First Dates are Kissing Dates 1 and 2

Murmuring with Starlings

By Frances Penwiddy

Copyright © Frances Penwiddy 2016

Murmuring With Starlings will be published as an eBook on Amazon Kindle over the next few days but once it is published I might have to restrict the chapters reproduced here or I’ll upset Amazon not to mention losing the millions I expect to make on royalties, film rights and television soaps, serials and nail biting dramas.
I mention this because if you are unable to buy E books you might prefer not to start reading these chapters for fear of being cut-off in your prime. Amazon Kindle Ebooks supply an App free of charge so that you can read the books. Get the AP by clicking on the right hand column of Top Closet’s Home Page
I am also going to produce it as a paperback and if this proves successful, I will do the same with the volumes of Vesta’s Hearth and Footprints in the Sea.

1

John: I’ve enjoyed our chats and would love to meet you. Is there any chance you would agree to having dinner with me?

Emma: Yes, thank you for asking me. I like what I have learned about you on the chat site and our tastes in music, art and literature are similar. I would love a meeting but if I do agree to a date, I would ask you to respect a rule I never break. Fist dates are kissing dates, nothing more, no nakedness, no physical sex other than kissing and caressing. I’m not being prudish, I just like to meet and get to know a man before I go to bed with him.

John: I understand that but would that mean that having met and found you still liked me, you would consider taking things a little beyond kissing on a subsequent date? What I’m trying to say is, should our first physical meeting develop into something more, a long term relationship, would you be prepared to… I don’t know how to put this without sounding like I’m trying to undress you before we even meet…

Emma: Shall I make it easier? I consider sexual intimacy with a man as an extension to a relationship rather than the object of it. As I explained when we had our first chat, I am transgendered because that is who I am, a female. I dress as one because I need to express myself, not because I want the first man I meet to undress me and take me to bed nor do I fantasise about his doing so. I need more than sex in my life, I’m old fashioned, I need companionship and romance. That’s why I never date married men because I suspect that in most cases, they simply want intercourse because sex with their wives is unsatisfactory or their marriage is breaking up and I would never like to be thought of as the catalyst in the break-up of a relationship.

John: Your meeting protocols match your choice of clothing, you really are a Fifties girl, well that is the impression I have from our chats.

Emma: I think you may be right, I need to be wooed by a man before I invite him into my body and I need to know that once he’s made love to me physically, he won’t just roll over and go to sleep or get dressed and go home.

John: You make it sound more exciting. I like the idea of treating a girl as a girl and not a prostitute. Having to compete for her love, make her feel like the best thing in my life, yes I like the idea, it’s a sort of challenge; can I make you fall in love with me enough to lay beside me in a bed, kiss me, allow me to caress you and hold you close to me until we both know it’s the right time for us to seal our relationship. I want us to meet, I think I am already in love just from the one or two pictures you sent me and the things we have talked about on-line?

Emma: Yes, let’s meet on neutral territory for the first date but where?

John: Somewhere where we can have a quiet conversation and get to know each other. I have a place in mind so if it’s okay, I’ll pick you up in a taxi. Where should I meet you?”

Emma: Do you know the war memorial outside the old town hall?

John: Yes. What time?

Emma: Seven, would be nice, the day after tomorrow and it will take me seven or eight minutes to walk there, so will you message me when you’re ten minutes away?

John: I’ll do that, will you leave the choice of restaurant to me. The one I have in mind is about ten or fifteen minutes from where we’re meeting. It’s in the centre of town so I won’t make you nervous by taking you out into the country to a lonely roadhouse.

Emma: That’s considerate. Is it somewhere where I will need to dress up?

John: No, dress however you wish, formal or smart casual but as a favour to me, might I ask you to make it as close to your Fifties look as you can.

Emma: Okay, are you coming as a Teddy Boy?

John: Lol. No, just a suit, I haven’t the courage to wear a scarlet draped jacket with a black velvet collar and certainly not a DA haircut. I’ll see you at seven the evening after next. Bye for now, I’ll be playing ‘Dreamboats and Petticoats’ before I go to bed.”

I left the chat room and sat thinking, my fingers tapping gently on the desk. We had been chatting for some weeks and I seemed to have found a nice man at last, or was he too good to be true? We were meeting on neutral ground and were going to a restaurant in town so there was little risk attached but I reached for the telephone and dialled Samantha’s number, gave her the details and took note of her advice to copy his rendezvous message to her so she could retrieve the phone number and advised me to reject any messages I received that signalled ‘number withheld’.

2

I stood in front of the mirror and looked closely at myself starting at the hair, light brown with soft curls and a fringe that ended an inch above my brows, eye makeup in soft grey and light blue to accent my eyes and an eyeliner and mascara to give them a slight almond shape. My foundation and powder were just right and the blusher applied just heavily enough to highlight my cheekbones.

I pursed my lips and then relaxed them, a soft red with a darker line tracing their shape, the face that looked back at me was pretty but with just a touch of allure a hint of the excitement that might be available one day. Jewellery was minimal short dangling earrings, gold with cultured pearls as the centrepiece, a gold chain with a small locket that just reached the swell of my breasts and on my hands, two discreet jewelled rings and an antique gold band with small sapphires set in a row and finally a single gold bangle on one wrist and my watch on the other.

I had an ivory silk blouse above a black skirt and wide black leather belt. The skirt hung an inch below the knee and was very full and beneath that a two tier tulle petticoat without the usual stiffer net covering, it looked like a skirt from the Fifties, a skirt that betrayed its fullness but not too obviously, a rock and roll girl not a bobby soxer with a poodle skirt. And to prove that I was not going to send the skirt horizontal when I spun, I was wearing a pair of three inch leather heels and tan stockings to slow me down. The sexiest bit of me was under the skirt and blouse, a white lace basque and matching panties but first dates were kissing dates and he wasn’t going to see them unless I fell down a flight of stairs.

My cell phone started playing The Ride of the Valkyries, my tune for messages that were important. It was John, ‘Cabby says ten mins.’
I sent back ‘K’ and added his phone number to my friends list and then sent it on to Samantha. I took one last look in the mirror, teased my hair, fluffed up the skirt and slid my coat over my shoulders, picked up my shoulder bag and left.

As I turned the corner and walked towards the old town hall a taxi drove round the war memorial and pulled into the kerb. A man got out of the rear, bent to speak to the driver, turned and began to cross the road and as he turned I recognised the profile from his chat room pictures, “John, why are you running away from me?”

He turned and looked at me with the puzzled look of non-recognition then his face broke into a smile, “Emma?”

“Were you expecting somebody else?”

He trotted back to the pavement and started walking towards me, “Nobody else, who’d want anybody else,” and he stopped and watched me as I walked towards him, “You’re quite a stunner. Ditch that picture in the chat room and get a portrait done by a pro and use that.”

“Thank you but I haven’t done that because I thought I might attract the wrong sort of admirer. I prefer people who want to chat to me, not just an attractive woman. In fact I ought to change my gender, it still says Male on my profile and in a couple of weeks I will be having my operation and will be all girl like my bust says.”

“Are they’re real,” he coughed, “Sorry that was personal.”

“That’s okay. I would have been offended two or three years ago but not now. Yes they’re real, completely real. Hormones and not a hint of surgical enhancement.”

He stared unabashed at the front of my blouse we had reached the taxi and he opened the door for me and then sat beside me and as I started searching for the lower part of the seatbelt. He slid his hand down, found it and handed it to me and our hands touched and I felt the hairs on the back of his wrists tickle my underarm and a tiny thrill ran through me. I did up the belt and sat back and watched him fiddle with his, he was still glancing at the front of my blouse; “You’re staring; they are 36B,” I whispered “And the basq…er bra is not padded, you can have a feel if you like but I also have an IQ of 152 if you’d prefer to talk?”

“First dates are kissing dates so I think I would prefer to talk and I apologise for staring again, you are a lot more than I expected, lovely, no stunning.”

“In that case, pay attention to what you’re doing, you’re going to stab yourself in a delicate place with the seatbelt buckle if you’re not careful.”

He grinned, “I’m acting badly, making you believe I’m a voyeur, I’m sorry but my excuse is that in the presence of a woman so lovely, I’m in something of a dither.”

“You ready to proceed as planned, Guv?” asked a voice from the front of the cab.

“Yes please, L’Hirondelle.”

“French,” I said unnecessarily, “I love French cooking.”

“I know, you told me so when we had our first chat.”

“I chatter too much.”

“No you don’t, you were answering my questions, “You also like Elvis Pressley, The Supremes, Roberta Flack, Matt Monro and Schumann, Beethoven, Sibelius, Purcell, Verdi and Puccini.”

“You’ve forgotten Delibes, Delius, Elgar, Saint-Saens, Borodin, Khachaturian, The Platters and Doris Day.”

“No I haven’t,” and he reached down and pulled a briefcase from under the seat, opened it and gave a flat packet to me tied with pink ribbon and when I took the wrapper off there was a 12” vinyl record of Samson and Delilah. “Oh John, thank you so much and I placed my hand over his shoulder and fought the seat belt until I could kiss him. When I let go, my kiss-proof lipstick hadn’t lived up to its name so I started searching through my shoulder bag for a hanky until he stopped me and pulled out his own, “Use mine, I want an imprint of your lips on my handkerchief.” So I did what he asked and opened my lips slightly, slipped a section of the hankie between my lips and pressed down. “There you are, almost perfect but it will wash out.”

“Not a chance I’m going to frame it and hang it on my wall.”

I smiled and went searching in my shoulder bag again, found my lipstick and compact and replaced the lipstick that John was now wearing and turned the mirror around, “The colour simply doesn’t suit you.”

He looked, pursed his lips and nodded, “It doesn’t…”

“There’s a box of tissues on the rear window ledge,” the cabby said, “You can help yourself if the lady promises to kiss me as well.”

“I can’t, it means I’ll have to do mine again and I’ll run out of lipstick before the evenings over.”

“You won’t need it when I pick you up again, will you, you’ll be going home and can stock up again.”

I grinned and turned to John, “Did you book him to bring us back?”

“Yes, finding a cab that late is almost impossible and I use George all the time when he’s available.”

“You’re a useful man to know.”

The cab pulled into the kerb, “Here we are, enjoy your meal. What time do you want picking up?”

John looked at me and I shrugged, “Two maybe three hours if we’re enjoying ourselves.”

“I’ll send a text message, George.”

“Okay, make it about a half hour before you need me.”

I had a really good time with John, he was a humorous conversationalist and an excellent listener which was a good sign, most men like to hog the conversation but he let me chatter on and I could tell he was really listening to me, showing an interest in what I was saying. He asked me about my job, about my social life and my friends and finally when I had had the time to become comfortable in his company, about my transgenderism.

“When did you first realise you were transsexual?”

“I don’t think ‘realise’ is the right word. When I was young, about six years old I preferred staying with the girls when we were playing at school, I liked hopscotch a lot and I do recall thinking how much nicer their clothes were; pretty, softer materials, things like that but it never occurred to me that there was something different about my sexuality, at that age I didn’t even know what sexuality meant. When I was nine I began to realise that there was something more than just liking the games and clothes and found myself wishing I had been born a girl rather than a boy and then at eleven, when I should have been showing signs of puberty, nothing happened. My voice didn’t change, my preference for things female became more intense and then one day I asked my mother why boys clothes were so different to girls, why girls wore brighter, prettier, softer materials.
“Dad was out at work so we sat at the kitchen table and she asked me a lot of questions and listened to my answers but didn’t make any comments and the next day she kept me off school and we went shopping and she bought a girls summer dress and a pair of knickers, not the really fancy ones, fairly plain but definitely girls knickers, then knee high white socks and a pair of yellow flat heeled shoes I didn’t say anything to her, I thought she was buying them for somebody she knew, a cousin or neighbours daughter. When we got home she took me up to her bedroom and told me to take my clothes off which I did, I was never shy with mum but I was with dad. When I had stripped she told me to put the knickers on and held the dress ready. I put them on still not saying anything, not arguing with her, not saying they were sissy, and I still didn’t object when she slipped the dress over my head, buttoned it up and then made me sit at her dressing table and she brushed my hair and arranged it differently, it was still fairly short but she managed to feminise it a little and then she put the socks and shoes on and me made stand in front of the mirror,

“You asked me yesterday why girls wore different clothes to boys, how do you feel now?”

I remember I run my hands down the dress and did a slow spin and looked in the mirror again, at mother’s reflection, “They feel nicer, not so rough and the dress is pretty. I wish I had been born a girl.”

She didn’t say anything except, “Take the dress off and hang it in my wardrobe and put the panties in the top drawer of the dressing table and get dressed in your school uniform again, dad will be home soon.”

“Will he be angry if he sees me like this?”

“No, just a bit shocked. Now hurry up and come down to the kitchen and help me get tea ready.”

Nothing was said but I remember they stayed up late and were in the sitting room and talking most of the time and I went to sleep wondering if there was something wrong even though they had spoken quietly and didn’t seem to be arguing.
“Four days later, Mom took me to the doctor; she made the excuse that I felt hot and she thought I might have a temperature. The only thing that wasn’t normal was the timing of my appointment, it was after the normal surgery hours. Mum went in first to speak with the doctor and then they came out and the doctor felt my forehead and just said “Yes, we need to look at you,” so I followed him into the consulting room and he made me strip and lay on the inspection bed and he went all over me pushing prodding squeezing and looking at my privates, checked my blood pressure asked me a lot of questions, took some measurements and nodded. “I’ll give you a prescription for some pills for the high temperature but I think I need you to see a specialist. There’s nothing seriously wrong I’m certain but at your age unexplained headaches and higher than normal temperatures need to be checked.”

“And that’s when you realised?”

“No, I didn’t have any suspicions at all though I had noticed that I was spending more time with the girls at school but nobody said much, they just thought I wasn’t interested in kicking a tennis ball about in the playground and just wanted to chat. It was when I went to see the specialist. I was old enough to realise that the medical he gave me and the urine and blood samples and the questions he asked weren’t normal for somebody who just had a headache sometimes or a slight fever.
“Then mum and dad came in and that’s when he told me he was of the opinion that I was transgendered and then spent a half hour explaining exactly what that meant and as he talked I kept looking at mum and dad but they just smiled at me. When he finished he told me I should continue school until the end of term and then he wanted to see me again.”

“So how did you cope with it, learning that you were different to the others at school?”

“It’s odd but I didn’t think much of it at the time except perhaps a feeling of relief, relief that I wasn’t unusual and that wishing I had been born a girl wasn’t something to be terrified about. When we got home mum and dad took me into the sitting room and whilst mum went to make a cup of tea, dad had a chat with me, he asked me how I felt about what the specialist had said. “I don’t know really, a little bit surprised and I’m relieved it’s nothing serious.”

Dad chuckled when I said that, “Nothing serious, what would you consider serious?”

“Well if I had leukaemia or cancer or I had a disease that would mean me having to stay in bed or a wheelchair all the time.”

He nodded when I said that, “You’re right, most people don’t suddenly die in pain when they discover they are transgendered but what do you want to do about it?”

I looked at him and hesitated, how would he react if I told him I wanted to be a girl? Would he go mad and end up hating me?

“Tell the truth, Ryan, it’s important that your mother and I know what you feel, how you want to live. If we’re left to guess, we may get it wrong and that would have disastrous results, so tell me the truth.”

