For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a closeted bisexual. As a little girl, I liked boys just fine— but there was always something more *magical* about girls. They mystified me with their downy skin, silky hair, and lilting voices. As I grew older and hit puberty, I watched them from afar, too ashamed and too shy to do anything about the feelings that were pulling me apart at the seams.
As a teen, I’d fantasize about my friends. I’d imagine how it would feel to kiss them, and touch them in ways I’d let highschool boys touch me. My highschool boyfriend would go down on me, and I’d picture this pretty redhead in my class doing the deed instead. One night, the redheaded girl slept over my house. I had the image of her braless breasts just visible under her white pajama top burned into my memory for a whole year. She took up space in my mind during feverish nights spent alone with my hand below the waistline of my panties.
Then came college—the age where straight girls experiment with each other. I, however, continued to resign myself to my silly little fantasies, knowing I’d be too weak and afraid to ever make them a reality. I heard tales from girls who’d kissed girls, and girls who’d gone a little further than that, and it all tore me up inside. I never wanted something so desperately, yet I still couldn’t bring myself to act on these urges.
Men were plentiful. They loved the way I looked— a tiny blonde with eyes too blue and doe-like for my own good. I locked down a serious relationship with a man during the second semester of my freshman year. Every time he touched me, I’d pretend it was the dainty hand of a woman. I’d look at him naked, and the sight of so many masculine angles repulsed me. I found myself frequently wondering what the *hell* was wrong with me.
When I turned 21, I got into the club scene. I loved sitting back and watching all the girls spin around, laughing and gyrating their hips in big groups. They wore revealing clothes that gave me a good peek at things I’d commit to memory for later on. I knew I was being a terrible pervert, but I still couldn’t seem to control myself. My boyfriend would tag along some nights— always hooking his large arm around me—but I mostly drank alone. I liked it that way.
By age 23, I’d become depressed, lackluster, and was all set to follow my mother’s footsteps into alcoholism. My boyfriend was fed up. He didn’t get why I never wanted to have sex with him anymore, and why I couldn’t break out of my own drunken darkness. He finally broke it off with me one day. That same night, I went to my favorite club, feeling numb and worthless. I took up my usual spot in the back corner, determined to pound mixed drinks ’til I forgot about what a fuck up I was. That never happened, so instead, I turned to watch the dance floor. To my dismay, the place was pretty empty that night— I guess that’s what happens when you go out on a Tuesday. I was just getting ready to call a cab, when someone special caught my eye.
There was this girl that walked in— or should I say *floated* in. Her floor length summer dress made it seem like she was walking on air. It hid her legs, but I could imagine them being longer than life itself when considering her height. She leaned against the bar, smiling at the bartender while she ordered herself a beverage. Her smile was one you’d see in a goddamned magazine— straight, white teeth with pointy canines I’d love to feel against my skin. And as if the universe wanted to throw me another middle finger that fine Tuesday night— her hair was *red*, and went all the way down to her hips like a river of fire.
The girl received her drink, and nursed it blissfully under the spotlights of the dance floor. She started to sway to the song playing over the speakers— “Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac— and the ivory lace of her dress swept at the floor with every shift of her feet. She was all alone, and didn’t seem to mind. There was an air of confidence to her, as if she’d never felt unsure about herself in her life.
I must’ve looked like a drooling, drunken idiot leering at her from the back corner. I realized that my posture had declined, and that I’d been staring for far too long only *after* she had already made eye contact with me. Like a robot, I straightened my back and darted my eyes toward the table. *Shit, shit shit.* After some time passed, I figured it was safe to look up again, but I was wrong.
When I looked back up, she was standing *in front* of my table, giving me a little smirk. I took notice of her pixie nose, lush lips, green eyes— and, of course, her slender neck and shoulders that led into ample breasts, a cinched waist, and wide hips. My mouth opened, but the poorly functioning gears in my brain couldn’t produce a single word worth saying to her.
“Would you like to dance with me?” She asked—bold, fearless— and in a British accent no less. The universe *really* had it out for me.
