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From: Bradley Stoke <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Silent Tutsi (FF) (Bradley Stoke)
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{ASSM} The Silent Tutsi (FF) (Bradley Stoke)

Title: The Silent Tutsi
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: FF
Short Summary: What will Linda be able to teach the Silent Tutsi?

[This story has been previously published on Ruthie's Club
(www.ruthiesclub.com) where it was edited by Father Ignatius and
illustrated by Ric Savage.]



Story: The Silent Tutsi (5,817 words)



Linda is new to France and the French language. She is working
as an au pair with a French family and her duties include teaching
Gabrielle, who has suffered trauma during the tragic genocides in
Rwanda. It has left her unable to communicate. What will Linda be
able to teach the Silent Tutsi?



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




	The Silent Tutsi
	================

It was only natural that Linda should be apprehensive when
she met Laurent and Pauline Duquesne for the first time at
the airport. What had she let herself in for?

It was a necessary part of her university degree, of course:
a summer in France spent with a French family where she'd
have to speak French all the time. She wasn't sure whether
it was the fact she'd have to rely on her knowledge of the
belle langue or her anxieties about submitting herself to the
kindness of these strangers that troubled her most, but her
first impressions were positive.

Linda's worries slipped away as Laurent drove them
through the Picardy landscape, past the quaint cafes and
rows of trees. She was gradually acclimatising to the
French language, although she struggled to express herself
with quite the fluency she hoped to eventually master. The
couple was as fascinated about life in rural Suffolk as she
was about life in small-town France. Although everything
was still foreign to her, she looked forward to being as
much at home here as she was to the thatched cottages and
village greens of East Anglia.

The couple had two young children at home waiting for
them who, as soon as they saw Linda, rushed about her and
plied her with questions about English roast beef and
English pop music. She was overwhelmed by the
whirlwind of attention that contrasted so much with the
relative solitariness of her short flight from Luton Airport.
There was a lot that was new and much of this Linda only
knew about from the French films she'd watched. And
every now and then, one of the parents or, even more so,
the children used a vernacular expression Linda wasn't sure
she really understood.

She unpacked and organised her possessions in the small
bedroom she was given and already thought of as her own.
Then she joined Laurent and Pauline, and the two children,
for the evening meal. She knew food was an important
ritual in French life and looked forward to the new routine.
It would be so different from watching television with a
tray on her lap.

The family sat down together while Pauline placed the
dishes on the table to appreciative grunts from her husband
and children. A bottle of red wine was uncorked and Linda
had a glass in front of her, as did the two children. There
was a sixth glass and plate laid out and Linda wondered
who this could be for. Was there a third child in the
family?

She was rather surprised when this sixth person appeared.
She was only a couple of years younger than Linda and
young enough to be one of Pauline's children. But clearly,
she was not. Her skin was black and her curly hair was cut
very short. She walked into the room and was greeted with
"Bonjour, Gabrielle," by the family. Without responding
with even a smile she sat down in the vacant seat.

The meal was delicious. Pauline was a very good cook and
had obviously made an extra effort for her new au pair.
She'd remembered that Linda didn't like broccoli and so
none was placed on her plate although everyone else was
offered some. Throughout the meal, Laurent and Pauline
chatted to Linda, with the occasional polite interjection
from Dominique and Pierre, the two children, and Linda
became steadily more confident in her grasp of the French
language. But during the whole meal, Gabrielle didn't say a
single word nor was it apparent that one was expected of
her.

When the family had finished the gateau and very strong
coffee that made up the dessert, Gabrielle stood up without
a word and walked out of the room as silently as she came
in despite the kind words of "Au revoir" that accompanied
her departure.

Linda looked at Laurent. "Is Gabrielle very shy?" she
asked, hoping that the word she chose had the same
meaning in French as in English.

"Shy?" replied Laurent. "Not shy so much. She's severely
traumatized. She hasn't said a word in all the years since
we first chose to adopt her when she was a much younger
girl."

"Is that because she doesn't speak French?"

"Well, she certainly understands French. She reads enough
books. But it isn't just French she won't speak. She won't
say a word even in her own Tutsi language."

"Tutsi?" wondered Linda, who was reminded of a
Hollywood film with a similar sounding name.

