Dog Star’s

 

AWKWARD

 

My mother called it the “awkward age.”  No shit!  I just began my periods—yuck!  I was growing hair down there—ugly!  And my breasts were growing (which was okay, I guess), but instead of nice round ones like my mom, It seemed like they were all nipple.  Awkward wasn’t the word for it.  When I took a shower, I invariably looked at myself in the mirror and thought: no cute boy will ever like to be with me, so skinny—and yes, awkward looking.  There’s that word again.

In contrast, what I looked at with yearning and amazement was Mrs. Cranshaw.  She was everything I wished I was when I grew up.  Her blond hair was always perfect, not the kinky black mess I had.  She looked like she had nice, big breasts.  She was beautiful, lived in a beautiful house with a handsome husband.

One Saturday I was walking to the store to pick up a couple of things for my mom when Mrs. Cranshaw came out of her house, dressed like she was going to do some gardening.  For some reason I stopped and stared at her.  I didn’t know her age but I somehow figured she wasn’t that much younger than my mom, but unlike my mom, she looked like a model in her jeans and t-shirt.  She saw me and waved.  I was so stunned I almost didn’t wave back.  I didn’t keep walking either.

Shielding her eyes from the sun, she called out, “You’re Cassy, right?  How are you?”

Her smile was inviting, so I walked closer.  “Yes, I’m Cassy.  I guess I’m okay.”

Her smile broadened, “You guess?  Don’t you know?”  I knew she was good-naturedly kidding me, so I laughed, and then she did too.  “You know, I didn’t have much desire to weed this flower bed when I came out here, and now I have zero.  What do you say we go in the house and grab a Coke, and then you can tell me all about what makes Cassy tick?”

“I dunno, I’m supposed to be going to the store for my mom,” I told her.

“Well, maybe some other time,” she said.

I wanted to be in her company so badly.  I blurted out, “She’s not, like, waiting for stuff, so maybe I can have a Coke.”

“Splendid!” she said, taking me by the hand and leading me inside.  After she handed me a Coke from the fridge and getting a Diet Coke for herself (“Gotta battle the bulge” she said, though I didn’t see any, so she must be winning that battle) she directed me to the sofa.  “So, now tell me all about you.”

In the span of a few minutes, she made me feel so adult—so un-awkward—that I wanted to shout out in joy.  Instead I said “There’s not much to tell.”  I told her about school and my family.  She was surprised that while just living down the street, she hadn’t met my mom or dad.  I couldn’t tell her that I thought my parents were in a different universe than the one she was in, so I changed the subject.  In some smart way adults seem to be able to do, she managed to get the conversation back onto me again.

“I don’t hear any talk of any boyfriends.  A girl as cute as you should have a few.”

“I’m not cute,” I said.

“C’mon now!  I’m looking at a very cute girl.  Is there someone else in the room?” she said with a chuckle.

“N…n…no…I’m not cute.”

“Okay, then come with me,” she said, and then took me by the hand and led me to what turned out to be her bedroom.  She positioned me before the dresser mirror, and standing behind me, said “Take a good look.  Open those eyes of yours.  See that pretty girl looking back at us?  I see her.”  I kept quiet, not knowing if she was really looking for me to answer her.  She moved my hair this way and that, as if testing for the best look.  “I know your hair isn’t the easiest thing to tame, but look at the rest of you…your face.” She lightly ran her fingertip from my nose to my chin, saying “You have classic lines I would’ve died for at your age.  Very symmetrical…accents your eyes and your lips…strong cheekbones too.”  Then she put a hand on either side of my waist.  “You may not see it yet, but you’ll have a perfect shape in a couple of years, your waist flaring out to sexy hips.  I can tell.”

“I’m too skinny,” I muttered, our eyes meeting in the mirror’s reflection.

“Phooey, boys should be all over you.  When I was your age I thought I was so fat, though I wasn’t really.  I’d make myself throw up after I ate, thinking that no boy would like me unless I was skinny.  And here you are thinking you’re too skinny.  Bullshit!”

I was surprised by her saying that, but once more I felt like an adult in her company, not a kid.  “You, like, had bulimia?”

“Oh yes, but thankfully I smartened up before I got really sick.”  Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry, so maybe the memory of that time in her life wasn’t so hot.  She pulled my hair aside and gave me a little kiss on the nape of my neck, then she said “Don’t ever think you’re not pretty, Cassy…don’t…”

We stood there in silence for a few moments before she said, “I suppose you’d better run that errand for your mom before she wonders where you’ve been.”  As we walked back to the front room, she brightened and said, “I have an idea.  How about when you get back from the store you put on your bikini and come back over.  It’s a shame we have this nice pool and never seem to find time to use it.”

