Hope by Joyanna M

11/03/2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Artwork by Joyanna M)

 

 

 

 

She had never kissed a girl. Not like that, not with passion. On the cheeks, maybe lightly on the lips. Not a full out 'tongue tickling the uvula' kiss.

 

She'd been divorced for several months and had several hookups since. All with men, most disappointments. The few that weren't disappointments seemed disappointed in her in some vague way. 

 

For more than a year before the divorce was final, she had been preparing, reading every sex advice column and website. She thought she was ready by the time the divorce was final. But some acts seemed easier to read than to actually perform. She wanted to try all the things her ex condemned as perverse: oral, anal, in the kitchen or on a desk. She wished she had extra orifices to try out, her body seemed so limited in its options. Maybe even try it in public. The thought of doing it in public made her ache with anticipation of finding a willing partner.

 

She wanted a partner who knew what he was doing; who had read all the various magazine articles and online advice blogs as much as she. Someone who wanted to explore her and find her g-spot, even though she'd felt around in there quite a bit and never seemed to find it as described. Just the thought of someone willing enough to search around in her aroused her. Maybe they wouldn't find a g-spot, but they would find her.

 

For the past month, though, all she could think about was trying it with another lady. "Wouldn't that make him angry?", she thought, picturing her ex, lecturing her about morality. His morality, which always seemed to favor him and his needs. Never a thought about her. In all their years of marriage, she had probably had fewer than a dozen orgasms. Excepting the ones she had after she bought that vibrator at her friend's toy party. She had read in one of the columns that lesbian lovers almost always climaxed during sex, but straight women only around half the time. "Half the time, shit," she thought. "I'd have been happy with a quarter of the time."

 

Where to find a willing lady, though. She had brought up the subject, obliquely, with some of her more adventurous girlfriends. But they all scoffed at even the mention of it. None of them could even imagine sex that didn't end with a hard cock filling them up. The idea seemed to be destined to be just another fantasy of hers since her freedom.

Her body was in fantastic shape for her age. All the yoga and jogging made her feel and look young. She was eager to unleash it on the world and see if it still had the power to attract. She knew she could still turn heads when she walked down a city street. She took a job as a model at a community college life drawing class because she enjoyed the feeling of being admired. She had also hoped to find some guy who might be interested in a private modeling session. But no luck as of yet.

 

 

One particular night, she scanned around the room, seeing if there was anyone hot enough to take an immodest pose for. It was the same crowd-- guys who looked more like ladies, and ladies who look more like guys. Things had changed a lot in the thirty years since she'd been to collage. She'd been on the other side of the easel back then, drawing nudes, but she never really looked at them beyond being highly posable statues.

 

She decided to give them a good erotic pose just to make them sweat a little. She removed her robe, draped it over a chair, and proceeded to pose with one knee up with her arm over it and her head sideways on her arm. Then she lowered the other knee to spread out the flesh between her thighs. She knew her upper thighs and delicate folds that separate them were hidden in shadows, but still visible. The instructor had asked her before to tone down the poses, and she had agreed, but continued to be suggestive anyway.

 

Her poses were for 15 mins each. After this one she put her robe back on and wandered the room to look at all the drawings. She wanted to see who was focusing on the little show she gave them between her legs. One guy was obviously trying to get the details right but had erased and redrawn so many times she was just a smear down there.

 

There was a new lady who she hadn't remembered from before. Shortish hair, no makeup. Wearing jeans and a tee-shirt with obviously no bra. Samantha looked at the drawing she did, and it looked more like a cat than her.

 

"Interesting take." Samantha said, smiling but not laughing.

 

"It's symbolic." the new lady replied.

 

"You mean it's like my pussy." this time, Samantha swallowed a laugh. The new lady stared blankly at her, either annoyed at the idea or oblivious to what was meant.

 

"No, it's feline. I strongly identify feline and feminine."

 

"But I modeled for you, didn't you think that was feminine enough?"

 

"I just felt like being a little more abstract this evening lady."

 

"Please call me Samantha." She hoped a name would be forthcoming from the new lady, but none was spoken.

 

"It's the same pose you did. She's sitting on her butt, her legs spread apart, her arm sort of hanging over one leg. She's looking down deciding where to lick first." She said this with a completely straight face.

