'Yes. But we have a rather special relationship. I'm your leader, your sexual advisor. Your procurer, for that matter. You come to me when you want to learn something about yourself or when you need to have the shame reamed out of you via a nice session of humiliating sex-like today.'
Lisa said nothing; she merely stared at her knees. Romo reached out and touched her breast. Both them were still naked and were sitting side by side the living room sofa, the velvet one near the wood burning fireplace. 'Well, what's the story?' Romo asked.
'I don't know if I'm ready to make it with another man,' she confessed in a choked voice. She seemed most on the verge of tears.
'Why not?'
'Because I'm-God, I'm just too uptight.' She bent her body forward, pressed her face into her hands and curled into a sort of sitting fetal position on the couch.
'Take it easy, for Christ's sake.'
'I'm trying tooooooo!' she sobbed.
'I want you to fuck another guy,' he told her.
'Nooo.'
'Yes.'
'I'll set it up for you,' he said. 'Tomorrow. The day after, maybe. Hell, if you want me to I can arrange things for tonight.'
'I don't want it, Romo!' she cried sharply, sitting up and staring at him with wild eyes.
'Good lord,' He put a finger to his lips, grabbing her wrist with his free hand and giving her a sharp squeeze. 'Calm down. I was merely trying to help you, damn it.'
'I don't want to be helped,' she sniffed.
'Sure you do. You're not a dyke. Not really. Oh; you enjoy the lez stuff enough-I don't blame you; if I a were a girl I'd like it too-but you're not a hard-core dyke the way Jan is.'
Lisa stiffened. 'I love Jan.'
'Sure, sure. A crush, that's all it is. An unusually powerful relationship. Jan satisfies your sexual needs while providing you with a target for your nervous tensions. You can play the dominant role with Jan. She'll take whatever kind of shit you can dish out. And when you've dished out all the shit you can give, you come to me and whimper for another heap. You can't humiliate until you've been humiliated. You know, what you need is a schedule. A fucking schedule, with someone slipping it to you about four times a week. You need to be fucked just often enough to remember that you're a woman, a receptacle and not someone who's supposed to dish it out.'
'Male chauvinism again,' she said sarcastically.
'I was being facetious.' Half-facetious, he corrected himself silently.
'I still don't see how you can say I'm not a dyke,' she told him. 'I had my first lesbian experience when I was fifteen, in convent school where I-'
'The old Catholic boarding school bit, huh? Sounds like you stole it from a dirty navel. Little girls getting their hymens popped by nuns holding crucifixes, the same old corny bullshit-'
'Let me finish!' she said sharply. 'It wasn't anything like that. I was sharing a room with another girl, a French girl named Marcelle. She was pretty, very pretty, far more delicate in her features than She spoke French beautifully-which made sense, was from Lyon-and she had lovely manners, what with being the daughter of a second secretary to the French Embassy and all. Anyway, a lot of us girls were shy about undressing in front of one another and the like-the nuns' influence, you know, don't look at your tits in the mirror when you brush your teeth-all that stuff-but Marcelle was different. Instead taking her nightgown to the showers with her a putting it on in the stall like the rest of the girls, she come back to our room in her bathrobe and put it in front of me. I was embarrassed at first, and I'd ways try and time my tooth brushing to coincide with her arrival from the shower. I'd lean over the sink a brush my teeth for about five minutes while she slowly put on her nightie and crawled into bed. I was almost afraid to look at her nightgowns, in fact, some of them were almost transparent. A couple them were even confiscated by the Mother Superi who thought they violated the school's rules.
