by Harper Bliss
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper.
Cat responds by curling her hands around my back and undoing my bra. I quickly get rid of hers, finally allowed to gawk at her breasts without having to be sneaky about it. Our nipples touch and the softness of her skin, the way her breasts mould into mine, floors me.
An impatient desire shimmers in Cat’s eyes as she pulls down my panties. I let her take the lead. After all, she knows what she’s doing. Her hand travels down, to the part of me that’s gone untouched too long. I can feel my wetness on her fingers and push my pelvis towards them to let her know I’m ready for whatever she has in mind.
Cat shrugs off her underwear and I don’t know where to look first. At her breasts, still young and supple, lit from the side by a sliver of moonlight, or between her legs, where tiny curls guard her pussy lips. I can’t stop myself from reaching out. I have to touch her. She’s so wet and it’s all for me. It feels like the biggest compliment I’ve had in ages.
She pushes herself up to her knees and I follow her until we face each other. While we kiss, Cat’s hands find my breasts and my nipples go as stiff as I’ve ever felt them. This is already a night of superlatives for me. I realise it’s not just about satisfying each other—although I can’t wait for that bit. It’s about the connection between us. How we stare into each other’s eyes while we discover one another’s body. How her glance seems to gut me.
Cat’s finger goes down, back between my legs. She circles my swollen clit and I can’t help but cry out.
“Shhh,” she says, but the grin on her face tells me it doesn’t matter anymore who hears what.
She looks me straight in the eyes as she pushes a finger inside of me. I catch my breath but don’t avert my gaze. I want to experience this joy, this pleasure engulfing me, together with her.
My hand wanders down to her pussy and I find her wetness. Cat twirls the fingers of her other hand into my hair and pulls me close. I fold my free hand around her neck and we find a rhythm. I mirror Cat’s movement and every time she adds a finger inside of me, I do the same. Our eyes connect whenever they can and every glimpse of the fire in her glance spurs me on. I can’t believe I’m fucking her, that she’s fucking me. I can’t believe it feels so spectacular.
I groan into Cat’s ear and she starts bucking down harder on my fingers. Her pussy seems to grab on to me, catching me inside of her. Her moans intensify and her breaths shorten and stutter as the walls of her pussy contract around me. She’s so wet and soft and magical inside.
She holds onto me, tugging at my hair while the motion of her fingers stops. Her body shudders against mine.
“Yes, oh yes,” she hisses into my ear. I can’t believe I made her come. The sensation overwhelms me, but Cat’s fingers are still in me and she pushes me down.
“Your turn,” she says and her mouth goes straight for my clit. I scream so loud I startle myself and cover my mouth with my hand. Cat’s tongue on me like that, so close and intimate and brushing just the right spots, makes me lose all control. Her fingers go deep, while her tongue flicks over my clit and my body starts tensing up. It feels vaguely reminiscent of the orgasms I’ve been giving myself lately, alone in my room, but the power behind it, the intensity of the fire ripping through me, is a million times bigger. Grandiose seems like the right word. And obliterating, as in everything that came before.
I breathe heavily through it and Cat steps it up on all fronts. Her fingers move in and out of me quicker and her tongue laps at a furious pace until I can’t hold back any longer. The climax crashes into me from everywhere, from above me, beneath me, from inside of me. Its power leaves me speechless, close to tears. For some reason I want to hide, make myself disappear in this moment. I shield my face with my hands and lay there as Cat tenderly hugs me.
“Fuck me,” I say because I don’t have any other words.
“I believe I just did.” Cat pushes herself up and smiles down at me. I must look like a fool to her, with my eyes all watery and an incredulous expression on my face. I dreamed of this for days, but reality has outdone fantasy. It’s not merely the orgasm, which was, after years of maybe one hesitant solo-sex session every few months, quite earth-shattering, but the emotions it has unleashed in me. I want to linger in her bed all night, all of tomorrow and the rest of the week she’s here.
