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Lesbian Tendencies By Katy Terrega |
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Narcissistic. The word flashes into my brain – a sudden revelation in virtual blinking neon - as I covertly watch her, a half block ahead of me. I often see her as I walk this route and I even know her - in a casual, passing sort of way, anyway. This is not the first time I have observed her with a kind of wistful longing. Amanda? Elizabeth? No, it’s Isabelle, I remember now. Silently I mouth the word, enjoying the rather sensuous way it rolls over my tongue. But it’s not the seductiveness of her name that intrigues me, or at least that’s not the sole reason I follow Isabelle, almost hungrily, with my gaze. It’s more that the curves of her body, so like my own, draw me in; and her firm thighs, vee’d at the center, just as mine are, hold me there. Is it my own curves, my own sex, my own self-love that I lust for? Is it, then, narcissism that draws me toward Isabelle, and other women, too? No, I finally think, after some deliberation, as Isabelle disappears around a corner. It is, perhaps, more a desire for sameness, a wish for that which is comforting and familiar. I think that it’s maybe only that I crave what I know best; the gentleness of a woman’s touch, the softness of a bared breast, the warmth of a furred mound cupped in a palm. Lost in my reverie, I am startled by my husband’s touch; I have forgotten that he is by my side. No stranger to my sometimes fickle desire – my lesbian tendencies, as he likes to call them - I know he has seen the longing in my eyes and the flicker of sadness that I could not disguise as Isabelle was lost ‘round the corner. I flush at being caught but his hand on my shoulder is gentle and his smile knowing. “Perhaps,” he begins, slowing his steps, “you should take a lover” He comes to a stop and turns to me, “You know...on the side.” I peer into his eyes, not sure if he is joking. “Oh, right!” I counter, staying on the safe side of brevity even as I feel an inward thrill at his words, “so you could watch!” “No,” he says, his eyes suddenly serious, contemplative. 
These Chicks Are True Girl on Girl Virgins! We’ve had this conversation before, while wrapped in each others’ arms late at night; sharing our dreams, our fantasies. He knows how I secretly crave the softness of a woman’s touch, even as I am satisfied with his own hardness. But our tentative late night verbal meanderings have gone nowhere, neither of us able to imagine another in our bed; our sanctuary, our coupled and intimate space. Now, however, after a pause of obvious deliberation, I see that he has come to some conclusion. “No,” he says again, even more serious now. “You could have a friend, a lover of your own,” His voice is earnest and low. “For you,” he continues, smiling a little,“ ...just for you.” At his words; so giving; I find that I am, quite unexpectedly, afraid, and a shiver of cold, raw fear races through me. My feelings are too extreme for the circumstances, I think, surprised at my reaction, but they are real nonetheless. I feel as though I have just been granted permission to play with the fire of my own desire. My safety net – the one that has kept me from delving too deeply into my hidden desires – is gone and I feel strangely naked and exposed. But still, I can feel a flutter of yearning that starts in my belly and wends it’s way outward, surprising me with it’s intensity. I begin to walk again, unable to stand still as my whole being surges with a curious mix of confusion and almost breathless excitement. Be careful what you wish for, I think, as the possibilities unfold before me. ~ The men that cause my eye to wander are invariably - as my friends so like to point out - Jesus look-alikes. On the slender side, they call to me with their long hair, their fine-boned features and their almost pretty faces. They speak to my inner child with kind eyes and gentleness. And they speak to my inner slut with long fingers and full, sensuous mouths. I often wonder, as I watch them parade in and out of my field of vision - my life - if they sport matching cocks; long and lean and taut, but still almost feminine in their silky smoothness. I have found that the women I covet are no different, although, in addition to delicate stature I am also drawn to heavy breasts that sit atop narrow waists. My own breasts, pert and well nippled, if on the small side, seem to pale in comparison to the rich fullness of the women in my fantasies. I think, often, about cradling the heavy flesh of a large breasted woman in my palm, caressing her thick globes with my fingers and perhaps my tongue.  