Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Amanda

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in September 2006 }

I was always very liberal with my daughter. I began teaching her about life from a very young age and a part of that teaching included her learning about sex and sexuality. She had a gay uncle who spent a fair amount of time at my home with his ‘girl’ friend. Sam was transgender, but happy to remain half way between male and female. Sam preferred to be acknowledged as a female, and I did everything I could to accommodate her. She had legally changed her name from Samuel to Samantha, allowing her to retain the nickname Sam. We explained what Sam was to my lovely little girl, Christina. We also explained that Michael, her uncle, preferred men to women and that meant he was gay. Chris pretty much took it all in then without a question or anything else, then asked to go swimming at the community pool.

Chris basically took everything at face value, so to her Sam was her aunt. They got on well, and I was happy to let them spend time together whenever they wanted. Sam’s maternal instincts were in overdrive, I would suspect from the hormones she was taking.

My little girl was taught that people had the right to make their own choices in life and no one had the right to say they couldn’t. I educated her to the best of my ability in all things from drugs to smoking to sex. I wanted her to be ready to face the world, and to always know that I was there to help her through anything she needed me for.

So three days after her twelfth birthday, when Christina came to me and said she was gay, I was more relieved than anything. Relieved because she trusted me with it, and I knew that I could support her through whatever hardships she might face as she grew up.

Like any mother, I suppose my first instinct was to deny what she’d told me, but I knew better. Mike had told me he’d always known he was gay. He’d known since before he understood anything else. I knew homosexuality was genetic, so I just assumed it must run in our family. It made me wonder how many of my relatives from the past might have been gay. That brought about a few weeks of learning about long-dead grandparents, grand uncles etc. There was a couple, a great aunt who died in the seventies, and a great grandfather that had died in the fifties. Both had been married. Both had also been quite odd according to what I was able to deduce based on what my mother and aunt had told me. The great aunt had a female friend that had lived in the same house as she and her husband throughout most of their lives, right up until she died, leaving my great aunt alone, having already been widowed by my great uncle.

My great-grandfather took solitary trips to Fire Island. That was all I needed to hear to suspect his fluctuating sexuality. The other clue was that he had exactly one child, my grandmother. This during a time when birth control was rarely used, and Catholic men were expected to father many children.

I, however, was not gay — I didn’t think so, anyway. Mostly I was asexual at best. I had been with Chris’ father for six months and we’d only had sex three times, the third being the charm. He left me when he found out I was pregnant, and that was fine since I was perfectly secure in my ability to raise a child on my own.

During the nine months I was pregnant, I went to school. After having Chris, I got a job as an office assistant and went to school for computer networking. Now I pulled down eighty thousand a year keeping a small company connected to all its customers and employees. In the time since Chris’ birth I’d not met a man I felt drawn to. I basically felt no sexual desire at all. I simply wanted to raise my daughter and play with my computers.

Now, all this is not to say I never masturbated. I had from time to time, but I wasn’t very sexual at all.

Three weeks after coming out to me, my daughter called me into the bath room. “Teach me how to shave my legs, Mom,” she said, looking up at me from the tub. It was strange seeing her in the bath, since she most often took a shower.

“Aren’t you a little young? I mean, you really only need to do that if your leg hair shows, and yours is still blonde.”

I looked down at my little girl, five pounds overweight and cute as she could be with her chubby little cheeks. But then I found myself looking at her legs. I was tracing their lines from her ankle to her thigh. I glanced between her legs to see that there was as yet no visible hair.

I tore my eyes away, a little surprised at myself. I looked into her face to see her smiling at me. “But mine aren’t smooth like yours,” she whined.

And they don’t need to be till you have a girlfriend, I thought to myself. I still thought of her my little girl, such a typical parent thing, I suppose, but she wouldn’t stay a child forever. I decided that since she felt the time was right, I would go with it until I had reason not to. “Okay,” I finally agreed. I opened the cabinet under the bathroom sink and got her a fresh razor. This I handed to my little girl. “Get the shaving cream there and put some in your hand, then rub it on your legs.”

“No, you,” she said, giggling. She handed the can of shaving cream to me.

