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My Niece Janelle, Chapter 1

  • Posted on December 10, 2016 at 3:16 pm

Introduction by JetBoy: A Little History

It was about seven years ago when I first stumbled onto Muffi’s story “Mommy, Show Me How” while idly searching the Internet for juicy lesbian fiction. Immediately smitten by what I read, I dropped her a line to tell her how much I enjoyed it. She went on to join yours truly among the roster of authors at the Lesbian Lolita site, and a long-distance friendship was born.

Soon she began a new story, a lengthy one, “My Niece Janelle.” Four chapters were completed and posted, then Muffi contacted me with a problem: her regular editor was unavailable, and she’d never worked without one. She asked me to take on the task, and I happily accepted.

We quickly discovered that the two of us worked extremely well as a team. She would write the chapter, I’d tinker with it and make suggestions, and we agreed about 99.5% of the time. (Much later, I went back to the earlier chapters and edited those as well. These will appear for the first time at Juicy Secrets.)

Muffi’s characters are so vividly drawn that it was easy to get into their heads and think like they do. This came in handy when she got stuck on chapter 9 and found herself unable to finish it. She asked me to complete the chapter… and we were both pleased with the result.

Muffi chose to depart our scene a couple of years ago for personal reasons. She is profoundly missed. As her editor and occasional collaborator, my hope is to write a concluding chapter for this story. Like all the others, it will be credited to Muffi. “My Niece Janelle” will always be her creation. She built the house — all I did was slap on a coat of paint and move the furniture around a bit.

Wherever you are, Muffi, my thanks, love, regards, and eternal friendship go out to you.

yrs, JetBoy


My Niece Janelle
By Muffi

{ This story was originally posted at Lesbian Lolita in February 2010 }

For the men out there reading this, you’ll pardon me if I’m a bit cynical, but I believe that you’ll enjoy this story that I’m about to tell you if for no other reason than the fact that it illustrates that women can be every bit as perverted as any man. I’ve also noticed that for some reason, men seem to be completely fascinated by the idea of two females being sexually involved with each other. I’m not sure why that is, but whatever. Let’s just say that what you’re about to read isn’t your typical girl-does-girl story, leave it at that, and let you read on.

This is a serialized story, and as such, it will take some time to get to the lesbian sex. Please be patient…

***

My name is Meagan Bristol. I’m a thirty-something-year-old woman, queer as a three dollar bill, and this is about how I made the startling discovery that little girls are the ultimate sexual turn-on for me. Well, at least one little girl is.

Mind you, I don’t run around seeking out children to molest. But I have fallen completely, utterly, desperately, head over heels in love and lust with one little nine-year-old girl. She’s my sister’s daughter, Janelle. And we now share a relationship that is quite simply the most amazing experience of my life.

Furthermore, my niece has seen fit to bring her best friend into our relationship. That initially scared the living hell out of me, but I’ve grown accustomed to it, and as you’ll see, it can be quite, um… stimulating, shall we say?

Janelle and I have always been close. Ever since she was a toddler, we’ve spent a lot of time together. We’ve always been more like best friends than aunt and niece. These days, most families are in the position where husband and wife, or partner and partner, both have to work in order to make ends meet, and my sister and her husband are no exception. As a freelance graphic artist, I’m pretty much able to set my own schedule, which leaves me free to take care of Janelle while her parents are at work, saving them some considerable money in child care expenses. I’ve never minded — quite the contrary. I love being with Janelle, spending time with her, doing things with her. As I said, we’re more like best friends than anything else, regardless of the difference in our ages.

Contrary to the opinions of some, most gay people are not interested in children as sex partners. We aren’t all out there on the prowl, seeking to molest the first little boy or little girl we come across. For my part, I never once thought of a child in a sexual way before I became smitten with Janelle.

I don’t know what will happen between us down the road, but I’m a realist. I’m more than twenty years older than Janelle is. I seriously doubt that this will last forever. If it does, then I won’t complain, but if it doesn’t, which is much more likely, I won’t hesitate to let go of her, either. But for now, I’m going to enjoy what my niece and I share together, revel in it, and do my best to make sure she knows how much she’s loved.

This all began about six months ago, give or take a few weeks. It was the day before Janelle’s ninth birthday. I’d picked her up after school and brought her back to my place, where we were planning to spend some “girl time” together until her Mom got off work and picked her up. I’d promised to help her paint her fingernails and toenails in preparation for the big day, which fell on a Saturday. She was beside herself with excitement, because she was going to have a big party that afternoon.

