As Time Goes By Ch. 02

"Thank, Katie, that was sensible. Was her drinking bad when she was here before?"

Katie shook her head. "No, that's an odd thing. Both nights she just had one or two small beers. It was only tonight that she hit the vodka."

"Did she cause any trouble while she was getting in this state?" Olivia asked.

"No, it was a bit of a shock when she passed out—very well behaved, she was, the drink didn't seem to be affecting her much. She paid for all her drinks and gave a decent tip. I saw a few girls ask her to dance but she turned them down very politely."

Lainy had opened the bag and produced a wallet with driving licence. "At least we know who she is now. Her name's Frances Jane Roberts at an address in some Hampshire village. She's a good way from home, must be on holiday or something. And here's a hotel card—she's staying at The Balustrade. I think that's about two or three miles from here."

Olivia groaned. "So what do we do with her? We can't take her back to her hotel in this state and we can't just leave her here."

"I guess it's a good thing that Caro and I came in tonight," said Lainy, "We walked here but if Myra could give us a hand with the corpse and a lift in her car, we can put Frances Jane to bed in our spare room for the night." She turned to her wife. "Is that okay with you, babe?"

"Yes, of course it is," Caro said. She gave Lainy a mischievous grin. "Pity, though, beautiful... I had something special in mind for you when we got home—guess I'll have to postpone."

Myra laughed. "You go ahead with your special plans, honey. I reckon the two of you could scream the house down tonight and Sleeping Beauty here wouldn't notice a thing."

* * * * *

When I woke up I felt like death, and not a very nice death at that. My mouth tasted like something dredged from a sewer, my throat felt raw and half the street-menders in London were using their pneumatic drills inside my head.

I looked around, not recognizing a thing. Where the hell was I? Not in my hotel room, that was for sure. The last thing I could recall was setting out to get blitzed in that lesbian club... what was it...? Rag—something... Ragnarok...? No, don't be silly, that's something from Norse mythology isn't it?. Think... not Rag... Rad... that was it... Radclyffe's. Well, it looked like I succeeded, getting blitzed that is. I hadn't felt like this since the one and only time I'd got drunk as a student. I'd forgotten how awful it was and I sure as hell didn't want to feel like it again.

I eased myself up in the bed and looked around. Somebody had been very thoughtful. There was a towel over my pillow and a bucket by the side of the bed, I suppose in case I had thrown up in the night. Fortunately I hadn't. There was a large glass of water on a bedside table together with a couple of aspirin tablets which I took immediately, draining the water in one go. My clothes were on a small armchair, neatly folded, along with my shoulder-bag, and a bathrobe had been placed at the foot of the bed. An open door opposite the bed-end led into what was obviously an en-suite bathroom and I realized that my bladder was near to bursting point. I glanced at my watch—it was close to nine a.m.

I clambered out of the bed, very carefully for the sake of my poor head, and found that I was dressed in a pair of pyjamas, just about my size—I still had my bra and panties on under them. I had a long pee and discovered a new toothbrush on a shelf over the sink. I didn't much like what I saw in the mirror: something out of a zombie film, I think. After washing my hands and face and cleaning my teeth, I donned the bathrobe and went in search of my benefactor.

Leaving the bedroom, I found myself in a huge, open-plan flat and a murmur of voices led me to a kitchen area where two women, I'd guess about my age—early thirties—were standing at a breakfast bar, drinking tea or coffee. Both were of similar height and build to me as well, and both were very attractive. For one silly second, I wondered if I'd died and gone to heaven and these were angels. Then I realized it couldn't be heaven because I still felt like shit and God wouldn't allow that in heaven, would She? On second thoughts, perhaps She would, just to punish me for being so stupid. Just imagine, eternity with a hangover like mine—who'd need hell?.

One of the couple, whose dark hair was cropped to a fairly short pixie cut, was dressed in t-shirt and jogging trousers. The other, more formally dressed in a business suit, had thick auburn hair in a stylish bob. She saw me first and greeted me with a big grin. "Hi, I'm Caro. I'll bet you could do with about a gallon of orange juice." Hazel eyes twinkled as she poured a large glass and handed it to me. I thanked her and drank gratefully.

"And I'm Lainy, Caro's other half," said the dark-haired woman, also with a warm smile, "Sit down and I'll make you some fresh tea."

