by Ray Gordon
Confused in my thinking, I bit my lip. I wasn't a lesbian, and yet... Perhaps I was thirsty for experience. My sex dampened as thoughts swirled within the sexual haze of my mind. My nipples rose.
"What do you think?" Sharon asked, breaking the delicate web of my fantasy.
"I'm sorry?" I smiled.
"Do you think your uncle has a swimming pool?"
"Oh, more than likely."
Turning, I faced the dressing table and discreetly pulled my panties aside. The mirror reflected the pouting of my outer lip, the elastic of my panties nestling within my moist vaginal crevice. Adrenalin coursed through my veins. My heart banged hard against my chest. A passionate desire ascended from the quivering depths of my womb. I was ready for the unveiling.
"Most villas have swimming pools," I said, turning to face her.
"I hope so," she beamed. "I love the sea, but prefer a swimming pool." Her blue eyes fell to my lower stomach. Lower, lower to the deliciously plump lip of my vagina. "The weather..." she began, bewilderment swamping her thoughts. The gaze of her diamond-sparkling eyes burned into my girl flesh. "I suppose the weather's always good."
"It's bound to be hot," I smiled. Hot and wet. "It's June, so we needn't worry."
I turned and looked out of the window. There were movements behind me. Clothing rustled. I imagined Sharon's hand on my lower back, following the curve of my hips. Fingers moving slowly over the smooth plateau of my stomach. Down, further down to my intimacy. Beneath the elastic of my panties and over the rise of my fleeced mons. My crack opened in its expectation of caressing girl fingers. Turning, I gazed at Sharon as she stood by the door. Was she leaving me? She had to touch me, caress my girl sex. My fantasy worried me.
"I'm going to the loo," she said, and was gone. In my ponderings, I'd often thought about other girls' sex cracks. While I'd masturbated, I'd often imagined another girl caressing between the swollen lips of my vagina, her slender fingers seeking entrance to my wet sheath of sexual love. I'd imagined my fingertip to be another girl's, slowly encircling the sensitive nub of my erect clitoris. Massaging, tantalising, teasing ripples of pleasure from my passion spot. Never had I thought I'd yearn to bring my secret ponderings out into the light of day. I preferred the dark of the night.
Sharon had been gone for a while, and I began to wonder what she was doing. Was she remembering Halloween night? My passion was soaring out of control. The glimpse of the fleshy vulval lips I'd caressed long ago flooded my mind with memories. I was older now. But was I bolder? I sat on the end of the bed and reclined, the elastic of my panties still between my wet sex lips. My arms outstretched behind my head, I needed Sharon. Where was she? My thighs parted, I was ready for the sensual touch of her fingers.
"Kirsty," she murmured hesitantly as she ambled into the room and closed the door.
"I was just thinking about a sandy beach beneath the Greek sun," I smiled, closing my eyes. She walked across the carpet. I could feel her gaze upon the exposed lip of my vagina. "You'll have to get your ticket as soon as you can," I murmured.
"Yes, I know," she whispered. She sat on the end of the bed, close to my hip. Close to my bared intimacy. "Kirsty, I..."
What was roaming the recesses of her mind? Was she recalling that fateful Halloween? The bed moved, she was making herself comfortable. Through my eyelashes, I spied her pretty face, her sensual mouth. She was looking at my panties, my bulging outer lip. Her pink tongue peeped between the wet gloss of her succulent lips. I craved her feminine touch, longed for her intimate caress. Through the heady reeling of my sexual fever, the room closed in on me. Oblivious to the outside world, I was sinking within myself. My clitoris pulsated in its desiring.
"Kirsty," she murmured again. She wasn't asking for a reply. She was whispering my name in her spoken thoughts. I could feel my stomach rising and falling with my quickening breathing. My juices flowed, absorbed by my panties. "Kirsty," she breathed. I let out an involuntary gasp as the soft touch of her fingertip traced the silky-smooth skin my inner thigh. She moved up towards my sex, teasing, caressing, tantalising. Holding my breath as her fingertip drew a line up to my exposed outer lip, I waited in desperation for her feminine touch.
