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Rachel Kramer Bussel - First-Timers.docx
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First-Timers

Oh, that delicious, unforgettable first time. These lusty, passionate, exciting stories recount all kinds of sexy, sweaty firsts between women: first-time strap-ons, spankings, and role-playing, first loves and first affairs. This collection gathers the best true stories inspired by the most memorable firsts. They are 100 percent real and 110 percent hot!

Coming When You Call Joy Parks

"You must be tired."

Her voice is soft and close in my ear, almost as if she is right here. "I forget about the time difference sometimes."

It's a three-hour difference. If she calls when it's eleven there, it's two in the morning here. Nearly 2,700 miles apart and most nights it does feel like the other side of the world. That's why we've been calling so much, talking for hours, sometimes until daylight here. And that's why I feel like I'm sleepwalking through my days.

I murmur "no," that I'm fine, that our conversations are worth missing a little sleep. Then I yawn accidentally and it becomes a sigh. She sighs too and whispers my name, three times, like a charm. Always three times. We're both quiet for a moment. I feel my whole body curl towards the phone. I want to be with her that badly.

"I wish I was there with you," I say.

Then I feel embarrassed because I sound like a homesick child. And I tell her that too.

"Did I ever tell you that before I heard your voice I expected Joni Mitchell?" she says. "Who could have known I was going to end up talking to Peggy Lee?"

She's told me that before, a couple of times, and I love it more every time she does. Love to think of her on the end of the line, holding the receiver, hearing a sensual mature woman, not the young girl she remembered. Peggy Lee. I barely knew who she was, but I ran out and bought some of her CDs. Her voice was low and raspy and wonderfully teasing. It sounded like smoky bars and slow dancing in the kind of places where my love had grown up and come out. A singer who sounded like experience and like danger and just a little bit naughty, like sex and want and secrets, which is what we had to keep right now. I love the fact that that's who I remind her of. I want her to want me. Badly.

"What time is it there, anyway?"

I roll over and push a stack of books away from the alarm clock. Sigh again. I'm getting used to being late for work and being tired, and having even less patience than usual.

"Almost one here." She's called a little earlier than usual. That costs more. We both have unbelievable phone bills each month.

"Then how about we pretend I'm there to tuck you in?" That's what she says when she's worried about it being so late. Morning comes three hours earlier for me than for her.

"You're sounding parental again."

And I laugh. She does that all the time. Tells me I need to get more sleep. That I need to eat better and stop worrying about work. It's the age difference. Fifteen years. I know she can't help it and I don't dare say "maternal," she's way too butch to allow that. Still, there's something about the tenderness in her voice, something so pure when she pretends to tuck me in, pull up the sheets, kiss me goodnight, that makes me snuggle deeper under the covers and feel safe. Cherished.

I sigh again, loudly this time, frustrated because I really don't want to hang up. I've got a million things to say, anything to just keep her voice surrounding me like warm sheets. Still, we begin to say our goodnights, when she pauses and whispers my name again. I can feel her need stroking me. The want wells up in her voice. I know I make her feel desires she hasn't felt in years. And that sometimes neither of us knows what to do about it.

I say her name. My breathing starts to get louder, more jagged, and I know she can hear it. I can hear her sighing too, and it's almost magical, as if she's really beside me. I reach over and turn off the light, then slide back into bed.

"...I want you. I want you. I want to touch you. Oh God, I want to feel you under my hands. You're wearing a nightgown, aren't you?"

I whisper "yes," barely audible. I don't mention that it's flannel. And pink and faded. I'm not exactly sure what's happening; she's never been this bold before. She's skilled at couching want with charm. It's all the hiding and games she's learned in order to survive.

"Baby I want to unwrap you like a present. I want to lean you up against the pillows and slide that gown off over your head, throw it down on the floor. I don't want anything between us."

The nightgown is already pushed up to my thighs from sliding between the sheets. With one hand, I grab a handful of flannel and slide it over my head, keeping the phone receiver planted to my ear. I don't want to miss a word of this.

"Nothing between us," I whisper.

She sighs. "I want to kiss you. I want to lie there beside you and press my whole body up against yours. Can you feel me baby? I want to feel your heat, know how smooth your skin is. Would you let me do that?

I whisper "yes." Yes. I can feel the heat coursing through my body. Feel the pressure of her fingers on me.

"That's my girl." I shudder. I love when she says that. My girl. I lie on my back. My legs part slightly as if to make it easier for her.

"I want to kiss your neck, kiss down your shoulders, kiss a line down between your breasts. I want to feel your nipples harden under my tongue. I want to kiss and suck and lick your breasts until you can't stand it any longer."

I can't. My hips are moving, rolling, grinding on the bed. At some point, I must have pulled back the sheets. I can feel her hands on my breasts, my belly. My cunt is spilling over, thick and creamy, wetting the bedding beneath me.

"Do you want me? Do you want me inside you? Do you baby? Do you want me to take you? Do you want to feel my fingers?"

"Yes," I whisper, murmur, "I want you. I want you. I want you deep."

My cunt hurts from need. My legs are open wider and I can feel the wetness cooling against my thighs. Wet enough to take as much of her as she wants me to. Wet enough to take all she can give.

"Tell me. Tell me what you want."

I can't stop my hips from rolling. I can hardly speak, but I have to. I have to tell her what I want. Make it real.

"I want to take you inside me," I moan. "I want to feel your fingers deep. I want to grind against your hand, I want to open up, let you slide in deeper, further."

She sighs. Moans.

"I want you to fuck me."

