When I was in an all-girls Catholic college in Japan ten years ago, I had a crush on my classmate, Masumi. We were both in first year of university, just recently turned 18 and still virgins at the time. Virgins in the strict sense of never having had penetrative sexual intercourse with a male, which I would not actually have for another three years. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t experience the transformative all-consuming power of first love. That was, you might say, what this story is about…
Maybe because I was now a first year student in an all girls college after graduating the previous year from an all-girls high school, but except for my father and brother, all I had ever known was people of the same sex as me. At the time, I didn’t think of this as strange or abnormal-it was just the way my life and most intimate friendships and relationships were. It was just normal and my life.
In hindsight, I realize now that I was attracted to the more masculine girls-the “butch” girls who were tall and slim and had hard features-muscular rather than soft, sharp cheeks and square jaws versus my round face and soft lips, flat-chested and narrow hips as opposed to my feminine curves and hourglass figure. Because I had never really been around any boys, I only knew girls and only felt the stirrings of physical desire triggered by those classmates and friends who reminded me of the most attractive qualities of the men I saw in TV shows and movies.
Masumi was in the dance club I joined right away after entering university, one of the group of a half dozen girls that I was always with day and night as I discovered the world of being away from home for the first time. Because my high school had been a strict Catholic school with codes of conduct and watchful teachers who policed the wayward tendencies of teenage girls, being away from home now and having absolute freedom as a university student was intoxicating. Drinking alcohol was now possible, and staying out all night without anyone reporting you for violations of school conduct was like the unleashing of pent-up yearnings that had been bottled up for years. Of course, I still lived at home with my parents (!) but somehow being an adult and meeting new people who were also adults was a liberating experience.
Almost immediately my newfound friends in the dance club became my intimate social circle. All of us were together every single minute, even arranging to take the same classes as much as we could. I transferred out of a more than one class that I otherwise would have stayed in just so that the group of us six could be in classes together. Looking back, there was something unhealthy about our strangely fierce loyalty and desire to be together, but at the time it was just the way we were.
After several months of our “gang” being together almost every waking moment, it also became clear that there were some not-so-hidden desires arising. I developed what can only be described as “schoolgirl crushes” on the “male” leads of the musicals we performed (almost always either Ayako or Masumi, who were the tallest and most masculine girls in the dance club), and since I was one of the better dancers I was often the female lead so I would dance together as a pair with either Aya or Masu. We were quite ambitious, egging each other on to practise long hours and perfect our routines, and even outside of our group practises we also did a lot of private rehearsing as the leads because we had to perform the most technically challenging routines, often in the school gym alone as a pair long after others had gone home. Although I was attracted to both Ayako and Masumi, by the winter of my first year it was the latter that I developed such a strong crush that it seemed at times to physically overwhelm me.
Masumi was tall and thin and dashing, with a strong jaw like a man, and a low husky voice that sounded so confident when she spoke. She was handsome like a male movie star, strong and muscular and able to leap higher than any of the rest of us, her thigh and calf muscles rippling with strenuous exertion in a manner that was utterly different than the rest of us, even Ayako, who was more thick set and stocky in comparison, even though she was only a few centimetres shorter than Masumi standing side by side. Masumi’s hair was cut short like a boy, and she had a slim but muscular athletic body that seemed like the opposite of all the rest of the girls, who had soft features despite the hours of daily dance practice.
When Masumi and I danced together, I felt like I was in an old romantic American movie with Fred Astaire. In the slow dance numbers, I would lay my head on her chest and her firm pert breasts which were so different than mine and swoon. I would get so sweaty and intense and then wet and horny as I began to smell both mine and her musky scent. The mingling of our animal odours as we exercised became a daily source of a raw energy and desire that consumed me when we danced together, especially the times when at the end of one particular routine I dropped down to my knees and wrapped my arms around her thighs, my head buried in her lower stomach area.
