by Limey Lady
As she deliberated a girl came down the steps above her, wine bottles in either hand.
‘Angie,’ she said, ‘perfect timing. Come on, we have a party on the go.’
Karin was a fellow fresher who Angie was on nodding terms with. She was maybe five foot five and a bit plump, but in a positive way. She was one of those girls who definitely looked better for not being as thin as a rake. Her hair was dark and short. Her appearance was good and Bambi’s mother would have killed for her eyes.
‘I’m due an early night,’ said Angie, a tad reluctantly. ‘And I’m not invited.’
‘Nonsense; everybody is invited.’
‘I haven’t any booze to bring.’
Karin thrust a chilled bottle of rosé into Angie’s hand. ‘You have now,’ she said.’
Chapter Three
The window was closed and Damien’s room was heavily wreathed in thick, aromatic smoke. It made a Sherlock Holmes opium den seem like a fresh breeze coming in off the Irish Sea.
‘He’s got a ton of grass,’ Karin told Angie, standing there in the doorway, giggling. ‘Honest, it’s coming out of his ears . . . and he’s giving it away for free.’
Angie was flinching at the din coming from the CD player. She much preferred the oldies found on the juke in the Union, but the smell in the air already had her hooked.
What did they call it when a crowd kept breathing in second-hand smoke?
Who cared!
‘Let’s go say hi,’ she said enthusiastically.
The room was exactly the same size as all the other rooms in that particular block of halls, and it was packed with partygoers. Angie counted a dozen heads including her, most of them smoking joints and all drinking a wide variety of alcoholic drinks. The drinks were leftovers from Christmas, she reckoned, studying a dressing table that was standing in for a bar. There was a random selection of beer, lager and cider. There were half-empty bottles of spirits and wine. There was even an apparently unopened bottle of sherry.
‘Hey Angie,’ said Damien. ‘You made it after all.’ He thrust a spliff the size of a Havana cigar at her.
‘Cheers,’ said Karin, grabbing it before Angie could. ‘We’ll share it.’
Damien was occupying the only chair in the room. He was most of the way down a similar sized spliff and it did not appear to be his first.
‘Sure, baby,’ he drawled.
Karin tugged Angie into a corner near the window and indicated a colourful throw cushion. ‘That’s my patch,’ she said, dropping into a cross-legged sitting position and producing a disposable lighter. ‘Join me.’
Conscious that it was stiflingly warm in there, Angie took off her jacket and sat beside her.
Well, why not? The girl was patently in need of a friend and armed with booze.
Not to mention Damien’s goodwill and grass.
Had she a problem with that? Make it a no.
‘Open the bottle of rosé,’ Karin went on. ‘We’ll share that as well.’
She had already removed the cork and pushed it back in a centimetre or so. When Angie pulled on it, it came out again easily. Hesitating, she assessed her surroundings.
‘Where are the glasses?’ she wondered.
‘There aren’t any,’ said Karin airily, ‘only plastic cups. And wine tastes better straight out of the bottle than plastic cups, doesn’t it?’
Adroitly lighting up, Karin took a drag, gesturing for Angie to swig vino. Covertly watching her chest as she inhaled and held the smoke deep in her lungs, Angie obediently drank.
Then the bottle and spliff changed hands and it was her turn to inhale. This time it was Karin watching her chest as she inhaled.
Instant relaxation or what!
Well, instant something . . .
‘Have another,’ said Karin, lightly patting Angie’s hand as she finally exhaled. ‘I had a joint already. It was only a small one compared to that, but you need to catch up.’
They alternated spliff and bottle for maybe half an hour, exchanging a little small talk as they went, their bodies unavoidably touching in such a confined position, Karin regularly tapping Angie’s arm to emphasize some point or other.
(Touch, touch, and touch . . . prompt, prompt, prompt.)
She was from London, she said. She didn’t like her mother’s “new bloke” and had opted to stay “up north” over the break. And they were wrong in “The Smoke”, weren’t they? It wasn’t “grim up north” at all. Okay, so the towns were industrial eyesores, but the surrounding countryside was glorious.
And even cow shit smelt good once you got used to it.
While Karin went to cajole another joint off Damien, Angie had a closer look at the other guests. She knew nearly all of them by sight but was unsure of some of their names. Taking tally there were six girls, five guys and one individual who could be anything at all.
Swigging more wine, she eyed the androgynous individual. She hadn’t seen him/her about before and was sure he/she wasn’t resident in this block.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked Karin when she returned.
‘God only knows. Please don’t tell me you’re attracted.’
‘No I am not,’ said Angie. ‘I’m just intrigued with the way . . . the way he or she is hanging around our host.’
‘That’s their lookout, isn’t it? It’s Damien’s friend, not ours. Never mind them, girl; open the red while I light up.’