I remember wondering what the difference was as I took the can and expressed some of its contents into my hand. I took her leg and beginning with the ankle smoothed the cream up to her knee. I could not help but glance between her legs to see that she did have a small patch of blonde hair growing there. It was clearly visible now that I was closer. “All the way up, Mom!” she demanded. I wrinkled my forehead but continued smearing the cream up her thigh. I stopped short of the fold where her leg met her hip.

I took the razor from my daughter. “Now pay attention or you’ll cut yourself.” I pulled the razor along her leg carefully. “See, keep the blade from moving the long way and you’ll be safe.”

I handed the razor back to her and watched as she finished the leg. She handed me the can of shaving cream again and bent her other leg up. “Now this one.” I did as she asked, sitting back and letting her shave her other leg on her own. When she was finished she rubbed her legs and smiled happily. “Smooth,” she giggled.

She reached out of the tub and grabbed my hand, rubbing it on her lower leg. “See?” she said with a smile. I smiled back. She had such soft skin and it felt quite nice, freshly shaved. I noticed that her hand was still holding mine against her leg and she was slowly moving it up toward her thigh.

At the time I didn’t think much of it and simply took my hand away, seeing a bit of disappointment in her eyes — though again, I thought nothing of it.

It was not until later that night as I lay in bed that I found out how much my daughter’s shaving lesson had affected me. I could not sleep, and tossed for quite some time before realizing that the distraction which kept me awake was my libido. I was excited.

Somewhat annoyed, I rolled on my back and slid a hand between my legs. I would get this over with quickly. As a rule, my libido was more of a distraction than anything else.

As I lay rubbing my clit, feeling the familiar build of an orgasm, I found my thoughts turning to how smooth my little girl’s leg had felt, how flawless her skin was. I found myself wondering if the little patch of hair between her legs was softer than my own… wondering what would have happened if I had not pulled my hand from my daughter’s grip.

I came hard, harder than I can ever remember coming before. I rolled on my side and closed my eyes, ashamed. I’d brought myself to orgasm while fantasizing about my little girl. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. The guilt I felt was almost unbearable.

Another thought occurred to me. I wondered if my little girl had known what she was doing. She had always been a precocious child. It could have been possible that she was testing out her sexuality on me. Of course at the time I didn’t believe that, it seemed far too outlandish to even consider seriously. No, I turned it all in on myself. I felt there must be something wrong with me, that I was broken.

The next day I awoke, hardly remembering the night before. I showered and went to work like any other day. When I got home that night around six, I found Chris had cooked dinner. She had it set out on the dining room table with the lights low and candles burning. I set my briefcase down and joined her at the table.

“So what brought this on?” I asked as she scooped mac and cheese onto my plate. She then served me lima beans and mashed potatoes. To her, this was a feast fit for a queen. This meal served by my little girl was exactly that in my own mind, I suppose.

“I love you, so I made you dinner.” She served herself and sat down at the table, digging in right away.

“How was school today?”

“Dumb,” she said with a mouth full of potatoes. “Fiona and I got in trouble for talking in math class.”

“Yeah? Well you know you’re not supposed to do that.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I only had to stay after for fifteen minutes.” She served herself more potatoes. “I don’t have any homework, I got it all done before you got home,” she said, sounding a bit proud. I would still check it, but I rarely had to have her redo anything, so for the most part it sounded like we would have the night together.

“How was work, Mom? Oh it was fine, you know, computers broke, I fixed them,” I said after a long silence.

Chris looked a little embarrassed that she had not asked me about my day. She had obviously tried to make our dinner perfect. “It’s okay, hon.” I told her, trying to relieve some of the guilt. “But just remember, you should always ask how someone’s day is, even if you don’t care. It’s just polite.” She nodded her head.

We talked quite a bit while we ate. I asked her if she and Fiona, a friend she had found since coming out to me, was her girlfriend. She told me that she had a crush on someone else — but no matter how much I probed, she would not tell me who.

We spent the night watching television. I held my little girl close, like I so often did while we sat on the couch. I was really enjoying cuddling her, but then the shame from the previous night reemerged. Almost involuntarily I pulled away from Chris, but she held tight and tried to pull me back.

“What’s wrong?” I heard her little voice.

