The Twelfth of Never Ch. 02

Emma's story continues. If you haven't already read Chapter 1, I suggest that you do so that you know the characters and what is happening with them. This is a longish love story but you'll have to wait for the sex. If you want a short 'Wham, bam, thank you Ma'am' tale with no plot, then there are plenty of those elsewhere on this site. Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over. All characters are imaginary---any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 to the author.

*****

Sam was punctiliously correct as we left the ferry. "Thank you, madam," as I passed her, "I do hope that you enjoyed the trip." I think she gave me a tiny wink but I couldn't be certain, it was that swift.

Our transport was waiting at the bottom of the gangway, a plump, cheerful-looking woman standing by a pony and trap. A little way behind was a weather-beaten older man with a larger horse and cart. The woman came forward to shake my hand. "You'll be Emma and these your lovely nieces. I'm Mrs Cudmore, one of the island's caretakers, and I'm here to take you to Mr LeStrange's place. There are no motors on the island, we use the trap to get around." She nodded towards the man. "That's my husband, here to pick up the supplies."

The girls were delighted with the unusual transport and clambered into the back of the trap with our bags while I sat at the front with Mrs Cudmore. I turned to have one last look at Sam but she had disappeared. I felt hurt briefly, and then told myself not to be stupid. She must have other duties and it would look odd for her to stand there just to wave goodbye to one passenger.

The drive to Alan's villa took about half-an-hour along narrow lanes flanked by tall hedgerows. Mrs Cudmore chatted away, telling me about the island and about themselves. They shared the duties, living month-and-month about on the island with another couple during the spring, summer and autumn seasons. The island's owners ensured they had other well-paid work during their months off. In winter everything was closed down because for much of the time the seas made it difficult—almost impossible—to reach the island. Maintenance crews arrived early spring to check that everything was in good order. At the moment, it seemed, we were the only visitors, all the other villas being unoccupied.

Then we crested a slight rise and Alan's villa was below us. It was a substantial bungalow, painted white with a green-tiled roof. We could see a large patio out front, furnished with ample chairs and loungers surrounding a glittering blue swimming pool. Beyond the patio grassy land swept downwards to an area of trees and hedges. Beyond that, in the near distance, I could glimpse the sea.

Mrs Cudmore showed us around the villa and the girls quickly claimed the bedrooms they fancied for themselves. There was an amply-stocked larder with fruit and vegetables and a huge freezer contained all that we would need for the coming week. The place had its own generator which we were assured had been recently serviced and was reliable. Fresh water came from a series of springs beneath the island and was just about as pure as it could get. The only problem was, she told us, that we couldn't get a mobile phone signal on the island but they did have their own private internal landline. The Cudmores communicated with their employers off-island by radio.

"Just one other thing, my dears," she said before leaving us, "don't go swimming in the sea. The currents round here are treacherous and you could get into serious trouble."

We went to our various rooms to unpack (not difficult because we were all travelling light) and then met out by the pool. I had put on a light sarong over my bikini and the girls were all in swim-wear.

Amy was wearing a huge grin. "I've always wanted a place with its very own swimming pool and now I've got one for a week."

The three girls looked absolutely lovely. Sophie and Beth were both taller than me by about two or three inches. They were within weeks of their nineteenth birthdays and due to go to university shortly. I know that we were all distantly related and Sophie's colouring was not unlike mine although her chestnut-brown hair was far longer and tied back in a ponytail. Beth took after her father's side of the family rather than the Wainwrights. She had an abundance of flame-red curls tumbling about her shoulders and the pale skin which so often goes with her colouring. Little Amy's hair was a lighter brown than Sophie's but again her colouring was similar to mine. Little Amy! I said—at not quite thirteen she was almost as tall as me and probably on her way to near six foot by the time she stopped growing.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Amy demanded. I whipped off my sarong and swung it round my head, laughing, before throwing it onto the nearest chair. Then we all dived into the pool, splashing about like big kids.

That evening, after supper, we discovered a fifty-inch TV monitor in a cabinet together with a DVD player and a cupboard revealed a huge library of DVDs. They covered just about every genre of cinema, including many classics, and the girls opted to watch Sleepless in Seattle. I didn't want to spoil their enjoyment so I said nothing about having seen it the previous night. We huddled together on a huge sofa and we all heaved a collective sigh at the final scene.

