One Since getting home from Madeira, everything had quickly changed for Leila Ortez. A series of events had all fallen into place, and despite her despondency at not hearing from Camille, she couldn’t deny she was feeling the joy of life, in full effect. Job applications had gone out, and she’d interviewed for dozens, but only one had stood out from the moment she’d read the application’s summary of the position. It had everything. Opportunity for promotion. Working within a small team. Utilising all her skills. A very competitive wage, with extremely generous bonuses, holiday, and sick pay. And best of all, it was in Woodington. Not that she had known that when she’d originally applied. It wouldn’t have mattered where the office was located; she wanted the job and was prepared to move almost anywhere. So, discovering it was based in the very town Camille said she lived, felt like fate had stepped in. Because if she were completely honest, she was not over Camille. A fling didn’t leave her feeling like she’d met the woman of her dreams. Hook-ups would usually be fun and exciting, and both parties would be cool with walking away. And Leila was not cool with it. Deep down, she was pretty sure Camille hadn’t been cool with it either, but she was at least honest about the fact she wouldn’t contact Leila. An impromptu meeting on the streets of Woodington while shopping or grabbing a coffee though, really would be coincidental, a matter of kismet, wouldn’t it? Accepting the offer had taken barely a second’s thought, unlike the constant daydreaming of Camille, naked, writhing and begging, in her bed. So, it was really good when her flat went on the market and sold within a week. Leila hadn’t had time to think about anything other than packing and organising before she was on her way to start a new chapter in her life. It had all been so fast. “Paddy, be careful,” Leila’s best friend, Kristen, shouted at her boyfriend and his pal Jeff as they lugged boxes from the van into the lift. A woman came down the stairs and glared at them all. “Other people want to use that,” she complained as she walked towards the exit. “So sorry,” Leila called out after her. “Last time, promise.” The woman all but snarled, and Kristen gave her the finger once the crabby neighbour’s back was turned. “Miserable cow.” She looked around. “I hope all your neighbours are not like that.” “I’m sure they’re all delightful. Maybe she’s just having a bad day.” Leila smiled and moved out of the way, as Jeff and Paddy struggled in with a chest of drawers. “Right, that’s it,” Paddy said. “Kris, move the van so we don’t get a ticket.” “Sure thing, Loverboy, “ she cooed. “I’ll grab us all some coffees, too.” “Welcome to Woodington.” Paddy grinned as the doors closed, and Leila’s life moved upwards.   Two It had taken Camille Franklyn two months before frustration had kicked in and meant she had braved the idea of going out and finding a bar to meet another woman. Pushing all thoughts of her holiday fling, with the delightful, and much younger, Leila, from her mind, she’d even attempted to date men again, refusing to give into the idea that maybe she was something other than straight. That plan had not gone well. Several failed endeavours ensued, and she’d understood quite quickly she wasn’t remotely interested in the idea of taking things further than dinner or drinks, and yet, she had the itch of arousal that needed scratching. A need that pulsed between her thighs and had her sliding her hand into the warmth of her underwear far too often than she would like to admit. But taking matters into her own hands wasn’t enough. Nothing she did was sufficient to quiet the active part of her brain that remembered just how much she had enjoyed the pleasure of sex with a woman. With Leila, the reminder came again. Despite the reticence to investigate any further, and the lies she’d so clearly been telling herself about who she was and what her exploration had been about, she found herself booking a hotel in the neighbouring town of Bath Street. And on a quiet, but wet, Wednesday evening after work, she’d tied her hair back and slipped into a pair of comfortable jeans. Deciding casual was the way forward, she bought a new shirt, added heels and a raincoat, and bundled herself into all of it to avoid the cold. Adding some light makeup, she felt very good about herself and the possibilities that lay ahead. She walked inside confidently, considering she’d never frequented a gay bar before, and didn’t consider herself a gay woman. In fact, Imposter Syndrome might have been a better label for how she was feeling much of the time lately. Everything had been so much easier in the heat of Madeira. She could be herself without the watching eyes of her world, the corporate world, where she had a reputation to maintain. More personally, it was a world where she didn’t have to think about Tom, and her failed marriage, and all the other failed relationship attempts since. Or what her sons would think, or her friends. Because it made no sense to her. How had she maintained the life she had, without ever doubting herself, or who she was? Until now. Until Leila. That was the reason why she’d finally given in and decided to find out. Was it just Leila, or was there more to it? Was it a mid-life crisis, or was there more to her sexual identity she might be forced to navigate? She’d chosen the bar closest to her hotel. A more upbeat, younger and hipper crowd, she guessed, looking at the faces and clothing choices. She moved around the room relatively unnoticed as she took it all in. Was it okay to smile at someone, or go over uninvited? She had no clue how any of this worked. There were so many new rules of engagement to steer around. This wasn’t a world she knew anything about. The question what are you doing? ran through her mind about as often as thoughts about Leila did. Unfortunately, her expectations for gay bars were solely founded on what she’d seen on TV and in movies. Back when she was married, they’d socialised a lot in pubs and clubs. But nothing really like this, and once the boys were born and the business took off, Camille didn’t have time for cavorting in bars, not that she’d ever cavorted previously. Except with Leila, the reminder again came. God, how she had shamelessly romped with that woman. Loud music cut through her overthinking, not anything she recognised, but the beat of it rhythmically moved through her body, urging her hips to sway, and her foot to tap, as