Such Stuff

Part 7

Be Brave

With a sigh or resignation Lizzie pushed open the shop door. The bookshop was quiet in the mid afternoon sunshine. Lizzie had rather hoped it would be busy so that he would not have time to talk to her. She was disappointed.

"Do you believe in fairies?" was his greeting.

"What?!"

"It's funny the obsession writers seem to have with the little people. Of course the Folk were very real to Shakespeare's countrymen but, a lot later on, we have Conan Doyle believing in them, Kipling writing about them, J M Barrie having them in Kensington Gardens and most recently the gentleman with thistle-down hair in 'Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell'. Have you read that?"

"Rather long by the looks of it."

"So is Dickens, and you were reading 'Our Mutual Friend' the other day. Perhaps something shorter then, how about 'Peter Pan'. You'll love Tinker Bell I know, and then there is that awful pirate Hook. You wouldn't want to tangle with him." Conrad smiled in his knowing way.

"I've..."

"... read it of course. You do seem to have read most things."

Lizzie continued her browsing. Odious, simply odious. Perhaps he was just being friendly, but the way he says things. She looked over at him. He was writing with his yellow and black fountain pen in his spiral bound notebook, a smirk upon his face. He sensed her watching him and looked up with a smile, Lizzie hurriedly turned away. "Blast! Odious, now how do I get out of here?"

That night, after she had gone to bed—after she had gone to sleep, Lizzie stood looking about her in the light of a full moon. If things were true to form, as he had mentioned 'Peter Pan' to her, then presumably this was Neverland. It was certainly nothing at all to do with Victorian London and 'Our Mutual Friend'. On the other hand dreams did not need to be true to form and could follow their own logic or illogic. Why then did she expect her subconscious to follow him and his suggestions? Perhaps it was because that did indeed seem to be what happened. She shivered. Lizzie did not really like the way he could simply suggest and her mind follow, what sort of hold did he have on her—or was it just co-incidence? Perhaps it was simply co-incidence but the evidence was not merely balanced: on the contrary, it was rather against it being mere co-incidence.

So was she Wendy? She smoothed her hands down her close fitting dress; it did not seem to be the sort of thing Wendy would wear. It was light brown doeskin with tassels around the hem and tiny beads stitched in intricate pat­terns all over the garment. She was also a young woman whereas Wendy was a little girl though, Lizzie recalled, her dreams did not seem to trouble much about age. She seemed to be a young woman wherever or whoever she was.

Lizzie did not have pigtails when awake and her hair was fair not dark. But hanging down either side of her head were undoubted pigtails and, what was this, around her head a band of woven beads with a coloured feather stuck in it.

"Why I'm Tiger Lily, the redskin princess," said Lizzie out loud.

"Sssh." said a voice. Lizzie looked all around but she was completely alone. Conscious she was in a land where small boys can fly she looked up­wards but all she could see were stars, though one did seem to be moving sur­prisingly fast. It seemed to turn and come back the way it had come, before moving back again. Lizzie realised she had mistaken the pinpoint of light's dis­tance from her. It was not millions of miles away but a just a few feet. She un­derstood she was actually seeing a fairy, a real fairy or a real dream fairy any­way.

"Tinker Bell," she said.

"Sssh," said the fairy.

Tinker Bell, for it was indeed Peter's fairy, came close and hovered just in front of Lizzie's nose. Lizzie stepped back to see her properly and trod on a twig.

"Sssh," said the fairy growing in size until she was more than a point of light but still no longer than your hand.

Lizzie thought Tinker Bell's conversation a bit limited and, now she could see her, so also seemed her clothes. She knew diaphanous gauze was part of the Victorian conception of fairies, a rather different kettle of fish from Puck the knave in the performance of a 'Midsummer Night's Dream' she had seen not so very long ago, but this apology for clothing would have seriously upset the average Victorian observer. The fairy was exquisitely gowned in a skeleton leaf, cut low and square, through which her figure could be seen to the best ad­vantage. One breast had been allowed to slip out, fully exposed, and what a perfect breast it was, perfect in every detail right down to the incredibly tiny nipple. And so it should be because, whilst Tinker Bell was small, this was no reason for her being rudely formed: quite the contrary she was most perfectly formed and knew it. As she moved Lizzie could see though her garments and even discern tiny golden curls growing in some profusion around her sex. As the little creature shot up into the air Lizzie could see right between her legs! The creature seemed to revel in adopting erotic poses. One moment modestly hiding her bosom with her arm, the next provocatively pushing her tiny breasts forward.

