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I don’t know why I’m drawn to her. I can’t pin down what makes me think about her…dream about her…long for the touch of her strong hands on my body.

I’m not a lesbian.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I’m not attracted to women. Most women. But I’m attracted to her. Oddly.


I find her sexuality compelling.

When it got to be too much for me to bear, I sought her out.

I told her what I wanted, how I felt. How she makes me feel. Confused. Amused. Aroused. Oh, always aroused.


She invited me to spend the night. In my own room, a quiet place to sit and write with no distractions.

No distractions. Just her. Sexy. Funny. Sweet. Kind.


Sitting with me on the sofa with a puppy draped across our laps. Her large, soft breasts barely contained beneath her simple cotton camisole. Nipples hard, visible…tempting. Both of us knowing why I’m really there, but neither one saying it.

Butterflies in my stomach.

She looks at me and smiles. Dimples make me melt and I smile back, shyly. She takes my hand in hers and just holds it. It’s warm, and soft, but strong. I feel safe. After a minute of not saying anything, she squeezes my hand, and I squeeze it back. She stands, and the dog reluctantly moves, stretching and lying down in the warm spot she’s left. I stand too, and without a word, she leads me to her bedroom.

We stand together, hands clasped.

“I’m nervous,” I confess.

She squeezes my hand again. “Don’t be.”

I don’t move, and she smiles again, that sweet, dimpled grin. “You’ve had a massage before,” she asks, knowing the answer is yes, but I nod. “I’ll go out for a minute. You get undressed as much as your comfortable with and lie down under the sheet. I’ll give you a massage. And if you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” I agree, but my mouth is dry.

She goes out and I slip out of my short nightgown. Naked, I lie down on my stomach and pull the sheet up to my neck. I try to relax, but I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. There’s a pounding much lower, too. Throbbing. Anticipating.

I hear her come in and shut the door with a soft click. The light is already low, and she turns on some music. No words. No real tune. But musical. Soft.

I feel her weight beside me on the mattress. My eyes are closed. I don’t know what she’s doing. I don’t know if I want to see.

I smell an exotic scent. Sandalwood, maybe. Or a spice. I don’t know. I can’t tell. It’s nice. Deep, not cloying. Not heavy.


Her hands are gentle as they slide the sheet down just a bit, leaving me covered. Then they are on me. Oily. Slick. Sliding over my skin easily. Firm, even strokes. Almost painful, but not quite. Soothing. Powerful.

My shoulders relax…my neck…my back. The sheet slides lower. I don’t realize she’s moved it.

Her hands work the muscles of my lower back. Not deeply, not painfully. Almost, but not quite. Her hands rub the oil into my skin, making me feel soft and pliable, and I am. Her hands are on my hips, exploring the curves of my ass, and I don’t mind. It feels good. My body feels alive. I don’t know what I want, but I know I don’t want her to stop touching me.


Her hands find mine, tucked down by my sides. She runs her hands up my forearms, moving them away from my body and up over my head. Biceps. Triceps. All the muscles I don’t know the names of. She does, and she pays attention to them all, making me aware of them.

Down again, back to my shoulders. Hands on my spine. Hands on my shoulder blades. Hands caressing the soft skin where my breasts begin. My waist. My hips again. Fingers lingering in the warm, deep cleft between my legs, then away before my brain has time to think about it.

I feel the sheet shift and she tells me in a low voice to roll over. I do.

It does not occur to me to do otherwise.

My breasts feel the cooler air in the room and I know my nipples are hard. I can’t see them because I won’t open my eyes, but I can feel them. They are tingling.

Her hands slide up my arms again, over familiar territory, before sliding back down, along my shoulders again, across the flat planes of my chest, lightly around the curves of my breasts. I take a deep breath as her hands gently rub oil into the soft tissue.

Her touch is electric.

I want her in the worst way.

It doesn’t occur to me that it is happening. I am having her. She is having me.

She kneads gently, scooping up the handfuls of flesh and tugging gently on the hard, pink points. Each stroke, each tug brings a sound from my throat. It’s a deep breath. Not quite a moan.

Until it is.

When she is drawing moans, her hands move south, over the soft flesh of my stomach. I frown, feeling self-conscious for the first time.

She speaks, and her voice is low and soothing.

“You’re beautiful,” she says in nearly a whisper, and I believe her.

She leans over me and takes a nipple in her mouth. I feel her teeth, but she doesn’t hurt me. Not quite. Her hands are moving…always moving…and she is running them between my thighs, skimming my soft mound of curls, sucking and nipping at my nipple and making me squirm beneath her.

