Chapter 3

The late afternoon light filtered softly through the curtains of Mrs. Lee’s modest apartment, casting a warm glow over the low wooden table where two teacups steamed with fresh oolong. Amy Takahashi sat on the large couch, her legs tucked beneath her in loose pants. Six months of Sunday mornings in the park had built a steady rhythm between them—easy rides home afterward, deepening talks that made Mrs. Lee feel like the second mother figure Amy had quietly longed for. Her own American mother had always been brisk and practical, while her Japanese father offered culture in fragments. Mrs. Lee, with her Chinese roots and quiet strength, filled something deeper. Yet beneath the maternal comfort, Amy felt a persistent pull of attraction—the older woman’s curvaceous figure in her simple qipao, the confident grace of her hands, the jasmine scent that lingered. It stirred thoughts, perhaps tied to those mommy issues, creating a subtle tension that warmed Amy’s cheeks whenever their gazes held.

This was one of the many times Mrs. Lee had invited her inside after class, and the space felt intimate, charged.

They had begun with light conversation: ballet partnering at the college, the tai chi Amy was trying to figure out how to incorporate into her dance. But as always, their conversation flowed into personal territory.

“I’ve been thinking about relationships,, “ Amy said, fingers tracing her teacup. “There’s Elena in ballet class. When we move together, I feel this spark, butterflies I don’t always get with guys. I’ve dated men and enjoyed it, but her ... I think I might be bisexual. I want to explore it.,”

Mrs. Lee sipped her tea calmly, her dark eyes steady and kind. At fifty-something, she carried herself with unapologetic poise. “Exploration brings clarity, Amy. Hiding from healthy desires only dims the spirit.,”

Mrs. Lee set her cup down and continued, her voice warm with pride. “In my life, I have known much love through touch. When I was young in China, my father taught me a woman’s place is to give pleasure and care. I brought him lunch in the fields and used my mouth on him as he spoke, slow, gentle, loving. It made me happy to please him. Later, my brother and cousin too. I sucked them with love, feeling their pleasure as my gift. It was never shame. It was family, duty, and deep affection.,”

Amy’s pulse quickened, a flush spreading through her at the honesty.

Mrs. Lee smiled, unembarrassed. “With my husband, it was the same. And with my son, Luc. It is the same way. Using my mouth brings me such satisfaction. I love the power in it, the way a man loses himself under my tongue, the control and the excitement of giving that pleasure. Men fill me with fire in a way I prefer most. I have explored with women too. soft touches, shared needs in my younger days and I do not mind it at all. It can be tender and good. But my heart and body lean toward men.,”

Amy met her eyes, drawn by the openness. “What I like about you is how proud you are of it all. You just ... say it. No hiding.,”

Mrs. Lee reached across the table, her warm hand covering Amy’s. The touch lingered, sending a spark up Amy’s arm. “Why hide what is natural and loving? You feel drawn to Elena. that is worth exploring. Kiss her. See where it goes. If men still call to you, follow that path too. And if you wish to talk more, I’m here.,” Her gaze held Amy’s a moment longer, heavy with understanding and that subtle tension. “There is always tea here, Amy. And more, if your desires lead. Six months of friendship has shown me your good heart. We can talk. We can share. Whatever feels right.,”