I Exploited Her Curiosity

It had been well over a year since I first tried my hand at publishing my erotic fiction online. Sadly, fiction was all that it was, at the time. For years I had been cultivating my interest in erotica of a girl-on-girl nature, be it in literature or visual images. I fantasized about everything I would ever do to a girl if I could get her in my bed. One night last year, I did—with a friend of mine, who I've miraculously managed to remain good friends with (though, regrettably, we've never repeated that enjoyable tryst. But that's another story for another time).

I recently revisited the story I'd written, more than a year ago, and smiled a bit at the idealized version of myself that Lara represented. The truth is, I have no tattoos or body piercings, I own no treasure trove of sex toys, and my personal style tends toward the conservative—though I have been known to rock the fauxhawk a time or two. Anyway, though our outward appearances couldn't be more different, our inner desires were perfectly in sync.

When it comes to women, I'm not interested in dating and romance. What excites me is the seduction aspect, pure and simple. Like Lara, I'm attracted to younger women, and I like the idea of satisfying their bi-curiosity. One night, some six months ago, I got to fulfill those desires, with a girl whose similarities to Beatrice/Bunny (again, not of an external nature, but in terms of her personality and experience) struck me with an appreciation of just how wholly my fantasy was fulfilled when I got to fuck Sammy, this random girl I met in a bar.

I wanted to fuck Sammy the second I saw her. She was sitting at a table in the middle of the bar with two friends, wearing this tight, white cowgirl shirt, jeans and a blazer. I liked her style, but I liked the way she filled out those clothes even better. And her face—she had this perfect face, this amazing combination of soft, sensuous, seductive features (this gorgeous full-lipped mouth that just begged to be tasted) and these big, brown, hopeful eyes. Flawless, pale skin (like mine), complemented by her dark hair (actually, like mine!). It's probably an unhealthy narcissism, but I'm attracted to women who resemble me—especially when they resemble me, but with a better rack. Sammy definitely fit the criteria.

I was probably staring. I didn't care. I wanted her to feel me watching her. I saw her looking back, pulling off the whole demure thing much better than I. She liked that I was watching her, or so I convinced myself. I'd approached girls like her who caught my eye before, girls who I thought might have similar inclinations to mine, but had never met with any success—whether because the girls weren't really interested in me, or because I grew too timid after convincing myself that this was the case, I don't know. I thought I'd try again, and like always, I had pretty high hopes.

So when her friends got up to use the bathroom, but she remained at their table, I took that as a convenient opportunity to walk over and introduce myself. I was classic me, mixing a genuine friendliness with an equally genuine awkwardness, praying that I wasn't coming off as the creepy predator I felt like I was being (though by virtue of being in a bar, I figured she had to be 21, she looked closer to 19)—I'm usually creeped out when I see a guy my age hitting on a girl her age, but there's that old double standard for you.

Sammy definitely seemed receptive and polite, if not amused, at my small talk and innocuous chatter. She even laughed at some of my lame jokes, and god help me, as sweet and innocent-looking as she was, she had a pierced tongue. I thought immediately of the possibilities. I had a pierced tongue myself, when I was younger, and my partners seemed to appreciate the way the jewelry enhanced my already well-established oral talents. But I had yet to be on the receiving end of pierced tongue's attention.

I won't bore you with the details of my pursuit, which was much more high-school like in its execution than I would have liked. . .

Me: (emerging from my stall—we have the bathroom to ourselves) Hey Lupe?

Lupe: (Sammy's friend, washing her hands by this point) Yeah?

Me: Does your friend like girls?

Lupe: Yes! And she totally thinks you're hot.

Me: (spinning around, doing a little dance) Really? I was kind of wondering, 'cause that guy has his hands all over her.

Lupe: Yeah, they have this weird relationship. Like, he thinks he owns her or something, blah blah blah . . .

Actually, she didn't say "blah blah blah," I was just drunk and stoned and thrilled to hear that this fine chick liked me, I didn't pay attention to what she had to say about Sammy and the guy who kept touching her in an incredibly familiar way. But that was just bad omen number one. I did this lover's tarot card reading before I went to pursue her for real, and the card that came up was the "forbidden lover" and it warned me: this would be a passionate affair, but would end in heartache. I decided to take the risk.

