For Women. complet by david stevens

For Women. complet by david stevens For Women. complet by david stevens

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance



Status: Finished

Genre: Romance



This story centres around the lives of four, ‘twenty The story follows the development of various romances and as with all the best love stories it has a happy, but for some characters, a surprising end!

something’ women, sharing a house owned by one of them. The story is told from the viewpoint of Clare, who in despair with her failing love life, decides to salve her concerns and entertain herself by writing a book, unbeknown to her companions. It details their lives, loves, views and feelings, as she views them, or as they tell her.

Share :


This story centres around the lives of four, ‘twenty The story follows the development of various romances and as with all the best love stories it has a happy, but for some characters, a surprising end!

something’ women, sharing a house owned by one of them. The story is told from the viewpoint of Clare, who in despair with her failing love life, decides to salve her concerns and entertain herself by writing a book, unbeknown to her companions. It details their lives, loves, views and feelings, as she views them, or as they tell her.

Chapter1 (v.1) - For Women. complet by david stevens

Author Chapter Note

This story centres around the lives of four, ‘twenty The story follows the development of various romances and as with all the best love stories it has a happy, but for some characters, a surprising end!

something’ women, sharing a house owned by one of them. The story is told from the viewpoint of Clare, who in despair with her failing love life, decides to salve her concerns and entertain herself by writing a book, unbeknown to her companions. It details their lives, loves, views and feelings, as she views them, or as they tell her.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 23, 2013

Reads: 96

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: March 23, 2013







This story centres around the lives of four, ‘twenty something’ women, sharing a house owned by one of them. The story is told from the viewpoint of Clare, who in despair with her failing love life, decides to salve her concerns and entertain herself by writing a book, unbeknown to her companions. It details their lives, loves, views and feelings, as she views them, or as they tell her.


The story follows the development of various romances and as with all the best love stories it has a happy, but for some characters, a surprising end!


For (4) Women




As the late John Wayne might have said if asked, Lizzy liked old cowboy movies but her imitation of John Wayne, the movie star, was awful. “You got to get back on the horse and ride it girl was today’s quote. Sitting here moping and bemoaning the fact that you have been dumped is doing you no bloody good at all!” Lizzy could be heartless at times and she knew it; but there were times in a girl’s life when heartless was exactly what was required, and this was one of them. That, as far as Lizzy was concerned, was the best thing that a true friend could do for a dispirited, dumped, woman. Men caused women problems, but they, women she meant, allowed them to get away with it. Now here was poor Clare crying again, just because a worthless man had dumped her.

“Thanks Lizzy, that just what I want, someone else telling me exactly how much of a failure I am!” I could feel the tears welling up again as I spoke the words, but as for Lizzy, she just sat back on her haunches and looked blankly at me. She didn’t understand. Oh no, not her, she with her damn slim figure that men seemed to like so much, coupled with those, damn her, gorgeous bright blue eyes; life isn’t fair I thought, as my tears fell.

It had all been going so well, Mike and I had met at a bar, it was some friend of a friends do and I had been dragged along as the accompaniment, because I presume, I was free that night; come to think of it, up until I met Mike, most of my nights were free! Anyway there I was playing wallflower, when up walks this gorgeous man, and I do mean gorgeous; straight away I noted that he was taller than me, which is always a good start in a man and especially if he is still taller even when I have high heels on. His smile filled out and lit up his face. It had just the right amount of rugged handsomeness, and he was wearing expensive smelling aftershave lotion.

Mum always told me that clothes make the man; I think that she was nearly right, shoes make the man, and his were perfect, clean, neat and polished to a mirror surface. I smiled sort of coyly and waited to see what he might do next. What he did was exactly what I wanted; he offered me a drink and then casually led me away from the wall to sit with him, next to, not opposite to, a good start. Well that was the beginning of the relationship and for the first time in ages, I had a male friend and a rather dashing one at that!

It had been going great for nearly three whole months, when out of the blue he rang me, strange as it was not one of our days to meet up, we arranged to meet for dinner. I was working late, so if I were to get home, change, and look drop dead gorgeous for him, it would have to be a late meal. Anyway I came home and picked out the jade dress, the one I always wear if I want to look especially appealing, and that was where the trouble started!

My shoes were missing, or rather I forgot where I had left them, then I remembered, they were in my case, which was still in Bristol. I had left it behind the last time I went home to my step-parents, and inside of that case were my prized ‘Jimmies’. Faced with the severity of the problem, only one possible answer sprang to mind. Lou had a pair of a similar colour, though not quite as nice as my Jimmies of course, but they would have to do.

The only problem is that Lou takes a size 5 and I take a 6, but needs must. After all I was only going from the house by taxi to the restaurant, and then after a pleasant evening with Mike, home to either his place or mine, tonight might be the night; I had almost decided that we had put off the inevitable awkward first coupling for long enough; mostly because, for some reason he had never really tried to bed me. It had been a frustrating three months for me, but tonight it would all work out and sex would be back on the menu, thank God.

Some hope, the fates and their bloody warped sense of humour were about to do the only screwing around that night! We met as arranged; he looked perfect, neat, presentable and ready, sexy enough to eat! If he could have read my mind I am sure that he would have blushed, or at least as I entered the restaurant that was what I truly believed. The maitre d’ led me over to his table, he having arrived first, and I sat down just looking at him, although wondering about the third place setting, presuming that a mistake had been made.

Lou’s shoes were by now killing me; being a size smaller than in an ideal world I take, they had been hard enough at first to squeeze into, and now they were pinching my toes together and at the same time scraping my heels. I would have mountainous blisters by tomorrow but it would be worth all the pain, if, as I hoped, my desires came to fruition. The meal went smoothly; we talked inanely about work, his mostly, our day and about nothing really. Clearly he had something on his mind and I just hoped that he would get it out into the open soon. As for the pain in my feet I had a solution, I eased first one, then the other of the shoes off under the table. The relief was immediate, a quick wiggle of my toes and already my feet were beginning to feel more normal; Note to self, get mum to post my Jimmies to me.

