Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Karen Cypher

I am not with her again until the following Sunday. The three of us have come to the annual Memorial Day picnic at Clearwater Lodge. Kevin has taken over the task of organizing the set-up at these gatherings and has solicited help from most of his office staff. I almost chose to stay home because I suffer from the weakness and fluctuating heat that follow my periods now. I’ve heard other women describe hot flashes, but this is different; not a flash, but a constant, deep-radiating unpleasantness that leaves me moody and lethargic. I’d been in bed all morning, reading, when Laura came to ask me if I wanted to go. Since I was her sole mode of transportation, it was a given that my quiet morning was at an end. On reflection, I decided that fresh air and company might be just the escape I need.

Kevin had arrived much earlier, so Laura and I circle the mostly full parking area to find a space that is not directly in the sun. Pennsylvania is not exactly hot at the end of May, but the temperature feels warmer than in years past. Hell, maybe it is just me who feels warmer. Laura walks across the lawn in the direction of the BBQ pavilion and food. I wave her on, preferring the main path to take advantage of the shade provided by a narrow copse of tall trees. The limbs are full of tiny flags that hang from the lower branches, and temporary plaques are staked into the ground along the walk, each telling me the various deeds of fallen soldiers – locals one and all – and the sacrifices made for their country. The gesture is simple yet thoughtful, and given the occasion, I pause to read each and every one.

Nearly finished with my trek and typical of my mood swings, I am suddenly restless – impatient with the loss of time, the slow walking, the droning of insects, the stagnant air. Maybe it was a mistake to come. I consider sneaking along to a back entrance where I can sit isolated in the air-conditioned coolness of the lodge, or maybe find a quiet space on the shaded porch.

Then Laura is there. I can’t see her, nor can I hear her, but I feel her somewhere around me, a sensation like a cool hand sliding up my back. Alert, I immediately scan the area ahead while my mind visualizes her appearance: a quarter-sleeve purple top and jean skirt, bare legs tone and still awaiting the tan that summer weather would surely bring, sandals hanging loose on a finger so her feet can luxuriate in the cool grass under the trees. Aware of her, my good mood returns as quickly as it fled and it takes all my strength not to turn around, not to call her name. I thrill that she is watching me, and purposefully, I continue my slow walk so as not to spoil her clandestine musings.

Reaching the lobby of the lodge, I no longer feel the need to be isolated, yet that is exactly what I get. Kevin has gone off for a meeting with the senior directors, giving me a quick kiss and assuring me he will not be long. Laura is studiously not looking at me from the other side of the room, where she talks with one of the ever-present young males who hover around her.

I don’t mind. It’s now my turn to watch her.

I like how she carries herself; charismatic and approachable, as if she is never out of her element. Unlike some teens, Laura is rarely stilted or awkward in a crowd, engaging strangers with a steady, natural enthusiasm for company that she certainly didn’t learn from watching me mingle. Her hair is sleek and glistening in that quirky, freestyle haircut that I find so attractive, and the purple of her blouse is perfect for her dark hair, also complimenting the paler shading of her skin.

Then her eyes meet mine, and I find myself grinning in sheer pleasure. I watch her excuse herself from the young man and make her meandering way across the room to stand at my side.

Still smiling, I have the urge to tell her everything: my emotionally topsy-turvy walk from the car, my weakness in body, and my awareness of her presence while watching me on the path. We stand together in companionable silence for a moment, idly scanning the people around us before taking that imperceptible sliding-step toward each other, shoulders touching. Her arm circles my waist and I feel how sticky my skin is against hers, how consciously aware that my body now trembles inside.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve been sweating so much, I must smell.”

Holding me in the chaste embrace, she turns her head, arm gripping tighter against the thin, damp cotton of my dress while her fingers squeeze my side. “I love how you smell, Grandma,” she murmurs, sniffing deeply, subtly pushing her hip harder against mine.

I hesitate, knowing she is teasing, but also loving the playful banter that flows so easily between us. Glancing around at the groups of people chatting nearby, I respond to her in kind. “Laura!” I chide unconvincingly. “I don’t know who put such thoughts into your head, but a woman does not talk of such things so openly!” Her stifled giggle was proof that I had scored.

