My lesbian lust for Auntie Evie

My lesbian lust for Auntie Evie, 2.

As much as I adored running into Evie, seeing her, having ongoing text conversations with her, and fantasizing about her, the moment I had been dreading had arrived. I received a text from Auntie Evie on Wednesday evening about 7:00 P.M. Within the message was a question I had been concerned about receiving for days. It read,

"Bella, would you like to have dinner Saturday at The Goodman? Maybe 7:00?"

My hands were shaking while reading that. I had been fantasizing about Auntie Evie since I saw her several weeks back. As with each passing day, the fantasies got hotter, deeper, and more sexual than even I could comprehend. Now, here she is asking me out for dinner on Saturday night at one of the most expensive and upscale steak houses in London. I panicked. I must have read it five times. I didn't know what to do.

Was this her trying to reconnect with one of the girls she mentored, or was she suddenly feeling the same way I was? As far as I knew, she was married. She had children, one of whom I had attended Guides with. She was 25 years older than I was. How was this supposed to happen, if anything did happen? I stared down at my phone, beginning to type out a reply, then changed it three times before I finally got the words down. I finally wrote.

"Auntie Evie, I don't think I have anything going on Saturday, and I would love to see you. But Goodman is very expensive and very upscale. Are you sure you don't want to go somewhere else? Maybe brunch that day or Sunday. Perhaps we could meet at the café where I saw you."

I figured I could get her away from taking me to a very sheik, very dark, very romantic place. I would not feel so bad if it were just a chance for us to sit and reconnect, rather than her wanting to impress me by taking me to an expensive, first-class place. Either way, it could save her a small fortune.

Her response a few minutes later kind of put me at ease, she wrote.

"I had been begging my husband to take me there for years, and he never has, so I'd like to go and I'd like you to go with me."

Oh! Okay, I thought to myself. She wrote "Husband." Maybe this was just all in my mind. Perhaps she's just excited to see me and to see how my life turned out, rather than me thinking we were interested in each other in some physical sense. I texted her back and agreed to meet her there.

Saturday night came faster than I ever thought it would. As I stepped out of the shower naked and wet, my heart was racing. I felt like I was going to puke. The thoughts of Evie aroused me for weeks, and now, even though I had no idea what was to come, I was beyond petrified. I wasn't 13 anymore. I wasn't going to the Guides. I wasn't looking up at her as some parental figure. I was going to meet a woman in a high-end dinner establishment, and I couldn't have been more nervous.

I found the best black summer dress I could. Matched with dark stockings and red high heels, stepped out of my loft, hailed a black cab, and was on my way. I touched up my makeup on the ride and pulled in front of the building at 6:50 P.M. I didn't know if Auntie Evie was there yet, but as I walked in, I saw her in the reception area. She looked absolutely amazing.

Evie was wearing a beautiful, knee-length, dark-blue V-neck dress with no visible bra straps. Her black heels and black shawl adorned her luminous, pale white skin and strawberry blonde hair. She walked over to me and hugged me deeply, giving me a peck on the cheek, and, as she withdrew, she said, "It is wonderful to see you, Bella," and reached for my hands.

"It is wonderful to see you too, Auntie Evie," I replied as we grasped each other's fingers.

"Please, love, call me Evie. You are too old to be calling me auntie anymore. She stated as she chuckled aloud.

Our table wasn't ready, so we sat at the bar and ordered a drink. I can tell you without reservation that I was nervous, uncomfortable, and felt very out of place in a restaurant of this caliber. The fears and concerns intensified further when we were finally seated. During our conversation, Evie kept asking me about my life, schools, roommates, relationships, and my current career. I think my mouth was moving faster than my brain could formulate the responses. I felt like I was still a little babbling child who was trying to tell her everything I could in ten seconds flat.

She seemed so happy, intrigued, and interested, smiling at me throughout our conversations. Each time she'd take a drink, she'd leave a bit of her lipstick residue on the brim of the glass, and I loved seeing that she dressed up for me and was finally getting a chance to dine at a restaurant she had been wanting to eat at. But something happened in between our appetizer and main course that turned the tone for a while during our evening.

