Finding Myself Pt 03 2

My journey to becoming a lesbian.

A few words from the author, Jayne.

The first two instalments of my journey have been published and from the comments received and the scores given, with both having gone 'hot' already, they seem have gone down well with you, the Lit readers. Thank you so much

This is the third instalment of, probably seven that I will post frequently so, please keep checking for the next part and feel very free to leave comments or to score (highly) any or all of the parts.

For continuity it's probably best to read them in numerical and chronological order but as each part does stand as a complete, erotic story in itself, that's not essential.So now, join me on my journey from being a faithful, though unhappy wife to becoming a full-on lesbian. I hope you enjoy the ride.

Love,

Jayne.

Although I had sex with my husband Kevin, probably about every third night or so after which we often had some dirty pillow talk, he hadn't mentioned the agreement we'd made some time ago about me having sex with another woman as he watched. Although that had surprised me a little I wasn't totally amazed by it as he tended to have his 'ideas of the moment' as I called them These were not just about sexual things, but holidays we could go on, things to buy for the house and many other crazy ideas few if any of which ever came to fruition.

Apart from him asking me if I'd go with another woman, which I continually refused to do, he'd also asked several times to watch me have sex with a young guy. I'd also refused that although, when honest with myself later when alone, making love to another guy did have an appeal as I hadn't done that since before my marriage over twenty years ago. Trying someone different did have an appeal, particularly if it was with a young guy for which I, along with many older women I'd chatted with, had always felt an attraction. These two rather deviate ideas featured in our pillow talks over several years during which time he'd brought one or the other up probably every three months or so. I'd continuously refused but he'd kept trying using different tactics. This was even to the point of introducing me to a young golf pro for lessons he'd arranged and just before the first lesson at the driving range as we were waiting for him, Kevin whispered, "He's up for it Jay." At first, I didn't get what he meant and just as the good looking young guy probably in his mid-twenties was approaching us, Kevin went on, "I've asked him if he'd like to fuck you." I never found out if that was true or not as I rushed off after the lesson and never saw or spoke to the pro again and Kevin only laughed whenever I raised the subject.

I was not really getting any keener to have sex with a woman or a man as he watched as I felt it would weaken the marital bond between us which, to be honest, was already loosening. I was pretty sure that he was playing away from home and that he had been for some time particularly on his overseas business trips with the 'out of sight and out of mind' thinking that businessmen have backing up his philandering. Also, events like that with the golf coach, though extreme, were becoming more commonplace as was the cavalier way he dealt with my reaction. Additionally, when not travelling, which was now less than half the time, his attitude towards me was continually changing to the point that I was pretty convinced that he no longer wanted us to be together other than for the sex that until the last year or so had been pretty good. As I responded to his advances, more from a sense of duty than from pleasure, I was pretty certain that he still enjoyed me and the sex, including the photography and other diversions he arranged to which I responded.

However, the series of discussions we'd had about another woman had piqued my interest in women which had lain dormant in me for many years. I had told him that I had been involved with a number of girls at uni and several when I worked in the US when I was in my twenties before I met him. I hadn't hardly thought about it for many years but his harping on about me having sex with one had rekindled my interest and after a few months of quite sexual anguish that resulted in me being seduced by a woman called Amanda who I met on a women's golf weekend.

She lived quite near to us and as she was divorced and Kevin travelled a lot we were able to meet fairly easily, usually under the excuse of playing golf and then going back to her or my house and making love. That way we were able to conduct a fairly frequent affair where I really did get right back into my bisexual activity.

