Chapter Text
CASABLANCA, MOROCCO, 1988
“You look as though you need a blood sugar fix”, said the pretty brunette, holding a plate of food in front of Bernie, who stood, gulping air and sweating slightly, on the veranda of the villa where the party was being held. The newcomer took a swig of her wine while her deep brown eyes took in the length of Bernie, from her desert boots up her long slim legs in the tight Levi 501’s, to her tan Moroccan woven leather belt and tan suede waistcoat over a simple white cotton shirt, right up to her blonde hair, fixed in a none too neat bun, strands now escaping and sticking to her neck
Seemingly unaware of the attention, Bernie focused in on the plate and took a fragrant spiced meatball on a stick, and a lump of Brie, then some orange segments, feeling her stomach settle and her equilibrium slowly return.
“Thanks, you must be my guardian angel” she said, wiping her brow and taking another small meatball with a piece of flatbread. “Stupid me, arrived an hour and a half ago from a 4 hour car trip and headed straight for the beer the minute I got out of the shower.”
The brunette smiled sympathetically, putting the plate down and leaning against the pillar next to her. The movement made the light fabric of her patterned wrap-around blouse cling tightly to her full breasts. Bernie jerked her eyes up, embarrassed to find she must have been staring.
“I’ve been watching you,” the brunette said in her velvety voice. “You look like one of those characters in a western who just rode in from some far-flung outpost”.
“Ha ha”, Bernie laughed, releasing a loud honking sound that had people looking round to detect the source of the noise.
“Actually, you may be not far wrong. I’m based in the Deep South, working on the textbook project – it’s my colleagues who’ve organised this party. This is our half-yearly networking bash. “
“Ah, I see. Well I’m Serena, and I teach here in Casa for International House”.
Bernie extended her hand. “Bernie”. She fished in her waistcoat for her Winstons, offering them to Serena.
“No, ta,” she replied, “I’ve gone over to the local brand”, and she pulled out a packet of Fortunas, leaning over to get a light from Bernie’s Zippo. As she did so, she put her hand on Bernie’s just for a few seconds to steady the flame, leaving Bernie with a tingle that shot straight to her stomach.
As they straightened up, another person came none too steadily through the door to the veranda, all honey gold hair and sharp angles, in a low cut red dress, her green eyes heavily made up. She had a cigarette in her mouth and was clutching a bottle of Moroccan red with which she proceeded to top up Serena’s glass”.
“It says ‘Guerrouane’ on the bottle, but I’m sure that’s Moroccan for Shiraz. Now Serena, darling-“ looking up and taking the cigarette out of her mouth, “who do we have here?” she asked in a predatory manner, running her eyes over Bernie as she might a prize thoroughbred.
“Siân, this is Bernie, she works on the Textbook Project’, Serena explained, hiccupping slightly and giving away the fact that this was not her first or even second glass of wine of the evening.
“Bernie- Siân- my colleague at IH. We came out from the UK together- old friends from uni”.
Bernie gave a small smile but she had no real desire to continue the conversation with Siân, a feeling that appeared to be mutual.
“Serena, do you see that gorgeous waiter over there? That one in the black shirt with the buttons undone?”
Serena squinted in the direction Siân was pointing. “Yeah, what about him?”`
“He keeps catching my eye- he’s already offered me 4 different kinds of amuse- bouche. ("entertainment for the mouth", a small snack). Frankly, darling, I think he’s exactly what I need to amuse my bouche, don’t you?”
“Siân, you can’t go around seducing the catering staff! He could get into trouble.”
“Watch me”, and Siân turned and made her way back into the room, weaving purposefully in the direction of the waiter. Serena looked after her in exasperation.
“God, why did I ask her to come with me to this party? Serena sighed. “Toujours la même histoire… always the same story ..damage control required. See you later,” and off she went.
Bernie grabbed another bottle of Flag Spéciale from the ice box and wandered back inside, where she was waylaid almost immediately by her room-mate, Claire.
“Hey Bernie, guess what? Hamid’s just turned up so we’re off to crash at his cousin’s place. It means you get the room to yourself, OK?”
A pair of dark, hairy arms suddenly came into focus snaking their way round Claire’s midriff and Bernie got a partial view of Hamid ‘s dark curly hair and moustache as he nuzzled Claire’s neck from behind.
