The Girls 3

AUTHORS NOTE: This story is a prequel to Age Indifference Parts l and ll. Brian gets dissed, Sara helps Holly find rapturous joy, and PopPop is not yet part of the picture.

I have, quite honestly, always been intrigued by how cool this secluded heart-of-the-city-forest clearing is in summer. On this particular day for example, though not yet 10 o'clock, thermometers just outside this treed enclave are already creeping past 30°C; headed (the forecast says) to 40°-plus by mid-afternoon. But while here it's probably no more than about 15°, rivulets of perspiration are making tracks down and across my body. Interesting from a scientific perspective perhaps, but not being of such mind I'll simply hazard that extreme sexual arousal ranks equal to nature's heat in making a person sweat.

I am lying on a blanket, raised on my elbows so I can watch the activity taking place below my waist and beneath my MuMu. Sara's head and shoulders have the material bunched up as she works to satisfy her voracious appetite for creamed pussy (while bare-ass naked under my dress, we go with the clothed approach in case someone should stumble upon us). Licking, sucking, caressing, she buries fingers deep in my cunt and I try my best to keep from cumming too quickly. But the shaking that's started in my legs is charging through my body and now my arms refuse to hold me up. Her hands and mine meet under my ass, raising me, and as she mouths my pussy I flood her with a liquid honey orgasm. We wriggle into an embrace; spent, content, as the soft symphony of nature lulls us into a light sleep.

A couple of things: Sara is my BFF and makes no secret that she's bi. While amiable to be being dicked by guys her sexual preference matches her gender. And, were you to ask, she is (usually) more into giving than receiving. As for me, I guess I'd also have to be considered bi although Sara is the only woman with whom I've ever exchanged bodily fluids. I tend to be more of a receiver than a giver and excepting Sara, men top my preference poll. But, without hesitation, the first time she brought me to orgasm I was totally ready to say 'to hell with men!' That story is just ahead!

We've always been typical girls sharing confidences, mooning over boys, and fantasising about doing "it." Sara got tagged before me; an event I learned of when she walked into my room dropped a pair of soggy panties on my bed and heading for the door announced: "that's a little me mixed with a lot of Terry." Never did learn who Terry (Terri?) was but I was happy for the girl. Anyway, to keep things moving, it was a few months later that I hooked up with a guy I encountered on a Saturday night club crawl. Brian was cute and radiated strong sexual vibes that set my spidey sense a tingle. He didn't look dangerous, well, maybe just a little.

We went from alternating bedrooms to living together in pretty short order and while, colour me happy, I was finally getting fucked, all was not sweetness and light.

"Getting fucked is great, Sara, and, I mean, he fills my vajj all right, but, I dunno, he's mean." Before she could jump in, I continued: "What I mean is, well, not 'mean' in some physical way, like he doesn't pinch or slap or stuff, but he's, umm, selfish I guess is a better word to use."

"So. Selfish. How? Example please." (Sara tends to be rather terse.)

"Okay. Example: He seems totally into himself, like if he gets off that's great, but if I don't cum it's sort of 'too bad, babe, maybe next time.'"

"Je-zuz Christ! Give that boy a bitch slap and get him thinkin' right. Wow!"

"And he isn't into oral unless, of course, it's me blowing him. He'll give my quiff a snaky little lick or two but then turns whiney: 'It tastes funny,' 'I don't like the smell,' or some other lame excuse." (Unsaid in this conversation but the fact is I've 'bated enough to know what I taste like (nothing objectionable there in my opinion), and I am fastidious about cleanliness (I don't bathe in Mr. Clean but my pussy odor is fine, thankyouverymuch!))

"Get your ass over here," were her parting words as she hung up.

Sara taught me a lot over the years; about free will, consideration of others (even if they're assholes), and this you can take to the bank: The most important friend you'll ever have in your life . . . is you. So, okay: Friends forever and frequent bed-mates during giggly 'let's-stay-awake-all-night' sleepovers, camping trips, and sunshine-destination holidays. We've huddled and cuddled and kissed each other -- to say goodnight, to console a hurt or heal a boo-boo -- in a sisterly sort of way, but bi Sara never "came on" to me.

Barely inside her apartment door I was smothered in a Sara-style bear hug. Throwing my arms around her and melting into hers, she kissed the top of my head while rubbing my back. I instantly had, as Glenn Frey sings, 'a peaceful easy feeling.' We moved to the sofa and sitting there, legs tucked under and facing each other she began to gently stroke my face. "Talk to me, Holly," she said, her voice only slightly above a whisper but filled with caring. I have just the vaguest recollection of what I bitched and moaned about (pretty much all Brian for sure), but totally amazing recall of these things: The steady gaze of her eyes; how she looked so solemn; the soft touch of her caressing hands and; the-oh-so-breathtakingly-wonderful kiss.

