An Unexpected Attraction Pt. 02

Part II

When Katy Met Raeanne

The first man I ever fucked was my lover's father. It happened in front of his wife, and their daughter, my lover. I was twenty-four. It came as a surprise to both of us, all of us, for a variety of reasons. It's not what you might be thinking, it's really not, it's nowhere near as terrible as it sounds. The whole thing was actually quite beautiful, everyone involved agrees.

How this all happened is a bit of story, and I guess we'd better start at the beginning.

All my life, I've been a lesbian. Knew it the first moment I noticed the difference between boys and girls. Knew it from the fact that as a kid, I loved hugging girls, and only tolerated hugging boys. Knew it from ... well, all the ways anyone ever knows who they'd rather have sex with, I suppose. I was friendly with guys. I thought they were beautiful. Sometimes, I wished I was a man, if you came right down to it. Had dreams about it, even. Every now and then throughout my life, I'd meet a boy for whom I would develop a mild crush. But the best way I can describe it is that it was like a girl-crush for a straight girl: yes, you have feelings of love for the other girl, but not an actual sexual attraction. For romantic, sexual love? It was girls for this girl, all the way.

I count myself lucky to have grown up in the USA, in this current era, where acceptance of lesbianism, at least, is tolerated, if not fully accepted. I always felt bad for the gay boys, they had it much worse than gay girls, in most cases. At least in my hometown. Girls can have girlfriends, even romantically, and then be straight, and everything is fine. Some folks even find it adds to a girl's desirability if she's played around with other girls. A boy has one homosexual experience, under any circumstance? He's forever branded a fag. Some rise above that, many never get past it. Not fair. Maybe one day that'll change, I hope.

My parents were the greatest. Mom knew I was a lesbian almost as soon as I did, and accepted me for what I am. When Dad finally realized I was gay, he was cool with it. Typical male authority figure, he worked too hard, spent too little time at home, so it wasn't until I was fifteen years old, that one day at dinner when I didn't even have a girlfriend over, Dad looked up from his plate, and said,

"Katy? You know what? I just now realized: you've never brought a boy over for dinner. Isn't that the craziest thing?" Mom and I never laughed so hard in our lives. When I got my breath back, I said,

"Dad, I like girls."

"Don't we all?" he asked.

I reached over and took his hand, and said, "Not like that. I mean I love girls. I'm gay. I'm a lesbian!"

"Oh." He looked at my mom and said, "Did you know about this?"

Mom and I howled with laughter again.

"Well," he said, "I have to admit this is a shock." He saw the sudden worry on my face and said, "I don't have a problem with you being gay. Or anyone! It was just something I never thought of, with regard to you, that's all. If you can find someone, of any sex, to love and be happy with and live your lives together, then you'll be as lucky as your Mother and I have been."

"Aw Dad!"

"After all, you may be a lesbian, but you're a lesbian who will always be my little girl."

The next day he enrolled me in Krav Maga, and started me working out with weights. "Kiddo, you're going to encounter assholes in this world, dickheads who will try and pick on you for your sexual orientation. Generally you will be able to avoid them, but some of them are going to insist on a confrontation. Possibly even a physical assault. So we're going to train you to be able to handle yourself in any one-on-one altercation. We're also going to get you a gun, and get a concealed carry permit, when you're old enough. And some pepper spray. And, no, not just because you're a lesbian. Girls of any orientation will occasionally have to deal with those who wish them harm. If you had been straight, we'd be doing all this as well." No wonder I love my Dad! Yes, this lesbian was a total Daddy's Little Girl.

I learned to fight. I also learned that I liked lifting weights! I got big and strong. Not too crazy, but I was at least as stocky as a medium-muscular boy. Until I started working out, then the arms and shoulders pumped up pretty nicely, indeed. But relaxed, I was still somewhat larger, physically, than most any other girl, a bit taller than average at five-nine, with wider shoulders and narrower hips than most girls, but still a distinctly feminine figure, if I say so myself. I never had much of a bust, not even an A-cup. If it weren't for my pecs, I'd be flat, in fact. I kept my hair style fairly short, and could never be bothered with too much makeup. So somewhat frequently I was mistaken for a boy. Especially if I was wearing loose jeans and a long-sleeved sweatshirt. And you know what? I didn't mind! Like I said, I often wished I were a man. But it often seemed that as a muscular girl, who loved girls, and got along ok with most guys, well, I had the best of both worlds.

