Lesbian Erotica
"Crushed," an oysters sex story by Charlotte Dare
Last night I attended my twentieth high school reunion, but it wasn't an abiding sense of school pride that drew me back. Frankly, I could think of nothing I would've rather done less, as high school for me was more an endurance challenge than a carefree adolescent frolic. An inner struggle with my sexuality left me in the margins, and the painful infatuation I'd secretly harbored for one of my teachers only compounded the emotional burden. But when Julie, my only confidant during those harrowing four years, called, pleading with me to traipse up to Connecticut for the reunion so she'd have an excuse to escape the house, the husband and the kids, I rose to the occasion. How could any self-respecting feminist lesbian deny a sister, gay or straight, the opportunity to shed her apron strings, even if it was only for a night of elbow-bending and gossiping about everyone we'd hated in high school? Surely, my refusal would've been an affront to female solidarity movements everywhere.
We sauntered into the glittering hotel ballroom festooned in the school colors of maroon and white as a clumsy papier-mâché replica of our eagle mascot, supposedly in flight, dangled from the colossal chandelier. I surveyed the room, smirking at the irony of willfully surrendering to an evening of mingling with the same people we'd spent the majority of our high school careers trying to avoid.
Julie and I dashed for the bar upon arrival, and as we approached the gaggle of former cheerleaders who used to harass me with unrelenting zeal, I felt vindicated. They were still glaring at me as they always had, but not for my spiky punk-rocker hair, parachute pants and tattered Sex Pistols and The Cure concert t-shirts. This time jaws dropped and necks craned at the sleek, self-assured stranger in a tailored black Dolce and Gabbana pantsuit with a rich suntan decorating her defiant countenance. Indeed the meek had inherited the reunion.
As Julie and I waited at the bar for our drink order among the mob of paunchy former football gods, my eyes froze upon a dazzling woman in her late forties standing out among a faceless group milling across the empty dance floor. It can't be. This has to be a mirage, I thought.
"Hey, Jule, is that Mrs. Devon over there?" I inquired with stardust in my eyes.
"Could be," Julie squinted. "She was our class advisor."
"If I haven't thanked you for forcing me here tonight, thank you."
"Ah yes," Julie remembered with a grin. "The lovely Mrs. Devon, your massive teenage super crush. Well, don't just stand here," she encouraged with a playful nudge. "Go say hello."
As if on cue, the bartender handed me my cocktail.
"Not a moment too soon," I declared, siphoning half the contents of the glass in one gulp. "Okay, now I'm ready to go say hello."
I crossed the dance floor, keeping pace with my racing heart as the face of my tenth grade paramour, slightly aged but still hopelessly enchanting, drew closer. The way those butterflies darted around my stomach, it could just as easily have been Mrs. Devon's fourth period American Lit class all over again. The mere sight of her still triggered an eruption of manic titillation, a curious amalgam of queasiness and euphoria that I let wash over me as I took in the vision. What a difference a shot of raspberry vodka would've made back then.
The style of her honey wheat hair was unfamiliar yet her shimmering sage eyes and beaming smile had retained all their potency, once again striking awe in my punch drunk heart. Mrs. Devon was deep in conversation with Walter Dial, the boy voted most likely to lose his finger in a table saw, provoking in me a strange twinge of jealousy. He'd better not be putting the moves on her. It was bad enough that I had to vie for Mrs. Devon's attention among the contingent of other students passionately in love with the stunning twenty-six year-old teacher. Now twenty-two years later I had to compete with Walter Dial for her favor? Walter's wife suddenly approached and whisked him away to their table just short of me working his fingers over like the table saw.
"Hello Mrs. Devon," I gushed as her sage almonds addressed me.
She took a moment to process my face. "Danielle Sharpe!" she exclaimed with a creamy smile and threw her arms around me. "It's so nice to see you again."
"You too. You look wonderful," I replied as the feel of Mrs. Devon's warm embrace launched a rush of excitement rocketing through me.
"Thank you, as do you, all grown up. So what are you doing these days?"
"I'm an ad exec for Kemper Advertising in New York City."
"How exciting. Are you married?"
