By Una
Years later, I shared a tiny flat at university with a girl who was nice, a great friend, very humorous. We both had boyfriends. Judith had a lovely figure. When I saw her dressing each morning I thought about my sister Ann. Maybe that was because of the intimacy of our shared life as roommates. It reminded me of the years I’d shared a room with Ann when we were children, maybe because she had such an erotic way of moving her body when she wriggled into her clothes.
One day there was a power cut. With no heat, we had to go to bed at 6 PM. That night, Judith came on to me, or maybe we came on to each other. That was the first night a woman ever went down on me.
Judith was an anarchist. She was influenced by her hippy-type boyfriend, obsessed with him and his drunken, pot-smoking friends. Underneath, I think she had a deep need to be accepted, and wanted to punish her parents for not giving her enough affection. They were both psychologists, but despite knowing better, they sent her to convent boarding school from age twelve until she went to university six years later. It messed up her head. That’s when we met up.
From the start, she was fun to be with. Really feminine in a student way, a neat dresser with a petite figure. She was tiny, about five feet two and size 10. We weren’t close friends, but sharing a small flat meant we were often thrown together socially.
I never thought about Judith’s sexuality before we slept together. Any time we talked about relationships, she seemed to make it clear that she was heterosexual. She slept with her boyfriend and with at least one other guy that I knew of, mainly because I was at the party when she went to bed with him. This was more or less the norm for undergraduate women in the Seventies.
A few times — mostly when Judith was dressing, or I was seeing her in her underthings, or occasionally naked — my mind would turn to Ann. I don’t know why. She and Ann were quite different, but Judith’s body aroused some deep feelings that put me in mind of my sister.
I hated to admit it to myself, but occasionally I would remain in bed in the morning, merely to glimpse Judith when she came from the bathroom naked. I’d study her perfect shape as she put on bra and pants in her coquettish way. I thought I was unique, that no other woman had ever felt aroused by seeing a person of their own gender in a state of undress. There was no hint whatsoever that Judith might be attracted to me.
Then came the big freeze and the power cut. It snowed for ages. The following day, the roads were frozen drifts, transport was off.
We stayed in the flat, two heaters and the electric cooker on full power. That afternoon, the power went off. By early evening, we were freezing. We huddled together on the sofa in our warmest outdoor clothes. It became clear the power was not be back that night.
I can’t remember whose suggestion it was that we go to bed in our clothes. We shared one bedroom with two single beds, well apart. We listened to the radio news and lit candles. By 7 PM we were feeling quiet comfortable, warmed under the duvets, gabbling back and forth across the room like two giddy schoolgirls.
We talked and talked, mostly about other people. It was as if before that night, neither of us wanted to get too close personally. We were flatmates, nothing more, each with her own life to lead. But that evening, with nothing else to do, we talked more than we had ever done.
The heavy woollen overcoat I was wearing became uncomfortable in bed. I took it off. Judith followed suit. As if we were playing strip poker without cards, we undressed, item by item, over the next ten minutes. When Judith hopped out of bed to remove the last of her outer clothes, my brief glimpse of her in bra and knickers changed the mood.
Although we’d often wandered around at other times in various states of undress, there was something naughty, childish almost, about the way I rolled out of bed and followed Judith’s lead in removing my sweater and skirt, then slid back under the covers in my undies.
I thought about dressing for the long cold night ahead, but I was too lazy to get my full-length winceyette nightie, which Mother had insisted I should have for cold weather, from the dressing table. Judith and I joked about the “granny nightie,” which I’d never worn. Then there was some juvenile banter about our respective mums.
Jokingly, I said if Judith was a true friend she’d hop out of bed in the cold room and fetch the nightie for me. Instead, she offered to come over to my bed to keep me warm. At Loreto boarding school, she told me, she’d kept her best friend warm on a cold night with an infusion of body heat. Sounded good to me. More than good: a little voice inside said Judith and I were about to enter the Occasion of Sin, as the nuns called it.
The talk turned to schools and discipline. About girls bunking up in the dorm. What Judith said was news to me. Bunking up in my school was considered a mortal sin. Murder was more quickly forgiven. But at the Loreto, it happened regularly among seniors who had their own rooms with locked doors on the dormitory floor.
