"You love the taste of cunt, don't you?" Natasha remarked.
Julie removed her tongue from the thick lips and folds of her lover's vulva, and smiled at Natasha, a thin trail of saliva on her chin.
"Yeah! Nothing beats it! It's got the best taste in the world."
"And my pussy? How's that compare?"
"It's good! Amongst the best. You've got a world class clit and I love the taste. No pussy-farts either!"
"You don't like a burst of beaver wind?"
"Smells better than the toilet whiff of a pucker-hole," Julie admitted, "but it's not what I like best about a cookie."
"You're a bit of a connoisseur, aren't you? How long have you been the expert?"
"Ever since I first looked up 'vagina' in a medical dictionary. The labia minora and labia majora. I know all the terms." Julie gazed up at Natasha who lay on her back, supporting her weight on her elbows. "You like fingers in the box?"
"I like a bit of fisting, but not just now. I'm not lubed enough."
"Pity," said Julie, who nonetheless squeezed in a third finger to add to the two already inside Natasha. "I give good wrist. Nice and thin, see!"
"You don't shave, but you've got a nice trim beaver. Reminds me of the first few I knew. No thatch to hide the golden valley. A few strands and sometimes a soft down: not like the muffs I mostly get to know these days."
"You started early, then?"
"Soon as I could. I always wanted to taste and smell another girl's quim. Your own is never enough. However much you diddle, what you get pasted on your fingers is never as rich as the taste of coochie on the tongue. First time was simpler than I thought. A girl's knickers come down more easily than I'd feared. And the mound in the cotton seam was only a hint of the beauty inside the tight panties. I'd read D. H. Lawrence's poem and I'd always liked figs. I didn't expect a fanny to taste like one, though it does a bit sometimes, but the old goat was right. A cunny's just like a ripe fig, except it's not got the seeds. That is unless you've added to the flavour with a bit of fun from the fruit bowl."
"You mean, courgettes and carrots and the like?"
"Sometimes a banana. Even a cucumber. Sometimes, a bit of improvisation in the kitchen beats a mail-order dildo or vibrator, even if the fruit's a bit riper than you thought and it falls apart in the grip of passion."
"Is it only minge you crave?" Natasha wondered, arching back as Julie eased in her last finger and pushed a wedge of fingers backwards and forwards in her increasingly lubricated orifice.
"What could be better?" Julie asked, as her tongue lapped on Natasha's clitoris.
Conversation stalled as the two lovers became more physical in their affection. The only words expressed were short and generally fairly descriptive as their bodies entwined, while their fingers, tongues and vaginas battled together.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Natasha gasped.
Julie's cries were more guttural and more often than not muffled by her lover's vulva.
At last, but not for the first time that evening, Natasha reached a climax. The vowels of her cries stretched out and were clothed in a faint growl. Julie's own vocal contribution resembled more the sighs of the dying, though when she collapsed it was with a huge grin on her face.
"Nothing could be better," Julie finally answered, as she licked the juice off her slim wrist.
Natasha was grateful that her lover wasn't one of those women who insisted on wearing bangles or rings that could leave a girl sore for days to come. Not to mention those little cuts on the lips that bloodied the urine if you weren't too careful.
"You've never been tempted to the dark side?" Natasha wondered.
"Yeah. I've tasted dick. Haven't we all? Men are led by their balls and they can never say no. But however tasty the sausage or stiff the salami, it'll always be second-best to the joy of what's between the curtains. And, anyway, the one-eyed snake is quite simply the best a man can offer. The rest of a man's body you can keep. They're just meat-machines with a one-track mind. My doorway's open to all for anyone with the right key, but I prefer a porthole in exchange for my own. On a bad night when there's an itch that needs scratching, I'll take a man in preference to flossing with an electric muff-brush, but if there's pussy on parade I'm in there! I want my tongue on the button and my fingers in the pocket."
"You're not a cock connoisseur?"
"When you've tasted wine you don't willingly go back to shandy."
"If only all women felt that way!" Natasha sighed regretfully.
"More are tempted by the tender sex than you'd imagine," Julie boasted. "But I guess it's all a matter of taste. Meat and two veg make a filling meal, but I like a salad bowl with fish dressing. When I'm lying on the beach, it's always the camel toes that catch my eye. I've never gone for the Lycra bulge. And for me, a good twat is just the best thing on a good package. I just melt like ice cream on a topless beach. All that nipple! Not to mention: thigh, navel, neck and tootsie. What can a woman of taste and discrimination do, but want to taste the goods on show?"
"Is it always easy for you?"
"Don't you find it so?"
"Not always," Natasha admitted sadly. "Sometimes my heart goes where there's no hope for satisfaction. There are more women I've loved than there are women who would ever love me."
Julie kissed Natasha affectionately. "A looker like you! You've just got to take the risk. Those little minxes that run scared? All they need is the right persuasion. You've got to be ruthless. And anyway if you want to taste muffin, sometimes you have to focus on the target and disregard the packaging. The best minge doesn't always come with the best presentation."
"I could never have sex with someone if I didn't appreciate their whole body."
