Three Steps to Heaven

And she was so, so beautiful...

"By the way..." I reached into my car and handed Amelia the mixed bouquet I'd bought her. "I didn't know whether Goth girls liked flowers so I took a chance..."

"This Goth girl loves flowers." She looked delighted and leaned in to kiss my cheek.

Flip! went my heart. Thud! went my heart.

We had tea before a roaring fire in the cottage and then Amelia showed me round her home. The comfortable cottage comprised sitting-room, kitchen, bathroom and guest bedroom. There was an old shotgun mounted above the fireplace, looked a bit of a museum piece. "You shoot?" I asked.

"No, that's been there like forever," she said, "I guess it's pretty unusable by now. I wouldn't like to risk it, that's for sure."

An inner doorway led into the windmill where the ground floor was a real museum piece containing all the original machinery, obviously very old. Then a narrow spiral staircase took us up to the next floor.

"My office," Amelia told me. Vertical blinds at the windows were closed to shut out the sunlight and some seven or eight computer desks, bearing all manner of IT paraphernalia, were arranged in a semi-circle round the walls. There were a number of iMacs and Mac laptops and I recognised the black, cylindrical shape of a Mac Pro. In addition to the Macs there were various PCs and laptops, printers, routers and impressive-looking appliances and machines inset with control knobs, flickering gauges and small coloured lights that I couldn't put a name to. Even to the untrained eye, this was serious apparatus. More than anything, Amelia's office was like the flight-deck of the Starship Enterprise, the only thing missing being a pointy-eared bloke pontificating about... lesbian love, perhaps. Now why the hell did I think that Spock would comment on such a thing? "It's love, Jim, but not as I know it..."

The spiral stairs went on to the windmill's top floor which turned out to be Amelia's bedroom, a small section of which was partitioned off to make an en-suite bathroom. The floor was covered in rich crimson carpeting and the room's centrepiece was an enormous four-poster bed, its cover matching the carpet exactly. Framed art nouveau prints of women graced the walls between the several windows and I recognised the erotic works of Alphonse Mucha, Gustav Klimpt and Aubrey Beardsley—obviously the fine arts module of my degree course hadn't been a waste of time after all.

"Take a look from the windows," Amelia invited.

The view from all the windows was spectacular. From one I could see into the village which from this distance seemed to be a toy for a giant child. The clock-face on the square church tower shone white against the ancient and blackened stonework, although from here I couldn't make out the numbers, only the hands. From other windows were varying views of fields, some with cattle and sheep, others lying fallow, and distant hills and clumps of trees, leaves glowing with the colours of autumn. Perhaps half-a-mile away was a narrow stream, sparkling with reflected sunlight and I could make out several people fishing.

"Wow," was all I could say.

"Great, isn't it?"

"It certainly is," I enthused, "You should have your office up here, Amelia."

Her smile was tolerant. "If I had my office up here, I'd never get any work done because I'd be too busy looking at the view, especially in summer when it's truly spectacular."

"You've got a great place here but why a windmill?"

"An inheritance," Amelia explained, "my grandfather Brogan was very wealthy, he'd made some of his money in property and had a huge portfolio. The mill was one of his properties. He'd had it modernised and the cottage built and as I was the only one in the family who truly loved it, he left it to me. My mother was left a house in her university town. There was money for us too, but...

"He was an odd man, Grandfather Brogan. Although born in the early 1940s, his attitude was... ultra-Victorian, I suppose you could say—he was quite a throwback. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he firmly believed that women were incapable of handling their own financial affairs so instead of leaving us actual money with the properties he set up two trust funds from which we each get an annual income. Whichever one of us dies first, her trust fund is transferred to the survivor. When the second one dies, the trusts are wound up and the proceeds go to various charities. It was so silly. One of my cousins, Lawrence, is a compulsive gambler and he got uncontrolled money—blew most of it within a year, lives on benefits now. But of course, as far as grandfather was concerned Lawrence is a man and could be relied on to deal with his finances in a sound and trustworthy way.

"Fortunately the trustees are a little more flexible than my grandfather and within the constraints of his will, they're willing to release money from the capital for worthwhile projects. When I got my Master's in computer science they were quite happy to release funds for me to start up my own business and I'm pleased to say I'm doing well..."

