A contribution from a fellow blogger

I truly enjoy reading all the feedback and submissions that
folks send my way. If you read what follows you will see why.
If you would like to submit a poem, story, or share an
experience of your own. Send me an email by clicking
on this link


My Awakening

I have so enjoyed reading your weblog for the last few
months, and appreciate your genuine fascination with
the beauty of women. I thought you would appreciate
my story, the story of my own awakening.
Eight years ago, I was finishing my sophomore year at
college. I was to come home for the summer, after a
year of a rocky relationship with a highschool friend.
The plans got confused or miscommunicated, but in any
case, my parents were away when I arrived. As I had
done since I was a little girl, I called my mother’s
best friend Jill from a payphone.
Jill and my mother had been friends since before I was
born. She was and is a striking woman, strong and
confident in a way my mother never was. She had never
married, but as a child you accept some things without
questioning them. Jill was always there for me if my
mother could not be, a confidant but also an authority
figure.

Jill was there to pick me up in a few minutes and I
went back to her house for the night. She asked about
school, the usual things one asks a young woman, and I
answered them in the usual way. We had dinner, and
soon were laughing over old pictures of my parents in
the living room. We were on the floor in front of the
couch, a bottle of wine between us. In the pictures,
I noticed how beautiful Jill was at my age. And
looking at her 30 years later, her clear blue eyes,
natural blonde-turning-gray hair, her thin but fit
body under a white blouse and black slacks, I could
see she had not changed.

We must have sat like that, talking, for a couple of
hours. I poured my heart out about boys, my
frustrations. And then she asked, “Just boys?” It
was an odd question, and I laughed. She didn’t.
“What do you mean?” I asked. Jill took another sip
of wine, and asked, “Have you ever kissed a girl, or
just boys?” I looked at my glass and inexplicably
became very embarrassed. I don’t know why I responded
that way. The answer was no, I had never kissed a
girl, but her question made me feel somehow guilty, as
though I had.


Finally I looked back at her, and answered, “No.”
Before I knew what was happening, she pulled my face
close to hers, smiled, and kissed me – so gently – on
the lips. A lightening bolt shot through me, but I
could not move. My lips parted and I just stared as
she stayed close, smiling. “Are you ok?” she asked.
I said nothing. She sat back, covered her face in her
hands and said, “I’m sorry, Sally. I don’t know why I
did that.” I wanted to say something, anything. My
heart was pounding, my palms sweaty, chest heaving,
but I didn’t, couldn’t get any words to form. Then,
the moment that broke my heart and my silence… Jill
started to weep. The woman who was like a second
mother to me, only stronger, was sobbing into her
hands from that one, gentle kiss. I moved toward her,
kneeling in front, and quietly pried her hands away.
She looked up at me through tears, and I kissed each
moist eye. “No,” she pleaded. I looked at her, long
and hard, and said, “Yes.” And then, the most
sensual, romantic kiss I’ve ever experienced. Holding
her cheeks in my hands, I kissed her deeply, slowly.
I felt her tongue test my lips, then plunge into my
mouth, exploring, tasting, hungry for me. I pulled
back, reared up on my knees and pulled my linen dress
over my shoulders. She wiped her tears and took in my
body admiringly. I was in an old bra, torn a little
and used. My panties black and velvety soft. She let
her hands move over my shoulders and down my arms, her
finger tips grazing my hips, and then back up over my
tummy. I closed my eyes, and felt her hands cup my
breasts, then move to the clasp. The bra dropped
clumsily between us, and I heard her whisper, “You are
so beautiful, Sally.” And I had never felt more
beautiful, more feminine, more sexy.

Jill leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on my
bellybutton, moving up past my sternum, pulling me
close as she rose. Finally her lips locked on one
nipple, already pert and aching. It was like I was
being electrocuted. My back arched, my ass tightened,
and my crotch thrust toward her. With one hand, Jill
smoothly pealed down my panties, and the smell of my
own sex wafted up between us. I looked down and
watched her suckle my breast, and felt her fingers
gently probe my thatch of sticky-wet pubic hair. I
pulled her head back and up and we kissed again as she
fondled my clit and slid a finger in and out of me.
Before I knew it, she had maneuvered me back onto the
couch, my tailbone on the edge, my legs straddling her
shoulders. She had not undressed, had not had time.
And I could see that my wetness had left little stains
on her blouse. She kissed my calves, the backs of my
knees, all the while gently playing with my pussy. By
the time her lips reached my clit, I wasn’t breathing,
I was heaving. Her tongue explored me, nipping at my
clit and then plunging deep inside, over and over. My
back arched, and it took me a while to realize the
moans I was hearing were coming from me. I watched
her, and she watched me, our eyes fixed on each other
as she brought me closer and closer to my first
orgasm. Soon she locked her lips around my clit and
began to suck and lick. Then I screamed, from shock
and pleasure. Jill had slid a finger, wet from my own
pussy, between my clenched butt cheeks and into my
asshole. I had never felt anything like that, and she
hesitated. I started to breath again, relaxing my ass
to give her more room. I caressed her head with one
hand and encouraged her probing finger with the other.
I am sure it was only 30 seconds, but what seemed an
eternity later I came in shockwaves, over and over in
quick succession. My knees locked, my toes curled –
the force of it pushed me from the edge of the couch,
and Jill had to hold me up. It felt like an i.v. of
warm liquid poured into my body, I was high, numb and
hypersensitive all at once.



Soon I was curled up on the couch, Jill naked next me,
caressing my hair, kissing me gently. I tried to
speak and found my throat raw, though I do not
remember screaming. Jill just lay there with me,
quietly whispering the most wonderful encouragements,
the sweetest little compliments. We lay like that for
some time, then bathed, climbed into bed, and I spent
the rest of the evening exploring her, tasting her,
knowing her. I’ll never forget the way she tasted,
creamy and pungent – a sexy musk that coated my mouth.
I remember the steamy-slick texture of her vagina,
how she coached me, encouraged me. She taught me how
to tighten and relax the muscles around my vagina,
heightening my orgasms (I lost count of how many I had
that night). She gave me free reign over her,
experimenting in my own clumsy way. When we finally
drifted to sleep in the wee hours, I can still
remember that exhausted feeling. My face taut with
the dried wetness of her sweet pussy, my jaw aching,
my body slack and spent.

The next day, we made love one last time in the
morning. That day, my parents came home and I left,
returning to real life. I remember her musky scent
was still on my fingers, and I let it linger through
the day, breathing them in whenever I could. I still
see Jill from time to time at my parent’s house,
whenever I am back home, but we have never spoken of
that night again. I suppose it was a special moment,
unrepeatable, forbidden.

Thanks for letting me share. Feel free to post if you
like.
-Sally B.