Davina

'No,' said I, 'why don't you let me buy you one tomorrow dinnertime? We could lunch somewhere too, now you're old enough.'

'Like two ladies who lunch?' Sara laughed. 'That sounds good to me. Let's walk home. The sooner we go to sleep, the sooner we'll be out again.'

I didn't mention this earlier but, before the upper sixth, Sara and I were not particularly matey, despite us living less than two hundred yards apart. Lately, however, Lady Luck seemed to have had changed her plans for us. All that travelling to and from parties had a lot to do with it. Bingley might have been central to us but a lot of our schoolmates lived in outlying villages; some of the venues were miles out of town. We'd shared plenty of buses and taxis lately, and almost inevitably we had grown closer.

And now we were kissing-close, weren't we?

Kissing-close ladies with a lunchtime date ahead of them.

Chapter Three

I heard the usual night sounds as, hand-in-hand, we crossed Main Street into Park Road: the steady hum of traffic on the nearby bypass; the bass beat of music coming from the Midland pub; a drunk two or three streets away, either singing to anyone who'd listen or howling at the moon; the occasional slam of a car door.

'I've had a great day,' Sara assured me. 'It's been my best ever. And dancing with you was ace. I think I'm going to need another kiss before I let you go, though.'

I stopped in my tracks and, turning her round to face me, kissed her there and then, out in the street, opposite the fish and chip shop.

And some folk reckon the age of romance is dead!

Not that "romance" had anything to do with the price of eggs. No, I was all steamed up and horny and didn't spare romance a single thought.

Fortunately, neither did Sara.

I suppose that being outdoors added to the experience, even if there wasn't anybody about to see us. That is to say, there probably wasn't anybody about to see us. To tell the truth I was fully focused on Sara. The rest of the world had ceased to exist. It was me and her, our mouths and tongues frantically interacting; that was all that mattered. That and nothing else

And yes, we'd progressed to tongues. Earlier, at her party, I'd felt the tip of Sara's tongue brushing my lower lip. At the time that had been as far as it went. I guess I hadn't known how to encourage her and she hadn't the nerve to try for more. When I felt it a second time I met it with my own, fencing with it a bit before leading it into my mouth.

God, this was hot! My hands were behaving themselves; one was on the back of her neck, the other was on her waist. I don't know where hers had been but suddenly they were both on my bum, pulling our lower bodies as close as could be. Then she was squeezing me as well as pulling; squeezing and relaxing; squeezing and relaxing.

I pushed her tongue out of my mouth, following it back into hers, thrusting in and out in sync with her squeezes. Although conscious of little I was very aware of three things: her tits were tight against my chest; her groin was rubbing hard against mine and . . .

Omigod, I was going to cum!

I tried to contain myself but had no chance. I was too far gone and maybe didn't really want to hold off anyway. The orgasm hit me hard, driving the breath out of me, making my legs boneless and without a doubt drenching my knickers.

And still we went on, thrusting and rubbing, squeezing and relaxing . . . and on and on. Don't ask how I did it and why I wasn't in a heap on the pavement. It must have been adrenalin and Sara's grip on my backside.

That or divine intervention.

I was starting to wonder if Sara's self-control was superhuman when . . . at last . . . she broke off our kiss and buried her face in my shoulder. I could feel her teeth, biting into me, and I could also feel her whole body juddering hard against me.

Oh yes, I thought giddily, she's cum! I've made a fellow female cum!!

*****

'Oh my word,' Sara gasped some considerable time afterwards. 'Oh my friggin' word!'

Hand-in-hand again, we resumed our uphill walk, both of us smiling. A solitary car passed, headed down into town. The mob of lads in it shouted something at us out of a window but we took no notice. Waving or giving them a well-deserved finger would probably only have led to trouble.

And who knows, they might have shouted something nice.

Not!

'Binny's party tomorrow,' Sara began.

'Binny's party tonight, you mean,' I gently corrected.

'Yeah; you're right, it's tomorrow already. Anyway, are we going to Binny's as an item? Word's out about us already, so we might as well.'

'Do you mind word being out?'

'No, I don't mind at all. Which is just as well, isn't it? The whole school's going to know by dinnertime on Monday.'

'In that case let's go as an item.'

'Deal,' she said, squeezing my hand (that felt nice, but not nearly as nice as when she was squeezing my ass).

