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In Heather’s opinion Albany was a beautiful city packed with all sorts of awesome, spectacular sights. Yet the breath-taking views were nothing compared to the current one. None of the world’s marvels and wonders compared to the sight she was feasting her eyes on.
No, not only her eyes; she was feasting in other ways, too.
Today was her third “really big naughty” with Claire. They were in her tasteful, airy apartment, on her simply gorgeous queen-sized bed, joyfully shagging the afternoon away. As had been the case with their previous assignations, Brett was surplus to requirements and therefore not invited. So far as he was aware, Claire had taken time off so they could go feed the pelicans at Emu Point.
By now the two young ladies had established a routine. Not that there was anything repetitive about it. Oh no, both of them were ingenious and creative, as well as tireless and quite insatiable. There was nothing routine about the tricks they tried to bring each other off.
Heather smiled to herself as she admired her latest lover’s fanny. Positioned as she was, mostly on the bed with her feet on the floor, she couldn’t have asked for a better observation post. Claire was on top of her, setting them up for some textbook sixty-nine: heads to groins and boobs pressing hard on flat tummies. As it was her turn to be giver-in-chief, Claire’s decidedly wet fanny was above Heather’s face, only occasionally coming within easy reach.
And good grief, wasn’t she decided wet!
They had, as usual, started with heavy petting and caressing. Previously that had led into a giggling sort of striptease . . . but not today. Today their kisses had gone on and on and their caresses had so very slowly graduated into gropes. Well, okay then; they’d graduated into hands delving in shorts and one of the biggest mutual orgasms ever recorded.
Then they’d played striptease.
Enjoying the attention her own fanny was getting, Heather kept on admiring Claire’s. There had been a lot of fun and games between their strip and the sixty-nine; lots and lots of fun and games. Even so, Claire showed no signs of losing interest. Blood was still pumping into her down there, almost visibly. She’d swollen up like a peach. No, like the most perfect, delicious peach ever cultivated.
My God, thought Heather, I want her so much.
Claire started using her fingers as well as her tongue. Heather (digging her heels into the carpet, wishing she hadn’t told the Aussie about Rose Royce) pushed her sex higher, offering herself totally and unconditionally.
And came three times in quick succession: Blam! Blam!! BLAM!!
‘Oh my,’ she sighed. ‘That was nice.’ Then, as Claire turned her body through a hundred and eighty degrees, ‘Hey, what are you doing? It’s my go next.’
Claire grinned at her, her eyes making Heather’s legs go even weaker (which right then was no mean feat!). ‘This is for both of us,’ she said, ‘so don’t be a ratbag. Leave it to me.’
‘Ratbag!’ Heather echoed. Re-anchoring her feet, she had another look into those captivating brown eyes . . . and was lost. ‘Go on then, take me any way you want.’
‘Wiggle your backside a little,’ Claire instructed. ‘And flex those sexy muscles in your leg.’
‘I don’t think I’ve got any muscles in my legs,’ Heather grouched good-naturedly, ‘sexy or otherwise. You’ve worn them out.’
Guessing what lay ahead, she eased a little farther onto the bed and was ready when Claire straddled her thigh.
‘I’m only small,’ the short-haired beauty said. ‘You won’t need too many muscles to support me.’
Heather laughed. Claire was almost as tall as she was herself. She might have weighed a few pounds less, but wasn’t too far away from a perfect match. Fortunately, in her new position her feet were also on the floor, so she was to some extent supporting herself. Even more fortunately, as she moved in for a kiss, their boobs crushed together.
‘Nice, nice, nice,’ Heather whispered.
Kissing her some of the time, grinning at her the rest, Claire began to glide up and down. Her sex was hot and wetter than ever on Heather’s skin.
‘Nice, nice, nice,’ she repeated.
Then it got even nicer. Never once varying her glide speed, Claire somehow got a hand onto Heather; a skilled hand with friendly intentions indeed. Suddenly Heather was flowing like a river, overwhelmed by the sensations.
Sensations, she thought giddily, more like sensational!!
She really was in overload territory. Claire’s eyes, hypnotizing her . . . the feel of their hard-nippled boobs rubbing together . . . the combined scent of two oversexed women rutting . . . and best of all, the certain knowledge that her innocent thigh was going to make her lover cum and cum.
And then Claire left her clit alone and fingers were entering her. Or maybe it was the girl’s whole hand that was in her.
