Mr Hawkins is insisting this piece of composition must relate to a recent event in our lives.
I think I might get into trouble if I write about Saturday night, so I’m using a story my sister Suki told me, about arguing with a charity collector that paying people to do things for charity is immoral.
It was Suki who got me into trouble on Saturday night, so if I’m day dreaming in Year Ten English, and writing a really bad composition, it’s only right that she should be involved. It’s not every weekend your sister comes home from university for the first time in one and a half years.
Suki left home when she was sixteen and a half. She couldn’t get on with my mother, and couldn’t cope with dad’s silence. Apparently my mum was incapable of giving birth to and bringing up a lesbian. So Suki moved in with friends before going to uni in Manchester, and we had to talk via Facebook and Messenger.
My mother wanted to pretend she hadn’t softened, but she bought the dress I wore for my night out with Suki. She agreed to my staying in Suki’s hotel room, so that she didn’t have to worry about me getting a taxi back, once she’d seen the details of the booking of a twin bedded room. I think she thinks lesbianism is contagious, and a double bed might mean I’d catch it off Suki.
She couldn’t talk to Suki though.
I could. Sitting across the table in a cheap Italian restaurant I looked at my sister and wished we could talk all night. I wanted to ask about her haircut, her jewellery, her beautiful tasseled top and the denim skirt that looked as if it had been hand made just for her. I wanted to ask about her suntan, her smile and the way she made me feel as if the five year age gap was five days. I wanted to know if the stud in her nose had hurt, and if she knew what love is, or why people who look good can be dorks as soon as they open their mouths.
Not that she was a dork, and my sister looked good. Everything Suki did made me smile. Slipping me her old room mates driving licence so I could get into bars was a hilarious reminder of how kind she could be. When she teased me about boyfriends she was so cool and calm, so kind that it seemed obvious to admit I wanked over girls and boys. I blushed, and said ‘touch myself’, not wank, but we both smiled, and laughed. She proved it was possible to look good and not be a dork.
Four drinks and three bars later we were in a place on the Westmorland Road, a converted shop with a dance floor and the bar on the ground floor, and the toilets and a pool table in the basement. It was confusing and liberating. I wasn’t Suki’s little sister. I was just another woman in a bar full of women who were having a good time. Trying to dance in a long skirt I realised quite why so many of the skirts were short, so many of the thighs were bare, and toned.
Ten minutes on the dance floor was enough for a first dance; Suki suggested a game of pool and chilling out. I can’t play pool. It didn’t matter. I watched Suki playing pool and chatted to the women who’d followed us down from the dance floor. Suki was interested in a busty woman in flowing linen pants and a long blouse. I was trying to work out what the last drink had done to my head and trying to make sense of what the chestnut haired woman who was standing behind me was saying.
it made sense when I followed Suki into the toilets. I’d pulled. That was Suki’s version of events. She’d pulled as well. The big breasted woman in the linen pants apparently. Another dance to a tune I didn’t recognise, and then the four of us were sitting round a table in a dark corner vacated by two men who were arguing, and the kissing started.
I’ve kissed a boy. Never kissed a girl. Certainly never been kissed by a woman. Every moment made me feel confused, and amazed, and wanted, and needy. When she touched my thigh I touched hers. When she kissed my ear I sought out hers, and missed, and kissed her throat and then her ear. The next half an hour flew by. More dancing, more pool, more kissing. Jane, the chestnut haired woman followed me into the toilets, waited for me to come out from the cubicle where wiping myself dry had been almost torture. Suki had told her that I was her little sister, and that she would kill her if she hurt me. She’d even figured out something like my real age. She didn’t mind. If I spent the night in her hotel room Suki could take ‘the girl with the tits’ to the bed Suki had booked for me..
I kissed and hugged her and hoped I could find the words to say yes, even as I felt more scared than I ever had been. It felt as if I was trying to breathe with just my throat. Jane. Jane wanted me, and made me feel as if I was luminous.
