The Lesbian Patch

Nothing. Maybe the faintest outline of a pink square. Otherwise just her freckles and that scattering of moles Ceci fretted so much about.

Every day passed like the one before, and Jessica spent her time in a weird, buoyant mood, elevated. Not unlike those bouts of horniness she'd suffer just a little more than a week ago, but without that persistent, needy edginess.

Something like the ecstasy she used to take, but clearly less sensual, less exuberant.

She worked on her assignments, wrote long essays in a single sitting, worked on her social media marketing presentation, and read.

Mostly books.

She avoided the screen that week.

Tuesday night, Wednesday day, Thursday, Friday, Saturday.

She'd touch herself occasionally, just to see.

Nope.

Maybe. Just the faintest echo of the memory of a tingle.

Sunday.

Nope.

Monday.

Oh god, Monday.

IX

It hit during Spanish.

Paloma Garza, the Latina sitting on her desk, legs slightly parted, her plump, plumpish, thighs flattening on the desktop, her smooth skin wrapping the round knobs of her knees, the crease between her thighs barricading that precious glimpse of panties.

Sra. Garza smiled at Jessica sitting in the second row; she smiled behind wide, pink-framed glasses, dark pink tortoise, wearing a dark green skirt and just about the cutest pink blouse Jessica ever saw.

It was the last few weeks of the Spring semester, the weather was warm, and the girls all dressed in shorts or skirts.

It came first as a smell, a scent, an overpowering aroma rushing over her.

Pungent, spicy. The smell of blood, metallic and organic.

The fragrance of the body, sweat, the odor of pit and thigh, barely concealed by perfume, deodorant.

Scent became light, and light fell on Paloma, sitting on her desk, her thighs slightly parted, her breasts, her tits swelling behind her pink blouse, unbuttoned to show the line of her cleavage, her breasts, her tits pressed together, squeezed one against the other by the black lace of her bra.

Jessica realized she was slowly humping her chair, thrusting her cunt forward and down against her seat.

She wanted to touch her clit so bad; she knew it must be rock hard, a little pebble irritating her sensitive clitoral hood.

Moisture pooled between her thighs, fluids dripped from her cunt, her pussy.

She sat back, looked down, and saw the small puddle.

My god.

What?

She remembered Ceci's warning.

If she stayed, if she stayed sitting in that desk any longer, she knew she would prop her legs on the desk, and rub herself, spreading her legs, showing her pussy for all the class to see, for Señora Paloma Garza to see.

She quickly gathered her books and backpack.

"Lo siento, Señora, estoy muy enferma."

Jessica ran to the restroom. She couldn't make it to her room, she couldn't go another ten seconds without fucking herself, without fingering herself to a climax.

The odors hit again as soon as she burst into the women's room.

Above the urine, above the perfume, above the smell of crap and dirty tampons, it floated; rare and intoxicating it floated undefinable and present, the odor of woman, of womanhood, separate or perhaps the sum of all odors in the restroom.

She threw open the door of the middle stall, the only unoccupied stall, yanked her shorts down with her panties, and pushed her fingers into her wet hole, taking only enough time to luxuriate in the feeling of her hot, slippery lips under her soft pubic hair, red like her hair, redder than auburn, but not cherry red.

Not that red.

She heard the women in the stalls on either side; she could smell them, almost she could see them, feel them, so close. She spread her feet wide, both sneakered feet pulling her shorts and panties wide, and her fingers sank into her.

She wanted to enjoy this.

She wanted to feel and enjoy the sensation of her pussy in a way she rarely did, of discovering and admiring her lips, her depths, her wetness, and her warmth with her fingers, to worship her cunt with her fingers, but she needed to come so bad.

So bad.

She jammed her fingertips against her rock-hard clit, extended like the bullet of a handgun.

And then she did.

She came.

She beat one wall of her stall with the palm of her hand, throwing her head back, trying to muffle her scream with her other fist, but.

A girl could only do so much to hide fucking herself.

Not in a restroom.

Not in a full restroom.

A girl couldn't do anything to hide an orgasm like that.

She yanked her shorts and panties up over her legs, her hips, grabbed her backpack off the hook on the door, and fled, head down.

She didn't wash her hands.

She just couldn't face meeting a woman eye to eye.

When she stepped off the elevator onto her floor, it hit again.

An all-girls floor, hallways filled with the stench of wine, beer, vodka, vomit, incense, marijuana, perfume, and girl aroma.

