Leilani

The handpainted butterfly on my mailbox is the first thing anyone spots when they come to my door. Okay, maybe they'll first see my store sign, "Lani's Flower Shop," but they definitely won't miss the butterfly.

Once inside, people notice me. I'm 5'2" with brown eyes and dark hair that I shave close on one side of my head. I'm told that I have a very sexy mouth. My tits are the envy of every Arizona Cardinal cheerleader. I can make Tucson hotter than hot in my cutoff jeans----showing my shapely legs and perfect ass. I have multiple piercings in one ear and wear a nose ring when I feel like it. For footwear, I prefer workman's boots. I have a tattoo on the inside of my wrist displaying two naked women in a garden holding hands.

Did you figure me out yet? Lesbo! Yes, that's me. I'm as straight as a snake and proud of it.

My name is Leilani, but friends call me Lani. When my lovers slip from the sack, they'll say, "you were a great lay, Lani." Get it? Lei-Lani!

I love fucking, and I'm good at it--I can make a woman cum harder and hotter than a Southwestern geyser boils water. Sex feels great, and I wonder why people are embarrassed by it. After all, wasn't it an orgasm that got us all here? So what's the big deal?

My parents were very liberal on the subject. My mother went around the house topless when she was doing demanding housework such as vacuuming. My dad went shirtless when it was hot. It's funny that men go shirtless and women go topless--whatever.

The first time I overheard my mom and dad getting it on, I thought he was killing her. So I asked my mom about it the next day.

"We were making love, dear. It was wonderful. I'm sorry we disturbed you though, and I'll try and be quieter and more discreet in the future."

"How often do you two make love?"

"Well, that depends on a lot of factors."

"Such as?"

"Well, if your dad is under a lot of pressure, he likes to have sex. And, if he's dieting, he gets horny, and we make love. And if he has a lot to drink, like at a wedding or a picnic, he loves to come home and screw."

"----Mom!"

"What is it, dear?"

"Don't you see that there is a problem here?"

"Problem? I don't see a problem."

"You don't say anything about making love because you want to have sex. It all revolves around dad."

"You're right, but that's my generation, and it doesn't bother me. When you come of age, you can do it differently.

That's mom.

When I was in high school, my girlfriends and I would go into the bathroom and whisper secrets about sex. I didn't know what to believe. So I asked mom.

"What is a b.j.? What's french kissing, and is it really that great? Do you have to put your hand down the front of a guy's pants if you don't want to?"

God bless mom. She helped me through all these agonizing rites of passage. She had an answer for everything. She even knew what to say when I told her about Janey. Janey Tanaka moved to our town at the end of my senior year. She was Japanese and wore her dark hair down to her waist. She had small but cute-looking breasts covered in sweaters and a shapely ass that I could easily pick out [and follow] in the hallway.

I would stare at her in the cafeteria until she would turn around and catch me. Each time I looked away. We did that every day for a week. Finally, I forced myself to hold her gaze; she smiled back and blew me a kiss. I nearly fell out of my chair.

"Did this ever happen to you, mom?"

"Well, yes, but not with another girl."

"Do you think I'm gay?"

"I don't know. I guess there's only one way to find out. You should ask her out."

"I can't do that. I would die if she turned me down."

"Why don't you invite her over with a few other friends for a swim party?"

That was brilliant.

I invited my two best friends: Shari and Kelsy. Shari was a cheerleader. She was adorable and funny. Kelsy was the complete opposite: brainy and reserved, but we all got along great. When I told them I invited Janey, I explained that she was cool and didn't know anyone.

The gathering was a great success. Everybody liked Janey, and more importantly, she liked me. How could I tell? The girl couldn't take her eyes off of my chest.

We started talking in school after that day. I called her every night. Then she invited me to her house for a sleepover. It wasn't until midnight that her parents went to bed and her bratty little sister left us alone. We watched some stupid movie on her laptop and sat next to each other with all the lights off. There was a scene where the guy and the girl started making out. It made me nervous. Janey reached out and took my hand in hers. I almost peed in my panties. I was afraid to look at her but wouldn't let her go.

When we finally went to bed, she asked me if it was okay that she held my hand.

"Yeah. I liked it."

"I couldn't tell."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was supposed to do?"

"When it comes to love, you do what your heart tells you."

"Oh."

