I’m the first to admit its not much of a pub. It’s certainly not one of those raucous city centre places, full of drunken yobs and tarty girls every Friday and Saturday night. I’m sure they make loads of money, but I couldn’t stand the hassle. Neither is it one of those twee and charming country pubs, that fill with twittering yuppies at the weekend, out for a Sunday lunch and quaffing their real ale and sipping their white wines. Its much more down to earth than that.

We’re in a small town, probably smaller than average, that had grown from being a mining village many years ago. The town had grown off to one side and, what had once been the centre, was now a suburban area on the outskirts. Orderly streets of small tenement rows of miner’s housing, that had gone through a period of decline and decay when the mines closed, to be slowly reborn as new industry arrived and younger people wanted somewhere to live. Slowly the area grew smarter as people took pride in their surroundings.

And stuck right in the middle was the pub. My pub! I’m Dana and I’m the proud owner and landlady of this little pub. Hidden away among the warren of streets, little known to anyone outside the area. I’d bought it a few years ago with an inheritance from my grandparents. I’d spent most of my working life in pubs, but it was such a relief finally to have a place of my own and not have some multi-national looking over my shoulder. It was a little run-down, and the intention was to do the place up. My husband at the time was a builder and was supposed to be in charge of it all. That was my big mistake. He turned out to be more interested in spending my money on booze, than on building materials. And most of it wasn’t even spent in our pub!

So, he got kicked out and I found one of the regulars who was happy to take it on. In fact, employing locals for all the work turned out to be an unwitting stroke of genius. They all started to feel like it was theirs. Bit by bit they brought their friends in and my group of regulars grew slowly. It was never a huge crowd, but it was enough that I could pay the bills every month.

The regulars we catered for all knew each other, which was why I was surprised when four women, all of them strangers, walked in one night. As so often happens, when they walked in all heads turned to look and the murmur of conversation stilled for a moment. They looked okay to me, so I smiled and asked them what they’d like to drink. I was a little surprised when they looked so relieved at my greeting. The regulars slowly went back to their chatter and the four women found themselves a table in one corner.

They were an odd group in many ways. To me, they looked like two couples who had sort of coalesced into one group. I found out later that they were exactly that, but not in the way I imagined. There were two older women, late forties or early fifties was my guess, and two much younger girls, both early twenties. It came as a bit of a shock when I found out later that, although they were indeed two couples, they were two sets of young and old pairings. But it was really none of my business. They sat at their table, quietly chatting until it was time to throw everyone out, and they left with a cheery wave and a “Goodnight!”

When six women turned up a week later I was pleasantly surprised. Thursday night is not one of our busiest, and six extra mouths to get drinks down was not to be scoffed at. There were one or two mutterings from the men at the bar, but I soon shut them up.

“You lot can keep quiet for a start,” I hissed at them, “any complaints and you’ll be making them from the street outside.”

That shut them up at least, as none of them wanted to be kicked out of their favourite pub. It was also gratifying that the majority of them voiced their agreement with me. As for the six women, I hoped they were oblivious to all this. Whether they were or not, the fact remained that they stayed again all evening and left with smiles on their faces.

By the third week, there were eight of them. That was when I had the idea of showing them the back room. It's rarely used except for the occasional local wake, so I was pleased when they thought it was a great idea. It was just as well I did, as their numbers started to grow. From four to six to eight and now there’s often twelve or fifteen in there every Thursday. And they’re not a quietly sitting down nursing a half pint all night sort of crowd. I’ve had to increase my weekly order for wine by quite a bit and this has brought in a not unwelcome boost to my income. So, of course I was happy to post a ‘Reserved’ notice on the door.

There were one or two “bloody dykes” comments from the usual miseries but a dark look from me quickly silenced them. As far as I was concerned, they could keep their opinions to themselves or find somewhere else to drink. At the end of the night, the women would all quietly leave and go their separate ways. No rowdy drunken singing or throwing up in the street. So unlike the scenes I’d occasionally seen in town.

