I got up late this morning. My week had been alternately busy and boring, then busy again. And besides, Rover, the cat, had crept onto my bed in the night. She was asleep half on my pillow and half on me and I didn't want to wake her. However, she soon woke up, stretched and went to the kitchen and mewed for her breakfast so I had to get up anyway. Honestly, it's like having children!

From what I gather.

I was just in my dressing gown sitting at the kitchen table, drinking my coffee when there was a knock at the front door. I looked at the front door. It had frosted glass in the top half of it, through which I could see the shape of someone who looked female. I thought that perhaps one of the club members had left something behind last night, so I opened it.

There was a strange young woman standing there, looking lost.

“Oh, hello!” I said, surprised.

It wasn't anyone I knew. She was a few years younger than me, with ginger hair, glasses, and a nondescript jacket and jeans, although quite smart especially for a Saturday morning. And a lot smarter than me in my Hello Kitty dressing gown and Betty Boop slippers (a Christmas present from my two brothers who nearly choked over their turkey when I changed into them for Christmas dinner).

“I was expecting someone else,” I finished. “Can I help you?”

The woman's expression changed. She looked relieved.

“My name is Suzanna Harrowby,” she stated this, as if it meant something to me, then waited.

I racked my brains. Harrowby? Harrowby? Nope, no bells rang.

“I'm sorry,” I mumbled. “Have we met?”

“We have,” she replied. “Once, about a month ago.”

Still nope. The blank expression on my face must have told her something.

“In the Tiverton Arms?” she tried again, the initial expression of embarrassment reappearing on her face.

My last visit to the Tiverton Arms had not ended well. In fact, it had not begun well nor did it proceed well between the beginning and the end. That's where I'd caught Dave and his floozy red-handed, actually in bed between the sheets, having it off with each other in flagrante delicto orgasmissimo.

About a month ago.

“It was about a month ago,” she repeated helpfully, and waited for me to put two and two together.

My coffee must have hit the spot at that moment. The Tiverton Arms, a month ago, someone called Suzy. And someone called Dave. The penny dropped so hard that it clanged forty-two times on the way down which must have been heard all over Mid Devon.

“Suzanna? Suzy??” I gasped, my reactions cutting in, now I'd woken up. “Dave's Suzy???”

She nodded, the expression on her face of relief being replaced by one of panic.

I tried to say something, but nothing came out.

“Dave's Suzy???” I eventually managed to repeat, louder and more aggressively, my cheeks turning red and my mood turning black.

“Yes.” She nodded again. “Yes, I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I just came here to say I'm sorry,” she gabbled before I could find words to express myself adequately.

“He said he was single, I had no idea he was with you, living here. I just didn't know! I'm terribly sorry, I wouldn't have touched him if I knew he already had a girlfriend, a partner.”

The words spilled out of her mouth, evidently trying to say as much as possible before I felled her with a single blow, or whatever it was she was afraid I would do.

“He never said he lived with anyone else, another woman. I didn't know where he lived. I talked to a friend of mine yesterday who knew where he had lived. She comes here for meetings quite a lot, apparently. That's how I knew where to come. I dumped him the moment you'd left the Tiverton Arms after you found us.”

Her voice rose in pitch and speed like someone commentating on a horse race.

“He's spent the last four weeks pleading with me to take him back. There's no way I'd go back to him now I know he already had a girlfriend. When I said no for the umpteenth time yesterday, he hit me in the face. I'm sorry, will you forgive me?”

She actually squeaked on her last word then was silent. She stood there on my front doorstep, her ginger hair flopping over her glasses, her earrings swinging around under her ears and her hands held out in an expression of supplication.

I stood there, shocked. This woman has actually come to my house and wants me to forgive and forget!

I could hardly finish the thought. My face blackened further and my anger rose like bile in my throat. I was just about to draw breath and say a few things to her. She paused for a breath and would have continued trying to convince me she was innocent but maybe the look on my face dissuaded her.

She took off her glasses and stood there, looking at me. She held some hair away from her eyes. It caught me out. She's taken her glasses off - what was she going to do, fight me? Did she want someone to hold her coat too? In my heightened tension, my powers of observation must have improved. I could see it there, around her right eye. A big red bruise that would turn yellow then purple then yellow again.

“I didn't know. I had no idea! Please believe me, please! I just want to say I'm sorry!”

