Friday lunchtime I was playing darts in my local pub, just next door to where I worked. I had just been comprehensively outplayed by one of the pub's first team and headed over to my pie and pint. I'd left them on a table which had been empty when I went up to the oche to play.
It wasn't now. There were two girls sitting there, Sauvignon Blancs in hand, the remnants of their sandwiches in front of them. I recognised them as two girls who always arrived at work together and worked in the same office block as I did.
I sat. They introduced themselves as I supped from my pint straight (nearly parallel sided, no handle - a pint mug is dimpled and has a handle). The cute one said; "Hi, I'm Sue and this is Linda," indicating a plumper than necessary, mousy looking girl with bitten fingernails, "and what's your name?"
"I'm Ed. It seems to me that your glasses are nearly empty. May I get you both a re-fill?"
"Yes, please," said Sue, whereas Linda excused herself saying she had a report to type up.
I returned with the wine and a top-up of my beer, saying, "This is a pleasant surprise! I don't usually return from a game of darts to find I have a fan. Especially not one as lovely and sexy as you."
She was five feet two to my six feet two, petite, with long, beautifully cut, brunette hair down to her waist. I could see she had slim legs finished off with good leather three-inch heels. Medium tan, long slender fingers. Nice package!
She smiled her thanks and said, "Not so much a darts fan, but I've been trying to meet you for the last three months and you never seem to see me. So, rather than just get into the same lift as you in the mornings to try to get into conversation with you, I have decided to be rather more direct."
"Why?" I asked.
She extended her hand to cover mine. "Because I fucking fancy you like crazy and it's not going to work for me if you keep not noticing me!"
The heat covering the back of my hand had me rock hard in nanoseconds. I hadn't noticed her before because I had had a girlfriend so I wasn't being fast-eyed. But she'd called time on our togetherness last week, and I was free to follow this to wherever it was going.
"So, if it is going to work for you, what does that mean, exactly?" I tried to be cool, but my body temperature was rocketing and I'm sure the dilation of my pupils gave me away.
Sue leaned forward, stretching her t-shirt tightly across her 33A's as she said, "Our office just closed for the weekend. You're in outside sales. No-one is going to notice if you are not in the office." She paused, looking to see how I was reacting.
I was right with her, and my trousers were definitely reacting. I swallowed the last of my Fuller's half and half (half ESB, half Pride), stood up and offered her my hand. She rose.
"My car or yours," I asked.
"Oh! Your TR6, I think," she purred. "We'll pick up mine tomorrow."
Tomorrow? This girl is thinking ahead somewhat. Not that I minded; sounds like I'll be finding out about her breakfast skills!
"OK, you stay here," I said, "and I'll fetch mine and pick you up out front. I'll toot the horn. I'll park in front of the pub - there's no sight-line from the office."
As she jumped into the Triumph, I realised I didn't know our destination. "Your place or..."
She interrupted. "Mine first; I'll need a change of clothes for tonight and for tomorrow. We can decide whether to stay there or go to yours. Where is it, by the way?"
"I've a flat in Clapham, top floor, view of the railway lines into Clapham Junction Railway Station. And only four miles to the Cross Keys pub in Hammersmith.
Have you been there?"
"No! Why does it feature in your life?"
"I used to live very close by, in a shared house and the other guys took me there on my first night after unpacking. Fuller's beer, good food and excellent live music. I've made a few friends in there in the two years I've been going. We'll get something to eat there later on as well, if you like"
Sue navigated us to her ground floor flat, threw open the car door and said she'd be back. Ms Schwarzenegger, perhaps? I slipped a tape into the player. A New Orleans Marching Band. Heroic sounds.
Five minutes later and she was back, tossing a small overnight bag into the back of the TR. A short denim skirt showed off her toned, tanned legs to perfection as she slid into the passenger seat. She had those legs which, from the knees upwards, parted rather than becoming conjoined, leaving a welcoming gap at the junction of leg and heaven.
She smiled at me, placed her hand midway between my knee and his expectant crotch, gave a squeeze and, "Let's go! Just got time to get my leg under before changing and going to the Keys!"
This girl was electrifyingly direct, quite apart from looking remarkably like Françoise Hardy.
The V6 purred into action and we slipped away from the kerb, headed for Strathblaine Road, Clapham, London SW.
While the TR was purring, so was Sue. She had her right hand on my thigh closer to my crotch than before and her left hand was stroking her pussy mound slightly more than idly.
We pulled up outside my flat, I opened the front door and she pulled me inside, kicked the door shut and then proceeded, basically, to assault me! I wasn't about to report it to the police, though. I was enjoying her pelvic thrusts far too much to worry about the legalities of the situation. She locked her hands behind my neck and squirmed her entire body against me, making sure that she had as much bodily contact as humanly possible.