Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

Boy, I sure hadn’t changed much. I might be an Olympic Volleyball Hopeful (my title in the local press), and recipient of the Freshman Scholar-Athlete Award, but I was still living in Fantasyland. And now, weirdly, my fantasies were starting to seep into my reality!

I listened to the rollicking voices in the kitchen: Lily, with that delicious, tiny-alto laugh of hers. She had this sly growl in it that grew in intensity, a delightfully carnivorous laugh. And Lisa’s, that high whoop of hers, I’d forgotten. . . she did sound like some silly little bird, whooping away. I hadn’t heard that laugh much at all, from Lisa – I loved that it seemed so unlike her, so wacky, and foolish, whereas she herself was so self-contained. . .

Lily had, of course, been a fantasy of mine ever since our lusty one-night stand four years ago. And if I’d been self-sex-driven before meeting her, well, afterward. . . let’s just say I always had a tube of hydrocortisone cream with me. But after a couple of years, the Lily fantasy (reality) had become another page in my Rolodex of Dreams. A well-used page, yes, with stars and doodles on it, but still, one among many.

And then I entered the smorgasbord that is College, and found out it’s Okay to be Gay, at least among my crew (the Gym Dawgs). Heck, at college you could pretty much have any kind of sex with anything or anybody, as long as you kept your grades up. So I kind of didn’t really need fantasy there for awhile, at least for the time it took for the novelty of Coming Out to wear, if not off, then down.

And so coming home seemed the perfect time for a Break, in the truest sense: a time to separate from others, and find out what it was I really wanted. Or didn’t want. A personal retreat, if you will. It all sounds very admirable, doesn’t it? What I did, for the first week or so, was spend most of my time in my . . . Meditation Space. In bed.

Fortunately, Mom was busy most of the time, or it might have seemed a bit anti-social of me. I did luxuriate! My hands, mouth, ass, pussy – my beautifully taut, muscular body – hello, friend! It’s been a while! Now let’s get to know each other again. . .

And what’s funny is that, about three or four days into this marathon of self-pleasuring, I got the call from Mrs. Claire. I spoke to her while idly diddling myself. I must admit, her French accent drove me wild; it was such wonderful agony to repress the orgasm that kept trying to occur. And the fact that she was completely unaware, of course, that as we spoke I was naked as a jaybird with my hand busy in my bushy business – that made it all the more delicious.

I do recall that at one point during the conversation (well, more her talking and me responding with ‘OK’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s’), she did ask me if I’d been running. Woops. “Actually, yes. Gotta keep in shape! Sorry for the heavy breathing.”

“Oh, no, non non. You are an athlete, you must! How I envy you. The Olympics, mon dieu!”

Ooh, that French. “Maybe the Olympics. Don’t know yet.”

“Well, we all cross our fingers, yes? Oh, I must fly. Thank you, Louisa, thank you so much.”

“No problem. ‘Bye.” I hung up the phone and sank two fingers into my cunt, flexing my hips. At the same time, the thought of Lily burst onto my consciousness, and I came like gangbusters.

And – there was the issue of my sister. As proper and responsible as I’d like to believe myself to be, at least deep deep down – the sight of her at the door in her leotard. . . tanned, long smooth dancer muscles; pretty, fine-boned face, with big blue eyes and high cheekbones; soft, golden hair – well, it set my fantasy mind going, of course. Even if, when we stood around talking, I pretended it wasn’t. She’s my sister. There’s our mother. Of course she’s pretty, she’s a dancer.

No good.

I finally pushed myself away from the front door and headed in the direction of the kitchen. Look, I told myself. It’s one thing to fantasize – it’s quite another to be discovered molesting two preteen girls who happen to be your neighbor and your own sister! New local paper headlines: “Olympic Volleyball Hopeful Netted for Child Abuse!” “Lesbo Kiddie Kreep Spiked!” No thank you.

The laughter coming from the kitchen area seemed even more boisterous. Such whoops and hollers! Maybe I better do my job. . .

As I came in, something flew past me. “What the heck was that?!” It looked like dirt.

Immediately, the laughter stopped. A few repressed giggles ensued, and heavy breathing. I saw Lisa hiding behind the island. Lily seemed to be stalking her, pacing by the refrigerator with something in her hand. She had a dark ring around her mouth, and her look to me was of the innocent devil.

