admin
22 Ocak 2023, 20:09
Just a short offering for Hallowe'en although perhaps a little different: there is nothing frightening, no ghoulies, ghosties, long-leggety beasties or things that go bump in the night. There's not too much in the way of sex, either, but the story is about the love between two women. I hope you enjoy it.
Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over. All characters and some places are imaginary?any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 to the author
* * * * *
"...So I will take you back, Kathleen / To where your heart will feel no pain /And when the fields are fresh and green / I will take you to your home again..."
I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen
( Irish traditional)
Bereavement and grief 2020
They laid my beloved to rest in the old Ballynahoe cemetery. A half-century and more than half-century we had lived together and loved one another and now she was taken from me, leaving me alone and bereft. COVID-19 it was that had taken her, my lovely Siobhan, my lovely girl. I guess you could call it misadventure. She had been suffering with a bad cold then picked up the virus from somewhere and it worked its evil on her weakened system. Siobhan had died in the earliest part of the year when the weather was bleak and the trees bare and ragged as they clutched towards the grey, leaden skies. It was if they, too, mourned.
She slept now close by a grand old tree by the ruins of an ancient church. The plot next to Siobhan's was reserved for me so that when my time came we would be together once more.
The funeral service concluded, the villagers lined up to pass me, to shake my hand and mutter the customary Irish words of condolence, saying: "I'm sorry for your troubles." Peter Rafferty, who owned and ran the grocery-store-cum-pub, had laid on food and tea for the wake. Not a penny piece would he take from me. "You've been good customers and friends over many a year, Kathleen," he told me, "and this is the least I could do for Siobhan." Others could be relied on to bring stronger drinks if they wished. The last in line to reach me was Father Connolly.
The elderly priest took my hands in his. "How long was it you were together, Kathleen?"
"More than fifty years, Father," I told him, "We met at Trinity and gradually we just knew."
He sighed a little. "I respect your feelings, Kathleen, so I'll not do what many of my fellows would do and tell you to be happy because Siobhan is in God's hands. That kind of speech is comfort for some but small comfort for others. What I can say is this: you know my history, you know I've suffered loss and I can tell you that given time, it gets easier. The pain will never go away entirely but it lessens. Now, would you care for me to say a short prayer over Siobhan while you are by my side?" Unlike his predecessor, Father Connolly was a kind man, a caring man, and I could not be so churlish as to refuse his offer.
"Thank you, Father, that would be fine." So we stood together by the open grave and Father Connolly said a short prayer, nothing mawkish or overblown but a simply-worded entreaty to God to care for his daughter now recalled home.
"Thank you, Father," I said as we crossed ourselves, "Now perhaps we'd best be on our way to the wake..."
* * * * *</p>
Even bereavement doesn't give those left behind any respite. I swear there is more bureaucracy involved with a death than any transaction in life. Still, in the first instance it held my grief in check while I went through the rigmarole. With most things sorted out, I rewrote my will and lodged it with a local solicitor. As neither Siobhan nor I had family worth speaking of, I made provision for my funeral and wake and all other assets were to be shared among a number of local charities. I named Father Connolly as executor and then I was free to grieve, remembering daily the time that Siobhan and I had met...
Way back when 1968
I met Siobhan at Trinity College, Dublin, where we were both students. It was 1968, a strange old year with more ill than good in it I'd say. It was the year that the thirty-year conflict, called The Troubles, started in Northern Ireland. It was the year of the Prague Spring when the Czech Communist Party's reforms were little better than window-dressing. It was the year of the My Lai massacre in Vietnam and the downfall of the young officer in charge of the soldiers who had committed the atrocity. It was the year that Martin Luther King was assassinated by career criminal James Earl Ray. It was the year that Richard Nixon was elected President of the US (and those of us old enough will recall how that ended a few years later). There were a few bright spots, a couple being that it was the year the maxi started to replace the mini-skirt and it was the year that Captain James T Kirk shared television's first inter-racial istanbul travesti (https://www.istanbullife.info) kiss with Lieutenant Uhuru in an episode of Star Trek.
