Something Completely Different

Omigod, I wanted her so badly!

Don't blow it, a tiny and tinny voice said inside my head. Whatever you do, play your cards right.

Easy enough advice to give . . .

'This travelling,' I ventured as she returned with two brimming glasses, 'were you alone?'

'We set off as a foursome: me, Sue, Alana and Bob.'

'Bob being a bloke?'

'Correct: three girls and one very lucky guy. We shared him a week at a time, in strict rotation.'

Some of my encouragement dissipated at that. I'd hoped and prayed Monica was lesbian through and through. Whatever she was, she recognized disappointment and uncertainty when she saw it.

'It was a good, very valid arrangement,' she assured me. 'I got my week of hard cock then my week of Sue followed by a simply delicious week of Alana. And before you ask, we were in two separate tents. We only ever had a four twice, and in a state of utter drunkenness at that. I honestly can't give details about what exactly happened. All I know for sure is we all woke up smiling on both occasions.'

For some strange reason I felt considerably happier at that. 'So you do girls?' I bravely ventured.

'Of course I do. That's why I'm here in this bar with you, isn't it?'

Cheshire Cat grin from me or what!

'I'm not looking long-term,' Monica cautioned.

'Who is long-term,' I wondered, 'is it Sue or Alana?'

'They are both still good friends. And they will be forever. I'm not planning on marrying either of them, however. Or anyone else, come to that.' Then, returning my never-ending grin, 'Do you prefer guys or gals?'

'I must be running about fifty-fifty,' I admitted, 'but having two non-stop girly weeks out of three sounds good to me. And no, I have no intention of marrying anytime soon: casual but intimate; that is me to a T.'

Monica swigged down most of her latest pint. 'Your place or mine,' she said. 'Doesn't that come next in the script?'

'Do you mean right now?' I asked, goggle-eyed, that elevator plummeting in my tummy yet again.

I was supposed to say that, me being on the prowl and what have you.

And she'd been reluctant to drink the odd early beer. Now she was proposing a whole lot more!

'No interfering lectures and an instant attraction.' Monica's laugh could easily charm birds down out of the trees. In fact she could have fed them by hand like Mary Poppins, tuppence a bag. 'I'd say there's nothing better to do this afternoon,' she went on, 'unless you have other ideas.'

I had lots of "other ideas", all of them seemingly in line with hers. And I wanted her more fiercely than I had ever wanted anything.

'According to the script it's my place,' I said as casually as I could (meaning clumsily, not casually).

Monica gestured towards my glass which was untypically full.

'Drink your drink lass,' she said. 'Let's go and further this friendship business.'

'Okay,' I said mock-meekly, 'if you insist . . .'

Chapter Four

Seeing as I was now a mature, sensible second year student (not!) I was out of halls and living in my own rented accommodation, aided and abetted by the Bank of Dad. Maybe five minutes off campus it was one of the better apartments, albeit in a decidedly "student" part of town.

Not that I gave Monica the full guided tour.

As if I got even half a chance!

Ushering her inside, I paused to close the front door, turned back to follow her . . .

And she pounced.

Before I knew it I was back to the woodwork, my mouth mashed to hers, her tongue deeply probing and her hands exercising the right to roam.

What a first kiss that was! If touching her was electric, kissing with her was out of this world. We were about the same height so body parts fit well together too. You know what I mean: tits on tits, tummies on tummies and all the rest.

Believe you me; I have never experienced an initial embrace anywhere near so passionate and doubt I ever will again.

Monica wanted more, though. Obviously not caring that I had made the approach and she was on my territory, she gripped my bum double-handed and squeezed as she vigorously bumped her groin with mine, transmitting an urgent desire for more.

As I if wasn't already up there with her!

Instant delight!!

But that was not enough for her. Suddenly her hands had moved and she was unfastening my Levi's. Doing my best to cope with her constantly invasive tongue, sucking away on it in my futile version of self-defence, I let her deft fingers do as they wilt.

Good decision or what?

Don't ask how she managed to do it in the relatively constrained space . . . probably through years of practice and experience . . . Monica proceeded to thoroughly frig me inside and out, there against the front door, me standing and shaking like a leaf with my jeans at half-mast.

And didn't she do it well!

As an opening course she attacked my clit. Yes, she was as direct at that. Still kissing me, never once letting our lips part, she abandoned all other forms of foreplay and went directly for gold.

