Gay Erotic Stories

XLVII The shock of losing Maisie hit Emma harder than she could have ever imagined. She lost the will to get up in the morning, to care for herself, and even to go to work. Every venture into the world beyond her house was a struggle. She hated the looks she got from other people, and imagined that everyone was aware of her loss, whereas, of course, most people were simply trying to establish what it was she wore underneath her loose clothes. These visits were almost always brief ones to fill her fridge with food that most often she had lost the appetite to eat, and just once to see Charlotte and her new baby at the hospital. This depressed her even more as she felt so inadequate to express to her best friend how pleased she was that the childbirth had been so successful. She didn’t tell anyone at work for over a week she wasn’t coming in, and was extremely upset when she got a very brusque and angry phone call from Amelia who demanded that she return to work immediately. She went to bed with the full intention of returning, but when she awoke she was too depressed to carry her resolution through. Instead, she went to a doctor and got a sick note to excuse her from work. Her next communiqué from Harlot TV came as even more of a shock. She was told in no uncertain terms that her recent work was simply not of the high standard that the station had come to expect from her and was frankly totally unsatisfactory. She was given three months notice, which started retrospectively from the first day she had failed to turn up to work, and informed her that she was not expected back at the studio. Her depression exploded into tears and cries, which darkened even further the clouds, which gathered in her head and made normal life impossible for her. She returned to bed where she stayed all day, wailing her misfortune, comforted only by thoughts of self-pity and tortured by rage and anger at Tanya. She had been betrayed by one who had taken advantage of her good nature and stolen the love of her life from her, and now she was left to fend for herself. And not very well either. The days passed by, each one indistinguishable from the one before, Emma’s rests in bed often lasting all day. She lost the ability to concentrate on literature or any reading matter at all. In fact, other than weep and flagellate herself with her regrets and despair, all she could do was watch the most mindless and undemanding television programs. No programme was too banal, no show too hackneyed: quiz shows, soap operas, chat shows, and news programmes. She lost all appetite for sex television whose content only served to remind her of what she was missing. She read the mail that arrived with more attention than ever before, though most of it was junk mail, and most of the rest were bills. She lost the appetite to check her e-mails, and the only music she felt inclined to play was as despondent as the mood she felt. It was while she was sitting on the sofa, listening to a requiem, that she heard her doorbell ring. She wasn’t expecting a visitor: in fact, she lived quite some way from her friends and was never used to calls anyway. Her heart began beating in foolish anticipation and hope. Was it Maisie? Had she had enough of Tanya? Had she come to realise that it was only with her that she’d ever find true love? She hurried to the door, and peeked through the eyehole, half-expecting Maisie and half-expecting a postman. What she saw, distorted by the magnification of the eyehole, was Charlotte and Josephine standing at the entrance: Charlotte with Thomas clinging to the bare breast she uncovered under the long coat which was all she wore. She hesitated. Could she let her friend see her like this? A perverse sense of self-worthlessness almost persuaded her to pretend she wasn’t in, but her love for Charlotte, and her regret that she’d not seen her best friend since she’d left hospital, got the better of her, and she carefully opened the door, forgetting that she was still naked, and would once again scandalise the posh neighbourhood. “Emma!” smiled Charlotte. “How are you? We were so worried. We heard you’d lost your job. And we heard about Maisie. Can we come in?” “Of course! Of course!” said Emma, unable to smile and feeling wretched for her lack of friendliness. Charlotte and Josephine entered the house; Charlotte immediately feeling guilty that she’d not come to see her friend sooner. But it was not easy being a mother. Thomas was so demanding, and it was only recently she had recovered sufficiently to venture out of the flat herself. Emma was clearly not herself. Her home showed the signs of neglect. Nothing had been cleaned, polished or even tidied away. An untidy row of empty bottles lined the hallway, and some magazines had been left on the floor in an untidy heap where Emma had dropped them and had never bothered to throw away. The living room where Emma took them to was similarly untidy. Cushions lying on the floor, a rug turned up at the corner, records and books scattered about randomly. Normally Emma was so tidy. Almost obsessively so. And now