This is my entry to the Winter Holidays Contest, 2020. Please vote, via stars. Also, if you'd like to leave a comment, I would love that!
A virgin at age 25, Lana wakens to a sex life of complex wants and needs
Warning:
This story is a first time story, where Lana not only finally experiences the joys of sex, but realizes she's bisexual. There is group sex in the story.
**
Gloom. The weather fit my mood. I kind of liked it. I liked watching the rain fall, knowing I was warm, safe, and dry, indoors at my parents' home, with every convenience known to modern man, even if I was a classic representative of the modern American woman. I'd been furloughed, of course, then got 'the virus,' and was now recuperating, back at the ancestral home in Indiana, with my mother waiting on me hand and foot. I was no longer contagious, and no longer even sick, but tell that to Mom.
The rain kept changing just enough to keep my attention. Sometimes I would watch 'Lake Owens,' as I called the low point in my parents' driveway. The lake would form during a serious rain, and then gradually evaporate when the storm blew over. There was a similar low point on my parent's lawn, but Dad had planted a weeping willow tree there, and such trees are always thirsty; they can never have enough water. It was a good solution, since it worked perfectly. He couldn't plant one in the middle of the driveway, however, whence Lake Owens.
The rain made Lake Owens turbulent, and I remembered how, years ago, my little brother used to go out in the rain, to Mom's consternation, and play with his toy boat in the lake, imagining the Revolutionary War battles of the Great Lakes. This storm had a lot of wind with it; so much wind, in fact, I could hear it howling, and occasionally even rattling the windows. Consequently, the rain would fall straight down, then slant to the right, and once even it slanted backwards, away from the house.
Next, I'd watch the little rivulets of water flowing into Lake Owens, and the rain overflowing our roof gutters because Dad was tardy in cleaning the fallen leaves out of them. There'd be waterfalls from the roofline down to the plants alongside our home. Everything was wet. Everything was soaking wet. The grass had turned that beautiful shade of green that everyone -- especially me -- loves, and I knew it would stay that color green for at least a good, long day after the storm ended.
It was romantic. There's something about the gloom of a rainy day that fosters thoughts of romance in a girl, and if I am anything, anything at all, I'm a girl. I know several boys, right here in our Indiana small town where I grew up, who could swear in a court of law that I'm a girl, having verified that actual fact in the back seats of various cars. None of them, however, had yet succeeded to make me a woman. I kind of doubted any of them would, either, not that I wasn't ready. I was ready. Hell, I was already 25 years old! I was Eveready, you know, like the battery? Not the Energizer Bunny, just the battery. Reliable, and full of power: That was me. Nobody had taken the plastic off my positively charged end, and I seriously doubted any of the boys I currently knew would be given the chance.
As I was daydreaming about how they might try, and how I would outwit them as I always did, and watching the rain fall onto Lake Owens, growing it the way rainfall grows lakes, my romantic, introspective mood, was shattered as the shrill voice of my mother penetrated the comforting, dulling, drone of falling rain, as well as my carefully curated gloom, as she called out, "Lana! Where are you my dear?"
Where else would I be, but in the guest room, watching the rain, watching the millions of raindrops splash onto Lake Owens, piercing through the gloom with my baby blue eyes, thinking of romance? I stayed silent.
"There you are!" came the shrill voice of Mom, as she opened the door of the guest room, turning on the light in the process, destroying the gloom I had been enjoying. I knew my time of delightful, gloomy, romantic self-absorption was over. What would it be? Another cup of herbal tea? Some cookies she had just baked? I could smell the cookies; the wonderful smell of freshly baked cookies washed into the room right along with Mom. Nothing ruins gloom better than freshly baked cookies; even the smell of them dispelled that wonderful, ethereal feeling of gloom, so perfectly designed for self-pity. *sigh* To top it all, Mom makes a good cookie. A very good cookie. From flour, butter, sugar and a little baking powder, she creates a wonderful gustatory delight in the heaven of delicious reassurance.
"I just got off the phone with Martha Silvers. You know, the nice lady from temple? You'll never believe what she proposed!" Mom said.
