1. Displacement activity


    Date: 9/16/2015, Categories: Lesbian, Author: monica3, Rating: 6, Source: LushStories

    ‘It is called “displacement activity,” I think, Charlie.’ Eva, my German friend was referring to tennis and she pronounced it ‘ectiffity’ with her beautiful accent. ‘Every time you hit the ball, it is Fran you are hitting, no?’ Fran was my former lover; very former. We, Eva and I were sitting on the verandah of the old, Victorian pavilion of our local tennis club, sipping a cooling beer. ‘You may be right. I think, though, I am over it now. “It” was the unpleasant end to what had seemed a perfect relationship. Nothing, of course, is perfect. I’d come home from a long ten days in Singapore. I’d arrived at Heathrow on the Sunday morning, a day earlier than anticipated, at about 7 and taken a bus, train and taxi to get to the home we shared. Sunday mornings in our household followed a strict routine. When we were both awake or when one of us woke the other with a little ‘hello pussy’ we would finish off that particular delight and then one of us would get tea, toast, papers and we’d sit in bed. Often enough there’d be a bit more of the mouth to mouth before we’d take ourselves to the shower and, clean and dressed, take a leisurely stroll to the little café run by Mrs Stripiss. She, an expatriate Greek, owned possibly the best café in town and served amazing Sunday lunches for a price that beggared belief. I had arrived home about 10 and opened the door quietly, placed my suitcase and briefcase carefully in the hall and removed my shoes so I could creep up the stairs. I heard ...
    the sounds of sex and assumed Fran was watching one of her dirty movies as she often did when I was not there; sometimes when I was. As I ascended the staircase I shed my clothes. This movie was going to turn into the real thing if, as I suspected, she was having a good jill and would be ready for a little assistance in the orgasm department. I picked up my shoes and quietly opened the door and the world came crashing down. I don’t think I screamed but maybe my shoes hitting the floor or something else had alerted them to my presence. The ‘them’ to whom I refer were Fran, of course, and a woman I did not recognise. She, the unknown, was kneeling behind Fran and administering a good old-fashioned fuck. I couldn’t see what she was using but the strap around her waist was wide and suggested something substantial. Eva’s face was almost buried in the pillow, almost but not entirely. Her mouth was open and little sounds of ecstasy were coming from it. The woman behind her had tattoos all down her back and, bizarrely, was wearing a black, flat cap. As she fucked, so her pendulous and flabby tits slapped against her belly. I took all this in. My shoes had hit the floor, not because I had dropped them but because I had hurled them in my hurt and fury. There is of course nothing at all humiliating about standing naked in a doorway seeing your lover getting seen to by someone else, especially when that someone else is about 70 years old, hideous and clearly, judging by the cap, weird! I ...
«1234...89»