Pat and Jennifer

Like most of my stories, this is set in the early 1970s, before internet, when young people still had to learn from personal experience. The long story (six chapters) starts with her first lesbian experience, but as the description of this chapter suggests, it is a surprising new experience for them both. As she will eventually tell, after a week with her cousin before her junior year in college, she recognizes that she wants more sex like that, not the college dating game of assuming or pretending that the guy should be a possible husband. She gets it in a long flashback, and then more.

I was surprised to get phone call from Pat. We were two years out of college and only knew each other from working together on a project in our senior year major. Her call: "Oh, hi Jen, I found you."

I didn't like the abbreviation of my name, but that was the way I had been addressed in college. Pat went on with a few remarks to renew contact, then said that she was coming to my city and wondered if it were possible that she could stay in my flat Friday evening to Monday morning for a job interview. Of course, I wanted to help her, but my two-seater sofa couldn't be where she would sleep. I replied:

"Yeah, of course, in principle, but - well - you'd have to share my queen-sized bed."

"If you'll let me, that would be fine, plenty big for the two of us."

I agreed, just hoping that we wouldn't fight for the covers. A queen-sized bed was plenty big enough for two people, as I knew from several nights in the beds of a couple of boyfriends. Of course, what we had done could and had been done on a narrow college bed, but just sleeping, there wasn't space for two without touching.

Two weeks later, Pat arrived late in the evening, as advised, thanking me for my hospitality with a bottle of wine. We caught up on what we had done since graduation and then got ready for bed. Had we both smiled a little wryly? I had.

We got ready for bed without seeing each other naked, both then in shortie nightgowns. We got into my bed from opposite sides. I turned off the bedside lamp, and we said goodnight, lying with our backs to each other, both gathering in the covers a little. I felt her doing it, but it was pretty much like I had expected – no physical contact, just two people sharing a big bed, one big enough. No problem, I fell asleep. Pat must have too.

Then during the night, I rolled over, as I usually did, hardly waking up, but vaguely aware of a body next to me, like the now many times I had been in the bed of one those friends. Nice, a warm body in front of me. My arm did what it always then had done in my half-sleep, sliding over the body and drawing it a little closer. Nice, familiar enough that I didn't wake up more to consider whose body, which friend's. That is a little embarrassing to admit now.

I was dozing off, when "his" hand found mine and moved it. But it wasn't "his" hand, couldn't be, it was shoving mine up onto a woman's breast! My hand was already holding it, before I really woke up and remembered that I was in bed with Pat, now holding her breast.

Shit!? But it felt nice in my hand, and she had wanted me to hold it?! Was she awake, or half asleep, like I had been, just helping "his" hand find her breast?! My hand squeezed it, if that was what "his" would have done, and my hand wanted to, too. It felt nice, holding another girl's breast. If that was what Pat wanted – asleep or awake – I didn't want to disturb her, only wondering that my fingers hadn't recognized the thin cloth of her nightie before her hand helped mine find her breast.

I dozed off again without further questions, just enjoying the warm feeling of a body close to mine and my arm around it, my fingers around a part of it that was just perfect for them to hold.

When I woke up in the morning, I had rolled back, only after a few moments remembering that Pat was there – in bed with me. Then I remembered what had happened. Shocked, I rolled away from her onto my other side, hoping she had been too asleep to remember anything.

But if she hadn't been, what could she have thought; that I had intentionally put my arm around her; that I had let her visit me – and sleep in my bed – so that something like that could happen? But then she had wanted my hand on her breast! Had she been wanting, hoping something like that could happen? I sure hadn't! Maybe, I hoped desperately, she had been too asleep.

For a couple of minutes, I consoled myself with that hope.

Then I felt her rolling back. Then after a few moments, I heard her murmur: "Oh, here."

At least, I thought, it had taken her a moment to remember where she was. I knew that feeling, waking up in strange room, usually when traveling – alone in bed, but also a couple of times in a guy's bed with him for the first time. Once, I couldn't remember his name immediately. That had been embarrassing. This was too, for a different reason, more so, when I heard her again.

"Hmmm! That was funny. Are you awake?"

"Uhm-hmm," I agreed, feeling my cheeks flush. She hadn't been that much asleep.