After I stopped babbling about myself, my job, and my interests, I spoke out, "Well, I have been talking so much tonight and over our texts about me, what about you, Evie? How is your life? What is going on with you?"

The mood of the moment instantly shifted. The beautiful, strong, vibrant, smiling woman who was always light-hearted, cheery, and supportive suddenly turned into someone I never imagined. Her conversation started slowly, seemingly normal. But suddenly the floodgates opened. Evie told me that since all three of her kids had moved out and started their own lives, she has been rather lonely and depressed. She further stated that she and her husband had been distant for years, and after leaving the guides some years back, she felt lost, alone, drifting, and empty. Her big, full, bright eyes and wonderful smile turned sour, and I could see the pain in her eyes. As far as I could remember, Evie was a stay-at-home mom. Her husband made enough, so her house, her kids, and the guides were her life. And seemingly now, with all of that changing, I could tell she didn't feel herself as she always had.

The bold, confident, motherly figure we all loved and adored was hurting inside. I reached my hands across the table, holding them out for her to grasp onto. When her hands cupped hands with mine, with my fingers under her palms, my thumb on top of her hands, I could see just how aged and worn her hands were. I lightly squeezed her fingers and was rubbing my thumbs on top of her hands, just consoling her as she let out a litany of issues that were troubling her.

"I'm sorry, Bella." She spoke." I didn't mean to bring down the mood at our dinner. I just haven't been myself lately, and I truly appreciate you being here with me."

I felt so bad for her and told her there was no need to apologize. I had felt that way myself many times throughout my life. I knew what it was like not to be happy. To be alone and not have many true friends. To watch people you care for come in and out of your life. How much I envied and adored her when I was younger. How beautiful, sexy, smart, loving, and exciting she was.

She turned blush-red after I said that to her. She pulled her right hand away from mine, and she wiped away a tear from her eye as she smiled. All while taking in a deep breath. The waiter interrupted our conversation, bringing our food. We both stood upright, clinked our glasses together, toasting to this dinner and our time together, and enjoyed one of the best dinners we have had in a long time. It was so enlightening and heartwarming to learn that the woman I had envied and admired in my youth, whom I had been secretly desiring for the past few weeks, was human. Was vulnerable, was hurting, and was lonely.

We stayed at the restaurant a while after we ate. We sat at the table, ordering one drink after another, having a dessert, and discussing life. She had me hanging on every word. Now that the fear and anxiety of being here with her were subsiding, I started to feel increasingly attracted to her. She was incredibly beautiful. Even though she was coming up on fifty, her body was still voluptuous, tight, and sexy. Her age, wisdom, and strength made me tingle inside. I honestly could say that throughout the night, as we leaned forward over the table to hold hands or laugh, or spoon-feed each other bites of our dessert, I wished that I could have kissed her. That we could have snuck off somewhere and just held one another. That her hands would slide up my dress and onto my panties, knowing my pussy was waiting for her touch.

In the midst of all of it, I started to feel like I was a grown woman, like I had matured to perfection right at that table. Here I was in a very upscale restaurant, dressed in clothing I would never have worn years ago. I was wearing a dress, stockings, a matching bra and thong, high heels, and had done my make-up to impress her. I was still so unsure that this was a date, but I had never been so dressed up, so anxious, and so eager to have deep, heartfelt, warm, loving conversations with a woman as I did now. If I hadn't been so nervous and so out of place, and if I knew we were on a romantic, falling-in-love date, I probably would have been soaking wet and trying to rub my own pussy right under the table. She had every bit of my attention, and as casual as I was playing it. I wanted her.

When we finally left the restaurant and were standing outside, she asked me where I had parked. I told Evie I didn't drive over, that I had taken a black cab. I was just about to take out my phone to order another one when she offered to drive me home. I declined her offer, but just like the mom and responsible person she was, she insisted she'd drive me home.

We walked down a block to where she had parked inside this little, small, rather dank parking garage. Her big, beautiful Mercedes-Benz SUV sat in the lot, awaiting her arrival. Once inside her car, just after she started it up, Evie started laughing and giggling like nothing I had ever seen before. When I asked her what was so funny, and she finally composed herself. She told me her husband had bought the car for her to shut her up about their lack of time together and intimacy, and now she is out of date with a woman, who was sitting inside it with her.

