Charlotte recovers from losing Andy and finds a job to help relieve her move on with her life. Her behaviour on certain nights out make her question a rule she set for herself shortly after her transformation.
This chapter is mostly non-erotic with only brief de***********ions of sexual acts.
It’s Mom and Mae who find me, curled up in a foetal position on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably when they come over to find out why I didn’t turn up to dinner. Mae reads the letter as mom sits me up, asking what’s wrong. With a rare curse Mae drops the letter and runs to the liquor cabinet, pouring a large brandy. As she’s doing that, mom picks up the letter and reads the first page, now I should say that my mom has a tendency to jump to conclusions on very little information, immediately sighing loudly and talking to me like I’m a child.
Hey. Charlotte/Charley back again. For those of you who don’t know, the love of my life, my boyfriend Andy has been killed whilst on deployment with the army in the middle east. I won’t go into details now as they come up later. Suffice to say I'm utterly heartbroken. I should say that this chapter is mostly non-erotic with brief details of any sexual acts, so you may want to skip it if you’re not interested in my whole story, I’ll be putting a brief recap at the start of the next chapter.
“You can’t let yourself get this upset at some horrible words in a letter,” she scolds me, tutting and shaking her head. “What would Andy think?”
“Nan, read the rest.” Mae tells her with a short tone, helping me to sip the brandy.
Mom reads on, pulling faces at the vile obscenities written on the page before turning to the back and continuing, her face dropping as she reaches the relevant part. “Oh God!” she exclaims, looking between me and the letter as I sit silently crying against the wall. “Charlotte, I'm...” words fail her, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to figure out what to say. In the end she rests her hand on my shoulder and her forehead on mine. “I’m so, so sorry.”
They help me to stand, leading me to the sofa where I sit staring blankly at my drink, my eyes stinging from my tears, as Mae holds me and mom phones my dad and brother, informing them of the terrible news. The next few hours are a blur of activity around me, most of which I don’t remember. Mae stays in my room with me, the others checking in every so often but I spend the entire time curled up on my side on the bed, staring blankly at the wall, my mind completely numb.
That’s how it is for the next four days, I don’t eat or drink, only falling into a disturbed sleep for five minutes at a time when I’m too exhausted to stay awake. When I do drift off I have terrible nightmares involving Andy and I kissing, dancing or making love. In some he suddenly decays, becoming a hideous corpse that either collapses to the floor or on top of me, in others he either bursts into flames or his body explodes. In one of the worst ones, we’re making love missionary style and I’m close to orgasm as his body violently bursts apart, my body splattered with blood and bits, his entire disembodied manhood filling my pussy and his balls slowly swinging against me. What makes them even more horrible is that I feel and smell everything, the stench as he rots, the shockwave as he explodes or the heat from the flames, every tiny detail is experienced as if it was reality. When I wake screaming and crying from each one, everyone pours into my room with worry (they leave the bedroom door open, just in case), holding me in a group hug until my tears dry up and my mind stills.
Eventually, necessity forces me to leave my room and I spend my time moping around the house, having to push to take basic care of myself, though Mae stays on to help and friends visit with condolences and hugs, their presence lifting my spirits, if only slightly. Mr Snuggles re-joins me in bed, having something to hold tight helping me drift off to sleep, the horrible nightmares gradually becoming less frequent, though the smell of Andy on his pajamas often makes me cry myself to sleep, the replica of his cock removed from the teddy as my sex drive is non-existent.
It takes a month for Andy’s remains to be returned to the UK, mostly because they have trouble telling what belongs to who, I suppose I should tell you what happened.
Andy’s platoon and 3 other new sets of recruits were ordered to patrol certain routes, considered to be “safe” as the enemy had been pushed from those areas, the missions designed to give them experience fighting any remaining small pockets of resistance without too much chance of heavy combat, before they took on the enemy proper. Unbeknownst to high command, the terrorists had organised a strike against these patrols, seeing them as easy prey and a perfect chance to send a brutal message to the UK. It was pure bad luck that those platoons were the ones covering those routes the day they decided to attack, one day either side and Andy would still be alive, some other poor family would be experiencing the pain and heartbreak I was, though I would never wish it on anyone. The attack was swift and fierce, the lightly armoured vehicles blown to smithereens by RPGs and IEDs, any survivors were shot on sight.