"Yes. She comes from Rwanda. In Africa. There are two
tribes there: the Tutsi and the Hutu. You might be too
young to remember, but a few years ago there was a
horrendous massacre. Something like a million Tutsi were
slaughtered by the Hutu. Many of them were neighbours
who'd lived next door to them all their lives."

"I've heard of that, I think," said Linda.

"Gabrielle was one of those who survived. It's a wonder
she wasn't mutilated with a machete like so many others.
Her parents were killed and all her family and friends.
There's even medical evidence she was raped, which,
considering how very young she was, must have been
trauma enough in itself. A lot of Tutsi children came up for
adoption and, although we had no pressing need to adopt a
daughter, we volunteered to do so. But ever since her
ordeal, she's not said a word. Of course, we don't know
what she was like before then. No one alive knows her
from before that time or even knows her real name, but the
doctors believe that it's because of her traumatic experience
she never speaks."

"Oh dear!" said Linda in English. She wasn't at all sure
what else she should say. There was a silence around the
table. Even Dominique and Pierre looked uncomfortable.

"Anyway," said Pauline, breaking the silence, "we hope
very much that you and Gabrielle get to know each other a
lot better. It's to help Gabrielle that we really wanted you to
stay here. She's a good girl, but because of her muteness
she's mostly had to be taught at home. A home tutor
normally looks after her education, but that's during term-
time. We thought that you could perhaps teach her English
and anything else that you'd like just to keep up her
education. There are a few other au pair duties, but they're
fairly light."

"You want me to teach Gabrielle?" asked Linda who'd
never thought of teaching as a career when she completed
her degree. Her ambitions were to work as a translator,
perhaps for the European Parliament.

"It's more to keep her company than anything else, ma
petite. She's very bright: at least a year in advance of her
actual age. It's quite possible that when she gets her
baccalaureat, she'll be able to go to university.  Maybe even
in Paris. I hope you don't mind, ma cherie?"

 Linda shook her head. "I'd be pleased to," she replied,
already regretting that she'd brought so few English books
with her.

Fortunately, Laurent and Pauline had anticipated this and
had bought some English language text books, all with
plenty of pictures of strangely gauche English people with
names like Mary, John, Malcolm and Diane. As she was
studying a foreign language herself, Linda was sure she
knew what she ought to do, though she groaned at some of
the rather odd cultural references in the books. Why was
everyone so keen on the Beatles? And what was this
obsession with English meal-times? And why did everyone
have to speak in such a stilted, awkward manner?

Gabrielle's room was totally unlike that of any teenage
girl's bedroom Linda had ever seen before. There were no
posters on the wall?just a framed French landscape by
Corot. The room was mostly bare of anything but books,
and those were the peculiar paperbacks the French liked,
with boring line drawings on the cover. There were no
CDs, no DVDs, no stereo system, and only a hardly-used
desktop PC. Gabrielle sat stiff and expressionless on a hard
chair wearing a white blouse and blue jeans, the former
contrasting dramatically with the darkness of her skin.

Linda drew in her breath as Pauline closed the door behind
her. This was going to be more of an ordeal than she
expected. How do you teach someone who won't say a
word to you? Even her smile was curiously lacking in
meaning. It just flashed into life for the shortest time before
vanishing behind an expression of intimidating
seriousness.

"My name is Linda. I come from Dumbleford, a small
village in Suffolk, er, England," said Linda nervously in
French. "I am here to teach you English and I shall speak to
you in English rather than French."

Gabrielle nodded.

Linda squeezed her eyes shut. Shit! This wasn't going to be
easy at all.

She opened the first page of the English text book.

"This is Mary" Linda said in English, reading from the
book and pointing at a line drawing of a girl dressed in a
tartan skirt and polo-neck jumper. "She lives in London.
She is a student."

Gabrielle said nothing, but nodded her head.

"Mary speaks English," continued Linda, not sure whether
she was understood. "She comes from England."

Gabrielle nodded again, with an earnest face and no
apparent evidence of having understood. Linda sighed, but
she persisted. She continued to read out phrases from the
English language text book while Gabrielle watched and
nodded with no discernible facial expression. Her eyes
were the liveliest part of her, perhaps because their
whiteness contrasted so much with the blackness of her
skin. She looked at the pictures, read the text and returned
her gaze to Linda's face. Her novice teacher, however, was
not feeling that a great career in pedagogy was opening up
in front of her. It was very hard work to teach, or to try to
teach, with such a blank response.

