Popped (3 page)

Chapter 5

The user-group
prep meeting began a few hours later. We had two events planned in
the following weeks, one at a hotel in Manchester, the other at an
airport hotel at Gatwick. We were expecting about thirty crime
analysts from various police departments to turn up at
each
—
all users of our software, and all
eager to learn about the new features and changes. The Call Center
ran the user groups because we were the frontline when it came to
customer service, and the analysts were used to talking to us on
the phone.

Usually I took
a step back at these sorts of things, preferring to let the men
handle the out of office events and the face-to-face client
interaction. But part of my plan was to put myself in different
situations, with people I didn’t know, and these user groups were a
perfect opportunity.

“I want to
go,” I said as Stephen was outlining the personnel required for
each event.

“You what?” he
said.

“I want to go
to Manchester on Thursday,” I said, “and Gatwick next month.”

“But you never
go.”

“Well, now I
want to go,” I said, letting my impatience show.

“But it’s all
arranged.”

“I’ve looked
over the list of who’s going,” I said calmly, “and it reads like
something pulled off your Facebook wall. Is there anyone on this
list who isn’t a drinking buddy of yours?”

Stephen looked
a little put out by my outburst
—
too used to
me sitting quietly in these meetings, maybe. “Clara, look,” he
said, “maybe next year we could...”

“No,” I
interrupted, a forceful edge entering my voice for the first time.
“I want to go this year. You and Adrian have been skiving off at
these events for three years now. Well, it’s time for a change.
Don’t make me talk to Dale.”

Dale Hatley
was the operations manager, and the Call Center fell under his
remit. He was a fifty something year old man who rarely put in an
appearance on our floor, but he’d always had a bit of a thing for
me
—
patting my bottom as he showed me out of
his office, staring at my flat chest when he thought I wouldn’t
notice. It used to bother me, but now it no longer did. He was a
harmless, middle-aged man whose wife had left him, and I could use
his infatuation with me to get what I wanted. Another change.

The prospect
of bringing Dale into this was enough to win the argument. Everyone
knew that he was a bit weird around me. It caused a lot of laughter
whenever he came into the Call Center to speak to me, but nobody
was laughing now.

“Party’s over
guys,” I said, standing up and preparing to leave the room. “Send
me all the details on Manchester, and tell your Facebook friends
it’s time to get back to work.”

Adrian and
Stephen looked stunned as I opened the door. “One more thing,” I
said, looking back over my shoulder. “Add Parker to the list. It’s
time she got out of the office and put those inter-personal skills
of hers to use. I’ll let you know who else I want.”

Chapter 6

Indian food was
never my thing, but I was a new me, trying out new things, so I dug
in to my lamb curry as if it were a favorite dish. It was eleven in
the evening and we’d checked into the Travel Lodge after dropping
off all the equipment we’d need for tomorrow’s user-group. Hotels
didn’t get any cheaper than the Travel Lodge, and there was no
prospect of the company springing for rooms at the four star hotel
where we’d booked the following day’s event.

“Cheap beer,
cheap food, and cheap, shitty rooms,” Parker said. “Sounds like a
typical Saturday night on the town to me.” My Saturday nights were
usually spent at home, alone, watching re-runs of
Casualty
or
ER
, so I couldn’t really comment.

Chloe, Keira,
Parker and I were representing the Call Center, and Malcolm was
from IT. He was supposed to answer any technical questions that us
Call Center girls couldn’t handle, but he had the inter-personal
skills of a donkey, so I didn’t expect much help from that quarter.
No, it was a girls show tomorrow
—
no real
men allowed.

The drive up
from London had been an eye opener. I’d never socialized with any
of the girls before, and they turned out to be more fun than I
thought they’d be. Keira drove her husband’s X5, which had more
than enough room for all five of us, as well as the boxes and
supplies. We’d talked about men
—
a first for
me
—
and I’d told them that I’d dumped
Phillip only he didn’t know it yet.

“Was he a crap
shag or what?” Parker said, genuinely interested.

