shalom
LESBIAN SEX STORIES

Shalom

Shalom

by incesting
15 min read
4.6 (4800 views)
adultfiction

Hi friends, for many decades Arabs and Jews have stayed together peacefully, lovingly, as neighbours.

While the politics led mindless killing continues unabated, I'd like to dedicate this story to the beautiful, loving arabs and wonderful, passionate jews.

------

My father served as the Director General of Customs at Haifa Port for over twenty years. I grew up in the Carmel area of Haifa, where nearly everyone in our neighbourhood was Arab. But when I was a child, none of that seemed to matter. If I stood out in any way, I don't recall anyone ever making me feel different. The only thing that set me apart, perhaps, was my short, lean frame and blond hair. The fact that I was an Ashkenazi Jew held no significance. I played in the same streets, shared the same games, and spent my days with friends just like everyone else.

It was only in college that the differences started to stand out more sharply, though I tended to overlook them. While Jews and Arabs mostly kept to separate groups, I was an exception. So was Jafit, my best friend. She and I had met in school when her family moved into the house next door. Her father also worked at the port, just like mine.

Jafit and I became inseparable, spending almost every evening together. We did our homework side by side, played around, and shared countless meals--mostly at her house. It wasn't unusual for me to stay over at hers from time to time.

Jafit had a quiet strength; she commanded respect even before she spoke. She was soft-spoken yet steady--the best company I could ask for. In contrast, I was the chatterbox, talking endlessly until she'd signal me to stop. If we were studying together, lying on her bed with books open, I'd inevitably say something random. She'd respond by placing a gentle hand over my mouth, silently urging me to let her focus. I'd hush up, waiting for her hand to lift, and then start up again. If she wanted me quiet a little longer, she'd leave her hand there, a wordless reminder to hold my tongue.

College didn't change much for us. Jafit was accepted into Haifa University right after high school to study psychology. I enrolled there too, despite having no particular interest in psychology myself, just to stay close.

We spent most of our days together--at college, wandering around town, and in the evenings at her home. After classes, it was routine to head straight to her place, have supper, and relax with music or books. Her single bed, which had once felt just right, now seemed to have shrunk. Even though I was only five-foot-three and petite, Jafit's five-foot-seven frame seemed to fill the space entirely.

Jafit would usually sit propped up on her bed, leaning against the wall with a couple of pillows behind her, immersed in whatever book or notes she was studying. I'd start off at the desk, but once I grew tired of sitting upright, I'd join her on the bed. After some shuffling around, I'd find a spot that worked for both of us. Nestling between her legs, I'd lean back, resting my head on her stomach. With my book open in my lap, Jafit would often balance hers on top of my head. Inevitably, I'd start talking, and whenever she wanted some peace, she'd cover my mouth with her hand, leaving it there until she was ready to hear me again or needed to turn her page. This eventually became our favorite way to relax together.

One day, as I was reading something that sparked my curiosity, I turned to Jafit and began, "Jafit, I..." Her hand immediately came up to cover my mouth. I fell silent, her palm gently pressing across my lips, spreading from one cheek to the other.

I waited for her to finish her page, anticipating the moment she'd lift her hand so I could ask my question. But she was taking longer than usual. Impatiently, I opened my lips a little and playfully flicked the tip of my tongue against her palm. She recoiled with a laugh, pulling her hand away and exclaiming, "Talia, what the--!"

Laughing, she brushed her hand off dramatically, as if wiping off droplets of water. "Jafit, I..." I started again, but before I could finish, she smirked and wiped her hand on my shirt. Her palm landed squarely on my chest as she exaggeratedly dried off the spot where my tongue had touched her.

"Talia, you're ridiculous,.....what?" she exclaimed, finally asking what I'd wanted to say.

Her hand stayed on my tit and held it in a grip bundling it with my shirt, until she was satisfied I was not horsing around and my question was indeed genuine.

The act was not sexual but it was a barrier we hadn't broken until then. Sure, we had seen each other naked, changing into, or out of, clothes many times - often entering the same change room at a shop when buying clothes. Touching each other sexually never crossed our minds. So my tit in her hand was innocuous, at best.

After that day, if I ever wanted to say something I'd remove her hand from my mouth and lower it. She'd then park her hand on my tit letting me speak. After I had said whatever I wanted, she would determine whether to remove the hand from my tit and bring it back up on my mouth or let it stay right where it was. Her mood determined the next step, whether she was okay letting me talk intermittently or if she wanted me quiet.

