Samesex/bedtime2
                                 Stephanie Donovan
                                   Special Friends
                                  A Writer's Choice Bedtime Story
                       The note tucked into Jenni's Christmas card was only long 
                  enough to spring two surprises: that she was divorced, and that 
                   she was gay. The former she treated as news, the latter as a 
                                            confession. 
                     It was a toss-up which was the bigger eye-opener. She and Tim 
                  had given every outward sign of being happy with their two-car 
                  two-child two-job life. But on the topic of divorce I was well 
                            enlightened, having gone through it myself. 
                      When it came to "gay sisters," though, my consciousness was 
                    far from raised. I only knew two kinds: hard-looking women 
                explaining to Phil Donahue how men had screwed up their lives, and 
                jaded porno queens playing out a parody of real sex at the whim of 
                                         a male director. 
                      Jenni didn't fit either category. I'd shared her grass and 
                 bedroom during high school sleepovers, cruised the bars with her 
                after graduation, enjoyed endless lunchtimes of gossip and griping 
                  until she married Tim and moved. Had she been gay even then? I 
                                     didn't want to think so. 
                       But even if her preference was something new, it added an 
                 unwelcome dimension to our relationship. What did she expect from 
                    me? To be open to a pass? Or, God forbid, make one myself? 
                     It took me a few days to persuade myself that maybe all Jenni 
                     meant to say was that she could use an understanding ear. 
                      And I had to admit that I was curious -- not about the sex 
                 itself, but about how long she'd felt that way and how it changed 
                   things for her. Assuming girlhood best-friend crushes didn't 
                count, I had no glimmer of how she felt or how it would affect the 
                 way she looked at the world -- or for that matter, looked at me. 
                       So I steeled myself against my anxieties and called her, 
                   inviting myself up for the next weekend. She sounded just the 
                   same, brash and cheery, and neither of us mentioned her note 
                         except to say that we'd have lots to talk about. 
                                     And that hardly needed saying.
                                                                 #
                    The night before I was to visit Jenni, I settled into bed with 
                   one of my favorite diddle books: a well-thumbed bestseller of 
                  women's fantasies and sexual experiences. I usually skipped the 
                long chapter on lesbians, but that night I was looking for insight 
                                       more than inspiration.
                      I passed over stories from women who said their fathers had 
                 abused them or that they'd never liked men. Jenni's father was an 
                  angel, the one everyone else wanted to trade theirs in for. And 
                too many times we'd sat together on my bed or in a little booth at 
                 the drugstore and entertained each other with the steamy details 
                  of our explorations with our dates -- and later our husbands -- 
                                         the night before. 
                       But I did read about Greta, who had her first woman-woman 
                   experience at age 16 while staying the night at her friend's 
                   house, and her first orgasm from nothing more than having her 
                                      breasts gently sucked. 
                      ...and about Karen, who liked to sit in a chair across the 
                room from her lady lover, hike her skirt and put on a masturbation 
                   show with fingers and candle before they moved to the carpet 
                                             together. 
                      ...and about Marti and Marni, the twins who discovered at a 
                  group-sex party that making love to their own mirror-image was 
                      more fulfilling than anything they had done separately. 
                     ...and about Cynthia, who as a forty-year old executive could 
                 afford to hire a twenty-year old to live in as a housekeeper and 
                  love mate. Her favorite game was to have her `pussy slave' cook 
                  her a sumptuous meal and then crawl under the table to eat her 
                                       while she enjoyed it. 
                       Closing the book, I played with the idea of going down on 
                 another woman. I liked it when my lovers kissed their way down to 
                    my pussy and then stayed there. The scent of my overheated 
                 loveslit always excited me more. I had licked my own juices off a 
                                    cock fresh from inside me. 
                        Thinking about it, I slipped my hand between my legs. I 
                   stroked my wet slit for a few moments, then licked my fingers 
                                          experimentally. 
                      The taste did nothing for me, but the familiar touch of my 
                 fingers did. Burrowing deeper into my blankets, I closed my eyes 
                                   and worked on my own fantasy. 
                        I was sleeping not in my bed but in the big four-poster 
                  I had seen in Tim and Jenni's house the last time I visited. As 
                 always, I slept naked, the soft coolness of the sheets a balm to 
                                           my hot skin. 
                    I was oblivious to the arrival of a second person, who slipped 
                  under the blankets and cuddled up against me spoon-fashion. The 
                      warmth of the visitor's skin matched my own, and smooth 
                hands and a soft touch on my hips and belly and breasts stimulated 
                 me without stirring me. My chest rose and fell with the rhythm of 
                 the warm breath on my neck, and I pressed myself back against the 
                              rounded fullness of my visitor's body. 
                      In time I squirmed onto my back, my thighs parting, and the 
                  wandering fingers of my visitor eagerly probed the dew-slicked 
                  opening to my pussy. I drank in my own scent and opened my legs 
                 wider to the probings. My seducer found my swelling clitoris with 
                  feather-light circular strokes. My breath came in short panting 
                        gasps as I raised my hips up to the teasing touch. 
