A Fragile Heart
***Location :- London and Middlesex. Chapter 1. A Stylish Vamp.
My name is Annette Moretti and I am a magazine editor in London. Having left
home in my early twenties, I initially lived in Islington in an apartment, and
wrote for a ladies fashion magazine. Over time my editorial responsibilities
have grown and I am now its editor, with some shares in the venture. As the
magazine prospered my share value in it has grown, and is now a substantial nest
egg. I also write commercially so my salary is substantial and growing due to my
recent upsurge in writing successes.
As editor I have widened the female readership of our magazine by being an
outspoken voice on the latest innovative beauty therapies, and where necessary I
have been critical of any fanciful or unsubstantiated claims by some of the
cosmetics companies. I have always featured articles by brash outspoken women
with plenty to say on the political issue of the day, and have contributed
editorially to most of these articles. I am a well known advocate for the female
voice in politics here and greatly admire the original suffragette movement.
A few years ago just as the boys were leaving, I was approached by a
publishing house to write an autobiography on the life of a famous Lady who had
joined the suffragette movement to gain votes for women. The book was a huge
success and is now featured in the political studies curriculum in a lot of
British Universities. As a result I have made some TV appearances on documentary
programmes. In the meantime my work with the magazine continued. This magazine,
which I am glad to say has a social conscience, sponsored a major foster care
initiative to take care of UK children who had lost their parents.
In Muswell Hill, I purchased a run-down terrace house with great commuter
links to the Magazine head office. As I earned more money I secured the services
of an architect and builder to work with me to extend and develop the property.
I was able to develop the house I bought to the degree that it became a spacious
three bedroom City house, with all mod cons. The design included my most prized
possession, a wonderful long kitchen running into the small terrace garden, and
a large attic bedroom with a vaulted ceiling based en suite. The remaining
outdoor space is small. The walled garden that I created is chic, very secluded
and decorated in a pretty way. It is a natural suntrap, which helped me keep my
suntan topped up!
I am the odd one out in our family. My family comprises of an outspoken big
hipped Italian Mother, a gentle and reserved English father, and two older
sisters. Both of my sisters are married with children. I and my two sisters have
inherited our Italian mothers beautiful olive skin, and our fathers slim
build. I have been very careful to make the most of my skin when selecting from
my wardrobe.
My hobbies are mainly sedentary, going to libraries to fully appreciate and
enjoy my love of books. I love going to movie premieres, concerts, and visiting
art galleries. I also enjoy musicals and dressing up for the theatre. A trip to
Covent Garden during opera season is my favorite treat to myself.
I always felt different from my two sisters who spent an inordinate amount of
time dressing up for and discussing boys. I was very forthright while in school
and made many friends, even one special one. In fact, I discovered that I was a
lesbian at quite a young age, and had always longed for female companionship and
love. I enjoyed snuggling in bed with my sisters and playing with other girls
rather than the company of boys, much to my mothers disappointment. By the time
I was fourteen, she had to face what I was when she inadvertently found my
school girl friend in my bedroom kissing me, instead of studying.
That got me grounded, and studying alone became the fashion for a while. My
lecture on the birds and bees by my mother extolled the virtues of virginity,
and true love whilst dealing with all of the elements of procreation, periods,
feminine hygiene, and the pill. I remember looking at my father differently for
weeks after that wondering if married people especially mom and dad really did
that thing called sex together! The lecture predictably did not include any gay
information.
Overall, I had a happy childhood governed by a patient English father and a
somewhat more emotional Italian mother. I enjoyed growing up with my two older
sisters and was always treated to make up and beautiful clothes by them. My
mother would say that I have an independent and slightly rebellious nature. I
left home when it became obvious to me that my life choices were not going to be
acceptable to either Mama or Papa. As my coming out became an obvious necessity
for me, I did lose family fealty with one sister who was always keen to get into
my mothers good books at my expense!
