zero

There was something about that moment, when the taxi wallowed away from the kerb leaving Rachel standing alone, that would stay with her. The sun was setting behind hills glimpsed at the end of the street, and while the air would be warm all night, Rachel felt a shiver — as though she stood on a precipice.

She let the feeling explore her for a moment longer. How incongruous it was, to be standing here outside the house of a stranger, thousands of miles from her own home in the wolds of middle England. A laughing conversation at the end of a long flight, a moment of shared understanding, a finding of a kindred spirit: perhaps these were strange reasons for a half-hour taxi ride at dusk into the hills north of Los Angeles.

But no. She smiled. As she had told herself several times tonight, she was living up to her own standards of impulsiveness, for once. Besides, Susan was older than her, well-spoken, educated: nothing about her had prompted the slightest misgiving about visiting her home. Besides, Rachel had nothing else to do. She had deliberately not planned her week off, not even decided where she was going, until the vagaries of airline cabin crew scheduling had placed her on a long-haul route to the West coast of the USA a few days ago.

So she took a breath and strode up the short drive of the low, tidy house. Its dark roof overhung a shallow porch, and stepping up onto the wooden decking, she came to the screen door. Nervously, she swapped her beret to her left hand and leaned back to scan the door frame for a bell push.

With a jolt she realised that the door behind the mesh was already swinging open, a robed silhouette reaching for the outer latch. ‘Hi,’ said a voice cheerily, as Rachel took a stumbling step out of the way of the outward-opening screen.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. Then, pulling herself together: ‘Hello, Susan.’

Susan smiled at her genially, then backed inside. ‘Come in. Want a smoothie? I’ve just made some up.’

‘Please,’ said Rachel automatically. She tucked herself inside the door, jumping slightly as the screen banged to behind her. It was odd for Susan to receive her in a bathrobe. She shrugged a little. This was almost the other side of the world, after all.

Susan’s house was elegantly sparse, with only a few scattered oddments to give it the look of a home. White furniture, wood floor, bright white spotlights. Her eyes were drawn to Susan’s feet as she padded away to the open-plan kitchen: athletic feet, she decided, then frowned to herself. No judging. ‘Don’t tolerate, just be,’ the Qi master had said.

Actually, she had nice feet too.

‘Have a seat,’ Susan called, busying herself. Rachel glanced around and settled on one side of a hessian sofa, before returning her eyes to her host. Susan’s dark, wavy hair was slipping over her shoulder to fall beside her strikingly handsome face as she poured: she tossed her head to return it, caught Rachel’s eye, and smiled. Rachel glanced away on reflex, her mind’s eye dwelling on the glimpse of Susan’s outstretched neck.

Am I blushing? Oh god, thought Rachel. Not already. Can’t I find a new friend in a far-away place without getting caught being weird?

Their short conversation on the flight had ostensibly been triggered by Rachel’s many rings, the only remaining evidence of a brief Goth period in her youth. Her hair was now its natural blonde, her weight on the softer side of slim, her make-up uniform-friendly; but some silver and obsidian, and one tiny death’s head among her fingers had (mostly) been overlooked by the airline. None of it, she had confirmed, represented a bond to another human being. However, she had not admitted to the impossibility of this, in the face of a total record of — no lovers at all.

But Rachel was sure Susan’s interest in the rings was a pretext for saying hello; their eyes had met several times already during the flight, and not just when Rachel was serving drinks. She had been fascinated by Susan’s tall, graceful frame, and the delicate laughter lines at the corners of her eyes. It wasn’t the first time a passenger had been the subject of her interest, but no one had deliberately returned it before. And though embarrassed at being caught out, she was delighted to find Susan so genuinely affable and interested.

Susan was passing her a glass, three-quarters full of a faintly luminous green cocktail topped with brownish foam. ‘All natural,’ she said, ‘and all super-food. Pure energy.’

Rachel made what she hoped was an appreciative noise and lifted the glass to her lips, grateful for the extended chance to come up with something to say. Susan remained standing, taking a gulp and then lowering her glass onto the coffee table.

She then pulled apart the loose knot in her bathrobe’s cord, and let it fall open.

