0 comments/ 26125 views/ 4 favorites Bowled Over By: Frenchman (Dedicated to my old gang from Mar-lin-do Lanes) A true story of Gutter-lust Introduction I was a 19 yr. Old kid in college living in an upscale area of the San Fernando Valley. It was a 'Cottage Community' near Hollywood in the late fifties and I was commuting to the local Glendale College Campus while living at home so as to save money. My folks had money and I really didn't need to work as long as I stayed in school (the deal I made with my dad). I had an athletic scholarship waiting at USC once I brought the ol' grades up to a B average. Life was wonderful except for my girl friend (whom I had been dating for over 3 years. She had moved quite a distance to attend college near Santa Barbara at UCSB in Goleta, California Holly was the only girl I had ever had sex with (and she was wonderful) but the distance and infrequent opportunities were taking its toll on me. Holly and I let the genie out of the bottle in our junior year of High School in the back seat of my '53 Ford and over the next 3 years we both developed a healthy and almost daily appetite for sex and I was getting real frustrated from forced abstinence. I had to practically soak the bed sheets off me in the shower every morning from the 'wet-dreams' I got dreaming of all that pussy I was missing. My story is about to enter a short stupid stage of false bravado and the most inane dialogue you may ever read. But it is true and lends honesty to how an otherwise intelligent youth can find himself in a wasted environment of a poolroom and some pretty stupid, so called friends, who also have yet to discover the value and purpose of life. Finish this first Chapter and laugh, if you can, at Ron. He is truly an immature and pitiful kid in the company of others just like him. He (me) is about to meet the first real woman who will change his life forever. Listen to an honest accounting of that transition and judge for your self how valuable love and sex can be in motivating a youthful jackass into the real man hiding beneath that childish façade. The Regression of a Misguided Youth About this time, I started hanging out after classes at the local bowling alley. It had a poolroom that paralleled and ran the entire length of the lanes with a series of large windows through which you could see across all the lanes. It was really the most unique view of perhaps any poolroom in a bowling alley. A few buddies I knew from High School were there almost every evening. Playing a few racks of pool with my buddies relaxed the classroom tensions and take my mind off of what I was really craving; Holly and her soothing pussy. It all worked well----until Sandy (no it's not her real name) came into the picture. Sandy was a beautiful creature. She was 26, 5'7", 36-22-36 (Don't tell me 'bullshit'. That really was her dimensions. So shut up!). Top that with dark red hair and ruby red lips with this wicked little smile that said, "Fuck me." I was playing pool and she was bowling on Lane-One when I first saw her. I had turned toward the lanes due to one of the guys pointing out the tall chesty Redhead with the low-cut blouse. Man we were all soon plastered against the glass every time her turn to bowl came up. Our table was in the perfect spot so we could look through the window and back-up towards the foul line. Each time her turn came and she bent over to deliver the ball her beautiful tits would come into full-view. God, what a sight! I was getting a hard-on just looking at her bowl! When she noticed our attention she gave a smile that let us know she appreciated the audience. We all began arguing over whom she had intended that smile (or whether it was just for all). I knew it wasn't me because I was only 19 and just one of many at the window. Besides she was so damn hot and so mature and me? I was just kid with a hard-on, home sick for Holly's 'AWOL' pussy. Every time Sandy threw the ball, she would look up and give us that sly little grin before walking back to the approach. She was obviously turned on and maybe by just one of us; but which one? We decided to make a bet. We all threw in a buck. Now house-rules said the cheapest bet in the poolroom was a quarter, but this babe warranted a whole buck. We decided the rules for winning the bet was this: When she bowled, only one of us would stand up close to the window and look down as she delivered the ball. If she only smiled at one of us, then that lucky bum got the money. If she smiled at two then they would split the pot. If more that, then all bets were off! Being the newest arrival in the group they made me go last. No matter, I thought James would win it anyway. He was the oldest and a good-looking guy that always had some new 'twist' in tow. James was first and to all our amazement, Sandy thew the ball and turned around without so much as a notice. Someone said, "James, man she just threw you a 'gutter-ball'", and we all had a good laugh. New York Billy was next (yeah, we all gave each other stupid nicknames) and got the same treatment. Each in turn, Virginia Johnny, Buffalo Bob, and Froggy; they all got the same treatment. As each guy was snubbed the anticipation of winning the bet heightened and now it was finally down to me. When it was The Leach's turn (they called me "The Leach" because I was always swiping their food), I tried to weasel out. I had my fantasy of what I wanted to do with the curvaceous Redhead and didn't want to 'Flame Out' like the others. If I had been allowed to 'take a pass' on the bet, I could fantasize it was me she had been smiling at and that fact alone would surely take her into one of my nightly wet dreams allowing me to make love to that gorgeous creature of a babe----even if only in a dream. No dice, I was forced to present my sorry ass and take my turn same as the rest. She saw me (glimpsing out of the corner of her eye), before picking up the ball----nothing, 'Strike-one'. She got ready to deliver and looked once again before making her delivery and still nothing, 'Stike-two'. One of the guys said, "She's just a prick-teaser Leach; she'll start smiling when were all back at the window". And, I thought he was right, especially when she made that low-slide delivery and stood up just staring right at me with a kind of cold icy stare, 'Strike-three', and man I was outta there. Everyone was yelling! New York Billy said, "She really shot you down Ron (my real name)---she burned your ass to the ground"! God, I was so embarrassed, turning beet-red and she was just standing and stabbing my heart with that stare of hers. Then, wait a fucking minute;-------she placed her hands on her hips and gave me a smile that could have melted the North Pole and then hip-swayed (you gals know what I mean) back up the concourse. Oh shit, was ol'Leach in heaven. I collected the bet and smiled as though I were Studly Dudly Do-Right and thought that was the end of that. Surely, I could now claim to be the wiley shy stud of the Mar-lin-do poolroom. The guys tried to get me to go down to the lanes and make a pass, but I really was too shy and I also wanted to be true to Holly. Yeah, I was pretty square and a true blue kind of guy. Until! The next time Sandy bowled. You see, (unbeknown to us) she had gone into the restroom and removed her bra! What a hot bitch (and I mean that with respect) of a babe! She made her approach, low and slow as usual. We were all back at the glass as usual. And all eyes were looking as usual until; she slid to the foul-line with that low-cut blouse gapping open and the most fantastic set of tits any of us had seen (outside of Playboy) was in plain view. Nobody behind her in the bowling alley could tell what was going on. She stayed like that for about 5 seconds. Those magnificent mounds hanging loose in her blouse. As she stood up, her nipples were poking through the thin material due to her excitement of flashing the whole group. Then she pointed at me and mouthed, "That was for you"! Oh, my fucking luck! I later learned she had told her girl friend what she planned to do and then took a straight shot of Bourbon to get the nerve to 'deliver' (so to speak). Man, I was the hero of the poolroom. And shy or not I wasn't about to let an opportunity such as this go by. I hung up my stick and headed for the bowling area but before I racked my cue and got to the door, she was already standing there. Smiling like a Cheshire Cat she said to all the guys, "Hi boys". The looking right into my eyes she said, "That was my last frame and I need a ride home, would you mind?" I looked back at the guys and in my 15 seconds of fame said, "Later guys I gotta throw