The handpainted butterfly on my mailbox is the first thing anyone spots when they come to my door. Okay, maybe they'll first see my store sign, "Lani's Flower Shop," but they definitely won't miss the butterfly.
Once inside, people notice me. I'm 5'2" with brown eyes and dark hair that I shave close on one side of my head. I'm told that I have a very sexy mouth. My tits are the envy of every Arizona Cardinal cheerleader. I can make Tucson hotter than hot in my cutoff jeans----showing my shapely legs and perfect ass. I have multiple piercings in one ear and wear a nose ring when I feel like it. For footwear, I prefer workman's boots. I have a tattoo on the inside of my wrist displaying two naked women in a garden holding hands.
Did you figure me out yet? Lesbo! Yes, that's me. I'm as straight as a snake and proud of it.
My name is Leilani, but friends call me Lani. When my lovers slip from the sack, they'll say, "you were a great lay, Lani." Get it? Lei-Lani!
I love fucking, and I'm good at it--I can make a woman cum harder and hotter than a Southwestern geyser boils water. Sex feels great, and I wonder why people are embarrassed by it. After all, wasn't it an orgasm that got us all here? So what's the big deal?
My parents were very liberal on the subject. My mother went around the house topless when she was doing demanding housework such as vacuuming. My dad went shirtless when it was hot. It's funny that men go shirtless and women go topless--whatever.
The first time I overheard my mom and dad getting it on, I thought he was killing her. So I asked my mom about it the next day.
"We were making love, dear. It was wonderful. I'm sorry we disturbed you though, and I'll try and be quieter and more discreet in the future."
"How often do you two make love?"
"Well, that depends on a lot of factors."
"Such as?"
"Well, if your dad is under a lot of pressure, he likes to have sex. And, if he's dieting, he gets horny, and we make love. And if he has a lot to drink, like at a wedding or a picnic, he loves to come home and screw."
"----Mom!"
"What is it, dear?"
"Don't you see that there is a problem here?"
"Problem? I don't see a problem."
"You don't say anything about making love because
you
want to have sex. It all revolves around dad."
"You're right, but that's my generation, and it doesn't bother me. When you come of age, you can do it differently.
That's mom.
When I was in high school, my girlfriends and I would go into the bathroom and whisper secrets about sex. I didn't know what to believe. So I asked mom.
"What is a b.j.? What's french kissing, and is it really that great? Do you have to put your hand down the front of a guy's pants if you don't want to?"
God bless mom. She helped me through all these agonizing rites of passage. She had an answer for everything. She even knew what to say when I told her about Janey. Janey Tanaka moved to our town at the end of my senior year. She was Japanese and wore her dark hair down to her waist. She had small but cute-looking breasts covered in sweaters and a shapely ass that I could easily pick out [and follow] in the hallway.
I would stare at her in the cafeteria until she would turn around and catch me. Each time I looked away. We did that every day for a week. Finally, I forced myself to hold her gaze; she smiled back and blew me a kiss. I nearly fell out of my chair.
"Did this ever happen to you, mom?"
"Well, yes, but not with another girl."
"Do you think I'm gay?"
"I don't know. I guess there's only one way to find out. You should ask her out."
"I can't do that. I would die if she turned me down."
"Why don't you invite her over with a few other friends for a swim party?"
That was brilliant.
I invited my two best friends: Shari and Kelsy. Shari was a cheerleader. She was adorable and funny. Kelsy was the complete opposite: brainy and reserved, but we all got along great. When I told them I invited Janey, I explained that she was cool and didn't know anyone.
The gathering was a great success. Everybody liked Janey, and more importantly, she liked me. How could I tell? The girl couldn't take her eyes off of my chest.
We started talking in school after that day. I called her every night. Then she invited me to her house for a sleepover. It wasn't until midnight that her parents went to bed and her bratty little sister left us alone. We watched some stupid movie on her laptop and sat next to each other with all the lights off. There was a scene where the guy and the girl started making out. It made me nervous. Janey reached out and took my hand in hers. I almost peed in my panties. I was afraid to look at her but wouldn't let her go.
When we finally went to bed, she asked me if it was okay that she held my hand.
"Yeah. I liked it."
"I couldn't tell."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was supposed to do?"
"When it comes to love, you do what your heart tells you."
"Oh."
"What is your heart telling you right now?"
"Um, that it would be really nice to kiss you."
Janey got out of her bed and tiptoed over to my bed. There were no lights on, but Janey stood next to the bed, and I could see her lovely face by the moon's light or maybe the streetlight outside. In any case, she looked ravishing. She knelt down and asked me to close my eyes, which I did, and she kissed me. It was wonderful. I kissed her back, and she made a funny sound that came from deep down inside her throat. Then she crawled under the covers, and we made out. She squeezed my breasts and asked me if I liked it. I did. It made my pussy wet. Guys couldn't do anything that made me slippery down there.
That night was ten years ago and is still one of the most memorable bedroom experiences I have ever had. When I got home the next day, I told my mom that I was gay. [She told my dad.]
She said she loved me straight or gay. That the most important thing in life is not to fool yourself and that the second most important thing is that you shouldn't fool others.
"Mom, when you're in love, do you just do what your heart tells you?"
"I think so," she answered, "but understand that your heart may get broken."
"Then maybe I shouldn't do what my heart tells me."
"I don't recommend that either. We have a pool and taught you how to swim."
"Okay, so what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that we could've refused to give you lessons and told you to stay away from the pool."
"But then I might've drowned."
"Exactly. So we taught you how to swim really well. Keep that in mind, and remember that no one ever died of a broken heart."
That was pretty good advice my mom gave to me. Because my heart was broken when Janey moved away that summer, and although I didn't die, I didn't want it happening again. And that's how I ended up in the situation that I now find myself in. I am one-half of five different relationships--simultaneously.
It's insane! Have you heard of hit-and-run drivers? I'm a hit-and-run lover, and now I will tell you the dirty details. Not because I'm mad, insecure, or feel sorry for myself. On the contrary, I've learned to embrace my "hit and runness" and I love writing about it.
I met Julia when I worked at an insurance agency [before buying the flower shop]. She had just moved to Tucson and needed car insurance. What's the first thing an agent asks before giving you an insurance quote? What's your name, where do you live, what do you, and are you single? It's like a singles bar, only better, because they come into the office, sit down at your desk, and willingly dispense this information.
When Julia sat down at my desk, my heart did a good old-fashioned "giddy-up." Julia is Columbian. She has a tawny skin tone, long dark silky hair, the loveliest hands, long nails that she paints white, and a great figure.
She was married and had two kids. We had an instant, mutual attraction. When we went outside to inspect her car, we could talk more frankly than in the office.
"You're beautiful."
