Time After Time

My boobs... Well, when he wants to piss me off my younger brother calls them my end of lemon slices. Less kind people have referred to my little pickled onions or, even worse, my poached eggs. Myself, I like to think of my boobs as being just like me—small, neat and perky. Whatever, Eleanor seemed to like them. She spent several minutes stroking them and then took one of my hard little nipples in her mouth to lick and suck and nip gently with her teeth. After a while, she moved her mouth to my other breast where the nipple had become rigid under the ministrations of her fingers. I shuddered with pleasure and my moans became louder. Although I often toyed with my nipples when masturbating, I had never imagined how much more pleasurable it could be to have another woman playing with them and suckling on them. My juices were flowing freely by now and I'm sure my panties were soaked.

Eleanor's hand moved down to lift the hem of my skirt far enough to leave my thighs bare. Still nibbling at my boobs, she caressed my thighs until she reached my pussy. Tickling up and down my slit on the outside of my knickers, she chuckled: "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty..."

As if suddenly recalling that I was a virgin, Eleanor whispered: "Berry, I'd like to take your panties down if that's okay—I'd love to have a look at your pussy."

I was too far gone now to object, even if I'd wanted to which I didn't. I made some sort of noise which Eleanor took for assent so she eased the garment down my legs and gazed at my honeypot. I was glad that I'd taken the time this evening to trim down my usually thick bush.

"She's lovely," Eleanor said. She ran a finger up my oozing slit, gathering the slippery moisture, then laid a butterfly kiss on my vulva. I shivered as Eleanor brought her wet finger to my nose so that I could sniff my own muskiness. "You smell heavenly, Berry." She smeared the honey around my lips and then fell to kissing me once more, sucking on my tongue as she played with my folds, tweaking my outer lips together before sliding a finger into my vagina.

"Oh God, you're so tight, Berry. I just love tight pussy." She moved her finger in and out for a while and then gradually and gently introduced a second finger. I could feel my walls clamping down on her. I know that by now I was making all sorts of little noises which I could not control. Then Eleanor said: "Don't be shy, pretty one, my pussy's longing for you to play with her."

I brought a hand up under Eleanor's skirt to reach for her pussy and found that she was panty-free, shaved clean and sopping wet. That smooth honeypot felt so lovely under my fingers and they slipped into her easily. My hand was quickly covered in Eleanor's juices and I fumbled for her clitoris.

By this time she was working on my clit with her thumb and I could feel a climax approaching. When it did hit me it was more powerful than any orgasm I'd ever given myself. I would never have thought that I could make the noises I did, whimpering, gasping, crying out. Lord, but she must have had magic fingers. Eleanor pulled me closer. "That's right, pretty one. Let it all go..." Let it all go I did to leave my hips grinding against her hand and my breath coming in short gasps.

When I finally recovered my breath I gasped: "It's never been like that before." I giggled a little. "I could get used to that. But Eleanor, you haven't come yet."

She smiled. "I did, just a little one, when you were having it. Just watching your pleasure set me off. There's plenty of time for more. Come here, Berry, and have a cuddle." She held me close and we swapped little kisses and nibbles then she said: "Would you like to learn to lick pussy, pretty one?"

"Yes please."

Eleanor got up and pulled me to my feet. "Right, bedroom's the best place for that. I'm going to show you lots of lovely things two girls can do together. I bet you'll just love sixty-nine..."

I stayed with Eleanor several times and learned a lot. She was a very skilful lover and I was happy that I'd been born gay. But then Simone returned to England for an extended visit and so my brief affair with Eleanor came to an end. After all, she was as good as married, open relationship or not, so there wouldn't have been much purpose in becoming enamoured of her. I did see her in The Deep Velvet Bar on occasion but from then on we just kept things on a friendly basis. Anyway, by that time I'd started to hook up with other girls, broadening my experience. The important thing, though, was that I was no longer a virgin lesbian. Thanks to Eleanor I had taken my first steps into the wonderful world of pussy.

2008 to 2010 - Hal

I came to realise that Amber Lytton could be a bit of a bitch but she was my bit of a bitch, or so I thought at the time. Truth be told, I suppose that subconsciously I probably realised that she was bad news but at the time I was so infatuated with the woman. But hey, I'm getting ahead of myself here...

