The Year of 1969

A former partner had told me, after he had finished with me sexually (which was long after he was done with me emotionally), that I was in desperate need of lessons in seduction. Realising he did not plan to teach me what I was lacking, I sought another arena. A destitute writer, living off the 'artiste grant' kindly supplied by my parents (who thought me to be studying teaching), and hungry for adventure I set off on an expedition that would change my view of sensuality and sexuality forever. However, my first encounter with seduction was not all I hoped it to be.

It was in 1969, I found myself on the platform of Spencer Street Station in Melbourne mingling in the crowd, freshly off the train, pondering how I might shed the constraints my parents had so thoughtlessly placed on me. Sipping on a flask that one of my previous partners had conveniently misplaced the day we went out separate ways and feeling unusually self-conscious, I walked over to a vendor and asked for a packet of cigarettes. On my way back to the platform for more observation, I noticed two young men, not so older than myself, exchanging furtive glances.

Unwittingly, I changed my course of direction and followed them (as discreetly as possible) until they reached a narrow street and tucked themselves around a corner on the edge of an alleyway. I positioned myself behind a car on the opposite side of the street.

One man was pushed up against the wall; his chin raised as the other man kissed him passionately on his neck. Never in my life had I seen two men kiss one another on the cheek, let alone passionately on other areas of the body. I felt intrigued, disgusted and aroused. I pulled out my cigarettes. In my state of arousal, I cared little about being caught out as a voyeur.

As the man who had been pushed against the wall let his hand disappear into the other man's cords, I realised I did not have any matches. With a raised eyebrow and a cigarette to my lips, I approached the two men,

'There's something about watching two men that makes a girl feel like a cigarette.'

They looked at me startled and hastily began to cover up parts that a girl wasn't meant to see. I stopped them with a flick of my wrist, and asked for a match. With a cast of indifference, I noticed their cocks, erect from an allure of chance, the touch of a firm hand, a wet tongue.

One of the men lit the cigarette, a bead of sweat sliding from his forehead to his chin as he spoke,

'Did anybody else see us?' I shook my head,

'No one else has to know. It can be our little secret. However...' I let my voice trail off.

My hand ran loosely across his firm chest, a cigarette burn millimetres away, and my foot positioned between his legs. I gazed at him; thick brown curls were nestled above a high forehead, Cimmerian eyes with lily surrounds, languid lips that fell apart slightly.

'Thanks, it's probably best if we get going now.' He nodded his head slightly as he removed my hand which, in a masquerade of innocent gesture, was hanging in the air above the tip of his cock, did up the button to his cords and disappeared around the corner. His lover followed him without so much a gesture of yearning towards me.

My cheeks tinged, burnt with rejection.

***

In the weeks that followed I kept a low profile, disillusioned by my first attempt at seduction, mainly venturing out to cafes and watching the lean of pelvis's, the play of touch, the weaving of fingers. There was a woman who often ventured at the same cafes as myself.

Her hair was long, unlike my short 50's style bob, her clothes were loose, her body free in comparison with my long-neck woollens and legs bound by thick colour coordinated tights. Underneath her clothes I could make out her high, pointy unharnessed breasts. My corset would tighten as my palms began to sweat. I would watch her nipples harden whenever she sat where a door opening offered a sensual cool breeze. Her endless legs would cross and uncross as she sipped her latte, drank her gin or smoked a cigarette. Sometimes she wore panties, others she didn't. Every so often as though she read my mind, she would part her legs, slide a hand down a lilac thigh, and bring her skirt up past a pubic curl with a fingertip.

After several months of titillations, I realised my hair was past my shoulders; somewhere it hadn't been since I was a little girl. I no longer donned my long-neck woollens but the flamboyant shirts my mother detested, and my ugly bloomers had been replaced by tiny knickers that barely covered the contours of my arse.

It was the evening, of the day that I realised I had let my breasts go free for the first time since my earliest corset, when the woman came over to my table. She was silent.

I handed her a cigarette, knowing that she wasn't there for a cigarette.

'You have been watching me.' It was never a question.

'And you have enjoyed it,' came my reply.

Once again she was silent. She reached out and took my hand, pulling me up out of my seat with the strength of a man. As we passed from the view of the café she, as the man with cords had done to his lover, pushed me up against the wall. Her tongue slid inside my mouth, a feeling slid through my body, and wetness warmed the tops of my thighs.

She pulled back suddenly, removing a pipe from her pocket; she handed it to me filled with crystal. I smoked the crystal slowly and begged her to finish it for me. She sat with me, slumped against the cold mortar wall.

Languid from the crystal and lurid from the feel of her hard leather coloured nipple between my teeth, we wandered around the streets until I saw a familiar place.

'Would you like to come in?' I asked.

She followed me inside with her usual silent manner. I lead her into my bedroom. In the centre of the room, I turned and faced her. From the first glance, I knew I was no longer in command.

'Kneel.'

I knelt on the floor, my face in line with her sex. She raised her skirt, revealing her naked vulva. I leant towards her sex, she moved away abruptly, lifting her shirt up over her head. She cupped her breasts, lightly flicking her nipples.

'Let me see you.'

I removed my shirt, revealing my bare breasts. She waited. I slid my hands down the side of my legs, lifting my skirt and pulled my knickers down to my knees. As I went to stand, she grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back down.

'Undo your skirt.' Her voice was dominant. She made me feel wetter and warmer than any man had made me feel. I obeyed. Her sex once again came in line with my face. I breathed in her sex,

'Let me kiss you.'

'Where do you want to kiss me?' she asked.

'There.' I replied, glancing at the black curls.

'Where?'

'There.' I repeated. She moved away with annoyance. I panicked. 'Your pussy, I want to lick your pussy.' She moved back. I leaned in, my heart racing. I felt the desperation of a young male, eager to please.

'Tell me you want me.'

'I want you.'

'Tell me how bad you want me.'

I gripped her knees and pulled them towards me, bringing her face to face. Grasping her hand, I thrusted it between my thighs. She let out a soft moan, and began moving her hand back and forth between my thighs. Uncertain of what I was meant to do I mimicked her motions until the thrust became too much.

I pushed her to the floor and parted her cunt lips. Her sex was throbbing, her clitoris swollen. She reached out and pulled my head to her sex. I let my tongue slide over it, relishing the new taste. I pulled on the contours of her voluptuous arse, bringing her to my face with rigorousness. My cunt was throbbing, imploring me to let it indulge in the woman's sensual touch,

'Fuck me.' I begged her. She reached up and twisted my body around so I was sitting on her face. Her tongue slithered across my cunt, slipping in and out, circling my clitoris. Her fingers pressed through my cunt lips, in and out, in and out. I moaned; her tongue flicked across my clitoris back and forth, her fingers kneading me rhythmically.

At the height of my arousal, I forgot her, simply murmuring my salaciousness, pushing my cunt over her tongue and the grooves of a half-fist. She stopped and I began again. We continued this cycle, our bodies rolling across the floor, fingers disappearing between taut arse cheeks and inflamed cunts, our faces covered with peach-like wetness and the feel of curvaceous breasts squashed against our stomachs.

I never saw her again after that night, but she has remained with me to this very day. She awoke a part of me I had been oblivious to, and I satisfied a burning in her.