Rachel froze. Her first self-conscious sip was still in her mouth, the glass still at her lips, both forgotten. Somewhere in her mind, pieces fell into place. The returned interest. The warmth. The invitation. But overwhelming everything else was the sudden shocking awareness of beauty. Beauty so close at hand, so wondrously real.

Now Susan’s long elegant neck revealed its roots in her upper chest. Her skin showed the intricate interplay of tendon, muscle and bone; like draped, subtly textured silk over collarbone and sternum. To either side her breasts rose to still-hidden peaks, their lower slopes returning at right-angles onto her ribs, so smooth. Beneath, her abdomen showed harsher but oh so fascinating ridges of muscle, and then — Rachel swallowed at last.

‘Don’t be ashamed,’ said Susan softly as Rachel darted her wide-eyed gaze back upward. She was suddenly aware of the heat of her cheeks and the thumping of her heart. ‘Just look. I loved the way you looked at me before.’

A war was being fought in Rachel’s mind. A lifetime of conformity, made stronger by the failures of dreary teenage rebellions and vague adult resolutions, had found itself besieged by a deeper force, suddenly focused: oh my god, she thought. Oh my god. Was it true?

It had to be. Without fanfare, resistance died. Rachel let her eyes fall once more, drinking deep, while brown foam lapped onto the floor out of the glass in her limp grasp.

~~~

one

The cab ride was like a nightmare. Rachel had been torn from heaven, and forced to sit alone in the dark and the grime, with only the harsh red and white streaks of passing vehicle lights to gaze at.

And what was worse: an angel had cast her out.

There had been no hiding her innocence from Susan, nor her shock at finding herself suddenly and excruciatingly desperate; for an intangible something that was only available right then, right there, for the first time in her life. Susan had known it; and Susan had denied it to her.

Rachel balled her hands into fists. They had kissed: oh, they had kissed, and Rachel’s fingers had brushed, explored; questioning, uncertain. But she hadn’t known what to do, how to consummate her terrible desire. As her timidity eased she had pressed forward, moaning; but Susan had just smiled and taken her hands. ‘There’s no rush,’ she said gently. Then, when Rachel’s face fell, ‘You’ll understand, I promise.’

But she didn’t understand. How could she? A tear welled in Rachel’s eye, glinting with reflections on the edge of her sight. She blinked, and it dropped. She had waited too long: a whole life of incomprehension and darkness; watching others explore their desires, like cruise ships passing away into the night, leaving her with only the vaguest notion of the world of laughter and joy on board. Tonight one had come so close that she had glimpsed burlesque splendour through a porthole; but then it had passed, like the others, leaving her alone again in the dark.

‘You’ve found yourself,’ Susan had said at the door, a final glimpse of a glittering moonlit wake. ‘You need to know yourself. Come back tomorrow.’ What did that mean? How could she smile and let Rachel walk that long walk down the drive to the waiting taxi? She had even winked, her face half-hidden by the screen door, as Rachel dropped into that dark back seat. Now, Rachel whimpered a little as she felt her fingers touch that face, that neck, those shoulders.

Her hands had relaxed in her lap now, supplicating; and even in the flicker of streetlights she could not help but see the pale striation on each wrist. The scars that others rarely noticed — or chose not to.

‘The Mosaic, was that?’ grunted the driver. Rachel jumped and confirmed, but the sound was barely a rasp. ‘Mosaic?’ he bawled, enjoying his apathy. This time, her voice cracked. So a few minutes later, when she had escaped from his domain onto a Beverly Hills sidewalk, she turned a little so he could see her extended middle finger in his door mirror.

She looked at the unassuming entrance of the Mosaic and sighed. What was she supposed to do now? It was late, but she felt no possibility of sleep. The hotel had been an impulse selection, a treat after a long tour with the airline. But she could not find interest in its boutique elegance now; now that the whole world seemed like a scene bereft of foreground, an empty theatre.

The clerk at the desk smiled at her as she pushed through into the lobby, but he quickly detected the hesitation in her response and returned to his monitor. She looked towards the bar; perhaps she could find solace in a quiet drink: but no, there was a noisy group of women there, tarted up to the nines, laughing shrilly at the barman’s humour.

She paused, undecided, her eyes on them; and quickly, unexpectedly, something changed. At first, the women had been just another group of her distant peers, sharing and enjoying the secret, incomprehensible reason for their sparkling jewellery, for their revealing, impractical clothes. But like a picture of a lamp-stand that suddenly becomes two faces in profile, she became acutely aware of what it was they were adorning, what it was they were allowing glimpses of. And though she knew it was not directed at the likes of her, with a flutter of her heart she understood that deep under their layers of social entanglement was something that she wanted. Something she had always wanted; but only now did she permit her mind to dwell on it, so that it took shape, gained reality.

A draft of night air made her turn, as though in a dream. Another girl was joining the group, long legs, open midriff, coat coming off to reveal bare shoulders, an elegant form which sung out like opera from a radio that had only produced garbled noise before.

The girl’s eyes caught Rachel staring, flicked down and up again; and her mouth tweaked on one side as she passed by. With a crash, Rachel returned to the present. She looked down at herself: trainers, black leggings, military parka over tie-dye T-shirt. The girl had reached the group, her head inclining ever so slightly towards Rachel; one of her friends glanced over and failed to hide a smirk.

