by JT Harding
I couldn’t say anything, but I felt my face flush hot as the water.
Georgia smiled, “Yeah, I thought so.”
She raised her hands and stroked them under her breasts, lifting them as though for my approval, although she must know she already had that. Then she raised her hands further and touched her nipples. She ran her fingers around them, making them even stiffer, gave them a little tug and her smile shifted on one side as she bit her bottom lip.
“I think my brother would like to watch you doing that,” I said. My own hands wanted to follow Georgia’s but I made an effort to keep them at my sides.
“Yeah. And plenty others. But you know I’m not into men, Lil. Filthy boogers, all of ’em.”
I was hearing what she said but struggling to make sense of her words. Did Georgia really mean she didn’t like men? And if she didn’t like men, was there the tiniest possibility she meant the opposite, she liked girls instead?
My head was swimming. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Georgia’s hands as they continued to caress her own breasts.
“You ever do this, Lil? Touch your boobies like this?”
I looked away, looked back.
“You’re a quiet one, ain’t ya? I bet you have. I bet you’ve rolled ’em in your hands like this…” and she demonstrated and I had to look. I felt as though I was melting, felt the hot water wash against my pussy lips. My fingers twitched and my hands rose without conscious effort.
“A few times, perhaps,” I said. My fingers found my nipples, found them sensitive and stiff. I wished I had boobs like Georgia’s, but even smaller they were sensitive and I stroked myself, pulled at my nipples and bit my lip.
“Feels good, don’t it?” Georgia said.
I nodded.
Georgia stretched her leg so her foot ran along my side, pulled it back, starting a slow slide along my skin with the sole of her foot. I dropped one hand and rested it on her leg, slid it gently along and then back, a slight scrape of stubble against my palm where the hair was growing out.
Georgia pulled a face. “I’d better shave ’em when we’re finished,” she said. “I’ve got some new stockings my folks sent me. Don’t wanna go snagging them. I got a pair for you too, if you want, Lil.”
Georgia watched my hand, then dropped hers from her breast and slid it beneath the water. She covered the dark patch between her legs, her arm moving as she touched herself.
“I bet you do this too, Lil, don’t ya?” She was doing it in front of me, openly, knowing I was looking. Maybe all those nights in the hut she had known I was looking. The water splashed in tiny waves against the side of the bath as Georgia’s hand moved on her pussy.
“I’ve been trying not to,” I said.
Georgia stopped, her eyes widening. “Trying not to? For God’s sake, Lil, why the hell would you wanna do that?”
“It’s wrong and… it’s dirty,” I said, my voice so low I wasn’t sure she would hear.
“Who the hell told you that? Your Mom? I don’t think so. You’re Mom’s a sweetheart. Wouldn’t be your Pa. And not your brother. Whoever told you was the dirty one, honey.” Georgia’s hand was moving again, the water once more starting up little splashes against the sides.
“The teachers in school,” I said.
“What school was that? That stuck up girls school you went to?”
I nodded. I had taken my hand off Georgia’s leg and let it hang down inside my thighs, the light brush of my pubic hair against the back of my hand.
“That’s so they can keep you under their thumb. A couple hundred horny girls all locked up together? Ha! They didn’t want you rubbing yourselves off every night. I bet some of the girls did though, didn’t they?”
“A few,” I said. My hand moved even though I had no conscious memory of doing so and turned until it lay cupped against my pussy. The hard bud nestling at the top of my slit pressed against my palm, heat spreading from it into my belly.
“More than a few, I bet,” Georgia said. “A few love affairs, a few broken hearts. You ever get your heart broken, Lil?”
I thought back to some of my crushes, but they seemed tame in comparison to what I felt for Georgia. I shook my head.
“I bet you broke a few, though,” Georgia said. “Sweet English rose like you. Red English rose,” she said, and laughed, but her face had changed, coloring up, and I knew she had almost reached her goal. I wanted to join her, wanted to get there with her and parted my pussy lips and pushed two fingers inside.
