Category Archives: Lesbian Stories

College Roommates Take It Further: Series One

Here’s a sample from the beginning of College Roommates Take It Further: Series One, a new lesbian story by Kathleen S. Molligger. It’s a sexy tale of lust between beautiful young college hotties!

 

Cаthу wаѕ thе ԛuintеѕѕеntiаl соuntrу girl. Shе grеw uр оn a horse fаrm in thе rural parts оf Kentucky. Cathy’s mоm раѕѕеd аwау frоm brеаѕt саnсеr whеn Cаthу wаѕ оnlу fivе. Overall Cаthу had a hарру сhildhооd. Shе couldn’t deny, though, that she rеаllу miѕѕеd having a mоm. Cаthу and her dаd wеrе close, but thеrе wеrе girly thingѕ ѕhе miѕѕеd оut оn ѕinсе hеr mоm had раѕѕеd.

Bеing a tоmbоу came nаturаllу tо Cаthу, еѕресiаllу living оn a horse fаrm with hеr single fаthеr. When ѕhе wаѕ оn thе farm, she wаѕ really vеrу соntеnt and happy. Thеrе were timеѕ, thоugh, fоr nо reason аt аll ѕhе wоuld juѕt long for hеr mom, аnd ѕhе wished ѕhе knew hоw tо dо the girlу thingѕ thаt саmе ѕо nаturаllу to оthеr girls.

Frоm the timе she wаѕ ѕmаll hеr dаd wоuld tаkе her hоrѕеbасk riding оn thе hillѕidе beside thеir fаrm. He gаvе her a filly whеn ѕhе turned thirtееn, and it was hеr responsibility tо саrе for her аnd tо trаin her. Cathy fеll in lоvе with thе littlе horse immеdiаtеlу аnd nаmеd hеr Rоѕе. Shе spent every waking moment оutѕidе оf hеr ѕсhооl rеѕроnѕibilitiеѕ саring fоr Rоѕе. Shе was rеѕроnѕiblе for muсking out the ѕtаllѕ and making ѕurе thеrе was frеѕh hау fоr hеr. Shе lоvеd brushing her mane and her tail. Shе wоuld fееd hеr оаtѕ, green apples, and саrrоtѕ. She loved thе way Rose would nuzzlе her nоѕе in hеr раlm when she fed hеr.

Cаthу wаѕ a ѕhу kid аnd a bit аwkwаrd аrоund her classmates аt ѕсhооl, ѕо Rоѕе rеаllу bесаmе her bеѕt friеnd. Anу timе Cаthу hаd a rоugh dау, ѕhе would соnfidе hеr thоughtѕ to Rose. Rоѕе wоuld just liѕtеn tо Cathy quietly while ѕhе confessed hеr thoughts, and Rоѕе never judgеd hеr. In thе afternoons Cаthу would tаkе Rose fоr wаlkѕ in the pasture. Aѕ Rоѕе grеw ѕtrоngеr, Cаthу trаinеd hеr hоw tо ассерt a ѕаddlе аnd rаinѕ. Onсе ѕhе wаѕ trаinеd, Cаthу was аblе to tаkе hеr for ridеѕ in thе аftеrnооnѕ.

Cаthу аnd Rose grеw uр tоgеthеr. So when it came time tо dесidе whаt univеrѕitу tо аttеnd, Cаthу didn’t wаnt tо mоvе tоо far frоm hоmе. Shе loved thе hоrѕе farm, and ѕhе wаntеd tо bе able tо gо hоmе оn wееkеndѕ tо see hеr dаd аnd Rose. Cаthу earned an асаdеmiс scholarship to the Univеrѕitу of Kentucky, and ѕhе wаѕ thrillеd thаt thе univеrѕitу wаѕ so сlоѕе tо the hоmе ѕhе loved ѕо muсh.

Molly wаѕ a city girl with a lаrgе fаmilу frоm Atlаntа. She loved еvеrуthing about thе city. Shе lоvеd thе lightѕ аnd the nоiѕе. She loved bеing аblе tо gо ѕее рrоfеѕѕiоnаl bаѕkеtbаll, bаѕеbаll оr football gаmеѕ with hеr family on any given wееkеnd. Shе lоvеd the vаriеtу оf people thаt ѕhе еnсоuntеrеd dаilу in this соѕmороlitаn area.

Shе аttеndеd a lаrgе high ѕсhооl with kids оf аll races, nationalities, bасkgrоundѕ, rеligiоnѕ, orientations, аnd ѕuсh. Molly dеfinеd thе wоrd еxtrоvеrt. She loved реорlе, аnd ѕhе always had a grеаt number аnd vаriеtу оf friеndѕ. Whеrеvеr ѕhе wеnt, ѕhе rоѕе to thе top and bесаmе a lеаdеr.

Molly аlwауѕ hаd a vаriеtу of intеrеѕtѕ, but hеr favorite wаѕ basketball. Hеr mоm had bееn a соllеgе bаѕkеtbаll ѕtаr аt thе Univеrѕitу оf Kеntuсkу, аnd ѕhе inѕtillеd thе lоvе of thе ѕроrt in Molly from the timе she wаѕ уоung. She hаd been the сарtаin of both hеr juniоr varsity аnd vаrѕitу girlѕ’ bаѕkеtbаll tеаmѕ.

Molly wаѕ a bright girl, and she rеаllу tried to рау аttеntiоn in ѕсhооl. However, hеr mind always ѕееmеd to find its way bасk tо ѕоmе ѕосiаl event ѕhе wаѕ attending оr basketball. She was аblе tо mаkе B’ѕ аll thе wау thrоugh high school, but ѕhе knеw ѕhе соuld hаvе gоttеn A’ѕ if ѕhе hаd аррliеd hеrѕеlf a bit mоrе. Shе wanted tо make gооd grаdеѕ, bесаuѕе ѕhе wаѕ dеtеrminеd tо еаrn an athletic scholarship tо the Univеrѕitу оf Kentucky.

Molly was есѕtаtiс whеn ѕhе fоund оut in the fаll of hеr senior year that she hаd еаrnеd hеr рrizеd athletic scholarship tо UK, аnd she wоuld bе in the starting linеuр оf the wоmеn’ѕ Wild Cats basketball tеаm. Hеr раrеntѕ соuldn’t have been more рrоud, еѕресiаllу her mоm. Shе рlаѕtеrеd photos of Molly аll over hеr ѕосiаl mеdiа раgе, аnd ѕhе brаggеd tо аll hеr friends about Molly fоllоwing in hеr footsteps.

Bоth Cathy аnd Molly grаduаtеd frоm high school in the ѕрring оf 2006, and they made their individuаl plans tо attend thе University of Kentucky in the fall. Thе girlѕ received thеir wеlсоmе lеttеrѕ аnd frеѕhmаn orientation расkеtѕ that Julу, which соntаinеd ѕсhооl policy infоrmаtiоn, information аbоut thеir dоrmѕ, аnd thе nаmе оf thеir rооmmаtе and their ѕсhооl email address.

Cаthу’ѕ firѕt thоught wаѕ what a сооl name “Molly” wаѕ. Bеing a nаturаllу ѕhу wоmаn, ѕhе wаѕ a bit nеrvоuѕ аbоut rооming with another woman whоm she hаd not уеt mеt. So the firѕt thing she did was tо mаkе sure she соuld log into the ѕсhооl’ѕ intrаnеt site and access hеr school email. Shе thоught it be mоrе соmfоrtаblе if ѕhе соntасtеd Molly ahead оf timе and gоt tо knоw hеr a bit before сlаѕѕеѕ ѕtаrtеd аt thе еnd of August. She ѕеnt Molly ѕоmе infоrmаtiоn аbоut hеrѕеlf, pictures оf her dаd аnd her horse Rоѕе, аnd ѕhе lеt her knоw ѕhе was lооking forward tо mееting her in реrѕоn. She hit ѕеnd оn her еmаil, аnd hореd she would hear bасk from Molly ѕооn.

Aѕ soon as Molly received her wеlсоmе расkеt, ѕhе riрреd intо it еxсitеdlу! She соuldn’t wаit tо bе a Wild Cаt! It was all she hаd thought аbоut in high school, аnd nоw her drеаm wаѕ bесоming a reality. Shе соuldn’t wait tо find out whiсh dоrm ѕhе was in, аnd whо hеr rооmmаtе wоuld bе. She rеаllу hореd it wоuld be someone niсе with whоm ѕhе соuld become good friеndѕ. Bеing a true еxtrоvеrt, friends wеrе vеrу imроrtаnt tо hеr. Shе thought Cаthу was ѕuсh a cool nаmе for a girl.

Lesbian Love and Lust in the City Beauty Salon

Here’s a new sample chapter, from Lesbian Love and Lust in the City Beauty Salon, an outrageous new story from Kathleen S. Molligger.

It was her first full day of work in almost a year, and Cynda was overjoyed. After many months of struggling to get a few hours here and there, she now had a chair of her own at the City Beauty Salon downtown. That wasn’t the highest-class salon around, but it was enough — it would get her a foot in the door. With that foot, she could soon get a job with one of the fancier places, if she did alright here.

She hadn’t told anyone she was a lesbian. She wasn’t in the closet, but she hadn’t mentioned it to her new coworkers. They had asked if she had a boyfriend, which she denied — that was accurate, if misleading — but no one had mentioned any curiosity they had about her sexuality.

Cynda was not too surprised. No one ever expected her to be a lesbian because she wore sexy, stylish clothes and makeup; she smiled; she had an array of colorful and uncomfortable shoes. Even she had to admit that the stereotype of the frumpy lesbian had a basis in reality; that’s why she was so lucky to find Annabelle.

Speak of the devil, Cynda thought as she saw Annabelle approaching the salon. Her smile brightened at the prospect of seeing her long-term committed girlfriend. They had had some problems recently, but Cynda was confident they had worked through them; Annabelle had agreed to remain Cynda’s “roommate” for the time being, even though Annabelle hated being in the closet. Cynda didn’t love either, but she couldn’t risk her career. Despite the liberal nature of the salon industry, a lot of employers (and customers) didn’t think lesbians were capable of making a woman look attractive to men.

