Early morning, Marie woke up next her husband. Her head felt like an anvil.
She wandered into the kitchen. She made breakfast.
At the door, she watched her husband leave in his truck. She made eye-contact with the woman (Grace) across the street.
It was the same old story: after the honeymoon wore off, her husband lost interest in her.
Grace seemed to understand. The same hollowness framed her features.
One day, Grace dropped by for a cup of sugar. They sat at the dining table together.
On impulse, Marie held her hand.
They share a moment of comfort. Grace went home.
The next day, they sat together in the living room; Grace rested her hand on her knee. Then Grace left after an hour.
A year later: Grace had divorced her husband. Marie was already at the process of finalizing her divorce.
What led up to this was that one day: Grace led Marie in her room, and unclothed her.
Marie realized she was still at an age riped for love-making. The things that Grace did to her made her realized how long she had been ignored, how abusive silence and lack of touch could be.
Grace planted her mouth on all the pleasure-parts of her body, brought her to orgasm. It was cathartic.
Marie felt guilty after. That same day, she asked her husband for a divorce. Her husband seemed an astute man; he sensed a change in her; more importantly, he seemed to understand her situation, perhaps felt a tinge of guilt or regret in how she was treated; so, he said “yes.”
By December, she was a free woman. Guilt-free, she invited Grace into her home. They sipped wine. Marie massaged Grace’s breast with her lips. Her lips traveled down to her Grace’s vagina, and french-kissed it, long, repeatedly, and gently.
Grace came to orgasm, softly panting. Grace returned the favor.
They clasped hands, Grace rested her head in Marie’s bossum.
The following morning, they showered together. Grace had a pension from a previous husband. So they lived together comfortably and modestly.
The following night, Grace rolled her tongue over Marie’s vagina again and again. Marie’s face became a paroxysm of pleasure and yearning. Her delicate fingers gently grasped Grace’s head, her hair, and pressed it carefully to her loins, as though to intensify the experience.
Marie laid back in bed, slick with perspiration.
Her girlfriend unlocked passion, desire, all things she felt she had lost. She laid in bed, breathing deeply, fulfilled.
From lesbian creative of commons, by Erin Grey.
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