This is not a work of pure fiction; it's not a verbatim record of events, either. Rather it's a recovered and organized memory with partly imagined details. What I mean is -- the events happened; to me and to my friends; but I have had to reinvent the dialogue. The emotions have stayed with me and I have not had to remember, invent or reconstruct a single one. However, all the characters and events portrayed in this story are fictional. No resemblance to real people of events is intended. So there; if you think you recognize yourself or the events, you can't sue me!
Back home, and back to school. ____________________________________________________________________________ So here I was, the first day of the autumn term walking between the redbrick pillars and the black, wrought iron gates of St XX School. I felt warm and happy to be back in the environment I knew I could cope with and which I could control. School might as well have had a `Welcome Home' sign draped across the front, it felt safe and comforting; I knew the rules, the protocols and what was expected of me. And that was almost the exact point where it all started to go wrong again.
Here was JJ, looking pale despite her weeks in the tropics, struggling with two satchels of books and equipment. She glanced up into my eyes and then down and away. "Moving on, sweetie!" "What's that mean, JJ?" "They're shoving me up a year. It's called Accelerated Development' or some such excrement. Means I get to exams one year earlier and have a better chance of Oxbridge." Now she looked directly at me, and tried a smile with one side of her face. "I hate this." But now the bell sounded and JJ turned away towards her new classroom, and I watched walk away down the corridor. "I'll see you lunchtime!" I called after her, she didn't answer but I saw her shoulders tighten a bit more. At least I still had Hillie; wherever she was. And I want into my class looking along the rows of chattering faces for her. But Hillie wasn't there. Latecomers and stragglers entered the classroom after me and each one I expected to be Hillie, but she just wasn't there. I made my way to our customary spot at the back of the class, where Hillie, JJ and I had enjoyed our companionship, and where I now sat alone. What had happened to Hillie? It had to be something to do with the events at Guy's place. I could only imagine the worst, and I was terrified for her. I felt so alone and isolated, I hardly noticed Sister Anna introducing a new pupil to us, or as this new girl sat at a desk in the row in front of me. This first period of the day passed quickly. Timetables, equipment, books, school letters; all the paraphernalia of the school year got sorted out in 45 minutes. Then Sister Anna took the register and delivered the most shocking blow. Hillie's name was not even on the register. A hissing voice dragged me back to reality. "Where do we go next?" It was the new girl in the row in front of me, now turning around and pointing to her timetable. "Where's Room P?" "Second floor, middle. Don't worry; come with me, I'll show you round." She smiled at me, grateful for the contact and compassion, and turned forward again. Only then did I realize that she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. The lesson dissolved into a sea of boiling questions from the other girls. "Where's Hillie?" Where's JJ?" "Who's the new girl?" Some questions were easier to answer than others. The new girl – the new angel – in our class was Paula. Her face was open and optimistic – high delicate cheekbones, beautiful blue eyes and full lips to die for. She was long and leggy, with perfect wavy, white blond hair and faultless skin. She was just astonishingly beautiful; her figure was pure Hollywood with high and firm boobs, flat stomach and tight bottom that lifted her pleated grey skirt exquisitely. But although I observed her and spoke to her, my mind was still on Hillie; where she was and what had happened. We drifted out of the classroom and up the stairs towards Room P and I pointed out other rooms and locations as we went. At the door of the laboratory, I felt a hand take my elbow and steer me sharp right; it was Bernadette. "You're sitting up here with me. Both of youse'" And she pulled Paula with her and installed us on the second row of lab benches. I smiled at her, immensely grateful to her for the intervention. She had seen that I was in something of a state of shock that first morning and in desperate need of companionship. We took our places as the lesson commenced. Paula proved to be as much of a science boff as Bernadette and the introduction of Bernadette to Paula seemed to be a perfect match. Through the day, I learned quite a lot about new Paula. Her family had moved from Bath to the London suburbs and while she had been to public school before, this was her first girls only' school. "I thought it might be all jolly-hockey-sticks' and queers!" She screamed, laughing as she did so. We all laughed with her, but I knew my laugh was hollow and I caught Bernadette stealing a glance at me. Paula had a boyfriend back in Bath to whom she wrote every day, and she asked what we did for boys. I was lost for a reply and Bernadette spoke up. "We all live in different places in the suburbs, so there's different answers in different places. I go to a youth club at our church and meet people there. Where are you living, Paula?" I was sure that it was the absence of JJ that had emboldened Bernadette. For the first time I could remember, she was taking a lead in conversations and letting her thoughts be known. In the relative privacy of the corridor at lunchtime, I caught her hand. "You seem a very lively this term." "Oh I dunno. It's maybe just the excitement of a new year with new people. But I said to myself that I was going to be the real me' from now on." "In any particular way? Sounds serious." "I've got a lot of sorting out to do; lots of choices to make, and things to decide." "Sounds terribly exciting! Does it involve me?" "Actually, yes. Yes it does." She looked straight at me. "Last year I learned a lot of things – about people and relationships and so on. Now I want to find out where I stand, what I want, what I can do." She smiled self-consciously and turned away. "Sounds a bit mighty, doesn't it. It's really just about me coming out a bit. Learning to live, that kind of thing" she continued. "And do you remember the end of last term? And my party?" I asked. She nodded, looked me in the eye but looked away quickly. Dropping my voice to a whisper I said "We had fun then, didn't we?" She nodded and looked at me with a very guilty expression. Now she was looking away, up and down the corridor in case someone came along. "That was the first time I felt excited', you know?" "I think I know what you mean. That was a beautiful top you gave to me, Bernadette" She shrugged deprecatingly in reply, but looked up at me shyly. "I wore it on holiday and thought of you." Bernadette coloured slightly and coughed in embarrassment. Now I stood right in front of her and moved closer. "I'd like to wear it for you if I could see you over a weekend. Come and stay with me next weekend." "No, I couldn't. I just couldn't stay over." "Well just come for Saturday, then. We can still have fun!" "It's not that simple; I'll have to see." Closer yet, I stood inches apart from her. Bernadette squirmed in uncertainty and glanced left and right lest we were observed. She looked at me again. Her dark skin and beautiful dark eyes were just inches from me. I moved forward slightly so that our boobs touched. Her eyes opened even more widely and she glanced left and right nervously. "Oh, Rae! For goodness sake. This is not easy." "Just say Yes'. That's easy." "It's not easy! Look at you and what you're doing to me." "I'm only talking. What do you think I'm doing to you?" "Your tieing me in knots, getting me het-up and I don't know what to think. And all this is not the right-" We heard footsteps and sprang apart. "I need to think. I'll see you later" Bernadette turned away without a glance and walked towards the outside doors. I watched her walk away, she was so slim and neat in her modest length skirt. I wanted to ruffle her feathers, just for the devilment. But I also had to admit that I found her prim decorum incredible sexy as well.