Her smiled dampened when Annabelle got closer and opened the door. She was angry. She was much more angry than a roommate — this was obviously lover’s rage, not an upset roomie. Everything moved in slow motion, but it was clear to Cynda that everyone here was about to realize she was a lesbian.

“Annabelle-!”

“You shut your dirty mouth! I put up with so much bullshit from you!” Annabelle screamed so loud she rattled the photos and framed cosmetology licenses on the walls. The entire salon fell totally silent, everyone’s eyes following Annabelle’s gaze to see who she was looking at: Cynda.

“Annabelle, I don’t know what-“

“You know exactly what!” Annabelle yelled. “Linda.” She paused, waiting for Cynda to respond. “Linda. Linda. Linda. Linda. Linda-“

“Don’t just say Linda, I don’t know what that means-“

“Bullshit! That is ten flavors of bullshit all wrapped up in one chocolate wrapper, Cynda, but guess what? I can still taste bullshit!” Annabelle screamed. “She showed me a photo. You two were making out at Christmas last year — after we moved in together — and you didn’t dump her because she was lazy, you dumped her because she refused to come out of the closet to her parents! You dumped her because she refused to come out! You dumped her for that!”

All Cynda could think to say was, “Oh.” She had almost forgotten about that drunken Christmas indiscretion, and she didn’t see coming out to one’s parents as the same as coming out to one’s coworkers, especially after three years of unemployment. But it was obvious that Annabelle had reached a firm conclusion about the importance of these issues, and Cynda knew there was no point in trying to reason with her now.

A few murmurs erupted among the staff and clientele. The rumors were already flying, Cynda thought. She heard someone say I knew she was a lesbian! and felt a twinge of disappointment that she hadn’t succeeded at presenting a heterosexual facade. That made this argument pointless, as Cynda would have been outed regardless.

“Annabelle, we can work this out-“

“No, we can’t. I’ve already moved my stuff out, Cynda. I’m gone. This is it. It’s over.” Annabelle took a deep breath. She opened the door back out to the street, then turned around and addressed the other gaping-mouthed women who watched her. “By the way,” Annabelle said, “Cynda is a total dyke. You should…. I dunno, throw Bibles at her skanky ass.”

The door slammed shut behind her. Cynda was floored and unable to respond. Everything had been going so well, she had thought, they had worked through their issues, or almost all of them. It wasn’t fair to take something from a year ago, some little eggnog-inspired necking, and turn it into the biggest issue since gay marriage. Nothing serious had happened with Linda (who had the personality and sex appeal of a dead flounder — there had never been any chance of a relationship there).

Applause and some scattered laughter hit the salon, and everyone looked at Cynda as they clapped. There were broad smiles, and some knowing grins — most of them were trying to imply that they supported Cynda despite being a lesbian; a few were trying to make it look like they had suspected all along; only one, an elderly woman with a pruney face, appeared judgmental and disapproving. They all thought her embarrassment was hilarious though; that delight in the misfortune of another appeared to be universal.

But it was Kassandra, a new cosmetologist, young, with a pretty face and blue streaks in her hair, who took Cynda by the hand. She led her into the back room. Cynda felt rooted to the spot, but Kassandra pulled her away from salon-full of staring eyes.

“There, there, it’s okay. You can do better than her anyway,” Kassandra said. “I don’t even know her and I could tell that. Her hair was like a knot of writhing greased-up snakes, and she had all the fashion sense of a dead walrus, sweetheart.”

Cynda felt like laughing — Kassandra had compared her to a dead walrus just moments after Cynda compared Lynda to a dead flounder (in her mind); apparently it’s a day for dead sea-creature analogies, she thought. She and Kassandra actually had a great deal in common, and a similar sense of humor, which was surprising given their age difference. Cynda coughed, and she felt an instinctual urge to defend Annabelle. “She’s actually very fashionable. I think she just threw on whatever she could find because she was mad and she wanted to come yell at me, and she probably forgot I bought her that blouse last year when we were in Seattle and-“ Cynda had no idea she was going to burst into tears until she did. She just realized she was babbling and felt embarrassed, so she stopped talking, then the tears flowed like wine as though her words had been the cork.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’ll find someone new, probably sooner than you think,” Kassandra said. She hugged Cynda, who felt silly — Kassandra was like nineteen; Cynda was almost forty. She shouldn’t be receiving emotional succor from a child. Kassandra kissed her on the cheek. “And I’m new here, but I don’t think anyone out there is going to freak out that you’re a lesbian. They’re surprised, y’know, since you wear makeup and you don’t buy your shoes on an oil rig.”

Cynda giggled a little at that. Annabelle had always made fun of her fancy shoes as well, though they weren’t even all that fancy — for a lesbian, they might as well have been Cinderella’s slippers, but lesbians have a subconscious habit of competing on how unsexy their shoes are, so any attempt to wear something pretty made her look like a Disney princess in comparison. Cynda felt a little better; it was nice that Kassandra tried to make her feel good, even if she wasn’t effective, it was gratifying to know that someone was willing to try.

Kassandra looked at her watch. “Come on. We’re both off soon, right? Lacy will let us go home early if you pretend to be crying and I am supportive. I’ll take you out for a drink. We’ll go to a hetero bar so you won’t run into any of your lesbian pals, and we’ll get to be stuck-up bitches to all the guys who hit on us.”

That sounded surprisingly appealing. Cynda had never enjoyed being hit on by guys, but she had a feeling being an absolute bitch with Kassandra would be fun. On the other hand, she didn’t want to lose out on tips today.

But Kassandra was hot too. Was she flirting? She smiled at Cynda in an almost-flirtatious way. Cynda hadn’t thought of that until she saw Kassandra bat her eyes a little. Am I not the only secret lesbian here? She was too nervous to ask, so she just nodded her head.

“Okay, wait here, I’ll tell Lacy you’re crying and want to go home but you’ll see too many reminders of her there, so I’m going to take you back to my place.”

“I can’t cry on command,” Cynda said.

“You don’t have to, darling,” Kassandra said with a smile. “Just sniffle a lot and pretend you’re holding back tears. That’s much easier than crying because it’s supposed to look fake.”

She hadn’t thought that she could forget Annabelle. They had been together for a year and a half — which was a decade in lesbian years — so Cynda had to struggle to remember what her life was like before Annabelle. What had she done for fun? Had she ever enjoyed going out to bars, especially straight bars?

This didn’t seem like the kind of thing she would enjoy if it weren’t for Kassandra. She was the center of attention from the moment she walked through the door, screaming to a trio of punk-rock white girls in the corner. They squealed and ran to her, and the foursome giggled incessantly as they hugged hello.

“This is my friend, Cynda,” Kassandra said. “She just got dumped by this skanky broad.” They all giggled and glanced slyly at Cynda as they realized she was a lesbian; each one seemed to consider for a moment pretending to be bisexual, but then decided not to. Cynda wondered if that was because she wasn’t hot enough. Kassandra saw Cynda’s uncomfortable reaction and thought she was upset about Kassandra calling her ex a skanky broad. Kassandra smiled a bitchy grin. “Sorry, sweetheart, I’m sure she has good qualities too. But I saw her. I saw her face, and that was the face of a skanky bitch if I ever seen one. You can do light-years better than her.”

“You’re gorgeous, I love your hair,” said one of the white girls.

Cynda smiled. She knew the white girls’ sympathetic cooing was patronizing — they wanted to have a black lesbian friend — but it still did make her feel better. She was a catch, after all, and Annabelle was no prize. Cynda had never felt she loved Annabelle as much as Annabelle loved her.

“Here come the shots! We need more though,” said another one of the white girls as a waitress brought them a tray of shot glasses. “We’ve increased both in number and lesbianness.” They all laughed together.

Cynda took all three shots at the white girls’ urging. They said she needed it more than they did, which was probably accurate. Cynda hadn’t taken a shot since before Annabelle — she always said that liquor was trashy; nice ladies only drank wine. Cynda hadn’t realized how much she missed it until she drank those shots.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Cynda didn’t want to think about Annabelle any longer. She wasn’t important. She was the past. She downed another shot and ordered french fries — Annabelle’s dislike for fried food be damned! — Cynda suddenly only wanted to have fun. She didn’t care about cost or healthiness or anything else; she just wanted one night of unAnnabelle-like fun.

And that was exactly what she got. She danced with all three of the white girls — dear lord, how is it that no white people can dance? We go to the same schools now! — and Kassandra, whose fruity juvenile perfume aroused Cynda now that it was overlaid by a layer of alcohol-induced sweat and margarita mix. She even danced with a guy before he went off to make out with the sluttier of the white girls.

The next morning, she didn’t remember exactly how she got home. A cab, most likely, she presumed. Kassandra came with her to make sure she got home alright, and then stumbled out towards the door when they got there.

“Oh shit,” Kassandra said, the color draining from her face as they meandered drunkenly to the front door. She had her own house keys in her hand. “I forgot… I ain’t live here.” She burst into uncontrollable laughter, which made Cynda do likewise. She had to sit on the front porch, unable to hold still or concentrate long enough to put her key in the door.

When Cynda heard a neighbor rustle, it sent a chill through her, which erased her drunkenness. She didn’t want the neighbors to complain. So she managed to get her key in the door, which she shoved open.

She had been putting off coming home because she didn’t want to see the house empty without Annabelle’s things. But now that she was drunk, she didn’t even think about it. She noticed the chair was gone from the living room — because it was Annabelle’s — and a few other knickknacks were missing.

“That bitch took my clock,” Cynda said. She growled. There was a spot on the wall where it was obvious a clock had recently been. It was a handmade steampunk clock, absolutely beautiful, and Cynda was pissed to have lost it. True, she had technically bought it for Annabelle, but it was obvious Annabelle had never really liked it. She only took it with it because she knew Cynda liked it, or maybe she just thought she could pawn it for a couple bucks. Either way, Cynda wanted to slap her.

“What?”

“She took my clock!”

Kassandra giggled. “I have no idea what you talking about. You crazy bitch.”

That set off a torrent of laughter from Cynda as well. They had been calling each other a crazy bitch all night. When they finally stopped laughing, Cynda said softly, “You’re the crazy bitch, you crazy bitch,” which set them both off all over again.

At last she stopped giggling. Kassandra was still going; she had such a young, immature laugh, it reminded Cynda of high school, when she had still been trying to convince herself she found men attractive. That was how she had laughed when she was trying to flirt with men.