‘Nice, nice, nice,’ she almost screamed.
Later, after another of the casino oyna biggest mutual orgasms ever recorded, Heather and Claire relaxed on the bed, topping and tailing like schoolgirls. Well, not quite topping and tailing. While they were in need of a brief timeout, Heather took care to make sure her head was in line with the Aussie girl’s fanny.
Just in case, she told herself, chuckling softly.
‘I like your landing strip,’ she said out loud.
‘Hev, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s a Christmas tree, not a landing strip.’
‘It’s nice whatever you call it. I like running my nose through it. And licking it’s even better.’
‘I’m surprised you don’t grow one yourself.’
‘I prefer the bald look on me. It goes with the tan.’
Claire was lying on her side, stroking Heather, avoiding her really erogenous bits, concentrating on her hips and tummy. It was friendly and low-key but, for all that, a signal that the games were about to resume. Having no problem with that as a concept, Heather started stroking the Christmas tree, not in the least deterred by its sogginess.
‘I’m going next,’ she said.
‘You won’t get any objections from me.’ Claire’s stroking intensified, her finger becoming slightly more adventurous. ‘Everyone knows about us, by the way,’ she went on. ‘It’s suspicions confirmed for a lot of my friends and neighbours.’
‘Does Brett know?’
‘Nah, he’ll be last to find out. He always is.’
Deciding to be adventurous herself, Heather slid her free hand up the back of the other girl’s legs, stopping to caress her buttocks then circling her freckle, chuckling as she did so.
Freckle! What a brilliant word. It even sounded polite. She was always going to use it from then on.
‘You don’t mind?’ Claire persisted, clearly not worried by the prospect of anal penetration.
‘Why should I be?’
‘Because you’re English and naturally reserved. Else you’re supposed to be. Ask me, you couldn’t care less.’
‘They’re not my friends and neighbours, are they?’ Heather inserted her index finger and waggled it playfully. Claire sighed and started to move her backside in time with the waggling. That is to say, when Heather waggled in one direction, she wiggled in the other. She’d obviously done this before and knew what was expected of her.
Not that wiggle-waggling was enough to shut her up.
‘So you’re happy for me to be labelled as a closet Australian kisser, are you?’ she said.
Heather hadn’t heard that term before but twigged immediately. ‘I thought Australians always kissed like that,’ she said. ‘And what’s with everyone, anyway? Aren’t you colonial people supposed to be progressive and forward-thinking?’
‘Us Australians are. Sadly, over half the population round here moved from the UK or Ireland. Need I say more?’
‘Of course you needn’t. Your mostly British-born neighbours will be tolerant, understanding and far too reserved to spread gossip.’
‘I wish.’ Claire laughed then changed the subject, sort of. ‘Jez is very tolerant, if others aren’t. He’s all for girls getting it together. In fact he wants to spend an arvo with the two of us before you go. Do you fancy it?’
‘I could be persuaded. What about you?’
‘I’ve been playing with myself ever since he propositioned me. You bet I fancy it.’ Claire’s hand moved south from Heather’s tummy, stopping tantalizing short. Heather regretted her rash impulse to bag the next go but kept on waggling regardless.
‘Give him the green light then,’ she said. ‘You agree when and I’ll be here, hot and horny.’
‘Okay,’ said Claire, ‘but it’ll have to stay top secret. Brett doesn’t get on with Jez as it is. He’ll spit the dummy if he ever finds out.’
Heather really liked Albany and the natives couldn’t have been more hospitable, but eventually time began to drag. Bradley had taken a break from work to be with Ingrid and Ingrid, the girl who once couldn’t bear sleeping without having her travelling companion snoring beside her, kept vanishing for days on end.
‘Just a little longer,’ she kept saying; ‘just a couple more nights.’
Heather had a fair idea which way the wind was blowing but stuck it out for her friend’s sake. After two and a half weeks, however, she decided she had to make a stand. She’d had enough surfing lessons to last a lifetime. The manager of the gym was offering six months’ free membership and suggesting she helped out in the karate classes. She’d also had a long afternoon in bed with the twins and seven sessions of big naughties with Claire . . . not to mention that threesome with Jez . . . but it had been two and a half weeks! Nice and historic as the city was, it wasn’t London; a girl could only explore it so much.
And if anyone else suggested she looked round the whaling museum . . .