My thighs parted spontaneously, as if offering my sexual centre for the taking. The pearl of my clitoris swelled, my juices of love flowed in torrents. As her fingertip caressed the sensitive cushion of my vaginal lip, my breath rushed out in its desperate rushing. My stomach quivered, my back arched. Whimpers of pleasure left my lips and floated around the room as her finger worked its way into my wetting valley of desire. Pulling my panties aside, she ran the tip of her slender finger up and down the drenched ravine of my girl sex.
"Yes," I gasped with an outrush of breath as her finger delved between the petals of my inner lips. Seeking, exploring, she encircled the pink flesh surrounding the juiced entrance to my hot vaginal sheath. "Yes!" I gasped again as she entered me, penetrated my tightening vagina. I could feel her inside me, working, massaging. My clitoris swelled, pulsated in its arousal. My breathing was fast and shallow, my head thrown back in my sexual delirium.
I felt her wet lips kiss my lower stomach. Her hot breath on my veiled mons, her blonde hair tickling my inner thighs, her tongue ran over the sensitive rise of my outer lip. Digging my fingernails into the quilt, my body rigid with desire as she pulled my panties down my thighs, I wailed in my satisfaction as her tongue slipped into the moist divide just below the fusion of my labia. Her breath hotter as she pulled my panties down further, her tongue eagerly sought my ripening clitoris.
"Sharon," I whispered as the wetness of her tongue snaked over the sensitive tip of my pleasure pearl. "God, Sharon." She began licking fervently, swelling my clitoris with every sweep of her pink tongue. She placed her hand on the smooth skin of my stomach as if to pin me down. Slipping her girl-wet finger out of my vagina, she yanked my panties further down my legs. Her finger entered me again, squelching my juices of passion in its search for the creamy softness of my cervix. My body shaking violently, I was close to orgasm. Close to my sexual heaven.
"Kirsty," my mother called, tapping on the door. "Kirsty, Sharon's mother is at the door." My orgasm scurried back into the warren of my vagina and bolted into my womb like a frightened rabbit. Sharon's wet finger leaving my yearning vaginal sheath as she leaped up from the bed, I sat upright and tugged my panties up. Trembling like a leaf in the wind, my face flushed, I watched Sharon stagger to the door on her sagging legs.
"I'll ring you tomorrow," she said, her sparkling eyes catching mine. Her lashes fluttered and she turned away. "Tomorrow evening."
"Yes," I whispered shakily. She opened the door and left the room. I heard her bound down the stairs. I was alone with my thoughts. Alone in my naughtiness. Guilt engulfed me.
Chapter Two
Sharon didn't phone the following day. I wondered whether she was ashamed of her lesbian act, confused in her guilt. I was going to call her, invite her round. But a ferocious battle raged within my racked mind. I was torn between right and wrong, normal and abnormal. As the day passed, I lifted the receiver again and again, but couldn't bring myself to dial her number. Maybe I was afraid of rejection. Maybe I was afraid of my feelings. Having given my body to another girl, maybe I, too, was ashamed. Was I a lesbian?
Trying to occupy my mind, I sat on my bed and wrote to Uncle Jack. I didn't mention Sharon. She might have had second thoughts about the holiday after... after our forbidden loving. I told Uncle Jack that I'd be on the plane and was looking forward to meeting him. I enclosed a recent photograph, imagining him standing by the arrivals gate holding up a piece of cardboard. KIRSTY. I'd arranged the time off work, swapped my holiday with another girl in the office. I'd made my decision. I was set to spend two glorious weeks beneath the Greek sun.
I went downstairs and was about to walk down the road to post the letter when the phone rang. My mother answered it, making odd facial expressions at me as I neared the front door. I gathered that th
e call was for me. A long journey lay ahead for the letter. A few minutes more would make no difference. Taking the receiver, I waited for my mother to fly but she hovered like a bird. I needed a place of my own.
"Hi," I said, my stomach somersaulting as I imagined Sharon's succulent lips close to the mouthpiece. Close to the lips of my love mouth. I wanted to suck pleasure from her clitoris and drink the juices of love from her pussy.
"Hallo, Kirsty," David returned. His voice was deep, dark. My stomach sank.
"Oh, David," I sighed. I was never any good at hiding my emotions. My emotions never hid from me.
"There's a play I want to see at the Royal on the twenty-fifth," he said. "I thought we might..."
