A Girl with Moonlight In Her Eyes

"I want to taste you now," I told her. Simone lay back with legs akimbo, giving me free access to her pussy. She'd said that mine was beautiful---well, so was hers. The warm musky smell from her pussy was a bit stronger than mine and was very arousing. She was a pale pink inside, rather like the cherry blossoms on her tattoo, her inner lips were small and delicate and her sweet clit tiny. I kissed the creases where her legs met her body then kissed and licked my way around her outer lips, playfully avoiding her pussy proper. "Please, Eleanor, don't tease," Simone pleaded, "I want this so badly."

I relented and nibbled those shell-like inner lips and the darling clit. I pushed my tongue as far as I could into her passage and then swept around the whole of her pussy, feasting on her creamy nectar. When Simone came she clutched at my head as if trying to pull me into her pussy and cried my name out loudly. "Oh Eleanor, mon amour, mon amour."

We made love several times that night until sleep overtook us. As I drifted off, I felt physically better than I had for some time as we spooned together, Simone squirming her wet pussy against my backside.

* * * * *

I awoke the following morning squirming sensuously like a pampered cat, my whole body tingling. I hadn't felt so physically satisfied for a long time. I stretched then turned to take Simone in my arms. She was awake already, leaning on one elbow, her eyes fixed on me, a slightly anxious look on her face. I reached up to kiss her.

"Eleanor, have you any regrets about last night?"

"Why should I have any regrets? I told you last night that I love you and I meant it. You're all I've ever wanted since you had that fall in Helmsford. Do you regret it?"

Simone gave a sigh of what seemed to be relief as she shook her head. "I'm sorry chérie. A long time ago, when I was still a high school senior, I was deeply in love with a girl but she was simply using me to get back at an old lover she had quarrelled with. As soon as it suited her I was dumped and rather cruelly at that. Since then you're the only person I've truly loved and I've tended to be over cautious. I'm sorry if I seemed to doubt you---tu est toujours dans mon coeur, you are always in my heart, and like you, from the time I had that fall. I love you too, Eleanor. Madly."

"Let me get rid of any doubts," I said, turning Simone onto her back. Holding her arms above her head, I pushed nose and mouth into her right underarm, kissing and licking as I revelled in the sweet spiciness of her body. I slowly kissed my way along that wonderful cherry blossom tattoo, under and between her breasts until I reached the left underarm. From there I kissed my way down her ribs and across to her belly-button and so onwards to her pussy. After the previous night's uninhibited love-making her musky scent was even stronger, arousing me so much more. I parted her lips and buried my mouth into her folds. Simone was already gloriously moist, slippery nectar oozing from her.

"Turn round, please, chérie, " Simone moaned, "I want to taste you again."

I did as bid and we lay there in a sixty-nine position for a long time, licking and sucking one another gently until we'd come a couple of times. Afterwards we cuddled for a while before rising and taking a shower together. Wrapped in fluffy towels we patted each other dry. "Any regrets now?" I teased. I laughed when Simone replied by softly singing the first couple of lines of Edith Piaf's 'No Regrets'.

* * * * *

"Let's walk into the village this morning," Simone suggested while we breakfasted on croissants with fruit and coffee, "It's fairly cool today and it should be a pleasant stroll."

I was game and so after the meal we set out on the two or three kilometres walk down the dusty track and onto the narrow paved road leading to St Grace. We reached out automatically to join hands, linking our fingers and walking close together. We'd gone perhaps half-a-kilometre down the main road when I saw a man in a black suit coming towards us. I tried to disengage my hand from Simone's. She held on firmly.

"What's the matter, Eleanor?"

"That man, he looks like a priest so he's bound to disapprove of our holding hands. I don't want to cause you any problems."

Simone laughed. "Yes, he's the parish priest but no problems with him. That's Père Gérard and he's a very unusual type of priest. I'll introduce you when he reaches us. You'll be okay, he speaks English."

That was as well. My French was improving with Simone's help but not yet good enough to hold an in-depth conversation, especially as the local patois was not the easiest to master.

"Ah, Simone, bonjour," the man called out, "Ça va?"

