“Oh, well, come and tell me all about your day, in more detail. Unless you want to watch the gardening program. I am rather tired of having the television running all day, but Claire seems to like it and I couldn’t switch it off or change the channels.”
Bryony pressed the off button and gave them some blessed peace. “Now, I’m here to focus on you, and your well-being. How has your day been?”
***
Bryony cleaned up the supper dishes and put what was left of the supper dish into the fridge. Then she fetched her massage oil and Aloe Vera, and Isabel knew that her favorite part of the day was about to begin. Bryony arranged her on the sofa with a towel over her as usual, and began the massage with her left foot. Isabel lay back semi-naked under the towel and breathed out all her frustration and irritation with Claire. The woman had tried so hard to be kind, but she just wasn’t on Isabel’s wave length.
This young girl on the other hand, she was so empathetic. There was no need for idle chatter. In fact they said nothing to each other for the rest of the hour, but Bryony talked to her with her fingers, through the wonderful fresh smell of the Aloe Vera. She fed Isabel her magic healing mixture of soft and hard massage, and it felt completely peaceful and comfortable. She remembered the girl’s questions from a few nights before.
“Do you feel comfortable?”
“Yes, completely.”
But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? As Isabel healed, she began to feel her libido come out of hibernation, and if she was brutally honest with herself, she did feel sexual desire inside her towards this graceful girl who gave her such good therapy.
She even felt glad she couldn’t move her arms because it stopped her behaving appallingly and making a jump on her, kissing her on the mouth, and oh, dammit, wanting to do so much more.
Fantasies rose up in her brain quite unbidden. Bryony’s kneading and caressing only stoked the fires, but she couldn’t bear the thought of her stopping. The strapping round her ribs had been taken away. Bryony rolled up the towel and flicked the edge of her underwear.
“Shall I get rid of these, so I can do your butt?”
Isabel nodded, swallowed and allowed herself to be rolled over onto her front. God, if she was a guy, she’d have had an enormous hard-on by now.
Thank heaven for small mercies then, but her underwear was still embarrassingly damp. Bryony just removed the panties and she could sense her observing her naked behind.
Isabel had endured enough pain in the last five weeks to last a lifeline, but for one crazy moment she actually hoped Bryony might give her an almighty smack on the buttocks. It might shock her out of this ludicrous crush, or heaven forbid, it might actually arouse her even more.
But of course Bryony did nothing of the sort. She simply reapplied the gel to her hands and very softly massaged her way over and round Isabel’s neat little ass, and then very softly up her back. As before she shifted positions to the end of the sofa, replaced the towel over Isabel’s body, and then rested the woman’s head on her knees as she massaged the tense muscles at the top of her back and along her shoulders.
Only at this point did she begin to talk, and told Isabel about the American students she had met and how one had even flirted with her. Isabel wondered why she was telling her this little story.
“What did you think when she came on to you?”
“I was just surprised. It happens quite often actually. People seem to assume I’m gay for some reason. And she was rather cuddly, big blue eyes and blonde, and that cute Southern accent.”
Isabel couldn’t resist going through the door which Bryony had opened for her.
“And why do you suppose they think you are?”
“Am I what?”
“Gay, of course.”
Bryony stopped moving her hands, but placed them on Isabel’s shoulders, in the same position which had earned her a kiss once. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.
“I’ve really no idea.”
Bryony looked down at the virtually naked woman lying across her lap, and gently smoothed her dark wavy hair with its adorable flicks.
She gulped. “Would it make a difference to you, to us, if I said I’m maybe not quite sure?”
“Of course not. But it might explain a few things to you, if you haven’t thought it out before now.”
“How do you mean?”
“Think about it, Bryony. Think about your boyfriend and why you are so reluctant to marry him. Think about what turns you on, and what doesn’t. Of course. It’s a free country. You can do what you like. But in time I suspect you might be happier than you are now if you came to terms with your sexuality, whatever it is.”
“I feel terrible. I wanted to be so professional. I wanted just to focus on your physical healing. I never meant to abuse your trust, exploit your situation.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
“This. Even talking to you about being possibly gay. It’s just, just that I’ve never had anyone to talk to me like this before, to advise me. You’re so clever, and experienced, I feel I can ask you things.”
Isabel decided she needed not to have her head in Bryony’s lap and her butt nearly exposed to the air if she was going to continue to have any sort of sensible conversation with her.
“Can you help me turn round and sit up, Bryony? I want to see you when I talk to you.” Isabel sounded a little brisk, but not angry. Between them they were able to turn her over again so she was lying face up. Her head still rested against Bryony’s knees.
“Now help me up, dear. If you want to use me as a therapist, then you should really be the one on the couch.”
With a little assistance, Isabel pulled herself up, purely by using her stomach muscles, and Bryony wrapped her bath towel round her to protect whatever modesty she might have left. Isabel wanted to smile at the incongruity of it all, but as Bryony’s eyes were so troubled and she suspected she was close to tears, she didn’t want to treat her admission lightly. She sensed this was a pivotal moment for the girl, maybe she had never spoken to anyone about these suspicions over her own sexuality in her life before. If this was the case, she certainly was a late developer.