Anyway, apart from loving girls, and dealing with the good and bad that comes with that, my childhood was pretty straightforward. I made good grades, had ups and downs in relationships with friends and girlfriends, and went off to college.

There's a few more things about me: In addition to lifting weights and martial arts, I always loved machines: planes, trains, cars, anything with an engine. So it's no surprise I was studying mechanical engineering.

You could almost think I was a victim of body dysphoria; a man, born in a woman's body. Nope, no chance of that in my case. I loved being a woman. Even the "monthly bill," as they say, that goes with being a woman: the hormones, mood swings, swelling of certain body parts, increased sensitivity, some slight cramping? And above all, the inconveniences requiring "articles of feminine hygiene to be ready at hand," as my engineering guy friends would say it? None of that diminished my joy in being a woman.

Even the occasional sexism didn't ruin that, for me. I thought men were beautiful. I'd look at the Firefighter Calendars along with all my straight girlfriends and liked what I saw, but I'd rather be in bed with a woman than a man. I'd rather work on planes, trains, and cars, than play with dolls. And I never wore much makeup beyond some basic foundation. That's just good sense, modern cosmetics have moisturizers, SPF-protection, etc. I had a whole bathroom full of skin moisturizers and conditioners, scented candles throughout the apartment, and by "guy" standards, an egregious collection of shoes. "Far in excess of requirements," as one of my engineering buddies would say. Though no high heels, I just wouldn't wear them. Same for false eyelashes. Lip-gloss? Yes. Lipstick? No. You can forget that.

I'm just an old-fashioned Tomboy.

###

Which brings us up to today. I'm in my second year of college. I've had a few girlfriends, had purely platonic friendships with girls straight and gay; girls who were friends, yet with benefits; gone to several pajama-party / lesbian orgies; typical college stuff. I made friends with a lot of guys. I get along great with guys, straight or gay, in most cases. Even had a few who took a fancy to me, really nice guys, who were quite let down when I explained that, sorry, I'm gay.

I even encountered some of the "dickheads" Dad had warned me of. Most are happy just to not associate with me, and I with them, and we just go our separate ways, and all is well. But one had to be taught a lesson. Twice. But he finally learned to just leave me alone. Most guys though? I'm happy to hang out with them and drink beers and watch the girls go by. I usually meet and chat up more girls than the guys do. My GPA was a solid 3.5. I had some leads on some internships. Everything was going really well.

Then, one fine day, my entire world was turned upside down with the arrival of Raeanne Carter. For the effect she had on my life, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that her name, if this were a movie, should be spelled out in one-hundred-foot-tall letters of burning gold, shooting sparks in every direction, celestial choirs singing her glory to the Heavens from which she no doubt was sent to us: Raeanne Kimberly Carter!

For all the huge impact she was going to have on my life, she was barely 5'-2". Just this perfectly tiny little bit of a girl, compared to my 5'-9". Her black hair falling just below her jaw line, framing her round face above a lovely, graceful neck. Big, dark brown eyes, full lips, dazzling smile, pale white skin. I met this little bit of heaven at the library. She was wearing this dazzlingly pretty yellow backless sun dress with spaghetti straps, and a plunging neckline revealing a lot of her perfect B-cup breasts. She was the text-book example of the smart, sweet, beautiful, girl-next-door.

The first time I ever heard her voice, the first words my beloved ever spoke to me, are forever burned into my memory as the dividing point between my life without her, and my life with her. Those forever-to-be-treasured first words were,

"Excuse me, sir?"

Ok. Not exactly a portent of the beginning of a great romance, I admit. But you couldn't blame her. I had just finished working out, so I was dressed in old sneakers, baggy sweatpants, baggy sweatshirt, and sports bra, wearing a baseball cap, with my short hair tucked up under it, not a bit of makeup on. I turned and said, "Yes?"

Her jaw dropped in surprise, her eyes got big, and she said, "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean any ... any ..." she was flustered, and it took her a moment to find the right word, "...offense! I didn't mean any offense!" Did I mention how she blushed? It started in her cheeks and ran down to her neck. She was so adorable it took me a second to collect myself and reply.

"No, no, don't worry. No offense taken. It's not the first time I've been mistaken for a man. I don't mind."