I'd done two years at art college because: (a) my home town has a well-regarded art college and I was able to carry on living at my grandparents' house and (b) the only subjects I was qualified to read at university were English and/or history. Let's face it, such degrees are pretty well useless nowadays unless you intend to be a teacher and who wants to spend their days with a bunch of stroppy teens, especially when you've just finished being a stroppy teen yourself and know what disgusting little buggers they are. When it came to the subjects which can really help you get on in today's world such as the sciences and technology I was quite dim, I had a total blind spot—I'm sure I caused many a maths and physics teacher to have a near-breakdown. I liked English, history, similar subjects, even biology but I was at my best in the art-room and was lucky to get a good enough A-level grade to get into the college.

My two years there passed swiftly and I loved every moment. I found that I had a particular talent for ceramics and following our diploma ceremony Jill Wellman, our pottery teacher, took me to one side.

"Okay, Hal, it's out into the great wide world. Have you got anything lined up yet?"

"No," I admitted, "I'd love to carry on working with my hands like I've done here so I'll have to start sending out job applications and hope to strike lucky."

"I think I can help you, " Jill said, "I've got a friend in town called Robbie Hurst, got his own ceramics business and he's one of the best there is. Robbie mainly produces one-off exclusive items made to order or commission. He's always been a one-man band but he's got so much work on now he's looking for talented help. You're one of the best students I've had in years so if you're interested I can give you a good recommendation."

"You bet I'm interested—thank you, Miss Wellman."

"It's Jill, you're not my student now. I'll give Robbie a call later today. Leave me your address and phone number so he can contact you about an interview." Jill hesitated and then added: "I'd better warn you, Robbie's no spring chicken but he has a reputation for being one of the randiest men in town and he might try it on with you sooner or later. Don't get me wrong, he's not the kind of boss who'll try to grab your arse all the time or make coarse remarks about your boobs, he's quite the gentleman. But he oozes charm and he's always been brilliant at talking women into bed."

"Thanks for the warning, Jill, but he'll find his charm wasted me."

"We'll see," Jill smiled, "Likes a challenge does our Robbie."

* * * * *

Robbie Hurst was probably in his late fifties although he looked good on it. He was about five-nine with a trim figure, a full head of pepper-and-salt hair and Jill Wellman was right, he oozed charm. His studio/workshop was in a small back street and I realised that I had passed it on a number of occasions without taking any real notice—Robbie was a master-craftsman but he wasn't all that good at displaying his work so as to attract casual passers-by. I had taken him a number of my pieces which he examined with great care, nodding apparent approval over each one.

"Jill was full of praise about your work, Hal, and I fully concur. You are very good indeed. The job's yours if you want it."

"Yes please, Mr Hurst. When do you want me to start?"

"Call me Robbie," he corrected, "I'm snowed under at the moment so if you'd like to start immediately you can. I'll start you off on fairly basic work and we can build on it from there. I'm sure I've got some overalls or dungarees which will fit you. One thing, Hal, this isn't a nine-to-five operation—you'll be working your backside off when necessary. Okay?"

I grinned with delight. "Okay... Robbie."

He was right. The work was hard and time-consuming and I could see why he needed assistance. I was only surprised he hadn't got round to it before. But I loved it and threw myself into the work with gusto. Innocent in the ways of the world, I had jumped at the job without even asking what the salary was but Robbie was generous. And he reviewed my pay-rate every few months, always granting me a small increase.

Despite the warning that Robbie was the randiest bloke in town, to me for a while he was simply a very experienced craftsman and a good teacher. I probably learned more about ceramics work from him in weeks than I had done in my two years at art college. And Robbie was always the perfect gentleman. Even when he eventually tried it on with me—I'd been working for him about nine or ten months then—I couldn't be annoyed with him. There was no inappropriate touching or sly sexist innuendo, just open matter-of-factness.

"There's a big ceramics manufacturers' trade show and convention coming up soon in London," he told me, "It's certainly the most important one in the UK, and it's up in the top five world-wide. It's held at the Earls Court Exhibition Centre—I'll have a display stall there—and accommodation is being arranged for delegates at four- and five-star hotels around the city. How'd you like to come along with me? I'll pay—most hotels are half-empty at this time of year and offer special rates. I can offset all the costs against tax as necessary business expenses."

