Girl Fun One

by Miranda Forbes

  After that, I made a point of going into the bathroom right after she’d had her bath, when the warmth of her skin still lingered in the air. I inhaled her coconut shampoo, the hint of Ivory soap. I touched my breasts, imagining they were hers, hanging like ripe, oversized mangoes from my gamma’s Florida garden.

  I used to watch the mangoes every day when I spent my summers with her. I wanted to pick them right away but I knew if I left them a little longer, they would get bigger and juicier and soon, my patience would be rewarded with sweet, sticky yellow juice running down my hands as I bit into the succulent fruit.

  I’d imagined what Jane’s breasts would be like in three months when she entered her last trimester. They’d be all engorged with milk, like beautiful giant penises primed for ejaculation.

  I wanted them to come on me; I wanted her milk mingling with my juices in my pussy. I wanted to taste it, her life force flowing from her body into my open, hungry mouth. I didn’t realise I was pulling on my own nipples until I accidentally pinched one a little too hard. My pussy was an aching, twitching hole insistent on being filled. I felt an intense heat and an overwhelming need that had been building for months.

  I’d written many stories about running my tongue against the slickness of a pussy preparing to be a gateway into the world. An expecting pussy holds so much power, so much divine orchestration. In my dreams it’s always a transcendental experience.

  I hadn’t tasted anyone other than myself in a long time. I wanted to be fucked with something big and silicone with Jane attached to it. I parted my cunt with fingers sporting short nails with black polish. I was so wet it dripped down to the crack of my ass.

  I flipped over onto all fours and pushed my shoulders and tits into the bed. I slid my breasts against the coarse afghan quilt I’d bought from a pregnant vendor five years earlier on a trip to Morocco.

  I’d gone back to my hotel, wrapped myself in it and masturbated as I imagined her naked, her beautiful brown body glistening under mine as I enjoyed her exotic cunt.

  I stuck my ass in the air and placed my hands underneath me. I cupped my pussy then slipped my middle finger inside and caressed my wet lips. I eased the finger in then thumbed my swollen clit; pressing into it so hard I shuddered. I played with my pussy until my hand is frothy and my hips are bucking like a video vixen intent on hip hop glory.

  I replaced the wet hand with the dry one, flung the wet one over my hip, and tunneled my middle finger into my taut behind.

  I whispered Jane’s name, my voice a soft litany of confessions of all the things I wanted to do to her and with her. I pushed another finger into my pussy, groaned, and pushed in a third. It felt so good. My confessions soon turned into a prayer of sorts, of what I hoped would be until finally, conversation became too distracting and I bit down on my bottom lip. There’s no sound except for the wet, slushy music of finger fucking until I erupted in a groan that started out as a wail, then combined with my orgasm for a headlong rush through my entire body.

  As the weeks slipped by, the coffee house started taking its toll on Jane. Her manager allowed me to take over her shifts whenever she was too beat to make it in. Whenever she was able to go in, she came home half dead but loaded with tips.

  “I think most of the customers feel sorry for me at this point,” she said after flopping down on the bed.

  I’d help her out of her clothes and into a warm shower. She couldn’t get up out of the tub so easily any more. I sat on the toilet and asked her about her shift to keep her from falling asleep under the dribble of hard water my landlord kept reminding me I was lucky to have. Afterwards, I rubbed coco butter all over her beautiful body and we’d sip green tea and munch on dark chocolate brownies while she read me her poetry.

  “You really should join Spoken Word at the coffee shop,” I told her one night as we lounged on the couch. “Your poems speak to so much of what women are facing these days.”

  Her self-deprecating laugh touched me. “You mean like how we keep bringing children into our toxic little worlds and expect them to be well adjusted human beings?”

  “Then why don’t you just leave Brad and make a life with someone else?”

  She shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. I bring my own set of demons to our relationship. He wants to marry me, you know? His family is religious and they don’t want a bastard. But I don’t want him marrying me just because he knocked me up, I want him to do it because he loves me.”

  The baby kicked and we both placed our hands on her stomach.