Fifty rooms and almost fifty pairs of vaginas.

Of pussy.

Of cunt.

The smell of it filled the hallway.

She locked the door behind her, threw herself on her bed, yanked her clothes off and plunged her fingers into her hot hole, so wet, so welcoming.

After her third orgasm, she began to take her time, relaxing into the magic of her sex.

She parted her lips with two fingers, enjoying the shivering sensation, the immense almost aching pleasure of surrounding her hole with an orchestrated affection.

Her pussy felt so good.

Pussy felt so good. So good.

So warm, so wet, so soft, so hot.

So hot.

She opened her laptop to her bookmarked porn.

She wanted to look at cock when she came, staring at the hard chests of the male actors, their hard cocks spewing out white come, but she stared at the open cunts of the females, the women, fucking their hot, curved asses at the cocks behind them, or lying on their backs, so lovingly wrapping their long, curved legs around the man, who only pumped and pumped and grunted.

They sounded so, the men, so.

Piggish.

Completely oblivious of how much a woman could give them.

But the women, oh god. The women.

How could a murmur, a moan, a sigh hold so much longing?

She spent the rest of the day, far into the night, masturbating herself continuously to the moving images of lesbian porn, closeup shots of wet vaginas in long oval frames of fat, wet, gleaming labia, spread wide and lascivious or holding themselves thin and demure around the precious hole, and, sometimes, sometimes the dense fur of pubic hair, sometimes dark, sometimes blond, and sometimes even red.

Jessica listened to the endless sucking noises, the kisses and kissing, the wet sound of tongue and finger inside steaming wet holes. The endless feminine susurration of aching need, never quite fulfilled, of shuddering orgasms demanding one more shudder.

She sucked on her fingers repeatedly that night, and when she fell asleep, tasting her pussy, she knew, she just knew, that she had to taste it again.

But another girl's pussy.

Not just her own.

She had a whole floor full of it outside her door.

She closed her laptop, turned on her noise machine, and fell into lewd dreams of soft feminine limbs and warm feminine bodies, of heavy breathing, suspirations of lust, and high-pitched cries of delight.

Yeah, there. Oh yeah, there. There.

X

She woke up far past midnight, in a sweat, anxious and desperate for a cigarette.

She could open her window, lean out, sneak a smoke.

At this hour nobody would smell it; nobody would see her.

A sharp pang of panic shot through her.

She'd thrown all her cigarettes away, soaking them in water first, a week ago.

She'd tossed even her hidden cigarettes away.

Not even a butt remained.

That initial horniness had passed, vanished, leaving her mind clear but full of doubt.

She wasn't into girls.

She'd known that since high school.

More than a few boyfriends had wanted to see it, wanted to see her do it with another girl, had wanted a threesome.

She gave in one time.

Almost.

The other girl started touching her, feeling her up, but she pushed her away, jumped up and fled.

It just didn't seem right, and she didn't like the look in the guy's eyes.

He dumped her later, took up with the other girl.

But she'd already found someone too.

A good guy, in his own way.

Soft-spoken, but demanding. Taught her to take her time with sucking him off, was patient. She'd listen, attentively, making sure to do it right, and then he started doing it right, she took his cue, told him where to lick, what to suck, where it felt good, so good. When to go soft and when to go hard, real hard.

She'd look at him, blowing him, staring into his eyes as he came down her throat, learning to swallow everything, learning to enjoy it.

And she did.

That look in his eyes, soft and proud, full of vulnerable cunning.

But they broke up, too.

All that masturbation, all that horniness, my god. Fucking herself in the bathroom like that.

And tonight. God.

What was she thinking?

She didn't like girls.

She didn't like their personalities, not really.

She knew them too well.

Dr. Faro had told her it would be like that, she suddenly realized.

Told her to expect it.

What she didn't expect was that arousal around women, other women.

Digging through her purse, she felt loose tobacco at the bottom, and then she touched it, a loose cigarette, hidden at the bottom of Carmex, lipstick, spare change, dollar bills, makeup, her thin, metal, gold-colored lighter, and sundries.

Pulling it out with trepidation, she found it bent but intact.

And eminently smokable.

She flung open her window and lit the cigarette, pulling on it in a long, slow drag of an expected relief that never came.

Instead, she began coughing and choking immediately.

Her mouth and lips burned on contact with nicotine, and she hurriedly ran to her toilet to throw the offensive white stick away.

She spun around her room, spraying air freshener.

