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Searching for Honey
by Zilber (zilber@poboxes.com)
***
I fantasized about Joanie Holcombe, admiring the radiant
smile that periodically flashed across her face...
admiring the generous curve of her hips beneath her
denim skirt, the heavy swell of her bosom straining
against her blouse. The problem with my fantasy was that
Joanie was straight, not to mention old enough to be my
mother. (FF, age-difference, rom)
***
It began the fall of my second year in grad school, at
Ann Arbor, Michigan. I was twenty-three years old, a
young woman living on my own for the first time, my life
dedicated wholeheartedly to the study of physics, which
I immersed myself in till my dreams were full of
conversations between quarks and neutrinos.
I knew Joanie from the weekly department parties. She
was the wife of Jack Holcombe, esteemed professor of
mathematical physics, who taught my tensor calculus
course. Ex-wife, I should say. About half-way through my
first year, the news came that they were splitting up.
But after fifteen years as a faculty wife, Joanie was as
much a part of the department social life as Jack was,
and so no one found it odd that she kept coming to the
department parties; it was Jack who dropped out.
For a woman in her fifties, Joanie was quite attractive.
Take it from a woman who's spent a lot of time
fantasizing about other women. She wore her long silver-
grey hair pulled back in a neat braid or pony tail. And
if her round face was creased with laugh lines, it was
because Joanie laughed often, easily. She was short and
rather heavyset; but to my taste, she was heavy in just
the right places.
Now, as for me, I have short brown hair, slightly buck
teeth, and big brown eyes. In high school, my nickname
was "Gopher." I'm fairly petite, not very well-endowed
in the chest department; though I have rather wide hips
for my build (like a bottle of salad dressing, a
girlfriend once said). I've been called cute more than
once; though only Joanie has called my beautiful.
I began to realize I was a lesbian in junior high. I had
a miserable, protracted love affair with Karla Gringold,
which began in seventh grade, and didn't end till tenth.
Mostly it consisted of me hanging around her like a
devoted puppy, while she ignored me.
Just when the pain got to be too much to bear, and I
pulled away from her, she would suddenly turn into Ms.
Sex Kitten around me, and we would feverishly kiss,
touch, and -- when we got a little older -- lick and
suck. Then she'd turn back into the Ice Princess.
I never figured out what game Karla was playing with me,
but when I finally broke up with her, I resolved to play
it "straight" date boys, and channel my passions into my
studies -- and so I did through the remainder of high
school and, aside from a couple of flings, through
college as well (though by then, I'd given up on men as
well). But as I say, that didn't stop me from
fantasizing.
I could fantasize about Joanie Holcombe, over a glass of
white wine, from across the room, watching her gab with
the senior faculty... admiring the radiant smile that
periodically flashed across her face... admiring the
generous curve of her hips beneath her denim skirt, the
heavy swell of her bosom straining against her blouse.
But Joanie was straight -- not to mention old enough to
be my mother, and I don't have a general thing for older
women. She was friendly enough to me, asking me how my
research was going, telling me not to let Dr. So-and-so
intimidate me, and so on. But she belonged to the world
of the senior faculty: overlapping with, but far above
my own world as a grad student. And so, it never
occurred to me that I could actually have this woman as
a close friend, let alone lover.
II
It was a few days before the Thanksgiving break. The
party was winding down. I bade my farewells to the host,
and headed out the door to my car. Joanie was parked
behind me, trying to start her car.
"Molly," she called to me, "do you happen to have jumper
cables? I must have left the headlights on." I didn't.
We went back inside. It turned out that nobody there had
jumper cables.
"Um, I'd be glad to give you a ride home Joanie," I
eagerly offered.
"Your car will be safe here till tomorrow."
"Are you sure it's not too far out of your way?"
And so she climbed into my rusty Toyota, and we headed
off into the frosty November night.
"This is really very sweet of you Molly. I owe you one
for this, OK?" "Oh, come on," I protested, "I'm just
giving you a lift."
"Well, how about if I cook you a nice dinner sometime.
You know, living by myself now, I miss being able to
cook for other people." The loneliness in her voice was
palpable.
"That'd be great," I replied, trying to sound
nonchalant.
