Another one from Debbie's point of view ...

The train down from Glasgow was only twenty minutes late when it got into Hartsholme, the journey giving me just enough time to package up some emotions and get back into Corporate Me mode, I thought. Phil was dead and buried, in the most literal sense of the words, and polite platitudes had been exchanged with his parents and gung-ho macho man brother. I knew –and so did they –that we would probably never meet again, nonetheless promises of meetings, cards, sentiments had been exchanged. With a guilty start, I felt a twinge of relief that Phil and I had never had kids. I loved him, to be sure -�loved him more than anyone else I'd ever known, perhaps -�but he was gone and now I was free of all the concomitants. It was a peculiarly comforting thought, in a bizarre and morally complex sort of way.

And it took me off the train and onto the platform in a vaguely positive frame of mind ... for the first time in some months, I realised ... and capable, once again, of appreciating the strange beautiful of a nondescript railway station in late Autumn, the Victorian architecture clashing poignantly with the red plastic and plate glass of modernity.

OK, I was in a reverie, a little removed from the real world, rejoicing -�there is really no other word - in this rediscovery of self. It was thus slightly disconcerting to note a voice calling "Deborah, Miss Jensen ...." across from the other platform, more so when I recognised the caller as one of the architects from Hertford Square. Colin, my memory finally supplied, nice enough bloke - �in a puppyish sort of way. Whenever we'd met before, he'd been pathetically eager to please, quite unlike his harder edged, more business like partners. Against that,I knew he was regarded as the most creative of the trio, so he was probably also the best choice for the job.
Shrugging, I put on my best business smile, waved acknowledgement and proceeded through the subway to meet him. The last trace of my previous distraction pointed out that said tunnel conspicuously did not smell of urine. Bloody hell, I thought, definitely not in London, then.

Emerging into daylight again - whence my, no our, connecting train would depart, Colin was obviously keen to get things off to a good start. "Deborah!", he exclaimed ... or maybe ejaculated ... he was that kind of bloke. Still a bit discomfited by his being around at all - I'd thought we'd meet at the hotel or something - I cut him off quite sharply.
"Its Debbie, as you well know - we've talked often enough before."
He looked crestfallen, possibly wondering if he'd blown it with a major client - from what Dave had told me over the weekend, possibly the only client - and for a brief moment I had a vision of me making everything right, recognising in an instant the old Debbie and deciding to stick with the new one.

"OK, we're working together. When's the train? Have you sorted out a taxi from Bowmere or are we busing it? I know Dave and the team booked hotels, not a lot more."

Again, that exultant realisation that it was OK not to know everything. Not sure that Colin saw it that way but - hey - it actually wasn't that complicated. In fact, we were in ensconced in Dave's choice of hotel within the hour. Again, I felt an empathy ... could see the charm. It was a good hotel, that was obvious, but eccentric. The building was ancient, convoluted, complicated, the staff friendly but ... distracted ... not always focused on the immediate priorities of their customers. I loved it, amused by the fact that Colin loved the fact that he was in a hotel. The joy on his face when someone brought us a coffee as we sat down to map out priorities and objectives ... oh, and a plan to achieve them ... was wonderful ...

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Next morning was time to implement the plan. Colin took a camera and some hi-tech measuring gear over to the old slate works - our intended new home - to meet with the agent and do a preliminary site review, while I took myself over to the time share complex to begin making arrangements for the interim accommodation. 
This involved meeting Andy the owner - a guy Dave had singularly failed to bond with, I knew - and I began to appreciate quite why very rapidly. I'd worked with a lot of guys in the corporate world who flaunted the gold Rolex and the hand made suit, mentioned the Ferrari and the exclusive schools for the kids on a too frequent basis, generally oozed wealth and smugness, but somehow none of them had struck me as quite so reptilian as my new acquaintance. Possibly it was the fact that the corporate arseholes had had the advantage of actually being very seriously rich, while young Andy was clearly small time, a chancer, basically, with a minor empire and some major dreams ... or possibly delusions. He was a big man in only one way, at least on first sight, and that was mostly fat ... oh and he had stubble which he probably felt looked cool but ... well, it didn't do it for me.

