Quinn and I dated for all of four weeks before we realized some crucial things about ourselves.
Firstly, I was (and am) not gay, but Quinn was very much so. She dropped men like a sack of shit and never looked back. And while I wasn’t interested in dating any men during that time, being Quinn’s committed girlfriend was equally unappealing.
Not that the sex wasn’t good! Quinn was by far the most generous lover I’ve had before or since; ALL she wanted to do was make me cum and then cuddle me as a big spoon. But if you’ve gotten to know me by now, you know that that was way more chafing for me than fun. Sadly, this extended even outside of the bedroom. I quickly found out how jealous Quinn could be. In retrospect, it’s easy to see that Quinn was a bubbling crock pot of insecurities, parental trauma, and emotions around her new identity that no one could have squared. So we fought pretty bitterly, until I asked for space, which she interpreted as a permanent breakup, and her pride wouldn’t let her be nice to me for years after. Literally, it wasn’t until I congratulated her on her wedding to her live-in partner of some years when the Supreme Court legalized it, that she finally spoke to me on good terms. Needless to say, we didn’t move in together that year.
I do love her and will never forget what a momentous, beautiful thing it was to date someone of the same gender. I felt so alive in the act of experimentation, in holding her hand in public, on campus, letting other people see something so transgressive. I suppose it makes me a tourist in the worst way, because it wasn’t nearly the struggle it was for Quinn, or for so many LGBTQ people. Still, frankly…everyone should try it for at least a bit. I learned so much about myself, namely that I was, let’s say, 80% straight: I can definitely enjoy sex with a woman, but my heart and my lady truly flutter when a handsome masculine stud with a big thing wants to put it in me.
However, the crucial lesson is not to do it with your best friend, or any friend you want to keep…it is…fraught, to say the least.
Anyway, when we broke up, it was the middle of the semester and I did as I had done most of that school year, and just buckled down to focus on my academic pursuits. I ended the semester with straight A’s, even while holding down a part time job.
During this time, I was on friendly terms with Matt, and through social media, got invitations to his parties and his friends’ parties. I went dark for a while after my assault, but after Quinn brought me out of my shell, I made my way out to them more and more. In that circle of people, I think they knew me as a dyke-y friend of Matt’s, unless they went way back with him and knew our history. To those in the know, it must’ve been especially scandalous the night I brought Quinn and we made out on the couch in front of everyone. Breaking up with her was embarrassing in the sense that we were so public, and consequently I had to endure a lot of good-natured asking about her for a little while until the story reached everyone. As it did, I found myself trying to move away from that image and identity: I revived some of my cuter wardrobe items, started to let my hair grow to a more traditionally feminine length, and started working out regularly. Working out wasn’t for my body (though the inevitable toning up was nice) but I discovered as many people do, that in the gym, the mind goes blank and afterwards, one feels accomplished and satisfied, which I sorely needed after destroying my relationship with my best friend.
To set the stage, the semester had just ended, and in one of my inboxes was an invite to a pool party of one of Matt’s mutuals. Clearly this was going to be the one to let out some steam; many of the people invited I knew had just graduated. I had been something of a monk in the last few weeks as well, forcing myself to live in the library with my laptop. The invitation popped up on the day before my last final: the following weekend, and I didn’t hesitate to say yes, but I did immediately start to think about my appearance.
This was a pool party in the nice part of town, and I wasn’t about to be caught unaware. As I think back on it, it’s clear I wanted this to be a kind of second debut. The day before the party I went to a boutique that specialized in swimwear. It was 11:00 am on a Friday, and they were probably expecting to be bored for a few hours, but when I walked in, the one floor person and the register girl practically stood up to attention. I pretended not to notice…
I made my way over to some neat-looking suits and she popped up as if from nowhere: “Hey!”
“Hello…” I said, a little off-guard, but knowing the sales deal.
“My name is Carla, I’m right over here if you need anything. Were you looking at the Monzinis?”
“Nonono, come here.” Carla led me to a different section where, in fact, were swimsuits that were much more what I was looking for. “These are specifically designed for girls bigger in the chest, and they stretch a bit. I think, hm…yes, wow, you have a glorious figure!”
