by Clare Lydon
Holly nodded her head slowly. “If you say it enough times, you might actually believe it.”
I stuck out my tongue at her.
“So, I have a question.” Holly was holding up one finger to demonstrate that fact.
“Shoot,” I replied, licking my bottom lip to rescue some stray guacamole.
“What happens if you hit it off with both Jenny and Spanish Vixen? How will you choose?”
I chewed my mouthful and wrinkled my nose. “I’ll worry about that when it happens. If it does, it would be a miracle.”
Holly laughed. “And did you get the Dixie Chicks tickets in all the excitement you had at work?” Her face told me she had absolutely zero faith I’d remembered to do it.
I nodded. “I did — two tickets booked. You shall go to the ball.”
Holly gave me a dazzling grin, showing off her seriously perfect teeth. “This is going to be the best Christmas run-up ever — Dixie Chicks playing so close to my birthday. I cannot wait!”
Tuesday December 6th
I wasn’t messing Holly around — I was still on a quest for a Christmas girlfriend. And to prove it, tonight I was turning my attention to Jenny, who was not from the block, but rather from West London.
Jenny was a web designer in a corporate bank, but apart from that, she fitted the Aussie label to a tee. She had smooth, treacle-toned skin that went on for days, freckles across her nose and shoulder-length fair hair that was conditioned to within an inch of its life — I didn’t spot one solitary split end. Her sentences still went up at the end even though she’d lived in London for three years, and she had a habit of shortening words, Aussie style. Afternoon became arvo, ambulance became ambo. It was an endearing quality that made me smile.
We met near Liverpool Street at a pop-up food park — one of those London peculiarities that people from outside the city would scoff at. A disused car park, it was now stuffed with food trucks, drinks stands and punters, with hundreds of multi-coloured Christmas lights strung all around, along with an abundance of metal umbrella heaters to ward off the cold. We stood near a burrito van with our mugs of mulled cider, our breath writing messages in the air around us. The speakers were blaring out a procession of Christmas hits, currently a personal favourite, The Pogues And Kirsty MacColl’s ‘Fairytale Of New York’. I sung the last chorus out loud, swaying my cider back and forth.
“You’ve got a good voice,” Jenny said.
I smiled modestly. “Thanks.” Ten points to Jenny.
“Have you been on many dates through the app?” She shivered as she spoke, which I found cute. I’ve no idea why she was shivering though as she appeared to be dressed in what I can only describe as a duvet — her coat honestly seemed to be 100-tog all the way around.
“A few,” I said. “But this is definitely the most Christmassy one yet. I mean, Santa statues, Christmas tunes and fake snow. You could almost forget you were in a car park in London and believe you were in Lapland, couldn’t you?”
Jenny laughed. “Very nearly.” She paused, looking around. “I still love this though, you know? The Christmas lights, the cold, the snow — even if it is fake. That’s what drew me to your ad — the Christmas theme.”
I smiled. “I’m glad. Christmas has always been my favourite time of year, hands down.” An image of my dad in a Santa hat popped into my head. I pushed it away.
“I love Christmas in Oz too, with the barbies on the beach in your shorts and thongs,” Jenny added. “But Christmas as depicted in all the films and songs is cold, so it’s great to experience it. When I go back to Oz, I plan to buy some fake snow.”
“Do you have plans to move back soon?”
She nodded. “Not imminent, but I only have a five-year visa. So it’s going to be in the next couple of years.” She looked me dead in the eye. “Unless I find a gorgeous English wife to persuade me otherwise, of course. I’m open to offers.”
Jenny gave me a lazy smile, and then before I could think of an appropriate riposte, she kissed me. Her lips were moist and she tasted of alcoholic apples and cinnamon.
When she pulled away a few seconds later, I opened my eyes, surprise radiating from them. I’d only had one drink but the car park spun with possibility. I grinned. “That’s what I like about Aussies — never shy about coming forward.”