Angie waved the bottle of rosé in Karin’s direction. ‘We haven’t finished this yet.’
‘In that case you’d better down it in one.’
‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’
Karin just laughed.
*****
Over the next hour or so two boy-girl couples said their farewells and left. It seemed likely to Angie that those couples had only linked up that very evening. It also seemed more than possible that the new unions were imminently about to be consummated.
Well, it was still Christmas after all, so why not?
‘This is all we’ve got left.’ Karin was holding up a thin, relatively straggly reefer. ‘Damien’s bottomless well has run dry . . . Else he’s saving what’s left for himself and his buddy.’
Angie glanced around the room. One boy-girl couple was on the bed, kissing passionately. The other couple was sitting cross-legged by the door, deep in meaningful conversation. Damien’s buddy was sharing the chair with him. They were sharing a spliff and staring into space, seemingly meditating.
Turning her attention back to Karin, Angie wondered exactly how friendly Karin was prepared to be.
Was she straight or not? She certainly hadn’t been to any of the LGBT or Lesbian Society meetings; not the ones Angie had attended, anyway.
But never mind that; she was flirty and touchy-feely. She had to be at least slightly curious.
What if I offend her, Angie thought. What if she responds by slapping my face?
Then she remembered her resolutions.
Starting exceptionally early for once, she had made half a dozen resolutions. By now, still days before next year actually began, only one of them remained intact: the one about being more assertive when out on the pull.
Not that there was much wrong with her general assertiveness. When a connection had been made she wasn’t at all lacking in that direction. With established lovers she could be downright outrageous. No, her resolution was to be more involved in the selection process. Crazy as it seemed, she’d never made the first approach. Why should she have? Despite being oversized and very mannish, she’d never wanted for approaches.
Being in demand wasn’t a problem, obviously; she was spoilt for choice and only ever turned down an offer if it came from a bloke. But, by merely being content with whatever girl happened to come along, she might well be missing out.
And she had a growing reputation to add to. Being more predatory could only assist. So what if she got the odd knock-back?
So what if Karin reacted in shock and disgust.
Nothing ventured . . .
/> ‘I know a way to get the maximum out of that,’ Angie said, pointing at the joint, ‘assuming you’ve got a dash of adventure in you.’
‘How could I resist such a claim?’ Karin batted her lashes. ‘Come on girl, let’s maximize.’
Chapter Four
Karin lit up and passed the straggly reefer across. Angie had a pull and held the smoke in her lungs a moment before pressing her mouth to Karin’s and forcefully exhaling. Karin’s surprised reaction didn’t last long. Swiftly grasping the concept, she sucked in, held, and then breathed out through her nose.
‘Two for the price of one,’ she said. ‘I like your style.
‘Your turn,’ said Angie, passing back the reefer.
Karin inhaled without demur and, after reaping the benefit, transferred the smoke into Angie’s mouth.
‘Two for one,’ she said again, giggling.
Angie took her turn for the next pull and dutifully passed it on. This time, when her lungs were empty and Karin’s were full, she let her lips linger.
Karin did likewise when it was her turn.
Then it was Angie’s go once more. As well as letting her lips dally a while she also used her tongue to complete a clockwise circle around Karin’s mouth.
The sensation was hotter than hot.
Again, when her turn followed, Karin did likewise.
All too soon the joint was done. Karin cast a glance towards Damien and sighed. ‘Looks like he really is out of supplies,’ she said.
Damien was still on his chair, his androgynous buddy now well encamped on his knee. They were still meditating and very noticeably smokeless. So too was everyone else. The boy and girl who’d bagged the bed were under the duvet, more passionate than ever. The other couple had dropped meaningful conversation in favour of some serious snogging.
Sex pheromones now outweighed the scent of burnt grass.
Well, maybe not, but it had become a close match.
‘We can do it with the red wine,’ Angie suggested.
Karin stared at her.
‘It won’t maximize the bottle,’ Angie went on, ‘but it’ll be lots more fun.’
So saying, she took a mouthful of Merlot and, after briefly savouring the taste, pressed mouths again and squirted it into Karin’s. Karin kept the contact going, savouring in her own right before squirting it back to Angie.
Angie swallowed and laughed. ‘That’s not the game,’ she said. ‘I drink, you swallow. Then you drink, I swallow.’
They exchanged a few modest mouthfuls then Angie decided to up the stakes.
Seduction Angie Baby style, she thought. Seems to be working . . .
This time Angie’s tongue followed the wine into Karin’s mouth. Karin gripped Angie’s arm, swallowed the vino and sucked on her tongue. Angie had the wine bottle in her left hand. Her right instinctively landed on Karin’s leg.
Karin gripped tighter and sucked harder.