Having eaten my main course I was just considering a dessert, when a man approached the table. Mike waved him away and he veered off, taking a seat at the bar across from us. With my curiosity tweaked, I surreptitiously looked over the menu to get a better look at him. He was older than either Mike or I, possibly fifty to our late twenties. He kept himself rather well for a man of his age, and if I had been single, perhaps I might have been interested! I turned my attention back to Mike and before I could say anything he spoke. Finally, I remember thinking, he was getting to the point of this meal, once that was over perhaps we could get on with dealing with other more pressing points, mine I hope.

“Umm,” I had never known him stuck for words.

“Umm,” he repeated, before delivering the classic line.

“Its not you, its me!”

Oh no, I know what’s coming, I have been told this one before; it can’t be happening, not from him, not now! He mumbled on for a second or two before pulling himself together and blurting it out. His reasons for seeing me, for this date and for the third chair.

“I’m gay! I now know that I’m gay, and…”

“You tell me this now; you couldn’t tell me, say three months ago! No wonder you never tried to lay me, you bastard, you… you…” I ran out of words. He now knew that he was Gay! What had he thought before he met me? He has to date me first and then he knows! The full horror of what he has said kicks me in the groin; extending, the pain swiftly rises up to my stomach and makes me feel as sick as a dog.

“I was going to have sex with you tonight, not just sex, I was going to make love to you, and now you tell me that you like men, not me!”

What could I do? Mr. Fifty was now standing up, and as I had a glass of white wine in my hand I threw it, straight into Mike’s face. With a passing shot of. “I hope you’re happy!” to the fast approaching Mr. Fifty.

I stormed past and out of the restaurant. Slamming the door behind me, tonight I would not be going Dutch, he could pay the bloody bill himself, damn him!

I turned right and ran, not at that point noticing either of the two critical things that would cap my disastrous night. One, it was raining, and I mean chucking it down. Two, I had no shoes on; they were resting under the table where I had placed them, when I had taken them off. 

Already the water was making my feet feel cold through my stockings. The rain quickly soaked through the material of my favourite dress adding to my misery. It was the rain that made me take shelter in a shop doorway, not the possibility of him following me out of the restaurant. There was no way that I was going back in there, I had already created quite a ripple of gossip amongst the other patrons by my hasty departure, to return would be just too humiliating. The shoes. Damn it the shoes! ‘No way,’ I told myself, I would have to buy Lou a new pair, because there was no way that I was going back to get them!

Mike exited the restaurant and stood in the middle of the road, looking first one way then another, obviously looking for me; he isn’t going to find me, of that I am certain. I ducked back into the shadows of the doorway, but not before I saw Mr. Fifty step up to Mike and put his hand on his shoulder. I couldn’t hear what he said, but the effect was that both he and Mike turned back towards the restaurant, vanishing from my sight.

The rain gave not the slightest hint of stopping, which meant that I either remained in this rather dirty doorway, was that vomit in the corner? all night, or I got thoroughly soaked walking, with luck I might be able to find a telephone box and call for a taxi. The most annoying thing is that I had quite recently spent nearly two hundred pounds on a state of the art, and rather nicely decorated, mobile phone with its own leather carry case, but that was sitting on my bedside table, and why? Because the only handbag that matched my rather sexy outfit was just too small to get everything in, and I like a fool had decided that my make-up, a toothbrush and a spare pair of undies was more important on this date, than a telephone! A lesson to be learnt in that decision I am sure…

The light scarf that I had wrapped around my shoulders, just to compliment the dress, failed miserably to deflect the rain, as I slowly headed towards the town centre, and the only Taxi Rank that I knew of in the area, or a telephone box if I reached one earlier. People became more obvious, but at least the rain masked my tears as I walked past them.

Young lovers hand in hand walking towards the Discos’, the odd group of lecherous males gathered together; all were a blur to me that night. I walked on getting wetter, I suppose that I had reached the point when I am so cloaked in water that I can get no wetter. My neat hair had given up the ghost and I could feel my waterproof mascara beginning to follow my hair. What must I look like to these strangers?

‘Taxi Rank.’ At last! I could read the sign but there were no cars waiting, mixed groups of people milled around the area, but they didn’t seem interested in leaving town just yet, so at least there would not be a queue. At last my hero arrived, pulling up in a sweeping puddle-dispersing arc, to park in the bay provided, I quickly reached the rear door and opened it getting in, much I think to his disgust or was it just concern for his leather seats?

“Where to luv?”

I looked at him and mumbled my address between shivers; the cold was really beginning to bite by the time I finally got home from that night…




Saturday morning and my world still felt as bleak as it had been two long days ago. I was curled up in a snug warm bed, beneath a thick inviting duvet, mentally bemoaning my life, love and bloody everything. I needed to get up if only to go to the loo, but I just couldn’t drag myself from my warm womb like hidey-hole. If I went out of my room I was likely to meet one of them, not that I disliked any of them, of course I didn’t, they are my friends, my housemates, my link to sanity, but just now I couldn’t face the questions.

“Are you feeling better? Is there anything I can do?” Etc etc. Instead I decided to lie here and moulder beneath the covers, ignoring my bladder. Saturdays are wonderful, after all I decided its just men that are rotten, and especially men called Mike…

This is not on, now I am damn certain that I am not going to a lie here thinking about men, it isn’t right. I have just been dumped and that’s a fact, but I have a right not to think about men if I don’t want to! A God given and only to females and of course gay men, right to be miserable if I choose, without having thoughts of men creeping in. Thinking about men only brings up the subject of sex and as I haven’t even made the acquaintance with my vibrator since commencing to go out with Mike, let alone, had real sex, then thinking about men is definitely bang out of order.

My bladder has decided to really stress it’s presence to me, making itself known, besides the need for a coffee hit is also rearing in my thoughts. If I am quiet, I could possibly get both to the loo and make the coffee, and maybe even escape detection back to my room. An hour of sitting up in bed not thinking about men, or about being dumped or about… Damn it there I go again! I get out of bed, put on my thick terrytowel gown, and sneaked out of my room then along the landing to the bathroom, so far so good! Sometime later, I returned undetected coffee in hand to my bed, to mope, and of course, to not think about men and ‘Mike the bastard’ in particular.