My sense of fashion blossomed as I left my college years and finished my Arts
degree. My clothes style while in London would be called risqué as I loved very
short skirts, with high collared jackets and was a little vampish, in a stylish
way.
Initially when I left home my social life was hectic, and revolved around the
whirl of events within Londons cosmopolitan boroughs. I lived life to the full
and had a string of girlfriends, none of whom lasted more than six months or so.
In most cases I fell head over heels for girls who swore that I was the only one
for them. Little by little my heart was broken, over and over again. I wondered
if I demanded too much, was a little too clingy, or maybe not really lovable. My
gentle heart was never immune to a good looking girl! In my late twenties I
became a little too outlandish for my own good, looking for the one true love of
my life. That cost me dearly, and led me to consider a more restrained way of
life.
I am now in my late thirties and have given up the city life for a more
tranquil style of life, free of all angst of the lesbian lifestyle. I think that
my heart has become maybe a little fragile, and afraid of getting hurt. I have
become a little more cautious about revealing my sexual preference on the odd
occasion that I have sensed some interest. I no longer miss the endless trooping
around hip lesbian bars in search of some affection. Neither do I miss all of
those unwanted chat up lines and the not so kind put downs!
I have purchased a barn in the county of Middlesex and have used the same
building team that did my Muswell Hill house to renovate it to my taste. My
converted barn sits in beautiful countryside close to a small town with good
rail links to the capital. I adopted a countryside tradition and had a front and
back door designed to give access to the Atrium of the barn. My boys usually
came in the back door, dropping any dirty footwear, football boots or dirty
sports gear in the utility room. It appears to be a custom in these parts for
locals to also use this entrance rather than knocking on the front door. I
suppose I had better explain how I come to have boys since there is no man
mentioned!
It all started when I invited a friend from the foster care unit down for the
weekend. She had fallen out of love with another of my magazine set, and came to
my house for tea and sympathy. She raved when she saw the barn and began
pestering me to take some children from the Foster home. I thought about this,
and realised that a confirmed lesbian fostering a girl could be misconstrued.
So, I informed her that I might do this but only if she could guarantee that I
would get boys. She readily agreed and I finally began the process of fostering
a boy for short periods. I enjoyed this very much, and I felt that I was doing
something for the greater good, rather than selfishly enjoying a building that
was made for sharing.
This later led to a plea from the Foster Unit to take on a longer term
project. I was not over eager to do this due to my workload and it was only when
I saw the twins that I became interested in the idea. I had minded my nieces and
nephews at various stages and found that I was more than able to give a child
that needed it a good and loving home. The barn had four bedrooms so was well
equipped to house more than me.
John and Billy were nearly twelve when they first arrived, accompanied by an
elderly distant relative of theirs who had flown in from Canada to try to secure
them a foster home as he was far too frail to take them on himself. The meeting
with them went well but was a trifle unusual. It appeared that the twins were
interviewing me for the job of foster Mum rather than me getting to see what
type of lads they were, or indeed whether I wanted them or not! They went into
great detail about facilities, and were immensely impressed with having a
large garage to set up their idea of utopia in, and a house with a large TV.
Once the boys saw where they would live and sleep they trotted off to the
garden to invent their own mischief. They appeared to be very companionable with
one another, and any rivalry was good humoured. Once they returned and gave
their seal approval to the place, their great uncle informed them that I was to
be their Auntie Ann. He gently informed them that they had to do what they
were told, especially when it came to bath time! Their very relieved Canadian
great uncle left quite quickly after that, without realizing my little secret.
In fact, the boys settled in remarkably quickly into the local school and so
began our family life together. They rapidly got used to the run of the place,
and the way I liked things kept tidy. They sensibly realised that two neat
bedrooms and good schoolwork reports got them a lot of additional rations so
they learned to get good at both. They enjoyed discovering a small woodworking
area in the garage which a previous owner had set up.
