Heather Falls in Love Pt. 09

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(July 2004)

Heather was glad to see that the hen night was even better attended than the buck’s night. There were, by her count, twenty-five of them setting off from that same large, city centre pub. And although Claire, in her role as maid of honour, gave them a pep talk before the crawl there was no need to split into smaller groups. Mobs of young women were, it seemed, welcomed everywhere.

There was no shagger’s hat to be awarded either. That much said, enough of them were up for it; at least two of the hens scored before they reached the second bar.

How wonderfully naughty of them!

In Heather’s opinion she was now an expert on big Aussie nights out. During the early part of Ingrid’s she amused herself by spotting similarities and differences. There were lots and lots of similarities . . . and one glaring difference: the men had generally had to try but the women didn’t need to try at all.

She grinned as she made the comparison. Everybody in town knew they were on a hen night, just as everybody in town last week had known they were on a buck’s night. The knowledge expressed itself in two diverse ways. Last week most of Albany’s females avoided the bucks. She’d heard “You’re only after one thing” being said many times. Tonight, in contrast, most of Albany’s males were throwing themselves at them, obviously hoping the hens were only after one thing. They could have all scored as many times as they liked.

Hmmm, she thought as she shook her head, rejecting her latest would-be suitor, maybe later.

To her knowledge their mob consisted of eighteen straight girls and seven women who’d been known to have sex with women. Most of them were in some sort of relationship, be it straight or not. But what happened on the hen night stayed on the hen night, of course. By the time they reached their fifth bar she was sure most everyone had an illicit quickie, and some more than just one.

There were paragons of virtue, however. Ingrid had behaved herself impeccably so far. So too had Claire, who was taking her maid of honour position seriously. So had Rachael, who didn’t know very many of the others and was probably biding her time. And, most incredibly of all, so had the father of the bride, who was getting distinctly horny but not in the mood for a donger.

Hence the string of rejections.

Okay, so she had her eye on one of the straight girls, hoping she was at least a little curious. Her name was Nat (short for the much lovelier Natalia) and Heather couldn’t remember meeting her before. And face it, she would have remembered. Nat was drop-dead gorgeous. Her hair was chin length and dark brown, her skin was a flawless olive. And, like everyone else, she was showing a lot of bare flesh, all of it intriguing.

Mmmm, yum, yum!

‘I haven’t seen you sneaking off yet,’ she said, joining the girl at the bar.

Nat smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not a prude. I just haven’t had the right sort of approach yet.’ Then, still smiling, ‘I haven’t seen you sneaking off either, come to think about it. Has Claire put an invisible ball and chain round your ankles?’

Heather was pleased to discover Nat knew who she was and what she liked. ‘We save the ball and chain for bedroom games,’ she said. ‘It’s shut in its drawer at the moment. And it’s staying there until we get chucked out of the nightclub. Between now and then we’re free spirits.’

‘I have a similar arrangement with Megan.’


‘She’s my regular girlfriend. She’s working tonight, at the hospital. I’m meeting her in the nightclub later. Between now and then I’m a free spirit too.’

That pleased Heather even more. Gorgeous, presumably experienced and free for the evening? Bring it on!

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said, edging ever closer.

‘Sure, go ahead.’

‘What’s the right sort of approach?’

‘You’ve already made it. Buy me a drink and I’m all yours.’


They had sex in a dark alley somewhere between bar numbers five and six; standing up, kissing and fingering as if their lives depended on it. It was hot and satisfying but at the same time frustrating; they both wanted more . . . much, much more.

By the time they arrived at the sixth bar the hen party had given them up and moved on. Heather let Nat buy her a pint and, as they drank, they agreed to skip bar number seven and catch up at number eight, the last stop before the nightclub. But their best laid plans went awry. Walking there they came across a small park and the temptation was too much. Heather dragged Nat in. Not that she took a lot of dragging.

‘Sixty-nine,’ she said as soon as they were out of sight of the street, ‘me on top.’

That was cool by Heather. They stripped and she lay on her back on the grass. And then Nat’s fanny was in her face. She licked up at it, savouring the taste. It was good, so very, very good; much better than tasting her off her own fingers.

Nat, meanwhile, had located Heather’s clit. Her kisses and nibbles were exquisite.

Nibbled by moonlight, Heather thought rus escort happily. How utterly romantic.


The police officer almost caught them. Well, he did catch them, just not actually in the act. They had swapped positions and were chasing their umpteenth mutual orgasm when Heather spotted a torch heading their way. Somehow they got their clothes back on before he got close and personal.

‘What’s all this then?’ he demanded, playing a beam of light over them.