She motioned for Lizzie to follow her into the trees. It was lucky that Lizzie followed her for no sooner had they vanished into the gloom of the trees and out of the moonlight, than into view came a band of pirates. Not just any band of pirates but Jas. Hook's crew. A more villainous-looking lot never hung in a row on Execution Dock. Here, a little in advance, ever and again with his head to the ground listening, his great arms bare, pieces of eight in his ears as orna­ments, is the handsome Italian Cecco, who cut his name in letters of blood on the back of the governor of the prison at Gao. That gigantic black behind him has had many names since he dropped the one with which dusky mothers still terrify their children on the banks of the Guadjo-mo. Here is Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed, the same Bill Jukes who got six dozen on the WALRUS from Flint before he would drop the bag of moidores; and Cookson, said to be Black Murphy's brother (but this was never proved), and Gentleman Starkey, once an usher in a public school and still dainty in his ways of killing; and Sky­lights (Morgan's Skylights); and the Irish bo'sun Smee, an oddly genial man who stabbed, so to speak, without offence and many another ruffian long known and feared on the Spanish Main.

In the midst of them, the blackest and largest in that dark setting, reclined James Hook, or as he wrote himself, Jas. Hook, of whom it is said he was the only man that the Sea-Cook feared.

He lay at his ease in a rough chariot drawn and propelled by his men, and in his right hand he held a cane with which ever and anon he encouraged them to increase their pace. Lizzie was puzzled at this sight. She thought the Crocodile had eaten his right hand and an iron hook had replaced it. Why then was he called 'Hook' or was that his name in any case? In person he was cadav­erous and blackavized, and his hair was dressed in long curls, which at a little distance looked like black candles, and gave a singularly threatening expres­sion to his handsome countenance. His eyes were of the blue of the forget-me-not, and of a profound melancholy, save when he was plunging his sword into you, at which time two red spots appeared in them and lit them up horribly. In manner, something of the grand seigneur still clung to him, so that he even ripped you up with an air, and it is said that he was a RACONTEUR of repute.

He was never more sinister than when he was most polite, which is probably the truest test of breeding; and the elegance of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different cast from his crew. A man of indomitable courage, it was said that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II, having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. .

Lizzie shuddered. What a crew! It was not Hook but Smee to whom her eyes were drawn and in particular his remarkably striped jersey. Now a striped jersey is what is to be expected of a pirate, and Lizzie had seen enough films to know the drill, but, surely, a ruddy red stripe was more usual than the yellow and black of Smee's jersey and were black rimmed glasses really appro­priate under that piratical hat? Lizzie's eyes grew wide and amazed, it was him! "Why does he keep appearing in my dreams?" thought Lizzie once more, "I don't like him and don't fancy him. Why this obsession with him?" Smee's eyes turned her way and it was if he could see her in the moon's shadow as he smiled his usual smile in her direction. Lizzie shuddered again. She did not like this.

The pirates moved off and gradually the noise of their passing abated. Be­hind her she heard the loveliest tinkle as of golden bells. It was the fairy lan­guage. It was truly a wonderful sound and Lizzie was entranced. As she lis­tened she began to hear words and gradually she found she could understand what Tink was saying. It was a long monologue about how whilst Tink liked being Peter's fairy (she didn't like Wendy much though) he was only a boy and there were no other male fairies about and she was, well rather frustrated by this and what she really liked was girls anyway, and there weren't any girl fairies about either. She liked the look of Lizzie though.

Tink was not all bad; or, rather, she was all bad just now, but on the other hand, sometimes she was all good. Fairies have to be one thing or the other, be­cause being so small they unfortunately have room for one feeling only at a time. They are, however, allowed to change, only it must be a complete change. At present she was full of desire for Lizzie. 'Ware Tinker Bell.

