Adult Education: Lay Me Raw

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As I am driving to her house, I wonder why she invited me. I mean, a teacher inviting a student to her home is just odd. It isn’t conventional but it is okay; I mean, I’m grown and she’s grown and she’s not my teacher any more. The night class she taught was over last semester so she’s no more my teacher than just some woman I happen to know. Hmm, it is still odd though.

Thoughts swirl around in my mind and even though I have trepidation, I do not turn around and go back home. I suppose I’ve always been the curious type and a bit of a dare devil. Why not go to her house and see what things are like? I mean, what’s the harm? I can always leave if things aren’t to my liking. The truth is, I find her absolutely intriguing and a peek inside her house will give me insight into her personal life. Things like, what her family photos look like? Is her family large? Does she live alone? How is her home decorated? Does she live in a tiny condo or a sprawling house? Does she have pets? You know, questions of that sort.

I ease down the street looking for the appropriate house number. I know I must be close but I don’t see any cars. Maybe I’m the first person to arrive? As my car creeps toward the next house on the right, I see the house number she gave me. I must be here. I park on the side of the street then look over to assess the house. It is hard to see because the lot is heavily wooded and has dense foliage but, from what I can tell, it’s a large, nice house. I check my appearance in the rear view mirror, smooth down a few fly-away hairs, take a deep breath, and leave the safety of my car for the unknown.

It’s a perfect day. The sun is bright, the temperature is about 72 degrees, and the humidity is low. The yard doesn’t have any grass. It’s too wooded for grass to grow but there are lots of shrubs and large laurel types of plants. There is a wooden walkway leading to the front door and I meander up the path to the house. The solid front door is open and a beautiful beveled storm door separates the inside from the outside.

This is it! I’m here and all that’s between us is glass. I take another huge, deep breath and ring the doorbell. I see her coming down the hallway to let me in and I smile at her, probably awkwardly, and she smiles back.

“Come on in! Did you have any trouble finding the place?” She asks.

“No, I’m pretty good with directions and I didn’t have any trouble.” I reply.

“Good. Come on in and get comfortable,” she says leading me into the back of the house.

The first thing I notice is that she’s barefoot. Her auburn hair is in a very loose, messy bun held in place with a chop stick looking thing, and she’s wearing a blue gauze sun dress. As I begin to follow her down the hall, I ask, “Am I the first guest to arrive?”

“First?” She replies with a question in her inflection. “Oh, no. You’re the only guest. The party is now officially started.”

Oh. Wow. Now, I’m really nervous. I’m not good at chit-chatting and when a party consists of a very small number of people, I’m expected to talk and carry my end of conversation. If the party is rather large, I can blend in the background and observe. I’m more comfortable observing and listening. I ask, “Is it just us or will your husband and family be coming?”

“Just you and me.” She replies innocuously.

She leads me into the kitchen. It’s large and airy with a small sitting area on the left side. There’s an island, bar space, two sinks, a rustic sort of Quaker style breakfast-room table, and two French doors that are open and lead out onto a patio. There are many cut flowers laid out on the counter and an empty vase sitting nearby. She goes over to a wine rack and seems to think a minute, then pulls out a merlot and says, “How about a merlot? You like red wine, don’t you?” Then, she looks at me and squints as if thinking hard and says, “Yes. You are a red wine drinker.”

I do not reply to her question and besides, it was rhetorical anyway. I am too busy assessing my surroundings and reminding myself to breath. There’s a lump in my throat and my nerves are about to overtake me. I usually do not drink this early in the day but today, I will make an exception. I need to calm down a bit and some wine may help me do that. It will also make chit-chatting easier and that’s always a plus!

She begins uncorking the wine and says, “Sit, Leigh.”


“Anywhere. How about here, on one of these stools. You can watch me work.” Katherine says.

I’m not quite sure what she means by work but okay, whatever. I sit on one of the bar stools and she slides a full glass of wine in my direction. “You are a red wine drinker, aren’t you?” She asks.

I reply by nodding yes. My state has gone passed being nervous to bona fide apprehension and the lump in my throat has grown large enough that I’m not sure I can speak without canlı bahis şirketleri my condition being obvious.

She raises her glass of wine and says, “A toast. To friends!”

