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Daphne Greene: A Beginning Journey
Summary: At an all-girl college, an 18-year-old discovers lesbian sex.
Note 1: This is dedicated to Strange Buddy who suggested the idea.
Note 2: I have been asked for years to write an original story focused on Daphne Greene. You can read about her as a minor character in a few stories, starting with the Bedding the Babysitter series. Perhaps more stories of her journey in the world of politics will follow, if enough interest is shown.
Thanks to: Tex Beethoven, thor_pf, and Wayne for editing this story.
Daphne Greene: A Beginning Journey
As I prepare to run for the presidency in 2020, I’m beginning to answer the questions my many supporters have asked.
For example, it’s no secret I’m a lesbian. I endorse pegging as a way to balance the hierarchy of male-female power, and I believe that women should control all levels of government.
And after the 1950s movement began the journey to equality (you can read about the secret lesbian society that began back then in the 1950s series), the fight for true equality has been a slow, snail’s pace journey.
Thankfully, man’s weakness… sex… has finally accelerated this journey and actually allowed significant progress towards a goal that in some circles has always been assumed to be inevitable one day… the rule of society by women. After 5,000 years of male dominance and wars (ancient Crete began pretty cool but it didn’t turn out very well), it’s about damn time!
Throughout the world, especially in the United States, there have been secret lesbian societies slowly growing and growing (read the Church Girl series to learn about one in a town likely just like yours if you live in a small one). These women are married, lead the PTA, are soccer moms, secretaries, teachers, lonely housewives, lawyers, etc…. all living a facade of tranquility and normality even as they use strap-ons and their wicked tongues to recruit more frustrated women (lonely housewives, underpaid employees and nubile, ripe teens and coeds) into the cause.
While this was going on, the Internet has accidentally helped. Online porn, now available everywhere, was at first thought of as a risk to the feminist movement since women were seen as sexual beings and nothing else, but men’s weakness has led to an obsession with not only online porn, but cock….
Women sensing an opportunity have produced hypno-sissy videos that have handily brainwashed the weak simpleton minds of men, until they’re soon craving nothing but cock. Using sultry voices and repetitive phases to condition them to want to suck each other’s cocks, and eventually to take them in their asses, has been a valuable ploy to bring to the surface the underlying submissive side found in all men.
Glory holes became cool again, male sex spas became incredibly popular, and Craigslist gave every man the opportunity to secretly turn his gay fantasy into a reality.
Men began to question their sexuality as they still loved women, but also loved cock and cum (not all men of course, but each year more and more have joined the No Longer 100% Straight Club).
This led to men becoming curious about pegging, which became the nail in the coffin for them (pun intended)… even if they didn’t know it.
Men gave women the power in the bedroom, and once that was given away, women weren’t giving it back.
I won’t even begin to name the powerful men I’ve pegged (I don’t peg and tell… at least not yet), but they include senators, judges, world leaders and celebrities just to name a few (although I’ve been with many more women than men).
Anyway, I’m getting off the topic: those stories are for another day. Today I’m going to share with you how I discovered I was a lesbian (for those who know I have a daughter, even though I love her, she began as part of the charade of fitting into the male dominated society that I secretly hoped to bring down).
Without further ado… the beginning of my journey from sweet, innocent virgin to eager lesbian.
The year: 1985
The location: San Francisco, California
I was both a great student and a great athlete.
Because of this, I was offered a few scholarships to different colleges after winning the state championships in the 100m and anchoring the state champions relay… and had a perfect 4.0 GPA.
I choose Athabasca for a few reasons:
1. It was a full ride for all four years, even if I was injured and couldn’t continue competing.
2. It was in sunny California (Although I would soon learn that although California is sunny, San Francisco is generally not) and near the ocean, which was always refreshing even though it was too cold for swimming, and the entire package was a lot more exciting than the flat plains of the South bursa escort bayan where I’d spent all eighteen years of my life.
3. California in the 1980s was a lot more progressive than my home state of Alabama, which was still somewhat in segregation denial, and where the KKK was still significant. So my integrationist sentiments were in the minority in my state and in truth, within my own family.
