Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Cheryl Taggert

The following is not new, though many of you may not have read it before since it was never on Leslita. It is also autobiographical and explains how lesbianism and other homosexual love is about more than sex. Enjoy, or at least I hope you do.

For Lisa

I lay in bed last night, thinking of you. The kisses that seemed to melt like butter on a warm stove were still a memory, the intimacy borne of our love palpable in the air. Looking over in the dark, I could see the silhouette of your beautiful face that shone in the pale moonlight. And I thanked the moon for its illuminating caresses. As I lie here now, ignoring the morning that is on its way in a few hours, the memory comes alive as I paint your image in my brain once more. I am there again as if it is only just happening. . .

My love wants to burst from within my heart, causing a tightness that lingers in my chest. The tightness begins to flow from my body through my eyes, the tears of joy and complete love overflowing my soul, spilling over the eyelids you love to kiss. My vision blurs, but you are still visible in the moon’s glow, as if nothing could prevent your beauty from dominating a room.

I notice the mound of your breast has freed itself from the sheet’s covering. It peers into the darkness, seeking my lips. The nipple caps the soft, firm flesh. The coolness of the night kisses the crown of your breast, urging it into mild stiffness as it puckers to return the night’s kiss. Gentle breezes that waft through the open window caress you. I feel unbidden jealousy of the night air as it coaxes a response from you.

I gently move toward you, determined to reclaim what is mine.

I watch the rise and fall of your breast and wonder if your dreams are about me. I imagine myself crawling into your body, knowing what you know in your dreams, feeling what you feel. Making love to you with need’s passion in your dreams as well as the waking world.

With a stark suddenness, I unexpectedly breathe in your scents–perspiration and female sex mixed with Opium perfume and your strawberry-scented shampoo. The aroma fills me with longing, and I feel the excitement percolating deep in my most private places that I share only with you. My clitoris awakens from a brief slumber, stiffening instantly, ignoring the orgasm you brought earlier.

Still breathing your fragrance deeply into myself, I shift closer. I can feel your warmth wafting from you; I imagine the center of that heat and long to devour its various flavors. My own heat and moisture flows from me with an urgency that overwhelms me. I reach down to my own fur-covered softness, feeling the wetness, surprised at the quantity of fluid that has gathered there to lubricate my sex. I hold the wet fingers to my nostrils and my own scents mix with yours, bringing the pounding of my heart to a steady throbbing against my ribs. Placing the drenched fingers into my mouth, I savor the appetizer while imagining the main course.

I move to you and feel your breath tickle my cheek. You breathe deeply in sleep, and I imagine your brain noticing my scent, triggering a dream of me. I stare at your closed eyes that dart behind your eyelids. My imagination breathes, and I imagine that your eye movements of dreams long to tell me what is happening in your slumber. I attempt to read their signals, and I imagine you are kissing me in your night world.

Finally, I can take it no more. My longing for you envelopes me entirely as I bend closer and place my lips gently on your cheek. You are a deep sleeper, and I silently apologize for the waking that will come, hoping you will think the passion is worth waking for. I kiss you softly on the lips, my tongue darting quickly into the soft opening, caressing just inside the warmth. My mind snaps into the future and I imagine my lips on other softer, moister lips to caress living ecstasy from you.

You begin to stir and I continue my kiss. Slowly and tenderly, you begin returning my attentions. You sigh deeply, wrap your arms around me, press into me. Joy fills me as I realize my wish came true: you don’t mind the awakening.

My eyes have been open because I want to see you when you open yours. They flutter, open, see me. Then all is dark as we kiss passionately, eyes close to allow the other senses to experience more fully our bodies’ intertwining.

My leg moves between yours as I press my sex into your hip. My own thigh moves into your mound. You press gently upward and I feel the beginning of your wetness against my flesh. Our breasts meet, press together. Our nipples harden as I feel yours press against the soft flesh of my breast to engage in a lover’s kiss, nipple to nipple.

We writhe tenderly together, seeking pressures that will increase our excitement. My love for you overwhelms me again, and tears of utter joy spring to my eyes. I wonder what I have done to deserve your love. I can actually feel your love for me emanating from you. It is intoxicating, and I revel in the swelling of my heart. I drink freely of the emotion and am drunk with the nearness of you. The world doesn’t accept our love, saying it is unnatural, but I can think of nothing more natural in the world.

It is a startling paradox.

Your kiss becomes more insistent. Apparently, I have touched off a need in you, and that thought thrills me as I continue to press myself into you as much as possible without penetrating your skin and becoming one body with you, although that is my deepest wish at that moment. I imagine again what that would be like, to feel my own touches on your body, to understand your love for me from your perspective, to experience the orgasm that I give you. The thought increases my intoxication of love, which in turn feeds the thought. This makes our love perfectly circular, like a wedding ring but more precious and dear.

