It is 1987, the last Sunday in August, and my arm is around Brenda. She is my new bull lesbian girlfriend and my first openly gay relationship. But my life is complicated. I am standing there by the apartment block’s front door, watching, and waving as David and Sarah get into their car and, with a wave of their own, drive away.

Internally, I was experiencing two dominant emotions, one new and the other very familiar, yet powerful. With the first one, my heart is telling me that I should be in the car with them. After all, David was not only Sarah’s boyfriend… He was now my boyfriend, too.

I was still trying to understand our relationship, this new emotion, and how a three-way relationship could possibly work!

It was weird as I am a competitive person, but I liked Sarah, and I wanted her to be part of David’s and my life, too.

Tomorrow evening, I knew I would be seeing David again. But after that, it will be two long weeks apart. That was almost half as long as we had been together, and I knew I would miss him; actually, I was going to miss them both.

The idea of sharing my boyfriend with another girl was new to me, but one that, perhaps perversely, I found exciting. It was not because I liked sharing; it was more down to who I was sharing him with. Sarah may not be into girls as much as me, but she is one of the most beautiful-looking women I have ever seen. She is also kind, and I am still struggling to understand why she doesn’t seem to resent my arrival. We have seemed to have clicked, and I am extremely happy to have her as my friend.

But our three-way relationship, or perhaps more accurately, our boyfriend sharing, was so new. David, Sarah, and I, Clare, have only just gotten together. Our first threesome, where we all had sex together, happened only last night. It cemented a three-way bond that currently had many more questions than answers. But the other two were now leaving me and going somewhere foreign and exotic, to Crete.

Brenda’s arm may be pulling me close, but my immediate emotion is one of rejection.

However, the sting of loneliness was not the only emotion that I was currently experiencing. The other one was very familiar to me… I was horny.

I glanced at Brenda. She is also new in my life and, as I have already mentioned, a bull lesbian, though she calls herself something slightly different. I smiled.

It is no secret that I am very sexually attracted to her. She is interesting and so different from any other woman whom I ever met before, but before I talk about her… a little about me.

*****

I am Clare, and you can think of me as being beautiful or plain, graceful or gangly, sensual or slutty. David, my boyfriend, would always use the first word, and me, the second. But that sort of sums me up. I have always been a bit of a mixture, caught between two stools.

In my eighteen years, nineteen in November, I have experienced a wide range of emotions, desires, and regrets. My home life has not always been great, and quite often the opposite. As for my sexuality, it seemed to be constantly evolving, or maybe it was just like me, a muddle.

As my mother used to say to me, “You're trying to grow up too quickly.” It is only now that I am a little older, that I am beginning to realise my mum, Ruth, may have had a good point. Though, of course, I would never admit that to her.

When I look back on my earlier years, there are two things that I feel dominated them. These were my looks and the constant uprooting of my life.

Today, people say that I am beautiful and that I could be a model, but it has certainly not always been that way. Sometimes I have to look into the mirror just to check and reassure myself that my body and my appearance have not reverted to the one I had at school. 

After all, I only needed to refer to my childhood photos and look at that gangly girl who looked more like a boy. They are images that still haunt me and ones that I couldn’t believe my mother chose to show to David on his first visit to my home. I was so embarrassed, and yet, by the end, equally reassured as, surprisingly, it had not put him off me!

But I come to that, as it only happened a month ago, and like most stories, it is better if I start at the beginning.

I was born into an army family, my dad, John, being a soldier, and we spent the first fourteen years of my life travelling around. There was one army camp after another, different schools, and ever-changing friends. It felt like every year my life was a repeat of the year before or, if you like, a copy, then cut and paste into another garrison town. For me, one town became another, and my friends were just revolving people.

It was the main reason I struggled and rebelled against the system.  

I was trying to find my place in the world, but changing my whole life every year affected me, especially as I became a teenager. I was the gangly tomboy, the only girl in the army gang of kids. Being inquisitive, I lost my virginity and did things that I knew I shouldn’t have done. Luckily, my parents were mostly oblivious of my mischief though the army authorities made sure they knew some of it.

Much to my parent’s despair, I went through a phase of not caring about anything. But there was an exception to my destructive downhill spiral; I continued to do well at school.

