My Lesbian Experience Story 9
Given that I’m twenty-two years old, it’s fair to assume that I’ve just recently reached the legal drinking age. While I was in high school in the mid-2000s, the events in this narrative unfolded for me.
We were no exception to the rule of scorching heat and bitten nails that pervade most high school relationships, and ours was no different. Audrey couldn’t love a little bit at a time, only in short, passionate spurts. Most of late August was spent in parking lots, sitting in her 1989 Camry, sliding about on the cracked leather seats while perspiration slicked the backs of our thighs. It was a long, hot summer.
When she’d say “Tell me a tale,” she’d be sitting in the backseat as far as it would go with her feet kicked up on the dash. Watching as her uniform skirt puddled over her thighs, tanned and powerful from lacrosse, was a pleasure for me to see. Then she’d follow my eyes down to her lap where she’d grin, stretch, and rub the backs of her ankles together where her feet were jammed up against the windscreen.
I’d take a sip of my drink.
It was a game Audrey and I used to like playing where we rejected everything to one other, and I’d play it while sitting back against the passenger-side door of the car and slipping my sunglasses down my nose. “I’ll take one if you tell me.”
She’d wrap a hank of my then-long hair over one callused hand and pull, not hard, just enough to hurt, until the hank came untangled. Kate would remind me, as I slid toward her with my lips wide, “I’m bored.” I think you’re the only one in the group that doesn’t find it dull.”
At that point, I’d grin against her, sliding my tongue over the salty flesh behind her ear with a mixture of courage, need, and fear. Please provide me with a topic of conversation.
Her hair was wrapped around her wrist like a charm during the whole process.
In my parents’ home, I discover a wrinkled and soft stack of letters while cleaning up my own room. With the exception of a few passages here and there, I read them rapidly and scarcely took anything in.
Things became serious so quickly, I believe I was in love with you. I keep having dreams in which the tales I write come true, and I wake up to find myself forty years old, married, and sad and uninteresting, just like the characters in the books. What’s worse is that I believe you’d be content in this situation.
Sorry if I’ve offended you, but I believe you’d appreciate it if I did this for you.
Writing like a Dorothy Parker character without any self-awareness was a trademark of Audrey’s writing career.
However, they had gutted me at the time, leaving me gazing and shaking in the senior restroom, and they continue to gut me today.
Not every one of them was a letter of separation. We used to put messages in each other’s lockers, buried away behind binders and empty coffee cups, and the other would find them later. Then I’d go for my science binder and watch as a crumpled ball of notebook paper slid out of the back.
Opening the door would reveal an Audrey sleeping on a desk with the message “I HATE EVERYONE EXCEPT YOU AND HOLDEN CAULFIELD,” and the door would close. Each one of them is unique to us, and they pile up on my lap, some of them amusing and others grumpy.
A broad, rounded magenta Sharpie is used to write “I’ll take you home today” on one of the notes. This is one I recall.
Fifth period, she’d handed it to me by hand, her hair falling out from her ponytail and over the shoulders of the rigid uniform blouse she was wearing. When I asked if she had a message, she chirped and slipped it over my desk before our English teacher had a chance to take it away from her. “Message from the office for Kate?” she chirped as she passed the document across my desk.
None of this would have occurred to Ms. Falway, who would never have considered it: A compulsively excellent student and people-pleaser, I would bite my lower lip with nervousness before every exam and leave sweaty hand prints on every page of Catcher in the Rye. Even so, I attempted to maintain a neutral appearance, averting my gaze away from the backs of Audrey’s legs as she walked out the door.
My Lesbian experience story 9
“Have you heard any good news from work?” Ms. Falway chirped above me, and I tucked the letter into my purse with a quivering hand and smiled a little too broadly.
“It’s just…soccer practice was canceled,” says the player. But who bothered about such a dumb untruth that might easily be exposed? Audrey was the only one who noticed, and she hadn’t stayed long enough to notice.
As the bell rang to signal the end of the school day, I remained at my locker, gliding my palms down the cold metal walls until all of the conversation had gone from the corridors. Upon arriving at her location, Audrey was perched on the bonnet of the automobile, her aviators firmly in place. I told her that she looked like the lead actress in a ’80s film, complete with tattered notepad and charm.
It brought a smile on her face. “I swear to God, you’re an adverb.”
It was then that I came to a halt and gulped. “Sorry.”
she said with a laugh. “Oh, I’m just joking.” The presence of “you” makes me happy.
Because I said something dumb, her eyes became dark and intense. “I’m skipping Student Council for this,” I said.
Then she smiled and replied, “Fine!” When she slipped off the hood and opened the driver’s-side door, she motioned for me to take the passenger seat with her. As I wrestled with the seatbelt, she stood there, waiting. The stillness seemed oppressive in the automobile.
