Night Swimming

Sarah hoisted herself up on the side of the pool, and swung her legs over the side with the rapid precision that only endless repetition can instill. She stood up, and walked to the discrete door in the corner of the large room, and walked through it, feeling the peculiar tang of humidity dropping precipitously. She walked past the endless rows of lockers, grabbing a towel from the public cart as she passed it. She dropped the towel by locker, and smirked as she saw the nearby clock, its arms nearly meeting between 2 & 3. One of the advantages to living on campus is that everything stayed open nearly 24/7. And one of the advantages of exercising during the witching hour was that the reason for that--frantic students--was exactly why one could have an Olympic sized pool to oneself on a campus with 10,481 undergrads.

With the deftness of regular routine, Sarah flipped her left arm behind her back, and undid her strapless bikini's clasp, giving yet another silent thanks to heredity and Darwin for the doubled joint. The bikini top slid off, and her relatively small [though, she always though, pleasantly firm] breasts made a motion, not precisely a flop, nor a dip, nor any other word that Sarah could properly ascribe, as gravity took over with the absence of the skimpy piece of fabric. That motion was the one--and only--reason that she wore a bikini, despite the fact that she swam alone, from 2:15 to 3:15 AM exclusively. During the two tenths of a second from when she undid the clasp until the bounce completed, Sarah felt like the most beautiful woman in existance, and that momentary feeling was well worth any inconvience that the bikini provided, of which Sarah had yet to notice one.

Sarah was five steps away from the entrance to the shower area, now, and she could see the blue button on the inside wall. That blue button, as with all such buttons on all such campuses in the country, called in campus police with startling agility when pressed. Very few colleges had the audacity to put one in a locker room--to say nothing of a shower room--but a rape two years ago in another college in the city called in the civilized fury of the President--both of the college, and the one of the country, being as the detestable politician lived barely six blocks away from where Sarah now stood.

Using the grace given her by five years of ballet in her childhood, and the two of Tae Kwon Do since her arrival in the nirvana of higher education, Sarah seemlessly stepped out of the bikini bottoms, the same dandelion yellow as the top, as she took the last two steps to the linoleum doorway of the shower room. She then frisbeed the entire bikini toward her locker, landing it on the bench in front with almost frightening accuracy. Sarah turned into the doorway, and walked into the shower room, feeling the reverse twang as the humidity abruptly spiked. This, the fourth shower room in the main pool's locker room, and the one closest the door, was a straight hallway, with pairs of curtained stalls on each side, six deep, with a pair on the end, their entrances opposite the doorway in.

There was a woman walking towards the doorway, probably from one of those end stalls, drying her hair with her towel as she walked, wearing nothing else. She was distinctly muscular, but probably not noticably so when clothed. Her figure was somewhat square, adding to the somewhat masculine look, with her hips not terribly exaggerated in width versus her waist, as with most women. Her breasts where pert, though average in size, with softly colored pink nipples almost invisible six feet away. With her shoulders upward nearing full extension, Sarah could see that the woman obviously shaved her underarms, and, as unexpected motion caught her eye, she could see more that was clearly shaved. Sarah's eyes flew south, drawn by an expected input, and quickly caught what was between the newcomer's legs. Rather more succinctly, what dangled between them.

The other woman's face turned to horror when she saw Sarah enter, realizing what was going on. Sarah reflexively stepped towards the button, but the plaintive "Wait!" from the woman's throat stayed Sarah momentarily, as the soprano voice, echoing conceptually between the two very clearly feminine bulbs on the body they came from, reiterated the gender of the other in the room.

"Wait," she repeated. Then, with her internal questions perhaps intruding on what she intended to say, "Damn, how was I supposed to know anyone else was in the gym at this hour?"

Still not entirely sure of what was going on, Sarah edged towards the button, but kept her gaze fixed on the other woman's eyes. "I'm always here at this time. 2:15 to 3:15, every day since Freshman year, except when I'm scurrying to do a term paper or whatnot"

"Fuck, is it 3:15 already?" for a moment the other woman's face contorted in a combination of rage and surprize, but she composed herself. "My shower doesn't usually run this long... I'm always on the bike from 1:15 to 2:30 on Saturdays, so I can catch the Saturday Night Live they always show late night."

