Twilight Time

Here's my promised fourth story. It's later than I intended but various personal matters slowed the writing down.

Fiction writers are often asked: "Where do you get your ideas?" This question is almost impossible to answer as practically anything can trigger them. This story virtually came from nowhere. I had (still have) a germ of an idea for another tale and one evening I was toying with some dialogue I thought might fit into that story. I typed it out so that I wouldn't forget it then read it through. It came to me in a flash that those half-dozen lines of drafted dialogue gave me a quite different story, this one, and the characters were already clamouring to be let out. This is the result. It's a long love story—there will be sex but it takes second place to the plot. Whatever, I hope you enjoy it.

Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over. All characters and places are imaginary—any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 to the author

*****

For a start, let me tell you a little about my lovely friend Susie Edwards. She is gorgeous. I know it's a cliché but she's a real pocket Venus. Five feet and a whisper tall—don't forget the whisper, it's very important to Susie—with shoulder-length tawny hair, huge velvety brown eyes and a figure to kill for. Men and women both have been known to howl at the moon when they've seen Susie in a bikini. And she's bright with it.

And me? I'm Victoria Clarke, Vicki to most although always Victoria to my Mum, even when I haven't done anything to piss her off. I hate blowing my own trumpet so let's just say I'm way taller than Susie and leave it at that.

Susie and I have been best friends since we met in infant school, aged about four. And here we were, more than twenty years later, still best friends and both gay.

I suspected I was a lesbian when I was about twelve—whenever I watched a film, the actresses made me tingle all over while the male stars seemed a waste of space. I used to take sneaky glances at girls' boobs as they approached and their backsides swaying as they walked past but I wasn't the least interested in boys or the contents of their trousers. Susie said she, too, had recognised her gayness around the same age. We'd plucked up courage to come out to each other when we were fourteen or so, both of us admitting to a lot of soul-searching before doing so, each being afraid that our sexuality might drive our best friend away. It was a relief to find that we were both gay.

Occasionally other girls at school would ask why I didn't seem interested in boys or join in their swoony boy talk. I got round that one by pointing out that most boys of our age group were immature arseholes, not worth bothering with. I reinforced this by hinting at an imaginary older boyfriend, never around to be admired because he was a trainee merchant navy officer. That kept them all off my back.

Susie and I carried on being besties and when we got to the age a little later when life was driven by libidos running rampant, when like most teenagers we were perpetually randy as hell, we sat down and discussed what this meant for us. I don't know if we were unusually mature or far-sighted or what, but we decided that romance and sex between us was a no-no. We loved one another too much as friends to risk destroying that friendship. Having decided that, we did something dramatic lifted straight from old-fashioned kids' adventure stories: we each pricked a little finger with a needle and pressed the tiny wounds together—we became blood-sisters. We were good girls too, both waiting until we turned eighteen before losing our virginity to a couple of older women who were only too pleased to help. Once started, though, there was no holding us.

Later on we came out to our families and I guess we were lucky because both accepted it. I have heard some real horror stories about bigotry in families, gay children being tossed into the gutter and the like, so I was glad that tolerance was the rule for Susie and me. I know my mum was a bit disappointed because she was looking forward to having more grandchildren but as my older brother and younger sister had provided her with five between them she couldn't really complain.

Susie and I were both single. It wasn't lack of opportunity and we both managed the occasional one night stand or even brief affair. It was just that each of us had experienced girl-friend troubles, the green-eyed monster and all that. We'd both had promising relationships break down because the other parties refused to accept that the love between Susie and I was strictly platonic. In the end we'd decided that for the moment, hoped-for true love wasn't worth the hassle and we settled for no-strings casual encounters.

About the only time in our lives we'd been separated for more than a week or two was when we went off to different universities. My talents leaned towards the arts and humanities while Susie was of a scientific bent. Obviously we kept in touch, either speaking to each other most days or texting. Susie used to take the piss out of my texting skills. While she wrote in text-talk, I was punctilious about writing properly (well, I was studying for an English degree). After graduation I went on to take a librarianship diploma while Susie gained an MSc.

