Buebirds

Saturday 24th August

Ohhhh, the office party last night was embarrassing. It all started off well enough, then I got talking to Karen Naismith. She's one of the partners in Naismith-Gordon, a firm of civil architects we do a lot of business with. I've met her a few times before, mainly in meetings where I'm taking minutes. She's always struck me as very smart, witty, and totally on the ball. Friendly too: last time she fetched me over a cup of coffee and a chocolate biccie. God, I've just remembered, at that meeting she said how nice my hair looked too. None of my colleagues even noticed I'd re-styled it, but she did.

Anyway, she comes over with a couple of glasses of bubbly, handing one to me, saying "Hello Lorraine you're looking very festive", referring to my Santa Claus earrings. We must have been chatting for over an hour, between her getting up and refreshing our glasses – refused to let me take a turn – putting the world to rights, talking about all kinds of stuff. We seem to have quite a few tastes in common.

We were both pretty squiffy by the end and, well, she asked me for a tour of the office. I'm not sure how it happened but we ended up in the tea room, the only light coming from the corridor through the glass panels in the door, snogging! Bizarre, I've never had the slightest thing for women before and suddenly there I am sitting in the dark with one sticking her tongue halfway down my throat, and, I have to admit, me enjoying it! Thank Christ no-one saw us – well, I don't think they did. It must have gone on for two or three minutes; it was only when I felt her hand drop onto my boob that I came to my senses a bit. Excused myself to go to the loo, splashed some water on my face, and when I emerged someone told me Roger had arrived to give me my lift home. I never even said goodbye to Ms Naismith, she must think I'm a right rude cow! I don't know whether it would be best to send her a small apology after Christmas of just pretend the whole thing never happened. Still, I've got four days off now to think about it.

Sunday 25th December

Roger and I had sex last night – first time in about three weeks. Afterwards he talked again about starting a family. He seems so gung-ho for it that I'm not sure how much longer I can put off us having a real conversation about it, after all I am pushing 30. It's not that I'm totally opposed to the idea...not really...but, well, I don't feel any maternal instinct whatsoever, not a shred. And it's not him that would have to have the bloody thing growing inside him like a water melon for nine months, or give up his career for a year or more.

Monday 26th December

I had the strangest dream last night. I can't remember all the details but I know Karen Naismith featured heavily in it – how weird. The last thing I remember before I woke up is the feel of soft lips pressing against mine, and the taste of lipstick, not my own, on my tongue. I swear that I could smell her perfume too, the one she was wearing at the party. My quim was damp as well – how embarrassing.

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I do love Roger, of course I do, but not in that heart-bursting, pants-wetting, bluebirds-twittering-around-the-head sort of way you read about in Mills & Boon. I've never felt that, I don't think it really exists outside fairy tales. When I think back, I sort of stumbled into marriage. There I was, happily having casual sex with the bloke who lived in the flat next door, and next thing I know we're getting married and everyone's making arrangements for us. I honestly don't remember him proposing, or me accepting; it was just like we went from shagging for fun to being engaged without me noticing. What I do remember is waking up on the first morning of my honeymoon thinking 'where the hell did that come from?', and wondering if I'd made a huge, horrible mistake. Well, three-and-a-half years and counting, so so far so good, I suppose.

Christ, why am I thinking so much about Karen Naismith? I mean I've never so much as looked at another woman sexually, let alone fantasised about...must be hormonal or something, I'm a bit young for a mid-life crisis, LOL. I'll bet she's not sitting somewhere thinking about me.

Tuesday 27th December

I found myself googling Karen today. I didn't mean to, I was just idly surfing the net and it kind of happened. 41 years old, nearly 42, BSc in architecture and design...never married. Well, that doesn't mean anything, she's obviously pretty career-oriented. If she is gay she's hardly your stereotypical butch dyke – probably three inches taller than me, so five-eight or so, straight jaw-length honey blonde hair (in contrast to my shoulder-length dull brown), striking cornflower blue-eyes, lovely even white teeth, quite curvy with big boobs, and she always wears nice, well-tailored business suits, whether with skirt or trousers. Quite a deep voice, contralto I think the term is, but rich and cultured – much like Karen herself, ho ho. I probably look more gay than she does, with my slim athletic build and my preference for T-shirts, jeans and trainers!