“Can I stay in your room tonight?” I don’t know if I should ask or not. I don’t even know if she wants me to stay. I wonder if it was as satisfying for her as it was for me. She does this all the time. I wonder if it was better than when she did it last with Jenny. I feel like an insecure teenager, which is quite unbecoming for a forty-eight-year-old woman.
“It’s your house. You can do whatever you want.”
“Really?” I take her reply as encouragement. “Because there are a few more things I’d like to try.”
* * *
I spend the next few days processing my cross-over into lesbianism. I feel more guilty now, after the fact—or in the middle of many facts—than when I was secretly day-dreaming about Cat. In the end, it all comes down to John and Helen’s presence. I can’t find a way to justify my new position in their daughter’s life, however undefined it is. It doesn’t help that Cat gets very paranoid about them and repeatedly urges me they can never find out. In a way, the secrecy ignites the sexual tension between us, but, on the other hand, it’s also a massive source of guilt.
“Looks like you’re a late-bian, then,” she says one night after I sneak into her bedroom. She has stayed very adamant about not sleeping with me in my room.
“A what?” I’m only half-listening, my brain already frazzled by the prospect of what waits for me beneath the sheets.
“A later-in-life lesbian.” She smiles at me, but, as glorious as that cheeky grin looks on her face, my eyes are drawn to her exposed chest. It’s only recently I found out that the sight of naked breasts actually makes my mouth water.
“Oh, I’m a lesbian now, am I?” If that’s what the satisfaction of having a woman’s body to cuddle up to at night makes me, then I really don’t mind.
“You sure are behaving like one.” I can hardly deny that. I slip into bed with her and curve my arm around her waist.
“Only because your pussy tastes so sweet.” Lately, I’ve been baffled more than once by the words coming out of my mouth. My theory is that my brain needs to compress years of sexual frustration into the few days I have left with Cat. Anything goes. It’s also true that, while before I was always a mere—but happy—recipient of it, I now consider the pleasure of performing cunnilingus as one of the great discoveries of my late-forties. The power I can exercise over Cat just by licking her is intoxicating.
“I rest my case.” She plants a kiss on my hair. “I want to get lost in your curls,” she hums and her words set off that weak feeling in my stomach again. That hint at something more that instantly gets squashed by our circumstances. This isn’t just about physicality, about getting my sexual needs met. Perhaps it’s easy to confuse the tenderness between us for love, or something akin, but, ultimately, that’s what it feels like. But I’m nowhere near ready to broach that subject with Cat. Mostly because she’s still suffering from a broken heart, even though the name Jenny hasn’t been spoken in days. But I realise that, for her, this can’t be much more than a rebound affair.
“I want to get lost somewhere else.” I tilt my head up and find her eyes. Three tiny laughter lines crinkle around her temples. She knows what I mean by now. I’ve all but licked her raw.
I kiss her breasts, spreading hot saliva over her nipples. Her body already feels familiar, as if it belongs here with me and nowhere else. Before making my way down, to my final destination, I search for her gaze once more. I want to witness her desire for me before I satisfy it. I want her to say it.
“Fuck me,” she says, because she knows, and her words ignite tiny explosions in my blood. She slides her body down and opens her legs for me, a gesture so trivial but at
the same time so intimate.
I smell my soap on her, the same one I’ve used for years, blending with the aroma of her juices. I trail a path of moist kisses along her inner thighs. Her hands are in my hair—she seems really fond of my hair—and tug at my curls.
Before zoning in on her pussy I lick along her pubes, the coarse texture of them tickling my tongue. Then I can’t hold it in any longer and I wonder if she knows how much I want this, how much of a slave I’ve become to her. I take in the length of her pussy, her glistening lips, so blood-shot and swollen for me, and tuck in.
The first contact always overwhelms me, because, despite the familiarity of all of her by now, this is still new to me. Her softness on my tongue and how she gasps for air that first instant. It makes my own clit pulse for attention and I feel myself heating up, a moist glow radiating between my legs.