I knew Georgia saw my face change as a wave of pleasure rushed through me. When I had done this before it had taken a while until the liquid melting in my belly made everything else fade away. This afternoon I was ready at once and pulled my fingers out, not wanting to reach my peak before Georgia.
“Put ’em back, Lil,” Georgia said, staring at my hand. “Put ’em back inside. I’m about there now, honey.”
“You are?” I said, sliding my fingers inside myself, the effect immediate as my stomach tightened. I was seconds away, seconds from something stronger than I had ever experienced before.
“Oh baby…” Georgia gasped, water splashing now as we both worked ourselves, splashing out and onto the floor. “You there, Lil honey, you there yet?”
“Yes,” I hissed. The first wave hit me hard, a tiny point inside my lower belly, an explosion washing outward through me and I lifted my knees and pushed my fingers deeper into myself. My other hand still gripped my breast but I dropped it now and put it on Georgia’s leg.
“Oh honey,” she gasped. She slid down, lifting her hips and her pussy came clear of the water toward me. I had a perfect view as her fingers pushed deep inside herself, of plump lips opened to reveal a sweet pinkness within. Water streamed along her body, flattening her pubic hair as she pressed her thighs around my waist and pumped against her hand.
My own climax, cataclysmic as it was, seemed trivial in comparison to what Georgia experienced. Her fingers probed herself in front of me without shame, and I was sure I could smell her. I wanted to touch her, but couldn’t. My stomach fluttered and turned over. I wanted to do more than touch her, and the thought of what I wanted lodged in my head and my trembling grew, my fingers still inside and for the first time ever in my life I achieved two climaxes back to back.
Too soon Georgia withdrew her hand and pulled herself up.
“Whoa, Lil, I guess I needed that one real bad,” she said, breaking the spell. “How was yours, honey?”
“Good,” I said.
Georgia laughed. “Only good? Looked more than good to me. Loosen up, Lil, let yourself go a bit. It ain’t the work of the devil, it’s pleasure. Enjoy it. I do.”
“You do?” I tried to keep a straight face but lost it and we both burst out laughing.
“You’re great, little darling, just great. I love you to bits, Lil.”
And I love you, I thought, but I held the words inside against my heart.
“My fingers are wrinkling,” Georgia said, pulling herself onto her knees. “I’m gonna get out and dress for dinner. You want a pair of those stockings?”
“I don’t think I’ve got anything to hold them up with, Georgia.”
“I’ve got a spare garter belt you’re welcome to.”
“I don’t want to-” I started, but Georgia interrupted me.
“You English,” she said. “If I didn’t want you to have them I wouldn’t offer. Now, do you want them or not?”
“Yes please,” I said.
“Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“No,” I shook my head. I turned around so I wasn’t against the taps and slid down in the water, stretching out luxuriously. Georgia watched me as I let my breasts poke above the water. She continued watching and I ran my hand down my stomach and over my sensitive pussy and her mouth twitched.
“See, you’re loosening up already, honey,” she said and turned away to fetch one of the warm towels. She dried herself while I watched, almost as if displaying for me,
then as she started to dress I pulled the plug out of the bath and dried myself, making no attempt at modesty. I dried between my legs, but I knew my panties would be damp again before I got downstairs.
Georgia tucked her heavy breasts into her bra, stretching behind to clip it, tucking her fingers inside to settle their weight comfortably and then stood for a moment with only her bra on. She had dried herself and put a little talcum powder on her belly and thighs. She ran a comb through her hair and then ran it through her bush, stroking it flat, the dark hair fine, showing pale skin beneath where the teeth of the comb parted her hair.
Satisfied, she drew her best silk panties on, clipped the garter belt around her waist and unrolled her stockings. She sat on the edge of the windowsill and slipped her foot into one stocking, then stopped.
“I don’t suppose there’s a razor in the cabinet is there, Lil?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Still naked I opened the door and looked. “There’s this,” I said, turning with a heavy steel safety razor.
“Any fresh blades?”