These Are The Hottest, Nastiest Stories On The Net! Once, my eyes followed an attractive woman, striding with some purpose, into the grocery store. Straight backed and petite, her hair fell thick and blonde halfway down her back; dense and gleaming, it was perfectly straight and elegantly brushed. I imagined - as I skulked along behind her in the produce aisle - how it would feel to run my fingers through that lush mane, to feel it, silky and heavy, against my naked flesh. But when the woman turned, I saw that she was a he; with fine facial hair and high cheekbones. A dandy, I thought then, with a sniff. A bit of a pretty boy. But still I would have fucked him. Or her. Is that what I want, then; to fuck a woman, to be fucked by her? Oh, yes, I do, I think later that night in bed, as my husband runs his familiar fingers over my skin, burning me tonight with their touch, their heat. Or maybe it is my own heat that I feel; thinking about his earlier words and all the implications has left me tightly wound, almost anxious in my need. His tongue is lightly licking at my nipple and the softness of his own longish hair pools around my breast, tickling me with a genderless but intense touch. I close my eyes and imagine that it is Isabelle’s mouth now on my tit, Isabelle’s fingers that are crawling their way down my belly and toward my already very eager sex. “Mmm,” my husband murmurs appreciatively, encountering the warm wetness that betrays my desire. I know that he finds my tension, my need for release - stronger now than usual and so much more intense – arousing, just as I do. Then his mouth is slithering it’s way toward my moist cave, and, imagining Isabelle’s tongue on the flat of my belly, I am suddenly ravenous with desire, arching up to meet his - or it her? – caress. His tongue on my swollen nub is like a lick of fire on ice and I melt into his touch with an abandon that is almost foreign, or perhaps just forgotten. Eagerly, I reach toward him, visualizing Isabelle’s face between my thighs, feeling her breath hot on my exposed flesh. My orgasm is sudden and fierce, coming upon me with an urgency that takes me by surprise. I cry out my husband’s name, only remembering at the last second that it is he and not she that is lapping at my quivering cunt. Would it feel any different with a woman? I wonder, almost idly, as the shudders fade to quivers and my husband moves upward to kiss me hard on the mouth, his own desire mingling with mine, juicy on my lips. And then suddenly he is inside of me, thick and hard and so urgent, my still-pulsing insides contracting around him. 
Her First Lesbian Sex Will Show You All This And More! Oh, but I like this part, I think with a groan, as I take him deep inside of me. I like this feeling of fullness, I like to be spread wide, stretched open by his warm, hard flesh. I like the way it feels when he enters me with just the fat head of his cock, teasing me with my own need until my body begs for more. And I especially like it when he fucks me, as he does now, his strokes sure and deep, tickling my deepest recesses. With a groan of his own, he is suddenly exploding inside of me and I wrap my legs around him, drawing him in. His ass flexes and his face shows a grimace that is all primal pleasure. It is familiar, comforting, as is the gentle way he rocks in and out of my depths as he empties himself inside of me. I fall asleep, post fuck, curled up against his back, sated, forgetting for the moment that I have ever lusted after anything but my husband’s slithering tongue, his thick cock. But then, sometime deep in the night, long after I have turned away from him and become one with my sleep, long after the running wetness between my legs has faded to moist damp, I begin to dream. A thick haze of the finest dream-silk surrounds me, although I can see, clearly, that Isabelle stands before me. All luminous eyes and glowing hair, she reaches out to me, her movements heavy yet fluid in the slow motion way of night fantasy. As her fingers graze my cheek, I am reminded of warm water, liquid and pearly and so sensuous against the skin of my face. I can feel my own heat radiating outward, I feel almost feverish in my desire as I reach a tentative finger toward one of Isabelle’s full breasts. It is lush with promise, drawing me near with a sensuality that I cannot seem to resist. Isabelle smiles as my palm cups one delicious breast, and her face seems to glow in the tepid light. Her skin, dream-soft, is silky to the touch, and I allow my fingers to explore with growing abandon, reveling in the new sensations. I let one finger graze her hardened nipple and am rewarded with the sight of goose-bumps cascading from the literal point of contact. Isabelle draws nearer then, her mouth open and inviting. Her kiss is warm and soft and so wet, her tongue like velvet as it lightly licks it’s deliberate way around my lips. She presses herself forward, the softness of her skin now touching me and I feel a liquid heaviness that begins in my womb, spreading outward in a deliciously slow gush to my pussy.  You'll Have An Even Better Time Watching Her And Her First Time Pussy Lickers At Her First Lesbian Sex! My dream lover’s thick nipples press seductively into my breasts just as our thighs touch and the delicate caress of belly upon belly sends a jolt of electricity coursing through me. I feel a rush of a more fierce desire now and I open my mouth wide, the better to explore the depths of Isabelle’s sensuous mouth with my probing tongue. Feeling emboldened in my lust, I lift my hands to Isabelle’s soft hair and begin to stroke my way downward, my fingers slithering their way through the silky tresses. I move on, feeling the strangely familiar curves as they slide under my palms; from wide shoulder to narrow waist to flaring hips and round, soft bottom. Isabelle’s hands follow suit, leaving a searing trail of desire on my skin as her fingertips