Desiree's New Friend
Desiree, a happily married, heterosexual woman, meets a tall, dark woman in the grocery store one day. A friendship develops but soon, Desiree finds out her new friend wants a little more. Written for a special friend of mine during my Christmas break from Intemperance II.
Desiree Smith was pushing her shopping cart through the aisles of the local Saving Center grocery store, picking up the various ingredients she would need to construct one of her famous chicken lasagnas. She was almost done with the shopping, her mind not thinking about much of anything, when she rounded the canned vegetable aisle, turned toward the pasta aisle, and almost slammed into a very tall figure pushing a cart in the opposite direction.
She managed to pull back on her cart in time to avoid a collision and was about to utter the standard, polite "excuse me" when she actually got a good look at the person in her path. It was a woman. An extremely tall woman, perhaps the tallest woman Desiree had ever seen in her life. She was well over six and a half feet in height, perhaps six-eight or six-nine. Desiree herself was certainly not short. She measured a solid five feet, ten inches, well above the statistical average for women in the United States, but this woman towered almost a foot higher than her. This was a sight that Desiree was simply unused to seeing. Before she could stop herself, before she even realized she was going to speak aloud, the word "wow" blurted out of her lips.
The woman gave her a tired smile, one that was tinged with just the slightest bit of annoyance. "I get that a lot," she told her.
Desiree immediately began to blush, embarrassed. "Oh my god," she said. "I didn't mean to say that out loud. I just... you know... I mean." She shook her head, unused to being flustered like this. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."
The woman's smile turned a little more genuine. "No offense taken," she said. "And before you ask, yes, I used to play basketball."
Desiree had been about to ask this. Her embarrassment grew as she realized she was almost goggling at the woman like she was a freak. She mumbled once again that she was sorry and then moved off, turning down the next aisle and heading quickly toward the pasta noodles she needed. When she found them she turned back the way she had come, just for an instant, and saw the tall woman was still standing there, seeming to examine a display of Diet Coke that had been set up. She made eye contact with Desiree, gave her one last smile, and then disappeared.
"Wow," Desiree whispered to herself again, still pondering the image of the Amazonian woman. Her head was almost at the level of the top of the grocery shelves. Her legs, which had been clad in faded blue jeans, seemed to stretch on forever. And for all that, the woman was not the least bit out-of-proportion. She wasn't fat, wasn't muscular, wasn't thin as a rail. Her face was pretty and her plain brown hair was nicely styled. She had on a simple white blouse that showed off a pair of medium to large breasts. She was nothing more than a shapely, moderately attractive woman of correct proportions who just happened to be a foot or so taller than average. And for some reason that Desiree could not put her finger on, this intrigued her in a way that was partly exciting and partly disturbing.
What in the hell is wrong with me? She wondered nervously. Surely I'm not thinking about... about that, am I?
She shoved thoughts of that to the back of her mind. They went obediently into their dungeon, but with a little more reluctance than usual. I am not attracted to women, she told herself firmly. I'm a happily married, sexually satisfied, heterosexual woman with two kids. I do not want to sleep with another woman.
By the time she was done choosing her pasta and the sauces she would need to go with it, she had once again convinced herself that this was true. It wasn't that hard to do. She had a lot of experience at it.
-------
The Saving Center only had three check stands open when it was time for her to pay for her groceries. One was the express line, which required ten items or less. Desiree quickly counted up the contents of her cart and found she had thirteen items. Though she had seen people slip through in front of her with as many as twenty items many times in the past, her ingrained sense of morality would not allow her to break the rules. The number three aisle had three people with full carts waiting their turn. The number six aisle, however, seemed like the best prospect. There was a middle-aged housewife just finishing up with a large haul and, behind her, an elderly lady with only half a cartful.
"Score," Desiree muttered to herself and quickly spun her cart in behind the elderly woman.
She was there less than ten seconds when another cart came squeaking in behind her. She turned to glance at her fellow line-waiter and found herself looking directly at a pair of medium to large boobs beneath a white blouse. She slowly turned her head up and looked into the eyes of the tall woman she'd met in the pasta aisle. She felt a little shudder of trepidation course through her.
"We meet again," the woman said, offering her friendly smile.
"Yes," Desiree said, putting a smile on her face in return. "They really need to open a few more check stands here, don't they?"
"It would be nice," the woman said with a shrug. "I don't mind the wait, though. Sometimes you meet the most interesting people while waiting in line."
"I suppose that's a good way to look at it," Desiree said. She glanced down at the woman's cart and saw it contained only a few items. There was a twelve-pack of Diet Coke, a pound of Sundollars Coffee, a package of chicken breasts, some boxed stuffing, and a few vegetables. "You know," Desiree told her, "you could slip pretty quickly through the express line. You're under the limit."
"It's starting to back up over there," she said. "A bunch of people buying Chinese food and pre-cooked chickens. I think it'll be faster over here."
"Yes, sometimes that's the way it works," Desiree agreed.
The middle-aged woman finished up her transaction and one of the "courtesy clerks", as they were called, grabbed her cart and asked her which way to go. The elderly woman then pushed her cart forward. Before the checker could start scanning the items in the cart, the elderly woman reached in her purse and pulled out a large stack of coupons.
Both Desiree and the tall woman gave a look of consternation to each other with their eyes.
"And then sometimes," the tall woman whispered, "it doesn't quite work out that way."
Desiree let a little giggle escape from her lips and nodded. They settled in for what experience had taught them would be a long haul.
They were not mistaken. The scanning of the elderly woman's items went relatively smoothly. It was when the clerk started scanning the fistful of coupons that the trouble began. She only made it through three of them before her computer beeped out a warning tone, apparently indicating that nothing previously scanned matched this particular coupon. All forward progress came to a halt as the clerk and the old lady began examining the take in the bagging area to figure out the discrepancy.
"Here's the problem," the clerk explained patiently. "This coupon for the Fleet enemas is only for the eight pack of them. You are purchasing the two pack."
"Does it say it's for the eight pack?" the woman asked.
"Yes, ma'am, it does." She pointed out that particular section of the coupon that read: Good for eight pack only.
The elderly woman huffed. "Well what am I supposed to do with eight of them?" she asked. "They have an expiration date, you know."
The two of them began discussing the issue. Desiree sighed and turned her head to look at the tall woman behind her. She could not resist giving a roll of the eyes. "Jesus Christ," she whispered. "This happens to me every time I come to this grocery store."
The tall woman gave a sympathetic giggle. "Me too," she whispered back. "It's part of the joy of living in Springwood, isn't it?" Springwood was the suburban community outside of Heritage, California they were currently in the heart of. It was a suburb populated primarily by people over the age of sixty-five.
"You know it," Desiree said. She looked at the other check stands, contemplating a change of venue. Unfortunately, by this point the other open stands had filled up with other shoppers. Even the express lane now had no less than ten people waiting (well over half of these were other elderly folk who no doubt had coupons as well).
