An Old Fashioned Love Story

Vanessa de Sade

Angie has known how she feels about Greta for a long time. But does Greta feel the same way? Find out in this sizzling-hot girl-girl romance.

As fantasies went, it wasn’t really very original. Angie would be cleaning in the flat and find a box of dyke porn in Greta’s room. And she’d be looking through it, her breathing getting rapid as she began to touch herself. Then Greta’s voice, from behind her, would say, “It’s better if someone does that for you...”

And that was it. It never got any more elaborate than that since she usually came when she heard her friend say those words, those wonderful, wonderful words. And then she would spend about a week feeling guilty and beating herself up before the itch got too much and she had the fantasy again. Usually in the dark under her heavy duvet, but sometimes in the steamy privacy of the shower, and, once, when Greta was out, in the lounge, on the sofa, inhaling her roommate’s scent from an inky-black Cashmere sweater draped carelessly on the back of the couch.

The trouble was that Angie had been in love with Greta since they were both fourteen, and today, nearly twenty years later, she still felt the same way about her. Though, of course, nothing had ever happened between them. Except that one drunken kiss when they were eighteen. They’d lurched home from some party and Greta had suddenly taken her in her arms and their lips had met, softly at first, but then with a growing heat and passion that had swept Angie off her feet and she was just about to melt into her friend’s arms and whisper, “Let’s go to bed,” when Greta had staggered a little, fallen onto the sofa, and then gone to sleep.

And neither of them had ever mentioned that kiss again, and Angie wasn’t even sure that Greta remembered it. And so she’d accepted the invitation from cold-eyed Graham Barton with his neat haircut and shiny-buttoned blue blazer to go to their end of term dance. And then married him six months later, and, though she had never been a very good lover, she had been an exceptional housekeeper and so the two had got on tolerably well. Until his business became a victim of the recession and he’d started knocking her about and she’d simply packed an overnight bag two months ago and gone to Greta’s flat to sort her head out.

And never left.

And, all in all, the situation suited them both very well. Greta was harem-scarem and disorganised, a popular fashion photographer who was unsurpassed in the studio but didn’t rate highly on domestic skills, and the flat had been a jungle of unwashed clothing and discarded fast-food cartons when Angie had moved in. Angie, on the other hand, was neat and precise. A meticulous researcher who had also kept her husband’s business accounts in addition to her own career, she had quietly set about methodically untangling all the layers of Greta’s chaos and turning the hectic apartment into an oasis of calm where they could relax together each evening.

Except, of course, on the nights when Greta went out with the latest man in her life, or, even worse, came home with him, and Angie had to listen to the noises which reverberated through the flimsy wall as Greta thrashed about between the sheets making fake sex noises. Were men really so easily taken in?

But Angie had accepted that things were never going to get any better than this, and that living with Greta and not getting to fuck her was infinitely preferable to living with Graham and occasionally having to fuck him. Not to mention the cutting remarks and handy fists. No, Angie sighed, as she settled down alone in front of the television in her cosy onesie to eat dry Horlicks out of the jar, life wasn’t perfect but at least she was under the same roof as the woman she loved. With that she would have to be content.

And then Greta burst into the room in floods of tears, her mascara smeared and her razor-sharp Betty Paige fringe dishevelled.

“I fucking hate men,” she declared, flumping down onto the sofa, still in her leather jacket and tall spiky boots, laddered fishnets wrinkling beneath the red tartan micro-mini skirt. “I just hate them, hate them, hate them!”

“Oh dear, I’ll make coffee,” Angie said, rising with a rue smile.

But Greta held her hand, pulling her back down. “No, don’t go, stay with me a while,” she said, still half a sniffle in her voice, but the old confident Greta already returning. “Oh, why do I bother with them, Angie?” she said, shaking her head and drying her eyes. “They’re all the same as the other...”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll meet the right one someday,” Angie lied, her heart breaking. But very aware that Greta still had her hand and wasn’t showing any signs of letting go of it.

“Oh, Angie,” Greta sighed back, laying her head on her friend’s shoulder and rubbing her face into the soft fur fabric of the onsie, breathing in her scent. “Why can’t I meet a man that I can love as much as I love you?”

And Angie began to cry softly.

“What is it, what is it? Has something happened?” Greta demanded, taking her into her arms and holding her close, and Angie could feel her big breasts in their heavily underwired bra pressing into her own, smell the last lingering notes of perfume interlaced with the tang of the smoky November night and a faint odour of some downtown bar.

“It’s nothing, I’m being silly,” Angie blustered, still being held tightly and loving it, the warmth of Greta’s body seeping into her and giving her succour.

“But you’re crying, love, something must be wrong...”

Angie shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s just that... It’s just that you said you loved me,” she said very quietly.

“But I do love you, silly, you’re my best friend.”

