The garden looks beautiful under the setting sun, gorgeous but empty. A lone cricket launches into its raspy evening song, just like every night. The sameness of the days is comforting but sometimes, after dozing off for a brief moment, when I open my eyes, I expect him to sit across from me, his lips curled into a playful smile.
“You’re getting old, darling,” he would say. “And I had planned to keep you up all night.”
I put my book down, trying to make it last longer because it’s the only one I brought. Gazing into the black-green of the pine trees hedging off the garden, I let my mind wander freely. I allow myself to think about Michael and the times we spent here. This is his house, after all.
The loud jeer of my mobile startles me. So much for reminiscing. You can’t really escape life anywhere anymore these days, no matter how remote your Tuscan refuge.
“Rose, my dear,” John’s voice beams into my ear. “How are you?”
“Looking forward to hosting you and your lovely wife next week, as ever.” Solitude is good, necessary even, but Helen and John’s annual visit is always a cathartic trip down memory lane. John and Michael were best friends and John, although repeated hundreds of times, has the best stories to tell.
“Would you mind terribly if our Catherine came along? Her holiday plans with Jenny have fallen through and she’s in desperate need of some healing sunshine.” John’s always been a good sport about Catherine’s misfortunes in romance. Most fathers aren’t half as apt at picking up the pieces of their daughter’s broken heart.
“Of course not. Tell Cat she’s most welcome.”
Despite Michael being Cat’s brother’s godfather, she was his favourite member of the Archer clan. Every year, when John and Helen visited and we sat around the teak garden table, glass in hand and brain pleasantly fogged by alcohol, he would look at the old oak tree in the furthest corner of the yard and recount the story of how Cat climbed all the way up and broke her wrist on her way down.
“She was a fearless child,” he would say. “Just like me.” He’d peer deep into Helen’s glazed-over eyes and taunt her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was mine.” He’d wink and Helen would never know what to say. “Billy stood watching at the bottom of the tree as his sister conquered it with her tiny little hands and feet, agile as a cat. Good name choice by the way.” He’d smack John on the thigh. “And then she went flying. It must have only taken two seconds but I remember it in slow-motion. Her red t-shirt flashing between branches on the way down. The soft thud and crack with which she landed on the grass. The slight tremble of her bottom lip as she fought back the tears.” He’d shake his head and smile. “Such a rascal.”
“I should have known there and then she wasn’t like other girls,” Helen had said the last summer we were all together at the villa, two months before Michael’s heart attack. She was never good at hiding the disappointment in her voice.
“Honestly, Helen,” Michael butted in, louder than was necessary but unable to conceal his anger. “A little acceptance goes a long way.”
Spurred on by the alcohol in her blood, Helen lashed out. “You may think she’s yours. But she’s not, so mind your own business.”
John, always fiercely protective of his youngest child, rose to his feet and shot them both his well-practiced headmaster look. “Enough.” That usually put a stop to the perpetual row between Michael and Helen about Cat’s sexuality. Frankly, I never understood what all the fuss was about, then again, Helen has more than a decade on me—more than ten years to grow more ignorant, even when it concerns her own daughter.
Long after I put down the phone I contemplate the special relationship Michael had with Cat. They were always whispering in a corner, up to no good, plotting ways to get on Helen’s nerves.
Cat never goes shopping with Helen. They don’t trade sponge cake recipes or make-up tips. Instead, she smokes cigars with her dad and Billy and played football with Michael until it got so dark they couldn’t see the ball anymore. Always rowdy and giggling, testing Helen’s patience when they sat down in her beige couch with grass-stained shorts.
“If only you could see her now,” I say to the empty space inhabiting Michael’s chair. “You’d be proud. Often heart-broken, but definitely proud.”
* * *
“Have you really never considered another man?” John asks, his face earnest and his intentions good. The question doesn’t come completely out of the blue. He’s been trying to set me up with a new member of his tennis club for months, but I haven’t been able to muster up any interest. I tear my gaze away from Cat’s naked shoulder, unsure of how long it has lingered there. She’s been quite withdrawn since they arrived. Nursing a relationship hangover can do that to a person, but her dad’s question seems to peak her interest. I shoot her a small smile when she looks at me, curiosity brimming in her eyes. She responds with a wink and suddenly the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“I’ve dated.” It feels so incredibly silly to say that. “But you know better than anyone else Michael’s shoes are hard to fill.”
“Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way.” John’s voice wavers. He loved Michael just as much as I did. “It’s not about replacing Michael. It’s about companionship. You’re too young to go through life alone.” Every year, I get the same speech from John, but this one has come mighty early. They’ve only been here a day.
“If it makes you feel any better, dear John, I’ll come watch one of your and Lionel’s tennis matches when I’m back in London.” I give him a weary smile.
“Wonderful,” Helen cooes as if it’s a done deal. “I’ll make cucumber sandwiches and we can all have tea afterwards.”
John draws his hands up in defence. “This is hardly about me. I only want you to be happy.”
“I’m perfectly all right.” I shoot a quick glance in Cat’s direction, eager to see her reaction to all of this. She rolls her eyes at me. She must sit through these kinds of conversations on the state of her love life regularly. As unlikely as it may be, I feel as if I’ve found a kindred spirit.
“Dad, please.” Cat straightens her posture. “Leave her alone.” She turns towards me. “You must forgive him. He’s still adjusting to retirement and you know his job was basically sticking his nose into everyone’s affairs. It’s been a rough transition.”
