Davina

by Limey Lady

  This time, as Sara took her turn to lead me onto the dance floor, my heart was hammering rather than pounding. Part of my brain was convinced I was misreading a joke as something it wasn’t. The rest of my brain was remembering her eyes.

  Her eyes had been brimming with sex and invitation.

  Go with the flow, I told myself as sternly as I could. See what happens and go with the flow.

  Sara was every bit as good a dancer as Robbie and her body felt amazing pressed against mine. We smiled at each other as she steered our course, her hips subtly prompting my movements.

  And her tits were pressing into my chest. She was as tall as me, auburn-haired (I have a thing about auburn hair; I’ll tell more about that later) and she had an absolutely wonderful pair on her. Dressed as she was in her new, low-cut party frock, it was a struggle to keep my hands off her.

  Not that I’d ever groped anyone; not up to then.

  Then she asked me for a birthday kiss.

  The logic about it being the host’s eighteenth still held so once more I offered up my mouth. And once more I was kissed with a passion.

  And . . . oh . . . my . . . GOD didn’t I react! That whirling and swirling sensation hit me with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. It felt so good I almost spontaneously self-combusted. It wasn’t my soul that tried to soar heavenward, it was all of me. If Sara hadn’t been holding me so tight I would have been up, up and away.

  Believe you me; I mustered tons of oomph and even more va-va-voom. Do not ask how long we were locked together like that. It certainly wasn’t a song or two . . . it was maybe two or three albums.

  Maybe it was a lot longer.

  *****

  Ellie eventually interrupted us.

  ‘Your mum’s arrived,’ she told Sara, ‘she’ll be here any second. Best go tidy your lippy.’ Then, turning to me: ‘That goes for you too.’

  ‘I don’t use lipstick,’ I protested.

  ‘You don’t have to. You’re wearing at least half of Sara’s.’

  We hastily adjourned to the Ladies, unsure where precisely Ellie had sourced her information but only too aware she was always right when it came to folk up to no good.

  Mrs C, Sara’s mum, had come to make sure the venue didn’t get any grief when it was time to chuck out and lock up. Sara, reverting to hostess mode, did her bit in seeing everyone off and thanking them for coming. Then she announced that the pubs were still open and she intended to have a late night.

  Now that wasn’t a shock. Even Mrs C knew that the half dozen or so of us hanging back planned on making a night of it.

  ‘No later than two o’clock,’ she said, kissing her daughter on the forehead. ‘And don’t make a racket when you get home. Some of us have to get up in the morning.’

  By then it was going on eleven and most of the bars were ready to close. A select (or maybe not-so select) few were good for a few hours yet, though. From our central Bingley location we soon decided the nearest would do and descended on it without further delay.

  The place was busy, busy, busy. Tatty furniture or not, it was exactly what we hardened partygoers needed. Shame about the music but hey, we couldn’t have everything going our way!

  I had rather hoped that Sara would descend on me again but she stayed in hostess mode. Accepting I might have had all I was going to get, I played along and we stood in our cheerful little gang, chatting and drinking.

  And nobody mentioned our snogfest. I didn’t know whether to be glad or sad about that. On the one hand everybody was being mature and uncritical. On the other I wanted to be loud and proud.

  I’d finally proved all the suspicions about me were true. In fact I’d even proved it to my biggest doubter . . . myself.

  Don’t ask me what we chatted about as the clock crept towards midnight. We were sixth formers after all; it could have been anything from Jane Austen to Mark Zuckerberg. Whatever it was, it will have been politically correct, I can guarantee that. Well, aside from Ellie’s contributions it will have been.

  And even Ellie made no mention of our tête-à-tête; not even one of her infamous innuendos.

  *****

  Ten past midnight and everything changed. I guess somewhere nearby must have called last orders because suddenly, from busy, busy, busy our pub was bursting at the seams. New arrivals pushing to the bar split our group and others following prevented it from reforming. For quarter of an hour or so I was in a sub-group with Sara, Ellie and a guy called Will. Then the pushing and shoving resumed and Ellie and Will disappeared from sight.

  Or maybe she swept him away for reasons of her own.

  Sara grabbed my hand and said something. The music had got louder and everyone seemed to be shouting in the hope of being heard over it. I couldn’t understand her, not even when she repeated herself in a shout of her own.

  I shook my head and led her towards the exit. She came willingly enough.

  ‘I asked you if you wanted another drink,’ she said when we were out in the refreshing, mid-autumn night air.

  ‘What, fighting through that scrum,’ I said, ‘it would take forever.’

