Excerpt for The Many Loves of Jessica by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.


By J. R. Airul

This is an adult-oriented book intended for a consenting adult audience.

If raw girl on girl sex, booze, recreational drugs and even a tad of kinky stuff tends to offend your sensibilities, then don’t buy this book and certainly don’t read it!

Copyright © 2018 by J. R. Airul, All Rights Reserved.


This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead, is unintentional and purely coincidental.

All the fictitious sex happening between all the fictitious people in this book occurred while all of them were over the age of eighteen years and all of it was consensual.

Some trademarks and trade names are used to lend authenticity. No endorsement is expressed or implied.











My name is Jessica, but everyone either calls me Jess or Jessie. I’m in my thirties, have my own business, am financially well off, and I’m into girls. A lot of girls as you will discover as you read on! This story covers my life from childhood, into becoming an oversexed, adult bachelorette.

There were a few kids around my age on the block we lived in and I quickly made friends with the two girls living down the street from me. I’m not going to tell you their real names, so I’ll call one of them Debbie because she was so domesticated. She played with dolls, had a dollhouse, a doll wearing a wedding dress and a guy doll wearing a tuxedo. She had an Easy Bake Oven and cooked cakes for us to eat. So, you get the picture: she was Debbie Domestic. Debbie was short and had a slight build, with blonde hair put up in a ponytail. The other one I’ll call Sandy. She had long brown hair. Lighter than mine and way longer. (I’ve always liked my hair short, just like my mom’s.)

I started paying attention to girls the year before we were due to leave elementary school and go to high school because Sandy’s chest began to grow. I mean grow. My mom was teeny-tiny...just like me. But Sandy, she was sporting ‘a rack’ before she was twelve. And that started turning me on.

I guess that should have told me something, but it didn’t. Some would say I was slow or dumb. Others might say I was brainwashed into the concept that girls had to be interested in guys. There was no actual book back then that stated it was okay for a girl to love girls. In fact, both Kinsey and Masters and Johnson led me to conclude that my feelings towards girls might be abnormal.

My liking for girls had increased to explosive proportions once hairs began growing between my legs and I got little points on my chest. Oh, I didn’t like every girl! I had my preferences. I favored pretty girls with nice boobies, legs, backsides, and no zits. Yes, I was slowly but surely getting into girl parts and wishing like hell that my daddy had Playboy magazines hidden somewhere, but he didn’t. But if he did, I suppose I’d be drooling over those foldouts and bobbing my leg over my knee in the chair while leering. You know...thigh pressure.

The sex books I read as a child introduced me to that activity: bouncing the leg to masturbate via thigh pressure. It didn’t make much sense until I started to get older. By my thirteenth birthday, I was getting orgasms from thigh pressure anytime, anywhere, day or night!

When we got into high school, we could finally wear jeans and a T-shirt. We no longer needed hard shoes, we could wear PF Flyers all the time, which made it easy for me in gym class.

Gym class was difficult for me. Oh, not the exercises, playing tennis or volleyball. But being in the locker room with the other girls and seeing them in one or more stages of undress, even though most would wrap a towel around themselves for modesty both before and after going into the shower stalls. I did my best not to stare.

By then Sandy had the biggest rack in school. She was as big as her mom. Casabas...mush melons...honeydews (honey, please do me, please, please, please)! Over the years I found myself getting strong feelings for her, but she was already dating a guy, so that ended that. I’d go home and pull down the shower massage device and hold it behind my neck, then between my legs, and finally across my chest. That was exhilarating! But it didn’t leave me satisfied, so I’d try something else, like sitting cross-legged on my desk chair reading Masters and Johnson, thinking about Sandy while bouncing my leg to get that thigh pressure!

I would also hump my pillow until it had an orgasm, but of course, I didn’t manage to come. So, there I am, late at night, under the covers humping my poor, innocent, underage pillow until I couldn’t take it anymore (the pillow, however, was doing just fine and dandy).

