Hi, my name is Chantal. I was a Lesbian.
I really don't like that word, "Lesbian," because my love for Jean came so naturally to me that I don't feel it needs a label. I shan't go into the details of my puberty and my wonderings and how I grew up because that's not what this story is about, except to say that nothing much of interest happened to me -- no interest from boys or from girls -- until I met Jean when I was eighteen. She was so plain, so honest, so attractive to me with her bony nose and ready smile that I just fell in love with her very quickly. It was as though she was the one leather glove that fit my hand.
Jean and I became roommates -- again, that's not what this story is about, but still - we shared a queen-sized bed in a one room basement apartment out of necessity. My lust for her body came before her lust for mine; she was a little older than me and had to overcome some taboo issues. In the fullness of time, though, we had the best sex together that we thought we could ask for. Jean and I used to cuddle in that bed for hours before we slept and I loved, oh how I loved kissing her. She was all mine and I was all hers and we had our little one-room world where we could do, and we did, whatever we pleased.
We showered together. We dried off together. We ate together. We applied our makeup together and we shared clothing, when we could (I was rather bustier than Jean). We went to the toilet together, giggling helplessly. We walked around the neighborhood together. We shopped together. Together we taught ourselves how to give the other an orgasm -- sometimes a whole lot of them. We held hands while riding the subway. We rubbed oil onto each other's bodies, we masturbated together, we tasted each other's vaginas and we kissed beads of sweat from each other's chests on hot summer nights. Jean and I did everything together because the world, the whole world, was unimportant to us. The flashing city was nothing but a silent backdrop to the reality of our intimacy. Nothing mattered to me but Jean and nothing mattered to Jean but me. We were in total love.
Sometimes when I came out of the shower, before I got dressed and was just towelling off, Jean would suddenly open the bathroom door and take my hand and pull me to the bed. I loved how she would forcefully (sort of) push me back onto the bed with my legs held wide, push her face into me and, well, you know. She loved to flatten her tongue and start at the bottom of my labia, then as slowly as she could lick my lips firmly all the way to the top and then blow her breath onto my pubic hairs. Mm, it seemed like the most intimate thing in the world. She would then lick downwards with the bottom of her tongue slowly, then up again, the same stroke with her mouth so dependably and consistently that I could place my arms behind my head, close my eyes, rock my hips and abandon my naked, vulnerable self to Jean's unstoppable mouth and tongue lust until I feared I was going to harm her with my orgasmic thrusts.
Of course, there was real life. I was a student at a trade school -- the subject is unimportant -- and Jean was working on a Psychology degree. We needed an income and so somehow, by a miracle, Jean found us jobs working together as security guards at a downtown office building. The security company was very kind about allowing us to select shifts that fit with our class schedules. Sometimes we worked overnight, allowing us to study in the silent, empty building. Occasionally we did the same shift but usually it was one or the other of us alone.
It was very easy work. Outside regular office hours in the evenings and weekends, we had to have people sign in and out at a kiosk if they came or went through the lobby to work some extra hours in their offices. We had rounds to do every few hours, walking the floors watching for signs of fire or intruders. We had cell phones to call 911 if an emergency were to develop, which never happened while we were there. We could park in the basement instead of having to walk through snow or rain. We had plenty of time to study, to think about things and to chat with the office workers who came and went. They all would usually stop and chat for a moment with Jean or me.
By the time this comfortable life had continued for a few months some of the workers had become rather friendly, especially Dan and
he
is who this story is about.
Dan was a nice man. He worked frequently on Saturdays and he tried to be nice to us, stopping to chat for a few moments longer each time, it seemed. I hadn't admired him especially as a specimen of manhood; I had Jean. Dan was just another person who worked in the building and so I was completely surprised the Saturday morning he signed in, looked at me a little more intently than he usually had when we chatted at the kiosk and asked me if I would like to go out for dinner with him some time.
It truly took a moment to register and I looked to the side a little as I thought about this: a man had just asked me for a date! So many things went through my mind and as they did, I began to smile. Jean, of course; would she mind? If so I could always tell Dan I'd changed my mind. Did I like Dan? Sort of, and there was no reason to turn him down. Dating a customer? None of their business. Transportation? That was Dan's problem and besides, I had my own Toyota. Date a man? Why not? Did Dan like me? Well, it seemed to me that he had had to screw up his courage to ask me out and I did not want to hurt his feelings.
I looked Dan in the eyes, smiled and said "Yes. Yes, I would like that." Dan smiled right back at me, a wide smile that made him look cute.