I went about the business of seduction, hoping she wouldn't notice what an amateur I was. Not that I was used to being an amateur! I've spent the last 10 years perfecting my methods for seducing men, and have grown quite proficient at it, thank you very much. But women—that was a whole other ballgame.

It didn't take much seduction on my part. Sammy was more than willing, but she did need to be given a push. She agreed to come back to my place to watch a movie with me, I sat next to her on the couch. I let a few minutes of the movie play before I couldn't hold back. I started by stroking her hair, what I hoped was a benign gesture, but I just had to touch her. When she turned her face toward mine, I kissed her; I got to feel her mouth's tender softness with my lips, my tongue grazed against the cool metal of her tongue stud. I got bolder and raised my hand to touch her breast. I had been watching her cleavage hungrily all night and could hardly believe I was about to hold one of her luscious tits right in my hand.

She broke off her kissing, suddenly, and drew back. Oh, fuck, I thought. I moved too fast, I scared her off.

"I should tell you, I've—I've never done this before."

"What," I joked, "You've never had sex before?"

"Of course I've had sex," she said. "Just, never with a girl. I like girls—I just never got around to it."

"Well, I'll be honest—I'm not so terribly experienced at it myself. But making love to girls is easy. It's intuitive, right? Just do to me whatever you want me to do to you . . ." Then I leaned in to kiss her some more, and this time when I ventured to caress the tops of her breasts, where they spilled out from the low-cut neckline on her shirt, she didn't draw back.

"Let's go to my bedroom," I suggested, and she nodded at me with those gorgeous, wide, brown eyes.

I couldn't wait to get her top off, and once I did, I was treated to a delicious surprise. Her nipples were pierced with these little silver barbells that made the pink tips of her breasts stand out all the more alluringly. I had no restraint—but I needed no invitation. My mouth immediately sought one nipple while my hand caressed the other. For about the millionth time that night I couldn't believe my luck, and half-thought I was dreaming. Sammy seemed like a dream. Better than a dream. Her smooth, pale skin and luscious, large breasts—probably twice as big as mine, made me absolutely insane with lust. I dislodged myself from gorging on those nipples so I could take off my shirt and bra, then I went right back to licking, sucking, flicking my tongue against those little silver barbells and feeling a thrill as her nipples stiffened into hard little nubs.

I grew intoxicated by the sight and the touch and the smell and the taste of her. I was overwhelmed with lust and had to have my fill. I started to remove her pants, but she became hesitant, put her hand on the waistband as if she meant to keep them on. I stared into her deep, chocolate, doe-eyes, and gave her a wicked grin. "Don't you want this?" I asked, and as I slowly slid her jeans over her hips, thighs, and down past her knees, I knew I was going to get what I wanted from her.

She kept her thighs together shyly, at first, but as I traced my finger along the hemline of her white panties, down to where it disappeared between those lovely thighs, she began to give way. I then took each one of those lithe, vanilla thighs in hand and pulled them apart, giving me access to her white-panty clad pussy.

I pressed my nose up to it and inhaled deeply.

I planted a light, lingering kiss on the place where I hoped her clit was, then started to work my lips across the white fabric, kissing up and down on the place where I was fairly certain her labia was, considering the heat and moisture I felt seeping through her panties.

I thought I felt something else, too. I placed my hand on her mound and didn't feel the light cushion of pubic hair that I had expected. I meant to tease her longer, to make her beg for me to lick her clit directly without that cotton barrier between us, but I was like a teenage boy getting his first piece of ass. I couldn't check my libido enough to seduce her with the controlled patience that Lara, my would-be alter ego, would use to usher the uninitiated into the joy of lesbian passion. Instead, mine was the frenzied, desperate grasping of a cunt-starved closet dyke, desperate to see and touch and taste my third pussy in seven years.

