Part One Hundred And Ninety Three
On the Friday evening, George found herself at a loose end. John was away, taking part in the opening of the new series of Judge's seminars, and she wasn't due to go to see Karen in Spain until next week. She couldn't believe it had been less than a week since she'd told John about her and Jo. In fact, part of her still couldn't entirely get to grips with the fact that he knew about it. She knew that there was a lot about what he was feeling, that he certainly wasn't sharing with her, and she was forced to admit that his being away for a week or so wouldn't do any of them any harm. What she really wanted to do, she realised, was to be with Jo. It had now been about four months since their initial kiss, yet they still hadn't crossed that final barrier of really sleeping with each other. Did John's knowledge of the situation now give them permission to do so? She supposed it did in a way, but how on earth did she go about suggesting it? George wanted it to be perfect for Jo, well, as perfect as something so new and possibly bizarre could be. What if Jo loathed every minute of it? What if she couldn't bear to be anywhere near George afterwards? These were all the types of questions that were constantly running through her mind during the evening. She had put some soft music on the stereo, to try and give her mind a reason to settle, and was sitting on the sofa drinking a glass of wine and reading the paper. Half of her brain was taking in the words of the articles she was reading, and the other half kept returning to the same old problem. So when the doorbell rang, she folded up the paper with a feeling of relief that she now at least had a distraction.
Jo had been having similar thoughts to George. She unquestionably appreciated the fact that George had always prevented them from taking their burgeoning feelings too far, and she definitely understood why. She was incredibly touched at George's slight reticence, but she couldn't help feeling that old, instinctive urge to make love with someone new. But maybe that was the point, precisely why George had held back so far, because this wasn't just a new lover, this was an entirely new way of making love. Jo could remember with fond amusement, her intention to become more sexually adventurous, something she'd expressed both to John and to George, back in January. Well, if making love with a woman, when you've spent most of your life claiming you were heterosexual wasn't widening her sexual experience, then she didn't know what was. With this thought in mind, she'd driven over to see George, not with the expectation that they might end up in bed, but with the possibility firmly in her thoughts.
"Have you taken up mind reading, darling?" George asked, seeing Jo on the doorstep. "I don't believe it's one of my many accomplishments, no," Jo said with a smile as she moved into the hall. "Why?" "Does it sound dreadfully adolescent, to say I was thinking about you?" George asked, as Jo put out her arms. "Oh, well," Jo said ruefully, as George moved into her embrace. "I suppose that makes me fifteen again then." When their lips met, they could both feel the barely suppressed need in the other, the gradually slipping control that might at any moment give way. "You're incredibly tense," Jo said softly, feeling George's nervousness just below the surface. "I wish I wasn't," George replied self-deprecatingly. "So why are you?" Jo asked, as they moved into the lounge and sat down on the sofa. "I'm not sure," George said, feeling a little foolish. "You don't need to be anywhere near as on edge as you are," Jo said quietly, taking George's hand and casually playing with her fingers. "Don't I?" George wanted to know, what Jo was doing with her hand feeling almost unbearably intimate. "No," Jo told her fondly. "Something John did say to me last weekend, was that you are somewhat apprehensive of sleeping with me." Inwardly cursing John to hell and back, George couldn't prevent the violent blush that spread over her face. "He didn't have to tell you that," She said disgustedly. "George," Jo said with a soft smile at George's embarrassment. "The only way this, whatever it is, is going to be successful, is if we are honest with each other. Let's face it, this is far newer to me than it is to you." "I know," George said miserably. "Which is why I feel so stupid. I am so scared, Jo, of ruining the friendship we have, that part of me would far rather not take that risk. Darling, I would love to take that final step, because I can't think of anything that would delight me more, than to give you some of the most intimately erotic pleasure you've ever had in your life. But what I wouldn't want to do is to attempt to make love to you, only to find that you hated it. I know I've been sleeping with a woman for the last few months, but every woman is different. I have absolutely no idea what you like or how you like it, and I don't want to get it completely wrong." Reaching out a hand to touch George's cheek, and to halt her in her tracks, Jo said, "Would you like to find out?" The question seemed to catch George by surprise. Placing a hand over Jo's where it still rested against her cheek, she gazed into Jo's eyes, seeing nothing but tentative encouragement, backed to the hilt by an answering level of need. "Are you sure this is what you want?" She asked, wanting Jo to be absolutely certain. "Yes," Jo told her unequivocally, her hand sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind George's ear. It seemed almost fitting that their pursuit of pleasure should begin here, on the very sofa where they'd exchanged their first kiss, almost as if to reaffirm their initial instinctive closeness. Their kisses were hungry, needy, with all their barely controlled feelings of the last few months beginning to boil over. When they rose as of one mind, and moved with clear intension towards the stairs, George asked Jo if she would like a glass of wine, thinking that something to help them both relax certainly wouldn't go amiss. Saying that yes she would, Jo left George to it and went up the stairs, briefly wondering how different she would feel when she came down them again.
