thought I’d wear something that’d cheer you up.” She said, and just stood there.
I was a bit shocked. I’d never been in such a bizarre situation in my whole life. My rant about girls not wanting to go out with me earlier hadn't been directed at anyone in particular, and I didn't think that any deity had heard it and decided to let me be the ‘despicable bastard’ I’d wished for. Yet here I was, standing in my room, hot iron in hand, with an attractive stranger of the opposite sex standing right in front of me, wearing nothing but a smile and a see-through baby doll nightie that almost reached her crotch and left nothing to the imagination.
I didn't know how to react, or thought I didn't.
“You’re not gay are you?” she said, as she watched my pants getting tighter.
“No, I don’t think so. Not the last time I looked anyway.” I replied, and then I realised what she meant as she continued to stare at my now very full pants.
I think we both knew then that the situation had changed. Neither of us was decently dressed, so we were both putting ourselves in a vulnerable position, but then it dawned on me that the girl didn't even have any knickers on, just the short flimsy nightie, and very pale, slightly goose bumped skin showing through beneath it. I also noticed her nipples were hardening under the sheer fabric of the nightie, and I wasn't sure if this was a come-on or a tease.
Then I noticed another thing, she had matching collar and cuffs (as the saying goes!). She was a true natural blonde. Who knew?
Well, I did now, and it was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that I was partial to blondes.
She’d known exactly what she was doing when she left her boyfriend upstairs, and presumably so had he. Especially if she’d stripped off her proper nightie and put on the one she was wearing now. To top it all off she’d then filled up a glass with what looked like water, but probably wasn't, then put on some strappy heels and come down the stairs to try and get into my room.
‘I wonder what else she wants to get into,’ I thought, as her eyes stayed firmly fixed on the hard ridge in my pants.
“What’s in the cup?” I said, as a weak attempt to distract her.
“Vodka.” she replied without looking up.
“Neat?” I asked.
“No, it’s about half and half, vodka and lemonade.
***
If I remember rightly, I was twenty three at the time. It was just after Christmas, and around the time of New Year, 1974. I’d left home about two months before, and I was still getting used to being my own shopper, washer-up, laundryman, cleaner, clothes-ironer, and general all round dogs body.
All this domestic stuff was new to me, because when I’d lived at home my mum had always done all the housework and chores, and I’d pretty much let her get on with it. Now it was a different story. It was up to me to do everything to feed, clothe, and perform all the boring domestic tasks for the most demanding of task masters, myself. The only thing I didn't do was clean my bed-sitting room, which was on the first floor (first is the one up from the ground floor, for our American readers) of a big Victorian terraced house, in the heart of bed-sit land, near the centre of a large(ish) city in the West of England.
I had my own front door key to let me into the house, and my own room key to let me into my room, but there was a cleaning lady who insisted on coming into my private space once a week to mop the walls and polish the carpet. Well, not exactly, but you know what I mean. She was a busybody if ever there was one. She took great delight in dishing the dirt on all the other tenants to me whenever she saw me, so no doubt she had a few choice words to say about me to the other tenants when she saw them too.
Well, this story doesn't concern her, although she does make an appearance in the epilogue, so look out for her at the end of the tale.
Like I said, I now had to do my own shopping, and the only time I could do most of it was on the weekends. I didn't finish work till nearly 6.00pm during the week, and in those days, in good old England, all the shops shut at 6.00pm.
And so it came about that one cold and wet Sunday afternoon I found myself traipsing around the shopping streets of my home town. I was looking for a shop that was open (most of them didn't on Sundays back then), so that I could stock up on cornflakes, bread, sandwich fillers, and all the other vital things a single bloke has to buy.
It was cold and it was wet, and I got cold and I got very wet indeed. By the time I got back to my room with my two heavy bags of shopping, my coat was dripping, my hair was dripping, the shopping was dripping, and my soaking wet trousers were stuck to my legs, and dripping into my squelching shoes.
Needless to say, the first things to do were put the shopping bags on the draining board next to the sink, then hang my wet coat on the back of the door, and put a towel on the floor underneath it to soak up the drips. After that, I took off my shoes and socks, wrung out my socks into the sink and then hung them over the edge of it, then stuffed my sopping shoes with newspaper and shoved them under the bed. Lastly, I peeled my trousers off my legs, then emptied the pockets of loose change, notes, keys, and wallet, and finally hung them up next to my coat, to drip onto the towel below.
I was now standing in a damp jumper, damp and tight T shirt, and very tight, skimpy black briefs (all the rage at the time). I took off the jumper, then found another towel and stood in front of the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door, and watched myself as I dried my shoulder length hair and soft scrubby beard (also all the rage at the time).
I thought I didn't too look bad really. I’d filled out a bit since leaving home, now that my diet had more junk food in it, but I was still the svelte young hunk that I’d been since my swimming days as a teenager. Well, I thought so anyway, and it prompted me to start thinking about girls, and my lack of regular sex with anyone other than my own two hands. Mind you, I was well practised at it, I’d been practising since I was thirteen, and by now I reckoned I must be pretty much perfect!
I remember looking at my sexy young body and thinking, ‘This is purgatory, and very frustrating. I do everything I can to be nice to girls, and all I get is, “But Jim, I couldn't possibly go out with you. I think of you too much as a friend, but I do think you’ll make some lucky girl a wonderful husband.” It drives me mad!’
