Such a Little Thing Ch. 01

"A penny for your thoughts, Amber?" Milla's voice gently cut through the debate whirling in my head.

"Sorry," I smiled, "I was thinking."

Milla knelt on the floor in front of me and we held hands as she looked up into my face. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that the female body is very beautiful, that it's true I like looking at it and drawing and painting it and that I like to hug and hold hands. I'm also not gay, Milla, but I'm happy, very happy, that we've become friends, good friends, and I hope we will continue with that."

"You're not lesbian because you like men... but perhaps you're bisexual," Milla suggested, a glimmer of hope in her face and voice.

"Oh shit, Milla! Maybe I am a bit bi, maybe lots of people are bisexual, but I've never fancied a girl in that way." A rogue thought in my head said, 'Really? Never? Are you being completely honest here?' "Milla, I really want to be your friend, your close friend, best friends even. But I don't want to be like that girl at college, Jenny whatshername and use you as some kind of experiment in sexuality; I don't want to hurt you. Milla, I can't be your lover. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too; I shouldn't try to make you something you're not, especially as you accept me as I am." She squeezed my hands and forced a smile. "And I'm glad we're still friends -- close friends?"

"Definitely!" I agreed and she smiled.

Milla stood up and her mischievous grin was back. "Oh, and you should be flattered," she said, pulling me to my feet, "because your body is not boring: I think you're very attractive -- beautiful actually. Come on, let's go and eat."

We sat at the little kitchen table that she'd covered with a tablecloth. There was a single carnation in a little vase and even a candle. She served bread with balsamic vinegar and olive oil to dip into as a starter.

The lasagne was delicious, with salad on the side. She talked about learning to cook mainly from her grandparents, Nonna and Nonno as she called them. I lamented my failure to achieve much culinary competence. Finally, for pudding, she brought out two small coffee cups filled with a mocha mousse.

"Is this homemade as well?" I asked and she nodded. The mousse was absolutely divine. I felt a drop fall on my chin and before I could react she reached over and wiped it off with her finger which she then put to her lips to clean off. It was an astonishingly intimate moment.

At the end, I took the wine bottle, already nearly half empty, and topped up our glasses before raising mine. "To Milla, my close friend, coffee artiste and fantastic cook!" I toasted her. "That was a fantastic meal, thank you."

"My pleasure, Amber. And you've just committed yourself to free coffee, you realize?"

"I know; so I owe you for free coffee and for your help this afternoon. You mentioned something you wanted to talk to me about?"

"So can I ask for two things?"

"Milla, after that meal you can ask whatever you want!"

"Really?" she asked with a rascally glint in her eye and I suddenly wondered what she might have in mind. "No, I'll just stick with the two -- for now anyway! Come with me."

I stood and had to lean on the table. "I think the wine has affected my legs," I giggled. I was a little drunk or at least tipsy. Milla put her arm around to steady me and we grabbed our glasses and the wine bottle before she helped me through to the sitting room where we flopped down onto the two-seater sofa. Milla reached under the coffee table and pulled out a folder from which she withdrew a sheaf of photographs.

"The first thing was to get some of these framed," she explained as she spread the two dozen or so photos over the table. We both sat forward looking at the mainly black and white photos. "They're of Nonno when he was younger, Nonna too before she died, some in Italy and others, like this, from when the Caffè first opened. I wanted to get some of them framed and put them up in the Caffè. I think they'd look good, and Nonno would like it too I think."

"That's a lovely idea and some of these photos are really good: very atmospheric." We went through them, judging the best and thinking of ideas, such as multiple smaller photos in a single frame. All the time I was conscious of how close together we were on the small sofa; the feeling of our thighs in contact and how our arms would brush as we moved.

Eventually, we agreed on five frames holding a total of eleven photos. "We can look at frames and mounts tomorrow and see what styles you like," I told her as I poured the last of the wine into our empty glasses.

"Okay. Are you going to be there at four o'clock when I close?"

I looked at her, confused. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, according to the opening times on your window, you're closed tomorrow -- it's Wednesday, remember? I think the wine's affecting your brain!"

"I'd forgotten; you know my shop hours better than me! But you're not closed, are you? We can't just go and do stuff?" I was disappointed. Milla leant over and kissed my cheek.

