I Kissed a Girl Ch. 05

Six months.

That's how long I had been enveloped in the world of being a lesbian. How long I'd been in a relationship with Jenna Swallow. How long it had taken me to accept that my life would never be the same again.

I had gone from being engaged to a man I thought I'd loved, to moving into my girlfriend's apartment after an extended trip to Tuscany and Paris. I had flipped from enjoying a cock inside me to preferring the skillful fingers and tongue of a woman. I had gotten a tattoo on my back and had a part of my body pierced where jewelry did not really belong. I had entered the world of kinky.

We weren't really into spanking or discipline or severe bondage. But when two women got together to make love, they had to be a little creative sometimes to keep the mood alive and fresh. And trust me, Jenna was good at both.

I was meeting her for dinner tonight. I hadn't seen her all day, and she'd already left for work by the time I'd gotten out of the shower. She'd left me a note with instructions of what to wear and where to be this evening.

I got a little flutter in my stomach when she took control. While we didn't really define our relationship as one of the BDSM world, we did delve into that territory occasionally. And we'd both agreed that Jenna was the Top and I was the bottom, although she wasn't opposed to me topping her sometimes.

As typical when I had plans after work, the last hour crept by. Either that, or I was so swamped it was hard to get out the door on time after the bank closed. I did not envy the tellers who had to stay later to count the money in their drawers and the vault. When five o'clock struck, I was free to leave.

I watched the last twenty minutes tick off on the standard, circular clock with the white face and black hands. The voices of my coworkers faded away, and I contemplated something I'd heard on a talk show at lunch. I don't usually watch them, but I had been flipping through the channels when the phone rang. After abruptly disconnecting from the telemarketer because my several polite attempts to deny I wanted their service hadn't been successful, I'd just stared at the television.

"Have you always felt this way, or did something happen in your childhood or your adolescence that made you want to pursue a relationship with someone of the same gender?" the host had prompted his four openly gay guests.

The two men and two women beside him had shared their own opinions. At the time, I hadn't paid much attention to their responses. But now that I was on the verge of meeting my girlfriend for dinner to celebrate our six-month anniversary, I couldn't get the question out of my head.

I hadn't been abused as a child. I hadn't been bullied in school for being different. I'd actually had quite a few friends. And I had always liked guys. I went on the assumption that they'd liked me, too, even though I hadn't been what Hollywood considered beautiful.

I tried to pinpoint something else that had happened to make me think of girls as more than just my BFFs. And then I thought of Brady McDaniel.

When I was in high school, I noticed that a lot of the girls in my class tried to flirt with the boys by the way they dressed and talked and acted. It was superficial to me, so I didn't jump on the bandwagon. I wondered if the boys could see right through their acts and didn't care, or if they were truly oblivious.

Somehow, I went through the next four years without being in a relationship. I don't believe I was a late bloomer or an ugly duckling. Guys just seemed to like me as their friend and nothing more.

That is until my freshman year of college when I met Brady in chemistry class. He was of the nerd variety, but he was cute, too, in that Leonard Hofstadter of 'The Big Bang Theory' way. No sweater-vests and pocket protectors for him. Although he did wear a pair of wire-rimmed glasses that would have put him on par with Harry Potter these days.

Our relationship had actually started when I asked him to tutor me. He lived off campus with his parents, and we met at his place three times a week to go through the lesson and any homework I was struggling on. Afterwards, we sat on the couch and watched Jeopardy. It was a strange arrangement, but his parents were rarely home as they were both professors at the college. Eventually, it became a comfortable routine.

Then one night during a commercial break, he leaned over and kissed me. I'm not talking a little peck on the lips. It was a full-blown, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation attempt where he backed me into the corner and held my head still, just like in the movies. He wasn't half bad, but it was awkward—noses hitting as we tried to find the right angle, lips a little slobbery and our breathing a little fast.

Afterwards, he sat back and stared at my face. I felt like an experiment he was trying to analyze. I tried to get over the shock that it had taken a guy almost nineteen years to kiss me. And of all the guys who had crossed my path, it had been a science geek to accomplish it. To this day, I am certain I was the first girl he'd ever kissed, and he had been twenty-one at the time.

