Confessions of a Kinky Divorcee (15 page)

‘Damn right I did. Like Stonewall.’

It takes a moment for Janey’s face to light up. ‘Ah,’ she says at last, ‘shoe-throwing! Brilliant!’

I glow a little then. ‘Well, anyone who thinks they can treat me like that has another think coming.’ Automatically, I start to straighten her tie. ‘I even threatened to call the police.’ Then, under my breath, I add, ‘I think I may have scuffed one of the gold Guess pumps, actually. That’ll have to come out of my pay. Bang goes my trip to Spain with Glads.’ I smooth the tie against her front, running my fingertips over it, before neatening the collar and sweeping a hair from her shoulder.

Janey reaches out and cups my face with both her hands. And with a concern void of rage she says, ‘Debs, if Pearl’s gone, who’s minding the shop?’

Our lips are so close I go blurry. ‘No one,’ I say, vacantly.

‘But the Area Manager’s coming!’

‘I know.’

‘But Debs, you might lose your job!’

‘Don’t you get it?’ I say, clasping her shoulders. ‘Given the choice, I choose you.’

She searches my gaze, then her eyes start to fill. ‘That’s crazy,’ she says.

‘I know, but –’

And suddenly, she pulls my face to hers and kisses me. Oh, my God, Kitten, it’s unlike any other kiss! Longer, smoother, more passionate, more steamy. She tastes of fruity lip balm and the remnants of coffee, and her lips are so soft as they press and press, moving to touch every bit of my mouth, keeping me coated in her. Our bodies sink together, and I can feel the heat rising from her, seeping into my cool hands, making them warm. I drift into a dream-state where there’s nothing but this kiss – the damp of it, the curve of it, the endless, ardent sex of it – and I press my thirsty groin onto her thigh, trying to grind against her and get the release I crave. I swear, it feels so good that I’d have humped her, right there, climaxing hard with just a few grinds – that’s how wet I’ve become – except Janey pulls back, snapping me out. ‘That was one hell of a kiss,’ she whispers.

‘Don’t stop,’ I say.

She reaches for her phone. ‘Sweetie, there isn’t time. We’re going back to Pussyfoot.’ And before I can stop her, she’s ordering us a cab.

Still giddy from our cab ride, during which I wove my fingers through Janey’s and felt my heart rise like a balloon, we arrive to find Crabby Carol the Area Manager talking to Pearl inside the shop. Pearl! Thank goodness! Perhaps she opened the shop again before Carol appeared. In I walk, making both the women turn. Janey is right behind me. I can smell her coconut soap, and, dear God, it’s distractingly good. ‘Ah, Carol,’ I say, before turning to Pearl. ‘Sorry, we had an emergency.’ I glance towards Pearl. ‘Is everything all right, Pearl, dear?’

But Pearl’s face has gone paper-pale. She shrugs before staring at her hands.

Crabby Carol folds her arms. She looks particularly fierce today. Think shoulder pads, a blunt-cut bob, trendy glasses with thick black rims, perfect lipstick, manicured nails and a pair of blue-green eyes that seem unnaturally close together. She also has a small, yet beaky, nose that always makes me feel as if I’m being inspected by a starling.

‘Well, look who decided to join us,’ she says. As soon as she spots Janey, she gives her the once-over, before wrinkling her nose as if she’s sensed a bad smell. ‘Please tell me this isn’t your new Saturday girl?’

‘Janey?’ I say. ‘She is. Doesn’t she look … dapper?’

Crabby Carol frowns at me, raising a single eyebrow. ‘When I got here, the lights were on, the store was locked and the “Closed” sign was up.’ She glances at her watch. ‘That was about ten minutes ago, and just as I was trying to work out what on earth was going on, Miss Gilsworth here –’ Carol looks at Pearl, who seems increasingly shifty ‘– Miss Gilsworth came and let me in. And judging by the look on her face as she picked her way across a medley of discarded shoes, she had no idea what had been going on.’

‘I was in the loo,’ says Pearl. ‘I had a …’ She flushes. ‘A woman’s emergency.’

I smell a rat. Pearl had sneaked off for a fag, and both of us know it.

‘Debs had an emergency too,’ says Janey.

But Carol glares at her with such violence that Janey flushes and bites her lip.

‘That,’ Carol tells her, pointing at her tie, ‘is not suitable for Pussyfoot Shoes. Remove it at once.’

Janey glances at me before sighing and starting to undo her tie. But I have to say, I don’t like Carol’s tone. ‘None of this is Janey’s fault,’ I say.

