Charley Rising: Next Morning

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That’s what the clock radio said. That was OK. I am an early riser.


I don’t have a clock radio. Where was I? Clearly not in my own bed. And whose hand was gently squeezing my right boob? Presumably the same person who was attached to my back, bum, thighs and calves. And was breathing, ever so slowly, into my neck.

I thought I had woken from a really vivid and dirty dream, but, no that really was last night, and my memory was vivid and oh so dirty. I was in another woman’s bed. With another woman. Naked. My fantasies had never extended to the morning after.

Gorgeous Georgia.

She had virtually swept me off my feet. And made love to me. I had become a woman. I suppose. No; probably not.

What was I to do? I did nothing, as was my wont. The alarm went off at 06:30. Georgia leaned across me and switched it off, unfortunately releasing my boob, which felt really lonely. The bedside light came on, and I felt more orientated. Then she was gone.

I rolled over just in time to catch her tanned, heart shaped arse disappearing to the bathroom. I was busting. I hobbled to the bathroom, one hand over my groin and my other arm clutched across my chest. I heard the toilet flush and Georgia emerged beaming at me.

“Hi, lover. Charley. Stand up straight and put your hands behind your back. You’ve got nothing to hide. Well, maybe you have,” she growled, licking her lips, “But it certainly should not be hidden from me. Go on, before you wet the carpet.”

I walked back into the bedroom, with my head, sort of held high. I was used to being naked around other women, but context is everything, and I felt really awkward still.

Georgia placed a finger between her thighs, then sniffed it, and pulled a face.

“Week old tuna. Let’s shower.”

Georgia shared my slight obsession with personal hygiene, and lukewarm water. It was wonderful, washing with another woman, and she showed me how to do the slippery shower samba. Followed by the fluffy towel foxtrot. And finally drying and brushing Georgia’s hair, which was sensual rather than sexual.She had a large supply of spare toothbrushes.

I had not arrived equipped for a sleep over, and Georgia dug me out a T shirt and black thong. Then a quick cup of tea, and back to the pool for twenty lengths. Being gorgeous required maintenance. Suited me fine; although my enforced absence, from the water, really showed. I was so slow. The pool did not have a diving platform, which I found strangely reassuring.

We had breakfast, in the university canteen. A steady stream of students passed by, all waving at Georgia; some stopping for a chat, or just a kiss. They all eyed me up. Some smiled, some scowled, and a few laughed. A few comments were passed. Georgia just smiled beatifically, her hand on my thigh.

Then she whispered in my ear, “Where do you want it?”


“The tattoo.”

“What tattoo?”

“G.C. My mark of ownership. I like it somewhere visible, like a shoulder blade.”

I spat cornflakes across the table.

Tears ran down Georgia’s face.

Gorgeous Georgia. It was difficult to get annoyed with her. Much as she tried to provoke it. Gorgeous was not so much a nickname, as a mission statement, and she liked to share her gorgeousness with others. She could not always decide if she was woman, goddess, or girl. Her self confidence, and charm, was legendary. As was her ability to wound, casually. I had a strong suspicion that I was a charity case and had already had my one taste of the Gorgeous Gash.

We went our separate ways, for the day, bursa otele gelen escort with no mention of meeting later. I had a busy day, navigating the university, both physically, and intellectually. This only partly distracted me from my yearning, and emptiness. My utter naïveté was letting me down. I had never had a girlfriend before, or a boyfriend, really. What would a “normal” person do? I didn’t even have her phone number. How stupid was I?

The previous two years, had really been pretty grim.

I had always been a Daddy’s girl, and I was devastated when he ran of with a floozy. Turned out they had been having an affair for ten years. She’s not even that good looking. I still blame myself. Maybe I could have done something better. Maybe if I had not spent most of my adolescence sulking, or rowing with my mum, Dad would have been happier. He has cut us off completely. As you know, I hated the move to Yorkshire. I never made any real friends, and really struggled with my growing realisation, that I was gay. I could not tell anyone. I wanted to be straight. I went out with a couple of boys, but neither “relationship” lasted more than four weeks. I was always home by 11. I was never a true teenage rebel; just a mouthy one. I let the boys snog me. Badly. And even a couple of gropes up my jumper. I drew the line at an attempted hand up the skirt.

