The morning after Jane had come for dinner and my over-exuberant play after she left, I woke up sore and drained. In my head, I was still fighting myself as to where I was heading in life. I know just some 8 hours ago, I had been lying in bed masturbating, screaming so loud, that I'm sure the neighbors heard me say, I was a lesbian. But it's one thing, to be in the midst of solo playtime and fantasy scramming, "I am a lesbian," and the next morning waking not feeling the same.
I'll be the first to admit that after an 8-month relationship with a woman, one might conclude I was. But I still didn't believe I was. Or if I was even heading that way. I had only dated men before marriage. I met my husband, fell in love, got married, produced children, and was accustomed to being fucked by my man. So, I could clearly argue that I wasn't. I never really fantasized about women before Jane, or even before Mary. Perhaps meeting Jane, coupled with my emotional roller coaster divorce, hating men, because of what my ex-husband did, and the opportunity of sleeping with Mary led me to think more about women and develop some very interesting and creative fantasies.
I'll be the first to admit that after I developed a lust for Mary, I wanted to know what it was like to make love to a woman, and I had the chance. Both Mary and I had to break down a lot of walls and barriers within ourselves and against the norms of society in developing what we had. I'll admit as exciting as it was to sleep with her, it was also beyond imaginable to eat pussy for the first time. How absolutely petrified I was licking another woman's pussy, instead of sucking a hard dick. Yet as I did it, it grew on me and I became accustomed to it. I even liked it more "on occasion" than men. But that liking was accompanied by the emotional attachment that most men do not provide, before, during, or even after sex. Coupled with the communication and the closeness we had as friends before becoming lovers.
As time went on, I did miss dick. I missed getting pounded, seduced, and fucked in every position from my man's dick. The feeling of being taken, filled, and thrusted until orgasm is something every straight woman longs for. Truthfully the lesbian sex was taboo. It was different. It was unique. It was a learning experience and had an exciting feeling that came with it. Our secret romance was nothing but two women ravishing each other in private while playing friends in public. I believe that whole sneaky aspect enhanced it way more than if we had been out. Something you would have never suspected from either of us, only to discover that when alone, we were eating each other out and making each other cum hard.
For that moment and for some time after I just accepted Jane had just come by for dinner and hung out with no indications of developing a sexual relationship. That let me know that as much as I was fighting battles internally, I wasn't changing teams just yet and I just needed to focus on becoming who I wanted to be over time. If I was changing, it was because I wanted to be that strong independent woman, like Jane was. And that's where I left it.
That is until I kissed her very unexpectedly after a night of margaritas at the Mexican bar.
About two and a half months after Jane came for dinner, she had texted me mid-week. She was in essence complaining about the week she was having. I can tell by the hastily anger-laced texts she was aggravated, frustrated, and needed a break from her fast-paced work life. I offered a solution to her that perhaps we could meet on Saturday night and go back to that Mexican Bar we had met and have a nice dinner and a few drinks. She graciously and appreciatively accepted.
Jane picked me up that evening just after 6 and drove us to the restaurant. I didn't get all dressed up because I didn't consider this a date, or a chance to romance her. And since I hadn't seen her in a long time, I didn't expect anything. We were just two friends heading for dinner. Jane was dressed similarly to me in that she was wearing jeans, a casual shirt, and gym shoes, and looked like you would expect any woman to appear heading out for some food and drink.
While at the restaurant we ate, we listened to the Mariachi Band and had one too many Margaritas each. As we sat and talked, she had regaled me with case after case of bad divorces and fights between two people who were once so in love. Who now were so ignorant, spiteful, and argumentative over shit in life and items inside houses that would almost appear so irrelevant. But I knew exactly what she meant, because my divorce, albeit somewhat simple, was still filled with debates over lamps, couches, and kids' furniture. So, I knew exactly what she meant.
