	Vagina Dialogue
        ===============

"You love the taste of cunt, don't you?" Natasha remarked.

Julie removed her tongue from the thick lips and folds of 
her lover's vulva, and smiled at Natasha, a thin trail of 
saliva on her chin.

"Yeah! Nothing beats it! It's got the best taste in the 
world."

"And my pussy? How's that compare?"

"It's good! Amongst the best. You've got a world class clit 
and I love the taste. No pussy-farts either!"

"You don't like a burst of beaver wind?"

"Smells better than the toilet whiff of a pucker-hole," Julie 
admitted, "but it's not what I like best about a cookie."

"You're a bit of a connoisseur, aren't you? How long have 
you been the expert?"

"Ever since I first looked up 'vagina' in a medical 
dictionary. The labia minora and labia majora. I know all 
the terms." Julie gazed up at Natasha who lay on her back, 
supporting her weight on her elbows. "You like fingers in 
the box?"

"I like a bit of fisting, but not just now. I'm not lubed 
enough."

"Pity," said Julie, who nonetheless squeezed in a third 
finger to add to the two already inside Natasha. "I give 
good wrist. Nice and thin, see!"

"Very nice."

"You don't shave, but you've got a nice trim beaver. 
Reminds me of the first few I knew. No thatch to hide the 
golden valley. A few strands and sometimes a soft down: 
not like the muffs I mostly get to know these days."

"You started early, then?"

"Soon as I could. I always wanted to taste and smell 
another girl's quim. Your own is never enough. However 
much you diddle, what you get pasted on your fingers is 
never as rich as the taste of coochie on the tongue. First 
time was simpler than I thought. A girl's knickers come 
down more easily than I'd feared. And the mound in the 
cotton seam was only a hint of the beauty inside the tight 
panties. I'd read D. H. Lawrence's poem and I'd always 
liked figs. I didn't expect a fanny to taste like one, though it 
does a bit sometimes, but the old goat was right. A cunny's 
just like a ripe fig, except it's not got the seeds. That is 
unless you've added to the flavour with a bit of fun from 
the fruit bowl."

"You mean, courgettes and carrots and the like?"

"Sometimes a banana. Even a cucumber. Sometimes, a bit 
of improvisation in the kitchen beats a mail-order dildo or 
vibrator, even if the fruit's a bit riper than you thought and 
it falls apart in the grip of passion."

"Is it only minge you crave?" Natasha wondered, arching 
back as Julie eased in her last finger and pushed a wedge of 
fingers backwards and forwards in her increasingly 
lubricated orifice. 

"What could be better?" Julie asked, as her tongue lapped 
on Natasha's clitoris. 

Conversation stalled as the two lovers became more 
physical in their affection. The only words expressed were 
short and generally fairly descriptive as their bodies 
entwined, while their fingers, tongues and vaginas battled 
together. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck," Natasha gasped. 

Julie's cries were more guttural and more often than not 
muffled by her lover's vulva.

At last, but not for the first time that evening, Natasha 
reached a climax. The vowels of her cries stretched out and 
were clothed in a faint growl. Julie's own vocal 
contribution resembled more the sighs of the dying, though 
when she collapsed it was with a huge grin on her face.

"Nothing could be better," Julie finally answered, as she 
licked the juice off her slim wrist. 

Natasha was grateful that her lover wasn't one of those 
women who insisted on wearing bangles or rings that could 
leave a girl sore for days to come. Not to mention those 
little cuts on the lips that bloodied the urine if you weren't 
too careful.

"You've never been tempted to the dark side?" Natasha 
wondered. 

"Yeah. I've tasted dick. Haven't we all? Men are led by 
their balls and they can never say no. But however tasty the 
sausage or stiff the salami, it'll always be second-best to the 
joy of what's between the curtains. And, anyway, the one-
eyed snake is quite simply the best a man can offer. The 
rest of a man's body you can keep. They're just meat-
machines with a one-track mind. My doorway's open to all 
for anyone with the right key, but I prefer a porthole in 
exchange for my own. On a bad night when there's an itch 
that needs scratching, I'll take a man in preference to 
flossing with an electric muff-brush, but if there's pussy on 
parade I'm in there! I want my tongue on the button and my 
fingers in the pocket."

"You're not a cock connoisseur?" 

"When you've tasted wine you don't willingly go back to 
shandy."

"If only all women felt that way!" Natasha sighed 
regretfully.

"More are tempted by the tender sex than you'd imagine," 
Julie boasted. "But I guess it's all a matter of taste. Meat 
and two veg make a filling meal, but I like a salad bowl 
with fish dressing. When I'm lying on the beach, it's always 
the camel toes that catch my eye. I've never gone for the 
Lycra bulge. And for me, a good twat is just the best thing 
on a good package. I just melt like ice cream on a topless 
beach. All that nipple! Not to mention: thigh, navel, neck 
and tootsie. What can a woman of taste and discrimination 
do, but want to taste the goods on show?"

