The Sewing Group

The blast of the car horn jolted her. Some old codger was giving her the finger. "Men!" she thought, "impatient arseholes." All except her Jim. He had been wonderful, right up until the last. Until he had passed away, peacefully that night. How long ago was it? Two years? He had slipped away while she held his hand tightly.

They had shared twenty-five wonderful years of marriage. It was hard to imagine a life without him, impossible to imagine that any man could every replace him. He had tried to reassure her from his hospital bed, "You'll find another man, my love." She had shook her head. "I just want you to be happy, tell me you'll try." Eyes watering, she had agreed to make some sort of attempt, doomed to failure though she was sure it would be. No-one could replace her Jim.

The black cloud had eventually drifted away, or at least dissipated somewhat. She had shaken herself back into life, re-visiting friends, looking for something to fill in the lonely hours. A quilting group, that would do it. She loved making quilts, in particular the traditional patterns of the Amish.

Karen pulled into the parking lot, grabbed her quilt bag, and found the meeting place. Of course, everyone there was female, who ever heard of male quilters? She was content, no worries about some randy old man trying to hit on her. Despite what Jim had said, she was happy to have lunches with her friends, quilt, and keep an eye on her grandchildren when needed.

The buzz of conversation kept the place alive, fabric was draped all over the tables, piles of fat quarters abounded in bags, and out for show.

"That's a great quilt!" one of the other ladies said. "Hi! I'm Paula. You're new here aren't you? Don't remember seeing you around."

"I've been a few times," said Karen cautiously, "over the last couple of months."

"Ah, that explains it! I've been away on holidays for a bit." Paula had an infectious smile. She looked keenly at Karen, staring straight at her breasts for a moment. "Oh, excuse me! Just trying to spot your name badge."

Karen pulled her cardigan aside to reveal "Karen".

Paula's eyes flicked back to her face. "Hi Karen, pleased to meet you." She held out her hand.

*

Karen had found Paula's sense of humour refreshing, and also found that, unlike a lot of the quilters present, Paula would actually pause and listen to what she had to say. She appreciated that. They sat next to each other in the following meetings, laughing together and enjoying the sewing, the show-and-tell sessions, and each others' company.

Paula had asked, "What's your husband doing, while you are here? Where does he work?"

"He died a couple of years ago," replied Karen, a shadow passing over her face.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know." Paula briefly put her arms around Karen's shoulders in sympathy.

"That's OK, I am gradually becoming used to it," Karen replied, comforted by the arm around her. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of another person, which magnified the effect. Her eyes felt a bit damp.

Paula removed her arm, leaving Karen wishing it had stayed a moment longer.

"And

your

husband?" Karen inquired.

"I never married, couldn't find the right person."

"I'm surprised, there must have been lots of men who would love to marry you."

"Yes, perhaps, but it never worked out somehow." Paula looked wistful. "There was someone, a while back, but ..." She looked off into the distance, then down at her hands, disconnected from the present for a moment. "What lovely fabric! What are you going to make with that?"

Karen realized she had touched a sensitive spot. No more talk of husbands today.

*

Over the next few months they had met at the quilters group. Then a few of them arranged to meet in each others' homes. Coffee was served, cookies were brought, and good conversation was had by all. Lots of it.

Paula suggested that Karen go to a concert with her. Beethoven piano concertos. One of Karen's favourites, in fact. She readily agreed.

The concert was fantastic, the pianist wonderful. Afterwards they had supper and coffee at a small café.

"Found a new man yet?" Karen asked, feeling relaxed but stimulated by the beautiful music.

"Not yet," Paula replied wistfully. "I'm seeing someone from time to time, but I don't think that they view me as romantic material."

"Oh that's too bad! Men can be such pigs!"

Paula hummed acknowledgement. "It's hard when you fall for someone, but they they just regard you as a friend. But how about you? With your looks, you must have half the town after you."

Karen blushed. She wasn't used to being called good-looking. "No, nothing like that. In fact I'm glad we are friends Paula, I would be lonely if I wasn't seeing you every few weeks."

A pained expression passed Paula's face.

"What is it?" Karen asked, alarmed.

"Nothing, I value our friendship too, very much." Paula reached out to briefly touch Karen's hand. Smiled into her eyes.

After the coffee they drove back to Paula's place together, as they had taken one car.

