Halloween Night, part 2
(Continued from part 1)
It took me a few minutes and a good chunk of breakfast before my memories had lined themselves up in an order I recognised. And let me tell you, there was one memory in particular in there I’m surprised I ever forgot. I still get a rush thinking about it now.
I’d love to tell you I was a suave and charming flirt that night, or a beguiling seductress, because I can and have been both before. Seriously, give me a little black dress or a tailored suit and I am an irresistible force. I’ve wriggled into a cocktail dress and draped myself over a piano once. What I’m trying to say is I draw confidence from the way I dress and tonight I was dressed as a sixties cartoon character.
But that wasn’t the only reason I was nervous. There was a girl; strike that, a woman; strike that, a flame-haired goddess sat next to me, and the two of us were in a taxi back to my place. She was also dressed as a Scooby Doo character, but maybe not for much longer.
We didn’t go back to Amy’s in the end. Mine was closer anyway, and Priya, traitor that she was, had actually arranged a backup Halloween party for her to go to should ours fall apart. That left my flat empty for the night.
I wouldn’t describe myself as calculating per se, although I have been accused of it, and looking after children and travelling with the Doctor (the same activity a lot of the time) does mean I’m working out plans in my head a lot of the time. But finding out that no roommates would be home that night meant I did find myself shamelessly plotting and pursuing the little turns in conversation that might take me and her to where I wanted us to go that night.
I picture myself as a chess player, and not just because I really fancy female chess players.
The Doctor always says it’s a matter of picturing your goal on the other side of a chasm and building a bridge as you jump. The problem is that picturing my goal very much distracts me from the general architectural effort, to put it lightly.
As a result, I don’t remember much of the taxi ride. I was too focused on not making an absolute blubbering fool out of myself to delegate much brainpower to long-term memory storage. Conversation with intent to flirt is a challenge, and not one I’ve had the time to perfect. And while I may not have been my best witty siren self, but I hadn’t stuck my foot in it, and I’d even made her laugh a few times, although not as much as she made me laugh.
If there were times when I felt in control, it was all because of her. She was cool, she was calm, and her smile could switch from wicked to understanding in an instant.
We didn’t kiss in the taxi. I really thought we might; the tension was certainly there and I did a lot of really top-level pouts on the ride. But she seemed intent on putting me at ease first. So we talked. We talked about all manner of things – her modelling work, November 1st hangovers, her first kiss with a woman; that last one didn’t have the calming effect she was going for.
“I’d tell you about mine,” I quip, “but you were there for it.”
“If you want, I can be there for your second, too.”
I blinked; is this really happening?
As if to confirm, her warm hand graced my bare knee.
I leaned in.
Then the driver knocked on the divider to tell us we’d arrived, shattering a potentially magical moment.
Amy gave me a pat on the shoulder and rolled her eyes. She left the taxi and paid the driver while I was momentarily stuck in my reverie. I had half a mind to cuss him out there and then, but in retrospect, I may have inadvertently gotten my revenge by leaving a damp sweaty patch on his back seat.
After that the night stalled for a bit.
I had some problem with the locks that took a few minutes of fiddling with my keys in the biting cold to fix. And Amy had to pee the moment she got indoors. My train of thought went off the rails for a bit here, I’m ashamed to admit. I’d hoped she would press me against the wall and stick her tongue in me the second the door closed behind us. But instead it had gone like this:
“I might just go and freshen up a bit.”
“Maybe I’ll join you”
“Oh. If I’m honest, Clara, I just meant I needed to use the loo.”
“I thought you were talking about the shower.”
“No. Do you need the shower?”
“No.”
“Do I need a shower?”
“No, you’re very clean. And you smell very nice.”
“So the toilet is…”
“Up the stairs, yeah.”
And then I shut up for a bit.
Was this a ploy? Was she using this chance to put on makeup and make herself look nice? Was she trying to look less like she was in fancy dress? Should I be doing the same – making myself look less like Velma? Or… more like Velma? Maybe she was into it?
Or maybe… Had she drunk too much? Was that why she was on the toilet? Or maybe the alcohol was why she was with me here in the first place? No, she’d only had two, and she’d been very articulate in the cab (although don’t ask me what about).
Why did I say “I’ll join you”? Obviously she meant the toilet! Come on Clara. Get your head in the game!
