Forever Autumn

Monty went to speak to another person so I wandered over to a table holding a variety of books and leaflets. There were a number of cards with mottos such as: 'One day at a time'; 'Take it easy'; 'First things first'; 'Let go and let God' and a number of others. At a glance they seemed to be nothing more than a collection of clichés but they obviously meant a great deal to those who were sober.

It was a little after nine when we left the hall and my earlier guess proved to be right. The rain was heavy and relentless but Carole's umbrella was big enough to get the two of us to the car without getting too wet.

"What did you think?" she asked.

I considered for a moment. "Scary," I concluded, "Some of it was enough to put me off the drink for life."

Carole gave a little grin. "That's about what I believed. Times you squeezed my hand so tightly I thought you'd cut the circulation off."

"Carole, were you ever..."

"Was I ever as bad as some of the tales you heard?" I nodded. "Could have been although I don't think so," she continued, "If I wasn't, then it was probably a matter of time. A lot of we drunks forget what we've done when we're off our faces, I know I used to. That gives us a very convenient excuse for not feeling any guilt or remorse. Further down the line a lot do feel remorse but not enough to stop drinking. I'm hoping I've made it through okay."

By now the car's windscreen wipers were clacking madly at top speed, barely beating back the torrential rainfall. "I hate to think of you having to drive too much further in this," I said, "Why not stay over at my place tonight? Neither of us have to work tomorrow."

"Okay, thanks," she replied, "I'm never happy driving in this kind of weather anyway." I had noticed that Carole was driving more slowly and carefully than she did usually.

* * * * *

We got back to my flat and I felt I needed a shower. I showed Carole where the tea and coffee were and told her to help herself to anything she fancied. Maybe the shower was some sort of psychological cleansing, I don't know, a way perhaps of ridding myself of some of the terrible stories I'd heard that evening.

Needles of hot water cascaded down on me, wiping out my tiredness and the strains of the day. For a few minutes I just revelled in the feel of it then soaped a sponge ready to wash myself all over. I stopped as I heard the bathroom door open and then the shower screen slid back. Carole was standing there and she was naked. "Mind if I join you, Sarah?" she asked, voice a little timid.

She looked so gorgeous I caught my breath and held out a hand to her. "Come on in," I invited.

As she stepped into the shower, my eyes were drawn to the tattoo, a blue butterfly, just above her pussy. She closed the screen behind her, and reached out for the sponge. "Here, let me do that for you." She turned me in order to wash my back first. Starting at my shoulders, Carole slowly sponged me down, parting my buttocks when she reached them to wash between, lingering and tender; nobody had ever touched me there before and I felt an almost electric thrill. Carole then moved down my legs, lifting my feet as if they were precious porcelain to wash the soles. She turned me again, first taking my arms in turn to wash their length and my underarms. She washed my upper chest before carefully cleaning each breast. "You had lovely boobs when we were kids, Sarah," she told me, "Reckon they're even nicer now."

"They've grown a little," I said, "but not too much."

"No, not too much. I'd say they're just about perfect now." Carole gave each nipple a gentle squeeze, nipped one gently with her teeth, then moved on to wash my midriff and belly. Bypassing my mound, she knelt to wash the top of my feet and then moved up my legs until using the sponge between them. She lingered there for several minutes, parting my lips to give kitty tiny sweet kisses. "Your pussy's lovely too," she said, "So you shave now."

"Have done for years," I said, "That time when we were kids, I thought you looked and felt so good bare that I started shaving when I returned home. Used my dad's razor at first, really pissed him off, seems I blunted the fresh blade he'd put in. Told him I needed to shave my legs so he went out and bought me an electric lady-shaver. In fact, I get it waxed now."

"Well, looks great." Carole said as she fingered my cleft, rubbing gently from my perineum upwards. After a few moments she withdrew her finger and carefully rinsed me off.

When she had finished she pulled me close and gave me a long kiss on the mouth. My tummy gave a little flip so I grabbed the sponge and soaped it. "Your turn," I told her. I soaped her down and rinsed her off as thoroughly as she had done me. Then I returned the kiss, holding her body to me and reaching round to clasp her bottom. The tips of our tongues met and we both gave out little moans.

