She picked up her coat and left without saying goodbye. I sat on the sofa and looked over at the photos on my mantelpiece. One from my wedding day, a picture of each of our children, pictures of our parents, and a picture of Florrie and I at a gallery opening that was printed in a city circulation.
“You two look so comfortable together,” the photographer told us.
Laughing I explained, “We’re not a couple.”
He seemed perplexed, mainly because Florrie was holding my hand and rubbing my arm. My mind went into overdrive; does she have feelings for me or is it all in my head?
My phone beeped, a message from Florrie, “All ok? X” it read.
“Yes, but I think I might take the week off. Period and flu all in one. X” I replied.
“No problem, I’ll come around later with some soup! X” she responded. I couldn’t see her.
“Not tonight, just not feeling well enough to entertain x.” I had never turned down a visit from Florrie.
I began counting the days that I knew Florrie. I could remember every moment so vividly because I had placed so much weight on them. I lived for my conversations with her, my walks with her, my meals with her. I had long since acknowledged that my farcical marriage was willing its way to the end and thought I hadn’t told Florrie, I had been planning my life, my children’s lives, around her.
Chapter Seven
I longed to escape the mundanity of my comfortable home, rekindle my wanderlust and see the world. Florrie had told me stories about all the lands she had visited, the hotel beds she had slept in, the hills she had climbed and the seas she dipped her toes into.
I wanted to follow in her footsteps and experience what the world had to offer and show my children that there is more to life than the bubble the existed in now. The conversation the two gossip scoundrels had in the coffee room in Florrie’s office had destroyed my dreams.
I was too scared to follow up on them, too afraid to be labeled a dyke and too scared of rejection. I know that Florrie liked me, but I didn’t know if she liked me how I liked her.
My eldest son, Milo, ran into the kitchen screaming, “Lola fell down the stairs, Lola fell down the stairs.” I went to the hallway to investigate and found Lola sitting on the bottom step, her shoulder very obviously damaged from the fall. The shock had taken over her tiny body; she was pale and silent. Not wanting to bring three small children to a hospital, I took my phone out and panicked. Who could I call?
Of course, the only name in my head was Florrie. Shock, worry, and panic clouded my thinking, and I couldn’t see past Florrie’s name. The sound of her voice floored me. There was something about her accent that caused gastronomic explosions inside me, filling up my senses with a powerful want.
“Florrie, Lola has fallen and damaged her arm. Would it be at all possible for you to come to my house and take care of the boys? I didn’t know who else to call”.
Obliging as always, Florrie said she would be there in minutes. Only when the doorbell rang did the animals cross my mind. I ran to the door, crying, and explained to Florrie that I couldn’t let her in, that the animals were in the house, and I wouldn’t be able to find them. She had always been open about the fact that she hated animals, and anytime she came to my home I would scoop the pets up and banish them to a bedroom. She grabbed my hand and pulled me into her body, holding me tightly. Though her embrace was comforting, it was tinged on the edges with the essence of something more. Florrie and I had been lingering towards “something more” for quite some time.
Soothing me, Florrie told me not to worry, that she had no intentions of interacting with the animals, and if they did happen to her, she would be more than happy to show them on their way. We walked towards the living room where Lola sat, holding her little arm, letting large tears stream down her delicate face.
Florrie was holding my hand, tightly, until she saw Lola. Gasping she let go and ran towards my daughter, worried for her welfare.
“Go, go, go, quickly. Don’t waste another moment, that child needs to see someone”, Florrie shouted, ushering us out of the living room towards the front door.
I turned back to thank Florrie for coming over, for taking my responsibilities into her hands, but before I could say a word her hand had cupped my face, and she was kissing my cheek. A lasting kiss, with pressure behind it, allowing me to soak in the warmth of her lips and scent of her Chanel No. 5.
We lingered a little too long, my hand holding her arm and her hand still holding my face, “Momma, can we go?” Lola sobbed, agony taking over every inch of her tiny body.
