What Turned Me On Pt. 10

Friday after Mary and I had sex, I was on cloud nine. I felt like I was floating on air. There were feelings of excitement and joy that I had lesbian sex. I had accomplished something I had wanted for a while and had done it with someone I cared for very much, which made me happy and proud. A sense of glowing knowing it was something I did on my own. Something I never thought I would have done, something I wanted, something I had set my sights on, and something, as scary as it was, I accomplished. And truth be told something I truly felt I liked.

But there were also moments of fear and anxiety, because of what I had done. One of those Holy Fuck moments because I had sex with a woman! That fear of what would happen if anyone discovered my sexual exploit. Fear that my Ex-husband would find out, and be an ass about it. The fear that my mom would hear it and clutch her chest, hearing her daughter had sex with a woman. That my friends would judge me because of it. It was an emotional swing back and forth throughout the day. And even though Mary and I were texting as usual, as if nothing happened, I wondered if she was feeling the same way.

I was concerned. You bet I was. I kept thinking to myself, what happens when I go back to work Monday and someone asks me how my holiday was? Was I supposed to be like, "Oh, I had a nice family dinner and then had sex with Mary!" I mean seriously. I could see why she was so concerned about "having a girlfriend." Maybe it was something neither of us were ready to accept, or willing to admit.

Then the deep thoughts kicked in. What if Mary and I became way more involved, fell in love, and dated for a long time? What if I liked women, more than men? How would I even begin to come out to family and friends as bisexual or even as a lesbian? But as much as reality had hit home that we had sex, my mind couldn't stop thinking about kissing her and making love to her. Reliving our conversation in my foyer, the passion that followed. Walking her to my room, knowing we were going to have sex. Undressing her, seeing her pussy, eating her out, seeing her face between my legs making me cum, and falling asleep naked, cuddled together. Which as comforting and erotic as it was, was the cause of all of my panicking.

I kept remembering what Mary said to me about being scared of dating, and sleepovers, and now amid my overthinking polarizing thought swings, I got what she meant. I remember her saying, "It wasn't the sex". And that phrase kept resonating in my head. Why was the sex irrelevant, but the dating and companionship so troubling?

As unrelated as it is at this moment of the story, it turns out that Mary had fibbed a bit in saying she had never done this before. The phrasing of; "I have never done this before," wasn't about the sex. It was about having that consistent, ongoing dating, friendship, communication, lust, companionship, time together, and desire, that for some odd reason, she just couldn't accept.

As I later learned Mary did have lesbian experiences before me. Mary told me she had done it twice. One in HS and a second in college. Both girls were only one time each but were just - as she defined - horny, drunk opportunities. However, it turns out the one from HS, pressed Mary to date openly and on a more serious level. Back at that time, you weren't gay or lesbian, so it freaked Mary out, which was why the whole idea of "dating a woman" never sat well with her. In detail, I understood there was some turmoil with that girl and she had purposely cut off all communications and hoped the one-night-stand never came out. To save her name and grace in that era. Although she openly admitted she always felt Bi-Sexual, she never acted on it. Until that night anyway.

Her second experience in college was with a bartender at the local nightclub she frequented. She said they had befriended one another and had grown a fondness, and sexual tension between them. So, one night after closing the bar, she went to the bartender's apartment and they had sex. However, after waking up the next morning in the apartment, with another woman, she freaked out. She never did go into detail on the intimacy of either evening, I did get the point.

In her mind, she justified those experiences as exciting and fulfilling, but could never admit to wanting "that type of relationship; or dating someone of the same sex." Which all made sense when I found this out. For Mary, the "commitment" to a lesbian relationship wasn't a thing she believed she should do. The sex was fine, but the whole "this is my girlfriend" made her uncomfortable. Being a good Catholic girl, born in the 70's, and raised through the 80's; coupled with her upbringing, parents, friends, social pressures, etc., kept her from experiencing something she was interested in, but could never admit to. But I am getting ahead of myself, so I'll go back to the weekend after Thanksgiving.

