Excerpt for Davina Does Easter by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.

Davina Does Easter

By LimeyLady

Copyright Mark C Woolridge (writing as LimeyLady), 2017

Distributed by Smashwords

All characters and events in this publication,

other than those clearly in the public domain,

are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents


Chapter Twenty-Seven - Saturday Afternoon with Lorna

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Dick’s

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Keighley Gate

Chapter Thirty - Mmmm Meryl . . .

Chapter Thirty-One - A New Deal

Chapter Thirty-Two - Val

Chapter Thirty-Three - Camping in the Lakes

Chapter Thirty-Four - Night School

Author’s Note

Other Books by LimeyLady


This is going to be a short intro because by now you either know me or you don’t. I’m twenty-six, a devout lesbian and I have a penchant for beautiful girls. By that I mean my ugly mug attracts a lot of stunners and I’m never capable of saying “no”.

Well I wouldn’t be, would I?

Okay. So last time I left you rather abruptly, halfway through a sexual extravaganza of a weekend. In fact I was spending Saturday afternoon in the Hottest Girl at School’s bed, making her cum and cum and cum.

Hard work I know, but somebody had to do it!

I won’t waste time with any more background. Let’s just say that, as an eighteen-year-old in late 2008, I was developing a taste for “different” and “new” . . . or, in other words, “the more the merrier”.

And let’s also get back to me and Lorna, picking up somewhere between two and three hours after we’d kicked off . . .

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Me being a lifelong IT nerd, it feels odd when I take a break without being aware of the exact time. I live by the display to the bottom right of my screen. Right then (fresh from a sexual haze) I was lost. Was it nearer four pm or five? How many minutes did I have to get home, showered and changed and back out again? And would I have the seconds to spare to eat “tea”?

Come to that, would there be anything for me to eat? Mum had had reservations about her only child going rock climbing in torrential rain, expressing concern about the risk of broken necks. She’d clearly thought I would end up eating all my future meals through an NG tube. Would she have even bothered to prepare enough food for stubborn old me?

Lorna’s hand pulled me out of my reverie, landing on my thigh nice and high up, close to my groin.

I chuckled, glad she’d last done something apart for moan, groan and orgasm. Not that I’m knocking her in any way. Making her moan, groan and orgasm had been a simply massive turn on. I wouldn’t really have minded carrying on like that forever.

Well, not much, anyway. Still, having her touching me even innocuously was great.

‘Mmmm,’ I went. ‘Keep going.’

Lorna’s hand brushed my swollen lips, light as a butterfly’s wings, and she echoed my chuckle.

‘How much will you tell Sara?’

‘Eh?’ I replied, oh-so articulately.

‘About this afternoon, I mean. Do you really tell her everything you get up to?’

‘We’re grown women and jealousy-free,’ I replied with the sincerity of a girl who had never been badly let down (not yet!). ‘But we don’t tittle-tattle. What I do without her is my business. So is whatever she does with Ray. Not that I want to know what she gets up to with him. Or what you do with Steve, for that matter.’

‘Steve’s probably not so jealousy-free,’ Lorna said. ‘And he fancies you. Don’t get me wrong; inside his head he’s a liberated man. In his heart he’s a Neanderthal.’

‘Neanderthal’s were relatively civilized,’ I said automatically. ‘They just get bad press.’ Then, frowning: ‘What was that about Steve fancying me?’

‘He’s like his mates. The whole rugby team wants to get into your knickers. They’re all scared though. None of them want to be the first to get shot down in flames.’

I mused on that a moment. ‘I must be at the back their queue,’ I said finally.

‘You’re ahead of most of us,’ said Lorna. ‘Trust me, Dave; you have a lot of men’s hands moving very rapidly every night.’

My retching sounds weren’t entirely faked. ‘Please,’ I said, ‘I’m nobody’s dream girl. And that imagery is making me sick.’

‘Welcome to the club.’ She laughed. ‘What about Ellie? What do you tell her?’

‘I tell her even less than I tell Sara. And believe you me, Ellie’s hard work. When it comes to prying for information, she got kicked out of the Gestapo ages ago. For excess cruelty, I believe.’

‘But you can deal with her?’

Lorna’s hand had moved higher; it was cupping my pussy now, not actually doing anything apart from being warm and cosy.

‘Yeah,’ I gasped, ‘I can deal with both of them.’

‘Good,’ said Lorna, beginning to rub.


I declined the offer of a shared shower because somehow it had got to five twenty-five.

‘Let’s keep us secret,’ Lorna said before unlocking her front door. ‘I’m not ashamed or anything, but I want an easy life. And I want us to keep sneaking around. It adds an edge, don’t you think?’

‘You want to do this again?’ I queried, a little surprised, enormously gratified.

‘You bet I do. I’m missing you already.’

Logical Dave muttered something about flings supposed to be one-offs. I ignored her.

What did she know!

‘As long as you’re jealousy-free I’m your gal,’ I told Lorna, smiling into her eyes.

She beamed right back at me. ‘Jealousy-free and sneakily surreptitious,’ she said. ‘And what Steve doesn’t know won’t hurt him, will it?’

‘Yes, but he’ll find out one day. Somebody will twig and he’ll be the next to know.’

‘That possibility will add to the edge,’ she said, grinning ever-wider.

‘Seeing you naked is edge enough for me,’ I said as convincingly as possible. ‘But I do know where you’re coming from. As long as you’re sure he won’t react too badly when he does cotton on.’

‘He’d die before he even shouted at a woman, so I’ve nothing to fear. And neither have you. It’s me he’ll be jealous of. You’ll just seem more desirable.’

‘I wish,’ said I. ‘Er . . . when’s the next slot in your diary?’

‘My parents visit Sheffield every third or fourth weekend. And Steve has rugby all day Saturday at this time of year.’

‘Every three or four weeks it is then.’ I offered her my fist.

‘You betcha,’ she agreed, bumping it.


My visit home was, to say the least, a flying one. My hair wet from the latest heavy fall of rain, I arrived in a flurry and shot up to the bathroom before I could be interrogated. Then, showered and dressed in my usual Saturday night clobber, I called in to the kitchen.

