The Case of the Sneaky Valentine

We are first down, but only just, and a few minutes later we're heading to a pizza and pasta restaurant not far from Victoria Station. The girls bound along in front as Zoe and I walk and talk. Zoe is full of praise for the girls but also has a surprising piece of news. "Karen's a photographer we regularly use and she was in the office today and saw Tina and Chloe and, well, at first she didn't realize they were twins but when she did she asked if they, or rather you, would ever consider letting them be models in adverts? Here, she gave me her card if you wanted to talk to her." She passes me the business card which I study.

"Well, that was unexpected! I don't quite know what to think. I know the girls are very pretty but modelling seems, well, kind of sleazy."

"It's really not that kind of modelling," Zoe reassures me. "It was more, say, where you have someone in a picture with the product being advertised."

"That's a relief! Even so, I'll have to think about it. What would you do, Zoe?"

"Well, I'm not their Mum, but if I were I would definitely consider it. It can be an interesting experience and it can pay quite well, though I'd probably put it aside for them for the future, to help with university perhaps."

I look at her, surprised by her unexpectedly thoughtful and practical response. "You're full of surprises, you are. You'd make a great mum, you know," I tell her.

"I think that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me," she says, obviously touched. "I'd love to be a mum one day; people I've told, even my parents, are surprised when I tell them."

"Well..." I reply carefully, "I suppose your style is a bit against you; you don't see many Goth-punk mummies. The girls think you're über cool, so they'd think a Goth-punk mum would be brilliant, I expect."

"Well, you're nice and slim, and you've a lovely, youthful face so, yes: a bit of eyeliner and mascara; some black lipstick; cut, dye and highlight your hair and you could pull it off. We'd have to work on your wardrobe a bit, mind." I burst out laughing at the idea, though I do wonder what it would be like to walk into a room with Zoe dressed and made-up similarly; the image is unexpectedly exciting.

"My Mum would have a fit!" I tell her. "She already thinks that you're unsuitable for me as a friend; you'd think I was about fourteen sometimes, the way she talks."

"I'm not sure that parents ever fully accept that their children are grownups. Or maybe it's just overprotective love; you don't want your kids doing things you think are mistakes, however old they are."

"Well, I've made my share of mistakes, but at least they were my mistakes. Roy was definitely a mistake but then, without him, I wouldn't have the girls..."

"And they are wonderful and absolutely not a mistake," Zoe concludes for me, and I feel an upsurge of real warmth and affection for this woman. "Here we are. Tina, Chloe, come here and let your Mum and me go in first so we can get a table. Good girls." I'm impressed: Zoe seems to be a natural at parenting as, amazingly, the girls immediately do as they're told.

The restaurant is quiet at this time: too late for lunch and a little early for most office staff to dine. The girls are excited as we don't dine out often and they finally settle on sharing a large Quattro Stagioni pizza on the basis it has lots of different toppings. Zoe and I discover that we enjoy a shared love of spicy food as I opt for Penne al'arrabiata con pollo while Zoe selects a pizza with the ominous sounding name of il Vesuvio! The girls tease her about being careful not to erupt after eating it.

As we receive the starters, I take the girls' hands and they take Zoe's and she looks a little confused. "As we share this meal we are happy that we are together and will always be there for each other," the three of us say together.

"That was very sweet," remarks Zoe afterwards, "but what was it, a prayer?"

"Sort of, I guess. I started it with the girls when they were younger and Roy not being there was upsetting them. It's become a sort of tradition now at our evening meals."

"And we're like super happy that you're with us, Zoe," Tina tells her, making her smile.

As we eat I notice Chloe showing Tina a piece of paper as they whisper together. "What's that?" I ask as I hear a soft sigh of 'Oh dear' from Zoe.

"Mum, did you know that Zoe is an archer, just like Katniss in 'The Hunger Games' and she's like really good! Zoe, show Mum that photo on your phone, go on!" Chloe begs. Reluctantly Zoe takes out her phone and calls up a photo: it shows her smiling happily, giving a thumbs up and wearing some weird thing across her chest. She is standing next to what is obviously an archery target in which half a dozen identical arrows can be seen, all stuck into the yellow circle at the centre.

"Six arrows in the yellow bull's eye," I observe, "and all shot by you I assume, Zoe. I guess that must be hard to do."

