Falling for Jillian Ashley: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

“Keep edging,” Amy had said. “No clit, understand?”

“Understood,” Sally had murmured, her eyes not moving from Amy pussy.

And then Amy had gently lowered her pussy down until Sally could reach it and Amy then submitted herself for a good fifteen minutes or so to Sally’s expert mouth and tongue, orgasming twice on her lover’s face. Afterwards, she had lifted herself off and stood beside the bed, looking down at Sally, the entire lower half of her face glossed with Amy’s arousal. Sally had still been edging herself and her pussy had been so obviously turned-on by that point that it had created a wet spot on Amy’s sheets. Amy had then put her face between Sally’s legs, latched onto her clit with her lips and made her girlfriend come undone in just a few seconds.

Now, as Sally turned her car onto a residential street in Oceanside, Amy considered how lucky she was. After only two incredible nights of sex together so far, she was learning that her and Sally enjoyed the same sexual predilections: teasing mixed with a bit of bossiness. She didn’t know about Sally, but Amy wasn’t interested in a full-bore domme/submissive lifestyle. Nonetheless, it did turn her on so much when she got to be a little demanding in the bedroom.

“Okay, we’re here,” Sally announced, yanking Amy out of her reverie. Instantly, Amy’s mind shifted gear from lurid sexual thoughts to realizing that she was moments away from meeting her favorite lesfic author.

Sally had pulled into the driveway of a really nice-looking house on a quiet, tree-lined street close to the beach. The house was very mid-century modern and seemed to be built almost entirely of windows.

“Anything I should know?” Amy asked Sally.

“Yes, come to think of it,” Sally said, turning to her. “Max 101: say nothing but good things about the New York Yankees; say nothing but bad things about the Boston Red Sox.”

Amy laughed.

“Oh my god, if men are so easy to manipulate, why do straight women complain about them so much?”

***

“Hi! You must be Amy! Max Tremont.”

The man who opened the door was one of those older guys who hadn’t let himself go. He was still trim and fit, dressed stylishly in black jeans and a tight-fitting charcoal grey t-shirt which complemented the silver streaks in his black hair.

“Nice to meet you,” Amy said, feeling stupid at how nervous she sounded.

“Come on in,” Max invited, stepping aside to let her and Sally enter.

“Your house is fantastic!” Amy said. Even though she hadn’t seen much of it yet, what she was seeing now showed that Max had good taste in both furnishings and décor. “I love your style!”

“Thank you,” Max said, guiding them towards a large room with a sunken floor. “I suspect in a previous life I was an interior decorator. Whether I was a gay interior decorator, I do not remember nor do I care. I just hope I was happy.”

Amy laughed. This guy was super charming but not in a trying-to-get-in-her-pants kind of way, like a lot of “charming” guys she encountered.

He offered his guests drinks. From the well-stocked bar Amy saw at the far side of the room, she knew she could probably ask for just about anything, so she told Max to surprise her.

“Hmm…” Max said, sizing her up. “Okay, I’ve got just the thing.” He turned to Sally. “Your usual?” he asked, and Amy felt a bit jealous that Sally and Max were so close that Sally had a usual at his house. As silly as it was, Amy now wanted a usual here at Max’s.

“Yes, please,” Sally responded.

“Wait, what’s your usual?” Amy asked, but Max tsked her.

“No, no, no, young lady,” he chided. “I don’t want you changing your mind. You asked to be surprised and you shall be surprised.” And off he went to the bar.

“Oh my god, he’s awesome!” Amy whispered to Sally when they were alone.

Sally laughed.

“Told you!” she whispered back. “Well…he is awesome, yes; but he’s also a wise-ass New Yorker who can make you crazy with just how much of a wise-ass he is.”

“I don’t care! I love him!”

“Were you worried you’d hate him? Here, let’s sit down.” And Sally led them to an incredibly large leather sofa which Amy figured cost as much as three months of her rent.

“I don’t know,” Amy confessed once they had sat down. “I mean, I’m still in shock that Jillian Ashley is a man but I wasn’t sure if that shock would become resentment once I actually met the man, you know? But it hasn’t. Which is good. Now I’m just happy to be meeting the person who wrote all those great books.”