But my life was about to change, and the first one was the big one; my father bought himself out of the army when I was fourteen. We were going to have a permanent home. It was with that knowledge that in July 1983; I found myself on a family holiday and visiting a popular south coast sandy beach.

I was standing there, contemplating my future, when I saw a stranger, a young good-looking man. He was just sitting there and seemed to be doing the same thing as me. I couldn’t help glancing at him, my mind and eyes now more interested in watching him. It was obvious he was in deep thought, maybe even pondering about his future. That young man was David, my current boyfriend, but it would be another four years before we got together.

David doesn’t know this, so I whisper it, but the chat we had that day was the first real grown-up conversation I ever had outside my family. It made me realise I was not alone; others had troubles, too, and it got me thinking as to what I was going to do with my life.

I went away from our chat, knowing that I would always remember him. It was not just the glint in David’s eyes, that he was good-looking, and those dimples. There was something else, a strange new feeling that he had treated me like a grown-up. Though then, I thought I would never see him again, especially as we lived miles away.

How wrong was I?

The very next day, my mum and dad told the whole family that we were going to live with my grandparents, as a family, in the nearest big city to that south coast beach. It was a joyful surprise as then we lived in an army garrison town in Yorkshire, hundreds of miles north of where my grandparents lived.

But of course, it was too late to tell David; he thought I was returning to Yorkshire.

So that is what happened. We lived with my grandparents; my dad got a job in sales, and my mum found a part-time position in an office at a large builder’s yard. After six months, we moved into a semi-detached house on the edge of the city. It is where I still live today with my family. It is not the biggest, but it is home.

So with roots, I became a good girl and studied hard, though I have to say, most things came easily to me, especially maths and the sciences. It was in these subjects that I became what was called then, a straight ‘A’ student. Yes, with no bragging (or ego, David) I was always top of the class.

I was happy now I had foundations in my life and I had amassed a large circle of friends. I was the bright, athletic girl with an exotic background, having lived in all these interesting places: Germany, Yorkshire, Northern Ireland, Wiltshire, and Aldershot.

It was during these good girl years I discovered my love for ballroom dancing and horse riding. David doesn’t yet know this, but they were both things I was naturally good at. In fact, with dancing, I excelled and won several junior dance competitions.

I was happy, but I guess there was a little, or maybe a lot, of the bad girl still within me as I increasingly became restless, and there was something else. At the time, it was unrecognised by me, but I was starting to turn from that gangly girl into the more refined woman that I am today.

After I turned sixteen, I found things in my life starting to change; a few for the better, but certainly not all.

Jasmine, or Jaz as I call her, was, and still is, my best friend. We went to school together, her being a tall, blue-eyed blonde who lived with her divorced mum, just two minutes around the corner from me. With Jaz not having any brothers or sisters, we did a lot of things together; one of them being ballroom dancing. It was our thing.

It was one evening, just past my sixteenth birthday, that Jaz and I found ourselves communally showering at the dance hall. This was not what we normally did, as we usually went home to change and shower, but that night, we were going ice skating at the rink next door to the dance hall.

As we showered, just the two of us, we could not help looking at each other’s naked bodies, even though we must have showered together before. But that night, it was different, as we could not help giggling and staring. It was Jaz’s blonde pubic hair that sort of drew me in; they were so different from my dark ones. I don’t know why, but it made me think of my mum and sister, who are both blondes, though I had never seen either fully naked.

In my family, my mum, my seventeen-year-old sister Ella, and my two much younger brothers, Paul and Colin, have blonde hair. It is only me and my dad, John, who are different. His hair is a dark brown, now with a fleck of grey, while you could say I am a bit of a mixture; the unusual one, the mongrel.

I have always felt like I was the odd one in my family.

As for my hair colour, it is more of a cocktail, red and brown with a few random blonde streaks thrown in. I call myself a reddish brunette; though David calls my hair colour unique. There is also another bonus: now that I chose to wear my hair longer, almost bra-strap length, it seems to have developed a natural wave. 

Enough about hair, and back to my story…

That shower with Jaz made me curious about sex with another girl. Then, it wasn’t something I had thought about, but the idea grabbed me, and it turned out that it grabbed Jaz too. After the ice skating, I ended up at Jaz’s house; her mum working, and it was just the two of us. I stayed until late that evening, and it gave us a chance to talk, then kiss and explore each other’s bodies.

