Hoff and Hols, a Romance Ch. 09

Cold, dark January mornings are hardly the most cheerful of times, but the morning after my Skype tryst with AK was a low point, even for that time of the year. Suddenly it all seemed too much: Papa's death; Mama's indifference; losing a home; not being able to be with Mother Emma; AK marrying Cris. It was as though I was always the one acted upon, never the actor! As I walked to early morning prayer before breakfast it came to me - I had to stop the pity party before I consumed myself; first with self-pity and then self-loathing.

To live was to choose. I might not make the right choices, but it seemed to me that in refusing to make any, and somehow hoping life would work out, I was leaving myself open to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. What did I want? Aye, there was the rub!

As ever. Communion calmed my soul, and a swift breakfast in Coll Hall marked the entrance to another term. It was one when time passed as though it were going out of fashion.

In terms of my dilemma, what hit me was that where I did act - that is with my work - I did well. My college exams were all first-class and there were some commendations - and not from Emma, either. There I felt in charge. The Hebrew and the Greek were going well, and my tutors said I had a real talent for theological reflection on the New Testament; I got straight As for my work on the Epistles of St John. Lisa, my tutorial partner, was a great source of moral support, and she and I became firm friends, helping each other with the essays, but also working together on the Saturday night missions in town. In all of these areas, I was active, I did things - and they worked.

But what of my personal life? Well that term was so full of work that there was little time for it. AK and I kept up a steady stream of emails and texts, and I rejoiced as her life expanded: her training was going well; so were arrangements for the wedding. I was delighted to be asked to be a bridesmaid and accepted with alacrity. AK, as ever, was an example on all fronts: she got on with her career; but she also pushed on with her personal life. I delighted at the photos she sent of her toned body as she worked out at the gym every day. She was, it seemed to me, doing the impossible, becoming even more gorgeous.

But there was the rub! Or rather there it wasn't. Much though I should like to have repeated the Skype sex, I told her I couldn't. I wanted to be with her. I could not be with her. Move on? But I did not want to move on. Could I redefine our relationship? Perhaps, if I had had the slightest idea of how to do it; but I didn't.

Chloe and I remained friends, and we would meet regularly for coffee and chat. But again, I had no idea how I might redefine that relationship - even if she had wished me to.

The same was true with Mother Emma.

We would have coffee after Morning Service, and we would have a drink after Evening Service, and once a week she and I would have dinner. Sometimes twice a week, quite often on Sunday if Lady Ffitch was at the North Parade house, which was being prepared for Easter. Lady Ffitch and I got on well, and I found myself looking forward to the move. But Emma and me?

As the long dull days of an Oxford winter gave way to the brighter spring evenings, I took to walking down by the Isis once or twice a week. It was on one such walk that I bumped into a woman who cut the Gordian knot for me.

One of the problems about being gay and a Christian, at least then (and still to some extent now) is that it is not something you feel you can talk about. People have decided and firm views: conservatives and evangelicals, on the whole, take the line that it is sinful and should be discouraged, if not condemned; liberals take the other line. My problem, as ever, was that I saw both sides. I could see that, historically, and even in terms of the interpretation of Scripture, the conservatives had a point. Liberals, who agreed with me, seemed to do so on grounds to do with the church having to be "up to date"; but something in me asked where that might stop? And that left me paralysed. Until that walk along the river path.

I was, as was my habit, praying my Rosary as I walked, and as I turned a corner, almost bumped into a woman hurrying the other way. I recognised her; more surprisingly, she recognised me.

"I know you! Pixie Hoff, yes?"

"Yes, Professor Foot, I attend your lectures on Church history."

"One of the few who stay - which only partly explains why I know you. Emma Don and Edith Dawson, both tell me you show great promise. So, you pray whilst walking? Anything in particular?"

I felt myself blushing, and thanked her.

"Not to worry, this place is a meritocracy, and you are good. You will get noticed. But what's bothering you? Walk with me to the pub - tell me about it all!"

