6 comments/ 49381 views/ 31 favorites Of Our Hell and Heaven By: fermpera Thanks Pepere, my editor. He took a raw and grammatically messed 80 or so written pages and made a story of them. An achievement by itself. Thanks again. F Prologue It is a beautiful autumn day and I'm seated on a bench in the park surrounding Boston's Northeastern University, where I teach Italian Literature 102. My name, or the name I used in documents when I was a child and came to the States, was Maria del Lujan Nolan Petrucci. 'Maria del Lujan' because I was born in Argentina and it's the name of the Blessed Virgin, patroness of Argentina, and is a common name there; 'Nolan' because, at that moment, it was my father's 'official' surname, and Petrucci because it's my mother's family name. My father changed and Americanized my name at the American embassy before we, him and I, left Argentina forever, and I came to the States as Marie Nolan Dellacasa. My real name is Maria del Lujan Foster Petrucci, because Foster and Petrucci are my real family surnames. My father was an employee at the American Embassy in Buenos Aires; he had told his family that he was a 'Cultural Attaché' working in the consulate. He was, in fact, a man with the 'Agency' who had tight ties with the high echelons of the military Junta, if you get my drift. He was 28 years old, tall, muscular, had blond hair, and brilliant, warm, dark blue eyes. He was an American boy who was the wet dream of many young and not so young girls and women. My mother was a young heiress of a deeply Catholic southern Italian family living in Argentina at that time, and was being educated in a strict Catholic nun's college –Solamente para señoritas – only for young and affluent ladies. She was fifteen and had that soft, dark, rich Italian style skin, raven black hair, and beautiful green eyes. She was a beauty; any time, any place. My life's story starts on a late August day, when my father was acting as chauffeur for the American ambassador and was sent to the nun's college to pick up the ambassador's daughter at the end of the school day and found nobody had gone to get the ambassador's daughter's best friend. My father, at the urging of the ambassador's daughter, picked that beautiful girl up, and after delivering his precious charge to the embassy, took the girl to her home and into her Italian parents' loving arms. Something strange happened that day, and as I don't believe in love at first sight, I would say it was 'lust at first sight', at least when it came to my father's feelings for who would be my mother. My father offered to go to the nun's college every evening, and pick up the ambassador's daughter and her little Italian friend as a favor to the Ambassador, from that day on. 1)On my way to heaven My paternal grandfather's name was Mario Petrucci, not Dellacasa; he was born on December 25, 1922, and went from Italy to Argentina at the end of World War II when he was 24 years old. His wife, my grandmother, Lucia Petrucci, nee Russo, whose family also went to Argentina with the Petruccis, was born on April 29, 1932. They were married on August 10, 1967, and had a daughter, my mother, who was named Sofia, exactly nine months later. My grandfather didn't have a college education, barely finished first grade, but that didn't stop him from building one of the largest and most profitable construction companies in Buenos Aires. He had learned his trade from an uncle in Italy, starting when he was a strapping lad of thirteen, and he would toil each summer, carrying totes of bricks up ladders or scaffolding to the men who were toiling to build the exterior walls of a building or other types of architectural masonry walls or walkways. He knew everything about masonry by the time he was eighteen years old. His father was proud of him for learning what he needed to pass each grade in school, but was proudest of his abilities as a mason and budding businessman until the war wrecked his world and his dreams. In Argentina, he grew stronger and smarter, both at business and at work as the years passed, and as was normal at that time, brought those who would be his trusted men; not only his brothers, but also a handful of cousins and other relatives, a very veritable clan, from Italy. He was 'Il Patrone', the head of the family from then on, and as was the custom in the old country, his orders were law and the women of the family and their honor were sacred; nobody but nobody, could be disrespectful to them, otherwise the irreverent could and would confront sawed-off shotguns in a vengeful vendetta. He was 47 years old when he got married to grandma, and she, at 37 years of age, still had time to be able to safely get pregnant. He had worked hard in the construction business before starting and building his own company, which had then thrived, making him a very prosperous and accepted rich man. My father committed one of what this tight-knit family considered was the worst of sins; that of disgracing a woman of the family. Little Sofia - la bambina - was suddenly sick one morning. She was fifteen and everybody thought the reason for it was something she had eaten, but when the 'morning sickness' and retching continued for a week they called the family doctor when the old country remedies didn't work. Because of severe cases, those were who aware of the problem usually prescribed, and he ordered a pregnancy test, to her parents' incredulous and horrified eyes. Sofia was forced to stay in her room until the results of the medical tests were known with certainty. The medical report was conclusive; Sofia was pregnant. The house suddenly seemed doomed. The family and household were astounded, and the questions many; how, when, and most importantly, who? Don Mario didn't want to know anything about being in love, about sentiments, or any other bullshit; he only wanted blood, the blood of 'El figlio de una grandisima putana' (the S.O.B) who had violated and gotten his little girl pregnant, and out of wedlock. The Spanish Inquisition would have had a privileged member in Dona Lucia, Sofia's mother, and my grandmother. With persistent threats or affection, Dona Lucia did wear out Sofia's will, and my poor young mother told her the name of her paramour. Once the family knew who had dishonored their little girl, the men met in council to agree on a proposed punishment, and above all, to take the necessary action; uncles, cousins, ands proposed several punishments, including death. When they found out that their enemy was an American working at his country's embassy, they were still determined to ambush and kill him as they would do in the old country. It was Dona Lucia, my grandmother, who poured cold water on the situation and calmed the bloodthirsty spirits. The Petruccis discussed the problem in the sanctuary of their bedroom that night, and Dona Lucia suggested to her husband that the most important thing was to get the American boy to marry their daughter to repair the family's dishonor and in that way make sure the still unborn child wouldn't be a bastard. As usual, the men of the family who were so bloodthirsty a few hours before accepted Dona Lucia's advice. Ooo000ooo The family took the appropriated steps; Don Pettruci called his lawyers' offices and asked Dr. Tarantelli, the principal partner, to visit his home for a matter of the utmost importance. Dr. Tarantelli was very well connected with the higher echelons of the economic and military powers that be, those of the country's government, and with many embassies. His influence was well-known. Nobody knew what was spoken between the two men, both well versed in matters of family honor, and the next days in the Don Pettrucci household were frantic; nobody knew the sequence of events and only later, much later, after several years, in fact, when Don Pettrucci's granddaughter disappeared from Buenos Aires one tragic Sunday morning, was the family informed about the whole seven year history. Things seem had happened this way: Dr. Tarantelli went to visit some friends he had in high places in El Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, the Argentinean equivalent to the British Foreign Office, or the American Department of State. Once there, he related the delicate case of a powerful friend, whose minor daughter had been impregnated by an American embassy employee, to the officials. The good doctor explained to his friends at the Chancellery that his Italian clients, being very proud of family honor, wanted it repaired, or if that wasn't possible, vengeance. Being the first marriage, it was to be a big wedding with all the trappings, cathedral, white dress, sumptuous party, and all the bells and whistles. The second option was maiming or death, no matter how long or whatever it took. Members of the Argentinean Chancellery went to talk directly to the American Ambassador and make him aware of on the situation, and the danger that his employee was in. They explained the solution the family wanted, and the certainty of punishment if not. To make a long story short, my father, pressed by the agency he worked for, accepted responsibility for the pregnancy and married my young mother; nobody knew that he was starting to think about his own vengeance at that very moment. The Petrucci family was exultant, everything was as it should and the - bambino - the child wouldn't be a bastard, the 'bambino' meaning me. My father wasn't happy at all, but he kept his anger on a tight leash and made plans to make the Petruccis pay, and pay dearly they would. Nobody thought of the young pregnant woman, Sofia, and/or of her future and her life. After the marriage ceremony, with no honeymoon, my father went on a "mission" to Chile, and later from Santiago to Bolivia, leaving hiss to take care of everything. He went back to Buenos Aires after a couple years of wandering from country to country on the southern continent for one mission or other, and went to the Petruccis' to get to know and get acquainted with his one year old daughter; while thinking about revenge and how to carry it out at the same time. First thing; he never bedded my mother again nor lived near her or any of the Petruccis. Second; he, as a Secret Service employee of the Embassy, had access to the documentation section and could provide himself with a complete set of American documents in my name as an American citizen and that I was entitled by being his legal daughter. The third part of his revenge plan was that he started visiting me, taking me to the park, holidays was to the zoo or some circus. He was very patient, and I was so small, grateful, and delighted being with my 'papa' that I never asked questions about where we were going. My every birthday was unique from then on if he was in Buenos Aires. We usually went to celebrate together after a party at home, where he was always very civil to my mother, and being with Papa was pure bliss for me. This was so until I was six years old. We had a party with my little friends at home on the day of my sixth birthday as usual, and papa took me to go to my usual birthday holiday with him afterwards, but we went to Ezeiza International Airport instead of going to the zoo or a similar place. I was jubilant at seeing so many planes big and small, and when I asked, he told me that day we were going to a little trip and that I would like where we were going. Everything is a blur in my memory, but I remember Papa dressing in military garb like the other men in the plane. What I didn't know at the time was that I was leaving everything that had been my entire life up to that day behind. Next thing I knew we were in an airport again but it was now night-time and I told Papa that I wanted to go home and be with Mama; he told me I was going to be with him and not with Mama for now, and it would be funny, not funny like the zoo, but funny anyway. He said that I was going to meet new people and his sister, my auntie, and I was going to love her very much. When we left the airport (later I knew it was Andrews Air Force Base near Washington, DC), we got in a car and Papa told me to try to sleep because it was going to be a long trip. I wasn't afraid as I was with Papa; fear would come later and it was going to mark my psyche and life forever. It was a long trip from Washington to Fort Dodge, Iowa, where as I later learned, would be my home for the next twelve years. My father rented