"What is your heart telling you right now?"

"Um, that it would be really nice to kiss you."

Janey got out of her bed and tiptoed over to my bed. There were no lights on, but Janey stood next to the bed, and I could see her lovely face by the moon's light or maybe the streetlight outside. In any case, she looked ravishing. She knelt down and asked me to close my eyes, which I did, and she kissed me. It was wonderful. I kissed her back, and she made a funny sound that came from deep down inside her throat. Then she crawled under the covers, and we made out. She squeezed my breasts and asked me if I liked it. I did. It made my pussy wet. Guys couldn't do anything that made me slippery down there.

That night was ten years ago and is still one of the most memorable bedroom experiences I have ever had. When I got home the next day, I told my mom that I was gay. [She told my dad.]

She said she loved me straight or gay. That the most important thing in life is not to fool yourself and that the second most important thing is that you shouldn't fool others.

"Mom, when you're in love, do you just do what your heart tells you?"

"I think so," she answered, "but understand that your heart may get broken."

"Then maybe I shouldn't do what my heart tells me."

"I don't recommend that either. We have a pool and taught you how to swim."

"Okay, so what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that we could've refused to give you lessons and told you to stay away from the pool."

"But then I might've drowned."

"Exactly. So we taught you how to swim really well. Keep that in mind, and remember that no one ever died of a broken heart."

That was pretty good advice my mom gave to me. Because my heart was broken when Janey moved away that summer, and although I didn't die, I didn't want it happening again. And that's how I ended up in the situation that I now find myself in. I am one-half of five different relationships--simultaneously.

It's insane! Have you heard of hit-and-run drivers? I'm a hit-and-run lover, and now I will tell you the dirty details. Not because I'm mad, insecure, or feel sorry for myself. On the contrary, I've learned to embrace my "hit and runness" and I love writing about it.

I met Julia when I worked at an insurance agency [before buying the flower shop]. She had just moved to Tucson and needed car insurance. What's the first thing an agent asks before giving you an insurance quote? What's your name, where do you live, what do you, and are you single? It's like a singles bar, only better, because they come into the office, sit down at your desk, and willingly dispense this information.

When Julia sat down at my desk, my heart did a good old-fashioned "giddy-up." Julia is Columbian. She has a tawny skin tone, long dark silky hair, the loveliest hands, long nails that she paints white, and a great figure.

She was married and had two kids. We had an instant, mutual attraction. When we went outside to inspect her car, we could talk more frankly than in the office.

"You're beautiful."

"Thanks," she laughed and blushed. I love it when girls blush.

"You're pretty too."

"Are you into girls?"

"I don't know?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out. I have to check the mileage on your vehicle. So why don't we get inside and shut the doors."

She agreed. I love my job.

I turned on the ignition while she sat in the passenger seat with the inspection form and a pen.

"The odometer says you have 89,904 miles--write that down.

"Good. Now I will ask you a question, and you write yes or no, okay?"

"Maybe, it all depends on what you're going to ask me."

"Would you mind if I kissed you?"

Julia looked out the window and said, "I don't understand it. I always thought I was straight, but I am totally attracted to you." Then she drew a big question mark on the page.

I grinned at her and took my pen from her hand.

"I think you're lovely, and I would love to kiss you." I pulled her closer, which is hard to do even in an SUV, and planted my lips on hers. It was like two roses crushing against each other. Julia sighed, and we kissed some more. I was getting hot, and I had to go back to work.

"I need to go inside. Do you want to meet me after work? There's a bar across the street in that strip shopping center."

Julia agreed.

We met at the bar and sat at a table and talked. Her husband was away on business, and she got her sister to watch the kids.

"For how long?" I asked.

"A couple of hours."

"I live ten minutes from here. Do you want to go to my house?"

"I'm not sure."

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to do. I'll be very gentle."

She looked at her watch, and then she looked at the ceiling.

"Julia, it's okay. I don't want you to do something you'll later regret."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"I'm so nervous. I don't think I can drive. Do you think I can leave my car here?"

"I'm sure you can leave your car here. Come."

We walked out together and got in my little coupe. When we arrived at my house, she noticed my mailbox right away.

"Why do lesbians like butterflies?"

"Not all lesbians like butterflies, and not all butterflies like being caterpillars----they are reborn, and their spirit eclipses their body."

"Well, I can't wait to see your body."