‘Home-made corned beef, potato and onion pie,’ Mum announced (as if the delicious aromas could’ve been missed!). ‘Have you time to wash it down with wine?’

I had.

‘No fatal falls then?’ Mum asked as I tucked in.

‘Oh,’ said I, borrowing a tactic from Margaret Thatcher and disregarding the question altogether. ‘Kelly is calling round tomorrow. I’m helping her with some IT.’

(Please note: I was actually making sure Kelly got some IT coursework finished; coursework that only I didn’t seem to be losing sleep over. It was my way of paying her for being my alibi. As it counted toward Kelly’s A-level, Mum would have called that sort of help “cheating” so I didn’t go into the nitty-gritty.)

‘Is she the . . . ah, mannish one?’ Mum persisted.

‘She has the same tastes as me,’ I said patiently. ‘But we’re not an item or anything. We’re just doing some work together on . . .’

Mum listened for maybe a minute before holding up her hand.

‘Whoa, enough! You lost me at the first NAND gate. You do whatever it is you have to do. At least it’ll keep you out of the pub.’

‘We won’t be at it long,’ said I. ‘I’ll soon explain the bits she doesn’t properly understand. Then we’ll probably get out of your hair and go for a drink.’

Mum sipped wine and tried not to smile. ‘You and your love of alcohol! I honestly don’t know where you get it from.’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Because my mum had old-fashioned values (like believing in love with - and faithful to - one person at a time), I had arranged to meet Meryl outside the Spar, taking care to keep out of direct line of sight of any of the night staff. I got there at 6:28, two minutes early. Meryl arrived at six-thirty precisely but, as she was in a fancy SUV, it took me a moment to realize it was her.

(Confession: I was under the impression her mum was a single parent and had expected something less flashy, like the aging Mini my own mum ran around in. Meryl’s Discovery still couldn’t be due its first MOT. It wasn’t brand-spanking-new but it was seriously impressive.)

No. it was awesome!

‘Wow,’ I said as she leant over and opened the passenger-side door. ‘Ace wheels!’

‘Ace you,’ she countered, kissing me quickly before pulling back, waiting for me to belt myself in. ‘So where to?’

‘I’m supposed to be taking you out,’ I protested.

‘Consider me to be the chauffer then. Is Dick’s all right?’

Ralph’s party was in Morton Institute (again!). Dick’s was on the way, assuming we went via the more scenic route so I said yes, it would do for me.

Seeming very proficient in the driving seat, Meryl indicated to move out.


The pub was an ivy-covered building on the fringes of the moor, miles from anywhere but very, very popular. Back in the day it had catered for packhorses, stagecoaches and the likes. Judging from the vehicles on its car park it now mostly catered for yuppies in Mercs and BMWs. Meryl’s (mum’s) motor didn’t look at all out of place.

Unlike us when we went inside.

Early evening and Dick’s was rammed with well-dressed folk, most of them already dining or about to dine. Not that you should be thinking ball gowns and tuxedos; it was very much smart/casual with few ties to be seen and no dicky-bows at all.

Dozens of eyes fixed on us as we approached the bar. I’d like to think that my Saturday night clobber passed muster. My blue jeans were as smart as anyone else’s, my sweatshirt was a fetching if rather pale yellow and my short leather jacket was practically unbroken-in.

Meryl was dressed as per Friday, minus the cape. Her F-me boots and half-unbuttoned waistcoat were black and her tight jeans were blue-verging-on-black. The only real difference in her that night was the choice of lippy: dark purple instead of blood-red.

She looked hot, though. Posh women were snarling as their partners visually gobbled her up.

The bits of her I hadn’t already mentally devoured!

I grinned at Meryl as we waited to be served. No doubt about it, she loved the attention, and why not? At eighteen we were significantly younger than those well-dressed diners. It was our obligation to look rebellious, wasn’t it?

So what if most of the hen-pecked hubbies were ogling my girlfriend’s lovely little, half-exposed tits? Ogling was as close as they were going to get.

Me? I had my plans.

And dirty ones at that!

‘What are you having?’ I asked her.

‘Britvic orange and lemonade,’ she replied, somewhat shattering her rebellious image.

The nearest barman sprang into action, not waiting for me to confirm the order. In a matter of seconds a well-presented glass was on the bar before us, filled with juice, ice and a slice.

‘And you, sir?’ he said to me.

I stared at him, for once taken aback.

‘A pint of Black Sheep,’ said Meryl, squeezing my bum, signalling me to keep cool.

I think.

I thrust a tenner at the frigging bar steward without speaking then, acting like the guy he took me to be, I crammed my unchecked change into the front pocket of my jeans.

Asshole, I thought, quite viciously.

Meryl led me to one of the few free tables; it was by a large window that faced south, downhill and towards Bingley.

‘The views are wonderful from here in summer,’ she said.

I laughed shortly, still peeved with the barman.

‘Did you hear what he said to me,’ I asked indignantly, ‘that flipping bar steward!’

‘He’s visually challenged, obviously.’ Meryl’s laugh had much more humour in it than mine.

‘Here,’ I said, momentarily taking off my supersized specs. ‘I’ll give him these.’

‘Don’t,’ said Meryl, ‘you wouldn’t be the same without them.’

I shook my head, clearing it, reminding myself my date was probably nervous and I had no right to be sniffy.

Pull yourself together, Logical Dave recommended. Forget it ever happened. And don’t be a grouch. It wasn’t exactly the first time, was it?

‘Not much of a view tonight,’ I said aloud, nodding at the window which was still rain-lashed from one recent downpour or another.

‘It is December,’ Meryl replied. ‘It’s been dark for hours.’

‘The view across this table is much better,’ I countered, sincerely if a bit gushy and predictable.

‘Did you notice the back of the Disco?’

‘Eh?’ said I, thrown by the abrupt change of tack.

‘The Discovery; I’ve put the rear seats down. We’ll have plenty of room later. Clever me, eh?’

‘Clever you,’ I agreed, amazed as ever by her bluntness but excited too. The idea of “plenty of room” equated to “plenty of fun”, and I was up for that.

Wasn’t I just!

‘I have a surprise for you,’ she added.

‘Great. What is it?’