"Say," she suddenly lit up, "are you going to be around
for Thanksgiving?"
I was. I didn't say that I would probably be spending
Thanksgiving hunched over my readings, eating a turkey
TV dinner. "Well then, it's settled. Why don't you come
over in the early afternoon."
As I pulled up in front of her house, she thanked me
again, then kissed me on the cheek.
"See you Thursday," she smiled.
III
Now, despite my impending "date" with Joanie, despite
the kiss, despite the fact that this magnificent woman
had asked me to share most of Thanksgiving day with her,
I spent the next couple of days determinedly keeping
cool, reminding myself that Joanie was straight, she was
understandably lonely around holiday time after her
divorce, and that she undoubtedly saw me as, at most, an
ersatz daughter.
Thanksgiving morning, I showered twice, and finally
settled on a dark-grey blouse and slacks. The color
reminded me of her hair. At 1:30 I took off for her
place in my Toyota.
When she met me at the door, we both burst out laughing.
She was wearing the exact same outfit, the same shade of
grey. She made a joke about our "nun's habits", and
ushered me into her house. Her house was small, simply
decorated, but comfortable; and at the moment the
atmosphere was filled with the comforting smell of roast
turkey and stuffing. Vivaldi was playing on the stereo.
"Now then, the turkey will be done in about a half hour,
and everything else is under control; so until then I
suggest we park ourselves on the sofa and have a martini
or two."
"Um, OK, I'm not exactly used to drinking martinis
though."
"Well, neither am I," she laughed, "But you and I have
some ice-breaking to do; and for that, I think at least
one martini per person is required."
One martini per person later, she had told me about her
degree in musicology, what Jack had been like as a young
man, her work in the university music library, how the
physics department had changed over the years.
"I'm sure you know that they all think you're their
brightest student in years," she dropped. I sat for a
moment, digesting this piece of news, feeling my head
swell.
And then I came out to her.
"I thought you might be gay," she said quietly. "You
don't flirt with the men. You know -- hang on, this is
gonna take another martini." She poured herself one,
took a sip, then resumed. "You know, I slept with a
woman once. A few years ago. I've never told this to
anyone before. She was an art historian visiting from
another university.
I helped her find some library materials, and then she
took me out to lunch. I don't know how to make sense of
it: she just swept me off my feet; and completely on
impulse, we went back to her hotel room and made love.
She went back to California that evening. I got a few
cards from her, but I haven't seen her since."
As she told me this, a tingly feeling shot down my
spine, right into my cunny, which suddenly had become
quite moist.
"Is that why you and your husband split up?"
"It was a contributing factor. Not that I ever told Jack
about her. We had already drifted pretty far apart by
that time. After my experience with Jeanne, I realized
there was a part of me that was never going to be
satisfied in a heterosexual marriage; but you know, a
marriage can keep going for a long time on inertia,
because it's familiar, and the thought of actually
severing the ties is painful. Then one day Jack told me
he was having an affair with a woman he'd met at the APA
conference, and he asked for a divorce."
I took her hand. She sat silently for a moment. Then her
eyes popped open.
"Oh, damn! The turkey's burning."
IV
We rescued the turkey in the nick of time. As we sat
down to dinner, I must have looked dazed: in truth, my
mind was reeling from the martini, and from the
bombshell she'd just dropped. Joanie took my hand.
"Molly, I'm really glad you're here and that we're
getting to know each other. I've wanted your friendship
for a long time. I ... well ... I didn't know how to
approach you without making you worry that I was ...
coming on to you or something."
"I've wanted you too. I mean ... I've wanted your
friendship," I stammered, turning crimson. Then I ran to
the bathroom and threw up my martini.
"Are you OK?" she intoned from the bathroom door. "I
feel awful for making you drink that martini."
"I'll be fine in a minute," I replied, rinsing my face.
"I don't suppose you feel like eating a heavy dinner
right now."
"Not really. Could I borrow a toothbrush, to get this
taste out of my mouth?"
Luckily, she had an extra one, unused. I brushed my
teeth in her bathroom sink. She told me she would wait
to eat too. Then we sat back down on the sofa.
Strangely, I felt emboldened: I'd survived the
embarrassment of throwing up in front of Joanie
Holcombe, and I felt I could face anything.