everything was untidy and unclean. Even her long hair was tangled and unwashed, and Charlotte couldn’t help noticing there was the slight smell of mustiness from her unshowered skin. She handed Thomas over to Josephine, who was wearing a sobre blue blouse and white skirt, and grabbed Emma around the shoulders and pulled her towards her. “We’ve been so worried!” Charlotte cried. “We haven’t heard from you so long! We thought you might be busy at work, but Maisie told us how you’d been sacked. Is it because you’re sad that Maisie’s left you?” Emma nodded and sniffed bitterly. “It was that cow Tanya! She picked me up, exploited me and then just threw me away. And then, as if that wasn’t enough she took my little Maisie away from me!” Charlotte smiled sadly at Josephine, as if to say that it was as they’d suspected. “You must forget about Maisie now. She’s gone. I don’t know what this Tanya’s like. I’ve never spoken to her; but Maisie’s made her choice and what’s done is done. It’s you that you should think about. Did you lose your job because of Maisie? Or was there some other reason?” Emma sank her head onto Charlotte’s bare shoulder, tears bursting through and onto her friend. “I was so depressed. I am so depressed. I just lost the will to go to work. Or even, sometimes, to live. It’s been so hard.” “Now, now,” said Charlotte comfortingly, patting her friend on her bare back, aware of the desire returning in her for her friend, despite her express intention to not feel that way. She held Emma to her, while Josephine watched with sympathy, Thomas gurgling contentedly in her arms. Josephine then placed the baby in the carry-cot the girls had brought along with them, and tucked him under the thin woollen blanket, naked except for his nappies. She then removed her clothes and sat down on a chair, her legs crossed and her arms folded. Charlotte took this as a cue, and eased Emma off her, as she removed her coat to reveal her own naked body. Despite herself Emma was interested to see the changes childbirth had brought on her friend. Her breasts were fuller and her nipples much more prominent. She was still somewhat fatter round the waist than she used to be and there were stretch marks on her stomach. She kissed Charlotte tenderly, aware of her selfishness in not paying more attention to her friend’s needs. “How is Thomas?” she asked. “He’s doing very well. He had a small fever last week. We were very worried, but apparently it’s quite normal in small babies.” Conversation became more relaxed as the girls discussed motherhood, and then gradually took in gossip on the girls’ friends and how life was back at the flat. Charlotte complained how the flat somehow didn’t seem right for the needs of parenthood. Josephine joked about the trials of feeding the baby and changing his nappies. Despite herself, Emma felt a smile break across her face as Josephine described in detail the problems they’d faced in cleaning up his sick and excrement, and some of the comments that had been made to them as a lesbian couple with a baby. Charlotte sat next to Emma on the sofa and stroked and kissed her as they spoke, her mind flashing back to her earlier desires for her friend, and finding that they were still inside her. On occasion her lust for Emma overwhelmed her and she would kiss her friend on the cheek or on the face, tenderly wiping off the tears with her tongue, her arms around Emma’s shoulders. Emma also began to feel the warmth in her feelings for Charlotte return, gingerly at first, and then ever more boldly, her own arms looped around Charlotte’s waist and she stroked the stomach which had so recently carried such a greater load. It was Josephine though who had the presence of mind to take the initiative. She eased herself up out of the chair and walked over to the other side of Emma and trailed her arms around the girl. Emma smiled as conversation dwindled to nothing and everything was spoken in gestures and smiles. And then, inevitable as it was, Josephine put her lips to Emma’s and held them there. Emma’s mouth opened and tongues joined together. Charlotte meanwhile allowed her hands to probe down her friend’s stomach, as Emma’s had on hers, but her fingers trailed between her legs. Emma responded with a sigh and parted her thighs to let Charlotte’s fingers more welcome entry, while her tongue and teeth battled with those of Josephine’s. The three girls remained in this position, sitting on the sofa, Thomas snoozing away in his cot, as the caresses became bolder and more sensual. And soon the three girls were stretched out, on the floor, on the sofa, arms and legs stretched, fingers, tongues and lips probing and exploring the folds and contours of bodies known so familiarly but not enjoyed together for so long. Emma’s curiosity about Charlotte’s changed body was satisfied, while Josephine cuddled her spouse and tongued Emma’s vagina. Gradually and sensually, their bodies became hotter and sweatier: words not passing any lips but instead concentration focused on genitals, breasts and faces. Their bodies shook and shuddered sympathetically, only grunts