It began innocently enough over a cup of coffee. It was an ordinary mid-morning and I with my friend Mary, having a good old natter with her. Well, actually it turned out to be more of a moan than a natter.
"So what's up Jenny?" she asked me, "you look so down."
"It's, um, well, it's a bit personal," I muttered.
"Come on Jenny, how long have we known each other?" Mary asked me, "You know you can trust me with anything at all."
"OK," I said, playing with my coffee mug, "basically, it's about sex, or the lack of it."
"Oh Jenny, of course, how silly of me!" Mary reached out and put her hand on mine, "I never thought!"
"It's OK," I smiled at her, her hand still on mine, "it just hit me the other day how difficult it will be for me to find another man."
My divorce had come through six months ago and though I was glad to see the back of that cheating rat, and yes I had done very well out of it all, I'd realised that no-one was going to be interested in a 43 year old overweight woman with a daughter at uni.
"Oh Jenny, you'll find someone else," Mary said softly, her hand gently stroking mine, "you've got so much to give!"
"No Mary, what man is going to want this?" I said, indicating myself sitting looking and feeling fat and miserable, "it's just me and my trusty vibrator, and I'm fed up with that already!"
"Oh Jenny, it doesn't need to be like that," my friend told me, a warm and compassionate look on her face, "are you sure?"
"Positive," I told her, feeling comforted by the way she was rubbing my hand, "I'm done with men, forever!"
"I see," she said quizzically, "You know, there is another way."
"Another way?" I asked her, not really following her, "what do you mean?"
"Look, you know my Brian is away for weeks on end, working abroad?" Mary asked me, "How do you think I manage while he's away?"
"I, err, I just assumed you were the same as me," I blushed, "you know, masturbating."
"Oh, I do, don't get me wrong," Mary chuckled, "I spend hours rubbing my clit and shoving things up my cunny, but it isn't enough for me; I need more."
"So what do you do?" I asked her, intrigued.
"Jenny, there's more to sex than men you know," she said softly, her fingers caressing my wrist and arm, "there are other women too."
"You mean, like lesbians?" I stammered, watching her fingers caress my lower arm.
"Yes Jenny, just like lesbians," she purred, "I make love to other women."
I stared at my friend in amazement, not quite knowing what to think. I would never had guessed in a million years that this woman, who I'd known for years, like doing it with other women. I had never thought about being with another woman in all my life -- I'd always had a man to satisfy me, well sometimes -- but sitting here with Mary as she touched me and smiled at me mad e all sorts of alien thoughts whirl through my head.
"Jenny, would you try it?" she asked me, still stroking my arm.
"I'm not a lesbian," I murmured, confused by my feelings.
"Neither am I," she smiled at me, "I'm a happily married woman."
"But you want to have sex with me?" I said quietly, wondering what it would be like to see my friend naked, to touch her and have her touch me.
"Since we first met actually," Mary confessed, "but I never wanted to risk making a move."
"Until now," I stated, excited by the desire that was obvious in her face.
"Well, you're single now and so obviously in need," she purred, "and I know that if you only give me a chance I can fill that need and make you feel so good."
So there it was, my good friend and confidante had the hots for me and wanted to fuck me. She was right, I was in need, but was this what I wanted? As I looked into her admittedly beautiful green eyes Mary got up and moved around to me, standing over me and lifting my face up to look at her. I wasn't repelled by what she was suggesting; indeed, for the first time in ages I felt a real flutter of excitement in my belly, but I was uncertain that this was right.
"Don't say or do anything Jenny," Mary told me as she leant over, her face coming closer to mine, "just let me kiss you, and then tell me what you think."
I was trembling a little as I closed my eyes, feeling her warm breath on my face just before her lips touched mine. As we kissed slowly and softly I was amazed at how different it seemed to be to kissing a guy -- there was no scratchy stubble, no smell of sweat or aftershave, just the softness of Mary's skin and the smell of her perfume. Her lips were soft and wet and when her tongue sought entry to my mouth I granted it, thrilling to feel it find mine.