Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By eloquent delinquent

It isn’t until she’s walking back up Whitcomb Circle that Charlotte realizes that school was a blur, she remembers nothing she was taught, just the occasional rebukes to pay attention, and, of course, the confusion. She could barely sort out how she felt from one hour to the next – the relief at not getting caught being overwhelmed by guilt of having done something that so needed to be hidden, the fear of having to face Megan constantly flipping with the desire to see her, regret at what she’d done wrestling with the excitement of having done it. At this point, she was mostly just exhausted and unsure about everything.

That uncertainty only grows as she goes up the walk to the Carmody’s … er, to Amy’s, house. It takes two tries before she’s able to knock. She can hear her pulse in her ears when the door open and Mrs, Amy is there, smiling around a peach she’s bitten into. Her hair’s in a tumble around her shoulders, which are bare since she’s wearing a pink tank top. Charlotte sees some freckles there. Her sweatpants are also pink, and all her clothes are just snug enough that they accentuate all her curves, not fat but full and ripe, and make Charlotte certain that she’s not wearing a bra at all, and maybe not even panties. Looking at her, the girl twists the toe of one sneaker into the porch step.

Amy wipes away the juice from her lower lip and chews for a moment before she says, “Hi Charlotte. Thanks for coming again. Megan’s in back playing, why don’t you go around and say hello?”

“Okay,” she replies, stepping off without really thinking and making her way across the big lawn to the tall fence that divides Amy’s house from the next one over. And that’s when she hears Megan laughing. No, that’s not quite it, Charlotte thinks, that’s more like maniacal shrieking.

Megan’s racing around the broad backyard and even into the edge of the woods that back the house, brandishing what looks like a pillowcase over her head, whipping it at random moments, completely caught up. Charlotte can’t help but smile as she watches her run full tilt, barefoot, chasing… what?

That’s when Megan spots her and comes to an abrupt halt, pillowcase dangling at her side, chest heaving, her mouth open and eyes staring. She stays like this for a moment, as if measuring Charlotte’s effect on her. The older girl goes very still, trying to brace herself for whatever accusations might come next. Then Megan says, “I’m trying to catch butterflies.”

Charlotte smiles and steps toward her, noticing the golden flitting shapes above the grass for the first time. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“The fiery skippers are migrating, I want to get a close at them before they’re all gone.”

“Any luck?”

“No, they’re too fast and they flutter all over like a bunch of stupid leaves.” She holds out the pillowcase. “Want to help me?”

Charlotte feels almost giddy, she wants to hug Megan, but she has an idea. She sets down her book bag. “No, but I’ll help you. You can’t catch a butterfly by acting like a butterfly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Give me a minute. In the meantime, pick all the yellow and purple flowers you can find. Just the yellow and purple ones though, okay?”

Megan smiles, intrigued, “Okay.” She dashes off to the wildflowers at the edge of the woods.

Charlotte goes up onto the deck, opens the back door tentatively and finds Amy rinsing a plate in the sink. The mother lifts an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Uh, Amy? Can I borrow one of the yellow towels from the bathroom for a minute?”

“Sure, I guess. Should I -?” but Charlotte’s charged right past her, infected by Megan’s excitement, by the elation that things might be okay, they might just go back to normal, grateful for this chance to be Megan’s friend again. She snatches a hand towel from the bar and is back out the door, barely noticing Amy’s quizzical expression.

Outside, she kneels next to her bag, rummaging till she finds the small tube of hand lotion she carries. One of the ladies in the Church makes them special to request, and made Charlotte’s with natural lavender oil. She heads over to where Megan is still eagerly plucking blossoms. She’s collecting them in her skirt, has it pulled out and up, and Charlotte can see all the way up her legs, the panties just a shadowy hint. It adds another flutter to her excitement.

“This enough?”

“Plenty. Come over here,” Charlotte says, leading the girl to the dappled shade on the edge of the lawn. “Now sit down.”

Megan plops the pile of flowers on the grass, sits cross-legged next to it, looking expectantly to the older girl.

“If you act like a butterfly, the butterflies always run away. If you want to see a butterfly close up, you have to act like what it likes. You have to act like a flower.”

