Irresistible Attraction

Chapter One

(October 2001, Lancashire)

Lorna was early into her third and final year of a mathematics degree and would soon be celebrating her twenty-first birthday. Her chosen subject suited her down to the ground and she was on course to get first class honours. Indeed everything in her life so far had been smooth as silk.

Yet suddenly here she was, knee-deep in a quandary.

Up until yesterday she'd firmly believed that she was straight. Okay, she had frequently admired other females, but always in an envious sort of a way. Being a blue-eyed blonde she liked to see green and brown eyes, amber, hazel or grey, wishing hers were a match. And she often wished that her hair was a bit longer or shorter, black or blue, bright red, light- or dark-brown or auburn. Appearances mattered to her as much as they mattered to everyone else.

And the possibilities were endless.

Admiration wasn't same-sex attraction, however, not by a long chalk.

The existence of same-sex attraction had never occurred to Lorna until she arrived here at university, ready for the joys of Freshers' Week. If asked as a sixth-former she would have firmly asserted there were no lesbians in her school. Yes, she would have admitted "women who have sex with women" did exist, but not in her alma mater. No way.

But then she found herself in a new environment; one where lesbians really were out loud and proud.

Perhaps her uni was exceptional but the societies were adept making themselves known everywhere. There in the Great Hall, waiting for inquisitive freshers, LGBT had a very prominent stand. So too did the Lesbians' Society, which also had "recruiters" all over campus, vigorously and humorously touting for new members.

What was that: "humorously"? Put it like this: those girls weren't at all backwards in coming forwards; any sort of rejection only encouraged them.

Lorna had easily resisted all the other recruiting approaches but felt obliged to sign up with the Girls' Society when it was created (at the start of her second year, by a young lady who strongly resembled Siouxie Sioux). Girls' Society meetings were timed not to clash with those of LGBT and the Lesbians' Society. And that particular society genuinely did represent female interests, even if a lot of attendees did seem to be into same-sex experiences.

In other words Lorna's new environment opened her eyes and continued to keep them open. Back as a schoolgirl she'd heard or read somewhere that lesbians accounted for less than one per cent of the world's female population. At the time she had taken that "fact" as gospel and supposed it explained why her sixth form was a gay-free zone. Early into Freshers' Week her preconceptions took a big sea change. One per cent! Here at this trusty learning establishment it had to be more like ten.

And that wasn't counting all the bi-curious girls.

Badges saying LUG or BUG were being handed out like candy.

Not knowing what the initials meant but shrewd enough to avoid LUG, Lorna had accepted BUG. And she'd had a zillion indecent girl-on-girl proposals within an hour of pinning it to her lapel.

Badge-less again, she had reconsidered her old schoolmates. Just how many secret pairs of "special friends" had there really been? Was it five or six? Or was it more? Her new suspicion was that those friendships were cover-ups. And the reality was that those involved had been straining at the leash, all anxious to be away from home and free to be out of the closet at last.

Yes, anonymity breeding freedom, and all that.

What would the percentage truly have been back at school? Six all-female couples would probably be five per cent. And that felt right. It felt in-line with what she saw at university, as an outsider looking in; about half of the obvious "women who have sex with women" were paired off while the rest played the field.

So ten per cent lesbians, half of them attached.

Plus Christ only knew how many bi-curious . . .

Like wow! As a mathematician the stats rocked her.

Although interested in all the goings-on Lorna had never been tempted. By Freshers' Week she'd had a generous selection of male lovers and, during her first year at uni, she had at least doubled her tally. Then, eight months ago, she'd met Matt.

Matthew stood two inches over six feet tall. He was just about as broad across his shoulders. A blind woman would have instantly identified him as a rugby player. And she would have been correct: Matt seemed to alternate between the university's first and second team. When he played for the seconds he was captain. Whenever the firsts had a loss or two, they called him in.

Hero-worshipping her lover from the side of some pitch or other was a weekly occurrence. Whichever team he represented Matt was always the alpha male. In fact the only reason he wasn't captain of the firsts was that he kept getting sent off for "overdue aggression".

Strange that; as a second string leader he could control himself; as a first team call-up he could not.

Nowt as queer as folk though, was there?