The tall woman followed her gaze to the other lines, probably with the same idea in mind, probably coming to the same conclusion. "Looks like we're here for the duration," she said, good-naturedly.
"Yep," Desiree said. This was confirmed a moment later when the dispute over the Fleet enemas was resolved (the elderly woman decided to simply pay full price for the two pack) and the next coupon was scanned, causing yet another warning beep from the computer.
"This coupon is for the Starling regular chicken noodle soup," the clerk explained. "You have six cans of the ready-to-serve."
"Does it say it's only for the regular?" the elderly woman asked.
"Yes, ma'am, it does," the clerk said patiently.
Desiree suppressed a sigh.
"Looks like you're making lasagna?" the tall woman asked Desiree as she looked at the contents of her cart.
"Yes," Desiree said. "Chicken lasagna. They're having a potluck at my husband's office tomorrow. I made the mistake of making it for them at the last potluck and they liked it so much they demanded more."
"It must be very good," she said.
"It is, if I do say so myself. A girlfriend of mine gave me the recipe a few years ago and I've improved on it little by little. I love to cook."
"I do too," the tall woman said. "I've never been ambitious enough to try homemade lasagna though. I've heard it's a lot of work."
"It's not too bad," Desiree said. "It takes maybe an hour to put it together, a little less if you're used to doing it."
"An hour, huh?" the woman said thoughtfully. "That sounds doable. I don't suppose you have a copy of the recipe on you."
"Unfortunately, no," Desiree said. "If you're really interested in it, though, I can email it to you."
The woman brightened. "That would be very nice," she said. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
"I'm sure," Desiree said. She dug around in her purse and pulled out her planner. A ballpoint pen was clipped inside of it. "What's your email?"
The woman blushed a little bit. "You're not easily offended, are you?" she asked.
"Uh... I don't think so," Desiree said.
"Okay," the woman said. "It's uh... tall, dark, and naughty at fastmail dot com."
Desiree raised her eyebrows a little bit. "Tall, dark, and naughty, huh? I take it this is not your business email account?"
The woman giggled. "No, I'm not in that kind of business," she said. "I work in a medical office and they really disapprove of us using our office email to exchange recipes."
"I understand completely," Desiree said, suspecting, of course, that this woman actually had a regular home email account as well but was reluctant to share it with a woman she had just met. She was unoffended by this thought. It was just common sense in this age of identity theft and rampant spam to have a throwaway email address. Desiree herself had two such addresses in addition to her normal email account. "How does that write out on paper?"
The woman told her. It was talldark&naughty@fastmail.com. She then told Desiree her name. It was Peggy.
"Nice to meet you, Peggy," Desiree said, holding out her hand. "I'm Desiree."
"Nice to meet you as well," Peggy said, shaking with her. Her hand was large, nearly swallowing Desiree's, but soft and feminine in texture.
Meanwhile, at the check stand, the drama continued. The point in dispute was now over a box of bran cereal that did not exactly match the brand on the coupon. The two women continued to chat with each other, sharing basic biographies. Peggy told Desiree she was divorced and living in a nearby house with her seven year old daughter. Desiree volunteered the fact that she had two children, a boy and a girl, six and eight respectively, and was basically a stay-at-home mom, although she did work part-time as a substitute teacher for the Heritage Unified School District.
Finally, at long last, the last of the elderly lady's coupons cleared the system and the last of the price checks on other items were done. They only had to wait until she slowly wrote out a check and had it accepted by the store's computer system. Once this was done, the same courtesy clerk that had been run ragged doing price checks and taking back her unwanted items, courteously helped her out to her car.
Desiree's checkout went smooth as silk. Her thirteen items were scanned in less than a minute and she paid with her ATM card. As she picked up her bags she turned to Peggy one last time. "It was nice meeting you," she told her. "I'll send that recipe off as soon as I get on the computer."
"Thanks," Peggy responded, giving her one last smile. "And it was nice to meet you as well."
Desiree got in her car and headed for her suburban tract house. As she drove, her thoughts remained on the tall woman she'd just met. She seemed very nice, the kind of person she might like having as a friend. She had been somewhat lacking in the friendship department these last eight months because Cindy, her best friend since childhood, had moved to Phoenix when her husband was transferred there.
I wonder if she really is naughty? her mind asked, seemingly from nowhere. And just how naughty?
"Stop it," she scolded herself, unaware she was even speaking aloud. "You don't even want to know."
-------
She sent a copy of the chicken lasagna recipe to talldark&naughty as soon as she finished putting away her groceries. In the text portion of the email she wrote a brief note inviting Peggy to respond back to her when she made the recipe to let her know how it went. She did not use one of her throwaway accounts. She used her main, personal email address.
That night, Richard, her husband, was treated to an enthusiastic and lengthy session of marital sex that began within minutes of the children being put to bed. They started on the living room couch, moved to the staircase for a bit, and then finally ended up in their bedroom.
"Wow," Richard said after pouring himself out into her body for the second time. He was panting a little, his body covered in sweat, his short hair damp and mussed up from her fingers clawing at it. "What brought that on?"
"I don't know," she said innocently, staring up at the ceiling fan, her body still trembling from the final string of orgasmic delight she'd just enjoyed. "I was just horny today for some reason."
-------
She heard nothing from Peggy over the next nine days, long enough that talldark&naughty almost faded from her consciousness. She went about her life, taking care of her children, keeping her house running smoothly (or at least semi-efficiently), and occasionally taking a substitute teaching assignment at one of the local elementary schools on days when her schedule allowed it.
It was during the second such teaching assignment that a lesbian propositioned her — again. This was something that had happened to her many times in her life, starting in her late teens and occurring regularly throughout her adulthood. The phenomenon had picked up considerably in both frequency and aggressiveness since she had allowed Richard Smith to put that two-carrot diamond on her left ring finger. Desiree had no idea why lesbian women were so attracted to her, but they were. She was not the least bit masculine looking. On the contrary, she was very girly and feminine, both in appearance and mannerisms. But nonetheless, it seemed that whenever she crossed paths with a lesbian — and such things happened quite a bit in Heritage, California, a liberal city with a large gay population — they were drawn to her in a manner that seemed almost like hypnosis at times. She knew from talking to other women that her experience in this matter was unique. Most of her heterosexual friends had never been hit on by a lesbian, even those who counted lesbians among their inner circle of friends. Yet with Desiree it was almost a bi-monthly happening.
The latest woman who yearned to get into her pants — her happily married pants — was named Darla Simpson. She worked as a traffic officer for the California Highway Patrol, one of the few women in the state assigned to the motorcycle corps of that particular agency. She and her "life partner" had been together for more than ten years and were registered with the state as an official civil union. Two years before, the two of them had adopted a seven-year-old Guatemalan boy who had been orphaned. Manny, as the boy was known, was now a second grader and Darla herself was the classroom mom assigned to Wednesdays in his classroom. Desiree knew all of this about her because Darla spent most of that day sitting next to her as she taught the class, reciting her life story to her.