she waited patiently at the bar. Finally, she was served by a woman less than half her age and sporting multicoloured hair, and rings in places Camille didn’t think should have rings. She smiled and shut off her judgement. This was not her world, or was it? If it were to become her world, she considered she would need to readjust so much of her thinking. Her drink arrived, as colourful as the bartender’s hair, and very exotic looking. Another little reminder of the holiday, and of the woman she had so casually brushed aside, once the holiday was over. At least, Leila would probably have seen things that way. She couldn’t have been further from the truth. She’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t considered something more between them. But a secret long-distance romance was not a relationship Camille wanted to enter into, nor would it be fair to Leila. Leila would never allow herself to be kept in the shadows. She deserved to be flaunted. Leila needed someone who was proud to stand beside her and not someone, like Camille, who would shy away from anyone ever knowing they were intimate together. Camille did the one thing Camille Franklyn knew to do. Something she had learned a long time ago: she shut down her emotions and moved on. She went home and pushed it all down and away. Her ability to not let emotion get in the way of a decision was her superpower; it was why her business was so successful. And she’d been rewarded over and over again. Contract after contract, she’d built her little empire, putting investors in contact with companies looking for investment. And since Tom had left, she’d done the same thing within her personal relationships, too. She dated men she had no emotional attachment to other than she liked them as people and enjoyed their companionship to a certain extent. Her plan worked, as they were happy to be kept at arm’s reach, and didn’t become clingy or needy of her time. But Leila had been different. Leila had opened something within Camille that she was struggling to shut down. Camille’s biggest fear now was just how much of herself she might lose if she allowed Leila into her life. Leila had gotten under Camille’s skin and burrowed in so deeply Camille didn’t honestly know she was there for the most part. Hidden within her subconscious until something was said, or a song played, or a scent wafted past and suddenly, there Leila was, back inside her mind, in her thoughts, reminding her instantly that out there, somewhere, was a woman with the power to bring Camille Franklyn to her knees. Literally, and figuratively. Sipping her drink through one of those horrible paper straws, Camille moved casually around, bumping into people as they bustled their way to the bar or the dance floor, checking out several women who piqued her interest and gave her the once over, smiled, but then continued with their conversations. It was quite confusing, considering Leila’s confident, assured, and very forward way of moving towards her was all she had to go on. She leaned back against a wall and felt the music thump its beat through it, and her, watching, taking it all in. Couples, who fit all kinds of stereotypes were being attentive towards each other. Groups of other people mingled, laughed, and talked animatedly. Camille felt even more out of place. She’d almost finished her drink, and was about to consider the rest of the evening a disaster and just go home, when she was finally approached by one of the women she’d made eye contact with earlier. “Hi,” she said, stepping in as close as she could to be heard. Her fingers brushed against Camille’s torso and rested on her hip. “On your own?” Camille continued to sip her drink before she replied, “Yes, for now.” The woman chuckled at that. Deep dimples popped on her cheeks. “Can I buy you another drink?” Camille tilted her head to one side while she debated the offer. “If you like.” “I do like.” She winked and said, “I’ll be right back.” Camille observed her walking away. She was shorter in height by an inch or two, but then Camille was wearing heels. The woman’s long blonde hair trailed down her back, but there was something quite masculine about the way she moved through the crowd. Camille wasn’t sure if that was a turn-on or not, but it definitely wasn’t a turn-off. And she was nothing like Leila. That was the important part, wasn’t it? It didn’t take long for her to return. Each hand held a drink as she carefully picked her way through the crowd. “So, what’s your name?” she asked, handing over a glass that didn’t contain the same drink Camille had ordered earlier. Camille said, “Jane,” ss she accepted the drink with a half-smile. If you could lie to yourself, then you could lie about anything, Camille thought “You’re gorgeous, Jane. I’m Emma. Do you want to dance?” Camille sighed. “No, not really.” “Oh, right, just chilling then?” Emma asked, sipping her drink and trying to appear nonchalant. Instead, she looked a little nervous, and that was off-putting, Camille considered, but at least she’d had the balls to speak to her in the first place. Unlike several of the others, who were still gawping in her direction, but didn’t make a move. Camille considered the question. Honesty sounded like the best policy in a situation like this. She wasn’t looking to be romanced. “To be frank, I was hoping to meet someone who wanted to…hook up?” Emma’s eyes flashed between shock and excitement. She licked her lips as she envisioned the opportunity. “Well, your luck might be in.” Emma grinned, finally recovering her bravery and following it up with a large swig of her drink. Camille contemplated the flirtatious offer. Emma was attractive. That wasn’t the reason for the hesitation. Something niggled at the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? No strings, no emotions, not impacting her actual life? Just fragments of enjoyment nobody else needed to know about. “I have a hotel room.” Camille smiled and then guzzled her drink, until the only thing remaining was the paper straw and the various fruit garnishes that bobbed at the bottom on a seabed of crushed ice. “Sounds like we have a plan then.” Emma moved in closer, moistening her lips once more, before she pressed them to Camille’s. A soft, warm, firm tongue then slid into Camille’s mouth and reminded her why she was here, and what she was wanting from this exchange. She felt her clit clench, and despite the previous hesitation, Camille followed her body’s urging and kissed Emma back.