And it was the year I met the love of my life.
I was sitting in a lecture hall, going over my notes while waiting for the professor to appear. I was aware of someone plumping themselves down beside me and a slightly breathless voice said: "Phew! Made it. I hope this one's not as boring as the last old fart I had to listen to." A woman's voice. Thank the good Lord for that---I was getting tired of fending off men who tried to make my acquaintance.
I turned to look at my neighbour and... Pow! It was what the French call a coup de foudre. A vision sat beside me, a vision with flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes, a vision with a slight resemblance to actress Maureen O'Hara. And here was me who'd had a teenage crush on Maureen O'Hara ever since I'd seen one of her old films on TV.
"Don't worry," I told her, I've seen this guy before and he's not too bad. Oh, here he is now." The teacher went straight to the lectern and without bothering about feeble jokes or snappy observations plunged straight into his lecture. His subject this day was of particular interest to me, being about negotiations with agents and publishers. Finished, he simply gathered up his notes and left the rostrum without a word. He had a reputation of not allowing time for questions, believing that all you needed to know was contained in the lecture and if you hadn't been paying attention, hard luck. There was a bit of a stampede as students left their seats and rushed the exits.
"Not too bad, I suppose," commented my neighbour, "at least he managed to put some expression in his voice." She looked around. "Seems we're the only two left. The others couldn't get out fast enough. Must be heading for the boozers. Is it in order to ask your name?"
"I'm Kathleen Sheridan," I told her, "In fact it's Mary Kathleen but I prefer Kathleen. There's far too many Marys in this country already." She started laughing and I bristled. "Would there be something funny about my name?"
The girl held up a conciliatory hand. "Not at all. I'm laughing at the coincidence. I'm Siobhan Kearney, baptised Mary Siobhan but I prefer Siobhan for much the same reason. Too many bloody Marys. There were seven or eight of them in my class at school. Of course, the nuns couldn't understand why I dropped the 'Mary'. They said it was an honour to be named after Our Lady. Silly ould fools---her real Hebrew name was Myriam or something like that although the nuns would never admit it."
I started to laugh along with her; the nuns in my school had said much the same ("The honour, child, the honour"). I stuck out a hand. "Then I'm pleased to meet you, Mary Siobhan Kearney."
"And I you, Mary Kathleen Sheridan," she replied as she took my hand. Her hand was warm and she had a firm grip. A thrill seemed to run up my arm and I felt a wee flutter in my belly. Get a grip of yourself, Kathleen Sheridan, I told myself, she's probably straight.
"Well, now that we're acquainted, how'd you feel about going to Mulligan's Pub for a pint?"
"Okay," I agreed, "As long as we can forget the 'Mary' business."
"Deal." We shook on it and again I felt that thrill and little flutter.
* * * * *</p>
Pints of Guinness in Mulligan's Pub---what better way for a pair of students to waste an afternoon.
"So, tell me about yourself," said Siobhan, "What's your subject at Trinity?"
"I'm reading Media Studies and Creative Writing," I told her, "I want to be a journalist firstly, and then eventually an author, hopefully making enough to work for myself. I've sold several short stories so I'm off to an encouraging start. You?"
"I'm studying fine arts. I'm a pretty good painter and I'd like to combine that with picture restoring."
"That's interesting," I said, "but how does that tie in with that lecture today?"
"Even artists need agents," Siobhan replied, "and I'm hoping that maybe I can write a series of small books about famous artists, aimed at young people. If I can interest only a handful in art it would be worthwhile."
She took a pull at her Guinness and added: "Where's home?"
"I've lived most of my life in Edenderry."
Siobhan laughed. "Now there's a thing. We could almost be near neighbours. I'm from Tullamore myself, just a few miles away. What's your family like?"
