Falling in love with Mary – 01

This is a story named ‘Falling in love with Mary’ where two friends getting into action at night. This is a lesbian story and hope you guys enjoy…

Letting the screen door bang shut behind me, I walked out onto the front porch to bring in the sun tea I had set out in a jar earlier that morning. It’s a poor substitute for an ice cold beer on a day like this — a glass of iced tea — but it would do. Shading my eyes with the flat of my hand, I looked out across the fields. Couldn’t see you. I Know you must be out there, somewhere. That is, unless you’d gotten lost in the corn. Thinking this made me laugh quietly; it reminded me of some god awful horror movie with screaming co-eds and dumb heroes who save the day. 

I walked back in the house and set the tea on the counter, retrieving a couple of glasses and filling them with ice cubes from the freezer. Pouring the tea into the glasses, I watched as the dark burgundy liquid, almost black the color is so deep, swam down around and over the frosted cubes. The glass filled quickly, and the cubes popped as cool ice melted hot tea. That was the only sound in the entire house, other than the soft yet sharp tick-tocking of the living room clock.

Sometimes I crave silence, need it as desperately as water or air. But tonight I needed something slow and musical, like good scotch for the ears; or what deep red velvet would sound like, were it to have a sound. Walking to the record player, I brought the arm back over to the grooves of Billie Holiday. Dinner was ready, tea was waiting, and I sat out on the porch, letting Billie croon out through the screen door on the hot summer breeze, and let my body fall into the rocking chair. I lit up a smoke just as I noticed you walking slowly up the path from the barn.

“Come on up here. Made you some iced tea,” I said, handing you a glass as you climb the three steps to the porch. You sat in the chair next to mine and groaned. “Thank you for all your help, Mary. I don’t know how I would have been able to do this, without you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll make it up to me,” you grinned, your eyes sparkling over the rim of your glass.

“Of course I will,” I smiled back. I looked out over the front lawn and the field and the barn. For a brief moment I wondered what I was thinking, buying this place. Then I remember, I was thinking that I’d fallen in love with it the way a person is supposed to fall in love with a woman. I stretched my legs and arms and rose from the chair. “Dinner’s ready, when you want it,” I said, crossing to the door. “If you want to shower before dinner, I set out towels in your bathroom. I’m going to go for a ride.”

People aren’t supposed to have lives like this, I thought to myself as I changed into a tank and a pair of levi’s, donning my boots and heading back down the stairs. You were already in the shower, I could hear the water hitting the shower wall as I walked past the bathroom door, and for a moment I closed my eyes and imagined you, naked beneath the stream of the water.

I shook my head to remove myself from the reverie, and continued on down the stairs and out the front door. I had to force myself to not run for the tack room, to stroll casually like a grown woman with some sense of decorum. There are many things I can’t quite get used to about being successful in what I do; but none of them excite me so much as the fact that I make enough money and have enough land to finally have a couple of horses and cows. And one very obstinate goat named Jeffrey that my sister thought would be a hysterically funny housewarming gift.

Having just bought the property eight months ago, I wasn’t quite prepared for the twister that set down last month; and though in its finicky ways it left my barn and house alone, it set down endless debris from other souls less lucky than I.

I had been griping about it on the phone with you; wondering how I was going to clear up the land all on my own. When you offered to come down to help– it’s not such a long trip, really, to this tiny Kentucky farm from where you are — I accepted only with the stipulation that a.) Neither of us work too hard, and b.)you spend most of your visit relaxing. And, c.)we remember that you are still married.

As I rode the chestnut mare beneath me out into the fields behind my house and up into the bluegrass hills, I wondered why the fuck I’d made that damn rule. Watching you, laughing with you, wanting you, and being unable to so much as let it show in my eyes because I knew where that would lead… It was driving me insane. What made it worse, was that you seemed to be handling it just fine. The courteous thing to do, I chastised you in my mind, would be to at least appear slightly put out that neither of us can put out.

I turned the mare back towards the house, my blood pounding in my veins and the hot air zipping through my hair, billowing my tank as the horse pounded her way back home. Raised up in the stirrups, I leaned down until my face was just barely above the mare’s long, lean neck; her mane whipping against my face and tickling my nose. I lost myself in the sound of pounding hooves on grass and the scent of horse and woman and summer.

I ruined her in, after walking the excitement out of her, and set to work on cooling her and brushing her down. Saddle and cloth and bridle all went to their respective hooks and nooks and crannies. I loped back to the house just as the sun was finally slipping beneath the sheets for the night. You were on the couch, in your boxers and t-shirt, by the time I walked in the door.

“Did you eat?” I asked with a smile.

“Yes, thank you.” You seemed nervous… shy. Now that the work of the day was over and there was nothing between you and I but half of a living room and will power. I stood in the archway and stared at you, the flickering light of the television casting its shadows over your face.

“What are you watching?”

Your answer was so soft, I almost didn’t hear it. “You,” you whispered.

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak or focus on anything other than your eyes locked with mine and the electric heat that was spreading through my belly, my chest, and my sex. Jesus, I wanted you. I wanted my hands in your hair and your face in my pussy and my breasts in your mouth and your skin beneath my hands and your cries, your moans, entangling with my own the way our legs and arms entwined.

I wanted to ask you to sleep in my bed. I wanted to say, “Turn off the television, Mary… for God’s sake, make love with me.” I wanted to cross the room and straddle your lap. I wanted to slip out of my tank and jeans in front of you and watch you rise from the couch and come to me, pulling me hard against you, claiming my mouth as your possession as your tongue sends rippling needles through my body and your lips devour mine in passionate desperation.

I wanted to feel you hard against me, fucking me into oblivion as I rode you hard and fast, screaming for more. I wanted to know what it felt like, my hot wet sex grinding against yours, my throbbing clit rubbing against yours. I wanted to discover your taste, your scent, your needs. I wanted to hand my body over to you.

Falling in love with Mary – 01 will continue in the next page.