I met her in a bar. I was there with friends who were all couples and who were constantly trying to get me coupled-up as well. When their set-ups never worked, they just began having get-togethers at bars, guilting me into coming along. They all knew that I hated it, but felt like it was some sort of Tough Love that was for my own good.
I was just about to make my excuse to leave when she offered to buy me a drink. I automatically began to decline before the voice registered as female and I turned to see a striking, dark-haired woman sitting next to me. By then, my friends were all coupled-off even within the group and didn’t notice this turn of events.
I had still not said anything intelligible when she asked, “Vodka and cranberry?” I just nodded, wondering how she knew that’s what I had been drinking, but then glanced down at the purplish remnants in my glass. She ordered two and then leaned in to talk.
“Exhausting, isn’t it? All the same type of boys with the same tired old lines, and not one with anything real to say once they make the step up.” I nodded once again, confused at what was happening and just wanting to go home and get away from the crowd. Still, she was correct.
“I’m Belinda,” she said, raising her glass that the bartender had just delivered.
“I’m Becky,” I answered, clinking hers with mine and then taking a drink.
“Ah, two B’s in search of a flower to settle on. I’ve been watching your friends dangle you like a worm on the hook and thought you could use a rescue.”
“Oh my god yes,” I said, relieved that this wasn’t just another pick-up of a different sort. “They all want to pair me up with someone so that we’re all couples. I don’t think they even care who it turns out to be!”
“You poor thing! I know how tough it can be being the third wheel with people like that. Maybe we should have some fun with them—see if your theory is right.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, let’s see if they really care who you end up with. I can pretend to be picking you up and you act like you’re into it. Then you’ll find out if their intentions are in your best interest or theirs. You game?”
As she laid out this plan, I began smiling, already thinking about the stir it would create with my prudish friends. As soon as she finished, I laughed and nodded.
“Okay,” she said, scooting her stool right next to mine, our bodies now touching from knee to shoulder, “but we’re really going to have to sell it, otherwise they’ll think you’re just making a new friend,” she added conspiratorially.
“Okay,” I said, already seeing Ann’s look of disapproval and shock in my mind’s eye. Belinda ordered us more drinks and put her arm around my waist.
“Put your hand on my leg.” I played along, but she was quick to correct. “Not on the skirt, on my leg. On the inside, between my thighs. A little higher to push up the skirt a bit. That’s perfect.”
We just drank and talked after that, but we were glued together the whole while, her hand rubbing my back and hip, her face right next to mine, and my hand practically between her legs. It was weird to begin with, but the alcohol helped to make it more comfortable. What also helped was the fact that she was intelligent and funny, asking questions about my life and being interested in the answers. Whenever I would try to look and see if any of my group had taken notice, she would gently pull my face back with her other hand to whisper in my ear, causing me to laugh or nod in agreement.
“I don’t think anyone has noticed us,” she finally said. By that point I’d almost forgotten that’s why we were sitting on top of each other. “Let’s dance.” With that she was up and pulling me to the dance floor by the hand that had been on her leg. I couldn’t count how many times I’d been asked to dance in this place, but this was the first time anyone had gotten me to the floor, and she didn’t even ask!
It was a true dance song playing and she pulled me into her once we found a place, bumping and rubbing and pulling me this way and that in time with the music. It was all starting to make my drink-filled head swim a bit too much when the song changed into another, this one slower and funkier.
Belinda pulled me into her, and while I was grateful for the settling of my head, she was now in full Bump and Grind mode. Our legs were scissored together, our knees bent, each with a thigh dangerously close to the other’s crotch. While she held me tightly, I just held on for dear life, never having danced with anyone like this before.
As we continued to move with the thrum of the beat, I felt the heat rising within me, even though it was all an act for my friends’ benefit. She and I had both dressed in short skirts that now rode up, pushed along by naked thighs that were soon touching and then grinding on panties.
She was the leader in this dance and when we were fully locked together, she led us lower, thighs pressed into pussies from top to bottom, and that’s when I felt the wetness on my leg. I suddenly realized that the panties I thought I were feeling was actually her skin, shaved and silky smooth, and now her arousal was leaving its mark on my leg. Even worse, I felt myself getting wet as well, her thigh grinding on my lips and clit through the thin fabric covering them.
In a panic, I stiffened, trying to break free and stand straight. At the same time, the music changed to a slow dance number and she used that as an excuse to straighten up and pull me in even closer, legs still locked together. She had her arms around me and her face so close that I could feel her breath upon mine.
“It’s okay,” she cooed. “You’re safe with me. Put your arms around me, hold me close. Your friends are going to be twittering like old maids.” I put my arms around her again as I remembered again why we were together like this.
“You’re playing it perfectly,” she continued. “If I didn’t know better, I would think that you’re completely mad about me, a burgeoning little Lesbian who can’t wait to get her mouth between my soft, smooth thighs. I’ll bet they’re already wondering who’ll be the one in the dress on our wedding day.”
