Dales Women Ch 17

"Marcia's going to be a tough nut to crack," Bethany said, lying in Dale's arms one night. "She was really angry with me when I told her what I'd done with you. I think she's something of a man-hater—don't know how that happened, but it's going to be hard to win her over."

"Bethany," Dale protested, "I don't want us to force her to do anything."

"Oh, I know that," Bethany said airily. "But she just needs to know what it is to be with a man. I mean, how can you decide whether you like it or not if you don't give it a try? It's just silly!"

"Maybe she had a bad experience," Dale said, remembering the horrible story that Bridget had told—a story he was certain Bethany didn't know anything about.

"Maybe," Bethany said grudgingly, "but that doesn't mean you have to cut yourself off from men forever! I don't have patience with people who can't get over things—it just seems weak to me."

"I wouldn't be so quick to pass judgment," Dale said disapprovingly.

"Okay, okay, I get what you mean. But I have a plan. It may not work, but I have a feeling it just might."

*

It wasn't exactly the case that Marcia had had a bad experience with men. It was more a combination of a lack of experience with an unfortunate brainwashing that had happened in college.

During high school, Marcia—tall for a girl, at five foot seven—found herself not very popular with boys, since she was taller than a fair number of them and wasn't superficially appealing like other girls. As a result, she had shied away from getting involved with anyone, convinced that no one really liked her in that way. She had reluctantly gone to the prom with a boy who was almost as unpopular as she was, but they had only exchanged a token kiss before bidding each other goodnight.

When she got to college, she found that her freshman roommate was an open lesbian.

Nora Maberry was from upstate New York and had known of her inclinations since at least the age of fifteen. She was not only one of those girls who would sleep with just about any girl or woman who came along, but who developed a furious loathing of the male sex. It was never clear to Marcia whether Nora had herself had a bad experience: she was very tight-lipped about any involvements with guys and actually claimed that no man aside from her father had ever seen her naked or touched her anywhere on her body. Marcia didn't entirely believe that, but she could tell that Nora did not look kindly upon men.

"Guys are

soooooo

disgusting!" she had once said while they were sitting in the cafeteria having a quick breakfast before their first class. She was staring at a group of guys who were being a bit rowdy on the other side of the room, punching each other in the shoulder and generally making an obtrusive nuisance of themselves.

"Don't you think so?" Nora said almost accusingly.

"I don't know," Marcia said shyly. "I don't know guys very well."

Nora beamed at her. "Oh, does that mean that no guy has—you know . . .?"

Marcia colored. "No. I mean, yes, that's right. No guy ever has."

"Good," Nora said decisively. "Keep it that way. All they want to do is stick their things into you—they don't care who it is, whether she's a raving beauty or a dog, or whether she's straight or lesbian. And they don't care

where

they stick it in—your pussy, your mouth, even that other place."

"What other place?" Marcia asked naively.

Nora gave her a frustrated look. "You know where. Your bottom, your fundament, your posterior, your derrière. In short, your butt."

"But it can't go there!" Marcia said. She had literally thought there was no way it could fit in that tight spot.

"Of course it can!" Nora said derisively. "How do you think gay guys do it? They're the only ones, I guess, who are allowed to. But straight guys really want to do it to girls—it's become something of a fashion."

"How awful," Marcia said with a shiver.

"Yeah, you're telling me. They'd have to tie me down to do that to

me.

Come to think of it, they'd probably like that even better!"

For the first few weeks, Nora hadn't made any passes at Marcia, although it was obvious she was pretty interested in her roommate. Marcia got to the point of being careful not to undress in front of her, so far as she could help it; but that wasn't always so easy. The room was pretty small, and as night came on Marcia had no choice but to disrobe quickly and put on a nightgown as fast as possible, knowing that Nora was devouring her with her eyes.

Up to this point, Marcia was confused about exactly what she felt as far as sex was concerned. She had always assumed she was heterosexual, but her singular lack of success with boys had made her wonder whether she'd ever have a boyfriend or ever get into bed with a guy. And now that Nora was so patently keen on her body, she had to give serious thought as to what her orientation really was.

It was late in October, when the weather was turning cold, that Nora made the first move.