We escalated to heavy petting on a November evening when I convinced him to meet at my dorm room for our tutoring session right after class so I didn't have to go back and forth to his house in the snow. I'd taken the lead that night and kissed him. When he didn't pull away in disgust, I slowly placed his hand on my breast over my shirt. He tried his hardest. I really think he did. Yet even though it felt good, I wasn't all that impressed. And I still felt more like a personal lab rat than a girlfriend.

One Saturday, we descended to his basement to search out supplies for our group's midterm project. I opened a box to find it filled with girly magazines. Penthouse. Playboy. Hustler. There were at least fifty of them, if not more, and the most recent dates went back about twenty years.

I teased him...asked if they were his. He said no, they were his dad's. He didn't even flinch when I opened one and showed him the woman inside riding a saddle that was sitting on a hay bale.

Ms. Cowgirl was naked and facing away from the camera for the most part. Arching back towards the right-side of the page, she held onto the horn of the saddle with her left hand. The angle pushed her chest out. I could see the fullness of one large breast plunging below her left arm and the gentle slope above that ended in a rosy nipple. As if the photographer thought the appendage blocking the model's breast made the picture more modest.

There must have been a wind machine just outside the shot as her ebony hair billowed behind her. Her right hand held the cowboy hat on her head as if riding a real, bucking horse. Her red lips were parted in a silent gasp, her green eyes shiny as they stared at the camera.

I licked my lips, my heart pitter-pattering as I stared, transfixed by that expression and the wonderment of what was hidden between her tanned thighs that hugged the worn leather. I thought these magazines always had the women all splayed on beds revealing everything they had to offer. This was a tease. No wonder men loved them. Articles my ass.

Brady only shrugged and turned back to looking at a box of junk.

I told him I had to use the restroom and snuck the magazine upstairs. I sat on that toilet seat fully-clothed, staring at Ms. Cowgirl. I reverently stroked a finger across the picture, silently wondering what it would be like to touch her breasts. To feel the curve of her back as it swept down and bumped out on that round ass. To kiss those pouting lips. And why Brady hadn't had the same reaction when he'd seen me with my top off. Or even on, for that matter. He fondled me over my top and bra...just not like I wanted...or was wanting to do to that woman in the magazine.

The feelings I had shocked me. And yet, they brought an arousal to me that Brady never had in all the times he had touched me.

When I turned the page, I choked back a gasp at a woman kneeling on a desk. She wore a tight, white blouse that was partly unbuttoned to reveal the edge of one breast. But what drew my eye was the skimpy skirt that had been flung up over her hips so that her ass was bared to the camera.

The way she had her legs spread and ass lifted, I could see her goods full-on with just a hint of darkish blonde curls. And the way she stared back over her shoulder, her blonde hair tied up in a bun, her index finger pulling down her bottom lip with that same shiny look in her eyes as that hay-riding cowgirl...

I squeezed my own breast, just imagining running my hands over that ass. Dipping my finger down into her sex. Wondering what it would be like to lick her there.

That made me gasp louder. Where were these thoughts coming from?

When I was done pretending to use the restroom, I tore out Ms. Cowgirl's and Ms. Secretary's back-to-back pinup and stuffed it in my bag before going back downstairs. When Brady wasn't looking, I replaced the magazine and proceeded to help him work on our project. He was none for the wiser.

I looked at those two pictures in private many times after that. But I really didn't need the stolen page. I would never forget those images. Those women in those suggestive positions with luscious bodies that teased while flaunting everything men wanted.

After finals that first semester, I joined several girls for a midnight party in the public lounge of our dorm. One of them had purchased some magazines for our entertainment. For some reason, I was disappointed they weren't the same ones I'd found at Brady's house. This time, it was Playgirl and Sex Herald, and they were filled with men. Naked men with their cocks out and their balls cupped in their hands in various positions with the minimalist in the props department.

The girls giggled, pointed, oohed, and ahhed. And they talked of their own sexcapades, comparing their lovers to the men on the glossy pages laid out on the floor. Sure, they were interesting pictures, and the men were sexy with their six-pack abs and bulging biceps. I could even envision one of the men who posed with a suit coat over his naked shoulder—a fedora tipped to the side on his dark hair—as he took that office girl from Mr. McDaniel's magazine doggy-style on her desk.