Andy’s hardtop jeep was struck by a rocket, killing him and his companions instantly, the army having to use DNA records to identify the remains as an error in communications had the wrong units on the wrong routes, though the result was the same for them all, every platoon was wiped out. That’s what caused the delay in returning the remains, the army being determined that the right body went to the right family.
I receive one final, short letter from Andy’s mom, stating the date of his funeral and saying I was to make my own way there. She also said that although I was welcome to sit on the front row, I had to sit as far from her as possible. For once she left out the usual insults and accusations, a small mercy I guess.
In the 3 weeks leading to the funeral, my friends and family try to get me out of the house, trying to take my mind off it, but I just don’t feel like it, either turning their offers down or heading home after a short while. In one desperate attempt, Sally drags me to see the therapist at the institute, she tries her best to get me to talk about it but I just clam up and refuse to speak, the silence in the room deafening.
Two days before the funeral, my dad is taken seriously ill, ending up in hospital with my mom too afraid to leave his side, my brother and his wife are also unable to attend as they’re on holiday (I told them to go) but I tell them it’s ok as I’ll have not only Mae but a whole host of friends to look after me. Andy’s mom does her best to make me feel unwelcome but the support of the others helps me to ignore her glares and spiteful comments, telling me that her words mean nothing, she’s just bitter and looking for a target, that I should ignore her attempts to get a rise out of me. Everyone from the institute is there, including Mr Bridge and the very pregnant Janice, all of my friends who met Andy and, unfortunately (you’ll find out why soon), Jordan.
The attendees spend most of their time talking to either Mae and I or amongst themselves, only speaking to his mom when they have no choice until we follow his coffin into the crematorium and she sits in the middle of the front row, which is fine for me as the seats Mae and I take are the closest to his casket. His mom does her best to use the eulogy to convince everyone that his death was my fault, not directly naming me but rather using phrases like “mislead by promiscuous women” and “blinded to the dangers by so called love”, her intention glaringly obvious to everyone, many shaking their heads or murmuring over how she couldn’t let it go, no-one believing it had anything to do with anyone but the terrorists who planned and enacted the ambush. Mae grips me tight as his coffin disappears behind the curtain as it heads into the furnace, holding me with a vice like grip as we sob uncontrollably, Sally and Josh leaning in from behind to comfort us.
She has no choice but to stand next to Mae and I as the small wooden box containing his ashes is lowered into the grave next to his father, I squat down and place a single, short stemmed red rose on top and using my fingers to place a final kiss on his casket, her loud huff as she walks away exposing her displeasure. I stand with Mae, greeting and talking with the other mourners, even having a normal, comfortable conversation with Bridge and Janice, talking animatedly about their upcoming wedding and child. Mr knight gives me a rare but meaningful hug, telling me that if I ever need anything, the institute’s doors are always open, even if it’s just to reminisce over my short time there.
We head to the pub over the road from the crematorium for his wake and I circulate, speaking to everyone over the buffet and drinks, sharing stories. I try to avoid both Andy’s mom and Jordan as much as possible, not because I don’t like Jordan but the way he keeps looking at me sends a chill down my spine, Andy’s mom making sure I hear some horrible remark every time our paths draw close, my resolve being tested to it’s limit.
I almost make it through the wake, my resolution still holding (although large cracks have appeared) until the last half hour. It’s not the words she uses when she finally decides to loudly accuse me of hiding behind other people, avoiding the blame that I knew full well was mine and mine alone. No, it’s the backhanded slap to my face, the stinging pain of the diamond on her engagement ring slicing open my left cheek that breaks me. I run from the room, tears streaming from my eyes and onto the patio at the back of the pub, leaning forward on my hands on one of the tables, my body racked with sobs. I feel a strong pair of arms encircle me gently from behind and turn around to see Jordan smiling sympathetically as he pulls me closer and I rest my forearms on his chest (this will become pertinent shortly), about to make the fatal mistake of dropping my guard and letting him hug me (in my defence, I just wanted to be held at that point!).