 

"Yes, I see that." Samantha began looking at the drawing anew, seeing her features in the cat. She knew where she would be licking if she had that much flexibility. "Where do you think she wants to lick first?"

 

Again, the blank stare. "I'm sorry?"

 

"Well, you painted this motivation into her, you were inside her mind thinking about what she wanted to do." Samantha looked from the drawing to the new lady. "What is the cat thinking?"

 

"I think she thinks that her butt-hole isn't clean enough, but still deciding just how to attack it." This time, a slight smile drew up on the corner of her lips. Perhaps she was enjoying the turn of this conversation. "My name's Hope. What's yours?"

 

It seemed just a bit insulting that she had forgotten her name so soon after Samantha mentioned it. "You can call me Sam."

 

"Samantha? I have a niece called Samantha and a nephew called Sam. "You're more of a Samantha, do you mind if I call you that?"

 

"No, most people do actually."

 

"I'm sorry if I seem a little spacey; I shared a blunt before class."

 

Samantha snorted a laugh. "I have to get back to posing. Can we continue this conversation later?"

 

"What's that?" Hope flipped over the drawing pad and exposed a blank page.

 

"Never mind, I'll come talk to you after my pose." She went back to her pedestal, This time sitting down in a half lotus pose, but facing directly at Hope. She lowered her head and let her hair hang down, her hands lightly on her knees.

 

Samantha and Hope met at a coffee shop after class. It was filled with college students silently staring at their laptops. Samantha wasn't sure why she was drinking coffee this late; now she'd never be able to sleep. Hope had brought her large drawing pad and was flipping through all the new drawings of Samantha. Towards the end, they started to get more realistic, more detailed. Samantha was tempted to ask her to put it away, as it was obviously her, fully nude, in mostly risqué poses.

Hope lifted up one of the last ones, a foreshortened view, with her legs in the front, her vagina clear and in great detail, her breasts rising in the background and her arms laying lazily by her side. "I like this one best." Hope said, admiring her drawing.

 

Samantha nonchalantly glanced across the room to see if anyone was looking. She noticed one student quickly look back down at her laptop. At least her face wasn't showing in this drawing. "It's very--erotic."

 

Hope looked surprised. "It wasn't supposed to be erotic; it was supposed to show a relaxed tranquility."

 

"Oh, it is!" Samantha agreed. She admired the way her vagina looked; it was drawn not only in great detail but with great emphasis on the very soft texture. The hood of her clitoris was very clear and looked like a wizard's hat, tapering to nothing, as if pointing up to her breasts which were just above it in the foreshortened view.

 

Hope started putting the painting away while Samantha was still admiring it. With the head not drawn, it was easy to look at it like is wasn't her. It was thrilling to see how attractive she looked, and now was hoping that others in the coffee shop had seen it and were wondering who the gorgeous model was.

 

"I really look forward to when you pose; it's easy to draw beautifully when you have such a beautiful subject." Hope raised up her coffee mug to her lips and blew gently across the hot surface.

 

"Have you drawn me before? I don't remember seeing you.

 

"I just cut my hair off; it used to be down past my shoulders."

 

"Are you a lesbian?" Samantha cringed after asking.

 

There was a hint of patronization in Hope's smile "You know hair length has nothing to do with gender preference."

"I'm so sorry I asked that I don't know what I was thinking."

 

"It's ok, and I'm not really a lesbian--I'm more pan-sexual."

 

"Pan-sexual? you mean like with kitchen utensils?" Samantha laughed, Hope stared.

 

"No, I simply see gender as an arbitrary facet. I mean, you get different mechanics with different genders..."

"Mechanics? you make it sound so--mechanical."

 

"Love making is physics. It exists in the physical world. Love is spiritual. When the two mix, it's the ultimate blend of the real and the surreal."

 

Samantha felt seduced by this philosophical discussion, and she shifted uneasily in her chair. Her hand shook a little as she picked up her mug, and she put it back down at once hoping Hope didn't notice her increased agitation. "You seem nervous," Hope asked.

 

"No, not really," Samantha lied. "I'm just not used to coffee this late."

 

"Can I ask how old are?" Hope asked without pause.

 

"Um--I'm, uh, 42." Samantha was actually 47 and felt petty lying just to shave five years off her life.

 

"Have you ever--been with another woman?"

 

"Like, in bed? No, never."