She licked her lips, then dropped her gaze to my lips once more before replying. “I always figure if you find someone you like, you shouldn’t leave it ambiguous, or wait till you’re both too drunk to remember. You should let them know straight off the bat — no messing. And I like you, you’re cute. Plus, you’re very English, and I love English.”
My smile grew wider. “Is that right?” I replied. “Well I couldn’t be more English if I tried, so you’re in luck!” I skipped over my dad’s Spanish roots for the purpose of story-telling for tonight. My mum was from Croydon, so I was sure that tipped the balance.
I poured the contents of my mug down my throat and held it up. “You want some more?” I asked.
Jenny smirked at me before pressing her lips to mine once more. I could get used to this.
After a few seconds she pulled back, her breath still on my face, her eyelids fluttering wildly.
“Yes, please,” she replied.
I’d never heard a woman purr before, but there was a first time for everything.
After drinks and an incredible burrito from the food truck of the moment, we’d decamped to the outdoor pop-up disco nextdoor, bumping and grinding in our coats and hats, breath circling above us, mulled cider cooling in our mugs. The air was rich with the smell of hot, sugary drinks and pine ferns, and we were on a magical Christmas journey that ended with a Tube back to Jenny’s place.
We re-emerged to street level just after 10.30pm, the night air holding an extra chill now. Jenny’s house was only five minutes’ walk away, but it wasn’t until we got inside that I realised how much she was living the Aussie London dream, sharing the house with nine other people.
Our magical Christmas date bubble burst with a loud bang when we walked into the lounge and found a slew of bodies on the sofas and floor watching The Big Bang Theory. The room smelt of cheap deodorant and beer.
“Hey everyone — this is Tori.” Jenny twirled me around as if she’d just bought me in a shop.
There was a general murmur of hello from the group.
“Okay, see ya later!”
Jenny took my hand once more and led me into the kitchen, which reminded me of student days gone by. The counters were stacked with dirty dishes, the sink full too, and overhead, an old-fashioned washing line was full of someone’s off-white underwear. I wasn’t sure the kitchen was the best place to be drying laundry.
Jenny, however, took it all in her stride. “Hazards of living with so many people!”
She smiled, handed me a glass of water and led me up two flights of stairs to her room, which was compact to say the least. Squeezed into the space was her unmade double bed shoved against a wall, an Ikea wardrobe and a small desk which was overflowing with empty water bottles and jewellery — rings, necklaces and bracelets. Plus, lying on the small slice of floor running down the right of her double bed was a pink sleeping bag, scrunched up and lying on top of a yoga mat.
I pointed towards it. “You expecting company?”
She nodded. “Yeah — my friend Edie is staying at the moment. She’s over from Sydney for a month, but we’ve got too many people in the lounge so she’s taking my floor.” Jenny paused, then kissed me again. Her lips were dry. “Don’t worry though,” she added. “Edie knows the score, so she won’t disturb us. If I bring someone back, she knows to give me some space.”
Thump — another blow to my ego. I was just another in a long line of Jenny hook-ups. Even Edie was in on the secret, and she’d been here less than a month. I’d fallen for Jenny’s lines and now here I was, about to have sex with her. Or I could leave. Should I leave? Then again, Jenny was attractive and I’d always been taught never to look a
gift horse in the mouth. I wasn’t about to start now.
It turned out that Jenny was a one-woman sexual whirlwind — she hadn’t waited to kiss me, and she didn’t stand on ceremony in the bedroom either. Within minutes, my shirt was off and she was sucking my breasts between her teeth, her hands roaming my back. This was a well-rehearsed routine. Another five minutes and I was naked, lying flat on my back on her bed, Jenny looming above me. Her hair fell on to my breasts and all this without shedding a single stitch of clothing. Jenny was such a top.
And then she tried to fuck me, only she kept hitting the target, then missing.
Honestly, she kept missing. It took me back to my early years, almost making me feel nostalgic. Almost.
