It Started with a Kiss

Chapter One

(Saturday 12th October 2002)

What's that saying about the best laid plans? Katie wondered. Well, I'm obviously neither a mouse nor a man, but I guess tonight it's all gone awry.

Lying there alone in her bed, she chuckled. It was after four in the morning, her big birthday bash was over and she should have been knocking out zeds for England. But she couldn't sleep. And it wasn't a short-term sort of a thing. Oh no, she felt as if she'd never be tired ever again.

Maybe it was those plans of hers. As hostess with the mostest she had intended to stay sober and in control. She had also intended to stay chaste (for a change!) and to thoroughly tidy up after all of her guests had gone.

To quote Meat Loaf, "Two out of three ain't bad".

Staying sober had been surprisingly easy. Katie had limited herself to one small glass of wine an hour and kept it at that. She had also restricted herself to "birthday kisses" and no more, heroically turning down quite a few bawdy propositions. But, as for the thorough tidying up . . .

Her guests had started to drift away around two o'clock, mostly in pairs and with bawdy intentions. Or rather the majority of her guests had started to drift away. A handful of stragglers were still downstairs in her lounge even now.

Like at least eight of them.

She blamed that on her housemates. They'd both spent most of the evening in their rooms with newly acquired boyfriends, only re-emerging when most of the partying had been done. Predictably, they'd seen no reason to call it a day just because folk were going home, not when there were mountains of booze still waiting to be consumed.

Just as predictably the new boyfriends had volunteered to stay and help them empty all of those cans and bottles. So too had another four or five diehards.

That was Katie's Saturday morning lined up: vacuuming a few grubby, sticky carpets and washing out hundreds of glasses, skirting drunken oafs as she did so.

Katie wasn't really bothered about the aftermath. Her party had gone very well; there hadn't been any fights, fallouts or overdoses and everyone present had enjoyed themselves. What did a bit of cleaning up matter following a major success like that?

Right now she only wished she'd had a bit more to drink and accepted a bawdy proposition or two.

No, she wished she'd accepted Heather's bawdy proposition.

Shit fire and save matches, Heather had propositioned her!

Sighing, Katie wondered what had come over them in so public a situation.

They were girls for goodness sake; what had come over them!

More to the point, what had come over her?

Heather was notoriously "well on the lezzie side of bi". She'd turned up with kisses for everyone in sight and nobody but nobody denied her, straight or not, male or female.

Well, she'd given a few of the guys a peck but focused mainly on the gals. Hadn't she just! She must have necked with every girl present, and generously at that.

She'd been just as generous with her invitations. Leastways she had been with Katie.

Yes, with a dozen men hotly breathing down her neck.

And Katie had been equally generous with her advice.

'Go for it with Dwayne,' she'd suggested, picking up on another girl's matchmaking.

'I'd rather go for it with you,' the black-haired beauty had replied smoothly, making the invitation with those amazing emerald green eyes of hers.

Tempted as she was, recalling her plans, Katie had politely declined.

And then what had she done? She had only gone and set up a date with the most rapacious lesbian on campus.

If not the most rapacious lesbian in the universe!

That was scary but the speed with which she'd reacted was scarier still. She'd nearly taken Heather's hand off. Anyone would think she'd been bi-curious for ages.

Katie sighed once more. If she was being totally honest she had been bi-curious for ages. She'd been hiding it, though, even from herself. She had only ever shared her most secret thoughts with her trusty right hand. Speaking of which . . .

She gently rubbed her groin and, not for the first time alone in that bed, pictured the one female she'd ever let in to her fantasies.

If her reputation was anything to go by, Heather really was rapacious. She was also stunning to look at. And she was fun to be with, even as a mere, common-or-garden boozing buddy. But there was a sense of danger about her and, in Katie's most secret imagination, a sense of the unknown.

Covertly watching girl-on-girl videos was a thrill but Hev did it for real, didn't she? Hev didn't settle for vicarious thrills, she got them first-hand.

What will she be like on a date? Katie wondered. And who was I kidding when I said we could chat if nothing else? The girl is sex on legs; how can I possibly resist her?