While Lainy was waiting for the kettle to boil, the one called Caro said to her: "I'd better get off to work now sweetheart, before they think I've got lost. Love you."

"Okay, babe," said Lainy, "See you later. Love you too." Arms around each other, the two kissed. The kiss lingered but there was nothing sexy or erotic about it—it was simply a kiss that seemed to say 'You're-the-most-precious-person-in-the-whole-wide-world'. It was the kind of kiss that Dot and I used to share.

Caro came over and gave my hand a friendly squeeze. "Whatever's troubling you, Frances, I hope it'll get better in time," she said. A quick wave and she was gone.

"What makes her think I'm troubled?" I asked peevishly, "And how come she knows my name? Anyway, I prefer Fran."

"Okay, Fran it is—well, we got your name from your driving licence," Lainy said, "Katie, one of our waitresses, had the good sense to put your bag behind the bar for safe-keeping when you passed out. We brought you home with us last night because taking you to your hotel wasn't practical. As for being troubled, you weren't entirely out of it when we got here—you were doing a lot of unhappy-sounding mumbling and a fair bit of crying. Most of it was incoherent but the names Dot and Dusty kept cropping up. You seemed to be apologising to them."

My bag! I'd drunk myself stupid and totally forgotten about my shoulder-bag. My money and credit cards and keys were all in there. What an idiot I was. If I'd lost that... Bless you, Katie, whoever you are, I thought.

Lainy put a cup of tea and a couple of slices of toast in front of me. I tried to refuse the toast but she insisted. "It'll help," she told me.

After I had managed to force down most of the toast and had a second cup of tea, I did feel a little better. Lainy took me by the hand and led me to a large sofa, where she sat beside me. "Now, I'm not going to ask if you're an alcoholic because if you are, you'd probably just lie to me and deny it. But if there's anything I can do to help, I will."

I managed a feeble smile. "It's okay, no lies—I'm not an alcoholic. Most of the time I don't drink and when I do it's only one or two beers. Last night was a bit of a car crash for me; in fact, the past year or so has been a car crash—it's not been good." I could feel tears trickling down my face and then I found myself sobbing and telling Lainy all about Dot's illness and death and how I met Dusty in Radclyffe's and must have hurt her badly with my abrupt rejection and exit.

Lainy put an arm around me and let me cry for a while. When I had calmed down a little, she told me: "I am a recovered alcoholic. I had a long-time girlfriend called Susannah who died too, and the booze was my way of handling it. Fortunately, I was only on the stuff for about a year but that was bad enough. Thanks to a brilliant uncle I managed to get off the drink before I'd sunk too far into the gutter but it was a close call. Even then I was carrying a lot of misery for a couple more years until I met Caro. We fell in love and that turned me right around—been together almost five years now.

"I guess what I'm trying to tell you, Fran, is that given time it does get better but props like alcohol don't help. For me, it turned out that having someone to love, and who loved me, did the trick. I'm not suggesting that you go out looking for love—it might not work for everybody. Anyway, love should come to you naturally rather than you go seeking it. But if you can bring yourself to let go a little, then sooner or later something will happen to make life better. As for Dusty, well, from what you say she sounds like a nice girl but a one-night stand wouldn't have been good for either of you right now. You might have woken up detesting both her and yourself. I think you perhaps realised that.

"Another thing, if you're as decent as I think you are, and I'm a fairly good judge of character, you won't forget Dot or stop loving her. I think that once you've loved deeply, it's always with you. Although I love Caro so much it overwhelms me at times and I can't imagine life without her, I still love Susannah in a way, or at least the memory of her. Caro understands and she's comfortable with it." Lainy gave me a little hug.

"Lainy, do you think the manager of Radclyffe's would let me in if I go there again tonight?" I said.

"Why do you ask?"

"Two things," I said, "I'd like to thank Katie for rescuing my bag and I'd like to see if Dusty's there so that I can try to explain and apologise to her."

"Shouldn't be a problem." Lainy got up, went to nearby desk and delved into a drawer. Returning, she handed me a gold-coloured laminated card. "There you are—fill in the nameplate on the back and you are now a privileged life member of Radclyffe's. This will always get you straight in—no queues, no cover charge. I'll let the door staff know you're okay." She smiled. "I'm one of the owners. Take care of that card, we don't give many out—only to special people."