I drift away for a time, making the short walk to the food pavilion and sampling the many offerings before eventually returning to the main lodge and the glorious air conditioning. Two vodka and cranberry drinks later, I am actually starting to enjoy the seemingly endless small talk, when Laura once again slides next to me and snakes her arm with mine. “Grandma, can I show you something?”

I can tell from her touch, from the excited expression on her face, that she is up to something. Knowing her, it is probably something devious. “Show me what, exactly?”

The incandescent smile, the dancing eyes, and the way the air was positively humming around her – I admit that all of these are what allow Laura to steer me toward the stairway. We descend narrow, switchback steps into a corridor where every door stands closed, barring the exploration of mysterious places secreted behind. At the end of the hall, Laura pushes aside a heavy curtain, entering a tiny dark room like an improvised storage space. It is perhaps ten feet to a side, with an imposing desk, a loose pile of carpets and a shelf against the back wall that is lined with vague, unrecognizable shapes. My eyes adjust, but the room is still dark despite the illumination cast by the naked bulb above us.

I am not sure why she led me here, other than for the obvious absence of prying eyes and her propensity for mischief. Surely there is nothing she actually wants to show me? Turning, ready to walk back, I hear Laura begin to hum softly. It is an atonal sound, pulsing in time with the blood in my veins, her voice echoing faintly from walls etched with an ageless quality that permeates the room. Combined, they work to overpower my instinct to retreat. She somehow sooths my anxiety with the softest touch of her fingers, moving slowly, her head tilting slightly to seek my lips. I taste her breath – minty – a slight reminder of the tea she had upstairs. Her lips move more aggressively, seeking, her tongue asking questions of my mouth. My answer is a quickness of breathing that shakes my chest.

She teases; probes my need with her tantalizing kiss, encouraging my own tongue to follow with movements that send a tingling straight to my clitoris. Abruptly, I am glad we are secluded. I want to hold her closer and closer to me. I want to enfold her completely, draw her inside me.

It is not until she sits with me on the pile of carpets that I fully understand. “Here?!” I whisper in disbelief, instantly losing the playful magic. “Laura… baby… no, no, no! How can we?” I glance around, uncertain, uncomfortable and suddenly, desperately wanting to leave.

But she is touching me again, coaxing me, drawing me back down. I look up through the dim light to see the dark ceiling covered with swirls of fading paint, so old their colors have muddied. “Yes,” Laura murmurs against my throat. “Oh, yes, Grandma…”

Her hands have lifted my loose dress to move beneath the cloth, cupping my breasts through my bra, thumbs fluttering against my hardening nipples. Her fresh kiss once again sends her tongue questing deep in my mouth and I feel myself opening to her, giving in to the heat of my body – the need – until it becomes a steady surge, powerful as an ocean wave. Laura rides the wave, swimming closer and closer to my center. Her hand moves against me, the not-quite press against my pubic bone tormenting me with its lack of demand.

Then she pulls away a little and I see that she has caught my heat; her cheeks flush, her eyes shining. “We’ve got to take off your dress,” she murmurs, “or it’ll get all wrinkled.”

To motivate me, as if I needed motivation, she removes her purple top. For a moment her arms are held high, her torso lifted, and my body trembles with pleasure at the sight of her breasts. Unclasping her bra does nothing but heighten my perception; nipples tight and pink and so astonishingly perfect. In one motion, she steps out of her jean skirt and panties, throwing both to land on top of the desk. The ankle bracelet is a fragile gold line on her nude body.

“I’ll help you,” she says, unzipping my dress, working it off my arms and over my hips. I rest a hand on her for balance as I step out of it. My bra and panties quickly follow the same arc to land next to hers on the desk. Incongruous with our frantic need, Laura takes great care to fold my dress before placing it gently next to the jumbled pile of undergarments. Except for the vivid marks of a too-tight bra, I am also nude.

Slowly, she lowers us down, extending herself to lay full length upon me with one leg between my thighs and her pelvis sinking into mine. I am without resistance… I feel her heart pumping a staccato rhythm against my chest.

She begins by kissing my shoulder, raising my arm until her mouth finds the inside of my elbow. My whole being vibrates with pleasure and I can feel my cunt opening under the weight and warmth of her body. She moves to my wrist, her tongue wetly examining every millimeter of sensitive skin until she leaves it to kiss my palm – lingering.