Rachel fled, burning. She reached the lifts, but they were still in sight of the bar. Desperate, she barged the nearest door and launched herself up the stairs. She wanted to scream. Her world, which she had packed so neatly away into dusty boxes, had exploded. Women were not what she had thought them to be, not the girls in the bar, not Susan, not even herself.

By the time she reached the sanctuary of her room, her exertions had taken away some of her manic energy, and she sat on the bed, again uncertain. The only constant in her writhing mind seemed to be Susan’s invitation, ‘come back tomorrow,’ and she clung to it. Maybe if she could force herself to sleep, she might bring it within her grasp.

So, mechanically but haphazardly, she began to prepare for bed. Unpack. Brush. Undress. She took out the hidden pin that directed her fringe back to its loose plait, and knotted her long hair on top of her head, then puzzled out the shower. In the moment it took to warm up, she glanced at herself in the mirror, noting the ugly lines of underwear pressed into her skin around hips and breasts, and the tired look of her eyes. Green-grey eyes, too close together, above a sad button of a nose. She looked away as the steam began to rise, noticing with a start that another mirror was capturing a view of her back as she moved to the shower.

She stopped, her hand outstretched to the curtain. Something had called out to her. She retreated a little until her back was revealed again. Pale skin, strap-line, dotted moles, said her normal mind. But something behind it was rising, something that saw the same shape in a new way, unleashed from long-entrenched prejudice by the unusual viewpoint, and by the turmoil in her mind.

Softness draped over an elegant frame. She remembered looking at Susan’s incredible, toned body, so much more than the sum of its parts, and how she had felt watching it move. How different to her own ill-defined flesh. And yet: not so different. She reached up to her shoulder, twisting, seeing how there were muscles there, sliding over and around each other, bringing nuance to the shape.

An excitement was lifting, and old walls were crumbling. Here in this lonely room, so many miles from anything she knew, she was seeing herself for the first time. She followed her shoulder down, pulled her other elbow through, and traced her fingers down her side, her arm pushing past her hidden breasts. She felt them respond, just a fraction. She glanced away from the mirror and down at them.

The more familiar view gave strength to her old perspective, and the new had to fight. Pendulous, said the old. Beautiful, the new. Ill-defined. Enigmatic. Absurd. Fanciful.

She cupped them with her hands, feeling how they overflowed a little as always, so ungainly. She sighed. The steam had begun to hide her reflections. She clambered into the shower, one hand still uncertainly clutching. The water was too hot, but she cared too little to adjust it. The paper-wrapped soap annoyed her for a moment; then she worked up a lather and began to wash.

But the something that had been released was still there, prowling around her consciousness, looking for a way in, and gaining strength from her touch. The tendons of her neck as she leaned her head to one side. The curve of her shoulder. The soft trench under her arm. The springy nub of a nipple. The way the hardness of her ribs fell away into yielding abdomen. That something became more agitated, calling to her; and as her slippery fingers massaged soap into deeper places, she felt a tug of adrenalin.

She had tried masturbating before of course; but lacking any focus for her desire it had been purposeless, overwhelmingly mechanical, dirty. She had not even attempted it for years now. The feel of her own fingers reminded her of the loneliness and desperation, and for that moment the battle was over. She turned off the water and dried herself, then tugged on a bathrobe, let down her hair, and picked up her hairbrush from the sink.

It was the mirrors on the wardrobes outside the bathroom that immobilised her this time. She had not tied the cord on her robe, and the sudden recognition of the sight was like a shot of pure energy. Susan. She stared, stunned. It was not the same: blonde hair, larger breasts, softer shapes. But no, screamed the new something, suddenly finding itself allied with the incredible desire that had overwhelmed her only a few hours before. It was a woman, a beautiful woman. She was biting her lip, giving her face a cute, coquettish look; and her smoothly flowing torso descended in waves to her legs, one knee visible, one foot upon the other.

For a moment she just stared, not daring to move lest the mirage were to waver. Then the realisation hit her: this woman was hers to control, hers alone. That small tempting mouth twisted a little. Testing, she lifted a hand and pulled on that side of the bathrobe’s opening, revealing the nipple of her breast. She gave a little gasp of pleasure, and her smile reached both sides of her mouth.

Heart pattering, she retrieved a pouffe from the sitting area and dragged it back to the mirror. She sat, her legs to one side, the bathrobe open just so, and drew the brush through her hair. She watched herself, fascinated, for a long time; and when the feeling was too much, she put down the brush and brought her fingers to her body. Every part of her seemed like she was discovering it for the first time, and although once again she did not know what to do, she knew now that she could find out for herself.

It was not long before she leaped for the bed. There she quickly found herself to be wet with desire. While the one hand continued to explore, to stroke, to push, the other worked at her ecstasy, and her mind was full of the two beautiful bodies she had made love to that day. And when it was over she rolled onto her side, exhausted and complete, and she whispered to herself, ‘I understand. Susan, I understand.’

