The Way You Smile

by Kiki Archer

  “Oh my god, Camila,” came the cry from above her. “This should be me, not you.”

  Camila pressed her face deeper between Harriet’s legs, slowly parting the area with her tongue. She’d always been one of those people who had to do things properly. This is what lesbians did, so this is what she’d do and the fact that Harriet tasted so good made it even more pleasurable than she’d imagined. There were no sweaty bollocks or long stringy hairs to contend with and there certainly wasn’t a hand on the back of her head making her take more. She was simply free to kiss and explore as she pleased. Moving her hands around the back of Harriet’s bottom, Camila pulled herself closer. What she hadn’t been expecting was Harriet’s leg to rise and lift onto her shoulder. Suddenly everything was right there. A moisture and a wetness and a place to push her tongue deep inside.

  Harriet cried out again. “Fucking hell, Camila, I need you on the bed.”

  Camila looked up. Harriet was flushed and her eyes wide with surprise and pleasure. “I’m happy where I am,” Camila said with a smile.

  “I’m meant to be the one fucking you!”

  “Trust me, this is pleasurable,” said Camila, before giving in and letting herself be led. She gasped as Harriet pushed her down onto the bed and gasped again as Harriet straddled her waist and pinned her arms. She’d expected everything to be so tender and thoughtful. The idea that a woman could be rough with another woman hadn’t occurred to her, but it was mesmerising because it was a different kind of aggression. It was safer somehow because of the slight size of Harriet’s body, but that didn’t stop it from being powerful. It was the idea that it was powerful more than the power of the actual act that made the whole being dominated thing really quite a turn-on. Plus, Harriet was now above her grinding herself on her waist, her breasts gently moving with the action.

  “I want you to watch me,” said Harriet. “I want you to see how I’m using your body to get myself off.”

  Camila swallowed hard, Harriet was pushing backwards and forwards with her bottom. She could feel Harriet’s hard clit just above her own. It was as if Harriet was riding something that wasn’t there. Camila moaned, but there didn’t need to be anything there as this was the most arousing vision she’d ever witnessed. A gorgeous woman sitting on top of her, pinning her arms out to the side as she writhed around in pleasure, her full breasts there for the viewing.

  Harriet leaned forward and kissed Camila deeply before rolling them both over and switching their positions. “I want you to do that on me,” she said with a smile.

  Straddling Harriet’s waist, Camila held onto the wrists and started to move her pelvis in small circles. It felt good. It felt empowering. Using Harriet’s body for her own pleasure. She looked down at Harriet; she was staring, this was pleasuring her too. Women were so visual. So easy to look at. So easy to watch. Releasing one wrist, Camila brought her hand up to her own breast before gently squeezing her nipple between her finger and her thumb.

  “Fuck me, Camila.”

  “Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

  “No, it’s what I’m doing,” said Harriet, breaking her other arm free and pulling up on Camila’s bottom, shunting her further up her body.

  Camila worked her way up with her knees, coming to a rest either side of Harriet’s head before screaming out in pleasure as Harriet suddenly lifted her mouth and kissed deeply right between her legs. Camila cried out again, Harriet’s hands were parting her from behind, her fingers were finding their way in, they were pushing further inside her as her tongue expertly circled her clit. Camila felt herself moving with the rhythm, unsure if anything had ever felt as good. She screamed out; it was getting better, Harriet had moved a hand up to her nipples, taking it in turns to rub them and squeeze them as her other hand continued to fuck between her legs from behind and her tongue continued to work its magic. Throwing her head back in ecstasy, Camila knew this experience would change her life completely.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “And I thought that would be the pinnacle of it all, but fuck me, Julie, it wasn’t. We did so much stuff after that and—”

  Julie interrupted her. “What’s with the gutter mouth? You’ve been swearing like an East End whore since you started your bloody story.”

  “So you do still have a problem with it!” Camila flopped back onto the sofa. That evening, Julie had been the one who’d come round with prosecco. Julie had been the one who’d apologised. Julie had been the one begging for details, and yes it had been against her better judgement to tell her, but she’d insisted. She’d blamed jealousy for her outburst in the van. A worry that she was going to lose her best friend and next door neighbour because apparently lesbians immediately moved in with each other on their second date.

  “Tell me more. I don’t have a problem with it and I’m happy for you as long as you know what this is and as long as you don’t get hurt.”

  “It hurt when she tugged on my nipples, but in a gorgeous pleasure pain way.”

  “Camila!”

  “What? Do you want the details or not?”

  “This isn’t you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re just Camila.”

  “And who is just Camila?”

  “She’s my lovely, sweet next door neighbour.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be lovely and sweet anymore. Maybe I want to be Harriet’s hot bitch.”

  “Camila!”

  “What? I feel alive. For the first time in a very long time I feel like I’ve got something to look forward to.”

  “And that something’s hot lesbian sex, is it?”

  “Yes, hot sex. Very hot sex. And a connection. We have a genuine connection. And obviously I had to come home because of the boys, but we could have stayed in bed all day. We were chatting and cuddling and…” Camila smiled, “connecting. She’s fascinating, Julie. There’s so much more to her than you’d imagine. Do you know about her charity work? She gives over fifty percent of her earnings away.”