With little to hide or support on my chest, it wasn't uncommon for me to not wear a bra. Often, Jafit would not let her palm sit listlessly on my tit. Sometimes she'd squeeze the tit, possibly in amazement of its tiny size, and at other times she'd cup her palm to hold it in, possibly to appreciate its delicate nature. Either way, I loved it immensely. I liked the feel of her palm around my boob, maybe because it gave me confidence that my smallish tits were worth admiring, even if it was by my friend.

As we settled into this new routine, it still never felt sexual, when one day, months later, Jafit's hand found its way inside my shirt, maybe because it was doing the same thing it had been doing outside my shirt all these days. Her hand held onto my tit and played with it softly as if her squeeze might shatter the delicate construct of my tit.

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It suited me just fine, because the longer her hand stayed busy inside my shirt, the longer I was able to chat and talk with her. So a win-win, all around.

During summer break, we often headed to Mount Carmel. Back in school, we'd spend countless days exploring our favourite spots, just like most people we knew, each with their own cherished corners around the mountain. With its sweeping views of the city, the port, and the endless stretch of sea, Mount Carmel was the most beautiful spot in all of Haifa - a place that felt like home. So, even in college, we kept our tradition of spending July through September in its magnificent stepped gardens and on the Baha'i terraces.

The weather was cool around those months, and a gentle breeze would greet us as we arrived. Though our tradition had evolved from running around and playing to bringing a picnic basket and a few books, we still relished those hours spent lounging at our favorite spot, overlooking the city. Our spot wasn't secluded but rather a wide, open space where many families gathered to relax and enjoy the view.

That July, as we lounged on the sheet, stretched out to relax, I got tired and felt sleepy. I leaned back into Jafit's lap and pulled my straw hat on top of my face. I laid to soak in the sun. Jafit let me relax and continued to read. In one hand she held her book and the other reasted on my shoulder. She broke routine, and snaked her hand inside my shirt to cup my boob. Usually she'd put her palm on my mouth to signal to me to keep quiet, and then she'd move her hand into my shirt letting me speak. But on that day, I had indeed been lying quietly, a bit lazy.

It was as if she was trying to get me to talk, she played with my tit rather animatedly. I was aware of the fact that it wasn't really a secluded spot. From the noise around us, besides the birds and the trees, I could definitely sense people but possibly not within earshot.

I tried to ignore as much as I could but it was as if Jafit was doing it on purpose. Her palm kneaded my tit like dough. What was, until that day, a playful, sublime and muted antic, was now a frisky frolic with a sexual innuendo. Her fingers circled around my nipple which by then had become hard. She rolled the rubbery tip in between her fingers and got a reaction from me.

"mmMMMM..." I whimpered. Both of us were unsure if it was a response to ask her to stop.

I didn't pull her hand away. Not someone to give up, Jafit continued even more avidly.

After a few minutes, I moaned in exasperation and tried to turn.

Jafit held my tit and held me down. Neither of us were forcing. I wanted to turn but only half heartedly. Jafit pulled me down but not sufficiently pushing that I couldn't squirm away from her grip.

After a very brief lull, Jafit carried on with playing with my tit and had me squirming.

A wave of overwhelming feeling gushed into my groin and I felt I might climax. Conscious of where we were I shuffled hastily and turned around. As a result of my movement, Jafit's hand came out of my shirt from the front. I nestled my head on her thigh, having turned face down. My tits now squished into the sheet. My one hand stretched on the side and the other rolled around Jafit's hip.

I could not see, but I felt as if Jafit was smiling into her book. Her hand calmly rolled into my hair and caressed me on the back of my head. My hat lay rolled off to the other side.

After that day, her Jafit played with my tit whenever I was lying next to her or in front of her. It was as if she loved to hold onto the warm, smooth flesh.

I loved it. I loved the attention.

Later that summer, one afternoon, we found ourselves on Mount Carmel for a picnic. I was lost in my novel, lying face down with my stomach against the blanket. My elbows dug into the blanket, holding my book in front - if only I would look up, I would gaze out over the sprawling town below and the sea stretching beyond, but I was engrossed.

Jafit lay beside me, positioned on her side, perched on her elbow. Facing towards me, her head looked towards my calves, and beyond towards the garden. Her feet pointed toward the town I was watching in between my pages. When her elbow finally gave out, she shifted closer, resting her head on my legs. Her smooth cheek nestled against the soft flesh of my calf. A moment later, she tossed aside the phone she had been fiddling with and casually placed her palm on my butt, just above my skirt.

