Lust Quest (2 page)

“No, silly. I mean, talk about writing dirty books.”

“OK. I'll go and put the kettle on.”

10

Jackie and I had been friends since we were at school together. She was good company, vivacious and very attractive. Although radiating a childlike innocence, she was also a ... No, tart would be too strong a word to describe her. She was promiscuous. God only knew how many boyfriends she'd had since I'd known her.

Dozens, I would imagine. How many penises had she had inside her? I wondered as I went to the kitchen and filled the kettle. Recalling the dirty book, I also wondered whether she'd ever had her arse done, as the author had crudely written. What an awful way to put it, I reflected. There again, what an awful act to write about, let alone commit.

Pouring the coffee, I pondered on lesbian sex. I could take a shrewd guess as to the things lesbians got up to in bed, but to bring authenticity to the scenes would take far more than a good imagination. Besides which, the last thing I wanted to imagine was licking another woman's vagina. Shuddering, I tried to push the vile thought out of my mind. My trouble was that I'd had a sheltered upbringing and had been a swot at school. While Jackie had been busy exploring the appendages of the opposite sex, I'd spent my time reading Shakespeare and ... Did they fuck rotten?

Answering the doorbell, I caught my reflection in the hall mirror. Attractive with long golden locks flowing over my shoulders, I knew that I'd have no trouble getting a boyfriend. I'd been asked out often enough since Alan had dumped me for the tart. But I didn't want a relationship. My only relationship had ended in disaster and I'd decided to throw myself into my writing rather than waste time by going out with men.

11

Did I need to experience anal sex to write about it? I pondered. If I read enough erotic fiction, I'd be able to write my own, I concluded. There was no need to experience spanking to write about it. Bondage, whipping, group sex, anal sex, oral sex ... Reading a few dirty books would furnish me with more enough carnal knowledge. I’d have to earn money somehow, I reflected. The ageing washing machine was on its last legs and the television only seemed to work when there was nothing worth watching.

“Hi,” Jackie beamed excitedly as I opened the door. “How's the dirty book coming on?”

“It's not,” I returned firmly as we walked into the kitchen. “I do
not
write dirty books, Jackie.”

“Well, you should,” she smiled, brushing her long black hair away from her pretty face. “God, I'd love to earn money by writing about sex.”

“That doesn't surprise me. You’d earn yourself a fortune,” I quipped.

“I don't know why you're reacting like this,” she frowned. “If you can get a book published, which is something you've wanted to do since we were at school, then go for it.”

“What do you know about lesbian sex?” I asked pensively as she plonked herself at the kitchen table. God, what sort of question was that?

“More than you might think,” she replied mysteriously.

“
What
?” I gasped surprisedly, almost dropping the cups as I placed them on the table.

“Remember Jenny Hardbrooke?”

12

I feared the worse as she grinned at me. “That skinny little thing who used to wear skirts up to her bum?” I asked.

“That's the one. It was during the summer holiday. We were playing around in a haystack down on Turner's Farm and ... Well, you know.”

“No, I don't know,” I said, my eyes wide as I waited for her to enlighten me with sordid details of her lesbian encounter. In a haystack?

Gazing at her angelic face as she locked her dark eyes to mine, I dreaded to think what she was about to say. She was a beautiful girl with full red lips and huge eyes, and I knew that she'd never had a shortage of men after her. But a lesbian relationship? Had she licked Jenny Hardbrooke's pussy? I wondered. Had they taken their clothes off and licked each other's ... There was material here for a dirty book, I reflected. Grimacing, I again realized how naive I was as I sat opposite her and awaited her story with bated breath. I almost grabbed pen and paper to make notes, but decided against it.

“Jenny Hardbrooke,” she sighed wistfully, her pink tongue peeping at me as she provocatively licked her succulent lips.

“What happened?” I asked eagerly, wondering where her tongue had been.

“We brought each other off,” she replied unashamedly.

“Brought each other ... My God,” I gasped. “You actually masturbated each other?”

“Yes.”

“But

...”

“But

what?”

13

“Were you both naked? My God. Did you take each other's clothes off or ...”

“Yes, we were naked.”

“My

God.”

