by Harper Bliss
“Here you go, madam.” She thrusts a large G&T into my hand. The towel has descended to her hips and I have to pull my gaze away from her wet bikini top. As the drink cools my throat, I’m beginning to think I’ve lost my mind. I haven’t experienced this kind of instant attraction in years. I rack my brain for explanations but always come up empty. I’ve known Cat since she was sixteen, since she was a rampant tomboy with a mouth that—to Michael’s delight—drove her mother crazy. When I’m in London, I see her at least once a month, and never has even the slightest inkling of this kind of inappropriateness surfaced before.
She settles on a deck chair a few feet away from me and leafs through one of Helen’s Hello Magazines. Her wet bangs cling to her forehead and I’m eager to continue the fantasy I was indulging in before she interrupted, but I can’t do it when she’s sitting so close to me. Too much reality is mixed in with the dream.
Her skin is already turning golden-brown, setting off her blue eyes even more. She doesn’t have the typical pale British complexion that goes red after two hours in the sun. Instead, there’s a darkness about her. Not just in her looks—her hair and her tan—but also in her brooding air. Although bruised—her affair with Jenny was not the first that ended badly—she still has that easy-going flair of youth. A flexibility that seems to diminish with age. A nonchalance that drives me crazy.
I imagine what I would say to her if I had free reign. If John and Helen weren’t her parents and it was just the two of us here, in the sun-drenched garden of this house I inherited from Michael. Would I go up to her, put my hands on her neck and whisper something in her ear? Something outrageous like, “I need you to fuck me now.”
“Are you all right?” Cat catches me staring at her and I don’t avert my gaze. Surely I deserve a bit of fun.
“Perfectly.” My voice sounds a bit hoarse and I quickly sip from my drink.
“You look a bit flushed. It’s not the book, is it?” Her smile is so disarming. I do wonder what got into Jenny that she ditched Cat for someone else. Clearly, it doesn’t make any sense. I want to tell her she didn’t deserve to get cheated on, that it’s ludicrous, but I know it’s not my place.
“Heavens no.” I shake my head. “My drink must be too strong.”
She looks at me as if she knows I’m hiding something. If only she would punish me for it. Pin my wrists to the chair with the palm of her hands and stare me down. At some point, I will need some chastising.
“Please, excuse me.” I have to walk away. I need to remove myself from this explosive situation before I burst a vein.
“Sure.” Carelessly, she turns her attention back to her magazine and my heart breaks a little.
I walk into my bedroom and close the curtains. I sit down on the edge of the bed and pant as if I’ve just run half a marathon. I scan myself in the mirror and hardly recognise the person sitting there. I recognise the familiar face, of course, and my curls rioting in all directions. But the passion in those eyes, that blatant want, is completely foreign to me. I nod at my reflection and I know it’s time for something I haven’t done in a long time.
I shuffle backwards onto the bed until my body is totally supported. I pull my legs up and let my hands wander between my upper thighs. I’m surprised by the heat glowing through my bikini bottoms when I let a finger slide over the seam. I realise I’ve neglected certain body parts for years, willed certain desires to take a back seat. I can’t explain why Cat seems to be the catalyst for this sexual awakening I’m experiencing, but the fact of the matter is that just watching her has made me so wet I can’t ignore it. I need to do something about this frustration that hasn’t reared its head in seven years but has now decided to ambush me with unstoppable force.
I can’t stand any fabric covering my swollen pussy lips anymore and tug off my bikini bottoms. I close my eyes and think of Cat. Her smile and the occasional sparkle in her eyes. I dream I am the cause of her pleasure, that I make her smile, make her feel better. I imagine her eyes peering down at me as her hands discover my body, as her fingers play with my nipples.
My clit is rock hard and pulsing for attention. When I dip a finger between my pussy lips I discover my wetness and, although expected, the heat of it still surprises me. I screw my eyes shut and envision Cat’s finger doing to me what I’m doing to myself. I bet she’d do it better. I bet she has some secret lesbian tricks that would make me come five times in a row.