"Come inside for a glass of liqueur?" asked Paula? "It finished a bit sooner than I expected. And I don't have to get up early tomorrow."

"Sure," Karen agreed, happy to put off going back to her own house, now with only Jim's memories in it.

Paula lit the gas fire, as the evening was a bit cool, and poured them both a drink. They sat side by side on a fairly snug couch, bodies touching slightly. Karen felt a bit uncomfortable at their closeness, but there was nowhere else really to sit. She worried that Paula might resent her touch, but Paula seemed happy.

Paula reached for a recent quilting magazine on the nearby coffee table. "Seen this? There are some great new designs."

"No I haven't got that one yet."

"Here, take a look at this pattern." Paula spread the magazine out over their knees, turning the pages slowly and admiring the fabrics and creativity of the submissions.

Karen was feeling a little intoxicated. The glow from the fire, the glow from the liqueur spreading through her body, the memory of the concert, and now the warmth of the touch of another body against hers. She felt a little fluttering inside, it was almost like being on a date. Going out to a concert, eating out afterwards, going back to someone's house, touching someone. "Don't be ridiculous!" she told herself, "get a bloody grip on yourself." She clenched her teeth, and thought, "trouble is, you haven't had a man in your bed for so long you are starting to feel a bit frisky. Maybe it's time to visit a dating web site."

Wrenching herself back to the present, she noticed that Paula had rested her hand on Karen's leg and was lightly stroking it. Startled, she looked up only to find Paula's eyes locked on her breasts.

Discovered, Paula leaned across and planted a light kiss on Karen's cheek. "Thanks for the wonderful evening," she whispered.

Karen wrenched herself away, stood up. "What's going on?"

"Can't you tell? I'm falling for you."

"You can't! I'm not gay! Don't touch me!" Karen grabbed her things, and rushed out to her car.

"Wait ..."

It was too late. She saw Karen's tail-lights disappearing in the distance.

Back in her own home Karen was aghast. What had happened? Come to think of it, Paula never had specifically said she had now, or had ever, a boyfriend or a husband. She had just assumed. And what had Paula said in the café?

"I'm seeing someone from time to time, but I don't think that they view me as romantic material."

Oh no! She meant her! Karen! "But I'm straight!" she said to herself. "I've had a happy marriage, children, the works. I've never even looked at a woman in that way in my life."

As Karen lay in bed that night conflicting emotions shuffled around in her brain, like pieces of a quilt that didn't quite fit together. She

had

enjoyed the evening, she

had

enjoyed being touched, and the kiss was lovely. Her memories of the wonderful evening — apart from the last bit — and her own sexual frustration flowed over her. She reached between her legs and gently started touching herself. She had to have some release.

As the pleasure built, Paula's face swam before her eyes! Fuck! She was supposed to be fantasizing about men, not women! She banished Paula's image, and summoned up a male instead. Trying to think of someone suitable, first an ageing politician appeared. She felt ill at the thought. Then a young football star. Better. She focussed on the footballer as she moved her hand, getting wetter. The footballer's face did a slow dissolve into Paula. Christ! But it was too late to stop. Her hand moved faster and faster with Paula's image smiling sweetly at her. She shuddered into the biggest climax she could remember for a few months, as Paula's face slowly disappeared. What the hell was happening to her?

*

Next afternoon she saw Paula's car pull up outside the house.

"Christ, I have to hide!" Karen thought. Then sanity prevailed. "I'm 50, not 15. I'll go and tell Paula this has to stop." She answered the doorbell.

Paula stood on the doorstep wringing her hands. "I'm sorry," she murmured, a tear running down her cheek. "You are just so adorable I couldn't help it."

"Adorable? Me?" Karen asked herself. "You'd better come in," she said aloud.

Then they were both inside, sitting down in the kitchen with a cup of coffee each, sitting on opposite sides of a wide table. Karen went on, "look, you know I've been married. I'm not gay. I like you a lot but I can't lead you on like this. I've never kissed a woman, never slept with one, never had feelings for one, not that way."

Paula fidgeted with the salt shaker, twisting it. "I'm not asking you to become gay. It's not like converting to a different religion, or changing your skin colour. I just hoped you would like me for myself."

"I

do

like you."

"Well, if I was a man would you consider taking our relationship further?"

"Sure, Paula. I've enjoyed our times together." Karen smiled, tentatively.

