My Lesbian Experience Story 15
Women and imagination, as well as the causes and situations that lead to them, are a mess of inconsistency. From one lady to the next, it differs. From night to night and lover to lover, the same is true for each unique lady.
Woman may or may not daydream even with the same partner within the same hour, depending on a variety of factors, including all of the undiscovered tides and moons of a woman’s mind, depending on so many factors.
Contrary to this, homosexual women are not a homophobe. It permeates their whole existence that they are both their own and another’s sex at the same time. I believe that lesbians fantasize more often than other women as a result of their sexual orientation.
During sex, a lesbian’s fantasies must be particularly active in order to assist her in rationalizing her frequently wildly varying shifts of identification between one sex and the other, as she transitions from the male to the female role and back again.
In Marion’s dream, the first of the set that follows, she reveals that she needs to imagine while she’s actively exciting her female friend in order for her to get thrilled as well, which she does in the next scenario. Although Marion is shown as the butch lesbian, her favorite part of the scenario is when Lilly takes the Ronson dildo and transforms into the man and she is reduced to “just a plain cunt, getting fucked by some motorbike dude.”
It has been my experience that the majority of women sometimes have what they refer to as “lesbian fantasies,” which are sexual fantasies in which they are involved with other women. They have these despite the fact that their actual lives are entirely or mostly heterosexual in nature.
“Of course women think about other women,” some women accept these images as naturally as their own female anatomy; for others, they raise the possibility of their own latent bisexuality, while still others ponder guiltily whether the mere act of thinking about it indicates a genuine desire to be with another woman. Secret thoughts about other women harbored by women are a riddle inside a mystery, and it’s a subject I’d want to keep for another time. –
These dreams are currently held by lesbians, or women who acknowledge and/or exercise their preferred attraction to other women.
Originally named Marianne, Marion Marion was born on a farm in North Dakota and changed her given name to the more sexually ambiguous Marion after coming to terms with her sexuality later in life. Marion Marion is a lesbian who was born on a farm in North Dakota and changed her given name to Marion after coming to terms with her sexuality later in life. She has never had a strong attraction to males.
Perhaps it was my father’s jokes that made me feel so strongly against males. My father wasn’t a very bright guy. Even as a child, I could see that he was doomed. He’s a big-boned, large-framed – I don’t know, unfinished – kind of guy. Even now, I recall the phone calls that would make my mother sobbing because I was calling her.
He’s getting phone calls from other ladies. It was in 1988 that I had a thought about one of these other chicks and wondered why my father preferred her over my mother. This other one sounded just ridiculous. There was once a harrowing argument about a letter he received from one of the group.
Phone calls and my mother sobbing are the two things I remember most vividly from my youth, more than anything else. I can even recall thinking to myself as a child that I would never want to be like her in any way. Like my mum, for example.
You’re not going to laugh? If you do, you’re screwed. I couldn’t give a damn what you thought of me. What I really want is for a large number of cunts like you to realize what it’s like to be among folks like me. Lesbians. The fucking word has such a horrible odor. And I don’t enjoy being referred to as “gay.” I’m not some faggoty. The question is, why does the term sound so rotten? You like vegetables, but I enjoy apples.
You like guys, whilst I prefer women. What’s the big deal? What the heck is it about it that is so heinous?
I’m going to go on my soapbox. I’m referring to the act of preaching. Having to defend oneself all the time, though, is a downer. Let me explain what goes through my mind as I’m writing this:
Lilly and I both like to clean our teeth with an electric toothbrush. Battery-operated devices eliminate the need to worry about electrical cords or plugging in the device. [Laugh] Except that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do — plug it in.
My lesbian experience story 15
Have you ever gone to the doctor or the dentist and the doctor or the dentist has cut his finger and he’s wearing a little rubber cap on his finger? Would you want a little condom? Whatever the case, we use epoxy glue to secure the toothbrush itself to the little metal head, otherwise the vibration would cause the brush to come loose. After that, I use the same adhesive to attach the rubber cap on the brush, making sure that it completely covers the bristles.