a car and we started a long, tiring, and to me, depressive trip. It was a twenty four hour trip, as I understood later, designed so as to not leave any trail for the Petrucci hunters who would surely try to follow our trail sooner or later. Father drove tirelessly the almost one thousand and one hundred miles between Andrews Air Force base and Fort Dodge in Weston County, Iowa, in 22 hours. We stopped only so I could use the restroom to pee, or in small malls and cafeterias to buy food to eat in the car; it seemed as if we were on a mission, he wasn't Papa anymore, he was a stranger who treated me as if I wasn't his daughter, only as someone he had picked up on the street. He was cold with me from then on, so much so that in the six years before his death, he only came to Fort Dodge to visit me three times, and phoned me no more than half a dozen times. As I remember the trip, my first in the States was anything but glamorous. A long strip of cement in the middle of the nowhere by night, and a succession of small towns, farms, and big city skylines during the day, driving on turnpikes and country roads that were so bad sometimes, it was a miracle the car didn't break. We arrived at long last; early the second night to what would be my new hometown and the house where I would pass the years of my late childhood and early adolescence. It was almost ten in the evening when we arrived at 1113 South 25th Street, between 11th & 12th Aves, in Fort Dodge. My father honked, announcing our arrival and a middle-aged couple came out from inside the house; she was around thirty five years old, and he looked a little older. I later learned that she was 33, him 37, and they were childless. Greetings were contained, undemonstrative, without the warmth, people have who don't see each other very often, regardless of their family relationship. "Hello, Sis, Jim," was my father's curt greeting, and he presented me before either of them could open their mouth. "This is my daughter, Marie" then speaking to me, "Where are your manners, Girl? Greet your Aunt Susan and Uncle Jim; you'll be living with them from now on." I nodded my head, but couldn't open my mouth; I was six, it was my birthday, and my father's gift had been to bring me far away from home to live with people I didn't know. Silent tears started falling down my cheeks, and I wanted to die at that moment. That was the moment Aunt Susan began to become 'Mom' Susan in my mind. She addressed her brother with a stern "How could you?" and taking my hand from her brother's, she took me in her arms, trying to calm my anguish by holding me tightly against her chest and softly and lovingly kissed my head and cheeks, murmuring "It's OK, my baby, OK, please don't cry. I love you, I love you, we love you" at the same time and I suddenly fell asleep in her arms. Aunt Susan was seated at my bedside when I woke up the next morning, looking at me with a look of deep love, "Good morning, my love; do you want breakfast?" I was bewildered, the lady was a stranger, the room was strange, the bed wasn't my bed, and I couldn't remember where I was. The recent events slowly came to my mind, and I told the lady I wanted to see my mama and papa and asked where they were. "Your father left last night, leaving you with us to take care of you," she sadly said. "But I want to go be with my mama," and I started to silently cry again. Last night's scene repeated itself: I was crying and quietly sobbing, and the lady who is my aunt was taking me in her arms, hugging and trying to comfort me. "No, no, my baby, don't cry, please don't cry; we'll love you with all our hearts" And that is how it was. They loved me with a passion; I was the child they hadn't and couldn't have; we lived in a nice single family home with two bedrooms, and my bedroom very different from the house where my family, the family I was slowly forgetting, lived in Buenos Aires. The people in that part of the country tend to speak the dialect that linguists call North Central American English; and since my English pronunciation is different, very different, I was the recipient of the jokes and taunts, some of them quite bloody, from the children of the neighborhood first, then at the school for a time. My new parents tried to protect me from all this, but as one of the teachers told them, it was a phase I must endure in order to integrate with the rest. I now think it was then that my introverted temperament was born. I went to St. Edward Catholic Elementary School, and as I was a solitary person and a loner, books became my escape from the world, and if you added my knowledge of another language to that, I was always considered a rare bird by my peers in elementary school and later in high school. ooo000ooo At eighteen and out of high school, a completely different person from the one that had been taken from Argentina when she was six started on a new path in her life. I went to Iowa State University to get a masters degree in World Languages & Cultures, I substantially changed my physical appearance at the same time. There no longer was a chubby girl or young woman with an Italian doll-like look of the late nineteenth century. I had become a lanky young woman with a slender-looking, classic Roman face, dominated by two jet black eyes. Some of my father's genes had appeared with force at some time in my late teens, and among others, one of his features had changed my hair from being an opaque brown mousy look to a brilliant honey golden blond. Exercise had shaped my body, and while my breasts are small in size, maybe a 32B, the rest of me looks like a muscular shapely sculpture. How could I get to go to University and pay the tuition with my parents being low middle class? The answer to that question is quite simple. A government car stopped in front of my parents' house when I was twelve, almost thirteen years old, one Saturday morning. Two men who identified themselves as employees of a government agency got out and once inside the house, they asked the family to be present together. In short, they had to tell us that my father had died in a mission in a foreign country; they didn't tell us how or where. They merely gave us the condolences of the Government and the Agency, and told us that I had a pension for life coming, and a fund that my father had created for me that I could access when I was twenty-five years old. They took a bundle of documents from a briefcase that my parents were asked to sign and told us to never contact them again; they would take care of everything. That's how I went to Iowa State University, and to Italy later, for a two year Masters in Italian Literature. ooo000ooo As to my sexuality, what can I say? I'm a lesbian; being a lesbian actually has nothing to do with either for or against men. It has to do with women: my love, attraction, sexual desire, and affection for other women. I've liked women since I could remember, and I'm a particular kind of lesbian; I'm very feminine, and I like very feminine women. I wasn't driven to lesbianism by a man's aggression, or deceived by an adult woman as a child; I just think it's in my genes, somewhere in my DNA. My lesbianism wasn't caused by environmental factors, such as upbringing or child molestation, an absent mother, or an overly affectionate father. On the contrary, I have had the most loving family you may wish for since I came to the States and, it's true that my biological mother was absent - not by her decision - and my father was far from affectionate, so those weren't the cause of my sexual orientation. I think is it something I was born with, an inherited trait, like skin or hair color. Of Our Hell and Heaven My dear foster parents were very worried about me not having had any boyfriends during all my high school days. I couldn't convince them that I was happy as I was; I just wasn't interested in boys, nor in girls, for that matter either. I would occasionally, but very occasionally, be drawn to the body figure or personality of a mature woman, but nothing I was worried about. It was in my sophomore year at Iowa State University when, out of curiosity, I asked a psychology professor about my sexuality or lack of it, and my slight inclination to the mature female figure. Her answers began to clear the way to my full realization as a sexual being in my mind. She tested me with several questions, and asked me to answer them saying, "Answering these questions may help you figure out what your sexual orientation is. You may be lesbian, bisexual, or straight. My best advice to you is to be patient with yourself. Whereas it's empowering to label yourself, the process of being sure is much more important," then she added, "Remember whether you are lesbian, straight, or bisexual, you will be the happiest and feel fulfilled if you live a life true to yourself." It isn't easy, but I'm trying to do so. Back to the questions that she asked me to answer to myself, not to her, I put the answers beside the questions as she told me, and they confirmed what I suspected. "Are your feelings for women stronger than your feelings for men?" Yes. "Do you get more excited about the idea of kissing a man or kissing a woman?" Kissing a woman; kissing a man gives me the creeps. "Who do you see yourself settling down for life with in the future?" In my case, with a woman. "Are you more physically attracted to men's or women's bodies?" Women without a doubt. "Who do you fantasize about more, men or women?" When I do fantasize, it is usually a woman. These answers don't mean that I'm promiscuous, because I'm not; I'm quite shy on the contrary. In fact, I have been in a relationship with only three women for the past seven years of my life, all of them fairly long, and none before I was twenty. The longest was with a mature woman, who being my first lover was my teacher in the art of lesbian lovemaking at the same time. I wasn't in love with her, but I was very fond of her and in hindsight, I ended our relationship because she wanted to dominate me, and...I have a little wild streak. I want to be dominant, not much, just a little bit. I can go a really long time without having sex and be perfectly satisfied with that, but she was getting really upset if we didn't do it. Even though I might not be interested at first, I did eventually get in the mood once she convinced me to do it, but I'm not always in the mood, and I never initiate sex myself. One other thing about me is that I have learned that to masturbate is a very normal thing, not weird or unhealthful, and when I masturbate, I think about myself as a man having sex with a woman most of the time, and I enjoy this fantasy. I honestly don't want to be a man, but I enjoy the thought of having a penis and using it to have sex with a woman. That is something I haven't shared with anyone, least of all with my lovers. When I went to see the psychology professor with the test and its answers, I asked her if it was normal for a lesbian to fantasize about having a penis to have sex with a woman. She explained to me there was nothing abnormal in that fantasy; in fact she told me something unexpected. "My clinical opinion is that there's nothing wrong with your dreams. You say that you have some fantasies; it seems to me that you have some fear or shame around these fantasies, and maybe even sex in general. There is nothing wrong with fantasizing about having a penis. As a matter of fact, my experience shows this is a common fantasy for all women, not just lesbians. In your case, why don't you give a dildo a try? This might be just the ticket to increasing your libido and getting you out of your shyness." Her words opened a new world for me, and the first thing I did when I went to New York City one weekend was just that; I bought myself a dildo and the harness to use it with. That weekend in New York marked a new first in my life; it was one of the few times in my life that I have gone to a club which catered mostly to single women or women couples. I normally dress elegantly, with sexy and cheerful dresses. They are very feminine, and unless social circumstances require another type, I usually prefer the various shades of pink, pale blue or green apple; I like my blond hair to be straight, slightly curved at the tips, and cut up to my shoulders. So in my hotel room in New York that night, I had impulsively put my harnessed dildo on and I went to that lesbian