‘This is officially the worst day of my life.’ Charlotte paused and lifted her pale blue eyes from her diary. She looked around her room, Robert Smith staring down at her from every wall. She smiled slightly as the opening bars of ‘Fascination Street’ began to reverberate around the room.
Charlotte had not taken the news that her dad had got a new job well. She was pleased until she heard it involved uprooting her from her school, her friends and her life in Liverpool to go and live in some shithole called Strabane in Northern Ireland where her dad was going to be a senior technician in the local knicker factory.
All Charlotte really knew about Northern Ireland was from the nightly news. Both her mother and father were from Ireland and she had been over once or twice but all she could remember was a long drive to the ferry then hoards of cousins running around the fields near her Granny’s farm.
She knew that the Army was there, fighting the IRA, and that there were bombs going off and now she was going to have to live there.
'What the fuck are my parents thinking????’ She scribbled, the Bic biro digging into the paper as she hurriedly transferred her thoughts into her diary.
The summer of 1990; it was supposed to be a summer of fun with her best friend Katie before the stress of studying for her A-levels. Instead, she was being dragged to the ends of the earth. The only tiny upside that she could see was her new school was run by the Sisters of Mercy.
Charlotte closed her diary and slid it under a growing pile of NME magazines in the corner of her room. She chose her favourite long black lace skirt and pulled it over her black tights. She chose her Cure t-shirt with the Boys Don’t Cry single cover on it and, once her eyes were suitably coated in a heavy covering of black eyeliner, she laced up her Doc Martens and felt ready to face the world.
Half an hour later, she was sitting on the top of the climbing frame in the local park with Katie, smoking a Marlboro light and cursing her parents, again.
Katie looked almost identical to Charlotte, with her dyed black hair, eye makeup and purple lipstick. The only difference being that Katie was much more developed and loved to wear low cut black vest tops and lacy bras to show off her massive boobs. Charlotte always felt her breasts were tiny by comparison and prefered to keep them well covered under Band t-shirts and black woolly cardigans.
"So are you all set for the move then?" Katie asked neutrally while avoiding eye contact. The impending separation had not been mentioned since Charlotte had broken the news two weeks earlier.
"No! My hunger strike and civil disobedience protests have failed miserably." Charlotte sighed.
Her voice faltered as she threw her cigarette butt down onto the ground below.
"So, the Sisters of Mercy school. You really sure that's what the school is called? Do you reckon Andrew Eldridge is the Principal?” Katie grinned at the look of disgust on Charlotte's face.
“Come on,” Katie said, lowering herself to the ground. “Come back to mine. I've got a going away present for you.”
-----------------------
Charlotte stood in Katie's bedroom, thinking this would be the last time she saw her friend. They had told each other they would come and visit but both knew that was impossible.
Katie whispered "Charlotte" and as she turned to look, Katie leant in and kissed Charlotte on the lips. Her fingers snaked their way through her hair, holding her head in place as she pushed her tongue into Charlotte's stunned mouth. Charlotte stood frozen as her best friend kissed her.
Myriad emotions raced through Charlotte's head as her own mouth responded. Her lips moving in time with Katie's. The shock was quickly replaced by a deeper emotion swirling through her, she felt her panties dampen as she inhaled the scent of her friend.
Katie broke the kiss after what seemed an eternity and looked at Charlotte with a quizzical expression, waiting to gauge how her friend felt.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," Katie whispered.
"Why didn't you?" Charlotte responded, leaning in to kiss her again.
-------------------------
Charlotte’s recollections of what Katie did next were interrupted as her dad slowed the car to a stop. As she glanced out the window she saw they had been stopped by an Army patrol. She saw soldiers on both sides of the road kneeling against the hedgerows, one had his gun pointed straight at the car. Her father round down the window and in response to a demand for identification produced his driving licence.
“Is that normal?” Charlotte asked as her Dad drove on.
“Yes, it was just a routine checkpoint,” her father explained.
“Routine?’ thought Charlotte. “What kind of place are we going to?”
That night, as she lay in bed, her fingers drifted inside the elasticated waistband of her pyjama bottoms. Memories of Katie's bedroom flooded her head again.