4. Athabasca had the most gold medal winners in the last five years in a variety of athletic fields… particularly the most in track and field… two alumni even competing in the most recent Summer Olympics and winning Gold.
5. They also valued academics.
6. It was an all-female college, but with a boys’ college a mile away.
7. You got free room and board at the dorms. I got to have a female roommate, which I thought was super cool after living my entire life in a house full of men. My mother had passed away years ago and I loved my dad and three brothers, but there was always way too much testosterone in the house for me to even attempt to be heard or understood. Not to mention that with four alpha-male-wannabes guarding me like hawks, no boy had ever picked up enough courage to ask me out on a date or anything – as if I’d have had time for dates, with the strict schedule of studies and training that governed most of my days.
8. Thus I was free of the male hierarchy I’d spent the past several years enduring, and also free, I hoped, of the racial prejudice that I resented so thoroughly.
I arrived in San Francisco with giddy eagerness… and an innocence that in retrospect bordered on sad. Because although I knew that California was a much more progressive state in regards to race, I had no warning of the sexually progressive nature that also existed there… especially in San Francisco.
I mean I had no idea about gay men or lesbians. I came from a very conservative, fire and brimstone small town, where the Southern Baptist Church was still all powerful. Of course I’d heard about the existence of gay people, but I’d never met one — I believed (although I would learn many years later that I’d known quite a few but had been too oblivious to have a clue).
The school was actually a little removed from San Francisco itself, nestled in some little-known coastal mountains, a short but unpaved drive from Moss Beach. We were pretty isolated… which I would later learn was a strategic location. No nearby neighbours also meant no nearby snoopy neighbors, and that was a good thing.
When I got to my dorm, I found my roommate already there waiting to meet me.
She was a gorgeous blonde haired, blue eyed bombshell who greeted me with a huge hug, which informed me she also had huge breasts. “I’m so excited to finally meet you,” she greeted excitedly.
“Me too,” I said, as she held me in a tight embrace, her huge breasts smooshing against my much smaller ones.
“I specifically requested to be your roommate,” she revealed, when she broke the embrace.
“You did?” I asked, surprised by her friendliness and by her preference. My friends were not really huggers, nor were my family. And why did she particularly want to be with me?
“Of course,” she nodded. “I want to be a part of history.”
“Pardon?” I asked. She was speaking English, but it seemed to me like a cryptic foreign language for all the sense I was making of it.
“You’re going to break all the world sprint records, I just know it,” she said, all giddy.
“I sure plan to try,” I said, finding it a little daunting to learn the high expectations that people had for me before they’d even seen me run. I mean I knew the high mucky-mucks were expecting me to be competitive, as they’d recruited me aggressively and offered me the best scholarship… but a fellow student expecting me to break world track records were some pretty lofty goals to meet.
“I was Angela Wilson’s roommate last year,” she bragged.
“Really?” I asked, impressed. Angela Wilson had won the national 100m last year.
“Yeah, and I like to think I played a key role in her success,” she said with a strange tone, “as I hope to do for you, too.”
I wondered how she could possibly play such a role, but thought it would be rude to ask. So I nodded, “I hope so.” After a pause, I asked, “And what is your name?”
“Lindsay,” she answered.
“Are you a sophomore?” I asked, her blue eyes so blue I felt I was floating in the sky.
“A senior, actually,” she answered.
“Seniors want to hang with freshmen?” I asked, before adding, “That sure wasn’t how high school worked.”
She smiled warmly, “We are a very, very close-knit family here.”
The way she stressed very was odd, although I didn’t think much of it at the time.
We chatted for an hour before having to get ready for the Players Welcome meeting, which I learned all the athletes’ roommates would also attend (I also learned she was doing sports görükle escort rehab as her major), as they were part of the Athlete Assistant program which again seemed weird, but I recalled her saying close-knit family and figured so be it.
She said, as she began undressing in front of me, “We need to dress up, this is a formal event.”
“Really?” I asked, “For a meeting?”
She nodded as she took her jeans off, revealing a pair of pink panties and odd pantyhose, except they were two garments, reaching high on each thigh. “There’s a welcome back formal social event afterwards, which the entire school attends.”