"You know, I think that's the loveliest thing ever: you really want to spend time with me. Unfortunately, the Caffè is open as usual tomorrow."

"I'll just have to come and haunt Caffè Carluccio all day. Hey, maybe I could help out: I still owe you. I've always wanted to play with one of those frothy milk coffee machine thingies."

"Oh no: hands off my espresso machine! Anyway, after seeing your drawings I've already decided how you can pay me back. I want you to do a drawing of me like those ones I saw."

"What, naked?" I replied in surprise.

"Hmm, I hadn't planned that, but hell yes, why not? Would you?" she asked excitedly.

"I think the wine's affecting your brain! But, I did say you could ask anything, so I have to agree and, as I said before, you do have a great body, so it will be my pleasure. You're such an exhi... exhibitionist, Milla!"

She grinned. "If you say so! Have you never stripped in front of others?"

"Only with boyfriends -- and, and in the showers at school, of course..."

"Perhaps you should try it one day."

"P'rhaps you should be a -- a naturist!" I retorted.

"Hey, that's not a bad idea. I'd want a close friend to come with me though." She nudged me in the ribs, "Maybe next time you owe me, that'll be what I'll ask for: us together at a naturist place!"

I shook my head. "Such a -- a -- encourageable exhibitionist!" I said and Milla burst out laughing. "What?" I asked, confused.

"Amber, I do believe you're drunk!" she went to stand, swayed and flopped back, half landing on me. I reached out to support her and found my hand cupping her boob. Our eyes met and my mouth went dry; suddenly I didn't feel in the least bit drunk. I was very aware of the beautiful girl resting on my lap, her gorgeous eyes and sleek, long hair... and above all the soft, warm mound of her breast enclosed by my hand. I knew I ought to take my hand away and yet I didn't want to. I saw her lick her lips; perhaps she wanted to kiss... No, I mustn't let her get the wrong idea.

"Milla, I do believe we're both drunk," I said, helping her to sit back up and, far too reluctantly, taking my hand from her. "Look, it's getting late and you at least have to work tomorrow. Leave the washing up and get to bed; I'll come over and wash up tomorrow."

"You could sleep here Amber, if that would be easier," she suggested shyly.

I smiled, "No, I'd better not. Anyway, it isn't far to get home." I managed to stand and even helped Milla up. I felt a lot less tipsy than I had a few minutes ago. We hugged and said goodnight and I made my way home.

CHAPTER 4 -- Dreams and Decisions

I walked into the coffee shop and there was Milla at the coffee machine, her back to me. As I neared the counter I realized she was naked, save for her apron. He ponytail brushed the bare skin of her back while further down the beautiful smooth flesh of her perfect arse cheeks was revealed. She turned to me and smiled that wonderful warm smile that she always gave when she saw me. The hard points of her nipples were visible through the apron fabric.

She reached behind and pulled the knot of the apron strings undone before lifting the apron over her head and dropping it to the floor. She stood there naked before me and my eyes drank in the sight and I felt a delicious tingling in my pussy.

"Amber, darling," she purred as she moved from behind the counter, "it's so nice that you've become an exhibitionist too!" I looked down to see that I too was naked. I felt the air on my skin and my nipples hardened almost painfully. I took a step towards my gorgeous, sexy friend and could feel that my pussy had become a sopping, dripping mess. I plunged my fingers between those hot, swollen lower lips and raised them, dripping and glistening with my sex juices. Before I could taste them, however, Milla had grabbed my hand. "Oh no, Amber, you must share as a close friend should!" and she took my fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean as she sighed, "Mmmm."

She pulled my fingers from her mouth and then, still holding my hand, guided it down. My fingers brushed her hairless mound and I knew what she wanted, what I wanted too. I felt the top of her slit, the wetness of her swollen, protruding inner labia... then it happened, my fingers slipped inside my beautiful Milla, making her gasp. She was tight but running with her love juices. My fingers withdrew, lifting up and up to my mouth so I could taste her...

I woke with a start, disorientated and confused. It was still dark but the moon was bright outside, the silver light streaming through the open curtains. I was naked and uncovered in bed, my right hand between my legs. I sat up and saw the soft sheen of sweat covering my body made my skin lambent in the moonlight. I opened my legs and looked down to see a very large dark patch: I had cum in my sleep. That dream! It had seemed so real. I lay back and raised my hand and saw my juices glistening silver on my fingers. As yesterday I couldn't resist sucking them, enjoying the rich savouriness. In the dream and I had wanted to taste Milla so very much...