It certainly did, and I remember my thoughts moved on to, ‘I don’t want to be a “wonderful husband, I want to be a despicable bastard, girls always go for the bastards.’
Feeling lonely, wet and miserable as I was, I just threw myself on to my bed at the side of the room. It made the bed bang against the wall, and a couple of seconds later the wall banged back.
‘Oops, I've upset old Madge again,’ I thought, ‘ah well, can’t win ‘em all!’ and with that I pulled the eiderdown over myself and curled up to try and get warm. I know I succeeded because when I woke up it was gone 7.00pm, and I had to get on with making myself something to eat, and trying to dry out my clothes.
The shoes would have to dry for a couple of days, but I had spare ones, so they didn't matter, and I had spare socks, but I needed my trousers for the following day, so after I’d forced down a rather unappetising meal of a hastily heated frozen fish portion and some baked beans, I had to get out the ironing board and try to iron them dry.
***
Time was getting on a bit, it must have been around 9.30pm, and I was happily ironing the steaming legs of my trousers, when there was a knock on the door.
I couldn't think of who it could be at this time of night. I didn't really know any of the other tenants in the house, and the cleaner wasn't due till Wednesday. So feeling a bit put out by someone disturbing my busy ironing session, I put the iron onto its stand at the end of the ironing board, and went over to open the door just a crack and look out to see who it was.
In the small pool of light that spilled out from my room onto the unlit landing, I saw a shortish, pretty blonde girl of about twenty two, with large brown eyes, a small mouth, and a pale complexion, wearing something light coloured, that was long and shapeless, and standing with a paper cup in her hand.
“Hello, I'm from upstairs, and I know this sounds corny,” she said, “but I don’t suppose you've got any sugar have you?”
I remember I looked into the attractive face the words had just come from, took in the soft brown eyes, the nervous smile that played around the edges of her pale pink lips, and the long straight blonde hair that framed it all so captivatingly, and couldn't think of anything sensible to say.
“I… I… uhhh… don’t have any I'm afraid.” I replied when I’d regained some of my senses.
“I don’t use it myself. I've got to look after my sylph like figure you see.” and I smiled a short thin smile. It was the same sort of half-hearted smile you’d give a stranger you met in a lift.
That was the trouble with being shy. How do you react when a perfect stranger starts talking to you? Especially if that stranger looks to be perfect in more ways than one?
I’d always had problems breaking the ice with girls, and even in my twenties, I still struggled to overcome the fear of saying or doing the one wrong thing that could end a relationship before it even had time to realise it existed.
The girl smiled sympathetically at my feeble attempt at humour, and I felt the warmth in her eyes like the kiss of the sun on a mid-summer beach. Then her expression changed to one of disappointment, and she turned and walked along the landing and grabbed the banister, ready to go back up the stairs to her room on the next floor up.
“ ‘s okay,” she said, “I thought I’d ask on the off chance. The shops round here are all shut on Sunday, and I like to have sugar on my cornflakes in the morning.”
“Sorry,” I said, “I gave up sugar nearly a year ago now, …when I noticed my trousers were getting a bit tight.”
She looked back at me with an odd, but not unpleasant expression, and I swear her eyes were scanning slowly down the door, hoping to get a good look at said trousers. Then her face lit up a bit, and she smiled again as she started climbing the stairs.
I closed the door, then realised that opening it had moved the towel away from under the coat, and now it was rucked up in a crooked line on the carpet. So I moved the towel and spread it out under the damp coat again, then picked up the iron from the stand and continued trying to smooth the trousers the girl had been so eager to see. A few seconds later I heard the door of the bed-sit above clunk shut.
When I heard the door go, I stopped ironing for a second, shrugged my shoulders, shook my head, and smiled to think of the strange encounter I’d just had. Then I dismissed it as a one-off, a never to be repeated event, like winning the pools, or being struck by lightning.
On some kind of subliminal level I recognised there was something else going on than just a request for sugar when she’d knocked, but what it was I really couldn't tell. However, I did notice that not all of me was happy to treat the event as being over and done with, and I had to adjust my pants to allow for what was growing inside them. The trouble was, I couldn't forget the pretty face, the long blonde hair, the sparkle in the soft brown eyes, the warmth of her smile…
I started to hope she might come back and give me the chance to offer her some honey as an alternative to sugar. So I found myself straining to hear any movement in the room upstairs while I turned the trousers first one way, then the other.
I’d never really bothered to listen before. The new couple had only been up there for a couple of weeks, and in the past I’d just silently sworn at the noise they made when they clumped around in heels and heavy shoes.
‘Neither of them was brought up in a flat,’ I’d often thought.
Presently the muffled sound of voices floated down through the ceiling. I found I could distinctly make out the blonde girl’s voice as she talked to (presumably) her boyfriend, but I couldn't quite hear what was being said.
‘At least the floors aren't as thin as the walls in this house,’ I thought, although it felt like it sometimes.
The voices stopped, and a little while later the sound of the door opening and closing upstairs sounded with muffled vibration through the ceiling and walls of my room. Then I heard the sound of shoes clumping down the stairs, and after a few seconds there was another knock at my door.
