Beware of Gees

(But It Depends on the Gifts)

1

Following the Virgin Whirlwind in Spain and the Double in the Canaries, I tried Mallorca the following year. This time the linguistic dimension was less in evidence, though I was dealing with another, this time young, novice.

I'm not sure that term was used in 1997, but I was stalked, or, given the build of the stalker, 'storked' would also be appropriate. For when she towered over me at my table at breakfast on the second day, her height and movement at once suggested the stately birds I had enjoyed all across Mainland Europe.

She was at least six feet two tall, much of which consisted of lean, muscular leg, revealed by a very short, dark green skirt. Above that, there was a slim waist, and a trim bosom pushing at the confines of a creased, tight, white, short-sleeved shirt.

'Please, I can sit here,' she stated in deep tones, folding herself into the chair beside me and peering intently, intensely, at me through green-tinted spectacles perched on a long, thin nose. This and the narrow cheeks and circumflex eyebrows added to the ciconine appearance, completed by the crest of black hair.

At first, I thought she was possibly older than me, because of an impression of weariness, and there was nothing immediately youthful about her. She was one of those girls who seem middle-aged after the menarche. Then I realised that she was actually a very young, probably naïve lassie, who had spent her life so far in some abstruse activity in seclusion. She was also staring at me openly in a juvenile manner. She put down the plate of eggs and tomatoes she was carrying and held out a hand. 'Chloe. You're Norma?' She seemed to know I was.

I allowed her to wrap long fingers round mine, and said, 'You know me?'

'Not know, no, but know about,' she said, tightening and relaxing her grip. That seemed to be all she wanted to say for the moment, because she lifted the eggs on to some bread and began to eat, as if this were a necessary task which had to be accomplished before something more important would be dealt with.

I was amused, curious, and content to await further information. Meanwhile I ate muesli and drank orange-juice.

She disposed of her meal, pushed the plate away and drank tea. Then she fixed me with a look, like that of a stork eyeing a tasty frog and said, 'I'm hoping to know you, because I think you can help me.' Her thin lips spread into a confident, disarming smile.

I asked how she knew 'about' me.

'An artist told me. But I can't say who, because they made me promise not to.'

It is one of the conventions amongst the artists whose erotic works I buy and sell that no identities are revealed without consent, so I was surprised and annoyed that my identity had been disclosed. 'That shouldn't have happened,' I said.

'I know, but I bullied them till they told me. They realised I needed you, too.'

I drank coffee waited for more, but she waited for me to speak. I studied what was visible of her above the table.

She was probably under twenty, head poked forward, shoulders slouched, chest hollowed. Any deportment lessons had been wasted, as I also suspected her knees were wide apart under the table. She was clearly not much concerned about her appearance.

'What did this nameless artist tell you that made you think I could help you?'

She answered this so quickly it was clear she had prepared for it. 'They said you could teach me sex,' she informed all present loudly.

'Well,' I said, 'I think I'll have another coffee first.'

'Let me get it,' she said, grabbing my cup. 'Stay here.'

'It's all right,' I said, 'I won't run away. Not yet, anyway.'

While she was away I wondered quite what she expected. Surely her mother or biology teacher had done the birds-and-bees talk? Well, that would actually not be much use, since the sexual behaviours of avifauna and insects doesn't much resemble those of homo sapiens.

When she returned, she put down the cup with a shaking hand, spilling the coffee into the saucer. I thanked her and she folded herself into her chair and slid it closer.

'How old are you, Chloe?' I asked.

'I am adult, almost nineteen.'

'Well, then,' I said, 'Remember, when you were around twelve or thirteen your breasts began to grow and your periods started?'

'Oh yes,' she said, 'My mother told me all about tampons and all that. I've researched all the facts about sexual intercourse, of course.' Then she delivered another rehearsed utterance, with a prepared grin. 'The key fact about me is that I've been more interested in mensuration than menstruation.'

I was evidently supposed to ask what that meant. I said, 'You're a geek.'

'Or a freak. I've only been with a boy once, and that was an experiment which failed.'

I drank my coffee and considered the situation. Did I want to spend some or all of my vacation introducing nearly two metres of near-virgin to the joys of sex? 'Let's take a walk,' I said, 'And you can tell me what you want from me. No promises I'll oblige. Meet me outside in twenty minutes in trainers and a hat.'