Cynda was so intent on listening to Kassandra’s laugh, laying dizzily on the couch, that she was shocked when Kassandra kissed her. It felt strange, sexy and shocking all at once. Then her tongue slid into Cynda’s mouth, and it was like slipping into a newly-tailored dress.

She wrapped her hands around Kassandra’s back, feeling her solid bones and muscles writhe at her touch. Cynda kissed her back, and gripped her solid body.

“I want you so bad,” Kassandra said. “I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you. I assumed you were straight…”

“Likewise,” Cynda said softly. She shouldn’t be surprised, she thought — Kassandra was precisely the kind of young woman who would be openly bisexual, if not outright lesbian. Cynda might have been dubious that either orientation was real and not just a plea for attention, but in this moment, she didn’t care about that. She just wanted to feel every inch of Kassandra’s body. “You ever been with a woman?”

Kassandra blushed. “Just once,” she said.

Cynda kissed her, looking deep into her dark eyes. Then she moved her mouth down Kassandra’s petite chin to her delicate, smooth neck. Kassandra arched her back as Cynda sucked on her skin there.

She hadn’t even noticed them both taking their clothes off — how had that happened? How long had they been making out? Cynda giggled. She had no idea, but she was satisfied. She had never been this horny, she thought as she sucked on each of Kassandra’s nipples.

Then she moved on to her pussy. Cynda normally hated the word pussy, but when she had sex, it was the only word she could think of. She plunged her tongue into Kassandra’s smooth crevice, smiling as Kassandra suddenly arched her back. Cynda definitely believed she had never been serviced by an experienced lesbian before, judging from her shocked reaction.

With Annabelle, Cynda had never been satisfied just being fingered, but this time, she felt okay with that — she liked spending all of her attention on making Kassandra’s lesbian experience as wonderful as possible — Kassandra inexpertly reached down to her pussy. Her finger came into contact with Cynda’s clit, and she moaned as it sprang into excitement.

Despite the awkwardness of Kassandra’s fingering, or maybe even because of it, Cynda became fully aroused. The inconsistent rhythm and uncomfortable feeling of her finger reminded Cynda that Kassandra was not a real lesbian, and probably not even really bisexual.

Meanwhile Cynda’s own tongue plunged deep into her pussy, then came out and rubbed a little circle over the clit. Cynda moaned into Kassandra’s body as she felt Kassandra stiffen. An orgasm overwhelmed her, and Cynda’s own climax washed over her body.

They both writhed together, Kassandra squealing as her pussy clamped down on Cynda’s tongue and Kassandra’s own fingers furiously flicked at Cynda’s impassioned clit.

Then they both fell limp and sweaty onto the couch. Cynda was even dizzier, and it was all she could do to lean her head back. Her mind raced with things she could maybe say to Kassandra, but she didn’t actually want to say any of those things.

In any case, by the time she thought she actually had the energy and focus to say anything at all to her, it was too late. Kassandra was sound asleep, and Cynda could feel herself slowly passing out.

In no time, they were both firmly unconscious in each other’s arms.

Sapphic Embrace: The Gangsta Bitch

This is a sample chapter from Sapphic Embrace: The Gangsta Bitch, a story by Kathleen S. Molligger.

Sally wanted to cry. It had all happened so fast: Tom dumped her, declared bankruptcy and moved to Canada. Before she knew it, everything she had known in her entire adult life was done. She made enough from her job as a dental receptionist to pay the bills — or so she hoped — but she had been with Tom since she was fifteen. She had never paid a bill. She had never found a place to live. She had never signed up for cable or a cell phone plan.

When she did the math, it turned out that her income did not support the lifestyle she thought it would. Her only option in the short-term was a crappy apartment in a sketchy neighborhood, such a shitty place to live that she cried when she picked up the keys from the landlord.

But she was determined not to fall apart. That was what Tom would have given as a reason, if he were brave enough to stick around and be asked — he’d say he had to leave because he couldn’t handle seeing her struggle on her own. She didn’t want to prove him right by giving up. So she moved in to the bare apartment and spent her first night on a mattress on the floor. The next day she spent most of her limited funds on necessary food and toiletries, then got back to her new place just after dark.

“Hey, baby, wuzzup?” said a man who hung out near her building’s front stoop. He was tall and black, with cornrows and one shining gold tooth, with colorful clothes and glittery jewelry. “You lookin’ good, sweetheart. You wanna come out tonight?”

Sally’s heart thumped as one of his buddies flashed a menacing glare at her. She shifted her groceries to one hand to open the door, but then the man with cornrows held the door for her. “No…” She said, “No thanks.”

He slapped her on the ass and grinned. “You don’t wanna take a ride on the C-Train?” He pointed to his crotch and she gathered C-Train was his name. “Cuz I bet you do. The C-Train takes you where you wanna go. Pretty girls like you always come around in the end. I be there when you ready, baby. I’ll make you ready.”

“Get the fuck out of here, C-Train,” said an unfamiliar voice, a woman. “That overgrown clit you call a cock can’t even satisfy your own hand, much less this very nice white lady.”

Sally saw a young black woman, short, with long hair and vibrantly colored fingernails. She wore a jean jacket over a revealing top, her plentiful bosom clearly visible. Her face was pretty but rough, with a sneer that looked permanent. She was coming from the street and going into the same building as Sally.

“Oh come on, Dee, she ain’t a dyke.” C-Train said. “Lookit that ass. Dykes don’t have asses like that.”

“What you know about dykes could be written on the back of a very small postage stamp,” Dee said. She took Sally by the arm. “Hell, scratch that, what you know about everything in the world could fit on the back of a medium-sized postage stamp.”

All of the guys burst into laughter, and Sally couldn’t see his face, but she felt certain that C-Train was embarrassed. She was glad to be out of that tense situation and back into her building.

“He’s a fuckwit. Do you have mace or something?”

“No, I-“

“What? Get some, girl,” Dee said. “If he ever starts talking to you again, just mace him and leave. Don’t give him a chance, just do it.”

“Is he really that much of a rapist?”

“No,” Dee said. “He’s not a rapist. He just really deserves to get maced. He’s a piece of shit, baby. My name is Dee.”

“Sally.”

“It’s nice to meetcha Sally. Whatchoo doing in this neighborhood?”

“I just… I broke up with my boyfriend of twelve years. Or… Well, I didn’t break up with him, exactly. He just declared bankruptcy and left the country,” Sally said. She felt tears coming on and tried to hold them back. She didn’t want Dee to see her weeping like a weakling in the hallway. “This was the only place I could find that I could afford on short notice. Or at all, I guess, I can barely afford it at all.”

“Oh sweetheart-“

Dee was interrupted by Sally, who stopped at the door to her apartment and burst into uncontrollable tears. Her face turned bright red, and she shuddered as shame wracked her body. They came into her apartment, and Dee led her to the couch. It was just an old ratty thing that the last tenant had left behind; the landlord offered to put it out on the street, but Sally said no, it wasn’t like she had a better couch of her own.

“I don’t know what to do,” Sally said. “I’ve never lived on my own. I’m sorry, I’m so embarrassed. I probably sound like an idiot.”

“No, not at all,” Dee said. “I know it’s tough. This neighborhood is tough for everyone. But I like you Sally. I’m gonna help you fit in. It won’t be easy, but I think you gonna end up liking it here.”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“If anybody gives you any trouble, you say you’re a friend of Dee’s,” she said. “They’ll leave you alone. Now stop crying. I don’t allow my bitches to cry.”

“Your bitches?”

“Oh hush, not like that kind of bitch. I ain’t the kind of woman who gonna sit here and let you cry on my shoulder, but that don’t mean I don’t care,” Dee said. She stood up and bit her lip. “I just ain’t like that. Now I tol’ you it’ll be okay, and I told you what to do if anyone gives you shit — I mean that, by the way, anyone, gangbangers, cops, hobos, anyone, I got ‘em all in my pocket — and if you wanna survive in this neighborhood, you gotta be the kinda tough bitch who gets through it. So chill the fuck out,” she said and walked out the door. “I’ll come by and check on you later in the week. Stop crying before then.” She slammed the door behind herself.

Sapphic Embrace: The Princess

This is a sample chapter from Sapphic Embrace: The Princess, a new story by Kathleen S. Molligger.
The light blue formal dress Princess Esmerelda wore was uncomfortable. She had on a tight corset underneath, and her hair was done up in an impossibly complex, and tight, woven bow, while her face was plastered with colored clay and berry juice. She felt like a statue of a pretty girl.

But, as much as she hated it, she knew it was important. The Kingdom of Dankdale was facing desolate times, and needed an ally. Prince Martin of Versooth was the only realistic option, and the only realistic way to get him was to make him fall in love with Esmerelda — or at least, something close enough to love for marriage.

It was proving to be a difficult proposition. He was handsome enough, but lanky and skinny, like his bones were too big for his body. And he had a thick mop of foppish hair atop his crude face; every time his bangs fell over his eyes, and he cocked his head to the side to clear his vision, it made Esmerelda want to punch him.

“My dear,” he said, “Your dress is beautiful. It is colored with indigo, is it not? Your people are so clever at dyes.”

“Yes, that’s right. This is indigo, and I do love it as well. It would be worth little were it not for the fine cotton your people produce,” Princess Esmerelda said. “We would be forced to use wool, which is much less pleasant for dressmaking.”

As they continued chatting, Prince Martin asking questions about indigo and Princess Esmerelda answering as politely as she could. She found the whole subject boring to the point of exhaustion.

They were interrupted by an elegant woman in a violet gown made of pure cotton — she was obviously from the Prince’s retinue, Esmerelda thought, though she was of noble bearing, so could not have been a servant or guard. Who was she?

“Princess Esmerelda, allow me to introduce my sister, Princess Wanda, Duchess of Hawthorn Valley and Beyond, Elector in the Imperial House, Landgravine of Snatwick-upon-Able-“

“Oh, hush brother, you don’t need to use all my titles, or any of them really. Nobody cares about the Landgravine of Snatwick,” she said.

“We are representing father’s court!” Prince Martin said. He stomped his feet as though this was an argument they had had, and he had lost, before.