All too soon we were at Sara's turning. She lived in one of Bingley's more desirable areas (her road was a "drive" rather than a humble street). We only had to walk a few yards along it to find a wall that was suitable for leaning against and snogging.

The passion was still there and so were the sensations. The body contact wasn't the same, though, not upstairs or down. I found out why before I could start fretting about it.

Sara wanted to allow me access.

I can't tell you how excited I was when she took my hand and drew it up to her chest, inside her half-open jacket.

As simple as that: I was touching the top of her bare breast. And it was easy-peasy to slip my fingers into her low-cut frock. She was bra-less and a firm half-globe of flesh immediately pressed into my palm.

'Oh yes,' she sighed.

Moving with an impetus of its own, my other hand landed on her bare thigh and began to inch its way inwards and upwards.

'Oh yes,' she repeated, 'oh yes, oh yes.'

Still cupping and lightly stroking her boob, I smiled to myself as my mind-of-its-own hand arrived at the joint between Sara's leg and torso. It was warm in there; very warm and very, very damp.

'Don't stop,' she breathed, 'whatever you do please, please don't stop.'

I ran my index finger lightly along her flesh, touching all sorts at once: inner thigh, the joint itself and, best of all, her labium.

No, make that her swollen labium. I was no expert but I was sure it was swollen and pumped full of red-hot blood. Mine certainly were!!

Sara immediately bit back into my shoulder. I had intended to venture a little adventurously into her panties, but it was obvious her self-control wasn't superhuman after all. Unless I was very mistaken, she came in a matter of moments.

Then, a couple of moments later, she came again.

*****

I checked the time on my mobile while Sara recovered.

'I don't believe it,' I said, 'it's ten to two. It's taken us an hour and a half to walk a few hundred yards.'

'I believe it,' Sara replied. 'And I believe it'll take another ninety minutes to walk the last fifty.'

'You mean you haven't had enough?' I chuckled. Sara's legs still seemed as boneless as my own had been, farther back down the hill. She was virtually propped up between me and the wall. She was still gasping for air, too. 'Or do you mean it'll take you that long to regain your balance?'

'I'm fine,' she said bravely, 'never better. And I owe you for what you just did for me; big-time.'

'You're supposed to be home before two.'

'Ask me if I'm bothered.'

Sara's eyes were doing their sex thing again. I was sorely tempted to dally there with her but the do-gooder nerd in me came to the fore.

'If you set off now you'll be home early,' I observed wisely. 'You'll earn loads of brownie points with your mum. And you'll be up in time for Saturday lunch.'

She grumbled a bit then laughed and burst into a grin. 'Ring me about eleven,' she said. 'I can't wait to find out where you're taking me.'

Chapter Four

I had set my alarm for ten thirty Saturday morning but needn't have bothered. At precisely ten o'clock Mum came into my room, bringing me a cup of coffee, drawing the curtains and opening the window.

'It's a lovely day,' she said brightly. 'Don't waste in it bed.'

She'd already made enough noise to ensure I wouldn't drift off back to sleep. Wide awake, I decided I felt good considering I'd had a late night. There again, I'd been otherwise engaged, hadn't I? My usual Friday alcohol consumption must have been halved . . . at least.

'How did Sara's party go?' Mum asked, showing no sign of leaving me in peace.

'Okay,' I replied, blushing ever-so slightly. 'I think she enjoyed herself.'

'I suppose you'll be out with her again tonight. She seems to see more of you than I do nowadays.'

'I'm seeing her for lunch,' I said. 'And yes, it's Binny's party tonight.'

'I'm surprised you've got any birthday money left, the way you carry on.'

I winced inwardly at Mum's latest observation. I had been astonished by the amounts of cash I'd been given for my eighteenth. Being squirrel-like by nature, I'd tucked most of it away in my secret savings account. I had, however, retained a few quid for "everyday expenses" . . . meaning essentials such as beer, wine and curries. After buying Sara lunch that retention would be gone.

Not that I'd be penniless. I worked Monday and Tuesday evenings in the local Spar and Dad gave me a reasonably generous monthly allowance. I would just have to revert to being frugal, that was all.

'I'll get by,' I assured my mother, summoning a devil-may-care grin.

Alone at last I sipped coffee and wondered if I was still a virgin. Yes, I know that was a strange thing to be worrying about, but I really wasn't sure. What exactly were the rules for lesbians? Did having a fellow female inspire an orgasm count?

And what about inspiring said fellow female in a similar direction?

