All participants are of legal age.
*****
Wendy had been a friend of my brother's from high school. She was two years younger than me and I didn't meet her until we were both in our early twenties. The woman was adorable. She had liquid chocolate eyes that sparkled whenever she would flash her impish grin. She was petite, with the body of a ballerina, thin and toned with tiny pert titties that were capped by the most virginal looking pale pink nipples. She was quick to giggle and always got a bit misty-eyed when she had a few cocktails. Wendy was a Jewish American Princess, spoiled by her daddy, who owned a kosher butcher shop in Garden City.
Wendy and I hit it off right away. This was back in the mid to late seventies, the era of free love, and everyone in our clique was doing everybody else; we mixed and matched sex partners with giddy abandon. The kamikaze parties got everyone loose and we all did some interesting experimentation, mostly in my basement apartment, where we would cover the floor with mattresses and have huge make-out parties that ended up as near orgies more often than not.
We were a very horny and close-knit group, with no jealousies between us. It all seemed so open and natural. The greatest part...absolutely no shame or inhibitions about it at all. Most of us still remain friends today, though we do not speak of those hot sessions of our past. It was a regular Peyton Place, and my apartment was ground zero because even though we were all beyond the age of consent, most still lived with their parents, in order to save money.
Wendy had curly medium brown hair. The ringlets framed her delicate features and lightly sun burnished complexion perfectly. All the men adored her, she wasn't beautiful, she was cute as could be and carried with her an air of innocence. That was what was so charming about her, and what attracted me.
One day, we had driven to her Dad's butcher shop to get some meat for dinner. We stopped at her college campus for a while and smoked a joint in front of the English Tudor style cottage which served as the library annex. It was a beautiful late spring afternoon; the sweet scent of flowers and marijuana filled the air and the sun slung low, causing the tall trees to cast long shadows across the lush emerald green lawns.
We headed back to Dix Hills in her flashy blue Camaro. Wendy was the only one of us who had unlimited funds, from Mom and Dad. She loved to treat all her friends, to things we couldn't otherwise afford. We wouldn't have loved her any less if she hadn't. Nobody was home when we delivered the meat. It was the first time I had been at her house, in the affluent neighborhood, all the way on the other side of town.
We sat in the backyard and smoked more of the joint. The weed was good and the conversation started to flow. We moved into the living room, me on the couch, and she sitting in a half-lotus position on the floor at my feet. Wendy told me that her sister thought she might be gay, and she was curious about that, but afraid to embarrass her sister with a bunch of personal questions.
I was the adviser of our group. Everyone came to me with questions and problems, looking for down-to- earth information and advice. She naturally asked me if I knew anything about lesbians. Well, most of what I knew was from books, though I had done a bit of same sex exploration with my best friend in college, but I was no expert, and at that point, had not come to my later realization that I was bisexual.
The more I told Wendy, the more interested she became. I could see her nipples getting stiff under her soft cotton sweater. She licked her lips and flipped her hair, and looked up at me like I was the most interesting person in the world. God, she was so damn cute. No wonder all the guys wanted to get into her pants. Her Mom and sister got home a little later, so we moved from the living room, to her bedroom - one that was fit for a princess.
We talked for what seemed like hours, and then she went down to ask her mother if I could stay for dinner. After dinner she asked if I would like to sleep over. I figured what the heck, we were having a good time and neither of us wanted to drive all the way across town to get me home. I still hadn't a clue of what was to come, but now that I look back, I think she may have engineered the whole thing. Perhaps she wasn't as innocent as she looked.
We changed into a couple of pairs of her baby doll pajamas. They had cute little cotton panties and gauzy pastel smock tops that barely came to the bottom of our taut young asses. She looked at my full breasts straining against their thin cotton covering, and announced that she hated being cute. She wanted to be sexy like me. I was taken aback. I had never been called sexy by a woman before.
I assured her it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, and that she was much better off with her cute little figure. It fit her personality to a tee, just as my ample curves and well-toned body fit mine. But I knew what she meant; men dubbed me a "super vixen", and treated me accordingly; while Wendy was treated like a fragile porcelain doll. We each admired and envied what the other had.