~~~

two

Rachel fairly skipped up Susan’s short drive for the second time. The air was already shimmering with heat and the dry rushing of the wind in the palm trees easily dominated the sounds of the lazy Woodland Hills suburb, like reality was overlaid with a strange and blurred waking dream.

Rachel’s world too, had a long-awaited extra dimension, and she was eager, almost desperate, to share it. As to the form of the sharing: now perhaps she knew how to savour the journey; but that had not stopped her imagination, this morning in the early hours after waking—nor her fingers.

She rapped on the screen door-frame, her heart pattering. She felt giddy with a cocktail of emotions: some residual shy anxiety, overwhelmed with a heady mix of recent ecstasy and eager anticipation. She remembered how the beautiful Susan had greeted her here, only half a day ago, in a bathrobe.

She smiled to herself. It seemed so long ago, a memory from childhood. How innocent she had been, looking for a friend in this city of strangers; someone to talk to, but to keep at arm’s length, where the rules were simple and understood. But with only a flick of her fingers, Susan had torn down that wall of preconception as though it were paper.

As she waited, Rachel looked down at herself. Dressing this morning had been an ordeal. She had wanted to revel in the new perspective she had found in her own body; and perhaps for the first genuine time, to show it off. But her wardrobe only seemed to offer the usual quirky naivety. Only when she properly registered the blazing of the sun through the room’s net curtains did she arrive at the simplest of solutions: less is more. Bra, tight faded red T-shirt, khaki hot pants; full stop. And the first time she had done up her fly and button, she had shortly afterwards had to undo them, to fully enjoy the striking and confident final effect.

She laughed to herself. What strange invisible barriers there had been, before, and how fragile when revealed. The lights had been turned on, and her self-discovery, once begun, had been like a landslide. Last night she had taken herself somewhere she had not known existed. While she had trodden the same path twice more this morning, she had deliberately stopped short of the destination. Why, she was not sure, but there was something magical in just enjoying the road. And perhaps she wanted to leave something for later; like a gift perhaps, for the one who had lit the spark.

