Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Alison Wheatcroft

 

Holy shit! This has got to be wrong, right? I have an eight-year-old girl, who definitely knows better, naked in my bedroom! I don’t know where to look! The fact I am dressed in just a bra-top and shorts isn’t helping matters. If her parents – or mine, for that matter – come back any time soon we, well, specifically me, will be in deep shit.

Let me start at the beginning.

I am Edith Wheater. I’m fifteen (sixteen in three and a half weeks), fairly tall, gawky-looking (the red hair doesn’t help either). I wear glasses, have small braces, and barely even fill out an A-cup bra. The mean girls at school called me Eddie, given how little female traits I possessed. I use the past tense “called”; exams finished two weeks ago and I’ve been away from their clutches for that whole blessed fortnight. The boys, thankfully, largely ignored me.

I live with my mum, dad and younger brother, who, like most little brothers, is a complete twat. He’s only nine, though, so he can just about get away with it. For now, anyway. We live in a cul-de-sac in a small Yorkshire town. There are four houses and ours is the furthest back. Behind our back garden is woodland. Well, it’s more of a large copse. Eh. Semantics.

We get on well with the neighbours to our right (as you look at the house), and not so well with the neighbours to the left. The fourth house is currently empty – the owner rents it out but can’t find anyone to pay what my dad calls “ransom money”. We often sneak into the garden and play/hide/giggle there. By “we” I mean myself and the only real friend I have, who lives three streets away. Her name is Erica. She’s a bit of a social outcast too. One of the greatest things I ever heard her say was “We are both lonely. At least we share that.” More about her later, as she had nothing to do with the difficult scenario in which I now find myself.

The neighbours we get on with are the Watkins family. The mum is a teacher, and the dad a chef. They have a son, who is currently away in the military, and an eight-year-old daughter. That’s Bonnie. Because their jobs can frequently mean they are out all kinds of hours, or only one of them is in, the neighbourhood teenagers are often roped in for babysitting duties. Today, on a warm, mid-July day, that fell to me. I was nearest, and the Watkins knew I was available. That’s what happens when your mother brags about how well she thinks I’ve done in my exams. I don’t have her level of confidence.

Anyway, early this morning we get a knock at the door. Mrs. Watkins wants to know if I can look after Bonnie today. She’s complaining of nausea, a headache and other bodily functions that are unlikely to be pleasant. Before I could even think of sneaking out of the back door, over the fence and into the trees, mum whips her head round and spies me, frozen and on tiptoe, and readily agrees that I’d be delighted to look after the invalid for the day. She then even suggests bringing Bonnie to ours with some toys and colouring books. My brother has an Xbox One as well. We have a lot of Disney Blu-rays. I think that was the deal clincher.

Don’t get me wrong; Bonnie is a great kid and really fun to be around, but on a day like this I just wanted to find Erica, head into the woods and maybe do some writing in the nice weather. A pukey eight-year-old and a day indoors wasn’t what I had in mind. Still, I’d been roped into it, and if she was unwell she’d likely be resting most of the day, leaving me free to pursue other avenues of entertainment.

Imagine my surprise when Mrs. Watkins returned ten minutes later with Bonnie, who, other than a slightly suspicious look of queasiness, seemed in perfect health. I took Bonnie through to the front room (which, strangely, is at the back of our house) and got her settled on the sofa with her blanket, her cuddly toy cat and a glass of water. I checked her temperature, and it felt normal. But then again, Science was a weak subject for me at school. I might have been wrong. In fact, I was almost certain.

I heard my mother saying farewell to Mrs. Watkins, then starting to gather her things for work. She has an important role in a finance company, and it’s not unusual to see her come back close to ten o’clock at night. Father works as a fraud investigator, and was away in Wales for the week. After telling me to call her or Bonnie’s mum if there were any problems, she gave me a peck on the cheek, and was out of the door.

“Hey, Bonnie,” I said, with what I hoped was a caring look on my face. “I hear you’ve been unwell, is that right?”

She nodded. “I’ve already been sick two billion times today,” she said, in a voice that was a lot stronger than someone who would have done that, embellishment or no.

“Mmmm, well, you look in good health to me, so as long as you don’t go dying on me, I’m sure we can have a good day.” I said, hoping that Erica might come by and keep me company at least.

“I promise not to die,” she said in a forcedly weak voice, “I just feel really, really awful.
Definitely not well enough for school.” Something clicked in the recesses of my mind. My brother Ryan had tried this gambit a couple of times before when he knew he had a spelling test that day.

“Well, if you’re not well enough to play at break time, you’re going to have to stay indoors all of today, wrapped up nice and warm.” I gave her a knowing, eyebrows-raised look. Within three seconds she knew she had been rumbled.

“Okay, I’m not really sick,” she said. “I just didn’t want to go to school today because we’re doing really difficult maths and when I get it wrong all the other kids will laugh at me and I’d rather stay at home and enjoy the sunshine,” she added in one long breath.

