By Misty Meadow
Many thanks to my editor JetBoy for the work he contributed to this story. — Misty
Finding a flat in London was a fucking nightmare. Whenever I’d finally discover something that was on the market, I’d go there and find a line round the block. I knew it’d go to the tenant offering the biggest deposit, so I never stood a chance. I was sleeping on a friend’s couch and she was getting impatient for me to move out.
Finally, I got a call from another friend who’d spotted one of those advertising cards in the window of a small newsagent. “Could you work as an au pair?” she asked me.
“I could work shoveling shit if it provides accommodation,” I told her. “Gimme the details.”
It was an address in Kensington, a terrace between Queen’s Gate and the Gloucester Road — quite upmarket, actually. I’d never lived anywhere half so posh. Plus, I’d be able to quit the job I had as an office temp, which was about as enjoyable as the aforementioned shoveling.
I dropped by without making an appointment, reasoning that it’d be harder to say “no” to my face than over the phone. Upon ringing the bell, I was greeted by a professionally styled woman in a beautifully tailored pant suit with a cream silk blouse that must’ve cost real money. She reeked of class.
“Come on in,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Ursula Urquart. Double U — though not to be confused with ‘Dubya’, our dimwitted friend who occupied the White House.” I think she meant George W. Bush.
“I’m Misty Meadow,” I said, appreciating her firm, no-nonsense grip. Most women will give you a “wet fish” handshake; not she.
She guided me into the parlor. “Take a seat. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Not at university, then?”
“I’d have loved to have gone, but I failed all my A levels. Not a chance, I’m afraid.”
“Failed them all?” She arched an eyebrow.
“Every one.” I decided to come clean. She was going to find out eventually, and some people do appreciate frankness. “I had a drinking problem. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
“In AA?”
I nodded. “Oh, yes, I’d never have stayed sober without it.”
“How long now?”
“Eighteen months.”
“Well done. Which group do you go to?”
“‘Just for Today’ in Chelsea is my favourite.” I saw a flicker of interest cross her face. “But I go to others — Kensington, Fulham, Earls Court. You seem to know a lot about AA.”
“My sister’s in recovery. Do you have a sponsor?”
“I did, until she left to work in America.”
“How about the twelve steps? The fifth, for example? Some people have trouble with that.”
“Not me.” This step requires us to share our moral inventory with another person, like a general confession. “My sponsor was a lesbian who led a rather, shall we say, unrestrained sexual life. There was nothing I could say that shocked her, so baring my soul to her was easy.”
She smiled. “Can you cook?”
“My omelettes are like fluffy clouds and my chips are always golden brown and crisp.” Okay, maybe a slight exaggeration… but this was essentially an advertisement, and the product I was flogging was me.
“Okay, let me tell you about the job. You’ll live in, with your own room up on the second floor, but you’ll have to share a bathroom with my daughter.”
“How many children do you have?” I asked.
Oh, just her. Here.” She took a framed photograph from the mantelpiece and handed it to me. I stared at it, drinking in the sight of the most gorgeous little girl.
“My, she’s adorable,” I gushed. “When was this taken?”
“Her twelfth birthday, last month.” I gazed at the image, all but hypnotized by the beauty of this little nymph. “I know it’s a parental cliché,” Ursula added, “but she’s the most wonderful girl in the world, and I love her to bits.” She reached for the picture, and I handed it back to her. “I would expect you to take care of the house, do all the grocery shopping and cleaning — and yes, you do do windows, don’t you?” I smiled and nodded. “You’d escort Ashley to and from school, help her with her homework if she needs it, then cook dinner. We eat salads, mostly, and some fish.” Ah, health nuts. I could live with it. “I never get home until seven or eight, and then we have dinner. Would that interfere with your meetings?”
“No problem. I can go to lunchtime groups. Plenty of them.”
“Good,” She told me more about the responsibilities of the job, then briefly told me about herself, mentioning that she was a barrister, divorced and career driven.
Once she’d finished, Ursula paused, studying me thoughtfully. “I have to say that you’re not my obvious first choice for this job, Misty. To be honest, several of the other girls I’ve interviewed are more experienced, and a couple of them have more of an education than you do. But the fact that you seem to have overcome being an alcoholic — and believe me, from what my sister went through, I know how difficult that is — it says to me that you might be a person of strength and character.” She paused. “I also believe in second chances — at least, for those who earn them.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I held my tongue, all the while thinking, Please give me a chance. Please give me a chance.