“Nothing, sweetie, I was just going to get something to drink.”

The trip to the kitchen and back gave me time to clear my head, so that when I got back to the couch I was able to snuggle up with my daughter without feeling dirty. We went to bed a little earlier than normal that night, and again I found myself tossing and turning, though this time from guilt and not sexual excitement.

I woke up ready to face the day. It was Friday, an easy day to face as a rule. I went to work starting to feel better about the fantasy I’d had about my little girl. It was just random thoughts during masturbation, and I should let it go as such.

Around three, Chris called to tell me she was going to stay with her friend Fiona until I got home. I told her to make sure to be home when I got there and hung up.

I made it through the day and headed home. I pulled into the drive and got out of the car, lugging my briefcase with me. I opened the front door to Chris’ smiling face. She immediately took my briefcase and handed me a glass of club soda. “Can we go out to dinner tonight?” she asked me right away.

I pushed into the house and sat down. After a sip of my soda I looked up at her. “Thanks, sweetie. Umm, where did you want to go?”

“Banana’s,” she said. She loved that restaurant. It was a nice place on the south side of Boulder. I agreed, and after finishing my club soda led her out to the car.

We didn’t talk much as we drove the ten minutes to Banana’s. Personally I was just dreaming about the weekend. I had things I had to do, but a few things I wanted to do.

We were led to our seat and the hostess took our drink order. “She’s pretty,” Chris said as the woman walked away.

“You like black girls?”

“Fiona is black,” she told me. I honestly didn’t know. I’d never met the girl.

“I thought you said that you liked someone else,” I said, teasing her.

“Yeah, but at first I liked Fiona, that’s how we got to be friends,” she confessed. “They have cute butts,” she giggled.

“Christina!” I laughed. “Well, I suppose they do,” I admitted.

We talked about such silly things right up until our food was brought to the table. “I did my homework at Fiona’s,” Chris told me. Her tone told me that she was lying, but she had the whole weekend to get it done so I let it go. I did find myself wondering, though, what it was that she’d done at Fiona’s that she didn’t want me to know about.

When we got home, I went to my office to check on the new server we’d just installed at the office. While I was working on that, Chris turned on the television and began searching through the channels.

When I finished checking out the new server, I joined my daughter in the living room. “I thought you were going to ask to spend the night with your friend when you called me today,” I said, half paying attention to the show.

Chris looked up and smiled. “I thought about having a sleepover here, but I wanna have it with you.”

“With me?” I asked, a bit surprised. “I’m an old lady, though.”

“Yeah, but you’re my best friend.”

Yeah, but? I thought to myself. “So you think I’m old, huh?” I teased.

“NO!” she laughed. “You’re not old, just older than me.” Chris began giggling. “Grandma’s old,” she added.

“So what then, I’m supposed to sleep on the floor in your room?” I asked. There was no way that’d happen, but I was teasing her.

“No, I’ll sleep in your room.”

“There isn’t room on the floor,” I told her.

“I knooow, Mom, jeez. I’ll sleep in your bed, like I do at Anna’s when I stay with her.”

That raised some questions in my mind. My daughter’s recent coming out made me wonder what she might have been doing on her sleepovers. I dismissed it, though. I remembered being a curious young girl at her age and the things my friends and I did. Gay or straight, I am sure she was experimenting with her girl friends.

“Okay, I guess we can have a sleepover,” I finally told her.

Chris wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m gonna go change.” She jumped up and ran to her room. A few minutes later she came back wearing a tee shirt she’d stolen from me. She climbed up on the couch folding her bare legs under herself and letting the shirt ride up slightly. I could not help but look, seeing that she was wearing a pair of pink cotton panties.

We watched television for a while longer before Chris became impatient and dragged me off to my room. I changed into my own extra-long tee shirt. I didn’t bother going in the bathroom. I’d never been ashamed of my body in front of her, and it had translated into Chris not being ashamed of hers.

I turned off the light and lay down in bed. Chris was already under the covers. She kissed me on the cheek and rolled on her side, turning her back to me. I lay there staring up at the ceiling feeling her warmth next to me, and I have to admit it was quite nice.