When George appeared in the bedroom, carrying two glasses of the chilled Chablis that she always seemed to have some of in her fridge, Jo had switched on the CD-player on George's dressing table, and was lying with only the cotton sheet covering her. The lights were on their dimmest setting, giving the room a warm, rosy glow that was perfect for any seduction. Not that Jo thought she needed much seducing. Silently approving of the music, George walked round to Jo's side of the bed and handed her the glass, wondering if her fingers would slide as caressingly over Jo's skin as the notes of Chopin currently were. Not wanting to spoil the mood, and seeing a glimmer of intent in George's eye, Jo simply lay and watched her. Waiting until she could capture the gently flowing rhythm of the music, George began to dance, gradually removing her clothes as she went. Jo's eyes widened when she realised what George was doing, not having seen something quite so erotically sensual, since George and Neil's dance during 'The Creation.' Not once did her delicate steps ever falter, her beautifully manicured feet moving between the dresser and the bed, her shadow passing across the mirror at every turn. Jo watched in fascination as every inch of skin was revealed, even though she'd seen it all before.
When her clothes were finally discarded, George moved to perch on the side of the bed, looking down at Jo with a soft, inviting fondness that made her instantly break into a smile. "Did you learn to dance at school?" Jo asked, raising her eyes to George's. "Yes, I did. It does come in handy sometimes." "George, only you could make such a production of taking your clothes off." "Worth it though, wasn't it," She replied with such blatant self-confidence in her own beauty, that Jo wondered if she could come up to such a standard, even though she was a few years younger than George. "Come on," George invited, taking hold of Jo's hand. "I've got something to show you." Wondering what on earth she had in mind, Jo slid out of the bed, and followed George to stand in front of the full-length mirror. "Now," She said, putting an arm round Jo's waist. "That really would be worth posing for." As Jo gazed at their combined image, she had to admit that George was right. They looked incredible, standing there together, the embodiment of everything John desired in a woman. George let her eyes begin to wander over the image of Jo's form, gazing at the reflection, rather than at Jo herself, thinking that a more indirect scrutiny might remove some of Jo's slight apprehension. "If we ever can't think of what to get John for Christmas, that might just be the thing," Jo said with a smirk, though knowing that she would never have the courage to pose for an artist of any kind. "Actually, that isn't a bad idea," George frightened her by saying, the words 'Be careful what you wish for', flashing up in her mind. As Jo kept her eyes fixed on the mirror, she saw George's hand gradually trail its way up her torso, until Jo's left breast lay soft and heavy in George's hand. George's fingers were gentle and warm, their delicate tips tracing every inch, until they grazed over the steadily hardening nipple. Jo couldn't take her eyes away from what she was seeing, never having thought something so simple would look or feel so erotic. "Looks incredible, doesn't it?" George's low, sultry voice broke in on Jo's thoughts. "What, my body, or what you are doing to me?" Jo replied, trying and failing to keep her voice steady. "Both, undoubtedly," George told her, turning to face her and reaching up to kiss her. As they'd turned slightly, Jo could still see their actions in the glass, the combination of sights and feelings seeming so foreign to her, and yet so immensely right that it made her never want to stop.
