Love is a Place Ch. 05: Ally

Dearest reader,

You really didn't think that was the end did you? Sorry to have worried you. New readers, to state the obvious, this is Chapter 5. Chapter 1 is here (it may be in Lesbian Sex, but, trust me, it is very romantic.)

Happy reading!

Love t x

_________________________________________________

Hey babe,

On the plane. Switching to airplane mode now.

Have a lovely day.

Love you

K x

I watch as two ticks appear, then go to settings and engage airplane mode.

The plane is filling up. Mostly business people by the looks of things. Thankfully no babies, so far, or small children. It's term time - they are all in school I guess. I flick through the magazines and safety card in the rack in front of me, when I become aware of a presence next to me.

"44a and b. This is us babe." Her voice is American. Obviously on her way home.

"Here, let me move out of your way," I offer, standing from my aisle seat and moving back. "Do you need any help with your bags?"

"Thanks," she says, eyes looking amused, "I think we got this." She turns to the woman behind her. "You take the window seat this time, Suze."

"Okay, thanks babe," her friend replies.

The taller of the two women stows their bags in the overhead lockers, while I try to make my face neutral and keep my eyes averted.

I wonder if they are a couple. I wonder if it's a problem that this is nearly always my thought these days when I see two women together. I wonder what it has done to me watching from the sidelines as first Samantha and Sarah, then Amanda and Carrie got together. After making the mistake, after a few too many beers at after work drinks, of voicing that very question about two women at another table, I try to keep my speculation to myself. Some of the other guys were far too pervy in their enthusiastic adoption of my musing. It was embarrassing as hell. I'd hate them to think I thought the same way as them.

The women voice their thanks as they take their seat.

"You're welcome," I say, then retake my seat and buckle up. Obviously, the plane isn't going to move for a while yet, but it makes no sense leaving it off.

I pull my backpack up from under the seat and rummage. E-reader or book, I think to myself. I hadn't planned to bring a book at all, and had downloaded the St Clair series, but when I found a signed copy of The Velvet Killer in the airport bookshop, I couldn't resist. It will be a nice present for Lydia if I can't find anything else for her.

I decide to make a start on it, so leave the e-reader in my bag and open the cover.

"Oooh, great choice."

I look to my left and see the redhead by the window smiling at me and pointing at the book.

"Thanks. I loved In The Nest, so thought I'd give this a go. Have you read it?"

She leans over from the window seat and whispers conspiratorially, "I've heard it's the author's favourite. Right, babe?" She nudges the woman sandwiched between us. "You heard that too, right?"

"Sure did." There's a tight smile on her face.

"Do you know what's really cool?" I say, "it's a signed copy! What was weird was that there was no sign up saying they were signed copies - it was almost like the shop didn't know. It certainly didn't cost any extra, which is cool."

"No way!" the redhead exclaims, "that's awesome. Maybe the author did, like, a guerilla signing in the airport? You know, like if she'd been coming back with her sexy new wife from a book fair in London and had some time to kill in the airport before they caught their flight back to the states, and her wife had dared her to sign the copies of her books in the bookstore while she distracted the cashier."

"Um... yeah, maybe. That's... um... very specific," I manage.

Something is really odd here. The redhead is grinning like the proverbial feline and and a slow blush is creeping up the neck of her companion.

It clicks.

"Oh shit! Is this your book? Did you write this? Oh wow, you're Moriah -"

"Yeah I wrote it. Thanks for that babe," she says to the woman next to her.

"Come on, he's got the book. You were just going to sit there and watch him read it and not say anything?" the redhead replies.

"Yes!" The author, who must be Moriah, rolls her eyes, then looks at me. "What's your name?"

"Keith. Keith Goodfellow."

"Oh my God," the redhead exclaims, "that's like a name out of Robin Hood! I'm Suzie, by the way."

"Nice to meet you both." I offer my hand to them both, but Moriah keeps her hand out afterwards.

"Er...?"

"Pass me the book. I'll add your name to it."

"Oh, right, thanks. Um, actually, could you make it out to Lydia? My girlfriend? She's a big fan too," I explain, as I hand it over.

"Sure. L-y-d-i-a?"

"Yep, that's it." She writes on the frontispiece, then hands it back. "Thank you so much!"

Carefully wrapping it back in the paperbag from the bookshop, I stow it gently at the bottom of my backpack.

"Aren't you going to read it?" Suzie asks.

"Not now! Not in front of you!" I lower my voice. "I struggle to watch somebody eat a meal I've cooked, so God knows what it must be like watching somebody read something you've written! I couldn't be in the same room as Lydia when she was proofreading my essays at Uni!"

That brings a chuckle from them.

"Thank you, I appreciate it," Moriah says.

"Anyway, that book was an impulse buy." I hold up my e-reader. "I'm halfway through the St Clair series. Have you read it?"

They shake their heads.

"It's brilliant. It's like a small-town cop show, rural noir, only the main couple are lesbians so that might appeal to you both." Their eyes narrow. I start to gabble. "I mean, it's mostly a crime drama, actually, that's kind of what's cool about it, the fact that the main character is gay is pretty incidental to the plot and, well, bollocks, I should just shut up now because I think I've just really offended you both, haven't I? I'm really sorry."

They deadpan me for all of four seconds before Suzie breaks and starts cackling.

"Please accept my apologies," I say again, "I shouldn't have assumed..."

"No, no." Moriah sighs as Suzie continues to chuckle. "It's fine. It's not like we aren't out and proud."

"Check out the rock she got me." Suzie proffers her hand.

"Wow, that's gorgeous! How long have you been married?"

"A couple of years now."

"Wonderful, congratulations. Who proposed to whom?"

They both look at each other and go, "that's a story!"

"If it's private, then-" I begin.

"No, it's a cool story," says Suzie.

And it really is. Through take off and the first meal, I am a rapt audience. Unsurprisingly, Mor (as I discover she prefers to be called) can tell a tale, but Suzie chimes in, perhaps over-sharing a little, but only because she is clearly so deeply proud and enamoured of her wife, which is so touching.

"So, enough about us," Suzie says eventually, "what takes you to the states? Work?"

"No, actually, I'm hoping to track down a friend, so I've taken a week off to do it."

"Track down? You don't know where they are?"

"I'm about 80% certain it's her. Samantha. But I think she's changed her name to Sarah Thornbury: that is, there's an adjunct professor of Applied Cellular Biochemistry at N_____ who did her PhD, Masters and Undergraduate degree at Bristol University called Sarah Thornbury. A friend of her ex-girlfriend, who was also Samantha's PhD supervisor at Bristol, says there's no record of a Sarah Thornbury having ever completed a PhD at Bristol Uni. Thornbury was where Samantha grew up; Sarah is her ex's name. So either, this Sarah Thornbury is a fraud, or Samantha isn't as clever as she thinks she is. I've found out what building her office is in, so I'm hoping to surprise her there."

They are both frowning at me. "Um," begins Suzie, "it sounds like this Samantha went to a lot of effort to get away and hide. Are you sure you should be looking for her? Are you sure she wants to be found?"

I sigh. I've heard this from lots of people, not least Lydia. It's put a real strain on us. The thing is I can't even explain it adequately to myself. I mean, it's not like her absence has had an impact on my day-to-day life at all. Over the last few years, with Lydia and I in London, and Sarah and Samantha in Bristol, we've got used to seeing each other maybe every couple of months or so. Yet, knowing she wasn't there anymore, knowing she and Sarah were no longer a couple, in love, secure in one another, had knocked me for six somehow. It was like that terrible time I'd had labyrinthitis, but rather than it being my balance that would suddenly disappear and go haywire, it was my emotions. Her disappearance had removed a constant from my life and now I felt untethered. Lydia wanted me to see a therapist or counsellor, and perhaps she was right: maybe this was a latent manifestation of issues my parents' divorces had sown in me. I'd promised I'd give it a go when I got back.

