New Beginnings Advance

Hi, I'm Mikki. You might remember me from a week or so ago. I am twenty-four and I am a lesbian.

I'm a lot surer now than I was last time. About being a lesbian, that is. When I left you back then, I had recently broken my duck with girls and was starting to accept the way my life was going to go. And by "recently" I mean very, very recently. In fact I was in a four-poster bed, plotting and scheming, with my new lover asleep at my side. Do you want to know how I got on? Do you want to know why I'm now almost convinced about my sexuality?

You do? Well thank goodness for that. Let's get on with it.

Dave had attracted me by stealth. Believe it or not, I'd initially mistaken her for a bloke. What an idiot I can be! Okay, she'd been dressed to fit in with an IT department full of nerdy, Star Trek-worshipping men, but it seems incredible that I didn't immediately see her as she really is.

Dave is so, so beautiful the way I see her now.

So there we were, in bed together. It was six-ish Sunday morning, the middle morning of a Bank Holiday weekend. Officially we were having a couple of days as friends, hill walking in the Lake District. Officially we were sleeping in separate rooms above a pub and, apart from a vague promise of messing about in the shower (a promise made by me, emboldened by too much wine), sex wasn't on the cards.

In practice we'd ended up in the massive old pub's best bedroom and the sex had been fucking fantastic.

Excuse the expletive, but . . . It. Had. Been. Fucking. Fantastic.

I wanted more. Lying next to Dave, watching her sleep, I was overcome with emotion. I loved her! I wanted her!! I wanted to be with her, always and forever!!

Last time I vowed to tell the truth in this little romance, warts and all. That still stands, so here goes.

Watching her sleeping made me as horny as hell.

Dave has very short, light brown hair. By day she wears supersized nerd convention glasses, complete with thick black frames. Seen right then, without her specs and totally relaxed . . .

Well, for me there wasn't a sexier sight on the planet.

Omigod, I thought, I'm going to do something wild and impulsive.

I consider myself to be sexually inexperienced. To be honest (and keeping to my vow of truth-telling), I have hardly had any experience at all. My wicked intentions were, I feared, off the scale when compared to my abilities. Not that I let doubts get in my way.

Moving slowly, cautiously I pulled back the bedcovers and feasted my eyes on Dave's tits for a moment. Dave's tits are tiny with the cutest, tiniest nipples. Conscious of my heart leaping and lurching, I lowered my head and sucked at the nearest teat, drawing it into my mouth for a moment then dabbing at it with the tip of my tongue, bringing it erect. Dave moaned but didn't spring awake. Encouraged, I moved on to the other teat. That was already erect but I sucked and dabbed at it anyway.

Dave moaned again when I started to knead her tiny titties. And again when I started to lick and nibble. Getting into it . . . getting really, really into it . . . I clambered on board, straddling her legs, never for a second breaking mouth/boob contact.

'Mikki,' she sighed. 'That is so good.'

I glanced up, into her eyes. Strictly speaking they are hazel but, depending on the light, they can seem brown or green or amber. Right then they were green, signalling me to keep on going, full steam ahead.

So I did.

Time for a brief digression. In case you missed the events of Saturday night, my lust for Dave had been growing over the previous week or two. Me, the straight girl, lusting after her! For her part Dave had been a perfect gentlewoman. Although she had made most of the running between us, she hadn't put so much as a finger out of place.

Worst luck!

Anyway, we'd spent all Saturday together and a burst pipe had sentenced us to share a bed. I'm not superstitious, not much, but I believe in kismet. If something is meant to happen, it's going to happen, right? With that in mind (not!), abandoning my habitual, iron-like self-control, I'd thrown myself at her and she'd rewarded me with countless cums. To be honest, she'd taught me things about myself; things I'd never suspected. Up until then I'd believed I could only cum at half hour intervals. And I'd believed I was undisputed world champion at making me cum. Dave had proven me wrong on both counts. She'd also proven that my rough and ready efforts could do the trick on her.

Digression over.

Determined to be less clumsy than ever before, I slid down her body, trailing my tongue from her tits and over her smooth, soft tummy. While I dallied, dipping my tongue-tip in and out of her navel, my hands glided down her sides, enjoying the contours of her, not least the shift from thin-ish chest via slender waist to quite full hips.

And I had once mistaken her for a man! Ha!