John taps his daughter playfully on the arm. She could say anything and he’d still smile.
“Sometimes all it takes is a little meddling,” Helen chimes in.
“Most people are not that fond of it, mum.” Cat chastises her mother with a harsh glance. Undoubtedly, she must have had to endure an avalanche of comments on her love life that, judging by what I’ve heard, hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses lately—if ever.
Inadvertently, I put a hand on Cat’s knee. I do it without thinking, as a gesture of gratitude because she’s siding with me, but the touch of her skin on my fingertips jerks through me and releases a slew of unexpected butterflies in my stomach. For a split second I sit there stunned, not knowing what to do with myself. When I look up I catch Cat glaring at my hand so I quickly retract it. I narrow my eyes and fake a confident smile.
“How about we go into town tomorrow?” I change the subject. “There’s a marvellous new restaurant owned by an adorable young couple. I’m sure you’ll love it.” Helen and John both nod enthusiastically while Cat stares into the distance.
The memory of walking past the open window of Cat’s room the day before surprises me again. It wasn’t entirely unplanned but I had no idea she would be half-naked. It was still easy to keep my cool then. I just made a joke about her choice of underwear and dashed off. That was before I knew I’d be awake half the night thinking about her bare breasts.
* * *
When the clock in my bedroom strikes three, I get up. I pull a dress over my naked body and open the French windows as quietly as I can. I walk to the pool and let my feet dangle in the water, careful not to make too much noise. Helen and John’s room is on the other side of the hallway but Cat’s room is next to mine and I don’t want to wake her. She must have some sleep to catch up on.
Yesterday, when doing the dishes together, I clearly noticed the pain in her eyes. All I could do was hold her close and give her a hug. Her tears wet my blouse and, unexpectedly, heated the skin underneath. I wanted her head to stay on my shoulder much longer than she left it there. But I understood the moment was getting awkward. Now all I can do is think about how her breath landed on my neck and how I wanted to trap it with my mouth.
I draw ripples in the water with my toes and wonder what is happening to me. The thought of stealing another intimate embrace with Cat excites me much more—even disproportionally so—than the prospect of watching John and his pal Lionel play an old man’s game of tennis. Maybe it’s her youth and, despite the fact she’s hurting, the energy that comes with it. She’ll get over Jenny. She’ll love again. At least she can be certain of that. I, on the other hand, have no clue what’s been stopping me.
Michael was not an easy man to lose. Of course, I hold every new person of interest to the standard he set. It’s not because I’m getting older that I have to settle for less. Still, it doesn’t explain this thing with Cat. The pure physicality of it—how that snuck up on me and made my heart rumble in my chest when I put my arms around her—has thrown me for such a loop. As far as I can remember, and I’ve been racking my brain, I’ve never been attracted to another woman before.
It must be that I recognise myself in her pain. I feel for her and want to protect her. Also, perhaps after seven years of mourning, I’m finally ready for something new. And Cat symbolises my rebirth into the world of romance.
Thoughts like this have been racing through my mind since I went to bed. Thoughts I can’t place. Emotions so far buried I can’t recall ever having them. Emotions from before Michael died, so suddenly, and left me to deal with life on my own.
I stare up at the moon and guess the time—not that the moon can help me with that. It must be closer to four now. Cat only woke up around noon yesterday. I caught myself checking my watch impatiently. As if my day couldn’t start properly until I’d made her some scrambled eggs.
* * *
“Morning.” Cat rubs the sleep from her eyes. I’ve been eyeing her window for an hour. John and Helen took their rental car into the village to do some grocery shopping and I’ve been battling with myself ever since. The selfish, crazy, inexplicably hormonal part of me wanted to wake her up so we could spend a little time alone. I didn’t give in, though. I let her have her lie-in. She’s on holiday and I couldn’t think of a valid excuse to rouse her.
When I walked past her bedroom door half an hour ago, I had to stop myself from gently opening it and peeking my head in, but for all I knew she was hiding in there, dreaming of Jenny and better times. Also, that’s no way for a hostess to behave.
“Sleep well?” I inquire, masking the grin that wants to burst all over my face. She sports a sexy bed-head, short black hair pushed up by sleep, and her athletic body is only covered by a skimpy pair of shorts and a crumpled tank top. No bra as far as I can see—and I’m looking.
“On and off.” Barefoot, she pads over to a chair and pulls it back, her eyes searching for coffee. “Still getting used to the bed. It’s strange coming back here after so many years. Everything is different now.” She pours herself some coffee and stirs in two teaspoons of sugar. “Have mum and dad left me in your care?” She fixes her blue eyes on me, as blue as the sky reflecting in the water of the pool, and smiles. Her hair is starting to come down and a strand falls over her eyes. She has one of those unevenly cut hairstyles, short in the back and longer in the front.
“I promised them no harm would come to you.” I suppress the urge to make her a sandwich, the desire to look after her and make her forget about her sudden break-up.
“Sorry they kept going on about Lionel last night.” She crosses one leg over the other and cradles her coffee cup in the palm of her hand. “They can get carried away sometimes, and honestly, if you want my opinion, you’re way too hot for him.” She winks at me and I’m sure it’s meant innocently but I have trouble taking it that way. I don’t blush easily, but I feel the heat creeping up my cheeks.
“I know they mean well. They just want to keep me from turning into an old maid.” I accompany my statement with a little chuckle.