Deftly, she lifts herself and moves down to kneel, smoothing the skin of my thighs with her hands. She leans to nuzzle, her cheek brushing my pubic hair, beginning a hot throbbing in my cunt. Her oral caress travels to my knee, tongue tracing every contour. She moves down again, briefly stroking my calves, arriving at my feet, which she holds in comforting hands between her breasts. Delicate kisses on my instep – exquisite warmth when she sucks each of my toes. I begin to moan.

Laura adjusts position to lie upon me once again, her mouth seeking my breast. I close my eyes as she fondles, cradles, her white-hot breath nearly driving me insane. Opening my eyes, I see her head bent to my breast, black hair falling forward and her expression one of intense concentration. Her lips close on my nipple and she sucks, tentatively at first, even tenderly. Our movements happen together now, our hips and thighs undulating. Letting my head fall back, I close my eyes yet again, giving in to this dance as Laura sucks more hungrily, all teasing aside, her teeth closing with tantalizing care upon my hard, straining nipple. I bend my back, thrust my breast into her mouth and she takes it, sucking in as much as will fill her.

Her hand has moved down between my legs, seeking my vagina, so wet and open. She slips her fingers into me, moving them slowly, and the heel of her hand rubs in tight circles over my clitoris. The pleasure is wonderful, the slow build-up excruciating. My clit is like my nipple and wants to be sucked.

I grip Laura’s back, kneading her shoulders, pressing her to me, nails digging but not scratching. We are electric with sensitivity where we touch, my mouth hungry to taste her.

She arches, turns, pivots, leaving my breast to cradle my hips, lifting and then swinging her leg across me. Just before she lowers herself onto me, I look up into the thin expanse of hair between her thighs, reach to spread the small, silky-pink lips of her vagina. On the walls, our shadows dance in ecstatic movement.

Then she is upon me, her mouth closing over my cunt, her breasts pressing into my belly, the weight of her hips on my shoulders, and – at last – the hot, soft opening of her sex for my mouth to suck and explore. I feel her moan, moving in quick, instinctive shudders as she settles atop me. I receive the weight, the feel of her whole body, opening my senses even more as my face is lost in her cunt. We have become one being, our movements directing a joyous pattern. There is no separation, yet I know I grip Laura’s ass, stroke and tickle the darker whorl of her anus, press her even closer.

Laura hums into my vagina, the vibrations lifting my body anew as I ravish the hot softness of her sex; my tongue plunging deep inside. Her ministrations send waves up through me – hard now – close now. She’ll stay with me. She’ll come with me. I am so very close. I suck and lick and suck.

I turn my head to muffle my cries against the soft flesh of her thigh. Long, high, ragged sounds are torn from me. I feel her convulsive groan of orgasm deep in my cunt as my hips jerk, fingers twitching in her ass.

And then we are free, floating outside ourselves in emptiness. There is stillness, a perfect stasis opening beneath us.

We hold each other for a long time before we are able to sit up, donning only our bras and panties. And it is a while longer before she lifts the carefully folded dress for me to slip into, stopping to kiss me, our mouths slippery and wet with the heavy odor of our bodies. I watch the purple blouse eclipse her breasts, the jean skirt slip up over her thighs. We stand, hands on each other’s waist, and I sink once more into those dark eyes, so open now, carrying me deep.

When we are outside the room smoothing our clothes into place, it is as if we have entered another reality. Perhaps thirty minutes have passed since we’d followed the lighted corridor stretching away from the bottom of the stairs. Closed doors still flank, still hide mysteries. Laura and I walk a reverse course, occasionally looking at each other with wide-open, sated eyes.

We wander off separately, I to immediately find a bathroom and freshen up, then to find Kevin, who, it turns out, has been waiting for me on the porch.

“You disappeared,” he says, without reproach. “You look… hmm… more relaxed?”

I am silent, but grateful for the closeness of him. We sit for a while in comfortable quiet, holding hands. Eventually, he walks me to the car. “Laura wanted to ride with me,” he asks. “Is that okay?”

I can only nod, smile; mutely gazing at his long, loving, and serious face while my body remembers Laura.

THE END