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“I guess I don’t understand,” she said, watching the wine swirl around in her glass. She sat on the living room floor, leaning back against my favorite chair, her legs stretched out and crossed in front of her. She looked slightly flushed. Was that from the wine or the current topic of conversation?
“Don’t understand what?” I asked, smiling nervously, though I was hoping she didn’t see it. “How a woman could find another woman attractive?” I had known this woman for almost twenty years and had just come out to her over dinner. With all of the rejection I had faced in the six years since I admitted that I was gay, I didn’t think I could stand to lose someone else to fear and misunderstanding. Please don’t hate me! The words echoed somewhere in the back of my head.
She stared deeper into her wine as if the words that she was trying to find might be floating there. “No,” she said quietly, hesitating. “I can understand how that could happen.”
Mrs. Piccolo – Eleanor (I’m still getting used to calling her that.) had been my second grade teacher. She was the main reason that I decided to go into teaching. In high school I had taking an education course and jumped at the chance to work with her. In college, while I was not able to choose the teacher, I was able to choose the school at which I student taught. She shared much of her wisdom from her twenty-five years of teaching experience over cafeteria food in the faculty lounge. When I was offered a position as the music teacher in the same school some years later, I gladly took it.
I know it sounds cheesy, but Eleanor was my hero. She exuded this knowledge and self-confidence and kindness. She was always so enthusiastic about learning, an enthusiasm which was contagious. Suddenly multiplication and spelling was fun. And I still haven’t quite figured out how she did it, but even with a class of twenty-five seven and eight year olds, she could still make everyone feel special. I don’t remember her ever yelling (though I’m sure she did), but I do remember her greeting me at the door each morning with a hug.
Eleanor sent me a Christmas card every year, something I found out that she didn’t do for all of her students. My mother died when I was twenty. Not only did she come to the funeral, but she showed up at my front door every day for a month and a half with a home-made dinner. Later when I became depressed, she seemed to know exactly when to call to make sure that I was out of bed, dressed, et cetera.
In January of this year, Eleanor’s husband of thirty years passed away. Her children were all grown and out of the house. It was my turn to step up to the plate. I spent many nights sleeping in her son’s room listening as she cried herself to sleep. Tonight was the first time she had expressed an interest in getting out of the house so I invited her over for dinner. She had asked why I never seemed to be dating anyone, hence our current conversation.
“What don’t you understand?” I asked.
She laughed quietly. “A lot of things,” she answered. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”
I laughed in relief and was immediately sorry I did. She seemed to flinch. I explained that my mother never accepted that I was a lesbian to the day she died, that most of the friends I had had for many years turned their backs. “I couldn’t stand to lose you as well.”
The conversation relaxed a lot after this. We talked and laughed as we normally did as we finished off one bottle of wine and started on another. We discussed the differences in the way we were raised.
“Homosexuality was never discussed when I was growing up,” she said.
“In your day all of the lesbians went to the convent,” I answered. She found that very funny, thinking about Sister Mary Martha and Sister Mary Patricia, two of her teachers in high school. She stopped mid-thought and tilted her head to one side, a slight smile on her face. I remembered that look from school when she was trying to figure out the reasoning behind some bizarre behavior.
“What do lesbians…do?” she asked.
I was taken aback by the question. “What do you mean?”
“In bed,” she answered. Some of that old self-confidence seemed to be reappearing. Mine, however, was waning slightly. It was now my turn to blush and look to my wine glass for answers.
I stumbled over my words. “Depends on what you… I mean… what someone likes.” topkapı escort Tell me that didn’t sound as stupid as it did in my head. I took a quick swig of my wine.
“Hmm,” she muttered. “What I like never really came up with Frank so I guess I never gave it much thought.” I had met Frank. This piece of information didn’t really surprise me. “So what do women like?” Mrs. Piccolo, I can’t possibly answer that question with you looking at me.
“Well,” I said, sounding to myself like I was trying to be an expert in the subject of female sexuality. “Some women enjoy oral sex, some like… fingers and then others like toys.” I guess I can say that, but please don’t make me look at you.
She laughed her gentle laugh. “Toys?” My eyes looked anywhere but at her. This was strange.
“Toys,” I said, not nearly as confident as I sounded. “Like vibrators or… or… other things.” I dared to look up at her. Her head was still tilted to the side with that amused smile. I had to look away. The smile, the look in her brown eyes, the wine, I’m not sure, but something was having a strange effect on me. I always knew she was beautiful, but was she always this… hot?
“Hmm,” she said again. The huskiness of her voice made me shiver. A memory suddenly came to mind. Story time. Mrs. Piccolo sitting down on the rug. Her skirt slowly sliding up her thigh. Change the subject, Mrs. Piccolo, please! She didn’t.
“What’s it like to kiss a woman?” she asked. Why are you asking all these questions? I wanted to scream. Can’t you see me squirming?
I answered as honestly as I could. “It’s a lot like kissing a man,” I said. “Only better.” She laughed, that sweet melodious laugh. I half smiled. “Seriously. It’s softer, sweeter, less scratchy.”