Most of the girls, in my class, hated me, and my apparent frigidity just confirmed their suspicions. I was called a dyke, but only as part of their general abuse, and bullying. Rather they thought I was too snooty for Yorkshire lads. I threw myself into my water polo and diving. Probably an appropriate turn of phrase, in light of the disaster in Stockholm. I also studied really hard, and got four A grades at A level.

Then, in August, I got glassed; and became Charley, Scarface, Matthews.

Lectures finished at 5pm and I returned to my little room in the halls of residence. It was clean, and warm, but impersonal. I could not complain, though. I was living in one of the most expensive boroughs, in London, and paying peanuts in rent.

My flatmates were a gregarious bunch, and as excitable as you might expect of a bunch of overachieving eighteen year olds, who were away from home, for the first time.

“Hi, Charley.” Burbled Chloe. “Why the long face? And where were you last night?”

Oh shit. A new mother.

“Give me your mobile. Wow, an antique”

With practised skill, Chloe opened my phone, then her own, and swapped the SIM cards, pressed some buttons, then returned the devices to their former state.

“London’s a big scary place, girl, and you’re not exactly street wise. Next time you have some overnight fun, send one of us a text. We’re off to the pub later. You’re coming too.”

A trip to the pub. What could possibly go wrong?


Quite a lot as it turned out. I had not been inside a pub, since I was carried out of the Geoffrey Boycott on a stretcher. Never a drinker, I had been avoiding pubs, bars and restaurants. And had not even noticed.

The Cricketers was a student pub, cheap and nasty, with rude staff. Not that I ever got close enough, to the bar, to find out. The pub was not that crowded. The fear rolled over me in a massive wave. I was drowning. I tried to turn and run, but I couldn’t move. My new friends stared at me. They had become the drunken women, in the Geoffrey Boycott, and I could hear their screams. I could hear nothing else. Every nerve in my right cheek, started firing. The pain was intense.

Then…. I was sitting on escort bayan my bed, in my little room, and she was there, body pressed close against me, doing her trick, of stroking my little arm hairs. Her other hand was on my bare right thigh.

“Charley, darling, it’s alright. You had a little turn, that’s all.”

“How did I get here?”

“Me and your little friends. I was having a pint, when you came in. Nobody knew what to do, so I told them that I am your partner, and to help get you home.”

I blushed, as usual. “Where are my jeans? And my thong?”

“In the wash. You had a little accident.”

I just blushed more, the heat spreading down my neck, onto my chest.

“How often do you get them?”

“Sorry, I don’t understand. I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I was sympathy shag.”

“You are certainly hard work. Flashbacks. You’ve got PTSD, right?”

“No. I don’t know. What’s that?”

“Post traumatic stress disorder. My dad has it. Gas platform explosion. You’ve probably heard of it. Mum was pregnant with me. He was badly burned too. That’s why your face doesn’t bother me. You just don’t know how lovely you are. You’re going to start crying again, aren’t you?”

Just then Chloe’s face appeared, around the door, looking concerned.

“Anything I can do?”

“Sure, darling, run us a bath.”

Chloe was temporarily speechless. “Bubbles?”

“Oh yes. That would be lovely.”

Georgia did not bother shutting the door, before stripping me, and wrapping me in my biggest bath towel; tucking it in really tight. Then she grabbed one that would cover either her tits, or her fanny, and marched me, blushing, to the bathroom.

“Hi, ladies,” she purred, to the curious throng, “Can anyone lend me a sponge? I can keep it? You’re so kind.”

I was slightly surprised, when Georgia locked the bathroom door.

“No threesomes tonight, Charley.”


“That Chloe girl would be in your knickers, in a flash. It’s OK. I don’t mind you experimenting. As long as you come home to me.”

I was speechless, again, as she undid my towel. Perhaps, I thought, some time that night, I might string another sentence together.

“Shared a bath before?”

“Yes, I have actually; with my sister.”

Nailed it! Seven whole words.

A gorgeous eyebrow rose.

“I was four.”

And then the gorgeous smile.

“I’ll get in first, and take the tap end. Ouch! Hot, hot, hot.”

The gorgeous tanned knees poked through the bubbles, making it clear that I was to slide in between. The water was hot, and made my pussy tingle.

