A Sentimental Education Ch. 04

"It's fine," I told Annie as we looked at each other blearily in the light of the morning after the night before.

"You did say you had broken up, didn't you?" She asked. "You know I wouldn't have but for that."

"I did," I said, "nor would I."

Guilt settled on me like a damp mist on the coast on an autumn morning,

Annie had been nothing but loving and helping; so why did I feel bad? June had someone else; so why did I feel bad? Annie was sexy and loving; so why did I feel bad?

The internal dialogue scarified me once she had left.

"Why did I feel bad? Hah, girl, what are you, dense? You feel bad because you just let someone else fuck you. Yes, but June has left me, we agreed to part. So? What the fuck has that got to do with you being a slut?"

That dialogue echoed around my head.

The phone pinged. It was June. Of course it was June.

"Need to talk. Now!"

I needed to talk. Preferably with my confessor. Preferably not with my wife, not at this moment. So I rang, of course I rang.

"Pix, you, okay?"

"Bad night," I said, which was sort of true and sort of a bloody big lie.

"Pix, I have made the most awful mistake. I still love you. Can we try to fix this?"

O

M

G

My heart did something weird, best expressed in print like the last three lines.

"You want what?"

"You, us, to try again."

"You want - erm, what about your girlfriend?"

"I can't be without you; I have realised just how much I love you. You still love me, don't you?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?"

"I just slept with someone last night."

There was a silence. Then the phone call ended.

Five minutes later was a text:

"How could you? How long have you been fucking her?"

The last part was easier than the first part, at least to answer.

"Just the once!"

The silence was chilling.

"How could you?"

"But, but..."

The phone went dead. So did my heart.

What the hell had I done?

I sat at my laptop and wrote.

With me, writing, like talking, is how I think. People think I am repeating myself, but in my head, I am working out what it is I think.

"What the hell had I done?" was not really the question. I knew what I had done. June did. But what did it mean?

I wrote that I had done it in the context of wanting to let her go free to be with her girlfriend. I wanted her to be happy.

Hindsight does not always distort, sometimes it illuminates.

I had assumed she was with her new girlfriend. I had assumed that was because I was the inadequate little thing I had begun to feel that I was. I had assumed it was over between us. Now it was.

I sobbed.

I sent the email.

I was at a loss. No use wondering "what had I done?" The question was more complex. What now?

The radio suddenly attracted my attention:

"When you walk through a storm

Hold your head up high

And don't be afraid of the dark

At the end of a storm

Is a golden sky

And the sweet silver song of a lark"

I burst into tears, weeping uncontrollably.

But, but wait, I was walking again, I could do this. I could walk through this storm. I had already messed up by assuming that June would leave me for her girlfriend and that there was nothing I could do about it.

There was then, if not a "golden sky," then a moment of epiphany. It was not hopeless unless I was. Then it hit me. If I felt like this, maybe she did?

I tried to get on with my day. It would have helped if I'd still had a job. I'd volunteered to help with the foodbank, but lack of mobility had prevented my being able to go and do anything. I looked at my emails. I checked them again. Then again.

The phone went.

"Hunn, how are you? Thanks for last night, you are so sexy, you know!"

It was Annie. Part of me felt those feelings I had felt the night before.

"If you are free tonight, I'd love to come round and help you relax, love."

My brain froze.

"Are you okay, Pixie?"

I heard her voice asking me that question several times. My mouth would not work.

Then it stopped. I had ended the call.

There were two texts asking the same question.

I replied:

"Sorry, can't talk now?"

I felt catatonic. The Turner's Syndrome means I have trouble processing emotions and other people at the best of times; this was not the best of times.

Morning passed into the afternoon, then the evening, and still nothing from June. The doorbell rang. I answered it - it was Annie.

"Pixie, you look such a mess, what's up? You had me worried, and not I see you have me even more worried."

She pulled me to her bosom. I sobbed.

I felt her hands on my bottom. Then the phone went.

"Sorry, I have to get this."

It was Mama's number.

"Mama?"

"What the devil is going on Pixie?"

I motioned to Annie and whispered:

"Sorry, this is going to take some time, can we talk later?"

