The Lady & the Orphan Ch. 01: The Lady

[This is a collaboration between my darling wife, June (JPintraining) and myself. This part sets the scene from one point of view. Parts 2 and 3 will be from June and under her stories. PP]

Pixie was conscious of two things. Whenever she came here, she wanted to lay to one side any idea that she was a do-gooder. Jesus had said: "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me." That was why she spent every Tuesday and Wednesday night at the Church Soup Kitchen in the Shelter. In serving others, she served Jesus. The second thing of which she was conscious was that it allowed her to lay aside her rank, such as it was. It was not her fault that her father was an earl and that she was the Honourable Pixie, but it was a fact she could not escape - except here. Here she was "Pixie," the nice petite woman who kept herself to herself and sometimes read the lessons at the ten o'clock Communion service on Sundays.

Pixie had her reasons for keeping herself to herself. Neither Mama nor her Papa had approved of her "coming out" at university. Her mother, a licensed lay minister, had done a more than passable imitation of Lady Bracknell when Pixie had dared to tell her: "gay! You can't be gay; you are an aristocrat and an Anglican. Don't be silly. I shall find you a suitable chap." Papa, as was his wont, had simply said: "yes dear, you will grow out of it."

Growth was not a tactful topic with Pixie. At sixteen, she was no taller or more developed than she had been at twelve. While the other girls at St. Hilda's had sprouted breasts and developed curves, Pixie had remained flat as a board, refusing to pass the four-foot eight mark, adding only two inches after she reached the ager of twelve. Eventually even Mama had consented to calling in the "medics," who had taken one look at her and, after a series of tests and proddings, declared that she had a "syndrome" which meant - well it seemed it meant a lot of things.

It explained why Pixie had not undergone puberty, and why she would not undergo most of it. It explained why she found it hard to understand other people's emotions. It explained why she was such a "brain box." Her memory was phenomenal, and her concentration formidable. What she lacked in physical stature, she possessed in intellectual gifts. The "syndrome" explained everything - except why Pixie was gay.

Mama had put down the lack of boyfriends to two things: appearance and character. Unlike her older sister, Ella, Pixie was not conventionally attractive. As she explained to her husband: "men like curves and sex appeal, Pix has neither. They do not like Blue Stockings, and no one's are bluer than Pix's. But fear not, when she gets to Oxford, there will be some clever introvert who will want her."

Mama had been about as wrong as it was possible for someone possessed of infallibility to be. Pixie had passed through her undergraduate years as virginal as she had entered upon them.

"Well, Gerard," she had declared when her husband had shown the temerity to question of why their youngest daughter had not 'bagged a chap,' "given her piety, I suspect she feels called to celibacy." Then, as a thought came to her, she exclaimed: "gosh, I do hope she does not want to be a nun. That would be frightfully Roman of her. You don't suppose she is going to Pope, do you?"

The last Fortescue to be a Roman Catholic, had been the third earl, of whom no one spoke. He had died unmarried, and the title had passed to Gerard's grandfather, a stout Anglican. The idea that her daughter might convert to the church of Rome horrified the Countess almost as much as the idea that the silly little thing thought she was gay.

Pixie had secured one of the best First-class degrees of her year, and it was a surprise when she decided to leave Oxford to do an MA in Creative Writing. But she secured a distinction in that, and so the earl and countess got to bask in the reflected glory once more. She had explained to Gerard, who to be fair had once read a book, that Pixie's thesis supervisor was a prize-winning novelist.

"What sort of prize?" had been his response. "You mean there is money in this writing lark?"

The countess assured him that there was. But she was a little distracted by what appeared to be a kiss on the lips between her daughter and the novelist.

"Rather odd, Gerard?"

"Whole damned place is, comes of too much thinking you know."

"No, darling, look!"

"I say! Thought her supervisor was a woman, not chap."

"She is a woman you chump!"

"Ha!" said the earl with impeccable logic, "well why is she excavating Pixie's tonsils by mouth if she's a she? Answer me that!"

The Countess had marched over to her daughter.

"Pixie, you have not introduced me. Sorry for my daughters' manners, you must be Ruth?"

"Indeed. Pixie, darling, what's up, the cat got your tongue?"

At that moment, Pixie would have quite appreciated the ground opening and swallowing her up. Ruth had kissed her on the lips, arguing that now she had graduated there was no need to keep their relationship secret. As usual with Ruth, Pixie had gone along with her wishes, but what she had not told Ruth was that her dear Mama had no idea that she was a lesbian, or that since Christmas she had been her lover.

"Don't say that Pixie has not told you about us?"

"I will say just that. What is there to know?"

"Pixie! Bad girl. Tell your mother, now!"

