Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Karin Halle

Part 3 – LEARNING 

April and I had no idea how long our mother had been standing in our doorway, watching us cuddle after we’d fondled each other. Did Mum see me masturbate my sister until she came? Had she been there even earlier, when April got me off?

Whatever Mum thought, she didn’t tell us, just continued down the hallway to her room, leaving my sister and me worried about what punishment we were in for in the morning. Neither April nor I spoke — she returned to her bed, where she curled into a ball and stayed that way. I tried to sleep, but didn’t have much success.

When we came down to breakfast the next morning, Mum said nothing about the incident. In fact, she was acting completely normal, which only added to our stress. If our mother intended to punish us, the least she could do is get it over with.

Finally my nerves got the better of me, and I forced myself to speak. “Mum, I can explain about last night. Me and April wanted to, um, see what each other look like down there. B-but, well, I also wanted… well, to know what it was like to, to… h-have an orgasm.” I’m not sure I’d ever even used that word before.

That seemed to be going nowhere. Mum didn’t respond, just continued to make coffee, so I tried a different approach. “Aren’t you going to say anything, or punish us, or something?” Only after the words were out did it occur to me that I might have just put the idea into her head.

Mum sighed, picked up her cup and saucer, then sat down at the table with April and me. Pausing for a sip of coffee, she set the cup down and took a deep breath. I bet April did, too; I know I did.

“You’ve been through a lot in the last few days, Melody, and you need support from your family. Last night it was April, the night before it was me. Besides, parents shouldn’t punish their kids for curiosity about their bodies; it’s normal adolescent behaviour. Let me ask this: do you girls think you deserve punishment?”

April meekly replied, “It isn’t what we think, Mum — it’s what everybody else thinks. You know: ‘Don’t touch yourself.’ ‘Those parts are dirty.’ ‘Don’t let other people see your private place.’ All that stuff.”

Mum looked from April to me and back again, then smiled. ”Did I ever say any of those things to either of you?”

April and I glanced at each other. “No,” she answered for both of us, then added, “But we’re both girls, Mum! We’re underage! And — and we’re sisters!’”

Mum shrugged. “Girls get curious about their bodies, long before they start wondering about boys. They have questions that need to be answered… but those can be uncomfortable questions to ask. Who better to take them to than your own sister?”

Mum sipped more coffee, then continued. “You girls were exploring, satisfying your curiosity. Don’t confuse that with sex. If you start to have feelings for each other that go beyond those of sisters; well, we’ll discuss that if we need to. By the way, I’d much prefer you both to explore your sexuality with other girls; I’m not anywhere near ready to be a grandmother!”

“Not a problem for me, Mum,” I said, grinning.

“Well, that’s true,” she admitted. “Honestly, I’d still rather you fooled around with girls, though. Boys seem to take so much longer to mature.”

I wasn’t sure what April was thinking right then, but I was hugely relieved. Not only was Mum not angry, she wasn’t even critical of our behaviour! She was, in her usual way, rational and reasonable.

Nothing significant or embarrassing occurred for a few days, and I actually began to feel a little more comfortable about my condition. However, my stress level peaked again a couple of days later, when my appointment with the specialist was due.

I was aghast to discover that the specialist Shweta had referred me to was a man! For a moment, I felt that she’d let me down completely. She knew how difficult this was for me; knew I felt humiliated about it. And now there was a man getting involved in my most intimate secrets!

But I gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, glanced up at Mum, and plodded into the office. The receptionist — Stacey, her name tag told us — took our details and, all smiles, assured us that Dr Garrick would not keep me waiting long. As if I ought to be keen to see him!

When the doctor eventually ushered us into his examination room, I was unable even to look at him, and his questions received little more than one-word replies. He reviewed the scans and reports I’d brought, then startled me more than even the original diagnosis had – he told me to remove my panties and lie on the examination table. I didn’t feel simply embarrassed; my mood was one of despair, of utter humiliation.

I actually glanced around the room in the forlorn hope of finding a hole that would swallow me. Needless to say, it wasn’t there.

I lay on the table, silent, tears running down my cheeks. The sound of Dr Garrick snapping on latex gloves brought more tears. When he asked his receptionist to join us, I was reduced to outright bawling.

