Of Our Hell and Heaven

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.

ooo000ooo

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.

Ooo000ooo

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.