It’s a Monday in a beach town. Weather has been good, nothing too hot but just enough to make the ocean water feel crisp. The vacation crowds are gone and only the islanders are left.
It’s 6 AM. My husband’s alarm clock goes off, softly waking me. He’s a great guy, using the soft alarm feature on the iPhone so as not to jar me out of bed. I lazily stretch and roll over to cuddle. He’s leaving for a work trip this week.
I need to capture all the little time I have with him before he jets away for a surfboard manufacturing convention in San Diego. See, since living here he’s gotten into surfing. He opened his own surf shop and makes custom boards.
He’s the typical surf bum looking guy. He’s tall, skinny, a little shaggy. He has golden locks of hair about shoulder length that I love to run my hands through when we fuck. And wow, do we fuck. You know what they say about skinny guys? All that mass some guys have on their frame is in their pants, hanging between their legs. I’m always a little sore and always wanting more.
What do I do? Well, the surf shop pays well enough that I’m left alone to my own hobbies. Sometimes I help out in the shop, other times I’m a stay at home dog and cat mom. I keep the house clean, make delicious food. I’ll pick up the occasional shift at the local ER, especially when he’s out of town on a surf trip. This week though, I had nothing planned. That was on purpose.
My man gets out of bed and stretches his long, limber arms to wake up. I sit up in bed, covering my naked, sleepy body with the covers as I watch him through sleepy eyes get dressed and grab his luggage he packed the night prior. He picks a pair of professional board shorts and pulls them on, tucking away my favorite sex toy in the world. He throws on a surf shop branded tank and slips on his flip flops.
He walks over and gives me a deep kiss goodbye. He tells me he loves me, and to have fun this week. I kiss him back. While I’ll miss him, I do just fine on my own and secretly need him to leave sooner rather than later. I have plans.
I watch his broad shoulders leave out the bedroom door, hear the closing of the front door, and the whine of the dog watching him leave from his perch on the back of the couch. It’s time. I throw open my side table drawer. The bedroom TV flips on. I cast my favorite lesbian porn, made by women for women to the big screen. I watch my fantasies live out in front of me as the vibrations between my legs intensify.
I’m bisexual. I discovered this in my relationship. Coincidentally, so did my husband. It was an incredible moment in our lives when we came out to each other. It was vulnerable, sweet, and erotic all at the same time. We decided, together, that we get exceptions for same-sex arrangements.
This is why I’m squirming and panting to the eroticism in front of me. I’m preparing my mind for a week of being the most lesbian I’ve ever been. I haven’t actually used that hall pass yet. But man, oh man, am I going to get the most of it soon.
I see the tall, dark-haired actress on the screen between the legs of their petite blonde co-star as I finish with a scream. I hope my husband left already or he could’ve heard me from the driveway. I keep the video playing, the moans and bodily sounds the backdrop to my stroll to the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. I’m trying to train myself to think of nothing but women this week.
Shower done (and another orgasm completed with the shower head), I plan out my gay day. I’m going to pop off to a local coffee shop to read a book. I’ll take a nap. I’ll walk around the house doing some cleaning in some of my sluttiest clothes. Then, I’ll walk over to the local lesbian bar…by myself. Gulp.
Despite how ready I am, I’m still also terrified. What if it’s not what I like? What if I chicken out and embarrass myself? What if I’m not good at it? All these thoughts and anxieties fill part of me with dread, while the other part of me is dripping in anticipation.
I stand in front of my closet to see what my coffee shop wardrobe is going to look like. What screams femme lesbian? I find a floral dress and slip it over my tan body. I forgo the panties and bra. It’s the island after all! I slip my white-painted toes into my Birkenstocks, grab my favorite book, and set off to the coffee shop.
I sit on the patio sipping my coffee, invested in the book. My legs are crossed, but I can’t stop rubbing them together. They’re smooth from a fresh shave and without anything underneath, it’s freeing and erotic. I catch glimpse of a girl in Doc Martens walking into the shop from across the patio. My undeveloped gaydar still pings. She has small-gauged ears. She’s tall and muscular. Her ripped jeans tease a thigh tattoo, and the sports bra under her tank is working hard to hold down her breasts.