Poor Annie, she looked baffled. I felt for her. I had not only not meant to drag her into anything, but I had also not even known that I was doing so. June and I had agreed to part. I'd thought I was free to experiment. I'd assumed...

Annie went. Mama was still in full flood.

"Pixie, I have talked with June, what is this about you being a slut?"

"Mama!" I said, shocked. "I am not a slut!"

"Well that's what I'd call someone who the moment their marriage got into trouble dropped her knickers for someone else."

It stung. Mama knew I was not that sort of girl. She'd never complained when my older sister had toyed with multiple boyfriends at uni, so how come I was now the slut?

"It wasn't like that Mama!"

"What, you didn't sleep with this other woman then?"

That "my heart was in my mouth thing," that was what I felt. And I felt sick.

"Pixie, one question. Do you actually love June?"

How could Mama ask?

"Yes, that's why I agreed to let her go, to be happy with her girlfriend."

"Well I have news for you; she is not happy."

That "my heart sank like a stone thing," that was how I felt.

"So I have totally messed up Mama?"

"Have you?"

"She won't want me back after this, Mama!"

"And you know that, how? The same way you knew that she was determined to leave you and to end your marriage?"

"She said she had someone else Mama."

"She made promises to you, you to her, do they mean so little to you both?"

"But Mama...!"

"You made one set of assumptions without testing them Pixie, don't make the same mistake. Do you still love her?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Even if she has made love to her girlfriend?"

"Yes, Mama."

"So if that's true of you, why assume it is not true of her?"

The real answer was "because I am an insecure idiot of a woman," but I was never going to admit that to my Mama, who probably knew it anyway.

"You think I am wrong?"

"I think you need to stop making assumptions young lady and start making amends."

That was me told.

"Yes, Mama."

"Then end this call and phone your wife, and don't stop until you reach her."

"But Mama, I thought you were disapproving of my marriage?"

"Pixie, I may be a bit of a bigot, but I love my daughter, and June makes you happy, and you make her happy. Stop being an idiot. Oh, and lest you think I am blaming you, I told June as well."

For the first time in an age, I felt like giggling. I could just imagine Mama with my blunt northern lass.

But first I needed to make another call.

"Hunn, you, okay?"

"No, no Annie, I am not. There's no good way to say this, but June and I are not as over as I thought when we slept together. I am so sorry. I never meant to drag you into this, I genuinely thought it was over."

The silence made my heart ache.

"I see, just like that?"

Shit! Shit! Shit!

Game face on. Stiff upper lip engaged.

"I am sorry."

"Oh Pixie, are you sure? When did you get back together?"

"We're not, we may not be, but I can't try with her and deceive you - or her."

"You don't have any feelings for me then?"

"Course I do."

"I could come to love you, Pixie."

"I know, Annie, and that's why I have to stop this."

There was a silence. I heard a deep sigh. The line went dead.

TS sufferers don't process emotions well, that's what I'd been told all my life. What the devil was this? I wanted to find a deep hole somewhere. I had hurt June and now Annie, who had always ever been kindness itself to me. But and it was the biggest but, I could not try again with June and be with Annie. If that meant I ended up alone, so be it.

I should have had lunch. I should have had supper. I should have eaten something. I watched the phone instead.

It was a long evening.

I listened on BBC Sounds to what I had heard earlier, over, and over and over again.

"Walk on through the wind

Walk on through the rain

Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown"

Tossed and blow they were, and like whatever was left of my heart, they were in shreds.

Where was that "sweet silver song of a lark" and that golden sky?

I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. The I-Pad was playing the lunchtime concert on catch-up. Then the phone went. It was after midnight. It was June.

"Pix, it's late, but I am in tears here, can't sleep, can't do anything."

"Snap!" I said, "though I did drop off after earlier."

"Mama got to you then?"

"And you, I gather?"

"Look Pix, I overreacted to what you told me earlier, but I need to know, is it serious? Do you need time? It would break my heart, but you did it for me, I'd do it back. I know I neglected you."

"What is serious, June, is my love for you. I thought you had dumped me."

"We agreed to separate, Pix, don't put it all on me."

"Sorry, sorry, June, I wasn't. I made assumptions."

"Well they make an ass out you and me!" She giggled.

"You said it," I replied.