Already severely aroused by all that groin bumping I came very vigorously in less than a minute.

Then, and again don't ask exactly how, she eased two fingers into me, using clever wrist movements to repetitively pump them in and out.

That time I might have lasted five minutes, every last instant adorable.

And then, without retracting those wonderful, magical fingers, she did me inside and out at the same time, her palm clasped firm on my clit and hood, teasing and tormenting . . .

Third time lucky; I lasted perhaps quarter of an hour then came harder than ever.

Bliss, bliss, bliss!

Finally, after a seeming eternity, she stopped kissing me. The sense of loss was enormous. I wanted to do it all again without further delay. I wanted to do it all again desperately.

However I wasn't the only one with weasel-like plans.

'Your bedroom,' Monica prompted. 'I feel the need to get naked.'

Now she came to mention it, so did I!

Taking her hand, once more relishing in 240 lovely volts, I led the way on decidedly wobbly legs. Still skimping on the grand tour, I'll say my apartment was not extensive. Apart from the loo/shower-room, I had a living room with what passed for a "kitchenette" built-in, and one bedroom.

Guess where we headed? Wobbly legs or nay, I wasn't daft. Yes, we headed in complete accordance with my newest lover's bold prompt.

Although, arriving there bedside two seconds later, I did make a bid to regain control.

'Let's get naked one garment at a time,' I said (hopefully) coquettishly, 'you first.'

Smiling in a knowing way, making my clumsy coquettishness seem childish, Monica took off her dark

blue V neck.

Watching her tits bounce under her office-like shirt, I almost swooned.

As I keep on saying, how badly did I want her!

'Your turn,' she said, still smiling that challenging smile.

I kicked off my trainers, giving her two for the price of one. She responded likewise.

'Your turn,' she repeated.

My denims were already unfasted so I discarded them as elegantly as I could, hoping not have wet tracks down my inner thighs and, co-incidentally, rearranging my knickers as part of the process.

My knickers were coming off last, obviously. Monica might have already had a good feel of the treat in store, but she wasn't going to get too much of a sneak visual preview.

Not yet.

A girl has to keep some secrets, doesn't' she?

It's only polite!

'Your turn,' I said, doing my utmost to reflect her dazzling smile.

Keeping eye contact, she unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it carelessly aside. I'd been right about her bra-less condition. Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun!

Yes, I know I'm misquoting, but even Tigger couldn't possibly have resisted her.

And how I didn't dive in there I will never know. My willpower must have hidden strengths.

'Your turn,' Monica demanded.

I took off my university-branded sweatshirt, wishing I was bra-less too.

'Socks,' I commanded, impressed by the severity of my tone.

She discarded her socks, chucking them more or less in the direction of her abandoned shirt.

'Socks,' she said in imitation.

'Don't you want to unhook my bra for me?' I countered after duly obeying.

Turned out she did. Stepping behind me she duly unhooked and took two handfuls as the bra fell.

That was cheating, of course, but I didn't protest. Having those magic fingers there on my breasts was almost as good as having them on and in me, down below.

Yes, almost, but not quite.

All too soon she let go and volunteered to take off her ripped denims.

'I'm probably even wetter than you,' she said. 'Let's see, shall we?'

As contests go it was as good as a draw. There were no streaked inner thighs but there were two very sodden pairs of panties.

'This is where the rules change,' Monica announced, surprising me before I could peel off my briefs.

'Oh yes,' said I cautiously . . . excited beyond all reason yet suddenly cautious. Was this a trap?

'I took off your bra,' my glorious, glamourous companion persisted. 'It's only fair you get to take off my panties.'

Did I need telling twice? No, I did not.

Without a millisecond of hesitation I was on my knees before her, my own (less skilled) fingers on the very wet fabric of her knickers. Taking one deep breath I tugged them down her legs, appreciating the helpful way she stamped herself free of the flimsy . . . if suddenly awkward . . .article in question.

Then, without further ado, I did dive in, mouth first.

Omigod, the taste of her!

Monica was light years better than delicious. I had sampled quite a few luscious ladies but none quite as juicily sweet as her.

That's another precedent I don't ever expect to exceed, by the way. Eating Monica, on my knees with her upright and bucking under every lick . . .

Bucking harder and harder, edging her way to her first cum . . .

And, if I had anything to do with it, it would be her first cum of hundreds and hundreds.

No, thousands . . . and thousands . . .