“Oh, Ok”, said Bernie, somewhat at a loss for words, as Claire was then tugged away by her boyfriend, turning around and mouthing over her shoulder “Have a good time!” and winking suggestively.
Suddenly alone, sober and curious as to what sort of good time might be found, Bernie moved deeper into the villa, looking for people she knew, or, better still Serena, who she would like to know. The sound system was playing a song she had always liked.
Now
The mist across the window hides the lines
But nothing hides the colour of the lights that shine
Electricity so fine
Look and dry your eyes
As she moved through the darkened rooms like a voyeur, a shiver went down her spine, a little spark of excitement, as if she was on the edge of something significant.
We
So tired of all the darkness in our lives
With no more angry words to say
Can come alive
Get into a car and drive
To the other side
She finally found a group of her colleagues, and hung out with them for a while, drinking more beer, and nibbling on some delicious, crumbly cinnamon biscuits that were being passed round in a plastic bag. She looked for Serena but couldn’t see her. Bernie felt strangely elated, relaxed and optimistic, she had no concept of time passing, but the party seemed to be going on forever. At some point she headed for the bathroom, and, washing her hands she looked at herself in the mirror, noting the dilated pupils, but not thinking it significant.
As she made her way back to the lounge area, Siân suddenly appeared. “I need your help”, she hissed.
“Really? Why?” asked Bernie, intrigued.
“Serena’s being hassled by some French dyke’”.
Bernie felt a stab of something like jealousy, but she remained expressionless.
“What does that have to do with me?” she asked.
“Well firstly, Cowboy, you look like every lesbian’s wet dream and secondly, you almost certainly speak French, which I don’t. Now go and rescue the damsel in distress!”, and before Bernie could protest, Siân grabbed her by the shoulders and propelled her in the direction of the large dining table where she could see Serena, slumped, obviously the worse for wear, trying to repel a tall redhead who was seated beside her, all octopus arms and seeking mouth.
Taking in the scene, her heart in her mouth, Bernie covered the ground in a few strides and tapped the redhead on the shoulder.
“Va te faire foutre” ("Fuck off ") the redhead mumbled, without turning.
Still standing, Bernie bent down and said into her ear “Laisse-la, elle est à moi!” ("Leave her alone, she's mine")
The redhead immediately turned and paused for an instant in confusion when she saw Bernie’s height, her gravity, her eyes black and menacing.
“Here you are, darling”, said Bernie loudly, “I’ve been looking for you”, as she moved around the seated redhead, putting one hand on Serena’s shoulder and the other on her hand to help her up. Serena gave a sob of relief as she used Bernie’s hand to lever herself up and away from the other woman. She grabbed Bernie round the waist, hanging onto her belt loops, and started to speak, but Bernie said in her ear.
“Ssh- come with me”.
The redhead stared at them in disbelief, then she stood up, looking round for her friends. The room was all dark corners with the indistinct shapes of embracing forms strewn around. Aware that Serena wasn’t moving quickly enough to make a run for it, Bernie had an idea.
“Showtime”, she whispered, and in an instant, Serena found her back hard up against the wall and Bernie’s mouth pressed to hers. At first she couldn’t process what was happening but then the soft pressure of Bernie’s lips, her light citrusy scent and the strong grip of her arms fired a response in Serena’s brain. As Bernie pulled out of the kiss, she saw Serena’s eyes dark and wide with something like surprise, and then Serena tugged her head back down and began kissing her back with passion. As soon as Bernie felt Serena’s tongue push between her lips she opened her mouth and the flood of sensations that shot through her almost made her legs buckle. Serena tasted of red wine and cigarettes, but underneath was something sweet and tangy, totally intoxicating. They carried on kissing, Serena’s hands frantically scrabbling to pull Bernie’s hair out of the bun and tangle her fingers in it, Bernie holding Serena’s head, her thumbs on her jawline, teasing the short hairs at the back of her neck. Bernie became aware of a mewling sound coming from Serena, which only made her kiss deeper, but then she was panting, coming up for air, her heart pounding, legs like jelly and a deep stab of desire in her belly, wetness between her thighs. Nothing had ever felt like this before and she felt both lost and yet incredibly powerful.