and moans coming from any of them. Emma’s long tangled hair mixed in the strands of Charlotte’s own long hair, while beneath them Josephine busied herself as equally as she could between the two vaginas, fingers in both and a tongue now in one and then with a sigh transferred to the other. But final orgasm was not achieved. Just as Charlotte felt that for the first time since she’d given birth she would once again feel those delicious feelings erupt in her body, scramble her senses and dissolve her soul into a total oneness with her friend and her wife, Thomas chose to release a loud wail that totally startled Emma who had never heard such a sound before in such close proximity. “The darling’s hungry!” exclaimed Charlotte pulling her senses together and leaping out of the sofa as quickly as her battered sweaty body could allow her. Thomas continued crying until Charlotte picked him up, cradled his nappied body to her breasts, and offered him a red raw nipple to suckle: which he did with a voracious hunger that rather alarmed Emma. Did Charlotte have enough milk in her to satisfy the little monster’s appetite? she wondered ungraciously. Without Charlotte, Josephine felt it was not right that she should continue making love to Emma, so she took her tongue and fingers away from the swelling mound of her vagina, and sat on the sofa next to her, her arms around Emma’s shoulders and a hand in Emma’s hand. “Thomas is such a demanding baby!” she commented to Emma with a broad, almost maternal, grin. “I love him so much! I’m so lucky to have him almost for my own. And Charlotte too, of course!” Emma nodded, agreeing and also feeling a pang of regret that she had so often spurned Charlotte’s affection and had instead focused it on a girl who was ultimately so ungrateful. She watched indulgently as Charlotte’s breast which she’d so recently enjoyed for her own pleasure was now giving so much succour to the young baby, who held onto it so greedily, his brown skin such a contrast against Charlotte’s own pale flesh. When Charlotte had finished suckling Thomas, the girls didn’t resume their lovemaking. Instead, they sat together on the sofa, arms around each other, making no attempt to resurrect their interrupted passion. “So, what are you going to do now?” asked Charlotte. “Now that you’ve lost your job? Are you going to look for another?” “I don’t know,” sniffed Emma sadly. “I’ve made such a mess of everything. Soon all the money will run out, and I’ve got a mortgage on this house to maintain. I don’t know how I can find a job that pays as well as the one I’ve had. And I don’t think I’ve got the self-confidence to look for another one in the television industry.” “Any job would do to start off with,” Josephine remarked. “Any job which gets you out and about. Or anything at all that gets you out of the house.” “I just don’t know what to do. There aren’t many jobs for committed naturists like me. I just wouldn’t know what to do if I had to work wearing clothes.” “Aren’t there naturist resorts with jobs, though?” wondered Josephine. “I’m sure there must be. There are loads of them. Why don’t you go to one of those?” “I hadn’t thought of that. They’re always advertising for committed naturists. To work in the hotels, restaurants and things. But that would mean leaving the house. What would happen to it then? Would I have to give it up?” Josephine sighed. She looked at Charlotte imploringly. “I don’t know. Perhaps you’ll have to sell it. Or take on lodgers or something.” “Or we could stay here,” announced Charlotte. “We need more space. Would that be a good idea, Emma darling?” Emma frowned. She’d not really thought at all on what she should do next. She’d worried so much about what she had lost, and had worried so much on what more that there was left to lose, that she’d never really entertained any options other than despair and further loss. “It’s a good idea,” she mused. “And any work would be better than none, I suppose. And there are quite a few naturist resorts. I’ve never visited any of them. Well, not since I was a student. And that was with friends from the university Naturist Society. NatSoc it was called.” She smiled good-humouredly, despite herself. “We took ourselves so seriously. We thought that all you had to do was take your clothes off and not eat meat, and the whole world’s problems would end. But all we ever did was drink too much and talk a load of rubbish.” Emma mused quietly as she recalled her youth. Where had all that idealism gone? But Josephine and Charlotte were right. It was a realistic solution. Once out of the house, maybe memories of Maisie would fade and she could regain the confidence she needed to make her way in her chosen profession. “But what’ll happen to the flat?” she asked, recalling all the days she had spent there with Charlotte and Harriett. “A month’s notice and we can be out,” said Charlotte. “And we can move in and keep you company before you leave. What do you think?” Emma smiled at her friend gratefully. All the weight of her depression seemed to be lifting from her. The dark cloud, which had beset her