’ Glenys was a small woman of about 35. She had short, mousey hair and pale blue eyes. Nobody could have been less like my idea of a lover. ‘The p...oblem,’ I said, ‘was that it seems to be more about feminism than about sexuality.’ I invited her in for a coffee. She was great company and we laughed a lot. She listened as I told her about my repressed upbringing, my ghastly, stiff mother. In a different story we’d probably have ended up in bed together but in fact we merely became firm friends.. She had never been with a girl before, but she was wet and ready for anything. Victory cried out softly and arched again as two of Ingrid’s fingers slid up between her throbbing lips, stroking against the wet silky walls of her pussy. Her fingers were slim and soft like her own and her mouth was hot and wet on her breasts and stomach. Then Ingrid was on her knees sucking at her pussy. She looked down at the top of Ingrid’s head and watched as the hot water ran down her chest and stomach. More

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