Irresistible Attraction

*****

This morning Lorna had woken still guilt-free. Mentally unfaithful or not, she didn't give a fig for Matt. If her suspicions were remotely correct, he would be suffering from a mega hangover and (hopefully) he would have been fleeced at three-card brag or poker or whatever macho rugby nuts played.

And, as far as lunch was concerned, he could still eff off.

Deleting three texts from him without reading one word she smiled. She had better things to be doing this lunchtime; better things by far.

In a perfect world Heather would have been in the newsagents when Lorna stopped by on her way to university. Sadly, according to a bandaged Mr Khan, she'd already been and gone.

'I love Heather like a daughter,' he told Lorna. 'In my religion women have always been considered to be equal to men. She's not merely equal, she's far superior. Like Boudicca, except even tougher, no? Would the Romans have ever got ashore if she'd been there, waiting for them?'

Catching up with the warrior queen wasn't difficult. Lorna simply made sure she arrived in The Union at noon and loitered with intent until Heather arrived and ordered herself a Marston's. Only then did she pounce, insisting on paying for the promised drink.

Heather met her with raised eyebrows and the world's best smile. 'Okay,' she said, 'if you insist.'

After a little small talk, comparing diverse bits of home county Yorkshire . . . and marvelling over their mutual lack of dialect and accents . . . Heather got down to business. And she was brutally crude.

She was footloose and fancy-free. She was the last person Lorna should get involved with.

Mouth running away with her, Lorna confessed she'd as good as ditched her boyfriend.

'He says I have lesbian inclinations towards you,' she announced, 'and he may well be correct.'

Impressively reserved, Heather warned her off. 'I'm footloose and fancy-free,' she reiterated. 'I'm the last person you need to hook up with . . . especially as a first-timer.'

'What makes you think I'm a first-timer?'

'Call it gut instinct, but I'm right, aren't I?'

Only marginally deterred, Lorna asked what Heather's plans were for later.

'I'm counting on beers in here at four, a curry and an early night. And whatever you do, don't ask why I need an early night.'

Guessing it had to do with some woman or other, Lorna shrugged. 'I won't ask.'

'Thank you. But why do you want to know my movements?'

Lorna shrugged again. 'Maybe I'll still need to buy you another drink. Who knows?'

*****

What was that old film: The Longest Day? That afternoon was ten times longer. Lorna's impulses had been alternating like AC electricity, fifty times a second. Fervour and apprehension fluctuated in a blur of indecision. One instant she wanted to, the next she was heeding Heather's warning.

And what a saint the girl was to warn her in the first place! She openly admitted she was a sex-fiend with a "dance card" already fully pencilled-in. She'd clearly and transparently implied she was up for it while insisting she'd never be loyal.

'I'm here to learn and enjoy myself,' she had said. 'Commitments aren't on my agenda.' Then she had laughed. 'My dance card really is committed. And I guess it will always be.'

Recalling her BUG badge Lorna had chuckled. By then . . . two years in . . . she knew what it meant.

It meant: BI-CURIOUS UNTIL GRADUATION.

LUG, of course, meant LESBIAN UNTIL GRADUATION.

Her badge had stayed on her lapel less than one day. Heather . . . early into her second year . . . still proudly displayed her LUG declaration of independence.

Heather lived up to her label . . . obviously . . . even if she did once in a while screw men.

Lorna hadn't lived up to her label at all. Surely now was the time to make amends?

But what lay ahead: disappointment and heartbreak? Or was it jealousy and envy?

There again, life was a gamble, wasn't it? Any girl could declare undying love today and accidentally walk under a bus tomorrow.

Well, couldn't she?

Chapter Four

Right, here we are, back in the "present day" of Lancashire in the year 2001. And here Lorna is, still torn in indecision. Dr Jones ended the concluding tutorial of the day ten minutes early and, instead of dashing off to be somewhere much more important, stayed at the front of the room while his students flooded out hastily, before he could change his mind.

That is to say his students flooded out all apart from one.

'Lorna,' he said softly, waiting until the chatter of escaping undergraduates had faded, 'is everything okay?'

She raised a feeble laugh. 'I'm a bit baffled by a couple of your algorithms.'

'Nonsense, you understand them better than I do. There's something more, isn't there?'

Lorna hunched her shoulders and said nothing.

'So what is it,' Dr Jones persisted, 'trouble with that hunky boyfriend of yours?'