  Julie laughed. “And she told you that, did she?”

  “I got it out of her.”

  “Okay.”

  “What?”

  “I just think you need be careful.”

  “Why?”

  “Look at you. You’re a fresh-faced lesbian virgin in awe of her superstar boss.”

  “I’m not a lesbian virgin anymore and she’s not really my boss.”

  Julie wrinkled her nose as she nodded towards the area between Camila’s legs. “So what exactly did she put up there?”

  Camila took a sip of her drink before smiling in remembrance. “Life.”

  ****

  Putting the finishing touches to her homemade spaghetti Bolognese, Camila wondered how much concern she should award Julie’s behaviour. Julie would usually stay in the lounge while she was cooking, choosing to watch some afternoon TV instead of helping out before joining her and the boys for tea. Today, however, she’d made her excuses and left. Maybe it was just a bit of casual homophobia? How had Harriet put it? All mouth and no action? Maybe that was Julie. Playing the “yes, I’d like to try it” card, but being absolutely horrified when someone actually did. Just like Gemma Stubbs from school. She’d told everyone she smoked twenty cigarettes a day before ratting to the teachers about the group outside the sports hall at the end of year leaving party who were enjoying a celebratory smoke. Or maybe Julie had issues with her continuing this? Maybe in Julie’s eyes it was okay to try it as a one off, as an experience, but as a lifestyle choice it was a definite no. Camila stirred the sauce. Could this be a lifestyle choice? Whatever that meant. She shook her head. They’d agreed to go on a date, that was all. Julie had asked what was next, so she’d told her: Harriet was going to romance her the old-fashioned way.

  The way Harriet had asked her was incredibly sweet. She’d said she wanted to take things slowly as it wasn’t like her to jump into bed with someone she really liked. Camila smiled. Harriet really liked her. She liked her so m
uch that she wanted to play it all old school love story. A dinner date tomorrow night at a very posh cocktail restaurant where they served dishes like beef cheeks and lobster thermidor, and she knew this because it was the first thing she’d Googled once she’d got home: Jungle Fung. Admittedly it sounded a bit like a playcentre she’d take her nieces and nephews to, but the website was impressively chic. She stirred the sauce again. What would she wear? Harriet had said she would pick her up and drop her off and conduct herself in the manner in which one should conduct themselves on a first date… a stolen kiss goodnight on the doorstep the only aim of the evening, alongside getting to know one another better of course.

  Camila smiled and, yes, while she’d love to see Harriet’s naked body again, the idea of a date sounded incredibly appealing. The no-more-than-a-kiss rule meant she could wear her Spanx which in turn would allow her to squeeze into her one designer dress. An impulse buy a few years ago when she’d won on the Grand National. She didn’t usually bet but she’d been given a tip from Patricia Goodyear, super-mother to triplets, and Patricia knew everything about everything so if she said Jolly Jackman was going to win at 60-1 then Jolly Jackman would win at 60-1, which he did and her incredibly frivolous £10 bet that she’d surreptitiously placed in the betting shop gave her a return of £600 plus her original £10 and even though excitement levels were high, there was no way she could tell Mick she’d placed a £10 bet… which obviously meant she had to keep her winnings a secret. Julie knew and had suggested a splash-out girls’ shopping trip where she’d encouraged the spending of the whole £600 on one little black dress. And it was little, it was tiny, hence the Spanx.

  Camila sighed. She’d had some great times with Julie. That shopping trip included. She had thought Julie might not agree with spending the money on herself but Julie had been generous in her gushing about how Camila needed to spoil herself every once in a while. Yes, Julie may have taken things too far in urging that the tighter the dress the better, but they’d had fun and she’d ended up with her first proper piece of designer clothing. The fact she’d had little occasion to wear it wasn’t the point. She owned a designer dress. A real designer dress, not just French Connection or Zara level – even though she’d only ever bought one of those in the past as well. A Caroline Castigliano.

  The first time she’d worn the dress she’d expected the Spanish Inquisition from Mick and had spent the whole day making up a story about how she’d borrowed it from one of the rich school mums, but Mick hadn’t even batted an eyelid. He might have muttered, “you look nice”, but that was about it. Reaching out for the salt and pepper grinders, Camila wondered how Harriet might react? Would she know immediately that it was designer? Would she gasp? Would she want to rip it off there and then? Twisting the head of the salt grinder, Camila felt her body quiver in remembrance. She could still feel where Harriet’s tongue had been, where her fingers had ventured, where the ripping orgasm had taken her. It had honestly been next level pleasure and she’d been so loud. She’d always been conscious of coming with Mick mainly because she often faked it, and it transpired that her faking it sound was quite different from the real deal – which she had to keep a lid on the odd occasion it did actually happen so Mick didn’t spot a difference, not that he ever would.

