Beginnings

by L. T. Smith

  But then she voiced the reason why. She wanted to make sure I would have a birthday I would always remember.

  And I can tell you this … it most definitely was.

  Now … is this a good thing or a bad thing?

  Read on and find out.

  All my belongings were packed up, well except for a few personal things and clothes, and the house had the echoey quality houses have when they are no longer a home.

  Jo and I had stuffed most of our things willy-nilly into black bin bags as we couldn’t be arsed to sort through things, and we both wanted to go out that night

  It was strange really. I knew Jo absolutely idolised her boyfriend, but she didn’t seem bothered about the fact we would be moving two hundred miles away. I mean … she had been seeing him for nearly a year and she wasn’t even a patch as upset as I was to be leaving Ash. And Ash was (supposedly) just a friend.

  I actually caught her singing when she was packing. Cliff Richard songs. Her singing was bad enough, but to Cliff? Don’t get me started… And her singing wasn’t that bad … I could be a critic, but I still remember Waterloo …

  Before I knew it my birthday was here, but I couldn’t get excited about it, as it meant I would be leaving in three days. Ash had called and told me to dress special, as she had booked a table for us for 7:30, but wouldn’t tell me where.

  I was surprised no one at home commented I was going out with only Ash on my birthday, and I think it was because they had too much else on their minds to wonder what I was getting up to. And if they had seen me in the bathroom … well … let’s just say I was relieving the tension, so to speak.

  God. I needed to. All the upset of moving and my obsessive addiction to my best friend would have driven anyone half mad with desire, and I was no exception.

  The shower had become my haven … the hot water an extra sensation for my body to adjust to. All I could think about was the blueness of her eyes … the plumpness of those oh so kissable lips, and it wasn’t just the water that made me wet.

  I was flooding … in special places … hot places … secret places. And it wasn’t long before I felt my hand sneaking between those folds and collecting that special wetness on my fingers and smearing it into me.

  One solitary gasp ached from my mouth. My fingers were trying to alleviate the tension in my core, but I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, it would take more than my fumblings to quench this thirst, if ever.

  I lifted one leg onto the side of the bath and pushed my shoulders against the slippery cold tile for some kind of support. Two fingers were either side of my clit, pushing and pulling the swollen nub upwards and downwards … upwards and downwards. I kept on dipping into the pooling wetness and coating the side of my lips, the sensation agonisingly beautiful. I wanted to push my fingers inside myself … fuck myself … feel the walls closing in to clasp around the solitary finger, but as yet that prize was still intact. I wanted someone more special than me to take it.

  I wanted Ash to take it … and take it … and take it.

  Water threw itself upon me, suicidal in its journey to the swirling mass circulating around my one foot. Rivulets contorting in the whirlpool, becoming lost in the flow of the movement until freedom and escape were found in the sucking hole of the bath plug. I had visions of being underneath a waterfall in a different place and time; visions of experiencing the same need and fire.

  That’s how I was feeling. Like I was being sucked in. The want inside me was sucking me in … making my hand jerk and thrust, pump and thrash against the engorged crux of my longing. My head was tilted back, and wet hair clamoured on the wall, sticking to the tile in insurrection, forgetting to fall backwards … forgetting to stick to my face.

  I could feel the orgasm building as I pushed and rocked my hips in an increasing tempo of desire. I knew I was going to cum … I knew I was going to cum … I knew … I was … going … to …cum … cum … cum … cum … cum …

  Teeth bit down onto my bottom lip, trying to stop the almost whistled name from tearing from my throat in a plea for her to fuck me … and fuck me … and fuck … me … as I was cumming … thinking she was doing exactly that … pretending it was her fingers pressing into me, onto me, rubbing and eliciting the tiny sparks of an orgasm that blinded me and made me lose all sense of time and reality.

