Snapshots #02

The first date: We went to a production of "Last Summer At Bluefish Cove" staged at a local community theatre. I wore a coral stretch knit halter-top and a matching printed silk charmeuse skirt. She surprised me by wearing a green shirred blouse with a floral, flirty, ruffled hem skirt. We had coffee and desert afterwards; the chocolate mousse tortes helping us get over some of the sadness we both felt about the story.

Her goodnight kiss was dry and cool and sweet. It made me feel delicious…

The second date: A beach volleyball tournament. She whooped and yelled herself hoarse; I admired the women spiking and worked on my gaydar. She wore a white crop-top and cutoffs and her "lucky" Bruins baseball cap with her blonde ponytail pulled through the back; I wore my pink hibiscus sarong wrap over a metallic blue one-piece swimsuit. We ate a picnic on the beach, curried chicken salad, homemade spicy coleslaw, and a couple of bottles of hard lemonade. At sunset, she casually put her arm over my shoulder as we walked on the beach.

A lingering kiss goodnight, my hands resting on her waist. It made me feel like a girl again.

The third date: Dinner at my house. I had confidently made poached in champagne salmon, sliced ripe tomatoes with fresh basil, and hot spinach stuffed mushrooms. I had confidently dressed in my mauve Lauren tank dress that clung perfectly right – suggestive without being aggressive. In every other way, confidence was a stranger. I was nervous as a cat on hot bricks.

She showed up wearing charcoal seersucker slacks, a matching mesh tube top underneath an unbuttoned pale lemon ruffled shirt, and cute sandals on her slender feet. The look of her, the quiet crooked smile of her, made me more than skittish…

We ate; she complimented my cooking. We laughed; she loved my tart humor. We finished the bottle of champagne that I used for the salmon; her eyes got that wonderful glow. I put the Indigo Girls on the stereo; she sat down on my sofa nonchalantly letting her shirt fall open, the little red diamond-points of her nipples under the tube making me shiver deep inside. I sat down beside her; when Amy Ray sang "She exploded into my heart," I got a kiss that exploded mine.

We kissed and kissed; until my lips trembled, until her lips became swollen. We touched; her hands on the nape of my neck, on the back of my knees, teasing, not tickling under my armpits – my hands on her shoulders, on the curve of her ears, a glazing caress across her bare stomach. We kissed and touched with all the time in the world, building the fire one aching moment at a time.

I shuddered at how perfect it was, how perfect she felt, and pulled back out of her arms. I hunched a little forward, looking down, clasping my hands on my lap and began my speech.

"I don't come. I have what's defined as 'female orgasmic disorder'. There is nothing wrong with me physically, I've been examined and tested more than once. I have tried therapy, I've tried weed and ecstasy," a blush on my face as I glanced at her out the corner of my eyes, "I've tried all sorts of women. Nothing works."

Even though I had given this speech so many times it hadn't gotten easier. "I'm telling you because I hate pretending, or making someone feel that she is doing something wrong, that she isn't making me happy," I raised my face and looked at her. Her head was tilted to one side, looking a little puzzled. I wanted to kiss her then, have her tongue sweep inside me, but I continued speaking.

"It does make me happy," I said strongly. "Being with a woman, being with a woman like you, it makes me feel euphoric, feel so alive, feel complete."

She asked, in that surprisingly light, vaguely accented voice, so unexpected, "Never?"

I sighed, afraid that she'd be one of those who see it as a challenge – I had been hurt from those who did, frustration of the heart as much as of the body. I replied slowly, "I have come a few times, alone, a couple of times, but…" my mouth quivered, "I can – but I can't."

She stunned me by laughing. "Okay, okay, I get it! She put her hand alongside my face and grinned lopsidedly. "I'll come for both us, deal?"

I had to smile; had to sink against her with my mouth on her neck. I had to have her hands on me; taking my dress off with fingers that made my skin glow. I had to gasp as I took her clothes off; had to catch a pendant breast with my mouth, my lips trapping the caramel peak. I had to hear her gasp.

We ended up on the floor, on the pile of brightly striped cotton and silk floor cushions I bought long ago in Marrakech. Her kisses were deep, torrid, but her caresses were soft, feathery; as if she were painting with a sable brush all over the canvas of my skin.

My kisses were yielding, our tongues tangling in my mouth. My caresses were urgent, seeking, finding the places that made her groan on my lips.

At last she straddled my head, her thighs around me, the plump center of her passion sinking onto my yearning lips. My tongue spiraled over and around her, circling into the petal-silky center of her. Too lost to slow and tease her, too aching to love her.

Her hand on my hair, her soft squeals becoming faster and faster, her words, "Oh fuck, yes there darling, there, there…"

My mouth embraced her clit, tonguing her precious, beautiful pearl in an insistent rhythm that her breaking cries told me was so very right.

Then she leaned far back and I felt her hand cupping me. Not moving, only curving palm and fingers over the center of my passion. My hips moved without thinking, pressing up against her, my clit on her warm palm, my full lips on her still, gentle fingers…

She fell silent, her thighs stiffened, and pressed my lips and tongue against her, pressed my mound up to her, and then to the rhythm of my tongue came the rhythm of her convulsions; her cries, the music of her exultation.

That music melted ice, made my waters flow. Not in a cascade of screaming ecstasy but a river long and slow, that seemed to never end.

Some eons later, she kissed my mouth and giggling said, "I guess my selfishness is a virtue."

I could only reply, half laughing, half pleading, "Please be virtuous with me again, and again, again…