As they continued arguing, Esmerelda got a closer look at Wanda. She looked like a porcelain doll at the moment, dressed up in all of her finery, and with cosmetics over her face. Her skin was powdered white, her lips lusciously red, and she had a vivaciously curvy figure that had been poured into a beautiful violet dress.

“Princess Wanda,” Esmerelda said with a grin, “Your dress is beautiful as well. I can tell it was dyed in our own cloth-houses.”

“Indeed, it was a present from a courtier in your land,” Wanda said.

“A courtier?”

“A man I rejected as unsuitable for me,” Wanda said.

“It is so very hard to find worthwhile men, isn’t it?” Esmerelda said. She glanced at Prince Martin then. He looked at her with horror, as though she wasn’t supposed to be talking about men with his sister.

“There are a dozen eligible bachelors in my retinue,” Martin said. He rolled his eyes. Again, this sounded like an argument he and his sister had had on many occasions before.

“There are a dozen dung-eating truffalumps in your retinue,” Wanda said. “No one wishes to discuss the idiots who follow you around everywhere, Martin. Let Princess Esmerelda and I chat.”

A long silence permeated the threesome. Esmerelda’s mind raced — she was supposed to be meeting Prince Martin tonight, not his sister, but on the other hand, Martin’s qualities were irrelevant; his family was the important part, his father and mother and sisters and brothers, his aunt, his uncle, they were all more important than he was. Esmerelda could better withstand Prince Martin being an idiot if he came with a pleasant sister-in-law.

Prince Martin watched, mouth agape, as Wanda led Esmerelda away. They walked to one corner of the court, where the other nobles wouldn’t be able to overhear.

“We should be able to talk over here,” Wanda said. “It is difficult to hold a conversation when you know that everyone around you is listening and will report every word as though it has the utmost importance.”

“Indeed. There is so much pressure on me tonight to impress your brother, and I don’t even want him to think of me like that-“

“No one does. He’s an idiot, and a poof.”

Esmerelda laughed. “I couldn’t possibly agree with that, at least not out loud.”

“I know.”

Esmerelda blushed as she felt a familiar sensation wash over her: eroticism. She had never been in a fully intimate relationship with a man, or a woman for that matter, but she had spent more than her fair share of time on clandestine sexuality. A more open sexual life was the one aspect of marriage she was looking forward to.

Princess Wanda was so beautiful, with her cosmetic-rosened cheeks and voluptuous body poured into a dress the color of Tyrillian indigo. Images of Wanda’s delicate fingers rubbing every inch of Esmerelda’s body flooded her mind, and she felt her face flush — luckily her own cosmetics covered it up.

“I like you, Esmerelda. Princess Esmerelda,” Wanda said. She bit her lip as though she wanted to say more but didn’t.

“I like you too. I wish I loved your brother,” Esmerelda said. “I hope I do grow to love your brother.”

“Me too.”

Sapphic Embrace: The Biker

Here’s a sample chapter from Sapphic Embrace: The Biker by Kathleen S. Molligger.

 

Men are supposed to hit a mid-life crisis in their forties, and buy an impractical, unsafe vehicle. Lisa was not a man, but on her fortieth birthday, she woke up with the terrible realization that she was lonely. It almost seemed reasonable to buy a sports car. She had never wanted kids, and the thought of raising a child still made her uneasy, so why was her fortieth birthday filling her with dread? She felt like she had wasted her life, but aside from a regrettable marriage that was now over, that wasn’t really true. She had achieved more or less everything she had ever wanted to.

 

So she spent all morning trying to convince herself it was a day like any other. There is nothing special about today, she told herself as she ate breakfast. She had taken the day off work, but now wished she hadn’t. It would be better if she could just go in and get her mind off her inevitable demise.

 

If she was a pre-modern woman, she would have probably died of dysentery or something by now. She would be an old spinster, or maybe would have been burned for being a witch like other childless women.

 

She decided to go for a drive. It was her birthday, she could treat herself to breaking her diet, frivolous spending, whatever she wanted, anything that would get her mind off her age. She felt bad about unnecessary driving due to its effect on the environment, but reasoned that a man would probably have bought a car, which would be much worse, so this was, on the whole, an acceptable way to spend her fortieth birthday.

 

When she told herself she could spend frivolously, she was thinking shoes, maybe a dress, household furnishings, a new laptop. But somehow, a little after noon, she found herself stopping at a motorcycle dealership.

 

She told herself it was just for fun, to see what it was like. She took one for a spin around the track there at the shop, and discovered she loved the thrill of power rumbling between her legs. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, more exciting even than bungee jumping, she thought, and that had seemed life-altering at the time.

 

Much to her surprise, she drove away with that motorcycle thrumming away beneath her. Years of diligent credit score management had paid off. She arranged for her car to be delivered back to her house, then went out to continue the ride on her brand-new motorcycle.

 

Even on a dangerous thrill-ride like this, Lisa remained practical. She knew she was new to motorcycling, so she drove well below the speed limit, stopped early and often, and pulled over whenever a car started driving behind her.

 

Where to drive a motorcycle on its maiden voyage? She couldn’t decide on a place to go. The more she thought about it, the more Lisa realized it was a bad purchase. So she made up her mind to go somewhere she never went, somewhere she could stop thinking about this awful, financially foolish decision.

 

She couldn’t believe she had talked herself into going to that biker bar in Norfolk. For one thing, she didn’t like bars. For another thing, she wasn’t a biker. For a third thing, the only reason she even knew where it was was because it had been in the news lately as the scene of a double-stabbing.

 

Outside were a group of tough men in black leather, adorned with stylized blue roses and crude patches. The news had said the murders were linked to the Blue Rose motorcycle gang, so the sight of those crudely sewn azure roses on their jackets made her spine shiver.

 

When she walked in, she felt conspicuous. They weren’t all staring at her but she had a feeling they were watching her closely. She considered leaving, but she didn’t want this trip to be a failure. She could at least get through one drink, she thought as she sit at a small corner table.

 

The waitress was a flouncy, trashy type, and Lisa surreptitiously wiped off the glass of beer with a disinfectant wipe before drinking from it. But the cheap beer felt real and made her feel alive. She felt like she could do anything.

 

She finished her beer and considered whether she should stay for another. It still seemed like the men of the bar — almost all of the patrons were men, wearing leather jackets with crude patches, amateur tattoos covering their bodies and, sometimes, faces — were all watching her. It must have been obvious she didn’t belong here. It would have been flattering if it weren’t frightening and a little insulting, as though they thought she wasn’t going to be able to handle herself in a place like this.

 

“You lookin’ to get gangbanged by these goatfuckers tonight?” asked a gruff woman’s voice. Lisa was startled to see a curvy, athletic-looking woman sit down near her.

 

“Uh… No, definitely not.”

 

“Then you might wanna pretend you’re on a date with me,” she said. “My name’s Kendra, and they all know I’m a lesbian.”

 

“Oh… Okay,” Lisa said. “I’m not a lesbian. Not that there’s anything wrong that.”

 

“That’s okay, I’m not looking to get laid either. That’s the nice thing about women: we’re not always looking for sex,” Kendra said.

 

“Am I… safe here?”

 

Kendra shrugged. “No. You ain’t safe anywhere in this world, sweetheart.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Lemme buy you a drink. What was that, beer?” Kendra peered in Lisa’s empty glass. “You need to grow a clit, lady. Two whiskeys!” She called out to the bartender. “Make ‘em Canadian, make ‘em rye.” Kendra smiled at Lisa. “I’m technically Canadian.”

 

“Oh, wow a Canadian lesbian? That must be tough,” Lisa said with a giggle.

 

Kendra laughed too, then made a mean face at a biker who was approaching their table. “Get away, Gearbox.”

 

“Oh, is she a dyke?” asked the man.

 

“Her orientation is none of your business,” Kendra said, “But I’ll tell you what she’s not: interested in anything covered in grease and prison tats.”

 

Gearbox grumbled away, upset but embarrassed by his friends, who laughed at Kendra’s words. Lisa smiled at her, wishing she could come up with witty retorts like that.

 

“Thanks,” Lisa said.

 

“You wanna get out of here?” Kendra asked. She had to raise her voice to be heard. “It’s only gonna get louder and more crowded with guys tryin’ to hit on you.”

 

Lisa nodded. She was glad to be getting out of the bar, away from those eyes she could still feel roving up her backside as she followed Kendra out.

 

“You got a car?” Kendra asked, nodding to the small line of parked cars. There were many times more motorcycles filling up the gravel lot.

 

Lisa shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, but I didn’t drive it here. I drove that.” She pointed to the motorcycle. “I just bought it today.” She felt like an idiot, like she had revealed herself as a poseur and not a real biker.

 

“Today? No shit. That’s your first bike?”

 

Lisa nodded.

 

Kendra whistled as she looked over the bike. “She’s pretty. I could dive down that muffler,” she said, looking up at Lisa as though making a joke. It must have been an automotive joke, Lisa thought, because she didn’t get it. She laughed politely.

 

“Come on, I got a couple of beginner’s guides to motorcycles, basic mechanics and stuff, I don’t need ‘em anymore. You wanna come back to my place and get ‘em?” Kendra said. “You drive, I’ll ride. Maybe I can give you some tips as we go.”

 

Lisa agreed, though she was sure she’d humiliate herself on the ride. Kendra was obviously an expert, and she began talking before Lisa even drove away. She spoke about the parts of the motorcycle, the sounds it made, how the brakes worked, what might go wrong with it and how to fix it, the history of the Makasuki Automobile Corporation, everything. Between the sound and the wind and her concentration on driving the bike, Lisa couldn’t hear most of what Kendra said, and most of what she did hear was so jargon-laden, she didn’t get it. But she nodded as though she did, and Kendra didn’t seem to notice her ignorance.

 

They pulled to a stop on a barren street-corner in a rough corner of town. Kendra pointed to a townhouse right next to them. “That’s my place,” she said. “Let’s go in. You can put your bike in the backyard.”

 

Her home was spartan and gave few clues to her life. Lisa still felt horny from the powerful motorcycle beneath her feet. Her body was trembling with remnant vibrations, phantomic energy pounding through her body. She was glad her ex-husband wasn’t around, because she would feel tempted to abandon her anger and jump all over him if he were in front of her. She wanted to have sex more at this moment than at any point in her life, even her wedding night (which had been a disappointment, to be honest).