In our school, it was a sacking offence to be found in another girl’s bed. Even sitting on the side of a best friend’s bed in nightclothes could bring expulsion. Everyone knew that, from first year to sixth form — and yet girls did it. Covertly, of course. But best friends were known to exchange hugs after lights out, especially in the junior and middle dorms, where beds were separated only by hospital style, pull-around modesty curtains.
Judith and I had reached a point in our exchanges where we were both curious. The swapping of notes about school relationships had changed the mood. There was a note of girly flirting in the air. No harm in that, I thought.
A few more words were tossed back and forward until Judith, to my delighted surprise, leaped from her bed and crossed the room to where I lay. I drew back the duvet and wriggled nearer the wall in a gesture of invitation.
She was cold. Her icy feet touched my shins. “Oh my God, you’re frozen!” I gasped, teeth chattering.
Her arm went around my waist and she drew me close. “I know,” she said, “that’s why I’m here.”
We giggled. At other times I would have been nervous — embarrassed, even — to have another girl in my bed, close to me, face to face. Being in bed with my sister was different. That didn’t count. Ann and I had slept together at various times since we were toddlers.
My only other experience of bed-sharing, sleepovers with my play-friend Mags, could be put down to a young girl’s version of doctors and nurses. Mags and I were too young to know what we were doing then.
But I was nineteen now, the same age as Judith. I wasn’t a novice. I’d been to bed with three different boys, and I’d had a number of close encounters with others without going all the way.
There was something delightful about Judith’s presence. We were both still in bra and pants, but we may as well have been naked. I could feel her small bust against mine as we cuddled like two lost children.
My hand was on her back; it slipped lower. I was stroking the warm roundness of her brushed-cotton knickers, absentmindedly at first, simply comforting myself, comforting her. It was enticingly strange to touch another woman so intimately. Judith’s buttocks were lovely — firmer, more rounded than I’d imagined. I wished mine was like that.
At this remove in time, try as I might, I can’t recall the precise sequence of events after I became aware of the tactile effect that touching Judith’s bum had on my libido. I think she wriggled in response to my touch. Maybe we talked a little. The streets outside were dark, there was no sound of road traffic because of the snow. It was as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
Did I pull Judith nearer? Or did she push her tummy against mine? All I recall is that our tummies were pressing together. One of us spoke. I don’t know who. I don’t know what was said, but the voice was different: lower, husky, whispered — pianissimo.
I think Judith may have said: “This is nice.” Or I may have said it. Who knows? But something like that was said — just before the kiss. Again, I’m unable to relate precise details. Suffice to tell, as my favourite nun used to say, it happened.
The kiss produced an instant effect. It gave me what, I think, 19th-century women called the vapours. I swooned. It was like those early morning faints in chapel, fasting during Mass. One minute you were aware of all around you, next you were sitting on a chair being fussed over, offered a glass of water.
It was the smell which brought on my first wave of delirium. As our mouths drew together, a delicious aroma of fresh strawberries came to me. I was aware of Judith’s bouquet of personal scents: lingering shampoo fragrance, a hint of scented powder, the delicate smell of freshly-washed skin — and a vague aroma of what I’d have to call femaleness. Judith’s presence had made my flaring nostrils hyper-sensitive. Suddenly, I was aware that snuggling with her was making me hot and wet.
Her lips brushed against mine — or had I made the first move? Who cares? Our lips met. The strawberry fragrance was replaced by taste. I’ll always remember that soft, luscious taste of ripe summer fruit as our lips met in that cramped bed in that tiny room.
It had been nearly a year since I’d kissed my older sister like this — passionately, on the mouth. A year in which I’d kissed only boys. Now, the delights of a real kiss were being brought home to me.
Her mouth was so different from what I’d grown accustomed to. The softness of Judith’s face, the moist passion seeping through her lips was so different from the frantic gobbling of the hungry male and his aggressive, thrusting, uncaring tongue.
We kissed slowly, softly, tenderly. It was as though Judith and I had all the time in the world, and we intended to kiss forever. In my overheated mind, Judith’s mouth seemed to gradually morph into something different, changing shape. It was no longer a place through which she spoke and ate: it had become an erotic organ, intent on stimulating me to the highest point of pleasure. I deepened our kiss.
It was clear that she’d done this before. Her lips put me in mind of dripping peach segments. The imagery was wrong: but I had to think of peaches to stop from admitting to myself what they really felt like — the lips of a vulva.