  “This is so amazing,” she said breathlessly. “I still can’t believe there’s a life growing inside me.”

  “Do you think Brad loves you?” I asked.

  Jane popped the last piece of brownie in her mouth and chewed slowly before answering. “My mother doesn’t think I’m loveable. I’ve never allowed myself to believe it even though he tells me all the time.”

  I reached up and caressed the side of her face, smoothing her silky hair behind her ear. “In the time I’ve know you, I think you are exceptional in so many ways, Jane Bolin.”

  We stared at each other while my heart beat erratically in my chest.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Jane asked.

  I lowered my eyes. “I thought I was in love. Paul and I grew up together. Our families are both what you would call high society and my parents thought he was perfect for me. We were two months from walking down the aisle before I finally found the courage to call it off.”

  “It’s hard to escape your parents expectations, good or bad,” Jane surmised.

  I nodded. “I had to find how I felt about myself more than how I felt about Paul. I didn’t know who I was so I walked away from what was expected of me to find out.”

  Jane smiled. “And some kind soul took you in and now you’re returning the favour.”

  “I see a lot of myself in you,” I told her quietly.

  “And have you found yourself?” she asked.

  “I think I’ve always known, it was just a matter of accepting.”

  “So what were you hiding?”

  “How much I wanted to hold someone soft and female, how being with a woman makes so much sense since we’re wired in the same way. But maybe it’s just a fantasy and not something I really want.”

  “But you’re lonely, I can see it in your eyes,” Jane observed. “So, shouldn’t you at least find out?”

  I wiped at unexpected tears. “I guess. I’ve buried myself in my work, maybe because I don’t have the courage to actually put my heart out there for another woman to trample.”

  Jane reached out and took my hand. “I know what it feels like to be kicked in the teeth by love.” She caressed my palm with her thumb. “Maybe you can start with just giving your body, just enjoy being with a woman without stressing about finding someone to spend the rest of your life with.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek.

  I inhaled her scent. “Have you done this before, been with a woman?” I asked.

  “I don’t see people in terms of gender but in the kinds of connections I share with them,” she explained.

  “That must complicate things with Brad.”

  “Do you want to talk about Brad or do you want to fuck me?” she asked.

  “I want to fuck you,” I said simply but no four words had ever sounded so poetic.

  Jane leaned in and kissed my cheek softly, her lips barely a whisper on my overheated skin. She trailed down, her chocolate breath a mere caress until she reached my lips. The air caught in my lungs as her mouth descended and I held on to every millisecond until her softness exploded around me.

  Her tongue traced the contours of my lips before delving into the warmth of my mouth. She took her time, allowing me to get used to the texture of her tongue, the feel of it exploring, tasting, and taking. My hands went out and I clung to her as I tried to match her fervour. Jane knew how a woman liked to be kissed, and touched, I soon learned as her hands travelled down to my breasts.
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  I don’t remember when our clothes came off. That mundane memory has been blocked to make room for the feel of her skin against my hand, her heartbeat, slow and steady as we gazed at each other around the wonderment of what we shared.

  She sprawled out on the sofa. “I’m all yours,” she said opening her legs and her arms.

  I moved between them and kissed her until she begged me to go lower. I ran my tongue down the centre of her torso, down to her beautiful stomach bypassing the succulent milk-filled mounds. I was afraid of coming as soon as my mouth latched onto one big, glorious nipple. I felt the baby kick against my touch making my pussy twitch to the point of pain.

  I felt the heat from her pussy, calling me, luring me to the slickness between her thighs but I managed to resist by focusing on her heavy breasts. I touched them reverently, my fingers trembling against the taut skin.

  Jane sighed and bolstered the feeling that I was doing something right, I took her right nipple into my mouth. I suckled her like an infant, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to lie in her arms and have those massive tits hang over me. I wanted to drown in their taste and smell, in the life sustaining nectar that seemed so close. I knew if I suckled long enough and was patient, just like my grandmother’s mangoes, I’d be rewarded with the best fruit Mother Nature could make.

