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Subject: {ASSM} What Would Smollett Think? (lesbian, FF) (Katherine T.)
Date: Sun, 29 Oct 2000 19:10:03 -0500
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{ASSM} What Would Smollett Think? (lesbian, FF) (Katherine T.)
The following entertainment is for adults only, and anyone not
an adult is hereby warned to go away.
All comments to the author will be greatly appreciated.
Contact me at katherinet_@hotmail.com
Author's note: I wrote this story some years ago under another
pseudonym. I've made some changes and I'm now posting the new
version for the first time on ASSM.
What Would Smollett Think?
by Katherine T.
Margaret was nervous. Years had passed since she'd been this
nervous about the visit of a student. Their visits were always so
boring, so ordinary. Tea and cakes and unclever talk about some
topic or other the student had chosen for an honors paper.
Margaret would smile, make one or two suggestions, and the girl
would leave at the end of the afternoon convinced that Margaret
had infinite understanding.
But Cynthia, the student due to arrive at any moment, was
quite different from the others. An exquisite girl, exquisite and
extremely intelligent. Margaret could never look at the girl in
class without quivering. None of the other girls in her classes
had that effect on her, and she was thankful for it because she
did not like to mix things that belonged apart. Of course they
all had guessed Margaret was a lesbian because she had more or
less hinted she was. Lesbian teachers in this college were not
extraordinary. Margaret, however, did her best to avoid
entanglements with students. She did not like the trouble it
brought. College girls were so flighty, so undependable. She
loved them all, tried to help all of them succeed, but she pushed
back every urge to think about them in a sexual way.
Except for Cynthia. Margaret found herself helpless when it
came to thinking about Cynthia. Thinking about Cynthia now made
Margaret tremble. Oh, you're stupid, Margaret thought; you're a
stupid old dyke. But she couldn't help it. Cynthia was too
ravishing, too lovely. Blonde, slender, graceful, with a quiet
penetrating look in her eyes. A look that said I know all about
you, I know all about you and I can imagine things.
The front doorbell rang, shattering Margaret's reverie. She
hurried to the short front hall and opened the front door.
Cynthia said: "I think I'm early."
"That's fine. I don't mind at all. We'll have some iced tea
in the garden."
It wasn't much of a garden, but it had a sycamore tree and a
flower bed and a small white table and four white chairs.
Margaret brought the tea out on a wickerwork tray she had brought
back from Peru, and she sat opposite Cynthia and made a
deliberate effort not to look at Cynthia's chest where two
nipples deformed the thin white cotton of Cynthia's teeshirt. The
girl had small breasts, but her nipples were disturbingly
apparent, maddeningly apparent, and a puzzle also because when
Margaret had walked behind Cynthia in the front hall she had
noticed how Cynthia's teeshirt revealed the back of her bra.
Margaret's pulse quickened as she imagined Cynthia's breasts,
what they might look like, their shape, the coloring of the
nipples. Like pink candy, Margaret thought; she was certain
Cynthia's nipples would be like pink candy, sweet tasting,
delicate, stiffening visibly after only brief and gentle sucking.
They talked about Cynthia's honors thesis, the bibliography,
her interests. Margaret had read the paper, and she thought it
was a fine effort. She thought Cynthia deserved an A in the
course, and she said so.
"I don't mind telling you now," Margaret said. "Since I
already have everything needed to determine the grade."
Cynthia shrugged. "I don't like grades. I think they're
silly."
"In general, yes. But sometimes they serve a purpose."
"I'm staying on the campus this summer. I've taken a job in
the library."
"How nice."
The girl gazed at Margaret, seemed to hesitate, and then
after a long moment said: "Can I have an affair with you?"
A white butterfly rose from one of the bushes and flitted
toward the sycamore tree.
Margaret was stunned. "An affair?"
"I thought I'd be direct and ask. Is that wrong?"
"Well, I don't---"
"It's better to be direct, isn't it? I mean people are
always playing games with each other."
Margaret felt her heart pounding, but she did her best to
calm her nerves. Be careful, she thought; oh, you poor old dyke,
be careful.
She looked directly at Cynthia. "Are you a lesbian?"
Cynthia looked directly back at her. "If doing it with girls
means I'm a lesbian, then I'm a lesbian. And you are too, aren't
you? You're a lesbian too, aren't you?"
Margaret sighed. "Yes, I am. But you know, Cynthia, it's not
good for people to just jump into bed with each other casually."
"I don't see why not. If you do safe sex, what difference
does it make?"
"It's a question of psychological rapport. There needs to be
something more than just physical attraction."