What also didn't work at all, from my point of view, was the fact that he was so obviously checking me out right from the point when I first entered his office. I began to regret wearing a skirt - even a below the knee one felt exposed in the face of his leer - and what I now felt was a too tight jumper, given that he was openly fixating on my breasts. I took a deep breath, set my face to impassive and tried to keep things professional.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Back in the hotel for a lunchtime catch-up, Colin was clearly excited with what he'd found - it appeared that 'aspects' were good and 'foundings' advantageous, which I guessed must both (i) mean something to him and (ii) be something to be pleased about. So I was ... it was actually quite a relief to be away from would be loverboy Mr Timeshare, just spending some time without having my cleavage checked out on a regular basis. I felt I needed a shower, barely three hours since I'd last had one, and resolved to delegate the afternoon's follow up with Andy to young Colin. Well, we needed to sort out things like power and ICT connections to the proposed workspace over there and I sort of felt that this could be considered an architectural task. In a way. Colin, of course, agreed ... he'd probably have done nude handstands on the green if I'd asked him at that point ... even if I could tell he was mainly keen to get on with sketching ideas and doing oh so complicated structural calculations. Well, plenty of time for that, I felt ... and it was only a building, for gods sake - been standing for a hundred years or so, not all that likely to fall down now even if we did knock it about a bit. 

So I finished my coffee and sandwich, despatched Colin off to do the necessary and went back to my room. Where I did have that shower ... and phoned a Jane Whitaker at the local college, a biology teacher Dave had met the previous week, and arranged to meet her that very afternoon. Must be the rural ethos, I thought ... everyone seemed to have a lot of free time.

Which, I had to admit, was a lifestyle I could buy into.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

In fact, I knew that Ms Whitaker had given up a 'free' period - which is to say, time scheduled for marking and lesson planning, not sitting around chatting - to meet me. Which I might have felt slightly guilty about if she hadn't sounded so obviously enthusiastic on the phone, been quite so bubbly in person. Even as I was extracting myself from the taxi I'd taken down the valley I could see her haring out of the college building, running towards me with a huge smile and some incoherent cry of welcome. Teachers, I felt, had not behaved like this when I was at school.

Up close, I discovered that she was, well, tiny, as Dave had said - couldn't have been more than five foot, I thought, and not a raised heel in sight - but also quite classically beautiful ... almost like a Greek sculpture, if you could imagine such a thing with bright red hair ... and an Arran jumper over a knee length denim skirt. She was also smiling broadly as she grabbed my hand and, talking excitedly the while, more or less dragged me into the building and, eventually, into a lab prep room ... apparently the nearest thing to a meeting room she had available.

OK, so the locust cages were a bit disconcerting, the cockroaches more so when I finally noticed them, but we talked ... and talked to some purpose, given the tsunami of exuberance she was sending my way. Jane told me she'd already done a 'guerilla' survey of our site, doing some initial basic mapping by - umm - simply breaking in one weekend. (I laughed, impressed with both the honesty and the initiative) and had a group of students primed and ready to go ... avid bug collectors and weed spotters to a man. Or to a boy and girl, at least. In fact, it became clear, all she really needed from me was the key to the gate padlock ... and clearly she was quite capable of managing even without that. So I gave her the key, my blessing and - Dave's suggestion - quite a large cheque for the college's development fund. And then we talked about other things ... lots of other things.

Actually, we talked through the rest of the afternoon, both of us surprised to find ourselves disturbed by the sounds of the last lessons of the day ending, a few hundred or so students making their way home in a cacophony of trampling feet and excited voices. That, at least, reminded me of the schooldays I'd known ... but they'd had nothing in them to compare to Jane. I hoped her students knew just how lucky they were.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

I declined the offer of a lift back up the valley - by that time I knew she lived in Bowmere and didn't feel I could take her so far out of her way, given the amount of her time I'd already taken up - but we agreed to meet up on site at the weekend, or sooner if she could swing it with her head of department and get the students up there in the week. So I left Jane at the college reception, giving her a brief hug on parting and made my way over to the bus stop, thankfully by now mostly clear of students ... and, of course, with no more buses for an hour or so. Oh, well, I thought ... best just walk back into Bowmere and find another taxi. I was, in fact, just checking my mobile for messages - while I had a signal and all that, when a mud encrusted landrover growled its way out of the staff car park ... and drew to a halt beside me. A large smiling woman leaned over to the passenger side window.
"You wouldn't happen to be Debbie, by any chance?" she said. Well ... Dave was right, I thought ... their bloody grapevine is good.

