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I hate being in a bar on my own. I mean, when you travel a lot for your job you sometimes can’t help it, but I still always feel strange sitting on my own with a paper. That’s why I was glad James was there. He’s just a kid, I don’t know why I brought him along really. He’d been pestering me for weeks to allow him to come along on a selling trip though, and finally I had relented. The result was that tonight I was not alone. We were sitting in a pleasant bar in London, chatting about pretty much nothing and sinking a beer or two.

When I say James is a kid, I mean he’s 19 and not long out of school. I’m only 29 myself, but those few years make a lot of difference. James is not only young of age, but also young at heart. I feel that my lack of interest in chatting up what he referred to as the local “totty”the previous two evenings had frustrated him somewhat. It didn’t come as a surprise therefore when he started talking to a couple of girls at the bar while getting in the next round.

They were a little on the young side for me really, probably about 21 or 22. It seemed to me that they weren’t really dressed right for the establishment either, a little bit slutty. Especially the one James had gone for – not my type at all. James had gone for the bleached blonde. She was about average build, but had decided to cram herself into a rather tight top, and a very short skirt. Not a wise choice. She wore high heeled sandals, that were so tight at the ankles the straps had sunk almost completely into her flesh. Her friend was a different matter. She was also blonde, but that golden blond colour that dye and bleach can’t match. She wore a close fitting jumper made of fine, pale blue wool, which emphasised an excellent figure. Her midriff was tantalisingly exposed, and nicely tanned. She wore blue hipster jeans, and I have never seen them look so good, tight over her tidy butt and slim thighs, doubtless enhanced by the high heels on her boots. She was the very embodiment of refined class, and much more my style.

I did what I don’t do. I stood and went over to the bar, took my pint off James, and got myself into the conversation. The girl James was chatting up was called Val, and was a secretary at an office nearby. Her friend was Fiona, a trainee accountant, and was clearly bored by James crude chat-ups, and embarrassed that Val was falling for them. We drifted back to our table with the girls in tow, and before long Fiona and I were deep in conversation, ignoring the ‘kids’ who were more our contemporaries than we would care to admit.

Fiona and I chatted aimlessly for a couple of hours, disappearing a few beers and a few gin and tonics in the process. Eventually James caught my attention and said to me sheepishly that he was going to call it a night. Coincidentally so was Val, and they disappeared together, giggling. Fiona and I chuckled at their youthful exuberance. We laughed at the messy, slurping kissing that had been going on, and as we did our lips touched and electricity flowed.

We talked of holidays, of music, even literature. We talked of food, of drink, of cars, of jobs. We talked of going to the gym (it was clear she did), and of health. She told me of a time she went over on her ankle when running, breaking it. She told me of the attention she got, the way the plaster felt on her leg. She told me it was kind of kinky, like the tight boots she was wearing.
The pub closed, and we went outside, emerging into an alleyway. We kissed again, more deeply, and I looked deep into her eyes. I knew what she wanted. She told me to do it. She put her right foot slightly forward, and put all of her weight onto it. She put her hand on my shoulder and tipped her foot to one side. I stamped down on her ankle, and I felt and heard the fracture. She shuddered and moaned gently. We kissed again, hardly exchanging a word as I half carried her into the street. It took only seconds to find a taxi. In the cab she rested her head on my shoulder, and held my hand tightly.

At the hospital she was seen quickly. The nurse wanted to cut her boot of, but she insisted I remove it. I cut a slit carefully up each side of the leg of her jeans to just below the knee. Her ankle pained her too much for me to roll it up. I zipped the boot down to the bottom, and peeled it carefully from her foot. To my surprise, her foot and leg were encased in black nylon. I cut it mid-calf and peeled the foot section off. Her ankle was blue and swollen, and we were immediately sent to x-ray. They confirmed the break.

We go to the cast room. Fiona has had some painkillers now, and she is smiling at me, her eyes shining. Stokinette, padding. I watch as the nurse takes out the first roll of white fiber from its package. She wraps carefully, taking a pride in her work. Soon it is done, steaming. Fiona sits on the side of the bed, her tanned midriff still inviting a touch. She still has one leather boot on, with a 2 inch heel. Her jeans are rolled back known now, and all I can see is a glimpse of fiber where I have cut the side, and her casted foot. Her tanned toes wiggle invitingly in response to the nurses request. The red nail polish has some glitter in it, catching the light.

Another cab ride, kissing, embracing this time. We arrive at my hotel, the destination agreed without a word. I help her out, and she crutches to the lift. I let her get slightly ahead, I enjoy the shape of her bust as she leans into the crutches, I enjoy her pert bottom. 5 floors. My Room.

She sits on the side of another bed, and pulls her jumper over her head. She lies back, and undoes her jeans. I remove them, oh so gently. Black stockings, not tights. She cups her breasts in her hands, then runs her right hand down, under her briefs. She draws it out again, and makes me taste the juice on her finger. I gently tear the remains of the stocking off her casted leg, and kiss her toes. I move onto the bed beside her, and we kiss deeply, I undo her bra. Black, lacy. Her tanned breasts are firm, even without support they retain their shape. She moans gently as I bite her nipple.

I stand and undress. My erection is huge, the end of my cock moist with pre-cum. I kiss the toes of her casted foot, then the other one. I kiss her leg all the way up to her moist, pungent crotch. I slip her panties gently off her. I guide my erection to her, feel her wetness on my cock. I slide my end up and down her slit, feeling her shudder as I hit her clitoris. She pulls me to her, I enter her. I am lost in a warm, wet heaven. Our legs entwine, I feel the coarse fiber of her cast and the soft warmth of her stocking. Seconds turn to minutes as we rock gently, kiss, nibble. I bite her earlobe, and she starts to shudder, a thrust into her, harder, harder. She moans and pulls me in deep, deeper than I though possible. We share a hot, wet explosion in our groins. We sleep, entwined as one.
Morning comes. A note. “Thanks, F”. That’s all. Thanks Fiona.