T's

Part the second. Please scroll down for the first episode.

‘Promises,’ she said ‘are made to be broken.’

‘But my God, T, 4 months! You could at least have let me know where you were.’

‘Hm. Anyway, how are you?’

I told her all that happened in the intervening time and she told me she was leaving England to go to work in Italy. She’d always hoped to and, well, the opportunity sort of arose and she decided to take it. No apology – no regrets – typical T. I was a bit hurt and surprised but, as I always do in such circumstances, kept my feelings to myself and wished her well. Each day of those four months I had expected to hear from her. I’d had no way to contact her. I’d tried her mobile but it always rang out. Now she does call and it’s to say goodbye. Bollocks.

I sat on my bed and clutched a pillow to myself and cried silently. Bollocks.

Aside from the odd one night stand here and there I had three affaires during my next two years at Uni. The first was with Sana, a Jordanian girl with eyes like a deer. Polly was tall and blonde with lovely lapis lazuli eyes that sparkled. Hazel was a goth who looked sullen until she smiled and her face lit up. She was hugely funny and we spent more time laughing than anything else. She left me for a front row forward from the Uni rugby team which wasn’t at all a sad event somehow.

The one-nighters were obviously much more about sex than anything else. A couple were girls who just wanted to try a girl. I didn’t care.

I graduated with a two:one and felt a bit disappointed but thought it didn’t really matter. I took a long holiday during the vacation then set about finding work. God but I hate interviews, having to pretend to be interested in banking or marketing. Telling some stuffed shirt or patronising bitch what I knew they wanted to hear. But needs must, so I took a job in a PR agency and listened to people talking bilge almost all the time. Despite loathing it I found myself working all the hours and finding no time for romance, precious little for sex even. One evening around eleven my mobile rang. I didn’t recognise the number.

‘So, what are you doing?’

‘Christ, T, what are you like?’

She laughed at the other end of the phone. ‘I’m back in England and I have a plan. Can I come round tomorrow?’

‘Oh, shit, of course you can, you cow.’ I gave the address and she said ‘Ciaio,’ pretentious bitch, and rang off.

It was a Saturday. The flat was a mess so I spent hours cleaning it, tidying, then I shot out to get some drink and some food in case she wanted some. I had a shower and got into a dress – some things have to be done – and waited. She’d said nine pm but with T that might mean anytime between six and midnight. At ten the bell rang and there she was. Her hair was longer, her skin had the sun in it and she was dressed so very differently from the last time I had seen her all that time ago. She wore trousers of course. Dark blue but this time with a silk, pale blue blouse that had a button down collar and a tie loosely tied through it. She came in handing me a bottle of champagne.

‘Pop that, hun, I need a piss.’ Compromise is not in T’s vocabulary. I poured the drinks and waited. She came back to me and kissed me this time, firmly on the cheek. We spent an hour eating nibbles and playing catch up and I learned about her time in Milan, she learned about my imprisonment in the agency and my celibacy. She, it seemed, had not been so chaste!

‘So, listen. This is the master plan. Do you go to Lesbian bars?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘What are they like?’

‘Dreadful usually. Loads of bull dykes, lots of girls ‘exploring their sexuality’ and loud music, Queen mostly.’

‘Exactly, crap in other words. I’m going to open the best les bar in England. It’ll be exclusive, classy, discrete and, ‘she grinned, ‘ex-pen-sive.’

‘You’re a capitalist?’

‘Yep. This is going to be T’s. Get it? T’s as in tease. T’s as in mine. And you are going to be my partner and manage all the PR etc.’

‘I am?’

She nodded. ‘Look, here’s the deal. I’m backed by a Lady, of the noble variety, I met in Milan. She wants a place where she’d go and feel comfortable, where all her fine friends would go. Not some crappy dungeon but a real class joint. Isn’t ‘joint’ a lovely, archaic word – hers by the way. She’s backing me, money-wise. I’ve found the premises and we have a budget to die for. Come on, M, say you’ll do it.’

I laughed and poured some brandy. Brandy helps me think.

‘Are you with anyone?’

‘That matters?’

‘Not sure.’

‘No, I’m not. This isn’t a proposal of marriage, M, it’s a business deal.’

‘Do I get to sleep with you?’

She kissed my mouth. ‘Sometimes but no exclusivity, ok?’

So, of course I agreed. What the fuck? The money was good and she is such fun, it had to be worth a go. She fucked me that night. There is no other way of putting it accurately. She had me all ways up and, although I am no submissive in the shagging department, there was no opportunity for me to take any lead role in the proceedings. She was hungry and insatiable.