Florrie and I detached ourselves from one another, and I drove Lola to the hospital, my head brimming with wonder and an overwhelming sensation that felt nothing short of love.
Lola was seen to immediately, but there was a long, arduous process between X-Ray and casting her little arm. I took my phone from my handbag, a small brown leather satchel that Florrie had given me the morning of my 30th birthday. She told me I was the only woman beautiful enough to get away with wearing such an ugly bag. I remember blushing at her calling me beautiful, feelings welling up deep inside. My phone showed four missed calls from Robbie. My husband. Lola’s father.
I hadn’t even thought of calling him to tell him she was in the hospital. Further down the screen, there was a text from him, “Lola is in the hospital? Florrie minds the children? Are you insane?”
Things between Robbie and I had been strained for years, and both of us realized that it was our children keeping us together. Our marriage was loveless, sexless, and bland.
Further down the screen was a text from Florrie, “Kids okay, animals relatively excellent and your horrid husband called several times xxx.”
Florrie made no qualms about her dislike for my husband and our marriage. Upon hearing the news that my family never wanted me to marry Robbie, she was elated and took every opportunity she could to remind me of her friend Mark, the divorce lawyer.
I put a sleeping Lola into the back of the car and headed for home. I arrived home to two of my children tenderly tucked up in their beds and Florrie sitting in the living room with a glass of wine and a book. I smiled, carried Lola to her bed, kissed her delicate, pale face and went back into the living room.
“What happened at the office today, Katie?” Florrie asked as soon as I sat down.
I was too tired to lie, too tired to care about the consequences. “Two of the women were gossiping about me, about us, in the kitchen,” I told her, “and it worried me.”
Florrie smiled at me, her green eyes shining in the candle lit room, looking deep into my soul, so close to seeing the truth.
“Why did it worry you? Do you care what other people think?” she questioned.
A little hurt by the implication that worrying about what others think was funny, my response was blunt, “Yes, I care very much what others think. That’s why I am the way I am”.
Her smile dropped, and her head tilted, “What does that mean?” she asked me, her tone warm and inviting.
“It doesn’t matter, Florrie. It’s so hard to explain, so hard for me to understand. I just feel like I’m not on the right path in life, I’m not doing what I should be doing”.
Florrie put her wine glass on the coffee table and moved closer to me, “Can I tell you something?” she whispered.
I nodded, overwhelmed by her proximity and overcome with the chemistry that was firing on us.
“I know what you mean, and until I met you, I didn’t think I would ever find the correct path. I married a man because that’s what my family expected of me, but up until meeting my husband, I had been sleeping with women”.
I took a sharp intake of breath, overjoyed by the revelation, but not wanting to get my hopes up.
“It’s why we haven’t got any children, I can’t bear to have sex with him. We’ve only had sex twice in all these years. I’ve had to spend my years longing for a woman to share my passion with, but I didn’t think I’d ever find her.
Then you came into my office with your oversized jumper, a top-knot and a clear sense of despair regarding your own marriage”.
I longed for Florrie to lean in a kiss me, to confirm my feelings. My heart was thumping against my ribcage, my eyes locked on hers.
“Those women were gossiping because they can see our connection, Katie. And I sincerely hope you can see it too”, she whispered.
I nodded, tears starting to well up. Florrie put her hand on my arm then moved it slowly up to my neck.
She then placed her hand on my cheek and wiped away a rogue tear that had slipped past my boundaries. She moved her body closer to me, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention, lustfully anticipating her next move. Her full, rogue lips were locked onto mine, and I moaned behind my own, my body swelling with emotion. It’s happening. It's going on.
Chapter Eight
I broke away from the kiss and whispered, “Perhaps we should go to the bedroom, the kids might walk in.”
Florrie stood up and grabbed my hand, guiding me to my room. I was happy to let her take control, to ease me into this.