‘We’re watching the stars,’ said Heather, pointing to the heavens from a (she hoped!) innocent sitting position on the grass. ‘All the constellations are different down here.’

‘A likely story,’ he said. ‘Are you English?’

‘Yes she is,’ said Nat. ‘I was showing her the Southern Cross.’

The officer clearly didn’t believe them but didn’t stand in their way when they got to their feet and said it was time to go.’

‘Bet he has a wank thinking about us,’ Nat said as soon as they were out of earshot.

‘I don’t blame him,’ said Heather, ‘I’m going to be jilling later, thinking about us. Unless we can find somewhere else to finish each other off.’

Nat checked the time. ‘Hogan’s ghost, it’s quarter to one. Megan will be on my case.’

‘Does Megan often give you time off as a free spirit?’

‘This is a first. Another fifteen minutes and it might well be my last.’


There wasn’t much of a queue outside the nightclub, probably because half the city was already on its dance floor. Pretending she just happened to have arrived at the same time as Nat, Heather watched her approach a tall, stern-looking blonde who was waiting near the entrance.

Wow, she thought, I bet she can handle herself. What a pity she’s not in her nurse’s uniform.

As she watched Nat said something and the blonde broke into a smile then hugged her. Relieved on Nat’s behalf, Heather headed for the bar.

Ingrid was there, sipping orange juice and talking to the twins.

‘Fancy a proper drink?’ Heather enquired, knowing what the answer would be.

‘No thank you. Ask me again after Junior’s arrived.’

‘Where’s Claire?’

Ingrid pointed to the crowd of dancers. It took Heather a moment to find her. Then she gasped as she saw who she was dancing with.

‘I thought the guys had agreed to stay out of town tonight.’

‘They have,’ said Ingrid. ‘But Jez is unattached. He must think the agreement doesn’t apply to him.’

‘No,’ said Leigh, ‘he thinks it’s the perfect time to catch Claire when Brett’s not around.’

‘Are you jealous?’ Lauren asked Heather.

‘She’s a free woman,’ Heather said magnanimously, ‘I’m not jealous.’

‘Just as well,’ said Leigh, ‘he’s been fucking her on and off for years.’

The twins went elsewhere, in search of a bedmate. Heather made a hole in her latest drink then frowned.

‘Where’s Rache?’

‘She’s at that table over there.’

Heather had to laugh. The club was full of hundreds of young women in various states of undress. It had attention-grabbing sights everywhere. And who had Rachael gone for? She’d only gone for Oz’s version of herself . . . only not nearly so good-looking.

‘She looks like Johnny Rotten’s twin sister.’

Before Ingrid could agree Claire arrived, hot, sweaty and possibly blushing under her tan.

‘Hev, it’s a hen night secret, but I’m staying out tonight. Feel free to use my place with whoever you pick up.’

Rachael arrived two seconds after Claire had gone back to Jez.

‘Inga, I’m staying out tonight. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Who are you going to pick up?’ Ingrid asked when the two of them were alone again.

Heather had been toying with the idea of a three with Nat and Megan, but it seemed too risky, even by her daredevil standards.

‘I think I’ll spend the night with my favourite vibrator,’ she said. ‘I don’t like using it unless I’m on my own. It’s very loud.’

‘You promised me my last fling as a single woman,’ said Ingrid, smiling. ‘This is officially my last night of freedom. And trust me; I don’t care how loud your vibrator is.’


(July 2004)

‘Heather, what are you smirking at?’

‘Me? I’ve never smirked in my life.’

‘Well you’re smirking now. Tell Auntie Ingrid why.’

It was Sunday morning. The two of them were sat at Claire’s kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs and sipping smoothies. The washing machine was doing its thing in the corner, cleaning cum-stained bed sheets.

‘I’m mentally updating my Sexy CV,’ Heather admitted.

‘I see. I’m an experience, aren’t I? “Fucking a pregnant woman.” Is that what I’m down as?’

‘You certainly are, and that isn’t your first entry on my CV. You’ve set all sorts of records. And most of them will never be beaten.’

Ingrid took her hand across the table. ‘I can’t believe what we’ve been through together. And now it really is as good as over. Assuming I turn up at church. I’m getting butterflies already.’

‘Don’t say that. Any encouragement yenimahalle escort and I’ll whisk you away back to England.’

Ingrid opened her mouth then shut it again. Heather never did find out how close they’d come to doing a runner there and then.


Claire arrived home perhaps half an hour after Ingrid left. Heather expected to be quizzed about last night’s happy ending but that never happened. Claire was too wound up.

