She came soon after, astride Jack and leading a smaller black and white pony. “Hey, Ginny. He’s got you cooking then - what’s for dinner? John, you’d better get Jack a saddle. I’ll swear my arse will never be the same, riding like that.”
“You could always walk, you know. Did they get a good feed?”
“Yes. Yes, they did well.” She came to look into the pot. “Looking very pleasant, Ginny. Just let me get to the stream and wash some of this horse off me, and I’ll give you a hand. Are you going to be a gentleman and stake Lady out for me, John? She’ll wander else.”
Sally came back in clean clothes, with wet hair. “Move over, Ginny. Take a rest. What does it taste like?” She blew on the stirring spoon to cool it, and gave it a lick. “Coming on nicely. And the meat - oh no. That’s got a way to go yet. Oh well, we’ve plenty of time. John’s got some scrumpy somewhere.”
John came up from the stream with a full plastic flagon, dripping wet. “Here we are. Devon’s finest, and chilled too. You know scrumpy, milady?”
“Of course, but I don’t drink much of it.”
John chuckled. “Yes, well, no-one drinks much of it at a time. But this is the good stuff, all the same. Straight off the farm, and from last year’s apples.” He poured a little into three cups and passed them out. “Cheers to you both!”
The scrumpy tasted dry and rich, a cider for grown-ups, with scarcely a bubble in it. “Good?” asked John.
“Very good,” said Virginia, “But very strong. I shall have to drink slowly.”
John splashed some cider into the pot and asked, “Ready for the new potatoes, do you think?”
“I believe so,” said Sally. “Did you get any mushrooms this morning?”
“I did indeed. A cap full of penny buns. We shall eat like kings tonight. I’ll put them in later.”
Virginia sat sipping her scrumpy and watching Sally stir the pot. This was a good way to end the day. The evening light had begun to fade. They would be eating in the dark. Suddenly, Sally handed the spoon to John. “Here, you stir for a while. I’m going to dress Ginny up for dinner.” She reached for Virginia’s hand. “Shall we do that? Come on, let’s go and have some fun. You can’t have a gypsy dinner dressed like that.”
Virginia hid behind Sally’s caravan to take off her jeans and tee shirt. Sally brought two skirts, both long with ruched tiers and swirling colours. She held the one that was mostly green against Virginia. “Now that will suit you very well. Try it, and then pull this over your head. It’s grown a bit small for me, and if it suits you, you’re welcome to it.”
The skirt had an elasticated waist and a draw string, and reached nearly to Virginia’s ankles. The top was Sally’s style, a loose peasant blouse with a scoop neck in light, creamy muslin. Virginia fell in love with it and pulled it over her head. Her clothes felt light and free. “Do you have a mirror?”
“Just a moment. Take off your earrings and try these. I’ve got others.” Sally took the gold hoops from her ears and passed them over. They looked far too big. Virginia would never dare wear anything so obvious.
Sally came back with a mirror the size of a notebook, far too small but at least she could see her earrings. She moved her head from side to side. “I wish my hair was longer. And black like yours. Brown is boring.”
“Ah, get away. You look just fine. John’ll be falling all over you. Let’s go and see what he thinks.”
John looked up from the pot and whistled. “Now there’s a fine sight indeed. A pair of sisters. We shall have to have some music later on. Come and try this, girl.” He dipped the spoon and held it out to Sally. “I believe it’s short of a little salt.”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll get the bowls, and you can pour me some more scrumpy.”
Virginia sat on the grass to eat her dinner. The stew had a dark red sauce, rich with flavours. Sharing the meal in the gathering dusk, seated at a fire with her friends, seemed to her the way people should live. She drank more cider, and felt it going to her head.
“I believe it’s time for some music,” said John. “Now, where is my fiddle?”
He brought it from his caravan and sat on a stool by the fire.
He tucked his fiddle under his chin and plucked the strings for tune. A single adjustment, and he laid the frog of his bow against the strings and smiled at the girls. His eyes closed and he played a long throbbing note that grew in volume until it filled the quarry. He launched into a gentle melody, and Sally reached out her hand. “Come on, Ginny. I’ll show you how to dance.”
Sally stood opposite her, holding the sides of her skirt in her hands. She started with slow swaying steps, swishing her skirt from side to side as she went. Without the cider, Virginia would probably have stayed on the grass. Now she did her best to match Sally, swaying, turning, slipping a little side step into her striding. Behind her, John had come to the end of his melody and played the same long note in anticipation.
Sally stopped, poised, waiting for the music. The tune broke with crash into a fast, insistent rhythm. Sally jumped and began to dance, smiling at Virginia and urging her to follow. What was she dancing? Virginia struggled to understand but there seemed no pattern, no logic to it. Sally was skipping and stamping, swaying her hips, and Virginia could not follow.
“You’re thinking too hard,” shouted Sally. “Just dance!”