"Bonjour, Père Gérard," Simone returned the greeting and spoke to him rapidly as the locals do. From the little I picked up, I gathered she was asking him to speak English. I heard my name mentioned but there was also more that was beyond me.

The priest turned to me, holding out a hand. "I am pleased to meet you, Ma'amselle Eleanor," he said. Père Gérard---whom I estimated to be about sixty-something---was medium height and thickset with broad shoulders. White hair was cropped very closely to his skull and his face was somewhat battered like that of an old retired boxer. However, his eyes were gentle and kind. Although he spoke English, I had to concentrate to understand because his accent was quite thick, rather like Gérard Depardieu if he'd chain-smoked a hundred Gitanes. "Simone explained that you thought I would be offended by your holding hands. Not at all, ma petite."

"I've met other clergy who would disapprove," I told him as we shook hands.

"Then they are fools or bigots or both, no matter what their denomination." He shrugged. "It is a maxim of Holy Mother Church that God is love. We are taught that Our Lord preached love for all, unconditional love. And yet the church hierarchy choose to be conditional and selective in what kind of love they approve. A majority of my fellow priests go straight into the seminary from school, they do not have the time to experience life, to learn to think for themselves but blindly accept what they are taught. As the Jesuits say: 'Give me the boy and I will give you the man.'

"Now me, I was in the world for a very long time before le bon Dieu called to me and I accept your kind of love as being part of God's great plan. I can't believe that God would create homosexuals just to despise them. The loathing is entirely man-made and short-sighted." His eyes twinkled as he added: "But don't tell the old men in the Vatican I said so---they might not approve."

We talked for a few more minutes before Père Gérard continued on his way. As he left he said: "Perhaps sometime in the future our respective governments will come to their senses about same-sex relationships. If so, I would be honoured to bless your union."

"What an extraordinary man," I said as I watched him walk away.

"The more so when you know of his past," Simone said, "He was a sergeant in the French police militaire and then he became a mercenary, fighting in a number of trouble spots. There were also rumours that he sometimes acted as so-called 'security' for some quite unsavoury people in Paris and Marseille. And then the miracle---he made his peace with God and became the man you've just met."

"Well, I'm not a Catholic," I told Simone as I kissed her cheek, "but I'd be very happy for Père Gérard to bless our union."

Not all of St Grace's residents were as open-minded as Père Gérard. Another morning as we walked into the village, again holding hands and heading for the patisserie to buy bread and have a coffee, we passed a group of half-a-dozen or so black-clad elderly women having their morning gossip. A couple glared at us with disapproval, one snorting: "Pah!" while another spat noisily into the roadside and hissed: "Putes!"

"Does that mean what I think it means?" I asked Simone.

She grinned. "Probably." She turned and shouted something causing some of the group to cackle raucously and the spitting cobra to redden with anger and stomp off in disgust.

"What did you say?"

Simone laughed. "I told her we couldn't possibly be hookers because they get paid and we're eating each other's pussies for free."

At least at the patisserie they were happy to have our custom, putes or not...

* * * * *

So Simone and I were a couple although several weeks after I returned home I did get one phone call from her which gave me a bad moment or two. She sounded a little embarrassed as she spoke. "Eleanor, it's likely that at times we may not see each other for some months at a time. I'd just like to say that if you wanted to sleep with someone else, that would be okay."

I had a sudden and unpleasant empty feeling. "Simone, have you found someone?"

"Non! Non! It's just that I want you to feel free while we're apart."

"Like an open relationship, you mean?" I asked.

I couldn't keep the anxiety out of my voice for Simone said: "Please believe me, Eleanor, I love you to distraction. You're all I care about now. I want to grow old with you. I just don't want you to feel tied down. And if it happens, there is no need for us to tell each other."

In the end I reluctantly agreed and as soon as the call finished I sat down and had a little weep. Was this going to be another Sofia for me? When I dried my eyes I knew who to confide in.

I called Oscar and told him all about it. I had told him previously about Simone and my feelings for her so he understood my concerns. "From what you've told me," he said, "it sounds as if Simone is totally sincere about loving you and she really does want you to be free while you're in separate countries. There's no need for you actually take another lover. I should just go along with the concept and try to see Simone as often as you can."

I loved Oscar, he always made me feel so much better.

