Crossing the Line

People have been asking for more information about Esther and me based on a previous post. You asked and so you shall receive:

Esther and I had been spending our nights together in the same bed more often than not the last several days. It was comforting sleeping next to her. Comforting . . . and erotic. My bed now carried her warm scent with it every morning and hers carried mine. I still slept in my underwear but Esther slept naked nearly every night. The sight of her bare body was no longer foreign to me, but it never lost the sensual novelty of seeing a woman’s naked body.

She would always get out of bed before I would. I would love watching her get up out of bed and stand up. The way her bare bottom would wiggle as she moved. The fullness of her cheeks and the hourglass shape of her hips. Every step she took was an exercise in erotic movement. Her breasts were even smaller without clothes on than they appeared when fully dressed. There was a boyishness to her chest. Her nipples were dark, almost brown, and perfect little circles. She had a speckling of dark brown freckles across her chest that gave her even more of a young look. But apart from these morning looks, I never touched her. I never stared longer than the brief glimpse she gave.

Our love was still growing and the line between friends and lovers, although blurred, had not been crossed. Until one evening. I don’t really remember what exactly led up to those events. They’re a haze in my memory. But I remember the event itself. We’d finished watching a movie that was quickly becoming our favorite, Lost in Translation. We were lounging on each other as usual. My head was in Esther’s lap and she was stroking my hair gently, tracing the lines of my ear, down my neck. Each touch was glorious and was quickening my arousal. I could feel that I was wet and was starting to gasp and sigh in what I thought were quiet tones. 

Esther leaned down and kissed me on my forehead. I rolled over, leaned upward and pressed my lips to hers. It was a new experience. It was purposeful. It was a kiss that was more than comfort, it was a kiss that demanded attention and was fueled by passion. She kissed me back and opened her mouth. Her tongue was warm and wet and I eagerly accepted it. The kiss was passionate. I sat up and we kept kissing as we faced each other. I held her face in my hands. They were trembling and a little cold from how nervous I was. My heart beat furiously in my chest. My erotic self was in command. She was driving my every move. The rational part of my mind sat back and let her take over, still plagued by guilt – guilt that was quickly dissolving with every kiss and every swirl of Esther’s tongue on my own.

It was Esther who reached over and touched my breasts, breaking that first contact barrier. She was gentle. Her hands were warm and still. She felt my erect nipples with her thumbs and held my breasts in a way no man ever really has. It was a woman’s touch. I struggled to catch my breath. She kissed my neck passionately and my eyes closed involuntarily. I was lost in a haze. I felt a fire in my soul. There was no other way to really describe it. It burned me and fueled me and I wondered how long I could stand it before I was consumed by it. I wanted her, but I didn’t even know what to do. I had a limited knowledge of how men worked but I was unsure how women even made love to each other. I told myself I’d just figure it out. I found the button on her jeans and undid it. She lay back on the couch willing and open to my actions. I found her tiny zipper and slowly undid it. It revealed her white garments below with the center seam down the middle. I took my time and wanted to savor it. The zipper was more ornamental than practical and it ran out before it could reveal anything, so I reached around and gently slid her jeans off of her.

The whiteness of her underwear was blinding in the low light of our living room. I could smell her clean scent. Her womanly fragrance. It was intimate having my face right there, just a few inches away from her sex which was concealed by a thin layer of nearly translucent white, silky fabric. I reached up and peeled them off too. Her hair was darker than mine and more unruly. Women’s most secret places are so beautiful, so symmetrical. Her perfect V was exposed to me. I could see her slit under her curly hair. This is my favorite moment of a new lover. Seeing them exposed like this for the first time. Touching their pubic hair for the first time. There’s something fantastic about it that I find difficult to explain. Esther’s was wet and she parted her legs for me. I buried my face in her vagina. Her taste was sweet and salty at the same time. Her hair was coarse in my mouth and her fragrance was heady but clean. This was new for me. I’d never done this before.

There is a moment in our souls when we cross a line and there’s no going back. This was that moment. The line was crossed and the consequences would follow. Was I damned? Was I wicked? Did this mean I was a lesbian and would never have a man? All these questions ran through my mind as I licked Esther’s sweet sex. They ran through my thoughts unconnected. They were there, but I didn’t dwell on them. The consequences were irrelevant at this moment in time.

Esther was moaning. That meant to not stop what I was doing. She grabbed my hair and pushed my face deeper into her. Her wetness was all over my chin and face. Soft and warm and oh so very wet. She pulled me up close to her and kissed me, taking in her own flavor. She told me to stand up and so I did. Esther undressed me there in the middle of the living room. She took each piece of clothing off deliberately like she was sculpting a great work of art with each part of my nudity. What should have taken seconds took minutes instead but felt like hours. She slid my garment top down over my shoulders, rolling the fabric over my large full breasts. The fabric caught on my erect nipples and when it fell off, she kissed me on them.

When we stood together naked in the room, we held each other. “What do we do now?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, “I’ve never done this before.” I made a joke about looking up online what to do and we laughed. It broke the awkward tension and we kissed again. She took me into her bed and laid me down. She spread my legs and sat down opposite me. She put one of her legs over mine and came in close, our spread and wet vaginas facing each other.

When they touched, I’d never felt anything so good before. It felt wonderful and natural. Both of our lips were swollen and engorged, my clitoris was much larger than hers but both were white buds standing out amongst the pink folds. We started to move and grind our hips in a rhythm. Wet sounds came as we moved to some inaudible beat. It was difficult for me to keep my eyes open. The grinding came naturally like it was something we already knew how to do. We were humping each other. Everything was slick and smooth. I could feel the erect bud of her clitoris rub against mine and the folds of my labia. It was beyond heavenly. We moved faster and faster, more and more furiously. I could feel my orgasm was close when Esther exploded in a violent spasm and scream of pleasure. It shocked me! A few more seconds and I followed her, my legs trembling in passion.

There it was. We’d had sex. We were panting and sweating. My breasts were heaving with the labor I’d just exerted. I lay back on the bed, exhausted. We held each other that night for a long time before falling asleep. Not saying a word. No words needed to be said. We’d just written a long sonnet of love to each other without words. The words were our bodies, the rhyme and meter the flow of our movements and the result was a poem greater than Shakespeare could ever write. My words now can’t even do it justice. But I can hear it still in the echoes of my soul to this day.

I dedicate this post to you, Esther. I love you.