"Muuum," Chloe protests, "Zoe fired those arrows from like seventy metres away! That's like, miles!"

"Hang on, I'm trying to picture what seventy metres looks like... good grief, it's almost three times the length of the local swimming pool! Now I really am impressed," I tell Zoe.

"It's called a 'six gold end'," Zoe explains with a mixture of pride and bashfulness. "You shoot six arrows before going to score and collect them and that's called an 'end'."

"And it's not called a 'bull's eye' but a 'gold'!" insists Chloe, and Zoe smiles.

"That's right, well remembered, but you don't 'fire' arrows, you shoot them. It's guns you fire," Zoe points out.

"I'm just amazed you can even see the target, let alone hit the centre six times in a row at that distance," I tell her.

"But Mum, look at this," Tina now passes the piece of paper across and I look to see it is a leaflet.

I glance at Zoe. "Sorry, but I designed the flyer and they needed some more copies printed off," she explains. "Chloe saw them and asked if she could have one."

"Mum, could we like go and try fire... shooting some arrows, please?" asks Chloe. I look at Tina who's nodding vigorously in agreement.

"I guess we could as you both seem so keen. It's not the whole six hours is it, Zoe?"

"No," she smiles, "it's just turn up whenever. You'll get a bit of teaching and most people have a few ends. If it's busy then we have to ask people to let others have a turn but often you can shoot as much as you want. I'd say an hour is about average but it can be longer. It'd be lovely to see you and Chloe and Tina there," she adds.

"And do you do the teaching?" I find myself asking.

She looks me in the eye, and replies quietly, "For you three, I'll make damn sure it's me!" There's something about the intensity with which she says this... but at that moment I am distracted by the arrival of our main courses.

The meal is a happy one, with the twins talking about 'The Hunger Games' and how they're going to shoot like Katniss, the heroine. Zoe admits to having heard of the film but hasn't seen it or read the book. That's the cue for Tina and Chloe to agree that "next time you sleep over we'll watch that in the morning instead of Playstation."

On the virtually empty train home, the girls are tired and almost dozing, worn out by a day of excitement and full of pizza. They gaze out of the window as Zoe and I chat quietly.

"The girls loved today, thank you ever so much," I tell her.

"Hey, it really was my pleasure. The both were lovely and so interested and appreciative. Sarah," she hesitates, "I hope you weren't upset by my telling them what to do when we arrived at the restaurant. I mean, it wasn't my place really, with you being there; it just sort of slipped out..."

"No, I'm not upset at all. You'd been with them all day and I'm glad they were happy to listen to you. They really like you, you know, more than just thinking you're cool. It's almost as if... oh shit," I swear softly.

"What? What is it, Sarah?" Zoe's voice is full of concern.

"Zoe, they're almost treating you like another parent. I don't know how you feel about that... hell, I don't know how I feel about it! I know their Dad was crap, as a partner and as a dad too, and I've done my best to be all they need... God, I'm letting them down, aren't I? I should be out dating men so they can have a father figure in their lives but instead I'm being selfish and enjoying myself going out with you..."

"Sarah, you're an amazing mum and you have a wonderful relationship with the two of them. I'm very flattered that the girls like me so much and I love being your friend." Zoe pauses. "As to a father figure, well, that's something you need to decide. But, Sarah, don't date guys for that reason. You need to ask yourself whether you want a relationship with a guy." She looks at me. "Do you?"

"Honestly? No, not really, not at the moment, anyway. I've never been good at maintaining a relationship with men in my life. I fell pregnant with the girls a short while after Roy and I started dating. I say 'fell pregnant' but I knew what I was doing. I... I thought that'd be all that would be needed and, well, the girls kept us together for years." I hesitate, wondering if I can tell Zoe something that I've barely admitted to myself, let alone to another person. I look down and take a couple of deep breaths before continuing, very quietly "I call him a useless wanker and not interested in us but, truthfully," I look at Zoe who is listening intently, "I never showed him much interest either, certainly not for the last five or six years. Really, he was a hero for putting up with me for so long but in the end, it just wore him down, I think. So you see, Zoe, I have let the girls down by driving him away..." Zoe holds my hand comfortingly.