“But how do you and mum feel about it, what would you like?”

Be brushed aside the question with a wave of his hand, “What your mother and I would prefer at this stage is unimportant, it’s what you want that has priority. We can discuss us after you have made up your mind. What I can say without prejudicing your choices is that whatever you decide, provided it is supported by the doctors, is okay with us. We won’t throw you out of the house if we don’t like your choice, we’ll still be a family because we will all need each other to sort things out.”

I closed my eyes and thought about it, for some reason I didn’t want to tell dad, I thought he might be disappointed in me, think I was just a sissy boy. Be sad, perhaps angry but I made up my mind, I had to tell him the truth, he was right, our family life would be difficult if I didn’t. It was going to be bad enough if I did tell the truth but if I didn’t it would lead to friction and that would mean mum and dad arguing and even getting a divorce and putting an end to our family and that would be the worst thing of all. I opened my eyes and looked at his face which was soft, there was no disappointment showing, no hatred so quietly I said, “I would rather be a girl. Since I was five or six years old I have often wished I had been born a girl but I know it now. It isn’t just about the pretty clothes, Dad, there are lots of reasons I think I’m really a girl. I’m not all that keen on football or rugby, climbing trees and things like that, at school I preferred being with the girls. I like playing hopscotch, turning cart wheels and in PT, I love the swimming and gymnastics because they seem to have more moves that are graceful, a sort of beauty to them. If I was to go to a fancy dress party, I would rather be a Christmas fairy than superman and I do like the soft materials and pretty colours that girls can wear when they want to. But I also like it when you take me to a cricket match and if it’s one you’re playing in, I get really mad when you’re out, I want to run onto the field and slap the player that caught the ball or the bowler who knocked your wicket down, that’s not girly though is it?”

“Yes it is, your mother is the same when we’re coming back from a match, she sits in the car and goes on and on about it being a no-ball or the fielder was just lucky.”

“I know, I listen to her and she’s right most of the time.”

He chuckled, “What about fishing?”

“Oh I still want to do that, I like fishing as long as you continue putting the maggot on the hook.”

“What about your name, we can hardly keep calling you Ryan?”

“Emma,” I said immediately, “I like Emma because it’s a name that can’t be changed into a boy’s name. If I called myself Charlotte, people would shorten it to Charlie, if I picked Frances it would become Frankie but there’s no boy equivalent that I can think of for Emma, Andrea would be Andy, no, definitely Emma.”

Dad had stood up and held out his hand, “Come on, we’d better introduce Emma to her mother.”

“But mum knew about me a couple of weeks ago, she bought me a dress.”

“I know but that was just her way of testing her theory about you.”

“You mean she knew about me?”

“We both did and we’ve had suspicions for two or three years, we just didn’t know how to speak to you about it but you’re voice hasn’t broken yet and you’ve not shown any of the other symptoms of a boy entering puberty so we had to do something so she bought you the dress to see how you would react. And your reaction spurred us into taking you to the doctor.”

“I still like it,” I grinned, “And the panties.”

“Well you can go upstairs and put them on after we’ve seen your mother.”

I had been looking down at the table as I told John the story, occasionally eating something and then his hand appeared holding a handkerchief, “You’re crying, tell me the rest later, and eat, it’s a restaurant.”

I looked up and smiled, “I did warn you I was a chatterbox,” and I dabbed at my eyes.

“A compelling story though, I would like to hear more but not tonight, tell me on our next date.”

I gave him back his handkerchief, “I took care not to wash away the lipstick kiss.”

He folded it carefully and we concentrated on our food and when we had finished eating he began to ask me another question, “No,” I said, It’s my turn to ask you questions, so tell me about your job, your engineering planning, working with production lines, things like that. He did and told it well, made it sound interesting and at times challenging and he took care not to get too technical and I found myself visualising him in a helmet and hi-vi over a white lab coat or up to his knees in hydraulic oil and there were times when he was talking about machinery he particularly liked he made it sound quite dreamy and when he spoke about computer controlled production lines, it was almost pure science fiction; a new world where computers and robots took away the drudge; the dangerous and dirty labours of life and left us free to allow our souls to roam the bye-ways of our existence.

“You travel a lot?”

“A couple of days at the office perhaps one or two on site and usually two days working from home.”

“There’s only one day left after you spend time at the office, on site and at home?”

He nodded, “I work seven days a week on occasions, even eight or nine at very busy times.”

I smiled, “Doesn’t leave you much time for leisure activities.”

“Sssh,” he whispered, “You never know who is listening and I wangle it by working twelve or more hours a day for three days, then a few hours work at home and have the rest of the week off.”

“Why don’t you work twelve hours a day without lunch times or coffee breaks for a week and then take the rest of the month off.”

“I have never considered that,” he nodded, “Yes it has possibilities, I could even increase the daily hours to sixteen, give up food altogether other than high energy snack bars and drinks. If I did that for three months I could take the rest of the year off.”

“That would mean you could sleep in a coffin in a pretty grave yard in the country and have a nice rest. If you want to take up healthy leisure activities you could book in at a hospital and have a week of ECGs and scans.”

He shook his head, “Not that, I don’t like hospital food.” He picked up the wine and began to top up my glass, “No, I can’t drink anymore I’ve had nearly three, I’ll start having fits of giggles if I drink more.”

“I’ll just top you up then, we’ll compromise on a half glass.”

I didn’t protest, I could leave it if I did start the giggles but I did want the evening to continue. He was an interesting man, a very good dining companion and I did wonder for a moment what sort of lover he would be. I stifled that thought immediately, I had had three glasses of wine, well three and a half if I counted the top-up and thinking along those lines would mean my golden rule about first dates could be broken.

We spent the next hour talking about mutual interests, music, the theatre, restaurants and our jobs and then I started to feel a bit dizzy and when I took my bag and went to the loo I had to concentrate on walking steadily and after I had washed my hands, concentrate even more on touching up my makeup. “You look rather serious, you even frowned once when you were walking back.”

I managed to sit down without tipping my seat over and nodded, it was that last drop of wine, it has affected my walking and is my makeup okay?”

“You look as fresh as you did when we met earlier.”

I felt a giggle coming on but managed to control it enough to stop myself from inviting him to squeeze me somewhere to make sure I was really fresh, “I did warn you I get giggly.”

“I’ve already sent a text to George, he’ll be here in ten minutes and I’ve settled the bill, I assumed you were ready to go home.”

I nodded slowly, “Yes, I think I’ve reached my limit and a little bit more.” I reached across the table and took his hand, “I’ve enjoyed this evening, thank you.”

“No, it was you that made it so nice. Emma, I would like to repeat it, take you out again.”

“Yes, there’s still lots to talk about but not until after the weekend, I have a job to complete for a customer and there’s my hospital business coming up soon so I have to make sure no work is left undone.”

“Would Wednesday suit you, a film and then supper perhaps?”

“Okay and if your work gets in the way, we can make it Thursday or Friday.”

We left the restaurant and my walking required less concentration because I had my arm securely tucked under John’s. Once we were settled in George’s taxi he asked, “Where would you like me to drop you, I don’t want you walking too far on your own?”

I felt confident enough of him so I asked, “Would you drop me off at my place, its twelve Heath Terrace, just round the corner from the war memorial.”

He relayed the destination to George and when we got out of the cab he asked George, “Will you wait George, I won’t be long,” but before we left the cab I went to the driver’s window, “George,” he looked up at me and I leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the lips and stood back, “You were right, I shan’t need the lipstick, if you like the colour, let me know and I’ll get you a tube,” and I returned to John who walked me up to the steps of my house and looked up, “Do you live in the top flat, if so I’ll escort you up the stairs?”

“Thank you but my place is the ground floor and I’m okay,” I did a slow spin and my skirt flared but I kept my feet and managed to keep my skirt down to mid-thigh, though I must admit I was tempted to speed it up a little and reveal a stocking top. See, a perfect landing,” I boasted as I finished my display. “Would you like to come in for a nightcap or coffee?”

“I’d love nothing more but I will decline, if I come in with you I might say or do something inappropriate and spoil a perfect evening.”

He had his arms around my waist now so I reached up and placed mine around his neck, “Kiss me goodnight then, that’s allowed on first dates.” He pulled me in closer until I was pressed against his chest and kissed me tenderly and I pushed myself in closer and after a while we ended the kiss and he smiled, “That is as far as I go, you are a little tipsy and if I kiss you again I would have difficulty in preventing myself from sending George away and coming in for the coffee.”

“And I would have difficulty in preventing myself from inviting you to stay for the night and it isn’t the wine I’ve drunk. Thank you again, it’s been a lovely evening, perfect and when you go to bed, dream about me and I’ll dream about you and perhaps we can meet again in our dreams.” I eased myself away from him and opened my bag and dug my keys out.

“When you get inside, come to the window and wave, then I’ll know you’re okay.”

I nodded and let myself in and did as he asked and watched as he smiled and walked down the steps, stopping at the cab to wave before climbing in.

What now, there may be a second date, how should Emma play it? Chapter 3 may reveal the answer, or chapter 4 or 5 or…

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Murmuring with Starlings 3

First Dates are Kissing Dates
By Frances Penwiddy

Copyright © Frances Penwiddy 2016
Photo collage: European Starling by simonglinn via birdshare

Murmuring with Starlings contains material of an adult nature and is not suitable as reading material for minors.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

Emma explains herself to her mentor Samantha and gives the wrong impression.

3
I made myself a coffee, sat at the kitchen table and went over the evening in my mind. I had enjoyed our date and I also knew that if John had come in, we would be undressing each other by now and I sighed, I must change my ‘Golden Rule’ about first dates when I was with a man like John and as for the rule for second dates, ‘Kissing and some petting, no further’ we’d have to wait and see if that needed modifying.

I had to make an early start if I was to get all my work completed before I went into hospital and I would like to see John a couple of times within the fortnight before that so with a great deal of reluctance, I pulled myself away from my rapidly becoming erotic daydream, went into my office and switched the computer on, I had promised to let Samantha know I had got back home safe and sound. The messenger icon started flashing immediately. It was her. “Hi, you’re late, how did it go? Message, phone or send somebody round to let me know you’re okay and had a good time before I phone the police and have a fingertip search made.”
I smiled, Samantha was the psychologist who ran my support group and took the job very seriously. She was a genetic girl who probably knew more about the weaknesses and in some cases the randy lusts of transsexuals than she did of her own sex.
“I’m home in a sad, sad mood. I had a lovely evening.”
She must have been sitting beside her computer because a reply came back almost immediately, “You’re the only person I know who can make two sentences into one oxymoron – why sad?”
“I wanted him to help me get undressed for bed.”
“But he didn’t?
“No but I hinted I was willing to break my Golden Rule.”
“So why didn’t he take up your offer, a man would have to be mad to refuse to go to bed with you. Is he gay, misogynistic or 8 years old?”
“He was a gentleman and when I asked him in for a nightcap he refused on the grounds that if he came in he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me. And as I had a little too much wine he would be taking an ungentlemanly advantage of me.”
“You’re kidding!”
“No. It was a beautiful evening. We both enjoyed ourselves but I admit to having three and a half glasses of wine and was a tadge merry and when he kissed me on the doorstep and I asked him in, he did say no because he thought he might not be able to control himself and would say or do something that would spoil the evening. He did ask me for another date though, next Wednesday.
“Whew! Marry him, marry him on Wednesday, you’ll never find another like him. Does he have a good job that would enable him to keep you in champagne and diamonds?”
“He’s a consultant engineer, self-employed and up to his neck in work, so yes, I think he could but I don’t do so badly myself and don’t really need a rich husband. He’s just a lovely man.”
“You at home tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be round at about eleven for coffee to hear the full story. Pleasant dreams.”
“I’m wearing my little white baby-doll in case he breaks in later, good night”
I switched off, managed to walk unaided to the bedroom, undressed and went to bed with a broad grin on my face, knowing Samantha as well as I did, meant that her promise to be round for coffee would probably include lunch and dinner as well.

I was sitting at my desk by seven the next morning and wasn’t interrupted until eleven fifteen when Samantha rang the doorbell, “Hi, sorry I’m a bit late but I overslept.” She didn’t wait for a reply but walked in and went straight into my flat and then the kitchen and switched the percolator on and handed me a small carton, “Chocolate muffins.”

“Thank you, do you want to have coffee here or in the sitting room?”

“Here, I’m inpatient, now tell me what happened.”

“I told you last night.”

“You gave a brief summary, not the full story.”

“Let me get the coffee first.”

“Don’t wait for that to start bubbling, start now, from the beginning, what were you wearing your little black dress or the red one.”

The percolator started issuing its Columbian finest so I started laying out the cups, “Neither, I wore my black skirt, the full circle one and a tulle petticoat.”

“You were going dancing?”

“No but those skirts also qualify as smart casual, summer evening wear or leg flashers in a jive or Latin American.”

She grinned, “I know I’ve seen you dancing in them. Go on what sort of top and did you go braless, you can with a figure like yours.”

“No, I’m not a tart, I wore a basque.”

“And stockings, I bet.”

I grinned, “Yes, tan stockings not the black, seamed nylons.”

“So you were planning to sleep with him from the start.”

“No, you know my rule about first dates.”

“Liar and you’ve not had a date for months, you were as randy as hell.”

“I was no such thing, I just wanted to feel sexy underneath and had no intention of flashing my stocking tops.”

“Yeah, yeah, bla-bla-bla, I’ve been there and done that and I know what I really want when I just need to feel sexy underneath.”

I poured the coffees and sat down, “Well I can’t be sure what my subconscious was doing but I did wear my heels, the black ones so it was obvious I wasn’t going to do any fast spinning.”

“You can spin in heels, I know girls who say they dance better in heels.”

“I can’t, well I don’t think I can, I’ve never tried,” and then I remembered the little twirl I had done at the top of the steps, “I’ll try it one day but I think I’ll wait until after my operation.”

“Go on then what did he say or do when he first saw you?”

I grinned, “He asked me if my tits were real?"

“He did what!”

“Asked me if my tits were real.”

“Did you slap his face, I would have done and then gone straight home.”

“I’m not violent like you, I just unbuttoned my blouse, slipped it and the basque off my shoulders and shook my torso so the tits wobbled a bit.”

She nearly choked on her coffee, “You showed him!”

“It was the best way to prove it. Then I told him he could have a feel and tickle my nipples just in case he thought they were gel implants.”

She put her cup down so forcibly it was a wonder it didn’t shatter, “In the street!”

“Of course, if I’d done it in the cab the driver might have seen them in the rear view mirror and I’m a bit shy about things like that.”

“What about the people in the street?”

“I forgot about them but there weren’t many people about, I don’t know, I didn’t notice anybody staring, I was busy watching him to see if he liked them, my tits I mean not the other people.”

“Did he?”

“I think so, he sort of leaned forward to take a closer look and his mouth opened a little and I thought for a moment he was going to suck or kiss the nipples and it made me tremble at the knees so I buttoned my blouse up and we got into the cab.”

She dropped her head and shook it, “I just don’t believe this. You meet a bloke for the first time and before a few minutes have elapsed you’ve invited him to grope your tits and wanted him to kiss them.”

“It’s just as well you don’t believe me because it’s all lies.”

