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From: "Bradley Stoke" <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Degrees of Intimacy (6/8) {Bradley Stoke} (MF)
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Title: {ASSM} Degrees of Intimacy (6/8) {Bradley Stoke} (MF)
Author: Bradley Stoke
Part: Chapter 6 of 8
Keywords: (MF)
Short Summary: Clapham: A South London suburb more famous for its
common and its complex railway junction than anything else.

Degrees of Intimacy
===================

Resume of whole novel
=====================

Eight characters, eight places, eight degrees of separation, and
eight degrees of intimacy. This novella is inspired by the film
La Ronde that similarly follows a circular trail of lovers, but
this time in the twenty-first century and much more explicit in
content. All eight chapters can be read in isolation, but the
whole is greater than the sum of its parts.


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

[This story has been previously published on Ruthie's Club
(www.ruthiesclub.com) where it was edited by the much
missed Ruthie and illustrated by Tzratzk.]



Story Description
=================

Clapham: A South London suburb more famous for its common
and its complex railway junction than anything else. Cath
is meeting Emily, with the hope of a night of passion, but
it isn't with Emily, who is now with Prissy, that she finds
what she was hoping for.


Chapter Six - Clapham
=====================

 "She's a cow! A real fucking cow!" Prissy exclaimed,
blowing smoke into the air of the pub where the wisping
blue vapour was sucked into the smoke extractor. "I don't
know why I stick with her!"

"Me too!" agreed Cath. "My Jayne's so fucking uptight. All
she fucking wants to do is sit in and watch telly."

"So, you ditching her then, Cath?" Emily wondered. "You
know, like you said you would?"

Cath coughed. She didn't really want to diss her lover like
that. After all, Jayne had been real sweet to her today. And
last night, when they were in bed together, Cath knew it
was love she felt for her older partner. But then if there was
any girl whose knickers she'd like to pull down and whose
pussy she'd adore putting her tongue to, it was Emily.

"Yeah!" she said, not really convincing even herself, and
flicking the ash from her ciggie into the ashtray. "Yeah, I
reckon I will. But she still licks clit like a champion."

"So does my Tina," agreed Prissy, smiling at her two
friends, balancing her cigarette between her forefinger and
thumb. "But she's a fucking cow, all the same." She looked
at Emily with a sneery smile. "So you still between lovers,
sweetheart?"

"Yeah!" said Emily, brushing her fingers through her short
hair so that it stood up in the thick gel. "But that doesn't
stop my love life. No fucking way! I'm having more fun
now than I ever had when I was with Marlene. I don't miss
a day since I ditched her. She still phones me up and all. I
guess she wants her k. d. lang CDs back, but, fuck it, she's
not gonna have them. Nor her Polly Harveys."

"What's it like talking to her?" wondered Cath, afraid that
her interest might betray her own true feelings for Jayne.
"You'n'her were real close. A real item. You'd been living
together for years!"

"Well, she gets real blubbery on the phone. Still cries and
everything. Like a fucking baby. She's a fucking
embarrassment. I don't regret ditching her at all. And it's
great having the flat to myself again. I can invite back
whoever I like. Y'ought to put your money where your
mouth is, Cath. Ditch Jayne. I mean, she must be fucking
forty or something!"

"Thirty-seven next month," said Cath, almost instantly
aware that this concern about her partner's birthday said
more than she'd intended. She didn't want Emily to think
she didn't want to go back with her to her newly vacated
flat.

"Well, whatever! She's too fucking old for you. And it's not
like when you got your own place you don't get pussy. I
mean, you know that Sally..."

"Sally!" Prissy exclaimed with a laugh. "You didn't, did
you? She'n'Pat, I thought they were welded at the hips!"

"Fucking femme fanny! Good she was. And d'you know,
she's got this cute little ring in her clit and guess what
else?"

"What? She got pierced nipples as well?"

"No. A tattoo just over her shaved pussy."

"A tattoo! Fucking hell!" Prissy remarked, leaning forward,
her face ever so close to Emily's. This irritated Cath who
wanted to be the one getting that intimate. And who wanted
to be the one who placed a hand on Emily's thigh almost
bursting to get free from those deliciously tight jeans.

