Chapter 4: maryjane

It's been almost five years since I posted Chapter Three. In all that time, I've only heard from Sean once, a brief email telling me in substance that he was still alive and well. My every waking moment was filled with memories of his body, of his smile, his kisses, his touch. My every sleeping moment was shaken by fears for him, with wonder about his wanderings, with jealousy of whoever had his attention.

I guess it's time for me to get over him.

My first physical sensation of the new day was the feel of Eva's soft, warm, naked ass pressing back against my lap. Or was it me pressing forward against her? For the past four years plus, since Sean seemingly disappeared, or since my life began, I like to say, one of us has wakened with a lap hard against the other's ass. Usually it was my lap against her ass, with my right hand resting atop her right hip.

That right hip was just about halfway up her delicious five foot three body, her long red hair hidden under the covers. Her breasts were perfect, though average in size. Her fantastic rear end was her prime physical asset; she claimed that she got every job she ever had by walking out of the interview. With the male HR people, at least. My lovely angel is cool and stand-offish; I on the other hand am sort of flirty, though I'd never cheat on her. Not since she divorced her husband and moved full time into my Central Park condo. Of course, I still think about Sean. I probably still love him, wherever he may be, and I definitely fantasize about his cock every so often. But physically, I've been monogamous with Eva for years.

I'm much taller than Eva, about five eight. My ass is so-so, but what always gets their attention are my healthy boobs and above average height for a woman. Despite matching good looking faces — I think hers is beautiful, but that may just be prejudice because I love her so much - it's the contrast between two nice bodies that raises eyebrows when we hold hands in a restaurant or at a cocktail party or a book signing.

It was only my face that felt chilly that morning. Hers too, I supposed, as our bodies had warmed each other during the night, while the thermostat patiently clicked around toward its assigned task of awakening the heating system. One of us always awoke before the sleeping electric baseboard coils did, primed as we were to burrow under the blanket to deliver the other's first wet orgasm of the day.

I slid out quietly, reluctantly, to race along the cold floor to pee and brush. Then it was back under the covers, staying a few inches away from her until my hands and feet had warmed up enough not to shock her. Her breathing was slow, soft, comfortable as she dreamed of who knows what. About me, perhaps? About me, I certainly hoped.

My hand again touched her hip, lightly, careful not to waken her peaceful slumber. My head inched forward, mouth under the covers for my lips to barely touch her. Across her shoulders they gently fluttered, the sweet scent of the powder after last night's bath still entertaining my nose. The hand from her hip ventured around and up to a perfect breast; it lay cupped in my fingers. Nothing but my lips would move again until I could feel her nipple begin to grow, the recognition that her body if not her mind was slowly welcoming the new day.

"I love you, Eva," I whispered, hoping that she was aware of my words.

"Mmmm," she responded lazily, the sound of a smile reaching my eagerly awaiting ears.

She rolled over to face me, her breast slipping out of my fingers, only to be replaced by its twin from her left side. Her shoulders were replaced by her face, her eyes open just a tad as her lips touched mine. The kiss was gentle; it would not become fierce until she was ready to explode in the ecstasy of her cum. But that would take a while, for her first orgasm of the day would happen with my face buried deep down between her legs. Her tongue flicked out to wash my lips; they opened voluntarily to allow my tongue to meet hers, to allow the two of them to caress each other, to communicate the love that sublimated the lust that never leaves us.

"Good morning, my angel," she whispered up to me as my mouth moved up to kiss the sleep away from her eyes. My response to her greeting was to slide my head under the covers, hiding it as a turtle avoids danger, but for a totally more friendly reason. Both nipples were by then at attention as I feasted on first one and then the other, gently at first and then tenaciously as I fought for the milk that frustratingly was never there.

Her legs spread as my fingers began to explore her womanhood, gliding silently over her light brown protective fuzz and dipping inside her wet tunnel. Thumb and forefinger gently pinched her clitoris, drawing one of her patented sighs of pleasure. My lips moved down to kiss her belly-button, my tongue dipping in as though to clean her lint. Then I lifted my body over her right leg, so that I was completely between her outstretched legs.

I inhaled the aroma from the lust of her sweet sex. In the darkness under the cover, her labia were invisible to the eye but they spread wide at the touch of my tongue. Her hands caressed my shoulders and the back of my head, as though to hold them in place, even though she knew that my tongue and mouth — and nose - would never leave until the thundering heaves of her orgasmic explosion.

