"So, lovely lady, what made you choose females?"
The question has come from my companion, a woman of some stature in her field, which affords her some leisure, a woman that should know better than to ask such a question, and a wman of whom is currently allowing me to rest my naked body against her so warm and so comforting similarly naked body. More so, while she is a good eighteen years my senior, those eighteen years have been so very gentle on her features.
At the moment, we are entwined amongst luxurious red satin sheets near the far left top edge of a round and impossibly large bed in a private suite of a spa-resort located on a California ridge overlooking the Pacific Ocean, our satiated bodies relaxing as we gaze past the open balcony toward a golden setting sun out over that ocean. I know that us being here, me being here, is due purely to her success in life and to her desires for me. It is years beyond my normal poly-amorous life in an off-campus house that I share with three guys and four other women.
Her question is nonsensical, of course. It was a nonsensical question when she had asked it in the past and it is still one now. She knows it, and I know that she knows it, and she knows that I know that she knows, and further down the rabbit hole. It is just another of her endless mind games. She must be, once again, testing me, probing me, in order to 'get to the real Kathy'. I hate it when she does things like this, which occur after every round of lovemaking that we have. Sometimes, I swear, if it was not for the feelings that I have for her, as well as the fantastic sex that we have, questions such as these would cause me to leave her. Do not get me wrong, I do enjoy the expensive trinkets that she buys me and the exotic locales to which she takes me (and IN which she takes me), but I would chuck them all if it meant that I did not have to bear such questions.
I lean up on my right elbow, my left hand remaining on her abdomen, my gaze fighting between watching that hand slowly and gently trace random caresses across her smooth skin and turning to face her own probing gaze. "You know you don't 'choose' such a thing! It just 'is'!"
She concedes the question, but follows with, "Well, then, tell me about your first lesbian affair."
Gawd, she has such a sweet face! Her words have been said in complete innocence; I know that I could never refuse her this peccadillo. Still, as I stare at her, I am confirmed in my suspicions; my lover wants me to completely expose my thoughts and feelings to her just as entirely as I have my body. She wants, she demands, complete openness between us. How can I tell her that I love her but that I am just twenty years old? Of course, she knows that! Still, I am not sure that I ever want to commit to a long-term lesbian relationship. How can I tell her that I am sure that I am bisexual and not straight homosexual? I like to look at and fantasize about hard sexy male bodies just as much as I do about her just as sexy and oh so feminine soft body!
I smile at my beautiful companion. "Sure!" I wonder how much of my thoughts that my face has already given away.
I sit up in bed, resting back on my hands behind me, facing the sinking sun, legs slightly spread and stretching out before me and toward that sinking sun. "It all started that summer three years ago, the one between my junior and senior years back in high school. My period was late; you know that I have never been all that regular."
I hear my lover's agreement with what I said and look back over my shoulder to see her nod affirmative and to see her further imploring and enwrapped stare.
I turn back toward the west and that gorgeous golden sunset. "Well, I had been sexually active with my boyfriend for a few months and immediately thought,...no, I felt, even knew, that I had to be pregnant. And that was the obvious reason for my missed cycle."
I turn back to her, "I was so happy and excited! I was going to have the child that my life-long lover and I had made! It was going to be white picket fences and level yards and split level houses and two and a half kids and a dog and a hundred other things from that moment forward!" I reach across my body to fondle her exposed breasts, my hand moving from one to the other as I watch, my mind a thousand miles and multiple years away.
"And, I've told you this, when I told my lover-man the wonderful news, he had only asked about when I was going to abort the baby and how I was going to pay for it!" I look at my oh-so-sensual lover-woman straight in her eyes. With more emotion than I have shown since the orgasms that she had given to me this afternoon, "Abort my baby!"
I stare past her toward the corner of the room. "Well, you know the next part. I told him that I was going to have 'our' child, and he denied that 'it' was his. He eventually told me that I must have been sleeping with 'lots' of guys. One thing after another. Yada-yada-yada." My slightly tearing eyes gaze back into her eyes, "and, with that, we break up, my lover, my love, my life and my future was gone."
There is no sound in the room, just deafening silence. My feelings hit rock bottom. Even the sunset is conspiring to match my mood, its golden glory now being replaced by an ever-deepening bluish-purple gloom as the sun disappears beneath the horizon. I look back at it; I turn back to it. I bring my bent-knee legs up, wrapping my arms around them, my chin resting on them. I am lost in thought, my bedroom companion respecting my solitude, not making any utterance, not moving any muscle.
"And only then did my period occur," I eventually say in a deadpan voice. "Only then, after the storm, and leaving me, now, without even a baby." I barely make it through that last thought without choking up and balling like a lost child for MY lost child.