Discovery Ch. 01

Literotic asexstories – Discovery Ch. 01 by GentleSir,GentleSir
*** Authors Note: Any similarity to real persons or places described within this story is probably not an accident, although I’ve made the effort not to expose anybody too much. The story circulates around a girl I met once, who told me some of her story. I will always regret not having spent more time with her. Enjoy & please leave your comments, good or bad! ***

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My name is Sam.

Actually it’s Samantha, but only my mum calls me that when she’s pissed at me for something. I’m sure you get that too if you have that kind of multi-syllabic name.

I grew up in the Western suburbs of Sydney, Australia. Yep, the poor part of one of the wealthiest cities in the world. Not poor by world standards, by any means. But by Australian standards, our family has not done well.

Dad was a builder’s labourer and concreter in his earlier days and earned a decent living. That was until too many shoddy industrial practices and workplace accidents cost him his youth and his ability to work anything better paying than the odd short-term job he could pick-up stacking supermarket shelves or driving delivery trucks for a construction project. Our back yard BBQs in those days tended to consist of a bunch of Islanders with equally shitty incomes sharing in my family’s poverty.

But, he’s a good man and I love him to death.

My mum, however, is another story. From as early as I can remember dad was never good enough for her and most of the conversations she directed around the dinner table centred on when he was going to find a decent job, or how my brother & I should work hard and make sure we never end up like him.

My dad always just kept a frozen smile and agreed with her, even though she never worked a day in her life as far as I remember. Any other response from him would just get mum going and invariably that would result in me or my little brother ending up in tears. I couldn’t escape that place fast enough.

Lucky for me I was gifted with enough intelligence and work ethic to get me through school and into university. I’m studying business and IT, like a double degree. I want to become a systems architect, I think. But I’ve got another year left at uni to think on that and technology seems to be moving so fast, who knows what another year will bring.

University was my ticket to another world. Only 2 weeks into my studies I met Kelly. Kelly is a couple of years older than me and had spent those 2 years backpacking the world after school before she returned home to start university herself. Kelly and I quickly became besties. A lot of her old school friends had drifted away whilst she’d been travelling and I… well let’s just say I never had any real close friends at school that made it through to graduation or didn’t get moved away to wherever their fathers could find work.

Looking back now, we found each other exactly in that period in of each of our lives when each of us needed a friend & confidant. And then something else happened.

You see Kelly’s parents are wealthy. Very wealthy. Her dad is a self-made businessman working in investment banking and her mum a commercial solicitor. By all accounts they met on the job and were very quickly inseparable, married and pregnant – though not necessarily in that order. I always smile when I think about the conversation over beers when Kelly told me her favourite “embarrassing dad story” of how she may have been conceived on the boardroom table of a prominent Australian merchant bank in North Sydney. Anyway, I digress.

When Kelly came back from her travels, her folks bought her a smallish 2 bedroom apartment in Crows Nest to live in whilst she was at university. The apartment came with 2 conditions. First, she had to get a job and pay her own way – her dad’s way of making her learn some life lessons and a work ethic. Second, she had to have a room-mate. Something her mother insisted on, mostly for safety reasons. Even on Sydney’s Lower North Shore, one can find some dodgy characters, believe me!

So she moved into her new apartment and started working in a local pub that her dad had some business interest in. She’d been looking for a flat-mate for a couple of weeks when we first met. A week later I was moving in.

Her folks had insisted on meeting me first though and I think they took a shine to me. Over dinner they asked me lots of questions about where I was from, my family and what I wanted to do after graduating university. Being the business people they were, it wasn’t long before they’d coaxed out of me pretty much everything I had to tell. I think her dad particularly thought I would be good for his only daughter – a kind of “real world” reality check to her “entitled” upbringing. He also told me he’d put in a good word at the same pub that Kelly was working at. Seems his “good word” is as good as a job offer.

So, here I am, a month shy of 21. Kelly and I have a little under a year left to complete our 4 year degree programs and we are still best friends, flat-mates and co-workers. Over the past 3 years we’ve laughed, cried and studied our arses off. We’ve gotten drunk together and fooled around with boys together a bit, though me being far less enthusiastic than Kelly on the boy part. Once we even got arrested for disorderly & spent a night in the lockup together. Needless to say her dad never heard that story – at least not from us!

I think there’s only 1 thing that we haven’t shared since I’ve known Kelly: Virgin status. I know Kelly lost her virginity at 15 under the stands at a school rugby match at Knox grammar she had attended with her groupies. She’s told me the story several times, with each re-telling in more vivid detail. I think she enjoys watching me squirm.