'Well,' she hedged, 'sort of . . .'

'He's not hurting you?'

'No! Well, only emotionally. And it's unintentional. He doesn't even know he's doing it.'

'Hmmm, why does that strike me as an answer straight from a soap opera?'

Lorna hunched her shoulders again and dropped all resistance. Dr Jones was very noticeably gay and sharp as a tack. Trying to mislead him would be a futile exercise.

'I've met someone else,' she said flatly. 'Matt knows that I have, and we've "had words".'

'And doesn't Matt want to go away?'

'I'm not absolutely sure, but I wish he would.'

'Would you really?'

'Yes. Well, at least for a day or two.'

'This "someone else" might not be a complete replacement, then?'

Recalling Heather's lunchtime words Lorna sighed. 'Who knows, not me.' Feeling heat rising in her cheeks, she enlarged. 'This is completely new. I don't really know what I'm getting into.'

Dr Jones's intuition was remarkable. 'Are you interested in a fellow female, by any chance?' he asked.

'Yes,' Lorna mumbled, 'you could say that.'

Her tutor drew in a deep breath. 'I'm not very well qualified to give advice when it comes to girl-on-girl relationships, and I don't want to preach. But you're seriously thinking about this, aren't you?'

'I've never been more serious about anything. And I can't think about anything apart from her.'

'I can see that in your eyes. So my worthless advice is to go for it. If it feels right, it is right, no?'

'That's what you would do, is it?'

'Personally my choices have always been iffy, to say the least. But, in my experience, there is nothing worse in life than a missed opportunity. Regrets haunt you for ever. Mistakes can be easily forgotten and written off to experience.'

*****

It was almost four o'clock. Lorna left her tutorial room and sprinted along the K Floor corridor much faster than Maurice Green. Hitting the service stairs at full tilt she soon reached D Floor and was at the bar in The Union for two minutes past the hour.

Three minutes before she'd said she "might" be there to meet Heather.

All be thanks to God (and her sprinting ability) she arrived there first. By the time her divinity got there she had two foaming pints of Marston's freshly pulled and waiting on a bar towel.

'I fancy a pint or six and a takeaway,' she said in greeting. 'And an early night sounds even better . . .'

As per always, Heather's appearance had only improved. She looked better than ever. She was sex on legs and attraction personified.

In other words she made the likes of Madonna seem like that somewhat plain girl next door.

Not that there was anything wrong with the girl next door . . .

Accepting she was mentally babbling, out of control, Lorna thrust the nearest pint glass into Heather's hand. Heather kissed her in response . . . not too passionately, but by no means innocently.

Apparently her warding-offs only ever happened once. After that it must be every girl for herself and the devil take the hindmost.

All of Lorna's reservations died a sudden death. That single fleeting contact against Heather's lips was more than enough. The pleasures of kissing Matt and all of the nameless men before him were instantly wiped from her memory banks.

Men, she thought in a swirling sort of a way. What use are they?

They can't even kiss!

Zero use; that's what men are!!

*****

Giving Lesbians' Corner a wide berth they took a table close to the pool table and darts boards, not a million miles away from the almost antique video games, chatting to the background of aliens being zapped and curses about unfairly bounced arrows and fluky in-offs.

'I didn't expect you to show,' Heather began.

'I don't think I did, either. But I'm here, so there's no going back.'

'There's always an escape route if you suddenly feel the need.'

'"U-turn if you want to . . . "' Lorna quoted.

Heather just smiled and started talking about Mathematics. And, for a Business Studies student, she was very well informed. She'd been a boarder at a fancy all-girls school, she explained. 'After that it's all plain sailing. University is only rubber-stamping what I've already been taught.' Then, earnest all of a sudden: 'Not that I'm bragging. I was born and brought up on a farm. If Dad hadn't had to sell up to a pack of house builders I'd have been lucky if I'd made it to Bingley Secondary Modern.'

They discussed their pre-uni educational experiences (excluding sexual ones) for as long as it took to down a couple of rounds, Heather still growing more attractive by the second. Conscious she had not really got a clue what to do in bed with a girl . . . but caring nix . . . Lorna then proposed having drinks elsewhere, on their way to the Kohinoor.

And then, outside Main Building, barely after five and in broad daylight, she kissed Heather again . . . and again and again and again.

'Stuff more drinks and a curry,' she gasped, eventually coming up for air. 'Let's go to your place.'

