I don’t want him back. Honestly, that’s a lie. I want him back. To make things right, to make everything work, but the way he left, he ain’t coming back. He left on his own volition.
I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes, floating in the moment. Up and until then I had never doubted I was one hundred percent straight. Guess I wasn’t, all Nancy’s craft.
My beloved playboy boyfriend left me for a barely legal, obsessed, pathologically thin anorexic version of a Hanna Montana wannabe. All my efforts to get to him had been futile until Nancy knelled the gongs that denounced the lecherous wretch and told me to move on.
Before I went on the prowl for another boyfriend (it’s not easy to get one on short notice), I needed hot breakup sex to get over my boyfriend and everything. With no premeditated aforethought, Nancy, a celebrated lesbian, happened to touch me and then one thing led to another until I received my first ever sapphic kiss, undressed each other at record time and then began massaging each other’s pussy with our tongues.
Nancy made me feel like this fantasy girl I always envisioned, touching me in ways no man had ever, taking me past cloud nine.
My body convulsed as wavelets of pleasure coursed through me, Nancy’s sweet mouth sucking the lips of my pussy and guzzling my squirt. I squirmed when she took the whole of my clit in her hot mouth and cavorted it with her tongue like lollipop. The mound throbbed at an alarmingly risky rate, but Nancy knew what to do.
As I enjoyed my hot breakup sex with a legally recognized lesbian, I wanted Nancy’s mouth to forever suck my cunt, drink my squirt and frolic my clit and labia.