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BELOW BLUE LONDON by CHRISSIE BENTLEY is an historical cavalcade of red hot erotica set in the ever-changing streets of London's East End.
Michelle Carter, a young professional in her first ever London apartment, discovers that she and her roommate, Janet, are not alone.
The past, too, inhabits the rooms, a sensual, tactile past that reaches back over 200 years, to draw the two women into the succession of sexual encounters that must be relived before they can be understood.
Set exclusively on London's Isle of Dogs, a tiny patch of land that has seen countless changes over the centuries, Below Blue London is a seamless combination of explicit erotic detail and expert historical documentation.
Sweeping from Yuppie brokers to Victorian dockers, from the desperation of poverty to the complacency of wealth, from the horror of the London Blitz to the luxury of the Royal Court, Below Blue London is an historical epic like no other
Wednesday night, though, the whole flat felt weird. I noticed it the moment I walked in. I'd had to go into the office that morning, and ended up stuck there all day. It didn't matter too much, because Janet was at the library again, and she'd not been home for long herself, when I stumbled through the door.
She was in her room. “It's okay, I'm using Bluetac, and I promise to clean it off when I leave.” One wall was festooned with diagrams. “I found a bunch of old Ordnance Survey maps. I photocopied them onto that clear plastic stuff, all in different color inks, and now I'm trying to line them up. Trouble is, they've changed the shape of the streets a few times and with so many other landmarks having either been demolished or altered, it's a total bitch. Every time you think you've got it, you notice something's a little bit out of whack, so you fix that and something else goes askew.”
“What else do you have up here?”
“I found some photographs in the library collection. It's amazing the stuff they have hidden away in that place. So I copied them, had them blown up. Look at this one, you can actually see the peoples' faces. I'd love to know who they were.”
“You could try the local genealogical society. I'm sure there is one. People are really into that family tree stuff these days.”
“Yeah, I will. Anyway, that's that, and over here, these are just a load of newspaper stories that I need to sort out. I've only skimmed them so far, but there looks to be some rather juicy....”
We both jumped.
“I want to feel you in my cunny.”
“Those are the same voices I heard before,” Janet whispered, and her hand reached for mine. “I thought I could feel something when I got home, but I was so anxious to get started, I put it down to nerves.”
“I felt it as well,” I confessed. “But same thing. We got talking and--”
“But lick me first. Make me wet, make me overflow.”
Janet's grip tightened. We sat on the bed as the entire room shuddered to the sound of a gasping sigh. There were no more words, but there was no need for them. The hitching moans of a woman surrendering herself to the most voluptuous cunnilingus filled the air, the scent...the taste...of pussy flooded my senses and when I stole a glance at Janet, she was there as well, licking and being licked, encouraging and experiencing her own barreling orgasm. And then another sensation, of reaching out and being reached for, a hot, strong stiffness that was both a part of me, and apart from me, in my hand and being handled; in my mouth and being mouthed. Taking control and surrendering, silken wet and forged steel firm, salty and sweet.
“Look at the wall!” Janet's voice was barely a whisper, but I heard her and turned.
Locked in a convulsive 69, they were silhouettes, but they weren't silhouettes. You could make out every feature, every muscle, every curve of their bodies, but there was no sense of dimension, no depth or perspective. It was like watching an old, washed out and over-exposed silent movie being projected onto the side of a fish tank. A face, a woman's face, turned and stared towards us.