CHAPTER 1 FRESHER'S WEEK
I was really nervous and self conscious. The man at the desk tried to be helpful. "You want to speak to Georgia. She's helping out at the Gay and Lesbian desk. They're a bit under siege, from the religious nutters. I'd keep your hoody up."
Great. I only wanted to join the water polo club. It was my first day at university, and the fresher's fare was a complete crush. I had surprised everybody, including myself, and got a place at Imperial, to study civil engineering.
I soon saw what he meant. The Gay and Lesbian Society had been stuck in a corner, sandwiched between the Christian Fellowship and the Muslim Society. An angry woman accosted me.
"Have you found Jesus?"
"No," I mumbled.
"So, why are you here?"
"Well I don't know. I was hoping to speak to the people at the next desk."
"The Muslims aren't going to talk to you, dressed like that. Or are you one of THEM?"
I was wearing my shortest denim skirt. My legs are my best feature, and I was desperate to distract attention, from my face. Later that day I could not help putting the woman's theory to the test. The Muslim students were absolutely lovely, but pointed out that Islam did not appear to be for me. Nor, I acknowledged, was it honest, to pretend to be one, just to wear a veil.
A pretty Asian woman, with a Brummie accent, put it to me, "Veil and mini skirt, love? I think incongruous is the politest word I can think of."
I could feel the "Christian" woman's eyes boring into my back, as I sat down in front of the spawn of Sodom. Two Goths, who could have been brother and sister, glowered at me. A beautiful woman smiled gently at me.
"I'm looking for Georgia," I mumbled.
"You've found me," the woman purred, her eyes gluing me to my chair.
She had thick, chestnut coloured hair, tucked up and loosely bundled, on top of her head. Her eyes were mid brown, almost golden. She had a strong straight nose, high cheekbones and sensuous lips. Like me, she was wearing little make up. Georgia was wearing a fairly tight pink vest, which emphasized her broad, tanned shoulders. Underneath she seemed to be wearing a sports bra, which flattened her, no doubt magnificent, breasts. Georgia had a small nose piercing and a labret in the centre, just below her lower lip.
"So, you want to joins us. Hence the hoody, no doubt," barked the woman next to Georgia.
The Goth woman was heavily built and scary. She had a lot of piercings.
"Wouldn't want anyone to know your filthy secrets eh, Charley? You forgot to cover your name badge. Not very careful are you?"
How did she know about the abortion? I could feel the tears welling up. I dropped my hood, and showed her my face. Her aggression disappeared.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Georgia touched my hand lightly, and fixed me with her eyes again. Magically, I stopped crying.
"You want to join the women's water polo team, don't you?"
"Swimmer's shoulders love. Great legs too."
Lady Goth huffed.
"Shit Georgia. Put her down. It's great you helping out, and keeping the homophobic loonies at bay, but..."
"So you're not a lesbian?" I blurted out, subtly.
"Oh yes, she is. You're the fourth svelte nubile, that she's seduced this morning. She's got a girlfriend, for fuck's sake."
Georgia gently stroked the little blonde hairs, on my forearm. She had tiny hands.
"So Charley. Gay, straight, bi, or bi-curious?"
"I...I... don't know."
At least I was being honest.
"That's OK; you take your time. I'll see you tomorrow, at 3."
"What? You mean a date?"
"No, silly. At the pool. I'll warn you, I'm not gentle."
Both Goths chuckled, and I blushed furiously, and made my exit, pushing past the Christians. I kept my hood down though, and tried to hold my head up.
CHAPTER 2 DUCK, CHARLEY
Some might be surprised that it was not Lydia Cartwright, who tried to kill me, but a 40 year old man, from Blackburn, called Terry Owen. We have never met. A date has yet to be set, for his trial.
I got a summer job at a holiday camp in Bridlington; lifeguard in the day and barmaid at night. The pay was bad, but I managed to do twelve hour days. The outdoor pool was cold and under used. I spent a lot of time staring into space, when I wasn't shouting at badly behaved teenagers, only a few years younger than me. I was mostly ignored. I acquired a great tan.
The Geoffrey Boycott was big and served cheap beer. It had a reputation. They had difficulty recruiting staff. Donna, the manager was a big Geordie, who hated Southerners, like me, but could not afford to be fussy. On day one, she showed me a picture of a stunning blonde.
"This is Tatyana Luschenko; Ukrainian student. She died in my arms, last summer. Stabbed in the chest. Bled to death. Try not to join her."
