Date: Tue, 19 Mar 2002 05:53:20 EST
From: Chta919@aol.com
Subject: "My Lover, My Self" F/F: Romance

If you are under 18, or you find stories depicting lesbian love
offensive, leave. All rights reserved except as set forth in the
submission guidelines of nifty.org.

This story depicts a loving scene between two women. It is part of a
larger, autobiographical work I call "Amherst Drive." It is written more
for the enjoyment of other lesbians who understand the more tender,
emotional side of F/F sex. If you are looking for more male-oriented
erotica, i.e., the more typical erotica found on this site which focuses
more on the sex than the emotion, it can be found in other areas of this
site, including my own work "School Play," found in the Adult-Youth
section. I am not saying the girls don't like that too, but it is
written more for the guys than the gals.

To my fans, let me know what you think of this. It is my more serious
work.

Cheryl Taggert


My Lover, My Self
By
Cheryl Taggert


	I lay in bed last night, thinking of you.  The kisses that seemed
to melt like butter on a warm stove still a memory, the intimacy borne of
our love palpable in the air.  Looking over in the dark, I could see the
silhouette of your beautiful face that shone in the pale moonlight.  And I
thanked the moon for its illuminating caresses.
	My love seemed to want to burst from within my heart, causing a
tightness that lingered in my chest.  The tightness finally began to flow
from my body through my eyes, the tears of joy and complete love
overflowing my soul, spilling over the eyelids you love to kiss.  My vision
blurs, but you are still visible in the moon's glow.
	I notice the mound of your breast has freed itself from the sheet's
covering.  It peers into the darkness, it seems, seeking my lips.  The
nipple caps the soft yet firm flesh.  The coolness of the night kisses it,
urging it into mild stiffness as it puckers to return the night's kiss.  I
feel unbidden jealousy of the night air as it coaxes a response from your
lovely body.
	I gently move toward you, determined to reclaim what is mine.
	I watch the rise and fall of your lovely breast and wonder if your
dreams are about me.  I imagine myself crawling into your body, knowing
what you know in your dreams, feeling what you feel.
	With a stark suddenness, I unexpectedly breathe in your
scents--perspiration and female sex mixed with Opium perfume and your
Herbal Essence shampoo.  The aroma fills me with longing, and I feel the
excitement begin deep in my loins.  My clitoris awakens from a brief
slumber, hardening instantly, seeming to ignore the orgasm you brought me
earlier tonight.
	Still breathing your fragrance deeply into myself, I shift closer.
I can feel your warmth wafting from you; I imagine the center of that heat
and long to devour its various flavors.  My own heat and moisture flows
from me with an urgency that overwhelms me.  I reach down to my own
fur-covered softness, feeling the wetness, surprised at the quantity of
fluid that has gathered there to lubricate my most intimate areas.  I hold
the wet fingers to my nostrils and my own scents mix with yours, bringing
the pounding in my heart to a steady beat against my ribs.  Placing the
drenched fingers into my mouth, I savor the appetizer while imagining the
main course.
	I move to you and feel your breath tickle my cheek.  You breathe
deeply in sleep, and I imagine your brain noticing my scent, triggering a
dream of me.  I stare into your closed eyes that dart behind your eyelids.
It seems the eye movements of dreams are longing to tell me what is
happening in your slumber.  I attempt to read their signals, and I imagine
you are kissing me in your night world.
	Finally, I can take it no more.  My longing for you envelopes me
entirely as I bend closer and place my lips gently on your cheek.  You are
a deep sleeper, and I silently apologize for the waking that will come, but
I know you will think it is worth waking for.  I kiss you softly on the
lips, my tongue darting quickly into the soft opening, caressing just
inside the warmth.  My mind snaps into the future and I imagine my lips on
other softer, moister lips.
	You begin to stir and I continue my kiss.  Suddenly, you begin
returning my attentions.  You sigh deeply, wrap your arms around me, press
into me.  I was right: you don't mind.
	My eyes have been open because I want to see you when you open
yours.  They flutter, open, see me.  Then all is dark as we kiss
passionately, eyes finally closed to take in the feel of each other's
bodies intertwining.
	My leg moves between yours as I press my sex into your hip.  My own
thigh moves into your mound.  You press gently upward and I feel the
beginning of your wetness against my flesh.  Our breasts meet, press
together.  Our nipples harden, and I feel yours press against my into the
soft flesh of my breast.
	Our kiss continues, uninterrupted, as we writhe tenderly together,
seeking pressures that will increase our excitement.  My love for you
overwhelms me again, and tears of utter joy spring to my eyes.  I wonder
what I have done to deserve your love.  I can actually feel your love for
me emanating from you.  It is intoxicating, and I revel in the swelling of
my heart.  I drink freely of the emotion and am drunk with the nearness of
you.  I am totally and completely in love.  The world doesn't accept our
