Making of a Motorcycle Mama Ch. 03

I slept with Deena that night. We were both too satiated to do anything more but in the morning I awoke to feel her cuddling against me, nuzzling my neck, and lightly touching my belly. I turned my head and for the first time in my life I kissed a woman on the lips. Somehow that seemed stranger than anything I'd done the day before. Deena's tongue moved tentatively into my mouth and I met it with my own. A minute later we pulled apart. The moon was one of languorous sensuality rather than sexual need.

"I have to go home and get some things," I said hesitantly after a few minutes of silence.

Deena caught the drift of my thoughts immediately. "You're free to do what you like, Honey," she said. "You're free to go and you're welcome to live here. We'd love to have you." After a momentary pause she chuckled softly. "Again and again."

"But I ahh... I don't have any money," I said with some embarrassment. I wasn't exactly expecting to end up here like this."

"Don't worry Susan," Deena said, kissing my cheek. "I'll lend you bus fare."

"And there's something else..."

She looked at me expectantly.

"I have a friend. She might want to come back with me."

"The more the merrier," Deena replied, slipping her hand between my legs with clear desire.

Later that afternoon I was looking out of the window of a Greyhound bus as it pulled into my hometown. I felt as if I'd been gone for a couple of months rather than just overnight. So much had changed.

The first thing I did after getting off the bus was walk down to the cafe where Patricia worked as a waitress.

"Where have you been!" She said as I walked in the door. "Your mom's been calling everyone, trying to find you."

"I'll tell you about it when you get off. But I need to borrow your car."

Since I knew that my parents wouldn't be home, my dad worked at the chicken processing plant and Mama would be fulfilling her secretarial duties at the church, I drove out to pick up my clothes and a few other personal items. I spent almost an hour trying to decide how to word a short note. I didn't want to hurt or worry my mom but I knew that no matter what I said she would be both. Finally I said, basically, that I was okay, I was doing something I felt I had to do, and that I loved them.

When I got back to town I parked Patricia's car on a side street and thought about what I should do about Bobby. I liked him and cared about him but after the events of the past 24 hours I knew that I wanted more from life than he was capable of giving me. At last I wrote him a short letter that said more or less the same thing as what I'd told my mom and dad.

At seven I picked Patricia up at the cafe and drove to her little apartment in a house her dad owned. She started to question me the minute she got into the car but, now the moment of actually describing what I'd done had arrived, I got cold feet. We knew each other very well, had been friends since second grade, so she knew better than to push. Once we were in her apartment she fixed me a sandwich and a bowl of soup, opened a bottle of jug wine that an older friend of ours bought her from time to time, and poured each of us a large glass. While I ate at the coffee table in her living room she went into her tiny bedroom, leaving the door open, and changed out of her waitressing outfit into a fluffy pink bathrobe. As I watched her undressing I found myself looking at her with new eyes.

A large woman, she was not really fat but tall, well padded, big breasted, with a full rear end. But her frame was such that she carried her weight easily. Her face wasn't pretty in a conventional way but the intelligent awareness and saucy glimmer in her eyes made her attractive. I knew she'd never lacked boyfriends. I gazed shyly at her large swinging breasts with their pink areolas as big as mason jar lids and thick nipples, wondering how they would feel in my hands. What it would be like to suck and lick them. I felt myself becoming aroused and shifted my attention to my food.

In our early teens, when the mysteries of sex were new, we'd indulged in occasional explorations, looking at each other's pussies with their fresh crops of fuzz and inspecting our own with hand mirrors, showing off our breasts (Patricia having lots more to show much sooner than I did). Later, when we each had found acceptable male partners, we shared our experiences. We knew our sexual appetites and curiosity were equally strong.

"You'll never believe what I've been doing," I said when she came out to sit in the armchair across the table from me. And then, my tongue loosened by the wine, I started to tell her.

As I described my encounter with Doug she began to fidget a little, moving her bottom, her eyes wide. "Holy shit," she said. "Your mother would die if she knew."

"I'm just getting started," I laughed and launched into an account of the scene with Deena, Big John, Ruthie and Bob. Patricia shook her head incredulously. We were both obviously becoming very turned on. She unobtrusively slipped her hand between the folds of her bathrobe. This had never happened before. Our previous sharings had always been on the level of curiosity and a shallow titillation. Some of the things she told me had, it's true, fueled my private fantasies and I suspected that things I'd revealed had done the same for her but neither of us had said this was the case. Or acted on our feelings in front of the other. But the intensity of my experiences put things on a new footing.

"Telling you about this is making me terribly horny," I said, breaking off at the point where I'd taken Bob's cock in my mouth. Without another word I stood up and shucked my jeans and panties down to my ankles. Sitting down again I spread my legs and found my clit with my fingers.

Patricia gave a self-conscious little laugh, acknowledging her own state of arousal and, with just a moments hesitation, opened her robe, threw her right leg over the arm of the chair, and started fingering her own pussy. Our eyes locked and the understanding that we were entering unexplored, but exciting, new territory flashed between us. I continued with my story.

As I recounted how I'd gone down on Deena while also being fucked from behind by Big John I saw Patricia shudder and close her eyes, moaning softly. I broke off and quickly brought myself to orgasm as well, staring at her open legs and glistening fingers. We lay back without speaking for several long minutes and then I kicked off my shoes, jeans, and panties.

Standing up, naked from the waist down, I gathered our glasses and walked to the refrigerator to refill them. The image of her there, legs wide open and her pussy wet with girl nectar, reverberated through my mind. She watched me as I walked back and placed her glass on the little table beside her. She reached out and touched my wrist. Suddenly I was on my knees pressing my nose and mouth into her cunt, breathing in her sweet musk, and tasting her.

"Oh God yes, Suzie. Oh God yes!" Her head was thrown back. "Do me like you did Deena. That made me so fucking hot!" Her hips jerked spasmodically as I sucked her clit and crammed two fingers inside her. "I'm gonna cum again Suz. I'm gonna cum again." And off she went, moaning and shaking. I laid my cheek on her belly, feeling it quiver. Her fingers ran through my hair expressing her gratitude.

And then it was my turn. She, like me, seemed to take to pleasuring another woman as if it were the most natural thing in the world. At first it was a little strange to see my best friend's face between my legs avidly licking my pink labia but that sense of strangeness lasted only a moment. Soon the familiar waves of pleasure were sweeping me to a deep release. After I was still she pulled her robe around her, tied the belt, and stood up. Bending over she kissed me on the lips. I could taste myself and I figured she could taste herself as well.

"Holy shit!" She said, sitting down once again in the chair. We looked at each other, grinning. "Holy shit!" She said again. "I have to admit that I've fantasized about doing that every once in a while but I never... I mean never... thought it would ever really happen."

"Me too, Trish," I said. "It was never like a big thing but I did think about it." We gazed at each other in silence. "But I think I'm hooked now," I added.

"I hope so," she laughed. "That felt so fucking good."

I then told her about what Deena had said about her being welcome at the house in Little Rock. She looked pensive for a moment. I knew she was thinking about her life in Grenville and making an inventory of the pluses and minuses. "Let's do it," she said at last. "Fuck yeah, there's nothing really holding me here."

That night we slept together in her bed, our naked bodies pressed close.