Italian lesbian lovers

What she liked was a woman’s arms that showed defined rounds of
shoulders and biceps, a hint of muscle, the same in thighs and
legs, a body at the same time sleek and dynamic, restrained in
its energy. She had known such a woman only once in her life, a
girl she had met while a student at Wellesley, an athlete, but
the girl had been a senior while she was only in her second year,
and after their brief interlude the girl had graduated and
vanished from her life. Now, nearly twenty years later, all she
had of this girl was a memory burnished and reworked so many
times, she was no longer certain what had been real and what was
her fantasy.

Her name was Claudia, and as she sat near an open window looking
out at the Piazza Barberini in Rome, her thoughts were not of the
past but of the present. She could hear the shower running in the
bathroom. She could hear the traffic in the square, the
automobiles, an occasional shout from somewhere, sometimes even
the faint sound of music from another open window. In the
bathroom was a girl named Deirdre, a slender blonde with an
angelic face, a former student in one of her classes whom she had
met in Firenze and taken to her bed.

Now they were in Rome together. She enjoyed Deirdre immensely,
but for Claudia it was merely a transient lust, while for Deirdre
it was apparently something else. It had become evident to
Claudia that Deirdre was completely infatuated with her. Deirdre
talked constantly about love and romance, and about how she would
do graduate work in one subject or another in order to be near
Claudia, who could not imagine Deirdre as an interference in her
settled life. But Claudia was torn because she’d had no lover in
some time, no one as physically stimulating as Deirdre, no one
who excited her as much, even if she felt no real love for
Deirdre and even if Deirdre was not her physical ideal.

A quandary, Claudia thought, as another horn sounded down below
in the square. She had to decide whether to remain in Italy
another few weeks and return home with Deirdre as Deirdre
expected, or break it off now and return home alone.

Claudia never liked personal quandaries; she liked to be on firm
ground, to have a personal life with the certainty necessary to
keep herself focused in her work.

At that moment two things happened: Some crazy Italian shouted a
remark about Pagliacci out of a nearby window, and at the same
moment Deirdre came gliding out of the bathroom wrapped in a
large white towel, hair and feet wet and adoration in her eyes.

Claudia turned in her chair, turned from the window still
attempting to translate in her head the Italian’s words about
Pagliacci, turned to Deirdre, looked at Deirdre’s wet feet, then
looked up at Deirdre’s angelic face.

“The floor isn’t clean,” Claudia said.

Deirdre gave Claudia a conspiratorial smile, approached close
enough so that her legs touched Claudia’s knees, and said, “I
thought about you in the shower.”


“Well, you know, I thought about you.”

And she waited, wrapped the towel more tightly about her torso,
and smiled again.

Claudia decided that whatever the Italian had said about
Pagliacci was likely to be trivial. She had never liked that
opera anyway. Too overtly emotional, as though the point was to
get you to fall down in tears in front of the stage. Laugh,
clown, laugh. Well, never mind that now, she had a confection
here in front of her, an entire strawberry shortcake.

“Did you really think about me?” Claudia said, and before the
girl could answer, Claudia had her hand inside the towel between
Deirdre’s legs, her hand quickly rising to Deirdre’s source,
where her fingers dipped into the wet to give Deirdre what
Deirdre expected.

Years ago, a thousand years ago it seemed to Claudia, she had
been with a woman in a room somewhere (was it East Hampton?), the
woman seated in a chair with Claudia standing at the woman’s
knees, the woman tickling the insides of Claudia’s separated
thighs and then at last pushing her fingers into the wet of
Claudia’s cunt as Claudia closed her eyes and groaned her
pleasure. Now, so many years later, it was Claudia herself in a
chair, and another girl standing before her to be probed by
fingers and knuckles.

Fingers and knuckles in the mouth of the cunt, the ball of her
thumb at the clitoris.

Fingers and knuckles In the mouth of the cunt The ball of her
thumb At the clitoris.

Claudia had written those lines in her adolescent diary the first
time she’d seen a notorious painting of two women by Leonor Fini,
except in the painting, one woman lying with her legs open while
the other woman sat between the reclining woman’s thighs, the
seated woman’s hands were on the other’s knees, only her eyes
penetrating the exposed sex. Claudia had imagined the next moment
in the painting and then wrote the lines in her diary.

That stupid diary, Claudia thought. She had dropped it into a
trash bin years ago with the vague hope that some girl would find
it and have an epiphany. Of course it was more likely rats had
eaten the diary and suffered indigestion from the purple ink
she’d used.

Meanwhile, she worked her fingers in Deirdre’s cunt, fingers and
knuckles in the vaginal mouth, and stroked Deirdre’s clitoris
with the ball of her thumb.

And soon Deirdre did the expected thing, she closed her eyes and

Claudia felt the wetness in her palm.