"Is it always easy for you?"

"Don't you find it so?"

"Not always," Natasha admitted sadly. "Sometimes my 
heart goes where there's no hope for satisfaction. There are 
more women I've loved than there are women who would 
ever love me."

Julie kissed Natasha affectionately. "A looker like you! 
You've just got to take the risk. Those little minxes that run 
scared? All they need is the right persuasion. You've got to 
be ruthless. And anyway if you want to taste muffin, 
sometimes you have to focus on the target and disregard 
the packaging. The best minge doesn't always come with 
the best presentation."

"I could never have sex with someone if I didn't appreciate 
their whole body."

"Then you've missed out on a lot. There's as much variety 
between the legs as the rest put together. I love the lips. 
The outer ones that part and the inner ones that shudder. 
The long clits, the short ones, the stubby ones and the fat 
juicy ones. And the hair! Who'd believe that so many 
beavers were so bushy? I like a fumble in the forest. 
Fingers in the bush, tongue on the button, and nose in the 
bouquet. Beats finger-fucking your own box."

"So how do you choose the women you go after? Is it the 
smell? Is it the smile? Is it something else?"

"The eyes are what tell you whether you're beating a path 
to an open door," Julie said. "At least that's what I used to 
think. Maybe I'm led by my nose. They say you can smell 
sexual desire even if you don't realise it. But I admit I like a 
bit of a challenge. That girl at the club last week. 
Remember her?"

"The one I saw you go off with at the end of the evening? 
The short mousy one with glasses?"

"Yeah. She said she'd only gone to the Cupid's Alley 
because her friend was gay, but you could see she was 
curious. When I got chatting with her, she kept squirming 
like she was really uncomfortable. But I could see she 
wanted to know what pussy hair tasted like between her 
teeth. It was the eyes, I think, but maybe it was the scent. I 
don't know. But to get to know her better I had to keep 
telling her I wasn't really interested in getting to know her 
that way. I said I just liked a chat. I even said I wasn't really 
a muff-diver. Just bi-curious."

"A bit deceitful, don't you think?" Natasha remarked.

"You're such a moral Minnie!" Julie laughed. "Anyhow, it's 
not like I'm butch or anything. Most people think I'm as 
much a cock-fancier as any girl of the straight and narrow 
persuasion. The guys at work all assume it's a man who 
tickles my tonsils on the bedsheets. So, little Daphne 
thought I was a safe proposition. And, when her friend 
went off with Annie and left her behind, and I suggested I 
go back with her in the taxi... well, she was eager."

"Already?"

"Well, eager for a friendly face in the testosterone-soaked 
streets of Ealing. No one wants to be heckled by a moron 
in a baseball cap and trainers," Julie said with a chuckle. 
"So, we got on a taxi and I persuaded Daphne to invite me 
back for a coffee in her flat in Tooting Bec."

"And was it just a coffee?"

"Anyone fuckoffee?"  Julie joked. "Well, there was coffee. 
But there was also the wine she had in the fridge, and I got 
her talking about her friend, who's a girl who really knows 
the ropes, and she started going on about how she 
sometimes wondered what it was like, you know, being a 
lesbian or whatever..."

"It's not all a picnic, you know," Natasha remarked.

"Hey! Eating out in the open air beats everything!" Julie 
smirked knowingly. "Anyway I soon got round to saying, 
you know, that being sort of uncertain, which was a good 
tactic, that I often wondered what it was like myself, and 
what was it like to kiss another woman. And she sort of got 
round to thinking that maybe just kissing wasn't such a bad 
idea. Although she'd probably not guessed how easily a bit 
of pecking becomes real tongue action and not just on the 
mouth..."

"She went all the way?"

"It was a bit of a struggle and there was nearly a whole 
bottle of wine needed to reduce those inhibitions, but yeah! 
She went all the way. But it was me who did the hard 
work. I tell you, though, it was worth it."

"It was?" gasped Natasha, who was stroking the outer lips 
of her vulva in guilty arousal.

"She had a real bush. It came almost up to her belly button 
and right over her inside thigh. And within all that hair was 
the cutest little thing. Those lips had hardly seen any action 
to speak of. They were smooth and undamaged. Those 
inner lips had never been nibbled, I bet. Her little button 
was almost impossible to prise out, but I got my tongue 
under it and it swelled just like her puffy nipples. She had 
that strong smell I like, as well. Raw and pungent. She 
wouldn't put her face in my toy box though, but I could tell 
she liked the feel in her own pleasure chamber. She gasped 
just like a little girl. Brought back memories of my 
schooldays in the girls' loo, I can tell you!"

