I compartmentalised friends as ‘normal’ and ‘not normal’. Mila was undoubtedly ‘not normal’, bitch or lover, take your pick. How we met was unexpected. Missing my train, I cursed the appalling weather and retreated to the station café. Working as a waitress, she looked familiar, yet I could not place her. She wore a neutral expression that veered between don’t-fuck-with-me, and a sunnier disposition reserved only for women. Then, she caught my eyes and gave me that look. It caught me unawares, and I quivered inside. After too many stolen glances, I knew what she wanted and found her on her break; the polite chit-chat was mere ceremony. Mila accepted my invitation to meet for a coffee away from here the following week.

She chose a black pinafore dress over a tight white bodice. Feminine, revealing enough, it veered towards the submissive. I recalled where I’d seen her before… at Liberty’s, our local swinger’s club. People look different with their clothes on. As I broached that subject, she impressed me. Perfunctory, with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, its connotations made what happened next a nailed-on certainty.

It might seem strange to call this a hobby - fucking for fun. Dispassionately, it was just that… a pastime. You might think this was easy to do, but it wasn’t. Call me what you like, and I would agree with you; call me that in the heat of passion, I’d drain your balls or stick my tongue up your cunt until you climax. If you understood my life to date, you would understand my motivations.

Mila chose to be single, and we shared that in common. She had as much bad luck with men as I did. Whilst I avoided them in my ‘normal’ life, Mila could not due to her line of work, and she had the strength of personality to carry her. We shared the same laissez-faire attitude to sex and the same ideal that variety was the spice of life. We held the same beliefs: do not wreck anyone’s relationship or hurt anyone. You would never wish it on your worst enemy when it’s been done to you.

At Liberty’s, we usually went together when we felt the need. There were many reasons someone chose this path to get their rocks off. Messy reasons were expected; an unhappy relationship and an unaware spouse were typical. People will deceive others to get laid, and some will not. Age brought wisdom to spot the warning signs. There were many flaky people out there, and they would only be sorry if they got caught. Maybe that was why Mila and I stuck together. I had that sixth sense, and despite her brusque demeanour, she did not.

Mila and I had been at it for months. Occupying an exotic hinterland, what we had was not a relationship or something with a strong emotional attachment. Ours was a shared empathy, and whilst the temptation was there to overanalyse it, we were together for mutual support. Saying we were friends was too much, but we were more than acquaintances.

Friends with benefits sounded trite, fuck buddies was a little too coarse. Lovers? Mila’s emotions were kept well hidden. I guess it defied any description, which is why I was so enamoured with her; she was a challenge. I liked to think we were together for the intense sexual chemistry, not that Mila would ever say anything of the sort.

Lathering on more foam, I washed her from my body. The heavy suds slapped against the shower tray and echoed off the tiled walls. Licking my lips, the tang of her sex remained. It was a shame. I was not sated, I ached for more, but my mind was made up. Someone else would do that. I was going out and did not want to smell of L’eau du Cunt in the supermarket.

It would be conceited to label myself this way; more than one person described me as statuesque. I was the product of generations of handsome farmers and the fair maidens they married. I was never slight in build but well-defined and bullied as a child for rolls of puppy fat. It was a miserable existence as I grew up, and my self-confidence never flourished. The strength of my personality and acts of kindness won me friends; I was never part of the ‘it’ crowd.

The hard work at the farm and the constant activity paid dividends. I owed it to the fresh air, hearty food, and hard work. From an ugly duckling, I grew taller and transformed into a more gracious swan. My features slimmed and shone through. Tall and svelte, my curves developed from my broad shoulders downwards, deeply cupped breasts, a cinched waspish waist, slender hips and lithe limbs.

Soon, I attracted admirers, so I tortured my former detractors with tight tops and shorts. I let them stew in their lust, and none of them would ever have me. Such was my appreciation after those years of torment; I vowed to treasure my body and look after it. I grew up in an unremarkable rural village, the craving became too great, and I married the man that made me into a woman. Like many in Ireland, it was a shotgun affair arranged in haste.

Now, it was a war of attrition against Old Father Time, Mother Nature, and gravity. I worked hard in the gym to hold myself together. Gone were the days of eating what I liked and getting away with it. From head to toe, the ratio of my shoulders, waist and hips remained in proportion to my height. Ten years ago, I turned heads, less so these days when I encouraged it. Still, those that admired me knew what they wanted.

Tepid water ran over the heft of my breasts. They were moulded to my frame with a little overhang and were not around my knees yet. Guiding the sponge around my midriff, I might be a little fuller in the waist compared to my slender twenties. I snorted at the thought… my slender twenties.