Me? Well I’m still a virgin. A near 21 year old virgin, which is not that easy to find in Australia. Not that Aussie gals are all that easy, but I’m pretty sure as a generalisation, we enjoy men and don’t get too hung up about what’s under the bonnet, so to speak.

It’s not that I have any particular hang ups about sex or anything, I’ve just not come across a boy yet that I particularly wanted to fuck. Quite the opposite in truth.

All the boys back in school were arseholes whose prime interests were cars, booze, drugs and telling their mates about which girl they’d last coaxed into the back seat of their wheels for a bit of whatever. I’d made a decision pretty early on that I wasn’t going to be one of those girls.

At university, I’d become focussed on my studies and balancing as many extra hours at the pub as I could to put some money away. Sure Kelly & I occasionally dragged a couple of fellas back to our apartment for some fun, but I always drew the line at snogging or the occasional hand job.

One time I was contemplating having a go at giving my first blow-job to a particularly attractive guy we’d met at The Oakes pub in Neutral Bay, while Kelly was riding his buddy on the couch and screaming like a banshee to boot. That night ended badly when it became obvious to my guy that, regardless of whatever else was going to happen, my panties were not leaving my arse under any circumstances. He and his mate both left the apartment with parting insults of “cock-tease” or some such.

I spent quite some time crying my eyes out against Kelly’s comforting chest that night. Whilst I don’t think she understands why I don’t just relent and join the “I’ve been fucked club”, she’s never questioned me about it. She does ask me twice now before she offers to bring blokes back to the apartment though. And that’s gotta be part of the reason that I love her so much. She’s got my back!

She’s also taught me a lot of things off the cuff. Let’s just say that I’m intimately aware of what she has learnt through her travels and experiences, without having been there myself. There’s been a couple of times when her stories have gone way beyond the level of detail you’d expect between mates and I’ve not quite managed to put my finger on why as yet.

So here I am: at work and thinking about Kelly watching my back as I literally watch her back clearing a table across the 2nd floor room of our pub. We both think of it as “our pub” but its real name is Halligans. Yep, it’s one of those pseudo Irish bars you’ll find anywhere across Australia and around the world from what I hear. But the menu is hearty and reasonably priced. The range of Australian boutique ales on tap, alongside the standard Guinness and Kilkenny types, is popular and the patrons are mostly fun to serve. A mixture of professionals having a meal and a drink on the way home during the week and locals just getting pissed on the weekend. Usually I prefer the weeknight shifts – less trouble and better tips!

Not tonight though.

It’s 8.30 pm on a Tuesday night at work and less than 2 hours to last drinks. And it’s quiet. Tuesday nights are always quiet, but tonight there’s only 2 patrons left upstairs and little chance of any tips coming my way. Unfortunately Davo, the boss, has a policy of always staying open till closing time, whether there’s 1 drinker or a hundred.

Kelly comes back to the bar and rolls her eyes at me as she starts rinsing and stacking a table’s worth of abandoned pint glasses. Not for the first time I’m struck by just how pretty Kelly is. She’s tall like me, but that’s about where the resemblance ends. Her hair is jet black and falls down in waves to shoulder length. Her eyes are the most dazzling crystal blue colour and her skin is absolutely flawless. She’s also got perky A cup breasts which she constantly bemoans, but all in all, she definitely lucked up in the looks department. Google Caroline Tillette and that’s pretty much her (without the boobs).

Me? Well I’ve often been compared to a very young Nicole Kidman or a more modern Kelly Reilly, with auburn hair, very pale skin and green eyes. I’m the day to Kelly’s night. I’m a little bigger up top than Kelly as well, though not enough that we don’t occasionally swap togs and bras of the more “value add” kind.

She looked up from the table to catch me staring and gave me a wink. “Looks like a nasty 2 hours of brass cleaning ahead of us tonight Hamster”.

As always I can’t help but grin at the silly nickname. She’s got this thing going where she’s eternally finding convoluted alternatives for my name. Like “Junior” as in Sammy Davis or “Wortho” as in Sam Worthington.

“Hamster?”

“Sam, Samster, Hamster” she throws back at me as she wipes her hands on a towel and flicks a loose strand of dark hair out of her eyes.

“Not your best one yet”.

“Yeah, I know. I think I’ve just about run out of ideas. You’d better change your name soon or one of the world’s finest traditions will come to an end”.

I chuckled and told her I’d go clear the balcony tables outside. “Ooh, careful Hamster. International man of mystery is out there.”

