I have been writing for more years than I care to remember but I have never written anything erotic before, so I would welcome any comments or feedback, positive or otherwise. This, my first effort, is a long love story in three chapters and while there will be sex, it won't happen immediately. If you're looking for instant thrills with little or no plot, please look elsewhere. Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over. To any readers who live in the Channel Islands, my apologies for having taken liberties with the geography to suit my story.
All characters are imaginaryany resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright (c) 2014 to the author.
Prologue
I guess I've known I'm gay since I was about eight years old, although at the time I didn't know the concept or the word 'lesbian'. All I know is that I preferred girls even then. It wasn't the common small boy/small girl antipathy: I just knew that there was something different about me and boys didn't enter the equation. But before I go any further, a little bit about my background. I'm the adopted daughter of Thomas and Rebecca Wainwright, my real parents having been killed in a traffic accident when I was just a few months old.
Thomas Wainwright was a distant relative of my father, a third cousin or something like that. He and Rebecca wouldn't hear of me being taken into care and put up for adoption and so they adopted me themselves. Many adoption societies are notoriously PC and bloody-minded about certain kinds of prospective parents, including (even especially) older ones, but Thomas had friends who could pull strings so there was a minimum of difficulty. Anyway, the relationship probably helped.
Perhaps it was brave of Thomas and Rebecca to take on a baby, seeing that they were in their mid-forties at the time, but then they had had a late child of their own, Hilary, who was two years older than me. They never concealed the fact of my adoption but gave me the same unstinted love that they gave to their natural children. And to me they and Hilary were Mum and Dad and big sister. There were also two older children, James who was nineteen when I was adopted, and Fiona seventeen. By the time I reached my eighth birthday, both were married and had babies of their own, girls born about the same time. Sophie was James's daughter and Beth was Fiona's.
One of my earliest memories is of Hilary and I each sitting on one of Dad's knees and him singing an old Fifties song to us: "...until the Twelfth of Never, I'll still be loving you..."
So, as I said, I guess I've recognized my sexuality from the time I was about eight but my real awakening came when I was about fourteen. Mum had to go into hospital for a week or so and Dad couldn't neglect his business so an alternative had to be found for Hilary and me. Hilary was invited to stay with a school-friend. Then a Mrs Roberts, an acquaintance of Mum's, who with her husband ran a nearby dairy farm, offered to have me. The Robertses had a daughter called Fran who was then about fifteen or sixteen. Her room was in an annexe to the main farmhouse so that she could have some privacy and during my visit I was to share a double bed with her. She seduced me the first night I was there.
There was no doubt that Fran was gay. And I certainly didn't need much seducing. From the moment she first gave me a tentative kiss, I was her slave. Our 'affair' was necessarily short-lived but Fran and I remained friends although we were never to be adult lovers. By the time I was sixteen, Fran was a young adult starting agricultural college. Several years later she met and fell for an older woman called Dot who owned an old cottage with several acres of land and outbuildings. Dot was an expert carpenter and made bespoke furniture while Fran grew organic vegetables and raised free-range chickens, all of which she sold at farmers' markets. They had a happy lifestyle.
As a teenager at school I had fumbles with several other girls although I think most of them were just bi-curious. There were two, though, wholike mewere the real thing. There was Edna, nicknamed "Tiger", who was very butch, all hairy legs and armpits, and a devil on the hockey field. And there was Felicity who was the archetypal girly-girl, all frills and flouncesI'm feminine enough but she out-femmed me by a long way. Anyway, between us we had three two-way relationships and sometimes when chance allowed we'd indulge in threesomes. We gradually grew apart as we got older but we certainly learned a lot from each other.
Coming out to one's family isn't easy. I did it when I was sixteen. I knew that I'd have to face it sooner or later and on impulse one Sunday morning I thought I would get it over with, regardless. Hilary was due to go off to university the following week and so I went to her first. "Hils, I've got something to tell you... I'm gay."
Hilary grinned and opened her arms, drawing me into a big hug. "Of course you are, baby sis, I've known that almost since we were kids." She gestured at her collection of pin-up posters, all hunky sportsmen, actors and pop stars. "What are yours, Emma? All beautiful women. And you never did make eyes at boys—you always were more interested in watching girls." She started to laugh. "God, the horrified look on your face at the seaside once when you saw a small boy running around without swimming trunks on."
I couldn't help laughing too, then, anxiously: "But how am I going to tell Mum and Dad? They might be hurt... they might hate me... they might get rid of me." Our parents were among the most tolerant people I ever knew—a tolerance gene seemed to be hereditary in the Wainwright family—but I had heard some scary stories about people throwing gay children out of their homes.