Amelia was right—she made a brilliant curry. I laughed a little as later on as we prepared to go out. "What's funny?" Amelia asked.

"Oh, it's your jeans and sweater and that lovely sheepskin coat you've put on. It just doesn't seem to be you. I guess I'm so used to seeing you in flamboyant trouser suits..."

"Even we Goth girls feel the cold." She gave me a gentle punch on the arm. "I'm not freezing for you or anybody else, so stop taking the piss. Oh, and stick this in your coat pocket, we'll need it later." She handed me a large flashlight.

* * * * *

I loved the village pub, The Magpie. No music, no gaming machines, just a log fire in a huge fireplace and an all-round cosy and friendly atmosphere. The man I took to be the landlord was almost a caricature of the species, corpulent and jolly-looking with a luxuriant handlebar moustache and a silver watch-chain and fob spread across a chequered waistcoat. And the place was crowded, with many of the customers dressed in period costume for the occasion. There were smock-clad peasants, dandy cavaliers, Cromwellian soldiers, Puritans dressed in black broadcloth (although their seventeenth century predecessors might not have approved of the drinks in their hands). Others, like myself and Amelia, were well-wrapped in warm autumn clothing. "This place is brilliant, Amelia," I said.

She gave me a happy smile. "Glad you like it. Glass of wine?"

I eyed the row of beer pumps on the bar. "No way, it's a pint of real ale for me. Ruddles County, I think."

Amelia's smile became even brighter. "Thank God, a girl after my own heart. I'll have the same." She went to the bar and waited patiently for service.

"Hello, pretty lady. You're new here, aren't you? I'm Felix." The smooth voice was close to my ear, a little too close, invasion of space and all that. I took a couple of steps back before turning to look at the speaker. He was tall, good-looking, well-spoken and his clothes looked very expensive but... I don't know what it was but there was just something about him that suggested the suave exterior concealed a sleazebag struggling to get out. Perhaps it was something to do with his lank, swept-back hair or his self-satisfied smile or the way he reminded me of some of my catastrophes. "Let me buy you a drink and then we can become better acquainted," he offered. I didn't feel any great urge to become better acquainted.

"No thanks," I said, "A friend's getting me a drink already."

"Fortunate fellow," purred Felix, "But I'm sure I'll be able to tempt you away."

You'll be fucking lucky was trembling on the tip of my tongue but at that moment Amelia returned with our pints. She placed them down on a table, took one of my hands in hers and said, "Forget it, Felix. Jessie's with me and you know I don't share."

He grunted: "Huh! Another one!" before moving off to shark his way around the bar.

Amelia released my hand and suddenly there was an odd expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Jessie, did I do the wrong thing there? Did you want to get to know Felix?"

"Amelia, you did exactly the right thing. I don't like being rude to strangers but something about that bloke was getting right up my nose. I was working myself up to telling him to fuck off."

Amelia relaxed and handed me my pint. "Good. Despite the presentable exterior he's a king-sized creep. And not only is he a creep, he's not much good at taking hints." She laughed. "If you'd told him to fuck off he'd probably have taken it as an agreement to marry him. It took him months to accept that I'm not interested in men." She lifted her glass. "Cheers!"

We drank for a while and Amelia introduced me to a number of villagers, all of whom seemed to be very friendly. The she spotted an elderly man on the far side of the bar. "Excuse me a moment, Jessie. That's Ernie Paxton, the local handyman. I need a quick word with him about a job he's doing for me at the mill."

Within a minute or so of Amelia leaving me, Felix was back chancing his arm again, oozing dubious charm. "Hello, pretty Jessie. Now you're not really one of those, are you?"

"One of what?"

He leered. "You know, a dyke."

"What makes you think I'm not?"

Felix gave me that annoying, smarmy grin again. "Well, you don't look like a dyke."

"Oh, that so? And what's a dyke supposed to look like?"