Chapter Five

Astonishingly Monica seemed to want me to take the lead from thereon. Needless to say, I did so with a song in my heart.

(Don't ask which song; maybe it was "I Kissed a Girl"; or that "Constant Craving" . . .)

Taking Monica upright was an astonishing experience. I made her cum three times, fair being only too fair, that is; three for me, three for her . . . and then I threw her on the bed and really went for it.

Those tits of hers! I fibbed about the state of my nipples. Overexcited as I was, hers were vastly more incredible than mine. If mine were as big as acorns, hers were super-sized, dark brown thimbles.

Omigod, getting my mouth on them!

Put it this way; forget birthdays and special Christmas treats, disregard trivialities as inconsequential. Her nips and tits were beyond belief. A girl could lose herself amongst them for an awful long time.

As indeed did I.

Oh yummy, yummy, yummy!

Where was I?

Oh yes, I'd just thrown Martina onto my bed . . .

How could that have slipped my mind?

Continuing the astonishing mode, in complete contrast to her early combative mode, Martina opened her legs and invited me to take her.

'Please, please, please,' she entreated.

Well, who wouldn't?

I ate her like the hungriest lezzie on the planet. And she only ever tasted better and better.

As for her movements under me . . . poetry in motion or what!

Finally, when my tongue felt in danger of breaking loose at its root, I shifted position. And yes, I at last discarded my panties.

Equally naked . . . and yippee for that . . . I sat on Monica's face, without any invitation or anything.

She responded with unmistakable delight. Trust me; I have been taken that way often enough before, but her efforts went beyond the pale.

Hopefully, so too did I.

Here's an aside. Face-sitting is an old ploy of mine. When I'm expected to be the girl in charge I use it to recuperate. Being on top, seemingly in control, it's a way of catching my breath. Moving slowly, in a less-than-urgent rhythm, I can keep up appearances without actually doing very much.

Sneaky of me, I know. But all's fair in love and war.

I've read and heard that a million times, so it has to be true.

*****

After my third or fourth sneaky timeout, when I reckoned we'd been at it maybe two hours, Monica dragged me off by the hair. And just when the root of my tongue had recovered and I was eager for more intimate association.

Tits first, then luscious, lovely pussy . . . yes, yes, yes!

But I was cruelly deprived of both sumptuous options.

'I missed lunch,' she said in explanation. 'Can't you hear my tummy rumbling?'

'Lunch was only minutes ago.'

'Look out the window. It's dark already. I need dinner and supper as well.'

Stuff me but she was right. Somehow it had become eight o' clock, or maybe much later. My fleeting "two hours" had been more like seven.

Perhaps eight or nine . . .

Doesn't time fly when one's enjoying herself?

'Is that it then?' I asked, slightly petulantly.

'Like heck it is,' Monica countered. 'Let's go out, eat, drink a couple of beers and come back here. I'll have you next, though. I'll have you better than anyone's ever had you, ever, ever, ever.'

Great promise or what!

'Is that for real?' I said, as if she might be fibbing.

'Too fucking true it is.'

How could I possibly resist?

And did I resist?

Did I heck resist.

*****

We ate at an Italian although we both opted for the fillet steaks. (According to my dyed-blondie mum, Ziggy's in Bingley was the all-time best-ever place for a fillet steak, but that bistro in Bristol wasn't half bad.)

Having Monica's hand on my leg wasn't half bad either. And showering with her had been a delight. In my tiny bathroom we'd had little choice but to wash each other.

Honestly, it was tough, hard labour, but someone had to do it.

Normally it took me just two or three minutes to shower. That particular sprinkling took at least half an hour, mostly because our hands were tits and pussy obsessed.

Mind you, there are worse obsessions . . .

There, in the smart but not-so-swanky restaurant, Monica's fingers exploring my eager flesh under the table, she told me she wanted more than just one additional sexy session.

(Yes, that's what she called it: a "sexy session", a term now embedded in my lexicon of love.)

'Like I said, I don't do commitments,' she announced. 'But we've clicked, haven't we?'

I frowned at that.

'I know I haven't done you yet,' she added hastily.

I laughed, recalling my servicing up against the woodwork. 'Oh yes you have,' said I. 'I've never been done nearly so well.'

She laughed in turn. 'That was only a brief introduction.'

'If that's all it was you'd better call the police. Tonight I'm going to be screaming like I know not what. I wouldn't want them kicking my door down and then charging us with raising false alarms.'