Eventually, I’d get into the missionary position so I could finish the job by pleasuring myself directly.

Through trial and error, I discovered that reclining on a chair, or just drawing my legs up while laying back in bed was the best way to pleasure myself. It made it easy to reach down and let my fingers do the poking!

Now, I’ve got my hand shoved down into my PJ bottoms fingering myself, praying mom and dad don’t hear me gasp and moan, come running, open the door, which would make me shriek, then I’d quickly put my legs down, pull my hand out from the nether-lands and innocently say: “Golly, you scared me half to death! What’s wrong?”

They never did hear me or come in while I was pleasuring myself (perhaps they never cared that I diddled). So, the next thing I’d do is open the middle button of my PJ top, lick the fingers of my free hand, slide it in and start rubbing one of my nipples.

I have hard and puffy nipples, but they are somewhat small. Just like my breasts. They are, however, very sensitive and I love wetting my fingers and tweaking them. I also love the feel of that handheld shower massage device streaming a spray of water over them.

By the time I turned eighteen, I was finally fitting into a 34-B bra, instead of the 32-A cup one I wore through most of my high school years.

I, however, hate bras!

Bras were designed by a man for men to work with. I mean, why else would they make the clasp in back where the girl would have to contort herself to lock it on and take it off? Men wanted to do that job, of course, so they designed bras that way.

Girls are generally expected to wear them in high school and I really hated that rule. Almost as much as the rules we had in elementary school that forced us to wear dresses.

Back then, we either had to wear those dresses like you find on baby dolls or pleated skirts, like what the Catholic school girls wore, but at least our skirts had more color to them. We also had to wear a white blouse.

In high school, I could finally wear tank tops, T-shirts, or print blouses with my jeans, but I had to wear a bra underneath it. God forbid someone sees the imprint of my nipples! I mean in PE we’d see the boys out there playing touch football with their shirts off and some of those guys had bigger boobs than I had!!! But they don’t have to wear bras, I do!

My years in high school were spent improving my skills at art. I took every art and crafts course the school offered, including Industrial Drawing. Drawing and art had been my big thing since I was seven, learning how to draw cartoon characters with circles as shown to me by a man on TV. I’d been winning art contests for years and planned to major in Art once I got into college.

I was a straight-A student in school and was into the student newspaper, debating team, and student body government. I didn’t go in for any of the girl stuff, like cheerleading or homecoming events and proms.

Debbie, Sandy and I used to do things together (get your mind out of the gutter, that was not what I meant). I’d help Sandy with her filmmaking projects since I was an artist, so I’d draw titles for her. I also took piano for two years, so I’d play things and she’d record them on her big tape recorder that she’d lug over from two doors down.

Sandy changed when she became a junior. Instead of wearing frumpy clothes, she started wearing dresses, skirts, and tight jeans, plus sweaters or tank tops. She was now all bouncing boobies, round backside, and camel toe. And, yes, I noticed all that. As far as I was concerned, she was the best looking, sexiest girl in school. And she was soon going steady with the star running back on the varsity football team. The tall, handsome guy that almost all the girls – I was the exception – pined away for. She also joined the cheerleading squad and started going to school dances with him.

My time at school was occupied by student body council, the debating team, and doing my artwork.

This, then, was my life up to adulthood. I had few friends in general and absolutely no need for boyfriends, but I had no girlfriends with whom I could kiss, hold hands or exchange pleasures of the flesh.

So, there I was in bed, doing my nightly sex routine by reaching down into my bottoms with my right hand and reaching into my top with my left hand. I’d pant, try not to shake the bed too much or moan loudly while I fantasized about making love to Sandy and smothering my face in her big rack. I’d get lost in the moment, pull my left hand out, sit up, throw my head back and imagine French kissing her as my orgasm came.

Then I’d quickly compose myself, lay back against the pillow. Re-button my PJ top. Make sure my bottoms were pulled up correctly, least mom notice them hanging down in front.