One night, when I’d just booted the last of the men out of the door and I was going around collecting empty glasses, one of the women appeared out from the back with two handfuls of empty wine glasses.

“I thought I’d help out and bring these through.”

“You made me jump,” I said, making a face of mock surprise, “I thought everyone had left.”

“Sorry,” she replied, “but we leave such a mess, I thought I’d help out. If you have a cloth I’ll go and wipe the tables.”

“There’s no need,” I said, “you get off home. I’m used to doing it.”

“I’m in no rush. It’ll be a pleasure.”

“Well, if you’re sure …”

The truth was I was glad of the company. This was the only part of the day I hated. The world outside was mostly in bed and I was stuck here cleaning up. Some things could wait but I’d learned a long time ago that glasses needed doing as soon as possible. So, I found her a cloth and some cleaning spray, and she set to work on the tables while I fed the glasses through the machine. We didn’t talk much while we worked but it was just comforting to hear the sound of another person. She’d just about finished as I put the last of the glasses in the draining rack.

“Thanks so much,” I said to her, “the least I can do is offer you a night-cap. I always have a brandy when I’ve finished work, what about you?”

“That would be lovely, thanks,” she said, settling herself on one of the stools on the other side of the bar. I saw her look round the room, as though for the first time, as I turned and put two brandies on the counter.

“Cheers,” she said, picking up her drink and holding it towards me, “I’m Gilda, by the way.”

“Hello, Gilda, and cheers to you,” I replied, clinking our glasses together.

It was nearly an hour later, and another brandy, before I unlocked the front door and let her out. She only lived a few doors away on the other side of the street, so I waited by the door to see her safely home. She gave me one last wave as she went indoors. I locked and bolted the front door of the pub and went around for a last check before I switched off the downstairs lights. As I climbed the stairs I felt strangely chilled out. What a nice way to finish an evening, I thought to myself, and what a nice woman Gilda had turned out to be.

It turned out to be a habit that she fell into and which I warmly welcomed. I began to look forward even more to Thursday evenings. Not just for the extra life the group brought to the pub, and the extra income as well, but also to the after-hours chats with Gilda. I felt privileged when she started sharing little secrets of her life with me and I did the same by opening up to her. One evening I broke down in tears, as I told her of my struggles with my ex, and how free I felt when I finally kicked him out.

She’d gone through much the same, but in her case, her ex was a woman. Even though I’d guessed about the nature of the group that gathered in my back room, it still sounded slightly odd to my ears. It helped that she was so clear and honest about her love for women, as it took all awkwardness out of the conversation.

That must have been the third or fourth of our late-night sessions. That particular night it was nearly one o’clock before she went home. As I unlocked the front door and stood aside to let her by, she simply leaned across and kissed me. It wasn’t anything particularly remarkable, certainly not long and lingering, but it wasn’t a peck on the cheek either. It had been a long time since my lips had felt the softness of another pair pressed into them sensuously. She didn’t tarry too long, just enough that it hovered somewhere between chaste and desiring. And then she was gone, almost running in her haste to get home.

As usual, I stood and watched until she reached her front door and went inside. The difference this time was that she didn’t look back and give me her usual wave. The other difference was that I stood for ages on the threshold lost in thought. Had that really happened? Indeed, what had just happened? My mind was a whirl of uncertainties. I looked upwards trying to gain some perspective. It was a clear night and, although the street lights masked any stars, they couldn’t blot out the gibbous moon that hung over the houses opposite. Shining like a beacon almost exactly over her house.

After about ten minutes, the chill night air made me shiver and reality crept back in. With a last look up and down the street, I went in and locked the door. Later in bed, lying in the dark, I tried to make sense of things. If it had been a man, in similar circumstances, I would, at least, have been able to understand it. But Gilda was a woman, and as such totally outside my comfort zone. And yet … And yet, it had felt so right. Talk about being confused!