But regardless, even if she represented something to me beyond herself, and even if my weekly routine wasn't affected by her absence, I missed her. Deeply.

I tried to explain myself. After all, nobody else was going to. And soon, if everything went well, I might need to explain myself to Samantha.

"That's a totally understandable reaction. I get it. But here's the thing: Samantha is on the spectrum. Like, quite far along it. She would be the first person to admit she struggles to understand people and she has massively overreacted to a problem that wasn't even there. Basically, she thought her girlfriend Sarah wanted children and that, as she didn't, the decent thing to do was break up with her and then leave the country so that Sarah couldn't try to sacrifice her need to be a mother in order to be with Samantha. It's ridiculous really. What's that line from Shakespeare? "If this were now acted before me on a stage, I should condemn it as an improbable fiction." I mean, you couldn't make it up. Without telling anyone, she changed her name by deed poll, found a job overseas and left, sending letters to Sarah, her supervisor Kate, her family and her former flatmates telling them what she'd done and asking them not to look for her. She thinks that Sarah will claim she doesn't want children in order to be with Samantha and that, if Samantha loves Sarah, she shouldn't force her to make that choice. She doesn't realise that it works both ways."

"But if she doesn't want you to look for her, shouldn't you respect that?"

"Ah, but you see, I didn't get a letter. My girlfriend Lydia did, but I didn't."

It still surprised me how much that hurt.

Their faces are still skeptical.

"Are you sure this isn't a sex thing?" Suzie drawls. "Like, you're not hoping that you can get them back together, so they'll both invite you for a threesome as a thank you!"

"No!"

"What, so you've never had a nipple orgasm?" another Suzy had asked.

"That's not actually a thing," Lydia protested.

"Sure it is. Want me to teach your man here how?"

Their eyebrows raise at me.

"Look, I get it, most guys are complete pervs when it comes to lesbians. So I understand your skepticism. It's like that joke, you know: What do you call the male equivalent of a fag hag?"

They look at me puzzled.

"Hopeful and deluded."

Mor chuckles.

"But look, I don't have sisters. Crikey, I don't even have any female cousins. So I've no idea what that relationship feels like. But that's what I imagine I feel for Samantha; like she's my sister. Sarah too. It's not a sexual thing. I know what that feels like."

Lydia's eyes were hooded and languid, her mouth parted in pleasure, as she gazed down on us.

"Watch what I do and copy on her left tit," Suzy, the other Suzy, husked at me. "We've got to take it slow, build her up."

Lydia's hands tangled in our hair as I watched Suzy's lips move over my girlfriend's breast, her bright eyes locked on mine.

I try to blink away the image.

"But also, it's more than that. Sarah and Samantha... I was there, basically, when they got together. And you've never seen a couple that was more obviously meant to be than them. And I saw Amanda Richards and Carrie Huntley get together."

"What?" They both perk up at this.

"Yeah. Amanda was another flatmate of Lydia's, along with Sarah and Samantha. But theirs was so unlikely a romance, whereas Samantha and Sarah... it was just obvious. It was fated. They'd known each other since the first year of secondary school. Theirs is like the ultimate friends-to-lovers tale. I don't know, I almost feel like if they can't make it, if a love like theirs isn't enough, then what hope is there for the rest of us? I get that this probably makes me sound creepy, but I promise you that's not where I'm coming from."

Looking at their faces, their expressions thoughtful but hard to read, I realise that I need their approval. They are strangers, so their opinions shouldn't matter to me. But somehow they do. Worried about failure and getting people's hopes up, I haven't told anyone what I was planning, only Lydia and Kate, who had helped me with the search. It's a fifty-fifty split there, with Lydia thinking I should stay out of it, while Kate was arguing with me about which of us should go (she will try next, if I fail).

So these strangers, these women, these wives, these examples of what Samantha and Sarah could and should be: their approval matters to me.

I find myself with my fingers crossed. How ridiculous.

After what seems like an age, Mor nods. "Yeah. To be fair, if you broke up with me over something stupidly noble, like being too old for me-"

"Hey!" Suzie swats at her wife.

"-I'd want to track you down and snap you out of it."

I let out a breath.

"So," Suzie begins, "you know Amanda Richards and Carrie Huntley?"

"Yeah. Pretty well actually, especially Amanda."

"Does that mean you know Suzy Wilson too?" Mor asks, with a sly look at her wife, who blushes.

Lydia was gasping and shuddering, her flesh flushed, her stomach convulsing, as Suzy and I covered her chest with kisses, stroking her down.

"So," Suzy said, rolling onto her bare back, "come here Keith, and show me what you've learnt. If that's okay with you, Lydia?"

"Carry on," my girlfriend had said, sounding exhausted. "I'll join you in a minute."

"Yeah, I know Suzy Wilson. We were all at University together."

Telling them the story takes up most of the rest of the flight.

* * *

Despite all the horror stories I've heard, despite all the hoops I had to jump through to get my visa waiver, going through immigration wasn't too bad. No cavity search or anything. I guess being white and English-speaking has its perks.

The cold of N______ is a shock. I figured being English had proofed me against bad weather, but the knife-like wind cuts through my several layers in moments, sending me shivering for a taxi to the hotel.

Hey gorgeous

I've landed. Sailed through immigration, surprisingly enough. On the way to the hotel. I guess you're probably asleep, but if you are still awake and fancy a call I'd love to hear your voice.

Miss you already

K x

PS: fucking freezing here. Proper brass monkeys.

The hotel is bland and beige, but crucially cheap. I brave the cold wind and drizzle to grab a takeaway, then hole up in the hotel room to eat. I tried not to over-order, but the portion size is ridiculous.

Lydia hasn't seen my message.

I finished the St Clair series on the connecting flight, after I'd wished bon voyage to Mor and Suzie. I try starting something else, but I'm still in book hangover mode and can't get into anything. I look at Mor's book and weigh up wading into that... but it just makes me think of Suzy.

Not Mor's Suzie. The other Suzy. Famous Suzy.

"You're pretty good with that tongue, you know," she'd moaned.

"He really is, isn't he?" Lydia had said, before she'd stopped Suzy's mouth with her own.

We'd not really known her well at all at Uni. Amanda had been in plays with her and we'd gone to see them, then often to the after parties, or we'd seen her at other parties around the University.

Weirdly, it was only after we'd left Bristol we became, well, not close exactly, but we got to know her better. She invited us to stay at her dads' house while we flat-hunted after graduation. We were there for three months in total.

The threesome happened just after we'd left, at our new flat.

"Show me what to do," Lydia whispered in my ear as she pushed Suzy's legs further apart.

I pulled back from where I had been gently tracing circles around Suzy's clit with my tongue. "Um, okay." I kept my fingers flexing inside as I considered what to do.

Lydia reached past and lightly brushed Suzy's clit, causing her to twitch and gasp.

Lydia kissed me hard. "Teach me how to fuck a woman."

It has been years since that one and only threesome. I still don't know how to feel about it. Is it okay to remember it fondly? To recall it and feel horny and excited about the sight of my girlfriend fingering and licking another woman, the actress Suzy Wilson no less, as she writhed and moaned?

"Any regrets?" I'd asked.

"No," Lydia had said slowly, "I'm happy it happened. I think... well, living with Samantha and Sarah, I couldn't help being curious about what sex was like with a woman." She'd paused. "It was... fun. I'm glad you were there. I was... I... It was fun."

Later, she'd asked me, "why didn't you fuck her?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You didn't fuck her."

"I did everything to her that you did. Don't you feel like you fucked her?"

