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Cherrie

By: TxRad



Cherrie looked out her back bedroom window. The sound of a string trimmer had drawn her attention away from changing out of her work clothes. Paul, the young maintenance man was out back trimming around the high fence. She loved to watch the play of muscles under his skin when he had his shirt off like he did today. She shivered as her hands went behind her back to release the catch on her bra. 

Her eyes moved down to the back of the tight shorts he wore and then down to his muscular legs. She shivered again as she shrugged the bra straps off her shoulders and the bra fell away. She was standing at the window bare from the waist up. 

Part of her mind screamed for her to move away from the window. Part of her hoped Paul would turn around and see her. She shivered even harder when her hands came up to cover and then caress her bare breasts. Her nipples were rock hard. Her index fingers and thumbs found her nipples and she gave them both a hard squeeze. She moaned softly.

"You don't know what you are missing," she whispered to Paul. Paul didn't hear or see a thing.

With a deep sigh, Cherrie released her nipples and stepped away from the window, her hands on the zipper to her long skirt. The zipper went down and she dropped the skirt on the floor. Now she was standing in the middle of the room completely naked. The only light was from the window.

She sighed and turned toward the window. "If I could, I'd fuck your brains out," she said softly to Paul. Paul didn't hear. He just continued to trim the fence.

Cherrie sighed deeply and turned toward the bathroom and a shower. She had lived in this small apartment since she had moved here six years before. It was the end apartment in a series of four. Her bedroom and bathroom was against the bedroom and bathroom of the next apartment. Her living room and kitchen were to the outside with the high fence a few feet past the end of her kitchen.

Behind the living room and kitchen was a small patio with steps leading down to the yard shared by all four apartments. Being on the end gave her a small amount of privacy. Luckily, there were no children allowed. That kept the noise down considerable. There was the brick wall of a large retail store on the other side of the fence that kept the noise down from that direction.

Cherrie smiled as she bent to adjust the water temperature in the tub. The walls were thin between her apartment and the one next door. The sounds from the other apartment were not bad, just stimulating. The couple that lived there were newly weds, about six months into their marriage.

The moans and groans and the occasional banging of a headboard on the wall fueled some of Cherrie's wildest masturbation sessions. The sounds from their bathroom were intriguing to say the least. Giggling and laughing followed by more moans and groans. Sometimes there were even bumps on that wall. Cherrie's mind tried to fill in pictures from both rooms.

Cherrie stepped into the tub, pulled the curtain, and switched the water. The jets from the nozzle lightly stung her neck and upper chest. She moved back and the spray found her breasts and her nipples. She whimpered softly and wiggled her shoulders back and forth slowly. The jets had her nipples aching in a few minutes and heat rising in her sex.

With a grin, she turned around and picked up her washcloth and soap. The soapy rag on her arms and hands felt sensuous. Running it over and around her breasts and nipples made her shiver and whimper. Her mind went to Paul and his fabulous body as her hand worked the rag down across her belly to the top of her mound.

Her hand paused before it could move lower onto her sex. She was trying to decide if she wanted release now or later when she could watch the real thing as she masturbated. "I could always do both," she whispered aloud.

Saying that brought a smile to her face. She stayed horny almost twenty four seven. She dated very little here in the small town she called home. She had her reputation to consider. Her job depended on how people saw her. Or rather how they didn't see her, she added with a grin as the rag ran slowly down over her smoothly shaven sex. Her clit tingled and she groaned softly.

No panties under a long skirt was as far as she could go at the library. Although thigh high stocks kept her mind on her upper thighs as she sat behind her desk. Her soft rubber butt plug drover her crazy when she got up the nerve to wear it. She groaned again as the rag moved back up to her clit.

"Definitely both," she whispered as the rag started to make circles over her clit. A minute or so later, her hips started to flex slowly and her free hand came up to caress her soapy slick breasts. Her head rolled back as she groaned softly.

"So, so good," she whispered as her mind supplied a vision of Paul in all his glory. She had never seen him nude but.... She groaned louder and then giggled as she wondered if the neighbors could hear her. That thought pushed her orgasm higher.

*****

Cherrie returned to her bedroom wearing a towel around her damp short hair and nothing else. She approached the window and looked for Paul. He was nowhere in sight. With a soft sigh, she turned and walked over to her closet. Her dresses, skirts, and blouses for work were to the right side. Her lounging clothes were in the center and her out of town party clothes were to the left. 

Three separate divisions just like her life. Prim and proper, teasing and flirty, and downright sluty. She sighed and selected a light gray shirtdress. The material was soft and thin, just the right thing for a hot summer day. She smiled and then grinned as she thought how it looked without panties or a bra. Not exactly see through but....

She pulled the towel off her head and dropped it on the floor. She put the dress on over her head and picked up the towel. She carried the towel into the bathroom and dropped it in the hamper. The mirror on the wall next to the hamper caught her eye and she grinned at the image there. 

The v-neckline made her neck look even longer than normal. The soft material clung to her breasts, the small dark circles under her nipples made sexy shadows. The tents from her hard nipples were clearly obvious. The flared skirt came down to mid thigh but showed the outline of her inner thighs. Her sex was a shadowy blur.

Cherrie shivered and turned to walk back into the bedroom. "Maybe I need to move this dress over to the left side," she whispered as she picked up her skirt from the floor. She shook the skirt out and hung it over the chair in the corner with the rest of her dry cleaning.

The sound of a lawnmower starting up in the back made her hurry to the window. A few moments later, Paul came into view pushing the mower along the back fence. She watched him until her reached the corner and made the turn toward her back patio. He was facing toward the back of her house. She backed away from the window quickly.

With a grin that turned into a chuckle at her silliness, she turned and went into the living room. She had the dress on so why move away from the window. She paused at the breakfast counter and shivered as she wondered what Paul would make of the dress.

She sighed and walked around the counter and over to the cabinet in the corner. She didn't even know if Paul was single or not. She opened the cabinet and got down a wine glass. She had said hello to him several times and shook hands with him the first time they met and exchanged names. She sighed as she closed the cabinet and walked over to the fridge.

"He is so yummy and tempting," she whispered as she opened the fridge and got out the half bottle of white wine in the door.

At the counter, she poured her glass half full. She corked the bottle and sipped the wine as she walked over to the glass-paneled door leading to the patio. She could hear the lawnmower off to her right, out of sight behind her bedroom. 

The door had eight glass panes and no curtain. She heard the sound of the mower getting louder as Paul made the return circle along the back fence. She sipped her wine faster as he came into view. His eyes were on the grass in front of the mower. By the time he reached the corner, her glass was empty.

As he made the turn, Cherrie stepped away from the door and returned to the counter to refill her glass. She took a sip and shivered. She was playing a dangerous game with herself. The library board that had control over her job was religious and very image conscious. 

She had her teaching degree and had intended to teach English at the very least. She had applied at several dozen different cities with little in the way interest. The one interview she had had was in a large city north of where she lived now. Her lack of Spanish had killed that.

After the interview, a woman on the local library board had approached her. The librarian here had died and they were looking for a replacement. Tired of living with her parents, Cherrie took the job. Little did she know that she was trading two people looking over shoulder for a dozen.

Cherrie sighed and topped off her wine. The lawnmower was coming back along the fence again. She walked over to the door. She stood in front of it a moment and then reached for the knob. She made a soft groaning sound as she turned it. Her mind was at war over going outside or staying in. 

Her eyes followed Paul all the way to the corner. When he made the turn, she groaned again but didn't move. His eyes were still on the ground as he came toward her patio. At the corner, he raised the front of the mower and sat it down parallel to the patio and started forward. He looked up and then looked at the door in front of her.

Cherrie gasped loudly as he waved at her. Reflexively she waved back. He had a smile on his face as he moved across the back of her patio and went out of sight behind the bedroom. Cherrie groaned long and loud, her hips quivering.

A moment later, she turned and hurried over to the counter. "Oh, shit!" she whispered softly and downed half of her wine. Her mind was having a field day with all the thoughts about Paul, sex, and her job all in one big tangled mess.

Her brain was settling down a little and she moaned softly as the realization that he had seen her sunk in completely. He had been thirty feet away and there was the glass, one part of her mind supplied. But... but... but... another part sputtered. Cherrie groaned again as she refilled her glass.

With a long deep breath, she turned and leaned on the counter, the wine glass held up near her breasts. She shifted her hips and felt the slipperiness in her sex. Her free hand went to her belly and slowly slid down to the top of her mound. It stopped there, her fingers curling, her nails making her shiver as they tickled the smooth hairless skin under the thin material of the skirt.

She glanced at the wine glass and turned quickly to set it on the counter. "That is not helping my head any at all," she whispered as the sound of the lawnmower crossed behind her apartment again. It sounded louder than normal. Her eyes went to the back door. It was standing partially open. She groaned softly as she took a step in that direction.

"No, no, no," she whispered but she took another step.

As she took a third step the lawnmower shut off. She hurried to the door and looked out. Neither Paul nor the lawnmower was in sight. The thought that he might be coming to her door had flashed across her mind. Now she wasn't sure if she was glad that he wasn't or disappointed. 

She opened the door and stepped out onto the patio. She slowly moved toward the steps as her eyes scanned the edge of the bedroom wall. She reached the steps and still hadn't seen the mower or Paul. 

With a sigh, she stepped down to the second step and sat down on the third, leaning back against the edge of the patio. Short stucco walls at an angle were on both sides of the steps severing as handrails. She tried to pull the short skirt down over her knees but it barely reached. She held it there, her knees and feet tightly together.

The top of the short railing wall was about level with the top of her breasts. She glanced down. The way she was pulling the skirt made an angled tent over the front of her body. She leaned forward and looked to the right. She knew there was a tool shed on the other side of the last apartment.

There was nothing or anyone in sight. She sat back and relaxed, letting go of the skirt. The skirt sprang up high above her knees. She shivered and pulled it down. "Maybe he's through for the day," she whispered softly, thinking aloud.

The sun was a little above the back fence and warm-- growing toward hot. It was taking a little time for her body to warm up from being in the air conditioning of her apartment. Cherrie moved her feet outward using her toes and then her heels. Her thighs opened wider and wider. Her hands were on her knees.

When her knees were as wide as her shoulders, she raised her heels as high as she could. She groaned softly as her dress slid down her thighs and the heat of the sun kissed her sex. She glanced down and shivered from the excitement of exposing herself like she was. She bounced on her toes and the dress slid a little farther down.

Cherrie took a deep breath and looked around at the high fences and the back yard. The grass was short and neat except for a five-foot strip down the center. She wondered why Paul hadn't finished that strip. Maybe he had been called away or ran out of gas. The second thought made her nervous. What if he refueled the mower and came back to finish? What would she do?

She bounced one foot and then the other with nervous energy. Her mind was telling her to go back inside but her body wasn't moving. She looked toward the far end apartment with the tool shed hidden behind it. If he were refueling, would he start the mower there or roll it out into the yard first? She groaned softly. The first would give her plenty of warning, the second hardly any at all.

Her feet bounced faster as her mind and body warred with each other. Part of her mind wanted Paul to see her this way and part screamed "Hell No." There was a deep tingling itch in her sex and the inner muscles kept clenching and unclenching. Her hands kept fluttering on her knees. They wanted to move to her breasts and or sex.

The thought of having an orgasm out here in the bright sunshine made her sex tighten up even more. The thought of Paul watching her masturbate to an orgasm out here made her groan and rock back and forth slowly. Would his mouth drop open and his eyes get wide as he saw her. Would he stop to watch or would he grin like mad and continue to push the mower.

Questions on top of questions, she thought and then giggled. If she heard the mower start or saw Paul at the end of the yard, would she stay where she was or run like hell for the kitchen door? That was the question of the century. That was the question that her mind was fighting over.

Cherrie groaned softly, her eyes on the far end of the yard. Her hands were moving up and down the tops of her thighs. From her knees, they would slide down to the cloth of her dress and then move back to her knees. They would squeeze her knees and the make the cycle down and back up. Her feet were still bouncing up and down. Her knees would swing to the side, opening her thighs wider. 

So much nervous energy, she thought and then giggled, so much sexual energy also. Other than masturbating, she hadn't had sex in over three months. She masturbated daily, sometimes two or more times a day. Keeping her hands off her sex was getting harder and harder to control. She moaned softly as her hands moved down the insides of her thighs instead of the tops.

Her fingertips brushed the edges of her plump outer lips and then returned to her knees. She had groaned at the light touch on her pussy and then shivered as the fingers moved away. She lightly raked her nails up and down on her inner thighs several times but kept her fingers away from her sex. Her heels stopped moving up and down and her knees spread wider. 

She looked down and groaned. Her sex was prominently displayed even from where she was looking. From the front and several feet away.... She groaned again even louder. Her short inner lips were peeking out and looked moist and bright pink. Her finger would find her slit and opening sopping wet.

Thoughts of her finger in her slit had her right hand sliding down her thigh. She stopped it at the edge of the dress and whimpered. "No, no, no.... Not now, not yet."

"Now? Yet?" She whispered. Her brain was still sending her mixed signals. She moaned softly as she forced her hand back to her knee.

She was watching the far end of the yard intently as her heels started to move up and down again. She whimpered softly as her hands slid down to the edge of her dress. When they came up and massaged and squeezed her breasts, she moaned loudly. Her eyes slowly closed. They snapped open a moment later. She had to keep an eye out for Paul.

Her hands were motionless on her breasts, just cupping them. Her feet were motionless up on the toes. She leaned back against the edge of the patio and shivered as her hands gave her breasts a squeeze and held the pressure. With a frustrated sounding groan, she forced her hands back to her knees.

The war in her mind was leaning toward masturbating more than anything else at this point. Pleasure was winning out over common sense. She groaned long and loud as her right hand moved slowly down her inner thigh. Her hips twitched and then jerked as her middle finger found her slit. It parted her inner lips and rubbed the glassy slick depths.

Cherrie's hips rolled up, her ass hovering an inch off the concrete of the step. The fingertip moved lower to her sopping wet opening. Her eyes closed with a moan as it slipped inside to the second knuckle easily. Her eyes snapped open as the finger came out. Her legs were shaking as the finger came up and hovered in front of her lips. She sucked it in quickly, her eyes closing with a deep moan.

Sucking on the finger with her flavor all over it made her whimper and moan. Her hips rocked back and forth. She wished she had her toy from her bedside table as she pulled the finger out of her mouth. One part of her mind whispered that the bed in the bedroom was safer and more comfortable. 

Cherrie was listening, as her hand dropped to her lap, two fingers rolling her clit around. She groaned deeply and flexed her hips. The itchy tingle in her clit came and went as her hips applied more or less pressure to her fingers. Her growing orgasm jumped in little steps. Her eyes were closed but at the moment she didn't care.

The fingers moved a little quicker and then slowed for a moment as her free hand came up to cup and caress her breast. The fingertips of that hand were bumping rhythmically across her nipple. She moaned loudly as her hips rose another inch. 

The feelings from her fingers on her clit were growing more intense by the second. The strumming on her nipple was adding fuel to the fire. Thoughts of where she was and the thought that someone might see her carried her orgasm even higher. 

Two things happened at once or more precisely, the lawnmower started causing her orgasm crashed down on her. She was coming like crazy on one level and fighting her body to get up and run for the kitchen door on another. With the pleasure coursing through her body, the latter was next to impossible. The best she could do was to lean forward and fumble with the skirt trying to pull it down.

The lawnmower was getting louder she realized suddenly. Her knees slammed shut and her feet dropped down off her toes. The hand on her breast finally got down to her dress, the one between her thighs didn't want to move. Somehow she got it out and had the dress smoothed out over her thighs by the time her eyes popped open. 


Cherrie



Paul was twenty feet away. He was watching the grass in front of the mower. Cherrie moved her feet forward off the second step, her knees and ankles tightly together. Her feet didn't reach the third step so she crossed her ankles and tried to relax. She was as presentable as she could possible get but that wasn't slowing the beating of her heart or damping the excitement she was feeling.

The mower was even with her when Paul glanced her way. His slow steady pace faulted and then stopped. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open slightly. Cherrie grinned in spite of herself. His hands opened and the mower died suddenly as the safety switch opened. Other than that, he seemed frozen.

"Afternoon, Paul," Cherrie said softly.

This seemed to unfreeze him. "Uh... afternoon to you." He replied as his gaze darted to her breasts and then down to her legs. They returned to her breasts and then to her face. "It is a hot afternoon." His English had a Spanish accent.

"No hotter than normal for this time of year but hot enough to make people sweat," Cherrie said, making conversation.

Paul's look dropped to her breasts and then her legs again. "So I see," he whispered more to himself than to her.

Cherrie had to bit her lower lip to keep from giggling. With the giggle under control, she said, "Sweating is good for a person. It cleans the pores."

Paul's eyes jumped to her face. He opened his mouth and then closed. He seemed to be looking for something to say. Finally he whispered, "Light clothes are good this time of year."

"Yes they are." Cherrie replied and then asked, "Are you married?"

"Uh, no. I had a girlfriend a few years back but she moved to the city. She got a job offer there."

"Why didn't you go with her?"

Paul shook his head. "I'm a country boy. Big cities scare me. They move too fast and there are too many people."

"I came from a medium sized city and there is a lot to be said for small towns. I've enjoyed this one."

"You work at the library?"