“Hmm,” she said again. Mrs. Piccolo, please tell me what is behind those noises. You’re driving me nuts! “I’d like to try that,” she said quietly. If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought she was being shy.
I laughed. “I’m having a hard enough time finding myself a girlfriend,” I said. “You want me to find one for you too?”
“No,” she said, as if she were really considering the question. “May I kiss you?”
NO, Mrs. Piccolo! The fact that you made that question grammatically correct is enough to show that no you should not kiss me! Nor should I kiss you. Even though you are my best friend and apparently interested which a totally bizarre thought in itself and the fact that at the moment I’d love to… “OK.” Did that come out of my mouth???
As I leaned closer, I was terrified that at any moment I would break into fits of hysterical laughter. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Her eyes twinkled. I could smell her perfume, lightly sprayed where? On her wrists? Her neck? Her breasts? Our lips met. Soft, warm, wet… I pulled away slowly, remaining inches away. There was a growl in my belly. I was hungry. I wanted more.
I looked into her eyes. They crinkled at the edges in a way that made my heart melt. A slight smile played on her lips. “Hmm,” she said as she leaned forward and kissed me again.
Mrs. Piccolo, we really shouldn’t be doing this. I mean, you’re my best friend and I don’t want to mess that up. No, please don’t wrap your arms around my neck, Mrs. Piccolo. And why do you have to smell so good. Honestly, Mrs. Piccolo, I don’t know how your students can concentrate. This is really not a good idea and you’re making it very hard for me to…Oh my God, is that your tongue in my mouth. OK, maybe I’ll just hold you, but we really shouldn’t…oh your body is so warm, Mrs. Piccolo. No, don’t come any closer! Stay right where you are! Don’t – ah to hell with it…
“Eleanor, I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone in my entire life,” I whispered. “So I suggest you go before I make a total ass out of myself.” She pulled away.
“Do you know what it’s like,” she said, her voice deep with emotion and meaning, but never wavering. “To do exactly what is expected of you every day of your life?” I didn’t, but I figured it was a rhetorical question. “To wake up every morning for thirty years to the same man that you don’t particularly care for because of a single vow?” She slid her knees under her body. I was sure she was about to stand up, to leave, never to be seen again. “To pour out every bit of knowledge and never be taught in return?” Instead she swung ümraniye escort one leg over my lap so that she straddled me. “To love someone, to want someone and feel that it would be wrong to do anything about it? To not even know what to do if I could do something about it?”
She looked me straight in the eye. “I’ve watched you grow up into a beautiful, wonderful woman. I knew from the day I met you that you would totally change my life. I felt guilty for the longest time for the feelings I had for you. I felt that if Frank ever knew, I would be betraying him. I felt like some monster for wanting someone who was a child when I first met her. But something changed tonight and there is a very clear voice in my head that said ‘Fuck it!'”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I didn’t think that Mrs. Piccolo even knew that word. It was never on a vocabulary test. But then, this wasn’t Mrs. Piccolo.
“It’s my turn to learn and you’re the best teacher I know,” she said, that little smile returning to her face. “It’s my turn to have what I want, to have what I love.” She paused. “Now I suggest you leave before I make a complete ass out of myself.” I think it was at that point that the reality of the situation finally kicked in.
I laughed. “I live here,” I said. My hands slid over her hips and up the middle of her back, pulling her closer. Her mouth attached itself to mine. I could taste the sweetness of the wine on her tongue. I held her tighter, her body pressed against mine. That little doubting voice in my head was nowhere to be heard. It had been replaced with that low rumble that got louder by the second, the growl of some caged wild animal pacing restlessly behind the bars. I kissed her cheek, her neck, her throat. I could feel her breath quickening.
I slid my hands up the back of her shirt. Something about touching her skin, that wonderfully soft skin sent an electric current up each of my fingers. My heart began to race. I lifted her shirt over her head, my fingers never losing contact with her body. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined Mrs. Piccolo in a black bra, but the sight of Eleanor in this silk and lace was enough to make me lose my mind. Not to mention that she had a gorgeous body for a fifty-year-old mother of three. She giggled as my fingers trailed lightly over her sides.
Her hands drifted through my hair, over my shoulders to the top of my shirt. Her fingers trembled slightly as she undid each button, one by one. I kissed her chest. My hands slid up her back to her bra strap, unhooked it in no time, and gently pulled it off of her. Not small, not large, her breasts were perfect and perky. Her nipples poked out as if stretching to me to be touched, fondled, kissed. She lost interest momentarily in my own chest. Fine with me. I felt that if she touched me at all I would explode. She watched me nervously.
She breathed more heavily now as my fingers danced across her breasts, getting close to the nipples, but not touching. The back of one hand brushed over one erect nipple, barely touching. She gasped, one quick “Eh.” That was the key. The cage was unlocked and the animal was released. With one quick movement, I threw her to the ground, kneeling between her legs and kissing her deeply. Her hands slid over my stomach to my own heaving breasts. I pulled myself up, threw my shirt across the room and tore off my bra.