I realised that I was cheating on Kevin, well at least as far as gaining sexual pleasure and satisfaction elsewhere than with him was concerned, and that rankled with me. But as I knew that he was as well I felt almost okay about it on the goose and gander principle. Of course, though, like all or at least most affairs based purely on sex, ours didn't last that long and after a few assignations it dwindled and we both moved on. However, I missed it. It wasn't really Amanda that I missed as, when I was really honest with myself, I wasn't really that keen on her as a lover. That wasn't as a person as when we were not in a sexual mode I really liked her, it was that she was so dominating and controlling once were alone and our clothes started coming off that I got worried. Had our sex have been more loving and affectionate I might well have considered leaving Kevin, which she asked me to do on several occasions, and moving in with her. However, that of course, would involve 'coming out' and all that involves with family and friends and that I just couldn't countenance. And in reality the sex with her wasn't what I wanted. True, it was enormously exciting and I had some amazing orgasms but I never really felt that I was her partner, more her lesbian plaything. So, we gradually drifted apart until we stopped seeing each other. Nevertheless, during the time we were together I did think of suggesting to Kevin that I had found someone I could have sex with as he watched but, thankfully, I never did.

Although Kevin's and my relationship was slowly going tits up, our sex continued to be quite good but I started to miss my girly stuff, I wanted more of it. And that's when Lindsay came along.

Probably in her mid-thirties, she's not classically beautiful as her face is rather flat with bland cheekbones, her lips do not have the fullness of a true beauty and her nose is rather podgy with slightly flared nostrils. She is though, interesting to look at because of her eyes. They are large and delightfully, almond shaped in a deep, onyx green colour with their size being accentuated by her long, caterpillar-like eyelashes. I found that that they demand to be looked at and stared into.

She is about the same height as me, five feet six inches. However, that is about all we have in common. Her hair is dark and long, mine is blonde, somewhat spiky and quite short. She is slim with smallish boobs, probably a B cup, mine are fuller and rounder and on a good day are a full D, but on a bad one, particularly during my period, they bloat up to a bra overflowing double D cup size. She is in her late thirties, is married with two children and is a hair stylist at a salon near to the flat we own in the Docklands area of London.

I have always been a tactile person. I can remember back to my childhood when I loved my mum and dad gently scratching my back. Before puberty, I gained a subtle pleasure from touching myself or brushing my hair. In my later teens when I became sexually active I gained almost as much pleasure from boys caressing me as I did from having full sex with them. During my early sexual experience with awkward young guys, I gained as much pleasure from masturbating myself as I did from them shagging me, but fortunately that changed when I went with more experienced men. As I matured I found massage and when on holiday have had many enjoyable times in spas, with a couple quite unexpectedly having happy endings.

Visiting a hair stylist whether male or female has always been a joy for me. Another person washing my hair and massaging my scalp has become my own personal erotic experience. So much so that when I visit a stylist I make sure that I wear looser and thicker tops to disguise any embarrassment that may occur with my nipples.

I met Lindsay at a salon in Canary Wharf when Kevin and I were living in the flat we had bought on the nearby Isle of Dogs during the credit crunch in 2009 when they were almost giving them away. We were staying there as we had some extensive remodelling done on the family home, though nowadays it was rare for all the family to be there. I usually had my hair done near there but I couldn't be bothered trawling all the way from the flat across London for a cut and blow dry so I went to a local salon and I was offered her. Although I don't like to change my routine, nor my hair stylist, I had no choice really and it was only for a few weeks. Lindsay and I got on well and even though I was only having my hair washed and blow-dried, I liked the way she worked. The next time I requested her but when I visited the salon she told me she was leaving and I asked, "Going to another salon are you?"

"No, Freda and I are setting up a visiting service" she told me"

Despite enjoying visiting a salon, I had for some time been on the lookout for someone who would come to my house for those times when it was inconvenient for me to go out and Lindsay and Freda, who I knew, seemed perfect. So when we moved back into our house I continued using her

"This is my husband Kevin," I said introducing Lindsay a few Saturdays later, "And this is my son Peter and my daughter Sara," I went on as the children came into the kitchen where Lindsay was about to trim my hair. It was quite a rarity for all four of us to be in the house at the same time, particularly on a Saturday as the children were both away and came home only in the holidays and special occasions and Kevin was usually playing golf or, returning from somewhere overseas where he went at least once and often twice each month.

After she finished, I made a block booking for the next few Saturdays. The next week it poured with rain so Kevin was there again and after saying hello to her he went to his study and worked.

"You have a lovely family," Lindsay said later as she washed my hair in the kitchen.