I can't believe I said that to her. Not her. She's not the type you'd say that to. She's quiet for a minute. Then I hear her exhale. Breathe hard. It's almost as if she's panting.

"No woman's said that to me in a long time," she whispers. She's silent again. Finding the words. Her voice tightens. Drops lower. Like a growl.

"I do want to fuck you."

All I can hear now is her breathing and my own, and my hips don't stop. I'm grinding against the sheets as if I can feel her hands on me, inside me, her voice, her sighs steady in my ear, as if she's here, so close, her hand deep inside me. I feel a wave of heat flow over me, building.

And, as if she can feel it too, how ready I am, she croons, "Come for me, come for me baby, come on, let me take you baby, let me make you mine."

Mine. Mine. Hers. I want to be hers.

"Fuck me... harder."

I sing out, arch my back, I can feel her, I can feel the waves coming faster and faster, feel the heat break in my cunt, up my back, my brain, I come screaming into the phone for her to take me, fuck me, make me hers. I can feel her, the closeness of her, her voice taking me up and up then shuddering and straining and crying my release.

And it's quiet again.

I can hear her breathing, so she must be able to hear mine. I can't believe she's made me feel like this from so far away, without even touching me, with just the sound of her voice in my ear, just the words of her need for me. But it's real, it happened, and I ride wave after wave of aftershock, my mouth parched, my body drenched in sweat, my knees shaking. I'm so wet; the sheets are soaked around me. And I tell her that.

She whispers, "I know what I could do about that."

Again, I think. Yes. I want more of her. I want as much of her as is possible this way. Whatever is possible. I cradle the phone between my head and the pillow; my arms are too weak and shaky to hold it any longer.

She is talking low and soft as if she is holding me. She tells me to take a sip of water, and I do. I would do anything she told me to do right now.

Once I settle back into the bed, she begins.

"I want to taste you."

I moan. She pushes on. I feel her words cover me, press me down hard on the bed.

"Do you want me to taste you? Do you want me to make love to you with my mouth?"

I whisper unintelligibly. Yes. Oh yes.

"I want to. More than anything. I want to start with your mouth, kiss you, kiss you, kiss you."

Her words feel like kisses. I open my mouth to take hers.

Her voice is low and sure of herself. So much more confident than usual. "I want to kiss a line down your body. Here. Kiss your breasts all over." My nipples are firm and tight against the night air. "Kiss your little belly." I want to giggle.

"Then baby," she whispers. I breathe. "Then I want to part your legs wide. Wider. Open up for me baby. That's my girl. Let me have you. All of you. I want to rest my cheek on your thighs. They'd be all sticky and wet now and smell so good. Smell of you. You smell so good. I love that smell, love the way a woman smells right after she's been fucked hard."

I shudder again. Feel a ribbon of heat tighten inside my cunt. I can't believe she's saying this. I'm getting wetter, I feel her breath and her tongue and her mouth, feel my body start to move again, my hips churn as if she's there, my legs open even wider as if she's spreading me open. One foot falls on the floor, knees raised, waiting. For her to speak.

"Then, I touch you with my tongue. Lick you all over, lick your thighs. Lick your cunt up and down and up and down until you can't take it anymore, then slide my tongue deep into you. Can you feel it baby? Can you feel my mouth? Do you want me to fuck you with my tongue?"

Desire bubbles up my belly. I feel my body open, roll with her words. I'm writhing and moving and rolling on the bed and I forget where I am and that she's just on the phone, and I open my legs even more, thrust my hips up to meet her, and my breathing is hard and loud and I know she can hear me. I know she knows what her words are doing to me. And I know what that's doing to her. I want her to make me come again so she can hear me scream out her name into the phone. I can hear the tremble in her voice as she sighs. I know she's coming from making me come, just as if she were here.

"That's it baby," she says. "Open for me, let me have you all. I want to take your clit in my mouth, open you with my hands, fuck you with my fingers while I suck your clit until you come. Come baby, that's it darling, oh baby come." Her voice goes high, she sounds sexier, younger, wilder than I've ever heard her before.

And I do. I come. When she tells me to. I come, feel a rush of wet and heat, feel myself screaming her name, screaming out all my lust and wonder of how she can do this to me, how just her voice and her words can make me scream and cry and grind and come and wet the sheets. I don't understand how my body can simply release when she tells it to, don't understand this power she has over me, to make me come, screaming into the phone, without touching me, fucking me so good and complete and doing it with just her voice on the phone from across a whole country. I can tell she's in a state of wonder too. I hear her whisper how beautiful I am and how she can feel me, hear me, almost taste me through the phone. We talk some more, just words and sounds. I murmur how good she is, how wonderful she has made me feel. And she whispers how much she wants me before I finally drop the phone in the cradle.

It's after four and I fall into a dead sleep, spread across the bed.

I wake up when the sun rushes through the curtain and shines into my face. No point in trying to hurry, I'm already late for work. And I'm exhausted. I lie there in the bed and feel the wetness under me. And it all comes back. Her words, how my body opened and moved for her, how good it was. And how real. My legs feel as if I've had a workout and my lips feel bruised. I run a finger along my clit. It's swollen and sensitive and I'm drenched with cool wetness between my thighs. I lay back in the bed with my arms by my side, totally spent and sweaty, lying in a pool of my own juices. I don't know how we did it, but we did, and it was wonderful and I can't stop grinning.

I think about calling her tonight to tell her how she made me soak the sheets. I know how that will make her feel. That it will make her want to do it again. And I yawn and snuggle back into bed, touch myself one more time just to be sure. And I sigh.

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