‘It’s a surprise, so wait and see.’

‘Have you been driving long?’ I wondered, speaking to break the ensuing silence as much as wanting to know.

‘Almost a year.’

‘You must have learnt fast.’

‘I did. Mum got me lessons for my seventeenth. I had them in a crash course.’

‘I sincerely hope we won’t be crashing tonight.’

‘We’ll be crashing about in the back,’ she said, missing my (admittedly feeble) joke altogether. ‘And I won’t be drinking. I promised Mum I would never drink and drive and I never will.’

‘What does your mum do?’ I enquired, curious.

‘She manages a big office in Bradford. She’s worked there ever since I first went to school, getting one promotion after another. She never has any time off. Well, she did have a week when Dad died, when I was seven.’

Oh bother! I hadn’t seen that coming. I’d assumed “Dad” was an absentee, not in a grave.

‘It was an industrial accident,’ Meryl said matter-of-factly, ‘in a foundry in Keighley. Mum got a mega payout from their insurers . . . after a bit of a wait, naturally.’

‘Has she been on her own ever after?’

‘Apart from me, you mean?’

I nodded and said nothing, afraid of putting my foot in it yet again.

‘Aunt Doreen lived with us for years,’ Meryl went on. ‘Of course she wasn’t really my aunt; really she was the woman who shared Mum’s bed. Then she got breast cancer and it simply wouldn’t go away. She died the summer before last. Since then there’s just been the two of us.’

I swallowed a lump in my throat. My own home life (safe, secure and with only the danger of being suffocated by love) suddenly seemed unfair. Anger raged inside my head. Ellie had better not call Meryl “Miserable” ever again; not unless she wanted a punch on the nose.

Or maybe a head-butt.

‘Are you ready for another pint?’ Meryl was on her feet.

‘Hey, I’m taking you out. I’m buying.

‘Let me get this round,’ she said. ‘That bar steward of a barman keeps looking our way. He fancies one of us; I want to see which one. I’m betting he’s gay . . .’

My God, I thought as she went back to the bar, taking a lot of male attention with her, she was ribbing me! And she was almost subtle with it!!

Draining the last of my pint I (literally) licked my lips. There was even more to the girl than I’d credited.

A whole lot more.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Meryl had indeed lowered the back seats in her mum’s Disco . . . both rows of them.

‘There’s enough room for a ten-girl orgy,’ I said as she pulled up just short of Morton Institute.

‘Two will do for now,’ she said. ‘If you can get another eight interested parties we can try it some other night.’

I wasn’t sure how serious she was but chuckled anyway. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I’ll be happy with just you.’

‘Correct answer!’

We’d stopped up in an approved (I hoped!) parking area outside a terrace of houses. Meryl proved she was at least slightly nervy by asking me about our invite.

‘No worries,’ I replied. ‘There won’t be bouncers or girls behind reception desks at a place like this. There never is. We’ll just walk straight in.’

‘Are you saying you haven’t brought it with you?’

I laughed out loud at that. I’d checked the invitation that morning. It was addressed only to “Dave”. But the ink was easily matched. The card tucked in my wallet now read “Dave and guest”.

‘I’ve got it but like I said, we won’t need it,’ I assured her.

‘Let’s go then.’ She clasped my hand. ‘’If all’s well and I’m not going to be kicked out on my ass. . .’


I was right about the lack of bouncers, and the closest to “reception” was a pair of forty-something women sipping from outsized wine glasses. I guessed they were Ralph’s mum and her backup but never got to find out which was which. They never got to find out who we were either. They just met us with smiles and pointed the way to the bar.

Not that I didn’t already know!

As eighteenths go that was a good ‘un. None of my friends could have been accused of shunning my date as an outcast and a lot of them were drooling over her. Take Ellie, for example. She cornered me on my way out of the ladies’.

‘Is she fit our what’ she exclaimed. ‘Give her to me when you’re done. I have sooooo many tricks in store for her.’

‘I thought you had tricks in store for me.’ I replied, somewhat awkwardly.

‘I have, but tonight I’m seeing Meryl in a whole new light. I really, really want to screw her.

‘Honestly and truthfully?’

‘So much so it hurts,’ Ellie admitted. ‘I want her nearly as much as I want you.’

We stared at each other a while. I didn’t actually love Ellie (not in the depths of my brain), but I did like her a lot more than I let on.

Cards on the table: I keep maintaining I’ve only had three true loves but Ellie could have made it a top four. Half a sincere gesture and I’d have wilted like a reed in a storm.

That was her big chance but, sadly, she had different ideas.

‘Next Friday,’ she began, ‘my old folk are away again. Are you up for as much as you can take?’

Ten out of ten for guessing my answer and “no” doesn’t come in to the frame.

Not even close.


As I mentioned a moment ago, all my friends went out of their way to be nice to Meryl. Sara said she looked “super smashing” and Jacqui and Roberta were particularly attentive.

Especially Roberta.

I chuckled at that. Roberta was one of the sexiest girls ever; she made your average beauty queen look like a shrivelled old glove. There wasn’t a guy in school who’d ever turn her down. And there wasn’t a guy in school who wasn’t envious of Jacqui for winning her heart.

Straight up honest, Roberta was seriously fit. I regularly jacked thinking about her. I know that’s a terrible thing to admit, but it’s the truth. I used mental images of her while bringing myself off. And it was one hundred per cent sexual: I didn’t waste time conjuring up fanciful love stories and airy-fairy things like that. When I pictured her it was for one end only. I neither needed nor wanted anything short of release.

Yes, I accept I was objectifying her, but is it really only men who commit that crime? How many of us genuinely qualify to cast that first stone?

Anyhow I did it quite often and I did it thinking about other girls too. Burn me at the stake if you have to; I’m not going to lie and pretend it never happened.

So, where was I? Oh yes, drooling over Roberta. Now, if I had one reservation about her it was that she could be a bit aloof. It was nothing extreme, please understand, but (Christmas kissing aside!) she did occasionally seem remote.

That said, she wasn’t aloof on the night of Ralph’s party; not when it came to Meryl. Her attraction to the girl was as obvious as it was instantaneous. Jacqui kept trying to join in their (rather one-sided) conversation but Roberta rolled right over her attempts.