Everyone in the university approved of Heather Hunter. Katie firmly believed that. Females were all in awe of everything about her; lots of avowed straight girls openly admitted temptation. And, apart from a handful of conscientious gay men, all of the male student body wanted a tumble with her.

Or two or three tumbles . . .

As lucky old Dwayne was probably tumbling with her right now.

Katie smiled and kept on gently rubbing. Heather didn't do relationships; she made that clear enough. No, she played the field and had had loads of partners, although somehow she'd avoided the horrid names that other girls were tarred with. That was probably because she was relatively hard to get.

Well, she was hard to get as far as guys went. Legend had it that dozens of guys asked her out every single day but few got positive answers. Being able to be selective, she seemed to go for a handful of the most choice, most athletic men and spurned the rest.

That was why Dwayne was where he presumably was tonight, of course. Without the slightest trace of doubt, Dwayne scored high in the "choice" and "athletic" stakes.

In fact he'd scored in Katie's bed more than once.

Shame he isn't here now, she lamented. Shame they aren't both here now.

Not that I'd know what to do if they were!

Rubbing a little more vigorously, Katie mused on.

If Heather's preferences for men were easy to suss, her taste in women was baffling. Katie had seen her out and about with women of all shapes, sizes, colours and ages. And Hev went out with women of all appearances, too. She seemed to do the whole range, from mannish to drop-dead gorgeous.

There was nothing reticent about Hev when she was on a date. The difference between her being out with a boozing buddy and a girlfriend . . .

Well, it was plainer than plain. When she was out with a boozing buddy Heather yarned and swigged beer. When she was out with a girlfriend she exchanged kisses and cuddles with great abandon. Talk about being loud and proud!

More than once Katie had heard it suggested that a bucket of water was urgently needed, before Hev lost control altogether. Like there and then, in a crowded bar!

Not that any other observers really wanted to cool her ardour. No, everyone seemed to be as eager to watch as she was herself to indulge.

Having only ever fantasized about one female, Katie was puzzled by Heather's taste in women. It was only too easy to masturbate while thinking about her wildly flashing eyes and that super body of hers, but she couldn't begin to imaging having sex with some of Hev's more extreme girlfriends.

Maybe she was missing something.

Maybe she was missing something that Heather knew only too well.

Monday night, Katie thought, easing two fingers inside her pussy, pretending they were Heather's. It seems like aeons away. Why oh why didn't I go for tonight? Why oh why did I push her towards lucky old Dwayne?

Chapter Two

Katie wasn't the only young woman who couldn't sleep. A little way across town Viola also lay awake, wondering about life, the universe and everything. Why had she such a massive void inside her? Why was there no chance of her dropping off? And above all else, why couldn't she get thoughts about a certain person out of her head?

She sighed softly. It was almost five in the morning; she should have been able to fall asleep just like that. She'd stayed at Katie's party until two o'clock and there had been plenty to drink. And when they had got to her place, there'd been plenty of energetic sex.

It was too dark in her bedroom to see, but she could hear Kris's regular breathing beside her. Before flaking out he'd fucked her three times. And, considering that it was the first time they had ever slept together, he'd done so with bags of gusto and style. A seeing-to like that should have left her purring and spent, hardly able to keep her eyes open.

Sadly, though, facts were facts. She was wide awake; wide awake and unfulfilled. Lack of sleepiness aside, she should not feel like this. She'd fancied Kris for ages and he'd courted her with tact, humour and restraint. He'd fucked her well too; there was no shadow of a doubt about that. She had gratefully cum with him on all three occasions. In her opinion that was almost sexual perfection. She'd only had a handful of lovers before, and none of them had been remotely as satisfying as Kris.

Most of them had been unable to make her cum at all.

She quietly got out of bed, found her gown hanging on its hook on the back of the door and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Giving up on the idea of slumbering anytime soon, too impatient to wait for the percolator to do its thing, she clicked on her electric kettle and spooned instant coffee into her favourite mug.

The one with Law, Best and Charlton etched on it, red on white.

Men and orgasms were a great mystery to her. Not that their orgasms were even slightly mysterious. All the guys she'd been with had been very similar when it came to cumming. Okay, so their timings were different, but the rest of the procedure was much of a muchness.