Now more inquisitive than afraid, and momentarily setting aside the peculiar dangle which the other woman was concealing with the towel, Sarah queried "Then why didn't I hear a shower when I walked into the locker room?"

"I've been drying off for five minutes. As I said, I usually don't take this long. I'm almost always out by 3:50, never after three".

"Why did it take so long then? And why five minutes to dry off?" suspicion was again rising in Sarah, and her thinking again began to focus on what the towel hid.

"Look, I had an enjoyable shower, allright?" the woman shot back. Sarah looked puzzled, so the other woman made a funny motion with the hand she had holding the towel, and a piece of white plastic, effectively invisible against the white terrycloth towel, twisted 180 degrees in her hand, revealing the words "Mr. Good Vibrations" in small black letters on the side.

"Ah. Okay, then. Care to mention what the fuck is behind that towel?"

Looking almost crestfallen, the woman responded "No, but I don't see that I have a choice. Sit down on one of the benches," she said, gesturing out of the shower room.

Sarah, feeling mostly at ease, but still trying to keep an eye constantly on the woman now behind her, obeyed, and sat on the bench nearest the showers--and thus the button, just in case. The woman followed, sat down on the bench across from it, perhaps three and a half feet, but no more than four away. She extended a hand. "Julia."

"Sarah. I would say I'm pleased to meet you, but at the moment, I'm not."

"Okay, look," she said, sitting back. Her feet were together, and after saying 'look' she pulled her knees outward to maximum separation, so that her legs formed a diamond, her toes at the bottom, and her vagina at the top. There, dangling, perhaps three-fourths the legnth of her slit, and originating at its top, was the phallic tube that initially caught Sarah's attention. "My parents were fucking crazy hippies, even though they came a decade too late. They got married at 18, and joined one of those cult-communes there's occassionally a TV movie about. The 'Egalitarianists' or some shit," the stark fury on Julia's face, despite her calm words, gave omens about what was to come in this particular rant.

"Anyway, their little cult was dedicated to total sexual equality, but their group's whackjob leader decided that the best way to achieve such equality was by a blending of the goddamn genders. Being as he had no scientific training or education, he believed the best way to do so was," Julia extended her arms outward, mocking a standard cheerleading pose, "hormone therapies."

All ironic cheer left Julia as abruptly as it arrived. "Lunatic had intravenous testosterone injected into my 'feminine' areas--clitoris and nipples--at birth, and regularly for six months thereafter, until the cult, despairing the narrow defeat of the ERA in July of '82, went suicide pact. In her one fucking motherly act, my mother downed the dose she was supposed to put in my bottle. The only reason I know any of this is the police kicked in the door 15 minutes later--turns out the cult leader was being hunted for a series of murders in Oklahoma five years earlier. Fuckjob..." Julia trailed off, her lip curling in disgust.

"Anyway, rather than bore you with every sordid detail, the cult leader was an imbicile. As it always does when confronted with a preponderance of unused estrogen or testosterone, the human body, in this case, mine, quietly converts one to the other. Needless to say, sheer blood flow ensured that the effect on my genitals and breasts was very little more than anywhere else; regardless, all that happened was that my body is vaguely less feminine than it should be, stronger and less lithe than normal, with the only major change being in my clitoris. See, the problem there was that every time the bastard gave a shot there, he had it tied off with a tiny tourniquet, just as though it were an actual medical procedure. As a result, some of the hormones were actually converted and absorbed in unusual quantities before the tourniquet was removed, and they could disperse, and it must have changed something about the underlying chemistry of my clit, because once I hit puberty, the damn thing went from nearly normal size," she showed her right hand, her forefinger a centimeter and a half "to this monstrosity," she finished, moving her fingers to about three and a half inches apart, and moving her hand to her crotch.

Sarah, catching her breath, managed to say "Well, that's a certainly a complete explanation. I hope you can understand my mistake."

"Clearly. I mean, shit, when the damn thing's hard, I would frigging mistake it for a dick."

Incredulously, Sarah asked "It gets hard?"

"Well, so does yours. It just looks more impressive on mine. Watch," and before Sarah could raise a word of protest, Julia began to stroke her lower lips with one finger on her right hand, and began to tug on her clit with her thumb and forefinger of her left.

A few moments later, when the clit began to inflate, Sarah gasped "Is there a reason you're doing this when I'm right here?"

