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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N


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Archive name: Karen.txt  (A Lesbian story - sort of)
Authors name: The Flying Pen
Story Title : Karen: An Unusual Love Story

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This work is copyrighted to the author (c) 1996-97.
Please do not remove the author information or make
any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-
commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of
commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration.
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Karen is my best friend, and the great love of my life.
We have been close for almost 12 years now, despite the
varying geographical distance between us. Over those
twelve years, we have been separated by feet and by 
hundreds of miles, but we still remain close, sharing
each other's lives to the most intimate detail. We first
met during orientation week activities for first-year
college students. 

We met at the dorm ice cream social. The orientation
assistants took us through the routine of introducing
ourselves to everybody else in the room. She lived down
the hall two doors from me. I was immediately jealous,
because she had lucked into a single room, while it
seemed that I was moving in with the roommate from Hell.
The first thing Karen said she noticed about me was my
birthday, which is identical to hers. After all the
introductions were finished, she found me and said, "Hi!
I'm your twin sister!" She isn't shy, I thought, as I
looked up at her: She's a couple of inches taller than
me. "What time were you born?" I told her while I was
trying to memorize her face, short black hair and blue
eyes and match them with the name. She's not skinny--I
would call her stocky, not fat--but I loved her per-
sonality, especially since it took the pressure off of
me having to make the conversation. "I'm older than you
by three hours, so I'm gonna be your big sister!" We
laughed and spoke for fifteen minutes until I heard my
roommate call my name and tap me on the shoulder. I
spun--right into an ice cream cone he was holding in
front of my face. He laughed and laughed and laughed,
saying, "Look what I did!" as he ran around the room.
I fled the social, humiliated. 

My roommate and I were clearly incompatible; the last
straw came after he had thrown a party in what was
supposed to be our room while I slept in the downstairs
lounge. The room was a wreck the next morning: all of
my stuff had been tossed around carelessly. I found four
of my notebooks drenched in beer, and my clothes reeked
of pot. Fuckwad walked through the door an hour later
and I jumped him. He was hung over, and wasn't in much
shape to put up a fight; in fact, all he did was puke.
I remember sitting in front of the student adjudicator
listening to Fuckwad proclaim his innocence, and hearing
Mark, the dorm advisor (who very much enjoyed the free
pot he got from Fuckwad,) lie to back him up. I wondered
how I'd explain this to my parents; I was the only one
on my side. At that point, Karen walked into the hearing
along with fifteen other residents. She had somehow
managed to persuade other people to give my side,
including the gorgeous freshman that Mark had been
screwing once a week. She hadn't been too happy when
Karen introduced her to his girlfriend, who was a senior
living off-campus. 

As the hearing (and my roommate troubles) ended, I hug-
ged Karen. "What are big sisters for?" she grinned.
Karen became the most frequent visitor to my "single
double" room. We had a couple of classes in common, and
liked studying to the same kind of music. When the end-
of-semester dance approached, I was wondering who I
should ask. There were several with whom I had a
reasonable chance of success, but it was the gorgeous
freshman who hit me over the head with the most obvious
choice. "Why don't you ask Karen? She likes you, and you
make her laugh." I hadn't considered asking my big
sister to a dance. Karen accepted before I finished
asking, and her eyes were sparkling. Back then I thought
it might have meant something else, but now I know they
sparkle whenever she's very happy. We went and had a
good time, but I was puzzled by our goodnight. No kiss,
no nothing. She went straight to her room, saying that
she would see me tomorrow. I spent the night wondering
if I had done anything wrong. 

We were still best friends; I was the first person Karen
came to see when she got back from winter break. Our
affection progressed to warm hugs; when we were both
free at the same time, we spent it doing something to-
gether. There was always that sparkle in her eyes, and
a feeling that there was something more than a close
friendship developing. My notion of Karen and me as
somewhat chaste lovers was rudely disproved late in our
freshman year. I had started to hear rumors around the
dorm that Karen was a dyke. I got very upset; this was
my girlfriend people were was talking about. I refused
to believe that Karen was gay. After all, she and I
were--dating. We only went out when we could; she and I
were both busy with extra-curricular activities. Still,
the thought nagged at me. Was that why she refused to
kiss me? We had never spent a night together: no matter
how late, she always went back to her room. It made
things weird between us until Karen asked if we could
have a talk. I reluctantly put my books away. 

"You've been really strange around me the last couple
of weeks," she noted. "Is there something going on?" 

"Ummm... no," I lied. 