And stop thinking about toilets, I told myself, or else…
Amy slunk back into the room, framed herself against the doorway and leant against the wall. She’d mussed her hair up a little, and the hem of her dress was further up her thigh than she’d worn it at the club. I’d paid a lot of attention to that hem.
“So,” she asked, in a low, Scottish, purr. “where were we?”
“Um,” I replied, one leg already shaking, “I’m really sorry, do you mind if I… y’know…”
“Oh, sorry, of course.”
“It’s just we only have the one and I had a bit to drink…”
“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” She cleared her throat. “Hurry back.”
Mood ruined. Again.
From atop the porcelain, I looked down at the flagging fabric around her ankles. Sorry, bi panties, tonight might not be your night. Not while fate is twanging my libido like a guitar string. Vibrating my every thought to a melody of rapture and anxiety. What I’d give for a moment of clarity!
Pulling myself together, I fixed my face for the second time in five minutes. Okay, so the tone of the night was currently a bit more bathroom farce than I’d have liked, but did that mean there was no way to salvage it? That I’d have to let the fire in my loins die out? Hell no!
In a stroke of what felt like genius, I lifted off my jumper and shed the layers beneath it, stashing both bra and top in the cupboard beneath the sink. As I pulled the jumper back over my head, I felt practically gift-wrapped.
(I then had a brief flirtation with leaving even the jumper off. I decided against it)
When I returned to the living room, breasts freer than usual, Amy had already made herself at home, adopting a very relaxed slouch across the sofa, and was waving a DVD box at me.
“We’re watching this”
I didn’t have time to object or ask before the screech of bats came from the telly. The DVD was already playing. With something approaching horror, I realised what film was in the machine. The live-action 2002 Scooby Doo movie.
I questioned briefly exactly what percentage of this woman’s identity revolved around Hanna-Barbera productions, and how high that number would have to be to stop me fancying her.
“Oh, come oon, sit down. It’s a laff.” Amy propped herself up by her elbows. “Look, I know I’ve been winding you up a little, making you nervous, but…”
“I’m not nervous.” I spluttered.
“It’s okay to be…”
“I’ve never been nervous”.
“Right. Okay. Good.” I got the impression she’d seen through my act. “So why don’t you sit down and we can watch the film and not be nervous together?”
“Yeah, I can do that.” I nodded, and started walking.
“If you like, we can even not be nervous on the same couch.”
“Okay, yeah.” And again, after a pause “yeah.”
I sat down on the other side of the couch. Not presuming to touch her but not far enough away to make it look like I was distancing myself from her. I pulled down the hem of my skirt, then took it back in a bit, to be flirty, then took it back in again. I wondered if I was overthinking this, and then how many times I’d already asked that tonight. It was a lot, but did that in and of itself qualify as overthinking?
Had Amy seen all of that? I gave her my best “everything is fine, I’m relaxed” smile, and she smiled back. “Sure you are,” she seemed to say.
We made a reasonable dent in the movie that night. My fears that Amy might turn out to be a rabid Scooby-Doo superfan were assuaged quite early on, as she kept asking questions over the top of it. Small talk like that did set me at ease a little more. Yes, that actress was in ER. No, the CGI hadn’t aged terribly well. I don’t know why Mr Bean is here either. That sort of thing. It helped that I happened to know a lot of trivia about films from around this time. Young Clara had spent a lot of time on trivia quizzes after she’d learned the electric joy that came with being right all the time. And right now that feeling of moderate control was really helping to steady the boat.
“Wine?”
Amy was very receptive to the idea. Thankfully, Priya had a bottle of red in her half of the kitchen (it was a whole political situation, don’t ask) that I was very happy to leave an IOU for. As shaky as my hands were, I could still easily uncork a bottle, and I managed to carry both glasses in without spilling a drop. We sat, more snuggled up than last time, and raised our glasses “to Scooby Doo!” Everything was going to plan.
“Do you think Shaggy says Zoinks when he orgasms?”
I spat out my wine.
“What??”
“He says it every time he’s even slightly scared. You expect me to believe he doesn’t say it…” and then her voice went spicy and French “...in flagrante?”
“Yes, but scared and horny aren’t the same thing?”
“Are they not, Clara Oswald?”
She put down her wine glass and centred me in her double-barrelled stare. I was suddenly very aware of her height. Parts of me began to boil under her gaze. She was right. Oh god was she right.
