I have the real joy of being friends with a great woman, Delores. We used to work together and just hit it off. She was the loud brash one and I was the quiet more professional one, who, of course, could not stop laughing at her antics. She is big chested and full of self-confidence. We are both immigrants to this wonderful country. I came from Asia and she came from South America.
She was the type of person I would imagine a big brother would be, often pushing me for no reason or throwing something at me when I'm not expecting it, never to harm, only to break me out of my serious or focused demeanor.
Many years ago we had the opportunity to travel together for a one day continuing education class for our profession to Oakland. We were both so excited, I was married, but the marriage was not sexually satisfying for either of us. (This marriage eventually failed.) Delores was also married.
We went to Oakland and laughed it up. We shared a hotel and a king size bed. Delores was excited and having so much fun. After a night of sightseeing and dinner in the Bay area, we went back to our hotel room. Delores put on a long nightie and I wore pajamas, which I wore, even at home. We were in bed watching television, when, out of nowhere, she started tickling me. I'm very ticklish and don't like to be tickled. Delores knew this. I told her to stop tickling me, through my laughter. This only encouraged her and she rolled over to hold me down. She is taller than I am and weighed more than my 102 pounds, at the time. She straddled me and I twisted and turned to get her off of me, laughing and saying, "Stop it, you dummy!" (I hate the word bitch, so like the prude I've been, I refused to call her a bitch even in a playful sense.)
She stopped, and held my arms down as she straddled me. I looked down and noticed that she was not wearing any underwear. The twisting and tickling made me hot, but I could feel the heat from her vagina on my belly. Out of breath I said, "Are you done?!"
She looked at me and said, "No!" and began tickling my under arms, while now completely lying on top of me.
"Stop!" I said through my laughter. I hate being tickled, but she is my friend and I can't be mad at her. She could see in my face that I was serious about her not tickling me. She got up and I said, "You're so stupid!" with a smile and a huff.
We watched a little more television and called it a night. I turned on my side, away from her, to sleep. I wanted to know if she had been wet when she was tickling me. I slid my fingers down my top and found a snail trail. I had never thought about sex with a woman. Sure, women are beautiful and as a woman you always check out the competition. This was years ago when guys were still calling each other "fags" at work with impunity as an insult to their masculinity. People kept this behavior in the closet at our work and we did not know of any lesbians at our office. Delores and I never discussed lesbianism or bisexuality.
In my culture, we cannot have sex outside of marriage; we were only to have sex with your husband, whenever he wants it; masturbation did not happen and same sex intercourse would lead to sever punishment and likely death in the countries I had grown up. Needless to say, the thought of me having sex with a woman was never on the table.
Delores laid next to me at night and I could feel her warm back and feet occasionally touched my body. I found it really nice.
The next day we went to the class and sat in the back. We talked so much that the instructor stopped and eyed us a couple of times. I could not tell you one topic that was covered that day. We went home.
When I got home my husband was there. He was a good friend and that is probably where it should have ended, but culturally our parents met and agreed that the marriage between us would be a good one and, so we were married. We went to bed. My husband fell asleep pretty quick, evident by his snoring. I was up thinking about Delores. I wondered if I made a mistake, should I have tickled her back and see what developed? I was wearing the same pajama top from the prior night. I unbuttoned it and pulled the part where her trail and been. I smelled it. I liked the smell and it got me aroused.
Since you don't know me personally, I will tell you the truth, I wanted to know how it tastes. I put the tip of my tongue out and there was a little bit on there, which I found arousing, but not worth the felling of little cotton fibers on my tongue from my top.
I tossed and turned remembering this big tittied woman lying on top of me and the thought of her bush that I got a glimpse of that night. Stupid, right? I'm a woman. I have tits, big ones, and I have pubes, why was I excited by this?
I turned on to my stomach and placed my hands under me by my stomach. I reached down my pajama bottoms to my pubes. I listened to confirm my husband was still sleeping and he was. I slid my right hand all the way down to my vagina, over my panties. It is not as if I have never masturbated, but I had this guilt and felling of shame after. It's hard to explain to people who have grown up in the west. I did not share this with anyone, even my husband.
I did not want to get caught, first for the embarrassment of my husband knowing I masturbate. Second, I did not want him thinking I wanted sex from him, because I didn't. Third, I did not want to explain what thoughts were on my mind, if I were caught.