It takes less than a minute before I feel his right hand make it’s way down my back and onto my ass, his left holding firm between my shoulders. Shock hits me like a bucket of cold water, my mind reeling that he would use this moment, when I’m at my most vulnerable, to try it on (remember how in chapter 7 I said he’d make his move at the worst time possible?). I look at him sharply.
“What the hell...?” is all I manage to say before he leans in, trying to kiss me. I turn my head quickly and push against him with my arms, managing to keep a little distance between us. “GET THE FUCK OFF ME!” I yell, pushing as hard as I can but his superior strength starts closing the gap, my arms quickly growing tired and painful.
“C’mon, you know you want it!” he growls, pulling hard on both my back and ass as I somehow find the strength to push harder, his lips moving slowly towards my uninjured right cheek as I strain to move my head as far from him as possible.
“NO I DON’T!” I scream, straining with every fibre of my body, fresh tears running down my face. “LEAVE ME ALONE!”. His strength gradually closes the gap, his lips steadily getting closer and closer. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” I shout, his lips millimetres from grazing my skin, I shut my eyes tightly and wait for the inevitable contact.
Jordan suddenly releases his grip, the sudden loss of resistance making me stumble and I see him hit the ground in pain as I fall, struggling violently as another pair of arms wraps around my waist, keeping me up, only relaxing when I hear Steve’s voice telling me it’s him and I'm safe. I let him lead me to sit down on the bench by the table, he sits next to me and pulls me close as I fight to hold back fresh tears.
“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” Josh yells at Jordan, his fist clenched ready to punch him again should he try any more funny business.
“I was just trying to comfort her!” Jordan says defiantly, rubbing his cheek where a nasty purple bruise is forming.
“By trying to stick your tongue down her throat?” Josh growls, seething.
“Why am I not surprised?!” Andy’s mom declares, stood with her arms folded as the other guests step out to see what all the hullabaloo is about. “My son hasn’t been in the ground five minutes and she’s already whoring herself!”
“He forced himself on her!” Steve shouts at her, “She was trying to push him off!”
“Bullshit!” she declares “she’s a slut!”
“You heard her fucking scream! You know full well he was assaulting her!”
“What?!” I hear a familiar voice shout, just before I see the blurred form of Mae as she runs over and slams her foot firmly between Jordan’s legs (I swear I hear a squelch before he howls in agony), his hands immediately holding his crotch as he curls into a foetal position. “YOU KEEP THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!”. She walks over to me, grabbing me tight in a reassuring hug.
“That’s it,” Andy’s mom spits “all gather round the slag! Which one of you will she try it with next? She may as well bend over and let you all take a turn! That little bitch killed my son!”
I finally snap, stomping toward her and giving her a backhand a MMA fighter would be proud of. “THAT IS ENOUGH!” I snarl at her, burning with anger. “I have done my best to be nice to you, to get to know you, try to be friends and all you’ve done is spit it back in my face! The things you’ve said about me are not only untrue but absolutely DISTGUSTING! All I ever did was love him! I stood by him when you turned your back on him, nursed him through the pain that caused, supported him in following his dreams! Do you not think I would love to go back in time and warn him? Tell him to take a sick day?! Because I can’t! Knowing that hurts me deeper than any of the bullshit you’ve sprouted ever could! You think I don’t miss him? Wish I could hold him again? Feel his heartbeat next to mine? No, you don’t, you actually think I would go with someone like that! (I point at Jordan) Someone who will happily try to force himself on a woman at her lowest, her most vulnerable! You are nothing but an evil, vindictive witch!”
“He what?” asks the landlord of the pub who’s come outside to see what the commotion is about.
“That guy,” Steve responds, pointing to Jordan. “tried to assault her.”