She looked up at me and grinned, “And I fell for it, after all the years I’ve been helping trannies and got to know what they will say or do, the tricks they can play, you come out with a story like this and I believed you, I’m losing my touch. Now go on and tell me what really happened.” So I did but she kept asking questions and then opened her briefcase, took out a notebook and started jotting things down. “Why are you making notes, not going to post this on Facebook are you?”

She shook her head, “No; I’d like to, it would get a million hits in the first week but I’d lose my job. The notes will be handy when I write my Social Services article about the group and what my job entails, no names, just a factual report aimed at the media mainly and society generally to prove that trannies aren’t the threat to society that a lot of people believe. How did he respond when you told him you were going into hospital for your sex reassignment surgery in a couple of weeks?”

“He asked me how dangerous it was, would it make me very ill and how long I would be in hospital and asked if it would be okay for him to visit me.”

“He didn’t ask how long it would take for you to be ready for sex, full penetration I mean.”

“No. He did ask how long it would be for me to make a full recovery and when I told him that provided I had no complications or infections, anything from two to six months, then he asked me if I would like to go away for a rest, rent a cottage in the country or perhaps go somewhere overseas, somewhere where the weather would be warm and sunny. A place where I had nothing to worry about and have a lot of time to relax and give myself time to recover completely. I said I wouldn’t know until after the operation, I explained that I might be nervous about being too far from the hospital in case there were complications. Then he told me to tell him if I did want to go away so he would arrange something and if for any reason he couldn’t accompany me, he would find a qualified nurse to look after me full time until he could join me.”

“He’s in love with you, Emma, in love with you big time.”

“I did think that might be the case but I dismissed it because I can’t believe somebody would fall in love to that extent after only one meeting.”

“But you said you talked a lot yesterday evening, told each other a great deal about yourselves.”

I nodded, “Yes but we talked about other things as well, ordinary things.”

“When you chatted on-line, how long were the sessions and how personal the conversations?”

“Quite long sometimes, two hours perhaps longer but on occasions the chats were quite short, those were days when one or the other of us had urgent work that needed our attention. We did leave messages about what was happening in our lives if we couldn’t chat and there was always a good morning or goodnight message from him in my mailbox.”

“And the topics?”

“Varied; sometimes it was music or books we were reading, other times but not often, a little about work, we even discussed the news and politics occasionally but typically they were about something we both liked, even a bit of sport and on one occasion fashion; I told him I had bought a couple of miniskirts and he asked me to send him a picture he wanted to see my legs and when I did send them he told me it showed I had an adventurous side as well as nice legs.”

Samantha smiled at that, “Short were they. Did he ever ask for nude pictures or close-ups of specific parts of your anatomy?”

“Never. No wait, he did ask me to take a close-up of my face, a portrait. That was a week ago but I didn’t have the time to do one before we met.”

“And you’ve told me he never asked you away to a hotel for the night or invite you to his place.”

“That’s right, the only time we discussed sex seriously was last night and I’ve told you about that.”

“He sounds like a good one, Emma. He certainly doesn’t sound like a one-night-stand merchant or the casual sex from time to time type. He is definitely interested in you, even in love perhaps. It does happen like that to some people, a casual encounter leading to something permanent and beautiful. I must read your chat sessions and try to get some tips about your prose and conversation style,” she grinned, “It probably has something to do with the fishing trips your father took you on, you learned how to reel them in.”

“Want me to catch one for you?”

“No, my fiancé wouldn’t approve.” She stood, “Shall I pour us more coffee and then I must be away to write a long report on another group member. She’s like you, has plenty of jokes and leg-pulls tucked down her bra, she asked me to get her a prescription for estrogen and testosterone last week and when I asked why both because it was counterproductive she answered with, “Well I definitely want a sex change but I haven’t made up my mind yet which sex to change to.”

“That sounds like Annie.”

“It is and I started calling her Connie and when she got fed up with correcting me, I told her it was an abbreviation of confused.”

Samantha went off to write her report immediately after lunch and I went back to my computer and drawing board and apart from spending an hour chatting with John, I worked non-stop on my web designs for a soft furnishings manufacturer.

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First Dates are Kissing Dates 4

By Frances Penwiddy

Murmuring with Starlings

Copyright © Frances Penwiddy 2016

Murmuring with Starlings contains material of an adult nature and is not suitable as reading material for minors.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

The second date begins and Emma has a difficult time with her muse, aka Miss Subconscious or Miss SC who isn’t bound by behaviour protocols.

4
By the following Wednesday lunchtime I had the web design finished and the whole afternoon to get ready for my date. I had a long bath, and spent an hour on my hair still pondering on how to play the date, should I stop at heavy petting or go on. I couldn’t make a decision so I pushed it aside telling myself to let the events of the evening take their natural course and then started on my makeup. As soon as I sat at the dressing table, the debate on the likely events of the evening were taken over by my subconscious mind and I went for a sultry look with dark eyeshadow and deep red lipstick and without even being fully aware of what I was doing, I had selected my black basque and lacy bikini, almost a thong, knickers and seamed black nylons and a scoop necked red dress with a straight skirt and black patent stilettoes. When I stood in front of the mirror I realised that if I was undecided my subconscious wasn’t, the clothes clearly stated how the evening was to go and Miss Subconscious was determined to have me sexually penetrated as Samantha had put it.

I had a problem with the dress which was a wool and silk mix and was tending to snag a little, it wasn’t comfortable covering the basque and the suspender bumps were a little too obvious. I returned to my lingerie drawer and took out a black silk slip and rather than take the dress off I unzipped it down to the belt, wriggle out of the shoulders and then eased the black lace slip over my hair and tucked it into the waist of the dress and stooped down to lift the skirt and pull the hem of the slip down before straightening up and putting the top half of the dress back into place and zipping it up. It was just as well I went to aerobic and gymnastic classes every week and I was able to bend, stoop, stretch and wriggle enough to complete the mission. The slip took longer to put on than it did to get the seams straight on the stockings but when I checked in the mirror, I was perfect and the silk of my slip enabled the dress to move enough to make it look as if it was taunting somebody to take it off and that somebody was going to be here very soon and I had just enough time to get my jewellery on.

In fact I was still trying to get the second earring in when the doorbell rang and checking to make sure it was John, I buzzed the street door and heard it open and John’s footsteps approach my flat door. There was a quiet knock and I was still fiddling with the earring with one hand as I opened the door with the other and stepped back, won the battle with the earring and said, “Sorry, I’m running a bit late.”

He stood silently for a few seconds and then said, “Looking like you do, you can have all the time you want, I can refuse you nothing and he held out a large bouquet of red roses framed by olive green feathery ferns, “Oh, John, they’re beautiful!”

“The red is a perfect match for your lips. We have time, would you like to put them in water?” Hugging the flowers I walked through the sitting room to the kitchen and he helped me to crush the stems and place them into the largest vase I had and then I carried them into the sitting room and placed them on a marble coffee table in the centre and I stood back, “They really are lovely, thank you and I kissed him lightly and managed to keep my lipstick on me and not him or the dazzling white shirt he was wearing under a dark grey, definitely Saville Row suit. He took my hands in his and stepped back and looked at me slowly letting his eyes travel from my shoes up to my hair, “Beautiful, no more than beautiful; exciting, a goddess pretending to be mortal, Aphrodite.”

I bobbed a small curtsy, “I love your way of delivering a compliment because I realise you are a man who would only speak the truth so you must be my Adonis. Would you like a drink before we go out?”

He chuckled and bowed his head a little to acknowledge my curtsy, “A very small Scotch and soda and I will be content to just stand here all night admiring you.”

“Show him our bedroom,” whispered my subconscious but I ignored her and went to the sideboard and poured his scotch and a third of a glass of white wine for myself. “Sit down, John,” I invited, nodding at the smaller of my settees, “That’s the way, comfortably close and near enough for him to throw himself on you,” said Miss Subconscious but I continued to ignore her and sat in the opposite corner with perhaps two feet between us, “Where are we going?”

“There’s three films in town, Love story, Star Trek or the Perils of Pauline,” he answered with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I’ll leave the choice to you,” I replied with a challenging smile, “Or we can walk along the river to the Horse and Barge, sit there for a half hour and make our selection or would you prefer going out to dinner.”

“Supper would be better, after the film.”

“We’ll do all four, walk along the river, pop into the pub, choose a film and I have salad and a lobster in the fridge and it will only take ten minutes to serve it up, so we can have supper here.”
“Brilliant,” said Miss SC.

“That sounds delightful, yes, we’ll do that.”

“You don’t have George waiting outside do you?
”
“No, he went off but I can probably get him back?”

“No, it’s only a short walk and I don’t trust him with my lipstick.”

John laughed, “He’d love the colour you’re wearing now and it might be an idea to bring a light coat or jacket, it will be a little chilly later.”

I finished my wine and stood up, “I’ll get my coat and bag, would you like to borrow one of my scarves, I have a woollen one that’s fairly androgynous and a woolly hat to match but that has a fluffy bobble?”

He laughed and shook his head as he stood, “I’ll risk it how I am and if I feel cold when we walk back you can cuddle me.”

I came back with the coat over my arm and he took it and slipped it over my shoulder and we linked arms and started off towards the river.

“You’re flat is beautifully designed, comfortable but still elegant, a clever mixture of old and new, did you design it or use a professional?”

“I had a painter come in and redecorate the walls and I just picked the colours and spent a week thinking about the soft furnishings but the rest was just piecemeal, not planned at all. I love browsing in antique shops and most of my pieces were just things I liked when I saw them and I put it together a little at a time. A mixture of pieces that looked nice and others that were functional but blended with everything else. The Queen Anne dresser is my favourite and the dining set which you haven’t seen is second and I usually have them in mind when I buy other pieces which are usually irresistible bargains I spotted in shops and even car boot sales. It’s a good way of doing the job because if something is damaged it can be replaced easily without upsetting the overall look. The curtains and carpets I bought at a discount from one of my customers, a soft furnishings group who let me have them at cost, it’s a way of enjoying a luxury lifestyle at knock down prices. Sometimes I think about starting another business and troll the antique shops and car boots buying stuff, cleaning it up and taking pictures of room settings with the furniture included to show what can be done. I do have a couple of web pages already made up and I think it would work.”

We turned onto the river bank, “Why don’t you do it?”

“I like what I do now, designing web sites and it keeps me very busy but one day perhaps - we’ll see.”

“I’ve never walked along this section of the river before, it’s very pleasant, very peaceful for somewhere so close to the town centre.”

“I come here a lot, it’s lovely and almost next door to where I live.”

We walked past a house and a row of large cottage styled bungalows and came to the pub and went in.

We nearly missed the film, I had seen Love Story twice before and had cried at the end on both occasions even though I knew what was coming the second time, so I knew I was at high risk of crying again if I asked John to take me there. If I asked to see the Perils of Pauline John would pay too much attention to the film and forget that he was with me and I wasn’t really in to Star Trek films. I had nothing against Sci-Fi but I much preferred the films that were about things that might happen in the very near future, not about the distant future. I preferred films that were possible rather than improbable and I enjoyed ET for that reason. I sipped at my wine and John made up my mind for me, “I think you would enjoy Love Story but if we’re to see it we had better make a move.”

“You won’t like that, it’s a romantic tragedy, I’m sure you’d prefer Star Trek.”

He smiled, “It’s a chick flick and you think I’d get bored and fidget about.”

“No, well yes, it’s that men don’t really enjoy those type of films, they prefer action films, films where there’s loads of fights, blood and explosions.”

“I’ve seen Brief Encounter and I enjoyed that.”

I looked at him to see if he was just being kind, “You want to take me to see it?”

“Yes, and if you cry I can comfort you.”

“Okay and I’ll do the same for you provided you don’t try to hide it.”

He smiled as he stood up and took my coat ready to slip onto my shoulders and away we went, his arm around my shoulders and mine around his waist, I was going to enjoy the film more than ever this time, I would have a shoulder to cry on.

I must have enjoyed it because he had offered his hanky when the film had only been running a few minutes. I had involuntary raised my fingers and wiped my eyes because the film had gone out of focus and his hand had touched mine and there was his clean, folded hanky waiting for me. I touched it to my eyes and looked down at it and there were two barely damp patches.

By the time we left the cinema the hanky was saturated my eyes blurred and I would have fallen down the steps had it not been for his support. I scrunched the hanky up and slipped it into my bag. As quickly as I had done so his hand appeared in front of me with another clean, folded hanky, “I brought a spare,” he whispered and I pulled away from him, threw my arms around his neck and kissed him and pressed myself in as close as I could. I had moved so suddenly that the couple walking behind bumped into us and the man said “Sorry,” and the woman said, “He’s comforting her, didn’t you hear her inside the cinema?”

I broke the kiss and released John, “What did she mean by that?”

“You were sobbing quite a bit.”

“How loudly?”

“Not too loud, they were in the seats behind.”

“Oh-my-God!” I took a hold of his arm and pulled him, “Come on quickly before we’re spotted by one of the staff, I’ll be banned from going in there again,” and I forced him to increase our pace until we were a hundred yards from the cinema and only then did I slow down, “We’ll be okay now. How bad was I, really, could everybody hear me?”

He smiled, “It wouldn’t have mattered there were one or two others having a sob and blowing their noses and there were hankies fluttering all over the cinema.”

“It was probably me that set them off.”

“You were the first.”

“It was the gentle banter between them, the love that was blossoming and their not knowing what lay ahead.”

He chuckled, “I must admit, my eyes felt a little moist towards the end.”

We continued our walk stopping occasionally to look at the meadow in the late sunset and listen to the blackbird serenade us. “I’ve recorded him on my phone,” I pointed, “He’s up there, on top of the ash tree but he has a nest and a wife over there deep inside the shrubbery under the oak. Sometimes when I’m out here during the day, I play the recording and most times he flies to the ash and starts singing back, he can’t recognise his own voice and thinks it’s somebody trying to move into his territory.”

“How do you know it’s a boy and not a girl?”

“Boys are black and the girls are brown and it’s always a boy first thing in the morning and last thing at night.”

“Are you a twitcher?
”
“No, I just like to listen to them but I admit that if I see a strange bird, a type I’ve not noticed before I always look it up in my bird books or on the Net. I’ve spotted nightingales and heard them, but there is one who lives locally, he’ll be out singing later. I’ve also seen a peregrine falcon and a goshawk, fieldfare and even a tree creeper. It’s lovely here, just sitting on the grass and watching them, listening to them sing or have a chat like the sparrows and chaffinches. They have quite busy union meetings sometimes in the evening and everybody shouts at the same time and one evening I had been indoors working all day and I came out here to get some fresh air and saw a starling murmuration, it was an incredible sight, thousands of them diving and swooping together and making really complex patterns. I puzzle over how they do it without bumping in to each other because they’re flying very close and are so good at following the leader’s movements.”

We continued to the flat and went in, “Make yourself comfortable…”

“Clever move, so subtle. Pour some wine and go and sit with him but let him make the first move or he might think you’re a slapper. Just encourage him a little, let your leg brush his as you sit and lean forward a little, give him a chance to see a little cleavage.”
“Shut up bitch or you’ll be seeing a bit of your own cleavage from throat to crotch.”
“No, leave the kinky stuff until you’ve got to know him a little better.”

“I’m sorry,” John said, “I didn’t catch that.”

“I didn’t say anything. Oh, perhaps I did, just talking to myself, I do it a lot especially when I’m working. You sit down and I’ll get supper ready, would you like a glass of wine, it’s only plonk, but we’re having a good white with supper.”

