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9. Christmas Again

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Pia

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It’s Lisa. You remember me I think. Romy told you all about everything that happened in Germany. She told two stories didn’t she? In one my dreams came true. I entered a beautiful oblivion. In the other, the second, something different happened. They came to me and asked whether I really wanted it. I can’t begin to describe how I felt. My arms and legs and shoulders and hips were screaming in pain and my body was bloody. I stared at the man talking to me; he was just a shadow against the sun. My ears were ringing, my mouth was so dry; my breasts were heaving as I lay there on the sand gasping for air.

He whispered something. I could hardly understand. My vision was flying between crystal clarity and a rushing haze. My body was half-broken he said, one leg and one arm were dislocated. I tried to look, but I couldn’t move my head. I was thinking about Vivien and the girl and I wanted so much to look and see myself torn apart but I wasn’t. He said I could choose, but this was the last moment. If they carried on I would die. It would be slow and awful he said. He said I was young and I had done nearly everything. He said I should choose now. I tried to speak, but my lips just opened slightly then closed. I was trying so hard to think. I could hear him moving. He touched my shoulder and electricity flew through me and ripped my mind awake again. I raised my head a little and opened my mouth and my voice was so quiet. He placed his face next to mine. My breathing was shallow and quick. I tried again and spoke to him and told him that it was enough. That I was ready to stop now. And then my head fell back, I think, and everything was dark.

Romy’s told you the rest, how she looked after me and how I recovered and those days or was it weeks that we spent in Hamburg and how we wandered by the Alstersee and talked. And about the little dark bar near the old harbour when we sat together and I took the candle and touched her with the hot red liquid wax. And how she touched my face and my ear and how we kissed. She’s told you all that. And that was then, in the summer, and this is now and the trees by my window in my little house where my mother lives with my brother are plied double by the wind.

I’ll tell you everything that has happened since then I think. You may be bored with me, it’s true. But I like to talk to you and tell you about myself and so, well, I will.
 
Tuesday morning, very dark. The wind and rain are hammering at the window again and I’m going to stay snuggled in my cosy bed, under my cosy duvet. Next to my cosy Romy. Because she’s here too and I’m leaning on my pillow and looking at her and her eyes are so gently shut and there’s a single strand of hair falling over her cheek. I’m touching her cheek with the back of my hand, very softly, up and down. Very slowly, up and down. And her lips part just a little and her eyes blink open and I lean over and kiss her. So, well, you probably expected this didn’t you? After Germany and everything that happened in the summer. It’s vacation time again and we are back together after a long Autumn term and we’re sharing my bed and sometimes I share hers.

I’m pinching her now, not too hard, on her side, and she rolls over and knocks my laptop from my hands and we laugh and cuddle. I give her a little kick and ask her if she’ll get the tea and that when she’s back she can talk to you as well. She flicks my nose and clambers over me, because it’s just a single bed and it’s pushed up against the wall and she stretches and pulls on a shapeless t-shirt and yawns and opens the door. Downstairs, I can hear the noise of cups clattering and the radio and Romy talking to mum. Mum’s good with Romy being round all the time. We had a long chat about everything; well, not about everything. About most things. And she’s good with it and she likes Romy.

I like the few minutes of waiting in the quiet. I like to hear the wind and the rain and to let me feet slide around under the sheets. I roll over and pull the pillow to my face and breathe in her smell, then sit up, waiting.

The tea’s lovely and warm and it’s the best thing in the morning, feeling the mug in your fingers and blowing to cool it down a little. Romy’s sitting at the end of the bed with her back resting in the corner where the wall meets my bookcase. We drink our tea slowly and smile at each other. We often spend an age without saying anything at all. Maybe we said everything we needed to say to each other back in Germany, even without speaking sometimes. Of course we do talk, but not really about how we feel, because we know totally how we feel and how we will always feel until we stop feeling and knowing. But I hope that doesn’t happen, or that if it does it’s a long time away.

So, I said she could say hello and now I’m giving her the laptop.