Katie had kissed her again, her fingers slid down over her breasts as she looked into Charlotte's eyes. Charlotte blushed as she felt her nipples respond. As Charlotte remembered how Katie had teased her nipples before pushing her back onto her
bed, her fingers stroked the soft brown curls on her sex.
She felt her juices ooze out of her as she lay in the darkness, slowly sliding her middle finger along her slit. The memory of Katie sliding her fingers inside Charlotte's purple satin panties merged with Charlotte's own fingers as she spasmed on her bed. Her face buried in her pillow to drown out her muffled squeals as she came, hips bucking, on her hand.
The next morning allowed Charlotte the first chance to take in her surroundings. They had arrived in darkness and hadn't done much apart from making the beds and go to sleep.
Charlotte stared out her bedroom window. She watched the Army patrol move slowly down the street. The houses were identikit rabbit hutch style houses facing each other in little cul-de-sacs of five or six houses in each close. She watched the patrol move slowly along. One soldier always covering the back, walking backwards as others crouched in driveways and trained their guns at something. What that something was, Charlotte couldn't tell. She gave a little squeal as a soldier outside their house saw the curtain move and turned and trained his gun on her.
"I want to go home!” Charlotte announced as she strode into the kitchen.
“You are home,” her mother answered, pouring a cup of tea for her father.
“We need to go and get you your uniform. You begin school tomorrow.”
“What?” Charlotte squealed. “A uniform? I’m in sixth form, we don’t wear uniforms.”
“Well, you do here, young madam.” Her mother stood, staring at her.
“Christ, what a fucking country!” Charlotte turned on her heels and stomped back to her bedroom.
--------------
“Brown and yellow? Are you serious?”
You could cut the atmosphere in the School uniform outfitters with a knife. Charlotte read the list again.
“Girls will wear a brown v-necked jumper and yellow blouse with a brown skirt and white knee-high socks.”
She opened her mouth, then, seeing her mother’s face, quickly shut it again.
“What the fuck?” thought Charlotte. She could feel the tears threaten to break through and run down her face as she stared at her reflection in the shop mirror. “How I am ever going to get a boyfriend looking like this?”
She thought she’d it all planned out. She was intending to breeze into school wearing her best goth gear, check out the various groups and see where to hang out. Now, she was going to be surrounded by a mass of brown and yellow. She tapped her heels together three times as she closed her eyes. But when she opened them, she was still stuck in Strabane.
The next morning, came the final indignities. She stood at the bus stop at the edge of the estate, watching the other girls and boys congregate around her. Slowly it dawned on her. While all the girls were dressed in the same horrendous brown and yellow ensemble as she was, all the boys were wearing a black blazer, white shirt, red and black tie and black trousers. They were going to a different school!
The bus pulled up outside the school. Her fears were realised. The playground was a mass of girls and as all the girls stood up to get off, the boys sat there, obviously, the bus was going to their school next.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Charlotte muttered as she trundled down the steps. She read the sign above the gates.
The sisters of Mercy Convent Girls Grammar School.
There was even a nun patrolling the playground. “Where the fuck have I ended up?” Charlotte thought to herself as she headed inside to find her bearings and introduce herself. Her mum had spoken to the school and been assured she would fit in well.
Another nun looked at her over her round John Lennon style glasses as Charlotte stood at the glass-fronted hatch to the secretary’s office.
“Here is your timetable,” she mumbled.
“Emma McGuire! Come over here at once.” The nun hollered at a girl who looked the same age as Charlotte as she sauntered past.
“Yes, Sister,” the girl replied, giving Charlotte the once over.
Charlotte looked back, trying to smile as the nun explained that Charlotte was the new girl and as she was in the same form class as Emma, she was to show her around.
Emma smiled at Charlotte, “Welcome to Hell.”
The classes were okay. Thankfully she had been taking Art, French and Physics back in Liverpool and the curriculums were pretty much identical, the laws of physics had fortunately not changed on the trip to Strabane.
As she sat in the art rooms at lunchtime, Emma and her friend Deirdre interrogated her. Within twenty minutes they had found out she was an only child, she was from Liverpool but her parents were both Irish. She’d never been to Strabane before, or even Northern Ireland.
