Chapter 1

My name is Jennifer Pierce, though I prefer Jenny or Jen, I'm thirty-three years old and I'm gay. Having confessed that I like girls, I have to qualify that by saying that on occasion, I don't mind a bit of cock, but on the whole (no pun intended) I prefer the soft, fragrant curves of a woman. I have to be in the right mood to let a hairy, sweaty man drill for oil between my legs, and that's not very often.

I like to think that although I'm not particularly girlie, I'm not the stereotypical butch either, I'm somewhere in between. Looks-wise, I'm about five foot four and ever so slightly overweight. I have short, bleached blonde hair and green eyes. My features are quite regular and with a bit of make-up, I think I can call myself pretty. My bum's not too big, quite nice in fact, luckily, but I do have a bit of a muffin top over my trouser belt. But having biggish boobs is some sort of compensation, I'm happy to say that the label in my bra says 38D.

As to the type of woman I go for, I have to say that I have rather eclectic tastes. That's just another way of saying that I'm not really fussy, after all, pussy is pussy.

The oldest woman I have shagged was in her fifties, and the youngest was just sixteen, so just about legal.

The older woman was a friend of my mother; she was a regular visitor to our house, she and my mother were involved in charity work at our local church.

I was only just turned seventeen at the time and hadn't had sex with another woman although by then I knew that I was aroused by other girls at school and Sixth Form College.

I had masturbated enough times over girls and teachers I had crushes on, to realise where my sexual tastes lay.

But this older woman took my cherry as it were, and introduced me to the heady delights of lesbian sex. Her name was Mrs Margaret Wilmott, and they say you never forget your first, well, I'll certainly never forget Maggie.

Right from my early teens, I was always lookin up women's skirts trying to get a look at their knickers, and hoping that they weren't wearing any. One day, as Maggie chatted to my mother over a cup of tea in the kitchen, she caught me having a crafty peek. I looked away embarrassed, I was sure that she was going to say something. But she didn't say a word; she just smiled at me. The next time I dared to look, her legs were parted and I could see her stocking tops. I don't know why, but the sight of the dark nylon band circling her white thighs instantly excited me.

My mother was completely unaware of the show that Maggie was putting on, being as she was, on the other side of the table. As I continued to stare up Maggie's dress, she opened her legs even further and displayed her white knickers for me. This was the best view I had ever had and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the pure white gusset covering her pussy. I stared and stared at the thin cotton triangle covering her snatch; there were strands of darkish hair poking out the sides and a definite cleft where her slit was.

I was so entranced by the incredible view I had, unimpeded, straight up Maggie's skirt, that it took me a while to realise that I had a tingle between my legs. It was gentle at first, but soon became an irresistible itch.

I was sitting at the table, the same side as Maggie but across from my mother. So I re-positioned myself and slid forwards on my chair so that the table leg was pressing against the crotch of my jeans.

As Maggie continued to flash her knickers at me, I gently rubbed my aching snatch against the table leg. Maggie could see what I was doing and favoured me with a broad knowing smile. Then she dropped her hand on to her thigh and under the cover of the table, hiked her dress up and pulled her gusset to one side to expose her cunt.

I thought that I was going to fall off my chair, and the table rocked so violently that my mother told me to sit still. Sitting still was impossible, the sight of Maggie's pussy on show, up her skirt, sent shivers all the way through my body