“I’m sure you don’t need John and Helen Archer’s help with that.” She gives me a once-over and, if I’m not mistaken, fixes her eyes on my cleavage for a moment. “You must be fending off advances.” The sparkle in her glance fills me with joy. “A woman like you.” She says it as if it’s an irrefutable truth and I try not to beam too much.
“Oh, stop it, Catherine.” I flutter my eyes. “You’re making me blush.”
“Mum may disagree, but I have impeccable taste in women.” Suddenly, her eyes get cloudy and I can see her mood darken on her face. “Although I could be a better judge of character, I guess.”
There’s that pain again. I want to make it go away, kiss it away if I have to. Or even if I don’t have to. I get a grip on myself and push these nonsensical thoughts to the back of my head. My day’s already been made, anyway. Five minutes of semi-flirting with Cat is all it takes.
“Do you want some eggs?” I want to do something for her. It’s stronger than myself. “Some toast, maybe?” I also want to get her mind off Jenny.
“I’ll wait for lunch.” She drains her coffee and stands up. Already, I feel the emptiness. “Let me clear this off.”
“I’ll take care of that.” I rise out of my chair and stand next to her, her body heat glowing against me. Simultaneously, our hands reach for the same plate and when our fingers collide sparks shiver up my spine. If I didn’t know any better I’d think I was falling in love.
“Come on, Rose.” She turns her face towards me and her mouth is so close, her lips so curvy. “You’re saving my holiday. Let me at least do something.” Our hands are still touching so I don’t want to let go of the plate. I peer into her eyes and my heart starts throbbing again, the same senseless thudding as the night before when I put my hand on her knee.
“Let’s do it together.”
“Deal.” Cat lets go of the plate and focuses her attention on the rest of the table. Tires hiss as a car pulls up on the driveway. The moment is gone. It was good enough to hold onto for a while.
* * *
In the afternoon we’re all lounging by the pool. I peer over my sunglasses as Cat swims laps, her strong shoulders gliding in and out of the water. The drops cascading down from them every time she comes up for air stir a funny sensation in my belly. I can’t wait for the moment she exits the pool, her skin all wet and her muscles pumped from exercise. John and Helen are dozing in the shadow of the oak tree and I imagine they aren’t here. I picture Cat pushing herself out of the water while pinning her eyes on me. She walks over to me with long confident strides and the drops of water falling out of her hair stain the book I’m reading. She bends over and places a moist hand on my neck.
“Come here,” she says before pressing her lips against mine. “This has been a long time coming.”
She takes the book from my hands and tosses it to the side. She pulls me down on the sun-bed until I’m flat on my back and straddles me, her wet bikini cooling my thighs. She kisses me again as if it’s the most natural course of action, as if there’s no other conceivable way for us to spend the rest of the afternoon. With wet hands she cups my breasts, stiffening my nipples. My blood races through my veins and I’m ready to surrender.
“Drink?”
“What?” I open my eyes, which I appear to have closed in the midst of my fantasy, and find Cat towering over me, a towel wrapped chastely around her body.
“Oh sorry, did I wake you?”
I scold myself for having missed her exit out of the water. And also a little for the inappropriate thoughts flooding my brain.
“I was just resting my eyes.” The lesbian detective book she lent me sits in my lap. It’s not half as saucy as I wanted it to be. “I’ll have a G&T, please.”
“Never too early for that.” She shoots me a sly smile and heads into the kitchen. I catch my breath and am aware of the throbbing between my legs. I sit up and compose myself. Helen and John are still snoozing. I berate myself for wishing my dear friends weren’t here. I just really want to kiss their daughter.
John and Helen visit me every year, so I’m used to their company. Cat hasn’t been here since she was a teenager and having her around has unsettled me. I haven’t been myself with all this daydreaming I do about her undressing me, taking charge of me, really.
“Here you go, madam.” She thrusts a large G&T into my hand. The towel has descended to her hips and I have to pull my gaze away from her wet bikini top. As the drink cools my throat, I’m beginning to think I’ve lost my mind. I haven’t experienced this kind of instant attraction in years. I rack my brain for explanations but always come up empty. I’ve known Cat since she was sixteen, since she was a rampant tomboy with a mouth that—to Michael’s delight—drove her mother crazy. When I’m in London, I see her at least once a month, and never has even the slightest inkling of this kind of inappropriateness surfaced before.
She settles on a deck chair a few feet away from me and leafs through one of Helen’s Hello Magazines. Her wet bangs cling to her forehead and I’m eager to continue the fantasy I was indulging in before she interrupted, but I can’t do it when she’s sitting so close to me. Too much reality is mixed in with the dream.
Her skin is already turning golden-brown, setting off her blue eyes even more. She doesn’t have the typical pale British complexion that goes red after two hours in the sun. Instead, there’s a darkness about her. Not just in her looks—her hair and her tan—but also in her brooding air. Although bruised—her affair with Jenny was not the first that ended badly—she still has that easy-going flair of youth. A flexibility that seems to diminish with age. A nonchalance that drives me crazy.
I imagine what I would say to her if I had free reign. If John and Helen weren’t her parents and it was just the two of us here, in the sun-drenched garden of this house I inherited from Michael. Would I go up to her, put my hands on her neck and whisper something in her ear? Something outrageous like, “I need you to fuck me now.”
“Are you all right?” Cat catches me staring at her and I don’t avert my gaze. Surely I deserve a bit of fun.
“Perfectly.” My voice sounds a bit hoarse and I quickly sip from my drink.
