Lessons In Love Part 11

The bar was full of beautiful people b.u.mping and grinding on the dance floor. And the air was thick with smoke and iridescent bubbles that were being pumped out of a machine. As it was my first time in a bar, I was nervous and pina coladas slipped down in remedy. After I'd twirled four paper umbrellas between my fingers, Aimee leaned over and said in my ear, "I bought myself a holiday treat and I've been meaning to share it with you..."

A bubble floated by and she popped it with her fingertip. Then she smiled, teeth flashing under the strobe lights, and I followed her out of the bar-not yet midnight. I wanted to know what the treat was, but she told me it was a surprise and that I'd have to wait. We drove to the outskirts of town-saying nothing, music blaring-until Aimee pulled into an industrial park and stopped the car on an empty dead-end. "It's in the trunk," she said. "Just a sec."

Aimee's heels crunched against gravel and she came back carrying a cloth bag with a pattern of tiny cherries. I had no idea what could be inside, but I felt tingles of antic.i.p.ation and twinges of fear. Whatever it was, it had to be something important or else there wouldn't be this mystery.

Slowly, Aimee loosened the drawstring and pulled out a long, silver wand that flashed orange under the strange glow of the streetlight.

I'd never seen anything like it before, yet I instinctively suspected what it was for. "What is it?" I faltered and Aimee c.o.c.ked an eyebrow.

"I'll show you," she said.

After adjusting her car seat so that she was slightly reclined, Aimee began to slide the wand's tip over the thin fabric of her dress, worrying her nipples into sharp, perverse points. A private act, crude even, and I looked away, caught my expression in the mirror-mouth and eyes circles of surprise. But there was something compelling about what Aimee was doing and I couldn't stop my gaze from roving back.

Besides, she had her eyes closed; she couldn't see me watching. Couldn't see me watch as she gently tugged on her low-cut dress and sent her b.r.e.a.s.t.s spilling out the top. Couldn't see me watch as she turned the base of the wand, and with it now humming, rubbed it over her naked nipples.

Aimee's dress was short and she already had her legs c.o.c.ked open so that her panties were visible. But suddenly she spread her thighs a little more and ran the wand between them. Her chest started to heave then, her breathing change. She pushed her panties to one side of her folds, pressed the wand inside of her, and bore down on it, swallowing the silver while circling her c.l.i.t with her fingers. Finally she made little throaty moans that made me throb and she buckled under her own touch.

For a moment Aimee sat panting, the wand still buried in her. Then she slipped it out and handed it to me. "Try it," she said. "It's fantastic."

Reckless with booze and the slick that had gathered between my legs, I accepted the wand-still wet and warm from Aimee-and slid it under my skirt. Through my panties, it hummed against my c.l.i.t and it felt so delicious I almost forgot someone was watching. I threw my head back and rocked my hips until, soon, my panties were soaked and I was pulling them off, rushing to press the shaft to my bare skin.

Just before leaving for Florida, Aimee had given me a sphinx, making me as bald as a little girl. So that meant I could have been compared to a little girl in at least two ways, because on that New Year's eve at age eighteen I was also as tight as one, too. I had kissed several boys and let them grind their c.o.c.ks into my clothed, indifferent thighs.

But I was still a virgin. I'd not even had my own fingers inside.

Nevertheless, I had liked the look of Aimee riding the wand, and I suddenly needed to know how it felt to be impaled like that.

I positioned the silver tip at the mouth of my s.n.a.t.c.h and for a moment I just let it rest there-the vibrations humming every crevice while my fingers worked my c.l.i.t. Soon, however, my hips began to move with a life of their own. Made tiny thrusts that slowly swallowed the wand and ripped me open. My eyes watered, but the pain somehow made rolling my c.l.i.t feel even more delicious. And my hips rocked faster, harder, until, with Aimee's eyes on me, I came against my hand, the rod jammed in my hole to the very hilt. Tears in my mouth and hair.