I tilted my head. “What is that?”

She held out her hand. “Brownie.” She looked at it. It seemed a bit. . . squashed. “With chocolate icing, but this one doesn’t have any icing anymore. . .”

I noticed that, besides her mouth, chocolate icing seemed to be on her clothes, too. And in her hair. Hm.

I gestured to her. “Turn around.” Yes, everywhere. “Looks like somebody pooped their pants.”

Lily guffawed, her hand to her mouth.

“I did that!” Lisa had stood up. Her headband now hund around her neck, and she now wore only her leotard – apparently her skirt had vanished. She too had a chocolate mouth-ring, and bore battle smudge wounds.

Lisa’s color was high. She seemed, not hysterical, but on the lesser verge of hysterical laughter. Her words tumbled out. “We were looking for Diet Coke –”

Lily provided footnotes. “I thought we had some in the pantry. . .”

“– and then Lily found these kind of chocolate-cake brownies in this,” referring to a half- empty, half-covered plate, “so we –”

“They’re really good, here, have one.” I absently accepted a brownie from Lily, listened to Lisa. I took a bite. To Lisa: “So you. . .”

She nodded. “So we ate some, and they were REALLY good, and then Lily was catching them in her mouth –”

“Not the whole thing, just. . . like this,” and she tossed the little formless lump of chocolate straight up – it fell into her mouth. She stuck up her fists and grinned triumphantly.

“But at first she was missing a lot, too.” Lily stuck a chocolate tongue out at Lisa, who giggled.

I cocked an eyebrow at Lily. “I can imagine.” Tongue out at me, too. “So how did you come to poop your pants?”

They both squealed with laughter. Wow, easy house. Lisa, breathlessly whooping: “You pooped your pants, you pooped your pants!” while Lily turned her butt to us and made poopy noises, which made Lisa laugh even harder.

“Oh! Oh! I’m laughing too hard!” Lisa stopped to get her breath, and in the sudden quiet, Lily made a small “plbbt!” sound. Which started Lisa right back up.

And as Lisa whooped, Lily touched my hand. One look. Then she said, “We were throwing it a little, and then I kinda smushed some on her dress, and so she smushed some on me, too. . .” She picked up Lisa’s skirt, which had been lying on the floor. On closer inspection, it, too, had been poopied.

Lisa was red in the face. She took a deep breath, then looked down at her leotard. She pulled a bit at the crotch. She looked up sheepishly. “I think I peed myself a little bit.”

“Peepee and poopie,” Lily murmured. Lisa giggled, a little wearily.

I popped the last bite of brownie in my mouth. It was, indeed, delicious. “ALRIGHT, girls: we have to clean up here. And I mean CLEAN.” Lily’s eyes were huge with hope. “Just. . . clean.” Her eyes dimmed a bit, a little pout just for me.

I scrabbled in a broom closet, found some supplies. “First, all pieces and crumbs in the trash. Then sweep. Then mop. Got it?”

“Got it!” In synch.

“Good! Then we’ll talk about showers and such.” The phone rang. “I’ll get this in the other room.” They looked at each other. “Get going, girls!” They did.

“Hello?”

“Louisa, hi. It’s Josette.”

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, I’m just, I’m such a terrible mother, I forgot to give you a number to call me in case anything happened.”

“Oh, that’s – that’s fine, what is it?”

“Ready? It’s 348-2278.”

“348-2278. Got it.”

“And how are things going?”

“Oh, good, I guess.” Better tell her now. “I had to break up a little food fight.”

“No!” She laughed. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry!”

“Oh my god, it was not your fault, absolutely. They’re just pretty wired, I guess, and the sugar just put ’em over the edge.”

“Ohh, the coconut cream? Mon dieu, what a mess. . .”

“What? Oh, no, actually, it was the brownies.”

“The what?”

“The, you know, the little chocolate cakes. The brownies. On the plate?”

There was a silence.

“Hello? Josette? Did I lose you?”

“No, I’m . . . I’m here, Louisa.” Another silence, then: “Umm. . . the square, chocolate cakes that were in the pantry? Under the plastique?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m pretty sure. . . yes, Lily said she got it from the pantry, so, yes.”