"Sarah, you need to work out what, and who, you really want in your life. In the meantime, I'm happy to be here for you and the girls, if it helps."

"It does help, Zoe, thank you," and I kiss her cheek tenderly as her thumb caresses the back of my hand.

Whiteton Town station and after some quick hugs the twins and I alight. The girls both wave at Zoe who is still sat in the carriage as the train pulls away and I raise my hand too. Part of me really wishes that she was here now, that we'd walk home together and put Tina and Chloe to bed and then sit and chat over a drink... "Come on girls; let's get you home to bed."

=====================================

  CHAPTER 2 -- Developments

Saturday 3 March

I'm awake early and must write down the dream I've just had; I don't often remember my dreams so when I do I record them...

I dreamed there were arms around me as I lay with my eyes closed. I felt warm and loved and safe and... that's it: cared for. My eyes open and filling my vision is the corner of a smiling mouth and a cheek with the cute pucker of a dimple in it. I am cuddling with my school friend Kate, I realize, as we did from time to time when one or other of us was down or stressed. I loved her holding me and holding her in return; it was always so safe and happy. I close my eyes again and relax.

I feel the movement as she turns and dips her head slightly, to softly kiss my nose. I raise my chin at the tickle her kiss gives and, quite by chance, our lips brush... and hesitate, touching ever so gently. Imperceptibly, almost as if drawn by some gravity between us, our lips press harder. A subtle note of pleasure is added to the harmonious tune of our happiness and contentment.

I realise that I am kissing my best friend but that is okay: I love her being my friend and she is kissing me for the same reason. I feel her lips part beneath mine. I have kissed boys and, if Kate were a boy, I know what would come next... and it does. Kate's tongue gently caresses my lip and I tremble; do I respond? Part of me wants to, desires that intimacy and sensuality of tongues entwining, but she is not a boy... SHE'S NOT A BOY: SHE IS A GIRL! In my dream my eyes fly open as I pull back and I see a flash of spiky blonde hair with fuchsia-pink highlights before I am sat bolt upright in my bed, breathing heavily and wide awake.

I doubt that I will forget this dream anytime soon but, before the details of the dream fade, I reach over and turn on the bedside light, pick up my dairy and begin to write...

With the dream recorded there is no chance of me pretending to myself later that I didn't dream, that I didn't imagine... I lay back and try to relax. Okay. I dreamed I was cuddling and kissing not Kate from school, but Zoe. There, I've said it. Unfortunately, that's the easy part. The hard part is why did I dream it and does it matter?

There is another issue: the dream of kissing has left me more than a little turned on. As my hand slips down between my legs I realize that it is a lot more than a little. So now what do I do? Thanks to my church upbringing I often feel a little guilty when I masturbate, even though most of my belief is long gone. However, I now face the question of whether it's worse to frig myself after dreaming of kissing a girl? Does that make me gay? It seems that my subconscious is oblivious to such moral quandaries as I find that the fingers of my right hand are toying with my wet folds even as those on my left rub my nipple. Carnal desire wins: I spread my legs wide and pull my nightdress up to slip my fingers into my cunny. Oh, that feels so very good as my fingers slide in and out. I adjust my hand so that I can rub my clitty with my thumb at the same time, my favoured technique for pleasuring myself.

I close my eyes, savouring the sensations as the pleasure and excitement build. I have kicked the covers off and I am displayed, wanton and aroused on the bed. I imagine how someone would see me now were they to walk in, my fingers pumping in and out of my squelching cunny, the wet lips embracing and sucking on the invading digits. My clitty is swollen and the tip pokes up, visible at the top of my love cleft when I move my thumb away.

I can feel the orgasm close now, a trembling tightness inside me. I bite hard on my lip to stay quiet until there is that glorious, silent detonation that rips through my being, my back arching off the bed as first one then a second orgasmic wave engulf me in quick succession.

I flop back, panting and satiated and hear a door opening and footsteps approach my bedroom. Two fingers of my right hand are dripping; in a panic and without thinking I stuff them into my mouth to clean them as my left hand pulls the duvet back over me. The taste of my sex explodes on my tongue. Bloody hell that was unexpected: so much for sugar and spice! I wonder why I've never been tempted to taste myself before because I'm certain I will again.

