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Candlelit Nights
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Candlelit Nights How did I, a straight guy, become lover to a lesbian? It started innocently. I was at a friend’s party and, across the room, seated on the floor with her back against the wall, was a slender, thirty-something woman with a tomboy haircut and huge, round eyeglasses. She balanced a paper plate on her lap, and picked up each potato chip delicately with long, elegant fingers. Looking for a friend, I strolled over, squatted beside her. “I thought I knew all of Michael’s friends,” I said. “How do you know him?” “He works in the lab that our clinic uses.” “You would be…” I let it dangle. “Psychotherapist,” She nodded. “Karen.” And extended her hand. She had large gray eyes, prominent cheek bones, thin lips and a charming though secretive smile as though she knew something no one else would ever know. I felt she was lovely. We talked about literature, organic foods, theater and drama, time shares, films, medicine, paintings… for nearly an hour before I got up to use the bathroom. On the way, Michael, hosted the party, stopped . “I see you’re hitting it off with Karen.” “She’s fascinating,” I said. “ bright and fun.” “All true,” Michael said. “But you’re wasting your time. Karen is a lesbian.” That threw me a little, but what if she were? She still was the interesting person I had been chatting with. “Doesn’t matter,” I said. "I like her.” A of hours later Karen and I left the party together and I followed her to her apartment where she had invited me for a drink. She lit candles and turned off the lights. Played sitar music, chromatic scale. She didn’t burn incense. Instead she unbuttoned her blouse and started<b> dancing </font></b>in the candlelight. As she’d spin there would be a flash of breast, a glimpse of flat stomach. She let the blouse fall, kicked it aside. Then unbuckled her slacks, stepped of them, hopping on slender leg. She resumed<b> dancing </font></b>and I joined her, taking off shirt. We brushed against each other. I held her against , kissed her bare shoulder. She laughed. Pulled down on the carpet and then helped pull off jeans. She rolled her stomach. I straddled her and massaged her thin shoulders. Ran hands down her sides and across her back. She was built like a : narrow hips. firm buttocks, long legs. I kept massaging, kneading her butt, her thighs. Rubbing her calves, her ankles, her feet. There was still a slight tenseness in her. I returned to her butt. Massaged and kneaded. She started to move with the pressure of hands. Raised her pelvis and moaned. It was the sign I’d waited for. I spread her cheeks. Gently I pressed thumbs against the rim of her anus. She welcomed it. Started moan and grind. I lowered, extended tongue, licked the edges of her hole, then penetrated her with tongue. She groaned with pleasure. Her hips rolled in response. She was in ecstasy. So was I as I worked tongue deeper. We became lovers that night. I didn’t penetrate her in the usual sense: she and I both climaxed in the passion of a 69. We stayed together for months before she found a woman pleased her. I was saddened, not heartbroken. I had known it was temporary. Soon I found another . That was thirty years ago. I still think of Karen from time time, and will always treasure the memories of those candlelit nights with lesbian lover. |
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