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At least I got to switch the radio off, but then I had to put up with Julie's dull conversation about TV reality shows and God knows what else.

Suffice to say, by the time we neared Newcastle Julie was fairly pissed, and I was thoroughly pissed off. In a harassed moment I had stupidly agreed to let Julie book our accommodation, and the moment she told me we were heading for somewhere called the Jolly Welcome Inn my heart fell.

You know how this works: if a housing estate is called Golden Meadows you just know it's going to look like a war zone two minutes after a major bombing offensive.

We get a good financial allowance for hotels, but Julie's one of those people who likes to go as cheap as possible and pocket the difference.

Sure enough, the Jolly Welcome Inn was everything I expected. It was a few miles south of Newcastle, a squat grey motel apparently constructed entirely of concrete breeze blocks.

The windows looked as if they hadn't been cleaned since the place was built — at least two had cracked panes — and from what I could see from the curtains, they hadn't seen a drop of water for considerably longer.

The only other buildings as far as the eye could see were a grim industrial park, a massive power station, and an ugly red brick building which appeared to be some kind of pub.

The huge motel car park contained only three other vehicles, one of which was a truck the size of an ocean liner.

For two pins I'd have insisted we go somewhere else, but it was late, I wanted to stretch my legs, my silk blouse and designer jeans were rumpled and sweaty, and I desperately needed a couple of gin and tonics and a long hot shower.

We were checked in by a surly, unkempt middle-aged man, with three hairs plastered across his head to try and hide his baldness, who told us in a thick Geordie accent the local dialect that the 'inn' didn't have a bar.

Just bloody brilliant, I thought. He also insisted on calling me 'pet', a local form of address for women which I found rather irritating.

Julie and I dragged our bags to our 'chalets' — I wasn't going to risk leaving anything of the slightest value in the car — then met up in the car park to walk across to the pub.

I'd already had enough of her company for several years, but there was no way I was going to walk into a strange pub alone, especially not with my plummy Home Counties accent among a bunch of Geordie hicks.

I'd thought things couldn't get any worse until we opened the door of the bar. We were nearly blown backwards by the sheer volume of Black Sabbath screaming from the jukebox.

I had expected to get ogled by dozens of beery men, but in fact the half dozen or so clients were all female. I found that comforting for about two seconds, until I noticed the predominance of greasy denims, leather and distinctly masculine hairstyles.

There was one feminine looking girl, but she seemed to be in the process of having her face slowly eaten by a macho looking woman I took to be her girlfriend.

Well, I thought, this is absolutely wonderful: not only had Julie managed to book us into the shittiest hotel in the North East of England, she'd apparently brilliantly found the only one with an en suite lesbian biker bar!

I grabbed Julie's arm and, competing with Ozzy Osbourne, screamed, "Christ Julie, let's go somewhere else, I'm not drinking in this dump.

In the deafening silence which followed I was suddenly the focus of attention for every eye in the room — except those of the lovers, who seemed intent on screwing each other right there in the bar.

As the relatively tranquil opening notes of Nazareth's Love Hurts filled the musical void, Julie, ignoring the hostile glares in my direction, sniggered and said, "There isn't anywhere else Kaz.

Besides, I like this place; it's got, er, character. She was right, though, there wasn't anywhere else and I needed that drink more by the moment.

So I picked my way delicately across the sticky wooden floor of the bar and asked for a G and T. The barmaid, a stocky bottle blonde in her forties with a s skinhead hairstyle and a ring through her nose, stared at me as if I'd asked for a Sloe Comfortable Harvey Zombie on the Beach, complete with parasol.

After three seconds, realising I wasn't going to relent and order a sensible drink, she gave a heavy sigh, selected a glass, wiped it on her Southern Comfort T shirt, filled it as required, then placed it in front of me, saying, with heavy sarcasm, "There you go, princess.

We chose a table in a dark, isolated corner. Julie slumped on a velveteen bench and stared with open amusement at the denizens of the pub.

I resisted the temptation to put a handkerchief of my grimy bar stool and sat with my back to them, carefully sipping my drink from the side of the glass without the pre-existing lipstick stain.

Conversation was near impossible with the jukebox working its way through the entire history of heavy metal.

After maybe five minutes I became aware of a dark shadow looming over me. Glancing up, I saw the most extraordinary woman standing staring down at us.

She was in her mids, I reckoned, and had to be six-feet-two, with shoulders that Arnold Schwarzenegger would envy.

