I awoke at seven A.M with the sun shining brightly warm through the curtains and an attention seeking cat uncurling and yawning at the foot of the bed. So I got up, fed and watered her and made myself coffee, then got a bowl and some muesli and opened another carton of half fat.

One and a bit cups of coffee later I found a couple of chocolate digestives I’d forgotten about in the biscuit tin. So I dunked and ate all three very quickly. Oh yes! They were a feast indeed, and at breakfast time too! Which reminded me of the time I spent a wonderful weekend with my friend Rosemary. There is also a tenuous connection with biscuits, or A biscuit, to be specific, which I shall come back to later if I remember.

My old man had gone to a business conference in Paris for the weekend and taken Neville, Rosemary’s hubby with him. They made a lovely pair, all pink and shiny in their dark blue suits with expectation brightening their faces. Saturday and Sunday in a posh hotel in Gay Paree! It was going to be hard work but it’d be worth it for the free time they’d get in the evening. Then it would be off to the Pigalle for the nightclubs, strippers and prostitutes! Oh yes, we knew all about what our men were going to get up to!

So Mick went off to the airport at six thirty on Friday night, straight from the office and met Neville there as planned. I got a good night’s sleep for once and drove over to Rosemary’s house early the next morning.

Rosemary and me go back a long way. As far as university anyway and but for a couple of changes of plan I might have married her Neville and she might have married my Mick. Stuff happens like that sometimes doesn’t it? Fate or whatever you want to call it. The differences were Rosy hung around with Neville after we’d graduated, eventually becoming his secretary while I said goodbye to Mick, who was still doing his finals, and went off hitch-hiking round the world to try and forget I’d won a couple of more or less worthless degrees.

As it was we eventually married our respective men and bought adjoining semis on a brand new “exclusive” housing estate. Executive houses they were called, which was right because they executed you if you didn’t keep up the payments on the mortgage. But we were doing alright then. Neville’s new company flourished and Mick became a managing executive in it, mixing business and pleasure willy nilly. Of course our kids, when they came along, grew up with their kids, we had two each eighteen months apart or so, and they all grew up together in an easy, slightly incestuous sort of way.

……………

“I don’t know about you but I’m glad to see the back of him” Rosemary told me, the moment she let me in. “But it will be good for them to get away for a while, don’t you think?”

“Yes it will be!” I agreed.

“What shall we do? She asked when we got to the kitchen “Go out somewhere and pick up a couple of nice young men?”

It was a serious question and one which I could tell she’d given some consideration. I hadn’t really thought about it and told her truthfully.

“I thought we’d watch a video or something” I said, half jokingly.

Rosemary grimaced. “For two whole days?”

“I was only joking!” I said.

Rosemary grinned “I know you were!” she said. “Tell you what though, there is one place I’d like to have a look at…………..if you don’t mind”

She bustled about in a drawer for a minute, then with a little grunt of triumph pulled out the latest “Aphrodite’s Garden” magazine.

“I was going to send it on to you, as usual” she told me “Then I was looking through it one afternoon and saw this…….”

“This” was a small, discreet advertisement covering no more than a quarter page. “Specialities in Paradise” the strapline read. “As an exclusive adult club for the discerning couples and single ladies……” the ad went on, “we are always seeking new members……….” An email address and a telephone number followed.

“I tried the number already” Rosemary told me “A woman answered almost straight away, said we’d be very welcome if we turned up after six in the evening………..”

“Oh!” I said “Right! Where is it? This club I mean?”

“Birmingham!” Rosemary replied. “Right by New Street Station”

“Hell Rosie!” I exclaimed “I reckon it’d be fun to go!

Rosemary looked at me and grinned.

“I thought so too!” she said. “So I already told her we’d be there!”

So that was how we found ourselves on a sunny spring morning driving off to go shopping in the great city of Birmingham.

……………

It is only an hour up the motorway from where Rosemary lives to the centre of Birmingham and we were there a few minutes after ten, clattering into a multi-storey car park which was, even at that time of the day, still surprisingly empty.

By one were tired and hungry and not a little footsore from all the shopping. Clearly it was time to find somewhere suitable, sit down and have something to eat.