Encouraged, Angie moved her hand onto the inside of Karin’s thigh and began stroking.
Karin’s stopped kissing and snatched at the bottle, taking an almighty swig and immediately passing it on, her tongue in close pursuit. Angie swallowed, sucked and let her hand drift onto Karin’s pussy.
The thick seams of her jeans were, of course, inconveniently in the way. Even so Karin took in a deep breath and trembled in appreciation. Her free hand made a grab for Angie’s tits, scrambling over them and unable to choose a favourite.
Angie never could work out how long it took them to finish that bottle of wine. It could have been only a few minutes or, taking into account the kissing and groping, it could have been hours. But eventually it was as empty as Damien’s bottomless well.
‘I’ll go naturalize a bottle of something,’ said Karin, looking at the makeshift bar. ‘That Harvey’s Bristol Cream looks sort of lonesome.’
‘I’ve had enough alcohol,’ said Angie. ‘And your mouth is soft and very moreish. Let’s just carry on as we are.’
Karin’s eyes were bigger and browner than ever. ‘You don’t look drunk,’ she said.
‘I’m not. I’m in a good place: halfway fresh, halfway stoned. And to be perfectly honest, I’m randy as heck. Any more alcohol and I’ll do something rash.’
‘Like those two?’ Karin indicated the bed.
Angie had to laugh. Apparently fully dressed, the boy and girl under the duvet were dancing the oldest dance in the world. Okay, so dry humping might be the order of the day, but she tended to doubt that. Not with the girl on top, going for it like a whirling Dervish.
‘I’d be even more direct,’ she said. ‘I’d club you over the head then drag you to my cave by the hair.’
‘Is that where we’re going to end up; in cave 444?’
‘It’s getting more likely by the second. And that’s without any more booze being involved.’
Her hand was still busy on Karin’s pussy. Holding her gaze with the mighty gravity of those wonderful eyes, Karin pressed her groin forward, offering it up.
‘Let’s skip the booze,’ she said. ‘And let’s skip the club and hair-dragging too. Let’s just haul our asses off to your cave.’
*****
The party was still ongoing when they left. Well, it certainly was for the duvet couple. As Angie got to her feet, flexing her knee-joints, the guy started making those “I’m cumming” grunts. Clearly nowhere near done, the girl carried on even harder.
‘Go for it, gal,’ Angie murmured. ‘Don’t let him off lightly.’
‘Thanks for being here,’ said Damien, hauling himself down from the planet Zog . . . or maybe from a galaxy far, far away.
His buddy said nothing. He/she just kept staring at the ceiling.
The other boy-girl couple had advanced, but not to the point of penetration. Not yet. Mostly blocking the doorway, they were fervently embraced but keeping their hands to themselves.
Stepping over them, Angie and Karin left 227 and headed for 444 and sex.
Angie had fibbed when she’d claimed to be halfway fresh. Her alcohol tolerance was impressive. She hadn’t been fibbing about being halfway stoned, though, and if anything, she had undersold herself when it came to being randy.
She was, however, in some sort of control. On the way to bed with a new lover she was usually ready to orgasm at the drop of a . . .
Well, the drop of a hat, if not the drop of a pair of panties.
But tonight was different. Tonight she was eager but not prematurely so. Perhaps it was the grass but tonight she was laid back and capable of anything.
Not that she intended being backward in any respect. Oh no, Karin had been girly and flirty all along.
And if she wanted to be girly, she’d definitely flirted with the right randy lezzie.
Chapter Five
(28th December 1997)
Angie woke in daylight to misty memories of tribbing; lots and lots of tribbing. All the start and finish times were vaguer than vague but she had, she was sure, put in a master-class of tribbing.
Or should that be a mistress-class?
Semi-awake after maybe half an hour’s snooze, she chuckled. She was on her back, on her bed and, as it was a narrow single, Karin was sprawled on top of her. Karin’s face was buried in Angie’s tits . . . so, no surprise there, then. All her lovers seemed to use her tits as pillows. It would have been disappointing if Karin had buried her face anywhere else.
Her pussy aside, of course, and so far Karin’s face hadn’t been anywhere near kitty-kitty.
Less sadly, Karin had joined in the tribbing. Okay, so she’d been a girly taker for ages, but eventually, when Angie started to flag, she’d climbed on board. There had been mention of harnesses . . . at least Angie thought there had, she might have dreamed that bit.
Anyway, it had been a fun night and it wasn’t over yet.
Or was it?
Angie checked the time. It was 9:41. Another hour before she needed to worry about her last full day behind the bar in the Union.
She ran her
hands down Karin’s sides and around, onto her plump bums, liking the feel of her curves.
‘Are you in the land of the living?’ she asked, not trying to keep the volume down because, apart from the two of them, her end of the corridor was currently unoccupied.