“Um…thanks…” casino şirketleri
Okay, if you’ve read thus far, you probably guessed, but let me come fully clean about my measurements. I truly hate talking about it because…men…you know? But anyway, even if I was in normal clothing, it was hard to hide: 34E x 24 x 40.
Back when Matt and I were together, after one of the times he fucked me, and we were just hanging out in his room naked, he caught me scoping myself in the mirror, just kind of pinching my waist and virtually hearing me ask “Am I fat?”
He came over and wrapped his arms around me from behind, looked at my body in the mirror. “How big are these?” He held my breasts.
“Your cup size.”
His jaw visibly dropped. “Are you fuckin…I mean…I knew they were really big but…wow…oh…uh..and here…down here…?”
“I don’t know…” I lied; every girl knows exactly what size she is when she’s twenty years old, but Matt was making a point.
“Any guy who calls you fat, is wrong. Flat-earth-wrong. You understand me?”
“A straight man can’t…like really, CAN NOT look at you, and not wanna fuck. Babe! Babe! You are STACKED.”
I held onto the word, and it gave me incredible confidence. I wasn’t fat (because I had huge tits and ass) and I wasn’t skinny or awkward (because I had bony arms and legs), I actually had assets that people (esp men) wanted, and I resolved to stop being insecure that day (though it’d be a lifelong process to undo all the internalized self-hate, misogyny and unwanted attention). It gave me the confidence to look at my other options on dating apps, but it also made me a target (you know that story). The point is that at this time, just shy of my 21st birthday, a hundred and fifty bucks burning in my pocket, and knowing the body I had that I hadn’t revealed to a man in a year, I was ready for something super special.
Carla did all the rummaging for me through the racks to find my size and pattern, asking first what colors I liked (bold, or shades of orange to go with my skin). “Okay, go in the back and try these on. See how you like them, come out if you feel comfortable.”
Of course I wasn’t comfortable, but I was pressured by the sales lady to come out, and…I know she’s trained to act but…I don’t think she was acting:
“Honey, Jesus…um…I’m speechless here, I just…” she cleared her throat, as I checked myself in the mirror and she observed. “Do you uh…need anything else?”
“I really like this; and the color. Can you bring me a matching cover, just, something to put over while I…I dunno…”
“YES!” She scurried away. I continued admiring. It’s impossible to say, but I’ll do my best: it was one of those bikinis that doesn’t look scandalous at all until a girl like me wears it. It covered what it needed to, and left my butt decent, but as I turned in the mirror…I could see what Carla was talking about.
Shut up, I mean, I know, but…shut up. Okay, I believe in feminism and how awful Hollywood is and everything, I swear, but, this…here I was…here it is: for the first time, I saw what men saw. It was this luminous bright blue, gold-lined bikini that really advertised the goods. The straps were thick, elastic, and held everything in place just right. Somehow it seemed to make my tummy look a little flatter too.
“Here sweetie, this is a light shawl, and this…this you can wrap around tie…like so…and boom, a sarong! But darlin, the way this looks on you, I wouldn’t cover it at all.”
“Well I don’t want to get arrested on the way to the party, but trust me, I won’t be keeping this under wraps for long.”
The day of the party could not have been more picturesque for having a bunch of hot young people lounging around a pool. The solstice was nearing and we were coming off a small heat wave. It was in a nice, but not showy, neighborhood where the houses were given plenty of yard space in front and back. I added giant Lady Gaga sunglasses and a summer hat to my outfit. My nails were done in a shade of dark blue to match the bikini, and I popped on a necklace where the gold pendant rested perfectly on my chest. With the wrap and sarong, I actually looked pretty discreet stepping out of the car and walking to the place.
It actually looked pretty quiet, and I thought that I had maybe arrived too early. I did hear music playing in the background and so felt confident enough to knock a bit loudly on the front door. In a few seconds, a friend of the host swung open the door and greeted me: “Hey…oh, hey! Welcome! Sorry, I’m Perry, Jim’s cousin.”
“Hi Perry, nice to meet you,” I said extending a hand and letting him shake it.