Thus, ends the love life of a lonely teenage girl who likes girls, back in the nineteen-seventies when those kinds of things were taboo and called unnatural.


When I graduated high school, mom told me I could use her car to go to the local community college where I was enrolled as an Art major, or as they called it Fine Arts. That meant I had to take dance, theater, music, photography, as well as all the art and crafts courses they had to offer.

I made friends quickly at school, and Cindy was my best friend in both ballet and pantomime. We’d work out together at the bar. We paired up in pantomime class. We’d talk before and after class. Sometimes we went to the burger shack on the corner for a coke and fries. On one of those occasions, something strange happened. Cindy kissed me right after she said bye-bye. It was only a peck, but it was on the lips and it was my first kiss.

Yes, that’s right people. I was eighteen years old, and I’d never been kissed. (The mirror in my bathroom doesn’t count, but that’s a story for another day!) Also, the only sex I had was with my own fingers.

That kiss, however, left me shattered. My heart was pounding every time I thought of it, or of Cindy. I didn’t know what it meant or if it meant anything at all, nor how I should respond. All weekend I dwelled on that event. At night I relived it while my fingers worked away at my juicing loins while I fantasized about making naked love with Cindy.

On Tuesday we were back in pantomime class, and she grabbed me by the hand, taking me over to the bulletin board to show me something about a dance recital. Dance really wasn’t my thing, I only took it because it was required for my major. She was still clasping my hand, which was now down to one finger, then she tugged, and we headed out the door, she turned telling me she had to rush to catch her bus and once more planted a kiss on my lips. This time I was ready for it. She still had her hand on my finger and I pulled her closer to me. I put my other arm around her waist and kept pressing my lips to hers. When we finally broke apart, we were both just gazing into each other’s eyes.

“How ’bout I drive you home?” I put forth. She said “Okay” and I led her off, her right hand still clasping the first finger of my left hand. We went out to the student parking lot, and I opened the passenger door for her. Then I went around to the other side, started the car, and turned to ask where she lived. She gave me the address and told me how to get there. I nodded, bent forward and moved in for the kill. That was bold for me! And she was more than ready for it. That became my first open mouth kiss. We held that kiss for a long while as my left hand reached over to her right shoulder and I held onto her. I was the first to break away, basically because I was out of breath. I put the car into gear and took off. She turned on the radio adjusting it to her favorite rock station, rocking and bobbing as she pointed about giving me driving directions.

She lived a fair distance away from the school. I pulled up in front of this wood frame, three-story house. “Wanna come in?” asked Cindy. I worried about her folks and she told me she lived with four other girls, so I turned off the car and followed her inside, then up to her room on the top floor.

She unlocked the door, and we went inside. Unlike me and my folks, she wasn’t a neat-nick. But who cares, she was blonde, cute and hot to trot. She dropped her books on the little desk that she had, turned on the radio, which was on the rock station, came back over to me, put both arms around me and we started to kiss. Oh, that was fantastic! Suddenly I felt her tongue and quickly pulled back. “You don’t like to French?” she asked, apologetically.

“I wasn’t ready for that,” I told her. “Let’s try that again.” This time we came together, and our tongues met at the same time. Oh, God, that was wonderful!

“Come,” she told me, pulling me by the hand over to her bed, as she sat down, pulled me down with her and then kicked off her shoes. She slid back all the way to the wall and pulled on my right hand. “Come on...” she prompted. I kicked off my shoes, climbed on the bed with her and we began making out.

Slowly but surely her hand began to work its way down my back to my hip, before starting to move down my hip to my thigh and back up again, without coming up for a breath of air. Next, her hand moved down, and she began to put it between my legs before stroking up my inner thighs.

I was bursting at the seams!