My horizontal lips kissed up and down on her vertical lips, changing course only when they had to go around the fingers exploring the depths of my beloved Eva's vagina. My lover lived for the orgasm, mine as well as hers, and she allowed me free rein over and around and inside her every opening, demanding only that I allow her the same liberties and that I take from her touch as many orgasms as she from me.

Twisting my head, I began to lick up and down her labia, tracing her welcoming opening as if it were the grillwork of an old Edsel. But my tracing stopped at the end of each upstroke to caress that wonderful bit of her poking out, that little girl-cock, to caress it and suck it and lick it until her breathing became ragged. Knowing that I could, I used my thumb and ring finger to spread her tight ass cheeks and slid my middle finger into her bowels. My fingers inside her front wetness could feel the finger inside her rear darkness through the thin membrane separating her two openings. She treated me to her usual squeak and then moaned softly, enjoying the prodding and poking.

"Finish me off, my darling," she whispered from outside the covers, so softly that I barely heard her. My lips latched onto her clit and I began to suck hard while my finger stroked inside her anal entrance. She exploded with a scream, a groan and then sobbing as she squirted, as her juices spurted all over my face, soaking the bed sheets, leaving fresh evidence of our coupling. When her orgasm had died a natural death, and her heart stopped pounding, she began to giggle with the joy of sexual release.

She ran for the bathroom, her breasts jiggling and her ass shaking. I heard her urine splash and then the sound of a flush. Then she walked out holding our mutual toothbrush in her mouth, bubbles of toothpaste around her mouth. That toothbrush was the physical symbol of our love, more important than stained and wet sheets. Considering the things we did to each others' bodies, and where our tongues went, it was our signal of total and complete togetherness, a sign of love and trust, a marriage of hearts and souls without benefit of clergy.

We kissed again, swapping toothpaste the way some straight couples swap cum. Then she pulled the blanket off me and began to suckle. Her fingers caressed my clit and explored my vagina.

Lubrication flowed freely into my pussy and out, down my legs. Its going to be a beautiful day, I thought. I was so, so wrong.

EVA

Lesbian love is the subject of much conflict. Some people of course think that we're simply evil people, but refer to us as lesbians or lezzies. Others get off on calling us dykes, especially those of us who simply do not match up to their standard of beauty. maryjane and I are, with your permission, pretty decent looking, so those whose thoughts of us are limited to fantasies of girl on girl sex settle for calling us bitches or cunts.

The thoughtful discussion, however, revolves around the question — sometimes but not always judgmental — of whether being a lesbian, indeed all gayness, is voluntary or involuntary. In other words, were we born that way or did we choose this life? And if we chose it, how can they make us see the light, convert us over to or back to traditional heterosexual love? Or at least to being bi-sexual, as my beloved maryjane was, and I guess still may be, what with Sean always somewhere in the background of her mind?

I was not born a lesbian. My upbringing was average. By nine or ten, I was already coming around to the idea that boys weren't so bad after all. By twelve my mother was allowing me to date — daytime, of course. She watched me carefully. My face was always pretty and my body had begun to fill out nicely. My breasts were well on the way to their current 34B and my hips were developing to their baby-delivering function. They had a bit of a shake as I walked. Yes, that was deliberate. Over the next two years, I began to kiss boys, then French kiss, and ultimately allowed them, more than one of them, to fondle my breasts. I kept their hands outside my sweater, and never succumbed to their requests — no, make that their pleas - that I touch their penises. Nor did I ever allow their fingers to roam between my legs.

Then I met Augie Burns. Oh my gosh, was he beautiful! He had just moved into town, and for the first time in my life, I began to feel wet 'down there' without having to use my fingers. Which I did once in a while, by the way, but not all that often. My face and my breasts were my fortune, so to speak, and Augie noticed them. I knew — or shall I say decided — that he would be the first one to touch the bare skin of my breasts and nipples, and I imagined that he would be the one to destroy the protective barrier of my hymen, to rip that female membrane apart, to make me into a real woman.

But not on our first date, nor the second either. Those were limited to the same old kisses and feels, which was as far as I would let him go. I knew that he would go home and masturbate, and I enjoyed feeling the power that my femininity had over boys. But so too would I pleasure myself, my fingers turning it into a daily ritual that surprised me. And then that third date happened, that never to be forgotten third date. I had committed to myself that I would allow Augie's fingers under my bra, and his lips on my nipples if he tried. We had gone to a movie — all he got there was the usual — and then back to my house, where Mom had already left on her date. Oh sure, I was under instruction not to bring any boys home when Mom wasn't there, but what the heck! I was just planning to move my sexual experience a little bit along; what Mom had in mind for her date was certainly a heck of a lot more authentic. And maybe knowing what Mom intended for her date made me curious, adventuresome. Damn it, maybe even jealous.