Janey nudges me really hard. ‘No, it really isn’t!’ I tell Carol. ‘I –’

‘All three of you,’ interrupts Carol, ‘are in serious hot water. You all abandoned the store without calling head office. And I doubt all three of you had an emergency
all at the same time
.’

For a moment, there is silence. I can feel my stomach sinking like a rock. I realise that I could make up an elaborate lie, like the Emergency Room visit we concocted in the cab, although I’m sure Carol knows that ER never takes less than half an hour.

‘You know what,’ I tell Carol, suddenly, ‘you’re absolutely right. I unclip my name tag and hold it towards her. ‘I’ve had a wonderful time working here. Really, I have. But I can’t imagine you’d let me off if I told you my emergency was an affair of the heart.’

Carol takes the badge, but looks confused. ‘You had a heart attack?’ she says.

I can feel Janey next to me, trying not to laugh.

‘I had to go and stop the woman I love from leaving,’ I tell Carol, ‘and if that isn’t an emergency, I don’t know what is.’

‘
Love
?’ says Carol, as if it’s a foreign word. ‘I’m sorry; let me make sure I’ve got this right. You left Pussyfoot Shoes unmanned …’

‘Un
woman
ed,’ says Janey.

I try not to laugh.

Carol tells Janey that if she wants the opinion of a Saturday girl who is well and truly sacked, she’ll ask for it.

‘Now, wait a minute,’ I say. ‘You haven’t heard Janey’s explanation yet.’

‘I’m not listening,’ says Carol. ‘Not to any of you. Why on earth should I trust you? You abandoned the store, showed an utter lack of judgement, and the only person who has any excuse is Pearl Gilsworth here, who, I might add, won’t be getting the manager’s job
in spite
of the vacancy.’

Pearl’s cheeks and neck have flushed scarlet.

‘That’s a horrible thing to say!’ I announce. The anger is burning inside of me. The woman’s obviously going to sack me, but how dare she do it so callously! The least she could say is ‘Thank you for your service.’ And surely I deserve the word ‘regrettably’, at least.

‘You,’ says Crabby Carol, pointing right at me, ‘will receive the balance of your pay. You will return your uniform and –’

‘Oh, this?’ I shout, reaching for my blouse. ‘This old thing?’ I add, as I pull my blouse right open, exploding two buttons that ping towards Carol and Pearl. ‘Well, for your convenience, I’ll give it to you now,’ I shout, dropping my blouse on the floor, before unzipping my skirt and letting it pool around my black five-inch stilettos.

As I stand there in my white sculpted cotton bra with matching knickers and suspender belt, my fists on my hips, Janey gives a whoop. ‘Oh, shit!’ she cries, applauding. ‘You’re so fucking perfect!’

Carol stands in horrified silence, her mouth hanging open, two tiny spots of redness appearing on her cheeks.

‘Come on, Janey,’ I say, taking her hand. ‘It’s time for the big seduction, you handsome devil.’

And out we walk, hand in hand, with yours truly in nothing but her undies.

In the street, Janey pulls me into her arms. I can feel the giggles fluttering through her. ‘That,’ she says, ‘was the most romantic thing that ever happened to me.’

‘Are you sure?’ I say, as I rest my head against hers. ‘After all, I am near-naked in the middle of Chipham High Street.’

‘It’s
our
Stonewall,’ says Janey, kissing my hair. ‘Plus you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.’

As people walk past in their dozens, glancing at my lack of clothes in shock or bemusement, all I can feel is my warmth against Janey’s.

And my, how I glow.

Saturday, 24 March

Now, Kitten, here’s the thing … when a girl offers you the shirt off her back, you know that she more than likes you. I’m naked when Janey does just this and we’re rushing towards the taxi rank, trying to avoid the wolf whistles, dirty jokes and sneers. It’s just as well that I’m getting so much attention, because it stops me from obsessing about the heaviness of my breasts, the puckering of my upper arms, the curve of my belly … At one point some little bastard takes several photos – but if I will strip off in the middle of town, I suppose I can hardly complain. It’s the attempt to photograph me that pushes a flushed, defiant Janey into loosening her tie and offering me her shirt. ‘Don’t!’ I say. ‘I want to undress you myself!’

‘That’s rich coming from you,’ says Janey, with a wry grin and cocked eyebrow. ‘Anyway, I want to cover you up. When the world is looking at my naked beau, am I meant to be unpossessive?’

‘
Beau
?’ I say, tickled by the French. ‘You’re
possessive
?’ I add, tickled by the romance. But I manage to persuade her to keep the shirt on. ‘You’re causing as much fracas as I am,’ I say, reminding her that gender-bending is hardly the norm in this small-minded town.