'We could go to yours,' Heather suggested, 'home territory and all that.'

'Matthew knows where I live but he doesn't know where you live. That makes it a no-brainer, doesn't it?'

Heather understood instantly.

'Okay,' she said, 'mine it is.'

Chapter Five

Heather's place was only ten, perhaps twenty minutes' walk from the university. It took almost an hour to get there. They weren't delayed by stopping for drinks or takeaways but they did have an awful lot of kiss stops, each more passionate than the last.

And hadn't their hands become adventurous!

In Heather's bedroom at last they indulged in what Lorna assumed would be a final snog before they got down to it . . . whatever "it" was going to be.

By then her excitement levels were off the scale. Afterwards, trying to make sense of how she'd felt, she decided she was susceptible to two different types of excitement: anticipatory and sexual.

She'd had extremes of anticipatory before, of course. The week leading up to losing her virginity was as good an example as any. She'd twice copped off with the same lad at sixth form functions, kissing but no more the first time, groping the second.

Groping? Okay then, they'd sneaked out of the disco and, after she'd let him thoroughly explore her down there, she had jerked him off, going all the way, not stopping until she felt the splash of rapidly-cooling semen on her fingers.

Then he'd told her he had his parent's house to himself the coming Saturday. She had told him to buy a lot of condoms then spent seven sleepless nights in a state of ravenous enthusiasm that was tinged with nervy trepidation.

She'd had similar experiences the first time with every one of her lovers, although she never got a full week's notice again. Usually it was a day or so, sometimes only a matter of minutes. That was a first time thing, however. There was never the edge of trepidation going with a guy a second or third time. Then the excitement was almost exclusively sexual.

Not that she was knocking "sexual" in any way. Her anticipatory levels might vary wildly but she could do extreme sexual at the drop of a pair of boxers.

She'd never previously been off both scales though; not God-only-knew how far off both scales at the same time. Not like she was in Heather's bedroom, securely locked away from the world, not knowing exactly what to expect but wholeheartedly up for whatever it might turn out to be.

Breaking their "final" embrace and, without speaking, Heather made to remove her sweatshirt. Lorna's heart had been hammering away ten to the dozen for ages. Suddenly it stopped in its tracks. Heather very obviously didn't wear a bra. Her erect nipples had been poking at the fabric of her top all evening long, and had by no means escaped Lorna's attention.

Hell, she'd thought, they look to be almost as hard as mine; and mine hurt in the most incredibly sexy way.

I wonder if her panties are as drenched as mine are?

Heather's sweatshirt was white with the university logo emblazoned on it in dark blue. The whiteness accentuated her deep, dark tan. Seeing her naked from the waist up, Lorna gasped. That tan was all-over and those nips were even bigger than they'd seemed.

Omigod, they're like thimbles!

Her tits weren't so shoddy either: possibly a tad smaller than her own yet self-supporting. And the rest of her torso probably explained why. The girl was muscled as well as shapely. She must spend lunatic hours in the gym.

But fuck yes . . . it worked for her!

Taking a silent cue, Lorna removed her own top. Hers was also university-branded but was dark blue with white lettering. The accidental contrast pleased her in ways she couldn't hope to explain.

Not even to her, herself.

Neither did the jut of her tits, both held in check by a light blue brassiere; a frilly one which could not have unhooked itself more easily if Casanova had been on her case.

(As if any Venetian scoundrel would have had a look-in at that moment in time!)

'Beautiful,' Heather said, her emerald green eyes flashing. 'I can't tell you how hard I'm fighting off the hurricane.'

Not understanding, Lorna watched her latest lover-to-be (and wow, what a thrill was the idea of being with this particular lover-to-be!) as she unfastened her jeans and pushed them partway down her legs, exposing pink knickers with a rather large, tell-tale wet patch at the front.

'Here,' Heather beckoned, 'come here.'

They were scarcely inches apart as it was. Falling back into her embrace was easy as pie. So too was kissing her. But then Heather's hand was leading Lorna's onto her flat, six-pack stomach.

'Feel me,' Heather commanded.

Lorna felt her, her knees weakening. Matt had a six-pack belly but it wasn't nearly as hard as this one, and not remotely so well-defined.

And this one was somehow soft and yielding as well as hard.

'Lower,' Heather insisted.

Trembling as they did so, Lorna's fingers slowly, almost reluctantly edged downwards. Her heart was hammering again, her knees weaker than ever. If she'd been capable of rational though no doubt she would have marvelled at the fact she was still standing.

