Filthy dirty day dreams. The kind that keep you awake at night. I couldn’t picture the venue, I could only picture her. I couldn’t explain the reasons; I could only see the result. A flirtation I’m not supposed to have with a girl who supposedly means nothing by it. A possible shag I’m not supposed to touch. A circle of lust heading in the wrong direction that I should let lie. A cute girl, a nice arse, a grin that pulls you in. Drunken threats, mislaid plans. Then one day she calls my blush.
It had been a few months since our original giggle-filled confessions, so I felt safe in the knowledge, her knowledge, that we were just mates. Coffees had been ordered, dinners cooked, meetings made. Matehood had arrived and we were getting close to full membership and all that affords. Sex and friends. It didn’t mix. At least not with this one. Another afternoon, another decaf, another dredge through bits of the weekend we could actually remember. A walk along the beach. It just seemed right, the sun had that setting thing going on and its pull was unforgiving. So we walked and talked and talked some more. Life. Wife. And all the bits in-between. Until we came to a natural stop, a moment we couldn’t fill, a gap we minded. I blushed. She stuttered. We looked away. The heat of my blush travelled down further down than it should have and I couldn’t look her in the eye anymore. The dirty daydreams were back and, with one look, she read my dishonourable intentions. And mates don’t think that way.
I felt a confession welling up inside and looked to the sun for escape. As the words in my head began to leave my body, she got close. She put herself where the thoughts were and I asked her to stay. Head to head, the sun behind us, we leaned against some seaside wall as we leaned into each other. And the kiss I’d daydreamed about soon became the filthy fantasy I’d fought so hard to forget. And so began the ride. Consequences dismissed as I dug in. Boots against the shingle, thighs against denim, my lips against hers. The sun coming down on a passion we could take nowhere. I just kissed her. It was all I could think of, I’d finally got to test those waters. The months of build-up; the endless anticipation finally seeing the light of day in the setting sun. Tasting the salt of her as the seaside soundtrack cracked on regardless. Buttons tackled, the skin I could actually get to, doing to me what I’d dreamed of doing to her. And it continued. This clichéd kiss, this much needed embrace, this frustrated fumble. The waves crashing, the sun setting and the screaming queens. The sudden realisation that sex outside in full on, full view wasn’t quite what my filthy daydreams were made of. I caught her thought as she caught mine and we legged it up the shingle. And so a horn got us through the traffic, a horn that led us to abed somewhere, which lead to a bed, which lead to a blush. A monumental fucking “I can’t do this” kinda blush you really don’t need at a moment of impulse. But I survived. I shut my eyes and lived the filthy daydream.
Which as a little grittier than I would of have wished for. A touch too realistic as we eyed establishments more used to dirty weekend abusers. Our feet picked the steps that led us to a part time receptionist on the end of a rung-too-often bell. No questions asked, just a bill presented. We scrabbled for change, for cards. For a means to an end away. I paid without thinking; the notice would come with the consequences, after. A glance, a towel and complimentary drinks tray were offered and then we were gone. Stuffed in a lift, suddenly shy, too many moments, perhaps, as we thought of what was ahead. I couldn’t help but grin. It wasn’t to be the only grin of the day. Further fumbles as keys were dropped, then found again. My relief was palpable, as the thought of facing that cold reception again was not one I relished. The lock turned, the door closed behind us and then we were alone. If only the room was as big as the pause between us. I blushed. Again. She giggled. We looked. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. The wallpaper may have been peeling in our presence but we couldn’t see it. One of those moments was coming, I’d not seen it till it hit me, but now it was here. I was fucked if a few seedy surroundings were going to stop me.
‘Pull me in,’ I said. And she did. Perfectly. The kiss that sorely tested my stone foundations earlier on the beach took no prisoners in the privacy of this pillow-heavy room. I was lost. Every moment against her lips encouraged a heat I couldn’t get enough of. My head, my body and my cunt screamed ‘more’. So she just kept on keeping on. Kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing me. The lightest of teases followed by the strongest of intentions. Brushes with intimacy that barely rubbed the surface of me and snogs that felt as if they could steal my very soul. My heart was in my pants, my chest, my boots; I couldn’t stop the pound as this so-called mate of mine snogged me within a bare breath.
I had a moment to think about it. We weren’t naked yet, I mean. The anticipation was killing me and the ache, the need to touch her so great it began to eat away at me. Whereas moments before all I could think about was the kiss, now all I could do was imagine the heat. Wet, hot heat. My fingers began to hurt. As did my cunt, the tip of my tongue, my clit. Which meant more courage was required, and probably another blush. I had to touch her. So I asked. And dutifully went cerise. In two places. She said something about wondering when I was gonna ask. I pictured a meter in my head. And got to work.