As soon as I was able to get myself in order, she responded, “So.” The question is, “Where are your plans for the evening?”
It was “okay, I’ll go back to the house.” “Or… At the very least, my mother will not be expecting me for another hour.”
As she pulled out of the parking lot and headed in the direction of who knows where, she remarked, “Yeah, I think so.”
The way Audrey kissed me, her thin lips always sun-chapped and salty, was one of my favorite things about her. And this time was no different. After we pulled into the parking lot, she fisted my collar, dragging me toward her and forcing me to struggle with the seatbelt while choking.
‘Jesus, Audrey,” I said, and she nipped the inside of my cheek. Suddenly, I became deafeningly silent.
In Sacramento, the heat was still unbearable, and my shirt stuck to my back as Audrey tugged it from the waistband of my skirt, sliding her hands up to paw at my bra with a look of astonishment on her face.
‘My boobs are little,’ I said, and she shook her head in disapproval. My courage led me to cup both of her nipples before dipping my head beneath the hem of her blouse and biting the inside of one of them. I couldn’t stop myself from gasping for air since it tasted just like the rest of her — sweaty and sun-screened. When she screamed above me, I smirked as she twisted her fingers into my hair.
Is it better if we… take a backseat? Her cheeks were high-cheekboned and flushed as I questioned, peering at her face. Then she shook her head, indicating that she was finished.
“How about we…can we…”, says the speaker. Then she shifted her weight sideways to brace against the driver’s-side door, and I slid in between her knees, kissing her lower lip once more before slipping my hand beneath her skirt.
My question was met with a nod and a sideways glance. It was the first time I had kissed her in a long time, and I simply looked at her face as I slipped my hand up her knee, farther up, where her thighs were soft and she was friendly and wet.
The young lady begged, “Please, Kate,” in a desperate tone. While thinking about this, I pressed my hand against the wetness in her underwear in the same way I liked to do to myself in my bedroom. I thought about the way her breasts pressed against her shirt in geometry class, the way she’d trail one hand over my shoulder as she passed me on the way to lunch, and everything else.
She used to leave me hickeys along my collarbone for me to study afterwards, resting the pad of one finger over the purple area for good luck, feeling it pulse as I crossed and uncrossed my legs in English class, my legs throbbing with each movement.
My lower back was tingling with the same strong pressure as Audrey’s when I stroked her, making me squirm even as she was doing the same to me.
Then she snatched my wrist and sank her claws into the sensitive area of my forearm, till I awkwardly slid my fingers beneath her cotton underwear, right into her scorching body heat. Because of the fragrance of her, which was coppery and tart, I had to take a moment to catch my breath. I thought it smelt just like the way her lips tasted when we kissed, with spit and teeth in plenty.
As she gritted, I bent my two index and middle fingers, unsure of what I was doing. Performing this action on someone else was quite different; feeling her clench and twitch around me as my thumb slid across her clit, as her thighs squeezed around my palm, was nearly painful. The ridges within her reminded me of small sea anemones, which were calm and peaceful in the dark, and I scrabbled over at them again and over until my palm was aching.
As an example, she said: “Like that.” Because she understood what others were saying when they were on the verge of arriving, it sounded almost empty. That’s exactly how it is,” she said.
After pressing harder into her with my entire heel of my palm against her pubic bone, she shuddered and opened her mouth wide.
Suddenly, her pussy gave way beneath my palm, drippy like an overripe peach. It had been tight and firm and pulsating. We both murmured a bit as I swallowed down my panting. My attention was drawn to her by every sound she made, and every time I twisted my fingers, I pictured her doing the same to me, imagining my face tucked between her knees, imagining her taking, taking, constantly taking.
If you don’t mind, I’ll do it… I got things going. I was dying to know what she tasted, but I couldn’t think of a way to even begin to find out what she had to offer. My hair was tightly wrapped around her wrist, and I wanted her to keep me there. Her presence made me want to choke her to death.
Despite my best efforts, she didn’t seem to be looking at me again. Her back was to the window, and her eyes were closed as she stood there. Taking a breath through her lips and arching her back, she grabbed my hand and pressed it against her as I stood there watching. When her face began to crumple like paper left out in the rain, I knew I’d found my target.
Following that, we drove back to my place without saying anything to one another. Audrey placed a Placebo song on repeat: Protégé Moi, Protégé Moi, Protégé Moi, and rolled the windows down to make it seem more like summer in the city. It was only the asphalt in front of me. Moi, I’m a protege!
We’ll catch up the next day! As I slammed the passenger-side door outside my front yard, I shouted out to her to come outdoors. She grinned at me after shaking herself a bit, as if she had woken up from a dream.
Then she drove along the heat-shimmering street, lowering her sunglasses down over her eyes as she shouted goodbye.
Her departure was viewed with a wiping hand on my skirt.