P1-First Girl

When our lips touched, it was pure sugar. I had only ever kissed men – hungry men with hard lips. Kathryn’s lips were soft. Supple. Suckable. Her tongue darted into my mouth, delighting me with its pliant, and then rigid, explorations. It was so new, such a different sensation, to be kissed by a girl. I felt almost like I was drinking rich and yielding air. Her kiss was soft, so soft it was barely there, pulling me in hard and fast with its sweet minty warmth, like gravity from a celestial body. I melted into her as our lips welded together, swimming in pure sensation, not a thought in my erstwhile-troubled mind. Kathryn was a hook-up, a distraction. Or so I believed.

—

Jarrett broke up with me while I was still madly in love with him. It’s so hurtful, to fall from being someone’s eternal beloved to being a royal pain in their ass. Sometimes it’s quick — easy come easy go, little high, little low. But with Jarrett, it happened in subtle degrees – the reverse of the boiling frog metaphor.

We met Sophomore year at Northwestern, and spent three undergraduate years consumed in exploring each other, as much as our studies in Biology. We moved in together after college, but whereas Jarrett enrolled in grad school at the University of Chicago to become a surgeon, I went to work for biotech firm.

I didn’t mind his insurmountable loans, or paying the bills, but I did mind losing his attention, and slowly, it just seemed to seep away. We moved to different schedules and drummers. We preferred different circles of friends. Soon, we lived together but in different worlds. It felt tragic, like blood running out of my veins and into the careless grass. Our paths diverged, and instead of finding ways to grow together, Jarrett became less interested in ‘us’. He missed dinners, stopped making dates, took out his school frustrations on me, and became disinterested in sex, or relationship counseling. Each exchange kept getting cooler, until one day, I realized I’d been frozen out.

“Jarrett,” I said one evening at 2am, after he’d tucked himself into the bed. “Don’t you love me anymore?”

“What makes you ask me that?” he replied, lying on his back. The moon shone through the blinds, casting slats of blue light on his face. His eyes stared at the ceiling. Not at me, though I lay on my side, facing him. Trying to face him.

“I’m not feeling it,” I said. “That lovin’ feeling.”

Silence. I wondered if he could hear my heart, which had begun to pound. How quickly things were escalating, to nowhere that I wanted to be.

“So what I need to know is, is it gone for good, or are you just going through something? Can you talk to me about it?” I was pleading with him now.

Jarrett inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Not a good sign. The heart knows what it knows, even if the mind reels in denial.

“You don’t have to answer,” I said quickly, regretting the confrontation. Why had I gone and pushed it? Why hadn’t I just let it play out, in it’s own time? Why had I brought this pain on myself? I pinched my forearm in vicious self-hate. You deserve it for pressing him, I thought to myself. Girls don’t chase boys. Boys chase girls. Boys don’t like to be chased. I pinched my other arm.

“No, we have to talk,” Jarrett said. “You’re right, this is not going to get better.” He closed his eyes, and then opened them again, and turned on his side finally to look at me.

“Rachel, I do love you. But I’m not in love with you.”

There it was. I think my heart stopped in that moment.

“I care very much about you.” He reached out and caressed my face. “You are family to me.” He looked away. “But…”

“What changed? What happened? When?” I asked him, now in tears.

“I don’t know, Rachel. It’s just…”

“Just what? Is there someone else?”

Silence.

“What is her name?”

And then, Jarrett smiled. Just thinking of her made him smile, even as we lay there in the wreckage of our relationship. “Beth. Elizabeth.”

“Is she pretty?” I asked. I didn’t know what else to do or say. That was the strategy I instantly adopted in that moment of realizing that I was the loser. I became his best friend instead.

And he went for it. I learned more about Elizabeth than I ever cared to, and more about my former boyfriend than I ever knew, when Jarrett felt free, I suppose, for the first time, to gush about his new beloved and anything else he wanted. Now that he was free to pursue her.

