Time After Time

I pulled my hands from Hal's shorts and started to lick my fingers clean. Hal took hold of my panties and removed them—I'd sort of planned this seduction and made sure that I was shaved clean for Hal. She again lowered her head to my crotch and inhaled deeply. Rising, she said: "I don't think I'll get enough of that," before kissing me hard.

I grabbed the waistband of Hal's shorts and tugged them off. Her pubic hair was the same chestnut colour as her boyish hair-cut and prominent pussy lips were thick and puffy with desire. Pink inner lips protruded slightly from the outer and I folded them back so that they resembled rosy butterfly wings. Thick creamy-looking juice seeped from her vagina and slowly trickled down to her perineum. A prominent clitoris stood out and I gently stroked its hood as I introduced fingers into Hal's slippery pussy. I was delighted to find that she was every bit as tight as I am down there—my long-ago encounter with Eleanor had taught me to appreciate that. Copying Hal, I bent to breathe in her musky scent.

Hal's middle finger penetrated my pussy and she folded her hand so as to apply pressure to my clit while I bucked my hips against her hand as I slowly moved my finger back and forth hoping to rub against her g-spot. I'm not sure which one of us moaned the more loudly but it was a close thing. Both of our pussies were making wet noises and mine made a kind of loud plop! sound—almost embarrassing—as Hal suddenly pulled out her finger to suck my slippery fluids.

Hal fell onto her back on the sofa and tugged me up so that I was straddling one of her thighs, pulling me closer so that my thigh was pressing against her crotch. Our lips and tongues met in a long kiss and we played with each other's boobs as we began to rub against one another, our thighs becoming slick with our secretions. I could feel that familiar tightness building up in me as my breathing grew more heavy and rapturous. Hal's breathing was changing now into a light panting and I could see her pupils dilating. She wrapped her arms about me tightly and our movements became more rapid. Then we were both crying out as our climaxes approached.

Hal suddenly squealed loudly as she came and I followed her seconds later, whimpering with pleasure as I buried my face hard into her neck.

We lay there for some time, holding each other closely as we gradually recovered. There was a lilt of laughter in Hal's voice as she said: "I guess that's our love well and truly consummated."

"Guess it is."

"I love you, Berry."

"I love you, Hal."

"Bed?"

I replied enthusiastically. "Yes. Right now."

Hal

There's a shop a few doors down from ours but I don't really know what you'd call it. It's certainly not a junk shop but neither is it exactly an antiques shop. I suppose curio shop is the best description, the stock comprising books, bric-a-brac, jewellery, furniture, in fact examples of almost everything up to and including stuffed animals, most of the goods being obtained from house clearances. The proprietor is an elderly man called Alfred Lee and he's like one of Charles Dickens's grotesques but nicer, always dressed in baggy trousers, granddad shirt with a shabby cardigan and plum-coloured waistcoat on top. To round off this sartorial elegance he wears a tasselled velvet smoking cap and fingerless mittens. I suspect he dresses this way to attract custom and it works because his shop is rarely empty. The tourists seem to love him.

We'd got pally when he found out I collected old photographs and postcards. He often watched out for me and called me in if he had any interesting items. So one lunchtime I was returning from the bakery with my lunch when Albert hailed me. "Hal, I've got something special here, think you'll like it."

'It' turned out to be a box containing about a dozen heavy, tooled-leather photograph albums. Albert pulled one at random and flicked through it, showing me a series of sepia photos with scenes set in India, probably mid- to late nineteenth century. "Did a house clearance couple of days back," the old man told me, "Found these tucked away in an attic corner. Must have been there years, nobody in the house knew anything about them. I think they were cherished once for they were well wrapped up in linen covers. Yours for thirty-five quid." That was a bargain, he'd probably have got far more at auction if he could have been bothered but he had something of a down on auctioneers.

Anyway, Albert loves to haggle so I joined in the game and we finally shook hands on twenty-eight pounds. I went to the glass-topped counter to pay and it was there I spotted the ring. It was quite small, old gold set with a square sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. Albert got it out to show me.