That evening in Radclyffe's, I sought Katie out, thanked her and slipped her twenty pounds for looking out for me. But Dusty never showed and after a while I headed back to the Balustrade ready to return home the next day.

* * * * *

As I walked past The Balustrade's small bar, I heard a voice call out: "Hello there!"

I turned. It was the middle-aged Welsh woman I'd danced with on my first visit to Radclyffe's. There were several other people in the bar but thankfully the fat man and his cronies had left a couple of days before. "I didn't know you were staying here," I said.

"I suppose our paths just didn't cross, my lovely. My name's Meg." She lifted a glass of wine. "Come and have a drink with me."

"Hi, Meg, I'm Fran. I won't have a drink, thanks, but I'll sit and talk for a while." I settled in the chair beside her. Meg was perhaps an inch or so shorter than me, slightly plump but pleasantly so, with whitish-blonde hair and large blue eyes. "How long are you here for?"

"Just for a few days—off home tomorrow. It's been an annual reunion with friends of mine. They've all left already." I made some sort of interested but non-committal noise and Meg continued: "There're five of us, we met at university. We're all gay and... well, even as recently as the late Eighties some people were only too willing and delighted to make our lives unpleasant and so we gradually banded together." She smiled. "Funny thing is, there was never anything sexual between any of us, we were just a bunch of really good friends who looked out for each other. So ever since leaving uni we've had an annual reunion, always a few outings and dinners followed by some decent gay club like Radclyffe's where we can dance and have fun. And we're still always there for one another. When Sian—my lover—died, the others all dropped everything and rallied round to take care of me. I'd do the same for them as long as I was still breathing. Anyway, enough about me, Fran—what are you doing here?"

I gave Meg the short version, telling her about Dot but omitting to mention Dusty. I didn't mind talking about Dot because I knew it was better than bottling it up, but it still got to me sometimes, especially if my listener seemed sympathetic. My voice quavered a little and I could feel tears welling up.

Meg's eyes were compassionate and kind and she laid a soft hand on mine. "I'm going to make a suggestion, cariad, and I won't take offence if you say no. It strikes me that right now you could do with a little TLC. Why not spend the night with me? We don't have to do anything unless you want to—I'm just offering you some no-strings comfort."

I thought for a second, wondering what Dot would say if her spirit could see me. Probably: What are you hanging about for, darling Fran—go for it! The idea of no-strings companionship and caring, even for only one night, appealed strongly. Meg was more mature than Dusty and she seemed like a nice woman. I decided and squeezed her hand. "Thanks, Meg, I think I'd like that."

Meg said: "It's best we go to your room. I'm leaving very early in the morning and wouldn't want to throw you out of mine." Holding hands, we headed for the stairs.

As I was shutting the door behind us, Meg crossed the floor to switch on one of the bedside lamps so that there was a soft, warm glow in the room. I turned to see her standing in the middle of the room holding out her arms. "Come here, cariad—let me give you a hug." It felt right. At length she released me with a little laugh. "I think bed now, my lovely, before we take root here."

Meg stripped down to a lacy bra with matching French knickers. Her breasts were larger than mine, she had a little pot belly, surprisingly sexy, with a silver ring and Welsh dragon motif adorning her pierced navel. She also had a broad tattoo banding an upper arm, some sort of Celtic design. Turning down the duvet and top sheet, she crawled into the bed and waited for me. I quickly undressed down to panties and bra and joined Meg who said: "My Mam always reckoned a short hug should be followed by a nice long cuddle." She opened her arms to pull me to her. It felt so good to be held against her warmth. We lay there for a lengthy time, arms around one another, Meg stroking my back with a gentle touch, and I felt more totally relaxed than I had since Dot's passing. I found my lips pressed against her shoulder and couldn't help planting a series of butterfly kisses up to her neck and jawline to the soft spot behind her ear. I hesitated briefly, thinking Forgive me, Dot, and then decided that Dot would probably approve—I could almost hear a ghostly voice: Don't be daft my pretty lass, carry on and enjoy it. I nibbled on Meg's earlobe and ran my tongue around the rim. I felt Meg shiver a little as she sighed and tightened her arms about me.

I continued to kiss my way slowly until I reached her lips where I allowed my tongue to trace their outline. Meg responded, her lips opening a tiny bit so that the tip of her wine-scented tongue could flick against mine. We both became a little bolder, tongues swirling in and out of each other's mouths although the kiss itself remained quite gentle. I gave a tiny moan and wriggled more closely into Meg's soft body. I could feel moisture seeping out between my legs.