She looked down at the floor, and in a very small voice,
said, "John, I'm going to tell you something important.
I don't want to lose you as a friend, but it's something
you need to know. I mean, I know how you think of me and
all that, and I'm flattered. I really am. It makes me
feel good that you're attracted to me. But--" Karen took
a deep breath. "If I have to tell anybody, I have to
tell you. John... I think I'm gay." 

My world spun out-of-control. She thinks she's gay? How
does she know? She hasn't even tried anything with me...
"No, that's not right," Karen said. "I am gay." The look
on her face was pure worry. Somewhere in the hurt, the
anger and confusion, I managed to nod and husk out some-
thing about understanding. Was it something I did? Maybe
I should have been a little more aggressive... Karen
cried, "No you don't! It's not you. I mean, I've always
sorta wondered... I've always sorta felt... and now,
here at college away from my family and my high school
friends, I know. It's not you at all, John. And I'm
sorry because I really like you. But I am realizing that
I'm a lesbian." 

"Then there's no chance for--us?" I sniffled. 

"None. But I want to keep you as a friend. You are my
best friend, male or female. I'd hate to lose you, but
I told you because I thought you'd understand," Karen
said, her voice breaking. "Please don't send me away
or drop me. It's really difficult... really difficult...
I don't know if anybody will like me any more... and I
don't know how everybody's going to look at me... please
don't tell anybody..." She babbled, and cried. As trau-
matic as the announcement had been for me, it was much
worse for her. Instinctively, I reached for her and gave
her a comforting hug. She sobbed into my shoulder, and
I let her. I knew then that even though we would never
be a matched pair, I loved her. We went to the dorm
formal dance together, obviously attached to each other;
the rumors quieted, and the year ended. 

***

The following year, I had a single room in a different
building from Karen. She still came to visit me right
after moving her stuff in. We chatted about our courses
for the semester, and our summer jobs. Karen hadn't told
her parents. "John, I still don't feel as if I can--come
out of the closet," she confided. My hopes were once
again bashed to bits. "But I know you can keep a secret.
Will you still take me to dances and stuff?" I nodded,
eager to be in her presence as her pseudo-lover, hoping
against hope that she would discover she was at least
bisexual. I spent the whole year going out with her, and
still hoping. Karen and I were again paired at her dor-
mitory formal dance. It was the last one of those we
would attend together: She was moving off-campus, but I
was required by the terms of my scholarship to stay in
the dorms. 

Junior year, Karen and I had one class together that
ended at six p.m. on Wednesdays. She volunteered to
cook dinner after class while we reviewed notes. She
was a much better cook than the food service people,
and for a while, it was like old times. That was before
Wendy happened. Wendy was gorgeous: blond hair, blue
eyes, lithe body, and a dazzling smile. I fell madly
in lust with her, as did at least seventy-five percent
of the male population at school. She was a freshman
from some rural town, freed from constant scrutiny.
Paradoxically, Wendy was an ice queen, shooting guys
down left and right with an amused expression on her
beautiful face. Karen didn't make it to class one day,
and I went to her apartment to give her the notes and
assignment. As I walked past the coffee shop near her
place, I froze. I saw Karen sitting there. With Wendy. 

It turned out that my eyes were not deceiving me; Karen
was indeed going out with Wendy. When I went to a party
at Karen's place, she and Wendy were very close, and I
saw the sparkle in her eyes every time she looked at the
young woman. Karen had fallen in love, and she was now
"out." It hurt me a lot, much more than I thought; after
all, I was in love with Karen, and despite our "under-
standing", I had continued to hang on to a slender
thread of unreasonable hope. Wendy was the best thing
that had ever happened to Karen, so I buried myself in
my sister's happiness. I knew our unique relationship
had changed when she declined to go to my dormitory
dance with me. I didn't press her for a reason, because
I didn't think I could handle hearing it from her. 

When we were seniors, she and Wendy moved in together.
Of course, Karen and I were spending significantly less
time together now: she was involved, and I was definite-
ly odd man out. We would get together every once in a
while to have a few beers and talk about old times.
Since Wendy was still underage, it was just Karen and
me.  The change in her was striking; being with the
younger woman had given Karen courage. She was more
comfortable with being lesbian than I had ever seen her.
There were no longer any mock displays of sexual affec-
tion for me. We were finally just friends. At graduation
her parents found out that their daughter was gay. While
they weren't thrilled, it wasn't the disaster it could
have been. Significantly, I wasn't there; Wendy told me
about it. 

