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Chapter 01
Jenine Finds Her Way
*****
Dear Readers,
After several false starts, this is my first attempt at a real story. It is a work of erotic fiction, so if you are under the age of 18 you should not be reading it. It is a story about a lesbian who finds herself, so if that is not your cup of tea, you may want to find something else to read. It will be written over about ten chapters. I will try to make each chapter stand alone as much as my feeble abilities allow.
I want to thank CopyCarver for serving as the editor for this project. His insightful wisdom and encouragement kept me going. It is an honor for a talented professional copy editor to take the time to help an inexperienced writer. He is the first person who told me I may have the ability to write, which caused me to cry.
MystressLynn provided an early read and pointed out several errors.
Of course, I can't forget my best friends, who anonymously commented, "this is the worst crap I have ever read," and the other love who simply wrote, "BLECK!" after I wrote my first story. Those comments made me want to prove the two of you wrong (although, anyone reading this story is entitled to feel that way).
This is the second rewrite of this story. Mismused (kiss) provided a big assist in pointing out errors in sexual positioning and rushed sex scenes in the original submission. Kumani (rose) provided a timely and cogent edit of this rewrite.
This story is dedicated to Misty Flowers, Raney Daze, spiritual lovers, my Teacher(s) and the patch.
Irania
*****
I can't believe I'm smitten by her. Me, a thirtyish tenured professor of psychology at a prestigious liberal arts college—smitten—of all things, by a young counter girl just out of high school.
I took the damn trip to South Padre because my shrink continually bugged me to get away for a short vacation. She wanted to see how I'd function away from the protected world of academia, completely weaned from antidepressants. My emotions are a mixed bag so far, zooming through formidable highs and angst-filled lows. Beginning to fill that dreaded loss of control, I wanted a drink—and a girl.
Standing in front of a counter at a ritzy hotel smitten by a young child no more than a couple of years out of high school, my mind collapsed, wanting to find solace in a clear liquid, and her body. Jeez, I am old enough to be her mother. I would never have a chance at a girl like that. She must think I'm some ridiculous tourist too shallow to find her room.
"May I help you, Miss?" she asked in a raspy tone that sounded inviting. I couldn't find my voice and just stood there, staring like a completely hopeless idiot.
*****
I've always known I'm gay, but I locked my secrets away at a young age. My parents burned the entire conservative protestant dogma into me like a brand, making it impossible for me to consider any other public option except the pretense of heterosexuality. Good Christian girls simply weren't gay, and given a choice between heaven and hell, I steadfastly chose heaven.
I even married Bernard twelve years ago in a vain attempt at normalcy. The poor guy, it upset him so when I came out, but at least now we can carry on a reasonable conversation. I'm sure he knew I had a few screws loose and was only one step away from the loony bin. I rarely had sex with him, and had to drink when I did.
Even after fucking myself with my hand regularly for twelve years, I basked in a public denial that made my mental state a fractured mess. I even tried believing my lies, saying that I loved Bernard, but I always knew that I didn't. Who was I fooling? My body wanted women, but my mind couldn't cope with the world knowing that I was probably—no most definitely—a lesbian.
No kids resulted from the difficult union. I didn't own the desire to bring another baby into this world after what happened to the first one. Losing my virginity in a very miserable manner, I feared sex with a male. The hymen breach of that male's penis resulted in pregnancy, then losing the infant left me deeply wounded. That's when my mind took a big turn for the worse; I was institutionalized for six weeks. Finding Zoloft and a few years later . . . vodka, I existed for years in a broken state of equilibrium. I'll tell you more about how my baby was taken from me later on. It has a lot to do with this story, and my eventual travel to sanity.
Most would call me plain, with thick, long black hair. I'm a bit taller than the average woman and keep my figure fit with daily workouts at the gym with my friend Amber. Fortunately, I've never had much of a weight problem and would consider my legs and bum my best assets. They're pretty sexy for a frumpish professor. I do have a frightening scar running across my left wrist that I cover with my watch, the result of an attempted suicide at eighteen and yes, it was because of the aforementioned incident.
