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The drapes were white and gossamer thin, and they undulated softly in the warm breeze, their caress on her almost-naked body a lover’s promise. She has lived with Lana in this beautiful flat for several years now, but when they make love she still feels like she’s been abducted to some other-worldly palace. Magical. The high terraced windows that overlook the bay with its bobbing yachts and their strings of coloured lights. The almost overpowering scents from the distant lavender fields on summer nights, the soft moth-wing touches of the billowing nets like a third person stroking her nakedness. She shudders to Lana’s kisses and waits impatiently for her lover to ease her pants down and put her tongue into her wet and willing cunt.
And yet…
And yet she still remembers another time, another room, another life, far, far away.
*
It was her first flat. Well, it wasn’t really a flat, strictly speaking, just a big attic room at the top of the house with a dormer window where she could see all the streets of the town stretching out like her Dad’s old motoring road maps. Tiny metallic-coloured vehicles buzzing about like die-cast toy cars, the river with its mostly derelict docks flowing by like a silver ribbon. There was a kitchen in the basement, but she never used it, getting by with the tiny wash hand basin in her room and a toaster and electric kettle. She had meant to buy a microwave when she moved in, but had never got round to it, surviving on buttered toast and sachets of dehydrated soup mix made up in cups, fruit when she remembered to buy it and biscuits at night when she treated herself to hot chocolate.
The bathroom was downstairs and she shared it with the girl who lived on the floor below, who she hadn’t met yet, though she’d inhaled her floral scent and seen her footprints in the spilled talc on the worn linoleum floor. The whole room was a bit of a relic, actually, with a big iron bathtub, faded fish-patterned wallpaper and a funny single bar electric heater on the wall that was attached to a meter that literally ate pound coins and did nothing to keep the room warm, the whole place filling up with steam and the walls running with condensation every time she took a bath.
And she was just emerging from the selfsame room that fateful night—she still remembers the time to this day, twenty minutes past seven on a wet Thursday at the start of term—one very frayed towel around her body, another mismatched one turban-style on her head, when a door opened across the hall and the girl appeared. Beautiful. Voluptuous. Curvy with close-cropped chestnut hair. Her feet bare, a luxuriant red silk kimono wrapped carelessly around her—obviously naked—body, her nipples clearly visible to Emylia’s hungry eyes. A scent like the vast flower fields of Southern France preceding her as she crossed the threadbare carpet of the passageway.
“You smell like summer,” Emylia said—thought aloud?—as she stood to one side to let the other girl into the warm steam of the bathroom.
The girl laughed. “It’s only cheap old lady perfume. My Gran buys it for me every Christmas. Soap, talc, body spray all in a set. English Lavender. From Yardley. Not exactly designer fragrance…”
“It smells lovely on you…”
The girl grins. “Flatterer,” she says, giving a little laugh that sounds a bit like a squeal, walking into the room and turning the bath taps on, letting her kimono fall unselfconsciously at her feet. Her skin a light buttery colour, breasts full and heavy, low slung, the aureolas big and round, like old half crowns, nipples erect from the cold of the unheated hallway. “Come in and close the door, would you, you’re letting all the heat out.”
Emylia feels she should leave and give the girl her privacy but instead she obeys like someone in a dream. She’s an only child and has never seen another girl naked this close before, never played hockey or lacrosse, never used a communal shower. She’s sure that she’s blushing. Robotically, she lowers the lid on the toilet seat and sits, its strange hand-knitted cover damp under her bum, its texture bumpy even through the threadbare towel.
“Are you at the university?” she asks for want of something to say, trying not to look and failing as Lana climbs into the tub, her back a softly undulating snowbound landscape, her plump backside round and soft, a pillow to lose yourself in. The crack a crevice to burry an inquisitive tongue. Fuck, where was all this coming from?
“No, I’m not a student, I work in the Philosophy department office. Nothing important. Just a dogsbody for the teaching staff.”