 

Kendra brought her a bottle of beer, dark, rich and bitter, just as Lisa had always expected and hated beer to taste. But this time she agreed to drink it, didn’t complain and even somehow managed to like it a little bit. It was a difficult flavor, but it played well on her tongue, which danced a lively jig in her mouth.

 

“So what did you think? Of your first day riding?” Kendra asked as she sat down next to Lisa.

 

“Oh, it was wonderful! It was like I, uh, I had n…never really, y’know, never been free, or any more free than that, than I was on the bike,” Lisa said, stumbling over her words as she tried to explain what was so great about it. She felt awkward about her stuttering, and then even more awkward when she thought Kendra might be hitting on her. She was so unused to lesbians it hadn’t even occurred to her that Kendra might see this outing as a date. She had agreed to come back to the home of a stranger! A lesbian! How could she have done that? She was so worried about the men taking advantage of her that she hadn’t noticed this lesbian seducing her. Lisa giggled despite her anxiety. “I loved the feeling of the motorcycle beneath my legs, like it’s an extension of my body.” She wanted to say something about it feeling like an orgasming cock between her legs, but she didn’t want to say that in front of Kendra.

 

“That’s right.” Kendra grinned. “Not that your body needs extending.” Kendra’s eyes roamed up and down Lisa’s frame. Lisa would have felt uncomfortable if it was a man, but Kendra was so kind and so thoughtful, Lisa was instead proud. Should she be more awkward? After all, lesbians could be manipulative and dangerous too. (Couldn’t they? She didn’t really know, but presumably, yes!)

 

When Kendra reached for Lisa’s shoulder, Lisa again felt she should stop this. Kendra was obviously seeing this as a date, she decided, so it has to end. Lisa was not a lesbian. She tried to remind herself of that fact, but couldn’t even remember what the other option was as Kendra leaned in closer.

 

Kendra’s soft, wide lips planted on Lisa’s, and she forgot all about her heterosexuality. The kiss was more passionate and more intense than any man’s kiss she had ever experienced, and it made her heart flutter like she was about to have a heart attack.

 

Lisa’s hands moved up to Kendra’s body without Lisa even thinking about it, as though they were moving of their own accord. In seconds, Kendra’s shirt was off, revealing her strong, athletic frame and a plain white bra. Kendra’s plump breasts burst from their wire frame as Lisa took off her own shirt.

 

She had never had lesbian sex. She didn’t even know what lesbians did during sex. She could only guess in her mind as to what lesbian sex constituted. But as she got into the swing of moving with Kendra, her body seemed to know what to do anyway.

 

They were both naked. Kendra’s fingers crept down to Lisa’s pussy, and her thumb planted itself squarely on Lisa’s clit. Lisa moaned, a deep, low and slow sound that seemed to echo in the tiny room.

 

Her own hand did likewise, and she felt Kendra’s moist and hot body surrounding her. All Lisa paid attention to was the feel of Kendra’s mouth on hers; it was as though they were becoming one person, just a pair of mouths with bodies attached, hungrily devouring each other’s flesh.

 

Lisa contorted around Kendra’s fingers as she reached her climax. She arched her back and even dug her nails into Kendra’s back, drawing a few drops of blood before she backed off.

 

They collapsed into a sweaty heap on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Lisa’s mind reeled with confusion at what she had just gone through. It blew her mind that sex with a woman could be so passionate and incredible. The idea always seemed rather dull to her — the penetration was the best part of sex, who wanted to do just tongue and hand stuff?! — But this was more incredible and mind-blowing than any penis-based interaction had ever been.

 

“Well, thanks,” Kendra said, “I really needed that. I ain’t been laid in some time.”

 

Lisa’s heart fell. She knew this wasn’t a real relationship, but it hadn’t occurred to her that a committed lesbian like Kendra probably saw this as a silly one-night stand, barely even a sexual encounter at all. Had what they did been enough to even technically qualify as sex? Or just advanced foreplay. Lisa didn’t know, and she didn’t want Kendra to know what she was thinking.

 

“Yeah,” Lisa said. “That was nice.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Men are supposed to hit a mid-life crisis in their forties, and buy an impractical, unsafe vehicle. Lisa was not a man, but on her fortieth birthday, she woke up with the terrible realization that she was lonely. It almost seemed reasonable to buy a sports car. She had never wanted kids, and the thought of raising a child still made her uneasy, so why was her fortieth birthday filling her with dread? She felt like she had wasted her life, but aside from a regrettable marriage that was now over, that wasn’t really true. She had achieved more or less everything she had ever wanted to.

 

So she spent all morning trying to convince herself it was a day like any other. There is nothing special about today, she told herself as she ate breakfast. She had taken the day off work, but now wished she hadn’t. It would be better if she could just go in and get her mind off her inevitable demise.

 

If she was a pre-modern woman, she would have probably died of dysentery or something by now. She would be an old spinster, or maybe would have been burned for being a witch like other childless women.

 

She decided to go for a drive. It was her birthday, she could treat herself to breaking her diet, frivolous spending, whatever she wanted, anything that would get her mind off her age. She felt bad about unnecessary driving due to its effect on the environment, but reasoned that a man would probably have bought a car, which would be much worse, so this was, on the whole, an acceptable way to spend her fortieth birthday.

 

When she told herself she could spend frivolously, she was thinking shoes, maybe a dress, household furnishings, a new laptop. But somehow, a little after noon, she found herself stopping at a motorcycle dealership.

 

She told herself it was just for fun, to see what it was like. She took one for a spin around the track there at the shop, and discovered she loved the thrill of power rumbling between her legs. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, more exciting even than bungee jumping, she thought, and that had seemed life-altering at the time.

 

Much to her surprise, she drove away with that motorcycle thrumming away beneath her. Years of diligent credit score management had paid off. She arranged for her car to be delivered back to her house, then went out to continue the ride on her brand-new motorcycle.

 

Even on a dangerous thrill-ride like this, Lisa remained practical. She knew she was new to motorcycling, so she drove well below the speed limit, stopped early and often, and pulled over whenever a car started driving behind her.

 

Where to drive a motorcycle on its maiden voyage? She couldn’t decide on a place to go. The more she thought about it, the more Lisa realized it was a bad purchase. So she made up her mind to go somewhere she never went, somewhere she could stop thinking about this awful, financially foolish decision.

 

She couldn’t believe she had talked herself into going to that biker bar in Norfolk. For one thing, she didn’t like bars. For another thing, she wasn’t a biker. For a third thing, the only reason she even knew where it was was because it had been in the news lately as the scene of a double-stabbing.

 

Outside were a group of tough men in black leather, adorned with stylized blue roses and crude patches. The news had said the murders were linked to the Blue Rose motorcycle gang, so the sight of those crudely sewn azure roses on their jackets made her spine shiver.

 

When she walked in, she felt conspicuous. They weren’t all staring at her but she had a feeling they were watching her closely. She considered leaving, but she didn’t want this trip to be a failure. She could at least get through one drink, she thought as she sit at a small corner table.

 

The waitress was a flouncy, trashy type, and Lisa surreptitiously wiped off the glass of beer with a disinfectant wipe before drinking from it. But the cheap beer felt real and made her feel alive. She felt like she could do anything.

 

She finished her beer and considered whether she should stay for another. It still seemed like the men of the bar — almost all of the patrons were men, wearing leather jackets with crude patches, amateur tattoos covering their bodies and, sometimes, faces — were all watching her. It must have been obvious she didn’t belong here. It would have been flattering if it weren’t frightening and a little insulting, as though they thought she wasn’t going to be able to handle herself in a place like this.

 

“You lookin’ to get gangbanged by these goatfuckers tonight?” asked a gruff woman’s voice. Lisa was startled to see a curvy, athletic-looking woman sit down near her.

 

“Uh… No, definitely not.”

 

“Then you might wanna pretend you’re on a date with me,” she said. “My name’s Kendra, and they all know I’m a lesbian.”

 

“Oh… Okay,” Lisa said. “I’m not a lesbian. Not that there’s anything wrong that.”

 

“That’s okay, I’m not looking to get laid either. That’s the nice thing about women: we’re not always looking for sex,” Kendra said.

 

“Am I… safe here?”

 

Kendra shrugged. “No. You ain’t safe anywhere in this world, sweetheart.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

“Lemme buy you a drink. What was that, beer?” Kendra peered in Lisa’s empty glass. “You need to grow a clit, lady. Two whiskeys!” She called out to the bartender. “Make ‘em Canadian, make ‘em rye.” Kendra smiled at Lisa. “I’m technically Canadian.”

 

“Oh, wow a Canadian lesbian? That must be tough,” Lisa said with a giggle.

 

Kendra laughed too, then made a mean face at a biker who was approaching their table. “Get away, Gearbox.”

 

“Oh, is she a dyke?” asked the man.

 

“Her orientation is none of your business,” Kendra said, “But I’ll tell you what she’s not: interested in anything covered in grease and prison tats.”

 

Gearbox grumbled away, upset but embarrassed by his friends, who laughed at Kendra’s words. Lisa smiled at her, wishing she could come up with witty retorts like that.

 

“Thanks,” Lisa said.

 

“You wanna get out of here?” Kendra asked. She had to raise her voice to be heard. “It’s only gonna get louder and more crowded with guys tryin’ to hit on you.”

 

Lisa nodded. She was glad to be getting out of the bar, away from those eyes she could still feel roving up her backside as she followed Kendra out.

 

“You got a car?” Kendra asked, nodding to the small line of parked cars. There were many times more motorcycles filling up the gravel lot.

 

Lisa shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, but I didn’t drive it here. I drove that.” She pointed to the motorcycle. “I just bought it today.” She felt like an idiot, like she had revealed herself as a poseur and not a real biker.

 

“Today? No shit. That’s your first bike?”

 

Lisa nodded.

 

Kendra whistled as she looked over the bike. “She’s pretty. I could dive down that muffler,” she said, looking up at Lisa as though making a joke. It must have been an automotive joke, Lisa thought, because she didn’t get it. She laughed politely.