Mum, Stacey, and Dr. Garrick all tried to calm me, without much success. The doctor explained that Stacey and my mother wouldn’t see me, and were in the room with us only as a matter of professional integrity. As if I gave a flying fuck about professional integrity! All I knew was that there were bloody films out there that had lower viewing audiences than my cunt had been getting of late.

Stacey was kind enough to ask if I would like to hold her hand, and I nodded before turning my face to the wall. Another small comfort was the sound of Dr. Garrick applying lubrication gel to his hands – at least he wasn’t planning to arouse me the way Shweta had done.

His physical inspection was, thank God, quite brief. I felt him part my labia and press a finger between them where they met, then heard him pulling the gloves off.

“You can get down now and get dressed,” he told me.

Stacey returned to the reception area, Dr. Garrick sat down behind his desk facing Mum, and I donned my clothes as fast as I could, not even bothering to put my panties back on, then sat down next to my mother.

Dr. Garrick then went over the same things that Shweta had covered, sometimes in a bit more detail. The part I wanted to hear was what could be done about my condition.

Most of what he said was so upsetting that I didn’t want to remember it, not even now.

Sometimes, he told us, a surgeon could remove a segment of bowel and attach it to the place where a vagina should be. For some time it would smell, revealing where it had originally come from, a smell likely to reoccur these first few times I had sex. EEW! YUCK!

“It’s a complex procedure, and quite expensive. There isn’t much financial support from the health system, and even private insurance doesn’t contribute very much.”

Needless to say, I was quick to eliminate that option.

Another possibility, he told us, was to take some flesh from my thighs or buttocks, make them into a pouch that resembled a vagina and put that in the appropriate place. Better, at least, than the first option.

But in both cases, it would be necessary to make an incision between my labia to create a vaginal opening – to make a cunt there, essentially. How appealing does that sound?

And to ensure that the newly created vaginal opening didn’t close over while it was healing, it would be necessary for me to wear a gadget to keep the hole open until it was completely healed, in order to avoid infection. It just keeps getting better and better, I thought, clenching my jaw so tightly it hurt.

Then, as if that wasn’t awful enough, I’d have to put a medical tool called a dilator into myself twice a day, for twenty minutes or so at a time, to stretch my new vagina and entrance so they could adapt to their new functions. Imagine how well that would go down at school: ‘Excuse me, Miss, I have to go to the toilet to shove a bit of plastic up myself to stretch my twat open!’

“And what if I simply do nothing?” I asked resignedly. Mum patted my knee.

“Actually,” Dr Garrick said, “I wouldn’t recommend any remedial action at the present time. It’s likely that you’re still growing, making it preferable to wait a couple more years.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you plan to have intercourse.”

Then, as casually as if it was a question about my school grades, he asked, “Are you sexually active?”

I snapped my answer. “No! And I doubt that I ever will be!”

Completely mistaking what I meant, the doctor assured me that the types of surgery he’d just told us about could enable me to have a normal sex life, if I wanted one.

Because my question was unanswered, I asked again. “What if I decide not to ever have surgery? To stay as I am?”

There was a discernible pause before the doctor answered. “That is, of course, an available option. Mind you, it would require an exceptionally sympathetic man to accept that choice.”

That kind of response was almost precisely what I’d expected. I glared at him. “Well, any man who didn’t accept me the way I am wouldn’t be a very good choice as a sexual partner or a husband, now would he? And anyway, there’s always oral sex. And anal!”

My anger spent, I started to cry yet again — this time from frustration. Mum held my hand, and Dr Garrick seemed to be unperturbed by my outburst. It dawned on me that he probably spoke to a lot of hysterical women from behind that same desk.

His next professional advice nearly staggered me. “In the meantime, you should exercise the area. The majority of the lubricating fluids of a woman are secreted from the vagina, and you don’t have that source of lubrication. The labia, too, provide fluids — but not in sufficient quantities, as a rule. They will, however, become more productive if it’s necessary for them to replace, to some degree, the fluids ordinarily supplied by the vagina. Which means you should encourage them to produce those fluids.”

“So, let me get this straight. You’re telling me I should masturbate, right?”

The guy didn’t even bat an eyelid. Evidently my question was perfectly reasonable. I guess he was immune to sarcasm.

“Yes. And in any sexual activity you undertake, you need to ensure that you use plenty of lubrication. I’ll give you a list of the products you should choose from.”