"Um... er..." He floundered, obviously unused to women asking him awkward questions. He was probably accustomed to seducing women younger and more innocent than me (or older and more desperate). Then I saw Amelia approaching and there was blood in her eye. I thought quickly, wanting to forestall any sort of unpleasant public argument. As she drew near, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her on the mouth. Amelia seemed to pull back slightly in surprise then responded as she pushed her body against mine. Wow, something intended to be a defensive measure suddenly became so much more as Amelia's arms crept around my neck. Her slightly-parted lips were soft and warm and I found myself melting into them. My whole body tingled unexpectedly and I realised... what did I realise? That this was the way it should be, that I was getting more from this kiss with a woman in a crowded pub than from all the sex I'd had with Howie and Timothy et al. Our embrace tightened as the kiss deepened. Then the spell was broken as some wag in the pub shouted: "Hey! Get a room, you two!"

I turned to Felix. "There! Is that dykey enough for you?"

He gave a disgusted snort and slouched off, I guess to look for an easier touch.

"What was that all about?" Amelia asked, "I'm not complaining but why did you kiss me like that?"

"Felix wouldn't accept that we're together and I showed him but—"

"Oh." There was a world of disappointment in that 'Oh' and on Amelia's face as she stepped away slightly. "So it was just to get rid of Felix. I thought perhaps—"

"Amelia, you didn't give me a chance to finish. Yes, it started out to get rid of him but it became something more for me. That was the loveliest kiss I've ever had."

"You mean that? But you're straight."

I took both her hands in mine. "I don't give a stuff what I am. That was still the sweetest kiss I've ever had."

"Thank you for saying that, Jessie."

Spontaneously we hugged and to general laughter the same voice as before drifted across the bar. "Cover your eyes, folks, they're at it again!"

Awareness was dawning. I knew now that my feelings for Amelia were going way beyond ordinary friendship. I think loved her, not friendship love but proper falling-in-love love. As speedy and simple as that. But it was all so strange and confusing and I needed to assess my emotions. Let's see—the evidence seemed to be there. The way my heart had flipped the first time I saw her and had continued to do so, especially when she touched me. This kiss that had, for me and I think for Amelia, turned in something so much more than just a way of discouraging the odious Felix. Suddenly I was becoming very unsure about my sexuality.

* * * * *

As Amelia had said, the evening was great fun. The makings of the bonfire were piled so high that it must have been visible from miles away. Oliver Cromwell burned merrily on top while people in the various period costumes barracked and mocked each other but in the friendliest possible way. Some enterprising kids had brought a load of potatoes which they jacket-baked in the flames and sold for fifty pence a time. The firework display was marvellous and Amelia and I ooohed and aaahed with the best of them. I don't know why people oooh and aaah at fireworks, it just seems the right thing to do.

In time the flames started to die down and the crowd gradually dispersed, making their way down hill towards their individual homes.

The wind had picked up during the evening and was now icy and vicious, driving straight into our faces and cutting through our coats as we walked back through the village. Although the night was clear, we were forced to walk with heads bent to avoid streaming eyes. We'd hardly unclasped our hands ever since I had seen the sleazy Felix off; in fact, at one point during the evening, Amelia had removed her right glove and my left, interlocked our fingers and buried our joined hands in the deep side pocket of her sheepskin coat. We came out on the far side of the village, leaving the lights behind, and I switched on the powerful flashlight to guide our way. It was only a mile or so to the windmill but on that dark and lonely road it seemed to be so much more. Several cyclists, and once a moped, passed us with people calling out cheery good nights as they made their way to their even more distant dwellings.

At last we reached the turn-off path to Amelia's place and then to my surprise she led me straight past the cottage's entrance. "There's something very special I want you to see," she told me. She conducted me to the far side of the windmill and down the shallow slope of the knoll. Now the keening wind was at our backs and we were able to straighten up once more. What could be so special to see here in the dark?

"Now look up at the sky," Amelia instructed.

I did as she told me and caught my breath. The moon hadn't yet risen and the sky seemed to be a solid mass of stars, so thickly gathered together that it was difficult to distinguish individual constellations. I was able to identify the very familiar shapes of The Plough and Cassiopeia and Orion together with the Pleiades cluster but couldn't pick out any of the other constellations in those crowded heavens. And for the first time in my life I could see clearly the luminous band of The Milky Way floating across the sky against that backdrop of stars. "Amelia," I breathed, "I've never seen anything like this before. It's so wonderful."