* * * * *

A couple of years later Simone's parents decided to take their early retirement and she agreed to take over their business. After some discussion, we combined our businesses. I provided the expertise and Simone the accountancy skills. It worked out perfectly.

* * * * *

Following a change in the legislation in 2004, Simone and I became Civil Partners under UK law.

2006 -- Helmsford: Berry

I had promised myself not to go down the open relationship route but I did succumb once. It was unplanned and unexpected but it happened.

The Deep Velvet Bar is Helmsford's lesbian nightspot. Tucked away discreetly in a small side-street it's a decent place, well-run and back then I used to go there sometimes when I felt like companionship. There were always one or two other women seeking company although for me 'company' simply meant drinks and dances and farewell at the evening's end. It was in The Deep Velvet that I met Berry Osborne.

As usual Big Jacqui was on the door. She was a large woman who could out-butch just about any of the local butches. I can't vouch for this but rumour had it that she was ex-military, a drill instructor at some infantry training centre. There was rarely any trouble in The Deep Velvet but if there was, the sight of Jacqui soon quelled it. For myself, I liked her and we always found time for a few minutes chat when I went to the bar.

"Anything interesting this evening, Jacqui?"

"Not really---same old, same old, all the usual suspects." She brightened briefly, grinning. "Yes, there is one off-beat type. A first-timer came here, looked like a kid about twelve or so. I thought she was trying it on and was going to give her the bum's rush but it turns out she's legal, showed me her driving licence."

"Not a fake, then?"

"Nope, it was kosher enough." Jacqui is pretty good at spotting fake IDs.

I went into the nightclub but didn't go straight for a drink, thought I'd have a look round first to see if there was anyone I knew. Then I spotted the girl who had to be Jacqui's off-beat one. The big butch was right, the girl did look like a refugee from the schoolroom.

She was seated by herself at a table near the edge of the dance-floor and she looked a little lonely. Now in normal circumstances, attractive girls by themselves would be overwhelmed with offers of company. Made me wonder if others were being cautious because of the girl's apparent youth. Quite a few of the dancing women were damned near making love to the smooth rhythm of the music and it made me feel a bit warm where it mattered. I decided to give the girl some company and approached her table---if it felt wrong I could always back off. "Hello there, pretty one. By yourself?" She looked up and nodded so I said: "Me too. May I join you?"

She was a lovely-looking girl with the most piercing sapphire-blue eyes I had ever seen, eyes set in a heart-shaped face framed by almost shoulder-length light-brown tresses. At the risk of sounding weird, despite her youth there seemed to be something old and wise in those eyes. I sat in a chair by her side and offered my hand. "I'm Eleanor."

"Hello, I'm Berry." Her small hand was warm in mine and she had a decent grip.

"It's nice to meet you, Berry." Her glass appeared empty so I pointed. "Can I get you another?" Then cautiously: "You are old enough to drink alcohol?"

To my surprise she went totally off the deep end. "Yes, I bloody well am old enough to drink bloody alcohol! I'm bloody well nineteen years old! And I'm getting bloody sick of people asking!"

As often happens in such circumstances, she happened to blow up just as there was a momentary lull in the noise and people turned to look at us. Berry flushed a deep red and stared at the table top, head lowered. After a few seconds she raised her eyes and looked at me sheepishly as if expecting me to flounce off. Far from being offended I was amused and at the same time felt a bit sorry for her. I smiled. "I take it you get that a lot?"

"Yes, sorry I blew my top—that was rude of me. I know I look as if I'm still going to junior school. You're the third person in ten minutes to query my age and I just cracked. Right now, looking young is not an advantage. Nobody takes me very seriously."

"Poor little pretty one," I soothed. I called Karen, one of the waitresses, and ordered drinks for the two of us. Karen looked at Berry uncertainly. "It's okay," I told her, "she's old enough. Big Jacqui checked her out." As Karen walked away to get our order, I laughed. "I had to tell her—I didn't want you ripping the poor girl's throat out. You looked quite fierce then."

When Karen, apparently still slightly concerned, had served our drinks, I said: "So, is this your first time here, Berry? And are you planning to meet someone?"

"Yes, my first time. No plans to meet anyone, though. A work colleague told me about this place, suggested I try it."

