Georgia's English Rose (4 page)

“More than a few, I bet,” Georgia said. “A
few love affairs, a few broken hearts. You ever get your heart
broken, Lil?”

I thought back to some of my crushes, but
they seemed tame in comparison to what I felt for Georgia. I shook
my head.

“I bet you broke a few, though,” Georgia
said. “Sweet English rose like you. Red English rose,” she said,
and laughed, but her face had changed, coloring up, and I knew she
had almost reached her goal. I wanted to join her, wanted to get
there with her and parted my pussy lips and pushed two fingers
inside.

I knew Georgia saw my face change as a wave
of pleasure rushed through me. When I had done this before it had
taken a while until the liquid melting in my belly made everything
else fade away. This afternoon I was ready at once and pulled my
fingers out, not wanting to reach my peak before Georgia.

“Put ’em back, Lil,” Georgia said, staring
at my hand. “Put ’em back inside. I’m about there now, honey.”

“You are?” I said, sliding my fingers inside
myself, the effect immediate as my stomach tightened. I was seconds
away, seconds from something stronger than I had ever experienced
before.

“Oh baby…” Georgia gasped, water splashing
now as we both worked ourselves, splashing out and onto the floor.
“You there, Lil honey, you there yet?”

“Yes,” I hissed. The first wave hit me hard,
a tiny point inside my lower belly, an explosion washing outward
through me and I lifted my knees and pushed my fingers deeper into
myself. My other hand still gripped my breast but I dropped it now
and put it on Georgia’s leg.

“Oh honey,” she gasped. She slid down,
lifting her hips and her pussy came clear of the water toward me. I
had a perfect view as her fingers pushed deep inside herself, of
plump lips opened to reveal a sweet pinkness within. Water streamed
along her body, flattening her pubic hair as she pressed her thighs
around my waist and pumped against her hand.

My own climax, cataclysmic as it was, seemed
trivial in comparison to what Georgia experienced. Her fingers
probed herself in front of me without shame, and I was sure I could
smell her. I wanted to touch her, but couldn’t. My stomach
fluttered and turned over. I wanted to do more than touch her, and
the thought of what I wanted lodged in my head and my trembling
grew, my fingers still inside and for the first time ever in my
life I achieved two climaxes back to back.

Too soon Georgia withdrew her hand and
pulled herself up.

“Whoa, Lil, I guess I needed that one real
bad,” she said, breaking the spell. “How was yours, honey?”

“Good,” I said.

Georgia laughed. “Only good? Looked more
than good to me. Loosen up, Lil, let yourself go a bit. It ain’t
the work of the devil, it’s pleasure. Enjoy it. I do.”

“You do?” I tried to keep a straight face
but lost it and we both burst out laughing.

“You’re great, little darling, just great. I
love you to bits, Lil.”

And I love you
, I thought, but I held
the words inside against my heart.

“My fingers are wrinkling,” Georgia said,
pulling herself onto her knees. “I’m gonna get out and dress for
dinner. You want a pair of those stockings?”

“I don’t think I’ve got anything to hold
them up with, Georgia.”

“I’ve got a spare garter belt you’re welcome
to.”

“I don’t want to-” I started, but Georgia
interrupted me.

“You English,” she said. “If I didn’t want
you to have them I wouldn’t offer. Now, do you want them or
not?”

“Yes please,” I said.

“Good. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No,” I shook my head. I turned around so I
wasn’t against the taps and slid down in the water, stretching out
luxuriously. Georgia watched me as I let my breasts poke above the
water. She continued watching and I ran my hand down my stomach and
over my sensitive pussy and her mouth twitched.

“See, you’re loosening up already, honey,”
she said and turned away to fetch one of the warm towels. She dried
herself while I watched, almost as if displaying for me, then as
she started to dress I pulled the plug out of the bath and dried
myself, making no attempt at modesty. I dried between my legs, but
I knew my panties would be damp again before I got downstairs.

Georgia tucked her heavy breasts into her
bra, stretching behind to clip it, tucking her fingers inside to
settle their weight comfortably and then stood for a moment with
only her bra on. She had dried herself and put a little talcum
powder on her belly and thighs. She ran a comb through her hair and
then ran it through her bush, stroking it flat, the dark hair fine,
showing pale skin beneath where the teeth of the comb parted her
hair.