"It's kind of like a love token. It's a tattoo that reads 'Pat' in
kind of Gothic script. They must have been together since
they were goths or something."

"I remember that! Fucking black jumpers and eye-liner and
everything!" Cath said.

"You were a bit like that once, if I recall," said Prissy, with
not such a pleasant smile. "You used to be into all that goth
shit."

"Yeah! Well, that was years ago!" said Cath, fuming from
Prissy's unsubtle reminder.

"Whatever!" said Emily, who wanted the conversation
steered back to her sexual triumphs. "So, it wasn't just Sally
I ate out. It was also Pat as well. And fucking tasty, it was
too!"

"Oh! You lucky bitch!" Prissy shrieked. "I've always
wanted a taste of Sally. She's such a pretty girl! Wooh!
Those lips of hers! It makes my pussy drip just thinking
about her."

Emily placed a reciprocating hand on Prissy's bare knee
below the culottes she wore. "It's not dripped down this
far!" she said with a conspiratorial laugh.

"It wouldn't take much to get me moist, sweetie!" Prissy
said. She took her hand off Emily's thigh, pressed it hard on
her hand and dug the fingers into the thick flesh.

Shit! Cath could see where this was going. When Emily
had phoned up to say she was going down to the Half
Moon in Clapham and could Cath come along, she'd made
no mention of Prissy being there. All that wasted
anticipation on the tube, stop after stop on the Northern
Line, for what? She wished she'd not been so nasty now to
Jayne when they'd parted. It looked like she was going to
have another evening where she'd return to her lover only
to admit there really was no one else in her life than Jayne
and her beautiful breasts.

Well, fuck it! Cath grimaced as she pulled out another
cigarette, now feeling quite excluded while Prissy and
Emily continued their rather detailed account of Emily's
lovemaking. She loved Jayne. She might be twelve years or
so older, but theirs was a love worth more than an evening
in Emily's bed. However much she rationalised about it, she
still felt deprived of the fun she'd promised herself and the
prospect of which she'd so enjoyed taunting Jayne with.

She surveyed the pub around her. Why had Emily insisted
on coming to a place like this where three young women
with short hair and uncompromising swagger would only
look out of place? It wasn't that Emily was in any sense
ashamed of her sexual preference, but this was no dyke bar.
Most of the clientele were men, and the few women were
generally in mixed company. In fact, the only other group
of women unaccompanied by brutish men, sitting in front
of their Bacardis and Coke, were probably the least
sympathetic of anyone to Cath and her friends. She stubbed
out her cigarette and let her ears focus again on Emily's
boasting, this time about some cute girl she'd seduced on
the Central Line.

"It was only when I kissed her she knew what the game
was," she laughed. "Sometimes a girl just can't see what's
coming however bloody obvious you think it is!"

"And did you?" Prissy wondered.

"It was fucking touch and go, I can tell you! I could see she
was wet. Well, you can, can't you? But I had to be subtle.
Push too hard and a girl runs away. But, yeah, it only took a
few drinks in the New Inn and having to listen to her moans
about her fucking boyfriend, and we were back at my place.
Not the best pussy I've tasted, but better than my vibrator."

Would Cath get to taste Emily's vagina? It seemed
increasingly unlikely. She remembered Marlene's
comments about how Emily shaved it sometimes. Would
Emily be shaving it now? Or was she sporting a full bush?
It didn't look like Cath would ever find out.

"'Scuse us!" Cath announced heading off to the loo.
Perhaps if she brushed her short hair, maybe re-applied that
natural-look lipstick that gave her lips that seductive pout,
Emily might see that of she and Prissy, it was Cath who
was the most deserving.

Her hopes rose as she admired herself in the toilet mirror.
She'd made such an effort. That new micro-check shirt
she'd bought. The hip-hugging jeans she'd spent nearly a
hundred quid on. The leather jacket with the silk lining that
she only wore on special occasions.

It was obvious when she returned to the bar that it was
going to be Prissy, not she, who would get to know Emily
better tonight.

"You don't mind, do you?" said Emily with a barely
disguised smirk, "but I feel real tired. You know, these late
nights can really fuck you up!"

"And I only live down the road," said Prissy. "Shame
you've got such a long trek back up North. You really
ought to move down here some time. South London's really
happening, you know."

