In 1993, my ex-husband and I separated for the last time. He confessed to me that he had gotten romantically, and ultimately sexually, involved with a co-worker resulting in an unplanned pregnancy. The idea that my husband had cheated on me was devastating. I thought we had a cheat-proof marriage because we were both "saved" and active in our local church. I was just under the mistaken notion that, no matter how rocky our relationship or shaky our commitment to each other became, there were certain lines we would not cross due to our mutual commitment to God. Unfortunately, I was wrong.
It wasn't that we had an idyllic marriage by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, our 2 plus year marriage had been nothing if not turbulent. From the first, it was a struggle for power and control. He was determined to rein me in, by any means necessary, and I was determined not to be "made over" by anyone. Needless to say, we both lost.
After my marriage broke up, I was in a state of personal crisis. I questioned my own ability to maintain a relationship, my womanhood, my femininity, my sexual responsiveness, etc.; in short, my whole personhood. I felt that God had betrayed me by allowing my marriage to fail despite my faithfulness, to God and my spouse, and sacrifice. This became the impetus for my personal odyssey of self-discovery.
I had been active in church since age fourteen and had played by all the rules including abstinence (which wasn't a problem for me, presumably because I'd never "gone all the way"). Having grown up in church, I was acquainted with many people my age (though, strangely enough, they were all male) who were rumored to be involved in the homosexual life. Although, their exaggeratedly effeminate ways and seeming disregard for discretion were the topic of many conversations among parishioners of all ages, I never developed a homophobic attitude. In fact, one of my best friends was gay (He might object to this label since he later married, a woman, and started a family.). He, however, was much more prudent about his activities. My philosophy was simply, "to each his own".
I never regarded myself as a woman-loving woman and had only ever been involved with males all of my life and was considered something of a **ck teaser in my neighborhood growing up because I never could shake my mother's admonition, "why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?" from my head. I did, however, enthusiastically engage in many other sexual activities, just short of full intercourse, with a healthy list of young boys. In those days, when oral sex was still taboo, that included French-kissing, fondling and sucking of breasts over and under clothing, hand jobs and digito-vaginal stimulation and penetration and let's not forget, the ever-popular, clothes-burning (mutual, clothed, frottage).
When I became involved in church, I suspended all of these activities and threw myself into more spiritual pursuits. Because I had, in effect, turned that side of myself off, in practice, I didn't consider issues of sexual compatibility in the selection of a mate. I believed that the same passion and ardor I had experienced as an adolescent and young teen could be reactivated at the right time (wedding night) in the right context (honeymoon) and with the right person (husband). I also never thought that there might be any deeper reason that I was always satisfied with the sex-play I engaged in sans penile penetration or that what would be classified as foreplay in a heterosexual context could be the whole shebang in a lesbian context.
I never did get totally comfortable with heterosexual sex; the primary reason being the fear of unwanted pregnancy and the lack of a fail-proof birth control method. But, beyond this was the unshakeable thought that my husband, as representative of men in general, wanted to take something from me and give nothing in return. He and I were married so briefly and engaged in sex so infrequently that we never learned each other in that arena. I just could never accept the idea that he could so easily take his pleasure from me and leave me dissatisfied time after time. It's not that I'm not physically and sexually attracted to men, I am. It is that there is a sense of nurturance, safety and mutual vulnerability that I enjoy when making love with a woman that I've never experienced with a man.
The first time I experienced an attraction to a woman was monumental to me. I was watching some television news program when she appeared. Something about her speech and carriage immediately peaked my interest. This was a totally new and exciting experience for me. I was "feeling her" in a way that I had previously only "felt" men. Right away, I called my best friend for an emergency meeting. We got together for coffee and I told him about the new feelings I was having. He was happy for me but, probably, more happy for himself since he now had a new club buddy. We planned to go out that very weekend, just a few days later.