Desiree remained friendly to Darla as the day went on even though she knew by the end of the first hour that Darla was going to make a move at some point. That point came just after the kids left for lunch, leaving Desiree and Darla alone in the classroom for the first time.
"So," Darla said, sitting uncomfortably close to Desiree, her left knee actually touching Desiree's right knee, "I was thinking that maybe we could get together after school for... you know... some coffee or something."
"I'm sorry," Desiree told her in a monotone voice. "I need to get home and help my husband (she made sure to emphasize that word) get dinner ready."
Darla simply nodded. "I understand," she said. "Domestic tranquility is the cornerstone of the American way of life, isn't it?"
"I suppose," Desiree replied.
"How about coming over for dinner at my place some night, though?" She gave a look that was dripping with innuendo. "Suzanne is out of town on business next week. I'd love to have some company while she's gone."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Desiree told her, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. She always did in such circumstances. "You see, I'm really not into that sort of thing."
"Is it because I have a partner?" Darla asked. "If you're worried about that, you don't have to. Suzanne and I have kind of an open relationship, if you know what I mean."
"My husband and I don't, though," Desiree told her.
"I wouldn't tell him," Darla said with a particularly lecherous wink.
"Darla, hon," Desiree said. "I'm not a lesbian. I'm a happily married heterosexual woman."
Darla looked at her for a moment, considering. Finally, she said, "Is it because I'm butch? I can put on a dress and femme myself up a little if you want. Sometimes I like to do that."
"No," Desiree said firmly. "Thank you."
Darla simply shrugged and put a piece of paper in Desiree's shirt pocket (catching more than a passing feel of her left boob in the process). "Here's my number," she said. "When you change your mind, give me a call."
Not if you change your mind, when. Desiree simply shook her head and spent the rest of the day trying to stay as far away from Darla as possible.
-------
When she got home that afternoon she opened a bottle of Merlot from her collection and poured nearly a third of the bottle into a water glass. Fending off horny lesbians always put her in a strange mood that was best tempered with alcohol.
She checked the roast she'd placed in the crockpot that morning and then yelled at her daughters to pick up the damn living room and start working on their homework. Once this was accomplished, she went into the small office that had been set up in the home's fourth bedroom and turned on the computer to check her email. Since meeting Peggy, this was something she did three or four times a day now. While it went through the boot-up process she managed to move half of the wine from her glass to her stomach.
When she opened the email program, it showed seven new messages — a few more than was normal. Two were for her husband, probably crude jokes or obscene lists sent by some of his business associates. Two others were spam that had somehow made it through the filtering system (one was for cut-rate concert tickets, the other for an herbal, all natural cure for erectile dysfunction). Of the remaining three, two of them were forwarded chain mail from casual acquaintances. The last message, however, was from talldark&naughty@fastmail.com.
Peggy! her mind screamed happily — much more happily then it really should have. She pretended not to notice her own excitement and double-clicked on the message, opening it.
Dear Desiree, it read. Got the recipe last week. Sorry I didn't thank you earlier. Things have been a bit hectic here, if you know what I mean ;). (Desiree actually did not know what she meant, nor what the winking emoticon was supposed to imply). Anyway, I have a friend coming over tonight and I'm going to make an attempt at the lasagna. I just got back from the store with all my ingredients moments ago. So wish me luck. I'll let you know how it turns out. Peggy.
Desiree read the email twice, ignoring the brief stab of jealousy she felt at the words I have a friend coming over tonight and disregarding the warm glow she felt just to be in communication with her. She gulped a little more of her wine and then clicked on the reply tab. A message box opened up, the addressee: talldark&naughty.
Peggy, she wrote. Good luck on the lasagna. I'm anxious to hear how you like it.
She hesitated for a moment and then added, If you're having any problems with the recipe, feel free to give me a call. My number is 333-2171. I'll be home all afternoon and evening.
She signed her name — such as one does in an email — and before giving herself the time to reconsider the wisdom of giving her cell phone number to a woman she didn't know, she clicked the SEND button. Her message was sent out into the Internet at the speed of light.
It was less then twenty minutes before her cell phone started ringing in the kitchen. The ring tone was "Anyway You Want It" by Journey, the song she'd assigned to unrecognized numbers. She snatched it up, perhaps a little faster then intended, and looked at the display screen. Sure enough, the phone number, while from the Heritage area code, was one she had never seen before. She clicked the TALK button and put the phone to her ear.
"Hello," she said softly.
"Is this Desiree?" a female voice enquired.
"Yes it is," she confirmed.
"Hi, Desiree, it's Peggy. I need help."
She stayed on the phone with her for twenty-five minutes, talking her through the actual construction of the dish. She gave her detailed instruction on how to lay out the layers of pasta and then put the sauce, meat, and cheese between them.
"These freakin' noodles are hot!" Peggy barked at one point.
"Well, don't use your fingers," Desiree told her. "Use a pair of tongs."
"Oh... good idea," Peggy said with a giggle. "I'm such a dufus sometimes."
In between instructions, they took the time to chat with each other, just the normal talk of two women getting to know each other. They talked mostly about their children, sharing milestones and anecdotes. By the time Desiree got her to the point of putting the lasagna in the oven, she knew the seeds of friendship were firmly established. With a little tending, they just might start to take root.
"So I bake it for an hour, right?" Peggy asked.
"Right," she agreed. "And it's best to let it sit for about fifteen minutes once you take it out. That lets everything settle and let's some of the cheese solidify a bit."
"That should be just about perfect," Peggy said. "My friend will be here in about forty-five minutes. That'll give us time to have a few drinks before dinner." She gave a little giggle. "It helps to loosen things up, you know what I mean?"
Desiree, who had been sipping on her wine throughout the entire conversation, returned the giggle with one of her own. "It does tend to help one get to the naughty, doesn't it?"
"And that's what it's all about," Peggy said.
They laughed together (Desiree once again refusing to acknowledge the pang of jealousy she felt at the thought of Peggy's visitor — after all, why should she care if Peggy was getting herself laid tonight?) and then Peggy declared that she really needed to get started on her salad and her garlic bread. She thanked Desiree several times for the recipe and for the walk-through of its construction.
"Anytime," Desiree told her. "I was glad to help. And you'll let me know how it turns out?"
"You bet," Peggy said. "Maybe we can get together for coffee tomorrow and I'll tell you all about it."
Desiree smiled. "That would be nice. I'm free tomorrow while the kids are in school."
"Then it's a date," Peggy said. "How about the Sundollars at Willow and Whispering Oaks? We can sit and chat in there."
"What time?" Desiree asked.
"Eleven o'clock?" she suggested. "I should be freed up by then."
"I'll be there," Desiree assured her.
They said their goodbyes and Desiree pushed the END button on her phone. She set it down on the counter and picked up the task of making her own dinner. She didn't even notice that her palms were sweaty, her nipples were hard, and the crotch of her panties were more than a little damp. All she knew was that she was very horny and didn't think she was going to be able to wait until the kids went to bed before she threw herself at Richard.