I shrugged and lifted my glass to drink some of the creamy stout. "I'm an orphan, never knew my folks. My Da went to England and joined the British army when the war started. He was a Japanese POW and never quite recovered from his bad treatment. Died a few months before I was born. And Mammy died giving birth to me."
"Oh, Jesus, that's terrible." Siobhan reached out to squeeze my hand and again I got that little thrill. "Did you end up in one of those dreadful orphanages run by the nuns?"
I istanbul travestileri (https://www.istanbullife.info) shook my head "No, I was lucky. An aunt of Mammy's took me in, Auntie Polly. Awful brave of her, so it was. A spinster and no experience of babies and children. But she coped and made sure I had a life filled with love and happiness. She's retired now, left Edenderry and bought a darling little cottage in a village called Ballynahoe a few miles from Cork. I get to see her when I can and she comes up to Dublin for a weekend sometimes. What about your family?"
There was a pained look on her face. "We're estranged. They threw me out. I can't see any chance of a reconciliation."
"And why would they be doing a thing like that?" I asked.
Siobhan's lips compressed. "I'd rather not talk about it. Not now. I can't see myself ever going back to Tullamore, though." She brightened. "How about another Guinness? It's said that Mulligan's serves the best pint in Dublin and I'll not argue with that."
And that was the start of our friendship. And the start of me falling in love.
* * * * *</p>
I had been worrying about my sexuality for quite some time. In the early Sixties there was practically nothing in the way of sex education anywhere, and in Ireland with most of the schools treading the firm Catholic line it was more or less non-existent. Any thought of homosexuality was stamped on with a very large boot. Virtually all I knew was that I was supposed to find a good man, get married and raise a flock of good little Catholic children. I was so innocent back then I wasn't even sure how those good little Catholic children were made. Many people even frowned on the idea of young women going to college and earning a degree ("Waste of good time when they should be getting wed!").
Auntie Polly, who was very astute, spotted the problem before I did.
* * * * *</p>
"You like girls, don't you Kathleen?" she had asked me out of the blue one day.
I wasn't sure what she meant so I shrugged and said: "I suppose so."
"No, no, child, I didn't mean 'like', I mean 'like'. You find girls more attractive than boys."
The penny dropped. "Oh, I suppose..." I trailed off, unable to think of a suitable reply. Auntie Polly was right. I did find girls attractive. "How do you..."
"How do I know?" She gave a dramatic sigh. "Whenever we've been out together I've never seen you even once glance at a good-looking man. But let an attractive girl walk by and you almost unscrew you head, you turn it so fast."
"Do you dislike me for this, Auntie?"
"Heavens, no, child, I love you to bits. But I'm advising you to be careful out there. The slightest whiff of something like this and all the bigots come crawling out from under their stones. And an awful sad lot of those bigots are wearing clerical garb."
* * * * *</p>
So I was very careful to stay in the closet, even at college. Until Siobhan that was. We had become best friends and saw each other for coffee or drinks or simply to hang out almost every day. Inevitably came the day when I gave way to temptation. We had been to the cinema (to see Funny Girl, I think) and we walked back to our lodgings. Siobhan's place was closer than mine and we stopped outside for a chat. She smiled at mention of something from the film and I couldn't resist. I took her face in my hands and kissed her full on the lips. Realising what I had done, I blurted out: "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!"
Siobhan just looked at me and I thought I'd ruined our friendship. "It's probably best if we don't see each other any more," I added and felt tears crawling down my cheeks.
There was a hurt expression on Siobhan's face and tears in her eyes. "Why? Why should we stop seeing each other?"
"Because I kissed you." I went further. "Damn it, girl, I'm in love with you and I think you'll likely hate me now!"
"There's the coffee shop over there," Siobhan nodded towards the corner, "Let's go and get a drink and talk about this. Now let's wipe those tears or they'll think we've been fighting."
