Erotica Excerpt: Straight To Gay

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Some people are aware of being attracted to the same sex early on, for others there’s a gradual realisation, and for others still there’s an ever-changing scale of gayness which varies throughout their lives. Me? Well, I’d genuinely never thought about women in that way before I saw Leah, and then it hit me like a thunderbolt.

I was working backstage at London fashion week, and suddenly I saw her. Through a spiky sea of heavily-stylised skin and bones, she stood out like a lush, natural oasis of fertility and fecundity. “My Nubian princess” I thought to myself, like it was the most natural thing in the world for me to be thinking like that – like it was the most natural thing in the world for me to be talking to myself about another woman like that.

In that instinctive way that no-one can ever explain, Leah must have felt me staring at her, as she suddenly looked straight up, directly into my eyes. She commanded my vision and I was mesmerised: it was as if the world stood still. The stress of our surroundings just disappeared, and it was me and Leah, just the two of us. And then the spell was broken – someone called my name, and I turned to focus on something else.

Nevertheless, despite the frantic environment and my busy workload, over the next couple of hours I was hyper-aware that just across the room was my sexual siren. It might sound crazy, but at this point I hadn’t even registered that Leah was female instead of my usual tall, dark and handsome – male – type, I just knew that I was already hers. And I ached for her deep inside to the very core of my being.

In the end it was she who approached me: “Hi”, she said, “I’m Leah.” I was obviously so incapable of any rational response that she took me by the hand and made to leave. Thankfully I had the sense to grab my workbag with my free hand, and I slung it over my shoulder as Leah sped up the pace. Weaving amongst the dispersing crowd of fashionistas, we headed outside, our fingers entwined. I still hadn’t spoken.

Once out in the busy London street, we paused.

“Coffee? Booze? Dinner?” Leah asked.

I swallowed, my mind a blank. “You”, I answered unthinkingly.

At that, Leah leaned in and kissed me, full on the lips. Suddenly, above the usual city smells I could smell Leah’s hair, her skin, her scent, and taste the flavoured lip-gloss on her mouth. I melted into her kiss, our tongues touching, exploring, tasting further. She broke away to pull my hand once again, this time round the corner, through a concealed entrance and up some smart internal steps to a grand wooden door. “The VIP entrance”, Leah explained “but it looks like it’s locked.” She sat on the red carpet, and I sat down next to her, shedding my bag and my inhibitions with it. I couldn’t explain myself or even think straight, I just knew I had to get closer, so I drew Leah in for a long kiss, cupping the back of her head with my hand, while she wrapped her arm round my waist, pulling my body nearer and nearer still, until our breasts were touching. At this contact we both moaned in unison, and then grinned at our matching responses, all of a sudden girlie and giggling.

Then Leah traced the outline of my face with a finger, moving to focus on my chest, taking the weight of my breasts in her hands, teasing my nipples with her thumbs. I sat stock still, not daring even to breathe. I was in absolute pieces, consumed by a lust the likes of which I’d never known before. But Leah recognised it, and she smiled a wicked smile, pushing me back onto the steps so that she was leaning in on top of me, her face mere centimetres away, her knee between my legs.

“Tell me that you want me” she commanded.

My body still burned from her touch, and my voice was hoarse with longing: “I want you Leah, oh God I want you”.

I tried to wriggle slightly down the steps so that I could grind my aching crotch against Leah’s knee, but she pinned my shoulders back with her hands. “Not until I say so”, she ordered, “You have to work for your pleasure tonight”. I waited on tenterhooks, my body quivering with desire. ‘Work’, what could she mean?

First published on Cliterati under my Mia More alias