It's a Friday night in June, and Dukes, our local music venue, is heaving.
The place reeks of sweat, leather, spilt beer and whisky. 'The pit', the small audience area six or so steps below the bar area, is absolutely heaving with bodies. Tonight's band Shameless isn't a tribute band, but they are paying homage big time to all the glorious Los Angeles hair metal bands of the 80s.
They look the part. More eyeliner than most of the girls here and more cheap silk scarves than a tart's boudoir. All four guys are rail thin, covered in tattoos, have long hair, and have wrists festooned in cheap bangles and bracelets.
They sound great too. This little corner of old London Town has been magically transformed into our own Whisky a GoGo, circa 1985, for the night.
Granted, most of the songs these guys are playing came out a good ten years before I was born, but I'm a true fan, thanks to my parents.
My friends Lacey and Gemma and I are in our usual spot. We're sitting on stools at one of the tall tables near the bar. The bar area is on the same level as the stage, the audience pit being sunk lower. This means we get a great view without being part of the crush.
No boyfriends tonight; it's a girls' night out, and we're already three drinks deep. Laughter, idle chat, booze and the week's stresses are already drifting away.
"Typical," I think to myself. "I'm finally here without my fella, and she's nowhere to be seen."
The 'she' in question is the cute, petite, curly-haired blonde that I've seen in here most Fridays for the last six months or so.
We've eye-fucked each other like crazy. Seductive smiles, lip bites. Glances over shoulders. But neither of us has plucked up the courage to make a first move. Not that the opportunity has actually arisen yet, but one lives in hope.
As Gemma hops off of her stool to go buy us another round, my eyes follow her to the bar. There she is, gorgeous as ever. Her long hair flowing down her back in gorgeous loose curls.
Usually she's all ripped fishnets, combat boots and heavy dark eye makeup. But tonight, she's in a pretty little skater dress with a denim jacket and pristine black Converse hi-tops. She looks utterly beautiful. She can't be a day over twenty-two, compared to my thirty.
She's with two older women who both bear a strong resemblance to her. I'm guessing her mum and maybe an aunt who were fans of this stuff the first time around. They make a very attractive trio, I have to say.
We catch each other's eye, and she gives me an adorable, discreet little wave before joining the two older ladies at the bar.
As the band rocks through its first set of the evening, we're constantly looking at one another, smiles, squints, the full arsenal coming into play.
The band launch into Ten Seconds to Love by Mötley Crüe, and I mouth the words like I'm singing along. But my eyes are locked on hers the whole time, giving her what I hope is a mischievous grin as I 'sing along'. She does a sexy little hip swing, and I blatantly claw my fingernails up my bare thigh, ending at the hem of my Daisy Duke shorts.
Emboldened by booze and adrenaline, I make a decision.
"I need the loo," I yell in Gemma's ear before slinging back the shot that's next to my beer glass. "Back in a mo."
I slide off of my stool and make my way to the doorway to the customer toilets.
'God, I hope she gets the hint and follows me,' I think to myself as I shoot a glance in her direction. Okay, so a ladies' loo isn't exactly romantic, but I so desperately want to know this beautiful girl better.
Thankfully the ladies' is empty for now. Most of the females here tonight are cramped up at the front of the pit. Re-enacting their bygone, slutty groupie days.
I lean on a sink, keeping an eye on the door in the mirror. And sure enough, my sexy little mystery blonde soon peeps around the door. She seems a bit more confident now she realises we are alone.
I lean back, my bum resting on the sink unit, and I gaze at her, biting my lip.
"Hi, I'm Jodie," I whisper breathily, my voice shaky with excitement.
"I can't be long," she whispers back. "I'm with my mum, so I've got to be quick, but fuck, I fancy you."
She advances on me quickly. "Fucking hell, you're so pretty," I just about manage to say before she tiptoes up and kisses me.
It's hot, urgent, and utterly exquisite as she eagerly curls her tongue around mine.
I pull away and begin to slowly back into a cubicle. I teasingly unbutton my shorts, showing her my little lace thong.
"I...err, still have to pee," I tease, easing the tiny cutoffs over my hips as I enter the cubicle facing her.
She playfully pushes me backwards and slips inside with me, locking the door.
