Dottily up for Sex

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Well hello it’s me again, Dotty by name and dotty by nature.

As introductions go, this is not going to be a long one. For anyone who missed the story of finding “the real me” I’m a twenty-one year-old, studying Maths at a university in the north west of England.

And, after years of believing I was as straight as my long blonde hair, I have very recently discovered proper sex.

Not that there was a lot of sex in the first volume of my confessions. Re-reading it I feel as though I have short-changed my valued audience. And we can’t be having that, can we?

Okay, this time I’m going in at the deep end, making up for lost time, much as I did when I actually bit the bullet and went girl-on-girl with a vengeance.

For anyone who missed “Dottily in Love” please don’t worry. I’m going to make this latest account a self-contained one. If you want to know more about the first few days of my rather clumsy, awkward romance then please, feel free. But you really don’t have to.

Better to read about what happened after the fumbling preliminaries were over, no?

Chapter One

Agreeing to have an afternoon of sex was a bigger deal than kissing and being fingered up against a concrete wall. And agreeing to move the kick off forwards from (maybe) three pm to noon was . . .

Well it was mind-blowing. Michelle might have been there, got the T-shirt but I was very much an innocent abroad. Okay, so I had screwed with plenty of guys before, but that had always been a night-time sort of thing, usually fuelled as much by alcohol as lust.

You know how it is. Out for a few quiet ones, no thoughts of sex at all and . . .

Well, it’s the oldest one in the book, isn’t it? Too much wine and beer and suddenly some spotty-faced teenager looks like a youthful Robert Redford.

Not that that particular mistake was likely to happen to me again. I’d been converted with a capital C.

So there I was, five to twelve, sober apart from a handful of Irish coffees, unlocking my front door, ushering in Michelle with the sole intention of fucking and fucking and fucking.

Talk about sexually aroused! I’d ruined last night’s knickers even before our fingering episode. By now I’d ruined a second pair, and nothing much had happened.

(Nothing much apart from being with Michelle, regularly patting and squeezing asses, kissing and devouring each other with our eyes.)

Now, three hours ahead of schedule, here we were. Here at what was soon to become Michelle’s home as well as mine.

Here to fuck and fuck and fuck.

The only downside was that I hadn’t much of a clue what to do. Added to which, Michelle had told me she wanted me to meet her “girly side”: someone she called “Shelly”.

Hmmm . . . What was that all about?

No time to wait and wonder. Kicking off our shoes we scurried upstairs hand-in-hand, eager to get on with it . . . whatever it was going to be. Okay, maybe we didn’t scurry too much. Stopping for a kiss was such a must it happed three or four times. Finally, at last, we were outside my room, laughing.

My housemate had hung her stolen DO NOT DISTURB sign on my door.

‘See,’ said I, ‘Martha really doesn’t disapprove.’

‘Where is she?’ asked Michelle.

‘I don’t know and I don’t care. As long as that sign’s there she’ll never barge in on us.’

‘What if she’s in there, in bed with someone herself?’

‘Not a chance,’ I said confidently. ‘Not in my pit. She wouldn’t dare.’

Fortunately my confidence was well-founded. Ten seconds later we were safely locked away from the world, kissing more passionately than ever.

Don’t ask who took control of that embrace; I honestly do not know. Perhaps it was a flat fifty-fifty, with both of us ramping up the odds.

Later, a timeless time later, Michelle broke contact. ‘I love your sweater,’ she said, ‘but take it off. I need to see what’s underneath.’

Surprising myself with my dexterity I pulled up and off the figure-hugging garment cross-handed in one fell swoop. And my spirits soared as my bra-free tits bounced out most becomingly. Trust me, the effect couldn’t have been stage-managed any better.

Not even with a cast of thousands and six months of rehearsals.

‘Gorgeous,’ Michelle purred before kissing me, this time totally in control. Sucking avidly on her invading tongue I wondered why I had the feeling something was wrong. Then it hit me.

Her hands were stoking my bare shoulder blades. Whenever we’d kissed before they had always firmly gripped my buns. As if simultaneously realizing the oversight, her wonderful fingers crept down my spine and took a hold of their preferred target.

Relieved, I stopped wondering what was wrong and began appreciating what was right. And I set off with the feel of my unprotected breasts against Michelle’s clothed ones. Fully dressed, I’d adored the feel of our tits pressing together. Now, unprotected and brushing against the material of her old Bath University sweatshirt, my adoration soared.