Charlotte wraps the towel over Megan’s shoulder and chest, like a bib. “Start putting those flowers all over yourself,” she says, and while the girl’s doing this, she takes a daub of the lavender lotion and rubs it on Megan’s bare arms, the back of her hands. Megan stops moving and closely observes Charlotte’s hands touching her.

“Here,” Charlotte says, and when Megan looks up the older girl rubs a little speck of lotion into either cheek. Their eyes meet, Megan’s with something of the searching look from the night before, but Charlotte smiles back happily and Megan relaxes and grins. “Now you smell like a flower, too.”

They both giggle as Charlotte stands up and begins backing away, “But the most important thing a flower does is sit still. Just stay put, and let them come to you.”

Kneeling over by her bag, she watches as Megan finishes with the blossoms and settles. The flowers are scattered in her hair, on the towel, on either shoulder, in her lap, tucked into the crooks of her knees, gripped between her knuckles. She looks something like a fairy in the dappled light as she looks up keenly and waits.

It takes a few minutes, and Charlotte starts to think it won’t work, Megan glances sidelong at her more and more frequently, eyes questioning but remaining still. But then, it happens. The little gold butterflies gather, flitting in circles above her at first, then the first one descends curiously onto the top of Megan’s head. The girl’s eyes widen, strain upward to see what quickly escapes her sight, Charlotte sees her biting the tip of her tongue to contain herself, but she doesn’t move, and soon more of the soft-winged critters are lighting on her and her flowers – touching down on her knee, her hair, her shoulder, her thumb. One lights on the rim of her glasses. Megan’s face blooms into pure, overwhelming delight. The sidelong glance she sends Charlotte now is dazzling.

Charlotte covers her mouth to stifle the laughter that’s boiling up from her, she can’t help it. Then she hears the click, and looks up to the deck where Amy is standing with an old camera with a great big lens, snapping picture after picture of Megan. She pauses and looks Charlotte’s way, her expression full of admiration, and maybe a little wonder.

Finally, Megan just can’t stand it anymore. With a peal of glee, she explodes into motion, wiggling free of the butterflies, tossing the blossoms into the air, leaping to her feet. And before Charlotte even registers it Megan has bounded over to her and slammed into an embrace that nearly knocks her over. Recovering her balance, she wraps her arms around the younger girl, feels her body shake with uncontrollable laughter. Charlotte’s smile actually hurts her face a little.

She hears a click, and sees as Amy lowers her camera, gives them a warm, wistful look, and returns to the house.

Eventually, Megan calms down enough to disentangle from Charlotte, but her excited chatter about her experience continues beyond the point where her mom has to leave, and well into dinner, where she finally pauses, and asks, “How did you know to do that?”

“I learned it at Bible camp.” She tells her about an older boy named Aaron who was a counselor and nature guide, but doesn’t tell her that as soon as he finished school, he left the Church and disappeared.

“He sounds nice. Most boys can’t be good with girls, too. They’re only good with other boys.”

Despite their age difference, Charlotte can’t help but agree. She’s always found boys to be mostly loud, proud, bossy, sulky, and messy. Girls appeal to her more… and she’s suddenly struck by what that might actually mean about her. She’s been trying hard not to notice how she gets that deep quiver when she remembers what Megan looks like naked, and when she thinks about Amy, the way she gets when Amy even looks at her… She glances at Megan furtively, her feelings tangling up all over again.

Is she one of those girls? The kind Reverend Bealing say are taunting the Church and turning their backs on Jesus? The kind that want to turn marriage into something blasphemous?

She dwells on this thought through dishes and homework, a whole new dimension of anxiety gnawing at her. Why does she feel this way? Where did she go wrong? Why does she ache to do the bad thing again and again? What makes her want to touch Megan again, to do it to her and make her like it? Why does it have to make her feel so good?

Somehow, Charlotte still manages to help Megan with her homework, the girl’s dealing with fractions for the first time, but it doesn’t take much explanation before Megan begins to sort out how they work. Charlotte stands behind Megan at the dining room table, leaning over to watch her pencil work its way through the problems, glancing at her mop of blonde curls, bending closer, following the scent of the girl, trying to catch a little more, shampoo and grass and sweat and lavender and strawberry Jolly Rancher. Her breasts gently come to rest on the back of Megan’s shoulders, chin almost resting on her head, she feels her nipples stiffening against the girl’s warmth.

