Bringing up baby

Those you who’ve been counting the months since I said that I was pregnant, will no doubt be wondering how come I haven’t yet given birth. Is this the longest pregnancy in history? The truth is – I have. And both mother and baby are doing well.

The reason for my reluctance to spread the news until now is that had I done so at the time, anyone who knows me and are following this blog, might start to suspect the truth. For the same reason I’ll hold back the exact date of birth, the sex and the name of my darling child, who, a few minutes from now will be demanding a breast full of milk.

I don’t know how other new mums feel, but attaching my baby to my breast, gives me a weird kid of euphoria, and is one of the best feelings I’ve ever had, in-spite of the sore nipples.

Just talk

after…. Crumpled sheets…..

naked womanThe silent seconds ticked by, then, unaccountably I started to giggle, I couldn’t help myself. A moment later she was laughing too.

“That wasn’t your first time, was it?” she said, when the laughter eventually subsided.
“How could you tell?”

She rolled onto her side, reached out and traced a fingernail from between my breasts down the centre of my torso to my navel, and then to the top of my mound of Venus, raking gently through my damp, sticky pubic hair.

“You knew what you were doing. Not many women know about that last position. That sort of thing takes practice. Did your husband teach you that one, or was it as I suspect another woman?”
“A very lovely woman, a long time before I married.”

She laughed softly. “I’m glad you’ve had some experience, though I suspect you haven’t indulged in lady-play for a long time.”

“It’s been more than ten years since I……..”
“You must have been very young. Were you in love with her?”

It took a second or two for my memory to settle on the face of the first woman I’d had sex with. It was a long time ago. But I could recall the touch of her lips and fingers, and the taste and the smell of her.

“Yes, I loved her yes,” I replied, “but we weren’t in love with each other. The first time it just sort of happened. It didn’t last long. I was at university – she was between boyfriends, and mine was…well he wasn’t around much. We were in bed together for company and warmth. I don’t really recall who started it. I tell myself that it was down to the vodka and the whiskey and the weed, which when I think about it is the start a lot of strange things in my life. But I can’t be certain it wouldn’t have happened anyway.”

Ingrid’s finger had started brushing my clit gently as I spoke. Then there was no need for words.

Crumpled sheets

….following….It started with a kiss…

White sheets crumpled and stained, perspiration droplets dappled our bodies, smeared lipstick on our cheeks. We lay side by side panting, exhausted, exhilarated. The taste of her was on my lips, on my tongue, in my mouth – the heady aroma of her juice, strong in my nostrils, the sound of her final orgasm ringing in my memories ears. Above our heads the skylight spilled sunlight onto the bed in which we’d just made love.

We hadn’t been gently with each other, at least not at the beginning.

It’s not so easy to go from deciding to do something to actually doing it. Especially since the image of her, back pressed against the wall, legs wide, hands pressing on the head of the woman whose tongue was lathing her clitoris was playing on a screen in my imaginations theatre.

The vodka had helped a lot. She had taken the expensive bottle from Christian’s well stocked bar cooler.

“I brought this for him from Poland,” she said, unscrewing the lid and bringing back a couple of shot glasses.
Handing me an empty glass, she filled it to the brim. “L’chayim,” she said.
“Shouldn’t that be Nostrovia?”
She pulled a face. “I hate fucking Russians. They’re all fucking bitches.”

I remembered something Christian had said about the woman who’d broken Imogen’s heart and decided to leave it alone.

One more straight shot and I was feeling very relaxed; another, and the images in my head began to fade. That was when she’d leaned in and kissed me.

We didn’t undress each other. That’s something men do.

We stood at the foot of the bed facing each other as we stripped down to our bra and pants. It’s odd the things you notice, her pants were a delicate beige lace with little bows at the hips. Her matching bra, a pair of lacy cups that contained, rather than held up her firm breasts. Even at that moment, as I was about to commit a kind of adultery, it came into my head that my husband would have loved to handle her tits. Standing a mere three feet apart we looked at each other, before we unclipped our bras, slid our panties down to our ankles and stepping out of them.

It started with a kiss

The second bottle of wine had come and gone. I told myself that if I returned to the office, my concentration level was going to be well below par. I wasn’t drunk, or even tipsy, just not in the mood.

So after a quick phone call to the office to lie to my secretary about my state of health, Ingrid and I tumbled into a black cab and she gave the driver the address of Christian’s waterfront apartment.

“We’re sleeping together while I’m in town,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice. “It’s okay, I know he sleeps with you too.”

I saw the searching look the driver shot into his rear-view mirror, his eyebrows raised as he stored away the information to be shared and laughed over with his friends later.

“Has he ever suggested you and he actually do it?” she asked, placing a hand casually on my knee.
“A few times,” I half whispered.
“Have you ever been tempted?”
“No. Have you?”
“We did try to once, but he couldn’t make it stay hard. It was OK while I was sucking it, but once I stopped and he tried to stick it in me it just went soft. He does have a lovely cock though. I’ve never seen anything so smooth and white. It’s a shame he’s such a queen.”

It started with a kiss. But that’s how it usually starts. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t expected something like that to happen. I could see the desire in her eyes. I don’t know what she could read in mine.
By the time she inserted the key in the door of Christian’s apartment and pushed it open, I could feel that familiar knot in my belly and the tightness in my spine.
Excusing myself I disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door. I sit down on the toilet, fighting the feelings and the fears that had been creeping up on me all through lunch.

I was no lesbian virgin, my best friend and I had made love together many times while at university.
This was different somehow. Back then I’d been nineteen, and it had been….what had it been? Something we did without asking too many questions or worrying about the consequences. Like so many things people do when they are full of youth and ignorance and hang-ups and alcohol and marijuana. Though the drugs and the alcohol had not been the excuse after the first time.

Since then I’d never really had….. (almost never, there had been that one time of which I have already spoken during my gap-year) any kind of sexual attraction to another woman.

Sitting there my analytical mind weighed the pros and cons of what I knew for certain Ingrid wanted to happen. What I was afraid was likely to happen. This was no light flirtation for her, something to be done, enjoyed and giggled over afterward. All though lunch I’d looked into her eyes as she told me of her life – she was damaged goods.

I couldn’t deny the attraction. It had been there from that first kiss. It had been there as I watched her being eaten by that woman against the wall. At first I had been appalled, and then intrigued, then sad and finally jealous.

I’d refused to talk about it when Christian had tried to the following morning. But he’d known that something had gotten under my skin. That had been his plan all along. He was a game player, a puppet master, who enjoyed setting up situations and then sitting back to watch the situation develop and the carnage that sometimes ensued.

She was waiting sitting on the settee when I came out of the bathroom, a mug of steaming coffee in her hand. I sat down beside her.

I’d made my decision. Or to be more accurate, I’d decided to stop fighting my nature.
“I thought you’d be hiding in there forever,” she said.
“Was I hiding?”
“Yes. But were you hiding from me or yourself?”

I half smiled as I looked into her blue eyes. There was something so vulnerable in them. She was an extremely beautiful woman with her blonde hair, fine Scandinavian features, white, even teeth and lips that would be described as provocatively pouting.

“I could pretend that I don’t know what you are talking about, but that’s a lie,” I said, my eyes focused on her mouth.
“No, let’s not pretend. Let’s just come straight out and say it. I want you.”