Lips, Tits and Bathroom Trips

female-head-savedMy first bisexual experience with a female was deliciously naughty, to be sure. (BTW: Did I mention NAUGHTY is one of my favorite words?) 

 

She dated my brother. Well, he was my step-brother. And the guy I lost my virginity to. (Oh, you know that’s a WHOLE other story.) They didn’t hook up for long, and within months were beginning to drift apart. I believe it began as a way to really get his attention, but we ended up hitting it off. PB&J, I believe the term is. 

 

She was older by three years, but seemed so much wiser and more experienced than me. Her breasts were huge… even next to mine. I was intrigued by her dark aura and the red tint of her hair. She introduced me to Styx, Air Supply, and female cunnilingus. Her tongue taunted my lips long before they tainted my nether LIPS. Her kiss the most sensual I’ve ever tasted. This is still a fact.

 

We were the best of friends, so it was nothing to end up making out with a young stud between us, my car barely visible from the road behind our neighborhood ballpark. I lost my panties on more than one occasion. We were total sluts and bent on shoving that in every attractive boy’s face until we were known as the head job queens. (Okay, that last part is not entirely true. Yes, we were known as the head job queens, but no, it was not the initial plan. Wink. Wink.)

 

Her lips tasted like honey… warm, thick and sweet. She made my head swim each time she seduced me with her kiss. I was in love with her smell, and the way her breasts looked pressed nipple to nipple with mine. Her neck and ears were definitely the landscape to her arousal. Her soft skin beckoned for my gentle touch. My hand sweeping a motion from her breast to her hip. Her azz made me giggle. She was an adultplayground for all of my delicious bisexual curiosity.

 

She always opposed me going down on her (or as the fellas put it: DATY). Even entering her with my fingers was off limits. For months and months she shrugged me off by kissing me and swatting my hand away, like I was a petulant child after the cookies. “Not until after dinner.” (That was my plan.)

 

I needed to taste her… a woman. I needed to know if I was just attracted to her intoxicating kiss and her beautiful, turned-up breasts, or was it the full package. WAS I TRULY BISEXUAL?? Would I be completely turned off?? Or would she just string me along until I hated women altogether?? I needed my NEEDS met before I exploded. (What a sight that would be.)

 

If you think I’m insane sober… 

 

It wasn’t a plan, really. I mean it certainly wasn’t PLANNED, per se. However, after a few drinks, who can stop me? But she’s not stupid, by far. Her true weakness was how she appeared to others. So… while we were intoxicated one night and standing in line for our hourly bathroom trip, it came to me. 

 

I would urge her gently until her back was against the wall. Then I would molest her with my fingers and tongue. She would quiver and shake and beg me in a silent whisper to “please stop”, but by then, it wasn’t possible for me. I had her taste on my lips. She was all over my hands and face, and I still wanted more. The waiting had almost drained me. Now, with her juices spilling into my mouth, I was renewed.

 

It was intense and unpredictable. It was exhilarating and frightening. It was cataclysmic and all-consuming.

 

And it was wrong. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. (But, oh God, did it feel right.)

 

 

 

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