Not easy really when all you feel like doing is moping and bemoaning your life, what is needed I decided is a distraction! Something to focus my thoughts away from him! Something interesting, or at least something with some potential to be interesting! A book perhaps, but I had already read everything I had on my shelves. It was at that moment that a stroke of pure genius illuminated my dull sex-less life, and it wasn’t about a man, or even men, let alone him ‘The Bastard Mike,’ as I was beginning to think of him.

Escape into the innocence of the distant past can be quite cathartic and that was the idea, a trip down memory lane, a look at the young girl I used to be, a revisiting of the thoughts and ideas of my past, about my future! Like most young girls I had once begun a diary, I remember writing in it eagerly for perhaps two years,it was a five year diary I remember, before more interesting things took up my time, like boys for instance. I know that I have the diary somewhere; it is probably I reasoned, still packed in the last remaining cardboard box at the bottom of my wardrobe.

I was right; five minutes of pulling things out and dumping them on the floor and the box was revealed. Inside waited the book and my old tin of memories. I opened the tin first, and found a ribbon with number one written on it, in white, I had won that ribbon in my very first gymkhana and I was so proud of it. I remember wearing it for a day or two until I realised that it was ‘a bit silly really,’ then I had put it away in my tin. The things you do when you are ten years old!  The things you do when you are twenty-eight are in their own way just as embarrassing, if a bit more adult generally!

I picked the book up ignoring the rest of the tin’s contents; I slipped further under the duvet and propping the book up on my raised knees, opened it. The writing was a scrawl, sloping and missing the lines in places, but still legible, just! I read about Tony my first ever boyfriend when I was eleven; that had lasted according to the diary for a whole week, I remember it as lasting much longer! There was lots of flowery gossip, none of it of any great note to me now, but I read on.

Thirty pages later I had come to the end of the diary at the age of thirteen or so, and in a strange way I felt slightly better, perhaps there is something to keeping a diary, even if it is only to look back on when you feel miserable. Perhaps I should begin one again? Though firstly appealing in some ways, the reality of writing down all my thoughts on a daily basis did not really appeal on second thoughts. It would make me look so dull and perhaps even desperate at times. On the other hand I had always enjoyed writing at school, I had even sent away some of my short stories and even had one published! I only remembered that fact when I read about it in my defunct diary, so they do have a use.

If a diarist I am not to be, then what about an Authoress?

I could write a book and tell my life story, what there is of it. Boring, boring, boring, I told myself. I could tell another persons life story, equally boring, and besides doing so would only depress me, especially if they had more to tell of interest than I had myself. That left me with fiction, making it up, creating characters, telling fables, not something that really appealed; I prefer the truth any day, so what then I demanded of myself?

The answer was simple; it flicked into my mind, all neatly laid out with the speed of a light bulb illuminating a room. I could tell my own and other peoples stories! I have lots of source material, i.e. myself, Lou, Izzy and Lizzy, and the boring factor can be removed by switching between characters, thus keeping the story moving. I could write about all our dating disasters, relationship roller coasters and even funny little anecdotes that I could make to fit. After all I had three other people living in my house, all of them at one time or another had, and frequently do talk openly about their problems, some of them I remember have been hilarious! As I suppose, my disastrous date with Mike and his Mr. fifty was really if I was truthful about that night, and at least something positive would come out of my gloom and it might be quite fun to look back on in a few years, say when I am old and grey.

Decision taken, I was going to become an ‘Authoress’, I didn’t even consider though the possibility that my book might get read by other people! Nor did I consider the potential for trouble and pain that it could create. I just wanted to entertain myself. I had all the tools I needed, I had a good laptop computer with a decent word processor already loaded into it, and I had an idea of sorts. I would write my book, I wouldn’t tell anybody what I was doing, they might not like having their stories detailed for posterity, or my entertainment.

Now all that I required was a title and a starting place, the title seemed obvious as did the starting place, my title will be…




I got out of bed, connected and switched on my laptop and typed my title in as a heading, and then began to write about my last date with Mike, when I read it back to myself an hour later; I was quite surprised to see that it felt quite funny, in a warped kind of way. I was doing it! I had the first story written and lots of others sprang to mind. Who needed men? I had a book, but a book that indirectly relied on men, so I guess I still need them if only to make the stories worth telling.




I have already explained where my book title came from and a bit about me, so perhaps I had better introduce the other characters in this tale of woe. Let me see, on the other hand I should really I suppose start with more of myself, as I am the major participant in the opening story.

My name is Clare and I am the Authoress, I am twenty-eight years old and have led a rather up and down life. My real parents died in a car crash when I was four years old, so I do not have much of a memory of them to look back on. Sad really, but the people that adopted me and later over time and with a lot of hard work became my new mum and dad, were really rather nice.

Dad is slightly austere, a little stern and intimidating you might say but lovable and kind beneath the gruff exterior. Mum on the other hand is a real sweetie, she laughs easily and cares deeply, I have known her, much to dad’s despair I might add. To rescue a stray bird, keeping it warm in the oven of all places and generally nurse it back to health, much like she did for me.

What do I look like I ask myself? Resisting the urge to describe myself as glamorous, a sex bomb, a real diva, all the things in truth that I am not. No, I am five-feet nine tall with mid brown hair, as a panacea to myself I occasionally have streaks added to make my hair less boring, sometimes I spend the time to put a wave in it. This always starts out as an intent to curl my hair, but always for some unknowable reason, ends up as a wave, which is all right but nothing really striking. Because my hair which should be my crowning glory is really just, well, ‘so,’ I try brightening it up, and to, I suppose, hide its plainness from view, I use a variety of accessories or hats. In the hat department I am lucky according to my friends, as any hat looks great on me, which is nice I suppose.

I own the house that we; that is me and three friends live in. I own it because I am well off, or so they tell me, its not true really. I own the house because it was left to me by my real parents, during my childhood the estate was rather astutely managed on my behalf. The house was rented out, the income generated being added to the invested remains of my parent’s inheritance for me at eighteen, hence I own the house. I do get a monthly allowance from the investments, and coupled with the rent my three friends pay I don’t really need to work, but on its own it is not enough to live and enjoy shopping on! I work as a florist to make up the shortfall, not as they would say because I like flowers, I do, but not that much! So I am not really well off, just comfortable.