This got me worried. I thought it might be the boyfriend coming down to have a go at me for talking to his girlfriend. After all, she’d looked as though she was wearing some kind of night dress when she’d visited me, and perhaps the boyfriend was the jealous kind? I wouldn't put it past him, most blokes I know are very possessive about their girlfriends, and don’t like any other men even looking at them, let alone passing the time of day with them.
After a few seconds, while I was still debating in my head whether it would be safe to answer the door or not, there was another knock, and this time a voice came with it.
"Hello? Can you hear me?” said the female voice outside the door.
‘Phew!’ I thought, ‘had me worried there for a moment’, but I still wasn't sure how many people there were waiting on the landing. The thought came to me that perhaps they’d both come down to have a go.
‘Well if they have I’ll just be as nice as I can and hope to calm ‘em down,’ I thought, ‘and just for good measure I've got the iron handy.’ and with that I cracked the door open just enough to look out.
The short blonde girl was standing there in the shadows on her own, and looking different somehow from our last meeting.
“Hello,” I said, “you had me worried there for a minute. I thought it was your boyfriend coming down to beat me up for talking to you.”
“No,” she said, “he’s going to sleep now, coz he’s knackered.”
I remember I smiled when she used the word ‘knackered’. Back in those days it was almost a swear word, and I hadn't expected someone who looked so sweet to use such a word, and spoken as though it was part of her normal speech.
“But won’t he mind you coming down here again?” I said, “Or does he think you’re going to ask one of the other tenants for a cup of sugar?”
“No, I told him you looked a bit down when I saw you just now,” she said, “and I told him I was coming down to cheer you up.” And with this she held up a full glass beaker toward me, while she smiled in the semi darkness behind it.
I opened the door a bit more, the better to see her in the light.
“Can I come in?” she said, “I don’t bite you know.” and with that she pushed the door fully open and started walking in to the room as bold as brass.
I was a bit distracted for a second or so by the thought that the towel would get all rucked up again, but then I couldn't help but stare when she came into the light. The something light coloured, long and shapeless she’d been wearing before had now been replaced with something short, frilly and transparent.
At the same time she started to stare too, when she saw me standing there in just a small tight T shirt, and very skimpy underpants that were rapidly getting tighter.
“Uhh… are you sure?” I said, and feeling a bit embarrassed, I quickly turned my body away toward the ironing board.
“Course.” she answered, eyes aimed squarely at the bulge in my pants while she moved further into my brightly lit room.
“Oh! And by the way, you do know your nightie’s a bit see-through? And I can see your uh ...nipples.” I said, and looked away for a second.
“Course,” she said, “and you do know you’re not wearing your kecks?” Then she stopped, turned, and looked me straight in the eye.
“Anyway, I said I was coming down to cheer you up. So I thought I’d wear something that’d cheer you up.” She said, and just stood there.
I was a bit shocked. I’d never been in such a bizarre situation in my whole life. My rant about girls not wanting to go out with me earlier hadn't been directed at anyone in particular, and I didn't think that any deity had heard it and decided to let me be the ‘despicable bastard’ I’d wished for. Yet here I was, standing in my room, hot iron in hand, with an attractive stranger of the opposite sex standing right in front of me, wearing nothing but a smile and a see-through baby doll nightie that almost reached her crotch and left nothing to the imagination.
I didn't know how to react, or thought I didn't.
“You’re not gay are you?” she said, as she watched my pants getting tighter.
“No, I don’t think so. Not the last time I looked anyway.” I replied, and then I realised what she meant as she continued to stare at my now very full pants.
I think we both knew then that the situation had changed. Neither of us was decently dressed, so we were both putting ourselves in a vulnerable position, but then it dawned on me that the girl didn't even have any knickers on, just the short flimsy nightie, and very pale, slightly goose bumped skin showing through beneath it. I also noticed her nipples were hardening under the sheer fabric of the nightie, and I wasn't sure if this was a come-on or a tease.
Then I noticed another thing, she had matching collar and cuffs (as the saying goes!). She was a true natural blonde. Who knew?
Well, I did now, and it was pretty obvious to anyone with eyes that I was partial to blondes.
She’d known exactly what she was doing when she left her boyfriend upstairs, and presumably so had he. Especially if she’d stripped off her proper nightie and put on the one she was wearing now. To top it all off she’d then filled up a glass with what looked like water, but probably wasn't, then put on some strappy heels and come down the stairs to try and get into my room.
‘I wonder what else she wants to get into,’ I thought, as her eyes stayed firmly fixed on the hard ridge in my pants.
“What’s in the cup?” I said, as a weak attempt to distract her.
“Vodka.” she replied without looking up.
“Neat?” I asked.
“No, it’s about half and half, vodka and lemonade.
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Want some?” and with that she held up the glass toward my face.
“Uh, no thanks, I've got to get this ironing done for the morning.” I said.
The girl squared up to me, lifted her chin to face me, and with a very disarming smile said:
“Look! You know why I'm here, and I can see you’re not gay, so why don’t you just sit down over here on the bed with me, and let’s relax for a bit?”
With that she kicked off her heels, walked over to my rather narrow bed and sat herself down, then looking up at me she patted the bed next to her with her left hand and smiled.
