Alice passed us a note in orchestra:

Dear sisters,

My heart is still racing from our Sensual Saturday Séance. I never thought I would find friends who could appreciate me as you two did…do?…or make me feel so much, so good. I know we all have busy lives, and the demands of our families, school, and graduation make the next weeks tight. You know I’ll be thinking of you. I want you two to know that even if we never have another time together, I think of you as my soul sisters and my first loves. Thank you with all my heart, and all the rest of my little self, too!

– A. (and a heart with two arrows)

While we weren’t able to find another parent-free weekend before graduation, Ella and I agreed that Alice was a welcome new yet unknown factor in our lives and that we would look forward to further explorations with her over the summer. I found my dreams brightened by images of her delightful body – luscious boobs, sacral dimples, pert bum – but above all, by her responsiveness, and the way touching her aroused me. The next time El and I made love, I found myself being more vocal, and that led to being more appreciative of her knowing touch, and that led to a thunderous orgasm that had my mother knocking on the door and asking, “Everything all right in there?”

– o –

Tired from a day working in our vegetable garden, idly necking and kissing, watching the sun sink into the clouds on the Pacific horizon. I was considering about a ‘wink wink’ nap before bedtime, when Ella launched a reminiscence: “I read what you wrote about ‘idolizing.’ That’s a good word. I had you on a pedestal too,” she continued laughingly, “and that annoyed me sometimes because you were half a foot taller than me already! But you’re wrong to think I worked harder than you. We both were working our hardest; we stimulated the best in each other, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Ooo, stimulated! Yes. But I was never sure your Mama thought I was good for you.”

“Well, your Mom never doubted, not for a minute. I loved her for the encouragement she gave us.”

Hmmm. Thoughts of my Mom. When I was young and living at home I couldn’t decide if my Mom was a freak, or my Good Fairy – she was the complete Northern California girl: agelessly sexy slim body, long athletic legs, proud carriage; little make-up, naturally long blond hair unapologetically graying. Sex was her “thing.” She’d been all the way to the Kinsey Institute in Indiana for her Master’s (she called it ‘my Mistress’s’) before getting her doctorate at Harvard where she met Dad. She never let her professorship in evolutionary biology at the University interfere with her proselytizing for female liberation, specifically in the form of self-pleasuring. In her view, as the species Homo sapiens necessarily evolved, men became less and less necessary, except for procreation.

“Your Mom amazed me. She was always so chill about our antics, remember?”

“Chill? Ella, she was ecstatic! I couldn’t tell if she figured our ‘antics’ would help us postpone hetero sex and keep our minds on the prize: college, career. Or did our barely concealed lust turn her on?”

“Or both?” Ella suggested. “I knew she loved looking at my body, and I loved her looking, and watching you watch her watch me; that was so hot! When she offered us the use of her bedside ‘library of toys’ I thought I was going to go up in smoke.”

“Oh, my, yes! I think her unabashed delight at sharing her ‘library’ excused us both from any guilt we might have had about trying toys. I vividly remember her stroking a dildo sensually, like it was a cock, while instructing us on its required post-use sanitation. She had a special relationship with her toys.”

Mom’s devotion to her quasi-religious campaign in support of women giving themselves all the orgasms they could handle was undoubtedly partly due to my father’s long absences. Mom insisted she had only intermittent use for a man, and treasured her “alone time” to explore her own limits with the help of her ‘library.’ I think she even had an anonymous gig reviewing toys for Playboy. But when Dad got home, she would assemble a mammoth tray of snack food and wine and predictably vanish with him into their bedroom for a day and two nights, from whence passionate moans and cries would emanate at all hours.

“I remember one night your Dad came home unexpectedly…” Ella recalled a far-away look in her eyes.

“Wasn’t that the night we gave each other our maidenheads?” Mom usually contrived for me to stay over with Ella when Dad was expected, but he arrived unanticipated late one Friday night – “Home for the weekend, Honey: Surprise!” Ella and I had already checked out an interesting purple dildo from Mom’s ‘library’ and had retreated to my bedroom to conduct preliminary experiments in penetration. Exploratory fingerings had already established that despite being almost eighteen we were both virgo intacta despite all our best efforts – sports, horseback, bicycles. Tongues. Fingers…

“We couldn’t wait to get rid of our ‘troublesome virginity’ and the soundtrack from your parents’ bedroom that night sure helped us breach any lingering doubts,” Ella recalls with a wink.

“I couldn’t decide, at first, whether to be embarrassed or proud of them.”

“Not for long,” Ella asserted. “We blew right past any reservations, I think you’ll recall?”

“Never looked back!”