When they moved to the bed, and were lying under the thin cotton sheet, their arms went instinctively around each other, George's smooth, naked skin providing Jo with a whole host of new sensations. "Do you have any idea how many times I've thought of this?" Jo said between their gentle though no less fervent kisses. "Tell me," George invited, her fingers wandering over the softer part of Jo's breast, for the moment avoiding the sensitive peak. "Often before going to sleep, I've thought about being here, what it might be like to actually do this." "I hope the reality doesn't send you to sleep," George said dryly. "If you tell me what these fantasies of yours consist of, I might just be able to live up to them." When Jo blushed slightly and didn't immediately answer, George smirked. "Do you remember that night, when you told me that if I couldn't talk about it, I shouldn't be contemplating doing it?" "I knew I'd live to regret that," Jo replied, wondering how on earth she was going to wriggle out of this one. But hitting on John's tactic of actions speak louder than words, she adjusted George's hand slightly, so that her thumb was now grazing back and forth over Jo's nipple, making George laugh huskily when she realised what Jo had done. "I don't want you to feel as though you need to hide anything from me," George assured her gently. "If I'm not doing something quite right, I want to know, and if there's something I'm not doing that you would like, I want to know that too, no matter how obscure you might think it is." "You might come to regret that, George," Jo said with a smile, to cover up how touched she was at George's openness. "I doubt it," George challenged her. "I quite like being surprised on occasions." "Ah, the mystery and intrigue of the entirely unknown." "Yes, something like that. Is that what this feels like to you?" George asked a little tentatively. "Yes, in a way," Jo admitted. "Because whilst what one does to one's self, and what one does to one's lover might be fairly similar in this case, I am hoping they are also somewhat different." "Definitely," George told her firmly, thinking that what she might do for herself, had never come even close to what Karen had so often done for her.
Bearing this in mind, George trailed her hand down away from Jo's breasts and across her stomach. But as she encountered a particularly sensitive area of Jo's skin, Jo's whole body jerked. "Don't do that, it tickles," Jo told her, trying not to laugh. "Ah, I'll have to remember that for future reference," George said a little evilly. "I could always phone John, and ask him to let me in on a couple of your weak points," Jo teased her in return. "I wouldn't," George said, playing along with her. "Or he'll want to join in by proxy." Using Jo's obvious relaxation from her laughter, George laid a softly seeking hand on her thigh, tracing the crease where thigh meets hip with a delicate finger. She kept her eyes fixed on Jo's, hoping to interpret every flicker, wanting to be able to anticipate any change in Jo's responses to her. When she slightly parted her legs, and George slipped her right hand between them, Jo couldn't help but feel that she had taken that final leap, and that never again could she go back to that safe, blissful innocence of night-time imaginings. Even if she backed out now, and George withdrew her hand, as Jo knew she instantly would if asked to do so, they couldn't return to the way they had been an hour ago. George's touch was feather-light at first, not venturing remotely near to the point at which all female pleasure is born. Jo's bud remained hidden for the moment, as George's gentle fingers delicately flickered over the outer skin, giving her time to get used to the feeling of another woman doing this to her. As she deftly teased at Jo's entrance with the tip of her finger, a shiver ran the length of Jo's body, accompanied by a gasp that couldn't have been from anything but surprise and excitement. Jo was so warm inside, so deliciously moist and silky, that George inched in a second finger to join the first. Withdrawing them somewhat coated in Jo's essence, she moved them up, and began gently rubbing some life into Jo's clitoris.
Jo didn't think she'd ever felt anything quite so enchanting and yet naughty all in one go. How John made her feel was usually fantastic, but this was so new, so different, that part of her wanted to hide from it, and the rest of her simply lay back and reveled in it. George could gradually feel all the tension seeping out of Jo's muscles, her body relaxing almost bonelessly into the bed. She had her left arm round Jo, with her right hand doing one of the things it did best. She had her cheek resting on Jo's shoulder, with Jo's face turned towards her. They occasionally exchanged deep, lingering kisses, but neither felt it necessary to speak. Jo allowed the music to further relax her, and George allowed it to carry her, to in some ways decide what path her hand would take. She could remember John's telling her that it might take a while for Jo to become fully aroused, and that was absolutely fine with George. They had all the time in the world, and George could last as long as Jo needed her to last. Her hand languorously swept to and fro, Jo's natural lubrication slowly becoming more plentiful. The combination of her wandering hand, the softly swaying music and Jo's endless blue eyes, seemed to be hypnotising George, so that she could have gone on doing this for ever. But when she slipped two fingers back inside Jo's softly yielding warmth, trying to seek out her hidden Grafenberg spot, Jo's kisses suddenly became more insistent. Moving her fingers back and forth, trying to swipe this point with every gentle thrust, George began continually grazing her thumb over Jo's clitoris, provoking a deep, throaty moan that made her smile. When George's hand took on a particular rhythm, Jo's breathing began to quicken, her right arm reflexively tightening where it lay round George's shoulders. George gazed transfixed into Jo's eyes, watching as the pupils dilated at the approach to her orgasm, and then screwed up into pin pricks at the point of completion. Jo was deadly silent as she came, Chopin's music seeming to provide all the sound necessary for such a climactic event. Her whole body stiffened, her chest seeming to expand, with her breath being held for an inordinate amount of time. But as her muscles relaxed, and the waves of her orgasm swept over her, her body quivered, the expression in her eyes appearing to lure George right into their depths, permitting George access to the far reaches of her soul.