It was a very warm summer, seemingly warmer than in
England. Linda was feeling the heat acutely, especially so
as a result of her frustrations in teaching. She was wearing
little enough as it was, just a tee-shirt and a pair of shorts,
and she envied Gabrielle who didn't seem to feel the heat at
all. Perspiration dripped down her skin making her tee-
shirt damp and cling to her skin. She pulled it forward from
her chest to let some air through and, as she did so, she
noticed that Gabrielle's eyes were closely watching her and
seemed to peek down at her nipples that were unprotected
by a bra. The tee-shirt snapped back on Linda's bosom and
she was aware that her nipples were clearly visible through
the cotton fabric. She blushed, but then reminded herself
that she was in France. They didn't worry so much about
such modesty here, did they?

Although there had been so little response while Linda
spoke, she was very gratified to see that when Gabrielle did
the written exercise afterwards she got every single answer
absolutely right. Maybe Gabrielle already knew a bit of
English, although Laurent had said that she'd not been
taught it formally. Linda left the text books with Gabrielle
and said she'd continue with more lessons in the afternoon.

This same pattern was repeated in the following lessons
and, indeed, in all those that came after in the next few
days. Linda conducted her lesson by reading aloud from
the set text book and when she finished each section,
Gabrielle would do the written exercises and each time she
would do so faultlessly. It was frustrating, however, that
there were no spoken exercises she could do, and Linda
knew she couldn't expect Gabrielle to do these, even
though they were clearly marked out in the text she was
following. So, even these exercises were done by Gabrielle
writing down the answers to Linda's spoken prompts.

When Linda wasn't reading aloud from the book?a task
she was beginning to feel was fairly superfluous since
Gabrielle had no difficulty in reading?she had plenty of
opportunity to study her student. The black girl leaned
forward heavily on the desk and pushed the pen hard
against the paper. It was a good thing she used a rollerball
pen, as a nib on an ink pen would soon have broken under
the pressure. As she wrote, her brow furrowed with
concentration and she occasionally licked her lips with her
tongue.

Linda tried to while away the time when Gabrielle was
writing by looking around her room, but soon she had seen
everything in Gabrielle's room and returned her gaze to her
student. Gabrielle had a long smooth neck that was
displayed to good advantage when she leant forward. The
knobbled spine followed her neck like a sinuous serpent
dipping beneath the white collar of her blouse. Her arms
were bare to the shoulder and Linda noticed a scar on her
left arm that was long and deep. She wondered at first
whether it was caused by a bicycle accident or the like,
before reminding herself that it was more than likely a
machete wound. As was, no doubt, another scar on her left
leg that was longer but less deep.

Gabrielle must have also noticed the summer heat, because
she took to wearing a skirt rather than jeans, but it reached
to below her knees and was made of quite heavy linen, so it
was probably not much cooler. It showed legs that were
long and slim and led to a pair of flat-soled feet tucked into
her espadrilles.

Every now and then, Gabrielle looked up at Linda with her
penetrating white eyes and they seemed to rest on her
rather longer than was absolutely necessary. They followed
Linda from her face and her long hair over her tee-shirt,
each one of which celebrated a different commercial
product or holiday destination, past her bare navel to her
legs and ankles. Linda wasn't sure what she should think
confronted with such a long steady stare, but she reasoned
that the cultural differences between France and England
must be nothing compared to those between England and
Rwanda, and there was probably no meaning attached to
such long and intense gazes. She did think it strange that
Gabrielle's eyes so often focused on her bosom, but it
didn't bother her enough that she should put on a bra.

"Mary walks into the Bakery," Linda read aloud, thinking
that in real life this Mary was far more likely to drive to the
supermarket. "She wants to buy some bread and rolls.
What does she say?"

Gabrielle scribbled on her note book and handed it over to
Linda to read. The black girl's writing was very precise and
small, but totally legible. The letters were as reticent as the
rest of her, with no unnecessary flourishes and no
identifiable idiosyncrasies.