The Unflappable Dr. Garrick seemed to have covered everything on his agenda, and asked if we had any questions. I was unable to focus my thoughts sufficiently to put them into words, so he interpreted that to be the end of the appointment. He invited me to contact him at any time if I needed to talk about any aspect of MRKH, and supplied me with an information kit to study when I felt up to it.

Mum thanked him and we left.

As Mum drove us home, I checked out the information kit. There was a booklet filled with facts about MRKH in general, a list of contacts, including Dr. Garrick, and the addresses of a couple of websites and chatrooms. Another booklet contained articles by women with the condition, about their experiences.

There was also a sealed envelope, which I opened. I took in a huge breath when I saw that the contents were photographs — large close-ups, in full colour, of women with MRKH, displaying the range of visible effects of the condition. Some women seemed, like me, to have regular genitals, but had underdeveloped (or undeveloped) internal organs. Other photos showed women whose vaginal opening was tiny; their internal organs might be fully developed, underdeveloped, or even absent.

But I’d reached my MRKH limit for the day, and stuffed everything back into the folder. As I did, I realised that there was another slip of paper, one I hadn’t examined yet.

It turned out to be addressed to me and signed by a lady named Vanessa, an open invitation to contact her if I wanted to talk about MRKH.

It turned out that she, too, had consulted Dr. Garrick, and her circumstances were the same as mine. The doctor had contacted her to ask if she would be willing to talk to me, or exchange emails, to help me to deal with MRKH. Apparently, the doctor had a list of patients whose situation matched that of somebody newly diagnosed, and who were willing to talk to them.

While I had previously been unimpressed by Dr. Garrick, this message redeemed him in my eyes. I couldn’t wait to send Vanessa an email to introduce myself.

 

Part 4 – SUPPORTING 

Back at home, April asked me right away how the appointment had gone. Too embarrassed to tell her that some man had inspected and touched my pussy, I merely waved a hand in Mum’s direction and escaped to my room.

Logging on to my computer, I attempted to compose an email to Vanessa, but found it difficult to find the right words. A number of attempts were made, but nothing satisfied me.

The message was hardly begun a couple of hours later, when April came upstairs to do her homework. She asked what I was doing and I explained my predicament.

She thought for a moment, then said, “Maybe I could write something to, y’know, help get it started. Then you could add to it or change it or whatever.”

It sounded sensible to me. At least April didn’t have writer’s block. I deleted my latest failure and vacated my chair, and April took my place at the computer. She asked me not to watch her as she worked, so I picked up a book and got comfortable on my bed until she had finished her draft and called me over to look.

Peering over April’s shoulder, I read through what she’d written. Although it had taken her very little time, I thought her first effort was better than all of mine combined.

By way of thanks, I rested my head on her shoulder and simply said, “It’s perfect. Go ahead and send it.” April did, then went to her own computer, which was set up next to mine on the long table we shared, and got started on her homework.

She’d barely begun, and I was staring idly at my monitor, when an icon flashed to tell me an email was received. Not expecting a prompt reply from Vanessa, I had no idea who might have sent a message, so clicked open the email without hesitation.

It was from Vanessa!

She told me later that she had a standard message for use the first time she communicated with other girls, so it had been ready to go.

April sat down next to me and asked, “Is that her?” When I nodded, she pressed, “Well? What does she say?”

I read the message aloud, which was pleasant, but maddeningly non-specific, then sat back, pondering my next move. Finally, I looked up at my sister and muttered, “I… I don’t know what to do now.”

But once again, April had a handle on the situation. “Well, it’s obvious, you dope. First, you have to send a message thanking her for her email. That’s just good manners. Then tell her that this whole thing is new to you, and you’re still getting your head round it all. And you’ll be in contact soon, when you’re ready.”

Rather than trying to come up with anything else, I wrote a message using almost exactly those words and sent it.

Strangely enough, I felt a bit more at ease, despite the fact that nothing had actually been achieved. April went back to her homework, as did I.

We both went to bed at our usual time, though I didn’t fall asleep right away. I found myself wanting April to come over and get in bed with me, so we could touch each other and kiss. Fooling around with my sister had been a lovely, unforgettable experience, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I craved more.

But how to make that happen? Since that first time, April hadn’t so much as addressed the subject, as if we’d never stripped naked and fondled one another to orgasm, then swapped hot French kisses. Was April ashamed or embarrassed by what we’d done? I didn’t know, and was afraid to ask. That hunger to feel her bare body against mine still burned inside me, though.