It had been two years since I’d kicked the old man out and since then I hadn’t been near another human being, certainly not in that way. A couple of the locals had tried it on, but I knew they were married, and I was definitely not going down that road. One of them even brought his mate in to see me but, although he was nice enough, he wasn’t really my type and it was too soon. But that kiss, brief as it was, had opened up a whole new set of possibilities. Confusion was definitely my main feeling.

I found it difficult to focus most of the next week and I was nervous when Thursday came around. The women arrived in dribs and drabs as per normal and I began to worry that Gilda wasn’t going to show up. I was busy pulling a pint for one of the locals when she finally appeared. She seemed to slink through the front bar, and I detected a shy and muttered ‘Hi’ as she made her way quickly to the back room. Someone else was buying the drinks when I went to the back bar, so I never got a chance to say ‘hello’ properly.

It was difficult to concentrate that night as we seemed to be busier than usual and one of my locals was demanding my sympathetic ear. When it finally came to closing time, and everyone slowly drifted off to their various homes, my attention was finally able to turn to Gilda. It was a bit of a surprise that she was still the last to leave, having gone around and collected empties as was usual. I thought she might sneak out quietly, given her behaviour when she’d come in, but her joyful chatter was gone and we both operated in silence. When she had done she headed for the door.

“Not stopping for a drink with a friend tonight?” I asked her, stopping her in her tracks.

“I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome,” came her sotto voce reply.

“Don’t be so daft. Sit yourself down.” I was determined not to let something so petty spoil what had become an important part of my life.

I turned from her and, grabbing two glasses, I poured two double brandies. When I turned back she had seated herself on her usual bar stool but was still not making eye-contact. “Fuck it,” I thought, “enough of this nonsense.” Instead of perching on the stool I had behind the bar, I lifted the flap and walked round to her side and climbed onto the stool next to hers. I pushed her glass towards her and picked up my own. She looked up at me and gave me a shy smile as she picked up her glass. I could sense her plucking up the courage to say something, so I let the silence hang between us. She took a large swig and then put her glass down.

“I nearly didn’t come tonight,” she said, finally summoning her nerve.

“Why ever not?”

“I was embarrassed. It was a stupid impulse. I’m sorry.”

I could hear the catch in her voice as she fought back a tear. Her head dropped again, and she looked intently at the floor. I took a sip of brandy. Now it was me that needed the courage. I felt it was down to me to break the impasse. With my free hand, I lifted her chin and I leant forward, kissing her softly on the lips. I tried to make it different from last week’s snatched affair, letting it linger far beyond an accidental touch. When I pulled back she was looking straight at me, just inches away.

“Does that answer your question?” I asked her.

“But you … you’re …” she started to say, but I interrupted her.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” I said.

This time it was she who leaned forward, our lips meeting once more and staying locked together for an age. We only stopped when a police car went speeding past colouring the walls with its flashing blue light. None of this did anything to help clear the fog of confusion. If anything, it simply made it denser. I had no idea why I was doing this. Something deep inside told me it was alright. We’d pulled back when the police car had gone past and now we both took swigs of our drinks.

“I never expected that,” she said sheepishly.

“Well, you started it,” I said, giggling like a teenager.

“But you’re straight,” she said, raising her eyebrows at me.

“I’m the ex-wife of a grade-one bastard,” I told her, “so who knows what I really am.”

“C-c-can we do it again?” she asked, leaning forward hopefully.

In response, I met her halfway. This time her lips parted, and I felt the tip of her warm tongue tracing the outline of my lips. I was grateful she went no further. Most men would have had it halfway down my throat by now, but this was so different. There seemed to be no rush. Taking our time seemed the right way to do it. When her tongue retreated I tentatively pushed mine out and mimicked her action. When we stopped I had to gasp for air. I realised that I had stopped breathing. Then she surprised and saddened me. She downed the dregs of her drink and stood up.

“I need to get home,” she announced decisively.

“But I thought …” and my voice trailed off. I really didn’t know what I thought. The old confusion had been replaced by a new one.

“We both need time to think.”