Lisa’s told you that the second story was the true one I think, hasn’t she? And about coming home and the little lies we had to tell about trying out climbing at a gym and how she had her accident. Everyone believed us but I suppose they wanted to believe the story. They asked lots of questions and sometimes we’d have to stop ourselves giggling when our stories didn’t quite match up, and of course neither of us knew anything at all about climbing walls, at least at the beginning. I was really surprised how quickly she got better, considering what I’d seen her go through. Not just physically, but in her head too. We talked a lot back then about the whole thing and about what made her change her mind and what it felt like and whether it had been what she had hoped. In the end I knew that she was content. She’d done what she had wanted and she had stopped when she had wanted. The easy thing was explaining why she was so sore of course.

The marks on her body were another thing and I know that our friends thought it was a bit strange that she stayed so covered up all the time. The last days of summer were lovely and warm and sunny and yet Lisa seemed to be happiest to stay at home when everyone else was angling for invitations to friends who had pools in their back gardens. I guess they thought she was just a bit mysterious somehow. But in the end even those marks faded to pale white lines and then to almost nothing at all. And then it was time to head back to college and the usual flurry of drunken parties and nights at the pub signaled that it was time to go. I guess it was about then that we decided not to pretend anymore and so either I stayed here, with her, or she came over to mine, and we stopped pretending that we were just sleeping-over, because we wanted everyone to know that we were sleeping together.
 
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Ahhhhh. You take me to another world. Far away from sickness and hospitals and to a make believe world where girls fight and become politically involved. Where they fall in love with each other and make love in lovely little attic rooms with embroidered duvet covers and the sound of canal boats bumping gently against each other.
Of girls sitting together on beds drinking tea and laughing about girlie things. I want to open that door and sit on that bed and laugh with them. And be kissed. And just be a girl again. I can't wait for that day. Meanwhile I shall just live in your stories for a while PK. And dream girlie CF dreams.
Xxx
 
Celticvirgin said:
Ahhhhh. You take me to another world. Far away from sickness and hospitals and to a make believe world where girls fight and become politically involved. Where they fall in love with each other and make love in lovely little attic rooms with embroidered duvet covers and the sound of canal boats bumping gently against each other.
Of girls sitting together on beds drinking tea and laughing about girlie things. I want to open that door and sit on that bed and laugh with them. And be kissed. And just be a girl again. I can't wait for that day. Meanwhile I shall just live in your stories for a while PK. And dream girlie CF dreams.
Xxx
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You've made me super happy that my little story has made you happy! Thank you! You'll be back in that world sooner than you can say Boo Santa!!!! X
 
You said... Boo Santa. So I googled it.


Not what I expected but fun Philly fact.
 
Anyway, it’s five-thirty in the morning and I can’t sleep so I’m up and typing. It’s me, but I guess the ‘anyway’ gave that one away. Romy’s in bed with her face turned to the wall and one arm flung out over my pillow and her lovely breasts are peeking out from under the duvet. So let me tell you about yesterday before I get on to last term and everything, because yesterday was nice.

We skulked around in bed for a while, then decided we should really do something with the day, even though it was such shitty weather, so we decided it had to be a trip to London for some Christmas shopping. But we both thought, or maybe it was me, that it would be nice to do something special too. So I searched around a bit and found an agency that had some pretty girls, well, they were all pretty girls, and I found one who was super-pretty and said she was bi. They opened at nine, so I called and explained who we were and checked if that was ok, and it was so we booked. It felt a bit weird and exciting doing that really.

After breakfast we got the bus to S and then waited an age for a very short train that took us slowly into Charing Cross, the big station near Trafalgar Square. It was still blowing a gale, but everything felt sort of busy and fun. We walked up the Strand to Covent Garden and watched some of the performers and had some hot cider which was spicy and Christmassy and we hugged each other in the chilly wind. Then strolled around the back streets and down Long Acre and up towards Seven Dials.