We both managed to find work in the same city not too far from our home town. Now I had my dream job as a deputy librarian and Susie worked as a research chemist for a big pharmaceutical company. Things went along nicely for us. We'd been lucky about accommodation too. My elderly Auntie Edna had a big rambling old house in town that had been a boarding house before she bought it. Auntie Edna lived on the ground floor and the two upper floors were self-contained flats which were offered to Susie and me at a very reasonable rent. The two of us did what we could for Auntie in the way of shopping, laundry etc. and we were free to bring home guests as we wanted ("...nice young men.." as Auntie put it).

Fat chance. Between us, though, we did bring home a selection of "...nice young women..." Auntie was almost completely deaf which was just as well sometimes. Once, Susie brought home a 'guest' who turned out to be a screamer. I'm only surprised the police didn't come hammering on our door at midnight hoping to save someone's life. Afterwards it took me several nights to catch up on my shattered sleep. Susie looked a bit knackered after that encounter too.

One of our rituals involved trying to find a different gay club at least once a month. So at the start of my story, Susie texted me one Friday afternoon with the news that she had found a new (to us) lesbian club called Nancy's Nook on Feather Street. Susie didn't know Feather Street but had checked it on a street-map and it was fairly close to where she worked. "c u l8r luv. szy. x"

On leaving the library that evening, I hailed a taxi and asked the grey-haired driver to take me to Feather Street. He looked at me askance and asked where in Feather Street.

"Place called Nancy's Nook."

"None of my business, love, but are you really sure you want to go there?" He sounded concerned.

"I guess... I don't know it. A friend asked me to meet her there."

"Oh." There was a wealth of meaning in that simple "Oh". It sounded ominous. It was a fairly short drive then the cabbie stopped and told me the fare. He nodded at a run-down building across the road. "That's Nancy's." I could see why the driver had sounded dubious.

Feather Street was in a rough part of town (I guess the feather must have fallen from a moulting vulture) and the grotty exterior of Nancy's Nook didn't make me feel any better. Several women were lounging about outside smoking and they all looked like off-duty navvies. Where the hell had Susie dug this place up from? As I approached the entrance I got several wolf-whistles and one woman, whom I swear had a cauliflower ear, leered as I passed. She waggled her tongue at me and said: "I'd like to get into your keks, petal." I shuddered at the thought. In your dreams, lady.

A small entrance lobby was guarded by an all-in wrestler with boobs and something huge sat by her side, a dog I think, giving me the evil eye. It was a cross-breed but cross-bred between what I couldn't guess—possibly grizzly bear and mountain lion. Barely looking at me, the woman thrust out a meaty hand and grunted: "Three quid!" I handed over several pound coins and she let me through into the bar where I was assailed by a hub-bub of noise.

My heart sank. It was a real spit-and-sawdust sort of place, crowded with women who seemed to be the off-duty navvies' big sisters. I looked around and there was Susie, trying to look inconspicuous at a corner table—some hope, even at a distance I could tell she wasn't a happy bunny. I could see several tough-looking women staring at Susie like hungry tigers licking their chops over a tethered goat. I squeezed my way through the mob to get to her and one or two copped a quick feel as I passed by. After looking at the gropers I didn't protest as I value my health too much. On the way, I caught some interesting snatches of conversation:

",,,she wis a squirter 'n' she came three times, all o'er ma fuckin' heid..."

"...an' I wished I'd had a camera, 'cos she had hair all the way up past her belly button..."

"...her arse was so wide I could hardly get my arms round it..."

Classy.

I settled into a chair beside Susie, took a gulp from the glass of paint-stripper masquerading as red wine she had ready for me, and whispered: "God Almighty, Susie Edwards, you're my best friend in the whole world..."

Susie had the grace to look embarrassed. "I know..."

"...and I love you to bits..."

"I know..."

"...but bring me to a place like this again and we'll have to renegotiate the contract. How on earth—"

"I know..." but before she could say another word a huge woman, middle-aged and who must have weighed around twenty stone plus, grabbed a spare chair at the table, said: "You mind?" and sat down without a by-your-leave. Her look was kindly enough, though.

"Name's Nancy," she announced, "This is my place. And you are...?"

"I'm Victoria—Vicki," I said, "and this is Susie."

