Date: Thu, 17 Dec 2015 10:53:35 -0800
From: Carole Unwin <csunwin@yandex.com>
Subject: Falling for Fiona Chapter 1

Falling for Fiona, Part One

by cs.unwin

Warning: This story contains adult content. If such material offends you or
if you are under 21 please stop reading.

Author's Note: This story is the property of the author. It can be
downloaded for personal reading, pleasure, or sending to a friend, but if
you wish to re-post them on your own site, please contact the author for
permission. Copyright 2015 cs.unwin, All rights reserved.

Please email if you have any suggestions or comments: csunwin@yandex.com

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-----

The downpour came suddenly, as they often do in spring in the southeast of
England. One moment it was sunny, and the next the sky was full of dark
menacing clouds. Fiona ran as fast as she could along the narrow country
road which she had follow to get home from school every day. The rain began
to pour down and in minutes soaked her school uniform. It was so wet she
could feel her cotton underpants clammy and cold against the skin of her
bottom. Fiona held her satchel above her head but it offered little
protection against the heavy rain.

Ahead, around the next bend in the road and partly hidden by hedges, the
12-year-old saw an old bus shelter. Fiona quickened her pace and raced to
the small hut, arriving there as the heavens burst, disgorging thick drops
that bounced off the surface of the road and gave it a silver glassy
sheen. The bus shelter was very old, small and decrepit. Now that the
decade of the 60s was nearly half over, most old bus shelters had been
upgraded to new structures of steel and glass. Not so in the depths of
rural Kent, this shelter was a holdover from the 30s or 40s, and was of the
most simple and practical of its kind. Three sides were peeling green
paint, it had a tile roof, and inside was a built-in wooden bench on which
three could sit.

Relieved, Fiona took a seat on the dry bench and caught her breath. She was
out of the rain, but still uncomfortable. She felt the cold wet cotton of
her underpants push in between her legs and into the cleft of her crotch.
Fiona was soaked to the skin and miserable. She blamed her mother for her
discomfort. Why couldn't she have picked me up? she thought. Why is her job
so damned important that she can't drive me home from school like other
girls?

After a few minutes watching the rain splash against the pavement, Fiona
noticed a small blue car carefully making its way along. The car's
primitive wipers seemed unable to cope with the deluge of water pouring
onto the windscreen. The driver could barely see through the rain and was
carefully edging the car along the country lane. It slowly passed in front
of the bus shelter and stopped about ten feet beyond it.

The door opened and a dark-haired woman peered out at her through the
downpour. Fiona recognized the driver as Miss Soames, her next door
neighbour. She called out to Fiona in a distinctive London accent:

"Hallo! Would you like a lift?"

Fiona didn't have to think twice. Grabbing her school satchel, she raced
around to the passenger side of the car, opened the door and leapt in.

Inside, the car was still cold and damp, but at least dry. The small
interior smelled of cigarettes and female scent. The driver put the shift
in gear and they set off at a snail's pace down the winding country road.

"Poor dear, you are simply soaked to the skin. Your name is Fiona, isn't
it?"

"Yes Miss Soames," Fiona answered. "Beastly rain, I have gotten frightfully
wet.

"Don't Miss Soames me, Fiona. Call me Edith. I recognize your uniform, it's
Grammar school isn't it? Which form are you in?"

"First Form," Fiona replied. "I'm 12 years old. Nearly 13." She had only
recently turned 12, but like most girls her age, was used to rounding up.

Fiona tried to look at Edith without appearing to stare. She had only met
the woman once, when Edith had come over to her house to introduce
herself. It had been dark, and Fiona's mother had for some reason not
wanted to invite their new neighbour inside. When Fiona asked her why, her
mother had muttered something about `Bent London women' and had offered no
further explanation. Her mother was like that, Fiona thought. Always busy
and bossy and treating her like a child. She had been like that since her
husband, Fiona's father, had left her two years previously.

The girl could not understand her mother's antipathy. Edith seemed nice,
stylish, and refreshingly modern. Fiona did not know Edith's age. She was
younger than her mother, who was 33, and therefore guessed her to be in her
mid or late twenties. Edith's clothes were rather chic, unlike her mother's
and that of most women she knew, who dressed horridly. That afternoon she
had on fashionable pleated trousers, a tight fitting jumper, and the type
of bra which had recently become popular that lifted her full breasts and
brought them to a point. Edith's dark hair was cut short, nearly as short
as a man's, and she wore red lipstick which accented her full, sensuous
lips. Fiona, who knew very little about fashion, guessed that was how women
dressed in London in the `Swinging 60s', in sharp contrast to the rather
old-fashioned styles popular in the part of Kent where she lived.

Edith glanced at Fiona while she tried to peer out of the windscreen and
watch the road. The car's windscreen wipers swished anaemically and the
windows kept fogging. She saw a very pretty girl with long brown hair and
beautiful pale skin, on the cusp of adolescence. Fiona was that perfect age
when girls are at their prettiest before their bodies begin the tortuous
and difficult journey into womanhood. Edith noted the absence of any
obvious bumps on her chest, the sylph-like curve of her legs, and the
delicious shape of her bottom where the wet school uniform skirt clung to
her thighs.