Blood on the black leather seat, blood in my nails-even my French manicure blushing.

Quickly I shoved the wand back into its cherry bag and back into the trunk. Then Aimee and I drove to her grandmother's house, music blaring. Me looking out the window at inky landscape, shadowy houses, dark figures and her looking straight ahead.

And that is how it was for the rest of the trip-everything awkward, every s.p.a.ce too small-the corridors in which I had to pa.s.s Aimee, the princess bed in the guest room we had to share. Looking back, I think it was probably me that made everything so uncomfortable.

I was just so confused about what it all meant to me, to Aimee, to us.

Still, I knew that I didn't want to lose our friendship, so back home I tried hard to make things return to normal between us. And for me that meant never mentioning the silver wand and it meant that instead of practicing with makeup and wax, we watched movies and drank coffee with two guys from school.

Though everyone said they were good-looking-Chris with his smoky eyes and Jason with his broad shoulders-I could never work up any excitement for either of them. Unlike when I watched Aimee wriggle on the dance floor, watching Chris or Jason never made it throb between my thighs. I simply admired their beauty the way I might admire that of curtains or show dogs.

Spring came and my true feeling became more and more painfully obvious to me. Perhaps it was watching pigeons strut with puffed-up chests and seeing flowers spread for bees. Or perhaps it was just that time had mellowed the shock of such a graphic night with the d.i.l.d.o and I was finally ready to move on. But either way, I was now explicitly aware of how I wanted to touch Aimee-how I wanted to trace her collarbone and taste her salt and perfume. The only problem that remained was my own virginal self-doubt. Sometimes I would look at her milky skin and decide that she'd never want to touch me. Then at other times I would look at the soft blue web just under the surface and I'd decide that she would-that secretly her blood rushed and throbbed just like mine. At any rate, it all came to a head one night at her place.

Chris and Jason were there, of course, and they'd brought beer- presumably to loosen us up for that inevitable moment when they would corner us and fumble with our bra straps. Chris doled out another cold round and cracked his open. "Have any of you guys ever played Truth or Dare?" he asked. Though I had not, I knew where his question was going and I wasn't surprised to find myself in the middle of a game.

What did surprise me, however, was that round after round we all chose truth.

I don't know about the others-maybe they were just warming up-but I avoided dares because I suspected they'd involve me doing something messy and unpleasant with Jason, that and because truth, unlike dares, could be dodged with lies. Unfortunately, lying was tricky.

I had to come up with answers that weren't so green they would make me seem uptight, or so hot they would give Jason ideas. Walking that fine line left me without the energy to come up with questions and Aimee always had to think of something for me.

At first she asked stuff such as, "How often do you m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e?"

and "What is the most erotic dream you've ever had?" But eventually she hit on a question that got my attention: "Have you ever done it with another guy?"

Jason screwed up his face like the very idea tasted of sour milk and for a moment I thought he might even spit on Aimee's clean pink carpet.

"No," he said. "That's disgusting."

Chris, sitting in an armchair by the window, nodded in agreement then suddenly flashed a sly grin. "Two girls, on the other hand," he said.

"Now, that's all right. So what about you, Aimee? Have you ever gotten it on with another chick?"

"Hey, you can't just ask me a question. You have to wait until I choose truth or dare."

"Well, hurry and choose." But Aimee didn't hurry. Instead she took a long, slow swig of beer and looked in turn at the three faces watching her. Under her gaze, it seemed suddenly clear to me that Aimee knew.

Knew explicitly how I wanted to trace and finger all her lines and crevices-the cleft of her heart-shaped a.s.s, the curve of her hips. And I felt more exposed then than I ever had, even the first time she'd waxed between my legs. It was like I (not Aimee) had been asked the question and that it was about so much more than what I had actually done with a woman, but also about what I had wanted to do.

I tilted back my head and swallowed, polished off my beer, then discarded the empty can on the coffee table. Metal met wood and Aimee flicked a final glance at me. "Dare," she said.

