Davina Does Christmas

Two more not to be parted, I wisely decided.

I was about to split when I spotted Lorna and Steve, sexy-dancing. Lorna had her head on Steve's so-very broad shoulders but sensed me looking her way. She glanced up and raised a hand in a wave.

I raised my own hand and wiggled my fingers in goodbye sort of a way.

She responded by closing her fist and raising her middle finger . . . but not at all offensively. She was not giving me the finger; she was giving me a reminder.

I closed my fist and raised my middle finger in reply, signalling I hadn't forgotten.

*****

I had assumed that by "outside" Meryl meant the cloakrooms. Consequently I had a moment of panic when she wasn't there. Grabbing my short leather jacket I hurried to the real outside . . . and drew in a big breath of relief

Meryl was out there, wearing a black hooded cape contraption. On anyone else it would have seemed bizarre. On her it was ace. It even had a blood-red lining to go with her lips. She reminded me of the babes in Scottish Widows adverts and my self-lubrication was faster than fast.

Not that I was lusting over TV ads, you understand. Why should I do when I had a real-life babe within my grasp?

'Permission to flatter,' I said, 'but how hot are you?'

'Leg-over hot,' she countered, surprising me yet again. 'Shall we get under way?'

She obviously didn't intend to take my hand so I took hers. When she flinched I squeezed and . . . one heart-stopping second later . . . she squeezed back.

It was a bit of a trek from the sixth form block down to the Keighley/Bradford road. Meryl seemed to be happy do it in silence but I've never done silences well myself.

'So tell me,' I said after perhaps fifty yards, 'where do you go? When you're out of a night, not getting home before midnight, I mean.'

'Gigs,' she replied, back in monosyllabic mode.

'What sort of gigs?'

'Rock.'

'What sort of rock?'

For the first time Meryl smiled at me. And don't ask me if she looked good for it. Put it this way, I could not contain that second cum any longer.

'I love all rock,' she said in blissful ignorance of the state of my knickers, 'particularly glam and punk, hard and progressive.'

I had another look at her hair then I noted the eyeliner and finally twigged. 'Joan Jett, circa 1980!' I exclaimed.

'Fuck that,' she said, her language making me wince. 'I saw her last year, touring with Motorhead and Alice Cooper. Imagine that! Lemmy, Alice and Joan one after another!! I was masturbating for weeks afterwards.' She laughed. 'Lemmy and Alice even got the odd look-in.'

'Joan still looks okay, then,' I ventured.

'Yes, but how she looks hardly matters. It's her, isn't it? I'd give her the leg-over without hesitation, no matter whether she was twenty or two hundred.'

'Right,' I said, somewhat diplomatically.

Then, aiming to move the conversation on: 'Do you do local gigs?'

'St George's Hall is my second home. They only seem to get tribute bands nowadays, though, so I do a lot of Manchester and Leeds. And would you believe it! Suzi Q once did Myrtle Park! If I'd been born a few years earlier I'd have been there to kiss her feet.'

I'd heard of all these rock stars but was beginning to feel out of my depth. My toes were scraping on the tiled pool bottom. To be completely honest, I'd excelled myself with Joan Jett. Yeah, I knew Suzi Q by sight and guessed Alice was that creepy guy who bit the heads off chickens. I was a lot surer about Lemmy. He drank a bottle of Jack Daniels a day and made my mum look like a teetotaller.

He'd be my sort of a guy, if I ever did guys.

Not!!

As we hit the high road and turned towards town I changed subject. 'Ralph's party,' I said. 'I'm looking at it as a proper date. You do like girls, don't you?'

'Course I do. That's why I jack off over the Queen of Rock 'n' Roll.'

'Suzi,' I hazarded.

'Nah, she's Leather Forever. Not that I don't jack off over her too.'

'What do you prefer?' I added cautiously. 'I mean when you're with a girl and . . .'

'Yeah, yeah,' she said, cutting me off. 'I know what you mean. I guess I prefer a bit of both. Not that I'm madly experienced, you understand.'

By then we were approaching the Shama and the curry smells were out of this world. 'Fancy a quick vindaloo?' I enquired.

