Degrees of Intimacy Ch. 05

Islington

Jayne's tongue lapped back and forth on Cath's parted vulva, moistening yet further that clitoris whose hardness was so familiar to her and savoured the comforting odours from within. Two fingers thrust in and out of the wet and welcoming vagina, occasionally twisting her hand to brush the knuckles and her smaller two fingers on the sweat-sodden pubic hairs. Cath gasped as her body spasmed to Jayne's ministrations, one foot kicking out and bashing against the headrest of the shared bed.

Jayne reciprocated her gasp as Cath's smaller fist pushed all four of the fingers of her right hand into Jayne's equally receptive vagina, her thumb stroking against Jayne's own aroused clitoris. Jayne could feel the rubber sinuousness of her tongue on the folds above her clitoris, shaved so close that Cath had no difficulty in finding exactly what her tongue sought out.

Cath did not shave her pubic hairs, but this never troubled Jayne. She was willing to shave her pubes as Cath once requested, happy to keep them shaved for as long as darling Cath wanted it that way. In any case, she rather relished the daily routine of shaving, which she did as often as she could in full view of her younger lover. It was as surely a token of the love she felt for Cath as any ring, and in its carnality a much more honest one.

Jayne raised her head and removed her hand from Cath's pubes. A particularly long brown hair had got trapped between her teeth. She tugged it out and her mouth returned greedily to her feast of carnal scents. Her tongue dipped in as deep as it could into Cath's spread open pussy, flicking it up on occasion to lick against Cath's little knob of a clitoris. All the while, Cath's pubic hair pressed into Jayne's nostrils and tickled her chin. Jayne was sure that the hair down here was longer than that on her head, but as a matter of taste she was glad that her lover had never thought to coat her pubic hairs with the thick gel that kept her otherwise unruly dark brown hair in place.

At last, the two lovers separated.

Jayne sat on one side, her heavy breasts falling down onto her stomach and one arm around Cath's waist. Her lover was much thinner than her, just as she was so much younger, just twenty-five years old but, Jayne was sure, looking much younger. And this was because she was soverythin. Her breasts were mostly nipple raised on a much less prominent bosom, her waist still very slender, and her arms and legs nearly child-like in their almost total lack of extraneous fat. Jayne wassolucky to have such a beautiful lover. What had she ever done to deserve such good fortune?

"Fuck, Jayne!" Cath exclaimed, flicking the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray she had placed beside her outstretched leg, the other crooked and pressed onto Jayne's womanly thigh. "If you thought by seducing me you'd stop me going out and seeing my mates, you must have known it wasn't going to work."

Jayne sighed. That wasn't the intention at all. When she'd seen Cath sitting there in the armchair watchingEastenders on television, naked as always, as Jayne was too, she'd just responded to yet another of her spasms of desire. It seemed natural, seeing that there was no cigarette alight at that moment, to stand behind her lover and squeeze her to her bosom. And Cath, as always, was just as keen as she was to leave the petty arguments and quarrels of the soap opera to join Jayne in their shared bed, the recently made sheets pulled roughly to one side.

"So, you're going out this evening, Cath?" wondered Jayne, who also wondered why it was Cath thought she kept such a keen track of her lover's movements.

"Yeah! We're going to a club, me, Penny and Julie. You know the one, thePink Pussycat."

"Didn't it used to be calledMunchies?"

"That was fucking ages ago."

"And why should I be bothered about you going out to a night club, sweetest?" Jayne asked meekly, knowing precisely why.

"You just want me to be a fucking one-woman woman, Jayne. You don't like it when I have sex with my friends or with anyone I pick up at the clubs. You're greedy! You just want me for your fucking self!"