Once again her last word rose in pitch and quavered. She began to cry, standing there on my front doorstep.

My mouth was still open, waiting for some words to come out. I closed it and stood back from the open doorway.

“You'd better come in,” I managed to say. My voice rasped in the back of my throat like a cheese grater on the cheese.

I stood further back from the door. As she edged in, she passed very close to me and I detected a very expensive scent from Carolina Herrera. I indicated the kitchen table with the chairs set around it, so she pulled one out and sat on it, her coat still on and her readiness to leave quickly, if she had to, showing above all else. She tried to stop crying, succeeding eventually. In the meantime, I sat down on a chair across the table from her and waited.

She wiped her eyes with a tissue and waited for me to talk first.

“Tell me how it started, Suzy.”

“Actually, it's Suzanna. I started work at the solicitors next to Dave's sports shop a while ago, and he and I met several times at the deli counter near the office, where I buy my lunch sometimes. He seemed so nice. He even bought my lunch for me once when I didn't have the right money.”

I smiled grimly. I remembered trying to chisel money out of him for our lunches sometimes.

“We got talking. He said he lived off the Exeter Road somewhere, but he didn't say where, and he never took me there. I suppose I should have put two and two together. The Tiverton Arms is a bit of a dive, but it was near where we worked. Then he started demanding things. I think I would have dumped him soon enough anyway.”

“And you came here today because ...?” I said, letting the sentence hang.

“Because I'd just found out where you lived, and I wanted to say sorry. And also, I know where he lives now. He's got a small and very crummy flat on Chapel Street.”

She stopped to blow her nose.

“So now I know where to avoid going,” I remarked.

“You and me both,” she finished.

There was another short silence. My face said 'carry on explaining'.

“Also, my friend Nicole works on the farm just up there.” She indicated with her eyes the road to the farm which runs past my house.

“And she told me she's a member of a club for women only. I didn't know what that meant, but I'm done with men for the moment. Is it a sort of self-help club?”

Another penny dropped, this time with a slight but still audible 'clink'. So, Nicole had told Suzy (actually it's Suzanna), the floozy I wanted to rip apart on the factory sliding gates, that a group of women meet here and practise some sort of self-help, whereas, in reality, we all have sex with each other many times a week. And now Suzy (actually it's Suzanna), my arch-nemesis, wants to join for some self-help of her own.

Here. In my own house. After being caught in bed by me with my boyfriend. My boyfriend. And now I realised why I'd never met her before or even seen what she looked like, with or without clothes on. When I had burst into the bedroom, she hid under the sheet and stayed there while I screamed at Dave, shouted and probably foamed at the mouth too. No wonder I hadn't recognised her.

“No, it's not a self-help club, it's a club for ...” I began, then stopped.

Actually, it was a self-help club, now I came to think of it. Sort of one, anyway. I looked at her afresh. This woman, the one who'd had sex a dozen times with Dave while he and I were 'together', had found out that Dave was not single like he said he was and had dumped him. She'd also found out where I lived and had come here by herself, after a beating from Dave, to meet me and to apologise to me, which she had done very nicely. I was impressed with her for that if for nothing else.

And, furthermore, she was asking for my help after a bad breakup, having already asked Nicole for some help and been directed here. And she'd done all this not knowing what I would do to her. And without even knowing my name. I was grateful to Himari for helping me through my breakup with Dave and I felt constrained to be the 'Himari' that Suzy (actually it's Suzanna) needed to help her through her breakup with the same Dave.

“OK, firstly, my name is Stella.”

I half stood up, reached across the kitchen table and held my hand out for her to shake, like true British people meeting for the first time.

“Welcome to my house.”

Rover, the cat, looked up from her snooze, as if to say 'whose house did she say it was? I thought it was mine'.

Suzanna looked a little surprised but reached out, shook my hand, sat down then dissolved into tears again. I waited for a few seconds, and when it stretched to a minute I made for the kettle and switched it on.

“Tea or coffee?” I asked.

“Tea, please,” she snuffled. “Milk, no sugar.”

By the time the tea was made and set in front of each of us, she had sorted herself out a little.

“Secondly, the club that Nicole belongs to is called the No Entry Club, which is a meaningless name we all thought sounded good at the time. It's only a sort-of self-help club, a number of women meet here regularly.”