Satisfied, she drew her best silk panties
on, clipped the garter belt around her waist and  unrolled her
stockings. She sat on the edge of the windowsill and slipped her
foot into one stocking, then stopped.

“I don’t suppose there’s a razor in the
cabinet is there, Lil?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Still naked I opened the
door and looked. “There’s this,” I said, turning with a heavy steel
safety razor.

“Any fresh blades?”

I turned back. “Yeah,” I said, and laughed
because I sounded like Georgia.

“Slip a new one in for me, honey, and hand
it over. You gonna do your legs too?”

I put a fresh blade in the razor and handed
it to Georgia, looked down at my own legs. One advantage of being a
redhead was the hair on my body grew fine and sparse.

“I don’t think I need to, Georgia,” I said.
I showed her my leg, lifting it for her, knowing my pussy opened to
her gaze but not caring.

She looked, both at my legs and higher up.
“No, you’re perfect, Lil,” she said.

She scraped the fresh blade over her long
legs, ran her palm up and seemed satisfied. I washed the razor out
in the sink and put it back after drying it.

Georgia pulled her stockings up and clipped
them to her garter belt, stood and looked at herself in the long
mirror, turned, studied her backside, put a hand on her belly.

“Lookin’ good,” she said.

“Mm-mm,” I agreed, and Georgia grinned.

“You gonna get dressed then, Lil, or you
gonna go down to dinner as you are? Not that I’m objecting, but I
guess your Ma and Pa might not be too pleased.”

I smiled and reached for my fresh bra and
panties. “I’ll get dressed,” I said.

Georgia slipped into her dress and buttoned
it up the front. It fell to below her knees, displaying just a
little cleavage.

“I’ll get you that garter belt,” she said,
and swirled away.

Dinner was fun. Daddy came
in late as usual, just as we were about to sit down. He hugged and
kissed me and I buried my face in his tweed jacket, breathing in a
deep lung full of his smell; damp wool, pipe smoke, hay… the aromas
mixed and wonderful, making me feel completely safe, as they always
would.

Mummy managed to find a joint of beef from
somewhere, cooked potatoes two different ways, made gravy and
Yorkshire puddings. These confused Georgia, who looked at them and
said, “This smells wonderful, but what are these things?” She
turned one over with her fork.

“Yorkshire pudding,” I said.

“Pudding? What are they made of?”

“Flour, milk and eggs.”

“So they’re pancakes,” she said.

“No, they’re Yorkshire pudding,” I said,
laughing. My mother and Michael watched us, smiling, and Daddy ate
his dinner with his usual long-suffering expression, but I caught a
glint in his eyes.

Georgia cut a small slice and lifted it to
her nose, sniffed.

“Doesn’t smell like pancake,” she said.

“That’s because it’s not pancake,” I
repeated.

Michael was wolfing his dinner, swigging
from a glass of cider. It was a special occasion, and Daddy had
opened bottles of our own cider and poured for all of us, even me.
It was the first time he had ever offered me cider and I felt
incredibly pleased about it.

Georgia popped the Yorkshire pudding between
her pretty lips and chewed. Her eyes widened comically.

“Doesn’t taste like pancake either,” she
said.

I looked around, caught everyone’s eye and
we all said together, “It’s not, Georgia, it’s Yorkshire
pudding!”

Georgia laughed. “I like it. Honestly, I
like it.” She cut some beef, some roast potato and more Yorkshire
pudding and ate it. She looked up. “Honestly,” she said again.

Afterward we ate bread and butter pudding,
with another long discourse explaining it to Georgia, who had never
heard of such a thing, and then we offered to help with the dishes
but Mummy sent us out of the kitchen with Michael and Daddy.

We sat in the big living room where two old
Chesterfield sofas faced each other, the unlit fire at one end.
French windows stood open onto the lawn and a warm breeze carried
the smell of newly mown grass. Daddy lit his pipe and Michael a
cigarette. He offered the pack of Player’s around but both Georgia
and I declined. I had never taken to smoking, and I suppose Georgia
hadn’t either because I had never seen her with a cigarette,
although almost everyone back at camp smoked like mad.

“So tell me, Michael,” Daddy said, “Have you
shot any Nazis down yet?”