Cherrie nodded. "Yes, I do." A shiver ran up and down her spine as he mentioned her job.

"I speak fairly good English but I'm having a problem with the reading," Paul confessed.

"Come by sometime. I have some books that will help you and I could give you a hand if you want," Cherrie said with a smile as she thought of helping herself at the same time.

"Thank you, I would like that."

Paul turned back to the lawnmower and then paused to look back. "I... uh... like that dress."

Cherrie grinned. "I like it also. I wear it all the time when I'm home."

Paul grinned back at her. "I'll keep that in mind." A moment later, he started the mower and pushed it forward, his eyes on the grass. 

Cherrie sat where she was and watched him. He would look her way and smile each time he passed by. Cherrie smiled back at him. Each time he was past her going toward the far end of the yard, she would spread her legs wide and lift the skirt up to her waist. She kept teasing herself with the idea of leaving her legs and skirt that way on his return.

She kept chickening out.

Paul finished the last pass and ended up at the far end of the yard. Cherrie had her legs spread and her skirt up. He shut the mower off and turned it toward the work shed. He paused to wave. Cherrie waved back and stood up. He smiled broadly and started pushing the mower, his eyes still on her. She went up the steps as he moved and ended up on the top step as he went out of sight.

With a whimpering shiver, she crossed to the back door and went inside. She shut the door and then leaned against it. Her legs were shaky and her heart pounded. She took a half step to the side and raised her skirt up to her waist with one hand as her other hand found her clit. She rubbed her clit furiously until she exploded in orgasm.

Her mind had been on the possible future and it had been positively glowing.



Cherries



"Let me guess," the bartender asked, setting the glass of water in front of me. "You're here looking for some company." 

She stared at me expectantly, a slight smile on her glossy-pink lips. I smiled ruefully at her, taking a sip of the icy liquid. "Gee, what gave me away?" I meant it sarcastically, because anyone in the bar could see what I was after, especially another woman. The little black dress gave me away, one of those sparkly knit gowns that clung to every curve, just short enough to make you appreciate a hint of thigh and wonder just how far my legs went up. Or maybe it was the heels, best described as "fuck me" pumps in glossy black patent leather. Combined with the carefully arranged hair and the makeup, I made quite a package for some lucky male to pick up. Problem was, the bar seemed devoid of lucky men, save for a few older men who knew better than to press their luck. 

The bartender shrugged and proceeded to polish some glasses while talking with me. "Well, tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and I assume you're here on business. So your partner isn't here, and you're looking for a little entertainment to pass a holiday that's best not spent alone. Especially here in Las Vegas, the city of sin herself," she laughed. I was amazed, because she really had hit my situation right on the nose. I was here to teach seminars to new real estate recruits, and was miles away from my husband. Not that being home on Valentine's Day would have mattered anyway, because the bastard would probably be wooing his mistress on the side. Our marriage had deteriorated down to one simple fact: I wasn't divorcing him because it would cost me too much hard-earned cash. So he played his field, and I played mine, and we basically put up with each other. 

"Pretty much right," I acknowledged, raising my water glass to her. "How'd you know?" 

"Past experience," she confided. "I was sitting in this very bar about three years ago for the same reason, and the bartender working then asked me the same thing." 

"And did you find what you were looking for?" I asked. She found this very funny, exploding in a sudden peal of laughter that had me raising my eyebrows. "Oh, I found it alright," she grinned. "A nice little lass from the front desk took me home with her that night, and introduced me to a whole better ballgame." I nearly choked on my water at her answer, staring at her with slight shock. This bartender really didn't seem the lesbian stereotype. She wasn't masculine in her features, and she didn't seem like some of the feminist lesbians I'd known in college. 

Her long reddish-blonde hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail, and her makeup was careful and elegant, not much more than a sweep of pink lip-gloss and rose-colored eyeshadow. She wore the standard bartender/waitress garb, a white button dress shirt and black slacks. The most masculine thing on her was her uniform bowtie, which sparkled with rhinestones. "Well," I stammered, a blush rising to my cheeks. She knew her response had caught me off guard, and I struggled to regain my composure. "That's....nice. Do you still see her often?"

"No, we went our separate ways a few months into it. Now the only person I pamper at nights is my cat, Patches." 

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "Wish I could work up the will to do that with my husband." She looked at me for a long moment, and I wondered what she was thinking behind those blue eyes. She moved over to the bar, and began mixing several different liquids together in a frosty glass. Coming back over, she plopped down in front of me. "Don't worry, it's not too strong. On the house." 

"Thanks," I said. It smelled like limes, a heavenly scent, but before I could raise it to my lips she clapped a hand on my wrist. Her grip was warm, firm and strong. "Wait," she smiled. "I forgot the important part." She reached into a mini-refrigerator beneath the bar, and came up with a single whole cherry, scarlet against her white fingers. She twirled the stem between her thumb and forefinger so I could see it, then raised it up to her mouth and pressed her pink lips to the firm skin. 

"For luck," she grinned, plopping it in my drink. "Good luck with your manhunt. It's time for my break." Then she went in the back to fetch another bartender, and I was left alone. The drink was very good, hardly tasting of alcohol. I wondered what she'd put in it. Most of the Las Vegas men must have been elsewhere on that night, for no one even approached me as I drank. Somehow I wasn't quite as concerned with that as I was thirty minutes previously. 

Instead, I kept thinking about the bartender, and the way her pretty pink lips looked pressed against that red fruit. When I had totally drained the cup of liquid, I stared down at that round plump cherry resting on the crushed ice. I picked it up, and raised it to my mouth, biting into the flesh of the scarlet treat. It may have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I tasted the faint hint of bubblegum lip-gloss as I devoured the fruit. 

My nerves were shot for the next day, Valentine's Day. Despite whatever I tried, I couldn't shake the thought of the pretty bartender from my mind. I'd always considered myself a straight woman, but my blood burned every time I recalled that sassy smile and the gentle kiss she'd bestowed on that cherry. Would her lips be that tender on another woman's, or would she play the aggressive, butch type? I thought about the swell of her breasts beneath that white shirt and brought my hands up to cup my own breasts. I was a considerable B-cup, and I wondered as I caressed myself if her chest would feel as soft and round as my own. 

By mid-afternoon, I'd made my decision, and hoped it wouldn't come back to bite me in the ass. I dressed differently, emboldened by my decision to seduce this woman. I wore a black skirt this time, made of loose folds of black silky material, and a red halter that held my braless breasts for best display. On second critical glance, I painted my lips red and added a splash of perfume. 

There was no need for full makeup; my cheeks were already flushed from the excitement and my eyes were made bright by the red top. I fussed with my blonde hair for a moment, then headed down to the bar. As I had hoped, she was working, and the place was crammed with couples out for a drink. Still, she managed to wave me over, clearing a seat for me in the far corner of the bar as she pushed one of the overly-drunk into leaving. "Well, don't you look nice tonight," She smiled. "Find what you were looking for?"

"I hope so," I breathed, staring into her blue, blue eyes. "That is, if you're free after you get off of work." Her face looked surprised for a moment, and she studied me to make sure it wasn't a joke. 

Finally she gently asked, "Are you sure you want that, hon? I don't like to be led on and let down." 

"Why don't you come to my room and find out?" I countered. I scribbled my room number on a napkin, and then pressed my mouth to the paper, leaving her a scarlet promise there to think about. Pushing it across to her, I smiled and saw her eyes grow warm as she returned the grin. I got up and left then, leaving her with much to anticipate, feeling her eyes burning on my back as I headed out of the bar. Back in my room, I spent the next few hours nervously preparing. 

I changed out of my outfit into some exquisite lingerie, intended for seducing my partner of choice. Staring at the bathroom mirror, I wondered if she'd like it. It was black lace and satin, an open-cup teddy that made my pale breasts and nipples really stand out of the open circles. The crotch had a convenient snap that let you access my most intimate regions, and the garters held up matching satiny black thigh-highs. 

I wore my black pumps from the night before, which lifted my buttocks and gave me a sexy, hip-swinging walk. I felt like I was floating on a high I'd never experienced before, and had never felt more feminine than I did at that moment. Around ten, there came a soft knock at my door. I threw a robe over my pretty lingerie and went to answer it. It was she, and she stood in the hallway with a smile pasted from ear to ear, drinking in the black satin robe I wore. She carried a bucket of ice with a bottle of good champagne already chilling inside, and some gold-wrapped package that was as of yet unidentified. 

"I hope you're ready for this," she growled softly, "because you left me so wet while I was working that I had to excuse myself off to the ladies room for a little relief." I took the ice bucket from her, moving to set it on my room's end table as she let herself in the room and locked the door behind her. When I turned around, I found her already standing behind me, and the smile had left her face. She tilted my chin up, being the taller by a few inches, and kissed me. 

Her mouth was so sweet I thought I'd die, exploring my lips like no man had ever done, kissing me with tongue sweeps and teeth and soft lips. Her lipstick tasted like bubblegum, and I felt an arrow of pleasure spear straight to my belly, making my nether regions full and heavy and tingling with anticipation. "Jesus," I swore when we parted for breath. "I've never been kissed like that before." 

"Oh, believe me, there's much more I can't wait to show you," She crooned. "But first, get me out of these work clothes." My hands came up, working the buttons on her blouse with trembling fingers. I noticed for the first time her shiny brass name badge that read "Sabrina" and murmured that name gently, rolling it over my lips. Sabrina chuckled. 

"That's right. What's your name anyways, little flower?" I told her and she purred her approval. My undressing didn't go as fast as she liked, and she swatted my hands away, finishing the job herself. Stepping out of the heels she wore, she made short work of the shirt and the slacks, leaving her standing in a simple white bra and thong. Her breasts were larger than mine, nearly a D-cup on sight estimation, and she wasn't a slender girl, which turned me on greatly. 

I feasted on her as she peeled away the bra, exposing those plump pale mounds with their pink pretty nipples, already hard for my mouth to lavish. Her waist tapered in, flaring out into soft hips and a belly that wasn't rock-hard but soft and slightly pouting. Her thighs were full and muscled, her calves well shaped as she skimmed the thong down over them to pool at her feet. Sabrina bore a thatch of pubic hair the same reddish-gold shade as her hair, and it stood out in contrast to her white skin. My mouth went dry at her perfection, and I reached my palms out to cup her breasts but she stopped me. 

"Robe off," she ordered, and when I dropped it she smiled at my lingerie. "Oooh, I like that," she moaned. 

"I have a surprise for you, my valentine." She moved over and claimed the small gold box she had plunked on the table. "Lie on the bed," Sabrina asked, and as I lay flat on my back, she climbed on with me. I felt strangely vulnerable under her gaze, even though she was the one naked and I was the one clothed. She opened the box, and tossed the top to the hotel room floor. Inside were several dark chocolates. 

Pulling one from the box, Sabrina lifted it to her lips and sunk her teeth into the sweet. She turned the half-exposed chocolate to me, and I saw the inside was hollow, filled with pureed cherries. 

"Chocolate-covered cherries," she smiled, savoring the half bite of the chocolate. "My favorite." Taking the other half in her teeth, she bent her head and offered it to me from her mouth. Eating the treat from her full lips was erotic, the red dripping center flowing over our lips and tongues as we half-kissed, half-nibbled it down. When the flavor was gone from our mouths, she selected another, breaking it open with her fingers. 

"You are my new favorite cherry," Sabrina murmured, and I felt with surprise her hands rubbing the sticky center over my exposed nipples and breasts. When she bent her head to eat it from my flesh, I couldn't hold back my sighs of approval. Her mouth was warm, heated as her flesh was, sucking and licking the food from my body until I was writhing under her mouth, swearing to gods I never believed in. I buried my fingers in her long hair, freeing it from her trademark ponytail to flow around her pale shoulders. The silky strands spread over the black teddy as she suckled my breasts, using three chocolates to tease and torment me until I was begging her to move lower, pushing at the top of her head. I was a waterfall between my thighs, my nether lips swollen and waiting for her kisses and caresses. 

If Sabrina didn't taste me soon, I'd die from the sweet sting of her skillful foreplay. She obliged my requests and begs, chuckling as she pulled the snaps of my teddy open. I was on fire, my breasts exposed and now my pussy, the exposure of my tender flesh wrenching a cry from my throat. Sabrina blew lightly on the dampness that clung to my pink slit, and I bucked my hips under the sensation. I needed her mouth on me, working me towards that little death that my loins craved more than anything else. 

Instead, she ran a playful finger over the wet sticky evidence of my need and brought it to her lips, looking me in the eyes as she sucked it clean. A shudder ran through my body. "Sabrina, please," I begged. "Give it to me." 

"The last cherry," she said instead, ignoring my pleas, pulling it free from the box. Holding it up for me to see, she popped it her mouth for a moment to soften the chocolate. Then to my great surprise, she pulled it out again, and smiled. "You want this?" 

"I want you..."

"You'll have me," she promised, and without warning, she brought the chocolate down to my sex. She ran it in circles over my hardened clit, teasing that little red marble into a panic frenzy, until I was raising my hips off the bed and nearly screaming with frustration. Sabrina snapped the coating open, and I felt the oozing center running down the outer lips of my sex and over the folds. "Oh my GOD!" I moaned, as she pushed the crumbled chocolate into my warm wet depths with two fingers. "Yummy," she announced, and bent her head. 

I felt the tickle of her hair on my thighs, but it was nothing compared to the first moment I felt her tongue on my pussy, licking away the combination of cherries and my own personal lubrication. I think I was calling her name, humping her face out of control while she cleaned me of her chocolate plaything. She spread me open with two fingers, and I felt her mouth and tongue pulling the chocolate bits from my hot slit. "Sabrina," I whimpered, and then I felt the coil burning, urging me into the tempest of my orgasm. She felt my clit harden to bursting, knew I was going to explode from her eating me, and brought me to the edge by flicking her tongue in rapid and quick strokes over the wet button. 

Before I could find my personal release, she stopped, and moved up to kiss me, letting me lick my own scent and taste from her mouth and chin. "Are you ready, little baby?" She crooned, and when I moaned she reached down and lightly pinched that little hooded bud. Feasting on my mouth as I fucked her hand, Sabrina swallowed my screams as I writhed under her, my pussy spasming again and again like a hungry mouth swallowing my pleasure. It was the hardest orgasm I'd ever felt, and it left me covered in a sheen of sweat. I was still pulsing with the aftershocks when I turned the tables, rising up and pushing her back to the rumpled covers. She was pliant, letting me explore her body with my virgin mouth, cupping her full breasts for my tongue to tease and groaning when I found the points she liked best. 

"Do it," she whispered. "Lick me." And for the first time, I tasted another woman, delving my nose and mouth against that salty-sweet sex. I ate her with abandon, trying my best to copy the skillful strokes she had done to me, reveling in the feel of her hips rising to press tighter against my sucking mouth. She had a big pussy, engulfing most of my fingers as I plunged them in and out, sucking on her clit like a vacuum. Sabrina was beautiful when she came, her fingers fisting into the covers helplessly, every muscle in her legs and abdomen quivering with the shock of the orgasm that racked her beautiful body. 

She flooded my face with her pleasure, the juices coating my face, and I felt my body reacting without being touched, felt a second orgasm screaming through my loins with all the force of a subway train hitting a wall. We drank the champagne and explored much that night, until falling asleep exhausted in each other's arms, soft woman pressed against soft woman. I'd never been that contented, dozing against the hot weight of her breasts, waking up to claim her one last time before I relinquished her to the job she had to return to.

My husband doesn't know, but since then I've made preparations to leave him. I don't care about the money anymore. All I know is next Valentine's Day, I know where I want to be: at Sabrina's home, bearing a bottle of champagne and the chocolates she loves. After all, a cherry can be a girl's best friend.



Cherries and Cream



I've had some interesting occupational adventures at various jobs I've held in my lifetime, but so far nothing has topped the little episode that I am about to relate. 

It happened a couple of summers ago. I was just twenty, and I was still at art school. I was working in some crappy little ice cream shop to put myself through college, and needless to say I hated it. All day I contended with crying kids, smarmy teenagers and exhausted parents. By the end of every shift, my wrists were so stiff from scooping out ice cream for hours that I could hardly feel them. I used to go home and put them straight into a bowl of hot water and soak them in front of the evening news. The lady who ran it was okay, but she seemed a bit freaked out by my lip and tongue piercings. She used to click her tongue and say, "I just don't get it. Why would anyone want to do that to their face?" I could have said "Because it makes oral sex amazing!" But somehow I don't think that would have gone down real well...

Usually hot weather is good for business, but that particular Sunday it was stupid hot. I am talking off-the-thermometer kind of weather. It was so hot that when I got to my car later that day some mix tapes I had on the backseat had actually melted. I kid you not. The point I am making is, it was so freaking shit-crazy-assed hot that people were staying put. No one in town was stupid enough to leave the air-conditioned comfort of their own houses and risk heat stroke. Business was dead and I was dead bored. There are only so many times I could sweep the floors and scrub the milkshake machine before I began to feel like my actions were kind of redundant. What I'm trying to say is, conditions were just crying out for some misbehavin'.

I like to think I'm usually a fairly good employee. I'm an honest person. I'm polite, I don't lie or steal and I'm a hard worker. On that day, however, I had just had enough. I needed some sort of relief from the absolute monotony of it all. I was sick of standing in the middle of the room counting the flies that had come into the shop for refuge from the heat. I was busy flipping through the pages of one of those glossy gay mags when I decided it wouldn't hurt if I closed up shop for just a few minutes and had a little "me time". You know what I'm talking about. I don't have to spell it out for you, do I?