“I’ll help you get the supper ready,” he followed me into the kitchen and looked around, “It’s a large kitchen for a flat, well fitted out as well you obviously enjoy cooking.”

“I do, it’s the artist in me, it has to have an appetizing aroma, look like a master’s still life and taste like it was prepared in the kitchens of the gods. There’s no cooking involved tonight, it was done earlier, just the lobster and potatoes but the salad dishes look colourful and as for the taste, you will have to be the judge yourself.” I poured a glass and a half of wine and handed him the larger of the two, “The white for supper is in the fridge, the left side and you can open it for me if you would and take the dishes of salad into the dining room, I’ll just get the lobster ready and finish the salad dressing and then we can eat.”

“I can see the fridge but where’s the dining room?”

“Oh yes, you’ve not seen all the flat yet, it’s behind that door and the loo is off the hall. Give me a minute and I’ll show you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find it when I need it but where do I wash my hands before handling the salad?”

I smiled, “There’s hand basins in the loo and the bathroom next to it. You’d best use the white soap if you use the pink you’ll smell lovely but I’d hate the competition. You can use the sink over there if you wish but there’s only paper towels.”

“You missed a chance there, you should have told him he could dry his hands on the bodice of your dress.”

“This is your last warning now hoppit and stop listening in.”

Who’s going to win this one, Miss SC or Emma. Chapter 5 is where the answer rests or becomes hyper active…we shall see.

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First Dates are Kissing Dates 5

Murmuring with Starlings

By Frances Penwiddy

Copyright © Frances Penwiddy 2016

Murmuring with Starlings contains material of an adult nature and is not suitable as reading material for minors.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

And so the evening continues and hidden amongst the moments of romance and love there hides Miss SC…Let the games begin.

5

He surprised me the way he enjoyed supper, men don’t really go for salad but he seemed to relish mine, I don’t know whether it was the homemade spicy dressing, the lobster or the wine but he certainly ate with enthusiasm and complimented me several times on my skills.
“Would you like a fruit salad with ice cream?” I asked.

“Thank you, no, I couldn’t eat any more.”

I smiled, “I will take that as a compliment to my culinary skills even though it was nature’s work really, all I had to do was rearrange things a little.” I stood up, “Coffee, Columbian or Kenyan I don’t have “Turkish?”

“Kenyan is good.”

“Would you like it in here or shall we go into the sitting room?”

“Whichever suits you, as long as we both drink it in the same room.”

“I’ll serve it in the sitting room and that other door leads back into the hall and if you get lost, just shout.”

I went into the kitchen and prepared the coffee and took it into the sitting room just as he returned and we both sat on the two seater settee, “I’ve enjoyed this evening, thank you,” he said.

“I didn’t take you anywhere, you took me so I’m the one who should say thank you. You supplied me with two hankies and let me cry on your shoulder and prevented me from being attacked on the way home.”

He smiled, “The footpads knew I had you to protect me whilst I was protecting you.”

I nodded, “We work well as a team. Did I bore you with my enthusiasm for the local wildlife?”

“No, it was fascinating and your enthusiasm was infectious, I’m going to read up on starlings and their flying habits on the internet tomorrow.”

He finished his coffee and I took his cup, “Another?”

“No that’s fine.” I placed the empty cups on the coffee table and stood up and went to the sideboard, I have a single malt or Napoleon brandy?”

“I shouldn’t drink a brandy, I had two glasses of wine, no three counting the pre supper wine and a beer in the pub, I’ll be drunk if I have a brandy.”

“No you won’t, you hold your drink well and we’ve drunk slowly. It’s me that can’t drink a lot without falling over.” I poured a small brandy and brought it across, “Would you like a cigar to go with it, I have Dutch or Cuban?”

He laughed, “Is there anything you don’t have, you’re a marvellous hostess.”

I poured myself a very small liqueur, “I don’t entertain very often, I’m too busy at the moment and when I do, I like to make it as nice as possible. Now, the cigar?”

He shook his head, “No thank you, it would make the room smoky and I wouldn’t be able to see you clearly.”

I came back to the settee with my very small Green Chartreuse and sat down a little closer to him and took a sip, “Can you see me clearly now?” I put the glass on the table and turned into him.

He sat still for a moment or two and then his glass joined mine on the table and he pulled me into him and kissed me, kissed me with a little more passion than he had used previously.

“If I’ve acted improperly I will not apologise, you are so lovely, both your looks and your personality and not to have kissed you would have offended the Gods.”

“You mustn’t do that, the repercussions would be horrendous,” and I moved closer until the sides of our bodies were touching and I took his hand in mine and pulled it until he had his arm around my shoulder and I turned inwards and our faces were barely an inch apart and we kissed again but this time, when he started to end the kiss, I pressed my lips more tightly against his and opened my mouth a little and took his free hand and placed it on my knee and then put my hand over his shoulder and caressed the back of his head. I was lying across his body now his head tilted forward and I felt the tip of his tongue touch my lips and gently caress them and I opened my mouth a little and then the world disappeared and we kissed as lovers should and I pressed against him and felt his hand start to caress my knee and then move up slightly until his fingers were under my skirt. I parted my legs a fraction and the hand moved upwards a little more and his fingers started lightly caressing the inside of my leg still moving as they worked a little higher until they touched a suspender and there they stopped climbing but continued caressing me. I had reached the point where I was faced with a decision, should I stop him now and bring my knees together or should I let him continue? If I did the later I would have to allow him to continue until we reached the inevitable point of no return and I must let him take me into the bedroom.

I wanted him, I wanted him like mad, he was gentle, kind and I was already in love with him but if I disregarded the weeks we had chatted on the internet we had only met twice. He must have sensed my hesitation because he ended the kiss, “I think I had better go home,” but he didn’t stop caressing my leg and I answered by pulling his hand from under my dress and placed it on my breast and pulled his head close to mine, “It’s too late, you’ve been drinking and could get lost or mugged and you can’t leave me here on my own, only halfway to Heaven,” and this time it was my tongue that teased his lips and entered his mouth as he started caressing my breast. It only took a short while before I was squirming my way across his lap and when he broke the kiss I whispered, “The zip is held with a hook and eye fastening,” and I placed my mouth against his and we kissed again as he fumbled for a moment, managed to unhook the top of the dress and slowly slid the zip down to the belt with one hand and loosen his tie with the other. He dropped the tie to the floor and his hand returned to my breast and caressed the nipple through the slip and basque. I felt my nipples harden and push hard against the basque and tiny electric shocks crossed my body to the other breast and then both nipples sent shocks down my body to my belly button where they joined and went down to where my redundant penus was located and there the electric shocks split into three.

It felt as if he had lit sparklers and was holding them close to my body and moving them to trace lines down the inside of my thighs and under me and up between my buttocks, following the line of my spine, over my neck and then they seemed to explode inside my head and send sparks all over my body. I broke the kiss and gasped, threw my head back and nearly screamed when I felt his lips on my throat kissing me down my neck, over my breast bone until they moved again and found the spot where my nipple lay below the basque. I stopped him, the nipples were hurting too much as they pressed against the basque, struggling to get free, wanting to feel his tongue teasing them again without my clothing separating them from his lips. I stood up, undid the belt and eased the dress over my hips and let it drop to the floor. I kicked it to one side and my fingers trembled as I slid the shoulder straps of my slip down and started to unhook my basque to below my breasts and then I pulled it open and let my breasts escape and feel the night air and I started to tremble all over, my body was on fire and he stood, almost ripped his jacket off, scooped me up in his arms and lowered his head and kissed both nipples and I just managed to gasp, “John, get me to the bedroom.”

Without asking the way he turned down the passage next to the bathroom and somehow managed to turn the door knob and push the bedroom door open and carried me straight to my four-poster and laid me gently on the bed covers and stood back. His eyes looked into mine, “I’m lost to you Emma, completely lost only you can stop me, only you, just one word and I’ll walk away but I will try again on our next meeting and again, and again until you give yourself to me.” He had kicked his shoes off in the passage and now he was slowly unbuttoning his shirt and my eyes were fixed on his hands, hands that I wanted back caressing me. His shirt fell to the floor and my eyes followed it and then returned to his hands now working on the waist of his trousers and I watched again until his trousers followed the shirt but I kept my eyes on his hands this time as the thumbs hooked into his underpants and they slipped down and he looked at me “Emma?”

I said nothing but dropped my eyes to his penus standing stiff and proud slowly rising and falling as he breathed, bobbing me a bow or perhaps nodding its approval. He took a step forward and stood over me his eyes like blazing stars, “Emma?” again he said my name, needing my answer.

“Your lips and tongue can form the words, John but there is a part of you that reveals them as lies, you can no more leave me than I can let you go.”

He knelt on the bed and reaching behind almost ripped his socks off and then a hand cupped my breast and the thumb drew little circles around my aureole and tantalisingly slowly reduced the radius until they touched my nipple and pressed hard on it and I couldn’t stop my body from arching nor the gasp that escaped me and I reached for him, gripping his thigh and moving to find his penus and took it in my hand squeezing it and sliding down its length feeling the pulse of blood coursing through the veins, the heat and the velvet hardness. And I pulled it towards my lips sensing rather than feeling his body move as he placed a hand both side of my pillow and his penus touched my lips and I parted them and lifted my head high enough to take in over half its length.

There was a quiet gasp from him and as I began to suck and slide my lips back he gave an involuntary jerk forward so I started again and as I moved my lips back I pressed my tongue against it and soon I felt the swelling of the head so I paused and caressed the glands at the bottom and slowly began the journey back to the root and was able to take more of him before beginning the sucking, tickling return. This time when I neared the head I began my tongue caresses a little sooner and again paused at his glands. John was moving a lot now and once again I heard him make a noise, a cross between a mewing sound and a gasp and he suddenly withdrew, “No more, no more, Emma, I’m going to explode.”

I lifted my head to take him back into my mouth but he pushed himself back from my body and wriggled his way down until he knelt astride my ankles his penus touching my calves as he leaned forward, “No,” he said quietly and kissed me, softly and lifted himself and looked down at me, even his lips out of reach.

“What’s wrong, did I hurt you, catch you with my teeth?”

He smiled softly and took his weight on one hand and caressed my cheek with the other, “You didn’t hurt me, you sent me up to the clouds and I was near to ejaculating.”

“That’s okay, I wouldn’t have minded, in fact I wanted you to.”

“Not yet, later, this time I want to be inside you, deep inside you and bury myself in your arms, feel your body tight against mine, feel your passion.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say so I just nodded and he kissed me gently again and swung his leg over me to kneel beside my body and then he leaned forward and I felt his tongue on my nipples and immediately those sparklers started again but this time they seemed to start in my abdomen and radiate in all directions and I put my hands on the back of his head and crushed it into my breasts. I couldn’t feel the bed beneath me just his head now buried between my breasts and the tip of his tongue tickling the valley between them and the room began to blur but now it was me that had to stop him. “No, it’s happening to me now, you’ll have to stop as well.” He did just long enough to raise his head a little and I felt his tongue trace a line from between my breasts down past my belly button and trace across my body following the waist band of my thong. And then he lifted his head again and straightened up and looked down and I felt his fingers take hold of the thong and begin to pull it down. “My stockings, you’ll have to take them off the thong won’t get passed the clips on the suspenders.” I took my hands away from my breasts and reached down trying to find the fasteners but he gently pushed my hands away and took over deftly slipping the rubber buttons up until the clip released the stocking and quickly he had both stockings released and gently eased them down my thighs. “Where did you learn to do that; with another woman, have you been two-timing me before we ever met?”

He chuckled, “Thousands of times and he took the first stocking off my foot and laid it gently on the bed and then the second. “You see, I’m careful not to ladder them,” and then he undid the last two hooks on my basque and lifting one shoulder at a time he pulled down the straps and pitched the basque over the side off the bed, scooped up my stockings and dropped them on top, knelt beside me and smiled, “I went to a private school and we were taught how to undress a woman by the art mistress.”

I reached towards him, “Come here and show me what else she taught you.”

He eased my legs apart and knelt between them and spent time looking down at my body, slowly working his way up from my groin to my breasts where his eyes lingered, “You have the most perfect breasts I have ever seen, size, shape, nipples aureole, texture, everything.”

“The left one is a tiny bit large that the right,” I whispered.

He leaned forward and kissed it, then traced his tongue down until it reached the crease where it began to rise from my chest and then tickled its way along and then up again to the nipple and the sparks started again and this time they reached the underside of my chin and the backs of my knees and I felt my legs bend and my feet slide across the sheet and I started making a gentle mewing noise as his arms slipped under my knees and he lifted his head and pushed his body forward and found my lips and my legs crossed his back and locked around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. I felt a hand lower to the outside of my thigh and he started stroking it and then the tip of his penus touch the base of my scrotum and something exploded inside me and I called out his name and thrust myself up to him and felt his penus touch the entrance to my body that it was searching for and I pushed and the head entered me and as the explosion seemed to intensify the pain began and the mewing changed to a desperate panting and he stopped but I squeezed my eyes shut and using my arms and legs I pulled him down and tightened my grip on him as I thrust myself up. I thought he was going to tear me apart so strong was the pain and I screamed but still managed to push a little harder and the pain vanished. My body went quiet for a moment and he started to withdraw, “Don’t!” I cried, “Don’t you dare, the pain has gone,” and I pushed harder, “Bury yourself in me, John – Push!” and as he did I felt my entire body, my molecules, every neutron, every atom explode and break away from their disciplined orbits and fly off in every direction, through John, through the walls of the room out into space and they danced with the stars and then John started to slide his penus back and forth slowly and then with increasing urgency and everything started to spin, a whirlwind of wide open nerve ends and every one of them was touching John and it started to quieten down and then started up again with greater intensity, increased speed and flew further out into the void before slowing and turning back and the spinning slowed again and for a while we drifted back towards the blue speck of earth and then suddenly the funnel of sparkling particles blew apart and formed an endless single cord and sped back to my bedroom and collided with our two bodies in a tremendous explosion and for the third time I screamed and screamed in total ecstasy, my body shaking with the intensity of an orgasm before slowing and allowing the particles to join together.

I opened my eyes as my body quietened and he was above me staring down. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before, never. Where did you take me?”

“Heaven, let’s go back again, now.”

He shook his head, I can’t, not yet.”

“John, we have to go back, I have to check I haven’t left any of me behind. I split into millions of atoms, no sub atomic particles and they flew off in every direction, I may have left bits behind.”

“Take some from me. I can’t take you back yet, I need to refuel.”

I pushed him off me and sat up and looked down at him, he was beautiful, his chest so muscled and covered in sweat, glistening. He looked like a glazed statue of a Greek god. “What fuel do you want, caffeine enriched coffee, oysters, cornflakes? Tell me I’ll go out and buy anything you’re short off. What about another brandy or shall I massage you with evening primrose oil?”

He smiled up at me then pulled me down and kissed me. “I have all the stimulation, fuel and love right here beside me.”

“It’s probably you in that case, there’s missing bits of me inside you.”

“I thought it was the other way round.”

I nodded enthusiastically and turned into him, “Millions of them and you can’t have them back,” and I kissed him and kept my eyes open and stared into his, my own private paradise.

