GINNY’S LESSON
by ANNA BAYES
Ginny’s Lesson Copyright © 2014 by Anna Bayes
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Table of Contents
Ginny's Lesson
About the Author
Other Works by Anna Bayes
Ginny’s Lesson
A confession: I called Ginny with comfort sex in mind. It was not the first time that I had gone over to her place for a late-night drink, for a sympathetic listener, for a shoulder to cry on, and then, for mind-blowing orgasms.
Ginny has a knack for sensing what my body craves at the moment; she sends me over the edge effortlessly. Sometimes I wonder if I fall in and out of bad relationships just for an excuse to beg Ginny to fuck me. She makes me feel better every time. It had begun in our last year of university. I would call her in the middle of the night, dead drunk, feeling shitty from being dumped by yet another guy I'd met in an obscure bar; she would listen attentively, and then ask me over so I would not be alone for the night. Then, inadvertently, she would make me well again with her deft fingers, her full, sensual lips, her twirling tongue, and the warmth of her lithe body.
The first time it happened, I could not believe it. I had never known I liked girls. Hell, I had never even kissed a girl before. But it felt so natural with Ginny. I do not crave women in general, but Ginny's body stops my heart. She usually dresses casual, just t-shirt and jeans, almost zero makeup. I could guess she had an hour-glass figure, but when she stood naked before me that first night, it was a stunning unveiling: it was as though I saw a real woman for the first time that night.
Ginny's body was impeccable: everything about her was smooth and soft. Her breasts - my God, they were so perfectly round and firm. I loved how her nipples were a light mauve color: not too dark, but not pink either. She had a beautiful pussy; it was small and dainty, truly symmetrical, like a flower bud.
So, yes, I am thinking of ranting about Jake, my latest ex, with Ginny over a drink or two, and hoping she will please my body and ease the pain inside me like only she knows how, as I ring her doorbell.
She answers the door within five seconds, and looks me over. Her long raven hair is held in a loose ponytail. She is wearing a tight black sweater that shows off her perfectly round breasts over a pair of faded jeans. Her wide, brown eyes shine with a hint of concern and something else. Somehow, she looks different tonight. Her face does not look quite as open as it usually is. Her lips are the same full, sensual ones I want to kiss, but they are closed tight, unsmiling.
"Did I come at a bad time?" I ask tentatively. Something about her makes me feel nervous. This has never happened before.
She shakes her head and opens the door wider. "Come on in."
Even her voice is different. It is still soft and low, but more neutral, almost cold.
I walk into her living room hesitantly. For the first time since I have known her, I feel unsure of whether she wants me here. It is unsettling.
She hands me a glass of white wine; I peep at the bottle on her table: it is my favorite. I relax slightly, reminding myself that Ginny surely welcomes me; we are best friends, are we not?
"So," she says unhurriedly, draping herself over her futon. I cannot help but admire how she can droop and still look so captivating. "Jake, is it?"
I blink, almost forgetting why I came here in the first place. "Yeah," I say, shaking my head to clear my thoughts, "the bastard."
The image of him and his colleague in our bed when I walked in on them earlier this afternoon flickers in my mind. I was so angry and hurt at the time, but the memory has already dulled. I can barely remember the color of the woman's hair.
"Is that surprising?" Ginny asks.
I look
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