When we got inside, Julia nearly assaulted me. She was a comet, a lightning bolt, and a freakin' hurricane rolled into one. She was so excited that she cut off my bra with some nearby pruning shears and sucked my taught nips with her hot Latin lips. We had our clothes off and were writhing and squirming on the bed before you could say that caterpillars make cocoons.

Then I sucked her babies while she cried out in Spanish. Finally, she squeezed my head against her breast so hard that I thought she'd dent my skull. When I took off her panties, she was drenched like winter in Washington. I thought I might need a wet vac to finish the job. I ate out her pussy as she purred, "cojer! Cojer!" The poor girl came in seconds; she was so eager. It wasn't easy getting her to relax.

"Can I lick your pussy?"

"Sure, but slow down," I told her. "I'm not fast food."

I gave her some instructions: lick slow on my lips. Don't forget to suck a little on my love button, and don't be afraid to use a finger or two. You have to listen and watch for my reactions. She nodded her head and got between my legs. She was a little stiff, but hey, she was a beginner.

After I came, we snuggled and kissed, grinding our pussies together. I put my knee between her legs, and she came again. I liked everything about Julia, and when it was time for her to leave, she wanted to know if she could see me again.

"Sure, you can."

"Great. I'll call you."

Julia and I have been carrying on for a few years now. She'd like to leave her husband, but she has two beautiful daughters and is afraid of losing them in a custody battle.

I feel safe with her, but I get nervous when I feel safe. My friend, Guinivere's father, is a psychiatrist, and he told me I suffer from agoraphobia.

"Is that something I should worry about?"

"No. What you should worry about is Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia."

"What is Hippopomonsterphobia?"

"Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia is fear of long words."

"Got it."

I drink vodka, either straight or with cranberry juice and ice. In summer, I have it with grapefruit juice and club soda. I always bought my vodka at the liquor store next to the pharmacy, but one day, on a whim, I went into Tex's Liquor, and I'm lucky I did. When I thumped down that big bottle of vodka on the counter, I looked up, and what do you think I saw? The prettiest girl. She had curly blonde hair and green eyes and wore black lipstick. Is that not a killer combo? She shouted something to a coworker in the back of the store and gave me a moment to check out her body. She wore a black sleeveless top with a leather collar and had fantastic titties. Her hip-hugging black jeans displayed a pierced belly button, and she had some interesting tattoos. I couldn't place her accent.

"Where are you from originally?"

"N'Orleans."

"Oh, I just saw a movie on Netflix set in New Orleans, and you sound just like the girl in the picture."

"Love Book?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I loved that movie. You never know what's going to happen next."

She gave me my change, and her eyes moved to gaze at my two-girls-naked-in-the-garden tattoo inside my wrist.

I thanked her and left. I didn't take three steps before deciding that I had to go back and ask her out. I have a sixth sense when it comes to telling if girls are gay or curious. I can't explain it.

I went back after putting the vodka in the car.

"Hey, did you forget something?"

"Yeah, I forgot to tell you that I'm glad I came to your store today."

She smiled, and those green eyes twinkled. "It's my boyfriend's store. We live upstairs."

Ush, that hurt, I wanted to pet her, and it turns out I had her wrong. She noted my frown.

"I like your tattoo."

"Thanks, it gets a lot of comments."

"I'm sure. Who is the other girl?"

"I don't know, but I'll recognize her when we meet. Tell me about your tattoos."

The one inside her arm was the Keltic symbol for strength that she got when her mom was diagnosed with a dreaded disease. Then she pulled down her waistband to show me the lizards crawling up from inside her jeans.

"I have about a thousand lizards at home."

"A thousand?"

"Yeah. I like lizards."

And then she turned around and pulled down her shoulder strap to show me her sister's name tattooed on her shoulder blade. There were a few other tattoos, but I was too mesmerized by her beauty to remember everything she said.

"Do you want to go out sometime?"

"What?"

"You know, go out on a date. My boyfriend is cool with it. I'm bi."

Whoa!

"Yes," I laughed. We both laughed. "Sure. What are you doing Thursday night? There's a bar in Wood's End that has a great band. There's also an outdoor area where it's quiet to talk."

"Sounds great. Count me in."

"What's your name?"

" Guinevere, but I go by Guine."

"That fits you."

"Yeah. What's your's?"