some balls around." They really cracked up to hear ol'Leach talk like that because though I was shy she had me walking on air and I wasn't about to pass the chance to do a little bragging. The mood was set, we were in tune, my pants were packed and she was stacked! Her "Approach" was a mere warm-up to the final delivery of what was to come. I know the dialogue of my story is quite silly, immature and downright stupid but isn't that the reality of most 19 year old kids. I wrote the first part of my story very accurately as to the folly of youth. Sandy was about to change my life forever by seducing the man inside and causing me to discard my silly wasted youth. In the next couple of hours she would walk me from a child's playground in the park to her apartment of a mature sophisticated passion that was to prepare me for the rest of my life. I would never forget the sexual beauty of Sandy and the gift of her mature love as long as I lived! You've struggled long enough. Ch. 2 is an erotic awakening that few kids are ever treated to. The next chapter will show an unbridled passion of a dedicated woman who really knows how to teach a boy what it's like to be treated like a man! To Be Continued Bowled Over Ch. 2 (The Awakening) Bowled Over This is my submission for the 2014 Summer Lovin' Contest so please enjoy it and remember to rate it. Any feedback would also be much appreciated. For any serious cricket lovers out there, please forgive any inaccuracies; I've done my best but most of my knowledge comes from a cricket loving grandfather in my childhood and a little extra research. ============================================= I guess that for most British people, or at least most English people, there is nothing quite so redolent of summer as cricket: the players in their whites on the green field, the gentle crack of the leather ball on the willow bat, the gentle ripple of applause after a good shot or a well taken wicket and, of course, the black scoreboard in the corner of the field... we'll come back to that later. For those of you who don't know cricket, well, I'm not going to explain it here; go and Google it. It has an undeserved reputation for complexity but, in reality, if you can understand football (in any of its many varieties) or baseball, you can understand cricket. What is deserved is, I think, its reputation as a slow, sedate game. I can never remember which Irish writer said that, lacking spirituality, the English had invented cricket to give themselves an understanding of eternity but he had a point. Certainly five or six years ago I would have agreed with that sentiment: I would rather have watched paint dry than a game of cricket! My involvement in the game came, circuitously, as a result of my now long ex-husband's mid-life crisis. When he hit forty he, like many I suppose, found himself frustrated in his life and what he had achieved and suddenly aware of his aging body. However, not for him the typical, if embarrassing responses of donning Lycra and taking up cycling or joining the Little Hambelton Morris Men; not the dangerous response of skydiving or buying that motorbike he'd missed out on as a teenager. No: Alan decided on a series of affairs as his way of avoiding ennui and proving that his body wasn't past it yet. I could, indeed I did, forgive him his first fling with, how clichéd, his secretary. The second, with a woman at the golf club, was harder but we might have survived that, at least while the boys were growing up. The third, some woman at a business conference he attended, was just too much. It was bad enough that this was the third time but what made it worse was that, while I could think that Alan had seen the first two sluts regularly for years (and temptation can play the long game) this woman was a complete stranger; somehow, this was simply too hard to bear. A year later, at age 39 I was a divorcee with three boys aged fourteen, twelve and eight. It was two years after that that cricket entered my life when my eldest, Jack, starting playing in the senior team at the local club. The scoreboard in the corner always intrigued me with its moving numbers that changed mysteriously. Wandering the boundary during matches I discovered that it was, in fact, a shed one wall of which was the scoreboard. This piqued my curiosity further: what went on in there? Was the scoreboard operated by a squad of Munchkins who slept in the shed between games? Was it full of obscure leavers and pulleys? As you can tell, at this point the cricket wasn't holding my attention. However, the one thing I never considered was that it could be the starting place of a lesbian affair between two divorcees. I know -- no imagination, me. My first time in the box was a year or so later. By then most of the laws of cricket has permeated my brain by some kind of osmosis. Actually, it was more that: dull as I found the game at first, watching one's child competing at something is always captivating. When he did well, I wanted to appreciate it; when he was dismissed I wanted to know why. So I watched and I asked questions and I learned; by the end of Jack's first season I knew the player positions, the rules and even the umpire's hand signals. So then one Saturday, before the match, the team coach, Roger Smyth, came over to ask me if I'd help with the scoreboard. One of their regular scorers was off sick or something and Roger had heard me explain a decision to another mother the previous week and thought that I had a good grasp of the game. "Don't worry that you've not done any scoring before, Bill in there will keep the scorebook. You'll just need to spot the umpire's signals and change the score on the board." And so I became a scorer. There were no Muchkins and the machinery inside was simple. The scorebook, on the other hand, was much more arcane with its strange symbols for byes, wides, no balls, wickets and all the rest. However, never one to admit that there was something a man could do that a woman could not, I learned to keep the scorebook too. Yes, I know there's no lesbian love interest yet but be patient. Like cricket this is not a quick story. Jack moved on to university but by then Daniel was playing so I was still involved with the cricket club. Finally my youngest, Harry, who proved to be the keenest cricketer of my three sons, was playing. I'm now 47 and perhaps a little physical description of myself is in order. I'm fairly average in height at five foot six, and have a figure that might, in my mother's phrase, be called 'comfortable' -- her code for overweight. Not hugely mind, just more rounded all over; bits that were flat now curved and curves were, well, curvier and squashier. My eyes are pale blue, my once red hair is... still red actually, but now thanks to dye rather than nature, wavy and shoulder length around my oval face. In fact, the bit of extra weight has helped my face; it was always rather hard and narrow when I was younger but now my cheeks are fuller it's actually quite pretty, in a middle-aged sort of way. It is the first game of the season when Roger, still the team's coach, comes over with a woman behind him. "Sorry, Helen, but there's a bit of a problem: Jason, the chap who was supposed to be scoring with you this season, has pulled out, says he can't do it. Now, I've found Margaret McKinley here," he gestures to the woman and I glance at her in time to see her flinch at the name, "and she's done a spot of cricket scoring before and can help out, at least for the first few matches. Okay? Right, jolly good... er, must dash and make sure the chaps are all fired up and ready." He bustles off, leaving the two of us. "Hello, Margaret, I'm Helen Walker," I say as I offer my hand. "Hi, Helen," she says, shaking my hand, and I detect the slight twang of an antipodean accent, "but please, call me Mags." "You don't like Margaret?" I ask, just to make conversation as I lead the way to the scoreboard. "No, I bloody hate it, if you'll excuse my language." I smile. "No problem Mags. Who's your son? Mine's Harry; he's the wicket keeper and mid-order batsman." "My son's Kyle, fast bowler." "Harry mentioned him. He said he was really good." "Thanks. It's his first season at the club so we don't really know anyone. Nice to hear he's made a good impression with his team mates." "I just wanted to ask, are you Australian?" "Accent's still there isn't it, even after eighteen years. I'm from Brisbane originally." We enter the shed and get organized, continuing to chat. Mags hasn't had that much experience scoring but knows more than I did the first time, so I know she'll do okay. I show her how to change the scores