I had heard that Sarah Foot had a way with her - this was my first experience of it. I had not even told her that I had a problem, nor had I told her I was free; for all she knew I was on my way to meet my boyfriend; instead I was caught up in the whirlwind of Sarah Foot.

As we walked in the darkling evening, the shades gave me courage; anyway, she seemed the sort of woman who would get things out of you even if you thought you could hide them.

I told her about the problem of my inactivity - the perpetual pity-party of my emotional life. As we reached the pub, she opened the door and ushered me inside.

"Table over there. Chablis?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Call me Footy, everyone does, Pixie!"

Some common ground established, she came over with a bottle of Chablis and some nuts.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Oh I was going to grab ...."

"Right, menu here, and it's on me. "

As the waitress took our orders, I sipped the wine and looked at Footy while she made the order.

She was a striking figure. A mass of curly dark hair which seemed to rest on the top of her head as though it was going to blow away. Her orange-framed spectacles were her one concession to "fashion". For the rest she wore brown corduroy trousers with a thick, Scandinavian sweater and boots. Her hands never stopped moving. Having ordered for us, she turned to me.

"So, this AK is the love of your life, but she is marrying a man. What's your problem Pixie?"

The next thing I knew I had told her about that Skype sex!

"Understandable. What are you NOT telling me? Look Pixie, you and AK will, if you are clever about it, always be good friends; but you have not only you let her live her own life, but you also need to get one of your own!"

Golly: that was telling me! But somehow, what would have been offensive from anyone else, was okay from Footy. She knew almost nothing about me. She also, if I remembered aright, had an actual husband, so was not likely to be influenced in my favour by a shared sexuality.

The risotto was good, as she had said it was, and it gave me a few seconds respite.

"Well, I sort of could, but it's complicated!"

"Everything that is worthwhile is. I can see why the Skype sex both fascinated and repelled you, but there are plenty of gay women in Oxford, get out on the scene! Ask Emma or someone about it, not that Emma does any more."

I did a double take. Footy looked at me.

"Oh, that's it isn't it? You've fallen for Emma?"

I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. So I swallowed the last of the risotto and washed it down with some Chablis.

I confessed that she was right.

"Well, pardon my French, but what the bloody hell are you two doing?"

"Doing?" I asked, puzzled.

"Okay then, not doing. Why don't you two see whether you could have a relationship?"

I explained the details and the reasons, but Footy brushed them aside as though they were a poorly written undergraduate essay.

"Okay, where to start? She can tell the Dean you and she are in a relationship. You'd not be the first or the last couple like that - and it is not as though Emma is a renowned seductress. The Church stuff? Well I am a Church historian, and my considered verdict is that is crap."

Well, I thought, you could not say she held back. I was rather hoping I would have her as a tutor for my church history tutorials next term.

"Look, it's like the Catholics with their rubbish about celibate priests. Nowhere in Scripture does it say priests have to be celibate. For the first thousand years in the West they did not have to be they still don't in the Orthodox and your Church. They used to have to be men, now they don't, in your Church. Look Pixie, if women like you and Emma just go along with something you don't believe in, you are harming only yourselves? Why masturbate with AK on Skype when you can do it with Emma in person!"

I no doubt looked as shocked as I felt, and I looked around me to see if she was shocking anyone else.

"I can give you a reading list on lesbianism and Christianity, and one or two maybe references in St Paul apart, there is no prohibition on same sex couples for women - and even the man stuff is to do with Temple prostitutes and ideas of masculinity. You're a bright woman Pixie, get off your duff and do some bloody work. Hey, why not do it as your Final Year thesis?"

It all hit home. My head was ringing with all the bells she was pressing; the nails were hit so hard on the head they must have been suffering concussion.

"Now, that done, pudding?"

And with that, we moved on to discuss Oxford College politics and ecclesiastical gossip.

Footy paid the bill. I saw her texting. I think I was mildly shocked she did such things.

"Right, you, come with me!"

"Where?"

"Where I tell you!"

So, almost dragging me in her wake, Footy (who at five foot eleven was more than a foot taller and who strode like Aragorn in Lord of the Rings), led me to Coll. Waving a cheerful hello to the porters, she took me to staircase eight.