Amused as I was, I kept an eye on Meryl. It was hard to believe she wasn’t flattered by the attention but even harder to read her thoughts. She might feel reciprocal or she might not. For all I knew she could have been scoffing inside at the two-faced cow who suddenly wanted to befriend her.

By that I mean Roberta, not me!

Lorna caught up with me in the toilets (the ladies’ being my second home for the early part of that evening; I’d switched to wine but those three pints in Dick’s kept nagging at me).

‘How unpredictable are you!’ she began.

I had considered telling Lorna about my date with Meryl during our afternoon in bed but I’d chickened. Now, caught red-handed, I shrugged apologetically. ‘Sorry,’ I whimpered. ‘I forgot to let you know.’

‘We’re jealousy and apology-free,’ she countered. ‘’And Meryl’s looking seriously good tonight. I can’t fault you for choice.’

‘So you’re not annoyed?’

‘Ask me a week ago and I’d have questioned your eyesight. Not now, though. Is there any chance of swapping her for a slightly shop-soiled, high-mileage rugby forward?’

I did my spec-removing trick again then laughed. ‘Nowt wrong with these, lass. You go practice your line-outs; leave Meryl to me.’


We left the Institute shortly after nine o’clock; as soon as I was sure I’d regained control of my bladder and could prise Meryl away from Roberta and an increasingly green-eyed Jacqui.

‘Are you always the first to leave parties?’ she asked as we climbed back in to the Disco.

‘Only when I’m with the hottest girl in town,’ I told her.

She gave me her mildest kiss for that (lukewarm by her standards, sizzling by anyone else’s).

‘I thought we could try Keighley Gate,’ she said.

I grinned at her. Keighley Gate was a renowned lovers’ lane. I’d never been there before (naturally!) but everyone knew its name was a euphemism for “having sex”. In other words, if a girl said she had been there with a guy, it was taken for granted that she’d opened her legs. I was surprised Meryl had even heard of the place; surprised but game to give it a go.

‘Do you know the way?’ I almost jabbered.

‘I looked it up on the map. I’ll find it, no worries.’

Proficient as ever, Meryl drove us past the Institute and out of the village, taking a right after the mini-roundabout. We soon passed the last houses and hit open countryside; very much uphill countryside at that. Then, when I was starting to think we’d end up in Silsden, she took another right.

‘It’s meant to get really busy up here,’ she told me. ‘Guys screwing other guys’ wives and what have you. And kids with nowhere else to go.’

‘Like us,’ said I.

We passed a few buildings, some residential but mostly agricultural, then went down a dip and hit a new uphill stretch. I wasn’t to know it at the time, but the farm in the dip marked the end of civilization as I knew it. Maybe I should have guessed because the road stopped being a narrow-ish country lane and became no more than a single track; one with regular passing places on generous grass verges.

The terrain changed too. The dry stone walls gave way to a thin wire fence, presumably there to keep sheep safe from rare traffic. Beyond the fence the grass was mostly short but interspersed with clumps of much longer stuff that waved like banshees in the wind. As we went higher and higher clumps of black encroached, heather taking over from the grass. Then suddenly the grass was no more and we were surrounded by a sea of black.

Now I like heather. At certain times of the year it can be purple and simply majestic. I don’t let it fool me, though. I’ve caddied for my dad often enough. Even the tame stuff on golf courses can come up to your waist and the stems can be thicker than my wrist. Hit a ball in there and you’re wisest to call it lost. In the unlikely event of finding the thing you’re never going to get it out with doing severe damage to your scorecard.

‘That’s it,’ Meryl said eventually, ‘Keighley Gate.’

The Discovery’s headlights were illuminating a physical gate; a metal contraption with six or seven horizontal bars. Through it I could see that the “road” went on, but not in a usable state. The tarmacked surface ended where we were currently sitting. Beyond the gate were potholes and great pools of water. The Luftwaffe must still be strafing up there, as well as along that street back down in Bingley.

In fact maybe they were making a bit more of an effort up there.

Meryl jerked her finger at the gravelled parking space to our right.

‘Does that fit the bill?’

I remembered the rumours of how busy it got at Keighley Gate and decided it wouldn’t do. There was room for several cars on that space and I didn’t want an audience (that was with me being a relatively innocent teenager and not nearly as naughty as I am nowadays!).

‘Let’s go back down a way,’ I said. ‘One of those passing places seems more . . . you know. . .’

‘Appropriate for being inappropriate?’ Meryl grinned.

‘Precisely,’ said I.

Chapter Thirty

We drove back perhaps a hundred yards and found a suitable position: stopping on a not-too-steep bit of verge with space for one Disco only. Car sex novice that I was, even I could see that dogging was not a possibility. Lights from any approaching vehicle would be visible before it got within a mile of us.

‘We’re in gear and centrally locked,’ Meryl announced. ‘We can bounce about to our hearts’ content.’

‘I’m so excited,’ I confessed.

‘Me too,’ said she, unfastening her seat belt and turning to face me. ‘And I’m going to get naked for you. Do you want the music on or off?’

I wasn’t sure what the current CD was. It wasn’t bouncing about music, though; it was quite tuneful. I suspected it was very early Debbie Harry and guessed it was Meryl’s idea of “romantic”, so I said fine by me, leave it on.

Then I watched her unbutton her jeans and unzip her boots.

‘Here,’ she said, extending one foot in my direction. ‘You do the honours.’

I removed her boots and put them in the footwell between my legs, standing them erect like a pair of sentries on guard duty . . . or like my nipples, which were harder than hard.

And don’t get me started on my clit. That was like a little diamond. Eight years have passed and it has never once been nearly so hard.


‘You’ll have to help with my Levi’s,’ Meryl said, ‘they’re very tight.’

They were but I still had them off her in nanoseconds.

Then she unfastened her waistcoat and made to shrug it aside.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Leave it undone but on.’

‘Kinky,’ she said, chuckling. ‘But I like your style. Knickers on or off?’

I had to ponder that one. Much of my sex up to then had been outdoors and clothed. I actually liked it with knickers on. That is to say I couldn’t think of anything better than slipping my trembling hand into a girl’s wet panties . . . apart from a girl slipping her hand into mine, of course.

