Introduction
Well hello it's me again, Dotty by name and dotty by nature.
As introductions go, this is not going to be a long one. For anyone who missed the story of finding "the real me" I'm a twenty-one year-old, studying Maths at a university in the north west of England.
And, after years of believing I was as straight as my long blonde hair, I have very recently discovered proper sex.
Not that there was a lot of sex in the first volume of my confessions. Re-reading it I feel as though I have short-changed my valued audience. And we can't be having that, can we?
Okay, this time I'm going in at the deep end, making up for lost time, much as I did when I actually bit the bullet and went girl-on-girl with a vengeance.
For anyone who missed "Dottily in Love" please don't worry. I'm going to make this latest account a self-contained one. If you want to know more about the first few days of my rather clumsy, awkward romance then please, feel free. But you really don't have to.
Better to read about what happened after the fumbling preliminaries were over, no?
Chapter One
Agreeing to have an afternoon of sex was a bigger deal than kissing and being fingered up against a concrete wall. And agreeing to move the kick off forwards from (maybe) three pm to noon was . . .
Well it was mind-blowing. Michelle might have been there, got the T-shirt but I was very much an innocent abroad. Okay, so I had screwed with plenty of guys before, but that had always been a night-time sort of thing, usually fuelled as much by alcohol as lust.
You know how it is. Out for a few quiet ones, no thoughts of sex at all and . . .
Well, it's the oldest one in the book, isn't it? Too much wine and beer and suddenly some spotty-faced teenager looks like a youthful Robert Redford.
Not that that particular mistake was likely to happen to me again. I'd been converted with a capital C.
So there I was, five to twelve, sober apart from a handful of Irish coffees, unlocking my front door, ushering in Michelle with the sole intention of fucking and fucking and fucking.
Talk about sexually aroused! I'd ruined last night's knickers even before our fingering episode. By now I'd ruined a second pair, and nothing much had happened.
(Nothing much apart from being with Michelle, regularly patting and squeezing asses, kissing and devouring each other with our eyes.)
Now, three hours ahead of schedule, here we were. Here at what was soon to become Michelle's home as well as mine.
Here to fuck and fuck and fuck.
The only downside was that I hadn't much of a clue what to do. Added to which, Michelle had told me she wanted me to meet her "girly side": someone she called "Shelly".
Hmmm . . . What was that all about?
No time to wait and wonder. Kicking off our shoes we scurried upstairs hand-in-hand, eager to get on with it . . . whatever it was going to be. Okay, maybe we didn't scurry too much. Stopping for a kiss was such a must it happed three or four times. Finally, at last, we were outside my room, laughing.
My housemate had hung her stolen DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door.
'See,' said I, 'Martha really doesn't disapprove.'
'Where is she?' asked Michelle.
'I don't know and I don't care. As long as that sign's there she'll never barge in on us.'
'What if she's in there, in bed with someone herself?'
'Not a chance,' I said confidently. 'Not in my pit. She wouldn't dare.'
Fortunately my confidence was well-founded. Ten seconds later we were safely locked away from the world, kissing more passionately than ever.
Don't ask who took control of that embrace; I honestly do not know. Perhaps it was a flat fifty-fifty, with both of us ramping up the odds.
Later, a timeless time later, Michelle broke contact. 'I love your sweater,' she said, 'but take it off. I need to see what's underneath.'
Surprising myself with my dexterity I pulled up and off the figure-hugging garment cross-handed in one fell swoop. And my spirits soared as my bra-free tits bounced out most becomingly. Trust me, the effect couldn't have been stage-managed any better.
Not even with a cast of thousands and six months of rehearsals.
'Gorgeous,' Michelle purred before kissing me, this time totally in control. Sucking avidly on her invading tongue I wondered why I had the feeling something was wrong. Then it hit me.
Her hands were stoking my bare shoulder blades. Whenever we'd kissed before they had always firmly gripped my buns. As if simultaneously realizing the oversight, her wonderful fingers crept down my spine and took a hold of their preferred target.
Relieved, I stopped wondering what was wrong and began appreciating what was right. And I set off with the feel of my unprotected breasts against Michelle's clothed ones. Fully dressed, I'd adored the feel of our tits pressing together. Now, unprotected and brushing against the material of her old Bath University sweatshirt, my adoration soared.
How sensational was that!
Then things only got better. Abandoning my mouth Michelle rained kisses down on my face, on my nose, my forehead and my (hastily closed) eyelids. Next she nibbled my ears before, practically convulsing me with pleasure, running her hot tongue under the line of my jaw.
However much I've exaggerated the power of my orgasms; that was one I will never forget. The earth didn't just move; stars imploded and whole galaxies were born.
Having my shoulders and upper chest attended to was simply scintillating. And, although it wasn't entirely new, having lips, teeth and tongue on my titties was a delight beyond compare.
At this point I have to say I ain't gonna compare. My previous same-sex experience had been with Martha, and we'd been role playing. In other words we'd made out before a male audience, purely for their entertainment, And unwritten but implicit rules had been in place.
Kissing, caressing and so on was fine so far as our upper bodies were concerned but any contact lower down was forbidden. In other words we were free to lick the undersides of keen, eager breasts but anywhere south of there was out of bounds.
Initially Michelle played by the same set of rules. But, being perfectly aware that we were alone in a bedroom and audience-free, I responded like never before.
How hot was she! And how hot for it was I!
Answering my own question I climaxed three times, or maybe only once but for ten times as long as ever before.
When I eventually stopped juddering she was grinning at me. 'I've seen yours; wanna see mine?'
Speechless, I nodded.
Twice as dextrous as me, Michelle whipped off her sweatshirt. She had on a push-up bra but that was gone in the blink of an eye and suddenly I was ogling her tits.
Beyond magnificent!
Height-wise, the two of us were much the same; build-wise I was curvy while she was relatively petite . . . but tit-wise she was spectacular.
'Kissy, kissy,' she prompted.
There was nothing Miss Piggy about her so I obliged with alacrity. And now she was giving me all control.
Now our bare tits were pressing together . . .
Heavenly, heavenly, heavenly!
Stopping kissing her mouth was a Labour of Hercules. Raining kisses on her face was a gift from the gods. And paying attention to her tits with my hands and mouth . . .
Double heavenly!
