Once again, Britain is divided by its inability to follow the confusing rules which seem to change daily.
But despite the restrictions, a bond has been formed in time and the space between two apartment buildings. And now the law of the land is about to be broken. And to Hell with the consequences.
Suzy writes:
I am looking at myself once again, in my big mirror, like in a fairy tale. I do not recognise myself. My cheeks are flushed, and my whole body is tingling. I am shockingly aroused.
The hands of the clock have not moved. All I can hear is a buzzing in my head.
So, get dressed, Suzy! It’s cold and damp outside, as it has been for weeks. So, tight black leggings. No knickers. No bra. My tartan shirt and a sweater, then my ancient biker jacket and boots and a peaked cap.
Down the street Suzy, keep walking, girl. Don’t stop to think, ‘No Regrets’, remember?
I am at the park gates. The ironwork is wet from the mist, which now seems to hang around all day, every day. They won’t close the gates tonight until seven. Someone is running. Running is allowed as long as it’s ‘local’. A man, all bundled up against the cold is leading a tiny dog. It’s shivering poor thing.
One Tree Hill is a steep climb. Popular with tourists because of the splendid views. Today, the hill is deserted in the half-light.
Would I be first to arrive, should I hold back to be sure that she is there, that we are alone?
Will she even come? Strangely that thought had never entered my head, and now it was there to stay. How long should I wait, does she even know the way?
Up the steep slope, there are ridges to stop people skateboarding down the hill. My toes dig into the ridges as I climb. There are ways to reach the top of One Tree Hill. A flight of steps, a flat pathway from the South and the slope I am climbing now. From the top, it is possible to see if anyone is approaching.
Five minutes to four. I check the time with the clock tower. Oh, GOD!
The famous tree has a wooden bench around its trunk, to the North the ground slopes sharply and there is a metal fence.
OH GOD!
She is there! On the bench, woolly hat, and scarves, many scarves.
Our eyes meet, and she starts to rise, she is about to speak.
(I have rehearsed this next bit over and over).
I put a finger to my lips and motion for her to stay seated. She has enormous brown eyes, and although shrouded in scarves, she is SO beautiful, and this is the moment, and I MUST stick to my plan.
We are not allowed to touch, and police are on the lookout. We must be more than two metres apart. But for me, this will be a moment of transition. No longer the span of our shared courtyard, but here, where we are in reach of each other.
Stick to the plan, Suzy.
I step back and lean against the railings above the slope. Our eyes locked, I pull down the front of my leggings. She looks down at my bare skin, my triangle. She looks at my shaven and waxed skin, my slit, my clitoris hidden for the moment.
(Stick to the plan, Suzy!)
I pull my leggings and tights down to my knees and tuck my top up so she can see my tummy and I open myself for her. Through the bare branches of our tree, I can see the lights of Canary Wharf, through the mist. It is almost dark.
I am openly masturbating in front of a girl whose name I do not know. Her brown eyes grow even wider, she blushes. Her mouth is open, just a little and I am spreading my lips for her and rubbing my clitoris.
I wet my fingers in my mouth and open wider. It’s the part of the month when I am sort of creamy down there. I display the spider’s web threads between my fingers. I lick them and then return them to my vagina. Liquid sounds, I can hear the wind in the trees. I am unexpectedly close to my climax.
The girl gasps, as the orgasm hits me—a hard, fast and uncompromising orgasm. I scream and then cover my mouth, my leaking sex open and exposed to the night air.
There is a sound at the foot of the steps. I pull up my leggings and pull down my top.
The girl is standing now, and someone passes us by, no word is spoken. For no reason that I can understand, I burst into tears. You step into the forbidden zone between us. Such lawbreakers we are!
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Amanda writes:
As she starts to cry, it triggers something in me, like my own heart is breaking, but breaking for her.
I can’t help myself. I step into her safe zone, and now my own tears are stinging so that I can hardly see. I want to put my glasses back on, but I’ve made it too complicated, all bundled up as I am.
Closer. I reach out, and I touch her arm. All I want to do right now is hug her. I long to hold her close, bury my face in her neck and hers in mine. We don’t speak, but my forward momentum gently carries me on, and when my body can’t move forward anymore, my face keeps going until my lips meet hers. I’m crying too, now, big drops spilling to say, ‘my love’, in a bar code across my cheeks.
She has given me a priceless gift. Trust. I hold it carefully and nest it in the softest gossamer tissue, placing it with infinite care in the most protected vault of my heart, lit like a treasure in my private gallery.
Why are we weeping? I have no idea, but somehow our communication is more profound than mere words can express. I wonder if talking will break the spell, yet there is so much I long to say. All afternoon, while getting ready, I’ve been practising the words I’m going to use; taking such care over my face, my eyes, my hair, my nails, going over the things I need to tell her.
While trimming my private garden and shaving my legs, I recalled every declaration of love from those romantic, classic novels that I’ve had to read as part of my studies, so eloquently expressed, but they’ve all fled, or been washed away in the runoff from our watery greeting.
I break our soft kiss and look into her eyes, those beautiful eyes. I won’t speak unless I’m given permission. My hands gently cup her face, though they would much rather be cupping her lovely breasts, and my mind suddenly fills with an image of us naked, her nipples in my clutches, one between my teeth, the other pinched hard between my finger and thumb. My tummy goes a little gooey.
Are we now lovers? I don’t know, but I doubt the police will stop and interrogate a couple. But if they do, I have an answer ready. I am your lover, and we are each other’s emotional support in this Lockdown. I know it’s partly true, and we do both live on our own.
Yes, I am your lover.