“Right! I don’t stand for that shit here, you’re barred. Get out!” he yells at Jordan, who runs off as fast as his shaky legs will take him. He turns to me, resting a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to experience that.” I nod in thanks. “I think it might be best if we call it a day. I’ll reimburse you for the remaining rental time.” He heads back into the pub with a solemn nod. Andy’s mom turns to face me.
“I never want to see or hear from you ever again.” She spits, turning and walking back towards the pub.
“Fine by me.” I say loudly with more confidence than I actually feel.
“We’ll take you and Mae home.” Steve says, giving me a hug, I nod my thanks and quickly work my way around the remaining guests, saying goodbye and apologising for the scene. Not one of them blames me for it.
Even though saying goodbye alleviates my pain somewhat, I still mourn him deeply. Organising and rereading his letters, losing myself in the memories the words bring forth in my mind. I start to go out more, not much but enough to slowly raise my spirits, even resuming my evening classes, my fellow students glad to see me back and well(ish). I even manage to talk to the therapist about it, though I get through several boxes of tissues during those sessions. In one moment of madness I actually consider one last attempt to try to sway his mother but dismiss the idea almost immediately.
5 weeks after the funeral, on a Friday, I receive a rather official looking letter from a local firm of lawyers, asking me to attend their offices at 10am this coming Tuesday to discuss a “personal matter”, my thoughts immediately heading towards a restraining order from his mother and making me roll my eyes at the stupidity of it. I go, being shown into a rather large room and offered a seat in an opulent leather armchair across from a huge mahogany desk, behind which sits a rotund man in a very expensive suit, a Mr Frazer of Frazer and Lowe solicitors ltd.
“Thank you for coming in, Miss Deacon.” He begins, picking up a piece of paper from the desk and reading it before continuing. “This is to do with a matter involving a Mrs Emily Clayton (Andy’s mother)...”
“Can I just say,” I interrupt, holding up my hand politely. “I don’t know why she’s done this, she told me not to contact her ever again and I haven’t, nor have I the intention to, ever.”
“I beg your pardon,” he looks confused. “Done what?”
“She’s asked for a restraining order against me... hasn’t she?”
“Not with this firm she hasn’t, Miss. Besides, that wouldn’t matter now in light of recent events.”
It’s my turn to look confused. “Events?”
“She’s dead, Miss Deacon.” He states sincerely. “didn’t you know?”
“No, I didn’t. How?”
“I’m afraid she took her own life, Miss. Alcohol and pills.”
“My God.” I sit stunned for a minute, processing the information. “So, why am I here?”
“Besides a number of charitable institutions, you are the sole beneficiary of her will. She changed it a few weeks ago after learning of the death of her son, you were his partner weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was,” Those words cutting a fresh wound in my heart. “but I don’t understand, she hated me with a passion, why would she leave me anything?”
“It says here that it’s a trunk containing some personal items of his, we just need you to sign for it and confirm your address for delivery. When’s the best time to catch you at home?”
“Well,” I blush a little. “I’m currently a ‘lady of leisure’ so I’m pretty much home all the time.”
We organise for the trunk to be delivered the following day and I sign the necessary paperwork, spending the evening wondering what it could possibly contain and why she would leave it to me. At 11am sharp on Wednesday morning my questions are answered, the trunk is Andy’s footlocker from the army, his rank and serial number stamped on the lid and sides. I open it, at the top is his dress uniform, all neatly folded with a note on top next to his ID tags and a half burnt photo of me (apparently he took it on every mission), I pick the note up and read the words his mother has written, “I hope it haunts you.”