As they lay afterwards, Jo drifting in and out of a blissfully contented haze, George privately thought that there was nothing so beautiful, as a woman who had just experienced her first female generated orgasm. Jo was utterly relaxed, more peaceful than George had ever seen her. When Jo's eyes eventually focused back on her, she asked, "Did that come up to expectation?" Smiling at the self-satisfied smugness in George's voice, Jo simply said, "Mmm," In response, feeling that a coherent sentence was probably beyond her at the moment. Eventually summoning up the energy, Jo sat up and took a long swig from the glass of wine on the bedside table. When she lay back down, enclosing George again in her arms, she looked far more alert. "Will you do something for me?" George asked, getting a sudden flash of inspiration. "I'll try," Jo told her, wondering what was about to be asked of her. "Will you tell me about when you and John left that Sunday, the Sunday I fondly think of as foursome Sunday." "It almost was, wasn't it," Jo said with a laugh. "I was rather inclined to the idea of a mini-orgy," George said contemplatively. "And why doesn't that surprise me," Jo countered back. "Though I'm not sure that much would surprise me about you, after the last few months." "It sounds as though John has been telling you a few too many of my wicked fantasies." "Some," Jo said teasingly. "Like being tied up, for example, and I seem to remember thinking typical." "I haven't done that for years," George said with a smirk. "Something that I feel really ought to be put right in the not too distant future. John used to quite like having me at his mercy." "Why do you want to know about that Sunday?" Jo asked, bringing them back to the topic in hand. "You once told me that you'd thought about me, whilst reaching orgasm. I'm just curious, that's all." "So you should be," Jo told her with a kiss. "How John didn't get done for speeding on the way home, I'll never know. I hadn't felt that lit up in quite a while, and he knew it. He was touching me, because he knew I was pretty close, and he asked me what I would feel, if it were you doing that to me." "And what did you tell him?" George asked, her hand filling in the actions of the story, returning to its former pursuit. "I said that it was too weird, even for him," Jo replied, her voice losing its cool with her rising pleasure, wondering just how far George would try to mimic John's actions of that afternoon. "Famous last words, darling," George said with a laugh. "Then, later on," Jo continued, desperately trying to concentrate, though this was being made persistently harder by George's wandering hand. "He asked me what I thought the two of you were doing right then. So, I challenged him, and asked him what he thought you were up to, and he said he'd rather show me than tell me. George, how you expect me to tell you a story, when I am barely capable of forming a coherent thought, never mind an entire sentence, is beyond me." Deciding to take pity on her obvious shyness, George kissed her way down over Jo's shoulder, and over her right breast. "Did he do this?" She asked, gently enclosing Jo's nipple in her warm, supple lips, soothing the hardening tip with her agile tongue. Jo didn't answer, at least not in any language George recognised, but the corresponding increase of wetness surrounding her fingers, told her all she needed to know. She spent some considerable time mercilessly teasing Jo's right nipple, before moving across to her left, whilst Jo simply lay and basked in the pleasure being heaped upon her. But as George eventually began kissing her way down Jo's body, over the ticklish spot at her waist, Jo laid a hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. "George, no," She said, making George raise her head to look up at her. "Why?" She asked, clearly mystified. "You're surely not telling me you don't like it?" "No, of course not," Jo said with a sheepish smile. "I... I don't know that I would ever want to do that to you, and it's certainly not something I want to try any time soon." "So?" George queried, still not getting the point. Then, as she saw the flickering expression of uncertainty in Jo's face, she understood. "Darling," She said, moving back up so that she could look Jo in the face. "That really doesn't matter. Whether you do or don't want to try anything with me, really isn't the issue. If you like it, which I know you do because you've said so before, and you want me to do that for you, then that's all that matters." "Are you sure?" Jo asked, feeling incredibly humbled by George's generosity. "Darling, it's one of my favourite pastimes, so yes, I'm perfectly sure." "Every woman is different, George," Jo said matter-of-factly. "You might not like it with me." "Whilst I know Karen's name might not be all that welcome in present circumstances," George said carefully. "Would it make you relax more, if I did with you what I did with her, the first time I tried this?" "George, you can't completely cut Karen out of the situation, no matter what the circumstances," Jo told her gently. "She still means an awful lot to you, and I'm not so naive, as to expect you to forget about all the similar times you had with her." "I'm sorry, it's just that John always hates it, if I accidentally talk about a previous lover when I'm with him, which is admittedly very rare." "And that's probably because he's very insecure, which at the moment, I really don't feel. So, what was it you did with Karen?" Deciding that the verbal description of such an act would probably frighten Jo off, George removed her hand from where it still rested between Jo's legs, and under her widening eyes, decorously