Upon leaving university, the reality of life in the big, bad world really hits you hard…or at least it did me. In the late '80's, university grads looking to start their great climb up the career ladder were forced into entry level jobs that they'd never have dreamed of doing while sheltered by the fleeting security of mom and dads money just months before. It was no different for me. I struggled to get by, working two, and often three dead-end jobs at a time. At the end of the typical day, I barely had enough energy, let alone the time or money, to go out to pursue any type of social life. Now don't get me wrong, I was young (twenty-something), attractive, single and living on my own in a new city. Life was good. I dated fairly consistently, shying away from the younger men who were in the same financial pickle that I was. Through my desk-clerk job at one of the two hotels that I worked for, I met plenty of older, business types, with no shortage of cash to spend on attractive young women, for the right return. And though it was against company policy for employees to date hotel guests, what I did after I clocked out was my own business, and I took every opportunity for a nice dinner and some badly needed attention. I even served a couple of lucky men the desert they none to shy to ask for. The way I saw it at the time, they'd treated me like a lady, and I was needing a bit of what they were offering, so sleeping with them met our mutual ends.
Now, I was young at the time, but I was nowhere near as naive as most of these men thought. Though I appreciated that most of them would actually remove the wedding bands that they were wearing when I'd check them into the hotel, I certainly wasn't buying their "I'm divorced/separated/nearly divorced" spiel that I was being fed while out at dinner. The only guys that got anywhere with me were the ones that were honest and sincere about their situations in life. Like for instance Eric, an investment advisor that I met while he attended a conference at the hotel. He was beautiful, with sharp, dark features, and was very well groomed. He spoke of his wife, who was also very career oriented, and also very busy. Their careers often took them in different directions, and he said that he often asked other women out to dinner when he traveled, for company if nothing else. His honesty was rewarded with something else. Though he tried not to make it too obvious, his gaze quite frequently dropped to my chest, which I can't really fault him for. You see, these were my pre-child breasts, the ones I so long for now. These were the tits that I could stuff into a tight cotton shirt with no support. These were the tits that would spill over the top of a low cut top, and stand out, pointing at whatever target I was aiming for. These were the tits that I allowed Eric to spill his load on after letting me ride his thick cock to a wall shaking orgasm back in his hotel room. I miss those tits.
Like most of the men I'd dated through those years, I never saw nor heard from Eric again. If it weren't for the tremendous sex we'd had that evening, I think that my memory of him would probably have faded like most of the others. It's not that there were many, in fact they are a relatively small group in total. What renders them so obscure in my memory is their significance in my life. Other than a mere distraction from my work-life routine, the men I'd dated through this time in my life signify very little beyond a brief stage in my coming of age story. Looking back as I am now, almost every man that I've been romantically involved with in my life occupies a spot in that dubious category, except for my husband. The encounters and relationships that remain most significant and that have altered the direction of my life have been those that I've had with other women. After discovering the beauty of the love of another woman while in university, I was sure that I was a lesbian. Though I continued to date boys through those years to keep up appearances, I was certain that I was sure that I was going on to look for 'miss right' not 'mister'. Moving to the city, not knowing a soul, quickly altered by perspective, which was tainted by rose-colored lenses that many of us peer through when we're young and the world's our oyster. The scene in the city was a far cry from my cozy little college campus, and it frightened me into a rapid re-examination of my virtues.
It was at this stage of my life, just when I'd decided that the girl-girl thing was just a bit of experimentation, that I met Leah. You see, one of my jobs, at the other hotel in which I toiled, was as a fitness club receptionist. This was a casual gig, a fill-in/call-in job that added to my walking around cash when I could fit it in between my other two jobs. Leah was a member of the gym, lean and well bronzed, with dark hair. My job at the club entitled me to utilize the facilities, which is what I was doing when I first noticed Leah. I was in the sauna after a kickboxing class when she entered. I remember how the sweat glistened on her tanned legs and chest as she relaxed in the soothing warmth. I remember that I stayed in there so long, starring at her, that I almost passed out. As she sat, her white towel parted slightly in the front, allowing me a view of her firm upper thighs, and just a hint of her dark, neatly trimmed bush. I'm not sure that any of the other women in there noticed me starting to squirm, but the sight of Leah's half nude body got me so excited that I was sure that someone was going to notice. Dizzy from dehydration, I fumbled my way from the steam room to the showers. Overheated from my extended stay in the sauna, I let the cool water from the shower spill over my head until I regained my bearings.
Coming slowly back to my senses, I had begun to lather myself with my soap when I heard the water from the adjacent shower stall begin to fall to the floor. As I turned in anticipation, I was not disappointed. The dark skinned woman from the sauna glanced at me over her should before stepping under the warm spray from above her head. I recall how her naked body looked from behind, how her back tapered in toward her perfectly rounded hips. How her firm ass giggled almost imperceptibly as it hovered above her long, muscular legs. As she turned her back to the spray from the shower to lather her arms, she stood facing me, her large breasts gently swaying with the movement of her arms. It must have been so obvious that I was starring at her, for when her eyes caught mine, she smiled at me broadly, and continued to hold my gaze as she proceeded to lather her chest and abdomen. Turning sideways, her eyes still fixed to mine, she arched her back, bending at the waist to lather her long brown legs. As I watched her, my hands almost instinctively moved to my pussy and my tits, my right crossed over my chest, gently plucking at my large, pink nipple; my left engaging the swollen tissue that is aching now beneath the moist folds of my labia. Leah's hands, still trailing soap, slide up the back of her calves, over the back of her thighs to her firm ass, the fingers of one slowly disappearing into valley created by her firm, round cheeks. My private show continued, as Leah slowly rinsed the soapy foam from her body. After shutting off the water, and toweling off her gorgeous figure, she stepped from her stall, and approached me. I remember barely being able to hear her as by heart pounded.
"I'm Leah," she said, "care to join me for a cup of coffee?"
"Sure" I stammered, standing naked in front of her, still dripping from my own shower. She reached up and grabbed my towel from the hook on the outside of the shower stall. As she brought it down, she paused, holding it out in front of me slightly, and slowly let her eyes fall down over my nude form. Smiling contently, she opened my towel, offering me to step into its waiting embrace. Turning, she lightly pranced away into the members change area. Frantically, I sped off into the guest locker area, and quickly dressed, obsessing over my chosen attire, and mentally going over how I'd explain the fact that I was wearing an old, unmatched tracksuit in the middle of a business day. To my surprise and relief, I was met outside of the change room by my caffeine companion who was wearing similar garb.
Over a latte at Starbucks, we casually exchanged life stories, mine somewhat abbreviated, hers extensive and truly fascinating. She was married, in her late thirties, co-owner of a small communications and marketing firm with her husband. She went on to tell me that with the success of their business, she'd recently been able to begin to explore some of her own interests outside of work. She described her husband as kind, but an obsessive workaholic, with little time to devote to their relationship of late. Increasingly, she viewed the business as the reason that her husband has been so absent, but was careful not to be too critical, as it also enabled her to live as she did. As the afternoon progressed, she went on to discuss her years in college, where she described a very similar experience to mine, including her discovery of her propensity for other women. She shared with me some very intimate memories that excited me and were obviously stirring up some exciting emotions in her too. Though the conversation was not hard to follow, I felt my concentration lapse every so often, as the sight of Leah's firm boobs pressing from her tight shirt brought me back to moment we shared in the shower just minutes earlier. Not wanting the moment to end, I purposefully slowed my consumption, letting my coffee cool to the point where it was no longer palatable. Luckily, I didn't have to suffer through it very long before the offer came that I was so anxiously hoping for.
