Time After Time

I indicated my suitcases. "Mother's thrown me out, Grandma. Can I come and stay with you and Grandpa?"

"Of course you can, sweetheart." Grandma pursed her lips, disapproving. "But why would she want to do that?"

"Grandma ... " I hesitated briefly, uncertain now as to what my grandmother's reaction would be although I thought it would be okay. "Grandma... the thing is, I think I'm a lesbian. I told Mother and she sent me packing."

An eyebrow raised, Grandma commented: "Is that all?" She led me into her living room and indicated the sofa. "Sit down there, child, and tell me what happened." When I had finished, she said: "That daughter of mine... she always was a bit of a prig, even as a small child. Sometimes I thought she was a changeling, she was so unlike me or your grandfather. And since she joined that bunch of fanatics she's been far worse. The Exclusive of the Redeemer my backside! More like The Exclusive of the Extreme Mean-Minded Bigots. God knows how many families those bloody idiots have torn apart with their warped ideology. Right, you've got a home here for as long as you want. And I know your grandfather will agree as soon as he gets home."

"Thanks, Grandma, I do love you both. You don't mind about me being gay then?"

"Lord no, child. I've known you're gay for several years... or should I say I suspected you might be."

I looked at my grandmother with astonishment. "How could you possibly know, Grandma? I've only recently worked it out for myself."

She smiled and enveloped me in a great warm hug. "It's been obvious in lots of little ways to anybody with half an eye. For instance, do you remember a few years ago we watched an old Audrey Hepburn film on TV together?"

I remembered. "Some thriller I think—wasn't Cary Grant in it?"

Grandma nodded. "That's right, Charade. You were about twelve or thirteen then and every time Audrey Hepburn came on the screen you practically drooled. When Cary Grant or any other of the male stars were in a scene you were utterly indifferent but the minute Audrey appeared you leaned towards the TV screen entranced. I thought then it was more than a girlish crush."

"Well, Audrey Hepburn was gorgeous," I mumbled.

Grandpa came home later and when I had explained why I had left home, he put his arms around me and said: "Don't let your mother's attitude grind you down, Hal. You think you're a lesbian, well, that's as may be, you're young yet and there's plenty of time for you to be sure—but if you are, so what? We don't give a damn about that. You're our very precious granddaughter and we love you to bits. So just be true to yourself and be happy."

For the first time in a number of years I felt truly loved and wanted.

2006 - Berry

The Deep Velvet Bar isn't that easy to find, tucked away as it is in a small side street just off the town centre and I walked past it several times before I spotted the discreet sign to one side of the doorway.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I walked up a short flight of steps and through the entrance with all the bravado of a late-end teenager who feels that she has every right to be there. I didn't get very far. A tall thick-set woman with shorn hair, dressed in a tight dinner-jacket with bow-tie, held up a meaty hand to stop me.

"And where do you think you're going, petal?"

"Into the lounge bar." My voice came out as a nervous squeak.

"And how old are you?"

"I'm nineteen."

She snorted disbelief. "In a pig's eyeball you are."

It's always been a bit of a curse that I look far younger than I am. I know nineteen isn't old but on what could be a good or bad day—depending on what I was planning on doing—I didn't look much above fourteen or fifteen if that. One of my friends once joked that I'd be about eighty-five before I could get a drink in a pub. Oh, I know that I'll be grateful for my apparent youth when I'm middle-aged but right now it was an inconvenience. I reached into my jacket pocket, dug out my driving licence and passed it to the doorkeeper who studied it closely. I could see the wheels turning in her head as she worked it out from my date of birth.

After what seemed an age, she nodded and returned the licence. "Okay love, you're in. It's just that we can't be too careful, some of the kids round here could fool anyone when they're dolled up. Keep looking as young as you do and you'll be the envy of half the women in town. Stop off at the desk there and pay your entrance fee."

Having paid the fee, I took another deep breath and walked into the lounge bar of my first lesbian club.

* * * * *

"Look, I've found the ideal boy for you this time," Mandy told me, "His name's Kevin, he's twenty-one and he's a trainee architect. And you're exactly his type. I can fix you up with a blind date as soon as you like."