Was this all just my subconscious playing 'what if?' games? I did find Milla beautiful, I accepted that. I liked her company; that was fine too. I had seen her close to naked yesterday and she had joked about my undressing too, so that was all fuel for my overactive imagination. Part of me said that us naked together wasn't fine, wasn't right but another part liked the idea immensely. Certainly, in my dream, I had loved it. And then in the dream: my God! I remembered my fingers in her pussy. I had no idea what it would really feel like but in the dream, it had been wonderful. And what would she taste like? And what the fucking hell was going on with me?

Okay, time to get a grip. I began making a list in my head.

One: I had broken up with my boyfriend, been thrown out of University and was now running a shop in a small town where I knew nobody.

Two: I had met a girl and we had really clicked as friends -- we got on brilliantly and really liked each other.

Three: She just happens to be stunningly beautiful and I, as an artist, appreciate beauty in women.

Four: Point three may not be completely honest -- my appreciation may very well be more than just artistic...

Five: My lovely new friend happens to be a lesbian and seems to fancy me. Actually, there really isn't any 'seems' about it.

Six: I just had a massive orgasm dreaming about fingering my friend's pussy.

Okay, so I should probably start wearing an 'Officially Bi-Curious' badge because I know that I will not stop wondering about this anytime soon. Ah, but then there's another point.

Seven: Milla was badly hurt by a curious girl who decided she wasn't that curious after all. I cannot, I will not do that to her.

So I have my answer, though it's not an easy one: curb my curiosity and be a good friend to Milla.

Sleep was a long time coming.

CHAPTER 5 -- A Pub Run and Shared Cake

I walked into the Caffè at just after eight o'clock in the morning, still tired but unable to stay in bed any longer. My shower had helped a bit but the real fix would be coffee. I was surprised how busy it was but realised that this was the morning commuter rush with half a dozen people queued at the counter. Milla, however, seemed to be coping effortlessly and flashed me a happy smile as soon as she saw me.

There were several tables with dirty cups and plates so I decided to help out by clearing them. As I brought them behind the counter she nodded towards the dishwasher and I loaded them in before grabbing the cleaning spray and cloth I spotted beside the sink. By the time I had finished wiping down the tables and was back behind the counter rinsing out the cloth, Milla was serving the last customer.

She came up behind me as I turned the tap off and put an arm across my back, her fingers on my waist. "Thanks, Amber, but you really didn't need to do that."

"I know, but I wanted to help out. That was a lovely meal last night, thank you. How's your head this morning?" I asked, smiling.

"Not too bad, considering!" she laughed. I straightened up and turned to her. She reached and brushed a strand of hair from my face, her touch making me shiver slightly. "You don't look a hundred per cent, Amber; are you alright?" Concern clouded her face.

I reached up to hold her hand. "I'm alright; I just didn't sleep very well, that's all. It was a restless night: dreams and stuff."

"My poor love! It... it wasn't me, what I told you, that upset you was it?" she asked.

"You didn't upset me at all, Milla," I reassured her. No, it's me, I thought, remembering my dream. "I guess the alcohol upset my sleep pattern."

She nodded and we agreed that we'd do the washing up later together. "That way you can stay here with me!" she said, and I liked that idea. "Coffee, bella Ambra?

"Yes to the coffee, but what is bella Ambra?"

"It means 'beautiful Amber' in Italian of course," she replied happily as she took milk from the fridge. I watched her as she made the coffee.

"Thank you. It's not true but you're very sweet."

She looked me in the eye. "It's true to me," she said simply, making my stomach flip. I was sure that last night's decision was right, but my God it was hard at moments like this.

"Er, do you want to go for a run this evening?" I asked to change the subject. "It doesn't have to be a long run."

"How far do you normally run?"

"Well, five or six kilometres for a shorter run, sort of half an hour to forty-five minutes."

"Wow, that's a short run? What's a long run, for goodness sake?"

"The furthest I've ever run was ten miles, about sixteen kilometres, but that did nearly kill me!" I laughed. "Eight to ten kilometres would be a long run normally."

"Can we do a really short run tonight, please?" begged Milla.

