Christina and JulietbyEnglishChristina©
I have been trying to find a way into this story for a long time. I've been desperate to tell someone else all the things that have happened to me in the last year, things that I could not have believed would happen. Up to now I just haven't been able to find a way in. I've started at the beginning, I've started in the middle. I've even tried to start at the end but I don't know how it ends yet. So, I think it's time I just told it how it is, and you can make your own mind up.
Everything I am about to tell you is true. A while ago I wrote two stories for the Literotica website; I invented an alter ego for myself and told the stories in the third person. They were fiction, but based on my own experiences. This story is different; it is about me, and it really happened. The only things I have changed, out of fairness, are the names of the other people involved. The final thing- I'll get to the story in a minute, be patient- this is most definitely a love story. Don't worry- I know what you want to hear, and you won't be disappointed, I promise. It's just that this is not just about the sex, and I want you to know that up front. It's important to me.
My name is Christina. I am 41 years old, and I live in a large town in the west of England. I have- or rather, I had- been single for six years, after the break-up of an eight year relationship with a lovely guy that deserves more than a single sentence here. Maybe I'll tell you about it one day. Anyway, it all went a bit sour at the end, but I've been enjoying myself a lot since then. Lots of guys, no commitment, I've worked hard on my career, and here I am, a manager in a large insurance company. It's ok- I'm not going to bore you with any details. You just need to know that I work in a large office building- and that's where I met her.
I met Juliet... well, to be honest I can't remember the first time I actually met her. It was about 18 months ago. She works in my office building, but not for the same company. The building has a rest room on the top floor where many people eat their lunch, or just read and chat at lunchtimes. I like to read alone, giving my mind a complete break from work for a little while. I first noticed her voice, if you can believe that. She has this kind of knowing, ironic humour in it, but she doesn't take herself too seriously. We got chatting one day about (forgive me) workplace politics. Easy enough when you don't work for the same company. I gave her a couple of ideas; soon enough, we were meeting regularly at lunchtime to complain about our bosses.
This is all quite difficult to explain; how do people become friends? Why don't I tell you about Juliet instead? She's 36, five years younger than me. She's tall and elegant; she wears clothes incredibly well, the only person I know who can wear figure-hugging dresses to work and look unbelievably sophisticated. Most of this is in her cool, calm confidence, and absolutely the greatest walk you ever saw; she just glides across the floor. Just about everyone is drawn to look at her; I've seen it in action many times. Soft green eyes, long, straight hair, naturally brown but often dyed a deep red, and a wonderful figure, full breasts without being too large and long slim legs.
Me? Yes, well, I thought you'd want to know that too. I have always been happy with my body. Big breasts, big hips, but at five foot seven I can get away with it. I go to the gym a lot, and obsess about keeping a flat stomach. I love my work outfits, fitted blouses and skirt suits generally. I have shoulder length, very dark brown hair and dark brown eyes. Next to Juliet, though, I sometimes feel a little awkward.
Soon enough, we were firm friends- both single, both with our own places, we started going for drinks, meals, the cinema, theatre... intelligent and funny, she was the best friend I'd probably never had. I asked her, of course, if she had ever been married and I asked her about boyfriends and she always deflected questions with a smile, and I never thought to ask her about any other possibility.
This time last year, give or take; it was a Saturday, an unusually warm day as it happens. Juliet and I had arranged to go shopping in town. She was out to buy a new summer dress; I was looking forward to the trip, figuring that lunch and a bottle of wine might also be on the agenda. Well, what else would you do at the weekend?
As it happened- and you'll have your own opinion on how fate conspires- I'd overslept a little, and I was running late, so when Juliet rang my bell, I was only just out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around me and buzzed her up. I may have mentioned it before, but a towel doesn't exactly hide my large breasts very well or anything much below my bum. When I opened the door I saw her eyes widen, but hand on heart, I thought nothing of it. Knowing what I know now, would I have done things the same? Pretty much, I suppose.
"Hi," I said breathlessly, "really sorry, I overslept. I won't be a minute, I promise. Make yourself comfortable." A strange smile played on her face.