She bit her lip as her hands deeply managed my breasts and ran down my stomach. There was no hesitation, no trembling as she undid the button of my jeans. I looked at her, surprised. “I want to feel your body against mine,” she said, her voice deep. I rolled over to the side, frustrated that I couldn’t get my pants and underwear off as smoothly as I would have liked. She looked straight into my eyes as she slowly unzipped her own jeans and slid them as well as her black cotton underpants over her legs and kicked them aside.
I sat there beside her, my eyes scanning her body, heat surging between my legs. One bare leg was bent at the knee and pointing to the ceiling, the other lay flat on the floor. Her hair was dark, perfectly curled, and looked so soft to touch. Her stomach was flat, but not so flat that you could see bones. One thin hand with those long fingers lay relaxed on her stomach just below her breasts. The other lay above her head. Her breasts lay perfectly to yenibosna escort the sides. Her brown eyes twinkled playfully. Her tongue ran slowly across her lips. I sat awestruck at this beautiful naked woman lying before me.
Suddenly there was an arm around my neck pulling me down to kiss her again. I snapped into action. My hand drifted from her collar bone over her breast, circling the nipple, over her stomach, down her thigh to the knee, back up her inner thigh, higher and higher and back down to her knee. Three times I did this. The third, she raised her hips as I reached the top of her thigh so my thumb briefly brushed against her crotch. She moaned quietly.
I shifted. I put one knee between her legs, straddling the leg that was flat on the ground. I leaned forward so that my thigh pressed against her pussy and so that her thigh pressed against mine. I was surprised at how wet she was already. I slid my body over hers, kissed her breasts, her nipples. My tongue flickered about her nipple, then sucking, gently biting. She moaned again, a little louder. She looked down at me nervously as my tongue trailed over her stomach, lower, lower. “Trust me,” I whispered. She lay her head back on the floor, spread her legs.
I could feel her trembling as I moved my head between her legs. The smell of her was intoxicating. The trembling stopped the second my tongue touched her clit. She cried out. Her back arched. Her hips rose, pushing that sweet pussy into my face. I drank deeply, hungrily, lapping up everything. My appetite only grew as her groans became more frequent, louder, deeper. She came quickly, suddenly, wrapping her legs around my head. I couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care. If I had to die, there was no better place that I could think of than between Eleanor’s legs with my face buried in her pussy.
As the spasms subsided I couldn’t help but think that my job was not done. She had cum too quickly, not nearly as intensely as I had hoped. I crawled up beside her, my hand remaining where my tongue had just been. She wrapped her arms around me, kissed me passionately. She made a move to go down on me. I grabbed her shoulders and gently pulled her back up to face me. She looked confused. “I want to see you,” I said quietly. “I want to cum with you.” I took her hand and guided it over my body, over my breasts which she leaned down to kiss. On her own, she slid her fingers over my stomach between my legs. I pulled her close so that our breasts pressed together. My breath shook on her neck as she expertly found my clit, drawing little light circles around it with one finger.
My hand slid over her body and easily slipped between her legs. I mimicked her movements, gently teasing her clit until I heard her breath start to quicken along with mine. It took all my strength to keep my orgasm from coming. She moaned quietly into my mouth. That was the cue I was looking for. I slid one finger inside her and watched her face for a reaction. Her mouth opened, her head fell back in a silent moan. Her fingers trembled on my clit before moving slightly faster. I slid another finger in. She moaned and pushed her breasts closer to mine. Her fingers moved faster. I groaned into her shoulder, biting gently. My fingers moved in and out slowly, a little deeper each time they pushed in.
Her eyes stared deeply into mine. My thumb began to caress her clit as the two fingers slid effortlessly in and out. I couldn’t keep my moans to myself anymore as I fought to keep myself from cumming. This seemed to excite her even more as she got louder. “More,” she growled as her fingers slid quickly over my soaked clit. A third finger, a fourth. She yelled out. “Fuck me!” My fingers slid faster, harder in and out of her, fucking her as she moved her hips to get them deeper. My thumb rubbed her clit vigorously. She wrapped one leg around my waist, pulling me into her. “Oh God,” she screamed. With that, I couldn’t hold it anymore. The orgasm built to levels I never thought possible. I felt the juices pouring out of me as I buried my head in her breasts to muffle my yelling. She let out one last scream as her back arched and she began to shake uncontrollably. “Oh God oh God Oh God,” she whimpered as the orgasm began to subside. She took her hand from between my legs and dragged her nails across my back. I rubbed my crotch against her leg until every bit of the orgasm was gone.
When she stopped shaking, I put my hand on her butt and pulled her to me. She continued to whimper as her legs wrapped tightly around me. I kissed her mouth, her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead, trying to catch my breath, holding her just as tightly. “I love you, Mrs. Piccolo,” I whispered in her ear. She was fast asleep.
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