Thursday 29th December

God, yesterday was so dull at work. The computers were down until lunchtime, when they did come up I didn't have a single e-mail and the phones didn't ring once all day. At least there's something to do today. Mid-morning, my boss Mark asked me to contact Karen Naismith. I tried to call but her secretary said she was off until the new year, lucky cow. So Mark asked me to e-mail some papers over to her. I signed the e-mail 'Happy new year from Lorraine x : ) '.

Saturday 31st December

I keep getting that dream. I was so heated up this morning that before I got up I frigged myself off, eyes closed and thinking about...

Monday 2nd January

Oh fuck, I've got to try and put Karen bloody Maitland out of my mind. I won't be able to look her in the face at this rate! Why the hell am I thinking about the woman so much? It was only one drunken smooch for God's sake, she probably doesn't even remember my name. And I'm sure she's got some lovely bloke, or woman, giving her a good seeing-to on a regular basis. Not to mention the fact that I'm married.

Wednesday 4th January

Omigod, Karen phoned me today. I don't mean she phoned the office and I spoke to her, I mean she actually asked for me by name. Not about work either – she asked me if I fancied meeting up for a drink one evening. Just like that. I could feel myself blushing as I talked to her, as if everyone was watching me – nobody was of course – and I caught myself playing with a strand of my hair like a nervous teenager, silly bitch. I said next Monday would be good to meet up, because Gordon will be away from home for a couple of days for a sales conference. Why did I tell her that? I hope I didn't sound too keen. I mean, it's just a drink; it's not as if anything, well, erotic's going to happen. Would I even want it to, I mean, with another woman? Even if what happened at the party did come up it would simply clear the air, we'd probably just have a laugh about it.

Monday 9th January

I've been so keyed up the last few days, and I've been a moody cow all weekend. Poor Gordon's been walking on eggshells. I snapped his head off over something yesterday evening, I can't even remember what, but he slept right on the edge of the bed last night and we hardly said a word to each other before he drove off for his conference this morning.

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I could hardly concentrate on my work all day, looking at the clock every ten minutes. Karen phoned me this morning to check I was still on for our drink. I finished work early and rushed home to change. Jesus, I must have tried twenty different outfits before I settled on a flowery red blouse and black chinos tucked into knee-length boots with a two-inch heel. I complemented them with big bangle earrings that give me a sort of gypsy look. God, how nervous do I feel?

________________________________________

I reach the wine bar exactly on time at 6.30. Karen is already here and seems to glow among the other patrons, in a simple black knee-length dress and black stockings with a silver diamond pattern down the sides. The dress has quite a deep V neckline which shows a bit of pale cleavage. As I approach she stands and gives me a warm smile and a tight hug. I feel her breath on my cheek as she says I looked lovely. We share a bottle of white wine and chat about our Christmases – she spent the time with her sister's family. Neither of us mentions the office party.

When we finish the wine Karen asks if I'm hungry, and suggests a nearby Greek restaurant. As we walk the short distance she casually slips her arm through mine, drawing me closer to her. The meal is light and delicious, and despite my protests Karen refuses to let me pay. Over liqueurs she reaches across the table, takes one of my hands in hers and murmurs, "I thought about you a lot over the holiday period Lorraine." I feel my face flush and all I can do is give her a daft smile. I certainly can't bring myself to tell her I've thought about her every day too – and most nights! As she helps me into my denim jacket she leans close to my ear and asks "Would you like to come back to my place for a nightcap?"

