Fingers And Tongues

'Moving Finger' and 'More Fingers' are the first chapters about my relationship with Pamela, a senior science colleague at the girls' grammar school in which I first taught. Now Chapter 3.

*

By the time Pamela's hands were sufficiently healed from the operations for her to resume teaching, we had orgasmed together many times, thanks to my busy fingers. I had loved it, but was eagerly anticipating the possibilities when she recovered. She was going to take my lesbian virginity, for if defloration consists of penile penetration, I was technically no longer virgin. I had had intercourse with three males, but I had not experienced the totality of sex with a woman. The first intromission had not caused undue discomfort, as vigorous exercise and tampons had long since destroyed my hymen. I may write about those heterosexual associations sometime, but it is my first love, the wonderful Pamela, that I want to celebrate now.

She was over twenty years older, and a virgin in the sense of not having been penetrated by a penis. She had never wanted that, though plenty of opportunities had arisen during World War Two as a Women's Auxiliary Air Force officer. She had suffered great frustration as a girl and young woman, for she had a powerful libido but little notion of how to manage it. She had masturbated almost daily, but had felt ashamed and guilty about it. Feelings expunged by her first affair, with a fellow WAAF officer who understood her own sexuality and Pamela's sexual potential. That had actually been the most exciting part of her life. The years since had been rather dull, though she had had subsequent lovers, some amongst her colleagues.

I arrived at a good moment. Pamela had no current lover, and was feeling rather middle-aged, even past it, and the chance to enjoy the admiring adoration of someone she could initiate into the lesbian mysteries was timely. And what could have been more fortunate for me?

Since we were in different departments, with the science teachers keeping themselves apart, having their refreshments in their labs, we didn't come across each other much in school. This was just as well, or we would have found it difficult not to signal our passion. Even so, at least one person suspected: Janet, our physical education colleague, who approached me one morning when I was alone in the little kitchen off the staffroom.

It was my turn to put on the giant kettle and set out the mugs for mid-morning drinks. Janet stood alongside me, and I was acutely aware of her, as everyone was, because she had great presence. She was dressed in her usual outfit of a tight, white aertex shirt and a short black sports-skirt barely concealing her capacious navy knickers. Under the shirt there was a bra which seemed to have more and broader straps than anyone else's, and cups made of buckram. Before the advent of the sports-bra, this was presumably to restrain her D-cup breasts from jouncing about when she demonstrated exercises or ran on the hockey pitch.

She threw an arm round my waist and said, 'Good of you to...visit... our Pam in the sick-house so much. Meant you didn't get much holiday.'

It was best to be straightforward with Janet. 'It was fine. I enjoyed it.'

She pulled me closer. 'As did she. Very much.'

'Well, that was good, then.'

As we were much of height her left hip was jammed against mine. 'She's not as tough as you might think,' she said. 'Been a bit lonely since her last...friend...left. Don't want to see her get hurt.'

'Nor do I,' I assured her.

The hand round my waist slid downwards and gripped my right buttock. 'Good arse,' she said. 'Nice overhang.'

'Rather like yours,' I said.

We had, apparently, said enough. I had been approved, and she and I were now allies. This is a good moment to remark, in fact, that she was universally loved for her generosity and kindness, which I was eventually to experience, and intimately.

Pamela and I scheduled our first complete love-making for a week-end early in the term, when we could be sure that neither of us was, as she mockingly expressed it, having a visit from auntie. We planned to go away to a distant quiet spot, to make sure no-one called on either of us, and that no-one in our town had a reason to wonder why we were together out of school. There was nothing illegal about lesbianism, but lesbians were still regarded with suspicion and distaste, even fear, so that it did not help your career, especially working in girls' schools, to be so categorised. Like gay men, lesbians were supposedly promiscuous and insatiable, partly, it was supposed, because they were not being penetrated, the penis being perceived as the panacea for their mistaken orientation.

We booked a twin room in a small country hotel for Friday and Saturday nights, and make our way there, separately, on different trains. The secrecy was part of the adventure. Pamela remarked that it was strange and exciting at her time of life to be conducting herself like a spy. It reminded her of the War, when she and her lover had had to be devious about their rendezvous, or 'randyvous,' as she put it.

At last we were together in our pleasant room, with its view into chestnut trees with their great leaves turning, its puffy dark blue eiderdowns on the beds, and a massive wardrobe with sagging doors to hold our few clothes. We were actually a little shy with each, laughing because of it, hesitant. Free from the restrictions of the hospital, free to do as we wished, free to fulfil our fantasies about each other, we were a little inhibited.

Then we moved together, embraced and kissed, tenderly, almost without passion. We needed to find each other in these new circumstances. As the kiss developed into open-mouthed exploration with questing tongues, our hands began to roam across our bodies over our clothing, smoothing and gently gripping. We stroked backs down to bottoms and moulded the cheeks. After a while we moved apart a little to allow hands to hold breasts. Then we stopped kissing and caressed each other's faces, gazing into each other's eyes, amused that she was taller than me, so that I was reaching up a little to brush the hair back from her forehead and standing on tip-toe to kiss it.

