Naomi
"For fucks sake Freddie...have you even got off the couch today, you waster" I shout as I struggle through the grimy front door into our flat. The fucking lift has broken down again, and 10 floors with four bags of shopping is not my idea of healthy exercise after a busy shift at the supermarket.
Freddie looks over his shoulder at me as I finally dump the bulging bags onto the floor and glare at him. I wonder for the thousandth time why I'm living with him at all. We weren't even that friendly at college. He was too busy eye fucking, and then actually fucking Effy Stonem. I, on the other hand, made the catastrophic decision to let James Cook shag me over a teachers desk after the mockery they called student elections. Three months later, I'm a girl in trouble, with an entirely unwanted little Cook growing inside me, and Freddie and Effy had embarked on their doomed affair.
I don't remember what came first, my miscarriage or Effys suicide. Either way, the world got totally fucked up for both of us pretty quickly. Freddie descended into morose depression and untold quantities of super strength skunk. I tried to deal with my own demons (a frightening attraction to girls suddenly developed and an unhealthy reliance on alcohol to suppress those unwanted thoughts) by hanging out with the one person even more fucked up than me. Freddie McClair.
So here we were, four years later. Freddie never got over his addiction to extra long exotic cigarettes, and I buried my sexuality issues by letting him screw me occasionally and sharing the odd spliff. Sharing the flat too gave me security, now my mum has fucked off to Thailand and gives Freddie somewhere to keep his stash and mong out.
But I still have some of the old sparky Naomi Campbell in there somewhere, and finding him sprawling in my bathrobe on the couch, a full ashtray of roaches next to him, having probably used up all the hot water as well, brought it out in full force.
"One" I said dangerously quietly, which made him sit up straight.
"You DON'T wear my bathrobe. You cover it in ash and fuck knows what else...I've seen those sticky magazines under the bed"
He blanched at that. I don't think he knew I'd seen the lurid porn magazines. Actually, I'd read a couple. Just the lesbian ones...They weren't so sticky.
"Two...you don't use up all the fucking hot water because you can lay in the bath for an hour, smoking industrial quantities of the weed my wages paid for"
He blinked those Bambi eyes at me, but my expression told him that remorseful looks weren't going to cut it tonight.
"And three" I growled "I'm cold, tired and fucking pissed off, because yet again I come home to find cat shit on the doormat and YOU, you lazy fucker, still in the position I left you in 9 hours ago. Get off your skinny arse and make me a fucking cup of decent coffee before I find those nut crackers in the kitchen, and apply them to those useless objects hanging below your limp dick"
He probably hadn't moved from the couch and the TV all day, except for the odd piss and Red Bull refill, but he moved then all right. I got an entirely unwanted glimpse of the package I had been threatening to crush as he hurdled the back of the sofa in his haste to pacify me.
Two hours later, he was back on the couch, but then so was I. A hot bath, heated up lasagne, three big glasses of chilled white wine and one of Freddies 'special' roll ups and I had calmed down. Freddie was next to me, this time in his own bathrobe, and I allowed his arm to hold me against him. The TV spewed out mindless reality porn at us, before I made him stick a DVD on instead. The Hunger Games 2 started, and I let my eyes feast on Katniss Everdeen in a succession of revealing outfits.
I should say I suppose, that my lesbian tendencies go back a bit further than I have admitted. There was THAT snog in the garden at some lamo party when I was 14. The slap across the face I got from the girls twin sister was a price well worth paying for that 30 seconds of bliss. God, that little brunette was a great snogger.. The four months of lesbian digs and social exclusion from my so called 'friends' afterwards, wasn't so great.
I had a (very) short affair with a French girl I met on holiday when I was 19. But apart from that, I pretty much suppressed my urges and went with the flow. Which meant enduring acne, bad breath, bristles and rough fingers all through my adolescence. Cook had no idea he was the guy who took my virginity. I never told him, and after the news of my pregnancy, he avoided me like the plague anyway. But Freddie turned out to be a gentler, more considerate lover...at least in those days...and so I drifted into this strange semi relationship.
We have the apartment now, unfortunately, as I've said, on the 10th floor of one of Bristol's ugliest tower blocks. We pay the council £100 a week and Johnny White another £50 to live here. No one said life was fair, did they?
"Babe" Freddie said slowly
"Hmmm?" I murmured, busy watching Katnisses tits bounce prettily as she walked along in another tight evening gown.
I felt him shift and realised the sight of Jennifer's tits was having the same effect on my 'boyfriend' as it was on me. His hard on poked me in the back, and I suppressed a sigh. Fuck, now he was horny. Just when I thought he might drop off to sleep on the couch, and let me sneak off to the bedroom to reacquaint myself with the small battery powered friend I keep locked away for those sort of opportunities.