After a while, I closed my eyes and went to sleep and dreamed of John and me flying over the meadow with the starlings. When I woke up it took me a moment to work out where I was and then I realised that the lumpy thing beside me was not a screwed up duvet but John and I was tempted to poke him and see if he had regained his strength but he was smiling as he slept so it was obvious he was dreaming of me and I didn’t have the heart to disturb him and I was a bit worried that he might think I was being too forward, too quick to want him inside me again, perhaps I might have overdone it last night. I slid to the edge of the bed and got up and went to find my nightie and then remembered I had been undressed by John and hadn’t bothered with a nightie so I took the slip I had worn and crept into the en-suite shower room. I looked in the mirror before showering to check myself over for hickies and things like that but there were none so I wouldn’t have any embarrassing marks to explain away at my final pre-op medical which was now only days away.

I moved closer to the mirror and studied the bit that wouldn’t be there before much longer. There was nothing new about it and yet last night something had happened down there, it had been a bit sticky this morning on the area of my abdomen just above it. It wasn’t anything to do with John, well not directly. I know he was responsible for the way I had spent all that time in space but the sticky bit was more of a by-product, something that had happened because he had sent me into space and it had to have a connection with the explosions I had felt inside me, the wonderful sensations of being inside a volcano during an earthquake when a comet had hit the world but I can’t remember feeling anything down there, I had forgotten it existed, my excitement, the fiery sensations came from inside me, all over my body not from my penis. But it was the only place where the sticky stuff could have come from.

As I showered I thought back to the lectures my doctors had given me about my condition, about the operation and what I might experience afterwards and the best I could come up with was it had to do with my prostate. I know that was going to be left when I had the op so I assume it would still continue to produce seminal fluid but I wasn’t making sperm so seminal fluid was the only thing it could be. There was no blood anyway and nothing hurt and hadn’t done so last night so I put it aside, I would ask the experts when I saw them next but for the moment, there didn’t seem to be anything to worry about except how I was going to creep about in the bedroom and open wardrobe doors and tallboy drawers without awakening my space pilot.

I crept out of the shower room and almost slid my feet across the carpet to keep quiet and opened both wardrobe doors and stepped back and looked at the array of dresses, blouses and skirts. Judging by the light penetrating the cracks in the curtains, the weather was going to live up to the forecast of warm and sunny so I eased my floral sundress out, changed my mind and selected the white one and was about to put that back and have a look at the baby-blue when I heard John call my name softly. I turned round and walked across the carpet and looked at him, he was still asleep so I knelt down put my elbows on the mattress and cupped my chin in my hands and stared at his face. His eye lids fluttered a little and his mouth turned into a smile and the lips were slightly parted and for a moment I was tempted to lean forward and touch his lips with the tip of my tongue and then kiss him but he started muttering so I turned my head a little and eased forward so that I could hear what he was saying.

“Fly across the meadow again…fly lower so the hay tickles us…prairie oysters and…caffeine flakes…no, let’s fly again.”

I eased back turned and sat with my back resting against the mattress; he was dreaming about me. He and I were flying like birds across the top of the hay meadow and he must have been telling the dream-me what he wanted for breakfast. I stood and tiptoed back to the wardrobe, picked up the white dress and tulle petticoat and managed to open and close the drawers enough to pick out my bra, panties, stockings and sussies and then took them back to the shower and got dressed. He was still asleep so I took my make-up and hairbrush off the dressing table and was about to leave the bedroom and make myself incredibly beautiful in the office when he started muttering again so I went back to the bed and listened but it was just mumble jumble except for “Boiled eggs.”

So I left him to do my makeup in the office and then went to the kitchen and pondered the problem over breakfast, did he want prairie oyster eggs or boiled eggs? The caffeine flakes were easy, just coffee and cornflakes but the prairie oyster bit was a nuisance, I wasn’t sure how to make them other than they included raw eggs, tabasco and Worcester sauce but would he want boiled eggs as well? I shrugged and went back to the office, looked up prairie oysters, easy-peasy and if he didn’t want the boiled eggs, I could have them. Odd though, usually people had prairie oysters to cure a hangover, I’ve never heard of anybody having them for breakfast instead of poached or fried, still, men were a bit strange sometimes. I left the office and heard a voice coming from the bedroom so I went down and opened the door. The voice was John and it was coming from the en-suite shower so I knocked on the door, “I’m in the shower,” he called back unnecessarily, “I’ve got no clothes on,” he added equally unnecessarily. I opened the door and walked in and pulled the shower door open, “Do you want me to do your back?”

“You’re fully dressed!”

“That doesn’t matter, I have spare clothes.”

He smiled, “It’s tempting but you’ll spoil you hair.”

“I hadn’t thought of that but I have two things to say. One, you sing terribly and the other is about breakfast, do you really want prairie oysters AND boiled eggs?”

“Who told you I like prairie oysters?”

“You but I haven’t time to go into it now, which is it to be?” I sniffed the air, “And you’re using my perfumed soap, I warned you about that yesterday.”

He grinned again, “I’m not going into the office or on site today so it doesn’t matter and I’ll have the same as you for breakfast.”

“Are you sure, I’m having strong tea, toast and two estrogen tablets?”

He laughed, turned off the shower and stepped out and kissed me as I handed him a towel, “Want me to dry your back or better still your front?”

“No, I don’t trust myself.”

“I don’t trust you either that’s why I offered.” I turned to leave and said “Breakfast in ten minutes and don’t use all my makeup.”

Ten minutes later I sat at the kitchen table and watched fascinated as John picked up the glass containing my first ever attempt at making a prairie oyster. He sniffed it gently, rolled the glass in his hand to mix the contents evenly, sniffed again and placed the glass to his lips, tilted his head back and opened his mouth and the oyster vanished into his mouth. His lips closed over it and for perhaps three seconds he held it in his mouth and then swallowed, opened his mouth, sighed with satisfaction then smacked his lips. “Perfect,” he said, “Why don’t you try one?”

“I prefer my eggs in egg cups, it’s more lady-like. Why did you want one, you haven’t a hangover?”

“I like them, it’s just one of those odd things about me.”

“Do you have any other odd things about you I should know about?”

“Loads. I really enjoy winkles and fresh celery but the salt mustn’t be sprinkled on the celery, it should be poured onto the side of the plate in a neat cone so the celery stick can be dipped into it. I also liked to suck the sugar coating off paracetamol tablets before I swallow them.”

“That’s normal, I do that as well.” I got up and crossed to the breakfast bar and poured him a large cup of breakfast tea and picked up the plate with the two pink tablets on it and placed them in front of him. “There you are, I’ll get the toast ready now.”

He popped the two pink tablets into his mouth, crunched on them and washed them down with tea. You’re supposed to swallow them whole,” I reprimanded.

He nodded and drank a little more tea, “I know pink Smarties when I see them so that didn’t work.”

I grinned and sat down and pushed the pile of toast towards him. “Do prairie oysters work like sea oysters?”

“Well I fancy you like mad but I do that all the time so I can’t be sure.”

“I made you an offer when you were in the shower but you declined.”

“You looked so nice in that white dress I didn’t want to spoil it.”

“What time do you have to go home?”

“If I leave after breakfast I can get an early start, and I would like to take you out this evening.”

“If you can access your files, you can borrow my desktop and I’ll use the laptop, it will save you having to go home. Then I could tidy up the flat, do my work and we could go out for the day. You can use one of my leg razors if you want to shave, your chin I mean, not your legs and I have a spare tooth brush.”

Breakfast was finished so I started to clear the table and tuck everything away with the supper dishes and turned the dishwasher on, “I’ve just had a thought. Clean shirt, underwear and socks? If I wash them now and put them in the spin dryer, it will be a couple of hours before they are fit to wear.”

“What do I wear in the meantime?”

“I hadn’t thought of that, why not wear a towel round your waist and I’ll lend you one of my wraps to keep your upper half warm? Come to think of it, it would look quite sexy. You could wear it like a toga, over one shoulder with the other bare, a bit like a, gladiator. I’ll take the belt out of your trousers and you can wear that around your waist with one of my larger carving knives stuck in it.”

He nodded, “But for the sake of your safety, forget the knife and as nobody is going to see me, I’ll try it, I’m only sitting at a desk.”

I went into the bedroom and collected his clothes, placed his trousers on a hanger in my wardrobe with his jacket, left his shoes beside the bed and went into the utility room with the washing which now included my stuff, they could have a chat about last night whilst they were swimming about in the washing machine and then took my laptop into the sitting room and started work.

An hour later I had completed my work for the soft furnishing contract and sent it all off with a reminder that I would be going into hospital in a few days to let me know immediately if there were any changes needed and then I closed down and went into utility room and took out the washing and put it in the dryer and then made coffee. “Your clothes will be ready in an hour,” I looked him up and down, he was more like a pile of dirty linen awaiting a washing machine than a Roman gladiator, “It’s just as well you weren’t born about the time Jesus was on earth, you look more like a beggar than a gladiator.”

He nodded, “I feel like a discarded corpse the work is not going well, I keep thinking of you instead of area volumes and weight stresses.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say. I was thinking of you when I did my work and it’s some of the best I’ve done.”

“You’re female and can compartmentalise your brain, I can’t.”

“Do you want an exciting, rip-roaring afternoon or a romantic one?”

“Romantic, why is there a fair in town?”

“No and it’s a surprise so don’t ask any more questions. I have to pop out to the shops, I’ll be about forty five minutes and then I’ll iron your shirt and we can be off any time you’re ready.”

“Okay, I’ll be finished work by then. Want me to help with the shopping?”

“No, you finish your job and I only need a few bits so it won’t be heavy.”

When I got back I had just enough time to prepare lunch, pack it away in the picnic hamper and get the carton with the primus stove, kettle and cool box and left them on the kitchen table. I ironed his shirt, grabbed his underpants and socks and went into the bedroom and left them on the bed with his trousers and jackets and went to fetch the owner.

“I’m just about finished; another fifteen minutes okay,” he greeted me and took a hold of me and kissed me, “I haven’t kissed you at all today.”

“Yes you did, in the shower but I don’t mind the second kiss, so any time you get the urge, just come and get me. Your clothes are ready and I’ve left them on the bed with a floppy hat I bought you.”

“Are we going to a cricket match?”

“Better than that, not so noisy but it’s a surprise now hurry up, I’ll make a phone call to a friend and then put everything in the car and we can get away.”

In Chapter 6, a surprise trip and a time for confessions.

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First Dates are Kissing Dates 6

By Frances Penwiddy

Murmuring with Starlings

Copyright © Frances Penwiddy 2016

Murmuring with Starlings contains material of an adult nature and is not suitable as reading material for minors.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

A trip on the river and a time for confessions.

6
“Did you have a nice evening?” asked Samantha.

“I don’t know, it’s still ongoing.”

“Huh?”

“Yesterday evening is still happening, John stayed the night.”

“Wow! What’s happening now?”

“He’s in my office finishing off his work and then we’re going out to lunch and that’s as far as I’ve planned.”

“Going out where?”

“Where the wind and tide take us, I like surprises.”

“Stop talking riddles or I’ll come round and ruin your plans by insisting I stay for lunch.”

“I’m taking him on the river, I discovered he likes walking along the banks yesterday so I thought this would be a nice break for both of us, he works as hard as I do. I went out earlier and bought stuff for a picnic and a wide brimmed hat in pale yellow to match my shoulder bag and sandals.”

“Are you taking him on your boat, it sounds as if that’s what you’re planning?”

“Yes, I want to see how well he handles a punt before I go steady.”

I heard a long sigh, “It sounds like a romantic afternoon, can I come if I promise to sit quietly and just watch you two?”

“No.”

“How did yesterday go?”

“It was lovely, we walked along the river to the Horse and Barge and then he took me to see ‘Love Story’ and even brought a spare hanky and then we walked home and it was terrific, I’ve never imagined making love could be so beautiful.”

“You flew?”

“Out into space and danced with the stars. It hurt like hell at first but not for long and then it was incredible.”

There was another long sigh, “So you’re in love. Any problems?”

“No, well yes, this morning there was a sticky patch at the bottom of my abdomen, just above my pubes.”

“Blood?”

“No just damp and sticky and as far as I could tell it was either clear of milky white.”

“It’s probably seminal fluid, did you feel any itching or pain there?”

“No, no sensation there whilst it was happening, Willy is dead now and I was surprised this morning when I discovered it. I checked carefully and there was no blood, no pain, no itching, just nothing.”

“And yet you flew?”

“Yes, really flew I think I had three orgasms right on top of each other.”

“I’ll speak to the hospital tomorrow and have a word with your doctor if you like, he’ll need to know before your operation.”

“Oh! Will it mean the operation will be postponed?”

“I doubt it, we already know your prostate is slightly forward of where they normally are and if it was stimulated last night that would cause it to produce a lubricant. They may even be able to rearrange it a little and use it to lubricate your vulva and vagina during your op and that could mean you won’t have to use a gel. We’ll have to see what the doctor has to say. Are you free on Wednesday, he may want to check you over and I can come with you if you wish.”

“Okay, I’m almost clear of work now until after my stay in the hospital and I would like you to be there, you can explain all the technical bits to me in English. What about tonight though?”

She laughed, “Going flying again?”

“I want to but if it’s likely to cause harm, I can take a cold shower instead.”

“Go easy and if you find the entry pain continues for longer than it did yesterday or you have any unpleasant sensations, then stop. If you explain it to John, he’ll understand and if you are both aware, it will be safer. He does sound like a nice bloke and will stop if he thinks it’s causing a problem.”

There was a pause and then she said, “There are other ways of flying, you can always try one of them if you’re worried.”

“Okay I’ll experiment. See you Wednesday.”

“Phone me tomorrow anyway and let me know how it goes, bye.”

We turned right into the boat yard and I stopped beside the first of the two boat sheds.

“We’re going to hire a boat?”

“No, I can’t afford it, not at twenty pounds plus a forty pound deposit,” I answered opening the door of my car and pressing the boot button in one fluid movement. I slid from my seat and went round to the back, “Fancy meeting you here,” I said as John came round from his side. “You bring the large carton, it’s a bit heavy and I’ll carry the picnic hamper,” I took the hamper and opened the boat shed door and walked in and put the hamper beside the punt and returned to the car for my bag and sun hat leaving Will staring at the cruiser moored alongside the punt.

“She’s a beauty,” he said as I re-joined him, “But then again, so are you and given the choice, I would rather spend the day in a punt with you than in a luxury river cruiser without you.”

I smiled as I stepped into the punt, put the hamper in the centre and held out my arms for the carton carrying the plates and primus stove and nodded at the water container, “There’s a drinking water tap just over there by the door, can you half fill it, we won’t need more and I’ll untie the punt.”

“I thought you said it was too expensive to hire a boat.”

“It is but this one belongs to me, so I’m letting myself hire it for free.”

He chuckled and went to get the water and when he returned I had the punt untied and was settling myself in the forward seat. “Have you handled a punt before, there’s a knack to it?”

He shook his head, “I’ll learn on the job.”

“Normally I’d let you do it but I don’t want you falling into the river because I’ll have to jump in and rescue you and spoil the dress and my new hat. Lift the flaps behind the stern seat, there’s a small outboard and if you lift the engine section it can be swung round and tilted into the water and the starter cord is next to the tiller handle.”

He managed that and once the engine was running he eased the punt out of the boat shed and then around the workshop and boat dock and into the river, “Turn upstream, that’s left, I know a lovely picnic spot about a half hour upstream. If you get fed up with driving, I’ll take over.”