I bore twin girls at eighteen, and my youthful body snapped back into shape. How little did I know back then, bearing children at that age with shallow hips? Fingering the fine line, a faint scar from the inevitable caesarean, I snorted again.

“Out through the sunroof,” my ex-husband used to say.

Dried and wrapped in a satin robe, I returned to my bedroom.

“Come back to bed.”

I tutted, “Mila, you make it sound like the middle of the night, not a Saturday lunchtime.”

That was her in a nutshell: impatient.

I needed to know if Jack was still out there. Peering back through the blinds, he was the more significant distraction in that t-shirt stretched taut by his muscular body. Now, I had the advantage of carnal knowledge. Of course, he was nervous, it was as close to vanilla sex as I would tolerate, but he had something. All week, I remained undecided, and it nagged as an itch to scratch. I decided he was someone I wanted to sample again. Besides, sex the second time is infinitely better than the first.

Washing his car again was the opportunity I had waited for all week. I was not so brazen to knock on his door and devour him. Our proximity to each other brought me close to the demarcation line between ‘normal’ and ‘not normal’, and discretion was the safest option. Five days of uncertainty had come to this, and not even Mila could divert my attention.

“Come back to bed, Iona… please.”

I tutted again and gave a playful smile. Looking at Mila, the venetian blinds scythed sunlight into stripes of shadow over her body. Her lips curled, amused with herself, and those sultry eyes conveyed an overt hunger.

This late-spring heatwave was a portent of the summer to come. Hot, sticky, and intemperate all week, who better than Mila to writhe within that mire? Those juicy feline cheeks dimpled with a lecherous smirk; I knew she wanted more.

“Iona…”

The cool robe did not stay like that for long. Catching a waft of cooler air, I purred with relief as the oscillating fan tried to undress me. The gossamer fabric fell open and revealed the embonpoint of my breasts.

“Hot flush?”

She consistently sailed close to the wind.

“Mila… just how old do you think I am?”

Seeing my pursed-lipped expression, she mused on my question. It kinked her eyebrow, and she gave me that shit-eating grin; she knew how to provoke me.

I raised an eyebrow, too, “Guess? I’ll give you a chance to redeem yourself for a comment like that.”

“Thirty? Though… a woman of twenty would kill to have a figure like yours.”

“Not old enough for a hot flush then,” it was a peevish smile tempered by her compliment, “…and flattery will not work. I am immune to that, a symptom of being thirty-eight.”

Mila was over a decade my junior, and it showed in these moments. I tolerated them because she was an exquisite lover. Some people are bisexual, torture themselves and keep it hidden. A few of them experiment and dabble in it as a passing phase. Mila revelled and excelled at it. Passive with me and aggressive with men, Mila was a contradiction in personality and appearance. Petite and demure in appearance but too outspoken to maintain that mystique. She looked like an angel with azure eyes to get lost in, yet she was a fiend between the sheets.

Mila was beautiful and elegant in public and a whore in private. We both knew what we wanted, uninhibited pussy-licking, finger-fucking, and cunt-mashing thrills. Many admired her and pursued her - she was a sublime beauty. The problem was… she knew it, and one day, pride would come before a fall. She had an ego that would make a megalomaniac blush.

Mila was many things; she was brutally honest… I liked that. At twenty-five, beautiful and experienced, she was good for my self-esteem – nothing more. I took the time to admire her on my bed. Still in heat, a slender leg straight with her back twisted at the hips. The luscious curve of her behind swept as an enticing arc, and a taut flank hid her sex. I knew I was punching above my weight to have her in my bed.

“If it’s lunchtime, Iona. I have something you want to eat….”

Uncurling her back and moving her leg, she revealed the smooth hillock of her mons and sex, all candy-pink, swollen and glossy. Her pointed knees rested at ten past ten on a Saturday afternoon. Her hair was unkempt, with two crooked arms resting above her head. She knew this submissive pose tempted the animal from its cage. The mounds of her spectacular breasts stretched across her torso as oversized dinner plates. Each with their long nipples erect, they were impossible to resist. The hypnotic undulation of her hips goaded me; she was art to admire and pornography when the mood took her.

“Iona…” tuneful, lusty, she played to my better nature.

Peering through the window, I admired Jack again. Nurturing that tell-tale flutter, my body agreed with my mind.

“Iona… please,” pleading, needy; Mila did not see my smile.

Facing her, I cast my robe from my shoulders; it caressed my arms and laid as a puddle on the floor. On hands and knees, I stalked the bed with impassive eyes that promised nothing. Her piano fingers sought to guide my thigh to her nubile sex, her hips poised to writhe. Those springy teardrop mounds pressed against mine, and my lips grazed hers. This kiss suggested a gentle farewell. Mila did not know yet; she would be gone in twenty minutes.