I thought about what I'd just said. And what I was about to say.

“It's a private club, and if I describe it, I am asking you to respect our privacy by not talking about it except to women you can trust.”

I looked at her, meaningfully. She nodded.

“I suppose it is a self-help club. We've all had trouble with men and are currently single, all of us. It's where we can privately explore sex between us all, singly or in groups.”

Suzanna stared at me, and I returned her gaze, slightly defiantly. My face said 'go on, criticise it!'

“It's a club for lesbian sex?” she asked, putting two and two together and getting a spade and a shovel.

“Yes, exactly that.”

My replies to her questions were still somewhat abrupt. I hadn't yet decided what to do with Suzy (actually it's Suzanna).

“How do I join?” she asked.

“Do you want to join?” I countered.

My face said 'do I want you to join?'

“Yes, please! How many members are there?”

I tallied them up.

“Seven.”

“And they all meet here, how often?”

“Most of us meet every weekday evening.”

“Wow! How long have you been doing this?”

“We started about a month ago.”

The phrase 'about a month ago' rang another bell with Suzanna.

“After you found Dave and me at the Tiverton Arms?”

I nodded, and a smile clawed its way through the mask of indecision on my face.

“How did you get started?” she asked, her face losing its crumpled look and becoming filled with hope.

Funny how everyone wants to know that.

“My friend started taking off her clothes and encouraged me to touch her, then to take mine off too. None of us were lesbians before we started. Some of us might be now, those that aren't are definitely bi.”

“I'm not a lesbian,” she admitted. “I've never touched another woman before, not like that. But I don't see why not.”

There was another silence while she processed being lesbian or at least bi.

“So you just take your clothes off and start having sex with the other woman?”

“Woman or women, yes.”

I smiled at the thought of it. And so did she.

“And if I came to come to a meeting, how do I get started?”

“You'd just start by choosing a partner or partners, or they might choose you. Then you start feeling their bodies and taking your clothes off. It happens differently each time.”

My face said 'think of it as a sex orgy meets the Women's Institute'.

She sipped at her tea, then suddenly realised she might be having sex with the woman who stormed into the Tiverton Arms and screamed and shouted and probably foamed at the mouth too while she was cowering under the sheets in the bed with her boyfriend. My boyfriend.

My boyfriend.

About a month ago.

“What if it's you and me?” she asked, a note of doubt creeping into her voice. “I guess I'm not your bestest friend ever.”

I sipped at my tea. Was this going to be a problem? Was I - and will I always - take it badly? Hasn't my life improved dramatically since I got rid of Dave, even without the No Entry Club? Hasn't Suzanna done more than most people to seek out a wronged person, apologise and ask for forgiveness? Is she now in a bad place, like I was in the early days, and is it in my power to improve things for her?

Or am I going to push her down and keep her down?

I studied her more closely while she was still holding her tea mug. She had ginger hair which I guessed was her natural colour. It was cut quite short in a sort of pixie cut which tended to fall over her right eye were it not for her glasses which lifted it away from her bruise a little. Her glasses frames shone with a reflection from the kitchen light, and I noticed the thickness of her lenses set in each holder. Behind were two bright blue eyes.

A little make-up on her cheeks, a touch of lipstick around her mouth and long dangly but understated earrings completed her face. Her jacket was not buttoned or zipped up, and I saw a purple top hiding under the puffy jacket. Her bust was quite flat and her body was quite thin and fairy-like. And Carolina Herrera's latest fragrance wafted towards me across the corner of the kitchen table. Rover, the cat, sneezed twice, so Ms Herrera had wafted that far, too.

She saw me looking at her, and was still waiting for my response to her bestest friend question. She stood up, and her jacket fell open a little. Now I could see the rest of her top, which was tucked neatly into the top of her jeans which went all the way down to her Converses. She was looking at me hopefully and doubtfully, both at the same time.

“Please, Stella. Please.”

Her voice was lower pitched, now. But the pleading was still there. I too stood up, my Hello Kitty dressing gown the only thing between her and me. The dressing gown had not stayed wrapped around me. The front panels hung down my front next to each other, a millimetre from exposing my naked chest.

I relented. Deep down I knew I'd relented when I'd seen her bruise.