I would insist on practising this particular routine over and over again, seemingly dissatisfied with some detail or another even though to Masumi it seemed we had already long perfected it. But I would be adamant doing another run through and then another again and again, a seeming perfectionist when really there was a deep dark desire just to slide my face down along her muscular stomach to her crotch, the aroma of her musky exertions filling my nostrils. Sometimes I would slide a bit lower than required so that my mouth would be down so far that it stopped just over her pubic mound and I could smell the sweaty sharp scent from her crotch, warm and humid and pungent. I lingered in that position longer, too long, nervous that she had noticed that I was out of technically out of position and that it would be obvious to her.
On the last rehearsal before our performance in late winter, we were running through that routine again and again. The cold weather outside meant that the heaters in the dance studio were set extra high so that as we danced and sweated the air took on the fetid odour of both our sweat and exertion. It seemed like her masculine animal scent filled every breath I took, filling my lungs as I leaped and sprang across the dance floor again and again. Both of our bodies were covered from head to toe with our commingled sweat as we constantly rubbed and slid against each other, until we were one single strong scent.
I took a chance on one of the run throughs to bury my face not into her stomach or even her pubic mound, but even lower so that I was level with her crotch. my nose tunnelled in between her legs so that my mouth was kissing her labia and my nose slid right past the mound or her pubis and bumped up and down over her clitoral hood. I knew instinctively deep in my own crotch that her clitoris was hard, just as my own was at that moment. I could feel right on my mouth how sweaty and warm she was through her dance tights, and the overpowering scent of her wet pussy, so similar and yet so strikingly different from my own, filled my nostrils. Masumi was already breathing hard from our hours of exertions, but when my nose hit her clit like a car going too fast over a parking lot speed bump, she gasped out loud and her legs muscles convulsed. I instinctively wrapped my arms tighter around her thighs and buttocks so that she her legs wouldn’t buckle, and her hands clenched my hair out of reflex and she shivered and let out a long exhalation after her loud gasping. I kept my face buried in her crotch and kissed her lips as if they were her mouth, my tongue poking out between my own lips to lick the wet fabric of her tights as I wriggled my face even deeper into the soft swollen folds of her labia. She whispered my name and then her knees buckled and she collapsed down into my arms.
As we faced each other, both kneeling now on the dance floor, we stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, our chests heaving and panting now with a new excitement clearly different from just the exertion of dancing. On our knees, the difference in our height was much less pronounced, with her looking slightly down and me looking slightly upwards as our noses nearly touched. I closed my eyes feeling a kiss about to come at any moment, but then she turned her head and looked away. I felt my cheeks blush with shame. I felt guilty for having given in to my crazy impulses-I didn’t even realize what I was doing at a conscious level-and so as she got up on her feet and quickly strode away mumbling that she needed a break, I said nothing and stayed on my knees in the middle of the now empty dance floor, crushed and alone.
After I finally willed myself to stand up and walk to the water fountain, voices in my head shouted out with recriminations at having lost my control and ruined everything. Would she hate me now? Would she even be able to look me in the eye when she returned?
I shook from nervous fear as she came back finally from the bathroom. I don’t know how long she was gone, perhaps it was only 2-3 minute, or it could have been 20 or even 30 minutes. I lost all track of time as I waited in terror, time slowly ticking with my heartbeat in my ears for what seemed an eternity. When she finally bound back in through the door to the studio, she acted as if nothing had happened, cheerfully saying let’s work on the next dance, a number that required very little physical contact between us except for our hands.
I resolved that I would never try anything like what I had done ever again, not only during the rest of this night but in any rehearsals the years to come. I made a pact with myself, a private bargain that I hoped would somehow allow her to continue after this performance to even want to dance with me as a lead couple. Perhaps she would instead leave the club, or insist on someone else playing the female lead, or even stepping aside as the male lead so that Aya would take her place. I pleaded with whatever gods might be listening to the cacophony of voices in my head, vicious accusations and recriminations and confessions shouting in my ears even as we silently finished our run-throughs of the rest of our routines.