I raise my glass to hers and then, we both sip.

There is a pause, then she says without inflection, “You can talk, you know.”

I reply matter-of -factly, “Yes, I can.”

She begins arranging flowers and I continue to look around the room. After a minute, I get up and look at some pictures on top of a small roll top desk. I see a man who appears to be her husband and two young men, perhaps in their late teens, who appear to be her sons. For clarity I ask, “Is this your husband?”

“That was my husband, Steve, and our sons Patrick and Jason. Steve died a few years ago and now it’s just my boys and me. Both Patrick and Jason are away at college.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. That must have been rough.”

She looks at me and replies, “Yes, it was rough; but things are okay now.” Then, she smiles.

I think, there doesn’t seem to be any indication of a party here. She did invite me to a party at her house. Even if it’s only a party of two, you’d expect hors d’oeuvres or something. As I look around, there doesn’t seem to be anything special planned for this space today. I take a large gulp of wine and notice the breeze gently blowing her sundress. The material is caressing her body and she is truly lovely in blue. I also like her hair up. It shows her pretty shoulders.

“What is on your mind, Leigh?”

“Why I’m here.”

“Is that all?”

“At the moment.” I reply.

She continues to arrange flowers while the breeze sweeps around her gently blowing her dress. Without looking at me, and with the most nonchalant attitude imaginable, she replies, “You’re here because I invited you and because you wanted to come.” She pauses then continues, “It’s that simple. You’re here, spending time with me on this beautiful Saturday. We’re sharing a bottle of wine and enjoying just being together.”

“We are?” I thought. I can’t say I’m enjoying anything right now. I’m so nervous that I’m about to vibrate, which is not a good feeling! The only good thing I can think of is that I’m getting an impression about her life and what she’s like privately.

“Drink, Leigh. I have plenty more wine.” She says.

My response is to down the remainder of the alcohol. I place the empty glass on the bar and I take a seat once more on the bar stool. She refills my glass. I notice she’s only taken about three sips of hers. I need to be careful because I might get tipsy while she remains sober. That would not be good so I make a mental note to pace myself.

Just then, the wine’s effect washes over me like a tidal wave and I relax, some.

Noticing my body relax a tad, she says, “That’s it. I would like you to be comfortable and I have more than enough wine to help.”

Damn. She’s watching me closely enough to see if I’m tense or notice when I relax. I know she’s observant. I realized that when I was in her class. I’m just not used to being the subject of anyone’s observations, or more than that; even scrutiny.

My hands are nervous and I fondle the glass before me. I notice the wine swirling in the glass, the way it seeps down the sides, the way my hand looks clunky holding it. Due to the effects of the alcohol, I am able to speak trivially. I say the first thing that comes to mind, “I usually have long fingernails but most of them broke, so I cut ’em all. I don’t like it though. It’s hard to pick up stuff.”

“I know.” She replies. I look at her with a question on my face and she elaborates, “I wondered why your nails were short today. Usually, you have such pretty nails.”

God! I was relaxing only slightly enough to speak without a huge lump in my throat and now she throws me right back into being uncomfortable! I don’t do anything. I don’t say anything, I just sit and stare at my wine glass and think.

Katherine continues to arrange flowers while seemingly not being aware of much else. I know this isn’t true, though. What all is she noticing? She hadn’t been close enough to my hands to notice my nails, had she? Oh, silly me, she saw my nails when I lifted the wine glass.

The silence is broken when she quietly asks (while never breaking her gaze from the flowers), “What’s zipping through that head of yours?”

“I’m thinking about why you noticed my fingernails.”

“I suppose because they’re different than usual.”

“No, I mean, don’t look at my hands.” I say while purposefully putting my hands down, off the bar.

She continues arranging flowers and doesn’t look at me. After a minute or two she says, “Leigh, use your hands to drink your wine.” Then, she pauses before saying, “It would make me happy if you wouldn’t hide from me.”

On that note, I need another good canlı kaçak iddaa swig, so I my lift a hand, grasp my glass and drink.

“Did you grow those flowers?” I ask.

“Yes. I picked them this morning. Would you like to see the backyard?”

“Yes, I would, but not right this minute.”

She looks at me, smiles, and replies, “Okay.”