I was absolutely enamored by her. Like I was sitting with a rock star or movie star, hanging on every word. Not because of a sexual interest, but because of the powerful, no-nonsense woman she was. She had built herself up from nothing, including being divorced. She had built a successful career and legal firm. She had money, a house, and a big beautiful Mercedez-Benz SUV. She had expensive clothes and jewelry and did what she wanted when she wanted to do it. So, she had my attention, even if she wasn't interested in me in any way, but as a friend. I needed someone like her in my life and dammit, I was going to make sure I was there for her.
But Jane said something to me I'll never forget. As she was talking about life, her relationships, and love she said, "It's all about trust. If you don't have trust, you have nothing. And I don't trust anyone!"
As our time at the restaurant ended, we walked back to her car. When we got in, she started it up and rolled down the windows. Jane asked me if we could just sit for a bit. She related she felt a bit more buzzed than she should have been and didn't want to immediately drive. I was in no hurry, so I said, "yes," to her requests and we sat for a while.
Surprisingly, Jane pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and lit one of those long, thin Virginia Slims cigarettes. You know the kind, the ones older women smoke. She offered me one and I accepted. I usually don't smoke too often, only when I'm drunk or stressed, but tonight as the cool air hit us, sitting in the darkness of the parking lot, coupled with the buzz from the Margaritas, I figured it was the perfect time to have a smoke and continue our conversation.
As we sat and talked in her car, I could tell Jane was at wit's end with work. All the divorces, the arguments, the stress, and the anxiety, of dealing with people in heated situations were weighing heavy on her soul. Strong people can carry the weight of a multitude of problems and concerns, but even the strongest people break and this week's problems had finally caught up with her. And Jane needed to have that emotional release. She was almost tearful in just opening the floodgates of complaints about her workload, her desperation for better, the lack of love and meaningful friendships, let alone lovers, had made the invincible Jane, just as mortal as any other woman in life.
She tried to wipe the tears away and tried to be strong, and I held her hand in support. I let her know it was okay to cry. It was okay to let it out. It was okay to be vulnerable and that I was there for her.
Jane thanked me countless times as I listened to her complaints and aggravations. Some were so stressful that her hand would clinch mine so tight, it hurt. Her apologies came time and time again, while her emotional release was being blamed on too much alcohol and too many repetitive bouts of psychological warfare. I kept assuring her, we all have those same feelings and emotions.
When she finally regained her composure, I got up on my knees, leaned over her center armrest, and wrapped my arms around her. As I went to hold her, I kissed her lightly on her cheek and whispered in her ear, "It's okay, you go this."
We hugged for quite a while and I kept whispering words of support and belief in her, to reassure her that, she would be okay. When I pulled away from our hug, I stopped face-to-face with her. Jane's eyes were still watery from crying and I softly spoke to her.
I told her how amazing she was. How I had admired her from the moment I met her. How powerful, self-assured, professional, and perfect she was. I gave her every word of support I could think of, like some had done for me in my life, during my times of need. But that's when the excitement of being there with her, holding her, comforting her, alcohol, and my hormones took over.
I placed my right hand along the side of her cheek and whispered, "You are more important and more beautiful than you will ever know."
I leaned in to kiss her. But this time it wasn't a soft kiss on the lips in thankfulness or support of her. This time I was kissing her because I wanted her. I wanted her to know just how turned on, aroused, and attracted I was to her. How my life had changed, based on intimate fantasies, leading me to explore my sexuality were all because of her.
As I held my lips to hers, and as my mouth parted, hers followed suit. Our tongues touched. We softly and slowly developed into a soft, long, erotic deep kiss that held for the better part of a minute. Just as I was starting to get more involved with it, Jane whimpered through our kiss, "Ugh," and pulled herself from my lips.
I panicked. Seriously, I fucking froze. I had kissed her and I didn't have any idea if she even wanted that or was interested in that. Let alone, in her moment of need. I knelt just in absolute fear that I was about to be scolded for my actions. As if I had gone too far with this.
