UFO: A Question Of Priorities, Redux
Author's Note: Of course I'm paying homage to the late, lovely Elisabeth Sladen, a.k.a. Sarah Jane Smith, by putting Jennifer's home on Bannerman Road, South Croydon. Why the hell not? :)
(Actually, prior to The Sarah Jane Adventures the address given in The Hand Of Fear was Hillview Road, but I'm going with the Adventures address because that was Elisabeth's last work...so there!)
This is yet another unfinished fic; damn my fickle muse! But I thought I should clarify who Jennifer and Sophie Harrison are. Sylvia Margolis and Penelope Terry are also mentioned.
Also: this and the subsequent fics deal a lot with Kelly's relationship with Jennifer and Sophie (and, to a lesser extent, the late Katniss Dobson), including a lot of background details and purely quotidian stuff for Jennifer and Sophie (not to mention Kelly and Jennifer's sex life!), and less with SHADO business and/or the Aliens per se.
Yeah, this is deliberate.
The series itself did exactly the same, addressing issues such as: divorce (Confetti Check A-OK); infidelity and questions of morality (The Square Triangle); and loss of close family members (Identified, Destruction and A Question Of Priorities) - none of which had much, if anything, to do with SHADO. Dramas and fics are ultimately about the characters - they have to be, else they're not interesting. I hope I've made these fics as interesting as the original series was (and where has that remake got to?). Keeping a roof over her daughter's head - and saving her life - is far from 'everyday' stuff as far as Jennifer's concerned; to her, it's vitally important.
On rereading this, however, I've often wondered if I might have overdone it a bit; for a practical, grounded woman Jennifer does seem to reminisce a lot...particularly about her busy if not hectic sex life. :) On the other hand, I keep toying with the idea of combining all my UFO fics into a full-length novel...
"Mind the road, son!" is a tribute to my Mum, rest her soul; she was still saying that or variants thereof long after I reached adulthood. Mums do that, bless 'em.
'Diamonds And Gold' is set before, but was written after, this fic, but I have a habit of going back to fics - repeatedly and, I admit, far too often - and editing little details, which is why a reference to the tale appears here. Here's how it went down: the 'puppet' technique appeared first in this fic; much later I wrote 'Diamonds And Gold'; then I thought "The Aliens might've used the technique before", hence the reference to it in this fic as something the Aliens have tried in the past. My fics do tend to cross-pollinate each other, which helps with consistency.
As of 15th May 2019, I've read that Dr. Hardcastle's Salve has in fact been invented by China's Zhejiang University School of Medicine! It's a gel activated by UV light, so I even got that bit right - science fact catching up with science fiction again! I invented the fictional salve years ago, but this fic has been edited and saved so often that of course this would now be difficult to prove. Nevertheless I know it's true! :)
Emma Peel (I know, I know, but often I just can't resist these little touches of whimsical humour!) was inspired by the flippant bomb disposal guy in The Long Sleep; I think his flippancy was his way of dealing with the pressures and dangers of his job.
But I have no idea where Cherry Bisquet came from. My muse is usually very weird, but she has these wonderful ideas I just can't resist...!
Consultation Office, Reynolds Associates Medical Consultancy, Harley Street, London
Three months ago (as the preliminary events of UFO: Invasion! are occurring)
The consultant pored over the test results, gazed at the beautiful redhead facing him apprehensively and sighed sadly. "I hate giving bad news. I question the merits of patients and their families using the Internet for self-diagnosis, but in this case it's correct. I'm afraid your daughter does indeed have Teresa's Syndrome; it's progressive and, if untreated, always fatal."
"Oh, God," Jennifer Harrison breathed, tears trickling down her high-boned, pale cheeks. "I'd hoped...what - what can I do?"
"Well, the good news is that there is a treatment. The bad is that I'm afraid it isn't available on the NHS, and quite possibly never will be; it's very expensive. We can obtain it, of course, and treat her, but..." he trailed off delicately.
"Yeah, it's always about money, isn't it," she cursed bitterly, reflecting angrily that medical care in the UK seemed to be going more and more like the awful, cynical American model, where finance came first. She knew she could never afford it, not on a secretary's salary. Unless I fuck the boss or something...he isn't exactly averse, married or not...but to whore myself?