"Mmmm" I said, hoping he was only half interested. Sometimes, if he had overdone the sensimilia, he would drop off during the heavy petting stage. Well, you live in hope.
No such luck, of course. He slid his hand into the top of my toweling robe and cupped my breast possessively. Unfortunately, Jennifer's tits had already worked their magic on my nipples. He thumbed one and, as usual, got his wires crossed big time.
"Someone wants some Freddie loving" he slurred, nuzzling my ear. I shuddered, but not for the reasons he thought I did. Someone actually wanted to play with another pair of tits. But as always, luck had deserted me somewhere along the line.
Fuck it, I thought. There's no way I want him banging away on top of me for ages tonight. Drugs always made it hard for him to ejaculate. I'd spent too many sweaty nights, with him humping me endlessly, eyes closed in concentration, as he played out whatever fucked up fantasy he had going to make himself come. I wasn't wasting the nice bath I'd just had again.
"Freddie?" I said in what I hoped was a seductive drawl "Would you like me to...?"
His eyes widened as his drugged mind registered the offer. A blow job was a rare treat for him, so I knew he would never refuse. Its not something I enjoy much, more a chore I perform under protest, but its usually quick, and my gag reflex is slight. I reckoned less than five minutes would do it. I moved my wine glass an inch closer to me. I'd be needing it soon.
His smile broadened as I dropped onto the floor in front of him and opened his gown.
I grimaced again at the sight of a hard on at close range. Fuck, they are truly ugly things. I closed my eyes, thought of a naked Katniss and opened wide...
I was right...Katniss hadn't even reached the arena before his hand tightened in my hair and his back arched off the couch. Two swallows and mission accomplished. I reached for the wine and drained the glass in one. His goofy grin told me he was a happy bunny.
Ten minutes later, his contented snores echoed in the silent room. Jennifer was on pause, and I silently padded out of the bathroom, having given the electric toothbrush a vigorous work out (in my mouth, just in case you wondered) Time for bed and my little AA powered friend...
XXX
A hundred miles away, two things were happening.
A large mainframe computer was sending an electronic signal to a National Lottery administrator. The signal resulted in two actions. One, an automatic text was sent to a mobile phone. The message read "Congratulations. You need to check your lottery account for good news" The other was a bank transfer of £22,458,979.18 to an escrow account ready for the payout.
The other thing happening was in bar in Chelsea. A petite redhead was just leaving. If anyone had been interested enough to look, they would have seen she was in tears. Another, tall dark haired girl inside the bar was turning to her companion and smirking.
"Shouldn't you go after her?" the other woman said
"Nope" the tall girl smiled "Emily is such a drama queen. I told her at the beginning that we weren't exclusive. Silly bitch gets all tearful when she sees me with someone else. Now...where did you say you lived, sexy?"
The other woman smirked too then.
"Just round the corner, Mandy...coming?"
"I live in hope" Mandy smirked knowingly.
They both grinned wolfishly and downed the remainder of their drinks.
XXX
At 12 am, two more things happened. The text message led light began to flash on two mobile phones. One in Bristol, one in London.
The first went unanswered, at least for now. Naomi Campbell slept the sleep only a powerful self induced orgasm gives. Her phone continued to flash its message from Camelot. It wouldn't be until morning that its life changing message would be seen.
The other text was read immediately. Emily Fitch grabbed the phone as it vibrated. She stifled a hiss of disappointment that it wasn't from...her.
"Urgent - FAO E. Fitch. Lottery winner, location Bristol. £20,000,000 plus. You need to be at Temple Meads at 10 am tomorrow to assist winner. Usual conditions apply. Message ends"
Emily fell back onto her tear stained pillow and stifled the sob which threatened to escape. Another fucking lottery winner to babysit. Probably fat, 45 and male. Fucking cosmic.
She sighed again and pulled her ipad from the bedside cabinet. Another visit to the Train-line site beckoned.
XXX
Emily
Fucking Bristol. Always raining, or just about to. I remember it from middle school. When Katie and I were forced into matching burgundy uniforms and white socks. We looked like bookends. That was before Katie laid waste to half the male population of the town, and I got caught kissing that dark haired girl with blue eyes in the back garden of Matt Sawyers party.
Typical Katie of course. She started dropping her knickers for guys before the ink was dry on her 14th birthday cards. Virgin Queen Emily swaps spit with one girl and all hell breaks loose. Next thing I know, Mum and Dad are booking removal vans. We ended up in darkest Essex. Change of schools, change of friends, change of county. I don't know what universe my mother inhabits, but the chances of me being 'corrupted' in Essex were at least as high as they were in Bristol?
Just gave Katie a few new stiff dicks to sample, thats all. I was pretty much a fucking nun in comparison until I was 17. It took a holiday in Greece to change that. Turned out a lot of the pissed up English and Dutch girls over there were quite partial to boobs and fanny. Had a fucking brilliant two weeks. Katie got Chlamydia and I got the best oral sex of my life (at least up to now) from a tall blonde German girl called Inga. I came back with a sun tan and assorted nail marks on my back.
