A Gift from The Bard

"Good," she replies, "I'd hate to think of you feeling like that." She turns on each light once more to look at the statue again. "How many more statues are there?" she asks as darkness returns.

"Just one," I reply, gesturing her to the final bay. My heart is beating hard and fast as the light flares to show two figures, young women, though that's not necessarily obvious from the simple, pared down and stylised forms. When Suzie turns on the UV I am again watching her, more intently than ever. I do not need to look to see the way the figure on the right has turned away with a look of sadness while the girl on the left looks lovingly at her. On the plinth on which they sit, the word 'Rejected' glows.

"Is that... us?" Suzie asks quietly. I'd guessed she would wonder and, of course, she is right, so I nod. She turns to look back at the figures and I gaze at her, acutely conscious that we have never regained the closeness we had. "That hurt so much when I lost you as a friend, Emmy..." she says sadly and I feel tightness in my throat and the prickling threat of tears; there is guilt again at what I did but also that we cannot hug each other in comfort as we once would have, perhaps I'd have kissed her... She turns the UV on again. I'm tempted to reach out... no, I mustn't; I will not risk our friendship by upsetting her. "I'm glad things are much better between us again now," she says, with a smile. I smile back, despite the quiet melancholy I feel inside.

"Do you want to see the rest of the exhibition?"

"Why not, though I'm sure none will be as clever and good as yours, Emmy."

I don't seem to be able to sleep. Perhaps it is the drinks Suzie and I had in the pub on the way home from the exhibition. When I close my eyes I keep seeing her as she looked at the 'Rejected' statues. She was right: when I made the piece it was the image of me rejecting her that I had in mind. So why now does it feel like I'm the girl on the left, looking sadly at her friend? How can I close that gap, undo my original rejection? I turn over and wriggle, trying to get comfortable.

I admit that I still sometimes, as at the exhibition, have the urge to hold her, to feel her lips on mine, to share that closeness again. I can't though because, whatever curious thoughts occasionally cross my mind, I'm not a lesbian and I cannot hurt her again.

Perhaps I just need to be in a relationship; maybe I should stop pushing Tom away? He's a nice, kind bloke, a bit shy but good enough looking. I wonder if he would be too shy to want to have sex? Mmm, that would help me sleep: that lovely, drowsy feeling after orgasm... My fingers caress my sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of my nightshirt, sending delicious tingles through me. My boobs may be small but I love the way they feel and react to being fondled. I pull the hem of the nightshirt up to allow my fingers unhindered access; they may only be my fingers -- not Tom's, not... no, not anyone's -- but they'll have to do.

My legs part and my right hand reaches down. My fingers, brushing through the fine, thin hairs of my pubes, caress the edges of my opening. I love the softness of the flesh there and the feelings that touching myself brings. There is wetness now and I dip my finger to smear the warming, swelling entrance. My left hand squeezes and rubs the now solid lump of my nipple as I slip my fingers inside myself.

I take it slowly at first, savouring the building arousal, the delicious tingling pleasure of my self-gratification. Fuck what the church teaches: nothing that feels this good and harms no one can be wrong. However, I am careful not to be noisy, biting my lips and only allowing myself soft gasps as fingers caress my hard little love button; I do not want a repeat the comments I had one morning from my mother, when I was fourteen, after I got carried away the evening before. Mind you, it was the best orgasm I'd ever had at that point and when I'd first discovered just how wonderful having a clitoris could be!

It is proving just as wonderful now as I swap, sliding my fingers again into my pussy as my thumb rubs my clit. I settle to a rhythm, my finger thrusts shallow, shallow, deep while my thumb rubs soft, soft, hard.

The covers are kicked off, my legs spread wide and my back arches with the impending climax. I throw my head back in an almost soundless gasping sigh that should be a scream of ecstatic release as electric jolts fire through me, from deep within my sex outwards, making my body jerk and tingle.

All too soon the tingling pleasure passes but there is that satisfied lethargy that I wanted. I reach down to drag the covers back over me, snuggling down and letting the soothing drowsiness take me...

Suzie

It's just after lunch and the morning's busyness has died down. Valerie, the senior librarian, is taking advantage of the lull to try and give me a little training and I try to focus on what she is saying about the process of checking-in returned books.

