The two of them sat side by side, dangling their legs in the warm water,
one day, when Alisa came upon an idea.
“You know what?” she interrupted the temporary silence. “I have a new
idea for swimming. Here, take my hand.”
“What do you mean?” Susanna inquired. “I want to show you something.”
Alisa replied.
Susanna looked down and took Alisa’s hand. “Now,” Alisa said, raising her
hand, “suppose we could swim together, like this?”
“That’s wierd!” Susanna replied. “I’ve never tried that before.”
“Let’s give it a try.” Alisa suggested. “It could be fun.”
“How would we swim?”
“Use our legs.” Alisa answered, looking at Susanna as if she had no common
sense. “You know, like when we’re in bed with our boyfriends..”

One day, as I was sitting in the back of the classroom during study
hall, I began to daydream about one of the older boys in the school.
Unconsciously, my hand drifted under my skirt, and my fingers were
lightly rubbing the edge of the elastic of my panties.

Vickie’s voice, from the seat behind me, was startling when she
whispered, “Oh, Barb, isn’t that lovely.”

“Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Don’t worry, No one is paying any attention.” Then Vickie’s hand was
suddenly under my skirt, feeling the location of my fingers. She
squeezed my hand, and her hand drifted slowly, gently upward. “Where
is it?”

Her fingers generated marvelous feelings as they caressed my pubic
mound. But, all too soon, the bell rang and it was time to leave.
Confused, I tried to avoid her as we left school, but she caught up to
me and walked beside me.

“I can make it feel really good,” she said in a hoarse voice, as we
walked side by side. Frankly, my knees were weak, and my mind whirled
with plans for letting her prove her ability.

Although I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, I began to treat
Vickie as a best friend.

Just a few days later, we were playing after school in her back yard.
Her house was the same as the others in the neighborhood, but her back
yard was very deep–it actually extended the length of two or more of
the ordinary back yards. And, there was a grove of about a half dozen
pine trees, that surrounded a cool, dark glade. In that glade, I felt
completely isolated from the rest of the world.

We were doing something–I can’t recall what–then I felt her presence
behind me, and her warm breath in my ear, as she whispered, “I’d like
to make you feel good.”

Her arms went around my waist, and she kissed me, or licked me–I
don’t know–on the nape of my neck. It would sound icky to a young
girl, but it felt–well it felt nice. Very nice.

How hot she seemed as her lips caressed my neck–and how natural it
seemed as she pulled my arms upward, and lifted my shirt off in a
fluid motion. Her hand rubbed the surface of my “teen” bra, and
focused pressure on my right nipple. My breasts were still conical,
just developing, but her rubbing showed me for the first time just how
sensitive my nipples could be.

There was nothing that I could do except to revel in the feelings that
she was giving me. I felt warm and a little dizzy, and leaned back to
her.

She continued to nuzzle me, and with both hands she kneaded my
breasts. For the first time, I felt a warmth between my thighs.

With the tips of the fingers of her left hand, she began to rub up and
down my bare belly. Her fingers moved gently down the front of my
skirt, grazing the top of my pubic mound. The feelings were
indescribably intense, and I was so wrapped up in them that I didn’t
even notice when she unclasped my bra, unzipped my skirt and let both
garments drop to the ground.

She gently pulled me backwards, until I was sitting in her lap, as she
sat down on the ground.

As we sat, she continued to nuzzle, continued to rub, until I had my
first orgasm in her arms.

Later, she and I had many lovely times together. She taught me about
my body, and made me love her. I can’t even begin to explain what she
taught me.

However, our times together were soon over. When I began high school,
she family moved away, and, although we wrote to each other at first,
we eventually lost contact with each other.

In high school, I never made contact with another girl like I had with
Vickie. At first, it was because I mourned my lost love. Later, it was
because I was afraid to make such a contact with any of the other
girls. I had no way of telling which of them would be interested in
such games, and feared that if I approached the wrong girl, that she
would spread the word that I was “strange.”

However, I did discover that the making of love with boys and, later,
men could be quite pleasurable as well. Although, and perhaps it was
just the memory of my first time of feeling the wonder of sex, I never
found a man who could satisfy me in the same way as Vickie. As a
result, through my late twenties I was my own woman. I never married,
and I developed a rather successful career. I dated, and made love
with a few men–some of them were nice, but none of them were “right”

I first saw her at the office. Her breasts and legs caught my
attention as she parked her round, lovely bottom against a corridor
wall as we talked. I don’t believe that she noticed as I gazed at the
long stretch of her thighs underneath the hem of her skirt. We
frequently talked, and became office friends–often eating lunch
together.

I don’t know if I mentioned that she was married. Our conversations
would often turn to married life, and sometimes to her sex life. I
discovered, for example, that her husband was a very conservative
lover. She loved him, but would have been happier if he would loosen
up and include such things as mutual masturbation and oral sex in
their lovemaking routine.