"Yeah, but... well... you didn't put your penis in her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It didn't feel right. It wouldn't have felt right." I'd tried to lighten the mood. "Anyway, we were having lesbian sex, right?"

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," Lydia had cried as she'd looked down, her eyes flicking from where Suzy and I lay between her legs, our tongues taking it in turns.

I had fingers in both of them.

It had worked. She'd laughed at that.

But then she'd asked, "would you like to do it again?"

What was the right answer to that?

"Not with Suzy," I'd eventually answered, "and potentially not with anyone at all. But if we did it again, either with another woman or another man -" she'd pulled a face at that thought "- I don't think it could be a repeat. I mean, that could lead to emotional complications, don't you think?"

"You have feelings for Suzy?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant for that third person, we'd be potentially leading them on, using them. Making them think that maybe there could be a place for them in our relationship. I wouldn't want to do that." I could see the way Suzy stared at us afterwards, the change in the quality of her gaze. I'm sure I wasn't imagining the longing there.

"God you two are so fucking gorgeous together," Suzy had cried through gritted teeth as we'd made out between her legs, our fingers entwined inside her. "I fucking love it!" she'd yelled as she came.

"Huh." That had made Lydia pause. "Yeah, that's fair."

I'd waited a while. "Do you want to do it again?"

Lydia's face was flushed and alight, glowing from within, her wet lips open as she'd risen up to claim Suzy's, their bare breasts pushing together.

"What? No. No, you're right I think. It was fun. But you're special. And I'd never share you. It would be cruel to let somebody think that I might."

And that was that.

I want to stay awake to speak to Lydia when she wakes up in London, but the fatigue from the journey catches up with me eventually.

* * *

Morning gorgeous!

Still freezing here, but at least the sun is out. I tried to stay awake last night to speak to you, but couldn't. Jet lag sucks. Hope you have a lovely day. I miss you. I'll try calling you around 7ish your time before you head out for your class?

Love you

K x

Kate managed to find out the address of this Sarah Thornbury's office, so my plan for the day is to scope that out and see if I can spot Samantha leaving and follow her home.

I'm not expecting her to leap into my arms and be thrilled to see me. Far from it. Plus, that really isn't Samantha's style anyway. No, I'm expecting her to be cross, angry even, that somebody had found her. I know she likes to mentally prepare and rehearse for potential events and scenarios, and I'm hopeful (hurtful though the thought is) that I am so far from her thoughts that she won't have even considered the need to prepare for a scenario where I arrive. That surprise might count in my favour.

I don't bother rushing. After a lie-in, a late (and stupidly large) lunch, and three fruitless attempts to catch Lydia at home, I walk over to the college, which is close by, the reason I picked this hotel.

The pavements are deserted.

The college campus is open and easy to find. I walk around a bit. Luckily, there seem to be several cafés around the place, which will give me somewhere to shelter from the cold on my stake out. Already my toes are pretty numb.

Sarah Thornbury's building is pretty large. I circle it once, trying not to be too obvious. It has an elevated tunnel connecting it to a neighbouring building - it will be awkward if that's how Samantha usually arrives and leaves - but, while there are several fire exits, nobody seems to use those. Not that I notice anyway. The main entrance seems to be where everyone comes and goes.

I retreat to the café opposite and grab a latte, which is pretty crappy, and blueberry muffin, which is massive and delicious, then get out my laptop and try to look like a student as I wait.

I bring up the webpage for the department Sarah Thornbury works at, but although it lists some of the classes she teaches there's no indication of the schedule or her office hours. I knew this, having checked several times, but, hey, I've got nothing else to do. But surely they must be published somewhere? On a noticeboard in the building? Outside her office?

Hmmmm.

It's nearly five and getting pretty gloomy. Nights come in early here it seems.

Packing my things up, and leaving a tip for the barista, I decide to take a chance. Maybe there will be a sign up in the lobby or there will be a receptionist or somebody I can ask.

However, as soon as I pass the sliding doors it becomes clear that this isn't going to work. Two big security guards, armed, besides a metal detector, bar my way.

"Can I see some ID please, sir?"

"Oh yes, um, sure." I pull out my wallet and hand over my driving license.

"Are you faculty here, sir? I need your faculty ID?"

"Oh, sorry, of course. No, I'm a student. Exchange programme."

"Okay. Well..." He looks at me expectantly.

"Sorry, sorry." I make a pantomime of checking my wallet, then my pockets. "Think it's in my laptop case." I'm sweating. Their guns are clipped down and they look bored rather than aggressive, but still this is so nerve-wracking. Still, hopefully a bumbling-yet-harmless British idiot is within my limited acting range.

The pointless and obviously fruitless search for my non-existent student card continues. "I'm so sorry," I say, laying on the Hugh Grant as thick as marmalade in Paddington, "I think I must have left it in the library."

People are starting to exit the building now, scanning their badges to open the exit door to by-pass the bag scanner. I don't want to bump into Samantha here.

"Well, sorry sir, I can't let you in. This is staff and students only, not a public building," the guard says, seemingly genuinely apologetically, "can't be too careful these days."

"Of course, of course. I'll pop back to the library and see if somebody has handed it in. Um... can you tell me what time office hours end today? I'm here to see... er..." my mind lands on a random name I saw on the website, "Dr Anderson."

"Couldn't say. We'll be here for another 40 minutes or so, then after that it's exit only."

"Ah, okay, right, thanks for that. Might try again tomorrow then. Sorry."

I back out into the biting cold, nearly bumping into a woman standing on the steps. "Sorry," I say, then I stride out, not really knowing where to go. Perhaps Samantha will finish up in the next 40 minutes, but going back to the same café seems odd.

Through the clouds of my breath, I decide that there's nothing else for it but to tough it out. Thrusting my hands deep into my pockets and trying to tuck my chin into my polo neck, I find somewhere sheltered to stake out the office building.

Looking at my phone, I realise I've missed a video call from Lydia while all that nonsense with the security guard was happening. Crap, and no wifi here to return it. Damn it.

At least typing a reply gives me something to do.

Hi gorgeous

Sorry, no wifi, so couldn't call you back. Hope to speak to you too. You aren't missing anything here. It's super cold and everyone seems edgy.

Love you lots. Miss you.

K x

It's a dull, dark and depressing wait, jiggling on my toes in the shadows under the lee of a building opposite, trying to keep warm. I watch the thin trickle of people leaving the building, the lights from offices gradually winking out above them. It becomes something of a game, guessing how long it will take somebody to appear outside after a light goes off.

I'm so cold and so zoned into this odd pass-time, that I almost miss her.

She's wrapped up against the weather, and silhouetted by the lights of the entrance, so I can't see her face, but there is no mistaking her movement. Her stilted walk, like a flamingo, carefully placing each foot, before almost snapping upright, is like a beacon in the gloom. She walks past me on the opposite side of the road. The temptation to rush over to her is huge, but I don't want to accost her in the street. I've been through this scenario so often in my head: I don't think it will go well. She won't know how to react: how can she? She has no model for this.

No, if possible I want to work out where she lives, so I have options. If I have to approach her in the street later in the week, so be it, but as a last resort.

She erects a large, yellow umbrella, which will make it even easier to follow her. She passes the staff car park - she never had a driving license in the UK, so I had hedged my bets that she wouldn't have one now - and approaches the main road. I follow some thirty metres behind. Is she going to get a bus? No, or at least not here, as she walks past the stop where a few huddled figures wait.

The rain is starting to get heavier and I don't have an umbrella. Icy drops dribble down the back of my neck. My wet jeans are clinging to my lower legs, chafing and chilling me at the same time. Mercifully, after just a few turns she arrives at a block of flats.

Five storeys. Crap. That's a lot to have to check.