Ursula gazed at me in silence for a long, unsettling moment, then spoke again. “Okay, you’ve got the job, Misty. But let’s get one thing crystal clear: at the first suspicion of any drinking, you’re out the door, okay?”
I nodded. “Agreed. That’s another incentive for me to stay sober.”
“When can you start?”
“I can collect my stuff now and be back in an hour.”
She glanced at her watch. “I won’t be here.” Reaching into the inner pocket of her jacket, she produced a shining key. “Here, take this and let yourself in when you get back. I’ll call Ashley and tell her to get a taxi home today… but starting tomorrow, you’ll be picking her up.” She smiled. “Welcome, Misty.”
I stood, my hands clasped before me. “Thank you, Ms. Urquart.”
“Call me Ursula.” Reaching out for my hand, she shook it just as firmly as before, but then took a heartbeat longer to let go. For a second, my gaydar flickered, but then I put it out of my mind. She was a little too old for me, though I wouldn’t have kicked her out of bed if I’d had a few and was feeling randy. Still, I preferred my lovers to be younger than I am.
She walked me through the house and showed me my bedroom at the top of the house, across the landing from Ashley’s, then the bathroom we’d be sharing. It was going to be great, not having to sleep on a couch for the first time in eight sodding weeks.
Ursula stole another look at her wrist. “Okay, I have to go back to the office. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
It sank in suddenly that I’d be preparing that dinner. “Er… what would you like me to cook?”
She shrugged. “Surprise me.”
*****
Two hours later, I’d collected my stuff from my friend’s flat and hauled it via the tube to Ursula’s house, then stashed it in my room, just in time to greet Ashley. I heard her key in the door and stepped into the hallway to greet her. At that precise instant, my life changed forever.
My heart seemed to stop and I felt dizzy. So this is what it’s like to be struck by lightning, I told myself. Not half as painful as I’d expected.
I’d been reborn. Now there would always be “before Ashley,” and “after Ashley.” Love, adoration, worship at first sight, I felt them all and more.
Her photo didn’t come close to doing her justice, nor would any description I can offer you here. She was simply utterly lovely, achingly beautiful and sweetly innocent all at the same time.
As I stood there gawping like a perfect fool, Ashley held out her hand. “Hi, you must be Misty. Mum rang to let me know you’d be here. I’m Ashley.” I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. “So you’re our new au pair, huh? I hope you’re nicer than the last one — she could be right nasty.”
I swallowed, then somehow found my voice. “I’ll… um, try to be as nice as I can, Ashley.” God, I sounded so bloody stupid. I ached was to tell this girl how beautiful she was, but couldn’t summon up the adjectives to do her justice. Finally, I aimed my phone at her. “Uh, do you mind if I…?”
“Not at all.” Her smile was dazzling. “Here, let me do one of you.” She took the newest edition smartphone from her backpack and clicked off a shot of me. “I have to do my homework now. What’s for dinner?”
“Good question. I haven’t had a chance to see what you’ve got in the fridge.”
She hit me with that lovely smile again, and it felt like a caress. “Let’s go and have a look, then!”
She led me to the kitchen and opened the fridge door. I peered about inside. It was mostly empty, but there was a carton of eggs and some cheese that showed a hint of mold. It was a pretty big piece, though.
“How about omelettes?” I asked.
“With chips?”
I glanced around the kitchen. “I don’t see any potatoes.”
“We gotta have chips. We can go shopping after my homework’s done… say, in half an hour?”
“Good idea.” I could put it on my almost maxed out credit card, then get her mum to reimburse me.
“Cool! See you in a bit.” She ran upstairs, taking them two at a time. Me, I staggered back into the drawing room and flopped onto the settee, my head in a whirl.
How could a girl of twelve tender years have such an effect on me? For those first few seconds when Ashley came in through the front door, my heart was pounding so hard that I half-expected it to give out completely. Up until then, my only sexual adventures with preteen girls had occurred back when I was a preteen myself. You know the sort of thing: pretend kissing, with one of us playing the part of the boy; showing our private parts to each other; mutual fingering while looking through a filched girlie mag.
Then there was one memorable occasion when an older girl offered to kiss me “down there,” and I eagerly said yes. It was a very long kiss, and looking back, I think she came while she was doing it. I enjoyed how it felt, but didn’t get off myself — in fact, I didn’t have an orgasm until my early teens, when other older women started hitting on me, usually succeeding.
Now my mind was in a total whirl. Nothing would ever be the same. I wasn’t even thinking about sex; that would’ve sullied the image of my perfect angel. I was simply filled up with an emotion that I can’t describe. Was I in love? If that was the case, I could see what all the fuss was about — all the songs, the movies, the novels, the world’s obsession with romance. It was as though until then my life had been in black and white, and suddenly it had burst into full colour.
