Pat and Jennifer Ch. 04

"Oh! I thought it was mine."

I suddenly recognized Mary's voice and was wide awake, remembering that I sometimes also held my own breast when I was in bed alone. I put my hand on hers, clasping it to my breast, and replied softly:

"No, its mine, but it likes that you're holding it."

"Oh! Uhhh, I do too," she murmured and squeezed it again.

She also drew her thighs up closer behind mine. She squeezed my breast again. It didn't need my hand's encouragement. I hummed and swung my hand back under the covers and drew her hip closer. Mary also hummed, her thighs pressing more firmly against mine, and her fingers curling in to touch my nipple. It liked that, and her fingers recognized that it did. Did we both squeeze our thighs together? Mine had. Her fingers weren't just touching my aroused nipple. I moaned softly, and she did. Then she murmured:

"Is this "any time"?

"It sure feels like it," I replied, my thighs clenching together again.

That was an understatement; my pussy was already going moist, wanting to be licked again, more than I could admit.

"You don't have to do anything, just let me," Mary murmured.

"I want to, too, I murmured in reply. Unconsciously, my tongue licked my lips.

"Mmmm, both of us? Like that?"

I didn't reply, just grasped the cheek of her ass to help myself sit up and then began to move around, flinging the covers back and looking down at nude Mary.

I had always enjoyed paintings of nude girls: Renoir's, Courbet's, Goya's, the ones that were so naturalistic, also those of that Swedish painter. What was his name? Anders Zorn. Oooh! I had happened to find a book with his paintings: all those luscious, naked girls! Had I liked looking at them without thinking about sex with them? How could I not have? But now I did, only vaguely recalling those images, but Mary's nude body was at least as attractive, also because she had rolled back, raising her thigh. That didn't expose her pussy to my eyes, but invited them to look there, and I already knew what my eyes would see, when my head was between her open thighs - and what my tongue would taste and enjoy. I moaned.

I should have looked at Mary's face, but didn't, just dropping down with my head on her thigh, struggling to get mine around, so that she could have her head on my thigh and also look directly at my waiting pussy. She did. Did she also lick her lips, before we both slide our heads up the other's thigh?

Contact! Extended tongue seeking and touching one and the other pussy, but just touching. We both grasped the other's ass and drew our heads closer. "Mmmm," we both hummed, delighting at what our tongues could then do and taste, and at feeling what the other's tongue was doing.

When I drew my thigh up over and passed Mary's head and onto her shoulder, she hummed again and did the same, and our tongues delighted at being able to do even more, our pussies just as delighted, our hips rolling forward to let our tongues go everywhere they could.

But mine couldn't lick Mary's asshole. Did it really want to, or did I think she wanted it to? Or was I wanting hers to lick mine? She had wanted to, like I had wanted to, and we both had enjoyed feeling that it was arousing. My fingers crept down closer to hers. Did I hear or just feel her hum - or just wanted to believe I had? But her fingers also extended towards the crevice of my ass. We both wanted that! If our tongues had wanted to, what would our fingers want to do? As much as mine had with Pat's - and Pat's had with mine?

Mary's fingers weren't hesitating, one sliding arousingly over the base of my spine. Had her assistant professor done that, too? My fingers reached further, and she nodded, maybe not to my question, but her fingers found my asshole before mine could find hers. We both chuckled, more felt than heard, as I felt her asshole twitching, like mine was. Was her fingertip trying to get in it? It felt like it, and it felt like hers wanted my fingertip to try to. When hers relaxed, and my fingertip probed, hers also did. How much did she want mine to probe?

Suddenly her finger rubbed up and plunged in my moist pussy. Did she want that now? No! It returned to my asshole and probed again, now slippery. She did want that! My finger did the same, and she moaned audibly with a nod. We both moaned deeply, as our fingers probed deeper. Her assistant professor should have been a full professor for teaching young students about enjoying sex.

Our tongues had been less diligent while we were agreeing what else we wanted to do, but now they were very diligent. After a few moments, not just our assholes were twitching around each other's finger, our hips began to twitch, and then we had our orgasms, not quite simultaneously.