When I reached for the waistband of her panties, she also reached, as if to stop me, but I was too quick for her. I yanked them to her ankles and gazed in awe and adoration at her completely shaved pussy. I drank in the sight of her prone, naked body, which looked so depraved beside my own unpierced nipples and neatly trimmed bush. I relished the feeling of dominance that I had over her, spreading her thighs apart firmly, if not forcibly, and putting my mouth to her pussy and licking it up and down, licking up and down her outer labia, then the inner, then flicking my tongue across her clit in a sequence and at a pace that I enjoy.

I kept at it for a few minutes, and she gave me some of what she probably felt were obligatory sighs of pleasure, but it became increasingly apparent to me that she wasn't entirely digging the experience. Maybe it was guilt about her boyfriend, or maybe it was that the only reason she was here with me now was to satisfy a curiosity with a convenient stranger, or maybe I am just not the cunnilingus queen I hope I am--but she didn't come.

She gently pulled my head out from between her thighs and kissed me. I then began to believe that my fears were unfounded—it wasn't that she didn't want to be with women, she just wanted to be on top. I melted when she pushed me down and gave each one of my smallish breasts a cursory kiss, lick and nibble and pushed up my skirt, pulled my thong to the side, and started licking my cleanly shaven pussy (I keep the token triangle of bush because I like the way pubic hair looks on a woman, but the rest I shave religiously because oral sex feels so much better when I'm smooth).

I tried to give in completely, to become oblivious to everything except the feeling of her hot tongue on my clit. But I couldn't quiet the part of my mind that suspected Sammy wasn't eating me out because she desired me and was desperate to give me pleasure. There was a lack of passion in the way she licked me, a sort of calculated methodical stroking that felt impersonal, businesslike.

I recognized it now. I had administered just such a licking the first time I ever went down on a girl. I was 19 at the time, and the girl, Ginny, was someone I wasn't remotely attracted to, but when the opportunity to fuck her presented itself, I thought it a good time to try out some of those same-sex fantasies I'd been harboring since I was in high school.

I was curious, and Ginny was my guinea pig, my dorm room our lesbian lab. I went down on her with enthusiasm, initially, but just couldn't get into it (let's put it this way- if Ginny was a guy, I never would have put her dick in my mouth).

Now I suspected it was for the same reason my perfunctory oral machinations didn't make Ginny come all those years ago that Sammy's licks and flicks and kisses were bringing me no satisfaction.

As Sammy had done to me, I gently put my hands on her head and drew her face from out of my crotch. I hoped for some more nipple play, and smiled at her as I leaned in to kiss those gorgeous nipples with the barbells that glinted in the candlelight.

When I leaned back to meet her gaze, to read her eyes and gauge how she was feeling, I knew I had just been given a precious gift that I would never, ever get to enjoy again. It was probably the same look Ginny saw in my expression after I went down on her— the hollow gloom of instant regret.

Sammy dressed hurriedly, and I tried to think of something to say, tried to think of how I could thank her for letting me fuck her when I had found her so desirable, and how I knew I would never hear from her again, even though I would fuck her again in a day or an hour or a minute if she would deign to let me have my way with her once more. But I knew such a pathetic plea would be as pointless as it was desperate, so I made no such declarations.

Wistfully, I watched her collect her garments all around my bed and put them quickly back on. I lied naked on my bed and made no motion to dress myself. I tried to memorize her body, knowing that the memory of her smooth and luscious nudity would fuel my fantasies for months to come. I hoped that the fantasy wouldn't be tainted by the notion I harbored that I was merely an item checked off of her sexual "to-do" list. Lesbian tryst. . . check.

After her hasty departure, I masturbated through hot tears as I cried. It was an unbelievable trick of luck that I had gotten to fuck a girl I found so irresistibly attractive, and with the distance of a few months' healing time, I can honestly say I've gotten over her. Sammy was definitely not the best sex I've ever had— I think we were both too restrained to let our passions overwhelm us— but I can say, unequivocally, that she was the hottest piece of ass I've ever scored.

Even if it meant fresh wounds and another month or two of miserable pining, I would fuck Sammy again in an instant. And this time, I wouldn't let her go until she came.