Both girls seemed to be feigning interest and it was only when she casually mentioned how she’d seen The Cure playing on the Disintegration tour a few weeks before that their expressions changed and the talk moved quickly from Liverpool and her Dad’s job at the knicker factory to a discussion of all things goth related. Though they were quick to tell her that around here, people who liked bands like the Cure or the Jesus and Mary Chain were known as Fraggles.
Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief as she realised she had found her tribe. Over lunch and throughout the afternoon Art class, Charlotte found out which pubs to drink in (none), which clubs to go to (all in Derry, a 30 minute drive away) and who was who on the fraggle scene.
It was soon apparent that Strabane was a shithole. Most deprived part of the entire UK apparently, with the highest unemployment and with a very active terrorist scene. To highlight her point, Emma turned and pointed to the three white crosses in the field overlooking the school.
“That’s where three IRA men were ambushed by the SAS two weeks ago. They were apparently on their way to ambush the Brits but some tout grassed them up.”
Charlotte could only follow half of what Emma was saying, desperately wishing there was a Strabane - English dictionary somewhere to get some semblance out of her conversation, all delivered at ninety miles an hour. But, by the end of the afternoon, she was pretty sure they had agreed that she would come round to Emma’s on Saturday and they’d get dressed up and head to Derry.
Emma’s older sister, Fiona would drive them there and bring them home again afterwards. Fiona was 19 and had her own car. She was doing a Foundation Art course in Belfast and had applied to go to Art College in London.
--------------
Saturday seemed to take forever to arrive, but finally, the school week was over. She had stopped being an object of curiosity pretty quickly. She was relieved to discover being English wasn’t that big a deal as long as she made sure everyone knew that both parents were Irish, and it was really just an accident of birth. She was grateful she wasn’t being seen as the symbol of eight hundred years of oppression but seeing ‘BRITS OUT’ written on the sides of buildings didn’t fill her with joy. She generally kept her mouth shut and tried to speak as little as possible.
She remembered Katie’s older brother, Clive. How he’d come home on leave in his camouflage uniform and be such a cool big brother to Katie. The idea that the people she was now going to school with and living beside were trying to kill him confused her utterly.
“So where are we going, anyway?” Charlotte asked as she sat in Emma’s bedroom, trying not to breathe while Emma liberally applied yet more hairspray to her dyed black hair. She was backcombing it to within an inch of its life in an attempt to make it stand up higher.
“There’s this place called the Union Hall. It’s where all the alternatives hang out. It has local bands playing and there’s a bar and pretty much all the fraggles in Derry will be there.”
“Sounds good,” Charlotte started to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door. The door opened and Charlotte gasped as she saw the girl who entered. She looked amazing. It was like Patricia Morrison from the Sisters of Mercy had walked into the room. Her brunette hair was swept back and backcombed, her eye make-up was heavy kohl sweeps and her lipstick was a dark purple. She was wearing a purple velvet frock coat and a black lace dress and 14-hole DM boots.
Charlotte fell in love immediately.
“All right Emma, are we ready to go?” She turned and smiled at Charlotte. “Hi, I’m Fiona, I’ll be your driver this evening.”
As Fiona drove Charlotte, Emma and Deirdre to Derry, Charlotte sat in the back seat and stared at Fiona the whole trip. Her mind was a jumble of emotions; memories of Katie back in Liverpool swirled around with images of Fiona’s face. She watched as her lips pursed around the cigarette as she smoked, driving one-handed. She kept up a constant commentary on who was who in the Derry music scene... why Flatfoot Squat had split up, how The Turtle Assassins got their name and how The Bitch Vipers were going to be on the TV next week.
Fiona seemed to know everybody too. Emma half turned round in her seat to join in, adding snippets of gossip about who had kissed who and who did what. Charlotte decided it was probably best not mentioning Katie. She got the feeling it mightn’t go down too well. She tried to be careful and not stare at Fiona too long, hard though that was.
Fiona pulled up outside the off licence and turned round. “So, what does everyone want? Cider?”
Without waiting for a reply, she got out and strode inside. She returned a few minutes later with three bottles of Merrydown cider which she handed to Emma and drove down a couple of side streets before parking her car under the shadow of the city’s battlements.
“Right, let’s go see who is on the walls then,” Emma announced, handing a bottle of cider to Charlotte and Deirdre.
“I’ll see you after, Emma.” Fiona announced as she headed in the direction of one of the bars dotted along the street.
