Chapter 2: Awakening

In my second term at university, I had met Claire Roberts and, despite her being a newly self-outed lesbian, we hit it off immediately and within a few weeks we had moved into a small apartment together. I had already met my future husband, Luke, and so he was spending a lot of time in my bedroom, if not actually making love to me very often.

In contrast, a procession of attractive young female students, and even the odd lecturer, was passing through Claire’s bedroom door. I was used to the sight of scantily clad young women breakfasting in our kitchen, and I suppose I was as scantily clad as them at that time of the day. I certainly enjoyed looking at the pretty ones and admired the range of sexy undies they all seemed to wear when visiting Claire.

Claire never tried anything with me, the nearest we got was just snuggling up together on the sofa in our pyjamas under a blanket to watch a film on a cold winter’s evening. Cozy and friendly but nothing more.

By year three things began to change for Claire – who was a genuine genius - and slowly but surely the flow of female bodies dwindled to just one as Jill Thompson, another real genius, became a near permanent occupant of Claire’s bed. They went on to get their doctorates together and the two became inseparable. Twelve years after meeting, they are now married and contemplating fertility treatment. Claire is a senior research scientist with a major pharma company and Jill is Professor of Bio-engineering at Manchester University. The two of them are my best friends and have nursed me, emotionally and physically, when necessary, since my husband walked out the door.

So, in mid-February, when it was time to visit a major client in Manchester, it was just the natural thing to meet them for dinner. I was staying in a chic city centre hotel close to Manchester’s renowned Gay Village. I had put on a lovely new silk dress that had a V-neck, left my arms bare, and by my standards was quite short, maybe just below mid-thigh. It was very lightweight and not really a dress for mid-winter, but for some reason I wanted to dress to impress my dearest friends. No bra as usual when not working and a tiny lacy thong, which in reality was no more than a couple of strings and a scrap of almost transparent material covering my vulva. My 4-inch stilettos completed my ensemble. I slipped on a coat and left my hotel room to meet them.

When Claire arrived in reception, she was alone. She explained that Jill had gone to a conference in Belfast and her plane had been delayed “So we girls can go have a load of fun without my chaperone” she squealed deliciously. Arm in arm, she took me to a charming small restaurant on the edge of the Village, and we had a delightful meal with two cocktails and a bottle of well-chilled white wine, so we were both a little tipsy as we wandered out into the street.

Grabbing my hand, she marched me into the Village and directly to a very crowded bar which turned out to be the City’s leading lesbian bar - her idea of a bit of fun at my expense! “You need to get out and let your hair down,” she screamed in my ear. I knew she had done this because she thought the lesbian bar would embarrass me, it being my first time in one. I think she was just having fun with me, not expecting it to lead to anything more than a drink with her friends.

Naturally there were lots of women in there and we were soon standing by the bar, with more cocktails in hand, chatting with a group of women, one of whom Claire knew. I certainly drank too much for a Thursday night but there was only the journey back to London tomorrow to worry about so I just relaxed and enjoyed the gossip, jokes and mild flirting that was going on. Somehow, I got separated from Claire, who was dragged off to meet a woman on the other side of the room, and found myself standing at the bar with another group of women.

Without any obvious reason I gradually found myself chatting to one woman in particular, then chatting became mild flirting, and then very serious flirting with her hand now stroking my bare arm and slowly and gently manoeuvring me away from the other women towards the end of the bar. This very butch dyke, called Cheryl, told me she was ex-army, ten years’ service, including Afghanistan, and now ran a charity for ex-prisoners. She was about 40, so maybe 10-12 years older than me, and seemed very grown up, especially as she was so much bigger, and certainly looked tough, even if she did not act it with me.

She was about 178cm tall, so 20cm more than me, and about 80 kilos, probably 25 kilos more than me – so big compared to little skinny me! She was also muscular, with tattoos on her arms, short hair, shaved at the sides, and two obvious nipple rings showing through her black T-shirt. The overall impression was that she was certainly a bit scary for an innocent like me to look at, but funny and friendly, gentle, and very caring as she talked about her role working with ex-prisoners

By now there was lots of touching happening without me being particularly aware of it, with a protective arm sliding round my waist when someone bumped into us. I was really enjoying this first social and physical contact for years, not really thinking about her being a lesbian, but just enjoying the relaxed intimacy. When there was a pause in our conversation, for the first time we seemed to look properly at each other. I think for both of us there was a spark, and, definitely, a mutual attraction. She was not really my type I thought, although I did not know what my type was any more, just that if she was a man I would not be attracted to him. However, with her arm now round my shoulder, I found myself leaning my head on her shoulder, and then slipping my own arm around her waist.

She had now moved us to the very end of the bar, and there were whispers in my ear telling me how beautiful I was and how she would like to know me much better, lots of smiling at each other, and gentle caressing of my arm. Once more she carefully moved us away from the crowded bar and guided me to a shadowy back corner of the room, where I found myself almost leaning against the wall, her big powerful body very close to touching mine. She raised a big finger and brushed my shoulder length hair off my face, stroking my face with her palm, and blowing softly behind my ear. I giggled like a school girl and turned my face towards her. Instantly she leaned in to give me a kiss on the lips, my first intimate kiss since before my separation, and the first ever with another woman.

I was shocked and paralysed. Her tongue pressed against my lips and, at first, I resisted, before I began to relax, and gradually open my lips to admit the tip of her tongue. It was so nice! Soon we were both open-mouthed with entwined tongues, our saliva mingling and sliding between us. It was wonderful! My mind went blank but my body was just enjoying the sensation of someone kissing me again after all this time. She moved from my side to stand in front of me, pushed me back completely against the wall, so she was hiding me from the rest of the crowded bar, her hands now on my hips, my hands on her arms. As the kiss ended, I looked up to her eyes and shyly said “Wow.”

She said, “You are beautiful” and leaned in to give me another long kiss, as her hand slid round to fondle my bum through the very lightweight figure-hugging silk dress I had worn for the quiet dinner with Claire. Through the thin dress material, her fingers found the string of my thong as it emerged from between my buttocks, and as we kissed, slid two fingers under the string pushing my dress under it as well. She then slid her fingers round my waist, under the waist band of the thong, almost to the front, so my dress was rucked up on one side and half the back. Leaving it like that, she went back to kissing me, until we broke for air and we smiled at each other. “Everyone can see us,” I said. She laughed softly and said “They are all jealous of me having the most beautiful girl in the bar in my arms.” I blushed.