"No, I was in a long-term relationship but it didn't work out."
"Oh, that's a shame."
"Did Mr. Devon join you tonight?" I pried, contriving a look of sincerity.
"He's living in Nevada. He took a job there after the divorce six years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I lied, mustering up every ounce of decorum I could to contain my giddiness. Not that it made a bit of difference if Mrs. Devon got rid of her old man, but it was a treasure to hear nonetheless.
I then drained the last drop of vodka to calm my haywire nerves. This woman's spellbinding appeal was reducing me from a statuesque tower of unwavering cool into that same awkward fifteen year-old who changed her gym clothes in a shower stall, fearful the other girls in her class might somehow discover her secret.
"Who are you here with?" Mrs. Devon asked.
"Julie Bednarz."
"Oh, I remember Julie. You two were like that," she replied, crossing her fingers.
"We liked hanging out in your class."
"Yes, you got to be part of the décor after a while," she recalled with the smile that seduced me into a thousand daydreams.
"Mrs. Devon, there's something I was dying to tell you back in high school," I then blurted, fortified by a brazenness only mad love can inspire.
"And you still remember over twenty years later?"
"Some things you don't forget," I hesitated as Mrs. Devon's green eyes pierced through mine. "Mrs. Devon, I had the biggest crush on you back then, all the way through junior and senior year too."
Mrs. Devon grinned, seemingly unaffected by the earth-shaking news I'd just delivered. "Is that why you did so well in American Lit?"
I nodded, averting my eyes. My mouth was dry, my hands clammy. I prayed I didn't look as dopey as I'd felt at that moment.
"And I thought it was because I was a remarkably skillful teacher," she teased.
"You were, but a face like that doesn't hurt," I quipped, losing my way in the mesmerizing scent of her flowery perfume. I inhaled deeply again just as I did back in Lit class every time Mrs. Devon walked past me. Everything about her had been an assault on my overcharged pubescent hormones, the smell of her perfume, the curve of her body, the delicate touch of her fingertips on my shoulder as she explained the implicit meaning behind why Jay Gatsby threw such lavish parties in "The Great Gatsby."
"That's very flattering, Danielle. I appreciate the compliment."
I beamed while silently congratulating myself.
"You know, Walter Dial told me the same thing ten minutes ago," she said with a wink, shifting her mint gum from one side of her mouth to the other.
The color drained from my face as I glared over at his table. "Damn that Walter Dial. He's always one step ahead of me," I joked, spreading Mrs. Devon's smile even wider.
"Don't sweat him, Danielle. He's got nothing on you." Her eye contact lingered just beyond the acceptable duration of normal conversation.
Was I hallucinating or was Mrs. Devon flirting with me? I resolved to lay off the alcohol for a while; the buzz from my guzzled raspberry vodka was wreaking havoc on my imagination.
"Who are you here with?" I inquired, secretly noting that her body was as sexy as ever.
"Myself. Ms. Felder, your other class advisor, was also coming but something came up."
"Would you like to sit with Julie and me?"
"I'd love to," Mrs. Devon said, and after locating Julie, we strolled over to a table in the corner, a safe distance from the disoriented paper eagle looming above.
I floated along the sea of eyeballs trailing us to the table, edging nearer to Mrs. Devon, reviving my adolescent fantasy that we were the "it" couple once again.
*****
"So am I off the hook for dragging you here?" Julie whispered toward the end of the evening, after bearing witness to my unabashed fawning over Mrs. Devon.
"Jule, it feels like I'm fifteen again but better than fifteen ever could've felt," I exclaimed, scanning the room as I awaited Mrs. Devon's return from the ladies room.
"What's the deal with her? Wasn't she married?" Julie asked.
"She's divorced."
"Not that I'm an expert on lesbians, but she seems interested in you," Julie observed, giggling at the thought. "Do you think she swings?"
"I don't know, but if I find out, you'll be the second to know."
"Well ladies, I should be going now," Mrs. Devon announced upon her return, directing her glance toward me.
Already? My face faded into abject despair. No, she can't be leaving; it's barely ten-thirty. I'd fallen in love all over again and now this magnificent creature threatened to disappear from my life once more.