I pull focus from my book as I uncross my legs. I eavesdrop her conversation with the barista. Her voice has a lower tone to it, firm but kind. She nicely asks for a black coffee, large. She makes small talk with the barista as he pours it. The barista thanks her by name, which I try hard to remember. Emily is the girl with the thigh tattoo, the Doc Martens, a little goth, a little thick, a little tall, a little everything I want. She walks out the building and down the street, but we make eye contact on the way. I squirm in my seat, my breath quickens. Fuck. Is this what being gay is like?
I close my book and walk back home, the breeze under my dress feels cool between my legs thanks to Emily. Fuck, I’m obsessed and we haven’t even met yet. I throw open my door, run up the stairs and grab the wand again.
Wand between my legs, I close my eyes. I picture Emily coming over to my table on the coffee shop patio, saying hello. I imagine as I stutter and stammer, and she giggles at me. Why is this the kind of thing I’m pleasuring myself to? I push the thought away as my thoughts wander again.
She compliments my dress. She tells me how pretty I am, that we should hang out sometime. That I should come watch her soccer game next week. She plays goalie. I giggle, look down, say yes to it all.
My mind wanders again. She’s under my dress on the patio. She’s licking, panting. I’m moaning. I’m clawing her back.
I cum.
I switch the vibrator back off and stare at the ceiling.
Fuck. I have a whole week of this?
I peel my dress off my still-panting body. Two orgasms a day keeps the doctor away, just from the cardio. I settle in for a nap. Emily stays in my dreams.
I wake up refreshed and insatiable. I have a few hours before I need to get ready for the bar, so I decide it’s my time. I want to feel myself in all my queerness! I play more ethical queer porn on the television, muted, while Alexa blasts a Pride Month Spotify playlist. I pull on a fishnet bodysuit, pull on some black leather heeled booties and dance and sing. I take some sultry selfies. I love the way my nipples are framed by the fishnet, and the gap between my legs for my pussy. Easy access for Emily, I mean… no. Yes? Maybe. I wish.
Feeling sexy, sultry, and queer as fuck, I’m ready to get to the bar. I decide the fishnet is staying on for the trip. I add a black leather skirt, worn a little higher on my waist to make it a little shorter. I add a white cropped tank. The girls look amazing in it, and it contrasts well with the rest of the black ensemble. I do switch out my booties for my Docs though.
The sun setting across the ocean view, I set off for the bar. There’s a sway in my hips that hasn’t been there in a while. A softness yet braveness to my attitude. I arrive and find a table in the corner while I sip my white wine. I’m looking out over the crowd of lesbians, nonbinaries, and general queer folks when, instantly, I feel wet.
I spotted her. Emily. She’s across the bar. We lock eyes. Just like last time, my heart stops, then quickens. My hands go cold and shake as the blood goes to where it’s about to be needed most. It’s at this moment, when she’s 50-feet away from me that she has me in her grasp.
She walks over to me. I see her 5’10 frame, again in Doc Martens, but shorts so I can see her thigh tattoo. It’s an impressive shark ocean themed piece. My eyes travel upwards to a sports bra, Nike swoosh on the front, cleavage spilling over. She catches me staring. She chuckles that damn laugh.
She doesn’t ask if this seat is taken. She just sits. Fuck, I wish I was that chair. I wish I was this floor. I’m melting in my seat. Legs shaking.
Emily asks, in that deep voice, if I was following her. I look down, deny it and that it’s just a funny coincidence. She laughs that damn laugh, placing a hand on my netted thigh. She stares into my eyes and says that she doesn’t mind a bit, and that I can follow her around like a lost puppy forever.
I tell her I would like that, as I feel her hand rub along my leg. I lean over onto her shoulder and sip my wine as she finishes her beer. She asks me over to her place. I say yes without a thought, without hesitation, as if on command.
She grabs my hand, stands up. She grabs my hand and leads me out the door. My wine still had a few sips in it, but I’m more intoxicated by her than anything. Like the lost puppy she said I was, we walk hand in hand along the ocean wall to her apartment.
Fifth floor apartment, ocean views. We have to take an elevator up, so my heart is pounding. We enter the elevator. The two of us. Alone. She pins me against the wall, hands above my head. I gasp. I accept. I do. Yes. Please.
Our lips lock with passion as our tongues intertwine, my ass pressed against the wall of the elevator. I’m completely helpless to her and I love it. I kiss her back. Her lips are soft, her hands and body strong as I stay pinned up five floors.
