I had never thought of myself as a lesbian, until I met Christina. I mean sure, I was 24 and single, but that was not too old, not in this day and age. I had had boyfriends before, but none of them seemed to work out. They usually broke up with me, having found someone else. But that was to be expected. There are more girls than guys. They can be picky.
On the other hand, I had never been too upset when they had broken up with me. Even Eric, to whom I'd lost my virginity, and had hinted that he had wanted to get engaged, didn't draw a tear from me when his job had him move out of state. I wasn't willing to uproot and move.
And why wasn't I willing to move? It's not like my job as a manager of a used record store was such a big career opportunity. If I had truly loved him I would have moved, to stay with him.
Still, I told everyone, and myself, that I was still looking for Mr. Right. No one had questioned me as to whether I was being honest with myself; and it hadn't occurred to me that I might be gay.
I had met lesbians before. They had been these real butch girls, who dressed so androgynous, you had to look carefully to determine if she was in fact a she. I found nothing sexually appealing about them.
But, then came Christina. She moved in across the hall from the apartment where I lived.
I lived in an old two story building from the 1920's, with four apartments on each floor. It was one of a four of these buildings in a row, on a major street, in the older part of town. They could have been real dumps, but the owner and landlord, Mr. Owens and his wife, made the effort to keep them well maintained.
You may have noticed that I have made an effort to not name specific places. That's because I don't want to get anyone into trouble, or embarrass them. All names have been changed as well. Let's just say that I lived in a medium-sized Midwestern city.
Back to Christina: The apartment across the hall from me, 2D, had been empty for about a month since Mr. Lowenstein had died. He claimed that he had lived in the building since the end of World War II, and I believed him. He was a nice old man who kept mostly to himself, but was friendly if you wanted to talk. His body had been discovered by the Meals-On-Wheels lady, who visited him every day.
Anyway: One Tuesday morning, I was awoken to the sound of boxes being dragged down the hall. I had the day off, so I was sleeping in. With the rent rates the Owens charge, I knew that a new tenant was likely soon. Wearing just my nightshirt I peeked out my front door.
A few yards down from my door was a woman, about my age, pulling a ridiculously large box down the hardwood hallway. Her blonde hair was disheveled, and she was wearing torn jean and an old tee shirt, but there was an aura about her that seemed to surround her. She looked up at me and smiled. "Hi, I'm Christina Hughes, your new neighbor."
That smile seemed to have its own power source. Its glow stunned me for a second. Regaining my composure, I smiled back. "Audra Caldwell. Looks like you could use some help."
She gestured at her load in despair. "I think I got too large boxes for my move."
I shook my head. "Looks like you got them at Best Buy. Next time go to a liquor store. Their boxes are just the right size."
"Let me get some clothes on, and I'll help you out."
A look of gratitude filled her face; a look that filled me with warmth. I would do anything to see that look again. "Really? Thank you so much. I owe you."
I raced to my dresser and quickly threw on some old clothes similar to hers.
For the next two hours I helped Christina wrestle her overly large cardboard boxes out of her rental trailer and up the stairs. We brought up her furniture and helped assemble her queen-sized bed, small kitchen table and chairs. All of which were new, bought at Ikea.
During this process I learned some things. Christina Anne Hughes, 22, was born and raised in L.A. She had just graduated from UCLA with a bachelor's degree in meteorology. She got hired by one of the major television networks, and was starting here as the local weatherperson.
"With your looks I can see why," I quipped.
She did not even feign modesty. "But I want to show that I not a bubble-headed weathergirl. I know my stuff. I graduated top of my class, and am half of my way to my Master's."
"Well you are in the right place to prove yourself. Midwest weather is so variable."
Christine nodded. "I asked for this area. It is known for its wild weather swings."
By the time we were done, it was past noon. My new neighbor wiped a dirty smudge on her cheek. "Thank you so much for your help. You are a lifesaver. Let me buy you lunch."
I'd had no breakfast, and the mention of food made my stomach gurgle. I blushed in embarrassment. "That's sounds great. Get whatever you want. I'm not a picky eater."