I turned back. “Yeah,” I said, and laughed because I sounded like Georgia.
“Slip a new one in for me, honey, and hand it over. You gonna do your legs too?”
I put a fresh blade in the razor and handed it to Georgia, looked down at my own legs. One advantage of being a redhead was the hair on my body grew fine and sparse.
“I don’t think I need to, Georgia,” I said. I showed her my leg, lifting it for her, knowing my pussy opened to her gaze but not caring.
She looked, both at my legs and higher up. “No, you’re perfect, Lil,” she said.
She scraped the fresh blade over her long legs, ran her palm up and seemed satisfied. I washed the razor out in the sink and put it back after drying it.
Georgia pulled her stockings up and clipped them to her garter belt, stood and looked at herself in the long mirror, turned, studied her backside, put a hand on her belly.
“Lookin’ good,” she said.
“Mm-mm,” I agreed, and Georgia grinned.
“You gonna get dressed then, Lil, or you gonna go down to dinner as you are? Not that I’m objecting, but I guess your Ma and Pa might not be too pleased.”
I smiled and reached for my fresh bra and panties. “I’ll get dressed,” I said.
Georgia slipped into her dress and buttoned it up the front. It fell to below her knees, displaying just a little cleavage.
“I’ll get you that garter belt,” she said, and swirled away.
Dinner was fun. Daddy came in late as usual, just as we were about to sit down. He hugged and kissed me and I buried my face in his tweed jacket, breathing in a deep lung full of his smell; damp wool, pipe smoke, hay… the aromas mixed and wonderful, making me feel completely safe, as they always would.
Mummy managed to find a joint of beef from somewhere, cooked potatoes two different ways, made gravy and Yorkshire puddings. These confused Georgia, who looked at them and said, “This smells wonderful, but what are these things?” She turned one over with her fork.
“Yorkshire pudding,” I said.
“Pudding? What are they made of?”
“Flour, milk and eggs.”
“So they’re pancakes,” she said.
“No, they’re Yorkshire pudding,” I said, laughing. My mother and Michael watched us, smiling, and Daddy ate his dinner with his usual long-suffering expression, but I caught a glint in his eyes.
Georgia cut a small slice and lifted it to her nose, sniffed.
“Doesn’t smell like pancake,” she said.
“That’s because it’s not pancake,” I repeated.
Michael was wolfing his dinner, swigging from a glass of cider. It was a special occasion, and Daddy had opened bottles of our own cider and poured for all of us, even me. It was the first time he had ever offered me cider and I felt incredibly pleased about it.
Georgia popped the Yorkshire pudding between her pretty lips and chewed. Her eyes widened comically.
“Doesn’t taste like pancake either,” she said.
I looked around, caught everyone’s eye and we all said together, “It’s not, Georgia, it’s Yorkshire pudding!”
Georgia laughed. “I like it. Honestly, I like it.” She cut some beef, some roast potato and more Yorkshire pudding and ate it. She looked up. “Honestly,” she said again.
Afterward we ate bread and butter pudding, with another long discourse explaining it to Georgia, who had never heard of such a thing, and then we offered to help with the dishes but Mummy sent us out of the kitchen with Michael and Daddy.
We sat in the big living room where two old Chesterfield sofas faced each other, the unlit fire at one end. French windows stood open onto the lawn and a warm breeze carried the smell of newly mown grass. Daddy lit his pipe and Michael a cigarette. He offered the pack of Player’s around but both Georgia and I declined. I had never taken to smoking, and I suppose Georgia hadn’t either because I had never seen her with a cigarette, although almost everyone back at camp smoked like mad.
“So tell me, Michael,” Daddy said, “Have you shot any Nazis down yet?”
“I haven’t finished training yet, Dad. Give me a chance.”
“How much longer?” Daddy’s voice was more serious, and I knew what he was thinking, the same as me. While Michael was training he was safe.
“Next week, I expect. I think that’s what my leave is for. Everyone gets a long weekend before they go up on their own.” He shrugged. “You know.”
