If you have read any of Weekend at Claire's, then you will know that Lydia is not quite the pretty, demure PR girl that she seems. This story dates back a few years, to her sixth form days at an expensive girls school in the South West. One February, Lydia and her friends went on a ski trip to Courchevel. We join her in her hotel room...
*
With a towel wrapped around her slim frame, Lydia unzipped her suitcase and contemplated outfits. Her room-mate was in a similar predicament. The annual ski trip for Melksham Ladies' College sixth formers was into its first evening. Naturally all that the moneyed young sophisticates really wanted was a night in Courchevel's expensive clubs.
Lydia was determined that tonight would start the trip with a bang.
Lydia was sharing a room with Shobna, the eighteen year old daughter of an Indian steel magnate. Shobna was voluptuous, implausibly wealthy, and was regarded as being one of the most daring girls in their year. Naturally she had packed at least ten times more clothes than she needed.
Kneeling in front of a pile of clothing in her white underwear, Shobna's boobs nearly spilled over the lace cups of her bra.
'Are we thinking sexy, darling?'
'We are indeed' Lydia answered, holding up a hip hugging pair of lacy black knickers.
'Nice!'
Shobna decided on a black and white dress that clung in all the right places. She preened in front the mirror, and watched Lydia drying her voluminous chestnut brown hair.
Lydia opted to go dark blue and sleeveless, a dress so short that it showed off the length of her tanned young limbs. Even bending forward a little revealed the swell of her firm buttocks. Touching her toes was positively indecent. Her expensive black bra came from Princess Tam Tam, providing her small breasts with a little extra assistance.
Both girls chose stiletto heels- Shobna's impossibly high even by her over the top standards. Each pace caused her fleshy bum to wiggle hypnotically through her dress.
'Gorgeous darling, gorgeous', was Lydia's opinion. Picking up her clutch bag, Lydia followed Shobna down to the lobby to meet their friends.
Half a dozen Melksham girls had chosen to join Lydia and Shobna for their night out in the posh ski resort. Each had gone to town on the makeup and dresses, the group was awash with dramatic eyeliner and over the top hairspray. Most had opted for indecently short skirts or dresses like Lydia's. One girl, Pippa, was showing enough cleavage to lose an entire football team in.
The hotel concierge, a man not unaccustomed to gaggles of glammed-up schoolgirls, mentally filed away the display of firm, tanned young flesh for future private recall.
*
Lydia, Shobna and their friends stood by the bar, sipping at virulently coloured cocktails. Several men had already approached them- Lydia noted with glee that two of their number were already dancing with ruddy cheeked British men.
'Bon soir. Anglaises?' came a rich voice from over Lydia's shoulder. It belonged to a tall handsome Frenchman, with a confident demeanor and an expensive looking suit. His dark hair was a little longer than Lydia would have preferred, but it framed a face that would not have disgraced a Gillette advert.
She turned. 'Fuck fuck fuck' said a voice inside her head. 'He looks like a bloody model'. Tearing her eyes away from his chiselled jawline only distracted Lydia with the hint of dark hair emanating from below the top button of his white button down shirt.
The faintly amused look in his eye told Lydia that her interest had been noted.
Lydia blushed, and sipped at her drink. Before she had quite come to terms with this vision of French masculinity, she had accepted his invitation to dance, and learned that his name was Pierre. He also mumbled something about Credit Suisse and banking.
Loud techno music filled the air as Lydia swayed and shimmied. Pierre pulled her closer, and moved in for a kiss. Tilting her face back, Lydia reciprocated, as his firm hands cupped her bum.
Pierre said something inaudible. Lydia bent her head forward. He repeated into her ear, 'You like coke?'
'Sure!'
Pierre took her by the hand and led her towards the back of the club. They passed Shobna on the dancefloor, who was energetically kissing a stocky man in an expensively cut suit.
The couple slipped quickly into the men's bathroom- Lydia frowned, wrinkled her nose, and then noted that it was not only empty but also remarkably clean. It was even relatively well appointed, with thick white towels and sympathetic lighting.
'This is why we come to the nice clubs, yes?' Pierre grinned. 'After you, ma cherie', he gestured towards the end cubicle.