'Anyhow, I started to think about the way Marcelle pranced around naked in the room. Though it wasn't really prancing; she was far too delicate and mannerly for that. One night I held up my head higher thin usual while brushing my teeth so I could catch a few glimpses of her in the mirror. I saw her remove the soft flannel bathrobe and put it on the bed. She stood there for a moment or so, staring at her tits in the mirror on the dresser. They were nice ones, too-a little bigger than mine, but more pointed with big nipples that always looked pink and stiff. She balanced her tits in her hands for a moment, and I found myself on the verge of giggling as I thought how she looked like some housewife hefting rutabagas in the supermarket. Then I got another glimpse of her in the minor as she did a little ballet exercise while holding her hands behind her head. She seemed to be doing it for no particular reason, unless she knew I was watching. It was as if she were in love with her body, so in love with her sensuality and grace that she had to touch herself and look at herself before going to shed each night. I looked at her pubic hair, which was a lot skimpier than mine, and I saw how her legs looked like they were about three inches apart from the top. You could see the light coming through from behind her, and it was like the entrance to a cave as seen from inside. A real gap, you know? She must have trimmed the hair, because I could see the outline of her sex lips. The outer lips, that is. Very delicate, like all of her, but also very distinct, There was this little cleft in the middle of that space between her thighs, and I found myself transfixed by it. Suddenly she looked up and saw my eyes in the mirror.
Her mouth turned up in a little smile, and she said something to me, something so soft and low that I couldn't hear. Stupid me, I said 'What?' making it obvious that I'd been watching her. Naturally, I wouldn't have known she had said anything if I hadn't seen her mouth moving in the mirror.
'So she did another little turn for me, lifted her right leg delicately as if she wanted me to see more of that lovely crotch. Then she smiled again, blushed prettily, and put her nightgown on. Then we went to bed. And that was all.'
Romo had been listening carefully and was stroking Lisa's right knee. 'You're sure that was all?' he asked quietly.
'It was all for that night,' Lisa explained. 'But the next night… well, she did it again. But this time she made sure I saw her naked before I could start brushing my teeth. As soon as she came into the room she took off her bathrobe and hung it over a peg on the door. She smiled at me again, the same enticing smile, and she began her exercise routine. I couldn't start my tooth brushing routine; I had to watch. I knew she wanted me to watch, and I also knew I couldn't help watching. I stood there, feeling a sort of fluttering sensation in my stomach, and then-for no real reason-I found myself wanting to follow her example. I bit my lip, blushed like a radish, and pulled off my pajama tops. Then, before I could let my better judgment say no, I yanked off the bottoms and tossed them onto my bed, I began to pirouette with her, to lift my right leg while curling my left arm and all the rest of the ballet things that I didn't know anything about but could imitate without too much trouble. She did a split, and I-did a split. I felt my cunt lips spread open as they almost touched the floor, and I heard a little farting noise as my twat filled up with air.
'Marcelle giggled at that, and so did I. I was blushing a mile a minute, but I was giggling too, and when I got to my feet I couldn't do anything but stand there and laugh. It was like a barrier had been broken. Marcelle came over to me and put her arms around me lightly, at the same lime leaning forward and kissing me on the lips. Nothing dykey about it-just a light, sisterly kiss. But what it did to me! I could actually smell the juices that started oozing from my crotch. I was embarrassed as hell. ‘What if she notices?' I asked myself. And I guess she did notice, because the next moment she was embracing me a little more lightly, mattering something in French. I couldn't understand what she was saying; I never did get anything higher than a D in French. But I got the idea quickly enough when she started to caress my back with her fingertips. I felt ashamed of myself, and a little afraid, but I couldn't think of doing anything but to do the same thing to her as she was doing to me. That is, I put my arms around her and I started to rub her back. The shoulder blades first, then the line or fissure or whatever you call it that goes down the back, then the little depression at the base of the spine. She started to rub the top of my ass, right between the buns, and I shuddered. It wasn't just a shiver; it was a shudder. I felt those fingers in there, parting the cheeks at the top and rubbing the bones of my spine, and I shuddered.
Marcelle seemed to notice my reaction, because she moved the hands lower and continued to probe around in the crack of my ass. I shuddered a few more times, then tried, to pull away. I was becoming afraid; what if she