“Conor? Yeah I’ve already poured a couple of pints for him. Maybe I’ll try and dig a bit more info out of him. Come looking for me if I’m not back in 10.”

“Will do chicko. Find out if he’s married!”

“Ewww. He’s like mid 30’s or something.”

“Yeah, but he’s cute. In that brooding, Clint Eastwood way. Well before he got all Grand Torino kind of old.”

I chucked a soggy beer coaster at her and grabbed a rag and bucket before heading for the balcony door closest to the bar. Kicking the door open with a foot, I quickly scanned the length of the balcony for the subject of our conversation. And there he was right up the other end of the balcony, overlooking the main street leading down to the train station and the small shopping square and apartment building that made up the block adjacent to the pub. He tended to sit there the most if the seats up that end were available. I mentally made a note to make that my mission tonight – to find out why he liked to sit there.

As I started cleaning the benches and emptying ash trays along the balcony, I looked up occasionally hoping to catch his eye and give me an excuse to strike up a conversation. Conor was a constant source of intrigue amongst the girls who worked at the pub. The guys didn’t seem to get the curiosity, but that didn’t stop us girls gossiping and trying to wheedle more information out of him. In the end we all just settled on calling him our “International man of mystery” because apart from his first name, we knew almost nothing else about him. When I say “almost”, one of the girls swears she saw him in a tuxedo at a function in town that she was hired to do tables at, but couldn’t cough up any of the details, like who he was with or whom he left with. We girls mentally just added nameless tuxedoed event to the list of mystery.

About half way along the balcony I fumbled a plastic ashtray and it let out a loud crack as it hit the wood of the floor and rolled a couple of meters in the direction of where Conor was sitting. Cursing I placed the bucket and rag on the bench and then crouched down to pick it up. As I straightened to stand up again I caught Conor’s eye. He was staring straight at me.

“Fuck. Sorry about that”, I said, throwing him my brightest smile. He just gave me a crooked hint of a smile and shrugged and returned to whatever was keeping his attention down on the street while sipping away at his pint.

I found myself immediately nervous and excited all at the same time. He had this effect on most of the girls at the pub as we’d all realised during the course of our gossiping, though none of us could put our finger on why.

I reflexively gave him a smile and quickly grabbed my bucket to finish the cleaning, trying to think of something clever to say to open a conversation. Mentally chiding myself for being silly as I reached the part of the bench that he was sitting at, I decided to ask him straight up and without giving myself a chance to second guess, I hit him with it.

“Hey um Conor. I’m curious. How come you always like to sit all the way up this end of the balcony?”

He looked up at me then from whatever subject on the street that had been holding his attention. Again the smile. Not for the first time I started to take mental notes. He has a shock of black hair which is always a little unkempt. He always wears some combination of a dark suit pant and shirt combination that smacks of a missing tie and jacket discarded somewhere between wherever he comes from and the pub. Kind of like he got dressed and decided in the middle of breakfast not to go to work today.

His face is so overly non-expressive, that apart from the odd crooked smile, I’m sure I could honestly say that I’ve never seen him laugh or swear or crack a joke. His eyes are so dark they could be black and on occasions when he’s even more distant than normal, appear to be whispering “you can fuck off”. And right now they were staring at me.

I swallowed and thought of what one elderly Irish patron had said to me once after I’d poured Conor a pint and he’d wandered off back to his balcony seat. “He’s got the look of the Black Irish that one” he’d sagely whispered and tapped his forehead knowingly. “There’s all kinds of storms swirling around in that head”.

“I like to watch people.” Conor’s voice interrupted my reverie.

I wasn’t expecting him to give me anything in the way of a genuine answer and it took me a bit by surprise. “You like to watch people? Do what?”

“You know, getting about their lives. And I make up stories about them.”

“Um, I don’t know whether that sounds weird or creepy” I chuckled, somewhat nervously. “The ‘make up stories’ bit that is” I paused, looking for a continuum. “I guess everybody likes to people watch to some extent. Um, what kind of stories?”

“Well that depends on the person. See that guy waiting to cross the road there? With the blue t-shirt? He’s hung like a horse and his wife’s been begging him to get a surgical reduction for years” I look down in the direction he was pointing just in time for the pedestrian light to blink green. Blue t-shirt guy stepped off the curb and I immediately noticed he had a strange gait to his stride, just like something was impeding his walk. Oh. My. God.

I couldn’t help myself. I let out a loud laugh and covered my face as the guy in the blue shirt looked up in surprise. I realised I was blushing brightly with embarrassment. I hope the poor guy didn’t think I was laughing at his walk, though I guess I kind of was.

