One minute I was talking to her the next my head was buried between her legs.
Not many British women have black eyes. Jane did. I kind of linked it to the Libyan dual nationality she had although as that was only by dint of being born there to two very British parents it said more about my fantasist imaginings than reality. Those eyes though just sucked you in and left you believing. Jane was perfect. Utterly stunning in a head turning manner, perfectly proportioned body, intelligent and extremely witty in a great company kind of way. It was going to last forever or at least as far as I was concerned. Nothing could be better than Jane.
She had had some kind of accident early in life that had left her two front teeth jutting out in a not so complimentary manner further emphasised by big wide eyes and usually poorly applied make up. It’s funny but Carol fitted the stereotype, which in many other cases just isnt true. She had been a live in convent schoolgirl with a strict Catholic upbringing. Carol knew about men. She knew exactly what they wanted and when and how to give it in a way a guy would never forget. Back in those pre-AIDS days of the early 80s there was a lot of giving and taking. Everyone knew about Carol. Everybody talked about her. Nobody wanted to be with her but I never ever knew a single person who turned her down when she turned her attention towards them. And of course nobody even wondered what Carol wanted. She always seemed happy enough with her one night, one weekend kind of life.