Sapphic Embrace: The Half-Japanese Girl by Eroticatorium Page B

listed them off to me.
    “Thank you so much for
coming over today,” Meredith said. “It’s been a couple weeks since
I had anything to look forward to on a Saturday night.”
    “Oh, Meredith! You can
always call me,” I said.
    “I don’t want a pity-friend.
I want a woman, a romantic, sexual relationship. Something
permanent. Something that doesn’t get ruined,” she said. I could
tell she was thinking of her ex, Elaine, who had become a
controlling, domineering, almost abusive part of Meredith’s
life.
    “That’s… not totally
impossible,” I said.
    “What?”
    “I’m bisexual,” I said. “And
I’ve been thinking about giving up on men for a little
while.”
    “Wait,” Meredith said, “Are
you really bisexual? A lot of women just say that. If you just want
to… you know, experiment, tell me. That’s fine. I can show you the
ropes. But don’t pretend you want a real relationship if you
don’t.”
    “Is it okay if I don’t
know?” I said.
    “That’s an experiment then.
You are old enough to know, Amy. If you aren’t seriously, really
attracted to women, you’re not bisexual. I know, I know, sexuality
is a spectrum, but I’m not going to get in a relationship with a
woman who’s ninety-five percent hetero,” she said.
    “Meredith… I don’t want to
lie to you. I hate lying,” I said. “But I really am bisexual. I’ve
just never done anything like this, not really.”
    She smiled, her soft
feminine face beaming brilliantly. She placed one hand on my arm
and said, “Then let’s take it slow.” She leaned forward and
delicately planted her lips on mine.
    It both was and was not the
same as kissing a boy. She was lighter, more airy, and she tasted
less of salt and musk. But just the same as any man I had kissed,
her lips’ touch sent shockwaves of anticipated pleasure coursing
through my nerves. I kissed her too, opening my mouth so our
tongues could mingle.
    I wrapped my arms around her
back, feeling her lithe feminine frame arch beneath my grasp. Our
bodies interlocked as we sank down into the couch cushions. Her
hands stayed around my face and neck, but electric tingling made my
entire body feel alive. We matched up perfectly, her breasts
pressing against mine, her legs ensconced with mine, our bare toes
curling up against each other.
    One of her hands danced from
my neck to my chest, caressing the spot between my breasts as she
slowly descended. Her lips stayed firmly planted on my mouth, her
hard nipples still poking mine from beneath her blouse and bra. I
lowered my own hands from her shoulders to her lower back, a part
of me wanting to clutch her firm asscheeks, fitting snugly in her
tight jeans, but I hesitated, not sure if that would be too
forward, or if it was the kind of thing done during heterosexual
encounters that would seem weird in a lesbian one.
    She quickly undid the
buttons of my shirt and her blouse, stripping them off to reveal my
comically dingy old-lady bra and her beautiful blue number, out of
which her ample bosoms spilled forth like fleshy cornucopias. I was
a bigger woman so my bosoms were larger overall, but she had a
neater frame, with perfectly shaped breasts that, for a moment,
made me feel like a sitcom frat boy whose eyes would pop out of his
skull at their sight..
    She sat up, sitting on and
between my thighs, undoing her own bra to let her breasts hang out,
gleaming with a few beads of sweat in her well-lit apartment. “I
knew as soon as I saw you waiting in line to buy weed that we were
going to fuck,” she said. “But then you said you weren’t the
lesbian type.”
    I giggled. “I wasn’t really
going to buy weed. I was just watching you because you were cute
and you caught my attention. But you’re right, I wasn’t the lesbian
type. Until now.” I slid out of my own bra, hoping my flesh didn’t
look too fat and saggy in comparison with hers. But she didn’t seem
to notice, kneeling down and taking one of my nipples in her mouth,
her