The Best Lesson no. 3 - True Love

by LesLuv

"You want to what?" My voice was disbelieving, shocked and horrified.

He repeated his demand, smiling his lothario smile.

"No way. I've done some kinky things in my time, but letting you fuck me in the middle of my period is not one I'll ever let happen. That's not just grossly wrong, it's so yuk I'm going to chuck." My anger was rising fast, about the same rate as my despair.

'Oh, fuck,' I thought, 'I love this guy. I've loved him for three years. He's the best fuck and funniest guy I've ever met. Caring, strong and hell on wheels, and I've never baulked at anything he's wanted, but this, oh shit, shit, shit.' Naturally, I did the one thing I'd sworn off doing, and burst into tears. This was too much.

Protestations. Pleas. Apologies, but the damage to my few remaining sensibilities had been done.

I pushed him away and fled to the bathroom. Shower, dry, pad, underwear, makeup, uniform, hair, and all on autopilot. Fifteen minutes, fifteen hours, whatever. I didn't know - time had ceased. Was I being stupid, so what if he wanted my blood on his dick? But, but I couldn't. Having him in me at the same time as all that discharge was beyond belief. And why now? Thirty something periods and now this? I pressed a wad of tissues to my eyes. I had to get out, cold air, get to work, return to normal, forget this shit, I was needed by the sick and hurting.

Jacket, car keys, purse, lanyard, out the door, snarling at his restraining arm and bruising my palm on his face as he tried to kiss me.

And, like a dream, walk into my ward as though nothing had happened. Hi to all the girls, sit and read handover notes, listen to sister give the patient rundown , the roster update, make notes and someone hands me a coffee.

I'm twenty one, a fully qualified nurse for six months, working in 4 E of the local general hospital, loving it and the fulfillment it gives, and in a beautiful, wonderful relationship.

Not.

No more. Fini, nada, kaput...

"You all right?" Yodi was peering into my face, inches away, her big brown eyes looking concerned.

I looked up, managing a wan smile. Yodi was from northern Italy, and used to entertain us, and the patients, by yodelling with what seemed like the biggest voice in the world until someone complained. She was also a really good friend, and we supported each other most of the time. She was two years ahead of me, and already with her charge nurse hat. She knew my signs.

"Yeah." What the hell grin. "Just walked out on Dean. Idiot."

"Tell me!"

But that was not to be. Orderlies, patient laden bed, drips in tow, even the Resident following made us jump into action. From A & E to us, with suitable detours, that's the order of things here.

"Vehicle. Fractured right tibia, dislocated right shoulder, severe bruising, no cranial, lacerations to face. Very lucky." The Resident paused as we opened the doors to our one remaining single room. "Call me if anything shows." And with a tired nod he sped off down the corridor.

We followed the orderlies into the ward, watched as they did the transfer, then did our prelim of hooking her up to the monitor, the adjustable analgesic drip, and detailed observation. Yodi to writing, me to reading. Private patient, I saw from the heading on the admissions, Zelmira Ionis Saggae as her name, aged fifteen years ten months. Suburban address. All the correct boxes ticked.

I walked over to the bed and looked. Not much to see, dressings covering much of her face, but strands of straw coloured hair laced the pillow. Monitors steady, so as another call to arms came over the PA, I waved to Yodi and went on my way.

By the time I returned our new girl was conscious. The chart showed her progress - no change - but fluttering eyelids showed a brain returning to power. I half leant over her, watching closely, and was rewarded by two blue eyes appearing, then focussing on me.

"Hi, Zelmira," I said softly, "you're in hospital, a bit beat up, and your mum and dad are on their way. I'm Donna, one of the night nurses."

Frown, worry, disbelief crossed her face in rapid succession. She tried to open her mouth but her lips were dry, so I picked up a glass of water on the bedside table and inserted one of those angle straws, then put it between her partly open lips. She sucked, the water went down, and I removed the straw, waiting and smiling.

The first sound she made was a groan, not of pain, but memory. "Is - " deep laboured breath, " - is Sean OK?" I had to lean down to hear.

"Sean?"

"Oh..." The sigh was long and awful. I waited, and she finally added, "My boyfriend. We were walking along - " tears began to roll down her face "- and this car - "

I patted her hand, gently, and gave her the good old standard. "You get some sleep now. Doctor will be along soon. And you're OK. I'll find out about Sean. Off to sleep now."

She looked comfortable when I left at seven the next morning, her parents sitting silently with her, her tractioned leg like a plastered bowsprit. "You be good, now, and I'll be back tonight." Big grin.

She beckoned me over. "Sean's OK, broken hand and bruising." She smiled at me. "Thanks for looking after me."

