I stared at the laptop,
hoping that words would magically appear on the screen. No luck so far. The cafe I was
sitting in was deserted save the pony-tailed waiter who kept trying to catch my
eyes. He was cute but not my type. There must be others in the kitchen or the
baking section but they don't make an appearance. My third cold coffee was
nearly drained, and I emerged from the screen to order another. Just then a
family walked in; the man was holding a little girl, about three in his arms,
and the woman carried a small red clutch. She was curvy and her soft, tanned
skin strained the fabric of her dress, she probably held on to her pregnancy
fat. I spied a hint of a deep, sensuous cleavage over the neck of her tops.
What a waste!
I nodded at the waiter
to bring me another glass. He rushed to the get me my coffee, ignoring the
couple. I made a mental note to tip him better. I sipped the sweet drink and
sighed my approval. He gave me a toothy smile, like a kid hoping he'd get a
cookie for good behaviour. I smiled back and returned to my laptop. He hung
around for a few seconds and then he left to serve the couple when I kept
looking pointedly at the screen.
The couple didn't seem
to mind the priority I got. They were still choosing which pastries to order,
well the little one was choosing and it couldn't make up its mind. If it were
me, I'd have just bought one of each and tasted them all.
The woman's laughter
made me look up. The little girl had smeared the side of the man's face with
pineapple cream. The woman joined her daughter to help clean the man's face.
She swiped a finger full of cream off his face and sucked it, all the while
looking into his eyes.
God!
Her husband or boyfriend
wasn't bad looking either. Maybe...
Nah.
I would prefer to have
her all to myself, without anyone butting in. I have had threesomes before, but
I never enjoyed it. You had to divide your attention between two people and
that was never satisfying for me. If you were in bed with me, you better focus
all your attention on me. That was how I always have been, even way back to my
dorm days in my boarding school.
Those were sweet
memories. There were eight of us in the dorm. And by the end of the first year
six of us had had sex with each other. It all started quite 'innocently' when I
dared one of my roomie Patricia, Pat as we called her, to kiss me. The other
girls were watching and Pat didn't want to seem a chicken. She leaned forward
to give me a chaste peck on my lips, but I grabbed her head and crashed her
lips over mine. I didn't get to French kiss her though. As I continued to kiss
Pat she stopped struggling, and the girls' initial gasps and 'oh's turned into
a very tense silence. I knew they were watching us, intently. I let go of Pat
and smiled. She was still standing with her lips slightly parted, hoping I
was just taking a breather. And there began our descent into decadence.
Soon we progressed to
embraces and groping, and from there to full blown sex, tribbing and fingering.
We still had reservations about going down on someone. So while the six of us
were swapping partners each night, the two of the prudes, Mary Hamish and
Harriet Devon kept their silence. They didn't want to cross Darla, my sweet
girl, Darla. At thirteen years old she stood nearly five ten and she had
arms as thick as the bed posts. Darla Goodsbody. Her father was a
neo-rich, he apparently made his wealth making fertilisers. Just standing
beside her made you look tough. It was with her that I enjoyed the best. She
wasn't the best of kissers, but she had a body that was nearly twice as big as
mine.
The reason I preferred
Darla was that she could smother me with her body, I liked to lie beneath her
and let her beguilingly soft skin meld with mine. Even when on top she managed
to envelope me, draping her legs over mine, using me petite bottom to grind my
snatch with hers. Sex for me wasn't just the penetration or the kisses; it
was the congress of skins and sensations, the synchronisation of pulses and
breathing, being suffused in the primal aroma. We swapped around pretty often;
it wasn't the person, it was the pleasure they could give. We had a great
time.
Since then I've had
both men and women, and I preferred women; tribbing requires a level of
intimacy that penetration just doesn't offer. Besides, not all guys are cuddly,
and some just want to use you.
The family was seated
now, the woman was facing me while her husband faced the other way, the girl
sat beside him. The couple was focused on the little thing as it ate it's
treat. It was stuff like this that made me wonder whether I was missing out on
something.
I called the waiter to
bring me another glass. He was just as prompt as ever, like a conditioned pet.
The woman had made me horny; all her curves begged me to go explore them. But
she was with someone, off limits. Just my luck. My waiter wasn't though. He was
nowhere near my type but he'd have to do in a pinch. I rose up from my table
and walk towards the restroom looking at him, hoping he had enough sense to
notice my invitation.
I shut the door behind
me, and stood facing the mirror. The door opened. It was her. She smiled
politely, and I returned the gesture. She looked firm up close and I quickly
revised my imagination. She noticed me looking at her, checking her out. I
didn't stop staring.
"You have a great
body."
She giggled.
"Thanks."
"Was that your
kid?"
"Yeah. Her name's
Rose. I'm Sylvia, by the way."
"Kaitlyn Cedars."
I shook her hand.
"Oh my god! The
Kaitlyn Cedars?"
"Yes." I felt
a touch of pride.
“I've read all
your stories."
My pulse raced. The
devil whispered in my ears, take advantage.
"Tell me, what is
it that you like the most about them?"
"The
tenderness," she replied promptly, "and the way you describe the
sensations."
I recognised the look
in her eyes, I have seen it before, lots of times. It was hero worship. I
whipped out a card from my pocket and handed it to her, asking her to call me
if she felt like it. She knew what I meant. I wrote lesbian erotica and an
invitation for further conversation with me could only mean one thing.
She took the card,
tentatively. I thought it was out of politeness but then she smiled coyly as
she slipped it into her red clutch. We parted.
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