Mandy was a senior on the design team where I was an apprentice. She was also self-appointed Queen Matchmaker. I liked her a lot but was getting a bit tired of her determination to fix me up with a bloke. She seemed to think that without a man at my side my life was dull and incomplete. She'd obviously never heard the old adage about fish and bicycles. Since I had been working with her she had tried to interest me in (although not necessarily in this order): her younger brother, her younger brother's best friend; her cousin Roger, cousin Roger's best friend; assorted young men in the company (at least ten at the last count); Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all... well, I think you get the message. The attempt to link me with architect Kevin was the final straw. I had hoped to keep my personal life exactly that, personal, but the time had come to straighten Mandy out. I guessed she wouldn't give up otherwise.

"Mandy, can we find somewhere to have a private talk please?"

She looked puzzled then shrugged. "Boss isn't in today, we can use his office."

With the door closed behind us, I said: "Mandy, I know you mean well but I'm just not interested in all these men you want me to date."

"Why ever not, Berry? They're all perfectly decent types."

"I don't care how decent they are," I told her, "they're not for me. And before you ask, I'm not interested in bad boys either. In fact, I'm just not interested in boys, period. Not now, not never ever!"

Comprehension dawned and Mandy blushed as plumped herself down in the boss's chair. "You mean... you... you're... are you gay, Berry?"

I gave her a little round of applause. "You've got there in the end, Mandy."

Her blush deepened. "I'm so sorry, Berry. I've been making a bloody fool of myself, haven't I? Have you got a girlfriend?"

I think it was my turn to blush for I felt my face growing warm. "No."

Something in my tone must have alerted Mandy for she looked at me searchingly and then grinned. "You've never had a girlfriend have you?"

I shook my head, embarrassed. "There were a couple of girls at school but all we did was kiss and cuddle. I loved it but I think they were only experimenting—they've both got boyfriends now. I don't know any real gay girls, or at least I don't think I do. And I don't know how to go about finding one."

Mandy's grin broadened. "Now I think I can help you out there. Have you heard of The Deep Velvet Bar?"

"No, I haven't."

"I understand it's a lesbian hang-out—it's in one of those old-fashioned alleyways off Market Square. Never been there myself—my husband would likely have a fit—but I've heard it's a decent place. I know several wives who've been there just so they can enjoy a drink and gossip without being hit on by men. Give it a try. You may or may not find a girlfriend there but you'll be with kindred spirits. And Berry, as soon as we walk out of this office our conversation will be forgotten..."

* * * * *

My first impression of The Deep Velvet Bar was that it did look like a decent place. It was certainly unlike any of the pubs or wine bars that I usually went to. Lighting was dimmed but not too much so, just enough to create a cosy atmosphere. The bar itself was semi-circular, appeared to be of highly-polished marble and the rows of bottles and glasses on the shelves behind gleamed in the reflected light. In front of the bar stood a dozen or so high round stools, most of them occupied. There was a polished wood dance-floor and a DJ sat on a small podium, currently playing a selection of gentle mood music. The dance-floor was surrounded by tables for three or four and the walls were lined with horseshoe-shaped booths. The walls themselves were painted in subdued pastel colours and decorated with murals of scantily-clad and naked women, Ancient Greek and Roman style, all bordering on the erotic. Perhaps needless to say, all of the customers were women.

Just being here in the club made me feel good. It was like I'd come home.

I went to the bar and asked for a Campari-and-soda. A pretty barmaid looked at me doubtfully. "I guess you must be okay if Big Jacqui let you in," she mused, "But you don't look old enough to buy a drink so if you don't mind I'd like to check any ID you have. We've got our drinks retailer's licence to think about."

I gave an exaggerated sigh and passed my driver's licence over. Oh God, please give me a few wrinkles so I don't always have to go through this. No, sorry, scrap that last request, God, I don't think wrinkles would suit me just yet, make me look like a geriatric Munchkin.

Having been served with my driving licence and my Campari, I found an empty seat at a table by the dance-floor. Quite a few women were dancing and I noticed that a number of them were damned near making love to the smooth rhythm of the music. I felt a sudden erotic charge and wished I was amongst them with a girlfriend of my own. Perhaps some dreams do come true, even if only a little—after a few minutes my thoughts were interrupted by a low, husky voice. "Hello there, pretty one."