Or pushing aside damp material and feeling hot, swollen lips parting in welcome. . .

‘Off,’ I said decisively.

She lifted her bum and slid her underwear halfway down her thighs. I obligingly did then rest then passed her back a boot.

‘Back on,’ I instructed.

‘Kinky,’ she said again. Then, in boots, unfastened waistcoat and nothing else but a grin, she said, ‘I want you to eat me.’


I made her wait for what she really wanted . . . unless she really wanted me to start on her tits. They had been driving me insane, you see. I simply had to chew them; to nibble and gnaw, kiss, lick and suck. I must have been at them for ages. They were so, so moreish.

So was her pussy. I set out in this tale intending not to make comparisons and I mean to stick to that, somehow. In a way it is easy to do, because Meryl’s pussy juice was peerless. I’m sure there is a finer taste somewhere in the world but I’m yet to find it. And trust me, I’ve sipped from many wells in my hunt.

And wasn’t she LOUD!!!

Okay, Meryl was relatively subdued when I feasted on her lovely titties, cumming thrice and being so polite as to talk me through all three. But when I put my tongue tip on her clit or forced the whole thing inside her, as deep as it could go . . .

Forget about yelling, that girl screamed and SCREAMED!!!

I suppose my previous sex had been surreptitious. Being outdoors and at risk of alerting dog-walkers was always a consideration. And with approved “sleepovers” there were always parents just down the corridor. Even Lorna’s posh detached house had its share of nosy neighbours, all ready to investigate inadvertent cries of joy.

Being in a car parked up in the middle of nowhere was different. Meryl clearly saw no reason to bite into my yummy shoulder and didn’t care if she scared a whole moor full of sheep.

She could swear like a trooper, too. If I’d had a swear box at a tenner a time I would have become an overnight billionaire.

It was good, though. Her sprawled in the driving seat, me trying not to get impaled on the gear stick, my tongue burrowing ever deeper.

Her foul language mixed with her yells. I was the effing best eff she’d ever had. She’d never cum so effing hard and she wanted me to eff her forever. Her effing cee was on fire and she effing loved it. If I ever wanted to eff her I only had to effing ask. She’d never refuse me an eff, not ever.

I’m usually averse to swearing but I found her tirade strangely arousing. The fact she kept cumming did help and I’ve already told you how sweet she tasted. I could quite easily have stayed down there all night. As it happened, giving up on my hair as too short, she finally pulled me up by my ears.

‘It’s your turn,’ she gasped, ’surprise time. Get in the back and get your kit off.’

There was indeed plenty of room in the back. I stripped in no time at all and was in two minds about putting my Docs back on when Meryl joined me.

‘On,’ she said.

I didn’t argue; oh no, I was too intrigued by the object she had in her hand.

‘Is that . . .’ I began hopefully.

‘It’s my favourite toy,’ she replied, flicking a switch and making it buzz.

For perhaps ten seconds I was overwhelmed. I’d hoped for a dildo but never even considered using a vibrator. Then Meryl pressed it against my nipple and I was instantly converted.

Nowadays I’m a sex toy aficionado. I have lots of them and use them whenever I’m alone in bed. Put simply, I like orgasms and toys help me achieve. I’m not ashamed of admitting that and I am always ready to share (two people can have twice the fun, yeah?). The first touch of Meryl’s vibrator was my big watershed moment.

That time it was me yelling and screaming. And that was through a little attention to my non-existent tits. When she progressed and pressed it to my clit I nearly passed out.

And then, when she pushed it inside me . . .


That night, having much farther to go home, Meryl had set her phone to give a thirty minutes warning. Before she redressed, recalling what she’d said about Suzi Q, I kissed her F-me boots.

‘Never mind me only having to ask to eff you,’ I told her. ‘You can eff me anytime you like; night or day. Just ask and I’ll be yours.’

‘Like a proper girlfriend?’ she said.

Wildly enthusiastic as I was, I hesitated at that. ‘Like a proper friend,’ I said eventually. ‘My life is too complicated for commitments, but I’ll always find time for a friend.’

Meryl considered that a while. ‘Sounds like a mutually convenient arrangement,’ she concluded.

She wasn’t wrong, either. We’ve been sharing effs on and off ever since. In fact she’s effed me more times than anyone, Sara and Kat included.

Chapter Thirty-One

Here’s a little postscript to that particular Saturday night. Driving down from the moors Meryl asked if I liked Blondie.

‘She’s knocking on a bit but still sexy,’ I replied.

Almost a big mistake!

‘The group’s called “Blondie”,’ Meryl said tartly, ‘not the lead singer. And they’re on in Manchester in January. Do you fancy making a night of it?’

‘Yes,’ I said hastily.

‘Mum doesn’t like me driving there and back in one go,’ Meryl went on. ‘We could get the train. Do an overnight in a hotel.’

‘Sounds good,’ I said sincerely. ‘Will your mum approve?’

‘Mum will be delighted I’ve made a friend. She won’t even think about separate rooms or any of that shit.’

‘In that case count me in. I . . . Oh my God, that’s Ray’s car.’

Well, it was Ray’s mum’s car, but you know what I mean. He’d parked up in a passing place lower than us. And I was prepared to bet I knew what he was up to . . . and with whom.

‘Go past slow,’ I said, ‘I have to see this.’

The Discovery had a significant height advantage over a Fiesta. Meryl practically crawled past. It was easy-peasy for me to peer in and the smaller car’s occupants didn’t even notice us.

Meaning the girl on her back, legs braced against the roof; or the guy on top, pounding into her, his bare ass bobbing frantically.

‘Was that Sara?’ Meryl asked perhaps ten minutes later, as we went through East Morton yet again.

‘I couldn’t properly see,’ said I. ‘But I’d bet the farm on it. If I had a farm, that is.’

‘Slutty cow,’ Meryl observed.

I looked her way, smiling in spite of myself. ‘She’s a slut after what we’ve been doing?’

‘Yeah,’ Meryl said with conviction. ‘Girls don’t count. We can eff each other as much as we like.’