"But I live on twelve."

"Do you? Whoopy do. Come on!"

I followed her up, then realised who lived on staircase eight at the top.

Footy knocked on the door. Emma answered.

"Right, Emma, I am off. Nice to meet you Pixie. Now will you two chumps fix this, or do I have to bang your heads together, or whatever it is lesbians bang to get a good time?"

And with that, and swirl of her cape, she was gone!

"What?"

Emma looked at me.

"Let me in. She is probably waiting at the foot of the stairs!"

"Wine?"

"I have had too much already! A hot chocolate would be good."

"So, explain," she said, looking out of her window to the Quad. "She's just leaving!"

I explained - everything.

"You know, and respect my arguments, Pixie, I know you do," Emma said when I had paused to draw breath.

"I am sorry I told her, Emma."

"Oh don't worry, the KGB would have been Footy's alternative career choice, she can get things out of you that would usually require pincers."

"I respect and understand your arguments, Emma. But I don't accept them!"

There, finally, I had taken the initiative. I breathed deeply, fearing I had offended Emma.

"Well, I never said I accepted them, Pixie, but I don't want to drag you into a tempest!"

"Well, I don't want to threaten your career."

"Oh Pixie! I don't know. Are they really going to throw me out for loving you?"

"But you said you needed to be celibate."

"That's what the rules say if you are gay. But they also say no fornication, and if that one was followed to the letter there would be no priests."

"So, you mean?"

Emma leaned in and kissed me.

Pulling away she looked me in the eyes,

"I mean, Pixie Hoff, that I want you. No more bloody playing with yourself while AK watches - you are enough of a voyeur as it is. Now kiss me."

As her lips me mine for the first time, I felt butterflies in the pit of my stomach. Except for Chloe, in rather special circumstances, AK was the only woman I had ever kissed "with intent". Her lips were wet; I liked her taste.

"Will you look at us?" Emma said as she broke away to look at me. "We aren't even dressed for a first date, and heck, I'm nowhere near the shape of AK. Hope you don't mind what a friend of mine called 'mum bodies'?"

I looked at her. Was this really happening?

"Well, I am nowhere near the shape of AK, either, and how am I going to know about that body until I have been able to explore it?"

That made her laugh. One of the things I liked about Emma was she made me laugh, and I reciprocated.

She pulled me to her on the sofa where she had joined me; we kissed some more. Her hands felt good as she stroked my hair. As my lips opened, I felt her tongue tentative at first, then more confident. As her tongue played with mine, I felt a deep sigh run through me. I had wanted this for so long.

My right hand slid down from her hair: I felt her ear; I stroked it; I stroked her neck and, sliding the right strap of her dress off her shoulder, I continued down until I encountered her bra.

I began to slide the strap down, but she pulled back.

"Bedroom, now my love."

It made sense.

We went across to her bedroom, her half-undressed breast visible - and gorgeous.

"If I'd have known, I'd have worn a sexier bra."

I smiled.

"As I don't wear one, I don't care!"

"Oh, you naughty girl!" Emma giggled.

Lifting my arms and pulling my sweater up to reveal my demi-chemise, she said"

"So I see. I also see this!"

"This" was my nipples which I felt aching, swollen, wanting to be touched so badly that when she did caress them, I whimpered and pulled my chemise off myself so her hands could have freer access. Her fingers and thumbs played on my nipples and then, pushing me back onto the bed, Emma began to lick my breasts.

They may be small, but are they sensitive! As she did that and the shivers ran through me, I reached round to undo her bra. Somehow, she managed to get out of her dress as I managed to rid myself of my chemise. We fell back together in just our knickers. She sucked my nipples one after the other, her hand reaching between my thighs to feel my stickiness.

Emma looked down at me as she lay above me.

"You are so beautiful, Pixie, let's have no more rubbish about how unsexy you are."

She kissed me, her breasts squashing against mine, our nipples pressed together. Her hand had found its way into my knickers, and as her fingers brushed my wet cleft, I felt my back arch. Oh! How long had I wanted to feel her hand there.