bar wearing the device under my dress. It wasn't more than fifteen minutes after I had taken a stool at the bar, when a very masculine lady took the stool beside mine and tried to make conversation. I was new, I was fresh, and I was the prize, or so several butch-like ladies at a near table seemed to think. After a few minutes of chit-chat, she who was sitting next to me asked me if I wanted to dance. Now, she wasn't the kind or type of woman I like to mix with, but I thought I'd enjoy myself a little and answered in the affirmative. She possessively took my arm, and with a wink to the other women in the table, led me to the dance floor. The music playing was soft, very slow, and very romantic, ideal for conquest, love, petting, and rubbing of bodies. She took me in her arms and with the grace of an elephant, pressed me against her muscular body. Surprise; she found herself against something hard instead of a soft pudenda, something not supposed to be there. It was a penis. Her face was a symphony of confusions, something was wrong and she didn't understand what was happening; I pushed my crotch against hers before she could say one word, and sweetly asked her, "Wanna fuck, Baby? I like my woman face down so I can to ream her ass with my dick" Her skin went a deep red, almost crimson, the veins of her neck became swollen with blood pressure, and the tendons of her neck looked like mooring ropes. She began to stutter, but no words came out her mouth, and before she could react, I slid off the dance floor and said goodbye with a flying kiss and a "Bye, bye, Sweetie Pie." That was my first and my last foray in the world of lesbians clubs. ooo000ooo Destiny. Was it destiny? I don't know, but fate sometimes has a hand in our endeavors. What I know is that The Beatles used to sing about a 'Hard day's night', and that was the night of an especially hard day and week for me. I'm a very reserved woman; I'm a lesbian, not in the closet but I don't flaunt my sexual preferences either, as they are nobody's business but my own. I live off campus; in fact, I live in East Somerville, a couple miles or three from the University where I teach. It's very convenient because I don't like promiscuity of any kind. I own a small two bedroom, one story house with a secluded garden and pool at the back of the house, and I maintain a cordial but distant relationship with my colleagues. I go to the parties, but I don't date or have dalliances with other professors, or students, for that matter. As I said it had been a very trying week and day, what with a couple of my male students more interested in my body and legs than with Dante's Inferno and trying to impress me with a very macho attitude, the toned muscles of their bodies, and not with the developed muscles of their brains. So that night, Saturday being the next day, I opened my laptop, looked and entered a sex chat room, which was unusual for me; not the opening of my laptop which is a daily occurrence, but me logging into a chat room. Being almost midnight, I surfed from site to site; trying to find something...I don't know what, something or someone interesting enough to talk to while decompressing my mind. The chatters were mostly men looking for an easy lay or to induce women or other men to have mental or any other kind of sex. After an hour or so, close to 1 AM, I made a last attempt before logging out and entered a lesbian chat room. A new member joined the chat after a few minutes, but didn't talk or intervene in any way. I was curious; it isn't uncommon for somebody to enter a chat and leave after a few minutes, but this person was silently there, listening other people, mostly women, talk about love or sex of any kind between women, and her member name suddenly rang a bell in my head; she called herself Argenta68. Argenta is silver in Italian, from there to Argentina the name of my birth country; this woman, if she was a woman, must be from Argentina. I logged out and went to sleep promising myself, I don't know why, to log in during the following days and try to find out who she or he is, and if I could have a conversation with whomever it was. Close to midnight the next day, Saturday, I went directly to the same chat room as the night before. It was one hour later in Argentina and I hoped against all rational hope that the person whose chat name was Argenta68 would login that night. It must be clear that I knew nothing about this person, age, status, genre, or sexual preference, and after a half hour, more or less, Argenta68 appeared in the room as silently as the day before. It was more of the same; Argenta68 was silent, not talking to anybody, not answering questions, and being only a spectator. I tried several times to get her/his attention, talking directly to Argenta68, but no such luck. I had a silent partner in a one-way conversation. I was busy with work, so I didn't login for the next week, and fifteen days after the Friday that I had found Argenta68, I logged in again in the hope of making contact and getting an answer. It was becoming an obsession. Argenta68 logged in at around the same hour as before and acted in the same way. This was to be for several weeks; maybe a couple months. Every time I frantically tried to get their attention by saying: Dante'sInferno: Argenta68, this is Dante'sInferno, please I'm Argentinian and want talk to you. Nothing but silence, only the blip, blip of the cursor on the monitor and I wrote again: Dante'sinferno: Argenta68, Dante'sinferno here; if you're a woman we could talk in a private chat if you want. I got an answer at last after two or three minutes! It seemed very timid. Argenta68: Y...es, I'm a woman in... Argentina. Dante'sinferno: Hi, Argenta68; I'm in the United States, pleased to meet you. Argenta68: Hi, same with you.... This small dialogue was followed by an awkward silence; but I thought at the time, 'What the hell, something is something, she's come out of her shell at least. Dante'sinferno: I know this could be a little awkward, this...talking like this, but I've tried to contact you for several weeks... Argenta68: Yes, I know; I was just listening and trying to get the courage to answer you... Dante'sinferno: But why? I mean you... Argenta68: Because this is the very first time I enter a chat, I mean this kind of chat, and I was afraid and ashamed. Dante'sinferno: You don't have to be; this is a place where you only talk with whom you want, and only talk about what you want to, that's up to you. And if you don't want to, don't talk. There is something bothering me, in a good way of course, and I want to ask you if that's alright... Argenta68: Well yes, I'll answer if I can. Dante'sinferno: I was wondering by your chat name if you are of Italian descent. Argenta68: Yes, I am in fact, my parents were from Italy. We talked in that fashion for another half hour; me trying to not frighten her with many personal questions, giving her time to confide in me, and she answering in a very reserved way, but I could feel she was relenting. She became easier to talk with, and I assumed that if she was in that chat room she was, at least interested in lesbianism, curious, or both. We said our goodbyes and parted as friends and we agreed to meet and talk again the following Friday night. I don't know why, but I was elated all week thinking of my next chat with a woman who was a total stranger, and ten thousand miles away, on Friday. Not only was she far away, I most probably wouldn't ever get the chance to know her personally. I didn't have the slightest idea of what she looked like, how old or young she is, whether she's fat or skinny, a blonde or brunette? Not that this was significant; the most important was that she's a good person. Friday finally arrived. Ooo000ooo She was already logged on and waiting for me when I logged in that night. In her own words, she told me that she only felt comfortable talking to me, so I took the initiative. Dante'sinferno: I was going to propose that we get a private chat room so we might be able to talk more intimately today. Argenta68: OK, if you say so. So we did; I got a private chat room so we could freely talk through private messages. Our conversations the following days were insubstantial; even in the atmosphere of the almost secure private chat room we talked mostly about inanities and as I felt the relationship wasn't going anywhere I decided to up the ante by trying to get her to be more forward in talking about herself. Dante'sinferno: Hi, I was thinking that you might be would be more comfortable if we exchanged our E-mail addresses and began communicating more by instant messaging. What do you think? There was no reply, and only the cursor was titillating in the screen for a long, long time. Then an answer came. Argenta68: I don't know, I'm not sure, it would be more personal, and...I don't know if I'm ready to get personal. Dante'sinferno: Yes, I know it's more personal; that's what I hope our relationship will become. OK, I'll tell you what; I'll send you my address, and whether or not you want to do the same is up to you. Here is mine: dantes'inferno@.... Argenta68: OK, thank you. That was all for that night. The conversation was at a dead end. We said our goodnights and I logged out of the room. We didn't have any contact for several days, close to two weeks, then when I was certain she wouldn't contact me anymore, I opened my E-mail one day, and I saw her screen name, Argenta68, pop up about twenty minutes later, indicating that she had just logged on. There it was, she had written to me. I felt a thrill run through me from seeing my friend now online. I was suddenly as nervous as a bride on her wedding day. My heart skipped a beat, and with my own screen name, Dante'sinferno, instantly messaged her. Dante'sinferno: Hey, Hon, how are you? I missed you. By the way my real name is Marie. Argenta68: I'm well; I missed you too and my name is Sofia. Dante'sinferno: Sofia, Sophie, what a beautiful name. I'm fine and very happy to see you. Argenta68: Me too. Dante'sinferno: So what have you been up to? What do you say we leave the nicknames behind and use our own? Argenta68: That's OK with me; I just got finished taking a nice long bath after a hard day's work. Me: You got all nice, clean, and fresh and come to talk to me? LOL Sophie: LOL, yeah, I did. Me: Ha, it's Friday night, and being single, I bet you're getting ready to hit the town. Sophie: No, I don't have anyone to hit town with, as you put it. Besides I'd rather be here talking with you at my age. Me: Don't underestimate yourself. You're not old; you're barely forty two. You need to find a boyfriend to take you out. Sophie: Forty three and I don't need a boyfriend. I've had two husbands and that's enough men for one lifetime. What about you? Why aren't you going out with a boyfriend? Me: Because I'm not interested in that. I'm not interested in boys or men. Never was, never will be. Sophie: You mean you...you're... are you lesbian? Sorry, I didn't want to snoop. Me: That's alright; you may ask me whatever you want. Yes, I like women. I like older women, in fact. But...are you OK with it? Me being a lesbian, I mean. Sophie: Yes, I'm alright; everyone loves whoever one wants to. Me: Are you in love right now? Sophie: No, but I would like to... Me: Would you consider trading our life stories with each other? Sophie: Well, maybe sometime. That was how we started exchanging our life stories. She told me how she was seduced by an older man when she was barely fifteen, a mother at sixteen, and divorced at twenty two; I told her of my childhood in Midwest America, and of Mom Susan and Pop Jim, I also told her of my high school and university years. She told me how she had had a second husband imposed by her family, and how she had thrown her useless husband out after several years of fruitless marriage and hidden domestic violence, divorced him, and had taken over the family business. I told her of my love for classic literature, my years in Italy, and my fondness for the country and its language. She told me her family was of Italian extraction, and that she speaks a little Italian, mostly her family Italian. We exchanged some sentences, hers very rudimentary, and we laughed a lot. I asked her to send me some pictures after a couple months, and said I would do the same so we could know each other better. She adamantly refused to do so, and when I asked