NICO’S LESBIAN FIRST TIME
My Own First Time Lesbian Experience
Nicolette Dane
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MANDY’S BEST FRIEND
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Copyright © 2015 Nicolette Dane
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All romantically involved characters within this book are consenting adults over the age of 18 and are not related by blood.
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EROTIC STORIES BY NICO
My Pregnant Stepsister
A Milky Mess On My Dress
My Lesbian Stepsister Got Pregnant
Anna Is 18, Pregnant, And Has To Pee
The Only One Who Gets Me
Last Night At Camp Pinebush
Road Trippin’ No Panties
40-Love: Serving My Tennis Coach
Rich Girls Don’t Wear Panties
Lick My Finish Line
Lily’s Kinky Cabin Affair
Farm Girls No Panties
Kissing On Our Camping Trip
Our Diverse Lusty Desires
The MILFs of Muffy Lane
My Braceface Girlfriend
Sweating With My Trainer
MY OWN FIRST TIME LESBIAN EXPERIENCE
It all happened back when I was in college. This was in 2001 and I had just turned 21. I was really into theatre at the time, double majoring in theatre and English. I wasn’t a great actor, I wasn’t even a good actor, so I quickly fell into stage management after my first year at school and ended up working backstage for a lot of the shows that the department put on.
After my junior year, I stuck around at my midwestern state school during the summer to do summer stock theatre, a great time of the year often filled with debauchery and lust. This was the time when many of the theatre students would hook up, party, drink too much, smoke too much, and generally just live their lives like they were real professional theatre people. It was definitely a liberating time of life.
What was great about summer stock is that it wasn’t just students involved like the school year productions were. Since many students went home for summer vacation, the theater department pulled in various people from the community, faculty, teachers from other departments who were interested, actors that the department head knew, really whoever liked theatre and was mildly talented. It was a great learning experience to work with these people and us students found out during this time that just because someone was over 30 that didn’t mean they didn’t also like to party.
I was the student stage manager in charge of Hamlet that summer. Usually we did three shows over the summer – one Shakespeare drama, some other goofy period comedy, and something modern. I was happy to get assigned to Hamlet, primarily because I loved Shakespeare but also because Diana was cast as Hamlet’s mother Gertrude. Diana was an adjunct professor in the English department that I had seen around the department building, though I never had one of her classes.
Diana was a stunning woman. Hilarious and witty, intellectual and strong, and just absolutely gorgeous. Her pale alabaster skin beamed, she had long natural dirty blonde hair, cerulean blue eyes, and she quite often wore bright red lipstick. Diana was a slim woman and tall, with a small perky chest and skinny limbs. Take a look at the cover of this book and you’ll get a good idea of what she looked like – the picture isn’t her, obviously, but I was amazed when we found this cover image to use because it looks so much like her it’s uncanny.
In addition to my theatre work, I was also a writer (still am!) and another thing that totally made me melt over Diana was that she too was a writer and had been published. She had a book of short stories out from one of the major publishers and it was good. I mean, really good. I loved her book and I wanted so bad to get into one of her classes. But being an adjunct, she didn’t teach too much at my school and often bounced around to various colleges. Still, I was drawn to her. I wanted to be her.
Diana was 35 at the time, but she didn’t look it. She could have easily passed for a student. Just thinking about her right now as I type this, I’m getting woozy over her beauty. She was the perfect, lovely artist-type. Caring, helpful, inclusive, Diana just dripped sexuality.
Naturally, all the theatre guys wanted to fuck Diana. I overheard one of the guys, Scott, talking to some of the others saying, “I’m totally gonna bang Diana this summer. We’ll get drunk at the cast party and I’ll get her to come back with me to my apartment.” Then a few other boys piped in, saying it was they who would screw Diana, and it soon became sort of a contest. Of course, all these immature theatre boys didn’t have the balls to even approach her in a flirty way. They would instead just silently cream themselves every time she walked by.
I had just broken up with my boyfriend before the end of the school year. He was a brooding writer who pretentiously fancied himself as some sort of depressive David Foster Wallace type, yet the copy of Infinite Jest on his bookshelf didn’t even have a broken spine. When Wallace died a few years back, I thought of my ex and looked him up. He works in advertising now writing commercial copy selling sausages or something. I’m sure he’s even more depressed now than he was back then.
As summer approached, I just didn’t want to be attached and I had had enough of this guy who rarely wanted to fuck me and wasn’t even that good of a writer, so I jettisoned the baggage and entered summer stock with a clean slate, an open mind, and a free spirit.
When we started production of Hamlet, I at first hung around mostly with my theatre friends. The older people in the cast, like Diana, just seemed kind of far off from us. Why would they want to talk with a bunch of students? But as rehearsal went on, we all naturally grew closer and to my surprise, Diana often engaged me in conversation. There I was, just a 21-year-old student stage manager, and Diana – professor, published author, star of all the boys’ wet dreams – was hanging around me, chatting with me, cracking jokes. After a while, my other student friends didn’t seem so cool… Diana was the one who had her shit together.