The guys grinned at each other. "Okay," said Jason. "I dare you to kiss Heidi on the lips. Tongue and everything."

All at once the music coming from the stereo seemed loud and hard. And with its rhythm filling my throat, I couldn't breathe. Aimee was sitting on the floor a few feet away from me and I was sitting on the sofa. We locked eyes but didn't speak. I didn't know what she would do and it felt like a very long time before she did anything at all.

Finally, however, she crawled across the pink carpet until she was on her knees right in front of me and I could smell her perfume-sweet yet as heady as musk. She wrapped her fingers around my neck-under the hair, right on the skin-and she pulled me to her. Kissed me softly at first, then insistently. Her tongue curling around mine. Her teeth on my lips. But too soon it was over and she was back in her spot on the floor, my mouth watering for her.

"What do you want, Heidi?" Jason asked. "Truth or dare?" The guys were apparently getting off on this and hoping it would go further.

I didn't, however, care what they wanted. The only important thing was that their presence seemed to free Aimee and me to do what we wanted to do. To choose dare.

Jason tapped his feet, cracked his knuckles. "I dare you to feel Aimee up," he said. Without a second thought I got up from the sofa and walked over to her. Got down on the floor so that we were sitting face-to-face, kissing hard. Her dress so thin and slippery my hands instantly fell into place.

I leaned into Aimee until she was lying on the floor and I was on top of her, one of my legs wedged between hers and one of hers between mine. In that way, we slid against each other, panting, as she worked my skirt up to my hips and squeezed my a.s.s. Finally she rolled me off her and pulled down my soaked panties. She kissed the thin, sensitive skin of my inner thighs and ran her tongue along the thrust of my hipbones.

Then when she had me squirming, she brought her mouth to the vee of my crotch and licked a steady rhythm. I whimpered and rocked faster and faster. Almost like I wanted her to swallow me whole.

I thought, this may be a dare but it sure feels like the truth. And then I thought nothing. Just ground into her tongue until I came.

DEBUT.

CHERI CRYSTAL.

rom the very first page of her first novel, I was enamored. She wrote the way I wanted to be held. She took me prisoner F while I frantically turned pages, sitting at the edge of my seat, my tight jeans digging into my swollen c.l.i.t. Sometimes I actually came in my pants in the middle of reading a s.e.x scene. She wrote some of the hottest I'd ever read. I had to e-mail this author. I had to convey how deeply her writing touched me, how her words resonated in the core of my soul and at the same time caressed my body like tongue and fingers.

I was over the moon when she answered my first shy note, and within a few weeks we were exchanging e-mails regularly like old friends. We wrote and chatted online for almost a year but never met.

Through e-mail we shared photos, secrets, desires, and laughter. We discussed everything from writing styles to how she wrote her first tantalizing s.e.x scene. Her descriptions of fisting had me intrigued. I wonder if she knew I had never tried it but was dying to.

Her name was Angel and at first sight I truly believed she was sent to me from heaven. I was already in love with her mind but I knew it was her body I was going to worship. She was a few inches taller than me and stunning with her spiked red hair, small straight nose, and emerald eyes. Her shoulders were broad, her waist was slender, and her snug, man-tailored shirt showed off ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The top two b.u.t.tons were undone, revealing a throat I wanted instantly to lick. Her long legs and the way they led to her firm b.u.t.t had me drooling. With a jacket slung over her shoulder and boots with two-inch heels, she looked like an Amazon.

I wondered if she'd seen me. The c.o.c.ktail hour was all abuzz and I busied myself mingling with the other guests, waiting for our paths to cross. The champagne was going to my head and elsewhere. It wasn't even my big night. Well, not for a literary award but for something I longed for from the first moment I started having these fantasies.

Perhaps my latest romance novel would be in the running next year, but I couldn't think about that now. I was about to meet her face to face. I was presenting the award for Best Lesbian Erotica-how appropriate; I could almost smell the l.u.s.t oozing from my pores. She was up for the Debut Fiction award, and I wished I were presenting that one. If it were up to me, she would win in every category, especially Romance and Erotica.