We lay there, exchanging moans as we recovered. Finally, she extended her leg, and I did, and we slid out heads back a little on the other's thigh, retrieving our fingers. When I slid my hand over her side and fondled her breast, she did the same, and we both nodded with an "um-hmm."

After a few moments, Mary hummed and said:

"Thank God, you wanted to do that too."

"Yes, I did, but you sure surprised me. He must have."

She just nodded. I chuckled and added:

"I thought so. I was thinking he should have been a full professor for teaching young students how to enjoy sex."

"Hm-hm-hmm! He sure should have been!"

We both laughed, maybe more than necessary to change the subject. Fingers in assholes is fine, when all aroused, but not so much something to think about or mention when one's not aroused.

"I've got to pee," Mary remarked, beginning to sit up, asking:

"You too?"

"Me too, now that you mention it," I replied and sat up.

"I go in the shower in the morning. You want another shower?"

"Who doesn't? Yeah, together."

"What I was thinking."

We both smirked and got off the bed, and hurried to the bathroom, both beginning to pee before she could turn on the shower, both snickering. She grinned and remarked:

"Before you have to ask, yeah, we did this too - the should-be full professor."

"A little more - uh - interesting?

"Hm-hmm! Of course. Never saw before - or since then - what a man can do."

"Fire hose?"

Not quite."

We chuckled and washed, washed each other. When Mary washed my pussy, she remarked about its being shaven. I replied that I like hers the way it was. Of course, washing pussies and nipples got a little arousing, but we smiled and agreed: "just can't help it."

Back in the bedroom, we looked at each other, our eyes obviously taking in the other's nudity. Mary smiled and asked:

"Breakfast like this, or ...?"

"Hmm? Maybe better 'or', else, well, you know."

"We don't need to again."

"Not right now, but 'any time'," I replied.

Mary gave a long purr and murmured:

"I've been hoping so, that that is what you meant."

I nodded with smile, and we began to find our clothes. I just stuffed my bra in my purse; I wanted to feel my blouse moving on my nipples, and if they stuck out, maybe when someone noticed, I was going to like that and that it reminded me of how we had spent the night.

Breakfast with clothes on and coffee instead of wine was, of course, different from how our supper had been, naked, knowing that we were going back to bed and have more sex. The only reference to that came, as I was about to depart. Mary looked at me with wide eyes and asked:

"'Any time'?"

"Not on the weekends."

"Middle the week, Wednesday?"

"Mmmm, yes, Wednesday."

We smiled, and I was off.

I didn't need to feel my blouse rubbing my nipples to remind me how we had spent the night, but enjoyed the sensation, walking home with my shoulders back, breasts out. I even gave the couple of men who noticed a veiled smile.

In the office on Wednesday, Mary and I just exchanged slight nods. After work, she was waiting for me down the street from our office. We smiled, exchanging soft purrs of anticipation, and hurried on around the corner to her flat.

There, we started where we had left off, sharing a shower and peeing. This time our washing each other was not "just can't help it." Nipples and pussies were fondled and washed with the clear intention to arouse, appreciated with moans. When we embraced and kissed, I thought we might almost do more in the shower, but we managed not to, drying ourselves perfunctorily and rushing to her bed.

We did it all again, maybe in a different order, and this time with no hesitating exploration. On the weekend, I had had good, satisfying sex with a man, but it wasn't and couldn't have been better than that with Mary. I hadn't anticipated that I would again spend the whole night with her. In the morning, we didn't do anything - didn't need to. After breakfast, we agreed to return to the office by different routes. Someone did remark that I was wearing the same dress. I wondered if the person assumed how I had spent the night and with whom - a man or a woman.

The next week, I bought food for our supper and a bottle of wine, and packed it with something else to wear in a big shopping bag from a women's store. When Mary and I met, this time around the corner, she nodded at the bag, and I told her that it was my turn to make supper and explained about the remark and having a change of clothes. After that, on Thursday, I wore what I had had on the previous Wednesday.

More good sex. I wondered, hoped that her weekends were as good as mine. Was it that Wednesday or the next one, or the following one, that we talked about that?

We were having supper after at least two orgasm each, naked as usual, now taken for granted. Mary suddenly asked:

"Guys, men, do you - uh - do that with them, like we do?

I was about to ask back: don't you, but her question suggested that she didn't. I nodded. She nodded slightly, then after a moment asked:

"All the way?