"Do you still love me Pix?"

"Yes. Do you still love me?"

"Yes, can you forgive me?"

"Yes, can you forgive me?"

There was a silence.

"There's either and echo here or we are still on the same wavelength," I half-joked.

"It's the last one," said June, decisive as ever. "Are you seeing her again?"

"No," I said, "I could not even talk like this to you if I was."

"What say we write, and phone and I see you Saturday?"

Part of me wanted to scream that I wanted to see her now. If there was a wiser part of me, she was saying "agree with June, sort yourself out." I agreed with June.

I was exhausted. If I had eaten anything it might have helped, but food and I were not good companions at the best of times; this was not the best of times.

Was that a glimmer of hope on the horizon, or just the last rays of the setting sun? Even if I had tried to work out what was happening, I doubt that the TS would let me; so for once I did not even try. I texted June instead, just before trying to sleep.

"I love you xxx"

She pinged back:

"I love you more xxxxx"

That was a good sign. That was how we signed off in the old days.

Annie emailed me asking how I was.

I emailed back saying I was coping. I apologised yet again.

"Hurting, sorry."

So was I. I'd let her on. I had not meant to. Guilt did not require active assent to operate; it swept into places in my head. In the end, sleep hit me hard.

The next day I had to go to rehab for the NHS physio. Would I see Annie? If so, what would happen? I did not see her. The usual physio was as brutal as ever, but she confirmed that I was improving.

"You should be able to walk properly soon, just don't overdo it."

It had been sixteen weeks since the operation. I wondered if June and I would be able to walk again. We'd been stuck for too long.

Hindsight worked overtime; a shame its cousin, foresight, hadn't done so.

I picked over everything. It was classic, I decided. Busy carrying impossibly heavy burdens, June had gone easy on me; I was always there. That's what I'd told her, so why should she have not believed me? How could I add to her burdens by telling her I felt neglected and unloved? How could she know those things if I kept saying "I understand," and "I am fine darling?"

Health, or the lack of it, shot through everything. Mum needed so much care. My ankles meant I could not help, and that I needed care. June could not be in two places at once.

Communication also appeared in every explanation. We'd talked, but stopped talking about anything that mattered. We'd taken US for granted. All living things need nourishment; we'd starved out love. The only question was whether it had died.

Love ran through the explanations like water through our fingers. We'd let it evaporate, go stale, or any other cliché you could thing of which was a synonym for neglected. We'd taken each other for granted. Was there still an "us?"

The emails and texts of the next few days suggested that there was. With our old friend hindsight's help, it's clear that neither of us quite dared believe that we had not wrecked things totally.

June phoned on Friday, always a hard day for her.

"Pix, I'm sorry."

"So am I. What are you sorry for?"

"Neglecting you. I don't know what I was thinking of, but it was not my wife, and I am sorry for that. I'll do better, I promise. What are you sorry for?"

"Being a slut; not telling you how I felt; making assumptions...."

"Hey, you, you are not a slut - unless you still want to be mine from time to time? As for the others, we both made assumptions, and I was tempted too, so let's call that quits, or we shall drive each other mad. Draw a line under it?"

"Yes, and try harder?" I asked.

"Yes. And Pix, I have something important to say."

My heart fluttered. I knew what I hoped she would say, it was what she used to say in the old days, but what if it was not?

"I. Love. You!"

"I love you too," I sighed with relief.

Mama rang early Saturday morning.

"I gather you two are seeing each other - at last?"

"Yes Mama, have to tread carefully, don't want to mess things up."

"Pixie, what do you want out of this?"

"To be back with June."

"And you think pussyfooting around is going to get you that? Isn't there something else you two do with your pussies?"

Had my Mama, my churchgoing, Justice of the Peace, utterly heterosexual Mama actually used the word "pussies" about me and her daughter-in-law?"

"Mama!" I gasped.

"Pixie, I do have some idea what lesbians do - so take your Mama's advice - do what you two do best. It's not like I have no experience of make-up sex!"

My Mama and I had never, but never talked about sex, and now she was referring back to before she and Papa had separated for ever. Well I had thought it was forever. Did they still? No! Mama and sex. I was SO not going there!

"Too much information, mother!" I said in my best prissy voice.