I had listened to girl friends at school debating the conventional loss of virginity, which didn't seem to be as straightforward as I'd expected. If they had asked me I would have said "dick in vagina equals loss of virginity". But no, some of them insisted it had to be unprotected dick in vagina, and it also had to cum . . .

That led to arguments about cumming. If a virgin gave her boyfriend a hand job all the way to a spurt was that enough? What if she gave him a blowjob and swallowed his spunk? Round and round they went until I was dizzy.

The best consensus they arrived at was that penetration had to happen but not merely with a finger or two. Protection and cumming remained moot points.

So, I mused, cradling my empty mug and staring into space, what the hell do girls have to do without a guy being involved? Do we have to use strap-ons like those tarts in some of the videos?

Baffled, I went for a shower and applied a liberal amount of shampoo, which I tend to use instead of gel. That's the benefit of having short hair, you see. I don't have to bother with shower caps or fixing my locks up into a bun. I just wash it at least once every day and it looks good all the time.

Humming to myself, I began to lather the rest of my body then did my eyes widening trick again when I innocently touched my nipples. Now, I haven't mentioned them before but, although I've got next to no tits at all, my nips belong on someone who's 34D.

And that's before I'm aroused!

I must admit I was aroused right then in the shower. One tiny touch of a nip and a white lightning bolt shot directly through my heart and into my sex. Intrigued, I touched my other nipple. It had the same effect and . . . incredibly . . . so did the slightest touch of my almost non-existent breasts.

It's Sara, I thought, she's flicked some switch in me!

I'm turning into a sex maniac!

Then, sliding a soapy hand between my legs: And isn't life great!!

*****

Ten minutes and two self-inflicted cums later I was back in my room, smelling of lemons and limes, as per usual. Dressing took no time at all. I went for fresh knickers, a new pair of Levi's and a plain white sweat. Then, smiling knowingly to myself, I added white ankle socks. Known locally as "virgin socks", they did seem somehow appropriate.

And they matched my panties and sweatshirt.

Last night's clothes were in an untidy pile on a chair. I put the jeans back in my wardrobe and slung the rest into my wash basket, taking a moment to examine the knickers. They seemed dry enough but there was a very noticeable stain on them; it covered perhaps fifty per cent of the fabric, mostly at the front.

It's a good job I do my own washing, I reckoned as I buried them out of sight in the basket. And I'll do my next load while Mum's out shopping.

By then it was ten past eleven. Sara answered on my second ring.

'Hiya lover,' she said, 'what's new?'

'I dunno,' said I. 'I've only just got up and haven't even checked my emails yet. I wanted to make sure you're still up for lunch before I do anything else.'

'Wow!' Sara laughed. 'I'm more important than your emails!! You bet I'm still up for lunch. Where are we going; the Ferrands or the Suburban?'

'I thought maybe we'd try the Foundry.'

'Wow,' went Sara again, 'you really must want to get into my pants. Okay then, the Foundry it is. Shall we meet at the end of my road?'

'Yes. They open at twelve so I'll see you at ten to. All right?'

'I'll be there waiting for you. And by then way, I've got news.'

'Don't say you're pregnant,' I joked (rather weakly).

'No, it's good news, not bad. But don't ask me now, I'll tell you when we're there with drinks in our hands.'

Chapter Five

The Foundry was more of a restaurant-cum-wine bar than an out-and-out pub. By Bingley standards it was nice and classy . . . and quite expensive. Confession: I had considered somewhere cheaper but it was Saturday lunchtime with Manchester United on TV. Most of the pubs that did food would be full of football rowdies. I wanted serenity and a cosy chat, not grown men yelling at each other.

Imagine my surprise then when . . . ta-dah . . . the Foundry was also showing the big match. That was the downside. The upside was that the bar area was separate from the dining area. And, as an added bonus, the Foundry's football watchers weren't at all rowdy. Well, not if compared to some of the guys in the town's other watering holes, anyway.

'Can you hear my stomach rumbling?' Sara asked as she studied her menu. 'I'm going to enjoy this.'

We'd already ordered and been provided with pints of Foundry-branded pale ale. I sipped mine and tried not to add up the prices. 'Choose whatever you like,' I said magnanimously.

Sara did, ordering a starter and main and saying she'd pick her sweet in due course. Then, once I had made my selection and the waitress had gone, she laughed.

'Don't worry. I'm paying.'

'You are not,' I countered. 'I . . .'