She was staring, still red-faced. Still wide-eyed. I noticed how dilated her pupils were, too. Her breathing was getting faster, too, as she stood there with her hand to her lips. The silence stretched on for a bit, so I asked,

"Um, can I help you?"

"No ... yes, I mean ... there's a book up on the top shelf," she motioned above her head where she was standing. "I can't reach it. And the stepladders are gone. I was wondering if you could reach it for me?"

I decided to ham it up a bit, so I said in my best Hollywood Western hero-voice, "Welll, hold on there, little lady. I'll get that book down for you!"

At the same time, I thought I'd see just how interested in me she might be, so before she could walk away, I stepped right up next to her, into her "personal space," nearly touching her. She held her place, not backing up, not leaning away from me. I was standing so close I could feel her breath on my chest, even through my sweatshirt. I locked my eyes with hers, and slowly reached up to the indicated book and put my hand on it. I leaned down and in close, to her face, still hamming it up, and said, "Welll now, little lady, what is it going to be worth to you, for me to retrieve this tome of edification from its oh, so lofty perch?"

She looked me right back in the eye, clutched her hands together in front of her, where they rested against her chest and mine, the pupils of her eyes still wide, batting her eyelashes and said, in a perfect Southern Belle impersonation, "Why Sheriff! You wouldn't think a young lady too forward if she offered a kiss in return for this valiant service, would you?"

"Why, no. Not at all," I said, dropping the fake accent. I got the book down for her. She took it in one hand, took the last step between us, stood up on her tiptoes, reached up with her free hand behind my neck, and pulled me to her for a nice, sweet little kiss on the lips, and held it for a few seconds. At the end, there was even a hint of her tongue across my lips. Enough to let me know it was there, and intentional.

It was my turn to be struck dumb. I found myself standing there with my arms around her, my hands resting at the small of her back. I don't even know when I did that. Finally I found something to say,

"I was only expecting a kiss on the cheek, but this is good, too."

She laughed and said, "Sorry, Sheriff. This young lady only knows one way to kiss."

"How's that?" I asked.

"With my whole heart, or not at all." And she batted her lashes at me, again.

"Well, you're certainly good at it, I can tell you that! And you're not so bad at hugging, either. Darn good at it, in fact."

"Thank you. My name is Raeanne Carter. Drama major."

"Katy Hallwell, Mechanical Engineering." We were still locked in an embrace, our arms around each other. Oh, dear Lord in Heaven, she was such a joy in my arms! "Would you like to go and get dinner? Or drinks? Or anything?"

"We can have dinner, for our first date," she said.

"We're dating?" I asked.

"Oh, I certainly hope so," Raeanne said, breathlessly. "At least for a little while!" We untangled ourselves from each other's embrace and turned to leave the library and get dinner. She stopped, turned back to me, now serious (and her serious face was equally as adorable as her blush had been), and said, "There's something I ought to tell you."

"Ok," I said.

"You're my first real girl-girl date. That was my first ever real girl-girl kiss, too. SO, if I say something dumb, please tell me. Because I might be dumb, but I don't mean to be offensive."

"What do you mean "first real girl-girl date and kiss?" I asked.

"Oh, you know how it is. I have friends who were lesbians but were in the closet. You go see a movie with a friend, and she says she's tired, so you let her rest her head on your shoulder, but also find her hand on your leg. You go to give each other a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and she turns and plants it on your lips. What you thought were just innocent hugs ends up with her one day nuzzling your neck and whispering in your ear how much she loves you, etc."

"Ah, yes. Girls being girls. Yes, I know how that can go," I said. With the way girls carry on normally, always hugging, touching, kissing each other on the cheek, stroking each other's hair, fixing each other's bra straps, walking around holding hands, telling each other how much they love the other, well, sometimes it was hard to tell if a girl was just being a girl, or if she was a lesbian. A kiss on the lips, or whispering how much she loves you in your ear, those are pretty distinct tell-tales. But sometimes straight girls even touch each other's breasts, and it's just straight girls being straight girls. And sometimes straight girls will get so turned on, so desperately horny, they'll make out with each other. Full-blown sex! And be straight forever after, the rest of their lives. And don't even get me started on the subject of girl-crushes, where straight girls develop genuine feelings of love for another girl, even romantic love, but with no sexual attraction. With girls, whether they're straight or gay? It can be difficult to tell!

