Thanks Pepere, my editor. He took a raw and grammatically messed 80 or so written pages and made a story of them. An achievement by itself.
It is a beautiful autumn day and I’m seated on a bench in the park surrounding Boston’s Northeastern University, where I teach Italian Literature 102. My name, or the name I used in documents when I was a child and came to the States, was Maria del Lujan Nolan Petrucci. ‘Maria del Lujan’ because I was born in Argentina and it’s the name of the Blessed Virgin, patroness of Argentina, and is a common name there; ‘Nolan’ because, at that moment, it was my father’s ‘official’ surname, and Petrucci because it’s my mother’s family name. My father changed and Americanized my name at the American embassy before we, him and I, left Argentina forever, and I came to the States as Marie Nolan Dellacasa. My real name is Maria del Lujan Foster Petrucci, because Foster and Petrucci are my real family surnames.
My father was an employee at the American Embassy in Buenos Aires; he had told his family that he was a ‘Cultural Attaché’ working in the consulate. He was, in fact, a man with the ‘Agency’ who had tight ties with the high echelons of the military Junta, if you get my drift. He was 28 years old, tall, muscular, had blond hair, and brilliant, warm, dark blue eyes. He was an American boy who was the wet dream of many young and not so young girls and women.
My mother was a young heiress of a deeply Catholic southern Italian family living in Argentina at that time, and was being educated in a strict Catholic nun’s college –Solamente para señoritas – only for young and affluent ladies. She was fifteen and had that soft, dark, rich Italian style skin, raven black hair, and beautiful green eyes. She was a beauty; any time, any place.
My life’s story starts on a late August day, when my father was acting as chauffeur for the American ambassador and was sent to the nun’s college to pick up the ambassador’s daughter at the end of the school day and found nobody had gone to get the ambassador’s daughter’s best friend. My father, at the urging of the ambassador’s daughter, picked that beautiful girl up, and after delivering his precious charge to the embassy, took the girl to her home and into her Italian parents’ loving arms.
Something strange happened that day, and as I don’t believe in love at first sight, I would say it was ‘lust at first sight’, at least when it came to my father’s feelings for who would be my mother. My father offered to go to the nun’s college every evening, and pick up the ambassador’s daughter and her little Italian friend as a favor to the Ambassador, from that day on.
1)On my way to heaven
My paternal grandfather’s name was Mario Petrucci, not Dellacasa; he was born on December 25, 1922, and went from Italy to Argentina at the end of World War II when he was 24 years old. His wife, my grandmother, Lucia Petrucci, nee Russo, whose family also went to Argentina with the Petruccis, was born on April 29, 1932. They were married on August 10, 1967, and had a daughter, my mother, who was named Sofia, exactly nine months later.
My grandfather didn’t have a college education, barely finished first grade, but that didn’t stop him from building one of the largest and most profitable construction companies in Buenos Aires. He had learned his trade from an uncle in Italy, starting when he was a strapping lad of thirteen, and he would toil each summer, carrying totes of bricks up ladders or scaffolding to the men who were toiling to build the exterior walls of a building or other types of architectural masonry walls or walkways.
He knew everything about masonry by the time he was eighteen years old. His father was proud of him for learning what he needed to pass each grade in school, but was proudest of his abilities as a mason and budding businessman until the war wrecked his world and his dreams.
In Argentina, he grew stronger and smarter, both at business and at work as the years passed, and as was normal at that time, brought those who would be his trusted men; not only his brothers, but also a handful of cousins and other relatives, a very veritable clan, from Italy.
He was ‘Il Patrone’, the head of the family from then on, and as was the custom in the old country, his orders were law and the women of the family and their honor were sacred; nobody but nobody, could be disrespectful to them, otherwise the irreverent could and would confront sawed-off shotguns in a vengeful vendetta.
He was 47 years old when he got married to grandma, and she, at 37 years of age, still had time to be able to safely get pregnant. He had worked hard in the construction business before starting and building his own company, which had then thrived, making him a very prosperous and accepted rich man.
My father committed one of what this tight-knit family considered was the worst of sins; that of disgracing a woman of the family. Little Sofia – la bambina – was suddenly sick one morning. She was fifteen and everybody thought the reason for it was something she had eaten, but when the ‘morning sickness’ and retching continued for a week they called the family doctor when the old country remedies didn’t work. Because of severe cases, those were who aware of the problem usually prescribed, and he ordered a pregnancy test, to her parents’ incredulous and horrified eyes.
Sofia was forced to stay in her room until the results of the medical tests were known with certainty. The medical report was conclusive; Sofia was pregnant. The house suddenly seemed doomed. The family and household were astounded, and the questions many; how, when, and most importantly, who?
Don Mario didn’t want to know anything about being in love, about sentiments, or any other bullshit; he only wanted blood, the blood of ‘El figlio de una grandisima putana’ (the S.O.B) who had violated and gotten his little girl pregnant, and out of wedlock. The Spanish Inquisition would have had a privileged member in Dona Lucia, Sofia’s mother, and my grandmother. With persistent threats or affection, Dona Lucia did wear out Sofia’s will, and my poor young mother told her the name of her paramour.
Once the family knew who had dishonored their little girl, the men met in council to agree on a proposed punishment, and above all, to take the necessary action; uncles, cousins, and in-laws proposed several punishments, including death. When they found out that their enemy was an American working at his country’s embassy, they were still determined to ambush and kill him as they would do in the old country.
It was Dona Lucia, my grandmother, who poured cold water on the situation and calmed the bloodthirsty spirits. The Petruccis discussed the problem in the sanctuary of their bedroom that night, and Dona Lucia suggested to her husband that the most important thing was to get the American boy to marry their daughter to repair the family’s dishonor and in that way make sure the still unborn child wouldn’t be a bastard. As usual, the men of the family who were so bloodthirsty a few hours before accepted Dona Lucia’s advice.
The family took the appropriated steps; Don Pettruci called his lawyers’ offices and asked Dr. Tarantelli, the principal partner, to visit his home for a matter of the utmost importance. Dr. Tarantelli was very well connected with the higher echelons of the economic and military powers that be, those of the country’s government, and with many embassies. His influence was well-known.
Nobody knew what was spoken between the two men, both well versed in matters of family honor, and the next days in the Don Pettrucci household were frantic; nobody knew the sequence of events and only later, much later, after several years, in fact, when Don Pettrucci’s granddaughter disappeared from Buenos Aires one tragic Sunday morning, was the family informed about the whole seven year history.
Things seem had happened this way: Dr. Tarantelli went to visit some friends he had in high places in El Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, the Argentinean equivalent to the British Foreign Office, or the American Department of State. Once there, he related the delicate case of a powerful friend, whose minor daughter had been impregnated by an American embassy employee, to the officials.
The good doctor explained to his friends at the Chancellery that his Italian clients, being very proud of family honor, wanted it repaired, or if that wasn’t possible, vengeance. Being the first marriage, it was to be a big wedding with all the trappings, cathedral, white dress, sumptuous party, and all the bells and whistles. The second option was maiming or death, no matter how long or whatever it took.
Members of the Argentinean Chancellery went to talk directly to the American Ambassador and make him aware of on the situation, and the danger that his employee was in. They explained the solution the family wanted, and the certainty of punishment if not. To make a long story short, my father, pressed by the agency he worked for, accepted responsibility for the pregnancy and married my young mother; nobody knew that he was starting to think about his own vengeance at that very moment.
The Petrucci family was exultant, everything was as it should and the – bambino – the child wouldn’t be a bastard, the ‘bambino’ meaning me. My father wasn’t happy at all, but he kept his anger on a tight leash and made plans to make the Petruccis pay, and pay dearly they would. Nobody thought of the young pregnant woman, Sofia, and/or of her future and her life.
After the marriage ceremony, with no honeymoon, my father went on a “mission” to Chile, and later from Santiago to Bolivia, leaving his in-laws to take care of everything. He went back to Buenos Aires after a couple years of wandering from country to country on the southern continent for one mission or other, and went to the Petruccis’ to get to know and get acquainted with his one year old daughter; while thinking about revenge and how to carry it out at the same time.
First thing; he never bedded my mother again nor lived near her or any of the Petruccis. Second; he, as a Secret Service employee of the Embassy, had access to the documentation section and could provide himself with a complete set of American documents in my name as an American citizen and that I was entitled by being his legal daughter. The third part of his revenge plan was that he started visiting me, taking me to the park, holidays was to the zoo or some circus. He was very patient, and I was so small, grateful, and delighted being with my ‘papa’ that I never asked questions about where we were going.
My every birthday was unique from then on if he was in Buenos Aires. We usually went to celebrate together after a party at home, where he was always very civil to my mother, and being with Papa was pure bliss for me. This was so until I was six years old. We had a party with my little friends at home on the day of my sixth birthday as usual, and papa took me to go to my usual birthday holiday with him afterwards, but we went to Ezeiza International Airport instead of going to the zoo or a similar place.
I was jubilant at seeing so many planes big and small, and when I asked, he told me that day we were going to a little trip and that I would like where we were going. Everything is a blur in my memory, but I remember Papa dressing in military garb like the other men in the plane. What I didn’t know at the time was that I was leaving everything that had been my entire life up to that day behind.
Next thing I knew we were in an airport again but it was now night-time and I told Papa that I wanted to go home and be with Mama; he told me I was going to be with him and not with Mama for now, and it would be funny, not funny like the zoo, but funny anyway. He said that I was going to meet new people and his sister, my auntie, and I was going to love her very much.
When we left the airport (later I knew it was Andrews Air Force Base near Washington, DC), we got in a car and Papa told me to try to sleep because it was going to be a long trip. I wasn’t afraid as I was with Papa; fear would come later and it was going to mark my psyche and life forever.
It was a long trip from Washington to Fort Dodge, Iowa, where as I later learned, would be my home for the next twelve years. My father rented a car and we started a long, tiring, and to me, depressive trip. It was a twenty four hour trip, as I understood later, designed so as to not leave any trail for the Petrucci hunters who would surely try to follow our trail sooner or later.
Father drove tirelessly the almost one thousand and one hundred miles between Andrews Air Force base and Fort Dodge in Weston County, Iowa, in 22 hours. We stopped only so I could use the restroom to pee, or in small malls and cafeterias to buy food to eat in the car; it seemed as if we were on a mission, he wasn’t Papa anymore, he was a stranger who treated me as if I wasn’t his daughter, only as someone he had picked up on the street. He was cold with me from then on, so much so that in the six years before his death, he only came to Fort Dodge to visit me three times, and phoned me no more than half a dozen times.
As I remember the trip, my first in the States was anything but glamorous. A long strip of cement in the middle of the nowhere by night, and a succession of small towns, farms, and big city skylines during the day, driving on turnpikes and country roads that were so bad sometimes, it was a miracle the car didn’t break. We arrived at long last; early the second night to what would be my new hometown and the house where I would pass the years of my late childhood and early adolescence.
It was almost ten in the evening when we arrived at 1113 South 25th Street, between 11th & 12th Aves, in Fort Dodge. My father honked, announcing our arrival and a middle-aged couple came out from inside the house; she was around thirty five years old, and he looked a little older. I later learned that she was 33, him 37, and they were childless.
Greetings were contained, undemonstrative, without the warmth, people have who don’t see each other very often, regardless of their family relationship.
“Hello, Sis, Jim,” was my father’s curt greeting, and he presented me before either of them could open their mouth. “This is my daughter, Marie” then speaking to me, “Where are your manners, Girl? Greet your Aunt Susan and Uncle Jim; you’ll be living with them from now on.”
I nodded my head, but couldn’t open my mouth; I was six, it was my birthday, and my father’s gift had been to bring me far away from home to live with people I didn’t know. Silent tears started falling down my cheeks, and I wanted to die at that moment.
That was the moment Aunt Susan began to become ‘Mom’ Susan in my mind. She addressed her brother with a stern “How could you?” and taking my hand from her brother’s, she took me in her arms, trying to calm my anguish by holding me tightly against her chest and softly and lovingly kissed my head and cheeks, murmuring “It’s OK, my baby, OK, please don’t cry. I love you, I love you, we love you” at the same time and I suddenly fell asleep in her arms.
Aunt Susan was seated at my bedside when I woke up the next morning, looking at me with a look of deep love, “Good morning, my love; do you want breakfast?”
I was bewildered, the lady was a stranger, the room was strange, the bed wasn’t my bed, and I couldn’t remember where I was. The recent events slowly came to my mind, and I told the lady I wanted to see my mama and papa and asked where they were.
“Your father left last night, leaving you with us to take care of you,” she sadly said.
“But I want to go be with my mama,” and I started to silently cry again.
Last night’s scene repeated itself: I was crying and quietly sobbing, and the lady who is my aunt was taking me in her arms, hugging and trying to comfort me. “No, no, my baby, don’t cry, please don’t cry; we’ll love you with all our hearts”
And that is how it was. They loved me with a passion; I was the child they hadn’t and couldn’t have; we lived in a nice single family home with two bedrooms, and my bedroom very different from the house where my family, the family I was slowly forgetting, lived in Buenos Aires.
The people in that part of the country tend to speak the dialect that linguists call North Central American English; and since my English pronunciation is different, very different, I was the recipient of the jokes and taunts, some of them quite bloody, from the children of the neighborhood first, then at the school for a time.
My new parents tried to protect me from all this, but as one of the teachers told them, it was a phase I must endure in order to integrate with the rest. I now think it was then that my introverted temperament was born. I went to St. Edward Catholic Elementary School, and as I was a solitary person and a loner, books became my escape from the world, and if you added my knowledge of another language to that, I was always considered a rare bird by my peers in elementary school and later in high school.
At eighteen and out of high school, a completely different person from the one that had been taken from Argentina when she was six started on a new path in her life. I went to Iowa State University to get a masters degree in World Languages & Cultures, I substantially changed my physical appearance at the same time. There no longer was a chubby girl or young woman with an Italian doll-like look of the late nineteenth century. I had become a lanky young woman with a slender-looking, classic Roman face, dominated by two jet black eyes.
Some of my father’s genes had appeared with force at some time in my late teens, and among others, one of his features had changed my hair from being an opaque brown mousy look to a brilliant honey golden blond. Exercise had shaped my body, and while my breasts are small in size, maybe a 32B, the rest of me looks like a muscular shapely sculpture.
How could I get to go to University and pay the tuition with my parents being low middle class? The answer to that question is quite simple. A government car stopped in front of my parents’ house when I was twelve, almost thirteen years old, one Saturday morning. Two men who identified themselves as employees of a government agency got out and once inside the house, they asked the family to be present together.
In short, they had to tell us that my father had died in a mission in a foreign country; they didn’t tell us how or where. They merely gave us the condolences of the Government and the Agency, and told us that I had a pension for life coming, and a fund that my father had created for me that I could access when I was twenty-five years old.
They took a bundle of documents from a briefcase that my parents were asked to sign and told us to never contact them again; they would take care of everything. That’s how I went to Iowa State University, and to Italy later, for a two year Masters in Italian Literature.
As to my sexuality, what can I say? I’m a lesbian; being a lesbian actually has nothing to do with either for or against men. It has to do with women: my love, attraction, sexual desire, and affection for other women. I’ve liked women since I could remember, and I’m a particular kind of lesbian; I’m very feminine, and I like very feminine women. I wasn’t driven to lesbianism by a man’s aggression, or deceived by an adult woman as a child; I just think it’s in my genes, somewhere in my DNA.
My lesbianism wasn’t caused by environmental factors, such as upbringing or child molestation, an absent mother, or an overly affectionate father. On the contrary, I have had the most loving family you may wish for since I came to the States and, it’s true that my biological mother was absent – not by her decision – and my father was far from affectionate, so those weren’t the cause of my sexual orientation. I think is it something I was born with, an inherited trait, like skin or hair color.
My dear foster parents were very worried about me not having had any boyfriends during all my high school days. I couldn’t convince them that I was happy as I was; I just wasn’t interested in boys, nor in girls, for that matter either. I would occasionally, but very occasionally, be drawn to the body figure or personality of a mature woman, but nothing I was worried about.
It was in my sophomore year at Iowa State University when, out of curiosity, I asked a psychology professor about my sexuality or lack of it, and my slight inclination to the mature female figure. Her answers began to clear the way to my full realization as a sexual being in my mind. She tested me with several questions, and asked me to answer them saying, “Answering these questions may help you figure out what your sexual orientation is. You may be lesbian, bisexual, or straight.
My best advice to you is to be patient with yourself. Whereas it’s empowering to label yourself, the process of being sure is much more important,” then she added, “Remember whether you are lesbian, straight, or bisexual, you will be the happiest and feel fulfilled if you live a life true to yourself.”
It isn’t easy, but I’m trying to do so.
Back to the questions that she asked me to answer to myself, not to her, I put the answers beside the questions as she told me, and they confirmed what I suspected.
“Are your feelings for women stronger than your feelings for men?” Yes.
“Do you get more excited about the idea of kissing a man or kissing a woman?” Kissing a woman; kissing a man gives me the creeps.
“Who do you see yourself settling down for life with in the future?” In my case, with a woman.
“Are you more physically attracted to men’s or women’s bodies?” Women without a doubt.
“Who do you fantasize about more, men or women?” When I do fantasize, it is usually a woman.
These answers don’t mean that I’m promiscuous, because I’m not; I’m quite shy on the contrary. In fact, I have been in a relationship with only three women for the past seven years of my life, all of them fairly long, and none before I was twenty. The longest was with a mature woman, who being my first lover was my teacher in the art of lesbian lovemaking at the same time.
I wasn’t in love with her, but I was very fond of her and in hindsight, I ended our relationship because she wanted to dominate me, and…I have a little wild streak. I want to be dominant, not much, just a little bit. I can go a really long time without having sex and be perfectly satisfied with that, but she was getting really upset if we didn’t do it. Even though I might not be interested at first, I did eventually get in the mood once she convinced me to do it, but I’m not always in the mood, and I never initiate sex myself.
One other thing about me is that I have learned that to masturbate is a very normal thing, not weird or unhealthful, and when I masturbate, I think about myself as a man having sex with a woman most of the time, and I enjoy this fantasy. I honestly don’t want to be a man, but I enjoy the thought of having a penis and using it to have sex with a woman. That is something I haven’t shared with anyone, least of all with my lovers.
When I went to see the psychology professor with the test and its answers, I asked her if it was normal for a lesbian to fantasize about having a penis to have sex with a woman. She explained to me there was nothing abnormal in that fantasy; in fact she told me something unexpected.
“My clinical opinion is that there’s nothing wrong with your dreams. You say that you have some fantasies; it seems to me that you have some fear or shame around these fantasies, and maybe even sex in general. There is nothing wrong with fantasizing about having a penis. As a matter of fact, my experience shows this is a common fantasy for all women, not just lesbians. In your case, why don’t you give a dildo a try? This might be just the ticket to increasing your libido and getting you out of your shyness.”
Her words opened a new world for me, and the first thing I did when I went to New York City one weekend was just that; I bought myself a dildo and the harness to use it with. That weekend in New York marked a new first in my life; it was one of the few times in my life that I have gone to a club which catered mostly to single women or women couples.
I normally dress elegantly, with sexy and cheerful dresses. They are very feminine, and unless social circumstances require another type, I usually prefer the various shades of pink, pale blue or green apple; I like my blond hair to be straight, slightly curved at the tips, and cut up to my shoulders. So in my hotel room in New York that night, I had impulsively put my harnessed dildo on and I went to that lesbian bar wearing the device under my dress.
It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes after I had taken a stool at the bar, when a very masculine lady took the stool beside mine and tried to make conversation. I was new, I was fresh, and I was the prize, or so several butch-like ladies at a near table seemed to think. After a few minutes of chit-chat, she who was sitting next to me asked me if I wanted to dance. Now, she wasn’t the kind or type of woman I like to mix with, but I thought I’d enjoy myself a little and answered in the affirmative.
She possessively took my arm, and with a wink to the other women in the table, led me to the dance floor. The music playing was soft, very slow, and very romantic, ideal for conquest, love, petting, and rubbing of bodies. She took me in her arms and with the grace of an elephant, pressed me against her muscular body. Surprise; she found herself against something hard instead of a soft pudenda, something not supposed to be there. It was a penis.
Her face was a symphony of confusions, something was wrong and she didn’t understand what was happening; I pushed my crotch against hers before she could say one word, and sweetly asked her,
“Wanna fuck, Baby? I like my woman face down so I can to ream her ass with my dick”
Her skin went a deep red, almost crimson, the veins of her neck became swollen with blood pressure, and the tendons of her neck looked like mooring ropes. She began to stutter, but no words came out her mouth, and before she could react, I slid off the dance floor and said goodbye with a flying kiss and a “Bye, bye, Sweetie Pie.”
That was my first and my last foray in the world of lesbians clubs.
Destiny. Was it destiny? I don’t know, but fate sometimes has a hand in our endeavors. What I know is that The Beatles used to sing about a ‘Hard day’s night’, and that was the night of an especially hard day and week for me. I’m a very reserved woman; I’m a lesbian, not in the closet but I don’t flaunt my sexual preferences either, as they are nobody’s business but my own.
I live off campus; in fact, I live in East Somerville, a couple miles or three from the University where I teach. It’s very convenient because I don’t like promiscuity of any kind. I own a small two bedroom, one story house with a secluded garden and pool at the back of the house, and I maintain a cordial but distant relationship with my colleagues. I go to the parties, but I don’t date or have dalliances with other professors, or students, for that matter.
As I said it had been a very trying week and day, what with a couple of my male students more interested in my body and legs than with Dante’s Inferno and trying to impress me with a very macho attitude, the toned muscles of their bodies, and not with the developed muscles of their brains. So that night, Saturday being the next day, I opened my laptop, looked and entered a sex chat room, which was unusual for me; not the opening of my laptop which is a daily occurrence, but me logging into a chat room.
Being almost midnight, I surfed from site to site; trying to find something…I don’t know what, something or someone interesting enough to talk to while decompressing my mind. The chatters were mostly men looking for an easy lay or to induce women or other men to have mental or any other kind of sex. After an hour or so, close to 1 AM, I made a last attempt before logging out and entered a lesbian chat room. A new member joined the chat after a few minutes, but didn’t talk or intervene in any way.
I was curious; it isn’t uncommon for somebody to enter a chat and leave after a few minutes, but this person was silently there, listening other people, mostly women, talk about love or sex of any kind between women, and her member name suddenly rang a bell in my head; she called herself Argenta68. Argenta is silver in Italian, from there to Argentina the name of my birth country; this woman, if she was a woman, must be from Argentina.
I logged out and went to sleep promising myself, I don’t know why, to log in during the following days and try to find out who she or he is, and if I could have a conversation with whomever it was.
Close to midnight the next day, Saturday, I went directly to the same chat room as the night before. It was one hour later in Argentina and I hoped against all rational hope that the person whose chat name was Argenta68 would login that night. It must be clear that I knew nothing about this person, age, status, genre, or sexual preference, and after a half hour, more or less, Argenta68 appeared in the room as silently as the day before.
It was more of the same; Argenta68 was silent, not talking to anybody, not answering questions, and being only a spectator. I tried several times to get her/his attention, talking directly to Argenta68, but no such luck. I had a silent partner in a one-way conversation. I was busy with work, so I didn’t login for the next week, and fifteen days after the Friday that I had found Argenta68, I logged in again in the hope of making contact and getting an answer. It was becoming an obsession. Argenta68 logged in at around the same hour as before and acted in the same way. This was to be for several weeks; maybe a couple months.
Every time I frantically tried to get their attention by saying:
Dante’sInferno: Argenta68, this is Dante’sInferno, please I’m Argentinian and want talk to you.
Nothing but silence, only the blip, blip of the cursor on the monitor and I wrote again:
Dante’sinferno: Argenta68, Dante’sinferno here; if you’re a woman we could talk in a private chat if you want.
I got an answer at last after two or three minutes! It seemed very timid.
Argenta68: Y…es, I’m a woman in… Argentina.
Dante’sinferno: Hi, Argenta68; I’m in the United States, pleased to meet you.
Argenta68: Hi, same with you….
This small dialogue was followed by an awkward silence; but I thought at the time, ‘What the hell, something is something, she’s come out of her shell at least.