I went off to find JJ. She was in the library as expected, sneaking bites of lunchtime sandwich she hid under the table as she read. "Well they've moved me up and it's obviously come as a major shock to both pupils and staff. Silly sods; the teachers knew about the Accelerated Development programme and knew that I was to be on it, but they seem to have edited it from their tiny minds and plans. Pathetic excuses for intellects- all of them." "So what's it like, with all the older girls I mean." She dipped her head to bite another forbidden mouthful of sandwich. "Perfect! They all view me with hostility and suspicion. I'm the young know-it-all who's going to show them all up. And I fucking well will, they're all lazy and stupid! Anyway, where's Hillie?" I gave JJ a sanitized version of the truth that I made up on the spot, leaving out the fact that her name wasn't even on the register, and so the absence had to be pre-meditated. "Hmm. Well, we'll probably see her in a week or so, can't be that bad. At least what she's doing now can't be any less inspiring than this. It all seems a bit tame this year, doesn't it?" I nodded. "Rachel, don't take this wrong. But you haven't heard from Nikki at all, have you?" "No" I replied softly. "Did you expect her to phone me or something?" "I just thought she might. Hasn't called me, either. So we're both last week's linen." A silence, and then "It was very `comfortable' last year wasn't it. We knew where we were, us four." I nodded again, and although I wanted to point out that it was JJ's ridiculous dare for Hillie to remove her knickers that started the rot, I kept quiet. "Shit. I wish she was here." I didn't know if JJ meant Hillie or Nikki. I knew that I wished that both girls were here again.
As soon as I got home, I called Hillie, but her Mum answered and said she was unavailable' and resting' and that she would pass any message on. All that first week of term I kept trying Hillie's number every day after school, but could get no further than her blasted, over-protective mother. It was obvious that Hillie was there, and that Mum did not want me to talk to her for some reason, well I think I knew the reason.
As luck would have it, I fell over my own clumsy feet on the Friday afternoon and chipped a front tooth, which entailed a trip to the dentist on Monday morning. Which also meant that I was out of school late morning and quickly dived into a phone box to try Hillie's number again. The phone rang for ages before it was answered. "Five one six four." "Hillie!" I screamed. "Oh, Rae! Rae." And she started sobbing. "I'm pregnant!"
Although at a very early stage, all indicators seemed to confirm that Hillie was pregnant. As one might expect, her parents were distraught at the thought of their fifteen year old daughter producing a child so obviously out of wedlock. There had been some discussion of them moving house to avoid the shame and being able to make up a story to tell at their next home. But that had been a little impractical as Hillie would be showing her pregnancy long before the house would be sold. Termination of course was out of the question; Hillie's family were good Catholics and I think Vernon's family was too. And so the least complicated and most practical solution was to get rid of Hillie. She was to have a diplomatic' illness – glandular fever' that would remove her from school for a period of months, during which time she would be sent to her aunt's house in the Derbyshire dales where she could expand and produce', pretending to be eighteen years old, if required. After the baby was born, the child would be put up for adoption and Hillie would return to receive private tutoring at home, ready for her return to school – albeit a year behind – the next autumn. I wasn't sure how much of this Hillie was happy with as we only had a minute or two on the phone, but I could imagine that she had little choice in the matter and she was still so shocked at being pregnant in the first place. She seemed to be prepared to go along with their plans for her, feeling her sense of guilt and shame very keenly, but also an outraged sense of she the victim, being punished. A sentiment with which I heartily agreed. There had been some discussions between her father and Vernon's father, but Hillie wasn't sure either of content or outcome. As far as I could see, Vernon was the aggressor' or perpetrator and Hillie was the victim – so why make Hillie suffer? I was getting more and more indignant. When I ran out of money, I put the phone down and stood seething over the awfulness of it for several minutes. What about Vernon himself - back at school forgetting about things? Was there going to be an enquiry'? What about the baby? It wasn't its fault, so why punish it by depriving it of its mother? I entertained and quickly discounted the idea of adopting the child myself – or getting Mum to. I had met Hillie's mother a couple of times, and I was ready to bet that when the time came, she would not be prepared to give up her first grandchild so easily; no matter what the circumstances of its conception and birth. But Hillie was to go to Derbyshire and be completely out of touch. All I knew about Derbyshire is that the Penines ran through part of it; and I thought it was probably two or three hundred miles away. So no, I couldn't sneak off there for a quick visit.