“Ow!” I said, jumping as her fingers stabbed me for the third time. We’d drunk a few ciders so I wasn’t expecting finesse, but this was something else.
“Sorry!” she mumbled.
After the fourth time of asking, I reached down.
“Try this,” I said, guiding her fingers in.
She grinned lazily at me.
However, once she got her bearings, there was no let up from the steam train that was Jenny. She was on a mission to make me come and I was down with that. After her initial fumbling, Jenny remembered what to do and had me sliding to a climax precisely 14 minutes after I’d first entered her bedroom. I know, because Jenny’s bedside alarm clock told me so.
Before I could get my breath back, Jenny was naked and on top of me, grinding into me. She leaned forward, her breasts falling on to mine, covering my neck with kisses. And then she began to nip at my neck. And then suck on it, hard, with her teeth.
I flinched. Was she trying to give me a hickey? Had I time-travelled back to my teens?
I pushed her off and she looked surprised, her mouth hanging open, her eyes still hungry.
“You not into that?” she asked in a slurred drawl.
I shook my head. “Not so much.”
She threw back her head and chuckled. “Okay, we can just cut straight to the chase,” she replied, lowering her mouth back to my neck and then my ear, this time giving me feather-light kisses. “And if you hurry, you can still get the last Tube home.”
How’s that for a bucket of cold water on my libido?
Still, Jenny’s perky breasts and flat stomach went some way to reigniting my desire. I cupped her arse, then slid up and into her — she was so ready. I slid my tongue into her welcoming mouth and began a rhythm with my fingers — I was feeling something of a stud as Jenny moaned above me, her wetness sliding down my hand.
Then she sat up, threw her head back, and began to chant while riding me. When I say chant, it was more like shouting. She was really bellowing out the words for everyone to hear. I was thankful we were on the second floor. If she had the room next to the lounge, I’m sure half of them would have been joining us by now. As it was, they were all probably used to this sideshow.
“Oh! Yes!” Jenny shouted, levering herself up and down.
There was only me and her in the room, but it felt like we had an audience.
“Deeper! I love it! Fuck! Me! Harder!” And then she became erratic, bouncing up and down on me now with a staccato rhythm. With every movement of her body, another word spurted out of her mouth.
“I! Love! Having! Sex! With! Women!”
Oh. My. God. She really had just said that. Who the hell was this woman? I narrowed my eyes. Focus.
My concentration clearly paid dividends, because within minutes Jenny’s muscles were spasming and her insides clutching my fingers, then Jenny was arching her back and crying out. Up high, with her breasts bouncing, she was just the sort of woman I went for. Eventually, she grew tired and lay down beside me, her head lolling lazily in my direction, a half-smile on her face.
“You’re okay, you know that?” she said.
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
Just then, there was a knock at Jenny’s door.
“Who is it?” she said.
“Edie!” a voice replied.
“Open!” Jenny shouted back.
What? With us lying naked and uncovered, in a cloud of sex? Was she fucking crazy?
I sat up, scrabbling to grab the duvet from the bottom of the bed, when in walked Jenny’s room-mate, Edie. She looked like she’d just rocked up off an Aussie beach, all blonde tangled hair and brown limbs.
She smiled at us as if this was an everyday occurrence — it crossed my mind it might be.
“Just getting that black top, Jen, sorry!” Her voice was sing-song and didn’t carry an ounce of apology. She rummaged in Jenny’s wardrobe, before finding the top and holding it up. “Ta-da!” she said, before backing out of the room. “Please,” she said, shutting the door with a grin. “Get back to whatever it was you were doing.”
Jenny took her at her word, and before I had a chance to speak, she was straddling me again, pushing my hand back inside her. The woman was insatiable. And slightly unhinged. Jenny began to grind herself up and down on top of me.
How long did I have before she started screaming again?
I glanced at the clock: 10.58.
Jenny was right.
If we hurried, I would be able to catch the Tube home.
Wednesday December 7th
Holly was leaning against the kitchen counter and grinning at my story. “So are you seeing her again?”