I drop the note with a sad sigh, she’s still trying to punish me even after her death. I gingerly take out his uniform, gently placing it on the floor, revealing several stacks of my letters to him, all neatly tied up with string and I lift one of them, inhaling the still lingering perfume I lightly sprayed on it and caressing the lipstick mark on the envelope, now long dried, remembering the ritual I had for every letter: write, spray and seal with a kiss, a lone tear running slowly down my left cheek. Taking out and lightly stroking the remaining stacks, I reveal two framed photos, one of us at Bridge’s party, taken by a professional photographer at the event, the other a shot of me in one of my light summer dresses, sat on a picnic table looking a little shy and embarrassed, a red lipstick mark in the bottom right corner and “love, Starlight XX” written in the top left corner. Beneath them lies the album I gave him, the red leather of it’s cover already showing signs of wear. I lift it and rest it on my knees, as I reach to open it a horrible thought pops into my mind, “what if she’s looked through it and destroyed the photos?”, with a heavy heart I open it, relieved to see that they’re intact and flicking slowly through every page, examining each photo and remembering the nerves and giggles as I posed in front of Sally as she snapped away, then going through them and deleting the bad ones, printing and sticking them down in the silent lab. Near the end I start to find ones that he’s added himself, the one of me covered in spunk after I gave him that first tit-wank, some of the ones of us fucking in various positions that he set the repeat timer for, one he took of me with his cock buried halfway inside my mouth and another of me grinning up at him with his semen splattered over and dripping off my face. The memories hurting as much as they lift my spirits as I carefully pack everything back into the trunk, deciding to make a shrine to him in the spare room, next to Leon’s old collectibles. Grabbing my laptop, I search for mannequins, finding one that matches Andy’s size easily and ordering it, however, finding one for me is much harder but, thankfully, a quick trip to Amanda’s shop the next day sees me buying an old one of hers she hasn’t used in years.
I rope my brother into carrying the trunk upstairs and into the room, pulling a funny face when he sees the two mannequins, the female one already adorned with the party dress, gloves, shoes and jewellery, stood next to the bare male one to the right of the desk I’ve chosen for the shrine itself. I spend the rest of the day dressing the second mannequin, adding the tags and placing the burnt photo in the beast pocket. I put the picture of us together on one side of the desk, the one of me on the opposite side, adding some scented candles and re-sorting all of our letters into date order, his letter, my response, his next letter, my response, etc. and filling three of the large drawers with them, the last thing is moving one of the comfy armchairs from my bedroom so I can sit and read the letters whilst inhaling the calming scent of the candles whenever I feel I’m missing him more than I can stand, which (I’ll be honest) is pretty much constantly at this point.
A month later I’m still no further forward in the grieving process and I have a nagging worry that I’m responsible in some way for his mother’s death, so I go to see the therapist, just to alleviate my fears. In her opinion, being alone at home most of the time and not having anything else to really occupy my mind is what’s holding me back, suggesting that I should try to find a job or volunteer work to help refocus my mind. I find a position going in the home shopping department as a picker (those are the people who go around with the big trolleys, scanning things from the shelves and putting them in it) at Leon’s old supermarket and apply, my only concern being that that is the department that Jordan works on (I find out at the interview that he’s actually been moved to Leon’s old role after a few complaints from some of the newer female pickers, you can guess why but he was smart enough to avoid the cameras, so there’s no evidence that could warrant sacking him as its their word against his).
I’m offered the job, they also promise to avoid giving me picking trips that are for his area, revealing that they are aware of what occurred at Andy’s wake through a mutual friend who was present. I start a week later, picking up the job quickly (TBH it’s so easy a toddler could do it) and making lots of new friends, Becky (a 18yo short busty blonde), Alice (22yo, stick thin brunette with a dirty sense of humour), Amy (not Steve’s wife but a brunette 32yo mom of 3, slim but curvy) and Roy (a 26yo flamboyant gay guy with a wicked personality, who is one of the team that runs the department) being the ones I grow most close too, yes we’re an odd bunch but hey ho. We talk about anything and everything, including relationships. I tell them about Andy and my heartbreak over his death, eventually they start to try to convince me to move on and find someone new but respect my reluctance to do so.
6 Weeks later one of the longer serving picker’s (Nora) birthday is coming up and the department organises a very special night out for her, a trip on a local “party bus”. Basically, they’re old double decker buses that have been fitted out as bars where you buy tickets to exchange for drinks (licensing laws) that you have on the bus whilst they take you to three pubs in what’s known in the UK as the “black country” (just a nickname for the area, nothing sinister). In the first pub you get about half an hour to forty five minutes to have a drink or two, then on to the second (still drinking on the bus) where you have a buffet or a sit down meal, at the third there’s a disco before heading home at about 12.30-1am. They were great fun (writers note: it was a real company that went out of business when the owners retired) and everyone got completely wasted, it took Leon two whole days to sober up after his first and he was a seasoned drinker who could hold his booze.