“Oh, I thought you were studying…”
Lana does that little squeally laugh again. Emylia wonders if she sounds like that when she comes. What? “Hell, no, I couldn’t be bothered with all those books and essays and things. Wash my back, will you?” Proffering a wash cloth like it’s the Holy Grail, the Keys to the Kingdom.
Trembling, Emylia takes the cloth and begins to soap Lana’s back, shoulders first, then lower, hovering above the water line, desperate to go lower, not quite daring. Not yet. This is her first time lesbian love.
“Hmmm!” Lana turns to look at her, her big breasts water-dappled, the nipples still hard, even though the water is hot and the room is warm, so it’s not the cold that’s making them that way. “I think that you and I are going to be friends…”
“Do you? What kind of friends?”
Lana reaches over and hooks her finger into Emylia’s towel just at her cleavage and pulls, gently but firmly, the cloth coming away easily and falling to her feet, leaving Emylia naked but totally unashamed, her small dark brown nipples hard, like polished stones, her pussy throbbing. “Intimate friends,” Lana whispers. “Get in the tub…”
*
“I’ve wanted to meet someone like you my whole life…”
Lana laughs. “What? Beautiful and bi? Or do you mean just easy?” She is sitting in the water, her breasts rising and falling, belying her look of apparent calm, her face buried in the other girl’s hip, breathing her in, one hand on each of Emylia’s bum cheeks while she stands before her.
“No. Devastatingly attractive. I’ve never decided to let anyone fuck me in so short a time before…”
“So you think I’m going to fuck you?”
“I’ll cry if you don’t…”
“Oh, well, I’d better do it then…”
*
Lana plants a soft playful kiss on Emylia’s navel and feels the other girl shiver. Emboldened, she kisses her again, lower this time, presses harder, clenches the soft flesh of her buttocks, hears an approving moan. And she knows that she has a first-timer on her hands and that this is all too fast and that she should play more, not scare her little captive songbird into flight, but Emylia’s obvious arousal engulfs her and she pushes her face into the thick jungle of that heaving bush, kissing and pussy licking the thick fur as her tongue searches for the wet slit that she knows is waiting for her.
Emylia’s hands are on her now, pushing Lana’s head hard against herself, as her electric tongue finds what it is looking for, and Lana passionately kisses Emylia’s hot wet cunt, the outer labia a symphony in pinks and purples, fat and puffy with desire, everything inside slick and wet.
The lips part easily for her tongue, the taste heavenly, the clit huge and hard. She gives it an exploratory lick and then runs her tongue up and down the length of Emylia’s gyrating crack before returning to the clit and sucking on it, rewarded by a loud cry as the other girl comes, pushing her pussy hard into Lana’s probing tongue, her spendings running all over her mouth and face.
“Fuck me, fuck me hard,” Emylia moans from above, and Lana slides a tentative finger deep inside her pussy and starts to lick again, feeling her partner shudder as she tries to impale herself on Lana’s skilful hand.
“Put two fingers up me. Three even, fuck it, four if they’ll fit,” she gasps as Lana obliges, fucking her hard, feeling the orgasm coming seconds before it rocks Emylia’s whole body making her already sopping cunt ooze with more spendings.
Emylia tries to fall forward onto her, her knees buckling, but Lana swiftly turns her round and makes her support herself on the far edge of the tub, her back arched, her shapely white bum in her face.
Emylia moans as Lana covers her butt with kisses, slowly pulls her cheeks apart with one hand, and starts to explore her crevice with her tongue.
She groans again. “I’ve never shown my bare bum-hole to anyone before. Never been fucked up it…”
“That’s a waste, it’s a work of art,” Lana whispers between licks. “All soft and pink like an ice cream sundae…”
Another moan. “Will you rub my clit while you lick me?”
Lana doesn’t reply but slips her other hand over Emylia’s hot bush and rubs in a soft circular motion before slowly pulling the moist cunt open and sliding her finger in, locating the begging clitoris instantly but teasing it as her tongue worms deeper into the tight wet orifice behind.
“Oh fuck, I’m going to come again. Do it hard, harder…”
“Like this?” One finger on the clit, her tongue deep into the soft pink starfish behind. Feeling it clenching as her lover climaxes.