“You look a bit flushed. It’s not the book, is it?” Her smile is so disarming. I do wonder what got into Jenny that she ditched Cat for someone else. Clearly, it doesn’t make any sense. I want to tell her she didn’t deserve to get cheated on, that it’s ludicrous, but I know it’s not my place.
“Heavens no.” I shake my head. “My drink must be too strong.”
She looks at me as if she knows I’m hiding something. If only she would punish me for it. Pin my wrists to the chair with the palm of her hands and stare me down. At some point, I will need some chastising.
“Please, excuse me.” I have to walk away. I need to remove myself from this explosive situation before I burst a vein.
“Sure.” Carelessly, she turns her attention back to her magazine and my heart breaks a little.
I walk into my bedroom and close the curtains. I sit down on the edge of the bed and pant as if I’ve just run half a marathon. I scan myself in the mirror and hardly recognise the person sitting there. I recognise the familiar face, of course, and my curls rioting in all directions. But the passion in those eyes, that blatant want, is completely foreign to me. I nod at my reflection and I know it’s time for something I haven’t done in a long time.
I shuffle backwards onto the bed until my body is totally supported. I pull my legs up and let my hands wander between my upper thighs. I’m surprised by the heat glowing through my bikini bottoms when I let a finger slide over the seam. I realise I’ve neglected certain body parts for years, willed certain desires to take a back seat. I can’t explain why Cat seems to be the catalyst for this sexual awakening I’m experiencing, but the fact of the matter is that just watching her has made me so wet I can’t ignore it. I need to do something about this frustration that hasn’t reared its head in seven years but has now decided to ambush me with unstoppable force.
I can’t stand any fabric covering my swollen pussy lips anymore and tug off my bikini bottoms. I close my eyes and think of Cat. Her smile and the occasional sparkle in her eyes. I dream I am the cause of her pleasure, that I make her smile, make her feel better. I imagine her eyes peering down at me as her hands discover my body, as her fingers play with my nipples.
My clit is rock hard and pulsing for attention. When I dip a finger between my pussy lips I discover my wetness and, although expected, the heat of it still surprises me. I screw my eyes shut and envision Cat’s finger doing to me what I’m doing to myself. I bet she’d do it better. I bet she has some secret lesbian tricks that would make me come five times in a row.
“I’ll fuck you,” I make her whisper in my ear. “It’s all I wanted to do since I arrived.”
I flick a wet finger over my clit, cautiously, but with plenty of determination and pretend Cat makes me moan with pleasure. I’m at her mercy. She can do whatever she wants with me as long as she never stops, as long as she keeps doing it and I can go back for more.
“Oh Cat,” I grunt, and saying her name sparks bursts of electricity to pop in my veins.
“I want you so much, Rose,” I have her say, while I imagine her fingers going deep.
From the depths of my gut, a fire builds and spreads through me, enflaming my muscles and skin. I nudge my clit quicker and quicker, to the rhythm of the sparks dancing in my belly. My muscles contract and I toss my head back into the pillows. My mind focuses on the image of Cat holding out her hand for me earlier. Instead of offering me a drink, she holds it open expectantly, her eyes forcing me to follow her into the bedroom. Drops of water rain down her shoulders and crash down onto the fabric of her bikini.
My clit and fingers are so wet from my juices. If only it was Cat’s tongue setting me on fire like this. Cat’s tongue there. The mere thought of it pushes me over the edge. I come while I mutter a muffled cry for Cat. My orgasm spasms through me and, though satisfying, I already know it’s not enough. It will never be enough as long as it’s not Cat giving it to me. Because it’s too blatant to ignore, I’m ready to acknowledge my desire for her. I don’t need to know why, don’t need to analyse the origin of this madness. I just need to do something about it. If I boil everything down to its essence, which I’m more than willing to do, we’re both single adults and we don’t need anyone’s approval. Now all that’s left to do is seduce her.
* * *
On Saturday, John and Helen’s thirty-seventh wedding anniversary, I set my plan into motion. I convince Cat’s parents to enjoy their special day by themselves and take Cat on the road with me. She appears relaxed when we cruise down the country roads, happy even, or at least content in the moment. I make myself believe it’s my company perking her up. I need all the confidence I can get for this.
I start things off in a relaxed manner by taking her to a winery where I engage in some innocent flirting and Cat, to my delight, has no apparent qualms about flirting back. We get a little tipsy but sober up before continuing our odyssey. I drive her to a secluded spot near a small forest where Michael asked me to marry him. It’s quite significant for me to, of all places, take her there. But I feel as if I need to make an emotional investment. I’m not half-hearted about this. For the first time in many years I’ve found the freedom to give in to my desires, to needs buried along with Michael, and I refuse to question my motives any longer. This is no time to hold back.
We share a bottle of wine I brought in a cool box. I try to keep it casual but automatically, as if I have no control over what comes out of my mouth, I tell her about how Michael proposed to me here. It adds a graveness to the situation, a solemnness I wasn’t really going for. In all honesty, I have no idea what I’m doing. I suppose I sort of believed the moment would present itself.
When I take the bottle back from her, in desperate need of a few more gulps, I let my hands rest on hers. She doesn’t immediately retract, which I take as a good sign. My heart thumps in my ears. I wait for her to look into my eyes and I know it’s now or never. I mentally prepared myself for this moment all week, for this split second in which I change my life.
I let go of the bottle and cup her right cheek.