“I don’t have a bikini, just my old one-piece suit.”

She put her hands on her hips and exaggerated annoyance.  “Any bathing suit will do, young lady.  You’ll be here?”

“I guess so.”

She put her hand under my chin and lifted it a bit.  “Not more enthusiasm?  Especially after we’re getting to know each other?”

I smiled and said I’d be back.

I know my mother was wondering what took me so long, but she didn’t ask.  I told her about Mrs. Cranshaw talking to me, though I didn’t say anything about going into her house and what we talked about.  I explained the invitation and assured my mom that no one else would be there and she didn’t need to worry.  I put on my suit and dressed over it, and headed down the street.

When I rang her bell, Mrs. Cranshaw answered the door in a white bikini.  I was speechless.  She looked even more beautiful than with regular clothes on, like a woman in a fashion magazine.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of her; and she thought I was pretty.

“Come on in, Cassy,” she said, then giggled and added “Oooo, it’s like us gals are playing hooky or something and having our own pool party.”  As we walked through the house toward the back yard and pool, she offered me a Coke, pulling two cans from her fridge.  Like she was reading my mind, she said “Tom’s playing golf with his buddies so we have the pool all to ourselves for the rest of the afternoon.  You know how to swim, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Cranshaw.”

“Call me Adele, please, now that we’re friends.”

Now that made me feel even more like an adult in her presence.  She dove into the pool as I got out of my clothes.  Then I dove in after her.  We swam for a while before we climbed out.  She made another comment about how I had a great shape that would only get better through my teen years.

Sitting at the pool’s edge, I said “But my beasts are small and funny looking, not like yours.”

She mocked covering her chest with her arms and said, “How do you know?  Have you been peeking?”

That made me laugh, and she laughed with me.  “Yours look big and round but all I have are funny looking nipples.”

“Let me see…let me see,” she said like a kid would.  At first I was aghast but I figured no one was around and she really seemed to want to be friends with me.  I peeled down one side to expose a breast.  “Oh Cassy, it’s like we talked earlier about your face.  Those are pretty!  Your breasts are just beginning to develop, and trust me, men will love sucking on those nipples.”

“Sucking?”

“Okay, I probably shouldn’t talk sex with you.  It’s not my place, I’m sorry for getting carried away.”

I thought, please, please talk about sex, but I didn’t say anything.  Instead I asked her about what she said to me earlier regarding her teen years.  “You’re so pretty.  Did you have lots of boyfriends…when you were my age?”

She looked off into the distance before saying, “You may not understand this, but when I was your age I liked girls a whole lot more than boys.”

“Really?  You mean more than just friends?”

“Oh yes, a lot more than friends.  I shouldn’t be talking about this but my first sex was with a girl.  When I was just a bit older than you are now.  She was a few years older and lived next door.  Somehow she knew I was attracted to her, and, well, things went on from there.”

I wanted to ask so much.  I never thought about a girl having sex with another girl before.  “But you’re married,” was what I did say.

“That’s the strangest thing of all, having all that sex with girls growing up and then marrying a man.  Go figure.”  She was quiet for a moment or two, then said, “I’m sorry, Cassy, for bringing that stuff up about my teen years.  You’ll find your own way in life.”

We swam a bit more.  As we toweled off, she said I could use her bedroom to get out of my bathing suit and back into my street clothes.  I went in there and closed the door.  She’d left one of her dresser drawers open, and I saw a few bikinis in there with some other clothes.  Out of curiosity I pulled one out of the drawer and was surprised at how small it was.  The bottom was hardly more than a thong, and I wondered how Mrs. Cranshaw—Adele—would look in it.  I’d taken my suit off and without thinking tried hers on.  Of course it was way too big but I felt so inexplicably good wearing it.  I thought about the things she said; about how pretty she thought I was and about boys sucking on my nipples.  Just thinking about that got my nipples all stiff and tingly.  That’s when I thought about how I liked looking at her so much.  Maybe I’d like girls more too.  And maybe she was liking me the same way.  A strange sensation swept over me like a chill, but unlike a chill my insides were hot.  I wished she’d come into the bedroom and take off her bikini in front of me so I could see her breasts, like she’d seen one of mine.  The hot sensation spread, and I only had an inkling what it was.

I’d quickly put the bikini back in the drawer when she knocked and slowly opened the door.  “You okay in here?” she said, and then stopped short when she saw me naked.  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I just wanted to get my clothes and thought you were done.”