I told Romy all about a book I’d read during term about a girl growing up in the area in the eighteenth century, when this was the worst part of London, all ‘rookeries’ and thieves and prostitutes. She was called Mary and she didn’t really have a story, just an ending, but the writer had filled in the gaps. I told Romy how she’d first had sex in a doorway for a piece of red ribbon and how she’d loved to look at rich clothes and about the ‘slammerkin’ she wore that showed that she was available and lots of other things about the story. I told her how she ended up in Monmouth, but that her love of pretty things was somehow her undoing and how she ended up at sixteen swinging from a noose, or maybe she was burned alive. No one really knows. In the story she hung. And then she was burned. I could feel myself trembling as I was speaking and my voice became very quiet. We were in Shorts Gardens now and I saw a narrow passageway on the left and I dragged Romy down it and pushed her against a corner where it was dark and the old bricks were black with age. I put my hand over her face and kissed her ear and forced my fingers down into her pants and into her until she winced. I could feel her whole body moving against mine and I could sense a tear running down her cheek. It wasn’t for long, and then we kissed, really deep. I suppose some people saw us, which made it even better.
 
We had to take the Underground from Embankment, but we didn’t know the address yet, so to pass the time we wandered through Leicester Square where stand-ups were doing their stuff to circles of tourists and out-of-towners were queuing for the ferris wheel and theatre tickets to things I wouldn’t want to see, then slunk down the passageway by the library where Newton’s house once stood and slyly round the corner past the Portrait Gallery. We should have had a text I kept thinking, but there was still time, so we went across the road to Waterstones. I searched under ‘D’ and found a copy of ‘Slammerkin’ and thought of giving it to Romy for Christmas, but I just gave it to her in the shop to read on the train home. Tempting though ‘The Ladybird Book of Mindfulness’ was I disappeared behind a shelf and came out with a couple of slim volumes of Carol Ann Duffy which I’d be wanting to get. But still no text, so by the old Inigo Jones gate in Embankment Gardens I phoned them, glancing all the while at the time. And they messaged back and we were on our way to Earl’s Court.

And inevitably and full of nervousness we found ourselves at the wrong end of the platform and had to do a double left and then cross over to the new bit of Warwick Road and guiltily sneak past the reception desk and took the lift to the first floor.

She opened the door with a smile and a kiss and she was lovely. Nicer than her photos but somehow different without the make-up that disguised her pretty freckled face. I won’t tell you her name, not that it was her name, but it was a nice non-name and it suited her, so I will call her Beth, which isn’t her name at all. Although of course it could be. How strange. Anyway, she welcomed us in and we felt straight at home, at least I did, and when I squeezed Romy’s hand I think she did too.

Beth poured us some white wine. The flat was new and shiny. We sat together in a slightly embarrassed line on the sofa. She was comfortably rounded, beautifully filling her dress, dark hair falling over dark eyes. A ring piercing the left side of her nose. Her lips looked soft when she smiled, and damp and warm. She said we should shower and then come through to the bedroom.

Romy was trembling under the hot water, and so was I. We soaped each other quickly, over our breasts, between our legs. Romy asked me if I was sure. I smiled and kissed her and asked her if she was and she said yes.

The bedroom was small, lit by a few candles and some subdued spots, and Beth was waiting on the bed. She knelt up and held her arms out and we joined her in a sort of triangle and she kissed us each in turn and gently drew our faces together and kissed each of our breasts, first Romy, then me. Then she asked Romy to unzip her. I hoped she’d be fair. Her dress slid down over her curves and she stepped off the bed so it fell to her ankles. Then she turned with her mouth open in a cheeky grin and touched the little silver bars piercing her nipples, and turned, lifting her hair, so we could see the tattoo of a Celtic cross just below the nape of her neck. I adored her curves and just wanted to lick her breasts. They were so heavy to touch, so beautifully full. My tongue drew itself around the little silver piercing and my nose touched Romy’s, coming from the other side. Beth asked us to be gentle. I let my lips slide down her to her panties and my fingers pulled them from her and opened a way to her soft, shaved pussy and I stayed there, my hands reaching around the firm roundness of her bottom. And then it was me and Romy and me and Beth and Beth and Romy and me and we licked and rolled and kissed and moaned.