“Serena,” she murmured, rubbing their cheeks together and nuzzling her neck. Serena shot a glance over Bernie’s shoulder and what she saw made her turn and hide her face in Bernie’s shirt.
“Oh my God” she mumbled.
The three Frenchwomen were staring at them in amazement, then the redhead shrugged her shoulders and said something to her cronies ending with “…..foutre le camp” (clear off out of here) and all three left the room. Bernie, still holding Serena tightly, swung them around to see what was happening and was greeted with the sight of a figure in a red dress clapping enthusiastically.
“That was quite the performance ! Tip-top, Cowboy, I knew you had it in you!” she purred, but before Bernie could find a retort she continued smoothly “Serena darling, I can see you’re in excellent hands. Enjoy yourselves, girls, and don’t come back too early tomorrow!” and Siân hoisted her handbag, turned on her heels and began to walk away, as a black-shirted arm appeared and snaked round her waist.
Bernie immediately untangled herself from Serena and stepped back. Serena felt the air between them cool instantly, surprised by how acutely she felt the loss of Bernie’s touch and scent.
“Serena…I…didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression” Bernie stammered, “I’m sorry if …” and she tailed off, unable to find the right words.
Serena, though still rather drunk, had rapidly regained her senses once she became aware of Siân’s ploy.
“No, don’t apologise, Bernie, it’s my fault, I got myself into that mess and you came and rescued me. Siân’s a cow, she’s always doing this- picking guys up and making me sleep on other people’s floors. I’ll..I’ll talk to Sarah and Jonathan, see if they can find me a corner somewhere. “
“Absolutely no need”, said Bernie. “It so happens I’ve been dumped, too, but my room-mate has gone off with her boyfriend. So I have a twin room upstairs with an ensuite and a bed going spare. You’re more than welcome to share… that’s if..” and she looked down, suddenly worried that Serena might interpret her offer as a come-on.
“That would be fantastic, if you really don’t mind”, Serena said. “God, I’m feeling shattered now, I think I should go crash, but, please don’t mind me, go and enjoy the rest of the party”.
Bernie glanced at her watch. “It’s 2 am, it’s pretty much over, and I’m tired too. Long day. You go on upstairs and I’ll make some black coffee and get us some water. It’s the room at the end of the corridor on the left, with the blue door.”
As she spoke, Bernie felt exhaustion wash over her, overlaid with a feeling of unreality, as if she were floating through fog. She saw Serena nod and head for the stairs.
In the kitchen of the villa, the host, Jonathan, showed her where the coffee things were and she brewed a pot, grabbing two litres of drinking water as well from the large fridge. The hazy feeling she had was making her dizzy, and she realized very belatedly that there must have been hash in the cinnamon biscuits she had eaten. She tried to keep her focus on the coffee, answering Jonathan’s polite questions as briefly as she could. Fortunately, her clinch with Serena seemed to have escaped her hosts, so she explained briefly that Serena would stay in her room as she was too drunk to go home. She bid Jonathan and Sarah goodnight and took her tray upstairs.
Bernie found Serena wrapped in a towel, lying on one of the beds, her arm over her eyes.
“Hey” said Bernie, trying not to look at Serena’s body. “Coffee’s up”
“Thanks. I don’t suppose you’d have a T-shirt or something I could wear, would you? I’d keep my shirt on but someone spilled beer on me and it smells awful”.
“Uh..yes, of course”, replied Bernie, putting down the tray and going to her backpack where she found a clean, orange T-shirt bearing a logo and the words “Be my MATE (Moroccan Association of Teachers of English). Serena half sat up and pulled the towel off. Bernie just had time to see she was wearing black lacy knickers before she turned her head away to avoid looking at Serena’s breasts. Bleary-eyed though she was, Serena was amused to see Bernie’s reaction.
“Quite the gentleman, Cowboy”, she taunted. “A few minutes ago you were snogging me senseless, now you’re too embarrassed to see me change”.
She got unsteadily up off the bed to take the towel back to the bathroom, now clad in the T-shirt which fell below her hips but hugged her breasts tightly, staggering and holding the wall for support. Bernie got to her quickly and took the towel, helping her back to the bed.
“Get into bed and drink some of this coffee”.
