Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Rachael Yukey

A siren howled. Pine forest on either side of the narrow gravel road embraced the ambulance as it decelerated hard before taking the sharp curve. Shadows cast by the headlights on this moonless night gave the woods an eerie, haunted quality.

In the passenger seat, I was lacing up my boots. Terry and I had been asleep in his bed when the pager sounded just after two AM. Accelerating out of the curve, Terry swore under his breath as the tires skated a bit on the soft macadam.

“I don’t miss much about LA, but goddamn it, I do miss all of the friggin’ roads being paved,” he said, pushing the rig up to around 45 MPH — as fast as he dared on this murderous stretch.

I could think of nothing to say. My boots securely laced, I popped open the laptop and began creating a new incident.

“What are the odds?” Terry was saying. “What are the fucking odds? A second call for a teenage kid in less than forty-eight hours? Jesus Christ.”

The dispatch had given us little to go on. Seventeen-year-old female, behaving abnormally, possible overdose. Officers were en route.

The radio squawked. “Franklin County to Bronning Ambulance.” Speaking of dispatch —

I plucked the mic from its clip. “Go for Bronning.”

“County deputies are on scene; they report a female semi-responsive and having convulsions. No signs of drug paraphernalia on scene, patient’s mother states that the patient came home acting strangely. Officers would like to know your ETA.”

I glanced out the window and considered. Our destination was on the outside edge of the Bronning Ambulance service area, in a little town called Roers.

“About five minutes,” I replied.

Terry made a right turn onto a recently repaved stretch of blacktop. The smooth whine of the turbo kicking in made for an almost harmonious counterpoint with the siren as he rapidly accelerated. He pegged the speedometer at just over eighty.

“You thinking meth?” he asked.

“Could be. Could be a bunch of other stuff, too.”

The rig crested a slight rise, and a dim glow appeared in the distance. Roers, a wide spot in the road masquerading as a town, boasted a grand total of three streetlamps. As we pulled into town, braking hard, I caught a glimpse of flashing lights down a side street.

“Take the next right,” I told Terry, shutting down the GPS and stuffing my phone into a sweatshirt pocket. Rounding the corner, we pulled up in front of a white house with two County Sheriff’s Department cruisers parked out front. Roers isn’t big enough to rate its own police force.

“Bronning Ambulance to Franklin,” I said into the mic. “On scene.”

As we hustled across the front lawn, I sized the place up with the automatic ease of long practice. A very old house, possibly a century or more, but with recent siding, a good roof, and a well-kept yard. Not your typical overdose scene. A sheriff’s deputy awaited us on the front porch. Cindy Koep.

“She’s in the living room,” Cindy informed us. “She’ll get all animated and start convulsing and chattering a lot of nonsense, then she’ll go almost unconscious. It’s happened twice since I got here.”

The living room was organized, clean, and full of relatively modern furniture. The only people present were a second sheriff’s deputy, and a woman in her late thirties with puffy eyes who was wearing a bathrobe. What it lacked was a teenage girl.

“She ran into the bathroom and locked it about a minute ago,” the deputy in the room informed us, jerking his thumb toward a closed door. “When I knock or call to her, she just laughs at me. We might have to break it down.”

Terry crossed the room, dropped the red bag he was carrying, and examined the doorknob. Shaking his head, he plunged a hand into the pocket of his chinos, coming up with a quarter, which he inserted into the groove at the center of the knob. The deputy who’d suggested smashing the door had the good grace to look embarrassed.

“What’s her name?” Terry asked the woman in the bathrobe.

“Samantha. We call her Sam.” The voice was high-pitched and shaky.

“Sam,” Terry called through the door. “I’m with the ambulance, and we want to make sure you’re okay. We’re going to open this door and come in now. Is that all right?”

The only response was a muted giggle. Terry twisted the quarter in the groove, and the male deputy stepped up alongside of him. Terry pushed the door open.

The girl was sprawled out on the floor, naked from head to toe, her clothing tossed carelessly in all directions. Pretty girl; athlete’s body. I recognized her as a student at the Bronning K-12.

She raised her head from the throw rug in front of the toilet, and a huge grin split her face, revealing perfect white teeth.

“Are we having a party?” she said, her voice exuberant. Then her head snapped back, and her limbs began to convulse. There was a strangled gurgling sound. Terry was alongside of the girl in an instant, squeezing himself into the narrow space and rolling her onto her side. White foam dripped from the mouth. Terry’s a great EMT partner on a critical call; he instinctively understands what his role is and doesn’t need his hand held.

I had the narcotics box in one hand. Snatching up the first-in bag with the other, I followed him into the bathroom. I perched myself on the edge of the tub, prying open the narc box as I did so. Terry was already unzipping the first-in bag with one hand, using the other to prevent the young woman from smashing her head against the toilet.

“Her airway’s clear,” he said. “I’m going to grab a blood sugar and some vitals, unless you want me to do something else first,”

“Perfect,” I replied.

As I drew a sedative into my syringe, I called out to the two cops in the living room. “Can you guys get our cot out of the rig and… do you know what a scoop stretcher is?”

“I’ll get the scoop stretcher,” said a familiar voice.

Terry and I both looked up in surprise. George Fronse was standing in the bathroom doorway, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. It wasn’t unusual for the small-town cops in the area to slip a little out of their jurisdictions to assist sheriff’s deputies, but I’d never seen George come this far afield before.

George headed outside with the two deputies, and I plunged a needle into the girl’s upper arm. Observing with satisfaction that Terry was getting a blood sugar reading and had the portable pulse oximeter clipped to a finger, I glanced up at the doorway. Sam’s distraught mother stood there, hands on the doorframe as if on the verge of collapse.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “your name is…?”

“June.”

“Does Sam take any medications on a regular basis, June?”

“No.”

“Allergies that you know of?”

“N… no.”

“Anything like this ever happen before?”

“Never.”

“Do you know where she was before she came home?”

June shook her head. “No idea. I didn’t know she was still out until I heard her come in and fall down. She went out to meet up with some friends in Bronning, but she was supposed to be home hours ago.” The woman’s voice was edging upwards in pitch, and she was starting to seem a little unhinged.

Give her a job to do. “Can you get us a blanket or something to throw over her?”

The convulsions died away as the sedative kicked in. Terry rolled the girl onto her back, peering into her mouth as he did so. Sam groaned and tried to twist her head away, but her strength seemed to have deserted her. Her eyelids fluttered. I wrapped a rubber tourniquet around the upper arm and poked around for an IV site.

“She’s tachy,” said Terry. “Pulse around 140. Everything else I’ve checked is pretty normal except that her pupils are pinpoint. She’s protecting her own pipes for the moment, but I have a nasal airway ready.”

I taped the IV and saline lock to the arm as Terry covered the girl with a blanket supplied by her mother, then took a moment to consider my options. The pinpoint pupils screamed opioid overdose, but that didn’t quite gel with the rest of what I was seeing. Terry was taking a blood pressure. Might as well see what he gets before we go nuts here.

I became aware of people in the doorway. George was holding the scoop stretcher, the two deputies hovering right behind him.

“Pressure is 78 over 40,” Terry said, his voice pensive. “Some kind of distributive shock, maybe? I move that we load.”

“Motion carried,” I said.

The scoop stretcher is a nifty contraption that splits in the middle so you can slip it under the patient from either side; ideal for narrow spaces like this bathroom. Sam seemed almost comatose as we lifted her with the device, carried her to the cot, and strapped her down. While Terry and George were securing the straps, I started a bag of fluids and hung it on the cot’s collapsible pole. As the cot was shoved into the back of the ambulance, Sam’s head lifted off the pillow.

“What the FUCK?” she howled. “What the hell kind of party is this? Why am I tied to the bed, you sick bastards?”

I hauled myself into the rig through the back door, switching the monitor on while still in motion. Sam’s mother, still in her bathrobe, tried to climb in behind me. Terry gently took her by the shoulders.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “We’ll need you to wait out here. We’ll be a few minutes getting her on the monitor, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“You mean I c-can’t ride with her?” The woman’s voice was jagged, her eyes deranged. She was visibly trembling.

“You can, but it would have to be in the front. If you can drive yourself, that’d be better. Then you’d have a way to get home.”

She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then turned on her heel and stormed into the house. Terry climbed in, slamming the door behind him. I drew meds up into three syringes, labeling them as I went. Terry got Sam, who was still raving, hooked up to the monitor.

“Sam,” I said, “can you tell me what happened tonight?”

“Nothing. Nothing is what happened… oh my God!”

I looked up. Terry was adhering ECG electrodes just below Sam’s left breast.

“Is this guy grabbing my tits?” the girl yelled. “Is that what’s happening right now?”

She began to convulse again, but this time I was ready. Selecting one of the preloaded syringes, I attached it to the line and pushed the med. The convulsions slowed a few seconds later, and the girl’s head dropped to the pillow.

“To hell with this… any reason I shouldn’t put a nasal in?” said Terry.

“Go for it. I’m going to try and maintain roughly this level of sedation, since every time she comes around she starts seizing. It’s going to be a balancing act; I don’t want to push her so far under that I have to intubate. I’m toying with the idea of throwing some Narcan at her.”

Terry’s eyes narrowed as he slid a rubber tube into the girl’s right nostril. “Do you actually think it’s opioids?”

“Not really, but I also don’t know what the hell it is, and her pupils are pinpoint. It won’t hurt, and it might help.”

Terry sat back in the jump seat, shaking his head. “She’s tripping balls, but the symptoms are all mixed up. What the fuck?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never seen anything like it, even with mixed narcotics. Let’s get moving. Run hot to Melville.”

“All right,” he said. “Give me a yell if you need anything.” Stripping off his gloves, Terry exited the box through the side door.

The front door slammed, the siren sounded, and I turned my attention back to the semi-comatose young woman before me. As the ambulance eased into motion — glad Terry knows better than to floor it — I studied the monitor. The fluid bolus wasn’t helping; the blood pressure had gone down, not up. Despite the sedative, the girl’s heart was racing.

I pulled my sweatshirt over my head and tossed it into the jump seat, wishing for a moment that I was at work, where I have more meds at my disposal. On the Bronning truck, anything I’ve got for a fast blood pressure boost would also accelerate the already racing heart. The fluid bag ran out; I replaced it with another. The next blood pressure I took was even lower than before. Damn it; no choice.

Moving quickly, I selected two more vials from the med box. The ambulance hit a pothole, and one of them flew from the bench seat and onto the floor, lodging itself beneath the cot. Oh. Shit. Icy fingers gripped my heart. Of course it’s the goddamn Adenosine that hit the deck; it’s the only thing I don’t have another vial of. Cursing the depleted supply budget, I scrabbled around blindly, giving silent thanks when my fingers closed around the tiny bottle.

Returning to my seat, I drew up both meds, putting one aside. That’s to fix what the first one might do to you. Sorry, sweetheart.

I diluted the Epinephrine in some saline, then pushed a small amount of the mixture, keeping one eye on the monitor. My heart sank. I’d seen Epi increase the heart rate before, but never to this extent. The cardiac rhythm on the monitor was changing from a fast version of normal to something a bit more terrifying.

I hit the button on the monitor to take another blood pressure. While waiting for it, I attached my second syringe to the medication port on the drip set, wrapping my other hand firmly around the fluid bag. The trouble with Adenosine is you have to push it fast, and chase it with something else to get it to the heart before it loses its potency.

The new blood pressure reading came up. It was lower than I would have liked, but out of the danger zone. The heart rate, on the other hand, was spiking as high as 200 beats per minute. Fuck my life.

I slammed the plunger on the syringe as hard as I could with my right-hand thumb, squeezing the fluid bag with my left hand to push the med in faster. My eyes were glued to the monitor. The ECG waveform scrambled itself for a second, then realigned – to exactly what it had been before.

“Fuck,” I murmured. Protocols suggest trying a second dose of Adenosine, but thanks to the broke-ass supply budget, I didn’t have any more. Even as the thought flashed through my mind, I was reaching across Sam’s semi-comatose body, yanking down the saddlebag zipper on the right side of the monitor and pulling out the defibrillator patches.

I fumbled with the adhesive backing, cursing my lack of fingernails, and stuck them onto the girl’s chest. Sam groaned, muttered something unintelligible, and tried to lift her head. I switched the monitor to defibrillate and hit the sync button, then snatched up one of the syringes that I’d preloaded before we took off. Here’s a little more sedation, hon… believe me, you don’t want to feel any part of what I’m about to hit you with.

As the monitor charged, I cast my eyes around the ambulance, running a fast mental checklist. Any gods out there, if you feel like throwing me a bone so I don’t have to do this, now’s the time.

I turned my eyes back to the monitor, let out a heavy sigh, and hit the big red shock button. Sam’s body convulsed, and despite the sedation a wail escaped her lips. Almost immediately the heart rhythm on the monitor transformed itself into something more sane, with a rate much closer to normal.

I sat back, my body coated in sweat. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I registered that the ambulance was slowing, pinpricks of light visible through the tiny windows. Melville… thank the gods.

Mopping my brow with a hand towel, I shifted myself to the captain’s chair at the head of the cot, plucked the radio mic from its clip, and called the hospital.

***

“What did the doc say?” asked Terry as he eased the ambulance into a broad curve. Getting back to Bronning from Melville is a thirty minute straight shot down a decent stretch of state highway; a far cry from the crappy country roads we’d taken to get to Roers.

I took a sip of the orange juice Terry had bought for me on the way out of town.

“Not much,” I said. “He wasn’t sure what it was, either. He’s going to fax a copy of the labs and tox screen to the station when he gets them – maybe that’ll shed some light.”

“You had the defib patches on her chest,” he said. “Did you girls have a fun game of truth or dare, or did shit get real in the back?”

“I cardioverted her.”

“Holy shit.”

I took another sip of my juice, chewing the inside of my cheek as I studied the ECG rhythm strip in my hand.

“I know, right? I’ve never had to do it to anyone that young before. Not even close. But I had to push epi to fix her blood pressure, and that sped her heart up and pushed her into SVT. I hit her with some Adenosine, it didn’t work, so I zapped her.”

“Jesus.”

We rode in silence for awhile. My fingers beat a furious rhythm on the laptop, polishing off the narrative section of my report. Terry munched on one of the cookies he’d picked up at the 24-hour Holiday station in Melville, taking slugs of coffee in between.

Finally, he said what both of us had been thinking. “Have you ever seen Fronse drive that far to assist the county mounties?”

I held up a finger, typed two more sentences, then closed the laptop and looked at him across the console.

“I’ve been a volunteer in this town for seven years,” I said, “and George has been police chief the entire time. I’ve never seen him go more than three or four miles outside the township on an assist before. This was more like eight, and it was just a teenage girl tripping out. Yeah, I was surprised.”

Terry restlessly tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. The ambulance rounded another bend, and the lights of our hometown could be seen a few miles in the distance.

Terry picked up the mic. “Bronning Ambulance to Franklin — we’re back in service.” He glanced over at me.

“Maybe,” he said, “because it was a suspected OD, and everyone knows this little stretch of Nowheresville is a motherfucking hotbed of gang activity, our boy George figured the delicate flowers comprising the Sheriff’s Department needed their hands held by a big strong man like himself. You know, so they didn’t go crying to their mommies when they got chased out of the yard by mutant zombie chickens packing shivs and wearing juvie colors?”

I had chosen to take a sip at exactly the wrong moment, and when I snorted laughter, orange juice shot painfully into my nasal cavities and began dribbling from my nose. When Terry says things like this, it isn’t so much what he says. It’s the way he says it.

“Jesus,” I said, pawing around on the console for the box of tissues. “you did that on purpose.”

“I wish I’d done it on purpose.”

Suddenly we were both laughing.

***

Terry was already asleep. Pressed close to him in the dark, wearing one of his T-shirts and an old yellow pair of his sweatpants, I hoped that I would be able to drop off quickly. It was a little after four. Terry had left a note for Halee on the counter: find anything for breakfast (and no, that doesn’t mean you can raid the bar), keep an eye on your sisters, do not wake us up for anything less than the discovery of an island made of chocolate pizza. Do try to not light the house on fire; it’s old and dry. Love, The Master of All He Surveys.

I felt myself drifting, and welcomed it. Darkness overtook me.

I sat straight up, a strangled cry escaping my lips. Terry started, rolled onto his back, but didn’t wake. I was trembling all over, bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. Oh Christ no — it really wasn’t a fluke. The dreams are coming back. 

I’d been lucky the last two times; I’d awakened before the worst of it. Not this time. I was already crying.

I looked over at Terry, watching his chest rise and fall as I tried to steady myself. I thanked the gods my scream had not disturbed him. But the next one will, or the one after that.

Tears oozed from beneath my eyelids as the dream replayed itself, and the memory attached to it forced its way to the surface despite my best efforts to keep it at bay. For one insane moment I wanted him to wake up; wanted him to hold me in his arms until the trembling subsided and my heart stopped racing. None of that, girl. Don’t be a fucking sissy.

I slipped from between the sheets and stood, putting weight on the creaky old hardwood as quietly as possible. I can’t let him see me like this. Nobody can see me like this.

Working as quietly as I could in the dark, I gathered my clothes, then shoved my pager and phone into the pockets of Terry’s sweats. I’ll return his stuff tomorrow; right now I just need to get the fuck out of here.

I paused for a moment, peering down at him through a haze of tears. I’m not exactly in love with Terry, but for the first time I realized that aside from being a fantastic lay, he’s far and away the best friend I’ve got. More than that, his house is the only place I feel like I’m at home. Ask yourself this, honey: how many times can you flake on him before he’s finally had enough? But then… maybe it’s better that way. Maybe you need to distance yourself from Halee before you do something irrevocable.

And then I was really crying. Silent tears poured down my cheeks as I reached down and brushed a lock of hair from his sleeping face. I stifled a sob, and that somehow made it worse. Turning on my heel, I slipped out the door, pulling it gently shut behind me.

The river of tears continued to flow as I made my way down the wide front staircase with its hand-carved rails, and I didn’t bother to wipe them away. Remembering that my laptop was in the living room, I altered course. So intent I was on grabbing the damn thing and making my escape that I didn’t notice the dark shape on the couch, or the soft glow of a laptop screen. When the shape looked up and said, “Hey,” I dropped the pile of clothing to the floor, barely stifling a scream.

“Whoa — sorry,” said Halee. “I didn’t mean to scare you. What’s going on?”

“You didn’t see me,” I said. I was surprised and dismayed when the words came out as a choked sob. You’re pathetic, you know that?

Halee sat up straight, swinging her legs off of the couch. “Hey — are you all right?”

Humiliated beyond measure, I squatted down and began hastily gathering up the pile of clothing I’d dropped.

“Fine,” I said, trying with only partial success to steady my voice, “but you didn’t see any of this, okay? What are you doing out here at this hour anyway?”

“I heard you guys come in,” the girl replied, “and I couldn’t get back to sleep after that. It happens sometimes. I come down here because the Wi-Fi in my room sucks. Seriously, what’s wrong? And where are you going?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just forget you saw me, okay?” My voice was still unsteady, but the waterworks had stopped for the moment. Progress, sort of.

“Not likely,” she said. “I kind of feel like we need to talk.”

No, honey, I thought, it’s better if we don’t. The clothing gathered once more in my arms, I rose to my feet.

“In case you missed it, I’m not in a great place right this minute,” I said.

“I can see that. What’s going on, anyway? Did you fight with my dad?”

“Halee — no. He doesn’t know I’m leaving. It’s not about him, or us. Hell, what am I saying? There isn’t any us.”

Halee put her laptop aside and rose in a single smooth motion. Coming around the coffee table, she scooped the armload of clothing from my grasp, dropping it into her dad’s recliner. Then she faced me directly, looking up into my eyes in the moonlit room, her body bare inches from mine. She grasped my hands.

“Do you want there to be?” she demanded. “I mean, with my dad?”

“Halee…”

“Do you?” her voice remained low, but with an urgency that was almost a hiss.

“Halee, I don’t know what you’re…”

She dropped my hands and turned away, tilting her head back to gaze up at the ceiling. “The hell you don’t,” she said in a low, savage tone. “Don’t you think I know what’s going on here? I realized it when you went with us to the Melville pool… what was that, six months ago? We shared a changing room, and I saw the way you were watching me. I still see it, every time you think I’m not looking.”

So there it was. No hiding from my shameful secret any more, at least not with Halee. My mind was in overdrive, trying desperately to sort out how to get out of this with minimum damage done. I stepped past her, rounded the coffee table, and plopped down on the opposite end of the couch from where she’d been sitting. She followed me cautiously, almost hesitantly, then chose to sit next to me on the middle cushion instead of returning to her original spot. She perched on the edge of the couch, looking as if she might take flight at any second. She was eyeing me intently.

“What do you want me to say?” I got out at last. It came out as little more than a whisper. “I’m not a good person, Halee. I’ve been carrying this around for… God, for a long time. I shouldn’t be attracted to girls your age. But I am. If anyone found out, I’d get locked away, and rightly so.”

“Is that the real reason you come here?” she wanted to know. “Because I’m totally confused about what there is with you and Dad, or what you want from him.”

“No,” I told her, “that isn’t why. Hell, sometimes it’s why I stay away. With me and your dad… It’s complicated, Halee. He’s a great guy and I love him to death, but there’s always something standing between us. We don’t work as a couple, and we both know it. So it’s just… casual, you know? That works for us. But then I come over here, and I see you and…” My voice caught in my throat.

Halee smiled mirthlessly. “And Naomi?” she said.