I found a slow music channel on the cable box, dimmed the lights and folded myself into his arms for a romantic dance. Oops, I forgot something. When he put his hand on the back of my waist and pulled me close to him, I felt his erect penis pressing against me. I pulled my hips back a bit to leave some space, but our chests were still tight up against one another. Augie leaned forward to kiss me and one of his hands reached up to caress a willing breast. When the tune ended, he led me back to the couch.

We sat close and I laid my head on his chest. Deft, obviously experienced fingers began their work on the buttons of my blouse. I was ready; I wouldn't stop him. Not there, anyway. When the blouse was open, Augie's hand began to knead one of my breasts, while his non-stop kiss became more urgent. I pulled back, reached behind me and unhooked my bra. Without taking it off, I lifted the cups, exposing both nipples.

As he bent to nurse on me, I felt the juices pouring out of me into my panties. For the first time, I wondered if I had let him go too far too fast. Still, I closed my eyes and pulled Augie's head tight against my nipple. The feeling of him sucking there was indescribable. Cherry still intact, yet I felt like a woman nursing her baby. I moaned and stroked his face as he fed on me.

I felt his hand on the front of my thigh, just below the bottom of my shorts. Stop him, Eva, stop him, I screamed to myself, but self couldn't seem to hear me. I knew that I should move his hand away but my own hands were numb, immobile. His fingers slid up inch by inch. Stop him, stop him, Eva. When I felt his fingers on my panties, knowing that he could feel the big wet stain there, my heart began to pound in my chest. No, Eva, don't let him, my brain was telegraphing to my loins.

"No," I whispered, but without much conviction.

Suddenly his hand slit out of my shorts but raced back in immediately, only this time underneath my panties. Finally my brain took over.

"NO!" I screamed as I yanked his hand out of there.

"But Eva..." he protested, staring at my half inch nipples poking up at him.

"NO WAY!" I screamed even louder.

"But Eva, all the girls..." he put his foot in it.

"You bastard," I spat at him. "You do this with other girls?" I asked in my naiveté.

As I waited for his words of defense, he gave me a smile that I can only describe as evil. At the same time, he pulled down his zipper and took his penis out of his pants. The only penis I had ever seen before belonged to my baby cousin, and I had seen it when I helped my aunt change his diaper. I had never seen one aroused. Augie gave it a couple of hard strokes and then pointed it at me.

"Suck this, bitch."

I opened my mouth, not to suck but in speechlessness. I slapped him as hard as I could, with the back of my hand. He stood up, pushed me down and held me down with his hand across my breasts. Then he began to masturbate, rapidly, and in just a few moments his sperm exploded out, all over my chest and stomach. When he was finished, he wiped the tip off on my open blouse. He headed for the door.

"Good bye, cunt."

I lay there, not moving except to sob. Before I knew it, I was asleep. It was two hours, I later calculated, before I awoke to the sound of the front door clicking shut. It had to be Mom and whatever the heck his name was. I realized that I was still half naked, and felt the dried sperm on my body. Sobbing again, I opened my eyes as Mom came into the room, trailed by that stranger. The situation was probably obvious to her as she ran to me and knelt beside the couch, hugging me tightly. Then she turned her head.

"I think you'd better leave, Jack. Tonight won't be good."

I understood what she was saying to him. Poor Jack was not going to get the sexual pleasure that he had anticipated. If I didn't feel so terrible, I would have laughed. Mom continued to rock me in her arms for quite a while until my sobbing ceased. When she asked me if I was ready to talk about whatever it was, my first words surprised her.

"I'm sorry about ruining your date with Jack, Mom."

"Don't be silly, Eva. All he wanted to do was to fuck anyway," she responded.

I looked at her in shock. Oh, yes, I'd heard her use that word before, but only as an expletive, as when someone outraced her to a parking space at the mall or when she dropped a jar of pickles on the tile floor in the kitchen. I had never heard her use it to describe the sex act, though I had used it myself often enough for that very purpose with my friends. In the very second, I began to think of Mom as a person, as my contemporary, rather than merely as my Mother.

Then I told her everything, not that it was that much, starting from when I first allowed a boy to fondle my breasts, right up to what I had planned for Augie and what had actually happened. She listened without a word, without a question or a lecture. Then she got up and went into the kitchen. In a few minutes, she returned with a warm washcloth to clean the sperm off me, a towel to dry me and a baggie for my blouse.