I have been experimenting with kissing girls since I was in grade school. I used to sneak into the woods with my friend Christine, and we’d try different ways of kissing on an old picnic table beneath the screen of a drooping dogwood. Although I found women attractive and really, really wanted to kiss them as I matured, it wasn’t until I was in my forties that I finally acted on any of those impulses. (It’s funny how I didn’t do a lot of things until I was in my forties.)
Running into Mims at a party one night seemed destined from the moment I walked through the door. Only minutes before I had been perusing her profile (and that of her boyfriend) on Fetlife. I entered the house, and three minutes later I stood face-to-face with the couple I had been digitally ogling. I made some silly, and probably dorky, joke about stalking their Fetlife profiles, and they laughed, kindly taking my exuberance in stride.
Mims was tall with a mane of gorgeous red hair and wide eyes that you could drown in. I don’t remember what we talked about or what we were wearing, but somehow we ended up in the upstairs master bedroom having sex. While her boyfriend filmed it.
The feel of her skin beneath my fingertips was branded in my brain that night. The memory of her scent and the feel of her hair sweeping my face is enough to make my pulse quicken. She climbed my body like some exotic, silken cat, kissing and nipping her way into my embrace. Even though it has been two years since that night, she possessed a presence that lingered with me.
After that erotic evening together, Mims and I periodically double-dated, her with her (now ex) boyfriend and me with sir. Inevitably we ended up naked and kissing, sometimes after a flogging or an interlude with a violet wand, but it was always with a male audience. And although I had fun with the four of us, part of me wondered how things would go if it were only me and Mims again.
Since sir moved overseas, Mims and I have seen each other every couple months. She house sat while I was overseas and chaperoned Catsquatch. I have invited her to dinner at my place and sometimes we’ve gone out. And always we have flirted, dancing around the question we both silently entertained. Would we? Wouldn’t we? I tried to mentally map out a not-too-obvious approach to ask if she would like to have sex again, but I lacked the skills to articulate something even halfway coherent or seductive. I seemed to be able to talk about everything but sex. It didn’t help that half the time one of us had our period or had a head cold.
The sad fact was that I had no game when it came to women. I haven’t had an actual date since before sir left, so I lacked practice too. I was a bonified goof around women in general. My game plan fell to pieces when confronted by their feminine charms and flirtatious smiles. So I would plot and plan about what I would do to Mims when I saw her next, and then fail to actually do any of it when she was within arm’s reach.
That changed one night last month.
I don’t know if it was because I had a couple glasses of wine to bolster my courage or if the joy of eating Lebanese food buoyed me forward into propositioning her. Instead of going for an after dinner drink I suggested that we go to my place to watch Supernatural and make out on the couch. Yes, dear readers, I am that suave.
Thank goodness Mims liked me despite my clumsy wooing, and we ended up half-naked on my couch while Sam and Dean discussed something about the end of the world in the background. We tore off each other’s clothing while our tongues tangled, eventually getting so frustrated with the process that she gave up and pulled me to my feet. I protested even though I knew she was right. There was no sense fighting the clothing and the couch when I had a perfectly functional bed upstairs. My heartbeat ratcheted up a notch when it finally hit me that we were going to have sex again. It was finally happening!
She led me to my very messy bedroom (I still hadn’t unpacked from my month with sir) where we shed the rest of our clothes easily and crawled beneath the quilt.
Have I mentioned that Mims was an amazing kisser? Her lips were soft but firm, and she knew exactly how long to hold a deep kiss. This time her kisses held the sting of teeth, and she left marks over the freckles dotting my chest. I squealed and squirmed, gathering a thick chunk of hair in my fist to raise her face to mine. The floral scent of her hair lingered in my nose as the long tresses rained down around me in a private canopy.
Her body was luscious with curves in the very best places, and I flipped us over so that I was on top. I kissed and lapped at her tender skin, sucking her nipple into my mouth and gently biting it until she moaned and writhed beneath me. I felt high with sexual connection; that golden place when the energy sparked between us and held us together in a hue of physical and emotional desire. I don’t get to that place often, so when I felt it with Mims, I released the last of my restraint. I devoured that woman, smeared her juices all over my mouth and cheeks trying to taste and consume as much of her as I could. And I reveled in the moment, drinking deep the smells and sounds that we created together. I relished it all.
Mims left several hours later. I considered asking her to stay the night but ultimately decided not to. As much as I adored Mims, I was in no place where I felt prepared to handle another relationship. Spending the night in my bed felt like relationship zone, so we said our goodbyes and kissed one last time. I’m now thinking about what I want to do to her should the opportunity arise again and crossing my fingers.
I really hope it does.