I covered my face with my hands, fighting tears. Finally I found the strength to push on. “Sometimes it gets away from me,” I said. “I dwell on it, and I look at you… well, inappropriately. But Halee… I swear to you, I never intended to act on it. What happened when we were playing cards, that’s the most I’ve ever done, and I’m just sorry I didn’t stop it before I did. I had no right to do that to you, and I promise, I’ll stay away from now on…”

I was crying again. Softly this time, tears tracking slowly down my face. I bent my head low, my long hair falling forward and obscuring my vision.

Then Halee’s palm cupped my chin, lifting my head to face her. None too gently, either. She looked furious.

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” she snapped. “You’re treating me like a little girl who can’t make up her mind about anything. Do you really not get that I let that happen because I wanted something to happen?”

That brought me up short. Of course, it had been in the back of my mind, but I’d been too entrenched in self-loathing over the whole incident to give it much headspace. But I realized after a moment that it didn’t change anything.

I drew in a steadying breath. “Look,” I said, stubbornly refusing to allow any more tears to fall, “that doesn’t make it right. It isn’t right. I need to stop. And I will, I swear.”

Halee seemed to mull this over. “This is dumb,” she said at last. “It’s like… like taking something little, and making it big. I can go to dinner with you. I can have a Coke with you, or we can go swimming together. Nobody says you’re taking advantage of me if we do that stuff. But if we… we play footsie under the table, I didn’t really want to, because I’m too young and dumb to know what I want, right?”

I met her eyes. “You don’t really think we’re just talking about playing footsie, Halee.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh, for…” I watched as she visibly got a grip on her anger. “Of course I know that! Didn’t you hear anything I said while we were playing cards?”

She met my eyes, and the anger seemed to melt away. There was something dreamy in her gaze. “You asked me a question that I didn’t get to answer,” she said in a husky whisper. “The answer is yes; I have orgasms. I have one every time I hear the things you do with Dad. And when I… I touch myself, I listen to the sounds you’re making, and pretend I’m the one making you feel that way.”

I was frozen in place. Just who was seducing who here? Despite my emotional turmoil, my body was responding to this little vixen in all the right ways. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t allow it to go on. But Halee was still talking.

“Why is it okay,” she said, anger creeping into her voice once more, “for me to make myself feel that way, but not okay for you to do it for me, or the other way around… just because you’re older? But it’s okay if it’s anyone under eighteen? That doesn’t even make sense.”

I opened my mouth to speak, belatedly realizing I had nothing to say. I was sure there were a hundred good reasons right on the tip of my tongue, but goddamn if I could remember a single one of them.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “I do know that I hate myself every day for feeling this way, and it’d be worse if I acted on it.”

“Would it make a difference if I wanted you to act on it?”

“Do you?” It was a dangerous question, but I seemed powerless to extricate myself from this conversation.

“Yes,” she said. She shifted subtly on the couch, so our knees were touching. I wondered if she had any idea of the effect this was having on me.

“I think I’m like you,” she went on. “I’m not sure if I’m bisexual or just plain gay, but I know I like girls. I want to learn about being with girls, and I want to learn from you. Is that so wrong, when we both know you want the same thing?”

Her hands were on my thighs, and I knew this had gone far enough. Summoning the last shreds of resolve I possessed, I took her hands and moved them to her own lap.

“I’m sorry, Halee,” I said. I could feel the tears welling behind my eyelids.

She glared at me reproachfully. “Fine,” she said. “Whatever. Are you at least going to tell me why you’re running out of here in the middle of the night crying your eyes out? Maybe I can help.”

“I can’t,” I said. “That’s why I’m leaving, because I can’t talk about it, and I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. Can you please just keep this whole thing between us?”

She stared at me incredulously. “I guess, if that’s what you want. Don’t you think it’d be better to let someone help you?”

I stood up. “I have to go.”

Halee said nothing, just sat there on the edge of the couch, staring up at me. And suddenly the tears were flowing again. Not just flowing, gushing. Gathering up my things, I stumbled to the entryway, shoved my feet savagely into my boots, and fled into the night.

On to Chapter Five!

When frequent contributor Karin Halle sent this story my way, I knew we had to run it for our Christmas post. I broke records getting it edited and polished, so you good people could have an extra measure of Yuletide cheer. Thanks to Karin for writing it, to Amanda for posting it, and to all of you for being there to enjoy it. Happy Holidays! Yrs, JetBoy

by Karin Halle

With Christmas Day falling on the next Wednesday, George Helm’s timing could hardly have been worse – or more insensitive.

The Friday before, the accounting firm that employed him had closed down for the season. The next day, mere days before Christmas, George had informed his wife Anita that he was leaving her for a woman he’d met through his job.

His clothes and a few personal possessions had already been packed and put aside in an upstairs closet, ready and waiting for him to make a quick departure.

His announcement led to a major fight, complete with a great deal of shouting. At least there was no violence, other than the throwing of assorted household objects. The noise was, however, sufficiently loud that the neighbours were alarmed, and one of them, acting out of concern, had called the police.

The police appeared on the scene, but determined that no crime had been committed – neither George nor Anita was in danger, and the husband would soon be leaving anyhow. So the officers settled for giving a warning and referring the couple to a marriage counsellor, then they left. Actually, George managed to make his exit before the police did.

The entire shocking scene had by then become a neighbourhood spectacle, and quickly became the focal point of local gossip.

The following day, Anita received a visit from Maureen Carstairs, who lived across the street. She was concerned for Anita and wanted to make sure she was okay. She even invited Anita to join her and the family on Wednesday for Christmas dinner.

Anita assured her neighbour that she was doing well enough, considering her circumstances. “I appreciate the invite, Maureen… but I’d really prefer to have a quiet evening on my own.”

On Christmas Eve, Maureen’s fourteen-year-old daughter Josie came knocking.

“Hi, Ms. Helm,” the girl said when Anita answered the door. “How are you?”

“Doing as well as can be expected,” the woman replied with a shrug. She was wearing sweatpants and a snug t-shirt without a bra. Josie found herself stealing the occasional glance at the woman’s full breasts.

“Y’know, Mum really did mean it when she asked you to come for Christmas dinner, Ms. Helm,” she said.

“I know she did, honey, and I really do appreciate it. But… I’m just not in the mood for celebrating,” Anita patiently explained.

“We always have lots of people – we’re a big family. And they’re really nice… well, most of them.”

“All the more reason not to go, truth be told. I don’t feel very much like socialising either. I’m not even going to visit my parents – it’s just best for me to be on my own right now. You can understand that, I’m sure.”

Josie did understand, so after exchanging a few remarks about nothing much, she went home. Still, she couldn’t help but feel sad for her neighbour. She’s such a beautiful woman, too. Can’t imagine what her husband was thinking, walking out like that.

Early Christmas Day, the Carstairs family began to gather. Josie’s parents each had several siblings, so Josie had quite a few cousins. They were all older than her – some even married, with small children.

Maureen had plenty of help to prepare the dinner, so Josie wasn’t needed in the kitchen. She had no desire to join the clusters of grownups, who were discussing things that didn’t interest her, and she was even less inclined to mingle with the kids, who seemed to be everywhere she turned. The day was hot, house was crowded, it was incredibly noisy, and the atmosphere was quickly becoming stifling. Especially since Josie was the only teenager present.

Her mind kept drifting to Ms. Helm, on her own for the holiday. It’s not right, she told herself. No one should be completely on their own for Christmas. Maybe… maybe I could do something about that. 

In truth, Josie was feeling overwhelmed by the festivities in her own home, suddenly in need of a quiet refuge. Then again, she’d been thinking about how good Ms. Helm had looked in that t-shirt. Wonder what she’s wearing today?

Making a decision, she wandered to the kitchen where her mother and two aunts were busy piling food onto serving plates.

“Mum,” she began, “There’s lots of food, isn’t there? I mean, more than we need. We’ll have heaps left over, won’t we?”

“Yes, honey,” Maureen confirmed.

“So, Mum, I was wondering… wouldn’t it be good if I took some to Ms. Helm? I don’t like the idea of her being there by herself. Not on Christmas. I thought too, that… maybe I could stay over and eat with her. If she’s okay with that, I mean. You wouldn’t mind, would you? Me not being here, I mean. After all, there’s so many people around that nobody will even notice I’m missing!”

Maureen broke into an enormous smile. “I think that’s extremely thoughtful of you, darling. Of course you can!” Fetching a number of plastic storage containers, she began heaping food into them.

Josie left the house shortly after, carrying two shopping bags laden with portions from their holiday feast. No one had noticed her exit through the back door, and she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be missed by anyone. Maybe Uncle Simon, she thought, but I won’t miss him. Always patting me on the leg, touching my arms… She shuddered.

When she knocked on the door of the Helm house, no one answered. She knocked again, loudly, but once again there was no response. She’s got to be here, Josie told herself.  Preparing to go round to the back door, she paused in mid-step upon hearing movement inside the house.

An instant later, the door swung open. “Sorry to make you wait,” Ms. Helm said. “To tell the truth, I was lounging around in my knickers, so I grabbed something to put on.” She touched the lapel of her satin dressing gown.

Josie chose not to comment, but Ms. Helm’s revelation definitely caught her interest. She’d always thought of her neighbour as an attractive woman, and the idea that she wore nothing but panties under the colourful satin robe gave Josie a fluttery feeling in her tummy. She briefly wondered what kind of panties Ms. Helm had on. If she didn’t tie that robe too tightly, maybe I’ll get to see them for myself, she thought.

Suddenly it struck the teen that Ms. Helm was patiently waiting for her to explain why she was there. Omigosh, I’m staring at her like an idiot! It took a few seconds to drag her focus back to the reason for her visit.

“Ms. Helm… I don’t think anybody should be alone on Christmas,” Josie said. Thankfully, she’d rehearsed what she wanted to say on the way over. “I know you said you didn’t want to come to our place, so I thought it might be okay if I came to yours. And look! I’ve brought you dinner!” She held up one of the bags. “Merry Christmas.”

Anita didn’t even try to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, my goodness… that is so kind of you! I can’t say no this time, can I?” She beamed at the teenager. “Come in, please. And, and Merry Christmas to you, Josie.”

That smile touched Josie in an unexpected way. She’d always thought of Ms. Helm as pretty, but the way her face was lit up now took the woman to a whole new realm of beauty. The sight made her feel warm all over.

Following her neighbour inside, Josie mused, I wonder what it would be like to kiss her, then nearly gasped out loud. You shouldn’t think that! she admonished herself. But Pandora’s box had been opened, the idea planted in her head… and now Ms. Helm was giving her that smile again.

Thinking back, Josie realised that Ms. Helm hadn’t looked so happy, or so young, in quite a long while. Months, in fact. I guess she really was having marriage problems.

With the tension replaced by that dazzling smile and those laughing eyes, the years seemed to have melted from Ms. Helm’s face. As they made their way into the kitchen, Josie tried to work out how old the woman was. Let’s see. Mum’s forty-two and Ms. Helm… what, about ten years younger than that? So she’ll be in her early thirties, then.

Delving into the two bags, she took the containers out and opened them on the dining room table. Meanwhile, Anita set out plates and cutlery, then got a bottle of sparkling wine from the fridge, along with two glasses.

“So, what’s on the menu, Josie?”

“Everything!” the teen proudly announced. “Three cold roasted meats – beef, pork and lamb – plus potato salad and coleslaw. There’s hot stuff too: vegetables, baked bread and sausages. Um, let’s see – tomatoes, lettuce, fruit… and there’s two desserts: pumpkin pie and a chocolate cake roll.”

Anita had to laugh. “Goodness me! How many will be joining us tonight?”

Josie took in the sheer size of their feast, then turned to Anita with a shy grin. “Well, you’ll have plenty of leftovers for tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll have to come over tomorrow too, and help me eat them.” As Anita spoke, she opened the wine and filled the glasses, then set one before her guest.

“Mum doesn’t let me have a full glass,” Josie explained. “You know, because I’m fourteen.”

“Okay,” Anita said thoughtfully, “But what do you think? Can you handle a full glass?”

The teenager beamed. “Yes, I can, Ms. Helm. Thank you.”

“Doing all this for me proves that you’re not a child, so if you say it’s okay with you, it’s fine by me.”

“Thank you for treating me like a grown up, Ms. Helm.”

“Oh, and Josie… it’s not Helm any more. I won’t be using that name again. I’m going back to my maiden name, Tobin. You’ll be the first one to call me that in six years. Though now that we’re friends, you ought to call me Anita.”

Her chest swelling with pride, Josie said, “Thank you, Anita.”

Having a whole glass of wine, being treated as a friend by a grownup, especially one as beautiful as Ms. Helm… Josie’s day was getting better all the time.

They sat down together. “A toast to Christmas! And to friendship,” Anita declared, raising her glass high.

“To Christmas… and friendship,” Josie murmured, then they clinked glasses.

Friendship. The very word seemed to warm her soul. This was shaping up to be the best holiday meal she’d ever had. Just looking into Ms. Helm’s – Anita’s eyes made Josie feel good.

Over dinner they engaged in pleasant conversation. When Anita asked Josie about school, her questions were sincere, and she seemed to be genuinely interested in the teen’s personal life. For her part, Josie did her best to converse in a mature manner, wanting to make a good impression.

Neither of them was surprised that there was plenty of food left, even after they were both full.

“I told you, you’ll have to help me finish it off tomorrow,” Anita said again as they put the leftovers into the refrigerator. “That’ll be okay with your mum, won’t it? Tell her I’ll send her containers back when they’re empty.”

A little wine remained in the bottle, so Anita shared it out between them. They took their glasses into the living room and sat on the couch, relaxing together in a blissful silence.

Then Josie asked, “Do you think you’ll ever get married again, Anita?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt awful for being so insensitive.

“No fear!” Anita exclaimed, making a face. “It was the best thing that could’ve happened to me, losing that cunt!” When she saw the shocked look on Josie’s face, the woman quickly added, “Sorry, love. I shouldn’t say things like that around you.” Then she chuckled. “Which isn’t to say he doesn’t deserve it, mind.”

“Oh… it’s okay,” Josie replied. “I know that word, though if Mum or Dad ever heard me use it I’d get a tan on my backside.” She giggled, then cheekily added, “On my arse, I should say!”

Anita had to laugh at that. “You watch your language, young lady,” she said, wagging a finger at Josie, “or it’ll be me tanning your arse!”

The awkward moment now past, Anita answered the question. “Getting married again isn’t something I care to think about right now. In fact, I’m making it official: men are off my list for… well, maybe for good.” Then she shook her head. “Oh, don’t listen to me, Josie. Just because I had a bad experience, you oughtn’t to let that put you off boys.”

“No worries,” Josie replied. “Actually, I’m not much into boys anyway. Most of my friends are boy crazy, but I’m not.”

“Oh? Girls then?”

For a moment, Josie considered how she should answer, then finally replied, “I don’t know… I’ve never even been kissed, so it’s all kind of new to me. Maybe I need time to sort my feelings out.”

I probably do like girls, though, Josie told herself, knowing she was being evasive with Anita. Then again, she’d never told anyone about these occasional thoughts she had – not even her best friend, and definitely not her mum.

Reaching out, Anita lightly touched the girl’s hand. “Listen… I know how difficult it can be to be open about things like sex with your parents. I just want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk to when it comes to, well, personal matters… well, my door will always be open.”

Josie was taken aback at first, then she felt a warm surge of affection for Anita that left her glowing inside. She suspected that at least some of that warmth was from the wine they’d drunk, but didn’t let that throw her.

Still, the woman’s question nagged at her. Josie had never allowed herself to dwell for long on the topic of her sexuality, figuring she was too young to decide anyway. There were a few boys she thought of as attractive, but what about all the cute girls she knew? It’s so confusing! 

A sudden impulse to share these feelings proved too strong to resist. Clearing her throat, she spoke up.

“You’re right. There are things I’d like to talk about, y’know, with a grownup… and I like that you don’t, um, treat me like a little kid. So, you really don’t mind if I…?”

Anita gave Josie’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Not at all, love.” She studied the girl thoughtfully. “This is something to do with sex, then?”

“Yeah,” Josie replied with a nod. “The thing is, I haven’t put much thought into, um, how I feel when it comes to sex. Mostly I think of girls when I… when I… well, you know.” She felt her face grow warm, but fought to ignore it.

“Touch yourself? There’s no need to be embarrassed about that, Josie. Bloody hell, It’s the only kind of sex I have these days!”

Josie still felt a bit awkward, but part of that was due to the nearness of this beautiful woman, the frank conversation they were having… and a growing interest she felt in Anita. My gosh, do I have a crush on her? 

Then it occurred to her, as if for the first time, that she always thought about girls when she masturbated. It seemed perfectly obvious… yet somehow, hadn’t registered in her conscious mind. Did I honestly never notice? Or was I ignoring it, pretending that wasn’t really me? Two and two were beginning to add up.

Out of nowhere, she recalled an incident from a few weeks ago. She’d thought nothing of it at the time, but now…

She was sitting on the front porch reading, and across the street Anita was watering her front yard. Josie remembered that she’d forgotten about her book, watching as her neighbour, wearing tight shorts and a tank top, tended to her lawn.

And then, there was how she always seemed to admire the bodies of the more mature girls while they were getting undressed for gym class. At the time, she assumed it was all about anticipation of when her own frame would develop into a more womanly shape. Now, she suspected that her interest meant something more.

It was becoming increasingly obvious – two plus two equalled four.

When her focus returned to the present, she looked at Anita closely, trying to pick up the thread of their conversation. It had only been a few seconds, so she caught the gist of it right away.

Anita was talking about masturbation. “It’s perfectly normal – even good for you, I think,” she was saying. “I remember being your age. You’re what, fourteen? I’m thirty-one, and I get myself off nearly every night.”

That lodged a compelling image in Josie’s mind: the very lovely Ms. Helm, naked and spread out, eyes closed and mouth slack as she fingered her slit. Does she have hair down there, or does she shave? Josie wondered. Either way, imagining it gave her a deliciously shivery feeling, one that seemed to throb inside her knickers.

“For the last three years I was with that cunt George,” Anita continued, “he barely touched me. And when we did fuck – well, it was nothing like making love, that’s for certain. He was just stimulating his cock, and I was working off my frustration. Suppose I should have taken that as a sign.” She sighed.

Unbeknownst to Anita, the front of her robe had parted, revealing just enough of her breasts to steal Josie’s breath away.

Her pulse raced. Oh, God… it’s more than a crush, way more! I want to do things with her. Sex things.

Now that she’d finally teased out the question of her preference for females, Josie ached to do something about it… and the sight of Anita only kindled this newfound desire, coaxing it into a roaring inferno.

Staring down at her hands, Anita was oblivious of the effect her half-dressed state had on Josie. “Don’t get me wrong – I’m happy to be rid of George, and I know how to make myself feel good… it’s just having a lover that I miss. Someone to hold me, to make me feel special. Like I matter.”

At that, Josie had to speak up. “You do matter, Anita!” she protested. “I think that you’re… an amazing person, and you deserve to be happy.”

Surprised by the teen’s outburst, Anita glanced up, her surprise growing when she saw the warmth in Josie’s eyes. “Well… thank you. That’s very sweet.” She smiled, but it was tinged with a hint of sadness. Looking down at her glass, which had been empty for quite some time, she murmured, “I think, maybe… yeah, I’ll open another bottle.”

Don’t let her, Josie told herself. Something about Anita’s vulnerability encouraged her, though the wine she’d drunk also did its part to loosen the teen’s inhibitions. The time felt right for a bold move.

She shook her head. “Anita, no. “You don’t want more wine.” Reaching out, she placed a trembling hand on the woman’s knee. “There’s something else you need,” she continued, struggling to keep her voice calm and steady. “Something nice. Something special.”

Anita stared at her fourteen-year-old guest, struggling to work out what she was getting at. Is she honestly asking me to… no, that can’t be what she means! 

But it was. The girl’s craving was practically written on her face. God, when was the last time anyone looked at me that way…? She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of arousal, in spite of herself.

“Oh, no, sweetie,” Anita said, shaking her head. “We – we can’t do that!”

Josie only drifted closer. “We’re friends, right? Well, friends look out for each other, and care for each other. And I care about you. A lot!”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, young lady,” Anita said, fixing the girl with a stern look.

“I’m not drunk,” Josie protested. “I’m doing this because I want to.”

“What about this, then: you’re only fourteen, and – and I’m not gay!”

“Yeah, but you’re frustrated, and – and I’m excited! Anyhow, just ‘cause you do sex with a girl, that doesn’t make you gay,” Josie replied, folding her arms. She was putting on a bit of a front to conceal her nervousness, but something inside kept her going, insisting that yes, this was the right thing to do.

On the verge of a sharp retort, the woman took a deep breath, then sighed instead. “Look, Josie,” she said, “It’s sweet of you to, to offer me this… but let’s face it, there are a lot of reasons why we shouldn’t m-make love.”

She’s thinking about it, Josie told herself. I bet she really wants to, but she’s scared.

“I know why we should,” the girl countered. “You said you miss having someone to hold, someone who can make you feel wanted. Why can’t I be the one to do that?” She gazed into Anita’s blue eyes, watching them widen as the woman recognized her desire. “We… we could teach each other.”

Anita fixed her with a curious look. “Is this something you’ve, um, been thinking about, sweetie? I mean, I’ve got to ask… is that why you came over today?”

It took Josie a few seconds to get Anita’s meaning – then she gasped, horrified. “Oh, gosh, no! That’s not it at all! Please don’t think that. Ms. Helm!”

Startled by the girl’s outburst, Anita quickly raised a hand. “Sorry, love. Shouldn’t have said that. And it’s Anita, remember… not Ms. Helm, please.”

