Good Girls Arent Gay

Prologue

Today

I can't believe I'm smitten by her. Me, a thirtyish professor of psychology at a prestigious liberal arts college—smitten—of all things, by a young counter girl just out of high school.

"May I help you, Miss?" she asked in an inviting tone. I stood silent and frozen, staring like a cougar. In her early twenties, the young counter girl looked like an angel. Almost old enough to be her mother, I felt stupid.

After the usual pleasantries, I gathered my keys and belongings, heading to my room. Reaching my room, I sighed, waiting for my lover and considering my life over the past year. We took the trip to spend some quality time away from the hustle of academia. I looked forward to sleep, hours of sleep...

and of course, hours of sex.

*******

I've always known I'm gay, but I locked my secrets away at a young age. My parents burned the entire conservative protestant dogma into me like a brand, making it impossible for me to consider any other public option except the pretense of heterosexuality. Good Christian girls weren't gay, and given a choice between heaven or hell, I steadfastly chose heaven.

"Will you marry me?" Damn, I said yes, marrying Bernard twelve years ago in a vain attempt at normalcy.

"What the Fuck!" he yelled. The poor guy, it upset him so when I came out, but at least now we can carry on a reasonable conversation. I'm sure he knew a few screws rattled in my head, and a loony bin waited for me around the next corner. I rarely fucked him, drinking when I did.

Even after masturbating regularly for twelve years, I basked in a public denial, making my mental state a mess. I even tried believing my lies, saying I loved Bernard, but we both knew otherwise. I fooled no one. My body wanted women—my mind couldn't cope with the world knowing a lesbian existed in my body.

No kids resulted from the difficult union. I didn't own the desire for a baby after what happened to produce my only pregnancy. Losing my virginity in a very miserable manner, I feared sex with a male. The hymen breach of that male's penis resulted in a deep wound. I later miscarried the child. The rape left me paralyzed with fear, and I found myself institutionalized for six weeks. Finding Zoloft, and a few years later, vodka, I existed for years in a broken state of equilibrium.

Most refer to me as plain, with long black hair. I'm a bit taller than the average woman and keep my figure fit with daily workouts at the gym with my friend, Rachel. Fortunately, I have no weight problem and consider my legs and bum my best assets. They're pretty sexy for a frumpish professor.

I have a frightening scar running across my left wrist, covered by my watch. The scar resulted from an attempted suicide at eighteen. Yes, it was because of the aforementioned rape and loss of the baby.

My lesbian experiences before the freshmen amounted to fooling around in a few sleepovers at my best friend's house in high school. The nights with Jaime left me uncomfortably happy, and I looked forward to staying with her often. I still think back to those first few nights of exploration with fondness and a twinge of guilt.

One might think I'd accepted my queerness and the entire public identity issue. It would've saved many people much heartache. I later found out Jaime was queer like me. We're still good friends.

I guess you might have a little idea about who I am, one fucked up college professor, screwed on so many levels. This story is going to help me sort it out, but not many will care. I mean, it's not like a great opus or anything. It's certainly not going to make old Hemmingway wake from the dead. Perhaps some secretive lesbian will read it, and it may help her.

*******

Chapter 1

The Seduction Begins

One Year Ago

"Hey Teach," said Laura, as she walked her shapely ass in the room, followed closely by her girlfriend, Stacey.

"Oh gawd," I thought, as a queer little bug chewed my pussy. The freshmen entered my Psych 101 class holding hands, oblivious to the scrutiny of their classmates. Their beauty didn't help the chewing; lovely hair and glowing skin made them desirable. Laura, tall and thick, was absolutely the most breathtaking female on the face of the earth, with a curvy body and long blonde locks ending below her breasts.

The other teen, Stacey, was about my height, and possessed an exotic countenance that suggested an aristocratic lineage. Slender yet muscular, she moved with grace and dignity, bearing smallish breasts no larger than a teacup.

Unable to keep my eyes off the two, I delivered my lectures in a

sotto voce

, which differed from my usual professor speak. I realized my frustration resulted from jealousy. Jealousy because these two kids admitted their lesbianism brazenly. Looking at the two affected me, causing pain and excitement, stirring a long quashed lesbian sex gene. Regretting time lost in the heterosexual world, I questioned my sorry life, considering happiness never found.