My legs part on their own. I don’t remember moving them, spreading them for her, but they are open for her.


Her hand seeks my warm center, parting the folds and caressing the slick, inner flesh with the same strong, soothing touch. Theraputic touch. My hips rise off the bed to meet her fingers. “Oh, God,” is all I can manage to say as she works my clit with fingers that feel warm as fire.

She kisses me…my breasts…my neck…the hollow of my collarbone…

My lips.

She tastes sweet.

Soft, but strong. Asking, offering…and I answer.

I yield. My lips part, accepting her, a “yes” to every unanswered question.

Yes. Dear God, yes.

I taste her tongue, feel her mouth working mine, teaching it to dance in ways it never has before.

My hips are bucking beneath her hand, wanting more, needing to feel her possess me. She dips into me briefly…one finger…then two…I can feel how wet she is making me…hear the sounds of her fingers inside me, on me, around me…

“Fuck me,” I whisper, opening my eyes only long enough to look into hers. She is lovely.


More kissing. Soft, insistent.

My neck. My breasts.

The soft expanses of my flesh are kissed, nibbled, licked…teased.

Hands move aside, parting my thighs and stroking the sensitive flesh.

Her lips are pressed lovingly against my clit. Again, in her low, soft voice, deeper and huskier this time, “You’re beautiful.”

The room spins as her lips and tongue dance over the sensitive skin. I don’t resist. I can’t. I’m grabbing her headboard, trying to stay connected to reality, but feeling it spinning out of my control.

Her fingers are inside me…filling me deep…her mouth is always moving…sucking and licking…

I can’t hold back. I want to.

I want it to last forever.

Pleasure building inside me like a glass being filled. My breath is coming in short gasps as she fucks me, filling me, pussy filling with pleasure until it can’t hold any more.

And it overflows.

I cry out, writhing beneath her as I come.

Deep spasms rippling through me…pleasure radiating out from my very center…her mouth and fingers working every last pulse, every throb, until I’m still.

But I’m not.

Slowly she slides her fingers out of me and I shudder, breathing hard, hands clenching the headboard.

She runs her hands up my arms and I remember to relax, letting my arms down and putting them around her. She is soft and warm beside me, and I taste myself on her as she leans close. I pull her to me and kiss her, tasting my own muskiness.

I am delicious.

I open my eyes and look at her. She is smiling, and she runs her hands lightly over my breasts, making goosebumps rise on my skin.

Tentatively, I touch her.

Her breasts are full and large and I stroke one gently through the thin fabric of her pajama top. Her nipples are hard and large and I tease them, pinching them in my fingertips. She closes her eyes briefly, enjoying the feeling, letting me find my way.

She is so lovely.

I pull the straps down on her cami, letting the fall against her arms. The soft fabric falls away, exposing the creamy tops of her breasts. I pull her to me, kissing them.

Kissing her soft, sweet breasts.

I take her nipple in my mouth…I’m not sure how hard to suck…what feels good.

I start gently, and she arches her back, so I suck harder.

She makes a little sound, and runs her fingers through my hair. I pull, stretching the soft skin and tugging on the hard point.

She moans.

I look at her. She is smiling.

I am doing well, I think.

She answers me with a kiss. This time she is yielding to me, offering herself, and I accept her.


My inexperience hand…my willing hand…slides over her soft curves.

She is beautiful.

“You are beautiful,” I say.

“Shut up,” she says, but she’s smiling.

I slide my hand into her pajama bottoms and feel her soft mound. My finger seeks her slit, and a slight gasp tells me that I’ve found it. I feel her wetness. She is soaked. Her cunt is ripe and full, and I plunge my fingers into her. It feels good, and she cries out. Pleasure. Need.


How hard? How fast? How deep?

Her hand is on mine, guiding me. I don’t need to be gentle.

Firm strokes. Even strokes. Fingers inside.


Her clit is a hard, slick berry beneath my fingers and I work it like a tiny cock. She moans, her hips thrusting against me.

She sets a rhythm and I meet it, plunging into her pussy, making her writhe and buck in my hands.

I suck her nipple into my mouth and she cries out, putting her hand on mine again as her thighs close.

Her glass has overflowed too.

I feel her cunt grip me. Fluttering from deep inside.

Then a slow throb and pulse.

Then a deep breath, and her thighs relax.

Gentle strokes, gently used…wet…musky…spent.

We lie together, not speaking. We kiss. We giggle. Our hands touch each other.