While neither of us was new to sex, it was the first time for both of us with another girl. That evening, I remember well as it shaped my mind; it felt so natural and completely right. It wasn’t long before Jaz and I became regular, but secret lovers.

One person did eventually know, and that was Jaz’s boyfriend, Rob. However, that was more than a year later, just after he joined the army. By that time, Jaz and I were in a noncommittal sexual relationship, one which we only paused a few weeks ago.

So, I knew from the age of sixteen that I was bisexual, and my newfound sexuality had come with a sudden urge to experiment with Jaz. Until then, and maybe strangely, sex with another girl had never been something I had considered. It had always been boys. But now I had a taste, I was hooked, and I realised I had to be careful not to give the game away about my newfound sexuality.

I do need to emphasise that I feel my relationship with Jaz was one of the good things that happened to me during that difficult time. 

Another was my body. At sixteen, it started to change. I got curves, sexy curves. Today, everyone seems to think that I am beautiful, well, everyone except maybe myself.

I had always been leggy and gangly, with small breasts, and no shape to my bottom, but I guess my hormones must have kicked in late, or I got very lucky. You could call me a late bloomer, but from the time I turned sixteen, till I was eighteen, I went from that gangly schoolgirl to what I am today.

My whole body shape changed, and with new curves, men started to notice me, and some even asked me out. I liked all this new attention, though it took time to find my body confidence. Remember, I was still that good girl, a straight-A student, even if I was in a secret lesbian relationship and had an even more secret, darker, past.

But as I have hinted, other not-so-nice things happened. These days, I try to put it down to being part of growing up as my life today is far happier than it was two years ago.

At sixteen, still, with my gangly looks, I got asked out by a popular boy called William, or Bill, to all his friends. I had just left school; it was that summer when things changed. You seem to have to go from a schoolgirl to a young woman overnight. It felt new, but I was somewhat unsure about my life, though I knew I was going to experience a new adventure as I was committed to going to college.

I also got a part-time job working in a clothes shop. It gave me some pocket money and allowed me to go out at an age when your friends become even more important to you. I felt ready to have my first genuine relationship outside the ongoing secret one with Jaz.

Bill took me out; it pleased my parents as they thought it would be good for me. Get me out of the house and make me less moody.

However, my parents still thought of me as their little girl, a virgin, with no sexual experience with the opposite sex and certainly no experience with other girls. Of course, both things were not true. They didn’t know about my sordid past and my ongoing sexual history. That I kept well hidden.

But embarrassingly, my mum took me and my sister to the doctor to make sure I was on the contraceptive pill. She told me that now I was with Bill, I would become sexually active, and she didn’t want me to end up pregnant as she did at my age. It was when my mum had me. As it seemed the way, Mum’s parental talk with me and my sister turned more into a lecture, and that is perhaps another reason I didn’t actually take them. I always wanted to rebel.

So, instead, I flushed the pills down the toilet, as I was more worried about the state of my libido than about getting pregnant. Yes, I now admit it was dumb, and David is right about contraception, but he is only right on that one point; and to be clear, today, I am more grown up and on the pill.

Bill and I became an item, me his virginal girlfriend. I was the good girl that he used to go to school with, and no one suspected was bisexual and had a naughty past. It took us three months to have sex. I took his virginity, and he took my virtual one. We were both happy; I was in a budding relationship, my first real one. I even thought I could fall in love with Bill, especially when he used to take me out and feed me free fish and chips from the chippy his father owned.  

So life was bliss for me?

Well, not really, as life at home was going downhill.

My mother and I were often arguing over my college homework, about me having more freedom, and having to babysit my two younger brothers. I also argued with my sister about her need to keep her part of the bedroom we shared messy, and there was also the lack of privacy. I have to say, older teenage sisters sharing a bedroom simply doesn’t work.

My sister and I hardly ever talked civilly. We lived in a house built for four, but there were six of us living there and only one bathroom. It felt cramped, and I wanted to spend more time with Bill and my friends.

While those arguments ebbed and flowed, there was one that was ongoing, even today, and that was the money I had to pay my mum to live at home.

She calls it, “Keep money.”

I call it, “A bed tax.”

It was during this time that it felt especially true, as I was hardly ever at home, and when I was, I did all the unpaid babysitting!