I rolled my eyes. “Absolutely. I mean, who could resist the lesbian bucking bronco? She nearly broke my bloody hand.” I massaged my knuckles and flexed my hand as I said it, but even I had to laugh at the comedy of it all.
“It’s a great story to tell, you have to admit,” Holly replied, smiling.
“Hmmm,” I replied. “Maybe in a month or so. But for now, it’s still a little too raw.” I paused. “Mind you, it was definitely a first — whispering the Tube times in my ear just after I came. She was original, I’ll give her that.”
Holly let out a bark of laughter this time. “Perhaps you were the early shift.”
“Reassuring, thanks.”
“Go back, just for me,” she said, pumping her fists up and down in excitement. “Just to see what she’s got in store for date two. You don’t know — maybe she’ll invite her flatmate to join in.” Holly shot me a wink.
I laughed, then shook my head. “It crossed my mind that’s what was going to happen at the time — that this was a set-up. And what could I have done at that point? I was naked and weak — I’d just come.”
Holly shrugged. “You could have thanked the lesbian goddesses and embraced the moment,” she said. “You really have picked them so far, though. Perhaps you need some help with your vetting process.”
I ran my tongue along my top lip. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Holly ripped the top off a breakfast yoghurt and licked it clean. “Anyway, I have some news.” She was suddenly bashful. “Spurred on by your actions, I have a date tonight too — she’s five years younger than me and she likes badminton. So if all else fails, I’ve got a new badminton partner.”
“That’s the spirit,” I replied. “Reach for the stars and you might land in Milton Keynes.”
Holly waved her yoghurt spoon at me. “Shuddup.”
“What’s this woman’s name?”
Holly blushed. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do,” I said, interest piqued. “What is it?”
Holly shook her head. “It’s bizarre.”
I furrowed my brow and shook my head. “What’s she called?”
Holly took a deep breath. “Her name’s Ivy.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re joking. Holly and Ivy?”
Holly started to laugh now, nodding. “It’s ridiculous, I know.”
“Or fated. You’d make the front page of the papers if you got married. Especially if you did it on Christmas Day.” I clapped my hands with glee.
Holly finished up her yoghurt and chucked the carton in the bin. “Yes, thank you, but she’s probably
going to hate me on sight. Or she’s doing it for a laugh.” She paused. “But anyway, back to you — when are you going out with Spanish Vixen lady?”
I sipped my coffee. “Tomorrow — I have a night off tonight. And if you’re going to be out with Ivy, I can do what I like, can’t I? I might lounge around here naked, sipping champagne and eating sushi.” As soon as I said it, I had a vision of Nicola Sheen lounging on the sofa beside me, dressed in her full uniform, begging me to strip it off. My cheeks coloured and I crossed my legs as my clit twitched into life.
Holly fixed me with an intense stare. “Nakedness and champagne? Maybe I should call off my date and stay in,” she said.
“You can’t stand Ivy up. Ivy of all people,” I said, giving her a wink.
Holly shook her head, bent down and kissed me on the cheek. Her head stayed near mine for a couple of seconds longer than I expected, and the look she gave me sent a shiver down my spine.
The kind of shiver normally reserved for Nicola Sheen.
The kind of shiver I didn’t normally associate with Holly.
A question mark hung in my mind and I saw the same one reflected back in Holly’s face. It was all too much to process before I’d even had a coffee.
“Have a good day,” I said, my voice sketchy.
She held my gaze. “You too.”
Her shoes squeaked as she twisted on the kitchen floor, as though about to say something, but then checked herself. Instead, Holly disappeared out the door.
I had no idea what had just happened, but I was slightly breathless.
I didn’t opt for the nakedness in the end — it always sounds more glamorous than the reality. Instead, I watched a soppy Christmas film, heated a pizza and drank the end of a lovely red we had leftover from the weekend, followed by two mince pies with cream. I toasted my dad as I ate them, and hoped that wherever he was, they celebrated Christmas too.