I felt like I had to get out of there. It was the worst experience of my life.
The problem was, my boyfriend was making love to me at the time. I was spread-eagled in his bed, with him pumping away for what seemed like hours, his dick humping my pussy, and it was just not doing it for me. He'd gotten it into his head that the girl has to cum, or the boy is a bad lover. Well, the truth is, he WAS a bad lover, and no matter how many times he banged me, I wasn't going to see any stars. Just the cracks in his ceiling. And now I was starting to dry up, as he'd worn off all the K-Y I'd applied. I wondered if I'd ever find a guy who could fuck me like I deserved to be fucked.
So I gave him the routine. You know what it is, if you've ever fucked a man. So after he thought I came, he rolled off me, and immediately fell asleep. And snoring. Nice. I just stared at his near lifeless corpse for a few minutes, then shimmied out of bed and cleaned myself up. After wiping out as much of his stuff as I could, I put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, sandals and car keys, and drove down to the local all-night coffee shop, "The Daily Grind."
Grabbing a decaf caffe mocha, with whipped cream and chocolate syrup (hey, what can I say, I'm all girl), I sat down at a corner table and checked out a dog-eared copy of the newspaper. If someone were to describe me at that point, I think they'd say the following: "21 or so year old blonde, long hair down over her shoulders, nice breasts (D cups), hard to say about the ass since she's sitting down (it's VERY nice), cute face, the kind that looks nice without makeup, but isn't really improved by makeup either, good legs (and 2 of 'em), and a vaguely pissed off look on her face." Yeah, that's what they'd probably say.
Anyway, I was just idly reading about the Milwaukee Dodgers or something, when I heard a soft voice coming out of the photograph of Michael Jordan.
"Hi, mind if I sit here? The place is pretty packed and strangers have to share tables." I looked around, and except for the girl making coffee, the place was devoid of bottoms to sit in the many empty chairs. I looked around Michael Jordan, and saw a 20-ish brunette with really short hair, and an outfit more or less like mine, except a green top to my blue one. And a big, cute, grin.
"Uh, sure, go ahead," I said. She settled herself, and stuck out her hand.
"Hi, I'm Jeanette. Jeanette Royston," she said.
"Uh, I'm Kim, uh, Barlow." I took her hand and shook it. Nice firm grip. And warm, too.
"So, what brings you here?" she asked. "I'm here to get some studying done, can't do it at my apartment, neighbors. Too loud. Know what I mean?"
"Uh, yeah, I know what you mean. I'm just trying to relax a little before sleep," I replied.
"Huh, I would've guessed differently, if you don't mind my saying so," Jeanette said.
"Really, like how?" I said.
"Well, you've got a really pissed off look on your face for one thing. For another, you look like you just got out of bed before you came here. My guess would be that you're pissed off at your boyfriend. Or girlfriend," she continued.
"Boyfriend," I said. "I don't go the other way."
"Too bad," she said. "I do. You wouldn't be leaving my bed pissed off." I guess my face turned really red, because she then said, "There, I've gone and done it again. My big mouth. Look, I'm sorry for butting inβ¦"
"No, it's okay. Yeah, it's a boyfriend problem. He's a crappy lover, and I'm more mad at myself for settling. But, what did you mean about going the other way? Are you a, uh, lesbian?" I had been kind of curious about that whole thing, and I didn't know any gay girls, or at least didn't know any who were openly gay.
"Well, probably, but I have been bi in my recent past, so I guess that's what you'd call me. Bi. But, why don't you call me Jeanie?" She flashed me a lovely smile, and I noticed her light green eyes, turned up nose, and light splash of freckles across her nose. She looked like a nice person, and talking to someone nice, even if gay, was more attractive than reading an almost day old paper.
"If you don't mind my asking, what's it like to be attracted to girls?" I ventured, but even as I asked my face was turning a shade of light scarlet again.
Jeanie didn't seem to notice, and answered my question seriously. "It's not really different than being attracted to guys. Only, you're looking at other things, like breasts, and cute face, cute butt-, no, that applies to guys, too, uh, how she dresses, how she smells, a superior sense of humor-"
"Okay, I get it, I think. Gays aren't really different, just attracted to different people, huh?" I said.