I had the house to myself until Sunday night, and as much as I wanted to go have a little solo playtime, one of my favorite pastime activities when I was alone, my pussy was sore. My mouth and jaw were still achy and I just didn't have the energy. It's always one thing to get yourself off and move along, but when someone else does it to you, and does it multiple times, it surely can leave you a bit more tender than normal.

I knew I wasn't going to see Mary the rest of the weekend, she had picked up her kids Friday and they were with her all weekend. And as much as I lacked the energy to get motivated, I knew I had to start going through old boxes and old clothes to minimize my move coming early next year. I figured it best that I get through some of this now, while I had peace and quiet, then when the youngsters were here driving me crazy.

Sunday afternoon, I was digging through the last box of stuff in the attic when I came across some of my old college items. Some old pictures, some memorabilia, an old T-shirt I saved from my sorority house. But what I found in the bottom of the box made me chuckle.

During the last two years at college, I lived in the sorority house, in my own room. I had become accustomed to being alone and not being able to have boys over for intercourse. Note *** Not that it happened often, *** but when I was dating, we usually had to find a place outside of his dorm room, or my room, because in most cases we couldn't be alone. I'm almost embarrassed to say, but occasionally during times of need, I started relying on a smooth rubber-based, long-handled hair brush to penetrate me to orgasm. It was in essence the average size and length of a normal male penis and I could grab the large bristles using them as the handle and do, whatever I needed to do in the privacy of my room.

During those lonely nights of utmost horniness, because my BF and I couldn't be together, I'd use that brush to get me off. Mostly in my bed, but sometimes I'd use it in the shower and get off under the warmth of the water. Truth be told, that brush was my first anal experience. And probably some of my better anal experiment memories. I guess I had tucked it away in the box with other important college room materials, believing when I moved back home, I would need it. I don't remember if I even unpacked that box when I moved back home, or even used that brush again, even for my hair.

I chuckled at myself because I started to remember the "big things" I used to masturbate about, which now seem like innocent soft-core porn movies, compared to the things I think about today. But as the memories heightened with that brush in my hand, I started to feel like a college senior dying to be fucked, but having to rely on a brush. It brought me back to a much simpler time of life. I threw the brush on my bed rummaged through a few more items in the box, taped it up, and moved on, not giving it a second thought.

Shortly after I got a text from my ex, saying they were on their way. A bit later my three loud entities were back home and as much as my Thanksgiving week provided me with some newfound experiences, enjoyable moments, and frightening thoughts, my world was back to normal. I will say this though, as I briefly stood and talked to my asshole ex-husband at the door, I was as giddy as could be, almost wanting to tell him I had slept with a woman and I liked it better than his dick. But I refrained.

From Sunday afternoon on, I didn't hear much from Mary by way of text or calls. And it started to concern me. I began to wonder if I was going to be the third one-night stand and if I was never going to hear from her or see her again. I think that fear panicked me the most. I'd send little messages here or there, and either I would get no response, or very little response and I was starting to become overly emotional.

By Friday night I had finally decided I wasn't just going to sit idle. I needed to know what was going on. After dinner, I put the kids in front of the TV, put on a movie, and went into the other room. I called Mary but she didn't answer. And my heart sank. I didn't leave a message and just hung up when her voicemail came on and just sat looking down at my phone in a depressed state, believing this was over and I now had to move forward without her.

Twenty minutes later my phone rang, it was Mary. I answered and there was a brief moment of odd, unease conversation. But I finally just blurted out, "What's up? I haven't heard much from you all week. I wanted to make sure you're, okay?"

Mary explained she had just been busy with sick kids and getting back to work. She did say she had a thousand and one thoughts about what happened, but she couldn't talk about them now, but promised me she would text later and we could chat more that way.

I felt defeated. I knew, or at least believed, I was going to get the whole, I don't want to date women speech and I would be back to being alone, with my best friend gone from my life. As the night progressed, I still hadn't heard from her, so I gave up hope, got the kids to bed, and just went and laid down.