"It's no problem at all," she said. "Take your time." I hurried off to the bedroom to get dressed. I can move quickly if I need to, and five minutes later I'd thrown on a dress and I was ready to go. Juliet was, as always, dressed immaculately in a linen skirt and simple cotton blouse.
"Ready!" I said brightly as I entered the sitting room. She was examining the CD shelves intently. She turned towards me, and I noticed immediately something had changed in her. She looked troubled.
"Everything ok?" I asked.
"Don't you know?" she said. I looked puzzled.
Juliet dropped her eyes to the floor.
"I'm crazy about you," she said quietly.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing. When I thought about it later- much later- it was obvious. But right then that minute, I was stunned. Time seemed to stand still, and in the silence her meaning could not have been more obvious. Lost for words, I mumbled,
"You don't have to say anything." I could barely hear her, and I thought she might be about to cry. "I thought you knew."
"Honestly, I had no idea," I managed to blurt out. "How... how long have you felt like this?" There was another silence.
"Almost as long as I've known you," she said. A little of her usual confidence was returning. She shook her head. "I should have told you... about me, but I was scared. Scared like I haven't been for years. I think about you every minute of every day and I didn't want to lose you."
"You won't lose me, I promise," I heard myself saying. "You're probably the best friend I've ever had..." Even as I was saying it, it felt like a stupid thing to say. It wasn't what she wanted to hear. Neither of us spoke for a minute.
"I'd better go," Juliet said simply. "I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it. You looked so..." She tailed off without finishing the sentence.
There was no point in arguing. There was nothing more to say at that moment. As she went through the door she turned and looked at me and I wanted to tell her that it was ok, I wanted to tell her not to go, but I couldn't find the words.
"I'll call you," I said limply. She smiled briefly, then disappeared down the stairs without looking back.
Now, I suppose it's time to reveal a little more about myself to you. You see, I'm not exactly totally inexperienced in this area. In fact, I've had sexual experiences with two other women in my life. When I was 20- and then I was inexperienced, believe me- I was seduced by a work colleague more than ten years older than me. Whilst I was pretty drunk. Which sounds awful, but in fact it wasn't; it was warm, and comforting. Diane touched me- and, yes, used her tongue on me- in ways that I had never felt before, and she was so gentle, and it felt so right. It was just one night, and I enjoyed it. I certainly didn't feel bad about it afterwards. But she moved away almost immediately, so there was no likelihood of a repeat.
Fast forward two years, and although there had been a few guys in that time, it was nothing serious, and I think that in my subconscious there was some unfinished business. Well, in the light of what's happened to me this last year, it was clearly something more than that, but I didn't know that then. Anyway, I was 22, out clubbing every weekend as you do at that age, and I met Laura, who was a friend of a friend. Laura was- is- very upfront, a real laugh, and crucially just as keen a clubber as me, although she was a very petite, lithe fitness instructor and I, well, wasn't. Don't get the wrong idea; I was a very happy size 12, not unhappy with my weight and fairly fit, but compared to her, I felt huge. We'd been out a few times, and one night, pretty drunk and danced out, we ended up at her place at about three in the morning.
There was no pussyfooting around as far as Laura was concerned. She unsteadily handed me another vodka and looked me straight in the eye.
"Wanna go to bed?" she said.
I can't say I was surprised. I knew she was very tactile with me, yet she showed no interest in the guys who danced clumsily round her in the clubs. I raised my eyebrows in what I probably imagined to be a drunken "I beg your pardon?" look.
"Go on," she said. "It'll be fun."
"Ok," I thought, "I will," and when she leant in to kiss me, I was ready. The feelings came flooding back- the soft lips, the soft body, the tender hands.
Even by the age of 22- and I was a late starter, strangely enough- I'd realised that sex with men had a tendency to fall into a certain routine. You must know what I mean. You do this, I do that, and before long we'll be on course to the same old conclusion. Not always, but as a general rule. Well, Laura was the complete opposite. She was always surprising me and the sex was never the same twice. Not that first time; that night, we got each other naked as quickly as possible and ground our hot, sweaty bodies together until we masturbated each other to a hot, sweaty orgasm.