They began to spend time doing things with small pieces of wood. They enjoyed
carving wooden toys for each other and used my limited shed stock of off-cuts of
timber and emulsion paint left by the builders. They made a passable garage, and
an assortment of vehicles that they learned to do in their woodworking class in
school. They also carved a beautiful plaque for my kitchen which I am immensely
proud of. Their enjoyment of my cooking was really endearing, and they never
failed to clear their plates!
They did well in all of the practical studies in their school and declared an
interest in using their hands, growing up quickly to become proficient
woodworkers. John proved more adept at mathematics and business studies, whereas
Billy enjoyed geography and draughtsmanship more. The school principal mapped
out their education to make the most of their skills and at eighteen they moved
out to set up their own lives in a craft workshop in Cornwall, with its own
live-in accommodation. I told them I was proud and delighted for them that they
had grown up so well.
Their farewell hugs and kissed left me heartbroken, and feeling lonelier than
I had felt in a long time. So with their agreement I legally adopted them as my
sons and have never regretted it. The barn was a much quieter and more tranquil
place, but I missed their presence so very much.
About a year ago I decided that it was time now to leave my chaste life which
had spanned most of the last nine years and begin a new phase.
I decided to give my dormant love life one last chance of happiness.
For the first time in a long time I began to study the female population,
with a view to perhaps meeting someone and hopefully falling in love. My radar
seemed to have had a failure of some sort as I was not getting any signs of
lesbian sisterhood among the local female population. This left me feeling a
little forlorn.
But, if I did find someone this time, I was going to be careful because my
heart could not take any more emotional desolation of a failed romance or broken
heart. My confidence had taken too many heart breaks to feel that I could once
more enter the realms of one night stands or short term weekend flights of
fancy.
I would lay out the rules for whoever I met, and let her know that I was only
interested in a committed long term romantic relationship. I daydreamed
constantly about all the things that I did wrongly in my romantic past, and the
state of the lesbian community in London in the first years of the 21st century.
My own mistakes sometimes haunted my peace of mind, but I knew I had to move on
and not dwell in the past any longer.
My earnest hope was that there was someone out there I could love, who would
love me back. But where was she?
*** Chapter 2. Embarrassing moments.
O girls, have I made mistakes! Yes indeed, far too many.
One of the main reasons for getting out of London was my unhappy knack of
picking up the wrong girl, and falling madly in love with her. My soft nature
seemed to be a web for catching all of the wrong types of girl. Indeed, one
fateful occasion stands out even now as being cringingly embarrassing for all
concerned. It was really not all my fault, but I got more family ear ache than I
deserved I thought, all due to a bit of bad timing, some clever photography and
a lot of bad luck.
Leading up to this event, I was in a TV studio being interviewed for a
daytime chat show when I met a well known sexy female TV presenter, who I
seriously fancied. I immediately informed this beauty that I was more than
interested. One thing led to another and before long we were an item, living the
high life, totally engrossed in each other. Rather than being clever and staying
a little back from the limelight I embraced this stunning redhead with all my
heart. We went everywhere together, and were inseparable. She slept over in my
place many times, which I eagerly looked forward to.
She was a very expressive and innovative lover who always took care of my
needs before her own. I was totally enthralled by her sense of style, and feisty
character. My usually careful discretion gave way to a wave of joi de vivre,
jumping in and out of cabs to visit all of the trendy nightclubs. We were seen
together at all of the top bashes and the press photographers were never far
away.
This led to one infamous photo of me getting out of a cab in her company with
less under my skirt than I should have had on. Luckily the photo did not reveal
my face, out of a desire of the print media to safeguard one of their own and
not invade my right to privacy. However my mother found out as a result of my
goody-goody sister recognising an ankle tattoo of mine in the photo.
