Jill lives next door; she is married to Jim. We had agreed that we would go to Meadowhall, a shopping mall near to Sheffield. We wanted some new outfits; it would soon be spring, and the summer clothes would be gone from the shops. It was now or never. Jill was driving; I was navigating.

Meadowhall isn’t that difficult to find; it is bigger than some villages and is signposted from the motorway, but Jill liked to be directed. I wondered if she was like that in her private life; was she perhaps a sub? Was it because she was a nurse and she needed an antidote at home?

We parked up, and Jill photographed the car park level and stand details. Satisfied that we would, probably, be able to find the car, we headed off to the shops. We both liked one particular cream dress; that meant neither of us could have it. Similar was absolutely okay; identical, God, no, never, not even if we were twins.

We were actually similar in build. We both wore the same-sized clothes, and so we could easily borrow each other’s apparel. We would, however, never buy the same items. We both, for example, owned a gabardine raincoat, but hers was a Zara brand and mine was Yves Saint Laurent. They looked very similar but weren’t. I was aware that she had paid full price for hers, while I purchased mine from Vinted for just ten pounds. Smug looks were not required.

We had both found something in the Flannels shop that we liked: cream, mid-length dresses, but one had a sweetheart neckline, and the other plunged. I had selected the plunge line. We headed off to the fitting rooms to try them on. The family room was free, so we headed in there; we could share. It helped with doing up awkward zips, for example.

I undid my dress and slipped it off and hung it on one of the hooks. As I turned around to step into the new dress, Jill gasped.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yes, well, but you haven’t got any knickers on.”

“No, I don’t usually wear them.”

“Well, so I see, but you have no hair either; I can see everything.”

“God, I started shaving in my late teens and then waxed in my twenties, and now I use a laser depilator. There are not many hair follicles left. I don’t think it could grow back if I wanted it to.”

“But why? Why no hair?”

“Why, loads of reasons. I feel fresher, partners prefer it during sex, and it makes post-sex cleanup so much easier. On hot days, it is so much better to feel a draught around there than clammy knickers."

“Good God. I have never even thought about it. Does Paul shave too?”

“God yes, the thought of putting my mouth around a hairy dick and balls just turns me right off. Oh, and the thought of going down on a hairy fanny is a turnoff too.”

“What, are you a lesbian?”

I wondered what rock she had been living under. For two years we had lived next to each other, and only now was I finding out that she was a shrinking violet. Odd for a nurse.

“No, Jill, I am not, but I do enjoy sex with all kinds of people. Under the right circumstances, of course. A girl going down on you can be so much better than a man; after all, she has the equipment and knows how it needs to be handled.”

“Wow. Okay.”

We got back to the matter in hand and tried the dresses on. Neither dress looked right, especially not for the price they were asking. We redressed in our clothes and handed the trial clothes to the assistant as we left the dressing area.

“Come on,” Jill said, "let’s grab a coffee and a cake.”

“Good idea,” I said as we were next to Costa. Jill went to find a table, and I went to order. Back at the table, I put the coffee and cakes—actually, croissants—on the table and sat.

“I watched you walking,” Jill said. “You would never know.”

“Never know what, Jill?”

“That you aren’t wearing underwear.”

“Well, why would you need to know? It is just a piece of usually invisible clothing. Anyway, as you saw, I am wearing a bra.”

“Yes, I saw. I don’t know; I had never thought about it, and then when I saw you in the changing room, I just thought it must be obvious. But it isn’t.”

“No, I don’t expect most people would notice, and if they did get a flash of my fanny, so what? It’s just a fanny.”

“No, not just a fanny; it is absolutely beautiful. I had no idea.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that; I didn’t really expect my neighbour to think I had a beautiful fanny. It is simply my fanny; it is what it is. I took a sip of my coffee.

“It’s just a fanny, Jill, that’s all. You’ve got one just the same.”

“I don’t know, but mine is completely covered in hair.”

We spent the rest of the day wandering around shops, trying on clothes, buying a few, and sending many more back. When we were in the changing rooms, I couldn’t help but notice Jill seemed fascinated by my crotch; she could hardly keep her eyes off it. Oh well.

We drove home, getting home just as the schools were emptying, so the roads were full of parents picking their offspring up. Finally we got home. I knew I had dinner to prepare for when Paul came home; I guessed Jill would have the same for Jim.

“Right, thanks for driving, Jill,” I said as I gathered up my shopping.

“See you later,” Jill replied, the standard Yorkshire way to end any get-together.

I put my shopping in the bedroom; I would parade it for Paul later. I took the chicken out of the fridge and started the laborious process of spatchcocking it. I had bought a pair of secateurs a few years ago, specifically for spatchcocking. They lived in the utensil drawer. To be honest, they did need sharpening; they were a little blunt.