We were spoiled for choice and no mistake but eventually we found somewhere we liked the look of. A place that served frothy coffee and tea plate sized crunchy biscuits, with baked potato and chicken salad thrown in.

So Rosemary crunched her lettuce leaves and I sipped my coffee and together we went over old times and how some of them might have been. Rosy is a year and a bit younger than me, taller and slimmer too and she’s kept her looks in spite of having kids. Oh yes! That was what I was going to tell you - one incident you might find interesting. The four of us went on holiday to Cyprus soon after we were married and damn me if we didn’t both get pregnant. I’m telling you this because it was the first time the four of us had made love in the same room together. You know how it happens. A topless beach. Sun, sea, sand and lots of the local liquor to help you to get into the holiday spirit. And we’ve all done it haven’t we, at some time or another. Wondered what our best friend’s hubby would be like. Well in this instance hers was not a lot different from mine, as it turned out, neither bigger nor smaller, why he even tasted the same, because we’d all been drinking the same booze I suppose. With my eyes closed it might just as easily have been Mick as Neville.

We’d all got ourselves sunburned in spite of the suntan lotion, so called; the stuff wasn’t half as effective then, highly squiffy and silly, with the fine sand off the beach sticking to us everywhere. That was how it started really. A friendship which has stood the test of time and all the troubles and tribulations of in-laws, debts, jobs, having children and bringing them up.

……………

Then I looked at her and she looked at me and we both grinned. Our friendship had long since passed the point where it needed stimulating by unnecessary conversation. We’d shared most things over the years. Secrets and sorrows, worries and joys, cars, clothes, makeup and knickers. Oh yes and husbands too, let us not forget that! I imagine there were as many of my bits and pieces in her house as there were of hers in mine. Teaspoons and Pyrex dishes for a start, mundane things like that, with countless and largely forgotten other odds and ends too. That wasn’t the end of it either. I bought Cosmo new and passed it on to her and she bought, or at least took delivery of, the sexy little subscription only magazine we’d looked at earlier, which she passed on to me. It’s content was middle of the road lesbianism really but it was still a very interesting little thing to read.

……………

Very soon we’d eaten enough chicken and baked spud to last us the rest of the day and drunk very nearly enough frothy coffee to swim in.

Rosemary got up and went to the loo while I sat still and looked after the bags, then I went as soon as she came back.

Refreshed and relieved we decided to take our bags back to the car before going in search of the club. We had loads of time to waste before they’d let us in anyway, which obviously meant more shopping, more coffee and, perhaps before we went into the club itself, a visit to a sandwich bar. We’d seen one earlier which looked alright. It had been our first choice for lunch actually but turned out to be too crowded.

“We’ll go back there for a sandwich later, shall we?” Rosemary suggested “before we go to the club?”

“So long as there is no sand in it!” I murmured.

At this we both burst into howls of laughter immediately. It was our private joke you see, so private that even our men were not party to it though it had originally involved them. Mick’s sand sores and the strange rash I’d got on my bum were a small price to pay for the wonderful daughter we’d made on that occasion. And yes, half jokingly, Neville had suggested, several times, that the child might be his instead of Mick’s. If it is, I’d told him, then that boy of your must be Mick’s, not yours……..

Stalemate then, but of a lighthearted kind. Neither child looked much like any of the parents, which led us to believe, and voice on one occasion, that neither man was the father of either, if you see what I mean. Rose and I joked about stray waiters and taxi drivers. Even a goatherd up in the hills behind the village we’d stayed at was suggested. The point was though, both kids were healthy and happy and not unaware of our friendship, though not in detail of course; And when my little boy came along, two and a bit years later, I knew without a doubt that Mick was his dad, not because I felt the need to prove anything but because we’d made a special effort with the time and the place of his conception. Yes I will tell you about that later on too if you are really interested.

Neville had a sneaking suspicion that Mick could only produce male children I think because Rosemary’s second was a girl just as my first had been. Personally I am not so sure that genetics is all that predictable.

Anyway, we laughed about the sand and sandcastles and sandwiches and sandpaper and several other sand associated words in that silly sort of way which reassures and soothes and makes everything alright.