I lick her up and down with long tentative strokes and her hands grip my hair firmer, as if she’s never letting go again. When I part her lips with my tongue and gently flick the tip over her clit, her muscles contract and she pushes herself upwards, closer to my eager mouth. She’s mine now, which is all I want.
I revel in her moans as I suck her clit between my lips and nibble it gently. And then pure passion takes over. I need her to tremble for me, shake and writhe underneath me like no one else ever has. I unleash a tongue-dancing frenzy on her, feeling her pleasure on my soaking wet lips. It shivers through me as her muscles clench and release, a bit more intensely with every stroke of my tongue.
“Fuck me,” she says again and this time she doesn’t say it to please me. She says it to please herself. I bring two fingers to the rim of her pussy and lightly circle them around the opening before slowly letting them enter. I love being inside of her. It’s the closest I can get.
With every thrust I drive my fingers deeper into her, coaxing louder groans from her throat. A few strands of my hair are curled around her fingers. It doesn’t hurt the way it should. Instead, it engorges my clit because I know it means she’s close. As much as I like to fuck her, and lick her, there’s nothing like having her come all over my fingers, her juices spilling over my lips.
“Oh god,” she whispers, then repeats it again and again. She loves drama in the bedroom, likes to make a spectacle of herself when she gets there, unlike me—but I’m still getting used to this new lease on my sex life. She thrashes her head from left to right and yanks at my hair while shoving my face as much into her as possible. Her body shakes itself free of any tension as her pussy clutches my fingers. Her orgasm rips through me, like a hurricane of satisfaction, pleasing me in ways I never knew existed. It’s not a smug satisfaction and it has nothing to do with ego. It’s more a gentle reaffirmation smouldering in my soul, knowing everything is within my grasp again. That I’ve found what I didn’t even know I was looking for.
“What the fuck have you done to me?” Cat asks between gasps. I could ask her the same question. I crawl up to see her face. Tiny drops of sweat cling to her forehead and her cheeks are flushed bright red. I look into her eyes and I have to stop myself from saying it because I’m sure it would ruin the magic of the aftermath. But I would give everything to hold her in my arms and tell her I love her because, daft or not, true or not, that’s what it feels like—and it’s not a tiny feeling either.
* * *
The day before the Archers are set to leave, I change my flight back. I meant to stay in the villa for four more weeks, but the void I face after Cat’s departure is too vast. It’s more a symbolic gesture than anything else. My own departure from my old life. I don’t tell Cat because I don’t want to put any pressure on her. Despite John and Helen’s presence this was essentially a holiday romance. This would never have happened in London.
For me, everything may have changed, but, as far as I know, for Cat it was only a way of getting over a broken heart. I’m afraid to ask, afraid to hear words that are too definite. The wise, rational part of me knows full well we don’t stand a chance back in England, but the prospect of staying behind alone is even more gruelling. At least in London I can see her. Pop over to John and Helen’s unannounced on Sunday when they have their weekly family dinner. They always have an extra plate for me.
When I wake up in Cat’s bed on the morning of her flight home, her usual content wake-up smile is competing with a big frown. She looks all wrinkled and frumpy, as if she didn’t sleep a wink.
“Never had a summer love before?” I ask, inwardly kicking myself for using the l-word.
Cat shakes her head and swallows hard. It’s clear she doesn’t know how to deal with this situation. Or maybe it’s because I used the word love. But it’s too late to backtrack now.
“Neither have I.” I snuggle up to her, resting my head on her shoulder one last time, scouring my brain for a way to say goodbye properly.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Cat holds her breath and my heart jumps. “Confined to summer, I mean.” Her body goes rigid with tension underneath mine.
“Is it time for the talk?” A strange kind of elation spreads through me. She doesn’t have to say the words for me to know.
“I’m leaving in a few hours, so maybe we do need to discuss some things.” Her voice trembles, insecurity leaking from her words.
“No need.” I tilt my head up and find her eyes. “I booked a flight back home next week.” My face bursts out into a beaming smile. The shock etched around her mouth is priceless. “I can’t bear the thought of spending the rest of the summer here without you.” My stomach suddenly feels funny. If this isn’t a love confession, then I don’t know what is.