Both Karen and I got jobs in town, so she was able to
stay with Wendy. Strangely enough, we spent more time
together the year after our graduation than we had our
senior year. Wendy was still too young to go to bars,
and Karen wanted to go out more. I met a lot of gay
people that year. Her friends at the Bull and Finch,
a local gay bar, pretty much accepted me. I even got
comfortable enough to go there for trivia nights
without her. Although Karen and I were spending more
time together, Wendy seemed amazingly unthreatened by
my increased presence. Maybe the sparkle in Karen's
eyes was a little different for her. 

On Wendy's twenty-first birthday, a whole bunch of us
went to the Bull and Finch to celebrate. Chris, one of
the bartenders groaned when he saw me walk in the door.
"VH1, can't you find a straight bar to embarrass at
trivia?" he joked as he poured drinks. "VH1" is his
affectionate nickname for me. It stands for, "Vanilla
Hetboy 100 percent." I can't help it if I always beat
him. Each time I would go to the bar, though, Chris
caught me stealing a glance at Wendy. She was no longer
just a gorgeous girl; she had physically matured into a
drop-dead gorgeous woman. "You know, she'll never hang
out in straight bars, not looking like that," he finally
said. "And I bet you're really sorry." 

"Yes, I am," I replied. "Not that she'd go out with me
if she was het. She'd get too much attention in a
straight bar to notice me. But I'm glad she and Karen
found each other." Wendy came to the bar; I thought that
I had been caught looking a little too much, and
blushed. We talked about my friendship with Karen, and
Wendy commented that I seemed very comfortable at the
Bull and Finch for a straight guy. 

Chris grinned and made a clarification. "Actually, all
the regulars keep an eye out for VH1. We like him, even
if he does blow our doors off at Tuesday trivia. We keep
the riffraff away from him." He winked at me. "We don't
want him scared away until we get our revenge." I had a
nice talk with them for a couple of minutes, and then
Karen joined us. I left shortly after Karen and Wendy
started making out at the bar. Some things, I just could
not handle seeing. Chris stopped me on my way out. "I
know, it's tough watching someone you're in love with
kiss somebody else, gay or straight. Accept a hug from
a queer?" I did, and it helped. 

I stopped hanging out with Karen after that; I always
felt like the third wheel. We would still talk over the
phone, have a beer after work on occasion, but we no
longer went out together. Wendy was legal now, so Karen
didn't need my company. She had also gotten a new job,
one that required a lot of overnight travel. She would
call me frequently while she was gone; she said it was
nice having someone other than Wendy to talk to about
the day. We were still the best of friends. I developed
acute appendicitis late one night; I was on the phone
with her when it hit. Karen rushed over and took me to
the hospital. She drove me home when I was released.
"I'm still your big sister, and don't you forget it." 

About a year after that, she came back a couple of days
early from one of her trips. "Wendy's not home, and both
cars are there. Can you come get me at the airport?" Of
course I could. I asked her why she was back so early as
we climbed into the car. She said, "I got sent home to
think something over." I looked at her, wondering what.
"They want me to transfer, and head up a local training
office. It would get me off of the road, but I'd be
moving away from here." She took a deep breath. "I don't
know if Wendy wants to leave. She just graduated and got
a job here so she could stay with me." 

"Have you talked to her?" 

"No, because I didn't get the offer until late today.
She isn't home, and I've been on the plane, so I haven't
had the chance to. What do you think?" 

"Is it a good offer? A good opportunity?" 

Karen nodded gravely. "Big money; upper-management level
stuff. This is something that I've been shooting for.
I'm just surprised that I got asked so soon. Plus, I
think Wendy and I might like the--climate better." 

"Well, talk to Wendy," I said, neatly stepping through
the escape hatch. "At least then you'll know what to do
with regard to her." The car was quiet for a bit, then
Karen began to babble happily about the new job, and the
chances she would be getting. I could tell she really
wanted the job, and hoped that Wendy would like the idea
of moving. I wasn't too sure of how Karen would handle
conflict with Wendy. It would also mean that I wouldn't
have to watch the love of my life kiss and fondle a
gorgeous woman every so often. 

After I dropped Karen off, I settled in with a book,
trying not to think about what was going on. Around
midnight, my doorbell rang. I opened my front door and
Karen flung herself into my arms, crying. She didn't
stop for several minutes, saying something about Wendy
that was drowned in the sobs. I just held her and let
herself cry it all out. When she finished, she walked
over to the sofa, sat and explained. She had gone to the
Bull and Finch looking for Wendy, but she wasn't there.
On a whim, Karen decided to go to Sugar Plum's, another
gay bar, to look for her. She found Wendy there. In the
arms of another woman. Intimately. I asked her the
standard questions about overreacting. 

