My lesbian lust for Auntie Evie

My lesbian lust for Auntie Evie.

(Sorry, it's been a while since I have written anything... Life, right! This one is for my friends and fans across the big pond.)

My name is Isabella, but everyone calls me Bella. I was born and raised in the neighborhood of Hampstead, London, England, a more upscale area than other parts of the world's greatest city. I was raised by two well-to-do parents who gave me everything they could. I attended the finest schools, went to finishing school, took horseback riding lessons, had the best birthday celebrations, and was a Girl Guide for many years. That is where I met Aunt Evie. She wasn't my biological aunt. Everyone just called her Aunt Evie, or Auntie Evie. Her real name was Evelyn Edith Brown.

Back then, in my formative years, she was a guide, an inspiration, and a mentor to younger emerging females. All the parents loved her, as did all the children she mentored. Her daughter had been a member of the Girl Guides for years. Even after her daughter departed the guides, Auntie Evie stayed on to help guide young girls to adulthood with the skills, honesty, modesty, compassion, and decision-making they needed to be upstanding women.

I always had a fondness for her, even back then. I looked up to and wanted to be like her, and I felt she was like a second mom to me. Auntie Evie was in her mid-30s when I met her. She stood at 5'9 " tall, had long strawberry blonde hair, deep blue eyes, and the biggest tits I had ever seen on an English woman. She was a beautiful person, always fun to be around, a good person to talk to, and always helped anyone she could.

It was a shame when I aged out of the club and needed to move forward with my schooling. Eventually, I graduated from high school and enrolled at the London School of Economics (LSE), where I began my academic journey. I never had deep friendships. I was always the "different" kid. I played with dolls much longer than I should have. I was an outcast, and despite my parents enrolling me in various clubs and organizations, inviting my schoolmates over, I was always the outsider. I wore fashionable clothes, but I never seemed to be able to match pants and shirts properly. I listened to the oddest music because I was raised differently from many of the children I grew up with. And my fantasy world of being isolated more than others left me with inhibitions, apprehensions, and anxieties to match.

I was always book smart, but never street smart, and common sense never came easily to me. I could tell you the Kings and Queens my country has had since its inception, but I couldn't add two plus two on one hand. Wild sci-fi movies, Dungeons and Dragons, Cosplay, and newly developing Anime and sexual cartoons were my go-to. They got me turned on, and the more I found erotica in writing or video, the wilder my "alone times" became.

I never had a lover or a traditional relationship. When I was alone or felt tempted, the little sexual anime or erotica turned to me watching hardcore porn, violent rape style scenes, bondage, and S&M. I always liked the look of the girls in the videos. They were different like me. They wanted different things, not the usual man/woman sex. I always seem to get more pleasure watching someone being forced to suck a dick or lick a pussy. To be tied up, with no way to resist. To have a bold, bull-dike woman fuck an innocent, unsuspecting woman with a strap-on. It usually made me very wet and very aroused. Even though I never felt I was a lesbian or even bisexual, watching some normal girl be taken was rather exciting to me.

While watching those videos, or fantasizing in my own mind, I took pleasure in ramming things into my pussy. The progression went from rubbing my clit to orgasm, to my fingers. Then, and quite embarrassingly, I'll admit it went to brush handles (or wooden dowels), cucumbers, carrots, and cooking spoon handles. Anything round and smooth that I could ram in and out of for my pleasure. And of course, shortly after discovering the joy of the front and seeing it on videos, my attention turned to experimenting with anal, with the same objects. Anything I could use to penetrate myself to orgasm in both holes was more pleasurable to me than the usual dating routines. Truth be told, I didn't lose my virginity to a boy. I lost it to sex toys.

Throughout all that time, I never really dated men. I didn't find them fascinating at all. I mean, I had boys ask me out, and I eventually experienced my first normal sexual situation during my sophomore year of college, but I tell you, it wasn't worth the hype. In the coming years, I'd end up cuddling up with my female roommate after long nights of cold pints and shots at the pub. Little by little, that cuddling led to kissing, petting, deep erotic touching below the belt, and eventually sex as best as two drunk college girls could figure out. I found more passion and comfort in her than with any man I had ever kissed or dated. It was our little secret then, and as far as I know, it is our little secret now.