I put my arms out towards her and she did a sort of gasp and paced forward and fell into them. She began to cry again, and this time she didn't try to stop herself, she just let it all out. She buried her face in my shoulder, Hello Kitty soaking up her tears, and I put my arms around her and hugged.

I cried myself, too. For Suzanna's loss and hurt, for my prejudice against her without knowing any facts, for my wasted time with Dave (well, most of it), for my new friends in the club and last but not least for my patched-up relationship with Suzanna. But mostly because Suzanna was crying, only inches from my breasts.

Eventually, she stopped. We had stayed in the same position for what seemed like twenty-four hours but which was only eleven minutes. I became aware that my dressing gown's left side had parted company with my dressing gown's right side and that Suzanna was breathing onto my bare breasts, not having realised it yet because her eyes were shut and bleary, and her glasses shoved up at an angle to her face. I swung myself a little to one side, thereby releasing Suzanna from her predicament (which she didn't know she was in), at the same time causing the left side and the right side, Hello and Kitty, to join up once again. Suzanna opened her eyes, stood up straight and hugged me again, my dressing gown cord now wrapped tightly around my waist keeping the two sides together.

“Thank you, Stella,” she kept repeating. “Thank you, Stella.”

She caught sight of my dressing gown as if for the first time. My breasts were pushing it out gratifyingly far, a fact not lost on Suzanna who had stopped thanking me and was now flicking glances at them and trying not to let me see her doing it, and wishing that hers would stick out a bit more. Or even, just a bit.

I took a step closer to her and let my dressing gown fall open at the front. I again put my arms around her and waited to see what she would do.

“You just take your clothes off and start, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Can I do that now?”

“Yes.”

She kind of moaned and extended her hands between the front panels of my dressing gown and felt around for my breasts. On finding them she opened my dressing gown wider to expose my entire chest and legs, and all that lay between them. I rolled my shoulders and the dressing gown fell to the floor, revealing me to be as naked as the day I was born except for my Betty Boop slippers. Suzanna put each hand on one of my breasts and then placed her cheeks between them, in what cleavage I have (not much, but more than her). Her fingers grappled with my breasts, greedily checking them out underneath, on top, each side and the nipples at the front. Her face was only inches away from what her hands were doing. I smiled to myself (she wasn't looking at my face) and let her do her thing while I just stood there. She grabbed them, squeezed them clutched at them, squeezed them again, pushed them into my chest, rubbed her cheeks on them and pulled them away from my body. I felt her getting stronger and stronger in her manipulations, and I found myself rocking on my feet, having to change my feet position to stay upright.

“Stella,” she whispered loudly. “Is this OK?”

“Yes, Suzanna, I'm enjoying it. Can I play with yours?”

“Mmmm,” she replied. “I don't have much, though.”

She indicated the flatness under her jacket with a brief sweep of one hand. I put my hands forward until they found her torso, then I searched around till I found her breast area, such as it was. The more powerfully she played with my breasts, I reciprocated and, having found her no-boobs, proceeded to give them a hard time to which they responded likewise, by her nipples pushing out from her flat chest until they could push out no further so they turned hard and very erect. I tried to scrunch some boobs out of the small amount of smooth skin and flesh on her ribcage. Nothing much came up except a handful of her purple top but we both enjoyed the feeling it gave us. We pummelled each other quite merrily, both of us beginning to get out of breath but neither of us wanting to stop.

“Suzanna,” I whispered loudly. “Is this OK? I've never done this before!”

“Yes, mmmm, yes, the harder the better. I like being punished! I'll say if it's too much, but ...”

Her sentence remained unfinished even if the sense was complete because we continued mauling each other's boobs and nipples with ever-increasing force. I'd never done this before to anyone, nor had it done to me so enjoyably. Dave would scrabble at me sometimes, succeeding only in hurting me. This was different. Suzanna seemed to know how to slap me in the upper chest area and for me to revel in the pleasure and violence. And I did the same back to her, watching the wide smile on her face as I tried harder and harder to make her say 'ow' or 'stop'.

She was still wearing her jacket over purple top, now somewhat dishevelled. She stopped to draw breath and to whip it all off, along with her earrings, glasses, shoes, jeans and some pretty little schoolgirl knickers. She wasn't wearing a bra mainly because she had no breasts, not even a hint of them. But she did have those enormous nipples which stuck out so far and so tight that even gravity couldn't make them droop downwards.