For a while, I think. And then we resurfaced and she got us another glass of wine each and we talked a bit. She said we were the first girls she’d had. Sometimes she had couples. I touched her hair and lifted it over her ear. She lived in B. and was training as a movie make-up artist. She’d been with a girl for a year, but she was bi and she liked doing this work. She could fit it around everything and it was interesting for her and she liked having sex. She told us lots of stories. It was a warm, loving feeling with her and me and Romy. But too soon it seemed she quietly told us that we were already over the time and she had to go to another booking in Kew and she asked us if it would take long to get there. Romy said that it was on the District line, so it would be easy, but of course she was going by taxi and I said that would probably be longer.

We finished our wine while she stretched out, touching herself on her breasts, on the sofa. She said that she’d probably take the piercings out soon as she was so sensitive when her nipples were sucked. I liked the way she said that. She said she’d enjoyed it with us and that she’d like to see us again if we would, but that she’d not be working until February, because business was always bad just after New Year. Romy said we’d be away then, but we’d see her again for sure. I hope Romy was right. I think she was. It was lovely.

And then we were on the tube and running through the station to platform two and just about getting on the train in a breathless haste. We didn’t speak til after London Bridge I think. And we had to stand all the way to Sevenoaks. I don’t think anyone saw my hand down the back of Romy’s pants, but I hope they did.
 
After all the commuters got off in a flurry of coats and briefcases and lawyer’s looks we found ourselves two seats and Romy took out the book and looked at the cover, a scarlet slammerkin and a shadow of breasts. She flicked the pages. I said she’d love it and I didn’t want to spoil it, but I wasn’t cheating by telling her that Mary Saunders dies in the end. She has to die, because otherwise what story would there have been? But the odd thing was she was probably hung. But maybe not. She killed her mistress, which wasn’t really petty treason, because her mistress was the property of her master. And if it had been petty treason she would have burned. She’d have been taken in the tumbril to the market in Monmouth and chained to a stake and they’d have slowly burned her, unless they decided to strangle her. But sometimes that didn’t work. I asked Romy what she’d have preferred. Then I told her that I would have preferred to be burned. She pulled my face into hers and told me to stop it and not to have any more crazy ideas about Vivien or Mary and that we were going to live for ages and have lots of fun. So I asked her again. And she said that she’d prefer to be burned too, because it would be a long and slow way to die and she’d want to have people see her dying in a long slow way even if it was quite awful. She said that it was a silly thing to talk about but she would like it somehow to have the chains fixed around her. And I slid my hand down the front of her pants and my fingers reached into her and I let my nails bite into her and I loved the silent gasp that escaped from her lips as she bit into the softness of my ear and then we laughed quietly and our foreheads touched and an accountant on the way to Tunbridge Wells pushed his glasses up his nose and went back to his evening paper.
 
It wasn’t late when we got home last night, but it was wet and stormy and we were both glad when the bus came and hugged close by the misted-up window as we headed down the road and over the hills to home. Mum was on duty and baby brother was watching something on TV, so we slipped quickly upstairs and ran a bath and slid in together, Romy’s legs over my shoulders, mine under her arms, my feet wandering from time to time over her soap-shiny breasts. We played with our yellow plastic duck.

Supper was beans on toast, with a little bit of grated cheese, then early to our little bed with a few scented candles. We talked about Beth and what she did and how she did it. She’d been lovely we thought, and definitely worth the trip and the money. In fact, if we could have, we’d have done it again, we both agreed, probably tomorrow. But she wasn’t working tomorrow. I think it was her curves and her piercings that did it for me. And her moans when my tongue worked her nipples. I wanted to be her at the same time as being me. Romy said we should do the same with our nipples and I think she’s right. Maybe as a Christmas treat for each other. That would be very nice, especially on Christmas morning, early. We talked more about her, remembering her face and her hair and her tattoo of a cross and without a pause we began to talk about crosses and what they meant and things like that, and without thinking we were touching each other and becoming wet.

Christmas Eve. Too early to phone the place in M, but we will later; after breakfast and after a walk in the woods maybe. My nose touched the tip of Romy’s and my fingers lifted the hair from her ears and my lips nuzzed into her neck. Romy ran a finger between my breasts and down over my belly and down to touch me and gently rub me, slowly then faster until I could hardly breathe and was leaning over, my back arched and my legs bent double and then she flung her mouth down on me and licked and bit and her hands reached up to my breasts and we trembled together and the bed shook and rattled against the wall and the bookshelf.
 