2

She was there, dressed as before, yards of leg below that tight skimpy skirt, hunched over, but properly shod and covered. She gave me a nervous smile and fidgeted with her hands.

'Off we go, then,' I said, stepping out. 'This is called "outdoors," and we're going to move through it. You look like you've spent so long in classrooms and labs that outside is just what happens between buildings.'

She did titter and said, 'I haven't been out much lately -- well, ever, I suppose. Too busy working for exams. I waited for my A Level results before coming away.'

'You got three A grades,' I said.

'Four.'

'Maths, Advanced Maths, Further Maths, and Way-Beyond Maths.'

'That sort of thing. I got my university place.'

'You're going to study maths so difficult only ten other people can understand it.'

'That sort of thing,' she said.

'But there's this other business called "real life" you don't know much about.'

She kept pace, swinging those endless legs as if having consciously to manage them. 'I do know some things,' she said.

'Tell me what you know and what you want to know,' I said as we swung along a path through an orange grove.

'I don't much like boys. Well, they're all right, but I don't want to fuck them.'

'You had sex with one boy and now you think you're a lesbian.'

'Actually, I've always fancied girls, if I fancied anyone.'

'But you've never had sex with one, and that artist told you the best way to find out if you liked sex with women was to ask good old Norma to initiate you into the mysteries, even more arcane than the highest mathematics.'

'Something like that.'

'If this artist was female, why didn't she offer herself?'

'You can't catch me that way,' she said. 'Regardless of the gender they said you were the ideal person -- well, woman.'

We walked on some way, the sea on our left, across some scrubby headlands. Then she couldn't keep silent any longer. 'You're angry, aren't you? You're not going to -- you don't find me attractive. Well, I'm used to that. Geeky beanpole Chloe, about as sexy as a skeleton.'

I reached out, as I halted, grabbed her by the arm and turned her towards me. 'Do you know the meaning of your name?' I asked. 'It means "green shoot" in Greek, to do with spring and fertility. Just how green are you, Chloe? Had you thought of the other vital question?'

'Oh, I'm pretty sure I'm lesbian all right.'

'Not that one, though that is pretty relevant.'

She was puzzled, so I prompted, 'You're the mensurator. Can you add up to two?'

She still didn't follow. I took her hand and led her down the short, rocky cliff to the beach. There was no-one in sight. 'Undress,' I commanded.

'You want to see me naked?' And she threw the hat on the sand, wrestled the shirt over her head and faced me in a defiant posture, as if expecting a fight. Her small breasts were constrained by an inadequate, and grubby bra. 'Wanna see my baby boobs?' And she pulled the shoulder-straps down, extracted her arms and then dragged the thing up her chest and over her head. 'It kept coming undone so I sewed up the catch,' she explained. 'Well, such as they are, that's all there is.'

'They're pretty,' I said. 'Firm and neat, and those nipples are delightful, the way they point outwards like that?'

'You actually like them?'

'They're charming. Now the skirt. Which turned out to be restrained by a safety-pin. 'It's my school one, I've had three years. Bit small now. She forced it down her legs and stepped out of it. 'Now you can have a laugh.'

Her knickers were washed-out green, painfully tight in the elastic.

'Didn't your mother ever buy you any non-uniform clothes?' I asked.

'She would've done, but I made her save the money towards my university fees.'

'Can you get those off without a shoe-horn?' I asked.

She pulled and pushed at them to work them downwards, revealing red grooves from the waist and leg elastic. It was a struggle to get them over her trainers, but at last she was able to fling them away. Then she had to resist the urge to hide her pussy with her hands.

Its dark pelt was soft-looking, spread across her mons and groin by the tight knicks.

So now she stood before me, long-limbed, lean, all muscle and bone. I walked round to view her rear. 'Sweet bottom,' I said. 'Tight, larger than I expected.'

'Fat ugly bum!' she hissed.

'Oh no,' I said. 'It's beautiful.'

'You mean that? You like it, and you like my little boobies?'

'Chloe,' I said, 'You are a splendid young woman. Tall and thin, yes, but with deliciously womanly breasts and bottom.'

'You do find me attractive, then?'

'Yes, my dear green girl, but there is the other question.' I undressed, awaiting her appraisal. I said, 'This is a woman in her prime. Still menstruating, but on the verge of over-ripe. What do you think?' I turned slowly round and round.