Josie made a face. “Oops! Sorry, I forgot.”

“No offence taken.” She studied Josie thoughtfully. “So, let’s talk about this. Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking. Help me understand, because…” She gestured helplessly. “Because I’m having a hard time, um, processing it.”

Josie took a deep breath. “I said I didn’t know before… but that’s not true. Actually, I’m pretty sure I like girls,” she said, trapping both hands between her knees. “No, I know I do. I used to think I liked some boys… but that was pretending, trying to make myself think I wasn’t really gay.” She looked up at Anita. “I am gay, though,” she said, then gave a shaky laugh. “I – I kinda just figured it out.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Anita pointed out, “but shouldn’t you be putting the moves on, I don’t know, some cute girl who goes to your school? Why in God’s name would you want sex with me? I’m practically middle aged!”

“Cause you’re beautiful,” Josie murmured. “I like you a lot. And… and cause I really want to see you in just your knickers.” She giggled when the woman noticed her parted robe and quickly pulled it closed, then fixed her once more with that needful gaze. “But mostly, I want to make you happy, Anita. It’s not right that you’re feeling lonely on Christmas. Won’t you let me help with that?”

Anita stared at the girl in disbelief, her body throbbing like an idling engine. She’d always defined herself as straight, but had long entertained occasional fantasies of sex with another woman. And since George’s departure, she had toyed more than once with the notion of visiting a lesbian bar and letting herself get picked up.

Now the opportunity to realise this hidden desire was within Anita’s grasp… only not with a woman, but a girl of fourteen! How was she expected to respond to that?

But she’s so sweet, so beautiful. And she wants me. In lots of ways, Josie could be the perfect lover. 

In spite of herself, Anita began to picture the girl naked… then began to wonder what it would be to touch her.

Sensing that Anita might be on the verge of giving in, Josie eased a hand beneath the hem of the woman’s robe, returning it to her warm, bare thigh.

Anita meant to push the teen’s hand away, then hesitated. Damn it all, anyway. I shouldn’t let this happen, but I… I like having her touch me! She sighed heavily. “Oh, Josie… what am I going to do with you?”

“You could kiss me,” the girl replied. “I’d like that… I’d like it a lot. Will you, Anita?”

She was going to refuse, telling Josie this wasn’t a good idea, the girl was only fourteen, too young to know what she really wanted… but somehow, Anita found herself moving closer until their mouths met. Closing her eyes, she drifted into the kiss

Josie had never really kissed anyone before, but she’d paid close attention to her friends when they discussed their experiences with boys, and quickly learned that slow, sensual kissing was the way to go, at least to start with. You’ll probably only get one chance to get this right, she told herself, so make it count!

As for Anita, it had been years since she’d experienced genuine passion – with her ex or anyone else. So when Josie kissed her, it was like coming home to a beautiful place she’d desperately missed. In spite of herself, she began to respond, allowing her lips to part slightly… and that was when Josie brought her tongue into play, kissing her neighbour like a lover.

Anita was giddy, overwhelmed and utterly smitten. No man had ever kissed her so sweetly, especially not her prick of an ex-husband. It sent her soul soaring. A whimpering sound seemed to be filling her ears, and she was less surprised than she might have been to recognise it as coming from her own throat.

Unable to say no to Josie’s precious gift, Anita returned the girl’s affection, her own tongue joining in this loving duet. As their kiss deepened, she could feel the gusset of her knickers growing hot and damp.

When she felt a hand slip between her thighs to touch her sodden panties, Anita felt a twinge of panic. “Josie!” she gasped. “You – you shouldn’t…”

But when Josie made no response, Anita wondered if she’d even spoken in the first place. Or maybe I didn’t really want her to hear me? After all, would it be so terrible if she let the girl have her way?

Then Josie wriggled a finger beneath the leg of her knickers – and just like that, Anita’s capacity to resist vanished like smoke as, for the first time in so very long, she knew the touch of a lover. Without another word, she lay back and simply let things happen to her.

In marked contrast, Josie was holding her breath. She was venturing into an unfamiliar world – a world in which even adults made mistakes. She’d never done anything sexual with another person, never touched anyone that way but herself.

Yet she was now seducing a grownup, a woman practically old enough to be her mum!

Josie was astounded, not least by her own bravery. Where had it come from, the courage she’d drawn on to touch Anita between the legs like this? She still wasn’t sure. They were doing sexy kissing, and it just happened. And now that she was playing with the woman’s pussy for real, Josie wasn’t about to stop.

The woman’s panties, though – those were an inconvenience, thwarting Josie’s efforts to touch her lover the way she wanted.

Taking a deep breath, Josie began tugging at them with her free hand, the urgency she felt making her clumsy. Only when Anita raised her hips was the teen able to get the sodden panties down and off.

Once Anita had cast the offending garment aside with a flick off her foot, Josie took in the sight of a woman’s sex up close for the first time. It was breathtaking, a vision of fleshy beauty tucked between supple thighs.

Unlike the neat cleft of Josie’s sex, the lips of Anita’s cunt were slightly parted and glistening inside. The girl leaned closer, nostrils flaring as she breathed in the heady aroma. So strong… like nothing I’ve ever smelled. I like it, though.

Their pubes were very different, she noticed. Josie was immensely proud of the patch of feather-light hair that adorned her vulva, while Anita shaved hers to a narrow strip in the centre. What hair the woman had was darker; coarser. Josie’s was so fine and fair that her pale skin was visible through the sparse tuft.

Captivated by what she saw, the teen got down on her knees, leaning in for a better look.

Anita opened her eyes, wondering why Josie had stopped touching her, then gasped when she saw the girl kneeling before her. By then, she was desperate for release.

“Oh, yes, sweetie – kiss me there, please!” she begged. “That wanker George never would do it to me.”

At a loss, Josie stared at Anita, unsure what the woman meant. “Um…”

Anita realised she’d misinterpreted the teen’s movement. “Oh! Er, never mind.” Her cheeks were flushed. “It doesn’t matter, honestly.” Bloody hell, I’ve gone and put my foot in it.

But to Josie, it did matter, quite a lot. Especially since she now had an inkling of what her partner needed so badly. “No, no… If you want me to do anything for you that Mr. Helm wouldn’t, then I will. I want to.”

I love you, Anita, she longed to add, but thought it best to keep that bit to herself.

“You really want to… to go down on me?” Anita asked.

Instead of replying, Josie seemed confused. “Uh… go down? What’s that?”

Anita felt a sudden impulse to giggle, but managed to hold it in. I’ve got to remember, she’s still only fourteen. “We’re talking about oral, sweetheart. Oral sex.”

“Oh,” the teen replied. “I sort of know about that… it’s just, well, I don’t exactly know how to do it. I mean, I’ve not even had a real kiss until just now!”

In fact, the extent of her knowledge concerning oral sex was limited to a theoretical understanding of what was involved in a blowjob. One guy had asked if she wanted to know how to give one, and she’d told him to get knotted. Licking a woman, on the other hand… it shouldn’t be all that difficult, but what if I do it wrong anyhow?

Recognising the uncertainty in Josie’s eyes, Anita hastened to assure the girl. “Don’t worry, sweetie… it’s pretty simple, actually. You just use your mouth on my pussy. No matter what you do, I guarantee it will make me feel wonderful. But, um, only if you want to, of course.”

Josie nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes… I do!” Her words showed conviction, but then she faltered. “Just so I know, you mean… kiss you there and stuff, right?”

“That’s right. Anything you can do with your mouth, or your tongue or your lips or your teeth.”

“Teeth?” Josie echoed, uncertain once again. That sounded pretty extreme.

“Sure. A little playful nibbling can be fun, as long as you don’t bite too hard. Kiss, suck, lick, bite – whatever. Just be gentle, and your partner should enjoy it, or else they’ll tell you that they don’t like it.”

Sitting back on her haunches, Josie said quite clearly, “I want to eat you, Anita, and, and anything else that you’d like. ‘Cos I want to give you pleasure, and make you happy.”

“In that case,” Anita told her, “I’ll make it easy for you.” She raised both knees to her chest, giving the girl unobstructed access, along with an amazing view of both her holes.

Josie absently moistened her lips, throbbing from head to toe with renewed arousal as she drew closer to Anita’s juicy cunt.

Cunt. She said the word to herself for the first time, caught up in the lush beauty of a woman’s sex. This was fast becoming more to her than just making Anita feel good… she felt a growing urge to bury her mouth in the heated flesh, feel its wetness coat her lips as she lost herself in the earthy scent.

Without another thought, Josie burrowed between her lover’s legs, seeking out the womanly centre. She was immediately rewarded by Anita’s ecstatic cry. “Oh m-my God! Yes, sweetheart, YES!”

Starting with a few open-mouthed kisses, Josie soon hungered for more. She quickly moved on to licking, bathing the woman’s rosy cleft with long swipes of the tongue.

“Oh, fuck,” Anita whimpered. “Th-that’s so good…”

The flavour of pussy was unusual but intriguing, and Josie soon decided she loved it. Fastening her mouth to the warm, wet opening, she feasted on Anita’s nectar, taking an occasional greedy lick.

It was perhaps the most thrilling sexual experience of Anita’s life, certainly the wildest. The teen’s tongue was circling the opening of her vagina to dizzying effect.

By then, Anita was keyed up beyond belief, desperate to come. She didn’t want to hurry Josie along, not exactly… but the need for release was becoming almost unbearable.

“S-sweetie,” the woman stammered, touching the teen’s head with quivering hands, “I need you to, to do s-something for me.” Before Josie could reply, Anita spread her labial folds open to reveal the inflamed nubbin of her clitoris. “Lick me right here, p-please?”

Applying her tongue to Anita’s clit, Josie strummed it with lightning-fast flicks, smiling when she heard her lover’s passionate moan. Wonder what she’d do if I sucked it? she asked herself, then resolved to find out. She closed her lips around the tiny bud and nursed it like a nipple, which resulted in a long, drawn-out cry from Anita’s throat. Yes! Josie exulted.

Now knowing for certain that she was on the right track, Josie went for broke, determined to give Anita the release she needed so badly. She carefully put her teeth to the little organ, then gave it a gentle squeeze.

Anita moaned again, louder this time – and the teen shifted her lower jaw sideways, running her incisors over the sensitive tissue.

The result was explosive. Anita’s body went iron-rigid and she wailed, “Jesus Christ, YES!” Her arms and legs began to shiver, then a violent jerk ripped through her once, twice, three times.

A small surge of fluid flowed into Josie’s mouth, an instant before the panting woman clumsily pushed her face away.

Anita was in no condition to speak for a couple of minutes, but she managed to pull Josie close to hug and kiss her, sobbing all the while.

Although she felt reasonably certain of the answer, Josie asked anyway. “Did I do it right, Anita?”

Wiping a few tears away, Anita gave the teenager a warm smile, “Oh… it was wonderful, Josie. You did a perfect job.” Still sniffling a bit, she added, “Are you sure you’ve never made love to a woman before?”

“No, never,” Josie replied, her cheeks flushed with pride. “Really, I just… tried different stuff.”

“Can I do it to you?”

The teenager gaped at her adult friend, caught off guard. Not trusting herself to speak, she gave a quick nod.

“So… you’ll let me take your clothes off? I’d love to see you naked, sweetheart.”

Now unable even to nod, Josie stood immobile, her eyes huge.

It was all the answer Anita needed. She began by removing Josie’s t-shirt, which was decorated with images of Santa Claus and Christmas trees, then paused to admire the girl’s willowy form.

Josie bit her lip as the clasp of her bra was unfastened, worried that Anita might be underwhelmed by the modest size of her chest. This concern proved to be unfounded when the woman gently cupped the fourteen-year-old’s left breast, pausing to tease the nipple with her thumb.

At the woman’s touch, Josie drew in a sharp breath, then whispered, “Oh… oh yes, Anita…”

After awakening in an especially festive mood that same morning, Josie had chosen to wear a pair of fire-engine red shorts. Now Anita was sliding them down her hips, leaving the girl in nothing but panties. Then those were being removed as well. Josie felt a sudden twinge of uncertainty, wondering whether or not Anita would approve of her unshaved vulva. She hesitantly asked, “Is it okay? Um, that I don’t shave down there?”

“You’re absolutely perfect, precious.” Josie watched Anita’s hand as the older woman lightly stroked her  pubis, then she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by how lovely it felt… so much better than when she did herself. She heard Anita whisper, “My God, it’s so soft… like down. Sweetie, you are exquisite.”

Josie’s only remaining concern was whether her legs might buckle under her. Fortunately, that worry was resolved when Anita gently laid her down on the sofa.

The teen then found herself being positioned by her lover – upper back on the cushions, hips raised up and across the arm of the sofa. Her left leg rested on the back of the couch; the right foot touched the floor. Now Anita was on her knees before Josie, slowly drawing closer to the girl’s sex, now open and fully exposed.

The first touch of a woman’s tongue elicited a squeal from the fourteen-year-old. Anita paused to sample and savour the taste of a young girl, then moved in for more. Josie moaned, biting at a knuckle as she experienced oral sex for the first time.

Anita was surprised by how natural it felt to go down on a girl. She worked slowly but deliberately, starting with the girl’s engorged labia. Her tongue slipped between the folds to tease the dripping interior – then on impulse, she gently closed her teeth on one lip to give it a playful tug.

“Oh!” Josie gasped, a shiver racing through her thin frame.

Changing tactics again, Anita used the tip of her tongue to toy with the teen’s slit – licking around the entrance, then darting inside the vagina, probing as deep as she could go.

“Mmmmm, yes, yes!” Josie was sailing close to the edge, clearly on the brink of something massive… and Anita was determined to make the girl’s orgasm one she would never, ever forget. So she took the tiny pearl of the clitoris between her lips, attacking it with lightning-fast flicks of the tongue.

A strangled cry broke from Josie’s throat, and she cried, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh m-my GOD!”

To the fourteen-year-old, it was like plunging into an ocean of glittering stars. She felt massive, enormous, inhabited by universes. She’s loving me, Josie told herself, hardly able to believe her good fortune. This beautiful lady is making love to me.

The sensations continued to rise, rocketing through Josie until it seemed she was on the verge of screaming. It was ecstatic and frightening in equal measure, though the scary bits only made the experience more of a thrill.

Then Anita started nibbling at her clit… and Josie’s world vanished in a burst of dazzling white light.

The girl thrashed wildly about as she came – beyond speech, beyond thought, beyond anything but the moment’s rapture. Anita continued to suck at Josie’s cunt, filling her mouth with the liquid sugar of a young girl. She had to hold on tightly, though, lest the teen shake her off.

Josie was absolutely staggered. Her mind was barely functioning – it seemed to be starved of both blood and oxygen. When her orgasm hit one final unimaginable peak, she drifted into a state that was not quite sleep, but a warm, blissful haze.

Sitting back, Anita licked her lips, then she crawled onto the sofa with Josie, taking the dazed girl into her arms.

Josie nestled into the woman, resting a cheek against a soft, comforting breast. “I love you, Anita,” she whispered.

“I… I love you too,” Anita replied. Her heart began to pound as the truth of those words sank in. Oh, no, she thought. What in God’s name have you got yourself into now, woman?

After a moment, she finally shrugged. I didn’t ask for this… but now Josie’s here and in my arms, and all’s right with the world. She touched her lips to the girl’s forehead, cuddling her close.

They lay together for a long while until, after glancing at the clock, Anita murmured, “Sweet thing, I think it’s about time you got dressed and went back to your folks. You don’t want anyone to come looking for you.”

With a sigh, Josie sat up and stretched. “S’pose you’re right…”

The two lovers slowly stood, gathered up the scattered clothing and quietly dressed… not without a few wistful looks as their bare bodies were covered once more.

Drifting toward the front door, Josie timidly asked, “Anita, can we please do this again sometime? It was wonderful, so, so wonderful!”

Anita chuckled. “Well, we didn’t get through all the food you brought, after all. You’ll have to come back tomorrow for leftovers. Because there’s more we can share.” She rested a hand on the girl’s bum. “Lots more.”

Before Josie opened the door, they came together for one last passionate kiss. “Good night, sweetie,” Anita said.

“Good night, Anita,” the girl replied. She gave the woman’s hand a quick squeeze, then made her way into the night.

Anita watched Josie disappear into the darkness. She closed the door and leaned back against it, smiling hugely and hugging herself.

Walking home, Josie dwelled on the pleasures she’d experienced. More than that, she thought about the new world that had just opened for her.

Why’d it take me so long to figure out I was a lesbian? she wondered. After her time with Anita, it couldn’t be more obvious. Now she hungered to immerse herself in the experience, to know everything about love between women.

Anita, too – she said she wanted more. And she’s just as new to this as I am. Wow, that’ll be so cool… starting from the same place, learning what to do together.

As she reached the front door of her home and heard the hubbub of family and friends inside, her heart was soaring.

Best. Christmas. EVER.

The End

by C. Cat

Katie was walking along the forest path, accompanied by her mother Amanda and her new best friend Rayne. Beaming with pride, the young girl touched her new necklace, lost in thought about what it represented. I’m a Latchmore Fairy now… this is where I’m meant to be!

As if that wasn’t special enough, Katie was also holding hands with the sweetest, most beautiful girl she’d ever known — a girl who really, really liked her, too. My first girlfriend! she silently rejoiced. She squeezed Rayne’s hand even tighter, hoping the pretty redhead could read her thoughts.

Flashing a shy smile, Rayne returned the squeeze, sending a delicious shiver up Katie’s spine. There were so many things she wanted to say to this new girl who had just strolled into her life… but for the moment, just basking in her presence was enough.

Then there was her mother Amanda, who Katie had just kissed, fondled and tasted a few minutes ago. Her pulse quickened at the memory of it, and a hint of Mummy’s pussy lingered on her lips. Stealing a glance at the woman, she made a promise to herself. The next time me and Mum make love, I’ll lick her bottom hole like Rayne did.

As the three of them drew closer to Fairy House, they encountered another pair of girls travelling in the same direction, also hand in hand. Judging by their outfits, these two were just returning from horseback riding.

Rayne raced ahead to meet them. “Girls!” she called out. “Come meet our new fairy Katie! And this is her mum, Amanda — she’s going to be our new house mother!” Rayne was in a giddy mood, practically skipping as she brought everyone together.

“Verrrry nice,” said one of the girls, looking Amanda up and down, She was a petite blonde with her hair tied back in a ponytail. “You can have a sleepover with me anytime you like.”

Rayne rolled her eyes. “I should’ve warned you… this one’s a total pussy hound.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining when I had my tongue in your bum the other night, Rayne,” the blonde replied, a mischievous smirk on her lips.

“Are you sure you want to be house mother for this lot, Mummy Amanda?” Rayne asked the woman with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well, I like what I’m seeing so far,” Amanda replied, giving the blonde girl a wink.

“In that case, introductions are in order. This is Zoe,” Rayne began, introducing a slim black girl with a big, beautiful mane of hair. “She’s one of the thirteen-year-olds and the head girl in our house. She’s a smashing dancer. And this troublemaker,” Rayne gestured toward the grinning blonde, “is Avery. She’s one of the twelve-year-olds and super nice… when she can keep her knickers on, at least. Oh, and she also knows absolutely everything about horses.”

“Everything but how to keep your bum from getting sore,” Zoe said, wincing as she reached back to touch her bottom. “Tonight, I’ll be taking my dinner standing up, thanks very much!”

Avery giggled. “It’s your first time on a horse, silly! Once you’ve been in the saddle another couple of times, it won’t hurt a bit.”

“I’m pleased to meet you both,” said a beaming Amanda, giving them a brief hug apiece, then the five of them set off for Fairy House..

Most of the older girls were out when the group arrived, but Zoe introduced Katie and her mother to the ones who were there, running through their names and ages.

Clair, one of the twelve-year-olds, was a cute tomboy with short dark hair and a slim build. She was in the main room cuddling with two eight-year-olds — a black girl named Annie and Emma, a redhead. There were also three nine-year-olds nearby: blonde Ella, brunette Lilly, and Aiko, a Japanese girl with jet black hair in pigtails. Katie hadn’t met Lilly or Annie yet, but knew the other girls from the day before. Needless to say,  they were delighted to see their new friend wearing a Latchmore Fairy necklace.

“Listen up, fairies,” Zoe said, interrupting their chatter, “I’m sure you all want to get to know our new sister, but first you ought to introduce yourself to our new house mother, Mummy Amanda. She’s Katie’s mum!”

Surprised by Zoe’s announcement, the youngsters were quick to cluster around Amanda, eager to meet her. So she seated herself in a large cushiony sofa, introduced herself, eager to get acquainted with her new charges.

Rayne gently nudged Katie with her elbow. “C’mon, let’s go upstairs. You’ll be rooming with me, so we need to start thinking about where to put your stuff.”

“Good idea!” Katie replied, then called out, “Uh, Mum?” When Amanda glanced up, Katie said, “Me and Rayne are going up to her room for a bit. Okay?”

“Go ahead, sweetie,” her mother replied, and the two girls raced up the staircase, holding hands. Watching them go, Amanda told herself, Those little minxes are about to fuck again.

The thought made her smile, then she got back to her chat with the Latchmore girls. As she got to know them, Ella, Lilly, Clair and Aiko each took a turn sitting next to Amanda, telling a little bit about themselves and asking the occasional question.

While she was chatting with the three girls, Amanda noticed that even though Annie was seated off to one side, the little girl kept sneaking glances at her. The pretty eight-year-old was obviously bashful, but she did seem to be fascinated by her new house mother… maybe even smitten?

