(
Note to readers:
The characters in this story are 18 or older when they engage in sex. This story can be seen as taking place before COVID-19, or after global availability of effective vaccine and cure.)
Janine leaned back on one end of the loveseat, and said, "What do you want to do?"
Delia was excited, but not happy. She had expected this from Janine. The slight, amused, above-it-all smile. The disinterest in making contact. Delia hated herself for wanting Janine so much, and said, "I want to undress you."
Janine didn't even voice her consent, just gave a small lift of her spread hands. There was a flash in Delia's mind about rough handling, but she couldn't do anything that would make Janine unhappy. Delia's hands were gentle when they raised the hem of the shimmery dark green blouse. Janine actually helped a little, lifting her arms. Delia's pulse quickened as Janine's bare midriff came into view.
Janine took hold of the blouse as it moved up her arms, and set it on the side table herself. Delia wondered if Janine didn't trust her to treat designer clothes properly. Anger rose, but it made no difference. Delia was already moistening.
As Delia unzipped the gray skirt, Janine asked, "What else?"
"I play with your boobs and eat you out," said Delia quickly, hoping she hadn't asked for too much.
"Sure," said Janine. "Guys do that." She chuckled. "If I let them."
"And no video," said Delia.
"Okay, not this time," said Janine, sounding impatient. "But I'm going to want proof."
Delia partly wanted that too, proof that she'd landed this blonde beauty, maybe even proof that nerdy Delia had converted Janine, found her hidden true self. But the video would surely declare otherwise, that Janine had no interest in Delia. With no video yet, Delia hoped to keep some self-respect, for a few days.
The scheme annoyed Delia as much now as it had when Janine first broached it. Janine had known for years, since they were in high school, that Delia wanted her. Two weeks ago, in a neighborhood bar, Janine offered to pretend to go bicurious. She'd allow Delia to make love to her, but do nothing in return, all so Janine could keep men at a distance that she could control. Delia responded, "Eat shit, Janine," and then went home and masturbated, while crying.
Delia had been solitary for months. She used to be fine that way, with a hot fling once in a while, otherwise satisfied when alone. Work was the center of her life, as she used statistical models to validate pharmaceutical testing. Lately, though, her physical need had grown, and her pool of fling participants had dried up . She felt snubbed by the world, and was getting emotional. Alone had been ground down into lonely.
A week later in the bar, Delia sat by herself with her third beer. Janine, with two guys chatting her up, caught Delia's eye, smiled, and angled her head at an open stool next to her. Delia left immediately, lecturing herself that Janine was one of dozens of attractive straight women she saw every day, none of them inclined towards Delia. It was an awful truth about desiring the same sex, and Delia insisted that she was resigned to that.
But she had seen Janine, off and on, for years. Janine was imprinted in her brain: The blue eyes, the perfect skin, the sleek limbs. The smile.
Another week later, Delia convinced herself that she had to deal with the physical need before she could find a way to stop being miserable. Her attitude hadn't changed, but its priority was lower. She walked up to Janine in the bar and, with a diesel-dyke gruffness, said, "My place. Now."
I'm like a guy,
Delia thought ruefully as she slid the skirt off Janine's legs.
Driven by visual attraction. Letting desire make the decisions.
Dutifully she handed the skirt to Janine, who took it and folded it.
Janine reached behind her back to get to bra hooks. For an instant Delia hoped this meant eagerness, and an instant later decided that Janine wanted to get this over with. Delia left in place the pricey shoes and elastic-topped patterned stockings, and pulled down the lavender panties that matched the lacy bra, which Janine moved to the side table. "On the floor," Janine said, and Delia understood that the undergarment would not contact the other clothes.
Janine slid her body so it was sideways on the loveseat, one leg lifted for a foot to rest on the upholstered back. Delia shuddered at the sight of the peach skin against the burgundy fabric, even though she would have preferred Janine seated, front-facing, legs spread. Delia curled her upper half onto the rest of the loveseat and leaned down, getting one hand around Janine's back and the other on a breast. Quickly, she leaned further and put her open mouth around the puffy aureole of the other breast.
Janine flinched, and inhaled sharply. Then she said, "Yeah, okay," and her torso relaxed.
Score one for my side,
Delia thought ruefully, figuring that Janine, despite being a lawyer, decided it wasn't worthwhile to complain about whether a boundary had been crossed. Delia framed her testimony:
Your Honor, 'play with' need not exclude sucking.
Her crotch now warm and tingling, Delia took the hand from Janine's back and started undoing fly buttons on her jeans. Her own nipples grew as she tongued Janine's. Her hand got inside her underwear. Fingers probed past hair, sweat, and secretions, to get inside labia. She grunted on Janine's delectable pert breast.
Delia jerked back and used both hands on her clothes. shoving down the jeans and panties, yanking at the shirt.
Damn, why all the buttons? Today of all days?
She could feel Janine's look on her. Hurriedly, awkwardly, Delia stripped, knowing how Not-Janine she was, both in her body and in the act of exposing it. Flopping back into position on the loveseat, Delia got her hands under and around Janine's thighs, and put a drooling mouth on the bald vulva.
In a few seconds, Janine began writhing. Delia tongued all around the labia, down to the front of the perineum and up again. She set her top teeth against the clit hood, pressing slightly, then releasing. She rolled her tongue, pushing it just inside the vagina, then out and rising to encircle the clit and slide it against the hood. Janine moaned.
Heart pounding, sweat beading, Delia pulled back her right arm and put the hand on Janine's quim from below. She put her left hand between her own legs. More thrilled than she could ever recall being, Delia nonetheless felt an odd steadiness, a sense of...control? That fluttering going through Janine's hips, it was made by Delia, a
real
lesbian, a lover of women as ardent as any man could ever be.
Delia settled in to deliver that ardor. Now, her effort was less for Janine, the distant fantasy, and more for a first-time partner, someone to receive pleasure that Delia was eager to give. Her touch was energetic, but also careful, as it explored and learned her partner's surfaces, and what the touch did to them. Her tongue slid and swirled around the clitoris, under and over and against the hood. Patiently, persistently, Delia repeated or changed her actions, even as rapid, slightly voiced breath sounds reminded her who she was ravishing.
Touch me, Janine! Be my lover!
Two fingers went up Delia's vagina to the base knuckles, two more probed Janine's, both sets walking, seeking those hidden clusters of neurons that could sing out in joy. Janine's clitoris swelled into Delia's hot wet mouth.
Janine gasped. Delia thought wildly,