A guy across the street gives us a catcall. I mock-salute him, which makes him rock with laughter.

‘Debs,’ says Janey, ‘gender-bending is child’s play compared to public nudity.’

Fortunately, I suddenly see a taxi driving past, and though I’d usually be too late at this distance, today my nakedness makes us lucky.

‘I’m actually booked,’ says the driver, when we climb in, ‘but naked ladies come up trumps.’

Janey snorts.

‘Well?’ says the driver, glancing back. ‘What’s the story? I deserve that much, don’t I?’

I give him a potted version of the story, but Janey’s placed her hand on my knee and is trailing it softly up my stockinged leg, hovering around the clip of my suspender belt and tracing tiny circles. ‘You’re stunning,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘I’ve never been so turned on.’

She trails her fingers back down to my knee – up and down, up and down – so that every inch of my stockinged flesh is purring and begging for more. I grab her hand and drag her fingers slowly up beyond my stocking-top, up across the naked flesh, watching her eyelids grow heavy with lust, as her gaze flickers over me, drinking me in. Then I slide my own hand down my belly before stroking my lace-trimmed briefs and feeling my pussy through the layer of cotton. I arch, appalled at how wet I am – God, with Janey’s eyes on me like this I could come any second … and part of me thinks, Fuck it, why not, which is why I take Janey’s fingers and press them onto my briefs, whispering, ‘Touch me properly, sweetheart.’

And though she gasps with desire as she presses right onto my pussy, causing me to gently thrust against her pressure, she slides her hand away to place it back on my thigh. In my ear, she whispers, ‘I can’t … not here.’

So I whisper, ‘OK,’ and raise her hand and kiss it, before running the edge of my stiletto up and down her shin and watching her squirm with pleasure. After that, I have to make do with the vibrations of the engine, strumming into my pussy, making me wet.

That’s how it is until the taxi drops us off and we scoot into my house as fast as we can. Janey slams the door behind us and collapses against it, then we glance at one another and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, God,’ gasps Janey, wiping the tears from her eyes, ‘this is just too much! No one has a “first date” story like this!’

Lust makes my laughter sink into a sexy smile. In my five-inch peep-toe stiletto heels, I sway towards her like a catwalk model, rolling my hips seductively, keeping her stare on mine. Janey’s still smiling as she drinks me in. She pulls off her cap and fans herself with it, before ruffling her hair and tipping her head. The centres of her eyes have gone big and black. I can feel her gaze like melted wax trailing down my front. I’m happy and horny and hopelessly high. ‘I don’t give a fuck about the job,’ I say, when I’m so close that I can feel her breath.

‘I know you don’t,’ says Janey, grabbing me round the waist. ‘It’s the hottest shot of laissez-faire
I think I’ve ever seen.’

I grab her tie, give it a tug, and run the fingers of my free hand through her hair. She sinks backwards, her head thumping against the door, her hands sinking warmly into my back. ‘Kiss me,’ she says. ‘Make me drunk with it.’

So I do.

And suddenly all the tension of the last couple of weeks comes flooding to the surface – the scent that hangs around her after she’s showered, the sweet breathy noises she made with Lil, my hands stroking the curves of her buttocks, the sight of her thrusting a sex toy into her pussy as she luxuriated on her bed … this tension all comes catapulting out of me, slamming into Janey as I press her against the door, then grab her through her shirt and feel her nipples rising under my palms. Oh, I knead her and rip her open, and bathe in the sight of her body – the pallor of it, the sleekness, the tightness of her skin – and I kiss down her neck where she smells of her favourite soap, right down her beautiful bicep and the tip of her butterfly tattoo, play-biting the side of her exquisite breast.

‘Oh, fuck,’ she gasps, pushing her fingers between my thighs, dipping into my briefs. ‘Oh, God, you’re so wet,’ she whispers. ‘Oh, Debs, you’re perfect.’

I raise my head, looking right into her face. ‘And we haven’t even got to the good bit yet.’

She smiles. ‘And what might that be?’

I give a wink before taking her by the hand and leading her into the living-room. Once there, I tell her to strip right down to her briefs and sit in my white leather armchair. She looks magnificent, lazing back into the leather, one arm draped across the back. She’s sleek but muscular, with high little breasts that I want to grasp hold of and rub and bite and press. She also has tattoos – not just the black butterflies that float around her shoulder, but also a string of words that slope across the very top of her left-hand breast. As I get closer, I stare until the words become clear: We See Things as We Are.