Beautiful Mature Women 2 for Ladies and Lesbians

A GIRL WANTS TO SAY YES: This makes me recall Marti. I liked her name, Marti, a tough boyish name that promised access to every sinful fantasy I had ever harbored. She was a lipstick lesbian and we were lovers for a while and I got to know just how tough Marti really was. We met in a large, crowded women's bar on Mission Street--Amelias. Saturday night, hundreds of women dancing to loud boisterous music. I was dressed in a tight black lycra top, tight jeans and black heels, long dangling Austrian crystal earrings and a jangle of clunky glass bracelets. The restroom mirror, as I reapplied my lipstick, showed me how hot I look, even with my face glistening with sweat from the dance floor; even with my hair damp and clinging to my cheeks.

I AM HAUNTED BY MY MEMORIES FROM A PAST THAT IS NOT MINE: I caught Marti glancing at me across the room, her heavily lashed eyes weighted with mascara read my mind with practiced ease and I imagined a crude welcome in the taut thrust of her pointed bra. Her perfume saturated the air between us, Poison, a scent I knew so well. Her puffy pink coated lips sucked colored stains on the filter of her cigarette, and the smoke curled from her lips like slutty little sex snakes.

THE BABY BUTCH BUYING ME DRINKS HAS HER HANDS ALL OVER ME. SHE IS TELLING ME ALL ABOUT THE THINGS SHE’D LIKE TO DO TO ME IF I JUST GIVE HER A CHANCE: But my mind was now centered on Marti who was a big-boned woman and I fit comfortably into her firm embrace. Her hipbones moved against mine; she pumped me with her lips. I remember the erratic humming of a large fan in some unseen corner of the room: the whirr, whirr, whirring of the fan, its hypnotic rhythm; the rhythm of Marti's fingers; her tongue fucking my lips. Her face overshadowed me, tearing at certain aspects of my own fetishes. I don't want to stop staring at her...her eyes sucking my emotions dry. God, this is better than love…

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Easily, a Yesss slips out from my lips ….
And another yesss being noticed by a strong older Butch ….. 🙋‍♀️💕👩‍❤️‍👩
 
ANOTHER YESSS BEING NOTICED BY A STRONG OLDER BUTCH: Yes…Marti wanted me as a thing, an acquisition, something to drape over the living room sofa, and marvel at each time she walked into the room. I have been complaining all night; whining and bitching. Amelia's is one of my least favorite places. It is a tough bar that attracts a large portion of die-hard dykes, heavy-set bull dykes, political 'lipstick lesbians' and hard bitten 'baby butches'. To my delight however the patrons wear fashionable night garments: shiny clinging fabrics, leather gloves, textured hose, spike heels, and they welcome you with a heavy wash of perfumed suggestions.

But Marti likes this place much better than Peg's or Scott's and so I am here, catering to her pleasure. It becomes increasingly difficult to stay pissed at Marti: Marti loves to talk dirty; she is a true maestro of filthy language. Her hot liquored breath in my ear is telling me tales of what her 'wet cunt' wants; sharing her 'fuck' fantasies and 'suck' suggestions. She was a pornographic pundit exploring avenues of linguistic sex and masochistic excess. Her body is all over mine as we grope each other during a slow dance. In a vast room of groping couples, we are champions. With the force of our fingers we reshape each other like sculptors modeling clay figures.

We reshaped each other into figments of Marti's sex dreams where she is a monolithic dominant and I am her overly painted femme plaything. I feel her desire slap me hard, with the force of her excited fury. 'Christ, you are a sexy slut,' she gasped, 'you whore, you cheap cunt.' Every word pushes out of her mouth, basting me like hot oil. Marti flayed me alive with her demented desire and the brutal force of her words. But as the night went on we still hugged and kissed and I smelled her perfumed skin, the delicate odor of her cosmetics. I was in love again... Again? Had I ever fallen out of love with Marti?

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🥹🥰🔥👩‍❤️‍👩💕. Love your shoes 👠. Love wearing pleats , love the harsh , yet deserved names …. Perfect personal descriptions of myself, of what I am , what I crave being becoming…. For Her .
The appeal of a Bull Dyke , often self proclaimed is an intense self realization of my own.
Good day beautiful and sexi 👩‍❤️‍👩🥰💕🙋‍♀️
 
NNo. 1 is
”DARLING I SAVOR THE SCENT OF YOUR CHANEL. I INHALE DEEPLY UNTIL I AM DRUNK AND GIDDY WITH THE ODOR OF YOU.” Please allow me to contribute a few of my personal pictures and which may speak to your comments and observations. Keeping things a bit classy and reserved. Classy now is the moment I remember most clearly when I take out my photo album and look at the studio portraits of Magda and me when back in my apartment overlooking Pacific Heights.

This is a moment that has shaped my life, giving it some of my perverse definitions. Perhaps I should jump into my small convertible and drive to her house in Alameda, across the Bay to thank her for our special moments. Then having me feel again the cool rush of her WANT as it brushes over me like an autumn breeze bringing the scent of Chanel perfumes and creamy ivory foundation. She encouraging me to rub my fingers over her cheeks, over the rouge and powder. Cupping her femme heat! Having the fleeting sunlight burst fiercly on her glistening painted lips. My eyes fixed on the red mounds of her lips. And I would want it to be summer on the bay, her silk scarf flying in the wind, my CD player in my car playing Peter White's ‘Caravans of Dreams’…Ohhh Lord preserve me from my dreams and memories!

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gr
 
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