‘Brett wants to see me. He’s calling round at eleven. Oh Hev, he sounded so serious when he rang.’

‘Maybe he found out about Jez.’ Heather said helpfully.

‘I’ve been fucking Jez since we were in Year 12. He wouldn’t have waited ’til now to spit the dummy.’

‘So what is it, then?’

‘I think he’s jealous about you.’

‘About me?’

‘Yeah; he’s either jealous of you fucking me or of me fucking you; or both.’

‘Why should he be jealous of two girls who just want to have fun?’

‘You know what men are like. Any sort of competition and their bottom lip comes out.’

‘Do you want me here to give moral support?’

Claire pondered a moment. ‘No, I’ll face him on my own. If it is about Jez I’m going to tell him a few home truths. And I wouldn’t want to upset your sensitive soul.’

Heather made a couple of calls as she strolled towards her favourite beach bar.

‘Hiya Ingrid, is everything okay with Brad?’

‘He’s here in bed with me, so yeah. Everything is hunky dory.’

‘He’s still in bed at this time of day?’

‘He was up and doing when I got home. We’re taking the opportunity before Rache gets back from wherever.’

‘No complaints about you stopping out all night, then?’

‘No, he’s being incredibly mature about it. There again, he has to be, hasn’t he? Sauce for the goose and all that.’

‘Was Brett there when you got home?’

‘I met him on my way in. He had a face like thunder. I think he might have heard about Jez.’

The second call was to Rachael.

‘Don’t ask,’ the petite Mohican began. ‘What a disaster! She wanted me to do everything.’

‘You like doing everything.’

‘Only when I’m getting even with you. Normally I’m caring and sharing.’

‘Are you still there?’

‘No, I got the hell out while she was still asleep.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I haven’t the faintest. I’m sitting outside some pub in a strange street, waiting for it to open. Where are you?’

‘I’m on my way to Ed’s. I’ll be there in two minutes. Why don’t you join me?’

‘Because I haven’t a clue where I am or you are.’

‘Get a taxi and tell the driver to take you to Ed’s Hotel. You’ll recognize it from the day you got here.’

‘Is it the place with the all-day breakfast?’

‘Yes; do you want me to order you another?’

‘You bet I do!’


The walk put an edge back onto Heather’s appetite. Scrambled eggs and blended fruit forgotten, she ordered two breakfasts and two beers. Rachael joined her as she went outside to absorb the view.

‘Turned out nice again,’ Heather said in greeting.

‘You probably got a decent fucking,’ Rache countered, ‘you would say that, wouldn’t you?’

While they drank Swan and devoured plates of lovely, greasy food they compared notes. Or, rather, Heather listened to a rant about Ms Rotten’s shortcomings and made out she’d slept with Nat, not Ingrid.

Rachael wasn’t so easily fooled. ‘Come off it, Hev. Inga’s had last night pencilled in for months.’

‘I can’t talk out of school. What happens on the hen night . . .’

‘Don’t worry about it. Inga will tell me all later. She always does. Tell me about Bradley instead.’


‘Tell me about your night with Bradley last week.’

‘Is that common knowledge?’

‘It is in Ingrid’s household, I’m not sure about anywhere else. So come on Hev, spill ’em.’

Heather couldn’t resist. ‘I’m out of practice with blokes,’ she said. Then, holding her hands apart like an exaggerating fisherman: ‘His donger’s in proportion with the rest of him. It’s this big.’

‘Twenty inches? Pull the other one.’

Heather reduced the gap to maybe fifteen inches. ‘This then.’

‘That’s absolutely horrendous.’

‘It depends on one’s point of view. And didn’t you once tell me you’d had a few dongers yourself?’

‘Yes, when I was young and foolish. I grew out of that malarkey long ago.’

Rachael went back into the bar and returned with fresh drinks. ‘We’ll have these on Italian TV,’ she said.

‘I thought they hadn’t been in touch yet.’

‘They haven’t. But they will be.’

‘I like Italian women,’ Heather confessed. ‘I haven’t had one yet, but they’re on my bucket list. Those sexy brown eyes!’

‘You’re on my bucket list,’ said Rache, ‘right at the very top.’

‘You’ve already had me.’

‘I want you again. And not on a beach; I’ve got sand in the crack of my arse even now.’

‘We could borrow Claire’s spare bedroom tomorrow afternoon.’

‘It’s a date,’ Rachael said swiftly. Then, pouting, ‘But it’s not soon enough. I want you today.’