With my mind in a whirl I caught the bus back to school – just in time for gym class, the last lesson before lunch. All in a rush I showed my repaired teeth to everyone, told them that I'd spoken to Hillie and that she had glandular fever, and tried to explain what it was even though I had no real idea at all. In the changing room we all stripped down to knickers and bras before donning our black leotards. Only the super keen took off their underwear before putting their leotards on; Bernadette was one of them. I changed next to Paula and tried not to ogle her body as she stripped, across the way and behind an intervening stand Bernadette changed with her back to us. She shed her skirt but kept her blouse on as she pulled off her socks and knickers. Bernadette's buttocks were perfectly tight, white and firm. I had never bothered to observe her before, but now I was becoming aware of her chaste and private beauty and I wanted to know more. I watched her struggle her leotard up to her waist and before unbuttoning her blouse. She glanced at me over her shoulder, taking care to keep herself as covered as possible. She looked positively virginal. "Come on then!" called Paula next to me. "It takes you twenty minutes to change!" She grinned at me broadly as she flung her school blouse onto the peg and faced me in her 34C bra and tight briefs. I smiled and fumbled out of my clothes as this incredible beauty dressed before me. I glanced across at Bernadette who had finished changing and now looked at me beside Paula, and I swear she very slightly shook her head before walking towards the door to the gym. After gym class, we were all supposed to have a shower, but almost everyone avoided the ordeal as a point of principal. Only the very bravest sportsfiends undressed and took to the showers. I'd always been tempted to peek, but was always terrified of being found out. Anyway, sexual attraction isn't just meat, is it? But on this day, I had to peek. You see, after the class finished Paula immediately stripped to the buff and wrapping herself in a tiny towel, strode off to the showers. I couldn't help myself. I watched with my heart thumping as this gorgeous creature pulled her shoulders out of her leotard, flung off her bra and wiggled deliciously as she shed her leotard and knickers. Her boobs were magnificent – twin creamy pink globes with lovely pink nipples that were inclined upwards in a charming and beguiling way. I sat down on the bench and tried not to stare. Unselfconsciously, she scratched her pubis and rummaged in her sports bag for her towel, half turning away from me to offer me an opportunity to enjoy her exquisite bottom. At last she straightened up with the towel and her buttocks tightened into the most perfect pair I have ever seen with lovely dimples just above and scalloping to the sides. She flung the towel round her shoulders and strode off. "Hope the water's hot!" She called over her shoulder. Mesmerised, I fumbled about with my kit and clothes, trying not to look into the communal shower stall at the end of the changing room, and trying not to catch Bernadette's eye as she finished dressing across the way. I was almost finished and about to leave when Paula returned from the shower, damp and glowing. "Ooh, that feels better." And she threw the towel onto her head and vigorously rubbed her hair. And this of course, made her boobs jiggle from side to side beautifully. I had to go; I was halfway between lust and revulsion, I couldn't stand it. "I'll see you at lunch." "No, wait for me Rae, I need to talk to you about something." I sat down again on the bench, other girls were leaving and I did notice quite a few stealing glances at Paula's magnificent body. But they were looking with envy; I was looking with appetite. Even her pubic hair was blond and the damp curls failed to conceal the slit of her sex beneath. She was closed and private, just a little fold in a pink mound, just like Hillie had been. "Was Hillie your best friend at school?" My head jerked up to look at her. How did she know I had been comparing her to Hillie? "Yes, I suppose she was, or rather is. Why?" "What's she got again?" Her body dried, Paula stepped into her knickers and her perfect bottom disappeared from my sight. "Glandular fever. It can take months evidently" I responded. "Will you go to see her at home?" "No. It's contagious, you know." Bra on, now. She looked at me with a funny expression that I just couldn't work out. The changing room was just about empty now, but she dropped her voice to just above a whisper anyway. "You know my sister." I didn't of course, but I nodded. "There was a girl in her year who got glandular fever." She looked at me conspiratorially. "Except it wasn't that at all. She was pregnant!" Paula had mouthed the last word, but she might as well have screamed it. My mouth dropped open, I was hideously shocked. Paula examined my reaction minutely, and I think to satisfy herself that I wasn't lying about Hillie; that she really had got glandular fever. I must have passed the test, because she never mentioned her sister's friend again. But the moment stayed with me; how many other people would reach the same conclusion as Paula had done? Would Hillie's secret be safe?
A few days later, at the end of the school day, I happened upon Bernadette alone in the classroom. "If you won't come to my house, can I come to yours?" "No. Yes. Maybe. All right." Bernadette took half a step backwards and looked nervously towards the door. "I promise to be good." I added in the most suggestive way I could. "Don't do this to me. Don't make me rush. I can't make up my mind." "There's nothing to make up your mind about. It's just fun, that's all" She looked at me dubiously. I moved forward again and encircled her waist with my right arm. Now I pulled her closer. I knew exactly what I was doing; I was seducing her to homosexuality. "Rae. For goodness' sake, do you want someone to see us?" "If they see, they see." I looked around, bent my head and kissed her on the side of her long and elegant neck. "No. No. This is not ri . . ." I pulled her close to me and smothered her mouth with kisses. She could not continue her protestations and she began to kiss me back. We broke and took breath. "Oh Rae. Oh Rae. What are we doing?' She pulled away and covered her face with her hands. "We're being us and we're being alive!"
At last Bernadette agreed that I could go home with her "Just for while, mind." We arrived at a rather anonymous looking semi-detached house and Benradette produced a key to let us in. "Mam and Da are still at work, and my bother's got a class this evening, so we'll be alone till about 7." "I'll have to go long before that. Let's see your bedroom, then". Bernadette pursed her lips a little and looked at me. "It's not much to look at. Da doesn't like us to have, y'know `gaudy' things." So she led me into the kitchen first and proceeded to make tea. We sat and had a cup. "Is your Da the boss, then?" I asked, Bernadette nodded. "He's a fine man, it's just that he doesn't like showy things. Says it's only vanity and idolatry." I began to wonder about the camisole top that Bernadette had given to me for my birthday. Perhaps it had been something that she wanted for herself, but dared not keep for fear of her father, and so she gave it to me. "Come on, let's go upstairs. You show me!" And I stood up and pulled her hand until she stood up and led the way upstairs towards her bedroom.
We sat on her bed, next to each other, and I looked around at her rather grim and spartan bedroom. No posters, no collection of make-up and junk jewelry, no clothes strewn on the floor. She had the smallest of the three bedrooms, and her bed was hard against the wall, allowing just enough room for a tiny wardrobe, cabinet and desk in the room. Over the desk hung a dark brown crucifix. There didn't seem to be a lot of Bernadette's character in the room. But perhaps it showed the repression and tension under which she lived quite accurately. "Remember what you said to me when we came back to school this year?" I asked. "I'm going to be myself from now on'. What did you mean by that?" "I don't know. I was a bit mixed up; probably still am." Bernadette shrugged her shoulders. "It's probably just all these bloody hormones, I shouldn't wonder. Conspiring to make us do weird things every moment. Mam says teenagers should be locked away until the awfulness wears off!" "How did you feel when I kissed you in school?" "Excited and ashamed. Oh and worried, too" and she turned her face towards me and smiled. She put her hand down on mine as I leant on the bed, I turned my hand over and we held hands. "Why ashamed, Bernadette? We're not doing anything wrong." "I shouldn't have been feeling that way towards you – another girl. It was sinful. We shouldn't have lustful feelings, least of all to our own sex." The delivered the last sentence in a low tone, just above a whisper. She looked at me and smiled weakly; a space of time followed before I asked "Do you still feel lustful'?" "I confessed those feelings, so they no longer bother me." "You confessed! Do you confess everything?" "All sins and sinful feelings must be confessed." "So if I made you have a sinful feeling now, or if you did a sinful act, you'd have to confess it?" "Yes."