Later that night, as I slept fitfully and fearfully, I dreamed about being disciplined and punished by her for my naughty thoughts and behaviour. I even woke in the middle of the night, flipping over onto my stomach and spanked my own behind hard while I masturbated with my other hand, dreaming that it was her hand stinging my ass. I had to muffle my loud moans into my pillow so my parents would not hear me in the next room as my body twitched and convulsed in orgasm after orgasm until I fell asleep spent and exhausted.
The next week, after our performance (which we danced to perfection-all of those hours in the studio leading to standing ovations from our audience…), the club took a few days off to rest before starting practising for our next performance. I nervously invited Masumi over to my house to study together, the whole day before I asked her spent in a fog of fear and nervousness, afraid that she would say no or insist on studying as a whole group at the library as we had in the months prior. I actually stuttered when I asked if she wanted to study at my house, so tongue-tied that I barely could utter the words. But to my immense relief and joy, she nonchalantly said yes and smiled, the relaxed curve of her lips swelling my heart and transforming my own lips into an idiotic smile of my own.
Over the next days we began spending several hours a night in my bedroom doing the homework for our classes. She would sit at my desk reading while I lay on my stomach on the bed studying, almost exactly in the same position that I would lie in when I masturbated thinking about her! But I studiously avoided doing anything that would scare her off. The trauma of her rapid exit from the dance floor still consumed me, even the mere thought of seeing her rush away from me that night, the sight of her muscular buttocks wrapped in her sweat stained dancing tights, rapidly marching out of the studio as if she were fleeing from a plague victim, made me feel nauseous.
And so I stayed calm and staid, acting as she did that night as if nothing had happened out of the normal between us. We would work side by side in silence in my bedroom, only occasionally asking each other a question or joking about something. At the end of the night she would yawn, and stretch, and we would have a snack in the kitchen before she caught the subway home. I found the tension almost unbearable when we were together in the room, and had to concentrate hard on the books I was reading.
After a few hours of working with the door closed, the room would be filled with her scent, a less intense but still wonderful sweaty muskiness that I recognized from the times that I had buried my nose in her sex. But I was careful not to do anything that would upset what seemed like her desire to ignore what had happened that last time when we were rehearsing. Ever since then, I hadn’t allowed myself to let slip and show my desire for her, not during the performance in front of our friends and family for certain, but not during dance rehearsals we started up again that week or as we studied to study together in my room. When we would study with our larger group, was in more disciplined, never even giving her what might be construed as an extra smile or glance and strictly controlling my desires whenever we were together.
Unfortunately, repressing all of my yearnings only seemed to make them more powerful when I was alone at night in my bed and could release all of my pent up emotions and feelings. I would go almost mad with desire and lust then, masturbating every night until I was spent and relieved and my body, just cleaned and fresh from my nightly bath, would afterward be coated with sweat and my fingers and pussy sticky and wet with my musky juices. When I awoke in the mornings I never felt refreshed, half glimpsed dreams of her lips and muscular body half remembered as I fitfully fought to stay awake in classes.
Then one night in my bedroom several months later, while we were studying, something happened. It was just the two of us, as had now become normal, but this night I had much more trouble keeping my mind on my homework. I kept looking at the back of Masumi’s neck, so long and thin and handsome. I imagined kissing and biting her neck and I felt an overwhelming desire to touch my now swollen and leaking pussy. I thought I might be imagining, but I thought that she too seemed more uncomfortable than normal, and seemed to stir in her seat as if she could not sit comfortably. I couldn’t concentrate, and I was so sexually excited that I couldn’t control my thoughts. My cotton panties were uncomfortably soaked, and I could smell myself in the thick air of the closed room.