*****
Ashley and I walked to Gloucester Road where there were a few small shops. She took hold of my hand, and suddenly I was in heaven. All the way there she chatted away merrily while I tried to make intelligent conversation, but my emotions left me feeling tongue-tied and awkward.
She, on the other hand, barely stopped talking — and in the course of our short shopping trip I learned a lot about her. Ashley wanted a dog but her mother was dead set against it. “Doesn’t want her stupid furniture to get messed up,” she told me, with a most enchanting pout. She had a few close friends at school, but none of them lived locally, so she seldom got to see them elsewhere. Her favourite subject was geography and she longed to travel the world — to Spain, in particular, so she could hear real flamenco music played in smokey back-street bars by swarthy gypsies. She loved cute sweaters, preferred dresses to jeans and hated thongs. Just how that subject came up, I can’t recall, but it amused me, because I hate them, too. She liked to ice skate and often traveled on the tube to Richmond, where there was a rink.
All in all, just an ordinary young girl… were it not for her amazing beauty, which seemed to colour the very world around us as we strolled together, hand in hand. I ached to tell her how lovely she was, how her innocence seemed to radiate like the sun itself, bathing everything in its warm glow, making me feel as I was in the presence of something holy. Until then I’d been a non-believer, but now I had someone to worship.
Not wanting to frighten her, I said none of these things, carefully restricting my comments to the mundane.
We found a convenience store and bought some oven chips that I could simply drop into very hot oil, and they’d come out as crisp and golden as I’d promised her mum. We also bought tomatoes, mushrooms and asparagus. I knew that I was going to have to hone my cooking skills enough to equal the claims I’d made, but figured that I could find recipes on the internet and practice them during the day when I was alone in the house.
“I’ll do some serious shopping tomorrow,” I told Ashley. “What kind of stuff do you like?”
“Macaroni cheese!”
“I can do better than that. Ever had pasta Alfredo?”
She glanced up at me quizzically, causing my pulse to race again. “What’s that?”
“Mac cheese on steroids. You’re gonna love it.” I could always buy Alfredo sauce in a jar and pretend that I’d cooked it from scratch.
Later, when I cooked dinner, the cheese melted into the omelette, its age lost once I’d trimmed the moldy bits off. As for my chips, they were just as I’d promised, and Mum was suitably impressed. It seemed I’d got off to a good start.
*****
The next day Ashley peeped into my room, saw I had a guitar, and pleaded with me to teach her how to play it. So that evening, after dinner, we had a brief impromptu lesson. We used the drawing room, as I thought Ursula might be a little reluctant for her daughter and me to be shut up together in a bedroom, either hers or mine.
We placed two upright chairs facing each other and passed the guitar back and forth. You may have noticed that playing the guitar while sitting down requires you to part your legs. Professional players simply lay the instrument across their left thigh, but the body of the guitar would’ve obscured my view up her skirt, so I told her to use her right thigh — which to my mind, makes playing easier anyhow. I would show her how a chord was fingered, then pass the guitar to her and she’d try it. Each time Ashley handed it back to me, her legs would remain parted. Was she oblivious to my stolen glances, or was it that she simply didn’t care? Either way, the glimpses I got of her white cotton knickers thrilled me to the quick. I took several pictures of her with my phone, and one of them had a great view between Ashley’s thighs. Luckily, she didn’t ask to see any of the shots I took.
It was a short first lesson, as her fingers quickly became sore from pressing on the strings. “Show me your hand.” I said when she complained. Her fingers were long and narrow, perfect for the guitar. “Don’t worry, it’s just that your fingertips need to toughen up. Trim the nails on your left hand and let them grow on your right.” I gave her a big smile. “You did very well for a beginner, Ashley. I’m proud of you.” Just the touch of her hand made my pulse race.
At nine o’clock, when she went to bed, I knocked on Ashley’s door to bid her goodnight. She lay there, her sweet face just above the folded back top sheet, smiling at me. I sat on the bed, leaned in and kissed her cheek. My eyes were brimming with tears of love that I did my best to conceal.
Gently closing the door, I went across the landing to my own room and lay down, wondering what I’d gotten myself into. There I was, head over heels in love with a girl of twelve. Mind you, I didn’t see my obsession as perverted in any way. No, my love was pure and true. All I wished for was her happiness.