Dante’sinferno: I know this could be a little awkward, this…talking like this, but I’ve tried to contact you for several weeks…
Argenta68: Yes, I know; I was just listening and trying to get the courage to answer you…
Dante’sinferno: But why? I mean you…
Argenta68: Because this is the very first time I enter a chat, I mean this kind of chat, and I was afraid and ashamed.
Dante’sinferno: You don’t have to be; this is a place where you only talk with whom you want, and only talk about what you want to, that’s up to you. And if you don’t want to, don’t talk. There is something bothering me, in a good way of course, and I want to ask you if that’s alright…
Argenta68: Well yes, I’ll answer if I can.
Dante’sinferno: I was wondering by your chat name if you are of Italian descent.
Argenta68: Yes, I am in fact, my parents were from Italy.
We talked in that fashion for another half hour; me trying to not frighten her with many personal questions, giving her time to confide in me, and she answering in a very reserved way, but I could feel she was relenting. She became easier to talk with, and I assumed that if she was in that chat room she was, at least interested in lesbianism, curious, or both. We said our goodbyes and parted as friends and we agreed to meet and talk again the following Friday night.
I don’t know why, but I was elated all week thinking of my next chat with a woman who was a total stranger, and ten thousand miles away, on Friday. Not only was she far away, I most probably wouldn’t ever get the chance to know her personally. I didn’t have the slightest idea of what she looked like, how old or young she is, whether she’s fat or skinny, a blonde or brunette? Not that this was significant; the most important was that she’s a good person. Friday finally arrived.
She was already logged on and waiting for me when I logged in that night. In her own words, she told me that she only felt comfortable talking to me, so I took the initiative.
Dante’sinferno: I was going to propose that we get a private chat room so we might be able to talk more intimately today.
Argenta68: OK, if you say so.
So we did; I got a private chat room so we could freely talk through private messages.
Our conversations the following days were insubstantial; even in the atmosphere of the almost secure private chat room we talked mostly about inanities and as I felt the relationship wasn’t going anywhere I decided to up the ante by trying to get her to be more forward in talking about herself.
Dante’sinferno: Hi, I was thinking that you might be would be more comfortable if we exchanged our E-mail addresses and began communicating more by instant messaging. What do you think?
There was no reply, and only the cursor was titillating in the screen for a long, long time. Then an answer came.
Argenta68: I don’t know, I’m not sure, it would be more personal, and…I don’t know if I’m ready to get personal.
Dante’sinferno: Yes, I know it’s more personal; that’s what I hope our relationship will become. OK, I’ll tell you what; I’ll send you my address, and whether or not you want to do the same is up to you. Here is mine: dantes’inferno@….
Argenta68: OK, thank you.
That was all for that night. The conversation was at a dead end. We said our goodnights and I logged out of the room. We didn’t have any contact for several days, close to two weeks, then when I was certain she wouldn’t contact me anymore, I opened my E-mail one day, and I saw her screen name, Argenta68, pop up about twenty minutes later, indicating that she had just logged on. There it was, she had written to me. I felt a thrill run through me from seeing my friend now online. I was suddenly as nervous as a bride on her wedding day. My heart skipped a beat, and with my own screen name, Dante’sinferno, instantly messaged her.
Dante’sinferno: Hey, Hon, how are you? I missed you. By the way my real name is Marie.
Argenta68: I’m well; I missed you too and my name is Sofia.
Dante’sinferno: Sofia, Sophie, what a beautiful name. I’m fine and very happy to see you.
Argenta68: Me too.
Dante’sinferno: So what have you been up to? What do you say we leave the nicknames behind and use our own?
Argenta68: That’s OK with me; I just got finished taking a nice long bath after a hard day’s work.
Me: You got all nice, clean, and fresh and come to talk to me? LOL
Sophie: LOL, yeah, I did.
Me: Ha, it’s Friday night, and being single, I bet you’re getting ready to hit the town.
Sophie: No, I don’t have anyone to hit town with, as you put it. Besides I’d rather be here talking with you at my age.
Me: Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re not old; you’re barely forty two. You need to find a boyfriend to take you out.
Sophie: Forty three and I don’t need a boyfriend. I’ve had two husbands and that’s enough men for one lifetime. What about you? Why aren’t you going out with a boyfriend?
Me: Because I’m not interested in that. I’m not interested in boys or men. Never was, never will be.
Sophie: You mean you…you’re… are you lesbian? Sorry, I didn’t want to snoop.
Me: That’s alright; you may ask me whatever you want. Yes, I like women. I like older women, in fact. But…are you OK with it? Me being a lesbian, I mean.
Sophie: Yes, I’m alright; everyone loves whoever one wants to.
Me: Are you in love right now?
Sophie: No, but I would like to…
Me: Would you consider trading our life stories with each other?
Sophie: Well, maybe sometime.
That was how we started exchanging our life stories. She told me how she was seduced by an older man when she was barely fifteen, a mother at sixteen, and divorced at twenty two; I told her of my childhood in Midwest America, and of Mom Susan and Pop Jim, I also told her of my high school and university years.
She told me how she had had a second husband imposed by her family, and how she had thrown her useless husband out after several years of fruitless marriage and hidden domestic violence, divorced him, and had taken over the family business.
I told her of my love for classic literature, my years in Italy, and my fondness for the country and its language. She told me her family was of Italian extraction, and that she speaks a little Italian, mostly her family Italian. We exchanged some sentences, hers very rudimentary, and we laughed a lot. I asked her to send me some pictures after a couple months, and said I would do the same so we could know each other better.
She adamantly refused to do so, and when I asked her why, her only answer was that she was very tired and wanted to call it a night. We said our farewells and closed the connection. I was left with a very bitter taste in my mouth.
I know I don’t have the restraint of people my age or more mature, being the only child of a middle-aged couple. Mom and Pop gave me everything before I opened my mouth. Now being twenty seven years old, I still wanted to get things right away. In between many other good things Sophie did for me, she put a restraint to my impatience and childish petulance. I didn’t have the slightest idea how she looked, if she was tall or short, slim or fat, blonde or brunette, with fair or dark skin. It didn’t matter; I wanted to see what she looked like and I was becoming paranoid. The worst thing was that she no longer was available.
It was a time of despair; I was obsessed and I logged in after work at home every single night, then waited and waited for a message from her to no avail.
Then I opened my mail one day and there it was. She had written and sent me two pictures with this in the subject line: “Hope you like them.”
I was frantic and opened the first file with trembling fingers. A strikingly beautiful dark-haired woman looked straight to me from my computer screen. I was speechless; I looked and looked as butterflies began to flutter inside me. I then opened the second archive and a mature woman’s figure appeared in front of me. She was amazingly gorgeous and it was evident it was a professional studio photo, and I could tell it was a very expensive place from looking at the background. She was standing in a classic pose with her hand resting on a marble balustrade from which you could see beautiful gardens.
It seemed to me that she was in her own house, something that she later confirmed, a mansion by all accounts.
Then the screen came alive, and her name with a message appeared; she was with me again.
Sophie: There you are, I hope you like my pictures.
Me: They are beautiful; I mean you’re beautiful.
Sophie: Well, I’m a little old and a bit fat.
Me: No you’re not! I have the pictures you sent in front of me; you’re beautiful! You’re mature not old, beautifully mature.
Sophie: You forgot fat.
Me: You’re not fat; you’re voluptuous. What man in his right mind wouldn’t want to go out with a tall beauty like you?
Sophie: LOL. That’s a polite way of saying ‘fat’, and concerning men, I’m not interested in them anymore.
Me: My God! I’m getting wet right now just thinking about you.
Sophie froze in the middle of typing a response when she read what Marie said. She was shocked. While they had discussed a little about their lives with each other, neither of them had said anything so directly naughty concerning their love lives like that before. Their conversations had always stayed friendly and polite, but what Marie just said indicated their relationship might be going in a new direction. Sophie wasn’t sure how to respond. Should she feel offended? She didn’t; in fact she felt somewhat…aroused.
I wrote more before she could type something:
Me: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so forward. Please don’t be mad.
Sophie: it’s OK, I’m not mad.
Me: Oh my God, good.
Sophie hesitated for a moment, not really believing what she was going to ask, but thought, ‘what could be the harm in it’?
Sophie: Is what you said really true?
Sophie: Because of me?
Me: Yes, because of you.
Sophie: What do you mean?
Me: I hope you won’t hate me for saying this, but I have been fantasizing about you for a long while. I’ve gotten excited just talking to you several times, but never mentioned it. I think I’m falling in love with you.
Sophie felt a shiver run through her body. She couldn’t believe she was letting the conversation continue in this direction, but she couldn’t help it.
Sophie: I don’t hate you. In fact, hearing you say that has made my own pussy wet.
It was the truth; her pussy was wet. Sophie had never thought of cybersex as something she would be into or be aroused by it. She hadn’t gone looking for this, but she had to admit, talking with Marie like this over the internet was awakening certain urges in her body faster and stronger than she could have imagined. She was horny. She had been without sex for a long, long time.
Me: Oh, God, Sophie; I wish I could see your wet pussy!
Sophie: What would you do if you saw it?
Sophie wasn’t as shocked in her mind as she pretended to be by Marie’s proposition, or her own out of character response. It was true that she was aroused thinking about another woman’s pussy. It was something germinating in her mind since the afternoon that her friend, Maria de las Mercedes, had confessed her peccadillo with a woman escort over tea.
They were a group who had been friends since their teenaged years in the exclusive ‘solo señoritas, only young ladies’, school days. They had been getting together once a month for almost thirty years since they graduated; most of them married and had children, some of them, not many, in their ‘Upper Class’ society status got divorced, and a few had becomes widows, but they get together once a month come hell, rain, or fire. No matter what, they relived the old school days and ways for the few first years of those gatherings. They forgot husbands, children, house, maids, and a thousand things of their easy daily lives for a few hours.
The topics of conversation, amid shouts and laughter, were mostly about childbirth, house decoration, new fashion trends, and opera galas or other entertainments in those first years. The years of talking about college for the boys or girls and marital difficulties came later, along with fewer shouts and laughter. Then, as the years went by and the ‘empty nest’ syndrome appeared, came the low-voiced conversations on the taboo topic; ‘sex and the married woman’. Most of them had a lot of grievances against husbands whose shining armor had tarnished with time. Some of them had festering heartache caused by husband’s infidelities, and others plain and simple complained about the lack of sex in their lives.
The topic of sex was more and more important in their gatherings, and some of the most adventurous women were openly talking of finding the best way to get some joy outside the marital bed. Not easy when most of them had, one way or other, many eyes watching over them. There were the charities and gatherings of their church, the Catholic Church, in an officially Catholic Country, and foremost, Argentina (as most countries in the world) is a sexist country where an unfaithful woman is the worst of sinners, and if she is of the moneyed society, she becomes an unofficial outcast.
But what if you are seen with another woman? Nothing happens; it’s normal for two ladies to be friends, go shopping to the expensive shops, or go to have tea and pastries in the halls of the Sheraton Hotel or other similarly expensive places, and nobody would be the wiser if the ladies maintained their composure in public.
Most in the crowd of old friends at the meeting that day were not only unhappy, they were seriously unsatisfied, sexually unsatisfied. There was no laughter, the English tea and the pastries were tasteless, and the conversation almost nil. They all heard the clink of a spoon against the edge of a glass seeking attention in the middle of some subdued conversation. They all turned towards the source of the sound and saw their friend Maria de las Mercedes, with a huge smile on her face, begging for their attention.
“Girls, Girls, I have something very important to tell you,” said a smug Maria de las Mercedes.
There suddenly was dead silence; all of them wanted to know what had happened to their friend to make her so cheerful and smiling. “What is it?” they simultaneously asked.
“I have a lover, Girls.”
If the room had dead silence the few minutes before she spoke, you could now hear a pin drop and the faces had a look of incredulity, amazement, and shock. All hell then broke loose; a cacophony of noises seized the place, which now seemed to make it a madhouse instead of a meeting of high society ladies. All of them wanted to know how that had happened and asked one question after another.
“You all know that my husband as an export-import tycoon and he has many contacts with foreign embassy officials, mostly Americans or Europeans, and we entertain them and their wives mostly in business parties.” Marie de las Mercedes was stopped short with new questions.
“Girls, Girls, if you don’t let me continue the story, I won’t be able to give you the juicy details,” and silence was the master once again.
“I was telling you about the parties; well, when the men went to have their drinks, cigars, and to discuss business or sports after dinner at the last one, I took the ladies to the garden, then while the maids served them, I went back inside and heard the men talking. I wasn’t snooping, mind you, but what I heard made me be sure to stay in the shadows. Their conversation wasn’t about business or sports; it was about women, not us wives, but some well-known prostitutes and their proficiency in bed. It must be quite common that they used them because they were comparing notes and exchanging names and phones.”
“So you took a lover in revenge?” asked Mary Sorensen, mother of two, and whose husband was known for his philandering.
“Yes, but quite not what you’re thinking,” said Maria de las Mercedes.
“Alright, alright, what did you do?” several asked in unison.
It was clear to Sophie that her friend Maria de las Mercedes was having fun and enjoying herself with her surprising story, and with good reason as her gaze had the brightness of someone who had been actually royally fucked.
“Well, I heard something very interesting; one of the husbands, I don’t remember which one, so don’t ask, talked about one model’s agency that has some of its models, not all, living a double life; they work in the fashion shows modeling clothes, and work as high-class prostitutes or ‘escorts’ as he put it, for a second source of money.”
The oohs and aahs from the mouths of most of the women, their cups of tea and trays of pastries now forgotten, were full of incredulous amazement; every one of them wanted to know, most of all wanted to know about Maria de las Mercedes’ affair; how, when, where, and most of all, with whom. Do they know him? Is he in our social circle? Are you in love with him? Is he married or single? And a question, an unspoken terrifying question, hung in the air; is he one of our husbands?
Maria de las Mercedes could feel the tension increasing in the air and put an end to their collective anxiety and uncertainty.
“Don’t worry, Girls; you know your husbands are safe from my charms. My lover is a woman.”
The fall of the walls of Jericho to the sound of the Angels’ trumpets caused less commotion than her friend’s words. Lesbianism was something that was practiced by other women, not them. Woman to woman love and sex was sick, dirty, and a heinous sin; it goes against the law of God and the teachings of the Holy Mother church; most of them held their nose as if the odor of sulfur was in the air. Not so Sophie, whose curiosity was in an all-time high. Maria de las Mercedes tried to clear the air with definitive formality.
“That will be all, Ladies. I see that you all are profoundly disturbed, suffice it to say all of you, your husbands, and your families, even mine, are safe from my new and magnificent sexual appetite. If you will now excuse me, I’ll leave you to your tea, pastries, frustrations, and sexual deprivations,” and left the room. Sophie followed suit and called out to her before she left the hotel and got in her car.
“Maria, Maria, wait for me, I want to talk to you.”
Maria waited and Sophie caught up with her.
“You know we are good friends, don’t you, Maria?”
Maria raised an eyebrow and waited for what Sophie had to say.
“I’m very interested in your experience, and I want to know more about it. Can we get together tomorrow and talk about it, at your house, or mine if you prefer. You know that I live alone in that mausoleum, so nobody will interrupt us; tea time tomorrow?”
“I’ll call and let you know, Sophie; I’m furious with that pack of hens right now.”
They parted with a kiss on both cheeks.
Maria de las Mercedes phoned Sophie in the middle of the next morning to confirm her visit in the afternoon. Sophie was a little nervous; she was very interested in her friend’s Sapphic experience, her feelings, if she was repentant, or had religious misgivings. But most of all, she wanted to know how the sex was and how pleasurable it had been.
Maria de las Mercedes arrived at Sophie’s home around three o’clock and after greeting each other, got right to the point.
“OK, my dear, do you want to know all the sordid details? Maria was on the defensive.
“No, my love; you know I want the best for you. We been friends for a long time and I try not to judge others; I just want to know how it happened and if it was a pleasurable experience.”
Reassured by her friend’s words, Maria started to tell of her adventure. “You remember what I said yesterday at our meeting with the other…
“Maria…” Sophie softly interrupted, “That’s not worthy of you, they are our friends.”
“Yeah right; it didn’t seem that they were yesterday. Well, as I was saying yesterday, I heard the men talking and exchanging the names of girls and their phone numbers, and they were awarding performance points as if it were a football game. I was furious and thrilled at the same time, and plans began forming in my mind; you know, hearing those assholes referring about women that way. I despised them, my husband included, and I thought that they deserve the same medicine.”
She paused to drink a sip of tea and delicately nibble on a cookie. Sophia was on tenterhooks, but didn’t want to rush her friend.
“I was alone watching TV late a few nights ago, when I saw a show with an odd scene in it. Two women walked out of a night bar together, talked at the side of a car for a few moments and then started kissing passionately. It stirred something inside me. I had never had fantasies, or even dreams, of being with another woman, but what I heard from the men talking as they were, snapped a switch in my head. I even mentioned it to my therapist and she didn’t even raise an eyebrow”
“And…” Sophie was leaning forward in her chair, the tea forgotten.
“But I started to wonder how I go about it? I mean, my physical appearance isn’t the issue. I’m in good shape for a forty-three year old woman. I keep myself pretty fit, and though my breasts sag a little and there’s the hint of a spread in my backside, I’m still shapely. I know that I’m still attractive because men and women alike have told me so. Then it hit me. I didn’t want to hurt a friend, risk an emotional involvement and then have a fall out or something but I wanted to feel a woman’s body, feel what it’s like to make love to another female. The only choice was distasteful at first, then like the evolution of my emotions, totally reasonable: the models.”
“So since I had enough information about whom to call and where to go, I made contact. That’s a strange world; this is a modeling agency that has booked not less than one hundred, one hundred twenty women, mostly young girls who are in fashion shows and a few well-known starlets from TV shows, who are also very expensive prostitutes for men…”
“How expensive?” asked a very curious and excited Sophia
“Five thousand dollars a night”
“What, how much?” “Five, what?”
“Yes, you heard right; five grand a night. But let me follow with the sequence of my story. As I told you, we all have gone to fashion shows where these girls or women parade, so I went and asked to speak in private with the person the men talk to when they want company, other than that of their wives, of course…”
“You’re crazy, you know,” interrupted an amused Sophie.
“Nope, you’re wrong, I was horny, not crazy, but not anymore,” was the satisfied answer.
“OK, please tell me how it went?”
“Well, the lady in charge of that part of the… transaction was uncomfortable. I had to assure her that I really was a customer and not some police officer. She later confessed that they had some lady clients who also look for women. It wasn’t easy but I went on. She told me most of the girls preferred men as clients, not for any moral reasons, only because men ask for young women and will pay any price. When I asked to know how much the figure was, that was when she told me up to five thousand dollars for a night. I whistled softly and asked what she had for women.”
“I’m astounded you had the courage and could do that,” an excited Sophia told her.
“Well, thank you, old friend. She told me she had a few very experienced middle-aged women, and by middle-aged, she meant twenty eight to thirty five, who had tired of old men and their whims and antics, and preferred going out with women with whom they could even go to dinner with no one being the wiser. Another point was that they were less expensive than the younger ones.”
“How much did she cost you,” asked an eager Sophie?
“Two thousand dollars for the night, the hotel room, and other expenses such as dinner or room service being my treat. But I tell you that it was worth every penny,” Maria de las Mercedes said, stretching out like a satisfied cat.
Maria de las Mercedes took a sip of cold tea before proceeding with her story.
“It was then that she asked me what my tastes were, and when I asked what she meant, she told me…”
“Well, Honey, first of all, is there any type of girl you’re looking for? Specific physical things, race, size, hair color…?” “That was her answer.”
“I let out a little laugh. Just like taking a look at a menu and picking an entrée. I told her that I didn’t know; I mean I’m assuming that they’re all pretty young and attractive…”
“Yes, they all are that, she joined me in the little laugh, and I was much more comfortable now.”
“I just want someone who has umm… experience, who won’t feel uncomfortable with me, you know…”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got just the girl. She’s twenty-nine, pretty good, and I’m sure she’ll like you. Her name is Susana.”
“Well fine, now umm… how much this lady…?”
“How much is she going to cost? There’s a flat fee of three hundred dollars for her to come out, and that’s for an hour and a half with her. That’s just for being with her. Anything other than companionship you have to negotiate with her, but it’s usually two thousand. You’ll discuss your activities and time with her, and if you require more, then you work it out with her.” Maria de las Mercedes said the booking manager told her.
Sophia was squirming as if she were seated on hot coals. She felt her body was blushing and reacting as if she were on fire.
Maria followed with her story, “A shiver went through me, and I was already fascinated by this mystery model/call girl. There would be more than an hour and half; I wasn’t a guy, who wanted to get laid. I wanted an experience; one I could smile about until my dying day.
I paid the flat fee in cash. The woman assured me that Susana would meet me at the place I selected, and that she would call me at home within an hour to an hour and a half to know what I wanted, and so I could tell her where I wanted to meet. I wondered what Susana, probably used to meeting men in hotels, would think of us being there. I selected the Caesar Park Buenos Aires; you know it’s one of the most exclusive and elegant in the city, and when she called, I told her to meet me in the white marble lobby, for drinks and dinner the next day, and we’d decide what to do from there.”
“What excuse did you give your husband?” Sophia asked.
“Oh, I didn’t need an excuse, not that week. He was in Brazil on a business trip and the boys would be with their girlfriends. Please don’t interrupt me again or I’ll lose the thread of the story.”
“OK, I won’t,” said a suitably chastised Sophia.
“So after a luxurious bath the next day, I put a fingertip-sized dab of my favorite musk behind each ear, one in between my breasts, and for the first time, one on my thighs and in my panties. A light dusting of blush on my cheeks, only a tiny bit of eyeliner, and I was done. No lipstick. I don’t wear it often anymore, and didn’t really need it. My lips are thin and naturally pursed in the middle. I turned both ways while looking in the mirror. Not bad for an over-forty broad–
–Feeling the hammering of my jugular veins, I went to the garage got the car and set off for my adventure. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 7:05 PM. She was scheduled to arrive at the hotel around 7:30. I saw a taxi stop before the stairs as the hotel valet took my car keys from my hands. A woman got out of the car, and well, she was beautiful alright.
–Hi, are you… Maria? Her eyes quickly swept me, then met my eyes and stayed there. The woman at the agency hadn’t asked my age, and I was wondering just how surprised Susana was.
–Yes, I smiled, and you are Susana.
–That’s me. Please call me ‘Suzy’. Her smile was bright, charming in fact, and her demeanor caught me off guard. She didn’t fit the bored, professional image my mind had feared in any way.
–She was dressed in a white body hugging tube dress that outlined a nearly perfect body. Her breasts were big, but looked natural, and she was a knockout. She was petite, a couple of inches shorter than me, and reminded me of Meg Ryan in her early years, with the same innocent look. Her hair was light brown with blond highlights flowing over her shoulders in straight, silky strands, out of which peeked a pair of discreet gold earrings. She looked sexy without looking cheap, and I was relieved about that. Her green eyes were calm and focused as she accepted my invitation to go inside.
–We went to the ‘Cheers’ bar. With dim lighting, wooden furniture, and black-leather armchairs, it’s the perfect place for an unobserved rendezvous. We ordered our drinks and she crossed her legs once comfortably seated.
–Well, this is a little different, she said, softly smiling.
–”Not as different as it is for me,” I said, causing her to laugh a little.
–”OK, so let’s get the business out of the way.”
–”How long do you want me to stay? She pleasantly asked her head tilted to one side. “If you know yet, that is. We can spend the hour and a half you paid for if you like, you can then decide where we go from there, or if I leave. But I need to have an idea of how long our, umm… session might be, and what you’re looking for.”
–”I’ve already thought about that, and I know the answer. I’ll make this easy,” I said, swallowing hard. But it wasn’t easy, not for me. I took a breath, and took the leap. I said “I want you to stay with me until tomorrow morning”, holding her gaze. Her eyebrows lifted when I said this, and glancing away then looking back to her, I said “I want you to be… um… willing to do everything and anything with me.”
–She nodded slowly, “Everything and anything”… she repeated, quickly looking up and down my body.
