Caroline's Storybook

Waiting In The Shade

by Caroline Ashbee

At noon, from a paradoxically dark sky above a midnight-blue reflecting sea, the sun saturates the beach, the whitewashed houses, everything, precisely, with an unbearable dazzle of light and jagged shadow. We sit indoors, in the warm shade, dissected by the bright gratings cast obliquely through Venetian blinds upon our bodies and the floor. The air is still. We do not act: we wait. Time will pass. As usual Amelia is drinking beer. There's nothing to read and even if there were it would be too hot to read. It's too hot to play a game or musical instrument. It's too hot to talk, anyway Amelia isn't much of a conversationalist, and it's far too hot to do the only thing that Amelia's really good at. It's so hot and uncomfortable that Amelia has taken off her prosthesis. She is sprawling in the cane chair, her slip pulled up around her hips. She is naked below the waist, the beer bottle in her left hand, her right playing between thigh and stump. She is fingering, plucking, stretching the lesser lips again: it is a habit she has. She is watching me watching her.

'It's too hot to fuck.' I said. I sat down beside her. I could smell her heat, see the dusting of sweat caught in the down on her upper lip, darker there than elsewhere on her face, and I noticed the darkest hairs of all by the corners of her mouth. I kissed her. She emptied the bottle and gestured with it.

'If you want to.' I said, 'but it doesn't do a thing for me.' She dropped the bottle and it rolled away. Her gaze became fixed as she worked her genitals. Close to her I gazed at her amazing lips, rosy-purple and extending fully four inches. She always masturbated the same way, taking the lips in her hand and pulling them slowly, rhythmically, and very hard. When I had first seen her doing this I had asked her if she had stretched herself deliberately.

'A girl at school accused me of masturbating when we were comparing each other after swimming because they were so big. I was very shocked: I didn't know what masturbation was. I don't know why I was so innocent. She didn't believe me, and when I asked her what masturbation was she wouldn't tell me. She said I knew already; but I didn't. All I had learned was that if you had big labia people thought you did it. She told other girls at school and they teased me and then one day I rebelled. I remember thinking that if they all believed I did it there was no point in not doing it. All I knew was that it made your labia grow, so I thought it must have something to do with stretching them.' Her hand, autonomously, continued with its task. 'I remember the first time I did it, in the dormitory, in bed, pulling myself hard, making myself very sore until I melted: then it was exquisite. I suppose I might have stretched myself a bit since, but not significantly. At first I felt guilty about it. I tried to give it up but I couldn't. Since then hardly a day has gone by without some kind of sex, usually masturbation of course, even on days when we have done other things.

'Of course, after I lost my leg - you know all about that: I was thirteen when it happened - I knew then that I wasn't ever going to have a boyfriend, wasn't ever going to get married. I was certain of it. It was so sad. All I wanted to do was to hide myself away: I was so embarrassed. When I was out in public it felt as if I wasn't properly dressed, indecent almost. People stared, that's how I knew. So I hid myself away. I felt guilty somehow, as if it was all my fault. I never guessed that there were people like you; but even if I had known, it wouldn't have been a consolation. It made my skin crawl when I first found out. I knew that I would have to tend my needs myself. It became an obsession, an addiction, for a while. I deliberately chose to do it in places where I was likely to get caught in the act. They must have been watching me at school before I was aware of it ... They caught me finally one afternoon in chapel with my skirt above my waist. It was an old-fashioned school and my parents accepted their invitation to withdraw me; at least they were discreet.' Her hand stilled for a moment as she turned her face towards me, 'I still find it amazing that ... ' but she said no more, and her perplexed expression became abstracted again as the hand worked her flesh.

'Let me do that.' I said, but she shook her head.

I watched as she became tense, and moaned suddenly, her head lolling, eyes rolled up in their sockets, her face sweaty, masked with satiation. After a moment she rubbed her fingers between the lips, reached up, and wiped them on my face. I took her hand, kissed it, and then savouring her musk I sucked each finger clean.

'I like it when you watch.' She said.

Cunnilinction with Amelia was unique, the labia filling my mouth so that I could almost swallow them, and we both delighted in my engulfing them, sucking them into my mouth and drawing them out through my pursed lips, my head nodding between her thighs, mouthing, in a humid twilight, the crimson fleshy petals of some chimerical orchid, which blossoming, parted, revealing satin linings of rosy shell-pink delicacy in clouds of her unforgettable, indescribable perfume.

Friday 23rd June 1995
© Caroline Ashbee 1992-1995