Heather Falls in Love Pt. 02

Being quite handy in the kitchen, I came up with homemade French onion soup, steak and chips, and profiteroles and cream (the profiteroles weren't homemade; I'm not that handy!). Then, replete, we got out the DVDs and paid due attention to the wine.

And then we became lovers.

I'm not going to give a blow-by-blow account. All I'll say is that it happened mostly at my instigation. I had, you see, been getting bi-curiouser and bi-curiouser as my finals year went on. I'd even had a few close dances at Girls' Society bashes. By that I mean cuddling close up, hip-to-hip, when the music slowed and people started kissing . . . me included.

Hip-to-hip? Oh okay then, bumper-to-bumper on one occasion. Or maybe two . . .

Anyway, as far as girls are concerned, my first full experience was with Rache, and it was wonderful. I had no regrets afterward and have no regrets now. Maybe that's why we slept together at least once a week until I set off for Cherbourg.

*****

And so (at last!) to my arrangement with Heather. You might wonder why, as a confirmed "woman who has sex with women", I'm keeping Heather in the dark. Truth is, I'm not sure. I do, without any trace of a doubt, fancy her. I fancy her very, very much. But . . .

Well, I suppose I'm a little scared of her. Crazy, I know. Crazy but true.

One final confession. This bi-curiosity of mine properly found its legs when Heather propositioned me, just before Christmas. My instinctive reaction was one of outraged indignation. That was an act, put on because I didn't understand my own feelings. And, let's face it, because it happened in front of half a dozen witnesses who all believed I was straight.

I had regrets after saying her nay. Lots of regrets. I spent most of the break wishing I'd made a better decision. Wishing and, to use one of Rache's terms, "making kitty purr" . . . time after time after time. And thinking about Heather while I did so; thinking about her again and again.

The new term began with Girls' Society members queuing up to give me the benefit of their wisdom. Until then, prior to Heather's proposition, I hadn't even suspected she was bi, never mind that she veers towards lezzie. Heck, as far as I knew, she wasn't even a society member. Except . . .

Rachael often says the Girls' Society is like the Mafia. Once you've joined you can die, but you can't leave. It follows that Heather is still a member, she just stopped attending meetings around the time I came on the scene. Judging by the stories I heard, in her brief period of active membership, she was active indeed. Very, very active.

The acquired wisdom fell into two main schools of thought: people who believed I was mad for turning her down and prophets of doom who said I'd had a narrow escape. "Don't get me wrong," one girl told me, "she would have taken you to Heaven. But then she'd have broken your heart." "She can get out of control," said another. "She can fuck you and fuck you until you're unable to walk."

It was the prophets of doom I heeded most. According to them, Heather is permanently footloose and fancy-free. Always has been, always will be. Normally I wouldn't have cared . . . I've had lots of one-night-stands myself . . . but back then I reckoned I'd an evens chance of being in her travelling team. And, over a period of weeks and months, "a bit of history" might have been awkward.

Well, as we all now know, the final "travelling team" is a duet. And the "platonic agreement" was put in place long before Rache's twenty-first. I've just sort of forgotten to revise it.

Told you I'm a scaredy-cat!

At the current stage of Heather's story (camping in a field outside of Bayonne), only two people know I've taken the plunge: Rachael and myself. Rache, who has a policy of not talking about her sex life, hasn't told Heather about me. But that works both ways, doesn't it? She's told me very little about the things they've done together (I've had to get those details from Hev, skilfully pretending I'm not at all familiar with Rache's piercings, tats and tits!!).

So what's my game? Am I afraid that one night of passion will put an abrupt end to our travels? That I couldn't possibly live up to Hev's extreme standards; that she'll gladly fuck me a couple of times, then immediately lose interest?

Am I lacking self-esteem or what!

Truth is, I'm terrified of blowing what we have. I'm also rather intrigued by the way Heather's lived up to her promise. Apart from the endless sex talk, she hasn't been at all untoward.

No, if anything untoward is going to happen, the ball is firmly in my court . . .

CHAPTER NINE

(August 2002)

At first Heather couldn't work out what had woken her. She stared up at moonlit canvas, wondering if it was something external: a break in the weather, perhaps, or (God forbid!) some malevolent prowler. Then she realized it was Ingrid's breathing. Ingrid's very heavy breathing.

Good grief, she thought with a grin, the girl's having a wet dream.

The lucky mare!!

Moving carefully, not wanting to interrupt at a critical moment, Heather turned her head. The chance of seeing her friend climaxing was simply too good to miss. And, even though it was past midnight, it was light enough to see in their tent; that full moon overhead banished the usual, absolute blackness. She wouldn't have been able to read in there, but observing an orgasmic face from point-blank wasn't going to be a problem. Nor were sleeping bags. It had been yet another glorious day and it was way too warm for any sort of covers. She'd get to observe more than just an orgasmic face.

Except . . .

Except Ingrid wasn't having a wet dream, she was jilling. She was putting a lot of effort into it too, using both hands and almost throwing herself off her unused, still zipped-up sleeping bag with the force of her writhing. Eyes clamped shut, unaware she had an audience, that young lady was very clearly close to the end.