Backstage during one of Hamlet’s famous soliloquies, Diana stood next to me as we watched the rehearsal. Hamlet began the speech:
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d
His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
As he whined through these lines, Diana leaned over to me, placed her hand on my back and spoke in a soft whisper.
“Hamlet’s such a pussy,” she said, really giving the word ‘pussy’ a lurid emphasis.
I couldn’t help it and I burst out laughing, throwing Hamlet a bit of his game, and I had to hold my clipboard over my face to stifle the giggles. Diana rubbed my back to help calm me down, a devious grin plastered across her lips.
After that, Diana knew she had found a kindred spirit and would often saddle up next to me when she wasn’t needed on stage, delivering one-liners and snarky remarks. Her wit and humor
was unmatched by anybody I knew and she could really turn a phrase. The writer side of her knew how to manipulate the English language to do her bidding, and the actor side of her could spit it all out at you.
One evening after rehearsal, Diana approached me casually wearing a loose orange ribbed tank top, obviously no bra on underneath as her small breasts hung effortlessly, and a pair of almost too short khaki shorts. Her blonde hair spilled out from either side of her head, draping down over her shoulders, with a pair of sunglasses pushed up atop her head. Diana’s pale skin had grown pink on her shoulders, revealing smatterings of light sun freckles.
“Nico,” she said, scooting up next me and taking me by the arm. “Let’s you and me bust out of here and get a drink.”
“Sure,” I replied. “Want to see if anyone else wants to tag along?”
“Nope,” Diana said. “Just you and me. It’ll be fun.”
“Cool,” I said with a bit of nervousness. She and I had never gone out alone before, so I was a bit anxious about the invitation. “Where do you want to go?”
“Exile on Main Street,” she said, referring to one of the more upscale bar-restaurants in town named after the Rolling Stones album. The bar was literally on Main Street, an attempt at being clever that only appears so the first time you hear it. Despite the somewhat corny name, the place was a good hangout and specialized in wine. It was nowhere near the standard college dive bar style that many of us were used to patronizing.
My mind was racing with how our conversation would go. I adored Diana, her beauty and her brains, and I had just recently finished her book of short stories so I worried that I would go all fangirl on her and ask her silly questions about writing.
“Get your stuff and meet me in the parking lot in ten,” said Diana, letting her hand fall off of my arm. I could feel a light coating of sweat where her palm had been, coolly evaporating off my skin with the evening summer breeze. I just nodded and smiled at her command, watching her as she turned away from me and trotted off into the theatre building, her small ass pumping back and forth as she walked.
We sat in a rustic wooden booth at Exile, the restaurant darkened, our table lit only by an antique lamp hanging above us. Diana was across from me, sitting cross-legged and barefoot in the booth, her flip flops overturned on the ground below her. We both fingered a glass of red wine, the rest of the bottle in a carafe at the edge of the table. Between us was a bowl of baked artichoke dip and pita chips for dipping.
“You know,” Diana started, swirling the wine around in her glass absentmindedly. “You and I have talked a lot, but I feel like I don’t really know you. Tell me, dear, who is Nicolette Dane?”
I didn’t know how to respond to such an open-ended question without sounding silly or young or immature. Should I say I was a writer? That I wanted to be a writer like her? Would she then engage me in writer topics in which I had no experience? Again, the anxiety crept in and I felt put on the spot. Lost and confused.
“I guess,” I said, fumbling a bit and trying to find my words. “I guess I just don’t know anymore. I thought I did but now I’m not so sure.”
“Why’s that?” Diana said, a smile curling on her lips. She could tell I was nervous and it put a saucy spark in her blue eyes.
“I recently broke up with my boyfriend,” I said. “He was a pretentious idiot.”
“I see,” said Diana nodding. “That’s a step in the right direction.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I said. After I asked this question, Diana laughed and shook her head.
“No,” said Diana. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“All the theatre guys talk about trying to hook up with you,” I admitted, wanting to turn the conversation away from myself.
“That’s funny,” said Diana. “Not a single one of them has even tried.”
“Would you?” I said, reaching for my wine to take a sip.
“Would I hook up with one of those theatre boys?” repeated Diana. You could see in her face that she found the thought amusing. “No, dear, I definitely would not.”
“Too young for you?” I asked.
“Nico,” Diana said, looking me in the eyes. She reached across the table and softly took my hand and held it with both of her hands. “I’m a lesbian.”
“A lesbian?” I said with a stammer. “So you like women.”
“That does appear to be the definition of lesbian,” Diana teased, pulling her hands back and going in for her wine.