I was nicknamed Suicide Girl. My job was to roam the tables, picking up empty bottles and glasses, before someone could use them as weapons. Donna had me wear jeans, with a thick belt, lace up boots, sweat shirt and sports bra. I have kept my chaotic, curly hair short for some years.
"You're going to get touched up, kicked, and spat at. No skirts, or crop tops. No necklaces. Get your hair cut a bit shorter, and put gel in it. Gives the slappers less to hang on to. Can you scream? Good. I should be able to get to you in thirty seconds."
14th of August was a Saturday, and the fight broke out at 10:30 pm. The joint was heaving, and I was stranded near the doors. I had just had a difficult negotiation, with a hen-night group, who did not want to hand over their collection of empty Bacardi Breezer bottles. They made some quite hurtful comments about my physical appearance, intelligence, sexual orientation, parentage, and child bearing potential.
As I stood up, with my heavily laden tray, something hit me hard, on my right cheek. I dropped the tray with a crash, put my hand to my face and turned. I assumed that one of the hen-night slappers had, well, slapped me. They were all on their feet, screaming at me. Something hard and sharp stuck in my right hand. I looked and saw a piece of jagged glass sticking out. My boobs felt wet and, looking down, blood was running down my jeans on to the floor. It took me a while to register, that it was my blood. I slipped, in it, and landed flat on my back, winded, on twenty empty alcopop bottles; none of which broke.
I was feeling really cold, and the pain had hit hard. A policeman, in full riot gear, glared down at me. Apparently, the pint glass, which hit me, just in front of my right ear, had been aimed at the police, who were making one of their regular visits. The incredible din, in the pub, seemed to fade, as my field of vision narrowed. Donna appeared, with the first aid kit, and pressed something big and white onto my neck. She had rightly guessed that my severed jugular vein was going to kill me quicker that my slashed face.
Donna seemed really cross, but I think it was fear.
"Charley, you stupid bitch. I told you to look out for flying glasses. Or did I? It's just like the Russian girl. She was dead before the ambulance got here. I'm sure you'll last longer than she did, pet. I've had it. I can't put up with another dead barmaid. They can find another manager."
Events got a bit hazy then. I remember thinking, "I deserve this," but I actually said, "I want my Mum."
I seemed to be picked up, and put in an ambulance, in no time. I was disappointed that the blood loss had not abolished the pain, which was intense. Oh, how I tried to be brave. And failed. Faces kept appearing and disappearing from view. I couldn't remember my date of birth, or where I lived.
Then I was sitting up, apparently half way through a conversation, with a nurse.
"Your mum's here, love. We had to send her out earlier, when she got a bit emotional."
"Charlotte. Oh my God. What have you done? Wasn't nearly drowning, in Sweden, enough?"
My mother is a hopeless snob, and has a harsh, strident voice. She has always pronounced my name "Shar-lot", which is why I prefer Charley.
"Is she alright? Can I see her?"
"No, not with you looking like that. The poor kid will have nightmares. I don't suppose I'll be getting any grandchildren off of you."
"Mum, I don't understand."
"Your face and neck child. What man would want to marry you now?"
The ward sister intervened.
"Mrs Matthews. That was not helpful. Charlotte ( pronounced correctly) has only just woken up from her anaesthetic. She lost a lot of blood, and frankly, is lucky to be alive. As you can see, her wounds are extensive. We were about to explain it all, to her, and let her look, when she was ready."
Mum glowered. She is a plain talker, who does not appreciate plain talk in return.
"Right then." Sister Davies took a deep breath. "Do you prefer Charlotte, or Charley? OK, Charley, we would normally wait a bit, before doing this. You were hit by a beer glass. It shattered and has cut your face and neck. We have sewn your right ear back on. The cuts are clean, and should heal well. One of our best plastic surgeons did it. You have 240 stitches, love."
She handed me a mirror. I looked, and dropped the mirror. I picked it up again, and gazed at the Bride of fucking Frankenstein.
My mum turned, and walked away, and two nurses, complete strangers, held me, as I bawled like a baby.
CHAPTER3 TAKING THE PLUNGE
Nice pool, I thought. 25 metres; lots of natural sunlight. Soon 16 young women were sat in front of the team coach. I had not been in the water since my injury, and my scars had been passed as strong enough, after two months. Fortunately the normal water polo helmet covered my injured ear, and actually made my scars less visible. It felt good to be able to swim again.