“Oh yes… yes, yes yes…” The orgasm rocks and shakes her as she comes and comes in the cooling waters of the big iron bath.
*
“I’d never fucked another girl before tonight,” Emylia says, to no-one in particular.
They are lying on the big bed in Lana’s room, the rumpled antique Japanese counterpane flowing like a silken waterfall onto a carpeted floor messy with discarded underwear, jumbles of expensive dresses and fashion magazines, a packet of brightly-coloured condoms…
Lana inhales deeply on her French cigarette before answering, her scarlet kimono open, one breast on show, the nipple painfully huge and erect. “You still haven’t, strictly speaking. I fucked you…”
Emylia laughs. It’s bravado. “Is that an invitation?”
Lana looks down at her own bare breast. “I don’t know how much more obvious I can be…”
Emylia is suddenly unconfident with the idea of her first time lesbian sex. “I so want to, but I don’t know where to start…”
“You’ve fucked boys before?”
“Oh, of course, lots of them, but men are so easy. Their cocks just stand up and demand attention. No preliminaries needed.”
Lana lets her kimono slither off her shoulder and leans towards Emylia. “Start simple. Just kiss me. Softly.”
*
And although they had already kissed this evening, this one is different. Like something liquid and electric being passed to and fro from their hungry mouths, their tongues alive. And they’re both naked, towels and dressing gowns melted away, their skin hot for each other as their kisses get harder and deeper.
“Now move down, kiss my neck, my shoulders, my tits, my nipples…” Lana manages to intone and Emylia obliges. “That’s right, lick the nipples, then suck a little, bite gently…”
“I really want to stroke your cunt but I’m scared…”
Lana gives a little moan. “That’s okay. Run your hands down me and over my hips and start to stroke my bum…”
“Like this?”
“Exactly like that. Now come round and run your hands up and down the inside of my thighs. That’s right…”
“Oh, you have such thick soft hair…”
“You think so? Then would you slide down me and kiss it?”
There’s a pause. Then. “Please?”
*
And her thick bush smells like her lavender soap. Like fresh coffee and newly baked bread. Sweet and aromatic. Her skin soft. Wet. Her deep slit welcoming, tasting of forbidden sweetmeats, like apricots soaked in brandy served with fresh lobster. Sweet, alcoholic and with a hint of salt. Emylia is in heaven and can’t get enough, and kisses and kisses, her tongue pushing through Lana’s lush bush and circling the doorway to paradise that she has uncovered. And, it must be stated, Lana’s pussy is an artwork, a masterpiece, nestled snugly below her shapely belly, her mound fat and sleek, a thick triangle of light brown hair that—in those days—spills over her thighs and creeps like a fairy tale vine up her tummy towards her navel.
“Pull me open,” Lana’s voice floats down from a million miles away. “Put your tongue inside me and lick my clit. Make me come the way I made you…”
“Like this?”
“Exactly like that. Fuck, you’re good. Oh fuck… I can’t believe this… You’ve hardly started on me but I’m-Going-To… Come!”
*
Months passed. Then it was a year. They both saw other people but, somehow, maddeningly, they always ended up sharing a bed together in the small hours, their two bodies inseparably attracted to each other like the magnetic kissing dolls Lana’s Gran had brought her back from a Morecambe holiday one long-ago summer when she was just a child.
And, today, they have arranged to meet in a cafe that Lana likes, in a side street near the art school, a narrow little place with lots of inglenooks and twisty staircases, like an adult-orientated emporium from Diagon Alley. The ceilings are low and nicotine-stained, the old wood-panelled walls covered with literally hundreds of postcard-sized art reproductions of big-breasted ladies and endless nude charcoal life drawings, yellowed with age, looking suspiciously like younger incarnations of the flamboyantly-dressed woman behind the counter.
Lana is late—but she’s always late—so Emylia orders a cappuccino, something she’s only recently discovered, and sips it from the glass jar that it is served in until her friend comes bustling through the narrow door.