Hilary raised an eyebrow. "You don't really believe that, do you?" She grabbed my hand. "Come with me. You're going to tell them straight out, just the way you told me. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised." She hustled me along to the sitting room where our parents were on the sofa, immersed in the Sunday newspapers.
"Mum, Dad," she announced, "Emma's got something very important to say to you." She nudged me in the ribs. "Go on, Emma, tell them."
"I..." I hesitated for a moment and then blurted it out: "Mum, Dad, please don't be angry with me but I... I'm gay... I'm a lesbian."
They looked at me and then at Hilary and then at each other and smiled before gesturing me to sit between them so that they could hug me. "Why should we be angry, sweetheart?" Dad said, "You're our daughter and we love you any way you are, no matter what."
"But are you sure about this, darling?" Mum asked, "You are young yet."
"Oh yes, Mum, I'm positive."
"Okay." She said nothing else but hugged me closer. Behind her back I could see Hilary mouthing, "I told you so..." I found out several years later that Mum and Dad had guessed some time before and took the very sensible line that it was my life to live whichever way was right for me.
In time I went off to university myself and met other gay girls. For the first few months I was like a kid in a sweetshop and became quite promiscuous. Then I fell into a couple of steady but short-lived relationships, one with Miriam, a forty-something lecturer who had a taste for younger—that is, exclusively first year—women, and after her with an older fellow student.
I even had sex with a man once. Jacob, too, was gay and we had become good friends and drinking buddies. One night we got stupid drunk together and as often happens with drunken youngsters, we started bragging about our sex lives. At some stage we mused about what it would be like with the opposite sex, then one of us—thanks to the drink, I'm not sure who—suggested that as we were loving friends anyway, we try it together rather than with a stranger whom we might not like. In the past we'd shared a bed platonically after drinking sessions so it just seemed like a good idea. It wasn't too bad. I worked diligently with my hands until Jacob had an erection and he used plenty of lube to help me. I think it was because of the booze that it took some time and it ended with me having... not exactly an orgasm but a mini-spasm and Jacob shooting off into his condom. We slept the night in each other's arms but didn't do it again.
The following morning, two very hung-over and embarrassed students analysed the experience. We agreed that it had been mildly pleasant but it wasn't for us. It wasn't for Jacob because I didn't have a dick and it wasn't for me because he did. But whatever, we remained close friends.
I graduated when I was twenty-two and after a few months of dead-end jobs, I was lucky enough to land a plum trainee position with a large advertising and PR agency, LeStrange/LeStrange Media Group...
Chapter 1
The first thing I noticed as I set foot on the ferry's gangway was that the young woman steward waiting at the top to meet-and-greet was very attractive. But then, I would probably have noticed if she had been plug ugly. I'd been without sex, other than with my own fingers, for about six months and I was feeling very frustrated and randy. Masturbating to orgasm is all very well but it can't touch the closeness of another, preferably naked, body.
I had been working for Alan LeStrange for something over four years and, having found a real talent for the work, I had risen quite rapidly in the company. I had recently completed a complex project which had involved working closely with my boss for six months or so, twelve- to fourteen-hours a day, seven days a week. It culminated in the two of us making a presentation to the client that resulted in our winning a massive and lucrative contract. But it did my sex life no favours.
Alan was so pleased with my contribution that he gave me a pay rise and a huge bonus. He told me to take a couple of weeks off and offered me the use of his little holiday place for a week. Now Alan is seriously rich and his 'little holiday place' is a villa on a remote Channel island which he co-owns with several other equally rich people. You won't find this island in a conventional atlas; it is a great distance from the main islands in the group and can only be found on detailed maritime charts.
"The villa's got four bedrooms, so take anyone you like for company," Alan told me, "All expenses paid." It was the school holidays and so I chose to take my three nieces, Sophie and Beth, both eighteen, and Amy, Sophie's twelve-year-old sister (actually, they are something like fourth or fifth cousins—whatever, a very distant relationship—but have been brought up as my nieces). We had flown to the main island and from there we were to travel to Alan's island by overnight ferry. Sailing time was 3:30 p.m. after which the ferry would call at other major islands and then head overnight to our destination.
I had no concerns about being with the three girls—they were all lovely. Sophie and Beth had always been very close, more like sisters; Sophie was the elder by a matter of days and the cousins had grown up together. I know that Sophie loved her young sister but there was that six-year age gap between them. As for Amy, she's a great kid. The worst thing I can say about her is that she is totally lacking in tact—diplomat she will never be.