The elevator pings before the doors open. She lets go, but I remain holding her hand. She leads me to her apartment door, fumbling with her keys. Fuck, is she nervous for me? The door opens.
Immediately, she grabs me again and lifts me up. My legs wrapped around her as we continue to kiss. I feel our breasts pushing together, my netted legs along her thighs. She’s strong as she walks me to the couch.
“You found your home, little puppy,” she whispers as she lays me back on the couch. That voice gets me every time. I’ve never been so turned on as she kisses my neck while pulling my white crop off my body, gently yet firmly. Fuck. This is why women are amazing.
Half-naked, I return the favor as I peel away her Nike swoosh to reveal her torso. I look up at her as I place a mouth on her breast, almost worshipping it. I want to worship her whole being. She bends down, sucks on my neck. I reach over and kiss her mouth again, deeply.
She pulls me up to her by my neck, almost choking me. She kisses me again. This time, its sloppy. She wants to be messy. Be rough. She wants her slobber on my face, I know it. I gasp for air before our tongues lick each other again. I know our makeup is going to be smeared. Good.
She pushes me back onto the couch and catches my legs as they rise from the momentum. In one fluid motion, my pussy is exposed to her. All of her. She laughs that damn laugh before her head disappears between the fishnets, leather couch, and my thighs. My back arches as her wet tongue meets my clit. Reflexively, I scream.
That scream apparently meant a soft, strong hand on my neck to quiet me as she continues to work. She builds me up, before moving to my thighs, digging between in the fishnet holes with her tongue to bring me down. She has so much power. Please finish me. I beg.
She ignores my pleas as she crawls back up to my face and kisses me deeply again. I smell her cologne as I continue to get more intoxicated by her scents. I taste myself on her. What an incredible combination.
We stare at each other for a moment, panting and recovering. Before I know it, in that sultry, low voice she says its her turn. She stands. I remain laying on the couch, hand rubbing myself to the sight of her. She pulls her shorts down and off and walks back towards me. I start to sit up, but she pushes me back down and places one of her long legs on the arm of the couch.
I realize what’s happening. She teases me with her pussy just out of reach of my face. I stretch my neck to get to it to no avail, and only granted release when she starts grinding along it. I’m enthralled by it, so much so I continue to play with myself while I explore between her legs with my tongue. I moan into her wetness as she grunts with pleasure. We both scream in orgasm as we climax simultaneously.
She kisses me deeply, and tells me not to move. She walks away, so I stare out the window to the ocean, dark at night. I see my smeared makeup, tussled hair, and naked body in the reflection. I smile at myself. This is what I’ve been missing my whole life. The puzzle is complete.
I see her walk back in the same reflection I found myself. She’s wearing a harness with a black dildo hanging off the front. I squeal with excitement. She tells me to get on my knees. I obey. She dangles her cock in front of my face as I begin to lubricate it with my spit. I look up at her, her face barely visible over her boobs as I work her cock. It’s getting sloppy. I’m gagging. I’m rubbing myself.
She demands I bend over the couch. Again, I obey. Ass up, she slides inside me as I moan and curse. She begins to fuck me. Her hips slap against my ass with rhythm as my face gets pressed into the leather couch. One hand spanks me while another pulls my hair back.
She pulls out. Sits down on the couch. I straddle her as she gets to watch me ride her cock. She leans back, hands behind her ponytail as she watches me bounce. I love putting a show on for her. I’d do anything for her at this point. I lean forward, still bouncing as we kiss again. Passionately, then sloppily as a hand goes around my throat and squeezes. It only makes me bounce harder. I’m being told I’m doing such a good job, that I’m such a good girl, and yet that I’m also her slut, her toy, her plaything. Yes to it all.
My whole body shakes as another wave of orgasmic pleasure moves through me. Our lips are locked, and.. is she cumming too? Just because of pleasuring me? Her moans and grunts make it seem like she is, and fuck are they hot. They lengthen my orgasm to times I didn’t even think was possible.
I collapse into her arms, absolutely exhausted, ravished, messy and sloppy. She kisses my forehead. How does she seem so composed? After all that? My body is still shaking. She’s calm. Still. Caressing me as she rests her head on mine. We stare off into the ocean black, our naked bodies reflecting off the window. Well, almost naked. Our Doc Martens are still on.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/x4c70a/the_girl_at_the_bar_lesbian_ff_first_time