"'Specially round Battersea. When you ditch Jayne, give it a
chance. It'll be worth it!"

Cath was left alone in the bar, vulnerable and lonely,
watching Prissy and Emily leave together, not caring at all
what people thought of them as they put their arms around
each other. With the last dregs of her wine, Cath was
beginning to care very much what the other people in the
bar thought of her. Could they see the mortification burning
off her cheeks?

She pulled out a cigarette and hid herself behind the
comforting veil of smoke while she fumed in equal
measures of disappointment and uncertainty as to what to
do now. It seemed too early to head back to Clapham
Common tube station and the Northern Line.

She glared at the women on the other side of the bar as one
of them poured more coke from her bottle into the small
glass. She couldn't very well show herself up in front of
them, could she? She'd have another drink, just to show
how little she gave a fuck for being abandoned by her
friends. Perhaps they'd think she was waiting for another
friend.

If only!

Cath stood up and wandered to the bar which was
thankfully quite empty and ordered another glass of sweet
white wine from the geeky looking barman. She glanced
nervously at her leather jacket slung over the chair by the
table where she'd been sitting. Perhaps those women would
be useful, after all, by keeping an eye on it.

"I'll pay for that and I'll have a single bourbon as well while
you're about it," a man's voice announced.

Cath turned her head, her first instinct to decline the offer.
Men and she didn't mix, especially one who spoke in such
an obvious American accent. He looked at the man who'd
made the offer. He was in his mid-thirties, stocky, sporting
a grey check jacket and no tie in the buttoned-down collar
of his brush cotton shirt. Cath, who had an eye for these
things, could see that nothing he wore came cheap.

"Gee! I hope you don't mind me buying you a drink," he
said with a broad smile, "but I'm an American, as you must
have guessed, a New Yorker, and that's just how we do
things. So, don't feel obliged to do more than take your
drink and sit down. I won't hassle you if you don't want me
to."

"New York?" asked Cath, despite herself. She'd always
wanted to go there, but there'd never been an excuse. Jayne
much preferred heading south for the sun. But what tickled
her was his accent.

"Yeah. New York. Best city in the world. 'Cepting London,
of course."

Cath smiled despite herself. It was just like in the movies.
'Noo Yawk'. The American accent was so funny.

"Yeah, I'm here on business. A lot of business, mind you.
My company's kept me here for a couple of months sorting
things out for them. It's a drag living away from home. So,
you a Londoner?"

"Yeah," said Cath, hesitating between returning to her seat
and the fact that there was bugger all for her to do when she
got there. She hoped this guy wouldn't spot the slight Brum
accent she'd never quite managed to lose in all the years
she'd been in the capital. But an American wouldn't know
the difference, would he?

"Great city, London. And Clapham's not bad either. This
where you live?"

"Islington, really. North London."

"Gee! I've never been there. I'm sure it's a real cool part of
town. By the way, my name's Gareth. What's yours?"

"Cath."

"Well, Cath, I don't really want to bother you if you don't
want me to, if you're waiting for a friend and all. I'm just a
lonely yank in town who doesn't know anyone. But it's
been real good meeting you."

He took the glass of whisky that the barman offered him
and handed over a note.

"Have a drink on me, bud." he said to the barman and
handed Cath the glass of wine.

"Not the best vintage," he continued as Cath picked up the
glass and took a small sip. "You sure you don't want
anything better?"

Cath didn't really know that much about wine. She didn't
drink much normally. "It's fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

There was an awkward pause while Cath wondered what to
do. Just returning to her seat seemed wrong. Gareth smiled
and half-turned away. It couldn't do any harm to be polite
could it? It didn't look like he was trying to pick her up or
anything. He'd get a real shock if he thought she was a
likely prospect!

"So, where d'you come from in New York?" she asked.

Gareth turned back, a broad grin on her face.

"Manhattan. Lower West Side. I've got a great view from
my apartment. Do you know New York?"

Cath shook her head. "What's it like?"

"Well, now you're asking," Gareth said with a smile.

