DudeThrill.com
I'm still numb from what I just did, I enjoy being lying on my bed, I cuddle with the sin I've just "stained" myself with, that of making love to a woman in my fantasy, of having obtained pleasure with a "lesbian" value.
In the quietness after orgasm I find new reasons of interest in an unexplored sex and I wonder if it will happen to me again, if I will want it again. Inside me I know the answer is yes, but I'm not willing to believe it all the way. Making love with a man means sex in general never as an end in itself, but with a whole series of emotional implications, ranging from simple love to hidden or manifest hatred, from jealousy to submission, from revenge to exhibitionism, from spite to the most varied balance of power. Most often they naturally refer to the biological relationship between man and woman, whether perfect or imperfect.
But for us women to make love with another woman what sex is it? Can there be love between woman and woman? Hard for me to believe, now that I'm back from a shocking erotic fantasy with a woman who has just humiliated me.
But if, on the other hand, you can make love with a man by despising him (and this has happened to me sometimes), then making love with a woman can be a competition, perhaps not said or felt as such. I'll show you who is the sluttier, who enjoys more, who knows how to do more: and everything, perhaps, in relation to a man, real or imaginary, who is in the background for both. Real lesbians probably love each other, but I don't really think I love Debra, in fact I think I hate her.
I get up and, still naked, I go to the kitchen; I open the fridge without a precise idea, then I choose to serve myself some orange juice. I'm thirsty, I drink my glass of taste, but I don't have time to finish it, my cell phone rings, forgotten turned on in my handbag from the day before.
- Who could it be?
I don't feel like answering it.
The ringing stops after a while, I've finished drinking. But my home phone's ringing. So it's someone following me... I'll answer it.
- Hi, Matilde, it's Debra...
I'm mute with surprise, petrified.
- Hello, are you there? Is this Matilde?
- Yes, it's me - I can answer - hi, Debra. Who gave you my number?
- Franco gave it to me. He stayed in Alassio, I had to go back to Milan and I thought I'd call you. Am I disturbing you?
- No, not at all. It's just that you caught me by surprise...
- You know, the other night I saw you disappointed, pissed off, probably rightly, with me. But I'm really sorry about that, and I thought maybe we had something to talk about... What are you doing today?
- Look, I'm home, and I'm putting some stuff away. I don't have any definite plans. If you want to come over, I'd love to. Don't think I'm mad at you so much, Franco wasn't that important. Besides, sometimes I've behaved the way you do...
- What do you mean?
- In the sense that sometimes I've been a bit of a pain in the ass, too, and I've taken the man away from someone.
- Well, I wanted to and I didn't want to. I didn't know how it would end. Where do you live? Can I come over now?
I'll give you the address and we'll end the conversation like old friends. What's wrong with me? I'm about to have a real meeting with someone I was enjoying a few minutes ago, what's going on? And I'm actually looking forward to it, although I feel a vague weakness in my legs.
I'm curious, yes. That "I didn't know how it was going to turn out" phrase left any unhealthy questions open. Ultimately I want to know if they had sex together, maybe I want to take measures to my antagonist to better discover the new frontiers that opened up for me this morning.
First I need to put some clothes on. I go to the bathroom, I make myself up on the bidet, I wash myself: and while I'm doing it here comes that now well-known whiplash of languor. Yes, I admit, I'm getting ready for her. No, I won't admit it, I'm just washing my pussy after my masturbation. Yes, I admit it, I'm washing for her. No, it's for personal hygiene.
The cold water, far from driving the languor away from the lower abdomen, is a pleasure and adds to the pleasure. But that's enough, I'll dry myself off with a towel and go to my room. I open the drawer of the underwear, I'm uncertain which to choose. But it's crazy! I usually take whatever I can get, but now I'm surprised to think what she'd like best...
I'm rebelling and wearing a pair of blue briefs, which I'm particularly fond of. I'm not wearing a bra, so I switch to a skirt. It's the middle of summer, it's hot, a mini jeans will do just fine. Finally, a normal white button-down blouse, to tuck into the skirt (no more with these bellies outside), but just unbuttoned at the top. Also for shoes, maximum simplicity: tennis shoes, white, obviously without socks. I look in the mirror, Debra should be here soon. I feel like a schoolgirl, anything but sex bomb, much less with particular tendencies.
But then, what will she want? What thoughts am I having? Debra may not even think about getting involved with me, so what am I gonna do? I don't think I'll have the strength to make her understand anything, nor to tell her what happened to me this morning, so, dear Matilde, stay calm and let things go as they should. And with this promise to myself, I dedicate myself to fixing those two or three things in my three-room apartment that were not in place, that made a mess. I also give the sofa a sponge bath; then I go into the kitchen to cut the melon and open two bags of ham. The white wine and beer were already chilled.