Looking both ways to make sure there was absolutely no one in sight, I flipped the "OPEN" sign backwards and locked the glass door. I don't usually do this kind of thing, and it was exciting being so bad. I have to admit that it was a bit of a turn on, knowing how much trouble I would be in if I got caught by the boss.

A peculiar thing I remember about that shop was that there was a big glass mirror on the wall behind the counter, which I guess the owner had installed because she thought that it gave the illusion of more space. Whatever. It was a pain in the ass to get clean and all of the staff hated it. Even the cupboards behind the counter going down to the floor were covered in mirror glass, so that if you leaned forward too far when you were scooping up ice cream customers could look up your skirt. Did I mention our uniforms? The girls all had to wear these short tight white dresses. I could have sworn the boss had some sort of obsession with nurses.

Okay, so I finally had ten minutes to myself. The first thing I did was hide behind the counter so people on the street couldn't see what I was doing. I was fairly worked up from the boy I had been staring at in the gay mag. I have a total fetish for boys in glasses, and here he was wearing nothing but tight black briefs and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. His lips were like bite-sized chunks of watermelon. He was tastier than a double scoop of mint chocolate chip with a cherry on top. I spread out the page with the photo in front of me and splayed my legs to either side.

I couldn't believe how wet I was when my fingers wandered down inside my panties. I had soaked completely through my cotton undies. I could actually smell myself getting excited. It didn't take very many strokes of my clit before I started to moan. I could see myself in the mirrored cupboard and that turned me on even more. I undid a couple of buttons of my uniform and slipped one of my hands into my bra to play with one of my nipple rings. A few twinges of that thing and I'm practically out of control. 

I was really beginning to enjoy myself when I had a kinky idea. You see, I've always been a fan of maraschino cherries. Being that the opportunity was there, I thought that I might as well incorporate one of my favourite foods with one of my favourite extra-curricular activities. Quickly peeking over the top of the counter, I grabbed a small handful of the little red candy fruit and popped them into a dish. I crouched back down and slid my underwear down my hips. Throwing my panties aside, I finally had full access to my gloriously naked pussy and I spread my legs wide to have a look at my waxed lips.

I was having fun with the whole thing, like I was watching myself in a movie. I took a long stemmed cherry and started moving it up and down the lips of my cunt. The cold wet fruit felt strange on my sensitive labia, but it felt good too and pretty soon I popped it inside my hole. It made a little sucking sound when I pulled it out again and it was covered in salty wetness. I popped it in my mouth and was surprised to find how good it tasted with the improvement of my own personal flavouring. I love to taste my own juices, and as the flavors spread over my tongue, I felt a nice warm tension growing in my belly. I slipped my fingers into my slick red slit and I not long afterwards I could hear myself making noise.

Now, I suppose I have a tendency to get a bit carried away when I'm pleasuring myself, because I seem to get tunnel vision when an orgasm is about to hit. I'm fairly vocal as well, and sometimes I guess I don't realize just how loud I am. On that hot afternoon, I was moaning and shaking so much I didn't even hear the back door to the shop open. Just as a certain person was checking the roster out the back, I was beginning to scream with excitement.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, someone came running into the shop from the back room and I gasped. A male voice called out my name. Totally shocked, I inhaled the cherry I was eating. Before I knew it, I was choking and the person was behind me with their arms around my front. A couple of quick jabs to the chest, and the cherry came spluttering out. Gasping for air and red in the face I turned to find Tommy, the Sunday casual, kneeling down and staring at me with concern.

"Are you ok?" The pale-faced boy was asking. His thick spectacles were slightly askew, and he was breathing very hard. He was averting his eyes and I suddenly realized that he was blushing at my half-naked state. I had completely forgotten that he was rostered to work today. I quickly got up on my knees and pulled down my skirt. How was I going to explain this away? Goddamn it. The boy was such a goody two-shoes. He might tell the boss; and then I realized that there was no way he was going to tell the boss. The tent in his pants was a telltale sign.

I was at this moment very aware of the fine creamy texture of his skin, the perfect fleshy curve of his lips and the beautiful quivering of his thick black lashes. I had a very strong desire to touch him, as I never had before. He had always seemed like such a goody-two-shoes. I think he was actually in the school band. I considered him untouchable; but here he was, with an erection on my account. My heart jumped in my chest, not just from the adrenaline from the near-death experience, but from a new found arousal. On the other hand, I was still fairly humiliated.

I sat back against the ice cream cooler, not looking at him. I crossed my arms and stared straight down. "Thank you." I said quietly.

"It's okay." He offered humbly. "I heard you yelling, and then I... You were choking... I took a first aid course last semester. I guess it was a good thing, huh?" He was slightly turned away from me, I believe in the vain hope that I hadn't noticed his (rather impressive) swelling.

I took a deep breath. "Look, I know you're not stupid. I'm sure you can figure out what I was doing when you came in. I don't really know what to say. I was ... being ... bad."

To my surprise, he laughed. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'd do it myself if I had the guts! This job can get pretty fucking monotonous." He was still a bit red in the face but when I looked at him, he was smiling. I couldn't believe he was taking it so lightly! Maybe I had misjudged his character. I believe that I had never heard him use a curse word before. Suddenly, we were both laughing. It was such a spontaneous moment; before I knew it, I leaned forward and kissed him. I surprised him, but he didn't exactly resist. However, I could tell he was an amateur. He didn't seem to know what to do with his tongue at first, but he was a quick learner. His mouth tasted of almonds, like sweet poison.

I pushed him back against the cold tile floor and straddled him, still sucking on his sweet lips. He began to tremble as I slipped his tee shirt up over his smooth stomach. I ran my fingertips down the enticing line of his happy trail and began to unbuckle his pants. I could feel his hard cock through his jeans. 

He tried to speak when I came up for air. "Wow. This is really... I didn't expect..." Of course, he was incapable of rational speech at a time like this, poor thing. I could tell he was scared, but excited. I leaned and whispered in his ear, "Boy, are you a virgin?" He didn't answer, so I did for him. "I'll take that as a yes."

He was trying to talk again. "I'm sorry if I don't know what I'm doing... I've never..."

"Don't worry." I reassured him. "I know what I'm doing. Just follow along, and you'll be fine." He appeared grateful. I found his innocence completely enticing.

I coaxed him out of his shirt and pulled down his jeans. He was wearing Marvin the Martian boxers, and I laughed. "Did your mom buy you these?" I asked as I yanked them off. "Oh god." He said, "Do you have to bring up my mother at a time like this?" 

I would have teased him further, but I was too busy staring at the most beautiful proof of male hood I had ever seen. I couldn't believe that this wondrous instrument had never before been put to good use. His lovely organ was smooth and pale, slightly curving upward. I could see a small tear of seminal fluid gathered on the glans, and couldn't resist licking it off. He let out a small sigh as my tongue found contact. I would have liked to drink his salty semen, but I wanted to fuck him so badly that I didn't want to waste this moment, so I only glanced my tongue over his flesh. 

I was still in my nurse's uniform, and I liked the feeling of power it gave me to be fully clothed with this helpless naked boy underneath me. I inched forward on my knees until my sweltering slit was poised above his crotch. I leaned forward slightly, and our aching genitals met. I pushed down and engulfed him in one smooth stroke.

I loved to look at the face of this ingenuous young man as I rode him skillfully. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and started to moan. I leaned forward and bit his left nipple. This seemed to excite him more, and I felt his cock twitch slightly within me. I unhooked my bra, letting my breasts free from the front of my uniform and I placed his hands on my well-rounded flesh. He seemed surprised to find my nipple rings, but he began to play with them in fascination. I told him to lick my nipples, and he sat up and sweetly began to suck on my metal-adorned areoles. 

I began to go a bit crazy with his tongue at my breast. The twinges of pain and pleasure sent an electrical signal straight down to my sex. I felt a climax rising within me and I began to cry out much louder than I had before on my own. He started to fuck me harder and faster as the muscles of my cunt contracted in pleasure. I could actually feel the spasms of thick sperm pumping out of his cock as he came seconds after me. We collapsed on the cold floor then, out of breath and covered in sweat and jism.

"So," I queried, "Are you hungry? I think there's some ice cream around here somewhere, if you want any."

We didn't open up shop again that day.



Cherries/Cream for Lindsey



She was home alone for the day, her husband had taken the kids to visit family and she wanted a day to herself so she begged off and let them all go without her. It was hot, in fact Lindsey thought it was too hot. The window was open but the curtains hung lifeless not even the merest hint of a breeze to disturb them. The flimsy cotton sun dress clung to her body, her skin sticky with fine beads of perspiration. She had gathered her hair into a pony tail to try to get more air to her neck and shoulders yet stray strands still had become loose and they now also stuck to her face. Rocking onto the back legs of the chair she contemplated taking another cooling shower. Less than 2 hours earlier she had luxuriated in the cool water, enjoying the smooth contrast of lukewarm water with the heat of the day. While in the shower she had taken the opportunity to trim her pubic hair. She hoped it would help reduce the stickiness she felt in the hot weather. She had been considering shaving it all off but changed her mind at the last minute leaving her chestnut triangle as it was. Sitting here now she wondered what had stopped her, it wasn't as if anyone else would care. 

That thought brought her and the chair back to earth. She got up out of the chair. From there Lindsey crossed the bedroom to the full length mirror and examined the image before her, she nodded as if to confirm what she already knew. Almost without thinking she lifted the hem of the sun dress and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of the white cotton panties. She eased them down over her thighs then let them fall to the floor. Stepping out of them with one foot she used the other with a practiced flick to send them to the laundry basket in the corner of the room. Lifting the hem of her dress again she admired herself, enjoying the freedom between her legs from lack of underwear. Relaxing down into the chair, she rocked back and put her feet on the bed. A whisper of movement ran through the curtains as a slight breeze entered the room, she found herself easing her legs apart to catch any benefit she could, the sun dress riding up her long thighs. Her eyes closed as she allowed her head to drop backwards, extending her neck and letting the very tip of her hair to brush the carpeted floor. 

"Hello, anybody in?" The voice sounded like it was just outside the window. Her knees slammed together, eyes flew open and she rocked forward, her teeth clattering as the front legs of the chair hit the floor. Her vivid blue eyes scanned the window for signs of movement. How much had the interloper seen? She rose to her feet and pushed her head through the curtains, curious as to the owner of the voice. Outside, about 4 feet from her window, was a tall, dark haired woman casually dressed in shorts and T-shirt and carrying a large bowl. 

"Hi, I just moved in next door a couple of days ago." She had seen the moving van earlier on in the week and had speculated on who her new neighbors were. 

"Hi" she said "Welcome to the neighborhood. Can I help you at all?" 

Her new neighbor grinned impishly, "sort of, I've just been shopping at the produce market and I bought more of these than I needed" She lifted the bowl a bit out to indicate the contents of the bowl "and wondered if you could use them." 

Lindsey leaned further out of the window as she tilted the bowl toward her, she could feel the heavy swell of her breasts falling against the cotton of her dress and she started to straighten and go back inside. 

A puzzled look came over the woman's face "Don't tell me...you don't like fresh cherries?" 

"Of course I do" she said "why don't you go to the side door and I'll let you in." As she moved through the room she glanced sidelong at her reflection and smiled, confident her secret state of undress was not evident. 

Through the frosted glass of the door she could see her waiting when she made it there so she opened the door and hesitantly welcomed her new neighbor. As she entered she looked at her, doing a mental assessment. Tall, thick build, the exposed arms muscular yet soft, pleasant smile, her shorts giving one a nice view of long legs, blue/green eyes, between 35 to 40. She silently read the logo on the back of her T-shirt "...you know you want some." it read, laughing she motioned for her new neighbor to turn around so she could read the front of her shirt. The front had a logo on the left shoulder "Buffalo Wings & Rings..." 

Remembering what the back of the shirt said and sensing Lindsey's next question, she said "It was an old college hang out" she explained, blushing a slight pink in her cheeks. 

Smiling warmly she said, "Welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Lindsey. Why have you got so many cherries?" 

"Well they were on sale and I over estimated at the market. I love fresh cherries, but didn't want them to go to waste before we could eat them all. Nice to meet you Lindsey, I'm Dawn."

Quizzically she raised an eyebrow, "We?"

"Yes, my husband, my son and my daughter and myself"

While she was talking, Lindsey turned to a wall cupboard to reach for a bowl, as she stretched up her sun dress rose up showing off the curves of her bottom. Ooops, she thought, will she say anything? As she turned holding the bowl, the woman appeared not to have noticed and was now leaning on the edge of the kitchen table. 

"I don't think they'll all fit in there" she said. 

"It's okay, we can eat the others now" Lindsey said selecting a large, ripe, deep red cherry and pressing it through her lips into her mouth. She delicately snapped off the stalk and tossed it onto the table, the cherry in her mouth popped giving up it's juice for her, using her tongue she stripped the soft flesh from the stone then spat the hard center into her hand. Looking up, she found her new neighbor watching her with the strangest look on her face, pleasurable almost serene.

"Mmmm, I love cherries" Lindsey grinned. Helping herself to a handful of fruit, Dawn watched Lindsey head off to the freezer and return with a tub of ice-cream. Holding out a hand Lindsey offered her a spoon. Dawn plunged the spoon into the tub, scooping out a generous measure looked around for a bowl, but Lindsey took the spoon and held it to her neighbor's lips. Caught off guard and not really knowing how to react she opened her mouth wide and felt the spoon slide onto her tongue, she closed her lips as Lindsey pulled the spoon back slowly from her closed lips, keeping the rapidly melting ice-cream on her tongue. Popping two more cherries into her mouth, Lindsey helped herself to a spoon of ice cream. The two women looked at each other, mmming and aaahing as the cool ice cream melted in their mouths. Lindsey scooped more ice cream onto the spoon and held it out for her. As Lindsey leaned forward with her mouth opened, the ice-cream slipped from the spoon landing silently at the top of her own cleavage. She inhaled quickly as the freezing cold cream hit her chest. Almost immediately it started to melt and slide down between her breasts. Before she could move Dawn reached up to the front of her sun dress and scooped the errant treat up with the side of her index finger, hand cupped to catch it and licked the ice cream from her palm and fingers. 

"Well...since you didn't want it" Dawn laughed sheepishly. Lindsey looked down the front of her sun dress, a thin pale line of melted cream making its way slowly across one breast, she lifted her head, to see Dawn looking directly into her eyes, a spoon of ice cream held poised in her hand. As Dawn's eyes met Lindsey's she searched for any hint of disapproval or retribution. Watching Lindsey's full lips turn upward in a sensual smile she tipped the spoon, this time the cold lump hit inside the front of Lindsey's dress halfway down her left breast. This time Dawn's fingertips pulled the front of Lindsey's dress forward and dipping her head, slowly licked upwards lapping the ice cream into her mouth as she went. Lindsey could feel her nipples hardening with the combination of the cold ice cream and the soft touch of this strange woman's lips. Dawn's head dipped again and Lindsey could feel the tip of her tongue tracing the line of the milky rivulet, then her lips capturing her left nipple and suckling it. A small shiver ran through her like a mild electric shock, she couldn't believe she was letting someone else, especially a woman she'd met 10 minutes earlier, do what she was doing. And she couldn't believe that she didn't want her to stop either. 

Moaning softly, her hands moved to the top of Dawn's head, her long fingers running through the thick brown hair, pressing her face into her flesh, she could feel her lips and teeth on her, tenderly kissing then nipping at the ivory skin. On the outside of her thighs she could sense Dawn's hands moving upward taking the material of her dress up to the curve of her hips. As she moved closer a hand slipped in between Lindsey's legs, the sensation against her newly trimmed mound was different, much softer, but not unpleasant, involuntarily her legs parted slightly and she felt her lips being parted as this woman explored her sex. The hand exploring her was nothing like any man that had touched her before...even her husband's. Parting her outer lips Dawn found her moisture and played there while listening to Lindsey's breathing change...waiting for some sign of disapproval, but getting none, so she continued finding that special place and gently massaging it round and round with her finger tip. Lindsey's mind was telling her ‘no' but the woman's finger was making her body say ‘yes'. She had never had someone touch her so knowingly. Dawn's fingers stopped and Lindsey felt her nether lips being parted as two cherries were pressed into her sex. 

"Don't ‘pop' them" she breathed as her hands continued to lift the sun dress up and over her head. Standing there naked in her own kitchen Lindsey suddenly felt very exposed, however her visitor took all these thoughts from her as she deposited a large handful of ice-cream between her breasts and started to spread it over each nipple. Recoiling with shock, Lindsey laughed "You're wicked ...damn that's cold" and taking a handful of the cold ice cream she lifted Dawn's T-shirt and rubbed it into each breast, stopping to enjoy the feeling of her now erect nipples under Lindsey's fingers. Dawn's sharp intake of breath at the coldness made Lindsey laugh. Grinning, Dawn gripped the hem of her T and lifted it off, "tit for tat, is it?."