Then again, she couldn't help thinking, if it's that or let Sophie...die...oh, God, I can't even think about that...no, I can't let her die...!
But then she had another thought. She'd heard a while back that Sylvia Margolis had started up an escort agency; she'd also heard about the kind of fees some such agencies and escorts charged for their services - and knowing her friend as she did, Jennifer was sure Sylvia would only run a first-class agency, and thus command high fees. Maybe...
She returned her attention to the consultant. "How...oh, dear God, she's only fourteen, I shouldn't have to ask this...! How...long...?"
He did his best to be tactful, though there wasn't much he could do in that regard. He settled for frankness. "Unless treatment starts in the next year, I'm afraid she won't see her sixteenth birthday. I'm very sorry."
She didn't say anything else. She'd forgotten how to speak. She left the office in a daze, banging her knee on a protruding desk and utterly failing to notice, numb with shock and fear for Sophie, and wondering how she was going to break it to the poor girl.
The consultant waited until the door had closed, then took a peculiar, oddly gleaming device out of a desk drawer and spoke to it: "Got her."
He did not hear the reply with his ears; the device was a telepathic relay and speaking aloud was simply a means of focusing his thoughts. He had no idea where the respondent was...and, controlled as he was, he had no desire to ask, of course.
"Good work. We will do the rest."
"Understood," he nodded.
And so it began...
Shadow Services Ltd. (Escorts For Every Occasion & Persuasion), South Croydon
The next day
Sylvia Margolis was a woman who'd seen a lot in life in her fifty years (only forty of which she was admitting to; a little judicious hacking had ensured her true birthdate wasn't recorded anywhere but in her head), little of it good. She'd lived hard, but didn't show it - cosmetics and surgery could do wonders for a girl's face - and had finally got things right.
Once she'd corrected a certain terrible mistake she'd made, that was.
Her (expertly dyed) blonde hair was still lustrous, her crow's feet barely showing on a face more handsome than beautiful, though she'd had her fair share of lovers...and then some. Her figure, at least, was natural (though gravity was having words with certain bits of her despite workouts, a vigorous sex life and a ruthlessly healthy nutrition regime); she looked every bit what she was, the owner of a thriving escort agency.
Her best friend Jennifer, sixteen (or officially six) years younger, was everything she had been, and more, but she harboured neither jealousy nor regret. She'd had her days of youth and beauty; such was the way of things, she always thought pragmatically. Now that same best friend had come to her with such terrible news...
"Oh, that's awful," Sylvia sympathised, "she's such a lovely girl. Is there any way I can help?"
"Lend me £2,000,000? I'll pay you back sometime before I retire," Jennifer tried to quip. The feeble joke fell flat, and she burst into tears.
"Oh, Jenny, I'm so sorry, love..." The two friends hugged and cried together for a while.
When she'd regained a modicum of composure, Jennifer sniffed and said hopefully, "Actually, maybe you can help...are you looking for a new girl?"
"What - you mean, you?" Sylvia asked, initially surprised and rejecting the notion, but then reconsidering. Well, she's got the ideal balance of youth and maturity...she's fuckin' gorgeous...mmm, if I were into girls - and if I weren't allergic to pussy juices, dammit all - I'd definitely be into this one...
But she had to be fair to her friend; escort work didn't suit everyone. So she pointed out, "Well, love, it's not all glamour and expensive nights out, you know. Nor is it as easy as people think, believe you me. It's risky, too, and I don't mean just those filthy diseases you can catch if you decide to give a client, well, a little extra..."
"I don't care," Jennifer said with quiet, grim determination. "I will do anything for my little girl. Tell them I'll offer any extra they want, short of actual injury - theirs or mine. In fact I think I will go that far, let them hurt me." She shivered. "I can't accept the alternative. I won't."
"Jenny, love, do you really understand what you're saying? There is a very fine line between escorting and prostitution -"
"I'll do that, if I have to!"
"- and escorts who offer extras are crossing it, as far as the Old Bill are concerned. Darling, the last thing you - and your daughter - need is for you to end up in jail."