Immediately my heart starts to race. Almost to my disbelief, this is the moment of truth. All my fantasies over the past couple of weeks could be about to become reality. I wasn't just daydreaming, or reading too much into too little: I can tell from the tone of Karen's voice, the closeness of her body to mine, the subtle look of appeal in her beautiful eyes, that if I say yes it will be a damned sight more than a drink I'll be enjoying. I swallow nervously, an image of my husband passing fleetingly across my mind; then, half-turning to face her, bringing my face to within inches of hers, I hear my voice, surprisingly husky, reply, "Thanks Karen, I'd love that."

Arm in arm we walk, barely speaking, not glancing at each other, the fifteen minutes or so to her apartment – "my city place". Our heels click against the pavement in the almost deserted street, the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. Our breath steams in the cold night air; I breathe deeply, the chill stinging my lungs, trying to convince myself that this is really happening, trying to come to terms with what I am committing to. We enter a cul-de-sac, stop outside a modern steel and glass apartment block. Karen keys a code into the entry pad and the door swings open. Walking across a highly polished marble floor we enter a lift and she presses a button for the fourth floor. A few steps along a plush-carpeted corridor, her key turns in a lock, and a moment later the door of Karen's apartment closes behind us.

She makes no pretence of why we're here, or that I might not be compliant in that knowledge.

She places her coat on a hook on the wall of the entry hall, eases my jacket from my shoulders and hangs that alongside her own. She kicks off her shoes, then kneels, unzips my boots and draws them from my socked feet. She stands and, still wordlessly, takes my hand and leads me into a large lounge – the lights turn on automatically as we enter. We stand before an enormous fabric-covered sofa. Then Karen places her hands on my shoulders, leans in and kisses me softly but lingeringly on the lips. I melt into her arms and kiss her back. Holding each other tightly now, we kiss deeply, our tongues playing a game of tag, I sucking on hers then my own chasing it back into her mouth. My entire body feels as if it is about to burst into flame, I feel my knees ready to buckle and, drawing her with me, out lips still fused together, I sink onto the sofa.

As we continue to kiss Karen's hands squeeze between us. Her hands flutter at the buttons of my blouse, undoing them easily, then I gasp into her mouth as her fingers touch my bare flesh, between my bra and the waistband of my trousers. Her arms slip around me, under the blouse, and in moments my bra is unfastened and hanging loose. Karen breaks the kiss and we cling tightly to each other, cheek to cheek. I hear her whisper "I hope you don't mind Lorraine, but I think I've fallen in love with you". Before I can respond her lips close over one of my breasts, her teeth gently chewing on the erect nipple. God, my nipples are almost painfully erect. I groan with pleasure at the sensation of her teeth and tongue on me, and cup her head in my hands, my fingers lightly massaging her scalp. I've slipped down on the sofa and we're now lying side by side. Her hands move again, unfastening my trousers, and without a moment's hesitation I lift my bum to allow her to pull them down, taking my thong panties with them. Jesus, we've been her less than ten minutes and she already has me all but naked.

I feel myself starting to pant in anticipation as Karen's tongue trails down my ribcage and tickles at my navel, but then she seems to change her mind. She rises to her feet and helps me to stand. She removes my blouse and bra and I clumsily kick off the trousers and pants pooling around my feet. She pulls me to her and we kiss hungrily, her hands caressing my back and cupping around my bum cheeks. Then she takes my hand and, dressed only in pink ankle socks, I follow her into her bedroom. I briefly feel between my legs – Jesus, I'm wetter than I can ever remember without someone actually touching me there. I sit on the side of the largest double bed I have ever seen and remove my socks then lay back quite unself-consciously, legs apart, and watch Karen.