When I arrived at nine o'clock this morning I had expected to be given an interview as a temporary, part-time library assistant. However, the 'interview', if I can call it that, consisted of just three questions: did I still want the job (a strange opening question, given that I'd turned up, bang on time), could I fill in the details on the form that Valerie handed me (for the Personnel Department and so that I would be paid) and was I able to help out today as Tony had phoned in sick and otherwise they wouldn't be able to open the children's section. As my answers were "Yes," "No problem," and "Um, well, I guess so," I spent the morning basically carrying books around and putting them in their correct places on the shelves, though I did get a few questions from customers that I did my best to answer.

I did get permission to call home and tell Mum that I wouldn't be back for lunch after all. She seemed impressed by my instantaneous appointment. I wonder how much my agreement to start working there and then played in landing the job so easily.

"When someone returns their books," Valerie explains, pulling one from the pile on the counter, "they have to be checked back in so Class knows the books are available for loan again."

"Class?"

"Oh, that's what we call the Centralized Library Admin System: CLAS or Class. Anyway, just scan the barcode with the scanner..." she holds the book open -- a large print, hardback copy of Graham Greene's Brighton Rock -- so that I can awkwardly and clumsily scan the zebra-striped barcode with the red light of the hand-held scanner. The bleep indicates my success and the glowing green text on the old-fashioned monitor flashes as the book details appear. My eyes scan the text and note not only the obvious, such as the title, author and publisher but also the details that are less familiar: the catalogue number, the date the book was purchased, number of pages, ISBN (whatever that is) and format, hardback in this case. "Now press F2, which is for Book Return."

I do as instructed and there is a slightly deeper beeping sound from the computer. A box pops up in the centre of the screen asking me to confirm that the book has been returned; I press the Y key. "There're no details of who the borrower was," I point out.

"No, you have to press F3... see here at the bottom of the screen: F3 Lending History," Valerie tells me, her finger touching the monitor. I reach out and press the F3 key on the keyboards.

"Partridge, Amelia, Missus..." I read the name at the top of the list, "Borrowed on the seventeenth, returned today. The 'Overdue' column says 'No'."

"Well the book wasn't due back until next week, so, obviously, it's not overdue. You can use the arrow keys to highlight one of the borrowers and press F10 and that will take you to the borrower's records... but I don't think we need to look at that today," she adds, obviously seeing the look on my face.

"Sorry, it's a lot to take in all at once," I admit.

"I understand. Right, well if you can go through that stack of returns and check them back in, then we can return them to the shelves. After that, you probably ought to go and get some lunch."

"Sounds good; I'm must admit I'm getting hungry."

Tom

"Hi Tom," Emily says to me with an unexpectedly friendly smile as she walks up to the hall carrying a large and lumpy green carrier bag. The sky is overcast but it doesn't look like it'll rain, which is good as we can work outside which is nicer than the musty hall.

"Hello Emily," I reply as she leans in and her cheek brushes mine as we air kiss. It is a surprise, though a pleasant one, as she's not done this before. Of course, lots of the other actors are quite, well, tactile, I suppose when it comes to hellos and goodbyes, the women especially, so I shouldn't assume it means too much; maybe she's just trying to fit in.

Still, what if it does mean something? God, I'd really like to go out with her...

"Do you reckon we can work outside?" she asks, looking at the sky. "The light's much better and cleaning up will be easier too." I notice what she's wearing: a worn and paint-stained pair of dungarees over and equally splodged t-shirt. She looks ridiculously cute.

"Um, yes, I think so; it doesn't look like it's going to rain." I watch as she pulls a small bunch of keys on a piece of chain from her pocket: either Mel or Nick has evidently trusted her with one of the spare sets of keys to the hall and the containers. Maybe it's going to just be the two of us here this morning, unless... "Um, is Suzie coming this morning?" I ask casually.

"No... uh... she's got an interview for a job at the library this morning," she replies trying to fit a key into the container padlock. "She said she'd come along later," she adds, distractedly and I'm careful to hide my disappointment. "I'm sure it should be this key."

"Here, let me help." I reach past her to hold the padlock and my hand accidentally brushes hers. The touch is light and fleeting but I am acutely aware of the warmth of her skin. "Um, I think you need to turn the key the other way round." She glances at me and I worry that she thinks I'm patronising her. However, she turns the key the other way up and it slides easily into the lock.