Carole reached down between my legs again to run a middle finger up and down my slit, over and over. I fastened my mouth onto one of her nipples and sucked hard while pinching the other gently between finger and thumb. "You've got great boobs too," I mumbled. They were, too, medium sized with pale pink areolas larger than fifty pence pieces and short but thick nipples.

"Didn't you notice that time you shared my bed?"

"Nope," I admitted, "not particularly, I was so busy avoiding looking at you playing with yourself and then looking at you doing it I didn't really think about your boobs. Only you didn't have a butterfly then. Then the second night, I was too busy playing with your pussy."

"You like the butterfly?" Carole asked and when I affirmed said, "Good. That makes the bit of discomfort worthwhile. Think of all the years we've wasted. Back then I thought you were just playing along to please me and on your side you were generally too shy to admit you were gay." She paused for a second then added: "Anyway, I'll bet you thought I was just mucking around like I often did. Truth was, I really fancied you so much but worried that I might drive you away."

"Maybe a good thing we didn't take it further then," I said, "We were only nineteen and things could have gone wrong. Anyway, I didn't know for sure that you were gay. I think I was almost certain about myself then but like you said, I thought maybe you were just being zany Carole—you always were the one who did wild and offbeat things and I thought perhaps you were just experimenting."

"No, that was the real me. I did suspect that you were genuinely gay but you were such a shy little thing that I couldn't be sure. You could've just been trying to please me. And perhaps you're right about our ages making it difficult. But we've found each other now so we can start again." Carole squatted down and licked my pussy before sliding two fingers into me to caress my inner walls. Still shagging me with her fingers, she rose to her feet and our lips and tongues met in a long kiss.

The shower was still running so I detached the head from its bracket and played the hissing water on Carole's pubic area. She squealed with sudden shock before bursting out laughing. "That's a new sensation," she giggled. Replacing the shower-head, I turned the water off then knelt before Carole so that I could lick her pussy. I could feel heat from her, she tasted of sweetish musk and I buried my nose and mouth between her swollen lips before standing again. "Let's get dried and go to the bedroom," I panted.

We fell upon the bed and I pushed two fingers into Carole's pussy, revelling in the sloppy sounds it made. Or perhaps they were my sloppy sounds for Carole was finger-fucking me at the same time. Probably both and getting sloppier by the second. "I love it when pussy makes wet noises," I told her.

"Me too," Carole replied, "I once went with a girl who couldn't stand it. She kept stopping to wipe us both with tissues. In the end I gave up and went to sleep."

With our free hands, we explored one another's bodies and kissed wherever we could reach as well as kissing on the mouth. I slid down to plant a number of kisses on her blue butterfly tattoo and then further so that I could lick her pussy once more. It tasted like the nectar of the gods to me. What was it Niamh had said about Vicki's pussy—like honey...

I eased her lips apart and said: "Your clit's showing quite a lot. It's gorgeous."

I leaned across to my bedside cabinet where I kept a small vibrator, set it to its lowest power and played it around the entrance to Carole's vagina while I licked at her clit which was a good bit larger than mine. She gave a little cry and clutched hard at the duvet. With my free hand I reached down between my legs to play with my own pussy.

Carole's hips started to jerk and she was making tiny whimpering noises. I turned the vibrator to a higher pitch and licked her pearl harder. Her thighs quivered involuntarily as her hips jerked again and the air exploded from her lungs as she had a huge orgasm. As I withdrew the vibrator, thick white moisture trickled from her pussy and ran down to her perineum so I scooped it up with a finger and sucked it into my mouth. I knew that I was fairly close so I stroked my own pussy with the vibrator, felt my whole body tense and flush and came a few minutes later, crying out as I did so.

Carole held me close and kissed my mouth. "That was certainly worth waiting all these years for," she said, "I always suspected that there was true passion hidden under that shy exterior of yours. I've never forgotten those couple of nights when we were teens. I never came again like that second night, not until now."

"That night's always been one of my top memories," I told her, "it was the night that confirmed I'm gay. I've had a few affairs but none ever matched that time or tonight. I guess that subconsciously I've been waiting for you."

I slipped two fingers into her again and then brought them to my nose to sniff. "God, Carole, but you do smell good."