  Droplets of water had gathered on my breasts, and I envisioned a perfect mouth opening around an erect nipple. Straight white teeth opened to allow a wet full tongue to snake out a hover over the aching bud. I felt myself lift up, lost in the delicious sense of fantasy, believing she was here with me now. I knew if I leaned forward more she would capture me inside her perfect mouth; knew those hooded blue eyes told me she loved me. And I knew I was going to cum again.

  And I did. A wet back slapped against the wall; a wet backside pushed itself up and away, up and away, meeting and greeting frantic fingers. The other hand was busy rolling and flicking a stimulated nipple, alternating between tweaking and pumping the breast.

  Until the cumming had passed. And my legs believed they couldn’t hold myself up anymore. My fingers were slick with my juices, and I circled the oversensitive wetness, savouring the delight of a second cumming.

  I slipped, effortlessly down the wall and slumped into a heap, whilst water cascaded off the top of my head, shoulders and back. My breath was short and ragged; my throat was dry, and I had difficulty swallowing. My eyes were closed, as I initially savoured the moment, until I let way for the feeling of despair to join with the water and wash over me.

  Tears spilled over and trickled down my cheeks, blending perfectly with the spray. I felt so alone. So alone. I had experienced something too wonderful and consuming, it seemed hard to comprehend the consuming feeling was really connected with the realisation I would soon be leaving the woman I loved in the matter of days.

  I wanted to tell her. Wanted her to know the truth about how I was feeling. But how could I tell her this secret? Being a lesbian is one thing, but being a coward made up who I really was. Being a coward was the only thing stopping me telling her I was a lesbian, if you see what I mean.

  I was scared of how she would react. I was scared she would never want to speak to me again. The truth was, I was scared she wouldn’t want me as much as I wanted her … or just want me … full stop.

  And there I sat. In the bottom of the bath. Water splashing off me. Curled in a heap, with water splashing off me.

  And cried.

  And cried.

  And cried.

  The restaurant was perfect. Italian. My favourite.

  Ash looked a vision of beauty and raw sexuality, and I had difficulty tearing my eyes from her. Images of me in the shower filtered into my mind and I could feel the heat travel up into my face flooding it with an incandescent glow.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I couldn’t even answer, just nodded like a prat. She looked at me a little longer before shaking her head from side to side and pushing her way through the door and into the darkened room that promised the delights of sumptuous food.

  As the evening progressed, I was very much aware of two lads from another table desperately trying to get our attention, and I ignored them as best as I could. Ash just grinned at them and mouthed ‘Not interested’, which obviously made them more eager to snare us. It took a firm ‘fuck off’ from me to let them know we weren’t interested, which I delivered as Ash went to the bathroom.

  The usual ‘You must be lezzas’ left their mouths, as lads tend to do when they are given the knock back. This time they were right … well … half right, and by the time Ash had returned they had left. And no … I did tell them to fuck off again. I wasn’t going to let two pimply gits try to intimidate me; it was after a chat with the waiter they left like puppies.

  Totally satiated (food wise), we left the restaurant and caught a taxi to the Little Jack Horner, a haunt for the underage drinkers. Ash was okay as she was eighteen, but I was a year short.

  The place was full of
minors, and I felt quite at home there. Ash told me to find a seat and trundled off to the bar to shortly return with a drink nicknamed ‘The Blob’. Mainly because after too many of them that’s how you felt. Like a big fat blob who was good for nothing. It had pretty much everything in it and tasted vile … but I drank it because Ash had picked it for me. And I even drank the second one.

  Ash didn’t show any effects of even having a sip of a drink, never mind two of the buggers. I could feel myself beginning to squint when she was talking to me and swore the next drink would definitely be a soft one. Then I nearly lost all my bearings as she got up and sauntered over to the jukebox, and it wasn’t long before I heard the dulcet tones of Alison Moyet ringing through the pub singing Only You … just for me … just for Ash … just for the both of us.

  The evening was becoming blurred … especially the line between reality and fantasy. I was beginning to believe I was on a date with the dark haired object of all my desire.

