Donna and Nellie's Skirt

I arrived late one evening at the pub which we always refer to as the Jill and Whistle. I was rather taken aback when I saw Nellie standing beside Donna. This would not normally arouse my indignation but on this occasion I was surprised because Nellie was holding the front of her skirt raised above her waist and Donna was staring intently at the revealed parts. I could not share the view because Nellie had her back to me. Nellie’s skirts are so short that lifting them could only be to disclose the otherwise barely concealed delights thereunder. I approached stealthily and asked in a sterner voice that I had intended, ‘What precisely is occurring may I ask?’ Nellie turned with a horrified look on her face but Donna was slow to raise her mismatched eyes to me in a languid, unconcerned manner. Nellie started to make some explanation but Donna stayed her with a touch of her hand. Nellie dropped her skirt and walked back to the bar hastily.

‘Evening, College, fancy a drink?’

‘Is that all you have to say?’ I absolutely trusted Donna by this time and anyway, since we were in a very public place, there was no question of any hanky panky on their parts but it never hurts now and again to stamp one’s mark on things. I had, of course, reckoned without Donna’s quick wit.

‘Take a seat and I will let you into a secret.’ I sat. She motioned to Nellie to bring me a glass and then said, ‘You are not equipped to dissemble, College. Me and Cassandra imbibed dissimulation with our mother’s milk, she being as bent as an MPs expense claims. We learned at her feet the art of lying through our teeth. You on the other hand had the misfortune to be born middle class and with honest, if not altogether perfect, parents, your Dad excepted of course.’ By this time I could scarcely contain my urge to giggle. ‘See, you can hardly stop yourself smiling. How was your day?’

I gave up the unequal struggle and sipped my wine, happy in her company as always. She then revealed how Cassandra was having to appear at the local Magistrates Court in a few days time.

‘I do not know if you are aware that Cassandra recently worked in the local supermarket?’ I had not known this about her sister. ‘It was a brief flirtation with gainful employment other than her normal calling as an adult entertainer. Cassandra, as I have told you before, has a libido that is the nearest thing to perpetual motion on the planet. Working of course militates against her natural urges and so she decided to combine the two and entered into what might be described as an inappropriate relationship with her supervisor at the shop. Sadly for Cassandra, said supervisor’s spouse also works there and she entered a side room to find Cassandra with a mouth full of something that by rights should either be contained in a pair of gentleman’s briefs or assisting his wife to scale the heights of joy. With me so far?’ I was, by now almost as hysterical as I had been when I saw the piece about Raggit the gerbil on this very blog. I nodded despite my hilarity. She continued, ‘Now, Mrs Supervisor takes a rather unfairly dim view of her discovery and, using her advantage of being on her feet whereas Cassandra was, as you may appreciate, on her knees and launched a kick which surprised Cassandra and the subject of her tender attention.’ By this stage I am almost crying with laughter. ‘The blow she received caused Cassandra, fortunately for Mr Supervisor, to open her mouth to yell rather than to close it which might have had serious consequences. This is not the first time Cassandra has been involved in combat and she, unlike the Supervisor’s wife, was quick to recover. She then attacked the wife and in the melee managed to break the Supervisor’s nose and the wife’s glasses.’ The scene was vivid in my mind’s eye.

‘So, she got sacked?’

‘She was indeed dismissed but not before Mr Plod had been called, hence her appearance before the beak.’

Later that night we were in bed. We were lying like spoons in a drawer with Donna behind me, her arm over me and still cupping a well-loved breast. We were happily post coital (if that is the correct term for what we get up to). I murmured in that delicious languor that follows such passion, ‘What exactly was Nellie revealing to you?’

‘Like a dog with a bone you are, College. Remember her bloke, the footballer?’ I corrected her, reminding her he was a rugby player. ‘I lie corrected. Well, in honour of his position in the team she has had a number eight tattooed just above her, well, this.’ Her hand moved down and cupped a rather damp part of my anatomy.

‘My God. And she showed you?’

‘She did indeed, so proud of it is she. I felt rather privileged. Nice puss too.’

I fell asleep, wrapped in Donna.