In the bedroom, she started to unzip her dress. The zip was to the side, and she lowered it, it revealed the perfect curves of her body and a small, round birthmark. Her sallow skin was glistening under the dim light of my bedroom. Her dress fell to the floor, and she turned to face me.
A white lace bra barely covered her perfect breasts, and I longed to touch them. Her matching panties only slightly covered the neat triangle of her pubic hair.
I pulled off my own clothes, wanting to expose myself to Florrie, wanting her to take me in her arms and make my body her own. She looked at me from across the bedroom and smiled. I unhooked my bra, exposing my breasts, my nipples erect. Florrie walked over to me and ran her finger down the front of my body, starting at my neck and finishing just below my bellybutton.
I moved my stomach forward to encourage her to keep going down, yearning for her to touch my, to revitalize me, to make me feel. She smiled and locked her lips onto mine again, this time pulling me tight into her body, our breasts touching, and stomachs touching.
Her hands were roaming over my body, discovering all the lumps and bumps I had to offer and stopping once she reached my bottom. She squeezed my cheeks, digging her nails in, making me groan with delight.
I unhooked her bra, desperate to hold her breasts in my hands and feel them against my skin. My body temperature had risen, and I could feel beads of sweat forming on my hairline. My clitoris was pulsing under my labia, craving Florrie’s touch. I was wet, wetter than I’ve ever felt. I dropped her bra to the ground and put my hands on her firm breasts and massaged them, feeling her nipples get harder and harder under my palms. Florrie moaned and threw her head back in delight. She put her lips on mine again, then started moving south to my lips then to my breasts.
She locked her teeth onto my nipple and began to lick slowly, then suck. The sensation traveled down my spine and made my clitoris pulse harder. I dug my nails into Florrie’s thighs, willing her to open her legs, to allow me to travel with her. She kept her legs closed, and I could feel her smile as she continued to play with my breast. It drove me mad, I wanted more, I wanted to feel every inch of her, and I wanted her to feel me. I rubbed myself against her thigh, trying to make her feel how wet I was, how ready I was. I ran my hand down her back and grabbed her ass tightly, squeezing it hard until she moaned.
She was moving from nipple to nipple, kissing and licking, the sensation it created was almost unbearable. I was in agony wanting her to find her way to swollen lips, and lick me until I screamed.
My legs were shaking such was the intensity of my want. Suddenly, Florrie began to create a trail of kisses from my breasts, down my torso and towards the pearl between my legs. She slowly pulled my panties off me, her fingers tracing the map on my thighs, making its way to my lips, heat exuding from it. Parting my legs, Florrie started to kiss my inner thighs, moving up slowly, slowly, slowly.
What felt like hours and second all in one, she finally reached the hairs of my lips. Using two fingers, she parted them and began a spiral motion around my clitoris. I groaned, so turned on by the build up to this point that I was teetering on the brink of an orgasm.
Florrie moved her fingers back, placed them into my vagina and used her tongue to spiral and tickle my pearl. Thrusting her fingers inside me slowly, but with force. I could feel tremors starting to build all over my body. She placed her other hand on my back, steadying me, tasting that I was about to fall over the edge. She built up the speed and pressure of her tongue and her fingers.
I was moaning, not wanting this to ever end, but knowing I had to let go, had succumbed. Closing my eyes, I threw my head back and let the tremors take over. The intensity of my orgasm was so powerful my body shook from head to toe, and I screamed with pleasure.
Florrie gently removed her fingers from me and looked into my eyes.
“Was that ok?” she smiled, and I laughed. I sat on the bed, and she sat beside me.
I caught my breath and turned to Florrie, softly pushing her onto her back. I mounted her and began kissing her collarbone, traveling down her torso until I got to her lips. This time she let me open her thighs.
Ever the control freak and stating, “I’m not crazy about the tease,” she guided my head to where she wanted it to be. Having never been with a woman, I hesitated.