“Please come in! Jim and like, everyone, are out back, just getting things started. We’re getting a grill going.” He stood back to let me in and he led me to the back door to the pool. “Want anything to drink? We got like, a ton of stuff, whatever you want…”
“Thanks, I’ll just hang out for a bit, say hi to everyone.” casino firmaları
Six guys and two girls were standing around a patio table, chatting amiably with drinks in their hands. I said hello to Jim and he introduced me to some of his friends. Even though Jim was the host, it looked like Perry and one of his buddies were manning the grill, trying to get a setup going and making sure there were plates. More people started to arrive, including a familiar face who regularly attended Matt’s parties.
As sometimes happens at pool parties with young people, no one wanted to be the first in the pool. Finally one of the dudes broke the ice and did a cannonball into the deep end, and amid cheers and screams, people dove in or were pushed in, especially if you’d already shed your outerwear.
“Well, no excuses now,” I thought as I summoned the courage to join in. I went to one of the deck chairs where I was keeping my towel bag. It was off in a shady corner, with no one close by. My heart started racing and I could feel my insecurities flashing in my head: “You could just sit down on this chair, chill out with a beer, and pretend this was what you were going to do all along,” I told myself. I took off my hat and saw the good time going on in full color. “No. Get in that water and have fun.”
If there was ever an inflection point that developed my exhibitionist streak, this was it. My heart was pounding as this was going to be the most exposed I’d ever been in public. My swimsuits up to this point were dark, professional, one-piece; they flattened the curves, didn’t show much skin, and were selected for all those reasons. This was very much the opposite; but while I wouldn’t call it “skimpy,” it was going to attract way more attention, if for nothing else than the super bright colors. Like all good rushes of adrenaline, it was agonizing in the moment, but once it’s done, that feeling of being alive stays with you forever.
Trying not to visibly tremble, I quickly whisked off my wrap. The sarong, however, I had tied super tight and my lack of dexterity was making the untying of it a bit of a challenge. I took a glance around the area: no one seemed to notice me yet. I wished I had just worn a silk robe or something that I could just throw off; that damn knot was some trouble. I was also trying to keep it from falling on the ground and so I kept reaching down to gather the bottom in a bunch in my hand as well. I finally got it off and bent over to put it in my towel bag and get my towel out. I put it on the chair to stake my claim, then walked over to the shallow side of the pool.
There are two types of people in the world: those who see a body of water and dive in regardless of the temperature differential, and those who like to ease themselves into it, even if the water is perfectly warm to the touch. It might surprise you to learn I’m the latter, and when I tested it with my toes, I got a little shiver and decided to just sit on the side and put my feet in for now. A side note on my nipples: when girls have ridiculous chests like mine, they usually have big areolas and flat nipples, which is nice because they can be fairly discrete with them. I, however, have small areolas, but fucking POPPERS. In short, if I’m bored, warm enough, not aroused: no problem. Yet if one of those elements are off, my nipples are letting everyone know that they’re there, and once my feet and ankles were in the cold water, I knew the swimsuit was not doing a damn thing about them.
With my sunglasses on, I was able to take discreet glances around, and just as I suspected, I was getting looks. Everyone was trying not to be obvious, but I could tell many guys and even some girls were checking me out. I felt very self conscious in the moment and playfully kicked my feet in the water, waiting for someone to come talk to me or for it to feel good enough to jump in and splash around with the other people.
“Woah! Esme! Looking good!” It was Matt! I felt a huge surge of relief as he walked over, but tried to play it cool, just smiling and waving to him as he approached, looking so goddamn basic with his monochrome dark t-shirt and trunks. Still, it was really nice to see a friendly familiar face who could come up and talk to me. He brought a friend who was still inside getting acquainted with Perry, probably, and so he sat next to me, getting his feet wet while we caught up. It was nice talking, but the only other time he stared at my tits so much and so brazenly was when I wore that dress for him that also got me in trouble with Ro.
No need for a play-by-play of the party; it truly suffices to say that I had a couple of beers, got tipsy, swam and splashed around, played cornhole and beer pong, met some nice new people, hugged and connected with others from Matt’s scene, made the rounds of the party. But unlike other parties, with my body out on display like this, some random guys were taking their chances: why not? I was smiling a lot more than I used to, and while my hair was still a bit short for a woman, it wasn’t giving off the lesbian vibe it used to.
I’ll share two memorable güvenilir casino flirts out of the half dozen that came that day:
A guy I’d never met before, looked about our age, about six feet tall, and with short blond hair sauntered up to me while I was standing at the table refilling my drink and lobbed: “Chargers fan, huh? Nice.”