Janelle is something of a tomboy, really. Not what you’d call a “hardcore” tomboy, but she’s definitely not a girly-girl, either. She’ll put on dresses and skirts for special occasions, but she much prefers jeans and sneakers. That Saturday definitely counted as one of those special occasions, so we were planning on dolling her up completely, making sure that she looked the proper ladylike part.

We’d done the whole girl thing in the past, but this was the first time that Janelle had ever thought about having her toenails painted. Her mother had bought her a cute little pair of open-toed sandals, and when I mentioned doing her nails, she thought that sounded like a fabulous idea. So there we were on the day before her birthday, sitting in the middle of my bed with bottles of nail polish and a bag of cotton balls. We were chatting and giggling, having a wonderful time.

Janelle was fascinated by the toenail painting process. Her feet are terribly ticklish, so it took a little while to get the cotton balls snugly situated between her toes. She kept squirming, laughing insanely while I tried to wedge the bits of cotton in place. The task finally accomplished, we sat facing each other and I got to work, one tiny foot cradled in my lap as I applied the bright pink polish to her toenails.

I was intent on what I was doing, peering down at her foot as I began to apply the first coat. Janelle suddenly went silent for a few moments. I thought that she was just concentrating on not being ticklish. When she spoke, though, there was a serious tone to her voice.

“Aunt Meagan, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Sweetie,” I absently replied, carefully finishing the edge of a toenail. “You can ask me anything, you know that.”

She hesitated for a few heartbeats. I looked up at her, and saw that her face was very serious now.

“What is it, Sweetie?” I asked.

“What does “bulldyke” mean?”

What the hell? I thought. Where did that come from?

“Sweetie, where did you hear that?” I asked her.

“From Sarah,” she replied. “See, there’s this girl at school, her name is Sara, too, ‘cept she doesn’t have an “H” at the end of her name. Anyways, most of the kids don’t like her, I don’t know why. She’s really quiet, and she doesn’t hang out with hardly anyone at school. So, today, I decided to eat my lunch at the same table with her and try to talk to her. I feel sorry for her, cause nobody else really likes to be around her cause she’s kinda different. Anyways, after lunch, Sarah — the other Sarah, I mean — told me I shouldn’t hang out with Sara, cause she’s a bulldyke. What did she mean, Aunt Meagan?”

It took me a moment to sort out the rush of words, and to get Sarah and Sara straight. I felt a sharp stab of sympathy for little Sara, who seemed to have earned, somehow, the hateful label of bulldyke.

I took a deep breath, then looked back down at Janelle’s toes, continuing to apply nail polish.

“Well,” I said, trying to choose my words carefully, “that’s a term that some people use to describe gay women.”

Janelle knew already about my sexual orientation. Her parents are quite open with her about things like that, and on those occasions when she’d seen me with a date or with one of my short-lived girlfriends, she’d been curious. So she knew what it meant for a person to be gay. She didn’t seem to have any problem with it, just a natural curiosity.

Apparently, though, she’d never heard some of the more vicious terms for non-heterosexual people. Welcome to real life, Sweetie, I thought.

“But what’s it mean, Aunt Meagan?”

“Uhmm…” I was trying to figure out the best way to describe to a little girl, a day shy of being nine years old, what it meant to be a bulldyke.

“Bulldyke is a stereotype, Sweetie. Do you know what that is?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“A stereotype is when you believe that a certain thing is true of everyone in a group of people. Like, when you say that Irish people drink a lot of booze, or all black people have big lips, or all gay men act like girls, or all Asian people are really smart. “Bulldyke” is a term that people think of when they see a woman who looks like a man. When she’s big and strong, and maybe has really short hair, or acts like a man. Some people, as soon as they find out that a woman is gay, start calling her a bulldyke as an insult.”

Well, that was probably the worst definition I’d ever heard for the term — but then, I’d never been asked to define it before.

“But Sara doesn’t look like a man,” Janelle said — rather indignantly, I thought.

I laughed. God, to be nine years old again.

“I’m sure she doesn’t, Sweetie,” I said. “But she’s quiet, and she doesn’t hang out with the other kids much, right?”

“Yeah. She’s really shy, I think. She just keeps to herself mosta the time.”

“Sweetie, sometimes, when people think that someone is different than they are, they don’t know how to react. For some reason, they’re afraid of people who are different. So, they call them names and insult them. I don’t know why, really; it’s just the way that some people act.”