"Joanie, what do you think would happen if you did come
on to me?" I traced my fingers over her cheek.
She was silent for a long time, looking down at her
hands. "I'm a good thirty years older than you, you
know."
When my lips found hers, she did not pull away, and she
soon began kissing back.
"Molly darling, when I invited you over, I honestly
wasn't setting out to seduce you. But, God, now that
you've started, please don't stop."
I had no intention of stopping. My lips were getting
drunk on the warmth of her skin, and my panties were
sopping. As I kissed my way down her neck, her hands
began touching my breasts through my blouse. Now, as I
explained, I'm rather flat-chested; but I have big,
extremely sensitive nipples; and Joanie's fingers were
driving me crazy.
"Joanie, take me to bed: I want to see you naked." Our
arms round each others' waists, she led me back to her
bedroom.
V
We fumbled with buttons, zippers, sleeves, and pant
legs, until she was in her bra and panties. She
unbraided her long silvery hair, and it fanned out over
her back like a waterfall. I unhooked the bra, it sagged
forward, and she slipped it off her shoulders.
Her untrammeled breasts seemed even larger than I had
imagined: they hung down almost to her navel, a delicate
tracery of blue veins visible beneath the skin, capped
with large, brownish-pink nipples. Her rounded belly
seemed soft and inviting. It was the body of a mature
woman: there were stretch marks and wrinkles and flab;
but I fell in love with it on the spot.
"You undress too, love," she whispered, stepping out of
her panties.
Taking off my clothes had never felt so deliciously
erotic before. I felt proud and powerful, as her face
registered admiration for my body. She took me in her
arms then, and the shock of her warm, soft body against
my bare skin sent me into an altered state. I could feel
her thick erect nipples grazing my ribs, my tingling
nipples rubbing against her skin.
My hands travelled down her back and over the immense,
soft roundness of her ass. Cupping one of her heavy
breasts in my hands, I lifted it to my mouth, and began
to lick and suck on the nipple. Her excited moaning
suddenly became a sharp cry of pleasure, and her knees
buckled. We staggered backward and flopped down on her
bed.
"I came," she beamed, "just from you sucking my titty.
God, look how excited you've gotten me."
She guided my hand down to the thick dark jungle between
her thighs. As I rubbed her, my hand immediately became
wet with her juice. I had to taste her. I clambered
between her knees; taking her broad hips in my arms, and
burying my face in that luscious grove, I drank deeply.
Her honey tasted so good, I couldn't stop till she had
come several more times.
Finally, she pulled my head back. "Now it's my turn,"
she growled.
She rolled me on my stomach, and began kissing the back
of my neck, giving me delicious shivers; leaning the
full weight of her body upon me, so that I felt engulfed
in her warm softness.
"I've wanted to do this ever since the Christmas party
last year," she said huskily.
She kissed a wet trail down my spine, down to my
tailbone. Her hands began massaging my ass cheeks,
spreading them apart and squishing them together. I felt
uneasy: no one had ever done this with me before; and in
fact, I wasn't quite sure what she was going to do next.
But I didn't want her to stop either. Then I felt her
hot, wet tongue travelling down between my cheeks, and
my inhibitions went out the window.
Her tongue circled around my madly contracting anus,
then down into my sopping wet cunt. I heard her slurping
loudly. A moistened finger was touching my anus now,
slipping inside, and I bucked against it, taking it in
deep. Her tongue was slip-sliding over my clittie. Other
fingers were filling my vagina.
The orgasm started like a gentle wave that picked me up,
then intensified, carrying me higher and higher, till I
felt I was riding a tidal wave, or rather a series of
tidal waves that buoyed me up, one after another.
Gradually, they subsided. I opened my eyes. The bedroom
seemed to be suffused with a soft rosy haze, and through
it, Joanie's face was beaming down at me.
"How about a hot turkey sandwich?" she asked.
VI
She brought me dinner in bed. We both lay there naked,
feeding each other forkfuls of turkey and mashed
potatoes. Then she brought in apple pie and coffee. Food
had never tasted so good before; though perhaps it
seemed so because I was falling in love with her. When
she asked me to spend the night, I wasn't about to turn
her down.