her why, her only answer was that she was very tired and wanted to call it a night. We said our farewells and closed the connection. I was left with a very bitter taste in my mouth. I know I don't have the restraint of people my age or more mature, being the only child of a middle-aged couple. Mom and Pop gave me everything before I opened my mouth. Now being twenty seven years old, I still wanted to get things right away. In between many other good things Sophie did for me, she put a restraint to my impatience and childish petulance. I didn't have the slightest idea how she looked, if she was tall or short, slim or fat, blonde or brunette, with fair or dark skin. It didn't matter; I wanted to see what she looked like and I was becoming paranoid. The worst thing was that she no longer was available. It was a time of despair; I was obsessed and I logged in after work at home every single night, then waited and waited for a message from her to no avail. Then I opened my mail one day and there it was. She had written and sent me two pictures with this in the subject line: "Hope you like them." I was frantic and opened the first file with trembling fingers. A strikingly beautiful dark-haired woman looked straight to me from my computer screen. I was speechless; I looked and looked as butterflies began to flutter inside me. I then opened the second archive and a mature woman's figure appeared in front of me. She was amazingly gorgeous and it was evident it was a professional studio photo, and I could tell it was a very expensive place from looking at the background. She was standing in a classic pose with her hand resting on a marble balustrade from which you could see beautiful gardens. It seemed to me that she was in her own house, something that she later confirmed, a mansion by all accounts. Then the screen came alive, and her name with a message appeared; she was with me again. Sophie: There you are, I hope you like my pictures. Me: They are beautiful; I mean you're beautiful. Sophie: Well, I'm a little old and a bit fat. Me: No you're not! I have the pictures you sent in front of me; you're beautiful! You're mature not old, beautifully mature. Sophie: You forgot fat. Me: You're not fat; you're voluptuous. What man in his right mind wouldn't want to go out with a tall beauty like you? Sophie: LOL. That's a polite way of saying 'fat', and concerning men, I'm not interested in them anymore. Me: My God! I'm getting wet right now just thinking about you. Of Our Hell and Heaven Sophie froze in the middle of typing a response when she read what Marie said. She was shocked. While they had discussed a little about their lives with each other, neither of them had said anything so directly naughty concerning their love lives like that before. Their conversations had always stayed friendly and polite, but what Marie just said indicated their relationship might be going in a new direction. Sophie wasn't sure how to respond. Should she feel offended? She didn't; in fact she felt somewhat...aroused. I wrote more before she could type something: Me: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so forward. Please don't be mad. Sophie: it's OK, I'm not mad. Me: Oh my God, good. Sophie hesitated for a moment, not really believing what she was going to ask, but thought, 'what could be the harm in it'? Sophie: Is what you said really true? Me: Yes. Sophie: Because of me? Me: Yes, because of you. Sophie: What do you mean? Me: I hope you won't hate me for saying this, but I have been fantasizing about you for a long while. I've gotten excited just talking to you several times, but never mentioned it. I think I'm falling in love with you. Sophie felt a shiver run through her body. She couldn't believe she was letting the conversation continue in this direction, but she couldn't help it. Sophie: I don't hate you. In fact, hearing you say that has made my own pussy wet. It was the truth; her pussy was wet. Sophie had never thought of cybersex as something she would be into or be aroused by it. She hadn't gone looking for this, but she had to admit, talking with Marie like this over the internet was awakening certain urges in her body faster and stronger than she could have imagined. She was horny. She had been without sex for a long, long time. Me: Oh, God, Sophie; I wish I could see your wet pussy! Sophie: What would you do if you saw it? Sophie wasn't as shocked in her mind as she pretended to be by Marie's proposition, or her own out of character response. It was true that she was aroused thinking about another woman's pussy. It was something germinating in her mind since the afternoon that her friend, Maria de las Mercedes, had confessed her peccadillo with a woman escort over tea. ooo000ooo They were a group who had been friends since their teenaged years in the exclusive 'solo señoritas, only young ladies', school days. They had been getting together once a month for almost thirty years since they graduated; most of them married and had children, some of them, not many, in their 'Upper Class' society status got divorced, and a few had becomes widows, but they get together once a month come hell, rain, or fire. No matter what, they relived the old school days and ways for the few first years of those gatherings. They forgot husbands, children, house, maids, and a thousand things of their easy daily lives for a few hours. The topics of conversation, amid shouts and laughter, were mostly about childbirth, house decoration, new fashion trends, and opera galas or other entertainments in those first years. The years of talking about college for the boys or girls and marital difficulties came later, along with fewer shouts and laughter. Then, as the years went by and the 'empty nest' syndrome appeared, came the low-voiced conversations on the taboo topic; 'sex and the married woman'. Most of them had a lot of grievances against husbands whose shining armor had tarnished with time. Some of them had festering heartache caused by husband's infidelities, and others plain and simple complained about the lack of sex in their lives. The topic of sex was more and more important in their gatherings, and some of the most adventurous women were openly talking of finding the best way to get some joy outside the marital bed. Not easy when most of them had, one way or other, many eyes watching over them. There were the charities and gatherings of their church, the Catholic Church, in an officially Catholic Country, and foremost, Argentina (as most countries in the world) is a sexist country where an unfaithful woman is the worst of sinners, and if she is of the moneyed society, she becomes an unofficial outcast. But what if you are seen with another woman? Nothing happens; it's normal for two ladies to be friends, go shopping to the expensive shops, or go to have tea and pastries in the halls of the Sheraton Hotel or other similarly expensive places, and nobody would be the wiser if the ladies maintained their composure in public. Most in the crowd of old friends at the meeting that day were not only unhappy, they were seriously unsatisfied, sexually unsatisfied. There was no laughter, the English tea and the pastries were tasteless, and the conversation almost nil. They all heard the clink of a spoon against the edge of a glass seeking attention in the middle of some subdued conversation. They all turned towards the source of the sound and saw their friend Maria de las Mercedes, with a huge smile on her face, begging for their attention. "Girls, Girls, I have something very important to tell you," said a smug Maria de las Mercedes. There suddenly was dead silence; all of them wanted to know what had happened to their friend to make her so cheerful and smiling. "What is it?" they simultaneously asked. "I have a lover, Girls." If the room had dead silence the few minutes before she spoke, you could now hear a pin drop and the faces had a look of incredulity, amazement, and shock. All hell then broke loose; a cacophony of noises seized the place, which now seemed to make it a madhouse instead of a meeting of high society ladies. All of them wanted to know how that had happened and asked one question after another. "You all know that my husband as an export-import tycoon and he has many contacts with foreign embassy officials, mostly Americans or Europeans, and we entertain them and their wives mostly in business parties." Marie de las Mercedes was stopped short with new questions. "Girls, Girls, if you don't let me continue the story, I won't be able to give you the juicy details," and silence was the master once again. "I was telling you about the parties; well, when the men went to have their drinks, cigars, and to discuss business or sports after dinner at the last one, I took the ladies to the garden, then while the maids served them, I went back inside and heard the men talking. I wasn't snooping, mind you, but what I heard made me be sure to stay in the shadows. Their conversation wasn't about business or sports; it was about women, not us wives, but some well-known prostitutes and their proficiency in bed. It must be quite common that they used them because they were comparing notes and exchanging names and phones." "So you took a lover in revenge?" asked Mary Sorensen, mother of two, and whose husband was known for his philandering. "Yes, but quite not what you're thinking," said Maria de las Mercedes. "Alright, alright, what did you do?" several asked in unison. It was clear to Sophie that her friend Maria de las Mercedes was having fun and enjoying herself with her surprising story, and with good reason as her gaze had the brightness of someone who had been actually royally fucked. "Well, I heard something very interesting; one of the husbands, I don't remember which one, so don't ask, talked about one model's agency that has some of its models, not all, living a double life; they work in the fashion shows modeling clothes, and work as high-class prostitutes or 'escorts' as he put it, for a second source of money." The oohs and aahs from the mouths of most of the women, their cups of tea and trays of pastries now forgotten, were full of incredulous amazement; every one of them wanted to know, most of all wanted to know about Maria de las Mercedes' affair; how, when, where, and most of all, with whom. Do they know him? Is he in our social circle? Are you in love with him? Is he married or single? And a question, an unspoken terrifying question, hung in the air; is he one of our husbands? Maria de las Mercedes could feel the tension increasing in the air and put an end to their collective anxiety and uncertainty. "Don't worry, Girls; you know your husbands are safe from my charms. My lover is a woman." The fall of the walls of Jericho to the sound of the Angels' trumpets caused less commotion than her friend's words. Lesbianism was something that was practiced by other women, not them. Woman to woman love and sex was sick, dirty, and a heinous sin; it goes against the law of God and the teachings of the Holy Mother church; most of them held their nose as if the odor of sulfur was in the air. Not so Sophie, whose curiosity was in an all-time high. Maria de las Mercedes tried to clear the air with definitive formality. "That will be all, Ladies. I see that you all are profoundly disturbed, suffice it to say all of you, your husbands, and your families, even mine, are safe from my new and magnificent sexual appetite. If you will now excuse me, I'll leave you to your tea, pastries, frustrations, and sexual deprivations," and left the room. Sophie followed suit and called out to her before she left the hotel and got in her car. "Maria, Maria, wait for me, I want to talk to you." Maria waited and Sophie caught up with her. "You know we are good friends, don't you, Maria?" Maria raised an eyebrow and waited for what Sophie had to say. "I'm very interested in your experience, and I want to know more about it. Can we get together tomorrow and talk about it, at your house, or mine if you prefer. You know that I live alone in that mausoleum, so nobody will interrupt us; tea time tomorrow?" "I'll call and let you know, Sophie; I'm furious with that pack of hens right now." They parted with a kiss on both cheeks. ooo000ooo Maria de las Mercedes phoned Sophie in the middle of the next morning to confirm her visit in the afternoon. Sophie was a little nervous; she was very