I had finished with Janelle’s right foot, and I took her left foot in my hand and began to paint her toenails.

“That’s just stupid!” Janelle exclaimed. “When I ate lunch with Sara today, she was nice. She didn’t say much, but she was nice. Why would Sarah say that about her?”

Sarah/Sara again, I thought.

“I don’t know, Sweetie,” I said. “Maybe she got jealous because you sat with Sara and not with her. She might be afraid that she’ll lose a friend.”

“Well, that’s just silly. I can be friends with more than one person, can’t I?”

“Of course you can. I really don’t know why Sarah would say something like that, Sweetie. You’d have to ask her.”

Janelle got quiet again for a few moments. I kept on painting her toenails.

“Aunt Meagan, why do people hate gay people so much?”

This one was pretty easy. We’d talked about this before.

“Because most people are afraid of anyone they think is different, Sweetie.”

“But, why?” she asked, almost desperately.

“Well,” I began, “it’s just how people are. Look, you’re not afraid of snakes, are you?”

“Nuh-uh,” Janelle said, shaking her head.

“But, do you remember when you used to be so scared of them?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“That was because you didn’t understand them. Snakes are different than you, of course. They’re snakes, not people. You just didn’t understand anything about them. But when you learned about them, and found out that they’re pretty cool, you stopped being afraid, because you understood them better. It’s sort of the same thing. If someone is different, a lot of people are afraid of them, because they don’t understand them.”

I keep a couple of boa constrictors as pets, in case you were wondering why I used snakes as an example. Janelle used to be terrified of them. Now, she has to at least pet both of them every time she visits, and she loves to drape them around her neck now. Snakes make good, low maintenance pets. Toss them the occasional rat, and they’re good to go.

“But, that’s not the same,” Janelle said. “I mean, snakes are animals. Gay people are just people. Why would anyone be afraid of them?”

“For the same reason that some people are afraid of people who don’t have the same color skin as they do. They’re afraid because they’re different.”

Janelle sighed. “I’ll never get it,” she said.

“Honestly, Sweetie, I hope you never do get it,” I said. “I hope you go through your whole life not worrying about how people are different from you, and just focus on how they’re really the same as you are.” I sat up straight. “Okay, the first coat is done. We’ll let that dry, and then put on a second coat, okay?”

Janelle lifted one foot, looking at her toes, wiggling them a little.

“That looks so cool!”

“I’m glad you approve of my artwork,” I said.

She beamed at me.

Janelle is such a beautiful little girl. Even for her age, she’s small and very slender. Willowy, would be a good word to describe her body type. She has a face like the classic faerie, complete with the tiny button nose and enormous, liquid looking eyes. The eyes are her most striking facial feature. They’re a rich, deep, almost cobalt blue color. They’re the most unusual color of blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They dominate her face. When she grows up, they’re still going to be large, and probably even more striking, if that’s possible.

Her soft, fine hair is strawberry blonde, more towards the reddish side. It’s cut in the classic pageboy style, with the ends just brushing her shoulders, and bangs that just touch her slender eyebrows. Her mouth reminds me of Drew Barrymore’s mouth at that age, with full lips shaped like a perfect Cupid’s bow. Her chin is delicate and pointed, and she has a heavy dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Like I said, she’s small, petite and very slender. She still has that boyish figure that all little girls have, but I have no doubt that she’s going to grow into a breathtakingly beautiful young woman one day.

“Aunt Meagan?”

“Yes, Sweetie?” I replied.

“Can you help me find Sara’s phone number?”

I was confused for a moment. She talked to Sarah almost every day on the phone. Then it dawned on me. She meant Sara-with-no-”H” in her name.

“Do you know her last name?” I asked.

“Davidson,” she said, nodding.

“Okay,” I said, “let me get the phone book, and we’ll see what we can find.”

I was curious, but I didn’t say anything.

I went across the hall to my office and grabbed the phone book, as well as the phone. I plopped myself back on the bed with Janelle and opened up the book, looking for that last name of “Davidson.” Thankfully, there were only three listed. Smaller towns have their advantages.

The first try was a wrong number, of course. When she dialed the second number, though, and asked for Sara, she had the right one.

“Is Sara there?” she asked.

“This is Janelle McCarthy, from school,” she said a moment later; then, “Thank you.”

She was silent for a moment, waiting for the other girl to come to the phone. I watched her as she began to speak again.

“Hi Sara! This is Janelle. From school? I ate lunch with you today, remember?”