I wasn't sure if I was a lesbian, bisexual, or just wasn't into relationships. I had sex with the boy "who took my virginity" a few times, but truthfully, I got more enjoyment out of my roommate during our secret love-making sessions. I always felt I was the weird one, and for her to be down between my legs, eating me out while I lay back, rejoicing in the pleasure, was an experience I wouldn't have traded for anything. I did wish we could have dressed up, or brought in toys, but at that age, our inexperience and my secret sexual desires, we did the best we could. But I think our closeness during those moments we spent together gave us a chance to experience something different than anyone else. Once college ended and we graduated, she went her way, and I went mine. I wasn't interested in dating anyone. I was determined to secure a position at one of the major economic corporations in London and launch my career. And so, I did.

Once I was hired by the company I work for, I threw myself into my work. I became more involved, more confident, and able to handle the everyday tasks of my job. Through the internet, underground music clubs, and the ability to come and go as I pleased, I met new friends with similar interests. I enjoyed going to work, having power-lunch meetings, and joining them at the pub for drinks after work on Fridays. It was as if I was starting to find my place in the world. I changed my hairstyle, started dressing professionally--at least for work--and got my own place. I had an interior decorator help me correct all my misguided furniture choices, and I suddenly developed a sense of style.

I was a bold, new, confident woman out in the world, and all the years of training, schools, and financial education came in handy. I was out and free. I was trying to become a "normal" person in society and live my life. I bought all new clothes, dresses, skirts, pantyhose, and heels. I liked the way I looked, the way I presented myself, and how eager I was to be better than I had been before. Which was a far cry from the all back, dark colored, rock concert t-shirts, and the fluorescent green Converse I had worn all of my life.

My look was darker, still slightly gothic, but at least I was wearing professional women's work attire. I had long given up my long natural brown hair and had turned to short black hair. I wore darker colors to fit the dress code without pushing the envelope, but if I could have gotten away with dyeing my hair different colors or getting more piercings, I would have. As I mentioned earlier, I was always a little different from the other women I had known over the years. The outcast, the strange girl, who listened to different music, watched different movies, and I felt as if, as much as I was trying to hang on to my old self, for me to be dressing like a "human being, in the workforce," was something I had to accept and move forward with.

I was shaved completely bald down there and had been since I could remember. I never liked hair down there, and if my parents had let me, I would have had both nipples pierced. If I were any bolder and more daring, I have no doubt I would have pierced my clit. I had three tattoos that were not visible, and even while living at home, I had a secret stash of little sex toys, nipple clamps, and a whipping crop that I would spank myself with. I guess looking back, sex was never normal for me.

As much as I was open to meeting someone who could give me everything I was looking for in a relationship, when I did meet someone, either my expectations or theirs were never met, and it never went beyond the initial interest. So, as I entered into the first phases of adulthood, I was still alone and couldn't find anyone I liked to spend time with in the privacy of my own place. That is, until I ran into Auntie Evie at an outdoor cafe one Saturday afternoon.

I was on my way to meet an old-school chum for lunch in the heart of downtown. As I walked past this quaint café with outdoor seating, I noticed a woman sitting, reading a magazine while her coffee cup sat on the table. She looked up just as I passed her, and we caught a glimpse of each other's eyes. She looked so familiar to me, but I couldn't quite place her face with her name. After I walked past her, it troubled me because I was sure I knew her from somewhere. I kept thinking maybe it was a client I had a meeting with, a college professor I had a class with. Perhaps someone from the local grocery store I had seen. But I still couldn't place her. Then it hit me. It was Auntie Evie.

I stopped dead in my tracks. My initial instinct was to turn around and run back up to her, wrapping my arms around her for a hug, just as we all did every week when we met at the guides. But fear came seconds later. Would she even remember me? Would she remember the weird, odd child I was 12 years ago? Now that I was older and had changed dramatically, would I regale her memory?

I knew I had to go back. I turned and walked the distance back to where she was. When I came to where she was sitting, I stopped, faced towards her, and as she looked up, I spoke, "Auntie Evie? Is it you?"

She sat looking up at me as if she was trying to locate my face in her memory.

"It's me, Bella. Isabelle Hendrich. From Girl Guides."