I knew she was right, and I nodded dumbly. I followed her to the front door and unlocked it, holding it open for her. She gave me a chaste peck on the cheek before she left. As always I stood and watched her safely to her door. Before she disappeared she turned and blew me a kiss. Like a silly child, I made a catching gesture and placed my hand to my mouth. She waved and went inside. I stood for a long time gazing across the road to her front door. When I looked upward the moon, now in full phase, was almost obscured by drifting clouds. I felt a kinship with the moon; it looked exactly like I felt.

Reluctantly I forced myself indoors and locked up for the night. There were two glasses side by side on the bar; hers was empty but some remained in mine. I tipped it into my mouth and savoured the warming drink as it slid down my throat. As if in a dream I traced a fingertip around the rim of her glass, where her lips had been. I mentally shook myself back to reality, put them both in the washer ready for the morning, switched off the lights and went upstairs.

I slept little that night and what sleep I did get was filled with strange dreams, none of which I could remember in the morning. All the next week I tried to bury myself in my work. Luckily the pub was busy, and I was kept on my toes most of the time. There was one slightly awkward moment when we bumped into each other in the corner shop. Anyone catching us would have plainly noticed our embarrassed looks and bumbling conversation. She finished paying and left with a “See you Thursday” farewell, in a voice so obviously striving to sound normal.

By this time, four years after I’d bought the pub and two years running it alone, business had picked up. Enough that I could employ a chef, a young local lad just finishing at the local catering college. He worked Friday evenings, all day Saturday and Sunday lunchtimes. I also had a young girl who I occasionally hired to help out behind the bar. And word about the back room had spread around the area. I now had a couple of other groups meeting there regularly but I’d made sure that Thursday evening was always reserved for the women. They’d been the first. after all.

That Thursday I had Karen the young barmaid in, and around five o’clock, in the middle of the slack period between the lunchtime drinkers and the evening crowd, I left her in charge and went upstairs. I had no idea what to expect from tonight. Maybe nothing would happen, but I couldn’t help hoping. I took a long and contemplative bath, indulging in scented candles and smelly bath oils, and then went through my wardrobe. I didn’t know why it was so important but somehow it was. I carefully chose my outfit to pick out my best features, or so I hoped, I was so out of practice at this sort of thing. I blushed in the privacy of my bedroom when I realised how much care I was taking choosing my underwear. If this evening didn’t work out I was going to feel like an idiot. A long look in the full-length mirror just made me feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. But a rather attractive middle-aged version.

The evening passed as normal, although I did get one or two compliments which surprised me. When Gilda came through on her way to the back room she called “Hi” and then paused, raised an eyebrow and smiled broadly. She pursed her lips and made a kissing gesture in my direction. I’m sure no one else saw it, but I blushed nonetheless. We spoke briefly when she came to the back bar for drinks.

“You’re looking good,” she said with a conspiratorial wink, “is that for me?”

“Shhh,” I hissed at her and blushed again.

She craned her neck to see into the main bar. “Is there some new fancy man?” she joked and gave me a knowing wink.

I held out her change and our hands touched, and I felt her finger stroke mine. Without another word she turned and went back to her friends. I almost skipped back to the main bar and forced myself to join in with the general chatter. Tonight, it was all football and I tried to look interested, but mostly I was ignored except when more drinks were needed. I watched the slow movement of the hands on the large clock as they crept round to closing time. I tried hard not to sound too eager when I finally called ‘TIME’. It was probably only my imagination, but they seemed slower than ever to drink up and leave. Even the women in the back room seemed reluctant to go.

Finally, I said goodnight to the last of them and clicked the latch on the front door. I felt a shiver run through me as I heard the sounds of clinking glasses from the back. I walked back behind the bar and tried to look busy. When she finally appeared with two handfuls of glasses, neither of us looked at the other. By now she knew where I kept the cleaning stuff, and when she came behind the bar I assumed it was for that. I was surprised when I felt hands on my waist, and I was spun around. Arms went around me and then her lips were on mine. Not a peck this time, nor a lingering shy touch, but an open and eager coming together. My head was swimming with a mixture of joy and relief, and I responded in kind.