graze the sensitive flesh. Suddenly dizzy, I find that we are now both pillowed in soft dream-clouds, we are rolling effortlessly this way and that in the hazy nothingness as our hands first stroke, then begin to probe. Isabelle’s sure fingers are suddenly on my mound, burrowing through the coarse hair toward the treasure buried within. But then, just as suddenly, it is not Isabelle’s fingers but her mouth that has invaded my nether regions and I gasp at the flutter of tongue on crease of thigh. I can’t help but moan as her feather-soft touch teases my sensitive mound, flicking lightly at my almost obscenely swollen and exposed nub before skittering away to lap around the wetness that, once again, betrays my desire. Just as I finally feel the hot tip of Isabelle’s tongue hard on my clit, just as her fingers spread my fat lips wide to her insistent probing, I find that the steamy cave of her sex is in front of my face, larger than life and just as fragrant. I inhale deeply, savoring the thick, familiar musk. I know it well, this scent, it is the smell of my own fingers after they have been buried deep in my pussy. It is the same, only different, too. It is headier and far more arousing than my own familiar smell, and I find myself drawn toward the source of my desire. Sparsely furred and pink with obvious desire, Isabelle’s nubbin is poking out of it’s lair, the flesh beneath damp and swollen. Tentatively, I bring my face toward the enticing mound, surprised at the mix of hard and soft as my tongue touches her exposed center. Isabelle moans and presses herself forward, even as she inhales my own pearl into her mouth. Suddenly, in a fit of desire, I find myself attacking Isabelle’s dream clit with my mouth, my tongue flicking rhythmically back and forth against her most sensitive spot. Isabelle begins to moan under my inexperienced but fervent touch and soon we are both squirming in our need, the tension building by degrees as the warmth spreads. I feel Isabelle quiver under my ministrations and suddenly she is crying out, her high, plaintive voice echoing in the dream cavern we inhabit. Her scent changes as she comes - there is a deeper, muskier undertone to her aroma now - and her clit vibrates under my tongue as she presses herself tight against me. These Stories Are Guaranteed To Get You Off...Again and Again! Without warning Isabelle’s fingers are suddenly deep inside of my pussy and it is the very suddenness of the invasion, so familiar, that causes me to explode. My slow burn of need erupts into a hot spurt of release as I clench tightly around Isabelle’s fingers, crying out into the fog-like air as the waves of pleasure wash over me. For just that moment, I do not exist; I am only my raw sex, wet and warm and convulsing with release. ~ I wake in the darkness, my fingers buried in my own wetness. Still lost in the muddled space between a dream and it’s reality, I bring my hand to my face, inhaling my own familiar, thick scent. But mingled with my own hot desire and my husband’s musky aroma, I swear I sense something more, something different, something powerful and arousing. My pussy clenches rhythmically; the after effects of my very real, if dream induced, orgasm are strong. But I feel empty now, save for the moisture pooling around the opening of my sex. A post orgasmic spasm grips me and I feel the void as my cunt, hungry and hollow, grasps for substance. Fumbling, I reach for my husband with still wet fingers, finding him half-hard in his own dream-sleep. Waking to my touch, he senses my strong need, my urgency, and is suddenly ready, hard and hot in my hand. There is no need for talk as I mount him in the dark. I wonder if he can smell my sex, it seems to permeate the room, enveloping us both. He reaches up, excited by my sudden need, and massages my tits with sure fingers as I fuck him; drops of sweat falling from me to drip, noiselessly, onto his skin. I groan each time he enters my still spasming cavern, stroking my sensitive inner walls and filling me deep. My hips flex as I straddle him, pounding my way home atop him, allowing his thick girth to stretch me wide and take me over the edge again. But this time there is no dream to dull the edge of my orgasm, this time I am coming hard and fast. There are no lush, hazy waves now, only the lightning bolt of my husband’s cock, shooting it’s way into my pussy and sending out sparks of all consuming flame as I wear out my pleasure atop him. ~ A hazy, pre-sleep lethargy envelopes me as I lay in the dark next to my already slumbering husband. Sated - but only, I am sure, for the moment – I wonder about my lust for Isabelle, for women. My feelings are strong, my desire hot, but I think now that it may be the fantasy that I crave, not the actual flesh in hand. Suddenly, though, remembering my dream fingers on Isabelle’s breast, I imagine that the reality of her – her skin, her lips, her tongue - would be far more satisfying than any fantasy, and I am torn. Too tired for decision-making, however, I drift off, knowing only that tomorrow I will walk again. Perhaps, if Isabelle is walking, too, I may join her and initiate a casual conversation. Perhaps we will be, as my husband has suggested, friends. Or perhaps we will be more... |
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