interested in her friend's Sapphic experience, her feelings, if she was repentant, or had religious misgivings. But most of all, she wanted to know how the sex was and how pleasurable it had been. Maria de las Mercedes arrived at Sophie's home around three o'clock and after greeting each other, got right to the point. "OK, my dear, do you want to know all the sordid details? Maria was on the defensive. "No, my love; you know I want the best for you. We been friends for a long time and I try not to judge others; I just want to know how it happened and if it was a pleasurable experience." Reassured by her friend's words, Maria started to tell of her adventure. "You remember what I said yesterday at our meeting with the other... cows...?" "Maria..." Sophie softly interrupted, "That's not worthy of you, they are our friends." "Yeah right; it didn't seem that they were yesterday. Well, as I was saying yesterday, I heard the men talking and exchanging the names of girls and their phone numbers, and they were awarding performance points as if it were a football game. I was furious and thrilled at the same time, and plans began forming in my mind; you know, hearing those assholes referring about women that way. I despised them, my husband included, and I thought that they deserve the same medicine." She paused to drink a sip of tea and delicately nibble on a cookie. Sophia was on tenterhooks, but didn't want to rush her friend. "I was alone watching TV late a few nights ago, when I saw a show with an odd scene in it. Two women walked out of a night bar together, talked at the side of a car for a few moments and then started kissing passionately. It stirred something inside me. I had never had fantasies, or even dreams, of being with another woman, but what I heard from the men talking as they were, snapped a switch in my head. I even mentioned it to my therapist and she didn't even raise an eyebrow" "And..." Sophie was leaning forward in her chair, the tea forgotten. "But I started to wonder how I go about it? I mean, my physical appearance isn't the issue. I'm in good shape for a forty-three year old woman. I keep myself pretty fit, and though my breasts sag a little and there's the hint of a spread in my backside, I'm still shapely. I know that I'm still attractive because men and women alike have told me so. Then it hit me. I didn't want to hurt a friend, risk an emotional involvement and then have a fall out or something but I wanted to feel a woman's body, feel what it's like to make love to another female. The only choice was distasteful at first, then like the evolution of my emotions, totally reasonable: the models." "So since I had enough information about whom to call and where to go, I made contact. That's a strange world; this is a modeling agency that has booked not less than one hundred, one hundred twenty women, mostly young girls who are in fashion shows and a few well-known starlets from TV shows, who are also very expensive prostitutes for men..." "How expensive?" asked a very curious and excited Sophia "Five thousand dollars a night" "What, how much?" "Five, what?" "Yes, you heard right; five grand a night. But let me follow with the sequence of my story. As I told you, we all have gone to fashion shows where these girls or women parade, so I went and asked to speak in private with the person the men talk to when they want company, other than that of their wives, of course..." "You're crazy, you know," interrupted an amused Sophie. "Nope, you're wrong, I was horny, not crazy, but not anymore," was the satisfied answer. "OK, please tell me how it went?" "Well, the lady in charge of that part of the... transaction was uncomfortable. I had to assure her that I really was a customer and not some police officer. She later confessed that they had some lady clients who also look for women. It wasn't easy but I went on. She told me most of the girls preferred men as clients, not for any moral reasons, only because men ask for young women and will pay any price. When I asked to know how much the figure was, that was when she told me up to five thousand dollars for a night. I whistled softly and asked what she had for women." "I'm astounded you had the courage and could do that," an excited Sophia told her. "Well, thank you, old friend. She told me she had a few very experienced middle-aged women, and by middle-aged, she meant twenty eight to thirty five, who had tired of old men and their whims and antics, and preferred going out with women with whom they could even go to dinner with no one being the wiser. Another point was that they were less expensive than the younger ones." "How much did she cost you," asked an eager Sophie? "Two thousand dollars for the night, the hotel room, and other expenses such as dinner or room service being my treat. But I tell you that it was worth every penny," Maria de las Mercedes said, stretching out like a satisfied cat. Maria de las Mercedes took a sip of cold tea before proceeding with her story. "It was then that she asked me what my tastes were, and when I asked what she meant, she told me..." "Well, Honey, first of all, is there any type of girl you're looking for? Specific physical things, race, size, hair color...?" "That was her answer." "I let out a little laugh. Just like taking a look at a menu and picking an entrée. I told her that I didn't know; I mean I'm assuming that they're all pretty young and attractive..." "Yes, they all are that, she joined me in the little laugh, and I was much more comfortable now." "I just want someone who has umm... experience, who won't feel uncomfortable with me, you know..." "Don't worry. I've got just the girl. She's twenty-nine, pretty good, and I'm sure she'll like you. Her name is Susana." "Well fine, now umm... how much this lady...?" "How much is she going to cost? There's a flat fee of three hundred dollars for her to come out, and that's for an hour and a half with her. That's just for being with her. Anything other than companionship you have to negotiate with her, but it's usually two thousand. You'll discuss your activities and time with her, and if you require more, then you work it out with her." Maria de las Mercedes said the booking manager told her. Sophia was squirming as if she were seated on hot coals. She felt her body was blushing and reacting as if she were on fire. Maria followed with her story, "A shiver went through me, and I was already fascinated by this mystery model/call girl. There would be more than an hour and half; I wasn't a guy, who wanted to get laid. I wanted an experience; one I could smile about until my dying day. I paid the flat fee in cash. The woman assured me that Susana would meet me at the place I selected, and that she would call me at home within an hour to an hour and a half to know what I wanted, and so I could tell her where I wanted to meet. I wondered what Susana, probably used to meeting men in hotels, would think of us being there. I selected the Caesar Park Buenos Aires; you know it's one of the most exclusive and elegant in the city, and when she called, I told her to meet me in the white marble lobby, for drinks and dinner the next day, and we'd decide what to do from there." "What excuse did you give your husband?" Sophia asked. "Oh, I didn't need an excuse, not that week. He was in Brazil on a business trip and the boys would be with their girlfriends. Please don't interrupt me again or I'll lose the thread of the story." "OK, I won't," said a suitably chastised Sophia. "So after a luxurious bath the next day, I put a fingertip-sized dab of my favorite musk behind each ear, one in between my breasts, and for the first time, one on my thighs and in my panties. A light dusting of blush on my cheeks, only a tiny bit of eyeliner, and I was done. No lipstick. I don't wear it often anymore, and didn't really need it. My lips are thin and naturally pursed in the middle. I turned both ways while looking in the mirror. Not bad for an over-forty broad-- --Feeling the hammering of my jugular veins, I went to the garage got the car and set off for my adventure. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 7:05 PM. She was scheduled to arrive at the hotel around 7:30. I saw a taxi stop before the stairs as the hotel valet took my car keys from my hands. A woman got out of the car, and well, she was beautiful alright. --Hi, are you... Maria? Her eyes quickly swept me, then met my eyes and stayed there. The woman at the agency hadn't asked my age, and I was wondering just how surprised Susana was. --Yes, I smiled, and you are Susana. --That's me. Please call me 'Suzy'. Her smile was bright, charming in fact, and her demeanor caught me off guard. She didn't fit the bored, professional image my mind had feared in any way. --She was dressed in a white body hugging tube dress that outlined a nearly perfect body. Her breasts were big, but looked natural, and she was a knockout. She was petite, a couple of inches shorter than me, and reminded me of Meg Ryan in her early years, with the same innocent look. Her hair was light brown with blond highlights flowing over her shoulders in straight, silky strands, out of which peeked a pair of discreet gold earrings. She looked sexy without looking cheap, and I was relieved about that. Her green eyes were calm and focused as she accepted my invitation to go inside. --We went to the 'Cheers' bar. With dim lighting, wooden furniture, and black-leather armchairs, it's the perfect place for an unobserved rendezvous. We ordered our drinks and she crossed her legs once comfortably seated. --Well, this is a little different, she said, softly smiling. --"Not as different as it is for me," I said, causing her to laugh a little. Of Our Hell and Heaven --"OK, so let's get the business out of the way." --I nodded. --"How long do you want me to stay? She pleasantly asked her head tilted to one side. "If you know yet, that is. We can spend the hour and a half you paid for if you like, you can then decide where we go from there, or if I leave. But I need to have an idea of how long our, umm... session might be, and what you're looking for." --"I've already thought about that, and I know the answer. I'll make this easy," I said, swallowing hard. But it wasn't easy, not for me. I took a breath, and took the leap. I said "I want you to stay with me until tomorrow morning", holding her gaze. Her eyebrows lifted when I said this, and glancing away then looking back to her, I said "I want you to be... um... willing to do everything and anything with me." --She nodded slowly, "Everything and anything"... she repeated, quickly looking up and down my body. --"I just want to be able to let loose, take some time, relax, and just do things with you that I've only fantasized about. I want you to relax too, not feel like you have to pretend anything... just be yourself, and be open to whatever I want." --She looked deep into my eyes, and after a few moments, quietly said, "You got it." There was a silent moment...So, wanting to get the numbers thing out of the way, she said; "You want me overnight, and want me all the way." I wanted that part to be settled too. --It sounded weird when she said it that way, but yes, that's what I wanted. --"Yes," I said. --She took a long sip of wine. "OK, I'll need two thousand," she said. She looked at me almost with a glint of uncertainty, but I didn't care about the money. --"Two thousand," I repeated with a nod, and reached into my leather handbag. I opened a large envelope and counted out twenty-one one-hundred dollar bills and handed them to her. She nodded, impressed, and smiled as she carefully put the money in her purse. "Thank you, I'm all yours now," she said, laughing gently. "What do you want to do...?" --"I rented a suite; would you mind if we finish our drinks and went upstairs?" --"Not in the least; the important thing," Susana said, "Is you being comfortable, and enjoying this." --Her smiling green eyes and the way she said that put me at ease. I took her hand once we left the elevator. It felt good in mine; soft and small, and the way she gave mine a little squeeze, oh my. Our shoulders brushed as we walked along the corridor to the suite. -- I had a burning desire to kiss Susana, and find out what a woman's lips felt like on mine, by the time we got near the door. I took both her hands in mine at the door. She looked at me and smiled. I'm sure