My lesbian experiences before the freshmen, the Asian and Amber amounted to fooling around in a few sleepovers at my best friend Jaime's house in high school. The nights with her left me uncomfortably happy, and I looked forward to staying with her often. I still think back to those first few nights of exploration with fondness and a twinge of guilt. You think I would have gotten it then, the entire public identity issue. It would've saved many people, me being one of them much heartache. It turns out Jaime is gay just like me, and happily married. We're still good friends, she helped me through my fall.
I guess you might have a little idea about who I am now, one fucked up college professor, screwed on so many levels. This story is going to help me sort it all out, not that anyone really cares. I mean, it's not like a great opus or anything. It's certainly not going to make old Hemmingway wake from the dead. But perhaps some secretive lesbian will read it, and just maybe it will help her.
*****
The gay bug hit me squarely between the eyes four years ago, after resting almost two decades in forced dormancy. Two cute freshmen entered my Psych 101 class holding hands, oblivious to the scrutiny of their classmates. They held hands casually, suggesting a long felt closeness. It didn't hurt that they were both knockouts, with lovely hair and glowing skin in straightforward college attire. Laura, just a bit under six feet, was absolutely the most breathtaking female on the face of the earth, with a thick curvy body and long blonde locks ending below her breasts.
The other teen, Stacey, was about my height, and possessed an exotic countenance that suggested an aristocratic lineage. Slender yet muscular, she moved with grace and dignity, bearing smallish breasts no larger than a teacup.
Unable to keep my eyes off the two, I delivered my lectures in somewhat sotto voce, which was different from my usual professorial elocutions. I realized my frustration was more than just a result of the physical attraction I held for the two girls. Truthfully, it stemmed from jealousy. I was jealous that these two kids could admit their lesbianism so brazenly. Looking at them affected me in a way that is difficult to explain. It caused pain and excitement, stirring the long-quashed lesbian sex gene. Regretting the time that I had lost in the heterosexual world, for the first time in years I began to question what would bring me happiness.
As the weeks passed, the girls flirted with me each time they left the room. It started with some innocent looks and giggling, then gradually progressed to blatant lustful scrutiny, as their eyes raked across my body from head to toe. I found myself constantly masturbating at night, thinking of Jaime and of the two undergraduates as the semester progressed from winter to spring.
Laura made the first move, having correctly read my strained lectures and obvious attention as a sign of attraction. She did it quite simply, waiting until all the other students left the class while she lingered.
She glided straight up to me and boldly propositioned, "How 'bout a threesome?"
This removed every bit of air from my lungs, leaving me speechless (a problem for a loquacious professor). I fixated on her like a scared kitten, trembling with fear while deeply inhaling her perfumed scent to catch my breath. Finally, I just shook my head no. She lifted her hand and lightly stroked my cheek with the back of her nails, tearing into me with piercing blue eyes and said compassionately, "Don't be scared, Teacher." Then she turned and walked away. "The day will come," she called back, flipping her blonde mane while walking toward the door and lifting her short blue-jean skirt, exposing a thick naked bum.
"Christ," I whispered under my breath, an expression I'm sure she heard, because her hand slapped her ass loudly. My comfortable ivory-towered world just tumbled and I spent a restless week wondering if I could ever give myself to these girls. It wasn't the thought of carnal love that bothered me. I was afraid of how the experience might change me. My mind still couldn't accept a public image that didn't include heterosexuality. Lesbianism simply wasn't an acceptable lifestyle in my religiously bent world.
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For some decadent reason, I looked forward to the next class session with growing anticipation. I recognize now that the sexual flirtation of the two young women was somehow freeing my heterosexual burden. The thought of going public with my lesbianism never entered my mind, but I did believe that now it might be possible for me to take a female lover—or two—in secret.
Drinking heavily each evening, I drowned most of my doubt and resistance in vodka. The drinks eased the discomfort temporarily, although the angst returned in the morning with a hangover that left me feeling as if life abandoned me in a forced psychological reversal. Looking at my puffy red face in the mirror one morning, I rationalized that I was well on my way to alcoholism, if not already there.