Walking down past the Centre for Life towards her hotel I felt as if I was seeing the world through new eyes. It didn’t stop me being nervous going into the hotel, or wanting to hide behind Jane as she strode towards the lift, but it helped. It helped even more, once we were in the lift, that she pressed me against the wall, pulled my skirt up, and ran her hand across the front of my panties. I wanted to sag forward into her arms, but I also wanted to stretch upwards, to press my back against the wall and be completely open to her.
In the bedroom, which might have been five or fifty feet from the lift, I was surprised when she sat down in the armchair, away from the bed, leaving me standing. She took her mobile out, and made a call. To her husband. Mike, I think. I was trying not to listen, to work out where I should be, what to say or do. She stopped talking to Mike, smiled at me, told me to strip So I did, and tried to listen. When I heard her telling Mike that I was gorgeous and he’d go hard as a rock over me I stumbled, knickers round one ankle. What to say? What to do? I didn’t want to run away, didn’t want to be a scared little girl, so I finished stripping and leant against the angle of the wall where it bent round the bathroom, my hand in front of my pussy like I was so cool I could finger myself while I waited. Could I look cool while I wondered if I should take my shoes off?
Jane fixed it all for me. She fixed it all by pulling me down onto the bed, by running her tongue over my pussy, by pushing her left index finger into me, twisting and using her hand, scraping my thighs with the jewels on her wedding ring, making me ache and want to cry out. I’ve had orgasms since I was thirteen, little, furtive, under the duvet orgasms. They hadn’t prepared me for this. Not for this shuddering, scared my guts would fall out experience that made me feel as if breathing was an optional extra.Before I could recover, before I could wonder what had happened, she’d turned me over, and my mouth was between her legs, and she was teaching me, manipulating me, educating my tongue, my hands,.opening herself to me, inciting me to kiss her pussy, her bottom, her stretch marks, her tummy, the dimple where a navel ring had once been. I lapped it up.
Lapped it up. I’m sitting here in Mr Hawkins class wishing that dirty bitch Joanne Fry, over there, the one who sucked off two boys at the a barbecue, would get between my legs and lap up the puddle of wetness that I’m sitting in remembering Jane, but instead I have to pretend I’m finishing this piece of crap about charity collectors. And I realise I have to keep a journal, to make sense of this person I’m becoming. Mr Hawkins would approve, so long as he doesn’t realise what it’s about.
He’s telling us to pack up now, to finish the work at home and submit it by Friday. Maths beckons, then hometime. This journal, if it’s going to be a journal, will have to wait.
Half past eight. Homework done. Tea eaten. Ironed my blouse for school tomorrow. In my pyjamas ready for bed. Big knickers under my pyjamas, because I’m soaking wet and scared it will show through my pyjamas.
I got home usual time, and did all the stuff I usually do. I tried not to look at my mobile phone. I’d texted Jane. She’d texted me back. Simple ‘How are you’ texts. Then at teatime mum had dropped her bombshell. Someone she worked with had seen me when I was out on the weekend. I tried to keep my face steady. My voice sounded more like a squeak. She wasn’t being nasty, or trying to catch me out. Jane worked in the hospital. She knew mum, although she hadn’t realised on Saturday night who I was. She’d told mum how sensible I was, and how well behaved Suki and me had been. No mention of what we’d done. Apparently Jane thought I was so sensible I’d make an ideal baby sitter.
Mum approved. So if I wanted I could go to Jane’s and baby sit on Thursday. I wanted to puke up my tea, I was so relieved and excited.
That doesn’t make sense if I don’t update the journal does it?