                       The sheets now thrown back, I spread my legs wide, and my 
                  silent visitor moved to lay between them. Long hair brushed my 
                face, soft rounded breasts pressed against my own, and I opened my 
                                 eyes to see Jenni poised above me.
                       "No, you can't," I moaned, but she smiled and grasped my 
                  wrists and held me there. A swelling hardness pierced me, and I 
                  raised my head to see a smooth, curved penis slide deep into my 
                pussy. I closed my eyes again and squirmed underneath her assault, 
                  a sinuous motion that soon had her gasping as well. Our bellies 
                  became slick with perspiration and slid against each other with 
                sucking sounds, and my nipples were needle-hard points grazing her 
                                              flesh. 
                    As our fever rose, Jenni lowered herself on me and pressed her 
                 lips to mine. Our tongues locked in love-combat and we drove our 
                   bodies against each other. In the last moments before my body 
                convulsed in an explosive orgasm, her hungry mouth was replaced by 
                   her fragrant slit, and she rode my tongue to her own peak of 
                                             pleasure. 
                      Of course it was my own fingers between my legs, my silver 
                  vibrator that pierced me, but in the darkness imagination is a 
                  powerful magic. I always slept better after a good orgasm, and 
                  that night I slept wonderfully. If sex with another woman could 
                  come closer to that feeling then most sex with men had, maybe, 
                          just maybe it would be worth taking a chance -- 
                       In the morning I realized how I had shaped my fantasy -- 
                   making it necessary for her to deceive me, then to force me, 
                taking the decision out of my hands, and to take me not as a woman 
                    but as a man. With the blinds up and the sunlight streaming 
                     through the windows, that seemed pretty fantastic indeed. 
                                                                 #
                      Jenni greeted me at her apartment door with her traditional 
                 exuberant hug, and I hadn't thought ahead enough to be ready for 
                 it. I went stiff in her embrace, and she laughed and released me. 
                       "Let's get something straight now," she said, grasping my 
                 hands in hers. "I told you because I thought you'd be the least  
                  likely of the girls to freak out. I'm not looking for partners. 
                 And the last thing I want to do is scare a good friend away. I'm 
                  not going to start anything, Steph. If you ever want to, you're 
                going to have to say so in no uncertain terms. I won't take hints. 
                                              Okay?" 
                      I told her, nicely, that there wasn't much chance of that. 
                       "But then, you didn't think you had any lesbian friends, 
                either, did you," she said with a quick smile. "Just teasing," she 
                         added quickly. "I can still tease you, can't I?" 
                       Suddenly all my nervousness seemed silly. Jenni was still 
                         Jenni; an old gem with a new facet.

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 I hugged her.
                                      "That's better," she said. 
                                                                 #
                        That night we found ourselves in a comfortably familiar 
                    position, her cross-legged at the foot of the bed, me on my 
                               elbows, heels in the air, at the head.
                       "Now ask," she said. "You were biting back questions all 
                                         through dinner." 
                     I threw a pillow at her. "I didn't realize I was so obvious."
                     We talked our way through two magnums of white wine and most 
                  of a box of chocolates. She gave me a complicated explanation, 
                part girlhood crushes that didn't go away, part undefined feelings 
                  brought into focus by fantasy -- a fantasy that she shared with 
                                           her husband. 
                     "Once he heard that he couldn't wait to make it come true -- 
                  with him watching. So one night when a girlfriend from work was 
                 over and there'd been a lot of drinking she and I ended up in bed 
                             together with him telling us what to do." 
                                     "So that was the first time?"
                       She nodded. "I hated it. But later I figured out what I'd 
                hated -- that we were drunk, that we were putting on a show. So we 
                 tried it again without Tom or the tequila. That was a lot better."
                                             "Better how?"
                        "Having too many of these organs or not enough of these 
                    doesn't make sex something completely foreign. It was still 
                 hugging and touching and sharing, still meant to give pleasure -- 
                   only more so, because the pleasure didn't have to be over so 
                 quick." She leaned forward, a childishly self-satisfied smile on 
                     her face. "Steph, I had three Eights in the first hour." 
                     It was the old code we'd used to talk about how excited we'd 
                   gotten and, later, for how good the orgasm had been. I threw 
                                    another pillow. "Bragger." 
                     She caught the pillow and flung it back. "Then I relaxed and 
                                     started to enjoy myself." 
                     With a mock-growl, I launched myself at her, and we thrashed 
                     about on the bed in a rediscovery of the gleeful, playful 
                wrestling matches we once enjoyed. This one carried us off the bed 
                     and onto the floor, bringing most of the bedding with us. 
                     Jenni had been the unchallenged champion of the pajama party. 
                 This time, though, I gained the advantage and she ended up on her 
                back with me straddling her waist. I grabbed her wrists and pinned 
                      her arms against the floor, and she stopped struggling. 
                     The laughter forgotten, our eyes met in a frank exchange that 
                  brought back my fantasy of the night before, except this time I 
                   was on top. My nightgown was up around my hips and I felt the 
                  warmth of her body against my bare thighs. The rapid rate of my 
                          breathing was only partly due to our exertions. 
                    We stayed like that for a long frozen moment. Then I bent down 
                              and kissed her, on the lips, tenderly. 