"She turned a hundred and eighty degrees, you think?"

"Scarcely. She got all weepy and angry afterwards. I had to 
get another taxi home. But I'd had my fun."

"Was it fun for her?"

"What a question!" Julie said with mock indignation. "It 
was worth it, though."

"Are all your conquests like that?"

"Not the easy ones. Usually a night at the Cupid's Alley or 
the New Inn on a Friday or the Crescent Moon is a bit 
predictable. There's a lot of pussy on the prowl and it 
doesn't take much effort to snaffle snatch. But it's always 
better when it's not a foregone conclusion. The fur tastes 
better after a bit of a fight. The best is when it's 
unexpected. Like at work, for instance."

"At work? You mean at the office? Are there a lot of 
lesbians who work in advertising?"

"There are certainly a lot of women who work in the biz. 
There was a gorgeous one who worked in the section that 
deals in those wanky three inch by five ads for newspapers. 
You know: those ads for machine tools and language 
guides. Fuck knows what a babe like her was doing in the 
most unglamorous niche in the industry..."

"As opposed to...?"

"I work in television advertising. The fucking creme de le 
creme. Only the top-paying clients come my way! Anyway, 
she was one of those girls who don't know how fucking 
gorgeous she was. She dressed like she'd only ever bought 
her clothes from Oxfam and she never wore make-up. But, 
fucking hell, she was the head-turner from heaven. And 
believe me, I was in there straight away. Of course, I've got 
an edge on the men when it comes to top-notch tottie. Men 
are just fucking useless. They're more expert with dogs 
than with the real deal. So, it was easy for me to become 
like her best friend at work. Every lunch break, every 
fucking coffee break, even the bloody loo breaks, I was 
there."

"She sounds very nice," mused Natasha enviously.

"Soon we were going out together in the evenings. 
Cinemas, wine bars, even the fucking opera. She likes all 
that shit. The things you do for love! She fancied herself a 
real aesthete. But it wasn't her views on fucking Puccini or 
Verdi that I was after. And eventually, after longer in the 
wine bar than she generally liked and a few girlie kisses, I 
got her knickers down. Fuck! She was nervous. But I 
pretended I was just about as green as her. I guess she 
wasn't able to recognise the signs, even when I met an old 
girlfriend at the Covent Garden Opera House of all fucking 
places."

"So did she like it?"

"Not as much as me, that's for sure. And the one time was 
all she wanted. Our friendship at work just came to a 
sudden death. At least she didn't slap me like some 
ungrateful bitches have done. But that hole of hers was 
well worth the digging. Not much hair, and what she had 
there was as blonde as what she's got on her head and 
straight over her shoulders. A lot more curly and wiry, 
mind you. And her clit was a gem. Not too long, but easy 
to get at. Parting the ways was harder. Fucking Moses had 
it easy! These lips were a real struggle to get into, but the 
tongue as always smoothes the path. She'd had boyfriends, 
she said, but none of them spent much time down there. I 
guess she let their willies do all the work. I'm sure she 
liked it, but she never let me stay down long enough."

"Did she taste any of what you have to offer?"

"Sadly not. She nibbled my nipples, chewed on my tongue 
and stroked my bush, but she wouldn't bring herself to 
reciprocate in kind where it really matters."

"Sometimes it works better when you skim the surface 
rather than dive in deep."

"You think so?  I prefer a bit of real action. The best sex is 
when the woman you're with knows exactly what to do 
with her hand and mouth. Mine's a pussy with a real war 
record. I've had some of the best tongues in the business 
inside these lips."

Julie opened wide her legs and stroked the gash inside her 
labia. She let her middle finger curve inside and gasped 
with the excitement. Natasha watched, but didn't touch, 
although it was obvious that there'd be no resistance if she 
did.

"What do you think of my little treasure?" Julie asked.

"I'm not as expert as you," Natasha admitted. "I've known a 
few, you know, but often it just doesn't seem right to spend 
so much time down there. I think there's so much more 
than a vagina to a woman."

"Maybe," Julie mused, but clearly not convinced. "I like 
mine. When I'm lonely or between long-term lovers, I give 
it as much attention as I can. Apparently, there are women 
who don't masturbate at all. Poor dears! They don't know a 
fucking thing."

"I've had lovers who've never done that. It's weird. All men 
do it, I hear, but women... Perhaps it's the company they 
crave..."

"Fuck that! But no way is solitaire as good as a game for 
two. Or even three or four."

"You've done that?"

"Often. Or as often as I can. Two tongues on a tootie is like 
double the pleasure. There was another girl I made love 
with who was a bit unsure. But me and Nessa, we worked 
together on that one."