I, like the rest of them went to University and got a degree, not perhaps the best of degrees, but it suited me at the time and it got me the job I now have. I am a qualified designer, but now I use my skills and years of learning to prepare, on a part-time basis mostly, peoples flower displays. I am a florist, quite a good one I like to think. I seem to have a natural flair for picking just the right combination of stems to meet whatever the occasion they are required for. Three days a week I make up bouquets, and the rest of the time is my own. I think that writing this book is going to use up quite a large portion of my current shopping time though!.

Elizabeth, mostly we call her Lizzy; she like all of us is twenty-eight and has been to University. She is one of a pair, commonly called twins, the other being Isobel who insists that she is the older sister. Lizzy argues that being five minutes older has no bearing, but Izzy disagrees. They are not quite identical twins, though very similar, or rather they would be similar even nearly identical if it wasn’t for the minor differences they work constantly to create and maintain. For instance Lizzy has her hair cut in a tight bob and coloured bleach bottle blond, whilst Izzy is also blond but cut differently and a slightly different shade, also dyed, obviously! Lizzy is blue eyed and annoyingly slim, being a size ten and a half. She insists the extra half, which she cannot seem to lose, no matter which diet she tries, makes clothes shopping awkward at best.

Where as Isobel or Izzy as we call her mostly is exactly a size ten, which makes clothes easy for her to buy. They are always moaning about one item or another, which one or other of them bought. You know the sort of thing, ‘Its mine.’ ‘No its not, I bought it!’  ‘Well it looks better on me.’ ‘No it doesn’t.’ Etc etc, typical sisters really, though both would deny it. They should try being a size twelve with a shoe size of six, it can be a bugger to get nice things, as every manufacturer seems to cater primarily for size ten and lower. Lower, I ask you, the national average is a fourteen but do the manufacturers care, not a jot they don’t. Anyway I digress. The twins share the large or ‘master’ bedroom and mostly get on all right, I say mostly because it certainly is not always, when they do fall out there is real trouble in paradise and it’s loud!

Then last but not least is Louisa, or Lou; she’s five seven with dark brown hair, which unfortunately always seems to look greasy, its not, it just looks that way! She has the biggest headache of us all when buying clothes because she is not one size, but two. Her top is size sixteen, because of her well-developed ‘assets,’ as she describes them, but her bottom half is a fourteen, which would be okay if her thighs weren’t quite so large. She tells everyone that will listen that she has a hard firm butt and will often slap it to prove her point. I am not quite sure that I agree with her self-assessment, but I am not cruel enough to say so, big softie me.

Anyway these are the foursome who live in my house, and share most of our lives together. Which brings me to the next and obvious question, which of the Oh ’so many funny anecdotes do I write next?




A few months ago it had been in winter, and as I am sure you know everything falls of the trees in winter, and so I can reliably inform you from experience no less, does the dating scene! All four of us were in, which is normally a rare occurrence. A ‘girls night in party’ is called for and I as normal provided a couple of bottles of wine, I am the rich one don’t forget, whilst Lou mixed up her world renown vodka martinis with floating limes, mixed with ice and dumped out in a huge glass bowl for us to dip with a glass as needed, which Izzy was hunting out. That left Lizzy who was broke but had a real flair in the kitchen to create great food from nothing, learnt I am sure as a student living on a grant.

Let Lizzy near a fridge and a few cupboards and some ingredients, throw in an oven and stay out of her way, unless you want beating to death with a whisk! That night she entered joining our now seated trio bearing a large wooden board heavily ladened with homemade thin crust pizzas. She had raided all of the cupboards and with her treasured finds and a lot of catering ingenuity, she had created a feast; from what I would have considered to be virtually nothing!

Wine began to flow, we saved the martinis for later, much later, the pizzas vanished in big handfuls, eagerly devoured by one and all, then with a few glasses inside of us the conversation as it is prone to do, turned to the subject of past sexual experiences.

Lizzy fired the first shot by bursting out laughing at some memory, it didn’t take much to get her to tell the story and so the night began. Lizzy looked at her sister and smiled, these two had some kind of link and sometimes they seemed so alike that you felt that they were communicating mentally, some sort of twin telepathy, this was one of those times.

“Yes I remember,” replied Izzy to her sister, and then with a knowing look of approval they faced us.

“Whilst we were at University” began Lizzy, only to be interrupted by Izzy.

“The first year of Uni, it’s important!”

“Yes the first year, we were what?” They looked at each other and both said.


“Yes eighteen, so long ago now!” They were only twenty-eight, so it wasn’t really so long ago, but sometimes I have to agree it feels it. Those days had been so much simpler in their own way; I digress again, so back to the twins and their story.

“We went to a first year disco held in a local club which had been especially hired for the night. Anyway we were both rather bored and the company wasn’t quite right on the night, so we both were sitting in this red leather half moon recess, watching the manic thrusting called ‘dancing’ but wondering what we were doing there,” said Lizzy.

“Izzy decided to go to the bar, she’s much better at getting served than I am, so I held the seat. She had been gone for a while, when I noticed this fuzz-ball looking over at me. He stood lounging against a support pillar just watching me and looking very fed up, which is probably why I noticed him at all.” She pulled a funny face before continuing.

“I knew or rather thought I knew, what was coming when he pushed himself away from the pillar and ambled over towards me. I tried to ignore him, hoping that if I didn’t look at him he might get the idea that I was not interested, he didn’t! You know how you can watch something out of the corner of your eye, well I watched him. Definitely not my type, he looked scruffy and was wearing dirty looking jeans, with ripped knees! His hair and beard covered his head and face, both looking like mops, out of control mops! He had so much hair on his face that you could hardly see skin, then there were his eyes, and they seemed to fix you, as he looked out of them, quite odd really, and damn it, he was heading towards me.”

