Before that night, I had never really considered loving another woman as a real option. I had thought about it, but just as kind of a silly daydream fantasy. Actually, I did once tell my mother I was gay, but that was only to piss her off.
At that point, I was seeing a guy named Steve. He was a few years older, in college, belonged to a fraternity. Steve's family was rich and he drove a Porsche. I was young and naive enough to be impressed by all these things.
Steve was good-looking, I'll give him that. He had that all-American athletic frat-boy look, sort of like a young Val Kilmer. But the guy was an asshole. Self-centered to an extreme. His idea of being romantic was when he told me that if I got a boob job, he would pay for half.
Sexually, he wasn't "all that" either. He had a big penis (a source of never-ending pride for him) but was what I would classify as a "minuteman." Actually, if he lasted a whole minute, it was a reason to celebrate. He loved blow-jobs, but if I even suggested he go south for me he would freak. Claimed he couldn't get past the smell. That really made a girl feel special.
So why was I with this turkey? Like I said, I was young, and flattered by the attentions of this older, supposedly "mature" guy. The fact that he was rich helped too, I'm sure. For this reason, I had even considered him husband material. Back then, I was still convinced that a husband was what I needed. Looking back, I'm almost embarrassed by the affair. I mean, my mother loved him. That should have been a major red flag.
We had been going out for about six months, and I was finally getting to the point where his crap was starting to get on my nerves. I think he sensed this, because he invited me to spend a romantic week-end, just the two of us, up at his parent's house. I thought to myself, well, at least he's trying. The house was a huge, gorgeous mansion on the lake, with an outdoor hot tub. Very nice. His parents were going out of town, so we would have the place to ourselves.
Actually, not entirely to ourselves. I found out when I got up there that "just the two of us" would include his football buddy Bobby and Bobby's girlfriend, Ginger. I was pretty pissed, this being a typical Steve move. I demonstrated my displeasure by acting like a total bitch all day, something I have a real talent for, but I don't think Steve even noticed.
The four of us ended up in the hot tub. Steve's parent's bar was raided and Bobby insisted on repeatedly playing the "fuckin' killer" new Van Halen CD on the big, expensive sound system. I don't really understand why, but even though they were in a hot tub with two beautiful bikini-clad girls, the boys practically ignored us. They just laughed at the same boring sports stories and drunk stories and girl stories I had heard a thousand times, but which they never seemed to grow tired of.
I looked over at Ginger and saw she was as bored as I was. I didn't know her very well, had only met her a couple of times at parties, but she seemed nice enough. She was a real eye-ful, too. Long brown hair and huge, soft brown eyes, with a great body. I have sort of a boyish figure, but Ginger was voluptuous. Her bikini top was skimpy and wetted now to near-transparency. Her nearly exposed breasts were full and evenly tanned. Steve noticed, believe me, he kept casting furtive glances over to her, but I couldn't blame him much because even I couldn't keep my eyes away from her for long.
I slid over to her in the steaming water and we started to talk. We had to shout to hear each other over the asinine music, so we got really close, talking in each other's ear. Mostly, we were making fun of the guys. Ginger called them "Bert and Ernie," which made me laugh. Gradually, Steve and Bobby noticed how close Ginger and I were. They started whispering to one another, and laughing.
"You know what would be fuckin' killer?" Bobby said. "If you two would start makin' out."
I flashed the guys a disgusted look, which only made them laugh.
"No shit," Bobby said. "We were at this party once, and there was this fine-looking blonde, and somebody bet her and Ginger ten bucks they wouldn't kiss. They did it though, and it was fuckin' hot, dude."
I looked at Ginger. She just shrugged, smiling.
"I love it when hot chicks do that," Steve weighed in. "Like in pornos and shit."
He looked at me, "Hell, Emma, I bet you twenty bucks you won't don't do it."
"Fuck, dude, I bet ‘em fifty," Bobby said.
"Fifty bucks each?" Ginger asked.
The boys hemmed and hawed, but finally agreed to give us fifty dollars apiece if we'd kiss.
"It has to be hot, though," Bobby said. "With tongue and everything."
Ginger looked at me. "What do you say? You want to give them a show?"
I was pretty drunk myself, and I had to admit that I was a little aroused.
"For fifty bucks?" I said. "What the hell."
Ginger smiled, then she kissed me. Before I even knew what I was doing, I was kissing her back. It felt great. Ginger was a better kisser than Steve, that was for damn sure. Steve seemed to think the object to kissing was to get his tongue as far down my throat as he could. Ginger's tongue, on the other hand, flitted gently against mine, teasing me. I kissed her more deeply, getting hungry for it now. I was really turned on, and the only annoying thing about it was Steve and Bobby cheering us on and high-fiving each other like a couple of morons. I wished that they weren't were, that it was me and Ginger alone in the tub.
Then I felt something very strange. Ginger's hand went between my legs. It was under the water, so the guys couldn't see it. This was just for me. Her finger slid expertly into my bikini bottoms and gave me a long, slow stroke. Then Ginger pulled away, leaving me dizzy and weak-kneed.
The boys were looking at us, awed.
"Take your tops off and start playing with each other's titties," Bobby said.
"For fifty bucks?" Ginger said. "No way. Not for less than a hundred."
"A hundred bucks?" Bobby said incredulously. "Shit."
"How much to eat her pussy?" Steve grinned.
"You better break out daddy's checkbook for that one, Steve-O," Ginger laughed.
We were all pretty turned on. After a little while, we got out of the tub and I went up to Steve's room with him. Bobby and Ginger went off to another bedroom.
Steve and I started going at it, and I was really worked up. I wanted to get fucked in the worst way. I only hoped Steve could last long enough to get me off, too. I knew it wouldn't take me long, as hot as Ginger had made me.
But Steve, when the time came, rooted through his bedside drawer and came out empty-handed.