“Well, let’s
just say he didn’t put a lot of effort into it,” I answered, being
as vague as possible. How was I to know if he was a crap shag or
not? It’s not as if I had anything to compare him to
—
yet. Maybe Phillip’s quicky up against the door was a
screw of legendary proportions, something to write home to Mother
about, or maybe it was the tawdry fumblings of a forty three year
old virgin. Only time would tell
—
but not
too much time, I hoped.

“You’re well
shot of him,” she said. “He was old, and it’s not as if he had any
money to sweeten the pot.”

Phillip had
accompanied me to the Christmas party a few weeks earlier, and to
say he hadn’t fitted in would be an understatement. We’d left
early, after the dancing began.

“So I’m
available,” I said, putting myself forward in a way I never would
have dreamed of only last week. “If you see any hot guys, send them
my way.”

“If you’re
serious, leave it me.” she said. “I’ll find you a stud who can make
you forget all about the boring Mr. Chips.”

The rest of
the drive had been filled with stories of dumped boyfriends and
orally challenged husbands. Poor Malcolm had his head buried in a
book for the entire journey, and probably wished he could open the
car door and fall out. I sympathized, but not enough to change the
tenor of the conversation
—
I’d no idea I was
missing out on so much. Parker had given one of the sales guys a
blow job in the photocopy room, in the middle of the day while
everyone was working in the office only feet away, and Chloe was a
lesbian who went on the pull every Friday and Saturday night to all
sorts of gay bars around London.

It was nine
thirty in the evening when we reached Manchester, and it took us a
good hour to find the hotel, drop off the boxes for the next day,
and then track down our cheap Travel Lodge. The only good thing
about it was that it was close to the center of town
—
the Indian restaurant was only a two minute walk, and
according to Parker there were lively clubs and bars within walking
distance. In the past, I would have retired immediately with a
book, but those days were gone
—
now I was
eager to see some of those clubs and bars.

“So, here we
are in a strange city, miles from home, and husbands, and dumped
boyfriends,” I said. “Where should we go next?” Parker seemed to be
the expert, so I addressed the question to her.

“Well, if
we’re going to get you laid, there’s a club I know that heaves on a
Thursday. Who’s up for it?”

Keira begged
off, citing recent sleepless nights with the baby, and
Malcolm
—
as expected
—
opted to retire to his room for some time alone with
his laptop.

“Sorry
ladies,” Chloe said. “But I’m all about the pussy, and I have a
date with a different sort of club. Don’t misbehave too much.” She
stood up, dropped fifteen pounds on to the table to pay for her
portion of the meal, and headed for the door.

“Looks like
it’s just you and me, Clara,” Parker said. “Are you sure you’re up
for this? It’s not exactly your scene.”

“My scene has
changed.” I leaned over the table and ran a finger over her hand.
“You said you’d get me laid tonight, and I’m going to hold you to
that. I’m the boss, remember. You have to do what I say.”

“Let’s go
then.” She sounded excited.

Chapter 7

We were dancing
together as if we were lovers, blonde and brunette flowing with the
music, hips moving seductively, bodies intertwined with each other,
hands moving down backs, over hips and thighs. Parker was about
five inches taller than me and her body was full and voluptuous.
She was wearing a tanned sleeveless dress that didn’t quite reach
her knees. I’d removed my glasses and let her lead, responding to
the movements of her body.

“Guys love a
show,” she’d said earlier. “Two hot girls doing their thing. It’ll
drive them wild. Trust me.” I did. I wasn’t sure if we were friends
yet, but our relationship had changed since the previous week. She
really was a fun person to be around.

Within a few
minutes the first of many supplicants appeared and danced next to
us, trying to draw us out, away from each other and into their
embrace. But Parker wasn’t willing to accept just anyone. If they
didn’t meet her standards, she barely gave them a glance,
continuing to gyrate against me, shaking her head when I looked
like I might turn around and face the guys.