“Like I said, I don’t bite.” she said, and took a sip from the glass.
I stood there feeling a bit sheepish, and fought a losing battle with my morals for all of two seconds, then I put down the iron, and trying to look braver than I felt, I walked awkwardly over to join her on the bed with my bulging pants leading the way.
As I reached the bed she piped up:
“But I do like to suck now and then.” Then she laughed, and handing the glass up to me, she grabbed my pants with both hands and slowly pulled them down to my ankles.
“That’s better,” she said, “now we’re even. See? It wasn't so hard was it?”
“Um, …it is now.” I said, and blushed bright red. Then I stepped out of my pants and kicked them away.
“You’re not kidding.” she said, as she took a good look at what stood to attention in front of her. Then she took George in her hand and started to feel him gently all over.
This is where the ‘3G’ bit comes in. I don’t know about you, but I've given my meat and two veg names. My penis is George, and my two balls are Gladys and Gloria, sometimes known as the twins, and the three of them together I think of as ‘3G’. So now you know where that came from, and this is where it’s going…
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked her through gritted teeth. She was softly caressing George into the hardest erection he’d ever known, and Gladys and Gloria weren't being left out in the cold either! The twins were tingling away merrily, and sending mild shivers of intensity into George’s back and sides with each gentle stroke of her fingers.
“Ooh, I don’t know,” she said, “my boyfriend’s tired out. We've been at it all afternoon, and he couldn't keep it up any longer, so I decided to let him get some sleep.”
“But I heard you talking to him, and you said yourself you told him you were coming down here. Unless he’s blind he’ll know you changed into this little nightie. So doesn't he mind?”
“Not really,” she said, as she stroked George with an almost hypnotic rhythm.
“He knows I got to have it all the time, and if he can’t give it to me then he knows I'm gonna look for it somewhere else.”
I must admit I was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the sensations radiating from the now rock hard George, and the two other ultra-sensitive G’s.
I was afraid I was going to drop the drink, so I pulled away from her for a second to put the glass onto the small bedside table, next to my radio/alarm clock, but even as I tried to pull away, she tried to pull me back and I only just managed to reach the table with the drink without spilling it.
So now, with the drink safely out of the way I could relax and enjoy the sensation, and enjoy it I did.
I stood directly in front of her, head back, eyes closed, trying to not fall over, and gently holding her head with both hands, as the warm waves of sexual stimulation spoke to my senses in a dozen different ways. Lifting me up, spinning my head, vibrating my abdomen, tingling my spine from the bottom of my hips to the very top of my scalp, and all points between, while the muscles in my legs tensed and un-tensed, and my toes curled with every new wave of pleasure.
After a couple of minutes of eyes closed floating rather dreamily in a sensual world of my own, the intense sensation in my groin was spreading warmly through my whole being. I could feel myself gradually rising toward a possible crescendo, so I tried to bring myself back to earth by opening my eyes.
I thought it was only fair to return at least some of the compliment she was paying my three best friends. So I lightly cupped her beautifully rounded left breast with my right hand and felt her erect pink nipple hard against my palm through the ultra-smooth, sheer fabric of her nightie. Then I bent over and tried to reach down to the inviting V between her legs with my left hand. The conscious effort it took to do this brought the sensations down a notch or two, and held me back from the brink of reaching the point of no return.
When she realised what I was trying to do, she made things easier for both of us by standing up and opening her legs a little. Then I lifted the hem of her nightie, and slid my hand slowly and gently south from her tummy button toward the soft blonde bed of downy pubic curls below.
When I reached her pubic hair I slowly ran my fingers through the soft springy curls and tapped lightly on her clitoris with the ends of my fingers. Then I carefully rubbed my hand all around her moistening mound to help cover my fingers with her freely flowing fluids. With them nicely wetted, I slipped my fingers past her warm outer labia, in between her soft and slightly puffy inner lips, and finally inserted my middle finger into her already open, hot, wet, and dripping hole.
I remember that when my finger slid past the entrance and into the warm, and very soft wetness of her velvety vagina, she gave a small whimper and started to thrust her hips toward me, rubbing her engorged little sex button against the palm of my warm wet hand, and breathing in short sharp breaths each time she did so.
The two of us stood like this for several minutes, leaning toward one another for support, each one of us feeding off the rhythmic movements of the other, and enjoying the low, insistent animal sounds the other was making as we built up the intensity of the sensations in our bodies toward a mutually hoped for climax.
The room got hotter as we began to close in on the elusive feeling we were both physically striving so hard for. Soon the sweat began to flow easily from the fully open pores of our writhing bodies, and we found ourselves breathing louder and harder in unison with each stroke and thrust.
We were both becoming slippery all over, and our shining skin glowed as the sweat beaded on our foreheads, and ran in streams that flowed freely down our arching backs and legs, and slowly soaked into the carpet beneath our spasmodically curling toes.
Within a couple of minutes I felt the tension in her body suddenly rise. Her breathing grew much louder, she began shuddering and moaning, consumed by the moment, and enveloped within her all consuming passion. Finally, with a loud squeal she slapped her legs shut against my hand, took a deep breath, and arched her body forward and her head back, stopping me from stimulating her any further.