Another moment of silence.

“Well, I was just calling to see if you wanted to come to my house tomorrow afternoon. It’s my birthday, an’ I’m having a party. And since we had lunch together today an’ you seem pretty cool and stuff, I thought maybe you’d like to come to my party.”

Again, silence as she listened.

“You don’t hafta get me a present,” she said. “I don’t care about that. I just thought maybe you’d like to come and hang out with me for a while.”

There was a longer silence this time.

“You can? Awesome! Okay, it’s at two o’clock at my house, and uhm…” Her eyes rolled up to look at me. “Maybe I better let my aunt talk to your Mom to give her directions? ‘Kay, you get your Mom, and I’ll put my aunt on the phone.”

What an amazing little girl, I thought. I was very, very proud of my niece at that moment.

“Hello?”

The woman sounded slightly hesitant, with a very soft, almost timid voice. I introduced myself, and confirmed that yes, Janelle was indeed having a birthday party tomorrow afternoon, and that she very much wanted Sara to come.

“I… I’m afraid that we wouldn’t be able to get her a gift,” she said, her voice full of apology, and something else that I couldn’t quite put a name to.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” I said. “Janelle is much more concerned with being a social butterfly than with getting gifts. She just wants Sara to come to the party and hang out with her and her friends for the afternoon.”

Janelle gave me a slap on the leg for calling her a social butterfly, and I grinned at her.

I gave Sara’s mother directions to my sister’s house, and told her we’d see her tomorrow afternoon. I told her to drop Sara off anytime after one o’clock, and that if she wanted, she was welcome to stay, or I could just bring Sara home after the party.

“Thank you, but I won’t be able to stay,” she said. “I’ll have to be at work tomorrow at three, so if you could bring her home, that would be wonderful.”

“No problem,” I told her. “We’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Janelle was tugging on the leg of my jeans, telling me that she wanted to talk to Sara again.

“Janelle wants to speak with Sara again, if that’s okay. It was nice talking to you.”

“Thanks, nice talking to you, too,” she replied quietly.

“Sara? ‘Kay, so you’re coming, right? Awesome!! Oh, and bring a bathing suit or some old shorts and a tee shirt. We don’t have a pool, but my Mom said if it’s warm enough we can turn on the lawn sprinkler and mess around in the water in the back yard, ‘kay? ‘Kay, see you tomorrow! Bye!!”

She pushed the button to turn off the phone and handed it back to me. I looked at her and smiled.

“Janelle, that was a very nice thing you just did,” I said.

She shrugged. “Sarah’s not gonna like it,” she said, “but that’s too bad. I like Sara. Sarah’s just gonna hafta get over it.”

“Well, it was still a very nice thing to do.”

Janelle blushed prettily.

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “I really do like her.”

“I’m sure you do, Sweetie. I’m just saying that sometimes, it takes real courage to reach out to someone that your friends don’t like. I’m proud of you.”

“Aunt Meagan, stop it!” Janelle squealed. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“Well, if it embarrasses you that I’m proud of you,” I said, “then get used to it. I’m never going to stop being proud of you.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon finishing up with Janelle’s toenails and fingernails, talking and giggling like two little girls. That’s one of the things I love so much about my niece. Sometimes, she makes me feel like I’m a kid again.

My sister, Katherine, came by after work to pick up Janelle. Janelle excitedly told her that there would be another guest at the party tomorrow.

“Another one? Do I know who it is?”

“Nope, you never met her,” Janelle said. “I decided to invite her this afternoon.”

“Sweetie,” I said, “why don’t you get your things together, okay?”

Janelle nodded and ran off to gather up her school books, jacket, purse, and all of the other odds and ends that little girls find indispensable. While she did, I gave Kate a quick rundown about the Sarah/Sara situation, and how Janelle was choosing to handle it.

“Oh, God,” she said. “That Sarah — the one I do know — is a snotty little brat. I really can’t stand that kid, but she’s Janelle’s friend, so I try to put up with her. I can only take her in small doses, though. She really is a supreme little bitch.”

“So I gathered,” I said. “I hope she knows enough to keep her mouth shut and behave tomorrow.”

“Probably not,” Kate sighed. “No worries, though, I can handle her if it comes to that.”

“Good,” I said. “I could handle her, too, but probably not the way that you can. I’ll probably choke her if she gets out of hand.”

Kate laughed. “Now, now. Can’t be beating up on little girls, Meagan,” she said.

