1. Bacall 1


    Date: 10/3/2017, Categories: Lesbian, Author: monica3, Rating: 12, Source: LushStories

    I had fancied her for a lifetime. When I was a girl my dad always rattled on about Lauren Bacall, the actress who was married to Humphrey Bogart. I am nearly an expert on her since he spent so much time telling me about her. It was not until I was a developing 16 year old that I began to see what he saw and then I would often, I mean very often, jill my way to sleep imagining her. I am not saying my dad, or Ms Bacall come to that, made me a lesbian but, well, they sort of set me on the road. I was brought up in a very ordinary middle class home. Lesbianism was something one knew about but it was NOT something that occurred in our sort of household. The fact that I knew I was that way inclined was unsettling of course and so I pretended not to be. My pretence did not go as far as ‘going’ with boys as my mother would have put it. Oh, naturally, I pretended that I had otherwise all the other girls at my all girl school would have made my life a misery. I invented holiday romances with Italian boys and French boys or boys from wherever we’d been on holiday. The problem was the more I pretended, the more I knew I wanted to touch, feel and kiss a woman. My schoolgirl crushes were focused on a narrow range of people, limited by a strict upbringing and life in a boarding school. My thoughts centred for a while, when I was probably 16 or 17, on the head girl. Her name was Sonia and she was Lebanese. She had dramatic black eyes and black hair that was long, almost to her arse. She ...
    played hockey amazingly well and I would watch her as she wove her way through the opposition, her hair tied back but still flying. Her long, firm athlete’s legs captivated me as did her firm breasts, trussed in her sports bra. Occasionally I’d find an excuse to go into the changing room so I could watch her undress, which she did with a total lack of self-consciousness. I learned to cum quietly in the dormitory and less quietly when I had my own room when I reached the sixth form, by which time, of course, Sonia had left the school. There was only one person who knew, my oldest school friend, Ros. We did the gap year thing and travelled all over the world. It was a magical nine months and, in Thailand one evening, we arrived hot, tired and sweaty. We could only get a room with a double bed but neither of us cared. We showered and dropped into deep slumber in the beach hut that cost next to nothing. That was the first time I kissed a girl properly. Or, to be more accurate, that I was kissed by another girl. It happened as dawn broke. Something must have woken us and we lay on the cool sheets and looked into each other’s eyes and something passed, unspoken, between us. Ros kissed me. It started as a light touch on the lips and grew, slowly and to my mind deliciously into a deep exchange of tongues. Her hand went to my naked breast and she held it, caressed it and stroked my nipple. Then what had started as a kiss became a much more significant thing as the first finger other than ...
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