It was perhaps a month or two later that she, in some way, recognized
my attraction to her. Her reaction was in the form of teasing and
joking. We never discussed getting closer, and I never broached the
subject of woman-to-woman love. However, she was aware of my
attraction, and, I suppose you’d say that she took advantage of it for
her own amusement.

For example, one day when I brought some paperwork to her at her desk,
she swung her knees around against my leg and began rubbing me with
methodical strokes, watching my eyes steadily with a slight, mocking
smile.

I don’t know what she was seeing in my eyes. Perhaps my pupils
dilated. Perhaps there was some sort of softness that she could
detect. She saw something, though, and laughed out loud, showing the
tiniest tip of shiny tongue between her pink lips and wet, white
teeth. I felt a strong tug of affection for her at that moment, and a
lovely warmth in my loins.

She had a fondness for sheer, silky blouses. When she wore one, it
gave me the urge to put my hands on her shoulders and delicately
caress the place where her bra straps were visible through the fabric.
When she wore a sweater, I felt an overwhelming desire to run my hands
under it, and to squeeze her lovely, round breasts.

Later–whether she started it or I, I don’t know–we developed a game.
First, it started with light, though sexy, banter. I would comment,
for example, on the color of her panty hose and ask her to pull up the
hem of her dress so that I could see them better. She would say “No,
your stockings are nicer, why not pull up your dress?”

Then, it gradually became more physical. We would meet in various
quiet corners of the building, and she would lean back against me,
gently rubbing her bottom against my mound. Sometimes, she would turn
around and give me a quick peck on the lips–once or twice, the kisses
were deeper. But always, she would break away after a few moments,
straighten her dress and leave me to dream of her lips and her body.

Then, she got pregnant with her first child. This caused a change in
our relationship. I believe part of it was that her husband wouldn’t
sexually satisfy her because of her pregnancy–but the result was to
my benefit, because our necking sessions at work became more involved,
and lasted longer. She seemed to find it harder to break away after a
brief touch or kiss, and she and I would often hug, kiss deeply and
fondle each other through our clothing. In fact, she seemed to become
frustrated, since we dared not do anything that lasted more than a
couple of minutes for fear of being discovered.

I craved her–but would only take our relationship as far as she
wanted.

A few months into her pregnancy, I moved from my old place to an
apartment which just “happened” to be a block from her house. This
meant that it became very convenient for us to car pool together. We
spent ever more time together, and I eventually would spend evenings
at her home, both when her husband was present, and when he was away
on a business trip.

When her husband was away, we would play. At first, we behaved like
teenagers–we sat on the couch and necked, then, after a while, we
would pet.

She complained of backaches as her body grew larger–so I read all the
books I could find, and learned to give a skilled massage. This meant
that I could see her naked, as she would lay on her bed, and I would
massage her aching muscles.

Soon, we both would wind up naked, and we would kiss, and cuddle and
would either masturbate each other, or watch each other as we
masturbated ourselves. I don’t believe that she started out as skilled
at pleasuring another woman as Vickie was, but we learned together,
and could give each other the greatest of pleasure.

Once, she took me as I was sitting down. I was sitting on the couch,
and she sat before me on the floor. Her hand reached under my skirt,
her fingers entering my womanhood. She crouched on the floor next to
me, her hand searching, moving, feeling within me. It felt so strange,
to sit quietly, hands folded across my breasts, her arm extended up
inside me–my legs spread far apart.

Sitting still, maintaining myself through the pure ecstacy of her
explorations: her little touches, her experiments, her caresses, her
attacks. Those long fingers plunging into me, then withdrawing to move
around my nether lips–the bud of my clitoris at first erect and
swollen, then withdrawing into the engorged nest. She rose, her
fingers still in place, her mouth seeking mine. Our tongues crowding
into each other, the one seeking the other, pleading and prodding.

I opened for her, whispering in her ear as she massages the inner
ridge of flesh, wrings it and makes it come like rain, the honey
weeping on her hand–my ecstacy telling her that I am hers.
Surrendering with each gush of that pink and hidden place.

She sat next to me, and we kissed. As we kissed, I removed her
housecoat–she wore nothing underneath except a pair of thin, silky
panties. I kissed her mouth, her neck, then spent time kissing and
licking and sucking on her lovely breast–now swollen with her
pregnancy. I kissed my way down her front, and moved myself forward
until I could reach her panties. I began to lick at her through the
thin barrier of the fabric, and her hands flew to my head, stroking my
ears, her open mouth making small cries as the tension built.

I moved aside the sopping nylon and buried my face against her. Her
nails grazed my back, as her legs jerked convulsively upward. Her
ankles locked against my spine. I moved slightly upward to her center,
sucked in into my mouth. Her loins rolled upward in powerful thrusts
as she cried out, my tongue and lips constantly moving until I felt
her shuddering against me, heard her scream, the tenseness dissolving
out of her.