“Listen, any nine-year-old girl who calls another little girl a ‘bulldyke’ needs to be throttled,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” said Kate. “We’ll just play it by ear. Actually, I think Janelle can probably handle it herself, to be honest with you.”

“I have no doubt,” I laughed. “She’s quite the little crusader sometimes. By the way, I’ll be there early to help you with setting things up,” I said. “I’ll be making her cake tonight.”

“She’s going to be so excited that you’re baking her cake,” she said. “I haven’t told her. She thinks I’m going to do my usual cake mix thing for her.”

“You might not be so grateful when you see what I’m doing,” I said, with an evil smile.

Kate raised her hand. “I don’t want to know,” she said. “Just surprise me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Just don’t get sexual with it, okay? Remember, these are kids, not adults.”

“Oh, please,” I said. “Do you really think I’d do something like that?”

“No,” she grinned, “but I have to give my oversexed lesbian big sister a hard time once in a while.”

“Bitch,” I said, glaring at her.

She snickered. “You’re just too easy to needle, Meagan.”

Janelle came thumping back into the room at that moment, then looked at her mother apologetically. “I didn’t do my homework yet, Mom,” she said. “Me and Aunt Meagan were too busy with my nails. I’ll do it tonight after supper, though, I promise.”

“That’s fine, Baby,” said Kate. “You getting your schoolwork done is not a worry I have. You always do it, and you always do it well.”

“What’re we having for supper?”

“Well, I thought that since tomorrow is going to be very busy, we could start celebrating your birthday with supper tonight, so…” She let the sentence trail off into silence.

Janelle’s huge, cobalt blue eyes lit up. “Pizza? Really?” She squealed out the words.

“Yes, really,” Kate said, laughing. “Pizza. With lots and lots of extra cheese, extra pepperoni, and extra “smushrooms,” just the way you like it.”

“Yessss!!” It was a hiss, and both Kate and I laughed out loud.

“Don’t eat too much, Janelle,” I said, looking her up and down. “Lord knows you can’t afford the extra weight.”

“Huh?” Janelle looked down at her waifish little body, then back up at me. “Cut it out, Aunt Meagan! I’m not fat!”

“No, you certainly aren’t, little one,” I said. “I was being sarcastic. You could stand to put on about ten pounds, actually.”

Kate gave me a look. “You sound like Mom,” she said, smirking at me.

I grimaced. There’s very little love lost between our mother and I. “Don’t even think like that,” I said.

“Too easy, Meagan,” she grinned. “Just too easy.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. Yeah, I’m really mature sometimes. Janelle giggled.

“Okay, we should be going,” said Kate. “Just show up whenever, Meagan, and I’ll put you right to work.”

I followed my sister and my niece to the front door. Janelle made a quick detour into the living room, stopping near the two glass aquariums that hold my pet boa constrictors. Kate gave a grimace of distaste.

“Bye, Ellie, bye, Nellie,” Janelle sang.

The snakes didn’t move. They’d been fed the day before, so they were quite lethargic.

Kate shook her head, but she didn’t say anything. She’d given up making comments about my choice of pets.

“Bye, Aunt Meagan! See you tomorrow!!”

“Bye, Sweetie,” I said. “Try to get a little bit of sleep tonight, okay?”

“I will,” Janelle said.

“Fat chance,” said Kate, smiling.

After they left, I returned to the kitchen, heated up some leftover meatloaf, and made a sandwich for myself. After I’d eaten, I poured a glass of wine, and set to work baking Janelle’s birthday cake.

I have a pretty good sense of design. It’s what I do for a living, after all, and I’d decided to do a special theme for Janelle’s cake. I’m also a pretty good baker, so I was looking forward to doing this for her. The cake would be chocolate, of course, Janelle’s favorite. The motif would probably irk my younger sister, but not nearly as much as the reason I’d chosen it. I grinned suddenly. Kate was going to be pissed off at me, but she’d get over it.

After I’d baked and cooled the cakes, I set about cutting, arranging, and decorating the result. I was pleased. I’d done a pretty good job, actually. Janelle would love it, I knew. Transporting it might be a problem, though. I’d have to find a way to stitch together a box that was long enough and wide enough. I’d figure something out.

By the time I was finished, it was almost midnight, and I was tired. I went upstairs to the bathroom, peeled off my clothes, turned on the shower, and waited for the water to get hot. As I waited, I did a short appraisal of myself in the bathroom mirror.

