Hi there girls and boys, I hope you’re well.
Ellie has asked me if she could write something for the blog, and so this is her post. She isn’t as used to writing as I am, not being one for a diary, so I’ve written up her notes and we’ve gone back and forth for a few weeks to make sure it is what she wanted to write and in the style she wants it to appear. Enjoy.
Warning. If you thought my take on a kiss was sugary sweet….
Hello everyone, I’m Ellie. Just a few words on the five times a kiss with Anna has meant so much to me.
As you know, Anna and I met when we were 11, at school. We were in different dorms, but played together a lot. In our second week we were in the same class, being taught about how different people and nations greet each other. We were encouraged to greet classmates with these different forms, handshakes, bowing, nose rubbing and the like. The latter one became our way of saying hi to each other and we still do it every time we meet. We were sitting next to each other in the class. You know when you can remember something so vividly that it seems as if it’s on a big screen, 4k, Dolby sound? That’s how I remember that moment, the sun was coming through the window blinds, making Anna’s hair almost glow, then we gently rubbed noses whilst giggling. I felt a tiny little jump in my tummy, like somebody had placed a hand there, as well as a huge urge to give this girl a hug, and her smile after we rubbed noses was just so wonderful.
Along with Abby we became firm friends, sitting together at lunch or the evening meal, in church, assembly, and exploring nearby Newcastle together at the weekends.
The second Christmas term when cards were being exchanged, Anna gave shop bought cards to everyone, but Abby and I received handmade versions. I don’t know if you’re aware but she is a very hands-on craft-y person, she can make a beautiful card from next to nothing. These days she has a fancy machine to print out shapes, but she still does most of it by hand, cutting out a pattern with tiny scissors. Back then it was all hand done, a snowy castle, my name, it’s wonderful and I have it laminated, and keep it in my memory box. I gave her a hug and a peck on the lips..wow, what was that? There again was that feeling. (Anna’s edit. It may have been the school rice pudding). I took the card home at the end of term, my mum asking who was the clever girl that had made it, my eager response being the first of millions of times I must have mentioned Anna’s name to her over the years. She was to become very familiar with the blonde with the piercing blue eyes that used to look at her as if in a dream over the months and years to come. Nowadays mum knows about Anna’s crush on her, but I suspect not the extent of that crush.
It was the next summer that Anna saved my life. (Anna’s edit. Oh shush, I just got in the way). I was in Blyth, at home, when she called to say she was on the way and we’d meet at the bus station. I went out wearing earphones, the type that block out all other sound. Unknown to me she’d already arrived and was on the other side of the street, when she saw a bus on the pavement behind me which was obviously out of control. All I knew was a person rugby tackling me from the side then a big yellow vehicle miss me by five centimetres. The bus careered on down the path and hit a wall, the driver having been taken ill, a minor heart attack it turned out. He was ok afterwards as were the passengers, but each of then said I was a dead girl if Anna hadn’t have seen what was about to happen and run across the road, pushing me out of the path of the bus. I’ve had permission to tell you that this was how she lost her finger, it being ripped off by a fence as she landed with me in her arms. How a girl of 13 could get over the loss of a finger so quickly, when image at that age is everything, I’ll never know. I think my parents were more upset about it over the coming months than Anna was.
We used to have a lot of sleepovers at each others houses, all the girls did. There were usually three or four giggling 13 and 14 year old girls at each, and no doubt the adults were heartily sick of these by the end of a term. My own mum and dad didn’t mind and were always welcoming to Anna. She was and still is the most polite guest, refusing to call them by their first names, it was always Mr and Mrs Stevens. Think of an attractive Perry from Harry Enfield. Nowadays she uses their names and hopefully one day it will be mam and dad, or mum and dad as she will tell you, with her voice being “aall posh like”. Unlike her, I don’t have the posh accent, I’m a Blyth girl and have the Northumbrian twang, unfortunately. (Anna’s edit. Don’t listen to her, it’s a lovely accent..mine, not hers…) Perhaps the best house to sleep at was Abby’s. Her house was huge, old, had loads of spaces in which to play sardines, proper fires in massive fireplaces, a snooker table, tennis court, and she had a maid! Her mother, never mum or mam, would ask me to speak slower, my accent being too much for her to understand, with her dad singing “When the boat comes in”, every time I went there. He still does, and I join in. They gave me a bracelet for my 21st birthday, and on it are the words, “Thou shalt have a bloater”, as the way I pronounce it always tickles them. I’ll leave it to Anna to place a link here.
Two. The Sleepover.
When there were more than one girl sleeping at my, far more modest, house, sleeping bags were brought and everyone used the carpeted floor to sleep on. However when there was just an extra girl, my dad would bring out the airbed, an inflatable horror which creaked like anything when you moved even slightly on it. So I was in my bed, with Anna on this horribly noisy thing. When I suggested she share my bed, she was in it before I’d finished the sentence. We lay facing each other, whispering and giggling like only 14 year olds can do, our heads inches apart. Ever since that time with the card, I’d wanted to hug this girl tight. I didn’t know what it was. We’d hugged of course, but this was in my bed. I was aware of my growing attraction to girls. We’d discussed boys obviously, but I’d no interest apart from Newcastle player Laurent Robert, who I thought was ok, and had a shirt with his name on it. For anyone outside of the UK that thinks that girls wearing football shirts isn’t right..visit! Actual boys our age though, no, none of them had any manners. Girls bodies were far more interesting.