“Come on he wasn’t that bad not when you got to know him,” jumped in Izzy to the defense of the fuzz-ball.

“Oh yes he was and you know it; you just don’t want to admit what poor taste you had back then.” This looked like it might develop into a sisterly fight so I interrupted, steering the conversation back to the approaching fuzz-ball.

  “He stood next to our table looking for all the world as though he belonged there! I meanwhile continued to ignore his presence, hoping that he would go away, and as for you.” She pointed at her sister; “you had vanished leaving me to deal with him. I thought at the time that he had singled me out, that he had waited for you to vanish before coming over, I had no idea that he was conceited enough to come over at any time.”

“That is not fair, he isn’t conceited and you know it, you’re just jealous, you were then and still are,” came a sharp retort. Trouble heading our way I thought, as the twins faced off again.

“So what happened next?” Lou asked, trying to steer the conversation.

“He looked me in the face, leaning over the table twisting his upper body to do it, I had no choice but to acknowledge his presence, so I did.”

“He said would you perhaps have such a thing as a light?”

“He even had a cigarette in his hand to back up the request, as a line it came as quite a surprise, as you know I only occasionally smoke but that wasn’t the reason for my retort.”

“I looked him straight in his hairy face and said ‘NO I do not.’ Even with the music turned up he must have heard me quite clearly and understood the meaning behind my bluntness, thankfully he went away.”

“Anyway that was that or so I thought, your turn!” The sisters exchanged a knowing glance and then Izzy picked up the story.

“I returned from the bar knowing nothing of what had happened, I had got four glasses of wine, not wishing to suffer trying to get served at the crowded bar for a while.”

“Lizzy then needed the loo so I stayed to hold the table.” She glanced across before continuing. “I had been sitting alone with four full glasses infront of me for all of two minutes, when up strolls this bouncy fun filled guy with a heavy beard. He stopped infront of me and reached out taking my hand, into which he slapped a box of matches.”

“The look on my face must have said it all, but he ignored it, if he even saw it in the gloom.”

“Have you got a light?” he asked me.”

“What was I to say but ‘yes,’ handing him the matches back, from there it followed the normal path and I admit I was more than interested, I had never kissed a guy with a beard and his was full on; also I was horny and hadn’t had sex for months at that point, and he interested me! It was me that suggested leaving and his reply indicated that he felt the same way.”

“He was with some friends and needed to tell them he had ‘pulled’ and was leaving. I had to tell Lizzy that I had pulled and would see her in the morning, so we arranged to meet by the cloakroom doors and went our separate ways to tell all concerned. Lizzy as you can imagine was a bit put out.”

“No I wasn’t you tart, I was concerned and…”

“You were jealous, go on, admit it.”

“No just concerned for you and a little bit jealous I suppose, but I didn’t know who you had pulled and had I known I would not have cared at all.” There was beginning to be an air of tension in the room again, so I reached out for the last piece of pizza and with a cough asked what happened next?

“What happened?

“What happened was that my horny older sister left with the bear and I had a miserable night on my own, that’s what happened!”

“Like hell you did. Tell the truth, on your own my arse! She scored and with a ‘Lecturer’ that night! A bloody lecturer, I ask you, and you know what, she is still with him even today. Unfortunately for her, not one that taught on her course, but all the same a damn Lecturer, and she has the cheek to bemoan my little fling.”

“At least you could flaunt the bear around campus!” If looks could kill I thought studying them both.

“We had to keep our liaison quiet because of his position, so don’t moan at me!”

The night had flown and many other stories came out, but it was Lou that stole the night; she revealed that she had been seeing someone for the last two years, he was a divorcee and a bit older than herself, but she was in love with him. How we who were her best friends had not learnt of his presence before was beyond us, but the simple fact of the matter is that we hadn’t! Then out of the blue again as though what she was saying was normal everyday conversation, she spoke up, adding a twist to her revelation.

“I suppose that you all should now know, I am getting married!”

You could have heard a pin drop when she announced that fact! We all thought that she was a little odd, preferring to go out to her art classes instead of with us, or on dates! She had never seemed to be the sort to hold a secret life, to embrace another person quietly, and she had never seemed to be able to keep her mouth shut for long, well not with our secrets she couldn’t.

Everyone had thought until that moment, that Lou was easy to drag secrets out of; now we knew differently! The questions burst simultaneously from all of us.

“Who is he,?”

“What does he do?” 

“Is he good in bed?” That one was from Izzy, who else! Our Lou getting married, well whatever next! She looked around at us, reached out for the bowl and filled her glass with the deadly strong concoction before adding.

“I really hope that you will be my maids?”

“Of course” exploded a series of excited replies.

“Of course we will,” we agreed as one. How could she ever think that we wouldn’t?



The rest of that evening we discussed Lou’s plans for the forthcoming wedding, she had it all mapped out in her mind. I suspect that she had lived the day thousands of times previously, planning, altering and fine tuning every aspect of it, probably since she was a child. Finally, and I am not sure whether it was me or one of the others that asked.

“When are we going to meet him?”

She, I believe, had been waiting for just such an opportunity, because I think she had planned our meeting just like she had planned her wedding. She looked at me and said.

“Well if you provide the drinks?” She pointed at Lizzy adding, “If you do the cooking and Izzy mucks in with cleaning this place up, I thought that this weekend might work?”

This weekend it was, everybody agreed to put in for the cost of the food, which left the menu and shopping for food to Lizzy, and the shopping for wine etc to me. Lizzy looked up and before she could ask, I replied to her silent question, “Of course I will provide the transport.” I was the only one of us with a car, me being rich, it wasn’t much of a car being old and battered but at least it had always been reliable. That was how Saturday morning, the worst possible time to go to a superstore, found Lizzy and I haunting the aisles, pushing a fairly well loaded shopping trolley. Meanwhile I smiled to myself, Lou and Izzy should be frantically cleaning up before our guest’s arrival.

The doorbell rang at the appointed time in the evening and Lou was up and away to open it, I doubt that a Grand National Winner could have scampered off the line as fast as she had! We, that is the three of us remained behind for a minute or two, letting them greet each other and by the sound of it, it was some greeting; then damn it we got impatient! Lizzy was the first to the hall and therefore the first to see the mysterious Martin.