“I won’t so settle down and relax, I have handled a dinghy with an outboard before and the view from this end is breath taking,” he said as a light gust of wind lifted my skirt and petticoat but died as my hand tamed the skirt and prevented it rising too far. “You shouldn’t be looking.”

“Why, I undressed you last night, you didn’t tell me to stop looking then. Anyway, I can’t stop myself.”

“Last night was different.”

He smiled, “It certainly was.” His eyes were on me now and his look became thoughtful, “I wish I was a painter, the way you’re dressed and with the hat casting shadows on your face, your smile, the look in your eyes, you are an Impressionist’s dream.”

I started to blush and looked down at the hand still pressing down on my skirt and quietly spoke, “John, will my having the operation make any difference to the way you feel about me. If it’s something that will, I’ll cancel it, I’d rather have you to share my life than complete the way I would like to look.”

He cut the engine of the punt and let it drift and walked down to the bow and sat beside me, taking my hand, “Emma, what’s brought this on?”

I shook my head, “I’m worried about it, worried that you may no longer want me if I become a complete woman…”

“Wonder if I only want a pre-op transsexual woman?”

“Yes, that’s a major part of it but there is something else. Last night we made love long before I would normally have done so after meeting a man. I made it fairly obvious that I wanted you, wanted you to take me to bed, acted in a promiscuous manner by most people’s standards. But after all the time we have spent chatting to each other through our computers and then having had two lovely evenings with you I… I think something inside me decided that you were right for me, you were a lovely person and I felt safe in your company and I had fallen in love. I know it’s love because I have never felt this way before, never wanted to be with somebody, yearned for their company so much and I became a bit determined and it was me that seduced you rather than the other way round. I acted in a manner that was hardly sweet and demure.

“You gave me two opportunities to say no, that’s as far as we go but I responded by taking your hand and putting it on my knee and when you stopped and gave me the second opportunity to say ‘That’s as far as I can go tonight,’ I took your hand off my leg and placed it on my breast, I was determined to make you lose your self-control and be intimate with me, have intercourse and now I wonder if I didn’t overdo it, make you think I’m what people would think of as an easy lay and would act in the same way with any man. That isn’t true, you aren’t any man, you’ve become my man and I don’t mean that in a possessive manner, I mean that you are the only man I have ever met that I want, want forever…”

He leaned across and very lightly kissed me, “When I met you in the chat room I wasn’t there deliberately. Two years ago I was in a relationship with a woman, we had been together for nearly nine months. At the beginning everything was good and then after about six months things started going wrong. She began asking the wrong questions, asking me if I had any ambitions about my job and then she was asking me didn’t I find it a nuisance having my own consultancy and wouldn’t I prefer working nine till five and having my weekends free. Why I didn’t accept one of the offers I have received from major companies rather than struggle to make it on my own. This went on for quite a while and eventually we had a stand up row, I told her my consultancy and my job were very important to me, they were my ambition and one day, when I really became successful I would be able to take as much time off as I wanted and employ other people to do the travelling, overtime and site work. She refused to understand. She wanted me to change immediately.
“I can understand her point of view, nobody wants a life partner that spends so much time working and being away from home but the problem was that she wanted me to stop now right at the point where I am on the verge of getting the recognition I have worked so hard for. Even when I offered to do as she asked if she gave me another year she refused and a few days later when I got home from a site visit, she had gone and left a note saying she wanted a partner that kept regular hours, was at home every evening and had weekends free.” He sighed, “I can understand her point of view to some extent but to not even want to give it a go for another year was unreasonable, well I thought so anyway so I didn’t chase after her, I knew then she wasn’t the right woman for me.
“I buried myself in work then and though I met one or two women, they were just occasional things so I was living a life on my own and had it not been for my work keeping me so busy, I would have been lonely so I tried a few dating agencies on-line but that didn’t work either and I was about to give that up when I stumbled into your chat room quite by mistake. When I realised that it was a transsexual chat room I was on the point of getting out but out of curiosity, I started following a few of the conversations and though I thought they sounded like interesting people it hadn’t occurred to me to join in and then you popped up. I can’t remember the details of what you were saying but you were chatting to a friend called Samantha and I suddenly became engrossed and apart from some of the technical stuff about gender reassignment and hormones and things like that, you mentioned a concert at the Royal Festival Hall and I realised that you were becoming an interesting person and had a broad range of interests. I left the room then and a few nights later I revisited it and checked your profile and even though it was a lousy picture I still thought you were attractive and you were chatting to a girl about Charles Dickens and I listened in again and the following week there were several of you talking about cooking and eventually about two weeks after that I realised that I wanted to meet you and that’s when I started speaking to you, well chatting you up really. You know the rest.
“But as far as last night is concerned, you weren’t the only one who wanted to have intercourse. When I paused and told you to say ‘No’ if you wanted me to stop, it wasn’t my being gentlemanly, it was fear. I was frightened that if I did go further and you weren’t ready, then you would refuse to meet me again because I had gone too far, made love to you when you weren’t yet ready, weren’t sure you wanted our relationship to go in that direction. This morning when I woke up and you weren’t beside me in the bed, I was really frightened, I thought I had done the one thing I was most scared off, driven you away, taken advantage of the fact you had had a few drinks and hurt you. I lay in bed for a few minutes cursing myself for a fool and rather than come looking for you I hid in the shower and sang because I was trying to convince myself that everything was okay and you would suddenly appear and everything would be okay, and then you did suddenly appear and even offered to come in to the shower and my heart nearly burst with happiness.”

“But you refused my offer?”

“I meant what I said, you looked so beautiful I couldn’t bear to spoil it and I was still a bit scared off pushing you too hard, it was a difficult decision,” he smiled, “You’ll never know just how close you came to destroying a lovely dress and a beautiful hair style or how relieved I was that you still wanted me and I hadn’t wrecked the opportunity to win the heart of an incredible woman.”

“So I was the first transgendered woman you have ever made love to?”

“He looked a bit sheepishly at me, “Yes, did it show?”

I smiled and shook my head, “You are an expert lover, it was terrific and you seemed to know exactly what to do, how to excite me.”

“I did a lot of reading and listened to what your friends in the room were saying so I knew some of the problems that you might have but I didn’t quite expect the way you responded, you went up and away so quickly and seemed to take me with you, no not seemed to take me, you did take me and it was an incredible experience. When you’ve had your operation, it frightens me to think of where we’ll go when we make love, I’ll be so nervous, I’ll be like a young teenage boy having his first experience with a woman because that is the way I see you, you’re a beautiful, unique and exceptional woman. You have the expected erogenous zones and a very responsive body and react to kisses and caresses very quickly which is exciting. When we’re together doing other things, going out for a meal or picnics on the river like we are now, there is still an aura of excitement about you. You have a hidden ability to draw people in, show them things and make the ordinary become extraordinary. Have your operation because I think you know who you are but will never feel complete unless you do. You will have an image of yourself of being somewhere in between; neither male nor female yet yearning deep inside to be a complete woman. I don’t think your personality will change, you will still be the Emma you are now but instead of being a precious gem concealed in a cardboard box, you will be the same precious gem but displayed on a velvet cushion.

“Don’t worry about how I’ll feel towards you, I will be just the same as I am now, excited when I’m with you, enthralled by your femininity, enchanted with your sense of humour but above all, by the way you are able to share it with me and make me glad to be alive and thankful that the gods saw fit to bring us together.” He stopped talking, watched my face for a second or two and then his hand went to a pocket and came out holding a handkerchief and I threw my arms around him, hugged him as tightly as I could and kissed him and would have stayed like that for an hour but the punt bumped into the river bank.

The feelings that ran through me as we laid out the picnic were so mixed, I was deliriously happy most of the time. I kept chatting away about all sorts of inconsequential things then had moments of doubt, wandering what could go wrong, what disaster was waiting around the corner to ruin everything and John seemed to sense it and would reach out and touch me, smile or just kiss me. Eventually I settled down begun to feel comfortable with myself, with my plans for a future with John, with just about everything and above all, confident of him and his feelings. He didn’t do anything special but I did notice he was spending a lot of the time just looking at me, not speaking and not staring, just looking and there was always a soft look in his eyes. After we had finished our food and drank a glass of wine we lay on the grass under the shade of an old beech tree watching the few clouds drift idly across the sky. After a while he said, “I’ve cleared my work and told everybody I’ll be unavailable for three weeks and I’m coming with you when you go into the hospital.”

“You’ll get bored, all that happens is I’ll be stuck in a bed, told I can’t eat anything and only drink water and I’ll have to keep that up until the next day when they’ll prep me and wheel me away for a few hours and when they bring me back I’ll be spark out and my important bits will be covered in miles of bandages and plaster. The most exciting thing to happen will be a nurse coming round to change the dressings and they’ll throw you out of my room when they do that.”

“I’m still coming and staying until the end of visiting hours and then I’ll be back the next morning until they wheel you away and then I’m going to sit outside the operating theatre until it’s all done.”

“When I come out of the anaesthetic, I’ll still be a bit woozy.”

“Make sure you tell me or I might mistake it for your normal self.”

“Would you like to stay this evening, all night I mean?”

“I’d love to but I will need to make an early start because I’ll have to go to my place and change into fresh clothes for a site meeting in the morning and then a conference in the afternoon.”

“Normally I’d say it’s better if you went home and had a good night’s sleep but after tonight I won’t be able to have sex because of the operation so I’m going to be selfish and ask you to stay and I’ll run you home as early as you like. There is one thing though, when we make love, if I seem to be uncomfortable we’ll have to stop. It hurts in the beginning but that stops quickly but if I seem to be in pain longer than last night or I try to stop you, we have to stop immediately.”

“We don’t have to have sex, we can just be together and cuddle each other.”

I sat up and looked down at him, “Are you kidding, I couldn’t have you lying beside me in bed and not do something!”

He smiled, “Okay, we’ll see, but whatever happens I will be careful and treat you as gently as I would a soap bubble.”

The sun was low in the west and it was getting a little chilly, “Come on, we’ll pack up and get back,” and as I spoke and started to get up a bitchy gust of wind blew my skirt and petticoat up to my waist and I looked down and then fell on my back and started laughing and kicking my feet in the air, “Even the bloody wind is out to get me.”

“I told it to,” he said as he pulled my skirt down, “It was very nice, you must do it more often.”

In Chapter 7 – An introduction to Tamesisadda and an evening is planned at the Cantina.

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First Dates are Kissing Dates 7

By Frances Penwiddy

Murmuring with Starlings

Copyright © Frances Penwiddy 2016

Murmuring with Starlings contains material of an adult nature and is not suitable as reading material for minors.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

A dance lesson or two from the Butterfly who would be a Hawk.

7

When we got back to the boathouse, John took the carton and then I handed him the picnic hamper and climbed out of the punt and we tied up. He kept glancing at the river cruiser, “Tamesisadda, is that an Indian name?”

“No, Tamesisadda is a Celtic goddess of the River Thames, would you like an introduction? I’ll become furiously jealous if you say yes.”

“In that case I’ll say no. I wonder why they keep her moored here and not on the river?”

“Mooring charges on the Thames are frightening especially if they are secure moorings like this and the River Thames is less than an hour’s cruise in a boat like her. I’ll arrange an introduction now without feeling jealous as you declined when I first offered.”

He smiled, “Now that is female thinking. Do you know the owners?”

Before I could answer the door to the boathouse swung open, “Ah, yes, Emma, I thought it might be you, I saw the car earlier.”

“Hullo, Fred, we’ve been out on a picnic, the punt looks very smart.”

“I gave her a coat of varnish and cleaned her bottom a week ago.”

“Did she giggle when you tickled her bottom with the brush?”

“Cooed a bit,” he looked at John curiously.

“Come and meet my bloke, Fred, he’s an engineer and sorts out spaces in factories for machines and production lines, so if you ever need to sort out your workshop or dry dock, he’s the man to speak to.”

Fred came over and shook hands, “You’ll find the boats easier to keep in order than young Emma, they’re not so wilful,” he advised. Turning back to me he nodded at Tamesisadda, “She’s all done as well, new coat of anti-foul paint below the water line, are you planning to take her out soon, she could do with a bit of a run.”

“Not for a month or perhaps longer, I’m going into hospital soon. I might take her away for a week or two when the doctors give me the okay. If you want to borrow her, Fred, help yourself, take Della and your grandchildren out for a bit of fishing.”

“Aye, she’d appreciate that, thanks. Must go, I need to get the dry dock ready for a narrow boat coming in tomorrow, a seventy footer, nice boat, give me a shout if you want anything,” he nodded at John, “I’ll say this much, you look like a man that can keep her in order but keep your eyes on her, I’ve known her to jump in the river and swim to help a swan tangled up with fishing line and she did it fully clothed and it was March and not too warm,” he nodded and went off.

As he closed the door I said, “He never told you that he jumped in after me, I was cold and my clothes were pulling me down and Fred is over sixty and still managed to get me back to the boat and haul me out.”

“It was a brave thing to do, more so in March the water temperature must have been pretty cold?”

“It was, we both had to strip off and Fred was standing at the helm navigating the boat wrapped up in a couple of towels and a blanket while I shuffled around making soup in a winceyette nightie, a waterproof jacket and a pair of pink deck shoes. When we got back here Della kicked up such a fuss and ignored Fred completely. She rushed me into her house and virtually had me sitting on her Argo stove and drinking a mixture of milk and rum and poor old Fred had to squelch his way up to the bathroom, still wet and cold and run a hot bath for me.”

“They know about you then, about your being transsexual?”

“Yes, they were friends of mum and dad since before I was born and when my parents died four years ago they kept an eye on me in a quiet sort of way even though I was twenty two.”

“Nice people.”

“They are and very hospitable. When Fred tells Della that I’ve got a boyfriend, she’ll be giving you the once over and asking a lot of questions and demand to know if you’re capable of looking after me then she’ll take to you and fuss over you like a mother hen if you as much as graze your hand when opening a padlock.

“I’d better not upset you then.”

I laughed, “God no, there’s Samantha as well the three of them would wrap you in a tarpaulin and throw you into the river smothered in pike bait.”

“So Tamesisadda is yours?”

“Yes, I didn’t tell you because I was keeping it as another surprise. I held on to her after my parent’s death because of my happy memories and sometimes I take my customers for trips, often as far as Southend and Margate. It works as well, it’s different to the usual business lunch or dinner and they can bring their wives and girlfriends along as well. Ted takes charge of the boat and Della does the catering and they’re good at it as well, I’ve signed two contracts, big ones on board and settled a couple of very nice deals as well. We’ll go away for a while if you like once I’m out of hospital and if ever you want to impress a business contact or customer, you can use her. Let me know and if you want Fred or Della to handle the boat whilst you fuss over your customers, they can do it or I can, I can handle the boat and navigate inshore and in the Med.”

“Who taught you the navigation part?”

“Dad and Fred. I have a Channel licence and a navigation certificate and provided I stay within territorial waters or within the English Channel my marine insurance and navigation licence will cover me to take us to a dream island in the Aegean and if I hug the coasts, I can cross to Turkey come back along the Egyptian and North African coast and with a nod and a wink to the right people I can slip back to the north Mediterranean Coast between the Pillars of Hercules and back home via the Isles of Scilly, loop the loop around Ireland and get back to the Thames via Scotland and the North Sea.”