This is something that several of our friends do as well. It’s like we’ve created our own inside joke. “Can you tell me what you’re using tonight, Jack?” we ask each other after someone has picked up a new female. “Can you tell me what a Schick is?” We are in the business of trading brand names. Ronson is one of my favorite musicians. Despite the fact that it has four or even six rechargeable batteries (I forget), it is quite portable.
I have a type of strap around my waist. It runs around my waist and up over my shoulders, crossing in the back, and then down under my ass and back up to my waistband and around again. It was custom-made for me by a sandal-maker. As a result, the Ronson is securely fastened to the ground at a low level. To put it another way, it’s stiff. [Laughter] Look, when you speak to any male, the first thing he wants to know is whether or not he forced the lady to come. That’s how they demonstrate their virility.
That’s what they’re concerned about right now. But between me and my Ronson, I can get any female to come to me at any moment. It’s a matter of basic biology. Men are in charge of this enterprise, which they don’t even comprehend. to delve deeply inside oneself It is necessary to sow the seed. That’s just the way biology works. Although I identify as butch, I am also a woman. I get what you’re saying. I don’t have the desire to go deeply into a woman’s body. It’s possible that I’m competitive with males. Or it’s possible that I don’t want to just give in to biology. But I’m not interested in getting into detail. I am aware of my own characteristics, and I never forget that the clit is where the action is.
That way, I’m aware of what Lilly stands to gain from the experience. Then, all by myself, I’m filled with excitement but also apprehension about what’s going to happen next. alone. Lilly will be fine, but I have to conjure up these pictures in my head in order for me to feel just as delighted as Lilly will be.
The fact that I’m raping a motorbike rider is what gets my blood boiling! In addition to the large machine, one of these butch studs in glossy black leather is included. In and out of Lilly, giving her a little bit of clit and cunt and then an awful lot more clit is how I’m now spending my time. Nonetheless, I can see myself in my head, and I am still wearing that Ronson, but it is no longer Lilly.
What I’m talking about is this hottie, and I’ve managed to knock him off his bike. The man has me by the balls. So he’s this huge, butch faggot, if you catch what I’m saying. And I’m giving him the Ronson up the arse as a thank you for his assistance.
Moreover, it is very much appreciated by him. As he approaches me, he stomps his foot in my face. This is something he can’t get enough of. My imagination takes me down below the surface of the water to tease his clitoral crease.
Although I was secretly hoping he was actually Lilly, deep down I knew she liked her clit tickled as much as he did as well. Moreover, and I can feel it in my bones, I’m taken aback. At all. He’s completely devoid of a crotch. This man is depraved and depraved. His clitoral region is really a clitoral region. With my back against his, I reach down below his hips and insert my finger into the opening.
He’s got a cunt and a tuft of hair. An embarrassment, to put it mildly. His body falls on his back, and I can feel the Ronson’s energy truly hooked into him, and my own clit is vibrating along with him. I can see him stretching out his legs, and then he raises them over my shoulders and walks away.
His eyes are closed, and I know the vibration is coursing through Lilly, but it’s also coursing through me, and at this point, Lilly will sometimes take the Ronson out of its holder and jam it up my behind, which I find hilarious.
She transforms into the man in the motorcycle leather, and I’m reduced to the status of a cunt, a basic cunt, getting fucked by some motorbike dude, which I quite like. That Lilly is so ecstatic about switching roles is wonderful. As a result, I’m no longer the man anymore, but she is.
After that, I insert my finger into her cunt, and as I feel her stomach muscles begin to heave, that incredible contraction, spasm after spasm, I find myself practically shouting in delight. And I’ll be there in person. The following is an audio recording of the interview.
She was born in Belgium, although she has spent the most of her twenty-five years in the United States. During the summer at their uncle’s farm, she shared her first lesbian encounter with her older cousin Renee, with whom she was spending the summer.
As a lesbian, Jeanne continues to identify as one “by choice,” rather than as a consequence of “unhappy home-life,” “economic situations,” socioeconomic variables,” and other such causes… Formerly, she was embarrassed of her sexual preferences, but now she has “found the conclusion that I am not mentally sick merely because my sexual choice is for another woman,” thanks to “a partner who really cares about me.” The last two years, Jeanne has been sharing a home with her sweetheart, Paula.