It happened. It just wonderfully happened and we reacted, one to the other. Whether I leaned into her, or she leaned into me, or we simply leaned into each other is unimportant, but that kiss ignited a fiery passion that immediately blazed out of control. I fumbled and bumbled my attempts to get Sara naked while she proved adept at quickly stripping me to birthday suit status. Trembling, nerves jangled by want -- perhaps even a tinge of trepidation -- I moved with her to the bedroom. My need to touch her, to feel her warmth, to explore her total beauty seemed overwhelming, but on the bed Sara gently brushed aside my searching hands, quieted my eager mouth with soft, fleeting, butterfly kisses.

"This is about you, Holly. This is about the most important, most deserving person in your life. I want to take you on an adventure of discovery marked by marvelous experiences; some that will place you in a state of anxious anticipation, others where you'll find rapturous joy, and each combining one on the other as you come to know the meaning of love." The kisses, her warm breath, the soft caress of her hands had me committed to her and the promised adventure.

What magnificent breasts," Sara murmured; cupping, rolling, massaging them. It took one lick, a gentle suckle and my nipples hardened instantly. I couldn't see the change but the spreading heat told me my areolae had gone from blushing pink to blood red scarlet. Sitting astride me, she rubbed my shoulders and upper arms all the while whispering softly, the words indistinguishable until I heard: "Let your mind go free."

What!? How could she make such an absolutely ridiculous suggestion to a girl whose mind was whipping at warp speed with a thousand upon a thousand thoughts and images and idea and questions? I mean she was asking for the fuckin' impossible! And yet, and yet, strangely, like the gradual application of brakes to a speeding car the whirlwind in my head somehow slowed.

Sliding down, her bush tangled slightly with mine setting off what must surely have been a charge of static electricity. Hit with a barrage of tingling jolts, my pussy's wetness surged (helpful in putting out the fire I felt certain was about to erupt). The kisses and caresses continued; face, neck, shoulders, breasts -- lingering there the longest -- then swirling licks of my belly that swept down, across, up, and back, stopping only while her tongue tasted the content of my belly button. (Bits of lint, cookie crumbs from a late night snack? God only knows what might be secreted away in that tiny orifice).

"This must be that anxious anticipation she mentioned," I thought, my body in full tremble mode. I simply had no point of reference in my very brief book of sexual experiences for this extended, delicate, gentle foreplay. But then, a flash of clarity: I was

discovering

something; something about me, about my own pleasure.

Hands hooked behind my knees, I pulled my legs up and wide as Sara lowered herself to begin a discovery of her own. "What a beautiful cunt," she groaned. "I knew you'd have a beautiful cunt, Holly, but this is simply gorgeous!"

Her breath, now hot, added to me own heat, and she sniffed: "Its odor is musty, but a light, pleasing, musty. I know already it will be delicious."

Laying another scattering of butterfly kisses on my inner thighs, the fingers of one hand spread my pussy lips as the thumb did a soft circular rub of my clit. Add another discovery: How quickly I lose control when Sara sends a finger wiggling inside my asshole. I came, Bang-Bang-Bang; vibrating from hair roots to toe nails and yet, confusing to me, I felt absolutely serene. However in mere moments I was hit hard by the realization that serenity can be a fleeting thing.

There'd been no anxious anticipation of that orgasm because it's not possible to anticipate the unexpected, and that finger insertion had indeed been unexpected. But now my anticipatory senses, that thing called intuition, kicked into high gear. It was as Sara began a serious full-facial assault that serenity fled. In a skilful use (if I may make such a bold judgment) of mouth, lips, tongue and fingers she proceeded to devour my pussy as a hungry person might attack a different kind of pie. And although intense, the whole of it was at the same time marked by a gentle sweetness. I needed no words to tell me that every lick, kiss, caress, prod and probe Sara offered was to heighten my pleasure, to satisfy my deepest wants, and to tell me my needs were important.

I'm a terrible judge of time (I think I've already hinted at that) so whether it was an hour or two or five that we stayed entangled would be a guess at best. I do know that I came multiple times -- to spare creating pangs of jealousy I won't tell you how many -- and each, first to last fulfilled Sara's promise of me finding "rapturous joy."

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I'm awake now and the coolness of the forest has goose bumps erupting on my arms. Snuggling tight to Sara I nibble her ear lobe then whisper: "I'm hungry." My hand slides up under her skirt to stir her juices just a little bit before I do some giving. It really is her turn to receive and I want her to know how important she is. And she really is deserving of finding her own rapturous joy.

Be Kind. Be Calm. Be Safe.

Love,

Holly