Lindsey laughed slowly rubbing the cream over her hard nipples. "Yes, something like that." Lowering her lips to Dawn's skin Lindsey was very conscious at being aroused in taking her turn to taste the delicious merging of the sweet melting ice-cream and soft female breast. Never had she felt this feeling or even thought about doing such a thing. Sucking Dawn's nipple into her mouth she couldn't stop herself and again, really didn't want to. All the time her tongue played over her new neighbor's breasts she was acutely aware of the cherries gripped inside her sex. Teasingly, Dawn took a small gob of ice cream and traced carefully between Lindsey's shoulder blades. Lindsey nipped her nipples with her teeth as she felt the coldness start to liquify and run down her spine. As it melted she could feel the creamy white stream cross each vertebrae on its downward path, the small downy hairs in the small of her back stood on end as the ice cream finally disappeared between the curves of her cheeks. Temporarily distracted by this new sensation she felt the cherries being pulled from her excited sex by their stalks. Looking up Lindsey saw Dawn holding both stalks, the cherries dangling, glistening with her juice. Dawn tilted her to face upward taking cherries between her lips savoring the contrasting tastes, the sweet taste of the fruit and the deep musk flavor of Lindsey. Without thinking Lindsey said, "don't bite into them just yet". Dawn looked at her quizzically. Lindsey surprised herself when the words came out of her mouth,"Let me taste them too." Moving closer she pressed her breasts against Dawn's and her lips and tongue met the woman's standing before her...this woman she had just met...soft tongues, cherry juice and Lindsey's flavor passed numerous times between their hungry mouths. 

Lindsey's hands traveled over Dawn's body and found the top of her shorts, tugging gently at the drawstring and rubbing her sex through the heavy cotton. With a sigh of frustration she pulled the shorts out and moved her hands inside, her fingers touching another woman's nether lips for the first time. Finding her moisture, her fingers explored this newness, this tremendously sensual heat... reaching over to the bowl of cherries she took a few and began pressing them into Dawn as she had so gently done to her earlier. "I've never done anything like this before" she whispered against Dawn's lips, sharing the final piece of ‘Lindsey covered cherry' with her. Placing a hand squarely in her chest, Lindsey pushed her backwards until Dawn's legs touched the table. Gently she pressed her backward onto the table, keeping one hand on her stomach keeping her from sitting up, Lindsey spread open her new friend's legs with the other hand, slowly rubbing along the folds of her wetness, spreading the outer folds open to see the very tip of a cherry stem inside her. 

Lindsey's chest jumped at the sight. Never in her life had she even thought of something like this and to have it arouse her this much caught her by surprise. Taking her one hand from Dawn's stomach but still holding her lips open with the other... she slowly pulled the first cherry from Dawn's sex. 

Teasingly she reached up and traced the woman's lips with the juice covered fruit. When Dawn opened her mouth to accept the cherry, Lindsey quickly pulled it away, "uh, uh, the first taste is all mine" she said, her eyes never leaving Dawn's as she took it between her own teeth, pulling gently to break the stem off, savoring the taste of Dawn's flavor in her mouth, her first taste ever of another woman. Reaching inside the woman again she pulled a second cherry from her sex, hearing Dawn's moan as her muscles released it to Lindsey's probing fingers. Dipping her fingers into the ice cream she held a gob to Dawn's lips. Opening her mouth Dawn sucked the ice cream into her mouth licking Lindsey's fingers clean then opening her mouth again for the ‘Dawn covered cherry' Lindsey placed on her lips. She held it between her teeth as Lindsey pulled the stem. 

Leaning over her, Lindsey's lips met her's in a deep exchange of cherries, ice cream and sex. Lindsey's fingers still playing the length of her slit. She explored deeper with her fingers, pulling the final cherry from Dawn's heat. 

Reveling in the newness of the pleasure she was giving and receiving, Lindsey's eyes twinkled evilly as an idea popped into her head. Reaching over she took the spoon and scooped an oversized spoonful of ice cream up and smiling down at Dawn, her legs still spread open wide, slipped the overfull spoon of ice cream deep inside of Dawn. 

Gasping at the sudden cold shock sensation inside her, "and you called me wicked?" she said gasped, feeling the cream melt inside her. Taking the cherry she had just pulled from Dawn, Lindsey took off the stem and pressed it into her, careful not to press it too far in...feeling Dawn's heat and the coldness of the ice cream and loving the sensation, enjoying being bad with this woman. 

"I guess it's my turn to clean up the mess, huh?" Lindsey said as she looked down at the cherry just inside Dawn, the melted ice cream flowing out of her sex around it and onto the table. It was the most delicious sight and without giving it a second thought she bent down and licked the length of Dawn's sex, stopping to suck the cherry from her with her tongue. Dawn watched, fixated on what Lindsey was doing to her, Lindsey's tongue getting every last drop of melted ice cream as she rolled the cherry over tender parts of Dawn with her tongue. The scent and taste of what was taking place was overpowering, Lindsey closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, turning it to a sigh of contentment as she breathed out. Rolling the cherry upward, she pressed it onto the engorged nub there, hearing Dawn's moan, she knew she was doing it right. Sucking the cherry into her mouth, she placed tiny kisses over Dawn's now clean nether lips and sex. 

Leaning back she looked into Dawn's eyes, sparkling as they gazed back at her, a soft smile turned up the corners of her mouth as Dawn leaned forward and licked the ice cream from the end of her nose, "You missed a bit" she whispered, her voice as soft as the breeze that was now blowing through the curtains. 

She smiled as she got off the table and reached for Lindsey's previously discarded sun dress and as Lindsey ate that last cherry. Dawn walked around behind her and put the dress over Lindsey's head, pulling it down as Lindsey put her arms in the sleeves... as she did so though, Dawn licked the small stream of long forgotten melted ice cream down Lindsey's back. 

Gently pressing her forward Lindsey was forced to bend over the table as Dawn cleaned the trail of cream that had found its way to the base of her spine and in between her cheeks. Lindsey could only lean forward, hands flat on the table and enjoy the sensation of what was happening behind her, knowing she should stop her but not wanting to. What was happening right now was something she had never felt before, something totally new to her.

Sensing her discomfort in this position, Dawn spread Lindsey's cheeks open and licked deeply, cleaning the last of the ice cream from between them, then stopped. "Don't think I missed any"she said as Lindsey turned to face her, her face a bit flushed from blushing. 

"Believe me, you didn't miss a spot" Lindsey laughed trying not to meet her eyes.

Still sensing her discomfort over the apparent newness of this, Dawn put her hand gently under Lindsey's chin so the she would have to look her in the eyes. "Lindsey, it's very nice to meet you. I'm sure our families will get along wonderfully together. Please know, this goes no further than you and I, here and now. This just felt so right and so natural, but I will understand if it never happens again. Just please don't hold it against me, okay?"

Lindsey nodded slowly, not certain of what to say or do. She knew she had never experienced anything like today, but wasn't sure where to go from here. 

"We'll just say you ‘welcomed' me wonderfully to the neighborhood. And hopefully soon we can get our families together for a BBQ or to grill... come over and let me know if you like that idea." Dawn said as she put her T-shirt and shorts back on. She picked up her bowl, started for the door. As she walked out of the door, Lindsey saw the slogan again "...you know you want some." 

She smiled to herself and thought, ‘never thought I would but yes, yes, I do'



Cherrington Triumphs



CHAPTER 1

Angela Cherrington left the party disgusted after she'd gone into the family room and saw a guy with a beer bottle hanging from his bared butt and two middle-aged nude women on the floor going at it, head to tail. She left seeking a bed at her girlfriend's home, annoyed her parents continued to have revolting parties.

The only child's parents wouldn't be aware she'd gone. Her mom would be tied up and hanging upside down from the ceiling of the gym and having pegs applied to her nipples and pussy while her dad would be dressed in his rabbit suit going around and having women screaming in laughter when introducing himself as Fuck Bunny.

It was amazing that her parents survived in their jobs, her father being a property services manager for a multi-branch bank and her mother being a student adviser at a large high school.

Next morning after her parents had gone to work, Angela returned to her home situation in a village in East Anglia, England, packed her bags and left by cab to the railway station, leaving a note that she'd gone to live with Aunt Mae, her mom's youngest sister who lived south in Kent.

The eighteen-year old had written: 'Don't worry about me in deciding to seek my own way in life. I'll be fine and I'm not sorry I decided not to go to college to have my mind filled with intellectual rubbish and my body perverted by my tutors and fellow students. Keep happy. Angela.'

Aunt Mae, wife of a small-town vicar, welcomed Angela warmly and said, "Yes dear you are welcome to stay with us so long as you attend church on Sunday mornings."

"Fine Aunt Mae."

"Um how will be find money to live on until you get a job?"

"I'll guess I'll have to resort to prostitution."

"Oh darling no and please don't jest like that with me. I'll draw fifty pounds a week from the church's family relief fund for you."

"Could you make that sixty pounds? Facial and hair grooming costs have gone through the roof."

"Have they? I only buy lipstick, but very well then. Tell me, what have your parents been up to?"

"Oh you know, a bit of this and a bit of that like most parents do."

"Well yes, just like the dull routines that your Uncle Reg and I have to deal with."

"Well you did tell me once some of the old guys you visit as part of the church's Outreach program sometimes grope you."

"Yes when I'm cleaning their mouth of dribble. They are senile darling and are only attempting to hang on to me to get me to take them away. Can you recall your second birthday?"

"No, I wouldn't have a clue."

"Well that's how those old men are like about sex. They can't remember if they ever did it, let alone when they last did it."

"You are funny Aunt Mae."

"My dear, you are a little vixen drawing me out to comment like that."                        And that's how one of the nation's top film presenters moved to begin her illustrious career.

After fifteen fruitless job interviews ranging from assisting on a vegetable stall at the Street Markets to being trained to become a security guard, Angela's momentum faltered.

"I can't get a job. I'll have to fall back on to prostitution."

"No darling. No way."

"Would it make it any easier for you if I only took on female clients?"

"Good god, please do something for this child."

"With Him the poor are last in line."

Aunt Mae looked quite shocked.

"Goodness I really don't know if you're right dear. I'd never thought of it like that but He can't be everywhere at the same time. Leave it to me. I'll seek ministerial intervention from your uncle."

Mae appealed to her husband, "You have to help the poor child Reg. Her going into prostitution would bring shame on us and to others of her extended family."

"Um how much does she propose charging?"

"Reginal Pike!"

"Oh sorry. Look I'm dealing with Charlie Birtwistle at the moment who has confessed to seducing his sister last week. As a newspaper editor the fool shouldn't go around confessing a wickedness of that gravity."

"Well how is that going to help?"

"Leave it to me. I hope to perform wonders in my own way."

Rev Pike said to the editor, "Well Charlie I'm reluctant to ask for you to be dropped from the church council as punishment for your wickedness. I've been thinking redemption might be a sufficient alternative to punishment because it will be no easy task."

"Let me try Reg. I need to be on the church council to reinforce my public profile as a community do-gooder. If I did that would it wipe the slate clean for me?"

"I should think so but can't speak for Him high above."

"You mean the chairman of the council?"

"Oh much higher than that Charlie, Reg said stretching his finger high above his head.

Charlie bowed his head reverently.

The HR manager went into another office and called the editor.

"Charlie is this a joke? That female you sent me to sign on is not a woman, she's barely eighteen, and understandably at that age has no college degree and after examining her school record I have to say she would have a struggle to gain admission to any college."

"You have your instruction Claire. Have her signed on as a first year cadet and then taken to the chief reporter who's already been briefed."

* * *

Angela had already officially changed her name via her aunt's solicitor and had her driver's license reissued under her new name of Cherrington Vixen. She's recalled Aunt Mae calling her a vixen and that name appealed as her new surname. Cherrington as a first name sounded rather classy to her.

Cherrington had studied the news and entertainment media at high school but hadn't paid attention, doing her fingernails instead. All she knew was reporters reported.

On her first day in Editorial, she was sent on an assignment with a senior reporter to observe.

They came back from that assignment and chief reporter, Stanley Guinness, eyed those two huddled in front of a computer screen noting that new kid was at the keyboard. He sniffed, flicked his moustache on both sides and strode down to investigate.

"Elizabeth, why aren't you writing the story?"

"Because Mr Guinness it's Cherrington's story. She conducted the interview of the retiring dog pound keeper because she told me she's worked at a dog catcher once. She asked good questions, appeared to have a good grip on what was required   and so I thought she should write up her interview."

"Firstly Elizabeth, call the girl by her first name. We don't want your public school airs contaminating this office."

"But Cherrington is her first name sir."

"Rubbish."

"Yes it is Stanley. Check your records. I signed on as Cherrington Vixen. I agree it's an assumed name but it's also my officially registered name."

"Why are you calling me Stanley?"

"Because..."

"Stop right there young lady. It is newspaper tradition for reporters to address their chief reporter formerly."

"May I ask a question sir?"

Stanley twiddled his moustache and said certainly.

"How do you think traditions are broken?"

"Far be it for me to discuss breaking down 500 years of newspaper tradition. Carry on girls. The noose is around your neck Elizabeth. If I dump this story I'll pull the noose tight."

"Yes sir."

Cherrington whispered, "Ignore him Elizabeth. He's all smoke and puff."

Stanley, already some distance off, heard that comment and grinned. He knew it was happening; after seventeen years of being chief reporter, a new recruit worthy in character to become his hand-crafted protégé, had entered his domain. Pity about her prat of a name.

Elizabeth filed the story under her name because the kid hadn't been given computer access yet.

Stanley couldn't fault the story. Well Elizabeth would have coached the kid on points of style. The questions put by the kid must have been good for her to draw out Alec Brimlow like this. Jesus a Bulldog got through his defenses fifteen years ago and crushed one of Alec's testicles. Stanley knew Alec well and often had a pint with him at the rugby club but had never known his beer-drinking pal had lost a nut to the surgeon's knife. Well probably it was not something for a man to man conversation. Hmmm that little bit would have to be referred to the editor.

He looked up and the girls were watching him. He gave his version of a grin and watched as Elizabeth almost fell off her chair. Jesus that really was funny and then froze as the kid blew him a kiss.

Christ that was extreme insubordination. Stanley knew he should bawl her out. But the 48-year old felt his nuts tighten. He slumped back in his chair devastated to learn his body was sexually interested in the kid because she was only eighteen, a couple of years younger than his youngest child.

The editor thought the bit about the tragic end to the man's testicle had been tastefully written and in its particular context revealed one of the workplace perils of being a pound keeper for roaming or misbehaving dogs and therefore it should be published.

Next morning Mae shook Cherrington awake and boggled when her niece sat up. Cherrington was nude and her aunt looked at breasts she would have dearly loved to have possessed at eighteen when discovering the real reason why boys played with their cocks.

"Darling I awoke you to share our excitement. You story on your first day at work is on the front page and a tiny head and shoulders shot of you is at the top with your by-line. The story is great but darling I do think when I see your new name in print, Cherrington Vixen does sound rather pompous."

"Oh, it was meant to be an unforgettable name."

"Um, oh perhaps it will be. Your uncle is so proud of you and wonders if one day you might attempt to modernize the Bible with a re-write."

"Nah the devout are dying off uncomfortably fast as it is without upsetting them to drive them away in droves."

"That is a very astute comment for one so young. Um could you ask that next time the newspaper publishes just a little bit more of you than just head and shoulders?"

"Oooh do you like my breasts Aunt Mae?"

Mae fled from the room.

During the next twenty weeks, as ordered by the editor, Cherrington underwent an hour's intense tuition each working day. Stanley took the majority of those sessions but the heads of other departments and subsections of the newspaper also tutored her.

Five week after the completion of that, under special permission Cherrington was permitted to sit East Anglia's regional examination for students taking the Newspaper Journalists Preliminary Training Course to gain the NJPTC diploma. She was the youngest by nine weeks of the 29 students to sit the exams and finished as one of the five top students to get an honors pass mark. Actual marks were not disclosed.

"How did it go?" Stanley asked, confident she would have made the grade.

Cherrington, head own, handed him the envelope. 

"Come on sweetie, you can never be shy," he grinned.

"It's my version of modesty."

He laughed and pulled out the certificate and cried, "Jesus."

Roland the chief sub turned around in his chair and came over and took a look.

"An honors pass? Jesus Cherrington, well done. Well you have taken to your work like a dog taking to a bone."

"Like a dog with only one nut?"

The guys laughed and others in the newsroom came over to find out what was going on.

The successful student was congratulated and then Cherrington said, "I deserve this result because I got stuck in and I pay tribute to everyone who tutored me. I particularly thank Elizabeth Bellows and my guiding light Stanley."

There was a nervous silence.

Stanley?

But Stanley simply laughed and said well said Cherrington and everyone clapped.

Cherrington hugged Elizabeth and then one of the sub-editors called, "Kiss your chief reporter."

Cherrington didn't hesitate. She went straight in and kissed Stanley on the mouth, clasping him in a big hug.

People cheered and editor Charlie Birtwistle came in to the newsroom and asked, "Don't we have a paper to put out?"

Cherrington released Stanley and he handed the certificate to Charlie who beamed.

"Right Cherrington, you have been displaying a high level of talent. You are hereby appointed Grade 2 reporter, clearing four grades in one jump."

He grinned and said something no one understood.

"Now I feel I'm in the clear, it's redemption day."

Only Charlie and his Vicar would know what that referred to.              