"So, why is it important? Can't we be in love, regardless of whether we are short or tall, black or white, rich or poor, young or old, or — man or woman?"

"But, I don't know what to do, or say, anything about it."

"You don't have to know anything about

it

. We gays love like you love. We kiss, we touch, our bodies mingle. There is no special formula. We do whatever we both feel comfortable with, that's all."

"But I don't want to become gay. I've been straight all my life."

"I'm not asking you to

become

anything. I'm asking if you would like to keep seeing me, and taking our relationship wherever it goes. Without shame, or pressure, or anything."

"I suppose so."

"Look, why don't you think about it? How about dinner at my house tonight? No pressure, you don't have to do anything whatsoever that you feel uncomfortable with. But wouldn't it be nice, for both of us, to get a few more hugs than we have been getting recently? And kisses?" Paula smiled.

"OK, that would be nice, thanks."

Paula walked briskly over to Karen, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, a brief hug, and let herself out of the house. "Fingers crossed," she said to herself.

*

Karen tentatively walked up to Paula's front door, rang the doorbell. Paula opened the door looking stunning in a casual, understated way. Karen's glance flickered over Paula, realizing for the first time, perhaps, that she was a

beautiful

woman. She had wondered in the past why Paula seemed to have trouble finding a boyfriend, now the cogs were clicking into place. She hadn't been looking.

"Come in! I'm

so

glad you came. I was worried you wouldn't." Paula looked uncharacteristically nervous. "Look, I don't want to scare you, but I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life either. Perhaps you don't also. It isn't easy to meet people that you like as you get older."

Karen walked through the door. They faced each other, hesitating, then Paula reached forward and gave Karen a big hug. The hug went on longer than usual. Karen found herself dissolving into it, it felt so good to be hugged again.

They broke apart. Paula got busy with the pre-dinner drinks, and got Karen to help her with the dinner.

"So why did you choose me?" Karen asked, as they peeled the potatoes.

"I didn't

choose

you. I fell in love with you. There's a difference."

Karen peeled and peeled, so that the potato looked as if it had been peeled into non-existence.

"Karen. Look at me." Paula held out her arms.

Karen turned around looking as if she was about to run for it. The potato peeler dropped onto the floor.

Paula moved close, engulfed Karen into her arms. "It's OK." This hug was a lot longer.

Karen felt some of her tension dissolving. When Paula let go of her this time Karen was starting to regret it. Impulsively she kissed Paula on the cheek.

As they prepared the meal Paula took the opportunity, when it arose, to lightly touch Karen on the waist or shoulder, or to bump up against her gently. Karen accepted these touches, so brief as to hardly count, as the beginnings of physical contact between them, and found to her surprise that she was being turned on by them. Being desired by someone else, being touched, being close, were working on her at a sexual level. She felt something stirring inside her, a warmth, that hadn't been there since her husband had died.

Karen looked at Paula in a different way now. She noticed that Paula was what — she was sure — men would call sexy. Her skin was smooth, her breasts still firm, her hair lovely. She was fantastic, now that Karen looked. And Paula wanted

her

. A small shiver of anticipation went through Karen's body. Almost without realizing it, she started to return the touches, bump Paula back, stand closer while they were working together. Paula bit her lip briefly with pleasure. Perhaps the hurdle had been overcome.

*

After dinner they settled back onto the couch, Karen looking nervous again, but feeling a bit more like maybe things would be OK.

"Just relax," Paula said, looking into her eyes, and taking one of her hands. "Just imagine you are on a date with a man."

They chatted amiably for a while, Paula asked Karen about her husband and her children. The tension dissipated while they talked.

After a while Paula instructed, "Close your eyes."

Karen did.

Paula went on, "now, if I were a man I would put my arm around you, right?" Paula put her arm around Karen. "And kiss you on the neck." She demonstrated. "Then, a man might try to grope you, clumsily. But I won't be clumsy." She lightly brushed a hand over Karens breast, so gently but so erotically that Karen felt herself melting into the moment.

The turned to be closer to each other, Paula's head on Karen's shoulders. Karen felt Paula's hand slowly moving over her tit, and then under her shirt and back up, to caress it through her bra. Their lips touched softly, and Karen felt her face go all hot. As the warmth spread up through her body, under the influence of the caressing of her nipple, Karen pushed her mouth more firmly against Paula's, savouring for the first time in a couple of years a proper kiss, the taste of a kiss, the feel of a kiss, the warmth of a kiss. She parted her lips, pushed her tongue in a little way, got an answering response.