  I was beginning to find it difficult to not touch her knee … or her arm when we were talking. She even started to do it to me, especially when she really wanted my attention. I was transfixed, and couldn’t tear my eyes from any part of her anatomy that happened to land on mine.

  Everything felt so right … so special. I actually forgot I was leaving in three days. I truly believed that if heaven did exist it was here – with her – lurking in the pools of her blue eyes.

  Before I knew it, the bartender was ringing his bell and shouting for last orders. A stab of disappointment raced through me, as I knew this fantasy had to come to an end.

  Unhurriedly, I put on my coat and then said I had to use the Ladies.

  Once inside the bathroom, I rinsed my face with cold water just to get back the feeling of normalcy once again. Tired green eyes stared back at me from the mirror. Well … not exactly tired … more like disappointed.

  ‘What did you expect?’ My voice sounded rough and despondent. ‘Flowers and a profession of undying love?’ A snort left my nose and I felt my body slump in the realisation that this was only a birthday night out to Ash. Although it meant a hell of a lot more to me.

  I reapplied my lipstick, and headed towards the door. I had to snap out of this obsession, somehow, and accept Ash and I were friends and nothing more.

  It’s not easy, you know. Having the love of your life waiting on the other side of the door, and knowing you were leaving in three (well two by now) days and not be able to tell her how you feel.

  A sigh escaped as I drew the door back, and there she was … resplendent in all her gorgeous glory, leaning with her back on the wall totally casual and relaxed, her smile splitting her face in two.

  And I think I fell in love with her all over again.

  I’m sure you can recollect walking down the street when you were worse for wear on the demon drink. So, I don’t have to tell you about the fiasco we had trying to get back to the taxi rank in town. We thought it would be easier to go to the depot instead of waiting for one to turn up.

  Erm … wrong.

  It was fun, though, to give it some credit. Fun trying to not stagger about. We weren’t blotto, but we definitely knew we had had our fill. Bravely, as pissed people tend to do, we linked arms just to try and steady each other.

  This made me far from steady.

  The feeling of her next to me … the firmness of her body next to mine made my head swim with absolute longing just to increase the contact.

  So I did. I leaned into her, languishing in the nearness of my heart’s deepest wish. I was so caught up in the moment I didn’t realise I was holding her hand … yep … I had looped my arm across her middle and had pulled those slender digits into my own. The sensation of tangling my fingers with hers was tantamount to insanity … I was going crazy for her.

  Instead of drawing my hand away like I should have … you know, like I had been burned … I did the complete opposite.

  I froze. And stared at her fingers laced in mine.

  She stopped talking, and I could feel her breath tapping on the side on my face … short sharp breaths that warmed much more than the skin on my cheek.

  It seemed as if it was in slow motion as I lifted my eyes to meet her gaze and was caught in a blueness that had turned nearly violet in the darkness.

  I was transfixed. Couldn’t blink. Just stared. And she stared back – unblinking too.

  I didn’t even notice I had moved in closer. It must have been the alcohol, although to this day I still believe I was under the influence of Ash and Ash alone … the alcohol had dissipated to a distant memory.

  We were inches apart … our breaths were mingling in the cold night’s air … twisting and turning into some unfocused fog … joining … connecting like they needed to melt into one to survive.

  I could say I did what I did in a last ditch to claim what my heart yearned for. I could even say I did it just to experience all that was Ash. I even could say I did it to quench the thirst I had for her – just the once – to touch those lips – to kiss those lips. To claim them for my own … just the once.

  But … I can’t say any of these things.

  Because I didn’t know. Still don’t know why I did it – why I closed that vacuous gap between us and brushed my needy lips against hers.

  If it had been just that – a kiss, however brief, then it all would be okay, and maybe I wouldn’t be sat her today writing this. If she hadn’t returned the oh so brief brush of the lips with a kiss that was slightly longer … Once again I wouldn’t be sat here …

  But she did.