I considered masturbating, but didn’t want to risk waking my sister. Somehow, I did finally manage to fall asleep.

The following day, I still didn’t feel up to attending school, although by that time, I’d already missed several weeks. It was all covered by a medical certificate, but I knew that my friends were getting worried about me.

My best friend Elsa had sent a couple of emails to ask how I was doing. In fact, I felt all knotted up inside, wondering what I would tell people about my condition. The thought of kids at school gossiping about my private parts filled me with horror. So I’d reassured Elsa that I was okay, lied that it was nothing serious, and that I would be back in school before very long.

That afternoon I heard the doorbell ring, shortly after which Mum knocked on my door. “Elsa’s here to see you,” she called.

I was hesitant at first, but decided that good manners and friendship outweighed the reluctance I felt. Elsa and I had been close since third grade, and I knew she was concerned about me. I got up, took a deep breath, and went downstairs.

The instant I laid eyes on my friend, my apprehension vanished like mist, and I raced into Elsa’s open arms. Why had I felt so nervous about seeing her, anyhow? As we hugged, I made the decision to share my secret with her, knowing it was the right thing to do.

Mum offered us cookies and milk, but I was suddenly desperate to unburden myself, and hastened my friend upstairs, promising Mum that we’d be down for a snack before too long.

Once in my room, we sat side by side at the desk, then Elsa inquired as to what had kept me away from school for so many days. Naturally she was relieved when I told her that it was nothing life-threatening or contagious, but the real test would come when I got to the actual story.

How would she react? For that matter, how would I be able to explain it to her without collapsing in a flood of tears? All I could do was take a deep breath, soldier on and tell Elsa the cold, hard facts about what was wrong with me.

As I stumbled through my account, often flushed with embarrassment, she listened without comment. I told her nearly all of it, only leaving out the parts about sucking on Mum’s nipples and the sexual exploration I’d done with my sister.

After I finished talking, Elsa sat quietly for a moment, taking it all in. Then she stood and came over to me. Her face showed little, but her eyes revealed the sorrow she felt.

“Oh, Melody,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” Extending her hand, she took mine and drew me to my feet, then wrapped both arms around my waist. She wasn’t being emotional, just supportive — and it was exactly what I needed. Her lips nearly brushed my ear as she added. “What a fucked-up situation.”

I had to agree. “Yeah.”

Drawing away, though still embracing me, Elsa gazed into my eyes. I’d never seen her up so close. “What do you do now?”

It was a question I’d asked myself without reaching an answer. Now I had to respond in some coherent way, realising that ‘I don’t know’ wasn’t going to satisfy a girl like Elsa.

We both sat down again and, after a deep breath, I began to speak, the ideas forming as they came to my lips.

“Well, for starters, I’m going to avoid getting involved with boys for now. They’re too immature to deal with something like this, not until they grow up. They’d be grossed out, and it’d be all over the school in no time! And that’s if they grow up at all; some guys never really do. I’ll just let them think I’m not interested in sex. Or that I’ve taken the Chastity Pledge. Hey, I can get one of those rings!”

“You could let them think you’re gay,” Elsa suggested. “Bet that would keep boys away.”

I was unable to tell if she was joking. “That would cause even more gossip than the truth,” I answered, trying to keep things light. We both giggled; surely that was a good sign.

“At least girls are more understanding than boys,” Elsa observed when she was serious again.

“Mmm,” I agreed.

“I mean, I’m not grossed out by you or anything. Oh, sure, I think it’s awful, and I, like, feel bad for you, and everything. But grossed out – nah!”

“Well, you might be,” I said.

“Show me, then!” she proposed. “You’ll see, It won’t bother me at all.”

“Bet it would.” Why in the world did I say that? Was I actually getting complacent or whatever about this MRKH thing?

“How much?”

I thought about the stakes, without thinking about the implications. “I bet you’ll be disgusted. If I’m right, you have to finish this stupid history assignment I’m in the middle of!”

Elsa gave a defiant nod. “You’re on. And if I’m not grossed out, you have to… well, it doesn’t matter. It’ll just prove that not everybody will act the way you think they will!”

We shook hands on our bet. Which, I suddenly realised, meant that the next step was… I had to strip down for my friend!

My personal boundaries had collapsed once before, with April. And now it was happening again, this time with Elsa. And just like that other time, I didn’t understand it soon enough.