A bake-off for an oneg shabat? A long walk in the rain? Buying seats on the next Elon Musk trip to outer space? An engine swap for the men between our car and theirs? Visiting a strip club? A husband swap? Muay Thai? Learning sorcery together? I couldn't guess.
"I can't guess, Mom. Want to tell me?" I asked.
"Her nephew is coming to town this weekend, and she proposed that you show him around. Entertain him, you know? He's apparently awkward with girls, and she thinks you're just the ticket to bring him out of his shell, you know? I must say, if anyone can, it's you. After all, you have hot and cold boys coming after you constantly," Mom said.
"Mostly hot boys," I mumbled, in reply. Give me some credit.
"What?" came the shrill voice of Mom. Mom's a little hard of hearing. I longingly looked out the window at Lake Owens, but the mood I had conjured, cultivated, and cajoled into a lovely existence was now gone, not to be regained. Damn.
"Nothing," I said. "Is he a nephew on Martha's side, or her husband's side?" I couldn't imagine anyone related to Martha Silvers having sex. Ever.
"Martha's not married, honey," Mom said. Oh. Well, that makes sense.
"You and the Silvers woman want me to go on a blind date? What century are you living in? Wait; don't answer that. I'm sorry, Mom, but I can't. I'm busy," I said.
"What are you doing this entire weekend that prevents you from entertaining this nice man for an evening, or a few hours in the afternoon?" Mom asked, rather accusingly, you might say.
You know, maybe I could, after all, recover the gloom I so desperately crave? "Have you seen the state of my toenails, and my feet in general, Mom? I need a pedicure so badly, it's not funny. I need my eyebrows done, too; and my hair? My hair is a train wreck. A good leg waxing and a bikini wax are long overdue. Sorry, but there's just no time to fit in the Slivers nephew, too. Why don't you ask Helen Howe?"
Everyone knows Helen is a slut, and she is doing her own survey of the sizes and shapes of men's erect penises, and how they feel inside her, in all three holes. Everyone knows that. If anyone could wake up a shy, impotent relative of that strange, sexless woman, Martha Silvers, it would have to be Helen. He'd have to meet her standards, though: He'd have to be male, heterosexual, and breathing. Well, come to think of it, he wouldn't
have
to be male. Helen is pan sexual. Mostly, she's just sexual.
"Helen is a good idea, she's such a nice girl, but Martha asked me to ask you, and personally. I would like you to go out with him; as a favor to me," Mom said. "Also, she wants a girl within the faith, and Helen is not."
"Why me, though, Mom? Blind dates are so twentieth century!" I said. "I would be mortified to be on a blind date. My toenails are not going to paint themselves, you know."
"Wear closed shoes," Mom said.
"What happens when he gets me naked in the back of his rented, gas guzzling, monster of a car, spreads my legs, and sees my toenails? The horror! The horror!" I said, trying not to giggle when I saw Mom's face. "He'll retreat so far back into his shell, even Helen's talented tongue and mouth wouldn't be able to coax him out."
"Where on God's Green Earth did you learn to speak like that?" Uh-oh; Mom was angry. Humor is not her thing. "Go brush your teeth. No cookies for you, who talks to your own mother like that!" I didn't remind her that I'm twenty-five years old, and was only 'at home,' due to Dad's ill health, and then my ill health, all due to the pandemic.
**
I was allowed to devour the cookies (boy-oh-boy does Mom bake great cookies!), and in return I got more or less forced, well, pressured, or maybe cajoled, or entreated, or maybe all of that, into going on the first -- and I'm sure the last -- blind date of my life. Where, oh where, is my self-respect? Why-oh-why-oh-why-oh; Why did I ever leave Ohio? I had been happy in Cincinnati, with a decent apartment on Mount Adams, commanding a wonderful view of downtown and the river. It had just been this bleeping virus that had forced me to come home. First, I helped to take care of Dad, who had a bad case, and then as my reward, I got a worse case! I had barely avoided going to the hospital.