Dave has a thick bush down there. It's a little darker and quite a bit longer than the hair on her head. And much curlier, of course. Don't think I'm making excuses (I'm telling the truth here, remember?), but it had hampered me that first time. I hadn't coped with it very well at all. My previous experience with pussies had been exclusively with my own. And, as well as knowing myself intimately, I've been clean-shaven for years.

Still determined to be deft and as loving as possible, I positioned myself between her legs and studied the target area. Her labia majora had to be fully engorged. I couldn't recall them being so swollen the night before. Swollen? They were almost visibly throbbing.

Breathless, I inspected more closely. Hair densely covers the outside of her outer lips but the insides are bare. And her inner lips are absolutely hair-free. She has, in my opinion, an utterly beautiful pussy. Her slit is well-defined and the mouth of her vagina is noticeable indeed.

At that moment, studying her, I wondered why I'd been so ham-handed earlier. Everything was where it should be and, even though her clitoris was buried in deep undergrowth, it was obvious where it was located.

I must have been over-excited last night, I thought. I might even have panicked.

Not this time, though. Regulating my breathing, I began with her vagina. Kissing it. Running my tongue around it in a tight little circle. Lapping up the trickle of juice that came out of her. Wanting to thrust crudely but not sure if she'd like that. Desisting. Kissing, circling and lapping instead. At last . . . aeons later . . . concentrating on her labia. Outer set first. Licking and nibbling, not caring whether or not I got pubes stuck between my teeth. Then the inner set. Setting off low, licking and kissing.

'Oh my God, yes!' Dave gasped.

She orgasmed. No way did she fake it. That was one hundred per cent real. There was a stream for me to lap up, not just a trickle.

'Oh my God, my God, yes!'

She came again as I lapped and lapped. Aroused beyond all reason, I went back to Dave's inner lips, tracing a line up between them, easily finding her clit.

Not so difficult after all, I thought, trying not to shudder at memories of my earlier blundering around.

Fucking hell, I'd been as incompetent as a man!

*****

We finished off by messing about in the shower . . . as promised. Or rather, Dave finished me off in the shower. Not that that was any hardship. And it was her turn. I'd finished her off a dozen times in bed. At least.

To think at one stage I'd been worried about sharing that shower!

I'm getting delicious shivers thinking back on it. Dave didn't do anything out of the ordinary, but everything she did do was done perfectly. She also dispelled another misinformed belief of mine. Silly me, I'd thought that my tits weren't particularly erogenous.

Ha!

In case you don't know, my tits are quite prominent on my otherwise slim body. Although they're generally admired, neither of my two (pathetic) male lovers paid them much attention. I have paid them a little attention myself, naturally, but with only limited success. Hence the misinformed belief.

Dave's attentions were brilliant. We're both tall (I shade her by millimetres at five foot eight) and our parts meet quite sweetly. She kicked off by insisting she washed my long, auburn hair . . . making a meal of it, using far too much complimentary shampoo. Doing it thoroughly and face to face, ensuring her tiny tits bumped mine again and again. That was arousing enough but then, hair safely rinsed, she coated my body with suds. No, she coated my tits.

Instant cum!

Knees ever wobblier, I let her have her way with me. Mostly . . . but not always . . . from the front, she lathered me section by section. And there was a pattern to it; I'm sure there was a pattern to it. Legs. Back to tits. Arms. Bum. Back to tits . . .

Dave's hands and mouth were good on me but, when she rubbed her tiny wet tits against mine . . .

By "rubbed" I don't mean the occasional, "accidental" bump, I mean she deliberately pressed up as close as physically possible and grinded herself against me. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. I didn't even know girls did that!

Wow, I thought. I must have been watching the wrong videos!

Then, exploiting my defencelessness, she pushed me into a corner and lifted my leg, holding it with a supporting hand, keeping me in position. Suddenly we were pussy to pussy, tit to tit. And I was very much on the receiving end. Her short, sharp thrusts took her saturated bush all the way up and down me. Again and again and again.

Another instant cum? You betcha. As far as I can recall, I started and simply couldn't stop.

Of course we did stop, eventually, but that was all Dave's doing. I didn't really have a say in the matter. In fact I was distinctly woozy.

I came round a bit when Dave showed me the time on her mobile. Somehow it had got from six in the morning to half past eight. And breakfast was, according to the tariff on the back of our door, "strictly 7-9am".

'Oh bother,' I said, 'I knew I shouldn't have put out that DO NOT DISTURB sign.'

'I strongly disagree,' said Dave. 'And we can still make it. Get your hiking gear on and let's go refuel.'