  And I was lost.

  Control was a thing of the past … and I was lost.

  My hand lifted to her face and cupped her cheek surrendering in the texture. Soft. Supple. Perfect.

  I pulled her head down closer to mine and captured her lips, holding them underneath mine … holding them still.

  And waited.

  I was surprised she couldn’t feel my heart beating wildly in my mouth, as I waited … with my lips locked on hers.

  Then … slowly … I felt hers move, reciprocating what I was feeling in a tender kiss. Expectation clung to me, as I moved my lips against hers; my hand pushing back into long thick hair to clutch at the nape and bring her face down into mine.

  Pressure was building – the kiss became stronger, finding the will to continue … finding the hope to collect what was rightfully hers. Then … more ardent. Wetness escaped my mouth and blended with hers – the taste was all I had ever dreamed it would be … but better.

  Lips parted on a silent command, and I could feel a soft wet tongue escape her mouth and beg entrance to mine.

  Permission granted.

  Her hands were on my hips and she pulled me into her, increasing the pressure. I slipped my free hand around her waist to aid the connection.

  Wetness poured from between my legs, as my heart continued to perform cartwheels around my body, leaving the confines of my mouth. Hips began their methodical rocking against each other …

  Ash staggered back slightly, taking me with her. Before I knew it, she was up against the wall with me between her legs. Pushing into her. Kissing her. Claiming her. All my inhibitions were gone.

  I nearly came when her hand gripped my backside and pulled me into her, her groan entering my mouth as the kiss deepened into something carnal … sexually primitive.

  It was shit or bust … shit or bust.

  My hand left her waist and snaked inside her coat, inside her shirt … and hovered for a split second …at the base of her breast. I could feel the heat of it taunting me – begging me to clutch and clasp and pump.

  And who am I to refuse.

  ‘Fuck … Lou … god …’ Her words shot inside my mouth, as I continued to grind and push and kiss her. I was truly lost … truly immersed in all that was her.

  If this was a dream then please let me sleep forever.

  But this wasn’t a dream. This was me acting out all my fantasies … all my fantasies abo
ut my best friend … the friend I loved … was in love with … The friend I never thought would look at me twice.

  I needed to taste her, lick her throat – suck her skin – sample the little crevice where her neck met her shoulder …

  I craved to nurse her nipple in my mouth, rolling it around my tongue. I yearned to slip my hand between her legs and sample the wetness I hoped would be seeping from her.

  It was the scenario of the child in the sweetshop. Everything on display … everything to purchase, but not knowing what to sample first. And like a child I wanted it all … needed it all. My hands were trying to touch all of her but savour each caress … a mammoth feat. I was drowning … seeping … dissolving into her … Her lips were on fire, my libido was out of control … I was losing all sense of reality …

  Her hands slipped their way tentatively underneath my jacket – the shirt – the bra – then …

  God.

  The feel of those fingers caressing my breast, pinching the erect nipple, becoming firmer and firmer and then …

  Stop.

  And.

  Freeze.

  Pull away. To be shortly followed by her mouth.

  Blue eyes were wide with shock; her lips glistened with my saliva, my hand still on her breast.

  ‘I can’t … can’t … Lou … I can’t do this.’ Followed by a shove away, leaving me staggering backwards, and disbelief pouring from me.

  And she ran … leaving me gasping. She ran … leaving me stunned. She ran … leaving me there …

  … standing

  … with my broken heart in my hands.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  DIDN’T SEE ASH. Didn’t expect to.

  Throughout the last three days, I had gone through all the phases, stages, and rites of passage nobody should ever experience.

  Guilt. Anger. Frustration. Apathy. Then all of them again.

  I couldn’t tell you how many times I picked up the phone to call her, but chickened out at the last minute. Nor could I tell you how long I stood outside her house plucking up the courage to just knock. What would I say? What could I say, for that matter? So, I just stood there … watching closed curtains.