Sometimes the best way to get over a breakup is to fuck the pain away as Mira discovers when she gives in to the thrill of a Sapphic one-night stand.

Simon was out of my life. Ten months of a decent relationship had, as always seemed to happen, sort of petered out. I didn’t have apocalyptic breakups. No hysterics or ugly scenes. Things simply wound down, like a motor running out of fuel.

When these endings came, Octavia was always there for moral support. I called her about Simon, and we met for a jog through the hills. I felt like expending some energy.

It was a bright warm day, and we ran the winding trails side by side. Like me, Octavia was lithe and healthy, with a wiry physique. I’d known her since my first day of college, and we’d stayed close friends since. She was, in fact, the only woman with whom I’d ever had a sexual relationship. It had been another of those nine-or-ten-month-long romances, which seemed to be my permanent MO.

While I had stuck with men after that (though I had no regrets about sleeping with her), Octavia had remained a free-spirited lesbian. She flitted from woman to woman; no long-term relationships for her.

“That’s what — your eighth guy?” she asked as we kept up a steady pace along the dirt trail.

“Ninth,” I said. “Same pattern every time.”

“Well, I guess that’s what you like. Ten months, seeing someone exclusively. Simon seemed nice.”

“He was. We met, saw each other socially for a while. I didn’t hop right into bed with him — ”

“What if you had?” Octavia cut me off, giving me a sidelong grin. She had a very pretty face. Her short dreads were tied back. “What if, the first time you met him, you fucked his brains out and then walked away. You think you would’ve enjoyed that?”

Her comment actually made me blush. I had never done what she’d suggested, and she knew it. Even when we’d become lovers, it was only after a suitable courtship.

But my mind grabbed a hold of the fantasy. I recalled the night I had met Simon at a poetry reading a coworker of mine was participating in. What if, instead of exchanging careful flirtatious talk and phone numbers, I’d seized Simon and dragged him home then and there? My standards told me that should make me feel cheap, but the thought kindled a spark of excitement in me.

We reached the crest of a hill. Octavia, wiping sweat from her forehead, halted and sat on a big stone on the trailside. “Hang on a minute, Mira. Let me tell you a story.”

Curious, I sat.

“Before I ever met you,” she said, still catching her breath, “I had myself a one-night stand with a man.”

I jumped back up. “What?”

“He fingered me harder, his knuckles grinding against my clit.”

“Oh, sit down. Look, I prefer women. I preferred them back then, even. But I had this girlfriend I’d really fallen for, believe it or not, and when she dumped me, it was a gut-punch. I was young and dramatic, so I decided to swear off females for good. For about twenty-four hours I seriously meant it.”

I sat back down, trying to absorb all this. It was hard enough imagining Octavia in a serious relationship, but trying to picture her with a man…

“I was too young to go into a bar,” Octavia went on, eyes alight with nostalgia, “but I knew where the local bad boys hung out. I put on a leather mini and tit-hugging tube top, and I strutted right up to this corner full of rebels. I was scared, excited, pissed off, hurt — all at once. But I was determined to have a good time. Something new and different.”

I conjured up an image of Octavia in such an erotic outfit, and my somewhat dormant dykey impulses stirred in me. I remembered feasting on this woman’s pussy in college, savoring her flavor and wetness.

Octavia gave a little shiver as she relived the pleasant memory. “I saw this one guy. Black hair, tattoos, face like a matinee idol’s. I stopped right in front of him, heart beating like a jackrabbit’s. I said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’ Just like that.”

She laughed, but I heard excitement in it. This story was turning her on, same as it was me.

“A minute later, I’m on the back of his motorcycle. We go to this seedy motel. He tosses his leather jacket on the floor. I step up to him and pull him down for a kiss. I grind up against him, feeling how hard he is. Remember, I’ve never seen a guy’s cock in real time before, much less held one in my hand. But now I’m yanking down his zipper and reaching in and… and…”

“Was he big?” I blurted.

Octavia shrugged. “How the fuck would I know if he was big? What does a lady-lover like me know about cock sizes? But I tell you, Mira, I felt a real thrill as I handled him. His response was so immediate. He groaned, and his cock twitched in my fist, and he started tugging at my clothes.”

I pictured everything she said. Her words were magic to me. I leaned in even closer as she continued.

“He stripped down, too. He had one of those bodies you see in male underwear ads. Taut and sculpted and — I admit — beautiful. He gazed rapturously at me, looking me up and down. Then we climbed onto the bed.”

In my mind’s eye, Octavia was totally nude on a motel bed with a hot, young stud.

“I felt the humming strength of his body. He drew me on top of him, one hand cupping my ass, the other fondling my breast. We kissed again, deep and long. I couldn’t believe how excited I was! Maybe it was the novelty. Maybe I was enjoying my ‘revenge’ against my ex. But I lay there on him, with his cock pulsing against my belly, and my pussy was positively gushing. Right at that moment, I wanted to fuck him more than anything.