He told me, joyfully, that Beth was of Indian feriköy escort descent, with a pierced nose, glasses, and dark skin. What a contrast to my shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes. She, unlike me, wanted a brood of rugrats. She, unlike me, was studying to be a doctor. She, unlike me, was coolheaded, unemotional and professional. Jarrett even called me, in a state of total moronic exuberance, to tell me that he had proposed to her, and that she had accepted. This was three months after our break up. By then, he had moved out of our apartment and in with Beth, and I was next in line after God and his mom for any emerging news.

I think Jarrett proposing to Beth was a tipping point in my life. That was when I decided that MEN = PAIN. My father hit me whenever he didn’t like anything I did, which was daily. My male teachers had messed with my mind, making me think that I couldn’t do math, science, computers, or drive, because the vagina apparently interfered with competence. At work, men had thrown me under the bus, stolen credit for my victories, and bullied me. Jarrett’s proposal to Beth was the proverbial ‘straw’ that broke my back. I was DONE with men, at least as done as my body would let me be.

Walking back home from the L station after work, I picked up a Chicago Reader from the 7/11 on the corner. Once home, I went to the Women Seeking Women ads, and starting calling phone numbers, down the line. I got one girl, live. Kathryn, aged 32, height 5’3, brown hair and eyes, pretty, petite and slim, she said. Also inexperienced, and available to meet at a neighborhood bar in an hour.

Having a bisexual fling might been considered a strange reaction to hearing that your soulmate is marrying another woman. But I first became aware of my attraction to women while dating Jarrett. He liked to go dancing at gay clubs, because the music was better. Sex was invariably great afterwards, because I was always so turned on, from seeing the women dancing together and making out. But I wasn’t fully aware of that then. Now, I was hurting too much to let another man near me. But the idea of a woman – it was comforting, somehow.

So I got this bi–curious woman, Kathryn, live on the phone. She’d said she could tell we were on the same wavelength, and agreed to meet at a bar near my apartment in Lincoln Park. I was delighted to see how cute she was when she walked in.

“Hey, I’m Kathryn. You Rachel?” said a ginger-haired pixie, standing before me with her hand extended to shake. She was an extremely cute girl, a slim, petite one who looked amazing in short hair, with her sculpted cheekbones, freckles, and elegant, upturned nose. Her mouth was small, her lips shaped like a heart.

“Yes, nice to meet you Kathryn. I’m Rachel.”

Kathryn grinned, which made her look even cuter. “Buy you a shot. What kind?”

“Tequila,” I laughed. I felt extremely happy. For the first time in months, a half hour went by without me thinking about Jarrett. It was Kathryn’s sparkly green eyes. They were mesmerizing as she told me story after story, entertaining me with her clever wit and her lighthearted laugh. I kept stealing glances at her, unable to believe that she was gay or bisexual.

“Are you always this charming,” I asked her, flirting awkwardly.

“Only when I’m happy,” she said. “I’m feeling very happy right now. Wanna know why?”

“Tell me,” I said, looking into her green eyes, and then quickly away, for I could not match her intensity.

“Because,” she said, draining her shot glass and motioning for the bartender to fill up two more, “you are a hottie, and this might be it, finally!” She winked at me as the bartender placed two tequila shots down on the bar counter.

“Really,” I said. (I was probably flushing with pleasure.) “Have you had some bad experiences with the Reader ad?”

“Most of these bitches are dumb and ugly!” Kathryn laughed. That turned me off a bit, and I must have looked away. Kathryn noticed.

“I’m not trying to be a jerk. It’s just that, have you met any gay or bi-curious women?”

“Well, not for dating. This is my first date, or whatever,” I said.

“Well, let me just warn you then, there are a lot of dogs out there,” she said. “And fatties. And psychos.”

I began to cry, feeling personally wounded by Kathryn’s rejection of lonely, unloved, unattractive women, the majority of whom probably made up the world. Now I was one of them too. It was all too much. I wasn’t what men liked to call ‘stable’ gülbağ escort at the moment.