“Blue and yellow, I get it. You from San Diego?” It was such a transparent excuse to talk to me; his nervousness oozed through his pores. I couldn’t even think at the moment about the words he was saying, the connections he was making. Thinking on it years later, I realize he had probably seen me much earlier, resolved to speak to me, but had no intro, so he spent all that time thinking of that cheezy line to try and pick me up. Anyway, I answered his question (no, I wasn’t from San Diego) and we made awkward small talk for a minute before I excused myself.
A couple of hours later, as the sun was beginning to set, a guy walked up to me while I was lounging on my chair holding two beer bottles in his hand. “Hey uh…I figured this was your brand, so wanted to say hi.” Now, I laughed at this earnestly, and loudly. He was (rightfully) delighted, as it was so bad an attempt at a line that he was hoping I’d find the humor in it. When I recovered my composure he was still smiling with a very nice set of teeth, and got down to business: “I’m Isaac.”
“Hi Isaac! Esme.” I grabbed his hand and shook it like we were in a business meeting, which made me laugh again. I had had three beers and a toke off of someone’s joint by then, and was feeling it. He was very handsome, but not trying to be showy, keeping his shirt on even though based on his arms and legs, he definitely had things to feature. We talked for a long time; it was one of those conversations where you look up (what feels like) a few minutes later and it’s dark and you’re the only ones left outside. We learned a lot about each other and when there was a brief lull in the conversation, he suggested we head inside and I agreed.
“So uh, if you don’t mind I’m just gonna rinse off real quick. I’m just really feeling this chlorine, you know?”
“Oh my god, yes of course, same, actually.”
We stood up and made our way to the dual outdoor showers outside of the poolhouse. It was still very warm outside and he seemed able to step into a cold shower like nothing; he was probably an athlete though didn’t mention it during our long conversation. I cranked the heat up on my shower to the max, not wanting to get in until it was at least a little warm. Through the spray, I watched Isaac wash himself and I felt the familiar tingle.
I can’t tell you how much I had to edit this not to sound like a fetishist, but there are some obviously important details you need to know to get this picture: Isaac wasn’t that tall, (he only had a few inches on me), but he was a very dark-skinned black man, and had an enviably perfect build. Aside from a very light fade on his head, he had no other hair on his body until you got to his belly button, which had a few little curls that went down. During our conversation, I found out he wasn’t an athlete, but he liked to work out like one and do active things like play basketball in an local club. Watching him rub himself while my shower warmed, I knew that I’d let him do whatever he wanted that night. I snapped myself back to attention to turn around and focus on my own shower, but he had clearly caught me checking him out. I kept my eyes on the floor and rubbed the warm water on me.
“Excuse me!” He yelled over the sound of the spray. “I just have to wash under my trunks for a minute.”
“Oh! Uh…yeah, do your thing,” I said not knowing what else to say or what he meant. He smiled and turned his back to me, and then pulled open his trunks to let the spray onto his ass. He didn’t show it off, or anything, just pulled them open to let the water in while rubbing his ass and thighs, then turned around to do the same to his front. This time he caught me staring and I wasn’t even hiding it, and he smiled.
I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking…given everything that day, the time of the month, et cetera, the hormones were simply in control. Despite knowing what a show it was, I clutched my breasts, turned around, and opened the cups of my bikini to let the water wash them. It was only for a second, just doing as Isaac had done, and then moving to my bottoms, just…opening them a bit to catch some of the spray. This was all of..ten seconds maybe, and I felt the most turned on I had ever been.
Then he did something that…if he had planned it, it could not have been a better move: he saw me reaching behind my back, for a mere second to try and get some water on my back under the straps of the bikini, and he stepped forward and just said, “Here,” one arm went around my waist, the other started rubbing the water on my back, under my bikini strap, and my face was suddenly two inches from his. My hands went to his chest: his pecs were harder than any I had ever felt before. I instinctively groped them, and my mouth opened to say something, but nothing came out. I was given away; he felt the grope. I was dripping, and not at all from the shower; if he had reached down and felt me down there he’d know that I wouldn’t say no to the nastiest thing he wanted to do to me.