"Nessa? She's the tall girl with the short hair, isn't she?"

"Once she shaved it all off. Tongue on scalp, slit sliding on 
stubble, it's fucking magic! I fucking love her. And we've 
made love more often than rabbits in the spring. But we 
both had the hots for Harriet. You know her? A femme 
from the Cat's Cradle who used to live with Sylvia?"

"I know Sylvia. She's as butch as a motor mechanic can be. 
But Harriet...? No, it doesn't ring a bell."

"Well, Harriet thought of herself as strictly a one-woman 
woman. But when Sylvia started to play the field, we could 
see that Harriet didn't like it one little bit. You'd love 
Harriet if you knew her. She's a bit like the tottie you 
tickle. Slim, petite, and with more freckles than the stars at 
night. So, me and Nessa, our minds were like focused the 
same way. But rather than fight, we worked together. I did 
the moves, while Nessa stayed in the background. She 
knows I'm the one with more of the charm that sways the 
uncommitted. I made a note of Harriet's habits and made 
sure I was the one at the bar when she bought the drinks. It 
wasn't long till we were seeing each other in other places 
than the usual clubs. She kept on saying she was still 
faithful to her butch belle but with Sylvia doing the rounds, 
it was obvious she wanted to demonstrate that two could 
play that game. What she didn't expect was that three can 
also make a parcel."

"You mean: you and Nessa?"

"Of course. It was what we agreed. I'd got Harriet down to 
her bra and stockings, when, as we'd planned, Nessa made 
a show. And by then, little Harriet was pinned down. She'd 
gone too far by then, having swigged enough of my 
whiskey, not to accept the inevitable when Nessa slipped 
off her jeans and blouse. And Harriet's minge was a jewel. 
I don't know what Sylvia used to do with the girl, though I 
can guess having had my own taste of her technique, but 
Harriet's lips have seen action. She might've been a one-
girl girl, but she's known more fist than a velvet glove. We 
both got our fingers well inside. In fact, we got as far as 
two fists in at the same time. That was a fucking first!"

"Sounds painful."

"I'm not sure she really liked it either, but when it's two on 
one, it's difficult to say no. And she shaved it as well. A lot 
of femmes do that. More fucking feminine, I guess, though 
I suspect it's something to do with that sub-dom stuff a lot 
of them are into. It's like a femme wants to be more a girlie 
than a straight sister could ever be. But there's a difference 
between playing the game as to having it for real. And I 
can tell you, whatever we did to little Harriet, it was 
definitely for real!"

"It sounds a bit cruel," sighed Natasha, moving slightly to 
one side on the double bed she shared. "Exploitative, in 
fact."

"She loved it! Well, she squirted like a cow giving milk. I 
got a bit of cunt juice right in my eye. But once was 
enough for her. And it wasn't long after till she left Sylvia 
for good, not that the butch bitch noticed. She's got into 
other stuff than just minge. And I've no idea what's 
happened to Harriet. She doesn't go down the Cat's Cradle 
any more. Or anywhere else as far as I know."

"Perhaps group sex isn't what she wants in her love life."

"Well, pity her."

"So, there's been quite a few women you've seduced in one 
way or another?"

"Seduction's what it's all about!" Julie boasted. "The chase 
and the pursuit is what make it all worthwhile. And with 
the rewards on offer, you can't help but binge on what's in 
the sweet shop. The girls I've known. Fuck me! (And, 
please, I mean that literally). There was Donna from 
Marketing at work. Slim and silky. And her vertical smile 
was a grin as wide as you'll ever see. She even had one of 
those weird porn star pillar-box pube shaves; although she 
said it was just to keep her bush under control. She was a 
girl who found a new lease of life. I felt like fucking Santa 
Claus: bringing her the best present a girl and her snatch 
could ever hope for. If only all girls saw it that way."

"Are any of your conquests less than enthusiastic about the 
Sapphic option?"

"I've had some slap me. One really lay into me when she 
woke up after a night of too much wine and, as far as I was 
concerned, not nearly enough sex. I had bruises on the 
shoulders and breasts for weeks after! Most women are just 
a bit confused if they hadn't known what a girl can do for 
another girl before. Okay, it's good to go for a woman who 
knows the game and plays by the rules, but if you really 
want to savour cunt you've got to play a wider field. I'm a 
woman who knows what she wants and I'll do whatever's 
fucking necessary to get it."

"I see," remarked Natasha, who looked distinctly 
uncomfortable as she spread out on her lover's cotton 
sheets.

"So what do you think?" asked Julie, with a self-satisfied 
smirk.

"You're a woman who seduces other women just so you 
can taste fanny butter. A woman who mostly loves women 
for the taste of quim."

"Yeah?"

"I think that it's you who is the real cunt!" 