She held her breath as her rigid body jerked and jerked again for what seemed like an age, but must have been only a few seconds, then she breathed out in a long slow guttural growl that eased into a purr of contentment as she relaxed her whole body, and her already trembling legs began to sag at the knees.
I forgot all about my own pleasure and helped ease her down till she sat on the side of the bed. Her eyes were half closed, there was sweat running down the sides of her face and dripping off her chin onto her already soaking wet nightie, and she shook uncontrollably as though she were shivering with fever in the heat.
After a good few seconds like this she began to regain some composure. The shaking eased to a faint tremble, and she reached over to pick up the glass and take a couple of sips. This seemed to calm her down even more, and with the shakes almost gone, she smiled up at me.
“Hmmm! Thanks for that. I really needed that one, and my boyfriend just couldn't get me there, bless ‘im. The trouble is, once I've started I got to keep goin’ till I get there. And I can’t stand the frustration if I don’t get off, it drives me mad, like an itch you can’t scratch, you know?”
“An’ he was falling asleep on the job, so I thought I’d come an’ see you instead, an’ I'm glad I did.”
I was a bit dumbfounded, and didn't know what to say to such open and honest thoughts, spoken in such mundane tones.
“Phew! I'm ‘ot,” she said, smiling up at me again, and wiping some of the sweat off her eyebrows with the back of her hand.
“That was a good one, you should be proud of yourself, you've got very nice hands.” She smiled.
“Thanks,” I said, “so 'ave you.”
Then she suddenly took George in her hand and pulled me toward her.
“You didn't come yet did you? Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
With this she put the glass back on the table, cleared her throat, licked her lips, then slid her tongue down his shaft, and took George slowly and sensuously into her mouth. She looked up at me as she did so, with those doe eyes that now had a wicked glint in them, and a slightly muffled “mmmmmm,” came out of her nose.
Looking down at what she was doing, I was lost for words. I’d never had this done to me before, and this new feeling was completely unexpected, and exciting. My eyes began to close as she slid her tongue all around George's bulbous head, and along and around his hard and pulsing shaft, and she tickled the hair on my straining balls with the very tips of her fingers. Then she giggled like a schoolgirl and reached out to grip me round the buttocks with both hands and pull me further toward her.
Once more I felt myself transported by the wonderful sensations, but this time to a high and newly found plane of feeling I’d never been to before, far away from my cramped and grubby bed-sit. With my eyes closed against the harsh light of the overhead bulb, I saw dancing shapes of bright swirling colours on the inside of my eyelids, and felt sparks of sharp warmth pinging in the muscles of my arms and legs. I felt waves of liquid heat washing from my loins down my trembling legs to my feet, and tingling up my spine to raise the hairs on the top of my scalp with every forward and backward movement of her head. Meanwhile my lower tummy muscles clenched and unclenched with a growing, glowing sensation of blissful pleasure.
After what seemed like forever I felt the rising tide of sensation becoming more urgent with every thrust of her lips. I felt the tension suddenly takeover my muscles and knew my orgasm was almost here. Then it arrived, and the wave of delicious heat broke over me like the rolling, crashing curtain of white horses in a surfer’s dream.
I felt my head throbbing, my pulse pounding in my ears, my leg muscles went rigid, and the orgasm shuddered through my whole body like a jack hammer. There was an overwhelming feeling of release as my pelvic muscles spasmed once, twice, three times, and my semen spurted out to mix with the hot saliva in her questing mouth.
The girl had felt my orgasm rising and she helped me on my way by stroking the twins at the vital moment. This caused my scrotum to suddenly tighten like a knot, and help bring the timeless moment of pleasure to its explosive conclusion. Then she swallowed my hot fresh sperm in several large gulps, each one timed to accept a new gush of thick warm orgasmic soup, as it shot from the end of George's bulging head and into the back of her mouth.
I was floating far above the ground, on my own personal high, and I remember thinking to myself, ‘this must be what it feels like to score the winning goal in the Cup Final. YES! YES! YES! I did it! I made it! I got there! I WON!’
And from feeling on top of the World, the sudden release of tension made me feel faint. My spasms grew weak, and what remained of my personal prowess oozed slowly out. It dripped thickly into the warm and waiting mouth of this strange but beautiful girl, who’d turned my whole world upside down, and showed me a new side to myself I never even knew existed.
With my flow of fluid slowing to a drool she started to suck hard. With her finger and thumb wrapped tightly around George, she pulled her hand toward herself, and literally squeezed the last of my sperm from the end of my softening shaft onto the waiting taste buds of her twirling tongue. She then swiftly drew it to the back of her mouth and eagerly swallowed it while making loud slurping noises. And all without dribbling a single drop!
With the orgasm fading, my weak and shivering legs could hardly support my weight, and I slumped down next to the girl on the side of the bed, sweating, panting, and grinning like an idiot.
She gently patted George as he slowly deflated, then looked up at me with her large brown doe eyes and smiled with satisfied contentment.
I smiled back at her with stinging eyes under sweat soaked brows and slowly lowered my head. She did the same, and we sat there with her head on my shoulder, and my head resting on hers.
We stayed like that for a good few minutes while we recovered in silence, each of us in our own private world, savouring the after glow of sweet exhaustion. Then we both took a couple of energising sips from the now half empty glass of vodka and lemonade.