"Nice to meetcha. Now, did either of you young beauties come in here hoping to hook a bit of rough?"

Dumbfounded, we shook our heads.

"Thought not, I can usually tell the hard-core butch groupies from the accidental tourists. The faces give you away—the accidentals never look too thrilled. So how did you find this place?"

"Internet," Susie squeaked. She spoke as if she wanted to hide. "I was looking for a gay bar close to my workplace to meet Vicki and your place came up as the nearest."

"Okay. I think I'd better take another look at my website, try to make things a bit clearer."

My mouth went into motion before I put my brain in gear. "How about: 'Nancy's Nook: a home-from-home for the more well-built and rugged type of lady'? You could include a few photos of your lovely members." I could have cringed and bitten my tongue as I heard myself. I'm glad to say that Nancy didn't seem to notice any sarcasm.

"Hey, that's not bad." She nodded. "I'll think about that. Now I'm going to recommend a nice little femme joint where I think you'll be a lot happier. Stay here and finish your drinks—I'll be back in a mo. And I'll pass the word round that you're off limits." Nancy got up and walked to the back of the bar, the crowd parting before her like the Red Sea.

Literally within seconds of Nancy moving, another woman came up to us. This one was tall, lean and athletic-looking with short hair gelled into spikes and dressed in a t-shirt with a vulgar slogan (Eat My Snatch, if you really want to know), ripped jeans and cowboy boots. Surprisingly she had a very attractive face. I said surprisingly but you'd really have to see all the others to understand. In fact, she bore a slight resemblance to some film actress from way back, the early Sixties I think, had a small part in The Silence of the Lambs—a few seconds musing and the name came to me, that was it: barring age and hair-style, she was a bit like Diane Baker. She leaned on the table, her smile concentrating mainly on Susie. I didn't blame her—I've told you that Susie is a knockout with her tawny hair and big brown eyes. "Right, which of you little darlings wants to be fucked by a real woman tonight?" She turned to me. "If you're both up for it, I can handle it."

"Hey, Jody," Nancy yelled, "Babes-in-the-Wood, don't touch."

"Okay, Nance." Jody gave us a rueful grin. "Sorry girls, I thought you'd like to try it on for size." She gave us a little wave and added: "Could've been fun." She returned to her table to a deluge of cat-calls and ribald comments.

Nancy returned a few minutes later and handed me a pair of tickets with the motto:



'The Twilight Time Rooms

Private Club

Members Only

Complimentary Admittance'



"This place'll suit you better. It's not far, on Marlborough Avenue, and I've called a taxi for you. Those passes will get you in free. We've got an arrangement—I send them little lost femmes and they send me stray rough trade. Now come on, I'll take you out and make sure the wandering hands mob don't take liberties."

On the way in the taxi, Susie looked thoughtful. "You know, that one who propositioned us, that Jody, she wasn't at all bad... shame really... different time, different place, I could have gone for her in a big way." Susie's taste ran to tall women who were a little flamboyant. Yes, I could see Jody appealing to Susie, but as she said: different time, different place.

* * * * *

The pretty, middle-aged woman behind the reception desk at The Twilight Time Rooms took the tickets from me, checked them, and started in giggling. "Sorry, girls," she said, trying to straighten her face and failing, "I guess you must be refugees from Nancy's Nook. How are things there? As refined as ever?" She couldn't stop laughing and I was afraid she'd pee herself.

I pretended to consider. "Yeah, once you get past the troll and the three-headed dog guarding the exquisitely-decorated reception area, the sight of all those lady-like debutantes sipping their dry sherries and engaging in gentile conversation makes the effort well worth it. Why, they had to force us to come here."

She spluttered with fresh laughter. "I hope The Twilight Time isn't too much of a let down after such an uplifting experience." She took a deep breath and continued: "You've got free admission tonight. If you like us and you'd like to be members, subscription is seventy-five pounds a year. And as members you'd be entitled to bring one guest each whenever you come here. Cloakroom's over there, the lounge-bar is round that corner to your right, powder room upstairs. There is a men's room as well on the top floor but take no notice of that—no men in here, we're paying lip service to the equality laws."