it was a look that she had probably driven a thousand men bonkers with, but right now, it was for me, it was real, and it felt deeply erotic to be here in a hotel with a woman who was, for a little while anyway, all mine. --We slid into the room and our first embrace was warm, silky, and fragrant. It had all the characteristics of hugging a close friend or a sister until the kiss came; then it was delicious, sensual, and almost instantly went from a hesitant taste to a full, unabated deep kiss. We devoured each other's mouth, our tongues stabbing, probing, with her body warmly pressed against mine. I felt a host of new sensations sparkle inside me. --We kissed there against the closed door for at least a full two minutes, exchanging soft moans into each other's mouth. Was she acting, I wondered. I looked into her eyes when we pulled apart, and she deserved an academy award if she was acting. Susana truly seemed to be enjoying herself and I told myself to stop worrying about that. So what if she was acting, I told myself? Just enjoy the experience. --She unbuttoned my shirt, and slid it off my arms. As she did, she gently asked me; "You've never been with another woman, right, Maria?" --"No, never," I answered. --"You have thought about it... haven't you?" --I nodded. "Sometimes, but very rarely in this way" --She took a moment to softly caress my breasts. She could tell that I wanted to take this slowly, so she slid her hands down to my waist, knelt, and untied my skirt. --She then rolled my panties down my legs, and I felt a naughty thrill at being naked with a beautiful younger woman, fully dressed for now, disrobing me as she slid them off. --"It's my turn," I told her, eager to get her out of her clothes, and she smiled softly as I relieved her of her snug fitting dress, heels, and thong panties. I took a moment to look up and admire the length of her body as I dropped her panties on top of the pile of our clothes. 'What a body', I sighed deeply. 'Oh, to be twenty-nine again! Stop it, Maria,' I joked darkly with myself. 'How about making it to eighty-two instead'? --I slowly pushed her to the sumptuous bed; she fell down and leaned back, her hands at her sides. I looked down at her and she knew what I wanted, so she pulled both feet off the floor and planted them on the bed's edge. Her closely trimmed, beautiful pussy was open in front of me. --I leaned, positioned myself close to her, licked one breast and then hungrily took it in my mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed her approval. I slid my arms around her waist, and sucked her breasts like a newborn child, tasting her soft, sunny-smelling skin. It was wonderful and I could feel my own nipples gently pressing against her body. I slowly moved my mouth down, sampling her taut, young tummy. --I brought my head up, smiled up at her, and kissed the inside of her knee that was bent next to me. I could feel her squirm when I gently raked my nails along the outside of her thighs, and moved my mouth down, swabbing the inside of her leg with my wet tongue. Then she softly moaned as my cheek brushed her vulva, a moan that made me shiver with desire. --I turned my head to the left, and there was her pussy, the soft tiny hairs now brushed my lips and nose. I took both my thumbs, placed them on her labia, and gently pulled outward, spreading her. Being so close to her was entrancing, now seeing that part of a woman's body that had been only a reflection of mine in the mirror for the last forty-three years, at tongue's length. --I looked up into that angelic face just before I licked her. I was flush with excitement as her sex's bare flesh met my tongue. Her taste was intoxicating! I had tasted my own juices when I masturbated before, sucking my slickened fingers as I wondered if another woman would taste like this. Her taste was similar, but all her own, and I wanted more. --I saw her tummy heaving out of the corner of my eye as I continued licking, I pressed my face in, feeling her juices anoint me, and feverishly licked her, concentrating on her clit as much as I could. Her hand was on my head, and she was sweetly moaning. I ate her for at least another fifteen minutes, until she came. It was real to me. I made her cum. --My own womanhood was a sticky swamp of desire. I wanted her hand for some reason, though. I knew that I had all night with her, and I could have her mouth on me whenever I wanted. I wanted to feel her fingers inside me now, and I wanted to see her face at the same time. -- From above, Susana asked if I was sure that I'd never been with a woman before. I told her that it was a compliment that she thought I had, then scrambling up and sitting on the bed next to her, I said I wanted to feel her in me, asking her to please put her fingers in me. She nodded, turned, propped herself up on one elbow, and her other hand slid between my thighs. Two fingers then nestled on my very wet opening in a probing way, and it yielded to her gentle push to let the fingers slip in. --I moaned as I watched her finger fuck me like that for a couple of minutes, then I spread my legs wider and urged her to put two more fingers inside me. It was divine; this woman's four slender fingers formed a knobby, pliant cock in me, and I writhed at the sensations that race along my vaginal walls and spread to the rest of my body. --She then looked at me, and in a naughty voice, asked if I wanted the whole thing. Panting, unsure if I understood what she meant, I asked her. Her answer almost made me go crazy. "Let me give you my whole fist... my whole hand." --The thought of it sent a bolt of delicious excitement through me, and I answered for her to give me anything and everything she wanted. -- Susana inserted the tip of her four fingers into my labia, caressed and opened my vulva, then she made a fist, and gently twisting and pushing worked it inside me. I arched my backside and the stretching of my vagina was very painful at first, but it then gave way and an overwhelming pleasure invaded my brain. With a comforting hand on my tummy, she slowly burrowed the spearhead she had made deeper in me, her wrist disappearing in my pussy as I looked down in wonder. -- I ohgoded and raggedly gasped as she worked the fist back a little, then sank it in deeper to the middle of her slim forearm. I squealed loudly as she gripped my breast with one hand and drove her phallic arm deeper still, almost to her elbow. Her gleaming eyes were fixed on me, her mouth open with concentration as she pulled back, then drilled back in, pulled and entered, plowing my depths like I've never experienced before. I looked at her through lust glazed eyes, my mind whirling and fantasizing in that moment that she was a desperate beautiful intruder in my home, and that I was unable to stop her from raping me in my own bedroom. The thought drove me over the top as her pretty little arm speared me yet again and again, a soft squishy sound coming from my center as she took me. My climax rattled me to the core, and my entire body came alive with a long, ecstatic shockwave. --I shrieked, holding onto her shoulders as she mercilessly fucked me with that fisted forearm until I finally collapsed, tugging at her arm for her to unplug her silky weapon from me. --She slowly withdrew her arm, now coated with my nectar, and I watched her in joyful wonder. I pulled her to me and held her close; she rocked me, my face against her neck for the longest time, the incredible, seismic sensations of the fist-fucking slowly ebbing in her embrace." Silence then came. Sophie opened her eyes to see Maria de las Mercedes' eyes closed in a catatonic state, remembering her experience, her left hand caressing her right breast, and her right hand closed as a fist, forcefully pushing into her groin over her dress; then Sophie became conscious of her own state of disarray; she was fingering her own pussy and mauling the tips of her breasts as she writhed in an incredible orgasm. The two friends looked at each other in astonished silence before either could say a word. Sophie was the first to talk, and with a trembling voice, asked her friend: "Are you going to do it again, or was it a once in a lifetime experience?" "Yes and no. Yes, I'm going to do it again, and no, it wasn't a once in a lifetime experience," answered a shaken Maria de las Mercedes. "Will it be with her again?" asked a curious and surprised Sophie "Yes, I have never felt so loved, and she wants to be with me again, no strings attached for now; later we'll see." It was late in the evening and Sophie asked her friend if she wanted to go out to dinner. ooo000ooo Maria de las Mercedes' first experience with woman love was later recounted to me by Sophie and in her own words said that it was the feather that tipped the scale in our own relationship. Sophie now felt free to follow her own sexual yearnings and to throw her religious and social ties to the wind and pursue her own personal happiness so much so, that she, as you will know in a few more lines, sought to meet me as soon as possible. Our relationship soared; Sophie asked me to get Skype on my laptop so we could talk and see each other by video conference. I agreed and we continued our cyber relationship for the next couple of months. Our inhibitions were now diminishing so swiftly that we usually engaged in cybersex talk on weekend nights when I didn't have to worry about getting up early the next morning for work. Sophie, now that November was ending and Christmas was nearer, also felt comforted that she wouldn't have to be alone on those nights as we could talk and see each other. Sophie told me she felt some guilt over what she was doing when we talked via Skype, while a part of her kept telling herself that a forty-three year old woman shouldn't be doing these things with a person she hasn't actually even met. But that part of her mind was overshadowed by the sexuality that had been aroused in her by her friend Maria's liaison. It felt good to be doing this; she was feeling good in a way she had never expected to feel, and she didn't want to lose that feeling. In fact, she now wanted more. Sophie was indulging in her newly discovered sexual appetite and felt safe about the way she was doing it for the most part. She felt she could talk to me about anything as if I were the daughter she had had who been snatched from her. I talked to her about everything at the same time; my family, Mom Susan and Pop Jim there in Fort Dodge, my ambition to become a permanent professor at University, and my need to find a stabilizing life partner. We considered and explored erotic desires at other times that Sophie would have never thought about doing in real life, like caressing a woman's body. It was something she had never done before, but as I now enjoyed the idea so much, she enjoyed playing along and describing how she would touch her breasts, and she would began to really play on camera after a while and wonder what it would be like to do it to another woman and have it done to her. How much more rewarding would it be doing it for real, if just the suggestion of doing it, turned Sophie on like it did? I began to think she really might like to try making love to a woman's body; mine. I reciprocated her timid sexual talk, upping the ante with more aggressive and generous talk of petting and even cunnilingus. The actions I depicted I would do to her pussy with my mouth made her more than curious to truly feel a woman's hot breath and warm wet tongue roaming over her body. She hadn't been one for masturbation, doing it from time to time mostly on those days when her libido and hormones in her system went crazy. She now masturbated more intensely than ever before, no longer only abstractly thinking about being with someone, but now touching herself with vigor while thinking of another woman. That she communicated what she was doing to me made it all the more thrilling for her. I was besotted with her, and now feeling an urgency to have her in Boston with me, but how do I convince her to leave Buenos Aires and her economic emporium even for a few weeks? My going to Argentina was out of the question, not for monetary, but for academic reasons; my future in teaching at Northeastern was on a tightrope, and I needed to be in Boston until the next academic year started next fall. Sophie once again did something that changed the course of our relationship