I let out a bark of nervous laughter. “Oh, that’s alright. I’m not much of a-”
“Come on.” She wouldn’t take no for an answer. She pulled on my hand, leading me bumbling out onto the dance floor. I hadn’t realized how drunk I’d gotten while I was sitting there, but now that my body was in motion, my lack of coordination dawned on me. She held onto both of my hands and started to sway, pushing and pulling on each of my arms. I tried to copy her, but it must’ve come off as an awkward mess, because she giggled at me.
“You’re cute.” She shouted over the music. My heart nearly stopped. She thinks *I’m* cute? I didn’t reply. We danced around like that for a few songs, all the while I kept my eyes focused on the glinting crystals she wore around her neck. I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy the view of her beautiful face for more than a second. After a while, a slow song came on, and I took that as my cue to get the hell away from her.
“Where are you going? Don’t you like this song?” She kept hold of me. God, her hands were nice. I told her I’d better get home, but she refused to let me go. She leaned down to whisper into my ear, making all of my hairs stand on end. “I saw the way you were watching me.” She purred. The sensual clarity of her voice hit me dead in the stomach, and somewhere far lower and far deeper. It was a feeling I hadn’t had in a while— and certainly never from a just a sentence.
“Let’s say we get out of here, eh?” She proposed. “Where do you live?”
I was confused, and completely ravaged with anxiety, pent up arousal, and booze— but I told her where I lived. I was stunned when I saw her scoop up her belongings and look toward me expectingly. What the fuck was about to happen? Am I really doing this? Before the sense could return to me, I called us a cab. The whole ride back to my dorm room felt like I was taking a trip to the gallows. I had no idea what to do. *No idea.* The only thing I knew was that I was about to cross the threshold into a world I’d dreamed about for so long.
My hands shook as I unlocked my door, causing my keys to produce a comical jingle. Once inside, she gazed around the room, commenting on a few of my items. I stood behind her, stiff as a board, just watching her float around like the sexiest apparition ever to grace the plane of our dimension.
“Are you thirsty?” I managed through the dryness of my own throat. She let me open up a beer for her. Then she sat down on my bed. Was I supposed to sit next to her? Kiss her? Oh god, what if I forget how to kiss? What if my lips don’t work? What if—
“You’re nervous. Is this your first time with a woman?” Her voice had an almost cat-like playfulness to it. I nodded excessively, prompting her to take my hand and lead me to the bed like the incompetent loser I was. “I can teach you.” She told me.
We both sat on our knees, facing each other. My heart was reaching a dangerous speed that only increased as I felt her hands rove over the sensitive skin of my jaw. She guided my face closer, and for a moment I still didn’t believe it was going to happen— until it did.
She started kissing me, slowly and with purpose, like it was simply the beginning intro to her class on how to fuck a woman. Her lips were everything I’d ever dreamed they’d be— soft, glossy, and faintly sweet. I found it easy to fall into a rhythm, letting my own mouth glide to envelop her lips over and over again. This alone was enough to send a strong ache of arousal coursing through my body, from my chest through to my toes. I’d never wanted someone to touch me so badly before— and god, did I need it. I needed it as much as I needed to breathe.
She moved her pretty mouth to my neck, flooding me with goosebumps and tingles. It felt so nice, and so right that I sighed my relief out loud. She started off kissing the skin just below my ear, before forging a path downward, off toward my collar bone. As she did this, her nimble fingers hooked the collar of my top and pulled it down. *Holy shit, this is really happening.* I let the sleeves of my top slide from my shoulders, revealing the (thankfully) sexy black lace bra I’d worn that day. She hummed her approval once she worked it off of me, taking in the sight of my small, perky breasts.
With a simple push, she positioned me onto my back, looming over me with narrowed, sinful eyes. She dipped her face down, licking and biting at each of my nipples. I took in heavy breaths and writhed beneath her. The sharp, but gentle sensation of her teeth sent a jolt of white hot lightning through me, making me more hungry, and more wet than I’ve been in my entire life. I then found the courage to touch her, innocently threading my fingers through her hair and holding her face against my chest. She moved downward, letting her tongue glide in a straight line from my chest to my belly button— a preview of what was to come.
