lipstuck

lesbian adventures in london

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

 

Foundation for foundation's sake

Professor Panstick wore such thick foundation that it might have been stage make-up. Her skin was always matt - perfectly matt - like she was lying on the slab at a morturary. All the make-up suggested an almighty skin complaint lay caked underneath.

I asked her. I was lying on her couch, and she was behind me, and she was playing with my hair. And it was dusk, and the leaves of the oak tree outside the library scratched against her window, and a church bell was chiming out the hour. And in that moment it felt like we were equals, and I could speak to her in an ordinary voice, without the rehearsed starchiness that came from my having a longstanding unrequited crush on her. So I asked her.

"Why do you cover up your skin?"

Gentle, tender, innocent, post-coital. I wanted to show her that I noticed things about her, that to me she was a constellation of details, all of which I had noticed before now, all of which I had thought about when I was alone. And I wanted to...soothe her. Make her feel less old, I think. Make her feel beautiful. Make her understood.

Friday, August 25, 2006

 

Professor Panstick

I was 18. And she was ... old. No post-doc she. She had a professorship. She wrote the textbook I occasionally studied from. She seduced me. Or more accurately, she made me seduce her. I had never seduced anyone, and yet somehow at the end of a tutorial in late autumn, I stood up to hand in the week's essay and wound up... On my knees.

Literally, metaphorically. Whenever I think about it now, it plays out like a sequence of stills, lacking continuity. I have no memory of how it started, and how one thing dissolved into the next, and the next.

I stood up. Reluctantly. I didn't want to leave. She was sitting in an armchair in front of me. I walked towards her. I handed her my paper as usual, but she didn't seem to want to take it from me. She just stared up at me, like she was waiting for me to do something else. And then I was standing between her legs and my knee was pressing into her and she just kept looking evenly back at me, not even willing me to do it, apparently not even surprised that it was happening at all. It was this - this effortlessness - which my peers so lacked - which made me want her so so badly. And when I started to feel frightened, frozen, locked into what I was doing, I felt her push up slightly against my hand. It was a tiny movement, but it was proof that she felt it and wanted it. It was like tacit permission to do whatever I wanted.

 

Lesbian Until Graduation

But first some backstory.

Three years in an ancient university, flirting with all those clever girls, and getting my heart broken by the cleverest, cutest and craziest of them all.

I still got a 2.1, but that's because she wasn't marking my paper.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

 

But then again, too few to mention

OK. Some of them, I've tracked down.

Monday, August 21, 2006

 

I bet the boys love you

Sometimes I get told that I'm beautiful. Not so often that I actually believe it, but often enough for me to think that it shouldn't be so hard to get the girl.

But for that, I'd have to know where the girl was.

Where are all the cute, successful girls - who like girls - in London?

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