"Leilani. But you can call me Lani."

"I love it. See you Thursday."

I picked up Guine on my Trailmaster Turino 150 motor scooter. Guine's my age and about four inches taller. She wore skinny jeans, a scoop top with a light leather jacket. She hugged my sides as we wove through the downtown streets. The bike wasn't the only thing whose motor was running.

At Extra Helping, we shared a bottle of wine beneath the fairy lights. I told her I liked music, yoga, and painting. She was into making crystal jewelry and astrology. Guine said we had compatible signs. I don't think too much about astrology, but when she explained that her Taurus was a perfect romantic foil to my Pisces, I got more interested in it.

We went inside to hear the band. She was wiggling her ass around, and I wanted her so bad.

"Do you want to dance?"

She nodded her head, yes. I took her hand, and we danced close. She smelled great and felt even better.

She whispered in my ear as we danced.

"I like you. I like whispering in your ear on this dance floor. I'd like to nibble on your ear, but we can't do that here."

I smiled and walked off the floor, holding her hand. The ride back seemed to take forever.

I parked my motor scooter outside my store.

"You live in your store?"

"Yeah, there's an efficiency in the back. It's convenient.

As I unlocked my front door, she said she liked the butterfly on my mailbox.

"Yeah. I'm into transformation and overcoming obstacles. That's the butterfly."

I unlocked the door, and my dog bolted out from the back room and wagged his tail when seeing Guine.

"Oh my goodness, he's adorable."

"Mr. Z, say hello to Guinevere."

Mr. Z. warmed to Guinevere immediately.

"What breed is he?"

"He's a mix between golden retriever and poodle. He's called a Poodle Doodle."

Mr. Z enjoyed Guine's attention and rewarded her with licks and friendly barking.

"I love him, Lani."

"Yeah, I do too. But now's time we love each other."

And with that, I deposited Mr. Z into the kitchen and shut the door, so he couldn't get out.

"Now, where were we? I think we were on the dancefloor and standing like this," I embraced Guinevere; the feel of her firm ass squeezed between my hands made my skin tingle, "and you said something about chewing on my ear."

She giggled, kissed me on the cheek, and nipped me on my earlobe.

"Ohh, baby."

I could no longer restrain myself from loving this goth goddess of the liquor store. I held her face in my hands, and we kissed. Guinevere and I locked lips with a sense of desperation. We'd waited so long to enjoy each other's lips.

I pushed Guine backward, so she flopped back on the couch. Then I knelt and undid her jeans and peeled them off her long legs. Guine wasn't wearing any panties--I dived in without any preliminaries and went to work with my tongue and thumb. Guine was squealing and crying out, and it didn't take long for me to make her juice box burst into my mouth.

Mmm, she tasted incredible.

Guine sat up and helped me out of my shirt so she could finally indulge herself, jiggling and kissing Tucson's most incredible natural resource, my big boobies. As she sucked, tongued, and caressed my melons, I shed my pants and shimmied out of my panties. I mounted the couch with my knees on the cushions, my arms on the backrest, and my bare ass facing Guine. She dropped between my legs as I settled my snatch inches above her hot, wet tongue. I spread myself wide open so that Guine could do a thorough oral exam. She drove me wild with her tongue. I was squeezing my lovely titties while she diddled my clit--it wasn't long before my hips were bucking.

I turned around, and we shared a hot french kiss, and I could taste my musk on her tongue. Next, Guine laid me down on the floor, and I pulled her onto my face. I painted her pussy better than Picasso with long strokes of my tongue. Then Guine turned around to complete a 69 and give me back a bit of the pleasure.

Afterward, we caught our breath, me sitting in her lap with my back to her. Guine held me tight. Using a hand to roam over my incredible busty boobs, she used the other to work my clit. It wasn't long before I again was mewling in delight as Guine got me off. I got her on her back for one last pussy picnic that had her squealing with satisfaction.

"That was hot!"

"You were a great lay, Lani!"

"That's what they call me. I hope we can do this again sometime soon?"

"Sure, you know where I work, and I live upstairs from the store."

"You're not going to pull a Guinevere on me?"

"What do you mean?"

"The original Guinevere was married to King Arthur. But she fell for Lancelot, Arthur's knight. The liaison caused the death of Arthur, and Guinevere was so embittered she entered a convent."