It was like the shock of a freezing cold water spray. Outside 127 there was a Luton van, two guys carrying boxes were relaying in and out of the house, what the Hell! I felt my heart race as I hurried the last hundred yards. I squeezed passed a box carrying man who stunk of BO. 'Are you helping Miss Randolph clear stuff?', he looked blankly at me and gestured with his head toward Milly's front door, it was ajar. I gingerly walked along the dingy hallway and knocked gently, 'Milly?'. The door was jerked open by a stout woman in her fifties wearing a grimy pink nylon housecoat and yellow Marigold gloves. 'She isn't here, I'm her daughter Jackie', studying my expression of confusuon she pulled off her gloves and languily lit a cigarette 'She had a stroke a couple of days ago, the old girl's in hospital', her thin lips formed the words through the cigarette smoke that drifted from her mouth, there was scant sense of sorrow for her poorly mother. I blinked as the smoke shrouded my face, Milly would have abhorred this stench of stale tobacco. I felt my heart burning with sadness, poor Milly, poor Charla!
'Oh dear! May I ask how she is?'. Jackie took another long drag, 'not good, it was a bad one, the doctors have asked us to prepare for the worst'. My heart sank.
A second box man, smelling even more pungent than the first, brushed passed us, barking in a thick foreign accent, 'Minding yer backs girls!'
Surveying the tea chests and boxes trewn over Milly's parlour, it was apparent that her cold eyes daughter's idea of 'preparing for the worst' was, to rather prematurely, clean out all Milly's treasured possessions. I opened my mouth to speak but was stopped in my mental tracks, '...Minding your backs GIRLS'.....
was I so deep into my femme training that such a remark seemed normal? Jackie had shown zero reaction to the breezy comment, had I heard him correctly? I was in my best Levi's and a grey tee-shirt, hardly mincing about in a pink thong and high heels. I glanced over Jackie's shoulder and caught the man look back at me over the packing cases, it was a lingering gaze. I composed myself, 'Oh I'm so sorry to hear that Jackie, your mum's a good sort, she's been ummm, very kind to me'.
Jackie looked at me, an eyebrow arched above cool grey eyes, 'Really, was she?' she took a long drag that finished her cigarette her eyes, like probing x-ray vision, never wavered from mine, 'well... good for you'. She looked at the fag end in her fingers and let it drop to the carpet and ground it out with her boot heel. Tracking my gaze over the rows of boxes and tea chests, 'She won't be coming back here, so we thought it best to clear all this stuff out now' she offered in a sightly softer tone. I nodded foolishly and caught Mr.BO 2 sneak another look at me as he heaved up another box to be cleared out, fighting the distraction I lamely agreed, 'Hmmm perhaps it's for the best', (yeah and and no doubt sift though it to find anything remotely valuable to stick on e-Bay you mercenary bitch) my remarks utterly redundant. Clearly the moment for our interaction had past, Jackie, her face a stoney mask turned away and disappeared into the kitchenette.
In the corner of the smokey lounge I spied the corner of Milly's precious old photo album protruding from a crumpled carrier bag. No doubt destined for the dump, my heart filled with anger. As I climbed the stairs the box mover whistled up at me. It wasn't exactly a wolf whistle but it stung my vestigial male pride, I spun on my heel prepared to face him down. He was hovering at the foot of the stairs smiling up at me, 'I saw you look at this thing…..you want?' he spoke with a thick Turkish accent. He was offering up the old carrier bag, 'it only go to dump...' I smiled and stepped down to accept the gift, 'Yes I do, thanks a lot, that's very thoughtful of you'. As I took the bag his knuckles brushed over my nipples sending a thrill down to my tummy, I felt myself blushing.
I turned and quickly climbed back the stairs, very aware that he was still watching my bum. I quietly closed my flat door behind me and began to decode my emotions. My heart was pounding not because poor Milly was facing her imminent demise but because that man was eyeing me up! Oh no, were the pills and cremes altering me so radically? How had he homed in on me, was I talking or acting in way that betrayed my slut sissy inner self? I set the carrier bag down and walked over to the mirror. Milly would have been proud of me, my bottom was rounded and the snug jeans showed off my trim waistline it's fly plunged steeply back between my legs as if the manly equipment was entirely absent. My grey tee-shirt was just tight enough to point up my nipples and the faint outline of a mini cleavage. Oh my gosh! No wonder Mr. BoxMover had been looking askance at me. My fingers wandered over my nipples, erect beneath my tee shirt, I suddenly found myself gasping for breath, my chest tingling. Vivid mental images shouldered their way onto the stage of my imagination. I pulled off my shirt, my cool fingertips eager to twist and teased my nipples, I closed my eyes hot pleasure swamped me.... I was naked save for hair and heels, the two guys were all over me, pawing, stroking and exploring my body. Far from playing the part of ravished, struggling virgin, I was loving it, pulling my cheeks apart to help them plunge their fingers into my tight pink pussyhole whilst greedily licking and sucking their proffered cocks..... I slumped back on the settee breathless and trembling, I pulled my jeans down and wanked my clitty, hungry for the release, four or five strokes saw a jet of hot girlie juice arc onto the floor. That one was for you Mistress Milly, I smiled and reached for her old photo album.
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