"Oh, come on, Sylvia," Jennifer protested, "I know for a fact your girls do extras! My cousin Scott had your newest, Isobel, the other week - he's never been able to keep his mouth shut, and he told me what she did! In fact, from what he told me she sounds like a totally dirty little slut!"
"Oh, she is," Sylvia conceded wryly, "one of my best, at that." And she's still only 18. I have to wonder how old she was when she took her first cock, or licked her first pussy...14, 15...? Less, even? Wouldn't be surprised, the lovely randy little tart...I'm sure Isobel was bringing herself off at the desk yesterday, probably with one of those miniature vibrators...I've got to get one!
Hang on, she chided herself, I've got to think of my best friend here. She might be making a mistake...but for that lovely little girl's sake, surely it's worth it. I'll help her as much as I can, she resolved, if she does do it. I'll at least try to talk her out of it, though.
"Look, I know the risks! I'll take them!"
"No," Sylvia told her quietly, "you don't, love. You really don't." She wasn't exaggerating, or downplaying the dangers - she couldn't. Shadow Services always vetted its clients, and Sylvia had access to certain information sources and facilities beyond the reach of other agencies, but even so the odd bad apple slipped through the net.
Nicola Morris's artfully concealed scar on her left breast was testimony to that. She'd seen it before the cosmetic surgery, and she'd cried with guilt for a week.
It was the legacy of a misogynistic lunatic who'd hired an escort solely for the purpose of getting close enough to a woman to murder her, intending to take sexual pleasure in her slow, painful death. It took Sylvia a long time to forgive herself for failing to spot him for what he was, though kind-hearted Nicola never blamed her. Other girls had had similar close shaves with perverts and would-be rapists, the main reason Sylvia had a policy of teaching them self-defence (a legacy of her past life) and strongly advising them to carry some nonlethal weapon or other.
Nicola had gone further than that after her assault; in return for a month's free service a client, a gunsmith, had 3D-printed a small but deadly custom pistol for her - untraceable and undetectable by airport scanners. As a matter of practicality and as homage to his all-time favourite Bond movie, The Man With The Golden Gun, the weapon could be disassembled into what appeared to be (and in fact were, or at least could be used as) a pen and lighter. He'd worked out how to do it for real; the whole thing worked well and was very convincing.
The bullets, or rather flechèttes, were made of a super-hard plastic, also printed; they were small but lethal...and the clip could hold fifty of them. The weapon was in clear violation of Home Office legislation (modelled on the US Undetectable Firearms Act), but Nicola's view was that she'd rather be in jail and still beautiful than irreparably scarred and/or dead, and Sylvia couldn't fault that logic.
The thought of visiting darling Jennifer in hospital - or worse, attending her funeral - after such an encounter was more than Sylvia could bear. Then again I'll teach her self-defence...oh, God, will I teach her!
"If there's any chance..." She looked at Sylvia pleadingly. "Please, Sylvia, let me try."
"Hmm," Sylvia mused, seriously considering it now. She'd weighed the risks, and decided Sophie's life was far more important. She loved Sophie, too. Fair enough. We've had the cons, now it's time for the pros, she resolved. Time to sign her up...
"On the other hand...you're a natural flametop, darling; that's always a plus, trust me. About the only colour more popular with my clients is natural blonde. You've got the figure for it, I have to admit, especially that cheeky pert bum of yours," she added saucily, swatting Jennifer playfully, "and that gorgeous C-cup cleavage...my, with the right LBD they'll be talking to your tits most of the night..."
"Please," Jennifer said again.
"On the third hand, some clients really don't want you to do more than just talk interestingly and look pretty..."
"Oh, I can do that," Jennifer nodded, feeling more hopeful now. "I didn't waste all my time at university, you know."
I did, Sylvia thought ruefully but didn't say out loud. She recalled their university days together, and a certain hot tub party of hers that got way out of hand. Oh, she would never forget that party (or, to be more accurate, that positively Bacchanalian if not Roman orgy), recalling vividly how much Jennifer, certainly, had enjoyed herself. At one point she had two men up her at once, sandwiching her, while sucking off a third and wanking two others; at the same time a woman (receiving an intense anal seeing-to herself) was frantically groping her and anyone else in reach.