Normally Lorna and Matt shared the same bed three or four times a week. During the recent summer break they'd lived together for four whole weeks, spending a lusty fortnight "house minding" while her parents were away in Fuerteventura, and then yet another two weeks minding his parents' place while they were in Florida.

What an experience that had been! The "L" word had never been mentioned but they'd become closer than ever. And their relationship had always been tender. In spite of his behaviour on the rugby pitch, aggression was never an issue between them. Well, if anyone was overly aggressive it had been her, making urgent demands out of nowhere in the early hours . . . and never taking no for an answer.

In summary everything had been going swimmingly. Her first serious boyfriend honoured and obeyed her and they regularly reached the very heights of rapture. Better still, they could reach those heights in union, several times a night.

What more could a girl ask for . . . apart from wedding bells and two or three babies?

But then came yesterday, and everything changed.

*****

They'd spent the previous night in Lorna's bed and walked to uni together, calling in at a newsagent's shop as they passed. And, while she was dithering over the glossy mags, a would-be robber came in, brandishing an enormous knife and demanding money.

Matt reacted by grabbing her arm and pulling her deeper into the shop, away from confrontation, into a small group of other terrified customers. Fully expecting him to then react like he usually would on a rugby pitch, she went willingly enough.

He'll see me safe and sound and then he'll crush the ugly fat bastard, she'd thought.

And Matt could have, she was certain of that. The robber was large, fifteen stones or more, but out of his tree. Anybody could see that he was drugged up to the eyeballs. She'd regularly seen Matt smash guys his size, and deadly sober ones at that. Hell, she'd regularly seen him take on two, three or four opponents single-handedly. And he always won . . . if not always in the full opinion of the card-waving referee.

But not that time. That time he kept hold of Lorna's arm and cowered with everyone else, as far away from the action as could be.

Well, not absolutely everyone else . . .

The fellow-student she now knew to be Heather Hunter was no coward. Neither was Mr Khan behind the counter, on the receiving end of vile threats and the vicious slash of that terrifying blade.

Acting while others shivered and quite possibly crapped themselves, Heather put down her purchases almost routinely then attacked the robber from his blind side, karate-chopping him, slamming his wrist onto the counter, and hard at that, instantly disarming him in the process.

Knifeless, roaring foul insults, he charged at her. She threw him over a rack of papers and magazines.

Then, while Matt quaked and quivered like a scared little boy, Heather calmly advised the robber to go before she seriously hurt him.

Heather was half the robber's size. Tall, beautiful and athletic as she was, he must have outweighed her by five or more stones. Yet she stood firm as a rock and he was the one visibly shaking, although why was a question, wasn't it? Maybe it was anger, fear or some reaction to the muck in his system.

Whatever it was, he charged again.

And Heather dropped him like a stone with one single punch.

Chapter Two

In the aftermath Lorna couldn't take her eyes off Heather. She was dressed like any other student but had something about her; maybe it was the mane of jet-black hair which flowed down her back almost as far as her super-sexy bum. Or maybe it was her continuing calmness. The other customers started to squawk like worried hens but she went behind the counter and proficiently tended to the bloody cut on Mr Khan's arm.

Coolness personified, she told Matt to ring for police and an ambulance as she applied bandages.

Within seconds, while Matt was still making his call, Mr Khan's wife appeared on the scene. She gave Heather her undying thanks and (not realizing she was doing it) Lorna flashed the newcomer a glare of sheer hatred.

Instantly besotted or what! How crazy a jealous reaction was that!!

Crazy or not, oblivious or not, it took Lorna a minute or two to compose herself.

'You just made Lara Croft look like a wimp,' she finally told Heather, unable to come up with a better compliment. 'And I think you've broken this bastard's neck.'

Then the police arrived, closely followed by the ambulance. The witnesses were told statements were needed before they would be free to go. And not to worry, the so-and-so's neck was intact, unlike his wrist, dislocated elbow and severe concussion.

In her statement Lorna couldn't laud Heather highly enough. She called her Amazonian, supreme and simply the best. She also made reference to her dad's collection of old kung fu videos, making several very favourable comparisons between Heather and Bruce Lee.

'Look at the size of her,' she said. 'And look at the state of him. He's petrified of her.'