“I’ll book a week off and we’ll do it.”

“Make it a year and we’ll have time to do a bit of sight-seeing.”

We loaded the car with the picnic basket and drove home. “We’ll take this stuff indoors and then I’ll take you out to dinner. Don’t argue, it’s my turn. Now there’s the new Chinese restaurant or the Mexican place which has dancing, or wherever else you prefer?”

He nodded thoughtfully, “I’ve never tried Mexican.”

“It’s hot and spicy and the dancing is Latin and good fun but you don’t have to eat the spicy stuff, they also do mild and plain food as well.”

“Let’s go Mexican then.”

“Okay, I’ll shower and wear a dress more suited to a wild night in a Mexican cantina, would you like something to eat before we go out?”

“I’ll have to wear the same clothes, it’s a pity we didn’t call in at my place on the way from the boatyard, we were only fifteen minutes away. He picked up the carton containing the primus stove, “Where would you like these?”

“On the work bench is okay and I’ll take the picnic hamper into the kitchen.” I looked him over, “Can you get yourself something to eat and I’ll pop into town and get you a pair of Chinos, a shirt and we can borrow a sombrero when we go to the restaurant, they keep a few for customers and some ponchos. We can have fun.”

He looked doubtful, “I have to be on site at eleven in the morning and that means leaving home no later than ten, are we having a late night?”

“No, I did think of that so if we leave the restaurant no later than eleven, would that be okay?”

“Fine and I can shower and change at my place in the morning.”

“I’ll do your back for you and I’m an early riser so if we have cereal for breakfast and leave here at about eight thirty, will that give you enough time?”

He smiled, “Depends on how late it is before we get to sleep.”

“That, sir, is up to you,” I took the hamper up to the kitchen and left for the shops.

When I returned there was no sign of John but there were signs of recent activity beside the kitchen sink and I felt a little warmth coming from the dishwasher. I looked inside and he had loaded the picnic stuff and washed everything. So I went looking for him and as I came out of the office I heard him, singing again and sure enough, when I got to the bedroom he was in the shower so I put the clothes I had bought for him on the bed, knocked loudly on the door and shouted, “I’m having a bath, your new clothes are on the bed,” and after receiving an acknowledgement, I took my bathrobe and went for a soak.

When I got back, John was dressed and looked really dishy, edible in fact and the casual shirt really suited him. “You look terrific,” I told him, “All you need is the sombrero and poncho and you’ll look like a scrubbed up version of Clint Eastwood in one of his Westerns.”

He smiled, “You don’t think it’s too colourful?”

“No, definitely not, it’s just right for the place we’re going to. How do the shoes feel?”

“They’re fine, comfortable.”

“So there’s no excuse for you to not dance with me?”

“Nothing too elaborate though.”

“Latin and jive.”

“I can handle some Latin, the samba, rhumba, cha-cha but not the tango.”

“That’ll do for starters. I’ll be a half hour getting ready so if you want to phone George to see if he’s available you can give him a time.”

“Fine,” and he sat on the bed and just looked at me.”

“What are you sitting down for?”

“Waiting for you to get ready.”

“No you’re bloody not, you go and wait in the sitting room and if you get bored the vacuum cleaner is in the utility room.”

“Spoil sport.”

“You’ll get a chance to be excited when I dance in the Cantina, now buzz off.”

I finished my sultry Latin look makeup and took out my black full circle skirt and white petticoat and a white peasants blouse and then picked a pair of pretty, full cut panties, they had lace inserts at the side but the front and back were opaque so if I did flare the skirt and I was certainly going to try, I would at least be covered. A black suspender belt and my seamed nylons completed the ensemble under the skirt but I hate wearing a black bra under a white blouse so I wore a white cleavage bra. I picked my stiletto black patent heels and belt and a white wrap, took my coat from the wardrobe, spent five minutes checking the effect, well one minute really, the other four were spent admiring myself and went up to the sitting room.

“You’ve changed your hair style,” was the first thing that John said and the second was, “You look terrific though, definitely Fifties.”

“You like it? You don’t think the bowed ribbon holding the pony tail is too much.”

“No, it’s perfect, definitely perfect.” He helped me on with my coat, picked up his own jacket and took my arm, “George arrived two or three minutes ago, ready?”

“Just my bag,” and I took it from the coffee table, dropped my touch-up makeup bag inside and we went down to George, “Blimey,” he said, “You going to a fancy dress you look like a cross between Mexican Pete and John Travolta,” and he jumped out of the cab, run round to our side and opened the door, “And you are really something else, definitely Olivia Newton John.”

“Did your wife like the lipstick, George?”

“Oh yes, I nearly forgot, she wants you to give me the make and colour, she’s getting a tube.”

“I’ll jot it down in the cab.”

When we arrived at The Cantina, Peter Gonzales turned from making an entry in his bookings diary and walked quickly towards me and we air kissed, “Senorita Emma, how nice to see you again.”

“It’s been a while, Speedy, work and hospital,” I turned to John, “Clint, this is my favourite Mexican from Clapton, Peter Gonzales, known as Pedro to his mother, father and staff whilst to everybody else, Speedy. Speedy this is my favourite hombre, John, otherwise known as Clint the Cattle Rustler and will you lend him a sombrero and poncho for the evening.”

“For you Emma me old darlin, of course but can I still have a dance later?”

“Clint, can Speedy have a jive with me later and will you promise not to blow him away?”

John smiled and held out his hand, “I’m a little confused, should I call you Pete or Pedro.”

“Pete, set a new fashion. Have you known Emma long?”

“Ages,” I interrupted, “We even go away together on boating holidays and he can dance the rumba.”

“Dance away, Pete, I have a feeling I might not be able to cope with Emma in a jive, it’s a full time job just walking with her, I never know quite where the journey may end, what surprises await around the next corner.”

“You’ve not seen her jive before?”

“No, not even waltz.”

“You’re in for a treat, she’s terrific, dances like a feather in a breeze but with the speed of a lighting flash.” He went to a cupboard and came back with a sombrero, “Here but when you get up to dance, push it back off your head to hang down your back, it’s safer that way with Emma spinning in front of you.”

“Sssh, Speedy, you’ll give away my secret surprise.”

Once we were seated and had ordered our starters, John look around, “It’s well done, very atmospheric and the band is good.”

“They are and very good at keeping the tempo and Peter and his wife, Maria give a flamenco demonstration a couple of times during the evening.”

“Why doesn’t he jive with her?”

“She won’t, she tells him the flamenco is fast enough for her so she made me promise not to do the flamenco with him and in exchange, she wouldn’t jive. Peter loves the arrangement, he gets to dance with the two tastiest birds in here.”

“He has a pretty wife does he?”

I smiled, “I think you have just paid me a compliment. Yes his wife is very pretty and full of fun, especially when there’s a party going on which means most evenings.”

Our tortilla dips arrived and I watched as John attacked his tequila, downed it in one, sucked the lemon and shuddered before chasing it with a generous gulp of beer, “Have you ever thought of trying one of those with your prairie oysters.”

“A good idea for a cold morning, are you going to drink yours?”

I shook my head, “You can have it later if you wish, I daren’t drink one until after I finish dancing, I’ll stick to Mexican beer or wine,” I pushed the tequila towards him and sipped at my beer.

“You come in here quite a bit?”

“Not so much the last two or three months because of work and the hospital but yes, I used to come here once a month with the girls from my support group. When it was opening, Samantha found out about it from a friend on the council and we managed to get hold of a group ticket for the opening night and some of the girls brought their boyfriends with them and we had a terrific party. Peter and his wife really fussed over us and when the band started they came over to our table and serenaded us. The boyfriends the girls brought with them danced with all of us and Samantha’s fiancé, he was only a boyfriend in those days, did a samba with me and then a jive and a little later Peter and Maria did a flamenco demonstration and after that Peter got me onto the floor and we jived. It was quite reasonable at first and then I think he signalled the band to speed things up and we flew. He’s a brilliant dancer and we did put on a show and since then, when we come in, he always has a jive with me. Maria told me I was a very good dancer and asked me if I would like a job giving a demonstration dance with Peter twice a week but my graphics were really beginning to take off then and I couldn’t spare the time.”

“Where did you learn to dance?”

“At school in the beginning, our music teacher started it off and we had a dance lesson every week in the gym, that was about the time I was beginning to notice that I was a bit different to the other boys and I used to envy the girls, the way they could look so graceful and the pretty dance clothes they wore and when I left school and went to art college I was dressing and living as a girl then and somebody suggested I join a dance school and I did and started learning the women’s steps and I really loved it. I don’t dance a lot these days, too busy but I do enjoy it on occasions like this, so you’d better be prepared.”

“You’re scaring me.”

I smiled, “I’ll be gentle with you just like you are with me when we make love. I might be tempted to dance very closely when we are doing a smoochy waltz so you must warn me if you think I’m taking liberties.”

“I wouldn’t dream of spoiling it for you.”

We had a glass of beer each and then the band started playing a waltz, “Come on, let’s dance,” and I got up before he could think of an excuse not to. We danced a respectable waltz, not too clingy and after a minute or so, Maria, Peter and another guitarist followed us around the floor serenading us and when that dance ended, they went straight into another one and without really realising what I was doing, I started singing it to John, well the tune was ‘If I Give My Heart to You,’ so I wasn’t so much singing as grilling him on his future plans for us and I started snuggling in a little closer. When the dance ended he gave me a little kiss and we returned to the table to find it filled with little dishes each containing small samples of assorted Mexican foods. “Did you order?” asked John.

“No, well not really, I just told Peter that you hadn’t tried Mexican food before so he must have put these here for you to try before we order.”

“There’s more than enough for both of us to make a meal out of.”

Peter came over, “I thought you might like to try a few of these and there are some new ones for you to sample as well Emma.”

“We can’t try all of these, we won’t have room for our meal.”
“I don’t suppose you will but the next time you come here, you will know what you like best, it’s called customer relations.”

“Are you saying you’re not going to charge me?”

“Of course I’m not. I’m stitching you up for the tortilla dip and the drinks but these are on the house.” He placed a hand on my shoulder, “Look at it as a thank you. I have customers that come in here and ask if Emma is here and is she going to dance and look disappointed when I say no. You have brought new customers to our restaurant, even this evening I have had two customers ask if it is you and when are you dancing so eat up and enjoy yourselves.”

“There you are,” I said as he went off to speak to the band, “The man who marries me will save a fortune on food, I can dance for dinner every night.”

“And sing for your supper.”

We started sampling the food between us and it was almost as good as taking a tour of Mexico. Peter was going to make a big success of The Cantina if he and Maria started putting these dishes on their menu, there was something to cater for just about every taste. We had nearly finished, in fact I had but John was still eating a little when the band beefed up their music and Peter strode arrogantly onto the dance floor and raising his arms began tapping his feet and moving slowly around the perimeter of the dance area and then Maria slowly spun onto the dance floor beneath the band and on our side. Glancing across at Peter, she tossed her head, spun again and moving slowly in our direction she tapped a little raised her hands and used the castanets then a slow spin, another toss of the head and stopped alongside our table and winked at me, “I think he’s interested,” she whispered and turned towards Peter, gave him another glance and then in a voice loud enough for the diners to hear but still speaking to me she said, “I have no interest in men who think they can dance but do not appear to have the ability,” and then with a lighting display of flamenco steps and furious clapping of the castanets she spun to face him, slammed the floor with a foot and lowered her arms to place her hands on her hips with one leg thrust forward and gave yet another toss of her head.

Before the iridescent green of her dress had settled Peter increased the speed of his toe and heel clicking walk with an occasional burst of hand clapping and walked slowly back to the band, his eyes roving over Maria’s body as if he were a farmer assessing a prize cow that he might consider making a bid for. When he was opposite her, the music sped up and he went into a superb display of the arrogant stiffness of the Flamenco his legs and feet moving at incredible speed as they beat a staccato of sound with dazzling movements of his feet and persistent hand clapping which slowly forced the band to increase its rhythm and then he stopped dead, mirrored Maria’s stance with both hands on his hips and one foot tapped impatiently as he stared her down before giving her an imperious ‘come-hither’ flick of his head.

Maria turned her head to me and said, “He still thinks he can dance,” and then matching his footwork, she slowly span out her heels and toes tapping the rhythm, her castanets in time with her turns as she increased the speed until her skirt and multi-layered black petticoat started to flair and she used it to tease the audience until she reached Peter. He waited for her and as she closed on him he turned sideways and slowly danced his way around her, his tattoo beating in sequence with hers and then he lifted an arm and she matched the movement without once faltering in her hand movements, keeping the castanets beating a slow rhythm against the staccato of their feet and then they spun away from each other and closed again spun with each other and in opposite directions and I watched fascinated. At no time did he touch her though their hands came within millimetres of each other and they turned, spun, parted, closed and orbited each other like a matador and a bull manoeuvring for position ready to close for the kill and their feet worked at incredible speed but always in time. The audience were clapping the rhythm now, keeping pace with the guitars and drums of the band and it wasn’t difficult for me to imagine I was standing in a Spanish bullring under a burning sun with the flashing colours of Maria’s dress working as a counterpoint to the severe black of Peter’s high waisted trousers and silver decorated jacket.

The dance ended and they both looked each other up and down and then Maria shrugged, “You can dance a little but you still need lessons,” and she turned away from him and with an occasional tap or click from her shoes she walked towards me. I began to feel a little uneasy but she stopped an arm’s length away and turned to face the other diners, “Ladies and gentlemen, she hasn’t visited us for some time but tonight we have the one woman who can give Pedro a lesson, our own Emma the Butterfly,” and without warning she turned, reached out and took my hand firmly and pulled me from my chair. I nearly collapsed on the floor, I couldn’t dance a flamenco to save my life. Peter would dance rings around me until I got giddy and collapsed and my free hand reached out to John but I was too slow and Maria stepped away from our table taking me with her, “Go show him how to dance, Emma,” said John smiling.

A fat lot of good the new love of my life was, in my moment of greatest need he had gone over to the enemy, “Maria!” I hissed, “I can’t do the flamenco!”

“Trust me,” and she took another three steps, dropped my hand and as she sashayed away she whispered, “Spin your way after me and stop beneath the band’s rostrum.”

I looked back at John but he just smiled and nodded, then I looked towards Peter who was standing there giving me that challenging, haughty look and something stirred inside me, I hadn’t found the man yet who could lose me in ballroom and Latin American and I’m dammed if I’m going to let some bloody Clapton-Mexican prove himself a better dancer than me. I placed a hand on my hip and walked slowly towards him, disdain on my face and egged on by the other diners who were crying out, “Go for it, Emma!” “Send him on his way!” “Show him how to dance!” I walked three quarters of the way towards him and then turned towards Maria who was now standing under the band nodding and smiling. I tossed my head has she had done and started turning slowly and then increasing the speed I spun away from him and towards Maria.

“I can’t dance the bloody flamenco!” I whispered in desperation, the realisation of the challenge I had just accepted dawning on me.

“The band will change the beat and tempo when he gets here, don’t worry, you’ll know the dance, now go get him.”

I looked at her, studied her face, her eyes to see if she was lying but there was only a reassuring smile so I returned my attention to my adversary who was now moving in my direction with occasional flurries of heel tapping footwork and slow turns, the haughty look on his fare as he looked me up and down and then he reached out, stopped and gave two hard stamps of his feet and waited.