I looked at her directly, put my arms around her and pulled her to me. I kissed her on the lips as I had done at my party and as I had done at school. Our lips parted but I continued to hold her, then I kissed her again. This time she responded and opened her mouth to me, we kissed deeply with our tongues engaged and wrestling. I knew what I was going to do next; I was going to be deliberately provocative, I wanted to show her that sex was part of life and life was to be lived. And I wanted to flout her religious convictions. Still kissing, I placed my right hand on her knee, just on the hem of her skirt. Then I pushed the skirt back and my hand traveled up her bare thigh towards her crotch. We broke our kiss, and with my body I pushed her back to lie across the bed. We kissed again and I pushed her thighs apart; she didn't resist at all. I stroked the smooth front of her knickers with my index finger and I could feel the warmth and moisture inside. I cupped her entire pubis in my hand and felt one or two spiky hairs penetrating her thin white underwear. Thumb and forefinger to the top of her pants, a pull, and my hand was inside. Sliding down her stomach and pubic hair to her most secret spot, my hand moved with great purpose. Her lips still seemed neat and closed, but when I gently ran my ring finger between them, she seemed to `flower' and her lips parted to reveal her clitoris to my hand. She was deliciously damp and I began to stroke her as she held me more tightly then ever. Her face was buried in my shoulder as she lifted her knees from the bed to give me better access. She pulled my face to her and kissed me desperately as she became more excited. I ran my fingers down from her clitoris and slipped one into her very hot, wet and unbelievably tight vagina. Bernadette shuddered with pleasure, pulled back her face and stared at me. "Oh god" she whispered, "don't stop." So I slid my ring finger up and down her vagina as her grip around me tightened. She was so small down there that I couldn't believe anything had been inside her before; not even a tampon. She gave a little wriggle and let out a long "Ooooh". That wasn't an orgasm; just a step on the ladder.
I knew what I wanted next; and I disengaged myself from her grasp and slid onto my knees at the foot of the bed. "I want these off" I whispered as I tugged at her knickers. She lifted her bottom and her pants descended her thighs, over her knees and socks and onto the floor. Bernadette now closed her thighs in modesty as she looked down at me. "Open your legs, I want to give you a present." "What are you going to do?" Bernadette asked a little nervously as she parted her thighs again. "I'm just going to enjoy you." I whispered as I pushed her skirt right up onto her stomach. The tails of her white school blouse now protruded below and lay on her stomach framing her dark patch of pubic hair perfectly. Nestling in that dark patch was a deep pink clitoris between deep red lips, and my mouth now approached it. I gave her a kiss on her mons above, and then used the trick that Nikki had used on me. I licked all the way from bottom to top on the left side, and then again on the right before settling my lips on the pearl in the middle. Bernadette breathed in sharply. "Oh, yes. Oh yes." Bernadette was a talker, and she kept up a steady stream of exclamations and cries as I pleasured her. I loved the feeling of her public hair rustling my face and the taste of her bittersweet juices. I was so excited that I thought of using my hand on myself at the same time, but I didn't think I could manage two orgasms at once, and it was Bernadette I wanted desperately to come. "Don't stop. Just there. Oh god." Licking her little button, I moved slightly to get my hand tucked beneath me so that I could extend my ring finger into her vagina at the same time. I lifted my head for a moment and slid my finger in. Hotter, wetter and tighter. "Oh, oh, oh. Yes." I licked again, and she began to tighten. Her thighs clamped around my head, then parted and spread as wide as her joints would allow. One foot now rested on my back as she began to squirm. "Oh god, don't stop" Now she held my head and pulled me in and I glanced up her body to see her stomach muscles flex and strain. She was coming. She grunted, squealed and shouted as she thrust her divine fulcrum at me. I licked her until the very end when she threw herself back on the bed exhausted. I looked at the wet and hairy mess before me and gave her one last tiny lick, she squealed and pulled away. Post orgasm, she was too sensitive. Between her still spread thighs was a large wet patch on the candlewick bedspread. She'd have to deal with that herself after I'd gone. But I wasn't finished with her yet.
I crawled up the bed and she pulled me to her to kiss me passionately. I hadn't wiped my face and so she was tasting her own juices direct from my mouth, my lips and my cheeks. "Was that good?" I asked. "Oh yes." And she smiled weakly. "Have you ever had an orgasm before?" "Not really. Just once in the bath". I nodded. "Let me show you this" and I slipped off the bed to her plain dressing table and returned with her hairbrush. It had a long smooth shaped handle; it should fit perfectly. I lay next to her again. "Lift this leg." She did so and I reached underneath to present the hairbrush handle at her vagina entrance. I moistened it with her abundant juices and began to slide it in. Millimeter by millimeter, back and forth I slid it in. "No stop, it's too big." "Relax, it won't hurt." Bernadette opened her mouth into the roundest `O' and gripped the bed. Four or five centimeters of smooth blackness had disappeared into her sex, and I continued to slide it in and out of her. "Oh Rachel. Oh god." In and out, six centimeters. "Oh yes". Eight centimeters. Ten centimeters – the whole handle and her grip on the bedspread tightened even more. In and out in a regular rhythm, firmly but gently, taking notice of the tiny flicks of pleasure on her face and the moans that escaped her. I leant over and lifted her hand from the bed and placed on the bristles of the brush. "Now you do it." "No, I can't!" "You do it!" Bernadette began gently and nervously with her left hand, but quickly switched to her right using the brush with greater confidence and her mouth still shaping a perfect 'O'. The handle moved slickly in and out making little kissing noises as it did. I pressed the heel of my hand onto my mons as I watched her. I was so excited I could have ripped off all my clothes and demanded a wank there and then, but I wanted this to be for her enjoyment, not mine. I knew I was leaking, my thighs felt sticky together, I just hoped it wouldn't show through my skirt. But now she stiffened and thrust her entire pelvis up off the bed as she came. She looked quite grotesque rising from the bed in passion with a hairbrush sticking out of her, but then, so do we all. She collapsed back onto the bed, all passion spent and gently eased the handle out of herself. I took it from her. "So now you know." She nodded weakly. "Did you like it?" She looked away and nodded guiltily. "Do