'It's bring your own booze,' she said, 'and it's too late to stock up. We haven't time.'

Encouraged by her increasingly long replies, I tugged her to a halt. 'Okay,' I said, fancy another kiss instead?'

'No.'

The certainty in her answer took me aback. 'No,' I echoed.

'Not here.' She jabbed her thumb to our right, indicating the parish church. 'Let's go somewhere more secluded.'

I wasn't sure if she was objecting on religious grounds but "somewhere more secluded" sounded good to me. We walked on, passing inviting pub after inviting pub, never breaking our stride.

She's a giver, I told myself. She's definitely a giver and I'll take all she's got. One more kiss and I'm hers.

One more kiss and I won't have a say in the matter.

Chapter Twenty-Five

"Poplar House" might sound like a tower block but it's actually a grid of terraced houses, most of them built in Victoria's last few years. Being obliging, letting Meryl tug me past the last Main Street watering hole (Wetherspoons), we turned into the network of streets and backstreets. Picking one seemingly at random, she led me halfway down and took a left into a ginnel separating two tall terraces.

'I thought here would do,' she said.

I thought she was right. The ginnel was theoretically wide enough for a small car but so overgrown it was only passable on foot. Meryl was indicating a bit of house-end next to a would-be tree. The street we'd just left was narrow; the sort that was seldom used by day and never at night. The street ahead of us was wider but un-adopted (or else the Luftwaffe hadn't stopped strafing it yet). It too seemed to be seldom used and we would be screened from it by the tree, anyway.

'It's perfect,' I said.

'Come on then, come and get what you're hankering after,' she replied, putting her back to the wall and holding out her arms.

I went to her with alacrity, chuckling when she enveloped us both with her cloak before nearly passing out when she kissed me more passionately than ever.

The expected intimate touch didn't materialize. That is to say she didn't touch me sexually. No, she contented herself by gripping my bum and pulling our bodies tight together. Then, when I was starting to wonder what was keeping her, she took my hand and drew to her breast.

Okay, I decided, if that's the way she wants it . . .

Still kissing, senses swimming, I gently squeezed. And then, emboldened, satisfied she'd given me the green light, I undid a few waistcoat buttons and let her spill out.

Well, she did spill out more than I ever could. In reality her tits weren't so large. They were, however, very shapely and her nipples were hard enough to cut glass.

I honestly do not know how long I mauled her against that wall. I recall the urge to nibble and chew on her was massive. I also recall that my mouth was too busy with hers to be side-tracked. And, best of all, I recall her taking my hand again and leading it to her groin.

Her jeans were the sort with brass buttons instead of a zip. My fingers trembled as I unfastened them, and then trembled some more when she tugged them partway down.

Breaking our kiss for a nanosecond, she breathed one word: 'Yes.'

I needed no urging. Dipping into her flimsy, damp panties I had a feel, finding very short, presumably trimmed hair and a very prominent clitoral hood. Well-practiced at that particular activity, grateful I'd been given extra room to manoeuvre, I set to work.

And Meryl's kissing shot off the top end of the passionate scale.

Three minutes is all it took: two and a half on her hood and thirty seconds on her actual clit. And there was no question of her faking it. I could feel the mighty orgasm rushing through her; it was impossible to miss. So too was the bite of her teeth into that yummy left shoulder of mine.

Being a woman of the world I assumed she'd want more, so I simply kept going. She held back better that second time, lasting more like quarter of an hour. Her cum was stronger though, much stronger. The first one might have made the earth move for her but that second one was more like an asteroid impact.

Crikey, didn't she cum hard!

Deciding a little penetration was in order I ran my fingers along her slit and . . .

Her flipping phone rang!!

'It's my ten minute warning,' she gasped pushing me away.

I checked my mobile as she fastened herself back up. It was indeed ten to eleven.

'Are we still on for tomorrow?' she asked. 'Or have you had what you wanted?'

'Tomorrow's a must,' I assured her.

'What's Sara going to say when I show up on your arm?'

'I'll sort Sara,' I said, adding silently, somehow.