While I’m beginning to show some signs of the fact that I’m well beyond the wrong side of thirty-five, all things considered, I’m not doing too badly in the looks department. I’m five feet, seven inches tall, and I weigh in at about one-thirty. Not skinny, but not close to being fat, either. I try to work out on a semi-regular basis, and I’ve managed to keep fairly trim looking.

The one thing that I really hate about myself is my hair. My sister Kate has the exact same hair that her daughter does, that luscious, brilliant strawberry blonde that just gleams in the sunlight. I’d ended up with mousy, dirty blonde hair that always looks dull to me. I refused to color it, though. Even professional dye jobs will ruin your hair eventually, and I’d rather have the plain, dull color and keep my hair healthy than ruin it with chemicals. My hair is all one length, falling to the top of my breasts.

Overall, I’m satisfied with my body. I have curves in all the right places, and I have a splendid ass, if I must tell the truth. My breasts are starting to feel the pull of gravity, though. Not too much, not yet, at least. But the sagging is starting to set in. They’re a healthy, 34-C, with bright pink nipples capping the tips. My nipples are rather prominent. They seem to be in a perpetually erect state. While that can be attractive, it can also force me to have to wear a padded bra sometimes, mostly for business purposes. It’s a small sacrifice though, considering that they can be a turn on for some women. Works for me!

I keep my pubic hair trimmed to a proverbial “landing strip” that’s about a half-inch wide, and ends right at the top of the cleft of my labia. I shave there daily, so the skin is as smooth as the day that I was born. The first time that I shaved my pubic hair, I was amazed at how much more sensitive I was to caresses and touches, and I vowed to keep it that way permanently. My almost total lack of pubic hair makes masturbation even more pleasurable than it had been before. And I tend to masturbate a lot.

No, really. I mean, a lot. Like, twice a day at the bare minimum, whether I’m seeing anyone or not. Three times that number on a regular basis. Currently I’m flying solo, so I do spend a good amount of time pleasuring myself. What can I say? I like orgasms…

My legs are passable, slender without being too thin, and not heavily muscled. My pussy is rather girlish looking; by that I mean that my inner labia are small and rather delicate. They don’t protrude into view unless I hold myself open. Otherwise, they’re hidden from sight, much like a young girl. In a sense, it adds a bit of an illusion of youth to my appearance, at least when I’m naked. I rather like that.

Satisfied, I turned to the shower, which was now steaming hot. I got in and reached for the shampoo, washing my hair, then adding conditioner and letting it sit there and soak in while I soaped up my body. I felt the familiar tingling spasm in my belly when I slid my slick hands down over my pussy, and I lingered there for a moment, caressing myself.

Decisions, decisions… Should I masturbate now, or wait until I was comfortably snuggled into bed? Or both? That sounded like a good idea, but I was really tired, and I decided that I’d rather wait until I was in bed, so that I could drift right off to sleep when I was finished. With mild pang of regret, I stopped caressing my pussy, and finished up getting clean.

I rinsed off, rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, turned off the shower, and slid the door open, reaching for a towel. I blotted the excess water from my skin, then wrapped the towel around my head so my hair wouldn’t be dripping down my back. I reached for the jar of body cream on the vanity, and scooped some out, beginning to rub it into my skin. Gotta keep the skin moisturized, you know. Can’t have it drying out on me.

As I massaged the cream into the skin of my breasts, I felt that stab of desire in my pussy again. Jesus, I really was horny! My hands lingered at my breasts, spending far more time than was necessary just to massage in some body cream. I rolled my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, gasping as I pinched down hard on them. My pussy suddenly felt warmer, damp with a wetness that had nothing to do with the shower that I’d just finished.

Quickly, I finished massaging the body cream into my belly, legs, and ass. When I started to rub it into my pussy, I sagged a little. God, that felt good! I spread my feet a little wider apart, using both hands to massage the cream into my mons. It only took a few seconds for me to be massaging more than just body cream into my skin. My pussy had started to leak, heavily.

I need to get to bed, I thought. Right now…

I pulled the towel from my head, making sure that I dried it enough so that it wouldn’t soak my bedding. I hung the towel on the rack to dry, then quickly padded off to my bedroom. I turned the blankets down, then opened the drawer of my nightstand.

More important decisions… which toy did I want? I have a fairly extensive collection, but I keep my favorites in the nightstand drawer, close at hand. I do try to be prepared for every eventuality.