We had to stop eventually, if only to take a breath. I was panting, not just from the lack of air, but from the thrill of it all. This was not something I had ever experienced before, and my head was giddy with emotion. With our arms around each other’s waists, we leant back and finally looked at each other properly. Not sneakily in case others were watching, not through shyly lowered eyelids. This time we gazed into each other’s eyes. It was a look that held even more emotion than the kiss that had gone before.

It seemed to last forever before I became conscious of a sharp pain between my shoulder blades. I was leaning back against the beer taps and they were digging into me quite painfully. My uncomfortable fidgeting broke the spell and we eased away from each other. Neither of us really knew what to do next.

In the end, it was down to me. “Why don’t we finish clearing up and then we can sit and talk,” I suggested.

In reply, she leant forward and gave me a quick peck on the lips and then went to find the cleaning stuff. I watched her for a moment as she started to wipe down the tables before I got on with loading the glasses into the washer. She finished first and was sat on her usual stool when I stood up and turned around. I had spent the last moments plucking up my courage. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

“Why don’t we go upstairs and have a drink?” I took another deep breath. “I can turn the lights off down here and then we won’t be disturbed.”

She nodded in agreement and eased herself off the stool. I switched off the lights and made sure the front door was properly secured, and then led the way up to my flat. We were both nervous, but she seemed the worst of the two of us. I made a sweeping gesture towards the sofa.

“Make yourself at home,” I told her, “I’ll find us a drink.”

As she settled onto the sofa and looked around the room, I delved into the sideboard and came up with my extra special brandy, saved only for very special occasions. I had the feeling that this might be one of those times. I poured out two drinks and went over and sat beside her.

“We need to talk,” I said to break the silence, handing her a glass.

Suddenly she took over. “No,” she said decisively, “we need to kiss again.”

I managed to put my drink down just in time before she was on me. I simply gave in to the inevitable. The kiss went on forever and sometime in the middle of it all, tongues got involved as well. I couldn’t have stopped it even if I’d wanted to. I could have said ‘no’ when her hand first found my breast, but I didn’t. By the time she started to unbutton my blouse, it was too late. Almost frightened of my own boldness I reached out and found her breast. Apart from my own, it was my first. Somehow I knew that this was destined to be a night full of firsts. What I felt through her top was small and soft and warm. If anything, it was slightly smaller than my own. In the middle of my palm, I could clearly feel its crowning nipple, stiff and hard in response.

My blouse was now undone, and her hand had found its way inside my bra. Her fingers were busy stroking my nipple. We kissed again and somehow I lost my blouse completely and my bra came loose and followed it. My own hand, which seemed to have a mind of its own, had crept inside her top and, finding nothing to get in the way had found her naked breast. Like a child, I explored something that was both familiar and completely alien to me. The smooth and silky skin, the breast that was soft and firm at the same time, the slightly rougher texture of the areola, topped by the stiff and elongated nipple. Each was a novelty to my exploring fingers.

Suddenly it was all taken from me, as she broke our kiss and pushed me none too gently back against the sofa. I lay there, spread out beneath her, as a line of kisses travelled down my neck, along my shoulder and then inched their way further. Her lips seemed to touch everywhere but the one place that needed them. She continued to tease me by switching to my other breast and doing the same. I stiffened in anticipation as she got closer and closer. And then …

I felt her slippery wet tongue flickering at my nipple and I nearly fainted. One hand was on her shoulder and the other was tangled in her hair as I hung on for dear life. All sense of the forbidden had flown away. When her lips closed over and my nipple was suckled, I felt a tremor run through me. We were now into the land of the unknown. My ex had never been concerned very much with my feelings and had shown little or no interest. Now I was finding out what it felt like for my breasts to be worshipped. To be loved and adored. She moved across to the other one and showed it the same love. I could feel myself drifting off into some dream world, a world where pleasure was central.