"Bella, my child." She spoke out. "Wow, you have changed, angel." She added.

Evie stood up and gave me a long, deep hug. "God, it's always nice to see my girls when they grow up and mature. Please sit down," She suggested as she pointed to the open chair.

"I wish I could, Auntie, but I am on my way to meet a friend for lunch," I replied.

"Oh, you have a moment, don't you, dear?" She insisted.

I sat down across from Evie. She looked just as stunning and voluptuous as I remembered her. We spoke briefly, and she inquired about my life and my work. However, as much as I wanted to talk with her more, I had to leave.

As I stood up to leave, Auntie Evie said, "Please, Bella, don't go. I would love to hear more about your life. Can you stay a few more minutes?" And she reached out, softly cupping my fingers in the palm of her hand.

"I would love to, Auntie Evie, but I must go. Can I come see you at the Guides one night this week? I asked.

"I don't do the Guides anymore," she answered. But maybe we could meet for dinner one evening. Shall I give you my number?" She inquired.

I took out my cell phone, added her number, and promised I would text her over the next few days so we could meet. She sprang up from her chair just as I was starting to walk away. She gave me another deep, long hug, whispering in my ear how good it was to see me.

I hurried off to my lunch date and made it in the nick of time. It was fun seeing my friend and enjoying our time together, but as soon as I left the pub, I walked back the way I came to see if Evie was still at the café. Disappointingly, she was not. However, I was thrilled to run into her and get her number. Seeing her brought back so many memories from my childhood. We all admired her and loved her appearance and style. How she presented herself. And how wonderfully comforting she was as a motherly figure.

After arriving home and doing some mundane chores throughout the evening, it was time for bed. As I turned out the lights in my room that night and climbed into bed, those warm, soft thoughts of my childhood memories of Auntie Evie suddenly came flying into my head. Thoughts of those childhood guides, friends, talks with Auntie Evie, games, and fun times we all had. My hopes and aspirations were that one day I could be like her. Be as confident, loving, and sexy as her. To be open and honest, like her, and to appreciate all the love and support she gave us all.

Then my thoughts turned to seeing her today. How wonderful she looked. How she had aged, but she still looked so beautiful and sexy. How her lips were perfectly painted red, while her shirt was so tight, her tits were practically popping out of it. I relived every second of our conversation. How her deep blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair was stuck in my memory. How I admired her then, and how floored I was to see her today. But just as innocent as those thoughts seemed, suddenly they turned very erotic. I kept envisioning her wrapping her hand around my fingers, staring into my eyes, begging me to stay with her, to talk to her, as if she wanted me physically. I could still smell her perfume on my cheek as she hugged me goodbye. I could still feel a sense of excitement in reconnecting.

I hadn't masturbated thinking of a woman in a long time. In fact, I hadn't masturbated thinking of normal sex in a long time. It was never a thing for me. All the movies and videos that I watched never led me to usual, typical sexual passions. Sometimes, even when those thoughts arose, I had other things to focus on --clients, friends, work, and deadlines. But tonight, the thoughts of her warm touch, her begging me to stay, and my overwhelming feelings of admiration for her, coupled with the pleasure of seeing her, got me very excited.

It wasn't long until I found myself biting my lip, thinking to myself that instead of getting up and leaving, I had decided to stay with her instead of meeting my friend for lunch. That, while I was there in the midst of our conversations, she'd slide her hands across the table and place them over mine. During those moments of conversation, her beautiful smile shone as we sat across from each other, becoming intrigued in each other as new lovers do. How deep the excitement was of a woman looking at me sexually was all I needed to be drawn in.

That during the time we talked and rejoiced in reconnecting, the comfort of just meeting again would become more romantic, more developing, as our fingers intertwined and we became deeply curious about our passions. How, during our conversations and laughter, I would feel tingling inside of me that I hadn't in years. How I would want her to slide her hand under the table and glide it up and down over my black pantyhose, at my knee, to let me know this was more than just a chance encounter. In those sheer moments, we were more than just two old acquaintances who had stumbled into one another, reconnecting over lunch.

