The Expert
The flight this morning seemed to take longer than it should have. Angela Cole was up by 6:00am in order to make it to work, worked a full 8 hours, and then took a 5:30 flight in order to be at LAX at 10:30pm... and finally to the hotel by 11:30. She was tired, but not quite tired enough to go to sleep just yet. Unfortunately, her second wind had kicked in and it was going to take a little work to relax again.
She got a little cleaned up and slipped down to the hotel bar and lounge. There were only a few people in the bar this late on a Monday night and she sat near a young brunette and redhead at the bar itself. They both had to be in their mid-twenties, she calculated... a full 25 years younger than herself. She ordered a Cosmopolitan and just sat, idly watching the TV and occasionally glancing at her bar-mates, the two lovely women, obviously a couple.
Several drinks and thirty minutes later, she found her eyes continually distracted as she admired the view the closest woman's left breast provided when she lifted her glass. On such a steamy summer evening, the woman had decided to forgo wearing even the skimpiest of bras and had slipped on a silk blouse with extremely wide, short sleeves. Her flesh was visible beneath, especially when she lifted her arm. And her nipples delightfully pressed against the front even when she didn't.
Angela could just overhear their conversation and tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible as the subject they were debating was masturbation.
The lovely brunette to her right had just lifted her glass and Angela was admiring the way her hard, baby pink nipple rode high on its lovely, fleshy breast when a waiter dropped a tray behind them and the woman swung her eyes to the noise, catching Angela in full stare.
"Would you mind taking your eyes off my tits?" the woman requested quietly, almost challenging Angela to continue looking.
Angela smiled. "I'm afraid that's like the security guard at the museum asking people not to look at the paintings," I replied. "You have to admit, masterpieces are meant to be admired."
The redhead on the far side of her friend twisted around, leaned back behind her, and asked what Angela had said.
"She has the excellent taste to consider my left boob a masterpiece," the brunette replied. "Frankly, I've always thought my right boob was a tiny bit better, but they are nearly twins." She smiled, extending her hand. "I'm Jennifer and this is Tanya. Pay absolutely no attention to her," she said, gesturing at her redhead friend.
"I'm Angela," I said, taking her hand gently.
"She does have lovely breasts if you admire miniatures," Tanya said rather cattily and leaning toward me, pressing her boobs together to show her lovely cleavage and prove her own were definitely not in that category. They were absolutely full, practically spilling over the top of her blouse and busting the buttons open. She smiled. "As you can see, mine are much better to look at."
"They are very, very nice indeed," Angela said softly, smiling.
"You know," Jennifer said, "before you sat down we made a bet on how long it would take someone to make a move on one or both of us. We both lost. What took you so long?"
Angela laughed. "I didn't want to intrude on your discussion, although I have some... expertise, shall we say, in the matter," she confessed, smiling and taking a sip.
"Really? Expertise in masturbation? Alone often, eh? If you don't mind me asking..." she giggled.
Jennifer so far was content to allow her friend to ask the questions, but did smile as she sipped her cocktail and used her hand to surreptitiously open the side of her blouse to provide Angela another great view of the mound of flesh that opened their conversation.
"It just so happens that until she was killed by a drunk driver five years ago, my wife insisted that I... ummm... attend to those needs with her, every night. She claimed she couldn't sleep until she had an orgasm, and claimed that my mouth was the best at giving her one." That was the fifth Cosmopolitan talking. Had she stopped at four she would never have uttered such intimate information.
"And that relates how...?" Jennifer reentered the conversation.
"Well..." Angela started. "As you can imagine, being a lesbian, I absolutely love oral sex. And, it means I often use my fingers to assist," she answered. "At first I admit to being typically heavy-handed when dealing with those... delicate... tissues, but she was a very good teacher. We practiced a lot." She was smiling, remembering many of her sessions over the years. "Although all women are issued approximately the same equipment, unfortunately they just don't come with instruction manuals."
"And what might those instruction manuals say?" Jennifer inquired, smiling and taking another sip. Angela could tell she was getting a little excited just thinking about getting her pussy expertly licked.
"Touch, don't rub, would be right on the first page," Angela told her. "Along with most men, I at first knew no better and would rub her furiously when pleasing her. Like a blind monkey playing a clarinet, furiously trying to play something euphonious. Eventually I'd give her an orgasm, but it took forever, wasted a lot of energy, and certainly fell far short of the beautiful music she desired and deserved."
Jennifer licked her lips, her hand was inside her blouse now, teasing her left nipple between her fingers as she stared at me. "Forgive me for asking, but, are you currently single?" she asked, giggling slightly.
"Unfortunately, yes," Angela nodded and looked at her glass. "After her death, I decided to take a little break from relationships. So, no one has since claimed my expertise for their own."
"If you'll notice, my dear beloved Tanya, we are the only women in this place," Jennifer said, breathing a little heavier.
"Yes we are..." Tanya said, wondering what she meant about that fact.