That made me giggle and relax again. It was so strange being locked together like this, breasts mashed and thighs squeezed into pussies that were perhaps more sweaty than aroused, but it also felt good. It had been a long time since I’d touched anyone so intimately, and my body reacted to it, uncaring that it was with another woman.
“You are so beautiful and sexy,” she said into my ear, “I can see why they’d wonder why you weren’t with someone. It just feels like an awful waste.” Belinda made me feel so good about myself. Why can’t guys be more like that?
“Want to really make them talk?” She said it into my ear, her lips brushing my cheek, then pulled back to look me in the eyes for an answer, our noses almost touching. I felt like I knew what she was proposing and wasn’t sure if I wanted to go that far with it, but I nodded anyway.
Our noses touched, then slid past each other as our lips came together in a kiss, a succession of them as she stared into my eyes, kissing and suckling at my lips until she took hold of my bottom lip and sucked it into her mouth, making my eyes flutter at the sensation.
That was apparently her cue to push her tongue into my mouth, mine meeting hers of its own volition. Then she had a hand on the back of my head, fingers in my hair, cocking our heads over to get her tongue deep into my mouth. Rarely had I felt a kiss so passionate and my body responded in kind even as my mind began asking questions.
Her other hand was soon on my ass as she ground our legs into our pussies even more. I could almost feel her erect clit rubbing against my skin as mine was rubbed through my panties, and I wished that it was being rubbed by skin as well. I found myself completely forgetting where we were and why this was happening, the kiss and our entwined bodies becoming my entire world. Then I felt the telltale signs deep within, like seeing the light of an oncoming train—the first stages of an approaching orgasm.
But before I could panic from that, she’d broken the kiss and the embrace and was leading me by the hand to the back of the club, past the line of women waiting for their restroom and into the men’s room to the larger stall in the rear, pulling me in and locking the door behind us. Without pause or words, she pushed me against the wall, kissing me deeply once again while raising my skirt and pushing my panties to my thighs.
Two fingers entered me as I gasped into her mouth, then moaned as I grasped her shoulders. The questions and concerns upon entering the back area all but disappeared as my body ached for the impending orgasm that it could now taste. She finger-fucked me with one hand and held my head with the other, fingers closing into a fist in my hair. She broke the kiss only to attack that special spot on my neck as it was all I could do to breathe and remain upright.
“You’re a nasty girl, aren’t you? You’re gonna cum on my fingers in the boy’s room, aren’t you? You want me to make you cum, nasty girl? Say it—beg me to let you cum?” She said these things with her mouth at my neck, then next to my ear, finally staring directly into my eyes as our foreheads touched, the palm of her hand slapping at my clit as she worked her fingers in and out of me.
“Please . .” I began, barely able to string the words together. “Please make me cum.”
“Call me Miss and beg me to allow it!”
“Please . . Miss . . please let me cum.”
“What about me? Don’t I get to cum, too? Will you give me an orgasm after you use me for yours?”
“Yes, yes . . I’ll make you cum . .”
“I don’t believe you . . I don’t think you’ve got it in you . . beg to give me the orgasm I deserve.”
“Please, Miss . . let me make you cum . . I’ll do whatever you want.” She then stilled her hand, holding her fingers deep within me while kissing me just as deep.
“Prove it,” she said, pulling her hand out of my lower lips and bringing it up to the higher. I accepted the dripping digits into my mouth as she stared into my eyes, seeming to dare me to chicken out. I sucked my juices from them, my pussy clenching at the unwelcome void it now felt, the orgasm so close I wanted to cry.
She kept her fingers in my mouth as she guided me down to my knees with the hand tangled in my hair. I suddenly knew what I’d just promised to do and I was scared, but I was more scared of disappointing her as she stared down at me. She finally withdrew her fingers and used that hand to lift up her skirt, showing me her smooth, very wet pussy. I’d touched it before, felt its wetness on my skin, but this was going to be very different.
“Ask me again . . show me that you mean it.”
I swallowed hard looking up at her and said, “Please, Miss . . let me make you cum . . let me taste you . . let me make you feel as good as you’ve made me feel.”
“Mmmm, that sounds divine. Kiss first . . kiss it all over . . show me how much you want it.”
* * * * * * * * *
I think about that night often, about those first kisses, that first taste of her, hearing her sounds of passion for the first time in the most unromantic place imaginable. I made her cum in the men’s room, then again in her car, and twice more in her bed before I got to finally cum on her fingers.
My friends were indeed shocked when I introduced them to my girlfriend the next weekend and by then, there was no doubting the reality of it. But they were happy that I’d found someone, even uptight Ann. I call her Miss and make her cum probably ten times as much as I get to, but we’re very happy, even when the group is successful at dragging us out to a bar again.
Dedicated to my dearest faithful pet Lisa !
ANY REFERENCE TO LIVING PERSONS OR REAL EVENTS ARE PURELY COINCIDENTAL.