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“Isabelle,” Jamie said after a moment, a look of realization finally appearing on her own face, “you can’t tell me that you don’t know that I’m gay. I know I’ve never brought it up, but you must’ve seen me with Heather at least a dozen or so times.”“Yes, but...” Isabelle started to say, then as the words finally sunk in, she had her ‘duh moment.’Heather Boston was Jamie’s best friend, a holdover from her college days. Isabelle really didn’t know her, but she’d seen her many times when she dropped off or picked Jamie up after her car had been declared DOA by the mechanic. Evidently, they also shared an apartment until Heather was transferred by her company to their West Coast office not long after the engine fire.Thinking about it now, Isabelle reflected that the two women had seemed overly affectionate towards each other, but she’d just assumed that was the way the younger generation was. Women their age these days just seemed more comfortable with things like that than Isabelle and. She moved her fingers around the area, not getting too close. The feelingof just caressing her skin was fascinating. Her pelvis began to moveagain, rubbing her against her hand. She felt the clitoris again, and itno longer hurt to touch it.She lay there for ages, just playing with her vagina, alternatelycaressing, massaging, lightly brushing with the tips of her fingers, thenusing her hands or fingers to stimulate different parts, or come insideher with a finger and stimulate the wall of the vagina behind her pubicbone. It had become so moist again that it was practically dripping.All the while she was moaning and gasping and crying out, unconcernedabout-perhaps unaware of-her cries of pleasure, lost in the infinitevariety of her new sensual experiences.Soon her arousal had reached another fever pitch. Crying out she feltagain the warm waves of her orgasm and the pulsing of its rhythm, thistime not so urgent but somehow deeper and more lyrical.She lay exhausted and gasping for air..
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