Women are beautiful. Their smooth skin, soft curves, gentle touches and tender lips are a world apart from the feel of a man. I’ve been attracted to women most of my adult life, though it took a special one to make me realise it back at university. I think everyone experiments at university, for one reason or another – out of curiosity, or to please the boys. For me it was the beginning of sexual exploration and it stuck, to the point where I can’t imagine not being attracted to women.
It takes a very specific type to get to me. Maybe it is the opposite of me in some way. Someone who’s soft, feminine, a bit rough around the edges but all too aware of the effect she can create around her, through a simple glance, a gesture, a flip of her hair or a smile. The mysterious charm of a beautiful woman…
She was French. Not originally French, more of a mysterious Eastern background but brought up there, she had assimilated the best part of that culture that has a reputation for the sexiness and sexuality of their women. Long hair, brown eyes, fair skin and full lips. A fantastic figure with shapely legs and a fabulous ass, yet small and elegant breasts. A woman’s breasts should be small enough to fit into a couple of champagne, they say in France. Hers certainly did.
The first time I got a feeling she was attracted to me was on a weekend at the beach. We went to change into our bathing suits and she took off her dress very casually in one gesture. She stood there in her little lacy underwear and watched me through the mirror, watched my eyes travel over her body, taking in the shapely breasts and the dark, hard nipples. Our eyes met and I think I looked away.
We always talked about sex. Boys and sex, a topic of conversation much more interesting than work. I knew her romantic history, her current interests and what she liked in bed. She seemed to get boys into her with a snap of her fingers, a flick of her hair and a quick peek of the tops of her stockings all the while laughing at the simplicity of it all.
She got me into stockings. She would frequently flash me the tops of hers, regular stockings that she wore under her work trousers or the suspenders held up by a lacy garter belt that she reserved for skirts. She looked good in them, and insisted that it’s the only bedroom clothes a girl needs. She took me shopping for my first collection, showed me how to put it together and also pointed out that the slip goes on top of the suspenders/garter belt combination, that way it can come off while the rest stays on. The only bedroom clothes you ever need, indeed.
She came to stay over at mine on a few occasions. I was very attracted to her but I didn’t know how to act on it, until we were in bed together at which point I let my hands wander over her body and leaned in for a kiss. I kissed her all over, her voluptuous lips, her sexy breasts, going down her body until my mouth was between her legs. I licked her pussy the same way a man had done me in the past, focusing on the sensitive button and flicking my tongue back and forth, until I felt her tightening around me, getting close, her pussy all engorged, rubbing against me, harder, tenser still, then finally exploding and contracting in an intense orgasm before collapsing and going completely quiet. I could see her chest and her cheeks redden as well, so I knew this was for real.
She got jealous of my lover. He also got jealous of her, and tried to play us off each other by telling me that she had flirted with him at the coffee machine. I went a bit insane and confronted her about it; she slapped me on the face and told me that he’s the bastard playing the game, that she would never flirt with him, that she only said hello to him because by now the whole floor knew about him and I and all my friends knew who he was. She was the first to tell me that he had resigned, and his goodbye drinks were that Friday. She was a bit surprised to find out that I already knew it because we had just gotten back together and he had spent the previous night at my place.
She wasn’t interested in him. I suggested a threesome on several occasions, even tempting her with dinner and toys, but she wasn’t interested in the slightest. She was more keen on an Irish boy we met by accident in some late night club, he was there with his friend, I was with her, and it seemed a perfect match at the time – two boys for two girls. We spent half the night kissing them and kissing each other while dancing together. Essentially starting a swingers’ club on the dance floor. Shock and awe all around.
We went home with the boys and first she was with the Irish one while I was with his friend. I enjoyed watching her, in her stockings and suspenders, riding him and moaning in ecstasy. She was screaming at me in French about how amazing and endowed he is, encouraging me to try him out. The whole scenario collapsed into giggles when he said what they taught him in his high school French class – ‘je parle Francais’. Then I did try him; she was right, he was fun.
We had more fun all together one more time at mine. I’m not sure how it fell upon me to organise a threesome, but it was a difficult tactical maneuvre. I had to coordinate my cycle and my sex life with her cycle and with the guy’s social schedule. Granted his social schedule would always take second place to a threesome with us, but it took a couple of months for her to agree on a date. He came running when we called, and all of us had a lot of fun before kicking him out to return home and going to sleep just the two of us.
I lost her as a lover and a friend. She did something to upset me, I can see now that she did it out of love but it came out all wrong, and I thought she was out of line. I didn’t speak to her for a month, until eventually a friend brought us together to reconcile. She had a chance to explain herself but I was so upset and angry I didn’t know whether I wanted to slap her pretty face or kiss her full gorgeous lips. We argued, we ended up making out in some bathroom of a bar, we got drunk and I left them to continue their night while I went to see my lover, the one she didn’t like.
I was almost ready to forgive her. She might be a bit of an idiot, but she is still someone I cared about deeply as a friend and a person. We even made small steps to re-establish the friendship but then something happened, I went away for five days to get my head together after a difficult situation with that lover and when I came back, she was gone. I tried calling her, texting her, writing to her but she just ignored me, and at the time I could not understand why.
I saw her once again. She came to this bar where I was drinking, while I was outside having a smoke. She came swaggering straight at me, with that long luscious hair, full lips, shapely legs and curvy body that I remember so well. We exchanged an old time snarky greeting and she went past me into the bar, got a drink, came back out but stood to the side with men surrounding her, her back turned, not even looking at me. It hurt a bit. I finished my cigarette and went back inside.
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