these last few weeks, was dispelling. She loved Charlotte and Josephine so much! They were her real friends. She was sad that she’d never given the appreciation they’d deserved. “I would like that. I would like that so very much!” XLVIII Sunbury hadn’t always been a naturist resort. For most of its history it had been a fishing village, blessed with a beautiful bay at the foot of some hills, with a small pier and a few dozen cottages. However, exhaustive fishing brought a collapse to the village’s economy, and its secluded and relatively remote location made it an ideal place to satisfy the growing market for naturism and other related nature-loving lifestyles. It was now quite a reasonable sized town, dotted with a dozen or more hotels and lodging houses, a seasonably busy shopping area and many new entertainment industries. The dock that had once been the home for the fishing boats was now the permanent home for several yachts and motor boats. Emma drove into the town, found a small flat to stay in overlooking the sea, and after unpacking her car set out to look for work in the shops, restaurants, cafés and hotels of the town. She felt immediately better when she arrived. It may have been the invigorating sea air, or the beautiful view over the bay to the small boats bobbing about on the dark green sea, or just that she was so far away from home and reminders of Maisie. It may have been the delight of staying in a place where almost everyone was naked like her. She enjoyed the relatively unfamiliar feel of the warm sea air on her bare flesh. She loved the fact that she was one of many people who were in the nude, and would almost certainly meet others who had similar opinions and views on naturism as herself. She walked along the pavement, idly pausing to look in the windows of the shops looking for a sign that advertised for workers. She didn’t mind where she worked. She could work anywhere: the main thing was to find something, which would occupy her while she was in Sunbury. A strange cheerfulness uplifted her as she walked past men and women naked like herself who did not stare at her or make low-voiced comments to each other. She smiled to herself, the world and her reflection in the shop windows. It was in a small health food café that she eventually found work. It was towards the end of the Sunbury high street, just opposite a hairdresser and between a hat shop and a shop selling paintings by local naturist artists. The owner of the café was a small quite plump woman with very full round breasts and a disarming grin. She was delighted in the fact of Emma’s long-term commitment to vegetarianism and all healthy foods. She quickly judged from Emma’s smart appearance and her intelligence that she was eminently presentable and quite capable in the role of waitress. She didn’t even have to remind Emma of the unfortunate consequences of spilling hot tea on herself when there was no apron or other clothes to protect her skin. She willingly presented Emma with the small folded linen hat, which denoted that she was a waitress, and was quite happy that she could start straight away. “I’m always short of good waitresses,” she confessed. “It’s not the sort of job people ever choose to make a career out of.” Emma soon settled into her new role, quite happy in a position with no great responsibilities and with absolutely no stress. She was busy when the café was busy, and able to relax with a magazine or newspaper when it was quiet. It was a delight to continue working in the nude, and to be surrounded by others similarly undressed. She particularly enjoyed the fact that from when she woke up to when she went to bed, she didn’t need to wear a stitch of clothing. Her paltry selection of tee shirts and dresses remained packed in her suitcases exactly as they were when she’d left her home in the care of Charlotte and Josephine. As a single girl she quite naturally attracted the attention of the single men who were on holiday, but she shrugged off their advances with the same nonchalance and lack of interest she always had. Her serious demeanour was quite enough in most cases to make it fairly clear to them that she was a girl who meant pretty much what she said. Even those who were more persistent resigned themselves fairly soon to brief uncomplicated conversation as she took their orders and hurried back from the kitchen with their tea and scones. She also came to realise that most people she saw were only in Sunbury for a short while, and that every week or fortnight the regular visitors were replaced by another set who saw her with fresh eyes. Her practised eye soon became aware of the attraction that one of the regular visitors felt towards her. Beatrice was a slim woman, slightly older than herself, naked like everyone else except for a pair of steel-rimmed glasses and who always carried a paperback novel around with her. Her straight dark brown hair fell onto her shoulders and behind the concave lenses of her spectacles were a pair of sparkling light green eyes. She had a telltale awkwardness and a shy laugh which betrayed to Emma the nature