She slips her now rumpled dress off her shoulders and it slides to the floor, revealing a peach coloured strapless bra and matching panties,. In a moment they are gone revealing large boobs with huge chestnut nipples, generous hips and a completely shaved pussy, in contrast to my neatly trimmed thatch. Then she joins me on the bed and takes me into her arms. I have never before held a naked woman and as we kiss, our breasts rubbing together, her thigh pushing gently between mine, I get an attack of the shakes. Karen stroked my hair and nuzzles my ear, plucking its lobe with her lips, whispering "it's okay darling, Christ you are so desirable." Her hand finds its way between my legs, and my initial gasp as her fingers enter my sopping pussy turns to a moan of arousal. Gently she presses my head down into one of her breasts and I suck longingly on it, loving the sensation of rolling her nipple across my lips.

After a few moments she detaches her boob from my mouth and her tongue is back in my navel. It slips down, through my pubes, and, flicking my own nipples, I look down on her blonde head slipping between my legs. I shudder as she kisses and nibbles my inner thighs, and of their own accord my hips push at her, urging her mouth upwards. A moment later I am lost in a sea of pure pleasure as her tongue strokes the length of my pussy then slips inside, her fingers parting my putting labia. A finger follows her tongue inside me and I am so turned on that it takes only seconds before my belly and head begin to explode and I am almost screaming with the power of my release, tears streaming down my face, my backside lifting off the bed, my hips grinding my pulsing pussy onto my lover's face and fingers. She continues to pleasure me as I cum again and again until I feel entirely drained of energy and, gasping for breath, sink into the bed.

Then she is there beside me, her tongue in my mouth, and as I suck on it I taste the sweetness of my own cum juices. I feel a sudden desperation to give her the same ecstatic pleasure she has just given me, and with a hand I feel my way between her thighs. She is wet and open to me, and almost my entire hand slips inside her. My thumb finds her clit and I stroke it as my fingers pump her. She sighs into my mouth then her head snaps back and she gasps "Oh fuck yes, that's great baby girl". It takes only seconds before I feel her muscles tighten around my hand and, with a growl deep in her throat, she orgasms, her lower body vibrating in time with my fingers.

I had never touched a woman's cunt before but she is so wet down there that I feel a deep urge to taste her. As she realises where I am going she rolls onto her back and whispers, "Oh God yes, please darling". Her pussy is beautiful – a deep pink with a silver pearl at its head, all slick with her juices and aromatic with her arousal. I touch my tongue to it experimentally and she squeaks. It is warm and wet and tastes spicily sweet. Using my thumbs to part her labia I plunge in. As I lick her, one thumb massaging her clit, she begins to purr like a cat and her hips gyrate around on my tongue, so wildly that I have to grip with both hands to keep my place, my cheeks damp with her juice. Soon a sweeter nectar seeps onto my tongue as she cums again with another growl. Then she scooches around under me and a moment later we are both eating pussy. I groan loudly into her; she is giving me so much pleasure that I have trouble concentrating on returning the favour, but I lick and stroke for all I am worth and before long her thighs clamp around my head and I hear her wail like a banshee, even as she continues to probe me with her beloved tongue and fuck me with her fingers.

We spend half the night making love then, both exhausted, finally fall asleep wrapped around each other. At some point I'm woken up during the night by the tickle of her hair between my thighs, then I fully awake as her tongue starts exploring my pussy again! When I open my eyes in the morning the first thing I see is Karen's beautiful face on the pillow next to me, her lips moving back and forth with her breath as she sleeps. My whole body surges with love for her – Disneyesque bluebirds circle my head twittering away and everything - and I suddenly realise I cannot bear the thought of not spending the rest of my life sleeping with this heavenly goddess.

I phoned in sick this morning, for the first time in three years. Karen and I shared her big round bath – Christ, even her toes can make me cum! – and as I sit in front of her computer, contemplating what to write in my diary she's standing behind me, her breasts pressing against me through her damp bath robe, her hands gently massaging my shoulders, her lips kissing the crown of my head as she tells me how gorgeous I am, and how long she's wanted me. It's barely twelve hours since we became lovers, yet already I know that my marriage is over. When Roger returns from his conference tomorrow I have to tell him that I'm moving in with my lesbian girlfriend, and I have never felt happier about anything in my entire life.