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| Blogs > RomanticRoss > Sassy Pizzazz |
Candlelit Nights
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Candlelit Nights How did I, a straight guy, become lover to a lesbian? It started innocently. I was at a friend’s party and, across the room, seated on the floor with her back against the wall, was a slender, thirty-something woman with a tomboy haircut and huge, round eyeglasses. She balanced a paper plate on her lap, and picked up each potato chip delicately with long, elegant fingers. Looking for a friend, I strolled over, squatted beside her. “I thought I knew all of Michael’s friends,” I said. “How do you know him?” “He works in the lab that our clinic uses.” “You would be…” I let it dangle. “Psychotherapist,” She nodded. “Karen.” And extended her hand. She had large gray eyes, prominent cheek bones, thin lips and a charming though secretive smile as though she knew something no one else would ever know. I felt she was lovely. We talked about literature, organic foods, theater and drama, time shares, films, medicine, paintings… for nearly an hour before I got up to use the bathroom. On the way, Michael, hosted the party, stopped . “I see you’re hitting it off with Karen.” “She’s fascinating,” I said. “ bright and fun.” “All true,” Michael said. “But you’re wasting your time. Karen is a lesbian.” That threw me a little, but what if she were? She still was the interesting person I had been chatting with. “Doesn’t matter,” I said. "I like her.” A of hours later Karen and I left the party together and I followed her to her apartment where she had invited me for a drink. She lit candles and turned off the lights. Played sitar music, chromatic scale. She didn’t burn incense. Instead she unbuttoned her blouse and started dancing in the candlelight. As she’d spin there would be a flash of breast, a glimpse of flat stomach. She let the blouse fall, kicked it aside. Then unbuckled her slacks, stepped of them, hopping on slender leg. She resumed dancing and I joined her, taking off shirt. We brushed against each other. I held her against , kissed her bare shoulder. She laughed. Pulled down on the carpet and then helped pull off jeans. She rolled her stomach. I straddled her and massaged her thin shoulders. Ran hands down her sides and across her back. She was built like a : narrow hips. firm buttocks, long legs. I kept massaging, kneading her butt, her thighs. Rubbing her calves, her ankles, her feet. There was still a slight tenseness in her. I returned to her butt. Massaged and kneaded. She started to move with the pressure of hands. Raised her pelvis and moaned. It was the sign I’d waited for. I spread her cheeks. Gently I pressed thumbs against the rim of her anus. She welcomed it. Started moan and grind. I lowered, extended tongue, licked the edges of her hole, then penetrated her with tongue. She groaned with pleasure. Her hips rolled in response. She was in ecstasy. So was I as I worked tongue deeper. We became lovers that night. I didn’t penetrate her in the usual sense: she and I both climaxed in the passion of a 69. We stayed together for months before she found a woman pleased her. I was saddened, not heartbroken. I had known it was temporary. Soon I found another . That was thirty years ago. I still think of Karen from time time, and will always treasure the memories of those candlelit nights with lesbian lover. |
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