Our urgency mounts. You finally break the kiss, taking my head in your hands and pushing my face from yours to stare into my eyes. You are communicating wordlessly. I notice that you, too, are crying with the knowledge of the enormity of our love for each other. You don’t need to tell me the reason for the tears; I already know. And that knowledge, more than anything, confirms my idea that we are perfect soul mates. We are one, lover, loved, lover. I cannot enter your body, but I am already inside your soul. And that is enough.

I move to the nape of your neck, just above the collarbone. I nuzzle and kiss there, knowing how much you love it. I nibble my way to your earlobes. You begin to squirm beneath me.

“Oh, God, Cheryl. I love you so,” you whisper to me.

“Not as much as I love you,” I reply softly. It’s a game we play when we say these most important words. It is appropriate.

“Yes, as much . . . or more,” you breathe, fully understanding the rules of the game.

I rise to my hands and knees, looking down at you. We are both naked, in more ways than one. And we accept it. It is what makes our life together so perfect. I notice that your hip glistens with my wetness. At the same time, I feel the coolness of the night kiss the moisture you have left behind on my thigh and remember the night air’s kiss on your breast earlier when you were sleeping.

Now it is my turn to complete the game that isn’t a game at all.

“Maybe as much, but never more,” I murmur, lying down to suckle the breast that the night air had kissed earlier.

Your nipple swells as I pull the blossom of flesh into my mouth. My tongue flicks the aureole and tip of the nipple, relishing the feel. You begin to moan softly as you stroke my back. I can feel the bed move as you begin to squirm into the mattress. Your passion rises, matching mine.

I open my eyes to see your other hand, the one not on my back, pinching and pulling your unattended nipple. Your moaning increases, signaling the heightened passion that is working in the wetness of your soft petals below. While I continue to suck the stiffened nipple, my hand begins its journey down your belly. I bypass the center of your rising lust, moving to the insides of your thighs to squeeze and caress.

Leaving the nipple behind, my mouth begins to follow the hand’s journey. I kiss and tongue the firm flesh of your tummy, stopping to dip my tongue into your navel. Your squirming increases. I breathe in your scent. My mouth waters in anticipation.

My hand has found the back of your knee. My soft contact with the tender flesh is particularly arousing to you. My fingers play it tenderly as if your flesh is a sensitive piano. The contact is so soft that I am almost not touching you at all.

Finally my mouth has arrived at the wetness left behind by my sex on your hip. I lick the sweet-tasting moisture away. I move up to the source of your pleasure that is strangely also the source of mine. The fragrance is strong, matching our passion. I breathe the aromas of the intoxicating flower and decide I can wait no longer. I feel that you can’t either.

My tongue flicks out and touches your swollen clit. It is wet, waiting, insistent. It seems to reach out for the contact. Your moan rises through your body from that one small spot.

Lowering my face to you, I cover this other mouth with mine. Your hips rise from the bed to meet the welcome guest. I sense your need. Your orgasm’s arrival won’t take long.

My lips and tongue explore every crevice, returning again to the urgent need of your clit. You pull insistently on my body, which is perpendicular to yours. You need to be doing the same to me, and I allow the motion to pull me into you.

As your mouth makes contact with my most sensitive flesh, my own urgency and passion surprise me. I realize I was momentarily unaware of my own need, concentrating on yours only.

Soon we are moving against each other’s lips and tongues. Grinding our sex into the other’s mouth. Meeting the thrusts of our lover’s tongue. For now, this is the definition of perfect bliss.

The passion builds and we approach the cliff that is our mutual orgasm with amazing speed. We moan loudly, filling the room with our song of lovemaking. Wails of pleasure seem to echo off the walls and our minds. We are nearly there. We hold the other’s hips in a love grip. Our mouths try to send our love to the other with each moment of contact, as if we could fill each other with love from our lips and tongues. Our passion is explosive.

Finally, the moment arrives. Our bodies move to the cresting orgasms as we reach our peaks simultaneously. We are dancing a ballet that we have perfected. Rising, rising, the orgasm builds to a throbbing mass of feeling – physical, emotional, and spiritual.

Our lovemaking complete, our loving continues. I move to lie in your arms. We hold each other, savoring the afterglow of our loving dance. We are contented.

“I love you,” I say.

“Not as much as I love you,” you reply.

And so it goes.

…

Unsure of the truth, we drift happily into a deep sleep until I awake to lie in bed thinking of you and the passion of our lovemaking and our love.