I remember her thighs damp with lake water, pressing against my cheeks as I ate her pussy for the first time. Her flesh was cool but her center was so hot, almost molten with desire she couldn’t express in words, her body shivering as I touched her.
Untying the strings that held her bikini together, I pulled the wet fabric away from her flesh, and stroked a fingertip along the crease where her plump lips met, already slippery with evidence of her arousal. I held her knees spread apart and bent, almost touching her chest, opening her up to my gaze. At first she squirmed at the blatant display, but then she relaxed and let me savor the sight of her neat slit flowering open, a trimmed triangle of dark fuzz on her mound, lips smooth and hairless. Cream was welling up and spilling out of her, and I felt a sudden, powerful urge to capture the trickle with my tongue…
I was staying at a friend’s lakeside house, almost exactly a year ago to the day, which is what made me think of her. I’d gone there to write and to take time out from the madness of my daily life; but the party will always find me. Who would have thought a quiet, rural community would have such a vibrant secret life? In the few days I’d been there, I had already made friends with everyone at the local bar; and I’d also fucked the preacher’s son in the backseat of his daddy’s car. But meeting Jennifer proved to be an ongoing distraction.
It was unseasonably warm for the time of year and I was sitting out on the deck, writing a little bit but mostly gazing out at the water, when she wandered up from the shoreline. I’d thought nobody else was around so I was only wearing a skimpy string bikini. I felt her eyes linger on my bare skin as she said hello.
“Hi, I’m Jen. Mind if I sit?”
“Be my guest,” I said. As a London girl I’m not used to total strangers inviting themselves onto my property, but I figured in rural America, folks were a little more neighborly. Anyway she was cute, so I was intrigued to find out what she wanted with me.
We chatted about this and that for a few minutes, and then she said, abruptly, “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “Should I…?”
“I’m Jennifer. Jen. Calvin’s girlfriend.” I shrugged apologetically, no clue what she was getting at. “Calvin. Cal. The preacher boy you fucked last night.”
“Oh…” Now I felt myself flushing, furious to be put in this situation but also caught up in the sudden memory of bouncing in this wild, almost feral guy’s lap, sweat cooling rapidly on our skin in the still night air…. I shook my head to clear the image. “I’m so sorry. I would never do that deliberately. He told me he’d broken up with his girlfriend.”
Her hazel eyes flashed angrily. “Well he would, wouldn’t he.”
She stood up and for a moment I thought she was going to storm off, her point made; but instead she wavered for a moment, indecisive, and then stripped off her T-shirt and shorts. Like me, she was wearing a string bikini rather than underwear. I’d bought mine at the local convenience store, just like every other girl in town, or so it seemed.
Jen looked down at herself, then at me, then back at herself, as if making a physical comparison. And actually, we looked pretty similar, both petite and athletic in build, although she was darker than me.
“I wanted to see what was so special about you,” she said thoughtfully. “I guess I see it.” She gestured towards the shoreline. “C’mon, let’s swim.”
Taken aback by this rapid mood swing, I thought it wise not to object, and we waded out into the shallow water together. Jen took my hand when I stumbled; it did occur to me that she might be planning to drown me in the lake and hide my body in the bushes on the far shore, but then she turned and gave me such a sweet smile I dropped my defences and decided to simply enjoy her company and let events unfold as they would.
We swam until we both got too cold, and then went and sat on the deck, wrapped in towels, while Jen smoked. She offered me a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels she pulled from her bag. I shook my head.
“Don’t smoke, don’t drink, what do you do? Oh yeah… fuck other girls’ boyfriends,” she said spitefully, her mood souring again.
“I told you, he said you’d broken up,” I replied. “Maybe you should be mad at him, not me.”
“Oh, I’m done with him. Anyway, I can see why he was tempted…” To my amazement, she started walking her fingers up my thigh. My skin tingled at her touch. Summoning up every ounce of willpower, I grabbed her hand.
“Look Jen, I’m not getting tangled up in your relationship drama. Don’t use me just to get back at him.”
“Yes, that would be rather perverse, wouldn’t it?” she laughed. “It’s not that, though. I want to feel… what he felt.” Her free hand moved to my breast as she leaned in to kiss me. She tasted of whiskey and cigarettes and lake water. Her hands were cold, and that turned me on more than anything, her icy fingers sliding inside my bikini to squeeze my nipple, a little roughly.
I’d thought her too sweet and reserved for the wild preacher’s son, but now I saw it was just a veneer; underneath she had the same desperation to experience something, anything. She kissed me harder, tongue pushing into my mouth. As my grip on her hand loosened, she moved it further up my thigh, and then higher still, until her fingers were slipping under my wet bikini and stroking along my slit.
“Oh, you’re wet,” she murmured against my mouth. “Did you get this wet for him, you little slut? Did he finger you before he fucked you?” Accusation or affirmation, she was turning herself on as much as me, I could feel it in the way her fingers were rubbing and pressing, seeking entrance. She pushed again, and then her fingers were inside me, and fuck, it felt good.
“Tell me how he fucked you,” she hissed, hooking her fingers up inside me to catch my G-spot, the knuckle of her thumb rubbing on my clit. Did she know I’d like it rough, or was she just taking out her anger on me? I didn’t care, I grabbed her wrist, grinding against her hand as heat blazed through my body.
“Harder… harder!” I moaned. I felt dazed. The two experiences were entwining in my mind; as she thrust her fingers into me, the sensations were overlaid by the vivid memory of Cal touching and stroking me in the backseat of the car, whispering in my ear, easing down his zipper and rubbing the head of his cock against my clit… I was still tender from the way his cock had filled me, and Jen’s fingertips stirred up that sweet burn until image after image flashed through my mind. Cal biting my neck, pulling my hair as his hard cock surged up into me, the searing pleasure of that first stretch, the way he gripped me tight as he slammed up into me…
“Tell me!” she hissed again, eyes glittering with lust and anger, fingers ramming into me, soaked with my juice. But I couldn’t marshal the words, couldn’t stem the flow of images as I saw Cal flipping me over so he was on top, my legs wrapped around his back, his dark eyes burning down at me as his cock jackhammered into me over and over. I remembered the force of my orgasm, sweeping through my whole body as he thrust into me, and that was it, I was cumming on Jen’s fingers, arching up against her, gasping, past words.
After that she became docile, her fury dampened down by the pleasure my tongue gave her as I explored each fold and crevice of her pussy. It had the same sweet lake-water tang as her mouth, and she squirmed and moaned as I sucked on her clit. I don’t think she’d ever been eaten out by a girl before; she was super-responsive, each flick of my tongue and stroke of my fingers eliciting a gasp or groan. She was noisy when she came, too, her yells echoing across the still water, startling the birds.
She sat and smoked in silence for a while before she left.
She had lied, or so she told me the next morning, when she came by again. She and Cal really had broken up some weeks before. She’d just wanted to… well who knows, really?
She spent the next few days hanging out on the deck with me, smoking and reading while I wrote, swimming with me, warming my bed at night. She never mentioned Cal again, not even when she caught me making out with him in the back alley behind the bar.
When I got home from my trip, I found the book she’d been reading stuffed in a side pocket of my rucksack, a photo slipped between the pages. It was Jen in her bikini, her hair wet, eyes full of mischief.
“Don’t forget me!” she’d written on the back. And I never have.
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