I nodded again. She sniffed, then said softly:

"It tasted so - yucky. You don't mind?"

She had done it once, at least - "tasted." Yeah, it had, the first time, I remembered, but that hadn't stopped me from wanting suck his - another's? - cock again. Of course, it tasted strange, but it was so gratifying to know that I had given him such a good orgasm, making it shoot in my mouth again and again.

I shook my head slightly in response to her question and replied:

"It certainly doesn't taste as good as you do, but I like having his cock in my mouth, and then it is just the proof that I made it so good for him, what I wanted."

"Hmm, yeah, I liked that too, until he came."

"Guys will do anything for you, if you do that."

"Oh, the assistant prof, he already had. It was the other way around, and I wanted to, and he was liking it, but then ..."

I got the picture, surmising that that could have been the reason their relationship ended. I smiled understandingly and replied:

"Sure, it does taste strange, but people eat other things that do: oysters, stinky cheeses like ripe Camembert. Hm-hmm! When it's over-ripe and runny, it looks a lot like what he shoots."

"Oh?" Mary murmured, than asked:

"And you don't mind?"

"Then I want it, not for the taste, but it just belongs to it. I want to feel it shoot in my mouth, the more times the better, so that I know I made it that good for him."

"I wanted to make it good for him."

"Of course," I agreed, feeling a little sorry for her.

"Maybe I should try again. I like having his cock in my mouth, but then I scramble up and get it in my pussy."

"I hope he likes to lick your pussy as much as I do."

"He does it, seems to like it, but not as good as you do."

Mary's eyes and soft moan suggested that was what we should do, and we did.

After a long silence at breakfast, without looking up, Marry asked softly:

"You really think I should suck his cock - all the way, and swallow it? I wanted to spit it out."

"I would, and always swallow. Spitting it out won't get rid of the taste."

"Hmm? Maybe I should try and find some over-rip Camembert first.

"It doesn't taste like that, just something that some people don't like. Hm-hmm! I hope not because runny Camembert looks and feel like guys' semen."

Mary laughed at that, maybe a little forced. We finished breakfast, cleaning up with practice, and returned to our office by different routes.

It must have been a couple or three weeks later, when we again together walking to her flat. Mary was more than cheerful, exuberant, grinning at me. After a glance around, that no one could overhear her, she said:

"I did it! Again. The weekend before, but I didn't tell you, not sure I really like it. But I did, wanted to again. And he was ecstatic. God, how he came! He had in my pussy last week, but this time I got his first orgasm. Wow! I didn't know it could be that much and shoot so strong, I gulped down the first one, right in the back of my throat. Thanks."

I returned her grin, feeling pleased that I had helped her.

I could go on about my bi experiences with Mary and a couple of men, who have been neglected on these pages, but they couldn't do anything my cousin hadn't.

Then Pat called me, snickering a little as she said that she wanted to visit me again, to look for a flat. She had gotten the job, starting in January, many weeks in the future; it was still early August.

I replied that of course she could stay with me again, where upon we both chuckled.

"Labor Day weekend?" she asked. I agreed immediately thinking about how to get men out of the way, then recognizing that I could claim that I would be out of town, if they weren't. And if they were, with adequate supplies, Pat and I wouldn't have to leave my flat.

When I told Pat that, she chuckled deeply, and asked about men. I replied:

"Keeping them happy, and they, me. And you?"

"About the same, but not as good as you did - that way."

"Nor as good as you did either, thank you," I replied.

Pat chuckled and agreed:

"You too, thanks. Men just don't know what it's like."

"Girls do," I replied, then recognizing that Pat might think I was suggesting experience with one since we had been together. How was she going to respond?

"Hm-hm-hmm! You too?"

"What?"

"Another girl. You too?"

"You too?" I asked.

"Um-hmm, if you don't mind?"

We both laughed, having admitted that we had had sex with another girl since we had been together. I told about Mary, and Pat told about her experience, interrupting each other during our telling.

She was sure her acquaintance - she didn't call her her "friend" - was a real lesbian from her denigrating remarks about men, had suspect that before. As Pat told it, however, she just couldn't pass up the opportunity to find out what it is was like with another pussy and have another girl lick hers: "not better than you did."