"Funny," Pat repeated, continuing:

"I felt a hand like his – which 'his'? – and sleepily did what I guess I usually do. Only when I had, did I recognize that it wasn't a man's hand, but it held me, as though it wanted to."

I had wanted to forget that; that my hand had wanted to. Embarrassed, I managed to reply:

"Something like that. When I rolled over and found a warm body, it had to be a 'his'. Like you said: 'which 'his'?" Sorry."

Pat chuckle and replied: "Really funny! Hope your hand liked holding it; it did."

Maybe it wasn't so embarrassing, I thought and nodded, then replying:

"I guess it did."

"Nothing to be sorry about. Why not? Hm-hmm! If you said it liked to, ..."

I felt Pat roll towards me. Then her hand was on my waist. Shit! Fuck! What did she have in mind?! A moment later, I knew; her hand was sliding over my breast. Crap! My nipple had popped up in her palm. Did she feel it? Her fingers were cupped around my breast, holding it. Had it felt like that for hers, when my fingers held it? It must have, but I couldn't remember that her nipple had stiffened. No, she had been almost sleeping, but I wasn't; mine had, was. Her fingers squeezed my breast, pressing my aroused nipple more firmly in her palm.

Shit! A girl's hand holding my breast shouldn't feel as arousing as a guy's holding it, but my thighs clamped together. Pat chuckled softly and murmured:

"I guess we both now know why guys like to hold them."

"And why we do," I murmured involuntarily, then silently cursing myself for what I had said.

I felt Pat nod on my pillow, only then aware that she was so close behind me. "Um-hmm," she agreed softly. Oh fuck! I had encouraged her! Her hand moved and caught my aroused nipple between the base of her fingers. Why didn't I have little nipples that wouldn't have let her do that? What were hers like? Why did I think of that?

I didn't know what to do. I knew I should stop her, but my thighs had clamped together again. It felt too good to want her to stop, and her fingers were doing more, like mine did, when I was starting to enjoy myself alone. That was what I usually did early Saturday mornings – not just then.

That was bad thing to remember, and Pat was making it worse, impossible to forget. Finally it occurred to me to try to make a joke of it. I said:

"Stop it; you're making me think about what I would do, if you weren't here."

"You too?" she replied with a chuckle. Damn! Her hand was sliding down to my other breast and its aroused nipple and found it.

"Stop it, I repeated.

"Okay, but if we both like to do that, ..." She drew her hand back and rolled away from me.

Relieved, I relaxed, but then realized that my own hand had found my breast. Pat chuckled and said: "Why not, if we both want to. I do; I will."

She wanted us both to masturbate?! What were my fingers doing on my nipple? They liked that it was big enough so they could pinch and twist it, and it did too – like they both always did before my fingers wanted to be somewhere else. If she was going to, I couldn't just lie there and watch her. When I leaned back, she moved away so that I could lie on my back.

I looked down the covers and saw her hand move to her crotch. She was really going to! I slide my other hand up under my nightie and held my other breast, squeezing its nipple between my fingers like she had. What were hers like? That question again? As my other hand slid down under the covers, Pat murmured: "Oh, yeah, don't usually wear them in bed."

Panties: at least she hadn't been anticipating this happening, had wanted to be more modest, in case I wore mine, but I didn't. My fingers slid down on my hair, while I saw both her hands under the covers moving, then her thighs spreading a little. My fingers began to explore further, my other ones extending to find both nipples. If I was going to do this with her, I might as well do it like I usually did and hope it would be as good as I wanted.

Pat chuckled softly, then murmured: "Don't think that I've done this before; I haven't – not in bed with a girl. I guess you haven't either."

She was right, but were we going to talk while we did it? I had to reply? Not to that, anyway, but could I talk and arouse myself at the same time? Pat wasn't waiting for a response, continuing in her normal tone: "Of course, in college, both of us doing it in our own bed. There couldn't be any secret about what she was doing when she came – too loud – put me over the brink. Didn't you with your roommate?"

Now I did have to reply. Oh, well, I thought, it will just take longer, already felt good. That would be also be nice. I replied:

"Yeah, of course, but not like that, both of us trying to be quiet. We never mentioned that we did, that we knew that we both were."

"We did, couldn't help but, since it was so obvious, comparing notes, so to speak."

