Lesbian Erotica, Volume 2

by Carla Blake

  I couldn’t help it. I knew I wouldn’t make any difference, but I went ahead anyway because I needed to!

  I touched her hand, the one rubbing at her clit.

  It was just the slightest of touches and one that I meant only to serve as a release for some of my own want and frustration, but Evie clearly must have felt it because her eyes suddenly flew wide open and for the briefest of moments, just as she rattled over the edge and gushed warm, sticky juices over her hand, I thought she saw me.

  “Evie.” I barely whispered, but she sat bolt upright, her eyes staring around the room, her legs suddenly clamped together as she grabbed double handfuls of duvet and covered herself up.

  “Who’s there?” She said, a faint tremor to her voice as she snapped on the light. “Who said that?”

  “Me.” I answered softly, worried now that I had truly frightened her and wishing I had kept my mouth shut. Why hadn’t I waited until it was light before trying something so drastic, but it was too late now.

  “It’s okay, I’m not a bad spirit. I’m here to help you.”

  She heard none of it and after several minutes of listening to nothing but her own heartbeat, she switched the light off again and lay back down.

  Meekly, I went to sit in the corner next to her flowers, worried that if I lay on the bed, she’d feel it.

  For two days as the daisy chain withered and died, I did and said nothing and Evie carried on with her lonely life, working, shopping, curling up on the end of the sofa to watch TV whilst I merely witnessed it all, torn between trying to make her aware of my presence and afraid I would scare her witless.

  In the end, it was a letter that broke the stalemate.

  It arrived mid morning on a Thursday. Evie was not at work. She had come down with a bit of a cold and spent the day in bed, surrounded by tissues and cold remedies and magazines. She did get up for the post though and I saw her pick up the pastel envelope and turn it over, clearly trying to ascertain what it was. Usually, she just got bills or flyers or those plastic bags charities are so fond of poking through the letter box.

  She opened it sitting on the sofa, her dressing gown wrapped around her, her feet in a pair of slippers with tiny hearts on them.

  I heard her gasp as she read the opening lines and her hand went to her mouth. Then she began to cry, very quietly, the tears spilling silently down her cheeks as she moved to the second sheet of paper and then threw the whole lot on the floor.

  I waited until she had left the room and I could hear her clattering about in the kitchen, before summoning the energy to kneel on the floor and read the letter for myself.

  It was from Faith, which was no surprise. She was coming over on Saturday and demanded Evie had her stuff ready for collection. She had no right to keep it, she went on, and she couldn’t stand the thought of her possessions still being in Evie’s house.

  It said a lot more besides, most of it dredging up the past and laying the blame for their failed relationship squarely at Evie’s feet. There was a fair amount of name calling too, which I thought totally unnecessary and it finished with the scathing remark that Evie had been crap in bed. No wonder she had cried, especially as it was so obviously untrue.

  I wandered into the kitchen. Evie was standing by the sink, staring out of the window; a glass of wine in her hand and tears drying on her cheek.

  I wanted to comfort her, to let her know she wasn’t alone but I wasn’t sure how. The daisy chain was long gone and I didn’t want to waste energy going outside to pick more.

  Then she started to speak.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” she began, cuffing away a tear. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You left me. How could you do that? How could you just leave me here, all alone? What did I do? What did I do!?”

  And she began to cry again, great sobs that shook her shoulders and slopped wine onto her hand.

  I reached out, more by instinct than anything else, and touched her arm and she flinched, whirling round to face me, her face torn between pain and fear as her eyes searched the empty space I was standing in.

  “What IS that?” She cried, setting down her wine glass, “stop it! You’re scaring me!”

  Shit! That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I had to do something now or risk freaking her out forever.

  “Don’t’ be afraid.” I said, praying she would hear me. “Please. I mean you no harm.” Christ, I sounded like I was addressing a bloody alien!

  She heard me, I could tell, by the way she jumped a mile and then turned full circle, searching for the ‘person’ who had spoken.

  “Please.” I tried again. “Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you.”

  “Where are you!” She practically screamed.

  “Here.” I replied, thanking God it was daylight outside.

  “Where?”

  I was running out of energy. Her fear was draining me and I needed to say one last, defining thing that would ease her mind before I ran out of juice altogether. “I’m a ghost.” I said.

  It probably wasn’t the best answer I could have given because she drained her glass of wine in record time and shakily poured another. If that had been me, I would have said to hell with the glass and tipped the bottle! But she drank politely if not a little quickly, her eyes round and staring, her breathing taking its own sweet time to return to normal.

  “A ghost,” she repeated, “fuck.”

  Not quite the response I was after but at least she was still in the house.

  I thought though, that having finally made contact, Evie might have expanded on it, but she didn’t. Instead, she carried her wine through to the lounge, retrieved the letter from the floor and read it a second time, almost as if I had never happened. She didn’t cry this time either, but folded it back into the envelope before tilting her head to speak to ‘thin air’.