When everyone went back to their work, Stanley put the certificate back into its envelope and handed it to Cherrington. It was almost 4:30 and he invited her to join him for a drink at the pub not far from the office.

Cherrington chose apple cider and Stanley carried that and his pint of ale to a table.

"I just wanted to say how proud I am of you and to say my professional interest will continue. I'll now push you into more challenging work to groom you to move on to a larger newspaper."

"Thanks Stanley, much appreciated. Now how may I reward you?"

Stanley eyed her breasts.

"Really Stanley. Do these attract you?"

"Only because it's you. But your age..."

He stopped and Cherrington said softly she wasn't a virgin.

Stanley sipped his beer and putting down the big glass remained silent.

"You are thinking of your family, your wife in particular?"

He sighed and nodded.

"Then let's just make it a titty fuck?"

Stanley licked his top lip.

"Then let's wait for the opportunity," the temptress said. She knew she could have settled for buying him a present.

"Or should I buy you a present instead?"

"My choice is your first suggestion," Stanley said thickly.

The opportunity came three weeks later when Stanley attended a high school to speak to an English Literature class about newspaper journalism. He took Cherrington with him to present her contribution as a school leaver only six months earlier.

As Stanley was driving back to the office, Cherrington said, "Divert to a safe place where we can do it."

"It's not even midday yet?"

"Oh can you only get hard after dark?"

"Um I've had second thoughts."

"Liar."

"I don't know where there's a safe place."

"Look Stanley, let's do this just the once and then it's behind us but we'll feel good about it."

Stanley headed for the Old Quarry Road and on a flat stretch drove off the unsealed road until the car was hidden from the road by high scrub.

"Good boy. I feel safe. Let's get our clothes off to avoid semen splashes."

"I'm not going all the way."

"That's understood."

Stanley worked out of his clothes and became half-erect but when he saw her stiff nipples his fat cock sprang to full erection.

"Gosh," he said. "You are the first women I've been with no hair around it."

"Do you think it's ugly?"

"Cripes no way baby."

"Then lick it and when you've got me off we can lube between my tits."

He hesitated.

"In for a penny is the same as being in for a pound Stanley. It's being naughty but in my view adultery has to be full insertion."

Stanley was happy to say if she believed that, so did he. 

He worked her pussy until his fingers were sloshing around and Cherrington climaxed.

They then watched the purple head of his dick sliding between the breasts she held lightly and she took each thrust into her mouth until Stanley cried, "Get your face away, I'm about to shoot."

"It's fine, keep on thrusting," Cherrington said, and took the ejaculations into her mouth. She didn't swallow and when she lifted up she turned and spat out of the passenger side window.

"Cripes did you see how much I ejaculated," Stanley said excitedly.

"Yes Stanley, you're the man."

"Um about your pussy?"

"Okay but that's real adultery. Is that what you want?"

Stanley swallowed and tentatively patted over her soaking vulva.

"Let's get cleaned up and dressed Stanley."

"Gee I've never had anyone take my wad into her mouth," he said happily and they used the tissues from the glove box.

Five months later Stanley went to the editor with a proposal.

"Cherrington wishes to write a weekly half page interview for the back page of the first section of Saturday's edition."

"Why?"

"Because she wishes to."

Charlie said Stanley had to do better than that.

"Okay she wishes to raise her head above the pack and gave me examples of six other newspapers that have back page major interviews."

"That's better. Are you fucking her?"

"Christ Charlie, don't be insane. She's just a kid."

"Okay then she can do it. I'm aware you believe she has real potential and has become your protégé. But I've heard no reports you have been having it off with her."

"Charlie I resent that inference. I'm really angry..."

"My apologies. I believe you pal. You must accept I must keep an eye on things."

"Yeah and I do and accept your apology. Actually I'm not aware if anyone is having it off with her."

"What about Elizabeth?"

"What those two?"

"Nah forget I mentioned that as a possibility."

That very night, when Elizabeth's husband was enjoying his weekly Boys' Night Out, Elizabeth pushed the strap-on into Cherrington anally, "Do you ever worry that other people might wonder if we are into this?"

"Who would, apart from your husband?"

"Yeah I guess you are right. He's the only one who knows just how much we are together socially. Actually I often wonder if he would join us for a threesome."

"I suggest you don't ask," Cherrington said. "It would spoil what we treasure." 

Cherrington chose the city's mayor for her first interview. Many people turning to that page probably thought what a bad choice. Everyone appeared to know Harry Lush, a huge personality in the city. There would be nothing to read that was new about Harry. 

Even Stanley and others on the newspaper shared that belief but were amazed about what they read. Old Harry's mother had been logged as the first female to have climbed three major peaks in Nepal and made two unsuccessful attempts on Everest. She'd qualified as a pilot and rose to the rank of senior co-pilot on a feeder airline. And Harry qualified as a pilot but his license lapsed when he joined the Army and was posted overseas on Peace-keeping duties. When demobbed he married a pretty French barmaid but that lasted only six weeks when she told him she was returning to her real husband in France. 

Harry recalled he'd been knocked unconscious playing social soccer when he challenged for the ball in the air for a header and crashed into the goalpost. He awoke and said to the nurse hovering over him, "Oh hello darling, that was enjoyable sex." 

Nurse Brenda Starr said, "We haven't reach that stage Mr Lush, I've only just come on duty minutes ago and this is the first time I've met you." They married ten months later and went on to become the parents of three children after two children were stillborn.

Harry was quoted as saying, "Brenda and I have kept that stuff to ourselves until now. Not even our kids know I was married before and the full truth about how I met their mother. You girl have a real knack of squeezing information out of Old Harry."

Charlie received almost fifty letters, phone calls and emails from readers urging him to make the Saturday interview a regular feature and most asked that Cherrington Vixen conduct them. The following Saturday interview was of Sammy Henderson, who'd recently retired as sexton at Wilton Anglican Church after fifty years' working association with the church.

When the interview came through electronically, the chief sub referred it to the chief reporters and said, "We had a big interview with this guy on the day he retired and it was also on TV."

"Roland if you don't know our rising star journalist by now, you never will. Has she ever disappointed you?"

"Well no."

"I haven't read the submission yet but I suggest you just do with it. Have faith Roland."




Cherrington Triumphs



Roland read the in-depth interview with Sammy Henderson and the material was 90% new.

New was the fact that Sammy's father had been the grave-digger at the churchyard before Sammy succeeded him. That was in the days before the arrival of small mechanical diggers. Sammy recalled when he was eleven, the oldest of eight children, his mother began crying one night, saying their father must had decided to run away to sea to leave his family responsibilities behind him because he'd failed to come home for his dinner.

Two hours later Sammy and oldest sister went out with a lamp and searched the church and grounds. They found their father asleep at the bottom of a collapsed grave, with his arms pinned under his back by the cave-in. He awoke and said, "It's about time someone came to find me. Has your mother saved my dinner?"

New was the fact that Sammy had wanted to become a village policeman but he was unable to qualify before he was so short and the fact he had a record of petty crimes as long as his arm, none of which landed him before the court. They included peering into windows to watch women dressing/undressing, stealing meat for his family, raiding orchards for the family and multiple occasions for being caught riding his bicycle drunk. According to Sammy, Senior-Sergeant thought all those penalties rated no more than a kick in the arse. "And the bastard delivered those kicks wearing his boots."

New was the fact that two of his sisters went through university on the scholarships they'd won and his younger brother was Richard Henderson, who'd retired as one of Great Britain's leading steeplechase riders.

New was over the years he'd found three people who'd committed suicide on the grounds of the church and thirty years ago he'd been detained for questioning when a gold chalice had been stolen from the church but he was released when an elderly woman marched into the police station with the missing treasure and said her mentally retarded son had decided to take it home to drink his Milo from it.

And so the new disclosures continued.

Before too long Cherrington became recognized as the top newspaper journalist in the region and had some awards to show for that.

After three years with the Eastern Post she finally accepted another attempt to lure her to the Morning Sentinel, a six-day newspaper with a circulation in excess of 43,000, three times the circulation of the Post.

Cherrington had a great farewell and before leaving gave Stanley a laptop computer to replace the dinosaur desktop computer she'd seen in his home office when there for a party and she gave Charlie a bottle of premium Scotch.

On the night before moving on, Cherrington produced a stunning necklace for Aunt Mae and a Sony Handycam for her uncle, both being thrilled with the gifts.

* * *

The HR manager at the Sentinel had arranged boarding accommodation for Cherrington.

Emma Wright, a widow, was a charming person and she greeted the 21-year old warming and within days they were acting like mother (almost grandmother) and daughter.

Emma's family dropped in to check out the young woman with a funny name and the feedback they gave their mother and aunt was warm and generous. Cherrington had developed the ability to interface with people that could only be described as brilliant. She projected friendliness, charm and openness and had a refined gift of actually listening to people fully, rather than just bits of what people say. And her memory and ability for instant recall was most impressive.

"You won't last long here," John said. She'd been placed beside John, a senior reporter, and he added, "I've seen your work. You will be spotted by someone in London."

"God, spare me."

He laughed. "God Cherrington if I weren't married..."

"Well you can screw me if I decide in time I really like you but you'll bear the guilt about adultery, not me."

"Um then perhaps I shouldn't. I've always been true to Stella in our eight years of marriage."

"Then keep it that way you oaf."

They laughed and knew an accord had been established. 

After two weeks initiation conduced largely by John, Cherrington was moved into features and given assignments. She liked that because although general reporters worked mainly from 2:00 to 10:00, she would work from 8:30 to 4:30 with a paid half-hour lunch break. Sally Owens, features editor, told the newcomer she also had the Saturday interview to do and the deadline was next day at 4:00.                                                     

"Who is up for the interview?"

The cold bitch said, "Find someone."

As soon as she was clear of assignments early afternoon, Cherrington went to the city council chambers and asked to see the mayor.

"Make an appointment. You won't be able to see Mayor Shields this week because he's in Austria on a Sister City visit."

Cherrington started on the walk back to the office and watched a street photographer at work, hustling passersby albeit gently. Cherrington went into a nearby coffee shop and minutes later the female photographer came in and as she began looking for an empty table Cherrington waved her over.

They began talking and the woman agreed to be interviewed and Cherrington called the office and asked for a photographer and gave the address.

That evening her landlady's youngest son and his wife Pamela and Pamela's brother came to dinner and Alfie, the brother, took an immediate shine to her.

She went to the kitchen to assist Emma serve and Emma said, "Young Alfie can't keep his eyes off you."

"So I noticed."

"Well Cherrington, don't play it so cool that you end up missing out."

"Pardon me?"

"Dear don't make me spell it out. At the first opportunity invite him to stay and when the others leave and take him to your room."

"Are you sure you won't mind?"

"No of course not. And for ears only I would like you to know I'm not past it. My gardener and I occasionally have an afternoon rest together."

"Mr Thompson?"

"Yes dear and don't be surprised. He's not passed it either."

When topping up Alfie's red wine, Cherrington whispered, "It's okay if you wish to stay on and talk to me in my room."

He almost leered and asked was that okay with Mrs Wright.

Cherrington winked and he grinned, confirming he had the assurance.

When his sister and brother rose to leave, Alfie said casually he'd stay on and talk to Cherrington.

Emma smiled at them and escorted the couple to the front door.

Cherrington took Alfie's hand and led him to her room and locked the door.

"I've been rock hard ever since you whispered to me," he said. "It was Pamela's idea for me to come for dinner. She called Mrs Wright who thought it was a great suggested because you scarcely knew anyone in this city. Pamela thought you being a journalist would likely to be promiscuous."

"Did she now?"

"Don't worry what Pamela thinks; feel this."

"Oooh, hard as. Get it out for me pal, Emma said, squatting and touching herself.

She almost wet herself when she saw how big it was.

"Oh god."

"Relax, it's not overly thick and I won't use any more than your comfortable with. Now suck."

"Yes sir."

Later she bent over the bed, thinking that would create more distance for connection and she was correct. Alfie was able to slap his sweating groin against her sweating butt as she bucked back at him and the penetration was comfortable for her. She was glad she'd told him to roll on a condom because he'd forgotten to do that.

He began panting and slowing and so she squeezed down on him.

"Fuck," he groaned.

Well yeah, that's what they were doing.

"Can I (pant) pull out (pant) and squirt over (pant) your back?"

"Sure," she said, thinking he was free to squirt anywhere but up her.

He pulled out. She arched her back to give him a clear target. But most of it missed her back, the first squirt flying over her head to almost dump on her keyboard of her laptop that was open. The next two shots went mostly into her hair.

Fuck, well she had noticed he had big balls.

"Well?" he asked, expecting to be praised no doubt, as he rested while she cleaned the carpet and the back of her chair at the computer.

"I'm happy for you to leave. Once is enough for me tonight."

"Once for me too, you almost sucked and then squeezed me dry. I meant was I any good."

"Oh the best I've ever had," she yawned.

He was satisfied and left, saying he'd give her a call. But he never did. 

On Monday everyone arrived at the office to find a scathing bawl-out from the chief reporter when they booted their computers.

'How the hell is that that our youngest mid-grade journalist can waltz in here coming from the sticks and pick up our best local stories in weeks about a woman who works on the street with a camera within fifty yards of the front door of our building. Christ get off your backsides and look for local color, all of you, particularly in your own rounds (allocated areas of responsibility). Stories are sitting there, waiting to be found and written. If you don't know what this rave is about, read the back page of Saturday's front section of our newspaper. I wasn't here on Thursday when it was filed and I was still away when the page proofs came through for final reading. I read it over breakfast Saturday morning and was delighted, almost levitating, knowing we have at least one journalist in our midst who knows why she's here and what she has to do to earn her pay. Congratulations Cherrington.'

Cherrington, white-faced, rushed over to features editor Sally Owens and said, "Mrs Owens, I require to get out of the office right now. If I stay here I'll be spat upon, possibly lynched."

"I think I know what you are on about darling, I've just read our heroic editor's message to us all. Please call me Sally from now on. You just sit at your desk and take the accolades and ignore those who eye you coldly."

"Accolades, I don't believe you understand my situation."

"I do darling. I knew when I put your story through to the chief-sub it would impress him and others including the editor and the executive editor and all reporters who deserve to call themselves journalists. You are among professionals Cherrington, people who will recognize your budding greatness."

"My what?"

"Yes and that proves those who have it are among the last to recognize it."

"What?"

"Dear Cherrington. That Saturday feature of yours turned a busy street photographer that none of us gives more than a frowning glance into an immensely interesting personality."

"God Cherrington, I've walked past Iona McDonald for I think eleven years and have not known her name or anything about her and yet we daily share the same street. I was amazed that the old white-haired guy who worked that patch for years before took his place was her father, a celebrated World War 11 young photographer whom we all thought had retired in the seventies or eighties and perhaps died. I was astonished to read four days after he became ill and died, only hours after the funeral his unmarried daughter Iona McDonald, who had sold her photo-processing business days earlier, took to the street to carry on the McDonald tradition. And then I remembered years ago I'd seen Iona as a young girl with a camera working beside Leo, her father. My god what a story and how well you drew out some of her experiences of working the street. Oh I make her sound like a prostitute. A great story Cherrington, brilliant in fact and you found it yourself."

As Sally had predicted, reporters and sub-editors and photographers as they signed on that day and read the chief reporter's rant, came into the room to offer congratulations, some kissing her.

Cherrington felt so humbled at being recognized by mostly her senior peers. Sally had given her a couple of rewrites to do while that was happening. At 3:00 she went to the airport with a reporter and photographer who covered the arrival home for a brief visit of a celebrity cook Desmond Brie who was based in Paris. 

Cherrington attended the press conference and as it was about to end she slipped out and caught Desmond as he was walking with his mother to her car. Desmond talked as they walked and stood for another two minutes answering Cherrington's questions into her digital recorder and then as he placed his mother in the car before walking around to get into the driver's side of the vehicle, Cherrington opened the door and got a couple of questions answered from his mother before she thanked them both and closed the door as the chef started the vehicle.

Back in the office Cherrington pulled up everything in the newspaper's archives about Desmond and then trawled the web for articles about him, especially interviews by journalists in different countries. She found a file photo of Desmond receiving an International culinary award presented by the French President that Cherrington's newspaper apparently was unaware he'd received. She got Sally to use her company card to make the payment to allow Cherrington to download the digital copy of the photograph with the right to publish it once. 

Next day she thought the reporter who had a half column long story of Desmond's news conference published under a photograph must have been amazed to see a box inserted within his story pointed to a feature on Desmond on page three of the Features pages in Second B. There he would have found a full page presentation including two pictures covering Desmond's early life, his career, his international cooking awards and some quotes apparently made yesterday and two quotes from his mother who hadn't said a word at the news conference.

Guy Brandon came storming into Features and glaring at Cherrington charged, "You made those quotes up, you unethical B. You weren't there at the end of the news conference and you came running to the car after it ended, making us wait almost ten minutes for you."

Sally called across the room, "Play it to him Cherrington and then tell him to apologize or else to go and bury his head." 

Cherrington pressed the start button on her recorder. She spoke hurriedly and the reply was unmistakably the voice of the visiting chef who said she had four minutes to speak to him provided she walked with them at the car. Then Cherrington addressed his mother, asking two questions and Mrs Brie replied.

