I was drawn to her in the immediate way that suggests that my subconscious had shown her to me before- a comfortable fascination ensured our fated meeting and desire fueled our vodka soaked antics the next night. We spent the next two weeks constantly together; there was no trepidation when we began living together after 4 days of ‘knowing’ each other. Our habits were uncannily similar- it was strange loving something so similar, until one of us made the smallest murmuring grown and the other jumped down the lustful hole that left us both gasping for air rubbing nipples and clits. Oh how she loved eating my pussy- the wonderful thing about girls is that all the sexual nervousness is decreased because we spoke to each other like sisters before lovers. When I would squirt and become embarrassed she would rave about how hot it was and how much she loved when my cum would drip down her collarbone to her huge breasts- and massive puffy lips. She was really curvy, with arms, shoulders, and hands that revealed her androgyny to world. Only when we ate mushrooms together did I really see the man that was trapped inside her female form. At first I let her be in charge always- she was seven years my senior and far more experienced, and her nature was dominant while I enjoy submission. After some time (years, days? Sometimes I wonder if it really was years because we shared so much in so little linear time that I think time would be better measured by emotional resonance) I took turns acting as the elder. She still led the physical bouts of our affections (often in response to my eagerness) but I used my privilege and experience to coach her out of the life hole she had been digging. I didn’t tell her, but that perfect day when we were playing house and she showed me the violin and then licked my nipples so reverently that my pussy dripped with joy, and then lay with me on top on the couch overlooking the pond and light gray sky and she said ‘I love you’ with every confidence in the world- when I whispered it back it was the first time I had ever said it to anyone and probably the first time I really felt it for another pile of flesh and bones because I knew that our souls had been saying it forever and this meeting was just one crossing in an endless sea of our minds.

Every time the colors flashed and every time I teared up for inexplicable reasons I thanked the universe for our fate- I don’t know yet the true outcome of partnership, maybe it is just the weeks in themselves, but I don’t think so. Maybe there is nothing larger approaching us and it was just our will that brought us together- two souls alone screaming for a compatible mate, but I don’t think so. Too much was exactly perfect- my dreams realized, timing coordinated, coincidence abundant. And she believed in all the things that I did and more- no one in my life had before and suddenly I wasn’t alone screaming questions of insanity. Her life itself was a miracle, and so all miracles, all power, all magic was as real to you as it had become to me. And when I finally spoke about my paranoia and she told me how silly it was, I believed her, releasing me from the bounds of months of crippling fear. And when she told me about her past- more than anyone had heard before- I felt honored and a rush of foresight, I knew that her fate lay in these stories and I was the essential first step.

She doesn’t know that I was inside her head during the mushroom trip. She knew that I had been there in dreams but I didn’t know, but I was able to sing with the cosmic refrains. I repeated ‘you deserve to be loved’ in harmony with the cicadas and the breeze so she could hear it without voice. I screamed rhymed refrains without a word and lowered my head so she could have privacy as her head tore her apart and her body writhed with the terrible inescapable turmoil of inner dialogue. I know that she heard me because when I brought you a glass of water the child in her eyes looked at me and said ‘I don’t want to listen anymore’ and I held her from behind and cried with a strange joy of recognition, celebrating our bond that had rendered voice unnecessary. When she held me after Salvia showered me with death and longing for music and told me it wasn’t real, I was sure that I wouldn’t have come back that time if she hadn’t woken me with your voice.

It was more than my first lesbian romance, and even if we don’t talk anymore, I was so proud when she sent me the album she released, deep throaty voice tinged with the masculine half I had known so well. Thank you for making me the female half, for showing me the beauty in being receptive. And thank you for eating my pussy.

By Olive Morgan

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