My friend Tabitha Raines had a tongue that could charm the birds from the trees. She was striking, thorny as a bramble, and sharp as a tack. Yet she could turn on the innocence—wide-eyed and demure—just enough to make you want to scoop her up and coddle her. A skill, that.
I remember once, we were on a coach tour. The bus was packed to the rafters with passengers. The driver, a solemn bloke named Nigel, had a long night’s drive ahead with no relief in sight. He glanced back at our rowdy lot and sighed.
“It’s a fair stretch, and I’d be lying if I said I weren’t worried about nodding off at the wheel. Any ladies fancy keeping me company up front? Bit of chatter to keep me sharp—I’ll owe you one.”
The passengers exchanged sour looks—pity for the man, but not a soul volunteered. Everyone just wanted to doze off and wake at their destination. Enter Tabitha. She offered to keep Nigel entertained while the rest slept, settling into the front seat, smoothing her skirt, all modesty and grace.
“I-I’m not sure what to say. I’m terribly shy, but I’ll try.”
As passengers made themselves comfortable and the coach ate up the miles, Tabitha began softly, “What shall we talk about, Captain? Shall I tell you of my first love? A long time ago now—nineteen I was…”
“Now we’re talking!” Nigel grinned. “Feels like another century for me. Go on then, curly!”
“In those distant days,” she mused, “my heart was first struck—or was it my second or third? Honestly, I lose count. Let’s just say it was somewhere in the top ten. I shan’t reveal his name—let’s call him… Pip.”
Nigel gripped the wheel, nodding along as Tabitha spun her tale—how she and Pip had collided in a storm of passion right on the high street at dusk.
“We knew in an instant we’d been walking toward one another our whole lives!” she sighed, eyes glinting. “Right after tea, we stood and marched straight into fate’s arms! There, where three lanes meet, beneath the first evening stars, while the pubs rang with the sound of breaking glass…”
“Well spun!” Nigel chuckled. “And then? Sparks flew, did they? Love’s old dance?”
“Oh, it would’ve been perfect—if only we’d had a place to lay our heads!” Tabitha lamented. “His lodgings were out, mine were out. Friends’ places full, no coin for a room…”
“Ah, the old struggle!” Nigel nodded. “I remember those days—young, randy, nowhere to go. Might as well’ve thrown a blanket over the kerb!”
“We searched high and low,” Tabitha sighed. “Even tried the park benches under the elms—packed solid! Some sort of amorous plague! And then Pip says, ‘Darling, shall we try another night?’”
Nigel jolted so hard he nearly swerved.
“What? ‘Another night’? The bloody nerve! If I’d been in his shoes, I’d—where’d you dig up that wet blanket?”
Tabitha laughed, a sound like a mermaid’s whisper.
“Only joking, Nigel! Clever Pip found a way. He led me to a block of flats where the roof hatch didn’t lock…”
“Ah, now we’re talking!” Nigel relaxed. “Roof’ll do in a pinch—long as there’s a warm lass, a dark sky. Stars, clouds, a bit of poetry… Though once, on the depot loft—never mind. Go on, Tabs.”
When Tabitha was in form, she could out-talk a bard. With breathless drama, she painted the scene—how the midnight heavens watched them, how small they felt atop that towering roof, nothing above but the ancient cosmos!
“…moaning with passion, we began to undress,” she murmured. “I wore this darling patterned top with fiendish little hooks down the back. I broke nails fighting them free! My skirt, light as thistledown, slipped from my hips, baring skin like fresh cream… the warm breeze teasing my wild curls—oh, I had curls to rival a queen’s then!”
Nigel groaned, gripping the wheel—sleep was miles off. Tabitha was a vision now, but nineteen and fresh from uni? The whole coach’d be drowning in drool.
“I shed every last stitch, eager to burn in love’s fire!” she intoned. “The crescent of my knickers glinted in the half-light… the air thick with the spice of want, of longing… And then Pip said…”
“Yes? Go on!” Nigel urged, eyes half-shut.
“He said, ‘Smashing look, Tabitha! Fancy doing that again?’”
Poor Nigel near steered them into a hedge.
“Stark staring beauty before him, and he asks for an encore?” he bellowed. “What sort of half-baked twit—I’d have boxed his ears till Scotland Yard heard! But you tell a tale, I’ll give you that. Vivid! You ought to work one of those chat lines.”
The coach raced on through the night. Tabitha, honey-voiced, launched into the next chapter of her rooftop tryst—how their fevered limbs tangled, hearts drumming, ears ringing, every touch a storm… until they paused, breathless, two drops merged upon the cup of creation itself…
“And? Don’t stop now!” Nigel wheezed. “Blast, where’d my youth go?”
“…and then Pip says, ‘Missed!’” Tabitha finished.
She giggled; Nigel howled, hammering the wheel. Need I say the entire coach eavesdropped, not a wink of sleep had? A sleepless journey, but a rare one. Later, wicked Tabitha told me:
“Serve ‘em right! Thought they’d nap while I did the work? Not a chance. If I’m awake, everyone’s awake.”
Author: Daniel Spencer.