Guy had slumped on to the visitor's chair. When Cherrington switched off the recording he said, "Miss Vixen, I owe you a huge apology. I'm sorry and to think I almost called you an unethical bitch, although I guess I did while not finishing the word after the letter 'b'. Brilliant work again and I'll lick your shoes if you wish."

"No your apology is sufficient Guy. I suggest you think before you bark in future. You may kiss me."

"And may I date you?"

"Yes I suppose so providing you don't verbally abuse me."

They laughed and looked across at Sally who was smiling, shaking her head. 

And so the reputation within that newspaper of Cherrington Vixen being a consummate journalist grew as the word spread about how she exhibited that edge through being fully focused and being prepared to go that extra mile. 

Thirty-year old Guy Brandon proved to be a great companion for Cherrington. He was looking for a woman to marry and Cherrington said well not her. They screwed for the first time on the second date, three times in fact. They'd gone back to Guy's flat he shared with two guys who were away on a boozy few days in France. She stayed the night.

Guy had a dick more to her liking and away from the pressure of newspaper work, he wasn't at all bombastic.

He was surprised when doing it for the first time, Cherrington steered it in for him.

"I've not struck that before."

"Does that mean you are not casting widely enough to catch the more enterprising women?"

"What?"

She just smiled and said she was waiting for him to start humping.

He impressed her by his fitness and his tenderness.

"Do you have a regular girlfriend?"

"Not at the moment," he puffed. "I was going steady until three months ago but then at a party she finished up with one of my friends, now an ex friend."

"Oh good, then may I have you for a while?"

"You mean to go steady?"

"Yes."

"But with you looks and fire-power you can do much better than me."

"That's debatable. Well do you want me as your steady?"

"Hell yeah," Guy shouted, and his eyes rolled up and he filled the end of the condom.

Guy had described Cherrington to his mother but she appeared to be more concerned about Cherrington having a name like that. She suggested he bring this girl to visit the farm.

Guy and crossed England for a three-day weekend to visit in the West Country. It meant driving southwest skirting London and going to near Frome, in Somerset. Guy said they would arrive at the farm late morning.

"They won't like me because I'm not a farmer's daughter."

"Yeah you're probably right Cherry (as he often called her). But knowing you I'll expect you to worm your way out of that difficulty. Please don't tell her this is a temporary romance otherwise I will be lectured all weekend on how I'm wasting my time being with you."

"You might make a mistake and impregnate me."

"Oh god aren't you on the pill?"

"Is that a proper question to ask a lady?"

That left Guy floundering until he saw the grin.

"Yes I'm on the pill," she admitted. "It's just that you are easy to tease. So we are supposed to be having a romance are we? Where are the chocolates, flowers and very tender sweet nothings from you when we are smooching?"

"Um I guess I can try talking sweet nothings."

"Guy do that and I'll squeeze your balls, hard."

"Oh was that more teasing?"

An hour after stopping for tea and scones, Guy said, "We are twenty miles from our destination. My parents farm moo-moos."

"Oh what are they?"

"Cows," he laughed triumphantly and she smiled and said at last she'd fallen for one of his attempted teases.

His weathered-faced mother, wearing a smock top over jeans that appeared two sizes too big for her came running out and grabbed Guy and said, "Oh my darling boy, my darling boy," and engulfed him in her huge bosom. Cherrington enjoyed witnessing that.

"Mom this is..."

"Omigod, you found her at a fashion show."

"She's a features journalist on the newspaper where I work mum."

"Oh I'm sorry Miss Vixen. I'm sure one or two females in journalism look great like you but you should see the ones we have around here."

"I think the real test is can they interview and write well Mrs Brandon. Please call me Cherrington. May I ask what should I call you?"

"Bert will insist you call him Bert so please call me Nellie."

"I've never been on a farm since two school visits and I have no intention of marrying your son and we would like to sleep together while we are here. Now that I've got that off my chest, should I go?"

"Do whatever you wish Cherrington. We are straight-talking people in the West Country and I appreciate you telling me all of that. I now know exactly where I am with you. You can't be that beautiful and not be charming. You are just like a film star with that long auburn hair with ringlets, your green eyes and beautifully contoured body and I do want you to stay. Your interest me intensely and it will be a change from looking at cows."

"Moo-moos."

"What was that?"

"Oh that was just a repeat of your son's pathetic joke. He told me you farm moo-moos and I asked what they were."

"Guy I'll clip your ear if you mislead Cherrington like that. Come with me Cherrington and Guy you bring in the bags. You are in your old room and Cherrington is in the guest room. Cherrington I'm not changing my decision where to place you. It's up to you to sleep where you wish."

"West Country mothers are straight talkers Guy," Cherrington called, and Nellie bellowed in laughter.




Cherrington Triumphs



The big tractor rumbled up to the house and Nellie said, "This will be Bert arriving for his lunch. His big interests are eating and the weather oh and production per cow, er per moo-moo."

"What about sex?"

"What's that?"

"God you two are carrying on like schoolgirls," Guy said and the women laughed.

Bert came in, tossed his hat on the bench by the telephone and looked at Cherrington.

He gaped and said, "Jesus."

"Actually I'm Cherrington," she said, sending mother and son into laughter. "I'm told you'll want me to call you Bert."

"You may call me anything you wish but don't call me late for breakfast," he smiled. "Hasn't my son done well?"

"I wouldn't know but on our newspaper your son is regarded as a very competent reporter while the women like me are just there to look good."

"Dad that's a lie..." but Cherrington's frown stopped Guy.

"I know. Those other wenches attempting to act like reporters can't all be as good-looking as Cherrington," said Bert.

She changed the subject by asking, "Tell me about the moo-moos."

"What the heck are they?"

"Cows," chorused the other three and laughed wildly.

"You sure are making an impact by being in this house Cherrington. Welcome to Thistle Farm. Originally it grew more thistles than grass but those days are well gone."

On the slower drive home because of the Monday bank holiday traffic congestion, Guy said, "Gosh me parents really loved having you visit. I've taken girls home before, quite a few over the years, but they have never reacted to any of them like they did to you this weekend. It was full on for them."

"They must be getting desperate to see you marry."

"No it's because of the way you project warmth and vitality."

"Oh come on Guy, you can get sex from me without buttering me up like this."

"It's true Cherrington. There's something magic about you."

"God now you are embarrassing me. Please talk about something else."



CHAPTER 2

When Guy dumped her... well he finally left Cherrington looking rather upset. But they had understood from the outset of their relationship that she had no intention of marrying at this stage in her life but that he, being thirty, had the desire to marry and settle down.

Their farewell was unspectacular. They went to dinner and slowly became drunk and then left, going their separate ways after a departing kiss that lacked enthusiasm, signaling they were done with each other. Well during the evening they had agreed they'd only come together for the sex. Guy was now thirty-three and she twenty-four.

That severance jogged Cherrington a little and made her grumpy for a couple of days as she thought about where she was in her career and where should she be.

She realized her career in news journalism had stalled and perhaps this was as far as she would go. There had been no headhunter arrive to recruit her on behalf of a metro London newspaper. In fact no job offers had come her way and after three years she had worked at the same desk in Features going absolutely nowhere although had picked up a media award each year.

Cherrington looked across at Sally who was to retire in a year to so who was working mechanically. Would she succeed Sally as Features editor with a staff of four and fall into the way of working mechanically?

She sighed and said aloud, "I have allowed my career to stall."

She thought about that on and off all day and during dinner, when Emma had left the table to fetch dessert, Cherrington decided it was time to move. Either that or she faced the reality of career stagnation. At this stage she was little more than a digit. 

"Emma I'm thinking of moving on."

"Ah I thought you would now that Guy has dumped you."

Cherrington winced. Well perhaps she should concede that point.

"What will you do darling, return to the vicarage and hope your old newspaper will re-employ you?"

"God no, that would be sliding backwards."

"Oh you are thinking of going to London where the streets are paved in gold."

"I hope to be more sensible than that Emma. I'll have a job before I move. You know it's been so wonderful living with you."

Emma came around the corner of the table and hugged Cherrington and patted her with motherly affection. 

"Oh darling you are missing Guy terribly aren't you. You poor darling; I know what it's like to miss a loved one."

No way was Cherrington pining for Guy. He was gone and that was it, although they still worked in the same building and on the same floor. Her thoughts were totally on the realization her career had stalled.

Rather than watch TV with Emma that night, Cherrington began a job search on the Internet and next morning brought copies of the big London dailies (newspapers) to search for job vacancies, particularly the higher echelon jobs advertised by recruitment agencies. She accepted it would take some time to relocate and that she would face frustrations but at least she was in a job and being paid while the search went on.

Five weeks and a dozen interviews later, mostly conducted by phone but two were by Internet link-ups via Skype. Then came a surprising switch, "We want to come down and interview you in your accustomed environment."

Cherrington said to the company executive, Miss Aitken, "That's unnecessary, I can come to you."

"No we want to see how you are when relaxed. It's what we are about."

No it wasn't a porn-filming outfit. It was an independent TV program-making company that offered its output to BBC-TV and other TV networks internationally that screened programs about life in the UK and programs about its leading-edge inventors, scientists, educators and so on. 

The company was called Moving Eye Independent Film Studios and the person being sought was a script editor. Cherrington had sent off her application and CV along with examples of her award and details of achievements such as awards. Then the recruitment agency asked an assortment of six more photos of her and a film clip if she could manage that.

The newspaper's chief photographer refused money but said he'd photograph Cherrington in different environment and film her in return for a couple of dates.

"You mean sex?"

Harry grinned and said she was much too bright by far.

"But you're married."

"So? That's why I limited it to two dates. Go for more and I increase the risk of being caught out exponentially."

"What?"

"It doesn't matter. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes. And it will be the nearest I've been to prostitution."

He laughed and said she would be rewarded by his demonstration of skills in all directions.                

Cherrington had to admit it worked out brilliantly. Er brilliant photos, a brilliant film clip and the same applied to um the other thing.

The two executives booked into the Crown and Anchor Hotel and Cherrington was invited there to dinner.

Jill Aitken, the company's director of production, looked at Neil Baker, the company's general manager, and said, "Neil and I run the company that's owned by Egyptian investors and they have one of their own installed as CEO but he's next to useless. We are using the opportunity to interview you to have a couple of naughty nights away."

The both looked at Cherrington intently.

"God this is the type of company I wish to work in?"

Jill and Neil relaxed, smiling.

"Well I guess the pitch is you interview me over dinner and that's your requirement with me done?"

"Yes," said Neil. "We need to check if you know which knife and fork to use at dinner."

"I never have a problem. I just wait and watch what other people pick up"

They laughed and Cherrington noticed Jill nod almost imperceptibly to Neil whose smile deepened.

Omigod; they'd already decided. 

Cherrington left the meeting rather confused. Nothing had been said that she had the job. Jill had said they would be in touch. She was also concerned Jill and Neil appeared rather wacky people to be senior executives in a multi-million pound company with its own studios. It had astonished her that two people she didn't know, told her they had come to East Anglia for a couple of naughty nights of adultery because Neil certainly appeared married by the easy manner he displayed with Jill.

Back in her room the mystery was solved when she checked on them on their company website. Yes Jill and Neil were married, to each other. Jill had been in theater direction for fifteen years and had kept her professional name when she married Neil who had often worked with her on productions. That company search also provided confirmation that held the posts in the company as they had claimed, plus Neil was deputy CEO.

Next afternoon when Cherrington had finished her work and was thinking of having her hair cut when leaving the office later she took a call from Jill.

"Hi how's the sex?"

Jill laughed. 

"I said to Neil after you left that you are one of us. We can't stand stuffy people. The sex is great but I'll calling to ask would you consider being an on-camera presenter/narrator? There's something special about you we can't quite finger."

"That sounds really sexy."

Jill screamed with laughter.

"Yes I think that could be a good niche for me Jill. I'm anxious to move my career forward."

"Good, when can you start?"

"I'm obliged to give one month's notice."

"From tomorrow?"

"Yes I'll lodge my resignation today."

"Excellent that means I can plan your immersion that will include formal training, observation and some small assignments. Then if you become too successful probably the BBC or an American outfit will poach you."

"Oooh."

"Good girl, I was hoping you wouldn't lie and say you'd never leave us."

"No but you have my promise of loyalty until the time comes to resign."

"Well yes, I'd already gathered you'd be that type of person. It will be lovely to have you aboard darling. Until a month's time then but we will send you information to your home address and your contract to peruse and to send back signed or you can call to negotiate."

"Um salary?"

"Fifty percent more than what you are earning now darling with a review six months on. You insert the figure in the contract. I trust you. Bye."

Cherrington took Emma out for dinner next evening and they drank French champagne that left Emma practically legless. But Cherrington got her home and into bed without any hassle.                        * * *

Cherrington arrived at the Moving Eye Independent Film Studios located in a former Country House on the outskirts of the village of Long Ditton in Surrey, on the boundary of Greater London. The taxi driver told her it was just a short walk to reach the River Thames, just opposition Hampton Palace and she was close to Surbiton and not too far from Richmond and the Kew Royal Botanic Gardens.

           Jill had found accommodation for Cherrington with a widow with two daughters in their early twenties who still lived at home.

Mrs Wordsworth greeted Cherrington brightly, and that was a good sign. 

"Let's have a cup of tea Cherrington. Please call me Irene but I'll take you to your bedroom suite first. I had the house extended to provide this bedroom suite for a boarder. We can walk to the studios that are less than five minutes away. I'm the senior receptionist there but we'll come home at different times because you'll often work late and have late meetings or will be away with a film crew."

"That's very nice. Um how do we get there when it snows?"

"Oh no problem. In heavy rain or in snow one of the guys will come by for us. They look after me because I look after them. We have snow starting in November perhaps and ending in March or perhaps another fall in April but rarely do we get more than four days snowing in any month."

The room was airy and spacious overlooking the neighbor's house and small garden but it suited Cherrington fine.

"I was given the day off today to welcome you and to help you settle in and later this afternoon I'll take you down to tour the facilities at the studios and then we can return for a nice cup of tea."

"Um do you drink?"

"Do you mean do I visit a pub regularly?"

"Well yes."

"I do, actually every evening. Would you like to accompany me?"

"Oh yes please."

Irene said, "\Oh I thought such a raving beauty like you wouldn't go near alcohol."

"Raving beauty?"

"I suggest you look in the mirror dear one and I do like your modesty and am delighted you will be seen with me in our local. I'll love showing you off and my daughters will join us there. Um they are a little plain."

"But are lovely girls?"

"That's for sure Cherrington. You know, I like you very much already. You really do project charisma."

"I what?"

Irene smiled, shaking her head. 

"Dear I watch a lot of TV and you have what a lot of them haven't got because it comes from inside, not through reading textbooks or having a good coach. I'm thinking you don't really know much about yourself but then again does it matter? In your field it matters what others see in you. I bet Jill Aitken saw it in you."

Those comments made Cherrington think. So Jill and Neil had taken two days off from the hard grind to interview Cherrington personally, but Jill had already decided about Cherrington but wished to see if she had, er, charisma or whatever it was she wished to detect.

That afternoon she met Jill again. Jill rushed up to her and kissed her and brushed back the much younger woman's fringe in an act of affectionate familiarity. Cherrington was quite sure she'd felt Jill's intensity.

God Jill wasn't coming on to her was she? Cherrington hoped it was the passion Jill felt for her work and her responsibilities.

The facilities were impressive but smaller than Cherrington had expected although she had to admit she hadn't really known what to expect.

"More than half of this old brick and stone dwelling remains disused," Jill said. "That's because much of our filming is done on site but we do use the smaller sound stage for interviews and do film complete productions at times using the other two stages. We have room to develop if required so I'm happy about that. But you may be aware that independent film companies come and go. There are successes of course but it's also a great industry in which to lose money."

* * *

Cherrington had expected the pub to be called something like The Pig and Whistle or King's Head or more likely The Red Lion. But no, it was called the City Arms and was located in nearby Thames Dillon.

The 'public house' was appropriately village style. Irene's daughters Olivia (21) and Louise (22) arrived and greeted Cherrington excitedly, obviously impressed. Irene drank dark beer and the girls favored light dry wine. 

An hour later Louise's boyfriend arrived and had a beer and then drove them home where he'd already been invited to come to dinner to meet the new lodger. Terry was friendly and didn't appear to mind he was outnumbered by females. He expressed an interest in what Cherrington did and his astute questioning drew information from her that interested mother and daughters.

Cherrington's first day at the studios was a drag apart from mid-afternoon when the good-looking manager of the computer graphics department, Freddie Drake, invited her to a party on Friday night. She was pleased about that. As she was about to leave work at 4:30, Jill came out of her office and asked how the day had gone.

"It was such a drag I was almost screaming."

"Right tomorrow I'll put you to work on a small ad shoot."

"Oh thank you."

"Look Neil and I will be going to a restaurant early next week with a group of friends for dinner, friends of mixed ages. Nothing much will happen for you around here unless you get socializing. I want you to come with us."

"Okay, thanks."

Well that sounded like a step up at work and socially.

The ad job was for a 58-second screening on TV plus fade-out. 

Naïve Cherrington thought that would be an hour's work but astonishing it took most of the day and she lengthened the time by making a suggestion.