you feel guilty now?" Her faced clouded. "Yes, I do. That was sinful. And I called you God, so that was blasphemous too." "But did you enjoy it?" She nodded. "Did it hurt anyone?" "That's not the point. It was wrong." "Bernadette, that is the exact point. Pleasure is not sinful, we don't have to feel guilty for just enjoying ourselves." "All pleasure is sinful! We're taught we are born in a state of sin and we continue in that state until we receive the Lord into our hearts!" "Bollocks. You don't really believe all that, do you?" "I believe we remain in a state of sin which is compounded by our actions." Her eyes flared at me; this was deeply felt. Then the fire died and she looked down. "Then you must be punished!" I proclaimed in my deepest voice. Not understanding, she looked at me with slightly furrowed brow. "If you confess this supposed sin, what will happen?" I asked. "I'll probably have to do penance somehow; say Hail Mary's or something." "And then the sin will be absolved?" "As long as I am truly penitent, yes" "So if I punish you now, you won't have to confess." "Don't be silly Rae, you're not God" "And neither is your priest! But you will obey me and you're going to be punished! Now turn over and lay on your tummy. Go on, over!" She half moved and giggled nervously so I gave her pelvis a shove. "Right over, I said!" and finally she lay face down upon the bed. Shuffling off, I pushed her skirt up revealing her buttocks again. What a pretty sight they were. Tight white skin of her bottom merging with her pretty, tanned thighs. And as she lay there wondering what was going to happen next, I gave that pretty bum a good slap. "Oooowwwww!" She squealed and tried to cover her backside with a hand. "That hurt, Rae." "It was supposed to! Here's another one." And I gave a lighter smack on her one exposed buttock. "Are you repentant yet, my child?" I intoned in as deep a voice as I could manage. She laughed out loud "What?" She tried to twist round and moved her hand from her bum in the process. I gave her another swipe on both buttocks. She squealed in pain and laughed at the same time, and I loved it. "Did you enjoy your orgasm?" She giggled and didn't answer, so I gave her a swipe. "Did you?" "Yes!" "And did you enjoy playing with the hairbrush?" She laughed and buried her head in the pillow, so I re-mounted the bed and sat astride her legs facing her as she lay prostrate. "Did you enjoy it?" And I thwacked her hard across both buttocks, hard. "Ow! Yes!" "Then you shall receive my absolution. Open your legs." I shifted my weight onto my knees to allow her to part her thighs. "Open your legs!" She complied hesitantly. I reached between them, to the dark, hair covered pubis that nestled between her opened buttocks and stroked it lightly. Then just as lightly, I selected one pubic hair and pulled it out sharply. "Ooooowwww! Ow. Ow! Rae, stop it!" "I'll stop it if you agree to come to stay soon." "No, I can't". I pulled another hair out, and another. "No. Ow! Yes, all right." "Do you promise?" "I promise!" "You are absolved, my child!" I slid off her legs and off the bed. She remained prostrate before me, and I just couldn't resist pressing my face into the very cleft of her bottom to stick my tongue between her lips. Gorgeous. She groaned and tried to wriggle away.
Before I left her house, I went to the loo to clean myself up a bit. I had been so excited that trails of my lubricant had actually run down my thighs! My knickers were wet and disgusting and I knew they'd get hard and cracky as they dried, so I took them off and stuffed them in my pocket. Washed and clean, I felt better and checked that there were no damp bits on my skirt. I came out of the loo and found Bernadette waiting for me. "You mustn't tell anyone." She looked at me imploringly, and although she didn't name anyone specifically, I knew precisely whom she meant. Bernadette was terrified of JJ. I think if JJ had come to my party, Bernadette would not have come; she simply did not have the self-confidence to battle with JJ's verbal wickedness. "I won't, don't worry. Next weekend, will you stay over with me? We could go shopping and have fun, you know." "Well," she demurred "It's not that I don't want to, I just feel a bit awkward about it." "How, Bernadette?" and I touched her lightly upon the shoulder as I stood in front of her, looking at her mouth. I inched forward until our busts touched. "Oh don't do that! You know I can't withhold from you when you do that to me." "So you'll come next weekend, then." And I kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'll see." "You'll come." "I'll have to see, really." I picked up my bag and left her house, walking down the hill towards the bus stop. Now it was October, and the chill breezes reminded me that I was once again not wearing knickers in public. I stood at the bus stop with my legs crossed for ten or fifteen minutes before the double decker bus arrived and I scooted up the stairs to the seat right at the back of the bus above the stairs. Here nobody could see me unless they turned around in their seats, and I could hear any passengers coming up the metal stairs beside me. I took a book out of my bag and opened it on my lap. Tucking my right hand beneath it, I pulled the hem of my skirt up and touched myself gently. The bus rattled and vibrated along the road and that served to excite me as well. I remembered Bernadette's vagina clamping of my finger, the feeling of her thighs around my head, inserting the hairbrush handle into her sex and the delicious spanking I had given her. I was enjoying the vibrating ride that the bus was giving me so much that I missed my stop and went flying down the stairs to ring the bell for the next stop. As I did so, my skirt rose up on the breeze a little higher than I expected and I think the man sitting on the lower floor by the exit got a little more excitement on his journey than he bargained for. Once home, I gobbled down some food and, pleading a headache and homework, I scooted upstairs to run a bath. In my bedroom, I threw the books onto my desk, pulled the curtains closed, turned to make sure the door was closed, and then fell to my knees. My desk was just a piece of board cut to fit on top of two low chests of drawers in the window alcove. The chests were screwed to the floor and the board of my desk was screwed to them. But if you were quite lithe and supple and pulled out the chair, you could reach right around the back of the left hand cabinet and find a perfect hiding place that only you knew about. And this is where I kept a carrier bag with a zipped make-up bag in it. And inside that was a smoothly shaped piece of vinamould rubber. Vinamould was the rubber used to make moulds for casting plaster of paris figurines and models. But this piece was the end product in itself. I refuse to say where I got it from, but it was specially made for pleasure. About twenty centimeters long, torpedo shaped and slightly more oval than round in cross section, this lovely, smooth piece of flexible rubber was a good friend to me. I wrapped it in my nightie, gathered my dressing