  ‘I could try,’ she objected.

  ‘No,’ said I, ‘why don’t you let me buy you one tomorrow dinnertime? We could lunch somewhere too, now you’re old enough.’

  ‘Like two ladies who lunch?’ Sara laughed. ‘That sounds good to me. Let’s walk home. The sooner we go to sleep, the sooner we’ll be out again.’

  I didn’t mention this earlier but, before the upper sixth, Sara and I were not particularly matey, despite us living less than two hundred yards apart. Lately, however, Lady Luck seemed to have had changed her plans for us. All that travelling to and from parties had a lot to do with it. Bingley might have been central to us but a lot of our schoolmates lived in outlying villages; some of the venues were miles out of town. We’d shared plenty of buses and taxis lately, and almost inevitably we had grown closer.

  And now we were kissing-close, weren’t we?

  Kissing-close ladies with a lunchtime date ahead of them.

  Chapter Three

  I heard the usual night sounds as, hand-in-hand, we crossed Main Street into Park Road: the steady hum of traffic on the nearby bypass; the bass beat of music coming from the Midland pub; a drunk two or three streets away, either singing to anyone who’d listen or howling at the moon; the occasional slam of a car door.

  ‘I’ve had a great day,’ Sara assured me. ‘It’s been my best ever. And dancing with you was ace. I think I’m going to need another kiss before I let you go, though.’

  I stopped in my tracks and, turning her round to face me, kissed her there and then, out in the street, opposite the fish and chip shop.

  And some folk reckon the age of romance is dead!

  Not that “romance” had anything to do with the price of eggs. No, I was all steamed up and horny and didn’t spare romance a single thought.

  Fortunately, neither did Sara.

  I suppose that being outdoors added to the experience, even if there wasn’t anybody about to see us. That is to say, there probably wasn’t anybody about to see us. To tell the truth I was fully focused on Sara. The rest of the world had ceased to exist. It was me and her, our mouths and tongues frantically interacting; that was all that mattered. That and nothing else

  And yes, we’d progressed to tongues. Earlier, at her party, I’d felt the tip of Sara’s tongue brushing my lower lip. At the time that had been as far as it went. I guess I hadn’t known how to encourage her and she hadn’t the nerve to try for more. When I felt it a second time I met it with my own, fencing with it a bit before leading it into my mouth.

  God, this was hot! My hands were behaving themselves; one was on the back of her neck, the other was on her waist. I don’t know where hers had been but suddenly they were both on my bum, pulling our lower bodies as close as could be. Then she was squeezing me as well as pulling; squeezing and relaxing; squeezing and relaxing.

  I pushed her tongue out of my mouth,
following it back into hers, thrusting in and out in sync with her squeezes. Although conscious of little I was very aware of three things: her tits were tight against my chest; her groin was rubbing hard against mine and . . .

  Omigod, I was going to cum!

  I tried to contain myself but had no chance. I was too far gone and maybe didn’t really want to hold off anyway. The orgasm hit me hard, driving the breath out of me, making my legs boneless and without a doubt drenching my knickers.

  And still we went on, thrusting and rubbing, squeezing and relaxing . . . and on and on. Don’t ask how I did it and why I wasn’t in a heap on the pavement. It must have been adrenalin and Sara’s grip on my backside.

  That or divine intervention.

  I was starting to wonder if Sara’s self-control was superhuman when . . . at last . . . she broke off our kiss and buried her face in my shoulder. I could feel her teeth, biting into me, and I could also feel her whole body juddering hard against me.

  Oh yes, I thought giddily, she’s cum! I’ve made a fellow female cum!!

  *****

  ‘Oh my word,’ Sara gasped some considerable time afterwards. ‘Oh my friggin’ word!’

  Hand-in-hand again, we resumed our uphill walk, both of us smiling. A solitary car passed, headed down into town. The mob of lads in it shouted something at us out of a window but we took no notice. Waving or giving them a well-deserved finger would probably only have led to trouble.

  And who knows, they might have shouted something nice.

  Not!

  ‘Binny’s party tomorrow,’ Sara began.

  ‘Binny’s party tonight, you mean,’ I gently corrected.

  ‘Yeah; you’re right, it’s tomorrow already. Anyway, are we going to Binny’s as an item? Word’s out about us already, so we might as well.’

  ‘Do you mind word being out?’

  ‘No, I don’t mind at all. Which is just as well, isn’t it? The whole school’s going to know by dinnertime on Monday.’

  ‘In that case let’s go as an item.’

  ‘Deal,’ she said, squeezing my hand (that felt nice, but not nearly as nice as when she was squeezing my ass).