Perfectly positioned, projecting slightly, was a tiny bump. I licked it, flattening my taste buds against it, confirming that she was enticing me with the tip of her tongue. I’d never kissed a love button, but in my mind that tiny nub was a proxy for her passion centre, the secret place between her legs from where all thrills flowed.
How long the kissing went on, I don’t know. It seemed ages. I imitated Judith, shaping my mouth and projecting my tongue tip to spar lustfully with hers. We were learning about each other — about how we might lick, and be licked, elsewhere. I’d never tasted a woman; now it was all in the world that I wanted.
As our passions grew, Judith’s knee parted my thighs, eagerly pressing into my simmering mound. I squirmed, knowing Judith and I had passed the point of no return. There was no way now we were going to stop, not until we reached the end of our magical journey.
Her tongue plunged inside my mouth, thrusting mine aside, penetrating deep, priming the gurgling well of desire between my legs. Her expertise was amazing. This was no first-timer — Judith had travelled this women-only road before.
But I loved that. She was so confident, knew what she wanted. This lovemaking was much more assured than the shut-eyed, guilt-ridden fumblings with my sister Ann, beautiful as those were.
We thrashed about on the narrow bed, grinding our bodies together. Everything happening seemed to feed my madness, to urge me to new stages of eroticism. My heightened sense of smell and touch complemented the acute sensitivity of my ears. Each little gasp and sigh of pleasure from Judith brought another flush of desire between my legs. I wanted to do everything — everything any woman had ever done to another woman in the heat of passion. I wanted to lick her, to drink her scented love potion, to chew her until she was gurgling inside me.
The steaming warmth where Judith’s mound pressed into mine was beyond erotic. Was there no end to the new experiences to be had this night? Unable to resist for another second, my curious finger crooked into the softness of her sodden gusset.
Oh my God. Her cunt was dripping, those cotton knickers soaked with arousal. At that moment, no woman on earth could have felt as sex-starved as I did. And yet here was Judith, quiet little Judith, a paragon of heterosexuality, starved for love from another woman — opening her legs, inviting my finger-tip caresses, helpless with lust.
My other hand slipped beneath the elastic of her knickers. I pressed a finger into the hot pool of her cunt, which was fringed by feather-soft pubic curls. Like an adventuress travelling along a flooded ravine, I paused midway. Twirling, I churned up a maelstrom around her pinnacle of desire.
We were facing each other, our kissing fervent, manic. Suddenly Judith wriggled away, struggling to push her panties down and off. Then her hands tugged at my own knicks — she wanted us both naked.
Rising to her knees, she unhooked her bra. In the dying candlelight, her breasts were magnificent. Small, beautiful in proportion to the rest of her figure. I wondered why she even bothered with a bra under her thick winter clothes. The two perfectly symmetrical globes were embellished with succulent pink buds, ripe for sucking.
For a moment, envy and desire merged. My small, pear-shaped bosoms would never look like hers. But lust was there, too, reminding me of how much I’d hungered for a woman lover. Now I desperately, desperately needed to reach that point of satisfaction with Judith, just as I’d done so many times with my sister Ann.
She was back on her heels, naked, helping to unfasten my bra. I marvelled at how hot we were now, despite the coldness of the room. She leaned forward and kissed a stiffened nipple, like a mother kissing a baby. So soft, so tender. How wonderful that she knew so much about this kind of love.
Placing her legs on each side of me, Judith slowly lowered herself, stroking my left breast with her right hand then cupping it, making it feel weightless. The touch was magical. My womanly heat added to the tangy scent wafting around the room. The musk-like fragrance of our mutual excitement, blended in a heady perfume.
My senses were drifting. A hand was touching me, stroking, teasing, caressing the little man in the boat. But whose hand was it: Judith’s or mine? I didn’t care.
We were as one. As if in a trance, I put a hand between my legs. Judith’s was already there. I gripped it. Our fingers swayed and danced in the slippery cleft at the centre of my being. My hand was guiding hers, revealing my most intimate secrets, the special folds where her touch could bring me joy.
A shiver ran along my spine — a thrilling, unexpected shiver. My thigh muscles twitched. An uncontrollable convulsion of pleasure seized me. My back arched. I howled, wetting myself a little. Then contentment flowed everywhere — and I gasped in sublime satisfaction.
I was weeping. I told myself they were tears of embarrassment. The sheet was soaked. I could feel its dampness on my bare bum. What must Judith think? Did I squirt on her hand? Maybe she didn’t notice.