Once undressed, she started on me again. I had just realised I missed the feel of what she was doing to me, and I to her, in the brief moment it took for her to undress. A feeling like a sudden withdrawal symptom of some drug or other suddenly pounded at my pussy. For a brief moment, I wanted to have a penis to plunge between her legs. We both picked up from where we'd left off, only this time I could see her lack of boob and her overabundance of nipple. I grabbed her nipples and tried to rub them off her chest.

“More, Stella, more! They won't come off. You won't hurt me!”

I pulled them, pinched them and twisted them, a hundred times more violently than ever before. Suzanna's face began to register my efforts - the occasional intake of breath or a moan of delight. I went lower with one hand, Suzanna still hammering at my breasts and nipples which just soaked it all up and demanded more. It was now getting hot in my kitchen. Sweat began to trickle down from my hair and eyes, under my arms and from between my breasts and underneath them, trickling slowly down my stomach, over my mound and right between my legs where it mixed with some vaginal goo I was already producing there.

We grappled with each other, my sweat getting onto her, and hers onto me. Carolina Herrera needed to improve her fragrances if they were to compete with the both of us. It was like women wrestling in mud, except there was no mud.

Rover, the cat, was lying by the Aga. She opened one eye and regarded us with a very English expression of amused tolerance, as if to say 'keep the noise down, chaps, some fellows are trying to sleep'.

My hand found the spot between her legs and I grabbed her pussy, and quite a handful of hair as well, a slight surprise. I pushed and pulled her lips and the hair around them. I squeezed and pinched her skin and flesh, gathering handfuls of meaty pussy and thrashing around down there, while she demanded more and more. I rammed my hand into her sweaty vagina and watched the expression on her face go from half joy to full joy. Suddenly I felt her jam her hand into my pussy, forcing the labia apart. My pain was exquisite, my torture ecstatic. My big clitoris rose like Tower Bridge letting a ship go through. Suzanna's hand fell on it, she felt it again and grunted in surprise. In the middle of everything else she lowered her head and had an eyeful of it in all its size and glory. She tried squashing it but it simply bounced back, giving me a huge electric kick each time.

“Yes, yes, do it again!” I yelped.

She did, several times, and each time it bounced up again for the next bout of rapturous punishment, electrifying me and my near-constant orgasms. My legs felt like they were being forced apart by a steam hammer. I shoved my hand further up between her legs, which buckled under the pleasure of it all. She sagged, and then we both went down onto the floor. No longer requiring our legs to keep us upright, we both widened them as far as we could, one of our hands mashing around in the other's vagina, the other still grinding away at the flesh on the other's chest until we'd long lost control of ourselves.

Again I wanted to have a huge, rock-hard penis attached to me which I could thrust, thrust and thrust again right up into Suzanna's innermost biology. I wanted to shove the rock-hard cock that I didn't have right into that place at the top of her legs and hammer it home until my juices exploded right into the far top of her vagina. I wanted her sex and mine to merge, to meld into one indivisible thing joining us together in our ecstatic frenzy. My whole pussy repeatedly tried to poke itself out in front of me, trying to emulate the continuous plunging of a man's penis into her vagina. The muscles around my stomach and thighs convulsed and writhed as I attempted and failed to control myself. Suzanna's body responded as uncontrollably as mine, immediately wanting to be the recipient of this cross-gendered rage. How she knew, I don't know. Perhaps her body and mine were on a level above (or below) what our senses could cope with. My pussy slammed onto hers again and again, my labia scrubbed on hers and our bodily grime and ooze mixed, merged and slapped together, running over our stomachs, thighs and onto the floor all around us.

We rode on top of each other, one at a time, taking turn and turn about as gravity and our madness worked it, still mashing away with our hands. I don't know what parts of her my bottom rubbed up against, but quite frequently hers scraped or squashed against my face. At these precious moments, my tongue got to work on her crack or pussy or nipples, those humongous nipples, while it could. Our frenzy seemed to increase, and our sexual tension too, until our animal desires were fully sated with the other's body. Pussy, breasts, nipples, arse, buttocks, tongues, lips, teeth, fingers and fingernails all met up and did gloriously wild things to each other until we couldn't stop, so we kept on going.