Monica's fingers had somehow moved on from my thigh to my crotch.

'There won't be anything false about it,' she whispered. 'And if I'm a tenth as good as you were . . .'

I pressed a finger to her lips, staying her, not least because the large-breasted waitress was bringing us our steaks.

'You're already ten times better than me,' I breathed when we were alone again. 'And I can't wait.'

Monica flashed her wonderful smile.

'Makes two of us,' she purred.

Chapter Six

Promised the best fuck of my life I was by no means disappointed. Monica was well into tribbing and probably had degrees in the subject.

No, scrub "probably", she without a shadow of one doubt had a Master's and PHD. In fact she'd most likely invented the noble art.

In all honesty my experience up to then was mainly fingers and tongues. Yes, I'd rubbed groins before and enjoyed the sensations immensely, but I'd never been tribbed the way Monica went at it.

From relatively passive to raving nympho into the bargain!

How confusing was she?

How confusing and how so incredibly good!

Not that she restricted herself to her own noble art. Oh no. Fresh back from the Italian she had me up against the front door again . . . three more times, with quaint symmetry . . . then took my hand to lead me to my bedroom . . . to trib me to heaven and beyond.

And to eat me . . . and lick me, stroke me and caress me, arouse me in a million divine ways.

Late into the night . . . God only knows when . . . I fell asleep with my legs and arms wrapped around her. I only know because that's how I woke next morning, still gripping her like I'd never let go.

'You are so fucking sexy,' I said in greeting, too bemused to even wish her good day.

Monica responded with a trademark smile before easing into a slow, sensual motion that did wonders for both of us.

Yes, she was skilled. Yes she was sensual. What a way to wake up. Should be like that every day.

Yes, every day should kick off as well as that.

Well, shouldn't it?

*****

Showering together again was great. Indeed it felt almost traditional, as if we should shower together every day for ever and ever. Okay, so it was early morning, our bodies were both slick with sweat and lady juice . . . at first, at least.

So I'll repeat myself; showering together was great. Rubbing handfuls of soap onto her breasts . . .

Permitting her to rub large handfuls onto mine . . .

No, not "permitting", begging for it . . .

That morning shower lasted more than an hour. We simply couldn't get enough of each other.

But then it was over.

Heartache hit me hard. Resolutely single or not, I felt another deep pang of loss. Some vital thing had been taken away from me.

'This commitment business,' Monica said stepping into stained but by then dry panties (so I assumed they were by then, before her pussy renewed sloppy contact), 'how serious about it are you?'

My unruly mouth went off on its own, as should by now be expected.

'I'll fuck with you again anytime,' it said. 'Is later today too soon; maybe this afternoon?'

'What about lectures?'

'Well . . . maybe a bit later on.'

'Ike and Mike, we think alike,' she responded.

Result!

'Anytime is good by me,' I confirmed, my pulse racing.

Her gaze was . . . well, it examined every atom of my soul.

'Tonight at mine,' she said. 'Meet me in the Students' Union Bar at five and I'll take you there. Okay?'

I nodded like an obliging donkey.

'Can't wait,' I said, reasonably and very earnestly.

'This isn't a commitment,' Monica blurted, 'maybe just a hint of a commitment; maybe once a week for the foreseeable.'

'But you want it tonight?'

'Too fucking true I do. Don't you?'

'Yes,' I confessed, 'I want it more than life itself.'

'So we go once or twice a week, then, otherwise free? No hang-ups or jealousies and we take it from there?'

'That sounds good to me. In fact it sounds terrific. Three times a week sounds even better.'

'You're very greedy,' said Monica. 'Come to think about it, you're a girl after my own heart . . .'

*****

For that first, second year semester we were almost . . . but not quite . . . inseparable. We had sex at least three times a week (as I'd not so subtly pushed for!) but were free to take other lovers. I took six; three of each gender, all on multiple occasions, and I told Monica everything about everything.

Not that I'm an irresponsible gossip, but the problem was we were living in a tight community. Monica knew exactly who I was getting close to and likewise me about her.

For her part Monica majored on girls. Or so I'd thought . . .

We didn't go home for the holidays; not for longer than fleeting visits. Rents needed to be paid, after all. Why pay for something and not use it? Why when we were uncommitted but hooked on our three nights of sheer delight a week?

So, Christmas Eve, expecting her dropping by, I eagerly answered the knock on my door.