"Do you mind me asking something Berry, are you gay?"

"Yes."

"You're sure about that?

"Yes, of course!" she replied, indignation in her voice.

"You're not just curious?"

"No!" Berry was starting to sound very ratty.

I held up a hand to forestall another explosion. "Sorry I asked," I apologised, "but we do get some straight girls coming in here who just want to experiment. All too often they decide it's not for them and sometimes they've already gone far enough to leave a trail of broken hearts behind them." I touched my glass to hers. "So, pretty one, here's to new friendships. What is it you do Berry? Are you a student?"

"Not exactly," she said, "I'm an engineering design apprentice. That way I get paid while I'm studying—beats the hell out of university followed by a massive student debt. I go to college once a week on a day release scheme and to a couple of evening classes, all at the company's expense. And I still live at home so I've no extortionate rents to pay."

I gave her hand a little squeeze. "That's sensible, Berry. Too many degrees are almost worthless these days."

"What about you, Eleanor, what do you do?"

"I'm a florist," I told her, "I've got a small chain of shops over five counties in this part of the country." The DJ was playing a selection of easy-listening, getting-to-know-you music so I snatched Berry's hand to pull her to her feet. "Come on, Berry. We're wasting some nice smoochy music when we could be dancing."

We joined the crowd on the small dance-floor and I pulled her in close so that our bodies seemed to combine into one. It was then I realised just how small Berry was, probably about four-eleven or maybe five foot if she stood on tip-toe. Her face was pressed against my boobs as we swayed to the music and my nipples stiffened and started to ache. As said, to date I had never taken advantage of Simone's suggested open partnership but now... To test the water, I eased a thigh between her legs and pressed against her mound, at the same moment bending to nibble and lap gently at her ear with teeth and tongue. Berry didn't seem to object to this treatment and my pussy started to throb a little. "If you like, Berry," I whispered, "we could go to my place—it'll be nice and private there."

I felt her swallow. "Oh, yes... that sounds lovely..."

* * * * *

My home, then and now, is a bungalow in a short residential road somewhere on the edge of town, almost rural in location. It's the kind of quiet area where people stayed home at night, many of them being elderly. At this time of night most of the houses had closed curtains with just the faintest illumination or the flickering of TV sets to indicate occupancy. Half-a-dozen or so street-lamps, alternating with medium-sized trees, cast dull-yellow pools of light onto the road. Berry waited on the pavement while I paid the driver. "I think I saw a fox over there." Berry pointed a few yards up the road.

"Yes, we've got a number of urban foxes round here but they don't bother us much except when the vixens are in heat—they can make a lot of noise then." I chuckled and wrapped my hand round Berry's. "Talking of vixens in heat, let's get in the house."

Inside I pointed to the hall telephone. "You can call your folks so they don't worry. Say you're staying with a friend tonight... if you'd like to, that is..."

"Oh, yes please, if that's okay?"

"Of course it is," I nodded and she lifted the phone to make her call.

When Berry had finished, I took her into the sitting-room and turned on my small Art Deco-style table lamp which lent a cheerful glow. "If you'd like a drink," I said, "I have some rather delicious red wine."

"Yes please."

"Be right back. Just make yourself at home."

I returned with two glasses of wine which I placed on the coffee table. Berry stood near my upright piano looking at the silver-framed photograph of a rather attractive but serious-looking Simone. I went to the sofa and patted the spot next to me. "Here we are. Come and sit beside me, Berry."

As Berry sipped her wine I said: "I saw you looking at the photograph. That's Simone, my civil partner." Berry shifted uncomfortably at hearing that so I added: "Nothing to worry about, Berry. We have an open relationship—Simone lives in Paris where she oversees our French business. We have a number of florist shops in France as well as this country. It's a long-distance relationship but we try to meet for a few days every month or so although that doesn't always work out. We love each other but agreed that prolonged celibacy might get a bit frustrating so we're both free to take lovers if we wish." What I didn't tell Berry was that she was the first time I'd taken advantage of that arrangement. "And Simone's certainly not as stern she looks in the photo---it's just that she's camera-shy, hates having her picture taken and it shows. That one doesn't do her justice and it's the best of a bad bunch."