“No, but remember the time I ran into you and Hervé in the grocery store? I was naked under the skirt and blouse I had on that day. I was scared to death—just sure Hervé could somehow see through what I was wearing and know that I was naked beneath it.”
Joan laughed, “Hervé tells himself that every woman he sees is naked beneath her outer garments. He says he’s an optimist. What he is, is a lecher.”
I smiled. “That’s what you like about him, isn’t it?”
“Ummm. Among other things.” She had a slightly lascivious smile on her face as she spoke.
“I’d like to garden naked, too,” I continued, “but I haven’t quite worked up the courage for that yet. I do have this sort of ‘why bother’ style bikini that I wear in the back yard when I garden, and I did mow the back lawn topless last week.”
“Uhh . . . are you wearing any underclothes now?”
“Well . . .No. I intended to but I didn’t wear any when I went to the store, and I forgot when I got home. I have a habit of not wearing underclothes to the store and since I am usually nearly naked around the house, it’s easy to forget when I get home.”
“So you’re naked underneath that outfit?”
“Yes. Want to see?” The wine was kicking in. I would have never suggested something like that when I was sober. But I was far from sober now and more than a little horny. Without waiting for answer I started unbuttoning my top. My c-cup breasts burst out as I peeled the blouse completely off. Joan was staring silently. I reached behind me and released the catch on my skirt and then stood briefly to let it slide over my hips and down my legs.
Now Joan was sitting staring at me in shock. “Alice, you’re naked!
“Yes,” I said as I cupped my breasts and held them out toward her, “and it feels delicious.”
A few moments silence passed between us as Joan stared at my naked body.
I don’t know where the idea came from, but I said “Now it’s your turn, Joan. Take your clothes off. No more wine until you’re naked.” I was waving the half-full bottle at her.
Joan looked around. “Can your neighbors see us?”
“No.” I left out the “I don’t think so” part, required for full honesty. “Besides it’s getting dark.”
She looked around again and then said, “Okay, I’ll do it.” It was obvious she was as drunk as I was.
She started by unbuttoning her blouse. Her big tits stood out, her bra holding them up, as she pulled the blouse off and tossed it on the pile of my clothes. Next she stood and removed her skirt so she was standing before me wearing just a bra and panties. Before going further she picked up her wine glass and emptied it for a shot of courage.
“You really want me to do this?” she asked.
“Yes,” I responded, waving the wine bottle again.
She looked around again, then quickly shed her bra and panties and sat down. She leaned forward holding her glass out for a refill from the bottle I had been waving before her. Her big tits waved back and forth beneath her. I could see her areolas were swollen and her nipples hard. What would it be like to suck on those nipples? It was just a fleeting thought.
I filled the glass and looked at her. “My god, you’ve got great tits,” I said. “No wonder Hervé likes you. I’ll bet he can never get enough of your tits.” Wow, I thought, I have to be really drunk to be talking like this.
Joan smiled. “Oh yes, Hervé loves my tits. It’s the Basque blood in him.”
“Basque?” I thought he was French.
“He came from Southern France, a little town right up against the Pyrenees. Lots of Basque blood on both sides of the border there. They’re so horny, those Basque men. You should get yourself one.” She was clearly drunk now.
Joan giggled. “He likes to titty fuck me.” She was holding her tits out toward me looking down at them.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“First I suck his cock so it’s good and hard, although half the time he just walks in the door with a hard on. God he’s a horny bastard. Then I lube his cock up and he puts it between my tits so it’s pointed right at my chin.” She pushed her tits together to show me, although I noticed that she did it in such a way that she had a finger and a thumb on each nipple. Her nipples had engorged and they were big around and long.
God, I want to suck on those, I thought. It wasn’t a fleeting thought now. Does that make me a lesbian? Fuck who cares. It’s all just sex.
“What happens next?” I asked. During the silence while I was questioning my gender preference, Joan had lost the thread of the conversation. Now she was seriously focused on masturbating her tits.
“Oh . . . What? Oh . . . you mean with Hervé. Yes. She pushed her tits back together and said, “Well, he lays his slippery cock between my tits so the head is pointed against my chin. Then he slides it back and forth until he cums. He says it feels just like a pussy.” She rolled her head back, obviously thinking about Hervé’s climax. “My god,” she said. “If that lecherous Basco hasn’t cum in a few days he can cover my whole face with cum. Then he likes to watch it drip down onto my tits.”
