Erotica: I Wish I Spoke Lesbian by Jenniefer Pickup

Photograph by BJWOK Courtesy of

Photograph by BJWOK
Courtesy of

I want to do what I want to that one woman I see at work…the one that doesn’t see me. I am but a shy hetero with raunchy designs on a blatant lesbian. I have no idea how to get to a place where seduction is possible. How do I seduce a woman? And a woman that has been seduced by women savvier and sexier than me? I realize that I may be intellectually inventing a life for her that has no basis in reality.

We see each other socially. I am aware of an unspoken code of ethics and a specialized language used by lesbians of my acquaintance. How can I be an accepted user of the jargon without sacrificing the life I live? I envision scenarios where I am harassed and pelted with rotten fruit that once adorned the edges of cocktail glasses, by angry lesbians who have discovered i am a poseur. What’s more, one who enjoys a stiff cock regularly? I am sure there is a name for me in their language.

It is my dream to convince this woman that I am more than a surface trifler. I am a deep diver who wants all experience, all flavour, all colour, inclusively: what is more mysterious and beautiful than a woman’s body? Possessing one and knowing it intimately, I am always astounded at the depth and range of sensation and responses I contain. How there’s always room for more, how I seem to expand and encompass and enjoy ecstasy exponentially. I have so much. I am so much. I am open and free of the Puritanism that taints relationships.

Oh, I just want her.

Once, twice, a hundred times.

I know how I would worship her. I would begin with a long slow exploratory kiss: hard, soft, tongue, teeth, butterfly and deep French. we would stare into each other’s eyes, granting and accepting. My hand would be learning the contours of her skull, feasting on the silk of her shiny black hair. I would pull it gently, setting her scalp tingling, waking up her nerves. She would smile into my eyes and I would know I was doing it right. I would then spend time learning the shape of her ears and the way they connect to her head and how the nape of her neck points the way down to her back. My lips and tongue would measure the length of her spine and claim the patch just above the cleft of her ass as my territory. I would send one intrepid finger into the declivity between her cheeks, and gently trace the contour of her inner thighs. I would kiss the smile her cheeks make where they turn into legs. My hands would travel the length and curve of her strong legs. Her feet would receive my reverence. My tongue would wash them and my hands would massage and tickle them until her desire became rampant.

I will carefully make my way up her legs after turning her onto her back. I will take many minutes kissing and stroking her until I feel a loosening of the joints of her hips. I want her glistening with honeydew before I touch her center. With a hot pointed tongue I will trace a path from navel to nipple to nipple to navel. When I fasten my mouth to her right nipple her body will rise to mine. I will tease and taste and bite her hardness while my hands caress and weigh the curves and indentations of her lightly sweating body.

My own body is by now cresting and writhing with hers. Her hands are squeezing my breasts and her mouth is open for kissing. We spend a few moments locked at the lips. I break away to return to her belly, breasts and thighs. Her thighs part and I see wicked dew glistening on her cunthair. Her desire is flashing big neon letters in her eyes and I find her wet slit with my index finger. I slide it slowly to where her entry point is and then I slide it back to the top…the ball of my finger pushes her erect clit which makes her jump. Before she relaxes into it again I put my tongue to the place my finger found. I use the flat of my tongue to record the contours of her pulsing pussy.

Her flavour is unlike anything I’ve tasted…salty, musky, and yet, fresh. My tongue is dancing the dance of the seven veils all over her hot hairy womanpart. Her hips rise with the rhythm of my tongue dance and her moans are becoming more animal. Her hands grip my head, steering me deeper into her pleasure. I pull back for the space of a few seconds to look at her and she cries with frustrated hope. I take my three fingers and introduce them into her hole. Her cunt grabs at them. My tongue again finds her clit and I begin a relentless rocking. She is bucking and thrashing and I can feel my own cunt vibrating in sympathy. I myself need no manual stimulation; the sound, taste, smell and lust of her has brought me nearly to climax. I begin to hum, knowing that the vibration of my mouth will bring her to a crashing, shouting orgasm…right…about…NOW. She tenses and my fingers are gripped by muscles with elastic strength. She melts around me, rocked on waves of pleasure and I come with her, melting in my own semi-nuclear meltdown…I wish…I wish…

Imagining this has left me quite aroused. My nipples poke out of my t-shirt and there is a dampness that invites me to touch…

If I could only….

What’s a woman to do? I allow myself the release of masturbation and despair my lack of gumption. How can I make my fantasy a reality without causing my world to crash around my head?

The day after I indulged my fantasy, she came into work. Can she tell what’s in my head as we talk? Can she feel the waves of want pulsing in my chest? Is she even aware that I am flirting like mad and hoping? Maybe, because on her way out she said that she liked my pants. Is that shorthand? Flirting? Unconscious acknowledgment of my nearly unrestrained desire? I hope so, I really hope so!


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