  I slid down her body and finally heeded the calls of her pussy. I explored hers carefully, despite her insistence that I was driving her out of her mind. Her wiggling hips didn’t help matters either. This was the first time I’d beheld the beauty of the pussy, it was like a Georgia O’Keefe painting, and I was spellbound. I wanted to worship at the altar of her cunt. She was wet and pleasantly musky and the feel of her against my tongue, all slick and pouting, was surreal.

  She screamed as I ate her, used my fingers to stroke her little nubbin of hard flesh. She creamed easily and came quickly, releasing a warm gush of pussy juice that ran down my chin. I looked up at her and smiled. Her face was dreamy but she managed to sit up.

  “Now let me show you what it feels like to be on the receiving end,” she offered.

  “No, there’ll be time for that later, there’s something else that I’ve always wanted to try.”

  Jane smiled curiously. “I’m game for anything.”

  I squatted over her, opened my pussy lips, and started rubbing my clit over her stomach. I was mindful that I had to be gentle but it took very little pressure on her before I came. I grabbed the back of the sofa and cried out as a glorious flush of pleasure washed over me.

  We moved to the bedroom where Jane showed me the joys of receiving. Over the next few months, we did use a strap-on and I finally tasted Jane’s milk, filling my mouth and my pussy. It was the best come, my addiction, and I wondered how I would live without it.

  I felt it when she was ready to leave, but I was too afraid to say anything. I guess she was too, because she chose a unique way to say goodbye, at the place where we’d first met.

  A single spotlight highlighted her onstage. Jane was truly breathtaking; her skin glowed from being pregnant and nervous about her first time pouring out her feelings to a room full of strangers. She sought my eyes in the crowd. I gave her the thumbs up. I’d assured her numerous times that her work was good and as she delved into her first poem the audience soon confirmed it. Their applause made it a little easier for her to move on to the next.

  After the last one we’d rehearsed, Jane surprised me with a dedication.

  “I want you to know how special you are to me,” she began looking right at me.

  As each line flowed, I realised she was breaking up with me. It was a goodbye poem, one in which she told me how I’d saved her life, how she would always love me, but she wanted to raise her baby with Brad.

  I don’t remember who started first, but soon we were both crying. I felt like my heart was breaking, but it wasn’t because she was leaving me. I wanted her to be with Brad. I knew how much she loved him.

  My heart broke for the woman I used to be, the one who’d spent her entire life trying to please her parents. Jane was the best way for me to ease into the lesbian lifestyle. I’d known my heart was safe with her because we’d shared so much of the same issues. And the sex was the most incredible experience of my life.

  When I got home Jane was gone and I was glad. I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye to her. She left a note reiterating what she said at the club. Her presence still lingered everywhere in the small apartment.

  I curled up in my bed, pressing my face into the pillow she’d slept on for seven months. It smelled of cocoa butter and Ivory soap, coconut shampoo and desire, our desire. I hugged it to me like a lover and fell asleep with Jane’s voice in my head and the essence of her wrapped all around me.

  The next morning I faced life after Jane. It hurt not having her at my poor excuse for a dining table, with the morning sun streaming through her hair as she ploughed through a stack of pancakes. I missed the companionable silence as we wrote or read side by side during the day and the nights we spent out on the strip of balcony talking about our futures.

  But as the days slipped by, I learned to live without her memory as my constant companion. About a month later, I got an e-mail stating she’d given birth to a baby girl and she and Brad were getting married. She invited me to the wedding and of course I plan to attend. Hopefully we can continue to be great friends, though I hold no illusions about us ever getting together again. My time with Jane was a gift, not a relationship. She was brought into my life at a time when I needed the courage to fully embrace who I am. I’ll always be grateful for that.

  Some people believe fantasies should remain as such, that it’s never as good as you’ve imagined them to be. I have to say that indulging in my fetish for pregnant women went beyond anything I could’ve dreamt up. It was truly incredible and the most amazing way to introduce me to the many joys of being with another woman. I have Jane to thank for that.

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