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Tuesday, December 27, 2005


I didn’t expect my friend C to be the girl I would end up with, the night I went to a lesbian bar. But a few hours later, with the smell of her still on my fingers, I realised that our friendship had changed - and not for the better.

I had been very hesitant about going to a lesbian bar. Although I was bi-curious, I just didn’t feel that I would fit in there. For starters I preferred to fuck men: something which rather betrayed the ‘sisterhood’. Added to which, I neither represented, nor was attracted to, either the butch-dyke or the lipstick-lesbian stereotypes I was familiar with, so I was rather sceptical about the whole thing.

However, with my being crap at chatting up women, (I feel like a fraud – as if a woman would see straight through any approach I made and laugh at me), when C suggested an all-women bar and offered to help me try to pick up there, I jumped at the chance. Because C was bi-sexual and had been in a long-term relationship with a woman, I figured she would know the ropes and at least point me in the right direction. Given my previous history of getting as drunk as possible and smiling at a pretty girl from afar, it was clear my technique needed some assistance.

After settling down into a prime position in the bar to spot any talent, we gulped down copious amounts of wine. I wanted to scout around and catch a few girls’ eyes, but I was trying not to be rude and ignore C; after all, she was a good friend and had generously offered to assist me - the least I could do was give her eye contact.

As time went on though, I found myself getting drunker and more frustrated: why was C so intent on having a deep discussion? Surely she wanted me to be on the lookout for cute girls? She was there to help me pick up a girl, right? Wrong: this was far from the truth.

I had tried to ignore the way C’s eyes always dropped to my breasts as I talked. I put this down to the fact that, yes, they were big, and yes, it might be hard for her not to notice them. But I dislike people staring at my breasts when I am talking: and was feeling somewhat uncomfortable that C’s eyes were glued to them. She kept staring at my chest, barely giving me eye contact as her gaze continually fell to my nipple line. Fine, she likes my breasts. OK. I can deal with that. But at some point she leaned across the bar and grabbed hold of my arm, stroking it from my shoulder down to my hand and then clasped my fingers in hers, saying, “Girl, you’re so fucking sexy, god I like you so much. I want you.”

And then she pulled me to her and kissed me deeply. I was so shocked I didn’t know what to do. This was entirely out of the blue. We’d been friends for a couple of years; I had no idea she might fancy me. But at this point, analysing it was irrelevant: C had her tongue down my throat and I had to think fast.

The thing is, I just didn’t fancy her. Although C was very pretty – bouncing blond curls, deep green eyes, trim, svelte body – she just wasn’t my type. I tend to be extremely fussy when it comes to my taste in women. If they are skinny, lack an arse and don’t have at least a C-cup bra size, they do absolutely nothing for me. Shallow, I know. But give me a curvaceous woman with big tits, grabbable arse and strong thighs and it’s a different story. I like ‘em curvy (just like me).

So I’m being snogged by a girl who I didn’t find sexy and who also happened to be my friend. At this point I should have pulled away, had some strong moral words with her about us not getting involved, said goodnight and made my way home alone.

But by now, she was running her hands across my breasts, making my nipples rock hard. With her deft fingers stroking and cupping my tits, I felt my body respond to her touch and between my legs I began to ache, yearning to have something to relieve the pressure building up there. I felt my breath quicken and looked at her, this slender, petite woman and tried to think.

With a combination of alcohol and the heat between my legs, I am ashamed to say that I didn't end it right there. Ok, so her tits are non-existent. And she is skinny. And she has no arse. And she is my friend. But she is a woman. And she wants me. And my pussy is soaked and needs attention. And I am drunk. And if I close my eyes and concentrate really hard, maybe I can just pretend she is Salma Hayek.

So I pulled her to me, kissed her deeply and started caressing her breasts, teasing her nipples like she was doing to me. And when she then suggested fucking in one of the toilets, I followed her downstairs enthusiastically.

It wasn’t long before we were stood in front of each other naked, her slender body appearing tiny next to mine: my strength represented by my physical size; her fragility by hers. It suddenly struck me why I dislike skinniness in my sexual partners: I need them to have a strong physical presence like me, or else I feel like I am the dominant one. And because I like to switch roles – being both submissive and dominant - in order to achieve this balance of ‘equality’ in bed, I think that similar body shape and size are necessary. Or in other words, I don't want to feel like a huge gallumphing cow in bed with a flimsy flower - doesn't quite do it for me, you see.

But I was trying to ignore all that. After all, I was horny as hell, a pretty girl was naked in front of me and I was finally about to get some pussy. So I concentrated instead on the task at hand. We moved closer to each other and she pressed her tits against mine. Finally porn gets it right. This is as great as it looks. I rubbed my nipples against hers feeling the throbbing between my legs increase as I did so.

She slid her thigh in between mine and we ground our hips against each other. It felt good, (albeit a little frustrating since I kept wishing she had a cock and that she would slip that in between my legs, rather than just her slim thigh).

Still, moments later she slipped her fingers between my legs and I did the same with her. It was a miniscule celebratory moment for me: the first time I ever felt the inside of another woman’s vagina and I was struck by the wetness, heat and tightness – it’s just not the same when you do it to yourself.

With her fingers rubbing me frantically and me feeling my orgasm approach, I leaned in to kiss her and that was when she whispered the magic words in my ear, “Girl, I’m so in love with you. I want you. I’ll leave Tom – I just want to be with you. Come back with me, I want to make love to you all night.”

Which of course made my climax disappear spontaneously. There was I, selfishly enjoying having drunken sexual liaisons with a woman I didn’t fancy and she had the audacity to be in love with me. Great. I couldn’t have hoped for a better lesbian encounter. Certainly wasn’t like that in the porno.

I pulled out my fingers from deep inside her and tried to explain that I just wanted to be friends. (Which was a bit contradictory, given that my fingers were still soaked with her juices). But she deserved honesty and although she was devastated with my abrupt ending of our dalliance, I know it was better to have nipped things in the bud, than to let anything develop any further. It’s one thing to have drunken sex with a mate; it’s another thing entirely when they are in love with you.

So we went our separate ways and for many weeks I had to deal with her feeling used and hurt by what I had done: our friendship was rocky for quite a while. But I’m glad to say we’re fine now – even though she still stares at my tits when we get together.

Such was my discomfort with this experience I was put off sexually exploring with women again for quite some time. Until that is, I discovered just how much fun it could be, when there are three people involved instead of just two.

Although being banned from having the guy’s cock inside me, due to his girlfriend’s jealousy, kind of dampened the evening a little, it has to be said.

Thank you to those that voted for me in the Urbs contest.
I was out by around 100 votes, but I appreciate everybody who took the time to support me - cheers

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