While Serena drank coffee and water and took the paracetamols Bernie had laid out for her, Bernie washed her face, brushed her teeth and removed all her clothes except her knickers and her cotton shirt and got into the other bed. She had turned off the main light, leaving just the reading lamp, which cast shadows over the room. She lay still, eyes closed, but her head was spinning and she felt anxiety clawing at her. She tried shifting position, but the spiders in her brain wouldn’t let up.
“Bernie, are you OK?” asked Serena
“No, it’s the hash messing with my brain, combined with the beer”, Bernie replied through gritted teeth. “Those damn biscuits, they call them mahjoun …it's a hash mix, I should have known”.
“Thank God no one offered it to me! What can I do?”
“I don’t know…talk to me”, said Bernie, shifting herself into a sitting position and taking a sip of coffee.
Serena turned to look at her, the chocolate warmth of her eyes mesmerising Bernie in her state of heightened anxiety. Bernie felt another surge of wetness in her knickers, and squeezed her thighs together to try to push it out of her mind. This had never happened to her before. She felt she should go and take a cold shower, but she couldn’t be bothered to move.
"Why do you think that redhead hit on me?” asked Serena. “Do I give off lesbian vibes or something”.
“No, er, I mean, I don’t know”, said Bernie. “Maybe it’s that air of vulnerability you have, especially when drunk! They were taking advantage anyway, that much is obvious. Serena, do you think I look like a lesbian? Is that why Siân asked me to go and rescue you?”
“I think you look amazing,” said Serena, babbling, “and I LOVE that waistcoat, even if Siân did make a few sarcastic comments about it, and the way your jeans fit and your sexy shirt. I’m jealous, I wish I looked like that in jeans.”
“Are you evading the question?”
“No, well, that is to say……you shouldn’t take any notice of Siân, she’s a wind-up merchant.”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not saying here? She definitely had an agenda, pushing me to go and rescue you. Surely you were aware of that, especially when she left you with me, like she, I don’t know….expected me to take care of you.”
Serena blushed but her honesty won out. “Actually, she has this theory that most people are probably bisexual…she keeps going on about experimenting. Perhaps she thought you umm… I mean …”
“..would be the person to experiment with?" Bernie finished.
“Something like that. But Bernie, please believe me when I say I had no such intention. I’m just so grateful that you got me out of that mess- I was too drunk at that point to put up much resistance to that pushy bitch. And you’re a great kisser, by the way!”
Now it was Bernie’s turn to blush.
“It just seemed to be a good idea at the time”, she said warily. “Did the trick anyway”.
“It was nice, really nice, you smell so good- and you certainly had me fooled”, said Serena. “Anyone looking would have thought we were genuine, well, they did, think that and….oh, I’m going to shut up, I’m still drunk”.
Bernie did not reply. She felt warm and tingly, her nipples were pushing through her shirt and her clit was throbbing painfully. She dared not move, just lay with her eyes closed, her discomfort evident.
“You look so uncomfortable”, said Serena suddenly, scrambling out of her bed and crossing the space between them before Bernie could react. Lifting the covers, Serena was sliding in next to Bernie and wrapping her arm around Bernie’s waist, her cropped head resting on Bernie’s breast, inhaling her scent.
“Relax, Cowboy, you just need a cuddle and those spiders will go back into their box”.
Bernie felt her muscles relaxing as she melted into Serena, her self-control slipping away but unable to fight it any longer.
“Turn out the light”, whispered Serena, “and kiss me again”.
*****
Bernie woke at 5.30 am. The light was beginning to seep through the window blinds and she could hear the muezzin calling the faithful for the dawn prayer. She became aware with a jolt that she was naked from the waist down, lying on her back with one leg and one arm outside the covers. Shivering, she reached for the covers, which were trapped around and under a sleeping Serena. As Bernie shifted her weight to get the blankets free, Serena suddenly rolled over and onto her side, facing away from Bernie. Bernie lay quietly for a moment, the warm scent of sex coming from under the bedclothes, a sticky feeling between her thighs, then the reality of her situation made her slide silently out of the narrow bed and seek refuge in the bathroom, scooping up her discarded underwear en route.