I would kill Maria for this and dreading what was coming I took his hand, felt the gentle pull and spun into him and to my surprise he opened his arms and took hold of me in the basic open Latin American hold and as he did so, the music and tempo changed from flamenco to rumba and we slowly danced out to the centre, our hips exaggerating the steps and twice he released a hand and allowed me to turn out and then in and when we reached the centre I looked him in the eyes and saw the slight smile at the corners of his mouth and again the tempo changed and we started dancing the cha-cha. I was on familiar territory now and I threw myself into the dance and matched him step for step, turn for turn and we must have been dancing well because there was a constant beat of the tempo coming from the audience as they clapped the timing and after perhaps two or three minutes, the music slowly faded until only the drums remained and again the style changed and I heard the familiar intro to Rock-Around-The-Clock begin and their male singer started the opening words and I looked into Peter’s eyes, “This is where you get yours,” I whispered and I started to jive and so did he and I kept increasing the pace and he matched me and then lifted our hands to above head height and spun me, spun me back and spun me out again and my skirt lifted, the audience cheered and I realised that he had opened his hand and I was making very fast turns with just my fingers resting on his palm without any support. For a moment I faltered, I had never danced without a firm hand holding me in the fast turns, he was challenging me so I took my hand away from his and spun across him three times and as I pushed my hand out for the catch, his was there waiting but again only an open palm and with just a touch of his thumb he brought me back in and then we danced, danced like I had never done before and several times I found myself copying Maria’s near but never touching hand movements and we turned, spun and skipped around each other my skirt flying, the audience a blur, we danced like a tiger and a panther circling prior to mortal combat, no a pair of falcons trying to outfly each other. I was dimly aware of the band changing to Jailhouse Rock and for twelve minutes we danced until he closed a hand over mine and spun me in to stop. “I surrender, there isn’t a move I can make that you can’t match, you win,” he was smiling and all around us the diners had forgotten the food and drink and were on their feet applauding. Maria spun down to us and we each took one of Pedro’s hands and we bowed to them and turned ourselves to applaud the band and then they walked me back to our table. John was on his feet, “You were superb,” he said, “Truly superb, all of you.” Peter bowed, “Senor Clint, I return the butterfly who would be a hawk to your care and thank you for allowing me the pleasure, no privilege of dancing with her.”

John held out his hand and Peter placed mine in it and John guided me to my chair. As I sat I realise that I had danced in four inch stilettoes and my feet had never faltered but they ached and I reached down and eased the shoes off, “You’ll have to carry me out to the cab,” I complained, “I just can’t dance in heels.”

“Of course not,” said Maria, “You’d lose control and crash into a table,” and she and Peter went off to attend to the diners.

John was smiling, “You certainly rocked me and I wasn’t even taking part.”

“I’ve already promised to teach you but don’t try it in heels.”

In chapter 8; After an evening of dancing, Emma and John go home and Scarlet, Emma’s Muse, dictates the action.

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First Dates are Kissing Dates is available on Amazon Kindle as an E-book or paperback.

Footprints in the Sea Vol 3 is on schedule and will be published in July.

Vesta’s Hearth 5 has been started and I am hoping that this will be available before next Christmas.

And finally, I have been experimenting with short stories and novella’s, (That’s when I have nothing else to do,) and with a little editing, this too may be ready for Christmas as an anthology where I have tried to write humour and at the same time deal seriously with the problems and of course successes of transgendered and intersexed people and some of the fun, sadness and relationships they have.

First Dates are Kissing Dates 8

Murmuring with Starlings

By Frances Penwiddy

Copyright © Frances Penwiddy 2016

Murmuring with Starlings contains material of an adult nature and is not suitable as reading material for minors.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

After an evening of dancing, Emma and John go home and Scarlet, Emma’s Muse, dictates the action.

8

“I didn’t overdo it did I?” I asked John when we arrived home and I made our coffee, “I became so lost in the music and dancing and the competition between Peter and myself that I totally forgot about how high the skirt was lifting or what I was exposing.”

John chuckled lightly, “In the context of what was going on and the general atmosphere of The Cantina, no. It was to some extent erotic, your skirt lifted high enough to let everybody know the colour of your underwear but the sheer brilliance of your dance, the way Peter and you spun around each other, teased and challenged each other demonstrated how, even something like a jive, could be turned into a work of art and the slightly erotic exposure of your limbs added to the artistic appeal. No, you didn’t overdo it. As a spectator I found it exciting, no more than exciting and only wished I had the sense of rhythm, the gymnastic ability to dance like that so I could jive with you but I can’t so I must satisfy myself with a bit of shuffling and when you go flat out in the jive, I will enjoy just watching you. There is one criticism I would make; after having listened to you tell me about your early life and your realisation that you were different to the other boys and how it manifested itself in the way you joined the girls at playtime in school, I was disappointed that you didn’t throw a cartwheel or two into the dance.”

“Cartwheels! Cartwheels in four inch stilettos! I would have broken both ankles and ended up sliding out of the door on my bum!”

“So you would be prepared to try it if you were wearing flat heeled shoes?”

I grinned, “It would certainly give Peter something to think about but knowing him, he’d probably grab one of my ankles and spin me around until I was too giddy to stand up.” I glanced at my watch, “It’s later than we intended, we should go home to bed otherwise you won’t be in a fit state for work in the morning.”

John sent a text to George and nodded in satisfaction, “He’ll be with us in five minutes, he was taking a break before the busy time starts.”

We got up from the table and said our goodnights to Peter and Maria and left. We were quiet in the cab, just holding hands and thinking of the lovely day we had enjoyed together but as we entered the flat I couldn’t stop myself from yawning. “It’s the dancing, it was a bit too energetic, I’ll have to get down to the gym, I’m not dance fit anymore.”

“You’re right but it has been a terrific evening, thank you, thank you for the whole day, we must do it again.”

“I’m not so sure. It really tired me out,” I was lying of course, I was still full of life, “In fact I haven’t the energy to undress, I think I’ll just lay on the bed and undress in the morning.”

“You won’t sleep properly like that, I’ll undress you if you like.”

“It would be nice but you’re tired as well.”

“I am but I feel obliged to help you after you went to such efforts today to see that I had a good time.”

I grinned, “I bet. Just undress me slowly, none of that caveman ripping knickers off stuff, be sweet and loving and very, very gentle, I’m fragile, you heard Peter and Maria describe me as a butterfly, treat me as such.”

“You were also described as a hawk.”

“So I was. Would you like me to grab you with my talons and fly us high above the clouds?”

“As high as the moon if you like, want me to carry you to the bedroom?”

“Yes.”

He lifted me and cradled my shoulders in his left arm and his right upper arm was under my knees and as he walked he was caressing my lower left arm with his left hand and my right hip and waist with his right hand. I leaned my head against his shoulder and looked up at his profile. The set of his jaw told a lot about him, he was a man that wouldn’t easily be pushed off course once his mind was set on something. If it was ever necessary to get him to change his mind then it would need to be done gently, coercion rather than instruction. Whilst I was studying him I felt his hand fiddling around at my waist, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the zipper for your skirt.”

“It’s a back zip, not a side zip, you’ll have to put me down to get to it and I’m nice and comfy, can’t you wait until we’re in the bedroom?”

“I’m impatient, it’s your fault and your provocative dancing.”

“You know what sort of knickers and stockings I’m wearing why are you impatient?”

“I want to feel them.”

“They’re silk, you know what silk feels like.”

“No, I haven’t felt a warm body inside a pair of silk panties since last night, I’ve forgotten what it feels like?”

“You’d better get the bedroom door open then and don’t forget to turn the lights on so you can get a good look.”

“I can’t reach the doorknob with you in my arms.”

“Lower me a bit and I’ll do it.”

He did by stooping a little and tilting my head down and at the same time managed to flip my skirt and petticoat up so that it bunched under my bust. “Eek! Don’t drop me.”

He answered by lifting his right arm so that my body was at an angle of forty five degrees and my hips were nearly at his head height and then he kissed me right in the middle of my panties. In desperation I got the door open before I blew up, “Forget undressing me, get me onto the bed and take me as I am, if you don’t, I’ll never date you again!”

John may not be able to jive but he could certainly move across a carpet quickly enough because in three seconds he dropped me right onto the middle of my bed and before the mattress had a chance to rebound he was undoing the buttons of my blouse, slipped his hands under my waist and under the back of the blouse and unhooked my bra and pushed that up and stopped dead and stared for a bit then kissed one nipple, pinched the other and at the same time flicked my skirt up so high it nearly collapsed on his head and he brushed it back, forgot my boobs and went straight for the panties and kissed me right at the V where they vanished between my thighs and then I felt his tongue force its way between my thighs and I opened my legs and his lips closed on my tiny bulge and I felt the front of the panties become wet and so did he because he lifted his head, hooked my panties with his fingers and pulled them down and off one leg leaving them dangling from the other ankle as he scooped up my legs and lifted them and held them with his shoulders whilst he undid his trousers and pulled them down with his pants and I felt the dragon slide back and forth over the wetness on my lower tummy as it seemed to be drinking the lubricant that I was leaking and then it vanished as he leaned back, still keeping my legs across his shoulders. “You ready?”

“John, stop fooling around and get it into me, I’ve only got seconds before I go nuclear.”

“Not so fast, you’re not dancing with Peter now, it’s me and I’m doing nothing until you withdraw your threat.”

“Threat? What threat, just get on with it and bury it in me, all of it, as high as it will go, do it now.”

“Do you promise to come out with me every time I ask you?”

“Yes, yes, anything, I promise, now will you fuck me or I’m going to explode.”

“Ooh, aren’t you the little slut all of a sudden. This is fun, go for it, I’ll back you up all the way I do fully understand the Anglo-Saxon terminology.”
“Get lost.”
“Not now, just when it’s getting exciting, just get on with it, I won’t interfere other than to encourage you.”

John eased forward and the monster now stiff, hot and leaking a bit itself paused for a second at my rosebud and then slid in and I screamed with a mixture of excruciating pain and sheer ecstasy and I locked my heels behind him as he collapsed on top of me and impaled me, holding me tight onto the bed and I just had time to cry out, take a deep breath and then he was pumping and my heels were beating on his buttocks encouraging him and I dug my nails into the top of his shoulders and we flew up and up through the clouds and straight towards the moon and still he kept pumping into me and we ignored the moon and flew straight into the sun and I had a nova and he yelled and I felt him release millions of radioactive sperm into me and I went into a second nova that went on and on…

I opened my eyes slowly for a second not sure where I was and then they focused and at the same time I heard John’s heavy breathing as he lay still on top of me with his head to one side, his lips just touching my cheek. His shoulder was only an inch or two away from me and I lifted my head and kissed it and as soon as I did, I felt things stirring deep inside me and my nipples were tingling again so I opened my mouth and nipped his shoulder with my teeth and sucked as hard as I could as if trying to draw his essence. He groaned quietly and I felt him begin to slip out of me but I squeezed hard with my thighs and managed to hold him with about half of his penis still embedded in me and the tingling grew more intense, “Don’t you dare slip out, I’m not finished yet, I want you to take me out into space again, I’m not finished, I can still travel…”

“I can’t, not yet, I want to but I can’t.”

“You can, if you really want to experience that again, really want to, you can,” and I pushed hips up to him and felt a little more of his space ship slip in so I started to tighten my internal muscles and wriggled and the electric sparks started zipping up and down my body, heading to my groin and thighs so I wriggled a little harder and felt my body shudder and I gasped, “Go on, go on, you can, please just push in and pull out a little.”

He responded and I felt him harden again and he pushed and then slid back and the tip of his penis started caressing something deep inside me and I saw lights flashing across the room, back and forth like the strobes in a disco growing more and more intense as they matched the shudders that were running up and down my body and John sensed something and seemed to take strength from me and he grew and hardened until he was back to his best and he started his slow pumping movement and each thrust forward touched that something inside me and the lights turned gold and spread until the entire room seemed to be one sheet of pulsing gold. He moved slightly and a hand cupped my breast and squeezed firmly and he gave a hard thrust into me and the gold shattered, the room filled with stars, flashes of lighting and the thunder of his breath and it felt as if his entire body was forcing its way into mine and I wrapped myself around him like a blanket and gasped air into my lungs as he gave another thrust and we exploded together.

We lay still wrapped around each other, still firmly bonded and I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling and the centre light pendant slowly feeling my body return to normal, not feeling tired but alive, really alive and very content, at peace. He moved and I felt his hand gently touch the side of my face and then a finger traced the line of my lips and I turned to face him, “That was so beautiful.”

His eyes were wide open but still soft, “I felt as if I was inside you, I could feel your excitement, your passion, it was as if we had become just one body.”

I nodded slowly and relaxed the grip I had on him with my arms and thighs, “Yes, that’s exactly what happened, we became a single body and our souls danced with each other.”

We lay quiet for a while until he asked, “Shall I finish undressing you now?”

I’d completely forgotten my clothes and lifted my head and felt my blouse slip off my shoulders and when I looked towards my feet, still either side of John’s I giggled, “I’ve still got my shoes on and my panties are only half off.”

“And your skirt and petticoat will need a couple of hours of ironing it’s all scrunched up.”

“I’m surprised it didn’t catch fire. The heat down there must have been intense. I lifted myself a little higher, “And look at you. You still have most of your clothes on, it’s as well you weren’t wearing your suit.”

“I have others and I’ll gladly sacrifice a suit every time we make love if it’s going to be like it was tonight.”

I let my head fall back onto the pillow and looked up at the ceiling half expecting to see scorch marks, “God, I was shameless and my language, whatever happened to the soft romantic me that I was earlier today.”

“Standing to one side and provoking the adventurous and wanton you, Emma Homebird versus Scarlet Demon. I love both of you and any others that you still have hiding inside.”

“Aah, that’s so nice, so lovely and he loves me as well, I feel all tingly.”

I sat up again and slipped my blouse and bra off completely and looked down at him, “It was terrific though, exciting, different, I don’t know what got into me but I’m going to encourage Scarlet again when the occasion demands.”

“Dear me, yes, yes, yes!”

“I’ll do everything I can to help. We had an experience we won’t forget and I think we’ve also proved that we belong together.” He eased up onto one elbow and looked at our bodies, “I’ll have to untangle us before I untangle your clothes.”

“Don’t untangle us too much, I want to feel all tangled up with you even when you’ve gone off to work.”

~~~~~~~~~

The full eBook is now on Amazon Kindle and this is as far as I can go without upsetting Amazon. But there’s a lot more of Emma and John, they are made for each other so the process of learning and allowing their souls to fuse and their lives to be shared must be allowed to reach its natural conclusion.
And what of the future and Emma’s SRS?

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Vesta’s Hearth, First Dates are Kissing Dates and volumes 1 and 2 of Footprints in the Sea are available as E books on Amazon and other sites. Vol 3 will be published in a few weeks’ time.

Reviews would be nice they encourage me and I still have ‘Searching For Penny’, ‘Janus Girl’ and ‘For the Sake of Art’ still tucked away in a corner of my computer.

I’ve had one or two people mention that they couldn’t find the E-book version of First Dates are Kissing Dates on my Amazon home page. The featured version is the paperback but close to the bottom there is link to the E-book. Amazon have put the emphasis on the paperback and used its cover rather than the E-book cover but they are both there.