If I had twitched, I did not notice. Surely Jafit must not have noticed it either. But my butt did squeeze for just a fleeting moment before relaxing again. Jafit's hand just stayed there until eternity and I went back into the depth of my book.

About twenty pages later, Jafit's hand was on the inside of my skirt. I had not noticed her hand move, maybe because it had landed at the same spot where it was when on top of my skirt. Under my skirt, my thin panties only partially covered my cheeks so her hand was half on the fabric and half on my warm skin, probably the fleshiest part of my body.

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Even when I realised Jafit's hand was inside my skirt and on my butt, I hardly responded one way or the other. My mind wandered briefly away from the book but the story drew me back and I disregarded Jafit's antics.

Jafit only paused momentarily before playing with my butt cheek just as she was used to with my tits. She grazed her fingers around, spread her palm around the entire cheek, then squeezed, rolled her hand around brushing my skin with her knuckles and then squeezed again. Jafit was loving the feel of my butt cheek and she played with it like she owned it. Indeed she did. She owned me. I loved her.

Somewhere along the line, she had managed to push my panties into my crack so the butt cheek was available to her unencumbered. The only friction provided was by my cotton skirt which lightly scraped the back of her hand.

The contact may or may not have been sexual on her part, but it had me excited sufficiently. Even though I was aware Jafit's antics were just that, antics. She was horsing around trying to get me away from my book that I was engrossed in earlier. She had succeeded in doing that long ago. Now all she was doing was playing with my butt.

I kept the book down and tried to pull up on my elbows to show her that she had succeeded in getting my attention out of the book. Jafit pressed her hand on my butt cheek to express her desire. The pressure of her hand wasn't strong but just a signal for me to stay put. I acquiesced and leaned forward again. This time I folded my arms under my head and laid my cheek on my knuckles looking sideways towards the other side.

Jafit moved to my other butt cheek and politely moved the remainder of the panty into my crack before taking control of the warm mound. Without haste she played with my butt cheek for what seemed like an hour, lazily moving from one cheek to the other only to return to the first. It wasn't like she was massaging or squeezing hard, she was playing with it, just as she was used to with my tit.

I must have been doozy because I went in and out of a nap trying to ignore her hand under my skirt. If I squirmed and climaxed I couldn't say. But that I loved it, was as clear as daylight. To the both of us.

From then on, the playground for her hand had expanded. Before that day, her hand would find itself inside my shirt only when we were sitting close enough for her hand to go inside. After that day, it was indeed easier to find one playfield or the other. The nonchalance of it was so bizarre that if it were to be explained to someone, it would be impossible to rationalize. It's just that it felt natural, we felt close, we were best friends and had grown up together. Between us, I was hers. Hers- to pet, to play, to fondle, and to love.

Jafit was five foot seven, dark black hair, deep eyes, and lightly caramelised skin. She always smelled the most loveliest of perfumes. Her

ittars

were magnificent and moody. I usually stuck to her like a magnet lost in her perfume often.

Jafit,

her mother had once told me, meant,

"the most beautiful of all."

I had wondered then, 'how perfect! Jafit was indeed the most beautiful person I had ever known.'

On one sleepover night, on her bed, she sat with her back slouching against the wall, and a pillow behind her lower back. I was between her legs facing forward, hugging her with my arms behind her loosely. My head rested sideways on her pillowy boobs- a couple of cup sizes bigger than mine. Her hands moved lower on my back, through the elastic until both her hands were inside my pj and holding my butt cheeks, one in each hand. Her hands just cupped my butt and didn't move for a long while.

Our mutual warmth was comforting. Her perfume delicately enticed me to nuzzle in deeper and after every few moments I'd move ever so lightly.

Both of us lost in our own thoughts, held on to each other. It must have been an hour, or maybe a bit less, Jafit cupped my butt cheeks as far lower as her hands could reach and pulled me upwards from my butt. More of a nudge than a pull. I tried to process the signal and turned my head towards her face.

Her deep eyes invited me to move up. A second nudge on the bottom of my butt cheeks complimented her invite.

I shuffled up. Her hands never left my butt. Our eyes remained locked for the next couple of seconds. And then I was eye level with her. Our breaths merged ever so lightly.

I leaned in and planted my lips on hers. She kissed me for the first time. My arms flung back around her head and hers remained where they were but squeezed thankfully. We kissed leisurely as if we had been doing this for years. As a matter of fact we were, our souls had been attached to each other for years.

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