Still grinning and more than a little aroused herself, Heather flicked her attention from those oh-so-busy hands, getting face-side just in time to bear witness.

Lucky mare, she thought again, watching a whole parade of expressions, starting at near-anguish and finishing in pure bliss.

'Well, well,' she said after giving Ingrid a few moments to float back down to earth, 'that looked like fun.'

'Heather . . .' Ingrid gasped, 'oh my God. You're supposed to be asleep.'

'I was until you started moaning and groaning at a hundred decibels.'

'I'm so sorry . . .'

'Don't be sorry, I enjoyed it almost as much as you did.'

'Oh my God . . .'

'In a platonic sort of a way,' Heather added hastily. 'I haven't forgotten my vows.'

'Oh my God . . .'

'No, really. I was no more than an interested observer.'

'Hmmm,' went Ingrid.

'I was tempted to join in . . . by playing with myself, I mean. But you were miles ahead. I'd never have caught up.'

Heather reached out and took her friend's hand, wordlessly noting the wet fingers.

I'll smell that off my own fingers later, she decided. Smell it and taste it.

Aloud, side by side and hand-in-hand, she said: 'Have you been jilling every night?'

'Heather!'

'No, come on, have you?'

'Only when we've had separate rooms,' Ingrid confessed, her voice pitched midway between shame and defiance. 'That was the first time in the tent. Honest.'

'We've hardly ever had separate rooms.'

'I know. That's why I risked it tonight. I get really moody if I go a week without cumming.'

'And I've hardly touched myself since Caen!' Heather chuckled. 'I'm getting further and further behind by the second.'

'I'm sorry. I've always needed to do it, and your naughty stories don't help. That one this afternoon; the one about you making love to every last one of Rachael's piercings! And licking her tattoos . . .'

Heather's ever-active antennae twitched. 'Did it turn you on?'

'Your stories always turn me on.'

'Ingrid . . . darling . . . don't tell me you were thinking about two girls getting off together.'

'Not while I was . . . you know, doing it.'

'So you were thinking about Vikings, then?'

'Something along those lines.'

'Thank Goodness for consistency.' Heather chuckled again. 'You do realize I'm going to have to catch up a bit, don't you?'

Ingrid's eyes went wide. 'Do you mean by jilling in the tent?'

'I mean by jilling here and now.'

'I'll go wait outside.'

Heather tightened her grip on Ingrid's hand. 'There's nothing lesbian about staying where you are,' she said. 'It's a commonly known fact: straight women often jill in the presence of friends, especially when they're as good as sleeping together. And don't worry, I won't try to get you actively involved or anything. Unless . . .'

'What do you mean, "Unless"?' Ingrid seemed nervous. Well, even more nervous.

'You could tell me a story while I'm at it . . . something very hetero, involving big willies and grateful girls. The sort of story a very straight teenager would tell when the sleepover gets a bit raunchy.'

'I don't think I can do that,' the blonde said uncertainly. Then, to Heather's astonishment: 'Why don't you tell me more about Rachael instead?'

*****

So Heather told her about clashing clits in the dark depths of the campus. Sparing no details, and sparing no blushes either. As per always, the story grew in her telling. As did her excitement. Here, alone in a tent with a very dedicated straight girl, discussing aggressive sex . . .

Well hell, what was she supposed to feel like? Frigid?

'I'm all excited,' she said, breathlessly. 'I can't believe you're listening to this!'

'Don't stop!' Ingrid cried. 'Please, please, don't stop!'

So Heather didn't. In fact she drew on other encounters, bigging the one with Rachel up until it sounded like Calamity Jane going head-to-head Lara Croft.

Well, not head-to-head, obviously . . .

*****

'Oh my . . . fucking . . . God.' Ingrid exhaled noisily. 'I didn't expect that.'

'Me either,' Heather said smugly. 'I thought I was jilling alone.'

'What, with Rache begging for it on her knees? It'd have been rude to sit out.'

The two travelling companions looked at each other, still aided by moonlight, lovers now, in one sense at least.

'That was amazing,' Ingrid resumed. 'I don't believe I did it, but amazing nonetheless.'

'I quite enjoyed it too,' said Heather, 'amazed though I am.'

'I'm still straight, you know.'

'What makes you say that at this particular moment?'

'Because your latest lesbian sex story excited me more than ever. And I can't lie to you and say I was thinking about Vikings while I was jilling.'

'Were you thinking about Rachael?'

'I was thinking about both of you. Wondering what it felt like.'

'It felt absolutely fabulous. It always does.'

'Lesbian sex, you mean?'

'I prefer to call it girl on girl.'

'Whatever you call it, it's exciting.' Ingrid's voice was suddenly wobbly. 'Scarily exciting,' she added, evidently wanting reassurance from Heather.

'Don't fuss yourself about a simple, physical reaction,' said Heather. 'You're a little curious, that's all. It's perfectly okay to be curious now and then. In fact it's quite healthy.'