“He started fingering me from behind, two fingers slipping in while his thumb gently flicked my asshole. I clung to him and grunted against his neck. I dug my fingernails into his strong shoulders. He fingered me harder, his knuckles grinding against my clit. I let go with a loud orgasmic cry.

“Like a magic trick, he conjured a condom from the pocket of his discarded jeans. I lifted up, and he rolled it onto his cock. I repositioned myself. He held me about my waist, guiding me. He remained gentle throughout, like he could sense this was something unusual and special for me.

“Finally, for the first time in my life, I lowered my pussy onto a man’s cock. I ground down onto him, feeling him penetrate deeper and deeper. It was a strange sensation, I gotta say — but I liked it. I’d had my share of dildos and vibrators, but this was living flesh. I looked down, watching his handsome face twist with pleasure, knowing I was directly responsible for that. At last, I’d taken him all the way. Then…”

“Then,” I said breathlessly. “You rode him like a cowgirl!”

“You bet I did. It was so good. I planted my palms on his solid chest and bucked like crazy. He was thrusting upward into me, timing it perfectly. I slammed down and came. It was intense. Then, when I was still hunkered over him and swaying dizzily, he flipped me onto my back. He set himself on top of me. I was afraid he would crush me, but again he was gentle and considerate. Not that he didn’t give me a mad fucking — ’cause he did. He started stroking into me. I wrapped his waist instinctively with my thighs, thrusting my hips up against him. He pounded me harder. I put my claws into his shoulders again, hanging on for dear life. I came again and again. It was like he was hammering my orgasms out of me. His thrusts reached a peak. He penetrated me to my deepest point. Then I felt his come pulse into the tip of the condom. It was another strange sensation. My pussy clutched him through every spurt until his body went limp on top of me.”

The sweat of exertion had dried on my body, but my pussy had grown damp. I felt a gnawing sexual hunger — not for Simon, but for what Octavia had experienced with her stranger.

Grinning wickedly, she delivered the killing blow. “You know what my bad boy’s name was?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Neither do I!” She laughed triumphantly. “I fell asleep in the motel room, and he disappeared on his bike.” She hopped up, ready to run again.

“He was thrusting upward. I slammed down and came. It was intense.”

I got up slower, dying of envy. I silently promised myself a single night of anonymous lunatic passion like Octavia’s, no strings attached.

Unlike the then nineteen-year-old Octavia, who’d flung her fling with the biker boy, I was old enough to go to a bar to seek what I was after. I was also nervous as hell. Did I possess the ability to casually pick someone up — or even be picked up by somebody?

I was going to find out.

I entered an unfamiliar dance club. Music pounded, and colored spotlights whirled. It seemed like a good place for nameless encounters. I could barely hear myself as I ordered a screwdriver at the bar.

Every relationship I’d had was guided by formal preconceptions. All those prim courting rituals, making sure we really got to know each other first. Never sleep with a guy before the fifth date. Suddenly, it all seemed silly. Despite my nervousness, I felt a trembling sense of adventure. This was my night!

Except, it wasn’t working out that way. The dance music was loud and relentless. Nobody seemed to be standing still. They’d grab a drink, then rush off to one of the dance floors. The festive lighting started to feel disorienting. A few men looked interesting, but I couldn’t even be sure we were making eye contact.

The bartender, at least, seemed sympathetic. She had platinum blonde hair cut in a bob and toned pale arms on butch display in the tight black top she wore. Somehow she appeared to sense my dilemma. When I ordered a second drink, she gave my wrist a tender pat. I looked up into blue eyes, holding her gaze a moment.

As she went off to serve other customers, I gave this thing a last real try. I scouted around and saw a worthwhile male. But when I approached, giving him what I hoped was a coy look, he walked off before I could say anything.

Apparently, I knew how to cautiously flirt, how to let a man know I might be willing to trade phone numbers. But evidently I didn’t have the knack for confronting one and saying “Let’s get out of here” like Octavia had done. I was disappointed in myself.

The blonde bartender had been replaced by a big man with a shaved head. I was about to bail dejectedly when someone took the barstool immediately next to me. The woman picked up a shot of bourbon that had magically appeared on the bar, knocked it back, and turned to measure me with intense blue eyes that made me shiver.

I felt the predatory heat of her gaze through those platinum bangs. Off-duty now, the female bartender reached over and gave my thigh a lustful caress. Her fingertips set my flesh to tingling. My breath quickened. I tried to think of something — anything — flirty to say, but she abruptly stood and tilted her head toward the club’s exit.

Wordlessly, I followed her out.

A few stragglers stood in the dim parking area. I stayed on the bartender’s black high heels as she strode across the pavement. I had no sure idea where we were going or what was going to happen, but I knew I was aroused. Taut pale legs flashed beneath a pearl-colored skirt. She tapped a remote, and a car flicked its lights as the doors unlocked. So… we were driving somewhere?

Blondie opened the sedan’s rear door and stood aside, obviously waiting for me to climb inside.

My heart raced wildly. My pussy throbbed with anticipation. I’d come here tonight seeking a man, but hell — why not have my fling with this hot woman?

