Part One Hundred And Twenty One
Jo wasn't sure exactly where she was at first, just that she was relaxed: safe, warm and happy. As her eyes began to focus on her surroundings, she became aware of a very familiar smell. She hadn't got to know George as well as she had over the last couple of years, without being instantly able to recognise the perfume she always wore. So, George was here too, wherever she was, which was nice. Experimenting with the other senses she usually possessed, Jo began determining as much as possible about her immediate vicinity. She could feel the heat of the sun on her body. This meant that she must be naked, and in the open air of all things. Jo faintly blushed when she came to this abrupt realisation. She could hear the sound of the birds in nearby trees, and the faint rustle of the leaves, disturbed by the gentle summer breeze. She was lying on softly mown grass, its fragrance prompting her to take in a deep, self-satisfied breath. Finally returning to the matter of what she could and couldn't see, she shifted her gaze slightly to the left, and saw George lying next to her, softly smiling at her. She was also completely unclothed, her skin a rich, sumptuous, honey colour, as if she had been sunbathing in the nude. Her small, perfect breasts were pointing up at the clear, blue sky, and the breeze was blowing tendrils of her soft, blonde hair across her face.
As Jo took in every inch of George's beautiful body, she could feel George scrutinizing her just as thoroughly. But she didn't care. She knew that, in this softly serene dream world, she was just as beautiful as George was. "Are you just going to lie there all day and stare at me?" George asked, fondly teasing. "Because I don't know how long we've got." Smiling at George's obvious impatience, Jo allowed her instincts to take over. Reaching out a long, delicate finger, she ran it caressingly over one of George's breasts. It felt perfectly natural to her to do this, leaving her with no feeling of nervousness, or of treading the path of the unknown. "You're beautiful," She found herself saying. When George turned her eyes to meet Jo's, Jo was intensely touched by the sheer openness in them. Nothing was hidden from her, nothing in George's soul denied her. When their lips touched, Jo was enchanted at their softness, the total pliability of George's mouth, and the sweetness of another woman doing this to her. The contours of her mouth were just as they had been, on that night back at the end of April, when George had been drunk and Jo had kissed her. But there was no surprise this time, no hint of it being even possibly forbidden. George tasted divinely of wine and strawberries. When she felt George's hand on her breast, she gasped, but not in surprise, for this all felt so right, almost as if they'd been here before.
John had gradually drifted into wakefulness, becoming slowly aware that Jo was in the middle of a dream. At first, he'd thought it was a bad one, her tossing and turning, together with her occasional murmurings, making him assume it was a nightmare. But with the help of the moonlight that was shining in through the gap in the bedroom curtains, he could see a soft, what could only be called sexy, smile on her face. He knew an erotic dream when he saw one. Though he had to admit, he'd never seen Jo have one. His curiosity aroused, he watched her, determined not to go back to sleep until he'd seen how this ended.
"Much as I love you," Jo said, this also not alarming her. "We really shouldn't be doing this." "And dreams were never made to feel guilty over," George said, her sultry, slightly husky, clearly aroused voice, making Jo inwardly melt. "If anyone should be feeling guilty, it's me. So, if I'm not feeling guilty over Karen, then you certainly shouldn't feel guilty over John." This sounded so like the real George, that Jo briefly wondered if this was as much in her imagination as she thought it was. George's breast fit so snugly into her hand, it's fleshy, round softness, rising to a rock hard nipple. George's breasts were really the only part of her that bore any sign of a healthy covering of flesh. Detaching George's hand from her, Jo pulled George to her, holding her as tightly as possible with George returning the embrace. "Don't you ever go away from me," Jo entreated. "Not ever. Do you hear me?" "Don't cry," George said, gently kissing away the few stray tears that were scattering Jo's cheeks. "Dreams are meant to be enjoyed, not cried over. Promise me not to cry when you wake up from this one." When they began kissing each other again, their kisses were far more furious, far more intense. George was half draped over Jo by this time, her leg slipping in between Jo's, to rub teasingly against her centre. "I want you," Jo said, her deep, husky voice filled with intense arousal. They weren't remotely gentle with each other, their need for the other being too fraught, too desperate. Hands coaxed nipples to a bullet-like hardness, and slid familiarly into the warm, moist places between legs, their mouths never parting except to gasp with pleasure. They rolled in that sweet meadow grass, both crying out in total abandon.
When Jo's eyes snapped open, she realised that not only was her breathing rapid and her pulse racing, but that her right hand was moving of its own accord between her legs, mimicking exactly what George had been doing to her only moments before. Finding that she was in a soft, warm bed, brought her back to earth with a bump. But once such an orgasm is started, hell would freeze over before she could stop it from taking its natural course. She was peripherally aware of John's gaze on her, but even the knowledge that he was witnessing her humiliation couldn't halt her hand in its quest. When her body finally shuddered to completion, tears began raining down her cheeks, the gasps of her orgasm transforming into the wracking sobs of utter humiliation. Immediately seeing that this had been no ordinary erotic dream, John put his arms round her and held her as she wept. He had absolutely no idea what had caused either the dream, or Jo's extreme reaction to it. He hadn't seen her cry like this, not since the night Jason Powell had died, and he'd held her in his arms and let her sleep in his bed, in an attempt to ward off her grief. He gently soothed her, saying anything that might calm her down. When he looked into her face, all he could see was pain, confusion, and even a little fear. Eventually, Jo cried herself back to sleep, leaving John worried, concerned, and utterly mystified.