In the time it takes me to deliberate whether to sprint to catch up with her before she enters, she's already in. As I take stock of my surroundings, I notice a light come on somewhere on the second floor. Okay, well that might narrow it down.

Spurred into action, I jog up to the entrance and check the buzzers. There seems to be three flats per floor. There's no name next to 2a or 2c, but 2b has "Anderson & Bradley" next to it. Well that narrows it down.

I back-up to check the building number and nearly bump into somebody.

"Careful dude," she says.

"Oh, so sorry! Beg your pardon," I get out.

"Nice accent, not!"

"Um, sorry, excuse me." I hurry away into the rain. Okay, I probably should have tried the two second floor flats, but I'm cold and soaked and not very presentable.

I'll try again tomorrow.

Making sure I've clocked the street address, I head back to the hotel.

By the time I get back, I'm shivering violently. I really need to get some warmer clothes. I'm also hungry. Yet the first thing I do once I get back to my room, even as I'm trying to strip off my sodden jeans, the frigid fabric nearly frozen on, is video call Lydia.

"Hey babe," she answers after the fifth ring, blinking at the screen. In the glow of the screen I can see she's tucked up in bed.

"Oh shit, darling, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Yeah..." she yawns, "but it's okay. How are you?"

My teeth chatter loudly. "C-c-c-c-old. It's f-f-f-f-freezing here. I just got in and I'm soaked."

"Well, go and get warmed up then you billy! Jump in the shower!"

"But I wanted to speak to you. I wanted to hear how your day was."

"Eh... ordinary. You?" She yawns again. "Anything to report?"

I'd already decided not to tell her about the possible sighting. I mean, I could´ve been wrong. And nothing has been achieved so far. "No, not yet."

"Well, go jump in the shower then."

"Okay, I'll let you sleep, but call me when you wake up, please?"

"Won't that be really late for you?"

"Yeah, but I don't have to get up early or anything so don't worry about it."

"Okay, love you."

"Love you too Lydia."

She hangs up.

I jump in the shower, the hot water painful on my clammy skin.

* * *

This time, I don't bother getting to the café until forty minutes before the end of office hours. I make sure I get a window seat and keep an eye on the door, my new umbrella propped up next to me. In my waterproof trousers, I crackle as I sit down. It's kind of annoying, but better than getting soaked again. I can feel the beginnings of a cold coming on, that scratch at the back of my throat. Given the ruinous expense of healthcare over here, I really don't want to get seriously sick. Obviously, I have travel insurance, but still.

As I wait and watch the entrance over the lid of my laptop, I go over again what I plan to say to Samantha. It's been my regular routine ever since Kate and I found the mysterious Sarah Thornhill here.

My job is not what I'd envisaged myself doing. To be honest, I'd never had a clear sense of what I would do, so that's probably why I fell into sales of insurance products that I barely understand. Apparently, I scored highly on trustworthiness and charm in the application process and landed on the graduate recruitment programme. It feels fake, what I've been doing for the last five years, almost like fraud. It's not like we're selling policies that have ridiculous loopholes allowing us to avoid paying out, but still many of them seem extraneous, unnecessary. I'm annoyingly good at it, and was promoted to team leader last year. They've sent me on loads of NLP sessions - I'm now a Master Practitioner, whatever that means. Presumably, it means that somebody even better at selling bullshit than me turned the charm on with the HR training budget manager.

But Samantha won't respond to charm. She probably does trust me, but that won't mean a thing if she can't see the logic in my argument.

This conversation that I hope to have, on which at least two people's future happiness rests, if not more, is going to push me beyond my normal powers of persuasion.

I can't admit it to Lydia, or to Kate, not even to complete strangers like Mor and Suzie, but one of the reasons - only one of the reasons - why I felt I had to come and I had to do this, was so all the skills I've learnt in sales actually mean something.

Now, I know that policies I've sold have protected livelihoods and allowed businesses to bounce back from disasters.

But nothing I've done has touched people emotionally. And this is my chance to make the last five years really mean something.

Suddenly, Samantha comes out of the building opposite, in the company of another woman.

Surely she hasn't moved on already? It's only been two months.

They aren't holding hands or anything, but they are walking closely and talking.

Hastily gathering my things together, I tip the barista again and head out to follow them.

Thankfully, it's not raining, but the sidewalks are slick with water, and I have to skirt around puddles as Samantha and her friend stride ahead.

There's something familiar about the woman with Samantha that nags at me, as I follow, but being twenty or metres behind her, I can't really make out her features. Maybe I saw her go in and leave the office yesterday. She has her phone out and uses it a few times, which also blocks her face.

Shortly, they turn into the same street Samantha went to yesterday.

As they near the building, I speed up, breaking into a jog, wanting to see if they go in together - are they a couple? That would really complicate things.

But then I feel two sharp pinpricks in my arse, then a biting, burning sensation that races through my body. My skin is on fire, my teeth chatter uncontrollably, my arms shake and pain blooms across my knees as they give way and collide with the pavement.

"I got him!" somebody yells behind me.

A strange warmth blossoms around my groin and down my thighs, as the torment stops and I slump to the wet pavement, my head bouncing off my arm onto the wet concrete.

There's a ringing in my ears and my sight is blurry. "Hi, police?" I hear somebody say over my groans.

"Right, let's see who this fucker is?" growls a voice, and I'm shoved onto my back.

"Oh!" comes a familiar voice, "it's Keith."

"You know this asshole?"

"Oh. yes. But he isn't an arsehole. He's my friend."

It's all too much for me and my brain decides unconsciousness is a better option.

* * *

When I come around, I'm lying on my front. Somebody is putting something on my arse.

"Wsszle fr?" I manage. My head hurts. My knees ache.

"Just applying a bit of antiseptic to where the taser darts hit you," comes a feminine voice, "sorry about that. We thought you were some crazy pro-lifer, anti-lgbt stalker."

"Hurrr?" I manage. I realise I'm not wearing anything below my waist when a blanket gets flicked over my bare legs and bum.

"Hello Keith," comes a familiar voice, "I've put your clothes on a quick wash and then we'll dry them. I am afraid that the action of the electrical current so close to your groin seems to have caused your bladder to relax and you urinated upon yourself."

I groan.

"Lucky, you didn't shit yourself too," comes the first, American voice, from behind me. Somebody else sniggers-

"Yeah," I manage as I sit up, wincing, just about keeping the blanket around my lower half. I nearly fall back over again.

"Woah, woah, Keith, take it easy," comes a voice, "here get that cold pack back on your head. You've got a bump where you hit the pavement I'm afraid." Somebody clamps something cold on my head and takes one of my hands to make me hold it there.

"Um... where am I?" I ask. "Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry Keith, I should make introductions. You are in my flat. These women are my colleagues and neighbours. This is Dr Brooke Anderson, who is working with me on CRISPR-Cas9 research using embryonic stem cells to target invasive carcinomas, and her partner Dr Danielle Bradley, who is putting the plans in place for a clinical trial."

"Hi," says a third woman, waving shyly from where she is sitting at a small dining table, "I'm the one who tasered you. Sorry about that."

"Why?"

"Well," says Brooke, whose was the first voice I heard, "I saw you hanging around the office as I was leaving yesterday talking with the security guard in that entirely unconvincing British accent-"

"Oh, but Keith is British," Samantha interrupts.

"Really? Okay, my bad. Then I saw you following Samantha. Then, when I spoke to Heather in the café this morning, she mentioned this guy who'd been behaving suspiciously, then she texted me that you were there again today and called me to say you were following."

"So, then, Brooke messaged me and I snuck up on you like a ninja and tasered your ass!" says Dr Bradley, gleefully.

There's a pause, while we all look at her.

"Sorry, again," she says.

