My New Girlfriend

Big Tits

Heather is my new girlfriend, although I’ve known her since college. When I knew her then, she had this hyper-curly dark hair and these hot blue eyes. Now, almost ten years later, her hair is still curly, but dyed a stylish light brown. Her eyes are still intense, and her body has filled out into a full, mature figure, with a tendency to be sweetly plump if she stops exercising for a while.

I hadn’t been looking to meet her. I ran into her quite by chance at the movie theater as we were getting out of a show. We saw each other at the same time and I knew immediately who she was. I said hi, and we ended up going to a coffee shop and talking about the movie and catching up on things. She smoked these long, thin cigarettes one after another and laughed as she ate a piece of cinnamon crumble apple pie.

I never liked her that much when I knew her before. She was the sort of person who took everything personally. Even the smallest slips or slights really hurt her feelings, so it seemed like she just went from one big drama to another. She was exhausting. But talking to her in the coffee shop, she was much calmer than I remembered.

Almost without noticing it, I was really enjoying myself and found myself telling her some personal things without meaning to, about how my last relationship ended and how things had gotten complicated with my parents who loved my old girlfriend and thought I was an utter fool for leaving her. I had gone kind of numb afterwards, but talking to Heather then, I realized how broken up I had been. Just the little bit of talking about it made me feel much better. And Heather did more than listen politely. I felt like she really cared. We traded contact info, and when I got home, she had already left a message on my machine.

“Amy, it was great talking to you today. I hope we see each other again soon. I have to say that you were the last person from college whom I ever thought I’d meet again, but I’m glad I did. It was fun. Call me, or email me. Bye.”

I listened to her message twice. Sitting on the couch, I realized that I really had no friends, that I had left them behind when Kat and I broke up. Heather was the first person I had talked to outside of work in almost two weeks, besides that lady at the grocery store: she talked to everybody.

It felt like I was waking up at last.

That Friday I asked her out to dinner and we spent another evening talking and laughing. We walked by the fair at the lakeside and went in to try out a few rides. I get queasy on things like the spinning tops, but Heather loved them and talked me into riding with her. We went these high spinning swings and on the bumper cars.

Then we rode on the Ferris wheel. It was at the top looking over the lake at all the lights reflected there, at her highlighted profile, and the curve of her smile, of her breasts, that I felt like I was falling in love. It happened so suddenly. I put my hand on hers. It was warm and soft. She smiled and squeezed my fingers. My heart pounded in my chest for the rest of that ride, but then it was over and we got off. We didn’t do anything more than that. We said goodbye and I went back home, determined that I wasn’t going to fall in love, that I was going to be her good friend.

Heather had a boyfriend, a man named Michael Nesmith, like that guy from the Monkees. He drove a BMW and took her out to these fancy places. He was the first boyfriend she had kept for more than four months since she graduated from college, and it sounded like he was good to her.

She told me how they met at the pool, how he bought her flowers almost every week and even took a foot massage class so he could help her relax at the end of the day. The only thing she didn’t really like about him was the way he tore up little things like tooth picks or tissue paper while he was on the phone or watching TV and left these piles laying around for her to clean up.

I thought about all my own foibles and habits: how many of them were as innocuous as that? My occasional intense need for solitude, or my insistence on absolute silence when I listen to music; both were only the more most immediate examples of my own difficulties, and they seemed much worse than his.

I never actually met Michael, because he traveled a lot for his work at the bank, but Heather invited me over to their place and I saw the pictures of them together and smelled him in the air. I told her she was really lucky. She just laughed a little and made us some potato salad. She asked if I’d ever had a boyfriend, and so I told her about the few I’d had before I came out.

“It must be so much easier being gay,” she said, so I had to ask why she thought so. “Well, you don’t have to figure out what guys are thinking, and you don’t have to worry about that, about them not understanding you.”

“Being with women doesn’t necessarily make things any easier. People are people, and in some ways we’re the same, but we’re also all different. Everything’s easier when you’re with Gaziantep Escort Numaraları the right person, and everything’s harder when you’re with the wrong one. I don’t think that changes whether you’re straight or gay.”

