A bicurious babe finds pulling pussy is all it’s cracked up to be.
She walks into the bar and she’s on the prowl – for the first time ever. It’s so exciting, doing the chasing. It’s not a normal girl thing to do. We girls are supposed to just sit and wait for the boys to come.That’s what the books say anyway.. But, of course, it doesn’t work that way when you’re gay. Er, right?
She’s dressed carefully for this first foray. She doesn’t want to be too butch, but she’s also delighted by the fact she doesn’t need to be feminine either. She doesn’t have to show off her legs. She doesn’t have to show off her tits. She’s in jeans and a tight T (which happen to show off both legs and tits to perfection, but that’s just a coincidence) and no heels. Her hair is slick and shiny. She feels all-powerful. There’ll be no more sitting on bar stools, fiddling with cherries on sticks for her!
She’s in the gay bar now; really smooth. The new girl strolls through, feeling like she’s walking into a strange saloon. Expects the inhabitants to go silent and check her out (or hopes they will). They don’t. The bass is thudding, the chords are jangling, it’s crowded and sweaty and everyone’s talking to everyone else. At the bar there are couples and trios strung out along its length like sweets on a candy necklace, they’re all cute and all deep in conversation or in thought. Not a smile on a face. Everyone looks nonchalant.
And there’s nowhere to sit. How do you talk to a girl you fancy? What do you say? What if she looks at you and laughs?
“Hey, babe.” It’s a big girl behind the bar. She’s mightily handsome. “You on your own?” Is that a sneer, wonders the new girl? Or sympathy?
“Yeah…” she tries to say back, but it comes out in a kind of whisper. Darn it. Where’s a cherry on a stick when a girl needs one?
The big girl leans forward over the bar, with a leer crushing her generous tits together. “Want to stick your face in these? See if you can handle it?”
A sneer then. The new girl blushes and turns away. Looking around, it seems everyone knows everyone else. This isn’t a pick-up bar. This isn’t what she expected at all. She’s surrounded by hot women, though. She loves that wiry-muscled, tomboy look some girls have. Cocksure arrogance plus soft, melting pussy – she’s never tasted any but her own, but she’s sure she can smell it now. If only she could work out how to get at it.
“Hey!”
She turns. A redhead with a smile on her face, eyes all lit up.
“I know you, don’t I?” she says to the new girl.
“Shit! I mean, yeah, from work, right?”
“I didn’t expect to see you here.”
The new girl now recognises the redhead. She works in accounts, and she is commonly known at The Girl With The Boots. And she’s wearing those boots now; they cling tight to her calves, all shiny. The new girl has wanked over the office girl many a time, picturing the long legs –which at work are usually truncated by a knee-length skirt – going all the way up to her c**t. She had absolutely no idea had no idea about this girl.
It turns out a little later that the office girl is in fact a hot, soft, long strip of aching deliciousness – nips, tits, arse, c**t, thighs, calves, perfect curves of arches, naked, gasping and silky wet. Back in the office girl’s home, their two c**ts slide together, a perfect match of fragrance, musk and sweetness. They are two teenagers doing it for the first time, they wriggle and slide on top, underneath, on top again. Sometimes the new girl feels more like the boy, as she holds the office girl’s hands down above her head, straddling her on the bed and rubbing her pussy band and forth; other times the office girl takes control, wrestles herself up and throws the new girl on her back and yanks her legs wide so she can push her face there. They are slick with sweat, their mouths open wide at both ends, sucking and prodding and hungry and demanding more. Their only noises are high giggles and deep grunts and the smack, smack of wet flesh on wet flesh.
The office girl has a black strap-on, a huge one. It fits round the new girl’s waist like it’s tailor-made, the weight of the phallus pressing onto her pubic bone. She stands with legs wide apart and one hand resting on that cock – her cock! – the other between legs of the office girl who’s now spreadeagled and passive, hair across her face. The new girl stands over her helpless-seeming partner and rams her hard cock into her; it’s a whole new world. The office girl pushes back at her and the new girl thrusts and thrusts, up on her knees with the girl’s legs wrapped tightly around her, and feels the hard rubber rock against her clit and watches the office girl’s hips piston back and forth in rhythm, her head thrown back and mouth agape, eyes unfocused. She understands why male porn stars look so smug.
“Oh – oh – oh!” moans the office girl spiralling towards orgasm, going somewhere the big fake cock, lovely though it is, can’t take the new girl. The new girl has to take her hand off the office girl’s smooth belly and slide her fingers between strap-on and flesh to reach her own swollen clit. She rubs and rocks herself to the same place, playing a desperate catch-up with the magazine-obscene figure on the duvet in front of her, who seems impaled on that black stick like a porno lollipop. As she hits the moment herself, she yanks her fake cock out and she bends forward and through her own moans puts her mouth, wide, over the office girl’s slick pussy and sucks, and sucks, and sucks the hot juice out of her.
When the new girl wakes up, she slides out from beneath the sheets so as not to wake the office girl and tiptoes out into the hall before she puts on her clothes. She goes home and her c**t is aching from the great big fake cock; her knees are scraped and the muscles in her shoulders ache from holding herself up above the delicious, delirious office girl, who she now adores and worships and wants to have little gay babies with. Her whole body twangs in response to every memory of the night before. She struts like a cowboy, for all of those reasons.