No, the mystery was men found it so difficult to make her climax. Her select few had all excited her to some degree and she'd liked every last sensation of sex. Yes every last one: the feels, the smells, the tastes, the sounds and all of the sights.

Snag was she didn't like them as much as she ought to.

It would have been easy to conclude that there was something wrong with her, but there wasn't. She had brought herself off often enough to confirm everything was in working order. Self-inflicted cums were ten-a-penny for her.

The kettle clicked and Viola poured boiling water into her mug, adding a small splash of cold straight from the tap to help it cool. Then she sat at her breakfast bar and pondered some more.

Before university she had considered herself to be 110 per cent straight. Now she was less sure. Now she entertained ideas she would have previously dismissed with a laugh.

Viola's schooldays had been, in her eyes at least, much the same as anyone else's. Her crushes and games of Kiss Catch had all involved boys. In other words a boy chased a girl until she chose to catch him and to reward herself with a kiss. That was mere playground stuff, though. As they'd got older the chasing had become more sophisticated and the girls awarded themselves richer rewards.

Well, the chasing had perhaps got slightly more sophisticated. And the rewards were perhaps a little richer, if not quite rich enough.

Outside of the childish games, although there had been a handful of "very best friends", she honestly could not remember any girl she knew ever claiming she was "lezzie".

Not ever.

Not even in jest.

Fresher's Week at uni had amazed her. The events had been all in-your-face; so too were the various student associations' attempts to recruit new members. Like really! After the first couple of days she'd started to believe she was the only non-lesbian on campus.

And the thought of what her determinedly old-fashioned mother would say about that . . .

In all honesty it had left her breathless and strangely enthralled.

Deep into her first year, Viola's next-door-neighbour in halls had rocked her boat, big-time. According to Jane, she had just discovered the best society in England, Europe and quite possibly the cosmos.

'It's The Girls' Society,' she'd gushed. 'Rachael Brown's founded it; she's that tiny punk who looks like Siouxie Sioux; the one who only ever wears Sex Pistols T-shirts.'

Pressed further, Jane had assured her The Girls' Society was similar yet infinitely superior to LGBT.

'It's not about a lot of minorities', she said. 'It's there for all womankind; fifty per cent of the world.'

'You mean it's not full of lezzies,' Viola had said, dubiously

'Of course it's full of lezzies,' Jane replied, 'that's what makes it even more exciting.'

At that point it occurred to Viola that her friend suddenly knew an awful lot about LGBT. And she had believed they told each other everything!

'So are you going to,' she'd prompted, 'or have you already?'

'Not yet but you bet I am,' Jane had replied, 'maybe not tomorrow, but definitely manana, if not a lot sooner.'

Over a stretch of a week or so Viola had listened to Jane as she edged ever closer to being a "woman who has sex with women". And maybe it was second-hand, but she'd enjoyed all of the edging. When she at last heard that the inevitable had come to pass she'd cheered out loud.

She was too reticent to try it herself, though.

Or so she'd kept telling herself.

Jane's confessions continued long after halls. The two of them never considered sharing a flat but did keep in touch. That was how Viola learnt about that "certain person".

According to Jane, gals were far better at lovemaking than guys. Indeed, as her experience grew, she often maintained that a girl who knew what she was doing could make any other girl immediately and just about endlessly cum.

'We all know how everything feels when you're a girl,' she'd say. 'We all know what's good and what's absolutely mind-blowing. What chance has any guy compared to that?'

Also according to Jane, that tiny punk Rachael was the second-best lover in the world.

'I only have this by hearsay,' she told Viola. 'She's far and away the best I have ever had. But there is a girl on campus who everyone says is beyond compare.'

Jane was, of course, referring to that "certain person". And by then, purely by coincidence, that "certain person" had become an acquaintance of Viola's.

Putting the two together had been a shock. She knew the girl as a friend and good company, one she really liked to be with. And one who had never made a lesbian advance on her in any shape or form.

Or perhaps poor little Viola wouldn't recognize a lesbian advance if it leapt out and smacked her in the face.

Anyway, she'd kept Jane's hearsay to herself and continued to be a friend rather than a girlfriend. And by now she and that "certain person" had almost become best mates.