"And, young lady, make sure you are looking your best - I only know about men, but I have always found nice lingerie a help."

That was three times a charm.

"Thank you, Mama," I giggled.

"Seriously Pixie, don't over think it and don't mess it up. You two love each other."

The moment the call was ended I dashed to the shower and cleaned all over. I sound my sexiest panties and put them on under a fetching wrap-around floral dress. I did my hair, but not in its usual braid. I even put on a bit of lipstick.

All this, I thought, to see my estranged wife on a Saturday morning. And then it hit me. Of, blooming course! This, you idiot (I thought) was what I should have been doing all the time.

Bang on eleven, I heard June's key in the lock.

"Home, love!" She said, as she always had.

I came into the hallway.

She looked gorgeous. She'd had her hair done, and her skirt and top emphasised just how elegantly sexy she was.

"You look..." she began,

"... gorgeous," I finished.

We both giggled.

The next thing I knew our lips were pressing together.

We were going to talk, to take it gently, I had thought, before, that is, her hands gripped my behind and I leapt up, gripping her waist, even as her hands did the same to my bum. Would she even see my panties, I wondered, with a stray thought, soon dismissed by her tongue pressing into my willing lips. As I sucked on her tongue all thoughts other than those relating to how much I loved her, vanished.

I'd prepared things for coffee and a chat, which was no doubt why I ended up on the sofa minus my panties, with my dress pulled open and June breathing on my pussy.

"I want you, Pix, I want to eat you all up!"

The way I opened my legs and pulled her to me was my answer to that delightful suggestion; who needs words at times like that?

She blew on my clit, which was aching; I knew she could see how wet I was for her. She soon tasted how much I wanted her. Pushing my legs over her shoulder, she slid her tongue along my creases until it wriggled its way into me, opening my wetness and pressing in.

On the whole I don't swear, so when I groaned: "Fuck, fuck!" June knew how much she was turning me on.

I pressed myself against her as she devoured me, her skilful tongue tasting and testing every part of me. I needed to grip my nipples, so I did, pulling on them with my left hand, as my right hand pulled June to me.

The lap, lap. lapping of her tongue, combined with the sucking of her lips were taking me to an inevitable destination. Usually at this point I would try to stop so that I could please her too, but June, in this mood, would have none of it. That very thought hit me and lit the touchpaper; I exploded on her face.

Time was suspended. Somewhere above us my spirit floated free, before uniting with June's.

As I calmed down, slowly, she looked up, grinning, her face coated with my juices.

"Always loved your taste!"

"As I do yours. get yourself up here!"

"Yes, Miss!" She grinned, rising, and stripping her panties off before she positioned herself above my face. She was, as I had expected, soaked. Her lips puffy with desire, her clit unhooded and ready for my tongue to flick, lick and suck.

My hands gripped her bum. I pulled her onto me, wanting to devour her, but, instead, sucking on each lip before pushing my tongue through her folds. As my tongue penetrated her, she sank onto my face, her warm thighs gripping me. I felt her bounce. I knew she was caressing her breasts.

"Pix, Pix, take me, take me hard darling, I am yours!"

I did.

I felt June's whole body shake as she gave me her nectar. I feasted on it. Finally, I devoured her, giving free rein to my desires, as she orgasmed again and again, until we collapsed together.

As she turned to kiss me, I could smell me on her, as she could smell herself on me. Our eyes locked.

"You do know you were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off, Pix!"

I giggled.

"Well, I had coffee more or less prepared."

"Sod the coffee, I want you again!"

So she took me. Then I took her.

We spent the afternoon locked in each other's arms, wondering, the both of us, how we had mucked it all up so comprehensively. I said as much to June.

"What matters, Pix, is we learn from it and go forward stronger."

"I agree, though hindsight can be a dangerously elusive guide."

And as she spoke, I head the sweet silver song of a lark.

"Tell you what Pix, as you are the writer, why don't you try to make some sense of it for us both, so we can learn."

And that, dear reader, is what I have just finished doing. Thank you for bearing with me. That June approves is all, but then, as she said, I am a writer, so what you say also matters to me. Thank you to those "regulars", and to others, who have commented. We are both grateful. We shall both learn. Maybe you will too?