"Just as good here," I replied with a warm chuckle, recalling Mary's and my first night together and our most recent one, then adding that Mary liked men and told about my success at helping her to enjoy cock-sucking. Pat snickered and replied that apparently that had been what completely turn her acquaintance off from doing anything with men. We both commiserated over her problem, but that led Pat to asking about men, reminding me that we had talked about having one, if we were together again to demonstrate that we liked cocks as much as we liked pussies.

That didn't seem necessary, but the idea was intriguing: two girls with one cock, every way we could want, plus enjoying each other's pussy - with a man watching us? The scenario seemed very farfetched. Humorously, I described it to Pat. She responded with a chuckling moan and replied:

"Yeah, just like that. Find him, a cock, dick."

We finished our conversation, agreeing to call again. I sat there with the phone still in my hand, wondering about Pat's assumption that I could find a man willing to join us, more, that she assumed I could even know of one. For sure, I was not going to ask either of my present friends. I was having enough trouble keeping them both straight, not their cocks, keeping them from knowing I was two-timing.

Pat's "Find him, a cock, dick," echoed in my mind. Dick, Richard, the name rang a bell. How had I forgotten him?! I hadn't, not Richard! There had been other guys since that fall term junior year, but that had been wicked with him. I had been wicked - no, just terribly honest.

Richard joined the advanced Swedish course I was taking that fall, after the so erotically satisfying week with my cousin. He was a tall, strapping youngster, looked like he was of Swedish descent, and his knowledge of the language confirmed that and why he was in the advanced course. We soon learned that he was freshman with advanced placement in most of his courses. He wasn't shy, just diffident at being with older students.

Was I lucky that the other girl in the course was a grind, just had her nose in her books? I wasn't. When I talked to Richard on the way out of the classroom, he seemed to appreciate that I did, so that happened again. When he said that his grandparents were from Sweden, I asked about his first name. He chuckled and explained that his first name was really Gösta, named after his grandfather, but that only Swedes pronounced it correctly: "yousta", with equal accent on the syllables. I tried that, and he nodded with a smile, then explained that he and his family didn't like other's pronouncing the name wrong or calling him "Gussty".

I smiled with a nod and asked why he apparently preferred Richard to Dick. He smirked and replied: "Not because of 'Tricky Dick'."

I nodded again, and said something about the nickname's also not being appreciated. He nodded, replying: "Yust" (in Swedish "just," precisely).

We both sniffed, exchanging slight smirks.

Was I already thinking about his dick? Did I ever not think about a guy's dick after the week with my cousin?!

After the next class, I asked him:

"Want to do something together, Friday, Saturday?"

Richard nodded with a smile, but explained that he was on scholarship and didn't have enough money to invite me out. I replied that then I could just buy a six-pack and we could watch TV in my room. He liked that - and I did - agreeing to meet Friday evening outside my dorm.

I had never invited a guy to my room in the dorm, back then having to sign him in at the entrance. Now I don't have to ask why I had taken a shower and put on fresh underwear. Richard arrived in a freshly ironed shirt, looking a little shy at seeing other girls at the entrance. I signed him in and we went to my single room.

I offered him a beer, and we opened our cans, sitting on my two-seater couch and watching the evening news on TV. I suddenly felt that my bed in the room was too obvious. The desk and chair were the only other furniture. We said "skaal" and sipped at our beers. After the news, a film started, and we sipped more. The film was about a young couple; that was nice. Our shoulders touched, and we exchanged glances. Did I really rest my hand on his thigh, holding my beer, or did he first put his arm on the back of the couch, not yet on my shoulders?

It doesn't matter. When the film suggested it, I hummed, and his arm slid down off the couch. For sure, then my hand was on his thigh; two young people sitting like that in the privacy of a single room. Maybe I did something, maybe he did first, whatever, his hand was holding me closer. Maybe in the film, the couple didn't then kiss, but when they did, Richard held me closer, and we turned our faces to each other.

He wasn't so shy or diffident any more. For a very brief moment, I wondered if - how often - he had been like this with other girls. He obviously had, maybe not so often. My expression was all positive expectation in the flickering light from the TV. I had to empty the last of my beer, and Richard did. Where did we drop the cans?