  “If you’re really here,” she said, “then do something useful. Help me. The person who wrote this letter hurt me very badly and if I’m honest, I’m still not over it. Thing is, she’s coming here Saturday to collect some things and I want you, whoever you are, to scare the living shit out of her. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes.” I breathed.

  She jumped again, but held her nerve.

  “Good. Now please, would you be so kind as to leave me alone until then because I might look calm and collected to you, but right now I am fucking shitting myself.”

  I did as she asked, and left her alone, completely. I didn’t want to, as I said, I was feeling very strongly towards this lovely lady and it was hard not to stay close beside her, but I respected her wishes and retired to the graveyard, comforting myself with how best to put the wind up Faith.

  I nearly didn’t make it back. Having stayed awake all the previous night, plotting ways of making Faith’s hair stand on end, by Saturday morning my energy levels were vastly depleted, especially as I hadn’t seen Evie for more than a day and I practically crawled back to her house, worried that if I didn’t pull myself together soon, I’d be able to do nothing more than give Faith a nasty look.

  Evie was in the kitchen, the aroma of freshly baked bread hanging in the air. Subconsciously, I breathed in deep and for a brief moment truly believed I could smell the delicious aroma. Whether I truly did or not, I couldn’t say, but it was enough to make me feel instantly better and walking over to her I gently tapped her on the shoulder.

  She flinched hard enough to make me flinch, but she did turn and smile and my energy levels racked up another few notches.

  “Is that you?” She whispered, “have you come back?”

  I tapped her shoulder again.

  “Will you still do as I asked?”

  Another tap.

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  Faith was everything I imagined her to be, tall, beautiful and
with a body to die for, the cow. But for all this, she had a mean looking mouth and hard eyes and the way she looked at Evie as she read off her list of demands made my blood boil.

  “And the penguin.” She said as my poor Evie went off to collect the things on Faith’s list. “I want that back.”

  “But you bought that for me as a gift,” Evie said. “You can’t ask for that back!”

  Faith shrugged. “I can and I have. So get it.”

  I leant in close to Evie’s ear. “Tell her if she wants it so bad to get it herself.”

  Evie did. It didn’t go down well and after several seconds of just staring at her, Faith stomped up the stairs, with me following close behind.

  She spotted the penguin straight away and went to grab it.

  I moved it.

  Her face was a picture, but she wasn’t afraid. Instead she scowled deeply and tried to grab it a second time.

  I moved it again. “Fuck!” She swore as her fingers closed around thin air once more. “What’s that bitch playing at?” And turning to the door, she shouted down the stairs, “Is this you having a laugh Evie, ‘cos if it is, it ain’t fucking funny!”

  “No.” I made my voice sound as sinister as I could and prayed she could hear me. “It’s me.”

  She did. Forgetting all about the penguin, she stared around the bathroom, her eyes round as saucers. “Who the fuck’s that?” She demanded.

  “Your worst nightmare.” I said slowly. “Want to play?”

  She didn’t say anything but her nostrils flared and she took a step towards the door, which I instantly slammed shut.

  “Fuck!” She swore again. “Evie, you bitch! This is not funny! I know it’s you! Fucking pack it in.”

  “I’m not Evie.” And I poked her.

  She jumped, Christ did she go high. I almost laughed, but keeping my composure, I carried on.

  “Leave,” I warned, enjoying the way sweat was gathering on her upper lip. “Leave everything and get out! If you dare to take one thing from this house, then I will follow. I will follow and I will haunt you. Now go!”

  And I swung the door open.

  She left, rapidly, her legs carrying her down the stairs and out of the front door before I’d even had the chance to float down after her. Evie, meanwhile, stood in the hallway, her mouth open in surprise.

  I had to laugh and apparently Evie heard me, for she began to laugh too which helped with the old energy no end.

  “Thank you!” She giggled, clapping her hands together, “you should have seen her face? Did you see her face? God, she won’t be back in a hurry.”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied, “and the penguin is yours.”

  “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “Now, I’m trying real hard not to be scared here, so don’t do anything - weird will you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, then, I’m trying really hard to stay calm here, but to be honest, you’re freaking the hell out of me, so grateful as I am to you for helping me out with Faith, you’re still a ghost and I want to know why you are haunting me? And where the fuck are you?”

  “I’m standing by the window,” I said, trying to keep my voice as friendly as I could. “My name is Becky and I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me? How?”

  “Not to be so lonely.”

  That made her think. Eventually though she simply nodded and introduced herself.

  “I already know you’re name,” I said, “it’s very pretty.”

  “Is it? I haven’t really thought about it. Have you always been here? In this house I mean or are you a recent arrival? My God, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to a ghost! I need a drink.”

  Wandering into the kitchen, she poured another wine and swallowed most of it in one gulp. I imagined it was probably helping her to cope with me so I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t want her getting so drunk she couldn’t think straight, so using a great deal of energy I slid the bottle away from her hand.

  She jumped a mile and then laughed nervously and my energy levels replenished themselves.

  “You can move stuff.” She said quietly. “The daisy chain! Was that you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you touch my hand last night? You know, whilst I was.. erm..”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  She blushed a deep red. “Right, erm, I don’t know what to do now. Do you need to be doing something?”