Anyway. After Uni and a couple of months not really knowing what I wanted to do, I got a call from an agency. A year later and I'm working for the National Lottery. My accountancy degree means that my mathematics are up to scratch, and this job is a doddle most of the time.
I act as a sort of liaison between new lottery winners (only if its over £5,000,000...there's a hierarchy, even for lottery millionaires) and the suits who will be managing their wealth. Because you DO need the suits. Most people think, if they get lucky and find £10 million in their bank account on Sunday morning, that everything will be easy. But its not.
Forgotten relatives and ex partners come out of the woodwork. People you thought were friends turn out to be arseholes who'll sell a story about you playing hide the finger with your best friend back in college (OK maybe that's just my secrets then...). The papers dig around for dirt on you, and everyone wants a piece of that good fortune.
Add to that the sheer fright that sort of money gives most people, and believe me, you need someone neutral to rely on. Someone who can give you advice and just...listen...when you doubt your sanity.
Well, thats me. Employed by Camelot, but working for you...you lucky lottery millionaire you.
I hadn't even opened the email from HO yet. It held the name and address of the person(s) who had won this weeks Euro Lottery, and a phone number for them.
I shivered again in the early morning chill. Fucking Bristol, I thought again.
I found a small, but clean cafe a few yards from the station, ordered a large mocha with extra whipped cream and sprinkled chocolate then opened my ipad wallet. Right, lets see who is going to get the surprise of their life today. I prayed to myself that it wasn't a syndicate. Half the workforce of my local Post Office sorting office had won a year ago, and I nearly cut my wrists over their endless bickering. Fuck, please not a syndicate.
The email was slow in opening, and I got the time to take a long swallow of rich mocha first. Just as well I had swallowed it. When the name popped up on the screen, I choked back a laugh.
Naomi fucking Campbell? Thats a joke, right? The only Naomi Campbell I knew was an aging supermodel with anger management issues. And she didn't live in poxy Bristol...
There was something nagging at the back of my mind, but for the life of me, I couldn't place it. Naomi Campbell?...what was familiar about it, other than tabloid headlines?.
By the time I had finished my mocha and called a cab, I was no closer to finding out. I packed away my ipad into my smart leather briefcase and stood up as the cab tooted outside.
"Alfred Road" I said as the back door swung open. "Flats at the top of the hill?"
The journey was uneventful. Bristol looked as cold and grimy as I remembered it. The cab swung up the road and pulled up beside a small playing field. A whiteish block of flats with some lurid graffiti on its side loomed over us. I paid the driver with a ten pound note, not waiting for the change. Expense accounts are a wonderful thing, aren't they?
I knew that the winner hadn't responded to the auto text sent out after the draw. Otherwise I would probably be meeting her in a hotel. People get so excited, finding out, that they go into a tail spin and just have to get out of the house. No, this winner was going to get a very nice Saturday morning surprise.
The fucking lift was broken, of course, and I cursed the insistence of my boss that 4 inch heels were appropriate for business wear. 10 fucking floors. By the time I got to the actual flat, I had to stand for three minutes, getting my breath back.
I stepped forward finally and only just avoided stepping in a small curly pile of fresh cat shit. My nose wrinkled. Jesus, I hoped she wouldn't be 17 stone and covered in tattoos.
The door opened eventually, as I stood to one side of the glistening poo, trying to hold my breath. It creaked open on rusty hinges and a face peered at me myopically.
"Yeah"
Well, unless Naomi Campbell was a drag act stage name, this streak of olive skinned piss wasn't her. Scratching his balls unattractively, he stared at me as if I was a visitor from another planet. I suppose I was, to some extent. I doubt many smartly dressed strangers endure 10 floors of wee smelling staircases to knock on this door.
"Err...I've come to see Naomi...Naomi Campbell?" I tried.
His eyes screwed up. By the smell coming out of the flat, they were no strangers to marijuana, so I guessed his synapses were a bit slow on the firing stakes.
"Is she at home?" I asked sweetly.
He blinked again.
"Bed...sleep" he muttered
Great, now what, I thought.
"Could I possibly come in. I have some news for her thats important?"
The door swung open and I followed his baggy grey underpants into the flat. Nice...
As we got to the lounge, where I could see the remains of last nights TV dinner, wine and what looked suspiciously like the source of the weed smell in the ashtray, a door opened to the side of me, and a woman came out,
She was naked from the waist up, with a bath towel wrapped round her lower half. She was vigorously toweling platinum blonde hair, which obscured her face. I just had time to register the fact that she had fucking gorgeous tits, when she spoke from behind the towel.
"Who was that at the door Freds?"