"Must have been a young teenager's ring, art deco I'd say," he commented, "Maybe 1920s or 30s. I've had it quite a while." The ring was too small for my fingers but I reckoned it would fit Berry nicely and the intensely-coloured sapphire was a perfect match for her eyes. I'm not really sure what I had in mind then. I had fallen for Berry and I suppose I had a vague idea of it being an engagement ring at some point. It was a bit pricey but I had to have it. We haggled again, a little longer this time, and eventually agreed a price. "Tell you what," Albert added with a wink, "I'm glad to see it go after all this time so I'll throw in those photo albums free."

"Thanks, Albert, you're a doll." I leaned across and kissed his whiskery cheek.

He smiled shyly, touched where I'd kissed, and said: "I'll have to find you more bargains, Hal."

I took the albums up to my flat meaning to enjoy them one evening when I didn't have too much on. But then life got in the way and I shoved them to one side and forgot about them for a goodish while.

* * * * *

There was an unexpected reconciliation with my mother, although not as I would have wished it. My grandparents came to see me as I was closing up the shop one afternoon and neither looked their normal happy selves. "I've got some bad news, Hal," said Grandma, "Your mother is in St Cecily's Hospice with terminal cancer, started out as bowel cancer but it's spread to other organs. She's got maybe a couple of weeks or so. Your grandfather and I are going to visit her now. Do you want to come along? I know she was neglectful of you, brutally so when she chucked you out but perhaps now's the time to push that aside..."

I knew Grandma was right. At this point I couldn't summon up any great feelings of worry or concern but in the circumstances felt I should try to mend bridges. "Just let me clean up and I'll be with you," I said.

"You'll find marked changes in her attitude," Grandpa told me, "Years ago some old sage said something to the effect that knowing you're dying concentrates the mind wonderfully. I think your mother is realising now what she had and threw away. She's been asking for you."

It's surprising how different things look from the perspective of adulthood. No longer did my mother resemble the icy and disapproving ruler of my younger years. Propped up in her hospital-bed, she was frail and vulnerable. We had been told that her pain-killing medication kept her mildly sedated but that she was aware and lucid. To my surprise, her eyes lit up when she saw me enter her room. "Henrietta, you've come to see me. Thank you." She held out a hand for me to hold, a hand that was little more now than skin and bones.

We spent about an hour with her that first evening, me holding her hand the whole time. As we were leaving, Grandma asked Mother whether there was anything she wanted.

"No-one from the church has been to see me," Mother replied, "I'd like to see the minister if possible, if the poor man can spare the time."

"Poor man indeed!" sniffed Grandma as we left, "Can't be bothered, more like."

* * * * *

I let Robbie know that I'd be taking a few days off, explaining the circumstances. Before going to see my mother the following day, my grandparents and I stopped off at the Church of the Exclusive of the Redeemer. Outwardly the building, dark brickwork crusted with the filth of decades, was both unappealing and uninviting while the interior was gloomy and unwelcoming, there being little in the way of lighting. It was cold too, despite the pleasant weather outside, and smelling strongly of damp. From what I could see of it the altar was nothing more than a plain old kitchen table with a rough wooden cross hanging above, while the pews were cheap and narrow splintery benches which must have been hell on the backside. Not the sort of surroundings guaranteed to bring joy into worship. "I remember this place from when I was a boy," Grandpa whispered, "It was miserable even then. Used to be an old Victorian dame school among other things. It was even used as a temporary mortuary during World War Two."

A door at the far end of the church opened and someone advanced to meet us, a pallid-faced, overweight man dressed in a sombre suit and wearing a dog-collar. His liverish-coloured lips were huge and floppy as if the filler had run out before he was completed and his mouth wobbled as he spoke. "May I help you?"

Grandma had appointed herself spokesperson. "Are you in charge here?"

The man bowed his head. "I am the minister, Reverend Lunt."

"We're the parents and daughter of a member of your congregation, Cynthia Mercer. She's in the local hospice, dying of cancer. Nobody from the church has been to see her. Would you please do something to arrange a visit."

"Ah..." The Reverend Lunt steepled his fingers and stared at the cobwebbed ceiling as if he had spotted something of interest there. "We are aware of Mrs Mercer's illness. She is shunned. I have forbidden members to contact her."

We were astonished. "Why would you want to do that?" Grandma demanded.

"Because God gave her the cancer to punish her."

Grandma shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she'd heard. "What gives you that ridiculous idea?"