On the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war-path, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the redskins, every one of them with his eyes peeled. They carry tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil. Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, should come Tiger Lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right. She is the most beautiful of dusky Dianas and the belle of the Piccaninnies, coquettish, cold and amorous by turns; there is not a brave who would not have the way­ward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet. Observe how they pass over fallen twigs without making the slightest noise.

Tink pushed Lizzie forward and she joined in behind the braves. It was rather fun for Lizzie following all these naked redskins, she seemed to have be­come sure of foot and walked as silently as the rest. Some of them were very handsome indeed and by moonlight she could see everything about them. It would be rather fun if her dream turned particularly naughty and she found herself commanding a whole war party of naked erect redmen, their bodies all oiled and painted. She imagined herself lining them up for inspection, as if on a parade ground. Walking along checking the sharpness of their tomahawks, rubbing her hands across their flat oiled stomachs and onto their taut but­tocks, checking the stiffness of their cocks. "Not very stiff this one, sergeant-major! Never mind I'll soon stiffen it up." Despite the continuing march through the night she began to become a little wet at the idea, something not lost on Tink who had come with her and had already, to Lizzie's surprise, dropped into her dress between her breasts for a time and had now hidden her light right under the hem of Lizzie's dress. "Oh dear," she thought, "I'm not going to be interfered with by another little person in this dream, the White Rabbit's house was odd enough."

The procession was passing through a grove with a rather large mush­room in the middle of it. Tink tugged at Lizzie's hem and motioned Lizzie to fol­low her and they slipped away from the band. Lizzie noticed that many of the trees had a hole in them as large as a boy. She realised this was the site of the Lost Boys' home and they were the seven, or was it more now, entrances to the home under the ground, for which Hook has been searching in vain these many moons.

Tink motioned for Lizzie to enter one of the holes but Lizzie could not get in for she was too big. Tink buzzed around clearly rather annoyed. If only Lizzie had some of the Caterpillar's biscuit from Wonderland she could make herself smaller. Wrong dress though, she had left the biscuit it in Alice's dress. Lizzie patted her doeskin dress just in case and found the biscuit had come with her—dreams are like that, the logic twists and turns and reality is sus­pended - how convenient! She took a bite and quickly shrank to about three foot in height. Tink was ever so excited and called for Lizzie to follow her down the hollow tree. What fun it was for Lizzie to be underground. The Lost Boys home consisted of one large room, as all houses should do, with a floor in which you could dig if you wanted to go fishing, and in this floor grew stout mushrooms of a charming colour, which were used as stools. There was an enormous fireplace which was in almost any part of the room where you cared to light it.

There was one recess in the wall, no larger than a bird-cage, which was the private apartment of Tinker Bell. It could be shut off from the rest of the house by a tiny curtain, which Tink, who was most fastidious, always kept drawn when dressing or undressing. No woman, however large, could have had a more exquisite boudoir and bed-chamber combined. Tink was very con­temptuous of the rest of the house, as indeed was perhaps inevitable, and her chamber, though beautiful, looked rather conceited, having the appearance of a nose permanently turned up.

Tink wanted to show Lizzie her house and now seeing she had the pieces of mushroom invited her to take some more and drop down to her size. Soon Lizzie was no longer than a hand. She could now see Tink very clearly as she was no longer a diminutive figure flitting about in front of her nose but the same size as her. But, before she could really take Tink in, she was picked up in Tink's arms and flown up and into the recess that was Tink's home and the curtain swished to behind her.

Now Lizzie could see Tinker Bell properly, a beautiful girl with long yellow hair, a perfect hourglass figure, really round breasts with the sweetest pale pink nipples, a riot of golden curls around her sex and, of course, delicate rain­bow wings. Lizzie could not help staring at Tink's wings as she was not, you will appreciate, used to people with wings. Tink knew her wings were being ad­mired and she fluttered them a little whilst pirouetting round to show them to best advantage. They sprouted from just below her shoulders, Lizzie could not work out the musculature at all or how they could work but of course they were magic. They were more redolent of a bees' wings than a butterfly's being transparent but even so their transparency subtly rippled with all the colours of the rainbow as the light caught them. Lizzie was fascinated by them.