“Hey, I’m not talking about you, ok?” Facing me, she took my hands in hers. Her nails were short and unpolished, but neat. Her warm hands held my larger ones as she searched my face. “You been through a rough time, kiddo?” she asked, touching my chin underneath, to get me to look at her, before reaching down to clasp my hand again. I raised my blue eyes to meet her twinkling green ones.

“Pretty rough,” I admitted. “Boyfriend of almost four years left me for his classmate, and now he’s marrying her. It’s been three months since we broke up.”

“Jeez, Rachel, that’s rough. That sucks, sweetie. Come here. How about a hug,” Kathryn said, extending her arms out to receive me.

And I really needed it, so I went to her. I let her hold me as I sobbed, getting mucous and tears on her soft blue angora sweater, sinking into her embrace. She smelled refreshing and clean, like citrus and cucumbers. She was smaller than me, but also about six years older. I felt safe in her embrace.

“It’s okay sweetie. Cry your heart out. I don’t mind. Let it out, hon. Everybody hurts sometimes. Let it out.” She patted me on the back as I sobbed it out.

At some point, I began to realize that I could feel her breasts pressing up against me as she held me. I focused on the sensation and realized that I could feel her hard nipples pushing through the angora sweater. With that realization, my own nipples grew erect and pushed through the lace of my black bra, underneath my own sweater. I was wet! I pulled away. “I’m sorry, I’m getting snot all over your pretty sweater,” I said, reaching for some bar napkins. I wiped her sweater with the tissues.

“Oh, I don’t care about that. It will wash off,” she smiled. “Feeling better?” she wiped away the tears, and then wiped around my eyes in gentle strokes, cleaning up the eyeliner and mascara that had smeared from my crying.

I was feeling better. Much better. How incredible it was to have my feelings validated! How amazing to be allowed to break down emotionally, on a first date, over my ex? And to not make me feel weak or crazy for it? And she still seemed to want me!

“I think I need to drink more,” I said. What if she kissed me, right in front of everyone here at my straight neighborhood tap? What if she didn’t?

“Six more shots,” Kathryn said to the bartender.

She turned and grinned at me in a lopsided manner that insinuated trouble. She looked, for a moment, like a really cute, scheming boy. It gave me a twitch down under. Yowza! I liked her grin. Something stirred in me – some slippery longing, finally awakened from slumber.

The bartender delivered the crowd of shotglasses. “Close it out,” Kathryn said to him. “Now Rachel,” she turned to me with that lopsided grin, “how much lubrication do you think you’ll need?”

—-

She waited until we were in my house to kiss me. I guess she didn’t want to be seen either. But the second we were in the door, she took charge.

I didn’t mean to slow her down — it’s just that I was so surprised by the kissing, and how different it was from anything I’d experienced with a man. It was just so SOFT. So delicious. So urgent and sweet. So hot and juicy. I want to eat her up and savor her forever at the same time. I held her face in my hands as I possessed her little mouth with mine in a deep soul kiss. She moaned, pressed her body up against mine, and her hands flew to my jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them down my legs. I pushed them off and away, and pulled that soft blue sweater up and over her head, leaving her short ginger hair floating in static. She laughed, undid her jeans and pushed them off. Then she lifted off my sweater, leaving me in my black lace bra and knee socks. We were giggling as we undressed each other, giddy from the tequila. But when I saw her breasts, I got another powerful twitch in my crotch.

I’d seen tens of thousands of women’s breasts in my life as a tennis athlete – thousands of stolen locker-room glances. Kathryns’ were exquisite – I mean exceptional. Maybe I say that now because I know what she did with them, but I probably thought they were miraculous from the first time I laid eyes on them.

She was probably a B cup, with her cone-shaped mounds standing at attention, for she wore no bra. That gave me another twitch – that I’d been feeling her bare breasts underneath that soft sweater at the bar. Her half-dollar-sized kağıthane escort areolas, brown with erect nipples, stretched out towards me. “Wow,” I said, falling down onto the couch in something like a trance. “You’re lovely.”