The minister gestured towards me, distaste on his slab of a face. "Because she brought this... this deviant being, this unnatural homosexual creature into the world. God abominates perverts and all those associated with them. As it is, I will have to re-consecrate the church when you leave—her very presence pollutes."

For a moment I thought Grandpa was going to punch Reverend Lunt but Grandma felt him tensing up and gripped his arm firmly. "Call yourself a Christian?" she snapped to the minister, "You're nothing but an utter hypocrite, Reverend. Before you start re-consecrating your church, I suggest you get your Bible and read Luke 10, verses 30-37."

As we stepped out into the welcome sunlight, Grandpa snorted: "Lunt? He's got a funny way of pronouncing the letter C."

"What's that Luke whatever?" I asked Grandma.

"The parable of the Good Samaritan," she told me.

* * * * *

"There's nobody coming to visit from the church," I said.

Mother seemed to shrink a little. "Why not?"

Grandma prodded me in the back. "Go on, Hal. Tell your mother the truth."

In the circumstances, I was reluctant to say anything to upset Mother but Grandma poked me again. "Go on."

"They're shunning you," I said, "Your minister says that God has given you cancer to punish you for giving birth to me."

Mother closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh. She opened them again, tears glistening, and looked at me. "I'm so sorry, Henrietta, I've been such a fool all these years. You're a daughter I should have been proud of instead of rejecting you for something you couldn't help. Is it too late for us?"

I felt my own tears coming as I took her frail hand between both of mine. "No, Mum, it's never too late."

After a while, Mother said: "I know I've not got long now but I've got some urgent business to deal with. Will you get a solicitor to come and see me as soon as possible, preferably tomorrow? Anyone except a woman called Ashton, she's a member of the church..."

After that I visited my mother every day. Towards the end she welcomed the presence of the hospice's resident chaplain, a decent Church of England minister who was not judgemental. The last time I saw her before she died, I brought Berry with me. We approached her bedside holding hands. I wasn't sure whether I was doing the right thing but Mother did seem reconciled to my sexuality. "Mum, this is Berry. She's my girlfriend." I held my breath.

Mother reached out a hand to Berry. "Hello, Berry. You'd better know that I was a very poor mother, didn't give Henrietta the love and care she deserved. Please give her that love in my stead. Say you will."

Berry lifted my mother's hand to her lips. "I will, Mrs Mercer..."

Mother died that night, peacefully in her sleep.

* * * * *

I did grieve because for all that had torn us apart, she was still my mother. I think that as much as anything, I grieved for what could have been instead of what was. My grandparents worked at giving me comfort although they, too, were mourning the loss of a daughter. And Berry's folks were unstinting in the love and support they showed me. Lydia Osborne was right, I think, you didn't need to know people well to show them kindness.

I was taking Berry to see the house left to me in my mother's will. There was a posh car sitting outside when we arrived, a large Mercedes GLC-SE Executive. The front door was ajar and I could hear the murmur of voices inside. I started to go into the house and Berry pulled me back. "It could be burglars, Hal. Let's call the police."

"I don't think so." I pointed to the Mercedes. "When was the last time you saw a burglar driving one of those? I think I know exactly who it is."

I was right. We walked into the sitting-room, Berry nervously clutching my hand, to confront the Reverend Lunt who had a self-satisfied smirk on his flabby face. With him was a middle-aged woman, thick-set with close-cropped grey hair, dressed in a dark-coloured business suit. She looked vaguely familiar but I couldn't place her. Perhaps she'd been a customer in the shop at some time.

Lunt glared accusingly at our joined hands so quite deliberately I pulled Berry closer and put an arm around her waist. "And what are you doing here?" Lunt demanded.

"I might ask you the same question."

"I am here to inspect my— I mean, the church's new property. This is Ms Ashton, my— I mean, the church's solicitor."

"I see. You ordered your congregation to shun my mother when she needed pastoral comfort but as soon as she dies you're here to grab what you can. You're not only a fucking hypocrite Reverend Lunt, you're a fucking vulture as well."

"There's no need to use foul language, young woman," said the solicitor.

"It's the only kind of language for people like him," I replied, "What makes him think this is his— I'm sorry, the church's property."

Ms Ashton showed me a clipboard holding a number of legal-looking papers together with a set of keys. "Your mother's will left the house and her belongings to the Reverend and the church."