“He still has a little scar, you know” I said to her as we loaded our prizes into Rosemary’s car.

“I know” she chuckled “he often comments on it…...”

We stared at each other soberly for a moment, the formalities finished with. Informalities if you like.

Rosemary slammed the car boot shut firmly then tried it to see if she’d locked it.

“We are so lucky, aren’t we Vicky?” she said.

I nodded, aware that the kind of relationship we had would be more than enough to destroy some couples. Why were we so different, I wondered? The question had come to the fore more times than I cared to remember, been discussed innumerable times between the various combinations of us, yet no one satisfactory explanation had ever been forthcoming. Perhaps we were just lucky, the four of us. Nothing more than that. It wasn’t as if we’d had to work hard at maintaining it. It had happened so easily and long ago now that it had become second nature.

“I often think that” I said “specially when you hear so many bad things about……”

“Yes……!” I said.

We walked back to the lift out of the car park with about an hour and a half to spend before we could go to the club and, much to our disgust we found the sandwich bar was closing just as we got to it.

So we found ourselves at a table in the corner of a pub with small glasses of house white and large bags of crisps. Well it was better than walking the streets!

The pub was very quiet that early in the evening with only a single man at the bar and another, younger couple at a table in the far corner. Goth or Punk couple, judging by the hair colouring and the preponderance of disturbingly placed silver rings. We had a little giggle about this, having seen it all before and knowing how every generation believes it is the first to do certain things. I know we did! We were absolutely certain that we were the first to indulge, for instance, in group sex in the open air. All rubbish of course! Men and women have been doing that sort of thing for millennia. Since time began, in all probability. As well as dyeing their hair and poking sharp objects through their skins. Which leads nicely up to the saga of Rosemary’s own rings! Yes I will tell you about them.

It began as a jibe, I think, half serious, half as a stress buster. Something like that. Soon after Rose had her baby girl she went through a period of depression. She hadn’t worked since before the first one and money was a bit tight for them. But that wasn’t the problem you see. Poor Rose, with two small children to look after formed the impression that her lovelife was now over, she’d lost her good looks and her figure and would now be forever chained to the kitchen sink. Or so she thought anyway!

Neville got quite concerned about her of course, eventually arranging for a babysitter and a woman who dusted and ironed to help her out a couple of times a week. You could get those sorts of people then for next to nothing. Retired local ladies, most of them. Anyway, in passing conversation one evening the concept of being chained to the sink came up again. We remarked upon it lightly and nothing more was said then but the very next day Neville arranged for a carpenter to go in and fit these two bloody great rings on the sink unit in their kitchen. I thought they looked very interesting the first time I saw them, sort of bondagey in a lighthearted, domestic kind of way. Not at all crude or nasty, they were the kind of things you have in stables to tie the hay net to, or the rope of the head collar when your daughter is brushing her pony.

They did not go down very well with Rose however! When she first saw them she screamed and cried and had a really good tantrum. But then she began to see the sunny fide of it, think about the connotations and get herself severely turned on by the thought of what she might do with them. I was with her that day and can honestly say I got as turned on as she did with the whole idea. I mean, it comes to something doesn’t it, when you have to prove to your husband that you really do want to be chained to the sink!

………………

Well we got to the club at a few minutes to seven, our trepidation drowned by cheap, expensive house wine and smothered in soggy crisps. It was an unprepossessing place, at least from the outside, a cross between a derelict warehouse and a bombsite, the sprayed on graffiti in the lobby very real and artistic but the bouncers and the guy who let us in were all very sexy.

In fact, and for a moment I did not believe it; one of them actually waggled his bum at us.

“Do you think he’s gay?” Rosemary whispered

I nodded, staring at my wrist where he’d stamped a blue triangle, the symbol to show we’d been legitimately let in.

“Probably just bi” I said.

“The best sort then!” Rosemary grinned.

We found a couple of seats at a little table, out of the way to one side of the room and hadn’t been there more than a few seconds when a girl came along and took our orders for drinks. I didn’t like to stare but I could see she wasn’t wearing very much. I mean the little pad and pencil she carried was probably the biggest thing covering the front of her.

“Bloody hell Rose!” I said “I don’t half feel overdressed!”