“I think I’d better be getting on with my ironing.” I said, with heavy limbs protesting at the very thought.
She turned to look at me with eyes half closed, sucked in a deep breath and said:
“Yea, and I suppose I’d better be getting back upstairs too.”
With that she drained the glass, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, with the eiderdown still trying to cling to her sticky wet bum cheeks and labial lips.
I carefully helped her unstick herself then collected her shoes, and knowing that the vodka would start to hit her soon, I walked her to the door.
She turned and smiled at me through heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes, kissed me lightly on the cheek and said;
“Bye…. See you!”
Then she slipped out of the door into the darkness of the landing without ever looking back.
I kept the door open so that she could see her way to the staircase, and stood there wearing only my wringing wet T shirt and smiling, with a very soft but still fully extended George swinging his goodbye wave to her as well, as I watched her up the stairs till I heard her open her door.
With the girl gone back to her room, I turned back into mine and closed the door. Then I took off the wet T shirt, and went back to ironing my trousers, while now completely naked and wet, and covered with a heady mixture of our combined, sweet smelling sweat, and pheromonal sexual juices from head to toe.
***
Wednesday came around and so did the cleaner.
“Do you know what happened to that couple in the room over yours?” she asked me when she came barging into my room without even a by your leave.
“No.” I said, “Why?”
“Well, they left on Monday. They were supposed to be here for the next three months, but they just put the rent and keys in an envelope, with a short note to the landlord, and left it on the mantelpiece for me. I found it this morning when I went in to do their room”
Then she moved closer to me, as though to share a shocking secret, and looking around to make sure no-one else could hear, she continued in a low voice:
“Between you and me, I think it’s all very strange!’ And I thought they were such a sweet young couple too.”
“Hmm. Strange indeed!” I said, “I didn't see much of them, but I remember she looked quite pretty.” With that I quickly looked away to hide the smirk on my face, while my insides did a somersault and took a nosedive toward despair.
I didn't want the cleaner to know I felt desperately sad and yet blissfully happy at the same time. I was wistful and sad that I’d never see the pretty blonde hair, the soft brown eyes, and the lovely smile again. Yet I was happy in the knowledge that we’d shared some of our most vulnerable and intense moments together, for a short while at least; and I smiled inwardly as I remembered what sweet memories the want of a cup of sugar had brought to my door.
THE END
“Uh, no thanks, I've got to get this ironing done for the morning.” I said.
The girl squared up to me, lifted her chin to face me, and with a very disarming smile said:
“Look! You know why I'm here, and I can see you’re not gay, so why don’t you just sit down over here on the bed with me, and let’s relax for a bit?”
With that she kicked off her heels, walked over to my rather narrow bed and sat herself down, then looking up at me she patted the bed next to her with her left hand and smiled.
“Like I said, I don’t bite.” she said, and took a sip from the glass.
I stood there feeling a bit sheepish, and fought a losing battle with my morals for all of two seconds, then I put down the iron, and trying to look braver than I felt, I walked awkwardly over to join her on the bed with my bulging pants leading the way.
As I reached the bed she piped up:
“But I do like to suck now and then.” Then she laughed, and handing the glass up to me, she grabbed my pants with both hands and slowly pulled them down to my ankles.
“That’s better,” she said, “now we’re even. See? It wasn't so hard was it?”
“Um, …it is now.” I said, and blushed bright red. Then I stepped out of my pants and kicked them away.
“You’re not kidding.” she said, as she took a good look at what stood to attention in front of her. Then she took George in her hand and started to feel him gently all over.
This is where the ‘3G’ bit comes in. I don’t know about you, but I've given my meat and two veg names. My penis is George, and my two balls are Gladys and Gloria, sometimes known as the twins, and the three of them together I think of as ‘3G’. So now you know where that came from, and this is where it’s going…
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked her through gritted teeth. She was softly caressing George into the hardest erection he’d ever known, and Gladys and Gloria weren't being left out in the cold either! The twins were tingling away merrily, and sending mild shivers of intensity into George’s back and sides with each gentle stroke of her fingers.
“Ooh, I don’t know,” she said, “my boyfriend’s tired out. We've been at it all afternoon, and he couldn't keep it up any longer, so I decided to let him get some sleep.”
“But I heard you talking to him, and you said yourself you told him you were coming down here. Unless he’s blind he’ll know you changed into this little nightie. So doesn't he mind?”
“Not really,” she said, as she stroked George with an almost hypnotic rhythm.
“He knows I got to have it all the time, and if he can’t give it to me then he knows I'm gonna look for it somewhere else.”
I must admit I was finding it difficult to concentrate on anything other than the sensations radiating from the now rock hard George, and the two other ultra-sensitive G’s.
I was afraid I was going to drop the drink, so I pulled away from her for a second to put the glass onto the small bedside table, next to my radio/alarm clock, but even as I tried to pull away, she tried to pull me back and I only just managed to reach the table with the drink without spilling it.
So now, with the drink safely out of the way I could relax and enjoy the sensation, and enjoy it I did.
I stood directly in front of her, head back, eyes closed, trying to not fall over, and gently holding her head with both hands, as the warm waves of sexual stimulation spoke to my senses in a dozen different ways. Lifting me up, spinning my head, vibrating my abdomen, tingling my spine from the bottom of my hips to the very top of my scalp, and all points between, while the muscles in my legs tensed and un-tensed, and my toes curled with every new wave of pleasure.
