Heather’s Hectic Weekend Pt. 02


Chapter Eight

(Friday 26th April 2002)

The present-day, 2002 Naz carried on stroking Alex’s back, picturing Heather walking back to the bar a year and a half ago. As she’d watched the girl’s so-sexy ass her mind had slipped back to the night after the first football trial. She had gone to bed early, in preparation for her upcoming date with Ricky, and ended up cumming in her sleep.

That is to say she’d woken with a start and an awful feeling she’d had a wet dream.

Eyes wide open but seeing little in the darkened room, she’d had a feel of her bottom sheet. Yep, no doubt about it, there was a damp patch all right; a damn’ big one.

And there was no doubt about the dream that had caused it. On waking Naz couldn’t normally recall dreams but she’d remembered that one sure enough . . . and it hadn’t been about what she hoped to find in Ricky’s boxers.

She’d been dreaming about Heather. No, she’d been dreaming erotically about Heather.

Her cheeks had flushed. She’d never had erotic dreams about girls before. The thought of women having sex together had played no part in even her wildest fantasies. Yet there she was, creating a lot of unnecessary washing!

And that sheet had been fresh on that morning; it was supposed to last to Friday at least!!

Curious, she tried to remember the finer details of her dream. They’d been naked and kissing; kissing and caressing. Then, staring into her eyes, Heather had touched her there, directly on her man in the boat . . .

And she had immediately flooded the bed.

Lying flat on her back in the dark Naz realized she was still excited. Her nipples were rock-hard, her heart was fluttering and her body felt as if it was about to explode. There was only one way to deal with those symptoms, wasn’t there? And it needed doing fast, before she really did detonate.

Determined to think straight thoughts about Ricky, she slipped her hand between her legs and was surprised by the wetness. She never had difficulty self-lubricating, but was rarely as soggy as this!

Pretending Ricky’s boxers were off and he was hung like a horse, she started to rub her outer lips . . .

And found herself staring into emerald green eyes; Heather’s emerald green eyes.

Shrugging off the image almost angrily, she rubbed a little harder and tried to concentrate on a rigid cock.

But it was no use. Heather’s eyes were back and, before she knew it, she’d cum.


In fact she’d cum so quickly it was premature. Her body still needed more. Telling herself that nobody would ever know, she made an “if you can’t beat ’em” sort of decision. Instead of limiting herself to a few straight thoughts about Ricky, she’d think lots of kinky thoughts about Heather.

It worked. Her pussy responded to her renewed touch in a more acceptable, controlled manner. And her brain was content to let her conjure up memories of Hev’s bare backside and lovely round tits; it didn’t just restrict to staring into her eyes.

The third climax was long in arriving but more than worth the wait. New Year’s Eve fireworks went off crazily, tidal waves crashed against cliffs and volcanoes erupted. It was definitely a biggest and most certainly a best.

That was brilliant, she decided, gasping for breath. And it was one-off brilliant. My little secret; I did it and I’ll never do it again.

Ten minutes later, unable to get back to sleep, she found herself wondering what real-life lesbians actually did to each other. The little bit of porn she’d watched always involved guys. Perhaps she should see what she could find on the Internet . . . purely in the interests of research, of course. She wasn’t going to jill while she watched. Honestly she wasn’t.

And she wasn’t going to think about Hev either; not when she was jilling, anyway. Hev was straight as a die. Using her as a masturbatory image was not the done thing.

Ten minutes after that decision was made she was frigging herself with two fingers and thinking about Heather. And ten minutes after that . . .

‘Earth to Naz, are you reading me?’

Naz hastily dragged herself back a few days to Saturday lunchtime in the Union Bar. Carrie and Helen were looking at her inquisitively. Who knew what her expression must have been like! Those two were grinning, so it had probably mirrored her thoughts.

‘Just giving my selections final contemplation,’ she lied.

Chapter Nine

(Friday 26th April 2002)

Between them Naz and Carrie had agreed on thirteen players. That left four to discuss and reduce to two. Then, for Helen’s benefit, they discussed the other seven. To be fair to her, Helen flagged up one of the most recommended girls as “exactly what Wendy needs” and wrote “witches” next to her name.

‘Okay, Carrie said, having rewritten her lucky fifteen in alphabetical order. ‘I’ll pin this up then take the flak.’

‘I’ll spread the word,’ Naz volunteered. ‘En route to the bar, that is.’

‘Give me two minutes’ start,’ said Carrie.

It turned out giving a start wasn’t an option. As soon as Carrie left the table a posse of anxious lady tekirdağ escort footballers set off in her wake.

‘You look relaxed,’ Naz observed, ‘for someone about to share Carrie’s flak.’

‘She won’t get a lot,’ said Helen. ‘Extra teams and the new subs rule will see to that. If only the real Football League was as pro-active as we are!’