“Oh,” I nodded, trying to figure out how those nylons would be practical or comfortable. I mean I wore pantyhose every day because that was what was expected and I liked the way they made my legs look… but what she was wearing seemed odd.
As if reading my mind she asked, “Have you never seen stockings like these?”
“Can’t say I have,” I admitted.
“They are da bomb,” she said, posing for me while my mind was still confused over that strange expression I’d never heard before. This was to be the first, but far from the last, time that I heard expressions at Athabasca decades or more before they became commonplace in the outside world, undoubtedly spread by our alumni, yet another subtle indicator of how secretly influential we were. Lindsay then explained, “With a dress, they look like pantyhose, but they give you a sexier underneath look and feel.”
“They don’t seem too practical,” I pointed out.
“Oh trust me, they’re super practical, and once you wear them you’ll ditch the very impractical pantyhose forever,” she said, as she began to remove her panties. She added, “Get changed silly, or we’ll be late, and Headmistress Trinity doesn’t take kindly to tardiness.”
“Oh, okay,” I nodded, starting for the bathroom to change.
“Don’t be so modest,” Lindsay reproved me, “we’re like sisters. You can get undressed in front of me.”
I looked over to her and saw she was now wearing nothing but the stockings, and her vagina was completely absent of hair.
So for the third time I was staring at her. First her massive gravity-defying breasts, second her unique hosiery, and now her completely hair-free vagina.
She seemed oblivious to my attention as she continued, “Trust me, on this campus you need to be comfortable with your body.”
I thought that a weird statement, as were many of hers, but I shrugged as I pulled my t-shirt over my head, quoting from my favourite movie, “Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
She laughed, “Well, my little pretty.”
I laughed too as I took off my jeans and was soon standing in front of her wearing only bra, panties and socks.
She complimented me, “You have an amazingly tight body, Daphne.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling my cheeks go red… no girl, no person actually, had ever complimented my body.
“I’m serious,” she insisted, walking over to me and squeezing my ass. “This is the tightest butt I’ve ever seen.”
I couldn’t believe she was squeezing my ass, and was suddenly paralyzed in shock. I also felt a contrasting feeling inside me: it felt nice to have someone touching me in such a way.
She continued, as she moved back in front of me, turning her own ass to me, “Feel mine, it’s nowhere near as tight.”
It felt weird to touch another girl’s butt, but it seemed rude to decline an invitation so casually offered, so I leaned over, reached out and squeezed her butt cheeks.
“See?” she said.
“It seems perfect to me,” I said, thinking everything about her body was perfect.
“You’re so sweet,” she said, turning around, her huge breasts now right in my face. “A liar, but sweet.”
She looked at the clock on the wall and said, “Shit, we really need to hurry up.”
Responding to her urgency, I pushed past my own modesty and removed my bra, panties and socks… feeling completely vulnerable standing naked in front of this beautiful perfect bodied senior bombshell… still unable to fathom her eagerness to room with a freshman.
“Oh my,” she said, staring between my legs.
I instantly felt inadequate and insecure as I stammered, “I-I-I had no idea that area could ever be groomed like yours.”
She quickly returned to her smiling friendly self, saying, “I’ll help you with that when we get back.”
“Okay,” I agreed, even though the idea of her helping me groom my most personal region seemed odd.
She suggested, “Want to do something wickedly fun?”
“Sure,” I agreed, curious what she had in mind, already feeling comfortable around her… which was good, since I was completely naked at the moment.
“Let’s not wear any underwear,” she suggested.
Wanting to fit in, I agreed, “Sure.”
“This will be fun,” she giggled like a third grader, as she grabbed her dress from her bed and slipped it over her body without a bra or panties.
I bursa escort bayan wasn’t sure I’d be comfortable without any underwear, but I also didn’t want to look like a prude in front of my new roommate, so I went and grabbed my pantyhose, thinking at least I’d have something over my vagina.
She asked, “Don’t you have any stockings?”
“No,” I admitted, not even knowing they existed before a couple minutes ago.