'I'll tell you one thing I am curious about. This afternoon's story was noticeably tender and loving. Tonight's was . . . well, different. Very different.'

'I think Rachael regretted offering herself to me so freely in the bar.' Heather smiled. 'She has quite a reputation as a stud, you see. She must have seen my diversion as chance to get her marker down.'

'By making you cum first?'

'Yes, she probably intended to boast about it in her next society newsletter.'

'I'm sure she'd never do anything like that.'

'So am I, I suppose.' Heather's laugh was almost a giggle. 'I bet she'd let everyone know, though, one way or another. If I hadn't put her in her place, that is.'

'Did she really annoy you?'

'Not exactly, I was more inspired than annoyed. Although I must admit, her begging then gloating bugged me a little. So did that triumphant glint in her eye. And calling me her bitch . . .'

'Is that important?'

'Is it important for me to be the stud or a bitch? No, I was just vexed by her hijacking my diversion. I'm a bit of a stud too, but I don't live or die by it. Not unless I'm challenged . . . or bitten.'

'Well, it certainly sounds like you got her back in spades,' said Ingrid, after a pause for thought.

'What was I supposed to do, wimp out?'

'I know what you're saying, at least I think I do, but weren't you a bit harsh with her?'

'That's what she wanted. After I made my stand she couldn't have been sweeter.' Heather laughed. 'It took her ages to realize I wasn't going to stop while she kept biting me. Or maybe she realized right at the outset. Maybe she kept biting because she didn't want me to stop. Not until she got clit overload, anyway. There isn't a woman alive who can take my direct attention for long. I'm very, very effective.'

'How many times did she . . . er . . .'

'I honestly don't know. I just kept going until she apologized for calling me her bitch. And stopped the biting, of course.'

'And then?'

'Then she promised to be a good little girl. Like a teacher's pet who'd do anything for her mistress. She pleaded with me to take her home to bed.'

'Leading up to the tender and loving story?'

'That's right, via the world's best below job. I must have had her down on me an hour before I investigated her piercings. And she was a good little girl, couldn't have been more of a pet.'

'So she had you?'

'In her fair turn, yes.'

'This is all very confusing,' said Ingrid. 'Aggression followed by tenderness; what's that all about?'

'You should know, shouldn't you . . . about the aggression, anyway. You and your Vikings.'

'Maybe I should, but I thought women would be more civilized than men.'

'Some are; some aren't. For the record, Rachael isn't particularly out of the ordinary. Not in my experience, anyway. There's nearly always some sort of tension. Once we got over our initial misunderstanding everything went swimmingly.'

'Like it went swimmingly for us just now?'

'You mean our sweet jilling adventure?' Heather giggled again. 'That was a first for me, believe it or not. And I used to brag that I'd done all the firsts humanly possible!'

'Do you class it as . . . as lesbian?'

'Oh, Ingrid . . .'

'Don't sigh at me. I need to know. Do you?'

'No, I do not. I class it as fun with a friend who went the extra yard.'

Ingrid hummed at that. Even in the patchy moonlight her eyes were noticeably clouded.

'No, really,' said Heather. 'I'll never try to turn you. Not even under the fiercest provocation.'

'I don't know if I'd want to be turned; not if it might end up in a cat fight.'

'Trust me, Ingrid; it would be just love-making on the agenda for you, not fighting.'

'Is that a compliment?'

'It's whatever you want it to be. From my point of view it means I'm very happy to have jilled in your company. Best sex I've never quite had.'

'Heather!'

'No, really, your straight reputation is still untarnished, even though I have seen you cum a couple of times . . . and powerfully at that. You don't half put your heart and soul into it.'

'Heather!'

'There's nothing wrong with a bit of passion. Rachael nearly overdosed with passion when she was up against that wall. So did I, later, but that's a story for another time.'

'Rachael says you're a sex maniac. And she's supposed to be the mad one.'

'Madly ready to be shagged,' said Heather. 'But don't quote me. She has that stud reputation to maintain.'

'You and her both.'

'Mine's probably shot at. Now I'm not there to defend myself she'll have told everybody it was me doing all the begging and pleading.'

They stared at each other in the moonlit tent, both of them smiling now.

'Rache really wants to shag you,' Heather ventured. 'Do you realize that?'

Partly spent from earlier, they were lying on their backs, fingers interlaced. They'd jilled one-handed, their free hands clasped together and, in Heather's opinion, the concluding orgasms had been best-ever. Ingrid's finishing grip had been almost as tight as Rachel's fanny.

Not that she'd tell Ingrid that of course.

Not in these early, early days.

'Rache has never properly tried,' Ingrid said finally. 'And I'm such a scaredy-cat.'

'You're a jill-friend now,' Heather countered, 'my very straight jill-friend.'

'I'm still a very dyed-in-the-wool scaredy-cat.' Ingrid sounded self-conscious but didn't let go of Heather's hand. 'I don't know if I'll ever dare do that with you again.'

'Not even after a week with no separate rooms?'

'Well, maybe special occasions will arise . . .'