Annie was having a definite effect on Amanda, too. The child’s loose-fitting shorts displayed her slim legs to impressive effect, and a pink t-shirt stood out beautifully against her light cocoa skin. She felt an urge to nuzzle Annie’s face, to kiss that adorable little mouth.

What’s happened to me? Amanda asked herself. Okay, sometimes I have sexual thoughts about little girls… but now, I’m like a kid in a candy store, wanting every one I see! I’ve got to show some restraint, damn it all.

That was when Clair, now done with her questions, looked over at the little black girl. “C’mon, Annie – spend some time with Mummy Amanda. She’s soooo nice!”

Unable to meet Amanda’s eyes, Annie slowly came forward, and Clair guided the child into the woman’s lap. ““She’s really shy, but she’s also sweet as candy. Probably the smartest girl in her class, too!”

“I’m glad to meet you, Annie,” Amanda said, taking the girl’s hand between hers. “You’re a very pretty girl. Sit with me for a little while, okay?”

The compliment made the child cover her face, but she didn’t make any attempt to move away. Instead, she gave a slight nod, looking down in her lap.

“I’ll let you two get to know each other,” Clair said, giving Annie a kiss on the cheek, then going into the next room to join the other girls. Now Amanda and Annie were on their own.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Amanda murmured. Another little nod from Annie. “I can be really shy, too — especially around pretty girls. I’ll bet you feel like that too, sometimes. You do, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Annie almost whispered.

“But Clair is very pretty… and you aren’t shy around her. I bet I know why.”

That caught Annie’s curiosity. She finally looked up, giving Amanda a chance to see the sparkle of her large, dark eyes. “Why?”

Amanda leaned in close, speaking softly. “I bet you’ve kissed her. Kisses make a lot of things better. Not just cuts and bruises… they work on shyness, too. Like magic!”

Annie responded with a bashful smile. “I do like kisses!” She moved a bit closer. “I like giving them, and I like getting them, too.”

Oh, my goodness, Amanda thought. Those warm brown eyes seemed to beckon her closer, clearly saying what the child wanted from the new house mother.

She gave Annie a light kiss on her cheek, followed by a series of quick and playful pecks that made her new friend giggle as they drew closer to her mouth.

As their lips met, Amanda let her hands glide over Annie’s back in a loving caress, then drew her in close, cradled to her breasts. A soft “mmm” escaped the girl as their kiss lingered.

“Did it work?” Amanda said as they broke apart. “Do you feel less shy now?”

“A little,” Annie replied, nibbling her lower lip. “Um… maybe we can try again, just to be sure?”

Amanda laughed. “I think Clair was right about how smart you are… but she didn’t tell me you were sneaky, too!” She gave Annie a little pinch, making the girl erupt in a flurry of giggles. Oh, she’s utterly adorable. How can I possibly say no to this little charmer?

In the meantime, Clair had returned to the doorway to see how the two of them were getting on. Seeing that Amanda had put the girl at ease, Clair moved over the couch and bent down to whisper something to Annie.

Whatever it was, the girl nodded in agreement, then smiled up at Amanda. “Would you like to see my room?”

It might have seemed like a question, but Annie was already on her feet tugging at Amanda’s hand… and there was nothing for it but to follow the child upstairs.

Annie’s room had soft pink walls and a pair of twin beds with frilly pink sheets and a bunch of neatly arranged stuffed animals. It looked like almost any young girl’s room, except the posters on the walls weren’t of popular teen stars, but beautiful women in skimpy bathing costumes or very revealing clothing. There was also a pillow on Annie’s bed that was embroidered with the words “NO BOYS ALLOWED.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Amanda noticed Annie hadn’t closed the door. She wondered for a second what that might mean, then decided it didn’t matter. I’ve got nothing to hide at Latchmore, she thought. Still, this girl is awfully young. Perhaps… a little too young?

I can at least kiss her once more, she reasoned. Extending a hand to Annie, she said, “May I kiss you again?”

Annie didn’t hesitate, all but leaping into Amanda’s lap before looking up to accept a lingering kiss.

A delicious tingle raced through Amanda’s body as the child’s tongue sought entrance to her mouth. What could she do, other than respond? Their tongues engaged in a sweet, shy dance.

“I like that,” the young girl said when they broke apart.

“Me too,” said Amanda. “So, little one… do you invite lots of women up to your room?”

“Uh-uh,” Annie replied with a shake of the head. “The older girls mostly do things together. Um, except for Clair, she likes to play with us… Rachel too, but she and Aiko are lovers, so they mostly do stuff together.”

Making a final decision, Amanda said, “Hmmm… would you like me to play with you, or am I too old?”

Annie’s eyes brightened in excitement. “Really? Will you?”

“I’d love to,” Amanda reassured her. “Especially if there’s a lot of kissing. I love to kiss pretty little girls.”

“There is a lot!” Annie said with a happy smile as Amanda bent down for another kiss.

She could tell by the way the girl moved that she very much liked what they were doing. That gave Amanda an idea. As they kissed, she tugged on one of the ties on her sundress. Then with just a slight twist of her body, the dress fell open, baring her breasts.

“Mmmm,” Annie cooed as Amanda’s nipple brushed her cheek.

Taking a little hand, Amanda brought it to the left breast, encouraging Annie to caress it before guiding her nipple to the child’s mouth. “Here you are, little girl… let’s pretend I’m your real mummy,” she murmured as Annie began to suck at the swollen tip.

As the girl nursed, Amanda let her fingers glide over Annie’s legs. Like all the fairies, hours of dance practice ensured even the youngest girls’ legs were nicely toned. Amanda was especially smitten by the silky softness and deep rich cocoa colour of little lover’s skin – it felt like satin. What would it feel like to have those legs wrapped around my face? she wondered..

“Ohhh!” Annie gasped when Amanda slipped a hand into her shorts. By then, she was more than ready to be touched, but Amanda intended to take her time.

“What sort of special games do you like to play with other girls?” Amanda asked. Her fingers were no more than an inch away from Annie’s slit.

“Sometimes when Clair is here,” Annie said between little gasps, “Me an’ Ella, we m-make a fairy ring with her.”

“That sounds fun, how do you play?”

“We, you know, sit in a circle… then each of us touches the, the muffin of the girl who’s sitting on this side.” She gestured to her left. “The way you win the game is if everybody…” Suppressing a giggle, Annie lowered her voice, “you all have to come at the same time.”

“Oh, my!” Amanda exclaimed. “That does sound like a nice game.”

“But you’re not s’posed to say how close you are. See, everyone’s got to watch each other, so they’ll know when it’s time.”

“Could we try it?”

“Sure!” Annie squealed, clapping her little hands as she jumped to her feet.

Amanda stood up, letting her dress fall to the floor. Her bra and knickers were gone – probably still on the floor of Miss Cindy’s office, she figured – leaving her naked. She paused, then slowly turned round to give the girl a chance to see everything, especially her vulva.

Going down on one knee, Amanda gave the little girl’s shorts a gentle tug. They fell to Annie’s ankles, exposing her cute round bottom and a puffy little pudenda with a glistening little slit peeking out from under her t-shirt. It was all Amanda could do to keep from giving it a kiss, but there was plenty of time for that.

The two seated themselves side by side, with Annie’s thighs parted far enough to show the glistening dew of her arousal, and the tiny pearl of a clit – a sight that had Amanda’s mouth watering.

“Ready?” the little girl chirped, her smile as wide as the sky.

“Ready,” Amanda echoed.

They began by caressing each other’s legs, slowly working their way upward. As Amanda drew nearer to her young lover’s centre, she could feel Annie tremble. She allowed her fingers to drift across the child’s mound, eliciting a small gasp.

Annie immediately began to return the favour, her fingers twirling around in the juicy flesh of Amanda’s cunt. Oh, my goodness! Amanda thought, her eyes going wide. This little vixen knows what she’s doing! For such a young girl, this child had mastered the fine art of teasing, quickly zeroing in on her new lover’s clitoris with feather-light strokes, a determined cast to her face.

Annie was focused on the task at hand, but she was far from immune to Amanda’s touch. She cried out loud when the woman slipped the tip of a finger inside her, all the while stimulating her clit. It felt positively yummy, and the child wriggled her hips in response. That’s when little Annie got an extra special surprise – another one of the nice lady’s fingers was pressing into her rosebud, seeking entrance.

She’d never been penetrated there before, and it felt amazing Annie squirmed and twisted in the woman’s embrace, trying to take those naughty fingers even deeper. She trembled all over as those good feelings grew stronger. Her own fingers were busy manipulating Amanda’s clit, and what she saw in the woman’s eyes told her that she needed to keep going just a little bit longer.

Annie felt Amanda’s body tense. It was nearly there… so close!

The little girl cried out in ecstasy as she came. An instant later, she felt Amanda’s larger frame jerk as she got off. They’d done it… the two lesbian lovers had won the game. They rode their orgasms to their limit, then collapsed on the bed, nestling in each other’s arms.

Amanda loved cuddling with the little cocoa-hued girl, but the intoxicating scent of Annie’s sex was tickling her nose, and she hungered for a taste. “Come up here, little one,” she said, scooping Annie up. The child squealed joyously.

At first, she had the girl straddling her chest, then cupped that soft little bottom and guided her further up until her baby-smooth slit was nearly touching Amanda’s lips.

“Ooooh, yes… a pony ride!” Annie squeaked as she settled herself on the woman’s face.

Breathing in the heady scent from up close, Amanda let her tongue glide across the tender cleft of Annie’s sex. She carefully explored its gentle folds, savouring the taste, not wanting to miss a drop.

As Amanda reached up to caress the girl’s arms and chest, she realised Annie must have taken off her shirt, leaving nothing but her wondrously velvety skin.

Annie’s little cooing noises ceased. Amanda felt the girl twist, then heard her giggle and whisper something she couldn’t make out. Was someone else in the room?

That question was answered when a pair of hands pushed Amanda’s legs apart, and long hair brushed her thighs as someone stretched out between them. “Ohhhh,” she moaned as a warm, wet tongue traced her opening, then flicked her clitoris several times.

When Annie raised her bum for a moment, Amanda peered down toward her feet to see Ella on hands and knees eagerly licking her cunt. Meanwhile, Clair was moving behind Ella with both hands on her hips. Clair’s motion made it clear that the older girl wore a strap-on cock that she was pressing deep inside the little blonde.

The sight startled Amanda. Didn’t Ella tell me she was only twelve? That’s awfully young to be getting fucked like that. She shook her head in awe. This place is even wilder than I thought! 

Still, Ella’s tongue seemed to press harder against the new house mother’s clit with every stroke of Clair’s strap-on, so Amanda had no real reason to complain.

Glancing up, she saw little Annie grinning down at her. “Now be a good pony, Mummy Amanda… and I’ll let Ella keep licking you,” the child cooed, then she lowered her sex to Amanda’s mouth once again.

Having the bashful young black girl taking a new, dominant role in the lovemaking sent a thrill through Amanda. She worked hard to share that same pleasure with Annie, switching between sucking the girl’s clit and licking her sweet bare slit. Annie seemed to produce a generous amount of nectar, and Amanda gulped down every drop.

Suddenly she heard a new voice say. “Oooh… are you having a pussy party?”

Someone, maybe Clair, murmured something in reply, and Amanda felt two more girls climb onto the bed. They each took one of her hands, then shifted about until two smooth cunts were pressed against her fingers, the girls straddling them.

By the sound of their voices, Amanda guessed it was Emma and Lilly who were pinning her to the bed. Her head swam at the realisation that she was at the mercy of all these lovely preteen girls.

Yes, yes! Fuck me, all of you! she silently demanded.

Just then, Annie cried out as she bucked wildly in a shattering orgasm, squeezing Amanda’s head between her thighs, flooding the woman’s mouth with more of her tart juices.

When the child dismounted her grownup lover’s face, Emma and Lilly both moved in for kisses. They licked Amanda’s lips and chin clean, then took turns plunging their tongues into her mouth.

After one especially deep kiss from Lilly, Emma quickly positioned herself just above Amanda’s face, feeding her pussy to the older woman. The eight-year-old soon fell into a hard rhythm, thrusting her hips as if she was fucking Amanda’s tongue, soon moaning in anticipation of her own climax.

Bloody hell, this one’s a real firework, Amanda told herself. She longed to grope the girl’s tight little bum, but once more, her hands were pinned down by other girls. By this time, she had no idea who they were. Guess they’ll all be having their way with me.

Emma adored having her clit licked, but when Amanda pushed her tongue deep inside the girl’s tight vagina, she went wild. “Yes, Mummy Amanda! Ooooohh, right there!” She ground herself against her house mother’s face, trying to get even more of that lovely tongue inside her. “Oh God, oh God, YES!” she gasped before her voice soared into a scream and her body went rigid. One last blissful moan, a trickle of honey from Emma’s slit, then she went limp.

Someone helped Emma dismount Amanda’s face, then there were three little girls kissing and licking the woman’s pussy-coated lips.

They drew away, then Amanda was licking another child’s sex. She decided it must be Lilly this time. In the meantime, Ella’s mouth was pressing against her cunt harder than before, probably because Clair was fucking the preteen even harder with the strap-on she was sporting. Ella was beyond the point where she could focus on edging Amanda – instead, she just licked wildly between gasps of pleasure every time the older girl drove the latex cock into her. As for Lilly, the breath was hissing through her clenched teeth as she rode the face of her grownup lover.

It was too much for Amanda. She felt a massive orgasm building inside, one she couldn’t hold back even if she wanted to. Her muscles began to spasm, her head spun like a crazy carousel, and she just managed to bring Lily to her own climax before everything came crashing down and the world went black.

When the fog lifted she found herself lying on her side with Annie and Ella, both cradled in her arms. Next to her, Clair was cuddling Emma and Lilly much the same way. Finally Amanda glanced up to see her smiling daughter Katie, standing in the doorway with her new friend and lover Rayne. They were both naked, and had clearly been enjoying the show.

Raising her head, Annie gave Amanda a soft kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to our house, Mummy Amanda,” the child whispered.

On to Chapter Nine!

By BlueJean

The Bookshop was named The Catalyst. It was painted black. The books in the window looked old and dusty.

A big freestanding sign outside read: Here Are Books. We Reunite Books With Their Owners. Thank You Please.

I had no idea what that meant, but found myself sufficiently intrigued to venture inside.

I pushed open the door. A shrill, jingly bell gave me away like an intruder alarm. The interior was dimly lit and musty – the air of old tomes, well worn and well read. An avid bookworm, I found the smell somehow comforting. When your mother sometimes forgets you exist, you make your own entertainment. So I sought solace in books.

An old woman behind a counter looked up at me in surprise. “What?” she asked.

“Pardon?” I replied.

“What do you want?”

Didn’t think she’d be making the shortlist for Shopkeeper Of The Year Award.

“Um… is this a bookshop?” I mean, there were lots of books, but I thought it best to double check.

“Yes,” the lady confirmed, but somehow her face was saying, No.

“So… am I allowed to look at the books?” I ventured.

“You don’t look at books, you read books.”

I couldn’t fault her logic. “Can I read the books, then?”

The bookseller was silent for a spell. I almost took that as a cue to retreat, when she replied, “I suppose so.”

“I might buy one,” I offered, trying to justify my intrusion.

“The books don’t care if you buy them or not,” she declared, and I thought that an odd thing to say.

“Do you know Rita and Derek?” I asked, flipping through the pages of an old hardback.

“No.”

“I’m their niece.”

“I don’t know them.”

“I’m staying with them for a while.”

“I don’t know who they are.”

“I’m Hailey.”

“Geetu.”

“That’s a nice name. Is it Indian?”

“Nepalese. I’m from Nepal.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“You’re sorry I’m from Nepal?”

“No, I didn’t mean— Do you have any fantasy books?”

“Probably.”

“‘Kay.” A battered tome found its way between my fingers. “Witchcraft For Beginners by Agnes Munt. Is that fantasy?”

“No. That one’s not for you. Someone already bought that book a while ago, when the shop was in a different place.”

I regarded the old bookseller suspiciously. Was she making fun of me? “Did they bring it back?”

The lady shook her head. “They still have it. It belongs to them.”

“‘Kay.” I thought it best not to ask too many questions.

I found another book called The Selkie.

I’d like to tell you that it was a large foreboding grimoire; that it was bound in thick cracked leather and secured with clasps of rusting metal. In truth, it was a thin, dog-eared paperback, pages yellowed with age, brown rings upon the cover betraying its secondary purpose as a drinks coaster. Beneath the ringed stains was a crudely drawn picture of a part-woman, part-sea creature sitting on a rock, her upper half bare, her lower half that of what I assumed was a fish.

“Is a Selkie the same as a mermaid?” I asked Geetu the bookseller.

“Who knows?” she replied with an unconcerned air.

Never judge a book by its cover, they say. But I did. I took it up to the counter. “I’ll take this one.”

The woman gave me a big satisfied smile. “Yes. That one is yours.”

“How much is it?”

“It is yours. You don’t pay for something that already belongs to you.”

“It’s free?” I said, confused.

She nodded at me.

“Oh. Thank you.”

***

Long ago, when humans were not yet human, the Tuatha Dé Danann came to Earth and took many forms – Dryad, Banshee, Merrow, and Dearg Due, to name but a few.

The Selkie were another.

Selkie lived in the ocean as seals, but venturing onto shore they shed their skin and assumed human form…

I was stretched out on my bed reading my new book when Aunt Rita called out to me from somewhere in the house. “Yeah?” I hollered back.

“Come here a moment.”

I folded a corner of a page down to mark my place, and then got up to descend the spiral staircase. “Where are you?”

“In the bathroom.”

The door was ajar, and my aunt lay in the bath shrouded by a thin layer of steam. Not expecting to see her like that, I ducked back in a fluster. “Oops, sorry!”

“Don’t be silly, you can come in,” Aunt Rita insisted.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Get in here.”

I shuffled into the bathroom as she craned her head back to peer at me in amusement. “You’re so shy.”

“I’m not really,” I told her.

She chuckled at my awkwardness. “Come sit on the edge of the tub.”

I perched on the bath, trying my best not to stare at my aunt’s breasts.

“Madeline and me want to go down the pub tonight, so can I ask you a big favour?”

“Sure,” I replied, carefully inspecting the taps. Looked like quality taps. Very solid.

“Madeline has a little girl. She usually gets a babysitter, but it was too short notice this time. Would you like to earn a bit of pocket money and babysit Isla?”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t mind,” I said, scrutinising the ceiling: A big stain right above the bath. Could use a fresh coat of paint.

“She’s only six, but she’s no trouble at all.”

True, she had seemed very well behaved when her mother and my aunt were doing unspeakable things to her. The images from the video suddenly filled my mind, bright and loud and clear. An adrenaline burst of adolescent lust rippled through me. I fixed my gaze on the wash basin. A classic Victorian-style sink. They didn’t make ’em like that anymore.

“I’ll get Madeline to drop her round later, then. We won’t be too late— Hailey, are you trying not to look at my tits?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. “What?! Uh… no.”

Aunt Rita had a dirty cackle for me. “Just have a good look at them, for God’s sake! Get it out of your system.” She sat up, and her breasts emerged from the water like the eyes of some mythical sea creature rising from the depths. She regarded me with a little smirk, unconcerned with her own nakedness.

I could feel my cheeks glowing, but found myself unable to look away. Her tits were firm and full, the dark nipples awakening some long dormant desire to suckle.

She took them in her hands and squeezed them together. “Happy now?” she asked me, but before I could muster a response she was holding out a bar of soap.

“What?” I said, unsure what she was driving at.

Her voice took on a posh warble, making me laugh. “Wash me, servant girl!”

“I’m not your servant girl!”

“Well, I say you are! Hop to it!”

I rolled my eyes and took the bar of soap. “Where shall I wash you?”

“Everywhere, servant girl.”

It suddenly dawned on me that I was about to touch my aunt’s naked body, and the gravity of that revelation brought trepidation and excitement in equal measure. I tentatively lathered her shoulders and arms,her skin soft against my fingers.

She leaned forward. “Now my back.”

I let my hands travel downwards to her torso. She had a sea serpent tattoo down the length of her spine. I snaked my fingers down its slippery body.

“Ooh, you’re good. I’m glad I hired you,” she cooed.

“Thank you… madam,” I told her, playing along.

“Now wash my tits.”

A little flutter thrummed through my belly. She was telling me to touch her breasts. She had told Isla that too. I was rendered motionless with the bar of soap in my hand, unsure if she was joking or not.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Don’t keep me waiting, servant girl! I don’t want to have to smack your bottom!”

I pushed the soap against her tits, then hastily massaged them, trying not to give my excitement away, thinking this was merely an innocent game as far as my aunt was concerned. At eleven, I wasn’t yet adept at reading body language, or the subtle signals humans send to one another.

“Slowly, girl. Take your time,” Aunt Rita instructed me. “The lady of the house insists on squeaky clean titties.”

So I immersed myself in the washing of my aunt’s breasts, soapy hands eager and urgent, arousal and curiosity burning away my initial feeling of awkwardness at this strange and unexpected liaison. Her nipples were stiff against my fingers; the swell of her breasts full and heavy in the palms of my hands.

Without warning she rose to her feet, the bath water cascading down her petite, pale frame. My eyes were instantly drawn to her dark bush and the secrets it half concealed. She gave me a wry smile, then turned around. “My bum…” she said simply.