I wriggled so we could each play, getting my hands inside her knickers to the thicket of hair there. AK and Chloe were both trimmed, as I was, but Emma, well she was all natural woman. I wanted to see her, but she pressed me back, her hands pulling my knickers off, with a little help from my raised backside.

"None of that, Pixie, we start as I mean to go on. We are equals; lovers, okay?"

At that moment whatever she had said would have been okay, as my hand had just reached her slit, my middle finger finding a clit bigger than what I was used to. At my touch, she moaned, grinding down on me.

"Have you tried this, love?" Emma said, as she moved us into a position where we could scissor.

I did not answer, my mind was exploding into little bursts of semi-orgasms: the feel of her hair against my smoothness; her lips squished against mine; and then the electric shocks ran to my core as our clits met. I looked into her eyes, then kissed her right breast. She pushed and manoeuvred us until she had us in a perfect position; then she pressed harder.

Inadvertently, I bit her nipple, which made her groan.

"Yes, again!"

So I did.

Her breasts were full and still firm, only the slightest, and sexiest, sag. I loved her nipples, pink and engorged. I sucked as we pressed into each other. Her hand gripped my backside, pulling me in so she could grind more effectively. She raised my head so we could kiss.

"Pixie, I love you!"

"I love you too Emma!"

And my final words were slurred by the feelings coursing through me. It was so exquisite and so powerful - so much so that she came too. We clung to each other, like two survivors from a shipwreck, falling back together on the bed.

I snuggled into her big breasts, feeling utterly content. As her hands stroked my hair, there was nowhere else on earth I wanted to be.

As we recovered from the intensity, she pulled me up so she could kiss me.

"My darling, know this if you want this to be a one-off, that is fine. You are young, too young to settle for one older woman, especially in a situation as complicated as this could get. That, my love, is the real reason I held off. I am not a predator."

I kissed her lips, savouring the taste, and I looked deep into her eyes.

"You know what, Emma, all my life I have been a good girl, and I thought that meant not taking the initiative and being what others needed me to be. I have agency, Emma, and I am exercising it: if the Dean has a problem, we can deal with it; if the Church does, ditto; if anyone else does, tough; but you are my choice."

"That is so sweet, Pixie, but don't rush in."

"I have spent my short life not rushing in. I don't know what age you have to be to make a choice. I know I have only been here half a year, but come on Emma, how many freshers do you know who have had as little sex as me?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised Pixie!"

"Really?"

"Yes, my love. I agree with your point, you are not one to sleep around and never will be, but you know there are a lot of young women who want a partner and can't get one. Don't get me wrong, if they just wanted to have sex, maybe they could, but on someone else's terms. Men and women see these things differently. But, yes, you are a good girl, and I just don't want you to pass up others for me."

I looked at her and bit her nose softly.

"Silly billy. At some point, as AK has, we all pass up others for someone. I am just doing it for you. And by the way," I added, leaning in to kiss her breasts and then down to her tummy, "I rather like this mum bod."

And with that I shut her up by diving into her fur and feasting on her wetness.

She came a second time, and then pulled me up so I rested on her tummy.

"I was not going to let you do that, but you took another initiative, didn't you?"

"If by that you are saying you're worried that I am going to go all submissive on you, forget it! We can play that, but this is for real Emma. I love you, we have so much to explore ...!"

And with that, I found my face in the pillow as she scooted down to where she could lick my pussy. I was not the only one taking initiatives.

Her tongue felt so good there sending little electric shocks to my core. I was so sensitised from our scissoring that I kept feeling little spasms. She gripped my arse tight as she licked and flicked my clitoris, and then she sent me over the edge.

As I calmed down, she moved back up.

"There, you minx! You staying the night and doing the walk of shame in the morning? We need to be up for 7:15 to do the 8 o'clock!"

"In which case, why don't I stay? You must have a clean pair of knickers I could borrow?"

So I did stay.

Rising to wakefulness in her arms, I reflected that cool, light spring mornings were the most cheerful of times.