Just as I was drifting off when my phone dinged. It was Mary. Now I'm not going to sit here and write out every message, but as our conversation developed, she told me, she had a wonderful time on Thursday night. She told me she fell asleep with me but woke up at 4:00 A.M. and that's when she left. She related she had a million fears, and concerns, going through her head. But yet, kept reciting she loved talking to me, hanging out with me, and having me in her life. Over apologizing she had not texted or called, albeit wanting to, just not being able to.

Then Mary wrote something I will never forget, which changed the trajectory of our conversation. She wrote: Jill, I am falling for you. I told you that on Thursday. As much as I still can't quite digest the reality of having a girlfriend. All I thought about this week was you. I really like you, and can't imagine life without you. I want this, but it scares me to death.

I took a deep breath as the panic eased. I wrote back: Mary, I feel the same. I've never done anything like this too. Can we just continue moving forward and see where this goes? I don't want to lose your friendship. We can take it slow, it's new for both of us.

Her reply: Yes. That's probably the best idea. With the request of: But we need to go slow.

My mind released a part of my fears and my shoulders relaxed for the first time in days. At least I had an answer. At least we agreed to continue being friends and see what develops. However, now that the sexual desire portion for me had been fulfilled, I had to digest the fact that I was falling in love with a woman, who was falling in love with me, and we were possibly going to embark on a relationship.

She wrote: Have you thought about us since Thursday? I mean, did you like it?" Did it turn you on? Would you do it again? Does this scare you?

My response was: Yes. I have been thinking about you all week. And I'm just as concerned as you are about where things might go. But yes, I loved it. Yes, it did. And yes, I'd do it again. And I am excited, interested, yet panicked. How about you?

A few minutes passed and she wrote back: YES, YES, and YES for me too. For all of it.

At that moment reading that, my stomach had butterflies, my hands were shaking and I knew or at least accepted, even though we both had our fears and concerns, we were interested in dating each other. We both enjoyed the sex, and we both wanted it again. I guess both of us had to come to grips with the fact that we might end up being "lesbians." That's a strong word to use as if it's a bad thing. But when you have never even consciously thought about that and now have to accept where things are heading. I guess we both had to actually say it, hear it, and understand it.

And truthfully as excited as I was that I wasn't a one-night stand, the thought of being a lesbian, and only dating a woman was frightening. Something I had never would have imagined. Nonetheless, I felt comfortable knowing it was her and we were going to take it slow and see what might develop. Either way, my life was going to change.

I took a big leap of faith and wrote: I am in bed right now, thinking about you. I am so excited to hear you've been thinking about me and are all YES to the questions. I want to kiss you again. I want to be alone with you again. I wish you were here right now. Mary, my hands are shaking, and my stomach is twirling. My heart is pounding. I'm so excited. I am getting wet.

A short time later, Mary replied with a smiley face Emoji and I thought for a second, that I had crossed the line, pushing too quickly. But moments later a second message read: Don't tease me like that. I am so horny today. I haven't stopped thinking about you since Thursday night and I really like to be lying right next to you kissing you too.

I was thrilled by her message. I was happy she was horny, thinking of me, and wanted to be here with me. I felt my body get rather flush, my loins ached and my pussy tingled. I couldn't believe how elated, relieved, turned on, and excited I was that she finally accepted - as I was accepting - that we wanted each other more than friendship, and admitted we were horny.

Hormones took over and I decided I was going to show her just how fucking horny I was. I lifted my shirt exposing my tits, and snapped a good picture. I wanted to caption it; come suck on these, but I didn't want to push too hard. Before I sent the picture, I wrote: I trust you with stuff like the following. I just want you to know how much I am interested in you. And I sent the tit picture.

Her reply to me was phenomenal. She wrote; WOW! Those are fabulous. Can I come suck on them?

Her response surprised me. I figured I'd get a smiley face or maybe a thumbs up, but to say she wanted to come suck on them, sent me into overload. My pussy throbbed. After a long week of being panicked I had lost her, panicked I had lesbian sex, not hearing from her as much, or as usual. Wanting to talk to her, wanting her in my life, wanting to have lesbian sex again. Wanting to hear she wanted this too. Wanted me to. The flood of emotions, the thoughts, the fears, my concerns, my overthinking, my sexual appetite, all being resolved, reduced, and confirmed by our chats, led me to one of the horniest moments I had ever been for anyone in my entire life.