“Now look here. I am not in any way qualified to give you advice. But whether or not you are gay or straight is not the important thing here. Well, of course, it will be one of the most important things to you, but for my purposes, I am simply happy you are such a competent, skilled therapist, and a gifted caregiver.
“No, don’t shake your head. You are. I felt like shit before last week, at my lowest ever ebb and you have brought me back out of the pit of despair. Simple things, like you taking care of me, limiting the pain killers, but making sure I have sufficient to get me through the night. Your care in washing and drying me, in feeding me delicious food, and this, nurturing my bruises and making me feel even a little bit desirable. All this has been intensely healing. I’m not going to criticize you for it in any way. And by the way, I confess I missed you today.”
“I...I missed you too.”
“Hmm, I did rather hope you might. Was that really wicked of me? It kept my spirits up while Claire went on and on about her flower arranging club and her reading group ad infinitum.”
“Do you think I’m gay?”
“Not for me to say, but it would actually be nice if you were. No, don’t take it the wrong way. It’s just so much easier, so much more relaxing, if one can be oneself with other gay women who acknowledge the fact.
“Lesbians share a culture, a consciousness, even though we often don’t flaunt it. I do feel completely relaxed with you. Maybe that’s because you’re possibly gay, or maybe it’s just because you’re a lovely, caring girl. Do you understand?”
“If I am gay, what do I do about it?”
“Hey, it’s not some sort of weird disease which turns you purple or anything. Think about it for a while, until you get used to the idea. You know denial isn’t just a great big river in Egypt as they say. Maybe you
should just think about crossing that river over to the other side. Or not, of course. But in my experience, sexuality is in one’s DNA. There’s no escaping it, nor any long term benefit in denying who one truly is. Have you ever fancied a girl?”
“Not exactly...”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Er, I tend to fall for...”
Bryony desperately wanted to say the most stupid thing she could, which was ‘older women, like you.’ She stopped herself just in time, and changed it to ‘Impossibly unattainable goddess types.’
Isabel scoffed, “Well that won’t get you very far! Just open your heart to the possibility that there might be someone out there who’s just right for you. And if she’s there, she won’t be a goddess. She’ll be flesh and blood.”
“Is that what happened to you?”
“Oh, my love life is like a long tale a-winding.”
“Will you tell me about it some time?”
“If life with me gets tedious a few weeks down the line, I might amuse you with a story or two, not about Carrie, but about a few others of my adventures.”
“What about your friend Jane? Was she one of your adventures?”
“No, Jane is a friend, nothing more. She’s a big stonking butch, not my type.”
Now that they were talking openly about sexuality, if not sex, Bryony felt some of her earlier lack of embarrassment about nudity had vanished. She felt she should help Isabel get some clothes on, and said so. Isabel agreed but wanted to get ready for bed.
“Time for dressing-gown and slippers, don’t you think. All this self- disclosure has made me far too tired.”
“Right –oh.”
Bryony fetched Isabel a nightgown and her blue dressing-gown, and wrapped her up ready for sleep. She did look adorable in her nightclothes, but those thoughts were going nowhere. She helped her into her chair and wheeled her through to her bedroom. They laughed together over the spitting toothpaste game, and Bryony was grateful Isabel was unfazed by their conversation and simply carried on as before. The older woman was somehow much more open and much less defensive than she had been when they had first met.
Bryony knew she could now talk to Isabel about all her conflicting ideas on sexuality. She could ask for her advice. Maybe Isabel could advise her what to do about the fact that she just couldn’t get to orgasm with normal heterosexual activity. When Isabel had retired for the night, she once again wandered outside to watch the stars, and think about the river in Egypt. Why on earth had it taken her so long to realize it was even there, and how was she going to cross it?
What she did know was that a major piece of the puzzle about who she was, and what she felt had suddenly slipped into place. The implications for her and Aiden were shattering, but in that case she knew what she should do, and almost, how to do it. The other, far more challenging, thing though was a horrible feeling that she might be developing a personal crush on Isabel herself. That wasn’t just like crossing the Nile; it was like plunging right through the Red Sea.
“I am the caregiver, she is my patient. Not a good practice run for a lifetime in medicine if I can’t keep my hands off her,” she told herself very firmly.
If inappropriate thoughts about Isabel’s beautiful face and breasts were completely off limits, perhaps she could channel them elsewhere, maybe even to that pretty girl from South Carolina with her big bottom and round china-blue eyes? Bryony went to bed in her little back room with much on her mind. It was shaping up to be a very strange summer.
***
By some unspoken mutual decision, the Friday night ‘coming out’ conversation was not referred to again for the rest of the weekend. Isabel was impatient to be back on her book after a day of enforced leisure, and Bryony was only too happy to plunge into it again with her. She needed her brain to focus on other things rather than how cute Isabel looked in her blue dressing-gown.
“Cute?” I’m turning into that American girl,” she sighed.