Jennifer had shown beyond any possible doubt that she was a natural redhead - in fact, as soon as she realised an orgy was on the cards she was the very first woman there to drop her knickers! - and that she a) loved watching people having sex, and b) loved being watched while she was having sex. In fact Sylvia was the only person there who didn't have her - and that was only because women weren't her thing, which was a shame as she'd have loved to pleasure her best friend. Then again, she was somehow allergic to vaginal secretions, except her own.
To her credit she did try to play Devil's Advocate for a little while longer, suggesting that Jennifer talk to some of the girls first (she readily agreed, seeing the obvious sense of that), but in truth the decision was already made...by both of them.
That very day, Jennifer signed the contract - and, five minutes later, got her first client. The poor fellow didn't know what hit him. But Jennifer did. £1,000 and three mutual if messy orgasms later, she reported to a very pleased Sylvia and immediately asked for, and got, more work. She was less interested in securing clients who didn't want sex...they generally tended to pay less. She got a contraceptive implant Sylvia offered as standard (at cost, too) because the last thing she needed was to get knocked up by some random stranger...especially now.
Even for Sophie she refused to have an abortion, believing it was unworthy if there were no medical reasons for it, and besides, she didn't have the time anyway - at least Sophie didn't. Anyway, she reasoned practically, men wouldn't have to spoil the mood, or take the time, to put condoms on.
I'm off, she thought. Essentially she was being paid for doing something she enjoyed, viz. having sex. Men, women, both even, she was indifferent. She didn't even care about getting covered in spunk as she often did; sex, she believed, was supposed to be wet and messy. All that mattered to her was the money.
Some ten weeks later Jennifer had entertained over fifty clients (and had had varying degrees and types of sex with nearly all of them, including a mild flogging), was £106,000 richer and was on the way towards making Sylvia a sizeable fortune via her commission. The other girls might have been resentful had they viewed this as Jennifer, the new girl, stealing their trade, but they knew her plight and were only sympathetic - she wasn't the only single mother working for Sylvia. Indeed, they helped wherever they could; some even sat for Sophie at times, while she was busy with a client.
Thanks partly to her instincts and partly to Sylvia's diligence, she was never raped, though she came close a couple of times. Sylvia taught her a few helpful things...at least one of which, she warned, was potentially lethal, "so only do it if you really feel there's no other choice, darling." By and large, though, her clients were respectful and not inclined to violence.
At first.
Then one woman decided she wanted to see Jennifer hurt and bleeding. Her brief internal debate didn't last long - she was being offered £500 for every drop of blood she shed, and £200 per bruise. She agreed and stripped; the woman hit her hard a few times, made a cut in her thigh and became wildly excited, eagerly licking her welling blood, while Jennifer thought steadfastly of Sophie and tried not to cry, though the beating and the cut did hurt, or to vomit. She'd had no idea of the depths of the woman's perversion, or her desire to taste human blood and enjoy her victim's pain.
But I do now, she thought miserably as her naked tormentor climaxed, licking and savouring her fresh living blood. "Mmm, delicious," Cassie Fletcher moaned, still frigging herself with one now-wet hand and squeezing Jennifer's bottom, hard, with the other. "I love whores, or escorts in your case, who let me taste their blood," she breathed sensually - then, to Jennifer's horror, she fastened her lips and teeth onto the cut.
Dear God, she really is enjoying it - she's sucking my blood now! If it weren't for Sophie...but - oh, it hurts so much...is she biting me?!
The next day Sylvia was horrified to see the bruises and, worse, the shallow two-inch cut in Jennifer's leg, and pleaded with her not to see that client again, but Jennifer sighed and said, "Sorry, but I have to. The more I bleed, the more I get."
"What?"
"She licks it," Jennifer admitted. "Sucks it, even. She's a pervert -"
"I'll say!"
"- but she pays well." She shook her head. "Sylvia, I know you don't expect your girls to cater to pervs, but what choice do I have?"