Not for the first time, Ingrid beat her to the punch. After yet another two day disappearance, she’d called and arranged to meet in a restaurant they knew at Princess Royal slot oyna Harbour. Ingrid had been crying before Heather got there. One look at her face confirmed everything she needed to know.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ingrid began, ‘but I’m going to have to stay.’
Even though she was prepared for it Heather’s heart instantly started to break. It could have been me, she lamented, desperately trying not to choke up. If I wasn’t so set in my ways, if I’d only said yes to Rose Cottage . . .
‘I feel like I’m jumping ship,’ Ingrid continued. ‘And don’t ask how I can love two people at the same time. I do, but I don’t know how. And . . . and . . .’
Somehow pulling herself together, Heather didn’t even try to argue. She went for levity instead. ‘I saw how it was when you first met him,’ she said. ‘”I only want use of him for an hour” . . . as if I would fall for a line like that!’
‘I believed it myself at the time,’ said Ingrid. ‘How was I supposed to know he was going to turn out to be caring and loving?’
‘I thought he needed to be romantic as well?’
‘He’s that too. All that guff about romantic love not existing: it does. It really does.’
When they’d both stopped sobbing and chuckling, Heather took Ingrid’s hand. ‘It’s been wonderful,’ she said. ‘And I am really glad for you, even if I’m going to have to drink those beers in Cairns on my own.’
‘I might be there yet,’ replied Ingrid, sobbing again. ‘We’ll set a date before you leave. If things don’t work out . . . if I’m as wrong as I’ve ever been about anything, ever . . . I’ll catch a plane and meet you in that bar.’
Heather wasn’t very good at break-ups. She’d had lots of flings and one-nighters, but there had been precious few real, lasting “relationships” to terminate. Her first impulse was to get in the campervan and leave immediately, put it all behind her, Do Not Pass Go and all that. Then common sense kicked in. She was going to be travelling several thousands of miles unaccompanied. And most of the towns and cities en route were hours apart. Nobody with even half a brain would simply get up and leave.
Having given her new situation a bit of more-measured consideration, she decided to set off in three days’ time. That would give her chance to restock on provisions and have proper farewells with the twins and Claire. She also decided to skip the detours and stick to the coast, taking in all those state capitals as she came to them. Bugger the opals and gold; she was Lucky Heather but no-one could be that lucky. Breaking down in the middle of nowhere didn’t seem nearly so much fun if she was on her own, especially not if she got bitten by a scorpion or something. Who’d call the flying doctors for her then?
It was only on her last day in Albany, after her very last naughty with Claire, that the idea of having a new travelling companion came up.
‘I’ve known Rod’s family all my life,’ Claire told her, ‘otherwise I wouldn’t even mention it. He heard you were setting off on your lonesome and said he’d ride shotgun if you want. No funny business or anything.’
Heather pulled a face. ‘I am afraid joining in the funny business would be a must. I couldn’t possibly spend a month or two alone with a guy without shagging him senseless.’
‘I told him you’d probably say that, you not having had much donger recently, and all.’
Which was true. In the year or so between Billy in Ben Maddener and the beach party, there had been no other men whatsoever. Or women, come to that. She’d had Ingrid to sleep with on a night and had had no need for anyone else. That much said, her halo had slipped just lately. Being left to her own devices had brought out the devil in her. All the old memories had reawakened, and the idea of a hard willy, available when and wherever she wanted it . . .
‘What did Rod say to that sort of arrangement?’
‘He said it would be entirely up to you. He’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want.’
‘Good grief, an obliging Australian male!’ Heather laughed. ‘Aren’t they even rarer than the reliable ones?’
‘Virtually extinct,’ said Claire. ‘If you want to meet him, I can set something up for this evening. Me and Brett can come along to start with. Then, when you give me the signal, I’ll either get rid of him else leave you together.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Heather. ‘Let’s give him a go.’
Rod turned out to be thirty-one, going-on seventeen. He told Heather he kept trying to leave Albany but always drifted back. This time he’d been home six months and already his itchy feet were telling him it was walkabout time again. If Heather was game, he’d be honoured to go with her as far as Sydney, where he intended to stay with his friend, Shane.
Heather liked what she saw and heard. Claire had warned her Rod could be a little “quirky” and never seemed to last long with a girlfriend, but so what? She was due an older, hopefully experienced lover. Rod was handsome enough and there was still no real travelling timetable. If he started getting quirky with her, canlı casino siteleri she’d just speed up and dump him in Sydney sooner than expected. When Claire and Brett took their cue and left, she made the decisive move.