To this day I can’t tell you what prompted me to say it, but I said, “It’s okay, you can come in and change.  It’s like your bedroom after all.”

She was staring at me as she loosened the ties of her top and let it fall.  Now I stared back at her.  As she slid the bottoms down her legs, my eyes moved to look at her crotch.  I expected to see pubic hair but she was bald!  The hot feeling I had turned into a burning flame.

She voiced exactly what I was thinking.  “I think you could like girls too, right Cassy?”

I simply nodded as she stepped closer to me until we were body-to-body.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, and before I could answer, she leaned down and put her lips on mine.  I felt her breasts touching me, and the flame was now a bonfire.  I’d never kissed anyone like she kissed me.  Her lips were moist and open, and she slid her tongue into my mouth, searching, searching.

While she kissed me, she urged me to the bed and we fell upon it.  I pulled my lips from hers and said “Are we going to have sex?”

“I’d like that very much, but I don’t want to force anything on you…”

“But I don’t know how.  I don’t know what to do.”

“Then I’ll be your teacher,” she said.  She had a hand on my upper thigh, her thumb touching me down there ever so slightly.  When her thumb moved and went inside me a little bit, I was surprised how good it felt, like when you scratch an itch.  She kissed me again while she rubbed me with her thumb.  After a while she moved her mouth down to my chest and began licking and sucking on one of my nipples.

“Ohhhhhhhh,” I muttered.  This was a new feeling, and it was a good one.

She stopped and said, “See what I meant about sucking on your beautiful, puffy nipples?” before moving to suck on my other one.

“Is this how girls have sex?” I asked, barely able to speak.

“Mostly.  Would you like to try it?”

I whispered “yes” and Adele immediately opened my legs and got between them.  She used her tongue down there, and although at first I thought it was kind of a gross thing to do, it suddenly began to feel especially good, like she found a magic spot I didn’t know I had.  The more she did what she was doing the more I began to whimper, it felt so good.  Then, like the hot feeling I had when she sucked my nipples, this shock wave sort of washed through me and I began to shake all over.  Nothing in my life ever felt like this.

I couldn’t help myself, “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” I moaned very loudly.  That hot feeling was like lava that flowed outward from the volcano at my core.  Even as I shivered and shook, I thought Sweet!

She held me tight as I relaxed, the heat dissipating slowly, her embrace like being snug in a blanket on a cold winter night.  She smiled at me and said, “Now you’ve had sex.  How was it?”

“It felt so good,” was all I could say.

“Oh Cassy, you’re more beautiful than you imagine.  When I saw you stop and look at me, I just knew I had to have you, somehow.  No matter, I never really thought you would.  It’s been a long time since I was with another woman, but once you are loved by a woman you can’t get past it, I think.”

“But I’m a girl.”

“No, Cassy.  When you opened yourself up to the possibilities, you proved to be a woman, not a girl, and that has nothing to do with age.”

“Can I do the same to you?” I asked, and you’d think she’d died and gone to heaven by the look on her face.

“Oh yes!  Do what you want with me!”

I spent a long time touching and caressing her breasts.  They were big and round, and I enjoyed touching them and wondering what mine will be like if and when they grow.  She enjoyed me touching them too, I could tell.  I moved down and put my mouth on her vulva (I learned that word in biology class).  Now that my pubic hair had sprouted, I found it amazing that she was shaved bald.  I raised my head and said, “Do you have to shave, like all the time?”

She propped herself up on her elbows and said, “Not so often because my hair is light.  You’d have to shave more often, I think.”

“Can you show me…shaving down there?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

I went back to what I was doing.

I used my tongue while Adele gave whispered instructions on how to do it.  She helped me find her clitoris, and explained that I had one too.  I licked and sucked on her clitoris like she wanted, and she got very juicy down there.  I stopped and asked her about the wetness.  She said it was because I was doing such a good job.  I liked that.  As I licked some more I noticed change in both her clitoris and in her breathing.  The little nub of flesh kind of grew stiff and stuck out a bit more than before I began.  Her breathing became labored, and that made me remember how I’d just reacted to her licking me.

She was moaning and then began trembling, at first a little but growing in intensity until she squeezed my head between her thighs and cried out that she was “coming.”  The trembling and moaning went on for a long time, yet I didn’t mind all her juices on my lips and the pressure from her tightening thighs.  I knew I’d done a good job; I gave her sex like she gave me.

Eventually she pulled me up to lay next to her.  She kissed me like before, and somehow my wet lips and chin didn’t bother her in the least.  “Cassy, sweet Cassy, you’re the best.  You’re exactly what I needed.”  She gazed into my eyes, and the way she did it made me feel so special.  “Are you okay with all this?” she asked me.