and agree that will be her role along with spotting. The game begins and we start work. I cannot place exactly what it is but there is a very different feel in the shed today. The scorers always have to communicate but the talk is always very focussed on the game and the scoring. We, however, also chat about ourselves. Her running comments on the game are a departure too; her exclamations of "Bloody hell umpire that was wide!" or "Jesus, Kyle you can bowl better than that!" liven up the proceedings and make me smile. I find her comments are contagious, and I find myself calling out "Oh, Harry, bad luck!" when he just misses a catch. "Bloody unlucky!" is Mags' summary. She apologises for her swearing at first but I tell her not to worry about it. I find it fun and a refreshing change to the stuffy reserve I've always encountered in the past. Talking of stuffy, that's another difference. Several hours in a closed shed on a hot day can become somewhat aromatic and over the years I've grown accustomed to the slightly sour, sweaty aroma of men, interspersed with occasional episodes of overpowering aftershave. Mags, however, smells... lovely; a light, fresh and slightly floral scent. I find myself inhaling deliberately every time she is close. At the change of innings they also take tea, so we get a break and time for some serious chatting. She tells me that she's not that long divorced. "Eighteen months ago it was, due to 'irreconcilable differences'. That was the court's phrase for the fact that he treated me like dog shit the whole time and I'd had fucking enough of it. What really pissed him off was when I put his favourite £300 Italian suit in a bucket of bleach. He pushed the divorce real fast after that." I look at Mags in amazement: she has such spark and life in her. She has dark blonde, shoulder length hair that she has pulled back into a ponytail. Her heart-shaped face has high cheeks, a petite, rounded nose and green eyes with a sensual mouth that readily breaks into a very lovely and winning smile. She is shorter than I am, five foot four, and with a sizeable bust and hips, is curvaceous. She is in better shape than me, her waist, stomach and legs, visible in her tight jeans, are trim. I tell her my story in return and that pretty well cements us as friends: fellow survivors of nightmare husbands. "I wish I'd had the guts to do something like you did though, set fire to his golf clubs perhaps," I tell her. "So, is there any new man in your life or on the horizon?" "For me? Nah. I just don't need the complication at the moment and Kyle certainly doesn't. I do miss sex though. What about you, Hel?" I smile at my new pet name. "Do I miss sex?" She laughs. "I meant do you have a man around! You can answer the sex question too if you like." "No, the only men in my life are my sons. After the divorce I had no interest in another man, then later I had no time to try and meet one and now, well I guess I'm used to my life. It's not exactly exciting but it's okay I guess." "And the sex?" she asks, smiling. "Well, my sex drive seems to be hibernating most of the time. When it occasionally wakes up I, um, deal with it." "Yeah, that's what I'm doing: dealing with it. The orgasms do what they need to but it would be nice to have one in company, you know what I mean." She looks at me, "Oh shit, Hel, I didn't mean to embarrass you, I'm sorry. Me and my fucking runaway mouth!" "Mags, you're the first breath of fresh air in my life in a long time. It's just, well, not something I'd normally talk about, to anyone. Anyway, you're right; you don't get cuddles before or after a solo, um, orgasm." I blush again. "And there's nothing wrong with your mouth: I like it, I mean, I like what you say." "Thanks. And yeah, I really miss cuddles too." To my amazement I find myself turning on my chair and reaching around Mags, pulling her into a hug. She is startled but almost immediately relaxes into me as I hold her. I now feel awkward, unsure of what to do next, so I settle for rubbing her shoulder gently. Mags gives a little sigh of contentment while I glance out of the shed window to see the players returning onto the pitch. "Sorry Mags, duty calls," I tell her as I release her. As she pulls back I see her eyes glistening in the twilight of the shed. "Thanks, Hel," she sniffs, "that was so sweet of you." She puts her hand on mine and squeezes as she rubs the tears away roughly with the back of her other hand. "Right, let's see our boys batting," she declares firmly. We return to scoring and I try to keep focus. However, I am now very aware of Mags as she moves around changing the scoreboard. I feel a connection with her and an affection that wasn't there half an hour ago. The first three wickets fall disappointingly quickly and for few runs so now Harry is up and I point this out to Mags. He has a nervous start and a ball narrowly misses the wicket. "Too fucking close!" I gasp then apologize; I don't normally swear like that. "No worries, Hel; your learning to speak like an Aussie!" and we both laugh. Harry settles down and starts to score steadily, if a little slowly. The loss of three partners in four overs doesn't help. "Hey, Hel, that's my Kyle coming out to bat." Her hand rests on my shoulder and I enjoy the feeling of companionship her simple touch brings. I realize that the feeling of being with someone, the closeness, is missing from my life. I wish Mags was a bloke; I'd be interested in a relationship then. Just then I see Harry swing and connect with the ball perfectly, sending it clean over the boundary: a six! The next ball is a repeat performance, another six and Mags yells "Go Harry, you fucking legend!" She looks at my grinning face "Er, sorry about that, got a bit carried away!" "No worries," I tell her in a corny Australian accent, "anyone who calls my son a 'fucking legend' is alright in my book!" Harry continues with a boundary for four runs than a single. This brings Kyle on strike for the last ball of the over and he seems determined to emulate Harry as he too sends the ball over the boundary for six more runs. "Twenty-three runs that over, very Impressive," I say. The next over and Harry manages a single and Kyle then hits four consecutive boundaries. The two of them are pulling the team back into the game. "Kyles a fucking legend too," I tell Mags. "Absolutely!" she agrees. The game continues, Harry and Kyle each trying to outscore the other in what quickly becomes the match winning partnership. The players walk off the pitch shaking hands and our sons are cheered by their team mates; meanwhile we finish up, totalling and checking the score sheet and tidying up. "Mags, that's the best afternoon I've had I years. You will come and score with me next week won't you?" I plead. Mags bursts out laughing and, after a moment's thought, I realize why, making my cheeks redden. "Not that sort of score!" I tell her, slapping her arm softly. "I'd love to. I've enjoyed this afternoon too." "Oh good. Come on, let's go to the pavilion and listen to the after match talk." We cross the grass of the pitch in the early evening sunlight. The sky is cloudless and the air pleasantly warm and fresh after the closeness of the scoreboard shed. We arrive outside the pavilion just as the team are gathering after getting changed. Roger congratulates the team on their victory and then comes to the man of the match. "This week, I really don't think it would be just to recognise a single player as man of the match. This match was won by a partnership and so our join Men of the Match this week are Harry and Kyle. Well done lads." Our boys grin at each other and slap each other on the back and Mags and I hug each other, two very proud mothers. I find I'm almost as happy for her and Kyle as I am for Harry. The lads come over to us. "Well done, both of you, that was brilliant batting," I tell them. "Fucking legends, the pair of you!" Mags confirms, though she does keep her voice down so as not to offend too many people. "Hey, Hel, d'you reckon these guys deserve a reward? What about we all go out for pizza?" "Cool!" replies Kyle. "Oh, please, can we?" asks Harry. There was never going to be much chance of my objecting given how much I'd enjoyed the afternoon with Mags. "Of course, you both deserve it. Let me just give the score sheets to Roger." As I hand him the sheets Roger hands me two sheets of paper. "They're about a little tour I'm trying to organize for the team in three weeks. I know it's short notice but another team pulled out. It would be a long weekend, four days away playing a couple of local sides around York. It would be really good if Harry and Kyle