"Yes," Raeanne said. "Exactly. I always let them down as gently as I could. Most of them are still my dear friends. But you ... I don't know what it is. I'm attracted to you like I have never felt for another girl. I thought I was straight! Until just now. Anyway, the point of all that is, I don't know why I feel like this about you. Maybe it's just a deeper, stronger than usual girl-crush. I don't know how long this will last. I don't know how far this will go, or how far I will go."

When she said the words "attracted to you," my heart started racing all over again.

Raeanne said, "That's a lot to tell you seeing as how we've only known each other for five minutes, but I thought I should tell you."

"We'll have to see how this works out," I said. "Want to skip dinner? Come over to my place, for a bit?"

She wrapped me up in a bear hug, put her head on my chest and said, "Yes!" She took a deep breath, then said, "Oh my God, hugging you is SO fantastic! Gosh, you're gorgeous!"

"You're not so bad, yourself, kid," I said, using the hero-voice impersonation again. Oh, God, feeling her belly shake with laughter while pressed up against mine? It was like a narcotic!

###

I don't know how we made it back to my place, a mile from the library. We had to have been a public spectacle to entire way, stopping at any convenient spot where we wouldn't get run over by traffic, to share a kiss and some petting. Oblivious to the rest of the world. And then resume staggering back to my place, laughing and feeling each other up the whole way. Stumbling, because both our knees were weak. My pussy was already way past wet, I was aching with desire; and from what I could tell she was in the same state of ecstatic agony. We must have looked like drunken sailors.

No sooner had the front door closed, and the clothes started flying. For such a little thing, she ripped my sweatshirt off like a champ, while I went to work on her skimpy little sundress. She also made short work of my sports bra. Seeing my nude chest and arms for the first time, she said, again, "Gosh, you're SO gorgeous!" Her bra was this beautiful lacy little thing, even in my lust-filled haste, I took care not to rip or tear it.

Our first nude embrace felt like the whole world stopped spinning. Feeling each other's skin directly, the warmth, the rippling of muscle, the brush of our breasts against each other; our breath, hot on each other's necks, made us both moan in pleasure. She turned her face to mine and we kissed, long, deep, and hard, as our hands freely roamed over each other's bodies.

I've already described myself as a muscular, athletic, tomboy type of girl. Raeanne was the most perfect example of a girly-girl you could hope for. Tiny of stature, perfectly proportioned, with the most wonderful, perfect B-cup breasts, tipped with the most luscious long nipples and medium-sized areolae. I broke her embrace long enough to sink to my knees in front of her, and took each nipple and breast in my mouth for a couple of minutes, each. As soon as I made contact with those nipples, her arms wrapped around my head as she clutched me to her breasts. Oh my God, I could have loved on those perfect tits all night long. Hearing her moan and feeling her body squirm in my arms, her belly and hips and pubic mound pushed hard against my chest, honest, I could have done that all night long and been happy. But Raeanne had other ideas.

"Katy!" she said, urgently. "Katy! Katy, stop! Stand up!"

Slowly I stood up. "Was that too much? Or too fast?" My hands flew up to cup her face.

"Oh, God, Raeanne, I'm sorry if I pushed you too fast." I was about to break out crying at the thought I might have ruined things with her this quickly! But then I looked in her eyes, and they were still burning with desire and lust.

She said, "No, silly! We still have our panties on." She reverted back to our earlier play in the library, and resumed her Southern Belle impersonation, "And I'm afraid your panties are chafing me dreadfully and mine are just soaking wet so I can't stand them any longer!" And with that, she dropped to her knees, taking my panties down with her.

"Better?" she asked, batting her lashes at me, again, looking up from her kneeling position. Before I could answer, she had her arms wrapped around my waist, which put her head at mid-belly, to me. She started kissing and tonguing my belly all over. "Katy, you taste so good! Lean over a bit so I can get at those tits of yours!"

And here I had thought it was nice while I was loving on her tits! She attacked my muscular pecs and kissed them all over, finishing with my nipples. She lathed them with her tongue, sucked them in, playfully nibbled them. She did this trick, where after she licked all over my nipples, coating them with her saliva, then she would take the nipple lightly in her teeth and inhale, suddenly, causing my nipple to turn cold, so cold it hurt, but in the most fantastic way. And just as I thought I couldn't stand it one more instant, my nipple hardening to the point I could have cut glass with it, she would open her mouth wide, and exhale, her hot breath spilling over the nipple.