"No," she sniffled, "I overheard some other lesbians
talking; they knew Wendy. And the woman she was with.
Wendy's been--cheating on me! All the time I've spent
out-of-town--she's been going to Sugar Plum's with--
that--that--dyke!!!" And she started crying some more,
and I held her, cooing soft words of caring. I spent
the next three hours alternating between listening and
drying her tears on my shoulder. Finally, she was all
talked out, so it was time for bed. Karen didn't want
to go home; I could understand that. I really didn't 
want her to stay at my place because--having her so
close would hurt--but what are little brothers for? I
gave Karen the bed, and put the futon on the floor for
myself. I went to sleep dreaming of hearing her say, "I
really don't want to be alone tonight..." 

A light touch startled me awake. "I couldn't sleep,"
Karen complained in a whisper. She sat next to me,
accidentally brushing my diminishing dream erection.
It surged, and I inhaled sharply. So close to the woman
of my dreams... She cocked her head. "Been a while,
huh?" I grumbled yes. She brushed me again, this time
on purpose, and I shivered. She threw back the sheet
and looked at my cock. "It's too bad this doesn't do
anything for me," she whispered. Karen touched it,
running her hand lightly along the shaft. I moaned.
"John... promise you won't try to fuck me tonight." 

"Karen--" My intended protest turned into a gasp of
electric pleasure as she ran her hand across my nipple.
"I--I--" 

She put a finger on my lips. "Promise me," she whispered
again, almost pleadingly. 

"I promise--but you don't have to--" Her fist wrapped
around the base and slid gently to the rim. My head spun
and I collapsed onto the futon, legs tingling. 

"I know what boys like," she said. "I'm Catholic, remem-
ber? I went out with boys all through high school," she
sang gently. Her hand was sliding along my cock, and she
looked deeply into my eyes. "Just enjoy it." Karen's
other hand stroked my chest, grazing my nipples. "We
both know how well you do with women." My hips started
to thrust slowly, and she increased the pressure of her
grip slightly, intensifying the friction, and I got
harder. I felt the inside of her fist twisting around,
back and forth as she moved it up and down my length.
All I could see were her eyes, sparkling, a soft smile
on her face as she brought me to the brink. My shaft
glistened with perspiration, my breath was coming in
gasps, I could feel every motion of her hands against
my skin and I couldn't close my mouth... I barely felt
the fingernail as it crossed from the shaft, through
the corona and over the rim. My body tensed and I
groaned, consumed with the shock of the first surge
of ejaculation. It was supercharged with the reali-
zation of a six-year-old fantasy, and I groaned again,
as my body burned white-hot in the fire of ultimate
pleasure. 

Karen leaned over and kissed me, gently, her tongue
flicking lightly in my mouth. My back arched and my
cock felt as if it had split in half; I felt the
wetness on my chest and belly for an instant, then
she brushed the crown of my cock with a finger, and
the world vanished in a flash of brilliant white light.
This painful nirvana lasted a seeming eternity. Karen's
hand and fingers drew every ounce of sexual energy out
of me, keeping me in orgasm for longer than I could
ever remember. She would pause in her stimulations,
then stroke my nipples or my cock or brush the
sensitive corona and rim ever so gently, and I would
gurgle and buck and gush onto my body again. Karen
continued her expert masturbation until I was no longer
coherent; the gushes had turned into dribbles smeared
on my cock and her hand. I shivered, half from cooling
sweat, half from the intense physical afterimages. The
memories of Karen's expression, the way she had touched
me, and of her kiss continued to shoot thrills through
me; I shuddered again. 

I felt a soft, warm cloth on my torso. "It had been a
while, hadn't it?" Karen asked rhetorically. Soft, sweet
with a hint of amusement in her words, it was not the
snide comment it could have been. She cleaned me off
and gave me a peck on the cheek, before lying down to
cuddle against me. "John?" All I could do was give her
an inquisitive hum. My breathing was almost back to
normal. "The kiss? Please don't tell anybody, OK? I did
it because I wanted to thank you for being here for me,
not because--" 

I squeezed her from behind. "I won't. And you're wonder-
ful for caring so much," I whispered, and fell asleep
almost instantly. The ultimate sexual experience of my
life was a handjob from a lesbian. It didn't matter. 

***

Karen took the promotion and moved two thousand miles
away. She took a piece of my heart with her, and left
Wendy behind. My big sister and I keep in touch reg-
ularly, speaking at least once a week. Both still
single and looking for that right woman, we like to
compare notes over the phone. Karen and I have dis-
covered, during our conversations, that we have similar
tastes. Somehow, that doesn't surprise us at all. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It’s okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
strangers. But it isn’t okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex
with strangers!!  You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 5