 

“Come on, I got a couple of beginner’s guides to motorcycles, basic mechanics and stuff, I don’t need ‘em anymore. You wanna come back to my place and get ‘em?” Kendra said. “You drive, I’ll ride. Maybe I can give you some tips as we go.”

 

Lisa agreed, though she was sure she’d humiliate herself on the ride. Kendra was obviously an expert, and she began talking before Lisa even drove away. She spoke about the parts of the motorcycle, the sounds it made, how the brakes worked, what might go wrong with it and how to fix it, the history of the Makasuki Automobile Corporation, everything. Between the sound and the wind and her concentration on driving the bike, Lisa couldn’t hear most of what Kendra said, and most of what she did hear was so jargon-laden, she didn’t get it. But she nodded as though she did, and Kendra didn’t seem to notice her ignorance.

 

They pulled to a stop on a barren street-corner in a rough corner of town. Kendra pointed to a townhouse right next to them. “That’s my place,” she said. “Let’s go in. You can put your bike in the backyard.”

 

Her home was spartan and gave few clues to her life. Lisa still felt horny from the powerful motorcycle beneath her feet. Her body was trembling with remnant vibrations, phantomic energy pounding through her body. She was glad her ex-husband wasn’t around, because she would feel tempted to abandon her anger and jump all over him if he were in front of her. She wanted to have sex more at this moment than at any point in her life, even her wedding night (which had been a disappointment, to be honest).

 

Kendra brought her a bottle of beer, dark, rich and bitter, just as Lisa had always expected and hated beer to taste. But this time she agreed to drink it, didn’t complain and even somehow managed to like it a little bit. It was a difficult flavor, but it played well on her tongue, which danced a lively jig in her mouth.

 

“So what did you think? Of your first day riding?” Kendra asked as she sat down next to Lisa.

 

“Oh, it was wonderful! It was like I, uh, I had n…never really, y’know, never been free, or any more free than that, than I was on the bike,” Lisa said, stumbling over her words as she tried to explain what was so great about it. She felt awkward about her stuttering, and then even more awkward when she thought Kendra might be hitting on her. She was so unused to lesbians it hadn’t even occurred to her that Kendra might see this outing as a date. She had agreed to come back to the home of a stranger! A lesbian! How could she have done that? She was so worried about the men taking advantage of her that she hadn’t noticed this lesbian seducing her. Lisa giggled despite her anxiety. “I loved the feeling of the motorcycle beneath my legs, like it’s an extension of my body.” She wanted to say something about it feeling like an orgasming cock between her legs, but she didn’t want to say that in front of Kendra.

 

“That’s right.” Kendra grinned. “Not that your body needs extending.” Kendra’s eyes roamed up and down Lisa’s frame. Lisa would have felt uncomfortable if it was a man, but Kendra was so kind and so thoughtful, Lisa was instead proud. Should she be more awkward? After all, lesbians could be manipulative and dangerous too. (Couldn’t they? She didn’t really know, but presumably, yes!)

 

When Kendra reached for Lisa’s shoulder, Lisa again felt she should stop this. Kendra was obviously seeing this as a date, she decided, so it has to end. Lisa was not a lesbian. She tried to remind herself of that fact, but couldn’t even remember what the other option was as Kendra leaned in closer.

 

Kendra’s soft, wide lips planted on Lisa’s, and she forgot all about her heterosexuality. The kiss was more passionate and more intense than any man’s kiss she had ever experienced, and it made her heart flutter like she was about to have a heart attack.

 

Lisa’s hands moved up to Kendra’s body without Lisa even thinking about it, as though they were moving of their own accord. In seconds, Kendra’s shirt was off, revealing her strong, athletic frame and a plain white bra. Kendra’s plump breasts burst from their wire frame as Lisa took off her own shirt.

 

She had never had lesbian sex. She didn’t even know what lesbians did during sex. She could only guess in her mind as to what lesbian sex constituted. But as she got into the swing of moving with Kendra, her body seemed to know what to do anyway.

 

They were both naked. Kendra’s fingers crept down to Lisa’s pussy, and her thumb planted itself squarely on Lisa’s clit. Lisa moaned, a deep, low and slow sound that seemed to echo in the tiny room.

 

Her own hand did likewise, and she felt Kendra’s moist and hot body surrounding her. All Lisa paid attention to was the feel of Kendra’s mouth on hers; it was as though they were becoming one person, just a pair of mouths with bodies attached, hungrily devouring each other’s flesh.

 

Lisa contorted around Kendra’s fingers as she reached her climax. She arched her back and even dug her nails into Kendra’s back, drawing a few drops of blood before she backed off.

 

They collapsed into a sweaty heap on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. Lisa’s mind reeled with confusion at what she had just gone through. It blew her mind that sex with a woman could be so passionate and incredible. The idea always seemed rather dull to her — the penetration was the best part of sex, who wanted to do just tongue and hand stuff?! — But this was more incredible and mind-blowing than any penis-based interaction had ever been.

 

“Well, thanks,” Kendra said, “I really needed that. I ain’t been laid in some time.”

 

Lisa’s heart fell. She knew this wasn’t a real relationship, but it hadn’t occurred to her that a committed lesbian like Kendra probably saw this as a silly one-night stand, barely even a sexual encounter at all. Had what they did been enough to even technically qualify as sex? Or just advanced foreplay. Lisa didn’t know, and she didn’t want Kendra to know what she was thinking.

 

“Yeah,” Lisa said. “That was nice.”

 

 

 

 

Sapphic Embrace: The Housewife

This is a sample chapter from Sapphic Embrace: The Housewife by Kathleen S. Molligger.  It is also available for less than half the cost per story as part of the megapack The Ivory Babe Collection, Vol. 2.

Her lips on my nipples were so soft, so warm and inviting, I moaned, a low deep sound almost like a wail. Lust gushed through my veins like a roaring waterfall, and I felt as though heat and sexual fluids seeped out of me in equal portions, sinking into her body pressing against mine.

Things didn’t work out with Christine. At one point, she had seemed like The One. But then she moved in and I realized all those cute little quirks she had were actually quite annoying. She was so slow and deliberate, as though every action required a thirty-point action plan.

I hated the way she talked and I hated the way she walked, the way she used the phone and did the dishes and washed her clothes. Everything she did grated on me like a stubborn blister, gnawing on my nerves so badly I spent my entire time at home brainstorming excuses to leave without her.

That couldn’t go on forever. I was stressed and tired and I wanted the fighting to be done with. I was humiliated when Betty walked in on Christine and I arguing, and it made me realize that there was no solution to the differences between us. Whether we wanted to admit it or not, we weren’t in love, and weren’t going to be in love again as long as we lived under the same roof.

So I moved out, into a cheap fleabag motel. I expected it to be full of bums and addicts, and I wasn’t totally wrong, but I was glad to see that the handsome young blonde man behind the counter, Todd printed in crooked letters on his nametag, was clean and smartly-dressed. He smiled at me and chatted as I registered, and for a moment I considered trying heterosexuality again. It hadn’t worked out when I was young and trying to please my parents by dating boys, but for just an instant, it seemed possible again, until I realized what I would find inside his pants if I went looking.

The best way to wash Christine out of my mind was to meet some more ladies, I decided. So I put on my sexiest clothes and went out to the Grinding Gulch, where the women thronged like penguins on a glacier, in great big flocks of perfect-looking specimens, so many beautiful ones to choose from.

I talked to virtually every woman there, it seemed, trying to find someone that reminded me of Christine in the good ways. But I’ve always been a choosy person, and it wasn’t until almost midnight that I realized Regina was almost my ideal woman. She was short and lean, like Betty, with kind, round eyes, very unlike Christine’s hard-edged, almost masculine eyes, and soft features, a faintly rounded nose, full lips and a perfectly wide waist. She wasn’t fat but there was plenty for me to grind against as we danced, chatting quietly, whispering in each other’s ears, giggling and pretending we were still trying to decide whether we would leave the nightclub together.

Of course we did leave together a little after midnight. We had both had a few drinks, not enough to be drunk, but enough to giggle a little, to pretend all of our stupid jokes were funny and stumble as we walked down the street to my hotel room.

When we got there, we sat on the bed, suddenly silent and nervous. I had put the TV on to a music channel, classical music with the sound down low. Regina looked at me and said, “We don’t have to do anything, Kathy, if you don’t want to.”

I had a sudden sinking suspicion that Regina didn’t want to sleep with me, that maybe she thought I was attractive back at the dimly-lit club but was now regretting her decision in the bright hotel room. I felt so confused and alone I wanted to be with Betty again.

“I mean… I want to,” Regina said, “But I like you a lot. It’s up to you. I want to see you again either way.”

“Let’s not talk about the future,” I said, not sure what else to say. I still hadn’t made a firm resolution not to go back to Christine. I hated being alone for any length of time. If I didn’t find someone soon, I would probably end up with her again. Or maybe move in with Betty — that idea filled me with hope, but I didn’t think she would ever really leave Jim.

Regina paused. She wanted to get a firm commitment for me, I could tell. But I kept my face stern and stoic, so she knew I wouldn’t budge. There was a better than even chance I would never want to see her again, and I refused to mislead her.

Did she want to risk having a one-night stand? Did she dislike casual sex more than she wanted to get laid tonight?

She made her decision known by leaning forward and kissing me, her tongue pushing past my lips. We curled up together on the couch, my fingers running up and down the side of her belly. I could just make out her ribs with my fingers when she stretched in the opposite direction, and I felt her blood pulsating beneath my touch.

When having sex, I wanted to feel like I did in the good old days with Christine, when we first met in a firestorm of passion and love-at-first sight. But I knew immediately that it wasn’t the same with Regina. She was beautiful, objectively even more beautiful than Christine, but I didn’t have the passion with her that I had with my darling Christine.

Still, when her finger entered me, and her other finger delicately danced atop my clit, all thoughts of Christine fled from my mind. Sure it was lacking in the emotional fervor I loved, but the climactic anticipation coursing through my veins was enough to make me lose control.

I moaned, and Regina smiled, no doubt glad to see me loosening up. I felt a twinge of regret at the thought that I already knew there was little chance we’d see each other again. But I needed a screw, and I was fairly certain she had come to the same conclusion, so regardless of whether we were a perfect match in the long-run, we were the only match for the night.

