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You see, I always just assumed I was bisexual. I've liked woman long before I started liking men. But sexuality is weird like that, right? Sexuality exists on a scale that slides the wetter you are.
But men, men are normal for women to like. Even in elementary school, I was chased around the playground and birthday parties by boys that "just wanted a kiss." It was normal for me to like men. So I did.
I lost my virginity at 15 to a 17-year-old neighbor. We were completely in love. At least that's what I thought. He had other ideas. He confessed—the only way he could keep seeing me is if we opened up the relationship. I was young and dumb (as we all were—don't scoff!). I agreed, but I cried and accused him when another girl commented on his social media. It was... pathetic to say the least. But the point here is, I REALLY thought I liked guys.
Turns out, I only liked them because I was supposed to. Now that I look back on my sexuality with men, I remember losing my virginity because I felt "I had to." I remember crying in the middle of and after sex with multiple guys because—well at the time, I just thought it was because I felt guilty for having casual sex. At one point, I had to stop having sex because there was a sharp pain inside me. I went to the doctor, got checked for STDs, was lectured by the unprofessional attitude of the doctor that just couldn't hold his tongue about a woman being inexcusably sexual, and finally chalked up the incident to be a one time, freak occurrence. It wasn't just once, though. The stabbing pain happened every time I had sex with him afterwards. I eventually stopped having sex with him. The pain went away and I continued my heterosexual journey.
I had one girlfriend in between this journey. She was beautifully blonde, smart, and kind. She had a petite, pear shape like me; but she had paler skin and green eyes. She was the only openly lesbian girl I knew and I jumped at the chance of being her girlfriend. I took her out, called her beautiful, had long conversations about sexuality and hobbies with her. We went on a few dates. None of which, I touched her. I spoke to her about this as I didn't want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable. She explained herself as being nervous. Soon after, she moved away, slept with a guy for the first time, got pregnant, and married him. Lesson learned: make sure she's actually into girls... After that, I tried sexting women I met on the internet and had a few "almost" sexual encounters with women, but nothing real.
I continued my sexual prowess of men. Each encounter was less and less emotional. I began dating men that I didn't find the least bit attractive in the physical or emotional sense. After I cheated on one with a black man, I thought "THIS is what I've been missing!" Yeah... not so much. A different skin tone wasn't what I needed, although, I was on the right path.
I met her.
Finally, I met her. It was easy. I used a dating app of course. Don't judge me, though. Truly gay women are hard to find—especially one this beautiful. I first met her at her place. The walls were covered in her artwork: naked, petite, yet curvaceous women. At least I know she's definitely gay. I come to find out, though, she likes to draw women that she wants to look like. I never made it on the wall of artwork because I was too shy to sit for a drawing. But I did end up in her camera and in her drawing notebook where she still has an unfinished portrait of the gentle curves of my breasts.
She was dressed in black skinny jeans and a white collared shirt. Later on, she notifies me of her embarrassment at the outfit she picked as I had dressed in a long blue pencil skirt and black fitted bralette. That doesn't bother me, though. Her style is effortless and humble with a bit of Elvis Presley attitude mixed in when she wears her shades and leather jacket. She's beautiful and not too butch. Her feminine face ties the whole outfit together.
At the end of the night, she walks me to my car and kisses my lips. It wasn't an extraordinary kiss—just as it wasn't an extraordinary date either. I remember she had small lips that I could've easily missed if she hadn't been the one leading the kiss. But regardless of the kiss, the fact that she was the one to give it—that was what made it so different. I've never felt this way before. I have such a lust to keep kissing her. I lean into her body and grab her waist. But she stops. And I let out a moan for the kiss but a sigh because it's over. I roll my eyes and bite my lip still trying to taste her. We both say goodnight and it ends with that.
The Third Date
As the cliché goes, the third date was when the magic happened. She had decided we were going to stay in to watch a movie. I knew what this meant, as well. I had shaved, wore perfume, and dressed to accentuate my petite curves that she liked so much.
We watched a full movie in silence before she finally said, "Let's turn on something we can make out to." The perfect media: The L Word. Ah, a lesbian classic. A must see (and on Netflix) if you haven't. The show began and we each turned on our sides in bed to kiss each other. I start to moan and lean in closer to feel her. She gets on top of me and almost childishly asks, "Do you wanna fool around?" I nod and immediately say, "yes." She takes off my shirt to gently suck my breasts and tease my nipples, but I notice she is still fully clothed. I ask, "Aren't you supposed to be naked?" She smiles shyly and takes of her shirt. I help her take off her sports bra she was using to hide her very large and beautiful breasts. I couldn't believe she would want to hide them.
She gets back on top of me. I'm laying on my back while she lays across me. Chest to chest, our kissing intensifies until our legs are intertwined and our bodies start to absentmindedly hump each other. She props my knees up and puts one leg in between my crotch and fucks me until I cum.
She says, "Do you wanna try something else?"
I ask, "What should I do?"
"Whatever you want."
She lays with her back on the bed and I immediately look towards her chest. I kiss her and swiftly move down to her pierced nipples. I don't stay there long before wondering what it would be like to have my head between her legs. I hover above her crotch for a few moments—just catching my breath and taking in what's about to happen.
I move further down the bed with my stomach against the mattress and my head almost touching her wet pussy. I grab her legs gently and tease her clit with my pointed tongue. This is the most sensual and erotic experience I've ever had in my life. I moan to the taste and sound of her arousal.
After a few minutes, she declares I go faster and finger her. As she wishes, I did. I found she takes much longer to cum than I do, but I still long to reach the final peak with her.
Then it happened. Her moans became clearer and louder than mine and her thighs clapped together with my fingers still inside her. I wanted to keep going past her orgasm, but her body was too sensitive at this point. I let her finish her experience and then I held her. We decided to shower afterwards and share little jokes and comments about the experience.
But that night had settled the debate: I'm a lesbian.
I couldn't get enough of her, but she longed to live a life of freedom and never felt the attachment she needed to have a serious relationship with me. She requested to open our relationship. As you might recall, this is exactly how losing my first virginity was. I decided not to put myself through that again, but I still love her for sharing that experience with me.