Saturday night. I’m in Jury’s Inn with Jane and we’re trading orgasms. My skin was alive, like I had flu or a fever. My mind was spinning, yet everything she did made perfect sense and everything she did to me I wanted to do to her. When she sucked my nipples I grabbed her hair and cried out. When I sucked her nipples she stroked my hair and told me I was wonderful; when I used my teeth on them she shouted and made a noise like the beginning of a orgasm. Touching her clit turned it into the real thing, and when she moaned ‘Ellie’ in the back of her throat I wanted to cry. When she wanted to take a photo with her phone to send to Mike I let her pose me on the bed, my hair draped over my face. Who could want to show me off or share me? It was like an explosion in my mind, and when she used her finger in my bottom and her thumb in my pussy i felt as if she’d poured petrol on the fire in my head and my heart. Mr Hawkins would hate that phrase; he says it’s wrong to use overly showy language or phrases that don’t relate to real life. We take the mickey out of him when he does his rant about how you can’t chase pavements and his collection of old school rap records, but how else do you explain when you’re giddy with excitement and you feel as if your body is burning up from the inside? How do you use words from real life to describe something you’re feeling for the first time when the only thing you really know about it is that you want it to happen again? How do you cope with that sleepless high, between orgasms, floating, trying to work out what time it is and if you can touch her again, and falling asleep then being woken by her fingers stroking across your clit?
The last time I woke up I felt like shit crossed with Angel Delight, and I was alone in the bed. Jane was sitting in the armchair, talking to someone,. Mike, probably. My head hurt and I knew that thinking about why she was talking to him about how good I looked wouldn’t help it. The fact that she was naked, and smiling at me, helped. I found my phone in my little bag and rang Suki. She was still in bed apparently, with the girl she’d spent the night with. I managed to find a clock, and to get Jane’s nodded agreement that we’d meet Suki at her hotel at 11:30 so I could collect my bag and some clothes. I had my dress, and underwear, but they weren’t daywear. Half an hour wasn’t much time, but we had checkout times to meet.
Jane wanted to explain about her and Mike. About how he let her be the woman she was, and didn’t mind if she had female friends. I tried not to giggle when she did little apostrophes with her fingers round ‘friends’. I tried not to bask in being her ‘friend’ and all that implied; she made it clear that she liked to have a special friend. Then she suggested we shower together.
In the shower she washed my body with her hands, and made me come, again. In return I used my fingers and the neck of her shampoo bottle in her pussy to make her come. Sharing the hairdryer and her hairbrush reminded me again of when Suki had lived at home.I blushed when Jane insisted I not put my dirty underwear back on; when she praised my body, and my breasts, and the way the dress would fall over my backside without panties in the way I focussed on looking as good as she thought I could. DId I care if my nipples went hard as we walked out of the bedroom into the corridor? Did I want her to hold my hand? Was I surprised when she kissed me in the lift?
I didn’t know what to expect when we got to Suki’s hotel. I mean, it’s not as if I’m used to meeting my sister and the woman she’s had sex with while I’m being followed by the woman I’ve just had sex with. I managed to do it, and to persuade all concerned that I should get changed in the bathroom rather than strip in front of them all. I didn’t know if I should ask someone to pinch me to prove I wasn’t dreaming.
Writing this is hell, by the way. I’m wet, and I wish Jane’s name would come up on my Facebook, or messenger, or my phone would buzz with something more han school idiots. I have to stop, distract myself, and actually, like a mad woman, I’m looking for Joanne the barbecue slut on facebook and adding her as a friend in case I’m right and the gossip is right and she really will fuck anyone. My head is still spinning, trying to write down the things that happened, and were said. Like Jane saying I’d learn to strip off in front of others soon enough. And Jane saying it was all right if Suki fancied me, because it’s not as if we’d be making web toed babies. And Jane saying Katie with the big tits should be caned and spanked and made to crawl, saying it so loud Katie heard her and blushed, and Suki laughed and said ‘Not in front of Ellie, not yet..’ and me joining in the giggling....
Just an email from Jane - she’s putting the boys to bed then spending time with Mike. Can I be online tomorrow night, can we talk, can she text me while I’m at school, will I wear a thong to school tomorrow to remind me of how good she thinks my backside looks in something skimpy, will I shave my pubes to make it easier to lick me.....
I reply yes to everything, call out goodnight to mum and dad, and decide to take my aching pussy to bed.....
Good night journal - the charity collectors piece of crap will have to wait...