But I knew there was something different about me that I would have preferred to look at Ms. Secretary over Mr. Businessman with his pants down. Although, I won't deny I got wet thinking about what that lovely specimen of a cock would feel like between my legs.

It was also at that soirée that I heard someone could be bi-sexual, as in liking both men and women in a sexual way. I wasn't so sure I could fall into that category myself. I'd never been with a woman. And while I enjoyed looking at their suggestively naked pictures, I didn't imagine it ever becoming a reality.

I'd also heard it was frowned upon to like people of the same gender in that way. So I steered away from buying any girly magazines myself to indulge my fantasies. Instead, I tried to drown myself in the male gender whenever possible, following the lead of my female classmates on how to dress and flirt to attract their attention.

As a result, I lost my virginity to another freshman during the spring semester. A friend invited me to a party, and I ended up drinking a bottle of Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill to ease my nervousness when everyone paired up to make out and I was partnered with a guy who looked like he belonged in either a gang or the military with his tattoos, gold chains, bandana, camouflage jacket, and Army-style boots. But he was a damn good kisser. After the cops busted the party, we ended up going back to my dorm room where he slowly but surely removed each piece of my clothing, kissing each part of skin that had been revealed. Even if that's as far as it had gone, he was miles ahead of Brady McDaniel.

The sex had been phenomenal, and I finally realized what everyone had been crowing about all these years. Yet I kept having to beg him to play with my breasts, to stroke my pussy, to touch the rest of my body again. I didn't just want to be fucked with his cock, as nice as it was. I wanted something more, but I wasn't sure what it was.

After college, I had a few odd jobs until I was hired at the bank as a teller. I made my way up to be a personal banker after a couple of years. I was able to purchase my own place and switched to paying on a mortgage each month instead of rent.

Then I met Danny.

It was the typical 'boy meets girl while standing in line for coffee at Starbucks' scene that you see in all the chick flicks. Except that in our case, boy spilled a five-dollar coffee on girl's hundred-and-fifty-dollar cashmere sweater that had just had the tags cut off. Hot and bothered didn't even describe my attitude that morning.

But he'd been a gentleman about it and took me down the street where he purchased me a new, more-expensive sweater as a peace offering. And then he asked me out to dinner.

We fell into a routine, and one thing led to the other as it usually does. When he asked me to marry him, I didn't think twice. Well, I hoped I could convince him to pay more attention to my breasts and clit outside the brief foreplay I was currently used to when we had sex, but I figured that would come with time. Or else the desire would fade for me. I did love him. I truly did.

All that changed, though, when he called to tell me he didn't want to marry me less than two months from our wedding date. When I stumbled into Maggie's Lounge after aimlessly wandering through a downpour trying to sort out my feelings. When Jenna Swallow stood on the other side of the door to the bathroom stall where I was hiding and opened a whole new world for me.

It was a world I knew deep down had been calling to me since that day I had looked at Ms. Cowgirl in the basement of Brady's house and wondered what it would be like to kiss and fondle those breasts...and to have mine kissed and fondled the way I'd always dreamed.

It had taken me awhile to figure out that Jenna liked me in that way. I thought she was just being friendly, as we'd been high school classmates and I was down on my luck after being dumped by my fiancé. But it took me breaking Danny's nose—and my hand—before she made her move and I realized there was more to this equation than just friend-helping-friend.

"Kat, it's ten after five on Friday. Go home."

I blinked and looked around. There were two tellers behind the counter and three women walking away from my desk toward the main doors.

I shook my head and laughed. I'd heard that Brady McDaniel had come out of the closet after college and was currently living in California with his life partner, Duke DeBarge, a record producer. No wonder he didn't know how to kiss or touch me properly. And why we'd never had sex.

I sighed and shut down my computer, locked up my desk, and grabbed my purse. I couldn't help smiling as I took a long glance at the blotter-slash-calendar, wondering what it would be like if Jenna were to catch me here after work with no one around, forcing me to kneel on the desk like Ms. Secretary from that girly magazine and have her way with me. Damn, those stupid security cameras.