The next week the girls continued to tease all during class, holding hands and giving each other little pecks on the cheek. As class dismissed, Laura again lingered, then approached me directly, invading my personal space. Towering over me, she placed her hand underneath her short pink dress and rubbed. Her blue eyes burned into me as she stroked her wetness. She fondled her firm full breasts beneath a tight, flimsy, white tank top. I tried backing away and bumped into the lectern. She took a single step forward, then lifted her hand to her mouth and blew me a single kiss. Her finger glistened with juice, and I focused on that digit as my mind slowly decomposed. Excited in a way I never recall feeling, my knees almost buckled as every cell in my body pulsed. Laura's beauty defied words and realizing she wanted me violated my warped view of self.
"Today?" she asked.
Red and breathless, savoring a level of eroticism never experienced even when I manipulated my own genitalia, I paused and seriously considered the offer. Foolishly, I slowly shook my head no, while unconsciously wanting to say yes. She turned and walked away saying, "Soon, Teacher," and lifted her skirt so I could devour that heavenly ass. The cheese not only moved, but melted into sauce fit for a queen.
It took me about ten minutes to recover my composure as passionate thoughts for the girls raced through my mind. It wasn't that I felt love for the two, just a deep painful lust for female comforting. Feeling the wetness in my panties, my mind searched for a place so I could get some relief. The only place I could think of at that moment was the faculty rest room, although quite frankly, it would have been safer if I had gone to my private office and locked the door.
*****
Entering the room, I nearly bumped into my colleague Amber, who looked at me and asked, "Are you okay Jenine? You look a little flushed." The woman, about three years my senior with a fit figure, was one of my dearest friends in the department. I didn't realize at the time that her concern for me was deeper than just friendship.
"Feeling a little ill, think it's something I ate." Then I gave her a little wink and locked the door to the small rest room. I removed my matronly dress and hung it on the rack behind the door. Quickly removing my panties and bra, I hung the bra on the rack and threw the panties to the floor. Fondling my breasts and squeezing my sensitive nipples, I felt relief with the gentle pain of my touch. My hands trailed from breasts to thighs, lightly tickling my skin. I paused momentarily, closing my eyes and lifting my hands to caress my face, hair, and chin, thinking that it would be so much more satisfying if the freshmen were in this room with me.
Trailing my right hand slowly across my body to my sensitive wetness, I placed the thumb and index finger on my clit and stimulated the creamy little bud. Taking my free hand and playing with the stiff, black, curly hairs between my legs, I raked my nails lightly from my lower body to a single breast. Squeezing, I fantasized about Laura and Stacey's lips suckling my nipples.
Leaning back, I spread my legs widely, easily sliding the middle finger of that hand deep inside my pussy. I lifted the finger to my mouth, savoring my juice and wishing it was Laura's. Tickling my tongue with my finger, I sensed an orgasm was within reach.
In my desperation, I moved my hand to my velvety wetness and entered with my finger. The shock of the finger entering my canal sent stinging bites through my body. I lifted my ass upwards uncontrollably and strained to keep from screaming. Resting my butt back to the seat, I continued my sloppy stroking as tingles of excitement trembled through my pussy. Increasing the pace, I recklessly masturbated with blinding speed.
I slipped a second, then a third finger in my creamy folds, then thought about a fourth as ripples ran on top of my fingers. My right hand blurred like a hummingbird in flight atop my clit, while my left pounded into my soaking, feverish pussy. An orgasm took hold and I tensed, placing my legs against the floor and back against the top of the toilet. I lifted completely off the seat, screaming a single, "Ah," while discharging an excessive amount of juice. Closing my legs around my hands, I continued stroking as a second wave pulsed through my body. My hands involuntarily stopped their manipulations, and I pushed my ass down against the toilet seat, screaming a final, "Fuck," while shaking and holding my breath.
Just.
Breathe.
Slowly . . .
Leaning back into the porcelain comfort of the top of that toilet, I rested until the tremors ended. I thought, Elvis has just left the building, and laughed at my stupid pun. Feeling a little better, I lifted my wet hands to my mouth and licked each finger clean, happily savoring the musky flavor with an intensity that sent another ripple through my crotch.
