Dallas Mayo - For women only

It was true. I shook my head, more to clear the fog than in disavowal. Maybe both would work. I couldn't deny the physical heat, the tension – alien but vaguely familiar – growing in the depths of my body. Nor could I deny the limp forbearance of my flesh as her fingers continued to forage industriously, feeling like points of flame on my skin. My bare skin, so vulnerable! What was happening, what was I doing here naked?

The revelation struck with a wallop, no blinding flash, just a sickening thud. Right in the gut. The pit of my belly. A place I couldn't even call my own at the moment. Not with that busy hand turning light and feathery down there, encroaching slyly but steadily. I should have gotten the message ages ago, no doubt. Julia Beresford was a lesbian! But then again, well, my person experience in that direction amounted to a blank, just about; how was I to know? This wasn't kid stuff, something I could relate to my past. Simon's wife, imagine, a lesbian? All that voluptuous beauty, too. Not the obvious type, that was for sure. No grown-up tomboy, this one.

I remembered Wendy. Out of the dim dark yesteryears came the memory of childhood pastimes with my little friend who lived next door. You be the mommy and I'll be the daddy. Girlish romps under the front porch, behind the ivy-covered trellis. Youngsters playing games and giggling at their own naughty antics. Where was mischievous little Wendy now? Married, probably – and fat – with kids of her own playing those same secret games most likely. Oh well, no matter. Kid stuff. Or was that what inspired voluptuously stacked wives to drift away from marriage and into more aberrant embraces later on in life?

In any case, it sure wasn't inspiring me. I almost chuckled aloud at the ludicrous turn of events. But at least I didn't feel like shedding tears or sobbing any more, especially since all that soft-bosomed sympathy could no longer be mistaken for anything but part of the plot. A prelude to lesbian seduction. Very clever, too. No wonder my bare ass had gone unpunished, suffering only the shame, never the pain. My "beautiful" bare ass, too pretty to hit. Or too kissable, perhaps? From a lesbian's point of view…

"What the hell! Rory, what's wrong?"

"Sorry. I just woke up."

"Huh?"

"It's funny now, kind of."

"Funny?"

"Uh-huh. Don't you see? I just realized what you're trying to accomplish. To tell the truth, I rather enjoyed it. But I'm your husband's little girl, not yours. I just couldn't make it with a woman. Not even someone I like."

"Is that so? Don't be so sure."

"Oh shit, I'd have trouble just faking it, you know?"

"Let's not talk of trouble, baby. It's a nasty word. And I have no intention of being troublesome. But I do wish you'd stop and reconsider, hmm? If nothing else, think of the novelty, the new experience. Don't knock it until you've tried it; doesn't that hold true for just about anything?"

"I-I guess so. Anyway, you just said the magic word, believe it or not. Novelty. I'm hooked on it, an addict practically, always looking for a new experience. Julia? You won't let me down? It'll be different? Promise?"

"Different. I promise. Maybe even wild."

"Oooh… yesss… nice and wild…"

"Not nice, darling, not necessarily. Just wild. Until you've learned what nice really is. Like cunt, for instance. Something to love, not a curse-word."

"Of course. I know that."

"Say it. Cunt."

"Cunt?"

"Let it ooze over your tongue. Nice and cunty."

"Cunt. Cunt, cunt, cunt."

"You feel it, honey? Feel a little charge?"

"Uh-huh. Cunt. Hot. Cunty-cunty-cunt."

"Don't get fancy, just stick to the script. Learn the simple stuff first, improvise later. Cunt! Once more, with feeling."

"Cunt. Okay?"

"Okay, try another. Cuntlapper."

"Cuntlapper. Oooh! Turns me on. But it's still only a word, Julia, how long must I wait to feel it? I mean really feel it, the real thing, you know? Are you going to tease me all night? How long do I have to wait? I'm ready now. Julia?"

Her grin was mildly infuriating, an I-told-you-so look. But maybe we were both faking a little. That rather pointed reference to "trouble" could only have been a veiled threat, just ominous enough to nudge me in her direction. Luckily, my change of heart was eased somewhat by the promise of a new experience, always an enticement – and even more so in my chronic mood of frustration. If the self-centered husband couldn't soothe my jangled nerves, why not try the eager wife? Nice to keep it all in the family, at least, with no hazardous ventures into dark hallways. By hook or by crook, this predatory lesbian was going to sink her claws into my plump young body; why not relax and enjoy it?

Anyway, my pussy-lips – cunt-lips? – were already quivering in anticipation, provoked by pressure from every angle. The dirty words did have a certain tingling effect, spoken out loud like that, so shamelessly. Especially when they were concerned with such a dirty perversion! Then too, there was the added excitement of sashaying around naked in front of a fully dressed girl-gobbler, hardly a tonic for those taut nerves of mine. Sexier than naked, actually, with my rolled stockings and junior-prom heels. I was glad to see Julia remain dressed, of course, glad to find ourselves in apparent agreement on who would do what do whom. This way there was no controversy, no question of roles, just a simple recognition and match-up of one "cunt" and one "cunt-lapper" – both suitably attired for the occasion. For which I was duly grateful. Ah yes, let my lesbian lover's energy compensate for the sloth of her big-dick male counterpart…

"You have an interesting mouth."

"Oh, sure, interesting…" I shrugged disconsolately, irritated by her continued insistence on conversation. "That's what people say when they can't think of a compliment."

"Touche. Intriguing, then."

"It's just a big mouth, that's all."

"Intriguing. And I'm intrigued, I must admit."

"Julia? Aren't we ever going to begin?"

"But we already have, my dear. Didn't you know?"

I could almost feel the sparks singe my skin, the hot sparks from those emerald-green eyes. And then I saw the kiss forming on her lips and was barely able to suppress a visible shudder, an instinctive but rather idiotic reaction. I just hadn't expected her to kiss me. Not that kind of kiss, anyway. Couldn't she just lead me over to the sofa and play our cuntlapper-and-cunt game? I was sure ready for it. An adult version of forgotten childish fun – complete with climax, hopefully! But no, she was already tilting my face up to meet hers, about to kiss me like a man. More gently, perhaps – ugh – like a bridegroom kissing his bride at the wedding ceremony?

To hell with the wedding, let's have the honeymoon! Lap my cunt, you lesbian cuntlapper, isn't that what lesbians are supposed to do?

She kissed me. Right on the mouth. She placed her woman's mouth right on mine. And for a moment there, well, I didn't know whether to swoon away gracefully or take it and risk an upset stomach. I could see myself unchucking all over the rug, a naked little girl covered with remorse. To say nothing of embarrassment. Although it was hard to figure which one of us would have been more embarrassed, the kisser or the kissee. I didn't have to, fortunately – after that single twinge of revulsion everything simmered down and stayed put, steady as an old grandfather clock. Tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. Only it must have been time for the hour to strike; something inside my belly went bong all of a sudden, and it was like the dawn of a new day for me. The dawn of a new life?

No man's kiss had ever felt like this, so sensuous, so solicitous, so totally dedicated. Dedicated to me. I moaned into her mouth and surrendered blissfully, endeavoring only to remain receptive near-equal dedication. She tasted of liquor rose-petal lipstick, sweeter and more intoxicating than any after-dinner cordial. And more seductive, too, something quite outside the realm of masculine possibility. I knew then that she was seducing me with her own womanly wiles, accomplishing her aim without any further need of veiled threats and such.