In bed that night, thinking of Sam, I brought myself off three times, as quietly as I could, before going to sleep.

The wardrobes in my room had mirrored doors and when the girls went to the pool after breakfast, I thought that I would check myself out. I'm five-six tall and my chestnut hair was cut in a Louise Brooke bob, the silent star being a pin-up of mine when I was a girl. I love the style, I've had it for years and I doubt I'll ever change. I've always cared for my hands and feet and both were very presentable with nice, neat nails. My face... well, I've got a pleasant face but I've always considered myself to be ordinary, even bordering on the plain. Still, Sam told me I was lovely so I guess that's all that matters. My best feature is my large brown eyes, very much like those of Clara Bow, another silent era pin-up of mine. (In case you think I'm living too far in the past, other pin-ups included Audrey Hepburn, Natalie Wood, Leslie Caron, Sigourney Weaver and Katharine Ross—no boy bands or sportsmen for me, thank you.)

Travelling downwards, my 34B breasts are quite perky and I'm very proud of my large areolas and thick, dark-red nipples which are extra sensitive. I keep myself in good condition and so my belly was flat and my backside and legs shapely. Then I looked at my pubes.

Oh. My. God. During the long months of the work project, although keeping my underarms smooth, I had neglected pubeland and my bush had gone wild. I have always been luxuriant down there but usually kept it well trimmed. Now anybody seeing me naked from a distance could be forgiven for thinking that I was wearing a dark bikini bottom. I opened my legs and couldn't even see my slit. How the hell had Sam found her way in there? Come to that, how the hell had I found my way in there when masturbating? I thought of how lovely Sam's bare pussy had looked and decided that this called for action.

I had a tube of top quality depilatory cream in my toiletries bag and decided to go for the full monty, the Sam look. I gathered together cream, scissors and lots of tissue paper and, with great care, set to work. About forty-five minutes or so later, kitty was free and looking out on the world. I returned to the mirror to admire my new look.

I was very pleased with the result and decided that I had a rather attractive pussy. I played a forefinger up and down my dampening slit and was tempted to continue. But then if any of the girls had turned unexpectedly, I would have found it difficult to explain what I was doing with a finger or two up my snatch. In the end I just went outside to join the them in the pool.

The girls asked me to pick the film that evening and having always loved old films, I chose Singin' in the Rain. I wasn't sure how they'd feel about a musical more than fifty years old but they loved it and appointed me the week's film picker. As lovely, tactless Amy put it: "You're so old, Aunt Emma, that you must know a lot of really good old films." Sophie told her not to be cheeky and she looked bewildered. "What'd I say? What'd I say?"

When Singin' in the Rain finished, Amy jumped up and started dancing round the room, singing a song from the film. She seemed to be having so much fun that we all got up and joined in. Thereafter, I chose a musical each night and we always followed it up with a little dance session. Childlike, perhaps, but immensely enjoyable. Among the films I chose were High Society, Moulin Rouge (we all wept buckets when Nicole Kidman's character died), Grease and Meet Me in St Louis.

During the showing of Singin' in the Rain, I'd spotted something that I hadn't noticed the previous night. Sophie and Beth were sitting very close together and they were holding hands.

I had been a bit worried about Sophie. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something seemed to be amiss with her. She was usually bright and bubbly and full of bounce but since we had started on the holiday she had seemed a little subdued. Neither Beth nor Amy had commented, so perhaps it was just me seeing something that wasn't there. Then the morning after Singing in the Rain she didn't dive into the pool with the rest of us but said that she was going for a walk. She walked down the slope beyond the patio and disappeared onto a narrow path that ran between the trees and hedgerows.

I gave her about 30 minutes and then decided to follow, to see if I could find out what was wrong. Pulling on shorts and t-shirt, and telling Beth and Amy that I wouldn't be too long, I set out in Sophie's footsteps. Within minutes I was walking among shadows cast by the heavy foliage. The path under foot was stony but I was okay wearing flip-flops.