Lana, clutches several brightly-coloured paper carrier bags and is dressed in tight blue jeans and bra-less in an elaborately-embroidered peasant top, her bare feet in sandals and silver rings on her toes that jingle like a Russian sleigh team as she walks.
“Hello, hello, sorry I’m late,” she gushes as she seats herself and signals for her usual drink. “Got caught up in a meeting on the way here…”
There’s a sudden silence. An embarrassed silence, Emylia suddenly thinks, before Lana begins to speak again, not meeting her eye. “But, actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. And that’s why I wanted to meet here and not at the flat. You see… Well…”
“What? Tell me!”
“I found a place… I’ve just signed the lease.”
There’s a silence, a long silence, where Emylia does her best to suppress a tear. “So you wanted to tell me here. So I wouldn’t make a scene when you dumped me…”
Lana stares at her and blinks. Then laughs. “I’m not dumping you, you idiot, I want you to move in… properly.”
“You want to what?”
“You heard. I want us to be a proper couple. I want you to move in with me. Will you? Yes or no?”
Emylia’s still crying but she manages to nod. “Oh my god, this is like a fairy tale. Of course I’ll move in, of course I will.” And they’re about to kiss when Lana holds up a hand.
“Wait,” she whispers. “If this is a fairy tale, then you need a quest… You’ll have to perform a task…”
“Perform a task? What kind of a task?” Emylia asks suspiciously. This ‘task’ was going to be filthy, she recognises the look in Lana’s eyes. A look that makes her wet.
“I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go along. I want… I want…” Lana looks around, biting her lip as she settles on an idea. “I know, I want you to masturbate for me. Here.”
“Here? Are you crazy?”
“No, I want you to do it. Reach under the table and put your hand up your skirt and touch yourself until you come. That’s your task…”
*
Emylia shivers as she runs a hand, very slowly, under her dress and up her goose-pimpled thigh, her nails scratching a delicious path in their wake that makes her tremble. She catches the eye of the woman behind the counter who is methodically polishing glasses and holds her stare, imagines that both the woman and Lana are on their knees looking up into the darkness below the thick velvet of her skirt, desperate for her to pull her pants to one side and reveal her moist hairy crotch, the slit welcoming, the lips swollen and everything pouting and wet.
“What are you doing?” Lana whispers in her ear, very close, her breath coming in short passionate bursts.
“I’m putting my hand inside the leg of my knickers…”
“No, tell me exactly! Say the words.”
Emylia takes a deep breath. “I’m pulling the very damp crotch of my pants to one side and stroking my own pussy, feeling the thickness and softness of my bush, the heat and wetness of my slit, teasing myself before I let my finger go into the crack and stroke my big hard clit…”
“How big is it?”
“Huge.”
“How huge? A peanut? A cashew nut? A walnut?”
“More like a pecan. I’m running my finger around it… I’m so wet I think I’ll stain my skirt… It’s so huge, I can hardly stand to touch it…”
“Don’t come yet!”
“I don’t know that I can stop it…”
“Wait,” Lana gasps, shuffling in her chair, forcing her hand awkwardly into her waistband. “I’m touching myself too, putting my fingers inside…”
“How wet are you?”
“Soaking. Fuck! My jeans are too tight, I can’t get in properly…”
“I’m going to come…” Emylia breathes, barely audible.
“Me too, oh, we are so banned from this cafe…” Lana replies, trying to laugh. But failing.
“Oh fuck, I’m coming…”
“Me too. Do you love me? Say you love me. Make me come.”
“I love you!”
*
And, standing naked together in their beautiful room in their beautiful house, Emylia remembers that day, like she has so many times before. And Lana holds her tightly as she slithers down her body, and slowly eases Emylia’s last garment down her thighs and to her feet. “I love you,” Emylia sighs, in preparation to surrendering to her lover’s tongue; her body feeling like it is floating skyward through the rippling white drapes, losing herself in the beautiful scent of lavender. Though whether the delicate aroma is from the distant fields or the soap and talc that she still orders for Lana online, no-one will ever know…
The End
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WINTER PLEASURES