Chapter 5

I'm not the type to add up the score-not really. But when Vic told me about that Sadie Sharp and her vibrators and the Buschell and Grossell women at Danny Wilson's and, as an afterthought, that cute stewardess on the plane, my blood began to boil.

You probably think Fm jealous, but it's not that either. Sure I can be jealous about other things, but not about Vic, never about Vic. We've been together far too long and have done so much both together and separately that we're past it. And I mean it. I really do.

At the same time I didn't want to make my chases ioo obvious-ordinarily they do chase me and a couple of them-the two lawyers, for example-were making a play. Strangely enough these sexy young guys were being slow on the uptake. Maybe they'd improve when we got to Paris-I certainly hoped so.

These were the type of thoughts that were running through my mind as all of us were sitting in this Soho strip-joint. The stripper on the stage was a real beaut in the English rose sense: tall and skinny and blonde and pink-cheeked. Delicate facial features but a nice-sized pair of knockers. And a cute ass-but nothing that special. Sexy in a pristine way and too high-class for a place like this.

I glanced around at the male section of our touring party and I could almost see them -salivating. The Buschell and Grossell men's eyes were out on stalks; they couldn't seem to get over her. Their wives, needless to say, were yakking away, but not as loudly as usual. Everyone else looked pretty pleased, especially Harold Palmer, our "ball-scratcher," as Vic calls him.

I swallowed the remains of my gin and tonic with a gulp and stood up. I'm not a heavy drinker ordinarily, but tonight I had had more than my share. I was a little tipsy, but not so much that I didn't know what I was doing. I headed for the toilet, only half-wanting to pee.

I opened the door to the "Ladies." I couldn't find the light-switch and the only illumination I had was from the colorful lights of the other Soho strip-joints. I relieved myself and turned to go when the door opened. I was about to say "Wait a minute" as the bathroom was so small that two people would have felt as though they had been caught in somebody's womb.

Immediately I realized it was Kit Fisher. She had made herself pretty scarce since the beginning of the tour, spending most of her time (I gathered) at the Golden Club, the best place to meet lesbians in London. She hadn't gone back tonight and I was surprised when she stayed with the group. Now she was crying.

In the dim lights she looked so small and vulnerable that I wanted to hug her to my chest and tell her that everything would be all right Besides, I needed a little comforting myself-not much, just a tiny bit. I put my arms out and she rushed into them, sobbing bitterly.

Between her sighs she told me what had happened. It seemed that one of the reasons she had come on this tour was to see a girl who had rejected her last year. The girl was English and had been working as a secretary in New York when Kit met her. They were lovers for a short while and then the girl suddenly upped and went back to London. Kit followed her and had been with her for the previous two days. Then the girl told her that she had someone else and so it was good-bye Kit all over again. The stripper on the stage reminded Kit of her ... hence the tears.

I really did feel sorry for Kit. For some reason the break-up of lesbian relationships always hits the partners harder than would the break-up of a heterosexual relationship. And yet, at the same time, in spite of my compassion for her, I began to feel just a little bit aroused.

I'm fairly tall and Kit wasn't even up to my shoulder. She had buried her head in my breasts and moved it back and forth between the cleavage. Our arms were around each other tightly, like two very old friends. I could feel a slight tingle in my pussy and I was curious if she felt the same in hers. The more she quieted down the tighter she held me and the faster she moved her face into my flesh. It was one of those situations where you do it or you don't- and I did it.

I bent down and began to loss her, first in her sweet smelling hair and then on her lips. I cupped her chin in my hands and covered her eyes and nose and cheeks with tender kisses. She responded-with a passion! She sought my lips and gave me a searching kiss. Her tongue ran all over my lips, then my teeth, and then it pressed against my tongue. Her hands, her child-like hands, moved over my body with an agility I would have never thought possible in such a seemingly "innocent" girl.

I could feel my pussy begin to pound and I pushed one of her hands from my breasts and guided it to the crotch of my slacks. At first she seemed a little hesitant-I don't know why. She somehow was more interested in my breasts, drawn to them like a baby is to their mother.

But it wasn't-strictly-mothering that she wanted. Anyway, I can be aroused to orgasm without any fingering whatsoever. If she did a good job on my breasts, anything could happen.

I reached down for her, making a fast tour of her tiny breasts, her small waist, and her almost boyish hips. She moaned when I touched her pussy, putting her hand over my hand and pressing down. However, when I began to reach into her pants she stopped me, muttering something like we couldn't do it prop erly in so small a place. I was a little bit disappointed: I'm very drawn to other women-though not especially to butch-type lesbians-and the feel of a cunt in my hand and its lips between my fingers is always an exciting one.

Suddenly I realized that she was opening my blouse and drawing it out of the waistband of my slacks. She seemed intent on her work and before I knew it she had taken it off me and was unhooking my bra. I looked down at my breasts: in the half-light they looked like alabaster mounds.

"Oh you're so beautiful," whispered Kit, taking off my bra and dropping it on the sink.

Then she reached over to the door and felt around for the lock-something I had forgotten. After a bit she found it and I heard the click. Then Kit returned to me and soon I felt her hot breath on my breasts.

Something wild ran through me-something that made me want her to bite and claw at my breasts, suck them deeply till the nipples could stand it no longer. She brought her head down on my left breast and bit it hard, but not painfully. Then she did the same with the right breast, only this time her teeth dug repeatedly into my areola. With that I knew that she felt the same way as me, wanting me the way I wanted her to want me.

She began to claw my back like a little tigress, biting and kissing my chest and my breasts. I felt totally passive and yet very aroused and I held on tight. Her clawing became more intense and her hands moved all over the trunk of my body. She was scratching, but not to draw blood; it was merely her expression of passion. I longed to reach down for her but I knew that she would push my hands away. The desire was quickly submerged when she began to lick my tits, salivating furiously and kissing them deeply. She seemed to be in a trance, murmuring words like "I love your tits, your great big beautiful tits.*"You have the most beautiful tits in the whole world." "I'm going to bite your nipples till they're as hard as stones. Yes I will."

I was in no position to stop her, and, in any case, I wouldn't have done so. While she was salivating on my mounds, my fluids were running and I felt very wet. My blood was pounding in my ears and the walls of my womb sent back signals in reply. I moaned and called to her, "Kit, Kit, what you're doing to me, oh it's so good."

She re-doubled her efforts, cupping my breasts in her hands and sucking on them in much the same way I had done with her small, sweet face. The more she sucked the hotter I got, writhing with a strange passion for this young woman. She responded to me with a lunge, taking my entire right areola and part of my tit in her mouth and sucking on it and drawing it out till it felt numb. When she began to do the same with my left breast a shiver ran through me. "Suck me, Kit, suck me hard. Suck me, suck me," I whispered, hardly able to hear my own voice. I felt as though I was on fire and I knew, with the second hot shiver, that I was going to come.

She brought both of my breasts together and buried her face in the tight cleavage. Then she began to ravish me with her teeth and I shuddered and called out, "Oh, oh, I'm coming. Kit, I'm coming. Keep on doing it, suck me, bite me, do it, Kit, do it." "Come, come," she whispered back to me. "Come beautiful."

At her words I rose up and felt hurtled over a giant sandbar. Kit must have felt the same way too because I heard her moan in ecstasy and bite my nipples as if to prolong my orgasm. Again I rose up and was washed over, again and again. When I began to subside Kit hugged me, once more burying her head in my breasts, only this time she was laughing happily.