Through her pleasant reverie and anticipation, Rachel gradually became aware that Susan was not answering the door. She rapped again, then half-knelt on the whitewashed bench to one side to peer in the window above it. She could see nothing through the partially closed blinds and the leaves of an eggplant beyond. Feeling suddenly on a tipping point of bitter disappointment, she glanced back down the drive to the street. The cab was long gone.

‘What,’ she said out loud, in frustration; in her mind, she completed, ‘should I do now?’ She banged on the door-frame a final time for good measure, then turned and stepped down from the porch. Maybe Susan had nipped to the shops; maybe she should just wait. Clinging to that thread made her feel better, and she meandered onto the drive, kicking at a loose stone with her flip-flop.

When she happened to turn again, idly swinging her handbag, she noticed that the double gate across the narrow drive to the side of the house was open wide. This seemed to corroborate her theory, but also offered a cheeky possibility: to explore; and she had no hesitation in following it up. The drive terminated at a shut garage beyond the far end of the house, and she was drawn to the gap in between. Hesitantly, she approached it, close to the wall, and then peered around the corner.

There she was, a sun-shining goddess, absolutely naked, balanced on the tips of her toes with her hands reaching up to the sky. Rachel shook with a paroxysm of awe, and time seemed to stop; long enough for her mind to be imprinted with an image of beautiful lifted face, perfect, toned torso, and endless legs.

Then one tiny step forward, muscles bunched and released, and Susan arced over and slipped into the water with barely a splash. Her body was lost to dancing reflection, and it was a long breathless moment before her head bobbed back into view at the nearer end of the pool, followed by her shoulders and the tantalising rise of her breasts. She smoothed her hair back out of her face and cleared her eyes of water with two fingers, the musculature of her arms and shoulders so intricate and dynamic; and lolled back again into a lazy backstroke.

Rachel was stunned, consumed with desire. No longer did any part of her resist, but an acute awareness of her own awkwardness kept her standing there, suddenly breathing hard. She wanted Susan to come out of the water again, to show her incredible body in the sunlight; but she stayed in, doing lengths of the pool. As time passed the unmet craving grew, until it was like a passion itself. The glimpses of skin, the sculpted face with its black painted-on hair, the grace with which she moved; Rachel found herself holding onto a delicious aching once again.

Eventually, Susan stopped at the nearer end of the pool, looked over, and smiled as though she had known Rachel was there all along. ‘I’m flattered,’ she said, her voice rich and accepting. She glanced down fractionally. ‘Maybe we can work on that together.’

With an abashed start, Rachel realised that her own right hand had strayed to the crotch of her hot-pants. She smiled in return and stood forward past the corner of the house, pausing shyly to pose for appreciation, with her left hand high on the wall and her hip cocked. She was not disappointed, for Susan suddenly stood on the shallow floor of the pool, her lithe torso shimmering into the sunlight.

‘Wow, girl,’ she exclaimed. ‘Love that look!’

Encouraged, Rachel sashayed forward, head down, gazing at Susan through her lashes, revelling in her own arousal. The effect was rather spoiled halfway to the pool when she lost focus and giggled out loud. Her concentration had been overwhelmed with joy: here she was, acting sexy, and there was someone sexy there, delighting in it. She had never imagined this could be her.

With a little whoop of delight, she slipped her feet from her flip-flops, dropped her handbag, and pattered forward, not stopping when she reached the pool. Almost over Susan’s head, she jumped, twisting crazily, and splashed joyously into the water.

Before she had even righted herself, strong arms found her and drew her into a fierce embrace. Then Susan’s lips were there, burning under the cool water. For a moment they tumbled, bodies clamped together, legs flailing; and Rachel felt Susan’s thigh press into her crotch. She moaned bubbles and thrust her hips forward, feeling firm muscle through her hot pants.

Shortly, reflex intervened and she squirmed for the surface. Susan’s arms guided her gently until they were standing, crouching slightly, on the bottom of the pool, legs lightly interlocked. They looked at each other, breathing quickly, savouring the moment. Rachel succumbed first and lifted her hand to the back of Susan’s neck to draw her head forward. But Susan placed her finger on Rachel’s lips.