Reaching out with her free hand, Amelia turned my face towards hers and kissed me very gently on the lips. There was no intention behind it just then, I believe, it was just a sweet kiss of friendship. Then she gave a little laugh. "Let's get inside before we freeze our boobs off."

"Like a hot drink?" she asked once we were in the warm and had doffed our outer clothing, "Or are you ready for bed? It is very late."

I clutched at her hands. "Thank you for showing me that amazing sky."

"Wonderful, isn't it? No light pollution here," she told me, "Now, hot drink or bed?"

"Drink please."

"Hot chocolate sound good?"

"Hot chocolate sounds wonderful."

"Five minutes." Amelia threw another log onto the fire then wandered off into the kitchen while I sank gratefully into the huge sofa. The place was beautifully warm thanks to the central heating but there's something so cheering about a large open fire.

Amelia returned with our drinks and as she bent to put them on the coffee table, I caught a whiff of the L'eau Bleue perfume she favoured. I had another of those strange little inner flips and suddenly my pussy tingled.

We lifted our cups and silently toasted each other before taking a sip.

Instantly my throat was aflame and I'm sure my eyes must have bulged out on stalks. "Christ! That's hot chocolate?"

"Well, it's a chilly night so I did put a tiny drop of rum into it," Amelia admitted.

I took another sip and my tongue and teeth went numb. "A tiny drop?"

"Well, quite a large splash." Amelia tried her drink. "Hmmm, perhaps I was a bit overgenerous with it."

Maybe it was the rum that gave me the kick up the backside I needed. I reached out and took both of Amelia's hands in mine. She turned to look at me, an enquiring expression on her face. "Amelia..." I hesitated briefly then found courage. "Amelia, can I sleep with you tonight? Please?"

"Is that the drink speaking?"

"No, I've not had all that much, even with your hot chocolate."

Amelia's eyes were solemn. "Do you really mean it, Jessie? Are you sure that's what you want? Are you sure of yourself?"

"I'm not sure of myself," I confessed, "What I am sure of is that I'd like to be with you tonight. I'm overwhelmingly attracted to you, Amelia, have been since I first saw you. I think I could easily fall in love with you. No, I think I'm already in love with you."

"But you said you're straight."

"Perhaps... I don't know..." I searched her face for any sign of encouragement. "Some time ago my mother suggested that maybe I wasn't meant to be with men. I didn't understand her then but perhaps she was right. Could be I'm not as straight as I always thought."

"Jessie, have you ever been with a woman?"

"Well... yes, once..." Oh, get it out, woman, I told myself, it's nothing to be ashamed of. "Yes, just the once. I was nineteen, at university and I was slightly drunk. Her name was Marnie, she was gay, and I met her in a lesbian bar I'd accidentally wandered into. Long and short of it, it was late, I got locked out of the halls, and she was kind and let me stay at her place... one thing led to another..."

"Nothing since?"

"No. I tried to forget it—thought I was straight but the kind of men I attracted..." I shook my head in disgust.

Amelia remained doubtful but she said: "Kiss me, Jessie, see if it's as good as you thought in the pub."

Still nervous, I cupped Amelia's face in my hands and brought my lips to hers. Her arms slipped around my waist and pulled me a little closer. Soft lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue brushed my bottom lip. I let out an involuntary moan and let my tongue meet hers. They caressed tenderly. There was no great rush: our kiss was gentle and slow and easy and for me it was even better than the pub kiss. There was no offensive Felix, no joker shouting comments, just me and Amelia and, for me, a strengthening of the love I was already feeling for her.

At last we broke apart and I think we both sighed. Neither of us said a word. Amelia simply took my hand and led me through the mill's ground floor towards the spiral staircase...

* * * * *

Amelia led me to the huge four-poster and sat me down gently on the bed's edge. "There's something you'd better know about me, Jessie. Have you got any tattoos,?"

"No."

"What do you think of tattoos?" I wondered where Amelia was leading with this.

Now I've always had something of a take-it-or-leave it attitude to tattoos. Some I've seen have been brilliant, others just tawdry or even silly. Considered a tattooed line of script for myself once or twice, mostly something along the lines of Howie and Timothy are floppy-dicked bastards! Never did get round to it though, it definitely fell within the silly range and they weren't worth the pain or the cost. But wanting to hear Amelia's point... "Not thought much about it," I told her.