"Please may I have some bread and rolls, madam," Linda
read aloud. "Well, we probably wouldn't say 'madam',
though. The English aren't as polite as the French. No
'messieurs-dames' in English."

Gabrielle nodded, as she usually did, but Linda she wasn't
at all sure she understood what she'd said. Linda wondered
whether she could broach, in English, the concern that was
uppermost in her mind.

"If you went to England, Gabrielle," she asked, "would you
communicate by handing people notes like you do with
me?"

Gabrielle became suddenly flustered and alarmed. Perhaps
she already understood more than Linda credited her. She
looked at her hands and held the pen impotently in her
fingers, letting it hover over the notebook. She looked back
at Linda with a startled expression on her face and then
back at the notebook, and then she stared at a point in
space that Linda identified as being somewhere between
her and the wall.

Linda sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean... Shall
we continue?"

Gabrielle returned her gaze to Linda and nodded.

"Mary then walks to the Butcher's," continued Linda. "She
wants to buy some sausages and roast beef. What does she
ask the butcher?"

Naturally, Gabrielle's written answer was totally correct.
Linda's mind wandered away from the task at hand, though
she hoped it wasn't too obvious. How much did Gabrielle
suffer from her condition and how could she realistically
survive in the world if she couldn't speak to anyone?

When it was not spent with Gabrielle, Linda's time was far
more like a holiday than a job. The au pair duties she was
given were basically trivial and usually just meant
accompanying Pauline to the shops and help her carry her
bags to the car. Disappointingly, Pauline spent very little
time in boulangeries or boucheries, any more than the
fictitious Mary would, and instead went to a vast
supermarket, Hypermarche Carrefour.

"We're very pleased with your progress with Gabrielle,"
said Pauline, as she weighed some asparagus spears in a
plastic bag. "She seems happier, I think. I do believe she
smiled for more than two seconds when I greeted her this
morning."

"Is that unusual?" wondered Linda, who'd also noticed that
Gabrielle was smiling more, but still returning all too soon
to her expressionless natural state of repose.

"I think so," said Pauline. "The psychiatrist has said that it
is very difficult for her to engage with other people. It's not
that she doesn't want to?she somehow just can't do it
physically. You seem to have somehow awoken something
in her where Laurent and I have been rather less
successful."

Linda wondered about this when she was next teaching
Gabrielle. The young black girl seemed genuinely pleased
to see her, even though her smile lasted only a couple of
seconds, and she pulled out her notebook as if to say she
was ready to start the lesson.

As always, it was very hot in Gabrielle's room, even though
the window was wide open onto the Duquesne's very pretty
garden with its cherry trees and roses. Linda's perspiration
again caused her tee-shirt to cling to the contours of her
bosom. Gabrielle's eyes hovered rather too long on the
outlines of Linda's nipples protruding under the cotton and
she caught sight of Linda's eyes watching her. She smiled
very briefly, clearly embarrassed, and turned her gaze
away. Linda smiled at Gabrielle encouragingly, but not at
all sure what it was she was supposed to be encouraging.

When Linda returned to her bedroom, which was right next
to Gabrielle's and separated by only a party wall, she
considered what Pauline had said about her ward, but she
wondered also about Gabrielle's errant gaze and that
peculiar smile on her face. What did it signify? Although it
was so brief and fleeting, Linda carried a memory of it and
its wealth of potential meaning that made those couple of
seconds seem to have lasted much longer.

There was a mirror on the wardrobe in her bedroom
positioned between the open window to the garden and an
armchair. Linda stood in front of it and studied her
reflection. The girl she saw was just over a year out of
secondary school with a bush of frizzy brown hair that
never did what she wanted it to, however much it was
brushed and combed. She was a girl already blessed with a
bosom growing disproportionately large that might one day
become as monstrous as her mother's. Certainly, it was a
bosom ill-concealed by the Coldplay tee-shirt she was
wearing.  Despite the attention her breasts attracted,
particularly from men, was she an attractive girl?

Sometimes Linda was sure the answer was yes. At other
times, she was convinced it was no. She was below
average height and, although not fat or plump, not exactly
thin. There was always a slight, but not obvious, overhang
over her shorts from the flesh of her bared midriff. Her
face was pretty, she was certain of that, even though her
eyebrows were bushy and her nose a little broad. At least
the freckles that covered her face were rather less
prominent now.