As the weeks passed, the girls flirted with me when leaving the room. Starting with innocent looks and giggling, and then progressing to lustful scrutiny. I found myself masturbating in the bathroom each night, fantasizing about the undergraduates. The semester progressed from winter to spring, and I wore out many batteries in my vibrator.

Laura made the first move, having correctly read my strained lectures as a sign of attraction. She did it simply, waiting until all the other students left the class while she lingered.

She glided straight up to me and boldly propositioned, "How 'bout a threesome?"

This removed every bit of air from my lungs, leaving me speechless, a problem for a professor. I fixated on her like a scared kitten, trembling with fear while inhaling her perfumed scent. Finally, I shook my head. She lifted her hand and lightly stroked my cheek with the back of her nails. Tearing into me with piercing blue eyes, she said, "Don't be scared, Teacher." Then she turned and walked away. "The day will come when I eat your pussy," she called back, flipping her blonde mane while walking toward the door and lifting her short blue-jean skirt, exposing a thick naked bum.

"Christ," I whispered, under my breath, an expression she heard, because her hand slapped her ass loudly. My comfortable ivory-towered world crumbled, and I spent a restless week wondering about sex with the girls.

Sex? Carnal love? Neither bothered me, but accepting my lesbianism terrified me. My mind still couldn't accept a public image that didn't include heterosexuality. Lesbianism didn't fit the structure of my religiously bent world.

For some decadent reason, I looked forward to the next class session. I recognize now that the sexual flirtation of the two young women freed my heterosexual burden. The thought of going public with my lesbianism never entered my mind, but I believed it might be possible to take a female lover in secret.

Drinking heavily each evening, I drowned most of my doubt in vodka. The drinks eased the discomfort temporarily, although the angst returned in the morning with a hangover that left me abandoned in a forced psychological reversal. Looking at my puffy face in the mirror one morning, I realized alcohol and thoughts of sex ruled my every waking moment.

The next week the girls continued to tease during class, holding hands and giving each other little pecks on the cheek. As class dismissed, Laura lingered until the other students left. She approached me directly, invading my personal space. Moving in, she placed her hand underneath her short pink dress and rubbed. Her blue eyes burned into me as she stroked something under her dress. She fondled her firm breasts beneath a tight tank top. I tried backing away and bumped into the lectern. She took a single step forward, and then lifted her hand to her mouth and blew me a kiss. Her fingers glistened with juice, and I focused on the digit and decomposed. Excited in a way I never felt, my knees buckled and every cell in my body pulsed. Laura's beauty defied words and realizing she wanted me violated my warped view of self.

"Today?" she asked.

Red and breathless, savoring a level of eroticism never experienced, I paused and considered the offer. Foolishly, I shook my head, while wanting to say yes. She turned and walked away while saying, "I'll get you. I get my gals." Turning to face me at the door, she lifted her skirt, showing a purple dildo haltered around her waist. She put her skirt back down, and said, "Yours for the taking."

I almost passed out as she turned around and left. My cheese not only moved, but melted into sauce fit for a queen.

It took me about ten minutes to recover my composure as passionate thoughts for the girls raced through my mind. I felt no love for the two, just a deep painful lust for pussy. Feeling warmth in my panties, I thought about a place to masturbate. The faculty rest room came to mind, although, as I soon found out, my private office was a smarter choice.

*******

Chapter 2

My Hand is My New Best Friend

Entering the faculty lounge, I turned toward the one person restroom and bumped into my colleague's tits. Rachel looked at me, and asked, "Are you okay? You look flushed." The strong woman was one of my dearest friends in the department and a few short years older than me. I didn't realize the depth of her concern indicated something life changing for my future.

"Feeling a little ill...something I ate," I said, and then gave her a wink. Closing and locking the restroom door, I removed my matronly dress, hanging it on the rack behind the door. Removing my panties and bra, I hung the bra on the rack and searched for a place to put my panties. Not finding any place sufficient, I cast them on the floor. "What am I doing?" I thought while standing in front of the mirror fondling my breasts. The relief of my touch caused a purr to slip from my mouth—the purr graduated a few minutes later to a roar.

My hands trailed from breasts to thighs, lightly tickling my skin. I paused momentarily, closing my eyes and lifting my hands to caress my face. Thinking of the satisfaction of the coed's tongues on my breasts—and Laura's dildo in my pussy, I softly moaned,

"Kiss me Laura. Lick me, fuck me, fuck me."