After about five minutes walking, I noticed a small side path off to the right and wandered down there to check. Very quickly the undergrowth petered out and I found myself standing on a rocky outcrop leading down to the sea. Sophie wasn't there but there was a number of rock-pools filled with clear water. One of them was sufficiently large to swim in, being about twelve feet across and probably eight to ten feet deep. I could see marine plants and small crabs and shellfish on the bottom. This would be a good place to bathe and would make a novel change from the villa's pool.

But that was not what I was here for. I still had to find Sophie, so made my way back to the main path and carried on. Then I heard moans and caught my breath, thinking that Sophie was in trouble, had hurt herself. I dashed forward and the path suddenly ended in a sharp right-hand turn. What I saw made me pull back quickly. Here was another outcrop leading to the sea, with large flat slabs of rock on one of which a gazebo had been constructed and bolted down. And almost filling the gazebo was the largest sun-bed that I had ever seen, being easily the size of a double-bed. And lying on the sun-bed was Sophie.

I don't think she would have seen me. She was facing towards me but she was lying supine and the moans I had heard were explained. Sophie had stripped off her shorts and she was masturbating. Her breathing was fast and uneven and I think she was near to coming off. Seconds later she jerked two or three times and gave a little cry. But that didn't finish her—she continued fingering herself, obviously intent on coming again.

The sight aroused me and I could feel myself getting wet. I retreated and returned to the rock-pools. Pushing a hand into my shorts, I used two fingers to relieve myself, choking down my urge to cry out as I climaxed. Then whipping off t-shirt and shorts, I jumped into the largest rock-pool. The water was freezing but it certainly cooled my ardour, not to mention making my nipples stand out like bullets.

About 15 minutes later I was walking back to the main path and almost crashed into Sophie.

"Emma! What are you doing here?"

"Just exploring." Well, it was partly true.

She stepped towards me and sniffed. "I can smell the sea on you," she accused, "You know what Mrs Cudmore said about the currents round here. What would we have done if something happened to you?"

"Don't worry, I haven't been near the sea," I told her, "I've found some lovely rock-pools and had a swim in one." I grabbed her hand. "Come and have a look." So I plunged into the freezing water again to keep Sophie company. It had the same effect on her nipples that it had on mine.

When we got back to the villa, Beth told us that Mrs Cudmore had phoned, offering to take two of us fishing the following day. I called her back and she apologised that it could only be two. "Our boat's quite small. We'll take great care of whoever comes and make sure that they wear life jackets."

There was some discussion amongst us, each girl offering to let the other two go. In the end, Sophie clinched the argument by saying that she got seasick easily and was therefore unlikely to appreciate the trip. So it was that Beth and Amy went off early with the Cudmores and Sophie and I were left to a quiet day by the pool. Or so I thought.

About an hour after the girls had gone, I said: "You don't get seasick, do you Sophie?"

"No," she replied, "I wanted some time alone with you to talk. Will you come for a walk with me, Emma? We could go and look at the rock-pools again."

"Okay." As we walked down the concealed path, Sophie reached out and took my hand. She said nothing and we walked in silence. When we reached side path and I made to turn off, Sophie pulled me back. "Not yet, Emma, there's something else I'd like you to see." She led me further on until we reached the rocky area where the gazebo stood. Feigning surprise, I said: "This is lovely, Sophie. How did you know it was here?"

"I found it yesterday when I walked this way. Can we go and sit down, Emma? I need to talk to you, to get your advice." She led me to the gazebo and we sat on the edge of the huge sun-bed, Sophie still holding my hand in both of hers. She looked uncertain and avoided my eyes. "Emma, I think I'm gay like you."

"Only think, sweetheart? You're not sure?"

"I think I'm sure... I want to be sure, but I don't know what to do. Emma, when did you know you were gay?"

"Damn near from the time I was a small girl," I said. I put a finger under Sophie's chin and turned her head so that she had to look at me. "Come on, Sophie, you can talk to me and anything you tell me will be between us unless you say otherwise."

"I think about girls all the time—have done for years. I fantasise about girls when I... when I..." Sophie blushed.