"Fiona, you are completely soaked! I simply cannot let you go home like
that. I'm going to take you to my house and get you dried out and then we
can have tea together. I have some treacle tart which I know you are going
to adore. I won't take no for an answer!"

"Yes Miss... I mean Edith. That would be nice. I love treacle tarts," Fiona
answered.

The small car followed a muddy narrow lane for 100 yards to a small cottage
surrounded by hedges. A large apple tree, pink flowers in bloom, grew in
front of the cottage and partly obscured the entrance. A large rose bush
blossomed beside the door. The cottage was built 50 years earlier and had
been well maintained; it had mostly been used as a weekend getaway for
people who wanted to escape the city on weekends.

Edith decided to rent the cosy property after a painful breakup with her
most recent lover, a much older woman who was the editor of a women's
fashion magazine where Edith had worked. She was now on her own,
freelancing, and happy to be away from London's hectic and sometimes
vicious social life. In the several months she had occupied the cottage,
Edith had come to terms with her solitary existence, but she still
sometimes missed the lack of companionship and the feel of a woman's body
in her bed. She had no real hope of being able to fit into the
narrow-minded and tightly knit English country society around her. Here,
deep in the county of Kent, single women were looked on with suspicion,
especially those who were well-educated, stylish, attractive, and from the
city.

By the time they had arrived at the cottage, the deluge had subsided into a
dull drizzle. Edith opened the front door which was seldom locked and
invited Fiona inside. She took off her muddy shoes in the small entrance
and while doing so put her hand on Fiona's thin shoulder, briefly, for
support.

"Look at these shoes, they are practically ruined," she said as she removed
her black pumps with their low `kitten heels'.

Fiona took off her own brown shoes which were Clarks like most girls her
age wore, with plain rounded toes and a small buckle on the side. As she
followed Edith into the house, her grey knee socks, which had fallen around
her ankles, made wet tread marks on the granite flagstone floor. Edith went
directly to the kitchen where she filled a pewter kettle and used matches
to light the burner on top of a small two element gas cooker. Fiona stood
shivering in the living room, feeling awkward and unsure of herself.

Now that the kettle was sorted, Edith paused and noticed her young guest's
predicament.

"I am so sorry, Fiona," she said, approaching the girl and putting an arm
around her shoulder. "What a terrible host you must think I am. We have got
to get you out of those wet clothes or you will catch your death of
cold. Let me find you something dry to wear."

Edith disappeared into her bedroom, emerging a minute later with a large
fluffy towel and a maroon coloured dressing gown. "Fiona, take your clothes
off and I will light a fire so we can dry them while we have tea together."
She handed Fiona her robe and the towel and knelt down to build a fire in
the hearth.

Fiona, whose clothes were sopping wet, began to disrobe. She unfastened the
buttons at the back of her dark blue, sleeveless, knee-length school
uniform smock. Loosened, the wet garment fell off her shoulders and to the
floor in a damp heap. Edith glanced up from her kneeling position by the
fireplace and drew in her breath when she looked at the young girl's thin
legs and cotton knickers.

Rain, soaking through Fiona's outer clothes, had made her underwear wet and
semi-transparent. The fabric was pressed tightly against her sex, outlining
her girl-like cleft. Edith could see right through her underpants and what
she saw there looked delicious, pink and inviting.

As Fiona quickly removed the rest of her wet clothing, unselfconsciously
and with purpose, Edith felt a shiver of need pass through her. It had been
far too long since she had felt the touch of another woman, or a girl.

She worked at the fire, coaxing a steady flame from the twigs and adding
smaller pieces of wood to build up a blaze. But she managed to sneak
several more glances at Fiona, who stood naked now, carefully drying her
pale slender body with the towel. The young girl did this slowly and
deliberately, as if determined to remove the water from her skin drop by
drop. Her light brown hair hid her face as she looked down in
concentration. Fiona's chest was so thin Edith could see her ribs. She had
dark brown slightly puffy nipples the size of ha'penny coins. Edith guessed
her nipples were stiff from the cold, and were the only feature which
disturbed the pale flatness of her chest.

Fiona turned away modestly as she lifted one foot and then another to dry
herself. Edith, on her knees, caught a glimpse from behind of her small
shapely bottom and the outline of her smooth hairless crease. Edith barely
kept herself from reaching out to touch her as she remembered the first
time she herself had been touched by another girl, when she was still a
young teenager.

It happened during a dance at Saint Hilda's, a prep school for girls where
Edith had been a boarder. Since there were no boys available, it had been a
`girls only' dance; she and her schoolmates had been jiving and be-bopping
to 45rpm records in the gym specially decorated for the dance. Someone had
put on a slow number and Edith ended up in the arms of Lesley, a stout girl
two classes ahead of her. As Lesley held her close and the two swayed to
the music, Edith had been electrified by her partner's warm body and its
soft curves pressing against her. When the song ended, Lesley took her by
the hand and led her outside into the garden and the two kissed each other
her behind the hedgerows. Edith had melted in her arms.