But Elsa and I had made a bet, and I couldn’t back down. And she was right about proving to myself whether she, or anyone else, would be shocked by my appearance.

Those thoughts didn’t make it any easier, but they at least made me more determined to do what I had to — drop my pants in front of my best friend, so she could look at my snatch!

Before I could lose my nerve, I stood up and dropped the boxer shorts I wore as pajama pants, putting myself on display before her.

“That’s normal enough,” she told me.

“Yeah, but look at this,” I said. I lay back on my bed and raised my legs into the same position I’d adopted in those doctors’ offices, showing Elsa everything I had. The thought crossed my mind that this pose was becoming a regular thing for me.

Elsa knelt between my thighs. “Still normal,” she said, then reached out and parted my labia.

I’d described to her what my ‘condition’ looked like, which may have prepared her for the sight. Whatever the reason, she remained unfazed. “Ahh,” Elsa said, her eyes wide in awe as she got a good look. After a moment, she added, “Well, I think I win. I’m not grossed out, or anything!”

That made me feel better, though I wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t just being nice. “You really don’t think that I look… well, messed up down there?”

She shook her head. “No, not at all… I’ll prove it to you.”

Elsa’s mouth was inches away from my pussy, then she suddenly moved in even closer and licked me. She even ran her tongue up to my clit, giving it a little flick with her tongue.

My attempt to wriggle away from Elsa was blocked before I could begin, because she wrapped her arms around my raised thighs, leaving me no way to escape. Before long, I wasn’t trying to get away anyhow.

I nearly opened my mouth to tell her to stop… but after all, I didn’t really want her to, so the only sound I made was a deep sigh.

When I relaxed in Elsa’s grasp, she took my clitoris between her lips and sucked at it. Just like that, I was lost to the world. The last rational thought I recall having was, Who needs a vagina, anyway?

Elsa squeezed my clit with her lips, sucked as if it was a straw in a soft drink bottle, and gently ran her teeth over it. She even bit down on it – well, more like a gentle nibble, really. Whatever, it was amazing!

When April used her hand on my pussy, she gave me an orgasm – my first real one. But Elsa’s mouth took me higher and farther than fingers ever could. Sure as night follows day, I knew I was going to have an absolutely enormous climax. It was building up inside me, threatening to go off at any instant.

Things were happening beneath my belly, where my reproductive organs were supposed to be. There was a tiny pulse that mounted into a deep throb, spreading through my body until I was trembling all over. I couldn’t speak — couldn’t move.

Then it happened – I came!

Big time.

The release was… something unimaginable. I’ve never managed to come up with the words to equal it. All I knew was pleasure distilled to its purest essence.

Finally I lay spent, out of breath, still glowing from head to toe with those good feelings, and my heart filled with love for Elsa.

Reaching for her with clumsy hands, I tugged at my friend, pulled Elsa on top of me so I could kiss her. Which I did, over and over. Tongues and everything.

Somehow I overlooked the need to breathe while we were kissing. After a while, I had to push Elsa away and gasp for air. Our eyes met — and the only thought in my head was how much I wanted to return her love.

When I touched April the same way she’d done to me, it was done in the sense of repaying a kindness – my sister had given me pleasure, so I did the same for her.

With Elsa, though, it was different. I was burning for her, feeling the want so intensely that it almost hurt.

I was pulling at her jeans, struggling to get them off — or at least down far enough for me to get at her pussy. She hadn’t asked if I’d wanted oral sex, so I wasn’t going to bother asking her, either.

“Slow down, girl!” she said, laughing at my desperation. “Here, let me help.” Elsa undid the snap, drew the zipper down and raised her arse from the bed, then shoved those damned jeans to her feet.

I was only able to restrain myself until she got them off. Then I grabbed her panties and gave them a hard tug, tearing the elastic of the waistband in my haste.

In no time at all, Elsa was naked from the waist down. I already knew she shaved, from seeing her when we changed after gym class, so my friend’s lack of pubes didn’t surprise me. Her labia were a dark pink hue, and drops of her arousal were clearly visible. I moistened my lips, taking a good look.

If I’d been asked in a rational moment if I might be willing to lick a girl’s snatch, I would probably have said ‘no way’ or even ‘yuck’. Right then, though, I was anything but rational, so I bent down to Elsa’s slit and went to work with my tongue.