“You and me both, kid.” I said with a smile. “Who wants to learn what thirteen times thirteen is when you can sit in the sun and eat ice-lollies?”

Her face lit up at that. “Come on,” I said, “let’s get a few towels and sit out in the sun. Don’t
worry, I won’t tell your mum – you might be able to fool her, but not me. Instead of boring school, I’ve got some really good books from when I was your age. We can read those, do some drawing, get a suntan?”

I’d added that last one flippantly. Bonnie was a fair-haired child with almost marble-white skin. Five minutes in the sun and she’d cook. Which is about four and a half minutes longer than I would last. I was surprised when she said yes.

“I’m not sure if we have much sun lotion here, Bonnie,” I said, knowing that to be mostly true – Dad had still not got around to stocking up ahead of our holiday to Portugal just after my birthday. What little we had left would be old, ineffective, and insufficient.

Bonnie pointed at the bag her mum had brought along. Nah. No way.

I opened it, and underneath all of the colouring pens, tissues, drinks and comics was a bottle of high-factor sun lotion.

“You sneaky little madam,” I whispered, and I heard Bonnie chuckle behind me.

“I knew Mum would ask you to look after me,” she said, “and I knew you were clever enough to know I wasn’t well – I just wanted to spend time with you. So I sneaked that in there this morning when Mum came over to talk to your mum. I also brought…”

She reached into her sleep trousers and pulled out a thin, two-piece bathing suit. It was small, with frills on the hems, and very short, and a shade of very light yellow that I actually quite liked.

“You’re a regular little criminal genius, you are!” I said, not able to stop myself laughing at her ingenuity. “Go on, I give in! Let’s get some towels and some cold drinks, and you can pick out which books you would like to read.”

She followed me upstairs. That was when things got weird.

We went up to my bedroom, which overlooked the back garden. I liked its solitude and privacy – nobody could see into it from the gardens nearby, and there were no houses behind ours for about three miles. Unless some pervert was using a high-powered telescope, I had my own little sanctuary.

I had two towels from earlier that morning, which I had used in my en-suite bathroom after a cooling shower. Even at nearly nine o’clock, the temperature was rising. Today would be lethally hot. Bonnie went in first, and spent five minutes looking through my old books, picking out a half dozen, then dropping them on the bed next to where I was sat.

Then, without warning, she took her top off, exposing a bare, pale chest, with two faint, pink spots on her chest. She had extremely small nipples. I was that astounded by her casual attitude to her own nudity that I couldn’t even begin to muster a word. Forget speaking, I didn’t even know where to put my eyes! Her chest was like that of a boy, only, well, different.

If that wasn’t bad enough, she then pulled down her pyjama bottoms and knickers all in one go, her small bottom facing me. She then turned around, and I couldn’t help but glance at her small, hairless cleft. That area definitely didn’t look like a boy. She reached past me, grabbed a towel, and within seconds had it wrapped around her, fastening it just under her armpits.

“Good to go, Edie!” she said, heading for the door. I simply nodded, picked up the books and my towel, and followed her out on to the landing and down the stairs, a still slightly bemused look on my face. While I understood about the human physique, I have always had a strange problem with nudity. I still got changed in the cubicles at the swimming baths. The only other person I’ve seen even remotely nude, other than myself, is Erica, and that was only from the side.

Bonnie was climbing into her swimming bottoms when I next entered the living room. She then picked up the top and looked at it quizzically.

“I don’t think I need this, do I?” she said, looking at me, “I mean, if I’m going to tan, Mum will know I wasn’t unwell, and I’d rather get told off with a full tan than one with tan-lines.”

Trying to maintain eye-contact, I simply nodded. Bonnie grinned, then turned round and skipped to the back door, opening it with ease and running on to the back garden. I gathered up my towel, two cold bottles of water from the fridge, the books, and the suntan lotion, and attempted a semi-miraculous balancing act down the single step and on to the grass.

Bonnie had already got her towel down and was laid on her back, spread-eagled in a starfish fashion, her hazel eyes screwed tight against the bright sun. I put my towel down a few feet from her and started arranging everything else I had brought out for us.

“Okay, Bonnie, time to get some sunscreen on you,” I said, holding up the bottle. “We can’t have you going home redder than my hair.”

She laughed at that and held her hand out for the bottle. I passed it over, and she started by applying it to her legs, then arms. I watched in unknowing fascination as she began rubbing it all over her chest and neck, before she finished with her face. I really should have coated myself first – red hair, blue eyes and pale skin do not go well with sunlight – but I wanted her safe first before myself; I was older and could tolerate a mild sunburn. Plus, it was still early and the sun was still just powering up its ferocity.