Edith would forever remember her first time, the warmth of Lesley's body
against the cold of autumn, the thrill of abundant soft breasts pressing
against her own. She also remembered Lesley's hand reaching under her
dress, sliding past the waistband of her knickers and touching her in that
private place only her own fingers had ever explored. Her young body had
shuddered to its first real orgasm that evening. She became Lesley's
girlfriend that night and lost her hymen to her a short time later.

Lesley had been an avid amateur photographer and captain of the school
camera club. On Saturdays, after sports, the Biology Lab became a darkroom
for the club; members were permitted to lock the Lab's doors while
developing film. One day, Lesley invited Edith inside and shut the lock
after her. The two girls fell into each other's arms, hastily removing
clothing. Edith latched on to Lesley's large and well developed breasts. As
she feasted on the older girl's nipples, Edith felt Lesley's chubby fingers
parting her legs and beginning to rub her moist cleft. At age 14, Edith was
thin, her labia still smooth and almost as hairless as a young girl's. Only
a wispy patch of dark hair crested her vulva, giving a hint of the woman
she would become.

Lesley lifted her slender young lover onto the Bakelite top of a biology
lab station and began pushing her fingers inside her. Edith lay back and
opened her legs, inviting the older girl to invade her body. She was eager
to give herself to the pleasure coursing through her loins and to her
lover. Lesley's fingers pushed deeper, opening her tight vagina until Edith
experienced a sharp pain followed by a feeling of being stretched in a way
she never had been. Her pain melted away as two thick fingers pushed their
way inside her, sliding back and forth as Lesley masturbated her wet
vagina.

While Edith lay panting in the aftermath of her climax, Lesley climbed onto
the counter and straddled her head. At first unsure of her intention, Edith
quickly realized that Lesley wanted her to lick the hairy folds that were
being lowered onto her face. Without needing further encouragement, Edith
opened her mouth and used her tongue to part the thick fleshy lips offered
her. She knew her own taste from furtive under the cover experiments alone
in her bed, but the flavour of Lesley's wet furrow was new and different to
her. Her tongue and taste buds delighted in the slick silky surface of the
secret place that was hers to savour. She tasted the pungent flavour of her
lover for the first time, an experience she later repeated as often as the
two could find a moment and place to be alone together.

"Where would you like me to hang up this towel, Edith? It's rather wet."

Edith glanced up at Fiona, then got to her feet, slightly flustered. She'd
been reminiscing about her first love and this had made her quite
randy. Without answering, she took the towel and stood looking at the
12-year-old, now clad in a maroon dressing gown several sizes too large.

The room seemed to have become darker and the shadows favoured the young
girl's fragile and delicate beauty. Without her school uniform and in the
partial darkness, she appeared to have lost some of her school girl
innocence. To Edith she had taken on a wraith or fairy like
quality. Fiona's thin face peered out from behind a curtain of long light
brown hair, and the pale skin beneath her neck seemed to shine with a
luminescent glow. This vision of Fiona caused Edith to take in her breath
sharply.

The magic moment was interrupted by the tea kettle whistling. Edith came
out of her spell and began to fuss with the tea service. She went into the
tiny kitchen, poured hot water into the tea pot and carefully arranged
treacle tarts on a plate. She placed the teapot, cups, milk, sugar, and the
tarts on a tray and brought them into the living room. She set down the
tray on an old steamer trunk which doubled as a coffee table for a stylish
but well worn sofa.

"Please make yourself comfortable, Fiona, while I hang your clothes to
dry," Edith said.

Edith fussed with the the fire and then strung up a clothes line on which
she draped Fiona's things along with the towel.

"Give me half a moment, dear, I'm dying to get out of these clothes," she
said to Fiona, who was now comfortably ensconced on the sofa.

Edith had worked herself into a state of agitation. Having a mostly
undressed young girl in her house had brought back memories of her own
sexual awakening and had aroused her. She realized how long she had been
celibate, and how much she was attracted to her guest. She forced herself
to walk slowly into her bedroom, but once there nearly tore off all her
clothes and threw them on the bed. She caught a glimpse of herself in the
mirror and paused for a moment as she wondered what to wear.

Edith studied her reflection and saw a pretty dark haired woman with wide
hips and a flat stomach under which nested a dark thatch of curly pubic
hair. She admired her full breasts crowned by brown nipples and large
matching aureoles; they were her best features. Edith worried if Fiona
found her attractive. Of course you are lusting after Fiona, why else would
you care how you look to her? she thought to herself.

In a feminine gesture, she plumped her breasts and gave her nipples a twist
to make them stand erect. Edith then dabbed a smidgen of Arpège
perfume on her neck; she loved its rich floral aromatic scent. She chose a
man's plaid, buttoned, long sleeve shirt to wear, its hem half-way to her
knees and the top buttons open. Edith left her knickers lying on the bed
where she had thrown them and went back out to Fiona.