It was a good
half hour before the two foreign looking men appeared. They danced
together until they reached us
—
something no
English guys would do
—
then circled slowly,
dancing for us, trying to lure us in. This time, Parker didn’t
ignore them. She moved us between them, and turned me to face the
tallest of the two. He was huge, well over six feet, and he wore a
plain white t-shirt that showed off the muscles of his arms and
abdomen. I’d guess he was in his mid-twenties and he loomed over me
as we danced, his musky scent flooding my senses. I let him take
over from Parker, moving his hands over me, resting my head on the
expanse of his chest. We danced for minutes or hours
—
I couldn’t tell. When he kissed me I felt like I’d
arrived in heaven. There was none of the fumbling and groping that
I’d come to expect from Phillip. This man knew what I wanted. A
heat spread over my body as he nibbled at my lips, tasting me and
touching me, licking my neck and pressing himself against me. I
thought briefly of the man on the tube train last week, but this
was nothing like that. There was no insistent cock using my back
for kicks. This was a real man, and I wanted him.

Parker tapped
me on the shoulder, waking me from the hazy daze that I was in.
“We’re going back to their place,” she said, smiling at me. I
nodded my head, barely hearing her above the music.

“This is
Niko,” she said, nodding to the guy behind her. “And the stud
muffin you’re glued to is Goran. They’re from Croatia.”

“Where?”

“Goran!
Croatia!” she said, shouting to be heard above the music.

I barely
remember the cab journey back to their flat. I was sitting on
Goran’s lap, letting him kiss me and hold me, and Parker and the
other guy
—
Niko
—
were
busy on the seat next to us.

I didn’t know
Manchester, but I could tell that we’d driven into a bad part of
town. The cab dropped us off outside a four story, old fashioned,
tenement style building, and we had to step around black rubbish
bags to reach the door. I hoped there weren’t any dead bodies in
those bags, but it was too late to back out now
—
not that I really wanted to. Goran had his arm around
my waist and he almost carried me up the steps and through the
door.

The lights
were on a timer, so we all had to rush up the stairs, hitting the
light switches as we went and hurrying to the next floor before
darkness descended. It reminded me of when I was a fresh faced
student in London back in 2001, and I laughed out loud. Parker
laughed with me, without knowing why, but the boys seemed
oblivious, talking to each other in Croatian or Russian or Dutch or
something. I was fueled by alcohol and desire, and my glasses were
still in my bag, so the whole thing seemed like a dream sequence
from an Indie movie.

Their flat was
on the fourth floor, and it was as small and dingy as I’d expected.
The door opened directly onto a small, cramped living room, with a
tattered sofa and a single armchair facing an old fashioned, big
box television. There was a kitchen tucked into a corner and two
doors on the right, one of which opened onto a tiny bedroom. Parker
had already claimed the sofa, sprawling out seductively with her
legs open and her dress riding high enough to see her black
panties. She smiled at Niko and held out a hand to him.

“Welcome
aboard, Croatia,” she said, and winked at me. “I’ll leave the
bedroom to you pair of love birds.”

I didn’t need
to be told twice. Goran wasn’t much of a talker, for which I was
thankful, so I walked ahead of him into the bedroom and crawled
onto the bed.

“Close the
door,” I said.

“You want
drink?” he said, in carefully enunciated English.

“No, I want
you.” I knelt so that we were eye level and pulled my top off. I
was wearing tight blue jeans and a natural, slouchy kind of sweater
with a scoop neckline. Another fashionable purchase from my
shopping trip earlier in the week
—
not my
usual style at all, but all my usual style had ever gotten me was
Phillip and parties at his mother’s. I wasn’t wearing anything
under the sweater, and my tiny boobs stood straight, their dark
brown nipples pointing at Goran expectantly.

He muttered
something in Croatian
—
barely
audible
—
but if his expression was anything
to go by, entirely complimentary. He was a talker after all, just
not in English. Was he calling me beautiful, or damning his luck
for picking the flat chested waif? Maybe he was calling me a cheap
old whore or an English heifer. Who knew? I chose to assume he
found me the most desirable woman he’d met in years.