Date? She said, "Date." I heard it clearly. And my heart went from beating 80 beats per minute to about 140.

Evie put the car in reverse and backed out of the spot, then drove down the aisle and exited the parking garage. I provided her with directions to my house, but aside from telling her where I lived and how long I had been there, we had little conversation. The tension inside that car was beyond thick. I think she realized when she said "date," the mood all changed. I was now exceptionally nervous and concerned about where this was going, almost second-guessing myself on what had transpired or what could transpire.

I found myself cautiously staring at her stocking-clad legs. How sexy they were. How her dress hung perfectly at her knees. I wondered what panties (knickers) she had on underneath. Was her pussy shaved or natural? Was she going to kiss me? Would I have the nerve to even try to kiss her? Was the word "date" used in the wrong pretense? Maybe she meant just being out with a female friend at the restaurant she had been wanting to eat at, but her husband would never take her. I was so lost, overthinking every second of that moment. Every second of what would happen when we arrived at my flat.

We pulled up a few doors down from my flat in the only parking space that was left. Evie put the car in park, leaving it running, shifted her weight onto her left ass cheek, and turned more towards me. We sat and talked for a few minutes, and I eventually shifted my body to face her. It was a light-hearted conversation, more of an acknowledgment of the opportunity to meet and talk. She thanked me several times for listening to her complain and reached out to touch my hands, genuinely telling me she was grateful for our time together.

Just as I started to excuse myself and leave her car, Evie pulled me in for a long hug. She rubbed up and down my back, telling me how grateful she was that we had the chance to see each other, and she hoped she would get to see me more. As she pulled from our hug, she stopped face-to-face with me, looked me directly in my eyes, and said, "Bella, you have grown into a beautiful, wonderful woman. I hope you find everything in life you desire." And with that, she lightly gave me a peck on my lips.

I'm still not sure if I was more taken aback that she did that, or more aroused, but that little peck wasn't enough for me. Every thought that I had over the last few weeks, every fantasy, every minute of masturbating about her came flashing back in milliseconds, and before she could even pull away any further, I lunged forward. I put my lips onto hers and forced my tongue inside her mouth. I felt her seize up briefly for a second, almost caught off guard that I was doing it, but then she started kissing me back.

I still couldn't say her kiss was meant to be a loving kiss, or a supportive kiss, like a mother does on your forehead, or one to engage someone sexually, but either way, now that we were alone, up close and personal, we were kissing, and I didn't care.

Our tongues swirled around in each other's mouths, and in the heat of the moment, reaching for one another, she somehow managed to turn the wipers on. I think we both froze as they started flapping across the dry window, but she kept her mouth pinned to mine as she fumbled to get them turned off.

We kissed deeply for a few minutes. Never breaking away from our moment. My hand slid onto her dress, down past her knee, and onto her stockings, which felt so soft and smooth over her sexy leg. My heart was racing, my body queasy, my stomach full of butterflies, but with each passing moment, the passion was becoming more invigorating.

Evie's hand rested along the side of my face. It felt warm and loving like a mother's touch, but this time a mature motherly figure who was making me out with me, wanting me as much as I wanted her. I kept hoping her hand would slide across my chest. Grab, cup, and squeeze one of my tits. That she'd eventually slide her hands onto my leg. For her to erotically start lifting my dress upwards so she could get her hand between my legs. To reach for my pussy. Make me spread my legs open so that she could reach it. To touch me, feel my wet thong under my stockings, to want to rip them off so she could touch my bare skin, and want me to do the same to hers.

Just as fast and as deep as the kiss started, Evie pulled away from me, leaning back. Her eyes glistened, and she smiled brightly. We didn't say a word at first. We just kept staring into each other's eyes. Evie lifted her hand and wiped some of her lipstick away from my lip, as she started to grumble out, "There's some red on your face."

After she wiped my upper lip, we cupped hands, and she said, "Well, I didn't expect that, Bella. But I liked it."

"I liked it too," was my response.

We sat quietly for a few more seconds until I said, "Well, I'd better go."