Instead she marvelled at her progress.

'Lower,' Heather reiterated, 'dip inside.'

The girl's pussy was as smooth as a billiard ball. There was no landing strip, not even one bristle. She was also hotter than hell and as wet as . . . as . . .

'Pretend you're doing yourself,' Heather practically whispered. 'Pretend you're jilling alone and do me like you'd do yourself. Pretend you deserve a special treat.'

Not knowing what to expect wasn't a patch on actually doing something like this. Nothing like this had even featured in Lorna's most crazy fantasy. Yet here she was, her naked upper body pressing tight against Heather's, her fingers exploring the other woman's sex . . .

No, not the "other woman's sex" this was "another woman's sex"; something she had never expected to do.

No complaints, though. Her two favourite types of excitement were both farther off the scale than ever and, even if her angle of attack was a bit awkward and very confined, it was incredibly rewarding to be jilling a fellow female.

Heather's moans, groans and sighs only helped. Men grunted and groaned throughout occasions like this but moans, groans and sighs were massively more encouraging.

Trying to touch everywhere at once, constrained by decidedly soggy panties and a washboard tummy pressing against her (not-so-washboard) belly . . . never for one instant unaware of Heather's nipples scraping her so, so receptive flesh . . . Lorna changed angles.

And suddenly two of her fingers were delving into a real life pussy!

'Yes, yes, yes,' Heather endorsed, 'go for it girl. Finish me the way you like it best.'

Conscious her palm was rubbing on Heather's clit and labia, still operating in constrained conditions yet determined to do her best, Lorna wondered at the heat surrounding her fingers. In reality it wasn't hotter than hell in there, but it at least matched Dante's Inferno.

Yes, Heather was unbelievably hot and wetter than wet at the same time. How could that be? Was a mere mortal like Lorna even remotely comparable? Was anyone on earth comparable?

Then, when life couldn't possibly improve in any way at all, Heather climaxed. What a sight and what superb sensations! Intimate muscles fiercely contracting on still-plunging digits; moans, groans and sighs now transformed to yells, shrieks and screams. The world's best self-supporting titties bobbling in appreciation . . .

Omigod, Lorna thought in the understatement of the century, there is something to this same-sex gig after all.

As if she'd ever really suspected there wasn't!

Chapter Six

Heather's orgasm was impressive and long-lasting. And, when it was over, she took back control. She was the one who took hold of Lorna's still pillaging hand and pulled it up between semi-naked bodies and so to Lorna's nose.

'Smell,' she commanded.

Lorna sniffed and batted her lashes in absolute wonder. 'It's like Heaven,' she said. 'Like ambrosia or whatever.'

'Taste it,' Heather insisted.

Lorna's first lick was somewhat tentative. Her second was a lot more enthusiastic. Then she took both invading fingers into her mouth with something approaching starving hunger.

'Ambrosia,' she repeated. 'Or should I say nectar?'

'In the circumstances either will do.' Heather grinned at her. 'That's as close as you're getting for now. I do hope you're prepared to be patient.'

'I'm prepared for anything,' said Lorna. Then, instantly regretting the lie: 'In all honesty I don't know what to expect, but I'm here ready, willing and . . . I hope . . . able.'

Heather stepped out of her jeans altogether, kicking them aside as if they weren't a hundred quid's worth of designer gear.

'Bet my knickers are wetter than yours,' she said.

'Bet they're not,' Lorna countered, unbuttoning her (slightly cheaper) Wrangler Jeans.

Totally naked, they declared the panties comparison a dead heat. Both pairs were, after all, soaked to the nth degree.

Then, behaving more like Lorna had expected from the outset, Heather scooped her up into her arms and carried her to bed.

And what an experience was that!

With Lorna only-too-willingly helpless on her back, Heather kissed every last square inch of the front of her body. Starting with her mouth she diverted to her forehead, then her (hastily) closed eyelids and her shapely cheeks. Next up were her tiny ears and elegantly long neck, with lots of deft tongue work involved . . . licking and nuzzling her, delicately probing into those ears.

Lorna's shoulders, collarbone and armpits were soon targeted. And how nutty was that? She actually enjoyed having her armpits licked!

Without giving details of the whole anatomical tour, Heather spent ages playing with Lorna's tits then gave her pussy a total bypass before worshipping her legs and (even more ticklish than her pits) her toes.