Not everyone had flooded out after Carrie. Heather was standing at the bar with Beth and Philippa (a girl better known as “Phil” and dangerous to address as “Pippa”). Naz did her best not to frown. Beth and Phil were openly lesbian and might . . . or might not . . . be in a relationship. If they were shagging she suspected their agreement was along grown-up and civilized lines. They were both often seen out and about with other girls.

And more to the point, those two ladies had definitely got their tongues out when Heather took her kit off. She couldn’t have noticed them leering, could she? She wouldn’t be cheerfully hobnobbing if she knew what they were like.

‘Naz,’ said Heather, waving to the barman, ‘just in time. It’s my round.’ She ordered four Marston’s then put a hand to her mouth, as if trying to plug a gaffe. ‘Beer is all right for you, isn’t it?’

‘I’m gagged,’ said Naz. ‘Right now I’d drink Marston’s through a sweaty sock.’

‘Fortunately they have clean pint glasses in here,’ said Beth. Then, narrowing her eyes, ‘Go on; tell us. Are we in or not?’

Naz took her pint from Heather and had a mighty swig, half-finishing it in one. ‘Carrie’s put the list up on the board.’

‘We noticed the exodus.’


‘So save our tired legs and tell us.’

Naz drained her glass, prompting Heather to get her a refill.

‘Poor thing needs to catch up,’ she said to the barman.

‘Tell me about it,’ Naz agreed. Then, finding she couldn’t be arsed to drag out the suspense: ‘Yep, you’re in; all three of you.’

Beth and Phil had been two of last season’s stars. Naz had supposed it was arrogance that stopped them from joining the exodus. Right then, as they bumped knuckles, she realized they’d been unsure and ever-so-slightly nervous.

‘Welcome to the team,’ Beth said to Heather, holding out her fist.

‘I’m in the squad,’ said Heather, bumping it nevertheless.

‘Like fuck,’ said Phil, offering up her knuckles. ‘If you don’t start every match, I’ll eat Beth’s knickers.’

‘And not for the first time,’ Beth said.

Naz gratefully accepted her second proper pint. ‘I know I’m management . . . sort of . . . but don’t I get to bump knuckles? I am in the team as well, you know.’

The other three solemnly went through the ritual.

‘Seeing you’re our spy in the management camp,’ Beth resumed, ‘tell us about Dani. Did she make it as well?’

‘Would that be Dani Smith or Dani Drinkwater?’

‘Dani Drinkwater.’

‘Yes, she’s in.’

‘Great,’ said Beth. ‘That makes four of us, at least. With any luck we might make up half of the starting eleven. That’s counting Naz as a curious half-of-a-lesbian, of course.’

Naz sighed wearily. ‘Beth keeps insisting I’m bi-curious,’ she explained to Heather. Then, turning back to Beth: ‘Are you sure about Dani Drinkwater?’

‘Her live-in lover’s called “Felicity”. And she’s even cuter than her name.’

Secretly . . . purely as an observation . . . Naz thought Dani was cute. So what on earth did Felicity look like?

Heather seemed as relaxed as always. Playful lesbian talk either went over her head or didn’t bother her. Determined to be playful herself, Naz said, ‘Come on, Beth, spill ’em: if there’s at least four, who is the other one?’

Beth laughed delightedly. ‘You don’t know, do you? You really don’t know.’

‘You should have joined the Girls’ Society,’ Phil put in, ‘then you wouldn’t have to ask.’

‘It’s me,’ said Heather. ‘I knew my signals weren’t being picked up.’

An elevator descended in Naz’s tummy. Fast. ‘I know you’re attractive to women . . .’ she began as bravely as she could.

‘Whooo,’ went Beth. ‘Get out of that closet, girl!’

‘. . . but I didn’t know you were in the Girls’ Society. That’s . . . well, pretty extreme, isn’t it?’

‘Not really,’ said Heather. ‘Not by my standards.’

‘Heather showed up to all the early meetings,’ Phil said. ‘Then she effed off. We weren’t evil enough for her.’

‘So you’ve known each other a while?’

‘Not intimately,’ said Beth. ‘Worst luck.’

‘Back then these two were so much in love.’ Heather grinned. ‘They only had eyes for each other. Me, I had eyes for every girl that moved.’

‘Yeah,’ said Beth. ‘So long as they were over twenty-one and up for everything.’

‘So I like older women. What’s your problem?’

‘I don’t have one. But why don’t you give Phil the afternoon she’s been dreaming of? She was twenty-one last week.’ Beth grinned. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll attend to the needs Naz doesn’t admit she has.’

‘I’m on a bit of a promise today,’ said Heather, ‘sorry and all that, Phil. How does Wednesday, after the warm-up match work for you? I’ll give you the tokat escort full nine yards of a promise, if that’s what it takes.’