*****

A little earlier I mentioned "plotting and scheming". Please don't read anything sinister into that. I'm not Machiavelli or even Dick Dastardly. I'm a girl who is finally finding herself. A girl lucky enough to have met her perfect match. My intentions that Sunday morning were all loving and not in the slightest bit sinister.

Our weekend together had been agreed in advance: steep hills on Saturday, very titchy mountains on Sunday. After Sunday's trek (and at that point I had no idea where we'd be going), we were setting of for home. On Bank Holiday Monday, Dave was due to be rock climbing.

Boo! Hiss! I didn't want our time together to end, not so soon as Sunday afternoon. I wanted more. More and more and more.

The outcome of my scheming was this: When we got to the top of the first titchy mountain, I was going to beg her to ditch her climbing session. I was sure that, if we tried hard enough, we could find somewhere to stay for another night. Surely we could. Failing that we could always go back to my place or hers.

And, wherever we ended up, I wanted to spend Monday with her. On Monday, if all went well, I was going to tell Dave how I felt about her.

*****

We hurriedly vacated our sumptuous room and its even more sumptuous bed, dumping our bags in the hall and making breakfast with twenty minutes to spare. I had been expecting a cool if not hostile welcome but the waitress couldn't have been nicer. Smiling all the while, she showed us to a table and asked if we'd slept well.

'Like logs,' Dave assured her.

The cheerful waitress told us she'd fetch coffee, tea and toast, after which it was self-service. 'Feel free to have whatever you want,' she said. 'You can go back as many times as you like. And make sure you try the Cumberland sausage. It's to die for.'

'Cumberland sausage is all curled around itself,' Dave said when she'd gone. 'So you can wipe that saucy grin right now.'

'I'm not grinning about sausages,' I replied, 'be they phallic-shaped or not. I'm grinning about us sleeping like logs. I bet I didn't get five hours' sleep all night.'

We could have opted for cereal but, conscious of the need to refuel, we piled plates high with sausage, eggs and bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and baked beans. Then, after demolishing every last morsel, we went back for more sausage, mushrooms and beans.

'This has to last us to teatime,' Dave said when I hesitated between platefuls. 'Lunch will be a Mars bar washed down with Lucozade.'

I'd bagged the key as we vacated the room. Knowing there weren't any extra charges to pay, I checked us out while Dave took a comfort break.

It was the same receptionist as it had been on Saturday. She seemed to have contracted the same smiling virus as our waitress.

Omigod, I thought as she tapped away on her keyboard, she knows what we've been doing! They all do!

Then, smiling a bit myself: So what if they do? I'm proud, not ashamed.

'I'm impressed,' the receptionist said. 'You haven't even added a bar tab.'

'I'm not so virtuous,' I grinned. 'I paid cash for our drinks.'

She printed out a receipt that confirmed we'd already settled in full. 'Did you enjoy your stay?' she asked as she passed it to me. 'More to the point, did you enjoy your night in that four-poster bed?'

'It was superb,' I said. 'The stay and the bed.'

'I dream of spending a night in there myself.' The girl had gone all misty-eyed.

'I suppose it's booked for tonight,' I asked on the off-chance.

'It's booked-up for months. You were very lucky yesterday.'

'Kismet,' I said.

Dave's car was waiting where we'd left it on Saturday morning. We put our travel bags in its small boot and our backpacks on the rear seat. Before starting the engine Dave looked at me closely.

'She fancies you.'

'Who does?'

'That receptionist. She was nearly drooling.'

'Dave,' I said, 'I honestly didn't notice. And I don't fancy her. In fact I've never fancied another woman in my whole life. Apart from you.'

She smiled at that and we set off, heading uphill, taking the route we'd taken the day before. It was, I have to admit, a lot easier by car than it was on the hoof. Not that I'd suddenly got lazy. I still didn't know exactly where we were going, but Dave had given me some details over the breakfast table.

'It's only about ten miles,' she'd told me. 'There are a lot of ups and downs but the going underfoot is easy enough. We'll be on paths all the way.'

Queried about "titchy mountains", she said most of the ascent happened at the beginning, most of the descent at the end. The most noticeable ups and downs were in the middle where we would be going from peak to peak, conquering seven in all.

I was surprised to see people sitting at some of the tables outside The Kirkstone Pass Inn.

'It doesn't open until eleven,' Dave said as we went by. 'Those are all walkers, having a rest and taking in the view.' Then, as we reached the end of a flattish stretch and started to go downhill: 'Now for The Struggle.'

'What struggle?'