"You don't have to let her cut you," Sylvia cried, near tears. This was not what she'd had in mind. "Jennifer, I never -"
"I know," she told the older woman kindly, hugging her, "but trust me. I'll try not to let it go too far." If it's up to me...
Cassie cut her a little deeper next time and, gloating, extended the cut to six inches, shuddering with sadistic pleasure as Jennifer screamed.
Thankfully this came to an end when Cassie asked if she could actually drink Jennifer's blood, killing her as opposed to just hurting her; half-jokingly she asked how much it would earn her. But £25,000 didn't sound that much for her life, so she refused. The next day she decided the risk was too great (plus she could get that much and more without risking herself) and removed the client from her list, much to Sylvia's relief. In truth, though, had her offer been in the millions - so long as Sophie got the money - Jennifer might have agreed to be killed.
She didn't tell Sylvia that, though.
That client wasn't the only one; several liked to hurt her, and she allowed it if she thought the price was right, despite Sylvia's well-meaning protests. Better she be hurt, even hurt badly, than allow her daughter to suffer and die. Too slowly, the money mounted up.
And then, though of course she didn't know it at the time, she acquired a client who would change her life forever...and end several others'.
She wasn't too impressed at first; Kelly McAllister was pleasant enough, not particularly tall, well-built or handsome, though he quickly proved he possessed a devastating intellect and was clearly well-travelled (had she known just how far he travelled on a semi-regular basis, and to where, she might have had a screaming hysterical fit). He also struck her as quite mature, though he looked a lot younger than she suspected he was.
But his eyes were just beautiful, a gorgeous shade of blue she'd never seen before - intense as hell, but she could handle that. As a redhead, she could be pretty intense herself.
One thing that did bother her slightly was the odd look she could've sworn he and Sylvia exchanged on his way out, but she thought nothing further of it, dismissing it. She had more important concerns, namely entertaining her client.
She did; the first meeting went well, as did the second. He proved to be a big tipper, to her delight, and the comments he left on Sylvia's site were very nice - so much so that she was getting offers from potential new clients every day now. She saw clearly, through a combination of her newfound experience and woman's intuition, that he'd been severely stressed recently and badly needed to relax...if not get laid, she thought with mild amusement. Well, I'm pretty sure I can help there...
But he didn't even try anything until their third meeting, though his body language told her he was definitely interested, and even then he was politely respectful about it, seemingly willing to let it go with a kiss and a hug. By this time, though, she was so worried about Sophie and agonisingly conscious of the passing of time that she'd decided to cross the line with every client and to hell with it. She told him frankly what she was willing to do.
To her shock (and, if she was honest, her indignation), he paid her double via a contactless debit card and her hand terminal, and called for a taxi. When she called him at his home the next day and asked, "What the hell?" his response was so blunt and honest she found herself becoming aroused...somehow, bluntly honest people of either sex had always had that effect on her.
He told her simply, "I asked for an escort, not a whore."
"I'm not a whore," she snapped back, her nipples hard, "I'm an escort...a desperate one!"
"There is no way a woman as beautiful as you, especially a natural redhead, is desperate for sex," he returned.
What?! First an insult and now a compliment? Who the hell does he think he is?!
She had to reply, for the sake of her pride - but, she realised suddenly, her reply had to be an intelligent one, or he'd lose all respect for her...if he hadn't already. So she got a grip on her temper and responded, "Excuse me, but has it ever occurred to you that the most beautiful woman in the room might be the loneliest woman in the room? What, might I ask you, do looks-obsessed men generally think when they see her? Answer: oh, she's way too gorgeous for me - she's out of my league. Am I right? But what if all the men she meets think like that? Who's going to ask her out, thinking she's already spoken for? Beauty, sir, is not all it's cracked up to be."
He didn't reply immediately. When he did, his tone was considerably more respectful: "Um, are you speaking from personal experience?"
Ouch, he's got you there, girl. But she answered firmly, "I am, yes."
Her grandmother, who'd still been beautiful even into her seventies, had called it 'the fatal gift', apparently quoting from her favourite SF author, Arthur C. Clarke (Jennifer spent ages hunting down the reference out of sheer curiosity, and found it in Imperial Earth). She discovered in her teens what her Gran had meant: many boys, it seemed, were actually put off by her beauty.