"Don't we have that? Don't we have psychological rapport?"
Margaret felt herself becoming more and more helpless. "I
don't know. I don't even know what you think of me."
Cynthia blushed slightly and turned her eyes away. "I think
about you all the time. I even dream about you. I think you're
the most marvelous, most brilliant person I've ever known. And if
we can't have an affair, I'll be a wreck for a long time. I won't
kill myself, but I'll be a total wreck."
Vanquished, Margaret struggled to find her voice. "I can't
imagine you as a wreck."
* * *
She did not touch Cynthia at all until they were out of the
garden and inside the house. The airconditioning kept the rooms
cool and pleasant. Cynthia insisted on carrying the wickerwork
tray with the glasses and pitcher into the kitchen, and after
they were put down, she turned to Margaret and smiled. "I like
your house. It makes me feel peaceful."
Margaret did not feel peaceful at all. She trembled as she
stepped forward to touch Cynthia's arm. "Are you sure about
this?"
The girl stepped into Margaret's arms and leaned her head
against Margaret's shoulder. "I told you it's not my first time."
Margaret could think of nothing more to say. Instead, she
tilted Cynthia's face upward and pressed a soft kiss against her
lovely mouth.
The girl's lips were warm, pliant, yielding. Margaret
wondered what to do now. She was afraid if she made the wrong
moves the afternoon would shatter into a thousand ugly fragments.
What to do?
Cynthia answered the question.
"Why don't you let me give you a back rub?"
"Yes."
Margaret felt her legs trembling.
She took Cynthia to her bedroom, and there they separated
and stood at opposite ends of the room while they undressed. When
Cynthia removed her teeshirt and dropped it on a chair,
Margaret's breath caught. Now she understood about the nipples.
Cynthia's white bra had no tips: her nipples were free, bursting
through the white cups like pink gumdrops.
Her voice strained, Margaret tried to hide her emotional
condition. "That's an interesting look. Daring, I'd say."
Cynthia gave her a coy glance. "What should I rub you with?"
"There's some lotion on the nightstand."
"You turn me on, you know."
"I'm more than twice your age."
"Maybe that's why."
There was no answer to that. Still wearing her bra and
panties, Margaret lay down on the bed on her belly. Twice her age
and yet too uncertain to lead. Well, well...
Whatever she wants, Margaret thought. Her excitement was too
great to deny Cynthia anything.
Cynthia climbed on the bed, straddled Margaret's hips and
tugged at the back of Margaret's bra. "You ought to take this
off."
"All right."
"Let me do it."
Cynthia's fingers worked at the snaps, unhooked the bra,
slipped the shoulder straps down and pulled it free of Margaret's
body.
"You're very aggressive," Margaret said.
"I'm a good back rubber."
"Yes, I bet you are."
"Can I get some ice? I'll do you with an ice cube."
"I thought you were going to rub my back."
"I'll do that too."
Margaret was intrigued by the thought of an ice cube. No one
had put an ice cube on her back in years. "In the kitchen."
She lay there with her body pressed against the mattress.
Waiting.
Cynthia returned with some ice cubes in a glass and
straddled Margaret's body again.
"You know, the first time I walked into your class I knew I
wanted to be with you."
"I don't approve of affairs between teachers and students."
"I know four students who are having affairs with women on
the faculty."
"I don't want to hear about it."
Margaret gasped at the first touch of an ice cube between
her shoulder blades. "Oh God, I may be too old for this."
Cynthia giggled. "No, you're not."
The ice cube trailed slowly down Margaret's spine, inch by
inch down to the small of her back, then up again.
"That's divine," Margaret said.
Cynthia dropped the ice cube back into the glass. "I'm
taking your panties off."
Margaret said nothing. She lay motionless as Cynthia tugged
at her panties, pulled them down her hips, down her thighs and
off her legs. Then Cynthia straddled Margaret's thighs again,
once more trailing the ice cube down Margaret's spine to the
small of her back, this time continuing into the hollow place at
the very top of the split between Margaret's buttocks.
"I love your ass," Cynthia said.
"Stop this now and rub my back."
"Are you sure?"
"I can't take any more of this."
"Another minute."
The ice cube on her spine again. The cube was almost melted,
she could feel it. Then she gasped as she felt Cynthia pushing
the ice cube into the crack of her ass.
Cold ice water trickling down the groove and over her anus.
"Cynthia, you're killing me."
"All right, I'll rub your back now."
An affair, Margaret thought. Yes, she would have an affair
this summer.
end
All comments to the author will be greatly appreciated.
Contact me at katherinet_@hotmail.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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