Emma insisted that we get Brazilian waxes together, which isn’t normally my thing but I have to admit that I somewhat enjoyed seeing things hairless down below. There’s something very, I don’t know, zen about it. But I’m not a fan of the upkeep so getting fully waxed isn’t on my list of requisite beauty rituals. I went along with it for Emma, but there was also something inside of me that was eager and excited to do something intimate like that with her by my side.
Standing there in bright white robes together at the spa, post wax, I could feel my womanhood throbbing a bit and I reached my hand into my robe to tenderly hold myself. I was depilated and smooth, sensitive, and I gave myself a gentle rub as Emma grinned over at me.
“Nice, isn’t it?” she said.
“You do this often?” I said. She laughed.
“Yeah,” she said. “Once you start doing it, it’s hard to stop.”
“Right,” I said, wincing slightly as the pain slowly dissipated.
“Wanna see mine?” she said conspiratorially, looking around the room we were in together, making sure the door was securely closed. We were waiting for an esthetician to come in to take us to the next treatment.
“I—,” I said, interrupting myself. Of course I wanted to see hers. Her question made my heart palpitate. While the lucid part of me was still distraught that I couldn’t be with Emma, the carnal part of me was always eager to be enveloped in the more sensual side of our relationship. “Yes,” I said. “Lemme see.”
Emma looked around once more and then slowly parted her robe at her lower half, exposing her smooth, pale, hairless mound. Her skin looked tender, blushing, and slightly goose-bumped, and the curvy folds of her slit were inviting and delicate. She grinned and watched me as I inspected her with a passionate desire in my heart.
“That’s enough,” said Emma suddenly, shutting her robe. “Now let me see you.”
“Emma,” I said, feeling a bit embarrassed. I knew I was all red down there, still raw and sensitive from the wax job. “I don’t know.”
“It’s only fair,” she said. “Let’s see it.”
Carefully, I parted my robe to expose myself, closing my eyes as if that would make all my bashfulness go away. Emma made a thoughtful sound, like she was really appraising my pussy as though I were up for some award.
“Molly,” she said. “I think you look stunning down there.” Opening my eyes, I was met with a smile from Emma. “I can’t help but want to get a closer look!”
“Oh stop!” I said with a giggle, quickly closing my robe. Emma’s words did indeed make me feel pretty, wanted, adored, and all that combined brought a timidity to me.
“Come on!” said Emma, reaching out and playfully pawing at my robe. “Let me in!”
“Emma, no!” I said, still laughing, lightly smacking at her. I felt one of those intense giggles building inside of me, so tickled by our back and forth that I found it difficult to stop laughing once I started.
Emma made me feel so light, so fancy-free. I delighted in it.
Just then the door to our room opened and an esthetician poked her head in.
“Ladies,” she said. “We’re ready for you. Follow me.”
Walking down the hall in our robes, Emma took the lead, waddling her butt in front of me, me reaching out and trying to grab her, both of us tittering like goofy young girls as we followed the esthetician down the hallway. I never wanted this experience to end. If I could just have lived in that loving lightness forever, I certainly would have. While Emma was not without her issues, obviously, her personal energy was always full of love and potential, and that energy was easily contagious.
“What’s next?” I said, watching as the esthetician opened up a door, Emma following close behind, and me in the rear.
“Yoni steam,” said Emma matter-of-factly.
“Yoni steam?” I repeated, unsure if I heard her correctly.
“Come on!” said Emma, reaching for my hand, yanking me along with her into the room and shutting the door.
The next room was very calm and relaxing, painted in purple and brown tones, decorated with flowers and a large tapestry on the wall. On the far wall were four thrones, each with brown leather seats and seat-backs, comfortable looking. And positioned in the middle of each of those brown leather seats was a hole the size of a small melon. I looked at them inquisitively for a moment, trying to figure out how it all worked.
“Have you ladies had a yoni steam before?” asked the esthetician. She was a beautiful young woman with a hippie vibe, her hair pulled back in a bun, wearing all white.
“Yes,” said Emma with a smile.
