Chapter 5: Islington

Jayne's tongue lapped back and forth on Cath's parted vulva, moistening yet further that clitoris whose hardness was so familiar to her and savoured the comforting odours from within. Two fingers thrust in and out of the wet and welcoming vagina, occasionally twisting her hand to brush the knuckles and her smaller two fingers on the sweat-sodden pubic hairs. Cath gasped as her body spasmed to Jayne's ministrations, one foot kicking out and bashing against the headrest of the shared bed.

Jayne reciprocated her gasp as Cath's smaller fist pushed all four of the fingers of her right hand into Jayne's equally receptive vagina, her thumb stroking against Jayne's own aroused clitoris. Jayne could feel the rubber sinuousness of her tongue on the folds above her clitoris, shaved so close that Cath had no difficulty in finding exactly what her tongue sought out.

Cath did not shave her pubic hairs, but this never troubled Jayne. She was willing to shave her pubes as Cath once requested, happy to keep them shaved for as long as darling Cath wanted it that way. In any case, she rather relished the daily routine of shaving, which she did as often as she could in full view of her younger lover. It was as surely a token of the love she felt for Cath as any ring, and in its carnality a much more honest one.

Jayne raised her head and removed her hand from Cath's pubes. A particularly long brown hair had got trapped between her teeth. She tugged it out and her mouth returned greedily to her feast of carnal scents. Her tongue dipped in as deep as it could into Cath's spread open pussy, flicking it up on occasion to lick against Cath's little knob of a clitoris. All the while, Cath's pubic hair pressed into Jayne's nostrils and tickled her chin. Jayne was sure that the hair down here was longer than that on her head, but as a matter of taste she was glad that her lover had never thought to coat her pubic hairs with the thick gel that kept her otherwise unruly dark brown hair in place.

At last, the two lovers separated.

Jayne sat on one side, her heavy breasts falling down onto her stomach and one arm around Cath's waist. Her lover was much thinner than her, just as she was so much younger, just twenty-five years old but, Jayne was sure, looking much younger. And this was because she was so very thin. Her breasts were mostly nipple raised on a much less prominent bosom, her waist still very slender, and her arms and legs nearly child-like in their almost total lack of extraneous fat. Jayne was so lucky to have such a beautiful lover. What had she ever done to deserve such good fortune?

"Fuck, Jayne!" Cath exclaimed, flicking the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray she had placed beside her outstretched leg, the other crooked and pressed onto Jayne's womanly thigh. "If you thought by seducing me you'd stop me going out and seeing my mates, you must have known it wasn't going to work."

Jayne sighed. That wasn't the intention at all. When she'd seen Cath sitting there in the armchair watching Eastenders on television, naked as always, as Jayne was too, she'd just responded to yet another of her spasms of desire. It seemed natural, seeing that there was no cigarette alight at that moment, to stand behind her lover and squeeze her to her bosom. And Cath, as always, was just as keen as she was to leave the petty arguments and quarrels of the soap opera to join Jayne in their shared bed, the recently made sheets pulled roughly to one side.

"So, you're going out this evening, Cath?" wondered Jayne, who also wondered why it was Cath thought she kept such a keen track of her lover's movements.

"Yeah! We're going to a club, me, Penny and Julie. You know the one, the Pink Pussycat."

"Didn't it used to be called Munchies?"

"That was fucking ages ago."

"And why should I be bothered about you going out to a night club, sweetest?" Jayne asked meekly, knowing precisely why.

"You just want me to be a fucking one-woman woman, Jayne. You don't like it when I have sex with my friends or with anyone I pick up at the clubs. You're greedy! You just want me for your fucking self!"

Jayne couldn't deny the truth of that last assertion. She very much did want Cath for herself. She was undeniably jealous of her lover, though Cath's occasional dalliances never seemed to lessen the love she expressed towards her older partner. But now, of course, Jayne had lost the moral high ground, since she foolishly confessed to masturbating that sweet boy on the Ibiza beach during their summer holiday. She didn't know what had possessed her that time. Not desire for the boy, she was sure of that, but his obvious distress regarding his abused girlfriend had affected her strangely and, she had to admit, she had always harboured a secret curiosity about male genitals.