"Got it in one", I said with a smile of my own. "And given the vehicle, and the location, I'd guess that you must be Kath, the IT teacher that Dave told me about."

"Touche. Hop in ... if you're going up the valley ... I have a sister to check up on. And there won't be a bus for ages, incidentally."

Which, of course, I already knew ... so I clambered in with her, giving her hand a brief shake and asking how she'd recognised me.

"Well, I just had Jane - Whitaker - going on about this fantastic person she's been talking to all afternoon and ... well, we don't get a lot of tall beautiful blondes hanging around the bus stop of an evening, so it seemed to be worth a go. Anyway ... your colleague Dave - you know he talked to some of my students when he was up? - mentioned a bit about you and I've been dying to meet you ever since."

I smiled at this, wondered if she knew just how much he'd told me about her, then settled back to enjoy the ride, Kath given me a running commentary on all the farms –and the farmers - that we passed. Apparently there wasn't a sane person in the valley ... at least if you took Kath's word for it.

I decided to keep an open mind.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Back in the village, Kath dropped me at the hotel after making me promise that I would meet her and her sister Rosie in the bar later on ... and that I would bring Colin, along ... or "the fresh meat", as she actually put it. I stood and watched her drive off with a silly grin on my face, quite overwhelmed by the welcome I'd received from two such different women ... and in such an unexpected way. It almost made up for that creep Andy, I thought with a shudder, before shaking myself down and heading into the hotel.

Where I found Colin sitting on a couch in reception ... looking so relieved to see me that he must have thought I'd been in danger of being kidnapped by aliens or something. Either that or Mr Timeshare's tastes were broader than I'd thought.

In fact, the latter wasn't too far off - apparently the guy had talked about me pretty much constantly, seemingly assuming a rather greater intimacy between Colin and myself than existed (or was ever likely to exist) ... even asking him what my bra size was at one point ... and how the hell would he know that, even if we were sleeping together - check my laundry basket? All of which must have been rather disconcerting to a well brought up young man, who, I suspected, did have a slight, schoolboyish, crush on me, but wasn't quite enough to explain his distraught appearance. That, it turned out was more to do with our friends at PCW. Arriving back at the hotel, he'd found a message asking him - not us - to phone some head honcho there ... which he did. And promptly got told that he needed to submit all his plans, cost estimates, timescales, etc etc to them in advance, for approval. The bastards had even reminded him that they were his practice's landlords.

Which, of course, had more than slightly upset Colin ... but it made me absolutely livid. I reminded him, as reassuringly as possible, that he was actually working for us - that is, Bronstein Associates (Europe) - and that we'd signed actual legal contracts guaranteeing him payment ... and our 'ownership' of the work to be undertaken. I did manage to keep a lid on my anger long enough to get him calmed down a bit, then sent him to the bar for a drink –which he looked like he badly needed –before retiring briefly to my room to make a few phone calls of my own.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

I didn't get very far, to be honest, but at least the folks back at base knew what was happening - Colin's partners had also reported a similar approach to them, so it wasn't a shock - and at least one PCW executive had his vocabulary enhanced by a few of my choicer words. Ultimately, I felt that we needed Carla on board and overtly supporting us –if nothing else she was rich and successful, and PCW liked rich and successful people, even female ones –and had strongly suggested to Dave that he get hold of her pronto. Which was about all I could do, from here, but I was still worried. 
Dave, I thought, didn't seem to realise that just because what he was doing was, to him, obviously morally right - fair in his terms –it didn't actually make it legal, in the sense of according with our funders legitimate contractual expectations. I'd had more experience in this game than he had –hell, Mickey bloody Mouse had more than Dave –and whilst I also knew that the figures really did stack up, that we really could make lots of people lots of money, I was ... unsettled. I knew Dave, I trusted him, I was in ... I was not exactly a dispassionate observer. Nonetheless, it seemed to me that he was blithely sailing into stormy corporate waters, assuming that people would trust him because he was, in fact, trustworthy. What he didn't seem to realise - or maybe just bloody mindedly chose to ignore - was that, in the absence of the old school tie, his backers really needed those overt signs of corporate governance - the committees, the protocols, the procedures ... all the shit he hated. Hell, I knew whose side I was on - whose world I would prefer to live in - but ... There it was. I felt storm clouds gathering, had to live with the fact that even knowing that, I couldn't face going back to London, working that closely with him. Not yet, anyway.
And, of course, I had a job to do up here. Currently, ensuring that a boy wonder architect ate a decent dinner ... and then having a drink with a mad ICT teacher.