She must have felt me stiffen slightly when her hand landed on my thigh and started to creep under my skirt. She lifted her head and looked up at me.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Oh god, no,” I almost pleaded, “I’ve just never … you know … with a woman.”

It sounded pathetic even to me, but she simply smiled. She gently kissed the nearest nipple.

“We can stop if you want. I forgot you’re new to this, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t stop,” I begged, “I want this, I really do.”

To show that I meant what I said I placed my hand on hers and pushed it further up my thigh. It was like a jolt of electricity running through me when her fingertip first touched the silk front of my panties. I blushed unseen as I realised I was already wet down there. The pressure increased as her finger started to stroke slowly from back to front. Her mouth was still toying with my nipples, but nothing could distract me from the insistent pressing of her finger as it traced the line of my pussy. The moan that came from me was involuntary as an electric tingle jolted through me.

I felt Gilda’s weight lift off me. I opened my eyes to see her kneeling at my feet. Her gentle hands eased my knees apart and she pushed my skirt up around my waist. Then she leant in and kissed the front of my panties. She looked me in the eye with an expression that asked if I was okay and, when I made no move to stop her, she started to ease my panties over my hips. Suddenly I wanted this, whatever ‘it’ was, so much. Instinct made me lift my arse off the sofa and I felt the elastic slide scratchily over my cheeks. Then I was bathed in fresh air.

Her first touch was a gentle stroke from a single finger, and I tensed in anticipation. Her second touch was her soft lips as she kissed my pussy. A tongue soon joined in and more tremors made my whole being quiver. Years ago, one of my boyfriends had taken some trouble to go down on me and for that, I thanked him dearly. Since then no one else had bothered, most notably my ex and my pussy had felt neglected and unloved. No longer! There was no mistaking that it was part of Gilda’s repertoire and she applied herself with all her skill.

I never knew what a real orgasm was until that night. I had either faked it until now or given myself half-hearted ones. But this was off the scale. When I exploded there were fingers doing unbelievable things deep inside me and my clit was being played with by her tongue and lips. I don’t know where I went, another world unvisited before, but I lost touch with reality for a while. When I came to I was lying on the floor and Gilda was cradling my head in her arms and stroking my hair. As my eyes slowly opened a look of relief came over her face.

“Welcome back,” she whispered to me, her face so close to mine it was difficult to focus.

“What happened?” I asked, my mind still in a daze.

She giggled, “I think you came. Oh, and you fell off the sofa. I was worried for a while.”

“Sorry,” I managed to mutter.

“Don’t be silly. I don’t think you were in control.”

Slowly the blank parts of my memory began to fill. A realisation of what had just happened.

“Did you …? Did I …” I didn’t have the words to frame the myriad of questions swirling around. Luckily Gilda seemed to understand.

“Yes, I did and yes, you did. And you were beautiful when it happened.”

I almost cried when she said that. Slowly she lifted me up until I was sat upright and leaning against the sofa. I tried to take stock of myself. All I had on was my skirt, bunched up and circling my waist like a sash, and a single shoe. Part of me wanted to cover myself but a stronger part just asked what was the point? Then, in a flash, I knew what I wanted.

“I want to take you to bed.”

She looked surprised at my sudden declaration.

“That’s very decisive,” she said half mockingly, “but I’m not going to argue.”

She rolled onto her hands and knees and then stood up. She put a hand under my arm and together we managed to get me upright. My legs were strangely wobbly, and I clung to her as I limped in my single shoe and took us to the bedroom. I flopped down onto the bed and gazed up at her. I don’t remember when she’d lost her top, but her naked breasts shone in the low light. From the waist down she looked respectable, unlike me. Without waiting for permission, she leant over me and unzipped my skirt and tugged it off me. I heard the clunk as my shoe fell on the floor. My legs were lifted, and I was swivelled around, and the duvet pulled over me. For a moment I was afraid she was going to leave but she quickly stilled my fears.