“So why did you break up with your old girlfriend?”

“Uh, a radical difference of opinion. She didn’t cheat on me, but it was almost as bad, I guess. And we hadn’t been getting along for a while.”

“How long ago was it?”

“Oh, six months, I guess.” I had made myself stop counting days and feeling sorry for myself, even though it had been my decision to break everything off. It only partially worked, but I was a lot better than I had been.

“Have you had a lot of girlfriends?”

“I’ve had a few. When I get involved with someone, it’s always serious. I don’t know why, but I can’t go in lightly. And I guess I’ve been lucky to be with some really great people, but somehow, we always end up going in different directions, until it feels like I’m going to break in half. Without getting into a lot of specifics, I can’t really explain. Anyway, I guess we just keep growing apart.”

“I’ve dated a lot of guys. You know, right? And I don’t think I’ve ever been that close to any one of them. Not the way you sound. It must be nice.”

“I wonder. But how about Mike? You love him, right?”

“I’ve been with Mike for two years and quarter as of next Tuesday. That’s real specific, huh? I’m really happy to be with him, and I know that he loves me. But that doesn’t mean that things are always going to be this way. As you say, people grow apart, sometimes gradually, sometimes fast.

“You know I haven’t seen him in three weeks. His job keeps him away longer and longer, and he tells me that that’s not going to change. We talk on the phone almost every day, on the internet with cameras, and I even write him letters. But I can feel him changing the longer we’re apart. Or maybe it’s me. Or both of us. It’s not just sex. I mean, we have phone sex, we use webcameras, we do all kinds of things, and that can be really great. Have you ever tried it?”

“Um, no. That’s one set of things I’ve never done.”

“Well, it can be great. But now it just makes me more lonely for him. And when he is here, I don’t know how to be with him anymore. I don’t want to break up with him; I want things to be the way they were, but when I tell him this, I just feel selfish. It’s not exactly his choice, after all. There should be something I can do, but after all this I don’t know what it could be.”

Heather and I became good friends. We met at least twice a week, for lunch on Wednesdays, and on the weekends for an afternoon of something or other. She took me to her club and taught me to play racquetball; I took her to all the museums in town, the places where I like to go to draw. I even took her to my kung fu class.

For a couple of months we had theme-Fridays where we would do something adventurous or silly. One time we dressed up as men and went out; another night we traded identities – clothes and make-up, wallets – and acted like each other. We had a goth night, and the famous All-Plaid Party Night that yielded some of the most hideous photographs I’ve ever taken. She introduced me to her friends, and I got along with some of them. My world started to expand again. It was great. And I thought about her all the time.

I told myself that I loved her as a friend, that it was unreasonable to expect anything else. I resolutely kept myself from thinking about her when I masturbated by watching a lot of porn. But even then she was in my thoughts.

When we became lovers, it happened quite naturally. Heather and Mike came to the point where they agreed to break up; she had seen him only twice in three months, for about two days each. Both of them agreed that it was too much to maintain their connection with so little contact.

As I said, I never met the man – I just spoke to him on the phone once or twice – and I was in almost daily contact with her for half a year. And once it was over she came over to my place to tell me. Heather cried a little and then let it go. And she was fine. I marveled at her that she could do that, but she just laughed.

“It was over a long time ago. Now the formalities are done and he’ll be taking his stuff out next week. And I can finally move on to other things, to other people who have been waiting for me. They’ve been waiting so patiently, and now I can finally reach out to them properly.”

And then she did; she took me in her arms and she held me close. I thought I was surprised for a moment, but I wasn’t really; I was just happy. Some wall of reserve that I had kept between us dissolved and then I was holding her, too.

The feeling of her body against mine, the way her curves fit into me soft and full, was staggeringly erotic. An electric snap of desire raced inside me, along my heart, the pit of my stomach and my womb. More than just sexual, it was an emotional yearning, a part of me that longed for completion. And for connection.