She bent her arm over her shoulder, touched her patch, and exhaled, worried.

Was it the patch?

I never liked lesbian porn before. I never liked women before. Not in that way.

They've never turned me on.

I mean, the thing did suppress my sex drive.

Maybe it did something to my brain?

A worried look crept across her face as a rising panic began to swell through her.

"Take it off, take it off, take if off!"

She jumped at the sound of her own voice.

She didn't talk to herself like a crazy woman jabbering down the sidewalk.

She was sane.

But she knew she was right, she needed to take it off, and she needed to take it off now.

She felt along the edge of the pack.

Just about to pry the edge loose, she saw another shining pink package on the night table by her bed.

So pink on the night table, hot pink.

But then, she suddenly understood.

She laughed at her naiveté. Of course, she lived on a woman's floor, she'd masturbated in the women's restroom, her Spanish class was full of female students, just one or two boys when she thought about it.

She was just so turned on, was all.

She was just so turned on, anything made her horny, added to her arousal.

She wanted sex like she used to want cigarettes, and women surrounded her.

Her arousal bent towards them, so to speak. Used them in place of anything else. In place of men.

Her nerves were shattered, she knew that, and she still wanted that cigarette, even though the thought of it made her feel ill, nauseated, sick.

She remembered Dr. Faro's advice to wear more than one patch if the desire to smoke became too strong to resist.

Like now, for example.

She laughed aloud again.

The very idea.

God, I mean.

It was so stupid.

What am I, five?

A patch that turned women queer.

I really need to go back to sleep.

She opened the shiny pink package, peeled off a translucent pink square patch, lifted her T-shirt up, then removed it completely. She felt for the patch already there, then placed the other patch, the new patch next to it.

She shivered at the cold sensation, but as the patch warmed, she suddenly recalled the light contact of Dr. Faro's fingertips on her skin. Cecilia's fingertips. So soft and tender.

Dr. Faro, Cecilia. She's been so kind to me, Jessica thought as she drifted back to sleep. So nice. Ceci.

And pretty, too.

So pretty.

Jessica woke up with her fingers in her wet snatch, grinding away at her hand to an intense orgasm.

Instinctively, almost instinctively, she raised her fingers to her lips to suck on her juices.

Pussy, she thought.

God, I love pussy.

She snapped fully awake.

What? But.

Oh, god. No.

Why not?

She stayed in her room all morning, skipping her classes.

So she could masturbate to loud lesbians in screaming orgasms.

Then she left for her appointment at Ceci's place.

She had so many questions.

XI

Ceci stood facing Grace with Jessica between them, her shirt and bra off, tossed carelessly to the carpeted floor.

Grace stood taller than either Ceci or Jessica.

Her hands traveled the slopes and valleys of Jessica's body attentively, skillfully.

Sensually.

"You need to take off your shorts, dear. And your panties."

She did too. She really did need to take them off.

Ceci pulled her shorts and panties down, Jessica's ass and pussy shivered to the sudden thrill of it all, so nude in front of these two women, so lovely and warm.

Jessica stood between Ceci and Grace, perfectly and splendidly nude, freckled, her red mane falling in dense waves around her neck, separating at her shoulders to fall in sheets over her back and over her front.

Ceci parted her hair where it covered her pale breasts, her milky tits hanging like large pears from her chest, soft globes so sensitive at the tips, her red nipples hard and erect.

Grace, standing behind Jessica, spoke up.

"Her moles are fine. Nothing to worry about. Let's set an appointment, though."

Jessica exhaled with relief.

"Spread your legs, honey," Ceci said softly, almost whispering, her breath blowing hot on Jessica's face. "Grace is going to fuck you from behind, and I'm going to suck on your hot, sexy cunt."

Ceci pulled back and smiled affectionately.

"See? I told you you'd have sex again."

Jessica was far too turned on by this moment to offer any resistance. Her mind spluttered a few inchoate words of protest, but last night had already decided things for her, as far as she was concerned.

Pussy. I need to fuck pussy, lick it, kiss it. Touch it. I need women to love me. I need to love women.

God Ceci and Grace are so hot.

Ceci knelt between Jessica's thighs.

Jessica shifted her feet outward; Grace gripped her upper body, under her arms to steady her.

She leaned, covering Jessica's neck with soft kisses, and nibbled on her ear.

Jessica heard Grace inhale deeply.

"God. Your hair smells so nice."

One of Grace's hands drifted down the full length of Jessica's curved side, caressing her hips and the round swell of her ass, full and wide, before moving her hand between her crack, her ass crack.