My hormones rose up until they overflowed into my brain. I kicked my legs out straight, accidentally catching Suzanna's pubes with my foot.

“More, more!” she yelled.

So I did. And she did too. My breasts felt like punching bags and my pussy like a kick-ball, but I loved every tweak and hurt and she did to me, as we both struggled on the floor, our sweat and juices smeared all over the both of us. My tongue was in her vagina one second, then next second hers was in mine. I sucked her massive nipples dry one second, then the next second she was drinking the sweat from my clitoris. I don't know how we kept changing around, but change around we did. We gleefully pounded at each other, the bad memories about Dave and his violent behaviour dwindling with each lick, squeeze or grope, until Dave and his shenanigans were a thing of the past for both of us and our new sisterhood took its place until one orgasm ran into the next one, our faces alight with smiles, gasps and giggles.

A long time later, we found ourselves lying motionless on the kitchen floor, entwined in each other's private parts and our chests heaving for breath. My right hand was sticky from Suzanna's juices, and between my legs was sticky with mine, and we were both swathed in sweat, our own and the other's. The floor around us was spread with our fluids. Parts of Suzanna's chest, legs and buttocks had long red scratches on them, and mine had the same.

As one, we turned our heads to face each other, lying on the polished wood flooring. The smile on Suzanna's face was ecstatic. Her nipples had shrunk back to an almost normal size (for Suzanna), and her breast area was still red from where I'd been tussling with it. I looked down at my breasts to find little red scratches and lines on my skin from where she'd tussled with me. I lifted my gaze to her face and saw her eyes focussed on mine. She smiled even more when she saw me smiling back at her equally as much.

“Did I pass the test?” she asked.

“I was just about to ask the same question,” I laughed.

“Well then, yes, you did pass the test!” she replied.

“Do you bruise easily?” she asked, after a pause.

“Not that easily, no,” I replied. “Do you?”

“Only around my right eye,” she said.

“I expect our scratches will heal soon enough! Not sure about your eye, though.”

I struggled up into a sitting position, disentangling my legs from hers using my hands on her thighs and calves.

“I need a shower,” I remarked, looking at myself and running a finger through my cold sweat.

Suzanna's face looked like it wanted to say 'can I have one too?' so I made my face say 'yes, of course you can'. I stood up and helped Suzanna up, too, then I led her, both of us wearing only our bodily fluids, out of the kitchen along the corridor into the bathroom and to the walk-in shower. Two naked women, one (me) of average height and verging on the cuddly and the other (her) nearly the same height as me but dip-stick thin walking through my house, holding hands with each other.

I reached into the shower and turned on the water, pulling my hand away from the jet of cold water just in time. While it warmed up, we looked at each other again, both of us standing there only inches apart, totally naked and dripping with sweat now rapidly getting cold on our skin. Suzanna's bruised eye looked painful, now I had time to look at it. She saw me studying it and smiled ruefully.

“Is it painful?” I asked.

“Only when I think about it,” she replied.

I held her face in my hands and turned it slightly to get a better light on it. Her blue eyes looked back at me, and her ginger hair hung either side of her face, the strands holding together in clammy clumps. The bruise spread quite far around her eye, although the eye itself was not red or bloodshot. Impulsively I put my arms around her and gave her a hug, which she reciprocated, her skin on mine, and my skin on hers.

When the water had warmed up, we both stepped in, two of Dave's previous love rivals now having a shower together. Wouldn't he be green with envy! Suzanna looked at my large selection of shampoo bottles and reached for a random one which I knew to be empty (my shampoo bottles are so old and dry that some of them have names and birthdays), but I quickly picked one up that I knew still had some stuff in it and squirted a handful into her hands, then some into mine. We attended to our own hair for a few seconds, then swapped to the other person's. I gave her scalp a good massage then she gave me a good one, too. I think it was the first time I've ever played with someone else's hair, certainly a pretty pixie-cut head of ginger hair like Suzanna's. Her hair felt so different to mine, even when it was frothing with shampoo. The soap suds ran down our faces and dripped onto our chests, then ran down our stomachs to the tops of our legs.

I took the shower head out of its bracket and rinsed her head, then the rest of her body too. She did the same for me, then she took the nearest shower gel bottle, fortunately one with some gel still in it, and squirted it over my boobs and between my legs. With the shower head fixed back in place she gave me a hands-on wash and rub down all over my front and my vagina, then she turned me round with my back to her and she thoroughly massaged my bottom, buttocks and my crack. I opened my bottom exposing my labia and my anus to her. My scratches burned blissfully under the hot water spray.