“That’s terrible.” I said as I turned back to Conor, locking my teeth around a finger to try and stifle my giggling.

“But very funny apparently.” He returned, though I noticed his smile had disappeared and his usual guarded appearance had returned. It was almost like he’d caught himself and was trying not to enjoy the moment.

The door at this end of the bar suddenly opened and Kelly stuck her head out. She quickly gave Conor and I a once over and raised an eyebrow when she noticed the last traces of laughter leaving my face. “Davo wants one of us to knock off coz it’s so quiet. I can finish up the cleaning in an hour or so if you want to finish up and wait for me? He said he’ll close up by himself tonight.”

I only had to think for a second. Usually when the opportunity arose, I was the one to take the extra hours. Not tonight. “Um, OK sure. Let me just finish the balcony and I’ll be right in.”

“OK chicky. Want me to pour you a pint?”

“Yeah sure. Make it a Three Sheets.”

“Okey Dokey.” Before I could make a move, she grabbed my bucket and rag. “Don’t worry about the rest. Take a seat and I’ll bring your pint out”. She gave me a quick wink and ducked back inside the pub.

Well. This was awkward.

At this point I wasn’t sure whether to curse or thank Kelly. I turned back to Conor. He was still looking at me and I struggled for my next words… “I, um. Looks like I might be here for a pint or 2 while I wait for my flat-mate and um…”

“You want to join me?” he finished for me.

Phew! Thank you Kelly.

“Yeah, that’d be nice. Maybe you can tell me another story or 2 while I wait” I smiled. His eyes smiled back at me momentarily before he looked down and dragged a stool over next to his.

“One condition though Sam. No digging OK? I like to keep myself to myself”.

Wow OK. 2 things then: He knows my name and he knows about our little gossip games. He’d never before given any indication that he was aware of either. I made a note to be a little more circumspect in future.

I sat my arse down at the proffered seat and glanced back up at him. “OK sure. I’m sorry if we’ve ever bothered you with our curiosity. I know it’s a bit silly and all…”

“No, not bothered. But I’m not going to close down further chatter by spilling the beans to you now am I?” Again, the black eyes and dark smile.

“I guess not. We better stick to other people then.” I said as I returned my attention to the street below. Just then Kelly returned with a pint for me and a fresh one for Conor.

“Compliments of the boss.” She said quickly and ducked back inside with a quick wink over her shoulder at me as the door closed behind her.

Conor regained my attention before I could think too much on what Kelly was up to. “There’s a story for sure”. I followed his upraised finger and immediately found his target. An older guy in a somewhat old fashioned suit was wondering up the street from the station towards us. 2 things stood out with him. He was wearing an incongruous Manly Sea Eagles supporter’s cap and sporting what I think Kelly would have referred to as a “shit eating grin”, apart from an otherwise unmemorable brown suit.

“OK” I replied. “What’s his story?”

“Well, this morning he was about to tell his boss he was going to retire and was going to give a month’s notice. But then his boss interrupted his request for a chat and invited him into the office to explain that the firm was going through some hard times and his name had come up for a very generous redundancy package, effective after farewell drinks tonight after work. So all day he’s been feigning general upset at being discarded after his 25 years’ service to the company and waiting to get home to give his wife the good news. He’s just left behind a cake and a few glasses of bubbly with his very supportive younger co-workers and now he doesn’t have to pretend any more. Hence the unusually happy mug on his face.”

I chuckled as I put this story up against him and mentally agreed that it fit perfectly. Except… “OK I give you that. But what about that Manly cap? No one likes The Silvertails!”

“Well, you see. For 25 years the cap has sat on his desk and every Monday if Manly has had a win on the weekend, he comes into work and puts it on. But today, he gets to wear it home for the first time. Loves his footy does George.”

I laughed again. “I’ll pay that too. You reckon his wife’s name is Mildred then?”

“Almost certainly.” And he laughed. Wow, I thought. This guy is really opening up to me. Not wanting to stifle the flow I looked back down to the street again and immediately noticed that his eye was drawn to the same place mine was.

A very attractive blonde woman had just arrived at the pedestrian crossing and was waiting for the lights. She was tall and well-proportioned and wearing a loose fitting yellow sun dress. From the jiggle she’d displayed as she walked up the street, it was also very apparent she was not wearing a bra. Well that and a couple of points where her apparently high beaming nipples were poking at the material of the dress.

“What about her?” I immediately asked, with a very direct pointed finger, wondering whether he’d made the same observation and what might come from it.

“Well, I’m not sure I know her story” he responded much too quickly, avoiding eye contact and trying to cover it with a sip of his pint.