There were few customers in the café so that gave some degree of privacy. Once we were settled with our drinks, Siobhan took my hand in hers. "You remember, Kathleen, when we first met I told you that I was estranged from my family and unlikely to be welcomed back. I didn't want to tell you why, then. It was because I was caught with another girl and I admitted to my parents that I was a lesbian. I think if I'd been a boy my father would have beaten the shit out of me. As it was, I was thrown out and warned never to return until I was cured of this appalling sin. You told me you're in love with me. Well, Mary Kathleen Sheridan, I've been in love with you for months but I was afraid to tell you fearing you'd hate me and run away. So what do we do now?"
"I think we become a couple and let life do what it wants with us," I said, "so how about we give travesti istanbul (https://www.istanbullife.info) it a try."
"What about your Auntie Polly?"
"She'll be grand. She knew what I was before I did. So, Mary Siobhan Kearney, will you consent to be my life's partner?"
Her green eyes shone. "I will acushla [darling], and with all the joy in the world".
That evening was the start of a lifetime of love and devotion.
* * * * *</p>
"I've got something to say, Mary Kathleen Sheridan." We only spoke to each other like this if we had serious matters to discuss. We were curled up on my sofa, arms around each other and watching some old movie on TV.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Your flatmate's away for the weekend, isn't she?"
"She is."
Siobhan wriggled a bit closer. "Then don't you think it's about time we went to bed together? It's four weeks now since we admitted how we felt and we've done nothing more than cuddling and making out."
"Siobhan..." I struggled to know what to say, "I'm a virgin... I don't know what to do..."
"Sure and aren't I the same? We can learn together."
"But you told me about a girl..."
"Ah, that was almost nothing. We were just undoing each other's shirt buttons and got caught before anything really interesting happened. Still didn't stop my parents showing me the door. Come here, you daft wee thing." Siobhan placed a hand firmly behind my head and pressed her lips to mine. There was a difference from all the other times we'd kissed. She slipped her tongue into my mouth and I responded eagerly. Previously I might not have thought this very nice but now it felt wonderful. I became aware that I was feeling damp down below and hoped I wasn't peeing myself although it felt quite different from pee.
Siobhan stood, tugging at my hand. "Which way is your bedroom?"
"Second door on the left."
"Second door on the left it is, then." Before I could fully gather my wits, Siobhan had me standing by my bed, watching her undress. Off came her t-shirt and bra, down slipped her jeans and lastly she discarded a flimsy pair of panties.
"Tah, rah!" She spread her arms giving me a full view. "You like?"
Siobhan's breasts were probably about the same size as mine, a medium cup. She had long, pink nipples with slightly darker aerolas which were pebbling in the cool evening air. My gaze went down to the huge bush between her legs, a bush the same glorious red as her hair. She must have misunderstood my fascinated stare for she said, a touch anxiously, "Should I trim it?"
"Oh no, don't, I love it." Doubt and shyness abating, I couldn't get my clothes off fast enough. My nipples are thick and brown and my bush sparser than Siobhan's although I had never trimmed it. "You're so beautiful, Siobhan."
"And you are, Kathleen acushla." We virtually fell into one another's arms and collapsed onto the bed. I fastened my lips onto one of those delightful nipples, licking and sucking as if my life depended on it. Siobhan's hand crept between my legs and I gave a little squeal of surprise when I felt a finger enter me.
"Did I hurt you?" said Siobhan in a worried voice.
"No, just took me by surprise."
She grabbed one of my hands and put it over her pussy (a word I was to learn later). "Finger me," she whispered.
I slid a finger into her. Her passage was wet and warm and tight, the most exciting thing I'd ever touched in my life. "Just move it in and out gently," Siobhan instructed, "When it feels ready, add another finger." We lay there for a long time, kissing, nibbling at our nipples and playing with our pussies. Then an amazing thing happened. I began panting involuntarily and I felt a sudden rush of pleasure such as I've never felt before.
"What... what was that...?"
Siobhan laughed with delight. "I think you've just had your first orgasm, Kathleen."