Megan goes very still for a moment, then leans forward, breaking the contact, turning, meeting Charlotte’s eyes and, blinking a lot, she says, “I need to finish.”

Rebuffed, Charlotte straightens, dithers, puts her books back in her bag. She goes over to the sofa, plops down, and starts chewing her lip like she did the night before. She can’t make it right, can’t stop thinking about Megan the bad way. She can’t help herself. It would be best if she just went back to the closet, where she could have her bad thoughts and touch herself in that right but wrong way, went in the closet and never came out.

Behind her, she hears Megan set her assignment aside, the chair scrape as she gets up, her bare feet padding as she comes over next to the couch. It takes an effort for Charlotte to look at her, she feels tears pricking at her eyes.

Megan’s mouth is set, her brown eyes serious behind the lenses, she’s wringing her hands in front of her pelvis. “Charlotte,” she says, “you touched me in the bath last night.”

Charlotte finds she can only nod slowly. The lump in her throat wouldn’t let her speak anyway. What can she possibly say?

“You washed my back. You washed my back and then you washed me all over and then you weren’t really washing me anymore,” Megan says, and Charlotte understands that the girl’s talking her way through it, wrestling with it even as she says it. “You were just touching me all over. And then… and then, you touched me down there.”

Megan looks down at her knotted hands, and what’s behind them. Charlotte’s gaze follows, and her heart is pounding, with remorse, with longing, with self-loathing.

“You shouldn’t have touched me there. No one’s supposed to touch me there. Mom told me that place is only for me, it’s my private place, and I’m not supposed to let anyone touch me there. Mom says if I let somebody touch me there I could get hurt real bad, but…” she gets lost for a second, turning her hands over. “But you touched me there anyway.”

Charlotte’s voice cracks when she says, “I know.”

Megan doesn’t look up, but goes on.

“It was naughty, the way you kept touching me. It was naughty of me to let you keep doing that. And then you pulled up your skirt and let me watch while you touched yourself too, and then you got all shaky and pink and that was really naughty, even though it’s your private place, I could still see it, and see you touching it like you were touching mine.

“It’s naughty. I know that. You and me, we both were naughty in the tub, I know that. You aren’t supposed to touch me there and you did and that’s naughty. I know it’s naughty.”

Megan raises her head just a bit, looks at Charlotte from under her eyebrows, under the rim of her glasses, her eyes big and nervous. “But… could you do that to me some more?”

Charlotte chokes out a sob as she’s standing, blinking out a tear from each eye as she crosses the tiny space between them, then Megan’s pressed tight and soft against her and Charlotte’s arms are around her and her face is in those delicate blonde curls and the secret is hidden between them, exactly where their bodies touch together. She kisses Megan’s hair over and over, and after a moment, Megan’s arms close around her waist, she feels the young girl’s nose press against her throat, and her little, dainty lips kiss blindly all around where the hollow of her neck meets the collar of her blouse.

Charlotte lowers her head, Megan tips hers back and up, their eyes meet just inches from one another, and they stare as their quickening breath mixes, seeing the guilty, exciting secret reflected there, and behind it, a glow, a banked fire that’s about to be allowed to run loose. Charlotte’s hands run up Megan’s back, over her shoulders, until her fingertips run along under Megan’s delicate jaw, drawing her closer, drawing her in.

And then there is a fever of kissing between them, on mouths, chins, cheeks, eyelids, breath damp and sighing against each other’s skin, their hands running over one another’s clothes, occasionally squeezing the tender flesh beneath. They press their chests and tummies more tightly together, swaying awkwardly, trying to get even closer.

Megan lets out a little squeak when Charlotte kisses her ears, but Charlotte feels the girl smiling against her cheek as her lips squish out a trail down the pulsing line on the side of Megan’s neck. Megan chuckles softly and pushes the older girl back.

Charlotte shakes her hair back from her face, and Megan has this mischievous look on her face and says, “I want to see you with no clothes on.”

Charlotte smiles wildly and she starts unbuttoning her blouse, toppling a bit as she kicks off her sneakers at the same time. “You too.”