Before long, Chris turned on her other side and draped her arm over my belly. I wrapped my arm around her and stroked her back absently while I lay there, enjoying the closeness I shared with her.

Chris’ little hand on my belly distracted me, and I faltered in stroking her. I looked down at my little girl, just barely able to make out her form in the darkness. I sighed and returned to my thoughts. It felt nice being stroked this way.

As I felt her hand moving slowly down my belly, I tensed. My clit tingled, and I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I had never felt that way with Chris before, but something about this made me nervous.

I suppose she had been building her courage. Chris began tugging at my shirt until my panties were exposed and she could slip her hand under my shirt to rub the bare skin of my belly. Uncomfortable does not cover what I felt then. My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard and tried to deny the building sexual excitement I was feeling.

Stop her! I screamed in my mind when I felt her pinkie finger slip under the waistband of my underwear. It felt so good, though — being touched like this. I felt like I was being seduced, slowly, gently. I had to admit, I loved it, but it was wrong and I had to stop her.

I couldn’t stop her. No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t say anything. My curiosity had the better of me and I had to see where it was that my little girl was going with this.

I thought she might have been working her way down to my sex. I half expected her hand to rub over my pubic hair. It did not. In a sudden movement she reached up and cupped her hand around my breast. My blood ran cold and I gasped, “What are you doing?”

She stopped and moved her hand away. No wait, don’t stop, I pleaded silently.

“I love you, Mom,” she whispered. Her hand moved slowly around my belly button. I was breathing quick and shallow. The nipple of the breast she had cradled in her little hand was so hard that it pushed against my shirt uncomfortably.

Slowly, Chris slid her hand back up my chest and wrapped her fingers around my breast. I trembled with the shame of it, feeling tears welling up in my eyes, but no matter how wrong it was, I didn’t want to stop my daughter from continuing this seduction. But I had to.

“Little girls aren’t suppose to touch their moms this way,” I finally said with a trembling voice.

“Why not?” Her question was sincere.

“For one thing, I could get into trouble. But it’s just wrong, I’m your mom.”

“I won’t tell. I thought your first time was suppose to be someone you loved. I love you more than anyone else, so I want it to be with you,” she said, not pulling her hand away this time.

I was trying to move my arm to push her hand away, but I couldn’t. Instead I found myself reaching down and cupping her bottom with my hand. I wasn’t just letting her do this, now I was participating in it.

Chris drew closer to me, reaching across my chest and stroking my other breast. She ran her fingers over my nipples — hardening them, much to my embarrassment.

For all of the shame, though, I wasn’t stopping her. For as much as I knew this just had to be wrong, I could not stop her. I slipped my hand under her shirt and stroked her bottom, now only separated from her by a thin layer of cotton.

Chris sighed and pushed hard against my side. She moved her hand from my breast and down my belly until it rested on my panties, just above my mound. My sex was aching now. As much as I hated myself for it, I wanted her to touch me.

As she pressed against me, I felt her rocking. Feeling my little girl masturbating against my body sent a sudden shock of excitement through me. I found myself tensing, pressing into her crotch with each thrust of her hips.

“Baby, don’t make me do this,” I whispered.

“You want to stop?” she asked, sounding desperate.

I swallowed hard and looked at her for a long time, so long that she moved her hand away. Tears streamed down my face. “No, I don’t,” I said, just above a whisper.

No sooner than the words left my lips than her hand was back under my tee shirt and she was pushing it under the waist band of my panties. Her hand moved across my pubic hair and she folded her fingers around my mound.

I had not been touched by another person in years, but I don’t think I’d ever been this hot. I don’t remember any touch feeling so electric as hers did. There was something about my little girl cupping my sex that drove my desires like no one else ever could have. Her fingers spread around my clit, then she closed them back together as she slid them into my hole.

Was I gay? Was this what I’d always wanted? A woman? But she wasn’t a woman. She was my daughter, a child. A girl who was so young she didn’t even need a training bra. Could that have been it? Was it because she was a little girl?

Too many questions, when all I wanted was to feel more of her touch.

My head cleared a little when I felt her tugging at my panties. Instinctively, I lifted up so she could pull them off. She sat up and suddenly felt too far from me as she pulled my underwear off and threw them over me to the floor. Chris did not hesitate to take her own underthings off and toss them next to mine.