She had heavily gelled, short dark blonde hair, piercing pale blue eyes, cheeks pocked by acne scars and big rubbery lips.

Her left forearm had a tattoo of a vicious looking black dragon breathing fire. I couldn't help noticing her boobs — they were huge, at least D-cup, but they weren't benefiting from the support of any bra cup that night.

Her nipples stood out like coat hooks. In one of her huge hands she held a glass filled with a clear liquid. I began to reach for my purse, ready to surrender it without a fight.

But the woman turned to Julie and, in a deep gravely voice which cut straight through Deep Purple's best efforts, said, "D'ya mind if I buy ya girlfriend a drink?

With tears in her eyes, she shook her head, her long blonde hair whipping across her face, and chortled, "No, not at all, on you go sweetheart.

The woman took the chair next to my stool and placed the glass she was holding in front of me. What's your name pet? Er, Mrs Duthie.

I realised I was nervously twisting my wedding ring with the thumb and forefinger of my other hand. I didn't want to accept this woman's hospitality, but I'd finished my own drink, and God, did I need another!

So I sipped the refresher — it was a double measure, at least. For the next few minutes I sat in a daze as a diesel dyke I'd met less than five minutes before chatted me up, and Julie grinned at me as if I was the best show in town.

Pearl asked me where I lived, what I did for a living, what I was doing in Newcastle, that sort of thing. As my admirer talked, and I gave the briefest answers possible, my sensitive nose picked up a miasma of scents from her — the slightly pungent aroma of her hair gel, her perspiration, beer on her breath, stale cigarette smoke from her clothes, and the leathery whiff of her trousers.

I have to admit, I was hypnotised by Pearl's intense stare and her pendulous tits, which shifted slightly inside her T shirt whenever she adjusted her position.

My gaze kept drifting from her face to her chest, then back again. I must say at this stage that I had never had the slightest sexual interest in women, not even in dreams or fantasies.

Finally, with no prior hint that it was coming, she leaned into me and, in a whisper they could probably hear on the other side of the bar, said, "Why don't you come back to my place Karen?

I'll give ya the best lickin' ya've ever had in ya life. Pearl seemed oblivious to her, continuing to snare me in her gaze, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

As she leaned close, her warm tits rested lightly on my forearm on the table. I got a sudden attack of shivers.

Christ, why was I letting a bloody pushy butch lesbian more than ten years younger than me even come close?

Delicately withdrawing my arm, I stuttered, "Look Pearl, you're a very nice girl — woman — person — and I'm grateful for the drink.

I'll gladly buy you one back. But as I told you, I'm married — very happily married — and I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm just not, er, gay, and I'm not interested.

Adopting what she presumably considered a seductive tone, and leaning closer still, placing a hand on mine, she said, "Come on pet, I can tell ya're interested.

Ya haven't taken your eyes off me tits since I sat here. Come home with me and they're all yours. Five minutes in bed with me and ya'll be climbing the walls beggin' for more.

Ask any of the girls over there. Pearl continued, "Your little friend here obviously doesn't mind, and I'm sure she won't tell your old man, will ya sweetheart?

As it was, I was dreading the wind-up I'd probably get about this back at my office. To be fair, though, Julie did actually come through for me at that point, belatedly.

She could see I was getting dead worried, and slammed her pint glass onto the table with a resounding thud. Then she slurred, "Look butch, she's said she's not interested, okay?

It's been a bit of fun, but why don't you take the hint now and just sling your hook, like a good little dyke. Pearl leapt to her feet, her fists bunching and her face darkening in outrage.

The back of her chair hit the floor with a smack which echoed around the suddenly dead silent pub. I began to scrabble for my mobile 'phone, to call an ambulance for Julie and a police escort for myself.

Then Pearl visibly untensed, and said, "Aye, fair enough. Forget the drink. I threw back the dregs of my drink and dragged Julie to her feet.

She had gone white, clearly appreciating the danger she'd been in. I was still furious with her for her part in putting me in the situation in the first place.

I snapped, "Come on Jules, let's get the fuck out of here, while we still can. As I walked as quickly as possible to my own front door I glanced back at the pub — and saw a tall figure silhouetted in the open doorway.

As I closed the door behind me my body sagged with weariness, and the release of tension. I stripped off and had my long awaited shower. The pipes gurgled and belched, and the trickling warm water — it never got hot — lasted only a few minutes, but I felt refreshed and sleepy as I slipped on my nightdress.

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