"Thanks," she says as her smile returns. I resist the strong temptation to lean in to kiss her when our eyes meet. With a click the padlock springs open, breaking the moment. I wonder if she felt anything, whether it was a 'moment' for her too.

Whatever; reality returns and I help her swing the heavy and stiff-hinged container doors open, letting light in to reveal her statues. "Wow, you've done a lot to them," I tell her. The last time I saw them they were little more than weird skeletons of wood and expanded polystyrene that I'd helped her cut and assemble with screws and wire and duct tape. Now the skeletons are surrounded by chicken wire that had been shaped and moulded, giving each one a sort of ghostly outline of the figure it will become.

"Yes, I was up here on Thursday while you were rehearsing; I just needed something to distract me from my art college work."

"Oh yes; you said you were setting up your stuff for an exhibition, weren't you?"

"That's right. Anyway, I managed to get it all done by Wednesday and I didn't want to just sit around worrying, so I got Nick to lend me a key. Ah good, he got the plaster. I hope you're okay to get messy?"

"Uh, yes, I suppose so," I reply, trying to blank out the blatantly sexual thoughts that 'get messy' have triggered. "What are you planning," I manage.

"Help me get these outside and I'll show you."

Carefully we manhandle -- should that be person-handle? -- the statues outside. The brighter light reveals the statues shapes a little more clearly; how did she manage to shape the wire mesh so amazingly well? "Okay, Emily, what's the messy bit?"

"Well it's..." she reaches down into the green bag she brought with her, "...this." She pulls out a broad strip of what looks like very badly woven sacking. "This stuff is scrim and what we do is to mix up the plaster, dip the scrim into it and lay in onto the figures."

"So it is going to be messy."

"We might, no, we will get messy but we need to be as neat as possible on the statues. It's going to need two or maybe three layers."

"It sounds like you've done this before," I suggest.

"Yes, at college on a couple of the statues I made. I tried spreading plaster over papier-mâché and it kept cracking in odd places. Then I remembered having a cast being put on my arm when I was young -- you know, the plaster coated bandages they use? -- well, I went to talk to the woman at the craft shop to see if you could buy stuff like that and she suggested this." She holds up the scrim and then turns to looks at the statues with a sigh. "These are quite a lot bigger than the ones I made at college and I'm going to have to add more detail, especially to the faces. That'll be a challenge."

"Sounds like we'd better get going; the show opens in three weeks."

"Oh god, don't remind me!" she complains and I feel guilty for upsetting her.

Nick has also provided buckets along with the bags of plaster and Emily delegates mixing to me, though under very close supervision." You need to get the consistency right," she tells me. "Too thick and it's a bugger to get smooth and dries out too quickly; too runny and nothing will stay in place."

"The voice of experience?" I ask.

"Too right. Hmm, a bit more plaster powder." My arms are starting to ache from stirring the heavy, wet gunk.

"This is hard work," I complain and she gives a smile, "which is why I'm doing it, right?"

"Well, you did volunteer to help. I'll buy you a drink later." Was she just being nice or..? Let's see how it goes but I think I'm going to ask her out after this.

Emily was right, it is messy but it's also enjoyable. We step back from the first figure, Venus, after two hours: it is certainly a voluptuous woman -- almost definitely naked --that looks even more curvaceous than the sketches she showed Nick. What surprises me is that it's not as smooth and even as I'd expected after seeing the chicken wire, with dips and lumps in places, and Emily evidently reads my expression. "Yes, it looks a bit crude, doesn't it? I can never get the wire completely even and straight so we leave this to dry and smooth down the bumps and fill in the dips before the next layer. I think it might need three layers though."

"So, onto the next statue?"

"Yes, and then maybe some lunch. Come on, servant, more plaster."

And so it's on to Cupid. As we reach the top of his legs I cannot resist asking, "So, are you going to leave him completely naked and if not, are you going to give him, you know, his bits?"

"Why, are you offering yourself as a model?" she asks and then turns bright pink. My own cheeks feel a little warm too and I really have no idea how to reply to that. "Oh shit, sorry; I didn't mean that. I mean I'm not trying to..."