With my hormones now flowing as my body suddenly decided it was the right time to develop, the arguments at home got worse. My escape was to go out with Bill or go around to Jaz’s. But it felt when I most needed that freedom, there would be a reason it was not possible. Things always seemed required of me at home. It was a difficult time for me; I guess I should have accepted the situation and been more understanding, but I rebelled… After all, it is what I did.

It was the start of my second downward spiral, and one I only recovered from very recently.

To me, the small amount of money I earned working part-time in the clothes shop was to give me money. For funding my horse riding, my dancing, and, importantly, going out in the evenings with my increasingly important friends. In my rebellious state, I chose to give up the expensive horse riding. Then, six months later, I gave up ballroom dancing despite being the under-eighteen regional champion. I just didn’t want to do it anymore.

It seemed to me that growing up and having some freedom came with a price!

There were other things. Now I was having regular sex both with Bill and Jaz. However, I wanted to experiment, and have more variation, especially when I was with Bill. There were things that I had experienced in the past which I wanted again. I just didn’t want to act like a virginal good girl anymore.

I wanted to be the real me!

Maybe it was a cold thing to do, but I explained to Bill that he wasn’t my first. I wanted to be honest with him, and I needed to try new things during sex. But when I later mentioned anal, his attitude changed, as he just didn’t want to know. Instead, he pushed me away and then called me a slut.

Bill broke up with me.

With the name-calling, he suddenly seemed immature. He spread mostly untrue rumours amongst his friends, some of whom were my old school classmates. Maybe girls grow up faster, but Bill suddenly didn’t seem so special to me. He became nothing more than a part of my sexual history, another mistake.

I consider that to be the lowest point in my life, and I sought comfort in Jaz’s arms. It was from that point on that the sex between me and Jaz became amazing, and perhaps more serious. We started to experiment, and sometimes I even slept over, especially as there was… no bed tax! 

Jaz and I talked about our relationship. We knew we were not lesbians as we both liked and enjoyed sex with men. But we were both very bisexual, and we started having girl-on-girl sex several times a week. For me, there was simply no going back to being just a straight good girl. I was very comfortable with the thought of my sexuality as being bisexual. However, the longer Jaz and I were together, the greater the desire became to experiment sexually with other ladies; and even come out as bisexual to our parents and friends.

That last bit happened recently, just after I met David for the second time.

*****

Despite my home life not being good, and Bill being now history, things weren’t all bad.

I was still doing well at college. I also had a good social life with numerous friends of both sexes, and even Bill’s name-calling did not seem to affect my popularity. If anything, it increased it!

Another pleasant surprise was that my parents offered and paid for my driving lessons as my eighteenth birthday present. I chose to have them early and passed my driving test when I was still seventeen. My licence gave me a little freedom, but only when my mum wasn’t using her old red Citroen. My dad’s company car, a brand new blue Ford Mondeo, was simply unavailable to me.

Another positive came from working in the clothes shop, as other than the money I earned, there was an unexpected benefit. I got to purchase clothes at a discounted price, and there was something else. The owner, an older, kindly gentleman, would sometimes give me clothes to wear and keep.

I did realise that he had ulterior motives; I was not naïve, but he sold the idea to me on the premise of attracting young people like me into his shop. He wanted customers to purchase the items that I was wearing. The fact the clothes he gave me were always tight and short, and sometimes even revealing, had nothing to do with it!

I should point out that nothing untoward happened, other than a bit of harmless gawking on his part. That was something I got used to, and in the end, I simply didn’t mind. It was working there that I started to gain body confidence, and I got to appreciate the power of flirting.

Working in that shop was the start of the phase of me realising I preferred clothes that showed some skin and that I could use my developing body as an important tool to flirt with to get my way.

With college work still going well on a chilly Saturday morning in early March 1986, a tall, good-looking guy strolled into the clothes shop. I had seen him walk by a couple of times, and I thought he was working up the courage to buy something for his girlfriend.

But it turned out I was wrong; he wanted to ask me out!

The young man was Alan, my second official boyfriend, but my first true love. He bowled me away. At twenty-five, he had a flat and a car, which he allowed me to drive. Meeting Alan then was good for me as he arrived at a perfect time and stopped me from possibly following a more destructive path in my life. 

