Reformatory Girls Ch. 15: Rebecca Lucie 02

"Yes," says George. "Yes: I think she would."

They lie there a while longer until Rebecca has to shift from under him. And when he raises his head to look at her she sees, as well as the patches of red round his eyes, a sheepish grin on his face.

And so Rebecca makes herself a temporary home in George's flat. George, she soon discovers, is at heart a kind man - too fussy, and too fatherly to let himself go in the bedroom, but gentle, and solicitous of her welfare. Too solicitous really - several times he asks about her family - surely the school will have notified them, surely they will be worried and she should at least give someone a call? But beyond telling him that her father is off the scene she parries his enquiries and changes the subject.

They fuck in the afternoons. George is programmed to get up early, and he doesn't like to wake her. He also claims he no longer has the wherewithal to get it up more than once a day. Sometimes she makes them simple meals, sometimes he buys in takeaways. In the evenings they watch television together, but they no longer sit side by side. Rather, George sits whilst Rebecca, who has taken over the white bathrobe, lies with her legs across his lap, letting him stroke her. He starts at her feet and calves and works his way up, gazing at her as the bathrobe falls open, resting his hands ever higher up her warm thighs, until finally she parts her legs just enough for him to close his palm over her mound. He can never get over how hot she is:

"You're like a little furnace down there," he tells her.

But he never forces his fingers inside her, and Rebecca is happy with that: it feels cosy and secure, lying there, half-watching television, with George's hand cradling her vulva, knowing he is not going to start poking her about.

Sometimes she catches him looking at her in a kind of amazement: as if he can't believe such an exotic creature could have washed-up inside his flat.

His fussing can get on her nerves though: there are times when she wants to shake him or shock him. One afternoon they are in bed, and despite her best efforts George can't get an erection. She's about to say fine, it doesn't matter - it's not as if they were doing this for her pleasure - but something about his passivity needles her.

"You just need some pussy," she says.

Then she straddles him, squats over his face and lowers her pussy to his mouth.

"Go on George, lick me," she says. "It doesn't bite."

She wonders briefly just what George's sex life with his wife had been like, and if theirs had really been such a long and happy marriage. Then George does lick - tentatively at first, as though testing a kebab hot off the grill, then with increasing enthusiasm. Every so often he stops for breath: when he does so Rebecca raises herself and rubs herself: down the length of his nose, sideways across his forehead, over his cheeks and his chin, spreading her juices, marking him with her pungent scent. He resumes his licking, probing with his tongue as she encourages him:

"Go on George, get it inside me, right inside."

She glances over her shoulder - it's having the desired effect, his dick is rising, pointing at ten past the hour. She swivels around, contemplates giving him her arse to lick but deciding his blood pressure wouldn't stand it, and lowers her pussy back to his mouth. With one hand she pushes his stiff dick downwards then lets go and watches as it springs back.

"Telling me you couldn't get a hard on," she chides. "What do you call this?"

She repeats the action: George groans as once again his dick springs back from her hand.

"You're a naughty boy aren't you?" says Rebecca. "Telling me fibs."

She bats his dick to one side, watches it spring back and oscillate, then bats it in the other direction like a cat batting at a toy on a string. George is gasping frantically now: his hood is swollen, the blue and purple veins on his shaft standing proud as vines. She's minded to carry on tormenting him but from the sounds and movements George is making she realises he's not far from spilling his load. Instead she grabs a condom from under the pillow, rolls it down over him, swivels again, squats over his straining dick and slides it deep inside her. Then, with her legs apart, showing him everything she can, she rides him, gripping him hard with the muscles of her cunt. It doesn't take long: soon he is flexing on the bed and spending himself until his dick and his body lie limp.

They both know, though, that it cannot last. For whilst there is no friction between them, there are periods when it is hard to communicate, when it is obvious that they are worlds apart. To fill in the gaps George tells her stories, mostly about the past, about what his father did in the war. And Rebecca likes this, because all she has to do is listen, nothing is demanded of her.

But George can't tell stories all the time. And though Rebecca sleeps late, and though they go to bed in the afternoons, there is still much time to fill.