So to Sunday. My Mum brought me the usual coffee in bed, gave me the usual grilling then asked me to remind her why exactly Kelly was calling round.

I gave her the same flannel as before and added some extras. Kelly might be mannish but she wasn’t my type. I was “with” Sara and not looking for anyone else . . .

(That being the biggest lie I’d ever told anyone!!)

‘Enough of the NAND gates,’ my mum said, ‘what are you really up to?’

I told her that we had a bitch of a piece of coursework. ‘I’m cool with it,’ I said truthfully. ‘But our new IT teacher isn’t up to scratch. I’m going to explain the bits Kelly doesn’t get.’

‘Isn’t that cheating?’ Mum said, somewhat predictably.

‘No,’ I fibbed. ‘If our teacher had half a brain Kelly would sail through. I’m just explaining the essentials he can’t seem to get across.’

‘Um,’ said Mum. ‘Tell me you’re not going to get into trouble.’

‘Kelly will press all the keys herself,’ I assured her. ‘I won’t leave a single fingerprint.’


Mum was being unfair when she described Kelly as “mannish”. She was even taller than me and sexy as hell. She was also as thin as a rake and looked good for it. Her hips were narrow and she had tits that stood out like melons . . . and prize-winning melons at that.

(Friends of mine and tits, eh? It just is not fair!!)

Trust me: mannish or not, my mother was right to worry about leaving me alone with Kelly.

I’d had a wild, sexual weekend and, truth was, I was hungry for more.

So, fortunately, was she.

Dodging Mum was the tricky bit. She turned up early on with coffees and biscuits while the two of us were lying innocently on our tummies, heavily involved with master-slave flip-flops.

Kelly’s hand landed on my ass three seconds after the coast was clear.

‘I’ve grasped the concept,’ she said. ‘Let me grasp this instead.’

What more can I say? Having furtive sex in my bedroom was the sexiest thing ever! Always aware my mum could show up at any moment, we fingered each other like crazy. Then, throwing caution to the wind, we took turns to face-sit in an awkward, semi-dressed sort of a way.

It was definitely an afternoon in keeping with the rest of the weekend. Scary but fun, fun, fun. I was as good as terrified all along but that only added to the occasion.

Guess what? After that Kelly became another regular lover of mine.

It would have been rude to exclude her.


In case you are wondering I did have a chat with Sara about Saturday night. At first, appalled that I’d seen her at it, she accused me of following her. Then, when I pointed out I’d left at nine and only seen her at half past midnight, she relented a little.

‘I never saw you go past,’ she said.

‘We didn’t linger,’ I fibbed, ‘and it was only too obvious your attention was elsewhere.’

‘What’s she like?’ Sara went on. ‘Meryl, I mean.’

‘Surprisingly experienced,’ I told her. ‘But that’s all you’re getting. I don’t ask you about Ray, do I?’

‘You evidently don’t need to,’ she laughed. Then, growing serious: ‘Does our agreement still stand?’

‘I hope so.’ I shrugged. ‘But I’ve agreed to see Meryl again. We might have to redefine “flings”.’

‘You mean the flings you have but I don’t?’ Sara held her hand up before I could object. ‘We might be grown women but we’re still finding our feet, aren’t we? I never expected Ray to become as regular as he seems to be. And you never expected to click with Meryl.’

‘She needs a friend,’ I replied. ‘I can’t just ditch her. It would be cruel. And besides, I don’t want to ditch her.’

‘She’s as experienced as that, is she?’ Sara laughed again. ‘Go on, then, let’s redefine “flings” . . .’


The next few months were - to say the least - fulfilling. Officially I was Sara’s number one girl but I still went out with Ellie, (the alliterative) Kelly and Meryl. I also ensured I kept up all those secret monthly Saturday liaisons with Lorna.

Two nights a week sharing a bed with Sara, four other regular lovers . . .

Working Mondays and Tuesdays at Spar . . .

Keeping ahead of the pack with my A-level studying . . .

I honestly didn’t have time for a one-off one-night stand! Chance would have been a fine thing!!

Before I forget to mention it, Ellie gave me a dildo for a Christmas present. It was very similar to hers except it was transparent instead of jet-black. Determined to match her generosity, (afraid of buying off the Internet with its suspicious “plain brown-paper parcels”) I caught the train into Leeds and bought her a multi-speed rabbit in the sales. Take it from me: we made good use of both those presents every time we were sure her parents were safely out of the way.

Call me a sex-addict but who cares! Is there really a better activity than cumming one’s brains out with a friend who has similar tastes?

Chapter Thirty-Two

Easter was late that year; well into April. Sara set off for Lanzarote the week before Good Friday (for some reason UK flights were always on Thursdays, so she went on the one before Maundy money got dished out). In other words, by pure co-incidence, she missed the Sixth Form Easter Bash.

I didn’t.

Now, call me opportunistic, but Miss Williams was on duty that night. “Duty” meant that four teachers had to attend yet another common room function with a dry bar, there to ensure nothing too untoward occurred with all those horny teenagers let loose in the same place. Miss Williams drew lucky in that she only had to be there until nine thirty. She also drew lucky in that I totally hogged her time from the second I arrived.

Well, perhaps she didn’t consider herself so lucky, but I hogged her time all the same. As I’ve already mentioned, she was staggeringly good-looking. And Sara was away, Kelly was God only knew where, Lorna was with Steve and Ellie was otherwise engaged. I guess Meryl was somewhere up to no good and it didn‘t matter anyway; the opportunity to flirt with Miss Williams was too good to resist.

She let me flirt as well. Okay, so she did it in a guarded sort of a way. We both were open with each other about doing girls, remember? But I suppose I did go at the flattery like a bull at a gate. If she was at all reluctant I pretended not to notice. Supermodels have had fewer compliments than the thousands I paid her.

‘Nearly time for me to be off,’ she said, maybe ten minutes before her supervising stint ended.

‘I wish you wouldn’t.’ I replied.

I suspect she already knew how the wind was blowing (unless she’d suddenly become blind, deaf and dumb she must have!). If nothing else she had to have noticed the way I was staring at her, lustily and with my tongue all but hanging out.