I didn’t bring much finesse to the job, but it was my first time going down on a girl, after all. I licked up and down with long swipes of the tongue, and Elsa’s purrs of pleasure told me that I was doing the job right. After a while I wanted to try something different, so I centred my attention on her clit, then felt for her vagina with my fingers and pushed two of them inside. Elsa was a lot wetter than she’d been only moments ago, so I began to pump those fingers in and out. A delicious shiver raced through me when I realized that I was fucking my friend.

As I worked to make Elsa come, she lay still with her legs wide apart, eyes closed and a tiny smile on her lips. Only the pattern of her breathing and the way she clutched at the blanket told me that she was getting close to an orgasm, but it encouraged me to work my fingers harder, deeper, faster. Taking her clit between my lips, I began to suck it like a tiny nipple.

When she came, Elsa remained completely motionless, but I knew that her ecstasy was just as powerful as mine had been. Her breath grew ragged, her mouth tightened and she made funny little sounds of pleasure.

As I continued to make love to her — and by then, I knew that’s what was happening — a memory suddenly crossed my mind: when I made April come, a little bit of juice came out of her pussy.

Hoping that Elsa might do the same when she climaxed, I put my mouth to her vagina, where my fingers were still busily pounding her. Almost immediately, she stiffened and a little squirt of fluid issued from her hole. I captured it with my mouth.

“Oh, fuck… ohhhh!” exploded from Elsa’s lips. Her pussy clenched my fingers, and I slowed the pace of my thrusts.

More fluid was flowing from her pussy with each stroke, so I lapped up as much of it as I could. Did I mention that she tasted incredible? Finally, I withdrew my fingers and glued my mouth to Elsa’s smooth slit, not wanting to miss even a drop of her sweetness.

“Oh, Christ!” Elsa gasped as I slurped and slobbered at the juicy flesh of her pussy.

Her orgasm seemed to depart as quickly as it had arrived, and my friend’s body seemed to deflate like an inflatable toy when the air is released. She lay quietly, doing nothing but drawing breath. We were lying side by side on my bed, both naked from the waist down.

I found myself worrying that I might’ve hurt Elsa. All the time I was vigorously finger-fucking her, that thought hadn’t even occurred to me.

“Elsa?” I whispered. “Um, are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Then an even more awful fear entered my head. “I — did I, um, b-break your… your…” I didn’t know how to ask the question!

Elsa giggled and rolled onto her side, so she was facing me. Feeling relieved — at least I hadn’t upset her — I rolled over too, so we could look into each other’s eyes.

“You didn’t hurt me, Mel,” she murmured. “Oh, I wasn’t prepared for a ride like that, but it was a great one. And no, you didn’t tear me. I did that myself, a couple years ago.” She looked deep into my eyes. “But you are my first, y’know, my first time. And since you’re my first fuck, that means you got my cherry.” There was a pause. “And I’m glad, too… I wanted it to be you!”

Elsa let that statement stand on its own for a few heartbeats, though I’m sure that she must have seen questions written all over my face.

“I’ve known for a couple of years that I’m gay,” she said. “And I was hoping you were, too… cause you never seemed much interested in boys, know what I mean? But I didn’t know for sure. And, like, I was scared to make a move, y’know, try anything with you… cause I didn’t want to screw up our friendship if you weren’t into girls. But then…” She paused. “When I was looking at you down there, I… I couldn’t help myself. I just had to do what I did. And, uh, you’re okay with that, right? I mean, if you don’t want to do it ever again, we don’t have to…”

Knowing it was unfair of me to let her keep babbling, I put a finger across Elsa’s lips to silence her.

“El,” I said, “this is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened! We’ve been best friends, like, forever… and now… we’re so much more.”

Uncertain if I was making sense. I decided to start again. “Look. Until now I had no idea about, well, any of this. About you and me, and doing sex things with girls. But I do know that I want to do it with you again – lots of times. And if wanting to do it with a girl means I’m gay, then I guess I’m gay.”

I thought about that, then tried thinking it through out loud. “I’m not attracted to guys, so I can’t be straight. But I’m not exactly gay, ‘cause I’m not attracted to girls either, just you. Is there even a word for that?”

Elsa gave me a smile bright enough to light up the evening sky. “Yeah. And that word is ‘mine’.”

She wrapped her arms around me, and we drifted together in a kiss that seemed to say it all.

On to Part Three!