"You did good, babe," Brooke says. "If the psychos do come for us, we know we can deal with them."

"Yeah, but now I need to get a new taser. I've had that one since the Orange Shitweasel got elected." She almost sounds sad.

"Um... I'm still..." I say.

"Yeah, the thing is Keith," Brooke turns to me, explaining as if to a small child, "because we work with stem cells, there's a lot of religious nutjobs out there that want to shut down our research, and sadly the current political climate has just emboldened them."

"Plus, you know, being a pair of lesbians-"

"-I'm not a lesbian, babe," Brooke interrupts.

"-okay, two women who love each other even if one of them does not identify as lesbian, happy?" Dr Bradley continues, as Brooke sticks her tongue out at her. "There's various people out there who think we have forfeited our right to, well, basically be alive. So we have to be careful, you know?"

Even in my dazed state, the general nervousness on campus, the presence of armed guards, suddenly makes more sense to me.

"Yeah, er, fair enough," I say. My vision is funny, I try to blink it back to normal.

"So, sorry, but we didn't realise that you knew Samantha. She didn't tell us that you were coming."

Something nags at me about that.

"Oh, that's because I didn't know Keith was coming," Samantha says. She moves round the sofa into my line of sight. "It's nice to see you Keith."

"You too Samantha," I say, meaning it, though she doesn't look good. She looks like she's been ill and her hair is lank and untidy. But it is still great to see her.

"Why are you here, Keith?" she asks in that blunt, slightly distant way she has.

I look around at the other two, my mouth hanging open. Sitting bottomless on a couch while clutching an ice pack to my head with an audience did not, funnily enough, feature in any of my mental rehearsals for this moment.

"Um... it's kind of private?" I say, turning to look at Brooke, wincing as this shifts the pressure onto the buttock the taser hit.

"Okay, fair enough. Samantha, will you be okay if Dani and I go?"

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Right, well we're just across the hall if you need anything," says Dani, standing up. "Keith, I'm very sorry about the whole tasering you thing."

"Oh, don't apologise, my fault really," I say.

"God, that is soooo British," chuckles Brooke. "See you later. Samantha, don't worry about next week at all. I spoke to Michael, and between us we can easily cover your classes."

"Oh, thank you, that is good to hear."

"Bye!" They both say as they leave.

"So, Keith, why are you here?"

"Um... Samantha," I begin, taking the cold pack off my head for a moment, "do you have any trousers I could wear? It's a bit weird just sitting here with just a blanket on?"

"I don't think I have any that would fit, Keith. You are at least 5 inches taller than me. I could get you a skirt?"

So, twenty minutes later, there I am sitting barefoot in a skirt at Samantha's dining room table. Two cushions try to make my arse comfortable, but I find myself having to lean to my right a lot. Samantha's made us both a cup of tea and given me another ice pack to hold onto my head. A look in the bathroom mirror as I showered and got changed showed me I'm going to have a lovely lump there.

"So, Keith, can you tell me why you are here? Did you have work in the area?"

"No," I say, trying to line my thoughts, my arguments, up in my head, "I came just to see you, Samantha."

"Oh! That is a surprise." She blinks at me. Pauses. "I'm both surprised and, yes, I think I'm tasting mango. Oh. I hadn't felt that taste for some time, until last night. I am pleased to see you."

"I'm pleased to see you too, Samantha. It's good to see you have made some friends, Brooke and Dani. Are they good neighbours?"

"Oh, yes, they are very good neighbours, but they are why I live here. When I contacted them regarding the move here, they suggested I lease the empty apartment opposite."

"Ah, I see, so not a coincidence then." Now I realise what has been nagging at me; they called her Samantha. They know her real name. "Do they know that you aren't Sarah Thornbury?"

"Yes, they do. I was already in touch with them, professionally, before I changed my name."

"Did you explain why you changed it?"

"Yes I did."

"What did they think of your reasons?"

She sighs and looks at her hands, most un-Samantha-like behaviour. She also seems... embarrassed.

"Well, they were not impressed. Once I told them my reasons, they felt that my behaviour was cowardly, unfair and selfish. It almost caused a rift between us, but they are good people and have been good friends to me. I can recognise that now." She gives me a smile.

"Did you disagree with their assessment of your behaviour?" I ask, cautiously. This might be a way in.

"I agreed that it was cowardly and unfair on Sarah, yes. I knew that before I acted. But I disagreed that it was selfish. That did not taste right to me. It was what troubled me the most. We argued about that a lot. But this was a good thing."

"Why was it a good thing?"

"It was a good thing because I have realised my actions were not selfish; if they had been, then, by definition, my life would have been materially or emotionally better as a result, and they are clearly not. I miss Sarah so badly that I am miserable. Brooke is very kind, but I know that I am underperforming at work."

"It's the same for Sarah," I said, feeling a glimmer of hope. This would be fertile ground for my plan. "Did you realise that?"

Samantha nodded miserably. "Yes. She told me. She's been so unhappy and angry."

"Yes she has and - wait, she told you? You've spoken to her?"

"Oh, yes, I phoned her yesterday to apologise to her and beg her forgiveness."

My emotions are at war. This is great news but also... I'd come all this way for nothing. My grand, vainglorious idea of putting my persuasive skills to some use are shrivelling to nothing but me, barefoot and bruised, going commando in a skirt.

"That's fantastic, Samantha!" I manage to say, trying to be cheerful and mean it, "I'm sure she will forgive you."

Samantha looks glum. "I'm not sure. She was very angry with me, and cried for most of the phone call."

"Can I ask why you called her?"

"Yes you can."

There's a pause. Oh, yeah, I need to be exact in my questions.

"Why did you call Sarah, Samantha?"

"Because I had been reading about happiness, trying to find a way to be happy again without Sarah. I couldn't make any sense of Wittgenstein, but I came across Utilitarianism, where our actions should create the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people, and I realised that my actions hadn't done that. Therefore, they were wrong. I had been wrong. I was trying to give Sarah the chance to have children, but as those children don't yet exist their happiness cannot be taken into account. To believe otherwise would be to render my own research unethical. So either I needed to stop my research - which I genuinely believe can do much good and bring happiness to many - or I must follow the logical conclusion that I had made the wrong choice and that I was denying Sarah and myself happiness."

She looked at me hopefully. "Do you think I was wrong, Keith?"

Feeling a little dazed, and not just by the bump on my head, I tried to recall what the fairly well known issues with utilitarian ethics were, but then stopped myself in time. This really wasn't the moment to mansplain John Stuart Mill. I took a sip of my tea to stall for time while she observed me.

"I think you were wrong to leave Sarah, Samantha, without allowing her to be involved in that decision. I also think your conclusions about happiness were correct, but you forgot something else Samantha."

"What did I forget?"

"You forgot that it wasn't just your happiness and Sarah's happiness that was harmed by your decision, Samantha. It was your family's happiness too. Your friends'. Your colleagues'. I know that Kate was devastated that you left." Oh, why not say it. "Samantha, I was really unhappy that you left."

"Oh. I hadn't realised." Her face looks stricken, ashen, and it occurs to me that I don't think I've ever seen Samantha cry. But she might be about to. "Keith, I'm very sorry. I'm really very, very sorry. I... I didn't think, I-"

"Samantha, would you like a hug?"

"Yes, please."

It's awkward with my bruised and swollen knees and I'm very conscious that I'm not wearing anything under my skirt, but I do my best to hug her as she trembles in my arms.

"Do you think Sarah will forgive me?"

"I think there's a very good chance that she will. Are you going to see her?"

She nods into my chest. "Yes. I am flying back the day after tomorrow. She said we could talk. I'm going to try to work things out."

Well, maybe I needn't be completely useless. "Would you like some advice on what to say?" I ask.