“I’ll fuck you,” I make her whisper in my ear. “It’s all I wanted to do since I arrived.”
I flick a wet finger over my clit, cautiously, but with plenty of determination and pretend Cat makes me moan with pleasure. I’m at her mercy. She can do whatever she wants with me as long as she never stops, as long as she keeps doing it and I can go back for more.
“Oh Cat,” I grunt, and saying her name sparks bursts of electricity to pop in my veins.
“I want you so much, Rose,” I have her say, while I imagine her fingers going deep.
From the depths of my gut, a fire builds and spreads through me, enflaming my muscles and skin. I nudge my clit quicker and quicker, to the rhythm of the sparks dancing in my belly. My muscles contract and I toss my head back into the pillows. My mind focuses on the image of Cat holding out her hand for me earlier. Instead of offering me a drink, she holds it open expectantly, her eyes forcing me to follow her into the bedroom. Drops of water rain down her shoulders and crash down onto the fabric of her bikini.
My clit and fingers are so wet from my juices. If only it was Cat’s tongue setting me on fire like this. Cat’s tongue there. The mere thought of it pushes me over the edge. I come while I mutter a muffled cry for Cat. My orgasm spasms through me and, though satisfying, I already know it’s not enough. It will never be enough as long as it’s not Cat giving it to me. Because it’s too blatant to ignore, I’m ready to acknowledge my desire for her. I don’t need to know why, don’t need to analyse the origin of this madness. I just need to do something about it. If I boil everything down to its essence, which I’m more than willing to do, we’re both single adults and we don’t need anyone’s approval. Now all that’s left to do is seduce her.
* * *
On Saturday, John and Helen’s thirty-seventh wedding anniversary, I set my plan into motion. I convince Cat’s parents to enjoy their special day by themselves and take Cat on the road with me. She appears relaxed when we cruise down the country roads, happy even, or at least content in the moment. I make myself believe it’s my company perking her up. I need all the confidence I can get for this.
I start things off in a relaxed manner by taking her to a winery where I engage in some innocent flirting and Cat, to my delight, has no apparent qualms about flirting back. We get a little tipsy but sober up before continuing our odyssey. I drive her to a secluded spot near a small forest where Michael asked me to marry him. It’s quite significant for me to, of all places, take her there. But I feel as if I need to make an emotional investment. I’m not half-hearted about this. For the first time in many years I’ve found the freedom to give in to my desires, to needs buried along with Michael, and I refuse to question my motives any longer. This is no time to hold back.
We share a bottle of wine I brought in a cool box. I try to keep it casual but automatically, as if I have no control over what comes out of my mouth, I tell her about how Michael proposed to me here. It adds a graveness to the situation, a solemnness I wasn’t really going for. In all honesty, I have no idea what I’m doing. I suppose I sort of believed the moment would present itself.
When I take the bottle back from her, in desperate need of a few more gulps, I let my hands rest on hers. She doesn’t immediately retract, which I take as a good sign. My heart thumps in my ears. I wait for her to look into my eyes and I know it’s now or never. I mentally prepared myself for this moment all week, for this split second in which I change my life.
I let go of the bottle and cup her right cheek.
“Tell me if you want me to stop
.” I trace my fingers over her ear and feeling her skin on my fingertips makes me gasp for air. I scan Cat’s eyes for a sign of something—hopefully surrender—and wait for her reaction.
“Have you ever kissed—” she starts.
“Does it matter?” I cut her off. There’s plenty of time later for questions like that. I just want this moment between us to develop into something more—a kiss, at least. I’ve been dreaming of her lips for days, been touching myself with a frequency I never even deemed possible because of them. “I want you. I think that’s obvious.” There. It’s out in the open, in the glorious mid-afternoon Tuscan country-side no less. There is no better scenery for this kind of romance—or pent-up lust, if you will. I’ve laid my cards on the table. I’ve said the words. My heart is in her hands now.
“It’s not that I don’t want to.”