We were split into two teams. Being left handed, I moved over to the right side of defence, opposite Georgia. True to her word, as I marked her, she rammed an elbow into my ribs, then grabbed my left nipple and twisted. I countered with a knee to the groin, and a head-butt. Soon we were both sin-binned. Georgia gave me a little hug, and sat beside me, pushing her gorgeous, lightly padded, hip, into mine.
After a stern warning, we were allowed back, and succeeded in finishing the game, undisciplined.
I came out of the shower, with a towel wrapped, demurely, around me. Georgia was naked, rubbing her long brown hair vigorously. She had beautiful tawny skin, with a tiny thong tan line. Her breasts were a little larger than mine and her long nipples stood up at a jaunty angle. Her hips were slim, in contrast to her broad shoulders. Her pussy was bald, and I could just see the hood of her clit, which appeared to be pierced. I was trying not to look. Her legs were toned and smooth.
Hardly surprising, that was her nickname.
"For a shy girl, Charley, you play pretty rough. How's your nip?"
"Sore. How's your fanny?"
"Bit swollen. Wanna kiss it better? Only kidding. God, you really can blush. How about we go back to mine, and I'll cook you tea."
Georgia was clearly not used to taking no for an answer. She had a one bedroom flat, above a Chinese restaurant, which made the flat smell, a bit.
"You get used to it." she smiled, "And the traffic. And the drunken yobs. First time in London?"
"Yes, I'm a bit overwhelmed."
"No offence, Charley, but you permanently look like a rabbit, caught in headlights."
Georgia sat me down, and ran her fingers gently over my scars. She stopped when I winced.
"It's OK. The skin is pretty numb, where little nerves have been cut, and I've got something called allodynia, so even gentle touch hurts."
"Even this?" She gently kissed my neck scar.
"Sorry, but yes."
"How about this?" She kissed the tip of my nose.
"No, that just tickles."
Georgia gently placed her lips on mine, barely brushing them. As if used to this, my mouth opened, and her soft tongue slid inside. It gently explored my mouth, running along my teeth, then hunting down my own inexperienced tongue. My tongue, which had seemingly taken on an identity of its own, wrapped around the slippery serpentine invader, and they began a languid, lingual dance. My tongue followed its little friend back into Georgia's mouth, but I was flagging. My breath had been taken away, and I came up for air.
Georgia gave me an arch smile.
"Breathe out through your nose."
And then her mouth clamped on to mine, and she resumed her oral conquest, pushing me backwards, until I fell onto her sofa. Georgia grabbed my right boob, through my T shirt and bra, and started slowly kneading it. My moans encouraged her to try lefty too. Georgia deftly unclipped my bra, one handed, and pulled it off, with my T shirt. She sat up and removed her own T shirt. I stared at her fantastic tits, and then surprised myself by leaning forward and taking her left nipple into my mouth. Georgia moaned and pulled on my short frizzy hair. Her nipple was soft and rubbery, and the underlying breast slightly lumpy. I had always thought that mine were abnormal. I decided to check the other one, just in case, and reassuringly it felt, and tasted the same. Shit, this was what I had fantasized about doing to Chloe Braithwaite, my former school friend.
I ran my hands up and down Georgia's silky back, and then shocked myself, by undoing her jeans.
"Not so fast, Tiger," she purred, and pushed me onto my back again, laying her divine body back on top of mine, giving me another snogging lesson, whilst rolling my nipples between her fingers.
Georgia clearly liked to be in control, as she stood up, taking me with her, dropped her jeans and thong, then did the same with mine. She gently nibbled down the left side of my neck, and then I gasped as she slipped a finger inside me.
I moaned like... like a lesbian ingénue, I suppose. I had a firm bum cheek in each hand, and was not quite sure what to do, apart from gently squeeze.
"Come to the bathroom," she whispered in my ear, "I want to shave you."
I had not done much pube maintenance, since leaving the swimming club in Leeds. In fact I had not been back, since my trophy presentation. Sorry, my presentation as a trophy. A woman used to come in once a month, and wax us all, all over, in a production line. I am actually not that hairy, but my light brown bush had grown a bit unruly.
Georgia was clearly an expert, and after a trim with electric clippers, had me heated and wetted, in the shower, for five minutes. She kept me company, and nearly performed an amateur tonsillectomy.
I was a bit dizzy, when she perched me on a towel, on the toilet seat, and covered me in girly shaving foam. Georgia made a show of attaching a clean head to a man's razor.
"Four blades; cuts close, without burning."
