Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

The Halloween Party

By Cheryl Taggert 

If you need help keeping up with the characters, you may go here.

I felt better the next day if for no other reason than I slept. What I’d overheard the night before was the first thing I thought about. Well, overheard may be inaccurate. I eavesdropped, but I’m glad I did. At least now I knew that Lisa didn’t blame me, or if she did, she certainly didn’t tell Brenda that.

Hannah had avoided me since telling me about Brenda having a girlfriend, but today she sat with me again.

“I have something to tell you,” she started, apparently not able to wait another second to give me the bad news about Brenda and Lisa breaking up over my apparent irresistible seduction of Hannah’s roommate, Brenda. You know, the seduction where you say things like ‘come here’ and ‘kiss me’ and the girl is so enthralled she forgets about her girlfriend and does everything you say and loses her own ability to control her choices. Yeah, that seduction.

I started to tell Hannah not to bother, that I already knew, but then she’d want to know how I knew, and that wasn’t something I wanted to tell her. She’d just blab it to Brenda, who would make sure Lisa found out, which would make me look like some crazy stalker. I preferred to keep that episode as private as possible. Other than my family, and really maybe only Jenna, nobody knew I was eavesdropping on them last night except for Deanna, who was the only person I didn’t live with other than Marie that I knew I could tell anything to and she’d take it to her grave.

So I pretended to be interested in the news Hannah brought.

“Brenda broke up with Lisa last night,” she said, all drama.

Huh? I almost corrected her, saying Lisa did the leaving, but I realized that this was what Brenda had said to her. Hannah was spreading a lie without even knowing it was one.

As hard as it was, I had to pretend I knew nothing, despite having been there to witness the entire breakup.

“Really?” I said, feigning interest while feeling sick to my stomach. Sick to think about Lisa and how she must be hurting today. Sick to think about Brenda and how she felt she needed to spread a lie to make herself look like the dumper instead of the dumped. Sick to think how Hannah, this usually nice person, couldn’t wait to spread the bad news. It all made me wonder about people and their motives for the things they do.

It made me think about a song I’d heard by Simon and Garfunkel once where one line went “I’d rather be a hammer than a nail.” Hannah and Brenda were like that. They were being hammers. Lisa, despite being the real hammer, was being drawn as a nail. It made me sad, which made me sick.

I sat there and listened to Hannah, or at least heard the words she said, all the while wanting to run from the room and cry. The story Hannah told made Lisa look like an idiot. After the class, I considered dropping this class to try to get away from Hannah. She was good in bed, but for me the fun ended there, and I wasn’t desperate for sex with her or anyone else enough to compromise my compass, as my mom always said.

When I was about ten, my mom told me, “No matter what, never compromise your compass.” Of course I didn’t know what she meant, so she explained it. “Your moral compass. If you do something anyway when you know that doing it is wrong, you’re compromising your moral compass. You’ll never be happy if you do that because a part of you will always feel ashamed that you are what you are because of what you did.”

A lot of people see my mom and think she’s just some bimbo who isn’t smart enough to earn her living without having sex with people, but they are wrong. They want to be the hammers, but my mom already is one and won’t be the nail for anyone. She is the wisest person I know.

So at that moment I knew that Hannah and I would still chat before the class started and maybe after it, but I would never have sex with her again. She was a good person overall, but she was also mean-spirited at times, taking delight in others’ problems because they weren’t her problems. She’s shallow.

When she finished her story that had about 10% truth and 90% lie, I said, “That seems odd to me that Brenda is the one who broke up with Lisa. After all, Brenda is the one that slept with another girl.”

I had never told Hannah that I knew of Lisa and had wanted to get to know her better. Still, I was trying to make Hannah at least question — in her mind if not openly — the veracity of Brenda’s story.

“I always find that the one who got dumped is the most likely one to start telling the world about how he or she dumped the other person,” I said. “Usually, the person who did the dumping doesn’t want to talk about it because it’s such a painful thing, even if you are the one ending the relationship. Maybe even especially when you’re the one ending it.”

Hannah leaned back and looked at me as if I’d just grown another nose. “Are you saying Brenda’s lying about this?” There wasn’t animosity in her voice, just disbelief.