When Jo awoke on the Sunday morning, John wasn't there. Knowing he would probably have taken Mimi for a walk, Jo stretched. She felt exhausted, more emotionally than physically. She hadn't said one word about her dream to John last night, but she knew she'd have to this morning. Waking up touching herself, and then crying her heart out, weren't things that could be so easily explained away. Groaning futilely and hiding her blushing face under the duvet, she wished with all her might that last night hadn't happened. But, when she eventually dragged herself out of bed, it was all still there, waiting for her. Shrugging into a dressing gown, she went downstairs to make a cup of tea. John had left her a note on the kitchen table, saying that he had taken Mimi for a walk as she'd suspected. Lighting a cigarette with a slightly shaking hand, she realised that John's curiosity would be in overdrive this morning. She wasn't awake or alert enough yet to begin examining her own feelings on the matter. It was far too soon after the event for that.
When John let himself back in, Jo was smoking her second cigarette of the day, and still sat in her dressing gown at the kitchen table. "Hello," He said, leaning over to kiss her cheek. Looking up at him, she didn't really know what to say. How could she? How could she have dreamt about George, when she was in bed with John? Stubbing her cigarette out, she rose to her feet and went upstairs for a shower. "Aren't women funny creatures, Mimi?" John said, putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. Mimi just watched him, sensing an air of tension between these two favourite people of hers. John hated it when Jo couldn't talk to him, but he could see that she clearly felt incredibly embarrassed about what had happened last night. He wondered, not for the first time, just who she'd been dreaming about. It didn't bother him that she'd dreamt about someone other than him, because he certainly dreamt about other women on occasions. But that didn't stop him from being curious. Jo had looked sensational, with her rock hard nipples and that wickedly sinful hand of hers working away between her legs. But why had it upset her so much? It wasn't that she'd been caught in the act, at least he didn't think it was. So, it must be because of whom the dream had been about.
When Jo reappeared downstairs, she felt a little more able to deal with the day ahead. But her thoughts kept returning to George. The words, the body, the tone of voice, everything had belonged to George. What did this mean? Did it mean that she did indeed want George, want to make love to George? In a rash moment of immense childishness, she decided that this was all George's fault. That Sunday, when the four of them had been watching a film together, and both she and John, and George and Karen had turned their attention away from the screen and to each other, that was when it had happened. Jo had found their little display incredible, arousing her far more than even John had done in quite a while. Then had come that kiss, that incredibly sinful, yet utterly unforgettable kiss. But that didn't mean she was actually in love with George, did it? She hoped not, for all their sakes.
After putting some washing in the machine, she stood watching Mimi out of the kitchen window. The little dog was chasing flies, either that or her own tail. John had been reading the paper in the lounge, but now he came up behind her and put his arms round her. Craving the comfort of his warm, solid body, even though she didn't think she had any right to it, Jo turned round to face him. He had not pressed her on anything to do with her dream or its effect on her, in fact he hadn't even mentioned it, but she had a feeling that the time had come.
"Are you all right?" He asked, after gently kissing her.
"No," Was her simple reply. But she didn't attempt to qualify her answer. But there was one thing she desperately needed to know. "Did I say anything, before I woke up last night?" He smiled.
"Nothing intelligible, no." Then, because he realised why she'd asked, he added, "Your secret is entirely safe, I promise." She looked relieved, but it didn't appear to make her any happier.
"I feel so stupid," She said, avoiding his gaze.
"You know," He said into her hair. "Dreaming of someone else, and then waking up touching yourself, isn't anything to be ashamed of."
"That depends who you're dreaming about," She said bitterly, flinching at his words.
"Who was it?"
"Trust me, John, you really don't want to know, and more importantly, I don't want to tell you."
"Well, something obviously upset you."
"John," She said firmly, though with a hint of desperation in her tone. "The fact that you witnessed my humiliation is really quite bad enough, so will you please drop it." She'd drawn slightly back from him as she said this, but now he pulled her gently back into his arms.
"Okay, message received and understood," He said quietly, as she briefly laid her head against his chest.
"I'm sorry," She said after a while. "I shouldn't take this out on you."
"Women seem to enjoy shouting at me," He said with a smile. "It's becoming a bit of a habit."
"I've got a lot of work to do this afternoon," She said a little while later, still standing cocooned in his embrace.
"Are you chucking me out?" He asked, with the lost little boy look that never fooled her.
"Yes," She said simply, not quite able to hide the fact that today, John's company really wasn't something she wanted or could handle.
"You know where I am if you change your mind."
Late that night, when she was lying in her large, and thankfully otherwise empty double bed, her thoughts returned to George, not that they'd been far from her all day. What she'd dreamt last night had been incredible. Feelings of guilt and confusion aside, it had been sensational. The combination of the gentle closeness of the woman she thought most of in the world, added to the extreme sexual arousal, was something that, she knew now, she would do anything to experience for real. George's hands had played over her body in exactly the same skilful way they manipulated her piano, inducing feelings in her of such intimacy, such complete unguardedness, that it almost took her breath away just to think about it. Knowing that she was entirely alone, she slipped her hand under the duvet, to caress those parts of her that George had so subtly teased. It surely couldn't be wrong, to do this when there was absolutely no one here to witness it. But as her own hands mapped the patterns on her body that George's had, a new thought crossed her mind. Would George, could George, ever feel anything more than simple, sexual curiosity for her? Jo didn't know the answer to this, and she decided that it was probably better that she didn't. George had Karen, which made her not only out of bounds, but forever wholly unobtainable.