‘Teacher-student relationships are a quagmire,’ she said, before I could proposition her.

‘I’m eighteen,’ I replied. ‘I can vote, marry, drive and everything. Surely you can take me for a drink? I’ll even pay if that’s a problem. I am old enough.’

‘Davina . . .’

‘I’m Dave to you.’

Our eyes met for the first time. I mean really, really met.

‘Who are you?’ I asked.


‘Who are you to friends?’

‘Val,’ she admitted. ‘Occasionally I’m Valentina.’

‘And who are you to lovers?’

She shook her head, smiling a little ruefully.

‘Come on,’ I persisted. ‘Do you want me to buy you a drink or what?’

‘To lovers I’m always Val,’ she said finally. ‘And I don’t believe I’ve let you talk me into this.’


We went to a pub called The Hermit. It was halfway to Ilkley and in a position that was nearly as remote as Keighley Gate.

‘We can’t be seen out and about together,’ Miss Williams told me, quite sternly.

‘Nobody will know us up here. We’re as good as anonymous.’

‘Dave, I have my career to think about. If we . . .’

‘I want to have sex with you,’ I interjected. I don’t particularly want anyone to see us. And I will never tell anyone one word about anything we do together. My lips are sealed as far as sex goes. I want it like crazy, but I will never blab.’

Miss Williams stared at me. I could tell she’d weakened. Beautiful women always have that look about them when they’re about to come across. ‘You are very tempting,’ she said.

‘I hoped you might think that,’ I replied. ‘Have I an incy-wincy chance of sex after all?’

Turned out the answer was “yes”.


Val Williams was the woman who introduced me to tribbing. That happened in the back of her car, in a layby very soon after we’d left The Hermit. She was also the first woman who had me with a strap-on, a week later . . . in her bed . . . in the heat of passion and on my best ever Good Friday night.

Are you ready for a digression? Well, here goes, whether you are or are not. Being penetrated is one of my big sexual likes . . . as long as it’s done by a woman. If asked why the idea of being penetrated by a man is a turn-off . . .

Well, I’m at a loss. The obvious answer is that most women are beautiful, have great bodies and nice tits. And they are tender, caring and skilled, of course. But I have been shagged by a few who aren’t very pretty and blah-di-dah. And I’ve also enjoyed it every time woman has penetrated me, in any of the oh-so many ways it can be done.

Put on the spot I’d say it is body-shape and touch when it comes to women. If pressed I’d say I have a subconscious block against men. Whatever it is, the prospect of a suitably-equipped lady never fails to arouse me. Men . . .

Well, sorry boys, I’m sure you’ll find someone more suitable.

Yet again I’ll repeat myself: I’m not a man-hater; I just never have seen the need for me to venture in their direction.

Unlike the adventurous Sara and Ellie; they often ventured that way. And I’m not altogether sure what the tight-lipped Meryl got up to. She certainly knew a lot more male band-members and hangers-on than a respectable girl was supposed to.

Right then: Easter. Apart from that big breakthrough with Val, I’m not sure why I headlined this bit of my life so prominently. Except Easter was a big thing for all of us in the upper sixth. Maybe it wasn’t quite a Sea Change Moment, but it wasn’t so far off.

If nothing else it was the beginning of the end.

No, it was The Beginning of the End.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I won’t waste too much time on our walking trip to the Lake District. There were four or us (after a few “certainties” dropped out at the eleventh hour); two lesbians and two straight. And, being all of us pro transparency, we set out with a very strict understanding that “straight” meant straight.

‘We’re sharing the same tent,’ I said, all self-righteous, ‘so we all have to behave.’

‘I will if you will,’ the very straight Eileen replied, smirking.

I suppose I should have seen the writing on the wall there and then!

Okay, so self-righteous or not, I also set out under the strict understanding that Jacqui had split with Roberta, very suddenly and unexpectedly on Easter Sunday (maybe she got her the wrong chocolate egg from Thorntons!). The rest of us in holiday mood, we hit the track on Bank Holiday Monday, with Jacqui doing her best to be upbeat and put on a brave face.

And I swear to God I had no intention of any sort of intimacy with anybody during that break. I had no intention of embarrassing our straight mates in any way, and even less of making a play for a girl on the rebound.

Besides, I told myself when the little red devil came a-calling; Roberta will probably have reconsidered by the time we get back. Just how awkward would that homecoming be if we . . .

Well . . .

So this is the abridged version of those six days; right? There were four of us sharing a tent, all sworn to no more than friendship, and trustworthy with it.

(Honestly, I’m a big whore but I know when to keep my hands to myself; even drunk I’d have needed very severe provocation to as much as kiss a reluctant straight girl.)

Our first night was uneventful but very cold after a wonderfully hot spring afternoon. The next morning we were up early, rubbing life back into our limbs and eager to get up and down those hills. That day’s weather was wonderful too; the fresh air smelt and tasted like champagne. We must have done at least thirty miles by evening; far enough to unanimously agree refreshments were in order.

Then six lads from our sixth form showed up in the hikers’ area of our “local” pub in Borrowdale, all of them keen as mustard to join us. To be fair that wasn’t such a surprise. We’d made no secret we would be in the vicinity and neither had they. It was only when one of them, failing in an unflagging bid to charm Eileen, used the deadly words “four lezzies in a tent” . . .

Jacqui’s reaction was instant and spectacular. If I hadn’t grabbed her the silly young boy really would have been toast.

‘Get the fuck out of here,’ she snarled at him, thankfully letting me restrain her. ‘Come anywhere near my lezzie tent and your balls will be launched into orbit.’

His (much more sensible friends) realized she had a point. They evacuated him from the pub and said maybe our paths would cross again.

Even more thankfully, they didn’t.

The next hour or so was spent in calming Jacqui down. She’d laugh one minute, growl the next. She’d also snarl at anyone with a dick who came within two yards. Believe me, it was very much like sharing a table with Lorena Bobbitt . . . except Jacqui wasn’t nearly as forgiving.

(For those of a certain age, Lorena Bobbitt performed dramatic ad hoc surgery on part of her abusive husband, doing it in the sort of way he’ll not have forgotten.)

During all our calming efforts I couldn’t help but notice Eileen smiling at me every now and again.