"The twenty-fifth? No, I can't."
"Can't?" he echoed irritably.
"I'll be in Greece," I blurted out. My mother smiled at me. Was she proud?
"Greece?" He sound annoyed. "What the hell do you mean?" He was annoyed.
"I told you that I'd heard from my Uncle Jack. His lives on a Greek island and has invited me to stay with him for..."
"You said nothing to me about it," he snapped.
"I've only just decided to accept his invitation." I sounded too formal. David made me that way. "He has a villa," I added. I don't know why I said that. Perhaps I wanted to make him envious.
"You can't go, Kirsty." He was severe in his anger. He should have been a schoolteacher. "I'm sorry, but it's just not feasible."
"Not feasible?" I echoed mockingly. "I've got the plane ticket."
"Already? I would have thought it only right to consult me before..."
"My uncle sent it to me."
"Oh, did he?" I was pleased that he was aggravated. "We'd better meet and talk about this, Kirsty. I'll come round."
"I'm going down the road to post the letter to my uncle."
"Before you post it... Look, I'll meet you in the pub on the corner."
"OK, I'll see you there."
I told my mother where I was going as I opened the front door. Her smile spoke to me. She was pleased with my decision. Perhaps she wanted me to travel, to see the world. Perhaps she was hoping that I'd find a young Greek man and fall in love. Maybe she wanted me to have the things she'd missed. As I left the house, I wondered why she'd never remarried. My father would have wanted it. I think.
Walking down the street with the letter in my bag, I was determined not to allow David to change my mind. My heart was set on the holiday. I realized that it wasn't the opportunity of a lifetime, but it was an opportunity not to be missed. Don't look a gift-horse in the mouth. I never did know what that meant. In my bedroom Sharon had been a gift-horse. I wanted her mouth.
The evening sun warmed me as I walked along the tree-lined street. In my dreaming, I imagined that I was in Greece walking to a taverna. Sharon was with me, her warm hand clutching mine. She wore a short turquoise skirt and matching bikini top. The cleavage of her breasts was deep, inviting. Her ripe nipples stood proud beneath the tight material. They sought the warmth of my mouth. Beneath her skirt she was naked. The evening was too hot to wear panties. Panties were restricting, they repressed sexual love.
We passed an old man sitting on a doorstep. His gnarled hands toyed with worry-beads. He didn't look up at us. In his worrying, he hadn't seen us. He must have lived long ago. He must have lived and loved. Perhaps he'd loved and died. Love kills. Music drifted from the taverna as we walked. Glasses chinked and laughter filled the warm air. Crickets chirped. I was in heaven. I was with Sharon.
Dropping the letter into the box by the pub, I felt happy. I'd taken the plunge. The letter posted, the plane ticket at home, I was all set to go. But there was David. He'd complain, moan bitterly. But I needed the break, the break from him if nothing else. I'd fallen into a rut in recent months and couldn't climb out. David was digging the deepening rut. David was the rut.
The pub didn't look inviting. The paintwork was cracked and dry, the windows dirty. The Polar Bear. The name was wintry, I didn't like it. I would have preferred The Summer Breeze or The Plough and Meadow. Entering the building, I walked to the bar and ordered a coke.
A few people were scattered here and there. They leaned on the bar or up against the wall. Some perched on stools, their heads hung in their boredom. They held their glasses nervously, sipping now and then in their self-consciousness. Their eyes darting, they caught each other's eyes and let out false chuckles. They were uneasy. They didn't want to be there. They didn't want to be with their partners. The Polar Bear was appropriate.
Sitting at a table with my drink, I gazed at the pale faces of my fellow patrons. One man jumped and looked round every time the door opened. He was in his fifties, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Was he trying to discover his lost youth? He was with a girl half his age. She was blonde, pretty with pouting lips. Her legs seemed too long for her short skirt. Was I jealous? At the end of the evening she would open her legs for him. What did she get in return? Money? He was nervous, twitchy. Did he think his wife would turn up and discover his infidelity?
I sipped my coke. The bubbles went up my nose, the ice chinked. I looked about the bar and wondered why I was there. Quiz Night Every Thursday. The chalked notice wasn't inviting. David would be the quizmaster. Who are you going to Greece with? How long are you going for? Is there someone else? Will you be pleased to be away from me? Why can't we go together? Why? Why? Why? I didn't know why anything. My dislike for David was growing fast.