Viola sipped her coffee and scowled. Why didn't water cool the bloody stuff down as fast as milk? And come to that, why had she let herself run out of milk in the first place?

The idea of becoming a "woman who has sex with women" had been in Viola's head for some time. It was as scary as it was intriguing, and attractive as heck. She'd even watched videos on-line, wanting to get a handle on the things girls actually did in bed together, becoming increasingly fascinated by all the possibilities.

Recently, little more than a month ago, Jane had insinuated that that "certain person" obviously had at least a passing interest in being more than just Viola's friend.

'You can see it in the way she looks at you; you can hear it in the way she says your name.'

At the time Viola had laughed Jane off. That "certain person" still hadn't made any sort of a move on her.

But she had now, hadn't she?

She could snog, too. Last night's party welcome had been exceptionally warm. No, it had been hotter than hot. No disrespect to Kris but ten seconds snogging with Hev had put all of his bedtime efforts in the shade.

There, she'd said it in her head if not aloud. Hev had turned her on more than anyone else ever had.

And with no more than one tiny kiss.

Viola was used to being in demand. Life had always been thus. She had always thought that her legs were too long but everyone else said she resembled a young Naomi Campbell, except with even finer bone structure. Hardly a day went by without some guy or other asking her out. Whenever there were parties in the offing she was literally spoilt for choice for escorts.

Miss Popularity or what!

But, sadly, the few who'd been favoured had always fallen short, leaving her wondering.

Not that she was the type to dither indefinitely. Over the years she'd noticed girls eying her along with all the guys. She'd even had the occasional jokey suggestion from the gals on Lesbians' Corner (like just everyone else with any sort of ass on her). She had playfully laughed them off, naturally. But she was a strong woman who knew her own mind far better than anyone. Bugger the past, now was time for action; now was the time for decision.

What was she to do about her sex life?

Muddle along as always, forever kissing frogs?

Go back upstairs, wake Kris and see if he could make her cum again?

Or should she . . .

Could she . . .

Too right she could!

Too right she would!!

Ditching her coffee, Viola reached for her bag and pulled out her phone. Then, refusing to entertain a strong urge to chicken, she fired off a text.

Chapter Three

By a (not particularly) amazing coincidence, Heather was also sitting in her kitchen just then. She had not bothered with coffee, though; not instant or ground. No, she was moodily swigging from a can of Boddingtons, her next-best favourite beer after Marston's and the incomparable Taylor's Landlord.

(Landlord being a draught and bottled tipple; canning it would be worse than sacrilege; it simply could not be allowed to happen.)

Not that she usually drank in the early hours. She was only at a loss because Dwayne had hit the wall and abjectly wimped out. Two hours at the party plus a bit of overtime in her room had been too much for the poor little lamb.

Or maybe he was afraid he was due another appointment with her strap-on.

Anyway he was crashed in her bed, snoring noisily. Which was a pity, really; he had been doing very well . . . for a bloke.

Useless as most of them were!

The text was from a number Heather didn't immediately recognize. Popping a fresh can and thirstily slurping up the froth, she opened the message and read.

"Hi Hev; I really enjoyed that kiss. What do I have to do to get more?"

Good grief, it was from Viola.

One brief hello kiss and suddenly the most beautiful girl in the world seemed to be interested in her!

At last!!

Yes, yes, yes!!!

Breathe and exist, Heather thought, excited out of all proportion. That's all you have to do. Yes, yes and a thousand times yes.

Punching the air, she found it difficult not to shout her exuberance out loud.

Yes, yes, yes!!!

Then she remembered her softly, softly approach and smiled wryly. She didn't ordinarily pursue girls who professed to be straight. Okay, so supposedly straight girls sometimes made a move on her and she always obliged, but that was different, wasn't it? Normally she left the heterosexual babes to their own devices.

That is to say she normally sent out signals to any hetero babe who caught her attention and left it at that. The way she saw it, the ball was then in the babe's court. She could either make an approach or run for the hills.

Viola had been an exception. She radiated sexual allure without even trying. Impressed by everything about her, Heather had cultivated her as a true friend, genuinely liking her more and more as they steadily grew closer, never once indicating her deepest, inmost feelings.