How sensational was that!

Then görükle escort things only got better. Abandoning my mouth Michelle rained kisses down on my face, on my nose, my forehead and my (hastily closed) eyelids. Next she nibbled my ears before, practically convulsing me with pleasure, running her hot tongue under the line of my jaw.

However much I’ve exaggerated the power of my orgasms; that was one I will never forget. The earth didn’t just move; stars imploded and whole galaxies were born.

Having my shoulders and upper chest attended to was simply scintillating. And, although it wasn’t entirely new, having lips, teeth and tongue on my titties was a delight beyond compare.

At this point I have to say I ain’t gonna compare. My previous same-sex experience had been with Martha, and we’d been role playing. In other words we’d made out before a male audience, purely for their entertainment, And unwritten but implicit rules had been in place.

Kissing, caressing and so on was fine so far as our upper bodies were concerned but any contact lower down was forbidden. In other words we were free to lick the undersides of keen, eager breasts but anywhere south of there was out of bounds.

Initially Michelle played by the same set of rules. But, being perfectly aware that we were alone in a bedroom and audience-free, I responded like never before.

How hot was she! And how hot for it was I!

Answering my own question I climaxed three times, or maybe only once but for ten times as long as ever before.

When I eventually stopped juddering she was grinning at me. ‘I’ve seen yours; wanna see mine?’

Speechless, I nodded.

Twice as dextrous as me, Michelle whipped off her sweatshirt. She had on a push-up bra but that was gone in the blink of an eye and suddenly I was ogling her tits.

Beyond magnificent!

Height-wise, the two of us were much the same; build-wise I was curvy while she was relatively petite . . . but tit-wise she was spectacular.

‘Kissy, kissy,’ she prompted.

There was nothing Miss Piggy about her so I obliged with alacrity. And now she was giving me all control.

Now our bare tits were pressing together . . .

Heavenly, heavenly, heavenly!

Stopping kissing her mouth was a Labour of Hercules. Raining kisses on her face was a gift from the gods. And paying attention to her tits with my hands and mouth . . .

Double heavenly!

Later, maybe half an hour later . . . far too soon . . . she pushed us apart.

‘Get those jeans off your sexy ass,’ she commanded.

Who was I to object? Because my denims were painted on I sat on the edge of the bed and slowly peeled them off. And I was slow because time was not a consideration. A guy would have stripped me in no time at all in the rush to get his end away, but this was different.

This was different and infinitely more exciting.

Kicking off my sexy white ankle socks without waiting to be asked, I got back on my feet, modesty only preserved by exceptionally damp panties.

‘Supreme,’ Michelle said before copying me by sitting and removing her blue Wranglers and sexy red ankle socks, much as I had.

That next kiss was cosmic. Bare tits together, bare legs together, hungry hands on my buns and a hot, clammy groin moving against mine . . .

What sort of a girl wouldn’t cum again under provocation like that?

Not me.

Chapter Two

‘Panties,’ said Michelle breathlessly. ‘You take off mine then I’ll take off yours.

Needless to report I’d never taken another girl’s panties off before. Using “slow” as my watchword I sank to my knees before her and gently took hold of the fabric. It was only then that I saw she had a tattoo. Just one, not quite visible thanks to her exceedingly skimpy knickers, which also exposed the top inch of an intriguing landing strip.

Something about that combination stirred me. How brave was she to be tattooed there, on the left side of her mons. And how stylish was that landing strip likely to be?

If only I had been so bold!

If only I hadn’t shaved my own groin clean as a whistle!!

As I steadily peeled the sodden garment from her more was revealed. The tat metamorphosed into a butterfly and the landing strip turned out to be perhaps three inches long, very thin and finely trimmed. Not that they entirely held my attention.

Michelle’s sex was engorged and visibly dripping lady juice. The smell of her was intoxicating. It took all my self-restraint to keep from diving in there, nose first.

‘My turn,’ she said, pulling me to my feet then pausing, looking at me critically. ‘I’m going to take yours off on the bed,’ she told me. ‘Or rather, Shelly is, Shelly wants to make you the happiest woman on the planet.’

I threw myself onto the bed without a second’s hesitation.


I can’t start to begin to explain how good it was when Michelle went down on me. Remember Martha and I had a Berlin Wall of a borderline. And remember that guys only ever wanted karacabey escort to get their cocks in me.