"College talk. We certainly didn't."

For a few moments, we were both silent. I was looking up at the ceiling, concentrating on what my fingers were doing, forgetting about talking, thinking about how to make it better. Was that why I surprised myself, hearing me ask:

"Do you use both hands?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Pat replied with a chuckle. Damn! Now I had started the conversation. I looked down and saw both her hands between her legs. She added:

"Don't you?"

"Sometimes," I admitted: "wishing I had three hands."

"Don't we all, nipples too."

"Um-hmm," I agreed, and my hand moved to arouse my other nipple. A few moments later, Pat asked cheerfully:

"When did you have your first orgasm?"

"Like this? Not with a guy, for sure."

"Of course not, like this."

"Not for a long time. Shit! When did I discover doing this? It just felt so good, and I didn't know what an orgasm was, just couldn't keep my fingers off it. It was wicked, embarrassing. Oh, I had already slept - been in bed – a couple of times senior year in high school, but it wasn't good, but we had done it."

"Yeah, of course, same here, and for all other girls back then. And then?"

"After senior year, I happened onto an article that said that girls should learn how to "satisfy" themselves, that it would help them have an orgasm with a guy. Whee! It wasn't wicked; we were supposed to do it! I did and finally had one. How could I have thought what I had been doing was good enough? That was just the first one that summer, of course."

"Of course!" Pat agreed, continuing:

"About the same for me, not with high school boys, and not by myself. But when my older sister came home from college and asked if I was still a virgin, she asked if it had been good."

"Of course, she knew; she had been there."

"Yeah, so she told me to try harder by myself."

"And you did," I enjoined.

"Yeah, she gave me a couple of tips. They worked."

"Both hands?"

"That too."

There was silence again, while we both did what felt best. Did I really hear wet noises? Not from my pussy; it sure was wet, but my fingers were just rubbing my clit. I heard Pat moan softly. The wet noise stopped. She moaned again, a sort of chuckling moan, then said:

"I like this. This is being good – maybe too good."

"Yeah, here too. Too good? Impossible."

If it gets better, I may squirt."

Pat could squirt?! If it got better, I knew my pussy would get even wetter, but it just drooled. When it was that good, it drooled all down my ass. I suddenly remembered the first time that had happened, when someone was licking my pussy better than ever before. Pat spoke again:

"You don't mind?"

"Hmm? If you can do it that good, I don't want to hamper your pleasure. I just drool – plenty."

"Probably just as good. It washes out."

"I know," I agreed, adding: "So do whatever you like."

"Mmmm! I will!"

A moment later, I was sure that I was hearing wet noises again. If she could, I could; my other hand slid down, and two fingers slipped into my slippery, wet pussy, making just as squishy, wet noises. Pat nodded with a soft chuckle and murmured: "Just as wet."

Those were our last words for a while, but we were exchanging moans. When her knee drew up over mine, mine drew up under her thigh. Should I like that, my thigh touching another girl's and feeling them twitching? I did. It was arousing, not as much as feeling a cock twitching in my mouth, but something like that, aware of how aroused she also was. For sure, I was going to drool! I moaned louder, and my fingers did everything they could to make it happen.

Before they could, Pat suddenly exclaimed softly: "Fuck! Oh fuck! Fuck! . . . Fuuuck!" and her knees raised the covers, clasping her thighs together on her hands.

That did it for me. My thighs quivered and my pussy clutched my fucking fingers tighter and faster than it had been. Drool? It felt like a flood of warm pussy juice on my fingers and running down on my asshole. My hips had been jerking, and I was still feeling aftershocks from my orgasm, when I heard Pat remark: "That must have been just as good, sounded like it."

For a few moments, I had entirely forgotten that she was there. My fingers were wiping up pussy juice for me to lick. Chagrined, I replied:

"Sounded like it was? It was. Sounded like it was?"

"As good – if not better than – my roommate's, just not so loud."

"Yours must have been too."

"Oh, it was, thank you. Sorry, the sheets may be all wet."

"Don't thank me; this was your idea."

"But only after you said that this is what you'd do, if I weren't here."

"I guess so," I admitted, wiping my sopping fingers on my stomach, disappointed that I wouldn't get to taste my pussy juice and wondering what we would do now. Pat wanted to talk more:

"What do you think about?"

