Lesbian humour stories
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‘Entre nous, College,’ said Donna later when we were in bed together, ‘this is what I call a bosom.’ She gently palpated mine as I kissed her ear. Donna and I wandered down to the pub one evening, bought a couple of glasses of wine and sat talking at our usual table by the window. As I recall Donna and I were later indulging in a little bit of mutual exploration when I said, ‘You fancied him, didn’t you?’ Donna’s finger did a little ‘come hither’ motion somewhere deep inside me and I clung to her as the wave of abandonment flowed through me. In fact Donna said she looked like she was having an earthquake!
She was beautifully dressed in her dark suit and white silk shirt – ‘It’s for the punters, College, the boss says they like to see us “glammed up” for shows.’ She had arrived at my home thus attired and I, not expecting it to be an occasion for an evening dress, had said that I should change into something more suitable. To say she is sexually active would be something like saying that Colonel Gadaffi isn’t a nice chap.’ I giggled and shifted so that her hand could do more easily what she was trying to do with it.
‘It says here, College, that the people of the west have a genetic propensity to eat fatty food and drink alcohol, whereas your Asian does not.’ As she said this she was in the process of putting vinegar on her scampi and chips in a basket meal at the same table we had occupied back then. ‘Indeed, and I am grateful you avoided a cheap innuendo in view of my choice of the word “position.” As you are aware my current employment is somewhat, shall we say, precarious.’ To describe her work, as runner to a virtually unemployable local artist, as precarious was a bit like saying that the Himalayas are somewhat hilly.
We were standing to one side at the exhibition and enjoying a moment together while Donna took the opportunity to sip half a glass of champagne with me before returning to her duties as ‘Guest Relations Officer’ for the event organised by her boss, Miss Denton-Smale. ‘And these,’ she said, stroking my suspender through the long black dress I was wearing and with a mischievous grin in her mis-matched eyes,’ are known as garters. There is no denying Donna when she is set on something and she led me, giggling, to the kitchen where she kissed me passionately and her hand lifted my dress and cupped my pussy. Holding hands we entered the room in which the dinner-dance was to be held and I could almost feel Donna holding her breath.
Kelly, a woman two years older than me, was sitting on her desk, playing tonsil tennis with a girl almost young enough to be her daughter. There I stood, yet still I tried to work out how many of Anna's thongs I could make out of the fabric of Kelly's pants. Soon as the obstacle of desk, hips and bodyweight was past, Anna wasted no time in breaking off her extremely passionate kissing to bend down and swiftly pull the material down Kelly's legs and onto the floor. Kelly's hands were wrapped in Anna's long hair and seemed to be forcing her head harder against her flesh.
And so it was that the following evening, having got myself a bit dolled up in preparation for meeting her, I went to the pub to find her sitting at a quiet corner table, nursing a glass of white wine. I would have said something but during her last sentence her hand had slid inside the top of my dress and she had engaged in the process of playing with what she liked to call the ‘pointy bits on my knockers.’ I assumed our foray into ornithology had ended.
This would not normally arouse my indignation but on this occasion I was surprised because Nellie was holding the front of her skirt raised above her waist and Donna was staring intently at the revealed parts. Donna enquired as to the nature of the proposal and Nellie, somewhat miffed, said, ‘To marry me, you nitwit.’ She had apparently been overwhelmed. ‘Know what, College, I think we’ll have one last dance since they seem to be playing something more to your liking, and then we’ll go home and engage in some of our more disgusting practices.’ She turned her head to David, her arms still around me.
‘If,’ said Donna, ‘all men are created equal, what about women?’ She had the ability to raise such matters at moments when I was not entirely able to reply, this time being engaged upon a mission to return a favour she had bestowed upon me earlier. ‘Your trouble, College, is that you grew up expecting your mother to love you.’ Donna said this as we enjoyed our regular glass of wine at the local pub. Why don’t we knock of our drinks and scamper to your garret where I should like to indulge in what I believe is called unproductive sex.’ We swallowed our drinks and, as we left our table, Donna took our glasses and placed them before Nellie’s bosom.
The next day a female class mate said she noticed that she was holding hands and dancing close with a girl, and asked her what it feels like to be a lesbian. Just about the same time that I started to think, ok great, now what, when she spoke again and said tell me about some of the other girls at your school. She never said that she gets wet for beautiful breasts, hips, legs, and the idea of kissing, licking, loving a female, but neither have I. By this time I was dressing very quickly and starting to head out of the lockers saying that I had no idea whether Nicole would be a great love of my life or a source of ridicule or pain for years to come, but vowing that I was going to find out.