We made our plans to go out that Sunday night. We went to the local bar and hung out until closing and got no action then decided to go to another club nearby that was open all night. The club was virtually deserted. There were no men there for him and only a few women there for me. After making our way to the bar and ordering drinks, we swiveled around to survey the dance floor. On the dance floor, petite, compact and curvy in all the right places, wearing a fitted, orange, summer suit and dancing between two other women was K. I was transfixed. She moved in such a sensuous and fluid way that I got wet simply watching her. When she realized she had an audience, she really "worked it" (and me if the truth were told).
I was new to the game and feeling very confident so, I went up to her and asked her to dance clearly "bogarting" on at least one of the other women with her. We danced a song or two and, while I made my first ever attempt at "macking", she made sure that there was plenty of body contact. By this time, I was dripping (not with sweat). But, alas, abruptly, she had to leave because her ride was leaving. I quickly got her telephone number and was walking back over to my friend in triumph. Just then, I felt a hand on my arm and, a fraction of a second later, soft, full lips on my cheek. My astonished friend said, "What did you say to her?" I said, "I don't know." We finished our drinks, left and I silently basked in my 100% success rate, after only one time out, while he drove me back to my car.
The next day, I called K to schedule a date. Working the second shift allowed me to stay out until all hours of the morning and sleep late while never missing work. Besides, most of the bars and clubs I frequented didn't even start "kicking" until midnight. Whether I got off at 10pm or 11pm, I had just enough time to go home, shower, change and hit the streets. I planned to take K to a nice dinner and then just play it by ear. By no means did I expect what actually happened.
K lived with her parents so, due to the lateness of the hour, we arranged for her to be looking out for me at the appointed time so I would not have to knock on the door or blow the horn. When I pulled up, K came right out. She was wearing a pair of painted on, cutoff jean shorts and a tank top with no bra. Lust was coursing through me but I wanted to be respectful and take it slow. I asked K what kind of cuisine she had a taste for to which she replied, "I'm not hungry but I do want to get some weed." While not a smoker myself, I had no problem with her, or anyone else, "getting high". She directed me to a place about a fifteen-minute drive from her house where she could "score" while I waited in the car.
The neighborhood was unfamiliar to me and also a notorious drug "set". It took her longer than I thought was necessary so I became a little antsy. I was constantly checking my rearview mirror since she had directed me to park a few houses down the street from the house she went into. I wasn't even really sure which house it was. At that point, I contemplated turning my car around and leaving. This was red flag number one. Finally, she returned, just when my patience was nearly spent. After getting in the car, she mentioned offhandedly that some of the guys would be willing to pay us if we let them watch us have sex. I didn't believe she could be serious so I laughingly declined. This was red flag number two.
After we got a good distance away from that particular neighborhood, I began to relax a little more. But, I was still somewhat apprehensive about who this woman was with whom I had "hooked up". I asked her if there was any place in particular she wanted to go and she replied, "Can't we go to your place?" If that wasn't an immediately redeemable coupon for sex, that night, I don't know what is. My clit throbbed and pulsed at the mere suggestion. So, we jumped on the highway and headed to my part of town, about a thirty-minute drive from where we were. During that drive, the sexual tension was palpable and the smell of wet **ssy was in the air.
When we arrived at my place, we headed upstairs and, the moment the door was closed and locked, I was on her. She pulled back and asked me whether I had ever done this before to which I replied, "No, this is my first time." I then proceeded to pour into this experience all of the pent-up desires and frustrations that had been held in store since my wild teenage years and "put it on" this woman. Every moan of deep pleasure and squeal of disbelief and delight was like music to my ears. She was the perfect size; I could easily lift and reposition her at will. Even better, she was a talker. Girlfriend knew all the right things to say to elicit the most raw, erotic, animal passion from me. She made me believe I was the best there was or ever would be. I had the best, longest and most intense orgasm of my life. It was the shiznit.
She said breathlessly, "Are you sure this was your first time?"
I, with trepidation, said, "Yes."
She said incredulously, "Yeah, right."
Copyright © 2003. Used with author's permission.
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