Her hand came all the way up to my crotch and I couldn’t take it anymore. I rolled over onto my back, reach behind, unfastened my jeans, drew the zipper down and then with both hands I pushed my pants down an inch or so. She got the hint and put her hand on my midriff, then started putting it down my open pants, into my undies, going down, down and down. I drew my legs up like I did when I pleasured myself to provide better access to my vagina. Her hand and arm kept going in further and further. Soon she was there, and I was moaning and throwing my head back as she worked on me with her fingers.

“Don’t worry, babe. Every girl in this house bays at the moon and no one cares about it,” she whispered into my ear, before planting a kiss on it. “Feel free to moan, cry, shout for joy to let me know I brought you to climax.” She licked the opening of my ear and blew into it.

I groaned while mini orgasms came over me along my way to the big finale. My back arched, my head rolled back as I was grunting, panting, and gasping for air as waves of pleasure came over me. At one point my heart was beating so fast and loud I thought it was going to burst through my chest!

When I reached my limit, I put my hand on her arm and just said: “Whoa!”

She stopped, pulled out her hand, licked her fingers, grinned and leaned over to kiss me. “Did you like that, honey?”

“Yes,” I told her as I turned to face her, reached out with my arms to encircle her waist. I took that moment to reach behind her and undo her jeans. She turned to lay on her back, then pushed her pants and underwear down, way further than I did, that allowed me to see my target: her blonde bush. She also drew her legs up and spread them. I reached over with my hand and began to finger her while she started to hike up her top and just pull her bra away to expose her breasts. I took the hint and reached over to put my mouth on her right nipple as she reached up and began to tweak her other nipple. (That was my first taste of nipple. Something I had wanted to do with myself when staring at my naked body in the mirror.)

“Oh...oh...oh...” she gasped as my fingers worked on her clit and vagina, while my tongue licked that lovely nipple of hers. As her head rolled back on the pillow I kissed up her chest and neck, stopping under her chin before going back down.

I raised up on my right forearm and kissed all the way down to her belly button and took a moment to stare at her blonde bush where my hand was working on her like crazy.

It was four-thirty by the time I finished her off and I told her I had to rush home for dinner. She walked me downstairs and gave me a kiss goodbye.

Thursday was ballet class. That meant I was wearing leotard, tights, and leggings. So was Cindy. She was waiting outside the dance room door when I came in the main entrance. I stopped next to her to say hello. She glanced both ways, as did I. No one was around so we gave each other a quick kiss, giggled and went inside to work out.

Cindy was getting a little frisky with our moves. At one point feeling my butt. At another point rubbing my crotch or cupping my breast. She’d just shoot me a glance and oh how I wanted to just plant a kiss on her, but I didn’t.

“Take you home?” I asked as she quickly nodded.

We walked together to the car and once again I opened the door for her, then closed it once she was seated. I climbed into the driver’s seat, looked around to see if anyone was in eyeshot and then I bent over to kiss Cindy. Her hand quickly went to my crotch, and I did the same to hers.

“Let’s get to your place as quickly as possible!” I said as we pulled out.

We got to her place and went upstairs. Once inside her room she took off her shoes, leggings, and leotard, then turned to me to help her take off her bra. She pushed away at her tights. Then she turned on me and I only had my shoes and leggings off. She started to take my leotard off, saw I wasn’t wearing a bra, and she immediately went to one of my nipples before tugging at my tights. “Take them off!” she commanded, and I complied.

She went to her closet and pulled out two towels, wrapped one around herself and told me to do the same. She took me by the hand and we went out the door. At first, I pulled back, but she tugged at me and we went down to the next flight and straight into the bathroom that was wide open. She turned on the light, locked the door, went over to the shower and turned it on, dragging me in with her.

That was amazing. My first time doubling up in the shower and it was heavenly. She cleaned me down with her hands and I did the same to her. She would put her hands over my mouth if I let out a peep and then put her first finger up over her mouth to shush me.