-------
Desiree pulled into the Sundollars parking lot at five minutes to eleven. The coffee house was moderately crowded with the pre-lunch rush but there was no Peggy to be found. She went back outside and sat at one of the outside tables. It was a beautiful early spring day and she figured she might as well enjoy the sun while she waited.
As she sat there, looking out at the parking lot, she caught the attention of many of the male patrons and even that of a female or two. She was naturally attractive to those personality types that favored tall, full-bodied women with nice boobs, but on this day she looked absolutely ravishing. Without really thinking about why, she had taken particular care with her appearance for this meeting. She had on a pair of low-riding, khaki knickers and a white sleeveless blouse that was clingy enough to display her well-formed breasts to their best advantage. The bottom of her blouse was high enough to ride up and give peeks of her smooth belly and the silver stud in her naval whenever she lifted her arms. Her brunette hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders, with just a hint of curl in it. She had her diamond earrings in her lobes and her diamond pendent on a chain around her neck.
Desiree had noticed the women in the crowd ogling her. She almost always sensed it when a female was drinking in her appearance. She did not, however, take note of the men who were doing the same thing, although they were much more numerous and checked her out much more openly. She had always had a bit of a self-esteem problem in regard to her attractiveness to men. This stemmed from her adolescence, when she had shot up to her present height by tenth grade but had not actually filled out completely until her first year of college. She had been tall, skinny, awkward, and shy, not even going out on a real date until she was a junior in college, not having sex for the first time until early in her senior year. Well... unless you counted that one time at her friend Julie's house when she was fifteen, and Desiree certainly did not count that episode.
A red Subaru Forester pulled into the parking lot from Whispering Oaks Boulevard. On the back of it was a rack with a yellow mountain bike attached to it. Desiree glanced at the vehicle and was about to dismiss it when she noticed it was Peggy behind the wheel. Her heart fluttered a little in her chest and she waved her hand when she caught Peggy's eye. Peggy waved back and pulled her vehicle into the nearest convenient parking spot.
The door opened and Peggy stepped out, all six foot, eight inches of her. It seemed she had just returned from a bike ride somewhere as she was still dressed in her exercise clothing. She wore a pair of black, spandex shorts that showed off her long, toned legs. A yellow spandex shirt covered her torso. It was low-cut and sleeveless, showing her bare shoulders and a decent amount of cleavage. Her hair was in a ponytail that stuck out through a hole in the back of her baseball cap. When she raised her left arm to wave at Desiree, her shirt rode up, baring three inches of tanned midriff. Peggy had a naval piercing as well, although hers was a ring instead of a stud, silver instead of gold.
Desiree realized she was staring at her new friend's flesh in a way that was a little more than friendly. She chided herself for the transgression and stood up to greet her.
They exchanged pleasantries, with Peggy looking her up and down for a few moments and complimenting her appearance.
"You look very nice," she said. "I feel kind of scrungy compared to you."
"Are you kidding?" Desiree asked. "You look adorable in your workout clothes. Did you just finish a bike ride?"
Peggy nodded. "Yep. I did twenty miles this morning."
"Wow, twenty miles? How long does that take?"
"About an hour and a half from the time I unload my bike at Bellingraph Park to the time I load it back up again at the end."
"You ride on the trail?" The trail, as any Heritage County resident knew it, referred to the Heritage River Bike Trail, which ran twenty-nine miles along the length of the Heritage River from its confluence with the Sacramento River to Winton Dam in the far northeastern corner of the county. It was a popular place for the region's bicyclists, joggers, and rollerbladers to engage in their exercise of choice.
"Yes," Peggy said. "I love the trail. It's so peaceful and remote there. I try to make it out at least three times a week." She patted her thighs. "Keeps me from ballooning up like the Pillsbury doughboy."
"Do you go by yourself?" Desiree asked. There had been cases of solitary women being sexually assaulted out on the bike trail.
"Sure," she said with a shrug. "I'm six-eight and two hundred pounds. No one is going to mess with me out there."
Desiree had to admit she had a valid point.
They went inside and ordered their drinks, Desiree going with a peppermint mocha while Peggy settled for a simple iced mocha. Peggy insisted on paying in return for the recipe and the telephone assistance. Desiree gave the requisite amount of protest and then allowed her.
"How long have you been riding on the trail?" Desiree asked as they waited for their drinks to be constructed.
"This is my third year," Peggy told her. "I usually start in early spring when the weather starts to warm up and then go pretty regularly until November or so when it starts to get too cold. I switch to the treadmill during winter to keep from plumping up. At my age you have to watch that sort of thing."
"I know what you mean," Desiree said. "I run on a treadmill at home. It sucks butt." She giggled a little. "Excuse my language. I heard my oldest daughter say that the other day and it kind of grew on me."
"Yes, the joys of public school. Mine is acquiring quite the vocabulary as well."
Their drinks were ready. They took them and, after a brief discussion, decided to go sit outside. They left through the front door, a gaggle of male and female stares following them out, a gaggle of imaginations undressing the two of them with their eyes.
"Do you have a bicycle?" Peggy asked her.
"I have one in the garage," she said. "It's about six years old or so. Richard and I bought them intending to go riding on a regular basis." She gave a little laugh. "It's been used about ten times. I haven't been on it in more than three years."
"You should get it out and come riding on the trail with me sometime," Peggy suggested. "It would be nice to have some company and it would get you off the treadmill."
"That's a thought," Desiree said, interested. "I'm pretty sure the bike has two flat tires though. It probably needs to be oiled and all that other stuff too."
Peggy shrugged, taking a sip of her mocha. "Can't your husband do that for you? It's what husbands are supposed to be for, isn't it?"
"Well... yeah, among other things," she said with a giggle.
Peggy didn't laugh this time. She simply shrugged disinterestedly. "If you say so," she said.
Desiree was a little taken aback by her attitude. Had she had a bad marriage? Well... obviously she had, since she was divorced, but had it been really bad? Abusive kind of bad? In their previous conversations she hadn't mentioned anything about her ex-husband other than the fact that she had been married long enough to have produced a daughter and that he was no longer a part of their lives other than to send monthly child support checks. "Well," she said, "I'll, uh... see if I can get Richard out to fix it up for me in the next few days. It sounds like it would be fun to go out with you."
"It would be very fun," Peggy told her. "You just might get addicted to it."
"That kind of addiction I could use," Desiree said with a smile.
"I like your attitude," Peggy said, taking another sip and leaving the slightest smear of lipstick on her straw.
"So how did the lasagna turn out?" Desiree asked.
"It was wonderful," Peggy said. "The best I've ever had. Thank you so much for turning me onto it and helping me on the phone."
"And it tastes even better reheated the next day."
"That it does," she agreed. "I had a little chunk of it this morning before I went on my ride."