"Yes, please!"

* * *

3 months later.

"So, basically," Jim says, grinning at me, "you went all that way for nothing, just to get tasered in the arse?"

"Pretty much, yep," I nod, keeping my face still while he hoots with laughter. He is the only one though. Louise is looking a little embarrassed by him, while Carrie and Amanda, sitting across from them are just smiling at me fondly. I feel Lydia squeeze my hand.

"Oh, no Jim, it really wasn't a waste of time," Samantha says, from opposite me, "firstly, Keith was extremely helpful in preparing me for what to say to Sarah in order to get her to be my girlfriend again."

Grimacing an apology in Sarah's direction, she just smiles fondly and mouths "thank you" at me.

"In addition, Keith demonstrated something very important to me and something that I am sure you are aware I struggle with, which is the value of friendships. Particularly his friendship. That was really important to me. So, I know I have thanked you before, Keith, but I would like to thank you again."

I reach across the table to her and grip her hand, fighting back tears. "Any time, Samantha," I say, managing to keep the lump out of my throat.

"So, what's the verdict with your visa, Sarah?" Louise asks.

Sarah sighs, and starts explaining about the wait to get a B2 visa. Samantha needs to see out the academic year in the US, but she's applying for research grants and postgraduate teaching posts in the UK.

"I mean, I could just go on a Visa Waiver Programme, as long as I stay less than 90 days. The Widening Participation Office has agreed to let me go part-time and work remotely for 6 months. But 90 days isn't long enough, and I'd have to fly back, and it's all so expensive and bad for the environment."

This is Samantha's second trip over since my visit, but she flies back tomorrow. Sarah has also been over for a visit. We're all gathered at Carrie and Amanda's flat for a meal, to celebrate my birthday.

"What do you want to do for your birthday?" Lydia had asked me a few weeks ago as we cuddled in bed.

"Nothing big," I'd said, "I mean it's not a big number or anything. Maybe just a get-together with your family."

She'd looked at me funny. "You know my parents are in Australia, visiting my sister, right?"

"Not that family, silly," I'd said, kissing her nose, "your adopted sisters."

She'd smiled up at me. "God, you're so adorable remembering that." She'd leant up and kissed me. "You know they're your family too, right?"

We had actually gone out with my work colleagues for a meal on Thursday, my actual birthday, but I didn't like to mix the two worlds. Once I'd invited some work colleagues to the theatre with us to see a double bill of The Green One and From the Ashes, which Amanda had adapted for the stage and Carrie had produced. My colleagues had been really weird about it, super sycophantic to Amanda and Carrie's faces when we met them afterwards, but creepily suggestive the rest of the time, making the kind of pervy comments I'd grown out of in sixth form.

So, here we are in Amanda and Carrie's dining room, eating food Samantha had cooked. Louise, Jim, Sarah and Samantha were all staying with them; Lydia and I would get a taxi home afterwards. It was just easier and cheaper than going out to eat, and meant Amanda and Carrie didn't have to dodge paparazzi.

It's lovely to all be together. Partly it's nostalgia, but mostly it's about pride. I'm so proud of these people.

Samantha talks about how much progress she and Brooke are making and their hopes for the clinical trials. "She and Danielle send you their best wishes, Keith."

Louise enthuses about this young student she's coaching and her hopes that her protegée might make it onto the English badminton squad.

"Well, she might babe," says Jim, "as long as she doesn't get stuck with a crappy doubles partner who drags her down, like you did."

"I don't know," she replies, kissing him lightly, "I think my partner worked out pretty well in the end."

"Has he sorted out how to serve for you yet?" Sarah asks, deadpan, which makes us all laugh.

"Oh yeah. And he even holds his own when I smash him," replies Louise, to another round of good natured laughter.

Carrie brags about her brother's latest exploits on the football field and, because she clearly isn't going to say anything herself, I share Lydia's latest news.

"So I'm guessing none of you know that Lydia got promoted last month? Again!"

"Whoop!"

"Go Lydia!"

"What's the new role?" Sarah asks.

"Oh it's nothing exciting, really," Lydia says, "just leading on a new investment vehicle."

"Bollocks babe, it's really important. Look, are you going to tell them properly, or do they have to suffer my mansplaining?"

She gestures to me. "Go ahead, babe. Actually, yeah, you tell them, that way I can test if I've explained it properly."

"So, basically, Lydia's last team made some serious profits divesting from traditional stocks and investing instead in green technologies and services," I say to the table at large. "This is obviously great for the company from a PR point of view - yeah, call it greenwashing maybe, but when I spoke to Patrick at that meal the other week, he seemed to be coming at it from a genuine desire to change the game - and it'll be good for the environment. Plus, if other companies see that there is a profit margin to be made that isn't based on oil and coal, then they will follow your lead and that's going to be good for the planet. See that's why it's important," I finish, turning to her and looking her in the eyes. "You're helping to find a way for capitalism to save itself, one CIV at a time."

"That is awesome Lydia," Carrie says.

"Yeah, like totally what we need," Amanda adds, "maybe we should invest?"

"Could do," Carrie agrees.

Lydia taps her knife gently against her glass.

"What the fuck, Lids? Getting all formal on us?" says Sarah, to general mirth.

"We're in our twenties, babe, we're not fifty-year old members of the Groucho club," adds Louise.

"Okay, if that was too formal, try this: shut the fuck up everyone for a minute would you please?" says my gorgeous girlfriend. "Thank you!" she sings out as our friends do indeed shut up and she stands, glass in hand.

"Thanks for hosting us Carrie and Amanda." She raises her glass to them.

"Our pleasure," says Carrie.

"Come and stay more often, please," Amanda adds.

Lydia nods at this and salutes Samantha next. "To the chef!"

"Here, here," I add, and we all clink glasses.

"Oh you're all most welcome. You know that I enjoy it."

"Hurry up and move back to this country will you please, Samantha?" Lydia says. "And not just because you are a great chef, but because you are a great friend, and we all miss you."

More sounds of agreement from round the table.

"So, it was Keith's birthday on Thursday," she begins, to general cheers.

"Oh no," I groan, looking down. This is going to be embarrassing.

"Thank you all for being here. He said he wanted to celebrate with dinner with family, and I was a bit confused for a bit as my parents are away and he can only tolerate his dad in ten minute doses. But then I realised, just as he explained, that he meant you all. The big softie thinks of you all as family."

A big "aw" goes round the room, until Jim shouts out, "cheers bro!" which brings laughter.

"But it got me thinking about something I've been meaning to put into words properly for a while." She swallows and puts her glass down. She sounds strangely choked.

I look up at her, but she avoids my eye, looking instead at Amanda.

"Amanda, remember when we all adopted you?"

Amanda smiles and nods, and I see her eyes shining. Carrie's arm goes around her.

"Louise, Sarah, Samantha and I are all your sisters. Sarah, you are basically going to be godmother to all our future offspring!" Sarah smiles at this. It is the tentative accommodation she has reached with reality. "Carrie will shortly be our sister-in-law."

Carrie waggles her left hand, showing off her sparkly engagement ring. Louise and Sarah give little claps.

"But it occurred to me that, as much as Keith cares for you all, he isn't part of our little family. And that's wrong."

I look at Lydia in surprise. This really isn't where I thought this speech would go; I was expecting a repeat of the gentle mocking she gave me in front of my work colleagues on Thursday. She still doesn't meet my eye.

"But," my girlfriend continues, taking a deep breath, and at last turning to me, "there's a really easy way for me to fix that. So, Keith, my lovely man, although I gave you your present on Thursday, I've got another gift for you."

She takes my hand and drops to her knee in front of me, just as my stomach plunges through the floor and my eyes start prickling.