could come, especially after today's performance. The details are in the letter but I'll need payment by the week after next, okay? There's a copy of the letter for Margaret too but don't lose them as they're the last copies." "It's Mags, she doesn't like being called Margaret," I correct him, feeling protective of my new friend. "I'm sure Harry will want to go but I'll let you know." We head off for the pizza restaurant, driving in convoy. During the meal it is clear that Harry and Kyle are hitting it off almost as well as Mags and me and there is much laughter. We discuss the tour, which of course both the boys want to go on. "Look at this," says Mags pointing to the letter, "It says that because the boys are under eighteen, they need to be accompanied by an adult; we'll need to go too." "Well, there are worse things than a weekend in York," I reply. "Especially if we both go," she agrees. As the meal ends Mags and I exchange phone numbers and we hug. I know I have a new, and very close, new friend. This new friendship is borne out and built upon over the next week and we chat every day, either on the phone or via Facebook, often both over the course of the day. This is so much a fixture that by Thursday when Harry comes in from school and sees me on the phone he simply says "Say hi to Mags and Kyle from me," and disappears up to his room. Saturday eventually rolls around and I wake with a butterfly sensation in my stomach that takes me back to being a child on a special day: all excited anticipation of what could happen. When I see Mags I feel myself grinning like an idiot but, to my relief, Mags is much the same. We hug and kiss cheeks. "How's my newest and bestest friend? Ready to score?" she asks, grinning. "You're not going to let me forget that are you?" I smile, "Come on then, let's score together." We slip easily into each other's company, as If we've known each other for years, not days. Our team is put into bat first this week and Harry does well until, on thirty-eight runs, he is called out, leg before wicket. "Fuck a duck, umpire," Mags curses, "that was never LBW!" She is more upset by Harry's dismissal than I am. Fortunately, Kyle does very well with seventy-seven, not out at the end of the innings. As we sit drinking tea at the interval, I congratulate Mags on Kyle's performance. "You'd think his Dad would want to come and see him play, wouldn't you?" she grumbles. "My ex is the same: zero interest, certainly in Harry. He came a few times with my eldest but it didn't last; it got in the way of his bloody golf." "Do you ever think that there's something wrong with the sex you are?" "I've never wanted to be a man, if that's what you mean. Although I did wish... er, no, nothing." "What? Come on, no holding back; best friends, remember?" "Okay," I say, my face hot, "I did sort of wish last week that you were a bloke and then I could ask you out. I just like being with you," I protest but when I look at Mags I see that she is red faced too. "Okay, what is it?" I ask. She laughs nervously. "I sorta wished the same thing: that we weren't both women so we could be, you know, like a couple." It goes very quiet between us, our eyes locked together. The thought occurs to me that, these days, being the same sex is not a barrier to being a couple. I'm tempted to say this but my nerve fails, afraid of what she'll think I'm suggesting. Just then she says, "But, not going to happen, one of us becoming a guy overnight." "We can still, you know, see each other and help each other out," I manage in a tight voice. "Too right!" She reaches out and we hug. I enjoy the cuddle but can't quite relax fully into it as I wonder whether two women could make a life together. Bowled Over With our team fielding now, we return to scoring. Kyle is bowling well and takes three wickets, two of them from catches by Harry at wicket keeper. It's tight, but our side manages to hold it together and Mags and I both cheer as Harry catches the fielder's well-aimed throw and strikes the bails from the wicket, running out the final batsman. Our team wins by eight runs. Roger is full of praise for our sons' performance again this week but Man of the Match, deservedly I tell Mags, goes to Kyle. When the lads join us I give both of them quick hugs and tell them well done while Mags gives her opinion of Harry's LBW call, "That umpire was a complete shagging numpty!" "Look," I say to Mags, "Much as the boys, especially our Man of the Match here, deserve it, I can't stretch to eating out every week. How about you come back to our house and we can order a take away?" Mags looks at me, smiling but with a strange look in her eyes. "That'd be great, eh Kyle?" Kyle nods, a little nonplussed and I look at Harry. "That's cool, Mum. Kyle, we can play Assassin's Creed on my PS3." Kyle suddenly looks much happier with the plan. Two hours later and Mags and I are down in the living room while the lads are upstairs. Empty pizza boxes lie on the table so I clear them off and carry them through to the kitchen where I take a bottle of wine from the fridge and grab two glasses. When I return Mags is looking at the DVDs on the shelf. "Fancy a glass of wine, Mags?" I ask. "Oh, Hel, that'd be lovely." "Do you want to watch a film?" I ask nodding towards the DVDs. "Yeah, I've never seen The Time Traveler's Wife; could we watch that?" "Oh I love that film," I tell her, "bring it over and we'll put it on. The boys seem quite happy up there." "Put Kyle in front of a video game and he'll be there for hours," Mags laughs. "Harry's just the same," I tell her as I slip the DVD into the player before sitting down beside her. I feel her edge closer as I sit back and press PLAY. An hour and a half later the film is reaching its climax when Harry walks in and finds me in the sitting in one corner of the sofa while Mags is lying on her side with her head on my lap, my hand resting on her shoulder. It feels so comfortable sitting there with her. Harry gives me a slightly odd look, seeing us there and I nod towards the screen and he seems to accept what we're doing. "Are you okay?" I mouth to him, not wanting to disturb Mags who's engrossed in the film. He mimes having a drink. "There's Coke in the fridge," I tell him soundlessly and he nods and leaves. I feel Mags grasp my hand, her reaction to the events in the film, and I squeeze back. When the film ends she turns onto her back, looking up at me as she wipes her eyes. "That was a wonderful film," she says, "and it was lovely being here with you," she adds shyly. "It was," I agree. "I'm so glad we met," my hand cups the side of her head and my thumb brushes her cheek as I look into her eyes. I feel so content. Suddenly, I realize what I'm doing. "Oh god, I'm sorry," I say, flustered and start to pull my hand away. She grabs my hand, holding it against her face. "No, I... I like it. I miss being held and touched so much," she whispers. "I've loved lying here on your lap. Do you mind?" "No," I hesitate, "I've loved it too." My face is just above hers and I am struck by how pretty she is. I feel her fingers brush my jaw and I feel the stirrings of something that I've not felt for years: the slight but recognisable feeling of attraction... physical attraction. I'm shocked by it, not that the object of the attraction is a woman so much as by the fact that I'm still capable of experiencing it at all! I feel like I'm falling into those wide, green eyes that stare into mine and I wonder what will happen next... Just then there's the rumble of two pairs of teenage legs coming down the stairs and we spring apart like guilty children as Mags sits up quickly. The boys lean round the doorframe into the room, "We're just getting some more drinks, is that okay Mum?" says Harry quietly. "Certainly, lads," I reply and they disappear. Mags and I look at each other and burst out laughing. "You've gorgeous eyes," Mags says shyly. "Thanks, you're... very pretty." Suddenly we feel very awkward with each other. "I ought to go shortly, Hel, but thanks for a lovely evening it was... special." "It was," I agree. Later that evening, as I lie uncovered on the bed in the hot darkness, I think back over the evening and can't help the warm, excited tingle as I remember Mags' head on my lap, the softness of her cheek, her fingers brushing my jaw, her eyes... My breath quickens and my hand slips down to lift the hem of my nightie. My fingers trail through the thick tangle of my pubic hair and I wonder if maybe I should trim, just in case... if ever... My fingertips brush my lower lips, they're hot and wet, an event remarkable in itself, another delight on this day of marvels. My