Taking the shower head again, she gave me much attention with plenty of hand action in the various places. The frantic and hard-hitting sex from earlier was now replaced by gentle and sensual love-making - yes, love-making from my erstwhile love rival - in that shower. She made me come again just by lightly trailing her fingers over my breasts and pussy, through the sweet-smelling remains of my Almond-flavoured shower gel (some cheap stuff I bought from the corner shop on the way to work). I took the shower head from her and returned the favour, making her bend over so I could slide my hands between her legs and have a good look and feel from behind, just where her meaty lips hung down with her legs slightly apart. She might be as flat as a pancake in the boob department but her lips and buttocks were all there.

She had some ginger hair down there as well, but it was well-trimmed and it now smelled very nice. I liked how there were some flaps of skin coming out from between her lips. The lips either side were smooth and rounded but the flaps of skin looked like a piece of her vagina had everted in some sort of mini-prolapse. I gently squeezed the skinny bits and stroked them. She didn't seem to mind, in fact she rather liked what I was doing. I bent down behind her to have a closer look. The flaps of skin were quite thick when viewed at a few inches distance. I ran my finger through them in varying directions. Suzanna made some appreciative noises and I pushed a finger or two up into the entrance to her vagina. When I did this the flaps seemed to retract inside. I was reminded of one of those pop-up books for children where you open a page and something unfolds upwards. Then you close the page and it folds away again. I wanted to put them in my mouth and suckle them, but there was still too much soap, and my head wouldn't twist upside down while I was bent at that angle.

I played with her hair and lips for a while, then washed her clean all over. She attended to me and my own lips, too, until we were both gel-free. However, we didn't stop there.

Right under the shower head, she kissed me.

Full on, mouth to mouth and tongue in mouth. Her tongue, my mouth. I was surprised. For about two seconds. Then my tongue came out to meet hers half-way, and we put our arms around the other person and hugged and hugged and hugged. I began to cry again, even while our tongues were scoping around the other person's mouth and our breasts squeezed tightly together. I cried for the wasted time and effort I'd put into having Dave as my boyfriend. I cried for the bombshell of finding that Dave was cheating on me, and had been for weeks. I cried for the loss of someone who had been dear to me until then. Well, almost.

And I cried for the weeks of loneliness and emptiness I'd felt until the No Entry Club's first meeting.

She felt my tears and pressed her nipples into my breasts like hard buttons, while her mound pressed hard on mine. Suzanna cried, too, our tears being washing away by the thundering jet of hot shower water.

The water stopped, suddenly. I think she must have turned it off. I know it wasn't me. We continued to stand in the shower, the water dripping off us becoming cooler and cooler. We continued hugging. We continued kissing. And we continued tonguing each other until the mixed saliva dripped from our chins and plopped onto the wet shower floor. Yet still, we didn't move. It was as if our lips and nipples were welded to each other's. Yes, both sets of lips, and both sets of nipples. And it seemed that our hearts were welded together, if only through both of us having Dave as our ex-lover.

I stirred myself, we broke free from each other and I handed her a clean bath towel. Wordlessly - yet there might be so much to say - we dried ourselves and the other person, walked back to the kitchen then got dressed again. Her in her little girl knickers, purple top, jeans and Converses and me in my Hello Kitty dressing gown and Betty Boop slippers. We sat at the table, cradling our teas in our hands and just looked at each other, smiling at one another in lieu of speech. But my vagina, breasts, nipples and tongue throbbed with hunger and desire for hers. And perhaps hers were doing the same for mine.

Eventually, she pulled out her phone and looked at it.

“Gotta go,” she said, simply.

“Come again any time,” I whispered.

She nodded. Rover, the cat, sat up from where she was lying next to the Aga, licked her paw and nodded too. Suzanna found her jacket, touched me on my shoulder and left. The door swung shut behind her, leaving me by myself with the merest sniff of Ms Herrera's scent and a comfortably warm feeling in my heart.

I was just about to say something poetically poignant to Rover, the cat, but she was lying on her back looking up at me. I knew what this meant. She wanted her tummy rubbed.

So I did.