Now I don’t want to sound
like the archetypal gap-year student here and preach about ‘finding myself’,
but the truth is that it was a time of huge self-discovery for me, and opened
my eyes to a great number of new experiences, people, and most of all
possibilities. I made it my mission to say ‘yes’ to each and every opportunity
that presented itself – from skinny-dipping to dancing under the stars at an
orange farm – and, as a result, many of my stories come from this time spent
abroad.
This one in particular
started out as a regular night for my group of friends; drinks on our
roof-terrace before heading into town to an underground club. We hadn’t been
before, and hadn’t heard of anyone else who’d been either, but it was an
adventure and we were more than willing to go along for the ride.
Upon entry, we discovered
that this was a lesbian club; nothing unusual for me as I’m from an extremely cosmopolitan
city myself, although it was a novelty for some of my friends. The music was as
loud as the beer was cheap, and this suited us perfectly. After an hour or two
of shaking my stuff on the dance floor, I got chatting to what I thought was a
lovely (straight) couple – fantastic! I relished any opportunity to practise my
Spanish. He was nothing particularly special, but she was gorgeous; a
twenty-something Brazilian who’d been in Spain for just two years, her long
dark hair and thick eyelashes were mesmerising. However, when I asked how long
they’d been together, they replied that they were just good friends. I remember
this striking me as odd due to the blatant attraction between the two.
When she asked if I’d
like to go to the bathroom, it seemed like a normal request; you know us girls,
we’re always going together. When he followed us, it seemed perfectly natural;
of course, he needed to go as well. When he joined us in the ladies’, now
that’s when I realised something was afoot. Maybe if I’d drunk less beer, or if
I hadn’t been on my year abroad, or if I wasn’t in such an experimental state
of mind, I wouldn’t have gone ahead with it. But for whatever reason, I did. No
words were spoken, no agreement was made, but somehow we all seemed to know what
was happening.
We all entered the same
bathroom stall (yes, it was very crowded) and they started kissing. Then he
kissed me. Then she kissed me. I’d kissed female friends before for jokes, or
dares, or as a bargaining chip to make male friends do the same, but this was
different; this was the first time that being with a girl wasn’t justified by
anyone’s ulterior motive. And I have to admit that it wasn’t bad; in fact, her
lips were soft and patient and giving. As we kissed, he unzipped his jeans and
positioned himself behind me; condom first of course. His hands reached round
to my breasts as he slid into me from behind, my face all the while pressed
against hers.
As he slowly and
deliberately fucked me from behind, she let her hands fall down my body, across
my breasts and down the centre of my stomach to between my legs, where she
stimulated me with the sureness and accuracy of someone who’s done it many
times before and knows how it feels. I actually found myself more consumed by
what she was doing than by the man inside me. Perhaps it was the novelty
factor, or my amazement at what was happening, but I found myself wanting to
please her too. So when he withdrew, I leant in to kiss her, and dropped my
lips to her neck, her chest, and slowly made my way down her torso. My heart
was beating wildly as I contemplated my next move, but part of me really wanted
to know what it was like to do this to a girl; above all, maybe, because I
wanted to know what men were experiencing when they did it to me. I got closer
and, before I had time to think too hard, went for it. Kissing and licking her,
I found myself more in tune to how it would feel for her, trying to recreate
things I myself liked to be done, and maybe trying even harder to please her
than I usually would a man. Is that to say I prefer women? I’d still say no.
Perhaps gay relationships
have an advantage over straight ones; having the same sexual organs as your
partner means you know how everything feels. You know what’ll tip them over the
edge and what to avoid. Boyfriends of mine in the past have marvelled at how
quickly I can make myself come (and complained at how long it can take me when
they’re at the wheel), and that accuracy can surely only come from years of
experimentation and knowing exactly what you like.
But despite women being
more gentle, soft and smooth, there’s something about men’s ruggedness; the
scratch of stubble against my skin, the hard pressure of an erection against my
thigh, that means I’ll never switch sides. That’s not to say I don’t understand
why one would...
love... V
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