‘Uh-uh,’ she laughed. ‘I want to see more of what you’ve learned.’

At first, Rachel did not understand. Susan was drawing her backwards, further into the shallow end of the pool. Rachel went limp, enjoying the feel of Susan’s hands at her sides, her legs and abdomen occasionally bumping and rubbing against her. She closed her eyes against the glare of the sun, soaking up an amazing and exquisite reality.

She felt her backside touch down onto smooth tile, and opened her eyes to see that Susan had parked her on the bottom-most of the steps into the pool. Susan was giving her a sultry, sly look as she turned her body away, and then nestled back, her arms floating aside, her head lolling.

Rachel could only stare at Susan’s long neck stretched out under her eyes, overwhelmed with trembling passion. She had an inkling now what Susan had meant; but she hesitated, too awed to start. It seemed that Susan was in no hurry though, and floated there, eyes closed, her breathing soft beside Rachel’s ear.

‘Touch my neck,’ she prompted softly, as though she could see herself from Rachel’s point of view, while with her left hand she located Rachel’s and drew it around her waist, so that her bottom pressed into Rachel’s stomach. Rachel felt her own breath almost gasping, felt her mouth drying. How could she do this, how could she pleasure this goddess? It seemed sacrilegious.

Again, Susan seemed to know her mind. ‘Pretend I’m you,’ she breathed. ‘Pretend I’m your reflection.’

Rachel gasped at her prescience. How did she know? And the words seemed to make the image real, to merge their bodies, two views of the same whole. Without thought, the fingers of her right hand had tucked under Susan’s arm and found her neck, there to be quickly joined by her mouth and tongue. Susan’s body shivered.

With delicate care, Rachel’s fingers traced onto Susan’s shoulder, up and over the muscle there, and outward onto her arm. Susan’s skin was different to her own, with less give, more revealing of what was underneath; but oh! she could feel her own touch, as though it were replayed by another behind her, fingers slipping over wet skin, lips brushing. They both sighed slightly, perfectly in tune, as Rachel’s hand reversed direction, tucking under, to follow the taut line of Susan’s pectoral.

A part of Rachel wanted to pause, to savour that moment, but there was more power in her desire. Her palm cupped one breast, small, perfect; then moved to the other, as though undecided. Susan snickered a little and turned her head to peck her on the cheek. ‘You wait till I get hold of yours,’ she whispered. Rachel felt her cheeks suddenly warm with a new feeling; over the lust that totally defined her, there was something else there too, something deeper. Fascinated, she let it hang in her consciousness for a moment; but the softness in her fingers, and the nub in her palm, were clamouring for her attention.

She closed her eyes and let touch become everything: fingers and forearm on breasts, hand on stomach, lips on cheek, and the light warm press of Susan’s naked body against her. She moaned quietly. She wanted everything: to explore, to hold, to feel; to take and to receive; and so she was paralysed in the moment.

Susan’s voice rasped in her ear, ‘Don’t you dare stop there, girl.’ Rachel felt her left wrist being lifted and placed, unceremoniously, further down. She gasped a little, disbelieving; but she was undecided no longer.

With a mock growl she retorted: ‘Hey, I know what I’m doing.’ She traced a desultory finger up Susan’s bikini line, then crossed her arms over Susan’s body, finding a breast in each palm and squeezing inwards with her elbows. Under her captivating muscular definition Susan was more lightly built than Rachel, almost slight. Enjoying the contradiction, Rachel finished, ‘You’re me, remember?’

She caressed, decisively, taking in every part of Susan she could reach, then tucked both hands between Susan’s legs and spread them wide. Her left arm pressed Susan back onto her, hand on right breast, while the first and second fingers of her right hand set upon Susan’s lips, kneading over her clitoris. Susan hummed appreciatively into her ear.

Rachel slipped her middle finger inward, there to find a warm slickness, so different to the harsh cool water all around. She drew her finger forward, pushing skin aside; and now Susan moaned more deeply. With a slow rhythm, Rachel began to rub back and forth. Her eyes were closed now, head back, hair in the water. In her mind she was touching herself; and the gentle weight of Susan’s body, clamped against her, was like a dream made real, to fire the passion of her fingers.