The jeans were Diesel. The pants black, butch and very cute in the boy-dyke-label kinda way. I made my way through the security – the belt and the buttons. And with my eyes still firmly fixed on her now blushing face my middle finger found the place it was gonna become way too fond of. We both grabbed what air there was in the room with sharp intakes, the shake caused by my action taking both of us by surprise. “Fuck, you feel good”, was my clichéd response to a clit so hot the heat was making my toes burn. This soft hearted girl was feeling pretty perfect to me. The tops of my lucky fingers continued their stroke, definitely finding her burn to their taste. So I worked her and she worked me. Taking what she wanted as my hands rapped themselves round an arse I’d only ever admired from afar and a cunt I never dreamt I’d lay a hand on. I cradled her as she stood there beside me: I came good on my flirtatious promises and she went with my flow. Sexy soundtracks filled my head as I leant into her, hands down her pants and having the time of my life. Monday afternoons weren’t mean to be like this, were they?
Soon my bod got as jealous as it could cope with and the cop-off had to be had. “Let’s see what your made of, sunshine,” were the cocksure words I found leaving my lips and a spark in a blue eye provided a sneak preview of all I was gonna get this p.m. And so it continued. Hands warmed further on salty bodies, jackets peeled, jumpers lost, grins made. Girls coming together in a not-so-girly kinda way. Stripped down as fast as we could, the desperation to touch and to feel, to be part of each other evident in our every move. As our clothes scattered about us, I found it hard to focus. Her kiss had left my lips and was working me good. Down my neck, my throat, my neck, my chest, my nipples. Every moment of me taken care of. Caressed, checked, dealt with. Oh, so fucking horny. Better than any daytime distraction I’d been delighting myself with lately. So I bathed in the filthy glory of her. Feasted on the girl above me as she leant in determined to break as many boundaries as possible.
There was no time for lies, promises or even words. I’d guess we’d been there. Now we were here to fuck. I didn’t know what to grab first, where to go, how to handle it. As it was, I’d never thought this far ahead. She ran her hands all over me as her kisses played with my soul. She placed her skin against my skin, and I found the friction hard to take. And when she finally placed those precious digits inside of me I saw red. My thoughts became as crimson as my cunt, as my blushing cheeks. I saw colours, reds and pinks. Every hot colour I knew of and some I didn’t. So I held on tight to my real daydream. Her back, her arse, her thighs, her sides. She shagged me. We made love. I fucked her. However you wanna put it, we kept grinning. Hell, we enjoyed the view as we engaged in the jump. I felt her fingers explore. She had led in with one, but now she was having me with a handful. Her thumb took good care of my clit, gentle yet persuasive in its presence as her four fingers dug in, looking for that spot, parking up where she was more than welcome. “Come again,” I wanted to shout, as I did what only a girl could do in this situation. Longer, harder, faster as the gentle explorations became a fuck I wanted to ride. Her eyes looking straight at me, her lips just a touch away from mine, one hand on top of me holding my admiring head in place, the other delivering a soul-shifting sensation I was gonna find hard to better. Well at least for today. And as the tension converted to orgasm, as the strokes hit their mark, this mate of mine drew her fingers from within and replaced them with her clit, a clit I thought for a moment she’d toyed with. My hands made for her arse, the grasp tight as her clit slid next to mine. And our frantic fucking became a labour of love as we watched each others face light up, each others grin became a giggle, each others mouth open slightly with the “ooh” that accompanies the chuffed thought of “so good”. The rub, the fit, the two bodies primed perfectly, teased like hell yet knowing that an explosion is just around the corner. The worry kicking in that I was gonna come too soon, instantly replaced at the next stroke with the need to come right now. Working on the timing as I worked on the girl. Smiles replaced by looks of concentration. Getting off on her getting off on me.
And all that sweat paid off. We came good and proper. Laughing like lads as this shudder took hold of us. Like an ultimate connection our rocks got off in perfect synch. I felt that push as her clit delved deeper into me, I knew that melt inside as my come could wait no longer. We blew. And we loved it. A breath of two later and that blue-eyed spark was back. “Shall we go again?” this buddy of min asked and I think my brown-eyed gaze gave her the answer she wanted. I shagged my mate. I shouted louder than I did for my beloved Arsenal: I held her more tenderly than any plant in my care and lost it further than I had on any dancefloor. I ignored consequence and care and held on tight as we fucked each other’s brains out (in the nicest possible way). We let the dirty little daydream become the kind of sheet action we’d never imagined. As we came, we grinned and as we grinned we came. And I lost count and she lost count and I forgot to hold on and she spilt something and we flipped the bird and it got dark and we found the lights and then it hurt and then it didn’t and then we slept and the she said something cute and then we did it all over again.
We only did it that one day. Only engaged on an eiderdown just the one time, only had that particular post-fucking ache once. And the blush? I wish that too were just the once. But no. Every time I see her. Every coffee, every beer, every meet, I blush. Just the once. Subtle-like. But every time. Guess I’ll have to get me another daydream.
© Kate Wildblood 2004
Originally published in Va-Va-va Voom, Red Hot Lesbian Erotica. Edited by Asrid Fox. 2004. Red Hot Diva.