“Mila…” it sought to persuade, “you were magnificent as always.”

“So were you… last night and this morning…. You were amazing at Liberty’s.”

Purring words with a heavy Slavic affectation, she appealed to my better nature and smooched my lips. Wanting more, no one resisted her charms. I cupped her breast; they were another contradiction – nymph-like women do not have such a fulsome bosom. Very few could maintain eye contact with her; they were perfection.

Running my fingers through her wavy brunette hair, I planted another goodbye kiss, “We make a fine pair of lesbos.”

Mila giggled, “We still like cock, though…” and frowned, “well… you like it more than I do.”

“True,” and I gave her another quick smooch, “I know we could go at this for hours.”

It was no word of a lie; this vixen inspired carnality as I needed air to breathe, and I placed it onto her lips as a consolation.

Mila frowned again, “But?”

“I have a friend coming around soon, sorry.”

My bitten lip conveyed regret; her roaming hand clasped my behind as she pressed her sex against my thigh. Its cloying heat slipped against smooth skin. Mere inches from my pussy, a slight change in posture, and we would writhe together.

I tutted, “Mila….”

“Just one more…” and she nuzzled my ear.

This was more difficult than I imagined.

“Soon,” and another dispassionate kiss conveyed the need to part.

She slumped to the bed with a snort of disappointment, “When are we going to Liberty’s again? It was so much fun last night.”

Scanning her features, they were etched with hope.

“Well, I’m going a week on Monday if you are interested?”

It furrowed the gap between her eyebrows deeper, “Bi night? Bi men?”

Nodding, “Yeah, Bi night. Are you not tempted? Watching men at it?”

“I am always tempted by you,” she snorted, “not sure that’s my kind of thing, though.”

“A shame…” purred as I might during a seduction; I wanted to drive the point home, “it’s my thing, though. You should reconsider and experiment a little more. Imagine… me, you, and two horny bisexual men to play with?”

I could tell she needed more persuasion, “Mila, come with me, and just watch. You don’t know, a fully-bi experience might blow your mind.”

My insides fluttered at the thought, and if she acquiesced now, I would fuck her again.

She mulled over my words, “This is true… it might. I’d try it again.”

Fuck… she was driving me to the ragged edge of control. Flexing upwards, Mila zeroed in on my cunt with her smooth thigh. Grazing the sensitive folds, I clung on by mere fingertips.

“I like that about you, Iona,” and those pillow lips grazed mine, “You are so adventurous. Bisexual men? But you know what happened last time.”

I did, and it rolled through me as the portent of a storm. Mila clasped my behind, twisting her hips, and the wet heat of her snatch made contact with mine. The promise of thunder growled from the depths, and Mila grinned. The bitch had me, and we moved as a symphony of limbs garnered from experience, committed to muscle memory.

Jack would have to wait.

“He’s different, Mila.”

That was the worst of all Freudian slips.

“Oh… he’s different, is he?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Is this who you are meeting?”

“Yes,” I had to recover the situation, “He’ll love you.”

“And you want him with us? You suppose a lot, Iona.”

Fuck.

A shower of tender kisses rained down on her neck. With a whimper, Mila’s tone softened.

“Mmm, Iona. You must tell me all about him if he is good enough for you. How could he resist us?”

“I will… soon, and he won’t be able to resist us. Especially you.”

I played to her vanity, and that lascivious grin returned, “We are a hot commodity, two bisexual women as beautiful as us.”

I was more than a commodity and opted for the sweetest smile, “Mila… come with me to Bi Night.”

Gasping, a lightning bolt seared through my clit as her slippery folds caressed it.

That eyebrow, fuck, I hated that eyebrow. Mila bore a grudge. Every. Single. Time. She sucked the irritability from my erect nipple. I clamoured to hold her, mashing her cunt against mine with squirming hips.

“It’ll be different this time, Mila. Fuck…,” her relentless movements were too much. “We’ll make you the centre of attention.”

“What if I wanted to be in charge this time?”

I was on top, and I was supposed to be fucking Mila. Nope, my bisexual friend-with-benefits took over. She rolled me onto my back and placed her thigh against my mons. I showered to get ready and go out. Instead, I had my protégé riding on my cunt as if her life depended on it. Fuck, I loved and hated her dominant streak. This time, it had all the bad timing of a door-to-door salesman. The rising pleasure loosened my body as we found our tempo, swaying and swooping against each other, fluid like a meandering brook. A clasp of her hip steered one way, a stretch of my body the other. Mila, like myself, understood those nuances and those deep unfathomable eyes locked onto mine, poised to strike.