"What can I do for you now?" I asked her. She thought
for a minute, her arms folded behind her head. Then a
smile lit up her face. "I feel like taking a bath with
you. Would you wash me?"
"Oh honey, you bet I will!"
I was delighted by her deep Japanese bathtub, big enough
to hold two adults comfortably. As the tub filled, and
the water heated up, we soaped each other up outside the
tub, Japanese style. I paid particular attention to her
nipples and the undersides of her breasts, before my
soapy hand travelled down her belly and between her
legs.
She leaned back against the side of the tub, spreading
her legs to give my hand better access. Soon three of my
fingers were twisting and thrusting inside her honey-
filled cunt. She was so beautiful like this, and the
sounds she was making were driving me crazy; but I
wanted to give her more.
"Turn around," I growled. Her back now toward me; she
bent over the side of the tub, presenting her
magnificent ass to my hungry gaze. I ran my fingers from
her honey-hole to her anus, back and forth, till her
whole between-the-cheeks area was lathered with soap,
and with her honey.
"Please, Molly, touch me inside my ass," she whimpered.
"I need you there." I did. Three fingers in her cunt and
one in her ass, I thrust in and out of her, as I
showered her beautiful broad buttocks with my kisses. I
felt the beginning contractions of her orgasm against my
fingers, fore and aft. Leaning over her, I murmured in
her ear, "Joanie Honey-comb, Honey-woman, I love my
Honey-woman. Make honey for me... Oooooooouuuh,
Molllyyyy, I'm CUMMMMING!!" she keened.
We sank down on the floor together. "Whew!" she said,
when she could breathe again. "I've never come that hard
before. God you're sweet."
We slipped into the tub then, letting the heat of the
water envelope us. I wanted to hold her, so I sat behind
her, my thighs wrapped round her waist, as she leaned
back against me. My fingers brushed lazily over her
stiffening nipples.
I admitted I'd had a crush on her for a long time. She
was surprised.
"Our age difference doesn't bother you?" she asked
timidly. "I'm not exactly... well... I'm an old woman,
Molly. And you're so young and lovely."
"No, Joanie, don't think that. Your body's fantastic.
When we made love just now I felt so happy just looking
at you and touching you, you took my breath away. And
you make me come like gangbusters. Does it bother you
that I'm an inexperienced kid?"
"Molly, I'm so happy, so blessed, to have you as a
lover." She turned back and flashed a knowing grin at
me. "And I wouldn't exactly call you inexperienced."
We sat in the tub, kissing, laughing, holding each
other, till our fingers and toes were wrinkled. At last
we crawled out and toweled each other off. Joanie put on
her bathrobe, and lent me a nightie. We went into the
kitchen and she made us some tea. I sat drinking it,
happily watching her, as she put away the Thanksgiving
leftovers. Then we did the dishes together. I felt so
comfortable with her, so natural. When we finally went
back to bed, I joyfully cuddled up to her, smelling the
wonderful scent of her body.
"I'm falling in love with you, Joanie."
"I love you too, Molly. I've never been in love like
this before. I never loved Jack like this; even when we
were happy together, it wasn't like this." She turned to
face me. "Can you stay with me tomorrow? I have the day
off." She started to kiss her way down my belly.
"Mmm, yes. Maybe we could go to the art museum together?
Ahhhhhh! There's a new surrealist show!"
VII
I'm not generally an early riser. But when I awoke at
6:45, I was too excited to fall back asleep: it was
going to be our first whole day together. I got up
silently, put on my nightie, and found my way to the
kitchen. After a fairly exhaustive search of the
cupboards, I found the coffee and the coffee pot, and
started it going.
There were some eggs in the fridge, and some milk, some
tomatoes and onions. Soon I whipped up an omelet, made
some toast, found the tray from last night. Proudly, I
carried the tray of breakfast back into the bedroom to
my sleeping Joanie.
"Molly?" she murmured sleepily; then she opened her eyes
and sat up. "Have I died and gone to heaven? Darling,
this is wonderful; nobody's ever brought me breakfast in
bed before. Nnn, don't kiss me, I have morning breath."