They had embarked on chapter five, which focused on the Bangladesh fishing communities living down the east coast of the Indian Ocean. As before, Bryony was astonished at the breadth of Isabel’s knowledge, and her first-hand experience of working alongside the development activists in the villages. These villages were now threatened with inundation from the sea and severe flooding from the Monsoon rains. If the snowmelt from the Himalayas continued to accelerate the whole geographical shape of the Indian sub-continent might change forever, and the country which had supported tens of thousands of years of civilizations might face greater challenges than had ever been envisaged.
Saturday, and Sunday passed in this way, leaving them both mentally and physically exhausted. Thinking, dictating and writing weren’t easy pastimes. Isabel was so sick and tired of the weight of her arms’ rigid plaster casts; she couldn’t even think how she’d feel if on Monday she was told by the doctors at Chester hospital they would have to remain in place for another week. Her right leg, too, had begun to feel incredibly itchy and weary, and she longed for Bryony to poke a knitting needle down the cast to scratch her leg. It took all of Bryony’s skill to stop her falling into a massive grump. By Sunday night, she felt she had run out of strategies to keep Isabel cheerful.
“Would you like to play Scrabble? I see there’s a box on the shelf.”
“No. You’d win. You’d have to see all my letters, and arrange them for me. You might as well play against yourself.”
“All right. Is there anything you would like to do? We’ve got an hour before bed-time.”
Isabel pulled a face, which on a small child would have been called a pout.
“You know what I like. I think it’s rather unkind of you not to do it for me tonight.”
“Oh, well I thought it was your idea actually to give the massage sessions a break for a while, or am I wrong about that?”
“OK, but I didn’t sleep as well last night without one. Maybe I was wrong...”
“I’ll get the gel.”
Isabel quickly decided that the old sofa in this isolated cottage, miles from anywhere, was her favorite place in the entire world. Bryony sat her down on it, and then lifted her legs up. As the day had been so warm she had dressed Isabel in a pair of loose fitting shorts, over her underpants, and topped with a loose cotton T shirt. Now there was this gay thing between them, (she didn’t quite know how better to describe it,) she wondered if she should keep Isabel as fully clothed as possible while she smoothed the Aloe Vera gel into her body, but when she began to open the tube, Isabel made a little grunt of disapproval.
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to get rid of my shorts?”
Her eyes flickered down to her clothes, runkled up round her hips and waist.
“Would you prefer it?”
“Of course. We’re not in a convent here.”
Bryony laughed and began to do as she asked. She undid the shorts and in a moment of wickedness pulled off Isabel’s pants as well. She knew what Isabel’s body looked like very well by now, but this was a new world. She realized the woman was completely at her mercy, and actually seemed to be enjoying it. Was she flirting with her? If Isabel wanted to be stripped, then well, she was the employer after all. They stared at each other, and then Bryony lifted Isabel’s upper body with one strong arm and pulled at her T-shirt with the other. It came over her head, smothering her face, and then Bryony slowly drew it away up her arms. As before, Isabel still wore no bra. Apart from the plaster casts, she was mother naked. Not even a towel covered her. Bryony had never before seen anything which aroused her so much. She had a very frightening feeling that she might be about to cross a personal/professional divide which would change their relationship irrevocably, so it was essential Isabel maintained the upper hand, made their decisions. She quickly reached for a large towel and covered Isabel up.
“What would you like me to do?” she whispered.
“What you do so well...take me away from all of this, from the pain, from all t
he brokenness and despair.”
“I can’t promise that, but what I can do is give you a lovely massage,” she decided to say, changing the subject away from such frightening feelings. “But then that will be the end of this tube of gel.”
Isabel heard her voice drop of its own accord a few tones as she replied, “So, then you will need to buy me some more.”
Bryony smiled a smile which lit up her face.
“Of course. Now let’s start with your left foot. I’m sorry if you’re ticklish, but you know I work to a system.”
“Little Miss Methodical.”
She picked up Isabel’s leg and moved down it until she grasped her toes. A tickle came out of nowhere.
“Ow, stop, Have some pity on my poor ribs.” And Isabel felt herself giggling, actually giggling, like a youngster, for the first time in years. The massage comfortably filled the final hour of the evening. Bryony fed Isabel’s skin with nutrients and nourished her body with her gentle hands, and by the end she had to shake her gently to wake her up from what was obviously such a peaceful sleep it seemed cruel.
“Come, I have your night clothes. It’s time for bed.”
Isabel nodded. She lifted her arms to have the nightwear arranged over her, and when they’d finished in the bathroom, obediently fell into bed. She was too sleepy to bother with teeth cleaning games. Just as Bryony thought she had fallen asleep she heard Isabel whisper,
“Bryony Girl, I’m sorry I was grumpy earlier. Don’t take it personally.”
“I won’t of course. But you do know, I take everything you do and say, everything we do together, personally. You are the person I care for, I care...about. ”
“That’s nice. Night...”
“Good night Isabel. Call out if you need me.”
But there was silence from the bed.
Chapter 14
“I can’t face breakfast today. I’m too nervous.”
Isabel turned her head away from the spoon like a baby refusing a helping of mashed spinach.
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