of Beatrice’s feelings towards her. It was fairly easy for Emma to convert a conversation about the relative merits of Dostoëvsky and Turgenev to a night out together after she’d finished work in one of Sunbury’s quieter restaurants. Emma was pleased that Beatrice had never heard of her work with Harlot TV. Indeed, Emma was sure that those who did recognise her as a one-time television presenter and spokesperson did not believe that she was really the same person as the waitress she now was in the Chestnut Tree Café. Several people had commented on her resemblance, but her remark that this was something that many others had spotted before was sufficient for them to be sure that this was merely superficial and not at all substantial. Emma ensured that her conversation with Beatrice remained focused on abstract issues or on Beatrice herself. She worked as a librarian in a small town. She knew nobody who shared her passion for naturism, and so it was only on holidays such as this that she felt able to present herself to the world in her true colours. After a couple of glasses of Chardonnay in the Montpellier wine bar, Emma easily persuaded Beatrice back to her flat, knowing perhaps better than the librarian herself how the evening would turn out. Indeed, Beatrice was quite startled when Emma’s lips pressed to her and her arms clasped the girl to her breast. Within minutes, the two girls were laid out on the double bed that dominated the bedroom, their faces close together and Beatrice’s spectacles discreetly placed on the bedside cabinet. It was glorious to once again taste a fresh vagina on her tongue, to feel a different set of breasts: these ones small and perky, and a slim waist that merged into her narrow hips and tight bottom. Beatrice was not an expert lover. In fact, Emma was sure she had enjoyed very little passion with any women before, but she was careful to avoid any questions on her earlier love-life. It was better somehow not to know. It was far better just to enjoy Beatrice as she was, using her fingers to bring the nervous girl to spasms of orgasmic ecstasy, and careful also not to frighten her with any of Emma’s rougher tastes in lovemaking. Beatrice tried her best to respond like with like. She greedily gobbled away at Emma’s clitoris, her long slim tongue probing the folds beneath the dark brown hair of her crotch, while Emma below parted her vagina and pushed her fingers in and out of its depths. However, she resisted the urge to probe a finger into the tight puckered anus. That was for another night. Beatrice discharged herself from her hotel and stayed in Emma’s flat for the duration of her holiday, declaring so many times that this was the best holiday she had ever had. Emma could see that Beatrice was falling in love with her, so she resisted any opportunity for conversation to take too personal a tone. Making love was one thing. Being in love was another. She enjoyed Beatrice for her body and her company, but she was still in love with Maisie and she was just not ready yet to become committed to anyone else. Furthermore, she doubted whether Beatrice would enjoy the company of her friends. And she was sure she wouldn’t really approve of the nature of the employment most of them were engaged in. As the days went by, Maisie became a more distant memory. Occasionally, she found her thoughts drifting back to the girl and their life together. Every time she saw a girl in the streets with long curly hair. Every time she reflected on her life before she came to Sunbury. Every time when the relative inexperience of Beatrice’s caresses and gropings reawoke a memory of the earlier days of her lovemaking with Maisie. Her life was nevertheless mostly quite contented. She worked all day in the café, she spent pleasant evenings at her flat or in the town of Sunbury with Beatrice. They would walk together, hand in hand, along the sandy beach or the promenade. And on Emma’s days off, walk off together through the woods and countryside around Sunbury, often straying dangerously close towards the textile world beyond. Beatrice’s warm hand in her hand, or her fingers on her crotch, were thoroughly agreeable distractions. And it was a pleasure too, to converse on their shared views on the merits of nudity, vegetarianism and, quite curiously, a shared passion for twentieth century poets like T. S. Eliot, Dylan Thomas and Sylvia Plath. They would lie together on the grass, in the hills high above the busy town below, idly discoursing until, inevitably, lust got the better of one or the other of them and the two would once again become a writhing entwined body of one flesh, the sun beating on them from above and the grass prodding and poking into the crevices of their flesh from below. Emma didn’t care, unlike Beatrice, if ever anyone passed by and saw the girls making love together. These moments of outdoor lovemaking were too precious to interrupt for the sensibility of people and their children, who in any case would be seeing no more flesh than they themselves were displaying. Emma was genuinely sad to see Beatrice leave after her