fingers slip inside and I shiver, savouring my arousal, the pleasure of feeling sexy and sensual. I'd forgotten how good it could feel. I recall Mags' words that it would be nice to have an orgasm in company. I wish she was here now. I imagine our faces coming closer, lips touching, melding, opening as we kiss like lovers; our arms enfold one another, pulling our bodies tight, breasts pressed together. Mags' face hovers in my mind's eye as my fingers find their rhythm, in and out. I open my legs wider allowing my fingers deeper, exploring, remembering... there! Oh yes, my soft spongy spot, my g-spot and my thumb rests over my stiff clitty, pressing and it rubbing as my hand slide back and forth. I cannot help softly whimpering and gasping as I feel my climax approaching. I feel the ambiguity I always feel, wanting my orgasm quickly and yet wanting this delightful build-up to last forever. As ever, my climax is too long coming and yet too soon but it is wonderfully intense. "Aaaahhhhhhmmmmmm!" My moan is loud but I can do nothing to contain it as I feel a warm flow around my fingers. My heart rate calms and I drift, relaxed and satisfied. In this afterglow I try to analyse my feelings. I've just climaxed fantasizing about being with Mags; does that make me lesbian? I cannot think of her without that flutter of excitement, of anticipation, of, yes, the physical attraction I felt earlier. I try to think of other women I know: I visualize Katie at work. She is very pretty, beautiful even, and sexy too, as evidenced from the attention she gets from the men; what do I feel when I think about her? Basically, nothing. Okay, Lisa, the new girl? Again, nothing. Mags? The tingle inside me makes me squirm and hug myself. "It's you my darling, Mags," I whisper into the hot summer darkness, "it's you I want, only you." Am I a lesbian? I don't know and I'm not sure that I really care; all I'm sure of are my feelings toward this woman and how happy being with her makes me. Her beautiful face fills my mind as I drift finally into sleep. With the next phone call the awkwardness is gone, but I feel we are dancing around something unspoken. Maybe it is just me but I believe more and more that, but for the boys coming downstairs, we would have kissed; each time we talk I find the words "I love you" hovering on the tip of my tongue, itching to be said. On Thursday I get a call from Mags before I am even home: she has to stay late at work so can I pick Kyle up from school from his school cricket match at half six. Of course I can. It's gone eight o'clock when Mags calls round to collect Kyle, whom I have fed and even persuaded to get on with some of his homework alongside Harry; they actually seemed to enjoy each other company and helped each other with their homework. Being at different schools there is never going to be any accusations of copying, something they quickly realized. "Thanks so much, Hel. I'm sorry I'm so late: you know I work in Payroll? Well the computer payroll run for this month's salaries crashed and we had to re-enter loads of data again." "How about a glass of wine my love?" the words slip out and I bite my lip. "After all you've done this evening, you're the love," she replies, "and wine would be lovely... darling," she smiles. I pour the wine, and one for me, and hand it to her. "There's some chilli left, if you'd like some." "Oh, Hel, you're a bloody marvel; I'm starving." "Mags, I was very happy to collect Kyle, but wasn't there another parent at his school you could ask?" I ask her as I heat the chilli. "Actually, no," she hesitates. "After my divorce there was a parents' evening for Kyle and I was chatting to one of the other dads. His wife decided that I was trying to hit on him -- as if! Anyway, she made sure that all the other parents knew that I was some slut on the prowl for a new man. That pretty well did for me as far as any friendship or support went." "Oh, poor you, that's so unfair. Well, if you ever need any help in future, I'm here for you." "And the same here, though you've probably got lots of other friends to call on." I spoon the hot chilli into a bowl and pass it to Mags as she sits at the kitchen table. "I guess there would be one or two people who might help out in an emergency but, no, I've no other real friends. When I was married, most of our friends were my husband's friends first, so I lost them when we split. Since then, well, I've just never connected with anyone... until we met." She raises her glass. "And thank the fuck we did!" she laughs as we clink glasses. We chat as Mags eats but she declines a second glass of wine, "I ought to get home, I'm afraid." She looks down and whispers, "I wish I didn't." As we say our goodbyes we kiss cheeks but there's the same intensity when our eyes meet. "Come on Mum," Kyle calls impatiently. As I close the door I see Harry looking at me curiously. "What?" I ask. "You like Mags, don't you Mum? You like her a lot." I'm not sure exactly what Harry is getting at. Does he sense something between Mags and I? "Yes, I do. Is that okay?" I ask, a little apprehensive of the answer. "Yeah, she's cool; I like her. Kyle says his Mum likes you too. Night night, Mum." With that he turns and heads up stairs. "Night, Harry. Sleep well." ++++++++++++++++++++ We both turn up on Saturday and the day is hot and very humid. Once again we cannot help smiling when we see each other. "Ready to score again?" I get in first. "Again? Jeez, I thought I was still waiting for the first time!" she laughs. "It's going to be bloody hot and unpleasant in the shed today though." I nod in agreement just as Roger comes over. "Have you the money for the tour ladies?" he asks. "Sure," Mags replies, pulling the completed and signed form and a cheque from her handbag. "Oh, bugger, I completely forgot!" I exclaim. "I don't even remember where the form is. Shit!" "Oh dear, in that case, I'm afraid Harry won't..." begins Roger. "Helen, no worries. I'll just add you and Harry onto this form. Then I can tear up this cheque and write one to cover the whole amount for all of us." "Oh Mags, thank you! I'll repay you, I promise." "Thanks Mags," adds Harry. "Like I say, no worries, Hel. Anything for a good mate, and you're the best," she says happily as she amends the form and then writes a new cheque. "There you go, Roger." "Thanks, ladies. The adults are sharing rooms so are the two of you okay sharing?" "Sure," I reply, looking at Mags as she nods in confirmation, a slight smile on her lips. The match starts well with our team batting and scoring steadily but we notice clouds building from the west: towering, dark grey and black. "That doesn't look good," I say nervously, "I hate thunder storms." "It is a bit bloody ominous, isn't it? D'you reckon they'll get the match finished before the storm?" "Hmm, they've not finished the first innings, oh, that's Tom Jenkins out, caught and bowled by... Smith, P." I fill in the details on the score sheet as Mags updates the scoreboard. "Here's Kyle coming out to bat. Come on Kyle!" I call out. Mags sits back next to me as Kyle faces the first balls by playing defensive strokes. Just then, there's a heavy roll of thunder, deep and long, that makes my heart hammer. I relax a little as it ends. "Um, Helen love, can you stop squeezing so hard?" I look down to find that I have grabbed Mags' hand and my knuckles are white. I let go immediately. "Sorry, Mags I didn't mean to hurt you," I apologise. A rapid drumming begins on the shed and we see that rain has begun falling heavily; the players and umpire are running for the pavilion. There is a bright flash followed a few seconds later by a crashing peal of thunder. Instinctively I grab onto Mags, burying my face in her neck. Her arms reach around me, hugging me tightly and soothing me. The rain outside is torrential now, the shed filled with the white noise of its falling on the roof. Another lightning flash and peal of thunder, closer and louder and the last, shakes the shed and yet I feel protected in Mags' arms, safe and happy. I cannot resist planting a soft kiss on her neck and hear her sigh in response. My contentment is shattered by the next thunderclap that comes simultaneous with the white flash of lightning; the sound is deafeningly loud and I scream in shock and fear. Even Mags trembles as I cling to her, my eyes tight shut. I feel Mags stroking my hair and I un-scrunch my eyes, looking up at her. She smiles fondly at me. "Are you alright?" she asks as I gaze into her eyes. "Very," I reply. I do not think but put my lips against hers. Her arms tighten around me and I feel our breasts pressed together and I'm conscious of