I looked up at the speaker, a elegant-looking brunette in a stylish black dress. She was taller than me but that's not difficult—I'm barely five foot—and I estimated her age as being early- to mid-thirties. "By yourself?" she asked and when I nodded said: "So am I. May I join you?"

She sat in the chair nearest to me and extended a shapely hand. "I'm Eleanor."

"Hello, I'm Berry."

"It's nice to meet you, Berry." She pointed to my now empty glass. "Can I get you another?" She hesitated briefly then added: "You are old enough to drink alcohol?"

I'd had it by then and simply exploded. "Yes, I bloody well am old enough to drink bloody alcohol! I'm bloody well nineteen years old! And I'm getting bloody sick of people asking!"

Oops! I reckoned I'd blown it straight off. I'd come into The Deep Velvet Bar hoping to make new friends and the first person to approach me in a friendly way got snarled and snapped at, all because I looked nineteen going on twelve. I peeped at Eleanor sheepishly and saw that far from being offended she was smiling, amused. "I take it you get that a lot?"

"Yes, sorry I blew my top—that was rude of me. You're the third person in ten minutes to query my age and I just cracked. Right now, looking young is not an advantage. Nobody takes me very seriously."

"Poor little pretty one," Eleanor sympathised. She hailed a waitress whose name-tag identified her as Karen, ordering a gin-and-tonic for herself and another Campari for me. Karen looked at me, obviously uncertain. "It's okay," Eleanor told her, "she's nineteen." As Karen walked away to get our order, Eleanor laughed and added: "I had to tell her—I didn't want you ripping the poor girl's throat out. You looked quite fierce then."

When waitress Karen, still looking a bit doubtful, had served our drinks, Eleanor said: "So, is this your first time here, Berry? And were you planning to meet someone?"

"Yes, my first time. No plans to meet anyone, though. A work colleague told me about this place, suggested I try it."

"Do you mind me asking something Berry, are you gay?"

"Yes."

"You're sure about that?

"Yes, of course!" I replied, indignant.

"You're not just curious?"

"No!" I was wondering where this was leading.

"Sorry I asked," Eleanor apologised, "but we do get a few chancers in here who just want to try it on for size then decide it's not for them. All too often they leave a trail of unhappy girls behind them." She lifted her glass. "Anyway, pretty one, here's to new friendships."

Eleanor was certainly a nice-looking woman, with classic high cheek-bones and a slight slant to hazel eyes that gave her an almost feline air. Her dark-brown hair was shortish, tousled and unkempt, the kind of unkempt which must have cost a small fortune in an upmarket hairdressing salon. And her dress and shoes almost certainly came from some exclusive boutique, not any of the common-or-garden High Street chain stores. "So, pretty Berry, what do you do?"

"I'm an engineering design apprentice," I told her, "That way I get paid while I'm studying—beats the hell out of university followed by a massive student debt. I go to college once a week on a day release scheme and to a couple of evening classes, all at the company's expense. And I still live at home so I've no massive rents to pay."

Eleanor took my hand and gave a little squeeze. "That's very sensible of you, Berry. Too many degrees are almost worthless these days."

"What about you, what do you do?"

Eleanor smiled. "I'm a florist. I've got a small chain of shops over five counties in this part of the country." Judging by Eleanor's clothing, I guessed her business must be doing very nicely.

Suddenly she grabbed my hand to pull me to my feet. "Come on, Berry. We're wasting some nice smoochy music when we could be dancing."

We joined the crowd on the small dance-floor and Eleanor pulled me in close so that our bodies seemed to combine into one. Me being so much smaller, my face was pressed against lovely firm boobs and as we swayed to the music her thigh eased between my legs to press against my mound, at the same moment sharp teeth and warm tongue nibbled and lapped at my ear. I could feel my honeypot getting hot and damp. Keep this up, Eleanor, and I'll have to dive into the toilets to strip off my wet keks.

But it didn't have to get that far—Eleanor had a suggestion. "If you like, Berry," she whispered between little nips and licks, "we could go to my place—it'll be nice and private there."

I felt myself flush and I think I gulped. "Oh, yes... that sounds lovely..."

* * * * *

Eleanor's place was a bungalow in a short residential street somewhere on the edge of town, almost rural in location. Despite the darkness I got the impression that this was the kind of quiet area where a majority of people stayed home at night—most of the houses had drawn curtains with just the faintest illumination or the flickering of TV sets to indicate occupancy. Half-a-dozen or so street-lamps, alternating with medium-sized trees, cast dull-yellow pools of light on the pavements and as we exited the taxi I thought I saw a fox sneaking across the road a number of yards away. I mentioned this to Eleanor when she had paid the driver.