gown over my arm and went to the bathroom. The bathroom was already steamy warm and the bath quite full enough of water so hot that I could only just stand it. Off with the clothes – skirt didn't smell – and into the bath, very slowly. I wallowed for ages, just dreaming and remembering. I was satisfied with Bernadette, but looked forward to having her here with me for a whole weekend and sleeping with her as I planned. We'd go clothes shopping; share a changing room, and I'd begin my seduction by insisting we tried on swimwear. I was just rubbing my nipples lightly in the steaming water, when little brother banged on the door. "I need to do my teeth!" "Well you can't. It'll have to wait till morning – I'm in the bath!" "Mum says." Now my mother spoke. "How long are you going to be? He has to do his teeth, you know." "Mum, I'm in the bath! Can't he wait till morning for once." "He has to do his teeth, Rachel. You've got ten minutes." Which of course was nothing like long enough for what I had planned, so I washed off, dried off and rolled my flexible friend up in my school clothes and retired to my room. "Bath's free!" I called over my shoulder, and I shoved the door closed behind me with my hip. I flung everything on the bed and flicked around my study books until the noise of little brother being put to bed subsided. Now would be the time for Mum to knock at my door, if she was going to at all. Any later than this and she would assume I was studying or sleeping, and she wouldn't disturb me. No knock came. So I dried my hair and peeled of my dressing gown to put some body lotion on. This had been a present from Dad for my birthday, and although I still hated him, being given a huge box of skin care, general smellies and self-pampering stuff made me feel much better. I applied the lotion to the various necessary bits, looking at myself in the mirror. I still kept my pubic hair well trimmed as I had in the summer, and I could see my lips distinctly through the fuzz. I applied a little lotion to each nipple and just stroked and massaged gently; it felt wonderful. I closed my eyes and just reveled in the sensuality of it. Opening my eyelids I looked again at my mons. Now the lips were fully engorged and protruded like fleshy pink ribbon from my slit. I stroked them with my sticky fingers, gently at first and then more firmly, feeling them slide apart and the lubricant on my fingers mixed with the natural lubricant from below. I sat on the edge of the bed with my legs apart, leaning back to display myself fully in the mirror. There was my clitoris, rising stiff from the folds. I gave it a little rub and felt myself ready for the rubber. Still wrapped in my skirt, I unfurled the grey flannel material and the rubber fell on the floor with a thump. I knelt to pick it up and resumed my place on the bed, looking into the mirror. From my make-up bag I took a little tube of KY Jelly and squirted a little on the end of the rubber, spreading it around the circumference and down the shaft with my hand. Now everything was ready. I gazed steadily into the mirror and imagined Bernadette's thighs parting as I introduced the hairbrush handle into her. Now I rubbed the end of my rubber against my lips and felt the thrill deep inside me. I turned it slightly so that it was aligned with me and just gently introduced it between my lips and into my vagina. Just a little way in, gently back and forth. I watched myself in the mirror, both hands now on the shaft and my boobs squashed together between my arms. Just a bit more, just a bit more. Now the beast was all the way in, pressing the walls of me wider and wider. I tensed on it and gained a sharp pleasure to the front of me. Tensing, as I withdrew the beast slightly was just wonderful, so was relaxing as I pushed it back in. This was nearly as good as Maggie's huge purple dildo; watching myself was nearly as good as watching Bernadette. There was a knock at the door. I froze. The knock came again and shot up from the bed, expelling the rubber beast and kicking it under the bed all in one go. I left all the skin care strewn across the bed and wrapped myself in my dressing gown. I opened the door just a few inches. "Do you want some tea?" asked Mum innocently. She looked past me at the body lotion and moisturizer on the bed. "No thanks, Ma. I'm going to bed in a sec." "Ok, night, darling." "Gnight Mum." I closed the door behind me again and sank against it. The moment was gone and passed. I cleared up the skin care, retrieved the rubber from under the bed – wiped the fluff off it (!), and hid it again. I went to bed and turned off the light, tried to sleep. But eventually my hand found it's way down to my bush and I had a little hand play polishing the pearl. Felt good.
Of course, Bernadette made excuses to avoid spending the weekend with me for almost the next month, but I resolved to keep trying to persuade her. Paula and I became good friends and I managed to hide my sexuality from her pretty well, although she still had the ability to take my breath away with her beauty. And it wasn't just her beauty, she had a sweet, open, and honest personality that delighted in other's success and happiness. She was an eternal optimist, absolutely convinced of everyone's good character and intentions. In my darker moments I wondered if anyone could be so naive, but mostly I just reveled in her company and the warming glow of her personality.
A couple of weeks after, I decided to venture out into the big bad world of London – on my own. To my mother's evident concern, I decided to go to the Tate Gallery in Pimlico. This vast trek would involve three different underground trains and worried mum shitless. No matter how much I tried to reassure her –I'm a big girl now!' – she was worried and frightened at the possible consequences. "Phone me as soon as you get to the Gallery – and call me before you leave again!" Yes Mum, yes Mum, yes Mum. But the visit to the Tate really was necessary. I needed to understand how I felt in front of real' art. Did I feel inspired, invigorated, maybe intimidated or nothing at all. I needed to see a Turner and metaphorically `stroke the canvas'.
Saturday at last and off I went. The train pulled in to the Wembley Park Station and I got out, hoping to catch the express right behind that would get me to London just a little quicker. I wandered down the platform towards where the walkways feed the passengers onto the platform. There was a female shriek and a male shout from the tunnel and a couple of teenagers came flying up onto the platform. He was tall and rangey, dressed fashionably sharp and cheap, but she was blond and beautiful, also dressed cheap. But this was Nikki. It was barely six months since I had last seen her, but she'd changed from the doll-like beauty I knew at school, to this brasher, louder version, but still with the same electric appeal. I recognised her despite the frothy hairdo, make-up and tarty clothes. I turned away as she ran past me, but I saw the deep red-brown love bites on her neck. She and her boyfriend played idiots on the platform as I shrank from them.