"Then you've missed out on a lot. There's as much variety between the legs as the rest put together. I love the lips. The outer ones that part and the inner ones that shudder. The long clits, the short ones, the stubby ones and the fat juicy ones. And the hair! Who'd believe that so many beavers were so bushy? I like a fumble in the forest. Fingers in the bush, tongue on the button, and nose in the bouquet. Beats finger-fucking your own box."
"So how do you choose the women you go after? Is it the smell? Is it the smile? Is it something else?"
"The eyes are what tell you whether you're beating a path to an open door," Julie said. "At least that's what I used to think. Maybe I'm led by my nose. They say you can smell sexual desire even if you don't realise it. But I admit I like a bit of a challenge. That girl at the club last week. Remember her?"
"The one I saw you go off with at the end of the evening? The short mousy one with glasses?"
"Yeah. She said she'd only gone to the Cupid's Alley because her friend was gay, but you could see she was curious. When I got chatting with her, she kept squirming like she was really uncomfortable. But I could see she wanted to know what pussy hair tasted like between her teeth. It was the eyes, I think, but maybe it was the scent. I don't know. But to get to know her better I had to keep telling her I wasn't really interested in getting to know her that way. I said I just liked a chat. I even said I wasn't really a muff-diver. Just bi-curious."
"A bit deceitful, don't you think?" Natasha remarked.
"You're such a moral Minnie!" Julie laughed. "Anyhow, it's not like I'm butch or anything. Most people think I'm as much a cock-fancier as any girl of the straight and narrow persuasion. The guys at work all assume it's a man who tickles my tonsils on the bedsheets. So, little Daphne thought I was a safe proposition. And, when her friend went off with Annie and left her behind, and I suggested I go back with her in the taxi... well, she was eager."
"Well, eager for a friendly face in the testosterone-soaked streets of Ealing. No one wants to be heckled by a moron in a baseball cap and trainers," Julie said with a chuckle. "So, we got on a taxi and I persuaded Daphne to invite me back for a coffee in her flat in Tooting Bec."
"And was it just a coffee?"
"Anyone fuckoffee?" Julie joked. "Well, there was coffee. But there was also the wine she had in the fridge, and I got her talking about her friend, who's a girl who really knows the ropes, and she started going on about how she sometimes wondered what it was like, you know, being a lesbian or whatever..."
"It's not all a picnic, you know," Natasha remarked.
"Hey! Eating out in the open air beats everything!" Julie smirked knowingly. "Anyway I soon got round to saying, you know, that being sort of uncertain, which was a good tactic, that I often wondered what it was like myself, and what was it like to kiss another woman. And she sort of got round to thinking that maybe just kissing wasn't such a bad idea. Although she'd probably not guessed how easily a bit of pecking becomes real tongue action and not just on the mouth..."
"She went all the way?"
"It was a bit of a struggle and there was nearly a whole bottle of wine needed to reduce those inhibitions, but yeah! She went all the way. But it was me who did the hard work. I tell you, though, it was worth it."
"It was?" gasped Natasha, who was stroking the outer lips of her vulva in guilty arousal.
"She had a real bush. It came almost up to her belly button and right over her inside thigh. And within all that hair was the cutest little thing. Those lips had hardly seen any action to speak of. They were smooth and undamaged. Those inner lips had never been nibbled, I bet. Her little button was almost impossible to prise out, but I got my tongue under it and it swelled just like her puffy nipples. She had that strong smell I like, as well. Raw and pungent. She wouldn't put her face in my toy box though, but I could tell she liked the feel in her own pleasure chamber. She gasped just like a little girl. Brought back memories of my schooldays in the girls' loo, I can tell you!"
"She turned a hundred and eighty degrees, you think?"
"Scarcely. She got all weepy and angry afterwards. I had to get another taxi home. But I'd had my fun."
"Was it fun for her?"
"What a question!" Julie said with mock indignation. "It was worth it, though."
"Are all your conquests like that?"
"Not the easy ones. Usually a night at the Cupid's Alley or the New Inn on a Friday or the Crescent Moon is a bit predictable. There's a lot of pussy on the prowl and it doesn't take much effort to snaffle snatch. But it's always better when it's not a foregone conclusion. The fur tastes better after a bit of a fight. The best is when it's unexpected. Like at work, for instance."
"At work? You mean at the office? Are there a lot of lesbians who work in advertising?"
"There are certainly a lot of women who work in the biz. There was a gorgeous one who worked in the section that deals in those wanky three inch by five ads for newspapers. You know: those ads for machine tools and language guides. Fuck knows what a babe like her was doing in the most unglamorous niche in the industry..."
"As opposed to... ?"
"I work in television advertising. The fucking crème de le crème. Only the top-paying clients come my way! Anyway, she was one of those girls who don't know how fucking gorgeous she was. She dressed like she'd only ever bought her clothes from Oxfam and she never wore make-up. But, fucking hell, she was the head-turner from heaven. And believe me, I was in there straight away. Of course, I've got an edge on the men when it comes to top-notch tottie. Men are just fucking useless. They're more expert with dogs than with the real deal. So, it was easy for me to become like her best friend at work. Every lunch break, every fucking coffee break, even the bloody loo breaks, I was there."
"She sounds very nice," mused Natasha enviously.