‘We’re going to have to sleep together tonight,’ she told him. ‘If we both think that goes all right, we can set off tomorrow morning. Okay?’
‘All sorts of okay,’ he said.
As a dress (or more accurately, undress) rehearsal went, it was a great success. So, for the next six weeks, the two of them were together all the time, quickly and comfortably becoming close. Heather didn’t have the same intense, soul-searching conversations she’d had in the early days with Ingrid, but they did talk a lot. And Rod was a good listener. On the rare occasions he’d run out of things to say, he seemed happy to sit back and let her carry on righting the world. Rather than speeding up she was content to drift dreamily along. Time meant nothing again and, whenever they found a particularly good surfing beach, she would gladly stay an extra day or two . . . shagging, shagging and shagging some more.
Good grief, didn’t they shag!
Bedtimes began well and only got better. Heather’s sole condition had been: Minimally last thing at night, first thing in the morning. Rod managed this with cheerful, energetic enthusiasm and was never averse to a little extra in-between.
That was just as well because Heather’s appetite was back with a vengeance. By the time they got to Esperance she calculated she’d already had more sex with Rod than with any other individual man. By Melbourne she reckoned that over fifty per cent of all the man-sex she’d ever had had been with him. And by Sydney . . .
Well, she was going to miss it when she finally let him go!
Rod had telephoned ahead to discover that, although Shane was away for a couple of days, he had made arrangements for him to get into the apartment. And the apartment couldn’t be knocked at all; it turned out to be an expensive, stylish affair near the harbour. Heather had intended to take Rod to the doorstep, say a quick adios and then be off, driving away into that fabled sunset. At his beseeching, however, she wilted and stayed the night, sharing a bath before helping him thoroughly christen the bed in the guestroom, having him three times as often as he had her, enjoying herself immensely in the process.
Next morning he tried to persuade her to stay another day, saying Shane wouldn’t be back for ages and he wanted to show her the city. Heather was tempted but wanted to move on. She’d arranged to (possibly) meet Ingrid in less than a month, and Cairns was getting on two thousand miles away. At the pace she was used to driving, she hadn’t many more days to spare. Assuring him she would be back in Sydney, probably sooner rather than later, she kissed him and left.
She had grown to like Rod but still felt a sense of freedom as she drove away. Would she have felt like this if she had set off alone after leaving Ingrid? Certainly not! But then hadn’t she really wanted Rod along to make it easier to leave Ingrid? Of course she had. Rod had been the bridge between life with Ingrid and life without her. And he had filled the gap perfectly.
Leaving him was sad but only maybe three out of ten. Without him, losing Ingrid would have been at least nine.
And three out of ten was definitely on the happy side of disconsolate, nowhere near heartbroken. She was almost over him already.
Less than a mile from Shane’s apartment Heather heard a strange clunking noise coming from the campervan’s engine. This was followed by a cloud of black smoke out of the exhaust pipe. Before she could start to panic a car drew alongside, honking to attract her attention. No doubt influenced by the flag, a forty-something Aussie stuck his head out of the window.
‘Oi!’ he began. ‘Yer polluting our clean air, you Pommy ba . . .’
Then, getting a proper look at her, he abruptly changed tack: ‘Sorry miss. Can I give you a hand?’
To be fair, the guy had been grinning when he was about to give her grief. He was also the only port in this unexpected storm. As they drew up at lights and another black cloud escaped the exhaust, she leaned across the passenger seat and spoke out of her own window.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘I think I need a mechanic.’
He told her to let him in front when the lights changed and follow, so she did. After a couple of turns they were in a maze of back streets and, soon after that, they were pulling up outside a ramshackle-looking garage. She climbed out of the campervan, conscious she was in a man sort of place and was only wearing flimsy shorts and a very abbreviated T-shirt. No, make that hardly any shorts at all and a piece of string for a bra.
‘I’m Bluey,’ the guy said, grinning at her.
‘Hi,’ she replied. ‘I’m Hev.’
‘From London, are you?’
‘Hell no, I’m from Yorkshire.’
‘Bloody great, I was there for the rugby tour in ’86. You don’t know Nidge Waters, do you?’
‘Er . . . Yorkshire’s quite a big place.’
‘I know. I must have got drunk in ten different towns and cities. Reckon I bumped into Nidge in about half of ’em.’
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