Angie sobbed again. “But I don’t want to be your best friend. Well, that’s not true. I do, of course I do. And I am. But... But I want to be more than that, Greta. I want to be your...”

But her voice faltered and she felt the tears stinging her eyes again, but Greta didn’t laugh at her or let go of her, but, instead, spoke very softly into her ear.

“What do you want to be, darling? My friend, my lover, my wife?”

And Angie swallowed before she answered, aware that this might ruin everything between them, but, with only a slight tremor in her voice, replied firmly, “All of those. If you’ll let me...”

And there was a long pause. Like in the theatre when you went to see a Pinter play. And Angie could hear her own heart beating like drum leading men to their death in battle. Like a funeral bell tolling mournfully on a bleak December dawn, sky like lead. Like, like...

And then Greta spoke. So softly it was scarcely above a whisper. Her soft lips with their licked-off red lipstick so close to Angie’s ear that she could feel her breath hot on the peachy down of her face.

“I think I’d like that very much, love. So very, very much...”

And then it was hard to say who kissed who, but they were kissing, both of them. Lips soft on each other. Not hurried, but with a palpable urgency nevertheless. And Greta smelt and tasted of the outdoors, her mouth sweet with red wine and lipstick. While Angie was redolent of the warm room and the malty sugariness of the undiluted Horlicks, her hair freshly washed and still scented with apple shampoo, warm and slightly homely like a favourite teddy.

And then they were kissing passionately and Greta’s tongue was in Angie’s mouth and she was holding her roughly, tightly, her hands all over her full orb-like breasts, her own crotch grinding into Angie’s thigh.

And it was Angie’s voice that first whispered. “Fuck me,” as they gasped for breath, and Greta dug her nails into her lover’s flesh and moaned, “I’ve waited over twenty years to hear you say those words.”

“Then don’t wait any longer, fuck me now,” Angie pleaded, afraid that the spell would be broken at any moment and that the magic would evaporate when the clock struck twelve.

And Greta grinned and quickly unzipped her friend’s fur suit and unpeeled Angie like a banana, her plump body white and almost naked under the brightly coloured fun-fur.

“I’m not dressed very sexily,” Angie apologised, lying there, so vulnerable in her socks, white pull-on bra and little green shorts-style panties, her flawless skin creamy-white like Milky Bar chocolate, a tiny wisp of strawberry blonde hair peeping from the crotch of her tight knickers.

“Then I’d better undress you,” Greta gasped, sliding her long tapered fingers under the waistband of Angie’s panties and pulling them down to her knees, her friend obligingly raising her sexy little bum to assist her, her chubby pussy all pink and inviting under its shock of reddy-blonde hair. “Fuck, you are beautiful. So beautiful. I want to eat you. Can I eat you?”

“Of course you can, but not yet. I want you to be kissing me the first time we do it together. Do me with your fingers, or I can rub myself off on your thigh...”

“Alright, hold on a second,” Greta whispered, rising for a moment and slipping her panties and tights down, kicking her shoes off into the darkness of the softly lamp-lit room. “There, now that’s better...”

And Angie nearly came on the spot as her friend lifted her skirt and she felt the damp fur of Greta’s bare cunt starting to rub on her naked thigh and she let out a groan of pleasure as Greta’s lips began to kiss and suckle at her neck while her fingers stroked up and down her rounded belly, getting nearer and nearer to Angie’s heaving pussy.

“I’ve never made another girl come before,” Greta whispered, tentatively exploring her friend’s hairy pudenda. “Do you like it fingers right in, or just on your clit?”

Angie groaned. “Either way is good. I usually start on the clit and then end up going right in. Especially when I’m thinking about you,” she added quietly, hoping that Greta wouldn’t see her blush.

“So you think about me when you wank,” Greta teased, her fingers expertly exploring Angie’s pussy and quickly finding her clit.

“I’ve thought about you every time I’ve wanked. And every time my husband fucked me. In fact, I think about you when I’m cleaning the windows or getting the bus to work... And I’ve dreamed about doing this all my life.”

“Then let’s do it,” Greta groaned as first one then another finger slid up Angie’s slippery wet slit and her own wet cunt ground into her friend’s thigh.

“Tell me you love me and then kiss me again,” Angie whispered as she felt herself tensing up ready to explode. “Tell me you love me...”

“I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I always will love you,” Greta managed to breathe as she pounded into Angie, her pussy wet and slippery against her leg.

“Then kiss me, I think I’m going to come,” Angie gasped back.

And, as they both kissed, hungrily but very sweetly, she felt the familiar tight warm spring inside her begin to coil and coil until she could hold onto it no longer and she felt it snap, her orgasm washing over her in wave after wave as Greta came too, the pair of them no longer two separate beings but one writhing animal that existed only for the pleasure that only two women rubbing their hot wet cunts together could produce.

