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The special sauce

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Bdsm

“I am gasping for a shag,” Ali said. She was my best friend, so she could say that kind of thing in my presence. The fact that she was a woman and I was a man didn’t enter into it. It wasn’t going to result in me shagging her, because we had already done that a long time ago and it hadn’t really worked. We were better as platonic friends, and if some people think that is impossible, perhaps post-platonic describes it better. We weren’t dying to find out what each other was like in bed, because we knew. And although we had enjoyed our brief full-on relationship, we kind of missed each other’s point a bit. By that I mean Ali and I liked different things sexually, and the balance of our friendship was different from the balance of our sex life. Anyway, we had discussed it calmly and rationally and decided we would be better allies if sex was kept out of it. “If I don’t get laid today,” she said, “I’m going to fucking scream.” “Me too,” I said. It was a bank holiday Monday, one of the loneliest days of the year, and we were twiddling our thumbs, watching TV in the afternoon, eating crisps and avoiding opening the wine until five o’clock – or at least a quarter to four. “So what are your possibilities?” I asked. “None of the usual suspects,” she replied gloomily. “I’ve put out feelers in several directions and nobody’s Bostancı Escort responded.” “And yet you can bet your life there are millions of people in the world also gasping for a shag, including possibly hundreds in this postcode,” I rambled wisely. “Exactly,” said Ali, and we fell silent for a moment. Then I had a brainwave. “What about people we don’t normally consider, just passing fancies in our lives. Acquaintances, people we just come into contact with for a few minutes now and then but don’t really think about.” “Such as?” Ali asked, stirred. “Anybody in the supermarket?” I suggested. “The Indian guy? He makes a fuss of you and I’ve noticed you always go to his till.” “Ramesh,” she mused. “You could be onto something there. I wouldn’t mind, actually. Never had an Asian before, not that that’s got anything to do with it, but, you know…’ She thought for a minute and I could see in her idle face that the thought was appealing. “What about you?” she said. “Any of the checkout girls? Bit young, maybe.” “Yes,” I agreed. “the only one there’s a flicker with is the one who’s always mopping the floor.” “The West Indian woman?” “Yes.” “Huge tits, mega bum, aged about 30,” Ali continued. I had a smiling relationship with this girl, who I thought was called Anesha. She had Bostancı Escort Bayan nervous eyes and gave the impression she wasn’t accustomed to being fancied, and certainly not by customers. This was pure speculation on my part, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to break through whatever boundaries existed. I don’t think you can give a bad name to fancying someone out of curiosity. I didn’t consider myself superior to Anesha but I could imagine she felt aware of her lowly status. She didn’t even have the glamour job, working on the checkouts and interacting with customers. It had taken three or four of my smiles to get one back from her, and I could see her wondering what I wanted from her. As for her colour, I had had black girlfriends before and didn’t consider it a big deal, but there was an unspoken resentment that went the other way. White men didn’t like black men screwing their women, but black guys were equally territorial, and it rubbed off on the girls. The whole issue of racism is too much of a minefield to go into here. Suffice it to say I was fast coming to the conclusion that Anesha was the girl for me on this barren, windswept afternoon. Ali and I hatched a plan. We would tell Ramesh and Anesha there was a party here at the flat we shared. Escort Bostancı We would buy some party food and drinks from their supermarket to convince them that’s what was happening, and invite them. But we would switch for the invitations. Working as a unit, I would put it to Ramesh and Ali would make the offer to Anesha. First obstacle: would they both be working right now? We scooted round the corner and immediately spotted Ramesh on his checkout. I browsed the sausage rolls and crisps while Ali hung around the door at the back, where the employees went for their breaks. She grabbed one of the other girls and gleaned the information that Anesha had popped out for a minute but would be back. When Anesha did return and set about mopping the aisles, we got to work. With a basketful of bits and pieces we hung around her and Ali made conversation. Anesha had been given a body that was over-specification for sexiness. You could see she was acutely aware of her breasts and the effect they had on men, and when she walked she tried to find a way to disguise her bottom, but to no avail. I drifted a few feet away as Ali did her charming, giggling stuff. Then she poked me in the ribs and said, “Anesha’s coming.” “Oh, great,” I said enthusiastically and smiled at her. She waved nervously and continued her work. We watched the checkouts until Ramesh’s was quiet, then moved in and he walked straight into it. “Having a party?” he said brightly. Ali took on the observer’s role as I talked bank holidays and boredom with Ramesh, and he accepted the invitation. He would come straight from work and Anesha would nip home to change.

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