Phil spluttered over her latest mouthful of beer. ‘Well,’ she finally managed. ‘If you insist . . .’

‘Bring an overnight bag.’ Heather was grinning broadly now. ‘And don’t forget your toothbrush.’

‘Fucking Hell,’ said Beth. ‘Why didn’t I suggest you and me?’

Naz had looked on, bemused. If she’d been surprised by her companions’ openness, she was totally staggered by the casual way they hooked up . . . or seemed to hook up.

Are they taking the mick, she wondered, or are their spirits really so free?

‘Heather, you’ve crapped out,’ Beth began. ‘But . . .’

‘I have not crapped out,’ Heather objected. ‘I’ve rearranged to a mutually convenient date.’

‘What about finding a mutually convenient date for me?’

‘You’re too pushy. You’ll get a date, but I’m going to make you wait for it.’

‘Typical bisexual,’ Beth retorted. ‘Only lezzie when it suits you.’

‘Huh,’ went Heather. ‘I bet I’m more on the lezzie side of bi than you are.’

Beth was up for the argument. ‘Okay, put numbers on it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘How many men have you had sex with?’

‘Define sex.’

‘Now you’re typical private school. You should be studying politics.’ Beth rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, I’ll spell it out for you. How many men have put their cocks in your pussy, jiggled it about a bit, and then squirted in you?’

‘Four,’ Heather said, still grinning.

‘Four! That’s practically slutty. How many different women have you had?’

‘You’ll have to define sex with women, or it’ll be thousands.’

‘In your dreams,’ Beth spoke curtly but was wearing a matching grin nevertheless. ‘For the purposes of this exercise, we’ll count in orgasms. And we’ll count either way, yours or hers: a minimum of one cum between you counts as a scalp. So how many have you had?’

‘It’s tricky to be sure, but enough to put men at ten per cent.’

‘You’ve had forty girlfriends!’

Naz had been as astounded as Beth sounded. At that point in time, in her first ten months of sexual activity, she’d had five boyfriends. And she considered five to be borderline promiscuous.

‘Check out your maths,’ Heather said, grinning back at Beth. ‘Forty would put me at nine per cent. I’m somewhere around the thirty-five mark.’ Then, sounding purposeful: ‘What about you? I’ve shown you mine. Now show me yours.’

‘Only two men,’ said Beth. ‘So I’m twice as lezzie as you.’

‘Ah, ah, not according to the percentages. Not yet. How many girls have you had?’

‘My girls were all women.’ Beth was patently hedging. She made a show of counting up on her fingers before admitting: ‘Ten.’

‘Ten to two, that’s seventeen per cent. Confirming me as near enough twice as lezzie as you.’

‘Not if you look at the bigger picture.’

‘Which is?’

‘I had sex with two men . . . once each.’ Beth made a face. ‘What a mistake. Yuk and never again. I’ve had sex dozens of times with those ten women. God knows what it adds up to, but it must pushing two hundred. That puts my percentage for men to women somewhere in low single figures.’

‘I agree. But I can match that. I had sex with three of my men twice and one man just the once. That’s seven . . . well, seven sessions. Obviously I didn’t restrict myself to once a night. There was always a chance practice would make perfect, wasn’t there?’

‘Obviously,’ said Phil. ‘It’s like kissing frogs, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve never tried that.’ Heather laughed. ‘I know what you mean, though. Anyway, there are a few one-night-stands in my thirty-five, but the rest have all been back for more. My percentage must be in low single figures too.’

‘So we’re equal?’ Beth asked, hopefully.

‘I’ll call it a draw on the second front if you admit defeat on the first.’

Beth shrugged and rounded on Phil. ‘Support, please! Blast her out of the water.’

‘I can’t,’ Phil said. ‘My numbers are the same as yours, except one of the guys had two sessions. My percentages will be worse.’

‘Twice?’ said Beth. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’

‘I thought I enjoyed it first time. I was wrong.’

Heather ordered more beer. Naz darted in, paying for it, always keen to stand her corner.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me?’ she said when they were all re-armed.

‘I wasn’t going to,’ said Beth. ‘But if you insist . . .’

‘Zero girls,’ she began.

‘Boo, hiss!’ went Phil.

‘But I’ve had five guys. They’re all English, but with a variety of backgrounds.’ She could feel her face heating up. ‘I don’t know why I told you that.’

‘You told us because you wanted to share,’ said Beth. ‘Come on, girl, enlarge.’

Maybe she had wanted to share. ‘My latest is a black guy,’ she began, ‘with grandparents in Jamaica. Before him there was a Chinese guy with a cockney accent. And before that there was an Indian who was born in Oldham. And two white guys: one from Newcastle, the other from Bristol.’