When she finally glanced in my direction and our eyes met, my pulse quickened, my heart pounded hard in my chest, and I could feel my c.l.i.t spring to attention. I had dreamed about this moment for what seemed an eternity and as she looked me over, the antic.i.p.ation of breathing the same air as her was unbearable. My skintight black strapless dress with the plunging neckline seemed to do the trick. She smiled as she checked out my cleavage. Thank you Victoria's Secret for helping Mother Nature. I knew I was blushing furiously, but I watched her take me in, loving her slow sensual appraisal. I ached to run my fingers through her short spiked red hair. I wondered if she was a natural redhead and yearned to find out. Her eyes lingered at my b.r.e.a.s.t.s once more before they lifted to mine, gorgeous green eyes that sparkled just for me. Her mouth parted in a mischievous smile.

''Finally,'' she said.

"Finally," I replied.

It was hard to believe that two critically acclaimed authors couldn't come up with anything more poetic than that. After months of being the biggest flirt this side of the Internet, I was finally meeting the recipient of my corny jokes, endless prattle, and long-winded beating around the bush about what I really wanted. A mixture of amus.e.m.e.nt, pleasure, and outright l.u.s.t flitted over her face as if she was recalling every e-mail we'd exchanged over the last year. For a moment, all of the secrets, laughter, unquestioning friendship, and tentative exploration of new s.e.xual territory showed in the way her eyes gleamed.

We grabbed beers from a pa.s.sing waiter, clinked bottles, and said, "Cheers," in unison. We laughed. She had beautiful even white teeth.

"You look great," I said. Good enough to eat. Her Internet photos didn't do her justice.

"So do you," she answered, her eyes locked on mine.

I touched her arm and wanted to touch so much more. "Good luck tonight. You're sure to win."

''Thanks, but have you read the others in the category? I think I have some stiff compet.i.tion."

"'Stiff' as in dead. There's no contest. You may as well claim the prize so the two of us can go back to your hotel and f.u.c.k our brains out."

I couldn't believe I just said that. From the surprise on her face, neither could she, but then she grinned.

"You wanna?" She said it jokingly, but her gaze belied her nonchalance.

"Sure, let's blow this joint."

We both laughed, knowing there was no way we were going to leave before they handed out the awards. It was fun to tease, though, except the teasing was making my c.l.i.t twitch. Now that I'd met her I was more and more sure that the things we'd hinted we'd like to do in a night of pa.s.sion were going to happen. Part of me started to panic, but I looked at her again and I felt safe. It was going to be hard to concentrate on the ceremonies.

"Shall we go in?" she said when the lights flashed.

I nodded, and she downed the rest of her beer. I had hardly touched mine. We gave the bottles to the waiter collecting empties, and she led the way into the auditorium with her arm loosely around the small of my back. Her touch was light but it sent electricity shooting through my body directly to the heightened nerve endings of my c.l.i.t. I shivered slightly.

"Are you cold?" She put her arm around my bare shoulder. "Would you like my jacket?"

How sweet. I shook my head "You're so hot...I mean, your body is exuding enough warmth to keep me toasty."

"You're pretty hot yourself. You smell so good too." She rubbed her cheek against my hair and I nearly fainted. Fortunately, we found our seats just before my knees gave out.

Sitting close with only the armrest as a barrier, I leaned into her.

"You nervous?"

''Nah.''

"Liar. I can feel you shaking in your boots."

"That shaking has nothing to do with the awards." Her eyes were hungry, as if she wanted to devour me in a single gulp. If she leaned toward me one more inch, our faces would touch. I longed to kiss those lips when she moistened them with her tongue. I wanted to be that tongue.