In no time at all the girl was back with our drinks. No charge for the first ones, she told us as I stared openly at the rings in her nipples.

Without further ado another young person offered his services. Mark, he said his name was, and if, he told us with a distinctly effeminate giggle, we were really good, he’d teach us a few of his favourite dance steps. Well I have to say both Rosemary and I let out little giggles of our own at this. A dance teacher indeed! And one who could have been little more than eighteen years old.

“What do you think?” Rosemary asked loudly, fully intending him to hear her “Do you fancy him enough for that?”

Rosemary is the sort of girl who is ready for it at anytime and anywhere. Nothing fazes her and nothing gets her down. The only time I’ve known her get depressed was the time I’ve just spoken about, soon after she’d had her little ‘un and even then it lasted for a short while only. So we moved closer to each other and watched while the youth went through the sort of complicated and rather obscure courtship ritual which borders on the embarrassing. For all we knew he might have been part of a floor show, though whether as a dancer or part of the production we weren’t altogether certain. So we did what we’d always done when faced with similar situations. We put our arms around each other.

Now it was quite gloomy in that part of the club, if gloomy is the right word for it. Low lighting it was not, not by any stretch of the imagination. Splashes of bright light punctuated by mountainous darkness was more like it. Even so, gloom prevailed, seeping insidiously into everything, including, or so it appeared, our shoes and handbags. And over all the smell of lager and sweat and overheated bodies. Hell yes, we could smell one or two of those!

There was music too of course, if you could call it that, a noise so deafening as to be noticed only when, on the odd occasion it lapsed briefly into silence.

So while the boy disported himself lewdly Rosemary and I sat with our arms around each other in a friendly cuddly sort of manner. No-one commented when, after some moments Rosemary began to kiss me. Even the boy, who by now appeared to be repeating himself and his repertoire looked towards us only casually. Women kissing mouth to mouth was commonplace in this club apparently. So we did it again, this time with more passion, expecting any minute to be challenged, separated, thrown out or something.

Oooh hell, it is so nice to be kissed by a woman in that way, so softly, so sweetly so smoothly and so so unlike the scratchy roughness of a man! Female saliva is sweeter too; I am convinced of it, honeyed and deliciously free flowing when you catch it on the tip of your tongue.

“Did you get all that?” the boy asked, just as Rose put one hand on my leg. We stopped kissing each other only momentarily in order to answer him.

“Yer…….” I said. “It was………very good………!”

The boy, Mark smiled at us and said: “When you’re ready give me a wave and I’ll take you through it again!”

“Yerrr……I’ll do that” I said again, feeling Rose’s hot little hand move higher.

Rose giggled, her mouth very close to my ear.

“He fancies you!” she said.

“Or you!” I corrected.

“Rose grunted. “Strikes me he’d fancy anything!”

……………

There was a short pause in the general rumpus then, while several people said “one two!” into a microphone. Then the music started up again, only this time it was subtly different. For a start it had the kind of rhythm that you could dance to, or at least, jerk and bump and grind to, pelvis to pelvis and hip to hip. So Rose and I gave them a demonstration of the steps we often went through in her kitchen and very soon our hands were on each other’s bums again.

There were others on the floor of course, some mixed couples, a few, but mostly pairs of ladies or pairs of men. We were well away now, Rose and I, as we writhed as one amid a dozen or more other couples and the more we moved the more I came to realise how overdressed we both were. A couple of the men had started out in little more than skimpy shorts and singlets anyway, and most of the girls wore very little more.

“Look at them two!” Rose whispered in my ear as we dodged in a circle. She rolled her eyes to one side of us quickly and as we turned the light flashed momentarily on a pair of very nice breasts. I didn’t want to stare but I did anyway, if you see what I mean and thankfully Rose guided me while I turned my head. The breasts were attached to a very pretty dark haired lady whose partner, also female, was in the same state of undress.

They had a dance routine too just like Rose and I did. A similar sequence of twirl and twist, except their hands didn’t stay in one place, they roved all over each other. Then we turned and I lost sight of them for a moment, the blur of dancers around me making me feel quite light headed.