Jayne couldn't deny the truth of that last assertion. She very muchdid want Cath for herself. She was undeniably jealous of her lover, though Cath's occasional dalliances never seemed to lessen the love she expressed towards her older partner. But now, of course, Jayne had lost the moral high ground, since she foolishly confessed to masturbating that sweet boy on the Ibiza beach during their summer holiday. She didn't know what had possessed her that time. Not desire for the boy, she was sure of that, but his obvious distress regarding his abused girlfriend had affected her strangely and, she had to admit, she had always harboured a secret curiosity about male genitals.

Although the confession had brought nothing but tears, Jayne was actually rather pleased that Cath had taken it so badly. Cath still reminded her of her 'handjob' as she called it, but Jayne was quite gratified there was some reciprocal jealousy in their relationship. Not that this in any way seemed to lessen Cath's desire to augment her experience of Sapphic love beyond that they expressed for each other.

"So, don't you fucking try stopping me, Jayne. If I want to get my tongue on Julie's clit or my fist up Penny's pussy, that's my fucking business. And if there's some other girl tonight, femme, butch or undecided, it's just what I want to do."

"Well, as long as you don't bring your catches home, Cath," said Jayne in what she thought was a conciliatory manner, but instantly regretted her words.

"And why the fuck, can't I? Fuck you, Jayne! You just want to trap me. Hold me close to your motherly bosom. I'm not your fucking daughter! I'm a fucking grown woman, with fucking real desires. And we've never had one of those exclusive relationships. If I want to fuck another woman, that's just what I want to do."

Jayne sighed again. She raised her arm from Cath's waist and ran her fingers through the thick gel in Cath's short hair, significantly shorter than Jayne's own quite short cut.

"I love you, Cath," she said. "I love you more than anyone else I've ever loved. But can't you see why I might not be so happy thinking of another woman's body pressed to yours? Or another woman's fingers and tongue where mine have just been?"

"Or me doing the same thing, you mean?" sneered Cath. "Fucking get used to it, right! That's just what I'm about. If you don't like it, find some lover who'll stick to you like some heterosexual wifey."

Jayne sometimes thought that was exactly what she'd prefer. Most of her gay friends of her own age had more or less settled down. There were no extra-partner relationships that muddied their relationships. At no time in Jayne's life had any of her previous partners had been so openly unfaithful. Sure, there were the few occasions of infidelity. Veronica, whom she'd lived with for more than five years, often bore evidence of scratches and strange bruises that gave evidence of dalliances beyond Jayne's loving arms, but at least she'd had the courtesy to deny anything had happened. Jayne had been unfaithful once or twice, when she was in her early twenties, when the excitement of Sapphic love was still new and urgent to her, and she was hungry for more than what a steady relationship could offer. But there was something very different about Cath's blatancy. Perhaps it was just that Jayne was getting too old to really understand how a younger woman might feel. Or maybe the younger generation were just less inhibited than women were in her youth.

Cath got up from the bed and moved over to the dressing table that dominated one end of the bedroom. She pulled up a chair and sorted out the make-up she'd apply. Like Jayne, Cath didn't wear a great deal of make-up. Some natural-looking lipstick and perhaps some discreet eyeliner. Neither woman viewed herself as a femme, but then neither were they exactly butch.

Jayne got up and stood behind Cath. She put her arms around Cath's slender shoulders and nuzzled her nose in Cath's short hair. The smell was totally different from that in Cath's pubes, that was for sure. But Jayne enjoyed both very different scents.

"You know I love you, Cath. I don't mean to ever make you feel restricted in any way."

"You're just saying that, Jayne. I know you hate it. And I've got my eyes on a real pretty girl. Lyena, she's called. I think she might be Russian or something. She was at thePink Pussycat last time I was there. She's got the most delicious smile. Her hair's a bit long, but it's a kind of russet brown. And her accent's real sweet. I want to put my nose right between her legs."

"You do?" asked Jayne. Why did Cath have to torment her so?

"I want her fist right up me. Her hands are tiny. Her fingers kinda taper but her fingernails are short. I checked that. I'll even let her prod my arse. Would you like that, Jayne? Lyena's fingers up my arse?"