The breeze from the incoming train fluttered her blond hair in the most beguiling manner as she parted her thighs and sat astride her boyfriend on the bench. For just a couple of seconds, her eyes strayed over his shoulder and met mine. This was my train; I had to get on, if only to save myself from the mortifying embarrassment of her presence. At first nothing and then recognition; Nikki recognized me as the train doors opened and closed between us. Her expression didn't change, but behind her boyfriend's back, her fingers formed a v-sign and she looked deliberately, directly at me. Slowly at first, then gathering speed the train moved away and I lost sight of the first girl I had ever had sex with. For twelve minutes, in the space between Wembley Park and Baker Street, I cried. I'd always known and accepted that I'd never have her back again. The one night at JJ's was just a perfect memory; I knew it could never be repeated. But to see her so changed and so horrid was a real shock. She could have ignored me, she could have just watched me disappear, but to do what she did hurt terribly. I replayed that moment in my mind over and over again. I felt betrayed and mortally wounded. The day had turned sour and the excitement of London and the Tate Gallery had been poisoned by that tiny moment. At Baker Street, I tried to stop sniffling and wandered into the station cafe in desperate need of comfort food. I bought tea and a large slice of sticky chocolate cake. I selected a table in the far corner, where I hoped to blow my nose, wipe my eyes and drown myself in chocolate without being noticed. As soon as I sat down I realized that the elderly lady at the next table was observing me; it was too late to move, of course. So I just tried to ignore her. I waded through half the cake, but had to stop because the tears were rolling down my cheeks again. I plunged my face into my hands. "Darling, he's not worth it! Stop crying." A rasping voice, heavy with accent. "All men are shits. Don't give him another thought. Here, you need a tissue" I lifted my face and tried to focus on the owner of the voice. It was of course, the old lady at the next table, and she held out a couple of tissues for me. "Thank you." and I tried to clear myself up again. She pushed her tray away from her and shuffled along the bench seat to join me at my table. I could smell the tobacco on her clothes, but there was also a deeper smell of rich, expensive perfume. It suited her perfectly. "I see it all here. Couples meet, they make a little love, then they argue. And it's always the she who gets hurt most. There's always one like you; every Saturday morning." Now I had stopped crying enough to pay more attention to her. She wore an emerald hat at a jaunty angle and secured with a pin, above a fur coat. At the neck, I could see a deeper green suit high to the neck with a broach at the closing. Her skin was white and lined, but her makeup was detailed and perfect; lightly rouged cheeks, green eyeshadow and ruby lips. Her hair was steel grey and wavy and she wore diamond stud earrings. She looked ancient to me, even older than my grandparents. "That's the best bit about being old, you know that no-one is going to make you cry like that again!" She rasped with a theatrical shrug. I smiled through the tears in return. "Now that's better. Come. You're too pretty to cry. Oh but we need to mend your skin and quickly. It's too cold out there for bruised skin; you'll ruin your complexion." She shuffled along the seat again and stood up grasping for her stick. "You come with me, we'll mend your skin in the twinkle of an eye. Come with." Like an idiot, I just rose and followed the old lady up the steps, out of the station and around the corner to one of those typically London blocks of flats that are always called something-or-other 'Mansions'. They can't have all been built in the thirties, but they give the impression of slightly faux Art Deco; all curved windows and concrete ledges. In the tiny passenger lift, she pushed 'three' and as we ascended, I just began to wonder what I was letting myself in for. The old lady ushered me along the oak-panelled corridor to a front door, fiddled with the lock and flung the door open before me. The flat corridor was dim, but had physical and spiritual warmth to it. Polished wood block floors, wood panelling and solid, dark brown furniture, all on top of this Art Deco pile in London. On the walls were painted Alpine scenes and little wooden constructions depicting rustic Tyrolean scenes. "Come here and sit before the mirror" she commanded and I turned to follow her into the bedroom, she waved towards the dressing table, heavily laden with cosmetics and skin care. Amongst them all I spied a small, carefully cut bottle, 'Bal A Versailles'. That would be the perfume on her hands and clothes. I sat on the satin covered stool and looked into the mirror. My eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks coursed down my face and my whole face was blotchy and sagging. I looked horrible. I couldn't bear to look at myself any longer and looked at the room about me instead. The bed was high and wide with a pale pink satin cover, and the enormous pillows were laid on top of the counterpane. Beside the bed was a small table crowded with framed photographs and bottles of pills. All women; no men in the frames. As I looked around the old lady shed her coat and returned to me. "Better I sit, darling. You kneel there in front, then I can see you clearly." I shifted and she sat heavily, clicking a lamp on. "Look up. Hmm. Close your eyes" She wiped something cold across my cheeks and spread something softly just below my eyes, and even more gently across my eyelids. "Just wait while I do a little more." she crooned to me and I felt something light and warm beneath my eyes. "Now we work with the rest of the face." Again the cold sensation across my forehead and around my jawline. "So. A little here, and here" Her fingers were deft and strong and she worked with skill, applying balms and unguents. I could smell tobacco on her fingers and again, the deep scent of that perfume. "Darling, I want you open your eyes and look up. I put a little eye drops in to clear your eyes. Look up for me now." I did so and gently she cupped my jaw and lifed my face to apply the drops. They felt cold and involuntarily, I pulled back and blinked. "Oh oh oh, now stop and keep your eyes closed for one minute." she cupped my face again. "Nearly we are finished and you can open your eyes." I waited. "Now open you eyes and look" I did so and turned towards the dressing table mirror, pushing up off my knees to get a better view. My skin looked perfect. No redness around or beneath my eyes, just fresh clear skin. And my eyes! Clear and bright, no red, no telltale redness at all. "Wow! That's wonderful. How did you do that?" She laughed with a deep, throaty cackle and waved her hands dismissively. "A bit of this and a bit of that. I should know how; I was a make-up artist for nearly forty years!" "It's fantastic. Thank you. My skin looks fabulous!" She laughed again, and reaching out her hand, stroked my face gently. "You're too pretty to cry. Keep smiling." I glanced about myself, not sure what I could say to the old lady to thank her or make her happy. "It's a lovely flat. Have you lived here long?' "Too long. And it's too old-fashioned, but it will have to do me now. I can't go changing." She turned and glared at me "I'm eighty! How did I get so old?" "Nothing has changed here since Miri died - and that was nearly twenty years ago now. I keep it this way so I can remember better." "Was Miri your husband?" She let out a great rasping laugh; stood up straight, throwing back her head and laughed again. "My husband? No, darling! No. She was my friend. We lived here for thirty five years together." She smiled at me warmly, but then her face clouded. "I remember Miri everywhere here. Sometimes I think I hear her in the next room. It's been a long time, you know." "Come. I show you some photographs." She levered herself up from the dressing stool and gestured imperiously for me to follow to the