She pulled two twenties out of her purse and handed them to me. "Oh no, I'm leaving it up to you. This is your town. You know where the great local restaurants are. Go get what's great."
"How does barbecue sound?"
"That sounds perfect."
I got in my ten year old Honda and drove a half mile to get some barbecued turkey and hot links, and coleslaw from my favorite barbecue place. I was back in ten minutes with the food.
I knocked on her door.
She opened door, and I dropped the bag.
Christine was completely nude. She obviously didn't have any modesty problems. She had a body that would be right at home in the center of any men's magazine. Her legs were long and lean, and her stomach was flat. Her breasts and hips were large, round and firm, giving her a perfect hourglass figure. Aside from the long blonde hair on her hair, she was completely hairless.
My crotch instantly became sopping wet, and my nipples felt like they'd punch a hole through my tee shirt.
She didn't make me feel bad about my astonishment. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon. I just took a quick shower. Do you know which box has my clothes?"
"I-I should go take a shower too. I'll smell horrible next to you."
"Nah! You're fine. If I know anything about barbecue, it is best eaten hot."
"No! I need to shower. You go ahead and eat. I'll be back soon." I bolted out the door.
In the shower, I masturbated furiously. I didn't understand what was happening to me. Nobody, man or woman, had affected me like that before. I typically didn't get aroused by visual images, most often I got hot from mental images from novels and audio stories. There I could paint an idealized picture in my mind that no photo or drawing could equal. But with this woman it was different. I hadn't felt this turned on in long time, if ever.
I rubbed between my legs frantically. My clit was on fire, and my orgasms came hard and fast. I had never come so much at one time before. My legs buckled and I collapsed to the floor of the shower. I am glad my bathroom was far from the hall or Christina would have heard my screams.
I returned to Christina's apartment, freshly scrubbed, about twelve minutes after I'd left. "Sorry I took so long," I said.
"Don't worry about it," she said with a smile. Fortunately, for me, she was fully clothed again. "Now we can reheat the food and eat." One thing that we'd taken up, and immediately plugged in, was the microwave.
As we ate, we talked about boys. She'd had a boyfriend at UCLA, who was also meteorology major. He got a job with the National Weather Service. They were realistic enough to know that a long distance relationship wouldn't last, so they broke up at the end of the school year as friends.
I went into my litany of boyfriend frustrations, when my new neighbor interrupted me. "Would you like a little advice, Audra?"
"You'd probably have better luck with guys if you got rid some of those piercings."
I had a nose stud, a pierced eyebrow, three earrings on each ear, and a loop through my lip. I had gotten a lot of compliments about my unique fashion sense. My parents hated it, of course.
People have told me that I'd get more boys if I lost the piercings before, but I had ignored them. I had my own style, and I was sticking to it. But suddenly, the opinion of this woman, who I've known 3 hours, meant a lot to me.
"You really think so?" I asked.
She nodded, "Unless you want to date only tattoo artists. But that's just what I think. Make up your own mind."
"Actually, it was a tattoo artist I was dating who did all these piercings."
"Are there any more piercings? Got any, you know, down there?"
I blushed. "He advised against it. He said that piercings on your nipple or clit could lead to loss of sensitivity."
Christina laughed. "We wouldn't want that!"
"What about the pink stripe in my hair? Should I keep that?"
"Oh, definitely! It's quirky, and accentuates your looks. It doesn't distract, like all the hardware."
I stood up, and walked into my neighbor's still empty bathroom. Without any doubts or regrets, I took out all the rings and studs that decorated my face, except for one pair of earrings. Christina followed me in, and watched the procedure. Once I was finished, turned my face to her. "Is this better?" I asked.
"Oh, yes! That's much better. The holes will close up in a few months. I think you'll get much more attention from the fellas now."
I blushed and turned away. Again I felt moisture form between my legs. God damn it! What is this girl doing to me? Girls don't excite me. Guys do.
"So this tattooist boyfriend, did he actually tattoo you?"
.... There is more of this story ...