Katherine finishes getting the flowers just like she wants them, drinks the rest of her wine, then places the vase on the table. She refills her wine glass and tops off mine. Then, she slides her fingers underneath my hand and gently strokes my fingertips. She says, “Your nails are so short, the skin around them looks tender.”

I watch her stroking and observing my fingers and say, “Yes. That’s one reason why it’s hard to pick up stuff. I can’t help how close to the quick my nails break. I have to cut all the broken part away.”

She looks deeply into my face and smiles.

I know why she asked me here. One of the reasons I have been so nervous is because deep in the recesses of my mind, it occurred to me that I’d been invited for — shall we say, personal reasons.

“Let’s take our wine outside, okay?” She begins walking toward the outside and I casually follow her. She takes a seat in a white wrought iron chair, but I do not sit. I begin assessing the outside of the house – the yard, flowers, patio area, furniture. I can feel her watching me. Thankfully though, my nerves are under control and that’s due to the effects of the alcohol.

She breaks the silence by asking, “What are you learning, Leigh?”

“Your sense of style and the fact that you have a green thumb.”

“Will you sit, please?”

“Where?” I ask.

She points to a beautiful chaise longue with a large floral patterned cushion. I do as she asks. I sit on the chaise longue. I do not lounge though, I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground. She stands and walks toward me then, with obvious deliberation, stands close enough to be in my personal space. I look up at her.

“Do you need to drink more wine?”

“Why would I?” I ask sincerely. I can tell she’s coming onto me and I’m not sure how far she will take things.

“To calm your nerves.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

Katherine reaches down toward my knees and gestures for me to swing my legs onto the longue. I do as she wishes, then, she sits beside me and faces me. After we both drink a few more sips of wine, she places both of our glasses on a nearby occasional table. She gives me her undivided attention and whispers, “I want to be close to you. I know you can tell that. I assume you don’t have a problem since you’re still here.”

I don’t reply. I just emotionlessly gaze into her face.

“Have you ever been with a woman, Leigh?” She asks.

“No,” I whisper.

She begins to caress my cheek and study my features.

“I didn’t know that you are a lesbian. I thought you were just . . . well, I’m not sure.” I say.

“I’m not fond of that word.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just the word that society uses…”

“I know, and I’m not offended. I just don’t like labels. I’m not homosexual per se, and I’m not heterosexual per se, I’m just me. Whatever that is, is me.”

“I see.”

“Do you? I want you to understand.”

“I do understand.” I say.

“Can you honestly tell me that you haven’t felt something about be? Something that maybe you couldn’t put your finger on, but something that was different?”

“Yes, I’ve felt that about you but I haven’t known how to articulate it. I suppose, if I had to label it, I would call it sensitive or maybe intuitive.”

“You are too. I can feel it on you. Like you said, it’s kind of a feeling that can’t be explained but it can be felt. I prefer to call it chemistry. I like your chemistry. Will you let me be close to you?”

My head is reeling! What do I say? I have only been intimate with men and just a couple of them! The truth is, I like her too but I don’t have any understanding of what I’ve been feeling. I’m out of my depth; I’m lost!”

She breaks the silence of my racing thoughts by asking, “Do you want more wine?”

“Do you want me drunk?” I sincerely ask.

“No, I want you calm. Have you drunk enough to be calm?”

I whisper, “I’m calm.”

“Would you like to touch me?” Katherine asks.


“You may.”

“I don’t know how.” I say genuinely.

She strokes the side of my face and looks into my eyes lovingly. After several seconds, she says, “I’ll help you.” Then, she leans forward and kisses me.

As our lips meet, I’m overcome with the sensation of softness. This beautiful, gentle spirit with soft skin is kissing me. She is just so very soft . . . and warm. My head is spinning and it’s not the wine!

A few seconds later, she pulls back, looks into my canlı kaçak bahis eyes, and whispers, “Lick your lips.” I do as commanded, then she asks, “Can you taste me?”

“Yes.” Katherine tasted like nothing I’d ever tasted before. It wasn’t sweet and it certainly wasn’t bitter or even a matte taste. The only way to describe it is that she tasted female. This was so very foreign to me but I couldn’t deny; I liked it.