The absurdity of it all made me laugh out loud.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Actually, getting Colin to eat wasn't a challenge - a half of bitter had relaxed him slightly and the food was absolutely excellent - and Kath turned out to be comparatively sane. If only by comparison with her sister ... who wasn't sane at all.

Both of them were sitting at a small table in the corner of the bar when we came through from the dining room. Kath had changed out of her work clothes and was now wearing jeans and a baggy fleece sweatshirt, her hair untied and falling around her face as she shared a joke with her sister. Rosie, I thought ... who might actually be on the payroll, given that Dave had apparently offered her a job without bothering to sort out any of the details –like what she was actually supposed to do, how much we would pay her, that sort of stuff. She didn't look anything like her sister, who was a large woman with a lot of curves and a sort of outdoors appearance. Rosie, by contrast, was a much slighter figure, her darker hair cut short and her body showing angles beneath the grey smock type dress she was wearing. Both waved a friendly greeting as they saw us come in and I sat down with them as Colin politely headed to the bar to get drinks in for the four of us.

When he got back - taking a couple of trips to shift the four pints, much to Rosie's disdain - and we'd got the introductions out of the way, it was Rosie who made the conversational running. I think it took her maybe ten minutes to get both Colin and my life stories out of us, followed by a swift canter through our current emotional entanglements ... and our histories in that regard, too. I think Colin was a little taken aback by all this and Kath –who, of course, knew something of my recent bereavement, given that Dave had been staying with her (sleeping with her, actually) when I'd phoned to let him know –looked more than slightly uncomfortable. I, though, felt perfectly OK talking about my life - school, university, PCW, Dave - and loves - a few early liaisons, Phil and ... Dave? I think it was simply that there was no subterfuge, no malice, in the inquiry ... or maybe it was just a relief to be talking about it all openly, almost for the first time.
Then again, maybe I was just putting a marker down, just in case either of them had any future ambitions regarding Dave. Oh, and it was nice to clarify things for Colin, too, just in case he had any actual ambitions regarding me.
Whatever, the conversation moved on - we'd actually got on to talking about proper beer (a subject that a few months acquaintance with Dave had given me an encyclopaedic knowledge of) - when the atmosphere darkened. Literally, in fact, as a large shadow appeared over the table from behind me, followed by a meaty paw on my shoulder. Yep, it was Andy from the timeshare place, seizing what he undoubtedly saw as a moment of opportunity, and beginning to squeeze himself onto the bench beside Colin.

For a brief moment, I thought that things might get even more unpleasant as I saw the flash of outraged anger cross Colin's face, felt both the sisters tense up –faces twisted with revulsion which made me think I wasn't the first of us to be subjected to this treatment. As it turned out, Colin didn't try to hit him ... and I didn't even have to think of anything politely discouraging to say. What happened was that he finally recognised who I was sitting with ... face visibly paling as he caught sight of Rosie ... now staring straight into his eyes with a very peculiar grin.

Oh, so quietly, she said,

"Oh, Andy. How nice of you to join us. And what a shame that you've got to go again, already." She paused, slightly, added with a touch more emphasis, "Go. Already." 

He went. Simply stood up, turned round, walked out of the room, out of the building. I sat back in my chair, taking in Colin's stupefied expression, Kath and Rosie's quietly satisfied looks. "What the fuck just happened?", I asked, finally.

Looks were exchanged, some sort of silent conference taking place between the sisters.

"There's history," Kath finally said, "Reasons why Mr Tosshead back there has reason to behave with a degree of caution around us. Things we know, things we might tell."

"Yeah," added Rosie, less carefully. "And photos we have, photos we might might leave lying about."