“Tell me if you want me to stop.” I trace my fingers over her ear and feeling her skin on my fingertips makes me gasp for air. I scan Cat’s eyes for a sign of something—hopefully surrender—and wait for her reaction.
“Have you ever kissed—” she starts.
“Does it matter?” I cut her off. There’s plenty of time later for questions like that. I just want this moment between us to develop into something more—a kiss, at least. I’ve been dreaming of her lips for days, been touching myself with a frequency I never even deemed possible because of them. “I want you. I think that’s obvious.” There. It’s out in the open, in the glorious mid-afternoon Tuscan country-side no less. There is no better scenery for this kind of romance—or pent-up lust, if you will. I’ve laid my cards on the table. I’ve said the words. My heart is in her hands now.
“It’s not that I don’t want to.”
That’s not what I wanted to hear. I was hoping for a wordless answer, an inevitable breathless one. I haven’t put my ego, my self, on the line like this in fifteen years. So this is what it feels like to crash and burn.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.” I feel so silly for thinking this would be easy, for getting so caught up in my own desire. The girl just had her heart broken, for heaven’s sake. My late husband was like a favourite uncle to her. What on earth was I thinking? “Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to describe it.” I cover my face with my hands, afraid to face this outrageous situation head-on. If Helen saw this, she’d pack her bags straight away and walk back to London.
Cat inches closer and puts her arm around my shoulder. “It’s perfectly all right.” I know she’s trying to make me feel better, she probably feels sorry for me. I feel quite sorry for myself as well. It’s clear she doesn’t really know what to say. “I just—I don’t know—” she stammers and I wish I had a magic wand to erase this awkwardness with.
I look at her, silly tears dripping down my cheeks. “I’ve been foolish, but it’s been so long since I felt something like this.” I shake my head. “You must think I’ve lost my mind.” I shoot her a small smile.
“How about a date?”
“What?” The adrenalin levels in my blood spike again.
“We’ve been pussyfooting around it all day, with all the innuendo and such. Let’s make it less awkward by making it official.” Cat treats me to one of her trademark smiles, one of the irresistible ones and, once again, I’m baffled by how much sheer want courses through my body. “I’m asking you out on a date. Tonight.”
“And that will make it less awkward?” I quip. I must be beaming goofiness. My head feels dangerously light while my stomach somersaults. That’s when it hits me that I’ve fallen victim to a crush. Maybe it’s one of those things that was bound to occur and Cat happens to be in the right place at the right time.
“Sorry to be so lesbian about it, but I need to process first.”
“At least you are one.” I grab her hand, which is still curved around my shoulders. I want to keep it there, wallow in its act of kindness. “There goes my fantasy of some woman love out in the open,” I joke, wanting to make light of the situation, contrary to how I feel inside.
“We can always come back.” She gives me a definite opening and I need to restrain myself. I want to push her down on the blanket and kiss her senseless, kiss her like I haven’t kissed anyone in my life. “Depending on how the date goes.”
“My dating skills may be a bit rusty,” I admit.
“Judging by the current state of my love life, mine aren’t exactly top-notch either.”
* * *
It turns out we’re both quite dating-challenged at this time in our lives. Dinner is a tension-laden disaster, an unpleasant affair sapping all energy from me. I sense Cat’s reticence, her doubts about all of this, and I can’t blame her. But, despite the refusal in her words and the hesitation in her voice, there’s still a flicker of hope to hold on to. I decide to put my fantasy of Cat taking control of the situation—of her seducing me—aside and take her to Fabio’s, my pub of choice. Maybe all this situation needs is for the edge to be taken off of it.
“Have you ever had feelings for a woman before?” Cat asks again. I’m not sure if a lot depends on my answer, if a definite ‘yes’ would sway her, but I can hardly lie about something so significant and obviously important to her.
Fabio buys me some time by bringing us a jug of Limoncello. We drain a shot each and the liquor is so strong it makes my eyes water.
“The answer is no.” I have to look away, afraid to find more dismissal in her glance. “I haven’t felt anything like this for anyone in a very long time.” I figure the truth is my best ally. The Limoncello burns in my stomach. I should have actually eaten something at dinner instead of giving in to my disappointment, which only resulted in a lot of left-over pizza. I refill our glasses and find Cat’s eyes. She immediately reaches for her glass and brings it to her lips. “Perhaps I should feel foolish, but you know what?” Some liquor spills over the glass onto my fingers. “I honestly don’t.” I do a little, but more because of her lack of desire to enthusiastically reciprocate than anything else. I down my shot and lick my fingers.
“Good for you.”
What does that mean? I bear my soul to her and a generic semi-encouragement is all I get?
“The only thing I regret is spooking you out of sleeping with me.”
My brazen words shock her into almost choking on her drink, but what else can I be but straightforward at this point?
“I should have used more subtlety.” It’s easy to say after the fact, when regret is about to clobber me senseless. “Would you have gone for that?” I need to mock myself. It helps with the bitter sting of rejection. What was I thinking, anyway? That because she’s a lesbian she’d go for it?
“I’m going to powder my nose.” Cat stands up, imitating Helen’s way of announcing she needs the toilet. “Follow me in one minute.”
It’s my turn to be flabbergasted. Adrenalin rushes through my veins. I nod eagerly and Cat heads off to the washroom. I try to count to sixty, but the prospect of Cat waiting for me in there, of her wanting me—of my dream coming true—makes it challenging. I follow in her footsteps and open the door. Before either of us can say anything, I push her into a cubicle and lock the door.