'You're fantastic,' she said.

'But answer the question,' I said. 'Come and hold my breasts. Hug me. Run your hands over my bum.'

Shyly, tentatively, she gathered me to her. The height difference meant that her breasts rested on mine. Those long fingers spread across my cheeks. I held her round her narrow waist, and bade her, 'Kiss me.'

She bent her face down and felt for my lips with hers, awkwardly at first. I waited for her to insert her tongue and eventually she did, becoming more insertive as time passed, and the kiss went on and on, as if she didn't know how or whether to stop, and what to do next.

When the kiss ended, I said, 'Can you answer now?'

'Yes. I see. Do I find you attractive?'

'Do you want to make love with me?' I asked.

'Yes, but I don't know how.'

'You do, you know,' I said. 'What do you want to do? What do you want me to do? Don't answer now. This is not a good place to start. Too much sun, and we don't want sand in the twat. Just think about it, while we get dressed and walk back for lunch. After that -- well, we'll see. But don't put on those awful knickers. We'll give those a decent burial.'

She picked them up. I took them from her and sniffed the gusset. There was not much of a scent, but enough to relish. 'Did you ever smell your own?' I asked, 'Or anyone else's?'

'Both,' she said. 'No-one's ever asked me that before. I smelt my aunt's. I liked it.'

'Lesbians usually find panty-perfume arousing,' I said. 'Try mine.'

She applied her nose and breathed deeply. 'Different from mine.'

We dressed. I dug a hole in the sand and we buried her bloomers and placed a rock over the spot. 'Your schooldays are over,' I said. 'You're a big grown-up woman now.'

We walked back to the hotel hand-in-hand. As we went in I said, 'You're not committed to anything, big grown-up Chloe.'

'Neither are you,' she said, giving my hand a squeeze and releasing it.

3

We lunched together, talking quietly. She told me how she had fallen in love with numbers as a little girl and was mensurating obsessively, long before menstruating. She could hardly spare the time for other subjects, though she enjoyed the sciences, especially physics, because they were maths-based. Her bedroom shelves groaned under the weight of books about her favourite studies, purchased with her pocket- and present-money. She was isolated from other children, sharing none of their interests, including, when older, dating, sexual activities, pop music, teenage fashion.

Until, in secondary school, she came across a boy as committed to all things numerical as herself. They paired up for lab work, telephoned each other to check homework and the latest developments in the sciences, though they took no interest in each other otherwise. Chloe never even asked herself if she liked Brian. He was, anyway, much shorter and plumper than she was, his incipient moustache rendering him rather comic.

He was clever, but not as gifted as Chloe, and it was largely her tuition, as they collaborated, which gained him his good GCSE and A Level grades. He was, however, ahead of her in the physics and she owed her success in that subject to him.

And it was that which led to their very recent, unsatisfactory, intercourse, for he somehow exacted that from her as payment, despite his owing far more to her than she to him. Probably the only reason he was able to penetrate her was because it was a hot day and she was sweating inside those knicker-constrictors. She felt almost nothing, except a mild contempt for him and disgust at herself. She was never going to see him again, anyway. At least the occasion confirmed she was probably lesbian, and she followed her usual researcher's bent and sought out her artist relative for advice. Later I did discover the identity of that individual, but didn't divulge my finding.

And how did Chloe know where to track me down? The same source. I always kept my artists aware of my whereabouts. One or two even contacted me while I was away. She was lucky to be able to book into the same hotel at the same time, though.

As we finished lunch I said, 'I'm free this afternoon, if you really want me.'

'Oh, yes, I do. I know I do because this morning I went all wet when we kissed. But do you want me?'

'Chloe,' I said, 'I came on holiday with the idea of looking for a woman, and this time the woman actually came looking for me. Am I going to say No?'

'But you might not want the woman when you saw her, if she was long and thin and had spent so much of her life on learning she knew almost nothing about sex.'

'Gawky and geeky, but also beautiful. And you weren't the only one who went wet.'

She actually blushed and hung her head. Then she rallied. 'That's a Yes, then.'

'Come on,' I said. 'Let's take the next step. Your room or mine?'

It was hers, because she felt a little more in charge there. We sat side by side on the bed and I said, 'You're in charge. Time to test any theory you have. This is the hands-on lab-work.'

'I'm nervous,' she said. 'I've never been in this lab before. Usually we were told how to conduct the experiment, what equipment to use.'

