Harriet-Jacqui lives in a remote, converted, lighthouse on the Scottish coast with her two Siamese cats, Charly and Phyllis, robot, and live-in lover, Meg. When she isn’t busy dreaming, she combs the beach for unusual shells and plastic waste, saving stranded marine mammals. Of indeterminate age, she loves to swim in the ice-cold ocean — to keep herself looking young. EWDU is her latest, devastating, story:-
‘Get you in your new yellow bio-hazard suit, Harriet!’
Meg stripped and joined her lover in the decontamination shower.
Harriet-Jacqui’s daily decon had become a necessary fact of life since the steady trickle of plastic human waste turned into a proliferation, consuming the whales and dolphins who once lived off the coastline. Long gone were the days when she and Meg could skinny-dip or bathe in their fluorescent onesies.
Now the level of micro-plastic particles swilling around in the turd-infested broth, determined that they could only swim breaststroke in a fully zipped-up decontamination suit, rubber wellies, and a respirator mask — not the best attire for netting rotting fish out of the North Sea.
Meg had desisted from joining her partner that morning. Instead, she took their little coracle across the sound to buy hydroponic fruit and vegetables from the eco-village market of Tarlin. Braving the choppy waters with a tiny wooden paddle, she stealthily oared her way back to the woman of her dreams…
She unfurled Harriet’s yellow hood, pulling it back to expose her woman’s slicked-back blonde hair, her shiny eyes, a respirator mask. Would that she could kiss her lover in the shower. Meg soaped clean her little breasts of all the foul human bilge, the rancid shit, and other unpleasant detritus which accumulated on her body as she fought the eco-pollution and toxic gas on the way back from Tarlin.
‘Harriet?’
‘Harriet-Jacqui unzipped her yellow decon suit from her neck to her crotch, shedding it like a lizard skin, and climbed onto the warm porcelain basin, magnificently naked, to embrace her kindred spirit.
‘Mmmn?’
‘Take off your mask.’
Harriet shook her head. A frisson of regret shocked through her body. The electrostatic pulse of her strong woman’s heart radiated a yearning love for Meg which she would never seal with a kiss.
‘No, darling. I can’t let you see my scar tissue.’
Meg realized she was referring to the extensive beautiful scarring etched into her lover’s face by the infamous deployment of crying gas when the riot squad viciously beat her to the ground in the Green Protest of May 2019 in Trafalgar Square.
She persisted, regardless, ‘Want to kiss you, babe.’
‘You can stroke my hair and kiss my head, if you like.’
Meg stroked back the sopping slicks of Harriet’s beautiful hair, pressing her furls so they stuck religiously to her crown, then kissed her lover lightly on the forehead, pressing her nude body firmly, if erotically, against Harriet’s in a mutually satisfying expression of love.
Harriet soon took her mask off, confirming what Meg suspected all along: the scars had healed completely, lovely Harriet had been teasing her muse just for the fun of it, same way she teases her sexy men!
They kissed, deep and open-mouthed, tickling the roofs of their mouths, their tonsils, waggling their lambent, slick-wet tongues until the tips touched their gaping, craven throats.
They paused for breath, Meg breathing heavily, her flat chest heaving, her teats rubbing Harriet’s teats – her blood red nipples – erect until her woman ejaculated breast milk for Meg to suck, sup and gulp, pussy about to eat the cream.
Harriet lay spreadeagled on the soaking shower floor, the hot water pissing down in torrents, splashing on her fat breasts, washing off her colostrum, milky spicks and spatters from her divine teats, her ‘fucking cow’s udders’, as Meg loved to call them, crudely, coming as she did from the Deep South.
‘Fuck my cunt with your tongue, bitch!’ she heard her woman cry, ‘I’ll fuck your cunt, too, if you like?’
Meg crawled over Harriet’s perfect body — slick with sweat and girlie jus as she was; lay on top of her, forced her lovers legs apart, splayed her ruddy red cunt lips, and teased Harriet’s raw steak flesh with her tongue, sucking on the girl’s clit, her little penis, making her pearl bead all erect, and stiff.
For her part, Harriet splayed Meg’s taut buttocks, tearing open her kissing folds, then ate her snatch out, as if Meg’s cunt was a fleshy bit of smoked salmon for her to savour, forcing the young American brunette to squirt and piss her warm girlie jus all over her mistress’s sweating face.
Harriet, squirted, too — she squirted and pissed for England — sealing a new trade deal between the two nations in a most sensational manner. The girls came in waves, orgasm after orgasm, squirt after squirt, pissing their jus in jets of intimate body fluid freely out of their swollen, distended love-holes.
Afterward, Meg noticed her woman was crying, ‘Harriet, you’ve gone all teary. What’s the matter, babe?’
Her divine lover replied in a hushed whisper, ‘I can’t seem to find Charly and Phyllis anywhere. Have you seen them, Meg?’
‘Last time I saw the kittens they were frolicking on top of the enzymic waste disposal unit?’