I lathered my hands again, then brushed my fingers across my aunt’s firm arse, delighting in the feel of her flesh. She glanced back at me, moving her feet further apart to allow me a teasing glimpse of her labia. I drank in the sight of her as I dared to apply more pressure, unsure what it was we were doing, unable to fully make sense of the situation, but basking in the intimacy of it.

Aunt Rita slowly turned to face me. She peered down between her legs, and my eyes followed hers.

I wanted her to let me touch it. I wanted to soap my fingers and push them through her fleshy folds. I very much wanted that.

But my aunt drew a line. “Off you go now, servant girl,” she said and shooed me away.

I padded back to my room in a daze, then stretched out on the bed to slip a hand inside my knickers. But it wasn’t enough. I needed an outlet for my burgeoning arousal. Well, fate had me destined to babysit a sexually aware six-year-old girl later that very evening. I wasn’t ignorant to the unique opportunity that presented itself.

***

Oftentimes, the Selkie would come ashore at night, shedding her seal skin and singing sweet songs, then returning once again to the ocean before the townsfolk awoke from their dreamy slumbers.

But sleep does not come easily to some.

One misty morning, a lighthouse keeper heard the Selkie’s song and followed the sound down to the shore…

Madeline and little Isla turned up a while later. I let them in and they trailed me into the lounge. The gorgeous doctor had swapped her white coat and stethoscope for a black cocktail dress and pearl necklace.

“Aunt Rita’s upstairs getting ready,” I told her. “She won’t be long.”

“Isla, this is Hailey,” Madeline said to her daughter. “She’s Rita’s niece, and she’s going to look after you for a couple of hours.”

“Hi, Isla,” I greeted the little girl.

She bounced up to me with a big gap-toothed smile. “My tooth fell out,” she told me proudly.

“Oh, that’s a shame. But you’ll grow another one, won’t you?”

Isla nodded enthusiastically. “Mm-hmm. Mummy says some more will fall out too. But if I put them under my pillow, the tooth fairy comes and leaves me some money.”

“Wow, that’s so cool.”

“Yeah. I can buy sweets with it.”

“If you buy sweets, your teeth will go rotten and then they’ll all fall out,” Madeline told her, tucking her daughter’s dark hair back behind her ears.

“I’ll… I’ll just… I’ll put them all under my pillow and get lots of money and then keep growing new ones,” Isla declared.

Madeline gave a soft chuckle. “It doesn’t work like that, sweetie. You get one more set of teeth after your baby ones fall out and they have to last you the rest of your life.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now go and see what’s taking that naughty Rita so long.”

Naughty Rita…

Naughty Rita with her tongue up little Isla’s arsehole…

Naughty Rita rubbing her cunt against little Isla’s face…

Naughty naughty naughty Ri—

“Hailey?”

Madeline planted a hand on my knee, pulling me out of my reverie with a start. “Oh, sorry.”

I could hear Isla bounding up the stairs, and realised I was alone with her beautiful mother.

“Someone’s a daydreamer…” the doctor cooed.

I smiled shyly, keenly aware that her hand was still resting on my knee.

“Don’t tell your aunt I said this, but you have the cutest little mouth,” she purred. “I find myself wondering what it would be like to kiss it.”

I could smell her perfume, heady and exotic. “Thanks,” I murmured with a weak smile, then added dumbly, “Yours is nice, too.”

Her hand moved slowly up my leggings inch by inch. “Rita’s lucky to have such an adorable niece come stay with her.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Nothing in my life up to this point had prepared me for the flirtatious attentions of a beautiful older woman.

She breathed in my ear. “You can come and visit me any time you like. Would you like that?”

I wasn’t sure how it was possible to feel so intimidated and yet incredibly turned on all at the same time. “Uh… Yeah. I might.”

Madeline’s hand paused at my inner thigh and her fingers brushed against me. “Pretty Hailey…” she whispered, and I caught her gaze. Something deep in her eyes seemed to churn and percolate, mesmerising me. I couldn’t look away.

“Oi! Stop molesting my niece, you dirty bitch!”

Aunt Rita came into the lounge with Isla riding on her back, and I thought we might be in trouble, until I noticed that familiar twinkle of humour in her eyes.

Madeline gave a tut. “She’s so uncouth, isn’t she, Hailey? I can’t imagine what possessed me to make friends with such a common tart.”

“Oh, shush!” my aunt scoffed as she set Isla down. “You’re as bad as me after a few drinks.”

Madeline patted me on the knee, then stood up. “Be good for Hailey, Isla,” she told her little girl and bent to kiss her on the cheek.

And then they were gone.

***

The lighthouse keeper hid behind a rock and spied on the Selkie in her human form, and in his heart he longed for her beauty; her companionship. When the Selkie slipped her sealskin on and returned to the briny waters, he mourned her absence and vowed to make her his wife…

Little Isla sat on the couch playing with a doll she’d brought with her. She wore a pair of pink leggings and a t-shirt with an elephant on the front. They would be coming off soon. Seduction was a new game to me, but who better to practise on than a little girl?

“Hailey, I’m six. How old are you?” Isla asked me as we sat on the couch watching TV.

“I’m eleven.”

“Is Rita your niece?”

“No, no. Rita’s my aunt. I’m her niece,” I explained.

“Mummy’s a doctor.”

“Yeah, I know. I bet it’s really cool to have a doctor for a mum.”

“It’s okay.”

“Do you want to sit on my knee while we watch TV?” I suggested, not altogether innocently.

Isla nodded and clambered into my lap. Looking back at me, she asked, “Where’s your mummy and daddy, Hailey?”

“My dad left me when I was little, and my mum’s gone on honeymoon with her new husband.”

“What’s a honeymoon?”

“It’s… like a holiday after you get married.”

“I don’t have a daddy,” Isla told me.

“Everyone has a daddy.”

“Not me. Mummy says I was just born one day because she wanted a baby.”

I laughed and ruffled her hair. “That’s silly.”

“It’s not,” Isla insisted, ruffling my hair back. Her bum wriggled around in my lap, and I couldn’t resist discreetly pushing my pelvis up against her.

“Do you ever sit like this with your mum?” I asked her, trying to steer the conversation towards something a little naughtier.

She nodded at me.

“What else do you do with Mummy?”

“Huh?”

“Do you… play doctors and nurses with her?”

Isla shook her head.

“Do you… sleep with Mummy in her bed?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you… cuddle each other in bed?”

The six-year-old grinned at me and shook her head again.

“You don’t have cuddles in bed?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a secret,” she whispered to me, a finger held to her lips. “Shhh…”

“I won’t tell, I promise,” I assured her.

Isla went back to watching TV, but I wasn’t letting this go. Instead, I probed a little more. “I’ll tell you one of my secrets if you tell me yours, okay?”

She shrugged at me.

“Okay, here’s one of my secrets: The other day I found some rude toys in Aunt Rita’s drawer!”

Her eyes lit up at that. “Toys?”

“Not kids’ toys. Like adult toys that ladies use on their kitties!”

Isla seemed disappointed that my aunt’s drawers weren’t actually full of dolls, dinosaurs and teddy bears. “Oh. Mummy’s got some of those.”

“Has she?”

“Yeah.”

“And I found some rude videos, too! Of people having sex!” I thought it best not to mention the homemade video I had watched. Some actors don’t like to talk about their own work.

“Mummy has those, too. I’ve watched loads.”

That didn’t surprise me. “So… now it’s your turn to tell me your secret. What do you and Mummy do in bed?”

Isla looked around to make sure we were alone, which we obviously were. “Do you promise not to tell?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

She cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered into my ear, “We do lots of rude things together. Not just in bed, either. We do them everywhere!”

I gasped. “What kind of rude things?”

It all spilled out of her in an excited ramble. “Mummy kisses my secret bits and I kiss her secret bits and we touch each other all over and sometimes she makes me put my whole hand in her front bottom and one time she even made me do a big wee all over her!”

I was beginning to think the video was merely the tip of the iceberg. Now to move in for the kill…

“Wow! That sounds like so much fun! Maybe… maybe you could show me how to do some of those things?”

Isla seemed to give that some serious consideration. “Okay. But you mustn’t tell anyone, or the police will come and lock us up.”

“I definitely won’t tell anyone.”

Isla bounced off my lap and stuck her hands on her hips. “All right, then. First, you lie down on the floor.”

I did as the little girl instructed and stretched out on my back. “Like this?”

“Yeah. Now, this is what Mummy does to me sometimes.” Isla pulled her leggings and panties off, then stood over me, lowering herself into a squat over my face and spreading her delicate labia open. “You have to kiss it and lick it, okay?”

Her pussy was a puffy pale truffle, its blush interior hot and coppery against my tongue. The nearest I had ever come to tasting a vagina was sucking my own fingers clean after one of my masturbatory sessions, but this – a taste straight from the source – was a new experience.

“Do you like it, Hailey?” Isla asked me.

I can’t say for sure that I liked it. I certainly didn’t dislike it, but I think it was the sheer naughtiness that made it appealing – the forbidden nature of licking a younger girl’s pussy. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

Isla stood up suddenly, leaving me with my tongue hanging out.

“Hey, I wasn’t done,” I protested as she zoomed around the room in just her t-shirt.

The six-year-old climbed onto Aunt Rita’s leather couch and looked back at me with a grin. “Hailey, look!” She swung her leg over the arm of the sofa, then proceeded to grind herself on it, her pussy lips leaving a wet trail as they slid back and forth.

“I was having fun licking you. Is it okay if I do it some more?” I asked the little girl, eager to taste her again.

Isla giggled as she rode the armrest. “Hailey, take your clothes off and do what I’m doing on the other side of the sofa.”

“Uh… okay.” I pushed my leggings and knickers down my legs. I was about to mount the other armrest when I had a better idea. “Isla?”

“Hmm?”

“I could rub my pussy on your bum… you know, while you hump the sofa. Shall we do that?”

“Okay, then.”

I stood behind Isla and tried to push my cunt against her arse, but she was sitting too far forward. “Scoot back a bit,” I told her and put my hands round her waist, pulling her back towards the edge of the armrest. “That’s better.” Still holding onto her, I ground myself against her pert little bottom as she rubbed herself against the couch.

“It’s all warm on my bum!” Isla squealed.

“It feels really nice,” I said, thrusting against her. “Does Mummy do this to you?”

“Yep. She makes my bum really wet.”

“What else does she do to you?” I wanted to know all the perverted things Dr. Madeline and her daughter had been getting up to. I wanted to hear the words from the little girl’s mouth while I dry-fucked her.

“She rubs her boobies over my kitty and bumhole and then she makes me lick them,” the child told me.

“That’s… that’s really dirty. What else?”

“Um… she makes me put my whole hand in her front bottom, and she says, ‘Isla, push your hand in and out!’ and so I do and when I pull it out it’s got Mummy’s stuff all over it. Sometimes she says to me, ‘If you lick it all off like a good girl, I’ll buy you an ice-cream’.”

I could barely comprehend such a lewd image, but the rawness of it presented to me a potent erotic canvas with which to work. Curling my lip into a snarl, I scrubbed my throbbing cunt more forcefully  against Isla’s arse. “Wha–what else?”

“Mummy tells me to stand there and spread my bum open and then she licks my bumhole.”

Sinking down to the floor, I prised the little girl’s arse cheeks apart with both hands. “Like this?” I said, then lashed my tongue over her wrinkly little anus. I didn’t know if she was clean down there. Honestly, I didn’t much care.

“Yup!” Isla confirmed and ceased her grinding, allowing me my fill of her arsehole. She peered back at me with a big grin.

As the sour, earthy taste of the little girl’s pucker hit my taste buds, I found myself both repelled and attracted by this new act. On the cusp of adulthood, my first forays into the sexual world would never be this powerful; this potent ever again. Climaxes stung exquisitely, my ripening body unaccustomed to such sensations. Images of flesh and carnal filth bloomed brightly and indelibly in my mind, and heady, musky new aromas seeped into my consciousness, hypnotising me.

I found my feet, pressed myself against Isla and finished what I’d started, frantically grinding myself up and down the child’s bum, consumed by an animal lust I had no experience in controlling. I slapped her on the arse and heard myself yell, “You’re a dirty girl, Isla!”

“Ow!” Isla cried in outrage, screwing her face up. “You’re not allowed to do that, Hailey! I’ll tell my mum!”

I was about to apologise, but my impending climax would not be delayed nor denied. “Ohhh! That’s… that’s… oh!” It shuddered through my body with an intensity I’d seldom experienced, my eyes rolling wildly as I held myself tightly against Isla’s wet bum.

“Did you do a come?” the little girl enquired, evidently harbouring no serious grudge against me for whacking her on the arse.

“Yeah…” I panted, slumping against her.

“Do you want to have a little sleep now?”

“Uh, no, not really. Do you?”

“No. But Mummy sometimes likes to have a little sleep after we do big girl stuff.”

I had no intention of going to sleep. Aunt Rita and Madeline would probably be back in the next hour, and I didn’t know if I would get an opportunity like this again. “I’ll let you finger me if I can finger you, okay?” I ventured.

“Finger…?”

Slumping back down into the couch, I clumsily pulled my t-shirt off. “Yeah, when you put a finger inside a girl’s pussy and push it in and out. Did your mum ever do that to you?”

Isla tumbled off the armrest and landed next to me with a giggle. Trying to keep the attention of a six-year-old was no easy task, I realised. “Can we, Isla?”

“Yah, okay,” Isla agreed. She sat up and thrust a hand between my legs, penetrating me with a chubby finger. “You don’t have any hairs down there, just like me!”

“I have a few,” I told her, then found the entrance to the little girl’s vagina, slowly easing my way in. To my surprise, I found she no longer had her hymen. I’d broken mine with a little help from a hairbrush a year earlier, but I suspected Isla’s mother might have had something to do with the absence of her daughter’s.

“Can we watch some cartoons?” Isla said to me as she pistoned in and out of my cunt.

I pushed my finger deeper inside, and found her immature vagina tight, moist and exquisite. “I don’t think they show cartoons at this time of night.”

Withdrawing her digit from me, Isla sniffed it unashamedly.

“Does it smell?” I asked her.

“A bit. But Mummy’s is more strong,” she explained, then added, “I’ll lick your puss-puss if you want. Then we can watch TV till Mummy and Rita come home.”

So, having planned the rest of our evening, I sat back on the couch and spread my legs while my new playmate knelt on the floor and licked me out, her tiny tongue flicking over my labia and clitoris with an adeptness that wasn’t surprising, given that I’d already seen her plying her talents on Madeline and my aunt.

I came a second time that evening, and thought we were done. But little Isla had a final surprise for me.

“I need a wee,” I said.

“Me too,” Isla told me. “Let’s do one together!”

We made our way to the bathroom where I sat down on the loo and pissed, while Isla stood pigeon-toed in front of me and watched.

“Hailey?” the little girl piped.

“Yeah?” I replied, my piss slowing to a trickle.

“Watch this.”

Before I knew what was happening, Isla had thrust her hips out and a torrent of piss spouted from her, splashing against my chest and stomach.

“Oh, my God! Isla, no!”

“Don’t move, Hailey! I’m gonna aim through your legs,” the dirty little imp informed me.

“It – it’s not nice to wee on people without asking first, okay?” I told her, then realised how ridiculous that sounded.

Isla giggled gleefully, clearly pleased with herself. She shuffled closer and closer towards me as her piss slowed, and by the time the last few drops had dripped down between my legs into the toilet below, she was standing over me with a big gap-toothed grin.

I couldn’t help but smile back. “You’re really naughty,” I told her and kissed her on the belly button.

***

When next the Selkie came ashore to sing her song, the lighthouse keeper was waiting. He crept across the sand and stole her sealskin, hiding it in a secret place.

The Selkie, in her despair, wailed and wept and mourned her lost skin, knowing that without it she would never be able to return to the ocean. The lighthouse keeper gave her comfort and offered sanctuary within his lighthouse, and soon the two of them fell in love and married.

But the Selkie was never truly happy upon land. She pined for the azure sea, and for her own kind, and though she truly did love the lighthouse keeper, each night she would return to the shore and sing a song of lamentation for the ocean, her true home…

When Aunt Rita and Madeline returned from the pub, Isla and I were tucked up on the couch with a duvet over us. The six-year-old was fast asleep, her head against my chest.

“Well, it looks like two little pixies have been making friends,” a drowsy eyed Madeline cooed as she sat on the arm of the couch, stroking her daughter’s hair. Her nostrils flared and she seemed to catch something in the air. Looking me in the eye, she smiled knowingly. “And perhaps more than friends…”

I took a discreet little sniff, but couldn’t detect any vestige of our erotic play session. Regardless, Madeline didn’t seem to give it any more thought. She picked a sleepy-eyed Isla up, thanked me for babysitting, then left for home. I wrapped the quilt around my body and retired to my room.

I was idly fingering myself to sleep when Aunt Rita called my name from the bottom of the spiral staircase. I quickly pulled my hand out of my pyjamas. “Yes?”

“Can I come up?”

“Sure.”

She sauntered into my room and stood over me as I lay in bed, the dim light of my bedside lamp casting her seductive shadow across my room. Slowly, ever so slowly, she pulled her nightgown open.

I let out a barely audible gasp.

“Isla forgot her doll,” my aunt told me, glancing down at the plastic toy sticking out of her cunt, its legs half buried, as if it were in the process of being devoured by some carnivorous monstrosity.

“Oh,” I said, dumbstruck, then added, “I…I can take it round to her tomorrow.”

Aunt Rita grasped the doll and began fucking herself with it, liquid sounds accompanying each thrust. “You’re such a good girl,” she murmured. “Thank you for babysitting tonight.”

“Y–you’re welcome,” I stuttered.

“Your uncle’s back tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay.”

My nose picked up the scent of her arousal as she went back and forth with the doll, and without thinking much about it I pushed back the bedspread and slipped a hand back beneath my pyjama bottoms to masturbate along with my aunt.

“I wonder if she would have turned out like you,” Aunt Rita mused as she fucked herself.

“Who?” I near-whispered.

“The One Who… Got Away.” My aunt bucked her hips and let out a guttural cry. “Fuck, yes!” She pulled the sodden toy from her cunt and my eyes followed a trickle of pussy juice as it oozed slowly down her inner thigh.

She kissed me on the forehead. “When your uncle sets out to sea again, I want to spend more time with you. Get to know you better. Okay?”

“Okay,” I replied, still idly toying with myself.

My aunt placed the doll on my pillow, swept my hair away from my eyes and then disappeared down the stairs.

I turned my head towards the glistening toy and told it, “That was different.”

***

To this day I can’t really say whether I dreamed it or not – the song that waxed and waned on the ocean breeze. Certainly it began in my dreams, though when my eyes fluttered open, still it lingered, faint on the wind.

I climbed from my bed, crept downstairs, and ever so quietly closed the front door of the cottage behind me. I pattered down cobbled streets, that sweet voice drawing me ever closer. Down to the harbour, stark and silent in the small hours of the morning. Past The Mal De Mer on the corner, its last patron long ushered out the doors. To the beach, where the wraith-like singer stood and serenaded the ocean.

Madeline – gown of sheer satin draped across her form like a sea mist, dark hair flowing down her back like briny kelp. Her voice carried a strange cadence across the waters, its rhythm rising and falling as the waves – a sweet coda that hinted at some darker, more primal truth down in the dark depths, deep beneath the surface.

She turned to me and smiled and I felt her glamour upon me. “Pretty Hailey…”

My eyes snapped open to find myself back in my bed, but the sand between my toes told me it had been no mere dream.

Each night she would return to the shore and sing a song of lamentation for the ocean, her true home…

My fertile imagination led me to but one conclusion:

Madeline… Madeline was a selkie…

On to Chapter Three!

For a useful summary of the plot thus far, please consult the Chapter Links before reading.

by kinkys_sis and kinkychic

A pleasant evening breeze blew across the verandah. We sat, each with a glass of port – Josh, Marianna, myself, and a Mr John Rudge.

At dinner, I had asked Marianna which plantation owner she thought of as a friend, one that could be trusted. She hadn’t hesitated in naming Mr Rudge. I asked her to send a message to ask if he could come over straight away.

I had formulated a plan concerning the ownership of Marianna’s plantation. It all hinged around this Mr Rudge.

Marianna’s exasperation was showing. “Now will you tell us what this is all about please, Bren?”

Solely so as to appraise Mr Rudge, I explained who I was. His only comment was. “Strange times we live in. Whoever heard of a woman being a ship’s captain, and one so young?” But there was a twinkle in his eye. I took an instant liking to this man.

“Marianna is to leave M & B. She will be sailing with me. She had thought to sell out, but I’ve an idea that might suit us better. I would like to suggest that Josh here take over control of the plantation.”

I held up a hand to stifle John Rudge’s protest. I knew what he was about to say. “I am ahead of you there, Mr Rudge. I know it is impossible to have a black owner. I suggest, if you are willing, that officially, on paper at least, you are the new owner. For this, you would receive a share of the profits. There are no mortgages on the property. Marianna owns it outright.”

Mr Rudge leaned towards me. “There’s one danger in that if the plantation is in my name and anything unforeseen were to happen to me, where would that leave Marianna? Why can you not leave it as it is, and pay Josh an increased wage to run things in her absence?”

I was ready for that one. “These are uncertain times, Mr Rudge. There are some unpleasant owners on these islands. Josh might find himself vulnerable to unscrupulous goings-on. Whereas, if you were thought of as the owner, then the plantation would be no more vulnerable than your own. As to ensuring Marianna’s property, a legally drawn up will would state that the plantation automatically reverts to Marianna in event of your death, or her return to the island.”

“I do believe I see why you are a ship’s captain. You thought all this up in just a couple of hours. And please, do call me John.”

