Hoff and Hols, a Romance Ch. 01

I blame it in the alphabet. Holst was the next name on the Register after Hoff, and the school liked to pair us up alphabetically, which was how Cynthia Jessie Hoff came to be rooming with Anne Katherine Holst, or AK as I always called her. It's hard to imagine any other circumstances in which a small, dark, decidedly unsporty squirt like myself, would have become best friends with the tall blonde, and decidedly sporty AK; I owe the alphabet thanks - which I have tried to replay by my use of it. But maybe it's time to pay a tribute to AK with it?

We met at the age of eleven at St Guthlac's Church of England boarding school. Her papa was something important in the diplomatic service, mine was a rural vicar (which meant I got whatever the Public-School equivalent of "mate's rates" were); her Mama was almost as big a snob as mine; but from minute one of day one, we just clicked.

"Hoff, Holst, room 9, Ravensleigh House, off you pop!" Miss Russell, our form mistress and head of lower school, was one of those "jolly hockey sticks" single ladies who were the backbone of Girls' Public Schools, and she waved us on our way. One of the senior girls showed us to the door, a gloomy neo-Gothic creation of the Tractarian era. AK had looked at me, and I had looked at her. As the senior girl showed us in and shut the door, AK turned to me:

"As I am Holst, you must be Hoff. Bit of a squirt, aren't you? I'm having the bed nearest the window, okay?"

"Well, as we are roomies, you can call me Pixie, everyone else always does."

"That'd be because you're a squirt, would it?" But there was a note of laughter in her voice, not unkindness.

"Guilty as charged, what do they call you, Uranus?"

"Only if they want their arses kicked. Anne Katherine!"

She shook my hand.

"Well I am calling you AK for short, as I am short!"

She giggled. We giggled a lot as it turned out.

We had a very similar sense of humour, found the same teachers repulsive, made the same jokes about them, and liked the same sort of things. We'd never have known if it hadn't been for being roomies.

The other girls called us Hoff and Hols, as in:

"Hoff's on her Hols", usually referring to the fact that I was off the sports' pitch while she dominated it.

"Pix," she asked me early on, "how come you are always ill on Wednesday afternoons?"

"Because the idea of organised sport makes me feel sick. The only good thing about it is watching you thrash the opposition on the hockey pitch."

That made AK smile, and she became something of a heroine of mine. When we got the chance to change roomies at the end of the year, we chose to stay together. AK was, unlike most of the sporty girls, bright with it. She was especially good on the science side, at which I was useless, while I shore in the Arts and Humanities, which rather bored her. We did our prep together, and in many ways taught each other. She made school fun, and lightened me up, while, as she admitted, I helped her keep her nose to the grindstone rather more than she would have been inclined to.

If AK led the way in sports and sciences, I found my little niche in the library, where, as Miss Russell put it, I spent "so much time, I might as well live there!" AK would pop in after practice and we'd do our prep. I guess, looking back, I had what we would later call "a pash" for her, even then. But of course, being good Anglican girls, we had no idea about such things then - we just loved each other's company.

It helped me with the other girls that AK was my best chum, and probably spared me bullying which might otherwise have come my way. It was okay for AK to poke fun at me, but if anyone else tried it, they got her "glare".

As we entered the sixth form, AK told me that she wanted to join the police service. A Careers talk from what she called a "rather dishy Mummy Cop", made an impression. I was never sure whether it was the policewoman, the uniform, or the opportunity to do good which influenced AK most, but she was a natural. Her grades, always good, improved as she was determined to get to Durham or Exeter.

"Why the fuck do you want to go to Oxford or Cambridge, squirt?"

"I don't, but I don't want to do Games more, and this is a good way out."

AK laughed.

It was the year we both came of age that things changed.

Anyone expecting stories of rampant schoolgirl lesbianism from this will be sadly disappointed. The school's Church ethos was strong, and the teachers seemed to have eyes in the back of their heads. We were allowed a twice-yearly dance with the boys of St Edmund's, and the chaperoning would, AK complained, have made a police surveillance operation look amateurish.

But the Christmas "do" of our final year saw a little relaxation. We were now all of age, and someone clearly thought it might be good for us all to at least be able to slow dance with the young men of St Edmund's. There was a general consensus that this was a good thing; I dissented.