He was much like Lou had described him, but without the flowery attachments. He stood perhaps five foot ten or so and was slight to slim in build. He wore glasses all the time she had explained, as though we really cared!  She was right though when she said that he had a love of joking around, he obviously had a sense of humour if his T-shirt is anything to go by. He clearly realised that he looked a bit of a geek, and as such he took a self-depreciating view of his appearance. He was wearing clean black denim jeans with a sort of mid brown T-shirt, on which in bright fluorescent lime green lettering was written, ‘No I Bloody Well Won’t Fix Your Computer’!

From the kitchen a loud buzzer sounded, Lizzy turned away from meeting Martin; she pushed between us and rushed off to the kitchen. We on the other hand waited to be introduced, at the same time filling the hall. Lou had turned to face us, holding his hand I noticed, her face seemed flushed and very much alive, this I think, really was it for her. I hope that he turns out to be nicer than my recent dates!

“Girls, this is my fiancé, Martin.” He smiled a boyish but nice smile and then reached out his hand, I accepted it, shook it in formal greeting, then reached out and hugged him, I hoped making him feel welcome. Looking over his shoulder I winked at a worried looking Lou, before breaking away from the hug and eyeing him up and down.

“You will do!” I said smiling, letting him know that I was teasing him. Behind me, Izzy pushed forwards squeezing between me and the wall for a better look.

“Great T-shirt,” she said before adding “Anyone like a drink?” Then with a wave she led the way into our living room.

Martin sat in the armchair whilst Lou twisted herself into a compact bundle on the floor and leant against his legs, still tightly holding his hand I noticed. Izzy handed round glasses and then followed them with a bottle of red wine. It was one of those pour for yourself evenings! Lizzy poked her head in long enough to accept a glass, which Izzy filled for her; she grinned at everyone and departed again, saying as she left.

“Dinner in ten, don’t start without me.”

Fat hope, we had Martin captive, pinned in his chair by his fiancé and separated from the door by us, if we moved slightly.

“Could you?” I asked, pointing at his T-shirt?

“Probably.” Came his reply, accompanied by a grin again. Neat, succinct and to the point, I like that, and it, both his reply and the T shirt showed that he understood how he was perceived by those around him, also that he could laugh at himself for being ‘geeky,’ without the nerdy attachment that most computer boffs have.

I deliberately leant forwards, deliberately closing the distance between our captive, as I was beginning to think of him, when before I could ask him anything, a loud voice echoed along the corridor from the kitchen.

“Table you lot, I’m serving!” Dinner had arrived faster than the chef had predicted, “Now, move it.” Lizzy was being bossy, she was good at it sometimes and we all knew better than argue with her, especially where food was concerned after all her efforts.

Lou, who had been on the receiving end of Lizzy’s tongue before, got up, and literally pulled Martin from the chair. The voice echoed again, this time calling for Izzy to come and help her, Izzy was part out of the settee but she jumped up dashing out of the room to assist her ‘younger’ twin. They looked physically alike sometimes, in certain lights; but that was where the similarities ended. Lizzy was a bossy bitch when she wanted to be, and Izzy could be quite passive, although thinking about it I might be wrong.

Martin led by Lou departed the living room and walked along the corridor into the backroom, which we used as a dining room / come office / come junk room. The girls had done a good job of tidying it up for this meal. I wondered where they had dumped some of the boxes that had been stacked higgledy-piggledy around the walls. The table had been laid in readiness for eating, wine glasses and plates sparkled in a way that I had not seen them sparkle for a long time, someone had even folded paper napkins which looked like bastardised swans which were not good to look at, but at least they had tried. Effort had obviously been put in this morning whilst we had been out shopping. All in all a good job done by all.

Lou sat Martin at the far head of the table and took the place to his left. Her hand still holding his as though reassuring him or perhaps herself, I don’t know which, but quite cute, in a ‘bucket demanding’ girly sort of way. The vegetables came in on trays each in its own serving bowl, each with a spoon provided; each carefully carried by Izzy and placed in a cleared area of the table. This was going to be as formal as Lizzy could make it, she wanted to impress Martin, I don’t know about him, but when she entered carrying the roast chicken, I was impressed.

There was the bird and four different veg, thick homemade gravy and Yorkshire puddings, a Lizzy specialty, they were huge billowing expanded monsters that would fill half of your plate. If they tasted half as good as they looked we were in for a real treat. Martin looked impressed, once he could draw his eyes from Lou. Thankfully they parted, she let him have his hand back, realising that he would need both if he was going to be able to carve the bird properly. Lizzy had obviously planned it that way, because the carving set was placed directly infront of Martin; carving is a man’s job, I presume.

As for Lou she sat in her chair watching him as he picked up the carving knife and fork. Her hand vanished beneath the table, touching what I wondered? I looked around the table seeing the faces of my friends, wondering if I was the only one to have noticed the vanishing hand. Judging by the smirk on Izzy’s face I wasn’t. We looked at each other and both understood, both realised that the other knew what was happening, then as one we turned towards Martin as he carved the bird..

He was doing a very good job of both the carving and also hiding the excitement provided by the hand on his crotch. He noted our looks, probably interpreting our interest correctly and then he glanced towards Lou. She smiled and I saw her upper arm move slightly, I think, no I know, that she was teasing him unmercifully, making him all aroused. This type of exhibitionism wasn’t the Lou I had got to know; she was normally far more reserved, both in deed and in conversation. I decided there and then that this guy, no matter how much of geek he looked, was good for her. Izzy looked towards me, smiled and nodded, she had the same thought.