A male couple lurched nearer and damn me if both of them weren’t topless too, except of course, being male, it wasn’t quite the same. One of them might have been the boy who’d performed for us earlier, though I couldn’t be sure because in a couple of beats they’d moved away from us again.



We found ourselves at the edge of the dance floor quite close to the table where earlier we’d been sitting so we decided we’d stop for a minute. Well I was sweating freely anyway and I knew Rose was too ‘cos I could feel it.

There was iced water on our table so we both drank some of that.

“Shit!” Rose exclaimed when she’d regained her breath “If only I was ten years younger……!”

“Make that twenty” I said.

Rose nodded “Did you see them two?” she asked breathily.

I nodded. “There are several like it now” I said.

Do you think they eventually end up naked” I asked, not really believing for a moment that they would.

“The dancers do!” said the middle aged woman standing quite close to me. “That’s what they are here for. And the guests can if they want to, of course!”

“Dancers? I asked.

The woman nodded. “They’re not all guests like you, you know. A lot of them are professional performers ”

“Oh I see” I said carefully, not wanting to ask what kind of professionals but the woman ploughed on regardless anyway.

“A lot of the dancers from other clubs come here to practice” she said “along with some of the Theatre Royal’s own dance troupe. You must stay and watch them. They are very good!”

“Alright!” I said “We will!”

Rose grinned at me then, the sort of grin which tells me she is up to something. Something naughty usually. The same sort of grin she gave me before she mooned at all the men on that building site that time, or the time when……when……

“If I take my top off, will you do too?” she asked me suddenly.

“The way I’m feeling I could take everything off!” I told her.

Next to me the middle aged lady only laughed.

It was then that I noticed the most outrageously funny sort of thing. You know the way some of the male models in the tastier ladies magazines look? Well this one looked just like that, only better. He was muscular without being muscle bound, shapely but far from effeminate, perfectly formed without being too perfect, if you see what I mean. And he’d put some kind of oil on his skin as well, so that it gleamed wonderfully as he walked towards us. Now he wasn’t as entirely naked as I’d thought when I first looked at him. Not quite though apart from the novelty appeal of what he was wearing he might just as well have been. He came closer, held out his hand to me and, grinning from ear to ear like a demonical Cheshire cat, introduced himself as George, the owner of the place! But that wasn’t the funny part, not by a long chalk, oh no! What I’d at first taken to be perhaps extreme tattoos of some kind turned out, on closer inspection to be a delightfully coloured and most intricately constructed knitted cock sock.

Now I suppose you are wondering how I, a middle aged happily married woman with two grown up kids would know about such things? Do you think I was born yesterday and that all these things have only this minute been invented? Well you are wrong, wrong and wrong, I can tell you! As it happens I have a pattern for just such a garment somewhere. More for a laugh than anything else because, as it happens I can’t knit for toffee. But that doesn’t keep me from having a dream! One day, I’d told myself on several occasions, I’ll knit my Mick one of them.

“I am……” I said “very pleased to meet you!”

George took my hand in both of his, squeezed it then kissed it, and do you know, for some strange reason I suddenly felt embarrassed.

Beside me Rose chortled something about being greatly honoured when George did something similar to her hand, then, still grinning like a satyr he turned away, clapped his hands briskly and said “Let the competition begin!”

“Oh hell!” I said “This is going to be a strip tease, I bet!”

Rose peered at me pityingly.

“That sounds awfully old fashioned” she said.

“Strip tease be damned!” the middle aged woman said. “Those go on all the time! No this will be a competition for the sexiest dancing couple!”

Well that leaves you out for a start, I thought, but I didn’t say anything. Hell she might have been George’s mother.

Improbable as it may sound, we found out later she WAS George’s mother. Thank fuck I didn’t make my thoughts known to her there and then!

……………

Without really trying Rose and I lurched about the floor clutching each other closely. Well we’d both taken our tops off and neither of us wanted anyone to see how much we drooped you see. No I don’t care really, I’m proud of what I look like after the ravages of time and two kids! I think Rose feels more or less the same, though she’s never said, and I’ve never asked her. I thought we made a nice couple anyway.

And so did some of the professional dancers apparently because before long a couple of them asked us if we’d care to dance. With them I mean, not with each other. We were already doing that. We had to let go of each other to do that, to dance with them, did Rose and me.