the hardness of my nipples. Her lips move against mine as her head turns: her mouth is now full on mine. I press back gently, savouring the softness of her lips. "Thank you," she says, "that was so nice." "Shut up and kiss me again," I beg, putting my mouth over hers and my tongue touches her lips. Her eyes widen momentarily but her mouth opens. God this feels wonderful as my tongue gently slips between her lips. Her fingers slide into my hair behind my ear and she pulls my head in. We are French kissing deeply, our tongues explore each other's mouths. We are both breathing heavily when we part. "Oh, that was... fantastic," I sigh and the rumble of thunder outside barely registers as Mags brushes the hair from my face. "Less talk, more hugging and kissing!" orders Mags and we are back making out like teenagers. I feel Mags' hand touch my boob and she pulls it away immediately. I grab her hand and replace it, pressing her hand so it squeezes my boob. She takes my hand and does the same, so moments later we are caressing and squeezing each other's boob and nipple through clothes. We look out and the rain is still falling heavily, puddles appearing in the grass across the pitch since the ground cannot cope with this summer downpour. "I'd guess that this game is over," I say, looking at the flooded pitch. "What, this one," she replies, hugging me tighter. I look back at Mags. "I hope not," I whisper and she smiles. "Mags..." I hesitate, "I love you... not just for the way you've cared for me this afternoon, but... I so love being with you." "And I love you too, Helen. I wanted to take care of you because of the way you look out for me and how good you are with Kyle," She replies. I am about to say more when I hear Roger's voice call "Helen, Margar... Mags!" Across the field, where the rain has almost stopped, he is waving to us. "We better go and see what the old bugger wants," Mags says reluctantly. "Such a shame to break up the cuddle." "You're a bit of a cuddle addict aren't you?" I tease. "Only with you, Hel," she smiles as we disengage and head out into the spitting rain. As expected, the teams have agreed to abandon the match so we clear up and Mags insists that Harry and I come home with her and Kyle. "Looks like X Box tonight, Harry," Kyle says. Mags cooks burgers, though we opt to do so indoors rather than on the barbecue as she originally planned. The lads disappear upstairs as expected and Mags and I giggle as we both look at the sofa as soon as they leave. I surf through the cable channels for a film as Mags goes to fetch the wine. "There's Titanic that started about ten minutes ago or The Matrix that starts in twenty minutes," I tell her when she returns "So soppy romance we've probably both seen or weird sci-fi film. Of course, we could just ignore the film and have a really good snogging session!" Her words, and the image they conjure up, make my insides go all tingly. I shift slightly and I'm sure that my pussy is getting wet at the idea. "I like your thinking!" I tell her as I lean in so we can kiss. There is no hesitancy as our mouths immediately open, tongues hungrily searching and probing. We are both moaning and sighing softly and my wandering hand feels the hard lump of her nipple through her bra and shirt. "Hel, do you think us doing this makes us lesbians?" Mags asks when our mouths separate. "I don't know. I did wonder whether I might be, because of my feelings towards you." "And what did you decide?" "We'll, no other woman attracts me like you do," I say with a slight blush, "so I don't know. Perhaps I'm a Magsbian," I smile. "I don't think I really care what I am; if I'm lesbian then, well, I'm certainly happier being gay than I was being sexless, loveless and straight!" "Fucking right! That's it exactly. I... I just worry about how Kyle and Harry might react if we, you know, got together." The same thought has been playing on my mind since our first kiss earlier. As if summoned by our thoughts, we hear footsteps approaching and have just enough time to pull apart, though not, I suspect, to lose our slightly flustered appearances. Harry's head pokes his head into the room, Kyle just behind him. "Mum or Mum, is there anything to drink?" Mags looks up, "There should be some cans in the fridge on the bottom shelf, Coke or lemonade, I think." "Hey, cool, The Marix," exclaims Kyle, "can we come and watch it too?" I see the programme guide is still on the screen from earlier. I glance at Mags who gives a resigned shrug. "Sure, lads, of course you can," as I select the channel, "but you'll have to sit on the floor: Mummy Mags and Mummy Helen aren't giving up the sofa!" "No problem!" says Kyle, "I'll get the drinks, Harry. Do you Mums want anything?" "We're okay," says Mags as he turns to leave the room. "There's a bag of popcorn in the cupboard: you could put that into a couple of bowls." "Okay," he calls back. "Thanks," he calls as he vanishes again. As the lads become engrossed in the film we cannot resist cuddling close. "Did Harry call us both Mum?" Mags asks in a whisper. "That's what he said... I wonder what he meant. Kyle called us 'Mums' too," I whisper back. "Harry told me the other night that he thought you are cool." "He's a lovely kid. I think the 'Mums' comment means he's noticed that we're all spending a lot of time together and he's okay with that. I talked to Kyle yesterday and he's happy with it too; he and Harry get on very well together." "I think you're right -- I certainly hope you're right because I'm very happy." I kiss her lightly on the lips, not daring to do more, however much I'd like to. She snuggles against me and I slip my arm around her; I try to focus on the film as a distraction from my desire for the woman beside me. At the end of the film I kiss Mags' cheek and she whispers into my ear, "I flipping love you, Helen Walker!" I glance across to see Harry looking at us, though he looks away immediately. I wonder what he saw and what he's thinking. Bowled Over As we say goodbye on the doorstep Mags says, "See you Friday morning. I'll pick you and Harry up; no point in taking two cars to park at the cricket club." Friday can't come soon enough I think to myself. +++++++++++++++ Friday morning finally arrives and I wake early. As I think about the sharing a room with Mags I cannot help wondering what might happen: we'll have to get undressed together, I'll see her in her night clothes or less. Whose bed will we share for a cuddle? Will we touch each other and how would it feel to have an orgasm with a woman..? My hand is again between my legs and brushes my now very short pubic hair -- perhaps using a hair trimmer with the No. 1 comb was a little over zealous! I do like the feel of it though. My fingers split my labia and I begin to masturbate, something I have done almost every night for the last two weeks; only my period stopped me for a couple of nights. So much for thinking my sex drive was hibernating; it is back up and on the prowl for Mags! Harry and I are packed and ready when Mags and Kyle arrive. I feel like we're all going on a summer holiday and I suspect, from her happy smile, that Mags feels the same. On arrival at the club we see the coach parked and waiting in the car park and as we climb out of the car Roger sees us and comes hurrying over, a slightly worried, sheepish look on his face. "What's up Rog?" asks Mags. "Er, well, this is probably my fault but, well, you know the two of you are sharing? Well, I accidently booked it as a double room rather than a twin room and the hotel can't change it. Is that alright with you both?" I can feel my heart hammering with excitement at the prospect. I glance at Mags as see her looking at me; she swallows and gives me a little smile but her eyes shine with an excitement that I'm sure must be mirrored in my own. I nod at her. "Um, yeah Rog, that'd be okay. Hel and I will be fine, I'm sure." Out of the corner of my eye I see Kyle nudge Harry who whispers something back and they're both smiling. "Okay, lads," I tell them, "you are the delegated porters. Can you carry the four bags and cases over and get them loaded, please?" They grab the bags and follow Roger towards the coach. I feel Mags' hand on my shoulder. "How fucking cool is that?" she asks, a slight tremble in her voice. "Totally! If I'd had a wish about this weekend, a double bed with you would have been number one." my voice drops to a whisper, "That and sharing an orgasm in your company." Mags takes my hand and smiles, "Thank god it wasn't just me: that's what I want so much! I was hoping you wouldn't want just a cuddle and kiss," she whispers as she locks the car and slips