The anticipation was unbearable. My hips lifted up on their own accord when she moved lower, lower and lower— eventually reaching the waistband of my jeans. In an expert maneuver, she opened the button, undid the zipper, and pulled my jeans from my already levitated hips with ease. She ran one fingertip over my panties, right over the imprint of my slit— I nearly died— especially with the way she looked me pointedly in the eye, knowing she had full control of my body, my pleasure, and probably my entire godforsaken soul.
She sat up and began to undress herself slowly and teasingly. I watched her through my parted knees, unable to keep any amount of oxygen in my lungs. She lifted the hem of her dress, exposing two shapely thighs, a pale stomach flecked with constellations of tiny moles, and a pair of round, delicious looking tits. I probably looked like I’d seen my life flash before my eyes— she wasn’t wearing any underwear, for fuck’s sake! The look on her face told me that she *knew* just how sexy she was, and was proud to show off every inch of her body. When she moved back over me, I couldn’t help but run my hands over all of the creamy, smooth skin now on full display.
Everything about her was soft, I realized— her lips, her hair, her skin, her ass. *God, girls are soft. God, I love girls.* She then took hold of one of my roaming hands, navigating it to the one place I was afraid to touch. Her pussy was shaved apart from a cute little patch of red hair that my fingers passed over on their way toward the prize. She pressed the pads of my fingers down on her clit and guided me into a slow, circular dance I knew all too well. Instantly, she let out a sound that was between a moan and a whine— it was like music to my ears. I never thought *I* could get a girl to *moan* before. She rocked her hips against my hand, begging me to fuck her in that crisp accent of hers. I was eager to oblige.
She laid on her back and spread her legs, giving me a sight that drove me mad. I discovered the slick opening of her pussy, and pushed one finger in, testing it out. It was warm, and wet like the inside of a mouth. I added another, and started to thrust them in and out, curving them up the way I liked it. The sounds she produced were incredible— and I loved the sight of her tits rising and falling with every breath.
“Lick my clit.” She moaned. *Fuck*, okay— I didn’t hesitate for a second. I leaned in between her thighs, flattening my tongue against the hood of her clitoris. *Does the whole alphabet thing really work?* I wondered. I made slow, cautious flicks with my tongue while continuing to fuck her with my fingers. She wasn’t afraid to tell me to change my game up— she told me to go faster, slower, gentler, harder and everything in between. Eventually, with tons of instruction, she helped me crack the code, and started truly enjoying it. I ignored the ache in my jaw and wrist, determined to make this mythical, sexy woman cum for me.
It took ages— but once it happened— I felt it was a massive triumph. The speed and pitch of her moans increased, her breathing hitched, and every muscle in her body seemed to writhe and twitch with seismic waves. I felt the walls of her pussy close and open around my fingers while she came. It was *fucking awesome.*
When it was over, her thighs clenched around my head, forcing me to leave that sweet space I’d become so well acquainted with. A dazed breath escaped me when I sat up. I felt like I’d just won a million bucks. What I didn’t account for, was that what would happen next would rival the thrill of any prior occurrence that night.
She quite literally *sprung* at me with such a ferocious desire to reciprocate what I’d just done for her, that I nearly hit my head on the bed frame from the impact of her body. Her movements became uncanny— almost frightening to me. She was revved up and full of post orgasm frenzy— and she wasn’t about to go down without showing off her skills. I realized then that she might be insane, but I didn’t care for one goddamned second.
She nipped at one of my hip bones, purring like a cat as she maneuvered my black panties down. I kicked them off onto the floor, erasing them from the equation. She kissed my lower stomach, giggling and moaning with manic madness. I felt the curls of her hair tickle my inner thighs when her tongue spread for the first time over my clit. She stared at me— her eyes ravenous and green, her tongue flat and flicking—and just the sight of this girl’s face between my legs was enough to make me sure of the fact that I am a lesbian.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ks6bg9/rhiannon_ff_first_time