Right outside the double doors leading into the lounge-bar was a huge framed montage of singers and musicians. I recognised Andy Williams, Willie Nelson and several others among them. The centrepiece of the montage, though, was a large photograph of a black singing group, one woman and four men. Beneath the photo, in fancy gilt lettering, was the legend: The Platters.

"Who are The Platters?" Susie asked.

I knew who The Platters were. My grandma had some of their records. "They were a big-name group in the Fifties," I said. And then it clicked. "Hey, one of their hits was called 'Twilight Time'. That'll be why they're up here. I guess all these others must be singers who've recorded 'Twilight Time'."

Susie pinched my cheek. "Who's a clever girl, then?" We went through into the bar. The lighting was soft and low and like Nancy's Nook, the place was crowded with women but here there was no reason to be apprehensive. Women were dancing, women were drinking, women were talking, women were dressed like women and not like builders' labourers. I reckoned you could walk safely across this room and make it to the far side unscathed. You might get 'come-hither' glances, even admiring comments, but that was far better than strange hands exploring places only you and your lover and your doctor should explore.

We found a corner booth where we could watch the action and got a glass of red wine each. This time it tasted like wine, not like something you spray on the garden to keep stray cats away. We told each other which girls we could fancy without doing anything about it, we had a few dances and a couple more wines. In the end we had a great evening in the club and decided we liked it—from now on, the Twilight Time was going to be our regular Friday spot. On the way out we stopped by reception, filled in some forms (bureaucracy rules!) and paid our membership fees. The receptionist said it looked like we'd enjoyed it. Susie pursed her lips. "Not bad," she admitted, "But you could do with some of Nancy's members coming here to give etiquette lessons."

* * * * *

It was a couple of Fridays later that Susie and I both pulled in The Twilight Time. Or, as I worked out some time later, we were the ones who were pulled. We had settled in our favourite booth with a couple of wines, had a few dances and were sitting back enjoying the music and the atmosphere. Then somebody said: "Excuse me."

Two women were standing by the booth, I'd guess both early forties, both attractive, well-dressed and groomed, the kind of grooming that comes from an up-market beauty salon. One of them was holding a bottle of champagne and the other said: "My name's Imogen and my friend is Anthea. Sorry to intrude but we have a small bet on. Whoever loses has to pay for this champagne. Now I say that you two are an item whereas Anthea thinks that you're just friends. Which is it?"

"Sorry, Imogen, looks like you'll pay. We're best friends but that's it."

Imogen shrugged. "Oh well, win some, lose some." She brightened and added: "There's a lot of champagne here. Unless you're expecting friends, would you like to have some with us?"

I glanced at Susie who smiled and nodded. "Thanks, that would be nice," I said and introduced us, saying that we were fairly new members. Our new friends fetched champagne flutes and sat down with us. A few sips of bubbly and the four of us were chatting and laughing together like long-lost pals although I think we gave out more personal information than they did. We told them our occupations among other things but they gave only a vague intimation that they were in 'business'. Anthea told us that it was good to meet women in the Twilight Time who were just friends. "Imogen and I are just good friends too. So many who come in here have partners or girlfriends and you wouldn't believe the jealousy and hostility that we've encountered at times, just for asking someone to dance." We all rolled our eyes, wondering at the small-mindedness of some people.

After a while, Imogen stood, held out a hand to me and gestured to the dance floor. "No danger of jealousy at this table." I took her hand and as she led me from the booth I noticed Anthea doing the same with Susie.

I'll say this for Imogen, she was a damned good dancer, far, far better than me, and sexy as hell with it. When we reached the dance-floor the DJ was playing a medley of Latin American-style numbers and Imogen spun me round so that our bodies were almost plastered together with her pussy grinding into my backside. We were about the same height and so everything fitted together nicely. Her arms circled me with her hands cupping my breasts, fingers tweaking my nipples—it was obvious that I hadn't put on a bra—and I was carried along by her every movement. It was sensuous and exciting and I felt as if I was melting with pleasure. Soft lips caressed my neck, warm breath raising goose bumps. She spun again, still going with the rhythm, and this time it was my puss crushed up against her backside while my hands found their way to her breasts which were easily a handful or two larger than mine. And she did not let up on the slinky swaying, raising my temperature by a couple of degrees.