“Not really,” Jason grimaced.

“Oh dear. Me neither,” she sighed, leaning forward.

Here we go, thought Jason with a wince.

“I keep wanting to just talk to Scott, see how he’s doing ‘cause we’ve not spoken since we broke up, but Morgan’s giving me really bitchy looks. And I’m hoping tonight’s the night with Alan, but I don’t know, he’s sending mixed signals.” Then, noticing Jason’s downward glances, asked, half embarrassed, half smiling, “Is this top too low? I mean, you can’t see anything, can you?”

“No,” Jason replied, shaking his head. “You’d have to do this…” Hooking his forefinger on the cowl, he pulled on the fabric and peered down at her titties, which weren’t large, but nicely shaped, and her nipples were pert.

“Hey!” Bianca slapped his hand away in shock. She tried to look angry, but failed. “I’m a bit pissed,” she said. “Here’s your pint, look. I’m off to try again with Alan.”

Calvin was checking his phone.

“Shit, man, I gotta go,” he said. “I said I’d meet Lizzie and she’s all set now. You’ll have to have my pint, gotta dash, seeya.”

With that, he was gone, leaving Jason with two pints and the rest of his colleagues. He considered making a sharp and discreet exit himself, but hated the idea of wasting drink. Even nasty lager, at that price. Six pints down and things started to get blurry. Bianca came over in a state, having been given the brush-off by the object of her desire. She wanted to talk: she had no girlfriends on the team and Jason was a good listener she said. He downed the extra pint Calvin had left him and suggested they leave, talk outside where it was quieter, away from the others, away from Alan, Scott and Morgan.

They wandered for a while, Bianca rambling on and on about her cycle of rejection, Jason doing his best to offer sympathy. He was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate: he was dying for a piss. Finding a back alley, he relieved himself behind a large bin for commercial waste. Shaking dry, he realised Bianca was peering over at him and checking out his plonker. He shrugged, buttoned his fly, stepped away from the puddle and they continued to talk. Jason was relieved that Bianca was calmer now, but was either cold or otherwise stimulated and he couldn’t stop himself glancing at her nips as they thrust against the fine fabric.

The conversation dropped momentarily. She stepped forward and placed her hand over his crotch, which was beginning to throb. He didn’t want her, didn’t fancy her, wasn’t about to start snogging her, but moved closer and began massaging her tit with his right hand: her nipple was firm against his palm. Pushing the side of the garment in toward her cleavage, her breast was exposed in the orange hue of the sodium street light, her nipple was large and hard and dark in the shadow. She had succeeded in coaxing his fly open and easing his cock out, which she now began to work.

The shortness of her skirt made for easy access, and her thong was little obstacle as he pushed the crotch aside to reveal her shaven snatch. Drunkenly, she guided his meat into her. Drunkenly he felt her wetness as her muscles contracted around his shaft. Drunkenly they thrust together. She gripped him tightly around his back while he, with the fingers of one hand dug into her buttock, massaged her breast with the other hand. He shot his load within a couple of minutes.

Drunken and dishevelled and still panting, the shame already making its register, they agreed never to mention their liaison again, to one another or to anyone else. They straightened their clothes and headed to the bus station.