Sitting on the toilet, I moved my right hand across my body to my pussy; I placed the thumb and index finger on my clit and stimulated the creamy bud. I took my left hand and touched the stiff, black, curly hairs between my legs for a few seconds. Feathering my fingernails from my pussy to my breasts, I squeezed, enjoying sweet pain.

With a small sound, the cooling breeze of the central air wafted through the room, and I smelled the mushroomed scent of my womanhood. Leaning back, I spread my legs, easily sliding the middle finger deep inside my pussy. I stroked for a few seconds, and then lifted the finger to my mouth, savoring my juice and wishing it was Laura's. Tickling my tongue with my finger, I sensed an orgasm with my touch—a touch I knew with expertise.

My velvet spoke in want of the need for my fingers, begging in a silent prayer. My fingers became a savior as they sated a sinner's need. The shock of the fingers entering my pussy sent stinging bites through my body. Stroking with conviction for several minutes, my climax readied for forgiveness.

Stroke, stroke, stroke—kiss me Laura, fuck me!

I lifted my ass upwards and strained to keep from screaming. Orgasm ...glorious rapture ...orgasm ...orgasm ...orgasm!

Resting my butt back to the seat, I continued my stroking as tingles of excitement trembled through my pussy. Increasing the pace, I masturbated with blinding speed.

I slipped a second, and then a third finger in my folds as ripples ran through the darkened cove. My right hand blurred in flight atop my clit, while my left stroked into my soaking pussy.

Stroke, stroke, stroke. Kiss me Laura, fuck me!

An explosion welled within me, and I tensed, placing my legs on the floor and back against the top of the toilet.

Lifting, I screamed in a whisper,

"Kiss, lick, fuck...Laura!"

while discharging cream on my hand. Closing my legs around my hand, I continued stroking as waves blessed my body. My hands stopped stroking as the feeling became too much, and I pushed my ass down against the toilet seat, screaming a final, "Fuck," while shaking in a hailstorm and holding my breath.

Just—

Fuck me Laura, kiss me!

breathe—

I'm your bitch, Laura. Fuck me. Shove your tongue in my pussy! Kiss. Lick. Fuck!

slowly .

Without a touch on my pussy, another orgasm erupted, producing a shock so large Edison found his maker.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Leaning back into the porcelain comfort of the top of the toilet, I rested until the tremors ended.

After resting, I thought,

Elvis has just left the building

, and laughed at my stupid pun. Feeling a little better, I lifted my wet hands to my mouth and licked each finger clean, savoring my wine as if heaven brought me Manna.

Then it clicked, turning a tide that would never return. "I'm going to love the coeds. I'm going to let Laura put her dildo in my pussy. I'll suck Stacey's titties, and I'll love the two with abandon."

I don't know why at that particular moment I decided to let those two teens take me. Perhaps it involved the years of denial and my own frustration of never being sexually intimate with anyone—perhaps the queer within freed her tortured soul. It didn't matter. I must...must...must, and I did...did...did.

Being the neurotic type, I couldn't believe the two girls wanted me. At least my tits were still up, and my ass pretty tight for a senior citizen in her thirties. Someone banged on the rest room door, which was like throwing a cold bucket of water on a rabbit in heat. I rose and dressed, throwing my bra in my valise. Pausing to check my long black hair pulled back in a bun, I sighed, thinking the face in the mirror wasn't mine. Fortunately, for the person who was banging on the door, I didn't look too shaken for a sex-starved fool.

Someone knocked at the door again, "Jenine, are you all right, are you sick or something?" It was Rachel, my sexy friend.

"Yes, just sick at my stomach," I said, not actually lying.

I patted my face with water, toweled off, and then unlocked the door to face the music of my nosy friend.

"What the hell is going on in there? You look pale."

"I threw up Rachel, might not want to go in there right now. It smells pretty bad."

Rachel owned a wonderful ass and the tits of a teenager. I wanted to pull her into the stall with me and eat her pussy.

"Want me to run you home?" She touched my arm and lightly circled her nails.

After a few seconds of enjoying her touch, I said, "No, got the Nissan, I'll be alright, and thanks for the concern. Gonna miss the workout today." I said, afraid of attacking Rachel's tits if I didn't leave.

She squeezed my arm and a perception of interest flashed through my mind. "It's nothing," she said disappointed, and then she looked downward. I noticed something in her eyes that I'll always remember, a brokenhearted glaze that left me vexed. This revelation overwhelmed me, and I exited the rest room, driving home in a confused state of mind.