He launched into an enthusiastic account of a city that
fascinated Cath. It certainly wasn't only skyscrapers and car
chases and Central Park. There was so much to the city.
The financial district where he worked. The park where he
jogged every day when he could find the time. The very
many and varied restaurants. The museums and art
galleries. The department stores and theatres. The
Rockefeller Center. The Empire State Building. And, most
of all, the night life. It was mad. A night life far wilder than
Jayne had ever allowed her to have.

And then, Cath didn't know how it happened, the
conversation centred not on New York and the fabulous
views from above, looking down at it from the top of the
South Tower at the World Trade Center, but on her. And
now it was Cath, not Gareth, who was doing most of the
talking. And it was like a sudden relief to be able to talk
about herself to someone who didn't know her at all, about
things she found difficult to talk about with friends and just
as difficult with Jayne.

The conversation wandered along with Cath and Gareth
back to where her leather jacket remained untouched on the
back of the seat. Gradually, Cath found herself talking
about her love life and her discontentment with the
limitations on her freedom. Having an older lover really
stymied her style. When she went out to nightclubs she
couldn't really go with her lover and she found it difficult to
be as free with her body as she'd like to be. But for some
reason, although she was specific about Jayne's age and the
way she seemed to get more pleasure from reading books
and watching television than snorting lines or dropping
pills, she was consciously vague about her lover's sex. Or
even that of the people she chose to have sex with.

"So, you like a line, do you?" Gareth wondered when he
returned with another glass of white wine, a rather better
quality label than she usually drank. "I take it you mean
coke?"

"Yeah. Charlie. Ching. Whatever!" Cath boasted, though in
truth she rarely partook. But she wasn't going to let on.

"I just happen to have some quality Colombian I brought
over with me," Gareth remarked with a smile. "I'm not a
cokehead before you say anything. I just like the odd line.
It helps a busy day go by better."

"Colombian?"

"It's good stuff," Gareth reassured her. "But you were
saying? That deadline you're working toward?"

Cath returned to her account of the software system she
was helping to install, naturally inflating her role in its
delivery. As a very junior programmer, or 'software
engineer' as Gareth flatteringly termed it, she really had a
minor part to play. All the while at the back of her mind she
was wondering about Gareth's quality Colombian. It would
really piss off Jayne if Cath had a line or two. She was
always snotty about any of the drugs Cath took. Even
smoking dope in the house was something Cath had to be
diplomatic about. She could really boast to her friends what
it was like to snort quality coke. She was sure they'd no
more real idea what that might mean than she had.

Gareth smiled all the while. Occasionally he interjected an
encouraging comment, deliberately accentuating his
apparent na�vet�. His green eyes sparkled and his smile lit
up a face that as Cath's vision became more clouded with
alcohol (how many glasses had she drunk now?) became
steadily more reliable and attractive. Cath puffed away at
cigarette after cigarette, Gareth steadily sipping his bourbon
and refusing the offer of a cigarette himself.

He noticed that Cath's glass was empty. He indicated it
with a finger.

"I'm staying in a condo, company let, a flat the company
uses to house its executives when in London, just round the
corner from here. It's only five minutes walk. If you like I'll
let you sample some of Colombia's finest."

Cath paused. Was this guy hitting on her? She was
normally wary with men. After all, they were the enemy,
weren't they? But it wasn't as if he'd been trying anything
on, was he? And there was plenty of time till the last tube
home.

"Yeah! Why not? Let's see what Colombia's got to offer."

Cath was very impressed by Gareth's flat when they got
there. It wasn't cheap, that was for sure. It had a really
grand reception area. And when he opened the door, she
could see the place was huge. Everything was just that bit
more splendid than she was used to. A massive living room
with a widescreen television. A plush leather sofa and
armchairs in the living room. And on the walls were framed
pictures of English landscapes and views of London.

"If you don't mind, Cath, could you take your shoes off?
The carpet, you know."

"Oh okay!" Cath agreed, slipping off her moccasins and
walking across the thick, luscious pile carpet to the sofa
onto which she slumped, her head still fuzzed with wine.

Gareth knelt by the small glass table next to the sofa and
began chopping up a line of cocaine with an American
Express platinum credit card. He did it with expert
promptness, gathering the white powder into four long thin
lines. He smiled at Cath and rolled a crisp twenty pound
note into a neat straw.