I started rubbing, cupping, and groping my tits getting myself even more aroused. This time it wasn't me just fantasizing about a woman. In all aspects, I truly believe that moment was me accepting I wanted to be with a woman. I wanted a girlfriend. I needed that change. I wanted her to be playing with my tits, sliding her hand down into my panties, as I slid mine down hers. I wanted to show her how much I needed her mentally, but also physically. I lifted my blue yoga pants away from my waist and took a picture of my sexy pink panties sending her the picture and the message: Only if you play with this too!

I knew I was pushing the envelope, but after hearing she was okay with going forward, I wanted us to move forward and as horny as I was. I needed to move forward now.

Just as I sent off the panty picture to her, I received a picture of her in the mirror with her tits out, captioning it: The girls say Hello!

Followed by: I'd love to see those panties in person and play with what's underneath them.

At that moment, I lost all control. My hand went down my pants faster than I could have imagined. I began rubbing my clit while looking at her tits in the mirror, knowing I had touched them, squeezed them, and sucked on them just over a week before. I could feel her kiss and her body warmth and wished it was her hand in my panties.

It surely wasn't long before I slid my pants and panties down to my ankles, spreading my legs open, and I was rubbing my pussy deeply, slipping a finger or two in on occasion to feel filled. As I got more and more heated and more and more turned on, I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture of my pussy, captioning it: Mary, this is how horny I am. I want you here! I need your mouth and fingers.

I continued slowly masturbating just enjoying the excitement of thinking of her, looking at her tit picture, and re-living our Thanksgiving night together. It was an absolutely wild turn of events to be masturbating to thoughts of a female I had made love to and someone who was just as hot and horny for me, as I was for her. I didn't send any more pictures, because I had not got a reply to my pussy picture, but I was enjoying my time alone, fantasizing about her, feeling how wet and slippery I was.

But then I received two picture messages from her. The first was of her pussy as she was standing naked. The second was of her with her fingers deep in her pussy. I looked at the pictures, fingering myself harder and harder, my mouth wide open, my nipples hard, with light moans and groans coming from my throat. I was almost to orgasm when my phone received another message. This time, it was a short video from her.

Mary sent me a 30-second video of her hand rubbing up and down over her pussy. She was lying in bed, legs spread wide open, her fingers circling her clit, softly moaning out my name as she went from rubbing her clit, to sliding two fingers up inside herself, bringing her closer to orgasm. I came just watching it. I was so aroused; that I could feel my juices dripping out of me. Hearing the squishy slapping sound my hand was making as I finger fucked myself. I wanted her tongue; I needed her fingers. I wanted to be licking, sucking, and fingering her pussy.

It was a rush I had never had before, even through all of my fantasies. Because now it was real, it wasn't a porn or some fantasy of Jane. I had sex with Mary. I had touched, fingered, and sucked her pussy. I wanted that pussy again. I didn't give a fuck about men, I wanted pussy. I wanted to be on my knees in front of her looking up at her as I ate her out. I wanted us in a 69 eating each other out. I wanted to hear her moaning, I wanted to feel her body shake when she came. I wanted her fingers so deep inside of me I would be screaming in pleasure. As scary as it may have been to think I was going to be dating her, to be a lesbian! At that moment there was nothing I wanted more than her.

I needed to be filled, I needed more than my fingers. My ass was begging for penetration. As I rolled over to get some lube from my drawer to play with my ass, I noticed my old hairbrush resting on top of my nightstand. Without hesitation, I whipped open my drawer and grabbed the lube and the brush. I squirted a very large amount of lube down over my pussy. I felt it run over my pussy lips, past my opening, and down the crack of my ass.

My fingers followed the lube trail, getting my skin beyond slippery. I watched Mary's video with one hand while I inserted the handle of that brush deep inside my pussy. I gasped for air as it went in, pushing it until the bristles poked my skin. I pumped and pushed and pressed it in deep and fast just watching Mary's fingers in her pussy.