(continues)
In the quietness after orgasm I find new reasons of interest in an unexplored sex and I wonder if it will happen to me again, if I will want it again. Inside me I know the answer is yes, but I'm not willing to believe it all the way. Making love with a man means sex in general never as an end in itself, but with a whole series of emotional implications, ranging from simple love to hidden or manifest hatred, from jealousy to submission, from revenge to exhibitionism, from spite to the most varied balance of power. Most often they naturally refer to the biological relationship between man and woman, whether perfect or imperfect.
But for us women to make love with another woman what sex is it? Can there be love between woman and woman? Hard for me to believe, now that I'm back from a shocking erotic fantasy with a woman who has just humiliated me.
But if, on the other hand, you can make love with a man by despising him (and this has happened to me sometimes), then making love with a woman can be a competition, perhaps not said or felt as such. I'll show you who is the sluttier, who enjoys more, who knows how to do more: and everything, perhaps, in relation to a man, real or imaginary, who is in the background for both. Real lesbians probably love each other, but I don't really think I love Debra, in fact I think I hate her.
I get up and, still naked, I go to the kitchen; I open the fridge without a precise idea, then I choose to serve myself some orange juice. I'm thirsty, I drink my glass of taste, but I don't have time to finish it, my cell phone rings, forgotten turned on in my handbag from the day before.
- Who could it be?
I don't feel like answering it.
The ringing stops after a while, I've finished drinking. But my home phone's ringing. So it's someone following me... I'll answer it.
- Hi, Matilde, it's Debra...
I'm mute with surprise, petrified.
- Hello, are you there? Is this Matilde?
- Yes, it's me - I can answer - hi, Debra. Who gave you my number?
- Franco gave it to me. He stayed in Alassio, I had to go back to Milan and I thought I'd call you. Am I disturbing you?
- No, not at all. It's just that you caught me by surprise...
- You know, the other night I saw you disappointed, pissed off, probably rightly, with me. But I'm really sorry about that, and I thought maybe we had something to talk about... What are you doing today?
- Look, I'm home, and I'm putting some stuff away. I don't have any definite plans. If you want to come over, I'd love to. Don't think I'm mad at you so much, Franco wasn't that important. Besides, sometimes I've behaved the way you do...
- What do you mean?
- In the sense that sometimes I've been a bit of a pain in the ass, too, and I've taken the man away from someone.
- Well, I wanted to and I didn't want to. I didn't know how it would end. Where do you live? Can I come over now?
I'll give you the address and we'll end the conversation like old friends. What's wrong with me? I'm about to have a real meeting with someone I was enjoying a few minutes ago, what's going on? And I'm actually looking forward to it, although I feel a vague weakness in my legs.
I'm curious, yes. That "I didn't know how it was going to turn out" phrase left any unhealthy questions open. Ultimately I want to know if they had sex together, maybe I want to take measures to my antagonist to better discover the new frontiers that opened up for me this morning.
First I need to put some clothes on. I go to the bathroom, I make myself up on the bidet, I wash myself: and while I'm doing it here comes that now well-known whiplash of languor. Yes, I admit, I'm getting ready for her. No, I won't admit it, I'm just washing my pussy after my masturbation. Yes, I admit it, I'm washing for her. No, it's for personal hygiene.
The cold water, far from driving the languor away from the lower abdomen, is a pleasure and adds to the pleasure. But that's enough, I'll dry myself off with a towel and go to my room. I open the drawer of the underwear, I'm uncertain which to choose. But it's crazy! I usually take whatever I can get, but now I'm surprised to think what she'd like best...
I'm rebelling and wearing a pair of blue briefs, which I'm particularly fond of. I'm not wearing a bra, so I switch to a skirt. It's the middle of summer, it's hot, a mini jeans will do just fine. Finally, a normal white button-down blouse, to tuck into the skirt (no more with these bellies outside), but just unbuttoned at the top. Also for shoes, maximum simplicity: tennis shoes, white, obviously without socks. I look in the mirror, Debra should be here soon. I feel like a schoolgirl, anything but sex bomb, much less with particular tendencies.
But then, what will she want? What thoughts am I having? Debra may not even think about getting involved with me, so what am I gonna do? I don't think I'll have the strength to make her understand anything, nor to tell her what happened to me this morning, so, dear Matilde, stay calm and let things go as they should. And with this promise to myself, I dedicate myself to fixing those two or three things in my three-room apartment that were not in place, that made a mess. I also give the sofa a sponge bath; then I go into the kitchen to cut the melon and open two bags of ham. The white wine and beer were already chilled.
(continues)