I kissed her on her forehead. Her radiant smile melted
my heart. If she smiled at me like that, I'd gladly make
her breakfast every morning for the rest of her life. I
sank down beside her and began to feed her bites of
omelet, and she did the same for me. We drank our coffee
slowly, and formed our plans for the day.
After a quick shower together, we stopped by my place,
so I could get some clean clothes and some toiletries.
Then we headed downtown to the art museum. I insisted on
paying for her ticket -- so it would feel like a real
date. We strolled through the museum together, holding
hands when nobody was looking. I liked the dreamy
quality of Chirico's paintings. Joanie filled me in on
all the artists, and what the surrealist movement was
about. Apparently, she knew about painting as well as
music.
Outside the museum, we ran into my best friend from the
department, Ken, with his girlfriend Sarah. They were
heading in to see the show, but Ken, intrigued at this
unexpected social development, persuaded Sarah that we
should all go for lunch together first. We settled on an
inexpensive Italian place nearby. I hung on to Joanie's
arm proudly. Later, Ken told me I was grinning like the
Cheshire cat. "You might as well have been carrying a
sign: 'Look at the babe I just landed!'" he teased.
After lunch, we left Ken and Sarah at the museum, and
headed over to the park. It was a brisk November day,
but the sunshine and movement kept us warm. Here we
could wander, holding hands, nobody else around. In a
secluded corner, we huddled together on a bench, and
made out. Unfortunately, it was too cold to do what we
really wanted to do without risking frostbite.
After a while, we set off to find a find a cup of
espresso and a place to pee. Later, as we walked back to
the car, she suddenly told me to wait, and dove around
the corner. A minute later, she came back and presented
me with a single red rose. "For ardent love," she said.
I kissed her on the mouth, right there, standing on the
sidewalk, in front of everybody. "Goddamn dykes," some
guy muttered. Joanie glared at him and he slunk away.
We walked quickly back to the car. The raw hatred in
that jerk's comment shook us both up a little. But in
the car, Joanie said, "I know there's a price to be paid
for being 'out' as a lesbian. But I'm not gonna let that
stop me from loving you." I felt safer after that.
We went home, and Joanie made up a delicious turkey
vegetable soup from the leftovers in her fridge. It was
piping hot, and it thoroughly warmed me up.
"Stay again tonight?" she asked. I nodded happily,
sinking into her arms.
"I've been waiting all day to make love to you, Honey
woman. Let's go to bed now."
"Oh, Molly, I get so wet when you call me that..."
In the bedroom, I undressed her, savoring the softness
and the fresh smell of her, kissing her all over her
body, slowly treasuring every dimple, every freckle,
every hair.
"I don't want there to be an inch of you I haven't
kissed," I growled possessively.
After a while, Joanie whispered, "Darling, my cunny,
please..." And I moved down between her legs and began
to lap up her honey. She came easily and powerfully for
me, again and again; I felt so proud of my ability to
give her pleasure.
Eventually, I crawled back up beside her. She sat up in
bed, cradling my head against her ample bosom, as her
fingers found their way down between my thighs. I took
her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, as I felt her
fingers slipping between my dripping lips, sliding over
my tingling clit, filling me up deep inside, frigging me
hard as I bucked and shuddered against them. All the
while, she murmured into my ear, "Come for me, darling,
come give it to me, give it to your Honey-woman..."
I moaned into the fat breast that filled my mouth as I
came and came for her till I was exhausted.
We fell asleep, cuddled together, my head pillowed on
her soft, warm bosom; happy, dreamy smiles on our faces.
VIII
After a few days like this, it was obvious that I had no
more use for my own apartment; so I terminated the
lease, and moved my computer and books into Joanie's
house. She set up part of the study as an office for me,
and my life as a grad student continued. At school, Ken
teased me something terrible about Joanie: I was trying
to sleep my way to the top, he laughed, but I'd made the
mistake of sleeping with the professor's wife instead of
the professor.
Really, though, he was very supportive of my
relationship with her, and when I sometimes had
arguments with Joanie, I would go to Ken, and he would
help me to cool down and then go back and make up with
her. The rest of the department, as far as I could tell,
shrugged their shoulders and paid our relationship no
mind.
Jack Holcombe never said anything to me about Joanie.