###

Fidgeting was not one of my nervous habits. Biting my lip? Absolutely. Worrying myself until I was sick in the stomach? It happened. But I did not fidget. Yet tonight, I'd done it numerous times.

When I arrived home from work, I changed into a red halter, knee-length dress that had a daring peek-a-boo diamond cutout in the front, revealing quite a bit of cleavage. The back was even lower and prevented me from wearing a bra of any type. Thankfully, the shiny Lycra material kept the girls in place, and there was a panel on either side in the front to prevent my erect nipples from revealing themselves to the world. Although, I was sure that Jenna would have enjoyed that immensely. I stood in front of the mirror, twisting from side to side, adjusting the girls and my curled hair until I noticed the time.

Then, I alternately tapped my fingers against the door's armrest and then my knee on the cab ride to the restaurant while glancing right and left out the side windows. The driver must have though I was something out of the Exorcist by the time he dropped me off at the valet parking.

Once inside, I was unable to decide if I should sit or stand as I waited for Jenna to join me. I finally decided on standing ten minutes later just as I saw Jenna get out of her own cab. Slowly, I sunk down to the bench seat and let out a long breath.

She was wearing the exact same dress as I was but in a silvery gray. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a thick braid, which showed off her slender neck. How I loved to run my fingers—and lips—up and down that expanse of skin. And those legs...I loved how they wrapped around mine when we made out on the couch or the bed.

"Kat!" Jenna smiled as she approached and tucked her purse under one arm.

I took her outstretched hands, using them as leverage to pull myself upright. My heart thudded in my chest, and my knees wobbled a little. I felt like I was on my first date. We'd never been out in public like this before, making it obvious we were a couple.

For the briefest moment, I wanted to give up and run away. But the sweet, vanilla scent of her perfume was intoxicating and convinced me to want to finally take a walk on the wild side.

"Hey, honey," I whispered as she hugged me and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. "I have been so nervous all day, I'm shaking."

"Don't be." She squeezed my hands and led the way to the hostess station. "It's just dinner and a little dancing. Relax."

We were quickly seated in a quiet corner and placed our orders. As soon as we were alone, I reached out and grasped Jenna's hands.

"It seems like I have so much to say but don't know what to say at the same time. I have all these thoughts in my head, and they don't always make sense."

"It's okay, sweetie." She released one of my hands to sip her wine, but her other thumb rubbed the back of my hand. The soft gesture calmed me. A little. "Did something happen?"

I shook my head. "No, not really. It's just been a long week. A long day, in fact. Very slow, and I had a lot of time to think."

"I hope it's nothing bad." She started to pull away but stopped when I tightened my grip.

"No. Just processing things in my head. You know, when you have time on your hands..."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

So over our salads, I walked her through the trail of memories I'd followed this afternoon. We'd never really talked like this. At least not out in public and not to such elaborate length. I spilled my heart out to her. Tried to explain how I'd been interested in the female figure more than most women back in college but wasn't really sure what those feelings were so I'd suppressed them. How she'd brought those feelings back to life and helped me embrace them.

I was a rambling mess, like a lost animal roaming all over the ranch, waiting for someone to bring me back to the herd where everything made sense again and I felt safe. And the animal analogy made me laugh and tell her about the conversation I'd had with Brad and his obsession with comparing me to animals as well.

Our entrées arrived, and the waitress topped off our wine. I stared at the golden liquid in my glass, my mind a little distant.

"Do you know the first time I saw you? I mean, really saw you?" Jenna asked. She took a bite of steak and washed it down with a swig of wine. "Mr. Timms, Algebra, freshman year. You were sitting in the front row, your hair hanging around your face as we took a test. You kept tucking it behind your ear, but it wouldn't stay. You asked Mr. Timms for either a rubber band or a pair of scissors. You were still at his desk when you swept your hair up into a ponytail. Then you dropped your pencil. When you stooped down to get it and then stood up, your eyes met mine for the briefest moments. It was like slow motion. I couldn't breathe."