I peeled some potatoes and put them on to boil; we would have mash, and I filled a jug with frozen peas. They would go in the microwave at the last minute. Next, I made a roux ready to thicken the gravy, mostly with the juices from the chicken and a little gravy browning. I disliked using gravy granules; I found them just too salty.

When Paul came home, he went up to wash and change. I served tea. Paul was amused when I told him how Jill had been taken aback by my no knickers and shaven fanny.

“Shame, Jim is missing out then, I guess,” he said.

I laughed; perhaps he was, but perhaps he knew no different, even though he recently saw my naked fanny.

In the morning, I was emptying the dishwasher. Paul was at work, and I was on my own. I had one item of clothing that I wanted to take back; Paul really hadn’t liked it. When I looked again in the mirror, I saw why. No, it wasn’t me. My doorbell rang.

“Only me,” Jill said as I opened the door.

“Come in,” I said, quickly, shutting the cold wintry air out.

“I need some help,” she said.

“Oh?”

“I want to shave my fanny, you know, like yours, only I am afraid I might cut myself or something. I can’t really see down there.”

“Oh.”

“So, I was wondering. Would you do it for me?”

“What, shave your fanny?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Okay, this isn't what I expected to do this morning, but yes, I'm on board. Do you want a coffee first?”

“Yes. Actually, no, can we shave first and then have the coffee? If I leave it, I might talk myself out of it.”

I laughed. “Of course we can. Go upstairs and take your clothes off, then go in the master bathroom and sit on the loo. I will be up in a minute."

“Sit on the loo? Er, okay.”

“That is for the first cut of hair; we can flush it away, then you sit on the bath edge, and I shave away the short hairs. Then you rub moisturiser in, and it's done. A quick top-up with the razor every two days and you are sorted.”

Jill went upstairs. I dropped the latch on the front door. I didn’t want any surprise visitors, such as my father-in-law, simply popping in. Jill was already in the bathroom when I got upstairs. I slipped my clothes off; part of the process required me to be in the bath with the shower going. Certainly, it was no place for clothes, except perhaps a bikini, and if she was going to be naked, wearing clothes seemed churlish to me.

“Oh, you’re nude,” Jill said as I wandered into the bathroom.

“Yes, and you will see why soon. Right, are you ready?" I was brandishing Paul’s beard trimmer. It was perfect for getting rid of the long hairs. It would leave a stubble that we could easily shave off with a normal razor. Paul’s normal razor, to be honest.

I knelt in front of Jill and began to cut all the long, straggly pubic hairs. Jill had her legs as wide apart as space allowed, and I was able to get all her hairs down to just a stubble. Her fanny was looking mighty fine. Her inner lips did protrude a little, but you would never have known that when it was all covered in hair.

"Right," I said, "sit on the edge of the bath with your feet in the tub."

I got in the bath and took the showerhead off its fitting, laying it on the bath bottom. I turned the water on and checked that it wasn’t too hot. I sprayed Jill’s fanny and then got the shaving gel. I squirted some onto my hand and began to spread it. Jill remained quiet, but I noticed she was becoming a little red in the face as I spread the gel. I could guess why, bless her.

Paul’s normal razor is one of those wet razors that has a vibrating head. Rather pleasant, as I had found out. It offered the benefit of doing a much closer shave. I began at the top of her mons, working down towards her crease.

“Goodness,” Jill gasped, “it vibrates.”

“Yes, it gives a closer shave.”

“Bloody hell, Mica.” She sat, her lips pursed.

I moved lower down, and now I was shaving either side of her crease. Jill was gripping the washbasin next to her, and as I carefully went over her crease, she let out a muffled cry. Yes, I pretty much did the same when I shaved myself down there.

I picked up the showerhead and rinsed the suds away. On a soft shower setting, the water had the effect of tickling and stimulating. As I directed the water over her, I gently eased her labia apart to ensure that I had rinsed everything thoroughly.

“Oh, fuck, Mica, for God’s sake,” Jill gasped.

“What?” I said.

“Finger me, for God’s sake, finger me.”

Oh. I put the showerhead down, and I ran my finger from just below her nubbin, down her crease to her entrance. I inserted two fingers into her opening, pushing them deep into her fanny.

“Oh fuck, yes,” Jill gasped.

I parted my fingers and moved them around inside her. Jill had her eyes closed and was leaning back. I began to move my fingers in and out of her fanny. Jill was rocking. I leaned forward, I pursed my lips, and I blew on her nubbin. Jill seemed to freeze. I poked my tongue out and licked her nubbin, pressing at it with my tongue.

Jill’s fanny clamped; it spasmed, and she let out a wail and bucked up and down on the edge of the bath.

“Fucking hell,” she gasped. I eased my fingers from her fanny, picked up the showerhead, and sluiced her fanny as if nothing had happened.

“Right, you just need to rub moisturiser on it,” I said.

“You do it, God, you do it,” she said.