–”I just want to be able to let loose, take some time, relax, and just do things with you that I’ve only fantasized about. I want you to relax too, not feel like you have to pretend anything… just be yourself, and be open to whatever I want.”
–She looked deep into my eyes, and after a few moments, quietly said, “You got it.” There was a silent moment…So, wanting to get the numbers thing out of the way, she said; “You want me overnight, and want me all the way.” I wanted that part to be settled too.
–It sounded weird when she said it that way, but yes, that’s what I wanted.
–”Yes,” I said.
–She took a long sip of wine. “OK, I’ll need two thousand,” she said. She looked at me almost with a glint of uncertainty, but I didn’t care about the money.
–”Two thousand,” I repeated with a nod, and reached into my leather handbag. I opened a large envelope and counted out twenty-one one-hundred dollar bills and handed them to her. She nodded, impressed, and smiled as she carefully put the money in her purse. “Thank you, I’m all yours now,” she said, laughing gently. “What do you want to do…?”
–”I rented a suite; would you mind if we finish our drinks and went upstairs?”
–”Not in the least; the important thing,” Susana said, “Is you being comfortable, and enjoying this.”
–Her smiling green eyes and the way she said that put me at ease. I took her hand once we left the elevator. It felt good in mine; soft and small, and the way she gave mine a little squeeze, oh my. Our shoulders brushed as we walked along the corridor to the suite.
– I had a burning desire to kiss Susana, and find out what a woman’s lips felt like on mine, by the time we got near the door. I took both her hands in mine at the door. She looked at me and smiled. I’m sure it was a look that she had probably driven a thousand men bonkers with, but right now, it was for me, it was real, and it felt deeply erotic to be here in a hotel with a woman who was, for a little while anyway, all mine.
–We slid into the room and our first embrace was warm, silky, and fragrant. It had all the characteristics of hugging a close friend or a sister until the kiss came; then it was delicious, sensual, and almost instantly went from a hesitant taste to a full, unabated deep kiss. We devoured each other’s mouth, our tongues stabbing, probing, with her body warmly pressed against mine. I felt a host of new sensations sparkle inside me.
–We kissed there against the closed door for at least a full two minutes, exchanging soft moans into each other’s mouth. Was she acting, I wondered. I looked into her eyes when we pulled apart, and she deserved an academy award if she was acting. Susana truly seemed to be enjoying herself and I told myself to stop worrying about that. So what if she was acting, I told myself? Just enjoy the experience.
–She unbuttoned my shirt, and slid it off my arms. As she did, she gently asked me; “You’ve never been with another woman, right, Maria?”
–”No, never,” I answered.
–”You have thought about it… haven’t you?”
–I nodded. “Sometimes, but very rarely in this way”
–She took a moment to softly caress my breasts. She could tell that I wanted to take this slowly, so she slid her hands down to my waist, knelt, and untied my skirt.
–She then rolled my panties down my legs, and I felt a naughty thrill at being naked with a beautiful younger woman, fully dressed for now, disrobing me as she slid them off.
–”It’s my turn,” I told her, eager to get her out of her clothes, and she smiled softly as I relieved her of her snug fitting dress, heels, and thong panties. I took a moment to look up and admire the length of her body as I dropped her panties on top of the pile of our clothes. ‘What a body’, I sighed deeply. ‘Oh, to be twenty-nine again! Stop it, Maria,’ I joked darkly with myself. ‘How about making it to eighty-two instead’?
–I slowly pushed her to the sumptuous bed; she fell down and leaned back, her hands at her sides. I looked down at her and she knew what I wanted, so she pulled both feet off the floor and planted them on the bed’s edge. Her closely trimmed, beautiful pussy was open in front of me.
–I leaned, positioned myself close to her, licked one breast and then hungrily took it in my mouth. She closed her eyes and hummed her approval. I slid my arms around her waist, and sucked her breasts like a newborn child, tasting her soft, sunny-smelling skin. It was wonderful and I could feel my own nipples gently pressing against her body. I slowly moved my mouth down, sampling her taut, young tummy.
–I brought my head up, smiled up at her, and kissed the inside of her knee that was bent next to me. I could feel her squirm when I gently raked my nails along the outside of her thighs, and moved my mouth down, swabbing the inside of her leg with my wet tongue. Then she softly moaned as my cheek brushed her vulva, a moan that made me shiver with desire.
–I turned my head to the left, and there was her pussy, the soft tiny hairs now brushed my lips and nose. I took both my thumbs, placed them on her labia, and gently pulled outward, spreading her. Being so close to her was entrancing, now seeing that part of a woman’s body that had been only a reflection of mine in the mirror for the last forty-three years, at tongue’s length.
–I looked up into that angelic face just before I licked her. I was flush with excitement as her sex’s bare flesh met my tongue. Her taste was intoxicating! I had tasted my own juices when I masturbated before, sucking my slickened fingers as I wondered if another woman would taste like this. Her taste was similar, but all her own, and I wanted more.
–I saw her tummy heaving out of the corner of my eye as I continued licking, I pressed my face in, feeling her juices anoint me, and feverishly licked her, concentrating on her clit as much as I could. Her hand was on my head, and she was sweetly moaning. I ate her for at least another fifteen minutes, until she came. It was real to me. I made her cum.
–My own womanhood was a sticky swamp of desire. I wanted her hand for some reason, though. I knew that I had all night with her, and I could have her mouth on me whenever I wanted. I wanted to feel her fingers inside me now, and I wanted to see her face at the same time.
– From above, Susana asked if I was sure that I’d never been with a woman before. I told her that it was a compliment that she thought I had, then scrambling up and sitting on the bed next to her, I said I wanted to feel her in me, asking her to please put her fingers in me. She nodded, turned, propped herself up on one elbow, and her other hand slid between my thighs. Two fingers then nestled on my very wet opening in a probing way, and it yielded to her gentle push to let the fingers slip in.
–I moaned as I watched her finger fuck me like that for a couple of minutes, then I spread my legs wider and urged her to put two more fingers inside me. It was divine; this woman’s four slender fingers formed a knobby, pliant cock in me, and I writhed at the sensations that race along my vaginal walls and spread to the rest of my body.
–She then looked at me, and in a naughty voice, asked if I wanted the whole thing. Panting, unsure if I understood what she meant, I asked her. Her answer almost made me go crazy. “Let me give you my whole fist… my whole hand.”
–The thought of it sent a bolt of delicious excitement through me, and I answered for her to give me anything and everything she wanted.
– Susana inserted the tip of her four fingers into my labia, caressed and opened my vulva, then she made a fist, and gently twisting and pushing worked it inside me. I arched my backside and the stretching of my vagina was very painful at first, but it then gave way and an overwhelming pleasure invaded my brain. With a comforting hand on my tummy, she slowly burrowed the spearhead she had made deeper in me, her wrist disappearing in my pussy as I looked down in wonder.
– I ohgoded and raggedly gasped as she worked the fist back a little, then sank it in deeper to the middle of her slim forearm. I squealed loudly as she gripped my breast with one hand and drove her phallic arm deeper still, almost to her elbow. Her gleaming eyes were fixed on me, her mouth open with concentration as she pulled back, then drilled back in, pulled and entered, plowing my depths like I’ve never experienced before. I looked at her through lust glazed eyes, my mind whirling and fantasizing in that moment that she was a desperate beautiful intruder in my home, and that I was unable to stop her from raping me in my own bedroom. The thought drove me over the top as her pretty little arm speared me yet again and again, a soft squishy sound coming from my center as she took me. My climax rattled me to the core, and my entire body came alive with a long, ecstatic shockwave.
–I shrieked, holding onto her shoulders as she mercilessly fucked me with that fisted forearm until I finally collapsed, tugging at her arm for her to unplug her silky weapon from me.
–She slowly withdrew her arm, now coated with my nectar, and I watched her in joyful wonder. I pulled her to me and held her close; she rocked me, my face against her neck for the longest time, the incredible, seismic sensations of the fist-fucking slowly ebbing in her embrace.”
Silence then came. Sophie opened her eyes to see Maria de las Mercedes’ eyes closed in a catatonic state, remembering her experience, her left hand caressing her right breast, and her right hand closed as a fist, forcefully pushing into her groin over her dress; then Sophie became conscious of her own state of disarray; she was fingering her own pussy and mauling the tips of her breasts as she writhed in an incredible orgasm.
The two friends looked at each other in astonished silence before either could say a word.
Sophie was the first to talk, and with a trembling voice, asked her friend: “Are you going to do it again, or was it a once in a lifetime experience?”
“Yes and no. Yes, I’m going to do it again, and no, it wasn’t a once in a lifetime experience,” answered a shaken Maria de las Mercedes.
“Will it be with her again?” asked a curious and surprised Sophie
“Yes, I have never felt so loved, and she wants to be with me again, no strings attached for now; later we’ll see.”
It was late in the evening and Sophie asked her friend if she wanted to go out to dinner.
Maria de las Mercedes’ first experience with woman love was later recounted to me by Sophie and in her own words said that it was the feather that tipped the scale in our own relationship. Sophie now felt free to follow her own sexual yearnings and to throw her religious and social ties to the wind and pursue her own personal happiness so much so, that she, as you will know in a few more lines, sought to meet me as soon as possible.
Our relationship soared; Sophie asked me to get Skype on my laptop so we could talk and see each other by video conference. I agreed and we continued our cyber relationship for the next couple of months.
Our inhibitions were now diminishing so swiftly that we usually engaged in cybersex talk on weekend nights when I didn’t have to worry about getting up early the next morning for work. Sophie, now that November was ending and Christmas was nearer, also felt comforted that she wouldn’t have to be alone on those nights as we could talk and see each other. Sophie told me she felt some guilt over what she was doing when we talked via Skype, while a part of her kept telling herself that a forty-three year old woman shouldn’t be doing these things with a person she hasn’t actually even met. But that part of her mind was overshadowed by the sexuality that had been aroused in her by her friend Maria’s liaison. It felt good to be doing this; she was feeling good in a way she had never expected to feel, and she didn’t want to lose that feeling. In fact, she now wanted more.
Sophie was indulging in her newly discovered sexual appetite and felt safe about the way she was doing it for the most part. She felt she could talk to me about anything as if I were the daughter she had had who been snatched from her. I talked to her about everything at the same time; my family, Mom Susan and Pop Jim there in Fort Dodge, my ambition to become a permanent professor at University, and my need to find a stabilizing life partner. We considered and explored erotic desires at other times that Sophie would have never thought about doing in real life, like caressing a woman’s body. It was something she had never done before, but as I now enjoyed the idea so much, she enjoyed playing along and describing how she would touch her breasts, and she would began to really play on camera after a while and wonder what it would be like to do it to another woman and have it done to her. How much more rewarding would it be doing it for real, if just the suggestion of doing it, turned Sophie on like it did? I began to think she really might like to try making love to a woman’s body; mine.
I reciprocated her timid sexual talk, upping the ante with more aggressive and generous talk of petting and even cunnilingus. The actions I depicted I would do to her pussy with my mouth made her more than curious to truly feel a woman’s hot breath and warm wet tongue roaming over her body. She hadn’t been one for masturbation, doing it from time to time mostly on those days when her libido and hormones in her system went crazy. She now masturbated more intensely than ever before, no longer only abstractly thinking about being with someone, but now touching herself with vigor while thinking of another woman. That she communicated what she was doing to me made it all the more thrilling for her.
I was besotted with her, and now feeling an urgency to have her in Boston with me, but how do I convince her to leave Buenos Aires and her economic emporium even for a few weeks? My going to Argentina was out of the question, not for monetary, but for academic reasons; my future in teaching at Northeastern was on a tightrope, and I needed to be in Boston until the next academic year started next fall.
Sophie once again did something that changed the course of our relationship before I had a chance to discuss these feelings and my needing to be with her. Maybe it was that she felt that our affair was losing some of its spice without person to person contact that triggered her to say what she said. We were chatting on Skype as usual on a Saturday night, but when our dialogue began to get more amorous this time, she made a drastic suggestion.
Sophie: How do you feel about us meeting?
Me: What do you mean?
Sophie: You know…Travelling so we meet and get to know each other.
Me: What do you have in mind?
Sophie: Promise you won’t get mad at me?
Me: Of course I won’t; you know you can tell me anything.
Sophie: OK…what if I come to see you in Boston?
I just stared at the computer screen for a couple minutes, not knowing how to respond. I was definitely stunned, but after all we had talked about and bonded together, the idea of Sophia coming to see me knowing that we were going to do something so forbidden for her was…exciting. I felt a warm gush spread through me and goose bumps pop up on my arms. My pussy had become wet just like the first night we began to have cybersex. Before I could respond to her, however, Sophie misunderstood my silence and typed something else.
Sophie: I’m sorry, forget what I said, it was just a thought.
Me: No, no, wait. Um…how would we go about it?
Sophie: Don’t worry about it; it won’t cost you a cent. I can arrange my affairs to be absent here for a couple of weeks and I can be your guest if you accept me at your home, otherwise I can go to a hotel and we could see each other when you have time off of work and on the holidays, if you’re not travelling to Iowa to be with your family, of course.
Me: Yes, I suppose you’re right. No, what I mean is of course you would be my guest; how do you say it – ‘mia casa es tuya casa – my home is your home’, I would be delighted, there’s no way you would be going to a hotel. When could you come?
Sophie: Well, easy my dear; if you accept me as your guest I think I may be able to be there around the tenth of December and stay till a couple days after the New Year. Would that be convenient for you?
Me: Convenient you say? You’re crazy, Sophia? I would like to have you here with me tomorrow.
Sophie: Lol, little Marie I have goose bumps from your eagerness.
Me: I’m not so little, and we have been talking of doing for so long after all. Aren’t you a little eager to be with me too?
Sophie: Yes I am, but still, I know you’re legally an adult, but you’re only twenty-seven. I’m sixteen years older than you; I feel I should be more responsible. Maybe my encouraging you is wrong.
Me: LOL, I assure you that I’m old enough to be responsible for my own actions, and I love the fact that you’re older than me. I’ve always found mature women attractive and I used to fantasize about them before I met you. Now your beauty is all I fantasize about. I don’t believe a woman can be truly beautiful until she’s at least forty.
She didn’t know whether to feel complimented that I thought she was beautiful, or insulted that I had acknowledged she was over forty. I supposed that she couldn’t really blame me for commenting on our ages since she brought it up. I had done my best to say I liked that she was older, but it still irked her some that I recognized it. However, as I later discovered, Sophie had found that she couldn’t stay even slightly angry with me for long.
Our conversation eventually went back to Sophie’s travel plans and we closed our session with Sophie’s promise to immediately start making her travel arrangements. We got deeper and deeper into making plans in the next few weeks, and I was astonished at how much Sophie hungered to experience our fantasies more and more. Then came the night Sophie said that she was flying to New York the day after tomorrow. This news left me as nervous as a wreck. I found myself eager to have her company and happier than I had been in a long time.
I asked Sophie what would she prefer, me flying to New York and fly to Boston with me, or go to meet her at the airport and come back with me by train. She said she would like to take the train back with me, so and we could get to know each other and break the ice on the trip to Boston.
And so the big day arrived. Sophie had told me she would travel via AA from Buenos Aires to New York, departing at 8:15 PM, and arriving at 6:05 AM the next day. That was a nuisance for me, since I have to take the Boston to New York Amtrak at 1:15 AM to be on time to meet her, and I didn’t know if I could sleep on a train. That was because there were no airlines flying directly from South America to Boston. All of them have as a final destination of Miami or New York, and from Miami one must wait at least four hours to get a connection to Boston by air.
So a little before midnight that Wednesday, I drove to Boston’s South Station, left my car in a parking lot, and took the train. It was a sleepless night, not only because I was tired and missed my bed, but most of all, because I was on my way to meet my dream woman. Yes, Sophie had become a dream for me to realize. I was slowly falling in love with her, but so slowly that I hadn’t noticed it until now, when I on my way to meet her for the first time. What was desire and lust at first is now a different kind of feeling. There is desire and lust, but there’s also love and my wanting to be with her forever.
It took four hours for the train to get to New York at 5:14 AM, and I immediately took a taxi to the airport. The flight, if everything went according to plan, would land in New York at 6:05, so I had less than an hour to get there. The flight was on time and I was in the waiting area outside the customs hall when the first class passengers began to appear through the doors of the customs area.
I was a mess, my makeup running (didn’t have time to fix it) with trip-rumpled clothes and the nerves to the skin. What would she think of me and my scruffy state? Would she regret having come to see and be with me? The doors opened to make way for another passenger and my mind went blank. My God, a goddess had appeared in the doorway and I could hardly recognize her, but it was definitely my Sophie. Statuesque, with an elegant Nobuk leather coat hanging from her shoulders, a handbag and shoes of the same material, her presence took my breath away. How could I take this vision of heaven to Boston in a railroad car?
I saw her eyes roam the hall searching for me, and they lit on when she saw me standing near the thick rope that didn’t allow visitors to pass. With rapid, but by no means less elegant steps, she approached me, and opened her arms to squeeze me in a tight embrace. Her French perfume almost made me swoon; I had gotten the surprise of my life. She is amazingly beautiful.
“Hello, my dear, how nice to meet you at last.”
Her pronunciation was perfect, almost unaccented, with maybe a little touch of the King’s English.
Her words seemed to wake from a dream, “Hello, Sophie, I’m so glad to have you here.” My own words sounded stupid to me. I looked around to get my bearings while trying to recover my composure, took a deep breath, and saw a porter patiently waiting with two big and one small valises; it was her luggage.
“Shall we proceed, my love; where are we going? You know I’m now entirely at your whims, I mean in your hands.” I blushed a deep red at the double entendre of her words.
“Yes, hmmm, we’ll take a taxi to the train station, then its four hours home,” I babbled. “We have to take the train at 7:25,” and we did so.
I couldn’t but admire her once seated in the sleeping car. She had travelled almost eleven hours during the night, and was fresh as a daisy; she was a perfect lady, and smiling to myself, I hoped I could make her a whore in my bedroom.
She asked me what was I thinking as she saw my lips curve in a little smile; I couldn’t tell her what I was thinking, right? At least not now. The trip was uneventful; we chatted and gossiped, not touching on the reasons for her being here. She told me little pieces of her life, and overcoming my natural shyness, I told stories of my childhood, about Mom and Pop and my trips to Italy…
We went to the dining car for breakfast around 9:00; we took a table where we could see the snowy New England landscape, and I couldn’t but admire the hearty breakfast she took; how could she with that body? Mine was mere milk, tea with a toast, and I had to ask, “Tell me, Sophie…”
“Yes, my dear?” while she delicately took a little piece of marmalade from her upper lip with a napkin.
“No, no, nothing, sorry,” I apologized, blushing fiercely.
“Oh don’t apologize, my little love, you want to know how could I eat this breakfast and not worry about gaining weight, don’t you?”
“Yesssss something like that.”
“Well, I’ll tell you a little secret, but don’t tell anybody, OK? You see I have a very high metabolism, and fats don’t stick to my cells; I quickly burn down fats.”
“Oh,” was my only intelligent answer. She wanted to lighten the mood and called the waiter to pay the check, leaving several bills on the table; I wanted to oppose her, and said that she was my guest and I should pay.
“Don’t worry, my dear; I promise I’ll let you pamper me from now on, anyway you want?”
The double entendre once again; I was astonished, I was supposed to be the expert on how a woman flirts and makes lesbian love, not the other way around. We went back to our compartment and she carefully and discreetly steered the conversation about what plans I had for the next few weeks. We talked about many things; without prying, she asked me what my parents thought about my sexual preferences and I told her the truth; Mom was very understanding and resigned; Pop was sorry only because there won’t be grandchildren.
I was very curious about her friend Maria de las Mercedes’ story knowing the importance it had had in turning Sophie’s mind toward a new way of thinking about sexual relationships. I also wanted to know what had happened with her friend’s love life, but was afraid to ask at that moment.
“I want to warn you about my modest house, Sophie. By your attire and demeanor, I assume you come from a very wealthy family, or you’re very wealthy at least, and I’m worried…”
“Don’t be my dear. Yes I have a little money of my own, but I must tell you I was educated till I was sixteen, and my life… changed in a very Spartan girls’ only Catholic school.”
She stopped speaking; the lines of her face had softened when I looked at her face, and she seemed to have returned to that stage of her life in her mind. I was fascinated at the change, her mature face looked like she was fifteen or sixteen again, and I was falling head over heels in love with her. She seemed to come out of a trance and with a warm smile she, as if by chance, told me, “Besides I know everything about you. I know where you live; I have even a couple pictures of your beautiful garden, I know your academic grades and your fight to get tenure of the professorship. What I know about your intimate life, you told me yourself as I told you of mine. You know things about me nobody else in the world knows.”
I was speechless for a moment, then with an accusatory tone, I told her, “So you sent someone to snoop in my private life, didn’t you, Darling? ” The ‘darling’ word was full of poison and very derogatory, and my face was a mask of undisguised fury at what I, in my ignorance of the world, took as an intrusion in my private life.
She gave me a lesson on maturity; without changing her tone of voice, she told me then that she would take another train back to New York when we arrived in Boston, and would go back to Buenos Aires on the first available flight. She took a small notebook computer from her handbag, and via internet changed her return to Buenos Aires to that same night.
Then looking me straight to the eyes said: “Well, my dear, I’m very sorry to have inconvenienced you; I will not commit the stupidity of trying to pay for your troubles. I’m very grateful to you and I’m very sorry that the encounter so wanted by the both of us hasn’t borne fruit. You are charming and I won’t forget you for a long time.”
Those words were final; she was a strong lady, and acted as such without further delay. She turned her face to the window after these words and seemed to get lost in a world that I no longer belonged in and would never be part of.
I was devastated; my angered words had come back to me as a boomerang would. My childish reaction had ended a dream of months. I was sitting in a corner of the compartment completely devastated by Sophie’s apparent indifference. As she later told me after a bout of passionate lovemaking, she was watching me in the window glass reflection and was surprised by my reaction to her words and the beaten image I showed.
The door opened after twenty minutes of oppressive silence, and the train conductor announced arrival in Boston in five minutes. When the train stopped, Sophie rose and without even glancing my way followed the porter down the stairs to the station platform. I was frozen in place and unmoving, and the porter came back to the car after a few minutes and told me I must leave the platform without delay; as in a disoriented daze, I left the platform not knowing what was next.
“Come on, Girl, where’s your car? Bring it here so we can go home; I’m freezing my ass big time, and I need a hot shower” I don’t know what took me out of my lethargy, Sophie talking to me, her unladylike swearing, or the word ‘home’; but with a “Yes, Ma’am,” I sprinted to get my car.
The next couple hours were a blur of activity; we took our hot showers, had lunch, and took a nap. I gave Sophie my bed and I used the couch in my guest room and home office to get some sound sleep. With the light of day fading and as dusk was becoming night several hours later, I woke up with a foggy, mushy brain, hearing the noise of pots and pans in the kitchen. My mind couldn’t register what was happening, being so accustomed to living alone as I was; then in a rapid succession of slides, the twenty last hours flashed through my mind. When I got to the kitchen, there Sophie was, preparing dinner, already bathed, perfumed, and as fresh as a rose newly-cut from the rosebush.
“Hi,” I timidly said.
She turned her head from what she was doing, and with a bright smile, said “Hi yourself, I’m getting dinner ready, so why don’t you take a bath and get fresh, my dear? It won’t be a minute now.”
“Yes, of course, I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Oh, take your time, and don’t worry, I’ll keep everything hot.” She was driving me crazy with her double entendres.
I went to shower, freshen-up, and put a little makeup on to highlight my haggard face. She had already the table set, with dinner on it, when I came back from the bathroom wearing a fluffy bathrobe. It looked and smelled delicious.
“I raided your fridge to make dinner; I hope you like it,” Sophie said, with a twinkle in her eyes.
We dined and talked about what happened on our trip to Boston. She asked me to understand that it wasn’t a matter of spying me or intruding in my privacy when she had paid for information about my life, but for her to be sure if it was safe to be in Boston with me, and that she wouldn’t be in any kind of danger. I agreed with her and that was the end of it. We drank a bottle of red wine and talked some more. I was becoming impatient; we hadn’t touched on how and where we were going to sleep.
Then Sophie matter of factly said, “Shall we prepare for bed, my dear?”