"Well, first off, its good to finally tell someone. The only other person who knows--other than my gynecologist, my adoptive parents, and the cop who found me--was my boyfriend senior year of high school. You can imagine how it went when he snuck his hand down my dress at the prom. Stupid bitch screamed at the top of his lungs in the middle of the dance floor. Thank god he was too damn scared and embarrassed to tell anyone. Could've frigging destroyed me. I cried for a hour as it was," even as she said it, a tear welled up in Julia's eyes. Which didn't stop her fingers from tickling herself.

"I hope that's as large as it gets," Sarah ventured, as the now-horizontal tube extended nearly three inches from its base.

"Nah, it gets to be about three and a half inches. Gimme a sec," Julia said, grabbing the vibrator from next to her and turning it on. As Sarah gawked, Julia pushed the five inch wonder against her slit, and shoved it in about one inch. She closed her eyes, and, as the vibrator took over the pleasuring of her vulva, moved her left hand to just the tip of the clit, rubbing it gently. She moaned ever so softly, and continued like that for about ten seconds. Sarah realized at that time that her own pussy was wet.

Almost as Sarah made that realization, Julia opened her eyes slightly, and asked "Do you want to touch it?"

Sarah jumped with surprise, as though startled by a scary movie. "WHAT?" she demanded.

"Do you want to touch it? It scared the shit out of you when you first saw me, nothing else will convince you that whatever else it is, it isn't a penis. Do you want to touch it?" at that, Julia put down the vibrator, placed her hands behind her, on the back edge of the bench, and pushed her pelvis forward, so that her coccyx rested on the forward edge of the bench, her yawning pussy, and included clit, barely three feet from Sarah.

"Um... I... Well...," Sarah stuttered, "I'm not a lesbian, but... um...."

Julia cut her off, moving one hand up, extending her forefinger and putting it to her lips. "Shhhhh. You don't have to say anything. Just do what will make you feel comfortable enough about it that you won't go blabbing to anyone about what's between my legs," Julia said, then returned her arm to its bracing position, and closed her eyes expectantly.

For three seconds that felt like an eternity, Sarah was utterly motionless, staring at Julia's crotch, unable to move. Then, timidly, she moved forward, first leaning, then sliding, then, at last, taking the step that moved her to Julia's waiting flesh. She kneeled before the tube, and gently placed her index and middle finger around it, like she were grabbing a cigarette. She moved her hand forward and back, forward and back, rhythmically caressing the clit between then. She heard an intake of breath as Julia gasped at what, Sarah later realized, was the first time another person caressed her clitoris with anything like libido in mind for more than that one moment she described.

For a few passes, Sarah stroked Julia's clit that way, then, almost unthinkingly, she moved her other hand to stroke Julia's lips, the same way she did when she masturbated. Her brain no longer registered that this vagina she looked at, almost dripping with anticipation, the same way her own did whenever she fondled her boyfriend, wasn't her own. She then did to it exactly what she had always wanted, yearned, longed to do to her own slit. Quick as a viper, Sarah moved her face forward, and wrapped her lips around the tip of Sarah's clit. Both her hands now attacked Julia's slit, and Julia, taking a moment to yelp at the unexpected sensation--and the overwhelming pleasure--coming upon her, rubbed her own nipples, now swollen to the size of peas. Sarah braced Julia's clit between her teeth, and shot her tongue back and forth across the tip of Julia's clit as fast as she could.

Julia, having never experienced anything not connected to her hands, nor anything more dynamic than the vibrator at her side, didn't stand a chance. As Sarah's fingers found her g-spot, probing Julia's core with her right hand, Julia began to convulse lightly. Sarah sucked down hard on the swollen clit in her mouth, as though trying to remove it with the soft passion of her lips, tongue, and throat. Julia felt a little bulb of liquid form at the tip of her urethra, as Sarah continued to almost violently stroke her g-spot, and suck on her clitoris. With her left hand, now free of Julia's slot, Sarah drew one finger around the edge of Julia's asshole, and the combined stimuli were simply too much. Julia let go.

With a barely repressed shout, a small squirt of liquid escaped her slit, and every muscle within her contracted. Her vagina clamped down like a vice as the orgasm overtook her, and Julia flung her hands out, onto Sarah's head, and pushed her face onto the whole length of her own clit. She pushed upward, rubbing her vulva against Sarah's face as the orgasm ever so slowly subsided--thankfully, Sarah's fingers escaped in time.