"When you masturbate?" She nodded, obviously discomfited, then said: "I've got a book of glamour shots at home and I sometimes use that to get off."

"I used to look at my film star pin-ups," I said. I squeezed her hand, thinking the poor girl would be mortified if she knew that I had seen her doing it. "Sophie, darling, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Most of us do it at one time or another. I've done it at least a half-dozen times since we've been here, thinking about someone who's become very special to me. I'll probably do it another half-dozen before we go. Sophie, have you ever had sex?"

"Yes," she mumbled.

"With a girl?"

She shook her head. "With a boy, a few months ago. And it was horrible." It seemed obvious that she wanted to get this off her chest and so I listened as her words came tumbling out."

"He was maybe a year older than me and supposed to be the stud of the school, the great lover. He used to brag about having all the girls. And a lot of the girls bragged about having had sex. And then he started pursuing me. I was pretty sure then that I'm gay and wasn't interested but he kept pestering me and I was the only virgin in my class. It was still only girls who interested me really but I wanted to conform, be one of the gang. So I gave in and agreed to go out with him.

"He took me to the cinema a couple of times and then the second evening he shagged me up against a wall, or he tried to. It was so romantic. He pulled his thing out and had me pump it up and down for a few minutes but he didn't bother to try to get me wet—I don't think he even knew that girls should be wet. He just thrust at me—he didn't even get it properly inside me. I think my playing with it was too much for him—he just touched the outside of my quim and popped off. He even had the nerve to tell me to treasure that because nobody else would be as good as him. I might have been innocent but I wasn't that fucking innocent. The great lover—great flop more like. And then he just walked off leaving me there with his stuff running down my leg. Didn't even have a condom so I worried until my next period started."

"You poor girl." I held Sophie close and stroked her hair, "It's probably no comfort, Sophie, but I've found that those who brag the most are often the ones who've done it least. And I very much doubt that you were the only virgin in your class—you were probably the only one honest about it."

"Have you ever had sex with a man, Emma?"

"Once." I told her briefly about Jacob. "From the sound of it, it was a damned sight better than your experience."

"Anyway, after that I knew that I wanted nothing more to do with boys," Sophie continued, "I dreamt about girls, I wanted girls but I didn't know how to go about it. I say 'girls' but now it's just one girl, one special girl. I've fallen in love with her, Emma, she's all that I want and I'm scared to do anything about it. I'm sure I'm gay but..." Her voice trailed off.

"Do you want to tell me who she is, this special girl?" Sophie shook her head.

"Okay, sweetheart, that's okay. Now on the face of it, I think that you probably are gay. It's as much about emotional connections as physical. But really, it's your call—nobody else can decide for you." An idea popped into my head. I tried to dismiss it but it persisted. "Sophie, are you willing to try something that might help you be sure about your sexuality."

"Yes, Emma, anything."

"Then close your eyes." I took her face in my hand s and pressed my lips gently against hers. I did nothing more than that, simply maintained a very light pressure for perhaps fifteen seconds or so. "How did that feel? Good?" When Sophie nodded, eyes still closed, I said: "Let's try it a bit further."

I kissed her again, lingering this time, and when I ended the kiss I nipped Sophie's lower lip very softly between my teeth. "Do you feel comfortable with that?" I asked.

Wide-eyed, Sophie nodded again. She gave a little sigh and her arms crept around my neck. Sophie initiated the next kiss. Her lips were parted slightly and the tip of her tongue pressed against my mouth. I responded and our lips and tongues played tenderly for what must have been a good minute. Reluctantly, I pulled away because my honeypot was tingling and demanding attention. "Did that help?"

"Oh yes..." Sophie's voice was dreamy. "Oh yes, Emma, that certainly helped. I can't imagine any boy's kisses being so lovely." She laid her head on my shoulder and was quiet for so long that I thought she had gone to sleep. Then she said: "Emma, will you make love to me, please? I think I'm ready..."

That put me in a quandary. My head was shouting No! but my body was shouting Yes! "I'm not sure that's a good idea, Sophie," I told her. As I was speaking, I was aware of a nigh uncontrollable twitch down below. Mentally I may have been on the side of restraint but my pussy totally lacked a conscience.