We did, though, have a bit of a fling over the next couple of months, one based entirely and exclusively on going to clubs and then having sex afterwards. Laura was 25, much more experienced than me, and she always, always took the lead. She would push me back on the sofa, put her head up my skirt and tongue me to orgasm through my panties. She would sit on my face and I would greedily lick her pussy to her incredibly noisy approval. She would strip me naked and bite my nipples till I begged for mercy. She would whisper strings of swear words in my ear as her fingers massaged my clit.
"You want me to fuck you, don't you, you dirty little fucking bitch? Your fucking cunt is so wet for me. I'm going to fuck you with my fingers until you scream for fucking mercy."
Through all of this, though, I never once thought of myself as a lesbian. Not for a minute. I was just a straight girl who happened to be fucking another girl. When we went out, I checked out the men. Men figured in my fantasies. When I saw a man I was attracted to, I thought about what his cock would feel like inside me. Laura and I never went on a date, never kissed in public, and no-one else knew about us.
I shouldn't have been surprised, then, when Laura told me she'd met someone else. We'd gone clubbing, as usual. We'd gone back to her place, as usual. Her head was buried in my pussy, as usual. Afterwards, she held me close. Then she looked up at me.
"I've met someone else," she said.
"What?" Unsurprisingly, I wasn't quite with the programme.
"I've met someone else," she said again.
"Is it a woman?" I asked stupidly.
"Of course it's a woman. I like women, hadn't you noticed?"
I knew it was just a fling, I knew it was all about sex, but still I was put out and strangely deflated. This woman, whoever she was, had replaced me.
"Who is she? Do I know her?" Laura rolled her eyes.
"I do have a life, you know. No, you don't know her. I met her at a club night. She's, erm, quite a bit older than me." Laura hesitated for a moment. "I've, erm, really enjoyed being with you." She rested her head on my stomach and stroked me tenderly. "But I, we, well, can't go on like this for ever. This is just sex, you know? I don't think you're quite ready for a girlfriend, are you?"
I had recovered my poise.
"Oh, well, no, I'm straight anyway. Time I went back to men."
Laura smiled to herself.
"If you say so..."
And that was that. You know what it's like at 22. Easy come, easy go. I saw her around a couple more times, but Laura dropped out of the clubbing scene, and we lost touch. Not long after, I met Chris, but that's a whole other tale; suffice to say it was men all the way.
So, back to the present. You won't be surprised that I could think of nothing else but Juliet that Saturday morning. The things we'd done together. The conversations that, in retrospect, might have been a bit loaded. I thought about Diane, and about Laura. At four o'clock, I could stand it no more, and I dialled Juliet's number quickly, before I had a chance to change my mind.
"It's me," I said. There was a pause.
"How are you?"
"Feeling pretty stupid right now," she said. I noted the tone in her voice.
"Don't," was all I could manage.
"Don't feel stupid. Really. I'm glad that you told me. We're still friends, aren't we?" Even as I said it I knew things would never go back to how they had been. I didn't know then how much better it would get.
"Yes, we are, I just don't think I can see you for a while."
"Don't say that, please... look, let's go out for a meal tonight. It's a beautiful day. We can talk."
"No, I.. I just can't."
"Please say yes." I felt as if I was begging by now. "I really want to see you."
She let out a deep breath.
"Ok. Don't let it get heavy, ok?"
"I won't. Look, just come round here about eight, we can walk from mine."
"All right then." She seemed brighter already. "I could do with a drink."
"See you later then." I paused. "And don't worry."
I don't want you to think I was still being naïve. I wasn't. I think you've seen from what I've told you that I had my eyes open as far as same-sex... well, sex was concerned. I knew perfectly well that inviting her round that night might lead somewhere. What I was still unsure of was that I knew that it might be more than that. I knew I really cared for this woman. The more I thought about it that day, the more I worried about it.
I know what you're thinking; it's starting to sound like some kind of bad romantic novel. Honestly, it isn't like that- at all- but I'm just trying to get across my confused feelings that day. Better that I move straight on to that evening.
As I said, I'm not naïve. Helped by a glass or two of wine, I thought very carefully about what to wear. Eventually, I settled on a low cut white bra and little matching panties and a short, simple pale summer dress. I hadn't worn it for a while, and I put it on and took it off a few times before I got up the courage to wear it; it was a little shorter (and exposed more cleavage) than I would normally wear these days, but when I thought of Juliet seeing it I got butterflies in my stomach.