Karen felt herself lose the walls of resistance, the feeling of wrongness, the guilt. She was kissing, and being kissed by, someone she liked very much. The warmth was increasing, she felt hot all over, she felt tingling, she felt herself getting a little damp. Forgetting suddenly that she had another

woman

in her arms she only knew she had a lover in her arms. She gripped Paula more tightly, pulled her closer, pushed her tongue in further.

Paula caught her breath with pleasure, "finally!" she thought. Not one to waste the moment, she returned the kiss, and slipped her free hand under Karen's bra, to stroke her nipple. A gasp of pleasure from Karen encouraged her to continue. "Let me take that off you," she suggested. Karen nodded, and moments later she felt Paula expertly remove it.

"At least women know how to remove bras," Karen thought to herself. Things were getting a bit tangled with the bra inside her shirt, so she quickly pulled her shirt over her head, and slipped the bra off, letting it float to the floor. Paula's eyes widened as she looked at Karen's soft tits, released from their restraints. A moment later she was kissing them, one and then the other one.

"We have two bras here," Paula reminded her.

Karen smiled, of course, and reached out for the first time to touch another woman's breasts. It felt fantastic doing that, much more erotic than touching your own, she thought. She kissed Paula's tits through her shirt, then pushed the shirt out of the way, and kissed above the bra, through the bra, and worked her tongue down inside the bra. The sexual tension she felt had emboldened her, and the novelty of kissing someone on the breasts was even more exciting. "This must be what boys feel like on their first date," she thought to herself, "or at least the first date where they get to 'second base'," as she had heard her son describing once.

Looking inwards, Karen realized she had passed a threshold. She had stopped wanting Paula to not go "too far" to hoping Paula would go further. She also realized that she didn't really need instructions on how to make love to a woman. It was like making love to a man, with minor differences. First step was to throw yourself into it, passionately. Then you lose yourself in the moment, touching, kissing, feeling, whatever felt good. And, like with a man, your partner's responses guided you. You could tell if she was enjoying what you did. Unlike a man though, you had a pretty good idea of what felt nice and what didn't. You knew the right amount of pressure, the right places to apply it, and for how long.

Soon afterwards, Paula's shirt went flying too, followed by her bra. The floor around the couch was beginning to resemble the aftermath of a teenagers' orgy. They tried to lie down but the couch was a bit small for that. "Come to my bed?" implored Paula, tugging Karen by the hand. "It will be warm there, I promise. Warm and comfortable. We can take things slowly."

Karen nodded, and put her arm around Paula's bare back, savouring the warmth of human skin, and admiring Paula's tits. They quickly got on top of the bed, Paula lay Karen next to her, and then flipped herself on top, pushing one leg between Karen's legs, clamping tightly. Paula kissed one breast and traced circles with her finger over the other one. Then her free hand started moving down Karen's bare side, towards her waist, where her jeans were. She put her hand on Karen's bum, pulling it closer to her, grinding their crotches together.

Paula paused, not wanting to frighten Karen off. Best not to go too fast, and lose everything. She slowed down, just pulling gently on Karen's bum.

"Keep going," Karen responded urgently. "Don't stop now, for fuck's sake. I'm on fire here."

"That's what I wanted to hear," murmured Paula. She slipped her hand inside the jeans, getting a handful of bare flesh. Soft, luscious flesh. Paula thought she was going to pass out from the pleasure of it.

Paula respositioned so she could touch Karen between her legs, at the front.

"Oh!" gasped Karen. "More, please."

Paula unzipped the jeans enough to reach inside the fly, touch Karen through her panties.

Karen closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure, writhing on the bed, feeling Paula's hand touching her through the thin cotton of the panties. Then Paula's hand moved up, and under, down to her warm, moist cunt. No, her hot, wet cunt. The lubrication let Paula slip a couple of fingers inside, one on each side of Karen's clit, gently moving past it, moving further in. Karen felt herself going faint. "Fuck it! I forgot to breath!" she told herself. Drawing in a ragged breath, she focussed her entire being on those fingers, moving in and out, touching, sliding.