"Meg?"

"What, my lovely?"

"Don't you think we'd be more comfortable naked?"

"What a good idea," Meg smiled. Sitting up, she removed her bra. Her breasts were big and cushiony with long nipples, sagging a little which I suppose was to be expected at her age. God, I can't criticise—mine are nowhere near as perky as they used to be. Meg's French knickers came off and I could see a curly tangle of blonde pubic hair, slightly darker than that on her head, covering her mons.

Meg's hands caressed my freed breasts and I could feel my nipples becoming hard. "Your boobs are lovely, Fran, a perfect handful." She pressed her lips to each in turn. I could have told her about Goldilocks but that was something special and private between Dot and me.

"And yours are... comfortable." They were, too, and I rested my head against them, burrowing my face between and inhaling Meg's delicious woman smell.

Meg gave a soft laugh. "Well, I've heard all sorts of things said about my tits before but never 'comfortable'. You enjoy the comfort, cariad." She kissed the top of my head.

Taking her at her word, I latched onto one of her nipples, sucking and exploring with my tongue while playing the other between finger and thumb.

"Ahhh... that's right, my lovely, suck my boobs as hard as you can." Meg moved one hand down between my thighs. "Now there's lovely, a bare pussy to play with. I like that. And it feels as if you're nice and wet for me." She slid one gentle finger down my slit and into me, somehow hitting my g-spot immediately.

I hadn't touched myself in that particular spot since Dot died and the sudden thrill made my hips jerk while I let out an involuntary: "Oh fuck!"

Meg gave a little laugh. "Ah, I love it when girls talk dirty to me." That made me laugh too and for a while we just clutched one another giggling like a pair of teenagers before our lips met once more and our tongues danced. Meg started to suck on my breasts and at the same time turned her attentions to my pussy again, inserting two fingers and gently pressing a thumb on my clitoris. I caught my breath again as a warm flush spread through my body. Having come to rely on my fingers and my little vibrator, I had lost touch with the sheer pleasure of another person's body against mine, another's hand bringing thrills to my most sensitive parts. I think Meg could feel the warning changes in my body—she could certainly hear my increased breathing rate, and speeded up with her fingers, at the same time increasing pressure on my clit. Release came as I climaxed with a soft cry and clutched Meg's body closer.

"Mmmm!" Meg had withdrawn her fingers and brought them to her mouth to suck off my juice. "You taste good, Fran," she told me, "Now turn on your back, my lovely. It's been a long time since I ate shaved pussy and I think I deserve a treat, don't you?"

Meg dived between my legs to kiss and lick around and above and below my labia. Raising her head briefly, she said: "You smell just as good as you taste. Wish I had the recipe." With a little laugh she returned to her ministrations, this time taking my clit between her lips and suckling it like a tiny nipple. Again, a finger crept into my vagina seeking my magic spot and between that and her tongue, Meg quickly brought me off again. This time my cries were louder and prolonged as a massive orgasm shook me. Meg lifted her head, wiping my come from her chin with a finger which she then sucked clean. Cuddling me once more, she said: "Feeling better now, cariad?"

I didn't have to say anything, I think the long, fierce kiss I gave her was sufficient thanks. As soon as I stopped trembling and my breathing returned to normal, I paraphrased Meg. "It's been a long time since I ate hair pie so I think I'll have a slice now."

"That's a very vulgar thing for a well-brought up young lady to say," chuckled Meg, "You should be thoroughly ashamed of yourself."

"Yes, I'm so ashamed of myself I might have a double portion," I replied. We both started giggling like girls again, clutching one another as we laughed. Sex with Meg was proving to be more than simple physical pleasure; it was fun and laughter as well and I think that's exactly what I needed.

I spent quite a few minutes playing with her navel decoration while dropping fleeting kisses and nips over that soft little pot belly before moving down to give her pussy the attention it deserved. The hair on her mons was fairly thick but sparser around her outer lips which gaped a little and shone with lubrication. I dipped my tongue in and sighed with pleasure. This was something else that my vibrator could not give me, the taste of another's pussy. I looked up at Meg. "There's not much difference in the recipes—yours is a little more spicy, if anything."