holiday romance to return to the Lower Bridlington Public Library, although clearly not as sad as Beatrice as she left in clothes that had been unworn all the time they’d been together. They exchanged addresses and agreed to write, but Emma knew there was no future in their love affair. She returned to the bed which was once again hers and hers alone, a fresh gap in her life as she missed the comfort of her lover. She wasn’t to remain alone for long, as now it was clear to others in Sunbury where her tastes in love lay, she attracted the attention of others who shared her predilections. She was soon sharing her bed with Petula, a shorthaired slim girl barely much more than five feet tall who worked in the Montpellier wine bar. It may well have been her gamin-like appearance, which attracted Emma, who still measured her lovers against her beloved Maisie. Petula was a far less serious girl than Beatrice, but not one nearly as promiscuous as Emma’s friends in the city. Emma chose not to disabuse the girl of her own opinion of how adventurous her lovemaking was, although she felt freer to indulge in her rougher sexual practices, which at first alarmed the girl but to which she soon became more enthusiastic. Indeed, she came to view the bruises that were concomitant with a passionate night spent together with a kind of pride. They were evidence to anyone who cared to know that she had a truly passionate sexual relationship. Although Emma missed the conversations on literature and the arts she had so much enjoyed with Beatrice, Petula’s passion and desire more than compensated. Furthermore, she was substantially more mature than Maisie, which at first Emma viewed as a vice but soon came to see as a virtue. But not so mature that she was not attracted to the one night club which Sunbury boasted in the basement of the Bel Soleil, the largest hotel in the resort. Emma had never been much of a clubber. Those times she had gone to a nightclub in the city with Maisie on the girl’s insistence had not been especially pleasant for her. The music was too loud and she found the music more headache- rather than ecstasy inducing. However, the Chemise was not as unpleasant to Emma as those she’d been to before, mostly for the reasons, which earned Petula’s contempt. The music wasn’t quite as ear shattering and she was able to discern tunes, which she’d enjoyed listening to on the radio. It was also pleasant to be in a place where nudity was the rule and no one stared at her in that peculiar way they did when she attired herself as she felt most comfortable back home. She even assented to dancing with Petula even though she invariably found most danceable those very tunes which Emma liked the least. However, as she gyrated woodenly around her much more excitable lover, she began to appreciate more clearly the patterns and rhythms in the general muddle of sound. She might not actually want to buy these records herself, but she could see more of their merit in the bright lights and swooping shadows of the dance floor. During such nights, Petula’s passion rose to new heights, barely able to keep her hands or tongue off Emma’s body whether they were on the dance floor or sitting on the margins of it with glasses of wine or mineral water. And when they returned to Emma’s flat, the sheets were soon damp with the mutual sweat and juice of their shared passion, occasionally bringing even Emma to orgasmic gasps which she’d thought she’d never experience again. Emma’s misery at the loss of Maisie soon vanished altogether. She knew that she was cured when one morning she awoke early, the rays of the morning sun flooding through the window and lighting up Petula’s huddled form squeezed against her. She gazed at her lover, her face wreathed in a smile even in her sleep, and felt her heart lift inside her as she reflected that Petula was hers to enjoy and remembered the girl’s passion of the night before. She felt a smile break across her face: quite a new sensation when she was not being observed. And feeling the smile, she felt as if a great weight had suddenly been dispelled. There wasn’t a tinge of regret in her that Petula wasn’t Maisie. She genuinely loved the girl for what she was, and not what she reminded her of. She leaned over and eased her hand down between Petula’s thighs to the girl’s vagina. So moist and so warm! She ran her hands through the curled hair, which was packed, so tightly into a triangle. And then kissed Petula tenderly on the forehead. Petula stirred, looked up at her lover and her smile broadened to reveal her slightly crooked teeth between her full lips. She sighed long and low, as the two girls followed the rhythm and pattern of their sensual passion and were soon wrapped together, crotch pressed against crotch, face firmly against face, arms around each other, Petula’s hands threaded through Emma’s hair and Emma’s hands cupped against the nape of Petula’s neck. Emma knew that the passion that accompanied the subsequent lovemaking was due as much to her relief that she no longer mourned her separation from Maisie as for her feelings for Pe