For me, and I think for Siobhan, that was a night of complete joy. We made love countless times since then but there was nothing to beat the wonder of that first time...
<strong>Nearer to now 1970s
Characters in sex scenes are eighteen years old or over. All characters and some places are imaginary?any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 to the author
* * * * *
"...So I will take you back, Kathleen / To where your heart will feel no pain /And when the fields are fresh and green / I will take you to your home again..."
I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen
( Irish traditional)
Bereavement and grief 2020
They laid my beloved to rest in the old Ballynahoe cemetery. A half-century and more than half-century we had lived together and loved one another and now she was taken from me, leaving me alone and bereft. COVID-19 it was that had taken her, my lovely Siobhan, my lovely girl. I guess you could call it misadventure. She had been suffering with a bad cold then picked up the virus from somewhere and it worked its evil on her weakened system. Siobhan had died in the earliest part of the year when the weather was bleak and the trees bare and ragged as they clutched towards the grey, leaden skies. It was if they, too, mourned.
She slept now close by a grand old tree by the ruins of an ancient church. The plot next to Siobhan's was reserved for me so that when my time came we would be together once more.
The funeral service concluded, the villagers lined up to pass me, to shake my hand and mutter the customary Irish words of condolence, saying: "I'm sorry for your troubles." Peter Rafferty, who owned and ran the grocery-store-cum-pub, had laid on food and tea for the wake. Not a penny piece would he take from me. "You've been good customers and friends over many a year, Kathleen," he told me, "and this is the least I could do for Siobhan." Others could be relied on to bring stronger drinks if they wished. The last in line to reach me was Father Connolly.
The elderly priest took my hands in his. "How long was it you were together, Kathleen?"
"More than fifty years, Father," I told him, "We met at Trinity and gradually we just knew."
He sighed a little. "I respect your feelings, Kathleen, so I'll not do what many of my fellows would do and tell you to be happy because Siobhan is in God's hands. That kind of speech is comfort for some but small comfort for others. What I can say is this: you know my history, you know I've suffered loss and I can tell you that given time, it gets easier. The pain will never go away entirely but it lessens. Now, would you care for me to say a short prayer over Siobhan while you are by my side?" Unlike his predecessor, Father Connolly was a kind man, a caring man, and I could not be so churlish as to refuse his offer.
"Thank you, Father, that would be fine." So we stood together by the open grave and Father Connolly said a short prayer, nothing mawkish or overblown but a simply-worded entreaty to God to care for his daughter now recalled home.
"Thank you, Father," I said as we crossed ourselves, "Now perhaps we'd best be on our way to the wake..."
* * * * *</p>
Even bereavement doesn't give those left behind any respite. I swear there is more bureaucracy involved with a death than any transaction in life. Still, in the first instance it held my grief in check while I went through the rigmarole. With most things sorted out, I rewrote my will and lodged it with a local solicitor. As neither Siobhan nor I had family worth speaking of, I made provision for my funeral and wake and all other assets were to be shared among a number of local charities. I named Father Connolly as executor and then I was free to grieve, remembering daily the time that Siobhan and I had met...
Way back when 1968
I met Siobhan at Trinity College, Dublin, where we were both students. It was 1968, a strange old year with more ill than good in it I'd say. It was the year that the thirty-year conflict, called The Troubles, started in Northern Ireland. It was the year of the Prague Spring when the Czech Communist Party's reforms were little better than window-dressing. It was the year of the My Lai massacre in Vietnam and the downfall of the young officer in charge of the soldiers who had committed the atrocity. It was the year that Martin Luther King was assassinated by career criminal James Earl Ray. It was the year that Richard Nixon was elected President of the US (and those of us old enough will recall how that ended a few years later). There were a few bright spots, a couple being that it was the year the maxi started to replace the mini-skirt and it was the year that Captain James T Kirk shared television's first inter-racial istanbul travesti (https://www.istanbullife.info) kiss with Lieutenant Uhuru in an episode of Star Trek.
And it was the year I met the love of my life.
