"I'm really stressed out, she said. "Want to trade back rubs?"
I thought nothing of it at the time, because she was into things like yoga and meditation and different types of massage. She lay down on my bed with the thick pink towel still around her, although she had let it slide down her back so that plenty of bare skin was showing. I reached for a bottle of lotion, rubbed some into her skin and let my hands glide along her back.
"Mmmm," she said. "That feels great." After a while, she turned over, her rosy hardened nipples splayed skyward, and gave me a sleepy grin. "You are the best," she said.
I was wearing a loose cotton blouse, which I unbuttoned and tossed onto a chair, and lay down on the bed beside her. "Okay," I said. "My turn."
She rubbed my back and shoulders while slowly massaging the tight muscles around my neck. Then she started stroking the skin under my arms, letting her fingers lightly touch the sides of my breasts. I felt my body relax and I let out a little sigh.
"Do you like that?" she asked.
"Sure," I said in a lazy, noncommittal voice.
Then she lifted me up and put a pillow under my stomach. Pretty soon her hands were cupping my breasts and she let her fingers flitter around my nipples. She started massaging my scalp and running her fingers though my hair and down the full length of my back and my legs.
Suddenly feeling awkward, I got up and put on a t-shirt. She had knotted the towel around her waist leaving her breasts in full view. She just gazed at me and blinked. Finally I said, "I'm starving. Let's get something to eat, okay?"
And that was it. Several weeks later, she moved out and I never saw her again. "Oh yeah, Jan is gay," one of my other housemates, Kevin, said months later. "You didn't know that?"
Believe it or not, the first time I was around a woman I knew was gay was when I moved to New York three years ago. A friend of mine from college let me crash in her apartment for a few days, and she told me that one of her roommates, Kimberly, was a lesbian. One morning, as I lay on their couch kind of half-awake, I heard Kimberly say to this guy who was also crashing there, "Look at those legs," referring to my limbs spilling out from underneath a comforter and several blankets. I started getting really turned on as I peeked out from under the covers, pretending to be asleep, but secretly watching her. She reminded me so much of an ex-boyfriend, Todd.
I was thinking about Todd and all of the incredible morning sex I'd had with him as I watched Kimberly in the kitchen pouring milk into a cup of coffee. She had close-cropped bleached hair and was wearing a cream-colored tank top that showed her veiny arms and the outline of her single-scoop breasts. A few minutes later, I heard her in the shower, and then watched her walk through the living room in nothing but red thong underwear, with her hair dripping wet and a towel draped around her shoulders. I think that if she had come over and wanted to have sex with me I would have definitely let her.
Actually, now that I think about it, I used to get kind of turned on by this gorgeous woman who was the manager at a market research company where I once worked several nights a week. She always wore tight sweaters and brightly colored miniskirts, had long crimped blonde hair and a perfect dewy face. You'd think she'd have a high-pitched whiny voice, but she didn't. She had a raspy Demi Moore voice that made her seem kind of tough. Even so, I had this private nickname for her, which was Bunny. I wasn't being facetious, it's just that the name sprang to my mind every time I looked at her.
Several times a night she would walk out of her office and slowly circle around the bullpen, a trail of musky perfume wafting behind her. I'd see her coming and think to myself, here comes Bunny. When she walked by my tiny cubicle she'd say hi, and I'd get really turned on. I could tell she had this effect on most of the people in the office, especially the men, because every time she entered the room, I felt a collective rush of sex vibes. I think that she thought about sex a lot and, though she had a cute, athletic-looking husband, she was getting more on the side. One guy who worked there, Jason, told me about a party he had gone to where he had accidentally walked in on her while another guy, not her husband, was fucking her. Jason kept talking about how her legs were splayed way over her head. Which made me realize that Jason must have been a little inexperienced, because he acted like it was so unusual to have sex in that position.
After I heard Jason's story, whenever Bunny walked by with her willowy legs on display, I couldn't help but visualize her getting laid with her legs stretched overhead. Since I like that position a lot myself, it added to the turned-on feeling she often fired up in me.
I have a fantasy that I conjure up every now and then. I imagine that I'm a maid in a fancy hotel and a voluptuous French woman with chestnut brown ringlets and I are cleaning one of the rooms. We are both wearing pale orange t-shirt-like tops and matching skirts, which are our uniforms. But it is swelteringly hot, so we rub ice cubes on our necks, and since the water's running down our backs, we take off our tops and bras. Every time we walk past each other while we're making up the beds our breasts touch, which we think is kind of funny.
Then we hear the door open and a dark-haired man with a heavy European accent comes in and sees us lying on his bed laughing and touching each other. He lifts up our skirts and has sex with us both until we've had enough.
I was thinking about this the other day while sitting next to this beautiful Japanese woman on the subway. She was wearing a navy suit with a short skirt, and I couldn't help but notice her shapely legs. She had a curtain of shiny black hair, a flawless complexion and bow-shaped lips. When I see women like this it makes me realize why men go nuts for Asian girls. As the subway jerked and moaned and then lurched to a stop, the Japanese woman's legs brushed against mine, and I felt a surge of pleasure race through my body. Directly across from us sat a bony old geezer who was staring right at her crotch. When his eyes slipped over toward me, I gave him a mean, don't-you-dare look. Little did he know that I was thinking the same lurid thoughts about this ravishing Asian woman as he.
I looked down and realized that our skirts were almost identical?woolen and flared?and we were both wearing shear black hose, although she had on knee-high leather boots and I was wearing my black suede slingbacks. I yearned for the train to propel our legs together once again, if only for an instant. But at the next stop, she got up and swung her long gray coat around her. The subway door slammed shut and she was gone.