With a grin she penetrated herself with a finger until it was thick with moisture then smelled it. "You're right, Sarah. Here." She put the finger to my mouth so that I could suck it clean. "Just a little reminder of our long-ago years." I did the same and we spent several minutes soaking our fingers with come and letting one another lick and suck each finger clean. When we finished, Carole pulled me tight against her and kissed me fiercely, tongue exploring my mouth. She tasted strongly of pussy and I suppose my lips and tongue were the same. We made love a couple more times until we were exhausted then we slept.

That night we slept the way the two teenagers we used to be had slept, my back to Carole and her spooning me. The sole difference was that instead of cupping my boob, Carole cupped my pussy, her middle finger just inside my cleft, and we were still like that when I awoke in the morning. We must have been extremely lively the previous night for my bedroom seemed to reek of pussy and sex. I was already wet so I put my hand over Carole's and rubbed myself hard against her finger.

I felt Carole's grip tighten up and she whispered in my ear: "Nothing like an early start... Finish yourself off, Sarah and then you can give my kitty a morning treat." So that's exactly what I did and we both started the day with a massive orgasm. I think I went to work that morning with a big, silly grin on my face and I'm sure fellow commuters and colleagues were thinking: There goes a girl who's just been thoroughly shagged.

Mid-2015

Carole had moved in with me... well, sort of... Sorry that sounds vague. It all depended on her working patterns. She would stay with me but if she had to work an early or late shift, even once in a while a night shift, she'd stay in her flat so as not to disturb me unnecessarily. And for a short while, everything was great. I was so happy with Carole and I'm sure she was with me.

One Monday morning she packed a small bag before getting ready for work. "We've got a fairly large and important project on," she told me, "I'll be working some odd hours so I'll stay in my flat for three or four days."

As this wasn't unusual I said something like 'okay' and we kissed before setting off to our various jobs. It was a couple of days later that I received a worrying call from Susie.

"Is Carole there with you, Sarah?"

"No, I thought she was at work." I explained about Carole staying at her flat for a few days.

"She's not been into work today, hasn't called in sick, and there's been no answer from her flat when we've tried that."

"Meet me there, Susie. I've got a key to get in. Carole may be sick or had an accident, anything..."

* * * * *

We found Carole lying unconscious on the sitting-room floor. Susie, who was trained in first aid, knelt beside her, turned her into the recovery position and checked pulse and breathing. I just stood there, sick with worry and feeling useless. "She's alive, Sarah," Susie said, "Call for an ambulance."

Two paramedics turned up within about fifteen minutes. One started work on Carole while the other, a tall, gangling young man, made notes on a clip-board including our details. "How much has she had to drink?" he asked.

Susie and I looked at each other and I said: "What?"

He regarded me as if I were dozy. "Alcohol... booze... How much has she had?"

"She doesn't drink," I told him indignantly.

The two men looked at each other and shrugged. "Okay, Miss, if you say so," said the elder of the two, "We'll get her to the nearest A&E Unit."

"Can I come with her in the ambulance?"

"You a relative, Miss?"

"No. A friend."

"Sorry, we're only permitted to take relatives."

"It's okay, Sarah," Susie told me, "We'll follow on in my car."

We reached Accident & Emergency in time to see Carole being taken into an adjacent treatment room.

* * * * *

Much later a middle-aged doctor came out from the treatment room and having looked at the clipboard in his hand, glanced from Susie to me. "I'm Doctor Beale. Is one of you Sarah Rackham?"

I put up my hand.

"Are you related to the patient?"

"Not really," I admitted, "I'm a friend... no, that's not quite right. I'm her girlfriend."

"Strictly speaking, I should only deal with a family member," he said.

"I appreciate that, doctor," I said, "I thought I'd wait until tomorrow before contacting them. Her mother... see, they don't get on very well and I don't want to upset her father and sisters unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Hmmm, I suppose it's not absolutely necessary right now so I'll bend the rules a bit. You told the paramedics that Ms Vernon doesn't drink."

"That's right."

The doctor looked at the clipboard again and then peered at me over the top of rimless glasses. "I'm sorry to tell you that blood tests showed her as being about four times the drink/drive limit. Now at the moment she's out of any danger. We've pumped her out and we'll keep her here overnight. After that..."

I briefly felt sick and it must have showed in my face for Susie took and held my hand. I took several deep breaths until I felt able to speak. "She's a recovering alcoholic," I said, "She's been dry for almost a year."