"Wow, that sounds great, Robbie," I enthused, "I'd love to come."

"Good, I'll book us a room in one of the better hotels."

A little alarm bell went off in my head. "Hang on, Robbie, did you say you'd book us a room?"

"Yes." He gave me a cheeky wink. "It'll be a little less costly that way."

"Robbie, I am not sharing a room with you," I told him firmly, "You're a good boss and a great teacher, I like you lots and I love working with you, but you've got quite a reputation as a pork-swordsman. I've never slept with a man in my life and I'm not going to be another notch on your bedpost."

He turned on the charm, putting on a little-boy-lost look which probably won a lot of women over. "Come on, Hal," he wheedled, "why not give it a try—there has to be a first time for everyone. I'll be gentle and can practically guarantee you'll enjoy it."

I sighed in an exaggerated way. "Robbie, apart from the difference in our ages, I'll give you the best reason in the world why we're not going to share a room in a hotel. I play for the other team. I'm a dyke, a lady's gardener, a muff-muncher. I'm gay, Robbie, G-A-Y-E, gay. So it's no, N-O, no."

"There's no E in gay," he pointed out.

"I know that, I threw it in to make sure you were paying attention."

Robbie regarded me for a long moment then: "Okay, separate rooms it is." He laughed and with an engaging grin stuck his hand out. "Still friends?"

We shook on it. "Still friends, you randy old sod," I laughed in turn.

The convention was great. And that was where I met Amber.

* * * * *

"This all your work?" My questioner, a woman maybe in her mid-twenties, waved her hand at the range of samples I'd set out on our stall. Tall, fairly slim and stunning with dark, shoulder-length hair, she was casually dressed in jeans with a loose shirt and sports jacket but I could tell that she had a good figure. Don't you just love a great set of boobs?

"Some pieces are mine," I said, pointing out one or two, "The rest were made by my boss, Robbie Hurst."

"Oh, Robbie's your boss? I've met him, quite a craftsman... or should I say cocksman? Has he got into your pants yet?" Then pointing to the rainbow badge I was wearing, she drawled: "Perhaps not. So...you're one of those."

The bloody rude, patronising bitch! I thought, And maybe another fucking homophobe to boot! "Yes! I'm one of those!" I snarled, "So what?"

She laughed. "Relax sweetie, don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm just taking the piss." She turned the collar of her jacket aside to show an identical badge attached to her shirt. "See, I'm one of the sorority." She offered me her hand. "Amber Lytton at your service."

Her hand was smooth and cool, obviously better cared for than my slightly work-roughened paws. "I'm Hal Mercer. Are you in the business, Amber?"

She shook her head. "I'm an IT expert. I'm with Alibert Securities in Newcombe Parva. I specialise in organising security systems and trades conventions. We had this year's contract for the ceramics trade show and I'm here to make sure nothing goes arse-end up." Newcombe Parva is a town about twenty miles from my home—that's probably how Amber knew Robbie and his reputation.

"Wow, that's clever," I admired, "I'm totally useless at technology—I even had to get my grandmother to set up my mobile phone for me."

"I bet that made you a bit of a weirdo at school and college," Amber replied, "Oh well, to each his own, I couldn't produce lovely work like this. Ah, I see your boss coming back. Fancy grabbing a coffee, Hal?"

Amber and I drank coffee and chatted together for about half-an-hour before we had to return to work. She took my hand again in both of hers, running a suggestive middle-finger along my palm as she did so. Pulling me towards her, she kissed my cheek. "Hope I'll see you around, Hal, sweetie."

When I got back to our stall, Robbie asked: "You seeing Amber again?"

I shrugged. "Don't know. We didn't make any arrangements."

He nodded. "Well, be careful if you do see her, Hal, she's got a reputation and not necessarily a good one."

* * * * *

I'd made what I considered to be a major contribution to the business. A small shop became vacant in Market Square and after a lot of difficult negotiation and argument, I persuaded Robbie to take out the lease. Our small town, with all its historic connections, had a lot of tourists year round and I was certain we could do good business with an attractive shop in the right place. It took some time to set up and then we hired a middle-aged woman to run the shop while Robbie and I continued to work in our back-street studio. If she was off for any reason, then I'd stand in for her.