“I mean, I know plenty of lesbians,” I said. “It’s the theatre department after all.” Diana laughed at my joke and smiled at me.
“I just… I didn’t take you for a lesbian,” I said, instantly regretting the judgment and feeling embarrassed.
“We come in all shapes and sizes,” said Diana. “Just because I look like the kind of woman all the men want to bang, that doesn’t mean I don’t instead prefer pussy.”
“I know,” I said sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it come out like that.”
“Don’t let it dampen our good time,” she said with a smile. “You say that you recently broke up with your boyfriend,” Diana continued. “Have you given any of those lesbians you know a try?”
“Are you trying to convert me, Diana?” I replied, revealing a toothy grin. She laughed at me and tossed her head back, her breasts gently bouncing beneath the fabric of her tank top, her nipples poking out against the garment.
“You’re sharp,” she said. “I knew I liked you.” Diana took a long sip from her wine glass. As she set it back down, I noticed a red lipstick mark at the top of the glass.
“Why do you always wear lipstick?” I said, pointing to her glass. “I mean, it looks great on you. I’m just wondering.”
“It makes me feel sexy,” Diana said with a smile and shrug. “Why not?”
“Fair enough,” I said.
“Listen,” said Diana. “Why don’t we finish up this wine,” she said, tapping the near-empty carafe. “And then head to my place and crack open another bottle. I’m housesitting this amazing house over the summer, you’ve got to see it.”
“Okay,” I said eagerly, going back in for another drink of wine.
I wasn’t naïve, despite my nervousness. I knew where Diana was going with this. And as I looked upon my life at that time, feeling open and free, Diana’s invitation was interesting and welcomed. When honestly thinking about it, I had felt something different for some of my girlfriends in the past that I couldn’t quite explain. A desire, an attraction. But it wasn’t something I ever consciously entertained because, well, I was a straight woman who dated guys. Those feelings that I remembered having were the same feelings I had when I first saw Diana in the halls of the English department and when I began working closely with her on Hamlet. It was novel and curious and on a certain level I embraced the anxiety it caused me. A glutton for punishment, they say. I suppose that’s who I was at that time.
Diana was right about the place she was housesitting. It was beautiful. Although it was a single floor ranch home, it was big and spacious, decorated in a modern aesthetic with wide-open rooms. She told me she was close with one of the university regents and she’d often spend time out west during the summer, calling on friends like Diana to stay at her place while she was away.
We hung out in the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen island, each with a glass of wine in our hands. As I worked through my wine, my anxiety began to dissipate and I grew more relaxed, happy to be having a rousing conversation with Diana. She was naturally relaxed, waggish, letting her actor side recite her obvious seduction techniques. I noticed her cheeks becoming slightly rosy as the wine did its trick. She had a beautiful smile, a knowing smile, and inspiring joy in her was its own reward.
As we talked, innuendo seemed to pour out of her and this attention made me begin to feel aroused. She would speak certain lines and they would send tingles through my body, stimulating a mounting dampness between my thighs. I found myself growing mo
re and more attracted to her as the evening went on, her beauty multiplying as we both became more comfortable.
“Tell me, Nico,” she said. “What do you think of me?”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Do you like me?” she said.
“Of course I do,” I said. “You’re terrific. You’re fun and smart and inspiring.”
“Inspiring?” Diana questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re a successful writer,” I started, giving her a chuckle. “A professor…”
“Adjunct,” she interrupted.
“You’re very pretty,” I said, my guard loosened from the wine. “I want to be like you.”
“You’re very pretty, too,” Diana said, slinking over next to me. “And all that other stuff, it’s not all that great.” She was being modest, but I still adored her.
I felt Diana’s hand at my lower back, tenderly caressing me through my t-shirt. The fabric stuck against me as sweat began to accumulate on my skin. She was so close to me, I could feel her aura. Looking to her, I saw kindness in her face and lust in her eyes.
We remained silent for a moment, just simply looking at one another. My anxiety was creeping back, my heart fluttering. I knew what was happening but I just could not believe it. I felt out of my own body, like it was a dream, like I was the star of a movie I was watching.
Then Diana leaned in slowly and placed a soft kiss on my lips. It wasn’t a kiss I was used to. Kissing guys was so much harder, rougher. But she was delicate, light, easy. Her lips had the subtle taste of wine on them. After that single kiss, she pulled back and looked at me as though she were asking me a question, trying to gauge my feelings, wondering if she had gone just one step too far.
I’d never felt my heart beat so fast. My stomach dropped. As I looked upon Diana’s sweet face, with that wanting expression, I felt positively in love.
“Nico,” she said softly, uncertain of my thoughts and perhaps attempting to backpedal. Gentle lines formed on her forehead as she gazed at me.
My Own First Time Lesbian Experience (The Author's Lesbian First Time) (Nico's Lesbian First Time) Page 1