“I don’t have any more hold ups,” she said, revealing the name for the type of stockings she was wearing… which made sense since the elastic lace tops seemed to be holding them up.
“But I do have something you can wear,” she said, stepping into her closet.
“You don’t have to,” I protested, but she returned a moment later with some sheer stockings and a garter-belt of a kind which I’d learned my mom owned when I was doing laundry one day while I was still a little girl.
“Of course I do,” she said, as she came over and fastened the garter-belt onto me. “We’re sisters, we share everything.”
“I never had a sister,” I said, feeling a little weird, but somehow it felt oddly natural to have my new sister dressing me.
“Well you have one now,” she said, as she moved around, dropped to her knees and said, “Lift your foot up.”
I obeyed without thinking as she began to put a stocking on my foot. I watched in awe as she moved her hands up my leg towards my… you know… making a simple task feel somehow intimate, and stirring an involuntary excitement in me.
As she finished adjusting the first stocking, her face was directly in front of my you know. So close in fact, I could actually feel her warm breath.
“You have a cute pussy, Daphne,” she complimented, surprising me again.
Trying to act casual, as if that wasn’t the strangest compliment I’d ever received, I joked, “How can you tell through all my hair?”
My surprise reached new heights as she moved her hand to my vagina and stroked it, saying, sounding fascinated, “You have such big pussy lips.”
My entire body trembled with the surprise intimate touch. I again joked, “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never looked at a vagina very closely.”
“Oh, you should,” she said, her finger moving away from my… pussy… as quickly as it had arrived, “There’s nothing more fascinating than a woman’s pussy.”
“Really?” I asked, thinking guys were always fascinated by breasts, butts and legs… from my, I admit, very limited experience.
“Oh yes,” she nodded, as she started draping the second stocking up my leg. Without thinking I’d lifted my second foot up. She continued. “Every pussy is unique in look, scent and taste.”
Although there’d been a few subtle hints Lindsay might be a lesbian, it wasn’t until that last sentence that the lightbulb in my naïve head turned itself on. Perhaps she was!
She finished fastening the clips to the stockings and said, “Wow, you look hot.”
I felt my face flush at the bold compliment from my perhaps lesbian roommate.
“Thanks,” I said, before going to my closet and rummaging through my outfits for a suitable dress to wear… realizing that all my dresses would be too conservative for my free-spirited sister.
As I returned empty-handed, I stared at her astonishing big breasts. I mean mine were almost non-existent, which was a requirement for my sport (I did get some breast implants later, paid for by my fake husband), but hers seemed to defy gravity. How did they possibly stay so firm? How did she even walk straight with them?
I joked that same thought, “How can you possibly walk straight with those breasts? They’re huge.”
She laughed, “They can be a burden.”
“I wish mine were bigger,” I said, as I couldn’t help staring at hers.
“I often wish mine were smaller,” she countered.
“Everyone always wants what they don’t have,” I pontificated, as I tried not to keep staring at those amazing breasts. I wasn’t a lesbian, but Lindsay was definitely making me feel all strange and tingly.
As she put on a red gown, displaying serious cleavage, I surrendered to the idea that I was definitely going to be underdressed. I admitted as much: “I clearly should have gone shopping before I came here.”
“Do you need something to wear?” she asked, looking at me still naked except for the garter-belt and stockings she’d put on me.
“Otherwise I’ll look like a Virgin Mary wannabe,” I joked.
“I have the perfect dress for you,” she said, going to her closet and coming back with a gold dress. “Daddy bought it for me, but he didn’t know my dimensions.”
“Wow,” I said, “you have so many nice clothes.”
“Dad expresses his love for me through his American Express,” she shrugged, handing me the dress.
“My dad doesn’t trust credit cards,” I said, before putting the dress on.
“My dad shouldn’t,” she laughed. “I put over a thousand dollars on his last weekend alone.”
“I don’t think my wardrobe during my whole life has cost a thousand dollars,” I said.
She moved behind me and zipped me up as she said, “My clothes are your clothes now, Daphne.”
“Really?” I asked, so in awe of a girl so nice. At my school all the girls were petty bitches.
“That’s what sisters do,” she shrugged. “We share everything.”
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