Chapter 20 – A Lesbian Erotic Romance: Willas Dreamlike Moment

“You’re awfully… serious,” I breathed, after a moment’s mute and awestruck silence.

“You’re the first person other than my daughter who’s… who’s held me and comforted me and… and let me just be me.”

“Meaning…”

“I…”

She sighed, clearly frustrated with herself.

“Do you ever have something totally clear in your head, but when you try to explain it it just…”

“Goes to pieces? Yeah. I know that struggle,” I said. I squinted at her. “Since we’re being honest about stuff, Sam. Just so you know. Just so the words have been said – I’ve wanted you since pretty much the first time I saw you.”

She blushed. “Really?”

“Oh fuck me, yes.”

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh. That’s… that’s really nice to know, actually.”

“Good. So. Just so I can be prepared. Is… is this sort of thing going to happen often? Fly-by abductions where you are dressed both up and down in a way entirely designed to make me want you?”

She laughed, delighted by that little gem.

“Sorry,” she said, still giggling. “I… I just wanted to look nice for you.”

“Oh, believe me, you did just fine. I love that shirt on you.”

She tucked her hair back and picked up a second thermos. “Coffee,” she announced, pleased. “I came prepared.”

And she poured her own tin mug, and sat beside me in the sunshine, and said very little with words but oh, oh so much with her eyes.

My colleagues were all quiet as mice when I slunk back in after my “lunch” break, but Mary stopped by soon enough.

“She’s beautiful,” she said to me, pitched low so nobody would overheard her. “Good for you, Willa. You of all people deserve someone that lovely.”

And I stammered a squeaky little “Thanks,” and buried my flaming cheeks in the books for the rest of the day.

.:.

Our morning walks changed.

Gone was any pretence at reserve – now we’d openly step along arm-in-arm, and she’d often lean her head in against me.

And we’d kiss – often.

She began to tell me the more intimate details of her life; about Beth’s struggles with traditional education and her husband’s inability or unwillingness to engage over it – she bitterly commented on one misty morning walk that it was almost as if he believed that if he didn’t admit to something then it hadn’t happened. So all the fallout, all the meetings with Beth’s teachers, all the late night worry fell on Sam’s slender shoulders alone.

At first, at least.

Because as she started to unload on me she realised that she could unload more on me; I’d walk quietly beside her, and listen to her, and not try to fix anything – I’d just hold her hand, and ask her the questions that I thought would help her sort and settle things in her own mind so that she could make the decisions herself. So that she would fix what could be fixed – by herself.

But she knew what I was doing, and she’d watch me sometimes with this strange little smile that would give me all sorts of wicked ideas…

At least twice a week she’d come visit me at lunch; and she started bringing boxes of biscuits for me to share around the office afterwards.

Spring rolled through to summer, and I adopted my hot weather outfit of thin tee shirts and short skirts; Sam approved wholeheartedly and said she loved being able to watch my shoulder blades while she was walking behind me.

(I suspect she also loved being able to see my bare legs, because she’d casually and salaciously grope my bum if I forgot myself and turned my back on her for an unguarded moment)

Her absent husband’s calendar filled up even further as the evenings grew longer and life moved outside for the lighter months of the year.

Which meant that Sam had more time free for me – sometimes entire weeks at a time.

And we took great advantage of that; we started to spend evenings on her outside entertainment area, cocooned in a lovely round wickerwork day-bed, screened from the world by tall hedges and a glacis of open land.

And I’d slowly make love to her, sometimes going so far as to pin her down so I could make her come multiple times before I’d finally surrender to her desperate pleas and let her do the same to me.

And somewhere along the way I had fallen completely, utterly and hopelessly in love with her.

I loved the way she had of tucking her hair back over her shoulders. I loved the way she’d have to rub sand out of her eyes and free hair from her mouth first thing in the morning. I loved the way she’d stretch out her hamstrings before straightening with a sleepy grin. I loved the way she tasted. I loved the little sounds she made in her sleep.

And I loved the way she’d leave her hand on my lap when we were sitting with one another.

Sam completed me.

With her I felt no lack, no worries about what tomorrow would bring.

I started bringing a small suitcase of clothes, and I’d spend multiple nights at a time with her when I could.

And bit by bit I started to believe that maybe, just maybe… she’d keep me.

A few months after we became an “item”, Sam introduced me to Beth for the first time. I watched the tall, coltish girl as she pranced around her mother; so similar in build and yet so vastly different in temperament to Sam.

I quickly grew to love her too, and Beth for her part was absolutely fascinated by my hair and accent and style.

As time flashed by she grew comfortable enough around me to sit with me, leaning against me as she read or binge-watched her favourite TV shows.

I became Auntie Willa to her, then just Willa, then just Wills, and I’d see the way Sam would watch the two of us and smile, or sometimes have to turn away until she could be strong again.

As the long Summer nights started to shorten, I started to feel like maybe, just maybe, there was a little Willa-shaped space in their lives for me as well.

I began to understand Beth’s challenges – she was extremely smart and very aware of the feelings of those around her, but she struggled to direct her energy or focus onto anything that she didn’t find interesting. She’d happily explain the (many) moons of Jupiter or the (even more) rules of Go to me, though, so I spent hours listening to her bubble enthusiastically about whatever was most important to her at that particular time.

And somehow, bit by bit, I discovered that I had the knack to redirect her interest and energy to schoolwork for a few minutes at a time – Beth would grimace and sigh and roll her eyes but still gamely put some effort in, because it was me who was asking her to, and because she adored me.

But despite all this I never forgot that I was an interloper and, technically, the other woman.

So I never meddled between mother and daughter – I never even breathed a word when they had their frequent disagreements; I’d quietly find somewhere else to be until the tantrums were done and they’d cried and made up.

And on the nights that Beth was there with us, Sam would hold me to her and gently kiss me goodnight before heading up alone to the master bedroom.

We never did anything unless it was just the two of us – that was a line that neither of us would even consider crossing with Beth there.

As the Autumn evenings drew in we moved our lethargy from the outside daybed to a couch we’d situated in front of the wood-burning stove that stood in a corner of Sam’s massive internal lounge and entertainment space.

I’d watch Sam in the firelight and wonder what strange whim of fate had brought her to me.

And I’d often wonder what I’d done to deserve her.

.:.

It was October – a dark evening with a threat of high winds and rain in the early hours.

Sam and I had made a bed out of cushions on the floor, and built the fire up.

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