He sat down beside me. "It looks as if she's had a really bad relapse. And if she's been dry for a year it's likely the drink hit her harder than it might otherwise have done. Probably gulped it straight down in desperation." (Then I remembered how she used to gulp her drinks down when we were kids. Was that an indication of things to come?) The doctor continued: "Does she take any medication or any other form of treatment?"

"I don't think she takes any medication. She does go to AA meetings." I had a thought. "Doctor, what about her going into rehab?"

"I'm not so sure about that," he told me, "a lot of my colleagues might think it's a good idea but I've got reservations. I have a friend who's on the medical team in a rehab clinic. He says that a very high proportion of patients lapse on their first day out of rehab—many of them have spent their whole month or two planning their first fix when they're discharged. Regardless of the addiction, for rehab to work the patient has to really want it to and they have to work even harder once they're released. In short, rehab's an expensive way of finding out an addict's not ready to get well. Now it's a lot to ask but will you be able to look out for her when she's discharged in the morning?"

I nodded. "Of course I will. Can I see her? Can I stay with her?"

Doctor Beale nodded. "I'll fix it with the nurses, tell them it's okay. We've put her into a small single room. She seems to be quiet enough but we have had addicts causing disruption in the main wards which isn't good for the other patients."

I turned to Susie. "Thanks for being with me, Susie. You'd better get home now so Joanna doesn't start worrying. I'll let you know what's happening." She nodded, we hugged, and then she was gone. Carole was sleeping naturally when I went to her bedside. She was hooked up to a drip, to rehydrate her I was told. The duty nurse, a kindly older woman, got me an armchair with blanket and pillow and I stayed the night, holding Carole's hand.

Carole woke up about six in the morning and looked at her surroundings in apparent astonishment, then at the drip in her arm, before turning to me. "Sarah, it is you... Am I in hospital?"

"Yes, ever since Susie and I found you unconscious yesterday evening."

"And you've stayed with me."

"All night."

Carole started to weep silently. "I've had a really bad slip, haven't I?"

I nodded.

"Oh God, Sarah, I'm so sorry. I found a bottle in the flat I'd hidden and forgotten about and I couldn't help myself. I promise you it's the last time. I promise faithfully that I'll never touch another drop of alcohol in my life."

I was to wish that I had a hundred pounds for every time that particular promise was made.

* * * * *

Carole came to live with me permanently after the hospital episode but now she'd fallen off the wagon she didn't stop drinking. It wasn't too bad if she just had some wine or sherry but things could become ugly if she drank spirits, usually vodka and probably under the misapprehension it was odourless. I very quickly came to recognise the signs when she had had a drink. She didn't need to be flat out on the floor with an empty bottle clutched in one hand, although that did happen several times. It was usually more subtle than that. There was something about the eyes, the face, a change in the sound of her voice.

Have you ever seen the Spencer Tracy version of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde? Unlike most film versions of the story, Tracy didn't turn into a hideous caricature of a human being, all hair and fangs and claws. His transformation was achieved by a very understated use of make-up, a little shadowing round the eyes and cheekbones together with odd grimaces and a cunning stare. His skill as an actor was sufficient to give a hint of the psychotic alter ego within. He was still recognisably Spencer Tracy but with something slightly off-whack about him. Well, that's the way it was with Carole when she'd had a drink—Jekyll and Hyde, recognisably Carole but with something slightly off-whack.

At times it could have been funny if it hadn't been so tragic. Once I found her flat out on her back, naked, with an empty bottle beside her. She looked at me and said: "If you think I've been drinking, you're a fucking idiot."

Carole was able to function okay, at least in the beginning, holding down her job although it was getting tough on poor Susie trying her best to make things easy for her friend, covering for her when necessary.

I learned very quickly to walk on eggshells. I suppose I could have ended the relationship but I was hooked on her and when you love someone so much it's not easy just to throw it away regardless of circumstances. In the days when Carole hadn't taken a drink she was as lovely as always. She could often go a week or two without touching a drop and then go on a several-day bender. I lived in hope that with my love and help she'd get back on the path to sobriety. And Carole was abusive when drunk, not physically but in foul and vicious tirades she would launch at me, always without reason. Often the next day she would express puzzlement at my quiet misery, claiming to know nothing of her bad behaviour.