"Do you like 'em," said Tink, "I do so like your dress." The fairy reached out and stroked the soft doeskin of Lizzie's dress. It was clear to Lizzie that it was no accident that in caressing the soft material her fingers had brushed over Lizzie's breasts.

"You're a much better size now, could hardly find me way about you be­fore."

The fairy leant towards Lizzie and kissed her on the mouth. Tinker Bell's lips were soft and warm. Lizzie was momentarily startled but not surprised. She gently pushed Tink away, not wishing to hurt her feelings. She was a guest after all. She was not interested in girls, though she did have a rather fond memory of the green maiden, her sister in Oz.

Tink did not like a rebuff but she was not worried. She smiled sweetly and said how sorry she was to have presumed... but Lizzie was not listening, Tink was vibrating her transparent rainbow wings in a way Lizzie found impossible not to watch, to stare at, and become absorbed in the moving colours.

Tinker Bell giggled to herself. She was not all bad really but she liked her own way and she knew what she wanted with Lizzie.

"I expect you'd like me to kiss you again wouldn't you? You wouldn't mind would you?"

Tink turned her head a little to the side and kissed Lizzie again and Lizzie's lips yielded as Tink's tongue pushed between her lips seeking her own. She responded, as Tink now knew she would, and they kissed deeply.

Tink's hand lifted Lizzie's doeskin hem and Lizzie felt a hand cupping one bottom cheek and pulling her hips towards Tink. Tink pushed herself against Lizzie and Lizzie could feel Tink's pubic bone hard against her own. The little fairly was clearly very turned on.

It was disconcerting for Lizzie. It was disconcerting to be kissing a girl in the first place, but doubly disconcerting to be kissing a girl who glowed with light. Tinker Bell's wings had, however, had quite an effect on Lizzie so she now did not now feel it was something she would rather not do. Quite the con­trary.

Tink skipped away from Lizzie, dropping her few garments as she went, and then flew naked back to Lizzie taking care to show her body to best advan­tage, "Do you like what you see? Aren't I beautiful? You are too, of course. Why don't we take that dress off so I can get a proper look at you?" Lizzie's dress was joined together by long leather laces and Tink's nimble fingers soon began to unlace them. As Lizzie's breasts were exposed Tink could not resist touching them. They certainly were lovely and being Tiger Lily's they were not pointy at all but full and round with large brown aureole and little brown nip­ples. Tink clapped her hands at seeing them and rubbed the little nipples with her thumbs. They responded by hardening and this naturally only caused the fairy to rub them the more. Bending, she delicately took Lizzie's right nipple be­tween her lips and teased the end with her tongue. Lizzie was unsure how to re­spond, she had not touched another girl's breasts before; well she had touched her friend Lotte's but not in a sexual way, and this certainly was going to be in a sexual way.

Of course they felt good, as her own breasts felt good, but the fairy's skin was so smooth and her nipples so hard against the palms of Lizzie' hands that they had a special quality that excited Lizzie. She squeezed, it did feel so odd to hold another girl's breasts, to mould her hands and fingers around them, and even odder to squeeze and play with them. So much to hold, so soft, round and smooth. Lizzie bent and sucked Tink's left breast into her mouth, her tongue flicking over the hard little nipple. Her eyes closed as she sucked.

Tink's hands returned to the task of undressing Lizzie. With the long leather laces undone the dress swung open revealing, to Tink's pleasure, not just her round full breasts but also the dark inviting vee of her sex. Tink's thighs moved together in anticipation. Once more Tink picked up Lizzie, but this time each could feel the other's skin rubbing against their own, increasing their excitement, as Tink carried Lizzie to her bed.

Lizzie lay on the soft down filled bed with her eyes closed and feeling very sexy and very content. She could feel a gentle breeze from Tink's wings on her bare skin. Tink was not lying on top of her but was flying just above her, touch­ing her just with her tongue and mouth. She was still toying with Lizzie's nip­ples, as if she could not get enough of them, sending little electric shivers across Lizzie's chest. Lizzie could have stayed like that for an hour or more but Tink's wet tongue started on a journey down the mound of her left breast to­wards her tummy. Slowly, tantalisingly slowly, it worked its way towards her tummy button before circling it and then slipping in. Lizzie shivered in plea­sure. Tink knew her business and did not hurry.