Although a director was part of the filming crew, the ad agency rep also had her say and the representative of the book chain of stores, the client, also chipped in. After a total of seven shoots everyone appeared satisfied. And then Cherrington said, "Could we shoot it again with me changing my script? Having me smile and say, 'Parker & Wallace Books are pleased to announce the availability right now of...blah, blah' will do little to stimulate book sales, at least in my opinion. But as a journalist I know the difference between a plodding read and a titivating read in a newspaper and what we are doing here can't be all that much different."

"You are out of order Cherrington," said the studio's ad director Sheryl Young.

"Why don't we do this shoot and view it?" said advertising rep. "What do you think Veronica?"

"Great idea."

Cherrington said, "Put me right on this. This ad will run Thursday through Sunday twice at approximately the same times each evening, and the following week a replacement ad runs?"

"Correct," smiled Veronica.

Filming commenced and Cherrington smiled and said, "Hi it's Cherrington Vixen again with another great read for you from Parker and Wallace stores. This week's selected title is 'Cloudy Waters', researched and written by Kitty Chalmers, PhD, a water quality consultant. Believe me, books about our environment are all the rage now and this well-presented insight into the growing pollution problems in some of England's most revered waterways makes a gripping and worrying read. Go into a P&W store and flick through a couple of pages and be prepared to be hooked."

The directors and Veronica clapped. 

It was decided to stick with what had been filmed but for Veronica to show the changed format to her superiors and if they liked it they could introduce it next week.

An hour later Sheryl called Cherrington to say the clients were over the moon about the new filming format and wanted to commence screening it this Thursday.

"We are now setting up for a perfect filming of you doing your bit. Nothing needs to be changed. Veronica went into bat for you and her bosses decided to allow you to use P&W on the second mention of the company."

"Oh."

"We are pleased with you Cherrington. Don't go shy on me. Oh remember you'll now have to do the new ad each Tuesday. You've made a noose for yourself for at least three months and then, as Jill says, we could get away replacing you if necessary."

God, Jill knew she had stuffed up the system, creating delays with that shoot.

Veronica kissed her and said don't worry about the extra costs. The ad agency had agreed to pick up the tab providing they were given the credit for the suggested change of format.

"The crafty devils don't want to lose P&W as a client. Generally what they do is fine and so this is okay with me. What about you?"

"It's fine by me."

"Good, the agency is giving you and me six bottles of champagne each, to be delivered to our home addresses. It can't be construed as a bribe because it wasn't made until after we committed to re-shoot. It's just a way of saying thanks. Will you come to my parents place at Richmond-on-Thames on Sunday for brunch? They love meeting interesting people. There will be no more than twenty people there."

"Yes providing you advise me what to wear."

The first screening was timed for 7:42 on Thursday.

Irene and the girls sat watching TV in rising excitement.

"It's only a 60-second ad; it will be over so fast you won't even know it's me," Cherrington complained. "You guys getting so excited is making me nervous. You'll see it and fall flat."

It was the second ad screened in a string.

"There she is," whispered Olivia and the ad began.

"God you look sexy," Irene murmured.




Cherrington Triumphs



When it finished Louise screamed, "I must have that book, please mummy."

"Well okay. The subject interests me as well. Congratulations Cherrington. If that wasn't you emitting charisma I don't know what."

The next day a carton was delivered by a courier to the office Cherrington shared with two scriptwriters and the guy said, ""Miss Vixen?"

Gloria pointed to Cherrington and he grinned and said yeah she was foxy all right.

She assumed it was the champagne but the carton felt too heavy for just six bottles of wine. It contained 23 copies of the book she'd help to promote and a bottle of expensive French perfume.

"Good work Foxy Lady. You looked so great on TV last night and my wife and daughter said you were stunning."

The signature was, 'Mike, director of promotions and publicity, P&W.'

Cherrington gave copies of the book to Gloria and Michelle, went to Sheryl's office and left copies for Sheryl and the film crew and then went to Jill and left her with ten copies and then took the remainder to Irene at reception.

Jill had looked up as Cherrington entered the office and smiled.

"I knew from the time I perused you job application that you were an exceptional person darling. It didn't surprise me at all you would be a natural on screen and that you would ooze charisma."

"Thanks for embarrassing me but you are a lovely person Jill."

"Oooh I wish I were a lesbian."

"I'm just happy with you the way you are," Cherrington giggled.

Back at her office, Cherrington went on-line and looked up the meaning of the word charisma just in case she was wrong in thinking what it meant. But no, it meant among other things 'appeal' and 'magnetism' and oh god, 'sexual allure'.

She hoped Jill's definition centered on 'personal magnetism'. So that's how they, including Irene, saw her? Well perhaps they were influenced by the fact she was wearing better make-up these days now that she could afford it.

Friday's date with Freddie Drake, manager of the computer design suite as he called it, was a short run event. The party was a rave, with people stripping off and drinking straight from bottles of whisky, gin, vodka and she thought rum and popping pills, including Freddie who was becoming increasingly boisterous. 

Two of the females had identified her as 'the ad girl' and that displeased Cherrington and after an hour she was fed up and told Freddie she was off and he grinned and said take care. God what a drip. She watched fascinated as a young woman removed her panties and said to Freddie, "Sniff these." Wow her parents would be very much at home here whereas she felt like an alien.

Cherrington went home by taxi and then, feeling guilty, wrote to her parents and said she hoped they were well and told them what she'd been doing for the past almost four years. She included her address but never heard back from them. 

As she went to bed that night Cherrington thought she was doing rather well, being from a dysfunctional family and attracting guys who were, well, unusual. It made her think of Guy Brandon, that okay he was a little dull, but he was a straight up guy. She wondered if the tosser Freddie had sniffed those panties and if he knew that young woman. Well at least from Veronica's advice what to wear, Sunday's brunch on continuous self-serve from 10:30 sounded very much more couth than Freddie's party.

Waiting for her assigned hairdresser on Saturday afternoon to finish with a client, Cherrington flicked through a magazine and stopped at the feature called 'London Garden Parties.'

She noticed what the women were wearing and thought her 'Greek-styled' white dress she'd just purchased was just right for a garden party but she was going to a brunch. Was there a difference for dress code? Well it didn't matter, she could do what she wished because she was confident and she had charisma.

She looked at the hair-styles and focused on one of them.

Cherrington showed the photo in the magazine to Betty and asked could she have her hair something like that. She was going to a brunch next day and would be wearing a Grecian style dress with draping sleeves.

"That sounds posh. Yes I can do that; actually it sounds a good match for such a classy dress."

"Um Betty what is the difference between a brunch and a garden party."

"The time it's held, I should think. Some people have brunches outdoors but the food is actually a cross between breakfast and lunch because they start around mid or late morning."

"Can a brunch be posh?"

"It depends. I did the hair of Mrs Wilson earlier this afternoon. She is hosting a brunch tomorrow and that will be posh."

"Um does Mrs Wilson have a daughter?"

"Yes two, Veronica and Juliette who's well-known as a splendid violinist. Why did you ask if Mrs Wilson has daughters? You don't appear to me to be that way inclined?"

"God no and thanks. If Veronica works for a book store chain then that's the brunch I'll be attending."

"Yes I know Veronica slightly. Oh god, I thought I knew you. You're the new face on Parker and Wallace's book promos on TV."

"Well yes."

"You are so natural on TV and come across so sexy. I'd buy a book off you."

As Cherrington left the taxi next morning and walked toward the large three-story brick house she had the feeling that she was about to begin an adventure. That was rubbish of course.

She followed other people arriving around the side of the house. She caught up to a couple and the woman said, "You are welcome to walk with us dear. Do I know you?"

"I don't believe so."

"You are too young to be one of Bertie Granville's daughters. He'll be here today."

Veronica came up the path to meet them.

"Good morning Sir Richard and Lady Chisholm. I see you have met Cherrington."

"No we haven't, at least not formerly. We just said hi. Oh you called this beautiful young lady Cherrington. She's the woman in your ad on TV about the waterways pollution book. My dear, how delighted I am to meet you."

"Mouth running dry, Cherrington said, "Thank you Lady Chisholm. Please call me Cherrington."

"Do you make you money from TV ads or films?"

"My career is journalism Sir Richard. I was just helping out as the company I work for made that ad."                         

They had begun walking again and Veronica, arm in arm with Cherrington, said, "And it won't be the last ad Miss Vixen will make. Two hours ago I had a phone call to say 'Clouding Waters', the book in question, had been disappearing out of the doors of stores and the publisher was rushing to get more books printed much sooner than scheduled. We believe this is the result of Cherrington's personalized presentation. Darling you look wonderful today."

"Indeed and you're very beautiful young lady," said Lady Chisholm.

"Lady Chisholm and mom nursed together for years," Veronica said. "Sir Richard is a leading medical researcher and dad is a heart surgeon of note. Many people who will be here this morning are associated with health and medicine but a few are in publishing and journalism Cherrington, so be not dismayed."

An older Veronica look-alike came across the lawn to meet them and the two older women kissed and Sir Richard then kissed Veronica's mother.

"This is my mother Mrs Wilson but you may call her Harriett," Veronica smiled.

"Good morning Cherrington. Oh my goodness, you are even more beautiful than on TV and you dress to impress I see."

"Well acting in good taste never got anyone into trouble I know of," Cherrington said and everyone laughed.

"Yes please call me Harriett as do my three children. I wanted my son to meet you after Veronica told me about you and he should be here soon. Our hired chef's vehicle has broken down and so Dean has gone in the Range Rover to tow him here. The van is full of our brunch requirements but fortunately they will be here almost on schedule."

Cherrington chatting to a small group of people with Veronica when they heard someone call, "Our food has arrived" and then she had to answer two women enquiring about the extent of her acting career.

"You are telling us that's the first time you've ever been on television?"

"Yes Mrs Stewart and the first time I've had anything to do with advertising. I have been in newspaper journalism but began this week at a new job to train as a presenter on camera for an independent film-maker."

"Then I must say you are extraordinarily talented. I brought that book on the strength of that advertisement. You seemed to be speaking directly to me and to my inner belief about our environment."

"Yes and I purchased that book yesterday," said Mrs Young. "People have been talking about it and the store was almost sold-out when I purchased mine."

Veronica listened to that conversation with great interest. Then someone came up to her and said her mother wanted her at the serving station.

Cherrington drifted away and was walking to get another orange juice and tonic when a guy in a group to her left turned and gaped and then bounded to her.

"Hi. You are looking great."

"I'm Cherrington and you may kiss me if you wish."

"Why would you consent to that?"

"Because you are Veronica's brother. You mother told me you would be here and there are no other males as young as you here that I can see."

"Oh great detective work," he said, kissing her lips lightly.

"And I'll have one of those too; I'm Veronica and Dean's sister Juliette."

They kissed and Juliette said she really admired Cherrington's dress and she wore it so elegantly.

"Well I hope I don't get drunk and end up throwing food while wearing it."

The three of them laughed.

At 3:00 when people began drifting off, Cherrington said goodbye to Harriett and her husband Anthony who appropriately, as a surgeon, had worked at slicing the bacon from back cuts of cured pork for the grill. 

She found Dean waiting for her at the gate.

"Veronica said I'm to drive you home."

"Are you okay to drive, I mean you have been drinking?"

"Like you I was on juice until it was time to eat and then had only two glasses of wine."

"Were you watching me?"

"Yes well you are worth looking at."

"You'll have a girlfriend."

"Yes in fact three but each is a casual relationship."

"Do you wish to date me?"

"Yes, may I date you?"

"You may."

"Have you been through Richmond Park yet?"

"No."

"Then I'll pick you up at noon tomorrow and bring Veronica's cycle and we can cycle through the park. It's big, a bit over twenty-three hundred acres."

"But it's near the heart of London."

"Yes, along with other royal parks. London is not only shops and houses and the River Thames."

"That sounds lovely. I suppose you cycle through there with all your other girlfriends?"

"Actually I only cycle with my mother and/or my sisters. Come on."

"God a yellow Porsche."

"Yeah I like to go about inconspicuously. Either that or I believe yellow is the best color for a Porsche."

"What do you do Dean?"

"As little as possible but I'm CEO of a small advertising company that dad owns as an investment and he purchased it to create a job for me because when I left university I was unable to find employment in that industry and worked as a sports reporter on a newspaper for a year."

"You are very interesting Dean."

"And so are you. Tell me how did you get the unbelievable name of Cherrington Vixen?"

"Oh god."

"Problems?"

"The reason is embarrassing. I'll explain as we drive providing it's for your ears only."

"Will you tell Veronica?"

"If she ever asks."

"And my mother?"

"I'd have to think about that. It would depend on circumstances."

"Like if we were going steady and she asked?"

"That was my thinking."

They had a lovely time in the park.

Dean produced a chicken pie and bottle of wine from his back pack and later they kissed and cuddled under a big tree. Dean didn't attempt to go lower than her breasts and Cherrington didn't offer encouragement.

Later at home Cherrington wondered was Dean right for her and she thought no. As far as she could tell, in such a short time together, he was still a boy growing up. It was his manner rather than his age of twenty-three.

Veronica called Cherrington on Monday morning and Cherrington answered the message when she came from watching studio filming with a brief to watch the presenter in action.

"Cherrington at our executive meeting this morning I was asked to get your company to place you on contract with us for the filming of our ad each Tuesday. We cannot afford to have our timing disrupted by your being scheduled to work elsewhere. Our marketing director wants our ad involving you increased to ninety-seconds on-screen time and that means extra revenue for your company. We are also looking at in store fixtures showing your face in the promotion of our book, to be called Book of the Week to increase your exposure and we are willing to put the work on those fixtures that will include design and photography and printed and finishing to our specifications through your company to produce."

"Um how many stores are we talking about?"

"Ninety-three and we are thinking three displays per store plus twenty spares in reserve and with a new set of these displays every four months. Have you got all that?"

"Yes thanks. Why are you calling me about this?"

"I would like you to test the water with Jill Aitken about this."

"Okay I'll do that and call you back."

Jill listened attentively.

"There is big money in this for us," she said, when Cherrington had finished. "What I'm wondering is why they made the pitch to you instead of coming directly to me?"

"I can only guess they think having me on contract to take part in their filming every Tuesday might grate with you."

"I don't see why that should be so. We reserve Mondays and Tuesday for doing ads and other commercial work and then do our own filming on Wednesday and through to Sunday if necessary. Further a lot of filming can be done without you, for instance incidental and mood shots to be inserted to provide breaks in the story line. But leave this with me for half an hour. I'll discuss it with Neil."

Jill called Cherrington to her office twenty minutes later.

"Tell them okay and that they should make an appointment and come in and talk to me in detail. Tell them no problem contracting you to them for Tuesdays. You know darling, if all of this goes ahead you will bring a busload of money, less costs of course, to us as a result of you impressing the chiefs at Parker and Wallace. Well done. This leaves me with the feeling your salary review will have to be brought forward."

"Well Cherrington?" Veronica said, her voice sounding tight.

"The contract request is conditionally approved on the condition that other work being included as part of a package and this whole arrangement is to become a contract running for a minimum period of twelve months."

"Um twelve months, I wonder if that term is negotiable?"

"Well I'm sure Jill would accept the notion being placed on the table. She says you guys should make an appointment with her to come in and talk."

"You're amazing Cherrington. Our director of marketing believed there was no way would Jill agree to you being tied up for every Tuesday because it would play hell with her schedules that she will have planned involving you."

Cherrington became creative. "Well all I can guess is Jill regards you guys as a valued client."

"Yes that sounds about right. Do you mind if I tell my people that?"

"No go ahead. Should you and I meet for dinner one night this week? I have nothing booked all week."

"Um what about Dean?"

Cherrington thought this was her opportunity.

"Um Veronica, don't say anything about this but I've been thinking while Dean appears to be a super guy, he seems to be rather young for me somehow?"

"That's what I heard mom tell him. She thought you were too sophisticated for him. Well he can't expect to win every babe who catches his eye. Do you wish me to tell him?"

"Oh god, no it sounds like an assassination."

"Leave it to me. Mom has already warned him."

"No I can't allow..."

"Darling you have helped my career in this company big time today. Even I didn't believe you could get Jill to agree to a Tuesday contract. I have some guys in mind who might be very suitable for you. Leave everything to me and he will be quite okay when you come to our home to hang out with me."

Cherrington called Jill and told her the P&W team would make an appointment to see her.

"Good work."

Cherrington added, "Oh I suggested you would want that extra work to proceed as part of the deal of tying me up on Tuesdays and that the second condition was you'd want a contract for all of that work for a minimum term of twelve months."

"Cherrington, that demand could make them back right off and we would lose their ad work."

"Oh I don't think so. Veronica told me at the weekend the ad is already clearing that book from shelves and the publisher is frantically getting more books published. Right now I'm the hottest thing in P&W's focus, don't you think?"

"Perhaps you are dear but it will be a grind keep yourself fresh."

"Yeah I guess so. Oh they might wish to place a request for the term of that proposed all-in contract to be reduced to six months. I told Veronica they could put that on the table for negotiation and you'd consider all requests because we regard them as a valued client."

"Yes and we value all clients. You have done amazing well with this and thanks."

Cherrington went home late afternoon thinking she found it a breeze being involved in business negotiation. She had no problem in being inventive and lying er stretching the truth. Perhaps they were business fundamentals.

Jill and Neil took Cherrington to dinner that evening where she met a group of their friends. She consumed good food and wine and enjoyed being involved in good conversation but by in large the people were mostly older than Jill and Neil and none of them really impressed Cherrington and she received no social invitation and no guy hit on her. It was just a night out and Neil paid for her, on the company card presumably.