“Ah. Well, Louisa, erm . . . how to say, how to say. . .”

“How to say what?”

“Erm. . . Louisa. . . I make these, these cakes special, for my husband–”

“Oh, I am so sorry, I –”

“Non, wait, wait. It is because, erm. . . you see, Jacques, my husband. . . he drinks, quite a lot, sometimes, and. . . oh, I am embarrassed to say –”

“It’s okay, really, I –”

“No, it’s not, I say he drinks too much, yes, but the essential, the main thing. . .do you know what are ‘hash brownies’?'”

I looked at the phone. “Hash brownies?”

“We say ‘gâteau haschisch’.”

“I know what they are. . .”

“Yes, well. . . for as long as we have been married, actually longer, when we were at Academie together, I make the. . . hash brownies for when I know Jacques will need them the next day because of . . . la gueule, the. . . sick after drinking. . .?”

“Hangover.”

“Yes, the hangover, bad, very bad. But, when he eats some of the gateaux. . .”

“All better. . .”

“Eh bien, not all, non non, but, yes, better. . . so. . .”

“So. . .” Wow. No wonder my girls were peeing their pants. I better go see how they are —

“How much did they have?”

I chuckled. “Actually, I don’t think very much, really. Most of it ended up on the floor. Or on their clothes. There’s still more than half the plate left, I think.”

“Okay. . .” I could hear her deliberate. “Should I come home, do you think?”

“Oh, no. No, really. They’re fine, believe me. It wasn’t, I mean, they weren’t very strong, were they? The brownies?”

“No, I always make it so there are a lot of cakes, and each one has just a little of the, the –”

“Special ingredient.” The phrase struck me as so absurd that I almost giggled. Hmm.

“Yes, the. . . special ingredient, yes. So. . .”

“Well, good. Definitely a new twist, but. . . should be fine.”

“Yes?”

“Oh yeah, really. I’m gonna go check on them now, I had them clean up their mess. Then it’s showers and to bed.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’ll be ready for bed quite soon.” She sighed, a little hiss over the phone. “Oh, and you can use the tub, too, there’s a big bathtub in our room. Whatever you want.”

“Thank you. Well! I have the number, and if you need to know anything, I’ll give you a call.”

“Thank you, Louisa. You are just an angel. I am so so sorry about all –”

“Oh stop. You’d do the same for me. And by the way, I had one, too. Brownie. They’re really good. I don’t think your husband deserves you.” I heard myself and wished I had instant replay.

But she took it in stride. “Well. . . you may be right. . .” almost as an afterthought. “Oh but now we’re off to another house!” She whispered, “will this evening never end?” Then she laughed briefly, her old social self. “High society. It’s so much work, Louisa! I must fly. Adieu, ma chere!” Click.

I looked at the phone again, and kissed it. Then I realized that my affection for it might have something to do with the brownies. Better go and check my girls.

The kitchen was clean, amazingly. Not the same could be said for the girls. They stood before me, as if on parade. Both wore expressions of solemn laugh-holders. And both were now topless, Lisa with her leotard rolled down to her waist.

Apparently they had now gotten into the coconut cream pie, too, because both girls wore a beard and mustache made of coconut cream. And both had pasties, too. I gazed, astonished, at the thick dabs of coconut cream pie icing that covered their nipples. Lisa was one big blush from belly to forehead, but her lips quivered with barely suppressed mirth. And one of her pasties had a little comma through it, revealing the middle of a newly risen breast lump.

I looked at Lily, who looked up, away, then at me. She opened her mouth slightly, and I saw the bit of coconut cream that may very well have been licked? off of Lisa quite recently. Hmm. . .

“Have either of you gentlemen seen Lisa or Lily around?”

They shook their heads solemnly.

“Hmm. Well, I just wanted to compliment them on a job well done.”

Lily cleared her throat. “We’ll tell them,” in a deep, mannish voice. Lisa nodded sagely.

“Well, ” I crossed to the doorway. “I did want to tell them that they could take a bath in the big bathtub, but I guess if they’re not here. . .”

They erupted. “Yaaay, a bath!” Lily grabbed Lisa’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs. “It’s huge, it’s like a big whirlpool, it is so cool. . .” and they were up.

Continue on to Chapter 6