I was sitting on a low stool with my back to the sink and I was stretched out a little so that I could get my head and hair into the sink. Lindsay was standing next to me her waist near to my shoulder as she washed my hair. As always, I loved the sensations of her fingers on my scalp.

"Thank you," I replied, "We generally all get on very well."

We chatted about families and she told me her father had left her mother when she was young. We talked about that for some time until she suddenly realised how long she had been washing my hair.

"Sorry about that Jayne, I got carried away," she said, giving my neck a gentle squeeze.

That's ok," I replied standing up and catching her gaze. She held my look with a slight smile on her face and that glint in her eyes, which later I came to know so well. We went to the kitchen and she dried my hair.

The next week I was alone when she arrived. The kids were somewhere and Kevin was playing golf.

"Good morning, Jayne," she said brightly as she came into the house. Again her gaze held mine for what seemed slightly longer than usual, or was it just me, I wondered as I was settling into the rather awkward position by the sink when I slipped and banged my head.

"Sod it," I muttered.

"Are you ok?" Lindsay asked gripping my arm.

"Yes, but I am getting too old for such gymnastics," I replied.

"We could use a bathroom, the sinks are usually slightly lower and have rounded sides," Lindsay said, her hand still on my arm. I agreed so we went upstairs, through the master bedroom and into the en-suite where using my dressing table stool, it worked much better. Now being slightly lower, it was her tummy that was close to my shoulder occasionally touching it. As usual, as she washed my hair and massaged my scalp, I was miles away. I was revelling in the feelings of her fingers on my head and in my hair and it took me a while to realise there was another sensation. I opened my eyes and saw that as she moved so the lower part of her tummy brushed against and stayed pressed for several seconds on the top of my arm and my shoulder. I thought little of it at the time but when she'd finished and gone the memory of the feelings of her pubic mound, as I thought of it, kept coming into my mind, making me wonder if there was more to it than mere accidents.

Peter was home the next Saturday and greeted Lindsay rather enthusiastically making me think he might fancy her just as his reactions to some of my friends had made me wonder if he was one of those young guys who had a big thing for older women?

Lindsay and I went to the bathroom again and after washing my hair for a wonderfully, long time she asked, "Would you mind trying this new conditioner? It's horrendously expensive, but we have some free samples."

"Of course," I replied as she stood beside me looking down at me.

This time, her hip was pressed against me and sort of squirmed on my arm and moved as she rubbed the thick conditioner into my hair. I found the combination of what she was doing to my head and the pressure of her hip against my shoulder to be disturbingly arousing. During the following week I recalled those feelings several times and that sent little shivers of, I was not quite sure what, through me?

The next week I was alone again. Kevin had left for a trip to America and Peter and Sara were at their colleges. "Oh shit, sorry Jayne," Lindsay said as she washed my hair and I felt the back of my blouse getting wet.

I sat up. "No problem Lindsay, I'll just change it," I said unbuttoning the blouse and going to stand up.

"Not much point really Jayne, you might as well stay like that," she said placing her hand on my upper arm. I looked up at her and our eyes met. She had that look on her face that women recognise as another's interest in her and she held my gaze as I sat up straight, "Here let me," she said not breaking her gaze and taking hold of the back of my white blouse and helping me remove it.

"Thanks," I said with my voice shaking a little as she ran her gaze down to my breasts in the white, diaphanous bra and then back to my eyes. A slight smile on her lips, she said softly.

"You're very welcome Jayne."

As I lay there while she washed my hair my heart was pounding. I knew that she'd be able see most of my breasts and the hint of my areola through the as good as transparent bra and I wondered if my nipples had hardened. I saw that she kept glancing at my chest as she ran her fingers through my hair and rubbed my scalp in the massage she always gave me. The front of her jeans, just where the zip ended, was almost continuously pressed against my shoulder. 'Was this a come on?' I kept asking myself as the stroking of her fingers on my hair and scalp seemed to be slower and softer. I couldn't believe that as I lay there with my eyes closed, I suddenly imagined her hands on my breasts. I was shocked at that and when I felt disappointed when she stopped and said, "Let's go downstairs."