Her nipples were taut and tight as they dragged across my chest. We had settled onto the wide couch, her on top, me underneath, our lips still interlocked as our bodies explored each other. My feet curled up against my ankles, and my fingers clenched as my own orgasmic tremors began.

My finger finally made its way down and around from her back, and I plunged into the familiar soft texture of pussy. As it always did, I remembered then my earliest sexual exploration, which was clumsy and awkward but now seemed so genuine and earnest in my mind.

Her tongue traveled south as my back arched, and she turned her body around. She wanted to sixty-nine, I realized, and that I was fine with. I always enjoyed that position, but Christine thought it seemed “cheap and tawdry” (tawdry means cheap, Christine!).

I dived into her body, savoring the familiar yet unique flavor of her flesh. She murmured as her own pleasure began, and when her tongue hit me, I crooned like a folk singer. I wrapped my legs around her face, cupping it between my thighs.

Our bodies moved in sync, as though our love-making was choreographed. She rocked as I rolled, and we twitched with every thrust of each other’s tongues deeper and harder into us.

My whole body dissolved into creamy flesh as we both orgasmed at once, our tongues writhing inside each other. In the throes of lust, my foot reached out and almost knocked over the coffee-table, spilling a pile of magazines onto the floor.

We collapsed, laying there on the couch. She was on her side, I on my back, both of us sweaty and blushing a little. I knew she wanted me to make a decision, Should I stay or should I go now?

I sat up, and slowly put my bra and panties back on. Regina stretched, cat-like and said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

As soon as she said that, I knew what I was going to do — leave. I think she realized I was always going to go, that we weren’t going to see each other, and she wanted to give me a way out that would save any awkward goodbyes, any pretending that I might call.

Instead she just got up, smiled at me as though to say Last chance, babe?. But I just smiled back, and she went into the bathroom.

The water turned on. I launched into a flurry of action. I was clothed (or close enough for now) to get out into my car and away before she left the bathroom.

And that was precisely what I did, resolving to drive to Betty’s so I didn’t feel so dirty spending the day after alone.

Lesbian Love and Lust in a Dorm Room

This is a sample chapter from Lesbian Love and Lust in a Dorm Room, a story in the Erotic Tales of Calvert Howard series from Eroticature.org.

Amy managed to avoid Jen until after Fall break.

Given that her possessions resided in the same room as said roommate, doing so was a rather remarkable feat. It took a day of skipped classes to collect enough clothes to last the two weeks, as well as her computer and her schoolbooks. And then she spent another afternoon hovering in the laundry room to spy on the door and see when Jen left so that she could make a mad dash for bathing supplies, some extra undies and her journal (which she’d unfortunately left in her hectic bid at escape earlier. Imagining what Shamika and Jen had been doing still distracted her.) The rest of the time away was spent rooming with Damien. He was a sophomore and had, after a disastrous first year in the dorms decided to save his money and rent an apartment with a friend. Said friend was always with his girlfriend these days so there was no problem if Amy slept half naked on the couch every night.

And so her last couple of weeks before break went. Between classes she sat on the couch eating cookies, doing homework and moping. Part of her wanted to go to Jody because he was the only gay person she knew and maybe he’d make sense of her confusion. But he was also a gossip. The last thing she wanted was for the kiss to be common knowledge. No, no she had to deal with it on her own. But no matter how she twisted the situation around, the question that kept her up at night remained: what did her reaction mean?

After all she’d enjoyed it, hadn’t she? And when Amy saw Shamika on top of Jen, her fingers… well… She warred between embarrassment and fury. No, not fury. Jealousy. And once she’d reached that realization her discomfiture ballooned to the point that she skipped two days of classes just so she didn’t have to face people.

Even Damien began prying, and he normally stayed out of such things. “Can’t you just talk to her?” he’d asked when he found her face down in a pillow in her underwear at two in the afternoon, an empty pint of Ben & Jerry’s on the table. “You’re both clearly miserable. She calls at least twice a day asking about you, the least you could do is call back.”

But she couldn’t. Because facing Jen meant facing these new and terrifying emotions and Amy just wasn’t prepared for that yet.

Thankfully fall break came just in time. All her midterms ended weeks earlier, her major projects were nearing completion. Now she had a week to go home and pretend things were normal. The cloying flight to DC in a tiny toy of a plane was more than worth it when she stepped through the door to her patchouli infused house and into her Mama June’s waiting arms. The immediate sense of peace was almost overwhelming and it was all Amy could do not to burst into tears right then. Because this was what she’d been needing the past two confusing weeks.

Thankfully she kept her head and got through the cooing and doting that her mother did. A cup of rose chair tee and some spirulina almond cookie later she was in her room drinking in the familiarity like a thirsty man in the dessert. Though she had no idea what to do about Jen, the situation seemed far less apocalyptic in this familiar den. How many boyfriends had she cried tears over in here? How many failed tests and lost opportunities did she mourn? And that pillow in the corner, how many nights did she scream into it out of pure rage or hug it with the thrill of a new crush? There had been confusing times before and she’d gotten through them. And for the first day and a half of break she ignored her problems in favor of her old haunts and old habits. But while successful it did little for actually discovering answers.

And so it was just after a rather awkward Thanksgiving dinner with her family that she finally broached the topic with her mother. Dinner had been an awkward affair, as it always was. Her grandmother commented judgmentally on the dust she saw on the lamp shades and her grandfather demanded to know why the hell they were living like some high roller and his mistress. It started a whole kerfuffle that ended up with the cranberry poured on her grandma’s dress and both her Dad and his father driving home before dessert.

Still better than last Christmas.

It was after this tumultuous end to the evening that Amy padded into the kitchen. Dishes were stacked and Mama June had stopped muttering angrily to herself about ten minutes earlier. The situation was about as safe as it would get.

“Uh…Mama?”

Mama June just grunted as she scrubbed intently at a pot. Losing some of her nerve, the girl forced herself to press on.

“Listen I… I need advice. If this isn’t a good time I could just–”

Immediately, the wet pot ended up on the counter and her mama was tugging her gloves off. “No, no darling you tell me now. Mama June is here to listen. It’s been so long since we’ve talked like this. Do you want I should put tea on?”

“No, no,” Amy immediately said, twisting her hands a bit nervously. Should she just come out with it? After an inner tug-of-war she gave into her fear and distanced herself. “Look… ah… one of my friends is asking me for help but I don’t know what tell h-him.”

“What’s going on?” Her mama’s brow furrowed and Amy let out a shaky breath.

“Okay, so, a couple of weeks ago he walked in and found his roommate with… with another boy in his bed. The roommate’s bed, that is, not my friends… and… and he didn’t exactly take it well and he ran but…but when the roommate went after him they… he… kissed him. The roommate kissed him and now he doesn’t know what to do.”

Mama June stared at her eyes for a long moment, clearly thinking something over. “Well,” she finally said slowly. “Does your… friend… like his roommate?”

“That’s the thing! S–He has never thought about being gay before! Now all of a sudden he’s thinking about kissing the boy all the time and… and seeing him with that other boy just… It makes him so jealous. And now he’s hiding out with a friend because he’s afraid to face his roommate and I don’t know what to tell him.” So glad to just  have it out in the open, even if they weren’t specifically talking about her. Relieved, Amy let her head thunk down onto the countertop as she allowed herself a moment of angst.

The silence that followed was simultaneously awkward and comfortable, often the case when talking about personal things with her mama. After all, she was still a teenager. Opening up like this was comforting to the small child in her but embarrassing to the resentful teen she’d developed into. Finally, Mama June got up and poured herself and Amy and extra cup of tea each and brought back over to the counter. After adding in a squeeze of honey and stirring, her mother took a sip, wiped her lip and began to speak.

“So, Jen kissed you. I wondered what happened.” Amy spat her tea out, coughing violently, and gave her mother a bug-eyed look. “Oh don’t look so surprised. It doesn’t take a college degree to recognize that something was going on. For months everything is ‘Jen did this’ and ‘you won’t believe what Jen and I did!’ Honestly, I’d already began to wonder. But then you suddenly stopped talking about her and… well… it’s good to know why.”

“Are… are you okay with… everything?”

Mama June laughed. “Oh darling, I’d be a bit of hypocrite if I was bothered by something silly like that! Now your father… he’d be a harder sell. But you’re my daughter, hell or high-water, and something like a crush isn’t going to scare me off. Guy, girl or otherwise, I”m not the slightest bit bothered.”

Feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off her chest, Amy took another sip of her tea. “So… what do I do then?”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes but.… but I’m not a lesbian! There’s just something about her that I-”

“Darling,” the woman interrupted. “Who said anything about you being gay? Contrary to common belief, there are more options than gay or straight. But if you want my honest opinion, I’d say see where it goes. Don’t reach forty regretting a chance you never took. And I should know. I took a huge chance on your father and look! Twenty-four years later I have a beautiful daughter and a good life.”

“You don’t live with him…” Mama waved her off.

“Semantics,” she said dismissively. “The point it that allowing fear and labels to hold you back is silly. Being happy, that’s the trick. And if it’s not hurting anyone, then what does it matter?”

It was a good point, one that Amy spent the rest of break thinking about. After that kernel of wisdom the subject changed to classes and how to pack turkey. But the talk lingered in her mind for the rest of break and by the time she set foot back on campus, Amy felt prepared to face Jen again.

Of course, after spending twenty minutes shoring up her courage in the car, Amy walked into an empty room. Wherever Jen went for break she hadn’t come back yet. As the hours ticked by, her never bled away. What if Jen was with Shamika? What if something happened? What if her friend couldn’t forgive her for disappearing? What if she did forgive her? Jen still felt uncomfortable with the potential budding relationship between them but she was keeping an open mind.

It was nine and dark outside before the door finally swung open. Thankfully she was alone. If that girl had been with her… Amy took a deep, calming breath and stood up.

“Jen?”

“Holy shit!” The girl jumped back, hand against her chest and bag hitting the floor. “Jesus Christ you scared the shit out of me!”

Amy raised her hands apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to I… I thought you saw me.”

“In a dark room?”