How her tight blue jeans, white button-up shirt, and black heels were drawing me in. How I longed to lean over the table and kiss her soft, lipstick-lined, thin, sexy lips. Knowing this was more than just a rekindling of a parent-like figure from my past. As if destiny had brought us together. How I envisioned us walking hand in hand from the café to go shopping, and once we entered a store, browsing through sale items, we would sneak in a first kiss in the rear of the store, away from prying eyes.

My body was aching, and my mind was sensing something I hadn't since college. And that was the touch of a woman. I slid my t-shirt up and started rubbing on my tits, imagining her slowly seducing me. How her warm, wet mouth would suck both of my nipples. Her hands would glide across my silky skin, and she would kiss me deeper and more passionately than any other person ever has.

When the moment was right, she'd edge up from me, unbutton her blouse, reach behind her, pop open her bra, and let her gigantic D cup tits come free. I would hold out my hand to feel and caress them, knowing in the fleeting moments they would be pressed against my tits, in my hands, and I would eventually be sucking on her big brown nipples. When she would return to kissing me, her hand would slide down into my panties, right across the soft, shaved skin of my pussy, and onto my tight, moist slit.

Her hand gliding slowly across my pussy, as my arms wrapped around her naked back, would make me excessively wet. How our deep sensual kiss would make me want to take off her jeans and kiss over her panties, until I knew she was ready for my tongue. In my mind, I saw myself slide her panties aside, revealing a wide-open, waxed pussy waiting for me to lick it. How I'd hear her say, "I've never been with a woman before," but knowing all along she wanted it as much as I did.

And in those moments after, when I would be face down, tongue deep in her slit, she would be moaning out my name, loving the fact that I was eating her pussy.

I couldn't believe how aroused I was getting. I wished she were with me, naked, in the dark of my room, eating my pussy so hard, I'd be begging her to stop. I wish I had sat with her for longer. Maybe our chance encounter wasn't by chance at all. I rubbed my clit, fantasizing she was there with me, making love to me, and showing more about lesbian sex than my old roommate ever did.

It wasn't long until I had two of my own fingers inside my pussy. My mouth opened, tongue swirling around in the air, thinking about how I would want to be kissing her as we fingered each other to orgasm. I could hear her whispering, "Bella, I'm going to cum. Bella, I want your pussy."

I got wetter and wetter until I finally came hard, thrusting and shaking on my own bed, releasing years of pent-up frustrations and lack of sexual experiences. I lay quietly alone, slightly sweaty, pussy lips pulsing from my orgasms. I couldn't even phantom why I got so aroused thinking of her. Thinking about sex with an older woman, I hadn't seen in more than a decade, and something as soft as "normal" as just deep, erotic, sensual sex.

I had to see her again. I had to know if this was just something in my head. A loving soft memory of someone I once looked up to and admired, or was I changing, and now, in a split second, my mind realized I wanted women. Or women like her.

I leaned over and grabbed my cell phone from my night table, and I texted Evie. I wrote,

"Auntie Evie, it was so wonderful to see you today. I truly wish I could have stayed longer with you. I have been thinking about you all night. I hope you're thinking of me. Love always, Bella."

I didn't know if she would feel the same sexual passion for me as I was having for her, but I had to hint at it before I lost my nerve.

Once I set the phone down, I went right back to teasing my pussy until I was wet enough to reenter it and make myself cum again. This time, with more passion, desire, and longing than I had with my initial fantasies.

I didn't hear back from Auntie Evie that night. And in all reality, I went to bed rather confused about my interest and sudden fantasies about a woman I had not seen in over 12 years, but I will admit, they were wild.

I did get a message from her the next morning. It wasn't quite as hinting as mine was, but she wrote,

"Bella, I did think of you yesterday after I saw you. I wish we could have talked more. But I do hope we can meet for dinner soon. Evie," She added a little red heart at the end.

For the next few days, I was rather concerned I had crossed the line. That this encounter, my fantasies, and the thoughts of her sexuality may have been all in my head. That she wasn't even interested in me sexually, and I had concocted this whole fantasy, because of a feeling of love and admiration for a woman who was a guide in a group. I almost didn't want to meet her. I intentionally didn't text her because I felt that if nothing ever came of this, I might feel heartbroken if she had no interest in me. Even further, if we did meet, how would I even breach that conversation, or hint towards sex, especially if she wasn't interested?