“Come on, let’s go up the walls,” Deirdre urged and Charlotte followed as they climbed the steps onto the 17th century battlements. The ramparts were jammed full of teenagers, bottles and cans in blue plastic bags surrounding them. It was like a giant street party.
“What is this?” Charlotte whispered.
“This is where everyone goes to drink their carry outs before heading to the clubs or gigs. We each have our own area. The rockers are over there, the indie kids usually drink down that end and we meet up on this stretch.”
Deirdre introduced Charlotte to the group as they settled down to drink their cider before going to the gig. Charlotte studied them as she opened the bottle, trying to gauge how fast everyone else was drinking theirs. Everyone seemed friendly and she was content to just observe, keeeping quiet, conscious of her English accent, just letting everything wash over her. She watched, trying to work out who was going with who, though given the amount of kissing and subtle groping going on around them, that wasn’t too difficult.
Suddenly Emma stood up, holding her finger up and looked like she was about to say something but promptly fell down again. Charlotte realised she was drunk as Emma giggled,
“Deirdre down, Emma down, Merrydown.”
Charlotte didn’t feel too sober herself as the gang seemed to descend en masse from the battlements down onto the narrow side streets inside the old part of the city. They went through a battered blue door and climbed a narrow staircase wallpapered with band flyers and posters and, after paying the 50p entrance fee, entered into a large room with a stage at the far end.
The smell was the first thing she noticed; patchouli oil, cigarette smoke and damp hung in the air as groups of people hugged, chatted and dumped coats against the wall. The band were already on stage, tuning up.
“That’s Wild Honey Pie,” Emma shouted in Charlotte’s ear. “They’re good, do loads of their own songs as well as punk versions of 60s songs.”
At that moment, the drummer clicked his sticks together four times and the noise blasted out of the speakers. The crowd, who up until then had been posing around the edges of the hall rushed into the middle of the room and began dancing energetically as Charlotte stared, listening to the noise. Slowly it dawned on her that the band on stage were playing the Johnny Cash song, ‘Ring of fire.’
As it burned, burned, burned, Charlotte watched the hordes of teenagers throw themselves around the room. She noticed one guy, his hair like a birds nest, jumping from one leg to the other and back again. He mightn’t win any awards for dancing but god he was cute. He had high cheekbones, a cute little nose and smooth flawless skin. He turned and saw her looking at him and smiled. Then he disappeared from view as the stage lights flashed and the dry ice began to pump out from under the stage.
With the last bars of the song fading away, she noticed him walk towards the bar which was in a side room. She shook the almost empty plastic pint glass she was holding and knocked back the dregs and followed him in.
She stood back from the bar and watched him for a few seconds. He was definitely cute. He paid for the drink and turned round, almost bumping into Charlotte.
“Woah,” he cried out, stepping back and trying not to spill the pint of cider all over her. “Sorry about that,” he grinned. running his eyes over her and noticing the Cure Disintegration tour t-shirt she was wearing.
“Cool t-shirt. I haven’t seen that on sale yet.”
Charlotte smiled, thanking the goth gods as she smiled and told him how she had got it when she saw them play a few weeks ago.
From there, the conversation flowed. He stood close beside her, talking away as she ordered her pint. The barman paused for a second, as if he was about to ask for i.d. before glancing at the boy, shrugging and taking her money.
“I’m Conor, by the way.” He offered, “But people call me Dortz,” before taking a large swig of his drink.
“Charlotte,” she grinned.
He paused, as if thinking before asking “And are you dreaming, where all the other people dance?” as he nodded towards the door and the stage beyond. The sound of Aretha Franklin’s Respect being butchered booming through the wall.
Charlotte smiled, recognising the lyrics and impressed he had managed to find an apt response so quickly. She had noticed earlier he was wearing a Jesus and Mary Chain t-shirt and so, she bit her bottom lip as she smiled at him, running her eyes slowly, almost provocatively over his body before raising her eyes to his and asking, “And what are you hoping to get a taste of tonight?”
He spluttered into his pint, almost choking and Charlotte worried for a second he was going to collapse on her before he put the pint down on the bar and grinned.
“Oh, you are too cute. So how come I haven’t seen you here before?”