“Yes?” I ask, but I don’t wait for her reply. I can’t. Days of lusting after her have boiled down to this. I feel the familiar pulsing between my legs—familiar since a few days. If ever I wanted to kiss someone, it can’t have been with more desire than this. I press my body against her and tilt her chin up. Then I kiss her and I know it’s right. Sparks soar through me as our lips touch. Her tongue is soft and her cheeks smooth. Everything seems fluid and meant to be. If that’s what kissing a woman feels like, I wonder what I’ve been waiting for all my life.
I pull back. I need to see her face. See if the blue of her eyes has changed. See if she wants me as much as I want her.
“Where can we go?” Cat asks and reality slaps me hard in the face. I choose to ignore it for as long as I can and kiss her again. I can’t get enough of her sweet lips, the tenderness of her tongue and what it promises it can do to me. But I know I need to keep a clear head.
“We’re in no condition to drive and the house is miles away. We need a taxi.” I check my watch. “And we can’t stay in here for too long. This is rural Italy, after all.”
Cat leans in for another kiss and the sight of her lust sets my blood on fire. I hold her off, though. I need to get us out of here and back to the house, where she can ravage me the way I dreamed she would.
“Trust me. It’ll be all right.” We exit the bathroom and I wonder if Fabio or any of his patrons will notice. I wonder if I care at all. I arrange a cab and sit next to the driver in the front seat, afraid of what might happen if I’m in the back with Cat. I come to this town every summer and I’m not sure I’m ready for a lesbian scandal.
* * *
Once we’re back at the house I half-drag Cat to my room. Long lost emotions confuse my brain, but I’m sure about one thing. I want nothing more than Catherine Archer in my bed tonight. Of course, it's not my parents sleeping at the other end of the hallway, but I block out any thoughts of John and Helen. As far as I’m concerned, they’re not here. It’s just me and Cat now, and this delicious anticipation riding in my veins. I have some inkling of what to expect. I’ve seen movies and read books, and am well-endowed with a vivid imagination, but this is the real deal. This is it.
“No, not in there,” Cat says and pulls me towards the door of her bedroom. I don’t care where we do it. It might as well be on the hallway carpet, though I’m not sure Cat would agree. I realise she’s taking a big step, while I’m overcome by desire, by this new energy that has taken hold of me, obliterating any questions of wrong or right.
“They’re over sixty, but hardly deaf,” Cat whispers. “We’ll have to be really quiet.”
“No problem.” I reach out my hand and Cat takes it. Slowly, I inch two fingers along the inside of her arm, the touch zapping electric shocks through my flesh. That’s the last bit of control I’m able to exercise. I need her inside of me as quickly as possible. I’ve had days of foreplay, days of imagining what lies beneath the fabric of her bikini, of wondering what her skin will feel like on mine. I yank her top over her head and the sight of her stiff nipples nearly bursting through her bra makes my breath hitch in my throat. Then, at last, Cat takes charge.
She pulls me close and kisses me with new determination. I can’t press my lips close enough to hers. I need more, more of her, something to quench this thirst inside of me.
We undress each other frantically, until only panties and bras keep us from being totally naked. Cat drags me on the bed with her and I’m suddenly overcome with emotion, with raw lust mixed with the friendly affection I’ve felt for her for years.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I whisper.
Cat responds by curling her hands around my back and undoing my bra. I quickly get rid of hers, finally allowed to gawk at her breasts without having to be sneaky about it. Our nipples touch and the softness of her skin, the way her breasts mould into mine, floors me.
An impatient desire shimmers in Cat’s eyes as she pulls down my panties. I let her take the lead. After all, she knows what she’s doing. Her hand travels down, to the part of me that’s gone untouched too long. I can feel my wetness on her fingers and push my pelvis towards them to let her know I’m ready for whatever she has in mind.
Cat shrugs off her underwear and I don’t know where to look first. At her breasts, still young and supple, lit from the side by a sliver of moonlight, or between her legs, where tiny curls guard her pussy lips. I can’t stop myself from reaching out. I have to touch her. She’s so wet and it’s all for me. It feels like the biggest compliment I’ve had in ages.
She pushes herself up to her knees and I follow her until we face each other. While we kiss, Cat’s hands find my breasts and my nipples go as stiff as I’ve ever felt them. This is already a night of superlatives for me. I realise it’s not just about satisfying each other—although I can’t wait for that bit. It’s about the connection between us. How we stare into each other’s eyes while we discover one another’s body. How her glance seems to gut me.
Cat’s finger goes down, back between my legs. She circles my swollen clit and I can’t help but cry out.
“Shhh,” she says, but the grin on her face tells me it doesn’t matter anymore who hears what.
She looks me straight in the eyes as she pushes a finger inside of me. I catch my breath but don’t avert my gaze. I want to experience this joy, this pleasure engulfing me, together with her.
My hand wanders down to her pussy and I find her wetness. Cat twirls the fingers of her other hand into my hair and pulls me close. I fold my free hand around her neck and we find a rhythm. I mirror Cat’s movement and every time she adds a finger inside of me, I do the same. Our eyes connect whenever they can and every glimpse of the fire in her glance spurs me on. I can’t believe I’m fucking her, that she’s fucking me. I can’t believe it feels so spectacular.
I groan into Cat’s ear and she starts bucking down harder on my fingers. Her pussy seems to grab on to me, catching me inside of her. Her moans intensify and her breaths shorten and stutter as the walls of her pussy contract around me. She’s so wet and soft and magical inside.