Indeed, Judith was lost in her private passion. Her woolly tea-cosy was pressing on my thigh. She began to kiss me again, passionately. Her hand was on my breast, cupping it, loving it. Her lower body writhed, her legs clenched my thigh frantically, drawing it tightly to her vulva.
I raised a knee and running a hand across her naked buttocks, pushed hard, grinding into her mound as she squirmed with desire.
She stopped abruptly, in full flight. I was certain I’d hurt her, bruised those soft, swollen lips with my knee. The pause seemed to last forever. She was teetering on a cliff-top.
She gave a deep sigh, like a runner getting second wind. Her whisper was barely audible. I strained to hear her. Instead of complaining, as I expected, that she was sore, she breathed, “Fuck me, Una. Fuck me with your leg.”
I hesitated, not shocked, but certainly surprised that a nicely brought up, convent girl like Judith would use such a word.
Then, like a boat swinging away from its berth until it was caught by the flow of a river, I slowly pressed my thigh into the ripe fruit of her sex, squeezing out the juices of her passion.
Gasping, she grabbed my face between both hands and kissed me, forcing her tongue roughly into my mouth. Shaking, she crested waves of satisfaction, clinging to me, squirming against my bare body, riding my leg as she gulped for air. Finally, she collapsed to one side, and I stretched out next to her.
For minutes, we lay quite still, side by side, each lost in our own thoughts. Her pleasure had anointed my skin. I circled a finger-tip in the slippery moistness, drawing a new wave of eroticism from it. My body responded.
I climbed over a dazed Judith and tiptoed naked to the bathroom. The water was ice-cold as I sponged my body, ridding myself of the reminders of our love. I was slowly returning to earth, but my brain was buzzing with echoes of excitement.
It was only 9 pm. So much had happened in three hours. I lit new candles, took a pair of fresh knickers from my drawer and stepped into them.
Judith’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to me, watching as I faced her, pulling up my pants. As I rolled back under the covers, I wondered if she thought I was making a gesture by putting on clean undies. I hoped not.
I snuggled against her warm body. She put an arm around me. The wonderful aroma of feminine passion was still there: her passion. I could smell it, wafting about the room like a cloud.
The fragrance of feminine love was like the aroma of delicious food to a hungry woman — but my hunger was deeper, more urgent, than any need for food.
Judith was kissing me, and pushing her knee between my thighs. It was as though I had just climbed into bed with her for the first time. We both still needed love.
She kissed my ear. “You climaxed really quickly,” she said in the most matter-of-fact voice. I didn’t know how to respond. I felt so ignorant. I knew what a climax was, but it was not something I’d really discussed, not even with Ann.
Judith placed my hand between her legs, stroking my finger along her cleft. It was as though her orgasm had never happened, and she was using my finger to masturbate. I lay there, enjoying her enjoyment, immersed in a warm bath of eroticism.
She pushed down the covers, then reached for the waistband of my knickers.Why had I bothered to put them on? By this time, the room seemed almost hot.
I lay like a baby being undressed, lifting my bottom to facilitate Judith’s tugging on my knickers, aware they were already warm and damp as she slipped them down to my ankles, then off. Kneeling, she looked like a mythical goddess in the flickering candlelight as she studied my face — and then her eyes drifted to my nakedness.
I parted my legs and slowly stroked a finger along my cleft, feeling its warm wetness, enticing her. She watched intently as I masturbated. Her enjoyment showed in a conspiratorial smile. She was sharing my passion.
I was floating on a placid ocean, drifting with a warm current. I could smell the thick, musky fragrance, stronger now than earlier.
Judith, still kneeling, moved her thighs apart and began to stroke herself. We shared a smile, then the moment grew hot and urgent, the two of us watching one another, bonding — relishing each other’s secret, self-induced pleasure, as only two women can.
She took my hand from between my legs and placed it on my bare breast, with the middle finger resting on my raised nipple. I pleasured it with soft strokes, pulling it now and then as if testing its elasticity.
Judith sat back, facing me. Her fingers were still moving down there, her gasps of pleasure like sweet music. Then she took the hand from between her legs and brought it my mouth, painting it with the warm honey. The scent of her passion was in my nostrils. I licked my lips, tasting her secret potion for the first time. The finger slid into my mouth. I sucked like a baby, swallowing her longing.