“I don’t know Brenda very well, but I’m just saying what I’ve found to be true in most cases. I’ve broken up with people before, and it’s painful. It’s usually the person I broke up with who feels a need to tell the world about it, making it out that she’s strong and capable of handling her life. It’s just natural.”

“Well, you’re wrong this time. Brenda wouldn’t lie to me.”

“How long have you two known each other?” I asked.

“Since January when we first became roomies.” She said it as if it were ten years.

I almost laughed in her face. It was only September. They hadn’t even known each other for a year and she was claiming that this barely-more-than-an-acquaintance would never lie to her.

“Well, I’m not calling Brenda a liar,” (yes I am) “but I just know I’d question it if I were you.”

At that moment the professor entered the room and began class, meaning Hannah couldn’t say anything else to my comment. By the end of class, she was being nonchalant, asking me about a paper that was due and how I was doing with it. I gave her polite answers, but it was obvious we weren’t on the same wavelength anymore.

After that day, Hannah moved to another area of the room. I was thankful.

********

Several weeks went by. It was getting to be late October, and a lot of the campus fraternity and sorority houses were hosting Halloween parties. These were usually just excuses to get drunk and hook up with someone, but I found myself accepting an invitation from someone I’d gotten to know in my English class anyway. She knows that I’m a lesbian. She’s straight herself, but she said there would be single girls on the prowl for other single girls at the party.

“A lot of girls know about your film career, so you’ll have no problem hooking up,” she said.

I agreed and accepted her invitation. I thought I had gotten over my infatuation with Lisa, and I felt it was time to meet some new girls.

I dressed in a 1920’s style flapper costume my mom got from the production company’s wardrobe department and left for the sorority house, anxious to see if I could hook up with someone who was more than just attractive physically.

I was starting to realize I was beginning to search for a life partner rather than just sex. Hannah was proof of what became of looking for casual sex all the time. I was starting to want more than that.

When I arrived, the party was in full swing. There was a check-in table to make sure everyone who showed up was invited. Because it was well-known that people might be wanting to hook up with someone, we were asked as we entered, “Taken, single and uninterested, or looking to hook up?”

I said, “I’m looking to hook up.”

I was about to add that I wasn’t just interested in casual sex, but the girl said, “With a guy, a girl, both, or either?”

I was wondering why I was being asked such personal questions, when the girl at the table explained. “You see, we’re okay with whatever floats your boat here. If you’re interested in hooking up with a girl, we give you a yellow diamond to wear on your top. If you’re looking for a guy, you get a green star. Either or both, and you get to wear both of them.”

“Oh,” I said, slightly taken aback that the party was so blatantly just an orgy in disguise. It was odd for me to be the one surprised if you think about it.

I got my yellow diamond and the girl, who was wearing both, pinned it on me, her look telling me she wouldn’t mind getting together while the back of her hand made the most of the opportunity to make contact with my boob. She was pretty, but I wasn’t interested in meeting someone who was only interested in one-night stands.

I began to circulate and check out who was wearing what shape. There were plenty of girls who had at least a yellow diamond on, but most of them also had the green star.

There was a guy wearing a yellow diamond, meaning he was straight, who had put together a costume that made him look like a dildo. The other guys there were joking with him, calling him a dildo and saying things like, ‘yeah, that Jeff is such a fucking dildo.’ It was all in fun and I laughed along with everyone else, including Jeff, whose costume would have earned a ‘best costume’ award if they were giving them out.

I’d had several wine coolers, the homemade variety with white wine and 7-Up, and I was feeling pretty good, even though no girls had come on to me yet, at least none that interested me, and I hadn’t gotten all that interested in meeting any of the girls I saw there who were wearing only a yellow diamond. The ‘yellow diamond only’ girls were fairly rare because most of the females had on either both shapes or the green stars.

I was about to leave, figuring that the girls who would be interested in me were only interested in a night in bed with me and a friendly “see you around” afterwards. I was saying good-bye to the girl who had invited me. By now she was wearing just her bra and panties, with the green star pinned to her panties.

I turned to leave, and that’s when my heart stopped.

Standing across the room was Lisa, wearing the striped suit of a prisoner and a yellow star.

She was still cute.

She was still beautiful.