I told her what my mom said about being awkward.  I said, “You’re so beautiful, and I can’t believe you like me so much, but I’m so happy you do, and showing me sex and all.”

She said, “I’m so happy too.  It’s been ages since I slept with a girl, I almost forgot how fantastic it was.  Thank you, dear girl.”  We snuggled against each other for a while, and then she remembered what I asked her about shaving.  “Let’s go see what we can do about that pubic hair, shall we?” she said.

She brought me to her bathroom, sat me on the toilet cover, and began collecting stuff.  She had me spread my legs before she put some foam on me and began shaving.  When she cleaned off the foam remnants and figured that part was done, she spread some goop on a few parts and pulled off what hair was left.  After one last wipe with a soft, wet towel, she had me stand before the mirror to let me see it.  I was bald like a little girl again!  Adele bent down and kissed my now-bare pubic mound, and one thought of her tongue licking me got me hot again.

“I think somebody likes sex a lot,” she said.  We quickly went back to the bedroom and did it again.  If the goop and the foam left a bad taste down there, she didn’t let on.  Of course, she tasted marvelous.

Before I left the house, she wanted me to promise that I’d be back, and that I wouldn’t tell anyone.  I promised this would be our secret.  The rest of the weekend and beyond I was floating on air.  In a few short hours, Adele Cranshaw transformed me.  Before now, sex was a nebulous adult concept that I’d get to someday when I met the right boy.  I had a scholarly view of gays and lesbians, never thinking it wrong, but also never thinking the designation had anything to do with me.  I pondered what Adele had said, and I was starting to believe she was right: when I looked upon her—her beauty, her poise, her breasts—and yearned for some myself, I was sexually attracted but didn’t know it. 

I liked girls!  I began thinking about some of my friends and classmates.  What would it be like having sex with them, instead of some stupid boy’s wiener?  I also thought about Adele’s desire for girls, and tried to reconcile that with her being married.  Did she have sex with her husband?  Maybe that’s why she doesn’t have any kids.  I’d have to ask her when the time was right.

I gave her my cell number, and like other girls, she called and texted me all the time wondering what I was doing.  She wanted me to visit the following Saturday when her husband was gone out somewhere.  I said yes immediately.

On Saturday when I showed up at her door she gave me the biggest kiss and told me how glad she was to see me.  I didn’t mind it when she pointed out how messy my hair was, since I knew I hadn’t spent any time taming it that morning.  Like some silly adventure, she organized the project of trimming and straightening my crazy, kinky hair. 

“Trust me,” she said, “I did this for a living once.”

She washed my hair over her kitchen sink, before sitting me in a chair and picking up a pair of scissors.  She clipped a little off (I admit I was nervous, waiting for large hanks of hair to fall to the floor) but not too much.  Then she picked up a tube of some stuff she called “anti-frizz,” saying it would take some of the kinkiness out, and worked it through my hair.  After, she trimmed off a bit more hair.  She really hadn’t taken much off but when I looked in a mirror I was amazed at the change.  She had me wait a while to let the stuff work, I guess.  In the meantime we talked about things in general, like what kinds of music we liked and what movies we’d seen.  Once more, just this type of conversation—never mind sex—made me feel like an adult when I was with her, like we were best friends or something.

A while later she said I should wash my hair again, but I saw the gleam in her eye.  She was talking shower this time, not the kitchen sink, and she would take one with me.

We undressed and took that shower.  I played with her breasts, once again wondering if mine would ever be as big and beautiful as hers.  Probably not.  She explored my body like a blind person I saw once reading a Braille book, concentrating on every feature, every distinction, every nuance.  While she touched me, I used my finger on her clitoris (now that I knew what and where it was) and before I knew it she was shaking and groaning from what seemed like a great orgasm.  I felt really proud I could do that to her.

We dried off, dressed, and cleaned up before her husband came home.  Adele introduced me as the “girl who lives down the street” without going into any other details of how I came to be there in their house.  That’s when the strangest thing happened.  Mr. Cranshaw (his first name was Tim) actually was looking at me the same way his wife did.  Was I, who so recently thought of herself as awkward and not pretty, being looked at sexually by Adele’s husband?  Now I totally felt special, and I knew it wasn’t because of what Adele had done with my hair.  Besides my hair, if I looked in the mirror I wouldn’t see a different me than last week, so maybe the loving—and that’s how I thought of it—with Adele had changed me, bringing a new me out, like the fairy tale of the ugly duckling becoming the swan.

