[FF] Millie and me, Normandy [Lesbian] [First time]

We came across the Channel June the 8th, 1944, two days after the beaches had been taken. It was a rough crossing and we were landed into what seemed to me complete confusion. The beaches were still strewn with equipment and vehicles – and though there was no enemy – there was no doubt this was a battlefield.

Millie and I were army nurses – I could give you the regiment but it wouldn’t mean anything. What matters is we were to support the British advance towards a place called Caen. All we knew was it was meant to be taken quickly but that hadn’t happened and there would be hard fighting.

Looking back we were young and silly and naive and so terribly brave. We had a lot in common Millie and I. Both of us well educated, from well-off families. Both of us the youngest. Both of us had brothers fighting – mine an intelligence officer in the East, hers a lieutenant (it’s pronounced left-tennant if you please) in North Africa. She was a slight brunette, no bust to speak of, all gawk and angles. I was Red to the core, pale as the Senior Common Room at King’s college, curvy as the Circle Line (but far to young to be fat).

There was no opportunity to breathe from the moment we hit France. We were straight ahead in a dreadful American truck towards the front and into a field hospital behind one of those sunken hedges that seem so romantic in peace time, a hiding place for the Boche in war, who I have never forgive. The doctor was pleased to see us. Neither of us were new to the game and the sight of him covered to the elbows in red did not surprise us.

‘I won’t shake hands,’ he said. ‘Do get stuck in.’ He smiled. ‘My mother sent over some excellent fruitcake we can have later on when we get a moment do light this cigarette for me and be a darling and wipe my spectacles.’ So in we got stuck.

It was a daze those weeks. The poor boys – for they were only boys – coming in shot or blown up. Some could be saved. Many couldn’t. You must understand we survived on pure adrenaline and tea. That was how it was all that bloody month. It all happened when we stopped, you see. It was an unraveling.

We were given a weekend. A glorious thing. It was a war but it was Normandy in summer. The fields were a beautiful green and the sky a flat blue. We were put up by a farmer and his wife in their house, a funny long attic room with two beds in. They gave us calvados and dinner and packed us upstairs. Millie and I drank our fill, more than our fill, and went to bed.

Who started it. It’s hard to say. I think it was as we were heading up the stairs and to catch our balance one of us touched the other. The first touch is a curious thing. A moment of passage, of electricity; and acknowledgment that we were moving from one kind of relationship to another. I can see us now by the lamplight. Both of us in a curious mishmash of clothes – borrowed trousers that hugged my small waist and swamped Millie, shirts tucked in, open at the collar. I think she might have worn a forage cap she picked up from somewhere.

But we stopped. On the stairs. We swayed, for we were not sober. We embraced in the doorway to our room. We had hugged so many times but now it was different. There was no decision but we kissed – suddenly, furiously. Millie was a little smaller than I and it felt strange and beautiful to kiss a slighter person – indeed to kiss rather than to be kissed was a new thing altogether. We used our tongues, as we had both done with men before, teasing. It was urgent. Of course it was. That was what death does to you; gives your life a burning urgency. Who knows if we will be here tomorrow. Who has time for regret.

We moved into the bedroom. I was undressing her, I remember that. Off came the shirt and her bra and off came mine. She had the better of me and I was on my back on the bed, feeling for the first time another woman’s breasts against mine. The softness was incredible. I played my hands over her tiny, tiny, waist and her chest and her face while she did the same, both of us ravenously curious, kissing energetically, trying to push our shoes off with our toes which of course we had tied far too tight and far too sensibly. When I felt her mouth on my nipple I threw my head back and gasped. The window was open and the moon shone in. I looked down and saw her hair and her hand moving. I felt her squeeze and the graze of her teeth and I sunk my hands down the back of her trousers over her beautiful bum.

I turned her over. She complained as she had only just begun but I was jealous. I wanted to taste her chest. She was small. Not flat but her curves were slight. Her nipples, however, were like Vickers rounds, broad and hard. I took one eagerly and she did not gasp- she swore. I had heard her swear before when she was drunk. I liked it. I liked that she liked it. He slender fingers found my belt and my buckle and I was undone. It was not a competition but I kept pace, whipping her belt off too. We shimmied out of our pants.

We were naked now. Twenty years old and naked and beautiful and smooth, the immeasurable tiredness of our faces hidden in the half light. Our hands knew where they had to go. We found each other, unshaven, unapologetically wet, ready and she swore and I gasped as we touched where it was forbidden. We played with each other in a way no man ever had. Millie was a natural. She knew what to do next.

She arched her back and drew her fingers across the front of my ribs and kissed my breasts and my belly button and my thighs and stuck her tongue into my cunt. I grabbed her hair and spread my legs because, really, what other option was there. She was eager and her hot mouth and warm fingers found their mark. I was ready, so terribly ready. I had not had an orgasm before – in any other circumstance I might have shied away out of embarrassment or the sheer intensity of it but here I let it happen. I tensed my stomach and half sat, I watched her and shuddered and moaned and fluttered ineffectually and drew her up to kiss her face and shoulders and feel her thigh press against my wetness and ask her to wait for me to get her breath.

I did not use my mouth. Instead I put my hand between her thighs and while she lay over me, her triceps against my lips, I rubbed her as she shut her eyes and swore and gleamed with sweat. Her joy was guttural, breath broken with great pauses, sob-like shudders and thrusts of her sharp pelvis and soft pubis. She fell onto me and I embraced her. She laid her head against my shoulder and the blanket covered us and breath by breath we settled and we slept.

It was innocent. Beautiful.

This time of year I buy a bottle of the best Calvados and raise a glass to Mille. Wherever she is.

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Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/aapumc/ff_millie_and_me_normandy_lesbian_first_time