With a final delicate shudder, Deirdre opened her eyes and gazed
down at Claudia. “You’re so wonderful,” Deirdre said.

Aroused by the feel of the girl’s juices on her hand, Claudia
tugged at the towel. “Away with this.”

Deirdre glanced at the open window and laughed. “Someone will see
me.” But she released the towel from her body and dropped it to
the floor to show herself naked to Claudia.

Small breasts, full pink nipples, no belly at all and only a
suggestion of blonde hair on the pubis. A dancer’s body, a long
brushstroke of seductive femininity. Not Claudia’s ideal woman,
but exciting enough in its youth and eagerness. Claudia stroked
the body, slowly ran her hands over hips and breasts, smearing
the juices in her palm over Deirdre’s ripe young nipples. Then
she made Deirdre turn and she slid both hands over the buttocks
and upper thighs, then a finger up the crack of the ass to
Deirdre’s tailbone. Heavenly, Claudia thought. How else to
describe the compact little ass of a blonde sylph like this one?

She made Deirdre turn again, her hand returning to the girl’s
cunt to gently stroke the labia on the outside.

Widening her legs, Deirdre bent forward. “I want to kiss you.”

When their lips met in an open-mouth kiss, Deirdre ran her tongue
over Claudia’s teeth, then reached a hand inside Claudia’s robe
to stroke Claudia’s heavy breasts.

The girl suddenly dropped to her knees in front of Claudia and
pushed Claudia’s thighs apart. “Let me,” Deirdre said. “This is
what I thought about in the shower.”

Claudia gazed through the open window at the square down below.
Why not? A mouth on her cunt at a window overlooking the Piazza
Barberini. When she was too old for this, she would retrieve the
memory out of the shadows and maybe feel the quickening again. Of
course she would be more comfortable on a bed, but the moment
always had to be grasped. She parted the lower half of her robe,
slouched forward on the seat of the chair and opened her thighs
wide. She had a patch of hair down there. She was far past her
youth and she thought she would look silly with a hairless sex.
Using the fingers of both hands, she opened herself to show
Deirdre the wet groove and her thick clitoris.

With a murmur of approval, Deirdre leaned forward and covered
Claudia’s cunt with her mouth.

Claudia sighed and again looked out the window at the square. A
flock of pigeons circled over the Fontana del Tritone, a
continuous fecal bombardment their commentary on the Renaissance.
Italy was such a wonderful place. Where else could she have a
girl’s nose buried in her cunt while she watched a dozen birds
shitting on Bernini?

Deirdre was not an amateur at foraging in the furrow, although
she had admitted to Claudia that she had no experience with women
Claudia’s age. One of the advantages of age, Claudia thought, her
eyes leaving the square and the pigeons to look down at the top
of Deirdre’s blonde head. When you reach a certain age, it’s the
motherly aspect that excites them, the cunt ripe and thick-
lipped, the breasts heavy and pendulous, the prominent nipples
demanding to be sucked. Claudia knew all about it; Deirdre was
not her first sylph.

When Claudia came, she took her own breasts in her hands and
groaned at the sharp pleasure that fanned out from her cunt to
warm her chest and neck. Yes, it was good. The circuits were
still functioning. One would think cunt and clit would wear out
after all these years, but the orgasm was still as electric as

Her clitoris now too sensitive, she gently pushed Deirdre’s head
from her belly and urged the girl to come on her lap. Deirdre
quickly did so, always eager to be in Claudia’s arms.

Unable to resist the tempting candy of Deirdre’s pink nipples,
Claudia took a girlish tit in her mouth, sucked it briefly, then
sucked the other, then finally pulled her face away from
Deirdre’s breasts and sighed.

“Listen, darling,” Claudia said, “I’ve decided I’m leaving you
here and I’m flying home tomorrow. I know it’s not what you want,
but I do think it’s better this way. It’s been lovely, hasn’t it?
But if we try to carry this home with us, it won’t work. It
really won’t work.”

Deirdre seemed stunned, frozen on Claudia’s lap, her eyes locked
with Claudia’s.

Then Deirdre spoke in a quiet voice. “Then it’s over?”

“I have some money I can give you, so it’s not as though you’ll
be stranded without me. You have your ticket to New York. Stay
here another two weeks, or go to Naples if you want. But I think
Rome would be better for you.” Then she added: “Darling, you’re
so young, you’ll have a hundred women running after you before
you’re even thirty. You don’t need to be attached to someone like
me, not at this point in your life.”

Deirdre remained silent, immobile, only her eyes veering away
from Claudia’s to stare at the far wall. Finally the girl slid
off Claudia’s lap, walked naked into the bathroom and slammed the
door shut.

Claudia closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened her eyes
again. She looked down at the Piazza Barberini once more. The
pigeons were still there, still circling over the Fontana del
Tritone, still shitting on Bernini.