                         "Are you sure?" she asked softly when the kiss ended.
                     "I'm sure," I said, and the next kiss was wet and hungry. In 
                 the middle of it, I released her wrists and her arms went around 
                  me. She stroked my hips, the curve of my buttocks, with a touch 
                                that seemed to bring my skin alive.
                     I sat up and together we pulled my nightgown over my head. I 
                 cradled my own breasts in my crossed arms for a moment, amazed at 
                 their sensitivity. Her fingertips glided over my skin and teased 
                              the fine hair at the apex of my thighs.
                      Jenni began to undo the top buttons of her nightshirt and I 
                 took over, pulling it open to reveal her erect nipples, round and 
                crinkled. I wet my fingers between my thighs and used the moisture 
                to draw slick circles around her aureolae. She grasped my hand and 
                   brought it to her mouth, licking the flavor from my fingers. 
                     Still straddling her waist, I reached behind me and pulled up 
                  her nightshirt to explore between her legs. She parted her knees
                  to allow me access to the slick folds and fragrant damps of her 
                      special place. It was excitingly different from my own. 
                     Closing her eyes, she began to rock gently in rhythm with my 
                 attentions. "I'm so selfish," she murmered, and slid her hands up 
                    my thighs to my pussy. It was an electric circle of erotic 
                feeling, from the tips of my fingers to the tip of her clitoris to 
                   the tip of her thumb to the tip of my clitoris, and we moved 
                         together in unhurried but ever-building passion. 
                    Whether less inhibited or more experienced, Jenni got ahead of 
                   me and relinquished my body for her own. She took each of her 
                  nipples between a thumb and forefinger, alternately rolling and 
                                  squeezing them, teasing herself.
                     I watched her, captivated by her pleasure and my part in it. 
                 So that's what I look like, I thought, watching her face contort 
                 with the rising curve of her emotion. I plunged a finger into her 
                 dark canal and felt its shivery contractions, and a moment later 
                 she rose up under me, twisted from side to side, and let out her 
                                     breath with a little cry. 
                      We kissed lovingly, then disengaged long enough for her to 
                                     strip off her nightshirt.
                     "Your turn," she said, leading me to the bed. I stretched out 
                   on my back and pulled my knees up to my chest, and she knelt 
                 between my thighs. She kissed and nibbled her way to my pussy and 
                      parted the lips with her tongue, slowly, deliberately, 
                                          tantalizingly. 
                     "Hold yourself open for me," she whispered, and I complied. I 
                   felt her hair brush my fingers as her tongue danced over the 
                 aroused flesh of my inner lips. She knew when to go slow and when 
                 to hasten me along, when to use her tongue as a stroking feather 
                and when to assault me with her hungry mouth. She drew my clitoris 
                 between her lips and sucked it gently, and the whole room seemed 
                              centered on that spot between my legs. 
                     "You taste so sweet," she said, pausing to look up at me and 
                                               smile.
                       I knew I didn't need much help to finish, and touched her 
                             cheek. "I want to hold you. Please. Now." 
                     Jenni climbed up onto the bed and pressed her smooth rounded 
                   body full length against mine, our breasts rubbing, lips and 
                  tongues eager. I went over the top sliding my mound against her 
                        leg, and hugged her tight as the sensations ebbed. 
                     "I'm feeling guilty," she said at my ear, tracing a circle on 
                          my breast with a fingertip. "Are you all right?"
                     I snuggled closer. "You promised me an Eight. That was only a 
                          Five. But we can practice some more, can't we?" 
                     For her answer, she shifted position and brought her mouth to 
                                            my nipple. 
                    "Not right away," I protested half-heartedly. "I need a little 
                                       time to come down--" 
                     "Whoever told you that?" she asked with a knowing smile, and 
                 returned to her ministrations. Her tongue coaxed my nipples back 
                   into erection, and the fire that had been dying began to rage 
                anew. Pleased but surprised, I lay back, stretched my arms over my 
                        head, closed my eyes, and invited it to consume me. 
                    Jenni nibbled her way down my belly and I parted my thighs for 
                  her. Her knowing tongue traced the outlines of my lips, darted 
                  deep between them, but only brushed tantalizingly the engorged 
                 focus of the sensations she brought me. I drove my hips up at her 
                 but she would not be rushed, touching and teasing and pushing me 
                                        higher and higher. 
                      Then she swung her leg across to straddle my body and offer 
                 herself to me. I threw my arms around her and buried my mouth in 
                 her fragrant love-sweetened wetness. At that moment, she took my 
                 clit between her lips and her tongue swirled over it, and release 
                           came, sudden, magical, explosive, delicious. 
                    "You were right," I told her as we cuddled sleepily afterward. 
                              "It's different, but a good different." 
                     "One of the nicest things friends can do for each other," she 
                                    replied, and I had to agree.
                 ==================================================================
                  A version of this story was published by VARIATIONS in May, 1985
                 as WHAT ARE GOOD FRIENDS FOR? by Niki Carter. This is the original
                         unedited text, as the author meant it to be read.
                 ==================================================================
                                                  
                                                   
                                                  
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