I was sitting in a lecture hall, going over my notes while waiting for the professor to appear. I was aware of someone plumping themselves down beside me and a slightly breathless voice said: "Phew! Made it. I hope this one's not as boring as the last old fart I had to listen to." A woman's voice. Thank the good Lord for that---I was getting tired of fending off men who tried to make my acquaintance.
I turned to look at my neighbour and... Pow! It was what the French call a coup de foudre. A vision sat beside me, a vision with flaming red hair and sparkling green eyes, a vision with a slight resemblance to actress Maureen O'Hara. And here was me who'd had a teenage crush on Maureen O'Hara ever since I'd seen one of her old films on TV.
"Don't worry," I told her, I've seen this guy before and he's not too bad. Oh, here he is now." The teacher went straight to the lectern and without bothering about feeble jokes or snappy observations plunged straight into his lecture. His subject this day was of particular interest to me, being about negotiations with agents and publishers. Finished, he simply gathered up his notes and left the rostrum without a word. He had a reputation of not allowing time for questions, believing that all you needed to know was contained in the lecture and if you hadn't been paying attention, hard luck. There was a bit of a stampede as students left their seats and rushed the exits.
"Not too bad, I suppose," commented my neighbour, "at least he managed to put some expression in his voice." She looked around. "Seems we're the only two left. The others couldn't get out fast enough. Must be heading for the boozers. Is it in order to ask your name?"
"I'm Kathleen Sheridan," I told her, "In fact it's Mary Kathleen but I prefer Kathleen. There's far too many Marys in this country already." She started laughing and I bristled. "Would there be something funny about my name?"
The girl held up a conciliatory hand. "Not at all. I'm laughing at the coincidence. I'm Siobhan Kearney, baptised Mary Siobhan but I prefer Siobhan for much the same reason. Too many bloody Marys. There were seven or eight of them in my class at school. Of course, the nuns couldn't understand why I dropped the 'Mary'. They said it was an honour to be named after Our Lady. Silly ould fools---her real Hebrew name was Myriam or something like that although the nuns would never admit it."
I started to laugh along with her; the nuns in my school had said much the same ("The honour, child, the honour"). I stuck out a hand. "Then I'm pleased to meet you, Mary Siobhan Kearney."
"And I you, Mary Kathleen Sheridan," she replied as she took my hand. Her hand was warm and she had a firm grip. A thrill seemed to run up my arm and I felt a wee flutter in my belly. Get a grip of yourself, Kathleen Sheridan, I told myself, she's probably straight.
"Well, now that we're acquainted, how'd you feel about going to Mulligan's Pub for a pint?"
"Okay," I agreed, "As long as we can forget the 'Mary' business."
"Deal." We shook on it and again I felt that thrill and little flutter.
* * * * *</p>
Pints of Guinness in Mulligan's Pub---what better way for a pair of students to waste an afternoon.
"So, tell me about yourself," said Siobhan, "What's your subject at Trinity?"
"I'm reading Media Studies and Creative Writing," I told her, "I want to be a journalist firstly, and then eventually an author, hopefully making enough to work for myself. I've sold several short stories so I'm off to an encouraging start. You?"
"I'm studying fine arts. I'm a pretty good painter and I'd like to combine that with picture restoring."
"That's interesting," I said, "but how does that tie in with that lecture today?"
"Even artists need agents," Siobhan replied, "and I'm hoping that maybe I can write a series of small books about famous artists, aimed at young people. If I can interest only a handful in art it would be worthwhile."
She took a pull at her Guinness and added: "Where's home?"
"I've lived most of my life in Edenderry."
Siobhan laughed. "Now there's a thing. We could almost be near neighbours. I'm from Tullamore myself, just a few miles away. What's your family like?"
I shrugged and lifted my glass to drink some of the creamy stout. "I'm an orphan, never knew my folks. My Da went to England and joined the British army when the war started. He was a Japanese POW and never quite recovered from his bad treatment. Died a few months before I was born. And Mammy died giving birth to me."