I dove into the back of her car. She hurried in after me and then closed the door.

We went immediately into each other’s arms. Our mouths fairly smacked together. Her tongue swarmed all over mine, and I thrust back at hers. I tasted the delicious faint flavor of her lipstick. Her soft body crushed against mine. We squirmed together on the wide backseat.

Her hands closed over my breasts. I groped her tits through the black top, feeling the sharp bullets of her erect nipples. I wanted to lick them. I tore open buttons as she yanked at my blouse. Both of us topless now, I pressed my face between her heaving breasts, then lapped frantically at one hard nip before turning to gnaw playfully at the other. She groaned loudly, fingers winding in my long dark hair.

By now my pussy was pouring. I fancied I could smell her excitement, too, in the close air of the car. Already the windows had steamed.

She feasted on my nipples, catching them with her teeth, coaxing sharp moans from me as I tugged at her platinum locks.

Finally, I had to have my taste of her. It had been years since I’d last had my tongue inside Octavia, but I remembered her lovely feminine flavor. I wriggled out of the bartender’s embrace, seized her skirt and pulled it off her legs. She got the message and lay back, spreading her thighs. She wore only the black high heels now. Her pussy glistened in the light.

I hunkered between her shapely legs. If she were naturally blonde I would never know, because her crotch was clean-shaven. She gave a fluttering cry of desire as my breath tickled her exposed cleft. I inhaled her perfume, sending a prickling of intense lust through my whole being.

“I came again and again. It was like he was hammering my orgasms out of me.”

At last, I licked her dripping furrow. Her hips bucked, smearing her wetness across my mouth and chin. Her taste filled my senses. I traced her silken folds with my tongue tip, then speared right up inside her. She cried out, probably loud enough for anybody passing by the car to hear. I didn’t care if they did.

Her strong legs clamped tightly my shoulders. The sharp heels dug into my back, and that only made me eat her harder and faster. My tongue was a blur, licking and lapping. I gorged myself on her pussy, as if making up for the long lack of lesbian sex in my life.

But this was more than just reacquainting myself with womanly delights. It was the absolute anonymity of this act that was equally — no, more — exciting for me. I knew nothing about this woman, and here I was in the back of her car muff-diving her like crazy. The delicious thought pulsed in my brain, adding to my pleasure.

She squealed, grabbing my hair again, and this time she ground herself fiercely against my open mouth. I drank her gushing honey, sating my hunger for that luscious pussy flavor.

I let her push me onto my back. She removed my skirt and slid between my open legs. Her pale body was smooth and limber. Her shoulders pressed my thighs even further apart. I waited with quivering anticipation, my pussy alive with desire.

She didn’t keep me waiting long. With the first touch of her decadent lips, I was heading toward a tremendous climax. She had a talented mouth. Her tongue did a nimble dance on my folds, spreading, seeking within. She slipped in deep. She caressed my clit, and I felt my hips lifting off the leather seat. I started humping her face. My body swam with carnal joy. My orgasm was building and building…

But it was when she cupped my ass and lifted me several inches off the seat — spreading my butt cheeks and spearing her tongue right into my asshole — that my climax broke ferociously over me. That slippery tongue on my sensitive hole sent me spinning away into a delirious euphoria. But she didn’t stop there. Taking two fingers, she grinned at me as she pushed them into my aching pussy, before going back to licking my asshole. She built up a rhythm until she was fucking me deep and hard. The feeling of her fingers in me and her tongue in my ass was more intense than anything I had ever experienced before.

The car’s interior twirled around me for a moment. I saw beads of condensation trickling down the fogged windows. I smelled the piquant fragrance of hot pussy juice. I still tasted her in my mouth and throat. My pussy and asshole throbbed.

But thankfully, we weren’t yet done with each other.

As though we’d choreographed this fantastic sexual encounter in advance, we took our places on opposite sides of the backseat. Neatly we slotted our legs, bringing our wet pussies together in the scissor position.

We both sighed as our slick lips pressed together. In a cooperative mutual rhythm, we ground our hips rhythmically. My clit throbbed with a rekindled ecstasy. I held on to her knee. She grabbed my ankle and started sucking on my toes. We pressed and smeared our pussies together, writhing on that backseat.

Bucking harder and harder against each other, I started to succumb to another massive orgasm. My every muscle seemed to quiver independently. Pleasure tripped from one bundle of nerves to the next, bringing my entire being toward that second climactic jolt. Intense would be an understatement.

She abandoned my toes to utter a fierce cry. We were banging cunts violently enough to shake the car on its springs. I joined her ecstatic howl of victory with one of my own as the ultimate pleasure spilled up over me, engulfing me, drowning me, blissfully bearing me away to the perfect fulfillment of my fantasy.

Eventually, we disengaged and got back into our clothes. She grinned at me, and I grinned back. We even shared a tender parting kiss before I stepped out of her car, and she started up the engine and drove off.

And what was her name? I have no fucking idea.

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