Over the next hour or so, they just stood and talked. It was as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. Deirdre and Emma floated in and out but Charlotte barely registered they were there.
Dortz, as he insisted on being called, “Only me Ma calls me Conor,” seemed to just draw her in. She felt herself getting closer and closer to him, her knee was pressed against his leg as they leaned against the wall, their pints resting on a small rickety shelf screwed haphazardly to the wall at a wonky angle. Every time she put the glass back, the shelf gave a little wobble.
Just as she was summoning up the courage to lean in and kiss him, all the lights came on. She realised the music had stopped and the night was over. She looked at Dortz and leant in, her lips puckered as she kissed him clumsily on the mouth. He wasn’t expecting it and she didn’t get him straight on, she moved her head, pushing herself against him. He responded immediately.
His arms wrapped around her, holding her to him as he moved his mouth in rhythm with hers. Lips squashing against each other, tasting the cider they had both been drinking as their tongues swirled, entwined together.
As they kissed, she realised she was still holding her pint glass, the cider swilling out of it, dribbling down over Dortz’s leather jacket as they held each other and kissed.
“Oi you two, stop snogging.”
She felt a hand on her shoulder and reluctantly broke the kiss as Deirdre and Emma stood behind her, holding her coat and signalling that they would have to go. Dortz was still holding her hand, quite when he had taken her hand in his, Charlotte couldn’t remember but she was reluctant to let go.
They walked down the stairs together, hand in hand. Outside, everyone was milling around, refusing to admit the night was almost over. She watched couples walking off hand-in-hand in various directions and leaned in against Dortz as she held his hand and he stroked her back.
“Do you have to go home straight away?” he whispered in her ear.
She looked around at Deirdre and Emma and smiled as she turned back to him.
“No, not for a few minutes.”
He took her hand and led her round the corner to a narrow alleyway. They stepped inside and he gently pushed her against the wall, bending his head to kiss her again. He wrapped his arms around her, one in her hair, the other on her hip. His kisses were more insistent this time and Charlotte felt the familiar feeling inside her that she got back home when she kissed a boy.
She felt his cock grow. As they kissed, he ground against her. His cock pressing into her thigh as they kissed. His hands started to move over her. His hand sliding along the waistband of her skirt. Fingers snaking under the layers of clothing to touch her skin. She felt her stomach leap as his fingers skimmed her pantie line. She opened her mouth to allow his tongue to slide inside. They moved heads and mouths as their tongues fought for supremacy.
Her own hands slid over him, pushing inside his leather jacket, feeling the weight of it as her hands gripped his waist, pulling him into her. His cock felt so big. It was as if he had something stuffed into his pocket, it felt big, long and hard. Her fingers moved to the button of his jeans, popping it open with practiced ease. She both heard and felt the sharp intake of breath as her fingers slipped inside his jeans.
He stiffened, his fingers gripping her tighter, not daring to let go of her as she slowly stroked her fingers over the bulge in his boxer shorts.
“Fuckkkkkk,” he hissed into her mouth as her fingers slipped down inside the elasticated waist of his boxers. She felt the soft curls of his pubic hair and the throbbing tip of his cock. He was wet, a layer of pre-cum coated the head of his cock as she pulled his foreskin back.
“Ohhh fuckkk,” he hissed again. His voice rising a little in pitch as he pressed his mouth to Charlottes in an attempt to stifle the noises he was making. Her fingers stroked his cock, smearing the pre-cum over and around the head as she kept her hand thrust into his boxer shorts.
She slid her hand down the shaft, her fingers curling to grip his balls. They felt heavy and full. Charlotte had the urge to drop to her knees and suck him but she knew that was a bad idea with so many people nearby. It wasn’t like she was a virgin. That had been lost a long time ago on a piece of waste ground near the Crawley Estate back in Liverpool following a bottle of cider.
However, she knew she had a chance of a fresh start, no need to be labelled a slut here too. She still bristled about when she found out she had been referred to as ‘T-square’. So, instead, she gave his balls a firm squeeze, rubbing his cock with her wrist at the same time.
His little stangled whimpers and moans signalled he was close. She felt his knees buckling, legs shaking as he tried to hold on. She slid her hand back up from his balls to squeeze and rub the head, pulling the foreskin up and down, gripping his cock as he sucked her tongue into his mouth.
