Davina Does Three More

By Limey Lady

The Velma Dinkley lookalike is really getting into her stride now. Avoiding clingy relationships, her ambition is to sleep with as many fellow lesbians as she can. And luckily for her, lots of members of the local lezzie community are only too happy to play along . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Limey Lady
• Release date: Oct 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463527108

Limey Lady

Here's a confession for you: I'm not sure if "Limey Lady" is a pseudonym or my alter ego. Back in 2016, when she came into being, she was definitely a nom de plume. Now, however, I am not so sure.As background, I have always written stories but, up to 2009, writing took a backseat, way behind the demands of my family and career. Then a life-changing medical condition . . . well, it changed everything for and about me. Suddenly I had/have time to spare. Suddenly I was/am churning out tale after tale.I was born in York but brought up in West Yorkshire, in part of the Aire Valley often described as "Bronte Country". I must say, though, that although most of my stories are set locally, they have little in common with the fine works of Charlotte, Emily and Anne. So far my output can be divided into two: long stories featuring ne'er-do-wells, guns and some violence . . . and shorter stories featuring "liberated" women who rarely do what they're supposed to do.Limey Lady was created to be the author of the short stuff. But the longer novels all include feisty, uncooperative females - much like her characters - so I'm going to put her name to both as I publish on Smashwords.Watch this space . . .

Book preview

Davina Does Three More

By LimeyLady

Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2018

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter Fifty-Three - Sally the barmaid

Chapter Fifty-Four - Sally the lover

Chapter Fifty-Five - An uncommitted relationship

Chapter Fifty-Six - Hogmanay

Chapter Fifty-Seven - Head-hunters

Chapter Fifty-Eight - Philippa

Chapter Fifty-Nine - Team building

Chapter Sixty - Phil the lover

Chapter Sixty-One - Buying the dream house

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady

Chapter Fifty-Three

My weekend after the Aberdeen trip was a quiet one. I got back to Skipton early Saturday afternoon and, due to my nerdish nature, went straight in to work. And worse confessions are yet to come: on Sunday I was swotty all day as well as nerdish.

My excuse is that by then I was into the final furlong of my academic career. Yes, my blitzkrieg tactics had paid off; by taking courses end-to-end (without any of those long summer breaks fulltime students take as their due) I’d got to the point where there weren’t any more courses left for me. By Christmas I would be done, with the equivalent of a BSc packed into two and a half years of spare-time studying.

Needless to report, I was determined that my last few grades would be every bit as good as the ones I had been getting all along; hence my swotty Sabbath.

Omigod, I was so much of a goody-two-shoes I didn’t even self-abuse!

Leastways, I don’t remember it if I did.

A regular, run of the mill Monday was brightened by countless attempts to diagnose the problem with that faulty component (I’d brought it back with me from the Granite City). Everybody in IT must have looked at it and run tests, trying to establish why the flipping thing wouldn’t work. They all ended up scratching their heads. And if I had a tenner for every time someone said, These things are meant to be unbreakable . . .

Well that one wasn’t. Even though nobody could find anything physically wrong and it passed all of the tests, it simply wouldn’t function when asked to do its job. I finally gave up and sent it back to the manufacturers, never to be heard of again.

After an uneventful night class I decided a few beers were in order. But I was reluctant to go into The Woolly Sheep on my own. The place had too many memories, you see. So instead I made my way to another of the many touristy pubs, getting there around half nine and finding it full. Not that the lack of empty tables bothered me; I wasn’t there for food and there were vacant stools at the bar. Selecting a position to the far left, I ordered a pint of Copper Dragon.

The barmaid gave me my change with a smile and the instruction to Enjoy. I covertly watched her as I worked my way down the glass.

In my part of the world barmaids are renowned for having big chests and well-developed biceps. The theory is that both attributes are acquired through constant use of the big hand-pumps (the ones you see in just about every pub in Yorkshire). As a fully-fledged member of the flat-chested club, I tend to doubt the truth of that. I believe a girl only gets the job in the first