“So tell me, what does Velma say, in the heat of it all, when the moment comes?” She drawled, darkly.
All of a sudden, there were no words in my brain.
A switch had been flipped. Amy’s hand was on my knee. More accurately, the very tips of her fingers were, and they were delicately making their way upwards. I gulped as they traced their way beyond my knee-highs and onto my flesh. She angled her approach so that as her wrist brushed the hem of my skirt, her palm was gracing my inner thigh. And she showed no sign of stopping.
I responded in kind, wrapping my right hand around the inside of her left knee, our arms crossing each other, mine over hers. If I moved my hand further in, so would she. The sensation of her cotton tights on my skin thrilled me, the fabric barely concealing her warmth beneath it.
“Mmmmmm.” The sound of her voice was much closer to my ear than I expected. As I turned my face, hers was already there. “Not so nervous now, are you?”
The warmth of her breath on my lips was too much for me to take. I leaned in, eyes closed, and kissed her. Her hand paused on my thigh, as if contemplating how to proceed, mere centimetres away from my panties. I couldn’t see her reaction, but I pictured her blinking in surprise, before feeling her press right back into my face. She was returning my kiss with abandon.
Beneath my skirt, I could feel the squeeze of Amy’s hand on my thigh and I broke the kiss to gasp. I swear I felt the curl of Amy’s lips into a smile as we parted.
“Now that’s not fair. I was going to kiss you first.”
“Well you’ve got to be faster next time.”
“Faster, yeah?” She beamed.
With that she swung her leg over and straddled my right thigh. Her hands fastened onto both sides of my face as we once again locked mouths. Every part of me was clamped by her warm embrace. It felt like returning home after a long, cold night. My hands quickly found work snaking through her hair, her roots bunching in the gaps between my fingers; my palm graced her cheek on her left, and my other hand soothed its way up the back of her neck, exerting a small pressure to keep her lips on mine.
Amy pressed forward, shifting me sideways on the sofa. Her leg had moved up my thigh and was rubbing right up against my mound. The heat from it radiated up and through me, stirring every sinew like mulled wine. It was like I had a second, lower heart, thumping down below, pulsing want and need through my body.
I moved my hips up so she could feel like this too. The chub of my thigh encountered some elastic resistance from her tights, but I was soon met by a warm damp patch as I made contact. She responded like a vice to that and was soon rolling her hips up against me. I tensed my wide but muscular thigh in a rhythm with her and soon we were both just as wet as each other. And with every movement, our cores came closer and closer together, the hems of our skirts forced back above the waistline.
All the while I was thinking, I’m doing it! There’s a girl on me and she wants me as badly as I want her! And now our boobs are touching! Oh my stars!
Almost as one, our hands pawed at each other’s backs and pulled our midriffs into contact. While Amy’s hands pressed down, hoping to circumnavigate under my jumper, mine found their way upwards, having located the base of a zipper on the back of her dress, and chasing the potential that offered all the way up.
As my fingers gently tugged at the plastic zip slider at the base of her neck, she pulled her face away, but no more than an inch. A string of saliva still connected our lips. I could still feel her heartbeat on every part of us that touched.
“Don’t touch that zipper.” She said, her voice a mix of steel and cheek. “Not yet. Not while I’m still having my fun.”
I had visions, let me tell you, of biblical, pornographic revelations on that couch. Desperate visions of Amy taking me right there and then, her flinging me back down onto the cushions and spreading my legs with her glorious caber-throwing arms, of her diving in and ripping my panties off with her teeth, eating me out with my jumper and skirt still on, her glorious mane clamped between my thigh highs.
The thought alone could have got me off.
But then I heard keys in the door. My eyes sprang open. My bastard Judas roommate was back. Damn you, Priya!
But Amy was on the case. “Bedroom?” She asked.
“Upstairs,” I replied.
I shooed her through the hall and up the staircase as fast as I could. When I had opened my eyes for that split second, Amy’s eyes had been right in front of me, focused and dilated. No doubt mine were the same. I wasn’t going to let that slip through my fingers. Though the stairs were nearby, there was no way to get up them without going past the front door, and sure enough.
“Who’s this, Clara?” Priya, always so smug.
“Shut up,” I muttered, still hurrying Amy upstairs.
I could hear the giddy smile on her face as she shouted up the stairs.
“Where are you off to with your friend, Clara?”
“Shut up!”