Alan worked for his father’s company as a junior architect. I couldn’t believe that someone so good-looking and, in my eyes, sophisticated, would be interested in me. The geeky, gangly girl who worked part-time in a clothes shop.

We became an item, and in those first six months, for perhaps the first time in my teenage life, I was happy, even content. But I also knew I was living a lie, as I never stopped seeing Jaz and sleeping with her. I had become used to it, and as the months went by, I realised I preferred sex with Jaz to sex with Alan and that I was very bisexual.

Alan looked after me, and I told him some of my history, that I wasn’t a virgin, and I had been with Bill. We opened up as a couple, and I learned about his ex-girlfriend. But there it stopped. I simply couldn’t tell Alan everything, all about my dysfunctional, somewhat torrid past. That I had willingly slept around.

I certainly could not tell him the truth, that I was bisexual. Then I was not ready to tell anyone about Jaz. She was going to remain my closely guarded secret. But there was something else; I sensed Alan would not accept the truth, as it was just not in his nature to accept anything outside the norm.

With Alan, I chose to keep my secrets and try to be a good girlfriend, but ultimately… I failed.

On the upside, now I had turned eighteen, my parents had started to look at me differently. I was now legally an adult and still doing well at college. They also thought I was safe with Alan. That he was a good calming influence, and I wouldn’t get pregnant as I was on the contraceptive pill, though, as I have already admitted to, the truth was I had never started taking it.

It came as a bit of a shock to me when they seemed not to mind if I slept over at Alan’s flat. My parents even hinted that it (sex) was part of growing up. So that is what I did every Friday and Saturday night, no messy sister to share a bedroom with and certainly… no bed tax!

There is one thing I will always remember about Alan, and that was the size of his cock. It was huge. Unknown to him, I had seen quite a few, and he was by far the biggest I ever encountered. While I never measured it, as good girls don’t do that sort of thing, he did tell me it was ten inches long. I believed him. It certainly took me a while to get used to it, but Alan’s cock size sort of summed him up. You'd think a good-looking guy with such a large asset would know how to use it.

Alan didn’t.

He was one of those people that had to have everything done in a certain way, with no imagination, and no room for change. If he had a round peg, it had to go in a round hole, a square peg in a square hole, it was so unlike me. It was very frustrating, as Alan could have been perfect for me, but he had no room to change. It felt as if he was already old when he turned twenty-six. He was so set in his ways.

As you might have guessed, I have a very active imagination, especially when it comes to sex. I have to say that after a while, and despite his enormous cock, Alan managed to take the fun out of sex. He just wouldn’t experiment; it was just bang, bang, bang in the missionary position twice a week. There was no oral, and as for anal… well, maybe his cock was too big for that, but I wanted to try!

The longer we were together, the more I realised that I needed more. Yes, Alan had been good for me, but I was changing, maybe outgrowing what he had to offer. I started to crave excitement, things that I knew my boyfriend would never offer. We were growing apart, but most of all, with my high sex drive, I felt the need to sexually experiment!

Jaz didn’t have a ten-inch cock, not even a plastic one. She didn’t need it as she had imagination, a tongue to explore every orifice, and fingers that knew where to touch. I was only Jaz’s second sexual partner, yet we were both so very compatible. Our sex together just got better and better.

As the months rolled by, Alan seemed to be more and more married to his work, only wanting to see me at the weekend. That gave me a lot of free time to be with my friends or, happily, in Jaz’s bed. It was a time when I started to crave a different type of sex from a man, something risky, kinky, and, above all, fun.

Bang, bang, bang, twice a week with a stiff ten-inch cock was not the answer; I could achieve the same with a large cucumber!

So, with my and Alan’s relationship in a groove, and home life nothing special, my bad girl mojo bubbled back up, and I started flirting again with guys. I was looking for sex away from Alan. Yes, I was looking to cheat, and just before Christmas 1986, it happened. I met John.

He was an older, married man who had a keen eye for the ladies. It might sound strange, but my initial attraction to him was down to his name, as it was the same as my father’s. I didn’t have daddy fantasies. But that night, it was a wicked thought, having a man around my father’s age, with the same name, standing there, plying me with alcohol and chatting me up.

The thought of being with a much older man had first seeded itself when I had been put on display by the leering owner of the clothes shop, a place where I still then worked.