I always loved being with Rachel, even if she always bitched and complained about work and her teenage son. We always found some excuse to be together by catching the latest movie or eating at a new restaurant. Lost in my thoughts, I drove past my house and ended three miles down the street before recognizing my mistake.

Later in the evening as Bernard quizzed me about my day, I gasped, realizing I left my panties in the rest room...

*******

Chapter 3

The Asian and the Salon

The next few days, I wrestled between stability and desire. Noticing friction in the marriage, Bernard tried to comfort me.

"Babe, need anything?" he asked.

I almost smiled. "No," I said. "Tired, that's all." On rare occasions, Bernard demonstrated sensitivity. He even remembered to put the toilet seat down.

"Maybe we can hit the condo this week?"

I quietly sat for a few seconds, and then lied, "Need to get the paper published." Heterosexual encounters at condos were not in my plans. Thoughts were brewing—ribald thoughts of lesbian sex with coeds.

Honestly, I knew he intended to ease my suffering, and I appreciated him in a way that only a lesbian in denial can understand. If truth be told, his attention disgusted me. It is hard for a person in the midst of denial to show affection for the major cause of the denial.

I found most of my comfort by petting Slinky underneath her ears as she purred. An arrogant orange ball of shit, the cat often scurried off to find a feline in heat. I wanted to be Slinky, scurrying into the arms of a woman—a woman with a wet and hungry pussy.

Drinking vodka each night until in a stupor, I allowed Bernard to fuck me once because I felt sorry for him. The experience left me unsatisfied and angry, especially after sitting on the toilet unable to get myself off as he snored.

The next day, I decided to hell with depression and chose not to drink. Trying my best to look sexy for my next psycho 101 class, I ventured to my wardrobe and found nothing to fit the task. Credit card in hand, I found solace at Macy's, picking a pink linen skirt with a slit in the back and matching blouse. I figured the apparel might appeal to the girls without getting me fired. Shopping at Victoria's Secret, I spent $300.00 on an assortment of panties, push-up bras, hose, and fragrant perfumes. The perfumes imbued seduction, and I wanted to be the seduced

Taking the dreaded trip to Maxim's Hair Salon to see if they could help with the unibrow, I felt embarrassed, like an old woman unsuccessfully trying to remove years through the miracle of a salon. After seeing the sexy oriental just out of high school, my mood changed. Things looked better; the future seemed filled with opportunity and wholesome Asians.

As I soon found out, good things sometimes happen to horny professors, because Miss Asian wasn't of the wholesome variety. She was a cute—damn straight cute—tiny with thin jet-black hair and large almond eyes. The sensation of having a pretty girl attending to my every whim excited me, ripening a ripe apple.

I became Mrs. Queer Courageous, and ordered a manny/petty, removal of the unibrow, and waxing of various body parts. She suggested a shaving; without a pause, I succumbed to the suggestion. Motioning me to the dressing room, she helped me change into a body towel the size of a dish rag. Her perfumed body moved in close, and she pressed her tiny breasts against my back. I sensed her bra-less breasts, which peaked my naked nipples. The Asian indicated for me to remove my rings and watch. I hesitated, knowing of my hidden suicide scar. Turning away, I removed the items and put them away.

She led me to a warm footbath and motioned for me to sit. Placing my feet in comforting bubbly water smelling of roses, she cleansed my feet. The cutie applied hot wax mixed with honey on my upper lip and between my eyebrows. "Hurt," she warned. With two expert yanks, she removed what Darwinian evolution hadn't weeded out yet. Yes, it hurt.

While the wax was warm, she warmed my happy trail by liberally applying a thin layer. Without notice she yanked, without notice I yelped. "Sorry," she said, and then giggled. I smiled and nodded, realizing I liked the small pain.

The Asian spent time removing the calluses from the underside of my feet. She pursed her lips, working on a rough area. I half expected her to plug in a grinder before trimming my nails.

Cutting each nail with precision, she moved like a surgeon. I moaned like a ticklish teen. She noticed and found little niches on my footsies of funsies, purposely fluffing and fluttering. The girl finished my feet and rubbed in cooling cream. Her hands and the cream traveled up my thighs. Pulling my towel back to expose my upper thighs, she continued to apply the lotion while she staring at my reaction. I smiled; I giggled; I chortled. I took her hand and invited her upward.