Yeah, yeah, I’m being unfair . . . but slowly-paced, sensual lesbian sex was obviously my forte. Up until then I’d always wanted a cock in me as well. Now, confronted with my new knowledge . . .

Who actually needed a cock? Cocks were unreliable, prone to go off prematurely or else fail at the worst possible moment. And guys’ tongues didn’t have one clue about routeing the right way around a girl’s body.

Not that I’m passing myself off as some sort of expert. I’m just saying Michelle was superb.

Or Shelly or whoever it was doing such wonderful things to me!

After revisiting my face with a blizzard of kisses, re-licking my jawline and mauling my tits she slid oh so slowly downwards. What’s the distance from the underside of a girl’s breasts to her pussy? Is it one foot or two? Should be travelled in an instant but it took her ages and simply ages and she must have kissed every millimetre of me along the way.

And oh my God, didn’t she enthral me when she stopped licking my belly button and closed in!

Suddenly I was conscious of her tongue on me as it flickered and flashed from the insides of my thighs, over all the best parts of me without ever quite homing in on my core.

Superlatives aside, she was brilliant. Even as she avoided my clit and hood I came and came as if I was up there on Venus.

(Class that as Sapphic if you will!)

Cumming on the end of her tongue was exceptional, beyond all bounds of reason. Being with her in a relatively tatty bedroom, wriggling and writhing as she pleased me and pleased me . . .

Again, she went, again and again. And again I went with her.

Yes, again, again and yet again and again.

Then she assaulted my clitoral hood . . . but ever so tenderly. I’d never been nearly as tender with a guy’s foreskin as she was with my prepuce.

That made me cum even harder and only encouraged Michelle.

Dab, dab, dab went her tongue on my glans.

And off I went in vertical take-off, just like a Harrier Jump Jet.


In practice Michelle held me down on the bed; there was no real danger of me crashing through the ceiling. No, she held me down and brought me off repetitively.

Heavenly, heavenly, heavenly!

Finally, ultimately, I’d had enough. When she slithered lower, running that knowing tongue of hers over my legs I took a hold of her short black hair and yanked her into a more acceptable position (one where she was on me face-to-face, tits-to-tits).

‘Was that good?’ she enquired, her voice as always softer than snowflakes on snow.

And omigod, never mind snowflakes on snow, how good would it be to a few land butterfly kisses on that Red Admiral tat of hers?

Or to run the tip of my nose up her short, thin landing strip?

‘I want a go,’ I gasped.

‘Don’t want,’ she responded, ‘just fucking do it.’

That was probably the first swearword I’d heard from her but it seemed appropriate at the time.

So I just did it.


With the benefit of hindsight I probably wasn’t the world’s greatest female lover. Not that first time. For my part I felt cack-handed. Michelle had been so very clever, alternating fingers and tongue, on and in me, never seeming to repeat patterns, forever taking me to new heights.

How could little old me compete with a talent like hers!

In reality I did my best and . . . miraculously . . . my best appeared to be good enough. Michelle’s cries, endorsements and entreaties were as least as robust as mine had been.

‘More, more, more,’ she yelled. And ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she screamed.

How can I explain how I actually felt when I made her climax? How can anyone explain how they really feel about doing something like that?

Little old me pushing all the right buttons!

Part of me wants to say I felt powerful but that doesn’t adequately express it. Yes, I was in control of pleasing Michelle, but physically pleasing her was far more important than just being in control. The best I can come up with is that we were in a sharing situation: she had brought me off countless times and it was an honour to start balancing the books.

And if I tasted “divine” I can’t begin to explain how superb she tasted. Let’s just say she was very moreish. The more she trickled the happier I became.


Five hours into our bedroom debut Michelle told me she was hungry. She also reminded me we had missed our lunchtime drinks and had the whole night ahead of us.

‘No,’ she added, ‘not just one whole night, a whole academic year of nights.’

I reminded her that the best local curry house didn’t open until six and she asked me if I wanted to trib until “the witching hour”.

‘We do it like this,’ she said, not waiting for me to explain I didn’t know what she was on about.

Before I knew it my legs were parted and that delicious groin of hers was in the process of rubbing mine.

Forget mudanya escort what I said about double heaven, those new sensations were other-worldly.

How good was this!

How exceptionally good was she!!

Gradually, as Michelle took me to ascending plateaus, I realized the awesome truth. She might be acting as though she was fucking me but really she wasn’t. Really she was making love. And not just there and then in more or less a missionary position, but she’d been making love all afternoon long.

