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Kit knew she was going to have a lesbian experience. The thought did not disturb her. It would be part of this fourth dimension where picture frames were transformed to rectangular rainbows. She liked this shimmering, iridescent world. She would swing with it, let it happen, judging no one, especially not herself. She would float, drift, engulfing whatever pleasure arrived.

Myra's lips parted.

Her pink tonguetip slid out, wet and sinuous. It advanced. The fingers that had been weaving into Kit's hair curled around behind her neck, emerged touching her other cheek, turning her face toward the encroaching tonguetip.

Kit watched the tongue slipping in between her own lips, which had formed a small circle to admit it.

The tonguetip revolved slowly, rimming Kit's lip circle, opening it. Myra's mouth pressed in. An open seal was established.

Within it, Myra's tongue probed.

The tongue spilled heat down Kit's throat, a syrupy pink warmth that filled her body, dripping like honey down her vagina and seeping out her cunt lips into her panties.

It was delicious. Oh, it was a grass-floating drug thing, not real. Or did the drug only exaggerate the bald fact that she loved kissing this girl?

She raised her hands to Myra's face and caressed the velvety skin, held her firmly while yawning, turning her head to thrust her tongue in deeper.

In a corner of her mind she knew that no kiss could last this long or be so voluptuous. The drug tripled time, quadrupled it. An instant seemed an hour. Even the ending of the kiss was ridiculously drawn out, a lingering, sucking separation. Still reluctant to quit, Kit licked ovals about the girl's lips.

Myra spoke into her open mouth.

"I knew you would swing, Kit. Your every movement is so sexy. You sort of flow against people, man or woman. You're a very hot cunt, aren't you?"

Kit slowly nodded agreement without pausing in licking Myra's lips. They were simply creamy. She sucked the plump lower one as Myra spoke again.

"Sex with a girl is so much better, isn't it?"

Kit was puzzled. She was not exactly sexing with a girl, but with her mirror come to life, with a dream, a fantasy, colors from the abstract paintings gathered together and shaped into female form. She caressed peach-fuzzed cheeks, delicate earlobes, a soapy-soft throat. She fingered through warm hair that clung sensuously to her hands. What Myra said mattered little. This new world of visual beauty and voluptuous tactile impressions had consumed her.

Kit remembered many years ago staying overnight with a girl friend. She had been thirteen or so. In bed they had kissed, caressed each other's titties. In those days without responsibilities, she had been a giggling, giddy, happy girl, willing to try anything.

The drug was letting her float back to those days, away from the Sonny problem, into a world where each sight and touch and smell was new, exciting, unburdened by meaning.

Her fingertips brushed down Myra's soft throat to the white halter. They dug under it and drew it down long, white, broad slopes. She lifted it to clear nipples thumbing out from aureoles the size of small saucers. She levered the material down underneath the luscious melons.

The time-stretch afforded her an hour to finger-circle each breast, to tour the puffing aureoles, to tweak and gently milk the nipples.

A finger touched her chin. Myra's open mouth was approaching hers. She tongued into it, licked and sucked the sweet saliva.

With thumbs and forefingers she still milked the huge nipples.

Myra drew back. Kit glanced down at the protruding breasts shadowing the girl's belly and shorts. A metallic glitter caught her eye, the zipper tab of Myra's fly. She pinched it and pushed downward. The shorts yawned, exposing white flesh, then low-cut flowered panties, the material marked with the dark whorls and tangles of pubic; hair beneath.

Abruptly Myra moved.

Kit's time-lagging gaze blurred. The other was standing now, holding Kit's hand, saying, "Come with me."

Kit became the balloon Myra had spoken of. She did not rise, she simply floated to her feet.

"Let's go to the bedroom and take our clothes off," Myra said.

Myra drew the bedroom drapes, reducing the shimmering light that had been the soul of Kit's color-riddled psychedelic euphoria.

She felt calmer now but intensely curious about the next step in this adventure she was groping her way through. She watched Myra's big breasts sway, wobbling and jiggling as she moved. She eyed the girl's gaping shorts, where flowered panties were darkened by the backing of fluffy pubic hair. She thought, I want to tear her panties down.

How strange that she lusted for a woman!

But the very strangeness of it made this the perfect escape from her hunger for Sonny.

Myra placed a tight pink cigarette on the dresser before the mirror, murmuring, "We'll smoke that later."

Through the window Kit heard male laughter. Don's voice.

Myra stepped behind Kit, unzipping her dress.

Kit asked, "Does Don know?"

"That I dig girls? Of course. As long as he gets his fucking, he doesn't care. Just so I don't sex with gals in the neighborhood."

"Does he know that you and I-"

"Sure. When he phoned me from Barney's and said you were acting randy, I told him to bring you home and then get lost."

She unhooked Kit's bra, swept dress and bra down her body.

Myra gasped, "No wonder they call you Mrs. Pretty Tits!"

Kit gazed at herself in the mirror. Her nude breasts were high, almost perfect spheres, the pink nipples precisely centered on large, puffed aureoles. She had always been proud of her titties, and now, seeing Myra's hands rise under them, slim fingers winding circles about the orbs, they pleased her more than ever. Yes, she wanted Myra to caress her tits, to pant over them, to become as excited as a man would be.

Myra's hot breasts pressed her bare back. Kit shivered with delight. In the mirror she saw that her eyes were hooded, dark with heat, her smile puffy-lipped and sultry. Her whole body was slowly undulating as the girl behind her stoked and kneaded her breasts, tugged daintily at her nipples until they protruded like pegs from the swollen cushions of her aureoles.

Myra dropped a hand. Without surprise, Kit watched slim golden fingers caress her belly and slip under her panty waistband and furrow the thick tangle of her mound curls.

"You're hairy-twatted," Myra whispered.

"Do you mind that?"

"I love it!" Myra's knuckles now stretched the panty crotchband. Gently, her fingers slithered boneless down Kit's cunt lips, spread them and explored her gash.

Kit moaned and hipped into the tantalizing caresses.

"Kit, your slit is drooling. You're hot for me, aren't you?"

Myra made another of her abrupt movements, again disturbing Kit's taffy-pulling-slow time sense, quickly whipping down her panties, then turning away to divest herself of clothing.

Nude, she stood beside Kit, an arm around her. They gazed at their mirror images. Kit was first struck by the width of their hips. Two women hip to hip seemed triply wide. And their tits took up a lot of space. But more important was the graceful way they vined together, two forms without angles, a sweet, sisterly pairing. She slipped an arm about Myra, saw her hand emerge on the other's hipbone where the white triangle of bikini-protected flesh began, swooping down Myra's belly just above her tawny pubes, up to meet a similar white hip band mark on Kit's flank. Myra was the more deeply tanned, her breasts and belly whiter. Kit's flesh had a pinkish cast.

She studied the other girl's pussy, big lips tightly closed, the hair neatly furrowed. Her own cunt was more open, the glistening inner lips just visible in the masking fur.

Then, at the top of Myra's split, she saw a pink nubbin protrude.

As she watched, it grew, glistening, like a tiny cock nuzzling out through the tawny cunt hair. Was Myra-abnormal? Puzzled, Kit reached to the girl's twat and fingered the appendage. It was oily, and slid away before her touch.