Blushing, Pixie confessed to the truth. The countess, saying, "we shall talk later," had turned on her heel and rejoined her husband.

Pix still blushed at the memory. Her Mama had simply refused to accept it, and had acted as though Ruth did not exist. Pixie returned to Oxford to do her doctorate, but lived in London with Ruth. When she was awarded her doctorate, the countess had insisted that if "that woman" came, she and the earl would not. As Ruth was on a tour if the USA, the problem solved itself. But relations remained strained.

That, as it happened, was something of a shame, as it meant that when Pixie came back home unexpectedly and found Ruth fucking another woman, she had no one to whom she could turn - except God.

As it happened, God did rather well, and once Pix admitted she was no longer in a relationship with Ruth, she was welcomed back into the family fold.

"I told you, Gerard, it's just a phase."

The earl harrumphed, but as he was rather fond of his youngest, and even fonder of a quiet life, he assented.

What neither of them saw was that Pixie's confidence in her attractiveness, never strong, had been shattered. She had done everything Ruth had told her: been spanked; let herself be put on a lead; allowed Ruth to have other lovers; but none of it had been enough.

But Pixie had God. She also had a big, warm heart, and threw herself into activities with the Church. It was, she would reflect occasionally, not that odd that the willingness to serve, which Ruth had used to selfish sexual ends, should have been transferred into this more charitable field. In service, Pixie found solace. She secured an appointment at one of the Durham colleges, and devoted herself to her work.

Across the year, her life settled into a pattern. She would attend morning prayer in College, do her tutorials, go to evening prayer and then home. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays she would serve at the Shelter, and every other weekend she would spend with Mama and Papa.

A settled routine suited her temperament. She more or less abandoned thoughts of finding another love. There were times, at the Shelter, when an old temptation raised its head, but she dismissed it and got on with helping.

When she had been at school, she had realised that she was attracted to other girls, but done nothing. There had been one moment, when she was eighteen, which she had not even mentioned to Ruth, but she had let it pass.

As sixth formers they had been allowed into town, and she and her two best friends had often had lunch at the café on the pier. There was a Comprehensive school in town, and sometimes some of the girls from there would eat in the same café. Belinda and Holly would mock their rough accents and their clothes, wondering how anyone could possibly bring themselves to wear such short skirts.

"Don't they realise what sluts they look?" Belinda would say.

"They just want to get laid, darling," Holly would add, "I bet they are not even wearing knickers. Slags, the lot of them."

Pix would say nothing. Secretly she had a crush on the girl who seemed to be the leader of the group, who was called Taylor. One day, when Belinda and Holly had to go back to school earlier, Pixie had found herself alone, lost in contemplation of Taylor's long legs.

"Hiya, I'm Tay, and you are?"

Startled, she blushed.

"I'm Cynthia, but everyone calls me Pixie!"

"I can see why. How come that unlike your mates you weren't making snobby comments about us? Would that be because you were too busy checking me out? You like girls, don't you? I've seen you checking me out before."

Pixie had felt herself blush, and tongue-tied, she could only nod.

"You're cute. Like a bit of rough, do you?"

And there, thought Pixie, as she reflected on it later, was the truth of it, or at least, part of it.

The thought of a common girl like Tay taking her gave her such a tingle that she felt her knickers dampen.

Tay had taken her for a walk along the beach, out to the sand dunes. There, they had kissed. As Tay's hand had worked its way under her skirt and into her knickers, Pixie had felt herself wanting to surrender.

As Tay had lain back, her legs open and her very non-regulation knickers on show, Pixie had gasped.

"Get them off, then get me off, you posh girls are supposed to be good rug munchers, let's see, little one."

As Tay lifted her bum so that Pixie could pull them over her arse and down and off, Pixie let her push her head to her dark bush. The first thing that had it her was the smell. It was clear that Tay's standards of hygiene left much to be desired, but Pixie had ignored that and licked her until she came hard, gushing her juices onto Pixie's face.

"Fuck, you really are a good little cunt muncher aren't you little one? Always though you posh bitches were really sluts like the rest of us. You wanna get off tiny tits?"

Wet-faced and out of breath, Pixie had nodded.

"Okay, hands down your knickers and wank off for me!"

Pixie had only ever heard that vulgar word used to describe the disgusting thing boys were said to do, but somehow its very vulgarity turned her on, and with Tay watching, she jilled herself to the edge of orgasm.

"Stop! Beg to cum, slut!"

"Oh please, please Tay, may I cum, pretty please?"

"What, a posh tart like you begging a pleb like me for an orgasm? Tell me why I should let you?"

"I am a good, obedient little cunt licker, but you have made me so wet and horny Miss that I will explode if I can't cum. I will do anything to cum Miss."