Marcia was almost asleep one night when she sensed a presence approaching her narrow bed.

"Marcia, I'm cold," Nora said in something of a whine. Both girls' beds had exactly the same thin sheet and not particularly heavy blanket, so it wasn't clear to Marcia why Nora was any colder than she was.

But she politely made room for her roommate as the other girl slipped in next to her.

Marcia had to admit that Nora's warm, soft body did feel good next to hers. She was not entirely unsurprised when Nora snaked her arms around her neck and snuggled up next to her—after all, if she was cold, she would want to get as much of Marcia's body heat as possible.

And yet, this was the first time that

anyone

had hugged her, and the first time she had felt anyone's body resting at full length next to her own.

Marcia didn't quite know what to do. She tentatively wrapped her arms around Nora's waist, for lack of a better place to put them. She had to confess that she liked the feel of Nora's breasts against her own: both had ample bosoms, and the contact of those globes even with the fabric of their nightgowns in between was both soothing and thrilling.

When Nora began kissing Marcia's neck, she stiffened with alarm. "Nora, please don't do that. I'm trying to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," Nora said bluntly. Now she had placed her entire body on top of Marcia's and was pointedly rubbing her groin into hers.

"Please, Nora," Marcia begged piteously. "I'm not sure I want to do this."

"Every girl wants to do this," Nora said sententiously.

And with that, she boldly lifted Marcia's long nightgown from the bottom and slipped her hand between Marcia's legs.

She was wet, of course—how could she not be, after the stimulation she had already received? But this first contact of someone's fingers on her most delicate spot sent a huge tremor through her, and she tried to pull the other girl's hand away.

But Nora was now determined to carry on, and she thrust several fingers into her roommate's pussy, evoking a sharp cry from Marcia. Nora took that as a good sign, and she rubbed Marcia's clitoris vigorously while pasting a long, wet kiss on her mouth. Marcia was a big, strong girl, but for some reason she couldn't summon up the wherewithal to resist. She had of course played with herself from time to time, and had liked it; but this aggressive move on the part of another woman somehow paralyzed her, and after a while she just gave way to the sensation.

She came in a matter of minutes, letting out a high-pitched squeal as Nora, looking down at her and grinning with almost fiendish satisfaction, continued to rub her until the final waves of her orgasm passed.

"How was that?" Nora said triumphantly.

"Fabulous," Marcia managed to say, dizzy and almost fainting.

"Good," Nora said emphatically. "Now it's your turn. But first, we need to take these ridiculous nightgowns off."

Nora raised herself up on her knees and tossed the nightgown over her head. Evidently she didn't feel cold anymore. Marcia's nightgown was already pulled up to her waist, and without asking permission Nora pried it over her roommate's head and threw it on the floor to join her own.

Nora really did have a splendid body—fleshy, curvy, and luscious. Both men and women would no doubt have found it tempting, but Nora reserved her favors for only one gender.

She flopped onto the bed, on her back, and looked up expectantly at Marcia. "Come on, let's get to it," she ordered.

Marcia started very tentatively. Not only had she never had anyone touch her in her sensitive spots, but she had never touched anyone else—boy or girl—in those spots either. She started by gently stroking Nora's breasts—something Nora liked well enough, but she was clearly primed for stronger action. She herself took Marcia's hand and placed it between her legs.

When Marcia encountered another girl's wetness for the first time, it sent a strange shock through her. The mere fact that she had been able, passive as she had been so far, to inspire sexual arousal in another human being was a revelation to her.

My God! I'm a desirable creature . . .

As she continued to stroke Nora—not forgetting to use her other hand to give her breasts, with their nipples strikingly erect, a squeeze—she was startled at how uninhibited her roommate was. Nora made no secret of her burgeoning pleasure, and as her climax washed over her she let out something close to a scream while bucking her hips wildly and clutching the sheets spasmodically with her fists. She seemed to have no embarrassment at who might hear her in the throes of sexual passion—the walls in this dorm were pretty thin!

Marcia was stunned, because her own self-pleasuring had always been a matter of intense privacy and, she had to admit, intense shame as well. She knew boys played with themselves a lot and made no bones about it—but that's because they were boys, and everyone knew boys were vile and degraded creatures. For a girl to be so open about enjoying sex seemed to Marcia almost obscene—and with Nora looking at her in post-orgasmic bliss, her eyes unfocused and her tongue lolling indecently out of her mouth, Marcia's whole world seemed to be shaken.