Anyway, we stuffed ourselves with bacon and eggs and said hello to mum when she arrived home and wrapped up in waterproofs and went over the road and along the path that leads into the Chestnut Wood. Everything was soaking and the trees dripped black from their branches and the leaves were rotting in the slipperty sliding mud. We held hands and wandered into the darkness and found a place and leaned against an old trunk and kissed and let the rain tangle our hair. I told Romy about that afternoon two Novembers ago. I think I had told her before. We took out coats off, and pulled off each other’s sweaters and felt the damp on our bodies and hugged close and squeezed our breasts together. I love that feeling of my breasts on Romy’s. As they roll over each other. I pulled back and leaned against the tree, my back to it, my arms reaching around, my hands just able to touch, my fingers just able to anchor me there. Romy looked at me, and I think she knew what I wanted.

But instead she just came to me and pushed herself hard onto me and pulled my mouth open and really forced her tongue deep inside and let her teeth bite into my lips and then she whispered that she really wanted to and she knew I wanted her to and that she would, but if she did it now, then how could we possibly go to M and have the piercings done. I smiled and grabbed her and span around and pushed her back against the tree and pulled her trousers down and went on my knees and gobbled her up until she was crying and she lowered herself to me and we locked our bent legs and kissed some more and let the rain run over our backs and the ferns stroke our bodies.
 
pkindenhaag said:
Christmas Eve. Too early to phone the place in M, but we will later; after breakfast and after a walk in the woods maybe. My nose touched the tip of Romy’s and my fingers lifted the hair from her ears and my lips nuzzed into her neck. Romy ran a finger between my breasts and down over my belly and down to touch me and gently rub me, slowly then faster until I could hardly breathe and was leaning over, my back arched and my legs bent double and then she flung her mouth down on me and licked and bit and her hands reached up to my breasts and we trembled together and the bed shook and rattled against the wall and the bookshelf.
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I think the rattling is Pp's old heart rather than their bed against the wall.
Pkin at her best with a Christmas Eve gift.
 
We had to shower when got back. What silly girls we are. I sat on the bed afterwards with a cup of tea and thought back to last year, after my first term at uni, that term after that summer when I had done so many crazy things so fast and fallen for so many girls who meant nothing to me anymore. I thought, just a little wistfully, about Mitsuki and wondered if it was snowy in Kanazawa, and I gulped down some more tea along with a few regrets. I thought about Vero and our games with barbed wire and how stupid we had been and how stupid I had been to think that she was the one. I thought about that first winter trip to Hamburg and how things had gone on a roller-coaster from there and I thought about Sallie because I’ve not spoken to her for an age and I thought I really should. Then Romy came in with a towel over her short dark hair and not much else on apart from her little tattoos and dripping wet and I would have gone straight back to bed with her and that would have been lovely, but we had things to do and it was already nine and now we could call the place in M.
 
They were open, even on Christmas Eve, and so we booked for twelve. We thought we’d head in and have a coffee or something first. The weather was truly horrible. Not a lovely white blanket of anything, just a howling wind and twigs and branches flying through the air and rain and rain and rain. It took about half an hour for the bus to get to M, up over the sand ridge, then down into the valley where the limestone for Canterbury Cathedral came from, then up and then down and past the Archbishop’s Palace and down by the rushing Medway. The High Street was crowded with shoppers and umbrellas turning inside-out in the wind. We found a place for a coffee, the windows fogged up with condensation. Everyone smelt damp and the floor was crowded with shopping bags and a small dog dodged as we went to the counter and then found ourselves a little table. The coffee was milky and nice and the biscuit tasted of Christmas.

We couldn’t stay long because the place we were going was in Union Street, the other side of the shopping centre, and Samantha had said we should be on time because she’d got lots of appointments today. I stopped to get some cash from the machine, two piercings would cost me seventy pounds. And then we headed up the hill, feeling excited and humming “Were you ever in Quebec”. Romy held my hand.