before I had a chance to discuss these feelings and my needing to be with her. Maybe it was that she felt that our affair was losing some of its spice without person to person contact that triggered her to say what she said. We were chatting on Skype as usual on a Saturday night, but when our dialogue began to get more amorous this time, she made a drastic suggestion. Sophie: How do you feel about us meeting? Me: What do you mean? Sophie: You know...Travelling so we meet and get to know each other. Me: What do you have in mind? Sophie: Promise you won't get mad at me? Me: Of course I won't; you know you can tell me anything. Sophie: OK...what if I come to see you in Boston? I just stared at the computer screen for a couple minutes, not knowing how to respond. I was definitely stunned, but after all we had talked about and bonded together, the idea of Sophia coming to see me knowing that we were going to do something so forbidden for her was...exciting. I felt a warm gush spread through me and goose bumps pop up on my arms. My pussy had become wet just like the first night we began to have cybersex. Before I could respond to her, however, Sophie misunderstood my silence and typed something else. Sophie: I'm sorry, forget what I said, it was just a thought. Me: No, no, wait. Um...how would we go about it? Sophie: Don't worry about it; it won't cost you a cent. I can arrange my affairs to be absent here for a couple of weeks and I can be your guest if you accept me at your home, otherwise I can go to a hotel and we could see each other when you have time off of work and on the holidays, if you're not travelling to Iowa to be with your family, of course. Me: Yes, I suppose you're right. No, what I mean is of course you would be my guest; how do you say it – 'mia casa es tuya casa - my home is your home', I would be delighted, there's no way you would be going to a hotel. When could you come? Sophie: Well, easy my dear; if you accept me as your guest I think I may be able to be there around the tenth of December and stay till a couple days after the New Year. Would that be convenient for you? Me: Convenient you say? You're crazy, Sophia? I would like to have you here with me tomorrow. Sophie: Lol, little Marie I have goose bumps from your eagerness. Me: I'm not so little, and we have been talking of doing for so long after all. Aren't you a little eager to be with me too? Sophie: Yes I am, but still, I know you're legally an adult, but you're only twenty-seven. I'm sixteen years older than you; I feel I should be more responsible. Maybe my encouraging you is wrong. Me: LOL, I assure you that I'm old enough to be responsible for my own actions, and I love the fact that you're older than me. I've always found mature women attractive and I used to fantasize about them before I met you. Now your beauty is all I fantasize about. I don't believe a woman can be truly beautiful until she's at least forty. She didn't know whether to feel complimented that I thought she was beautiful, or insulted that I had acknowledged she was over forty. I supposed that she couldn't really blame me for commenting on our ages since she brought it up. I had done my best to say I liked that she was older, but it still irked her some that I recognized it. However, as I later discovered, Sophie had found that she couldn't stay even slightly angry with me for long. Our conversation eventually went back to Sophie's travel plans and we closed our session with Sophie's promise to immediately start making her travel arrangements. We got deeper and deeper into making plans in the next few weeks, and I was astonished at how much Sophie hungered to experience our fantasies more and more. Then came the night Sophie said that she was flying to New York the day after tomorrow. This news left me as nervous as a wreck. I found myself eager to have her company and happier than I had been in a long time. I asked Sophie what would she prefer, me flying to New York and fly to Boston with me, or go to meet her at the airport and come back with me by train. She said she would like to take the train back with me, so and we could get to know each other and break the ice on the trip to Boston. And so the big day arrived. Sophie had told me she would travel via AA from Buenos Aires to New York, departing at 8:15 PM, and arriving at 6:05 AM the next day. That was a nuisance for me, since I have to take the Boston to New York Amtrak at 1:15 AM to be on time to meet her, and I didn't know if I could sleep on a train. That was because there were no airlines flying directly from South America to Boston. All of them have as a final destination of Miami or New York, and from Miami one must wait at least four hours to get a connection to Boston by air. Of Our Hell and Heaven So a little before midnight that Wednesday, I drove to Boston's South Station, left my car in a parking lot, and took the train. It was a sleepless night, not only because I was tired and missed my bed, but most of all, because I was on my way to meet my dream woman. Yes, Sophie had become a dream for me to realize. I was slowly falling in love with her, but so slowly that I hadn't noticed it until now, when I on my way to meet her for the first time. What was desire and lust at first is now a different kind of feeling. There is desire and lust, but there's also love and my wanting to be with her forever. It took four hours for the train to get to New York at 5:14 AM, and I immediately took a taxi to the airport. The flight, if everything went according to plan, would land in New York at 6:05, so I had less than an hour to get there. The flight was on time and I was in the waiting area outside the customs hall when the first class passengers began to appear through the doors of the customs area. I was a mess, my makeup running (didn't have time to fix it) with trip-rumpled clothes and the nerves to the skin. What would she think of me and my scruffy state? Would she regret having come to see and be with me? The doors opened to make way for another passenger and my mind went blank. My God, a goddess had appeared in the doorway and I could hardly recognize her, but it was definitely my Sophie. Statuesque, with an elegant Nobuk leather coat hanging from her shoulders, a handbag and shoes of the same material, her presence took my breath away. How could I take this vision of heaven to Boston in a railroad car? I saw her eyes roam the hall searching for me, and they lit on when she saw me standing near the thick rope that didn't allow visitors to pass. With rapid, but by no means less elegant steps, she approached me, and opened her arms to squeeze me in a tight embrace. Her French perfume almost made me swoon; I had gotten the surprise of my life. She is amazingly beautiful. "Hello, my dear, how nice to meet you at last." Her pronunciation was perfect, almost unaccented, with maybe a little touch of the King's English. Her words seemed to wake from a dream, "Hello, Sophie, I'm so glad to have you here." My own words sounded stupid to me. I looked around to get my bearings while trying to recover my composure, took a deep breath, and saw a porter patiently waiting with two big and one small valises; it was her luggage. "Shall we proceed, my love; where are we going? You know I'm now entirely at your whims, I mean in your hands." I blushed a deep red at the double entendre of her words. "Yes, hmmm, we'll take a taxi to the train station, then its four hours home," I babbled. "We have to take the train at 7:25," and we did so. I couldn't but admire her once seated in the sleeping car. She had travelled almost eleven hours during the night, and was fresh as a daisy; she was a perfect lady, and smiling to myself, I hoped I could make her a whore in my bedroom. She asked me what was I thinking as she saw my lips curve in a little smile; I couldn't tell her what I was thinking, right? At least not now. The trip was uneventful; we chatted and gossiped, not touching on the reasons for her being here. She told me little pieces of her life, and overcoming my natural shyness, I told stories of my childhood, about Mom and Pop and my trips to Italy... We went to the dining car for breakfast around 9:00; we took a table where we could see the snowy New England landscape, and I couldn't but admire the hearty breakfast she took; how could she with that body? Mine was mere milk, tea with a toast, and I had to ask, "Tell me, Sophie..." "Yes, my dear?" while she delicately took a little piece of marmalade from her upper lip with a napkin. "No, no, nothing, sorry," I apologized, blushing fiercely. "Oh don't apologize, my little love, you want to know how could I eat this breakfast and not worry about gaining weight, don't you?" "Yesssss something like that." "Well, I'll tell you a little secret, but don't tell anybody, OK? You see I have a very high metabolism, and fats don't stick to my cells; I quickly burn down fats." "Oh," was my only intelligent answer. She wanted to lighten the mood and called the waiter to pay the check, leaving several bills on the table; I wanted to oppose her, and said that she was my guest and I should pay. "Don't worry, my dear; I promise I'll let you pamper me from now on, anyway you want?" The double entendre once again; I was astonished, I was supposed to be the expert on how a woman flirts and makes lesbian love, not the other way around. We went back to our compartment and she carefully and discreetly steered the conversation about what plans I had for the next few weeks. We talked about many things; without prying, she asked me what my parents thought about my sexual preferences and I told her the truth; Mom was very understanding and resigned; Pop was sorry only because there won't be grandchildren. I was very curious about her friend Maria de las Mercedes' story knowing the importance it had had in turning Sophie's mind toward a new way of thinking about sexual relationships. I also wanted to know what had happened with her friend's love life, but was afraid to ask at that moment. "I want to warn you about my modest house, Sophie. By your attire and demeanor, I assume you come from a very wealthy family, or you're very wealthy at least, and I'm worried..." "Don't be my dear. Yes I have a little money of my own, but I must tell you I was educated till I was sixteen, and my life... changed in a very Spartan girls' only Catholic school." She stopped speaking; the lines of her face had softened when I looked at her face, and she seemed to have returned to that stage of her life in her mind. I was fascinated at the change, her mature face looked like she was fifteen or sixteen again, and I was falling head over heels in love with her. She seemed to come out of a trance and with a warm smile she, as if by chance, told me, "Besides I know everything about you. I know where you live; I have even a couple pictures of your beautiful garden, I know your academic grades and your fight to get tenure of the professorship. What I know about your intimate life, you told me yourself as I told you of mine. You know things about me nobody else in the world knows." I was speechless for a moment, then with an accusatory tone, I told her, "So you sent someone to snoop in my private life, didn't you, Darling? " The 'darling' word was full of poison and very derogatory, and my face was a mask of undisguised fury at what I, in my ignorance of the world, took as an intrusion in my private life. She gave me a lesson on maturity; without changing her tone of voice, she told me then that she would take another train back to New York when we arrived in Boston, and would go back to Buenos Aires on the first available flight. She took a small notebook computer from her handbag, and via internet changed her return to Buenos Aires to that same night. Then looking me straight to the eyes said: "Well, my dear, I'm very sorry to have inconvenienced you; I will not commit the stupidity of trying to pay for your troubles. I'm very grateful to you and I'm very sorry that the encounter so wanted by the both of us hasn't borne fruit. You are charming and I won't forget you for a long time." Those words were final; she was a strong lady, and acted as such without further delay. She turned her face to the window after these words and seemed to get lost in a world that I no longer belonged in and would never be part of. I was devastated; my angered words had