"You know I'd rather you didn't," said Jayne, nuzzling Cath's pixie-like ears. They were ever so slightly pointed and she loved the folds inside them. She let her tongue wander onto one of the small earrings Cath wore.

"Well, fuck you, Jayne," said Cath. "Because that's exactly what I want to do. And if she's not got a place for us to go back to, we'll come back here, whatever you think, and we'll fuck in the living room. That'll keep you fucking awake!"

"You wouldn't, would you Cath?" Jayne asked, hardly able to hide her alarm.

"That's exactly what we'll do," said Cath, clearly relishing Jayne's discomfort. "We'll lie across the sofa, nude, of course, and I'll get out that purple dildo, the extra big one, and she'll put it all the way inside me. And you better hear me come! In fact, everyone in the fucking block will hear me come!"

Jayne removed her arms from Cath's neck. There was no reasoning with the girl. They'd agreed long ago that Cath could do what she wanted as long as she didn't risk bringing any diseases into their relationship (not that it was likely) and kept it out of the connubial household. Cath was just bating her. She feared she might bring up the subject of Ibiza and handjobs again. And the only reason the subject had ever come up was when Jayne was telling Cath about the abuse Paul's girlfriend had suffered. The implications of it rather frightened her, although she had known the odd woman who'd been abused when they were younger. But then, many abused women were so traumatised that lesbian sex was the only kind they would ever again contemplate.

"You see, Jayne. You just wait and see!" Cath said, putting on her clothes. On went a short top that revealed all of her waist almost down to her crotch, moleskin trousers that stopped somewhat short of her ankles, followed by a small nylon jacket that came to her navel but even when zipped up did nothing to hide the slimness of her waist. Last of all, she put on some booties that made Jayne sigh as she thought of Cath's beautiful toes hidden inside the leather.

Jayne remained naked as Cath left the flat. A dressing gown hung near the doorway just in case there was a surprise visitor. The last thing either Jayne or Cath ever wanted was for some strange man to see them nude. That would be humiliating! But as Jayne sometimes fantasised and Cath sometimes speculated, she wasn't sure she'd mind so much if that single mum from the first floor came by, even if she was accompanied by one of her snotty-nosed children.

And when Cath was gone, the memory persisting of Cath's parting speculations of just how easy it would be for Lyena and her to get it together, Jayne was alone, naked. Much as she liked having the flat to herself, she much preferred Cath's presence, however noisy and restless she was. And now what should she do? Watch television? Read a book? Put on a record and do that sewing she'd put off for so long?

Jayne riffled through the CDs, finally pulling out that St Germaine album she liked, with its relaxing jazz samples, hidden amongst Cath's collection of garage, deep house and female singer-songwriters. She found the pile of cardigans, blouses and trousers she'd neglected to repair for so long and busied herself on the sofa.

All the while she thought of Cath and her time at thePink Pussycat. In the early days of their relationship, Jayne made an effort to accompany Cath on her evenings out, but the pall of smoke, the loud noise, and the raucous company was no longer to her taste. Age crept up on you so sneakingly! There were so few records to which she and Cath could dance together. Modern dance music was altogether too fast and percussive for her now. And Cath's complaint that Jayne was just getting in the way and making it difficult for her to get off with other women always rather hurt. Despite her reluctance, Jayne had come to accept that if she were to have a lover so much younger than her, it was necessary to be rather more indulgent than her heart dictated.

As much as Jayne loved Cath, there were occasions when she looked forward to these evenings alone. Cath could sometimes get so tiresome, especially when she was unhappy about something at work that troubled her or when she complained about how very ordinary her childhood in Solihull had been. It was no more ordinary than Jayne's childhood in Guildford, but it had taken less time for Cath to recognise her sexuality. Whereas Jayne had mostly been just puzzled, maybe bemused, by her lack of interest in boys, Cath's discovery had been much more revelatory and more troublesome to her than had Jayne's. And Jayne hated it when Cath bated her about her infidelities. How often did Jayne have to reassure her that she understood and, although she didn't like it exactly, wasn't going to present an obstacle to Cath's voracious hunger for female flesh?