Then, I watch her taste her lips and she leans forward and kisses me again. This time, as we kiss, I caress the side of her face. Her skin as soft as her kiss! Everything is so very soft! Before I realize it, I sigh and my body relaxes and I begin to kiss her back. I can tell her lips are trying to form a smile. She knows I like it.

When our lips disjoin, she whispers, “I’m so glad you came today.”

I caress her cheek, run my thumb around the perimeter of her mouth, touch a strand of hair that’s come loose from her bun . . . I begin to learn her.

She lets me gaze at her a while, then she takes my hand into hers and kisses my fingertips. “I want you to know me and I want to know you. I realize you have so many questions; I know this because I know how your mind works. But, right now, just feel. That’s all. Just enjoy being with me.”

While she’s talking, I’m watching her mouth; that luscious mouth! The way she feels is so foreign to me but I like it! I want to know more, experience more! But, this is wrong, isn’t it? I mean, we’re both women! I’m conflicted but I’ve been shown just enough to make me crave more . . . but, I’m apprehensive, and this is wrong, right?

“Sh. I see thoughts running through that mind of yours. Just be; that’s all, just be…” Katherine says and as her words tapper off, she kisses me again. This time, she uses her tongue to part my lips. More femaleness! I want it. I’m gluttonous. Right or wrong, be damned. I moan with pleasure and feel my vagina grow moist. I want her.

She knows I’m turned on! Her hand ventures in between my legs and she puts a great deal of pressure over my clitoris. I gasp. Fire is coursing through my veins and my body is turned on more than it’s ever been before. She continues to possess me with her mouth and rub my crotch causing my senses to spin higher and higher to the place void of all reason. I reach for her hand — the one rubbing me. I grasp it and hang on as if for dear life. I’m conflicted because I need to hold her hand but I want her to continue to stroke me. I’m in agony. I press her hand onto my crotch and release my grasp as if signifying, you’re in control. She begins to undo my belt and her efforts are clumsy. I pull away from her kisses and quickly undo my belt and the top of my jeans. Just as soon as I get the zipper undone, she forces my head back and devours my mouth with more kisses.

I feel her tender, soft hand slip down inside my pants, feeling for my delicate tissue. When her fingers reach my pubic hair, I raise my pelvis beckoning her hand to go further. After another second, I feel it. Slender fingers part my inner labia and propel me into the stratosphere. She’s possessing both ends of me; my mouth is hers and now my womanhood is too. It’s wonderful! I feel her push her fingers inside my vagina and I’m in heaven.

My hips move in rhythm with her fingers. I’m so turned on, climaxing doesn’t take long. I feel her make (what ends up being) her final three strokes over my clitoris and my body stiffens while a deep groan rips from the back of my throat. Her mouth is still possessing mine and it’s as if her mouth absorbs my pleasure. She gives me pleasure, my body releases sexual tension, and she soaks the sensation back into her body. So erotic! More erotic that anything I’ve ever experienced. This beautiful woman who tastes like a delicate female has just made my body soar and I’m in heaven.

After my orgasm subsides, I open my eyes to find her soaking in the expression on my face. She whispers, “You’re beautiful.”

“You are too.” I say.

She snickers at my reply then says, “You’ve made me very happy. You let me be close to you. I’ve longed to be close to you. I’ve fantasized about what you’d look like having an orgasm and now I know.”

“Did I disappoint you?”

“You’re even more beautiful than I’d imagined!”

I just lie there, exhausted and savoring the tail end of ecstasy and allow her to watch me.

“I’m so happy,” she whispers. “You’re not hiding from me. Can you tell?”

I can tell. This is the truest, rawest, most genuine, unguarded state she’s ever seen me in. All my emotions are visible on my face and I’m relaxed and letting her see everything I’m feeling.

“You’re letting me share this with you,” Katherine whispers.

“You gave it to me.”

“I gave you the physical sensation; you’re giving me your emotion. I’m so happy.”

I smile at her and my eyes watch her with a sheen of softness and surrender. I whisper, “I want to love you, but I don’t know how.”

“Then, I’ll teach you. We have forever, if need be. We’ll take our time and I’ll show you my world. I’m so very happy.”

“I’m happy too.”

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