Things were decidedly frosty on the home front for quite a while after this
incident. Terms like shameful behaviour and slutty carry on followed by a
stream of Italian vocabulary were used over and over by my mother to hammer home
what she thought was my dreadful and degrading lifestyle, and the shame it
brought to her. Throughout this incident my father adopted the Mr Bennett
parental approach, taking to his study with an edict not to disturb him.
But there was even worse to come.
Out of the blue one day, my sister unceremoniously trooped in with my 15 year
old niece, to ask me to mind her for the afternoon. She was going to go to
hospital with her husband to visit her father-in-law, who was in ICU with a
suspected heart attack. As she rushed through the apartment in Islington she
came face to face with my very nude celebrity girlfriend coming out of my
bedroom. Recognition was followed by outrage, as my sister was never a fan of my
lifestyle or this particular girl (who did have a very questionable reputation).
My girlfriend screamed and ran for cover but not before my niece cottoned on to
what was happening.
That day I lost my girlfriend for good, and my sisters somewhat tepid and
conditional respect. I did gain street cred with my niece who later confided
that the scene was Just Awesome! That did not make up for the heartbreak,
which left me extremely disillusioned. Even my father who had always been very
tolerant, lost patience with me for the first time.
This became obvious to me when I attempted a hug, on my next visit home. He
just turned away and silently went into his study and that really hurt. Being
shunned by Papa was an unwelcome first in all my years, and I felt worse about
that than the reaction of all my sisters. My mother was definitely not amused
either. As a result, my Moms house was off limits for a time after that, and
silence was the only sound from my Moms house in response to my unanswered
calls.
Only my move out of London on my 28th birthday and my fostering efforts had
redeemed me in my mothers eyes. When she met John and Billy a further thaw in
our relationship ensued. She really does dote on my two boys who have always
loved devouring her Italian cuisine, much to her joy and satisfaction. They
brought out the Italian Mama in her, who likes all of her family around her.
She loves to cook so much for her family that we could have all ended up like
her, slightly pear shaped! She could also sense that I had mended my ways
somewhat and any wild oats had already been sown.
I seemed to have regained my fathers affection again, and he warmly
applauded all of my hard work with my boys, and the brilliant design I had
commissioned on the Barn. On my last visit home I got a big hug from him and a
kiss on my forehead which was the first one in a long time, and I choked a
little as I broke free. I could feel tears start to well up, which my mother
noticed and nodded her head at. It appeared that I had at last been forgiven for
all of my bad behavior, and accepted back into the bosom of the family.
My Mom tut-tuts at my figure still. She has always thought I was too skinny,
even though I now take a size 12 in jeans!
*** Chapter 3. The Town Fete, Summer 2011.
Our town has a thriving market, and very sociable crowd. The town itself
revolves around the town square with its ancient two story barn. The town looks
up to hills on one side and down to a picturesque river on the other. There are
a myriad of craft shops and excellent small restaurants, some of which offer a
terrific choice of eat in or take away food. My barn is on the outskirts of town
not far from the schools, and park.
I am at home on a weeks break from work feeling all of my 38 years of age,
even though I am told I still look beautiful by my boys. I have welcomed them
home for a summer holiday, come trade show. As soon as they drive in the
driveway I can see that they have really grown up. Where there was smooth chins,
there was now a distinctive moustache on Billy and a full beard on John. They
are both 22 now, over 6 foot tall and handsome enough to have any girl of their
age interested.
They lifted me off my feet and swung me into the barn, to a chorus of their
favourite chant:- Is there anything to eat Auntie Ann?
My cooking skills had steadily improved once I left London and took them in,
so they happily sat at the kitchen table while I finished preparing lunch. We
sat while they devoured enormous portions of pasta, along with chilled beer they
had brought with them. Their chorus of approval was overwhelming and I hoped
that I could live up to their demands for the week. Luckily I had a well stocked
larder, and my garden vegetables and herbs were well established. They were both
going to be under pressure for the next week, and I could see a visit to the
nearest supermarket and butcher being a necessity, as my boys were fully
accredited carnivores.