Jayne finished her sewing and turned on the TV. The St Germaine album had long ago finished, but Jayne wasn't bothered to replace it with another. She flicked through the channels and settled on a TV drama set in America that featured a relationship between a man and a woman. Jayne wished there was more drama that featured the relationships she understood, though there were the occasional aspects of heterosexual relationships that seemed relatively similar. Generally, she much preferred dramas that told the story from a woman's point of view.

She wasn't sure her curiosity about men was wholly satisfied by her 'handjob' with Paul. There was no emotion involved, but she did find the sight of an erect penis strangely exciting. When she and Cath had used those penis-shaped dildos, she often wondered just how much it was like the real thing. She still didn't know, of course. It was one thing to hold a penis, even to see its semen spurt out through that tiny hole at the end. What did straight girls make of all that creamy stuff? It smelt so odd, but, like the penis itself, it was very warm. She wondered whether one day she might satisfy her curiosity further and actually let a man's penis penetrate her. He'd have to use a condom, of course, and it would have to be a special kind of man, perhaps a bisexual; one who understood that she had no interest in a man beyond them being a machine to satisfy her curiosity.

The very perversity of the thought made her feel quite warm between her legs, so she stroked her clitoris while watching the film. There was even a scene where the man and woman took their clothes off and simulated some kind of sex. There were no penises on display, of course. Certainly not erect ones. Would she be as enthusiastic as the woman in the film? Jayne somehow doubted it, although the thought of something like Paul's penis entering her definitely excited her. If only there was a way to enjoy a penis without the additional consideration of it being attached to a man.

Jayne stayed up beyond midnight. It was, after all, a Thursday night. Only one day to the weekend when she and Cath might take the car out of Islington, maybe out of London altogether, and head off to somewhere green and rural. She imagined the blue skies and green fields and speculated whether there might be a time she could persuade Cath to leave the city behind. Maybe they could move to Surrey, maybe even Guildford, far enough away not to actually live in London, but still able to commute to their respective jobs: she to the publishing house where she worked as an editor and Cath to the software house.

Jayne was watching an especially mindless Channel 4 quiz show when she heard the front door slam shut. Cath entered the living room still in her top and trousers, the jacket flung onto the back of the armchair she plopped into. Jayne could see the expression of disappointment on her lover's young face.

"Lyena only went off with fucking Julie!" she exclaimed bitterly. "And Penny picked up this girl with plaits. Some kind of Dutch girl."

Jayne picked up the remote and turned off the TV. She smiled at her lover as she fumbled into a packet and pulled out a cigarette. She lit it and flicked ash into the ashtray they'd bought in the Ibiza market.

"How areyou, Cath sweetheart?" Jayne asked.

"Fucking pissed off is what I am!" Cath replied. "What's fucking wrong with me, Jayne? Why don't I score as easily as Julie or Penny? Or Emily or Judith, for that matter?"

Jayne could see that Cath had drunk more than the two or three glasses of wine she was normally comfortable with. More than that and she tended to get maudlin and irritable.

"You don't do too badly," Jayne said reassuringly.

"No, I don't. I'm fucking useless. Aren't I, Jayne? I'm just a fucking failure."

"You do better than I did when I was your age."

"Fuck!" said Cath irritably, flicking her ash contemptuously into the astray so that the column of ash nearly separated from the body of the cigarette. "That's no fucking comparison. At least I got you though, Jayne. You love me, don't you?"

"Yes," said Jayne standing up and walking towards her lover, whose clothes would so soon come off her and the two retreat to bed to resume the lovemaking they'd enjoyed a few hours later. "That is one thing you can always be sure of!"