And Gabrielle? What about her? Was she pretty?

Linda shook her head with alarm. That was not a question
she should ask herself, though she knew the answer was
very much in the affirmative. The more she saw of the
black girl, the more she appreciated her beauty. And she
knew it was more, much more, than just her exotic allure.
Gabrielle was a very pretty girl and one who would have
the pick of partners if only... if only...

Linda didn't like the direction her thoughts were taking her
and was pleased when her reverie was broken by the
ringing of the bell that signalled it was time for dinner.
This was the only occasion when she sat with Gabrielle
and never felt she had to say anything to her. Nevertheless,
her eyes wandered towards her student to meet Gabrielle's
steady gaze from a serious face that might be appraising
her or might just have been looking in her vague direction.

Gabrielle appeared to be fascinated by Linda's tee-shirts
and not just by what was underneath. On those occasions
when Gabrielle's gaze rested on her chest, which seemed to
be more frequent now, they lingered over the printed
words. Sometimes they were simply declamatory like
'Glastonbury Festival' or 'University of East Anglia'.
Sometimes they had text that described a product or carried
a humorous message. Linda had acquired her tee-shirts
from many different sources. Most often she was given
them, but sometimes she bought one at a concert or on
holiday. There was no consistent theme amongst them,
unless it was the fact she preferred ones that revealed a fair
amount of midriff.

It was a particularly hot day when Gabrielle pulled at the
seam of the tee-shirt Linda was wearing and stroked a
finger over it. She gazed up at her teacher, who wasn't sure
she knew what to do, and her face expressed the promise of
an inquisitive smile.

"Do you want to borrow one of my tee-shirts?" asked
Linda, thinking this was probably the safest question to
ask.

Astonishingly, Gabrielle nodded with a smile that wasn't
exactly broad but lasted an uncharacteristically long time.

Linda was sure she shouldn't just take off her tee-shirt and
give it to Gabrielle. After all, she had nothing underneath.
But her bedroom was just next door.

"Come on," she said. "Come and choose a couple to
borrow."

Gabrielle was escorted into Linda's bedroom for the first
time. Linda pulled out her collection of tee-shirts from a
drawer and laid them on the bed.

"Take whichever ones you fancy."

Gabrielle spent a long time standing by the bed looking at
the tee-shirts. She didn't touch them. She didn't lean
forward. She just stood there in her blouse and skirt, with
her hands clasped in front of her. Then, with no warning,
she undid her blouse and slipped it off to reveal that she
also wore no bra under her top, although so thick was the
linen it upheld her modesty rather better than did Linda's
tee-shirts.

The time it took for Gabrielle to pick up one of Linda's tee-
shirts?one celebrating Dumbleford's Annual May Fair?
and to slip it on over her shoulders was probably rather less
than a minute, but it etched itself into Linda's memory as
much longer. Gabrielle was very slender and the scar on
her left arm was accompanied by a similar scar on the left
side of her chest below her ribs. And the bared breasts,
which Linda later studied over and over again in her
memory, were full?not so much spherical but tipped by
broad puffy areolae a lighter colour than the rest of her
skin. The tee-shirt hid her breasts, but not her slender waist
and slightly protruding navel.

The truncated tee-shirt looked rather odd in contrast to the
prim skirt. It didn't quite match. "Do you want to borrow
one of my pairs of shorts?" asked Linda, who wasn't
absolutely sure that her English lessons had yet covered
this item of clothing and tweaked her own to indicate what
she meant.

Gabrielle nodded and with no ceremony undid her skirt and
stepped out of it. And here was a surprise that Linda most
definitely didn't expect. The girl was wearing no knickers
under her skirt. Not wearing a bra was one thing. Linda
wasn't wearing one either. But no knickers! Then she stood
with her hands over her crotch while Linda with a blush
pulled some shorts out of a drawer. Gabrielle chose a blue
pair and while she picked them up and pulled them on,
Linda with embarrassment studied her slender thighs and
the dark bush of black curly hair that obscured her vulva.