"Of course! How about twenty minutes?" she nodded. "Okay, so about, say, one-and-a-half to two miles at a gentle pace. Know any pubs about two miles away?"

She grinned. "I like your running plans! Let me think... there's the White Bear, no, too far... The Crown and also The Old Boar, both in the town centre so they're too close... I know, The Maid and Dragon. If we go round via West Road and Pond Street, that should be about two miles. And we can come back the short way in case my legs drop off!"

"Your legs look in pretty good shape to me!" I told her. "Do they serve food there?" She nodded. "Good: dinner at the pub, my treat. And no arguments," I insisted when she tried to protest.

The day passed easily. I helped with clearing and cleaning tables and Milla supplied me coffee on demand. I noticed when she brushed past me, the little touches and hugs she gave and I found myself doing the same until I realized that this wasn't fair on her: I was offering her something I wouldn't go through with.

After the Caffè closed we sorted the washing up in Milla's kitchen then went to my shop and decided on the frames and mounts for Milla's photographs. Finally, just before seven o'clock, we met on the pavement outside for our run.

As soon as she saw me Milla gave a soft whistle. "Look at you, Miss Lycra!" I was wearing knee length leggings and a short running vest and, yes, they were figure hugging but that was the point: no rubbing and chaffing. "Isn't that outfit a bit exhibitionist? Not that I'm complaining."

"It's what I normally wear for running," I replied defensively, "and you're not exactly over-dressed," I told her as I took in her sports bra top and shorts that left her midriff and long legs wonderfully visible.

"Yea, but I'm the 'encourageable exhibitionist', you told me so last night: you should be applauding my choice of clothes!"

"Oh, I am, don't worry about that," I bantered back as I mimed clapping. "Although, aren't you worried that you'll get a lot of male attention dressed like that?"

"Oh, if that happens I'll just lean across and give you a big snog; that should discourage them!"

Ow! Not fair! Not fair! Not fair! I thought, as the image of us kissing seared into my brain. What were comments like that going to do to my dreams? "Do I get any say in the matter?" I asked weakly.

"Hmm, maybe," she replied, studying me carefully. I think she could see, or at least guess, the effect her comment had on me.

I took a deep breath. "Come on, shall we run? You ought to lead to set the pace and, well, you actually know where we're going! Remember to start gently to warm up."

"Okay, but I was hoping I'd be behind you," she pouted.

"Why's that?" I asked suspiciously.

"Four words: your bum, those leggings!" she laughed and I couldn't help smiling.

"Are you ever going to stop flirting with me?" I asked, semi-seriously.

"Um, probably not," she admitted. "Oh Amber, do you know how wonderful it is that I can just be myself with you? Knowing that you know I'm gay but you still want to be my friend. Do you mind about the flirting, really?"

I smiled. "I quite like it -- it's fun. It's just, well, I don't want to say or do anything that will, you know, give you the wrong idea or lead you on."

"Amber, you told me last night and I really accept that you're straight. Even if I wish you weren't," she said earnestly, "I accept that you are. If I do or say something that makes you uncomfortable, then just tell your crazy dyke friend to back off. Okay?"

I smiled and nodded then glanced around. Seeing no one about, I stepped over to her and kissed her on the cheek. "I'm glad we're friends. Shall we get going?"

"Me too," she replied and she turned and began jogging gently.

We didn't talk much, to begin with, as our breathing deepened and I was glad: my thoughts needed time to settle. I could ask her not to flirt, not to touch and not to comment on her attraction to me but she had just told me how much she liked that freedom in our friendship. And I didn't want her to stop, not really. The problem was my response. She said she accepted I was straight; the trouble was I was struggling to accept that. I didn't know exactly how far I'd go with Milla but it was too damn far not to then go all the way and I couldn't commit to that.

Milla had picked up the pace a little and was now breathing quite heavily, even at what I thought a relatively easy jog. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm -- fine. -- Hey, -- how come -- you're not -- puffing like -- me?"

"Practise, I guess. I run a lot more than you."

"Actually -- I haven't run -- at all -- for about -- a year."

"Milla, you mad woman!" I exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell me? We could have picked a shorter run."

"Didn't want -- you to think -- I was -- a lazy -- blob."

"Milla! If blobs looked like you the Internet would be full of blob porn sites!"