And she still intrigued me more than any girl I’d ever met.

All of the ‘I’m over that infatuation’ turned to dust, just as down deep I knew it would if I ever saw her again.

She was talking to a guy, even though she was clearly wearing only a yellow star. She was laughing, which I came to know later was her natural state — not the sobbing mess I’d last seen.

She turned toward the room and started to take a drink of her wine cooler.

And froze.

She saw me.

I clearly was staring at her.

And now she was staring at me, her glass still poised in mid-air, as if she were playing a childish game of statues.

We slowly moved toward each other as if we had powerful magnets in our navels that drew us together.

I couldn’t believe it. She was standing closer to me than she had ever been before. Inches away. I could have easily leaned over and kissed her, she was that close. Of course, the thought of doing that never entered my mind. Okay, I’m lying.

The first thing she said was, “I never blamed you.”

Apparently, she either figured I knew that the Brenda I had casually coaxed into bed was her girlfriend and they’d broken up over the incident, or she had been told I knew. In any case, I had no doubt regarding what she was talking about, and she was fully aware of that fact.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, tears filling my eyes, whether from sadness or the shock of seeing her there, I didn’t know. Probably both.

She reached out and took my hand. Her hand felt like the touch of heaven.

“Let’s go outside where we can talk,” she said, and I found myself being pulled along behind her. Very willingly pulled, I might add.

When we got outside, we found a tree and sat at its base, leaning against the wide trunk. We didn’t get up again for over an hour, and only then because we both had to pee.

She began the conversation we had needed to have for weeks now by repeating her first comment to me, “I never blamed you.”

“I know,” I said.

She looked at me, puzzled. “How did you know? Brenda’s spreading a lot of lies.”

“I know they’re lies,” I said, knowing I was about to confess to eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Um, how do you know that?”

I looked at her, scared of her reaction but knowing I had to tell her the truth. I was breathing fast to keep oxygen pumping to my racing heart.

“You promise not to hate me?”

She smiled. “If I were going to hate you, I’d have started about a month ago.”

I smiled back before becoming serious. “I know because I was there.”

She gave me another confused look. “What do you mean, you were there?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I was in the shadows across the street from your house when the two of you came back from wherever you had been.”

She looked at me more in disbelief than anything else. “You… you were there? Listening?”

“And crying, actually.”

She held her hand out toward me and curled her fingers back and forth in a “come on” gesture to indicate I needed to tell it all.

So I did. I left nothing out, including hearing her response to Brenda’s last comment as she walked away, and my sincere wish at the time that she, Lisa, would meet someone she deserved. I told her how sick I was over what happened. I let her know that I lost a lot of sleep over it.

By the time I finished telling her, she had tears in her eyes.

“Why would you care?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion. “We barely know each other.”

“I couldn’t stand it that I caused you pain, even inadvertently.” Her look changed then. It was as though I had just shown her a picture of herself I had painted that would rival the beauty of the Mona Lisa.

“It’s funny,” she said. “For the past few weeks, I’ve wanted to find you and thank you.”

It was my turn to be puzzled. “Thank me?”

“If you hadn’t had sex with her, someone else would have. You allowed me to find out I couldn’t trust her, no matter how much I loved her. You’ve enabled me to move on.”

I just stared at her, unsure what to do next. If this were a movie, I’d know my next action, my next line. It would be in the script. But life has no script. It’s a constant game of improvisation. And now I was stuck, clueless of the next move.

She settled that for me. Apparently, her improv skills were much better than mine.

She stood up. “I have to pee.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, figuring that was the end of our time together that night, or forever.

“No, silly. I want you to come with me. I’m not saying good-bye.”

Pleasantly surprised, I took her hand and she helped me up. “I may not say good-bye for a while,” she added, smiling.

Then I realized something I hadn’t before.

She had been just as attracted to me that day at registration as I was to her. And now she could grant that attraction time. Maybe months. Or years. Who knew?

All I knew was my lust for her could easily turn into love. Too easily, in fact. As we entered the bathroom together, I realized that I couldn’t imagine a moment when I would want to say good-bye.

I knew I wasn’t in love yet, but I also knew that for the first time in my adult life, I could be in love one day — with Lisa.

In the meantime, Lisa and I both were in lust like crazy.