As I lay there hugging my pillow, I dreamed of being the one who led Ashley through the next stage of her young life. I knew that I could make her transition to womanhood much happier than my own had been, with its rejections and heartbreak, the endless longing for what I could never have. I could make her love me, and return that love ten times over.
But first, I had to secure my position as au pair. All I had going for me thus far was that Ashley seemed to really like me, and that Ursula’s sister was a fellow alcoholic. But then I remembered the little flicker that had registered on my gaydar the first time I’d spoken to Ursula, an instinct that was nearly always dead-on reliable. Beneath her business-like exterior, I thought, lurked a woman who might find me desirable — and if a sexual connection could be forged with the mother, I’d be safely on the road to bedding the daughter.
That said, it seemed far too early for me to make a move on Ursula, even if she seemed interested. I chose to play it by ear, and if an opportunity presented itself, I’d seize it with both hands.
*****
The days rolled by. I worked assiduously to keep the house clean and tidy, so Ursula would have no reason to let me go. I looked up recipes on the internet and practiced cooking them during the day when I was on my own, so I could feed them into the garbage disposal if they turned out badly.
Every afternoon I helped Ashley with her homework, the two of us up in her room, seated side by side at her desk, our heads close together, hips and shoulders occasionally touching, chatting and laughing together. A strong bond was forming between us.
Occasionally, Ursula would look at me in a way that made my body pulse with arousal. She never gave out any overt signals that she was attracted to me, but my intuition recognised that there was something there, that Ursula was already planning her first move.
It came even sooner than I’d expected. One late evening, after tucking Ashley in, I went down to the drawing room where I found Ursula relaxing on the settee, sipping a glass of red wine. She wore a classic little black number — form-fitting without being tight, coming down to just above the knee.
“You don’t have a problem with me drinking in your presence, do you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not at all. I have to live in the real world, after all. Your drinking won’t affect me.”
“Good, because I like a glass before bedtime.” From Ursula’s relaxed demeanor and the warmth in her voice, I suspected that she’d already had more than “a glass.”
Taking another sip from her glass, she eyed me up and down. I’d seen that look before — mostly in lesbian pick-up joints. “I’m not sure that I care for that tartan-shirt-and-jeans look of yours, Misty. You never seem to wear anything else.” Truth was, my wardrobe was based on what I could afford… and what tended to hold up the best through repeated wear. “You’re far too attractive to style yourself like a lumberjack, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. You’d look much nicer in a dress.”
“I like yours,” I said. “You have exquisite taste.”
She smiled. “Thank you. You know, I bet this would look even better on you. Why don’t you try it on? Come over here and unzip me.” She stood and turned around, presenting her back.
My heart was pounding like a jackhammer as I slowly approached her. Taking hold of the zipper with nervous fingers, I slowly pulled it down. Ursula let the dress fall to her ankles, revealing a pair of full cut, white nylon knickers, trimmed with lace. Nothing else.
Her body was exquisite. Her tits were small and firm and would never need a bra, and she had lean, strong legs, the kind I love most when they’re wrapped around my back. Her panties were snug enough to reveal the outline of her cleft, making it clear that she was shaven smooth.
Ursula stepped out of the dress, saying, “Your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I unzipped my jeans, remembering that I was wearing a pair of men’s briefs underneath, a look that drove my last girlfriend wild. Taking a deep breath, I tugged my jeans and underpants down in one fell swoop, stepped out of them and looked up at Ursula, my eyes burning into hers as I slowly unbuttoned my shirt and spread it wide, then shrugged it off and to the floor.
Her gaze riveted me to the spot as it slowly travelled down the length of my body, finally pausing at the sight of my own baby-smooth vulva.
“Misty, you’re gorgeous!” she breathed.
My suspicions were confirmed! She was gay all right — I could read the desire in her eyes. I let her look at me for a beat, then picked up her dress from the floor, stepped into it and pulled it over my hips, turning my back to let her zip me up.
Ursula ran her hands down my sides and over my bum to smooth it down, then stood back. “It’s a perfect fit. You look much more elegant now than you do in those ratty jeans.”
Fine by me, I thought. If she likes femmes, I can do femme. By that point, I’d have crawled through a minefield to keep this job and get closer to Ashley.
“Thanks for letting me try it on,” I said, turning my back to her again, this time so she could unzip me. I let the dress fall and turned to face her as I stepped out of it.