She didn't even get her first kiss until she was sixteen - by which time 90% of her friends had popped their cherries, two were pregnant and one, Stephanie Brand, had long since discovered boys, girls and bondage...often indulging in all three at once. She'd happily given her cherry to a boy who already had a girlfriend - unusually, this was her idea, not his - and they'd both had, and spanked, her (not that she didn't give as good as she got). From then on, Stephanie got the idea into her head that sex was supposed to be like that, i.e. having a boyfriend and a girlfriend.
Stephanie, a statuesque six-foot golden blonde with vivid green eyes, a saucy grin, an irrepressibly iconoclastic, impish attitude and a degree of utter self-confidence Jennifer couldn't help but be awed by, had shocked Jennifer to her core by inviting her to form a troika on her 17th birthday - Stephanie had suddenly found herself bereft of a girlfriend when Louise Carter had moved to France with her parents.
Once Jennifer had gotten over the shock of being propositioned by another girl (and the greater shock of being invited to have sex with her boyfriend!), she'd accepted purely out of a newfound lesbian curiosity. This was after a tipsy Yvonne Dubois had snogged and groped her at a party two weeks before and Jennifer was surprised to find herself enjoying the experience, though it wasn't until she got home that she was startled to discover she'd actually become sexually aroused; her knickers were very wet.
Jennifer didn't sleep at all that night; she was too busy taking a long, hard look at herself. Ever since she'd begun her sex life a few months previously she'd been quite certain of her heterosexual status (not that she was prejudiced against lesbians - far from it, in fact, as she knew Stephanie was bi) - but now she was far less sure. Surely, she thought, if I really were 100% hetero my knickers wouldn't have gotten soaking wet like that, or my nipples so hard?
Surely I wouldn't have liked it so much? Ooh, I loved the feel of her lips on mine, it was so different from kissing a boy - her lips were so soft, they even tasted nicer than a boy's...
And surely I wouldn't be thinking how beautiful and...well, sexy...Yvonne is; she really is lovely, so trim and shapely. Or Tessa Smith...or Doris Larson - even if she is a tad on the plump side, she carries it really well...or even, God help me, Stephanie...!
The next day, though, she started to try to dismiss the whole idea as a fanciful whim, since she had drunk a little more than was usual for her...until Helen Russell brushed past her in a corridor and her breath caught in her throat, as she picked up on Helen's heady scent and noticed the girl was flashing rather more boob than she should have been as she'd deliberately undone one button too many on her blouse (there was a boy whose attention she firmly intended to grab, which was why she was wearing a half-cup bra she'd borrowed from Eve, her older married sister).
Her breasts are gorgeous, they have to be at least 34Ds or 36Cs and oh my God I'm supposed to be stopping thinking like that about girls!
But...dammit, they are gorgeous, and so's the rest of her...is that perfume or is she having her period? Either way, I like it...!
She spent the subsequent fortnight appreciating other girls from an entirely new, heady and sensual perspective...especially in the changing rooms and the showers where she could see other girls undressed or even naked (although she wisely didn't let on to any of said girls that she was - well, 'checking them out' was the right phrase, she was sure). Like most girls and women she'd always appreciated their beauty and grace, but now she was looking at them in a mostly if not entirely sexual rather than an aesthetic context...and loving it.
In the end she gradually admitted the truth to herself: she really wanted to try making love with a girl (though she was still shocked when she was actually asked). But she had absolutely no idea who to ask or even how to ask - until she got a brainwave: Stephanie had any number of lesbian and female bi friends, so surely she could suggest someone with lesbian experience who could show Jennifer the ropes. But when she diffidently asked, the very last thing she'd expected was for Stephanie herself to make her an offer!
She readily confessed, with an expression on her face combining relief and joy, that she'd fancied Jennifer ever since her own family had moved into the area over two years previously and they'd met at school. But she hadn't been sure how to make such an approach without possibly offending Jennifer, even though they'd immediately hit it off and soon became close friends. Most lesbians or female bisexuals know better than to approach obviously hetero women...often after learning from experience, as Stephanie herself had.