"Keith Goodfellow, will you marry me?"

My lips are on hers, my hand cupping her cheek, and I'm kissing her almost as soon as she's finished. She kisses me back, and I can feel tears, hers or mine I don't know, on my hand, even as her mouth moves passionately against mine.

"Keith!" Samantha's voice cuts through the squeals of our friends, "will you please answer Lydia's question!"

Pulling back, I look into my love's eyes. "Yes, a thousand fucking times yes."

Our friends' cheers get louder as they applaud and we kiss again. This amazing woman wants to marry me!

"Oh wait," Lydia says, pulling back, "I forgot to give you the ring."

"Shit! You got me a ring?"

"Of course, got to do things properly!"

She passes me a little box. Inside is a simple silver band, inscribed with K & L.

"Oh my God, Lydia, you are amazing," I gasp, as she slips it on my finger.

"I know," she says, before kissing me lightly again.

"Wait!" I say, "hang on! One condition. Or rather, a request."

She raises an eyebrow at me. The room stills.

"Please don't change your name? My dad hasn't earnt that, so please don't take his name."

She smiles at me. "Okay."

I pull her into my lap, to her squealing delight, loving the weight of her, the strength and the softness, then look over at Jim and Louise. "No pressure you two."

More laughter ensues, including from the two of them.

* * *

"I feel bad that I didn't propose," I say in the taxi home.

"Don't be," Lydia says, giving my hand a squeeze. Her legs are thrown over my lap, and she's stroking the back of my neck, which she knows gets me all scrambled in the best way. "I knew you wouldn't, unless I dropped some serious hints to let you know I would say yes, then I realised that if feminism means anything, it's that women shouldn't wait around. Plus, I know you are so terrified of turning into your dad, I figured that there was a fair chance you'd never want to get married because that way you can't get divorced."

"True," I say, kissing her, "though, I kind of feel the talk about whether we have kids or not kind of should have given me a clue."

"People have kids and don't get married," Lydia says, "but whether it happens for us or not, I want to be your wife. I want to be in a room, rubbing shoulders with whomever and turn, and point at you and say 'You see that gorgeous, attentive, caring man over there? That's my husband.'"

It's like I'm soaring. My heart feels like it's going to burst.

"I love you Lydia, I love you so much. I'm the luckiest guy ever."

"I love you too."

The taxi pulls in and I pay. We practically run up the stairs to our flat. Lydia's dress is off the moment the door shuts.

My clothes join hers on the floor on the way to the bedroom. We don't even bother turning on any lights, there's enough coming in through the windows from the street.

She's a goddess in streetlamp sepia as I sweep her up and drop her on the bed, her hair spread out in a broken fan, her nipples dark against the marble of her pert breasts.

Lacing our fingers together, I lift her arms above her head, and inhale her armpit, moaning. There, underneath the artificial vanilla of her deodorant, lies her true smell, tart, sharp and so, so sexy.

"God, you smell so good."

She pants and writhes as I worship her breasts, teasing them with my tongue into tight peaks. My semi lies heavy on her thigh as I lick and nip and kiss and suck, pulling moans and hums from her. I pass both her hands to my left, and use the juice leaking down her thigh to slick up her clit, slowly, languidly, teasingly.

She growls. "Keith, we're not having fucking lesbian sex. I want your cock in my mouth now!"

I don't give in straight away, but pull her nipple up with pinched lips, teasing the tip with my tongue as I finger-fuck her. She's so wet.

Only when she starts trying to pull her hands away from mine, do I release her, shuffling up the bed and kneeling beside her, even as two of my fingers keep plunging into her.

With a moan of satisfaction, she curls herself over into my lap, her head on my thigh and takes me all between her lips.

I love it when she sucks me before I'm fully hard, as then she can fit me all. Feeling myself slowly stiffening inside the heat of her mouth, her tongue dancing around my shaft, her lips sucking at the base, is heavenly. All too soon really, I'm fully erect, and she's twisted her head back, now just my helmet between her lips, her tongue pressing underneath. Her bright eyes shine up at me, catching the streetlight, and she hums in delight.

When I press my thumb up her slit, to dance a figure of eight around her clit, the pitch of her pleasure increases in intensity.

My other hand goes to her breast, cupping it fully at first, just too much to fully fit in my palms, then I pull my hand in, my fingertips sliding up the sides until they reach her nipple, still slick with my saliva. Teasing and rubbing and pinching, I pull further sounds of satisfaction from her as she gasps around my cock.

My fingers push into her, rhythmically, deeply, trying to find the perfect spot. When I do, she pulls off of my penis for a moment to cry out.

"Yes, there, there!"

Then she attacks my dick with added intensity, sucking the head until her cheeks seem to cave in, pumping with her hand.

I grip her rigid nipple lightly and start to rub and pull, just gently, even as I maintain the rhythm of my hand.

She can't suck now, she's given fully over to the sensations flooding her. It's the most beautiful sight in the world. My cock on her tongue, her hand still yet still gripping me, she moans and pants and then, as she clenches around my fingers, spasms, then squeaks, her attempt to call my name is muffled by my cock in her mouth.

I pull in away, then stifle her complaint with my tongue, which she takes greedily, kissing me deeply, hungrily, even as she struggles for breath.

Then I slip my fingers from her and replace them with my cock. Her whimpered protest is immediately replaced with a groan of satisfaction.

We take it slow for a while, as I stroke the hair from her face, kissing her cheeks, her eyelids, as she comes down from her first orgasm, just gently thrusting.

We kiss and gaze into each other's eyes in the weak light, her breasts pressing delightfully into my chest.

When Lydia starts to flex her hips, to grind against me, I know she's ready. I kiss her deeply.

Pulling out, I lie next to her, and quickly re-enter, our legs interlocking. Slipping my hand down her stomach, I part my fingers around her labia, gather her juices from where my cock is pumping into her, then smooth the fluid into her clit. Palm flat on belly, I place a fingertip either side of her button, and start to roll it gently, side to side.

"Mmmm, yes, Keith, just like that."

My other hand cups her breast, and she presses it to her, almost urging me to grip it tightly, to squeeze.

Not yet.

My own eruption making its imminence known, I increase the pace of my hand. An expression like consternation creeps over my beloved's face, forehead creased, eyes tightly closed, as she pants in sharp exhales.

"Uh, uh, uh, uh."

Now I do start to squeeze her breast, her nipple stabbing into my palm which is slick with her sweat. My fingertips begin to dig into her flesh, but Lydia just presses my hand down harder.

My other hand is a blur between her legs.

"Oh... oh... oh.... Keith!" She shudders and twitches, then shoves my hand away from her pussy, even as I feel her convulse inside, triggering my own orgasm.

"Fuck, Lydia, you're so fucking gorgeous," I manage to say as the whiteout hits me and I unload in four solid squirts as the sensations on my cockhead approach the edge of bearability.

Then we're still and spooning, my arms wrapped around her chest, her arms wrapped around mine, me kissing the back of her neck, and she purrs and twitches. My softening cock slowly slips from her, even as she clenches on it, and pushes back into me, trying to keep it there as long as possible.

She turns in my arms and kisses me.

"I love you, Keith. I can't wait to be your wife."

"I love you too Lydia. I can't wait to be your husband."

She gives a little shiver of joy at that and kisses me hard.

"I don't want a big wedding," she says, "I'm not going to be bridezilla. Our friends, our families, some music to dance to, nice food, and I'll be happy. As long as I have your ring on my finger, I'll be happy." She looks me in the eye. "Don't spend a fortune. I don't care what it looks like, what matters is that you'll give it to me."

"Sounds amazing to me," I reply before kissing her.

We cuddle and kiss some more.