The bathroom was cavernous and chilly in the early light of dawn. The haunting sound of the muezzin came in on the still, silent air through the open window. Bernie perched on the side of the bidet. Christ, what had she been thinking? The fuzziness of the previous evening, the magical mist provided by the combination of hashish and alcohol was dissipating, and in its place was embarrassment. Images came back to her – turning to kiss Serena, moaning in relief, Serena’s knee sliding between Bernie’s legs, feeling Bernie’s wetness on her thigh, her exclamation of surprise. Then Bernie’s hands and mouth on Serena’s beautiful breasts, sucking and rolling her nipples, Serena moaning her name, holding her head down- Bernie cringed in shame, cowering in the cold bathroom. Finally, she got up, used the toilet and the bidet to rinse off the stickiness, then brushed her teeth to rid herself of the aftertaste of cigarettes and beer. She couldn’t put her underwear back on, so she soaped and washed out the knickers and hung them on the shower rail to dry. She tiptoed back into the bedroom and climbed into the other bed, pulling the covers tightly over her head. Serena slept on.
Bernie tried to go back to sleep, but more images kept coming. From Serena’s breasts she had kissed and nibbled her way down, drinking in the sweet musky smell of Serena. When she reached Serena’s navel she had paused, suddenly wary of breaching the final barrier. Serena whimpered and pulled her back up, mouth to mouth again, her breasts and hips a perfect fit for Bernie’s longer, slimmer body shape. Bernie was writhing against her, trying desperately to get the friction she needed, finding it suddenly when she slipped to the side and ground on Serena’s thigh. Serena gasped with awareness and then she took Bernie’s hand and pushed it down between their bodies until Bernie’s fingers were touching the lacy material of Serena’s knickers and the stray curls poking out. Unable to hold back any longer, Bernie cupped Serena, stroking lightly through the fabric, feeling the nub of her clit and the wetness suddenly blossoming on her fingers. Serena was panting now, pushing down impatiently with her hands, ridding herself of the knickers, and then she did the same to Bernie, pushing her underwear down so that Bernie’s vulva now made direct contact with Serena’s thigh. Bernie caressed Serena’s swollen mound gently and carefully, running her finger through the wetness and around and over her clit several times. Serena was squirming on Bernie’s fingers and suddenly Bernie had sunk one then two fingers inside, and Serena was crying out. “Shh”, Bernie whispered, putting her hand over Serena’s mouth, “bite my shoulder”, and as she increased the pressure of her strokes, withdrawing more each time and sliding her thumb over her clit, only to push back inside, curling her fingers slightly, it took only a few more seconds for Serena to bite down hard on Bernie’s shoulder, breaking the skin as her vaginal walls contracted around Bernie’s fingers, a sensation which finally pushed Bernie, grinding harder and harder on Serena’s thigh, over the edge with a huge rush, white light exploding behind her eyes, the spiders scattering madly in all directions.
The images came back to Bernie like movie clips, watching with a mingled feeling of horror and arousal. Serena had been drunk- what if she woke up and didn’t want to admit what they had done? Or worse, accused Bernie of taking advantage of her? Bernie felt cold and nauseous just thinking about it. At the same time, how could she forget that as they lay together side by side, panting, Serena had put her hand lightly on Bernie’s still wet curls and said wonderingly “Wow you’re so wet! Did you really come?”
“Yes”, whispered Bernie, bringing her hand up to her nose to smell Serena on her fingers, inhaling deeply.
“I’ve never come like that before”, Serena confessed. “God, you hardly touched me.”
“Have you done this before- with a woman, I mean?”
“No”, Bernie admitted. “What about you?”
“No, good lord, no”, said Serena. “I’m straight, whatever Siân may think. I have a boyfriend back in England. But the weird thing is, it takes much longer to come with him. Maybe I should get drunk more often! Or a new boyfriend, ha ha!”
Bernie felt suddenly deflated. How could she tell Serena that the moment they kissed she had suddenly understood the logic of it, that the world had somehow shifted and slotted properly into place and she with it? That touching Serena had been the most natural thing she had ever done, that without any guidance, she had known exactly what Serena had needed? So she was silent.
“We should get some sleep”, said Serena, “but don’t run away. You’re so warm, please just stay here and hold me.”
