Oh man, you’ve got to hear about my mate Tilly Rainbow—she’s got the gift of the gab like no one else. She’s all spark and spice, sharp as a tack, but then she’ll flip on this sweet, innocent act that makes you just want to scoop her up and cuddle her. Proper crafty, she is.
Anyway, remember that coach trip we took? Packed to the rafters with tourists, it was. The driver was this gruff older bloke, Dave—dead serious, no-nonsense type. We had this long overnight drive ahead, and no co-driver to swap with. He turns around, eyes our rowdy lot, and goes,
“Right, it’s a fair trek, and I don’t fancy nodding off at the wheel, do I? Any of you ladies fancy keeping me company up front? Bit of chat to keep me sharp, yeah? Drinks on me after.”
Cue a sea of awkward faces—everyone felt bad for the bloke, but no one fancied sacrificing their kip to babysit him. They were all dreaming of crashing out in their seats and waking up at the destination.
Enter Tilly. She volunteers to keep Dave entertained while the rest of us dose off. Slides into the front seat, tucks her skirt primly, bats her eyelashes—playing the coy little angel.
“Oh, I’m ever so shy, Dave, not sure what to talk about, but I’ll give it a go…”
So folk start settling in, Dave’s got the coach barrelling down the motorway, and Tilly kicks off:
“What shall we chat about, skipper? Fancy a story about my first love? Back when I was nineteen—oh, ages ago now…”
“Now we’re talking!” Dave grins. “I remember nineteen… bloody last century, that was. Go on then, love, spill.”
“Well,” Tilly sighs, all dreamy, “back in the dark ages, I had this first love—or maybe second or third, honestly lost count. Top ten, though. Let’s call him… Pudding.”
Dave’s nodding along, steering with one hand. Tilly spins this tale about how she and Pudding had this wild, instant passion—right there on the high street at sunset!
“We just *knew*, Dave! Like we’d been walking toward each other our whole lives! Straight after lunch, we just upped and went, collided at this crossroads under the first stars, while the pubs were just warming up with their first punch-ups…”
“Bloody poetic, this!” Dave cackles. “So? Sparks fly? Get down to business, did ya?”
“Ah, well,” Tilly sighs, “only hitch was—nowhere to go! His place was a no, mine was a no, mates’ flats were all occupied, couldn’t afford a room…”
“Classic!” Dave barks. “Been there, love. Young and randy with nowhere to park it. Bloody nightmare!”
“We hunted everywhere, Dave,” Tilly goes on. “Even tried the park benches—packed! Like the whole town was at it. Then Pudding goes, ‘Alright, love, maybe another time?’”
Dave *roars*, nearly swerves into the next lane.
“WHAT?! ‘Another time’? That tosser! Swap him out for me, I’d have—Christ, where’d you dig up that wet lettuce?”
Tilly just giggles, all mysterious.
“Only joking, Dave! Clever Pudding found a way. Led me to this tower block where the roof hatch didn’t lock…”
“Ah, now we’re talking!” Dave grins. “Roof’ll do, long as the lass is keen and the night’s dark enough. Stars, clouds, bit of romance… Reminds me of this time in a depot loft—ah, never mind. Crack on, Tilly!”
When Tilly’s on form, she could out-talk Shakespeare. She breathlessly describes the midnight sky, how tiny they felt up there, just two specks under the ancient universe.
“…moaning with passion, we started undressing,” she murmurs. “I had this patterned crop top with fiddly little hooks at the back—snapped half my nails getting it off! My skirt, light as dandelion fluff, just slid down my hips… the warm breeze in my hair—oh, I had proper princess curls back then…”
Dave’s wheezing, gripping the wheel—no chance of sleep now. Tilly’s a knockout *now*, but picture her at nineteen? Whole coach would’ve been drooling.
“I was shedding clothes like mad, burning up with desire!” she sighs. “Moonlight catching the sliver of my knickers… the scent of us, all heat and longing… And then Pudding says—”
“Yeah?!” Dave’s practically panting. “What’d he say?!”
“He goes, ‘Looking fit, Tilly! Fancy getting undressed *again*?’”
Dave *howls*, nearly veers off the road.
“NAKED IN FRONT OF HIM AND HE ASKS THAT?! What kind of daft sod—I’d have throttled him! But bloody hell, you tell a story, love. Proper vivid. You ought to do those phone sex lines!”
Coach hurtling on, Tilly spins the next bit—how they tangled up, hearts hammering, every touch electric, like two raindrops merging in the cosmos…
“And… and…?” Dave’s on the edge of his seat.
“…and then Pudding goes, ‘Missed!’”
Tilly’s in stitches, Dave’s thumping the wheel. Needless to say, *no one* slept—the whole coach was eavesdropping. Later, Tilly smirks at me:
“Serves ’em right! Thought they’d snooze on my watch? Not a chance. If I’m awake, *everyone’s* awake.”
(Author: Adapted from Dmitry Spiridonov)
