An Unexpected Gift: Christmas In Australia: Five Short Stories by K.J

Author:K.J. [K.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-10-31T23:00:00+00:00

Naughty or Nice

The ambulance officer walking out to meet us is tall, blonde, feminine in a wearing-a-uniform-but-not-like-a-man way, and perfect for the execs back at the studio. I sigh in resignation, and stick out my hand as she stops in front of us.

“Hi, I’m Caro Petersen, and this is Marta Loriti. Are you Sapphire Kershaw?” We shake hands, Marta delivering the single down-up motion that is her particular quirk, and Sapphire nods.

“Yep. Barry fielded the request and asked me to do the interview. Do you want to go inside or do it out here?”

I defer to Marta, and she contemplates the facade of the ambulance station as a potential backdrop. She takes a step back, her light grey cargo pants sliding over her muscled thighs, then she drops her gaze, and shrugs. Two hands flip over, both shoulders lift, her head tilts to one side, and her mouth turns down for a moment before resuming its position as a horizontal line on her face. The material of the plain white polo shirt moulds itself to her small breasts, her strong shoulders, her biceps, her athletic, gym-created torso. She’s breathtaking.

“Here’s good,” Marta says efficiently. In the year that I’ve known her, Marta has only ever been efficient. Her speech pattern, her demeanour, her work. All of it efficient. Competent. Strong. Definite. Polite. Smouldering. Mysterious. Sexy. It’s a peculiar sensation. One moment, I’m a thirty-three-year-old self-diagnosed straight woman with a much too nice outlook on the world and a much too safe attitude to intimacy, and next minute I’m wildly attracted to a tall, masculine, muscular woman, whose dark eyes undress me, and whose soft olive skin tempts my fingertips.

Marta sets up her silver case, flicking it open so she can sort the LiveU-4G unit, and the laptop. She cradles her Sony HD camera, and I smile. It’s her pride and joy, and as a freelance operator, any damage to her equipment means a massive loss of income. I turn to Sapphire, who is remarkably relaxed and perspiration-free, even in her dark uniform. Meanwhile, I’m sweating in a silk, sleeveless shell top and a business skirt. Possessing pale Nordic skin, and shoulder-length auburn hair means that summer and I are mortal enemies. I pluck out a tissue from my handbag on the ground, and dab lightly at my forehead, cheeks, the hollow of my throat, then between my breasts where the shell top dips a little. My gaze catches Marta’s who’s handing me the wireless mic. I can tell she’s been watching the tissue’s journey; a fact which does nothing to halt the perspiration on my skin.

So yes, this year, I questioned my sexuality for the first time. Could I be bisexual? A glance at Sapphire results in not one sexy tingle anywhere in my body. Then, as Marta adjusts the camera, I pause on her quick, nimble fingers, her right thumb adorned with an ornate silver ring, and I nearly burst into flames. It’s Marta. As it has been all year.

After

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