Two’s Company Louisa Bacio

Who says you need a cock to fuck? I think, rubbing my hands over Joanna’s ass, feeling the voluptuous curves hidden beneath her tight jeans. Her breasts strain forward, nipples growing even harder. It’s been coming to this for a long time: our first kiss.

We had been friends for quite a while—just friends. An undercurrent of sexual tension always lay beneath the surface. Way back in college while watching Friends on Thursday nights, Jo and I would cuddle on the couch. I would stroke Jo’s long dark locks, inhale the lavender scent, and we’d talk about which Friend we’d most like to get friendly with. I loved the sweet naiveté of Joey, while Chandler’s humor drew her. I imagined telling her it was Rachel, but I didn’t quite have the nerve.

Jo always teased me that as long as she had known me, I’d always had a boyfriend—never a dry spell. Jo, on the other hand, dated sporadically, but always boned men. Still, I picked up on something—a connection. We left the tie between us unsaid, but a feeling still lingered that if given a chance, Jo would get with me. What Jo didn’t know was that even though I always had a guy in my bed, sometimes I shared him with another girl.

I first got into women when I was in college. You know, during those experimental years. At least, that’s the excuse most hetero women who experiment give themselves. I am the girl boys fantasize about—one who subscribes to nudie magazines just for the pictures. Actually, I picked up my first skin magazine to read twenty questions with my favorite author, Anne Rice, who’s also known for her dirty stories written under A.N. Roquelaure and Anne Rampling. When all the college studs I knew refused to buy a copy of the mag for me, I trekked to the store myself. And after the curious looks from the male checkers who dared to dream about the hot brunette checking out naked pics of women, I decided to send out for a subscription. The writing was interesting, the advice columns entertaining, and the chicks downright delicious: big-breasted girls-next-door gave me something to fantasize about. Once, I even glimpsed a girl from my high school. The photo spread showed her in and out of her cheerleading uniform. Boy, had that homecoming queen grown up.

My college roommate, Mary Jane, inspired my initiation into bisexuality. My first adventure came in the form of a threesome. Mary Jane and I shared the same taste in men. It wasn’t an outward appearance, because they all looked different. It seemed to be more of a persona or an intellect. To think back on it, I think we dated five of the same guys but only fucked a few of those at the same time. The first threesome was with Noah, a pretty frat boy with perfectly chiseled pecs who at first didn’t quite know what to do with two willing chicks. In class, we used to tease him that someday we would double-team him; what he didn’t know was that we actually meant it.

We played out our promise one Friday night. After a few drinks at home, we dropped in on Noah at his apartment. The tequila hadn’t gotten us drunk; it was just enough to let our guards down. Noah’s housemate answered the door and, with raised eyebrows, called him downstairs. Noah was dressed in a university sweatshirt and a pair of blue shorts, sans underwear. His sandy brown hair lay damp from his evening shower.

“Can Noah come out and play?” asked Mary Jane as she laughingly clasped my hand and looked back at me. “Or is it too late?”

When two girls dressed in flimsy T-shirts and short-shorts show up close to midnight, there’s not much to say. Noah’s already wide smile got wider as he led us upstairs to his bedroom. His housemate looked like he had missed the jackpot at Vegas. Noah closed the door to his bedroom, and we slowly stripped out of our clothes. My Blondie T-shirt hit the floor, and I squeezed out of my khaki shorts. Mary Jane lost her clothing, first her Gap skinny T, then her denim shorts, and we both turned toward Noah. The three of us fit comfortably in his full-sized bed. A soft, navy plaid comforter rested beneath our bodies. Like a Benetton ad, Mary Jane and I complemented each other. For her slight build, I’m busty. Her pale complexion contrasted starkly to my darker, olive complexion. Noah was not the only one who noticed the difference in our physiology. While I was getting busy with Noah, I could see Mary Jane was just as interested in my well-stocked goods.

As Noah drank in the sweet-mustiness of my mouth, I felt a smooth tongue flicker over my nipples. I opened my eyes and caught the blond fall of Mary Jane’s hair as she leaned over my chest. She glanced at me—almost as if she was asking my permission—and then her warm, soft mouth surrounded my areola. I closed my eyes and sunk into the pleasure of two mouths pleasing my body. A hand traveled down my stomach, then slender fingers lightly touched my increasing wetness. I felt a mouth settle over my nether lips. I once again opened my eyes. Mary Jane’s head bobbed up and down as she focused full attention toward my pussy, and the white mounds of her ass rose in the air.