Evie nodded in agreement, and just before I left her car, I said, "Thank you," leaned in, gave her a long, soft, closed-lip kiss, pulled back, let go of her hand, and got out.

As I was walking down the sidewalk, I saw the white of her reverse lights light up, and as I turned to look back, Evie was pulling out of the spot and driving down the road. The clanking of my heels met the quietness of my block as I walked towards my flat.

I plopped down on my sofa once inside, taking a deep breath and trying to digest what had just happened. I couldn't even tell if I was more impressed that I went for it or that she continued to kiss me back. I wondered if she had been with other women before? I wondered if maybe her importance as a mother figure in my younger life was what made me want more. Lord knows my mother wasn't the most emotional and loving person in the world, and being as rich as we were, I got shipped off to camps and training school. So, now that I was an adult, maybe that's what I had been looking for my whole life--a mother figure --an older woman who would show me love and support. To teach me, give me experiences I'd never known before.

I drifted deep in thought, reflecting on the conversations we had. She was lonely, she was sad, she wasn't being loved. Boy, that all sounded so familiar. It's a carbon copy of my life tales. But as I thought more about our kiss. Feeling her tongue swirling across mine, her warm hand on the side of my face, both my pussy and asshole started tingling.

I stood up, kicked off my shoes, wiggled out of my stockings, slid my thong down, lifted my dress to my belly button, sat back down, put my feet on the edge of the couch cushions, and spread my legs wide open. I closed my eyes and relived that kiss. Her warm, soft lipstick covered lips. The breath from her nose that drifted across my face. The feelings I was having while doing it. Feeling my heart racing. Her warm, soft touch, all while I slowly and deeply started rubbing my clit.

I could feel the wetness building within me. I wanted her hands on me. I wanted her to be licking my slit and my ass. I imagined myself on my knees between her legs as she'd let her dress fall. That I'd pull down her panties, cock my head back, and slide my face right up and onto her wet, sexy pussy. That I'd lick, suck, and finger her as she stood over me, moaning, cupping her own tits, whispering out my name. That in the heat of that moment, I would be dripping wet. At that time, in those fleeting seconds, I would be becoming something I think I have wanted to be all my life, and that would be getting love from a mature woman. A woman falling in love with another woman and doing what most people don't--making love so differently from the societal norms.

I was so aroused, so horny, so involved in myself at that moment. I pictured what her pussy looked like. How wet she'd be. How wet I'd be. That during our time together, we'd come to realize that we needed and wanted each other. That this wasn't some wild drunken fling, or some experiment like I did in college. This would be love. It would be the start of a beautiful relationship. Even though the thoughts of dating a woman permanently had not yet been accepted, just knowing this was where life was taking me was enlightening.

I couldn't tell you then if I knew I was a lesbian or not. I just knew the closest I had ever felt to someone was with my college roommate. The times we had spent together, the experiences, the slow progress from kissing to oral sex, were wild to say the least. So, now for me to be absolutely desiring Evie, to sit here bottomless in my house playing with myself after kissing her, was something I felt was the right thing.

I got myself so wet and slippery thinking of her. Just the feeling of my hand sliding across my wet, slippery skin, while occasionally ramming a few fingers inside of me, chirping aloud as I did it, was even more of a turn on. How I wished she would whisper in my ear, how badly she wanted me. To follow up by saying how much she wanted to make love to me. Be bold and say, "I want to eat your pussy." To slowly start undressing me. To let me know, she didn't care about her husband anymore. That she wanted lesbian sex. She wanted pussy! That she wanted to make me cum. Most importantly, she wanted me.

I was fingering myself hard. Pumping my tiny, long fingers in and out of myself like I had so many other times. But this time, there was a face to the mystery fantasy. A bold, confident, sexy mature woman, with her mouth right in between my legs, licking and sucking me, while we made deep eye contact. To know she was just as into this as I was. To hear the slurping, sloppy sucking sounds she'd be making while ravishing my wide-open wet slit. That in the moments after I'd cum all over her face, it would be my turn to return the favor, and I would be down on my knees while her legs were spread wide open, slurping away on every bit of her dripping wet pussy. How my face would be covered in wetness as I was ramming fingers in and out of her, making her scream my name.