"We're heading out too," Julie said, consulting her watch. "My husband probably fed the kids chocolate all night and now they're tearing the house apart."
"I remember those days," Mrs. Devon agreed, as the three of us headed for the exit. "My twins are off at college now, but before they left?" She shook her head with amusement. "And I was always told raising girls was supposed to be a piece of cake."
"I have one of each," Julie said, "and they're equals in the maniac department."
"I have a cat," I added as we reached the parking lot, jealous of their breeder bonding.
"Would you like to get a cup of coffee or do you have to get home?" I asked Mrs. Devon after Julie started her car, my breath seized with anticipation.
"No, I don't have to get home," she said, absently biting her top lip. "There's a fabulous gourmet coffee house down the street from my condo complex. I think we still have time to grab a cup before it closes."
Now this is my idea of a reunion, I thought, watching Mrs. Devon's luscious ass recede into the driver's seat of her silver Passat.
*****
How I ended up on Mrs. Devon's plush sofa at eleven forty-five p.m. is a mystery to me. My mind had been in a haze since we had dinner and reminisced for hours at the reunion, but when Samantha insisted over piping hot cups of a Sumatran and Guatemalan blend that I call her by her first name, I was gone. While she was in the kitchen preparing a midnight snack, I struggled to organize my scattered brain. The simmering aroma of a Passion Fruit votive and the romantic glow from the brass table lamp behind me deepened my desire to kiss Mrs. Devon, Samantha that is. Given this golden opportunity, I would've been a fool if I did anything less. What's the worst that could've happened? Samantha would've rebuffed my advance and I would've been embarrassed. Big deal. Embarrassed was a permanent state of being for me in high school, so why not keep with the spirit of the evening?
"Try these," Samantha enticed as she carried a wicker tray of fresh strawberries and chocolate fondue to the coffee table. "My daughters bought me this for my birthday, and I've been looking for any excuse to use it." With a delicate touch, she swirled a strawberry in the pot of rich chocolate sauce and handed it to me.
"Looks delicious," I croaked, nauseated from a knotted stomach. As I choked down the strawberry, Samantha took a bite of hers and relished it with a sensual groan. Suddenly, my appetite returned but not for strawberries.
"Oh, these are out of this world," she gushed with a moan of pleasure.
My dirty mind conjured a picture of that moaning in an entirely different context. She was sitting so close, her body heat radiated against my arm. Of course, we were sharing the same fondue pot; we had to be close.
"It's amazing how much you've changed, Danielle," she complimented as her eyes walked all over me.
"You've changed too, Samantha. You've gotten even better with age," I said, glancing away.
"But I see you're still shy." She leaned toward me. "You don't have to be. I think you're very charming."
My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear Mrs. Devon's flirty banter. It all came down to this moment. My tumultuous, sexually frustrated adolescence culminating in a chance encounter I'd only imagined would happen in my most unrestrained fantasies.
"Another strawberry?" she purred, giving the vivid berry a gentle stroke through the vat of silky brown. "Come closer, it's going to drip."
I leaned over the pewter pot and parted my lips. Samantha slid the strawberry into my mouth, licking the excess chocolate off her fingers while staring purposefully into my eyes. I chewed it up like a wood chipper, swallowing hard. She smiled; it was an inviting smile, more like a challenge. I leaned toward her but hesitated. Her patient eyes remained fixed on mine, daring me to do it. So I did. I placed a gentle kiss on Mrs. Devon's moist, fudge streaked lips and dissolved into the feel of them tingling me all the way down to my crotch.
"Now I can die a happy woman," I smiled.
"You can't die yet; I'm not through with you," Samantha whispered and kissed me with her fruity tongue. She then shoved me down on her cushiony sofa and crawled on top of me.
I wanted to scream. I was petrified, intrigued and more aroused than I'd ever been by the pressure of her body bearing down on mine. I wrapped my arms around her waist, savoring her sensual softness. She glided her wet lips over mine, studying the blue portholes to my soul. I felt exposed; I'd wondered if she could see what I'd kept so closely guarded all those years ago, the passion, the reckless desire, the hopeless longing for a woman I was never supposed to have.