He walked into the bar like a man walking into a lingerie department. He looked awkward, out of place. He didn't know his wife's bust size. Padded cups? Under wired? He held his hand to his head and looked about him. He was angry. Catching sight of me, he walked briskly towards me and sat down. Thank you, David. I'd love another Coke. Yes, I'm fine. Yes, I had a great day at work. Did he know the real me? Did I know?
"What's all this about?" he asked, shaking his head as if he were talking to a naughty child.
"What do you mean?" I frowned, knowing full well what he meant.
"This Greek thing." His expression was pained in his torment. "This... this holiday nonsense." His grimace made him look ugly. "What's it all about?"
"I'm Shirley Valentine," I smiled. I recalled going to see the film with my mother. She'd wanted to be Shirley Valentine. "You come in my boat," I giggled. "We no fuck."
"Kirsty!" David scowled. He looked around the bar and then locked his dark eyes to mine. "For God's sake," he whispered through gritted teeth.
I feigned innocence. "What's the matter?" I asked.
"Your language. I've never heard you swear before. What's happened to you? This holiday thing..."
"I..." I've been touched by another girl. "Nothing's happened to me. I'm going to stay with my uncle for a couple of weeks. What's wrong with that?" David's penis would miss my vagina. He'd think of my vagina as he masturbated. He'd miss fucking me. That's what was wrong. "Sharon might be coming with me," I added happily.
He shook his head despairingly. "I'm not having you go with her," he said irritably. "You know what she's like."
"Her?" Was she an object? "No, what is she like, David?"
"She's... she's a slut, Kirsty. She'll be off with every man she can get her hands on. God, the way she behaved at Ian's party was..."
"How will that affect me?" I interrupted him. He didn't like being interrupted. "I'm going to Greece to stay with my uncle."
"I can't have you cavorting about in Greece."
"David, I'm not going to fuck the local men."
"Kirsty!"
"Yes, David?"
"I can see that there's no point in trying to discuss this. God only knows what your mother will have to say about it."
I grinned a triumphant grin. "She's been encouraging me to go," I said.
"I don't believe that."
As usual, David was beginning to annoy me. I didn't want to be his girlfriend and wished I'd never gone back to him. We all make mistakes. I pondered on the restricting chains of rela
tionships. Did I really need him? I had my candle lover to comfort me. What would I be doing if I wasn't sitting in the pub with him? Dancing, laughing, living life. I had Sharon to love me. Sharon was soft in her femininity. David was hard and cold in his masculinity. I wanted to sit cross-legged on the lawn and make daisy chains with Sharon.
David walked across the worn carpet and ordered a drink. Standing awkwardly at the bar, he toyed with the change in his trouser pockets. He was an old man in a young man's body. He rarely laughed, didn't like jokes, and frowned upon me if I seemed to be enjoying myself. He was boring. Something was missing in his life, but he didn't know what. I knew what was missing in mine.
As he returned to the table, I looked down at his trousers. They were too long, the turn-ups folding over his black shoes. His tie was loose, his jacket open. His dark hair had fallen over his lined forehead. His hands and slender fingers that had never worked annoyed me. Up at seven-thirty, to the office, home at six... Spontaneity wasn't a word in his vocabulary. I didn't know what I'd ever seen in him.
Sitting opposite me, he looked me up and down as he sipped his scotch. What was he thinking? I was about to ask him when I noticed Sharon walk in. She must have phoned and my mother had said where I was. Standing at the bar, she turned and saw me. My stomach somersaulted as she smiled and waved. I focused on her long legs, the tapering of her naked thighs below her short skirt. The roundness of her firm buttocks billowed her skirt. I imagined her naked. My clitoris stirred.
David hadn't seen her. He was too busy wallowing in his resentment to have noticed. His anger would deepen once Sharon joined us. He'd not have the opportunity to lecture me. He'd have to restrain himself in his seething. His moodiness made me happy. Sharon ordered her drink and then walked over to our table. Was her mind flooded with thoughts of lesbianism? She looked summery, like a flower. I wanted to smell her.