"Oh, Jesus, that's terrible." Siobhan reached out to squeeze my hand and again I got that little thrill. "Did you end up in one of those dreadful orphanages run by the nuns?"
I istanbul travestileri (https://www.istanbullife.info) shook my head "No, I was lucky. An aunt of Mammy's took me in, Auntie Polly. Awful brave of her, so it was. A spinster and no experience of babies and children. But she coped and made sure I had a life filled with love and happiness. She's retired now, left Edenderry and bought a darling little cottage in a village called Ballynahoe a few miles from Cork. I get to see her when I can and she comes up to Dublin for a weekend sometimes. What about your family?"
There was a pained look on her face. "We're estranged. They threw me out. I can't see any chance of a reconciliation."
"And why would they be doing a thing like that?" I asked.
Siobhan's lips compressed. "I'd rather not talk about it. Not now. I can't see myself ever going back to Tullamore, though." She brightened. "How about another Guinness? It's said that Mulligan's serves the best pint in Dublin and I'll not argue with that."
And that was the start of our friendship. And the start of me falling in love.
* * * * *</p>
I had been worrying about my sexuality for quite some time. In the early Sixties there was practically nothing in the way of sex education anywhere, and in Ireland with most of the schools treading the firm Catholic line it was more or less non-existent. Any thought of homosexuality was stamped on with a very large boot. Virtually all I knew was that I was supposed to find a good man, get married and raise a flock of good little Catholic children. I was so innocent back then I wasn't even sure how those good little Catholic children were made. Many people even frowned on the idea of young women going to college and earning a degree ("Waste of good time when they should be getting wed!").
Auntie Polly, who was very astute, spotted the problem before I did.
* * * * *</p>
"You like girls, don't you Kathleen?" she had asked me out of the blue one day.
I wasn't sure what she meant so I shrugged and said: "I suppose so."
"No, no, child, I didn't mean 'like', I mean 'like'. You find girls more attractive than boys."
The penny dropped. "Oh, I suppose..." I trailed off, unable to think of a suitable reply. Auntie Polly was right. I did find girls attractive. "How do you..."
"How do I know?" She gave a dramatic sigh. "Whenever we've been out together I've never seen you even once glance at a good-looking man. But let an attractive girl walk by and you almost unscrew you head, you turn it so fast."
"Do you dislike me for this, Auntie?"
"Heavens, no, child, I love you to bits. But I'm advising you to be careful out there. The slightest whiff of something like this and all the bigots come crawling out from under their stones. And an awful sad lot of those bigots are wearing clerical garb."
* * * * *</p>
So I was very careful to stay in the closet, even at college. Until Siobhan that was. We had become best friends and saw each other for coffee or drinks or simply to hang out almost every day. Inevitably came the day when I gave way to temptation. We had been to the cinema (to see Funny Girl, I think) and we walked back to our lodgings. Siobhan's place was closer than mine and we stopped outside for a chat. She smiled at mention of something from the film and I couldn't resist. I took her face in my hands and kissed her full on the lips. Realising what I had done, I blurted out: "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry!"
Siobhan just looked at me and I thought I'd ruined our friendship. "It's probably best if we don't see each other any more," I added and felt tears crawling down my cheeks.
There was a hurt expression on Siobhan's face and tears in her eyes. "Why? Why should we stop seeing each other?"
"Because I kissed you." I went further. "Damn it, girl, I'm in love with you and I think you'll likely hate me now!"
"There's the coffee shop over there," Siobhan nodded towards the corner, "Let's go and get a drink and talk about this. Now let's wipe those tears or they'll think we've been fighting."