sucked the end of her index finger, smiling at the taste she encountered. "Trust me, darling," George said with a predatory gleam in her eye. "I'm going to love every minute of this." "Then far be it from me, to prevent you from continuing," Jo replied a little hoarsely, slightly unable to believe she'd just seen George do that. Returning to her former endeavour, George eventually reached her goal, the tip of her tongue at first just grazing the outer surface of Jo's labia. George was lying between her legs now, and Jo thought that John would give anything to see this, to bear witness to such an erotic delicacy. When George's tongue teased at her entrance, savouring the sweet, heady muskiness of her flavour, Jo couldn't help but to let out a groan of enjoyment. She wasn't used to being quite so vocal, but George seemed to draw out every ounce of her reactions, to almost give her the freedom to fully express herself. George's tongue was sweeping over her clitoris now, and Jo was forced to concede the true advantages of having such smooth facial skin in contact with her most sensitive flesh, instead of the faintest stubble that perpetually existed on any man's face. She was deftly nibbling on her bud now, taking it so delicately between those lips that knew how to smile or sneer with so much power. Then, as Jo's breathing began quickening in earnest, she got the shock of her life. George, suddenly becoming aware of the music's climactic crescendo around them, began humming along to it, clearly knowing the piece well enough to do so. It wasn't something she'd purposefully thought of doing, but an action which appeared to come naturally to her. As Jo felt the combined sensations of the vibrations from George's lips, together with the languorous encouragement of her tongue, she soared up and over the crest of her peak, Chopin's chords and George's lips, carrying her out of the previous confines of her sexual repression, and forever removing the chains that had for so many years kept her desires in check.
Moving back up to lie beside her, George saw that there were tears cascading down Jo's cheeks. That hadn't just been any ordinary orgasm for Jo, George knew that. Something had happened that time, something that had left Jo reeling from the aftershock. Putting her arms round her, George just lay quiet, running a hand up and down Jo's arm, trying to offer comfort when she really didn't know the source of her tears. "I'm sorry," Jo said, trying to regather her scattered wits. "It's all right," George told her softly. "I did exactly the same, the first time I slept with Karen." "You don't understand," Jo tried to tell her. "Yes, I do," George replied, remembering how emotionally overwhelmed she'd felt with Karen. "No, you don't," Jo assured her. "For more years than I care to remember, I've felt stifled, restrained, as if real, fulfilling sexual enjoyment, was something I shouldn't feel. When I first met John, making love with him was wrong, because cheating on my husband when he was ill was one of the worst things I have ever done. But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, making love with John was incredible, and though I'm loath to admit it, I couldn't get enough of it. But those few months of satisfying my own pleasure, eventually led to my having to destroy the life of my baby. I think, that ever since then, I have subconsciously forbidden myself to enjoy making love as much as I would like to, probably because with John, there is always the possibility of having to do the same thing again, no matter how careful we may be. But with you, I am obviously in no danger of ever repeating that disaster, and that makes me feel so free." George lay there stunned, as Jo's words seemed to pour out of her, painting a picture of years of subconscious emotional punishment. Guilt could affect people in many different ways, she knew that only too well from her own years of self-inflicted torture, but she had never suspected that Jo's ran so deep, and she supposed that neither had John. "Do you think this realisation will have any effect on how you are with John?" George couldn't help asking, feeling that although it was fabulous for Jo to feel the loosening of her subconscious restraints, it wouldn't help any of them if it made it harder for her to sleep with John. "At least now I know why I've always kept so much of myself in reserve. I think I needed to be shown just how incredible it was possible to feel again. I came close to it that Sunday, and he knew it. He thought it was simply because I'd discovered something else that worked for me, but I don't think it was. I've a feeling that part of me realised what being with a woman might just do for me. It's stupid, because I know that I'm as careful as I can be with John, and that the older I get, the less likely it is to happen again, but no matter how loved he always makes me feel, I'm never quite as overwhelmed as perhaps I think I should be." "Sexual pleasure isn't an exact science, Jo." "I know it's not, but maybe being with you, has given me something of a breakthrough." They lay there talking for an inestimable amount of time, finishing their wine and occasionally kissing. Jo hadn't made any move to satisfy George, but George didn't care. Tonight was all about Jo, and nothing was going to move her on that. When they eventually settled down to sleep, Jo quietly laughed into the darkness. "What?" George asked her, their faces very close together. "I'm just wondering how this is going to work, the three of us, I mean." "Yes, the mind does somewhat boggle, doesn't it," George answered dryly, thinking that John would be in his element when that day eventually arrived.