"Right," Lydia says, after a bit, "bidet! Let's get cleaned up." She kisses me again. "Because I want round two."

"Okay!" I say, delighted. Usually we're one-and-done. "But this time I get to go down on you," I call to her as she heads to the bathroom.

"Mmmmm, I think I could be persuaded," she calls back.

As I wait for my turn in the bathroom, I reflect that my life couldn't be happier.

* * *

5 months later

For all that we didn't want a big wedding, or a long engagement, organising it wasn't proving easy. There were all the dates to be juggled. When could Lydia's sister make it back from Australia? Would Samantha be back from the US? When would Carrie and Amanda have a gap in their filming and performing schedules? They'd recommended a brilliant photographer to us, Clara, who had done their wedding, and, as it turned out she was friends with Jim, Louise, Samantha and Sarah too, was offering us mates' rates, but we needed to fit in with her availability. We'd finally settled on a late August date and had booked a venue that would also do the catering, the registry office and the silent disco.

"Think about it," I'd said, when she'd sucked her teeth at the price in comparison to a DJ, "people always grumble about the music, but this way there will be three or four playlists they can pick from."

"True, true," Lydia nodded.

"Plus, I thought, this way, there would be less noise and Samantha wouldn't get overwhelmed."

Lydia gave me a smile then that was all softness and pride and gratitude. She kissed me, open mouthed and sweet. "That's your real reason, isn't it? You, Keith, are a wonderful, wonderful man. This is why I love you. Book the silent disco."

We'd chosen the rings and chosen our clothes (Lydia was letting her bridesmaids wear what they wanted).

There were little details still to work out, true, but the only major decision I hadn't made was who would be my best man.

My best friend from school, Olly, had been teaching in Korea for the last four years and I hadn't seen him for the whole of that time. Just an increasingly infrequent text conversation. He hadn't even confirmed yet if he'd be able to make the wedding. There were other old school friends I'd invited, and a couple of coursemates, but none were bosom-buddies. I definitely wouldn't be asking anyone from work.

"How about one of your brothers?" Lydia had suggested.

"Yeah, maybe. But it'll really piss off Mark if I ask Paul, and really, let's be honest, it would have to be Paul. Can you imagine Mark giving a speech?"

"Yeah... no, you're right."

"What about Jim?" Lydia suggested a couple of days later, out of the blue.

"Huh? What about him?"

"As your best man? I mean..." but even as she suggested it, I could see she was realising it was an odd suggestion. We like Jim, he makes Louise happy, but he is very much her boyfriend, rather than our friend.

It's a Saturday, and I am just putting clean sheets on the bed, while Lydia sticks on a laundry load, when my phone pings.

A message from Samantha. I'm smiling even before I open it.

"Dear Keith,

I hope you are well.

Sarah and I have some very exciting news we would like to share with you and Lydia. Could we do a video call today please? Please let me know when would be convenient.

With love

Samantha"

"Lids," I call, "Just got a message from Samantha. She and-

"-Sarah want to do a video call," she adds with me, as she comes into the room grinning. "I know. I just got a message from Sarah."

"You good now?" I ask.

"Sure!"

I tap out a reply to Samantha:

"Lovely to hear from you both. How about now? I'll email you a link.

Lots of love

Keith & Lydia x"

We set up my laptop on the kitchen table, and we're shortly met with the sight of Sarah and Samantha sitting up in bed together, slightly orange under the bed-sides lights.

"Hi!"

"Good morning Keith and Lydia!"

"Lovely to see you!"

"What time is it?" I ask, "surely it's ridiculously early in the states, isn't it?"

"It is," says Sarah, "but somebody was very excited to share our news, weren't you Samantha?"

"Yes, that is correct. Keith, Lydia, I am very proud and floaty to tell you that yesterday evening Sarah accepted my proposal of marriage and has agreed to be my wife."

Lydia squeals as I call out, "congratulations."

"Oh, that's wonderful you two!" Lydia says.

We hear the story then of how Dani and Brooke helped Samantha plan the proposal, a romantic picnic at a local beauty spot to watch the sunset, how Dani and Brooke "just happened to pass by" and thus were on hand to film Samantha's proposal and Sarah's joyful acceptance.

"Did you cry, Sarah?" Lydia teases.

"Oh God, I blubbered! It got ugly! I'll share the video."

"I wanted to call you both last night to tell you," says Samantha, "but it was very late when we got off the phone with my parents, who we had woken up, and Sarah said we should wait until the morning so as not to disturb your Saturday morning too much."

"Well, I for one wouldn't have cared," I say, with Lydia nodding along beside me, "we're just made up for you both."

Lydia's hand finds its way into mine and squeezes.

"Sarah and I both have something important to ask you."

"Let me go first sweetie, okay, please?" Sarah asks.

"Oh. Okay, Sarah."

"Lydia, would you please be one of my bridesmaids?"

"Of course Sarah, you know you don't need to ask, but bless you, I'd love to." Lydia's smile is huge.

"Aw, thanks gorgeous! Okay, Samantha, your turn now."

"Oh, okay. Keith, I wanted to ask you if you would be my best man. You know that Sarah is my best friend but I have come-"

"-yes, yes," I interrupt as a lump forms in my throat, "of course. Yes!" My eyes are pricking and Lydia's hugging me, resting her head on my shoulder. "Samantha I'm so... I don't know how to... Samantha, thank you so much for asking me. This... means a lot. This is extra extra extra. My chest feels like it's about to burst."

Lydia squeezes me.

On the screen, Samantha's eyes shine.

And then I have my answer.

"Samantha," I squeak. I swallow, then clear my throat, trying to get my voice under control. "Samantha, I have a request for you. Will you please be my best woman when I marry Lydia?"

"Oh! Oh!" she says, clearly surprised. She places a hand on her heart. "That's so. I...."

"I release you from your bridesmaid duties, Samantha, if you wish to accept," Lydia says.

"Oh. Oh thank you Lydia. Yes, Keith, yes, I would be most proud and satisfied to be your best woman."

On the video call, Sarah's arms embrace her fiancée.

"How do you feel about that, Samantha?" I ask.

"My chest feels so buoyant. It already was, but now it is like a balloon, so extra full. Your question tasted of the very best salted caramel."

"That is how your question made me feel too, Samantha," I say, "with added cinnamon."

"Oh. Did I make you feel that way?" she asks.

"Yes, yes you did, Samantha."

"Oh. I am so glad I could make you feel that way."

"Me too," I say. I kiss the tips of my fingers and hold out my hand to the camera. On the screen, I see Samantha hold out her hand too.

"I very much wish I could hug you both now," says Samantha, "especially you, Keith."

Lydia chuckles lightly in my ear, but I know she isn't offended. She's pleased for me.

"Me too, Samantha, me too. Soon."

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Thanks so much for reading. Votes and comments are always welcome.

Sarah and Samantha will be getting married in "Happiness". Obviously, Keith, Sarah and the rest of the family will be there too. Massive thanks to Wandering_Minstrel (she knows why), to DawnDuckie and tosesucker1 for beta-reading, and to proseinagarden for letting me borrow her characters. I strongly suggest that you go and read their stories, as well as those by Two21B and the St Clair series by Todd172.

I want to dedicate this story to all the straight men who regularly read in the lesbian sex section. Sure, some of you read there because you find the idea of two women making love hot. I can relate! No judgement! But, from the comments of many of you, I get the sense that this isn't your main motivation. I think you read there because you see something beautiful and vulnerable and sadly all too fragile and, as much as you know that you can't have this for yourselves, you want to be good allies and help and protect and celebrate such love.

I see you.

As much as you might want to, you can never be Samantha and Sarah, nor can you ever have them. But you can be Keith. I wrote him for you. May you find, keep and cherish a Lydia of your very own.