She kicked off her shoes and her skirt was soon sliding down her legs. It was kicked to the corner of the room. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and then paused. She looked me straight in the eye and I could tell she was still slightly unsure. I held her gaze and smiled at her. She took this as a good sign and stripped them off. Then she stood up and faced me straight on, almost brazenly, hiding nothing. Now I could see, rather than feel her. Her breasts were, as I had guessed, slightly smaller than mine, their nipples still standing proud. Then came the shock: she was completely bald down below. I was waxed regularly but I always retained a small part of my original bush. But on her, it was all gone. The cleft of her pussy was clearly visible and glistened with moisture.

She kept me waiting for what seemed like an age before she came over and climbed in beside me. She kissed me and then reached to turn off the bedside light. I grabbed her wrist to stop her. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but I knew it was not going to be in the dark. She seemed to understand and let me draw her into a cuddle. This turned into a kiss that lasted for ages as I slowly quietened my pounding heart and calmed my nerves. When the kiss broke I started to mimic what she had done to me earlier. I planted little fairy kisses along the line of her chin and then down her neck. I went lower and made a circle around her breast. And then, for the first time, I took a woman’s nipple into my mouth. I suckled on it like a baby and was rewarded with a groan and a hand on the back of my head. I treated both breasts as equals. Swapping from one to the other I heard more guttural noises from above my head.

Encouraged by this I moved lower, taking the duvet with me, softly kissing each newly exposed area of her skin. I tarried awhile at her navel and then moved on. Her legs spread apart to welcome me. I had never even seen a woman from this angle and certainly not from this close up. For some time, I studied her. Her lips, the subtle wrinkles, the delicate colours of her flower and its scent. Oh, its scent. There was both a familiarity and a difference. I knew what my own scent was when I was aroused, but she was subtly new. All fear was gone now, and I wanted to taste her, to bring her pleasure, to give to her what she had given to me.

I reached forward and placed my lips on hers. I heard a strange animal noise from above and the grip in my hair tightened. I remembered what she had done before I fainted and now I tried to do the same. I remember years ago, when I had first learnt how to masturbate, nervously lifting my sticky fingers to my face, first to smell them and then to taste them. I had no idea what to expect but it was a smell and taste that had intrigued me ever since. But this was the first time I had tasted someone other than myself. I was curious. Would it be different? How different would it be?

Nervously I pushed my tongue out and the familiar tangy sweetness came as a relief to my taste buds. Spurred on, I explored more deeply. I sought out and found her clit, the little swollen nub, and I played with it as she had with me. I felt I was making up for years of lost moments and I avidly drank the nectar she gave me. Two of my fingers slowly slipped inside her and she started to writhe and push back against me, willing me on. And then I was being tossed around as if in some giant machine. Her grip in my hair tightened to the point where it became painful and her thighs clamped the sides of my head. Above me, she was yelling, almost screaming, with the intensity of her orgasm.

I lay, unable to move, as her body shook violently. Secretly, in my dark prison of her thighs, I smiled to myself. I’d made her cum! Somehow, despite my ignorance, I’d made another woman cum. Slowly her quaking body went still, the pressure of her thighs relented and her hand in my hair relaxed. I raised my head and gasped fresh air. When I finally looked up, she was gazing at me with a look of total bliss. I must have looked concerned as she grinned at me, pulling me up the length of her naked body towards her.

“Oh, fuck, Dana …” was all she managed to say.

We kissed then, the taste of me on her lips mingling with hers on mine. Then we lay, arms around each other, looking into each other’s eyes. I couldn’t think what to say; I had no words to describe how I felt. In many ways words were superfluous. We seemed to know what the other was thinking. In the end, it was she who reached across and switched off the side light and pulled the duvet over us. In the dark, we kissed again, but this time it was a loving, goodnight kiss. I understood completely. I wanted so much more but I also didn’t want to rush things. I knew I had so much to learn. More than that, I knew I wanted to learn from her. This was most definitely not going to be the last night we spent together.