She let me kiss her, let me feel the close of her back and the bulge of her breasts. As my breath passed into her, her own desire stirred; when I slipped my tongue in her mouth, it roared to life. She kissed me back, sucking on my tongue. She moved her hands over my head and back and ground her body into mine, revving into me lustfully.

We tore at each other’s clothes, popping a button off my sleeve as we got down to our underwear. I took her tits out from her bra; they were proud, crowned with high nipples. She gasped as I rubbed them and rolled them, and told me to suck them gently because they were so sensitive.

I took her left breast. I let my tongue creep over the pert flesh, glide across the areola, then up over the nipple, lapping at it and teasing it with my lips. My hands slid over her back and sides, her stomach and over her hips. She pushed me back on the couch, moaning, and lay atop me, fitting her thighs around my leg and her hot crotch against my skin.

As I suckled on, she started to hunch and grind her pussy against me. I put one hand down her back and into her panties to her full ass and pussy. She was so wet she was dripping through the fabric, her lips swollen wide for my anxious fingers. That was how I made her come for the first time. Heather grunted like an animal and twisted her hips while she squeezed me.

As she recovered, I rolled out from under her, turning her on her back, and stripped off her panties. I got naked and then lowered myself down to her. I asked if she wanted it, and her only answer was a tight nod and a grip of my hand. I licked at her nipples some more; they were delightfully sensitive and seemed to bring her right back to the brink of ecstasy. But I left them behind and kissed my way down her belly while my free hand came up her leg to her juicy core.

“You’re beautiful,” I told her as I examined her ruby lips and well-kept thatch of dark pubic hair. Her pink insides glistened and her clit peeked out from its hood. Heat roared out from inside her as I tasted her for the first time. She squeezed my hand hard with one hand and played with her nipples with the other while I went through her and through her with long wide licks.

She was very vocal and she let me know when something was good in a way none of my other lovers had done before. It felt almost like she was some wild, sexy instrument and I was playing her, a virtuoso performance that brought her to climax time and again. And as she came around me, pulling my face into her with both hands and feet, I felt her pleasure as though it were my own, the greatest satisfaction I had known in bed or out of it for so very long.

After a long time of it, my mouth and tongue sore from their first real workout in over a year, I slipped a finger in her and held her pussy while I went up to her sweaty arms. I kissed her, let her taste her own juice on my face and snuggled into her embrace.

“No one. . . no one’s ever done it to me like that before.”

“There are some things only a woman can do for another woman. Although I hear dogs are pretty good at it, too.”

“I don’t think I can do that for you. Not right now, anyway.”

“Not to worry, my darling Heather. There’s time.”

“Oh yes,” she said. We lay together in the dim light and let the minutes stretch out on the clock.

Heather started to rouse. She suckled my breast and played with my hair, my pussy and ass. Her gentle explorations grew more intense and my own desire rekindled. It was her first time to touch another woman this way, and so I let her take her time and communicated my appreciation with low moans and sighs.

Her fingers brushed up and down the length of my slit, dabbling in the juices and spreading them around. She traced my lips with a fingertip, and then leaned down to do the same with her tongue. Her tongue felt its way around my clit, making me buck and squirm a little; it was hot and tight with pent longing.

A long finger found its way up inside me; I groaned and arched my back up to give her better access. She curled her finger up and rubbed into my g-spot. It was a little painful, actually, but that faded soon enough. With her licking away at my clit and circling my g-spot, my passions rose until I was gripping at the couch and breathing in gasps. Just a little more, and I would come.

Without breaking her rhythm, she pushed another finger, wet from my pussy, into my ass, and that pushed me over the edge. It hit me with an intensity that had been absent for more than a year. My pelvis quaked and I ejaculated right in her face, a flood that drenched half the couch, as I came and came and came.

My thighs quivered and my breath shuddered in my chest as I recovered. Heather was laughing. I couldn’t see her for a full minute after, but when I did there was delight on her face. Her hair was wet from my spray, her nose dripping. She was so happy that I started laughing, too.

“Oh, Amy! That was amazing! Some went up my nose. Can you do it again?”

She certainly tried to make sure I did. We went to bed sore and sticky, but happy, and in love.

