My lesbian lust for Auntie Evie

My lesbian lust for Auntie Evie 11

The train ride home from Faversham was quiet. As much as we knew our time was coming to an end, we basked in the warmth of our trip. Even though we didn't say much, we leaned against each other. We held hands, we rubbed each other's fingers, and occasionally we whispered words of love and admiration to each other. I wasn't sure what was running through her head. I wasn't even sure what was running through mine. All I knew was that she had taken a big chance to sneak away with me, and now that she was returning home and had to go back to life, perhaps as much as we were falling in love with one another, maybe the regret was setting in.

When the train pulled into the station and was finally slowing at the platform, Evie spoke softly to me, "Baby, I hate to say goodbye here. I'm not sure where Walter is, so I need to get off the train before you. Thank you for the wonderful weekend. I will text you later."

She gave me a long, deep hug, a soft kiss on my cheek, let go of my hand, and walked towards the front of the train car, exiting out of sight. I waited a few minutes, letting most everyone else off the train, before I exited, found my luggage, and made my way home. I was very disappointed about that. But I knew, as I had always known, that this was our little secret and that she was married, so we had to be cautious.

I got a text message from her later that evening, letting me know she had made it home safely and that things seemed to be okay. She further advised that Walter didn't suspect anything, and she would do her best to communicate with me over the next few days. I hoped the conversations would start back up that night, or even the next day. That she would be reliving our experiences, talking about how we made love, the trip itself, or how wonderful it was for us to have gotten away. Yet I heard nothing. It didn't sit well. I tried to accept it. To justify maintaining the distance so we would not get caught.

I was overly relieved midweek when the conversations started back up. This time, though, they were very loving, very sensual, and took a very erotic turn. Since I had been with Evie, any pictures she sent me were sexy and cute, but, in reality, benign. They were sensual, or teasing even, but never naked or with descriptive sexual tones. However, suddenly and unexpectedly, I started to get naked pictures from her. Pictures of her in the shower. Pictures of her in her car with her hand in her panties. Pictures of her tits, with writing like "The girls miss you. Come suck on these. My pussy is throbbing for you."

I loved every single one of the pictures. I loved masturbating myself senseless while looking at them. I knew I wanted her more than life itself. I would have done anything to be with her. To make love to her, to be riding in the car next to her with my hand in her panties, or even in mine, playing with my pussy as she watched while driving. And as much as I loved the attention and her newly discovered desire to send me rather erotic pictures, it was her I wanted. Not just the pictures.

Of course, I'd send some back when I could, and for that week, at least, she made me feel like I was wanted and loved, even though it was by text. Even more exciting and heartwarming throughout it all was that I started getting heart emojis at the end of her messages. She wrote words like, "I miss you. I want to be with you. I love you. I have fallen for you. I have never felt this way about a woman before." All of which had me writing back to her, telling her I loved her too. I wanted to be with her. That I wanted us together.

I got swept up in the attention, and when she did sneak by the following Sunday afternoon, we made love like two women in heat. We had clothes coming off before we even passed my bedroom door. We licked and sucked each other's pussies so hard, I think we both were numb by the time it was done. It was an amazing afternoon of just holding one another, getting off, then starting up again. Feeling her fingers inside me. Hearing words about how much she loved me and wanted to be with me got me so wet and so ready for this type of love.

Being able to please her, to make her cum, to hear her screaming my name as my face was deeply planted into her slit, feel her legs lock, shake, and tremble. To know she'd pull me right up to her face and lick my lips clean of her pussy juice, only to let me slide my fingers back inside of her and start all over again. For her to lick my ass, from behind, to finger me in whichever hole I begged her to. Only to get off, fall into each other's arms, cuddle, talk, relax, and enjoy every bit of our time together. As always, when we were done, I begged her to stay with me. I told her I'd go home with her to confront Walter, to gather her clothes, to move her in with me. I didn't want to be without her.

Unfortunately, it didn't pan out that way, but after she left, I felt the overwhelming desire, acceptance, and deep resounding reality that I was absolutely, positively a lesbian. I needed to become alive. To be out and free. To take part in a growing number of people, like me, who were coming out, had been out, or wanted to be out. I looked at several online sites and organizations in the general area and started signing up.

I started buying rainbow flag clothing and flags, and supporting a group I was sure I would become part of. I ordered several rainbow-colored thongs, bras, and socks. Shirts that read, "I'm here, and I'm queer." I bought hats, key chains, towels, and anything I could get my hands on to show my support. I wore a lot of those colored bras to work with low-cut shirts so that everyone could see the colors. To "get" I was a lesbian. I even bought a rainbow-colored dildo, which I used the minute it hit my doorstep. P.S. It was in every hole that day.

Hearing Evie tell me she loved me, had fallen for me, and wanted us to keep being together led me to believe she was on the cusp of turning the corner herself. I kept waiting for the message, "I'm leaving Walter." I longed to read that message every day. I couldn't wait to see her again. I wanted to come home to her after work, have dinner every night, fall asleep in each other's arms, sex or not, and be a happy couple. So, I began planning my marriage proposal to her. I started looking at wedding rings. I wanted to plan another trip, but this time be on my bended knee, slipping her current wedding ring off and sliding my engagement ring onto her warm, loving finger.

Each day, her messages grew hotter and hotter. At first, it was the little titty and slight pussy pics, but as time went on, she was sending me videos of her sliding her panties down and rubbing her clit. Most of the time, she'd have to send them while I was working, when she was home and alone. One day, she sent me a video of her using a rounded spoon utensil handle and was ramming it all the way up in her whispering out my name as she was doing it. I got so wet, so aroused, and so horny that I got up, told my assistant I had a big conference call, closed my blinds to my office, closed my door, locked the handle, picked up the phone, put the call on hold, and returned to watch the video.

It wasn't seconds later that I had my skirt hiked up to my waist, my hand was pulling my wet panties aside, and I was rubbing my clit so hard, biting my lip to not make any noise, until I came time and time again. I wrote to her, told her I loved her, and I loved the video. That I had gotten off watching it in my office. She wrote back that she was still horny and wanted my mouth on her.

I'd drive home every night after work, in my new bras and panties, feeling giddy, excited, and awoken. I was coming out, I was a lesbian, or at least wanted to be one. I was in love with an older, vibrant, sexy woman who wanted me. Who made me feel special, loved, admired, sexual, and sensual. Feeling like there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be than next to her, holding her, supporting her, making love to her. I wanted to introduce her to my friends, to my parents, to tell everyone, no matter the cost, that this was the person I was in love with and wanted to spend my life with. It was such an incredible, momentous, exciting series of moments that led me to believe we were on the right course.

It was the best time of our relationship. I think she was finally coming to terms with the fact that she was in love with a woman, she wanted pussy, and wanted me to be that lover. I had already accepted that. I tried like hell to get her to come over often, to pack her stuff and leave him, to come and live with me. To let me worship her mind, her spirit, and her body. To let me do things to her, Walter could never conceive of. It was a long, hot week of masturbation. Believe me, that new dildo got sucked on and rammed into both holes frequently that week. I'm surprised I didn't wear the coloring if it.

All seemed to be going as I hoped. Our recent trip. The "I love you's", the little videos, the progression of passions and desires, and the overall sense of wanting to be together.

But in the midst of our time, our texts, our erotic pictures, and dirty talk, and just weeks after our last Sunday afternoon love-making session, the shit hit the fan. I'll tell you all about that in the next chapter.