That spring, he announced he was taking a job at
Stanford. Joanie told me that that was where his new
girlfriend was. Soon, I was typing away at my
dissertation, while Joanie practiced away at her cello
pieces.
My parents weren't as supportive as Ken. They met Joanie
at my graduation. I introduced her to them as "my
partner," but I guess they thought that was some kind of
academic relationship, like research partners or
something.
Anyway, at the graduation party, my mother saw Joanie
put her arms around me, and she screamed, "Get away from
my daughter, you freak!" I quickly bustled my parents
out the house.
"Listen to me! I yelled at them. "Joanie and I love each
other: we're a couple. If you can't respect that, you
just get the hell out of our house." And that's what
they did. Without a word, they got in their car and
drove off.
Joanie came out and took me in her arms. I collapsed
against her, sobbing.
"I wish," she said, "my love could wipe away the hurt. I
wish I could be your mother, so I could tell you what a
wonderful daughter you are, and how proud I am of you."
"You're my real mother now," I bawled. "You're my
family. You're the one that loves me."
She took me back inside. "Should we keep the party
going, or do you want to be alone."
"'Lone, with you."
She graciously sent my professors and friends away. When
she sat back down next to me on the couch, I sniffed, "I
need some good loving from my Honey-woman."
"Your Honey-woman wants you to take your clothes off,
Dr. Molly Steiglitz," she whispered in my ear. "Right
here." I obeyed. She kissed and licked the tears from my
face while her deft cellist fingers thrummed a concerto
on my bare nipples. Soon she was kneeling on the floor,
her head between my legs, while I rode her face to
orgasm, bursting through the tears, surfacing into the
sweet warm sunlight of pleasure.
She took me to bed, tore off her clothes, and climbed in
with me, cradling me against her warm naked body,
lulling me to sleep with the sweet pounding of her
heartbeat beneath my cheek. I've barely had a word from
my parents since that night, though it's been ten years.
IX
I was offered several post-docs. When I suggested taking
the closest one, so that I could drive home on weekends,
she shook her head.
"Darling, I'm ready to retire from the library. I can
sell the house. You take the post-doc that you want,
wherever it is; and I'm coming with you." I hugged her
long and hard for that.
I took the MIT post-doc. Joanie and I found a lovely
little apartment right in Cambridge, which she began
decorating with great glee. She told me she was happy to
have a home that we were building together. She
delighted in the rich classical musical scene in the
Boston area, and soon joined a string quartet. Around
the spring of my first year, the chair told me that a
tenure-track position was opening up in the department,
and encouraged me to apply. A few months later, I
learned that I had gotten the job.
The night she took me out to celebrate, Joanie told me
we'd gotten an eviction notice. It seems the landlord
was planning to tear our building down and put up
offices. I checked the figures in our bank account: we
had a large amount from the sale of Joanie's house, on
top of our substantial savings.
The next day we walked into the landlord's office and
bought the building out from under him, a hundred
percent down. Instantly, we were the heroes of the other
tenants. We promptly fired the property management
company (it specialized in forgetting about repairs, and
losing rent checks) and Joanie took over as property
manager (she bopped me on the head when I called her
"Mrs. Worth").
The other tenants love her. We've never had a single
problem from a tenant. Recently, various neighborhood
groups have been urging Joanie to run for city council.
If she ever decides to do it, I'll support her a hundred
percent, and I know she'd be great for the community;
but I'm not crazy about the idea, because I'm afraid it
would cut seriously into our time together. And so far,
Joanie has refused to run.
Joanie's sixty-five now, and I'm thirty-four. Before I
met Joanie, I suppose I thought that sixty-five was way
over the-hill as far as sex is concerned. But that
woman's appetite for sex just gets stronger and
stronger. And her body is as beautiful and dear to me as
it's ever been. My Honey-woman: I get wet thinking about
her heavy breasts, and that special honey that flows for
me in her secret place.
I know that our remaining years together are limited;
that I will probably survive her, and have to face a
long rest-of-my-life without her. So I savor the time we
have left; and it makes our pleasure together more
poignant. But who knows: maybe Joanie's going to be one
of those feisty old ladies who lives to be a hundred
ten. And I'll be an old lady sitting beside her in the
rocker, with my hand up her dress, searching for honey.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 67