As John and I talked, I knew I was going to cheat on Alan, that I wanted the sexual experience of being with an older man. I was horny, and it didn’t take John long to pick me up and then very willingly take me down a dark alleyway where we had sex. I think they call it a knee trembler.

All I know is it was me up against a wall, with his bare cock in me. It didn’t last long, but it was exciting, and yes, I let him cum in me, unprotected. I know I was stupid, but it felt so slutty, so risky, and so dirty. But there was something else… I loved it, and I knew I would cheat again… and I did, regularly.

I guess John was the turning point for me as he opened my eyes to what I was missing with Alan. For several months, whenever possible, John and I cheated on our partners. It was only sex. We didn’t have any other things in common, nor did we look for them. We just needed our release, and in my case, to explore all the naughty things I had been missing… anal sex being one of them.

Apart from that first night with John, I was cautious when it came to contraception. We always used condoms, as I couldn’t afford to get pregnant with him. With Alan, I only used them at my most fertile time. Maybe I was stupid, but I relied on the rhythm method, and luckily, it seemed to work for me.    

As for John and me seeing each other, it only stopped when he got cold feet, as he thought his wife suspected him of having an affair. I am not proud of it, but I felt no guilt. If it had been just down to me, I would have carried on seeing him for much longer than the three months.

When I look back, I realise meeting John was the start of a crazy time. A slutty eight months, when I would drop my knickers for just about anyone. It was a time that only finished when I met David and then Brenda. It was another period in my life that I was not particularly proud of, an ever-steepening downward spiral, with poor college results, and with them the realisation that Alan was just not the right man for me.

My life felt on hold; my relationship with my boyfriend was not going anywhere.

The truth was, I felt like I was stuck with Alan, I thought I couldn’t leave him as he gave me a bolthole to go to if my life fell apart at home. Yes, I was using him, hoping things would get better as I went through a period at home when I could not civilly talk to my mum, or get any support from dad.

My home had become a place I tried to avoid. Instead, I found my solace in my friends, in Jaz, drinking, smoking, and, above all, acting like a slut. But let’s make this clear: there was very little acting… I was a slut.

It was a black time for me, even if I enjoyed all the often risky sex. But my whole life seemed to revolve around it, sex with multiple partners. Doing kinky, risky sex acts. These were men who didn’t care about me; they only cared about themselves and getting off with me. The kinkier, the better, and the truth was, I was only too willing to agree to their sexual demands.

But, and I whisper this. Perhaps going through that second black stage of my life helps make me who I am today; a girl who doesn’t mind being called a slut or a tart, though David somewhat sweetly calls it… as being sensual. 

Currently, I have chosen not to mention to David anything about what happened during this dark time. All I have given is a number. It represented the number of new male sexual partners I had after John. That number is five, not high, but it was what I did and number five still bothers me, as I will have no choice but to tell my boyfriend about him… He was my biggest mistake.

When I confessed to David about my past, I told him the edited truth. He knows I have not told all, but he does know that he was the sixteenth man I had sex with. As for Jaz, she was my first woman, but since I have been with Brenda, she has also introduced me to Martina and Marion, so my number is currently three when it comes to the ladies, though I know that number will quickly change now I am with Brenda as she does like to both share me and show me off.

As for Alan, I did not immediately break up with him as we drifted further apart. Our relationship limped on. That is how I saw it, but Alan was oblivious, and during the summer of 1987, he even started talking about our future.

That worried me; there was no future.

I knew Alan wasn’t right for me and that I shouldn’t keep stringing him along. Yet, I still had feelings for him, sometimes even strong ones. I knew I needed to make a decision, but I remained uncertain about what to do until I met David for the second time.

After Majorca, the decision became clear and so much easier, and for the first time in my life, I broke up with someone who I liked but knew wasn’t right for me.

*****

Here I am, standing outside Brenda’s apartment block. Our arms are still around one another as we watch David’s car disappear into the distance and, with it, part of me. It was a strange, unfamiliar feeling. One I never had so strongly before. I knew it was because I was in love.

Yet, my pussy was already wet. It knows where Brenda is going to take me. It is also the place I want to go; her bed.

This was the first part of my slightly censored background, and please remember, I only promised to tell you… a little about me!

Authors Note:- All characters engaged in sexual acts are 18+  ©2023 wxt55uk. This story may not be reproduced in any manner, without the express permission of the author.