"Great!" he said. "What evening would be convenient for you this week?" I pictured my schedule; Jean was working the Thursday evening shift and my last class ended at four.
"Thursday?"
"Perfect. Where shall I pick you up, say 6:30?"
I told him, we exchanged phone numbers, and he took the elevator up to his office.
I could not concentrate on my textbooks during the day as I thought this over. A man was interested in me! I thought about Dan more as the day went on and I reviewed what little I knew of him. He was about my height, about 25 years old, tidy brown hair, glasses, a little teen acne scarring but overall not bad. Handsome-ish. Slim-ish but not muscular and he walked with poise, shoulders back, good posture that spoke of confidence, yet his eyes seemed vulnerable, as though he had been hurt before and was wary of being hurt again. He had a responsible job upstairs with a shipping agency. Was he sexy? I supposed he could have been; after all, I was a so-called Lesbian and what did I know?
When I got home that evening I blurted out my news to Jean and she was delighted.
"How exciting! Where is he taking you? What will you wear?"
"Aren't you jealous?"
"Oh, go have a date with him! Have fun! I know you'll come home to me" Jean smiled and hugged me and I knew it was all right.
Thursday Dan picked me up in a big old green Oldsmobile. I was wearing a skirt, beige sweater and a string of pearls that Jean had lent me. Dan told me I looked very pretty out of uniform and we drove to a restaurant where Dan had made reservations.
It was a lovely, lovely dinner. We ordered enormous grilled prawns and we talked and we were so comfortable with each other and talked about everything -- everything except my relationship with Jean; Dan didn't ask about that. As we talked I looked at Dan as a man and I considered him. He was thoroughly polite, never said the F word and he spoke with confidence about his career. He listened attentively when I spoke about the career I hoped for. I showed him scars on my hands from my work at the trade school; he held my hands with warmth as he looked at them and did not stop holding them when the conversation drifted, and I suddenly felt my vagina leak moisture. He never looked down, he always held my gaze but if he had he would have seen my nipples had hardened beneath the fabrics of my sweater and my bra. Dan was turning me on, and he wasn't even trying! I was sure my nipples would have cast shadows down the front of my sweater. I found myself wanting to go home and masturbate.
Suddenly Dan looked at his watch and looked at me in astonishment. "It's ten o'clock!" We looked around at the empty dining room and all the kitchen staff were watching us, smiling. Dan paid, we left and he drove me home. He did not try to claim a kiss but I thought it had been such a nice evening and he had been such a gentleman that I wanted to kiss him. I reached over and when I brushed his lips with mine, I stole a little lick. His lips were soft and tasted like prawns.
I told Jean all about the evening -- all except the kiss - and while she was glad I'd had a good time I started to feel a tension -- I thought she was a little more jealous than she was letting on. We soon fell asleep with me on my side, her behind me with her arm clutching me just a little more tightly than would allow her to sleep. I loved Jean but now I also thought Dan was more than a little interesting.
Next morning Jean had to leave earlier than me for class and when I showered alone I closed my eyes, squeezed my right breast with my left hand while I slid my right finger to my clitoris and masturbated, imagining what Dan might look like naked. I had never seen a live penis. Was it large? Tiny? What did a foreskin look like? Did that even matter? When I held an imaginary image of him in the shower next to me I had an orgasm that sank me gasping to my knees.
In the days that followed Jean and I continued to enjoy our loving lives together -- and I looked forward to my work shifts a little more. Dan came to the office building more often, and not just to work. Sometimes when I had a night shift he would come to the main entrance with a treat of some kind for me -- a sandwich, some cheese and crackers -- always something different. Close to Christmas once he brought me roasted chestnuts. Sometimes he would meet me at the end of my shift and take me out for a beer. I came to like cold beer.
One day he came to work and said he had forgotten his key to the office. I smiled, not believing him, but said I would let him in since there was no one else there to let him in. We entered the elevator, he pressed the number and with the same speed as the sliding doors we moved into each others arms. His lips were soft, his tongue was clean and his embrace was sure. I closed my eyes, returned his kiss, held him close -- and I could feel his erection. I held him harder, sucked harder at his lips and tongue -- then the elevator dinged. I stood back, quickly brushed the front of my uniform and led the way as we walked out and other people got on. I let him in, wanting to kiss again, longer and more, but I had to get back downstairs to my work so I simply placed my face next to his, briefly -- and he briefly but surely fondled my bum.
