This story has been written as a sort of therapy. Enjoy!
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An Obsession, that's what it is. Maybe. Or it could just be a fascination. What I am unwilling to ask or she may be unwilling to tell, I imagine. Maybe then I can gain some control.
Akalya is the first bisexual woman I have ever met. I mean in a context where I can speak to her, ask her those annoying questions that she has heard a thousand time before from guys. But I haven't. Besides, whether or not girls or guys are better is not relevant right now. She is committed to her current girlfriend, Lisa. Of course I asked her is she was nervous her first time with a woman. She said that she got hammered and then just did it. I haven't pushed it any further that that. Lisa was quite concerned when Akalya would only make love when she was smashed, like she had to be drunk to even consider sleeping with a woman. So, one day, while they were getting ready to go out, her lover came out from the shower and Akayla just went for it. Ravished her while completely sober. I haven't asked much more, I don't feel that would be appropriate. She is very open, but we aren't that close. Yet. Something to look forward to I guess. The following is how I imagine this happened.
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Here I sit, on this bed that I know we have made love on, my shoes on the floor that we have surely fell onto and continued to make love on, and I cannot honestly say that I remember what it is like with clarity. I hear her in the shower as I recall what I can, absently brushing my long brown hair as I rifle through the hazy memories. I remember the swell of her breasts, ample without being too big, small, pert nipples. Much like mine. Maybe that was why I was drawn to her. She seems like an older version of me. Pierced, as mine are. Small patches of her peach skin contrasted against the mocha of my own. Her breathy moans, combining with my own to for a symphony for anyone in earshot. And smell. I can remember her scent. Scents.
In this room now there is her perfume, the soft luscious fruit of her body spray. I spring up, searching out her discarded clothes to refresh my memory. Her blouse, so sweet. I rub my face in it as I feel myself begin to get wet. Or maybe I just notice exactly how wet I am. I lay down on the bed, wrapped in the scents trapped in the tousled sheets. She is in the shower, I imagine as she runs the soap over her smooth curves, between her breasts, over her graceful neck.
Did I give her a hickey in my passion, scraping and sucking the delightfully sensitive flesh here? If I haven't before, I know that I will now. There is no doubt, no need for the undoing of inhibition with alcohol. My memories are doing a fine job of that. I WANT her. With an intensity that I can taste. Like iron in my mouth and my pulse begins to rise and heat up my body. I have my dress on, but no panties. I remove my bra, but decide to leave the dress. Let her take it off. Let her know that I want her to unwrap me like a present. And it is a present. This will be my first time. My REAL first time. First time, truly wanting, in control. Waiting to be out of control as my heart thunders on.
If this were a movie, she would open the door, steam obscuring her towel-wrapped perfectly made-up form and see me on the bed and just KNOW what I wanted. Instead I get my lover padding out quietly, hair wrapped in another towel as she attempts to hold the one wrapping her with one hand and balance her toiletries in the other. And her admonishment that I am not yet ready even though I showered first. My hooded eyes open slowly and I grin the terrifying smile of a predator. Or try to. But it only makes me laugh as I think how silly it must look on me. I sit up and say, clearly, looking into her deep, brown eyes and say- 'Come here.'