She had a lovely smile, what little I could see of it. "See you tonight," I whispered. Turning to her folk, I added, bright smile, "She'll be fine. Bye."

I thought about the girl on the drive home, not daring to let my mind roam over the way that home would be. The dregs of revulsion still clung to the sharp corners on my mind, while the black hole of absence - Dean's, that is - threatened to suck me into it and never let me out. But he must have wanted me as much as I wanted him, for the smell of bacon and tomato, coffee and toast filled the hallway as I entered, and a very contrite man wooed me back to happy. Not a kinky word in sight.

The following night was fairly quiet, and I had time to check on our accident victim around eleven. Assuming she'd be asleep, I entered quietly, just wanting to look and check nurse style, but was at once open-mouthed at the sound and movement - sound from the half open mouth, movement from under the bedclothes. There's never many of these - the place is kept warm, one cotton sheet and blanket usually being enough.

There was no mistaking the cause. Every girl from eleven or twelve - or even earlier, for all I know- discovers the joys of masturbation, and what joys they are. My response to this new display was instant; the tingle-tangle of nerves firing in anticipation, that little clenching of uterine muscles, and a warmth spreading up, down and around.

But as I voyeured there was a muttered, "fuck" of frustration and the movement ceased. Now what's a nurse to do for a patient in that state? We're trained to assist, relieve suffering, promote well-being - so I took a couple of quiet steps and knelt by the side of the bed, head high.

"Like me to help?" Softly, softly, do not alarm. Friendly, kitten smile.

Gasp. Eyes opening, alarm then disbelief showing. "Um -"

"It's OK, Zelmira, remember me? Donna, your nurse? You're feeling a bit better, eh?"

"Oh God, I didn't hear you come in. You won't tell?"

"Course not. Like me to help?" The least I could do, my nerves still lit up neon style.

Disbelief once more. "You mean -?"

A nod. "Sure."

"I just can't get - well, my right arm's up here," glancing at her sling, "and I can't get my right leg to move out far enough, and my side is aching, but I really wanted to get off and it was quiet, but I only get up a little way and then it's like a barrier."

She had a beautiful voice. A small lilt, sibilance and vowel roll, somewhere from Europe, I guessed, and as her left hand appeared above the bedclothes I lifted it toward my mouth and sucked the fingers.

Big, joyous smile. "I feel really hot now. Oh, shit, would you?"

Another grin of affirmation. But as kinky is my middle name I began to tug her nightdress up and bunch it around her shoulders - it's only ever a shortie in hospital, and she did her best to lift her back off the bed - before stroking her breasts, lovely amber skinned mounds that had a way to go, but now with pink points raised to their full height amid dimpled aureoles.

"Oh, yes, I love that."

Then my mouth, the sensuous suck, the naughty nip, the tender tongue licking and circling. My best friend and I had indulged in such wickedness at school at every opportunity, though had never gone further, (such is the barrier of ignorance), and this was the very first time since. How sweet it was.

"No one's ever done - uh- that before. Uh, ha, uh, ha." Short gasps, continuing as my mouth did its work and my hand slid under the covers, down the thin torso, feeling for the pubis, the growth of sexual hair, the crease that beckoned onwards and downwards.

And there it was, the wetness, the warmth, the juicy fruit of arousal. My finger slid gently and easily between those nubile lips and curled itself inwards, finding the opening, the centre of female holiness, and began to pulse.

"Ah...." The moan was as erotic as it gets, and I felt my own mind and body respond. Love that sensation.

Then the slide, finger touching nerves over that confined area before the nub, the clitoris, the temple of glory was discovered and flicked, teased and aroused. No moans followed, but the shiver of muscles and the vibration of joints did. Her poor right leg, still in traction, began to swing and I quickly tried to steady it with my free hand, and it must have been painful, but her continuing arousal made her unaware of it.

Increased tempo, greater depth, and my mouth sucking hard on her breast caused her back to arch and her free hand to push my head into her chest as her breath became a series of ragged gasps. Then a mewl, a sigh to end all sighs and that lovely slow return to the feeling of completeness, comfort, and fulfilment.

Orgasms are just the best thing.

I withdrew my sticky fingers and and placed them on her lips. Her tongue appeared and began to lick, and my fingers somehow found their way inside her mouth to be sucked and savoured. That done, her eyes opened and she smiled. The cat, the cream and the chrism.

I licked my fingers, and she whispered, "Oh my, that was so good. Thank you." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Night night," she murmured, and within seconds was asleep.

I rearranged the bedclothes, could do nothing about her nightie, washed my hands, combed my hair, and reappeared at the nurses' station with the appearance of tired midnight nadir. But inside I was smiling. It had been so good. Something special haunting me the rest of the night.