Finally, I grabbed my pillow and pulled it underneath me, wrapping my thighs around it so that it lay between my legs. I tried to do this casually, so that she would think nothing of it, as if I was just adjusting my body position to be more comfortable, but I needed to rub my itching pussy mound against something, and I couldn’t put my hand between my legs without her noticing, and so the only thing I could think of was my pillow. At first, the touch of the pillow cooled the heat between my thighs, relieving me of the burning desire. But after 10 or 15 minutes, I found myself clenching and unclenching my thigh muscles rhythmically against the pillow’s soft warmth. I told myself that Masumi wouldn’t notice, since it was so subtle.
I was staring at her back now as my clenching and unclenching thighs began to move me up the familiar mountain I had climbed so many times nightly. Maybe she had noticed my breathing becoming louder and faster. Looking back, she must have been aware of my every movement just as I had been so hyper aware of hers. But at that moment I was slipping into the wonderful feeling of fantasy, abandoning myself to the thoughts of kissing and touching her, my eyes gazing at the beautiful nape of her neck and drinking in her long thin legs and shapely ankles.
Suddenly without warning, I came, my shivering overwhelming me so that a small gasp and groan escaped my lips. I bit down with my teeth on my lower lip to stifle my uncontrolled moan, but I realized that I couldn’t control the convulsions that were twitching through me, from my lower stomach radiating out through my legs and arms. Without turning toward me, I saw her lift her head as my hands clenched, the waves of pleasure arching my toes and my whole body now clenching as tight as my balled fists. But she said nothing, and as the incredible feelings flowed through me and receding in gentle waves, we lapsed back into the uncomfortable silence of unfulfilled desire.
My surreptitious orgasm did not lower my feeling of agitation. Just as my nightly masturbation never ended with my first orgasm, so this first moment of release with her near me only stoked my desire hotter and with more flaming fire. And I realized that she must have known what had happened. I recognized the strong scent of my sexual desire filling the air now. I had soaked through not only my panties thoroughly, but also the thin shorts I wore and the sticky wetness that had gushed out of me at the moment of my orgasm was now mixed with the sweat that soaked the pillow between my legs, so that when I shifted ever so slightly the humid smell of my excited sex spread like a cloud into the still air of the room. There was no mistaking that smell.
Finally, after what seemed like hours of silence and tension, but was probably just five or ten minutes, she turned to me and whispered, “Do you mind if I study next to you?” I nodded, and she gave me a quick smile before averting her eyes and grabbing her books. I shifted over on my small bed and she lay down next to me, sending tingles through me where our bodies touched. She didn’t look at me once while climbing into bed next to me, even though I was staring at her with longing. I forced myself to look away, back at my book, but the characters on the page were just a blur.
I couldn’t concentrate on my studying, could only think about how close she was, the warmth from her thigh next to mine, the sound of her breathing, the scent of her sweat now filling my every breath, mingling with the smell of my excited wet cunt that still surrounded me. I don’t know how long we lay like that. It felt like hours, but could have been just a few minutes for all I know. Finally, she whispered: “Have you ever thought of practicing kissing?”
I felt a buzzing fill my body, and my nipples seemed to swell and harden against my undershirt. “Yes…” I barely whispered in response. Neither of us had looked at each other, but I felt her shift ever so slightly on the bed, and suddenly her face was on my cheek and I was turning my head and time seemed to go still.
The mutual desire was suddenly released in a flood, so thick that I could hear both of our laboured breathing filling my head, and the thin coat of sweat that covered my body turned hot, aflame as if it were gasoline lit by a match. Somehow we were finally kissing. It was insistent, forceful, driven by the suddenly released desire pent up for so long, and yet it felt so natural. Her soft lips on my cheek and then on my lips, the taste of her mouth as our tongues searched for each other, the clashing of our teeth as our mouths banged together. All of my attention was on our mashing lips at first as our tongues became snakes entwined, but then the lust that had consumed us both below the surface was unleashed, and my hands groped everywhere that only my eyes had touched before. She was pulling on my shirt, and I responded immediately as we began tugging each others clothes off with an urgent desperation, as if all of our waiting had suddenly ended at that moment.