lounge. "Here. This is Miri and I when I started with the Opera. I was in the make-up, I loved it. It took me years to get there." Black and white ladies smiled out of the picture towards me. Two ladies, side by side in stiff blouses and pleated skirts at a restaurant table surrounded by smiling well-wishers. "This is Miri in her work-studio. She was a jeweller - an artist - the best! In Hatton Garden she was." A lady with large, dreamy eyes, black wavy hair and holding a complicated necklace draped over her fingers gazed out of the photo at me. "Miri was the best" she croaked. No men on the pictures. Only the woman I now knew as Miri on the bedside table. Maybe. I looked around the lounge, still no male photographs; Miri and the lady on a beach in fifties costumes. Miri walking a dog. A much older Miri sitting right here in this flat, looking weak and terribly vulnerable. Maybe. "It wasn't a boy." I coughed a little to clear my throat. "It wasn't a boy I was crying about. It was a girl." I lifted my gaze and looked into her face for a moment, before dropping my eyes to the photo of Miri. "Oh. Oh, yes. I was not sure, darling. It's still so difficult to tell immediately, I know." She raised her hands and held my face gently between her outstretched fingers. "You are very brave to say, darling. But you must be discrete you know. Not always can we be so bold." Her hands trailed down my shoulder and arm; she held me by the hand. She struggled across the room, pulling me with her and flopped into a high Windsor armchair, I sat on the settee. She knew, she understood. "You young girls. It should not be so difficult, so hard now. But I suppose there is always families and people to say 'Haven't you got a boyfriend, then?'" I laughed nervously, realising that none of my family had said that to me at all - yet. She opened a wooden cigarette box on the small table, took an untipped cigarette and placed it into a pale yellow holder with a gold band at the cigarette end. The mouthpiece was brown with nicotine and slightly cracked. She lit the cigarette from a heavy silver table lighter and thumped it back into the table beside her. The tobacco crackled and burned brightly as she drew on the holder now clamped between her teeth. She was silent for a few moments and then took a long breath. "Miriam and I were both born in Munich, me in 1905, she in 1907. At school we met. And I knew she was for me; I just loved her and she did me. Miri was Jewish of course. And when things started to go bad, we knew we had to leave. Her father - a good man - he understood and accepted Miri and I, but her mother never did. Anyway I said we should go to Amsterdam, but her papa said that wasn't far enough. And he was right -eh!" and she looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "So. To London we came. With a little money and a lot of hope; two German girls looking for life!" "And we found it here. We found friends and work and people like us. We were so happy! But it all went wrong again, Miri lost most of her family, and I lost some too. Now I hate all Germans. I look at them and wonder if they were the ones who took my country away from me" She looked at me with anger in her old, tired eyes. "It was awful. But for us in London it was easier; we had our own group of friends - mainly in the theatre and show business - and we were quite comfortable at our old flat in Maida Vale. Of course they all knew that Miri and I were, lovers." She had taken a bit of a breath before the word' lovers'; it was still difficult for her to proclaim. "Nobody cared or worried of course. But then for us it was legal. For the boys it was still illegal to love with another man." She threw back her head and laughed again. "Sometimes we used to pretend. Pretend! I would take the arm of one man and Miri would take the arm of his friend and we'd walk out like two ordinary couples! Straight past the policemen. That was with Anthony and Raymond - no David. Auch! But they're both gone now." "Sometimes we even went to their club. What was it now? Maggie's or something. No. Now I have it - 'Kathie's' just because it was in Katherine Street! We were guests of theirs, of course and darling, you have never seen such a place! All these men with such pretty boys! And some boys dressed even more beautifully than Miri. One night –" she waved her hands in hilarity "I spent the whole time giving make-up tips to these pretty boys. How to hide stubble, what to do about bags under the eyes, what to do with the greasy triangle!" "Oh, but I shouldn't laugh. It was so difficult for them then. At least Miri and I could walk arm in arm without being arrested. One day it will be better yet. All of us will be able to show love for each other without fear of hate or persecution! Maybe even in your time, maybe even to get married, darling!" She looked sideways at me as her smile faded and flicked her hand. "Who was she? This girl who made you cry. A lover?" I nodded rather ashamed of my own stupidity and admission. "I thought she was important to me - no, I mean that I was important to her. But I saw her today with someone else and she was just horrid." "Darling, I know. It hurts. But you can only dry-up, make-up, and look you best and look for another. Maybe even she would see you looking so beautiful and realise what she's lost. It happens." She smiled weakly at me and I recognised that she was tired. "I must be going" I said "I'm supposed to be visiting the Tate Gallery!" "You're an artist! Of course you are. I can see it now." "Well, I'd like to be" I giggled with slight embarrassment, standing up to leave. "Thank you so much for all you've done for me. I feel so much better." "Well I did a little, darling. But thank you, too. It was nice to have you here." She struggled up from the chair and a little awkwardly I turned to leave the lounge. Then I stopped and turned back to where she stood with her hands clasped across her midriff. I crossed to her, wrapped my arms around her and kissed her on her cheek. "Thank you." I whispered, hugged her close, and kissed her again. I stood back and the old lady waved me away, halfway between smiling and crying. "Go now. Go. You're just upsetting me, darling. Go and be young and beautiful!" I opened the door and let myself out, pausing only for one last smile down the corridor as she stood in the lounge doorway. Even though the hallway was dim, I could see her eyes were shining. "Bye!" I called "And thank you." I pulled the door closed behind me, realising as I did so, that I had never asked her name. Off I went to the Tate Gallery, having a little less time than I had expected, but time enough to see the Magritte's and the Dali's, the Picasso's and Cezannes, and to get quite stuffed with all the excellence and magnificence. But nothing that I saw compared to what the old lady had shown me.
I left the Tate with plenty of time and stopped off again at Baker Street, retracing my steps to the old lady's flat. On the third floor, there was a glow of light behind the deep red velvet curtains. In the foyer an elderly gentleman prepared to come out, so I yanked the door open for him, smiled at his 'thank you' and waltzed in. I posted the card I'd bought at the Tate in the slot for flat two, third floor and left quickly. At Baker Street, I caught the express home and avoided the intervening stations completely.
A footnote. More than two years later, I went for an interview at a college near Baker Street, and having time to spare, I followed my memory to the block of flats. In the spring sunshine I looked up at the third floor and realised that the curtains had changed from burgundy velvet to a bright floral print. I ventured into the foyer and looked at the postboxes. Under a strip of selotape the name 'A. O'Keefe' appeared next to flat two, third floor and I could not imagine that O'Keefe had been her name. She'd gone. Moved on, or just gone.
_____________________________________________________________________________ There. Another part of the story done. Tell me what you think please, rachelfrizz@hotmail.co.uk. I'd love to hear as I get so nervous sending these stories in! Bye, Rae.