'Well, you know what equipment there is, and you're going to experiment in finding out ways of using it.'

'Can you help me get started?'

'All right. Do you want us full dressed? Well, you aren't, of course, since your knickers are now either flotsam or jetsam, I forget the difference.'

'Never heard of those, but I'll just --' And she quickly stood, stripped, took off the spectacles, and sat down beside me again. 'I'd like you naked again, too.'

'Fine,' I said, and waited.

'Oh, I see. Or rather I don't see, so I'll undress you. I've never undressed anyone. Can you stand up?'

I stood and she removed my clothes, then said, 'Let's lie down. That'll be better.'

We lay down, facing and she began to kiss me, more boldly this time, at the same time squeezing my breasts. When she withdrew her lips she said, 'I do know that these feel good if they're played with,' and she addressed her long fingers to my nipples. 'Does that feel nice? I can see it does. Would you do mine? Oh, yes, that's much better than doing my own.'

'There's more you can do,' I suggested. 'You can't have done this for yourself.' I bent my head to draw a nipple into my mouth and worked it with my tongue.

'It's a bit strange at first, like breast-feeding without any milk. But it does feel nice! And you can suck one and rub the other.'

'I want to do yours, too,' she said. 'They're pretty big. Does that mean they have more feeling than smaller ones?' She applied her mouth to my already erected nipples.

'No, it makes no difference whether your bosoms are big or little. Some large ones don't feel as much as some small ones.'

She sucked one hard and squeezed the other for some time. Then she said, 'This is amazing. I'm actually touching another woman's breasts. Am I making love to you?'

'You certainly are,' I said. 'There's a sweet tingling sensation in my breasts.'

'I felt that, too,' she said. 'But I know there's more we can do.'

'There is, yes.'

'I know there's this little thing between the legs. The clitoris. I read about it.'

'Did you never touch yours?' I asked.

'Oh, yes, I did a lot of rubbing it, but it just felt rather silly, because it was just me doing it. I think it only works if you think it's someone else doing it.'

'So, you've never had an orgasm,' I said.

'Well, actually, I have, a few times. Once it was when I was on a bus sitting opposite this girl at my school I had a big crush on when I was younger. The movement of the bus helped me keep pressing my legs together while I was looking at her and thinking of her touching me.'

'Was it good?' I asked. 'Did you know what it was?'

'It was lovely, but I had a job not to show what was happening. She never knew. But, yes, I knew what it was, from my reading. I tried to remember what happened later, but my trouble is I've got no imagination at all. If it's not real I can't imagine it.'

'Is this real enough for you?' I asked, taking the initiative and starting a long, lingual kissing session, which left us both breathless with excitement.

'Yes, it's real,' she said. 'So, I think it's time to touch clitoris. I did have a look at mine in a mirror, but there wasn't much to see. Can I look at yours?'

I opened my legs wide and she wriggled down the bed to inspect my vulva, and she said, 'It's hidden. Can I open your...they're called labia, aren't they?'

'You're in charge, Chloe,' I said. 'You do anything you want to.'

Gently she parted my inner lips and stared hard. 'That must be it, right at the top. It's a sort of little bump in the groove of your...vulva. That's the word. I'm going to touch it.' She pressed a finger-tip onto my clit. 'Gosh, it's hard. I suppose mine went hard on that bus and other times. I'm not hurting, am I? No, I think you like it. Is this how to do it?' She stroked the finger-tip down it again and again. 'Yes, yes, that's good, isn't it? You're moving your bum up and down. That's so wonderful. If I keep doing this would it give you an orgasm?'

'Yes,' I breathed. 'It certainly would.'

'Shall I go on? Is there anything else I can do to help?'

'You've got another hand,' I gasped, 'With nice long fingers.'

'I think I understand. Instead of the man's thing.'

'No,' I corrected her. 'The woman's things.'

For answer she slid a finger into me and I growled with the joy of it. Without prompting she withdrew the finger and pushed in two fingers together. Some instinct then led her to slide them in and out, while the other hand went on with my clit.

'How wet it gets,' she said. 'Mine got wet whenever I saw that girl I fancied. I think if I go on like this you'll have an orgasm. I do hope so. I so much want to make you have one. Shall I do it to you?'

For answer, as the climax swept through me, I ground out, 'I'm cumming!'