So now we’re back, this time at Romy’s place. Her room’s much bigger than mine, with a real double-bed. It’s an old one, with an iron frame and those old rail things at either end, which is very handy sometimes. We’re both quite tired and quite happy and are smiling and drinking glasses of white wine that Romy’s mum gave to us. She’s already a bit tipsy I think. We’re listening to Carols from King’s, which is really the best bit of Christmas, and we’re sitting opposite each other, Romy at the head of the bed and me at the foot. There’s a window either side of her bed and it’s becoming twilight. We’re smiling at each other and at our slightly sore breasts and at the sticking plasters covering the little silver steel barbells that are piercing our nipples. It hurt, but then not much, and we both like hurt anyway. And Samantha was nice and gave us lots of instructions about keeping them clean and making sure we didn’t get infected. She liked my tattoo on my shoulder and she liked Romy’s nose piercing too. Our legs are stretched out and our feet are touching and it’s beautifully relaxing listening to the carols and the lessons. And drinking our wine very slowly. Just a sip at a time. With our arms stretched out across the iron bars. It’s lovely. Once the service is over we have a little plan. I’ll tell you about that later I think. We’re listening now.
 
“O Come All Ye Faithful” . We sip our wine. It’s so perfectly beautiful. It must be wonderful to be there under Henry’s great fan vault. The choirs of angels are exulting and I think Romy and me are too. There was a gorgeous new hymn this year, which I loved. Sometimes I think it must be such a consolation to Believe, but I don’t and I cannot. It could only be improved with the King James words to the lessons I think, but you can’t have everything. Natum Videte. Latin would be nice too. But it is simply wonderful. And now it’s the prayer and the blessing. And Hark the Herald Angels Sing. Peace on earth being a far-fetched concept I am thinking. But it’s beautiful. Totally. And I’m looking at Romy and she is beautiful, totally. And so maybe there really is a god. But I don’t think there is. And in the end I don’t mind, because we can choose what we do and we like what we do. But if I was to believe, anytime, ever, it would be in Cambridge on Christmas Eve I think. We lock our toes together and rock forward and place our hands round each other's neck and feel our hair and the soft skin on our backs and let our faces touch and feel our breathing mingling and we kiss with our tongues and the organ is playing the recessional “In Dulce Jubilo”, and we sweetly rejoice.
 
So…so its half eleven and even I am drunk now of course I am. Because it was a beautiful afternoon and of course we did everything but then it’s Christmas Eve so we have to be good children and we went home and I had a long hot lazy bath and let the suds float between my lovely pierced breasts and I loved it and, well, there was other stuff too but I have been drinking too much lovely wine so that will have to wait, but I think it will carry on and I think I will like it a lot – please send me a kiss!
 
Anyway, it’s Christmas Day now so Merry Christmas everyone! I deserve to have a stinking hangover, but somehow I don’t and it’s not even raining so that is very nice. Last night was quite messy… I didn’t quite go straight home from Romy’s, so I told a bit of a fib. Because we went down to the pub in town and met up with all the old bunch from school and we drank an awful lot I think. Will, you remember him I think, he was there too and we had a bit of a laugh together. He’s still cute I think, but he was there with his new girlfriend from uni who was rather a babe. Then, late, I went home and then, late, I had that nice bath with the suds and my gorgeous new booby toys. And then, feeling quite giddy, I went to bed.

So now all the pressies have been opened and I like my things, but I’ll tell you about those later. And mum liked hers too. And now it’s that sweet quiet time before we go for a family walk and settle down for dinner. Before which there will be incessant peeling and boiling of vegetables I suppose, as ever. And in this lovely quiet time I am recalling yesterday afternoon and how we undressed each other slowly and how I tied Romy to the bed, one foot, her left, and one wrist, her right. And how I tied myself too, my left ankle and then my right wrist. Romy helped to hold the rope for that last bit, so I could pull it quite tight. And there we were, one free leg and one free arm each, pressed together on the bed, our taped-up and very sore nipples pressed against each other and our tongues in each other’s mouth and our bodies feeling so gorgeously together. I think we stayed like that for half an hour and it was just the best thing. I love it when our breasts are pressed together. I think that, and the memory of Beth’s amazing, stunning, wonderful boobies and her sweet parted lips, might just keep me going through the sprouts.
 
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