*****
When Serena awoke later in the morning, it was to find Bernie already showered and dressed for the day in her jeans and desert boots, with a striped, long sleeved top under a khaki army-style jacket. She was standing by the other bed, which showed signs of having been recently inhabited. Serena looked at it and at Bernie without comment.
“I’ll go and organise breakfast”, said Bernie, trying not to look at Serena, adorable in the tight orange T-shirt with her dark, tousled hair. She wanted to get out of the room before Serena became aware of her semi-nakedness and her knickers on the floor, and before the urge to jump back into bed with her became unstoppable.
“Are you sure that’s OK?” asked Serena. “I mean, we could go to the café, no need to bother Jonathan and Sarah”.
“I’m sure it’s fine”, said Bernie. “They planned to have several of us staying over in any case”.
Conversation over breakfast was limited because of the other people. Serena was charming but as soon as she could, she made excuses to leave. Despite her crippling embarrassment, Bernie was reluctant to let her go.
“Um….didn’t Siân say not to go back too early?” she asked, as they stood outside on the doorstep, she unconsciously rubbing the sore bite mark on her shoulder, now hidden by her top.
“Oh, don’t worry, she never keeps them longer than she needs. And they’re probably keen to escape in any case”, Serena laughed. Then she suddenly realised she was still wearing Bernie’s T-shirt-
“Oh, look, how can I get this back to you? When are you leaving Casa?”
“Don’t worry about it, Serena. Just keep it, OK? Souvenir”, she added drily.
“Sure? Well thanks, although I hardly think I’ll be forgetting last night in a hurry.” She noticed Bernie’s grimace as she rubbed the sore spot. “Oh your poor shoulder, I’m so sorry!”
Bernie did not reply, she felt her throat aching with unshed tears and the force of her desire to hold Serena again. Serena leaned forward and kissed Bernie softly on the cheek.
“Bye bye, Bernie. I’m sorry you had to deal with me being drunk. You’re a sweetheart. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again one day?”
Bernie said nothing, but stepped away from Serena and gave her a little wave, and then Serena was gone, raising her hand to flag down a passing taxi.
*****
As predicted, Siân was alone when Serena arrived at their shared apartment. Sitting on the sofa in a pale blue silk robe, she was carefully painting her nails. She looked up as Serena came through the door.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the Shiraz Queen. How’s the head? Or is that not your main focus right now? Did you manage to lose your Sapphic cherry?”
Serena flushed with embarrassment and slumped in a chair.
“Am I to assume that’s a correct description of events? Charming T-shirt by the way. Must be one of Cowboy’s”.
“Don’t call her that. She’s adorable. Much moreso than you could imagine. And yes, I suppose, in a manner of speaking, that is correct”.
“Oh, do tell all!” Siân dropped the pose and leaned forward in anticipation.
“Not much to tell. We snogged, as you saw yourself- “
“-and VERY impressive that was!” interjected Siân.
“-and went to bed and-“
“fucked?”
Serena thought for a moment. She supposed that semantically speaking “fucked” was one way of describing what they had done, but it failed to encompass the overpowering blend of lust and tenderness that Serena had experienced. What was wrong with her? This was a one night stand, for God’s sake. You fucked on one-night stands, whether it was male or female. You could hardly call it “making love”. But “making love” was somehow so much closer to how she had felt it. She was suddenly utterly bereft- she had met this gorgeous woman who had treated her like someone special, who fitted with her as no man had ever done, and she had let her get away- no contact details, nothing. She hesitated too long-
“Oh Serena, don’t come the lovesick puppy with me. This was an experiment, that’s all. Tell me what happened. Did she go down on you? Did you go down on her?”
“Siân, for God’s sake! No, nothing like that”.
“Fingers?” Serena nodded mutely.
“Orgasms? Both?” Serena nodded again
“Would you do it again?”
“Possibly”.
“So, all hail bisexual Serena! And what about Tommy?”
“Tommy will be fine. I’m thinking of dumping him anyway”.
“Oh-not up to Cowboy’s standards, eh?”
Serena blushed but didn’t reply.
“My, my, you have got it bad. So when are you seeing her again?”
“I’m not. It was, as you said, a one night stand. She didn't seem to want to see me again. Even told me to keep the T-shirt.”
Siân was sceptical. “If she’s so wonderful, why did you let her get away?”
Yes, why did I? thought Serena.