"Did your boyfriend like it too?"
Peggy raised her eyebrows a little. "My boyfriend?" she asked, a little distaste in her tone. "I don't have a boyfriend."
Desiree was confused. "I thought you were having a friend come over to have dinner with you? Didn't he show?"
"It was a girlfriend, not a boyfriend," Peggy told her.
"Oh," Desiree said. "I'm sorry. The way you were talking it sounded like... you know... there was something romantic going on."
Peggy gave her a meaningful look. "There was," she said.
It took a moment for that to sink in. When it finally did, she looked at Peggy with her mouth open. "You mean..."
"Yep," Peggy confirmed. "I'm a lesbian. I kind of thought... you know... that you already knew that."
"How would I know that?" Desiree asked.
"Are you kidding?"
"I'm quite sure I'm not," Desiree told her. "How in the world would I know that you're a lesbian? You have a child. You were married."
"That was during my trying-to-fit-in-and-deny-what-I-am stage. Most gay people, men and women alike, go through that to some degree or another. I kind of figured that... you know... you were in that stage yourself."
Desiree shook her head angrily. "So that's what this was all about?" she asked, looking up at the sky. "You're just another dyke trying to pick up on me, aren't you?"
The look on Peggy's face was shocked and hurt. Desiree felt immediately sorry for putting it there.
"I'm sorry," she told Peggy. "I shouldn't have used that word. I shouldn't have been so angry with you. It's just that this sort of thing is constantly happening to me. For some reason, lesbian women seem to think I'm one of them."
"Apology accepted," Peggy said. "Tentatively anyway. Are you saying that you're not a lesbian?"
"I am most definitely not a lesbian," she said forcefully. "I'm a happily married suburban housewife. I drive a minivan. I take my kids to soccer tournaments and karate lessons. I have sex with my husband on a regular basis and I enjoy it. I have no sexual desire for women and I have no idea what it is about me that lesbians seem drawn to."
"Look," Peggy said. "I'll admit that I had some romantic interest in you. I thought you were a sister. Now that I know you're not, I hope that doesn't affect this friendship we're starting to develop. We seem like we have a lot in common. I like talking to you and, so far anyway, I like hanging out with you. I'm hoping you'll still come out on the bike trail with me as a friend."
Desiree nodded. She had been upset to think that all of this was just another attempt to get into her pants and was comforted by the idea that Peggy did like her for herself on a different level. She liked Peggy too. She was comfortable around her in a way that she wasn't with most people — men and women alike.
And she's totally hot looking, her brain whispered to her. She's not a butch dyke like all those other women. She's soft, and feminine, and...
Shut up! the rational part of her brain screamed. Just shut up with that crap right now!
"Desiree?" Peggy asked carefully. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," Desiree said, taking a large drink of her peppermint mocha. "I appreciate your honesty with me. I'd love to come out on the bike trail with you. I'll ask my hubby to get the bike running for me when he comes home from work tonight."
"Are you sure?" Peggy asked. "I'd understand if you didn't want to be around me. I overstepped my bounds a little."
"You didn't know," Desiree said. "As I told you, you're not the first woman to make that mistake. It happens to me all the time."
"That's not surprising," Peggy said.
"What is it about me?" she suddenly asked. "Why do women... you know... like you, seem to think I'm... well... into that sort of thing? I don't look like a lesbian, do I?"
"Do I look like a lesbian?" Peggy asked.
"No," Desiree said. "You really don't."
"How one looks has little to do with it," Peggy told her. "It's kind of an aura that you put off."
"An aura?"
"Yes," Peggy said. "You seem to exude some sort of vibe that tells people like me that you're attracted to women. I can't really explain it any better than that but it's unmistakable. The moment I saw you in the grocery store, the first thing that went through my mind — other than that you were hot — was that you were someone who was into chicks. I mean, I saw your wedding ring and all, but that vibe you send out was so strong..." She shook her head and shuddered a little. "I'm sorry. It's not just that you seem like you like girls, but you also have this sex appeal about you. Someone can take a look at you and, for whatever reason, get the impression that you're very sensual."
Desiree was embarrassed, but also flattered. "Well... I do like sex. I like it a lot, in fact. I just like to have it with men."
"It's weird that you seem to vibe in that manner," Peggy said. "The fact that I'm not the first one to recognize this seems a little... oh, I don't know." She shook her head. "Can I ask a personal question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I won't be offended."
"Uh... sure," Desiree said.
"Have you ever... uh... done anything with another woman?"
"No," Desiree said firmly, her eyes looking down at the table as she answered.
"I see," Peggy said. "Have you ever thought about it?"
"No," she said, her eyes still looking down. "I think maybe we should talk about something else now."
"Okay," Peggy said. "Whatever you want."
They talked of neutral, non-controversial topics until their mochas were gone. They each ordered another and talked some more while they sipped them. The subject of sex — heterosexual or homosexual — did not come up again. When they finally parted, they made sure they had each other's cell phone numbers and Desiree promised she would go out on the bike trail with Peggy within the week.
-------
Chapter 2
Desiree told Richard about her new friend that night as they ate dinner. She told him everything about how they'd met, why they'd kept in communication with each other after that first meeting, how they'd come to meet at Sundollars that morning, and her wishes for him to get her bike into operational status so she could join Peggy for a ride on the bike trail. The only thing she left out was the fact that her new friend was a lesbian and had assumed that she, Desiree, was one as well. She never told Richard about the various women who hit on her.
"Sounds cool, babe," he told her, sipping from his water glass. "It's nice to see you making new friends. You've been kind of a loner ever since Cindy moved."
"So you'll fix my bike for me?" she asked, trying not to sound like a nag.
"Sure," he said. "I'll do it on Saturday. Are you sure it's safe for two women to be out on the bike trail alone?"
"Did I mention that Peggy is six foot eight?" she asked.
This was enough to make Richard stop chewing his food. "Six-eight?" he asked. "No shit?"
"No shit," she confirmed. "She's the tallest woman I've ever seen."
"Wow. That's hard to even imagine."
"She carries it well. She's very pretty."
"I'd love to meet her sometime. I've never met a woman taller than me before. It must be something to see."
"You talk about her like she's a freak or something," Desiree said, a little sharper than intended.
Richard gave her a strange look. "I didn't say she was a freak," he said carefully. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah," she said after a moment. "I'm sorry. I've been a little on edge lately for some reason."
"It's okay," he said. "And I'll get your bike working as good as new on Saturday morning."
"Thanks," she told him, leaning over and giving him a kiss. The kiss quickly turned from friendly to passionate.
"Mmm," he said when it finally broke. "What was that for?"
"A little preview of what you get when the kids go to bed."
"Nice," he said, caressing her cheek. "You've certainly had quite an appetite lately."
"Are you complaining?" she asked.
"Not in the least," he assured her.