Megan pulls off her t-shirt, and Charlotte drinks in her plump, pale gold body again, its innocent, sensuous curves, the adorably pink nipples already standing out. Charlotte’s wrestling out of her sleeves, haste making her awkward, as the young girl deftly unzips her jean skirt and lets it drop. She stands watching as the older girl bends, lowering her much longer denim skirt, stepping out of it, tossing it on the couch, straightens and faces her.

“Your panties,” Charlotte says, pointing, flushing.

Megan sways coyly, crossing her hands over her panties. “Yours first,” she smiles.

She doesn’t know why she hesitates when her thumbs loop through the elastic at her hips, but she does. Then she sees the young girl’s eager face, and the quiver deep down comes harder than ever before, and Charlotte grins slyly, watching Megan’s expression bloom as she slides the panties slowly down over her rump, thighs, knees, ankles, and off. She stands, quickly unclipping the front clasp of her training bra and shrugging out of it.

Megan’s jaw hangs slack and her eyes dance delighted, and they stand that way for a minute, neither moving at all, and Charlotte feels her excitement tightening inside her. Finally, she stands up straight, shakes her hair back, squares her shoulders and pushes out her chest, her pert, small, hard-nippled breasts jutting, proudly naked, almost a dare.

This seems to jar something awake in Megan, her expression grows intent. Unceremoniously, she dips down, slips her panties down and off, tosses them aside, and steps close enough to Charlotte that each can faintly feel the heat from the other’s skin. Megan’s hands come up, but hover inches from Charlotte, as her eyes rove everywhere on the older girl’s body.

Megan says, “You have hair there.”

Charlotte glances down at the dusting of brown hair on her mound, and it strikes her that she’s really naked in front of someone else, in front of Megan. The feeling, the anticipation, is indescribable. “A little,” she breathes. “Why don’t you touch it?”

Megan’s hands settle gently, like birds, like butterflies, on Charlotte’s belly. One of them slides down, fingers brushing the downy hair tentatively, then more openly curious. Just slightly below, Charlotte’s kitty flares with excitement and it races up through her body, making her gasp.

“It’s so soft,” Megan whispers, looks up at Charlotte’s glowing face and sees the reassurance there, encouragement, and her gaze drifts down to the older girl’s breasts. Her hands begin to graze their way up over Charlotte’s belly, and she looks back up, her eyes questioning.

Charlotte nods.

Megan gasps in amazement as her fingers touch the silky, yielding warmth of her breasts. Charlotte groans, and Megan moves closer, cupping them, her hands covering them completely, the hard little nipples grazing her palms. Charlotte’s eyes droop shut and her chest heaves, pressing her boobies more firmly into Megan’s grasp, their bellies touching, Megan feeling Charlotte’s nest of soft fur against her navel.

Megan’s hand lifts off Charlotte’s left breast and her eyes snap open to see Megan removing her glasses, setting them carefully on the magazine-strewn coffee table. She replaces her hand, then strokes the older girl’s breasts deliberately, sliding her palms in circles over the top and around the sides, coming to rest by cupping them from below.

Then her head dips and her small, hot mouth closes over one of the nipples before her, and Charlotte shudders, fire surges out through her chest and a deep happy ache opens in her stomach. Megan’s doing something with her mouth, sucking or kissing or licking Charlotte can’t tell which but the feeling overwhelms her and she falters back, her leg striking the couch and she collapses sitting onto it. Megan follows her right down, her lips and hands fixed to the girl’s breasts despite the slip, bending a little forward to adjust, her cute pale rump jutting up into Charlotte’s largely unfocused gaze.

Megan plants little kisses across Charlotte’s chest, then begins doing the same thing to her other nipple. The older girl’s body rocks once, involuntarily, and she gasps, “Wh-what are you doing, Megan?”

The young girl pauses, her mouth still deliciously close to its desire, and Charlotte can feel her warm breath on her breast when Megan replies, “It’s like I’m a baby, I’m your baby and I’m tasting your pretty boobies.” She sighs, “It’s so nice,” and her lips close back around the nipple and Charlotte’s head drops back with a groan.

Continue on to Chapter 5