The sounds of footsteps pass by my door and I relax. My fingers caress my swollen wet lips and I cannot resist another taste. With my finger in my mouth, I hesitate. Am I gay? No, I can't be. You cannot help what you dream and it had been nearly a week since I last frigged myself, so it's not surprising I was feeling a bit randy. It was just coincidence that the two happened on the same morning.

Tuesday 6 March

According to Chloe and Tina, their report on what they did on the 'Take Your Daughter to Work Day' made them the envy of Year Six. Even Miss Drake their teacher was impressed, particularly with Tina's explanation of Corporate Hospitality, apparently. I feed this back to Zoe when we meet on the train.

"Oh good, I'm so pleased," she says, seemingly relieved, though I don't know why she was worried.

I hesitate. We are sat next to each other in a section of seats all facing forward, so it feels secluded and private. "Zoe, I wanted to say something yesterday but there were too many people around. I just wanted to say thank you for what you said last Thursday, you know, about being happy to be with me and with the girls. You really are a wonderful friend." It occurs to me that, had she been a man, I'd have done my utmost to have her wake up on Friday morning in my bed! Oh well.

"It's my pleasure, Sarah," she replies but there's something like regret in her voice. No, regret is too strong a word for it; wistfulness, perhaps.

We chat on and I confirm that we'll be at the Have-a-Go day at the archery club. "I think Chloe and Tina would drag me there whether I was willing or not!" I tell her, only half joking.

"And do you want to be there?" she asks.

"Well, I'm probably a bit old to take up a new sport, but I'm happy to go for the girls' sake... and it'll be nice to see you too," I admit.

"Aw shucks," she goes all mock-coy, "it'll be nice to see you too, all three of you. And you're what, seven or eight years older than me; that's not old! Anyway, lots of people take up archery as adults when their kids try it." I concede the point before she continues, "Um, we could have another evening with just the two of us on Friday, if you're up for it... and if your Mum will let you out to play again with the scary punk woman!" she teases.

"I'd like that. Same place?"

"If you're happy with that, Sarah."

"Sure, though either less beer or fewer tequilas this time; the journey took so long I sobered up a bit last time but I wouldn't want to roll home drunk. Would you... want to stay over again? Maybe come prepared this time? It would make Chloe and Tina happy."

"That would be lovely," she replies happily. "So, it's a date."

Friday 9 March

The day seems to have really dragged as I've waited impatiently for five o'clock. Mum didn't mind too much being called onto extended childcare duties. I think the girls have been telling her how lovely Zoe is and that she shouldn't be put off by Zoe's appearance. Anyway, I told her I would ask Zoe about her accompanying me to a nightclub to see if I can meet some men.

The walk to La Gata Rosa seems quicker this time, perhaps because I know the way now. When we enter, the tapas bar is only slightly busier than last time. It's curious that, once again, the clientele are almost exclusively female; last time obviously wasn't a one-off. On one hand, this is welcome, leaving Zoe and me uninterrupted but, of course, the downside is that there's little or no chance of meeting a guy. At the bar, Marta immediately comes over and greets us, "Welcome Zoe and friend Sarah. So you are a regular now, no?" she smiles. "The usual: two beers? Unless you are going to be crazy with tequila again." She gives Zoe a grin.

"Two beers please, Marta," I reply and she quickly fetches them.

"I'm still planning to talk Sarah into some tequila later," Zoe confides when Marta returns.

"Sarah is a nice girl, I think. You don't go leading her too far astray," Marta warns.

"I think I can cope with a little bit of straying," I tell Marta.

"Well, as long as you're happy and enjoy it, I'm glad for you." This seems a slightly bizarre response to my being plied with tequila but I assume it's Marta's foreign idiom at play. "You want some food now or maybe wait for later?" she asks and we opt to wait but not too long.

"I meant what I said about not getting drunk," I warn Zoe. However, despite my intent, the first two drinks slip down all too easily before we think about eating. We order the mixed tapas selection again, mainly because I can barely remember what we had last time, much less what the different dishes were called. Another two beers arrive with the food.

As we eat I remember what I told Mum I would do, so ask Zoe, "I know what you said about the importance of wanting a relationship for myself, and you're right, I know, but would you come to a nightclub with me? Men must fall for you all the time."