She holds onto me, tugging at my hair while the motion of her fingers stops. Her body shudders against mine.
“Yes, oh yes,” she hisses into my ear. I can’t believe I made her come. The sensation overwhelms me, but Cat’s fingers are still in me and she pushes me down.
“Your turn,” she says and her mouth goes straight for my clit. I scream so loud I startle myself and cover my mouth with my hand. Cat’s tongue on me like that, so close and intimate and brushing just the right spots, makes me lose all control. Her fingers go deep, while her tongue flicks over my clit and my body starts tensing up. It feels vaguely reminiscent of the orgasms I’ve been giving myself lately, alone in my room, but the power behind it, the intensity of the fire ripping through me, is a million times bigger. Grandiose seems like the right word. And obliterating, as in everything that came before.
I breathe heavily through it and Cat steps it up on all fronts. Her fingers move in and out of me quicker and her tongue laps at a furious pace until I can’t hold back any longer. The climax crashes into me from everywhere, from above me, beneath me, from inside of me. Its power leaves me speechless, close to tears. For some reason I want to hide, make myself disappear in this moment. I shield my face with my hands and lay there as Cat tenderly hugs me.
“Fuck me,” I say because I don’t have any other words.
“I believe I just did.” Cat pushes herself up and smiles down at me. I must look like a fool to her, with my eyes all watery and an incredulous expression on my face. I dreamed of this for days, but reality has outdone fantasy. It’s not merely the orgasm, which was, after years of maybe one hesitant solo-sex session every few months, quite earth-shattering, but the emotions it has unleashed in me. I want to linger in her bed all night, all of tomorrow and the rest of the week she’s here.
“Can I stay in your room tonight?” I don’t know if I should ask or not. I don’t even know if she wants me to stay. I wonder if it was as satisfying for her as it was for me. She does this all the time. I wonder if it was better than when she did it last with Jenny. I feel like an insecure teenager, which is quite unbecoming for a forty-eight-year-old woman.
“It’s your house. You can do whatever you want.”
“Really?” I take her reply as encouragement. “Because there are a few more things I’d like to try.”
* * *
I spend the next few days processing my cross-over into lesbianism. I feel more guilty now, after the fact—or in the middle of many facts—than when I was secretly day-dreaming about Cat. In the end, it all comes down to John and Helen’s presence. I can’t find a way to justify my new position in their daughter’s life, however undefined it is. It doesn’t help that Cat gets very paranoid about them and repeatedly urges me they can never find out. In a way, the secrecy ignites the sexual tension between us, but, on the other hand, it’s also a massive source of guilt.
“Looks like you’re a late-bian, then,” she says one night after I sneak into her bedroom. She has stayed very adamant about not sleeping with me in my room.
“A what?” I’m only half-listening, my brain already frazzled by the prospect of what waits for me beneath the sheets.
“A later-in-life lesbian.” She smiles at me, but, as glorious as that cheeky grin looks on her face, my eyes are drawn to her exposed chest. It’s only recently I found out that the sight of naked breasts actually makes my mouth water.
“Oh, I’m a lesbian now, am I?” If that’s what the satisfaction of having a woman’s body to cuddle up to at night makes me, then I really don’t mind.
“You sure are behaving like one.” I can hardly deny that. I slip into bed with her and curve my arm around her waist.
“Only because your pussy tastes so sweet.” Lately, I’ve been baffled more than once by the words coming out of my mouth. My theory is that my brain needs to compress years of sexual frustration into the few days I have left with Cat. Anything goes. It’s also true that, while before I was always a mere—but happy—recipient of it, I now consider the pleasure of performing cunnilingus as one of the great discoveries of my late-forties. The power I can exercise over Cat just by licking her is intoxicating.
“I rest my case.” She plants a kiss on my hair. “I want to get lost in your curls,” she hums and her words set off that weak feeling in my stomach again. That hint at something more that instantly gets squashed by our circumstances. This isn’t just about physicality, about getting my sexual needs met. Perhaps it’s easy to confuse the tenderness between us for love, or something akin, but, ultimately, that’s what it feels like. But I’m nowhere near ready to broach that subject with Cat. Mostly because she’s still suffering from a broken heart, even though the name Jenny hasn’t been spoken in days. But I realise that, for her, this can’t be much more than a rebound affair.
“I want to get lost somewhere else.” I tilt my head up and find her eyes. Three tiny laughter lines crinkle around her temples. She knows what I mean by now. I’ve all but licked her raw.
I kiss her breasts, spreading hot saliva over her nipples. Her body already feels familiar, as if it belongs here with me and nowhere else. Before making my way down, to my final destination, I search for her gaze once more. I want to witness her desire for me before I satisfy it. I want her to say it.
“Fuck me,” she says, because she knows, and her words ignite tiny explosions in my blood. She slides her body down and opens her legs for me, a gesture so trivial but at the same time so intimate.
I smell my soap on her, the same one I’ve used for years, blending with the aroma of her juices. I trail a path of moist kisses along her inner thighs. Her hands are in my hair—she seems really fond of my hair—and tug at my curls.
Before zoning in on her pussy I lick along her pubes, the coarse texture of them tickling my tongue. Then I can’t hold it in any longer and I wonder if she knows how much I want this, how much of a slave I’ve become to her. I take in the length of her pussy, her glistening lips, so blood-shot and swollen for me, and tuck in.