come back to me as a boomerang would. My childish reaction had ended a dream of months. I was sitting in a corner of the compartment completely devastated by Sophie's apparent indifference. As she later told me after a bout of passionate lovemaking, she was watching me in the window glass reflection and was surprised by my reaction to her words and the beaten image I showed. The door opened after twenty minutes of oppressive silence, and the train conductor announced arrival in Boston in five minutes. When the train stopped, Sophie rose and without even glancing my way followed the porter down the stairs to the station platform. I was frozen in place and unmoving, and the porter came back to the car after a few minutes and told me I must leave the platform without delay; as in a disoriented daze, I left the platform not knowing what was next. "Come on, Girl, where's your car? Bring it here so we can go home; I'm freezing my ass big time, and I need a hot shower" I don't know what took me out of my lethargy, Sophie talking to me, her unladylike swearing, or the word 'home'; but with a "Yes, Ma'am," I sprinted to get my car. ooo000ooo The next couple hours were a blur of activity; we took our hot showers, had lunch, and took a nap. I gave Sophie my bed and I used the couch in my guest room and home office to get some sound sleep. With the light of day fading and as dusk was becoming night several hours later, I woke up with a foggy, mushy brain, hearing the noise of pots and pans in the kitchen. My mind couldn't register what was happening, being so accustomed to living alone as I was; then in a rapid succession of slides, the twenty last hours flashed through my mind. When I got to the kitchen, there Sophie was, preparing dinner, already bathed, perfumed, and as fresh as a rose newly-cut from the rosebush. "Hi," I timidly said. She turned her head from what she was doing, and with a bright smile, said "Hi yourself, I'm getting dinner ready, so why don't you take a bath and get fresh, my dear? It won't be a minute now." "Yes, of course, I'll only be a few minutes." "Oh, take your time, and don't worry, I'll keep everything hot." She was driving me crazy with her double entendres. I went to shower, freshen-up, and put a little makeup on to highlight my haggard face. She had already the table set, with dinner on it, when I came back from the bathroom wearing a fluffy bathrobe. It looked and smelled delicious. "I raided your fridge to make dinner; I hope you like it," Sophie said, with a twinkle in her eyes. We dined and talked about what happened on our trip to Boston. She asked me to understand that it wasn't a matter of spying me or intruding in my privacy when she had paid for information about my life, but for her to be sure if it was safe to be in Boston with me, and that she wouldn't be in any kind of danger. I agreed with her and that was the end of it. We drank a bottle of red wine and talked some more. I was becoming impatient; we hadn't touched on how and where we were going to sleep. Then Sophie matter of factly said, "Shall we prepare for bed, my dear?" I was stunned. "Yes, but we haven't talked where..." "It isn't necessary; you don't think I've traveled halfway around the world to sleep alone, do you, my dear? We'll sleep together, your bed or the couch, it doesn't matter to me." "OK, then it's my bed." I was euphoric and wanted to jump out, crying yes, yes, and yes. I didn't, I told her I would wait her in the bedroom instead. She appeared from the bathroom a few minutes later. I stood there stunned, as my mind recorded every image of her like a camera, Her raven black hair falling down on her naked shoulders, her bounteous breasts with dark, hard as pebbles, nipples, the curve of her hips as they gracefully became her thin waist, a little rounded tummy and the bulge of her pubic mound against the silky black material of her thong. The pale skin beneath the cloth stood out and attracted even more attention to her pussy. The nest of luxuriant black curly hairs between her legs was only cut just enough on the sides to not peek out from under her bikini bottom. It wasn't like a pelt, hiding everything, because I could see hints of her pussy beneath. Her high heels made her legs seem long and lean, and the way she tried to hide her breasts behind an arm bra was very cute. To say we were both nervous is the understatement of the year; I knew I ultimately was the hunter in similar cases; she, on the other hand, was the newbie, the one that could or could not become lesbian. I thought that would depend mostly on my prowess. So I took the first step and took my bathrobe off. Following my example, she discarded hers and we got on the bed over the comforter, gently lying down. I was only wearing a top and a pair of lace red boy shorts that hugged me tightly and left my tanned ass cheeks exposed, underneath my bathrobe. My ass is small and damn firm looking; I swallowed hard at the thought of it being bare and pointing up at her. I wanted that night to be an unforgettable one for her. I didn't want her to wake up at the light of dawn the next morning, feeling as if she had sinned by making love; I couldn't forget her own words, "I had been educated in the strict Catholic moral values of the nun's college and that of my own south-Italian family, where sex and the pleasure that it produces are a thing of the devil." I told myself that she had decided to make the long trip from Buenos Aires to Boston to meet with me by herself. She knew I was a lesbian and she knew that she was going to be in my house as a guest, and surely as my lover, if she came; she knew that we would make love at least once if she came to Boston to meet me, and if she found she could love me, maybe, just maybe, it would be forever. I knew talking first wasn't the same thing to her, than... what had we done until now, date? Chatting with a stranger via a webcam doesn't create a personal relationship. The cam is impersonal, very different to personal contact, the physical knowing of the other person, face to face, the feel and sense of the other's skin when you greet each other with a kiss on the cheek or by shaking hands, and what about the feathery touch of a lover's fingertip... But it's one thing to intellectually know and accept it when you're a woman and a middle-aged Latina to top it, than you are to start a trip to meet with a potential lover, a lesbian no less, and a very different thing to meet that potential lover in the flesh with all the emotional risks that such an encounter entails. I then became bolder, loosely taking her in my arms and started kissing the skin of the top of her breast with tiny, light kisses, and stroking the skin of the other breast with my fingers. Her breathing changed; it was becoming deeper and slower. Her left hand started stroking my side, venturing to the exposed bottom of my small boob. Her right hand abandoned my hair and stroked the side of my face. I slipped the fingers of my left hand into the top of her bra, and she briefly froze, then continued stroking my cheek and side; her left hand became bolder and stroked the underside of my breast as she cupped my chin and raised my face to look at hers. Her eyes were shining, her pupils dilated, her lips were parted, and I knew at that moment that I had her when her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. I raised my face to hers, and she met my lips in a soft tentative kiss. I slipped my tongue through my lips and grazed her bottom lip as we kissed. She moaned, opening her lips and allowing me full access to her mouth. She didn't meet my tongue with hers, content in allowing me to softly explore her lips and teeth. I slithered my right hand behind her back while I had her occupied with my lips and tongue, and released the clasp of her bra in a much practiced move. She gasped yet again, and withdrew her lips from mine. I rolled up on my elbow so that I was looking down into her face. She whispered, "What are you doing to me, Marie?" I slipped my left hand under her bra and gently pinched her erect nipple before covering her mouth with mine. I then murmured, "Exactly what you want me to do," as I lowered my mouth to hers. She moaned into my mouth and thrust her tongue deep into my mouth. I pulled my right arm out from under her back and sat up. She followed my lips with hers, not wanting to break contact. I finally broke away and completely sat up. She moaned in disappointment. I took her black delicate bra in my hands and tugged it from her body, tossing it to the side; she blushed cutely and covered her magnificent breasts with her hands. I pulled my top over my head and we were both topless. The ocean is the only place on the planet where there are no demarcations of territory, no frontiers of any kind. It's all too easy to cross the equator and not know that you had crossed an imaginary line and were now in a different hemisphere. Your condition would be about the same if your feelings and emotions were a sea. How do you know if you have crossed the line? Is there a moral compass, a sexual sextant to tell you where you're headed and if you're in uncharted waters, then what? Perhaps that was the case with us; we were already on the other side of the line, yet this voyage of discovery had just begun. It was a brave nude world. I took her hands and pulled her to her knees, then went behind her on my own knees as I gazed at our image in the big bedroom mirror. I was behind her, wrapping my arms around her body and pulling her hard against me. I could see her slim body and the swell of her breasts, like those of a nubile young girl, and above her long shapely legs, at the top of which I could see the shadow of her pubic hair under her black thong, was her prominent mons, and a hint of her sweet womanhood beneath. I started kissing her neck and shoulders as we both watched ourselves making love in the large mirror over the bedroom dresser. That single image, she on her knees, my left arm around her round belly, my right hand full of her tit, with just a hint of her lingerie buried in between her pussy lips, while I kissed her neck. Her slack-jawed face was full of pure lust and pleasure, something never far from my waking thoughts, and they are burned into my consciousness for the rest of my life. I am, in my day to day life, usually very shy, timid and introverted, but I become another person with this woman, more aggressive, daring, and wanton. Sophie takes my worst from me... or is it my best? I leaned closer to her; the animal in me was becoming stronger and stronger. I had to have this woman; I had to have all of her, even if it meant doing something unforgivable. "Do you want for me to fuck you, Sophie, or do you want to fuck me? She then looked at me in the mirror with the frightened eyes of a child, then covering her face, began to cry a little. I did a turn around on my knees so we were face to face, breasts to breasts, tummy to tummy, and mons to mons; I pulled her hands away from her face and softly kissed her. I looked at our images in the mirror and saw her closed eyes; I tasted her sweet lips as our teeth clashed for a second, then I entered my tongue into her sweet mouth. She fought at first, but her bravado slowly dissolved and she began to me kiss me back. She pulled away, her mouth open, tongue extended. She gasped "This is so bad, so wrong!" "Why is this bad? Does it feel wrong to you?" I asked her in a whisper, reaching and fondling her big but pert breasts. "Extremely, horribly bad," I answered my own questions and I sank my mouth on one of her beautiful tits, suckling her nipples as if it would be my last. "Oh no!" she cried, her fingers digging into my hair. "No! No! Marie, please!" I looked up at her. "Don't tell me to stop, please. I can't stop now. "I sank my mouth back onto her breast, rolling my tongue around her hard, big, dark aureole and nipple. "No, no! We can't...it's wrong!" I looked up from her breasts again. "Why did you come here then? We have waited for this for weeks! What did I say, weeks, months?" I thrust my hand down between her legs, forcing my fingers into her quivering vagina as she spread her legs open a little bit. "Now you're here, I'm here, and I want you so bad that I don't care if you keep saying no. I don't care if you end up hating me. I just want you now." My fingers found her taut little clit and softly circled it.