Looking For Her, Waiting For Her

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“When will she be here?”

Randi stirred the sugar in her coffee as she thought this, gazing at, almost through, her kitchen door looking for that special woman. Especially in the morning, in the first quiet few moments she had to herself before the world required her attention, she would glance at the door and hope, finally, that SHE would somehow magically appear.

“If I can’t find her, will she find me?”

These were questions that plagued Randi’s life. In her domesticated, traditionally all American lifestyle, Randi was a great housewife, well-educated, in good shape, and attractive – slightly boyish and yet very feminine. By most standards she had all she wanted, but there was still a big something missing that kept her from fulfillment.

For as long as she could remember, Randi had been attracted to women as well as to men. In her view, genders were almost irrelevant – it was the person inside, just as age, geography, background, and such were less important than the total package of the person. However, there was something about the female form that called to her strongly. It was more than curiosity, more than just wondering, but rather a connection, a belonging, and “rightness” about it. All her life she had wanted to be with women in addition to and often instead of men. And yet, here she was, in the prime of life, with accomplishments and wisdom, plenty of potential, desire, capability, and hope, in a totally male-dominated world. She had nothing against men, in fact she loved them both individually and collectively – there was no denying that, but she also loved women. The only problem was that her society created endless obstacles to meeting that natural and beautiful need.

Often she would be utterly bewildered by how she had wound up as a housewife, just a male appendage at times, rather than the female-empowered and surrounded, actively bisexual woman she had wanted to be. She had very often dreamed of living the lesbian lifestyle; probably would have had she met someone to share it with. There was such a huge gap in her life, so much so that it ached within her – this chronic insistence for her to be with women, a special woman. Sometimes Randi had to chronicle again her life’s path to explain why her intense needs were not at all being met. Several memories fought for attention, but these are the ones she recalled most vividly.

Her earliest understanding of this need was when she was in elementary school. Randi had a friend down the street, her best friend, and one day the two of them were in her room discovering out of simple curiosity the physical differences between boys and girls. Called Miranda then, she found herself on her own bed, door closed, between the legs of her friend, just looking, as her friend had looked at her. She was entranced, captivated somehow – not just with knowledge of what she herself must be like “down there” but with a connection and understanding of another. Some part of her had discovered freedom and sensuality, an exhilaration of identification the moment she had touched her friend intimately. It wasn’t sexual, but still it was deeply personal, though at the time that she didn’t comprehend at all what it was, this new feeling. Nor would she have many chances for a long time to find out. While still between her friend’s parted legs, intently exploring that wondrous area, her mom walked in. The horror on her mom’s face was enough to convince her that she was being extremely wrong, though she was unaware of any reason. Regardless, her friend was never allowed to come back, nor was she allowed to go to her friend’s house.

A few years later, still in elementary school, Miranda and a classmate got into an argument about nothing, but it escalated into name calling. Eventually the other girl called her the worst name she knew, “lesbian,” so Miranda naturally echoed it. The fight soon ended, and both girls went off to sulk or find other vindication. Later, Miranda asked her mother what the word meant because she had had no idea, only that it must be a bad thing. Her mom explained some basic concept about it, enough to satisfy her young mind, but she was admonished to never call anyone that again because it was a very bad word.

Randi, sipping her warm coffee, couldn’t blame her mom. Times were different then, fears were different, and her mother had to maintain a narrow path of existence in which to keep her husband around enough to support her and the children. Yes, it had all be very different then, and yet, had it been more relaxed, would she still be staring at the kitchen door today?

In junior high, Miranda often ate lunch with her new best friend, and she felt no need to hide from classmates poker oyna the truth that she often spent the night with her. Sometimes they even shared her friend’s mom’s large bed, buried in covers till they were roasting, regardless of the outside temperature. For some reason, friends and casual acquaintances called her gay and a lesbian despite the platonic friendship. It shocked and confused her – why was being friends with a girl so wrong? Was this what all kids said to each other, or was she singled out? Did they see something in her that she herself didn’t? Soon, like it or not, Miranda was caught up in the peer- and family-pressured search for a boyfriend. Not surprisingly, she found one. Her strongest crush of that era was a boy who later admitted to being gay – even then.

In high school, she devoted herself to schoolwork and boys, but Miranda still enjoyed her female friends. One in particular she grew so close to, so at one with, that to her it was natural when they found themselves on a bed exploring one another, stimulating each other to sexual heights. Miranda completely found herself in the fulfillment of her friend, felt herself becoming a woman, never forgot that elation of bringing joy to this blossoming woman. But her friend, now being able to say she had tried it, said it wasn’t her thing, so the physical aspects of the friendship ended, the friendship itself survived only awkwardly. It seemed increasingly obvious that Miranda had little choice in genders for physical intimacy.