Noah stopped kissing me and checked out the action between my legs. The vision must have been too much for him, because he soon planted himself behind Mary Jane and started going at her doggie-style. Each thrust of his hips pushed her tongue deeper into me until the three of us soared into oblivion.

After our extracurricular activities with Noah, Mary Jane made it a point to invite herself into my bedroom at home when I had a male visitor. Yet we were never intimate alone.

Come senior year, Mary Jane particularly liked a new guy I was dating, Chris. We had only been seeing each other for a little while. He was a friend of a friend and pitched baseball for our college team. In those days, and I suppose today, too, being in sports upped the cool ante. That he threw crazy fastballs racked up even more points. He was tall and lanky with jet-black hair and a tortured soul. On the outside, he might have been a jock, but inside he was a poet. Chris would show up at my place late at night, too drunk, with his car parked more-than-slightly askew. He wasn’t a pretty sight and shouldn’t have been driving, but I always willingly admitted him and his hefty cock in. One night, Chris showed up with another player from the team, Nathan. While Chris and I macked on each other and moved upstairs, Mary Jane grabbed Nathan and, last I saw, got busy with him downstairs.

Chris knelt above me, slogging his cock into my mouth. My hands wrapped around his ass, bringing him in even further. I felt his cock grow harder and longer with each stroke, but before I could finish him off, he pulled out and turned the proverbial tables. Let me tell you, there is something to be said for nimble fingers. If those digits can make a ball hum, they can make a pussy hit a home run. Chris gave the best finger-bangs this side of Memphis. I was in my second solo when I heard my bedroom door open, and Mary Jane and Nathan slipped in.

If Chris wasn’t about to complain, I certainly wasn’t. When four people fill a bed, it’s a matter of limbs and licking. I took Chris out of my mouth, lay on my back, and pulled him inside me so he could fuck me silly, and then Mary Jane started to fondle my breasts while Nathan kissed me wildly. Yes, for the time being, it was all about me, but soon after, we changed positions.

The evening left me sore and sated—almost, because even then there was still one thing I had yet to do: kiss a woman. Somehow, even though we touched each other, were breast to breast and mouth to snatch, Mary Jane and I never kissed. I had shared my bed more than once with a girlfriend but still hadn’t fully given myself over to a woman. That abandonment was the final frontier.

Tonight starts out pretty slow. I shrug off my work outfit—blouse, bra, skirt, hose, panties, flats—and slip into sweat shorts and a tight white tank. Around the house, I love the freedom of going braless with no panties. Who cares? June gloom had finally lifted from the California shoreline and a Baja hurricane had pushed north, leaving the air muggy warm, as though we were in New Orleans.

Turning on the television, I catch a re-run of The One With Frank, Jr.—when the Friends get to pick the five “freebie” celebrities they could sleep with. Slowly, I nurse some homebrewed sun tea, letting the coolness of the ice melt on my tongue. The doorbell rings, and the door opens. And in walks Joanna. She always does that, not waiting for me to open the door. With the falling evening sunlight streaming in behind her, I see the outline of her curves in her olive green Michael Stars T-shirt.

“Hey, Trisha, good to see ya, girl. What’s on tonight?” She sits down next to me on the couch, her thigh touching my leg, and reaches across me to take a sip from the tumbler on the side table. Her breasts brush across my arm. She turns to me with tea glistening on her lips, and I think it is now or never.

I imagine my lips on hers—the first brush, the pressure of my hands in her hair pulling her to me. They say reality may never measure up to imagination, but I’m ready to risk it.

She smiles, as if she knows what I’m thinking. I reach around her neck and pull her face to mine. Our lips meet, and I run my tongue across her lower lip, tasting the vanilla lip gloss. Her lips feel soft and delicate.