Now, it was Marianna’s turn. “There’s one problem with all this, Bren. What about the promised payment to the crew? I don’t have that amount of money available in cash.”

“But I do, Marianna.”

Josh beamed. “I will be sad to have Marianna away. We are all very fond of her. But, Miss Bren, you do me an honour to place such trust in me.”

“So, John, do you believe it’s workable? And if so, would you be interested?”

“Yes, Miss Bren, it’s entirely workable, and if it helps my friend, then I am more than willing.”

Marianna must have forgotten that John was not aware of our circumstance when she came and flung her arms around my neck, gave me a resounding kiss and exclaimed, “Bren, my clever captain!” She turned bright red when she realised what she had done.

John busied himself lighting his pipe. “Humph. I did say these are strange times.”

Marianna walked around the table to him. “John, I hope we didn’t shock you. I beg your pardon. But the truth is, I love my captain, I have for a long time. Nobody knew what my plantation name, M & B, meant. Now, I’m sure you do.”

John did look a little shocked, he shook his head. He covered his fluster by turning back to his glass, it was empty. “Some more of this fine port would cover a multitude of sins,” he said.

Daphne appeared with the decanter, seemingly out of nowhere. She had been listening to every word, and smiled as she refilled our glasses. I knew I had been right in assuming she was not in love with Marianna.

We raised our glasses in a toast to our future success. As John got up to leave, he said he would speak with his solicitor in the morning.

Daphne was about to collect the glasses, but Marianna said to leave them and told her she could use the bathroom and prepare for bed.

Marianna asked me, “You would really give that amount of money away, Bren? It’s a huge amount.”

“I was just thinking about that,” I said. “We don’t need to give them much outright – half a guinea each would be plenty. If we were to give them six guineas each in actual coin, I’d most likely lose half of them when they try to drink it away. I have a ledger for each crew member that shows what each is due. The money is held in safe deposit.”

With an abrupt change of demeanour, Marianna asked, “Shall we go and find Daphne now? The poor girl must be wondering where we’ve got to.”

 There was no sign of Daphne in the bedroom, although the bed had been neatly turned down.

“Surely she’s not still bathing?” I said.

Daphne smiled up at us when we walked into the unlocked bathroom, where she lay in fairly shallow water, playing happily with her covering of bubbles.

“I hope you didn’t mind me using some of this foamy stuff,” she said. “It smells and feels so heavenly.”

I wasn’t really listening. I was fixated, rather, on her stunning black body. She had the short curly hair typical of her race, but shaved in tight swirling patterns that spoke of a heritage, long since forgotten, of a union with unseen powers. I’d never considered the beauty of an African woman before, but as Daphne rose sleek and gleaming from the bath, with pearly white suds slipping down her young curves, I could see my outlook needed broadening.

Her breasts were larger than I had thought from my earlier grope, but it was her nipples that really caught my attention. They were so much larger than mine or Marianna’s.

She wasn’t at all shy in front of us. If anything, she wanted to parade herself. She wiped her body clean of foam, then stood, clearly waiting our approval.

“What beautiful breasts – do you agree, Marianna?” I said.

“Oh, I do, I most certainly do.”

“And look, there’s no hair about her pussy – none at all.”

“There’s something I have often wondered,” Marianna said. “Inside your pussy – is it as black as your skin?”

The girl giggled. “Shall I show you?” With that, pulled her slit open with her fingers and spread her legs a little wider.

We both bent to look and were delighted by the bright, pink colour that stood out so vividly against its dark surroundings. I gasped at the size of her clit. I couldn’t wait to get my lips around that. The thought made me wonder, was lust driving me mad? I had only ever dreamed of my Marianna, now I was thinking about how I wanted to fuck this young black girl.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Marianna said. “It is only this once. Then we shall be together on your ship. Shall we take her to our bed?” Turning to Daphne, she continued, “Would you like that, my little one?”

I hadn’t missed the import of her words – our bed. It sounded so good to me. I didn’t have time to answer, before Daphne leapt from the bath, and ran laughing towards the bedroom. She had a gorgeous, full arse that swayed divinely as she ran.

When we walked into the bedroom, Marianna and I both came to a stop before the beautiful vision on display. There was Daphne in the middle of the bed, her body rendered so much darker by the whiteness of the bedclothes. Her expression betrayed an array of emotion. There was an expectancy in her eyes, but also an uncertainty.

She looked up at us, her hands clasped together. “You, Marianna, and your captain, made my dream come true today – or part of it. For a long while I’ve felt trapped, not knowing where to turn. I have driven myself half-mad with desire for a woman’s touch. You have both given me that. Now I am in your bed. My heart is filled with joy for what is to come, and yet I am frightened.”

Now she cupped her breasts. Her voice dropped to barely more than a whisper. “Do I please you?”

I groaned when she took hold of a nipple and gave it a pull. I could not help but notice her clit was even larger than it had been in the bathroom. The now familiar feelings began to spread. My pussy literally tingled.

Marianna tightened her grip on my hand tightened, her breathing quite audible. “Do you see that?” she almost whispered.

I could only reply with a rather strangled, “Yes!”

Daphne’s expression turned quite mischievous as she reached up and under the pillow. When her hand reappeared, it was holding a tapering talisman of polished ebony, blacker than she was. For a moment I was at a loss, but when she pressed it to the front of her pussy, I realised its purpose. Unseen powers, indeed.

“This has been my friend,” she said. She gave it a wiggle, and the bulbous end worked her lips apart. She pushed it into her cunt – carefully at first. The object widened toward the base, spreading her lips apart as it sank into the pink abyss. I had no idea how much a cunt could hold, but it seemed to be more than I would have suspected. This wooden phallus was disappearing.

She let go of it, leaving it deep inside. Then she pinched her fat clit between two fingers, shaking it back and forth. The phallus seemed to come alive of its own accord, jerking not only from side to side, but also a little in and out. She was slowly fucking herself, using her inside muscles, something I never imagined possible.

She rubbed her clit more rapidly then, reaching for her toy, withdrew it slowly from her cunt. It glistened beautifully in the light as it emerged. Marianna let go of my hand and thrust her fingers into my pussy. And why not? I did the same to her. Daphne grinned as she watched us. Then she thrust the object deep within once more, and this time, she began to pump it, gathering speed as she fucked herself.

Marianna groaned, turning and pulling my body against hers. Our eyes were on the black girl as we fucked each other’s pussies. Marianna’s other hand went behind me, and I knew what she was after. I jutted my backside out, and she went straight for my arsehole. There were no preliminaries. She simply forced her way in.

Daphne was now giving out little shrieks mixed with babble in a strange language. Her hips rose as she climbed toward release, fucking herself so fast that her charm turned to an ebony blur.

My own fingers came to a stop in Marianna’s pussy, even as hers slowed in mine. We were both enthralled by the girl on the bed.

Of a sudden, Daphne wailed, her hips dancing for a few seconds before she went rigid. She trembled, head to toe, holding up her arse on quivering legs. Then, slowly, her body sank again and she lay exhausted, gazing at both of us. The ebony charm gave the occasional twitch as after-tremors coursed through her.

Marianna and I turned to each other. “Have you ever seen the like?” I asked her.

“Of course not. I told you, I have done nothing since I last saw you. And that thing of hers, I… well, I never would have thought.”

I felt a nudge and glanced down. Daphne had tapped me with her foot. “Are you going to stand there all night talking about me and my jigger,” she said, “or will you allow me to show you its power?”

In a twinkling, Marianna and I lay side by side whilst Daphne knelt between us. She reached out and slipped her fingers between our pussy lips. Her touch was soft as she explored. She sought out our clits – mine she already knew, but she hadn’t yet seen Marianna’s. For a moment, she hesitated – this was her mistress, after all – but a quick glance at Marianna’s face told her she needn’t worry.

Her fingers were very skilled, but she had had enough of mere touch.

“Oh, so wet,” she said. “I think you are both ready to feel the joy my jigger gives.”

I glanced at Marianna. She only smiled back but I saw her raise her hips, and I did the same. I felt a wanton lust, something completely new to me, but I didn’t care. I just wanted this black girl to fuck me.

And, by God, she did.

Her jigger just cracked me open. It went so utterly, gloriously deep, transporting me to a realm beyond dreams, beyond desire, beyond conscious thought itself. I heard Marianna scream, and I think I did the same. Daphne was fucking us both. I hadn’t seen her retrieve a second jigger, but now we were both enjoying the pleasure they gave. Daphne fucked us slowly one moment, hard and fast the next. She spoke but once: “Your buttons, lovely ladies,” she said. Rub your buttons.” And so we did.

Somehow, I managed to reach out and hold Marianna’s hand as we climbed higher and higher. My climax, when it came, was extraordinary. I simply wallowed in coming, over and over again.

At last, we lay there gasping. Daphne just laughed until I pulled her down between us. We lay for a while, huddled together, arms and legs entwined.

“Daphne, where did you learn such things?” I asked. “You are so young and yet you seem to know so much.”

She was silent for a moment, then: “I invented them. There has never been anyone.” She looked towards Marianna. “I have tended to you. I have bathed you at times and trimmed your private hairs. You never knew what I felt, or what I wanted. I have always known that I was different from the other girls, but I had nowhere to turn, no one to speak to. Then, when I saw you and the captain together… ” She was crying once more.

Marianna was visibly shaken. “Obviously, I never knew. Not that it would have made much difference, I have remained faithful to my Bren. But we could have confided in one another.”

Daphne calmed herself. “I had no way of knowing that I could tell you how I felt. I only knew you as my mistress. It wasn’t until I saw you and the captain together – your love for each other was so obvious. You have perhaps now given me the confidence to look for someone of my own.”

Marianna pulled her closer. “For that I’m glad,” she said. “I hope you find what you want. I think, though, you ought to be going now. It’s getting late.”

Daphne looked to be so happy as she left the bedroom. However, Marianna seemed puzzled. I think I understood what she was thinking.

I was about to say so, but she spoke first. “This has been the strangest day. First, in answer to my prayers, my lover returns. We make the sweetest love. Then, how can we make love to another girl when we have both remained faithful for so long? It makes no sense. Yet, I do not feel as though we have done anything wrong.”

“Perhaps because we have been apart so long. Something grew in us over time that needed to be released. We used Daphne in that way. But it suited her as well. Indeed. We have done her a favour. It’s done now – and not likely to be repeated.”

I felt as though I had come back to life. Marianna and I were wrapped in each other’s arms as we drifted off to sleep.

But my last waking thoughts were worrisome. Our plan seemed easy to execute, but I had a nasty foreboding that things could yet go very wrong.

On to Chapter Seven!

by Rachael Yukey

Around eleven the next morning, Terry and I were seated side-by-side on one of the conference room couches at the Bronning Ambulance station, each holding one of the laptops from the rigs. We’d just returned from a garden-variety lift assist, helping a fat lady get off of her butt and onto her couch. Terry was writing the report for that call, two paragraphs of fluff to justify billing for a no-transport 911. It didn’t take him long.

Me, I was writing the report for the Jason Bixley car accident the previous day. As it was an ALS report for multi-system trauma with cardiac arrest, it took somewhat longer.

I was just wrapping it up when my phone chimed, and I glanced at it in mild annoyance. Had it been a personal contact, I would have let it go until I’d finished the report, but a text message from the Chief of Police warranted an immediate look.

It read: Are you available to meet with me within the next hour? I’m in my office.

Quickly, using both thumbs, I typed Right across the street from you in conf room. Can be there in ten.

“George wants to talk to me,” I said to Terry, turning back to my report. “I told him I’d pop in after I’m done with this. You don’t have to wait for me; I won’t die of frostbite walking the four blocks back to your place.”

Terry shrugged. “I’ve already been waiting for what – twenty minutes? I can spend a little longer watching porn on the city’s internet.”

I leaned over a little to peer at his laptop screen. He was idly scrolling through a catalog of wargaming figurines. “That gets you hard, does it?” I said.

“Sure, why do you think I have so many of them in the house, but only allow one chick in at a time?”

“The miniatures never tell you no,” I pointed out. “If only they could speak. ‘No! Stop! I’ve been violated’!”

Terry chuckled. There was a light rap at the conference room door, and it swung open. Bronning Chief of Police George Fronse stood in the doorway. George is a short, lean man, his close-cropped hair and ramrod-straight posture more evocative of a career soldier than a small-town cop, especially when he’s in uniform.

“Figured I’d come to you since you were right across the street,” he said. “How much more time do you need?”

“Two minutes,” I said, turning my attention back to my laptop and typing furiously.

Terry closed his laptop, stood, and walked to the door. He extended his hand. “How’re you doing, George?”

George Fronse’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he shook the proffered hand.

“Good to see you, Terry,” he said, his voice devoid of inflection.

I sighed inwardly as I hit the submit button. The exchange was pleasant enough, but the expression on George’s face said it all. He’s a good man but straight as an arrow, and he disapproves of Terry Wilder.

“I’ll catch up with you when we’re done here, Terry,” I said, flipping the laptop closed.

Terry plucked the computer out of my hand. “I’ll put it back in the rig for you. Meet you back at my place? I’ll probably be in my office, so just come in.” He said it with a slight emphasis on my place, looking sidelong at the chief of police with just a hint of a smile. “Catch you later, George.” He left the room.

George moved briskly to the conference table, pulled out a chair, and turned it to face the couch upon which I sat. “First off, thanks for coming out to that accident yesterday, Nettie,” he said. “Believe me, everyone breathed a huge sigh of relief when we saw you walk onto the scene.”

I looked down at my hands. “For all the good it did,” I said, lifting my head to meet his eyes.

George cocked his head to one side. “It actually did something very important. Because you were there, I can look the family in the eye and tell them that everything that could have been done, was. Did you know my brother used to date Jason’s mom in high school?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, it’s true. But it’s not just important to me personally — it’s a good thing for the city services that you were there. It’s good for Jessie and Robbie, too. They don’t have to wonder what they could have done differently.”

Jessie and Robbie, lest you’re wondering, are the two volunteer EMTs who were on call yesterday when the accident occurred. I’ve already mentioned Jessie Kramer; she’s a little blonde slip of a girl who’s only been an EMT for a few months. Robbie Wachinsky, on the other hand, is the director of the Bronning volunteer ambulance squad, a position he has held for over thirty years.

“Robbie knows better than that,” I said.

George nodded slowly. “He was dead when we pulled him out, wasn’t he?”

“He bled out,” I said. “You saw his legs. Both of his femoral arteries must have been ripped to shreds.”

“Do you think he was killed on impact?”

I hesitated for a moment before answering. I’d hoped nobody would ask.

“No,” I said. “He had significant smoke damage to his airway; I had a bitch of a time intubating him. He might have been gone before the flames got to him – I hope he was – but he was alive long enough for smoke inhalation to screw up his pipes.”

Again, the slow nod, followed by a long silence. I simply waited him out. If George needed to work himself up to whatever he had to say, I wasn’t going to hold his hand while he did it. Finally he spoke.

“His parents protested the autopsy.”

My eyebrows shot up. “For real?”

“For real. His mom made a hell of a scene about it at the hospital. Said her boy was gone, that’s all she needed to know, and she didn’t want him cut up any more than he already was. But you know how it is… in these kinds of circumstances the family doesn’t get a say.”

I pursed my lips, but said nothing. This wasn’t the first time George had interviewed me in the aftermath of a fatal accident, but the long pauses and the hesitancy in his voice weren’t like him at all.

“Anyway,” George went on, “I guess you’ve heard about all of the questions surrounding the whole thing?”

“Well, let’s see. He was out too early, going the wrong way, and the rumor mill has it that his parents didn’t know he was gone. Does that cover it?”

“Pretty much.” He fell silent again.

Suddenly I was weary of this game. “What do you need from me, George?”

“Your experienced eye. Did you see anything on the scene, or the patient, that looked wrong or out of place?”

I laid my head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as I gave it a moment’s thought.

“Not off the top of my head,” I replied. “The only weirdness that occurs to me is the fact that he swerved in the first place. Maybe he was playing with his phone?”

George shrugged, then spread his hands out on his lap. “We don’t know. We did recover the phone, but it was destroyed by the fire. We’ve put in for a warrant to check his phone account records, which we’ll get because there’s evidence of distracted driving and a $200,000 Peterbilt dump truck was destroyed. The insurance companies are going to have a field day with this. Nettie, did you see any evidence of substance abuse?”

“No,” I replied without hesitation. “Nothing like that. But you know that doesn’t mean anything. I wouldn’t necessarily have any way to tell.”

“I understand that.”

“George,” I said, “has it occurred to you that he probably just spent the night with some cheerleader, overslept, and was texting her heartfelt messages of love while rushing to get home before his folks realized he was out?”

George’s expression became distant. “Yeah. I sure as hell hope that’s all it turns out to be. If you think of anything else, you’ll let me know?”

“Of course.”

“And you’ll keep this conversation between us?”

“What part of it? You haven’t told me anything, George, except that his mom protested the autopsy. Speaking of which, you’ll find out if he was on anything when the report comes back. I’m hoping to get a look at it myself. As for the clinical details, it’s not like I’m going to talk about it to anybody who isn’t on the squad.”

“Which I suppose you’ve already done.” His eyes flickered in the direction of the door that Terry had exited through.

I felt my eyes narrow. “Terry Wilder’s not a problem here, George,” I said, carefully keeping my voice neutral. “He’s better at keeping things to himself than almost anyone else I know.”

“Which is one of the reasons I don’t trust him,” George shot back. I arched an eyebrow at the hardness of his tone.

“Listen,” he said, “I know guys like him. They can charm the little birdies right out of the trees, they know it, and they use it. And they’re too good at keeping their mouths shut. They play their cards close to the vest, all the time, and they only let you see what they want you to see.” He rose to his feet.

“I’ll be in touch, Nettie,” he said. “It’s part of an investigation, so I’ll have to get permission to let you see the autopsy report, but I can probably swing it by listing you as an expert advisor. Have a good rest of the day.”

I stared after him as he exited the conference room.

***

I raised my fist to knock, then remembered that Terry had told me to just come in. I stepped into the spacious foyer, sat on the bench, and began unlacing my boots. Hearing footsteps on the noisy old hardwood, I looked up just in time to see him stride through the dining nook at the end of the hall. I divested myself of the boots, shrugged out of the light blue Bronning Ambulance hoodie, and joined him in the kitchen.

“Want lunch?” he asked me, opening the fridge and eyeing its contents.

“Sure.”

“There’s egg salad. You wanna see if there’s any bread in the cupboard?”

I popped open a cupboard door. It was the first time I’d hunted for food in this kitchen in months, but Terry’s a man of settled habits, and the bread was right where I remembered. I selected a loaf of sourdough and tossed it onto the center island, where Terry had just placed a large glass bowl covered with Saran Wrap.

“So,” he said as he peeled back the clear plastic, “what’d the long arm of the law want with you?”

“Give it a rest,” I said, digging in a drawer for a serving spoon. “George is a good guy. You didn’t need to antagonize him with that crack about me coming back here.”

Terry gave an unrepentant shrug as he opened the loaf of bread and counted slices out onto the counter. “It’s very hard to resist. Every time I see him, the guy is looking at me as if he’s just waiting for me to abscond with the silverware, or maybe his daughter.”

“You mean you haven’t gotten around to her yet?” I began spooning egg salad onto slices of bread.

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. “Oh, she’s a delightful little dish to be sure, but I don’t screw around with women whose fathers carry guns all the live-long day.”

“Wuss.”

Retrieving a couple of small plates, Terry plunked two sandwiches on each one while I poured coffee. We carried everything into the living room and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. The sandwiches were delicious, the egg salad augmented perfectly with crumbled bacon and finely diced onions.

“Let me guess,” I said after swallowing my first bite. “Halee made the egg salad.”

Terry let out a single laugh. “If I’d made it, all you’d taste would be mustard and mayonnaise.”

I knew this wasn’t precisely true; Terry’s a more than acceptable cook. But Halee has a true talent for the craft.

“So… what did he want?” Terry asked.

“Oh, the usual stuff. He just wanted to know if I saw anything unusual or suspicious.”

Terry made a face. “It sounds like a garden-variety car wreck to me. The kid was probably texting or taking a selfie or something.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. And I think George is expecting to find out exactly that. But he has to investigate. In a case like this, both the state and county cops are involved along with the city. So he’s got to play it by the book.”

“And if he finds an excuse to arrest me while he’s at it, so much the better?”

“If you don’t knock it off,” I said tartly, “I’ll help him frame you.”

We lapsed into a companionable silence as we ate our lunch. Polishing off the last of his second sandwich, Terry took a sip of coffee.

“Any special requests for dinner?” he asked.

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. “Is that your idea of an invitation?”

“Something like that,” he replied, “but what I haven’t told you yet is that you have to cook.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’ll be fun, too.”

***

I ended up falling asleep on his couch. I’d expected a little afternoon sex before his kids got home from school, but one moment we were talking and the next I was easing back into consciousness with my head on his lap and a sore neck. What can I say; I’ve been on short sleep rations of late.

“What time is it?” I groaned.

“Almost three. The kids’ll be home in about twenty minutes. You’ve had a couple of texts over the past hour.”

I sat up, blearily retrieving my phone from where it lay on the coffee table. Two messages awaited me. One was from Bronning volunteer ambulance director Robbie Wachinsky, inviting me to the Crisis Incident Stress Management debriefing that he’d arranged for the people who’d responded to the Jason Bixley accident scene. Would be really beneficial for Jessie if you could make it, the message concluded.