“I’m going to sit on your feet, or rather one foot at a time. Now raise your left leg.”

Georgia took my left foot in her hand, and rubbed it with the soapy sponge. My foot had developed a direct connection with my pussy, and I gasped, as she sucked my toes, one by one. Next she ran the sponge up to my knee, then back down my calf, all the time fixing me with her amber eyes; her lips ( gorgeous of course) slightly parted. My left foot was then parked under Georgia’s right buttock, and the five little piggies, on my right foot, were sent to market.

I tried my sexiest deep voice.

“Can I have a go?” I squeaked.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Washing Georgia, in the shower, had been exciting. This was exquisite. I instantly forgot my dislike of feet, and gave each little digit my fullest oral attention. Georgia’s head tilted back and she took a deep sigh, her erect nipples peaking out through the suds.

I moved on to her lower legs, mudanya escort then taking the initiative, to her tawny thighs. Front. Back. Outside. Up. Down. Then, dropping the sponge, the inside; slowing as I approached her vulva. Georgia’s feet pushed under my buttocks, as she lifted her pelvis.

I moved up to her deliciously wrinkled belly, and she smiled archly.

“I hope you didn’t do this with your sister.”

I was using both hands now, all the better to lather her magnificent globes. I leaned forward and took a rubbery nipple in my mouth. Georgia moaned and ran her slippery hands up and down my back and sides, from hip to armpit. I am incredibly ticklish, and gave Georgia’s right nipple a really hard nibble. Water started sloshing over the side of the bath, as I shook. Georgia silenced me with her velvet lips, and searching tongue. I had got the breathing thing right, and the kiss went on forever, whilst the sponge touched everything I had.

All except my scarred face, and neck.

“You had better do that,” she said; her face tender and concerned.

“No, please. You do it. Press fairly hard. It didn’t hurt at all; but I started to blub again.

“Come on Scarface, let’s get you dried.”

Chloe ignored us, as we padded down the corridor, trying not to giggle too much.

Georgia rummaged in my drawers and was soon wearing a plain white T shirt and knickers. She did not look demure. She never does.

“Pre-coital cup of tea, I think.” And she was off to the kitchen.

I was feeling quite risqué, and I was only wearing pink knickers when Georgia came back, my pale pointy tits on display to the whole world. Well, just her really. Georgia, a woman of independent means, eventually cured my nudity difficulty, by paying for me to attend a tanning salon. I felt less self conscious with an all over tan. Now, I don’t care.

Georgia had seduced a packet of biscuits off one of the straight girls. I was going to need the energy. Dunking each other’s biscuits. What a delightful form of foreplay.

Soon I was on my back, on my tiny single bed, with Georgia between my thighs. She soon made sure there was no biscuit stuck to my teeth, and I moaned loudly as two fingers entered my vagina.

Georgia broke free, and whispered, in my ear. “Try to be quiet. Your neighbours will tolerate you being a lesbian, but not a noisy one. These walls are really thin.”

Clearly the voice of experience. And someone experienced in love making, in confined spaces. She quickly sat me up and, legs wrapped around each other, we engaged in slow mutual masturbation. I let Georgia set the pace and just copied every movement. My tighter pussy was compensated for by her really small fingers. We fitted better if we both used our right hands. Georgia sped up, and I followed, as her pelvic muscles tensed. My back wanted to arch, but she held me tight, and thrust her tongue deeper into my mouth. I think we came together. My body was hers. Georgia released me, when my pelvis had stopped bucking.

I was feeling really tired, but satiated. Georgia had me get up, then lie down , on top of her, our legs slightly scissored; our noses millimetres apart.

“Haven’t slept in one of these for ages. It could be a bumpy night. There’s something about you Charley. You’re the one. I don’t know how I know. I just do. It’s more than just protectiveness. Anyway, you just need a little self confidence. That wasn’t a charity fuck. We are going to the medical centre tomorrow, to get you referred to a psychologist. Have you got a lawyer? Silly girl; how are you going to get compensation? My professor owes me a favour or too. Yes I did suck him off, once or twice. Don’t be shocked. I knew what I was doing.”

Georgia usually did know what she was doing. Over the next few weeks I met all of her friends, and even her parents. My mum predictably disowned me, but Holly, my little sis, was delighted.

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