Before the shop was properly set up, we had to clear out a load of rubbish. One cardboard box was filled with old photographs and postcards, all late Victorian and Edwardian. I was fascinated and decided to keep them, thus starting me off on a hobby which in years to come was to make a huge change in my life. But that was for the future.

I was right. After a slow start the shop began to make money and then we hired another couple of promising art-school graduates to work with us in the studio. Robbie still worked mainly on his very expensive bespoke orders, our graduates dealt with the larger commercial orders while I concentrated on pieces for the shop. "Bloody hell," Robbie moaned one day, "I take you on to help out and suddenly I'm a large-scale employer."

"You love it really, Robbie," I scoffed, "It gives you more money to pursue the ladies."

I was covering in the shop one day and working at a shelf display in the back when I heard someone come in. Before I could greet them, a vaguely familiar voice said: "How much is that doggie in the window?" I turned to see a grinning Amber Lytton there.

"So, how's my favourite potter?" She grabbed my face in both hands and planted a huge kiss on my lips. "I'm in town on business, looked through your window and there you were. It's Saturday—have dinner with me tonight, Hal. I won't take no for an answer and what Amber wants, Amber gets."

"Who said I'd refuse? I'd love to go to dinner with you."

"Great, give me your address and I'll pick you up about seven. Why not pack a small bag and then you can stay overnight at my place."

Being taken out to dinner was a new experience for me. My usual dining out treat tended to be either a takeaway curry or fish and chips. I didn't own any dresses at that time and thought maybe I should give serious thought to buying some. But I did have a stylish light grey trouser suit bought for a friend's wedding and donned that together with a pale lilac shirt. I've never quite figured out where I fall on the spectrum. I don't really consider myself butch but neither am I a girly-girl. I suppose the closest description you could give me is 'tomboy'.

When Amber arrived at our house, I thought she was beyond stunning. Like me she was dressed in a trouser suit, in her case emerald green with a very pale green shirt and a velvet choker. I introduced her to my grandparents and I could tell straight away that Grandma wasn't impressed. She's usually warm and welcoming to my friends, old and new, but with Amber she was cool and formal. Perhaps I should have taken note then as Grandma is very astute and generally a good judge of people.

* * * * *

Amber took me to The Malmsey Arms, a very upmarket hotel a mile or two outside of Newcombe Parva. It had a countrywide reputation for being one of the places to go, as long as you could afford it that is. Amber paid off our taxi and I heard her asking the driver to pick us up at about eleven. I handed my overnight bag in at the cloakroom and then we went straight to the dining room.

"Good evening, Ms Lytton, how very nice to see you again," said the maître d' as we entered. Impressed? I was mega-impressed. I'd never been anywhere with a maître d' before, let alone one who was able to address guests by name. "I've made sure you have your usual table." Wow! Not only known to the maître d' but to have your 'usual' table...

"Your waiter tonight will be Alfred," he said as he seated us, "and I'll send the sommelier immediately."

"Do you like sea-food, Hal?" Amber asked, and when I said yes added: "Will you trust me to order dinner for both, I know what's good here." The sommelier arrived with the wine list and after a few moments study Amber pointed to one. "The Pouilly-Fuissé, I think."

"Excellent choice, Ms Lytton." The man bowed away as Alfred arrived. Boy, I could get to like this style of living. For our meal, Amber ordered Coquille-St-Jacques followed by Dover sole.

Throughout our evening, I had to contribute very little to the conversation, Amber keeping me entertained with a host of amusing anecdotes about her work and the people she had to deal with, both inside and outside of the company. She kept me laughing and it's only with hindsight that I saw beneath the surface.

Hindsight... wonderful thing, hindsight. When you're young—and at the time I wasn't quite twenty-one—you're so very easily impressed. It was only when I thought about her stories a long time later that I realised most were driven by a strong undercurrent of spite. If only I'd been mature enough to spot it at the time. Amber Lytton, despite the surface generosity and sophistication, was not a very nice person.

* * * * *

In the taxi to her home, Amber put an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. Her lips, soft and warm, met my mouth and a lively tongue entered, seeking mine. A hand crept under my jacket to find and cup one of my breasts, finger and thumb gently toying with a nipple which stiffened immediately. "Ah, no bra," Amber whispered. "I don't think we'll need the guest bedroom tonight, will we Hal?" My honeypot tingled in anticipation.