Virginia let herself go. She did not care how her feet danced, but she snapped her fingers and danced. Sally was twirling around, her arms outstretched, and Virginia twirled with her. Abruptly, the music stopped. Sally held her skirt wide, and waited for John to play his slow melody again. This time she stood still, hands over her head, lifting her hips first to one side and then the other, provocative, erotic and female. The simple movement, so natural to Sally, felt clumsy to Virginia. Sally, flushed and with a glint of moisture on her face, smiled for her and urged her on, and Virginia found herself mirroring the sexy dance and its earthy enticement.
Beside them, John sat lost in his music, communing only with his fiddle. Again the music speeded up and the girls were dancing close together twirling against each other, touching hands as they passed. John’s bow flew back and forth as the music poured from his fiddle and Virginia’s mind was full of nothing but the music and Sally’s live, generous body butting against as they turned.
Sally grabbed her by the shoulders to whisper close to her ear.
“What?” asked Virginia.
“I said, if he doesn’t look at us soon, I’m going to kill him.”
John had heard her, for he was looking at them as he played, the firelight glinting on his wide smile and on the flash of gold at his ear. He nodded them on, and broke into a new tune.
Sally took her arm and pulled her to stand in front of John. Perched on his bucket, he played on, fingers twinkling and his bow skipping back and forth over the strings. Sally stood in front of him and danced with her hips alone. She had raised her arms over her head and, with her feet apart, she lifted her hips with the music, to one side and then the other. Virginia stood beside her and tried to mimic her suppleness.
John watched her gyrating hips as he played, and his smile looked wicked. Sally basked in his attention and her fluid dancing became even more provocative. The music slowly gathered speed and Virginia lost herself in the rhythm, waving her arms and thrusting her hips wildly until Sally gave a climatic shout and stood stretched and glistening in front of John.
“Oof - I need a drink,” she said and reached for the cider.
John smiled and said, “Well, what did you think, Ginny? Isn’t she the best?”
“She’s so sexy.”
“She is that.” He held his mug out for Sally to refill. “Queen of the road. A real gypsy queen of the road.”
“Get on with you,” said Sally. “You’re thinking with your balls again.”
“But he’s right,” said Virginia. “You can really dance. You make me jealous.”
“I’m going to get something to sit on,�
�� said Sally and disappeared into the caravan.
Virginia looked around her. The quarry lay dark within its walls, but a bright moon was climbing through the oak trees of the wood beyond the lane. The fire crackled, and she closed it up with a branch to let it flame again.
Sally returned with a rug that she threw on the ground against the caravan wheel. She had also brought a blanket. “Here, put this around your shoulders before you get cold.”
They sat together, leaning against the wheel and sharing the blanket. John had stopped playing tunes and was quietly running notes up and down the finger board. “Will I teach you how to dance, then, Ginny?” asked Sally.
“You’d have your work cut out. I’ve got two left feet.”
“What do you reckon, John? Could we turn her into a dancer, do you think?”
John stopped playing. “Surely. Surely, and a very fine thing that would be too. You could tour the country, the pair of you, and we’ll make our fortunes.”
“Ach - what a dreamer you are, John. Play A Blacksmith Courted
Me. This one’s Irish, Ginny, more or less. I like it; makes me go all romantic.”
John swung into a slow introduction, and Sally started to sing.
A blacksmith courted me nine long months and better,
He stole my heart away, wrote to me a letter,
His hammer all in his hand he looked so brave and clever,
And if I was with my love, I would live forever.
It was as haunting song, and the dark quarry made it more so.
Sally finished singing and sipped her cider. “Like it, Ginny?”
“It’s so sad.”
“That’s true love for you, I suppose. Wouldn’t be worth having, if it wasn’t sad sometimes. Give her The Fair Maid of Kent, John. This one’s English and not romantic at all. Just sex, sex, sex. Must have been written by a man, eh, John?”
This tune was straight forward, simple, and Sally’s song told of a maid out nutting in the woods, and how she gave all her charms to a young ploughman. She was right; no romance at all, but at least it was cheerful.
John laid his fiddle in its case. “So, Ginny. Are you coming over
to Somerset with us? It’ll be a grand trip, won’t it, Sally?”
“Yes, come along. We’ll show you what travelling’s really like. There’s nothing like it, believe me. I just sit on my doorstep and Lady carries me on. I can see everything, and I have time to look over all the hedges. It’s not like rushing along in your car at all. Then in the evenings we cook like this, and may be go to the pubband play some music for the locals. You could drown in free drinks some nights.”
Virginia’s head was floating. It may have been the music, or the moonlight slanting through the trees, or Sally leaning against her. Or it may have been the cider. No matter what, she wanted to go travelling. She wanted to see Jack in his harness again, pulling his painted caravan along the back roads of Old England.
“Yes. Yes, I’ll come. Just tell me when.”
John raised his mug to her. “That’s the way. Now, drink up and we’ll put you to bed.”
Sally pulled the blanket off her and allowed the cold in. Virginia had not intended to stay but now - now she had nothing to say. A little cider would have done no harm, but the bottle was nearly empty and it was too late. She wanted to lie down.
Sally pulled her to her feet. “Come on, love. We’d better get you to bed while you can still walk. Give us a hand, John.”
They led her around to the front of the caravan. Suddenly the long step up seemed too much trouble.