I settled on a slender purple vibrator with a wired remote control. The wire could be a pain at times, but it has an amazing variety of settings, and it never fails to help bring me to several screaming orgasms. I left the lubricant in the drawer. I was relatively certain that I’d have no need for it. I seldom do, unless deep anal play comes into the activities. If that happened, it would still be close by.

I know, I know. I’m horny and oversexed. A lesbian nymphomaniac, if the truth has to be told. I prefer to think that I just have a very healthy appetite for sex. You should try it. It’s rather fun, and quite rewarding.

I dimmed the bedroom lights, but didn’t turn them off. Unlike some women I’ve known, I’m rather visual when it comes to sexual activities. I like to see as well as touch and taste. I prefer to leave the lights on when I’m playing. Dimming them just makes things look a bit softer, more romantic.

What? Just because I’m flying solo doesn’t mean that I can’t be romantic with myself, does it?

Two walls of my bedroom are floor to ceiling mirrors. That means that pretty much anytime I want to look at what’s going on in my bed, I only have to turn my head slightly to get a couple of different angles on the activity. I’d stopped short of having a mirror installed on the ceiling above the bed, though. It seemed a bit much. I do still toy with the idea now and then. Maybe one day.

I slid onto my bed, my body now tingling all over in anticipation of a soon to be realized orgasm. Or two. Maybe three, even.

I relaxed down into my pillows with one hand behind my head, my hair lying damp on the tops of my breasts. Slowly, lazily almost, I began to trail my free hand lightly down my body, starting at my collarbone and gliding softly over the skin of my breasts, then my belly, my hips, and along one thigh. I felt my skin tighten as goosebumps rose up in response to the touch. Using the tips of my fingernails, I trailed my hand back up along my skin, shivering slightly at the sensation. Almost a tickle, but so much more.

Turning my head to one side, I watched myself as I continued the slow, teasing exploration of my own body with my fingertips. As my nails brushed over my pussy, I felt a wet spot beginning to form on the sheet beneath my ass. I moaned softly, sliding the palm of my hand up along my belly to my left breast. I watched in the mirror as my hand slid up to cup it, still more firm than not, squeezing it gently.

My fingers dug firmly into the flesh of my breast, kneading it, and I moaned again. Bringing my fingertips together slowly, I grasped my left nipple, pinching it hard, then rolling it between my fingers. I pinched down harder and pulled, lifting the weight of my breast up away from my body by the tip of my nipple, and moaned again. My nipples like to be treated roughly.

Still watching myself, I dipped my head downwards, my hand moving under my breast and lifting it towards my face. I opened my mouth, and sucked my nipple in, closing my teeth on it. I stared at myself as I bit down, bringing yet another moan and making my hips writhe on the bed, the wet spot growing larger. I bit harder, the tip of my tongue fluttering over my nipple as I worried at it with my teeth. I felt a sharp spasm in my pussy, and I knew that the first orgasm wouldn’t require the use of any toys.

Panting, I released my nipple from the grip of my mouth. It fell back with a soft slurping sound as my mouth let go. Damn, but I was horny! Of their own volition, both of my hands slid down my body, fingertips pressing down against my mons, sliding down between my legs. I gasped as one finger slid into the cleft, brushing across my clit, already swollen and distended, peeking out from its delicate little hood.

My pussy almost ached with need. I was close already; this was going to happen fast tonight.

I turned my head again as I spread my legs wide, pulling my feet up and dropping my knees sideways so that I was splayed open. I moved my gaze to the wall that faces the foot of the bed, another wall of mirrors. I saw my legs spread almost obscenely wide, my pussy gaping open and glistening with wetness. I put my hands on my knees, and slid them up along my inner thighs. When they reached the top, I brought my left hand up further, settling my first three fingers into the open cleft of my labia, so that the pad of my middle finger rested directly on top of my swollen clit. I moaned again.

The first two fingers of my right hand dipped into my pussy, sliding easily through the wet, slick lubrication there. I gasped, both at the sight and at the sensations, and began to move the fingers of my left hand in a steady circle on my clit. I watched as my hips lifted, bringing my ass up from the bed, meeting my hands and burying the fingers of my right hand deeply into my wet tunnel.

I moaned loudly as I felt the first hard spasm clench my pussy. I was sloppy wet tonight; well, I usually get quite wet anyway, but it was heavy even for me. I could hear the liquid sounds as my fingers began to pummel into my pussy faster and harder. Looking into the mirror, I could see the fluids flowing freely over my hand and down the crack of my ass, soaking the sheet beneath me. I should have brought that towel with me, I thought, then promptly forgot to care about it.

