UNFINISHED BUSINESS Steamy Psycho Thriller, The David Trilogy

UNFINISHED BUSINESS by Crime Writer SCCunningham

'You're a coward Tara Warr, you secretly want to have a go, but you're a scaredy cat... frightened you'll like it, end up cropping your hair, wear doc martin boots, and have I love KD Lang tattooed on your forehead.'

She enjoyed accusing Tara of being a closet lesbian at every sniff of lesbo opportunity. Tara, wondering if Helen may be right, would stare off into the distance trying to go there for a nanosecond, to conjure up naked female limbs rolling around in hay... why hay? ... and not everyone will smell of anchovy...

But no, an eye squint, a shoulder scrunch and a head shake ... nope, definitely not.

'Nah, absolutely no chance, I can't even picture it. No springy haired, anchovy smelling, minge munching for moi thank you very much.'

She definitely loved men, although God knows why, they were decidedly bad for her health.

'Not everyone smells of anchovy for God's sake,' barked Helen. 'That was only Stinky 'Pinky' Patterson in year six, and it's not my fault you didn't find her pants in your gym locker for two weeks... honestly, I'd forgotten I'd hidden them, the rancid things, that girl didn't know what a bar of soap looked like.'

'Ewe... stop right there,' Tara hand palmed Helen, sternly. 'We promised never to mention that episode again, I missed a whole term of netball avoiding that smell, that locker... it blighted my chance of becoming Head Girl.'

'Absolute bloody rubbish Tara Warr,' balked Helen. 'Being caught in the vestry, dressed in a habit, performing felatio on the Portuguese gardener did that.'

'Ahh Mario, he was delish, although little short, I had to stand him on a pile of hymn books, I wonder if he's still alive?' she waved the thought of him away. 'I am so not ever going down on a woman, anchovy or not, they don't have whatI need... oysters can be a problem also, if I think about it when I'm eating, I can't swallow.'

The girls look at her sideways, lost at the leaps in topic.

'You know what I mean... they have a mingy clitorissy feel... I'm guessing... having never actually gone down on a woman... if I think about it too much, the pong of Pinky Patterson's nickers come to mind and I gag... I have to chuck the oyster to the back of my throat, fast as hell before the clit connection comes, so to speak,' the girls look at her blankly.

'... and I can't look anyone in the eye when I eat a banana,' she is making things worse, so shuts up.

'If you're missing the feel of a man, just use a strap on,' suggests Josie, trying to be helpful.

'Yuk no thank you, how ridiculous is that, some woman kneeling over you waving a rubber donga in your face, I'd be mortified. She's not a professional cock owner, how do you know she's not gonna get over macho on me, lunge too deep, give me a rebore, and surface in my throat? No thank you, a cold, hard, pink plastic appendage... and I have tried running a vibrator under the hot tap before I use it, still not the same... cannot replace the feeling of being entered by the real thing.'

Again, she would stare off into the distance, her voice taking on a whisper. 'Man on girl' action she definitely could visualise.

'... the look in his eye, the smell of his skin... that little raw animal sound that comes from the back of his throat as he slowly eases his way deep inside... the soft catch in his breath as he takes time to breath... enjoying the warm blissful sensation of being completely encased in your lurve muscle... you give a little squeeze and he is putty in your hands... priceless!'

It had been a year since she last had sex... you could tell.

Josie would clear her throat, bringing Tara back to the present; she missed that feeling too, but didn't dare tell Helen.