There were few customers in the café so that gave some degree of privacy. Once we were settled with our drinks, Siobhan took my hand in hers. "You remember, Kathleen, when we first met I told you that I was estranged from my family and unlikely to be welcomed back. I didn't want to tell you why, then. It was because I was caught with another girl and I admitted to my parents that I was a lesbian. I think if I'd been a boy my father would have beaten the shit out of me. As it was, I was thrown out and warned never to return until I was cured of this appalling sin. You told me you're in love with me. Well, Mary Kathleen Sheridan, I've been in love with you for months but I was afraid to tell you fearing you'd hate me and run away. So what do we do now?"
"I think we become a couple and let life do what it wants with us," I said, "so how about we give travesti istanbul (https://www.istanbullife.info) it a try."
"What about your Auntie Polly?"
"She'll be grand. She knew what I was before I did. So, Mary Siobhan Kearney, will you consent to be my life's partner?"
Her green eyes shone. "I will acushla [darling], and with all the joy in the world".
That evening was the start of a lifetime of love and devotion.
* * * * *</p>
"I've got something to say, Mary Kathleen Sheridan." We only spoke to each other like this if we had serious matters to discuss. We were curled up on my sofa, arms around each other and watching some old movie on TV.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Your flatmate's away for the weekend, isn't she?"
"She is."
Siobhan wriggled a bit closer. "Then don't you think it's about time we went to bed together? It's four weeks now since we admitted how we felt and we've done nothing more than cuddling and making out."
"Siobhan..." I struggled to know what to say, "I'm a virgin... I don't know what to do..."
"Sure and aren't I the same? We can learn together."
"But you told me about a girl..."
"Ah, that was almost nothing. We were just undoing each other's shirt buttons and got caught before anything really interesting happened. Still didn't stop my parents showing me the door. Come here, you daft wee thing." Siobhan placed a hand firmly behind my head and pressed her lips to mine. There was a difference from all the other times we'd kissed. She slipped her tongue into my mouth and I responded eagerly. Previously I might not have thought this very nice but now it felt wonderful. I became aware that I was feeling damp down below and hoped I wasn't peeing myself although it felt quite different from pee.
Siobhan stood, tugging at my hand. "Which way is your bedroom?"
"Second door on the left."
"Second door on the left it is, then." Before I could fully gather my wits, Siobhan had me standing by my bed, watching her undress. Off came her t-shirt and bra, down slipped her jeans and lastly she discarded a flimsy pair of panties.
"Tah, rah!" She spread her arms giving me a full view. "You like?"
Siobhan's breasts were probably about the same size as mine, a medium cup. She had long, pink nipples with slightly darker aerolas which were pebbling in the cool evening air. My gaze went down to the huge bush between her legs, a bush the same glorious red as her hair. She must have misunderstood my fascinated stare for she said, a touch anxiously, "Should I trim it?"
"Oh no, don't, I love it." Doubt and shyness abating, I couldn't get my clothes off fast enough. My nipples are thick and brown and my bush sparser than Siobhan's although I had never trimmed it. "You're so beautiful, Siobhan."
"And you are, Kathleen acushla." We virtually fell into one another's arms and collapsed onto the bed. I fastened my lips onto one of those delightful nipples, licking and sucking as if my life depended on it. Siobhan's hand crept between my legs and I gave a little squeal of surprise when I felt a finger enter me.
"Did I hurt you?" said Siobhan in a worried voice.
"No, just took me by surprise."
She grabbed one of my hands and put it over her pussy (a word I was to learn later). "Finger me," she whispered.
I slid a finger into her. Her passage was wet and warm and tight, the most exciting thing I'd ever touched in my life. "Just move it in and out gently," Siobhan instructed, "When it feels ready, add another finger." We lay there for a long time, kissing, nibbling at our nipples and playing with our pussies. Then an amazing thing happened. I began panting involuntarily and I felt a sudden rush of pleasure such as I've never felt before.
"What... what was that...?"
Siobhan laughed with delight. "I think you've just had your first orgasm, Kathleen."
For me, and I think for Siobhan, that was a night of complete joy. We made love countless times since then but there was nothing to beat the wonder of that first time...
<strong>Nearer to now 1970s