Meanwhile, older males had insinuated themselves into her consciousness. One made a surreptitious yet public display of deep-tongue kissing her, very much against her will, in the reception line of his wedding – he was the groom, and Miranda was certainly not the bride but instead the bride’s much younger sister. Nothing was ever said of this until many years later, nor of his smug victory in winning his little game. His moment of triumph was her loss of innocence, far more so than bargaining away her virginity years later for her boyfriend’s (temporary) affections.

It wasn’t, therefore, as difficult after that loss and Miranda’s subsequent confusion for her father to manipulate her into too-erotic situations, resist them as she tried within his house. After years of infinitesimally escalating intrusions toward her most personal zones, never at any moment significantly farther than the previous, she rebelled. That rebellion nearly severed the family completely when the full situation came to light. She was the victim, yet had she reacted as such, demanded due retribution, she would have destroyed the family unity and strength, which meant her support as well. She had learned to protect and tend to men, regardless of fault.

Soon after this, but not fully knowing why she did it, Miranda started asking her family and friends to call her Randi. Some thought it odd, some merely thought it an inconvenience, but eventually most adopted her new name. In this way “Randi” became a reborn person, more meekly feminine on the outside yet more demandingly woman on the inside. Somehow she would find a way to be more of herself, both the part that liked men and the part that loved women.

Not long after her rechristening, she found herself in the home of a young couple, partaking in some interesting illegal chemicals, and happily, ecstatically enjoying the taste of another woman. Was there something in a woman’s juices that triggered her to be instantly addicted? The first lick was always “Hmm, this is different; I’ll try it again.” After the second she wouldn’t stop till she was almost literally pulled away. It was intoxicating, the taste, almost like a biological MSG that drove her joyfully mad with lust and hunger, for not just the sweet pussy but the erotic whole woman. That day she could have stayed between those legs forever, and the woman certainly wouldn’t have complained at all, but then a penis entered her wetness from behind while she was engrossed in licking and sucking. While that was fun in a way, it really distracted from the pleasure she was giving to and receiving from that beautiful young woman. She was addicted, yet again deprived because that session ended with the man’s climax.

In her early, unfocused college years, Randi tried to create herself more firmly. It didn’t go well and she found herself back in the more loosely defined party crowd, eventually moving in with her boyfriend. One night at a party that her boyfriend hosted she invited a female classmate. The two of them wound up in the bedroom, and who knows how, but ended up with Randi orally pleasing her now naked friend, with the woman fully orgasmic from the clearly unique-to-her canlı poker oyna attentions. Once again, Randi had found her sense of home and aliveness, and once again it was taken away from her. For months, her boyfriend had said how excited he would be to have her with another woman, to find them together, so she thought he’d be thrilled. With her friend’s consent, she dressed and ran out to him, ushered him to the room, and presented him with the gift – another bisexual woman who was willing to have him and her together. She was shocked at the disgust in his eyes at this suggestion. Only then, seeing with his eyes, did she ever think of her friend as overweight and therefore “unattractive.” That fact had been so unimportant to her, something she had barely noticed. To her eternal shame, Randi began to see her friend in the same way and abandoned her within a few days; after all, she had rent to worry about, rent her boyfriend paid. She had learned even more clearly that the man’s view is the right view since he held the power.

Randi reveled in her female friendships from then on, regardless how distant or platonic, rarely ever making any attempts at physical intimacy. Once, in her late twenties, she found herself mostly single again and helping a friend with financial problems by giving her free rent for a private bedroom and bath. A few weeks into this, based on the urgings of Randi’s bisexual, sometimes boyfriend and her own questions about her friend’s orientation, and when the two women were both undeniably tipsy, Randi made they slightest indication of her interests, and out broke World War III. The next day the room was vacated and the friendship was over.

How did others do it? She pondered this as her coffee became tepid, stirring the spoon around absent-mindedly and unnecessarily. How did they find one another, these women attracted to other women? She had even gone to a couple of bars with her bi male friend, hoping to find another woman, but all she saw were men distrustful of her for her gender. Damn.

Later, when married, and in college again, she attended a few events (unbeknownst then to her husband) with an on-campus lesbian group. Mostly she was happy just to be in relaxed conversations with classmates from her Women’s History course, but she looked for signs of invitation, of acceptance. It was no big discovery that they didn’t believe the intentions of a recently married woman. Again, Randi had tried and failed.

Many years later, when the marriage reached its nadir, she found herself sparsely in relationships with other men that, in two instances, involved other women. One interaction happened a few times: she was with two lovers who were playing at romance like kids, so she eventually felt like almost a toy in their playground, not taken seriously. The experience with that woman was mediocre at first then flat lined quickly from there. Randi finally gave up (almost) all hope of having a fully satisfying, uninterrupted experience with a woman, even for a short time.