The first contact always overwhelms me, because, despite the familiarity of all of her by now, this is still new to me. Her softness on my tongue and how she gasps for air that first instant. It makes my own clit pulse for attention and I feel myself heating up, a moist glow radiating between my legs.
I lick her up and down with long tentative strokes and her hands grip my hair firmer, as if she’s never letting go again. When I part her lips with my tongue and gently flick the tip over her clit, her muscles contract and she pushes herself upwards, closer to my eager mouth. She’s mine now, which is all I want.
I revel in her moans as I suck her clit between my lips and nibble it gently. And then pure passion takes over. I need her to tremble for me, shake and writhe underneath me like no one else ever has. I unleash a tongue-dancing frenzy on her, feeling her pleasure on my soaking wet lips. It shivers through me as her muscles clench and release, a bit more intensely with every stroke of my tongue.
“Fuck me,” she says again and this time she doesn’t say it to please me. She says it to please herself. I bring two fingers to the rim of her pussy and lightly circle them around the opening before slowly letting them enter. I love being inside of her. It’s the closest I can get.
With every thrust I drive my fingers deeper into her, coaxing louder groans from her throat. A few strands of my hair are curled around her fingers. It doesn’t hurt the way it should. Instead, it engorges my clit because I know it means she’s close. As much as I like to fuck her, and lick her, there’s nothing like having her come all over my fingers, her juices spilling over my lips.
“Oh god,” she whispers, then repeats it again and again. She loves drama in the bedroom, likes to make a spectacle of herself when she gets there, unlike me—but I’m still getting used to this new lease on my sex life. She thrashes her head from left to right and yanks at my hair while shoving my face as much into her as possible. Her body shakes itself free of any tension as her pussy clutches my fingers. Her orgasm rips through me, like a hurricane of satisfaction, pleasing me in ways I never knew existed. It’s not a smug satisfaction and it has nothing to do with ego. It’s more a gentle reaffirmation smouldering in my soul, knowing everything is within my grasp again. That I’ve found what I didn’t even know I was looking for.
“What the fuck have you done to me?” Cat asks between gasps. I could ask her the same question. I crawl up to see her face. Tiny drops of sweat cling to her forehead and her cheeks are flushed bright red. I look into her eyes and I have to stop myself from saying it because I’m sure it would ruin the magic of the aftermath. But I would give everything to hold her in my arms and tell her I love her because, daft or not, true or not, that’s what it feels like—and it’s not a tiny feeling either.
* * *
The day before the Archers are set to leave, I change my flight back. I meant to stay in the villa for four more weeks, but the void I face after Cat’s departure is too vast. It’s more a symbolic gesture than anything else. My own departure from my old life. I don’t tell Cat because I don’t want to put any pressure on her. Despite John and Helen’s presence this was essentially a holiday romance. This would never have happened in London.
For me, everything may have changed, but, as far as I know, for Cat it was only a way of getting over a broken heart. I’m afraid to ask, afraid to hear words that are too definite. The wise, rational part of me knows full well we don’t stand a chance back in England, but the prospect of staying behind alone is even more gruelling. At least in London I can see her. Pop over to John and Helen’s unannounced on Sunday when they have their weekly family dinner. They always have an extra plate for me.
When I wake up in Cat’s bed on the morning of her flight home, her usual content wake-up smile is competing with a big frown. She looks all wrinkled and frumpy, as if she didn’t sleep a wink.
“Never had a summer love before?” I ask, inwardly kicking myself for using the l-word.
Cat shakes her head and swallows hard. It’s clear she doesn’t know how to deal with this situation. Or maybe it’s because I used the word love. But it’s too late to backtrack now.
“Neither have I.” I snuggle up to her, resting my head on her shoulder one last time, scouring my brain for a way to say goodbye properly.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Cat holds her breath and my heart jumps. “Confined to summer, I mean.” Her body goes rigid with tension underneath mine.
“Is it time for the talk?” A strange kind of elation spreads through me. She doesn’t have to say the words for me to know.
“I’m leaving in a few hours, so maybe we do need to discuss some things.” Her voice trembles, insecurity leaking from her words.
“No need.” I tilt my head up and find her eyes. “I booked a flight back home next week.” My face bursts out into a beaming smile. The shock etched around her mouth is priceless. “I can’t bear the thought of spending the rest of the summer here without you.” My stomach suddenly feels funny. If this isn’t a love confession, then I don’t know what is.
“Are you serious?” I’m pretty sure that’s pure joy running across her face.
“As if I’m the world’s biggest prankster.”
Cat responds by launching herself at me, crashing me under her bodyweight in the process, and showering me in an avalanche of kisses.
“Let’s celebrate.” Her fingers travel down, along my chest, between my legs. She gazes deep into my eyes as she finds my throbbing pussy lips. Happiness bubbles through me as she claims me, one last time.
A knock on the door startles us.
“Kit-Kat, darling?” John half-yells. “Are you up? We must go soon.”
We try not to burst out into giggles at John’s sudden interruption.
“I’ll be ready in half an hour,” Cat shouts back.
“All right.” My heart thunders in my chest as I wait for John’s footsteps to wither as he walks away. Thank god he’s not one of those parents who don’t give their children any privacy, no matter their age.
“Has that killed your hunger for me, Kit-Kat?” I smile, but at the same time vow to never call her that again.
“Never,” she says and I gasp for air as her fingers enter me.