We climbed out of the shower, toweled each other down, wrapped the towels around us and she opened the door a crack, then looked out, motioning me to come before turning out the light. The two of us quickly ran back up the stairs. She whipped her towel off and started drying her hair while standing there naked. She turned on the radio, came over to me, gave me a peck on the lips before moving down between my breasts, kissing each one and then further down to my pubes, where she planted her mouth while gripping my butt and started to lick my clit.

“Lie on the bed, babe,” she said softly as I did that, all excited because I was a ‘babe,’ now!

“Knees up and spread ’em wide,” she prompted as she then went between my legs and started to lick my clit. Oh, God! I was in ecstasy.

“Wanna nibble on me?” she inquired as she came back around my legs and climbed over my torso, lowering her crotch towards my face while going back down between my legs.

I wasn’t sure what to do, or if I would even do it! I mean, I’d read all about cunnilingus years ago and I saw a drawing of the vulva spread open showing the mouth of the vagina. I wondered what it would be like, it was for real! I lifted my head, stuck out my tongue and took a taste. Tasted like skin. (Bet you thought I was going to say it tasted like chicken, nope, it tasted like her cheek when our kisses broke, and the tongues came out sliding across the face.)

I opened her vulva wider with my two thumbs and took a quick taste inside. That was something like French kissing.

Kissing is something you do have to get used to. The taste of their mouth is different from the taste of your own mouth. But, while making out you quickly get used to your kissing partner and start to enjoy the way they taste. That’s what it was like the first time I licked her vagina walls. Next, I licked the clit, and she stopped licking me for a moment and moaned.

I loved the look of her inner thighs and her butt cheeks. I found myself kissing and licking them before going back inside. Next, I stopped because she just licked me in a place I never thought anyone would lick, and doubted that I’d ever lick someone there myself, but she boldly licked down my entire crotch from clit to that dark, foreboding place. I got over my shock quickly and went back to licking her from inner thigh, to butt cheek to vulva and across to the other leg.

I soon put my finger into her vagina as I kissed her inner thighs. She stopped licking me, began to huff and puff and suddenly rolled over onto her back and I sat up and went straight for her, putting my middle finger into her vagina and putting my mouth over her right nipple as she started gasping for air.

After she had enough, I turned about and got on my back, so she could return the favor and boy did she! This time she got to lick my nipples, which I really enjoyed.

It was only four when she finished with me.

“I have to pee,” she said, getting up and putting the towel back around her torso. She came back in a flash and lay next to me on the bed and we just made out until I had to get up and go. I put my tights back on, then my leotard, leggings and finally my shoes.

Cindy put on some shorts and a tee and started to walk me down the stairs.

“My turn,” I told her.

“Pee-pee or stinky?”

“Pee,” I told her before going into the bathroom as she followed me inside, turned on the light and locked the door. I walked over to the toilet, pushed my leggings down past my knees, pulled on my straps, pushed down my leotard, then Cindy came over and pushed my tights all the way down to my knees. I sat down, and she knelt before me, kissing my outer thighs and then coming up and kissing me on the mouth as I let out a stream of pee.

She pulled off a hunk of toilet paper and reached to wipe me. I pulled off another hunk and wet it under the stream of sink water.

“You like to keep yourself dainty, hmm?” she said as I wiped, and she got another hunk of dry tissue. “Keeping yourself kissing clean!”

I push the flush handle, stood up, she planted a kiss on my bush and reached in with her tongue, which rolled over my clit and sent chills up my spine. Then she pulled up my tights, patting them down with her hands as she ran them up my thighs to smooth out all the wrinkles all the way up my body, then she pulled up my leotard, then my tights, got to her feet as I put my arms through the leotard straps while she pulled it up, smoothed it down to my backside, then brought her hand forward to my crotch as she moved to my mouth to kiss me again.

We headed out the door, down to the front door and kissed good night, each of us grabbing a piece of ass before we broke away. She stood in the doorway and I walked to the car and left.

That went on for my two years at community college. I was Cindy’s lover, and she was mine. It was heavenly. Then she transferred to the University, and I started trying to find an art school as I intended to get my four-year degree and possibly go even further than that.