I reached into my shoulder-bag for some papers which I passed to her. "Mother's new will—she changed it before she died. The house is mine, along with all other assets. Oh, and in case you have a sudden urge to rip it up, that's a photocopy, the original is held by my solicitor, Jacobi & Son."

As Ms Ashton reached to take the will from me with stubby fingers, her jacket and shirt cuffs drew back to reveal a glimpse of tattoo around her wrist. Then I knew where I had seen her before. She was the dildo queen I'd witnessed servicing Amber Lytton's lissom body. Now what was her name...? ah yes, Leonie. She had a bloody nerve criticising my language given her sexual proclivities. I wondered if the church knew of her fleshly incontinence. Perhaps not. If they did, maybe she was too useful for them to shun—knew where the bodies were buried as it were.

"This can't be right!" blustered the Reverend Lunt. Spittle flew from rubbery lips as he spoke.

Leonie Ashton finished reading through the short will. "It seems in order to me, and Jacobi & Son is a reputable firm."

Lunt tried again. "The woman must have been mentally incompetent when she did that. She was surely under duress."

"My mother, not 'the woman', had cancer, not dementia," I told him, "She knew exactly what she was doing and I'm sure Mr Jacobi will agree, not to mention the hospice nurses who witnessed her signing the will."

The Reverend made one last appeal to his solicitor. "Surely we can contest the changed will?"

Ms Ashton nodded. "Oh yes, you've got the right to contest it. But as your solicitor I must advise that costs would probably run into thousands to contest in court and you'll likely lose anyway. If you lose you might be held liable for Ms Mercer's legal costs as well as your own. Regrettably, my advice is to accept the situation."

I was elated and shouted Yippee! inside. I'd probably have felt sorry for most people in the same boat but not for the Reverend Lunt. "Yes, put it down to experience," I said, "Perhaps next time you'll be more careful about shunning church members." Then I threw his own words back in his face. "Please leave my house now, your presence pollutes."

The Reverend Lunt had an unpleasant gleam in his eye as he turned his gaze on Berry. "As for you child, don't you think you're a little young to be associating with this... this person?" I could guess what was going through his nasty little mind. He'd lost out on the will so he'd try to get me another way. I reckon he had visions of reporting me to the police, accusing me of sexually molesting a minor.

Berry is still sensitive about her too youthful looks and her grip on my hand tightened but she kept her voice steady as she replied. "Don't be fooled by my appearance, Reverend Lunt. It's none of your business, but I'm actually a year older than 'this person' as you call my girlfriend."

"Bah!" I didn't know people actually said "Bah!`' outside of comic books but Reverend Lunt did. Thwarted, he stormed off towards the front door, closely followed by Leonie Ashton. As the solicitor passed me, I held out my hand saying: "Keys please." Scowling, she slapped the bunch of keys into my hand, hard enough to sting. I didn't trust either of them, though, so resolved to get all locks changed quickly. And annoyed by her manner as she handed the keys over, and that she'd admonished me for 'foul language', I couldn't let well alone, I had to shoot my big mouth off . As she turned away from me, I said sotto voce: "Seen Amber Lytton recently... stud?" She didn't answer, just went brick-red and glowered. Later, I was to regret my impetuosity.

Berry

I was relieved to see the two get into the Mercedes and drive away. There is something scary about religious fundamentalists. In some other countries they might easily have shot us in God's name. I'd noticed the thick-set solicitor flushing as Hal whispered to her and asked what she'd said.

She laughed. "Oh, it was just something I saw her doing a long time ago."

I cottoned on and joined in the laughter. "She's the supposed sexual powerhouse, right? The one you saw shagging Amber Lytton."

"Yep. But forget her. Come here, Berry." Hal pulled me towards her and kissed me full on the mouth. "I should have done that in front of them," she said, "They'd both probably have had a stroke." She kissed me again. "I'll show you round."

There wasn't a lot to see, the house being a typical small three-bedroom semi with some need of updating and decoration. Upstairs, Hal stopped outside one closed door. "This was my room before I got the bum's rush." She turned the handle and I followed her into the room. It was pleasant enough with the afternoon sunlight streaming through net curtains covering a large window. There were a number of shelves filled with books and half-a-dozen or so cuddly toys arranged on the single bed which was covered with a multi-coloured patchwork quilt. This room had not been neglected, it was neat and cared-for.