-------
Desiree and Peggy talked several times on the phone over the next two days, engaging further in the game of getting to know each other. Peggy stayed away from the topic of her sexuality or her attraction to Desiree. Desiree was grateful for this. It seemed her new friend understood that she did not like her in that way.
This was not to say that their chat remained sterile and dry. On Sunday night, the day after Richard had put her bike back in operational mode, the day before they planned their first bike ride, the subject of masturbatory devices came up in conversation. Desiree gigglingly admitted to owning several such devices, including an eight-inch vibrating dildo and a vibrating clitoral egg.
"Does your husband know you have them?" Peggy asked.
"He does," she said. "He's the one that bought the vibrator for me. I don't think he realizes just how much I use them, though."
"Oh yeah?" Peggy asked. "What are we talking here? A set of batteries a month?"
Desiree giggled. "Okay, we'll go with that," she said.
After hanging up the phone following that conversation she found that talking about her "toys" had made her want to use one. Her panties were wet and she had an itch between her legs. She took a quick peek at Richard and found he was engrossed in a college basketball game. The two girls were on the other television watching a Disney movie on the DVD. Perfect. She retrieved both of her toys from a shelf in the closet and went into the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and did not emerge for almost twenty minutes.
-------
"Are you ready for some fun?" Peggy asked the next morning as Desiree unloaded her bicycle from the minivan. They were at Bellingraph Park, one of about forty access points for the Heritage River Bike Trail. Peggy was dressed pretty much the same as she had been at the Sundollars, except this time her bike shorts were dark blue and her top was red and white.
"I've been looking forward to it," Desiree replied. She didn't own any spandex bike wear (or any spandex at all, for that matter). Instead, she'd donned a pair of loose fitting cotton running shorts and a black sports bra, over which she'd thrown a white t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a local gym.
"Since you're new to this," Peggy suggested, "I thought we'd start with only fifteen miles?"
"Okay," Desiree said.
"We'll go upstream from here instead of downstream. There are fewer hills that way, just one mother of one as we get close to the turnaround point."
"Where is the turnaround point?"
"The Dawn Boulevard bridge," Peggy said. "It's about seven and a half miles there and then seven and a half back."
"Are you going to be able to get a good workout with me tagging along?"
"Don't worry about that," she told her. "I'm not one of the hard core bicyclists like some of the idiots out here. The company will be a novelty for me."
"All right then," Desiree said. "Are we ready?"
"Let's stretch out a little first. It'll keep you from getting sore later."
"We wouldn't want that," Desiree agreed.
Peggy led her through a series of leg stretches designed to loosen up the calves, inner groin, and, especially, the thigh muscles. She then retrieved a bottle of water and a towel from her Subaru. The water she stored in a holder on the frame of her bike. The towel she folded and put into a nylon pack mounted on the back of her seat post. Desiree got her own water bottle and stowed it. She had not though to bring a towel.
I guess I'll just have to stay sweaty, she thought.
They mounted their bikes and headed out, riding through the parking lot, down an access road, and finally reaching the main trail — a six-foot wide path of black asphalt with yellow lane markers painted down the middle. It was, in short, a miniature version of a two-lane highway. They had to pause here as a group of nine men in their twenties, all riding expensive looking road bikes, shot by at well over twenty miles an hour. They were grouped in a tight formation, the riders in the rear drafting off the riders in front of them. They all wore matching yellow bike uniforms, red and blue helmets, and were bent forward over their handlebars with serious, competitive expressions upon their faces.
"Who were they?" Desiree asked as the group disappeared over a rise in the trail.
"Some of those hard core bicyclists I mentioned," she said. "I call them Lance Armstrong wanna-be's. There are a lot of them out here. They ride in pairs, in groups of ten or more, sometimes individually. They all think they own the trail and that casual users like us shouldn't be out here because we slow them down."
"Do they ever give you any trouble?"
"No, they would have to slow down to give anyone trouble. And besides, I'm six-eight, remember?"
How could I forget? She wondered, realizing she was not just staring at her friend's bare legs but contemplating how it would feel to stroke her hands up and down on them. She forced herself to drag her eyes away. The thoughts did not go as easily.
Peggy turned right onto the trail and started picking up speed. Desiree followed her, taking up position next to her, on the inside. They settled in at a nice, fairly easy fourteen miles per hour (Peggy had a speedometer and an odometer on her bike).
"This is a good pace for a beginner," she told Desiree. "It'll get your heart rate up and work your legs without burning you out. Let me know if you need to slow down a bit."
"This is doable for now," Desiree told her.
They hadn't even gone a mile before Desiree fell in love with the bike trail. The Heritage River Parkway — as it was called — had been placed off limits to development decades before and, as such, there was nothing but oak trees, scrub brush, blackberry bushes, and other natural vegetation for almost half a mile on either side of the river. Except for the bike trail itself and the occasional patch of parkland where the access points met the trail, the area was basically the same as it had been in the 1800s, before civilization and development had encroached. Wildlife was abundant on the parkway. There were squirrels by the thousands, coyotes, deer, flocks of wild turkeys, and even the occasional sighting of a mountain lion. Hawks and turkey vultures circled overhead. There was no traffic noise, only the babbling of the river, the chattering of birds, and the sound of the wind in the trees. There was a sense of peaceful isolation out here. It felt like you were riding through a primitive forest, miles from civilization, instead of directly through the heart of a densely populated urban area.
They encountered other bikers as they rode, most of who appeared to be "casual users" as Peggy had termed it. Most of these were heading in the opposite direction. The custom seemed to be that you would make eye contact and give a friendly nod as you passed each other. They also encountered more than a few of the Lance Armstrong wanna-be's. As Peggy had said, they came singly, in pairs, and in groups as large as ten. Sometimes they came from the opposite direction, shooting by so fast you barely had time to be cognizant of them, but sometimes they swept in from behind, since they tended to move much faster than the casual bikers. The LAWBs (as Desiree started to think of them) never nodded in greeting and rarely made eye contact. When they came from behind, one would always bark out "on your left" just before passing, usually in a voice that managed to convey irritation and contempt simultaneously. There was also a fair amount of joggers and walkers using the trail, although these types tended to stay on the left shoulder respective of the direction they were traveling.
"I can't get over how pretty it is out here," Desiree said as they began their second mile. "It's quiet and it even smells good."
"You've never been out here before?" Peggy asked.
"No," she said. "I've been to a few of the parks before but never out on the trail between the parks."
"I fell in love with the trail the first time I came out here. I used to just run on it but I took up biking because I get to see more of the trail that way. It beats the hell out of running on a treadmill, doesn't it?"
"It sure does."
They rode on, passing through densely forested area that resembled an enchanted forest. They went up and down some small hills and then the trail wound around until they were edging along the bank of the river. Desiree began to gradually warm up, her legs tightening in the thighs and calves, her perspiration starting to flow. They kept up an easy conversation as they went, at first sticking to benign topics but eventually moving to things a little more personal. Uncharacteristically, it was Desiree who first touched on the subject of sexuality.