her arm through mine. "How long's this journey going to take? Is it six hours?" "Too fucking long!" I answer making her laugh, "and then there's a walking tour of York for two hours followed by a meal." "Ten hours without a cuddle: how frustrating." "Yeah. Come on, let's at least make sure we sit together." It's actually been eleven hours by the time I can close the hotel room door behind us. The window is slightly open allowing the warm summer night air to flow into the room along with the sounds of the city: cars, voices, laughter, music... We stand facing each other, shy and uncertain what to do next. The silence between us lengthens until suddenly we both start giggling. "This is so silly," I say, "we both want to get into bed together and yet we're standing here like lemons!" "I know... Oh Hel, come here and kiss me," she says urgently as she sits on the edge of the bed. I sit and we hug. "Hello Mags, my love." I smile and our eyes meet. I move my head and our noses rub. "Eskimo kiss!" "Sod the Eskimo kisses, I want a proper kiss," she laughs and with that we kiss, deeply and urgently. I love the taste of her mouth, the feel of her tongue against mine. Kissing had always been a perfunctory start to the occasional lovemaking with my ex-husband. This is so different, so intensely sensual and sexual, something to be savoured and enjoyed. Our hands start to wander, caressing cheeks, slipping through soft hair, cupping a boob, squeezing... Our hands continue their exploring. "God, I love you touching me," I whisper, "and it's turning me on so much." Mags laughs, "Hel, I'd be bloody disappointed if it wasn't!" She gently rolls my nipple between thumb and forefinger, making me gasp, and then repeats it. "Can I... I mean, would you mind helping me undress?" she asks hesitantly. I nod and she moves to stand in front of me. I immediately reach down and grasp the hem of her shirt and start to raise it. Mags bends forward and I draw the garment over her head revealing her bra: full cup, pale blue and trimmed with lace. The hard points of her nipples are clearly visible as she reaches back and unclips the bra. She drops her hands by her sides and stands there and it takes a moment for me to realize that she is waiting for me to remove her bra. My fingers tremble and I take the shoulder straps; my fingers brush her soft skin as I draw them down until her breasts, her beautify sexy boobs, are revealed. They are large, with their dark aureoles topped with paler rounded pink nipples that are rock solid; below is her trim stomach with the cute dimple of her belly button that I feel an unexpected urge to run my fingers around and into. I reach out and caress her bare boobs and we both gasp at the feeling of my fingers rubbing her bare nipples. Without thinking I kiss each nipple in turn and can feel the wetness between my legs increases dramatically. "Your turn," Mags' voice is full of desire and arousal. I stand and begin unbuttoning my blouse but she pushes my hands away and takes over, her fingers deft despite her excitement, before opening the blouse, slipping it down my arms where it falls to the floor. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest and hide my all too plain white bra and the large, fleshy boobs it contains. Instead, I force myself to reach behind and unclasp the bra strap. As I do so, however, Mags undoes my knee length skirt at the side and pulls the zip down; before I can protest, my skirt is around my ankles. "Mags, I..." I stammer while she smiles at me, reaching out to take my bra too and casting it aside to leave me wearing only my panties. Despite my embarrassment, I cannot remember ever being more aroused. I am very conscious of the soft, round bulge of my stomach over the top of my panties as they press into my flesh, the size and lack of tone and firmness in my thighs and bum... "Mags, you won't like my body," I manage, a catch in my voice. I look down, bashful. How can my body be anything but a disappointment to this beautiful woman? She is so perfect and yet my body is lumpy and tired and middle aged. She edges closer and takes my hands. "Helen, look at me. I think you are beautiful. I know you are not skinny; I know how old you are; I know you've had three children... I know also that you are a wonderful mum, a kind, generous person and a loving friend. And I know that I love you, hopefully as much as you love me, and therefore I love your body. I want to touch it and kiss it and hold it... make love to it -- to you." I take a deep breath and quickly, before I can change my mind, I push my panties down, letting them fall. Looking down I can see the dark wetness of the crotch as I stand trembling and naked before the woman I have fallen in love with. I look up; Mags has undone her jeans and pushed both them and her panties down as she struggles desperately to strip. My eyes are drawn to her womanhood where her pale brown short pubic hair is shaped to her bikini line. I swallow hard as I can clearly see her inner labia, pink and slightly puffy with her arousal. "Oh Mags, you're gorgeous," I breathe. As her jeans finally fall she pulls her feet from them and immediately launches herself at me. Her naked form wraps itself around me and I have the exquisite sensation of her bare flesh pressing against mine as I am borne back and we fall onto the bed. I lie under her and I can feel her pussy pressing on my thigh, so hot and damp, while her nipples dig into the softness of my boobs "Sorry, Helen, darling, it was just taking too fucking long and I've been dreaming about this so much. You have no idea how often I've cum thinking about you!" "Probably about as often as I have thinking about you! Mags, my love, do... do want to orgasm with me? I'd love to help you... to make you... cum." "As long as you cum too, you wonderful sexy woman," she insists. "Fuck whether it makes us lesbians, I want to have sex with you, Helen Walker," and with that she takes my nipple into her mouth and sucks it. I twist and move from under her, turning to bring my mouth to her nipple as she continues to suck mine. I lick her nipple and aureole before taking the nipple into my mouth and sucking. The feel of it is amazing and I lose myself in the sensations of our mutual suckling for a while, my hands playing with her other boob and touching her stomach, and reaching lower... Her hand slips down to touch my vulva, brushing my pubic hair. "Shit, your pubes feel amazing trimmed so short!" she exclaims. "You like my buzz cut pussy then?" I laugh into her breast "Oh fucking god Mags! Oh shit yes!" Her questing fingers have found my slippery pussy lips, long and crinkled they stand out from my vulva and are gaping as I'm so aroused. I can feel two fingers inside me and I have never felt so hot and horny. "Mags, I am so close to cumming!" I gasp. Her fingers withdraw slowly, leaving me teetering on the edge. She lifts her hand between us and I watch as she places her glistening forefinger and middle finger in her mouth. "Oh, mmm," she says around her fingers before removing them. "I wondered what you'd taste like. I've tasted myself before but I like your taste better." "The thought of tasting my own juices has never occurred to me," I tell Mags. "Really? Maybe I'm just a bit kinky but..." her fingers dip into me again, gently in and out, but this time she offers them out to me. Hesitantly, I open my mouth. The flavour is unexpectedly rich, almost meaty, and not at all unpleasant as I had feared. "I want to taste you too," I tell her and I reach down. Her lips are prefect; beautiful, neat raised ridges that frame her vagina. Like mine they are slightly open and dripping wet and my finger slips easily into her hot, tight womanhood. I slide my finger back and forth enjoying the feel of it and the whispered 'Oh yes!' from Mags. I recall a voice from the ancient past, an overheard teenage boy, a classmate, describing a picture in a porn magazine to his friends, "There was these two women in a bed and one had her finger up the other one's cunt!" Why had I thought that so disgusting? It isn't, it is an expression of love; Mags has allowed me inside her as she has been inside me. "I love the feel of my finger in your cunt!" I whisper. "My cunt's all yours, my darling!" she sighs back. "I feel so sexy and dirty calling it that," and I know what she means: there is something so forbidden about the word 'cunt' that using it here feels good. I withdraw my finger and move it immediately into my mouth. Her taste is similar and yet different, less meaty and sweeter than mine. "Your cunt tastes better than mine, darling," I tell her. I re-enter her, two