We slept exhausted after many hours. I was in bliss. If there was one thing I worried about, it was how she would be in the morning, whether she would have a change of heart after her lust was sated. Or that she would be overcome with grief after losing Mike. But my fears were groundless. I heard her get up in the morning to pee and use the phone. She called in sick to work. She lay down on my bed next to me and whispered that she loved me, kissed me on the lips despite my sour breath. We went back to sleep and didn’t get up until late.

I took her into the shower and methodically rubbed her down with soap and then scrubbed her clean with a soft loofa, a kind of ritualistic Care For the Lover. For me it was a symbolic act of love, the kind of thing I often make up when I’m in a special moment. She didn’t stop me, but when I finished she turned and attacked me with kisses. She pinned me against the wall and sucked on my lips and tongue while she penetrated me with her soapy fingers, two at a time, then three and four, until I my knees were shaking and I was almost weeping with orgasm.

“Oh, Amy. You are just too fine. I love to see you come.” She put a finger to my asshole and tickled round its crinkled edges. “You like it in here, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question. I had alluded to my love of anal play before; it was a major element of sex in all my lesbian relationships.

“You love it in the ass.” She pushed her finger in to the first knuckle and gave it a twist.

I gasped.

“Oh! I love it in the ass. You, you can fuck my ass.”

“Yes, I can.” The finger drove in deeper, slipping in past the double-sphincter into my rectum. It twitched inside me, twisting and making small thrusts that made me mewl. She put another finger in. She turned me around so my face was pressed against the wall, the water driving down on my back, my butt sticking out around her impaling hand. “I can, and I will.”

And she did. Twisting her soapy fingers inside me, she finger-fucked me with gradually increasing intensity. Each tiny movement sent zings through the nerves of my anus and these reflected in my clit, in my nipples and the base of my skull. I rocked my ass back to keep time with her, but then it was too much for that. It felt too good and went too fast for any kind of movement on my part: all I could do was hang on to the wall and take it. It was so good.

I cried out, a long wail, and slid into the corner of the shower, bracing myself between the walls. I came hard and almost blacked out for a short second as blood rushed and sang in my ears over the hiss of the water and the slap of her hand in my ass. The orgasm coasted on a long, slow decline from the first peak. Heather reached her other hand to my clit and went back to work there, too, bringing me back up into another peak.

I couldn’t take it anymore and I slid to the floor. Heather knelt beside me and held me, cooing softly while I recovered. Then she soaped me up and scrubbed me down as I had done for her. I was passive in her hands.

Then she stood and I knelt at her crotch and licked her thighs and pussy.

“Yes, Amy, yes. You are just too fine.”

When we finally got dressed, it was almost one thirty. We were both starved so we went out to lunch and I ordered the biggest thing I could find on the menu, a triple club sandwich with soup and fries and a salad. And chocolate cheesecake. We ended up splitting it.

That whole day was a kind of euphoric blur. We walked around town, laughing over every little thing, running through the park and dancing to scraps of music from passing car radios. We couldn’t stop touching each other. It was bliss.

That night we made love again at my place. I set up candles around the bed and laid her down naked on a great soft towel. I put oil on my hands and gave her a massage from head to toe. She had her share of sore muscles, and it was great fun for me to learn her body and find them and work them out.

I thought she might go to sleep, and would’ve been glad if she did, but I was just as pleased when she moved me to lean back against the headboard and began a trail of licks and kisses that found their way after a long circuitous route, to between my legs.

Heather went down with a slurp, mixing her spit with my juice. After all the attentions I had shown her, she was eager to reciprocate, and her enthusiasm rocked me. The biggest problem she had was just a lack of endurance. But she was also fascinated by my vagina and all the layers and folds of it. I got a thrill just being the center of such curiosity, regardless of any other techniques that she used. She licked and sucked all through me and especially on my clit.

I lay back and closed my eyes, luxuriating in the embrace of her tongue and lips and the warm puffs of breath on my pussy. After quite a few minutes we got into a good cycle and I came, a medium orgasm that left me feeling refreshed.

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