I ran a hand across my face. Good Christ, I don’t need this. I’d been to exactly one CISM debrief during my seven years in EMS, and that was one too many as far as I was concerned.

The second text was from Greg Wahlberg, the operations director at Thormleton Ambulance, where I work. Please call me when you have a moment. Wondering what Greg could possibly want with me on a day off, I tapped the call button and held the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Nettie,” my boss’s voice said. On the phone, Greg always sounds so cheerful it’s disgusting.

“What can I do for you, Greg?”

“Well,” he said, “I just got off the phone with Robbie, your ambulance director up there in Bronning. He tells me they’re doing a CISM debrief for that accident — tomorrow at 1900, if I remember right. Are you planning on going to it?”

Goddamn it, Robbie. “God, no.”

There was a long silence on the other end. “Hey, Greg,” I said at last, “you still there?”

“Here’s the deal, Nettie,” he said finally. “There’s been concern voiced about you amongst the managers. Even Tim Thormleton has mentioned it, and when the owner starts getting involved, it’s past time to address the problem. Now…”

“Wait one damn minute,” I said. I saw Terry’s eyebrows shoot up, and dialed back my tone. “What kind of concerns? And who…”

“Calm down.” Greg’s tone had gone from chipper to rock hard. “Nobody’s questioning your competence. Nobody ever has. Now, you just keep your cool and hear me out.”

Mentally biting my tongue, I sat back. “I’m listening.”

“We’re starting to worry that you’re not dealing with the stress of your job in a positive way,” he said. “You’ve had some bad calls lately. There was that hanging suicide, then the infant CPR just last week, just to name two. You didn’t go to the debrief for either of them, and you won’t discuss it outside of the clinical details. It’s not healthy, and part of my job is not letting you mess yourself up.”

I realized I was starting to squirm, and forced myself to remain still. Terry wasn’t even pretending to not eavesdrop.

“I appreciate that, Greg,” I said, “but the last time I checked, these debriefs weren’t mandatory, and this one isn’t even for a Thormleton call.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I can’t make you go. But people are starting to talk, and to tell you the truth, It’s not just the managers. You’ve been the Iron Lady almost since you started working here, but you wanna know what people have been calling you behind your back lately?” Greg paused, clearly expecting a response.

Fuck that. I waited him out.

“They’re calling you The Ice Queen,” he said at last. “And you’re not just a truck medic, you’re the clinical director. Do you see the problem here?”

The phone chimed in my ear, advising me that yet another text message had been received. I ignored it.

“Look,” said Greg, “if you attend, I’ve arranged it with Tim for you to be on the clock. Just put it on your timesheet and round up to the next hour. But whether you go or not, I’m strongly urging you to look after your mental health. This is unofficial for the moment, and I’d rather it stay that way. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” I said.

“Then I won’t keep you tied up any longer. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Avoiding Terry’s eyes, I lowered the phone and opened the new text. It was from George Fronse. Could not get permission for you to view the autopsy report. Sorry about that.

“Damn,” I said.

“Problems?” Terry’s face was devoid of expression.

I sighed heavily. “Well, let’s see. Robbie thinks he can guilt-trip me into going to the CISM debrief tomorrow, and Wahlberg is going for bribery mixed with veiled threats. Screw both of them. In other news, George Fronse couldn’t get permission for me to see the autopsy report.”

Terry leaned back, looking thoughtful. “Is that what he said?”

“Yes… and don’t give me that look. I know you don’t like George, but–”

“The dislike is entirely one-sided,” he said in an icy tone, cutting me off. “The guy turns into Frosty the goddamn Snowman every time I get within a hundred yards, and it says more about him than it does about me. This doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

He drew in a deep breath. “Look, The accident happened within the township, right?”

“Yeah… just barely. So what?”

“And there’s no criminal investigation attached. So we’re within his jurisdiction, and that makes him the chief investigating authority. The county and the state would just be assisting at this point. If he wanted to call you in as an advisor or whatever and show it to you on that basis, he has the authority to do it.”

I stared at him, hard. “How the hell do you know that?”

“From the horse’s mouth, when I asked a jurisdictional question after that train wreck last week. George told me.”

***

I laid three fives on the dining nook table, and discarded a seven of spades. Halee Wilder snatched the card, laid it down with two more sevens that were already in her hand, and carelessly flipped her last card into the discard pile. She flashed me a shit-eating grin, then began counting up her points. I groaned aloud as I dropped my remaining cards on the table face-up.

“You’re killing me,” I complained good-naturedly. Terry’s daughter, having added up her own hand, leaned forward to inspect my cards.

“Whoa,” she said. “You went down sixty points. Doesn’t matter, though… I just hit 535. That means I win… unless you wanna double it and play to 1000?”

“Haven’t you already humiliated me enough for one night?”

“Oh, c’mon.”

I stretched luxuriously as I weighed my options, arms above my head, my long legs extended under the table. I was opening my mouth to say no when I felt my big toe brush along the side of Halee’s stockinged foot. I looked up, but Halee merely continued gathering up the cards, seemingly oblivious.

I spoke again, thinking to decline the extended game, but that’s not what came out of my mouth. “Sure,” I heard myself say, “but when I kick your ass this time, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”

It was just the two of us sitting across from one another at the table. Six-year-old Maya had been in bed for an hour. Naomi was at play practice. Terry and eight-year-old Dawn were taking advantage of an uptick in the weather, playing fetch with the big golden retriever in the backyard as dusk fell. Halee’s dog, a little Boston Terrier named Lanie, was curled up in a dog bed by the fireplace.

I dealt in silence, working up the courage to bring up the topic that had been left hanging in the air between us almost a week before. No matter how much I told myself that I was only trying to make myself available for any questions the girl had, I knew it was a lie.

“Halee,” I said, as we considered our respective hands, “do you remember what we were talking about the other day?”

Halee smirked. “I remember that it ended with you clubbing my dad over the head and dragging him upstairs.” She drew a card from the pile, considered it, and dropped it into the discard.

I looked down at my own hand… anything to avoid her eyes. Then I remembered something. I looked back up. “And with you listening in from your bedroom,” I pointed out. “I heard your door close.”

Her smile vanished. “You don’t think Dad heard, do you?”

“No,” I said, “but you got lucky. My hands were over his ears. Let’s not change the subject. You went up there so you could listen in.”

Now it was Halee’s turn to look down at her hand, a blush creeping across her cheeks. I made my play as I waited her out.

“So what?” she said at last, lifting her eyes to mine as she drew a card. “I’ll bet you were a little bit curious about that stuff at my age.”

I smiled as she threw out a fifteen point play and discarded. This was the opening I was looking for. I drew a card. “Last week you were asking me about what I’ve done with other women,” I reminded her. “You seemed interested.”

Halee looked down again. “Maybe,” she admitted after a moment’s silence. “How — how old were you when you started thinking you were — you know…”

“Bisexual?” I said. “It’s not a dirty word, Halee; you can say it.”

I gave her question a moment’s thought. “I was probably your age, maybe a little older,” I said. “I’d been having sexual feelings for awhile, and I started to realize that a lot of them were about other girls. Or sometimes grown women. It took a little while before I let myself fantasize about it, but that’s when it started.”

We continued the game as we spoke, but I don’t think our minds were really on it. I was starting to get more than just a little turned on.

“When did you start doing stuff with girls?” said Halee. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”

“You can ask me anything. My first sexual experience was with a girl… at least my first that wasn’t by myself,” I amended. I held her eyes. “Have you ever done anything by yourself, Halee?”

She looked away again. “Hey,” I said, “I’m being honest with you. You can be honest with me. I masturbate all the time, if that helps.”

She looked up again, and gave me a hesitant smile. “Me too,” she said. “Like, a lot.”

“And how long have you been doing that?”

“Oh, I guess about a year.”

“Really,” I said. “I started young, too. I was… I don’t even know. Pretty young.” I hesitated for a moment, a fog of half-remembered images, long suppressed, trying to force their way to the surface. I shook myself and pushed on.

“To answer the rest of your question,” I said, “I was fourteen the first time I had sex. The girl was a senior, and she was openly gay. I thought maybe I was a lesbian, too, for awhile. I didn’t really get interested in guys till I was sixteen. That’s when I first had sex with a guy.”

Why did I have the sense that there was more to it than that? Hazy memories tickled at the edges of my consciousness, memories that seemed just below the surface, but forever out of reach. As always, I shoved these impressions to one side and focused on the present. Right this minute, a delicate, beautiful, young creature was seated across the table from me, giving me a tantalizing glimpse of what might lie beyond a door that I’d always refused to open. Oh, how I wanted what was on the other side.

I threw down a final play, and went out. We both started adding up our points. As Halee began shuffling the cards, I reached across the table and lightly touched her forearm. She looked up at me, startled. She stopped shuffling, and we held each other’s eyes. Just like the week before, there was communication in that gaze that went beyond mere words. Any doubts I’d had vanished; Halee was as attracted to me as I was to her. Finally she looked away and began to deal. I withdrew my hand.

“Do you think you’re interested in girls?” I asked.

“I think maybe,” she said. “But it’s weird. Some are girls my age, and some are like — you know — women. Like my teachers. Other people too.” As she said that last, she paused in her dealing for a moment and stared straight into my eyes.

I had to take a deep breath. It took me a few seconds to be able to talk again. “That’s not so weird,” I assured her at last. “I had the biggest crush on my eighth grade music teacher. She could have had me any time.” We both giggled, and some of the tension drained from the air.

“Halee,” I went on, “when you masturbate, do you — finish? Do you have orgasms?”

I didn’t get an answer. We heard the front door open, and moments later a giggling girl and a big red dog burst through the dining nook and into the adjacent living room, Terry striding sedately in their wake. He tipped us a salute as he walked by. Moments later he and Dawn were seated side-by-side on the couch, Dawn hunched studiously over her math homework under her father’s watchful eye.

Halee and I quietly resumed our game. As she made a play, I extended my foot and swept it in a slow arc under the table, until it briefly came into contact with hers. I let my big toe linger just for a moment as it brushed past, then moved it away. Working to keep my face neutral, I considered the cards on the table. If Halee took note, she said nothing.

As I scrutinized my hand, I felt her big toe brush against mine. I darted my foot forward just a bit, placing my toe just over the top of hers, holding it there. I glanced up from my hand. Halee was gazing steadily in my direction, ignoring her cards, eyes wide. A moment later, I began gently caressing the top of her foot with my toe.

This is a bad fucking idea. I glanced back down at my hand, then off to my left into the living room, at Terry and Dawn. I could feel excitement building in me, and did Halee seem a bit flushed? This is a really bad, terrible fucking idea.

With an enormous effort of will, I pulled my foot away. Drawing a card, I tucked it into my hand and discarded another. I kept my eyes down, refusing to meet Halee’s gaze. Then I felt the ball of a foot graze the top of mine, pause, and begin to move in gentle circles.

Heat like a volcano was rising in me now. I glanced towards the living room again. I knew they wouldn’t be able to see the footsie action from that angle, even if they looked directly at us, but I still felt horribly vulnerable and exposed. The problem was, the perceived risk factor was making this whole damn thing even hotter.

Halee drew a card, laid three kings on the table, then discarded. My right foot and her left were now engaged in a slow, complicated, agonizing series of caresses. I drew my card and threw down a triple-ace play. I looked up to give Halee a triumphant smile, and froze. Her color was high, her eyes unfocused. Experimentally I ran my big toe up the inside of her ankle, and was rewarded with an indrawn hiss of air. Her breathing was becoming noticeably ragged. 

Time to end this thing. As I discarded I withdrew my foot, firmly tucking it, along with its mate, under my chair.

We didn’t play to 1000; I think we barely finished the hand. Without discussing it, we both knew the game was over. As I scooped up the cards, Halee stood up just a little too abruptly. “Lanie, come,” she said.

Her Boston terrier uncurled itself from the dog bed next to the fireplace and trotted over to her. “I’m taking the dogs for a walk,” she announced to the room in general.

“Ooh, I wanna walk Tink,” bubbled Dawn, still seated next to her father on the couch.

“Not a chance,” said Terry. “You’re going to finish these last two math problems.”

Dawn frowned, but turned her attention back to her assignment. Halee disappeared into the hall. I could hear vague sounds from the foyer as she leashed both animals, got into a jacket, and stepped out into the darkness.

As Dawn worked under her father’s watchful eye, I ascended the single step into the living room and joined them on the couch. Moments later, Naomi came home, bubbling with excitement over her upcoming production.

Finally Dawn finished her last problem, then dropped her pencil on the table. “Done.”

“And there it is,” said Terry. “You’re finished with school for the weekend. Now, would you care to take a guess at what time it is?”

“Time for Dawn to get her own iPad?” the little girl chirped up.

“Nooo — good try, but wrong. The correct answer is that it’s time for Dawn to take her tiny rear end to bed. Teeth and pajamas — go, go, go.”

Dawn threw him a classic pouty face and flounced towards the bathroom. The front door opened, heralding the return of two dogs and a pre-teen girl.

“Halee,” Terry called out to his eldest daughter, “I don’t really care how late you stay up, but you’re on your own tonight, kiddo.” He turned towards Naomi. “You can stay up one more hour. No more than that, all right?”

“Sure, Daddy.” She kissed him, and moved off down the hall.

Halee entered the living room, cradling her dog upside down like a baby and rubbing its belly. Setting the terrier on the couch next to me, she bent over and hugged her father, planting a kiss on his cheek. She straightened, turned towards me, and leaned in for a hug. Caught off guard, I froze for a moment, then put my arms around the girl’s shoulders and squeezed. I expected her to let go almost at once, but she lingered just for a moment, her cheek pressed against mine. Then she straightened with a mysterious little smile. Collecting her dog, Halee disappeared in the direction of the stairs.

The bathroom door swung open and Dawn came out, stomping a little as she made her way towards the hall leading to her bedroom. She stopped in front of the couch, spread her feet apart, and placed her hands on her hips.

“How come Halee gets to stay up as late as she wants?” she demanded to know.

“Because she’s twelve and you’re eight. Your time will come. Did you brush your teeth?” She folded her arms across her chest at him, but nodded.

“Good, said Terry. “C’mere.” The pouty expression stayed glued to her face, but she settled into her father’s lap readily enough, allowing him to hug and kiss her.

“Okay,” said Terry. “Move out. Get your pajamas on, and you can read one story before you kill your light. If I go in there half an hour from now and the light is still on, you are unlikely to enjoy what takes place afterwards. Questions?”

“Um… what if it’s a really long story?” Dawn asked.

“Read a short one. Anything else?”

She shook her head, slid off his lap, and set off towards her bedroom.

Terry turned to face me. “So you’re not going to the debrief tomorrow?” he said.

“Jesus, not you, too.”

“Hear me out, Nettie,” He paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.

“This one sucks,” he said. “A teenage kid died, and it was a kid everyone liked who played on — well, fuck, one of the sports teams, and who was related to half the damn county. There are a lot of emotions flying around, and a bunch of the people who responded yesterday are probably feeling shitty about it. I know Jessie is. Now, I think those meetings are mostly pointless myself, but this is an ever so rare instance where one person could walk in there and have a positive effect for a whole bunch of people. And I’m looking at her.”

“So, you’re jumping on the guilt-trip train.”

“You know I’m right.”

The problem is, I do know it, I thought morosely. The people at that briefing needed someone to tell them that the broken body lying on a cooling board somewhere wasn’t the fault of anybody who had responded to that accident scene, and I was the one person who had been there who could say that with authority. And if Jessie was as bad off as I’d been led to believe — dammit, this isn’t my job. Except that it sort of is, and I knew that, too. Terry was still gazing steadily at me.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, turning my eyes away from him. “If I do go — if– I reserve the right to hit the first person who utters the phrase, ‘will of God’.”

“No arguments here.”

He cupped my chin, gently turning my head to face him. “What’s on your mind, really?”

I sighed, and fought back a reflexive impulse to tell him to mind his own damn business. He knows me too well, I realized, and that makes me uncomfortable. Is that part of the reason we can never seem to get our shit together?

“It’s the autopsy report,” I said at last. “Why would George not want me to see it?”

“Why don’t you ask him? I probably will if you don’t.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You’re too new around here to walk up to the chief of police and call him a liar. Hell, I’ve lived here my whole life, and I’m not sure I want to go there.” I ran my fingers restlessly through my hair, pulling it back. “But he lied to me this afternoon, didn’t he? I Googled the jurisdictional thing, and you’re right. He doesn’t need authorization. Why the hell would he tell me that he does, and can’t get it?”

Terry looked thoughtful. “My exceptional intellectual powers, which are exceeded only by the length of my reproductive organ, cry out to me that the best way to answer that question is to get a look at the report. They further suggest that George is not your only avenue towards achieving that goal.” Terry’s  mock-formal, vaguely sarcastic manner of speaking never fails to lift my mood. I had to suppress a giggle.

“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “I’m planning on making a couple of phone calls in the morning. I should at least be able to get a summary from Doctor Murphey in Johnstown.”

“And there you have it.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to grab a shower.”

I thought for a moment to join him; it’d be an easy way to tame my raging hormones without hating myself. But something held me back. A dividing line had been crossed, and I wasn’t sure what to do about it yet.

“Meet you in bed,” I told him.

When he arrived there, I pretended I was already asleep.

On to Chapter Four!

Introduction by JetBoy: Some of you will have already read this nifty, sexy little tale when it first ran at Lesbian Lolita, like BlueJean’s previous story, “The Beekeeper’s Daughters.” I loved that one so much that I knew we had to have this one as well. 

In this newer version, the plot of “Selkie Days,” remains unchanged, while the text itself is radically different. While in the editing process, Blue Jean did extensive rewrites, often tinkering with a paragraph in dozens of ways until it met with his satisfaction. I made suggestions and he responded, often improving on my humble ideas. It’s a much better story now, and his hard work made it that way. See for yourself, friends.

by BlueJean

I remember coming into the small harbour town of Morcant-On-Sea for the first time – standing there on the top deck of the ferry, a solemn child of eleven years with all the weight of the world on my shoulders.

My mother had put me on a train, gave me a peck on the cheek, then went on her merry way with her new husband. Not a holiday, she was at pains to point out; an extended honeymoon. And there was no place for children on extended honeymoons.

So off I was shipped to my Uncle Derek and Aunt Rita’s house on the coast.

The seaside town was carved into the cliff face, a peninsula of colourfully painted houses all stacked on top of one another – or so it seemed to me. Little cobbled streets snaked between them, down and down to the harbour where my uncle moored his fishing trawler and the market traders sold his catch.

And there he was, my mother’s brother, standing on the jetty with a makeshift sign slung round his neck: UNCLE DEREK!!!

I wasn’t sure the sign was even necessary, given my bearded giant of an uncle was waving his arms around like a lunatic and shouting, “Hailey! Hailey! It’s me, Uncle Derek!” at the top of his voice. I was hardly likely to mistake him for anyone else.

I hoofed my big suitcase off the ferry as my uncle pushed through the throng of tourists and mainland commuters to meet me. He let out a big belly laugh and hoisted me up, luggage and all.

“HAHAHA! Hailey, girl! Look at the size of ye! Give yer old uncle a kiss!” he boomed and scrubbed me with his big bushy beard, causing me to screw my face up and sneeze all over him.

“Hello, Uncle Derek.”

He wiped his face with the back of a hand and beamed at me. “Ah, got me a face full o’ sea spray!” Depositing me back on the jetty, he stuck my suitcase under one of his arms and ushered me through the crowd, hollering, “Comin’ through! Make way for me niece! Comin’ through!”

I’d never felt so embarrassed in all my life.

He threw my case into the boot of his little yellow original Fiat 500, then squeezed himself into the driver seat as I climbed into the passenger side. “It’s been a while, girl. How long, you reckon?” he asked me as we made our way up through streets of rainbow terraces.

“I think it’s three years,” I replied. “You came to our house for Christmas, didn’t you?” I was eight years old and quite fancied the notion that Santa Claus and his wife were coming to stay with us.

“Aye, that’s it. Yer Aunt Rita’s lookin’ forward to seeing ye. Hasn’t stopped talkin’ about it for weeks.”

My mother had never needed much of an excuse to dislike a person, but my uncle’s wife had rubbed her the wrong way from the very start. Aunt Rita was an unapologetically loud and coarse woman. And that was before she’d even had a drink. She’d also embarked on a career path as a mechanic, something my straight-laced mother could never quite get her head round.

Uncle Derek wound his window down and fired off a verbal missile at a traffic warden sticking a ticket on some poor sod’s windscreen. “Get a proper job, ya fuckin’ pencil pusher!”

I just had time to witness the shocked man jump out of his skin and drop his notepad, before I slid down lower in my seat and hid my face behind a hand.

“S’cuse my language,” Uncle Derek hee-hawed with a delighted grin. “So what’s yer new dad like?”

“He’s not my dad,” I replied, making that fact very clear.

“Oh, fair enough. How’s yer mam?”

I rolled my shoulders into a nonchalant shrug, then idly flicked the pirate spring ornament that adorned the dashboard.

“I don’t blame ya for being pissed off. It weren’t right to leave ya behind.”

“She hates me.”

“No, she don’t.”

“She does.”

“Nope. People make bad choices. Yer mam’s no different. Anyways, I’m glad she didn’t take ya along.”

“Why?”

He stuck his big shovel hand out and tickled my ribs. “‘Cause now me and yer aunt get to spoil ye rotten for the next two months!”

I wriggled against his assault and did my best not to laugh. “Stop it! I’m not in the mood!”

“HAHAHA!”