“Then does he get you off,” I asked.
“Umm. Oh yeah! Once he’s covered my face and tits with his cum he wants to dive down between my legs and eat me. Oh god can that man eat pussy. Did Larry do that for you?”
I laughed. “Hardly. Larry’s limits were a few minutes of very uninspired foreplay and a five minute missionary position fuck, and not very often at that.”
“Oh that’s too bad,” Joan said. “And this is the man who had a porn collection?”
“Hard to figure, huh.”
I could tell she had gotten very aroused by the conversation. When we started her legs had been crossed—very ladylike, or at least as ladylike as you can be while sitting naked in someone’s back yard. Now she was leaning back in her chair with her legs spread lewdly as she continued to play with her tits.
“Have you ever kissed a girl?” she asked me.
“Uhhh . . . no,” I responded. “Have you?”
“Yes, a lot. When I was in college, before I met Hervé I began a lesbian affair with one of my professors.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yes. It lasted two years. We both knew it couldn’t become anything more than an illicit affair. She had a husband and two children and I was her research assistant. It was a crazy thing for both of us.”
“Was the sex good?” I asked.
“Oh . . . Fuck! Oh fucking god yes! The sex was so good.”
“Better than with Hervé?” I asked.
“Hard to say,” she said. “It was different.”
“Which was better?”
“Both,” she answered with deliberate ambiguity.
“Were you sleeping with both of them at the same time,” I asked.
“Yes.”
“That sounds complicated,”
“Not really. They both knew and didn’t care. Sometimes Hervé joined us.”
“What about her husband?”
“Oh no! Not him. He was a stuffy full professor twenty years older than her. God, he’d have had a fucking stroke if he had known about us. He would have divorced her and gotten both of us thrown out of the university if he had known.”
There was a long silence while both of us thought about what to say next.
“Alice,” she said. “Will you kiss me?”
I knew she wanted more than that, or at least I hoped she did. We both stood and pulled each other together. Joan was a good deal shorter than me, so she was standing on her toes. Our lips came together in a soft, slow kiss. No tongue at first.
When we broke Joan said, “Oh yes. It’s been too long.” Her voice had a dreamy tone. Remembering her college lover I thought.
We were standing with my hands on her hips and hers on my shoulders, our bodies barely touching.
“I’ve never done that,” I said. “That was nice.” She was lightly rubbing her breasts against my upper rib cage as we stood there. My tits were almost resting on her shoulders. I really was taller than her.
“Do you want more?” she asked.
“Oh yes.”
She pulled my head down to her and we kissed again, much more aggressively this time, our tongues dueling with each other and our chests rubbing our naked tits and hardened nipples against each other’s bodies. She had her arms around my neck, pulling me down. I had my arms around her back, but I quickly let them slide down to her round soft butt. As our tongues dueled I was pulling her up against me. I slid a leg between hers and rubbed my thigh against her vulva. She was dripping wet. This kiss went on for a long time as she humped my leg and our tongues sparred. Finally she pulled back and said, “Let’s go inside. Sex is always better in bed.” I led the way down the pergola steps and then we ran, holding hands like naked schoolgirls, across the lawn and into the house.
Once in the house we continued running to my bedroom. Joan ripped off my bedclothes, leaving only a sheet. Then we flopped onto the bed lying face to face with our legs entangled. We began kissing again. It was a long kiss, soft and sloppy, with our tongues each probing the other’s mouth in turn. I couldn’t believe how soft her kiss was. I had never been kissed like that in my life.
Eventually we broke apart, but only by inches and only at the top. Our bodies remained lustfully entangled.
“God, I’ve never been kissed like that,” I said.
She smiled. “Women are different,” she responded.
She had a hand on my breast now. Not mashing it as the men I had known did. Just softly and tenderly massaging it, occasionally brushing my engorged nipple with the palm of her hand. Yes, I thought. Where has this been all my life?
“How long has it been?” I asked. “Since you made love to a woman?”
“Too long. Not since Gina.”
I gasped as she tweaked a nipple with her fingers. Not hard or painfully, but just enough to send a bolt of lust to my pussy.
———————
Leave a Reply