'Not at you, Honeysuckle, never,' she promised.
'Well, uh,' I hemmed and hawed, 'I always thought when two girls made love that one of them used, you know, a rubber cock.'
She laughed. 'Oh, you mean a dildo. Some do, but only those who are inexperienced or confused. Sex between two women is so beautiful and so much more satisfying than ordinary sex that there's no reason to try and imitate a man with one of those things. Anything a man's got, a woman doesn't need, so why try and impersonate one? All a dildo does is bring you down to the level of a man.'
After dinner, with the fire roaring again, we once again found ourselves unable to keep our hands and mouths off each other. In the middle of loving caresses and passionate groping, Katrina suddenly suggested we shave our cunts. 'Wait till you experience the sensation of my tongue without any hair to get in its way,' she said.
'What a fascinating idea,' I had to agree. Also, my feminine curiosity was stimulated because although I was a woman I had never really been aware of what a cunt looked like until my affair with Katrina. Now, of course, I was fascinated by them. With the hair gone I would be able to fully explore to my heart's content the full anatomy of a cunt, and the idea thrilled me immensely, as Katrina quickly noticed when she was lathering my bush.
'If you keep this up,' she laughed, 'I won't have to use any lather! I can shave you in your own juice.
The strokes of the razor sent a feeling of delicious friction pulsating through my loins as Katrina carefully shaved off every hair. When she finished and I looked down at my cunt, I was amazed that it was such a fully formed mound, that it seemed to have at least as much definition and character as the male organ. I was proud to be a woman, and glad I had a cunt rather than a cock.
'Now you shave me,' said Katrina, which I immediately did. I lathered her up, taking great precaution to get the foam in just the right places, leaving her cuntlips and slit uncovered in their pink and glistening glory.
After I was finished, Katrina said, 'Come on, let's go to the mirror.' There was a floor-length mirror on the other side of the room, and following Katrina's lead I went over to it and sat alongside her in front of the mirror, spreading my legs as she did. The mirror revealed two fantastically beautiful cunts staring at us, with every feature of them in crystal clarity, including the sparkling drops of girl Juice that were oozing out of each.
'And now, Honeysuckle,' Katrina said, calling me by my new name, 'you keep your eyes on the mirror and watch while II give you an absolutely unforgettable finger-fuck.'
What a joy it was to watch her experienced fingers probe every nook and cranny of my cunt in full view. The fact that I was watching everything made it all the more stimulating. Even the pink nub of my clitoris was clearly apparent in the mirror as Katrina rubbed and twitted it, sending me into gales of delight. As I came, with my eyes riveted to the mirror watching my hairless cunt virtually breathing as Katrina expertly finger fucked it to glory, I couldn't help but thinking, how can there be any other way?
All too soon our weekend was over. I felt a touch of real sadness as we put on our clothes, the act signifying that our idyll was over and that we had to return to the real world of work and frustrations. Without being able to help myself, I started to sob.
'What's wrong, Honeysuckle?' Katrina asked gently.
'It's just that it's all been so wonderful,' I said through my tears. I guess I don't want to go back and face everyday life.''
'I know, Honeysuckle,' she said, kissing away my tears, 'that boring job at the warehouse, smog, traffic, and men. But just remember, we'll still be together, and there'll be other weekends for as long as you like.'
With Katrina's kind words, the unpleasant images of my life back in the city faded before the picture of her strong, loving body, and the memory of her sweet sticky cunt in my face and her lips and tongue on mine, and I knew that I could go on. She kissed me tenderly on the lips, and as I returned the kiss I knew that everything was going to be all right.
The road back from the cabin to the main highway was about thirty miles long and full of curves. After about ten miles the sky suddenly became filled with dark clouds. Soon after Katrina observed, 'It looks like rain,' the water began to come down in sheets.
'Maybe we ought to pull over,' I suggested as large rain drops furiously pelted her little Volkswagen.
'No, that's all right,' she said. 'I've been over this road enough times to be familiar with it. We'll be all right,' and she looked, over at the radio dial and began tuning it with one hand while steering the car with other.
I guess Katrina was looking at the radio dial as we entered the curve and never saw the logging truck that came steaming around the corner toward us out of the rainy mist. The last thing I remember was the windshield jumping toward me and the explosion of breaking glass as I seemed to be hurled into another world with the sound of Katrina's screaming echoing in my ears.
When I woke up I was in what was obviously a hospital bed. I put my hand up to my face and felt bandages all over it. I screamed.
A doctor and a nurse rushed into the room.
'My face! My face!' I cried. 'What's wrong with my face?'
The elderly white-haired doctor leaned down toward me and said softly, 'I'm afraid you've been in a bad accident. Your car ran off the road and you went through the windshield.'
Suddenly the haunting memory of Katrina's screams filled my consciousness. 'Katrina!' I gasped. 'Where's Katrina? Is she..?'
'Yes,' he said gently, 'I'm afraid she didn't make it.'
I let out a long moan and lapsed into unconsciousness.
When I had gone through the windshield, even though my face had been severely cut, it had probably saved my life because I was thrown clear of the wreckage. However, a tree stump had stopped my flight, breaking bones in both of my legs, my right hip, my collarbone, and several ribs. There were no internal injuries, but my broken bones would take a long time to heal, including at least three months in the hospital.
Fortunately the cuts in my face weren't too deep and face wasn't scarred. But my heart and soul were. The injuries were bad enough, but nothing alongside the anguish I felt knowing that Katrina, the one true love of my life, was gone almost immediately after coming into it. In my sorrow I made the decision that to keep the memory of Katrina alive in me, I would use the name she had given me, Honeysuckle. The way I felt it was more of a name to me than the one given to me by my mother, since Katrina had loved me and Margot had always just tolerated me. When the hospital attempted to identify me I told them my first name was Honeysuckle. The nurse cocked her eyebrow in surprise when I said it, but said nothing other than, 'That's a very unusual name.' Later, however, when my medical records from home arrived at the hospital they listed my first name as Janis, a discrepancy which the head nurse quickly noticed and confronted me with.
'I'm sorry,' I said, 'but my name is Honeysuckle, and I insist you have me listed as that.'
'But your medical records clearly list your first name as Janis,' she said.
'It was Janis,' I explained, 'but I've changed it since then.'
'Well, unless you have legal proof that it's been changed,' she said firmly, 'you're Janis.'
'Please, please,' I begged, 'you don't know how important this is to me. Please, my name is Honeysuckle!'
'Well, if it's that important to you,' the head nurse said thoughtfully, 'maybe we can work something out. It's important for you to be in good mental health if you're going to recover physically. If it'll make you feel better, I'll tell you what. We'll have to leave Janis on the chart, but we'll add the notation that you like to be called Honeysuckle. How's that?'
'Oh, thank you, thank you,' I said gratefully. I wound up spending four months in the main hospital, and then I was transferred to a halfway facility so I could receive physical therapy to regain the use of my legs. It was like learning to walk all over again. The bills for all this must have been enormous, but, fortunately, I had hospital coverage from my job, and, for once, I was glad I had worked in that warehouse. However, I knew that when I got better I couldn't be going back because there were just too many painful memories associated with it. I knew I'd never be able to concentrate on my work there, remembering Katrina by my side.
While I was in treatment I celebrated my seventeenth birthday. The day was on my chart and I was pleasantly surprised when the therapy staff surprised me with a birthday cake. The cake had twenty-one candles on it because I had added four extra years on my age to get my job and my medical records had been assembled and transferred through the insurance company which covered the warehouse. It was really more appropriate that way because I actually felt as though I were twenty-one, officially an adult, now starting on the most crucial phase of my life.