That'd made her personal police officer chuckle. Initially the first thing the would-be-robber had asked for was a lawyer. Perhaps that was instinctive; maybe he'd been hard-coded into asking for a lawyer if (or whenever) banged to rights. But then, as Heather was escorted past him, on her way to the station to give her version of events, he'd cringed and cowered.

'Keep her away from me,' he'd squealed. 'Please, keep her away.'

Drug-crazed or not, he wasn't entirely stupid.

What a woman was Heather!

Matt had brooded on their resumed walk onto campus. She had assumed he was suffering from mild shock and kissed him chastely when they came to the parting of their ways (meaning only to different lecture rooms, for totally different courses).

But when they'd met up for lunch in the refectory the unexpected had occurred. Without realizing what she was doing, fired with enthusiasm, Lorna had extolled Heather again and again. She quite possibly might have gone on about her over the top.

Suddenly Matt exploded.

'You sound like a fucking lezzie,' he said. 'Listen to yourself! You're as good as on your back, opening your legs for her.'

Up until that moment it hadn't been sexual. Leastways it hadn't inside Lorna's head. Consequently her reaction was outraged. Harsh words were exchanged. He insisted on referring to "lesbian tendencies" while she insisted on calling him a wimp.

'You're the big, hard guy on the rugby pitch,' she snapped. 'But where were you this morning, when it really mattered?'

'I was looking after you. That nutter had a knife. He could have fatally stabbed all of us.'

'That's exactly my point.'

'What do you mean?'

'The knife didn't stop Heather. She's not yellow.'

'I don't believe you said that.'

'And I don't believe that you hid behind me when it was time to step up to the plate.'

'I've never hidden behind anyone.'

'Go look in a mirror; try to convince yourself of that. And good luck; you'll need it.'

That parting was not a happy one. Under normal circumstances they were due to be overnighting at Matt's, but he said he would be "having a drink with the lads" after rugby training, possibly a game of cards too. She told him he could drink and card the night away as far as she was concerned.

When asked what she was doing for lunch next day she told him to fuck off.

*****

That afternoon's lectures/tutorials had crawled by, Lorna mentally snarling at Matt in-between drooling over images of Heather. And yes, she'd spent ages in introspection. She hadn't a gay bone in her, did she? No way could she fancy a fellow female. Extensive admiration for a superhero was very different to being sexually attracted, wasn't it?

Well . . . wasn't it?

Like so many other denizens of the Union Bar, Heather was open about her preferences. Or so Lorna assumed. Although by no means an expert she was, in common with everyone else who drank there, aware of the (geographically misnamed) "Lesbians' Corner". Heather could be found on there as often as not.

Therefore Heather was open to same-sex approaches.

QED . . . but what to do about it?

A girl who wasn't sexually attracted would have finished her academic day and gone home. Instead of doing that Lorna went straight to The Union, very much like not passing Go at Monopoly. As it turned out a lot of others had been inspired by the same thought.

Long before she knew her name, Lorna had noticed Heather. She'd seen her about too many times to mention. Yes, she'd seen her in her natural habitat, usually with some lucky girl or other, occasionally with a guy. And she'd seen her elsewhere . . . out on the town with some girl or other, sometimes with a guy.

Heather was . . . it almost went without saying . . . in demand.

And who gave one shit if she was a lezzie? The need to get to know her was out of control.

Screw conventions. Lorna simply had to get to know her . . . at any cost.

Yes, she'd do anything to be her friend; absolutely anything.

When Heather arrived in The Union she was dogged by a dozen reporters, meaning just a fraction of the hordes camped outside Main Building. Looking flustered for once, she was rescued by that older barmaid who held a torch for her. Not that Lorna objected.

Well, not much!

Christ, that older barmaid was nearly as effective as the girl herself. Without needing to resort to kung fu she soon sent a swarm of Fleet Street's finest running for the hills.

And she didn't linger for a reward.

(One she'd doubtless had ten times before!)

Reporters vanquished, Heather headed for her favourite destination: a stylish bar-top equipped with a lot of means of depositing pints of Marston's. Bigging herself up into shamelessness, Lorna made her move to intercept.

'Hi,' she began, 'remember me?'

Heather's smile eclipsed the sun. So too did her instant reply. 'How could I ever forget?'