I would go see Cindy now and then, but she had found another girlfriend, and it seemed like three was a crowd, she didn’t want to cheat, and I didn’t want her to cheat with me.


I now had my AA in Fine Arts, majoring in drawing. I started at the age of seven, and my parents cultivated this enterprise of mine, buying me an art set, drawing books, easel, watercolor paints, and eventually oil colors.

I started entering my artwork in school contests, then local festivals and finally state competitions, winning first or second place awards since I was twelve.

We had a few retired professional artists and several of them helped me along, giving me tips and showing me tricks. Now I was returning the favor by helping to teach young and old at the town recreation center in the park over that summer and into the fall. Came October and everyone in town went into hibernation, including me, working out of home drawing, painting, and sending out applications to colleges and museum schools. To get mad-money for art supplies I worked at the Orange Julius stand, taking the place of my friend who left there over a year ago.

The weather at home was horrid in winter. It snowed from Thanksgiving to Easter. I got several acceptance letters from art schools and universities, but most were in the same type of frigid zones like where I lived, such as Chicago, New York, or Boston. Finally, one came in from a school I visited in California. My two neighborhood gal pals were now living and working there. I had previously shacked up with a guy who also worked there (yes, I tried to be hetero for a while there and had myself a guy, or should I say, he had me!). He was very happy to welcome me back to his bed. Unfortunately, I really wanted to climb into Sandy’s bed, except she already had a guy bed partner, and he ran the place.

Sandy had become a hot woman, with her long brown hair, C cup breasts, shapely legs and a nice round backside. Oh, how I wanted to go down on her, but that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, the tech guy was going down on me, which he did decently, after I taught him some tricks. He, of course, wanted me to go down on him during my time of the month...but that was totally out of the question. I would give him hand now and then, but he had to hold the tissue and dispose of it in the toilet after he creamed it. (To me, guy fluids are icky and disgusting!)

I managed to find a couple of girls-only clubs far, far away from my home-base, but I was new and green to that scene. I had to contend with several large, husky bull-dykes who tried to come on to me. Not that I’m into femmes, because I’m not, really. I like tasting skin, not makeup and a lot of these femmes caked it on way too much.

I like a plain, but pretty, girl-next-door type who could put on makeup, but usually didn’t, yet still looked sexy and great without it, even while wearing a gunny sack. What I did care about were boobs. She had to have nice size B’s, but I did tend to prefer a girl with C cups. (And I would be very interested in checking out someone sporting D’s!) I also liked nice legs, round backsides, and no tattoos. Nothing turns me off more than seeing a girl who looks like she had a rainbow ice cream cone smashed on her arm, leg, shoulder or backside. And forget the girls who have the Popeye tats!

It took me a while to see what was up at the clubs. I’d hit on someone that looked promising and get blown off. She either wanted one of those extra-large girls with the Popeye tattoos or she was waiting for her steady. I did ask a few to dance with me and got a peck on the mouth now and then. One girl who was still in the closet wanted me to go down on her in the restroom. I took one look at that restroom and what was happening on the floor, in the stalls, and on the sink ledge. I cleared right out of there. I had no other place to take her, and she lived at home locally, with nice Christian parents who wondered why their beautiful little girl never brought home Prince Charming. She was pretty, and I would have loved to jump on her, but not in that restroom! I had no money for a motel, at least not that night.

I eventually did do enough work around home-base to get myself a hundred bucks to spend. I got out of school on an early day and headed over to the club. There was Cinderella, all by herself seated at the bar. This time I took her to the motel down the street. We messed the bed up until eight, then both of us had to leave for our respective homes. I dropped her off just down the block from where she lived, then I zoomed out of there and back to my crash pad.