“Are you serious?” I’m pretty sure that’s pure joy running across her face.
“As if I’m the world’s biggest prankster.”
Cat responds by launching herself at me, crashing me under her bodyweight in the process, and showering me in an avalanche of kisses.
“Let’s celebrate.” Her fingers travel down, along my chest, between my legs. She gazes deep into my eyes as she finds my throbbing pussy lips. Happiness bubbles through me as she claims me, one last time.
A knock on the door startles us.
“Kit-Kat, darling?” John half-yells. “Are you up? We must go soon.”
We try not to burst out into giggles at John’s sudden interruption.
“I’ll be ready in half an hour,” Cat shouts back.
“All right.” My heart thunders in my chest as I wait for John’s footsteps to wither as he walks away. Thank god he’s not one of those parents who don’t give their children any privacy, no matter their age.
“Has that killed your hunger for me, Kit-Kat?” I smile, but at the same time vow to never call her that again.
“Never,” she says and I gasp for air as her fingers enter me.
New Girl
“Does it still hurt?” Nina asked.
Liz fingered the purple-blue bruise above her cheekbone. She glanced back at Nina in the mirror and tried not to scoff at her new teammate’s concern. This massive shiner was all her fault and she didn’t even realise. Too wrapped up in the impossible glossiness of Nina’s legs, Liz hadn’t seen the ball coming. It was a powerful smash delivered by the opposing team’s star player and, stupid as it may sound, Liz had forgotten to duck. She’d been so enthralled by the flexing muscles in Nina’s calves that she’d ignored the most important reflex of any volleyball player: protect yourself.
“Kind of.” Liz removed the useless make-up from her face. She remembered the days when half the team was made up of lesbians and they drove home after an away game, no matter how far. Nowadays, it seemed imperative that they book a cheap B&B so the youngsters could flirt all night with the male teams lingering about the cafeteria. Nearing twenty-nine, Liz knew she was on her way out and maybe it made her a tad bitter. Her lifetime volleyball companion Kate had to bow out of this game because of a knee injury—no doubt caused by too much wear and tear, they were the same age after all—leaving Liz to share a room with the
new girl. Not that she minded that much. Her gaze followed Nina as she brushed her long unruly curls before tying them into a ponytail for bed. It was just a bit embarrassing at the moment.
“She was really gunning for you.” Nina shook her head and her ponytail bopped from left to right. “What a bitch.”
“It was my own fault. I was distracted.” Still looking at Nina’s reflection in the mirror, Liz pinned her eyes on her teammate’s hazel ones and stared for a moment too long. Nina had slipped out of her summer dress and wore nothing but a flower-patterned pair of shorts and a skimpy tank top. Did she not realise they were sharing the bed? As soon as Liz had heard she’d be bunking with Nina she’d invested in a navy silk pair of pyjamas which covered most of her skin—mainly as a measure of self-protection. The thought of inadvertently touching Nina during the night had made her a bit too moist for comfort.
“Oh yeah. By what?” Nina had moved to the edge of the bed and was applying moisturiser to her legs. Liz tried not to stare at them but, just like during the game, she couldn’t pull her gaze away.
“I don’t know.” Liz had to swallow before she could continue to speak. “Someone in the crowd, I guess.”
“Someone special?” Nina shot her a sly smile.
“Hardly.” Liz hadn’t met someone to refer to as special in a while. “Excuse me.” She grabbed her pyjamas, stepped into the tiny bathroom and closed the door behind her. Before splashing cold water in her face she examined herself in yet another mirror. Her cheek was swollen, narrowing her left eye. The bruise seemed to mock her and, admittedly, despite the dramatic purple-red edge of the contusion, it was her ego that was wounded most. She had no business lusting after someone who’d just graduated from university. Nina was barely twenty-one and even though they were only eight years apart in age, somehow, it felt more like eighteen—or eighty, now that she was feeling especially melodramatic about it.