"What's up Pix?" AK asked, seeing me looking glum, "afraid no one will want to dance with the titless wonder?"

I gave her my usual scowl. It was all very well for her, but she had developed what I thought of as the prefect womanly figure. I had not.

"Who the fuck calls me that?"

"Oh they all do, Pix, but they mean it affectionately."

"Colour me sceptical, that Amanda is a right cow, and just because her knockers look like they belong on one, doesn't mean she means no harm."

"Oooh, sore point - or two?" AK giggled.

"It's okay for you, Marilyn Monroe."

"Hey, I'll have you know I am several dress sizes smaller than her, and a bra size bigger!"

It was my turn to giggles. AK had the knack of making things okay.

"Well you are coming as my wing-woman, Pix, I am not going into the fray alone."

As a good friend should, I agreed - dreading it.

Mrs Fergusson vetted us all, vetoing several girls, including Amanda the awful, whose first attempt seemed to show most of her boobs and ample backside.

AK was, as usual, pitch perfect. She looked stunning in a red satin body-wrap dress, which whilst emphasising her gorgeous breasts, did not reveal too much, and which managed the same trick with her legs and arse.

"So, will it pass muster with the Dragon?" (As we called Fergie)

"It will, but don't expect the Crispins to stop at Uranus, it will be the mount of Venus they want."

We never tired of jokes based on "The Planets' Suite", and AK pirouetted.

"They should be so bloody lucky. What are you wearing, Squirt?"

"I have no bloody idea. How about a bag over my head and a burka?"

"Thought as much, that's why you are going in this," AK said, pulling a dress from her wardrobe and holding it up. "There, green will suit you. It's satin and the cowl neckline will conceal your lack of tits. The straps can be adjusted, and though it would be too short for me, on you it will be mid-thigh - deal? Oh, and by the way, I got these nice boots for you to go with it!"

I was flabbergasted and squeaked with delight.

"AK! You are a star!"

"Venus, the morning star, I hope, Squirt!"

I leapt up and hugged her.

It was hardly the first time we'd hugged, but this suddenly felt different. I could feel her nipple digging into me, and my own were hardening. I loved her perfume, and, for a moment, I just let my face rest in her cleavage. I felt her hand stroke my hair. Then it stopped.

"Squirt, we better get you ready!"

"Course, AK."

"Get 'em off then, I am going to make sure you look a treat."

Suddenly, undressing in front of her, something I had done a million times, felt different.

Slipping my dress off my shoulders and shimmying it down revealed that my nipples were swollen. AK saw and smiled.

"So you did like it too, Squirt?"

Blushing I admitted I had.

"Ever thought you might be a lezzer, Squirt?"

I blushed as I grabbed the dress and hastily put it on.

"Well, have you Pix?"

As I adjusted the straps I nodded.

"It's occurred to me, but can we call it gay? Lezzer is the sort of thing that cow Amanda calls me. But how the hell would I know in this nunnery?"

"Tell you what Pix, how about you change your knickers? I have a nice green thong here for you. "

"What's that got to do with me being gay?"

"Sod all, but I want a flash of your pussy - I like girls as well as boys."

"Bloody typical, greedy bitch!"

"Why settle for just one type of fun? Right, let me fix your hair and make up - no, I insist, you are bloody hopeless at it."

She was right - she usually was.

"There," she said as she got me to 'twirl', "you scrub up well for a Squirt. Go for it girl!"

So saying, we grabbed our bags and headed for the gym, which had been turned into a "Club night" venue.

"First time you've been in the place, Pix!"

AK laughed as she launched us into the fray.

I was not a fan of club "music", neither was I fond of dancing. Some people have two left feet, I have two club feet! But I do like people watching, and, cradling my glass of cheap red wine, I settled back to watch.

It was the first time I became aware that we were now women. It was amazing to see the transformation that the outfits we were wearing (or in some cases, barely wearing) had wrought in us. We were all of age, but the Crispins and the Quentins weren't the only ones checking out AK; I saw some of the St Edmund's Masters looking at her with ill-concealed lust. Suddenly I didn't like it. It was as though she was "my AK" and I didn't want those slimy men touching her. With a shiver, I realised I sort of didn't want anyone to touch her - except me. Was this, I wondered with a shock, jealousy?

