Dallas Mayo - For women only

"You'll go see them with me?"

"I'll go, I'll go."

"Good girl."

"Julia? Please? Pretty please with sugar on it?"

"My little pet. How sweetly you beg! I simply can't deny you anything. Just let me make this one phone call first…"

A phone call? My heart plummeted. I suppressed a groan of vexation and prayed that it wouldn't last long. Or better yet, that she might change her mind. Or perhaps get no answer? Anything to turn her attention back toward me. But no, she was already sitting up and ringing the number – successfully, worse luck – and I could only sit up myself and wait, aware now that my lover appeared to be settling down for an extended chat. Something new had been added, evidently, quite aside from making a date for our social engagement. Was it some sort of party they were talking about?

"At the beach house. Hmm. A big one, you say. Adelaide, how many? Aw, you're putting me on. The whole week? That's practically a mob scene, that many couples. Yes, of course, dear, you know I'll be there if you want me. Wouldn't miss it for else are you inviting?"

It went on like that, a discussion of the tentative guest list for the forthcoming beach-house party. That meant nothing to me, except for the fact that all the names mentioned were distinctly and unmistakably feminine. Lesbians. I whispered the word aloud for my own ears only, trying to imagine the scene – all those beautiful nude bodies! – and finding such an idea rather intriguing. Would my name soon be on that list? I shuddered, conscious of a kind of warm horror. Not that it mattered, actually, not if I didn't have enough sick-leave time accumulated at work. I'd never get away.

The excitement had stirred me anew, though. Or maybe it was the old excitement taking hold again; anyway, I couldn't stave off an urge to reach out and make contact, running my hand down that beloved body. I repeated the sneaky move rapturously, the flesh flowing like cream-smooth velvet under my fingertips. Better yet, the pleasure was enhanced by a squirming response, definitely favorable to my cause. Until another tremor made. Julia stiffen momentarily and clap her palm over the mouthpiece.

"Hey, can't you wait? Poor baby…" Then, with a smile and a shrug, "Oh well, go ahead, have fun. Want to do my tits?"

The hand that left the mouthpiece came to rest on the nape of my neck, giving me a stimulus I didn't need. I was already in place, lavishing my pent-up passion with busily sucking lips and an eager tongue. Above me, the telephone became no more than vaguely intrusive, a not-quite-remote nuisance. No competition for this glorious big bosom. The nipples especially, enormous round things, each a mouthful in itself. Chunks of candy almost. Candy nipples that could melt in my mouth and still grow bigger…

A burst of laughter sounded. The fingers on my neck started squeezing a little, an indication of change, and I accepted the guidance happily and then hurriedly, darting downward and leaving the empty hand behind. The gasp that reached my ears came as no great surprise, and yet somehow the tiny noise carried me to an even higher level of excitement. I got there and rubbed my face in the humid softness, splitting the hairy lips wide to bury my nose and mouth in the essence of cunt. Julia's cunt, the beginning of my lesbian career, all damp and dewy-sweet with the succulence of aroused womanhood. Ah, but would I ever again be content with what had only been a beginning? I wanted more.

"What the hell! Rory?"

"Hmm?"

"What's going on down there?"

"Umm. You know. Like this? Please?"

"Little ass licker. Want me to roll over? But I'm so comfortable now, darling. Wait till I finish with the phone. And then you can have whatever…"

"But-but if you'll just raise up a little…"

"Oooh!"

"Just a little bit more."

"More?"

"Then you'll be comfy again. On my face. Please?"

"Well, if you aren't an ingenious rascal! Or face. Why not? I do love that fucking my ass. All right, I'll raise up once more, but you'd better get organized and do it, you hear? This is the last time, baby, I can't keep Adelaide dangling. Get under me now, here goes, here's my asshole for you. Yeah! Ram it right up there and fuck me…"

Her voice became a far-off murmur, scarcely more than a droning vibration. Into the telephone, no doubt. But I was nicely insulated by then, the soft buttocks still spreading and settling upon my upturned face, molding themselves to my features in a thickly fluid motion. Up there the conversation could have been about me, about our coming visit, about the week-long gay beach party, about my overly romantic lesbian development. No matter! My head was too occupied, too deliciously occupied to bother with outside details, distant if not exactly detached. My fucking tongue had no time for trivia.

The next few nights were difficult for me. Lonely nights, the worst kind – and with something on my mind, too. No, it wasn't our impending date with that couple, oddly enough, although I did give some thought to certain prospects and possibilities there. I even found myself looking forward to it, in fact. Lesbian mistress, lesbian slave! Were they for real? True, my headstrong and admittedly unpredictable lover might have exaggerated a bit, distorting the picture for her own purpose, a ruse to get me interested. But even so, there was still bound to be some substantially valid basis to the story – sufficient inducement for any girl with normal curiosity and an abnormal taste for the bizarre. And if ever a little girl had that, well…

Anyway, that wasn't my problem, oh no, it was the party that had me in a stew, the far more remote beach-house party. Pretty silly, of course, considering my personal lack of involvement. Even if an invitation were offered, I still wouldn't be able to get away that long. It took a year of employment with Consolidated before any accumulation of sick-leave time could be put to use – no help for me, none at all. Nor could I see myself asking Simon for such a favor, not even in one of his weak moments after an extra special blow-job, thick lips and all. Ask the boss for time off to go play lesbian kiss-ass with his wife? Hah! Not a chance.

I didn't even want to go, actually. Except to be with Julia maybe – and that hardly seemed the place for it, a big beach-house practically crawling with butches and bitches and other predatory types. Also some cute young stuff, no doubt, the kind of competition I could do without. Something for everybody. After all, it was supposed to be a party; what if we went and she left me alone? I'd probably get raped and passed from hand to hand – the lesbian equivalent of a gang-bang, whatever that was. A novelty, sure, but too traumatic for this timid child, not the sort of experience I was seeking in my sojourn among the sophisticates.

So there it was, no invitation, no desire to go – and no more than a mildly inquisitive interest altogether. And yet it was keeping me awake nights. My own fault, too, no one to blame but myself. Me and my vivid imagination!

It must have started during that phone call, lying there naked and listening to ail those female names – a lesbian sex-party, what else? – and trying to visualize the scene, the women, the girls, the beautiful nude bodies. Alone afterward, late that same night, I felt restless and tried it again, even whispering the key word aloud once more just to bring on the mood. Lesbians. It sounded weird in the darkness like that, a hoarse whisper, as sexy a noise as I'd ever heard. And conjuring up a sexy vision, naturally. With a few surreptitious self-caresses to heighten the sexy atmosphere! And that was all it took to knock me out. More than enough, really, in view of my already exhausting evening and night, what with our last tongue-fuck ending in a terrific total orgasm scarcely more than an hour earlier.