God knows what all that was about, I thought ... but I'd seen the look of open fear on the guy's face ... couldn't imagine what would have caused it. From my dealings with him that morning, I'd thought that whatever brains he had were all situated in the groin region, that he probably didn't possess the imagination to be that frightened. But then maybe things had been explained to him very carefully. Probably, I thought, with illustrations. I could see Rosie doing something like that ... and quite possibly enjoying it. I felt strangely glad that she seemed - so far, anyway - to be on our side.
Which fact she promptly proved by switching modes in an instant, losing the steely edge to become ... well, just another sociable young woman out for a drink with some friends. She turned to Colin - who was as white as a sheet at this point, and quite possibly wondering where he'd left his teddy bear - and began chatting to him quietly and amicably ... I could see him begin to relax, feel the charm carry across the table. Meanwhile, Kath had turned her charm in my direction, asking me inconsequential questions about my university days, why on earth I'd chosen to study philosophy, that sort of stuff. I knew she was putting some space between us and the recent unpleasantness, and grateful to her for doing so.

And so time passed. We moved up the valley to the Old Hotel, had another drink or two, there - Kath driving so staying off the alcohol, which I appreciated, not being as into eight kilometre night-time walks as my boss –and conversation continued. Actually, it continued between Kath and myself, mostly, Rosie and Colin having retreated into a sort of bubble of their own ... 'fresh meat' indeed, I thought ... The pub got a lot busier, later on - early snow had been forecast and the hill walkers were out in force, the campsite over the road filling up quite rapidly by all accounts - but we managed to keep ourselves pretty much to ourselves, most of the time.
Actually, it was a couple of local guys –shepherds by the smell of them - who broke the mood. I guess by this time Rosie was pretty far along the road to 'getting off' with my architect friend and so a certain type of guy would probably have figured that Kath and I were looking for a similar end to the evening. Well, these two did, anyway ... sitting down at the table without asking - well, the place was busy, not too many seats available - and then buying us both drinks, again without asking ... which rankled rather more.
Actually, I surprised myself. Sure, it rankled ... in fact, I was thoroughly pissed off at the cheek of it. But I didn't say anything. Probably for the first time since I was a giggling teenager I didn't simply tell them to go fuck themselves or - better yet - simply pour the bloody drink over their heads. Oh, no. What I did was, I waited for Kath to do something. Which was bloody strange behaviour, I thought, even as I was doing it.

Thankfully, Kath didn't let me down. She didn't tell them to piss off or do anything messy with the drinks, either. What she did was stare bloke A straight in the eye, and asked him in a friendly and interested tone what he thought of Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. Was it, in his opinion, a fundamental advance on Hume's previous scepticism, or was he more with Schopenhauer in regarding it as important but fundamentally flawed?

The guy looked baffled. Taking my cue, I followed her right hook with a swift philosophical jab to the jaw by enquiring whether he felt that - as Arthur S had argued - perception was independent of conceptual thought, an entity distinct from the mechanics of logical thought? And if so, where did that leave Kant's fundamental criticism of the romantic philosophers? He didn't even have a chance to breath - let alone say something inane about romantic philosophy, phwah, phwah - before Kath was throwing Hegel at him as well. He looked staggered ... against the ropes already, hanging in the clinch and hoping for the bell ... and I knew we could keep up this bollocks all night if we had to.

Bloke B, it is true, showed a bit more nous, attempting to return the conversation to something approaching conventional English by interjecting a sensible if uninspired question as to whether we were, like, philosophers or something - he almost got the word right, too - but Kath was ready for him.
"Actually, no, I'm a teacher and my friend here is a business consultant but that's no reason not to take an interest in the higher things in life, wouldn't you say?"

We never got the chance to find out whether he agreed with the proposition or not, unfortunately, as Rosie chose that moment to emerge from her - well, from her grope, to be honest - and helpfully interject that she knew the gentleman of old. Which fact seemed to embarrass him, somewhat surprisingly, though less so when she followed it up with a fairly cutting remark about certain of his physical attributes ... such as the size of his penis. Oh, and a question as to whether he had any promising ewes on the go this year?