“You’d better go first, Sally, and pull her up.” Virginia felt confused as Sally pulled her up and John pushed from behind. The little caravan was dark and secret, and rocked on its springs as she moved. Sally led her to the bed shelf at the back and put her hand on its rail. “Here, hang on to this and we’ll get you sorted in no time.” Then, looking past her, she said, “Bugger off, John. Give us a few minutes.”
Virginia looked at the cosy bed and said, “But I can’t. It’s John’s...”
“It is too, but I’m sure he won’t mind. You won’t either.”
“But where will he sleep?”
“Right here, of course. If you let him sleep.”
“No, he’s - I mean - you. Oh, you know. He’s yours, and I couldn’t.”
“Sure you can. It’ll be fun, you see. And he belongs to no-one. Certainly not to me, anyway. Now, let’s get this off you.” She pulled the blouse over Virginia’s head, and unhooked her bra. She fumbled for the draw-string at the front of Virginia’s gypsy skirt, and slipped it and her panties off.
“Well, well, what a pretty lady you are, love. Hop into bed. I’m going to light the lamp.”
Virginia clambered onto the bed and lay on her back. The miniature window in the back wall of the caravan let moonlight in. She heard Sally strike a match and she could see her face clearly in the lamp light as she concentrated on adjusting the wick. The caravan’s arched ceiling softly reflected the light. Sally hung the lamp from a hook and went to the door. “We’re right, John.” Virginia heard him answer from the distance.
The bed felt comfortable. Virginia loved the cosy way it fitted across the caravan, and the tiny window that lit it. She liked the swaying of the van as Sally moved about and undressed. She knew she would sleep like a baby.
Suddenly, Virginia felt frightened. “Don’t go,” she whispered.
“Don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Sally lifted the covers and said, “I’ll climb over you. Let me lie against the wall.”
Virginia did not question what was happening to her. The strange bed felt so natural, no matter that she would share it with Sally. Afterwards, she wondered that she had been so accepting of her company. Perhaps it had been the evening’s magic, or simply the cider, but she let Sally slide over her and lean against the wall, resting on one elbow and looking at her. The soft lamplight glinted in her eyes, and she smiled at Virginia. Everything would be all right.
Then John was with them. He was already naked, and his hair was wet from washing in the stream. She wanted him. She wanted him to mount her, to fill her up and give her everything.
“Bring another pillow, John,” said Sally. “And dry your hair. Ginny don’t want to catch her death, even if you do.”
She watched him drying his hair. His body looked strong and hard. Black hair was thick on his chest and down to his centre. Here his cock stood out of its dark nest and bobbed with his movements.
Suddenly, Virginia was trembling. She was lying on her back in a gypsy’s bed, and his girlfriend was stroking her hair. Sally’s warm softness touched her on one side. The other side lay empty and dangerous. How had this happened?
When John slipped in beside her, his skin felt cold and moist. He laid a hard, rough hand on her chest and lent over her to Sally. They kissed above her, near to her, just out of reach. And then John came to kiss her, long and slow. He kissed her, and her stomach leapt as he cupped her breast and slowly kneaded it. Her excitement mounted, and increased as Sally took her other breast.
Sally was kissing her cheek and whispering into her ear. “That’s it, Ginny. Let it go...”
John slid his hand down over her stomach and she opened to him. His cock prodded against her thigh, warm and resilient, and she gripped it. Its weight filled her hand and more. He had stopped kissing her now, but he played on, taking her pussy as his own. She turned to Sally as his fingers slipped over her hair and into her, slowly, again and again.
Sally had pulled back and was watching her with eyes bright and curious. Virginia wanted to say something to her but it was too late. She was slipping away and she turned her head to bury her face in Sally’s soft hair. The waves came to take her, rolling through her and scattering her soul.
She had dragged his hand from her but he gave her no rest. He rolled her towards Sally. For a moment she thought he wanted her to change places with Sally, but his hand on her hip held her steady. He
wanted to take her from behind, and he pulled her back against him. He pushed forcefully into her but she no longer cared. She wanted him, wanted his cock, and wanted him to give her everything.
He pushed her against Sally, so they shared the pillow and she could feel Sally’s breath on her cheek. John moved slowly, powerfully inside her, stirring her deeply and leading her on. She was barely conscious of Sally’s hand between them, buried between her own thighs and working. Her orgasm began and went on and on, holding her until John released her.
Afterwards, Sally gave her room to lie on her back again and she relaxed. John was silent beside her and she could feel his breathing on her shoulder. The moonlight and lamplight together let her see Sally smiling as she brushed the hair from Virginia’s face. “Well, you’re a wild one, aren’t you, Ginny? I never guessed you had it in you. John’s a lucky boy.”
Virginia tried to move but Sally held her down. “But you didn’t...”
“Oh, yes I did,” said Sally. “All by myself. That performance would have melted a saint. What do you say, John? Will you look forward to the trip into Somerset this year?”
John, lying beside her, rested a hand on Virginia’s hip. “Yes, I believe I will,” he said.
Other Titles by Jacqueline George
www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com
42
Gypsy Page 3