*****

Heroically forgoing the pubs and clubs I went home, shut myself away in my room and masturbated for over an hour. What a night I'd just had! Summoning images to help me on my way was not a problem. Neither was rolling on from one climax to the next.

My sexuality was fully awake by then, you see; my sexuality and an insatiable hunger.

At ten to one the alarm on my mobile rang. Grinning, I congratulated myself on learning from Meryl. It was a good trick that alarm-setting. It's one I use to this day.

Self-congratulatory or not, that ten minute hiatus was uneasy for me. Still convinced phone sex was imminent, I felt guilty. How could I jump for one fling to another in a matter of minutes? And how come I could agree to date Meryl for two nights in a row? Flings were supposed to be one-offs, weren't they? I had to be cheating all of womankind as well as just Sara!

Not that I considered dodging the call to Lorna. I'd promised, therefore it had to happen.

Just as I'd promised Meryl a date; logically that had to happen too.

I entered Lorna's number with minutes to spare then watched the seconds tick away, pressing Send at one am precisely.

She answered midway through the first ring.

'Punctual or what,' she said in greeting. 'I like that in a girl. Are you in bed?'

'Yes.'

'Are you naked?'

'Yes,' I said again, shivering ever so slightly.

'And are you alone?'

'Apart from my teddy bear, yes, I'm alone.'

(That was almost a fib; Ted had lived on top of my wardrobe for a few years by then, watching down on me as I slept and self-abused.)

'What about you?' I added.

'I'm alone, naked and in bed. And I want to know what you're doing this afternoon.'

Realizing it was Saturday already I answered automatically: 'Rock climbing.'

'Fancy climbing into my bed instead?'

All notions of guilt, loyalty and betrayal fled from me. 'Say when and I'll be there,' I told her.

Lorna chuckled throatily. 'One o'clock seems like our lucky time. One in the afternoon, I mean.'

'Tell me where you live and I'll be there on the dot,' I said. Then, Logical Dave butting her snub nose in: 'How's it going to work?'

'My parents are visiting relatives in Sheffield. They won't be back until seven, at the soonest. Steve's got his big match, so he'll be out of the way as well. We can have three or four hours and nobody will be any the wiser.'

'I'll be there,' I said yet again.

'I'm wet already, just thinking about it.' Another throaty chuckle. 'There again, I should be soaking. I've been playing with myself for ages. Are you wet, Dave? Are you playing with yourself?'

Now that was more like a midnight chat with Ellie! 'Yes,' I said, a fraction of a second after clamping a hand between my legs (so I'd be telling the truth, understand?). 'I'm playing and I'm wetter than wet.'

'Glad to hear it. Now, are you going to tell me what you're going to do to me?'

'Do you mean before or after I chew your tits?'

'Both.' Lorna's sexy laugh was even throatier than her chuckle. 'Don't hurry yourself, though. Take me through it slowly . . .'

Chapter Twenty-Six

I must have spent the best part of an hour ringing around on Saturday morning. After my mum had woken me with coffee and a gripe about the weather, that was.

'Don't come running to me if you break your neck climbing those rocks,' she said. 'The weather's not fit for ducks.'

My first call was to Kelly, my main rock climbing buddy (the one whose parents I also climbed with).

'Dad's calling it off today,' she said before I could make my excuses.

'In that case I have a favour to beg,' I said smoothly. 'And don't worry; I'll make it worth your while . . .'

My second call was to Meryl. I liked her but was conscious she was a bit odd. And a girl didn't have to be odd to have regrets, did she? I was afraid she might have changed her mind about Ralph's. Again I heard what I wanted to hear without having to ask.

'I've got Mum's motor for tonight,' she said, as animated as could be. 'And I'm out until one o'clock, so we can put the back seat to good use, can't we?'

Call number three was to Sara. She took the news about Meryl surprisingly well and even joked about me caring for "waifs and strays".

'It looks like me and Ray again,' she said. 'Hey ho, such is life.'

Relieved there wasn't going to be a punch up at Ralph's do, I then phoned a few other friends, letting them know the score and diplomatically (I hoped!) getting them to agree to make Meryl feel welcome. Then, because I could put it off no longer, I called Ellie.