"So I was just wondering," she said, her voice hesitant and a little embarrassed. "Did you always know you were... you know... a lesbian?"
Peggy looked over at her, a hint of a smile on her face. "Why do you ask?"
Desiree was not really sure why she asked. Her general rule was to avoid such topics. There was something inside of her, however, that wanted to hear Peggy's story, that was excited at the thought of talking to an actual lesbian. "Just curious," she said. "If it's too personal of a question, just tell me to mind my own business. I won't be offended."
"No, I don't mind," Peggy said. "I've always known something was different about me, at least since I started to develop. I was just never into boys like the other girls were. I always got along better with girls. When I was around fourteen or fifteen, I started having sexual feelings for other girls. I tried to ignore them, to pretend I wasn't dreaming about touching another girl's boobs, about kissing them, about running my hands all over their bodies."
"Wow," Desiree said, a bit more breathless than the bike ride could account for alone. She had not expected Peggy to be so... so open about it. "That must've been... you know... weird."
"It was upsetting," Peggy said. "I tried to make myself like guys. I did the classic overcompensation thing and became something of a slut. I went out with boy after boy. I would make out with them. I would let them feel my tits. I'd let them finger me. I jerked a lot of them off and even blew a few. One of them took my virginity when I was just about to turn sixteen. I was very experienced with boys for my age and none of this did anything at all for me."
"Nothing at all?" Desiree asked, remembering the first time she'd let a boy put his hand under her shirt, how nervous and excited she'd been. Or the first time she'd held a hard cock in her hand, had made it spurt semen all over her wrist just because of her touch. It had been messy but very sexy.
"Well," Peggy amended (reluctantly, it seemed), "some of the encounters were dimly pleasurable in a physical sense. Don't get me wrong about that. Emotionally, however, there was nothing there at all. I never cared to do it twice with any of them. I never cared about any of them as people. I just had no use for boys. The first time I did anything with a woman though..." She shook her head. "It was just amazing. It was the most erotic, sensual sensation I ever felt."
"How old were you?" Desiree asked, trying to sound casual. She felt a strong tingle in her nether regions and told herself it was the way the bicycle seat was rubbing on her.
"I was sixteen," Peggy said simply, not offering any more explanation.
They rode on in silence for almost two minutes, passing two more joggers, three more casual bikers, and being passed themselves by a duet of LAWBs ("on your left," came the snotty, impatient call). It was only when they were alone again that Desiree could stand it no longer.
"So how did it happen?" she asked.
"How did what happen?" Peggy responded casually.
"Your first time with a woman," Desiree said. "Was she one of your friends? Someone you just met?"
Peggy looked at her with a smile on her face. "Are you sure you want to hear this?" she asked. "I don't want to gross you out or anything."
Desiree blushed, embarrassed. "It won't gross me out," she said. "I find this... well... interesting."
"I can see that," Peggy said, glancing down at Desiree's large breasts.
Desiree looked down and saw that her nipples were erect enough to protrude through both the sports bra and the t-shirt that covered it. She blushed even darker, finally admitting to herself that this discussion was turning her on — in a strictly clinical way, of course. "Oops," she said. "I guess I'm more interested than I thought."
"It would seem so," Peggy said, her eyes sparkling. "Okay then, here goes. I know it probably sounds like a Penthouse Forum letter full of lame stereotyping, but the first woman I ever did it with was my basketball coach in high school."
"You did it with your coach?" Desiree asked, shocked.
"Yeah," she said, wistfully. "I was the star forward on the girl's basketball team. She was thirty years old, kind of tomboyish and athletic, but not really a bull dyke or anything. She was pretty in a plain sort of way. A dirty blonde, thin, with small boobs. Everyone suspected she might be gay — I mean, she was a thirty year old, unmarried, girl's basketball coach. What else are people gonna think about her? But no one knew for sure. Not even the other teachers.
"She recognized something in me, that vibe I was telling you that you put out. I didn't look gay either. I hadn't even acknowledged that I might be gay at that point in my life. But somehow, some way, she just knew."
Peggy looked at Desiree meaningfully as she spoke these words. Desiree knew she was talking about more than just herself. She was implying that the same situation existed with Desiree. She wanted to deny this, to reiterate that she did not like women in that way, but she knew it was a weak argument. She was having trouble even convincing herself she didn't like women since her nipples were standing out like rocks and her vagina was juicing up like mad, making her panties wet.
"So what happened?" Desiree asked.
"Miss Havegrove was her name," Peggy said. "She befriended me, took me under her wing, if you will. She always gave me extra-special attention, extra teaching, not enough that any rumors would start or anything, but I always knew I was one of her favorite students.
"One day, she told me she had tickets to a Kings game down in Sacramento. They were playing the Bulls and Michael Jordan was going to be there. Every basketball player loved Michael Jordan back then. She told me her friend had to cancel out because of business and offered to take me to the game with her. Of course, she said I couldn't tell any of the other students about it because she didn't want to be accused of favoritism.
"I asked my mom if I could go and she said yes without a second thought. This was back in the early nineties, remember, back before parents worried about... well... about what ended up happening. At least with girls, anyway."
"What did happen?" Desiree asked eagerly, no longer bothering to try hiding it.
"One of the best nights of my entire life," Peggy said. "We drove down to Sacramento in her car. She was dressed in jeans and a tight t-shirt and she was acting like a normal person instead of a teacher. She told me to call her Alice instead of Miss Havegrove and she even cussed in front of me a few times. When we got to the game, she bought me beer, one of those big thirty-two ounce beers they sell at the arena."
"Wow," Desiree said.
"As the game went on, both of us drank a couple of those thirty-two ouncers. She started getting kind of friendly with me, putting her hand on my leg, hugging me whenever the Kings did something that made the crowd cheer. I'd always been attracted to her, although I told myself it was just admiration and respect. I enjoyed having her touch me, feeling her hug me, and by the end of the game it started to occur to me that what I was feeling was infatuation. The beer kept me from being ashamed of it.
"After the game, we walked out to the parking lot. I don't know if you've ever been to Arco Arena before, but it's a bitch and a half to get out of there when the game is over. The traffic in the parking lot lanes was just horrible — complete and total gridlock. Miss Havegrove — Alice — suggested that we just sit in her car for a little bit and listen to the radio until the worst of the traffic cleared out. We were way out in the back of the lot, away from any other cars. She started getting real friendly with me. She rested her hand on the knee and asked me if I had any boyfriends. I told her that boys and I didn't get along too well. She just kind of nodded and then she asked me if I'd ever kissed a girl before."
"What did you say?" Desiree asked.
"I told her I never had. She took my face in her hands and told me that she wanted to kiss me. When I didn't do anything to stop her, she put her mouth on mine and did it." She sighed a little, squirming in her seat at the memory. "I'll never forget how delicious she tasted, how soft her lips were, how soft and gentle her tongue was when she started to French me. We made out for fifteen or twenty minutes — I don't know, I kind of lost track of time — and it made me hotter than I'd ever been with a guy."