My uncle and aunt lived atop the peninsula overlooking the town and the harbour below. Resident lighthouse keepers had once called the pale stucco cottage home, but these days the lighthouse kept a solitary vigil upon the cliff, fully automated but for the occasional need for maintenance.

As we pulled into the yard, Aunt Rita craned her head from beneath a car bonnet, her face daubed with smudges of dirty oil. She wiped her hands on her dungarees, then strolled over to us, and when I clambered out of the car, I was greeted with a kiss upon my brow.

“Hey, kid.”

My aunt was a petite but shapely woman in her early thirties, thick dark hair scrunched haphazardly into a bun, and deep brown eyes filled with humour and gleeful mischief. Her beauty was unconventional, but undoubtedly it was there. Secretly, I think I had a little crush on her.

“Hi, Aunt Rita.”

“You married yet?” she asked me.

“I’m only eleven,” I told her.

“Eleven?! Get away! You’re at least twenty-five, by the look of you.”

The old cottage was a simple building, but the weight of history clung to its plastered walls and dimly lit spaces. My room was at the apex – a musty converted attic replete with squeaky oak floorboards, beams and sloping ceilings, and a large porthole window overlooking the sea. I loved every inch of it.

“Stick her suitcase down, oaf. Then you may leave us,” Aunt Rita told her husband, waving him away as she sat on the bed next to me.

“Pipe down, fishwife!” my uncle bellowed with good humour, squeezing his bear-like bulk down the spiral staircase that led to my new lodgings. “I’ll be downstairs when you’re both done talkin’ ’bout how handsome I am.”

My aunt draped an arm around my shoulders and leaned into me. “You okay staying with us for a while? You don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice to see you both again.”

Her smile was warm and playful. “Your uncle sails out again tomorrow. He won’t be around much, but you and me can get up to all kinds of trouble. We can head down to the pub and get drunk, slap a few trollops around, maybe bring back a couple o’ fellas. What d’ya reckon?”

“I’m not really old enough for that,” I reminded her.

“Aww! Don’t like good looking fellas?”

I could feel the heat reach my cheeks. “Dunno, really.”

She gave my shoulder a little squeeze. “Prefer girls, then? Or maybe both! I’ll bet you’re starting to think about that kind of thing.”

I tried to sound a bit scandalised at the accusation, but I wasn’t a very good liar. “Uh, no.”

Aunt Rita flashed her eyes. “I’ll get you to spill the beans sooner or later!” Standing up, she headed toward the stairs. “Get yourself unpacked and then come down when you’re ready. I’ll fix us up something to eat.”

As we sat in the kitchen and ate our meal, my uncle spooning extra rations onto my plate, and my aunt sweeping my hair away from my eyes, I remembered feeling… wanted. My mother hadn’t often lavished attention upon me, and recently most of her affection seemed to be reserved for her new man. True, she had fed and clothed me; provided a roof over my head, but looking back now I see it for what it was: a soft neglect – not borne of malice or cruelty, but simply ill consideration from a self-centred parent.

Children don’t always realise they’re missing something until they get a taste of it. As Uncle Derek insisted on heaping more potatoes onto my plate, I tried to tell him I couldn’t manage any more, but burst into tears instead.

“Oh, Hailey!” Aunt Rita cried.

My surprised looking uncle suddenly faltered, serving spoon full of spuds suspended above my plate. “Eh?”

“Now look what you’ve done, you buffoon!” my aunt accused him.

“It – it’s not Uncle Derek’s fault!” I wailed. “I’m just happy to b-be here, okay?”

My uncle bellowed with laughter, new potatoes tumbling down across the table and onto the floor. “Ah, shit!”

Aunt Rita rolled her eyes at her husband’s clumsiness. “We’re happy to have you, kid,” she told me sincerely, and gave me a comforting squeeze.

“It’s like The One Who Got Away came back to us,” Uncle Derek mused as he scooped up the rogue vegetables.

I didn’t know what The One Who Got Away was and didn’t think to ask, but when Aunt Rita smiled and nodded at her husband’s words, I could see the sadness in her eyes.

As I lay in bed that night with my window and curtains open to the sea air, beginning to drift off to sleep, I thought I could hear someone singing, the voice so faint I wondered if I’d imagined it. I stood on the bed and poked my head out the porthole window, straining to hear, but whatever it was, the wind must have carried it in some new direction, or it had simply ceased. Perhaps Aunt Rita had the radio on somewhere in the house.

I climbed back under the sheets, and soon enough, a deep slumber settled over me.

***

The next morning we headed down to the harbour to see Uncle Derek and his crew off. For three days he would be at sea. It was dangerous, tough work, and no guarantee of a profitable catch. But once a fisherman, always a fisherman, they say.

His crew was a motley bunch. Sully, the first mate, was an old man with pale eyes that had seen too much, and a tight-lipped mouth that would speak none of it. Jack was handsome, cocky, and invincible, still young enough that life had yet to teach him its harsh lessons. And finally, Odette, a French woman built like a brick shithouse, who gave the rest of the crew a run for their money.

As they headed out to sea, Aunt Rita and I stood on the jetty and waved them off, and when the trawler had finally vanished across the water, she took me by the hand. “Let me show you around our seaside town.”

We visited the little parade of shops that ran alongside the harbour: The butcher’s, the baker’s, a post office that sold anything the other two shops didn’t. A doctor’s surgery on the corner, and a dental practice next to that. Down on the harbour itself, the local pub: The Mal De Mer. A rough looking place, but friendly enough, my aunt assured me.

And a mysterious bookshop, its gothic styling at odds with the surrounding architecture, as if it had transported itself here from the nineteenth century. I knew I would have to step through that black painted door before my stay was over. It was too intriguing not to.

We found ourselves down on the beach. It surrounded the peninsula like a protective band, dunes of ocean grasses thinning out to shingle and soft white sand, and further still to jetties of rock where seals could often be found basking. Then finally outward to the marbled waters, where whales breached and seabirds patrolled the skies overhead.

After our tour of the harbour town, we hiked our way back up to the cottage. Aunt Rita told me she had to tow a car from downtown to the yard, so I was left to my own devices until she got back.

Feeling inquisitive, I explored the cottage from bottom to top, checking cupboards and drawers for treasure. At eleven years old and with an increasing interest in all things sexual, ‘treasure’ meant naughty things: rude magazines and DVDs, sex toys and skimpy lingerie. I knew the most valuable booty would likely be found upstairs.

I plundered the bathroom first – the cabinet over the basin and the arid, cavernous space of the airing cupboard. Not much of interest.

The wicker lid of the laundry basket sat askew, inviting me to plunder its depths. I rifled through Uncle Derek’s boxers, pushing them aside – these were not the treasure I sought. Deeper I dug, until I found what I was seeking: Aunt Rita’s panties. I fished a pair out and inspected the soiled fabric.

I had sniffed my own knickers on occasion; even spirited a pair or two of my mother’s back to my room. But this thin wad of violet cotton I held in my hands was an entirely new proposition. The notion that they had sat nestled against my aunt’s most private of places was as exquisite as it was illicit. I crushed them to my face and discovered a rich musk better than anything my mother could offer.

I carried them into my aunt and uncle’s bedroom and made a beeline for the wardrobe. A single tatty black suit and two neglected looking dresses hung in the coffin-like space. I struggled to imagine Derek and Rita clad in such formal attire, probably why there were so many empty hangers. Boxes on the top shelf housed photographs and paperwork, but in another box at the bottom, underneath some shoes, I found dildos, three of them of varying sizes, two smooth and one veiny like a real cock. I inspected them carefully, turning each one in my hands and wondering how they would feel pressed against my pussy. I put them back in the box and made a mental note for future use.

Next, I headed over to the tall chest of drawers, not expecting to find much more than clean underwear and socks, which held no interest for me. How wrong I was.

In the bottom drawer, beneath a pile of t-shirts, I found DVDs. I knew people didn’t hide those unless they were porn. Sure enough, the ridiculous titles gave them away. I had hit the motherlode. There was even a conveniently placed TV and DVD player atop the dresser. I was about to load one up when I spotted another loose disc at the bottom. This one was plain, except for a cross that someone had scrawled in marker pen.

X, as we all know, marks the spot.

I switched on the TV and player, then made an offering of the mystery disc, half expecting it to be a chronicle of my aunt and uncle’s wedding day, or a video account of one of Uncle Derek’s fishing trips.

What I found instead was Aunt Rita and another woman I’d never seen before, with a little girl of around five or six. It looked like it’d been filmed in the living room below. Not considering that this might be something even remotely sexual in nature, I was about to turn it off and replace it with one of the porn DVDs.

“Mummy, why’re you making a video?” I heard the little girl ask. She and the other woman were mother and daughter, then.

“Because it’s fun to make videos.”

I was struck by the beauty of this exotic looking woman. Dark flowing hair framed her dusky grey eyes, skin naturally tanned and of an olive complexion. I guessed her age to be mid or late thirties, and found myself wondering if she was Italian.

“Shall we go to the beach and look for seashells?” the girl said.

“Later on, honey. Mummy and Rita want to do sexy things with you first.”

That caught my attention. I quickly took my finger away from the eject button.

Then Aunt Rita was asking the child, “Isla, would you like to see my boobies?” and the girl called Isla was bobbing her head enthusiastically, perhaps not fully aware what she was agreeing to.

I drew a gasp of breath as my aunt hiked up her t-shirt and allowed her perky breasts to spring free.

“What do you think of those?” the woman asked her daughter, gesturing at my aunt’s tits. Little Isla could only stand and stare, seemingly unsure what the correct response to such a question might be.

“You can touch them if you like,” my aunt said, cupping the firm globes in her hands like fleshy offerings.

Isla turned to her mother for guidance.

“It’s okay, you’re allowed to feel them,” the woman told her, leaning across to knead one of Aunt Rita’s tits. “It’s really squidgy. Have a try, poppet.”

Isla reached out a small, pudgy hand and placed it against the swell of a warm breast, eliciting delighted coos and words of encouragement from my aunt. “That feels very nice, Isla. Squeeze them a little harder for me. They won’t break.” She took the little girl’s other hand and guided it to her neglected second breast.

Isla’s mother, meanwhile, was unbuttoning her black blouse, peeling it away from her body, then pulling down a lacy bra to free her own ample bosom.

“Oh, wow,” I muttered, marvelling at the stiff dark nipples on display and the wide ring of areolae that shadowed them.

“Touch me too, sweetie,” the woman said, claiming a little hand to place against her own breast.

“Rita, yours is smaller and harder… but Mummy’s is bigger and softer,” Isla informed my aunt, eyes darting back and forth between the two semi-naked women.

“I know, I’ve touched your mummy’s boobies lots of times,” Aunt Rita admitted, and I wondered if my uncle was aware of that. Somehow, I doubted it.

“Can we have a little touch of yours now?” I heard the lady ask her daughter, and the youngster was nodding and giggling away, while the two women hoisted her little pink t-shirt up and over her head.

My aunt regarded the flat pale chest in front of her with hungry eyes. “Such a sexy little girl.”

“Am I?” the child asked with a grin.

Rita trailed her fingers down the smooth torso, causing Isla to wiggle and twitch at the sensation. “Definitely.”

“Let’s get these off, too,” the lady purred, unpopping the buttons on her little girl’s shorts and sliding them down her legs. Isla stood poised between a valley of cleavage, an adorable pair of Tweetie Pie panties her only armour against whatever was to come next.

I sat on the edge of Aunt Rita’s bed and slipped a hand into my knickers while I watched the glamorous woman lick a finger and use it to moisten her daughter’s tiny nipples.

“Tickles!” Isla squealed.

“Shhh…” her mother hushed and bent to kiss the nape of her neck, while my aunt pushed her tits out to brush her nipples across the child’s chest.

“Enjoying yourself, Rita?” the woman asked.

Rita barely gave the question any consideration. “We should do this more often, you know.”

“Pervert.”

My aunt could hardly deny it, so asked instead, “Can we take her panties off?”

Isla’s mother gasped in mock horror. “Did you hear that, Isla? That naughty Rita wants to pull your knickers down!”

“You’re naughty, Rita!” Isla giggled.

“I am not!”

“You are!”

“I’ll bet she wants to have a look at your private bits,” the woman near-whispered to her daughter, as if the two of them shared a special secret. “Shall we let her?”

The little girl hooked a hand beneath her chin in consideration. “Hmm… I’ll let you, Rita. But you have to come with us after to look for seashells, okay?”

“Okay, then,” Aunt Rita agreed. “I know where all the best seashells are.” She peeled the child’s panties down her legs in a slow, deliberate choreography. When the cartoon undies had reached Isla’s knees, she left them hanging while she pondered, “Fuck… is there anything hotter than a little girl with her knickers halfway down her legs?”

Isla’s mother tutted her impatience. “Rita’s useless, isn’t she? Never finishes what she starts.” She slipped her daughter’s panties all the way off. “Now, come and play with my little girl’s cunt.”

I was shocked to hear her use the ‘C’ word in front of her daughter, not that it was going to keep me from fondling myself. I brought my aunt’s dirty panties up to my nose for good measure.

Aunt Rita licked a finger, then snaked her hand down between Isla’s legs. She took the youngster’s puffy mound into the palm of her hand, a finger gliding through the narrow slit. “Does that feel nice?

The little girl responded with soft, barely audible murmurs, her eyes fixed upon my aunt’s fingers as they brushed to and fro.

The lady caressed the tight globes of her daughter’s bare bottom. “Such a big girl, letting Rita do rude things to you.” Then she was turning the child and picking her up, moving towards the camera as Isla’s arms and legs wrapped instinctively around her mother. “What else can we make Rita do, I wonder?”

As if in slow motion, those little arse cheeks parted, prised ever wider by her mother’s hands, until the taut pink muscle of Isla’s anus peeked out and blinked at me in high definition.

“There’s a tasty little bumhole here for you, Rita. What’re you waiting for?”

Aunt Rita flicked her tongue across the child’s arsehole while her mother held her open, muscle lashing against muscle, wet trails of saliva glazing the puckered confection.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered, not quite believing what I was seeing. I yanked my shorts and panties down to my knees, then crammed a finger into my pussy.

“You like licking little girls’ arseholes, dirty Rita? How many times are you going to play this back and watch yourself molesting my daughter? Hmm?”

Isla gazed down at the proceedings below with interest. “Mummy does that too sometimes, Rita.”

My aunt managed to detach her face from the child’s anus long enough to reply, “Oh, I know all about your wicked mummy.”

“Don’t forget to lick her pussy too,” the lady growled, so my aunt flicked her tongue through Isla’s puffy slit and then back up into the crack of her arse.

Amidst a fog of arousal and no small measure of stunned disbelief, I sat and masturbated as I watched Aunt Rita lap away at the little girl, until the woman finally deposited her daughter back on the floor. “Let’s show Rita what else we’ve been getting up to,” she said and hiked her skirt up round her waist, slipping her panties off, then gently guiding the child’s head between her legs. “Be a clever girl and lick Mummy’s pussy.”

Isla teased at her mother’s cunt with kitten licks, her face small and vulnerable against the moist, fleshy vagina, as if at any moment it might reclaim the little girl and swallow her whole.

“I need some of that,” my aunt drawled, hastily pulling her jeans and panties off, then kicking them away. “Will you lick my pussy too, Isla?”

The child pulled away from her mother and breathed a dramatic sigh. “I can’t lick both, ’cause I only have one tongue.”

“That’s okay, we don’t mind taking turns,” the woman told her. “Give Rita’s a little lick, then you can do mine again.”

Isla buried her face in my aunt’s pubes, and Rita responded by grasping the little girl’s pigtails, grinding pussy against mouth with an urgent thrust. “Fuck…”

“You better keep this video hidden,” the lady warned as she gently stroked her daughter’s back. “We are so going to prison if anyone finds it.”

“St–stop worrying,” Rita groaned. “No one’s gonna find it. Now shut up and let me come in your little girl’s face…”

“Hurry up, then! Mummy needs to come, too.”

My aunt suddenly cried out, Isla’s face pressed tightly against her cunt as pleasure rippled through her body in tics and starts. The child uttered some muffled protest and made a futile attempt at pushing Rita away, until finally my aunt relented and released her with a breathless gasp.

“You’re bad, Rita!” a furious Isla complained. “I couldn’t breathe!”

Aunt Rita placated the child with a stroke of her hair. “Oops, sorry, Isla. You were just so amazing, I got carried away.”

The youngster turned back to her mother with an air of impatience. “Can we go to the beach now?”

“In a bit, honey. We’re almost done. I just need you to make me feel good like you did to Rita, okay?”

Isla sighed dramatically. “Okay… But don’t do what Rita did or I won’t talk to you for the whole day.”

The woman shared a wry look with my aunt. “All right, little madam. Lick Mummy’s pussy, then we can go hunt for seashells.” Unsheathing her clitoris from its hood, she beckoned the child closer with a hooked finger.

Isla seemed to know exactly what to do. She teased the glistening pearl with her tongue, then closed her lips around it to her mother’s obvious delight.

Aunt Rita retrieved the child’s panties and brushed them against her pussy while she watched the lady being eaten out by her little girl. “Fancy making your five-year-old daughter go down on you like that,” she said with a smirk. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” the woman growled, and pulled my aunt towards her in a lewd exchange of tongues, then abruptly pushed her away to warn with a desperate whimper, “Coming…”

“Do it!” Aunt Rita hissed, her companion already in the throes of ecstasy as she uttered the words. “Come for your little girl!”

My own climax rushed up to consume me, legs kicking out as I clutched my aunt’s dirty knickers to my face, the other hand clamped tightly between my thighs. “Oh! That’s… proper dirty!” I gasped.

“My face is all wet,” little Isla was complaining on screen.

Her mother snatched the sticky cartoon undies from my aunt’s grasp and wiped her daughter’s face with them. “There you go. Let’s put these back on, then we can head down to the beach.” She tugged the messy panties back up the child’s legs and gave her a pat on the bum.

Aunt Rita’s face loomed up close to the camera. She poked her tongue out, and then I was left staring at a blank screen.

What on earth had I just watched?

It seems more shocking now than it did back then. I was only eleven, and children have a tendency to accept whatever’s thrown at them without analysing it too much. I’d discovered online porn a few months before, as most kids my age had. But never had I witnessed something so wonderfully perverse.

I pulled my knickers and shorts back up and ejected the DVD, carefully placing it back into the bottom drawer underneath the other discs, then deposited Aunt Rita’s underwear back into the washing basket.

***

The next morning, my aunt and I headed downtown to do a bit of shopping, stopping off afterwards at a café down on the beachfront, where I was treated to a Danish pastry and a cappuccino.

“You’re quiet today,” Aunt Rita said as we sat outside in the café garden overlooking the sea.

It was almost impossible to look at my aunt without thinking about the video I had witnessed the day before. The illicit images were still bright and indelible in my mind, but I found it hard to reconcile this tomboyish mechanic and fisherman’s wife with the unspeakable things I had seen her do with the little girl and her mother. I almost managed to convince myself that I might have dreamt the whole thing.

“I’m just a bit tired,” I replied, and it wasn’t a lie – I had spent half the night awake with a hand down my knickers.

“Been doing naughty things in bed, have we?” Aunt Rita chuckled, as if she were reading my mind.

Normally, I would have denied it – things like that needed to be hidden from adults at all cost – but now I knew my aunt was unlikely to be surprised at anything I told her. And having discovered she was into sex with kids, and that maybe there was a possibility she might be willing to do it with me too, my little crush on her had quite suddenly developed into full-on infatuation.

So I shrugged and gave her a little smile – testing the waters, so to speak.

Aunt Rita seemed unfazed. “Dirty little stop out.”

“I bet you do it too,” I shot back, becoming a little bolder.

“Cor, not half!” she admitted, nudging me in the ribs. “What else is a wife to do when her husband’s away?”

Molest little girls with your friend? I wanted to say, but didn’t dare.

“How long you been diddlin’ yourself, then?” my aunt said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to be asking an eleven-year-old girl.

“A few months, I suppose,” I replied, my cheeks turning a little pink.

“I better be careful not to walk in on you then, hadn’t I?” my aunt told me with a wink, then narrowed her dark eyes. “Or… maybe I will walk in on you.”

Was she flirting with me? Well, two could play at that game.

“You can if you want,” I said, giving her a sassy little side-glance. “It’s your house, you can do what you like, I s’pose.”

After a moment’s silence, my aunt slapped her hand down upon the table and rattled out a dirty laugh. I could see I was going to have to work a lot harder than that to shock her. “Drink up,” she told me. “I have to visit a friend before we go home.”

We found ourselves at the doctor’s surgery, sitting in a small waiting room.

“Does your friend work here?” I asked my aunt.

She gave me a nod. “She’s a doctor. Actually she’s the doctor. The only one in town.”

“You have to make an appointment to see her?”

“Shush, cheeky! She’s a busy girl.”

As an old lady emerged from the doctor’s office, Aunt Rita stood up and made for the door. “Quick, let’s sneak in before her next patient arrives.”

I followed my aunt into the room and closed the door behind me.

“Hailey, this is my friend Madeline. Doctor Madeline to you. Madeline, this is my niece Hailey.”

My heart shot into my throat and I nearly gasped out loud.

Sitting at a desk wearing a white coat, a stethoscope around her neck, was the woman from the video. Madeline, mother to little Isla and child pornographer. And she was looking at me.

“H-hello,” I stuttered, my eyes flitting down to her cleavage before I could stop them.

Doctor Madeline glanced down at my point of interest, then back up at me with a wry expression. “Well, hello, Hailey,” she purred. “Your aunt didn’t tell me she had such a pretty niece.”

On to Chapter Two!