"When?"

"When you're doing it."

"When you're not talking?"

"Yeah, of course."

"What do you think about?" I returned her question.

"Hmm? Not much, face it, we probably – surely – get off more often alone than with a man, so don't need to fantasize, just do it."

I hadn't ever thought about that. She was right – "more often" – and we both had started giving ourselves orgasms before a guy had, didn't have anything to fantasize about. But if she wanted to talk about it, I replied:

"True. I guess that sometimes I start when I'm playing with my nipples ..."

"They're nice," Pat interjected.

"When I'm playing with them, if the last time with a guy was good, I may be thinking about that, but then, well, I'm just thinking about getting off as best I can."

"Yeah, I guess so, like that," Pat agreed, then chuckled and added: "better not tell them."

"Nope! Pity no one told those boys freshman and sophomore year what girls wanted."

"No orgasms with them?"

None. Of course, it was arousing to be doing it, and they got off, but then back in my bed alone I had to satisfy myself."

"Sophomores thought they were doing us a favor, but didn't know anything about it, morons."

Pat chuckled and we were silent for a few moments, our legs now extended, only our shoulders lightly touching. Then Pat chuckled and remarked: "But after sophomore year, something, someone better?"

I just nodded. There sure had been "something, someone better," too fucking much better, but I was hesitant to tell her – who it was and what I had done. I still blushed when I suddenly recalled it at the wrong time or place, a sudden mental snapshot during a conversation about something entirely unrelated to sex. Pat interrupted my thoughts:

"You nodded, tell."

"You really want to know? Oh, it's a little embarrassing, never told anyone else."

"Must have been really good, tell."

"If you insist. It's probably going to be a long story."

"All the better, tell," Pat insisted again.

I took a deep breath and sighed, resigned to telling her, wondering where to start. After another deep breath, I started:

"Don't say anything. He was my cousin, in grad school at the time. Our families shared the big place the grandparents had had. When we were kids – he and his older sister and me – were small, both families vacationed together there. Later, we took turns.

"So after sophomore year, just his parents were there and invited me to spend a week in June before whatever I did that summer. That was nice of them, even though I wouldn't have any company my age. The place overlooked a river in Georgia, pretty much off by itself, but they had a big old mahogany inboard motorboat, and I could use it, knowing there were some really nice places draining into the river, small lakes fed by underground springs. They were really secluded, and cool water. More than once, I had gone skinny dipping in them alone. So it would be a nice week.

"Oh, skinny dipping: when we were small the parents let us. I guess I was four, he then seven or eight, his sister eleven or twelve. I guess that stopped when she started filling out. Funny, I remember one of the adults saying something about my not having to ask what boys looked like."

I was beginning to enjoy my story but recognized that I was stalling about getting to the real part of it. Pat did too, remarking:

"Okay, he was your cousin, but this is not about your skinny dipping when you were four."

"No. So there I was at the place – after sophomore year – and he was there too! They hadn't told me that. This is the embarrassing part, part of it. We had last seen each other when he was sixteen and I was twelve, just my nice older cousin. Now he was a man, and I wasn't a little girl. Embarrassing! I almost wet my pants. After anticipating being alone for the week, suddenly this nice looking young man was there, and all I could think about was sex. Of course, we would be doing something together, boating, swimming – skinny dipping?! Why I mentioned that before."

"Yeah, yeah, get on with it," Pat remarked: "I can see where this is going."

"I guess so. That first night, I did fantasize about him. The next morning, sunny, hot, Georgia, of course we went out in the boat in swim wear, my best bikini, the one I knew mother shouldn't know I had."

Pat chuckled and asked: "One of those that let your nipples show?"

"Not quite. Back then I wouldn't have worn one like that, just triangles of thin cloth over them."

"Probably just as well, gave him something to wonder about."

"And shock his parents, if I had had one like that. The one I had was revealing enough. His dad smiled at it."

"Smiled at you in it," Pat corrected with a grin, adding: "and he probably did too."

"I hope so, I agreed, returning her grin, and continued:

"So there we were in the boat, agreeing about where we wanted to go. which cool spring we wanted to go to. Of course, since we both wanted to go to one, we would want to swim and cool off."