Desiree was now unmistakably turned on. Her face and neck were flushed with excitement. Her eyes were wide. Her imagination was perfectly picturing the teenage Peggy with her tongue in the mouth of her basketball coach and she loved the vision. She absolutely loved it. "And then what happened?" she asked.
"Nothing much," Peggy said. "At least not then. The parking lot was starting to empty out and the windows were starting to steam up. Miss Havegrove said we'd better stop before one of the cops who patrolled the parking lot came over to see what was going on. So we left. As we made our way out of the parking lot she told me that she'd always been attracted to me and that she couldn't help herself. She said she hoped I wasn't too freaked out by kissing her.
"I was a little freaked out — I mean, I'd just made out with a woman— but I was so incredibly horny that I couldn't think straight. I told her I liked it and that I'd love to do it some more. She kind of smiled and asked if I'd like to stop by her house on the way home."
"What did you say?" Desiree asked.
"I said yes," Peggy told her.
"And did you?"
Peggy nodded. "I did. But first, we had a forty-five minute drive back to Heritage. As soon as we got onto I-5 heading north, she asked if I wanted to lay my head in her lap and relax. I did. I rested my head on her thigh and she stroked my hair all the way home. It was sensuous. She didn't try to grope me like a boy would have, she just ran her fingers through my hair."
"That's sexy," Desiree said, resisting the urge to reach down and touch herself between her legs.
"It was," Peggy said. "But what was even sexier was that I could smell her."
"Smell her?" Desiree asked, her voice breaking a little.
"Yeah," she said, her eyes shining with unmistakable lust. "My head was in her lap, my face just a few inches from her crotch, and I could smell how turned on she was. It was seeping right through her jeans. It was the sexiest, most arousing thing I ever smelled in my life, and as we got closer and closer to home, the smell got stronger and stronger. By the time we got to her house, I knew I wanted to put my mouth on her pussy and taste her."
"And did you?"
"Yes," Peggy said. "But not right away. When we got to her house we went inside and she made love to me slow and gentle. We kissed for another twenty minutes or so and then she took me to her bedroom and undressed me, piece by piece, like a present. She took off her own clothes and put her naked body against mine." She sighed again. "The feel of a soft, naked body against yours is... is..." She shook her head. "There's just nothing else in the world quite like it."
"So you did it with her?" Desiree asked, unable to resist reaching up and giving her right nipple just a little tweak, passing it off as a simple scratch. A sharp wave of pleasure radiated downward as she did it.
"We did it with each other," Peggy said. "She kissed me everywhere, starting with my face and neck and then working her way down. She sucked my boobs until I thought I would scream. And then she licked my pussy until I did scream. It was the most powerful orgasm I'd ever had."
"Wow," Desiree said, finding an itch on her other nipple this time.
"When I was done coming," Peggy said, "I did it to her. I got between her legs and put my mouth on her pussy."
"What was it like?" Desiree asked.
"It was like coming home," Peggy told her. "Like coming home."
Desiree wanted to hear more — much more — but unfortunately they had reached the one "mother of a hill" that Peggy had described at the beginning of the ride.
"We have to climb up over a bluff here," Peggy told her. "The grade is not that intense, but it's long, with lots of switchbacks. Better gear down a bit and put your legs into it."
Desiree nodded. She was already freely perspiring from the ride they'd taken so far. She adjusted her gears just as they started the first upslope. Their speed quickly dropped from fourteen miles per hour to about nine. "How long is this hill?" she asked as her breathing started to get ragged, her legs to scream from exertion, her heart rate to pick up.
"Almost half a mile to the top," Peggy told her, leaning forward and pumping with her long legs. "You can do it."
Desiree geared down a few more notches, her speed dropping a little more. "I hope so," she said.
"The fun part if going down the other side," Peggy said. "It's your reward for making it up."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Of course, we have to climb it again on the way back, but don't worry about that right now."
Desiree muttered a playful obscenity under her breath and kept on pushing. The trail banked left and then right and then left again, always uphill. They lost sight of the river because the trail was climbing above it and moving away from it. The foliage of oak trees and scrub brush grew thicker and thicker as well.
"Keep pushing," Peggy encouraged. "We're getting there."
"Yeah," Desiree said breathlessly. Her legs were officially pissed off at her now, asking her just where she got off making them do this kind of work. Finally, just when she thought she was going to have to give up and walk the rest of the way to the top, they topped one last steep rise and the trail leveled out.
"You made it!" Peggy said happily. Though she had broken a bit of a sweat, she looked nowhere near as whipped as Desiree felt. "I knew you could do it."
"That was a bitch," Desiree said, slowly gearing back up to cruising gear.
"That's the only big hill on this stretch," Peggy told her. "There are four of them on the downstream stretch I normally ride on."
"It's a good aerobic workout, that's for sure."
"Do you want to rest for a few?"
"How long until the downhill part?"
"About another quarter mile. After that, it's pretty much level ground to the Dawn Boulevard bridge."
Desiree nodded. "Let's keep going. I'll rest when we get there."
"Sounds good," Peggy said. "There's a little picnic area there. We can take five or ten before we head back."
They rode on. Desiree, though still quite turned on by the conversation and curious about the further details, didn't ask any more questions just yet. She was still too breathless. And then they got to the downhill portion of
Keys: mf ff short xxx
Gangbang Daughter 1.
Dolly, my daughter-in-law is one sexy bitch; I say that loosely, she just enjoys teasing. She has an exceptional figure, small breasts, equal in height to me and loves to tease me just to watch my reaction.
I’m a diabetic, have poor blood circulat
..continue reading Straight porn story
Her manhunt had eventually found a compatible guy for Juicy. Muscular, tall, nice smile thirty seven and a smooth body. They have been chatting on the text and he is polite, his grammar is good, she’s keen almost fallen for him and she looks forwar
..continue reading Cum Craving Grannies part 2.
After showering I considered what I should wear for the day. I wanted to encourage Robert to jerk off as frequently as he could through the day. Robert was going to help me with my gardening and so knowing that we would have privacy I decided to put
..continue reading
Husband leads his reluctant wife down the voyeur trail
My wife Becque, was an even 10 years younger than me.
When I married her, (After an event of one good sperm
with flawless aim), she had natural platinum hair. She
was 5'2", blue eyes, very fair skin and nice 34B
breasts with pencil tip nipples. B
..continue reading An anal sex story
You know how you have that one friend that you have a good vibe with where there is a sexual chemistry but you haven't taken advantage of it yet? Well, Tasha is that friend. She lives in Orlando, Florida, where I grew up. We became friends through Fa
..continue reading Spanking stories
Carla moaned softly. The aluminum cigar tube slid up into her cunt, pressing apart the soft folds of slippery pink flesh. Smaller, colder, and harder than a man's cock, it still felt fantastic. It felt wonderful to have her cunt filled again, even wi
..continue reading