I thrust my tongue into Joanna’s mouth and tighten my grip on her long dark locks. Our tongues intertwine, circling. Joanna’s darts in and out of her mouth, almost as if playing hide and seek. Ah, she’s got a quick little licker. Her free hand reaches into my shorts, pulling out the waist, past my partly shaven pussy, her fingers cold. She drags her closely clipped nails as she slowly strokes downward and raises goose bumps on me. I know she can already feel the come dripping down my thighs. Oh, yeah, I’ll give you something to slather over that pretty little mouth.

One finger in, and I squirm. Two fingers and the moans begin to seep out. She presses me against the arm of the couch. I want to touch her. She kneels over me now and props open my left leg with her right knee, straddling my right leg, her arm deep into my shorts and her fingers deep into my cunt. I return the favor, unlacing my fingers from her hair, pulling down her jeans, making her shift her hips to wiggle them down and off. I had always admired her hips; her tan line is smooth and straight. She drips onto my fingers, as I stroke her labia, swollen now and more than moist. With both hands I pull her lips apart. The little bit of wet resistance sticking them together releases, and she practically gushes. I work my right middle finger up inside her and hear a whimper escape from Jo’s pretty mouth bound with my own. By the time I’m in three-fingers deep, Jo can barely control herself.

“How do you like that, Jo?”

She responds by firmly twirling my clit between thumb and forefinger, and I arch my back as I come. Her fingers are relentless. She keeps at it, now releasing it and thrumming around my clit, teasing it fuller, lightly pinching and then stroking into the wetness of my slit, bringing it back up to moisten my clit, off center circles around and up, around and up, and I crest again. No more. I grab her wrists and pull her away.

I sink back into the couch and draw her to me. Her body feels so slight in my arms—her weight light against me. Both of us are considered petite. I think of that term “lipstick lesbians” and gaze at the curve of her lips once again. She smiles in return.

I’d always been afraid to go there because of the labels. If I’m with a woman alone, suddenly that changes me, and I’ve got a new label—“lesbian.” Truth, it’s not about the selection of male versus female: It’s about the person. Joanna’s one of the most beautiful people I know—inside and out. The fact that she wants to be with me, well, it’s hard to imagine. Then again, I’ve been told that I’m a pretty good catch, too.

“What are you thinking about, Trish?” she asks, taking in my sudden seriousness.

If she only knew the entire truth… “Kissing you,” I say, “and how long I’ve wanted to do it.”

Her lips come down on mine—gentle, soft, caressing, and I sigh into her mouth. For some reason, this act of kissing her had worried me, yet it’s so natural. She tastes slightly musty now, with a hint of sweetness lingering underneath. Our kisses grow more insistent, and I once again twine my hands through her hair, and rub my knee between her legs. She grinds her pelvis against my knee.

Moving to the side, I stroke her inner thighs with feather-light touches, feeling her skin prickle beneath my fingertips. Time to reverse positions. I push her back onto the couch to pleasure her. She opens her legs wider for me, granting me full access, and I gaze at her sweet pussy.

I lean forward and breathe in her scent. Her knees rest on either side of my body, and her fingers tease my already-erect nipples. I lightly take her swollen clit within my teeth and roll it—it’s what I like, and think maybe she might too—apparently she does, as she moans and grabs my head. I swirl my tongue slowly around her clit, lapping up the sweetness that flows from her and push a finger back into her pussy. A little at first, twirling as I lick her, then a bit deeper and around, and with my free hand slightly lift her butt and keep her there. I pull out my finger and she grinds her hips toward me. So I push two fingers in, deeper, and circle into her again, all the while flicking her clit with my tongue and alternately licking up and down her nether lips.

Jo moves her hips with my mouth, bucking into my face with each rolling motion, her fingers tugging at my hair, timing and pushing against my fingers and mouth. Yeah, who needs a cock to fuck? And, emboldened, I say it aloud, “Who needs a cock to fuck?”

Laughing and panting, Jo says, “Don’t take your mouth off me.” She pushes me back between her legs. And as I pull apart her lips again with my fingers and insert my tongue up inside her, she whispers, “Not you. Not me. Not now—maybe later.” I smile without relenting and suck on her clit again until I feel her tremble uncontrollably beneath each caress, her legs coming together to stave off any more unendurable pleasure.

A first kiss and more: tonight, for us, is just the beginning. Later, there’s always that dildo in my bedroom…