And then her finger, Grace's middle finger, slipped inside her, spreading her fat, hot, swollen lips with her two long fingers, parting her pussy from behind while her thumb felt for and found the rim of her asshole.

Jessica jerked, but Grace held her steady.

"That's it, girl," she nibbled into her ear. "You're good. So good."

The tip of Grace's thumb dipped into her anal ring.

"You're going to eat so much ass today. So much girl ass. You ready to learn, girl? You ready to ace ass-eating?"

Ceci giggled, and Jessica gulped. Then she nodded slowly.

She was ready to ace ass-eating.

Jen tapped on the door and entered.

"I locked the door and closed for the day," she said, raising the bottom of her black T-shirt and pulling it over her head.

Jessica licked her lips, seeing the girl's small tits, her areolas large like two tarnished half-dollars.

The girl looked so different today.

She wore dark purple, almost black lipstick, black mascara, makeup brightened almost to white tapering to the natural flesh of her lower neck and chest.

Her dark shoulder-length hair was now cut or styled in a disheveled, jagged bob, dyed jet black.

Ceci stood up to plant her mouth on the front of Jessica's neck, long slow kisses that would leave their marks.

Then she dropped to her knees.

When her lips touched Jessica's mound, the coed screamed.

"Oh god, yes."

Ceci grabbed the back of Jessica's ass, pressing her forward against her mouth while she nibbled and sucked on Jessica's clit, urging her tongue down to touch Grace's fingers, lock inside the girl's hot cunt, wet with Ceci's spit and her own fast-flowing juices.

Jen, pulling down her denim skirt, stepped up to Jessica, still in her socks and black boots, calf-high on three-inch platform heels.

Jen, shorter and smaller than Jessica, leaned up to kiss her with her dark lips.

Jen's lips pressed against Jessica's, but Jessica didn't move, her lips stayed tight, locked against intrusion.

This was it.

Neither Ceci nor Grace had kissed her, directly kissed her, kissed her openly on the mouth.

For all her excitement, for all her arousal, for all her need to be eaten, and to be eaten by a woman, for all her need to kiss, to taste, to lick pussy - and ass, girl ass - Jessica resisted the kiss.

Had this all begun with a kiss, she might have felt otherwise.

So turned on, so heated, enflamed, the kiss would have served as a preliminary, a beginning, the first spark of dried tinder primed to ball into open flame.

But now it seemed much more than that.

It sealed her.

Confirmed her.

To kiss a girl, another girl, to kiss a girl years younger than she, to kiss a freshman, while another woman, an older woman fucked her pussy and ass with her fingers and thumb, while a third woman, an older woman, kissed her pussy, her maddening pussy, tongued her hard clit mercilessly, could only signify one thing.

Lesbian.

She was a lesbian.

No sooner had that word flashed in her mind than she shuddered, acknowledging the full truth.

Her lips parted, and Jen's tongue slipped between hers.

Jessica's head swirled, her mind lurched, and her tongue tasted Jen's dark lipstick, the first time she'd ever tasted lipstick in a kiss.

It wouldn't be her last time.

She came, and came hard, with Grace's thumb deep in her ass, her fingers clutching her pussy, Ceci's mouth sucking her clit, Jen's hands molding her tits, and her tongue, Jen's tongue, deep in her mouth.

She came, and came hard, pinching the hard nipples of the girl's small tits, large apricots in her hands, pinching her nipples and then holding her hands, her palms, flat against Jen's breasts, her boobs, her tits, as she came, and came, and came.

Moments later, Jen climbed on a small sofa, a loveseat pushed up against the wall of Ceci's office.

She knelt on all fours and raised her ass, her small round ass, to Jessica, who understood immediately.

She dropped to her knees, creeping towards the girl's cunt and ass.

"Go ahead, pretty girl," Jen said, "Eat my ass. Lick my dirty cunt."

She felt a woman's arms and hands on her back, stroking her flanks, her hips, her ass softly.

Ceci knelt beside her, leaning into her ear, whispering encouragement.

"Oh god, girl. You've got this. You really do. I know you're just going to love going down on Jen. And look! The way she's ready for you, kneeling like that, your nose is going to be right in her asshole while you lick her nasty, dirty cunt, so hot and wet for you. Won't you like that, pretty girl?"

Ceci's tone teased her, but Jessica couldn't mistake the genuine affection, the real tenderness in her teasing.