It was this memory and of Gabrielle's breasts that Linda
rehearsed in her mind and to which she found herself
masturbating in bed that night. It was a guilty
masturbation, even more so than usual. She didn't want to
make a noise that might alert the Duquesne family to what
she was doing and she also hoped that no one might guess
what it was that excited her.

However, someone else in the house was rather less careful
than she in hiding her nocturnal habits. The sounds of the
rustle of sheets, a rhythmic pumping of the bedstead
against the wall and what sounded like small gasps were
coming from Gabrielle's room. This astonished Linda, not
only because it was the first time she'd heard any utterance
from Gabrielle's mouth, but also because it told her two
things she'd never really considered before. One was that
the young black girl was also someone who might have
sexual urges. And the other was that the short ceremony of
changing clothes might have aroused her as much as it had
Linda?though clearly not so much from what she saw but
from what she exhibited.

Laurent and Pauline Duquesne were also very surprised
when Gabrielle appeared at the dinner table in Linda's
clothes, though they made no comment while she sat there.
After Gabrielle left, Pauline smiled at Linda.

"We're happy to see Gabrielle coming out of her shell," she
said in French. "However, I don't think your clothes are a
very good fit for her. The tee-shirt and shorts are rather
loose. Next time I'm in the shops I must get some clothes
that are more her size."

Linda nodded. She knew there was a difference in their
sizes, which meant that Gabrielle looked almost ridiculous
in a tee-shirt that was somewhat baggy and shorts that only
stayed up because she pulled her belt tight, but even so
slipped down enough for Linda to see the crack of
Gabrielle's buttocks whenever she leaned forward. But if
Gabrielle felt embarrassed by the poor fit, she didn't show
it. Although she let a smile pass her face more often than
before, she still had a very earnest expression in repose that
was somewhat at odds with a tee-shirt celebrating
Theakston's Special Bitter and a pair of shorts that showed
off most of her hips.

The tutorials Linda conducted with Gabrielle now had a
very peculiar flavour to them. How long could this tangible
state of tension last? When Linda leaned forward to show
her student the illustrations in the English language books
that accompanied the text, Gabrielle leaned forward too, so
that their bare arms pressed against each other. When
Gabrielle scribbled her written answers to the exercises,
Linda sat back and studied the black girl's legs, thighs,
shoulders and, most of all, the arch of her bent-over neck.
She both hoped that Gabrielle didn't notice the intensity of
her gaze and also that she did and understood, perhaps
better than Linda did herself, what her scrutiny signified.
And when Linda read aloud from the text about Malcolm's
adventures in London, Kevin's shopping expeditions or
Susan's interest in cooking, she was now sure that
Gabrielle's gaze wasn't really inscrutable at all.

And after these lessons, there was an awkwardness about
closing the proceedings that were not at all helped by
Gabrielle's silence, filled in with rather too many words by
Linda's account of what the lesson was meant to achieve
and what the next one would be about. And each night
Linda found it difficult to get to sleep as her mind whirred
with thoughts of Gabrielle, while she could hear the bed
sheets rustle and the mattress shudder in the adjacent
bedroom.

It was fortunate indeed that Laurent, Pauline and their two
children were more often out of the house than indoors
when the tension finally broke. The way it happened wasn't
totally an accident, of course, but neither Gabrielle nor
Linda knew how else the barrier could be broken without
some semblance of happenchance.

Linda was sitting next to Gabrielle, their thighs touching,
and Gabrielle now wearing one of the tee-shirts Pauline
had bought her that fit rather better than any of Linda's
although it showed rather less of her midriff. Although she
had a choice of new shorts as well, she had decided to wear
one of Linda's that slipped provocatively down over her
hips.

Linda glanced at the shorts that had fallen low enough for
her to see the upper reaches of Gabrielle's pubic hairs
emerging from under the waistband.

"You really must tighten the belt more," said Linda, putting
her hands around Gabrielle's waist to pull the belt together.
Gabrielle stood up to let Linda do the task with more ease
and as she did so, she deliberately undid the belt so that the
oversize shorts dropped down to her ankles. As Linda
suspected was usual for her, she wore no knickers
underneath.