For these birthday trips there is always a fancy dress theme, for hers Nora chose heroes and villains. I decided to go as Poison Ivy from Batman (photo in gallery), buying a sheer pale green crotchless (gotta be able to pee) bodysuit, stitching plastic vines with leaves along the arms, legs and much of the torso. Then I bought a sensible green bra and panty set, sewing soft fabric leaves all over the exterior and finally gluing more plastic leaves on a soft plastic eyemask, adding a pair of strappy green high heels to complete the look. I look very sexy but covered enough not to cause a commotion, taking a short red leather jacket for warmth if needed (and in keeping with her costume from the Arkham Knight videogame). Needless to say, I get a LOT of male attention (hell even some female too!), the sly gropes and “accidental” touches boosting my ego and spirits considerably.
One thing I forgot to mention way back when I first became Charlotte, was that I had decided I would only sleep with someone I loved, mostly because that was what I was brought up to believe in my previous life as Leon and not wanting to become a single mom in my new life from a one night stand. Anyway, back to the booze bus.
To say we looked stunning would be an understatement, me as Ivy, Becks as Harley Quinn, Alice as Supergirl, Amy as Catwoman and Roy as Doctor Strange easily winning a costume competition if there had been one. We board the bus and the booze flows freely, each of us buying rounds of drinks and shots, the local males in the first pub doing their best to get our numbers or a quick feel up before we board the bus for the next stop.
The sit down meal soaks up much of the alcohol but I have admit that even with my enhanced metabolism I’m getting rather squiffy, the others slowing down a little whilst I keep the pace, my inhibitions virtually non-existent as I bump and grind with a few of the local lads at the disco at our final stop, not caring where their hands are going at all, until all but one have to either have a rest or go to jerk off in the toilets. I reward his stamina with an extremely dirty dance, grinding my ass hard against him and pushing his face into my cleavage, his hands roaming every inch of me as we put on a lewd display, the only thing I don’t do is kiss him (I don’t know why I didn’t, he was really handsome).
Unfortunately the time comes to leave and we board the bus, having a final drink on the trip home. I stagger into my house, laughing stupidly as I manage to lock the front door and drop my keys on the floor trying to hang them up. I down an entire 2ltr bottle of water before heading to the bathroom and then bed, stripping naked and sliding beneath the covers, hugging Mr Snuggles tightly as I pass out.
The following Monday at work the gossip is all about the booze bus, one of the main topics being what I got up to. I will admit right now that all I remember about the incident I’m about to describe is my very dirty dancing with the guy and nothing of what I actually ended up doing to him.
“Looks like someone’s finally getting back into the swing of things!” Becky says to me with a grin as I walk into the home shopping area. “you really gave that guy a good time!”
“By dancing with him?” I laugh, about to get a bit of a rude awakening.
“Not just the dancing, the handjob too!” She replies, her grin broadening.
“Handjob?” I ask, a little bemused. “What handjob?”
“This one.” She shows me her camera, playing a video of me dancing and grinding my ass on the crotch of the guy behind me who’s happily pulling me back onto him by my hips.
“Shoving my ass on his groin is not a handjob, Becks.” I scoff.
“Wait for it.” She says stubbornly. The video continues with his hands travelling up to my breasts and him mauling them as I lean back against him, my own hands grabbing his and encouraging him not to hold back on my boobs. Then it happens, my right hand slips behind me and a surprised but happy expression appears on the man’s face over my shoulder, quickly turning to one of pleasure as my arm can be seen jerking rapidly. This goes on for about 3 minutes until he stiffens, his hands squeezing my breasts hard as a look of bliss washes over his face with me bringing my hand to my face about 30 seconds later and apparently licking something from it, the video too grainy from the rooms darkness to make out what.