My left hand was moving faster, too, rubbing tight little circles against my sensitive clit, sending wave after wave of pure pleasure through my body. I pressed them down harder, moaning, reveling in the ecstasy that was washing over me in endless, hot waves. I felt the peak beginning to approach, and I groped my way towards it, reaching desperately for the sweet, overwhelming release of orgasm.

I felt it rising from deep inside my pussy, like a hard knot in the pit of my stomach, slowly unwinding itself. My ass clenched tightly as my pussy started to spasm in rhythmic waves, muscles rippling, caressing the fingers that were buried deep within me. The last thing I saw in the mirror before my eyes rolled back in my head was a deep crimson flush spreading over my upper chest and into my neck. I didn’t see anything after that, all I could do was feel…

When it hit me, it was amazing. There’s that old cliche about an orgasm washing over you like waves; this was no wave, it was a fucking tsunami! Dimly, I heard myself moaning, a long, deep growling sound that seemed like it was being ripped from inside of me. My mind lost all coherent thought, I was only aware of blackness peppered with exploding, silvery pinpoints of light behind my eyelids. Talk about fireworks!

It went on and on. My fingers were crammed as far into my pussy as I could force them, almost being crushed by the spasms that ripped through me. The fingers on my clit had slowed, but pressed down with much stronger pressure now; a slow, hard, circular motion against the sensitive, blood-engorged little nub. My body was rigid, arched up off the mattress, shuddering it’s way through this mind-numbing explosion. I only know that I was still breathing because I continued to let out that long, gutteral moaning sound.

It left me slowly, almost reluctantly. I let it do what it wanted; I was incapable of arguing with anything about anything. I didn’t have the energy; even breathing seemed like work at the moment. My breasts were heaving. When I opened my eyes finally, still at the tail end of that orgasm, I glanced in the mirror next to me, and saw that I was still arched up from the bed, body still tense. My chest and neck were deeply flushed. My ass and thighs were quivering from the strain of holding myself up in that position. The sight was erotic as all hell.

Slowly, I let my ass sink back to the mattress. The hand that had been working my swollen clit fell to my side; my right hand stayed where it was, fingers crammed into the wet heat of my pussy. The slick walls were still rippling around them, though the spasms had lightened now, responding to the little aftershocks that coursed through my body, making me twitch and tremble. I rolled my head so that I was looking up at the ceiling and blinked very slowly once, twice, then a third time.

“Holy… fucking… Christ… Almighty…” It came out as a hoarse, ragged whisper.

I was pretty sure that Christ Almighty hadn’t just been fucking me, though that orgasm could have been described as divine. Christian believers will tell you that sex is a gift from God. They might just have something there. Though, most good Christians would probably view my indulging in what they tend to think of as self-abuse with some measure of condemnation. Personally, I prefer to think of it as self-love. Whatever. I was pretty sure, though, that if Christ himself ever did decide to fuck me, even he would have a hard time matching that orgasm. Wouldn’t matter anyway, because I don’t do men. Although if they could make me come like that, I might have to reconsider my position.

Okay, so my mind goes in strange directions when I’m well and freshly fucked. Even when I’m the one doing the fucking. Sue me.

I sighed, and let my eyes slip closed as I slid my fingers from inside my pussy, reluctantly. Automatically, I brought them to my lips, extending my tongue and cleaning the essence of myself from them. I’m not shy about things like that; pussy tastes wonderful, and tasting my own is almost always amazingly erotic. When I had cleaned all traces of my own wetness from them, my hand fell back on the pillow above my head. I was literally spent.

Do I want another one? I wondered silently.

Hell, yes, I did. There’s no such thing as too much sex, and particularly, no such thing as too many orgasms. But that one had exhausted me completely. My body still quivered here and there with aftershocks, but I was completely worn out. My mind felt like I’d just finished drinking a magnum of wine by myself, but without any risk of a hangover. In fact, I was aware that when I woke in the morning, I was going to feel absolutely wonderful.

There would be time enough in the morning to play again. In the morning, I thought. Right now, I just want to float away on this dreamy afterglow and drift off to sleep.

That’s precisely what I did. But for some reason, I found myself with a picture of Janelle’s pretty, smiling face in my mind as I sank into unconsciousness. What the hell? I thought dimly. What are you doing here, Sweetie? It was the last thing I was aware of as I fell into slumber.

Continue on to Chapter 2