I was stunned. “Yes, but we haven’t talked where…”
“It isn’t necessary; you don’t think I’ve
traveled halfway around the world to sleep alone, do you, my dear? We’ll sleep together, your bed or the couch, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“OK, then it’s my bed.” I was euphoric and wanted to jump out, crying yes, yes, and yes. I didn’t, I told her I would wait her in the bedroom instead.
She appeared from the bathroom a few minutes later. I stood there stunned, as my mind recorded every image of her like a camera, Her raven black hair falling down on her naked shoulders, her bounteous breasts with dark, hard as pebbles, nipples, the curve of her hips as they gracefully became her thin waist, a little rounded tummy and the bulge of her pubic mound against the silky black material of her thong. The pale skin beneath the cloth stood out and attracted even more attention to her pussy. The nest of luxuriant black curly hairs between her legs was only cut just enough on the sides to not peek out from under her bikini bottom. It wasn’t like a pelt, hiding everything, because I could see hints of her pussy beneath. Her high heels made her legs seem long and lean, and the way she tried to hide her breasts behind an arm bra was very cute.
To say we were both nervous is the understatement of the year; I knew I ultimately was the hunter in similar cases; she, on the other hand, was the newbie, the one that could or could not become lesbian. I thought that would depend mostly on my prowess. So I took the first step and took my bathrobe off. Following my example, she discarded hers and we got on the bed over the comforter, gently lying down.
I was only wearing a top and a pair of lace red boy shorts that hugged me tightly and left my tanned ass cheeks exposed, underneath my bathrobe. My ass is small and damn firm looking; I swallowed hard at the thought of it being bare and pointing up at her.
I wanted that night to be an unforgettable one for her. I didn’t want her to wake up at the light of dawn the next morning, feeling as if she had sinned by making love; I couldn’t forget her own words, “I had been educated in the strict Catholic moral values of the nun’s college and that of my own south-Italian family, where sex and the pleasure that it produces are a thing of the devil.”
I told myself that she had decided to make the long trip from Buenos Aires to Boston to meet with me by herself. She knew I was a lesbian and she knew that she was going to be in my house as a guest, and surely as my lover, if she came; she knew that we would make love at least once if she came to Boston to meet me, and if she found she could love me, maybe, just maybe, it would be forever.
I knew talking first wasn’t the same thing to her, than… what had we done until now, date? Chatting with a stranger via a webcam doesn’t create a personal relationship. The cam is impersonal, very different to personal contact, the physical knowing of the other person, face to face, the feel and sense of the other’s skin when you greet each other with a kiss on the cheek or by shaking hands, and what about the feathery touch of a lover’s fingertip…
But it’s one thing to intellectually know and accept it when you’re a woman and a middle-aged Latina to top it, than you are to start a trip to meet with a potential lover, a lesbian no less, and a very different thing to meet that potential lover in the flesh with all the emotional risks that such an encounter entails.
I then became bolder, loosely taking her in my arms and started kissing the skin of the top of her breast with tiny, light kisses, and stroking the skin of the other breast with my fingers. Her breathing changed; it was becoming deeper and slower. Her left hand started stroking my side, venturing to the exposed bottom of my small boob. Her right hand abandoned my hair and stroked the side of my face. I slipped the fingers of my left hand into the top of her bra, and she briefly froze, then continued stroking my cheek and side; her left hand became bolder and stroked the underside of my breast as she cupped my chin and raised my face to look at hers. Her eyes were shining, her pupils dilated, her lips were parted, and I knew at that moment that I had her when her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. I raised my face to hers, and she met my lips in a soft tentative kiss. I slipped my tongue through my lips and grazed her bottom lip as we kissed. She moaned, opening her lips and allowing me full access to her mouth. She didn’t meet my tongue with hers, content in allowing me to softly explore her lips and teeth. I slithered my right hand behind her back while I had her occupied with my lips and tongue, and released the clasp of her bra in a much practiced move. She gasped yet again, and withdrew her lips from mine. I rolled up on my elbow so that I was looking down into her face.
She whispered, “What are you doing to me, Marie?”
I slipped my left hand under her bra and gently pinched her erect nipple before covering her mouth with mine. I then murmured, “Exactly what you want me to do,” as I lowered my mouth to hers.
She moaned into my mouth and thrust her tongue deep into my mouth. I pulled my right arm out from under her back and sat up. She followed my lips with hers, not wanting to break contact.
I finally broke away and completely sat up. She moaned in disappointment. I took her black delicate bra in my hands and tugged it from her body, tossing it to the side; she blushed cutely and covered her magnificent breasts with her hands. I pulled my top over my head and we were both topless.
The ocean is the only place on the planet where there are no demarcations of territory, no frontiers of any kind. It’s all too easy to cross the equator and not know that you had crossed an imaginary line and were now in a different hemisphere. Your condition would be about the same if your feelings and emotions were a sea. How do you know if you have crossed the line? Is there a moral compass, a sexual sextant to tell you where you’re headed and if you’re in uncharted waters, then what? Perhaps that was the case with us; we were already on the other side of the line, yet this voyage of discovery had just begun. It was a brave nude world.
I took her hands and pulled her to her knees, then went behind her on my own knees as I gazed at our image in the big bedroom mirror. I was behind her, wrapping my arms around her body and pulling her hard against me. I could see her slim body and the swell of her breasts, like those of a nubile young girl, and above her long shapely legs, at the top of which I could see the shadow of her pubic hair under her black thong, was her prominent mons, and a hint of her sweet womanhood beneath.
I started kissing her neck and shoulders as we both watched ourselves making love in the large mirror over the bedroom dresser. That single image, she on her knees, my left arm around her round belly, my right hand full of her tit, with just a hint of her lingerie buried in between her pussy lips, while I kissed her neck. Her slack-jawed face was full of pure lust and pleasure, something never far from my waking thoughts, and they are burned into my consciousness for the rest of my life.
I am, in my day to day life, usually very shy, timid and introverted, but I become another person with this woman, more aggressive, daring, and wanton. Sophie takes my worst from me… or is it my best?
I leaned closer to her; the animal in me was becoming stronger and stronger. I had to have this woman; I had to have all of her, even if it meant doing something unforgivable.
“Do you want for me to fuck you, Sophie, or do you want to fuck me?
She then looked at me in the mirror with the frightened eyes of a child, then covering her face, began to cry a little. I did a turn around on my knees so we were face to face, breasts to breasts, tummy to tummy, and mons to mons; I pulled her hands away from her face and softly kissed her. I looked at our images in the mirror and saw her closed eyes; I tasted her sweet lips as our teeth clashed for a second, then I entered my tongue into her sweet mouth.
She fought at first, but her bravado slowly dissolved and she began to me kiss me back. She pulled away, her mouth open, tongue extended. She gasped “This is so bad, so wrong!”
“Why is this bad? Does it feel wrong to you?” I asked her in a whisper, reaching and fondling her big but pert breasts. “Extremely, horribly bad,” I answered my own questions and I sank my mouth on one of her beautiful tits, suckling her nipples as if it would be my last.
“Oh no!” she cried, her fingers digging into my hair. “No! No! Marie, please!”
I looked up at her. “Don’t tell me to stop, please. I can’t stop now. “I sank my mouth back onto her breast, rolling my tongue around her hard, big, dark aureole and nipple.
“No, no! We can’t…it’s wrong!”
I looked up from her breasts again. “Why did you come here then? We have waited for this for weeks! What did I say, weeks, months?” I thrust my hand down between her legs, forcing my fingers into her quivering vagina as she spread her legs open a little bit. “Now you’re here, I’m here, and I want you so bad that I don’t care if you keep saying no. I don’t care if you end up hating me. I just want you now.” My fingers found her taut little clit and softly circled it.
“Oh no, please!” Sophie moaned.
“Please!” I sounded almost forceful. “Please don’t ask me to stop, because I won’t.”
She shook her head. “I’m not asking you to stop…it just…it just feels so amazingly wonderful.”
Then kissing her, I pushed her and we fell on the bed with me on top of her. I held my body there, with my arms keeping my breasts separated from her body. She then cupped my breasts in her warm hands, gently rolling them and examining them with wide eyes. “Suck them,” I asked, in a whisper.
She tentatively just caressed the nipple with the tip her tongue at first, then she slowly sank her mouth upon my aching nipple, engulfing my whole little breast. I sighed in relief. I haven’t had actual sex in such a long a time that her mouth felt wonderful, so warm, and so soft. She sucked and sucked from one breast to the other, gently nipping with clumsy teeth every so often, as if she was going to die.
I tried to pull my lace red boy shorts off and she released my breast with a whimper. I slid down her body and eased down between her legs, taking her thong off and spreading her thighs open to reveal her beautiful black-haired vagina. I took the soiled tiny cloth and put it near my nose to smell her body fluids, a tangy mixture of her internal secretions and the French perfume she liberally uses on her body.
“Please don’t do that,” Sophie sweetly mewls.
“You’re so cute, even down here, so beautiful; where have you been all my life?” I sighed, gently tracing the pink folds of her pussy with my fingertip. “And so wet!” I licked the juices from my finger. “You even taste good.”
“No, I…” She mewls, cringing from the waist up.
“Oh, Sophie, it’s not time to be so modest.” I
abruptly plunged down, flicking my tongue across her barely open pink slit, as she let out a sweet sigh.
“I want to hear your voice; tell me what you feel, what you me want to do.” I kissed her clit and she cooed in response. I then licked along her labia, fully tasting her.
And then she whispered “I don’t know what I want, it’s my first time, but your tongue is so hot, it feels so good.”
Trying to get her smoking hot, I asked her, “Don’t tell me nobody has ever gone down on you.”
“N…no,” she was blushing red from head to toes.
“That figures; men usually don’t. I’ve heard they may be adequate, but selfish lovers.” I shoved my tongue inside her and I felt her tighten up all over.
“Yes! Yes! Ahh! Oh Virgencita querida, oh beloved Madonna.”
I giggled in my mind, but I kept suckling on her pussy, pushing my tongue as far as it could go and coaxing out even cuter sounds. I momentarily pulled back and heard her whine despondently.
“Do you want tongue, or fingers like your friend Maria de las Mercedes?” I asked Sophie, sticking my hands up and curling my fingers at her.
Her cheeks flushed a violent red at the mention of her friend’s name, and I saw her chest quickly rise and fall. “I…I love your tongue so far.” She stammered her fingers, gripping and mauling her breasts.
I lasciviously grinned and a strange thought suddenly crossed my mind; she is old enough to be my mother. I shook my head and told her, “You’ve the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She turned her flushed face away. “Please…don’t say such things.”
“But lovers say such things and much more to each other.”
I lowered my head back down, spreading her box open and teasing her with the hardened tip of my tongue. I slowly traced every inch of her dewy pinkness, and being almost naturally bald myself, I wasn’t repelled by the luxuriant bush of hair that adorned her crotch; on the contrary, I delighted in separating the hairs to reach her hidden treasure with my tongue and fingertips. I lapped at her clitoris, kissing and sucking it between my pursed lips.
She gasped and her breathing became hoarse. “Yes! Yes, yes, you’re so good with your tongue…”
I grinned and slowly eased my tongue inside her body, the body from which, without either of us knowing it at that moment, I came some twenty years ago. Well, I’m now proud of my fairly long tongue; I used to get made fun of for it back in school when I stuck it out at people. But since it’s now bringing Sophie so much pleasure, I don’t mind all the past rude comments.
“So warm, your tongue is so warm and soft!” Sophie cooed. Her inner muscles were clenching around my tongue, sucking it in, forcing it in, and pulling it from its roots.
I licked and licked, reveling at how this woman was all mine now and I was getting very hot myself; my own pussy was pulsing with need. I was then lost in her when I felt her hand atop my head, gently stroking my hair. She was watching me intently and with soft loving eyes.
“I’m going to cum! Oh, Marie, Marie…yes! It has been so long; please…I want to cum.”
I continued to pour all the knowledge I have about loving a woman into making her cum, and she succumbed with a final lashing of my tongue on her clitoris. I felt her shake and tighten the muscles of her vagina, while her groin spasmed violently and her hips quivered like an earthquake, then she fell with her breasts heaving and sighing softly.
I crawled back on top of her and watched as she recovered from the orgasm. She smiled at me with her eyes, and there was something in them akin to love as she reached up and touched my face.
“This is so wrong, but I can’t and don’t want to go back now,” she whispered.
I kissed the palm of her hand. “We have all the time in the world to worry about that. I just want to fuck you some more right now.”
She swallowed and nodded. I was desperate, so horny I couldn’t stay inside my own skin; my orgasm had been there all night like a coiled spring ready to be released and expand at the least little touch; it was frustrating, but I didn’t want to push her into touching me and scaring the hell out of her.
I shouldn’t have worried; she was my elder by about fifteen years and had been married, so she knew when her partner, even a woman, is on the brink of desperation with unsatisfied sexual desire.
She touched my face with her hands and gave me little kisses on my lips, then her left hand went to my right breast and softly touched my engorged nipple, and her right hand darted south and touched my leaking pussy just as I was about to climb the walls. It was just that, a little touch, but my excited mind exploded inside my head with an orgasm so powerful that my entire world went black in seconds and I lost consciousness.
She apparently had been up for some time and was preparing breakfast for us when I awoke the next morning. She quietly opened the door when it was ready and pulled the table into the room on tiptoes. She had everything set up when I stirred in bed and she brought a hot cup of coffee over, sat on the bedside moving the cup toward my sleepy face. A smile came to my face and my sleepy, weary eyes brightened when I smelled the coffee.
“Mmmmm, thank you,” I said, as I struggled to sit up in bed. I took the coffee from her and took a sip. “Wow, it’s good; what time is it?”
“Oh my God, I must have I passed out last night; dropped dead is a better way to call it.”
“Yes, you did,” she said with a smile, remembering how I did pass out when I climaxed.
Then looking at Sophie, fresh out of the bath in a white robe d’chambre, I remembered what had happened last night and my face turned red as she said, “Well, not high, but hard and dry; it must have been ‘la petite mort’.” Now embarrassed, I laughed with her.
“It’s okay. I was happy to be of service to you too,” Sophie said, with mischief in her voice
“I owe you one,” I said, with a sexy smile.
“You don’t owe me anything … ever,” she sincerely said. She got up and brought a tray with eggs, bacon, and toast over and sat it in front of me. As she watched me start to eat like I was starved she said, “What activities have you in mind for today, my dear?”
She playfully admonished me as I started to answer, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, your mother taught you not to?”
I don’t know what my face was like, but Sophie seeing it, took the tray out of my hands, and hugging me, cooed in my ear, “Excuse me, my dear I’m sorry, so sorry. I’m not one to embarrass you; I’m only a guest in your home.”
I hugged her and couldn’t explain this role reversal to myself. She was the fearfully mature woman looking for a new path in her sexual life until the day before. She was scared, not of me, but of what was happening to her body, and in her mind overall, even while I was performing my amatory skills on her body last night. Now I was the chastised child, even in a playful way, and she the mother figure doing it; but she wasn’t my mother; I have my own mom in Idaho.
She is very perceptive and could see I was a different Marie from last night; I didn’t keep eating my breakfast and the tension between us was mounting until Sophie took the reins of the situation in her hands; that’s why I love more mature women.
“Would you like me to give you a massage?”
I was astounded and stuttered to the change of conversation, “I didn’t know you were a masseuse.”
She burst out laughing with a crystalline sound, “Oh, I’m not, but I have received so many in my life that I think I know how to give a good one. Have you any scented oils? If not, any moisturizing cream will do.”
“I have some for my legs there in my dresser,” I languidly told her.
She went to the dresser and took one of my oil cream bottles, “OK, turn around; I’m going to rub your back first.”
I turned around, put my head on my arms, and waited to feel her hands on my body. It was incredible; she started with my shoulders, squeezing and pinching the muscles of my shoulders and shoulder blades, then down my spinal column, sinking her fingers between the vertebrae and going down my backside in circular motions with her extended hands.
Sophie let her fingers slide sensually between the crack of my buttocks and tease the flesh within, only seconds after her hands began making oily circular swipes across my bottom. I let her explore me that way for a short while, and then turned onto my back.
“Get out of those clothes,” I said to her in a heated whisper, even though I knew she was naked under the bathrobe.
“That was exactly my plan,” she smiled down at me, pulling the top of the robe off and shucking it completely from her body.
She took the initiative this time, as she leaned down and started to kiss my breasts, but I gently held her up by the shoulders. “Get on top of me,” I anxiously urged, “Turn around and get on top.”
“You want to sixty-nine? Hmm, OK,” she said, punctuating her delight with a kiss on my lips.
My heart began to thunder with excitement as I watched her position herself and settle down over me, her mature womanly treasures open right above my face. I marveled at what was happening again.
I had missed it last night, but it was now time to make up for that. My hands went to the smooth globes of her butt and massaged them briefly as she eased herself closer still, her heavy scent enveloping me, taking my already passionate state to even greater heights. Her tongue was suddenly tentatively licking around my vulva, as if searching. I then bent my legs and it was more like teasing, as she bathed the insides of my thighs with slow gentle licks with the tip of her tongue.
I lifted my head slightly, pulled her down by the hips, then took her pudenda into my mouth, savoring it, spellbound by the gentle aromas of her body as my nose buried itself softly in her perineum, that sweet spot between her pussy and her anus. The soft inner walls of her butt cradled my face as I nestled within and drew her flesh to me. She moaned and leaned back a little so I could rest my head on the pillow and feast on her at the same time.
She was moving her hips now, gently humping in the eternal movement of intercourse and my face was being wiped by her sex, my nose bumping and pressing against her puckered anus as it moved up and down with her motions. Then, ohmygod, she pulled my labia apart and slowly inserted one finger inside me as her mouth expertly sucked and toyed with my clit, and by her own words, she was a novice?
I wrapped my arms around my lover’s beautiful ass, hugging it the way I hugged her when we kissed, and ravished her deepest fluids with a mouth I didn’t know could feel such hunger.
“Ohhhh… Marie… yeahhhhhh,” she deeply sighed, in between the blistering tongue-lashing she was giving my clitoris.
Her lubrication was plenty, so much so that I thought I could drown in it; that would be a lovely way to die. I gave her everything I knew to give, and came up for air only when I was at the point of suffocation, my face awash in her rich emanations. My face would sink deeper between her ample buttocks every time she grounded those hips into me, and I could feel her clit mashing against my chin.
She suddenly tensed, then shuddered, and I looked up to see, over the mounds of her ass, as her upper body straightened up and her beautiful raven black hair was being tossed back.
“Ohmygoddd…” she said, and her body was seized by slow-motion spasms. The heat of her internal fluids flooded my face, and I was ecstatic that this mature goddess was climaxing more easily every time my mouth was glued to the center of her love hole.
It didn’t take much longer for me to climax as well, with her finger inside my vagina and her incredible tongue teasing my clit, my cries muffled into the safe, delicious confines of her rear end, as I hugged her tightly and moaned into the now sweaty cavern.
She let herself down on me gently playing with my short and scarce pubic hair, her beautiful hair splayed across my thighs, her breath now like a breeze rhythmically blowing on my mound. My head was turned, my face resting against her inner thigh, with my mouth open as I slowly came down from my shattering orgasm.
She finally climbed off me and slid up next to me, cuddling close. We wordlessly held each other, recovering our senses. I held my arms out and we fell into a gentle, warm, but deep kiss.
“I love you, Sophie. Thank you for being here with me.”
“This, my dear” she said, looking straight to the back of my eyes “Was definitely…” I could see she was searching for words as she looked at me, head tilted, her hair covering one eye, “… the most memorable, umm… date I’ve ever had.”
We rested like that for a while and I saw with a start that it was well past noon when I looked at the clock on the bedside table.
“Sophie, Darling, it’s almost one o’clock.”
She stretched and purred like a large feline awakening, and asked me; “Have to go any place today?”
“No, of course not, it’s the weekend; but I’m hungry.”
“It’s very cold outside, you want to go out to eat, or do I prepare something simple for us to eat in bed? Sophie was acting as a mother, as a housewife again.
I allowed Sophie to take everything in her capable hands and snuggled under the covers. “I’d prefer staying the day in bed, if you don’t mind; it’s very comfy.”
So we did. Sophie made sandwiches and a thermos of coffee, and then comfortably settled in bed with me. We ate and cuddled in bed afterwards.
“Why don’t you tell me how followed the romance of your friend Maria de las Mercedes, Sophie? I’d very much like to know what happened in her life.”
“I don’t think that’s relevant; you don’t even know her.”
“Yes, I know, but her life is so connected to yours that maybe it’s what gave you courage to come to me.”
Sophie kept quiet with her eyes closed for a few minutes, and when I was thinking she had might have fallen asleep, she sighed and started to tell me the story of her friend.
“You remember what I told you about her first lesbian affair, don’t you? Well, she saw and made love with the model, Susana, several more times; she never named her by her nickname, Susie, until she pushed forward one day and convinced her to let go of everything in her former life and go live with her.
Maria de las Mercedes is married, of course, but as she has a philandering husband with whom she lived, but not together, under the same roof, and haven’t a husband/wife relationship for a long time, she decided to come out of the closet and bring her relationship with her lesbian lover to light. My, that was a scandal, only within the family, of course; some things must be kept from the outside world.
So it was arranged; Maria would live in the mansion’s left wing, and her husband in the right wing, either one being an apartment in itself. Her daughter decided she couldn’t live in such manner, so she rented an apartment and went to live alone elsewhere. A second bomb then exploded in that family; their son, Jose de San Martin, twenty two years old, decided to follow his mother’s example and also came out of the closet.
As you may surmise, his father went berserk when he told the family he was gay. It was more a matter of pride for him; keeping the family name and what his cronies would say.
After much shouting and swearing when they could calm down at the end, Jose said he would live in the same quarters of his parents’ house and would try to keep his love affairs out of the house. Maria’s husband would keep his life the same, and the winner was Maria de las Mercedes. She brought her lover, Susana, to live with her, and she was her live-in secretary to the outside world.”
I was dumbfounded by the story, but had the perfect ending to me, so I asked Sophie if that was all.
“What more do you want to know?”
“Oh, I don’t know, but what’s in the future? Will they keep this arrangement?”
“Well, the last I knew, Maria and her husband want a grandchild from José and the only way is to get some girl to do the chore. It would have to be by artificial insemination, and Maria is trying to convince Susana to be the mother.”
“Wow.” That’s all I could say.
“Yes, we are very sophisticated people.”
We dozed, cuddled, and finally fell sleep after the tale.
Waking up next to Sophie was profoundly different than anything I’ve ever experienced in my young life. She was still sleeping on her side turned away from me. I gently stroked her exposed shoulder and placed a kiss on her collarbone. I felt her body stir and I kissed her again, my lips now pressed against black silky hair and skin below her earlobe that was warm with her pulse.
She said nothing, only parted her lips to breathe and nodded ever so slightly. It was such a beautiful reaction!
I slid my hand down then over, and played with her breasts while I kissed her on the neck and front of her upper chest. Still half asleep, she finally let out a long, soft moan and reached back to caress my side down to my hip. I pressed closer to her, my mound snugly up against her buttock. I marveled at my own hair covering her naked skin.
She amazed me then, rapidly waking up as if an alarm clock went off. She turned over and almost dove into my embrace, her mouth on mine with rapacious thirst. Our bodies writhed against one another, and she ground her clit against my pelvis as we kissed. I knew just what to do then; it was like a detailed guide to her body and her needs had fallen open in my lap. I wet my finger and reached behind her, letting it wiggle down into her crack and teasing her puckered hole. I sensed she wanted it, and she told me my instinct was right: she nodded as she continued our kiss humming “Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm,” and she threw her leg over my hip to open herself wider.
The delight was heating my own libido; I pushed my finger into the pinched rubbery opening and felt it hungrily suck my finger in. A tremulous moan escaped from her throat as my wet finger went in. She thrashed against me as the dark evening bathed us with soft moonlight, our mouths fused, my finger plugged into her body, as her climax blossomed in waves of goose bumps and squeals.
I was so enchanted by her passion that I didn’t even consider my own pleasure. She looked into my eyes with a gleam of excitement as her aftershocks subsided, and slid down on my body until her face was at my tummy. She then looked up and said, “Do you want me to go down on you?”