  Camila put the salt down. She needed to stop being so hard on Mick. They’d had their good times. Ish. She smiled. She genuinely did wish him luck with Jackie from the gym as he’d been a good catch back in the day and Jackie might be able to restore him to his former glory. Times changed though and this was her time to restore herself, or even just explore who she truly was. Could it be that she actually was a designer dress-wearing sex whore? Camila smiled. Who cared if she was? Women had all sorts of mid-life crises, they had surgery – that seemed to be the big thing at the moment. A dramatic facelift with lip and cheek fillers that made everyone look like puffy clones. A bit of lesbian sex seemed tame in comparison. Camila smiled again, she’d never have guessed she’d be so comfortable with it, but then again she’d taken to spiralising vegetables quickly too – something she thought she’d never do, but when a spiraliser came into her possession there had been no stopping her.

  Dropping the spiralised carrots into the sauce, Camila shouted over her shoulder, “Five minutes till tea.” The traditionally grated, now spiralised, carrots were the last thing in the dish, adding a sweetness to her Bolognese sauce the boys always claimed was one of their favourites. The fact that Michael and Ethan had devoured whatever she’d put in front of them from an early age didn’t seem to matter, they raved over her spaghetti Bolognese and it was heartening to see them eat so well.

  “Do you need a hand, Camila?”

  Camila turned quickly, smiling at the sixth form girl. “Cassie, hi, I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Am I okay to stay for tea?”

  “Of course, of course. Where’s Michael?”

  “He’s just finishing off some work.”

  Camila smiled politely. Michael would never let a love interest loose in the kitchen alone with his mother, not that there’d been any other love interests, but she knew her son. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Fine thanks. Shall I lay the table?”

  Camila smiled again. Maybe this was just girls? Yes, Michael and Ethan were domesticated but they’d rarely pop down for a chat. “How’s the manipulation project going?”

  Cassie laughed.

  “Didn’t you say you were manipulating the laws of gravity?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Camila pointed to the top drawer. “The cutlery’s in there.”

  The pretty girl paused with a handful of forks. “Can I ask you something?”

  Camila held her breath. “Yep.” This was it. How was Cassie going to phrase it? – How do I tell my boyfriend, the sixth form head boy, that I’m seeing your son? How do I tell my dad, the reformed criminal owner of a boxing club, that I’m seeing your son? How do I explain to the world that I’m seeing your son who’s only fifteen?

  “What made you keep Michael?”

  Camila gasped.

  “You were only nineteen weren’t you?”

  Camila tried to panic breathe through her nose.

  “I’m just interested.”

  Holding onto the kitchen counter, Camila tried to steady her voice before she spoke. “Ummm.”

  “It’s an RE project on ethics and morality.”

  “An RE project? Oh! Right! Okay! Hang on… you think I’m immoral?”

  “Of course not, I just want to know how you came to that decision.”

  Camila coughed. Why was she suddenly the one being judged? Surely Cassie had come down to find out how she could sell her story of cradle-snatching without being judged?

  “Was it a hard decision?”

  Camila coughed again. Why was she on the spot and why was this girl so self-assured? This girl was having dangerous liaisons with her son, by all accounts, yet here she was asking about the ethics and morality of a grown woman’s teenage pregnancy.

  “I mean you’re obviously a great mum, you’re so good with the boys and they’ve turned out so well, you clearly all respect each other and get along brilliantly. The way you talk to each other is so friendly and kind, but did you have doubts and—”

  “Hi Ethan!” said Camila with great enthusiasm as her second son entered the kitchen, before noticing he was face first in his iPad. “Will you turn that bloody thing off!”

  Chapter Thirty

  Clambering out of her car, Camila stared at the H.I.P building. This was it. She had to show her face and carry on. Just like those Monday mornings at school after those weekend house parties when you were fifteen and you’d snogged every boy invited. You knew the gossip would be spreading like wild fire but you just had to grin and bear it. Camila smiled at the memory. It was always fine because there was always someone who’d done something far worse than you and the panic wa
s short-lived once you’d actually shown up and remembered that gossip happens then life goes on. This was the same, she reasoned. Life went on. Yes, she’d thrown her dummy out of the pram and taken a day off, but she was back and ready to work. Nodding to herself, Camila wondered why her legs weren’t moving and why she wasn’t striding straight into the building? Was it the nerves of seeing Harriet again after their sex fest? They’d finished the afternoon agreeably with a cup of tea and biscuits – again something she hadn’t been expecting – but it had been sweetly charming and there’d been no panic then about what they’d done so why should there be panic now? Harriet wouldn’t be panicking; she was a pro at all this.

  “Camila!” Harriet’s voice was unmistakable. “I wanted to see you before you got inside. I’ve been panicking that my lust face will give the game away!”

  Turning around, Camila saw Harriet tottering towards her in red stilettos.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she continued. “What are you doing just standing there?”

  Camila laughed. “Panicking that my lust face will give the game away.”

  “Show me your lust face.”

  Camila narrowed her eyes and pouted.

  “No, they’ll just think you’ve got conjunctivitis.”

  “Harriet!”

  “What? Come here.”

  Camila stood still as Harriet wrapped her arms around her before kissing her on the cheek.

  “I just wanted to say good morning properly.”

  Camila continued to stand with her hands by her sides, rooted to the spot.

  “And I’m glad that I did because your response was more than I’d hoped for.”