Eventually we withdrew a little from each other, apparently having gone as far as we could for the moment, and agreed that we would go for dinner, saying nothing about what might happen after that. What we ate I don't remember, but I know we talked easily, were silent easily, looked into each other's faces with pleasure. We felt, paradoxically, like an old married couple, taking a weekend break or a second honeymoon, in no hurry to go to bed, but contentedly aware that soon we would go upstairs and celebrate our partnership.

Once back in the bedroom there was no more shyness. Silently, it was agreed that Pamela was going to minister to me, I was to be receptive. She began to undress me without haste, but, being a talker, with commentary. 'I do like this blouse. Blue suits you. Off it comes. Perfect, that bra. So snug in there, and what a sweet valley. I've got to put my fingers down there. Smooth and warm! I've so much looked forward to seeing your breasts come free. So firm! Not much inframammary fold -- wonderful word -- let me lift them. Much heavier than mine. Nipples much bigger. Not little rods at all. Pyramids more like, but flat tops.'

She hefted my breasts, pushed them together and held them apart, admiring. 'I've got to taste...Lovely. They smell of cornflower. What about this skirt? Zip at the side. I'll take it over your head. Pretty slip. Over the head with that. Wearing knickers, then. I did wonder. Just to give me the pleasure of taking them off. Down with them. What have we here? Bosky little copse. No, a little uncut, sun-dried heather moor. Let me breathe it in -- hmm! Seaside and cedar. Lile down now, darling. That's right. I'll just strip off.'

At last I was going to see my first love's nakedness. She was wearing a flowered frock, large dark roses on a mustard-coloured background -- I can see it now. She stepped out of it, and out of a full-length cream-colours petticoat, and there she was in her bra and knickers, both of which were much smaller than mine. The bra cups were shallow, but when she drew them off, her breasts were firm, with no inframammary fold at all. They were like big tear-drops, with small, light brown areolas like little bumps, the nipples hardly proud of them. They were so charming, so vulnerable, that tears came to my eyes.

'They aren't so terrible, are they?' she said, noticing the tears and knowing very well the cause. She laughed. '"Small but serviceable." That's what my WAAF used to say.'

She paused a moment. 'She used to say, "Second Officer Pamela you're improperly dressed. Get those blackouts off." That's what we called the awful navy-blue knickers we had.'

The ones she was wearing were neat, tight and mustard-coloured. 'Matching, of course,' she said, pushing them down onto her thighs. 'You've felt this little pelt,' she said, 'But this is what it looks like.' And it, too, was charming, neatly defined, arching over her well-hidden mons, mid-brown and curly.

She pushed the knickers down to her feet and stepped out of them, at once pirouetting and peeping with mock coyness over her shoulder. 'Now we're getting to the bottom,' she said, and the only word I can think of for that is -- charming. The crevice began in the small of her back, so that the slender cheeks spread and plumped out in elegant curves, suddenly tucking under and making a deep gluteal sulcus, which I wanted to hook my fingers into.

'Well,' she said, turning round again and ruffling the pussy-pelt, 'Now you've seen it all, you'll probably want to throw on your duds and scarper.'

'Please, Miss Pampuss,' I said, 'Get that delicious bott over here.'

She lay on top of me, breasts to breasts, mons to mons, and I reached round and down her back to hook my fingers into those creases below the cheeks. We kissed each other all over the face and locked our lips together for a long time. Then she began to glide down me, kissing and licking her way over my chest, onto my breasts, lipping my nipples.

'Little rods, they are, but big little rods,' she said. 'Like little organ-stops.' And she kissed on down my stomach and into my fuzz.

I was already lubricating and my vestibule was suffused and opening. My labia were swelling and parting, and her tongue found a ready runway up and down, homing in on my erected clitoris.

She paused and said, 'I think you like me. You seem to like what I'm doing, anyway.'

'Pam,' I said, 'You know I love you.'

'Yes, you do, and you're going to show it by giving me your orgasm.'

'Only if you love me,' I said.

'All right. Over to you.'

'You didn't say it.'

'I'm going to say it now,' and she resumed the licking, spreading her mouth across my labia. It was certainly eloquent. She slipped three fingers into my gaping vagina and stirred it into a cauldron of super-heated sensation.

It was looking down onto her head, moving between my thighs as she plied her tongue, that tipped me over, because I knew she was declaring her love. I said, I believe you. And to prove it -'

The orgasm seemed to begin as a tingling in every little muscle, just below the skin and move inwards. My breasts became volcanoes, erupting through the nipples. My clitoris grew into a glowing brand and my labia ballooned into ethereal ecstasy.

Eventually she took away her now motionless mouth and slid up my body to kiss me deeply and tenderly, sharing my cunnydew. So that I learned then and still believe that the sharing of a woman's fluids with another woman is a communion of souls, yet holier when both have gathered from each other's sacred well.