Her bell rang at five. Bedpan. These are one of the most obnoxious things hospital patients have to endure. Those that cannot stand and move, anyway, but better than wetting or fouling the sheets and yourself.

It was no trouble, and her need to urinate so bad any embarrassment was absent. "Thanks," she said in her soft way, "you're really nice. What's your name?"

"Donna." My badge was tucked under the flap of my top pocket.

"Am I going home tomorrow?"

I knew from reading the notes. "Sorry, Zelmira, more radiography, but it shouldn't be long. Maybe the day after."

"Will you be on at night again?"

"Yes, couldn't miss my sexy girl." Blush. "And your dressings will come off tomorrow morning,, your traction removed, and physio begun. Crutch lessons, too, I expect."

"Crutch lessons?"

"Uh huh, the things you walk with when you can't use a leg."

More blushes. Then a grin, small and cheeky. "I thought you said crotch lessons."

"You've had those. Well, one, anyway."

"Can I have more?"

"I reckon. Pretty nice, hey?"

"Oh yes. Would you kiss me before you leave? I like you so much - well, you know."

The things one does in the line of duty. I sat on the edge of the bed and leant over, gently placing my lips on hers. Pressure from her, and a protruding tongue, and our mouths parted to exchange our juices, our feelings, and our happiness. And to keep our memories firm and intact.

Thank God the car knew the way home.

My period had finished, but I said not a word. Somehow the thought of rampant sex with Dean was less urgent. His goof was to blame, of course, but his lips had been replaced in my imagination by Zelmira's. And he continued his non-demands, treated me as fragile, and seemed immature. Parallax at work, no doubt.

Yodi took my arm as I walked into the ward the next night. "Your little lover has gone. This afternoon. She left this for you." She proffered an envelope.

"What do you mean - 'little lover' ?" I gave her my best glare.

"Hey, you can't keep anything from me, I'm all ears and eyes."

"So stop with the memory already, unnerstand?"

"Don't think so, but she was really nice, sooo beautiful; poor Dean."

I was tempted to agree, but opened the letter instead. 'Hi, Donna, Sorry,' it read, 'but I'm going home. Everything's good, but I did want to say goodbye. Would you ring me? It's my private cell number.' A number was written, clearly and underlined. She did want me to call.

Well, I'd think about it, but really? Anyway, it went straight to mailbox.

And it went there again two hours later, and the next night too. Surely she was not just a tease? At that age? Never.

I was filled with a sense of the blues, the syncopated sadness that my dad filled the house with when he played the piano, and nothing Dean could do made me get up tempo with him. Pursed lips and shrugs were his answer, plus a discernable cooling off. I told him it was only temporary, gave him a kiss, but wriggled out of bedding.

The truth was I could not get her out of my mind. I'd seen her twice, fingered her to orgasm, kissed her briefly, and she was just a kid. Fifteen. It didn't matter, every detail was as sharp as a photo. And I'd only seen a tiny bit of her. A cheek. A hand, a neck and some toes. Bits of blond hair and two beautiful blue eyes.

I'd heard her voice, smelt her odour, tasted her juices, but knew nothing about her. Amber skin, foreign name. So what? She was in my head, and I loved her being there. Oh, it was a bitter sweet memory, all right. What would I do if she never answered?

But she did, the next morning, the first of my days off.

"Hello, Zelmira, this is Donna. How are you?"

"Hi, Donna, can I call you back? I'm just having some physio. Ten minutes?"

"Sure. Bye."

The ten minutes stretched to what seemed like ten hours, but my phone eventually did ring. We exchanged more pleasantries, but I was tongue-tied at their end.

"Um - I kinda hoped we could have a chat or something?" Almost a plea, her voice with a little quaver.

As I thought about what to say, tears formed in my eyes. God almighty I wanted to see her, touch her, all those things. I did a sniffle into the phone. "Yes, Zelmira, yes, please." I was crying openly now, and barely heard her reply.

" - at The Ship. You know, at the wharf? I'm close to there, and I can get there under my own steam. Fifteen minutes?"

"I'll need longer than that." My voice was still sob laden, but the expectant thrill of seeing her was drying the mucus quickly. "Half an hour? That be OK?"

"Sure, I can take my time. See ya." And she was gone.

So was I.

She was sitting by a window as I walked to the restaurant-within-a-ship from the car park. We waved, smiled, and I almost ran. I knew she was lovely, but my first glimpse of her with fully free face told me she was totally beautiful. Thin, angular features with a long, straight nose and off beam mouth. High forehead, wide spaced eyes, blond hair cut shortish. No zits, no blemishes, and that grin. Teasing, funny, inviting. It's what had first hooked me.