fingers this time, and curl them against the top of her vagina that always feels good when I masturbate. I am trying to locate her g-spot but it eludes me so I start to pump my fingers anyway, my thumb pressed to the top of her pussy, her cunt, over her clitoris. "Oh Hel, your fingers feel so good in me! Oh yes, finger my wet cunt!" "Mags, finger my cunt too, I want us to cum together. Oh yessss!" The room is filled with the wet squelches, gasps and sighs of out lovemaking. My thumb presses harder and Mags gasps and I feel a trembling shudder pass though her vagina. A moment later my fingers are gripped and my hand is soaked. I pull my hand away, stuffing four fingers into my mouth and the taste of her orgasm is enough to tip me over. Several intense waves pass through me, gradually diminishing but each one wonderful. Mags crawls over me, our bodies slippery with orgasmic sweat in the warm night, so that we lie with our heads at the foot of the bed. She kisses me deeply then we just cuddle and doze for a while. I open my eyes and see her staring at me. "Hello, lesbian girlfriend," I say, smiling. "Hello lesbian lover," she replies with a grin. "Oh, yes, I like being that!" "Good because I'm going to eat my lesbian lover's cunt!" "Can I eat my lesbian girlfriend's cunt at the same time?" I plead. "Fucking marvellous idea!" She turns and straddles my chest with her legs and her firm arse is in my face. I cannot resist biting on it gently. "Ooo that was nice!" she coos as she lowers herself and I feel her breath on my labia. She takes one labial lip between her lips and sucks it softly. "Oh god! Mags, I think that's the sexiest, most intimate thing anyone has ever done to me." She lets go and I feel her mouth on my pussy as her tongue penetrates me and I gasp at the intensity of it. "Okay, second sexiest; this is the sexiest and most intimate thing!" Mags' pussy is in front of me and I can see the glistening inner folds, the little droplets and pools of her nectar caught in them. The smell is arousing and intoxicating and I begin to lick, my tongue navigating the little valleys and lapping the wet peaks so my mouth is filled with the taste of her, my face perfumed with her love. My tongue encounters her stiff little clit even as her tongue finds mine. We start to mirror each other's actions lick for lick, suck for suck. On impulse I give her anal bud a little kiss, making her gasp for a moment before kissing my pucker right back. This goes on for a while until, not soon enough and far too early, I feel the familiar tension in my tummy and pussy that heralds the nearness of my climax. "Getting close," I gasp. "Me too!" she replies breathlessly. I rub her clit with the pad of my thumb while I lick and tongue her as deeply as I can. She does the same and my orgasm rushes over me suddenly."Nnnnnn!" is all I can manage though clenched teeth but I keep my thumb rubbing while my nose is pressed into her pucker. My jaw unclenches and I open my mouth, covering her delicious cunt as I squirm my tongue back inside her. This, with my thumb, is enough as her thighs clamp around my head, muffling my ears from her scream. My head is held immobile as my mouth is filled with her orgasmic flow. I cannot describe the thrill this gives me but it is enough to make my pussy clench for a second, smaller climax. She rolls off me, flopping onto the bed. With a Herculean effort I crawl up to spoon her from behind, my arms wrapped around her. "That was fucking incredible!" she sighs. "Or maybe a bit better," I suggest. "I love you so much, Mags." "I love you too, Helen, and every inch of that body of yours." "Thank you," I breathe as we drift into sleep. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++ A knocking at the door rouses me from sleep. I am on my back with Mags lying against my side, her arm across my boobs and her leg crooked over my thigh. The cool air is blowing softly through the open window but this is not enough to fully disperse the mingled scents of our lovemaking that cling to our skins. "What is it?" I call, disturbing Mags from her sleep. "Mum and Mum, you need to get up soon." It is Harry's voice. "Yeah, Mums, the coach leaves for today's cricket match in just over an hour," chimes in Kyle. I climb out of bed. "Okay, thanks lads. It looks like we overslept; we'll get dressed and be down soon." There's the sound of running footsteps as I turn back and look at Mags, dishevelled and beautiful on the bed. "Morning lesbian lover." "Good Morning to you too, my sexy lesbian girlfriend. Fuck, you look so delicious I want to make love to you right now!" "Sorry, darling but that was our alarm call. The coach leaves in an hour." I hesitate. "Mags, what are we going to do? I can't not make love to you again after we go home... and I don't want just the odd stolen afternoon or night of passion. I want to wake up with you every morning..." "I know, I want that too, Helen," she sighs. "But we need to think about the boys, how to break this to them, maybe find some way to test how they might react." "You're right, we have to think of them first... I need to have a shower." I turn and go into the bathroom. Reluctantly I start to wash the smell of Mags from my skin but as I reach to soap my back, the soap is taken from me and I find Mags in the bath behind me as she proceeds to lather my back. I turn and we kiss, the feel of our wet skins together is wonderful. She soaps my front and then I do the same to her, front and back. We shampoo each other's hair and then rinse clean. Out of the bath we each dry the other and all the time there are kisses and words of love and endearment. "There's half an hour till the coach leaves," says Mags, checking the clock on her phone. "We should be able to grab some tea and toast for breakfast." We head along the corridor towards the lift and without thinking, I take Mags' hand. I feel her thumb rubbing the back of it and I turn to smile at her; I want to kiss her so much. Just then, the lift arrives and the door opens. "Mum!" the boys chime in unison. I follow their eyes as they stare at our joined hands. Caught. "Lads, can we talk to you. We're just going for a quick bit of breakfast; will you sit with us?" asks Mags. The boys nod and move back, allowing us to join them in the lift. My heart is hammering and I go to release her hand but she holds it tight until we reach the ground floor. The waitress takes our order for breakfast and agrees to hurry. Once she goes I look at Mags and she gives a little shrug; she has no idea where to start either. "Harry, Kyle," I begin, "you know how well Mags and I get on?" "You love each other," interrupts Harry, "we know." "We are very fond of each other," says Mags in support. "No Mum," Kyle speaks up, "we know you are properly in love. We've seen, like, how you cuddle and look at each other." "And when Roger said you'd have to share a bed you were both so happy. We both knew for certain you fancied each other then," says Harry, who at least has the decency to blush as he says this. Mags and I are sitting dumfounded as the waitress returns with the tea and two large racks of toast. "Oh goody, second breakfast!" and he and Kyle grab slices of toast. "And how to you feel about having mothers who, um, fancy each other?" asks Mags. "Well," says Harry, "Mum's been so happy since she met you..." "Yeah, you've been happier too, Mum," adds Kyle around a mouthful of toast. "And having a Mum, well two Mums I guess, who are happy has to be better than an unhappy, lonely Mum and a never-there Dad." Harry points out logically. "And I don't mind if you're lesbians; it's, like, quite cool, really." I pour the tea and Mags butters some toast for us and time is pressing on. "You lads are amazing!" I tell them honestly. "You better head to the coach," I tell them, "and let Roger know we'll be there in a minute." "Okay, Mum," Harry replies, "but, Mum, you really, really should speak to Daniel about this. He'll... probably have a lot to tell you after you do. See you on the coach." When we're alone I look at Mags "What was that about?" I ask her. "Well, at a guess, I'd say your son Daniel is gay but hasn't got round to telling you yet, though Harry obviously knows. No wonder he was so cool with our relationship." I nod. "Wow... that was unexpected! On the other hand, so is our relationship..." I take a deep breath and smile at Mags. "Well, quite cool lesbian Mummy, how do you feel?" I ask. Bowled Over "Well, I've found a friend, a girlfriend and a lesbian lover and our sons seem totally cool with it," she replies happily. "This has already become the best summer of my life, and it's only just begun!"