Heather quickly ran through options. Claire was probably still having World War Three with Brett, so hers was out. Ingrid’s didn’t even come into the equation. And the twins would want to join in. So too would Jez.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘it’s going to have to be a rake of beer and sex by moonlight. We can go on the golf course if you like. As long as we stay away from the bunkers your ass should be safe from sand. And I’ve always wanted to score a birdie on the thirteenth.’

‘Let’s get a hotel room.’ Rachael’s bright blue eyes shone. ‘We can fuck the afternoon away behind a Do Not Disturb sign. I’ve always wanted to do that.’

Heather grinned. She’d paid for lots of hotel rooms before, but always for traditional reasons. Okay, so she’d had some form of sex or other in most of them, invariably with Ingrid, but first and foremost she’d always been looking for somewhere to sleep and shower.

Paying for one as somewhere to shag an afternoon away was exciting, to say the least.

‘I’m wet already,’ she said, ‘and you’re very much on.’


Heather allowed Rachael the privilege of putting out the sign saying Do Not Disturb. Then they took it in turn to give below jobs. And to trib. And to top in a sixty-nine. As much as an hour slipped by while they lay close, rubbing boobs together, staring into each other’s eyes and talking dirty . . . and finally agreeing it was time to face-sit.

Heather went first and, being much bigger, was graceful about it. She didn’t so much sit as squat over Rachael, giving her ample opportunity to below her . . . and taking her own opportunity to grope boobs and tickle Rache’s freckle.

Rachael wasn’t nearly so subtle. She didn’t even try to support herself, letting gravity do its thing, crushing herself against Heather’s mouth and nose, jewellery everywhere, very frequently flooding her.

It was fantastic. Fan-fucking-tastic!

Darkness had fallen long before they took a break.

‘Let’s stay here forever,’ said Rachael. ‘Let’s exhaust our cards and our bodies.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Heather, ‘but I need to phone home. And so do you.’


‘Because Ingrid will be worrying about you. You know what she’s like. She’ll be thinking you went off with a mad axe-woman.’

Rache begrudgingly agreed so Heather called Claire.

‘Oh, hi Hev; how’s tricks?’

‘Never mind me, you Aussie hussy. How did it go with Brett?’

‘Fine. Fine . . . no worries.’

‘Is he still there?’

‘Yes,’ a voice in the background said.

Heather caught on instantly. ‘You’re shagging him in our bed, aren’t you?’

‘I’m shagging him in my bed, actually. And there’s no need for you to hurry back. You can stay out all night if you like.’ Then, after a pause, ‘Where are you, anyway?’

‘I’m in a shelter for the homeless. They’ll let me stay until eleven in the morning. Does that fit in with your plans?’

‘I can work around it,’ said Claire. ‘You drink your meths and I’ll see you for lunch.’


(July 2004)

The day of the wedding dawned fine . . . as always. Heather and the other leading female players met up at Ingrid’s at nine am. Ingrid greeted them with glasses of chilled wine and even had one herself. Well, she had a small glass and barely sipped at it.

Then, ten minutes early, the hairdresser arrived, bringing with her two stylists, a makeup artist and a manicurist. Heather was glad to see Amber and wasn’t surprised she was early. She must have had ten “reminders” over the last month or so.

‘You first,’ she said to Heather, smiling at her. ‘You’re the one most likely to cause trouble.’

Heather had been to Amber’s salon twice recently, before the two big nights out. It had been at least two years since her previous trim and tidy-up; she’d reckoned it was best not to leave the repair work until the actual day. She’d also been impressed by Amber’s skills and the way she’d swiftly made her presentable again. It was good she was now going to be finished off by the lady herself and not by a stylist.

‘You seem to be taking more care of it,’ Amber observed as she brushed and combed.

‘I don’t want another telling off,’ said Heather, grinning back at her in the mirror.

By then Ingrid’s house was a hive of activity. Amber’s colleagues were busying themselves with the bridesmaids, closely supervised by Claire and Ingrid. The bridesmaids were only young and they were revelling in the attention. There was nervousness in the air but there was also plenty of laughter.

Heather studied Amber anew. She knew she was a mother of two and that, despite the ring on her finger, her husband was long gone. She was perhaps thirty and yet another drop-dead gorgeous woman. The country seemed to be full of ’em.

‘There,’ said Amber, ‘if that not the best hair the father of the bride’s ever had . . .’

Heather nodded at her own reflection. Amber had worked wonders again. Her mane had a nice sheen to it and looked better than ever.

And, although the house was packed, nobody was taking any notice of them.

‘Perfection,’ she said. Then, deciding to cast a line and see what she caught: ‘You’ll have to give me your business card, in case I ever have a late-night hair emergency.’

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