– o –

Dateline: Berkeley, California, 1967, the Summer of Love was already stirring our libidos. Spring of our senior year in high school; Ella and I had been refining the lesbian arts during sleepovers for two years. Another’s tongue, we established, brought better climaxes than one’s own fingers, but we were sure that for us this was likely just a convenient phase in what we laughingly agreed were likely to be ‘polymorphously perverse’ lives. Bound for college and careers, we had yet to meet any ‘men’ interesting enough to be worth distracting us from our own love-making.

No interesting men, that is, besides Ella’s elder brother Ben, aka ‘Tiny.’ Ben and Ella were both small-statured, ebony-skinned, and athletic. Ben could run like the wind, and lifted weights to bulk up enough to be a pesky offensive end on the Berkeley High football team. Ella, a shade lighter and barely five foot two tall, was a miniature goddess, improbably slender-waisted, with swelling hips and voluptuous breasts that seemed huge until you considered her small stature. Ever since our teenage escapades I have been drawn to pint-sized Junos like her and Alice.

Ella, Ben, and their single mother Flo lived in the first-floor apartment of a fine old converted flatlands Berkeley mansion with a big, jungly backyard.

I was then, and remain a tall flat chested crane, pushing six feet, although bearing and breastfeeding two children has enhanced my chest so with the right clothes I can manifest visible cleavage. Modest, compared with Ella’s glorious rack, but, well, no complaints.

Describing Ben, I find it easier to describe what he wasn’t than what he was. Retrospecting – something I do a lot these days – he was simply delicious. Not too big to be intimidating, sleekly muscular but not gross, irreverent without being disrespectful. Even Ella agreed that he was ‘a peach.’

One sleepover night, with Flo away at a church conference, we were taking turns playing with each other when the front door slammed and Ben’s noisy footsteps pounded past her bedroom to his room at the back. “You might think this kinky,” she challenged, “but I bet you’ll like it. Let’s go for a little outdoor adventure.”

“Do we need more clothes?” Adventure sounded like our current babydolls might be too scanty.

“Other than slippers, the less the better,” Ella reassured me. “It’s a balmy night.” Out the back door, a moonless night, ‘darker,’ Ella likes to say, ‘than the inside of a cow.’

Clearly familiar with paths through the backyard jungle, Ella led us to a screen of acacia with a perfect view of Ben’s back window. Ella had barely whispered, “Nothing may happen, but wait…” when Ben appeared in his window, bare from the waist up, his strongly muscled body gleaming.

“What’s…” I whispered.

Ella replied, “He oils his body. There’s a mirror on the wall beside his window, and sometimes he…”

And before she could finish, he began, posing like a competitive weight-lifter, flexing, admiring himself. Ooooo, I liked this! My hand slipped unbidden into my undies and started stimulating while I imagined what wonders might be inside Ben’s tight jeans. From our vantage, barely six feet away, our view could not have been more perfect, and this way, we could share a play-by-play.

“Nice six-pack,”

“Yeah. Long hours with the weights and the gym. Maybe…”

“No, he’s going for his belt!”

Unbuckled, Ben started flirtatiously unbuttoning his 501s. “Does he know we’re here?” I whispered.

“You don’t need to whisper; he’s in the zone. Just keep watching,” Ella advised, and shimmied her sweet little booty back against me, spooning. It only took her a few seconds to detect my finger action. “I can help with that,” she offered as her hand followed mine into my bush and below. Oh Goddess, I remember how hot she could get me with barely a tweak to my hot button!

The Ben Show went on. With almost balletic grace, he shimmied his jeans past his hips, and out popped the item of our interest. “He goes commando?”

“Always,” Ella replied, “and when I do his laundry, I usually see evidence of his virility inside his fly.”

At half mast, Ben’s prick already looked longer than anything I’d ever imagined putting inside my body. Ben still wriggling out of his jeans, his member waved about jauntily, and I remember thinking it was just about the most luscious thing I’d ever seen. From Ella’s breathing, I could tell that no taboo was going to interfere with her enjoyment of the show. I reached under her top and nestled her breasts in my hands, lifting them from below and gently rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. As usual, her areolae puckered at my touch as her nipples grew into tight knobs.

“Does he know we’re watching?”

“I don’t think he cares. I think this is all for him,” Ella said. “Oooo, he’s going for the bottle! Watch this.”

“How could I not,” I murmured as Ben reached out of view and produced a bottle of baby oil, and poured himself a palm-full. Ella lurched back against me as he rubbed it on his growing dick, gently fondling his balls, then back around his tight bum. As he stroked the oil onto his body, he pirouetted and flexed, showing himself off to himself in the mirror, and, unintentionally(?) to his admiring audience.

“He’s HUGE,” I exclaimed.

“Not so big, I think,” Ella suggested. “Remember he’s not a big guy, so it’s like my boobs: the scale is deceptive.”

“Well I sure see why you call him ‘Tiny,’” I teased. Surprising myself, I blurted, “I surely do want to get me some of THAT!”