She put a finger to my lips, restraining me. 'I'm cash-rich after Wednesday,' she said. 'And I need you to do me a big favour. That's why I'm paying.'

I frowned at that. I always keep my promises and I'd promised her lunch. Her expression was curious, though. She was clearly up to something.

'We could go Dutch,' I said.

'Don't you want to know what the favour is?'

'Go on, then.'

'Do you remember it's my parents' silver wedding next weekend?'

I did. 'The mini-break in New York,' said I.

'Yes, that's the one. And do you remember I'm due to spend the weekend with my aunt because I'm not trusted home alone?'

'The dreaded Aunt Joan,' I agreed, chuckling. Aunt Joan wasn't the ogress Sara painted her as, but she had strong opinions on boozing and partying. A ten o'clock curfew had already been imposed.

'Yeah, well I had a woman-to-woman talk with my mum this morning, over tea and toast. I said I'd be living on my own at uni before she knew it; that they'd gone away and left Jenny in charge when she was eighteen . . .'

I nodded. Jenny was Sara's older sister. She was currently at the University of Nottingham, doing her final year.

'Mum said it was being alone that was the point. When I go to uni I'll be in halls at first, with hundreds of other girls around me all the time. And she said that Jenny wasn't alone because she had me there with her.'

'All true,' I observed.

'Yes, all true and playing into my hands. I said in that case, what if I was to get a sensible and reliable friend to be my housemate. One who would promise not to let me throw wild parties and who could be trusted to stick to her word.'

My heart had been doing funny things over the last week or so, mostly pounding and hammering with a bit of thumping thrown in for luck. Now it was at it again, doing something fluttery and alarming. If Dad had been there with us I would have pinched one of his angina tablets.

'You mean someone like me?' I squeaked.

'Mum had to agree you're my perfect housemate. She knows that you will stick to every promise you make. And she knows that, if we do have any sort of a crisis, your parents are only two minutes away up the road. She said okay, if you and your mum are game, so's she. So what do you think?'

I thought my mum would say fine. She didn't know Mrs C very well but they were on more than just nodding terms. And her dad was a member of the same golf club as my dad. Additionally (and don't ask me why), both our fathers supported Bradford City. The two men had things in common, even if they weren't very best buddies.

'How long are they away for?' I wondered, knowing it wouldn't be long enough, relishing the prospect of being locked away with Sara for days on end.

'Four nights,' said she. 'They set off to fly from Manchester in the early hours of Friday and get back on Tuesday afternoon. I said that meant you'd need to stay Thursday night as well, to account for the early hours of Friday. Seeing as I can't be left on my own for ten minutes.'

'I'll ring Mum right away.' I got out my mobile just as our starters arrived.

'My mum's going to ring her,' said Sara, 'after she's had a chat with you. I told her we'd drop in around three this afternoon, so don't guzzle too many pints.'

'I want to run it by Mum first. Clear it in advance, if you know what I mean.'

'Eat your starter while it's hot. You can ring her in-between courses; after you've had time to plot out exactly what you want to say.'

Machiavelli or what?

Sara was right, though. I put down my phone and picked up my soup spoon instead. My heart was still fluttering but I wasn't alarmed anymore; no, not at all.

'Does your mum suspect anything?' I asked.

'About last night, you mean? No, why should she?'

'Because it's too good to be true; the idea of us sharing your lovely house for five whole nights.'

'She can't do, otherwise she wouldn't have agreed so easily.

'What are the sleeping arrangements?'

'Officially, you're in the folding guest bed in my room. I said Jenny wouldn't want you in hers because she's a snooty so-and-so.'

'And unofficially where am I sleeping?' I enquired, holding my breath.

Sara smiled as she chewed on a mouthful of lamb meatballs. 'Five nights is a long time. You could end up sleeping absolutely anywhere . . .'

Chapter Six

The hundred and twenty hours between Saturday lunch and Thursday crawled by. It honestly could have been a hundred and twenty centuries. Ice ages came and went and tectonic plates shifted by a matter of metres. And still it wasn't anywhere near Friday morning.

Not that it was all bad. After downing a few bracing Saturday lunchtime pints, I assured Mrs C that I'd keep Sara in line. She believed me, rang my (already briefed) mum and they swiftly agreed the deal. I would be a housemate for five nights and we'd all get souvenirs from the Big Apple.

Binny's party went down well, too. Sara and I attended as an item and subsequently escorted each other home . . . via surreptitious sex at the end of her road, naturally.