Although the confession had brought nothing but tears, Jayne was actually rather pleased that Cath had taken it so badly. Cath still reminded her of her 'handjob' as she called it, but Jayne was quite gratified there was some reciprocal jealousy in their relationship. Not that this in any way seemed to lessen Cath's desire to augment her experience of Sapphic love beyond that they expressed for each other.

"So, don't you fucking try stopping me, Jayne. If I want to get my tongue on Julie's clit or my fist up Penny's pussy, that's my fucking business. And if there's some other girl tonight, femme, butch or undecided, it's just what I want to do."

"Well, as long as you don't bring your catches home, Cath," said Jayne in what she thought was a conciliatory manner, but instantly regretted her words.

"And why the fuck, can't I? Fuck you, Jayne! You just want to trap me. Hold me close to your motherly bosom. I'm not your fucking daughter! I'm a fucking grown woman, with fucking real desires. And we've never had one of those exclusive relationships. If I want to fuck another woman, that's just what I want to do."

Jayne sighed again. She raised her arm from Cath's waist and ran her fingers through the thick gel in Cath's short hair, significantly shorter than Jayne's own quite short cut.

"I love you, Cath," she said. "I love you more than anyone else I've ever loved. But can't you see why I might not be so happy thinking of another woman's body pressed to yours? Or another woman's fingers and tongue where mine have just been?"

"Or me doing the same thing, you mean?" sneered Cath. "Fucking get used to it, right! That's just what I'm about. If you don't like it, find some lover who'll stick to you like some heterosexual wifey."

Jayne sometimes thought that was exactly what she'd prefer. Most of her gay friends of her own age had more or less settled down. There were no extra-partner relationships that muddied their relationships. At no time in Jayne's life had any of her previous partners had been so openly unfaithful. Sure, there were the few occasions of infidelity. Veronica, whom she'd lived with for more than five years, often bore evidence of scratches and strange bruises that gave evidence of dalliances beyond Jayne's loving arms, but at least she'd had the courtesy to deny anything had happened. Jayne had been unfaithful once or twice, when she was in her early twenties, when the excitement of Sapphic love was still new and urgent to her, and she was hungry for more than what a steady relationship could offer. But there was something very different about Cath's blatancy. Perhaps it was just that Jayne was getting too old to really understand how a younger woman might feel. Or maybe the younger generation were just less inhibited than women were in her youth.

Cath got up from the bed and moved over to the dressing table that dominated one end of the bedroom. She pulled up a chair and sorted out the make-up she'd apply. Like Jayne, Cath didn't wear a great deal of make-up. Some natural-looking lipstick and perhaps some discreet eyeliner. Neither woman viewed herself as a femme, but then neither were they exactly butch.

Jayne got up and stood behind Cath. She put her arms around Cath's slender shoulders and nuzzled her nose in Cath's short hair. The smell was totally different from that in Cath's pubes, that was for sure. But Jayne enjoyed both very different scents.

"You know I love you, Cath. I don't mean to ever make you feel restricted in any way."

"You're just saying that, Jayne. I know you hate it. And I've got my eyes on a real pretty girl. Lyena, she's called. I think she might be Russian or something. She was at the Pink Pussycat last time I was there. She's got the most delicious smile. Her hair's a bit long, but it's a kind of russet brown. And her accent's real sweet. I want to put my nose right between her legs."

"You do?" asked Jayne. Why did Cath have to torment her so?

"I want her fist right up me. Her hands are tiny. Her fingers kinda taper but her fingernails are short. I checked that. I'll even let her prod my arse. Would you like that, Jayne? Lyena's fingers up my arse?"

"You know I'd rather you didn't," said Jayne, nuzzling Cath's pixie-like ears. They were ever so slightly pointed and she loved the folds inside them. She let her tongue wander onto one of the small earrings Cath wore.