She gazed at my nakedness, absently licking her lips. Finally, she spoke. “One day soon when I have time, we’ll go shopping together, and I’ll buy you a decent wardrobe.” She held up a hand before I could reply. “No, don’t say anything — I can afford it, and seeing you looking nice is worth every penny.” Moving over to where the dress lay, she bent down to pick it up. “Until then, why don’t you keep this dress? Think of it as a token of appreciation for all you’ve done for Ashley… and for me.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Still completely nude, I sat down in an armchair just opposite the settee. Now that I knew where this was going, I studied Ursula as a potential sex partner. Mind you, I wasn’t averse to fucking adult women, despite my obsession with Ashley. The way I saw it, since I had no idea if I’d ever entice that sweet little twelve-year-old into bed, why not take the edge off with her mum?
Seating herself on the settee, Ursula took a sip of wine. She gazed over the glass at my thighs which were primly pressed together. I knew that pretending to be modest while naked or scantily clad could usually be counted on to drive older women frantic with lust. I waited for a few heartbeats, then parted my legs just a few inches, enough to give her a glimpse of my cunt.
“If you don’t mind,” I said, “I’m not going to bother getting dressed. I’d only have to take it all off again when I go to bed.”
“I don’t mind a bit,” she said, smiling.
I lay back in the deep comfort of the chair, casually spreading my knees another six inches or so.
Ursula’s eyes widened, then she spoke again. “I hope you don’t mind me staring at you, Misty. It’s just that you’re so beautiful. Your figure is perfect… I love girls with nice small tits. Big floppy ones turn me off.”
Now I was in full exhibitionist mode, letting Ursula see everything I had. “No, I don’t mind you staring. You can look all you like. I love showing off my body. When girls look at me, I get tingly all over.” I was lewdly displaying myself, thighs as far apart as the arms of the chair would allow.
“God, your cunt is beautiful,” she murmured, as if talking to herself. Then her eyes met mine. “Um, you’re okay with me calling it that, right?”
I laughed. “Oh, yeah. I like it when girls talk dirty.” Hooking my knees over the arms of the chair, I opened my legs as wide as they’d go. “Keep looking at my cunt, Ursula, look long and hard.” I placed both hands flat on my tummy and slowly slid them down until my fingers were able to spread my lips apart, revealing the pink grotto within.
“Oh, my God,” she croaked, pushing herself off the settee and going down on her knees in the plush carpet. As if hypnotized, she began to crawl towards me, her eyes riveted to my pussy.
I held up a hand, the palm facing her in a “stop” gesture. “Stay there, Ursula. I’m not going to let you touch me.” A look of acute distress crossed her face. “Not yet, at least. Perhaps one day soon, but tonight, I just want you to look.” With that, I plunged two fingers deep into my vagina, as far as they could go, then took them out to suck on, smearing the thick honey all over my mouth. Then I placed those fingers on either side of my clit and rapidly worked them up and down — my favourite way to masturbate. Ursula was on hands and knees, just three feet away, her eyes locked on the action.
“I’ve never let anyone watch me do this,” I said — overlooking, for the moment, my preteen primary school antics. “You’re the first, and I fucking love it. Take a picture with your phone. Take lots of pictures and show them to your dyke friends. Hell, put them on the internet so the whole world can watch me.” I was amazed by my own boldness, but it felt so amazingly good to let myself go in such a lewd, nasty way.
Ursula sat back on the settee and fumbled through her handbag on the end table, spilling half the contents in the process. Finally her shaking hand emerged with a phone. Thumbing it on, she started taking pictures. “Zoom in and get some close ups,” I told her. The flash went off half a dozen times, then she put the phone down on the coffee table and thrust a hand down the front of her knickers.
“Oh, this is perfect,” I said. “Go ahead, finger your pussy! I love to see a woman make love to herself. Now, I want to watch you come. Go on, fuck yourself with your fingers, then suck them clean and get a nice taste of your cunt. Mine tastes marvelous — if you’re good, you might get to sample it someday.”
Ursula sucked on her fingers, then roughly shoved her knickers down past her knees until they ringed her ankles. Her thighs were now spread wide apart to display her cunt which, like mine, was shaved bare. Her face and chest were deeply flushed.
We both worked vigourously to bring ourselves off and, as I anticipated, she came first. With a loud cry, her legs slammed together, trapping her hand. She went rigid for a moment, eyes squeezed tightly shut — then with a loud release of breath she went limp, her head falling back.
I stopped frigging myself, licked my fingers clean and picked up my clothes and the little black dress. I stood for a second, looking at her.
“How did you know I’m gay?” I asked.
“You mentioned the ‘Just for Today” group. My sister’s a member. It’s mostly lesbians, right?”
I laughed, nodded and went upstairs to my room to finish myself off. Always leave them wanting more, I thought.
Continue on to Chapter 2