“I wish you'd stop saying
my God
. There's nothing wrong with two young girls discovering their bodies.”

“
Their
bodies, maybe. But not each other's.”

“You are a prude,” she laughed, flicking her long black hair over her shoulder.

“There were loads of girls at school who played about like that.”

“Well,

I
wasn't one of them.” Pausing, I tried to picture Jackie with her finger inserted in Jenny Hardbrooke's pussy. “Tell me more,” I finally said, somewhat too eagerly. “I mean, purely for research purposes.”

“So

you

are
going to write smut,” she enthused.

“No, I ... I don't know, yet. I haven't come to a decision. So, what happened?”

“We were rolling about in the haystack and she pulled her knickers down and showed me her crack. You know, you show me yours and all that.”

“No, I don't know.”

“Well, you do now.” Her dark eyes gazed at me and frowned. “Weren't you in the pube contest?” she asked.

“The

what?”

“You weren't, were you?”

“No, whatever it is you're talking about.”

“We used to count our pubes every week to see who was winning. Christine Smith had a thick black bush while most of us were still as bald and soft as a baby's bum.”

14

“Jackie, your despicable behaviour surprises me,” I said admonishingly.

“Hang on a minute. Where was I while all this was going on?”

“I don't know. Masturbating, I would imagine.”

“Jackie!”

“Didn't you masturbate?”

“No, I did not.”

“All I can say is that
you
surprise
me.
I thought that everyone masturbated.

Friday afternoons behind the kitchens was where the action was. Hands down knickers, fingers rubbing ... There were girls frigging and coming like there was no tomorrow.”

Jackie had not only surprised me, but shocked me. And finally driven home just how inexperienced I was. I began to wonder whether I was abnormal as I recalled spending Friday afternoons in the library reading Shakespeare. Perhaps I should have explored other girls' sex cracks. But no. To engage in lesbian sex wasn't normal. Of course teenagers experimented, but not with their own sex. Or did they? According to Jackie, teenage girls did far more than experiment with each other. Frigging and coming like there was no tomorrow?

“So, this dirty book,” she grinned salaciously. “Want me to give you some ideas?”

“No, thank you,” I returned firmly. “Jackie, we were best friends at school.

We spent weekends together and had sleepovers. How come I knew nothing about your ... your lesbianism?”

15

“It wasn't lesbianism,” she giggled. “For goodness sake, Jade. Most boys wank each other off when they're in their early teens and ...”

“Wank each other off?” I gasped in astonishment. “
You
should write filthy books, not me.”

“Now there's a thought. Seriously, Jade, most schoolgirls touch and frig each other. It's perfectly normal.”

“
Normal
? Do you ... As we're on the taboo subject, do you still masturbate?”

“Since I dumped Ian, I've had no choice.”

“Well, I don't know what to say. I thought ... I don't know what I thought.”

I thought that I'd led the life of a nun in comparison to Jackie. I realized that she was prone to exaggerating, but she wasn't a liar. Jenny Hardbrooke? My God. The last I'd heard of Jenny, she was working in the local library. And she was married with a child. The next time I saw her, I'd picture her naked in a haystack, her legs wide open and Jackie's finger in her pussy. What would her husband think if he knew of her sordid past?

I wanted to ask Jackie about her many sexual exploits, but decided against it.

We'd never talked about sex before. Our times together had been spent enjoying shopping or having a drink in a pub. She'd always gone on about men, asking me what I'd thought of this one or that one, but we'd never discussed sex. I’d thought I’d know her so well, but now? I supposed she'd thought me too prudish to talk about sex.

It had obviously been my talking about erotic fiction that had sparked her off. Gazing at her slender fingers, I imagined her masturbating, rubbing the solid nodule of her clitoris to orgasm. Did she finger her pussy?

16

Pondering on writing erotic fiction as we sipped our coffee, I came to a decision. I'd write a couple of chapters, as David had suggested, and see how I got on.

Lesbian sex would be easy enough to imagine. There again, I'd never masturbated myself, let alone another woman. Feeling that I'd missed out as I eyed Jackie's nipples pressing through the thin material of her tight T-shirt, I wondered what it would be like to explore her naked body.
Stop it
, I urged myself mentally. What the hell was I thinking?