That’s not what I wanted to hear. I was hoping for a wordless answer, an inevitable breathless one. I haven’t put my ego, my self, on the line like this in fifteen years. So this is what it feels like to crash and burn.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.” I feel so silly for thinking this would be easy, for getting so caught up in my own desire. The girl just had her heart broken, for heaven’s sake. My late husband was like a favourite uncle to her. What on earth was I thinking? “Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe it.” I cover my face with my hands, afraid to face this outrageous situation head-on. If Helen saw this, she’d pack her bags straight away and walk back to London.
Cat inches closer and puts her arm around my shoulder. “It’s perfectly all right.” I know she’s trying to make me feel better, she probably feels sorry for me. I feel quite sorry for myself as well. It’s clear she doesn’t really know what to say. “I just—I don’t know—” she stammers and I wish I had a magic wand to erase this awkwardness with.
I look at her, silly tears dripping down my cheeks. “I’ve been foolish, but it’s been so long since I felt something like this.” I shake my head. “You must think I’ve lost my mind.” I shoot her a small smile.
“How about a date?”
“What?” The adrenalin levels in my blood spike again.
“We’ve been pussyfooting around it all day, with all the innuendo and such. Let’s make it less awkward by making it official.” Cat treats me to one of her trademark smiles, one of the irresistible ones and, once again, I’m baffled by how much sheer want courses through my body. “I’m asking you out on a date. Tonight.”
“And that will make it less awkward?” I quip. I must be beaming goofiness. My head feels dangerously light while my stomach somersaults. That’s when it hits me that I’ve fallen victim to a crush. Maybe it’s one of those things that was bound to occur and Cat happens to be in the right place at the right time.
“Sorry to be so lesbian about it, but I need to process first.”
“At least you are one.” I grab her hand, which is still curved around my shoulders. I want to keep it there, wallow in its act of kindness. “There goes my fantasy of some woman love out in the open,” I joke, wanting to make light of the situation, contrary to how I feel inside.
“We can always come back.” She gives me a definite opening and I need to restrain myself. I want to push her down on the blanket and kiss her senseless, kiss her like I haven’t kissed anyone in my life. “Depending on how the date goes.”
“My dating skills may be a bit rusty,” I admit.
“Judging by the current state of my love life, mine aren’t exactly top-notch either.”
* * *
It turns out we’re both quite dating-challenged at this time in our lives. Dinner is a tension-laden disaster, an unpleasant affair sapping all energy from me. I sense Cat’s reticence, her doubts about all of this, and I can’t blame her. But, despite the refusal in her words and the hesitation in her voice, there’s still a flicker of hope to hold on to. I decide to put my fantasy of Cat taking control of the situation—of her seducing me—aside and take her to Fabio’s, my pub of choice. Maybe all this situation needs is for the edge to be taken off of it.
“Have you ever had feelings for a woman before?” Cat asks again. I’m not sure if a lot depends on my answer, if a definite ‘yes’ would sway her, but I can hardly lie about something so significant and obviously important to her.
Fabio buys me some time by bringing us a jug of Limoncello. We drain a shot each and the liquor is so strong it makes my eyes water.
“The answer is no.” I have to look away, afraid to find more dismissal in her glance. “I haven’t felt anything like this for anyone in a very long time.” I figure the truth is my best ally. The Limoncello burns in my stomach. I should have actually eaten something at dinner instead of giving in to my disappointment, which only resulted in a lot of left-over pizza. I refill our glasses and find Cat’s eyes. She immediately reaches for her glass and brings it to her lips. “Perhaps I should feel foolish, but you know what?” Some liquor spills over the glass onto my fingers. “I honestly don’t.” I do a little, but more because of her lack of desire to enthusiastically reciprocate than anything else. I down my shot and lick my fingers.
“Good for you.”
What does that mean? I bear my soul to her and a generic semi-encouragement is all I get?
“The only thing I regret is spooking you out of sleeping with me.”
My brazen words shock her into almost choking on her drink, but what else can I be but straightforward at this point?
