Part 1, Discovery

Me and TK, that’s how it always was, right from the start. I met her when I was two and she was four, although obviously I have no recollection of our first toddler meeting. She’s always been there in my life, there everyday when I was growing up. We grew up side by side, so different and yet so connected as kids. She lived a couple of streets away, our mothers were friends, we went to the same schools, played together when we got home, spent weekends at each other’s houses. We were inseparable. One of our favourite activities was to make tape recordings of us acting. I would be the wife, and she the husband, I the daughter’s best friend, she the daughter. The husband and wife didn’t really get along too well, probably a reflection of both our home lives, but the daughter and her friend were as we were. So many times we would stand and argue with our mothers in mortal protest, we couldn’t possibly go home yet, we hadn’t finished this particular play, the character had this to do and that to do, and we just couldn’t stop until we’d finished. So our mothers would usually relent and we would sleep at whoever’s house we were at, going to school together in the morning. We were complete opposites. I was loud and bouncy, extroverted and hyperactive. TK was quieter, calmer, the tranquil counterpart to my energetic personality. In many ways we were like chalk and cheese, but for many years we went together like bread and butter.

Then one night, something happened that would change our relationship forever. She was staying over at my house. It was a Saturday, I must have been seven or eight, she nine or ten. We were lying in bed facing each other, the TV on in the background. We must have been talking as we always did, but all of a sudden we stopped. I don’t remember who kissed who first, I just remember the feeling of her face being so close to mine, our noses touching, her breath on my skin, inching forward little by little, absolutely terrified and incredibly excited. The first kiss was a quick one, then she said she had to go to the toilet and got up. But then she came back, and it was like she’d never left. That night we kissed for hours and hours, giggling every now and then and not saying a lot. I remember feeling so nervous, part of me knowing that it wasn’t quite right, yet loving it all the same.

In those early years our relationship was simple, pure and innocent. We did little except cuddle each other and kiss, and it wasn’t until the tingling between my legs came that the trouble started. Then we progressed to lying on top of one another, pressing our lower bodies together hard, willing our tingly bits to touch each other. We would rock back and forth, and we found that it worked better if we moved up and down on each other’s hips, because that way the tingly part was rubbed and it felt much more satisfying. All this we did with our clothes on, at first. We’d giggle about it together, it was our little secret, and then TK started asking me if we could have a cuddle when other people were around. Of course neither of us understood it was anything out of the ordinary, and so when my mother asked me one day, “what do you do when you cuddle,” I started to giggle and whispered in her ear. I don’t remember exactly what I told my mum, but the next Saturday afternoon that TK came to my house, we were rubbing on each other’s hips, when my mother crept in to the bedroom and stood silently observing the scene. It was only when she moved that I realised we weren’t alone, and then boy did she go crazy. She ranted at us for ages, scaring us both so much that we were both crying. She said that what we were doing was wrong and inappropriate, and that if we ever did it again she would stop us from staying at each other’s houses. Of course this prospect was terrifying to us both, and we swore we’d never do it again and begged her not to stop us from playing together. So my mum relented and didn’t stop us from staying overnight, and for a while we lay on the edges of the narrow single bed, not daring to touch. But then TK started to complain, saying that she missed what we used to do. At first I was too scared to do anything and told her we couldn’t do it anymore, but the truth was that I was missing it too, and so with time, we went back to the way things were. This time was different though, because we knew that for some reason what we were doing was wrong, and so swore to never mention it to a single sole. The thing was, we didn’t know why it was wrong, just that adults wouldn’t be happy if they found out we were doing it again.

As time went on we grew bolder with each other, the clothes came off, and we started touching each other, rubbing where it felt good to rub with our fingers. Then one evening my cousin was babysitting me while my mother went out, and I was allowed to stay up unusually late. My cousin was watching something on TV about people called “lesbians”, and it was all about their relationships. I asked her what lesbians were, and she said that it was when two women loved each other and were together. I remember lying on the living room floor, pretending I wasn’t at all interested in the TV. The programme was quite sexually explicit, the women were talking in detail about their love affairs, and I think I asked my cousin what lesbians did. All I remember her saying was “they lick each other and stuff”. In no way did I associate the word lesbian with myself, but I did realise that what the women were doing applied to TK and I, and so the next time we were intimate, I told her about the programme and what my cousin had said, and suggested that I try licking her there to see if she liked it. God I was as nervous as hell, I remember getting her to lie on the edge of the bed with her legs open while I knelt on the floor, pulling her trousers down and inching my face forward. It took an age for me to actually put my tongue there, so long that she started to complain and suggest that we just not do it. Of course I was insistent that I wanted to try it, and finally plucked up the courage to taste her. I’ll never forget that experience. There was something incredibly pleasurable about doing it which I enjoyed, but I remember that she had long hair, and I really didn’t like that, and still don’t to this day. I was eleven when I first went down on TK, and we didn’t stop doing it for a few years after that.

One particular incident I remember, was when we were at her house. I remember feeling so horny, although I couldn’t put a name to what that feeling was back then, just an aching between my legs that I knew only she could satisfy. So we’d been touching each other in her room, by this time I was twelve and she fourteen, and afterwards she said, “but doesn’t this mean we’re lesbians?” I said, “Don’t be silly, we just love each other.” She didn’t seem so sure, but I was adamant that we were not lesbians, because it was a word I associated with people who were grown up, women who I didn’t feel I had a connection with at all. All I knew was that I loved my friend, and I liked what we did together and that was fine.

Then high school came, and my friend’s all started to get boyfriends. They would talk about some girls and say, “she doesn’t have a boyfriend, she’s a lessa,” and I would listen and start to become afraid. I began to panic, and confided in one of my close friends over the phone that I thought I might be a lesbian because I fancied girls and did things with TK, and wasn’t interested in boys at all. She suggested that I talk to our PE teacher at school, because all the girls said she was a lesbian and she’d no what to do. For weeks I pondered the issue, and eventually got my friend to write a note to Miss A, saying that I needed a private chat with her. My face must have been scarlet when I handed over the note, and she told me to meet her the next day after registration. That poor woman! Whether she was gay or not that meeting must have been so uncomfortable for her, as well as for me. I remember sitting on a chair beside her, trembling all over, not knowing what to say now that she was there and listening to me. I just kept stuttering, “I’m, I’m, I’m,” and in the end she said, “you’re what?” “I’m like you!” I blurted out, and then felt completely ridiculous, yet relieved that I’d sort of spoken the words to an adult. I don’t really remember the rest of the conversation, but I do know that she picked up on the fact that I was trying to say I was gay, and then proceeded to tell me she wasn’t gay and that whoever had told me she was had been mistaken. I was mortified and remember feeling completely stupid. She told me that it was probably a phase I was going through, and not to worry about it, and that if I felt the same way in a few years time then to give it some more thought. Looking back I do think she was gay, or she wouldn’t have figured out what I meant, as the words never actually came out of my mouth, but of course she had to cover her back being a teacher and so obviously wouldn’t admit it to me. I went away feeling just as confused as before, but a little relieved because I’d told some one what I was going through. I didn’t tell her about TK though, and we carried on as usual.

Then my parents found out…