What a revelation that was!

We weren’t just fucking; we were co-existing in perfect harmony.

‘I’m cumming,’ she grunted, slightly spoiling the illusion, ‘cum with me. Please cum with me.’

It took us half a dozen attempts to time it just right but, in the end, we got it cock-on.

(Make that cock-less on!)

Then we shared a shower and I lent her a fresh pair of knickers. That used up pairs three and four for me. I’d hardly any left. Obviously the washing machine required an urgent visit.

‘We can drop by halls while we’re out,’ said Michelle. ‘There’s something I need. I can collect fresh panties for both of us while I’m at it.’


Martha was downstairs in the kitchen, eating fish and chips out of the paper.

‘Hi girlfriend,’ she said in greeting, scoffing the last bit of battered cod before I could pinch it, ‘and hi to you as well, Michelle. Sounds like you two really have got to know each other.’

‘Have you been snooping?’ I asked, pinching a chip, relishing my housemate’s excessive use of salt and vinegar.

‘A girl doesn’t have to snoop with you two bellowing like that. Whatever you were up to must have been satisfying.’

‘We’re together,’ Michelle said, holding my hand as she spoke.

‘So I gathered,’ said Martha, pulling the last few chips out of my reach. ‘And I’m cool with it,’ she went on. ‘More power to your elbow . . . Or whatever it is you’re using on each other.’

I frowned at that. There seemed to be tension between the two of them and that was the last thing I wanted or needed.

‘We really are together,’ I said as diplomatically as possible. ‘And we’ll cut down on the bellowing.’

‘Either that or buy me a set of earplugs,’ Martha retorted.

That thankfully, made all three of us laugh.

‘What’s on tonight?’ Martha wondered, screwing up her fish and chip wrapping, carelessly tossing it in the general direction of the waste bun.

‘A curry, a few beers and back to bed,’ I said, before Michelle could answer.

‘Sounds good and I suppose I’m not invited. What pubs have you in mind?’

‘We’re off to The Pride,’ said Michelle, this time beating me to the punch. ‘Dotty’s mad about Tiger Lily.’

I looked at her, not understanding in the slightest.

‘You must have heard about Tiger Lily,’ Michelle persisted, addressing Martha. ‘She’s famous and has tits just like yours.’

Martha chuckled. ‘Should I take that as a positive?’

Michelle chuckled along with her. ‘You bet you should.’

Chapter Three

‘Tiger Lily,’ I said as we walked to the best curry house in the known universe.

‘The girl in the fishnets and sod all else,’ said Michelle. ‘Please don’t pretend you didn’t notice her. Your eyes were out on stalks.’

She was of course referring to Friday’s “act” at the local lesbian bar. And yes, my eyes had been out on stalks . . . Along with those of everyone else present, I hasten to add.

‘She has a good voice,’ I said, admittedly limply.

Michelle only laughed, seeing right through me. Then, as if proving it, she asked: ‘What exactly is the score with you and Martha? Am I stepping on toes?’

‘We’ve kissed and cuddled,’ I said after gathering my thoughts, ‘but only above the waist. And we did once sleep together, although I don’t know what happened.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘We were drunk and it just happened.’

‘I thought you were a virgin with girls.’

‘I am. Or at least I was. Until yesterday and you . . . Or today or whenever we officially crossed the divide.’

‘What does Martha say about the night you slept together?’

‘She insists she can’t remember. Like I said, we were both drunk. I tend to think we fell asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillows.’

Michelle chewed on that awhile. ‘She’s protective about you,’ she said eventually.

‘And I’m protective about her. She’s like my sister, only not so clingy. I love her.’

‘But you’ve never had sex?’

‘Not fully and knowingly. Not so far as I’m aware.’


Our curries were as excellent as ever and the chicken liver starters were to die for. Fortified with fine food and two pints of Cobra we headed off for The Pride, hand in hand, loud and proud.

Getting there earlier than the night before it wasn’t actually so loud. Yes, it was just as busy but, according to a sign outside, Tiger Lily wasn’t on until nine o’clock. That was two hours away and the crowd of eager onlookers were still stoking themselves up.

Passing two well-built door-ladies I felt the hairs bristle on the back of my neck. When I turned to look I recognized one of them but not the other. The one I’d seen before was taller than me (and I am five ten), broad-shouldered and with muscles on her muscles. Her hair was short and so blonde it was almost white.

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