As she did a slow dance with Crispin, I saw his hand on her arse and felt angry. How dare he treat her like this? Oh, get a grip Pixie, I thought to myself. The music, the wine, the whatever it was, just get over it. But try as I might, I seemed not to.

Some smelly oik asked me to dance, I smiled, sweetly, I hoped, but decline the honour.

Fergie came up to me.

"Not dancing Hoff? Didn't think it was your sort of thing."

"Why not, Miss?" I asked above the noise,

"Because you're one of us, Hoff?"

"Us, Miss?"

"Lesbian. Don't worry Hoff, I am not coming onto you, just letting you know I am a sympathetic ear if you need one. Hols is quite lovely, no wonder you are crushing on her."

"Am not so, Miss?" I protested, absurdly.

"You are, Hoff, you'd be a strange lesbian if you didn't. Is she interested? You are roomies after all."

"She may be, Miss."

"Well, best of luck, Hoff, come on, we can dance, give those legs of yours some exercise."

So I got my dance, with Fergie as it turned out.

"Now," said the DJ, "at the request of Miss Fergusson, we are ending with "the Tennessee waltz", so take your partners."

I made for the door, only to find AK in my way.

"Dance with me, Pixie."

I looked at her, those beautiful baby blues sparkling, her body with a sheen of sweat, her hair a blonde storm, and I wanted nothing else.

"Please, AK."

And she took me into her arms as the band started up, and she held me, and we waltzed, and I was in heaven. I never wanted the moment to end, and when the music stopped and she pulled me to her, I felt life could not get better.

"My place, Pix?"

We giggled, as "her place" was my place too.

As the evening broke up and we gathered whatever was left of our wits, she took my hand. I saw Fergie wink at me.

I hardly dared believe it.

But the moment we got back to our room, she pushed me against the wall and kissed me. My lips parted eagerly as her tongue began to excavate my tonsils. The feelings were electric, it was as though I was on fire - but wet at the same time.

"I knew it," she said, taking a break, as her hand snaked under my dress to feel my thong. "You're drenched. You want me don't you Pix?"

"AK, yes, fuck, yes, I want you more than I have words to say."

Whatever I was going to say next was cut off as she renewed the excavation efforts. Her hands gripped my arse, and lifting me with ease, she carried me to her bed. Somehow my dress found itself on the floor, and as she pushed me onto the bed, her own followed suite. As she came towards me her bra was discarded, and pushing me back, she straddled my tummy, leaning forward so I could feel and kiss her breasts.

I had never wanted anything so much. As they swayed, my hands touched them with awe - and greed. Licking around her nipples, she moaned, pressing herself against my tummy to put pressure on her wet pussy, and my lips fastened on her right nipple while my hands fondled both breasts. The sensation of that swollen nipple between my lips send shocks to my core. The more I sucked, the more she pressed. I felt her wetness though her knickers. I was not the only one who was soaked.

As I felt her soft flesh yield to my ministrations, I wanted more.

I slide myself downwards, so her head and breasts were above me, and I pulled her wet knickers down, the strands of her essence like erotic spider's webs slowly breaking as I pulled. Between us we got one leg out, and that was enough. She pressed her wetness onto my face. Want! That was my one thought.

I had no idea what to do, but realised that when my nose had touched the tip of her v, she had moaned. My own tip was aching, so I assumed hers was too, and I brought my tongue to lick her there. She moaned and pressed down hard, riding my face. The feeling of intimacy, of oneness, were overwhelming. She pressed, moaning.

"Yes, fuck yes, Pix, more of that, fuck yessss!"

I obliged, my hands gripping her firm arse, pressing my face in. For some time she rode me and I pressed, licking and sucking whatever came to my lips. Then suddenly my face was soaked as she gushed her juices, shuddering and moaning.

"Oh, oh Pix, yess, fuckkk, yessss!"

Her warmth turning cool, I could still not bear to let her go, but finally, she slide off me and, pulling me up, she kissed me.

"I taste good, Pix! Where the fuck did you learn to do that? You look good with my cunt cream on your face. You suppose it is good for the skin?"

Even at that moment, she could make me laugh. So we kissed, her breasts pressing against mine, making me shiver.

"Yup, definitely a cunt-muncher, Pix. Now let me return the favour!"