I could tell Amy was stifling a giggle. Probably tempted to turn around and introduce herself, maybe give Priya a little wave. I’m sure they’d have got on like a house on fire, but the making friends part of my brain wasn’t in control at that time.
“I’m so sorry about my roommate.” I said, shepherding Amy through the first door on the right. “She’s cool, I promise, but I don’t want to spoil the mood and...”
Amy wasted no time. As I turned to close the door after us, Amy was behind me, pressing me into the door, her hands snaking their way around my waist and her words slithering into my ear.
“Oh Clara.” She exhaled, before giving me two quick pecks on the neck. “I think I’ve teased you long enough tonight, don’t you?”
With that, her hands went to work. Before I could believe it, her left hand was up my jumper, and her right was beneath the waistband of my skirt. I gasped as the tip of her middle finger made its first contact with the absolutely drenched fabric of my underwear, and as her left hand found its way to my uncupped breast she let out an “mmmmmmm” of admiration.
“You sexy thing” she drawled, part of a honey trap before grabbing my breast in a tight squeeze.
I squealed.
She continued her conquest of my body. Kissing my neck. Circling my nipples. Massaging me over my panties. I was at her mercy and all the better for it. I pressed myself back into her, hoping to feel her warmth from every angle. I could feel her breasts against my back and her core against my arse, and she responded in kind, pulling me in and strapping me against her with her arms.
“Amy” I squeaked.
“Clara” she moaned.
She gave my nipple a cheeky twist and I momentarily lost all feeling in my legs. I stumbled backwards, but she effortlessly supported my weight against her. It barely slowed her down. The elastic of my panties thrummed over her fingernail as she explored further down. She kept playing my body like a cello and I was more than happy to sound out her music.
When I next opened my eyes, there was a mirror in front of me. I must have stumbled back further than I thought. But what I saw in it- for a second it was like a different person.
The woman in the mirror locked eyes with me. Her hair a mess, her breathing haggard and primal, escaping between a sigh and a whine. Her lover’s hands under her garments created a pale diamond of flesh, its north exposing her shivering ribcage and its south teasing the peak of her pubic mound, all of it glistening with sweat. Over her shoulder, a curtain of sleek red hair, as a blood red mouth devoured her neck. With every desperate breath, the woman’s body shook, positively writhing in ecstasy.
And her eyes…
Pupils dilated, between rapture and fear, gazing into the sublime, on the crest of a revelation.
The woman is me.
The woman on her neck is my lover.
And I am so irrevocably, irrepressibly, incandescently gay.
There’s a wisp of cold air on my throat and I notice that Amy has moved, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. She has a sly purse to her lips; she knows the effect her fingers are having on me and has no intention to stop. But I can see I’m affecting her too. I can sense it in the redness of her face, the pressure between her fingers and the synchronous rhythms of our hips.
“Liking what you see, eh, Velma?” She teased.
“Oh shut up”
I’m going to claim it was the breathlessness in her voice rather than the name Velma that set me off, but whatever the reason, every part of my body switched into overdrive. Lust controlled me bodily. Gripping the back of her skull, threads of hairs through my fingers, I pushed her open mouth onto mine and slid my tongue straight in.
For a split second, her hand on my clit was shocked out of its rhythm, but I wasn’t about to allow that. Something was building under my skirt and I was going to usher it out. My palm gripped the back of her hand and steered her back into tempo. My fingers, like hers, were instantly sodden and they glided frictionless back and forth over me. Faster… Harder… Building up. Building up...
Oh God I was so close…
“Amy” I moaned into her mouth, not for a second letting up on our kiss. “Amy, Amy, mmmmmmm, fuck, Amy.”
Her voice cut through everything, clear as day.
“Cum for me, Clara”
And I did. Oh how I did.
The ball of passion inside me erupted, rolling up my body at a spine-snappingly fast pace. It shot through to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes, before contracting my whole body in convulsions. I lost control of the hand on my clit, but Amy’s soldiered on, her fingers compelling waves and waves of pleasure out of me.
I would have shrieked her name, if I could think at all in those moments, but all that escaped my mouth were guttural grunts, rising, rising, rising in volume. For minutes, for hours - I’d never felt anything this intense in my life. It was like I was pure electricity, nothing but sensation, and it was you, Amy, you that did this.
My vision went white.
“Jinkies”
And then I slumped onto her like a ragdoll.
End of part 2.