Anna had outlined the stuff that went on in her dorm and one day I’ll get her to write the story of that in detail, but in my dorm, at both the other end of the school and it seemed the other end of the sexual scale, we had nothing like that. Yes a couple of girls masturbated openly or quietly, but there was none of the stuff we heard rumours about. My own touching had produced lovely feelings yet none of the explosive reactions I’d seen and heard other girls have. She and I never discussed each other masturbating and as far as I can recall didn’t until 16, (Anna’s edit. Correct), although she told lurid tales of others. I’d had thoughts about Anna and Abby and a few others at school, and seeing both girls in the showers through the curtains had done nothing to persuade me that boys were better. Still, being more religious than Anna, I always looked away, it was wrong, I’d be going to Hell. These days I don’t believe, well, I don’t go to church, maybe I still believe. Father Dave is a great friend, and very persuasive, and I can feel the tug at my conscience whenever he asks about attending.
So here was my friend, in my bed, hands, legs all touching. I inched forward and gently rubbed her nose with mine. More giggles. I could feel her breasts against mine through our pj’s, her breath on my lips, oh my heart! Then she said that my mum was very pretty, something that today I tease her about, but also love to whisper in her ear during sexy times. Leverage can be wonderful! (Anna’s edit. Easy tiger). “What, are you a lezza or something?”, I said, lezza being the local term for people that we that knew nothing about, the types that didn’t like boys. “No, just she looks pretty”..more giggles. As we both slowly drifted off towards sleep, I leaned in and kissed her lips, for about two seconds. I had no thought process, no plan to do it, it just happened. Her eyes opened as I did so, then she pulled away. “I’M the lezza?” she whispered, then turned over. Oh no, what have I done? Now my best friend isn’t going to want to talk to me. But then she snuggled backwards into me, pulling my hand over and placing it on her tummy. We slept, and when I woke up we were in the same position. Well, not quite the same. My hand had moved from her tummy to her boob. She was wearing silky pj’s, and, as confirmed by the peeks I took when she was changing into them, no bra. My hand was resting on my friends boob, albeit through her top. My heart began to race again. How had it got there, what will she think of me, how can I move it without her noticing? Still, it did feel nice, the first one I had touched other than my own, and slightly bigger. Today hers are absolutely wonderful, mine being smaller but ok.. (Anna’s edit. Safe to say we are luckily both in the boob premier league, baby.)
I don’t know whether the mad beating of my heart awoke her, but she came around, stretched, and gently moved my hand, but to her thigh. Talk about frying pan and fire! I could feel the curve of her thigh, the waistband of her panties. “Lezza Stevens”, she mumbled, as we drifted off again. When we awoke again dad was calling us for breakfast, and as she got out of bed I let my hand fall from her thigh to her bum, then to the bed. She said nothing but wiggled her bum at me, flashing a dazzling smile over her shoulder. That was the day she has said we walked on the beach hand in hand with her feeling so good and not knowing why.
The months passed. No more kisses had occurred, but our friendship was escalating. We were never more than a day without seeing each other. Our kisses goodbye were on the cheeks or more occasionally on the forehead and nose, something else we still do. Our hugs were tighter, me loving the feeling of her body against mine, and Anna today tells me it was the same for her, but not in a sexual way. Me though..it definitely was beginning to be. My parents tell me they knew I liked Anna in more than “just friends” way, but waited for me to tell them I was gay when I was 16, to give them credit. Both are happy with it, although mum has a hard time explaining this to some of her family in India. My three aunties especially are always on the phone, asking when I’ll be meeting a nice boy and that they could easily arrange it. I love them all but please.
Mam and Dad always liked her. I would have had a sister but mum miscarried, so they look at Anna as another daughter they would have had. They allowed us to sleep in the same bed but only after mum came to accept that it was only sleeping. Dad always thought it was great to have another girl about the house, and now proudly tells anyone who will listen that his daughter has a girlfriend, and has a rainbow heart sticker on his car. As of today, he hasn’t painted his fence with a rainbow, but there’s time. He was never this stand-offish though.. Linky, petal..
We had slept together in the non-sexual way more than a few times by now. Each occasion was a sleepover, sometimes at my house, sometimes at Anna’s foster parents. Each time was torture for me, feeling her body cuddled into mine, her scent. Did you know she has a natural sort of flowery scent? We would spoon like this, changing positions so the other was in front, hair would be stroked, shoulders and backs massaged with pj tops lowered to ease passage. We had stopped wearing a bra to bed, both of us peeking down pj tops when we thought the other wasn’t looking. Hands were rested on thighs and stomachs, and occasionally one would find a boob in the way, accidentally, and it would be slowly and gently removed, always my hand but never a remark from her. One night I just had to touch myself, I couldn’t contain it any longer, but found that it was impossible to do do without Anna knowing. She tells me that of course she knew what I was doing, but that I was her best friend, not a mad lesbian who was about to molest her, for god’s sake! She just took my slightly wet hand and slid it between her lower thighs at the hem of her shorts, told me to stop “fidgeting”, and went to sleep. It’s the trust I found so appealing. No sleep arrived for me, just a warmth in knowing she knew she could do that and trust that I wouldn’t slide it upwards..which I did eventually and had reached her panties, but then quickly slid it back down, not wanting to upset her.
Next morning my hand was still there, and when I went to move it, she asked me to put it back, it feels nice. We lay like that for a while then she turned over, placing my hand there again, telling me that she could get used to this. We got up, had a shower, separately of course, mam and dad weren’t that ok with us, mine spent having another few minutes of trying to reach that peak of passion that I knew Anna was been experiencing for a year. I didn’t but for the rest of the day was a smiling, happy girl.
We’ll explore more next time, in part two. I’m not going to be revealing any actual sexy details, in case you’re waiting for some!
As my gorgeous girl would say, thanks for reading, and please leave a comment.