“It’s ok, honey. I’ll let you know if you go wrong”, she said, and I could hear the smile on her mouth. I put my tongue against her clit and mimicked her spiral motions. She groaned instantly, “Keep it slow,” she instructed.
I could taste her pleasure, taste that I was doing the right thing. I gradually picked up speed, and Florrie grabbed my hair with her hands, her stomach rising and falling behind the pressure that was building up. There was heat rising from her, and her groans grew more and more intense.
“Faster,” she whispered, and I followed her instructions.
I spiraled around her clit, feeling it swell until she released a long, loud moan, lifting her back off the bed. She had cum. I made her cum. I had never felt such happiness in all my life.
I lay down beside Florrie in the bed, curling into her. Nothing had ever felt as natural to me. For the first time in years, I had a sense of belonging, and I felt calm.
“What’s next?” I asked Florrie. She turned her head to face me.
“We’ll need to call Mark,” she said.
We both laughed. Mark had been spoken about for such a long time, but in ways, I didn’t ever think I would find the courage to call him, the courage to leave Robbie. I knew that there wouldn’t be any sadness that my marriage would end, but Robbie would be annoyed the illusion of his perfect life was about to be shattered.
I didn’t care. I had never felt connected with Robbie, never felt emotionally on board with him.
“We’ll need to make sure your children understand, Katie. This could be strange for them”. I smiled, “my dad had taught me, from such a young age, about all types of love and relationships. I told my children everything, everything he had said to me, so I think they’ll be ok”.
Florrie looked at me, a little sternly, “How is that you care so much about what others think?” she asked. I closed my eyes, “because I was, Florrie. I was fragile”.
The next few days were spent gathering my senses, talking to the infamous Mark, talking to my children and waiting for Robbie to come home. Florrie had already told her husband that she wanted to be with me.
She had made no secret, throughout her marriage that she had been searching for a woman. When her parents died, Florrie felt liberated from the constraints of what was expected of her. Her husband was one of her closest friends, but there was never a romantic link between them.
“Fred has been sleeping with other women since we were in our fifth year of being married. He understood that I didn’t find him, or any man, sexually attractive. It’s a strange arrangement, but it worked be
st for us”, she explained to Mark and me over coffee.
They asked if Robbie knew that I wanted a relationship with a woman. “I hardly knew myself,” I told them.
Robbie, as predicted, was unhappy that he would have to start over in life.
“So much of my success is based on the vision of me being a family man,” he told me.
“People can’t believe you’re a family man, Robbie, you’re hardly ever here,” I said to him.
“We were never in love, Robbie. I was kidding myself, and you were willing to let me in because you were desperate for a wife. I could have been anyone”.
We spoke about the children, about custody, about visiting them. Robbie was away so much that he hardly had a relationship with our children. He loved them and cared about them, but they were going to miss him because we were getting a divorce, they lost him because he was barely in their lives, to begin with.
“I don’t want to just be a bank account to them,” he told me, genuine worry etched across his face.
“That’s the route you were going down regardless of a breakup, Robbie. You have to make more time for them”.
He agreed, and added, “I want what’s best for them, and I’m not sure that’s me.”
We spoke about his family and how they needed to maintain a relationship with the children. “What about your parents? Are you going to tell them about all of this?” he enquired. “Yes, Robbie, and I can’t wait.
I called my mother at the weekend and told her that the children and I would be going to visit them next week and that I had something I wanted to speak to them about.
The following week, Florrie, my children and I flew into my hometown, the town where I had such a good start in life, but left on terrible terms. The town that had caused me to wear a mask for years, to deny myself and to lie to everyone I loved.
Stepping out of the rental car, the first person I locked eyes with was Mai, the girl who had sent me a Valentine’s card in school. I walked over to her and embraced her, “I never thanked you for that card, and I never thanked you for making me realize who I am. I hid it, I hid for so long, and I was awful to you. I’m on the right path now, Mai”.
One Little Letter_A Bad Boy, Second Chance Romance Page 56