Four Lesbians in a Tent,’ she said eventually, ‘didn’t that star Julia Roberts?’

‘Only in my dreams,’ I replied. ‘I think the actresses I saw in it were all Russian.’

‘Maybe there were two versions,’ said Jane. ‘I’m sure the actresses I saw were speaking Czech.’

That broke Jacqui’s ice. ‘Oh nuts to it all,’ she exclaimed. ‘’Let’s just get pissed and screw guys!’

‘Screw guys?’ I echoed.

‘No, let’s not screw guys.’ Jacqui drained her mostly empty glass. ‘I meant screw guys; who needs ‘em?’

Much later, when many more beers had been consumed, Eileen mentioned that it would be cold again that night. Maybe even cold enough to warrant us zipping our sleeping bags into doubles . . .


Zipping bags into doubles is exactly what we did (after getting back to find a locked-up camp site and having to climb a dry-stone wall to get in).

‘Me and you?’ Eileen suggested as she battled with an obstinate zipper.

‘Okay,’ I said after glancing at the other two. ‘And I promise there’ll be no funny stuff.’

But, of course, there was plenty of funny stuff, all of it instigated by Eileen.


Our very fetching sleeping gear that night consisted of thick walking socks, knickers and T-shirts. And I have to admit, it was much cosier with two in a bag than one; much, much cosier.

Huddled together with Eileen I watched Jacqui and Jane cram themselves into their own freshly assembled double.

‘Nighty-night,’ called Jacqui as she reached out and switched off the rechargeable lantern, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

‘Or me,’ Jane added with more of a cackle than a chuckle.

We both said sleep tight and then, without further ado, Eileen kissed me. In a quandary, determined to stick to my “hands off” vow but not wanting to offend her, I let myself be kissed. By that I mean I did my utmost not to respond too passionately and let her make the running. And trust me; the girl was up for the long haul, not a quick peck on the lips.

I maintain that I controlled myself impeccably for that first embrace, managing to ignore the feel of her tits against me and the way her mostly bare legs were moving with mine. Then, after perhaps quarter of an hour, she stopped kissing my mouth and kissed my neck instead.

Massive temptation or what! She was working her way from just below my ear to my collarbone then back up again. And my neck has always been sensitive. Feeling all the familiar signs down below I fought desperately to keep control. It wasn’t easy, though. Shivers were running up and down my spine and my panties were issuing severe flood warnings.

Then she stuck her tongue in my ear and I was lost.


So now you know; I’m blaming it on Eileen’s bright ideas and seductive tongue tip, and possibly ever-so slightly on my over-responsive ear. Whatever it was, we weren’t chilled to the core when we woke next morning and we were all still friends (and yes, it transpired Jacqui and Jane had been up to lots of the same sort of mischief as us).

And, after another full day walking and a brief sojourn in the local boozer, we did it all again.

Then on our fourth night, in the spirit of experimentation, Jane and Eileen swapped places.

On the fifth night, assured by her that Roberta was history, I slept with Jacqui. Well, we shared a bag and I demonstrated my new-found skill in tribbing, a knack she quickly picked up for herself. Actual sleeping hardly happened.

Good gracious, didn’t she pick tribbing up well!

Sadly, there wasn’t a sixth night. After a morning’s ramble it was time to head home. As Jane drove us out of paradise we all agreed we’d had a fantastic time and, on Jacqui’s suggestion, also agreed that “whatever happened in the Lakes stayed in the Lakes”.

Not that any of us were ever likely to let it slip our minds.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Re-reading that last Chapter makes me wonder who I think I am. Or, rather, who I thought I was. As I said earlier, I made a big deal out of “Easter” in my latest title for no real reason. But the more I think about it, the more significant that particular Easter was in our lives. Normally it just slips past as yet another public holiday, properly observed only by a few religious folk . . .

That one was massive. However adult we felt during our break, it was the marking of the end of our girlhood. Everything had changed when we got back to school. Familiar timetables for familiar lessons were no longer applicable. Suddenly we were faced with strict exam timetables. These had strict times underlined and all too clearly stressed DO NOT BE EVEN A MINUTE LATE!!!

Suddenly, instead of double mixed-games to look forward to on Wednesday, it was leave of absence and “See you next month for the first sitting of Maths.”

Suddenly all the fun had gone out of growing up.

To make a bad job even worse, my sex life started to fall apart. My mother and Sara’s decided that, “at such a delicate stage”, we should only overnight once a fortnight, if that. Then the frigging rugby season ended and Saturdays with Lorna dried up. And eff me if Roberta and Meryl hadn’t got together while the rest of us were all away walking up mountains and fells! Okay, so Meryl didn’t forsake (and still hasn’t forsaken) me, but she wasn’t nearly so readily available.

Kelly was always a moody so-and-so. I stuck with her and had those (too infrequent!) nights with Sara but Ellie seemed to be always off chasing dick. I swear; if it wasn’t for Miss Williams and her strap-ons I’d have gone mad before my exams even started.

To balance falling turnover I had quite a few flings with Jacqui, consoling her for her “loss”. But they were mostly outdoors, and not nearly as fulfilling as a few hours in Val’s bed . . . or an hour or so in the back of her car . . .

Or ten minutes in the stationery cupboard at school, fighting to fulfil each other as swiftly as possible.

Last words about Val: she must have had the world’s best-developed buns. Trust me, I held onto them often enough while she tirelessly pounded and grinded away at me. My buns probably became well-developed too; I certainly did not simply lie there and take it like a lamb.

Nobody could have. Not with her.


The feeling of falling apart was inescapable, though. I constantly maintained it was “change” and no more, but I never did seem convincing, not even to me. My circumstances were changing too, you see. It wasn’t just my friends, preparing to sail off into university’s wide blue yonder.

I had started job-hunting back when my schoolmates started applying for uni places. And, unlike most of them, I did it en masse. In other words I worked out which local businesses had large IT teams and sent them my CV (the would-be version, backed by teachers’ estimates of final grades). At first I targeted junior programming roles then, when I realized experience was going to be an issue in that, I widened my net still wider.

Continue reading this ebook at Smashwords.
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-47 show above.)