The Taste of My Chapstick on Her Lips - Part 6

The Dreaded Moment Arrives # (The Taste of My Chapstick on Her Lips - Part 6) No-Nudity WLW Fiction by Faerie Realm # This journal entry continues the story from: https://budgetpixel.com/blog/the-taste-of-my-chapstick-on-her-lips-part-5 Katrina and I enjoyed being snowed in for the next several days. There were a number of other university students also sequestered in our apartment building, and one night we all gathered in the recreation room to celebrate the rapidly approaching holidays. (But my suite mate Molly went overboard on the liquor and would later receive a bill to repair the pool table.) The great thing about young people in England? They're really quite accepting of the LGBTQ+ community. Rather than giving us side-eyes or disapproving stares, they displayed only smiles and warm holiday cheer. And we were pleasantly surprised to discover we weren't the only same-sex couple in the building. I submitted the last of my coursework online, and then when the snow subsided and the trains started running again, Katrina and I boarded the Caledonian Sleeper to take the Lowlander route from Glasgow to London. I usually took the all-day bus for less than fifty pounds, so the nearly £500 Katrina paid (and that was just for my ticket) seemed wildly exorbitant. “But you should experience it at least once,” she had insisted, overruling my objections at the cost. And well, I have to say, I really did enjoy the double room she booked us! Only one worry dampened my excitement: "What if your parents don't... you know. Are you sure you can give all this up?" "It's just a train ride, Allie." "But it's not just this, is it? It's the fancy dinners, the vacations, the shopping trips, the jewelry. My family isn't like yours. We don't live like this." I'd been staring out the window at the passing nighttime countryside, so she reached over and turned me towards her. "If you're asking me to choose between the high life or being happy, it's not even a question, Allie. I choose you." I felt my cheeks flush, so I kissed her playfully, then added teasingly: "But I chose you first!" The Caledonian Sleeper is so named because it departs just before midnight and arrives in London around 7:30 the next morning. We eventually tried to sleep, but not before a little bonding time. What can I say? As with any fresh, new relationship, we made love often those first few days. It's not like we would keep that pace up indefinitely, but in the beginning, and especially with the uncertainty of meeting her parents looming over us, I figured we could use all the bonding hormones the Big O could offer. And the next best thing about making love? The cuddling afterwards. Not all of my boyfriends had been so keen on that part, but Katrina excelled at it. I felt like she would hold me as long as I wanted. Eventually we drifted off to the rhythmic clickety-clack of the railroad tracks beneath our carriage. And when we awoke again, we were nearing our destination, London Euston. We completely redid our makeup and put on the nice clothes we'd packed just to meet her parents, and off we went. Katrina's parents had made a reservation at Annabel's, and I felt intimidated just walking into the lobby of the frou frou members-only establishment. The hostess confirmed our names, took our coats and bag, and then led us to a fancy private dining room. Katrina's parents, Reginald and Margaret, stood as we entered. I smiled nervously and prayed that somehow, Katrina and I would get through this meeting relatively unscathed. "It's good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliams," I said, careful to suppress the remnants of my childhood Brummie accent in favor of the received pronunciation I'd learned at Godstowe and Wycombe. "I see you've finally discovered makeup," Margaret said in her highly aritculated, upper-class inflection as she shook my hand stiffly. We took our seats and engaged in some additional uncomfortable small talk. “Enough of the pleasantries," Katrina soon declared, causing me to swallow hard. The dreaded moment had arrived. "Be mindful of etiquette," Margaret said with a disapproving look. "Etiquette for what? You're my mother, not a foreign dignitary," Katrina said. "There's something I need to tell you: Allison and I are a couple now.” I lowered my eyes and sank lower into my chair. “A couple? What do you mean by a couple?” Margaret asked, her eyes narrowing. “I mean, we’re together," Katrina replied. "As in a relationship.” “What kind of relationship?” "Allie's my girlfriend." Margaret looked aghast, but then shook her head, as if trying to will away the reality. "You mean she's a girl, and she's your friend—" “Margaret, don’t be daft,” Reginald declared in his own posh accent, his face forever locked in a stern gaze. “We heard the rumors at Wycombe. They're clearly involved romantically.” So they did know, I realized. Or at least, they'd had some warning. “So it was true? You're kissing each other?” Margaret asked with a look of disdain. “Oh, we do a lot more than kiss, Mother,” Katrina declared defiantly. Margaret's face went ashen and I sank further into my chair, trying to disappear. Alas, I couldn't make myself small enough, and from my peripheral vision, I could see Margaret turn in her chair and stare directly at me. "So what does the girlfriend have to say?" Margaret asked, her gaze burning into me. "I'm sorry, me?" I mumbled, terrified. "Yes, you! What do you have to say for yourself, you little minx?" "Don't answer that," Katrina ordered me. But for some reason, being called a minx (now there's a nineteenth century slur!) motivated me to stick up for myself. I sat up a little taller and even dared meet Margaret's gaze. "I think you should trust your daughter because she's old enough to make her own decisions," I said, my voice growing stronger with each word. It was a short-lived moment of strength, though, as Margaret immediately snapped back at me. "Why, the nerve! So this is your doing!" Margaret barked, her nostrils flaring. "No, this is our doing," Katrina said, reaching out to squeeze my hand under the table. "But if you two had never met, this wouldn't have happened," Margaret hissed. And then to her husband: "I told you she should have gone to St. Paul's." "She didn't get into St. Paul's," Reginald muttered. "You could have made a donation! Now look at this mess!" Margaret yelled. "How was I supposed to know this would happen?" Reginald said defensively. Margaret turned her furious gaze back to me. "So what do you have to say for yourself, Allison? How could you seduce our daughter like this?!" I blanched and averted my eyes again. I hadn't seduced Katrina! Or had I? I'd been the one to kiss her, after all, so many years ago on our school camping trip. If not for that, who's to say she wouldn't have gone about her life in a typically heteronormative fashion? It occurred to me that this was, quite possibly, all my doing. So what would you do if the mother of the person you loved accused you of seducing her kid? Would you react with anger, or apologize, maybe get up and leave, break down and cry inconsolably, or something else entirely? TO BE CONTINUED (in the next journal entry)