When Jo awoke on the Saturday morning, she just lay there for a time, listening to the birds through the open window, and thinking about the night before. She had been emotionally exhausted, and had gone to sleep feeling more contented than she had done in a long while. Her body stiffened, and a blush crept over her skin, as she realised that it hadn't occurred to her to attempt to return the favour. But George hadn't said a word, and the only feelings she'd given off were ones of happiness and pleasure at Jo's own enjoyment. George was sleeping soundly next to her, all the curves and angles of her body soft and warm, inviting her touch as strongly as a magnet. There was a peaceful smile on George's face, showing that she was in the middle of some sort of happy dream. Putting out a tentative hand, Jo began softly stroking one of George's breasts, enchanted at their pert, rich ripeness. Carefully pushing back the bedclothes, so as not to wake George with a jolt, she left a trail of gentle kisses over George's shoulder, arcing over the curve of her cleavage, until she was delicately teasing a nipple with her lips.
The first thing that told George she was no longer just dreaming, was the sensation of a slightly inexperienced mouth firmly tugging at her flesh, yet trying to be gentle at the same time. She didn't care that Jo's movements were a little overzealous, it felt incredible! Letting out a thoroughly contented groan, George began running her fingers through Jo's sleep tousled hair, thinking that what Jo was doing to her was utterly delicious. Realising that George was now awake, Jo moved over to the other nipple, her ministrations gradually becoming more accurate and less heavy-handed. When George gently detached Jo from her, and encouraged her back up to face level, they exchanged a deep, hungry, languorous kiss. "Mmm," George said a little huskily. "What a way to wake up." Jo was lying half draped over her now, which George found delightful. "Ah, well, it occurred to me when I woke up, that I somehow managed to forget to return the favour last night," Jo said, her left leg slipping in between George's. "That was my intention," George replied, lifting a hand to cover a yawn. "I wanted last night to be all about you." "Why?" Jo asked her, extremely touched by this statement. "I just did," George told her, not having the energy to explain. But as she wrapped her arms round Jo, bringing them even closer, Jo's thigh rubbed up against George's moist, warm centre. Laughing throatily at the expression on Jo's face, George said, "You see, that's what you do to me, by being in my bed in such a debauched and disheveled state." "I don't look debauched," Jo protested with a smile, laying a tentative left hand on George's hip. "Yes, you do, darling, believe me," George said approvingly. "I'll bear that look in mind, every time I'm opposite you in court." "If I keep your tongue in mind, every time I'm opposite you in court, you'll always win, and we couldn't possibly have that, now could we," Jo quipped back, at the same time trailing her hand between George's legs. George was so warm, so soft and inviting, that Jo found that any lingering apprehension she might have had about doing this instantly disappeared. "Why are string players, so fabulous with both hands?" George asked, her voice clearly having lost some of its sultry sleepiness, in favour of the unstable lilt of rising passion. "Because bowing and plucking, require equal amounts of dexterity," Jo told her, her soft, husky voice wrapping itself around George's senses. George wasn't anywhere near as quiet as Jo had been the night before, the little indecipherable whimpers of ecstasy, telling Jo just how much she was enjoying this. "Sorry, darling," She said as her pleasure mounted and her breathing quickened. "But I haven't a hope in hell of being as quiet as you are." "I wouldn't expect anything else from you, George," Jo told her with a laugh, her hand increasing in speed, finally tipping George over the edge, and provoking a cry of joy from her that Jo would cherish the memory of for ever. This was the signal that she had finally achieved her goal. After months, or even years of feeling sexually unequal to George, and thinking that John perhaps saw her as the unadventurous woman to whom he had taught everything she knew, both in bed and in court, she had done it. Not only had she discovered the key to the releasing of her true sexual being, but she had widened her experience in the process. She knew that she wasn't entirely there yet, but she had taken that enormous step forward, and would never again feel quite as inferior to John as she always had done.