When Jeanne and her cousin Renee were sleeping in each other’s arms in the hayloft of her uncle’s farm, an occurrence occurred that got ingrained in Jeanne’s memory and served as the germ from which her very detailed imagination sprouted. The sight of Anjou, the cousin’s daughter, caused the two girls to stop their love play.
This is a young canine who is mounting a b*tch on the ground level below it. Upon seeing Anjou’s “bevel-pointed maleness” enter the room, both girls were intrigued. They took turns explaining to each other what they thought an encounter with Anjou would be like. Today, such descriptions have been ritualized into sexual fantasies that are incredibly detailed and meticulously constructed. As with any piece of art, it is the meticulous attention to detail that allows the reader to feel the emotions of the fantasizer.
When my cousin has completed mating with a bitch he has been mating with and is certain that we will not be found, my cousin summons Anjou into the barn. It seems that Anjou’s animal maleness has not faded into the sheath under his warm belly, and when Renee wraps her arms around him and says to me, “Help get him on my back; I want to try, too,” I know that she is referring to Anjou’s animal maleness. I am completely out of my mind with passion and emotion, and after locking the door, I hurry return to the back of the barn, where Renee is already taking hay down and constructing another “nest.” I’m fascinated by Anjou’s animal maleness; the enormous length of the glistening red, arrow-pointed organ is still exposed, and as Renee kneels on her hands and knees, saying, “Help me, put him up on my back,” she lifts her dress up over her beautiful young hips and back, exposing her white rounded buttocks, spreading her legs apart, and the moist flesh of her outer lips is now completely exposed. I’m fascinated by Several times I attempt to elevate Anjou, but he growls, and it is at this point that Renee reaches around and wraps her hand over his organ, instructing me to “place your hand on my puss and then put it on his snout. ” Every step of the way, she is rubbing her fingers back and forth on the rapidly diminishing organ of Anjou’s maleness. The moment Anjou licks my hand, his head immediately turns to look at the open bottom of Renee. As his long tongue flashes out and he starts lapping Renee’s exposed vagina, I am even more giddy with anticipation.
It seems like Renee is moaning quietly, and I can hear her voice coming from someplace else. In the meanwhile, Anjou is already perched on her back, shifting his weight from one leg to another as he attempts unsuccessfully to insert his bevel-tipped gleaming organ into her young virgin vaginal opening.
Hannah,
hurry, help him, put it in for him,” I say, wrapping my hand around the glistening red maleness, gently moving it back and forth between the wet, fleshy, parted lips of her vaginal canal until it is directed into the exposed mouth of her vagina. “Help him, put it in for him,” I say, wrapping my hand around the vibrating, hot, glistening red maleness, and holding it gently moving it back and forth between the wet, fleshy
I watch, glued to the scene, as Anjou’s scarlet, arrow-like organ glides from its short hairy sheath and disappears into my cousin’s exposed cunnie. I’m captivated. Anjou starts to pump her, and my cousin backs her bare bottom to meet his ferocious thrusts. She gasps and soon begins to groan as he continues to pump her. While seeing Anjou’s long wild maleness glide in and out of her exposed cunnie, Renee screams and groans in delight, and then she starts to twist her hips as she rotates her hips.
He pulls his animal organ from my cousin’s stomach with his fleshy lips clinging to it as he pulls the organ out of his body with his forward thrusts. As soon as I couldn’t take it anymore, I go down on my knees and crawl around my cousin, eventually crouching in front of her so that she can apply her mouth to my blazing vagina even more aggressively. Meanwhile, Anjou’s maleness continues to pulsate in the depths of her.
To this day, when I shut my eyes, I wish with all my heart that Paula was stirring inside me, a massive, bevel-pointed organ.
I haven’t told Paula about my fantasies about her extended clitoris being Anjou’s animal maleness yet, since I’m afraid she’ll be bothered by the idea that I would prefer an animal to myself, which is preposterous in and of itself. But the relationship continues to exist, which I find appealing.