Stephanie's exact words, spoken in heartfelt, happy relief, were: "Oh, thank God! I was beginning to think you'd never notice girls, Jenny! I was just about to give up hope, I swear! I've wanted to spread your legs and eat you out since day one, you hot, sexy-smelling bitch, and trust me, I'm not the only girl who wants to taste your pussy! Mmm, I've never had a firecrotch before - I bet it'll be hot an' spicy!" she kidded while grinning saucily, licking her lips in anticipation.
Jennifer's feeble, nervous reply was: "Um...really? Well, that's, um, that's really flattering, if I'm considered attractive enough to appeal to other girls..." Especially, she couldn't help thinking incredulously, when one of those girls is the sexiest and most beautiful one I know...she fancies me? Me?!
"What, are you kidding? Jenny, half the lezzies in this fuckin' college fancy you!" Stephanie laughed merrily. "Actually, a lot of the girls who fancy you aren't even lezzies - you're so hot they're just interested anyway! How the hell did you miss that until now?" she chuckled. "Hey, now I come to think of it, have you been checking other girls out? In the showers?!"
"Um...yes," Jennifer shyly admitted, blushing, "but I didn't want to offend anybody, so I tried to be subtle; I didn't think anyone had noticed."
"Well, I did, the signs were there, but then I thought, 'nah, she can't be checkin' 'em out, she's hetero' - sometimes it's great to be wrong!" Stephanie laughed again. "Well, in that case I should tell you that I've seen Tessa Smith's eyes all over you in the changing rooms an' the showers," she informed her stunned friend, "one word from you that you were up for it and she'd be all over you like a rash! It couldn't be clearer if she were wearin' a fuckin' sign! But you never noticed?! Oh, you clueless tart," Stephanie sighed in gentle mockery, shaking her head.
"It...it just never occurred to me," Jennifer returned lamely, still shell-shocked at the notion that Tessa had been checking her out.
Stephanie then smiled sympathetically and hugged her friend, understanding Jennifer's 'fatal gift' issues - apart from her Mum, Stephanie was the first person in whom she'd confided after she'd popped her cherry...and Stephanie, shameless lecher that she was, had cheered her on, especially as the man in question was more than twice Jennifer's age and had been married three times. "No, I guess it wouldn't," Stephanie admitted, "your mind doesn't work that way, darlin'. I didn't mean to make fun of you, Jenny, I'm sorry."
"Well, no offence taken," Jennifer returned sincerely - she knew there wasn't a mean bone in Stephanie's body and her heart was a match in size for her stature. "I mean, I'm not vain but I do know I'm fairly attractive -"
"Stop that," Stephanie interrupted firmly, "you're beautiful, an' you ought to know that by now."
"- I just didn't think girls might agree in this context," her friend continued. "Mum and Dad told me about sex, but I don't think they touched on, well, lesbian issues at all."
"Probably thought they wouldn't need to," Stephanie sighed, "their generation mostly still clings to the old-fashioned notion that 'lesbian' equals 'butch', which of course you're not." Now she grinned sexily and swayed her shapely hips. "Anyone tries to call me butch, I'll kick 'em into next fuckin' week, but to be honest I nearly prefer pussy to cock, not that Andy minds - you might say I'm a lezzie with straight tendencies. Yvonne's the opposite; she likes boys but leans towards girls when she's had a few. That's why she snogged you, not that I can blame her!"
"Oh, I don't like that 'straight' thing," Jennifer protested mildly, "it implies gay people are, well, 'bent', and you're not," she finished earnestly, hugging the taller girl.
"That's a really good point, you wonderfully unprejudiced woman, you," Stephanie commented admiringly. "That's why we're friends: you don't give a fuck which way people swing, and I love you for it, Jenny. My parents are just the same, thank fuck - they didn't bat an eyelid the first time I French-kissed Louise in front of 'em."
"I just don't see why it matters," Jennifer shrugged, "it's no-one's business except the people involved."
"Speaking of which..." Stephanie purred, caressing Jennifer's cheek, "are you up for it?" Jennifer couldn't stop the little squeak. "Hey, it's okay to be nervous, Jenny." Then her smile turned lascivious, and she deliberately stroked and patted her friend's shapely rear. "You won't be the first baby dyke I've had."