George offers to take her shopping again: she's tempted, but refuses. She knows the time has almost come for her to leave and she needs an exit strategy: it isn't more clothes that she needs.

One evening, after she's been there a week, Rebecca says:

"George, you're right. It is time I went to see my mother."

He nods. He's sad: but knows this is how things have to be.

"Can I ask you one last favour before I go?"

"Of course you can."

"Will you drive me to the motorway in the morning?"

"I could," says George: "but why?"

"So I can hitch to Glasgow," Rebecca says. "That's where my mother lives."

"Glasgow?" says George surprised. "Do you realise how far that is? You could be stranded overnight."

"I'll be fine," says Rebecca.

"No," says George. "You could be stranded; you could fall in with anyone. No: you must get the train."

"George: I don't have any money. And before you offer, no: I am not going to let you pay - the ticket would cost a fortune."

"Well, let's find out," says George.

The internet has passed George by: his method of ascertaining train prices is to phone the station. The fare to Glasgow is just shy of one hundred pounds.

"I absolutely insist," he says.

"George," says Rebecca: "you are the kindest, most generous man I've ever met."

That night he holds her in his arms until they are asleep.

"I'm going to miss you," he says.

"I'm going to miss you too."

In the morning he leaves the flat early. When he brings her breakfast he says:

"I've just been to the cash-point: I've put the money for your ticket in your purse."

Sleepily she hugs and thanks him.

Afterwards he's a bit on edge. He's one of those people who like to be early for everything, just in case. Rebecca has packed her few belongings, and he has given her two salad-filled rolls he bought from the bakery, 'for the journey'. He says he'll come with her to the station to see her off.

"No," says Rebecca firmly. "You've done enough for me already, and I can't bear emotional partings at stations. Let's say goodbye here."

There's twenty minutes until her train and the station is five minutes walk away, but they stand in the living room and hug.

"I won't see you again, will I?" says George.

"Never say never," Rebecca says.

"You've made me very happy," says George.

Then - and she's not sure why she does this, whether it's gratitude, or impishness, or whether she just wants to make sure he doesn't change his mind and accompany her to the station - she slips into a squatting position, unzips George's trousers and draws them down to his knees. Before he can ask what she's doing she has his dick in her mouth.

"Julia - what?" exclaims George.

But she has the bit between her teeth, so to speak, sucking and tonguing until George starts to stiffen, until he is hard, and she has to adjust the position of her head.

"Jesus," George exclaims. "Julia - stop it - before it goes off in your mouth."

Rebecca doesn't stop: she licks and sucks and works her tongue with a purpose, coating George's dick with saliva, grabbing hold of his buttocks to stop him pulling away. Not that he's capable of pulling away: his resistance gives way, he stops protesting - and with a shudder that sets his legs trembling he shoots his load into Rebecca's mouth.

Rebecca closes her lips firmly over his penis and draws it free, squeezing out the last remnants of spunk. Then she looks up into his glazed eyes, smiles at him, and exits to the bathroom, where she spits into the basin and rinses out her mouth. When she returns, George has sunk onto the sofa, his trousers round his ankles, his mouth open, gazing into space.

Rebecca hitches her bag over her shoulder.

"Was that nice George?" she asks.

"No-one's ever done that to me before," George replies.

"It's never too late for new experiences," she says, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Outside in the street she chuckles to herself. It's a bright spring morning, and as she steps out towards the station she feels liberated, and full of vitality. It is so good to be walking at her own pace again, with no-one to consider but herself. At the station there is a short queue for tickets: standing there, trying to lick away the residual taste of semen in her mouth, she opens the purse George has bought her: inside she finds not one but two hundred pounds.

"George, George," she says under her breath. She shakes her head and mouths a kiss back in his direction. For a moment she thinks of going back to thank him: but she decides it's not what he intended, and it's not what she wants either, she is itching to move on. Instead, feeling glad that she lingered to give him a blow-job, she vows to send him a post card.

Then, finding herself at the front of the queue, she hands over one of the banknotes and buys a ticket into the city for six pounds.