'Miserable Meryl,' she said, 'what the hell do you see in her?'

Miffed by the "Miserable" tag, I told her that if she hadn't been so busy sucking Fran's dick instead of partying last night, she wouldn't have to ask.

'It wasn't all night,' she chortled, 'just most of it. And yes Davina; I'll be a good girl. I won't show you up.'

*****

Lorna was waiting at the door when I arrived at one on the dot.

'What's with the rucksack?' she asked, stepping aside to let me in, out of the rain.

'It's part of my alibi,' I replied, dumping it in the hallway. 'Is the coast clear?'

'You bet it is. I got a text from Mum two minutes ago. They got held up on the motorway and have just made it to their favourite pub in Attercliffe. That means they won't be back for hours. Do you fancy a glass of wine or . . .'

'I pointed behind her. 'Is that the stairway to Heaven?'

She nodded, suddenly unsure of herself.

'Let's skip the wine and go to your room,' I said decisively.

Lorna confessed while I was admiring the décor and wondering what a girl had to do to get a bed the size of hers. Was there only me with a single nowadays, or what!

'I've never . . . you know . . . with a girl, I mean . . .'

I relished the stab of excitement. A completely blank sheet for me to express myself on!

'In that case relax and leave everything to me,' I said. 'I'll undress you then do exactly what I promised I'd do on the phone. If that's not all right, if you want to change anything or for me to stop, just say the word. Okay?'

She kissed me, not seeming particularly relaxed but not in the least reticent.

'Okay,' she said when we broke for air. 'Undress me nice and slowly . . .'

*****

While you picture me taking Lorna' clothes off with exaggerated patience, kissing every square inch of freshly exposed flesh as I went, I'm going to briefly digress.

As I've said previously, I'm not a fan of the need to pigeonhole lesbians. Nobody does it with straight folk, do they? They don't point out a guy with a blonde bimbo and say, "I bet he's diesel". And, as far as I'm aware, the same goes for gay men. Not to the nth degree lesbians get, anyway.

Now I know I've described myself as "gold star". As far as I am concerned, that's not a pigeonhole, it's a qualification. Think about it: every lesbian has the opportunity to be gold star, be she butch, femme or anywhere in-between.

(Calling in-betweens "kiki" is fine by me, by the way; it's old fashioned but somehow cute. And it's very close to where I am at.)

In my experience, every couple in the world has its own unique relationship. Okay, an individual pair may assume roles to suit their current match, but surely it doesn't mean they should be stuck with that role for life.

In everyday life I see my role as making my latest partner happy. If she wants to take the lead then no problem. Likewise if she wants me to be the giver-in-chief. Ideally, if the relationship goes beyond one night, it will also develop. In other words, we will change and our roles will change too.

Here's one example. I once got it together with a girl who identified herself as "stone butch". She was not even remotely beautiful and others had warned me off her. Hey, she even did her best to warn me off herself. I was attracted to her though, so the inevitable happened.

More than once.

And didn't she just get addicted to getting head. Reluctant at first, she gave me "one tiny chance" and soon came to love it. And this a girl whose official, long-running relationship with someone else was very one-sided indeed.

Different relationships, different roles. All part of life's rich tapestry, isn't it?

So having said all that, I'm about to contradict myself and label Lorna. She was such a pillow queen! Getting the clothes off her took forever because she took me at my word and did nothing to help my efforts. Then she just flopped back (on the pillows!) and left it all to me.

I know that's what I told her to do but really! She could have at least thrown a few suggestions in my general direction.

Not that I'm complaining. The most beautiful girl with a knockout body wanted me to while away my Saturday by making her cum and cum and cum.

There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

*****

I haven't got half as far as I'd hoped to do but I'm growing weary, so it's time for another break. Fear not, though, all sorts will be revealed in the next instalment: my date with Meryl; Kelly's unexpected payoff for being my alibi; Ellie's unheralded but much appreciated Christmas present . . .

Then I'm going to fast forward to Easter, my first close encounter with Miss Williams and five fulfilling days in the Lake District. From there it will be night school, working life and the wonderful but utterly exasperating Kat.

As I keep saying, watch this space, I'll be back.