‘Were they all one-nighters?’

‘The trabzon escort Indian was. The others are all still caught in my net, to one degree or another.’

‘No Pakistanis,’ Beth grinned, ‘why not?’

‘No particular reason. Subconsciously I might be afraid of rumours getting back to the dinosaurs. But I haven’t made it a policy. Avoiding them, I mean.’

‘Five’s not bad going,’ Heather observed. ‘You’re much more experienced with men than any of us. Obviously you like it.’

‘I do,’ Naz admitted. ‘I take it you aren’t completely averse yourself.’

‘I like the sex. It’s men themselves who bore me.’

‘In more ways than one,’ Beth sniggered.

Chapter Ten

(Friday 26th April 2002)

The booze-up fizzled out when Helen joined them, hogging Heather’s attention. It was soon apparent that the bubble-haired blonde had been the one making “a bit of a promise”. It was also soon apparent that Heather was eager to take her up on it.

Just like that, Naz thought. And they’ve only known each other five minutes!

Her phone vibrated while she was walking home.

‘Naz, it’s me, Hev. You left without saying goodbye.’

‘Sorry Heather. You seemed otherwise engaged.’ Then, frowning, ‘How did you get my number?’

‘I’m very resourceful.’

‘I’m sure you are. Er . . . Are you still in the Union?’

‘I’m in the little girls’ room, away from prying ears. The others are still at the bar. Phil isn’t speaking to Helen because she’s coming home with me. Beth’s offering Phil all sorts of favours, trying to thaw her out. My money’s on them ending up in one bed or another.’

‘Surely not yours,’ said Naz, misunderstanding.

‘It’s only a single. There’s just room for me and Helen. They can look out for themselves.’

‘Why are you ringing; to tell me off for not saying goodbye?’

‘No, I’m ringing because I wish it was you coming home with me. Nothing against Helen, but I really do. Maybe it’ll happen one day, eh?’

Naz couldn’t remember how she’d answered that. She’d probably said something clumsy and gauche. But she had been immensely flattered and excited. And she had seriously wondered if ESP had been involved.

Can she possibly know about Wednesday night, she’d wondered. Or does she just know me better than I know myself?

Either way, the resolution to drop Hev from her fantasies was forgotten. From that day on she’d felt a little thrill every time she set eyes on that particular teammate, fully dressed or not. Hev had sensed it, too. She blatantly flirted at every opportunity. And Naz blatantly flirted back.

She also did plenty of on-line research on lesbian sex, becoming quite an expert on the subject.

That second year season had been notable in several ways. As hoped and expected, Carrie City won every trophy going. Carrie won Captain of the Year. Heather won Player of the Year. Naz herself won Leading Goal-scorer of the Year. Much more amazingly, Helen’s Hellcats finished the league in a very respectable third position.

Carrie City’s last game that season was the most prodigious cup final, played on a Friday evening to make it feel even more special. Alcohol was consumed in the changing room after a 3-1 win. Then it was off to the Union to celebrate in earnest. Naz was practically at the bar when she realized she’d left her shin pads.

She’d cursed as she went back to the changing room. Her pads were old and battered, worth next to nothing but important to her. She’d been wearing them when she got a horror tackle in a big grudge match. The other girl had flown in wildly, breaking her own leg in the process. Naz had been bruised but able to run off the pain. Those pads were lucky. She couldn’t bear the idea of them being casually thrown out by the cleaners.

A janitor was waiting to lock up the building. He was Polish, with little command of English. Relieved she’d got there in time she held up three fingers, signifying she wouldn’t be long. He nodded at that so she scurried inside, anxious to get back for beer.

Normally Carrie City used Changing Room 20, which was associated with Pitch J, their home turf. For the big final they’d been allocated Changing Room 30, which was associated with Pitch A, easily the best playing surface in the university. Footsteps resounding in deserted corridors, she reached Room 30 and went inside.

And froze in her tracks.

Two naked women were sixty-nine-ing on one of the wooden benches.

Naz had been nonplussed. The women must have heard her footsteps and the squeak of the door-closer. They had to know they had company. But did they break apart? Make that a very big no.

One of them was Heather. She was on top. Her long, jet-black hair covered most of her face and her lover’s belly and thighs.

Oh my, Naz had thought. Can it really be so good they’re oblivious to me?

Tiptoeing, trying to be as quiet as possible, she crept across the changing room and retrieved her pads. The impulse was to get the speed of light out of there but yet she hesitated. What was Heather actually doing? And who exactly was she doing it to?

From her new angle she could only see the back of Heather’s head. She was doing something to the other woman’s groin area with her mouth. The other woman (it was Dani! Dani Drinkwater!!) was a lot easier to see now. She was rapidly licking Heather’s clit, her tongue darting in all directions.

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