Dallas Mayo - Girl-crazy girl

"Oh, I do love you." It was the kid's turn to move now. She scuttled across to my end of the sofa, practically clambering all over me before settling down in my lap. Then, wistfully, pink lips pursed, "Kiss? Loi? A kiss for Jackie?"

"Honey, didn't I just…"

"Not on my foot…"

"Oh? You don't think that's enough?"

"I mean a real kiss. Don't you love me at all? No. I guess not." Her lower lip quivered and curled to a pout. "You – you just don't care." She seemed on the verge of tears, rejected, a pathetic little tyke pleading for recognition. "You – you…"

"Hush. Of course I care."

"Well then?"

There was no dodging the issue, I figured. And anyway, what could be the harm in it? – a token of affection, hardly more than a peek on the cheek. Just a wee act of indulgence, a bit of warmth to dry the already glistening teardrops from those big baby-doll blue eyes. I did it. I bent just far enough to touch my lips to hers, deliberately ignoring the alarm bell that went off inside my head. And then, as her mouth opened, I moaned and heard the alarm rise to a discordant jangle, but it was too late now, too late to rescale my priorities; didn't it all hark back to that ugly word, the ugliness that really wasn't so ugly?

This was no ordinary child entrusted to my care. I knew that now. Ag I knew that this was no ordinary kiss. Sex. Sex with the proper girl-child. Lesbian sex. And wasn't it beautiful? How stupid of me to let the world and its prejudice interfere with my own perfection. Lesbian! What was ugly about that? Lesbian, lesbian, lesbian. I could almost hear the lovely liquid sounds purling around that tiny tongue in my mouth, the honey-hot lesbian tongue. Honey-hot and fire-sweet, unmistakably a lesbian kiss. The essence of beauty for a girl-woman like me. Truthful beauty, the beautiful truth! Never again would I feel like an eavesdropper listening to my gushy schoolmates giggle about boys. Hah! Anytime I cared to listen to some giggling…

There were no giggles now though, only moans and mutters and kitten noises, animal noises, little throat-catching noises of a fledgling jungle-cat uncertain of its prey. Impatient, maybe. But more beastlike than anything coming from that phony tropical soap-opera on television. The commercials had ended, but it scarcely mattered now, the picture wasn't that good. We had our own X-rated thing going right here on the sofa. Full of mystery and suspense, too, since neither of us knew how it would come out. Oh shit, I wasn't even sure how we had gotten into it. Was it with sly cunning or out of childish curiosity that the kid had led me on? Was this capacity for soul-kissing – soul-sucking, it felt like – a natural talent or an acquired skill? How many other baby-sitters had this hot-mouthed little lesbian seduced? Or was I the first? Could the sitter preceding me have been even less concerned with morality and guilt and such? Where did it come from, this girl-love-girl notion, a playmate? An evil old aunt? A neighbor lady? An erotic book? A big grownup housemaid? Does every gay little angel have her own bitchy Bernadette?

I would never ask, never know, never let her tell me. It was better that way, a precautionary measure of my own: let every budding lesbian learn that her secret has a right to secrecy. (A good policy for all concerned, a lifetime lock on the closet! Funny about that, reaching such an eternally wise decision in such uniquely bizarre circumstances. Me with my first mouthful of baby-tongue – in a state of shock, pretty near!)

It was slithering in and out between my lips, that short but busy tongue of hers, and I remained quite passive, allowing her the active role awhile. Except that I did keep my jaws stiff and the pressure tense most of the time, tightening around her rubbery little stabber like a pair of virginal pussy-lips and making her use force to get in. The kid was too young to recognize it herself, of course, but I wallowed deliriously in the idea that she was fucking me, raping me, fucking my cunt-mouth into submission against my will. Raped by a precocious brat, a child small enough to cradle on my lap; what a fantastic thrill!

Eventually, though, I got too hot to hold still for her and started to reciprocate, following her retracted tongue with my own in a brief flurry of give-and-take, and then at last plunging through the seal of our lips to invade her mouth. Once inside, I cut the thrust down to a slow-motion minimum, letting the now-hesitant rapist familiarize herself with the various possibilities of this new twist. She liked it apparently, yielding in good grace and browsing around in a lip-and-tongue nibble that was soft and gentle and almost leisurely, an inquisitive but unhurried caress. Until we both closed in on each other with lax and gaping mouths, fusing together with for greater intimacy than before, a depth of intimacy that opened all manner of hidden territory to one another's investigation.

Guided by a sixth sense – and a certain experience, no doubt – I simply relaxed and enjoyed the deep kiss and permitted my eager little lover to satisfy her taste for travel. And just as I had surmised, she finally hit pay dirt, licking the underside of my idle tongue to its base and all but going out of her mind from the sensation. I knew what it was like, that indescribable feeling down there, and could only gauge her reaction by my own in the past. Although I truly couldn't recall ever having gone into a complete and all-inclusive spasm.

That was what Jackie-girl did. Like one big muscle-cramp. Except maybe for her tongue under mine – I was just too shocked to take notice, shocked and a bit scared by such a huge convulsion, no longer intrigued by its source, our overlapping tongues. I ran my hands over her huddled body, kneading the stiff flesh back to softness. And somehow, without destroying the kiss, I managed to mumble a few intelligible words of concern.

"Kid? You all right?"

"Mmm…"

"Hey! Jackie?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay. Kiss me some more."

"No. Let's take a breather."

"Uh-huh. Oooh, that feels good. Your hands… nice…"

"I'm rubbing the circulation back in."

"Could you do it, uh, rub me under the nightie?"

"Rascal."

"Oooh!"

"Is that better?"

"Wunnerful."

"Yeah. It figures."

"Loi? Could I do you like that? Just touch your pretty titties maybe?"

I let that one sink in, thinking it over, aware of how crucial my answer would be. But hadn't I already made up my mind? It was more a matter of degree now; how far should we go? The lead was mine, the lead and the responsibility, and I'd better set a limit for myself. Draw some guidelines. Only I couldn't clear my head that much, it just wouldn't function for something so abstract, not with the little rascal already cuddling up to my tits. Squirming around on my lap. That bouncy ass of hers…

"Aw, come on. Loi? Please?"

"Be still. I'm thinking."

"Oh…"

I was all thought out, though – and kicking myself for wasting so much time. Why take on unnecessary burdens? The kid had started the game, why not play by her rules? Good thing we didn't have to begin all over again, we were beyond the coy stage now. Not that I'd have minded really, it was kind of fun sitting down on that little bare foot. All those tiny bare toes wiggling up into the crack of my ass; oh, such a cutie-pie! Hmm, too bad my ass couldn't have been bare, also. Bare as this little body under the nightgown, so soft and smooth – oh shit, yes, my frisky kitty cat had the right idea about where to rub!

"It's okay, honey, you can touch me. But take your nightie off first, hmm? Before it gets torn. Besides, I like my little girl better that way. All nice and naked. If you feel like it, you can loosen some of my things, too. Look at this blouse, did you ever see so many wrinkles?"