A conclusive meeting took place between P&W marketing and promotional people and Jill and Neil. Cherrington and the manager of the props workshop were also called in to face the five-person P&W team that included Veronica. It was agreed that the main contract should extend for nine months, taking the term beyond the busy pre-Christmas period for book sales.

When Cherrington and Veronica went out for dinner the two draft contacts were under consideration by the two parties.

"First read of both contracts indicated we have in writing what both parties agreed to," said Veronica. "Haven't we done well?"

"Indeed."

"As your reward I have sorted in my mind three guys who might be just right for you."

"Veronica I can imagine you have the stamina for groupies but one guy at a time is quite enough for me."

They cackled away in delight.

"No and thanks for your offer to hook me up with someone suitable but you know I really like my mini romances just to happen and then if something goes wrong I have only myself to blame."

"Well have it your way. I was quite excited to think of Graham. His erection is as thick as my wrist."

"Oh god."

They were away laughing again.

"When will we see you on TV as a presenter/narrator?"

Cherrington frowned. "Not before next year. I was astonished that it takes month to film a feature and then to have it pass through post-production, that takes simply ages, and they have to be packaged and hawked around. My first job is a 30-minute documentary on the research, development and commissioning of a new type of alarm system that monitors sleeping patients immediately after operations who could develop a clot or some other life-threatening trauma and yet who are not hooked up to life-support systems that also are alarmed."




Cherrington Triumphs



"Oh, is that really sexy you?"

"No but it's what I'm paid to do. One of our scriptwriters had been working with the R&D team and her script is now with the head of department and we await his approval with or without amendments. You know we probably could do a similar feature on the creation of an advertising campaign from discussion through to launch, involving you with your breasts half-hanging out of your low-cut dress."

"Oh are you really serious?" Veronica said. "Our CEO would probably jump at the chance to get some exposure locally out of that."

"Even if we need you to be filmed with your tits hanging out?"

"We'd have to think carefully about that. We have an image to uphold."

"Oh, is there something wrong with your tits?"

They were away laughing again.



CHAPTER 3

Cherrington was living with Lionel Ramsbottom, aged thirty-eight, who sold new Jaguar cars and was hugely successful at earning big commissions. They'd met at night club when he dealt with a drunk guy pestering Cherrington. 

They lived in Lionel's apartment in Chelsea. He was married but hadn't seen his wife for more than two years and had no idea where she was. He only liked watching the news and documentaries on TV and that was fine with Cherrington and he had a voracious sexual appetite and that was fine with her too. They usually ate out at nights and he knew a huge numbers of people and many of those people, particularly the wives and girlfriends, knew of Cherrington as the famous Parker and Wallace book lady/book consultant/book recommender or whatever name they fancied. People also recalled reading interviews with Cherrington in the dailies and in magazines or had seen her presenting mini-documentaries on TV or presenting 'human interest' film clips on TV news about medical breakthroughs or inventions likely to assist housewives or the aged.

That evening Lionel had caterers in for a buffet dinner for invited fifteen couples he called his closest friends to watch the screening on the BBC of what he called Cherrington's first televised epic. 

Moving Eye Studio regarded it as one of its most successful and largest productions. Cherrington had researched the subject, written the script, planned the filming modules and was the presenter. It ran for sixty minutes less one break to promote upcoming TV programs and was called, 'Growing Old on the Farm.'

The BBC executives who'd seen a short preview screening during the sales pitch by Moving Eye Studios, couldn't believe such a boring subject as moaning farmers surrounded by mud and cowpats could be presented in such a way they were left gob-smacked in admiration. That really was surprisingly because the BBC has a long history of creating compelling filming out of everyday dreariness to gob-smack viewers such as the international award-winning "Harrow's Sparrows' 

The film began with two women in a Land Rover being filmed. Their names came up bottom-of screen, Presenter/narrator Cherrington Vixen as the driver and Film Director Wendy Carlisle. 

Wendy: What on earth are we doing coming all this way, almost to Frome, in Somerset, to film this particular farm? There are farms much closer to London.

Cherrington: Because the script says we start here.

Wendy: Yes I know that but I also know you wrote the script.

Cherrington: Keep your hat on; does it matter where we begin?

Wendy: Okay but there's no need to act as if you are the producer.

Cherrington: Well if you must know two years ago I came here to Thistle Farm with my boyfriend at the time and came face to face to moo-moos.

Wendy: What the [bleep] are they?

Cherrington: There they are out in the fields (cows are shown grazing or looking up at the vehicle.

Wendy (laughing): But they are cows.

Cherrington: Well I wasn't thinking was I? I hadn't been on a farm since I was at primary school and any way my boyfriend called them that and I didn't know he was teasing.

Wendy: [Bleep] I can't believe this. I'm to direct the filming of the national problem of ageing farmers locked into their properties devised and written and narrated by a prissy-looking babe like you who calls cows moo-moos and this is the only farm you've been on since primary school forty years ago.

Cherrington: [Bleep] I'm not that [Bleep] old.

Wendy: Well obviously you can cuss like a farmer.

(Viewers watching with Lionel and Cherrington were rolling on their chairs laughing.)

The scene changed to an over-weight and heavily-breasted woman in a smock top and jeans two sizes too big for her coming to the door and seeing the two women and a close-up camera-man and she says, "What the hell do you want?"

"Hi Mrs Brandon. We are a film unit investigating the plight of elderly farmers in England trapped on their farms because their children are off earning big money. The parents want the kids back home to buy the farm otherwise those mums and dads will be the generation who sold the farm, decimating family tradition stretching back zonks."

"Who told you that lie?"

"You did Mrs Brandon. I came here two years ago with your son and spent two nights here."

As directed, Mrs Brandon stepped forward and took a closer look at Cherrington.

"Omigod, the girl with the funny name, something like Herringbone, who slept with my son against my wishes and then not long after that visit you dumped Guy."

"Mrs Brandon how old are you?"

"Sixty-three but that's none of your business. Omigod I remember embarrassing you laughing my head off when Guy said he'd told you we farmed moo-moos and you believed that."

"Well enjoy laughing at my expense Mrs Brandon. Tell me, is it correct that at sixty-three you still milk as does your husband Bert?"

"Yes we milk 137 moo moos you twit."

"Should you be retired enjoying life in the local village after all the years of hard grind?"

"Yes we should and it has been a hard grind."

"So why continue the grind at your ages?"

"Because we are waiting for the kids or at least one of them, to tire of city life and come home and buy the farm. This land has been farmed by the Brandons for five generations and no [bleep] way will Bert and I be the ones to end a family tradition. Oh [bleep]. I've confirmed what you alleged and you have that on film. God Herring Bone...

"Cherrington."

"God Cherrington you've got a lot smarter than when you were here two years ago. You lot put away those moving picture makers and you all better come in for tea and hot-buttered scones."

"Mrs Brandon?"

"Yes Hetherington?"

"It's actually Cherrington. Think of cherries."

"Actually I was thinking of heather."

"We won't accept hospitality unless you promise to talk to us truthfully about you plight as we film."

"Oh all right. I've seen you quite regularly on TV and admire you smallish bosom. Have you noticed mine?"

"No Mrs Brandon. Is it unusual?"

"You know nothing, see nothing. Little wonder my son dumped you."

The doco interviewing and fact-finding became more serious and more intensive and yet some of the rural characters interview shone through and only two thought the Government should do something to help them.

Government and agriculture officials were interviewed as well as head of farmer's organizations. When winding up the program, Cherrington said, "Forget about the early emphasis I placed on moo-moos and the laughter we shared with farming folk along the way. What you have witnessed during this rural journey is the acceptance by most of those we talked to that little can be done about this change in farming. Owners of family farms are in a squeeze and no fix for it is in sight. Think of shipping and the change those owners went through and had to adapt of get out, from sail to steam to oil propulsion and perhaps one day back to sail when the finite resources run out." 

"Family farms will continue to disappear and the new owners will be neighbors or newcomers to farming or investor who'll hire managers and labor and corporations who will chase profits for as long as we demand milk, meat, wheat and the other wide range of products that come off the land. All will not be lost... apart from the family farm."

Lionel looked delighted at seeing everyone in the big room congratulating his lover and his lover accepted the tributes and hoped the public screening might lead to her next big opportunity.

It did.

The plight of the elderly locked into their family farms was not new but the doco had rekindled interest in the issue because of the novel presentation. Newspapers published numerous letters from readers and editors wrote editorials and there were debates in rural community halls and the Government was blamed for the problem by angry speakers on talkback radio. 

On the morning after the TV screening, Cherrington was interviewed on TV by a woman who alleged all the speakers in the documentary had read from prepared script, script prepared by Cherrington.

"I disagree. Please get you facts right before rushing in like that."

Cherrington continued, "The opening shot of my director and myself was the only dialogue to be scripted in the way you suggested. That was done to get the ball rolling. After that the only person who roughly followed any script was me. I accept the first farmer to appear on-screen, Mrs Brandon appeared larger than life and played into my hands whenever she spoke. But please accept I had met Mrs Brandon two years earlier and knew what she was like. She and her husband had not been told we would be arriving and at no time were they rehearsed. In fact not a single person I interviewed was rehearsed and could not be if we were to retain credibility for our documentary."

"Well I find that hard to believe Miss Vixen."

"Lucky for you I anticipated the possibility of someone making unwarranted attacks on our credibility and here is a list of every one we interviewed with full contact details. Here is my phone, please call anyone of these people or as many as you wish and asked them were they rehearsed or fed their lines. Go on."

"I see no need to do that Miss Vixen. I accept your assurances."

"Thank you. Please keep the list and find time to call some of these people and if you find any of them saying they were rehearsed or whatever, then get them into the studio and get them to roast me."

"Well thank you for coming in Miss Vixen and good luck with your next film."

When the filming stopped the interviewer said angrily to Cherrington, "You embarrassed me."

"Oh really, and what were you attempting to do to me? Goodbye Jennifer.

Jill and Neil took Cherrington to lunch next day.

"We are interested to know if you have had a spate a job offers."

"No Jill, should I have received some?"

Jill giggled and said, "We are aware you didn't come down with the last shower Cherrington.

"Well I did think someone might be willing to take my career to the next level."

Neil said well all they could do was to offer her a bit more money. They would consider her for a senior job placement if any resignations eventuated.                    

Cherrington had a sudden thought. What Neil and Jill were saying was they had her nicely slotted and she should think that way as well. So this was it, as far as she could go?

"I think I should resign and set off and find a new direction. I'm now twenty-eight and it's time for me to seek greater status in my career."

"This is a shock," Jill said and looked shocked. "We haven't upset you have we?"

"Not at all. This little chat made me think I should try to move forward."

"Yeah it could be the right time to move on," Neil said.

Jill glared at him and said perhaps not, that Cherrington should take time out and think about it.

"No I think I should go. When may I leave?"

"Now if you wish," Neil said. "As you know we are not busy at the moment and your book contract was not renewed because they are moving in a new direction."

"I suggest you say another month and really think about it, take a few days off," Jill said.

Cherrington said she would leave at the end of the week, providing Jill agreed.

Jill sighed and said yes that would be okay.

On Friday afternoon after a farewell lunch at Moving Eye Studios, Cherrington drove 3½ hours in a rental vehicle and stopped at a familiar looking house. She found a couple seated on the porch drinking wine and scarcely recognized them.

They were her parents.

He mother said, "Yes Miss, how may we help you?"

"I'm your daughter, don't you recognized me?"

Her mother stood to move closer and fell over.

Cherrington helped her mother to her feet and thought her mother had lost so much weight that it was alarming. Her father looked up at her rather vacantly and Cherrington looked on the table between the couple and saw a small selection of pills and guessed they were 'recreational' drugs.

Her father said, "Milly has been sick. Some jerk badly mistreated her and she's had a hysterectomy."

"Leave me, let me go you slut and Dan you stop talking like that about me to strangers."

Cherrington was distressed and thought her parents didn't know her and didn't want to know her.

She left, driving back to London two days earlier than planned and at the apartment found Lionel in bed asleep with another woman. She spent the next hour quietly packing her possessions and left, driving to a hotel where she booked in for two nights and then returned her rental car and got some of her money she'd paid for the three day hire back.

Cherrington felt sad and lonely, adrift and took a cab back to her hotel. She cried herself to sleep. In the morning she called her Aunt Mae and told her the dreadful condition her parents were in.

"I felt helpless, not knowing what to do."

"Leave it to me darling. Reggie and I will go to them. We are both trained to work with people in distress and will involve local welfare groups."

The talked for a while more and Cherrington thanked her aunt and said she'd keep in touch.

Late next afternoon Mae called.

"Darling I have bad news. Can you have someone sit with you before I tell you?"

"Nobody is near. I am sitting so tell me."

"The police are here, nothing can be done for Milly and Daniel. They both left notes and I was able to positively identify Milly's handwriting but the forensic people will sort it out."

"A double suicide?"

"Yes dear and I know it's very tragic but as you said, their physical and obviously their mental condition had obviously deteriorated hugely since I last saw them. We must assume they have only themselves to blame. Reggie found them in the garage. There is no need to discuss details. He found them together looking peaceful."

"I'll come now, it's not too late for train service."

When Cherrington arrived at the station she found her aunt and uncle waiting for her and was so relieved they'd done that. They two women sat on a seat in the waiting room and hugged and cried.

Next morning Jill called and said a Mike Hamill of Froggy Pond Independent Films had called asking was there any chance of hiring Cherrington for a project to commence in a few weeks.

"I said you'd just left our employment. Here's his phone number darling. Jump at the chance but hold out for good money. Froggy Pond is one of the big three independent filmmakers in London at present. You could get all the career challenges you desire working for them."

Cherrington called Mike Hamill and he said he had a long-term job contract offer he'd like to discuss with her. She told him she was at home involved in a family funeral. He said there was no rush but could she call back within the next two weeks.

Cherrington made that call a few days later.

"Hi Mr Hamill, it's Cherrington Vixen, the woman..."

"Yes I recall our recent conversation. When would you be free to have lunch with me and another representative of our company?"

"I'll be back in London tomorrow morning so could have that meeting as soon as tomorrow. I'm interested in finding a new career direction despite coming into a lot of money. My work means everything to me."

"I'm sorry about you family loss Cherrington."

"Thanks, it's over and done with now," she said, offering no details and wasn't pressed to do so. 

They arranged to meet at 1:00 at the Oxo Tower Restaurant on the 5th floor of Oxo Tower on South Bank and Cherrington was told the restaurant, not the brasserie and was given the address. 

The family's solicitor had told Cherrington she'd inherit money and investments that might reach £760,000 after probate and tax clearance but added to that would be the net figure from the sale of the house that might fetch close to £130,000. She was grateful but wished her parents were alive and fit and happy and enjoying a comfortable early retirement living on their assets. She'd learned her mother had resigned from her job after Dan had lost her job as a bank executive on the grounds of 'periodic outburst of alarming erratic behavior' for which he refused to seek medical help. 

Well that was all behind her now, although not the memories of her parents in both the good and upsetting times.

Mike Hamill, a thickset and heavy jowl six-foot guy, recognized Cherrington as soon as she entered the crowded restaurant and left the nearby table and hurried to her, holding out his hand to shake hers.

"Thanks for coming to hear our proposal."

"Well Jill Aitken said you had inquired about hiring me fairly long term and that sounds interesting enough. Obviously something must be in the wind."

"Well you have a good handle on this. Come and meet our senior film director."

"Fine and what is your title Mike?"

"I'm productions coordinator with responsibilities for assessing new business proposals."

"Oooh, busy boy."

The 40-year old grinned and said, "Cherrington Vixen, this professionally very distinguished lady is our studios senior film director, Margo Boyd."

The silver-haired and sharp-nosed woman in her mid-fifties looked approvingly at their guest and pointing to the chair between her and Mike suggested a glass of champagne just as the bottle and three glasses arrived. Cherrington smiled and said yes.

They were eating when Margo began the presentation.

"We have a purchased a wonderful script from a university lecturer in social behavioral sciences based on the research she undertook when completed her PhD and she has advanced her study in the three years since then resulting in this screen play she has submitted. We have had several meetings with her and she is willing to have her work converted into a more light-hearted manner that would be digestible by the average TV viewer.

"Does that mean dramatized and make more easily understood by the average woman sitting in front of TV... oh and Mr Thick as well"?"

Mike grinned and said, "Exactly. The ease with which you grasped our need borders on being breathtaking."

"How many drinks have you had Mike?"

Mike and Margo laughed, Margo eyeing Cherrington closely.

She said, "I'll be frank Cherrington. I regard making this program my baby, to be one of the highlights of my career and will direct filming myself. I had thought you would be too young to present this film and that we should use an academic in that role but others attempted to convince them otherwise." 

"Then Mike sat me down and played 'Growing Old on the Farm.' I missed seeing it on TV because I was in France at the time it screened. Again I'll be frank, I was smitten by your on-screen appearance and vitality and you're ability to have converted a depressing national social issue into such an entertaining and easily digestible program for home TV entertainment. And that is why we are having this meeting."

"Are you going to tell me what it's about?"

Margo sniffed. As submitted the title of the screenplay is, 'How Changing Social Mores Have Changed the Appearance of Prostitution in Britain over the Past Century."