That's when something just clicked in my mind, turning a tide that would never return. I don't know why at that particular moment I decided to fuck those two gorgeous teens. Perhaps it involved the years of denial and my own frustration of never being sexually intimate with anyone, except my young trysts with Jaime and that can hardly be described as sex, just mutual masturbation and kissing.
Being the insecure neurotic type, I still couldn't believe the two girls wanted me. At least my tits were still up, and my ass pretty tight for a senior citizen in her thirties. Someone banged on the rest room door, which was like throwing a cold bucket of water on a rabbit in heat. I rose quickly and dressed, throwing my bra in my valise. Pausing to check my long black hair pulled back in a bun, I sighed, thinking the face in the mirror wasn't mine. Fortunately, for the person who was banging on the door, I didn't look too shaken for a sex-starved fool.
A knock at the door again, "Jenine, are you all right, are you sick or something?" It was Amber, my bitchy friend.
"Yes, just sick at my stomach," I said, not actually lying.
I patted my face with water and toweled off, then I unlocked the door to face the music and incredible curiosity of my nosy friend.
"What the hell is going on in there? You look pale."
"I threw up Amber, might not want to go in there right now. It smells pretty bad."
"Want me to run you home?" She grabbed my arm and squeezed in a way that I didn't recognize as interest.
"No, got the Nissan, I'll be alright, and thanks for the concern. Gonna miss the workout today."
She squeezed just a bit harder and the perception of her interest briefly flashed through my mind. "It's nothing," she said disappointed, then she looked downward. I noticed something in her eyes that I'll always remember, a brokenhearted glaze that left me vexed. This revelation overwhelmed me, and I exited the rest room and lounge, driving home quickly in a confused state of mind.
I always loved being with Amber for some reason I didn't understand, even if she always bitched and complained about work and her teenage son. We always found some excuse to be together by catching the latest movie or eating at a new restaurant. Lost in my thoughts, I drove past my house and ended three miles down the street before recognizing my mistake. Later that evening as Bernard quizzed me about my day, I gasped, remembering I left my panties in the rest room.
The next few days until the psycho 101 class were a nightmare as I wrestled between my mental instability and unnatural desire. The problem created some friction in the marriage as Bernard noticed my distance (not that we were ever that sexually intimate) and continually tried to comfort me. Honestly, I knew he intended to ease my suffering, and I appreciated him in a way that only a lesbian in denial can understand. If truth be told, his attention mostly disgusted me. It is hard for a person in the midst of denial to show affection for the person who reminds them of that denial.
I found most of my comfort by petting Slinky underneath her ears as she purred. The cat was an arrogant little orange ball of fur that unapologetically scurried off when something more interesting caught her eye. How I wanted to be that cat, running from Bernard into the arms of a woman.
Drinking vodka every night until in a stupor, I allowed Bernard to have sex with me once because I felt sorry for him. The experience left me deeply dissatisfied and angry, especially after sitting on the toilet unable to get myself off in my alcohol-induced state.
*****
The next day I decided to hell with depression and chose not to drink anymore (at least for that week). Trying my best to look sexy for my next psycho 101 class, I ventured to my professorially appropriate wardrobe and found nothing that exactly fit the task. Credit card in hand, I found solace at Macy's, picking a sexy pink linen skirt with a slit in the back and a white silky blouse with a chemise. I figured, using my intelligent mind that rivaled Einstein's (Ha!), the apparel might appeal to the girls and not get me fired. Finding Victoria's Secret, I spent $300.00 on an assortment of lacy panties, push-up bras, hose and fragrant perfumes that made me feel sexy.
Taking the dreaded trip to Maxim's Hair Salon to see if they could help with the unibrow, I felt embarrassed, like an old woman unsuccessfully trying to remove years through the miracle of a salon. After seeing the sexy oriental just out of high school that would be my Anne Sullivan, my mood changed, thinking I should have come here years ago if this was the typical attendant. She was a cutie, tiny with thin jet-black hair and large almond eyes. The sensation of having a pretty girl attending to my every whim excited me, increasing my pulse rate and wetness.
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