Fate then intervened in the form of an older male lover who knew another mature couple willing to swing with him and with her together. Hesitant, to say the least, she agreed, and soon she met the most beautiful, bright, sparkling, lustful, accomplished, successful, interesting, erotic woman ever. With her small breasts, Randi felt intimidated by the voluptuousness and sensuous curves of this incredible being. She feared rejection for her looks, her gender, for something else perhaps, but expected it fully. Randi’s most intense fantasies had never been this good, yet here she was soon in bed with this phantasm of feminine charms, and both men were setting aside their passions to instead aid the two women in their magical experience together. It was far too good to be real, and yet it was very real and tangible. The thrill of touching this wonderful goddess, tasting her, arousing her passions, igniting her sexual fury, sating her insatiable thirst for being pleased, exhilarated Randi. She cared naught, well, little, for being pleased herself, but instead she was fully alive when she gave intense pleasure to a woman. Randi was so near orgasm so often, even with her hands occupied elsewhere, once she realized her goddess wasn’t faking, was honestly thrilled by her licking, sucking, kissing, caressing, and finger-fucking; was panting for more. She had been told repeatedly that this strong woman was notoriously hard to please, took a very long time to orgasm, yet for whatever reason, it seemed to happen so easily for them both, so often. The intoxication of the taste, scent and touch of Woman possessed her, filled her entirely, causing her often to forget completely the two internet casino men laying beside them.

All Randi cared about was how her fingers explored the luscious gripping and dripping portal enticing her to lick and suck around it. Her tongue never dared leave the exquisite delights of tantalizing and teasing that appetizing pussy and clit, doing all the things she knew that she herself loved and hoping it would please another, which it did indeed. She was amazed at how much she loved the taste of this woman, was enraptured by slowly flicking her tongue over that precious clit. At times the two of them simply stopped and embraced, catching their breath, their soft skin over healthy bodies and taut breasts electrifying each other while soothing them beyond what they had ever known. It seemed incredible that holding a naked woman to her nude body would feel so superb, but once again it was true and to a much greater degree now that Randi herself was a mature woman. This was the connection she had sought, finally knew absolutely was possible with another woman. Moreover, in some indiscernible way they had become instantly closer than anything she had known with a man. Randi felt both powerful and vulnerable, and what repeatedly took her over the edge to bliss was the look of rapture in this magnificent woman’s eyes – they didn’t have to translate their thoughts, needs and desires into maleness; they could comprehend directly. They were so easily fulfilled by just being two adult women, far from perfect though healthy and attractive, who didn’t have to sacrifice their senses of self for physical touch.

Had she only been able to stay longer, what might have happened in and after that glorious night? Instead, the goddess had to leave, then distance and circumstances quickly intervened to keep them apart, a break neither of them wanted. Randi had been so close to her in every way that was important; it had been partly her looks, but it was mostly who that woman was that excited her most. It was the fact of her gentle femininity combined with a personal strength that demanded to be respected; this woman understood both giving and receiving. Randi had never felt like that, wanting simultaneously to worship someone and to claim her, possess her rudely yet fill her with tender pleasure in every way she knew. Had she fallen in love? Impossible to know, in retrospect; but she did know she craved that taste and experience even more than ever, dreamed so often of that delicious woman. Her lust for women and her desire to please them seemed to increase over time, which made her want a feminine presence in her life all the more. God, how she craved that sweetness only a woman has.

Since then, she had to content herself by longing, lusting, needing – without appearing to be doing so – from a distance. At nudist resorts, just like the men, she silently ached for the women around her. Without the trappings and disguises of clothing, they were all more easily seen as beautiful women, sensual and erotic no matter the age or shape. Randi’s relief at those times was that she was not a man, so her arousal, no matter how intense, was hidden … unless someone had touched her and discovered her sometimes throbbing wetness. What she wouldn’t give to spend one night cuddled beside those delectable naked forms, to squirm against those soft, wonderful bodies with seductive asses and breasts, caress them, grope and lick and suck and rub and hump and everything else with those entrancing women.

So here she was, inattentive to her cold coffee, feeling buried in male environment and denied the female companionship that she had needed her whole life. She was apparently incapable of discovering it on her own. All Randi had left was a small hope, a wild fantasy, that maybe, just maybe, since she couldn’t seem to find a woman with whom she could share pleasure, such a woman might find her. Randi had been looking for a woman to share more than a just moment with but instead to sleep beside and to wake up next to. She wanted a woman to be friends with and to hold, please, adore, and love. She dreamed of a lasting relationship that would include days of embracing, talking and kissing, and nights of erotic exploration, sensual discovery, fantastic sex, and contented sleep with a sensitive, lusty woman. Was that so much to ask, she wondered? Probably, but still she wanted it.

Her right hand had unconsciously slid from the coffee cup to between her slightly parted legs. She realized soon how wet and aroused she had become, yet again, from these thoughts, how much her hands longed to caress her naked body into glorious climax while remembering, imagining those delectable women.

Setting her cup down and concluding she needed time in the comfort of her bedroom to best sate herself, she thought on her way there, “I’ve been looking for her for so long; maybe today will be the day that I find her, or she finds me.’

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