I coughed gently. Still, I'm ashamed to say, enjoying the view. Fuck, they were lovely tits...firm, bouncy and really suckable...Jesus Emily, keep it in your pants? I scolded myself.
The towel dropped and the face behind it was revealed.
Now, I was expecting her surprise. What I wasn't expecting was to be as gob smacked as she was.
"Emily?" She gasped...at about the same time I said "Naomi?"
I vaguely heard Freddie asking how the fuck we knew each other, but it was more of an annoying background hum.
Once we'd got over the mutual paralysis, I got myself together. She was holding the towel across her chest by now, and I had a small moment to regret that. But there was no mistaking the recognition in those cobalt eyes. It might have been years ago, and her hair definitely hadn't been shimmering blonde, but it WAS her. Now the name registered. A party, too much Pinot Grigio, the garden. Laughing with her about my sister. Then a look...then another one. Then a long lingering kiss which I relived for years afterwards, mostly on my own...in bed. A kiss too soon interrupted by a volcanic Katie.
The guy in the room with us might as well have been a standard lamp, for all the attention we were paying him. I heard him cough politely, but my eyes wouldn't budge from hers. I saw her swipe her bottom lip with her pink tongue, and wondered if she was mirroring my thoughts, reliving that kiss. I mentally shook myself. Of course she wasn't. Isn't there a flaw in your logic, my accountants brain nagged? Tall, dark skinned and definitely male. Adolescent lesbian kisses aside, she was obviously straight now.
I cleared my throat and forced my voice to remain steady.
"Err... I have something important to discuss with you Naomi" I said firmly. More firmly than I felt. "Is there somewhere we can talk...in private?"
Again the cough from behind me. Lover boy wasn't taking the hint, and I suppressed the urge to tell him to fuck off.
Naomi seemed to break out of her trance at the same time. She blinked, then spoke over my shoulder.
"Freds...would you mind making us all a coffee?"
I heard him grunt, but to be honest, I could care fucking less. I was still reliving that moment years ago, and part of me didn't want to break the spell.
Naomi smiled at me and I smiled back. God, she has a pretty smile, I thought, apropos nothing at all.
"Well" she smirked "I don't usually greet my guests half naked... So as you've seen more of me than you really should have, do you want to come into the bedroom while I get dressed properly. Its not as if I have anything to hide anymore, is it?"
Fuck, I thought...she's flirting with me. I thanked whatever lucky star I had woken up under yesterday that I had been picked for this job.
I followed her into the bedroom and closed the door behind me. Disappointingly, I could see evidence of male co occupation. Bang went my theory of a platonic friendship between her and skater boi.
"So whats this news then?" she asked, dropping the towel from her hands and giving me another welcome chance to perve on her.
"Have you checked your phone messages today?" I said in a strangled voice as she hunted for a bra to put on. Kill me now, my libido pleaded, its never gonna get better than this...
"No" she said distractedly, holding up a plain blue bra in one hand and a pretty white lace one in the other.
"In that case, I think you'd better sit down" I said.
She did, still holding the bras. I looked over her shoulder, aiming my next sentence at the wall. Jesus, if she doesn't cover those tits instantly, my brain screamed, I swear I'm going to wet my knickers here.
I sat carefully on the very edge of the bed.
"Naomi. I work for Camelot... The National Lottery?"
I could see puzzlement, then a growing understanding in her eyes.
"You've won quite a lot of money. Millions" I said and watched the colour drain from her face. Its nothing new, most big winners look as though they are about to faint when they get the news. I've got used to insisting they sit down first.
"This is a joke, right?" She quavered "Fucking Freddie has put you up to this"
I kept my face neutral. Again, quite a standard response.
"No joke Naomi" I said seriously "Once we see the ticket, and your proof of ID, I can take you to our regional office, where the confirmation will be given to you in writing"
"How much?" She whispered. I was ready for that one.
I took out my ipad and keyed in my security code. I punched a couple of keys and turned the screen round to face her.
"A bit over twenty two million pounds" I said slowly. "Naomi...you're a very rich woman"
I get all sorts of responses to the actual figure. Disbelief, shock, hysterical laughter. I don't often get a naked (the bottom towel sort of detached itself as she flung herself at me) woman hugging and kissing me. I don't need to tell you, I'm sure, how difficult I found it to stay professional with a stunning naked female showering me with kisses?
Eventually she pulled back and noticed that she was straddling me. The flush on my cheeks probably told her more than mere words, but I tried anyway.
"Well...I've had worse reactions"
She giggled nervously and blushed herself. Fuck, could she get any cuter?
Just as I detached her arms from around my neck and managed to sit up straight, the bedroom door opened. The stoned guy stood there with a tea tray carrying 3 mugs of coffee. His expression was a picture.
"What the fuck is going on here?" he asked angrily. Naomi and I looked at him for a second before bursting into laughter. I fucking love my job...