Little grunts accompanied every squirt of his cock. She felt his hot cum spunking out of him. It splashed on her hand and on the insides of his boxers. She kept a firm grip on his cock until it stopped spurting and then, as she broke the kiss, she extracted her dripping hand from his jeans.
He had a kind of lost puppy expression on his face as Charlotte raised her hand and wiped it on his t-shirt before sucking the remains from her hand.
“Mmmmmm, I wonder if that is one of my five-a-day,” she giggled as she kissed him a peck on the mouth to let him taste himself on her lips.
“I better go,” she informed him. “They will be looking for me.”
As if on cue, Deirdre and Emma began shouting for her. Calling out and telling her that if she wasn’t back now, she’d miss her lift home.
“Can I see you again?” Dortz pleaded, hand holding onto her wrist.
She turned and smiled. “I’m sure you will. I’ll hopefully be back next week.”
She gave her fingers one last lick clean as she exited the alleyway.
“Where the fuck have you been? Fiona is saying she’s going home without us if we are not ready to go in like five minutes ago.”
“Sorry Emma, I lost track of time,” Charlotte offered by way of apology.
“Fucking slag” Deirdre muttered under her breath.
Charlotte bristled and was about to say something when they turned the corner and saw Fiona standing beside her car. She was talking to another girl dressed in leather jacket, short skirt and fishnets. As they approached Fiona leaned in and kissed the girl before saying goodnight.
Charlotte’s stomach did somersaults all over again. Not only was Fiona gorgeous but she had just kissed a girl too.
“Sorry we’re late, Charlotte was too busy eating the face off some fella,” Emma explained when they got to the car.
Charlotte blushed and mumbled an apology as she crawled into the back seat.
“Thanks Emma,” she thought. “Blow my cred instantly.”
The drive home allowed Charlotte the time to try and get her head together. There were so many emotions running through her. Fiona and Dortz were both competing for head space. She could still smell him on her fingers as she nibbled absentmindedly on a nail. The lights whizzing past as Fiona drove back into Strabane.
“Stop the car, Fi… I’m gonna throw up!”
Fiona slammed on the brakes, turning round to order her sister out of the car.
“Get the fuck out of the car. If you throw up in here, I will kill you.”
Emma threw open the door and staggered out, holding onto a lamppost for support as she spewed up onto the grass verge. The cider and several snakebite and blacks splashed in a purple arc against the lamppost, grass and her Doc Martens.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Deirdre. I can’t take her home like that. Mammy will kill her, and me.” Fiona fumed as she sat in the driver’s seat, drumming her black painted nails on the steering wheel.
“You’ll have to walk her back to your house, Deirdre.” Fiona ordered. “I’ll take Charlotte home so she isn’t home too late and her mother doesn’t ground her. You get Emma cleaned up.”
She was about to drive off when she stopped and turned to Charlotte. "You should come up front, I’m not a taxi you know,” Fiona giggled as Charlotte clambered into the front seat and plonked herself down.
Charlotte watched Fiona as she drove. One hand on the wheel as the other moved between cigarette, gear stick and cassette deck. Finally, she found the tape she was looking for and they drove along to the sound of Bauhaus blasting out ‘The Sanity Assassin’ allowing Charlotte plenty of time to study her.
Her face was beautiful with piercing green eyes. Charlotte was beginning to fantasise about what it must be like to kiss her purple lipsticked lips when Fiona glanced at her.
“That girl back at the car..” Fiona began, “It’s not what you think.”
Charlotte turned in her seat. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” She smiled at her. “It’s not like I’m gonna jump up screaming ‘oh my god, I’m trapped in a car with a lesbian’ or tell my Ma that I saw you kissing a girl.”
Fiona’s cheeks flushed. “Wouldn’t you?”
Charlotte took a deep breath before confessing, “I’ve kissed a girl too.”
Fiona turned to look at her as she turned the car into a side road and pulled up. She unfastened her seatbelt and turned to face Charlotte properly.
“Who was the girl?” Charlotte asked in a whisper.
“She’s not my girlfriend, if that what you were wondering. Was this girl back in Liverpool? Was she your girlfriend?”
Charlotte glanced down at her hands then back up to stare into Fiona’s eyes.