We rested a little, till I said, 'Pam, I have to see and kiss that sweet bud I plucked at so much. I loved it when you came, but now I need to see you come. I've never seen a naked woman come, and you're not just a woman I want to see come, you're my beloved woman, and seeing you come will be the most important moment of my life.'

'Well, you know I'm a virgin in one way,' she said, 'As you were in your way.'

'I'm jealous of those other women you've come with,' I admitted.

'I'm jealous of those men who've been inside you,' she admitted. 'I wanted you completely virgin, for me.'

'You were virgin for your WAAF, but she wasn't, was she?'

'Oh no. She was experienced. Or I wouldn't be here with you now. Think of that, darling. Without her I wouldn't have known my true nature, or what to do about it. And the women I had later were so sweet, and I so much needed them.'

'What about Janet? Did you and she -.?'

'Yes, we did, now and then, when one of us was desperate. We were never in love, but we're friends, and friends help each other without hesitation. She's very kind, and happy for me now you and I have found each other. Don't be jealous of her.'

'But you said you and she weren't lovers,' I objected.

'No, we were never

lovers

-- we were two women having sex, easing our frustration.'

'We are lovers, then?'

'Yes, we are, and I want you to get on with the lovering now.'

We turned over, so I was on top, and I wriggled down far enough to take most of her right breast into to my mouth. She said, 'Go on swallow it. My nipple's down your throat, anyway. Chew gently! That's right. Try the other one.'

I released it and said, 'Do you like them sucked? I've been looking forward to having them in every possible way. I like to cram them into pussy, stick the nipples up my bottom.'

'Yes, all of that. They're small but suckled is better than sucked. Swallow the other one, first, though.'

I determinedly crammed the left one into my mouth, then released it far enough to pinch the nipple with my lips, then draw it back into my mouth and suck hard as I squeezed it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth. Which made her voice shake as she said, 'Pity I didn't have babies, I'd have had orgasms breast-feeding.'

I let go to ask, 'Could you come from my sucking?'

'Possibly, but I want to come from your sucking my little man now.'

'You're a good clitoralady, you are,' I said, moving down her body between her legs. 'Open wide.'

She opened wide and I said, 'Your fuzzy-wuzzy is so pretty, so neat, and the way it arches up and over is delightful, and you don't mow it, do you?'

'No, that's how it grew when I was twelve and it's been the same ever since. Well, maybe a bit shaggier nowadays. Glad you like it. Now get your nose in it.'

But before I did that I had to admire her tidy and hairless pussy, for the pubic hair really was strictly pubic, leaving the labia naked. The outer lips were neatly defined, rounded ridges, almost concealing the inner lips, which were very small, so that her vulval slit was a straight seam, which, now she was aroused, was beginning to open. The northernmost inch of the crease, with the clitoris, snuggled into the lowest fringe of the hair, as I had noted when masturbating her in the hospital. [I have seen a few pussies since then, but Pamela's was the neatest, most innocent-looking one I ever saw].

Now I put my nose into the fuzz, which brought my mouth right onto her vulva, of course, and the feel of those two pairs of labia under my lips was wonderful, and I lapped at them, like a cat at some cream. Cream there was, too, for she was leaking a little, and the scent of the ensemble was heady, a blend of the sea, hot quim and cinnamon.

'That's good,' she said, 'But it's the clittyman that does the trick, and, please, do it soon. It'll be quick, I promise.'

Without more ado, therefore, I slid my tongue up the half-open seam and jammed it against her clitoris, which was as neat as the rest of her. It was firm, defined and lifting clear of the vulva, offering itself, indeed, to the seeking tongue.

'That's the way,' she said, 'Press hard. Last thing, thumb in the thingummy, finger-tip in bott, and then pincer.'

She lifted her bottom to let my hand slide under and I quickly had finger and thumb in position. Intuitively I synchronised the squeezing and the licking and she began to draw and expel deep breaths. 'Slower now,' she gasped. 'Slower...here I come, darling, here...I...come.'

Her bottom gripped my finger and she went rigid, holding her breath a long moment, then let it out in a great whoosh. 'Lovely, lovely, lovely,' she murmured. 'Kiss.'

I moved back up her body and for the second time we shared the communion of woman-cum, our first tasting still present in our mouths. Now we were complete, fully lovers. We slept, to wake and consummate our loving again, and again, till, by morning we were, as she put it, 'all comed out.' Not surprisingly, we were ravenous and thirsty and ate en enormous breakfast, planning what to do with the day. But when we got back upstairs to put on walking gear we simply undressed again and began a further round of love-making, so sensitised by now that the lightest touch on nipple and clit triggered orgasm. She said, 'I always was quick, but now I'm instantaneous, and we have another night and half a day.'

I don't know if there is a world record for the number of female orgasms in twenty-four hours, but if there is I think we must have run it close. And how were we to conceal our liaison back at school? Well, were didn't from Janet, who cornered me in the kitchen again, and simply said, 'Been away? Congrats. Sauce for the geese and cream for the pussies. Be happy!'