'This hill going down into Ambleside. The locals call it "The Struggle". It's bad enough going down it in a Mini. Imagine fighting your way up it in the olden days. In all weathers. And in a horse and cart, at that.'

'Poor horses,' I said. 'Who'd want to come up here anyway?'

'People wanting slate from one of the quarries, I suppose. And people wanting to go trading in other towns. As well as turning off to Troutbeck and Windermere, you can go straight on to Patterdale and the villages around Ullswater.'

'I'm astounded by the breadth of your knowledge,' I said sincerely. 'I'm an ignoramus when it comes to this part of the world. There again, you are keeping me in the dark.'

'I was keeping schtum because we need to park in Ambleside,' she said patiently, 'and that's not a given. Not at the best of times, and certainly not on a Bank Holiday weekend.'

'Assuming we can park . . .' I prompted.

Here's where I confess my memory for names is not immaculate. She told me we were going to (hopefully) do the "something" Horseshoe. I want to say the "Fairground Horseshoe", but it wasn't that. Not quite.

'It's one of the more testing walks,' she said enthusiastically, 'and it's one of the classics.'

'Will I be up to it?' I wondered.

'Of course you will. You sailed up and down that hill yesterday. You have excellent stamina.' Then, perhaps suspecting I wasn't convinced: 'It can be boggy in places, but it hasn't rained in ages, so we'll easily see the areas to avoid. Don't worry, I wouldn't be taking you if I wasn't sure you could do it.'

Ambleside was, as Dave had predicted, busy. Busy? The small town was packed. It was also quaint if rather commercial . . . but not at all tacky.

'What's that?' I said excitedly, pointing at a house built on top of a bridge over a stream.

'It's Bridge House. Nowadays it's a National Trust information centre. I think it used to be an apple store.'

'People work in there?' I was amazed. 'Isn't it a bit precarious?'

'It's been there three or four hundred years. It's already come through everything Mother Nature has to throw at it.'

Dave turned into a decent-sized carpark and exclaimed, 'Halleluiah!' as a family of four pulled out of a slot.

'Kismet,' I murmured, casting around, seeing that every other space was taken.

Dave beat me to the pay and display machine and wouldn't accept the handful of coins I tried to press on her.

'Boots on and let's hit the track,' she said.

While I adjusted my backpack I noticed her rooting in the Mini's glove compartment, finally extracting an Ordnance Survey map and a compass on a lanyard. She put the map in her backpack and secured the compass around her neck, in the manner of a school games teacher.

'We won't need either,' she assured me. 'I know the route like the back of my hand.'

'So why bring them?' I asked sceptically.

'Because sudden mists have been known to descend.'

I scowled at that but she was ready for the off. No way was I backing out so away we went, easing a passage through the bustling streets.

Ambleside is, in my opinion, a marvellous place. Every other building seems to be a pub or a restaurant, a B&B or a small hotel. And the bustling pedestrians all had that smiling virus too. The only downside I could find was in those plentiful B&Bs and hotels: every last one of them was displaying a NO VACANCIES sign.

Boo! Hiss!

Fortunately, I knew how holiday areas worked from my two and a half years in Cornwall. If we looked hard enough we would find something, somewhere. Just not there in Ambleside.

Assuming my begging, beseeching and imploring paid off, that was.

Walking in companionable silence, spending more time off the pavement than on, we made our way out of town. Soon we came to an impressive-looking iron gateway. The gates were closed and, judging by the lodge behind them, were protecting a large country estate.

'Here we go,' said Dave, pointing to an almost invisible signpost.

'Are you sure it's a public footpath?'

'That's what it says, isn't it? Come on. Onwards we go.'

We pressed on, starting to go gradually uphill, eventually coming to a kissing gate (where we kissed, naturally!), seeing our first titchy mountain looming ahead of us.

'That's Nab Scar,' Dave said as we broke for air. 'As you can see, the path zigzags all the way up. We won't need crampons and pitons.'

'Klingons?' I echoed, still dizzy from our kiss.

'No, silly, crampons.' She chuckled. 'They're a climbing aid. So too are pitons, although they are frowned upon these days.'

'Climbing,' I said, still holding on to her.

'I've gone right off the idea,' Dave said, her eyes enormous behind her specs. (Don't ask me what colour they were just then; I was hypnotized and in no condition to notice minor details). 'Know what?' she resumed. 'If I didn't think you'd had enough of the outdoor life, I'd call it off tomorrow. Try to get you to stay here with me for another night.'