"You first," he offered.

Cath knelt down and snorted the line through the note. She
felt it burn the side of her thin nostrils and the grains pass
through the back of her throat. She coughed. Fuck! It was a
good hit! Almost instantly she got that weird buzz of clarity
that obliterated the fuzziness of alcohol. Although her
thoughts now seemed to be in a clear focus she was aware
they were really no less scattered than before.

Gareth snorted a line himself with the note and passed it
back to Cath. She picked it up, and now with her left
nostril, which was a somehow less effective hoover, she
snorted it down, stopping briefly half way and then
recommencing. Overwhelmed by the impact, she collapsed
back on the sofa, somehow unable to do anything more
coherent, let alone resume the conversation that had
stopped mid-sentence before they entered the flat.

She laid back, a ciggie in her hand, but mostly burning out
by itself, its ash dropping in pristine cylinders into the huge
ashtray Gareth offered her. As she lay there she became
gradually aware of a tickling sensation on her left foot.
What the fuck? She looked down, along the leg of her
denim jeans, to see Gareth holding her foot in his hands in
exactly the pose she imagined Prince Charming would do
while evaluating Cinderella's foot.

"You have beautiful feet, you know," he remarked with a
smile.

"Do I?"

"Beautiful! I've always admired a good foot."

He placed his lips on her big toe.

Cath shivered. But was it from fear, apprehension or
something else?

Emboldened, Gareth kissed each toe, one by one, beginning
with the big toe and working his way down, slowly and
with no haste, to the smallest toe.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"No. It's nice," Cath slurred.

It was true. Her senses felt somehow magnified and there
was something very sensuous about those lips on such a
sensitive part of her body. It was a part that Jayne rarely
explored, and certainly not with the relish with which
Gareth continued. Now on each toe of her right foot. And
then with his tongue on the web between each toe.
Gradually, slowly and surely, he took each toe into his lips,
his tongue in and around the nails, the whole of her big toe
inside his mouth: a dry and unthreatening fellatio of the
toes. That sensation together with the effects of alcohol and
cocaine was tickling another part of her, a part she was sure
would never get stimulated tonight. Unless, that was, she
managed to get home before Jayne fell asleep and she
nestled under the duvet next to her, their naked bodies to be
entwined in their slumbers.

Fuck it! What was she letting herself in for? Not since she
was a kid, long before she was certain of her sexual
predisposition, with Mark, who was even more nervous
than she, and who made a total mess of the whole thing,
had she experienced any part of a man touch any part of
her.

"Are you all right?" Gareth asked, as Cath gave vent to an
involuntary shudder.

Cath nodded. Somehow, despite the coke, she just couldn't
articulate in words how she felt.

"I've got a condom, you know."

"A what?"

"A condom."

Cath paused, frozen. What was this guy saying? This wasn't
right at all. She was a lesbian. It was women she adored.
Not some hairy Neanderthal brute. She should just draw it
to a close now. Get out. Go home. But, on the other hand,
fuck it! This would really fuck up Jayne. Especially after
Jayne had confessed to her that tearful, hysterical night
what she'd done on the beach in Ibiza. Fuck her! Two could
play that game. And Gareth wasn't a bad looking catch
really. For a bloke, that is.

And it wasn't like she was going to be making love with
Emily, anyway.

"Yeah!" said Cath languidly. "Whatever. Why the fuck
not?"

She tugged off her jeans, a more difficult exercise than she
remembered from last time she'd spent the night with
anyone other than Jayne, and then unbuttoned her shirt. She
sat on the sofa in only her cotton knickers and bra while
Gareth stripped down to his crisp white boxer shorts.

"The bedroom," he suggested, nodding to an open door.

"Yeah, right!" agreed Cath, undoing her bra and dropping it
to the ground as she followed Gareth.

Gareth took his boxers off and laid them neatly by the side
of the bed. She slipped off her knickers to lie on the sheets
on the huge mattress, its duvet pushed to one side. She was
now totally naked, her thick thatch of pubic hair on full
display, as she regarded Gareth. It was the first time she'd
seen a naked man in the flesh for an extremely long time.
Not since she was a kid, really. And this was quite an odd
sight. A trim form, but a waist as wide as a chest adorned
with a bush of curly hair, hairy legs and, strangest of all, an
erect penis where normally Cath expected to see nothing at
all.