Angie’s husband would have rolled over and gone to sleep at this point, but Greta was only just warming up, and there was a lot more love to be made that evening.

“Come on. Let’s get naked,” she grinned, getting to her feet on wobbly legs. Quickly stepping out of her skirt and jacket and standing before Angie in just one of her signature black cashmere sweaters, her nipples big and aroused even under her heavy bra.

“I think you have the most beautiful fanny in the world,” Angie thought aloud and then blushed furiously at her own words.

“It is nice, isn’t it,” Greta agreed, posing with her hands on her hips, the neat vee of her bush as dark as the wool of her tight sweater. “Mind you, yours is pretty good too!”

Angie flushed again, but managed to whisper, “I can’t wait to kiss that thick black forest!”

“Me too, lover,” Greta agreed, pulling her sweater up over her head and lying down again in just her bulky Doreen bra, her large tits rising and falling rapidly with her laboured breathing. “Now come on, get that bra off, I want to look at you naked...”

“You’ve seen me naked before,” Angie whispered as she slid the bra up and off, her breasts large and white with big pale-coloured nipples, the areolas huge.

“Yes, but I was never allowed to look before,” Greta replied, reaching behind herself and unhooking her brassiere, her big creamy bosoms tumbling out of their wire cages, the nipples huge and stiff, small areolas but dark, oh so dark, like bottled cherries, a tiny fairy circle of downy hairs around each one.

“I’ve never been so close to you before either,” Angie whispered in a tiny voice, her hand reaching out gently to touch. “Never so close to see all these lovely little hairs or feel your skin goosepimple when I touch it...”

“My pits too,” Greta whispered, lifting her arms to let Angie see. “More hot jungles for you to kiss and lick...”

“I’ll have to grow mine for you,” Angie gasped, kissing soft skin and downy hair, desperate to take one of those rubbery cherries into her mouth.

“I’ll just have to content myself with licking your little ginger pussy for now then,” Greta teased, her fingers stroking, lips kissing. “I love the way your slit shows through your minge, all pink and sugary like cotton candy. Mine’s too dark and thick to really show you what’s down there...”

“Then I think it’s about time we checked each other out,” Angie kissed into her neck. “I’ve waited a long, long time to kiss every inch of you.”

“I’ve never eaten pussy before,” Greta confessed as she slid round and started to kiss Angie’s thighs, inhaling her musk as she got nearer and nearer to heaven, pushing her own cunt towards her friend’s eager mouth.

“Just do with your tongue what you did with your fingers, my clit’s so hard you can’t go wrong,” Angie gasped, her mouth inches away from Greta’s pussy. “Fuck, you smell so good. I can’t wait to taste you...”

“You taste delicious,” Greta moaned, her little cat’s tongue already worming its way into the folds of Angie’s pussy, all her slippery wet labia puffed up and pink like a waxy orchid or confectioner’s flower. “I’ve always wondered what your pussy would taste like and now I know...”

“You taste like lobster... with a hint of cinnamon,” Angie whispered between kisses and licks. “And your clit’s so big and hard... I just want to suck it...”

Greta groaned. “Would you, would you please?”

“What? Like this?”

“Yes, oh yes! Fuck, you’re so good at this...”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Angie purred between kisses. “I love what you’re doing to me...”

“Do me harder,” Greta begged. “Pull my lips apart so that my clit sticks up and then really suck it...”

“Like this?”

“Oh yes, oh yes, I think I’m going to come...”

And she did. And Angie felt it, tasted it, as Greta wound her hands in her hair and pushed her face into her convulsing cunt. And it was the most beautiful sensation she had ever experienced, and she drank in the sweet-salt taste of her lovers desire as Greta came and came again, her pussy flowing with honeyed nectar.

And now the heavy living room drapes hung slightly ajar and a cautious sun was starting to rise, red-gold like molten metal, the rooftops of neighbouring houses etched cut-paper black against the crimson sky. They had explored and kissed and touched for what seemed like an eternity all that magical night, and Greta had finally drifted off to sleep in the wee small hours while Angie lay, spent and content, feeling her warmth and listening to her breathing.

A new day was coming, and it might bring the happiness that Angie had always craved. Or it might bring awkward silences and eyes that wouldn’t meet yours. Long absences and cold notes saying that this wasn’t working and maybe Angie should find somewhere else to live. Apologetic conversations that started with it’s not you, it’s me...

But then Greta’s arm moved softly over Angie’s body and settled on her large, soft breast. And Greta’s lips kissed Angie’s warm buttercream neck. And then Greta’s voice was whispering in her ear. Sleepy but alert enough to know what she was saying. Greta’s voice deep and husky and dispelling all doubts.

“Will you marry me if I promise to fuck you in the shower every morning?” Greta whispered in her ear.

“Oh yes, a thousand times yes,” Angie whispered back. Her heat bursting as the sun rose and the morning sky turned a glittering sapphire blue.