For a brief snatch Lorna was in Heaven. She was chatting amiably with her divinity and seemed to be the subject of genuine interest. Hell, Heather was drink-less and wasn't even trying to edge off to buy a pint.

But then a lesbian heavyweight ruined everything, arriving like a grandiose cruise-liner coming back to home port, telling Heather she had the means to get her past "the monsters of the press".

Lorna now knew the heavyweight was called Maxi and was thirty-something: a veteran of Greenham Common and at least a thousand other major protests, demos and marches. And, co-incidentally, one of the girls she'd seen Heather out on the town with, and more than just once.

At the time Lorna had been awed by the woman's dominant presence and beat a hasty retreat.

But not before getting a hint of a drinks date from Heather.

Awed she might have been, but cowardly never.

Chapter Three

During her first month "seeing Matt" Lorna had carried on much as normal, dating whoever asked and took her fancy. But, when he kept coming back for more and more, she'd bitten the bullet, dropping all other guys and devoting her favours solely to him. Truth be told that wasn't such a major sacrifice; the sex they had together was enough for her . . . especially when she went on top.

(Like sixty per cent of the time, tee-hee!)

By now it'd been half a year of being faithful and hardly ever even looking at anyone else. And to cap it all, she hadn't played with herself since God was a lad.

Until that night: last night, the one after the scariest and most impressive experience of her existence.

Faithfulness was, according to Lorna's mum, essential in a relationship. Mum always combined it with trust. 'Your dad and I trust each other and we will never stray,' she would say. 'Faith and trust are the only foundations of a solid marriage.'

Lorna believed her mum. She trusted her dad, too. They were true rocks of stability in a fast-decaying world filled with liars and cheats.

But that night she cheated . . . and big-time.

Alone in her bed, amply fortified by a bottle and a half of Merlot, she let her fingers wander here, there and just simply everywhere. Yes, here, there and everywhere. And she never wasted even one of her fantasies on Matt or any other of his macho boozy, card-playing mates.

Instead she fantasised about Heather.

Wantonly fantasizing like that was easy and difficult at the same time. Same-sex-wise Lorna really was an innocent abroad. Okay, she had seen videos and read stories so she had a general idea . . . meaning fingers and tongues and lots of head. But she struggled to pigeonhole Heather. Back there in Mr Khan's shop she had been as manly as manly could be . . . whilst still sexy as fuck.

But Maxi had seemed to take control from her.

That confused Lorna. Before, when she'd seen the two of them out together, they had seemed to be equals. Did some undercurrent exist; one she'd been incapable of spotting? Or was she jumping to conclusions?

Matt wasn't his usual self just then. Was it the same situation with Heather?

Or was Heather really in Maxi's thrall?

In Lorna's (slowly, very sensually masturbating) opinion, Maxi was scary yet sexy in a weird sort of a way. But she didn't feature in any of her fantasies. No, her fantasies were centred on one person.

Fingers applying external pressure to her clit, Lorna felt no guilt whatsoever. She'd already done the deal with herself: she would do anything and everything it took to be Heather's friend, and why not? If she was any judge of appearances the girls in those videos all enjoyed a bit of same-sex.

No, they all seemed to enjoy it enormously.

And after all, she was here at uni to learn, wasn't she?

Last night, utterly, totally guilt-free, Lorna had climaxed, Matthew nowhere to be seen, her head full of visions of Heather . . . Heather smiling fetchingly. . . Heather in The Union, politely being kept from the bar . . . Heather crushing hapless robbers . . . Heather right there and on top of her, making the most wonderful love . . .

Heather, supreme to begin with, then getting better and better with every second glance . . .

Lorna's first orgasm was up there with the very best. The second made it seem like nothing at all.

And still she went on and on, her thoughts avoiding men altogether . . . and avoiding other girls too.

She must have jilled for over two hours and she focused on Heather every second of the way.

Eventually, finally cumming like a steam train . . . no, make that the Flying Scotsman . . . she shrieked before flopping, her heart beating irregularly yet hard before at last relaxing, sighing, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

'Fuck, yes,' her mouth said as the tide of slumber carried her off.

And guess what? Heather was there on the other side, waiting for her in the land of dreams.