"Oh I think I like my posh tart calling me Miss. As a reward I may let you cum."

Tay had. The moment had haunted Pixie's imagination ever since. She had imagined what might have happened had it continued so many times. But it had been a one-off. Perhaps, Pixie had reflected, Tay just needed to get herself an orgasm that day. In that sense, as with Ruth, she had been used; that she had been used by a common girl had added to the thrill. She had wondered whether Tay had been correct. Was she one of those posh girls who liked a "bit of rough?"

She had wondered whether there was anything of that in her devotion to helping in the Shelter, but decided there was not. She was there to help anyone who needed her, male, female, transgender, whoever and whatever. In that service she found a sense of fulfilment.

Indeed, the whole Tay thing had receded from her memory until that Tuesday evening.

It was late spring, and the nights were beginning to get lighter. Pixie, first there as usual, had fired the urns and the ovens and made sure that everything was ready for when the other helpers arrived. There were some regulars, but no one could tell how many people would come. But they could all have something to eat and some human contact.

Pixie had just come out of the kitchen when she saw the girl. She must have been about a foot taller than herself; her clothing was shabby and dirty. It was clearly sometime since she had washed. Pixie had not seen her before. She was young, too young to be out on the streets. As ever, Pixie wondered what had happened to lead her to this place. Then she reflected that this place was God's house, and her job was to get on with God's work, not speculate.

"Can I help?" Pixie asked the girl.

"Only if you're a magician," the girl replied, her accent showing her local, northern origins.

"I'm a wizard with soup, if that helps?"

The girl smiled.

"Now you mention it, I could do with a square meal."

"Well, you are in the right place. I am Pixie by the way, come and take a seat, I'll get you something to eat."

"Is that cos you're small?" The girl asked.

"You noticed?" Pixie smiled, hoping to bring a smile to the girl's face. She succeeded.

Smiling, the girl replied:

"Hard not to really. I'm June. You don't look like you wait on tables much."

Pixie had smiled back.

"Here, I do my best."

There was something about the look in June's eyes which stirred something in Pixie. Dismissing such thoughts swiftly, she went to the counter to get June some food.

As the place was getting busy, Pixie concentrated on helping the others, but kept an eye on June. She noticed that she had finished, and was pondering going to help, when June stood up and walked towards the counter, only to trip and fall head first into the table, soup and bread going everywhere. Although June was unhurt, her clothes were covered in soup. Some older guys at the back laughed, but Pixie was concerned and went to her, picking her up, she dusted her down, checking she was not hurt.

"Oh my dear are you alright? Just look at you covered In everything. Let me help. Please let me take you to my home for a warm bath and I'll put those clothes in the wash. I live just round the corner."

"No, no, I'll be fine, but thank you."

"I won't hear of it June. You can't go out like this. Let's get you cleaned up."

Pixie wanted to help, and was not going to take no for an answer. She made her apologies to the other helper and, to some amusement, pushed June's trolly, causing many a look from people in the streets, they went back to her house.

When they reached Pixie's, June declared:

" Wow you live here! I'll go round the back."

"You most certainly will not June," said Pixie as she opened the front door and led her inside.

"Don't worry I live alone, there is no one else here. Now follow me," She led June upstairs.

One of the other helpers had warned her to "be careful," as no one knew anything about June. But Pixie trusted her instincts.

"Come with me to my bathroom. Now take off all those clothes, and while you soak in the bath, I'll put them in the wash."

Pixie noticed June's understandable reluctance, so adopted a no-nonsense manner.

"Oh don't be silly June, we're all girls together, and I'm not going to bite you!"

"I know, but I am embarrassed, I really need to clean up - living rough does not leave you much time to tidy up."

"Oh a nice bath will deal with that. Let me run you one."

"It won't deal with this," said June, revealing an untidy mass of hair covering her mound.

Pixie gulped. Gosh, that really was a bit of a forest. But again, Pixie slipped into helper mode.

"Oh June, it is me who should be sorry. No one should have to live like this. Here, let me help tidy that up."

June looked at her.

Pixie wondered whether she should, but decided action was best. She went to the bathroom cabinet and took out some scissors, a small comb, and some lotion.

She settled June on the side of the bath.

"Wouldn't it be better for me to bathe first; I am probably a bit pongy!" June said.

She was not wrong, Pixie thought to herself, but that was understandable. The way she had been living was no way for anyone to have to live. It was the least she could do to help.

"Let's get you tidied up and then you can bathe."

Pixie looked at the naked woman. Her body looked so different from that wrapped in layers of clothing. She was slim, her legs and bum well proportioned, and her breasts were firm with petite nipples. Pixie looked at her, trying to suppress the thoughts that came to her. But it was hard. June did look drop dead gorgeous.