Susan was breathing in time with the rhythm, each breath ending with a soft murmur of pleasure; and slowly, so slowly, the tempo increased. Rachel was loath to break the synchrony, but her own arousal was begging for more, demanding release. Her finger broke free, accelerating, circling. So fierce was her lust she knew that if it were her own clit she would already have climaxed; but still, Susan breathed, still, she softly hummed her approval.

The spell was breaking; this body could no longer be Rachel’s own. She shifted position, lifted her head. She didn’t know what to do. Susan must have felt her unease, because her own hands came, one each over Rachel’s, and pressed down hard. At first, Rachel was shocked at the pressure, more than she would ever have dared, but Susan groaned in her ear, ‘Harder.’

Rachel didn’t understand, but she obeyed. Susan was moaning, and her tongue darted into Rachel’s ear. ‘Harder,’ she said again, although the word was barely discernible. Rachel’s finger was beginning to ache with fatigue; but now Susan was arching forward, fighting against Rachel’s encompassing arm. Rachel watched, wide-eyed, trying to keep her finger moving. Susan’s own hand was clamped over it, almost vibrating with force.

Susan was holding each breath, and releasing it with a moan. Then, suddenly, she squirmed around. Her eyes were blazing as she righted herself onto her knees on the pool floor. Without a word, she reached forward and grasped the hem of Rachel’s sodden T-shirt. They worked together to release Rachel from her tight clothes, and when finally her bra splashed down to sink slowly from sight, Susan thrust forward to encompass her in a bear hug.

Rachel was a little confused, a little frightened; but that only seemed to heighten her arousal. She looked down to see her own breasts squashed against Susan’s collarbone. Susan had actually picked her up in the water, and was pushing her to the side of the pool. This time, Rachel’s backside landed, naked, onto hot wet concrete.

Susan drew her hands around from behind Rachel’s dripping wet body, pausing for a moment over her upper chest to push until Rachel was leaning back on her hands, then dragging down her stomach as Susan kneeled onto the pool floor. Rachel guessed what was next, and cried out with euphoric disbelief; but she was not prepared for the force of Susan’s tongue. It was so firm, pushing straight onto her clit without preamble, then immediately flicking up and down.

Instantly, waves of bliss washed over her; but her gaze could not move from the view of her own stomach, pubic mound, and thighs, framing Susan’s beautiful face. Susan had her eyes closed, and by the twisted position of her body and the unrestrained flexing of her shoulder and arm, sending ripples away into the pool, Rachel knew that Susan’s hand was back between her own legs.

The image, both visible and invisible, was quickly too much. Rachel moaned long and deep; one of her arms gave way and she fell onto her elbow, but the pain was nothing to the ecstasy exploding into her.

Gradually, it came to its natural end, subsided away, like dry thunder into the blue sky overhead. Rachel lowered her eyes again to see Susan’s head, now resting a little higher in the crook of her hip, lean shoulder pushing up against Rachel’s bottom. She had her eyes closed, her mouth wide open; her whole body was so arched under the water that it looked contorted. For a second Rachel could only stare, her mind blank, once again becoming scared.

Then Susan’s breath gasped out, forming itself into a descending groan that sounded almost inhuman; a savage, primitive sound.

They were still for a time. Rachel lifted her hand to cradle Susan’s head; and when Susan’s eyes flicked upward they carried a force deeper and more subtle, but at least as great as the caresses of her tongue. Rachel felt a tear form in her eye as the strange feeling from earlier returned, light and pure. Without thinking, she said, ‘I love you.’

Susan smiled. She gathered her feet under her and then slowly stood, kissing Rachel’s navel, then breast. As Rachel sat up to meet her, their lips touched once, tenderly.

‘You hardly know me,’ she said gently, brushing Rachel’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. Then she smiled again at Rachel’s crestfallen look. ‘If you mean you want to make love to me some more, then let’s go with that.’ She kissed her again, more deeply, then grinned. ‘Personally, I want to fuck you until we can’t tell night from day.’