  “Like what?”

  “Freakin’ out someone else?”

  I laughed. “No, that particular privilege is all for you.”

  “Right. Err, where are you standing now?”

  “I’m standing by the fridge,” I said and moved a fridge magnet to prove the point.

  Staring towards me I could tell she was trying to see through the veil of reality to whatever dwelt beyond, apparently without much success.

  “Will I ever be able to see you?” She asked, bravely waving a hand a few inches from my nose.

  I shrugged, then remembered she couldn’t see me and told her I didn’t know. “But I can talk to you.” I added, “I can be here for you, if that helps in any way?”

  “I guess you’re company - in a strange way.” Evie added quickly. “But no jumping out on me.”

  “That’ll be a little hard if you can’t see me.” I chuckled.

  She ignored me. “And no watching me, you know, in intimate moments. And when you do turn up, I want fair warning.”

  “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

  She thought for a moment, “How about you knock three times, on the door or floor or something.”

  “Okay, no problem. Anything else?”

  “Yes. Tell me how you died?”

  Ah, the dreaded question. It had to come I suppose, it’s only natural that Evie would want to know how I met my untimely end, but I wasn’t exactly proud of my death and having to share it with someone made me squirm. At least she couldn’t see me.

  At my bidding, we went back into the lounge and I waited for Evie to get comfy in her favourite chair whilst I took up residence on the edge of the sofa so she had somewhere to look.

  That was odd in itself, seeing her eyes turn towards me and yet still miss me by several inches. It made me want to grab her face and turn her chin a notch or two in my direction.

  Clearing my throat, I began.

  It’s strange the little things one remembers.

  It was a Friday evening and the ‘little thing’ I remember is opening the door to Heather and seeing my downpipe clogged with the debris of the weather to the point where it was now overflowing. The rain hadn’t let up much all month, the news full of flooding reports and ruined furniture and now, on this particular evening, it was still going strong, not helped by a vicious wind that was whipping the rain all over the place.

  Heather was wet herself and letting her in, I waited for her to climb out of her dripping coat and hang it over the banister. To warm ourselves we ate pizza out of the box and watched some crappy movie whilst dipping into a box of chocolates she’d brought with her. It was our usual Friday evening ritual, but I could tell something wasn’t right. Heather kept opening her mouth as if she was about to say something and then closing it again when the words wouldn’t come and she was strangely quiet all through the film when usually she would have been making caustic remarks about the acting or plot.

  I didn’t push it, mainly because I was becoming increasingly worried about what she was working up to and once the movie had finished, I leant in for a kiss and a cuddle, hoping a bit of intimacy would break the sinister barrier that was beginning to separate us, but the moment I moved in, Heather recoiled, shuffling along the sofa and saying she wasn’t in the mood.

  Now I was really worried because Heather was
always in the mood. She’d even fucked me once in the service station toilets, locking us both in and pressing me against the partition wall before tugging down my jeans and knickers and sliding a finger into my cunt before I had chance to protest. I was almost in too much shock to orgasm but she made me come, hard and fast, my knees buckling and my pussy throbbing as she pulled her sticky finger from my hole and rubbed my swollen clit until my head banged against the wall and a sudden silence fell over the rest of the room. But that was Heather for you. The original any time, anywhere girl and I’d loved it and wanted it and couldn’t understand why she was pushing me away now.

  A ring on the doorbell prevented me from asking however and it was Heather that got up to answer the door whilst I stayed where I was, frozen on my own sofa, hearing muted voices, a single ‘fuck’ and watching as Heather walked back in with another woman following close behind.

  She didn’t mince words. “I’ve been trying to tell you all evening,” she began, reaching for the other woman’s hand. “We’re finished and I’m with Lisa now and there’s no point in trying to talk me round or anything ‘cos my minds made up. It’s over.”

  And that was it. They simply turned and left, leaving me sitting there with tears in my eyes and a heart slowly crumbling to dust.

  Feeling numb and empty, I went upstairs and fell onto my bed. I still loved Heather and I thought she’d loved me! We’d had such plans, a whole future mapped out together and I’d felt secure in our relationship, certain it would never end and that I would never have the fear of feeling lonely. But now it was gone, all of it. She had left me for someone else with barely a backwards glance. How long had it been going on? How long had they been together? Is that why she hadn’t wanted to kiss me? Of course it was! She didn’t want her new girl to arrive and find us snogging because she had someone else to kiss now, someone else to hold her and make love to her! I had lost her. I was alone.

  I existed for another week. I cannot say ‘lived,’ because it wasn’t a life. I called in sick at work and refused to say how long I would be off, not caring if the sacked me or waited for me to go back. I ate very little and the weight fell off me. I drank too much to compensate for lack of food and became increasingly irritated when I couldn’t escape into the oblivion of drunkenness. I refused to answer the door or the phone but spent hours e mailing Heather and texting her, begging her to take me back, until she closed her account and changed her number. And then I gave up, overwhelmed by the thought of a life that seemed to stretch on and on forever with no chance of ever finding happiness again.