She crawled on top of me. She seemed to know what she was doing. She was clearly skilled in the art of seduction — but how? I wondered. How could a twelve-year-old girl know how to seduce a grown woman, not to mention her own mother?

Chris leaned in and pressed her lips against mine. She reached into my mouth with her small tongue and I closed my eyes, sinking into the kiss. God, it was erotic, feeling her small body on my own, feeling her lips against mine.

She reached down and pulled at my shirt, tugging it up until I had to move to get it off. I then slipped her top off, wanting to see her nakedness. I reached out and stroked her chest, playing with her nipples. I was too shocked by what was going on to be much of a lover. Not that I was skilled anyway, I simply didn’t have the experience — but I tried to touch her the way I liked to be touched. I ran my hands down her sides and around her hips to hold her bottom as she straddled my waist.

“Mommy,” Chris said. She was about to confess something she thought would make me upset, it was the only time she ever called me Mommy. “Don’t be mad, but I didn’t do homework at Fiona’s. She let me practice what I’d do on her. She told me what felt good and how to do stuff. She knows about sex stuff.”

“Did you, now?” I asked. She had practiced this. I wondered how long she’d been planning it, building me up to it. Then the memory of shaving her occurred to me. Had that been a part of this plan? Did she have me help shave her legs to plant some kind of seed?

“You’re not mad, are you?” she asked me quite sincerely.

“Of course not.” I wrapped my arms around my little girl and held her close, comforting her.

Finally she sat back up and began to rub my breasts. I was on fire for my daughter, hardly able to believe what it was that I was doing. Chris lay down and pushed herself between my legs. She hesitated only for a minute before leaning in and surrounding my clit with her little lips.

I gasped, hardly able to believe the expert attention she was giving to my sex. Where had she learned all of this? She suckled me, lapped at me and finally slid three of her fingers inside, causing me to moan loudly.

I writhed on the bed. I ached for her touch. Each plunge of her fingers sent waves through me. Finally in a single burst of orgasm I arched my back and screamed, pulling her closer, yearning for more of her hands and mouth.

When it subsided, I lay on the bed breathing deeply, my head spinning slightly and my skin tingly. I wanted to give my little girl this sensation. I wanted to make her feel what I’d felt.

Slowly I got up and eased the child onto her back, where I began planting little kisses up and down her body. I was unsure about this. I’d never done any such thing. I had wondered about it, like anyone else would, but never did anything to make it happen. I never thought for a moment that if I was with another female, it would it be my twelve-year-old daughter.

I’m sure I was far more nervous than my little girl. Slowly I worked my way along her body and down between her legs. I positioned myself so that I could cover her swollen sex with my mouth.

I sucked her clit into my mouth and ran my tongue across it. Chris moaned and twitched with each lick. I slid my pinky into her body and began moving it in and out to the rhythm of my lapping.

My daughter was breathing hard, clutching the blankets, my shoulders, my hair. She had lifted her legs slightly, making it easier for me to reach her vulva. I moved faster, adding more pressure with my tongue. Chris was moaning and gasping and finally she slammed her hands and feet to the bed, pushing her sex hard toward my face. “Oh!” she cried out. “Mom!”

My little girl relaxed to the bed once her orgasm had subsided. I crawled up to lie next to her, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tightly to me. I loved my little girl so deeply, I wanted to cradle her like this forever.

“My first time was with the prettiest girl in the world,” she whispered.

“When you practiced with Fiona?”

“That didn’t count, it was just practice. You’re my first.”

I closed my eyes and let myself drift at the edge of sleep. I thought I should feel ashamed, but I did not. I felt nothing but my love for my daughter.

I had never thought of myself as gay, and certainly never as a pedophile, yet this seemed so right to me. Whatever my little girl had originally set out to do, I don’t really know. What I do know is that the experience changed me. Perhaps I’m not gay, I don’t really feel an attraction to any women, but I feel an attraction to my little girl. This adventure has caused me to redefine myself a bit. I may or may not be a pedophile or a lesbian, but I am in love with my daughter, and that was all I really needed to understand.

The End