When it faded, Julia lay on her side on the bench, wordlessly. She turned her head, and saw the liquid dripping from between Sarah's pert breasts down to her belly button. "Come here," she said, barely able to clear a whisper, moving her hands to Sarah's arms. She pulled sarah up, and, turning on her back, guided Sarah to straddle the bench. "Let me clean that up," she continued, and placed her tongue between Sarah's breasts. She then pushed Sarah upward, guiding her forward, and licked the thin trail of liquid she had excreted off of Sarah's chest. She passed the tail end of it by Sarah's belly button, but continued, eventually placing Sarah's slit above her own face, where she began to lick, suck, and press with her arms as powerfully as she could.

For a moment, Sarah let the pleasure overtake her, but quickly she interrupted. "Hold it," she began.

Momentarily lifting Sarah's vulva off her face, Julia responded "You really just want a guy to fuck you, right?"

Julia sighed "More than you can possibly know. I'm twenty fucking years old and I'm still a fucking virgin, technically," then, as her orgasm-addled brain began to get its bearings, "Why do you ask?"

"Well, as we've already seen, I don't have a problem with you, sexually. And you're showing you don't have a problem with me. And I can't name a straight single guy alive who wouldn't gladly do his girlfriend and another chick. And Andy has a one-person room in Smith Hall."

Julia considered the implicit suggestion there, devilishly giving the pussy an inch above her face a brief lick. "You don't have a problem with your boyfriend fucking me while you're there?"

"If he won't have a problem with me eating you out here, no. And there's still plenty of dick to go around," Sarah responded, grinning.

"Allright," Julia answered finally. Sarah stepped off the bench, and walked to her locker. She dried herself off with a towel from a nearby cart, and tossed her bikini in the locker. She had a spare set of clothing hanging, and something else that made her eyebrow quirk.

"Julia, I have a positively daring idea," she began.

"I don't see what could be more audacious that what we're already doing," came the quick response.

Julia reached into the locker, and took out the hanging bathrobe. "This is Andy's. I borrowed it last week, since my old bathrobe was literally falling apart. If I go to swim here during the day, I wear it when I'm not in the pool, particularly when I'm not wearing anything else, like in the shower room."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I just thought of a wonderful way to surprise Andy... perhaps delay him from asking how exactly I learned about Cletus the Wonder Clit over there until AFTER we're had a fun little romp."

"Yeah, what?"

"Imagine: he answers a knock at the door at 3:45 AM. There's his girlfriend, in his bathrobe. She drops the robe's belt, and spreads it, flasher-style, and there's another girl, clinging to her, both of them stark naked. They both leap at him, and fuck his brains out."

"I can see how that would be something of a fantasy," Julia said, somewhat thoughtfully, somewhat lustily.

******

Fifteen minutes later, Sarah was walking down 21st street, wearing a bathrobe, and sweating in the June heat due to the effort of carrying much of her body weight, hanging from her shoulders, and clamping its legs around her waist. The fact that her body weight occasionally licked just above her belly button wasn't helping.

To a casual observer across the street at 3:40 AM, Sarah might look like a fat man or a pregnant woman. Any closer than that, and it would be obvious that two people were under the robe.

Sarah came to a corner, the last crossing before Smith, and reflexively stopped at the "Don't Walk" sign. Julia took the stop as an opportunity, and sucked hard on Sarah's left nipple. Sarah, not one to be outdone, took Julia's vibrator out of the inside pocket, snaked her arms down Julia's sides, momentarily lifted her buttocks up, and slide the vibrator--which at least was off--up Julia's dripping slit. Julia gave a gasp, muffled against Sarah's breast, and clamped her pussy tight against the vibrator, which easily stayed up, gripped between her labia.

Sarah began to cross, and whispered "Last street" to the stowaway, who, showing tremendous, but at that moment unappreciated strength, removed one arm from Sarah's shoulder, and moved her hand, timing against Sarah's walk precisely, up between her legs, and into her slit. Sarah gave a little, almost imperceptible jump, and struggled to walk straight while Julia fingered her, harder and harder. Julia found her g-spot, and, with the skill of one who had fucked her right hand to exclusion for many years, massaged Sarah's clit with her palm, and her spot with her fingers, while Sarah barely kept in a line along the sidewalk.