“No, my best friend. She had fancied me of ages but was scared to make a move and then the night before we left, she kissed me in her bedroom.”
“Just kissed?” Fiona’s question was whispered into the night.
Charlotte blushed again. Her cheeks felt on fire. She knew Fiona could see the blush rising up her neck and over her face.
“No,” she managed to croak.
“What else?” Fiona leant in closer, her fingers, the long fingernails with the black nail polish pressed onto Charlotte’s thigh.
“She.. um.. She pulled my knickers down and fingered me.”
Charlotte’s confession tumbled out as her face blushed as red as Fiona’s Vauxhall Nova.
Fiona moved closer to Charlotte, one hand still on her thigh, the other reached up to stroke her hair.
“Did she do anything else?”
Charlotte could smell Fiona’s fragrance, Poison, as she leant closer still. Fiona’s eyes bore into her and Charlotte had the intense urge to confess everything, to please her, to show Fiona she wasn’t some inexperienced seventeen-year old.
“She licked me th...” but the rest of her sentence was cut off as Fiona pressed her mouth to Charlotte’s lips.
Charlotte was in Heaven. Fiona kissed her expertly. Tongue tracing lips before pushing it into Charlotte’s eagar waiting mouth. Fiona tasted of lipstick and Marlboro and Charlotte closed her eyes and sighed as she felt the older girl grip her hair and press her face to hers.
Fiona’s other hand was sliding over Charlotte’s dress. She squeezed her thigh as her fingers gripped and pulled the cotton fabric of her dress, pulling it up, exposing the bare leg underneath.
When Fiona’s fingers stroked her inner thigh, Charlotte flinched before settling back into Fiona’s arms. She kept kissing her as Fiona’s fingers headed northwards, brushing her fingers over her green satin knickers. Charlotte blushed, knowing Fiona could feel her dampness oozing into them, but signalled what she wanted by opening her legs wider for her.
Fiona’s fingers twisted through the knickers, pulling the damp material away from Charlotte’s dripping pussy and allowing her to slide a fingertip along lips already slick with her wetness.
Fingers brushed her soft little downy triangle of brown curls and Charlotte moaned more loudly into Fiona’s mouth.
She was so wet, she couldn’t control it. It was as if Fiona was turning on a tap as her fingertips circled her clit. Lips were spread open as a black painted fingernail followed the swirls of her labia, smearing her juices over her clit.
Charlotte’s hips were bouncing off the car seat as Fiona slowly pushed a finger inside her. Her breathing was ragged now, panting as Fiona bent her head to kiss along her pale neck. Charlotte’s head was thrown back, eyes closed, whimpering as Fiona kissed her neck and twisted her finger inside her wet velvet walls. Charlotte felt her walls clenching, trying to grip the finger as the knuckles rubbed her insides. The tip of the finger tracing the sensitive pad as she felt it curl inside.
She could hear it squelch as the finger was pushed in and out of her. Fiona’s thumb was rubbing over her clit, strumming it like a guitar, each stroke sending a fresh impulse shooting into her core. She sucked in her breath as she felt Fiona’s lips on her neck.
“Oh fucking hell, Fiona,” Charlotte gasped.
Fiona’s response was to suck harder on her neck, strum faster on her clit and push her finger deeper, harder, faster into her.
Charlotte arched her back, trying to writhe and wriggle on the seat but was pinned into it by the older girl. Her moans turned into little bird like cries as it built… and built… and built.
“Urrrrrrrgggggggaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh,” she groaned as her pussy spasmed, jerking, bucking, her juices flowing out and soaking Fiona’s hand and her car seat.
She bucked and jerked like a marionette as Fiona played her, continuing to push her finger in and out of her until she felt the spasms slow and decrease in intensity.
Charlotte slumped back on the seat as Fiona slowly, tenderly slide her finger out of her. The sodden knickers back in place, cupping her as Fiona sucked her finger clean. She leant in and kissed Charlotte a long slow languid kiss, letting the younger girl taste herself as she stroked her hair before sliding back over onto her side of the car.
“Right, we’d better get you home, young lady,” Fiona giggled. “Before your mother kills me for keeping you out too late.”
Charlotte just sat there, her mind a jumble of possibilities. Strabane mightn’t be that bad after all, she thought.