“Hmph,” Daddy said, blowing clouds of pipe smoke into the air.
I looked across at Michael and knew, even though he had driven me mad all my life, that I loved him, and was scared for him. His long weekend was because the first weeks were the most dangerous for a new pilot. Someone told me, stressing I wasn’t to pass it on, that the casualty rate for newly qualified pilots was awful. One in four, one in five, were shot down within days. If you lasted a week your chances went up remarkably. If you lasted a month you might make it all the way. It was all down to experience. The newly qualified needed to be blooded, literally. Needed to learn what it was like, high up in the air, diving and ducking and jinking from the bullets.
“I’ll be fine,” Michael said. “I’m a damn good pilot.”
“I know you will be,” Daddy said. “Just make sure you keep those eyes in the back of your head peeled too, my lad.”
Michael laughed. “Will do, sir,” and snapped off a salute. He had changed out of uniform and wore a pressed blue shirt and dark blue slacks. He kept glancing at Georgia, and I knew he was looking at her cleavage. Georgia didn’t seem to mind, and a few times I saw her lean forward as though shifting position. Each time she did her dress opened and Michael’s eyes devoured the view presented especially for him.
“And what about you, Lil?” Daddy asked. “Where are you posted now?”
“I can’t tell you, Daddy,” I said.
“Oh. Hush hush, is it?”
“We’re not allowed to say, Mr Delamere,” Georgia said. “If we told you we’d have to kill you.” She smiled sweetly and Daddy laughed. Georgia was flirting outrageously with all the male members of my family, and doing it very well indeed.
We talked about other things: how the war was going, whether Hitler was going to invade this year, whether Churchill was going to make peace. We all thought that was a rotten idea, but knew some people who were happy to surrender Europe to the Nazis if it meant leaving England safe.
We talked about what life had been like before the war, and what it would be like afterward. None of us dreamed, as we talked in that living room, that we would still be fighting five years later, and how many more would die in the years between.
“And do you think your countrymen are going to join the war?” Daddy asked Georgia. I bit my lip, waiting for fireworks, but they didn’t come
“I think so, eventually.” Georgia’s voice was calm and determined. “But I wasn’t going to wait. We should have joined you al
ready. Some of us have.”
“Good for you,” Daddy said. “And we need your convoys. We can’t fight Hitler on our own.”
“They won’t beat us,” Michael said. “They’ll never beat us.”
Daddy nodded. “I hope you’re right, Michael. I hope you’re right.”
It was the end of July, the lull before the Battle of Britain. None of us knew then that August would bring a firestorm of bombing and fighters and fear to our cities and airfields.
We went upstairs to bed a little after half ten and I was nervous as a kitten, thinking back to what we had done in the bath, wondering if anything else might happen tonight. It remained light outside, double summer time had been introduced for the war effort. In June it remained light until almost midnight.
“I like your folks,” Georgia said, stretching her arms high above her head.
“Good,” I said. “I think they like you too. Particularly Mikey.” I started to unzip my dress, determined to be as casual and routine as possible.
Georgia laughed and reached for her own zip. “He certainly spent enough time looking down my dress, didn’t he?”
I laughed back, a little drunk from Daddy’s cider. “That’s your fault, Georgia. You kept leaning forward so he could get a good look.”
“He was so easy to tease, Lil, so easy. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Serve you right if tomorrow he follows you around like a lap dog with his tongue hanging out.”
“Are you worried about him?” Georgia said, her voice losing its laugh. She slipped her dress off and hung it up. I looked at her openly in her bra and panties and garter belt. I slipped my own dress off my shoulders and placed it on a hanger. We had not drawn the curtains and a soft evening light spilled into the room, painting Georgia’s pale skin with an amber glow.
“I try not to think about it,” I said.
“He’s pretty much in the front line, isn’t he? Or he will be soon.”
“I know. But I keep pretending it’s all a game. I can’t let myself think about what might happen to him, Georgia. I can’t.” My voice broke.