“I should have used more subtlety.” It’s easy to say after the fact, when regret is about to clobber me senseless. “Would you have gone for that?” I need to mock myself. It helps with the bitter sting of rejection. What was I thinking, anyway? That because she’s a lesbian she’d go for it?
“I’m going to powder my nose.” Cat stands up, imitating Helen’s way of announcing she needs the toilet. “Follow me in one minute.”
It’s my turn to be flabbergasted. Adrenalin rushes through my veins. I nod eagerly and Cat heads off to the washroom. I try to count to sixty, but the prospect of Cat waiting for me in there, of her wanting me—of my dream coming true—makes it challenging. I follow in her footsteps and open the door. Before either of us can say anything, I push her into a cubicle and lock the door.
“Yes?” I ask, but I don’t wait for her reply. I can’t. Days of lusting after her have boiled down to this. I feel the familiar pulsing between my legs—familiar since a few days. If ever I wanted to kiss someone, it can’t have been with more desire than this. I press my body against her and tilt her chin up. Then I kiss her and I know it’s right. Sparks soar through me as our lips touch. Her tongue is soft and her cheeks smooth. Everything seems fluid and meant to be. If that’s what kissing a woman feels like, I wonder what I’ve been waiting for all my life.
I pull back. I need to see her face. See if the blue of her eyes has changed. See if she wants me as much as I want her.
“Where can we go?” Cat asks and reality slaps me hard in the face. I choose to ignore it for as long as I can and kiss her again. I can’t get enough of her sweet lips, the tenderness of her tongue and what it promises it can do to me. But I know I need to keep a clear head.
“We’re in no condition to drive and the house is miles away. We need a taxi.” I check my watch. “And we can’t stay in here for too long. This is rural Italy, after all.”
Cat leans in for another kiss and the sight of her lust sets my blood on fire. I hold her off, though. I need to get us out of here and back to the house, where she can ravage me the way I dreamed she would.
“Trust me. It’ll be all right.” We exit the bathroom and I wonder if Fabio or any of his patrons will notice. I wonder if I care at all. I arrange a cab and sit next to the driver in the front seat, afraid of what might happen if I’m in the back with Cat. I come to this town every summer and I’m not sure I’m ready for a lesbian scandal.
* * *
Once we’re back at the house I half-drag Cat to my room. Lo
ng lost emotions confuse my brain, but I’m sure about one thing. I want nothing more than Catherine Archer in my bed tonight. Of course, it's not my parents sleeping at the other end of the hallway, but I block out any thoughts of John and Helen. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not here. It’s just me and Cat now, and this delicious anticipation riding in my veins. I have some inkling of what to expect. I’ve seen movies and read books, and am well-endowed with a vivid imagination, but this is the real deal. This is it.
“No, not in there,” Cat says and pulls me towards the door of her bedroom. I don’t care where we do it. It might as well be on the hallway carpet, though I’m not sure Cat would agree. I realise she’s taking a big step, while I’m overcome by desire, by this new energy that has taken hold of me, obliterating any questions of wrong or right.
“They’re over sixty, but hardly deaf,” Cat whispers. “We’ll have to be really quiet.”
“No problem.” I reach out my hand and Cat takes it. Slowly, I inch two fingers along the inside of her arm, the touch zapping electric shocks through my flesh. That’s the last bit of control I’m able to exercise. I need her inside of me as quickly as possible. I’ve had days of foreplay, days of imagining what lies beneath the fabric of her bikini, of wondering what her skin will feel like on mine. I yank her top over her head and the sight of her stiff nipples nearly bursting through her bra makes my breath hitch in my throat. Then, at last, Cat takes charge.
She pulls me close and kisses me with new determination. I can’t press my lips close enough to hers. I need more, more of her, something to quench this thirst inside of me.
We undress each other frantically, until only panties and bras keep us from being totally naked. Cat drags me on the bed with her and I’m suddenly overcome with emotion, with raw lust mixed with the friendly affection I’ve felt for her for years.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper.