I took the bait if not the inference. “Hmmm. Do hot girls who forget to wear a bra not have stories too?” He looked up at me then and said something that surprised and sort of pleased me all at once.

“Probably. But I much prefer to put them in my fantasies, rather than my stories.” OK then, I thought. This is where I have to either decide to run screaming or strap myself in for whatever comes of this. But damn! What would the girls think if they knew I’d gotten this far with our man of mystery and then dropped the ball? I’ll have a go then.

“Um, what kind of fantasy does she find her way into?” With a last glance back to me and back down at his half finished pint, Conor seemed to make a decision with a slight outward breath and proceeded with something of an outburst, for him.

“Well. Often when I see the sans underwear thing, I tend to wonder what would happen if they were actually coming to the pub to meet me for a drink.

“You see I had a date once when right in the middle of it the lady I was with, bent over the dinner table and told me she wasn’t wearing any underwear, which was partially obvious to me anyway given the position she was in and the fit of her dress. Unfortunately as it turned out, I hadn’t quite realised how drunk she was and that was just about the last comprehensible thing she said to me before passing out in the middle of the restaurant. Seems she’d been on the sauce with her work buddies before she met up with me for dinner.

“Needless to say, that was our last date and ever since then I’ve been filling in the blanks with fantasy scenarios.”

I had to nudge myself when he stopped talking. I was getting a bit blown away by hearing him open up so much to me.

“Um, so by blanks you mean what might have happened if she hadn’t have been so drunk?”

“Indeed.” He smiled again and it suddenly struck me that he was blushing. I wondered straight away how I was managing to get him to open up like this. Was he drunk? I didn’t think so. Had I found a weak point in his dark boy armour thing? Maybe. Every time he looked at me I just wanted to melt away in to the background or something. What was it with this guy?

Or maybe…I thought again about the fact he’d called me by name and invited me to sit down with him. I’d never heard of him doing either with any of the other girls. In fact I’d only very occasionally seen him sitting with anyone else at all. More often than not, that “anyone else” was a sporty 30 year old looking brunette that some of us had speculated might be his girlfriend, but with whom he’d displayed no outward sign of affection. Maybe he likes me? I mean “likes a girl” type of likes me. If that was true what to say next then?

“So what do you think might have happened with no panties girl if she hadn’t been so pissed?” I had to work hard at maintaining eye contact with him then. This is just not the kind of discussion I’d tend to have with any guy, yet alone a guy I didn’t know.

“Oh no. I think we both need several more pints for that conversation, don’t you?” He winked at me then with a brief smile before his face clouded back over again, like he’d suddenly realised he was breaking cover.

I was halfway between “where the fuck did that smile come from?” and wanting to drop my own panties. I suddenly realised why all the girls spent so much idle chatter on this guy. He has something quite remarkable attached to him. An aura thing going on perhaps?

Just as suddenly he was up on his feet and downing the last of his pint. “Well that’s me Samantha. I’ll see you around.” With that he was through the door, leaving me sitting with my untouched pint of ale and I’m sure a face not unlike that I sported whilst first watching the Red Wedding. What the hell just happened? Did I upset him?

The door swung open again and Kelly’s head poked out around the frame. “What the hell did you say to him? He just brushed past me and down the stairs with a look on his face like a busted mudcrab!”

All I could do was shrug and shake my head. She joined me after a few more minutes and we quietly finished our staff pints. Somehow she knew not to ask me about my conversation with Conor, both because she knew I wouldn’t tell and didn’t want to talk either. She’s perceptive about things like that is my Kelly.

Whilst I do tend to look after myself a couple of times a week, it’s tended to become more a maintenance thing rather than one driven from any great need. But tonight I was barely through the front door and wishing Kelly a goodnight before I was on my bed with my work leggings and panties hanging from one ankle and my fingers dowsed in pussy juice. In my mind I was sitting naked in a crowded restaurant, wearing only a loose yellow sundress, one leg hanging over the arm of the seat, one hand squeezing a nipple and the other savagely fingering my clit. No one in the restaurant existed except for Conor who was sitting directly opposite me. Eyes hooded, just watching.

After not too long a time I lay in bed with a light sheen of sweat covering my face and chest and the last of 3 toe curling orgasms rippling through me. My hand was cramping from the battering I’d just given myself and I could feel the trickle of my juices slowly flowing down across my butt and into my bed sheets. “Holy fuck” I whispered for about the 10th time. Where did that come from?

The last thing I recalled as I fell asleep was image of a pair of brooding dark eyes.