Dangerous ground, I felt - the male ego crushed can be an unpleasant and dangerous thing - but again the sisters knew their territory, knew just how far you could push this sort of stuff hereabouts. That and the fact that Rosie had used her peculiar ability to project her voice, thereby ensuring that the entire pub was now listening to these exchanges, persuaded our new friends to call it a day, leaving their drinks on the table as they went.

I'll give them their due ... they made a fairly gracious exit, managing not to visibly flinch when their departure brought an ironic cheer and a round of applause from the audience ... to which Rosie gave a brief bow, looking, I felt, appropriately smug.

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

We drove back down the valley soon after that, though, on the basis that the Albion bar would be quieter and, as Kath somewhat acidly put it, Rosie was in danger of getting herself arrested if she didn't get somewhere more private soon. Colin, I noticed, had gone very quiet ... but then, no-one seemed to be all that interested in his opinions, anyway. And he looked happy enough, even if he did look just a bit embarrassed when Kath simply stopped the landrover outside a house in the village –Rosie's, I surmised –and he was dragged out of the back door –not quite by his hair –and led unceremoniously up the front path.

Which left just Kath and me. We went back to the bar, I bought drinks. Kath looked at me enquiringly when I came back, put two pints of Coniston's finest on the table.

"Umm, you know I'm going to be in trouble if I drink that and drive home, don't you? I mean, I'm probably not all that legal at the moment ... "

"It had occured to me", I said, "and I can count, too ... so I don't think you should be thinking of driving ... I probably shouldn't have let you drive down the valley, really, but ... well, you saw what was going on between Rosie and Colin ... we'd have needed at least a bucket of water over the pair of them before a taxi driver would even think of taking them."

"True enough", she said, "And then we'd have had to pay extra for the wet patch on the seats. Or wet patches on the seats, should I say ..."

I laughed with her at the thought ... watching as she sipped at the beer, thought better of it and took a healthy swig. "Still leaves me with the problem of where to stay though ... I don't think Rosie would be that welcoming, in the circumstances - well, actually she might well be but it might freak your friend out a bit - and I'm buggered if I'm going to sleep in the truck with work to go to tomorrow."

"Sure," I said, taking a drink of my own beer, contemplating her calmly as I decided to go through with it, take the chance. "So you'd best just stay with me. If you'd like to, that is."

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

One thing corporate life has taught me is that you can do pretty much anything in a hotel and, if you do it with confidence, no-one bats an eyelid. Thus, the sight of a guest giving a long and - err - friendly hug to another woman in the bar did not discomfit anyone on the staff. Well, OK, the guy behind the bar looked suddenly more awake, but neither the embrace, the rapid draining of drinks or the fact that we proceeded together towards the bedrooms discomfited anyone on the staff. Thank heaven for room-rate hotel bookings, I was thinking to myself as we reached the bar doorway and Kath suddenly pulled me to a halt. Just as I was about to ask what was wrong, she put her arms round me, pulled me tightly against her and gave me a very deep kiss ... which was pleasant - and confirmed, if confirmation was required, that she had taken the invitation the way it had been meant - but also a bit strange. Until she backed off a bit, and I noticed her wink at a middle aged woman, sitting with others of her ilk and staring aghast at the pair of us.

"Don't worry," she said. "Its the vicar. Long story."

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

When we got to my room, I found a note under the door - a message from reception, Dave had called earlier, wanted me to phone him the next morning. OK, I thought, my mind half on the scene below ... wondering about how that would play as we established the business in the future. I was acting completely out of character, I knew ... half thrilled by the idea ... and half appalled. Kath caught my mood, sat on the bed and looked at me.

"Are you OK about this, Debbie? I mean I wasn't actually anticipating this ... didn't think you were this way inclined, to be honest ... and I can usually tell, believe me ..."

I shrugged, still preoccupied. "I'm not, really ... I mean," I laughed, "I might drink pints and mainly avoid wearing skirts - oh, and my hairs quite short, of course - but actually I'd never even contemplated sleeping with another woman till last week. But I quite liked it ... liked the closeness, I mean, the fact that it was more about friendship than Relationships or love or whatever ... well, for me anyway."

I paused and she continued to look at me, sensing there was more to come. Was there? I really didn't know, felt a wave of exasperation ... not quite sure why. "Hell, I probably sound like I'm just using you ... maybe I am just using you but ... oh, I don;t know, you've been so kind, so much fun to be with ... it just seemed like a nice idea ..."