 

"Have you ever thought about it?"

 

"No, not really." Another lie, Samantha felt quite ashamed of all the fabricating she was doing.

 

 

The night and their words blurred together. Sentences piled upon sentences, each one building on the other, till it became clear that they would wind up in bed together that night.

 

"I've never done this before, but with you, it feels so right," whispered Samantha, back at her apartment. Firmly, Hope took Samantha's hand and guided it to her breast. With the other hand, she reached under Samantha's chin to guide her face up. "Feel how my heart is beating for you; this is so right."

 

Softly, Hope brushed a kiss across Samantha's lips. Once, twice..licking the crease lightly the third time. Swept away in the tide of desire, Samantha's lips opened and the dance began. Exploring each other's taste, tongues tentatively touching and then battling to reach deeper. Hope's hands rose to embrace Samantha's breasts, stroked her spine, and dipped lower to hold the soft curves of her ass. With a shudder, Samantha pulled back. Their eyes met in a pool of desire, breathing heavy.  "Don't be afraid Sam, you're safe with me, let it happen." Hope said as she pulled Samantha's hands to her body 

"Touch me; feel how hot my skin is."

 

In an overwhelming surge of desire, inhibitions gone, Samantha mirrored Hope, learning from her the pleasures that can only be found between two women. Grasping, tasting, frantically pulling. Hope led Samantha to the bed and pushed her back. Instinctively, Samantha's legs spread wide. "Not yet Sam," Hope said as she rose, pushing Samantha's hair back and kissing her eyes, her nose; passionately kissing her lips. 

 

Hope showed Samantha the pleasures that can be elicited by someone with an intimate understanding of female anatomy. She showed Samantha where to tickle, where to push, where to prod to conjure sensations that Samantha never thought possible, or knew existed. 

 

The coffee allowed her to remain fully awake and highly conscious of what was happening to her. For every new trick she learned, she was eager to try it on Hope. With a little guidance, she gradually learned how to modulate Hope's vocalizations, from murmurs to near screams.

 

 

The next morning, Samantha woke up first. She was alway an early riser. It used to be expected of her to have coffee and breakfast ready for her husband before he awoke. It was a habit she had never broken herself of. She felt like she had a hangover, although she had not drunk anything the night before aside from the coffee. They had been up until two in the morning exploring every possible way of pleasing each other.

 

Samantha was sitting at the table drinking coffee when she heard Hope in the other room. She came out to the kitchen wearing only her panties; Samantha had not noticed before how small her breasts were. Hope looked around without speaking and Samantha pointed to the empty mug in the corner next to the coffee maker, still almost full. 

"You can use that mug." Samantha said.

 

"Thanks," Hope spoke in a froggy whisper.

 

It was clear that Hope was not a morning person, as she clumsily filled her mug. "I need to be going soon," Hope said sitting down with Samantha.

 

"Do you think we can see each other again?"

 

"Sure, in class, I'm always there, and I love drawing you."

"No--I mean like this."

 

Hope pondered this for a moment, and then caught on. "I kind of have a boyfriend right now..."

"But last night..."

 

"Oh, he doesn't mind if I sleep with other women when he's out of town. But he's coming back today; I need to pick him up at the bus station in an hour."

 

The conversation immediately died. "Do you think you can give me a ride to the bus station?"

 

 

Hope had raised Samantha's expectations. Now no lover she found wasn't a disappointment. Until she rediscovered an old friend from college, Andy. Except that Andy was now Annie. She wasn't physically a woman but did enjoy being one. In Annie, Samantha found the best of both worlds. A caring girlfriend, a loving partner, and a man who had that extra equipment that she enjoyed feeling inside her. The whole situation was unbelievably crazy to her, but it worked, and in Annie, she finally found the perfect partner.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joyanna M resides in Seattle and writes fiction, poetry, and music. She also creates paintings and has published 'Paintings and Poems of Joyanna M.' Her 'Self Portrait' painting was selected as cover art for Wicked Banshee Press, The Devil's Doorbell: Vagina Edition and two other paintings were selected for the 'Noise' edition of Bombus Press. She produces music under the monikers 'Aquamarine Space Unicorns,' and 'Les Petites Merdes Sophistiques.' You can follow her on Twitter at @joyanna1985 and read selected works online at www.joyannam.com.

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