It was the first time she had made an overture like that on her own. “Yes, please do.” My voice was hoarsely cracked and croaked.
She glanced at my pussy, which was flooded and leaking without shame by now, smiled softly, and brought her mouth up and about two inches down the left side of my thigh. She placed long soft kisses there and kept kissing for almost five full minutes. She then repeated it on the right side. She would lift her head, look at the spot and gently kiss it while her hand looked for and found the opening to the inside of my body. Her mouth then descended over my clitoris with a vengeance, kissing, lapping, and pressing it with her tongue. I flinched once when she nipped too hard.
“Does it hurt?”
“Only a little sometimes, but don’t stop, it feels too good.”
She moved her kisses lower after a while, bathing my inner lips and drawing her lips over my pubis. Her face was all over my sex moments later. I drew my legs up around her and let her ravish me until my own climaxes seized me. They went in crescendo, intensifying each time she ‘hmmed’ like she was enjoying a sweet dessert, then it was oblivion for me again; ‘La petite mort’ came looking for me and I went with her.
Breakfast on Sunday morning, which I was used having at about 7:30 every morning, was a little late. It was my fault. It was a quiet day of rest either way; we went for a walk to a nice Boston shopping mall, and all we bought were steaming mugs of hot chocolate to keep us warm before returning home.
Sophie came to me at different times for the next several days when I was home. We would sometimes just sit out in the hammock, wrapped in blankets to protect us from the cold, and talk. Other times she would leap into my arms, and we would tear at each other’s clothes, wanting each other so much that we once ended up making love on the living room floor, not able to wait for a bed. She would do that same kissing and nipping ritual on my abdomen and clit every time we made love, though. She seemed to enjoy it, and she had learned the right pressure to use so there was no pain. It became like her trademark before she went down on me, and sometimes on the way up too. Who was I to complain?
Christmas was fast approaching; it was less than a week away in fact, and we discussed where we would spend that day. I told Sophie that I usually went to Iowa to spend the holidays with my family, but I was thinking of staying in Boston this year. We discussed this a couple of times, and she was adamant that she would like to go and get to know my parents so they wouldn’t be alone on a night like that.
We went shopping for some gifts or went to lunch. The specter of her mysterious arrival in my life always lingered at silent odds in the shadows with both of us. Who would I say she was to my parents; a friend, a tutor from Italy or Spain, what?
Mom wouldn’t believe a word whatever the explanation. She would know what we were. Pop on the other hand would believe, or make like he believed, whatever his now not so little girl would tell him. So as I do every year, I called Mom and Pop the day before to tell them I would be with them on Christmas Eve, and was going to bring a friend with me, so there should be four plates on the table.
That arranged it, and Sophie took my hand and led me to the bedroom as I put the phone on the hook. She quickly undressed and got into bed once there; I followed her example, and was nude and in bed within a few seconds.
“I want something very special from you, lover.”
My surprise knew no bounds; Sophie just called me ‘lover’ for the first time since we had intimately known each other. When I called her ‘my lover’, I was always ‘my dear’, ‘Dearest’, or ‘Darling’ to her, never; ever had she used the world ‘lover’.
“Yes my dear love. What do you want from me?”
“Do you remember the first time I told you about my friend Maria de las Mercedes’ experience?”
“Yes, of course, I remember; it was very erotic hearing you tell about it.”
“Well, I was very impressed with one aspect of her liaison, her fucking liaison, and maybe it was what pushed me into coming to know you.”
“And what would be that, my love?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this…it’s shameful to me.”
“Nothing we have done or will do is shameful, Baby. Loving isn’t shameful unless it’s rape, forced sex, or sex with minors; consensual sex between two adults, whatever the gender or their relationship, is wonderful and loving. What do you want, my love?”
Sophie suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled it to her crotch, trying to force my fingers deeply into her. With a very hoarse voice, she told me, “I want to feel a woman’s hand inside me, your hand.”
To say I was surprised is obvious, so I tried try to clarify some things, “Yes, but remember the term fisting, that’s what it’s called in English, may sound like it’s done fast and hard, but fisting is actually an act that requires patience, arousal, and lots of lubrication. Here’s how it’s done: we must be very careful and suitably prepare you and your vagina. Let me be the judge. We need oils, towels, and a safe word for you to stop me, OK?”
I went to collect towels and skin oils to lubricate my hand and her pussy, as I didn’t have any latex gloves. I didn’t think Sophie had any venereal disease anyway, and when I had everything ready, I sat on the side of the bed again, and told her our secure word would be ‘Argenta’; I would immediately stop and end the penetration if she said that word. I looked at her and found her staring at me. Things became blurry there and then. I suddenly found that we were passionately kissing. I felt her grandiose breasts against my body and touched a rigid nipple. She stuck her tongue into my mouth and pulled my face against hers hard.
I slid a hand towards her mound, but she stopped my hand and looked at me.
“Is something the matter…?” I started to say.
“No, I do want this to happen,” she said, and I touched her pussy lips.
She quickly killed the lights, letting only a perfumed candle on each night table light the room, and started ferociously French kissing me.
I felt that she was wet; my fingers felt her warmth and wetness, and I started to rub her clit when I found it. My middle finger nudged against her entrance and smoothly slipped in. I felt the come flow out of my own cunt.
Her hips lifted from the bed and her body froze. Little whimpers slipped from her mouth as her body trembled. I could feel her pussy clinching my finger as if it was trying to pull it into her body. I was finger fucking her and making her climax. More juice poured across my fingers and hand with each grunt of pleasure, until they were soaked with her pussy juice.
“Please touch me,” I whispered, as I grabbed her hand and placed it on my breast. She complied and started to rub my nipple. I started pushing two, then three fingers in and out of her. She was wide on account of having given birth.
I took my fingers out and lubricated my hand and her insides.
“Do it,” she said. I hissed and gasped and put again two fingers inside her. I stopped kissing her and grabbed her tightly.
“One more finger.”
I did and I felt her muscles stretch and she grunted. She touched my clit with her thumb and things went black. I came to, and it wasn’t at the same moment; I was still holding Sophie tightly.
“One more finger; I can take it.”
“No wait a minute, let me take the right position.”
“Now, I’m going to close all my fingers tight with my thumb inside them, Sophie.” I then took my hand and directed it to her love hole. “What I’m going to do you, Lover, is slowly work my entire hand into your cunt. And don’t worry my small hand; it’s just a fraction of the size of a baby’s head.” I could tell that she was getting extremely excited. She wanted me to fist-fuck her.
“Yes,” she said, and grabbed my hand to press it inside her. “Do it; I’m ready.”
She released me and lay down on the bed. She spread her legs as much as she could and I let some saliva drip onto her cunt to help the lubricant and her own emissions, then I started to push my hand in.
I started by fitting two, then three fingers into her hole, but I felt a little resistance as I forced the fourth finger in along with the others. She quickly brought her hand down again, took my wrist, and helped me force my fingers, along with my thumb, into her oven, her warm hole. My hands, like my body, are long and slender; my entire hand, up to my wrist, was now fully inside her hot love hole.
“Oh yes,” she whispered, “Oh yes.” She then let out a sigh of pleasure and said, “Make like a little fist inside and slowly start fucking my cunt, Sweetheart; oh God, that feels so fucking great. Okay, okay, now rotate your fist as much as you can as you fuck my cunt. Oh fuck yea.”
Here I am fist-fucking a woman, me who is overly feminine realized one thing at that point in my life; ‘You can’t tell a book from its cover’ from the words that came out of her beautiful mouth, as well as her craving for wild uninhibited sex. She looks so sweet, so ladylike, so refined. Is this really me I’m looking at? As she started fucking my hand with total abandonment, what I was doing to make it happen was taking my breath away as much as hers. Her body was in the throes of reaching for the heavens.
She gave me a surprised look when she found that my whole hand fit in. She slowly pushed my entire hand in and out, pumping her cunt until she was grunting with pleasure. She quickly pulled my face to hers, forced my mouth open with her tongue, and then sucked my whole tongue into her mouth. She was screaming with muffled moans into my mouth as her entire body was contorting, shuddering as she came to a convulsive orgasm and her love pit tightened up on my fist, squeezing it tightly. She stopped, but her body was still shaking and trembling. She then loosened up and I started to slowly pull my hand out, but her hand quickly grabbed my arm and forced me to leave my hand in her boiling cunt. She put her head back and relaxed with my hand still in her. Her cunt muscles would squeeze and release my hand over and over again. She was fucking my hand just by contracting and releasing her cunt walls. Weren’t those the kegel exercises?
I sat there looking at her limp naked body, still quivering as if there were minor spasms like mini-cums. I could feel her vaginal walls clutching my hand, then letting go, As Sophie’s trembling slowed, I felt her pushing my hand away and I assumed she wanted me to pull my fingers out. Before my fingers were all the way out of her pussy, she pulled them back in almost violently instead. My closed hand touching her cervix, then she pushed them out again. I quickly realized what she wanted and began to move my fisted hand in and out more forcefully. I moved my hand quickly, but I was very aware that I didn’t want to hurt her. It didn’t take long before she was climaxing for the second time … or had it been one long climax?
The squeezing inside her pussy never stopped. She gasped, trembled, as a continuous and plaintiff moan escaped from her lips. The sweet aroma of her climaxing pussy made me dizzy with excitement. Sophie did this several times, then she just relaxed and it took several minutes before she finally released my hand as her body collapsed like a deflated balloon. My hand slowly worked its way out along with all her juices. I almost fainted from pleasure when I looked at my hand and saw it shining with her copious pussy juice. The sticky fluid was covering my fingers and my palm, and there was even some on the backside of my hand and arm. I hated the thought of having to wash that hand, more so from my aroused feelings and curiosity, so I took my soaked fingers and put them into my mouth. I still remember how much I savored the taste her tangy juices; I had tasted myself, but this was so much more awesome.
I was trembling with excitement, and didn’t know what to do. I fell back on the bed, still gasping for breath. When I looked up again, I saw her with a puzzled gaze.
“Oh my God,” I managed to gasp.
“That thing,” she said, “Will you do it again?”
“Are you’re up to it?”
“Yes, I think I am, many times. I have wanted to get fisted since Maria de las Mercedes told me about her first time, but I knew it had to be with the right person, and that’s you”
“Yes, fisting is deep sex. I think it touches the woman deeply – both physically and emotionally, but I never did it before so I’m not a good judge,” I answered her.
“You don’t know how complete and fulfilling having another’s hand inside you is; it’s a very powerful experience. It was fabulously hot to me, and I had long moments of bliss and intense orgasms, but you know that it can also leave you feeling very vulnerable. Not now that I was with you, whom I love, so it’s not necessarily a bad thing – it’s a human thing. As I said, I’ve been deeply touched, very deeply.”
We couldn’t know at that moment how deeply we had been connected; a daughter fisting her ‘not known to her at that point’ mother.
We got in my car after our breakfast on December the 23rd, and went to the airport to take a flight to Des Moines at 8:30AM. We had almost 5 hours on the plane, and I used the time to find out more about Sophie’s life before our internet encounter. I was very curious; I had fallen in love with a woman that I actually knew nothing of her past life. An amused expression showed up on her face when I started with my not so subtle questions.
“OK, my love, what do you want to know; why is to you who I was or what I did so important?”
“Because I’m in love with you and want to know anything and everything about you.”
“Well, as you already know I was born to a well to do Italian family in Buenos Aires, Argentina, and my life was a happy one until the day I met my daughter’s father…”
Without thinking what I was doing, showing my immaturity, if not something else, I interrupted her, “I didn’t know you had a daughter, how old is she?”
She showed some displeasure at my interruption, “… as I was telling you, I met this American when I was barely fifteen; he seduced me and got me pregnant. My parents made him marry me or else. He married me, but we never shared a bed again. Oh, he was polite enough so my family would tolerate him until my little girl’s sixth birthday. He took her for a ride to celebrate her birthday with him, and they vanished from the face of the earth.”
I was speechless, what do you say to a mother who just told you her daughter was kidnapped when she was six, and herself twenty one, to never see her again? We were silent for a long time, each to our most intimate thoughts, while the droning of the big bird’s engines filled the silence.
It was she who broke the silence. “You know lover that I don’t know if she’s alive or dead, happy or unhappy, single or married and has any children, and whether or not I’m a grandmother. The not knowing, the uncertainty, that’s the worst part of my life. It was that way until I was almost thirty and my parents pushed me to marry for a second time, this time to a man who was a distant family member, a cousin of some kind of good Italian stock, according to my parents. I broke a pan on his head the second time he tried to beat me, and divorced him on domestic violence grounds around twelve years ago. You have been the first person to touch my body, or vice versa, since then.”
The next few hours on the flight were mostly filled with silence. After changing flights, in Chicago, we landed in Des Moines at 3:25 CDT and rented a car at the airport to carry us to my parent’s home. I told Sophie what the sleeping arrangements would be on the way; she would occupy my single room and sleep in my bed, while I would sleep on the den couch; she didn’t want to hear of it, but I told her it was for the best since it was the first time I took someone to my parents’ house.
Sophie was wearing what obviously was an expensive, but also relatively conservative dress. It was tight, outlining her large breasts and narrow waist. The bodice was modestly cut, as well, but not particularly sexy. I’m sure she would favorably impress my parents, particularly my suspicious mom. She was wearing her raven black hair swept back in a ponytail that left her pale round face exposed and devoid of makeup. Her bright black eyes shone with such love that I knew was for me.
We made the almost seventy miles in the rental car from Des Moines airport to Fort Dodge in an hour and a half. We parked in my parent’s home driveway at 5 PM, the same moment Mom opened the door and came out on the porch. It was clear that she had been waiting for us behind the window pane. She appeared to be in her best clothes, with no apron over them, surely trying to impress my visiting friend, which everybody knows is a women thing. Her eyes opened like saucers when she saw Sophie get out of the car. I could see from her expression that the last thing she expected was that I chose to spend my family Christmas with a very beautiful and mature woman who she wasn’t a student or an old classmate of mine. I saw the silent question of ‘who is she?’ on her face.
I hugged Mom and Pop, then turned to introduce them to Sophie, “Mom, Pop, this is my friend, Sophie. She’s…” and I didn’t know how to continue.
Sophie showed how articulate she is, and how to handle difficult situations. “Hi; as your daughter, said my name is Sophie, and I was her tutor when she was in Italy making her Italian literature master’s; “Non e vero, Cara? (It isn’t the truth, dear?)” She had switched from English to Italian at the drop of a pin.
So I had to answer in the same language, “Si, ed erano troppo severa, moltissimo severa”; and turning to my parents translated,” Yes, and she was tough, very tough.”
It was a strange Christmas Eve; Pop and I went to the mall to get something or other that Mom suddenly saw a need for, but she kept Sophie at her side; trying to get to know something about our relationship, I supposed. I saw Mom very frustrated several times; she wasn’t a worthy opponent for a person as sophisticated as Sophie. She didn’t believe a word that we were just friends and was convinced that we were lovers, but there was no evidence to the contrary and our behavior belied that.
It was a very good Christmas holidays all in all. Sophie slept in my old room and I slept on the den couch at night; we didn’t kiss, touch, or do anything that could appear as sexual innuendo. We stayed for a couple more days and we started the trip back to Boston on the twenty seventh. We could have stayed until the New Year, but the truth was that we had no more clothes to change into, not even lingerie.
We were very tired from the trip the first night we were home, but we were very anxious to make love at the same time, so we took our showers, ate some leftovers that Mom was adamant we bring to Boston with us, and went to bed.
I brought her lips to mine and kissed her, and then we lay in each other’s arms without speaking for a few minutes. Her body felt so soft and comfortable against mine after those nights of sleeping alone. I slid my hand down her back and began gently squeezing and caressing the firm round cheeks of her beautiful ass. We both stirred and I felt my pussy start to get wet again. Without asking first, I told her, “I’m going to make love to you now, Sophie,” and we both moved into position to make it possible. She opened her legs wide and I put myself between them. I was on top of her, breasts to breasts, tummy to tummy, and cunt to cunt this time.
It wasn’t the same as the other’s had been this time. We were now kissing, caressing, and making slow, sweet love to each other. She lifted herself to me and was making soft contented sounds each time I pushed my mons back against her and our pussy lips rubbed each other’s as we each built to orgasm. We were each looking into the other’s eyes… each knowing that it was coming and the power and sweetness of it was utterly incredible when it happened. We’d been making love to each other, and the explosion of our intimate love orgasms just kept spreading through us, renewing themselves, and lasting several minutes longer this time.
I went to the university on the twenty ninth of December to work on some schedules for January and I went to a sex shop to buy Sophie a gift before coming back home. I chose a double-headed strap-on; I wanted to possess this woman like a man possesses a woman, penetrating her. Oh, I know it wouldn’t be me, only a plastic penis penetrating her, but the body biggest sex organ in our body is the brain, and my brain would feel satisfied. I know, I know, I had already penetrated this woman, my lover, with my hand, and it was a wonderful feeling, but my brain was asking for, no, demanding my own kind of satisfaction.
I gave her my gift as we hugged and kissed at exactly midnight on New Year’s Eve. She rushed over to the table with the box and began to rip the paper away. Sophie took the lid off of the box once the wrapping lay in shreds, and lifted up what was inside. She didn’t realize what it was at first, but then she recognized it from some of the girly-girl movies we had seen together. She oohed and, aahed when saw it was a strap-on, one with the two heads.
It was very similar to my first one, the one my first ex had bought me when we started dating. This double-headed strap-on model had a small head and a longer one. I took her clothes off right there in front of the fire in the open fireplace, then I also undressed, after which I softly pushed her to lay her on cushions over the carpet. I looked down to her and mouthed, “I love you with all my heart,” and threw her a kiss.
I stood before Sophie, spread my thighs a little, then slowly put the stubbier one of the two heads of the dildo inside myself, completely inserted it into my own cunt, then I strapped it on my loins. Sophie’s eyes grew wide, her mouth wide-open in awe, at the sight. She looked so hungry.
I stood before her, holding the dildo up like I had an erection. Oh, if only I had a real cock to fuck this woman with. I’d cum and cum and cum inside and all over her, marking her as mine for eternity.
I got on my knees between her legs and she helped me slide the dildo into place inside her cunt, and I did envy the rubber thing, almost hating it, because it gets to feel all the way inside Sophie. I pushed the dildo completely in and lay down on top of her. She groaned and nipped my shoulders before suckling on my breast. I moved in the ancient intercourse movement, feeling the short head of the dildo inside me being eaten by my vaginal lips.
Sophie suddenly let go of my tits and exclaimed disappointed, “I barely feel this thing; nothing satisfies me after having your hand and wrist in my pussy.”
I kept moving for a few more seconds until my mind registered her words, then I stopped in midair with the tip of the rubber penis barely inside her pussy lips.
“I’m sorry. I thought this position, with the two of us united by the strap-on and kissing and caressing front to front, would please you,” I nervously said.
“It pleases me, lover, it’s only I don’t feel the fullness like I do with your hand.”
That’s when I remembered how my fist liked for me to fuck her, so I told Sophie, “Oh, alright; I know how to fill you.”
I pulled out the dildo from her pussy without any ceremony, got up off her, and told her to turn around and stand in the doggy position, because I was going to take her from behind.
I didn’t know what she was thinking I was going to do to her, but I’m sure she wasn’t expecting what I was planning. The same thing I had done to my first; fuck her ass.
With her in the doggy position, I got on my knees on the rug behind her, then leaned over her put my face between her ass checks and rimmed her back door with the tip of my tongue. She was surprised and cried in pleasure, “Ohmygod, ohmygod, what are you doing to me, you nasty bitch.” When I took my tongue from her asshole she asked, “More, ohmygod, give me more of your tongue, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, I’m cumming.”
When her wrinkled back hole was spasming with her orgasm, I guided the tip of the dildo to the ripe, tight, virginal asshole and I assured her before pushing; “This is going to hurt a little at first, but I promise it will start to feel good.”
I slowly began to push the rubber cock into my lover’s anus and Sophie gasped and bit her lip as the intruder made its way into her. I kept still for a few moments once I reached her buttocks so she could get accustomed to the intruder in her bowels, then firmly grabbed her by the hips and drove in hard.
Sophia didn’t expect my assault on her virginal puckered star, but the burning sensation the unexpected invasion caused in her rectum disappeared after a few minutes of discomfort, to make way for another sublime experience: an anal orgasm.
She pounded the cushions with her fists, cried in passion, and finally orgasmed with a howl of pleasure before falling on the carpet like an animal wounded to death. As I was connected to her body by the strap-on harness, I fell on top of her back, my loins to her buttocks while the small protrusion on the top of the dildo rubbed my clit and made me cum with violent spasms throughout my body.
The morning of January 2nd dawned with a snowfall a foot high and a freezing temperature. We spent the morning cuddling in bed, waiting for the sun to warm a little so we could go to the nearest mall to eat and get some groceries.
We went to shower together nearing noon, and while I shaved my armpits after we had finished, Sophie went to the bedroom to get dressed. I realized that I had forgotten to bring a skin moisturizer cream when I finished shaving and rinsing. Since I had no more in the bathroom, I yelled for Sophie to bring me a new bottle from the bottom drawer of my dresser.
I heard a loud scream a few seconds later, followed by Sophie’s sobs. Believing that an accident had happened, I put a bathrobe on over my shoulders and ran barefoot toward the bedroom. There, on her knees, white as if she had seen a ghost, was Sophie with an old and yellowing photograph in her hands. I couldn’t understand anything; I had, in fact, completely forgotten that picture about my distant and forgotten past, as it was a very old photograph of my father and me from when we had just arrived in the States. It was so long ago in time it meant nothing to me.
It would have meaning again from that moment on. It would mean pain, grief, injury, hurt, and sorrow; I was going to lose my mother for the second time, but I was now going to lose more than a mother, I was going to lose the love of my life
“How come you have this picture?” she asked, between sobbing hiccups.
“Well, I didn’t even remember I had it. Mom must have given it to me sometime and I put it in the bottom drawer. Why? What’s with that old picture?”
“Who’s the man in the picture?” she asked me; the strange thing was she didn’t even refer to the small girl in the picture. Me.
“Why, he was my father, my biological father, I mean.”
She looked at me with bulging eyes and started to rock her body repeating like a mantra, “Oh my God, no, oh my God, no, oh my God, no, oh my God, no…” again and again and again. She was in a catatonic state; I didn’t understand a thing and was getting very worried.
I shook her by the shoulders and I slapped both of her cheeks when that didn’t work. She seemed to awaken from a bad dream and started to cry.
Quiet deep sobs, sobs from the soul. I went to the kitchen, looking for a glass of water to give to her, and she wasn’t there in the bedroom when I returned; I frantically looked for her and she had gone to my other room, my office room where I have a guest bed. The door was closed and locked. I knocked softly, and she told to please leave her alone after a few minutes, that we would speak in the morning.
I spent a sleepless night trying to make sure that she didn’t do anything crazy, but sleep overcame me and I fell asleep at dawn; when I woke up, she was there when I went to the kitchen around ten in the morning. She had dark circles under her eyes, but was as composed as ever otherwise. She offered me a cup of coffee and told me she was leaving that same day and before I could say anything, she told me, “I assume that if the man in that picture is your father, then the little girl is you, right?
“Well, yes, but what has that to do with you and me?” I asked her, not understanding anything yet.
“Everything; that means I’m your biological mother as he was my first husband and you must be the little girl he stole from me so many years ago.”
“But that can’t be possible; I love you, I’m in love with you, and you with me. We have made love…” I was desperate. I didn’t care if she was the woman who had birthed me. I have my own mom, the woman who care for me, took me to school, and healed my wounds when I fell from my bike; I told her this and told her I didn’t want to lose the only person in the world I was in love with.
Sophie wasn’t open to my reasoning; we had committed what to her was one of the worst sins on earth, and she told me so.
I was irate, full of anger, and filled with rage, “Who says so? We are not doing anything wrong. We are both adults and whatever we talk about or do with each other is no one else’s business, not the church, not the state. If we both get enjoyment out of making love in a sexual relationship, so what if we’re mother and daughter; what harm is it to anyone else as long as it stays between us?”