But Nora wasn't finished yet. After snuggling with Marcia for a while, she suddenly became all business and said, "Let's do some sixty-nine." Marcia wasn't quite certain what that even was, but Nora took the initiative of positioning herself on top of her roommate and burying her face deep in Marcia's sex, provoking another squeal of surprise. She also pressed her own sex in Marcia's face, so that Marcia had no choice but to glue her lips to the other girl's labia, still wet from her previous climax.

Marcia later admitted to herself that she found the whole procedure not entirely satisfactory: there was simply too much stimulation going on. Nora was obviously very skilled at inflaming another girl's sex, and she worked diligently with her mouth and tongue while seizing Marcia's bottom with her hands—but Marcia had trouble focusing on her own pleasure while also doing her part to stimulate Nora. But the two girls still managed several orgasms, one after the other, as they licked and sucked and nuzzled for close to an hour.

Finally Marcia—who had never had multiple climaxes before—pleaded with Nora to stop. "Please, I just can't take any more!"

Nora, her face glistening from Marcia's juices, said, "Okay, dear. I suppose this is all new to you."

But she didn't go back to her own bed, as Marcia expected—and hoped. Instead, she curled up next to her, expecting Marcia to wrap her arms around her while she dropped off to sleep. This was another new experience for Marcia, and she wasn't at all sure it would work; but to her surprise she fell asleep almost at once.

When the two girls awoke the next morning, they were a little stiff from the cramped quarters of the small bed, but felt refreshed and ready to tackle the day.

This was, of course, not a solitary experience; Nora made sure to follow up with repeated encounters, day or night, whenever the opportunity presented itself. Marcia could always tell when Nora wanted some action: she would get this sharp, seductive look in her eyes, and she would lick her lips and say something like, "I think we've done enough homework—let's get down to some fun." And Marcia, who was definitively the subordinate partner in the relationship, would always yield.

A few weeks into their lovemaking, Nora stunned Marcia by bringing in a sex toy—a dildo, no less.

"What on earth's that?" Marcia had almost shrieked.

"What does it look like, silly?" Nora said, as if speaking to a dense two-year-old.

"But—but," Marcia said, "why on earth would you want to use that thing? I thought you hated men—or at least that part of a man."

"Oh," Nora said lightheartedly, "I don't hate men except when they're trying to rape me—which all men want to do, by the way. And I have no particular objection to 'that part of a man,' as you put it. You'll notice that this isn't attached to an actual man—so we get the best of both worlds!"

Marcia remained nervous, and for reasons she couldn't explain to her roommate. She herself didn't have a problem manipulating the thing into Nora's sex, and she was startled to see how enthusiastically Nora greeted the penetration of her vitals by this rubbery phallus. In fact, Nora took Marcia's hand and forced her to plunge the thing so hard and so deep into herself that Marcia was afraid her roommate would be seriously injured. But nothing happened—except that Nora screamed her head off when her climax came over her.

Now it was Nora's turn to use the tool on Marcia. Marcia tried to say, "I really don't want that thing in me," but Nora was not taking no for an answer. She just told Marcia to lie back and enjoy the experience—and she thrust the dildo into her.

Marcia first gasped, then let out a shriek of pain. Alarmed, Nora pulled the dildo out. It was streaked with blood.

"Omigod," Nora said softly. "I had no idea."

"What do you expect?" Marcia cried, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I broke my hymen years ago with one of these things," Nora explained. "I somehow thought—"

"Well, you thought wrong!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Let's see if we can clean you up."

They quickly got into robes and trudged off to the women's bathroom. This was surely not the first time that such a clean-up operation was necessary.

But Marcia later found that the dildo was enjoyable enough, and she was happy to incorporate it into their sex play. The sensation of being filled by it inspired strange feelings in Marcia—feelings she couldn't fully articulate even to herself.