The lights went down and she nonchalantly put her hand on my thigh just under my dress. I moved ever closer as her hand inched its way up the inside of my thigh and spread my legs farther apart. It took all my strength not to scream out, Don't stop. Claim your prize.

I prayed that she would keep going, knowing the thin silk of my panties would not get in her way. She pushed the material aside. My c.l.i.t was about to explode. Her nimble fingers caressed my soft curls and I sighed. It was delicious. Keep going. You're almost there, almost.... and just when I thought I was about to get my wish the emcee took center stage and began his shtick. Angel cleared her throat and readjusted herself in the chair. If her c.l.i.t was pulsating as frantically as mine, she was likely to miss her category being called, so I reluctantly let her go.

I delivered my well-rehea.r.s.ed speech, laced with as many jokes as I could muster, and announced the winner for Best Lesbian Erotica. I didn't wait onstage for her to thank everyone, but made my way back to my seat. Once seated. I could tell that Angel was sweating with antic.i.p.ation for her award. Best Debut Fiction was up next.

I took her hand and squeezed it. "Good luck," I whispered in her ear, purposely tickling her with my breath. The lights from the stage were just enough for me to make out her hardened nipples beneath her shirt.

I heard her name and jumped out of my seat. The cover of her novel was larger than life on the two-story screen. She sat there stunned for a second but got her legs to work and regained her composure. She stood up and I hugged her in congratulations. The heat between us ignited my fire even more. I was bursting with excitement. Seeing her stride to the podium, so confident and poised, made her that much more desirable, if that were possible. I wanted her so badly. My favorite book had won, but more importantly, my favorite author had won, and I planned to be the one to help her celebrate.

Angel looked radiant as she came back to her seat and, impulsively, I kissed her on the lips. She flashed me one of her dazzling smiles, took my hand in hers, and I lifted it to her lips. I put my hand on her knee and slowly made my way up toward her inviting crotch. There were people all around us, which only made me more excited. I was so turned on that I would have tucked her even if we were in Grand Central Station during rush hour. Applause erupted just as I reached the goal. I lost track of which category they were up to as I focused on Angel's need. I imagined I could feel her stiff c.l.i.t under my fingertips, so swollen and hard that even her pants couldn't conceal its prominence.

She twitched when I fingered her. My nipples hardened and the muscles tightened deep within my pelvis.

"I need the restroom," she whispered urgently in my ear and got up suddenly.

She made it almost out of the auditorium before I got up to follow her.

I couldn't believe what I was doing. My heart thumped hard, and it wasn't just from the steep incline of the auditorium and my three-inch heels. I was so swollen that my c.l.i.t was squeezed with each step.

Making my way out of the auditorium and opening the door, I quickly headed to the ladies room. I made it there in record time.

Angel turned around as if expecting me and put her award down on the counter. I practically flung myself at her, frantic for the taste of her lips, kissing her as I made my way down to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-undoing b.u.t.tons two at a time.

She stopped me. "Hey, who's the butch here, anyhow?"

"You are, but I want you so badly I can't help it. Besides you like to think you're so tough, but I know what a mush you really are."

She laughed. "So take me, then."

As I fumbled with her shirt, she led us into a stall. Since I was all over her, she barely got the door locked. Possessively, she wrapped her arms around me. Now look who was taking whom! Relinquishing control for the moment, I felt safe in her embrace. Never having felt this way about anyone, I trusted her implicitly. The restroom was empty and the thought that someone could walk in at any moment t.i.tillated me. I soaked through my panties. If we kept up this fevered pitch, I knew I was going to come and it was going to be quick; I was on the brink and she hadn't even touched me yet.

I pushed up her bra and pulled one well-rounded, delicious nipple into my mouth. I was teasing her hardened nipple with my teeth and tongue when she groaned and stopped me.

"Oh, G.o.d, not like this."

"Was it too hard?"

"No, perfect. Just perfect. But let's get out of here. Our first time needs to be better than this."

"What could be better than being with you?"

"Let's get out of here."

"But what about your publisher's reception ..."