Mr. Cranshaw asked me where I lived, and wondered aloud why he’d never seen me before.  As his eyes roamed over my body, he asked me if I needed a ride home.  Wow!  I told him I didn’t because it was a short walk, thinking how good looking he was, and immediately conjuring up hazy mental images of having sex with him.  Talk about change!

Adele walked me to the door, and outside of Mr. Cranshaw’s earshot, whispered “When can I see you again?”

I told her to call me whenever she was alone.  I walked home with many thoughts of being in bed with Adele, and learning much more about sex.

My mom was surprised by my new hairdo.  I explained it by saying that Mrs. Cranshaw used to be a stylist and wanted to “practice” on me.  My mom bought it.  I’m sure she’d never suspect the real reason for my visits to the Cranshaw’s house.

When Adele called me, I practically ran to her house I wanted her to lick me so bad.  She pulled me through the door and right to her bedroom.  She licked me to a fabulous orgasm.  I was discovering all the qualities of orgasms, and how different ways brought different feelings.  Adele told me more about clitorises and g-spots and about the big word—cunnilingus. I returned the favor and pretty soon she was screaming loudly with what she called later the “best one yet.”

She got out of bed and opened a dresser drawer, pulling out a plastic thing with a bulge at one end.  She told me it was a vibrator and what it was good for.  She had me watch as she turned the battery-operated device on and began using it on herself.  It was fun watching; like she was putting on a sex show just for me!  She was all sweaty and breathing real heavy, her breasts heaving, and I could tell when she was getting close to her orgasm even before she started to make noise.  Her eyes were sort of looking upward with her head thrown back and her mouth wide open when she began to almost meow like a cat, at least that’s what it sounded like to me.  When she sounded the loudest, I saw her pussy lips throb, like a pulsating movement, and a small amount of juice kind of squirt out of her.  Watching and hearing all this made me very hot, and I swear I squirted some juice too I was so wet.  I realized that when I licked her many of the same things happened but I was too busy to notice.

“Can I try that?” I asked her before she even had a chance to shut it off.

She helped me find the best spot, but it didn’t take long at all before I was doing some heavy-duty screaming myself.  God, what a marvelous little appliance!  When I was done, Adele said she’d buy one for me as long as I kept it hidden in my house so my mom couldn’t find it.

I wanted to ask her about her husband, but she brought it up first.  “I’m sure you realized how Tim was looking at you, right?  I’ve learned that he likes young girls as much as I do.”

“Does he, like, have sex with girls?”

“I think he has, but I don’t know for sure.  Please, Cassy, don’t let him try anything with you, okay?”

“I won’t,” I told her, and then had the strange thought that there wasn’t much of a difference between her and I having sex and her husband and I doing it.  Right or wrong never entered those thoughts.  I just figured Adele and I were so “right.”

When school started I didn’t see as much of Adele as I would have liked, but when we got together we made love and had some fantastic orgasms.  My friends at school said that I’d changed somehow but they couldn’t guess what was different about me.  I knew what it was.  It was love.

Adele had long since told me she loved me, as our relationship grew to the point her husband had to know what was going on.  After all, I was at his house quite often for one reason or another.  He propositioned me a couple of times but I was firm in saying no.  One time he even found a way to be nude in his pool when I stopped to see his wife.  He climbed out so I saw his penis.  I didn’t have a reference but it looked pretty huge to me, and I had a hard time thinking it could ever fit into my vagina.  That was one thing I never wanted to try.  I liked girls.  I knew it.  And somehow, like Adele, I knew I always would.

One day in her bed after we’d made love, she said she didn’t want to run my life, or ruin it, so she wanted to make sure I knew that I could do what I wanted as I grew up, and feel like I was “stuck” with her.  That’s when it finally hit me in my heart instead of my head.  She loved me more than anything.  It wasn’t a fling, or a grasping to reclaim her youth, or having a surrogate daughter or anything like that.  It was love, and more than anything I hated the thought of breaking her heart some day.

I wouldn’t do that.

Because of my relationship with Adele Cranshaw, I began to realize when a girl in school was interested in me.  The look; the subtle, innocent touches.  The closeness when they spoke to me.  It all registered now.  What also registered was how it grew easier for me to make friends—cool friends.  I had changed.  Adele’s desire opened me up, like a flower in bloom, and I didn’t feel awkward. 

I still looked into my mirror to see a skinny girl with funny, puffy little breasts, but I wasn’t “awkward” anymore. 

 

© 2011   Dog Star         karenthefreespirit@yahoo.com

 

Dog Star's Home Page