Am I the only gay woman alive who can be candid about loving to watch female bodies? You can’t tell me that other gay women wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to enjoy the female body in the buff. Well, I for one use every chance I get, and I’m little concerned if it’s considered politically incorrect. In particular, it was a great help when I was coming out and formulating my sexual preferences.

When I first decided that I wanted to pursue my lesbian interests, I joined a health club. True, I took advantage of the exercise equipment, swam daily and took part in aerobics workouts, but my greatest pleasure was after the workout, when I went to the shower. There on display were the sweaty, soapy, pulsing nude bodies of women — all shapes and sizes — for me to admire.

Often after a workout, I would strip totally and walk about the locker room in the altogether, acting as if I were stretching my muscles and winding down after an exhausting workout. In truth, I was browsing, my eyes stealing glances at some of the most exquisite female specimens I’d ever laid eyes on.

I was particularly taken by Brenda, a local coed. She was big-busted and fair-skinned, with a tall, broad frame and svelte curves. I suppose most people would refer to her as big-bottomed, but her bulbous rump was comprised of two perfectly molded mounds of smooth flesh that so excited me, I often felt compelled to reach out and fondle them. But, realizing the likely consequences, I kept to myself and, instead, returned home, where I would masturbate, satisfying my lustful urges with a finger pressed to my tingling clit.

At a nearby mall, I frequented a women’s fashion boutique where the dressing room was like a large mirrored bull pen. In view of one another, women stripped bare to try on anything from a bikini to a formal gown. The sight of all that feminine nudity, the jiggling breasts with nipples pink or brown, the fuzzy pubic bushes of as many as ten women, was something I had enjoyed only in my daydreams.

It was also the first time I had ever witnessed a black woman without clothes. She was tall and slender with a chic hairstyle-stringy strands of black hair that draped themselves over her ebony shoulders and rested invitingly just above her small, tight buttocks. I could tell that most of the women were somewhat uncomfortable baring their bodies, but this young woman appeared completely uninhibited, far more concerned with the way her jumpsuit fit than with any wandering eyes.

I found this most appealing, and when she finally took off the suit to get back into her street clothes, the sight of her dark and seemingly moist vagina as she bent over made my nipples hard and my pussy turn to butter. I wanted so much to kneel behind her and press my mouth to her moist crevice.

Now, I’m fair-skinned and rarely go to the beach or bathe in the sun, but I know that beaches are ideal locations for admiring female anatomy. That summer I rented a small bungalow on Long Island and spent my weekends on the boardwalk, watching the scantily-clad bodies saunter by. Women — beautiful women — were everywhere. I began to understand the lecherous nature of men. The sight of literally hundreds of females, their curvy, tanned bodies covered with skimpy patches of cloth, their nipples and pussies barely hidden, seemingly calling out to be touched, licked and fondled, aroused me in feelings I’d never before experienced.

I soon became obsessed and knew I was ready to graduate to a new, more mature stage of woman-sex. I didn’t have to go far. My neighbor next door was a tad older than I — perhaps forty — and I discovered her lesbian lifestyle quite by accident.

I was getting ready for bed one evening, and, with all the lights in my bungalow out, my attention was drawn to a few back windows of her house. The lights were on and the shades were up. And she was completely nude.

I ran to the back of my house to get a better view and was both surprised and excited to learn that my attractive neighbor was not alone. She was with another woman whose beauty was so captivating that not until much later did I realize that a stream of wet arousal had seeped from my cunt.

She wasn’t too tall, but her body was in wonderful condition, her milky breasts glimmering like two half-moons, her delectable pink nipples rigid and pointing north. Her tummy was taut and smooth, and her mound of pubic hair had been carefully sculpted into a beautiful wisp of sexy blonde frizz that revealed the tender flesh of her vulva and gave her body a fresh, youthful appearance. She brought a chill to my spine, a lust to my loins, and a tear to my eye.

But what attracted me most, I suppose, was her crew cut — perhaps something of a gay stereotype — but it lent a component of androgyny to her being that so consumed me, I knew I had finally found myself; I had discovered my sexuality.

That night I watched for nearly two hours as the two women made tender, meaningful love to one another. I was so overwhelmed by their passion, so intrigued by their entwined bodies, their mouths pressed against each other’s sex, that as I inserted my finger in the damp warmth of my vagina, I felt as if I were a part of their union

It was shortly after that that I began dating, but I didn’t find anyone truly meaningful until I met Cynthia. She is young and black and her body is lean and voluptuous. She is everything I have ever dreamed or wished for. She, too, has a hairstyle that is cropped close to her scalp, and when I confessed to her my mild fetish for short hair — both on her head and between her legs — she went one step further and shaved her pussy clean… just for me.

Every night I savor that moment when I run my tongue over the smooth, naked flesh of Cynthia’s vulva and rejoice in knowing that her bald pussy is the ultimate gift, a total expression of her love.

Our relationship is loving and more positive than any I’ve ever had with a man. I’m such a happy woman.