Eight o'clock came and went and frankly I'd probably drunk too much wine by now. By eight thirty, I knew she wasn't coming. I picked up my phone, put it down again. I felt miserable.
Then, there was a very soft knock at the door. I composed myself and went to open it. There she was. My stomach lurched. We could barely look at each other.
"Sorry I'm late," she said finally.
"Come in a minute." I tried to keep my voice under control but I was nervous as hell.
We sat down and neither of us spoke for a while. Eventually she managed to make eye contact and said defiantly,
"I don't want you to feel sorry for me."
"That's the last thing I would think..."
"I'm gay, right? I've known since...well, I've always known. That's who I am."
I went and sat beside her and held her hand.
"It's not important..."
"It is!!!" she said sharply, withdrawing her hand. "Right now it's the only thing that's important."
She looked me straight in the eye. "I love you, right? I love you and I want to be with you, not as a friend, but as my girlfriend. And I know this is a lot of pressure because you're straight and everything but I don't think you're totally straight, are you? I think you've flirted with me. But I'm not being some one-night see-if-I-like it shag for you, ok? I've been there before..."
And it was then that I kissed her. Full, on the lips. I was surprised myself. She started to try and pull away but I wouldn't let her. Eventually she relaxed a little and we kissed softly and slowly. Then it was my turn to look at her.
"I do not feel sorry for you. I've thought about this all day. No, this isn't the first time for me. I've thought and thought and I can't quite believe it myself but I've realised I can't stand the thought of not being with you. Give me a chance. Please."
She leaned forward and hugged me. As she did, I inhaled her scent and it just felt... right. I was with Juliet. She was with me. Have you ever found yourself with a partner you never would have thought would be your type? It's not too different to that, to be honest.
"I suppose it's too late to eat out, isn't it?" she said, and we both laughed and broke the tension. That night I made her pasta and we talked and laughed and kissed quite a lot and it made me feel totally relaxed.
What? Yes, I'm sorry. If you were expecting something else, I don't blame you, it's just that real life doesn't always work out like that. That first night, it was like we were making some kind of unwritten, unspoken contract. We sat and cuddled and she talked about how difficult it would be for me and all the problems e would face and I didn't care, but somehow sex would have been... just wrong. Either that, or she was frightened of scaring me off.
Anyway, at one in the morning she got into a taxi and went home.
At nine o'clock the next morning she was back at my front door. I let her in and she kissed me hard on the mouth.
"I don't know what I was thinking last night," she said. "You looked so fucking sexy in that dress and after I left I couldn't stop thinking about it, and this is what I thought about..." and then she was tugging at my clothes and we spent the whole day in bed fucking and fucking and fucking. And oh my god, we haven't stopped since.
Juliet, Juliet... this is what I think about when i think about Juliet.
Juliet has a thing she likes to do, a real fetish. Her thing is that she loves to undress me. She takes her time. She uses her hands to remove, her eyes to look, her mouth to kiss and to compliment. She is the sexiest woman that ever drew breath. What this means is that if I know I am going to see her that night, from the moment I get up in the morning I am thinking about her. I pull on a tiny pair of lace panties, knowing that later she will delicately remove them from my body, but not until she has felt my wetness through their thin material. I put on a lacy bra, as low cut as I can get away with, thinking of how she will undo the clasp, slipping her hand inside to cup my breast, fingers squeezing my nipple. I roll up my stockings, the image of Juliet sliding her hand up my skirt to slip her fingers inside the stocking tops. I choose a mauve blouse, thinking of her kissing my neck as she undoes each button slowly, surely, to find the flesh beneath. I fasten my fitted skirt, and in my mind she is pushing it up to my waist to get at what is beneath.
By the time I have done all this I can hardly wait, and the whole day is still ahead of me. I think of her through the morning, and I want her hands on me. My groin is hot and I can't concentrate. On these days we don't have lunch together, but I might catch a glimpse of her in a corridor, and she smirks quietly. This just gets me even hotter. By the time I leave work, I can barely walk in anticipation; I can tell you that I am trembling just telling you this, and I'm going to have to take a break soon...