She kisses me again, hooking her fingers into the waistband of my knickers, pulling them to my knees.
'Fuck it!' I think and kick off my shorts and knickers, leaving me in just my tee shirt and sneakers. This gives her an unobstructed view of my naked pussy. Just a little red tuft above my otherwise shaved slit. I don't need to pee; it's just an excuse to get my knickers off for her. I want her, and I want her to know it.
"Ooh, the rug and the drapes match," she whispers huskily, "I fucking love gingers, and you are fucking gorgeous."
She hoists her dress up over her hips. And then hurriedly lifts the hem up, taking it all the way off. She gives me the most lewd view of her arse as she hangs it on the door peg. Oh my god, her body is exquisite; her legs and thighs look amazing. And I'm thrilled to see a complete lack of underwear. Fuck!
I can't resist; I reach out to caress her impossibly smooth pussy as she claims my lips again, pushing me against the cubicle wall.
I keep my fingertips on her pussy, rubbing her in soft, slow circles, feeling her wetness gather on my fingertips. I couldn't quite believe that I was in a more or less public toilet with a girl I didn't even know, and I was stroking her so intimately. She hasn't even told me her name yet.
"Are you going to pee or what?" she asks. "Coz... that would be so fucking hot if you did."
I chuckle, "I think that's at least a first date thing, don't you? At least tell me your na..."
Before I can finish the sentence, she stops my mouth with a hot, deep kiss. She slides one hand up my top to maul at my breasts, while the other mirrors the actions of my own hand, which is happily lodged between her legs.
We're just a hot, sweaty mass of rocking hips, interlocked arms and wet mouths as we frantically make out. Fingering each other into a lather.
"Fucking hell, I want you," I growl. Fuck her name, fuck waiting. I shove her back against the opposite wall.
My body is vibrating as I drop to my knees, kissing every inch of her silky skin on the way down. Jesus Christ, I can smell her pussy, musky, hot and most definitely ready for what's coming next.
She tangles her fingers into my hair, gazing down into my eyes; she lifts one Converse-clad foot onto the toilet bowl and purrs the words.
"Be a good girl and lick my pussy, would you? Please?"
I don't need asking twice. I lick up her creamy inner thigh, collecting the sexy trail of her juices that's dripping toward me on the way.
"Yesss, fuuck, yesss," she hisses, as I grab at her pretty bum, hauling her tight to my lips as I hungrily slide my tongue into her baby smooth cunt.
She's so fucking smooth and almost impossibly wet. I make out with her pussy just like it's her mouth, my lips caressing her lust-swollen labia, stroking her clit, my tongue painting a masterpiece inside her. Fuck, she tastes as good as she looks.
My red-painted nails claw into her arse cheeks; her fingers twist, grabbing my hair, pulling me into her. She's frantically fucking my mouth, her body banging against the cubicle wall, her breath coming in short, laboured gasps. She's close, and I'm going in for the kill.
Time for the 'coup de grâce'. As I slide a pussy-slicked finger up her arse, I feel her stiffen.
"Fuuuck, shh...shit...yessss," my pretty little blonde goes off like a rocket on the Fourth of July. She's bucking, heaving, wiping her pretty pussy all over my face.
This has honestly been the sleaziest, most thrilling experience of my sex life.
"Shit!" she exclaims, killing the moment stone dead. "I have to get back to my mum."
She sounds a little worried and hurriedly gets dressed. She leans down to kiss my pussy-soaked lips and smiles.
"Meet me in The Kings Head. Tomorrow night, eight o'clock, please."
And she's gone. And I'm alone on the cubicle floor in nothing but my tee shirt and Vans.
I pick up my shorts and knickers. Hurriedly dressing, it doesn't even occur to me to look in the mirror as I leave the Ladies Room.
I hop back up onto my stool; Gemma and Lacey stare at me incredulously.
"Where the hell have you been?" demands Lacey.
Followed by, "And what in the ever-loving fuck have you been up to?" from Gemma.
I'm guessing my makeup is fucked, and I must look a mess.
I grin, take a long, much-needed swig of beer. I drain the glass and grab my purse to go buy another. I smile at my friends, waving my fingers over their glasses. A silent offer for another round.
"See that blonde over there?" I point out my mystery partner. "Well, she never even told me her name."
