When a woman needs a woman – Part 2

The month passed so slowly. Angie found herself seeking opportunities to be by herself, in the bedroom, in the bathroom, in the garden… anywhere where she could anticipate the adventure she was so desperate to have. She wanted to tell someone and be told that she was not a wicked woman, but she couldn’t, not even her best friend Sally. So she kept it to herself, using those moments alone to picture what it would be like, her fingers making her even more aroused as she imagined Clara’s soft touch on her. One day she phoned in sick to work and after she’d done the school run drove to the station and took the train to town. She spent the day browsing clothes and lingerie shops and trying various things on that she thought made her look sexy and desirable. She wanted to do this right. She eventually choose a very expensive delicate silk panties and bra with pretty lace trim and a black silk dress that showed off her breasts and shoulders. She also purchased some strappy heels and, not being used to high heels for a while, had to practice walking in them in secret when she had got them home. Her excitement drew as the assignation came closer. Just 2 days before she took another sick day that saw her in the beauty parlour where she had her legs and bush waxed and her nails done; she was going to do this right! She worried about her husband – would he notice? But the guy was so dozy, he didn’t register her smartened appearance or the barely suppressed excitement in her. She’d told him that she had to stay up in London for a night as her boss had arranged a team building session in a hotel. He accepted this and was happy to look after the f****y – he was good at that so she had no concerns about them. The 23rd May was agony for Angie. She was so ready for this. She hoped she wouldn’t flunk it at the last moment; she hoped Clara would be all she desired and had imagined.

And then she found herself on the train, little bag packed, heart thumping. She couldn’t keep the grin from her face. The journey passed in a whirl. Arrival in London, taxi to the Dorchester Hotel, checking in (she was sure the concierge knew what she was doing… she felt so guilty) and then in the lift clutching the key to Room 342. The room was wonderful, big bed and a luxurious bathroom. She ran herself a bath and relaxed with the bottle of Chardonay she had ordered and the room service had delivered in 5 minutes. She thought of the evening ahead as she stretched out in the warm bubbles, her free hand slipping down to her freshly smooth pussy, now so much more sensitive. Her fingers slipped inside her and she shut her eyes.

She took her time preparing, making sure her make-up, nails and hair were perfect. She looked at herself, naked in the mirror and although she had put on a little fat here and there thought that her body was still OK for 33. She unwrapped the wisps of silk from their tissue and slipped them on, followed by black hold-ups and the silk dress. She climbed into her heels and again twirled in front of the mirror. She had to admit it, she looked good!

It was nearly 7 o’clock the time she’d said she would meet Clara in the hotel cocktail bar. She tidied the room, left some subtle lighting on and ordered that a bottle of champagne should be brought to her room and left on ice. She felt good. The wine had given her a boost. She was ready for the night of her life and so with a final squirt of Must de Cartier and grabbing her handbag, she headed for the lift down the softly lit corridor, her heels sinking into the deep pile of the carpet as she walked, her silk dress slinking against her legs. She pressed the button for the ground floor and took a deep breath.