Page 49 of Purple Panties

“Wait!” I exclaim, pushing her gently off of my body and away from me.

She looks surprised and stares blankly at me.

“We made love last night because we were drunk! What’s this going to do to us? What about our friendship?”

“Nothing is going to change,” she says, totally in denial.

Of course everything will change; how could it not? I think to myself as I stare back at her for a few minutes in silence. But what’s done is done. My body doesn’t want to stop and I’m going to ignore my heart.

“What does your king daddy stud muffin want to hear, baby?” she asks in a low, taunting voice as she crawls on her knees and back over my body.

“So much for our friendship…this is much better. Fuck me harder this time, lover,” I reply, raising my ass for whatever she has to deliver.

“Thas’ my girl.”

Dylynn DeSaint lives in the Southwest with her partner. Disguised as a librarian by day, Dylynn finds pleasure in letting her mind wander to the naughtiest of places at every free moment. By night, she is a freelance writer. She finds her inspiration for stories while people-watching in all worlds, both physical and virtual. Her works are included in the following anthologies: Best Date Ever: True Stories That Celebrate Lesbian Relationships and Iridescence: Sensuous Shades of Erotica. Contact her at [email protected]

Mom’s Night Out

Regina Jamison

I had originally joined Mission Mommies as an outlet for my children. It was a way for them to meet and make friends with other children. It was also an outlet for me. It allowed me to make connections with other African-American women who were stay-at-home moms. The activities that were arranged for the children were always great. But the moms’ night outs were even better.

Tammy was not the leader of Mission Mommies but she had a tendency to take over. High of spirit and behind, both her mouth and her ass were always in motion. Some of the moms silently disapproved of Tammy’s buoyancy, but I found it and her exciting. Needless to say, we became fast friends.

We would meet, outside of the group, at each other’s homes. While our children played blissfully together upstairs, Tammy and I conversed downstairs. We would talk from one thing to the other, moving in and out of each topic with ease. Then one day we got into a discussion about lesbians. Who was; who wasn’t. Which movie stars had come out publicly and those, whom we suspected, who were still hiding.

“Well, there’s Rosie O’Donnell and Melissa Etheridge,” Tammy said. We had walked into the kitchen where she was getting us some lemonade.

“Yeah, I know,” I said, watching her ass as she moved from the refrigerator to the counter. “But where are all the African-American lesbians? There’s only Jennifer Beale who pretends at being a lesbian on The L Word.”

“Oh, my God. You watch that show, too?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you watch it?” Tammy asked. She walked over to the table and set our glasses down. Sweat rolled down the front of mine. I wiped my hand and my brow. I watched her breasts jiggle as she moved around in the kitchen chair, trying to make herself comfortable.

“Well, the sex is hot for one. Two, the sex is hot and three, the characters are believable.”

“I agree,” Tammy said. Then she took a long gulp of her drink.

Her eyes were on me the whole time. It was as if she were studying me. Weighing the words she wanted to say. I kept m

y eyes on her—not shying away from the challenge. But, for some reason, I was nervous. I disguised my trepidation by holding onto my glass tightly and sucking down my drink. Tammy lowered her glass slightly from her lips. She spoke over the top of her cup.

“Have you ever had a lesbian encounter?”

“Me?” I said almost immediately. “Umm…why do you ask?” It was an avoidance strategy I’d picked up years before. Answer a question with a question. It took the focus off of me.

“I’m curious, is all. When I was in college I had a tumultuous affair with my roommate. The sex was great and I loved her dearly, but I didn’t know what to do with us at the time. So, I inadvertently treated her badly and jeopardized the relationship. Years later, I realized that she was the first person I, truly, ever loved.”

“You never saw her again?” I asked.

“No. Sadly, I haven’t. But I think about her often.”

“Have you been with any other women since then?”

“No. Shortly after my breakup with her, I got married and had kids.”