After a couple of minutes of eyes closed floating rather dreamily in a sensual world of my own, the intense sensation in my groin was spreading warmly through my whole being. I could feel myself gradually rising toward a possible crescendo, so I tried to bring myself back to earth by opening my eyes.
I thought it was only fair to return at least some of the compliment she was paying my three best friends. So I lightly cupped her beautifully rounded left breast with my right hand and felt her erect pink nipple hard against my palm through the ultra-smooth, sheer fabric of her nightie. Then I bent over and tried to reach down to the inviting V between her legs with my left hand. The conscious effort it took to do this brought the sensations down a notch or two, and held me back from the brink of reaching the point of no return.
When she realised what I was trying to do, she made things easier for both of us by standing up and opening her legs a little. Then I lifted the hem of her nightie, and slid my hand slowly and gently south from her tummy button toward the soft blonde bed of downy pubic curls below.
When I reached her pubic hair I slowly ran my fingers through the soft springy curls and tapped lightly on her clitoris with the ends of my fingers. Then I carefully rubbed my hand all around her moistening mound to help cover my fingers with her freely flowing fluids. With them nicely wetted, I slipped my fingers past her warm outer labia, in between her soft and slightly puffy inner lips, and finally inserted my middle finger into her already open, hot, wet, and dripping hole.
I remember that when my finger slid past the entrance and into the warm, and very soft wetness of her velvety vagina, she gave a small whimper and started to thrust her hips toward me, rubbing her engorged little sex button against the palm of my warm wet hand, and breathing in short sharp breaths each time she did so.
The two of us stood like this for several minutes, leaning toward one another for support, each one of us feeding off the rhythmic movements of the other, and enjoying the low, insistent animal sounds the other was making as we built up the intensity of the sensations in our bodies toward a mutually hoped for climax.
The room got hotter as we began to close in on the elusive feeling we were both physically striving so hard for. Soon the sweat began to flow easily from the fully open pores of our writhing bodies, and we found ourselves breathing louder and harder in unison with each stroke and thrust.
We were both becoming slippery all over, and our shining skin glowed as the sweat beaded on our foreheads, and ran in streams that flowed freely down our arching backs and legs, and slowly soaked into the carpet beneath our spasmodically curling toes.
Within a couple of minutes I felt the tension in her body suddenly rise. Her breathing grew much louder, she began shuddering and moaning, consumed by the moment, and enveloped within her all consuming passion. Finally, with a loud squeal she slapped her legs shut against my hand, took a deep breath, and arched her body forward and her head back, stopping me from stimulating her any further.
She held her breath as her rigid body jerked and jerked again for what seemed like an age, but must have been only a few seconds, then she breathed out in a long slow guttural growl that eased into a purr of contentment as she relaxed her whole body, and her already trembling legs began to sag at the knees.
I forgot all about my own pleasure and helped ease her down till she sat on the side of the bed. Her eyes were half closed, there was sweat running down the sides of her face and dripping off her chin onto her already soaking wet nightie, and she shook uncontrollably as though she were shivering with fever in the heat.
After a good few seconds like this she began to regain some composure. The shaking eased to a faint tremble, and she reached over to pick up the glass and take a couple of sips. This seemed to calm her down even more, and with the shakes almost gone, she smiled up at me.
“Hmmm! Thanks for that. I really needed that one, and my boyfriend just couldn't get me there, bless ‘im. The trouble is, once I've started I got to keep goin’ till I get there. And I can’t stand the frustration if I don’t get off, it drives me mad, like an itch you can’t scratch, you know?”
“An’ he was falling asleep on the job, so I thought I’d come an’ see you instead, an’ I'm glad I did.”
I was a bit dumbfounded, and didn't know what to say to such open and honest thoughts, spoken in such mundane tones.
“Phew! I'm ‘ot,” she said, smiling up at me again, and wiping some of the sweat off her eyebrows with the back of her hand.
“That was a good one, you should be proud of yourself, you've got very nice hands.” She smiled.
“Thanks,” I said, “so 'ave you.”
Then she suddenly took George in her hand and pulled me toward her.
“You didn't come yet did you? Let’s see if we can do something about that.”
With this she put the glass back on the table, cleared her throat, licked her lips, then slid her tongue down his shaft, and took George slowly and sensuously into her mouth. She looked up at me as she did so, with those doe eyes that now had a wicked glint in them, and a slightly muffled “mmmmmm,” came out of her nose.
Looking down at what she was doing, I was lost for words. I’d never had this done to me before, and this new feeling was completely unexpected, and exciting. My eyes began to close as she slid her tongue all around George's bulbous head, and along and around his hard and pulsing shaft, and she tickled the hair on my straining balls with the very tips of her fingers. Then she giggled like a schoolgirl and reached out to grip me round the buttocks with both hands and pull me further toward her.