  All too soon we were at Sara’s turning. She lived in one of Bingley’s more desirable areas (her road was a “drive” rather than a humble street). We only had to walk a few yards along it to find a wall that was suitable for leaning against and snogging.

  The passion was still there and so were the sensations. The body contact wasn’t the same, though, not upstairs or down. I found out why before I could start fretting about it.

  Sara wanted to allow me access.

  I can’t tell you how excited I was when she took my hand and drew it up to her chest, inside her half-open jacket.

  As simple as that: I was touching the top of her bare breast. And it was easy-peasy to slip my fingers into her low-cut frock. She was bra-less and a firm half-globe of flesh immediately pressed into my palm.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she sighed.

  Moving with an impetus of its own, my other hand landed on her bare thigh and began to inch its way inwards and upwards.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she repeated, ‘oh yes, oh yes.’

  Still cupping and lightly stroking her boob, I smiled to myself as my mind-of-its-own hand arrived at the joint between Sara’s leg and torso. It was warm in there; very warm and very, very damp.

  ‘Don’t stop,’ she breathed, ‘whatever you do please, please don’t stop.’

  I ran my index finger lightly along her flesh, touching all sorts at once: inner thigh, the joint itself and, best of all, her labium.

  No, make that her swollen labium. I was no expert but I was sure it was swollen and pumped full of red-hot blood. Mine certainly were!!

  Sara immediately bit back into my shoulder. I had intended to venture a little adventurously into her panties, but it was obvious her self-control wasn’t superhuman after all. Unless I was very mistaken, she came in a matter of moments.

  Then, a couple of moments later, she came again.

  *****

  I checked the time on my mobile while Sara recovered.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I said, ‘it’s ten to two. It’s taken us an hour and a half to walk a few hundred yards.’

  ‘I believe it,’ Sara replied. ‘And I believe it’ll take another ninety minutes to walk the last fifty.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t had enough?’ I chuckled. Sara’s legs still seemed as boneless as my own had been, farther back down the hill. She was virtually propped up between me and the wall. She was still gasping for air, too. ‘Or do you mean it’ll take you that long to regain your balance?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said bravely, ‘never better. And I owe you for what you just did for me; big-time.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be home before two.’

  ‘Ask me if I’m bothered.’

  Sara’s eyes were doing their sex thing again. I was sorely tempted to dally there with her but the do-gooder nerd in me came to the fore.

  ‘If you set off now you’ll be home early,’ I observed wisely. ‘You’ll earn loads of brownie points with your mum. And you’ll be up in time for Saturday lunch.’

  She grumbled a bit then laughed and burst into a grin. ‘Ring me about eleven,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to find out where you’re taking me.’

  Chapter Four

  I had set my alarm for ten thirty Saturday morning but needn’t have bothered. At precisely ten o’clock Mum came into my room, bringing me a cup of coffee, drawing the curtains and opening the window.

  ‘It’s a lovely day,’ she said brightly. ‘Don’t waste in it bed.’

  She’d already made enough noise to ensure I wouldn’t drift off back to sleep. Wide awake, I decided I felt good considering I’d had a late night. There again, I’d been otherwise engaged, hadn’t I? My usual Friday alcohol consumption must have been halved . . . at least.

  ‘How did Sara’s party go?’ Mum asked, showing no sign of leaving me in peace.

  ‘Okay,’ I replied, blushing ever-so slightly. ‘I think she enjoyed herself.’

  ‘I suppose you’ll be out with her again tonight. She seems to see more of you than I do nowadays.’

  ‘I’m seeing her for lunch,’ I said. ‘And yes, it’s Binny’s party tonight.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve got any birthday money left, the way you carry on.’

  I winced inwardly at Mum’s latest observation. I had been astonished by the amounts of cash I’d been given for my eighteenth. Being squirrel-like by nature, I’d tucked most of it away in my secret savings account. I had, however, retained a few quid for “everyday expenses” . . . meaning essentials such as beer, wine and curries. After buying Sara lunch that retention would be gone.

  Not that I’d be penniless. I worked Monday and Tuesday evenings in the local Spar and Dad gave me a reasonably generous monthly allowance. I would just have to revert to being frugal, that was all.

  ‘I’ll get by,’ I assured my mother, summoning a devil-may-care grin.

  Alone at last I sipped coffee and wondered if I was still a virgin. Yes, I know that was a strange thing to be worrying about, but I really wasn’t sure. What exactly were the rules for lesbians? Did having a fellow female inspire an orgasm count?