“What's on your mind?” she asked knowingly, following my gaze and looking down at her elongated nipples.

“Er ... Nothing,” I smiled, my face flushing. “Fancy going to the pub tonight?”

“Yes, why not? We'll celebrate the beginning of your new career as a pornographer.” She stared into my eyes and giggled. “Or is it, pornographess?”

“We'll celebrate nothing of the sort,” I stated firmly. “Pornographess, indeed.”

“Have it your way,” she laughed. “Right, I'll see you there at seven.” Leaving the kitchen, she turned in the doorway and flashed me a salacious grin. “We'll get wrecked on vodka,” she giggled.

“I'm not getting wrecked on anything,” I snapped, following her to the front door. “And don't be late. The last time you said you'd meet me at seven, I was left on my own for over an hour.”

“Don't worry, I'll be there on time.”

“You'd better be.”

17

When she'd gone, I went into my den and picked the book up. Reading the smut, as Jackie had called it, really did turn me on. The heroine had been stripped naked and was being attended by three men. One was doing her bum, another her pussy and the third her mouth. Sperm pumping into her anal canal, flooding her tight pussy and filling her gobbling mouth ... Leaving nothing to the imagination, the author must have experienced the crude act, I mused. Three penises pumping sperm in a girl’s orifices? I couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to commit such a vulgar act, and found myself thinking that the girl was nothing more than a common tart.

“God,” I breathed, realizing that I was beginning to believe in the characters.

The book certainly made good reading and, I have to confess, also made me very wet.

My only sexual experiences having been with Alan, I'd never imagined sex with another man - let alone three men. Reading about one man's tongue slipping into the girl's sex-juiced pussy as another man licked the rosebud of her tight bottom-hole, I realized that my arousal was rocketing. But this was what the book was designed to do, I reflected. A real turn-on, heightening the reader's libido to the point where ...

Masturbation?

Tugging my skirt up, I reclined in the chair and slipped my hand down the front of my panties. My vaginal lips swollen, my sex crack drenched with my lubricious juices, I couldn't believe how hard my clitoris was. Running my finger down the wet ravine of my opening pussy, I explored the wet entrance to my hot vagina. I'd never touched myself like this before, never explored the intricate inner folds of my vaginal crack. My finger instinctively slipping into my hot pussy, my 18

heart racing, I gasped as my muscles tightened. Massaging my sensitive inner flesh, the beautiful sensations rippling through my quivering body, I felt an overwhelming need to come.

Slipping my wet finger out of the tight sheath of my pussy, I tentatively massaged the solid protrusion of my expectant clitoris. Breathing deeply as the electrifying sensations permeated my contracting womb, I moved forward in the chair and parted my thighs further. I'd never dreamed of masturbating, and became riddled with guilt as I rubbed my clitoris faster. Consoling myself with the thought that most women masturbated, I closed my eyes and pictured the girl in the book. Tongues were entering her creamy vaginal sheath, seeking the sensitive brown ring of her bottom-hole, licking her wet sex flesh, lapping up her juices of lust, taking her to orgasm.

Fingers penetrated the secret entrance to her bottom, massaging deep inside her quivering body as she gasped and writhed in her illicit pleasure.

I'd had a few orgasms with Alan, but the pleasure I'd derived from our lovemaking had come from the intimate bonding of the union. He'd always come, of course. But his sperm gushing into my pussy had signalled the premature end of our passion. More often than not, I'd been left in a quivering state of arousal. Perhaps I should have masturbated, taken myself to orgasm when he'd gone home. He should have made sure that my needs were fulfilled rather than concentrate on satisfying his male desires.

Should I have taken him into my mouth? I pondered as I thought of his hard penis entering the tight sheath of my pussy. Should I have sucked his purple knob to 19

orgasm and swallowed his sperm? He'd once used the term,
mouth-fuck
. It had revolted me. On reflection, perhaps it was Alan that had revolted me, not the crude term. Mouth-fuck. Fuck-mouth. Mouth-sperming. I’d have to get used to such words if I was going to write erotica. Erotica? Or pornography?