I’m sitting in a very cramped, dark bar, bored. It’s a Friday evening and I’m waiting for the act I came to see take to the stage. I’m not wearing my sexiest attire, just a black top, tartan trousers, and my high-heeled Dr. Martens. After exchanging glances and smiles with a woman across the bar who looks cool and effortless in a light blue shirt and jeans, she comes over to me.
We talk for ages and my eyes drift to her lips throughout our conversation. She has cropped black hair and smells like floral perfume. While bonding over Buffy The Vampire Slayer, I find myself leaning towards her as she speaks and, before I know it, I’m asking to kiss her. Her answer is a coy smile and then it happens: frenzied, passionate kisses.
We rush to the toilets to grind madly on each other and I ask if she wants to come to my flat. This is huge for me. I’ve never kissed a woman, let alone asked one back to mine. I feel like I’m in unknown territory, and it’s exciting and new, if not a bit clumsy — my legs are shaking.
We kiss the entire journey home, our hands barely losing contact with each other. It’s like something has ignited within me. Her touch is like kindling, and I feel hungry and wild.
She asks for my permission at every step, every touch. Everything is softer, more tender than I’m used to — her body, her touch, her moans. She doesn’t pounce on me; she isn’t rough. There’s no hair pulling or arse slapping. Instead, once we’re back at my place, she lays me down gently and kisses me sensually, as if she’s desperate to absorb every part of me. And, for the first time, I feel no insecurity.
Our kisses grow more heated, and my breath catches as her tongue slides down my neck. I groan. She understands what I need, and she’s kissing down my stomach before I have to ask. It’s electric, yet relaxing. She goes down on me, and it’s never been like this before. There’s no awkward, ‘Oh, there. No, to the right’. No navigation. Her fingers pinch my nipples, and the combination of her touch in both places makes me hungrier for her. I twist so I’m riding her face, which pushes me quickly over the edge.
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We’re shaking by the end of our steamy session, having both orgasmed three times, and we lie there naked, talking and caressing each other. I was surprised how much of a turn on going down on her was, how much her pleasure fuelled mine. I’ve never felt so close to someone after sex. It feels so liberating. I’ve learned more about intimacy in one night than I have in nearly 30 years and I feel reborn.
It doesn’t matter that we’ve never spoken again. She opened my eyes to my sexuality and what being bisexual means to me. I have a firmer grasp on my pleasure because of that experience — I’m no longer insecure about taking control. And I now know that one-night stands are actually much better with women.