love as unnatural, but I can think of nothing more natural in the world.
It is a startling paradox.
	Your kiss becomes more insistent.  Apparently, I have touched off a
need in you, and that thought thrills me as I continue to press myself into
you as much as possible without penetrating your skin and becoming one body
with you.  I imagine again what that would be like, to feel my own touches
on your body, to understand your love for me from your perspective, to
experience the orgasm that I give you.  The thought increases my
intoxication.
	Our urgency mounts.  You finally break the kiss, taking my head in
your hands and pushing my face from yours to stare into my eyes.  You are
communicating wordlessly.  I notice that you, too, are crying with the
knowledge of the enormity of our love for each other.  You don't need to
tell me the reason for the tears; I already know.  And that knowledge, more
than anything, confirms my idea that we are perfect soul mates.  We are
one, lover and loved.
	I move to the nape of your neck, just above the collarbone.  I
nuzzle and kiss there, knowing how much you love it.  I nibble my way to
your earlobes.  You begin to squirm beneath me.
	"Oh, God, Cheryl.  I love you so," you whisper to me.
	"Not as much as I love you," I reply softly.  It's a game we play
when we say these most important words.  It is appropriate.
	"Yes, as much . . . or more," you breathe, fully understanding the
rules of the game.
	I rise to my hands and knees, looking down at you.  We are both
naked, in more ways than one.  And we accept it.  It is what makes our life
together so perfect.  I notice that your hip glistens with my wetness.  At
the same time, I feel the coolness of the night kiss the moisture you left
behind on my thigh and remember the night air's kiss on your breast earlier
when you were sleeping.
	Now it was my turn.
	"Maybe as much, but never more," I murmur, lying down to suckle the
breast that the night air had kissed earlier.
	Your nipple swells in my mouth as I pull the titflesh into my
mouth.  My tongue flicks the areole and tip of the nipple, relishing the
feel.  You begin to moan softly as you stroke my back.  I can feel the bed
move as your muscular ass begins to squirm into the mattress.  Your passion
rises, matching mine.
	I open my eyes to see your other hand, the one not on my back,
pinching and pulling on your unattended nipple.  Your moaning increases,
signaling the heightened passion that is working in your loins.  While I
continue to suck the stiffened nipple, my hand begins its journey down your
belly.  I bypass the center of your rising lust, moving to the insides of
your thighs.
	Leaving the nipple behind, my mouth begins to follow the hand's
journey.  I kiss and tongue the firm flesh of your tummy, stopping to dip
my tongue into your navel.  Your squirming increases.  I breathe in your
female scent.  My mouth waters in anticipation.
	My hand has found the back of your knee.  My soft contact with the
tender flesh is particularly arousing to you.  My fingers play it softly
like a sensitive piano.  The contact is so soft that I am almost not
touching you there at all.
	Finally my mouth has arrived at the wetness left behind by my sex
on your hip.  I lick the sweet-tasting moisture away, replacing it with
another wetness.  I then move up to the source of your pleasure.  The
fragrance is strong, matching our passion.  I breathe the intoxicating
flower and decide I can wait no longer.  I feel that you can't either.
	My tongue flicks out and touches your swollen clit.  It is wet,
waiting, insistent.  It seems to reach out for the contact.
	Lowering my face to you, I cover the opening with my mouth.  Your
hips rise from the bed to meet the welcome intruder.  I can sense your
need.  Your orgasm's arrival won't take long.
	My lips and tongue explore every crevice, finally landing on your
urgent clit.  You pull insistently on my body, which is perpendicular to
yours.  You need to be doing the same to me, and I allow the motion to pull
me into you.
	As your mouth makes contact, my own urgency and passion surprise
me.  I realize I was unaware of my need, concentrating on yours only.
	Soon we are moving against each other's mouths and tongues.
Grinding our sex into the other's mouth.  Meeting the thrusts of our
lover's tongue.  It is the definition of perfect bliss.
	The passion builds and the cliff that is our mutual orgasm
approaches with amazing speed.  We moan loudly, filling the room with our
sounds of lovemaking.  We are nearly there.  We hold the other's hips in a
love grip.  Our mouths try to send our love to the other with each moment
of contact, as if we could fill each other with love from our mouths like a
gas pump fills a car with gasoline.  Our passion is certainly as explosive.
	Finally, the moment arrives.  Our bodies move to the cresting
orgasms as we reach our peaks simultaneously.  We are dancing a ballet that
we have perfected.  Rising, rising, the orgasm builds to a throbbing mass
of feeling, both physical and emotional.
	Our lovemaking complete, our loving continues.  I move up to lie in
your arms.  We hold each other, savoring the afterglow of our dance.  We
are contented.
	"I love you," I say.
	"Not as much as I love you," you reply.
	Unsure of the truth, we drift blissfully into a deep sleep.