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 mother’s beautiful olive skin, and our father’s 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 mother’s 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 mother’s 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 London’s 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 sister’s 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 Mom’s house was off limits for a time after that, and silence was the only sound from my Mom’s 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 mother’s 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 father’s 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 week’s 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.