“Can you do my back?” she asked, “I’m grown up enough to do everywhere else, but my arms aren’t that long.” This wasn’t something that bothered me. I’d had to do this for my brother for a couple of years on holiday now – how he was a year older than her and still incapable of applying suncream, I’d never know.

Bonnie lay on her front, naked save for a pair of tight yellow swimming pants. I liberally coated her back – if she got burned, I’d be in trouble as well as her – then started using the lotion on myself. The scent of shea butter rose welcomingly into the air as I massaged it into my legs, arms, chest and face.

“Do you want me to do your back?” Bonnie asked. Weird as that request might have seemed in normal circumstance, there was nobody else to do it for me, and this was Bonnie from next door, after all.

“Aren’t you going to take your top off too?” Bonnie asked as she dripped cold suncream on the small of my back. I sucked in a short breath.

“I can’t, Bonnie,” I said. “Bigger girls like me have to keep their chests covered.”

“Is that because of your tits?”

If the suncream hadn’t made me gasp, that remark certainly did.

“Where did you hear that word?” I responded automatically.

“I heard Mum talking with Dad about hers. Is it a rude word?”

“Not as rude as some others, but still one an eight-year-old shouldn’t be using too often. Make sure your parents don’t hear you saying it.”

“Okay. But is it because of your, well, thingies.”

“Yes, Bonnie, it is. I was always taught to keep them covered up. Plus, I don’t have very big ones, and I’m shy about them being out.”

“Okay,” Bonnie said. “But nobody will see. I don’t have any either, so I can’t laugh. Plus, you’ll get tan lines, then people will laugh!”

“I can’t argue with that logic,” I said. “Though in absolutely no circumstances can you tell anyone. We’d both get in a lot of trouble!”

I sat up and pulled my top over my head, my back to Bonnie, and laid back down. While I was willing to entertain her curiosity I wasn’t about to be brazen about it. She had a confidence that not a lot of youngsters exhibited. More than myself, anyway. And also a certain amount of knowledge. Youngsters these days were very well-informed, it seems.

Bonnie then added a bit of suncream to the part of my back where my top had been, and handed me the bottle, so I could apply some to my almost-flat chest. I shuddered a little as the palm of my hand went over my left nipple. What on earth was going on with me?

“All done!” I said, tossing the bottle aside, before taking a deep breath and turning around to face the equally topless and slightly flatter-chested eight-year-old girl. “So, what should we do first?”

“How good are you at drawing?” Bonnie asked.

“Not too bad,” I replied, thinking ‘utterly bloody awful’. I had never scored higher than a D in Art at high school. I was a mean stick-figure drawer, however.

“Ace,” Bonnie said, jumping up and running back into the house, which I was thankful was locked at the front and protected by a heavy gate at the side. “I’ve got a great idea!”

She returned a few seconds after with two large pads of paper and more pencils – coloured and normal – than I had ever seen in my life.

“I think we should draw something awesome!” she said. “No telling what it is though, we have to let it be a surprise!”

I picked out a normal pencil and about six coloured ones, and propped myself up on my left elbow, leaving my right free to draw with. Bonnie was obviously right-handed too, as she mirrored my pose, only lying opposite, my head a bit away from her very small feet.

I couldn’t think for the first few minutes of what to draw. I must have thought of half of all known species of animal before scratching that idea. Then something popped into my mind – I had always had a mediocre skill in 3-D letters. I decided to do Bonnie’s name in 3-D, with the sides done in varying shades of different colours.

We kept stealing glances at each other, grinning slightly, and I could see her eyes rake over my admittedly underdeveloped chest. My breasts, to be honest, were little more than buds. Hardly the greatest example of burgeoning adulthood to present to a curious young mind.

After fifteen minutes, I could feel the sun really beating down on us, but thankfully I’d finished drawing and colouring in. I grabbed a bottle of water from under the edge of the towel that was thankfully in the shade, cracked it open, and took a deep draught of it. The coolness was incredibly refreshing. I sighed with pleasure.

“Want some?” I asked. Bonnie nodded, and I tossed the bottle the few feet across the grass. It bounced awkwardly, and sprayed her lower chest with cold water. She squealed and rolled backwards, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Sorry!” I called, “that was an accident, honest! The flip caps on these bottles are useless!”

Bonnie stood up, and she was wet from the navel down. Her yellow swim trunks, while ideal for the job, were becoming a little transparent. I could see the material clinging tightly, and it was a few seconds before I realised that I was staring at her crotch.

“Are you okay?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

“I know it’s hot, but there are better ways to cool down!” she said in mock exasperation.

“At least you have the right equipment to deal with a little accident like that,” I said, pointing
between her pants and the towel.

“I know an easier way to sort it,” Bonnie said, and to my astonishment, pulled off her bottoms in one smooth motion, and stood before me, completely nude. I dropped the pencil I was holding and could feel my mouth gaping open. This day was getting weirder and weirder.

Continue on to Part Two