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Hot Lesbians Kiss - Sample Pics:
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at the show.
We were enjoying the paintings as we sipped champagne and walked the gallery, nodding to familiar faces when we saw them; yes, even me, for I was starting to recognize some of the same people wed seen at other events.
Di was new, and Di was a gorgeous Black woman with skin the color of mocha chocolate. Shes tall, probably 510 or so, with a runners body; hard, firm ass looking deliciously tight in her slacks, firm arms and flat stomach, and what I assumed to be, D-cup sized breasts.
We kept returning to the same large abstract repeatedly over the evening and more often than not, Di was there again as well.
"Looks as if we like the same thing, doesnt it ladies?" Di said to us on our fourth or fifth return trip to the large, wall-sized piece.
"If only we could be that lucky," Ali piped up, her voice full of innuendo.
Di looked at Ali with a bit of confusion in her eyes but the smile didnt leave her face.
"I was talking about a mutual attraction to cannabis, perhaps," Ali covered her tracks by saying, "I mean only a lover of the bud could appreciate this piece of stoned imagination," laughing as she said it.
"Damn," Di said, "do I smell like reefer or something?" Di said, sniffing at her blouse sleeves.
"No, no, honey, I was just thinking that Id have to be stoned to paint this myself, and as much as weve seen you admiring it as well, I just made a quantum leap, like I do about most things," Ali said further.
"Well, Im busted, regardless," Di said to us, laughing, "I did a bone before I walked into the gallery and I though the smell might have stayed with me."
"Just the dope paranoia," I offered, "happens to us all the time."
"Must be," she said, "well, thats the last of my weed anyway, so I wont have to worry about it for a while."
We introduced ourselves, and sat on a viewing bench, chit-chatting, feeling the vibes of which there were plenty. I asked Di if shed like to walk back to our apartment and join us in a little bud therapy. Ali smiled when I did so, almost as if I had beaten her to the suggestion.
We kept a bit of bud at the apartment at all times, for convenience, and for moments like this, spur of the moment urges, etc.
Looking at us both, realizing that we were serious with our invite, she nodded a bit and said that she thought it was a fine idea, and off we walked, heading to the apartment, laughing at what we were about to do.
Di was a local, but had spent the last ten years of so on the west coast, gigging with different groups. She returned to New Orleans to rediscover her musical roots, playing a solo gig at an established downtown hotel, in one of the smaller bars. Mostly, she said, she played Blues, Standards, and Jazz Classics, singing, as
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well as playing.
She was single now, twice divorced, having had a few steady and sort-of-steady men in her life since she was twenty or so; she was, she informed us, forty-two, and she looked not a day over thirty.
Her skin was smooth, flawless, as was her complexion. Her smile could light up a coastline, and her humor suited ours as well; sardonic, sarcastic, and not taking herself very seriously.
When she found out that Ali and I were, indeed, a couple-she had suspected as much she told us, watching us walking around at the art show-she smiled and said that she hadnt gone down that road, yet, but had thought about it quite a few times.
"Im a bit of an explorer with the mysteries of life," she said, clearly stoned after we finished the first, fat doobie.
"Preaching to the choir, girlfriend," Ali said, her words a bit slow and stoned, as well.
"This is really good shit," Di said as we prompted her to finish it and to eat the roach.
"Yep, it is," I said, and then proceeded to roll a couple of bones for her, surprising her when I handed them to her.
"Oh no, I cant," she said, "But thank you for the thought."
"Of course you can, and we insist," I pressed on.
Seeing we were serious, she graciously thanked us and accepted our token of new friendship.
We exchanged numbers and email shit, promising her that wed come and see her in a couple of nights and hang out with her at the piano bar.
We walked her through the patio, to the gate and pausing, she hugged us both, seemingly comfortable with embracing a couple of lezes. Saying goodnight, we watched her walk back towards the gallery and her car.
"Want to just stay here tonight, since were already here?" Ali asked as we walked back to the apartment, our arms around each others waist.
"Sure, might as well," I agreed.
"Shes a hottie," Ali offered, "definitely, a hottie."
"Yep, she surely is," I agreed.
"Would you do her?" she asked.
"Yep, would you?"
"Yep, I would," then laughing at some thought that had just occurred to her.
"How ironic it would be if I fulfilled my secret Southern Damsel Fantasy of fucking a Black by said Black being a woman," she finally shared with me.
"Ironic, indeed," I agreed, locking the door behind us, taking her into my arms and attacking her lustfully, fueled by thoughts of a reverse Oreo cookie; two white cookies with chocolate in the middle.
Pushing her backwards towards the couch as I kissed her hard, my tongue reaching deep into her mouth and throat, my hands practically ripped off her clothes. My animal lust for Ali at that moment was beyond anything I had ever experienced before, with a man or a woman.
Alis head was on the couch-arm now, her body being forced into the cushions by my own; her hands were pulling at my dress, raising it to my hips, slipping her thigh between my legs. I leaned into it with my pussy,
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