For a moment, the two girls were frozen as if in a tableau.
Gabrielle standing with just a tee-shirt celebrating a
Picardy summer fete and a pair of shorts bunched about her
ankles. Linda crouched beside her with her arms around
the girl's totally bare hips and felt the black girl's flesh
burning on her fingers. She was reluctant to break the
impasse, but eventually did so, frightened that the moment
would pass forever, by kissing Gabrielle tenderly on her
taut stomach.

And that brief moment of physical contact became rather
longer and more intense as Gabrielle impulsively tugged
off her tee-shirt so that she was totally naked and pulled
Linda up so that they were face-to-face. For a few seconds,
the two girls faced one another, one black and naked, the
other white and not naked. And then with a strangled gasp
they pushed their faces, mouths and bodies together in a
passionate, carnal embrace. And this embrace became
more urgent and more physical, as Linda divested herself
of her clothes as rapidly as she could. Their two bodies
staggered backwards and clumsily, like an uncoordinated
quadruped, and collapsed lengthwise, both now naked,
onto Gabrielle's bed that, in all these weeks, had been there
unnoticed, not considered, but at last inviting and
inevitable.

Linda was not totally innocent, but her fumblings in the
past had always been with boys and beyond a cursory
probing of the genitals had not really lingered long in the
more intimate territory she would later be intent on
exploring to the full with Gabrielle. There was so much to
explore. The long thin fingers. The slightly small ears. The
long arching neck. Those beautiful breasts that were so
unlike her own which, in turn, so evidently fascinated
Gabrielle. Although their mutual groping was intimate,
passionate and sensual, there was a further degree of sexual
license that Linda was reluctant to initiate. As so too was
Gabrielle?although she nibbled and licked her nipples
with such ferocity and desire that Linda wasn't certain that
they might not exercise some appeal other than the
obviously sexual.

There was so much else to get to know without  venturing
into the region between the legs that she was content to
alternate her kisses and cuddles from the mouth to the body
and back again. It was when the two met mouth to mouth
that she could be most certain that Gabrielle's passion and
desire equalled her own. This in itself was a novel
experience and not one she'd experienced during her
previous gropings at university or school. On those
occasions she was uncertain whether the boys' lust focused
on Linda as a person or just as the nearest available
woman.

The passion that was so furious to start with began to ease,
and the two girls stretched out languidly on the bed
together as they took stock of their abruptly changed
relationship. They were panting heavily, perhaps less with
exhaustion than with excitement. Linda gazed lovingly at
Gabrielle and was delighted to see that her lover's face had
not settled into a state of serious impassivity. Instead, like
Linda's, it was flushed with excitement and pasted with
perspiration. Most of all, she sported a huge smile that did
not vanish after only the briefest glimpse.

"Oh, I love you!" said Linda with fondness, her voice
somehow catching in her throat. "I love you, Gabrielle."
Then, to ensure that the message was not lost in translation,
she said: "Je t'aime. Je t'aime."

Words didn't seem enough, but clearly their lovemaking
demanded something more. Linda had seen a few
pornographic images on the internet and was sure she had a
vague idea of what should happen next. However, she had
on hand none of the kit of sexual aids that lesbian porn
stars always had available however much they appeared to
be taken by surprise, but she knew the general area where
she should go.

Linda slid down to Gabrielle's thighs, lifted them up and
gazed at her huge white eyes questioningly.

"Shall I?" she asked.

Gabrielle nodded.

Linda then parted the black bush of pubic hair that
obscured Gabrielle's vulva, hunched forward and pushed
her tongue onto the long, thankfully uncircumcised,
clitoris. She knew what a vagina looked like. After all,
she'd explored her own often enough. But it was curious
how different Gabrielle's was to any she'd seen before. And
even more peculiar still, she discovered when she parted it
slightly to reveal the strangely pink interior.

It was while she was engrossed in the business of chewing
and munching Gabrielle's crotch that Linda heard a voice.
At first she thought it was Gabrielle's grunts and pants,
which were occasionally articulated in her passion but they
would have no diction or syntax. Then she realised that
these were words. An entire phrase.

Linda lifted up her head and body by her shoulders and
looked directly into Gabrielle's face. She was smiling. And
more than that, not just smiling, she was saying something.
The first words since her horrific trauma in Rwanda all
those years ago.

And what were these words?

They were exactly what Linda most wanted to hear.

"Je t'aime. Je t'aime."







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

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