“It does matter that we are mother and daughter, and I must leave, my love; I need to go home and think things over alone. There are two forces pulling inside me that are tearing me apart.”
She gave me her hand and said, “I’m sorry for being so distant yesterday and this morning.”
“That’s OK, moth…Sophie” I said, “I knew you had a lot to think about.”
“Well, last month doesn’t happen to too many mothers and daughters,” she seriously spoke. “I’ve gone over this in my head so many times since yesterday morning. Is it really right for us to do this? It is wrong? Should we stop and never see each other or talk about it again? What would people in Argentina think of me and of you in Boston, or worse at the University, if this got out? Am I leading you into something that isn’t good for you? It has been really awkward for me and I just didn’t know what to say to you this morning except that I have to leave as soon as possible.”
I heard her out and said, “I am the happiest person in the world today and proud of the love and pleasure we gave each other, Mother. I don’t think badly or poorly of you; just the opposite, I’m still in love with you and will be forever.”
“Will you stay with me tonight?” I asked.
There was nobody there when I got up and went to the kitchen the next morning. Everything was spotlessly clean. I went to Sophie’s room and it was empty, as if no one had slept in that room; there were no clothes and no luggage. Everything was as it had been before Sophie came to my home. She had left nothing behind her, not even a paper that hinted someone had been in that room. I looked for and didn’t found a note saying goodbye. She had disappeared from my life without a trace. I was so desolate that I started crying and couldn’t stop.
I suddenly heard the signal to go to the classroom, and I came back to reality like emerging from a dream, to the bench park where I’m seated, remembering, so I try to drop my daydreams and leave my memories behind; memories so close in time and so far away in distance and space. She’s gone; my love is gone, my mother is gone. I didn’t and don’t care if she is my biological mother. I have my other mom; the woman who raised me, tucked me in at night, called the doctor when I was sick, and who passed nights awake, watching me sleep. Sophie is the woman I fell in love with, the woman I want to love and live with; not like mother and daughter, or maybe yes, but I want her primarily as my lover and as my partner in life. We even didn’t know about each other until a few months ago. I had lived in heaven and now… now I live in hell…the hell of my mind.
2) Living in hell
It’s an obsession; I’m obsessed with my lover, Sophie, who is also my biological mother. I just don’t care; I’m in love with her and I must find her.
I tried to make contact with her; I send e-mails to her, but they came back labeled ‘Unknown user’, she must have changed her e-mail account.
I looked up the Buenos Aires yellow pages and found her phone number. I called her home, answered by a maid the first two times. I didn’t understand her and she didn’t understand me. It was late and it was Friday the third time and it was Sophie who answered this time with a weak, “Si, quien habla…”
She hung up when I said, “Sophie, Mother, it’s me, Marie…” The line was dead the next time I called, and the operator told me that line wasn’t in use anymore; another dead end.
I was so desperate that my life had lost any sense of purpose. I called Northeastern the first week of her absence and said that I was sick with the flu and that I would resume teaching at the end of the course. I was so devastated that I didn’t even go out to buy food, eating whatever leftovers I had in the fridge. Mom called, eager to ask how we were doing with the cold; I knew Mom was very curious and wanted to, in a good way, nose around our relationship. She loves me very much.
She must have had a feel something that was very wrong when my answers were monosyllabic and nasal, considering that I was severely congested from so much crying. She asked if I was sick and told her I had the flu, and then she asked me if Sophie was taking good care of me, and I confessed that Sophie had gone back to Buenos Aires and I was utterly alone in the middle of a new bout of crying. She didn’t say any more than her goodbyes and hung up.
My doorbell rang early in the afternoon of the next day; I let it ring and ring, as I didn’t want to see nobody and there was silence again after a few minutes. I didn’t hear the front door unlocking or my mom’s steps until she opened my bedroom door and spoke to me.
“Oh my God, Marie, what happened to you?”
“Mom, is that you?” was my whimpering response.
“Yes, my child, it’s me, Mom, what’s happening to you?”
“Oh Mom, Mom, if you only knew…” and I burst out crying inconsolably.
“That’s what I’m here for, to know what’s happening…”
“She left me, Mom; she left me without a word.”
Mom was speechless; she sat down on the edge of the bed and hugged me like when I was a little girl; I leaned my head on her breast and began to hum lullabies. My weeping was diminishing little by little, until it completely stopped. Then the mother she was told me with authority,
“Look at you, unwashed with tangled hair, and…when was the last time you changed your underwear? Go get a shower while I fix something to eat and we’ll talk later.”
Half an hour later, showered, my hair clean and in a ponytail, and with clean underwear under my bathrobe, I took a seat at the kitchen table and I realized I was starving and wolfed down the meal Mom prepared.
Then with each of us holding a cup of coffee in our hands, Mom asked me what had happened in so short time, having found me almost in a suicidal state. So I told her everything since the first contact we had made via the internet. She didn’t move a muscle even when I told her the very much edited version of our affair. It was when I got to the episode of my father’s picture, the old picture she had given me so long ago, that her face changed, and she only asked, “Is Sophie your biological mother, the woman your father stole you from?”
In a broken voice, I only answered, “Yes”
She now understood my drama and tears, but for the wrong reasons; she thought I was ashamed, repentant, full of sin, and embarrassed with a sense of guilt; that wasn’t even close. I didn’t give a shit if I was inside Sophie’s body for nine months and that’s what I was going to try to convince Mom about. I wasn’t ashamed, quite the opposite, in fact. I had been able to win over, first fuck, and then make love to the most beautiful female I’ve known in my entire life. I wasn’t ashamed of anything we did; I was desperate because I wasn’t with her.
“You know that I’m a lesbian and have known it forever, don’t you, Mom?”
“Yes, but your mother…you can’t be in love with your mother, it’s…”
I interrupted her, “You are my real mother, Mom. Sophie is just another woman to me, the kind of woman I like, true. I’m attracted to mature woman, that’s all, but it’s you I look up to as a mother figure, not Sophie.”
“You want to be with her, don’t you?”
“Yes, as a lover, not as a daughter, but she doesn’t want anything to do with me, all because of that damn picture with which my father steals my happiness even after his death.” Seeing Mom’s face, I said, “Sorry, Mom; I know he was your brother, but he was less than a father to me.”
“Yes, I know, my love; he had a wild streak and the one who acted as your father was really your pop, Jim.”
Mom, always the pragmatist, said, we should finish dinner and go to bed early; she was tired form the trip. It was then that I asked her how come she was in Boston, not that I wasn’t glad and thankful, and she told me that after talking with me on the phone the day before, Pop drove her to Des Moines Airport in the car, and waited with her until plane to Boston left before going back home. It had been a long night.
Mom had breakfast ready for me when I got up the next morning, and after a few minutes of talking, I decided to go to my job at the University and continue with my course. Besides having supper ready when I got home that evening, Mom had developed a plan on how I could find a way to connect me with Sophie. Jim, my pop, is who would be the required official help to gather the information we needed. She explained it to me; it would be like this; Pop would contact the agency where my father worked and would ask them to get him as much information as they could about the contacts he had with Argentine civilians, and whether he had any love relationships in that country. After so much time had passed, more than twenty years, they would want to know the reasons for such inquiries, of course. The reason was going to be the truth: a daughter who wanted to find the biological mother she didn’t know. The plan was good, but the difficulties were almost insurmountable.
All the agencies placed obstacles; they created problems for us and tried a fact as simple as the stay of an American official on foreign soil as if it were a state secret; well, for them, maybe it was, but it was only a family matter to us, nothing more, nothing less.
Pop Jim went and came back to and from Washington, DC, a half a dozen times in the next two months without results. They sent him from one office to another, from one building to the next, and he always got the same answer: ‘We couldn’t find anything in the archives; we’re very sorry’.
He carried a letter from the chairman of his political party in Iowa for his district’s Representative in the House with him the next time he went to DC. He explained the family situation to a secretary who scheduled an appointment for him the following day. The Rep told Pop that he would do everything he could to get him some answers, and also the name of someone in the American Embassy in Buenos Aires whom I could contact to get names and/or addresses.
My parents received a call to go to the Secretary of State two weeks later, and talked with an Assistant Secretary for Latin American affairs. Once there, the officer gave them a letter addressed to an employee at the embassy in Buenos Aires who would attend to me and would facilitate any needs that would arise.
That was the first phase; I now had to make plans. I took a pen and a notepad first thing, and started to think and write down everything I remembered that Sophie had told me in our talks about her city, friends, or her family. A name came to my mind like a flash, Maria de las Mercedes; yes, but what was her surname? Then I remembered it was always her friend’s name, never her family name, but I have another name, that of her gay son, and I was sure there wouldn’t be many of the gentry families of Argentina whose members had those two names. That would be a start; and if I find that family I had another name to use privately: Maria de las Mercedes’ lover, Susana, the ex-model.
The spring semester flew by and ended in last days of June, and I soon was on a plane to Buenos Aires, a very big city. I arrived at Ezeiza International Airport after a tiring thirteen hour flight; 12 hours and 20 minutes to be exact, at 10:45 Buenos Aires time. What with customs, baggage clearance, and getting transport for the eighteen mile trip to the city’s downtown and my hotel, it was half past noon when I got to see ‘la Avenida 9 de Julio’, (July 9th Avenue) the widest in the world with its imposing Obelisk in the well-known intersection with Corrientes Street. July is winter in the south, and it is very cold; no snow or anything like that, just cold from the winds coming from the Patagonia and the Antarctic.
I went to my hotel to get a bath and change in warmer clothes first thing. I went to a good pizzeria after that, and ate a wonderful pizza accompanied by a good draft beer. With a full stomach, I called the embassy number Pop had gotten for me in DC, and made an appointment for nine o’clock the next day.
Mr. Williamson’s office was on the second story of the embassy building, and his secretary escorted me in at nine on the dot. After the usual greetings and pleasantries, I told him what I needed and why. I gave him the names of the people I remembered, the name of my mother, Sophie Petrucci, and my father’s name. He excused himself and left his office. He came back full of apologies after more than half an hour, and told me all the information about my father was classified, but if I gave him a little time, not more than forty eight hours, he would get me all the information I needed.
An embassy messenger handed me a sealed envelope which contained the data I needed forty eight hours later. I studied my father’s dossier first, the part they wanted to give me, of course. There was the history of my biological parents, how they had met, and all that came after that. It was included my abduction and the search and pursuit by the Petrucci family. The rest were the addresses and phone numbers of the Argentine people I had asked for.
First thing I did that morning was dress as elegantly I could, take a taxi, and head to Barrio Parque Palermo Chico, the elegant residential district of Buenos Aires where my mother, Sophie, lives. The property was stunning to say the least. It’s the house of very rich people.
It’s a grand family mansion on 1,368 sqm (14,725 ft²) of land, with elegant interiors and architecture. It has a commanding position amongst Buenos Aires most prestigious inner-circle residences. Both the home and grounds offer an astonishing degree of privacy from the outside world; the glamorous decor fuses the splendor of times gone by with today’s modern conveniences. It has a grand entrance foyer, high ornate ceilings, parquet floors, original fireplaces, and wood-paneled walls. 6 bedrooms, one study/library, gym/hobby room, master suite with sunroom, dressing room, and luxury en-suite bathroom, and 4½ other bathrooms. Also it has manicured gardens, an indoor pool, and private driveway with a remote security gate and video entry. Amazing.
I rang the doorbell at the security gate and a security guard answered the call. “Si que desea”; I had a big problem, I don’t remember my native language, Spanish, and the guard didn’t understand English or Italian, so I did the only thing that popped into my head, I pulled paper and pen from my handbag and wrote my mother and my own names, and passed it through the bars of the gate. The man read the written names and with “Espere un momentito, por favor” went to the house.
It was cold in the empty street, where a strong wind made it seem even colder. I was starting to despair after waiting for fifteen minutes that someone would come to the door and tell me that nobody in the house knew me, when I saw the man coming back with a maid following him. He opened the gate and let me enter, closing it behind me.
The maid motioned for me to follow her and we went to the house. I almost turned around to return to my home in Boston as quickly as possible when she led me into the foyer. For the first time since Sophie had left me and Boston six months ago, I asked myself ‘what the hell I’m doing here?’ This isn’t my world; my world is Boston and my parents’ humble, but comfy, house in Fort Dodge, Iowa.
With a timid smile, the maid made hand signs motioning me to wait and pointed me to sit on a chair. I sat down and took a look around while nervously waiting. The richness of furniture, furnishings, made me wonder once again if I was right in traveling to Buenos Aires instead of Italy to spend my holidays, something I could still do. Time passed, I checked my watch and saw that it had been over fifteen minutes since I had sat down, and more than thirty minutes since I had rung the bell at the mansion’s gates. I decided enough was enough, and as I got up and went to the room door that would take me directly out the house and to the street, another door opened at my back and a voice said,
“Sorry to have you waiting, I had been in bed and had to prepare myself to receive visitors, I wasn’t expecting anybody.”
The voice seemed familiar, but I didn’t recognize it, so I turned around and a ghostly figure greeted me. It was my mother, Sophie but instead of the forty three year old beauty she was six months ago in Boston, she looked like a person of sixty-eight. I ran to her and tried to hug her, but her arms remained at her side and she didn’t return the hug or the kiss; her skin was as cold as that of death.
“Oh Mother, Mother, oh Sophie, what happened to you? Are you sick, is it something serious?” I asked her, still hugging her emaciated body.
I should clarify the reason for the use of the words ‘Mother’ and ‘Sophie’ to address her. I didn’t know what to call her at first. When we were practically strangers at the beginning, she asked me to call her ‘Sofia’, a name I anglicized to ‘Sophie’; then she started pushing me to call her ‘Mother’ when we were well into our sexual relationship. It was a thrill for me to call her ‘Mother’ when I was fisting the same uterus from where I was born; I don’t know it was so…perverse maybe? I knew it was an incestuous relationship abhorred by the Church and a big part of society, but I later found out it was more common than many people believe.
Afterwards the words ‘Mother’ and ‘Sophie” were intermingled in my mind and had the same meaning to me when we were fucking; they were one and the same person and synonymous to and I used them interchangeably.
She asked the question I knew was coming instead of answering me, but all the naive answers I had flew from my mind, “What brings you here, and in the middle of winter, no less.”
“I came to see and be with you, if possible,” was my answer.
A torn and cracked laugh came out from inside her throat, “Well, you can see what you did to me, and as for being with me, I thought you were a literature professor, not a registered nurse,” as a raspy cough ended her words.
“Oh Mother, Sophie…”
“Sofia, my name here is Sofia,” was her cold rebuttal.
“Okay, Sooofia, I love you with all my heart, I…”
“You can’t love me, maybe you did lust after me in a perverted way before; do you lust for me now?”
“But that’s not true. I did love you and still love you. Why do you think I came here? I was looking for you. I continuously tried to contact you all this time, and you… you rejected me as you’re doing now. I do love you, and how you look doesn’t matter to me. I love you as a person and I always will.”
I was silently crying and could feel my many tears rolling down my cheeks. We were still standing and I could see she didn’t want me there. No hugs, or any other displays of affection, came my way.
“I don’t want to tire you; may I come to visit tomorrow or the day after? I really do want to be with you; you know that I love you. I’m in love with you.” Mine was a cry, I was desperately trying to break the silence and reestablish the kind of connection we had before.
“Yes, I’m very tired; you’d better go and if you have a phone number, please write it on a paper and I’ll give you a call when I feel better.” She then rang the bell calling the maid.
“María, por favor acompaña a la señorita, ah, y no estoy para nadie” (Mary, please accompany the lady to the gates, ah, and I’m not in for anybody).
“Si Señora” (yes Madam); and motioned me to follow her with hand signs again.
Once on the wooded street again I was feeling lost as if nothing made any sense anymore. I didn’t even know where I was, and I don’t mean the streets of Buenos Aires. The world made no sense to me, and I thought I was going crazy for a moment. The earth started to rapidly spin beneath my feet, and an excruciating nausea filled my gut.
I slowly walked to the next avenue to get a taxi and go back to the hotel. I went to my room to wait once there, but wait for what? I didn’t know. I knew nothing; my mind was a blur, chaotic, and empty at that moment.
I waited for the phone call that never came for several days. I was lucky a wind and rain storm was unleashed over Buenos Aires during those days that allowed me to be in my room, not catching anyone’s attention. I thought and thought about how to take my mother out of the emotional freezer she was in. I couldn’t find an answer; who would she talk to if she wouldn’t talk to me? The answer was right in front of my nose. Who were her best friends, and almost the only one lately? Maria de las Mercedes Urdangarain, the woman who helped change Sophie’s life.
I looked for her phone number and address in the dossier the embassy man had given me; I called Maria de las Mercedes home around noon the next day. It was a wintry day with dark clouds in the skies. I had tried to improve a little my Spanish in the most elementary way during the days I had been in the big splendid city, like asking for directions, for my food, or by asking for a person by phone, so when the maid or whoever she was answered my call, I said, “Quierro hablarr con la signora Maria de las Mercedes, please.” I later learned that everyone had fun with my pronunciation of the ‘r’; it has a soft sound and is mostly used with only one ‘r’ in Spanish.
The horrible pronunciation and the English word ‘please’ at the end aroused Maria’s curiosity, and she herself came to answer the phone. In perfect English (every old moneyed person in Argentina has had an education in two or three languages) she asked, “Yes, who’s speaking, please?” She had a slight British accent like Sofia.
I answered her “I beg your pardon; my name is Marie, I’m from Boston in the United States, and I know you through your friend, Sofia Petrucci…”
She cut off me to tell me, “Yes, I know where Boston is, but she went to Boston to be with you and she isn’t in Buenos Aires. Where are you calling from?”
“I’m calling from my hotel room; it’s a local call.”
There was a heavy silence on the other side of the line, but I could hear heavy breathing before she softly asked me, “Do you know where she is?”
“Yes, but I can’t speak on the phone. I need to talk to you personally and in private.”
I almost could hear Maria thinking, and then she said, “You don’t know Buenos Aires, do you?”
“No, only just a couple streets around my hotel. You may come here to my room, but I would prefer you do not. I could go any place that’s private you decide on, and what I have to tell you may take a couple hours or more.”
“So much?” it sounded very formal British.
“Yeah,” I sounded, very Midwestern.
“Why don’t you come to my home for tea this afternoon?”
“Yes, that would be very convenient.”
“Is four thirty alright with you? If so, would you mind taking note of my address?”
She told me the address I have in my dossier. I asked the doorman for a taxi at four. I was dressed in an elegant, but severe, business suit as befits a university professor, and I went to see her who was my only hope of regaining my love, and my love regaining her health.
I won’t describe Maria de las Mercedes’ home; suffice it to say that Sofia’s mansion seemed like a middle class Arkansas farm when compared to it. I rang the bell on the gates at four twenty five on the dot. A doorman rapidly appeared this time and asked for my name. He opened the big latticed gate without a word when I told him who I was, and took me to the house after closing it.
A middle-aged elegant woman, around forty five, was waiting at the mansion door, looking as if she were going to a soirée in La Casa Rosada (The Pink House) seat of the Argentinean government, instead of having the tea with a completely unknown young American woman in her own house. This was the same woman who had first tested and tasted, then aroused Sofia’s appetite to be fisted. I should thank her for that. Seeing her so lady-like stance, so above mere mortals, you would never guess the depth of her sexual appetite and the refinement with which she carried it out.
“Please come in. You must be Marie from Boston, welcome; I’m Maria de las Mercedes and very pleased to know you.”
“Yes, I come from Boston, and my real name is Maria del Lujan Foster Petrucci…”
A puzzled look, full of confusion, was reflected on my hostesses’ aristocratic face for a few seconds, then she put two and two together fast as light, and her face went pale at the implications, “So you are her…”
“Yes, I’m her daughter, her biological daughter…”
A door opened at that moment, and a beautiful woman entered the foyer from the back of the house. She was around thirty, and she should belong in it by her words.
“Excuse me, Maria I didn’t know you were with someone; I’ll wait for you inside.”
“No, no, my dear, come. I want to introduce you to my dear friend Sophia’s daughter from the U.S.”
“Oh my God, is she…”
“Yes, she is. Let’s go to the tea room where it will be quiet enough to speak.”
We went to the room without another word. Tea was already served, accompanied by small sandwiches, sweet pastries, and pies all on silver service and cutlery. Once seated around a small table Maria asked, “Has Sofia talked to you about…us, Marie?
“Well, let me introduce you to Susana, my husband/wife, my lover, and everything in between. Since we’re going to talk about what happened between you and your mother in Boston, I want Susana to be here and hear everything you have to say. We have no secrets from each other, and she can help us find a solution to this problem. Do you agree?
I was mute and nodded again. We sipped our tea while I collected my thoughts and thought about how to relate everything that had happened. I decided to use an impersonal method, the same one I use to teach my students about Dante’s Inferno in class, so I began to tell the story.
“Maybe you know I was abducted when I was six years old by my own father, an American Embassy official …,” then I proceed to tell them all about my life, my foster parents, Mom and Pop, their home, the little town in the middle of Iowa, my teen years and my problems, my shyness, and the way I looked for and found my sexuality.
I talked about Italy, my master’s degree in modern Latin languages, and how I’m a professor of literature at Northeastern University in Boston. I stopped to take a sip of tea, and when I looked around, I saw it was already evening since it was almost dark outside.
I excused myself for taking so long, and told them I wouldn’t intrude on them anymore. I said that I would be grateful if they would get me a taxi to go to my hotel.
Maria de las Mercedes seemed to come out of a dream with my words. “Are you out of your mind? You’re not intruding; we will be served dinner here in fact, and you can continue telling us your story, “Isn’t that true, my dear?” she asked Susana.
So with dinner served and the doors locked, I continued telling my story. I told them how Sofia and I had met via the internet. Maria knew this part of the story, but not Susana, so I told it for her, then came the time when Sofia came to Boston to meet me. Maria de las Mercedes then pushed me, “Details, Lady, I want details, a minute by minute account…” Susana who had remained silent until now, with only slight interruptions, interrupted her lover with loving severity this time,
“Be careful, my love, it must be very painful for her to remember this part of her life, and don’t forget that we are two strangers to her.”
“Yes, you’re right, as always. Please tell us what happened and leave out the most intimate aspects of the relationship you may want.”
So I did; I told them our Christmas with my parents, and the dreadful noontime she found my father’s picture in my dresser. I told them of her reaction when she found out I was her daughter, her rejection of me, and how she had disappeared from my house and my life without even saying goodbye.
The silence could be cut with a knife when I ended my story. I looked at the grandfather clock and saw that it was well past midnight. I tried to get up and get going when Maria de las Mercedes stopped me with a wave of her hand, and turning to Susana said,
“Would you be kind enough to fetch some coffee from the kitchen, my love? I’ll look for the cognac; we have things to decide about what we’re going to do with Sofia tonight. We can’t leave her alone and sick; we need to help her out of that situation, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I agree, I’ll go and bring the coffee.”
With a cup of coffee and a cognac sniffer for each of us, we started to make plans on how to get Sofia out from her emotional morass by reasoning, by helping her to understand her emotions, and not forcing her to do anything that she wasn’t willing to. We made and discarded one plan after the other, and we decided in the end that it was best that her old friend, Maria de las Mercedes, should be the one to initiate the rapprochement. As it was more than two hours past midnight, not as late by Buenos Aires habits as I would have the opportunity to learn later, Maria and Susana took her car and drove me to my hotel.
Maria de las Mercedes would go to her friend’s house the next morning and begin the psychological work. I would stay on the sidelines while waiting for the results. I met with both Maria and Susana in a luxurious establishment for tea ten days later. It was almost the end of July. The news wasn’t good; Sofia slightly recovered physically but not mentally, and didn’t want to see me.
My eyes misted at the news, and only a few tears rolled down my cheeks, because I was running out of tears to mourn my lost love as the days went by. Despair became my first name, and Maria de las Mercedes saw with alarm that I was giving up and told me, “Please don’t give up yet, Marie; let me try for a few more days.”
Sniffling with my tears, I said, “I can’t be here forever; I have to return to Boston in a few days. It makes no sense for me to lose my post at Northeastern and my career for nothing. Forgive me; I appreciate everything you and Susana are doing and how good you have been to me.”