“So I rubbed him off through his shorts, so what?” I huff as the video ends.
“It wasn’t through his shorts.” Says Amy, who’s just walked in, holding out her own camera showing the exact same event but from a side on view, hers is newer with better quality. When my hand goes behind me, it can be clearly seen slipping inside the elastic waistband of his shorts, the fabric moving with my hand making it clear I’m stroking his cock, his hips convulsing as he cums before my hand retreats with something white dripping from my fingers. I blush profusely as the others giggle. “Shame you didn’t get his number.” Amy says with a coy smile. Unfortunately, someone manages to steal a copy of the second video from Amy’s camera, spreading it around the entire department and making me get enough unwanted attention from a lot of the males for the manager to step in and take disciplinary action against the worst offenders, I get a warning to keep my behaviour in check on subsequent nights out.
I have to admit that my behaviour that night makes me start to question my ‘no sex outside of a relationship’ rule, though I stick with it for now, preferring to use my toys for release rather than become promiscuous.
Over the next two months we have another two bus parties, celebrating Roy and Alice’s birthdays. Roy’s theme is cartoons and I dress up as Velma Dinkley from Scooby Doo, for Alice’s it’s Superheroes so I go as Wonder Woman. Both times I only go as far as kissing and light touching with the guy I get close too, not wanting another dirty video circulating at work.
For our Christmas night out we have another bus trip, the ladies deciding to dress Mrs Santa outfits, complete with hats, some of the men joining in as Santa but only about 6 of them. I learn a few valuable lessons from this, namely a sensible pair of knickers, thick tights and sensible boots, believe me there’s nothing like a freezing wind blowing up your skirt and through a tiny thong to make you squeal in shock! The boots lesson is revealed by one of the younger girls slipping on a small patch of ice in her high heeled ones getting off the bus, thankfully one of the boys catches her before she breaks anything. This time my bad behaviour returns, slipping outside with a guy for a heavy make out session in a quiet, dark corner but after a few minutes an urge takes over and I drop to my knees, sucking his cock until he shoots his load down my throat. Thankfully we’re back to kissing when a very drunk Alice and Amy come stumbling over to tell me it’s time to go, I get away with it with no videos of the event taking place.
Due to scheduling conflicts, it’s several months until we have another ride on the booze bus, however, my role on the department changes completely when I return from my week off to celebrate mine and Mae’s birthdays (my first birthday as Charlotte! Yay!) in January. I also have my first annual check up at the institute, everything being as it should be.
I walk in to utter chaos, nothing has been set up and no-one knows what to do as both Roy and the manager are on holiday, the rest of the organisation team are all off sick. I phone Roy, apologising profusely for disturbing him and begging him to tell me how to work the computer. He runs me through everything I need to do and I hastily scribble notes and passwords, managing to get the department up and running with help from Becks and Amy. I end up running the department for the rest of the week, finding that I enjoy it far more than picking, which turns out well for me as one of that team likes picking more so we decide to swap jobs.
One morning a few weeks later, one of they younger girls, Jane, walks in practically in tears, revealing with a little coercion that her boyfriend dumped her the previous night. As it’s fairly early and the others are yet to arrive I decide to cheer her up, commandeering the music system (basically a Bluetooth speaker), playing “Hole in the Head” by the Sugababes (the group being one of Leon’s guilty pleasures that carried over to my new life where I can listen to them without judgement, lol) and telling her to dance as it’s only us in the area.
“What?” Jane asks looking confused. “Dance?”
“Yeah,” I respond, swaying and twirling to the music. “Dance the pain away. C’mon, try it.”
She starts to move, nervously at first until I take her hands in mine, doing 50s style twirls between random moves and steps. She’s soon laughing, dancing happily to the repeating song, her worries forgotten and both of us having a whale of a time, even puling off some sexy moves in time with the beat. We’re well into it when Roy walks in, taking a step back in shock finding us prancing around like loonies.
After that I'm seen as the go to for advice, becoming the den mother for the department over time. I handle everything from relationship problems, pregnancies, grief, you name it with “Hole in the head” becoming the departments official break up aftermath song.