I have spent so long, nearly two days trying to remember stories from my past and of other peoples, which I have got into the habit of grasping at mental titbits and running with them... It was just then whilst sitting at the dining room table that one such titbit leapt from the recesses of my mind to tumble haphazardly into my thoughts, I ran with it…

Lou, innocent Lou, had been having one of those nights, one of those tear filled, can’t sleep, night’s, which usually demand ice-cream or chocolate or both. She had already downed the only bottle of wine in the house, which belonged to one of the twins, so she would have to replace it the next day. I had been walking towards my bedroom eager to turn in for the night when I heard the sob and sniff, which indicated trouble. I knocked on her door and despite not being told to enter I walked in. She was sitting hunched up on her bed, her body rammed hard into a pillow resting against the headboard, whilst clutching another to her breasts, tear streaked and desperate looking. She told me to get out, but I knew better, so I sat on the bed and waited. She didn’t look at me for quite a while and I was just beginning to wonder if I should prompt her, when she finally spoke.

“I’m all right, You can go if you want!”

“No you’re not.” The conversation dried before it had started; obviously something had happened, but what? I sat silently again, waiting; then without warning the pillow she had been clutching for comfort, flew across the room and hit her wardrobe. Accompanied by a curse!

“Do you know what he wanted me to do? Do you? No you don’t, you can’t, not you, you can’t!” The tears flowed again.

“I couldn’t do it, it’s not a major thing but I couldn’t do it, not there, not in the presence of all of those people, I just could not! He said it would be exciting, he said I could do it, he said I was scared, me scared? Damn him!  All men are horny bastards, damn them, its not, its not…”

The tears returned with a vengeance and I moved closer ready to catch and comfort her, but still very much puzzled by what he wanted! I had a few ideas, but soon she would explain, then I would know, then I could tell if it was her fault that she was upset or his. I suspected and was later proved right, that it would be his, it usually is when a girl is this upset!

“So what do you think Clare?” Asked Izzy.

I looked at her blankly, confused at having been dragged from my thoughts. 

“What do I think about what?” I responded playing for time and illumination.

“Weren’t you listening?” The twins chimed in together, they sometimes did that, spoke exactly as one with no gaps or breaks, it was slightly disconcerting and in this case not very informative. Lou came to my rescue.

“What do you think about a May-day wedding in two years?” Now I know the question, the answer was instantly obvious, there could only be one answer to that sort of question, anything other than ‘lovely’, would be hurtful and could cause real problems between the group, so as expected, I said it. “Lovely, the weather should be nice.” I fell silent again, not wishing to put my foot in it just in case anything else had been discussed whilst I had ‘been away in my thoughts,’ mentally writing the next chapter of my book and coincidentally about Lou as well!

I looked over the carcass of the bird as plates were prepared for handing around, Lizzy passed to Izzy, who in turn passed to me, whilst Martin gave his fiancé her’s himself. He had done a good job of carving and was now sitting back trying to look relaxed, a good attempt I thought; ten out of ten for effort, engaged seemingly by the group. Lou’s hand had returned to view. Poor Martin, I wonder what state his cock is in under the table. Erect I was certain, judging by the glint of mischief I could detect in Lou’s eyes. He would be sitting quite still I shouldn’t wonder, trying not to let the material of his trousers rub against his swollen gland!

Funny how things link together, had it been Lou’s stimulation of Martin that had triggered my memory of our previous conversation, or was it just coincidence? What would be really strange and a little perverse I decided, is if it wasn’t coincidence and was also the other way around! Imagine if it had been my thoughts, which stimulated her to grope her fiancée. I sometimes find myself thinking stupid things, things that I know are impossible, but still what fun it could be to be able to do that. To be able to affect other people’s actions, just by thinking. Then of course there was the flip side, someone else would probably be able to affect my thoughts and actions, I didn’t like that idea, no, not at all!

The conversation continued on the subject of a May wedding, covering such things as flowers, bridesmaids, food places, and a multitude of other things. I for one was not really that drawn into the conversation, I never expected to get married, not me! I liked my independence too much to be tied down in that way. Martin I noticed, sat at the table head watching our reactions, listening, or at least appearing to listen to the conversation, and all the while his hands rested not on the table but in his lap. If he was doing what I think that he might be, then he was putting on an excellent show of relaxed attention!

For the second time in a single meal I felt the desire to duck under the table and ascertain the truth of my suppositions. Of course I could not do that, but I could disturb his concentration.

“Martin, could you please pass the wine bottle over?” He looked startled all right, his right hand surfaced as he reached for the bottle, I noticed that his left stayed exactly where he had put it. I also noticed that Lou’s hand had vanished once more, lo and behold Martin’s left hand appeared again! I suppose Lou was dealing with his problem, the one that she had caused. He would have a sticky mess in his underwear if I was right, and I was certain now that I was.

Lizzy chose that moment to suggest that we all retire to the more comfortable living room now that the meal was over. Lou countered the suggestion, she babbled on about her wedding, forcing everyone to stay exactly where we were. I looked at Lizzy’s face, there was mischief written all over it, she, like me, had her suspicions, and had decided to test them out in her own inimitable style. She smiled at Lou and said, “Come on.” Lou coloured up, and for a second I thought that she would return her hand to the tabletop, but she didn’t, and I think that I know why. Poor Martin was trying not to show his excitement, but Lou must be able to feel the throb of ejaculation through his trousers, as I am certain that he came a second or two after Lizzy’s smiling retort.

Lou hadn’t told me the name of the man who had wanted her to do something in public, but judging from what I think that I had just witnessed, I think I know it now. Martin liked to be adventurous that was obvious; the first time that he had broached the subject with Lou had been a few months earlier, It must have been him I reasoned. I think from what Lou had told me, between sobs and angry outbursts I pieced together, that they had gone to the cinema to watch some sort of ‘Arty,’ type film, and he had lifted her hand and placed it on his groin. At that point she hadn’t objected and had slipped her hand inside of his parted legs to rub the inside of his thighs. That was when the trouble had started, that was not the part he wanted rubbing! He made his intent clear, by replacing her hand on his fast growing swelling.

She had baulked at touching him up in public; according to her she was certain that they would be seen and swiftly thrown out of the cinema in disgrace! She had reacted by pulling her hand back and he had countered her by trying to replace it. She had then whispered, “Not here,” in his ear and he had taken no notice of her, which is why she had got very annoyed. He whispered back that he wanted her to rub him off, as he liked to come in his pants, he desperately wanted her to make him ejaculate. That was that, she had stood up and left, shocked in her naive way at his request.