"Yes, we've got a number of urban foxes round here but they don't bother us much except when the vixens are in heat—they can make a lot of noise then." She gave a little chuckle and grabbed my hand. "Talking of vixens in heat, let's get in the house."

Eleanor led me into her sitting-room and turned on a small Art Deco-style table lamp which gave off a warm and cheering glow. "I can't offer you Campari," she said, "but I do have some rather delicious red wine if you'd like a glass."

"Yes please."

"Be right back. Just make yourself at home."

While Eleanor was fetching the wine, I had a good look around. The walls were painted white while the floor was covered with a thick and luxurious carpet in a rich chocolate-brown colour. There was a comfortable-looking sofa with a pair of matching armchairs and in front of the sofa stood a large coffee-table which appeared to have been made from a piece of highly-polished driftwood. A couple of packed bookcases attracted my attention—one was devoted solely to books on flowers and botany, reflecting Eleanor's business interests I suppose, while the other was filled with novels, mainly classic and modern, although I did spot a complete set of Harry Potter books. Standing between the book-cases was a handsome Chinese cabinet while on the walls a number of decent prints were displayed, mainly nude women. Against one wall was an upright piano on top of which was a silver-framed photograph of an attractive although somewhat severe-looking woman.

"Here we are." Eleanor returned with two glasses of wine which she placed on the coffee table. She sat and patted the spot next to her. "Come and sit beside me, Berry."

I did as she told me and taking one of the glasses sipped the wine. Eleanor was right. It was delicious, rich and spicy. Eleanor said: "I saw you looking at the photograph. That's Simone, my civil partner." I must have looked a bit uncomfortable at hearing that for she continued: "Nothing to worry about, Berry. We have an open relationship—Simone lives in Paris where she oversees our French business. We have a number of florist shops in France as well as this country. It's a long-distance relationship but we make sure to meet for a few days every month or so. We love each other but accept that prolonged celibacy is not for us. So we're both free to take lovers as we wish."

Such openness was new to me and I was uncertain about what to say so I gestured to the piano. "Do you play?" Silly question perhaps but I do know one or two people who have inherited old pianos which are never played.

"Yes, like to hear something?" Eleanor went to the piano, settled on the stool and without using a music sheet played a short and quiet mood piece which sounded familiar although I couldn't name it. When she finished and returned to sit beside me, I asked what it was.

"Debussy's Claire de Lune," she told me.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"Yes, it is beautiful, and soothing." Eleanor reached out and caressed one of my cheeks with the back of her fingers. "The music's beautiful and so are you, Berry." She leaned forward and kissed me very gently on the lips. Sitting back, she looked at me with a small smile. "You're a shy one aren't you?"

There's nothing like the truth. "A bit... it's not that so much... it's just... I'm a virgin, Eleanor. I'm sorry..."

Eleanor stroked my cheek again. "What's to be sorry about, pretty one? There's no shame in being a virgin. If you don't want this to go any further, though, I'll stop."

"I don't want it to stop, Eleanor. It's just I'm afraid I'll disappoint you."

She laughed. "Sweet little Berry, you won't disappoint me, love. We all start out as virgins." Taking my face between warm hands, Eleanor kissed me again, still gentle but lingering. Plucking up my courage, I cupped her face in turn and let myself melt into her kiss. After long moments I felt her tongue tracing the shape of my mouth and I opened to admit her, at the same time coming to meet her with my own tongue. I could taste the richness of the wine in her mouth and I moaned a little with pleasure.

Eleanor's lips moved away to settle at the angle of my jaw, just below an ear. She began to move around my throat, alternating tiny kisses with little puffs of breath. When she reached the hollow at the base of my throat she slowly licked her way up to my chin only to return again to kiss her way round to my other ear.

Holding me close with one arm, Eleanor continued planting a series of tiny kisses all over my face and throat, resting them occasionally to return to my lips and eager tongue. With her free hand, she started to unfasten buttons until my shirt gaped open to reveal my breasts. "Oh, aren't they just sweet," she cooed.