“What’s the last day that you can leave for Boston?”
“I must sign my courses by the tenth of August If I want to get them on the schedule for the next semester, so I must leave on the eight to be on time.”
“OK, we have almost two weeks; I’m going to shake Sofia out of her miseries as if a tornado has hit her squarely on the face.”
I don’t know how she did it, but by the end of the week, Sofia had agreed to go alone with me to the Maria de las Mercedes family’s summer house at a seaside resort city called Mar del Plata.
We were in the middle of the winter and it was very cold outside, and in my case inside my body, as well.
It was very cold in Maria de las Mercedes family summer house in Mar del Plata, but the city itself, with only the citizens who live there year round, is very welcoming in spite of the cold. The people are very friendly, as it’s their way of life; a seaside resort that lives from tourism, water sports, and theater shows half the year.
Maria de las Mercedes and Susana, who had brought us in their cars, took care of turning the central heating system on, then went to the nearest supermarket and brought us supplies for at least fifteen days, showed us where everything was, said goodbye, and left for Buenos Aires before it was too late in the evening. They took Maria’s car and left us Susana’s so we had transportation since the house was in a gated country about ten kilometers from the city center. It was an ideal place to reflect on our lives and what we want from life in the future, about who are we, and especially who we want to be. It was a silent place near the sea, with tall pines surrounding the house.
An awkward silence descended upon us when we were alone at last. Only the wind blowing through the trees was felt, so I decided to take the responsibility upon myself to break the ice regarding our situation.
“It’s getting late and we should eat something before we go to bed, Sofia.”
“I’m not hungry; a glass of milk would be fine.” She was uninterested.
Then I knew what I should do; I was going to reverse the roles and act like a mother with her sick daughter, look after her, and force her to eat and take her medicines.
“No way, Lady, you tell me what do you want to eat, and I’m talking about solid food, capishi?”
I told her with my best no nonsense voice.
She looked startled and then the shadow of a smile fleetingly crossed her lips.
“Alright, Nurse; an omelet with herbs and a glass of milk, will you consider that food enough?”
I laughed at her words and told her it was OK for that night, what with the travel and everything else. I made two big omelets, put a glass of milk for her and a glass of wine for me on the table, and we ate in silence. I was hungry and finished in a few minutes. When I lifted my head to take a sip of wine, I saw that Sofia was fiddling with the food almost without tasting it.
I told her, “Please, Mother, you must eat, the food is getting cold.”
She was completely apathetic, and as she moved the fork around the food on the dish, she told me in a very low voice, “Don’t call me ‘mother’.”
I was devastated; here we go again. She softly set the fork on the table and murmured, “I’m going to bed, good night,” before I could say anything.
I was left alone in the kitchen of a quiet house in an unknown city of a strange country, not even knowing the country’s language, and with a woman, my biological mother, who was my former lover and who was sick in body and soul, and didn’t want me or want to live. I couldn’t avoid it; tears suddenly were rolling down my cheeks and my anguished sobs broke the silence. Trying not to make any noise and not knowing where Sofia was sleeping, I took some blankets from a closet and without undressing I lay down to sleep on a divan dressed as I was. Sleep was elusive; I cried and cried as silently as I could, but sobs tore my chest apart and it was almost dawn before I fell into a restless sleep.
I dreamt and dreamt about Sophie, Mom and Pop, and shadows coming for me, demons coming for me, I screamed and screamed that I was not guilty, it was a nightmare after nightmare I just wanted to love and be loved and then when I was screaming Sophie save meeee…I woke up.
I was sobbing, frightened, shaking, drenched in sweat, with the blankets lying on the floor and my clothes twisted and pushed up my body. I felt something like a claw shaking my shoulder which increased my fright. I then heard a soft voice calling my name and telling me not to be afraid, not anymore.
When I fully awoke from my nightmare I perceived a loving form at my side whose hand was lovingly shaking me by the shoulder and lulling me, “Shhhhh, shhhhh, my love, Mommy is here; don’t be afraid. We’re going to be together forever, shhhhh, shhhhh, ahhh, ahhh…” and with that, I fell into a restful sleep.
It was the afternoon and I was disoriented when I awoke. It seemed that I had slept for almost ten hours. I felt a was dreaming again for a moment, then I thought no, I’m not dreaming; I’m awake, but in Fort Dodge at my parents’ home, and my mom was preparing my favorite breakfast. Then I became aware that I was in Argentina, in Mar del Plata with my sick Sophie, so who was cooking my favorite breakfast?
I got up from the couch, smelling like a pig, with all the bones and muscles of my body aching. I went to the bathroom; I undressed my soiled and wrinkled clothes and took a wonderful hot shower. With no clean underwear at hand, I got a bathrobe from the closet and went to the kitchen, following the trail of the cooking smell.
My surprise was complete; there at the stove cooking and softly singing in Spanish, with a florid apron over her housecoat, was Sofia, my mother. My mouth was hanging open when she must have felt my vibes and turning her head, greeted me, “Good night, Sleepyhead, are OK you now?
My inane answer was, “What time is it?” as if that were the important thing, not the change in Sofia from some hours ago.
“Almost seven in the evening; it gets dark early during the winter.”
Then I had to ask about her sudden change of attitude. “How do you feel now mo…er, Sofia, are you feeling better?”
“You may call me ‘Mother’ if that’s in your heart, Marie, and yes, I’m feeling a little better thanks to you, Maria de las Mercedes, and Susana for being patient with me and making me see the light; now sit at the table and eat while I tell you a little story.”
“I’m not going to tell you what happened in Boston; you were there, but I’m going to tell you what happened afterwards. When I left your Boston home in the predawn that day, I got in a taxi I had called and went to the airport and flew to Miami. I was emotionally destroyed.” She stopped for a moment as if trying to clear her mind.
“Don’t forget that I was educated in a Catholic nun’s school where everything sexual is a sin. If normal sex for pleasure is a sin, being gay or lesbian is a sin with capital letters. If enjoying sex in any manner is a sin, what do you think of my mind fighting my interior demons being with you, a lesbian, and having sex with you? I had to think it wasn’t a sin. I convinced myself after I knew of Maria de las Mercedes’ experience and how it changed her life. If Maria could be happy, I have the same right.” She stopped again, bitterly laughing.
“Oh my, I did everything the nuns taught me; I was a good Catholic and married, twice. That’s not very Catholic you know; the Church wouldn’t annul my marriage to your father even after he disappeared with you and couldn’t be found, so I divorced him in Uruguay; Argentina didn’t have a divorce law at the time. I remarried and he became abusive. It was good that I had a lot of money so I could buy him out of my life.”
I was enthralled with her story and she seemed to be feeling better with every minute she talked. My poor mother, how unfortunate her life had been. She continued, “I was loveless; all my money couldn’t buy me a second of happiness; but I was an heiress, and therefore much sought after by men. I couldn’t imagine there was another kind of world until Maria de las Mercedes discovered it for her and for me.”
She was expurgating her demons with every word, breaking free of the shackles that had been imposed on her since childhood.
“I was afraid nonetheless, very afraid. Something in my brain repeated, you’re sinning, you’re sinning, like a mantra. A friend told me that it is very difficult to free oneself from that kind of fanatic indoctrination, then the miracle of Maria finding Susana and fucking first and then making love, they fall in love, and they were and are happy, very happy. I told myself ‘why not me’ and I was afraid, yet I looked on the net and found you and you know the rest.”
I was deeply touched; here was my mother baring her soul as if she were before an altar; cleansing it of all the garbage that they have instilled in her from an early age.
“Yes, Mother, but why did you go berserk when you saw my father’s picture? That’s what I can’t understand; why did you reject me; we were happy together. You broke all connections with me and didn’t even want to see me when I came looking for you. Something inside you had to be wrong because you weren’t content and seemed to me that you wanted to die.”
“Yes, I was sick, you don’t know how sick. You weren’t educated as a Catholic, were you?”
“No, I wasn’t, I didn’t even go to the Episcopalian church in my town very often when I was young, and I stopped going altogether when I went to college.”
“Well, you can’t understand me then. I had defeated my inner demons, or so I thought, and went looking for you. Do you know why? It was because I was in love with you. Yes, don’t look me as if I’m insane, I was madly in love with you. I had even left everything here prepared for my lengthy absence. I was very happy with you, then that picture made something in my mind snap. I was having sex with my own daughter; how could God be so cruel? I still believed in God; I found someone who loved me and it was my long lost daughter.”
“And last night, I couldn’t sleep last night and heard you wandering around the house in the dark…”
“I wasn’t wandering; I didn’t know which room you were in and didn’t want to disturb you in your sleep.”
“I wasn’t sleeping; I was thinking. Thinking of Maria’s words and the meaning of your presence here looking for me, then I heard your weeping and sobbing in your uneasy sleep all night, your nightmares, and your cries asking for help, my help, calling my name and something broke inside me again. Someone needed me, my daughter needed me, my lover needed me, and I became aware that I needed you all of a sudden, that I wanted to be with you, so I came to your side.”
She fell into a long silence and I was afraid she was returning to her previous state of mind, and I started to get nervous as the minutes passed. Then she looked at me, and her eyes, her beautiful eyes were clear, and with a strong voice she asked me the question I least expected:
“Do you still love me, Marie? As a woman, I mean; do you still want to make love to me?”
“Oh Sofia, Mother, whatever; yes of course, I never stopped loving you. How could I?”
“Would you mind if we slowly return to our relationship. If we take it easy in the carnal aspect, just until I recover.”
“Oh, of course I don’t mind, I’m so happy. I’ll take good care of you; don’t worry, we’ll go slowly. I love you so much, Mother, I don’t want to lose you again.”
We hugged and kissed as lovers again for the first time in months. We called Maria de las Mercedes to tell her the good news; that we were going to abuse her hospitality and stay in Mar del Plata for a couple more weeks. We heard her shouts of joy on the line as she called Susana to pick up the extension so she could hear the news.
“Take your time; you have all the time in the world. Let us know when you two are both ready for visitors and we’ll come down there and stay a few days if that doesn’t bother you.”
“Of course not; we’ll be glad to have you with us, in your house, hee, hee, hee, and bye.”
As a way to accelerate the process of Sofia’s recovery we took a walk under the trees in the surroundings of the house every day. Then we took the car and went to the seafront promenade, breathing the clean salty sea air and we went down to the beach one cold day to walk on the sand near the seashore, with cold foaming water licking and wetting our boots.
It was cold, what with the Antarctic wind blowing hard, but that was the least of my worries with the company that I had. I was happy. We walked quite a ways…maybe a mile or more, far from the car. I slipped my arm around Mother’s waist at some point, and she leaned into me as we walked, resting her head against my chest, her body feeling warm, almost feverish against me. The full moon seemed to follow us, and a small thought flickered through my mind that the moon surely should have begun to wane since our first walk on the beach, but it still looked as full and as brilliant as that first night. That thought was soon lost as more pressing matters weighed on my mind; all regarding the woman I was holding so intimately.
We stopped at the surf’s edge, the waves gently rolling in, and Mother stared up at the gibbous moon and murmured, “It’s so beautiful…so lovely.”
I gently reached out and took Mother’s arm and turned her so she was facing me. I slowly ran a hand up her arm, my fingers trailing over her neck soft skin… and finally stroking her cheek. “You’re beautiful, Mother,” I said, in a gentle but stern voice. “You are the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.”
I felt Mother shiver again as her arms rose up and slipped around my waist. She slowly leaned into me as if she needed me to support herself. I felt her heart beating very fast within her breast, and she almost seemed to vibrate with expectant energy as she whispered, “Oh, Marie, my lover, my daughter.”
We stood embracing for what seemed hours, indifferent to the cold and the wind, not speaking as we looked into each other’s eyes, until our mouths finally seemed to move closer, as if drawn together by some irresistible force. Mother’s lips pressed against mine, soft, warm, and open. I instinctively slipped my tongue into her mouth, only to have it greeted by hers…a muffled moan escaping from her as we kissed as we had both longed to kiss.
Mother tasted sweet, almost citrus-like, as our tongues curled around each other’s, slowly sliding their wet, soft flesh against each other. I pulled her tighter against me, even as she tightened her grip around my waist. We feasted on each other’s lips like starving beings, hungrily kissing passionately as our tongues kept us linked, neither of us closing our eyes, our gazes as tightly locked as our lips were.
I felt Mother shiver in my arms; I didn’t know if from fear, passion, or both. She began to sag, her legs unable to support her, and I slowly lowered us both to our knees so that we knelt in the soft sand, never ending our kiss. Mom brought one arm up and stroked my face, then ran her fingers through my hair before curling her arm around my neck, making little contented sighs as we continued to kiss. For my part, my hands worked circles on her back, feeling the tension there. I slowly slid them down to her lower back, and back up, then down again, not pausing this time until my hands were cupping her buttocks, now wet from the water that swirled around us.
I took Mother by the arms and lifted her, “Let’s go home, my love, lest we get sick.” With that, we joyously ran to the car, home, and bed; in that order.
It was so different this time. We went to the master bedroom, quickly undressed, and donned robes until the house warmed up. I opened my arms for her and her body melted into me. Her body seemed to gently vibrate, like a cat purring, and her eyes locked with mine for several precious moments before we kissed. There was no money, no worrying, no acting, no times, arrangements, negotiations, or ‘what do you want to do?’ I didn’t feel like I had to fill a lifetime of fantasies in one night. I had already done that.
Now it was just the sweetness of our togetherness. Now it was affection, tenderness, love, and desire.
My body remembered hers, and hers mine. When we finally took a break from our kissing to speak, I went and nestled myself against her still bounteous breasts, kissing the soft pliant flesh. I looked up at her.
“How can you be sure?” she quietly asked me. “You really haven’t known me that long.”
I looked up from her pillow-like breasts for only a moment, and assuredly replied. “Everything with you was different from the moment we started making love that day. You spontaneously wanting things, and the way you asked for them, so unafraid… that was everything I’ve been looking for in a lover.”
“And then,” she said, her face breaking into a smile, “You fulfilled a fantasy of mine, a strong one, in a way that no one has ever come close to doing. It was like you understood everything I needed.”
I smiled back. “You mean… the fisting?”
She nodded, and both of us shared a giggle remembering it.
“And maybe it wasn’t just the way that worked,” she went on, her fingers playing with strands of my still damp hair, “But the way everything worked. Not just the sex, I mean, ‘acting’ like we did with your mom and pop at Christmas was actually fun, because it was for you. I liked them too, and I felt privileged to be part of your family celebration,”
I laughed and shook my head. “That was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen; that Italian tutor performance.”
She smiled, but I could tell that she was trying to explain something important. “Yeah… I was good at it, but I was happy that your mom liked me, and I was happy that you were happy. Damn, I’ve never been so happy with a lover. Well, I haven’t had that many lovers, just two men and you, and you’re the best by a long shot. We did so much and spent so much good ‘hanging out’ time together too, you know. Walking together, and all that, made me feel like ‘I’m in heaven’?”
She was right. We covered an awful lot of ground in that time, and none of it was forced. Once I had gotten the ball rolling on the internet, it somehow felt like all of this was supposed to happen. I felt like I would have met Sofia some other way, and I ended up eating pizza and watching TV with her under a blanket. It was like fate, which had recently been pretty cruel to us, decided we deserved a gift. I looked at her and let her voice resonate in my head. Oh my God, what a gift she was.
“Oh, Honey,” Mom sighed, “I’m so happy you want me again!”
“I never stop wanting you, loving you, and wanting you by my side.”
“Do you want to make love, my lover?”
“Yes, but only if you’re feeling well; I can wait if not. We’ll start slowly, very slowly, if you’re feeling well, as if we were a newly married couple and this was their first time, OK?”
“Yes, I agree. I’m a little tired, but I desperately want to make love anyway.”
My mind snapped out of the trance I was falling into with her words, and as I looked at her, I suddenly realized how much I wanted her. She was by no means the woman she had been six months ago, but the innocence and virtue that seemed to flow from her overwhelmed me. I wanted to feel her exploring me as if she was touching a woman with lust for the first time in her life. I moved up close and put my arms around her. I was about an inch taller than her, so we matched up well as our eyes met.
“Kiss me,” I softly said to her.
She closed her eyes without another word, and her lips parted slightly as we moved closer until I felt her mouth against mine. Her lips were warm and soft, and she didn’t hold back once she committed. It was like she had finally let her guard down and released her pent up desires all at once. God, it was so passionate! She put her arms around me and pulled me in even tighter to her, our tongues touching and playing. She gasped, with a look of bewilderment on her face when we finally we parted.
“Oh my God, it’s as good as it was!” she softly exclaimed, more to herself than to me.
It wasn’t an expression of regret, but rather one of amazement and wonder. She leaned forward and we kissed again, with even more passion if that were possible this time. I felt her hand move down my back and then she gingerly cupped my butt in her hands. My own hands felt their way to her front, and I struggled to undo the belt of her robe until I was finally able to get it open. My hands worked their way into the elastic back of her silk hose, then down inside her panties, until I had her bare ass in my hands. Even though it was thinner than when I had held it before, it wasn’t gross or anything like that. Sofia was a little underweight, but I wouldn’t classify her as skinny by any means.
“I can’t believe I’m holding your ass again,” I whispered in her ear.
“Mmmmm, I want you to hold a lot more than that,” she softly responded, as I grabbed onto her ass and pulled it towards me. “Undress me,” I whispered to her.
Sofia let go of me and stepped back just enough to be able to see my front. I noticed her hands were shaking just a little as she lifted them to undo the belt of my robe. She then unsnapped the square brackets of my bra and took it off. She tried to lower my panties down, but they were so tight that she had to struggle to get them down my legs. She was so weak that I finally had to help her and then she lowered them down once they cleared my butt and I stepped out of them.
“Oh, Marie, you’re so beautiful,” she said, in a voice filled with emotion. I thought she would cry for a moment. “How could anyone as pretty as you ever want me?” she asked, a tear starting to form in her eye.
I didn’t say a word; I was going to demonstrate her how much I love her. So I started to slowly undress her, taking my time, taking one piece off at a time, instead of saying something trite. She just stood there as I did; I took her the robe off and she stood just in her white bra, hose, and white granny panties (yes, she had changed). I started to pull her hose and panties down, but she grabbed me by the shoulders. I looked up at her as she struggled to speak.
“I wasn’t lying to you when I said I am a little tired and weak,” she said, in a shaky voice. “I really I don’t know if I can go through with this.”
“It’s OK, Mother,” I said, in a soothing voice, “You’re a beautiful woman and I want you, but we’ll just cuddle and go to sleep if you don’t feel like making love tonight.”
“No, no, go ahead.” Her voice was weak, but full of desire. I resumed pulling her panties down, and she didn’t resist this time. Her panties revealed her pussy as they moved down, and I smiled as I saw that it was as bushy as before. I know for sure that she had never trimmed it in her entire life.
Maybe she’s so self-conscious about her pussy that even trimming it is too –naughty– for her; maybe her education has something to do with that. I wondered if she and her second husband enjoyed oral sex. I know for a fact that my father didn’t. Her panties cleared her full ass and I pulled them down to her bare feet, then she gingerly stepped out of them. I stood up, holding her panties, put them to my face, and drew in a deep breath.
“Mmmmm, you smell as delicious as ever,” I whispered.
She looked at me for just a moment, her face crimson red, but didn’t say a word. I dropped her soiled panties on the floor and moved behind her. Her bra had more than twice as many snaps as mine, and it was plainly easier for me to undo since I could see what I was doing. I quickly unsnapped it and then moved back around to the front, where she dropped her arms, letting the bra slide off and down to the floor, releasing her ample boobs.
“They’re not nearly as firm as yours are, or as they were not so long ago, Marie,” she said.
I just smiled and cupped them in my hand. They were definitely the largest boobs I had ever held. “Don’t worry; they will stand as firm as ever before when you put meat on your bones.” They sagged a little bit, but that had as much to do with their DD size as anything else. They felt hefty but soft and warm in my hands, as any natural boobs feel.
I leaned down and took her right nipple in my mouth, gently pulling on it and running my tongue in circles around it. I was pleased to hear her softly moaning as she responded to my ministrations. I used both hands to gently massage and caress the boob I was sucking, as my mouth did most of the work.
“Oh, that feels so good, Marie!” she said a little louder and more firmly now. Her nipple swelled and hardened, and I gently took it between my teeth and lightly tugged on it while my tongue licked the tip. I switched to her other breast after a while and repeated the same sequence there until both of her nipples were rock hard, wet, and sensitive.
I stood up, took her by the hand, and gently, but firmly pulled her to the master bed. She threw the covers back and we lay on the soft sheets in the center of the bed. She was on her back, so I lay to the side and slightly on top of her so I could continue my work on her huge breasts and not create any discomfort for her with my weight.
I looked down her gaunt body, and admired her as I did. She had had lost weight, but had somehow managed to keep it distributed in such a way as to not seem skinny. There were some bones showing, but just a little less meat in most places. She continued to be a very sexy looking mom all in all! Looking down her smooth stomach, I saw the hairy mound of pubic hair rising between her legs, and I couldn’t wait to bury my face in it!
I slowly traced my fingers down Sofia’s stomach, running them sideways, back and forth, such that I moved a little further down towards my goal with each pass. She jumped and giggled when my fingertips lightly touched her side once, just below her belly button. I like teasing her.
She rather sheepishly said, “You know that I’m very ticklish right there.”
I just looked up at her and smiled with my eyes as I, keeping her nipple in my mouth, continued my teasingly slow exploration. I finally brushed against the start of her pubic line, and I felt the coarse black hair as my hand passed by. My hand stopped in the center, and I pushed downwards until my fingers were intertwined with her long pussy hair. I had always loved the feel of her black pubic hair between my fingers. It had such a different texture and feel, and the stiff curls in it pulled through my fingers as I stroked it. I was just barely above her clit when her hand suddenly clasped mine and held it in place.
“I’ve been waiting to be touched there by you again,” she whispered, in a quivering voice.
Her legs were together as I pushed my fingers between her thighs. I felt them part as she spread her legs when I pressed harder, allowing me to reach between them for easy access to her pussy. After so long, my hand finally cupped her pussy once again, my palm on top of her clit, with my fingers extended downward over her pussy lips. I pressed my entire hand against her to apply an even pressure over her entire crotch, pulling upward and gently moving my hand to massage her.
I decided to be very careful as if this were the first time, which in some way it was, and enable her to get used to my touch again. I wanted that there was no chance of escape this time as she must be mine forever.
I ever so slowly let my fingers begin to work their way between her pussy lips, my hand still moving between her thighs. Mmmmm, they were already wet and my fingers easily slid between them. I ran my fingertips over her pussy, down to her wrinkled star, before pulling back up over her pussy, continuing upwards until I just grazed her clit. She jumped on the bed.
“Oh my God, that feels so good, Marie.” I had forgotten how good it is, Sofia gasped, as my finger began to run circles around her clit.
I put two fingers in her, one on each side of her clit and gently massaged it. Her hips began to slowly gyrate under me, and I adjusted the speed of my fingers to match her movements, circling in the opposite direction of her hips.
My fingers moved down after a while, and keeping my palm pressed against her clit, I pressed my middle finger against her pussy’s outer opening. Her legs spread even further apart as I watched my hand playing with her, my finger slowly pushing its way into her inner pussy. I started to make small circles when I was inside up to my first knuckle, running my finger around the opening of her pussy.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh…,” was all Sofia was able to say by now, and I was getting wetter by the second at seeing how I was getting her turned on again.
Encouraged by her response, I released her nipple and licked my way down to her belly button, at which point I used my tongue to circle around, licking her abdomen’s soft skin. I pulled my hand from her pussy, put my fingers to my nose, and took in her wet pussy’s sweet smell. It seemed that Mother’s pussy smell got more distinctive and stronger the older she got. There were times I could even smell my prudish mom, if she was particularly hot about something, just by sitting next to her back in Fort Dodge.
Getting up on my knees, I let go of mother’s nipple with my other hand, then twisted and crawled around until I was between her legs. I looked at her as she watched me intently, her head supported by a pillow. I could tell from the look on her face that she knew what I was about to do, and my heart skipped a beat as I realized she was accepting me again and doing nothing to discourage me.