There seemed to be no limit to Nora's sexual appetite—and Marcia also suspected that Nora spread her favors to other girls on campus. Sometimes she would stay away all night. This didn't bother Marcia very much: for all her enjoyment of girl-on-girl sex, she didn't feel at all in love with or devoted to her roommate. She liked her well enough, and she was grateful to her for opening up for her a whole realm of sexual enjoyment she couldn't have imagined; but she didn't see in Nora a lifelong partner.

But Marcia did feel that her outlook on life had changed dramatically.

Omigod—I'm a lesbian. And I like it.

In her naïveté, Marcia couldn't imagine that someone could be bisexual. It just didn't make sense to her. You were either gay or straight: if you managed somehow (and she couldn't imagine how) to dally with both genders, that just meant you were something of a hedonist who didn't care where or with whom you snatched your pleasure. There was even, to her mind, something degenerate in the very idea of mingling with both guys and gals. It was unnatural in a way that heterosexuality or homosexuality weren't. Eventually, she figured, you'd have to come down on one side or the other.

It wasn't that Marcia didn't have

any

involvement with boys: on a coed campus, that was pretty near impossible. She did find, to her amazement, that some boys seemed to like her and want to go out with her; but having decided that she was a lesbian pure and simple, she turned these boys down without even thinking about it. She didn't actually explain why—her sexual orientation was a private matter, not to be shared except with whoever happened to be her sexual partner—and so she got the reputation of being, well, asexual.

And so, when she heard about Bethany's Asexual Club, she naturally fell into it.

By this time—it was her junior year—she had lost touch with Nora, who had drifted off to other involvements after their year of rooming together ended. It was something of a disappointment—she couldn't help having

some

feelings for Nora, after all the sex they'd had—but it was nothing truly tragic. She had trouble finding another girl to bed down with, chiefly because she was still quite shy—and, although she was reluctant to admit it to herself, she was secretly ashamed that she was, to her way of thinking, an unabashed and permanent lesbian. Since she'd had so much sex with Nora, and since she'd enjoyed it so much, she couldn't possibly be straight, could she? Something didn't feel quite right, but she couldn't wrap her mind around letting a guy possess her.

And that's where things stood when, to her outrage, Bethany had told how she had so shamefully yielded to a guy she hardly knew. Why, it was no better than being a hooker! In fact, it was worse: Bethany hadn't even gotten any money out of it! She'd sold herself on the cheap, giving away her most prized possession for absolutely nothing.

Is it any wonder that she marched out of Bethany's apartment and never wished to hear from her again?

*

It took Bethany many hours of persuasion on the phone to get Marcia to reconsider. She wasn't interested, Bethany said, in convincing Marcia that sex with guys was a wonderful, even a transcendent thing; she just wanted Marcia to be her friend again. At long last Bethany wore Marcia down and convinced her to come to her apartment one Friday night so that they could partially patch things up.

As Marcia entered the tiny place, she looked warily upon her former buddy. She couldn't help thinking that Bethany—and, from what she'd heard, Bridget also—had been polluted in some imperceptible but appalling way. The idea that

both

girls were giving their favors to the same boy was almost inconceivable to her. She would have been less surprised if her pet cat had started talking to her and explaining to her the rudiments of Einstein's theory of relativity.

"Would you like a drink?" Bethany said offhandedly.

Marcia scowled disapprovingly. "You know I don't drink."

"Oh, come on, Marcia, lighten up," Bethany said. "Here—take some Kahlúa. It's sweet and tasty—you'll like it."

It also has a pretty high alcohol content—maybe that'll help.

Marcia reluctantly agreed. As she sipped the dark-colored drink, she had to admit that it was nice—kind of like liquid candy, with a kick.

But Marcia wasn't about to be appeased. "How are things with Dale?" she said acidly.

"Fine," Bethany said blandly. "He's really a nice guy."

"Humph," Marcia said. "I guess Bridget thinks so too."

Bethany didn't respond to the sarcasm. "You shouldn't pass judgment on someone you've never met."

And you shouldn't have slept with a guy you'd never met!

But Marcia was too polite to hurl that accusation at Bethany.

They both sat down on the small couch—really not much more than a loveseat—in the living room. To Marcia's discomfiture, Bethany sat so close to her that their thighs were touching.

"I guess," Bethany said ruefully, "you're determined to remain asexual."