The tanginess of Judith’s nectar aroused a new desire. I wanted more — to drink from its source. She had me on fire. I’d never known lovemaking could be this imaginative.
And then she moved away — going down until her lips met my tummy, then lower still. I hugged her head to me, knowing what would come next.
When her mouth brushed my fuzz, I swooned. How could such bliss remain hidden from me for so long? Why had no one ever said, shown me before, that such happiness could be had so easily?
Judith parted my legs until my groin muscles creaked — then plunged her head deep between my thighs. Her tongue moved lazily, confidently, exploring every fold as though it had been there many times. Then the tip penetrated my opening, slipped out again — and swept upwards to my love button.
Her fingers rolled back the hood, exposing the hidden pearl to her attentions. That lovely tongue stabbed and flicked, moving from side to side, tossing the little man out of the boat and into the foam. Then her lips closed on the aching nubbin, drawing forth untapped pleasure.
I wanted to stop her. This was too intense, I needed a break. But she kept on, relentless, oblivious to my cries of, “Please, Judith, please” — driven by her need to witness my ultimate surrender.
When her finger went inside, I was dragged into a new world. Distracted by the intense sensations elsewhere, it had entered my cave before I knew — and I all but swooned. This was penetration of the sort I wanted again and again. Not the brutish thrust of a greedy cock, but the tender ingress of another woman.
When the finger crooked just inside the entrance, tugging with tenderness on the pubic bone, I rose to a higher level of ecstasy than I believed possible. Judith’s finger had found a place I never knew I had in there.
Oh my God. How could anything be so intense? My thighs snapped shut, trapping her hand. My body fought against the body-shaking convulsion I knew was coming. I held her wrist, desperate to escape the sensation between my legs. And yet I wanted it to happen. So did Judith.
She was prising me open, forcing my thighs apart — triumphantly stroking my fully exposed cunt, as if to say she was in control of my passion. Her finger withdrew with a delicious, sinful wet noise. How disgustingly dirty, I thought. How naughty of me to relish such a rude body sound. And yet it was wonderful.
Her head dipped down there again, Judith sucking the pink pearl between her lips, while a finger wriggled inside my cave. She was carefully, skilfully, driving me to the ultimate release of pleasure.
I held back — tried to, anyhow. But it was useless. Her finger, her lips, her tongue, all were lifting me to the pinnacle. I cried out, thrashed about like a landed fish, clenched my fists until the fingernails bit into my palms — and then it was over. I flopped back, breathless, exhausted.
Seconds later Judith had seized my shoulders, guiding me onto my back. She straddled me, placing a knee by each ear. Slowly, precisely, she lowered herself on my face, positioning the furry wetness of her sex on my mouth.
Instinctively, my tongue emerged, snake-like, to flick at her womanly parts. I longed to repay her, to bring Judith to the heights she’d brought to me.
The fragrance was divine, the taste unbelievable. For the first time, I was drinking the nectar of love, smearing it over my taste buds with each lick of a flattened tongue.
Judith lifted one knee, drawing back, holding her cleft open. I whimpered, cheated of my treat. Lowering herself again, she breathed, “Put your tongue inside me.”
Happy to oblige, I slid it as far into her opening as it would go. It wasn’t far, but I could taste a difference, swallowing the thick wine of her inner desire as it flowed down my throat.
I tried to push my tongue in even deeper, but it was impossible. Judith’s hand slid down, a finger circling her bud. I placed my tongue on a fold at the side of her clitoris, my senses reeling as her moving finger joined my tongue in pleasuring the hardened pearl. This was the two of us acting as one, masturbating my lover to a thrilling finale.
Almost as an afterthought, my other hand went between my legs and I pleasured myself, twirling a finger around and around inside, my body shaking as Judith neared climax. When she convulsed, she dragged me with her. Her moaning gasps as she pushed down hard on my flattened tongue — they sent me whirling.
The sheer exhilaration of sharing this special, secret pleasure sent me over the edge of a cliff. I was falling, falling, falling. And then, as though saved by a magic parachute, I was drifting down and down, into a warm and welcoming sea.
Dismounting my face, Judith bent down and kissed me — pausing to sample her own tangy honey, which coated my lips and chin. The aroma of womanly passion was everywhere, a thick haze that tickled the nostrils.
We lay in each other’s arms. I thought of my sister Ann, of how many roads we had yet to travel, how many ways I had discovered to bring new pleasure to her.
Continue on to Chapter 6