That evening I was alone. I had a light dinner, a couple of glasses of wine and watched a movie about ballroom dancing on Netflix. I was in my conservatory sitting in the big, comfortable, chair I had recently bought myself that I could snuggle up in and watch the forty inch plasma on the back wall. Being a recliner I could put it back so that I could lie almost flat. Many a night when I was alone I would grab a duvet that I keep in the cupboard, throw it over me and sleep there. Sometimes I would undress to my panties, but often I'd remain fully dressed.

After another glass of wine, as I watched TV, I found my mind being filled by visions of Lindsay. Her face, her lips and, of course her eyes flooded my mind. I recalled the feeling of her hands and fingers on my hair and scalp, the sensation of her tummy rubbing against my bare shoulder and her gaze roaming over my breasts. At first, I was a little horrified. What was happening, I asked myself as I couldn't shake that vision from my mind? The images of the scantily clad dancers I'd seen on the TV earlier merged with my mental visions of Lindsay. At first I 'saw' her in one of those dresses and then to my amazement I saw her naked. It was then that I realised that I was stroking one of my breasts. I pulled my hand away from it as if it was burning me, but then moments later I replaced it. Not only did I replace it, but I slipped it inside my blouse and scooped my breast out from my bra.

Reclining the chair so that I was almost horizontal, I closed my eyes, gave into the mental temptations and let my imagination take over. Visions of Lindsay interspersed with mental recalls of some of my adventures with Amanda that had ended a few months ago flashed through my mind as I stimulated my body by caressing my breast. But it was Lindsay who featured most frequently. Sometimes she was dressed and washing my hair or caressing my scalp, but more often she was naked. As I watched her looking at me with those big, inviting eyes, so my hands roamed over my body. One was squeezing and kneading my bare breasts and pinching and pulling on my inevitably rock-hard nipples whilst the other stroked my mound through my jeans. As I saw that I too was now naked with Lindsay in my bedroom, so the thickness of the denim covering my pussy became an irritant. Without opening my eyes in fear of losing my vision, I undid my jeans, pushed them down a little and slid my hand inside my panties.

Alone in the house waiting for Lindsay to arrive the next Saturday, I was hellishly nervous. During the week I had masturbated twice more imagining that I was with her. I couldn't make my mind up what was going on, if indeed anything was going on? It could, of course all be in my imagination. She seemed so innocent. She made no untoward statements and said nothing at all that could be construed as being suggestive. When we chatted about her social life she gave no hint that she was interested in woman or was bi or bi curious. And, of course, as a hairdresser it was her job to be one to one with women so it was unlikely that she was touting, or even up, for sex as well as business. However, her actions and glances, the lighter almost caressing way that she massaged my scalp, how she held my gaze and the slightly overt way the lower part of her tummy grazed against me suggested quite the opposite. Or was it just me getting five from adding two plus two? She'd phoned on the Thursday and asked me to change from my usual ten in the morning to later in the afternoon, "It would really help me and you will be my last so we will be able to take our time and not hurry," she had said sending my thinking into overdrive. Wearing her usual 'uniform' of tee shirt and jeans she arrived just before the five o'clock time we'd agreed Her tee was yellow with some logo that I didn't recognise and she was wearing it outside her tight, skinny jeans.

"Just a wash and blow dry today isn't it Jayne?" She said after we had greeted each other and had a brief chat about the lousy weather.

I had planned to go to the gym after she had left so I had put on my workout gear. It was a new outfit of matching blue, yoga pants and a singlet like athletes wear with thin spaghetti shoulder straps and a track suit type zip up jacket that I had left unzipped. Usually, like most girls at the gym, I wouldn't be wearing anything under the leggings that were tight everywhere emphasising the fullness of my pubic mound and the roundness of my bottom but, not wishing to be overly suggestive to Lindsay I was wearing a thong that I would probably remove before going to the gym. The singlet was rather provocatively tight across my breasts and the thin material demanded I wear a strong, sports bra to avoid any embarrassing nipple swelling.