Within a minute I was bald, re-showered and baby creamed. Georgia kissed my mound, and announced herself satisfied.
"Right, Lover. To bed."
Then she stopped, sensing my anxiety.
"Is this OK, Charley? I haven't actually asked, have I? This is your first time isn't it?"
With that, the dam burst. She wrapped me in a towel, put on a short nightie, herself, and took me back to the couch. I told her about the night in Sweden, the abortion, and how I thought that the glassing was just punishment.
"Oh, sweet child, how have you kept that to yourself? Have you told no one?"
"No, I'm too ashamed."
"Who went to the clinic, with you?"
"Nobody. They gave me a tablet; then I bled, and it was done."
"Charley, look at me. You were raped. The older women were accomplices, and so was your coach; the bitch. She had a duty of care."
Georgia was scaring me now. Not for nought, was she destined to be a fiery barrister.
"So you don't hate me?"
"Charley, you are really extremely beautiful, and your vulnerability is quite a turn on."
She kissed me again, tenderly, and let me cry a bit more. I then took the initiative, and slid my left hand under her nightie, and gently rubbed Georgia's slit, whilst snogging her face off.
"Charley Matthews. Are you feeling me up?"
"What if I am? You know you want it. I know what girls like you need."
"Oh yes? You'd better show me then."
Grabbing my hand, she pulled me into the bedroom. My towel fell off before we got there.
"Lights on, or off?"
"I'm not sure. On. No, off. What's best?"
"Either, darling. Let's compromise, and have the little light on. I think we can navigate pretty well, by touch.
I don't think my pussy had ever been so moist, and I lapsed into my thickest faux Yorkshire accent.
"Ee, Lass, I'm wetter than an otter's pocket."
"So you are. Now spread those formidable thighs, and let me have a taste."
I gasped, as Georgia licked along my labia and around my tender clit. Sure, I had wanked myself off before, but this sensation was incredible. My pussy felt really empty, then really full.
"Oh my God, what was that?"
"Just two fingers, sweety, now three, and now four. Fuck, you're soaked."
I wasn't really ready to come, but I knew it wouldn't be long.
"That's my name."
"Can I join in?"
"69? Oh, yeah."
Georgia jumped up, and put on the main light.
"Believe me; it's easier if you can see where you're at. At least until we've got used to each other's bodies. It's probably easier if I'm on top. Do whatever you want. I like to be rimmed."
So maybe this isn't a one night stand, I mused.
Georgia reversed up the bed before gently lowering her pussy onto my face. She had small brown lips, and smelt of shower gel. Her puckered starfish was quite dark brown. I started to lick around it, and she lifted her head, off my pussy, and shouted,
"Fuck yes, stick a finger up my arse and fuck me. Hard."
It seemed rude to refuse, so I pressed my left index finger against her anal ring, and in it popped; up to the knuckle. I pulled out and pushed back in. Her pussy lips were covered in cream, and I tried to replicate what Georgia was doing to me. Georgia was rocking at the hips, and I was having difficulty remaining attached to her magnificent muffin. I had her clit ring, in my mouth, and I was afraid I might pull it off.
Even worse; I was going to come. I couldn't help myself and screamed up her vagina, lest I disturb the neighbours.
That seemed to work well, as Georgia released my quivering, spent quim and shouted, "Oh God, Charley, I'm almost there. Suck my clit, baby. Oh shit, oh fuck, yes."
It was early, and the diners downstairs did not want the Sound of Orgasm added to the muzak, so Georgia used my sopping snatch as a "come- muffler".
She scooted up the bed, and pinned me down, by the wrists. Her eyes seemed to be on fire, and she kissed me hard, on my cum soaked lips. We were both breathing quickly, and were sweaty, and slippery, and happy.
"No don't," she said, but it was too late. I was already crying like a girl. I am a girl. Tears of joy this time.
"Wow, you were fantastic; even for a first timer."
"Have you really got a girlfriend?"
"No, we split three months ago. Would you like to be my girlfriend, Charley? You don't have to come out. I can be really discreet. And monogamous."
"Yes please." I blubbed. "And I want the world to know. I can't wait to tell my mum. Holly thinks I'm gay anyway, and has been trying to out me, since I was 16."
"Great. Now we are so sweaty, let's trib."
"Lift your left leg, and let me slide up your right one, until we kiss with our lower lips. I hope you don't mind toe sucking. Do exactly as I do."
Oh yes, it was good. And so followed my first multiple orgasm. But not my last.