Dipping my toes

Perhaps it was the good wine, the good company or the sheer desire to live life again. Whatever it was, I have had my first lesbian sex experience. Not a full immersion, a mere dipping of my toes. A late night, alcohol infused kiss, leading to a bedroom and clothes strewn on the floor.

There are those drunken evenings when the repercussions of the previous night’s actions don’t fully sink in until a day or two later. Even now I am not quite sure how it happened. The evening had been entertaining, fun and perfectly normal. Perhaps we had opened one bottle of wine too many, fuelled by witty conversation and laughter.  A look, a brushing of hands and suddenly we were kissing passionately. The strangely smooth sensations of kissing a woman, the lack of stubble, conscious of her breasts against mine. I had to close my eyes in order to focus on the task at hand.

We moved to the bedroom, giggling like school girls. Neither of us quite knowing what was going to come next. I removed her top, she undid her bra. Her breasts seemed so soft, so white. I cupped them in my hands and leant to kiss them. They felt so normal, just like mine. Taking her nipples in my mouth I was struck by how natural it felt. Was I remembering what it was like as a baby, the sensation of my mother’s breasts?

She removed my top and slipped my bra down to expose my nipples. I couldn’t help comparing and decided she had the better pair. Lying on the bed, I removed her trousers, her knickers and asked if I could lick her. I have always been curious about what it must be like to lick a cunt. Parting her lips I began to lick timidly, then tried to remember what it felt like when others did it to me, I pressed firmly with my tongue and moved it over her clit. She sighed deeply and I tried to find a rhythm. It was a strange taste, texture, movement; my mouth and tongue were not used to the flatter, side to side motions. Blow jobs are much easier!

We didn’t last long, giggles and general drunken exhaustion set in before any further orgasms or fumblings could. Now the whole experience feels more like a film I watched late one night, than an actual experience. It has awakened my curiosity, but perhaps next time I should find a woman who knows the ropes better than I. The blind leading the blind, or rather the drunk leading the drunk, is not a recipe for success.

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