"It's okay," I manage, "It was quite funny, actually. Um, so is he going to be naked?"

"Why not? The Venus figure will be and Tati is happy with them both naked." She gives a wicked grin. "Don't worry, I don't need a life model." There is something in the way she says this, the way she returns to the idea of my nakedness. I wonder...

"Well, if you did, I'm sure we could work something out." She bites her lip and I'm struck again by how lovely she is. I reach up and touch the softness of her cheek. "Oh, sorry; you've got plaster on your face now." Smiles and reaches out to my cheek.

"So have you now." We are staring at each other intently. "Well, are you going to kiss me?" she asks at last. I don't have the ability to speak right now so all I can do is to bring my lips to hers. They feel wonderful and I step closer, taking her in my arms. That feels amazing too.

The kiss ends and she looks at me with uncertainty. I don't know why she's worried, perhaps guys have messed her around before. "Emmy, you're beautiful," I tell her, using the nickname her friend uses. She frowns.

"No, don't call me that, please Tom."

"Um, okay, sorry; I didn't mean to upset you, Emily." She puts her hand on my cheek again.

"Thank you." She raises her head and we kiss again. The kiss is longer and more intense and I feel her arms around my waist. I also feel my body giving its inevitable response as my cock hardens uncomfortably in the constricted space. I hope the bulge isn't as obvious to her as it feels to me. Thoughts of sex fill my head and are only somewhat derailed when she eventually breaks the kiss. "We, er, we ought to get on really; with the statue, I mean."

"We should," I agree reluctantly. "Are you doing anything this evening?"

"Apart from getting cleaned up, you mean?" she smiles again. "No, I'm not; why?"

"Um, I wondered if you'd like to go out, of course. We could maybe go and see a film, or go bowling or... something?"

"Yes, okay." She takes my hand and holds it briefly before adding, "Now, we really do need to get on and get Cupid done." I turn reluctantly back to begin mixing more plaster but it occurs to me that, though they are just scenery dressing, the two gods of love seem to be working some magic.

Danny

I hurry along the High Street; it's ten to five and I'm pretty sure that the library closes at five on a Saturday; at least I hope it does and it's not already shut or I'll have lugged these books here for nothing and I'll end up paying fines. I wouldn't be worried too much but I do resent paying for the late return of the GCSE English exam study guide on 'Much Ado'. It has helped with understanding the play better and my harder to understand lines now make sense, but still. Anyway, the new Philip Pullman book is out and I've reserved it so I want to pick it up.

Thankfully, the outer library door is open and I enter quickly, taking the three low, white marble steps in one and shoulder open the heavy inner door. From the entrance hall, there is the small children's library to the right and the reference library to the left so I keep walking forward into the main library and to the desk beside the entrance.

There's a librarian bent over behind the desk as she sorts through books. She has a nice looking bum and I take a moment to enjoy the view before announcing myself. "Hi, er, I've got these books to return and I wondered if the copy of 'The Subtle Knife' that I reserved was in?" The woman turns and I'm shocked to see it is Suzie Peterson. Oh shit... and she's going to think I'm properly thick, reading a book written for teenagers. The only consolation is that the look on her face suggests she's just as shocked.

"I... I'll just have a look, er, Danny, I mean Sir." She half turns, looking side to side under the counter.

"I think the reserved books are normally over there," I tell her, pointing to the shelf on the wall behind her. She nods at me as she turns and begins looking through the books.

"Sorry, it's only my first day," she apologises. She mutters the names on the little slips of paper tucked into each book. "Harris... Hughes... Ivanov... ah, Jackson. 'The Subtle Knife' by Philip Pullman?" She pulls the book from the shelf and places it on the counter. I want to say something; I'm not sure what, but something, anything, just to check that she's not going to go around sneering at the books I read, mocking me. Unfortunately, another, older, librarian slips in to join her behind the counter.

"Are you okay, Suzie?"

"Well, this... gentleman has reserved this book. Oh, and he has these to return."

"They're due back today," I point out.

"Okay... so Suzie, do you want to check those books back in? Did you want to renew any of these or borrow any other books, Sir?" she asks me, "Though I should say we close in a few minutes." I see Suzie opening the "Much Ado About Nothing' study guide. Great: another thing to look down on me for.