“You think?” she smiled, straddling me on the green sofa. Her freckled pale skin contrasted with my long white legs. She wore white high-cut boy briefs with red trim. It looked seductively androgynous, with its red boy-crotch outline, against her flat and girlish pussy and belly.

“Wow,” I said again, lowering myself down to a lying position on the couch.

Kathryn adjusted herself. Still straddling me in those maddening underpants, she lowered herself over me, now pressing her bare breasts against my bra-constrained ones. Her crotch felt hot against mine, her legs stretched out long against mine.

“Let’s just stay like this a second,” she said, and I had no argument.

It was all so new to me. I luxuriated in the warmth radiating from her luscious curves, the soft pull of her flesh, the invitation in her breathing. I could tell she was extremely aroused by the ragged edge to her breath, and that made me aroused. Wetness oozed from between my legs. Kathryn edged up to her elbows, her breasts poking down on me, and grinned that lopsided smile that made me twitch. Her grin widened. “Oh, I think she likes it,” Kathryn said, moving her arm downwards.

She placed her hand over my hot, wet crotch, and I could help but moan. Tucking her fingers underneath my buttocks, she reached under my thong and drew her finger down its length, retracting it slowly from inside the wet folds of my crease, sopping with my juices. “Mmmmmm,” she said, making a wickedly pleased face that sent another twitch through my privates. She tested my taste delicately, reaching out with a rigid tongue to lap up the juice on her finger. “MMMMM,” she confirmed, and then pulled aside my black thong with her other hand. She continued to make sounds of pleasure as she rubbed her fingers over my clit and labia, which I kept waxed. “It’s so smooth and slippery,” she said, “I could cum just touching it.” She slid her hand inside the boybriefs, touching herself.

“You’re getting me very excited,” I murmured.

She put her hands under her breasts, as if presenting me with a treasure. “Suck on them,” she demanded. And I complied, with pleasure, taking first one breast tip into my mouth, and then the other. I sucked on her nipples, and I blew on them. I traced delicate circles around each of her areolas with my tongue, while she moaned and pleasured herself under those boy briefs.

Then, she removed her breast from my suckling lips. Dragging them down the length of my torso, creating a trail of shivering sensation, she stopped to rest down between my legs, and looked up at me.

Her cute pixie haircut was sticking up in three directions, and she had a look of ecstasy in her eyes as she drew her breasts down to my pussy area. Then she dragged her nipples across the soft hollows on my inner thighs, sending shivers down my spine. She smiled up at me, lopsidedly.

Then, taking her right breast into her right hand, she brought her nipple to touch the lips of my pussy. She traced a path along one side of my crease with her protruding nipple, which seemed to grow fuller by the minute, up along the inside tip and then down the other side of my cunt. I shivered, waiting for it. Then I felt her nipple pressing up against the nub of my clitoris, and I nearly lost it. “Oh my God,” I cried out, groaning with pleasure, and looking down at Kathryn. “OH!”

She was fucking me with her breast, inserting it several inches into my vagina and then pulling it out again, leaving a sucking void hungry to be filled again. “Come on!” I screamed, as she groaned and pumped me with her conical breast, and fucked herself with her other hand. A wave of pure pleasure rolled up from my feet, threatening to drown me in its delicious intensity. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god,” we both began to chant, before crashing together in mutual ecstasy.

It was … amazing. Incredible. In my wildest imagination, I’d never considered such total pleasure. Pleasure that left me feeling whole, instead of taken.

“Wow,” I said again. What a poet.

Kathryn crawled back up to the top of the couch and lay half atop, half beside me. She was still breathing hard, having done most of the work. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? Am I OK?” I laughed. Then I realized that maybe she was asking because she was not okay. I hugged her closer. “Are you ok?”

“Never been better. In my whole life,” she said, snuggling her cold-tipped nose into the warm place between my breasts. She fell asleep there, snuggling, while I stared off at a cobweb on the ceiling, my brow furrowed, thinking, and feeling.