I certainly could not for instance imagine Izzy, or I suppose myself, reacting the way that she had! Probably Izzy would have satisfied his desire and then made him take her for an expensive meal afterwards. I would have too, well I don’t know, but if I really liked him, what the hell! Anyway this was not Izzy or me, it was Lou, sweet rather innocent Lou, and she panicked and left quickly.

That had been earlier that evening apparently, he had followed her and apologized to her, but still she wanted to go home. So he had brought her back, and now here she was sitting on her bed crying her eyes out, whilst telling me her sordid tale!

I was dragged once more to the reality of the dining room table as it had been decided by Lou, with the agreement of Martin who I presume had returned to a more normal size with his sating, to return to the living room. That included me, and hence I had to leave my latest remembered story, cutting it short in my head whilst everyone moved yet again. The traipse from the dining room to the front room along the passage was not long, but I managed to turn in the opposite direction to the rest of them and end up in the kitchen, I needed five minutes peace, time out, it isn’t that I do not like the people, I do very much; its more of a feeling of being swamped and needing to call a halt, and allow myself enough time to gather and file all the information overload that I have endured over the evening. Besides I wanted to make some notes on my over dinner realisation’s before I forgot them. We writers do things like that, make notes and be forgetful…

I remember having difficulty in not laughing, after all I reasoned rubbing him off in a cinema was almost an accepted and normal thing for young lovers to do, hence the back row and its connotations. Anyway I did resist laughing out loud, but I could not help telling her exactly what I thought, and that had come I think as quite a shock for little miss innocent! She at least stopped crying, she had things to think about and so I got dismissed.

I was only dozing when I heard her an hour or so later talking on the telephone and I was certain that it was him she was talking to. I heard the front door being gently knocked, then I heard the distinct click of the catch being disengaged, closely followed by whispering voices carrying out a clandestine conversation, before the door closed again and the voices fell silent. I was tempted to get up and look out of the window to see who was leaving, and with whom? But in the end I could not be bothered, I felt certain that I already knew the answer. Just as I turned over to go to sleep again I heard the distinctive sound of a powerful car starting up, and then driving away. I wondered if the driver was going to enjoy the treat that I think that his passenger had in store for him? I made a mental note to extract all the gruesome details from her sometime soon, very soon.



It was a dull wet Wednesday morning, half way through my normal three-day week at the florists when in walked a sight for sore eyes. By that I don’t mean to imply that I was lucky enough to know the person that was the sight, but I sure would like to.

Unfortunately he seemed both immune to my charms, even though I tried to attract his attention with them, as well as being very preoccupied. Three times he looked at his watch as I arranged the flowers that he had chosen. By the time he looked for a fourth time I had given up all attempts to flirt with him, either directly or by the use of body language. I decided that even semaphore or a megaphone would be too subtle for this guy! Anyway he really made my day, Ha Bloody Ha. I sulked for the rest of the afternoon deciding that I would go home, shut myself away with a book, some candles and a bath overflowing with bubbles, and melt away the frustration of becoming invisible to the opposite sex.

It was while I was lying in the bath luxuriating in the scents and feel of decadence, that I remembered a funny story, which I just had to get into my book. Lizzy, dear sweet ‘innocent’ Lizzy. Lizzy with her Lecturer, Lizzy with the innocent smile of a virgin, Lizzy with her submissive lustful attitude, Oh yes this was a story that just begged to be told. How I had not thought of it earlier I couldn’t imagine, it might even have been a great opening story to introduce my book, but already I had typed in my own story, which seemed to have done that job quite well. Now for Lizzy, or ‘Elizabeth,’ as her lecturer insisted on calling her, when she was good. He called her lots of other less printable things when she was bad apparently, which I gather is most of the time!

I’ve already explained how she picked up, or rather was picked up by her lecturer, but what she didn’t know at the time was that he had specific need of a girl like her. He recognised the traits that he was looking for in her, and had decided to put his recognition skills to the test by picking her up. He had been right and they had been together ever since. It transpired that recently he had called her, telling her to arrive at his home at 5 pm, she was to bring her passport and a change of clothes, and not to be late, or else!

Izzy told me, that Lizzy had left a message for her that she had gone away for the weekend. Lizzy had arrived on time, knowing that to be late carried its own special penance and she thought that she might need to be able to sit comfortably for a long time, she told me later.

“We left in his car heading up country to catch a plane to Ireland. I had never been to Ireland and certainly not wearing the kind of device around my middle that he had insisted on fitting to me, after first removing my underwear. Now I was nervous, he had given me a bag to carry through customs and I didn’t really know what was in it. I trusted him, as far as anyone could not to be carrying, or rather getting me to carry contraband, but all the same, there was a tinge of doubt floating in the back of my mind. You hear all those horror stories and suddenly I realised exactly how easy it is to be gullible and stitched up!”

“My adrenalin began to pump as I approached the metal detectors; he passed through infront of me without a care in the world, turning to smile at me just as the bleep bleep of the alarm sounded. They fed my bag through once more and again the alarm rang. I was then asked to walk through the detectors and they bleeped again. Meanwhile my bag was attracting some considerable attention on the x-ray machine to my left. Two security personnel were scrutinizing the image outline that they could see, trying to make sense of it, before finally giving up and removing the bag. I meanwhile was still setting off the bleeper as I passed back and forwards through the device. They requested that I empty my pockets, handing over my jewellry. I was beginning to fear that I might just know what was triggering the device, explaining both it and its presence to these customs officers would be mortifying, did the belt have metal in it I wondered?”

“I stood there watching as my lecturer seemingly totally unconcerned at my difficulties, just walked on, leaving me. ‘Bastard, the bastard, the total bastard’! He had set this up I realised, he had deliberately made sure that I would have to suffer the indignity that was sure to come my way, and very shortly. The bastard! From my left a woman in uniform, a big woman, had appeared, seemingly intent on studying every tiny detail of me. I wondered what her reaction was going to be when she finally realises what it wa

© Copyright 2017 David Stevens. All rights reserved.

The Booksie 2017 Poetry Competition

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by David Stevens

Popular Tags