“Do you have to pee too?” she asked as we entered the large bathroom. There were five stalls to handle the dozen or so girls who lived in the sorority house.

“Yeah,” I said and started to enter one. To my surprise, she followed me into my stall. I had a sudden flashback to Marie and me, skipping class to meet in the girls bathroom when we were in middle school. I wondered if this would lead more or less to the same thing.

I didn’t wonder long. As soon as we each had peed, wiped, and drawn our panties up, Lisa grabbed me and kissed me, her tongue searching my mouth as my tongue searched hers. It was as if our tongues were guards defending territory and were wrestling each other for dominance.

When her hand went to my breast, I figured anything was okay, and my own hand sought her boob as well, tucking the shirt up as I grabbed her tit through the material of her bra.

Soon, she was removing my clothes right there in the bathroom stall. I had no idea what she planned to do in there, but I started removing her clothes as well.

Girls would enter the bathroom, some alone but most of them with at least one other girl. They would see the clothes that were draped over the stall door and walls, some of the girls peeking below the opening at the bottom of the door. All of them giggled as they heard us in our sexual embrace, kissing, sucking tits, fingering. We even took turns sitting on the toilet while the other knelt on tissue paper we put on the floor to create some semblance of cleanliness and licked the other to orgasm. By the time Lisa brought me off with her mouth, at least a half dozen girls had gathered in there just to listen in on our lovemaking.

Having made a porn movie, I certainly wasn’t embarrassed. It wasn’t as if the party wasn’t an obvious excuse for sex. What amazed me was that Lisa didn’t seem bothered by our listening audience either. At one point she grinned at me when we heard a girl say, “Oh my God!” when she walked in and saw the clothes and heard us behind the stall door.

By the time we were coming, we didn’t care who heard. Lisa squealed as I licked her pretty pussy. (Like her, it was amazingly beautiful.) The girls outside the closed and locked stall started chanting, “Come! Come! Come!” They cheered when Lisa reached her orgasm, which was obvious from the shouts of “I’m coming!” that were emanating from inside the stall. I also knew girls were looking at my butt while I squatted in front of Lisa. I could hear comments, like, “Wow, look at that ass!” I was proud my butt was a hit.

When we were finished, I started to get my clothes to get dressed, and Lisa stopped me, indicating she was going to open the stall door and let the girls get a look at us. I smiled and nodded, and the door swung open. Two very satisfied lesbians emerged into that unlikely room to cheers and applause from a dozen or so girls, all of them obviously quite turned on from what they’d heard.

We got dressed in front of the girls, the doors to the bathroom opening a few times during that process to reveal at least a dozen guys gathered outside the girls’ bathroom, straining their necks to get a glimpse of us.

We left the party, and Lisa called her parents to let them know she was going to be staying the night with a friend. I thought of taking her home, but that would require more explaining than I was ready to do right then. After all, we would have to move my naked sister into bed with my naked twin sisters, and either my naked aunt, her naked lover, my naked mom, or her naked lover might come out to welcome me home only to find a gawking girlfriend tagging along with me, not to mention that if we were going to enjoy ourselves as we planned to do, we would have to do so in my rather crowded bedroom, and I wasn’t too sure how Lisa felt about eleven- and fifteen-year-old girls witnessing that.

Later, I discovered that would have been just fine with her, but on our first night together, there was no way I would allow that to happen.

I took her to the Beverly Hills Hilton. She was duly impressed that I could afford that, and we spent the night making love.

The next morning we had room service bring breakfast, and I didn’t take her home until noon, whereupon she invited me in to meet her parents and younger sister, Rachel, who was a junior in high school and very pretty herself.

It was obvious the parents, as well as the younger sister, knew what we’d been up to, but nobody said anything about it. I was uncomfortable, feeling they were all sizing me up, but I endured it for Lisa.

By the time I got home that afternoon and crashed in my bed to catch up on the sleep I’d missed making love to Lisa, I had begun to think I was more than infatuated with this girl.

I was in the early stages of being in love. Not adolescent love. Adult love. The ’til death do us part’ kind of love.

I just hoped she was falling in love with me, too, and that it wasn’t from being on the rebound.

Continue on to Chapter 70