"The first what?!" Jennifer gaped at the utterly unfamiliar term, making Stephanie laugh again as she explained.
That birthday was the day Jennifer Jones lost the last of her inhibitions, already eroded once she'd popped her cherry some months before and discovered just how good sex could be. It was also the day she discovered she liked to be spanked, when she eagerly mounted Andy Preston, Stephanie's boyfriend, in the cowgirl position and he gently, experimentally swatted her bottom. But it was Stephanie who grinned on seeing her new lover's reaction (a combination of shock and pleasure) and piped up, "Ooh, yeah, she likes that, Andy - do it again, harder!"
"Will do," he grinned.
He did, Stephanie joined in and shortly, to her shock, Jennifer was climaxing and practically begging for more.
She got it, too...
Enough reminiscence, Jennifer told herself sternly, dragging herself back to the here and now.
Not without effort; her memories of Stephanie were among her fondest, and she'd learned so much in the troika. In fact, with Stephanie's blessing and actual encouragement ("It never hurts to get more experience, darlin'!") she later bedded other girls, such as:
Tessa, who thought her birthday had come early since Stephanie was absolutely right about her fancying Jennifer;
Helen, who briefly made the troika into a foursome, as she was more hetero than lesbian and insisted on fucking Andy (who certainly wasn't averse to the idea!);
A more-than-a-bit-tipsy but entirely willing Yvonne, who confessed she primarily wanted to resolve the feelings of sexual ambiguity she'd harboured ever since her puberty began, and could see no other way to accomplish this resolution than to have sex with another woman - she ultimately decided she actually preferred men but was still willing to bed a woman now and again (especially once she'd had a few, which of course was where all this started);
Even Doris received Jennifer's eager attention during her lesbian exploration. Unexpectedly Doris benefited so enormously from the massive boost this event gave to her feminine confidence and morale (after all, if a beautiful woman wants to make love with you it surely means you're attractive too, especially if you're a woman!) that she stopped trying to lose weight after six years of futile effort and decided to be happy as she was, plumpness and all. Jennifer (and Stephanie) convinced her she wasn't really fat, just stout and cuddly - and had quite a nice firm shape to her regardless.
"Yeah, there's definitely muscle there from all those workouts and sports sessions," Stephanie observed, stroking her arms, thighs and her taut, lovely belly (plus her broad but shapely bottom), "an' that's why you weigh as much as you do, kid." She was justified; Doris was nearly a year younger. "You're not fat, not at all. Think about it: you wouldn't even be able to do all that stuff if you were fat, an' you're not even out of breath!"
"After a marathon, too!" Jennifer put in admiringly.
"In more ways than one," Stephanie leered, and both girls laughed, kissing her.
In the end Doris was convinced, crying tears of happiness as she realised they were sincere. Plus she was finally able to admit to herself that she was in fact a lesbian ("Well, I've been wondering about that for three years now, but," she laughed, "I suppose I really must be if I could enjoy sleeping with you so much, you darlings!"), finding her parents to be surprisingly but wonderfully supportive when she told them. Jennifer was proud to have helped her in both regards and happy to have made a new friend -
ENOUGH! Concentrate on fixing this, dammit!
Luckily her trip down the X-rated side of Memory Lane hadn't lasted long enough for her to miss Kelly's reply. "Fair point," he admitted, "you win. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted," she allowed courteously, realising guiltily she might have been a little too pointed. He was a client, dammit, and a generous one - just the sort she couldn't afford to alienate! God, why can't I get a handle on that stupid temper of mine - with Sophie's life at stake?! "I, um, might have been too crass there, and if I was, I'm sorry. Look, I meant what I said about being desperate, but it's not what it sounds like - will you please do me the courtesy of letting me explain why and in what context? Say, over dinner at Toni's tonight?"
Please...I have to put this right, I need you...well, I need your money, if I'm brutally honest with myself...
"Well, that sounds intriguing...okay, what time?" he asked politely, to her profound relief.
God, that was close...how could I be so stupid...?