Oh, right. She hadn’t actually turned the lights on yet. She’d been sort of half napping on her bed and didn’t bother with the lamp.  Sheepishly, she shrugged and struggled to figure out what to say. There was this uncomfortable wall between them, a barrier that hadn’t been there before the kiss. And Amy had absolutely no idea how to break it down. Jen had confessed an incredibly personal secret to her, albeit unplanned, and she’d don the equivalent of spat in her face. One of her unpleasant realizations over break was that she was the one in the wrong.

But she had no idea how to make it right.

“I suppose saying I’m sorry isn’t good enough?”

Jen gave her a tight smile. “It’s a good start.”

“Look Jen,” Amy collapsed back on her bed and patted the space next to her. Jen tentatively sat down next to her. “I know I screw up. I do. Just… Seeing you with her It just… I don’t know, I was so mad and I couldn’t face it and then you kissed me and I was so confused I just… I needed time to think. And I know that wasn’t fair to you. I’ve been kicking myself for doing something so stupid.”

“What was there to think about?” Jen said, still looking suspicious.

“My best female friend kissed me. Would that at least give you a bit of food for thought?”

Jen frowned. “I suppose I might have been a bit rash,” she admitted. “ I just… I like you Amy. And you were so angry and you were yelling and I just.… I didn’t know how else to tell you. I’ve never been as good with words as you. Do you think we can just.… forget it ever happened? A do-over?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no, I don’t want a do-over,” Amy wrung her hands nervously. “Look Jen, I’ve spent the past three weeks thinking about this and… and I have no idea what the hell this is. But kissing you felt… it felt good. So whatever comes of that I think I’d like to see where it goes. But I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” she replied instantly.

“I need to promise that you won’t hide things from me anymore. That… that you’ll talk to me before doing rash things. I don’t like people keeping secrets and lying to me. If you’d have just said something we could have avoided all of this.”

“I promise,” she said sincerely, a wide grin on her face. The past had already been forgiven. “Does this mean I can kiss you? You’re not the only one whose been thinking about that kiss, you know.”

Grinning back, glad that the tension seemed diffused, she nodded and leaned forward with her eyes closed. The first, light brush of lips was just as wonderful as she remembered. It sent an electric rush through her and made her heart skip a beat. It was still awkward as they tried to work around each other, figure out how to make parts fit together. But eventually she tasted mint and was indefinitely glad she’d brushed her teeth earlier.

When she was in high school, Amy always wondered about the allure of making out. Every time she’d don it all she felt was wet and gross. Boys slobbered on her with overactive tongues and onion-scented breath. Meanwhile, they came in with a hand up for a grope without even trying to make her feel good. It always seemed like a pointless and unpleasant exercise.

With Jen it was different. The girl lowered her to the bed, one leg swinging so that she was straddling her and leaning back on her hips and thighs. Despite the knowledge that she’d never allowed anything more than a kiss to develop, it was nonetheless heady. A curtain of blonde curls fell over her face, shielding them from the street lamp light pouring through the window. It created a sort of private bubble. Nothing existed now besides Jen, her lips and those amazing wandering hands.

While her friend’s tongue did delightful things to her lips and mouth, Jen’s hand moved along her body with expert precision. Without turning it overtly sexual she nonetheless left Amy rather breathless. Wanting to create the same sensations for Jen, she let her hands roam awkwardly. The curves were unusual. Familiar in that she had them herself but so different from the hard, slim bodies of the boys she’d attempted this with. Not bad though. Definitely not bad.

Suddenly, Jen got bold. With a slight nip of her lip, she crushed their lips together harder and moved her hand up under Amy’s shirt, teasing the delicate skin there until the noirette was squirming.  Nothing went below the bra but she was not ashamed to admit that she let out a soft little moan when those fingers traced her nipple. It was a strange, pleasurable ache that made her toes girl and body arch. Dear lord, keeping her legs together with this one was going to be a bit more difficult than she’d expected. Well, two could play at this game.

Unable to believe she was actually making out with her roommate, Amy nonetheless loosened up and dove into the experience with gusto. Her hands roamed with more security, eventually landing on Jen’s ass. A quick, sensual squeeze elicited a shaky little squeak from the girl and that just encouraged Amy to get bolder. She slipped a hand under the top of her jeans, feeling the smooth flesh in her hand, and made a point to squeeze and touch.

Jen pulled away with a laugh and laid her forehead against Amy’s, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “It’s going to be hard going slow with you,” she panted.

Amy chuckled weakly, a bit breathless herself. “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“Oh I don’t know. It’s so hard to tell sometimes,” she said with a slightly wicked grin. “In fact, I think I need to do it again just to… be sure it was mind-blowingly amazing.”

And with that, they started again.

____________________________

Sapphic Embrace: A Half-Japanese Girl

This is a sample chapter from Sapphic Embrace: A Half-Japanese Girl, part of the Erotic Tales of Calvert Howard series from Eroticature.org.

Meredith spent all day cooking dinner for her and I. She wasn’t slaving over the stove, but the stove was on, the broth merrily bubbling and developing flavor, or so she said. She showed me every step in the brothmaking process, which she claimed was the most delicate art in the world. “It’s a craft,” she said, “And it’s great, because it’s a craft you make out of what’s around you. You don’t have to find exotic ingredients, or even any specific ingredients. You just cook what you have.”

She froze bones when she cooked, so she could use them for broth, along with gizzards and bits of unusable meat. When she spread them out on the counter in front of me, it had almost a haunted look, frozen bones and scraps of sinew, ice crystals dotting every surface, mysterious blobs of meat scattered across the counter. All went in the pot, along with frozen scraps of vegetables, pieces of onions, peppers, leeks, mushrooms and more, vegetables I couldn’t even identify and hadn’t heard of when she listed them off to me.

“Thank you so much for coming over today,” Meredith said. “It’s been a couple weeks since I had anything to look forward to on a Saturday night.”

“Oh, Meredith! You can always call me,” I said.

“I don’t want a pity-friend. I want a woman, a romantic, sexual relationship. Something permanent. Something that doesn’t get ruined,” she said. I could tell she was thinking of her ex, Elaine, who had become a controlling, domineering, almost abusive part of Meredith’s life.

“That’s… not totally impossible,” I said.

“What?”

“I’m bisexual,” I said. “And I’ve been thinking about giving up on men for a little while.”

“Wait,” Meredith said, “Are you really bisexual? A lot of women just say that. If you just want to… you know, experiment, tell me. That’s fine. I can show you the ropes. But don’t pretend you want a real relationship if you don’t.”

“Is it okay if I don’t know?” I said.

“That’s an experiment then. You are old enough to know, Amy. If you aren’t seriously, really attracted to women, you’re not bisexual. I know, I know, sexuality is a spectrum, but I’m not going to get in a relationship with a woman who’s ninety-five percent hetero,” she said.

“Meredith… I don’t want to lie to you. I hate lying,” I said. “But I really am bisexual. I’ve just never done anything like this, not really.”

She smiled, her soft feminine face beaming brilliantly. She placed one hand on my arm and said, “Then let’s take it slow.” She leaned forward and delicately planted her lips on mine.

It both was and was not the same as kissing a boy. She was lighter, more airy, and she tasted less of salt and musk. But just the same as any man I had kissed, her lips’ touch sent shockwaves of anticipated pleasure coursing through my nerves. I kissed her too, opening my mouth so our tongues could mingle.

I wrapped my arms around her back, feeling her lithe feminine frame arch beneath my grasp. Our bodies interlocked as we sank down into the couch cushions. Her hands stayed around my face and neck, but electric tingling made my entire body feel alive. We matched up perfectly, her breasts pressing against mine, her legs ensconced with mine, our bare toes curling up against each other.

One of her hands danced from my neck to my chest, caressing the spot between my breasts as she slowly descended. Her lips stayed firmly planted on my mouth, her hard nipples still poking mine from beneath her blouse and bra. I lowered my own hands from her shoulders to her lower back, a part of me wanting to clutch her firm asscheeks, fitting snugly in her tight jeans, but I hesitated, not sure if that would be too forward, or if it was the kind of thing done during heterosexual encounters that would seem weird in a lesbian one.

She quickly undid the buttons of my shirt and her blouse, stripping them off to reveal my comically dingy old-lady bra and her beautiful blue number, out of which her ample bosoms spilled forth like fleshy cornucopias. I was a bigger woman so my bosoms were larger overall, but she had a neater frame, with perfectly shaped breasts that, for a moment, made me feel like a sitcom frat boy whose eyes would pop out of his skull at their sight..

She sat up, sitting on and between my thighs, undoing her own bra to let her breasts hang out, gleaming with a few beads of sweat in her well-lit apartment. “I knew as soon as I saw you waiting in line to buy weed that we were going to fuck,” she said. “But then you said you weren’t the lesbian type.”

I giggled. “I wasn’t really going to buy weed. I was just watching you because you were cute and you caught my attention. But you’re right, I wasn’t the lesbian type. Until now.” I slid out of my own bra, hoping my flesh didn’t look too fat and saggy in comparison with hers. But she didn’t seem to notice, kneeling down and taking one of my nipples in her mouth, her tongue outlining it and sending shivers of pleasure up my spine.

Her fingers slipped underneath the waist of my jeans, slowly dragging along my skin, then popping the buttons and unzipping. We both wormed our pants off, and I almost tore my plain white panties to avoid Meredith seeing them. I felt the short hairs of her pussy rubbing against my own, her bodily warmth melting into mine.

Now both of us totally nude, I returned to kissing her, allowing our bodies to mingle, her breasts mixing with mine, our parts, our legs, our feet, all playing together, interlocked, contorting as my muscles tightened against her. Her tongue slipped back into my mouth, and I tasted her again. My hands ran through her full, blonde hair.

One of her fingers touched my clitoris, and my whole body flexed as though surprised. It felt blissfully good, her finger delicately working me, like an expert surgeon. Her body writhed against me. I tried to return the gesture and finger her as well, but her clitoris was tightly pressed against my thigh, and I could barely concentrate from the pleasure coursing through me.

I had a sudden orgasm, gushing and passionate, shaking through me like a seizure. My whole body contracted around her, as though every muscle in my body had a need to grasp her and never let go. She came as well from the motion of her clitoris next to my body, and I felt her warm juices sliding out onto me, mixing with mine and soaking into our bones.

We collapsed onto the couch in a sweaty mess, arms and legs wrapped around each other.