I kept my eyes locked on hers as my head slowly moved downward until it was between her legs. I could smell the musky odor of her pussy even this far away, and I glanced down and smiled as I saw it glistening in the bedroom’s dim light. I turned my head to the side and kissed the inner part of her thigh, letting my tongue run up and down on it, as my lips kissed her every couple of inches. Her skin was so smooth, and she softly moaned, her hands to her sides flat on the bed, as she lifted her hips and slowly rotated them for me. She hadn’t forgotten.
Looking her in the eyes again, I moved forward until my face felt the outer fringes of her hairy cunt, then I reached out with my tongue until it just touched her pussy. She is very hairy, and I had just started to use my hand to spread it apart when her hands reached down and pushed her bushy hair out of the way, spreading her pussy open for me in the process. I looked down then, and saw her full pussy lips pulled apart, exposing her swollen clit, which was pushing out of its hiding place like a hard little dick for the world to see. I took it into my mouth, gently pulling on it between my lips as I had done to her nipples earlier.
“Oh my God, Marie,” my mother gasped, as I felt her body stiffening.
I pushed my middle finger back inside of her as I sucked on her clit, and slowly stroked it in and out of her as if she were being fucked. She let go of her pussy and took her breasts in her hands, massaging them as she watched me lick her pussy. The more I licked her, the louder her moans became. She was definitely en route to old times.
As I fucked her with one finger first, then with two, she started to hump like she was actually being fucked to the point where it was hard for me to keep my mouth on her clit. She then put both her hands on my head and pushed me down tight onto her pussy, while arching her back and driving her hips up into my face at the same time.
“Don’t stop… Oh fuck, don’t stop now… I’m going to cum,” she cried out, as she grabbed my head like it was a melon and pressed me into her.
I kept going as if I were a machine, running my tongue on her clit and licking her pussy. She suddenly froze and I didn’t even hear her breathing. Her pussy gushed fluids out at me, and she let a huge breath out as she cried out a few seconds later. She held her hips up, quickly bounced down, then pushed them up again, and held them against my face, repeating this several times as her orgasm wracked her body. Her legs squeezed my head as she tightly held me to her pussy, and I actually wondered for a moment if I was ever going to be able to breathe again.
She finally literally collapsed on the bed, her arms and legs flat, and her chest heaving as she gasped for air. I moved to her side and crawled up to be alongside her, then lay next to her so that our bodies were pressed against each other along their full length. She felt like she was on fire, and her skin was very hot, almost feverish and slick, with a thin film of sweat covering her. Her eyes were closed and her face was flushed beet red as she breathed heavily. I leaned over and softly kissed her on the lips, and her eyes opened. I leaned back and smiled at her as she grinned up at me.
“Well…?” I whispered to her.
“God, that was better than I remembered, my love”
she said, in a raspy voice, “I don’t remember cumming like that before, not even with you.”
I gave her a wink and a peck on the cheek, and with a sly grin, said, “As they used to say, nobody can lick a mother’s pussy like her daughter.”
“Damn, you can say that again,” she replied, as her cheeks puffed out and she released another long breath.
We kissed again and her tongue ran over my lips and touched mine as we played like little girls exploring each other for the first time. I then reminded myself that, in a way, that’s what it actually was for her and for me after what had happened.
She turned on her side and we took each other in our arms, and just kissed for the longest time. Her large breasts pressed against mine and I felt a tingle in mine as her hard nipples brushed my own. Her hands wandered over me like a boy in a drive-in theatre groping a girl for the first time, running through my hair, down my back, and cupping my ass in her hand. She finally pulled me tight against her and just hugged me, before she whispered in my ear.
“Let me go down on you, my dear daughter,” she said, in a voice so low that I could barely hear her, even though she was so close that I could feel her breath against the side of my face as she spoke. “I want to give you as much pleasure as you gave me, and make you cum the way you did me.”
Well, I wasn’t going to argue with that, though I had a different idea about her first time after so long and being so weak. I pushed her onto her back again and she questioningly looked at me.
“Don’t worry…and trust me, Mother. I want for you to be comfortable and relaxed,” I reassuringly said to her.
I got up on my knees once Sofia was on her back again, and grabbed the headboard behind her, using it to balance myself as I swung one leg over her until I was straddling her chest. She looked at me with a bit of surprise, but I just put my finger to her mouth, hushing her to keep quiet and have patience.
I could feel her boobs under my ass and pussy, so I slowly gyrated my hips to let them rub against my exposed pussy. I was so wet from anticipation that my pussy slid over her nipples, and she smiled up at me as her hands held my ass, gently squeezing and then releasing my buttocks.
I rose up on her with my knees until my crotch was a couple of inches above her face, then I looked down at her eyes, which alternated between looking at my face and my pussy, and I could see her subconsciously licking her lips.
“Are you ready, Mommy dear?” I asked her. It wasn’t necessary to say anything more; she knew exactly what I was asking her about.
She didn’t actually answer; she just smiled and nodded her head enough for me to understand instead. She had this look of determination on her as if she was approaching some new challenge and was about to give it her best. I slowly lowered myself down to her face, leaned over and held on to the top of the headboard to keep myself from dropping down on her too fast. She stuck her tongue out and reached out to me as my wet pussy approached.
Unlike her, my pussy was smoothly trimmed and so there was no preliminary touching of hair like I had felt with her. I felt a tingle run through me as I felt the tip of her tongue touch me for the first time, and I lowered myself down more until I felt myself lightly touching her face. Her hands tightly gripped my ass and her tongue ran up and down my pussy; I didn’t say a word, letting her knowledge take over; she knew what was down there and where it felt good.
Sofia’s actions were superb; she knew what she was doing. Her tongue focused on my clit and played it with the tip of her tongue, teasing and caressing it. She would then lick my pussy slit, working her way to my pussy hole and pushing her tongue just inside me. The first half inch or so of my pussy is the most erotic and sensitive part of my cunt, and to feel a tongue playing it is far better than any finger.
As I knew from our former encounters in Boston, Sofia is a natural and accomplished pussy eater. I gasped and moaned as she lifted her head up and pushed her face into my crotch. I could feel her nose pressing against my clit while her mouth and tongue played with my pussy. Her hot breath felt wonderful against me as it gently passed over my clit, which was about as sensitive as it could possibly be at this point.
“That’s it, Sofia, that’s it, Mother,” I told her, “That’s just what I want…I’m almost there, Mommy … Almost there Moooom!”
I could feel that odd sensation that I always have in me when an orgasm is about to strike me. It’s like the calm just before the storm, except it was as if the sun was shining brightly in this case, warming me inside as my body seemed to withdraw from reality, ready to concentrate on nothing more than the storm about to surge in me. Her tongue flicked against my clit again, and the storm came crashing in. My back arched and my head fell back as Sofia’s tongue pressed against my clit again.
“Yesssssssssss,” I cried out, loud enough that someone would have probably come running to see what had happened to me if they had been in the house.
Reality was simple; what was happening is that my body was literally screaming, and I felt like a fire was engulfing me. I felt my pussy releasing the cumm onto her face almost as if I was peeing on her, from the way it flooded over her. I grinded my pussy into her face as my hips rotated around and around in small circles.
When my head stopped spinning and I could lower my head, I looked down to see my mother’s eyes wide open, staring at me as if she was wondering if her daughter was really a wild animal sitting on her face. I slid down her body and lay on top of her, my head on her shoulder as her arms wrapped around me and held me tight against her. She turned her head towards me and we kissed, my pussy cum all over her face. Mmmmm, I loved tasting myself on her. We stayed like that while my pussy slowly calmed down. I felt totally spent as if she had drained everything from me when I came on her.
“Oh, Mother, Mother, that was sooo wonderful,” I whispered to her.
“I have dreamt it would be like that again; you don’t know how I missed this, or you, even on my worst depressive days,” she said, closing her eyes as if reliving the past moments.
It was getting time for a good bath and a change of sheets. We reluctantly parted and got out of bed. We both stood there naked, facing each other. It was as if we were both thinking the same thing, as we suddenly both burst into laughter. It wasn’t that there was anything funny about what we had done. It was more laughing over how happy we both felt; as if we were releasing the last bit of tension we had been harboring these last months. Sofia looked in the mirror and gasped.
“Oh, God, look at me,” she said, as she put her hands to her face, “I look like a wreck; I have to take a shower.”
“Do you want something to eat, Mother?”
“Yes, lover, I have to gain some weight again if I want to keep pace with you.”
“Right; you go take a bath and I’ll prepare dinner while you bathe; I’ll scrub myself after dinner.”
I looked at myself in the mirror and grinned at the face I saw reflected. I had that glow around me that I like to describe as my ‘just been fucked’ look. It basically meant that I was flush; I had bright eyes and a wicked grin that I couldn’t wipe off my face if you punched me. Sofia took a robe, clean underwear, and the bath salts, and went to take a luxurious bath.
I called to her before she closed the bathroom door, “Can I sleep in your bed with you tonight?”
“Always Marie, always”
Sofia was almost fully recovered several days later; we hadn’t had anymore sex. We just ate, slept, and took long walks by the seashore so she could recover her strength. I was worried. It was almost the tenth of August, and I must decide what I was going to do with my life. I could stay in Buenos Aires with Sofia, my mother/lover, or I could go back to the States, leaving Sofia behind, and go to my old life in Boston. That was a life of teaching, of professor’s meetings, and a life with no friends; in short, a life of loneliness.
But how do I tell Sofia it was me who was leaving this time after we had found each other again? I was concerned about what her reaction would be. Then we received a satisfying surprise; it was almost noon, and I was going to start preparing lunch when we heard the sound of car wheels on the gravel road. Our visitors were Maria de las Mercedes and Susana, coming to see that all was well, especially Sofia’s health and our relationship.
When I asked them if they would eat with us, Maria said, “No way, let’s go to a good restaurant, my treat.” So, in a happy mood, the four of us got into her car and went downtown.
After a very good ‘parrillada’, I thought this would be a good time to air my intentions of going back to the States. I didn’t know how to broach the subject without Sofia breaking down. It was Maria who brought the subject up, asking me, “Well, Marie, now that Sofia is almost healthy again, when do you think you’ll be going back to the United States?”
I was intently looking at Sofia and could see she went stark white, but without losing her composure. Her reaction made Maria stop asking questions as Sofia softly asked me, “When are you traveling, my love? You didn’t say anything to me,”
“No, I didn’t, I was waiting for you to be your usual self; I was going to tell you tonight and ask what you think about…”
“Ohhhhh, how sweet of you to ask my opinion on something that you’ve already decided”
Sarcasm was evident in my mother’s words, and black vibes were in the air, so Maria, attempting to clear the air, suggested paying the bill and going home for coffee.
Sofia’s comment was an indifferent, “As you wish,”
We got in the car and went to the house in the midst of a thick silence. Sofia looking outside the car windows, Maria driving with her jaw tight, and Susana and I like a pair of zeros to the left, no value or relevance. Maria took the matter in her hands once we were in the house. Everyone went to the living room and put the cards on the table trying to make reason.
“You know you’re my best friend and you know how much I love you and did since we were toddlers, Sofia. How long is that, forty years? Now do you think I deserved how you treated me when you came back from Boston? Not a word, not a phone call, nothing for six months, and if your daughter had not come looking for you as well, you could be dead or hospitalized without your friends knowing…”
That’s when I stopped listening to Maria and my mother’s answers; my mind went far away, and not to Chicago or Ohio, no, my mind went wandering and started thinking of…fisting; yes, I’m not crazy. I was thinking of a fist in a cunt; I was thinking of Susana’s hand inside Maria’s vagina. How so? Well as the two mature women were on the same track, I distractedly looked to where Susana was sitting, listening to the other women, and I noticed with curiosity that her hands were folded in her lap.
The first thing I noticed was how thin they were, with long and elegant fingers, her wrist thin, about two to three inches in contour, and I imagined those hands closed like a piston and the forearm as a connecting rod, in and out, in and out in the cylinder of Maria’s motor, excuse me, I mean, Maria’s vagina. I looked from Susana’s hand to Maria’s crotch and I was getting so wet and hot down there imagining the scene that I didn’t hear when someone addressed me.
“What… I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were talking to me; I’m afraid I was daydreaming.”
The three women incredulously looked at me, so I tried to clarify, “My mind was away, but not where you believe; I wasn’t thinking of Boston or the States. There were more pleasurable things on my mind, all of them here in Mar del Plata; now would you repeat what you asked me?”
It was Maria who took the floor again. “We think the heated discussion we were having makes no sense since it is you who must decide what, when, and how you’re going to do what you decide.”
“All of you know that I came to Buenos Aires to find out what had happened to my mother, Sofia. But I left a whole life in Boston, a life with dreams, a life with a very competitive job, and in many ways, a loveless and empty life. I came here with the idea of going back by the middle of August so I would be able to enter my days and class schedules for the next semester. I should be going in a couple days, but circumstances today are very different than they were less than a month ago…”
I turned to Sofia, and looking directly into her eyes, told her, “That is what I wanted to discuss with you, and ask your opinion and advice about. What do I do with my life? What do you think I should do? Do I stay here with you, or would you prefer we saw each other from time to time, either you coming to see me, or me coming here to see you? Are you ready to live with a stranger a day to day life, and not only on a holiday basis? That’s what I want and need to know.”
Ahem, ahem, Maria made throat clearing sounds to draw our attention, then she asked, “What do you say, Sofia? We have to get this problem, if it is a problem, of course, solved today. We have to make plans one way or the other, and be quick about it, so what do you think Marie should do?”
Sofia seemed like a dazzled elk in the middle of a road; this hard executive who ran a major business conglomerate was mute and deaf, with no apparent power of recovery, so it was Susana who broke the impasse again. “Would you help me with the coffee, and show me how you prepare it, Marie,” and we went to the kitchen, leaving the two friends alone.
“You’ll see, Marie. Maria will straighten your mother out, one way or the other,” and laughed; you could see her love and worship for her wife.
We made coffee and went back to the living room, where it was evident they had been discussing the situation, but the atmosphere between the two friends was relaxed as they were chatting and laughing about only they knew what.
They sobered up when we entered, but it was obvious that they had something to propose or a plan to discuss.
It was Maria who spoke again;” OK, Marie, you asked your mother a question about living with a stranger on a day to day life, and not on a holidays only basis, etc., etc., a little while ago. Do you remember?”
When I nodded and said yes, she continued, “Well, what about you? Let’s reverse the question. What about you? Are you ready to leave everything of your former life behind and risk living with a stranger, even if she is both, your lover and biological mother?”
As it usually happens with young people, I had never asked myself if I was willing to sacrifice my way of life for that of another. So I was unable to answer. That was the truth.
“Well, your silence is an answer in itself, but I don’t think it’s the end of the world. Let’s see; we discussed the issue and Sofia agreed with me that you both must give yourselves some time to think things over and decide what both of you want and what’s important in your lives.”
It was at this moment that Sofia stepped in to put an end to the subject, “I want to propose this to you as a way to come to a solution. What do you think if you go back to your life in Boston for this semester and I stay here, you teaching, and me working in my companies? We have the experience of having been together and could decide one way or the other. You could decide which is more important to you at the end of your teaching semester; your life as you had it programmed before knowing me, or living our lives together. It’s taken for granted that we will contact each other on a daily basis if possible. What do you say?”
I shook my head like a dog out of the water. I didn’t much like the idea of leaving Sofia again, but I didn’t have a better idea. So it was so agreed, it being a late hour, that Maria de las Mercedes and Susana would stay and sleep in one of the other rooms, and all four of us would go to Buenos Aires tomorrow.
Once in the master bedroom, Sofia took my face in her hands, kissed my lips, and asked me, “Would you like to make love for the last time in a while, my love?”
I answered by quickly undressing and helping her to do the same. We got naked between the sheets, and out of curiosity, I asked, “Do you think Maria and Susana will have sex tonight?”
“Why, do you want to join them?”
“No, that’s not it,” and I told her my vision when I had imagined Susana delicate hand fisting Maria while in the living room.
She smiled and cuddled with me. We started with tender little kisses on the lips and face, and my mouth went to her bare shoulder after a while. I nipped her with my teeth and sucked her tanned skin with the intention of leaving my mark with several hickeys. I was acting crazy; I wanted to eat her, and I sucked her neck and throat, lapping and licking.
She felt pretty happy being as it was our last night together, our separation as if it were a sabbatical, which it was, in fact. As the Tango says – esta noche y despues la nada— (tonight and afterwards nothingness) but her pussy seemed to get even wetter when my fingers continued to slide back and forth. Mother reached down, and grabbing my thigh, pushed my legs closed.
Swinging her other leg up, she placed it next to my hip, then bracing herself with her hands on my shoulders, lifted her other leg so that she was straddling me. Her legs were now wide open, and she cried out and shoved my head further on to her tit as I drove my fingers up inside her.
I opened my mouth wide and began sucking as much of her tit into my mouth as I could, while pumping my fingers into her excited flesh. Mom’s hands were running up and down my back, and her head was thrown back as she moaned while I fingered her. I released her nipple and all but attacked the other one, sucking it hard into my mouth. I was rewarded with Mom squealing and rocking her hips on my hand. As I had done earlier, my thumb found her swollen nub and she moaned loudly as I lightly teased it again.
“Hmm, that’s it, Lover,” Mother purred, “Be good to your girl, because she’s going to be sooo good to you!” The way she’d purred those words caused me to start rubbing her clit faster and suck on her nipple even harder. I was excited by the thought of how she would be good to me instead of being nervous, so excited that I was now pumping my fingers into her as hard as I dared eager for her to come for me, so I could find out how good she was going to be to me.
Then she changed her mind on a whim. “I want to be fisted a last time, Darling would you be kind enough to comply with mother and please me?” She dismounted me before I could say anything and made me slip on the bed to take my place in the center.
“Baby I want it to be from behind this time, I want to finger myself, do you mind?”
“Of course not mother this party is for you will do as you please”
I rolled off the bed and watched her rest with her arms upon the sheets, her ass slightly tilted upwards. I moved behind her to feel her wet cunt. She shivered and gently I touched her cunt again.
I wanted to lick her, so I fell to my knees, spread her ass cheeks and licked her labia and clit. My mother Sofia groaned and hungrily I lapped up her juices and stuck my tongue inside her as far as it could go I tried to flick it inside her wet pussy.
“Please don’t tease me, Marie,” she begged.
While I took her clit between my lips, I slowly pushed my index finger in and felt her ribbed inside. She was so open wide in that position so that I pushed three fingers in and made her gently rock while I three-fingerfucked her for some time, rapidly pushing my fingers in and out while the tip of my thumb touched and pushed a little inside her sphincter. My mother, Sofia, started to touch her clit and whisper sweet words to me, which encouraged me to push a fourth finger inside her. She was so smooth and wet that they easily went in. Mother arched her back.
“More, Marie, my lover; give me more, give me all you have, give me your fist. You do remember how, don’t you?” she gasped.
I withdrew my hand, clenched my fist, and pushed it against her vulva; she was very wet. I felt her juices filling her stretched cunt, and I continued pushing in. In the twilight, I saw mother’s left fingers clawing the bed sheets, while she fingered her mound with the right. She was getting wetter and her fluids were so copious that they formed a thick coat on my hand and wrist. I pushed some more, and my fist completely slid in, and I leaned in and rimmed her anus with the tip of my tongue at the same time.
She made a raw throaty sound as her juices were running down my arm and I started to feel horny again. I touched my slit and started to rub my clit as I fisted her. I pushed harder and harder till Mother started to shake her head and suddenly went stiff. She collapsed with my fist still inside her. I wrapped an arm around her, found her clit, and started rubbing it. I ever so slowly pushed my fist back in again.
“Please, don’t, Marie,” she said, but I withdrew my hand and pushed my fist back in. “I can’t take anymore, oh my God.”
“Touch your breasts for me,” I whispered.
Mother moved and started to knead her big magnificent breasts. I let her clit go, took my fist out of her cunt, and put the palms of my hands together. I slowly pushed them against her cunt, felt her stretch, and pushed some more, like a big cock penetrating her. She made a funny noise and started to rub her clit with one hand and continued to knead a breast. “Marie, Marie, ooooh,” she gasped, as I pushed two hands into her.
She thrust her hips backwards and breathlessly came. I removed my hands and fell back on my ass. I swept some hair from my forehead and felt my hair stick onto my head.
“Feeling better?” I asked her.
“Mmmhhh, hummm,” she groaned.
“You’ve got a great body, Mother; always had, always will”
“I’m starting to like it too because it gives you pleasure. I’m thirsty, want some wine?”
“I’d love it.”
We sat next to each other, naked, and drank some more wine.
“You leave when?”
“Do you think you’ll remember me and think about our relationship? Do you think our separation could be a problem?”
“To your first question the answer is, yes I will; to the second, no, but I don’t think it will ever be a problem,” I reassuringly said. “I’ll tell you what. I remember when I went to a parent/student college introduction seminar during my last summer in high school.”
“In which I wasn’t,” Mother said, with sadness.
“It’s not your fault. The college heads told everyone that the students’ relationships with their families would change. Once students are away from home, we would grow and become adults. Our relationships with parents would become more like friends and peers than parents/children.”
Sophie nodded again.
“Our relationship, yours and mine, changed long before last night or last month. We actually are more like really close friends than mother and daughter. I think that’s why this love works for us.”
Sophia got drowsy after that, and I didn’t get to know what the ‘Be good to your girl, because she is going to be sooo good to you’ was all that about. I’ll have to wait and see what she was talking about in the future.
I took a flight to Boston via Miami the next day. I already missed Sofia just arriving home. I supposed that going back to my normal life would diminish missing her. I went to the university where I ensured my tenure in classic Latin literature, the days and schedules of classes, and all the others details concerning the academic year. After arranging that aspect of my life, I went home to visit my parents in Fort Dodge and stayed with them until the beginning of the classes.
I went back to Boston and I was into the routine of my everyday life by the end of August. I go from home to school in the morning and back home in the evening, with an occasional foray in the library.
I had not heard from Sofia. We had agreed that she would communicate first, and my nerves began to tense as my mind started asking questions I had no answers for. Was she well, or had she found that she didn’t want a permanent relationship with me now that I wasn’t there?
I told myself at other times it had not been more than a two weeks since I myself had decided to return to Boston and take a year off in our relationship to know for sure if the relationship would survive.
I was missing more than the sex; I was missing her company. I was missing her mature body cuddling with mine while watching TV after dinner with a glass of wine in hand; I was missing her sometimes infuriating Latino ways and/or her rich woman’s ways. In fact, I was missing Sofia as a woman, as my love.
She called me by phone at the end of September and apologized for not calling before, but she thought that since we both had to think seriously whether or not our relationship has any future, we had to give ourselves enough time to think about it. I couldn’t grasp what it was, but there was something different in her voice, something like indifference?
We talked for about forty minutes, but she turned the conversation aside to trivial topics every time I tried to hint or direct the conversation to personal or sexual matters. My confusion was complete when we said goodbye. I thought our conversation would be full of ‘I love yous’, ‘I miss yous’, and all kinds of platitudes people in love say to each other, but I was wrong and I was depressed.
Maybe after all I was wrong and she was right, time and distance are the best ways to appraise the truth and strength of a person’s feelings. If that were true, then by her attitude, Sofia’s feelings toward me were slowly cooling. I called her on a Friday night and her maid told me “La señora ha salido y no vuelve hasta mañana”, (the lady has gone out to a party and will not return until tomorrow). I felt as if a claw was ripping my guts out. Where was she and with whom? Has she another lover? Is she forgetting me? Is the ‘give yourselves some time to think things and decide what we both want’ working for her, and she has thought things over and I wasn’t in her plans?
Where has she been the whole weekend? That was the question I asked myself once again. I was feeling sick with jealousy and was getting depressed again day after day. Maybe I was wrong to come back to Boston instead of staying with her In Buenos Aires. She called me the next Sunday night. Her voice was chirping and she babbled about things I wasn’t in the least interested in; the party she had gone to, the company etc., etc. About me, she only perfunctorily asked about my health and little more; it seemed to me that she wasn’t very worried about what was happening in my life. She said she was very tired after a few minutes, and that she would call me in the next few days. Bile was coming up my throat, and my mouth tasted very bitter while the tears streamed down my cheeks.