Besides work I still keep up with my other friend groups, seeing them at least twice a month when schedules allow, except for Sally who I speak to every day and see at least twice a week, she knows all about my wayward behaviour on the bus trips. With the anniversary of Andy’s death looming in just over a week my mood becomes sullen, though I have been masturbating more often, the itch seemingly relentless. A fact that Sally pounces on trying to get me to take the final step moving on.
“Look, I know his anniversary is coming up but it’s been over a year since you last had sex with anyone, maybe you should try dating again.” She tells me as we sip cocktails in my garden, enjoying the last few days of summer before the miserable weather of autumn sets in. “Andy wouldn’t want you to be alone all the time.”
“I know,” I sigh, my heart (and other parts) longing for the feel of male contact, though every time I think about it I get a strange feeling of hopelessness. “I just can’t help feeling like I’m betraying his memory if I do.”
“Not to be blunt, but you’re doing that letting your heart waste away like this.” She states coldly, the thing is, I know she’s right.
“Don’t Sal, please. I want to meet someone but then... I don’t know. What if I do and I lose them too? I don’t think I could face that.”
“I get what you mean, maybe ease yourself back into it, have a few one night stands or something.”
“I don’t want to become a slut, though. You know how I was brought up to think about that.”
“Girl, you’ve gotta do something. You’re getting through more batteries in a week than most of us get through in three months.” She looks at me sincerely, resting her hand on my knee. “Get yourself some dick before you cause a blackout.”
“Oh God, Sal!” I can’t help but laugh, despite knowing her words are true. “I’ll think about it.”
“You know, I’m getting tempted to find a random guy, tie you up and let him have his wicked way with you.” She jokes, a slight hint of truth in her voice.
“Sally! That’s disgusting!” I exclaim before giggling mischievously.
“And exactly what you need to get back on the horse.”
“Uh uh!” I wiggle my finger. “I draw the line at fucking horses.”
“Now who’s disgusting?!” she bursts out laughing. “I know couple of guys who are up for fun but not looking for anything serious, if you like?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “every time I think about it I just want to stop thinking about it. I know that doesn’t make sense. I feel like I’d be embarrassed if I bumped into them in town afterwards.”
“Leave it too much longer and I’ll set you up on a date, telling them you’re gagging for it up the ass!” she starts to laugh, stopping when she notices the cold stare I’m giving her, knowing that I’ll only let someone I truly love put it in that hole. “Sorry, I crossed a line.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” I state simply, sipping my cocktail.
October’s booze bus trip brings things to a head, although it’s not a birthday one, just something different for Halloween, we still dress up as something or someone to do with spooky things, this time I’m Daphne Blake from Scooby doo. Once again finding a nice hidden spot for a drunken kiss with a guy, I end up stroking his cock and letting him finger me, seriously considering letting him fuck me to another orgasm after his fingers give me my first. Alas, I have to settle for jerking him to completion after we nearly get caught by Roy, who comes to tell me the bus is leaving in ten minutes but doesn’t try to pry into what I’m doing in the shadows. Though that curbs the itch for a while, I finally start to seriously reconsider my rule, my toys becoming less and less effective after each go.
I’m not sure if telling sally about it was the best thing to do or the worst, little did I expect that she would conspire with my closest work friends to create a plan to push me into fully resuming an active sex life, a plan put together over the next two months and executed on a girls only holiday to Amsterdam for my birthday.
“We’ll all have to get STI tests done.” Sally states as she joins the group and I for drinks as we finalise our plans for the trip. “Is anyone up to date?”
“Not since before Andy,” I say calmly, hiding my curiosity. “but he was clean so I should be good.”
In fact, there’s only two in the group who have recent tests so we decide to have them done by the end of the week.
With everything set, we leave the day after Mae’s birthday (I refused to miss it), four days before mine and have a few cheeky drinks before boarding the plane. As the plane takes off Sally raises her arms and says “Amsterdam, here we cooooooooooome!” a little too loudly. I roll my eyes, hiding my laughter with my hand.