She reached up, took my hand in hers. "Hey, no worries ... if you're OK, then so am I ... as Eric Berne probably should have said."

"Or maybe Gandhi?" I smiled at her, sat down on the bed beside her. She put her arms around me, gathered me in a hug, gave me a long, lingering kiss, working my jumper and t-shirt up above my breasts as she did so. I pulled free long enough to remove them completely, lay back on the bed ... just feeling passively compliant as she set to work on my combat trousers, again taking my panties with them. I was impressed by the calm efficiency of the process, reaching around to unclip my bra, throw it to the floor beside the bed.

I watched her watching me, now completely naked in front of her.

"Isn't this a bit one sided?", I asked, "Like, shouldn't you at least - oh, I don't know, remove your shoes or something?"

"Sorry ... its this thing I have ... I like being clothed with naked people ... or the other way round ..."

I remembered something Dave had told me about his encounter with Kath ... well, everything Dave had told me to be exact, confirmed this aloud.
"Oh, yeah, Dave said you had a bit of a control thing ... but, hey ... whatever it takes, you know ..."

She had begun stroking my nipples, gently nuzzling the skin between my breasts but looked up in surprise. "He told you that? God, you guys must be close ... and yet you've never slept with him?"

I shook my head, distracted by her actions even as I got a reply together, "No ... its a bit complicated ... what with Phil - my late partner - and the job and stuff ... it just hasn't really felt right, somehow ... although ..." I shuddered as her hand moved down to stroke my pubes "... I suspect its only a matter of time ..."

"I hope so ... he's a nice bloke ... the two of you should work well together ... and he's got a very nice prick, too, for what its worth ..." She looked up abruptly, going red in the face ... "Oh, shit, I probably shouldn't have said that ... I mean its ... well ..."

"Its fine," I said, "I know what went on, and I don't have a problem with it ... I mean you're a really nice person yourself ..." I shuddered again as she began to lick my inner thigh "... and ... well ... just don't do it again ..." another shudder, possibly a slight groan - she'd moved up a bit further "... unless I'm there as well, of course ..."

She laughed slightly at that - her mouth somewhat muffled by ... well, by me ... went back to work with a vengeance. I could feel the warmth of her sweatshirt against my legs, the slight tickling of her hair as it brushed against me ... but mainly I felt her tongue and her lips ... I felt ecstatic ... orgasmic ... yep, definitely orgasmic, I thought, the shuddering reaching a new peak and ... definite moan ... no, groan, no ... definite scream ... god, yes, that felt good. 

When I calmed down a bit, I found Kath lying beside me, holding me gently in her arms and stroking my hair. She grinned, said quietly, "Well ... that was quite dramatic ..."

I grinned back at her, decided to assert myself and rolled over quickly, sitting on top of her and pinning her to the bed while I pulled the sweatshirt over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra ... which surprised me, given the size of her breasts ... but then they looked firm enough to do without support. I tried nibbling a nipple, then twisted round and began getting her jeans off, too. "Hey, should I get dressed or something, now that you're getting naked? Would that help?"

She laughed ... "No, its not that deep a fetish, thankfully ... and after watching your performance ..." I blushed "... I don't think I need a lot of help just at the moment ... I just need you to rub my clit lightly ... ah, yes, just like that ... then maybe .... ooh, yes ... the tongue is good ... the tongue is ... aah ... a definite ... uggh ... assistance ... oh ... oh ... at this mo ... aaah ... ment in time" 

She gave up the commentary after that ... or at least became increasingly incoherent as I tried out a few of the tricks May had shown me so recently ... wondering at the simplicity of it all ... the naturalness of "unnatural" sex ... just feeling and sensing the pleasure I was giving ... with no strings attached ...

* ** *** **** ***** **** *** ** *

Quite a lot later, I lay beside her in the half light, listening to the sound of her breathing and remembering the many and varied events of the day 

"You know earlier on," I said, drowsily, "when you gave me a lift up the valley, and told me how mad everyone here was?" She nodded in agreement.

"Do you know I actually thought you were joking?"
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The author, no philosopher, acknowledges a debt to wikipedia for the half understood references to Kant and co above ...