Once more I felt myself transported by the wonderful sensations, but this time to a high and newly found plane of feeling I’d never been to before, far away from my cramped and grubby bed-sit. With my eyes closed against the harsh light of the overhead bulb, I saw dancing shapes of bright swirling colours on the inside of my eyelids, and felt sparks of sharp warmth pinging in the muscles of my arms and legs. I felt waves of liquid heat washing from my loins down my trembling legs to my feet, and tingling up my spine to raise the hairs on the top of my scalp with every forward and backward movement of her head. Meanwhile my lower tummy muscles clenched and unclenched with a growing, glowing sensation of blissful pleasure.
After what seemed like forever I felt the rising tide of sensation becoming more urgent with every thrust of her lips. I felt the tension suddenly takeover my muscles and knew my orgasm was almost here. Then it arrived, and the wave of delicious heat broke over me like the rolling, crashing curtain of white horses in a surfer’s dream.
I felt my head throbbing, my pulse pounding in my ears, my leg muscles went rigid, and the orgasm shuddered through my whole body like a jack hammer. There was an overwhelming feeling of release as my pelvic muscles spasmed once, twice, three times, and my semen spurted out to mix with the hot saliva in her questing mouth.
The girl had felt my orgasm rising and she helped me on my way by stroking the twins at the vital moment. This caused my scrotum to suddenly tighten like a knot, and help bring the timeless moment of pleasure to its explosive conclusion. Then she swallowed my hot fresh sperm in several large gulps, each one timed to accept a new gush of thick warm orgasmic soup, as it shot from the end of George's bulging head and into the back of her mouth.
I was floating far above the ground, on my own personal high, and I remember thinking to myself, ‘this must be what it feels like to score the winning goal in the Cup Final. YES! YES! YES! I did it! I made it! I got there! I WON!’
And from feeling on top of the World, the sudden release of tension made me feel faint. My spasms grew weak, and what remained of my personal prowess oozed slowly out. It dripped thickly into the warm and waiting mouth of this strange but beautiful girl, who’d turned my whole world upside down, and showed me a new side to myself I never even knew existed.
With my flow of fluid slowing to a drool she started to suck hard. With her finger and thumb wrapped tightly around George, she pulled her hand toward herself, and literally squeezed the last of my sperm from the end of my softening shaft onto the waiting taste buds of her twirling tongue. She then swiftly drew it to the back of her mouth and eagerly swallowed it while making loud slurping noises. And all without dribbling a single drop!
With the orgasm fading, my weak and shivering legs could hardly support my weight, and I slumped down next to the girl on the side of the bed, sweating, panting, and grinning like an idiot.
She gently patted George as he slowly deflated, then looked up at me with her large brown doe eyes and smiled with satisfied contentment.
I smiled back at her with stinging eyes under sweat soaked brows and slowly lowered my head. She did the same, and we sat there with her head on my shoulder, and my head resting on hers.
We stayed like that for a good few minutes while we recovered in silence, each of us in our own private world, savouring the after glow of sweet exhaustion. Then we both took a couple of energising sips from the now half empty glass of vodka and lemonade.
“I think I’d better be getting on with my ironing.” I said, with heavy limbs protesting at the very thought.
She turned to look at me with eyes half closed, sucked in a deep breath and said:
“Yea, and I suppose I’d better be getting back upstairs too.”
With that she drained the glass, wiped her lips with the back of her hand, and pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, with the eiderdown still trying to cling to her sticky wet bum cheeks and labial lips.
I carefully helped her unstick herself then collected her shoes, and knowing that the vodka would start to hit her soon, I walked her to the door.
She turned and smiled at me through heavy-lidded, unfocused eyes, kissed me lightly on the cheek and said;
“Bye…. See you!”
Then she slipped out of the door into the darkness of the landing without ever looking back.
I kept the door open so that she could see her way to the staircase, and stood there wearing only my wringing wet T shirt and smiling, with a very soft but still fully extended George swinging his goodbye wave to her as well, as I watched her up the stairs till I heard her open her door.
With the girl gone back to her room, I turned back into mine and closed the door. Then I took off the wet T shirt, and went back to ironing my trousers, while now completely naked and wet, and covered with a heady mixture of our combined, sweet smelling sweat, and pheromonal sexual juices from head to toe.
***
Wednesday came around and so did the cleaner.
“Do you know what happened to that couple in the room over yours?” she asked me when she came barging into my room without even a by your leave.
“No.” I said, “Why?”
“Well, they left on Monday. They were supposed to be here for the next three months, but they just put the rent and keys in an envelope, with a short note to the landlord, and left it on the mantelpiece for me. I found it this morning when I went in to do their room”
Then she moved closer to me, as though to share a shocking secret, and looking around to make sure no-one else could hear, she continued in a low voice:
“Between you and me, I think it’s all very strange!’ And I thought they were such a sweet young couple too.”
“Hmm. Strange indeed!” I said, “I didn't see much of them, but I remember she looked quite pretty.” With that I quickly looked away to hide the smirk on my face, while my insides did a somersault and took a nosedive toward despair.
I didn't want the cleaner to know I felt desperately sad and yet blissfully happy at the same time. I was wistful and sad that I’d never see the pretty blonde hair, the soft brown eyes, and the lovely smile again. Yet I was happy in the knowledge that we’d shared some of our most vulnerable and intense moments together, for a short while at least; and I smiled inwardly as I remembered what sweet memories the want of a cup of sugar had brought to my door.
THE END
