1. Bacall 1


    Date: 10/3/2017, Categories: Lesbian, Author: monica3, Rating: 12, Source: LushStories

    I popped a bottle of Prosecco and poured a glass, switched on the tv and watched something anodyne without watching it. I was waiting for the call that never came. At least, it never came that evening, unlike me. I came as I had every night since the party, her eyes locked on mine. Thursday It was about 11 and I was standing, dripping in the bathroom, my hair wrapped in a towel as I dried myself off. The bloody phone rang and I wonderd who the hell that would be at that time of night. I made no effort to get to it quickly but managed to before she rang off. ‘I’m sorry. I was just drying myself after a shower.’ ‘I’m sorry too. It’s a hideous time to call.’ That voice! ‘I couldn’t take your call yesterday, I was busy and then it got too late to call you.’ ‘Well, Constance, thanks for getting back to me.’ ‘Fancy a drink tomorrow night, Hilary?’ It is sometimes so hard to keep enthusiasm from my voice but I hoped I managed to make it less than blindingly obvious. Friday I watched heads turn, male and female, as Constance walked imperiously into the bar. The bar at the hotel where the party had been held was sophisticated and expensive, and I had nursed a glass of Merlot for the thirty minutes I had to wait for her. She was wearing a gunmetal grey dress which emphasised the shape of her body. A flunky took the black coat which she proffered with barely a glance at the fawning waiter. I’d selected a black number from my extensive collection of black numbers. It had little straps ...
    and a tight waist and fell loosely to mid calf level. It was my ‘intellectual frock’ as Glenys called it. She came to my table and sat, ordered a bottle of the wine I was drinking and smiled. ‘I won’t keep saying I am sorry to keep you waiting. Please, take it as said. I had a meeting with a group of lawyers, I wonder what the collective noun is for that?’ ‘A grasp, perhaps?’ She smiled at the small, feeble joke and placed her hand on mine. ‘Very probably. Now, tell me all about yourself, Hilary.’ ‘My friends call me Hils.’ ‘I prefer Hilary.’ So, that was that! And I told her. I told her about my job in the advertising agency, writing copy for products most people never needed. I told her about my flat, my break up with Linda and, well, everything. She listened as we talked. It wasn’t a monologue about me. She interspersed my account with snippets about herself and her separation from Stella. It was easy, comfortable and she revealed a sense of humour that reminded me so much of Bacall. Her hand tightened on mine. ‘I’m not her, you know.’ Now of course, I knew that but I could understand that a lot of people might have wanted her to be. I didn’t and said so which made her smile. She leaned close to me and I noticed, without lingering, that her left breast was almost exposed. ‘That’s good, then. You know a lot of people thought Stella and I enjoyed certain perks, working in the hospital?’ I nodded. ‘Well, there is a little truth in it. The reason we split is that Stella fell ...
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