Next time at the club I ran into one of the girls from my art class. A cute brunette with that girl next door look, and a nice set of boobs. She was a lot like me, except with longer hair in a pageboy style, while mine was Beatle style. She was almost my height and like me dressed in the bare essentials: slacks and a top. I walked over to her, introduced myself as being from the same art class. She smiled and nodded. After that, we started talking, had a few drinks, danced to several numbers, then she asked if I wanted to go home with her and fool around for a while. I said yes, then followed behind her car as she led me to her apartment building, where we both found parking spaces on the street.

She had a dinky little efficiency apartment on the second floor that she paid for out of an inheritance she received when she turned eighteen. The first thing I noticed on entering was that like me, she was a neat-nick. She was also really into art. She had an easel set up and was working on an oil painting. She had several drawing books filled with sketches and charcoal drawings.

The first thing she did was sniff under her arm, make a face, and tell me she was going to go shower. I asked to come along, she giggled, then shrugged her shoulders. From then on, it was just like back home with Cindy, only Patti wasn’t as bold.

Like yours truly, Patti didn’t have any girl-girl experiences until college. She received an art scholarship, then applied to schools around the country, hoping to get as far away from home as possible. Once accepted here in California, she drove out in the new Maverick she bought with part of her inheritance. Once in school, she slowly got into the gay scene as a fair-sized chunk of artists were gay guys or girls. She went from simply “hanging around” the gay girls at school to hugging, kissing, and finally letting another girl put their hand into her pants to pleasure her. After that event, she embraced the whole gay experience with fervor!

One of her girlfriends at school had introduced her to the club scene, and when that friend graduated, Patti was largely left by herself as the few “gay girls” she hung with all left school at the same time. So, Patti started going to the club alone, looking for someone to be with, hug, and kiss. And that’s usually all that would happen. They’d dance a little, talk, hug, and kiss. Then she’d go home alone to her artwork. Since I was in school with her, she took to me one-two-three and did something she’d never done before with girls she hooked up with at the club: take one to her apartment.

Like me, she also liked to shower down before making girl-love, so we were highly compatible love partners! I got to be the Alpha Dog with her like Cindy had been with me back when I was a virgin. Patti had no problem letting me “be on top,” or “in control,” and I thoroughly enjoyed pleasuring her.

The first place I took control was in the shower as I vigorously soaped and washed her pubes with both hands, which made her double up and slam her ass into my bush. I bent down to kiss her back, then I cleaned her folds and vulva while stroking her clit with my soapy fingers, which made her gasp, laugh, moan and crank her rear end over my loins, which I found very exciting.

My left hand started to work its way up to her breasts as I soaped her entire torso. Then both my hands moved up her sides all the way under her arms.

“This is a hold-up. Stick ’em up, girl!” I told her as she stood up all erect and raised her hands so I could wash under her arms while I kissed her shoulder, neck, ear, and cheek, before getting her to turn about so I could hug and kiss her on the mouth as my hands worked down her back to her rear and into her crack. That made her shriek. “Got to get you kissing clean, girl,” I said with a smile as I continued to kiss her as my soapy fingers moved as far down her crack as I could reach.

We dried each other down and I knelt down doing her legs and crotch, planting kisses on her bush and pelvic area. Once dry we headed for the bed and immediately started to sixty-nine. I was the victor, as she couldn’t pant and moan while licking me. So she stopped. I pulled away, turned her over to the missionary position, continued licking her vulva, spreading it so I could get my tongue into her vagina, then moving up to leisurely lick her clit for long moments, which made her wither, flinch and moan. As I did this both my hands slid under her and began to massage the small of her back, which began to arch as waves of pleasure directed her body to move about on the bed.

I climbed between her legs going up her belly, stopping to lick and kiss her innie. Then I moved up to her breasts and put my mouth over one nipple, licking away at it, then moving on to the other one. Finally, I moved up and gave her a peck on the lips as she stared at me between deep breaths.

“Now I’m going to get serious with you!” I told her as I moved to one side, slid my hand down between her legs, inserted my fingers to soak up her juices and work my magic on her as my mouth began to lick, kiss and suck on her nipples.