Samantha's probing of my mouth grew from a gentle exploration to a full-on attack. As her tongue persisted, I grabbed hold of her firm ass, pressing her pelvis into mine. Her hands then shinnied up my thin camisole, lifting the garment as they climbed. Her fingers were soft but commanding as they squeezed the flesh on my sides. Mrs. Devon had clearly made good use of her time in the years since the divorce.
I pulled her thin peach v-neck sweater over her head, messing the thicket of neatly-coiffed honey wheat. Her tongue forced its way back into my mouth, flicking and tickling me for what seemed an eternity, making my long-neglected clit ache for her.
She sat up and summoned me with a seductive wiggle of her index finger. I rose up to her, and she pulled off my camisole. After we removed each other's pants, I sent her bra skidding across the floor and pushed her down on the pillows, drinking in the vision of her beautiful body begging for my touch. She gasped as I nibbled her earlobe and my hands discovered her petite breasts heaving with pleasure. Her nails dug into my back as steamy puffs of breath billowed into my ear. My tongue then departed for sexier locales, landing on her nipples, rigid from my thumbs and index fingers. She panted with fury and grabbed the back of my hair as my tongue teased and taunted her, whirling from one nipple to the other. She drew my face up to hers, lunging for my mouth while she pushed herself into the top of my thigh. It felt slick and hot as she slowly rubbed up and down on me. I had planned to make my way down south but Samantha already knew exactly what she wanted.
With a smooth shift of my pelvis, I felt the exquisite sensation of Samantha's thigh rubbing into my clit. We settled into a slow rhythm of grinding as our pleasured whimpers echoed between the hardwood flooring and cathedral ceiling in her living room. Sweat beaded over our bodies in a glistening film as we grunted and sighed in unison, riding the wave of pulsating undulations. The intensity in my clit escalated as our motion increased as one.
"Oh Danielle," she exhaled into my ear. "You feel so good."
I could've cum from that alone.
With every thrust I was rocketed higher into ecstasy. She gripped my ass and pushed me into her so hard her fingerprints would still be there in the morning. We rode each other with wild abandon, pumping and grinding, as we climaxed together toward an explosive orgasm that leveled me like a pile of rubble onto Samantha's damp, winded body.
As I lay in her arms against the back of the sofa, I sighed softly, fully engulfed in emotion, my body limp from screaming out in unfettered ecstasy. Should I say something, I wondered. Like what? That I was just as silly in love with her as I was in high school except now there wasn't any reason in the world we couldn't pursue what we'd just experienced? I decided not to spoil perfection with words. We hadn't seen each other in twenty years, so who knew what Samantha was looking for? That night she was looking for some type of connection, and out of everyone at the reunion who would've gladly gone home with her, she'd chosen me.
*****
"Can I call you next time I'm in Connecticut?" I asked, standing on the front porch as the faint taste of strawberries, chocolate and Samantha lingered on my tongue.
"I hope I don't have to wait that long," she flirted as an auburn tint from the rising sun danced in her eyes.
"Just say the word," I gushed, unable to mask my desperation. The thought of leaving her for the ninety-minute drive back to the City in the wee hours crushed my natural high. I'd been single for several years, hoping I'd find a woman who could ignite my sensibilities the way Samantha did. I may have been coming off as too eager, but the tidal wave was impossible to hold back. All I could do was hold on for the ride.
She grabbed the back of my head and kissed me one last time: a long, passionate kiss powerful enough to fuel my drive all the way back to Manhattan. "Let's make it soon... next week?" she suggested with a sinful grin.
Delight dripped from every pore in my body. Could this have ended any better?
"Let me give you my cell number, though," Samantha said. "My partner's coming back from her business trip to Argentina next Friday."
*****
Cruising over the George Washington Bridge in a rented Sebring convertible, I blasted Etheridge's "Somebody Bring Me Some Water." I too was burning alive. The whipping wind of dawn dried each trickling tear as I crushed Samantha back into my fantasy world, exactly where she belonged.
Originally published July 2007 - "Sexy Success"