I reached for the Molton Brown moisturiser from the cabinet next to the bath, squirted some onto my fingers, and gently and softly ran my fingers over her mons and vulva. Jill began panting. Her breath was a gulp.

“Oh God,” she gasped, and then she screamed, pressing my hand hard against her vulva.

I said nothing; I knew what she had experienced. I had experienced it myself on more than one very pleasurable occasion.

“God, I am so sorry, Mica,” she said. “I mean, I’ve never done anything like this before, well, you know.”

I kissed her, my lips pressing against hers.

“Hush, Jill,” I said quietly. “A moment is to be enjoyed, never to be apologised for.”

I leaned back and then stood up. I put the showerhead back on its catch and stepped out of the bath. I held a hand out for Jill to help her get to her feet.

“Can we, you know, go into your bedroom?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.”

“I need to, you know, be with you. In bed.”

“My pleasure.”

I led the way, and in my bedroom, I pulled back the quilt. I could see the signs on the sheet left over from Paul and me shagging last night. I didn’t care; we were grown-ups. That is what grown-ups do.

"I don't know how to do that; I never have," Jill said.

“Lie on the bed, Jill. I will lie next to you, and you do to me what you like being done to you. We can hardly hurt each other.”

Jill lay down; I lay next to her, my face at her fanny, hers at mine.

“Let me lie on my back, Jill, then you can be above me. That way is easier for you to move away if you feel it is becoming uncomfortable.”

I rolled slightly sideways so that I was on my back, and I eased my legs apart. My fanny was now open, my inner labia peeking out from between my parted lips. I closed my eyes and let Jill do what she needed to do.

I felt her breath along my crease and then the sharp edge of a fingernail as she traced a path from my entrance to my nubbin. I gasped as she teased my clitoris from its retreat.

“I’ve never seen one up close,” she said. “So different from a dick, which, obviously, I have seen close up.”

“Well, everything is here for you to explore,” I said, hoping that she would examine my clitoris further.

“Is Paul shaved too?”

“Yes, of course.”

“God, I would like to see that.”

“Well, you will have to ask Paul about that; it’s his dick, not mine.”

I gasped; she had licked my nubbin and then ran her tongue down my valley to my entrance. Her tongue circled my entrance, dipped inside a little and then moved further down. My breath was held, and then I gasped as her tongue slid along my perineum and her lips surrounded my crinkle. My back arched. God, what a sensation as her tongue pressed at my sphincter.

She then totally surprised me by moving away. She sat up and looked at me, her eyes locking onto mine. She turned around and held my head in her hands. Her face moved close to mine, her lips touched mine, and then they pressed together. She was kissing me, her tongue pressing at my lips. As her tongue pushed inside, I felt fingers at my entrance.

Oh my, this was unexpected. Her breath was hot in my mouth, her fingers pressing deep into my fanny. I put my hands around her and pulled her tight to me, my lips pressing back at hers. We kissed, she fingered, she fingerfucked, she tongued, and she amazed me. I could feel her fingers ride over my bumps inside, each one making me gasp.

Eventually she broke the kiss, and her fingers eased out of my fanny. I lay back and looked at Jill. She looked back and smiled.

“I love Jim, but, well, that was something different. I have never even thought of going with a woman before.”

“Did you enjoy it?” I asked her.

“Oh, yes, yes, I did.”

I watched her get dressed and walked her to the door. She turned and gave me a quick kiss, and then she was gone. I supposed I ought to go and get dressed. I turned and almost bumped into Mik.

“Bloody hell, Mik, what are you doing here?” It never occurred to me that I was naked in front of my nineteen-year-old son.

"The power failed at work; it won’t be fixed until tomorrow, so they sent us all home.”

“Oh, okay.” I looked down, and I realised I was naked. “I am going up to get dressed. Why don’t you put the kettle on?”

“Oh no, Mum, not after what I just watched. I am coming up with you.”

“What do you mean?” My heart sank; I guessed what he had seen.

“I can show you if you like; I recorded it.”

My heart sank further. I just stood there; there was nothing I could say really. My son had watched me with my next-door neighbour.

“Watching you and Jill was so hot, Mum. I didn’t know you were gay."

“Oh Mik, it wasn’t like that; what you saw was just a one-off.”

“I wonder what Dad would say?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Lord, no, Mum, I would never do that. Shall we go up to your bedroom? After all, your bed isn’t made, is it?”

I was defeated. A day of unexpected pleasures had turned into something more.

“God, I love to watch your arse as you walk upstairs; your fanny shows through, and it is very inviting.”

I said nothing and simply carried on into my bedroom. As Mik had correctly stated, my bed was unmade; Jill and I had really messed up the covers. I pulled the quilt back and turned to face Mik.

He had pulled his top off and was pushing his trousers and underpants down, his hard dick springing up. The truth is, even though I knew I shouldn’t admit it, Mik had a lovely dick, and he was learning how to use it effectively.

I backpedalled to...