While I do like being pleasured, I also get a lot of satisfaction out of spending an hour or more pleasuring my love partner. I like seeing her body bend and convulse. I like hearing her moan and pant. I really love it when she gets up a little near the end, glances at me, and smiles as waves of euphoria wash over her prior to her orgasmic gasp, along with that inevitable hand reaching to move my hand away from her loins after she could take no more excitement. Then there was that long moment of silence as she got control of her breathing, settled back, let out a puff of air, looked at me and smiled in gratitude for making her feel wonderful.

I like gazing at a girl’s naked body, and Patti had a nice one! A long, graceful neck, with breasts larger than mine, but not huge. Big, light pink nipples. The kind that have large, smooth areolas that blend into the fleshy breast mound, then came up to a volcanic peak. Literally, the nipple would come to a large peak and had a very prominent opening at the top. (Mine didn’t show anything that looked like an opening.) I loved putting my mouth on Patti’s nipples and rolling my tongue around them.

Patti also had great legs, that were smooth and shapely (I won’t be with a girl who doesn’t shave her legs and underarms, as that’s not a girl, that’s a guy! I like girls, not guys. Since I use the razor, so should they!).

We’d lay together in bed and I’d kiss her shoulder, cheek, neck, chest, and belly as I’d finger her. Sometimes I’d have her turn over and massage her back. That gave me an opportunity to really look her over and kiss all that lovely skin of hers. I’d practice all the tricks Cindy showed me on my new lover, Patti. I’d suck on her toes, blow into her ear, kiss under her chin, kissing down to her breasts and chest, then all the way to her belly button, which I’d leisurely French kiss. I wasn’t as adventurous as Cindy, as she could lick and kiss every square inch of my body, while I was still only at ninety-nine percent with Patti, but she didn’t seem to care about me neglecting that little bit of her body. She’d beg me not to stop, so I’d roll her over, tell her I had no intention of stopping and would start working on her clit and vagina. “No matter how much you beg, I won’t stop!” I’d tease her as she’d arch her back and start to quiver.

After both of us were totally relieved, we lay there in her bed, naked, and just be with each other. Sometimes holding hands or turning to face one another and talk. We’d embrace. Play footsie now and then. Giggle, laugh, kiss, maybe have a make-out session. I’d run my hand down her back to her backside, then up to her face. We’d kiss some more. Both of us needed to hug and kiss a girl. It was built-in to us. It was something we craved. It was something we desperately needed, but never got as teens when we lived at home and had to deal with “circumstances beyond our control.”

I’d eventually have to get out of bed to leave and go home. I’d tell her to stay in bed as I went to pee, then started to put my top and leggings back on. I’d go sit on the bed next to her.

“See you in class,” I’d tell her. “Don’t forget to turn your alarm on, hmm?!”

“Yes, mommy!” she said with a smile as I’d kiss her again, then watch as she’d pull out the pin on her alarm clock. “I’ll show myself out, babe.” I’d give her a final, long, wet kiss goodbye, grab my bag and books, then head out the door. Once outside, I’d look up and see her face in the window looking to make sure I got safely to my car.

I started bringing a change of clothes, as it felt really icky putting on damp ones from that day, especially if we went dancing, as we did now and then. We’d drive together to the club from school. Then I’d follow her to the apartment building. We’d shower, make love for a few hours and I’d head home to Jimbo. That’s what I’ll call him for this book. Jimbo. Good old Jim Dandy!

Jimmy was a tech guy. That’s what he did for a living. His hours in the wintertime were generally from five in the morning until eight or nine at night. I would sometimes sit with him and help him. Mostly we’d kiss, and he’d squeeze my backside. Sometimes he’d take me into one of the secret rooms, pull my bottoms down and bend me over something so he could get his rocks off because sometimes I’d be asleep when he came in and he couldn’t wait until morning.

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