By now the odd ones out amongst us were those who were if not at least topless then more or less completely naked. Tattooed roses and cupids abounded and many a crotch exhibited a complete and blatant absence of any hair. Erotic jewellery glittered and gleamed and many a grope and lingering kiss added excitement to the already heady atmosphere.

I danced with a nice young man to begin with, if ‘with’ included hurriedly turning on one foot in an effort to see where he had gone and what he was doing. Of course the music slowed in pace after a while and the inevitable clutching, groping pelvis churning sequences of moves began all over again. When it did the mice young nan had been replaced by an even nicer young woman, one who was as lithe as an eel and three times as slippery. I can tell you her breasts felt wonderful, as did her bum and her, well her whole body, all of which she pressed unreservedly against me. Oddly her mouth tasted of cherries when she kissed me, her tongue sliding between my teeth unasked as, hips jerking we interpreted the music in our own special way, lurching and squirming until it wound slowly down to it’s inevitable end.

……………

I had to have a sit down after that, back at our table with a fresh glass of iced water. Rose was already there, deeply in conversation with one of the dancing young men, glass of wine clutched firmly in her hand.

In a moment she turned and regarded me merrily.

“Wayne says I am a pretty good dancer!” Rose said.

Wayne, I thought. Who are you kidding?

“Course you are!” I reassured her.

“But Wayne is a professional” Rose said “he should know!”

“Yes” I agreed “he should!”

“He wants to watch us together he says” Rose went on.

“What dancing?” I asked, getting the wrong idea completely.

Rose laughed roundly and Wayne, bless him, joined in.

“Of course dancing!” Rose said. “What did you think?”

“In a moment” Wayne told us “Our DJ will introduce his own brand of dance music. He is quite famous for it and I think you will see………”

The last part of whatever he was saying was drowned out then by a new kind of electronic noise. Trance dance I think they call it, a noise made by distorting ordinary sounds until they were deafening then adding a thunderously persistent electronic drumbeat into the back of it until the building begins to tremble and shake. Which it very soon did, I can tell you!

The DJ had some name or other which sounded rather like an insult when he said it, surrounded as he was by what appeared to be the control room of a space station.

And there was George, multicoloured woollen appendage waving prominently, leaping and jumping around the place like a lunatic.

“Come on!” Rose urged as hundreds of people began to surge around the dance floor. Well it seemed like hundreds to me in that funny coloured hypnotic light.

“Shit Rose!” I exclaimed suddenly, seeing as how she had somehow got herself naked.

“Shit nothing!” she challenged “Are you going to dance with me or not?”

……………

I hesitated only long enough to wonder what Mick would say if he knew I’d come to a place like this, long enough for the last bit of my caution and reserve to disappear. What was the worst that could happen to me, I wondered wildly, several similar scenarios scurrying swiftly through my head.

Well maybe………

Then the beat of the music picked me up bodily, spun me and twirled me, so that in a shorter time than it takes to tell you I’d dumped the rest of my clothes on my seat and moved with Rose onto the dance floor.

Hell, oh hell it felt wonderful to dance around in the nude, specially, oh so especially because sexy Rose was there with me. I think we clutched each other tighter than ever then, for the first couple of minutes or so at any rate, but trance is the kind of noise which encourages you to perform on your own, and this soon became a necessity anyway because of the beat. So I let go of her and she let go of me, the beat digging deeper into us until not only was it right inside us but we’d become a part of its energy and substance in turn. Very soon I became oblivious to everything except the thumping, crisscrossing electronic melodies which wove their way in, out and around every part of me. If I sweated I did not notice and if I made an exhibition of myself I did not care. Distantly I became aware of a space in which Rose and I cavorted alone, our bodies lit by multi coloured, madly flashing lights. My body vibrated so much that it began to come apart, my feet, unconnected with the floor by now, moved through sequences of steps which had been, until that very moment, unknown to me. If others danced with us I did not see them, hell I saw Rose herself only intermittently and vaguely. I was weightless, and effortless, a ball of innovation and boundless energy, a being of beat and bravado powered by light. And all on two glasses of cheap wine and absolutely no drugs!