“I haven’t finished training yet, Dad. Give
me a chance.”

“How much longer?” Daddy’s voice was more
serious, and I knew what he was thinking, the same as me. While
Michael was training he was safe.

“Next week, I expect. I think that’s what my
leave is for. Everyone gets a long weekend before they go up on
their own.” He shrugged. “You know.”

“Hmph,” Daddy said, blowing clouds of pipe
smoke into the air.

I looked across at Michael and knew, even
though he had driven me mad all my life, that I loved him, and was
scared for him. His long weekend was because the first weeks were
the most dangerous for a new pilot. Someone told me, stressing I
wasn’t to pass it on, that the casualty rate for newly qualified
pilots was awful. One in four, one in five, were shot down within
days. If you lasted a week your chances went up remarkably. If you
lasted a month you might make it all the way. It was all down to
experience. The newly qualified needed to be blooded, literally.
Needed to learn what it was like, high up in the air, diving and
ducking and jinking from the bullets.

“I’ll be fine,” Michael said. “I’m a damn
good pilot.”

“I know you will be,” Daddy said. “Just make
sure you keep those eyes in the back of your head peeled too, my
lad.”

Michael laughed. “Will do, sir,” and snapped
off a salute. He had changed out of uniform and wore a pressed blue
shirt and dark blue slacks. He kept glancing at Georgia, and I knew
he was looking at her cleavage. Georgia didn’t seem to mind, and a
few times I saw her lean forward as though shifting position. Each
time she did her dress opened and Michael’s eyes devoured the view
presented especially for him.

“And what about you, Lil?” Daddy asked.
“Where are you posted now?”

“I can’t tell you, Daddy,” I said.

“Oh. Hush hush, is it?”

“We’re not allowed to say, Mr Delamere,”
Georgia said. “If we told you we’d have to kill you.” She smiled
sweetly and Daddy laughed. Georgia was flirting outrageously with
all the male members of my family, and doing it very well
indeed.

We talked about other things: how the war
was going, whether Hitler was going to invade this year, whether
Churchill was going to make peace. We all thought that was a rotten
idea, but knew some people who were happy to surrender Europe to
the Nazis if it meant leaving England safe.

We talked about what life had been like
before the war, and what it would be like afterward. None of us
dreamed, as we talked in that living room, that we would still be
fighting five years later, and how many more would die in the years
between.

“And do you think your countrymen are going
to join the war?” Daddy asked Georgia. I bit my lip, waiting for
fireworks, but they didn’t come

“I think so, eventually.” Georgia’s voice
was calm and determined. “But I wasn’t going to wait. We should
have joined you already. Some of us have.”

“Good for you,” Daddy said. “And we need
your convoys. We can’t fight Hitler on our own.”

“They won’t beat us,” Michael said. “They’ll
never beat us.”

Daddy nodded. “I hope you’re right, Michael.
I hope you’re right.”

It was the end of July, the lull before the
Battle of Britain. None of us knew then that August would bring a
firestorm of bombing and fighters and fear to our cities and
airfields.

We went upstairs to bed a
little after half ten and I was nervous as a kitten, thinking back
to what we had done in the bath, wondering if anything else might
happen tonight. It remained light outside, double summer time had
been introduced for the war effort. In June it remained light until
almost midnight.

“I like your folks,” Georgia said,
stretching her arms high above her head.

“Good,” I said. “I think they like you too.
Particularly Mikey.” I started to unzip my dress, determined to be
as casual and routine as possible.

Georgia laughed and reached for her own zip.
“He certainly spent enough time looking down my dress, didn’t
he?”

I laughed back, a little drunk from Daddy’s
cider. “That’s your fault, Georgia. You kept leaning forward so he
could get a good look.”

“He was so easy to tease, Lil, so easy. I
couldn’t help myself.”

“Serve you right if tomorrow he follows you
around like a lap dog with his tongue hanging out.”

“Are you worried about him?” Georgia said,
her voice losing its laugh. She slipped her dress off and hung it
up. I looked at her openly in her bra and panties and garter belt.
I slipped my own dress off my shoulders and placed it on a hanger.
We had not drawn the curtains and a soft evening light spilled into
the room, painting Georgia’s pale skin with an amber glow.