Hooked? I was a willing fish on the end of her line, preparing to reel myself in. I was the iron filing suddenly aware of the pull of magnetic force, I was the bungee jumper without the rope. I was -

. . . sitting opposite her.

We just looked. Waited. Our eyes had no competition from our voices; hungry, thirsty eyes that sucked greedily at the images before them. I had no need to ask her if she was comfortable with this, she was. Oh yes; at ease, our smiles touching, coalescing, our differences neutralised, our two selves melding into one.

"I love you," I whispered. She already knew.

"And I love you." I also knew.

The world faded, selves waned, celestial spheres hummed, and we were a glob of oneness floating in its universe. Even the waitress stayed away.

Our hands met, and the spark, a billion volts of connection, took away our breath but not our minds.

"Want to come back to my place?" I asked.

"Mine's closer. And there's no one there till this evening. Walk with me?"

We rose, the waitress came and said, "Can I get you anything?", we just smiled, we had everything, and, crutches under the arms, my darling and I swung our way out, down the gangplank, into the shark-infested waters of life. We were, I knew, immune to their tawdriness for the present.

I helped her undress, sighing over the beauty of her teenage development, stroking and running my hands over her darkly golden skin, tenderly avoiding the bruises running down her right side, careful with her right shoulder, careless about her plaster cast.

Then she watched me as I did the same for me. I'm not unendowed, and I'd watched with increasing satisfaction as they grew into a male beacon, my firm size 38 breasts - only men call them melons or jugs - sending me the best guys around - to the chagrin of my friends at school and college.

Now she said, "Aren't they beautiful? Can I touch them?"

"You'd better," I answered with a grin, "or you've got me up here under false pretences."

Still seated on the edge of the bed, she beckoned me over and began to rub her hands over them, stroking and playing, tweaking the nipples and gently pinching before putting her mouth to one and sucking.

If ever there is an erotic sensation it is this. I'd loved it when Dean did it, but now he might have been a plaster statue compared to the feelings induced by my newfound love. I closed my eyes and felt her hand slide down past my stomach, to the patch of black curls that were the sex-signals to my vagina, down into the wet, leaking lips that seemed to tremble of their own volition under the expectation of being parted, into the inner reaches of my sex, in and around, out and rubbing my engorged clitoris, sending spasms of pure joy up my spine, whilst her other hand pulled me close so she could ram a finger into my arsehole, both ends thus pinioned and pulsed to perfection.

Then her mouth was sucking my belly-button, and I knew then that I was in the hands of a natural sex fiend. As the heat built within she said loudly enough to penetrate the roaring in my ears, "I'm going to lie back on the bed. Sit on my face?"

No girl had ever said that to me before, and as I became released from her finger bonds she lay back, plaster leg straight, the other bent for comfort, I jumped up onto the bed beside her, then carefully lowered myself toward her waiting, wide open mouth. I'm not the tallest person in the world, rather chunky in fact, but I can get my legs apart enough to do the splits, and that is what I did now. The wider the legs, the wider the slit; the wider the slit, the deeper the tongue; the deeper the tongue the better the ahhh!

Orgasms make me limp when they're done, and I collapsed on her rag-doll style five minutes later. I know you've had orgasms (you wouldn't be reading if you hadn't), but believe me what I'd experienced then was a number one in any language. I'm enamoured of endorphins, those miraculous hormones that are the feel good goodies, and Zelmira had tweaked my brain into producing a flood. I love it.

Later on I did the same for her, head between her legs, beautiful girl-juice running down my chin, into my mouth, making her forget her aches and pains, and after that we just lay, side by side, stroking, murmuring, and whispering the nothings of love.

Later still she said, "I knew that I didn't know anything about love, and had no doubts I'd get married and have kids, same as my mum, but now I've found it, and you, I know that I have it for the rest of my life. I do have you for that long, don't I?"

I smiled. "Longer than that, my love. Forever. It's not even strange, is it, that we just happened to bump into each other like that? I mean, accidents happen, one thing leads to another. And so - ?"

"When I'm 18 we can live together, can't we?"

"I think so, but there's lots to discuss before that."

"Sure, so let's start now."

We did. Appearances are kept up, I'm with a frustrated and celibate Dean, she's happy with her parents, has ditched the boyfriend. We meet at least once a week, sometimes at her place, sometimes mine, sometimes in a hotel, and our love has continued, growing and maturing.

Now, six months later, we're aware once more of the world around us, but the love - ah, the love is there, strong and beautiful.

We both learnt the lesson. Love is wonderful, but the best lesson of all is lesbian love.