Unable to find the caress to impart my emotion, she was generous with her tenderness. A bitch called Mila, yet these were the moments when she imparted such soulful magic. Her soft skin on contact with the cushion of my breast forced my lips to pout, and she planted her yearnings there. Guiding my body, beguiling it with her movements to provide more friction. My hazy mind was transported away from the practicalities of our humdrum lives towards the marvellous rapture of orgasm. To think, she was there between my legs an hour ago. Her naked lips cupped my smooth mons with a livid tongue, conjuring my first orgasm of the day. Now, this, writhing against each other, our faces flushed, lost in the symphony of languid curves in a hypnotic dance. This was us at our most intimate. Sex-to-sex drenched in each other’s juices, writhing in a final game of brinkmanship.

Those exquisite breasts jiggled for my benefit, our limbs provided leverage, and the caress of her flawless sex encouraged the primal tension building within. The squelch of our juices, our skin clammy to the touch, all of our senses devoted to the act. The musk of sex in the torpid air, breathless whimpers, and Mila’s porcelain body flexed her inspirational curves. Both of us were restless, each trying to hold on as the unbearable pressure ratcheted up. We were never lost for something to say or something to bicker about. Yet, these were the beautiful moments of complete understanding. Looking up, content she had the initiative, happy to share it, she writhed faster to match my broken gasps.

As we both hurtled our bodies towards the abyss, the sunlight reflected in her wide-open eyes, and they narrowed with that familiar tell. To see Mila’s climax is to realise a life’s dream, such undiluted bliss etched on those brittle features. An image that stiffened a thousand cocks and wettened countless cunts. Right now, she was mine, clamped to my body and straining to release her climax, tipping me over the brink for mine.

Fuck, it was a good one; it pointed my toes and made my legs shake like tree boughs in a storm. A full-body experience rattling my bones when my eyes narrowed just as hers took hold. Those open lips pouted, the weighted gaze, softened features and quivering of Mila’s limbs. It was such a statement of vulnerability, she could be forgiven for everything. Clasping her trembling breasts, it vented out through her entire body.

Her contented Slavic purr always spiced my aftershocks… and led me to reach out and embrace her, resting against my breathless body in my arms.

“See?” she chuckled, “You needed that as much as I did.”

I ran my fingers through my damp hair, “Okay, Miss Smarty Pants. Yes, I did.”

Her fingers traced around the contour of my breast, “And you have to go?”

She earned this, and I placed it onto her lips, “Sorry, I do.”

Mila purred; it was a weak smile of agreement, “Okay… I can use the shower before I go, yes? I’ll be quick.”

“Yes, be quick.”

Listening to the sound of running water, I returned to the window; Jack was still there and shaking a bottle of car wax. The embers within flickered into a new flame. Devouring the spectacle, I dipped a finger into my liquid sex.

“Oh, you are for a treat,” I muttered.

= 2 =

As the letterbox clattered, Mila was gone, and the deep sigh dropped my shoulders. I liked her in small doses like alcohol - pleasant but not to the point of overdoing it.

The musk of sex lingered in the bedroom, and the faint breeze from an open window would dissipate it.

Showered again, my hair wrapped in a towel; the brassiere did not pinch. It melded to my breasts as a second skin. Glancing at the matching panties, I opted not to wear them. Looking at my reflection, my cunt was still aroused, adding a feral glimmer to my eyes. Jack might notice it, and I snorted with incredulity… that was too much to ask. He was far too young.

Quickly blasted with the hairdryer, I chose to wear it up and hide the mess I made of it. It was too hot to coiffure it properly. Held in place with a tortoiseshell clasp. I pulled on a couple of locks to hang loose. Sitting at my dressing table, I peered at my reflection; the few lines on my face were laughter lines, yet I understood the pain of heartache and sorrow. Mila might be right – time was kind to me. I could pass for thirty at a push and maybe late twenties in the proper lighting… the dark.

My elfin features had not hardened with the advancing years. My feline cheeks still dimpled as I smiled, and I could convey any emotion with these almond-shaped eyes. I showed my best side with a demure smile; it was something I had to practice. Raising my chin, it transformed into a deliberate gaze of intent with the sensual sweep of my jawline. The kink in my eyebrow would betray my thoughts. Always the optimist, I wanted Jack to understand with just one look. Soon, he would breach my sex with that magnificent youthful tool. No vanilla sex for Jack; this would be the start of his education.

Opting for a bit of make-up, it was nothing too much, just casual for the weekend. I rose and stood at the dressing mirror to adjust the boho cotton dress and added a lopsided wide leather belt. It matched my auburn hair and defined my figure. Its frontage displayed a generous quantity of milky white décolletage.

Standing in the mirror, I achieved my goal, between timid and evocative. It was perfect for what I had in mind.

Jack… I needed him.