At some point an indeterminate age later the beat steadied and the mesh of melodies tightened, slowed and formed a safety net for me. Rose had already stopped apparently, in fact when I came to my senses she was not even there.

Suddenly I was overwhelmingly tired and steamily hot. The music pulsed again but I did not try to catch it, naked in a room full of strangers as I was. Instead I peered pathetically for something I recognised, half blinded and somehow, even without the music, still somewhere in something of a trance.

Arms supported me, hands guided me, while I blundered limply, empty and spent yet exhilarated. And for all that a new beat got to me, the throb of knowledge, of satisfied achievement, the identification and acknowledgement of a new part of me.

“Shit Vicky, you were good!” Rose cried when she saw me. “Right away with it there, you were, and no mistake!”

“I need a drink……” I said lamely “and a good sleep………!”

Someone laughed, several people in fact. Yes George’s mother for one. Not to mention George. Both of them regarded me wonderingly when I sat down.

“What got into you then?” George’s mother asked.

“Oh!” I said “the beat. It was the beat………”

……………

I recovered a little after I’d had a drink but the feeling of being out of it did not go away completely. Rose and George’s mother got something going between them while George himself, tiring I supposed, of my apparent lifelessness, excused himself and went away.

Which left me at something of a loose end until the tiny dark haired girl I’d danced with earlier sat down beside me.

In the background the music still went on as loud as ever but in the little sphere of dim light we occupied it was somehow quiet enough for us to hear each other breathe.

She had an oriental name and an oriental face too, when I looked at it again closely because to tell the truth I had the greatest difficulty keeping my eyes off her breasts.

Her mouth still tasted of cherries and for a split second I wondered how she’d done it. After the first kiss I didn’t care. She was better than any trance music.

………………

Rose and I didn’t leave that club until the early hours of the morning and we were both dead tired by the time we got back to her house

“Next time we go we must wear the right sort of clothing” I suggested.

Rose nodded. “Micro skirts, croptops and no knickers………”

“If you like” I said “But naked is great, I don’t mind!”

“You wouldn’t, would you!” Rose retorted merrily “after all………”

There’d been a prize apparently, for the evening’s sexiest dancer and to my astonishment I’d won it. No I don’t know who voted for me nor did I dare ask. George and his mother for sure, Wayne and his mates, in all probability but I didn’t dare ask any of them in case there were favours due! George trolled over, now dressed in teeshirt and jeans and, amid a good deal of whistling and catcalling presented the prize. A year’s membership of the club, two bottles of good wine, one white and one red and last but not least, wouldn’t you know it: Tied in a neat bow round the neck of the bottles, the same wonderful woollen garment he’d worn when first I saw him.

……………

Four hours later together in Rose’s big old bed did wonders for both of us, so that by the time our menfolk were due back we were up to full strength again.

“Have you been good girls?” was the first thing Mick asked when the pair of them came in.

“Very good!” Rosie and I chimed together “Exceptional! Immaculate even……”

We didn’t ask if they’d been good boys because we were certain they hadn’t.

“What have you been up to then?” Rosie’s old man asked interestedly.


“Oh nothing much really!” Rosie said “We’ve been quite quiet. I read a book and……” she glanced at me with a twinkling eye, “……Vicky did a bit of knitting!”

“Go on!” Mick said “Knitting? Vicky can’t knit!”

“I can you know!” I said loudly “Look………!”

And of course there was Rosie waving that blasted woollen thing around, even before I’d finished speaking.

“……see!” I said.

“What is it? Mick enquired dubiously, snatching it out of her hand.

“It’s a sock” I told him cheerfully.

“Is it?” he asked, even more dubiously.

“Of course it is!” I said.

“Oh, right!” he said, peering at the object critically. “Er…….whose foot it is it supposed to fit?”

“FOOT??” Rose and I screamed out together. “It’s a cocksock, not a footsock, you silly husband!”

“Aha! Neville chortled triumphantly “So where is the other one then. The one you knitted for me?”

“I haven’t started on that one yet” I told him truthfully.

And if you are wondering about the tenuous connection with biscuits, well Biscuit was what the oriental girl told me was her name.

© Aahlu 280110.

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