Thankfully it wasn't that large. Or was it? Cath was ill-
informed in that respect. Nothing, anyway, compared to the
strap-on she and Jayne sometimes used. And nothing at all
compared to the dildo they kept in the cupboard for extra
special occasions. It was strange to see something
connected physically with the body and twitching in such a
peculiar way.

She let her head fall back on the pillow and let her thoughts
wander as she felt Gareth recommence slowly and with no
rush his circuit of her body from her toes to her crotch. His
lips puckered and kissed their way up her thighs and
burrowed into the hair around her vagina.

When Gareth finally penetrated her, it almost came as a
surprise. Cath had become so accustomed to his tongue,
lips and fingers as they stroked and lapped over her that
she'd almost forgotten where the end of all this foreplay
was meant to lead. On the journey she became looser, moist
even, enjoying the nibbling of her coke-enhanced clitoris,
glad he kept his tongue and stubbled chin away from her
face.

It was a different sensation to strap-on sex. The penis was
so warm and had a kind of plasticity that no dildo ever had.
Her vulva had become so sensitive that she fancied she
could even feel the veins on his penis throbbing as it slid
back and forth so easily in her moist inner caverns.

Was she enjoying it?

Perhaps. Though she preferred to keep her eyes off Gareth,
reminded as she was just who was fucking her, imagining
to herself not only Emily's body, naked and smooth, seeing
at last those perky breasts that contrasted so much with
Cath's smaller, large nippled ones, but also, as so often
when she was unfaithful, Jayne's body and those breasts
that fell so heavily on hers in the throes of their passion.

Then her body lost all tension and she pulled herself up and
grasped Gareth around the chest, his arms sympathetically
grabbing her shoulders as that familiar release of animal
passion returned. Her thrusts reciprocated his, just as they
did when Jayne pushed that realistic, perhaps idealistic,
plastic toy inside her. For a few moments she didn't care
who was fucking her, man or woman, as she surrendered
herself to animal passion.

At last, they parted and Cath watched with amused interest
as Gareth removed the silvery condom from his now much
smaller penis, a string of semen trailing from his foreskin to
the aperture that had once been so tight on the erect
member. It hadn't been as smooth as that with Mark. In
fact, on that occasion, it was only the second or third
condom he'd unwrapped that had ever served any useful
function at all.

She lay back and studied the ceiling, which was not nearly
as high above her head as the one in Cath and Jayne's flat in
Islington. Nor was there that glorious rose around the light
shade that she and Jayne loved to discuss as they lay back
after their exertions.

As she usually did after making love, Cath began talking
about so many things. The women in the pub who she
thought had been sneering at her. The way she felt so
cheated when Emily and Prissy had left her with only the
company of a few sips of wine and a packet of cigarettes.
The differences between the huge bed that dominated this
correspondingly large bedroom and the one in her own
bedroom. As she chatted she became increasingly aware
that it was more a monologue than a dialogue she was
engaged in. Unlike Jayne, or indeed most of the women
she'd made love to, Gareth was almost entirely silent. He
lay on his back, his arm around Cath's thin shoulders, only
occasionally grunting in response.

Fuck! That wasn't right. Almost the best part of making
love was the excited conversation afterwards that so often
led to a reprise, or a series of them, of the lovemaking that
preceded them.

"I need a fag," Cath announced.

"Go ahead!" Gareth murmured, slumped in apparent
exhaustion.

"Okay!" said Cath wandering into the lounge still naked
and relishing the texture of pile carpet between her toes.

As she sat on the sofa, contemplating whether it wasn't too
late for her to catch a tube home or to spend the night in
Gareth's decidedly welcoming bed, she also wondered
whether this moment of heterosexual love might indicate
that, after all, she should be less discriminating in future
about the gender of whomsoever she made love with.

Although she concluded she should cut her losses and
spend the night with Gareth, more to worry Jayne than
from any sexual desire, it was the sight of a man's body
naked with a now useless penis flopped on a thigh that
resolved it for her.

Men might be fun when the going was good, but they were
fucking useless afterwards.




For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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