“I haven’t,” I said. “I don’t know what it is.”
“A yoni steam is more than just a beauty treatment,” the young woman began. “It is an herbal steam that heals your vagina both inside and out. It brings a reconnection to your body with the aid and wisdom of plant medicine.”
“Okay,” I said skeptically, looking over to the thrones. “How does it work?”
“A blend of herbs are heated underneath the seats over there,” the esthetician said, motioning with her hand. “The water vapor carries the medicinal benefits and volatile oils of these herbs up to your yoni, nourishing, toning, healing, oxygenated your tissue.”
“It’s amazing,” interrupted Emma, beaming at me. “You’re going to love it, Molly.”
“All right,” I said, still feeling uncertain.
“Let me get your robes,” said the esthetician. As soon as she said this, Emma began removing her white robe, handing it over to the young woman, standing there now completely naked. I was slower about disrobing, feeling bashful, but after a moment of thought I, too, took off my robe and handed it over. I caught Emma eyeing my body with a little knowing grin on her face. “Thank you,” said the woman. “Please have a seat.”
“What herbs are used?” I asked as Emma and I made our way to the chairs, the esthetician walking to the other side of the room to hang up our robes.
“Traditional yoni steams use herbs such as rosemary, lavender, marigold, rose petal, oregano, basil,” she said, squatting down now next to a cupboard and removing two white blankets from it and then standing back up.
“Are we making pasta?” I asked sheepishly. Emma laughed at me.
“No,” said the woman, a smile on her face.
“It looks like these seats are already steaming,” I said, looking down into the hole in my seat, watching as the water vapor travelled upward and out of the throne.
“Yes,” said the woman. “They’ve been steaming for five minutes. They needed to cool down a bit before we let you sit.”
Looking over, I saw Emma gingerly mount the throne, testing the heat, and eventually easing herself down on top of it, her undercarriage positioned directly above the steaming hole. I carefully followed her lead, feeling the sudden warmth of the steam hit between my thighs, causing me to pull back for a moment.
“It’s still quite warm,” said the esthetician. “But it should be at a safe temperature.” As I began to get situated on the seat, the woman approached Emma first and began to wrap her in the blanket, beginning with her legs and then moving up to her torso, essentially creating a cocoon around her body with the sheet. A wave of pleasure washed over Emma’s face, a joyful smile from one side to the other.
Once Emma was properly swaddled atop her steam chair, the esthetician moved on to me, wrapping me up securely, insulating me with the white blanket. As soon as I was covered up, I could feel the intensity of the steam moving up through the hole, almost instantly giving my waxed underside respite and relief. I sighed long and happily, reflexively, as the warm vapor surprisingly cooled me.
“Does it feel okay?” asked the woman, her question more pointed to me.
“Yes,” I said. “It feels… amazing.”
“Terrific,” she said with a knowing smile. “I’ll return in thirty minutes. Enjoy.” And with that, she turned from us, slinking her way out of the dimly lit room, leaving
Emma and I alone to, well, steam our yonis.
“Mmm,” sighed Emma after a moment of silence. “Isn’t it nice?”
“Surprisingly, yes,” I said, squirming a little bit on the leather cushioned seat, gaining comfort. “I would have never thought that steaming my pussy would be so… relaxing.” Emma giggled at me.
“It’s like an herbal sauna just for your vag,” said Emma. She shifted her shoulders underneath the sheet, her hands pulling the sheet tighter around her body.
“Ooh!” I said with sudden surprise. “It kind of feels like something is, like, leaking out of me.”
“Just enjoy it,” said Emma with a grin. “Don’t question it.”
“Okay,” I said, feeling myself become more and more relaxed. All sense of embarrassment was being steamed away and replaced with a content curiosity and a loving shared intimacy with Emma.
“I’m excited to have such a pampered yoni for my big day tomorrow,” mused Emma. “Seth is going to love it.” I felt my heart sink a little at her mention of Seth, but I didn’t want to let that little dose of reality spoil my enjoyment of this novel experience. Instead, I pretended that the world was just Emma and I, which was all I really wanted anyway.
“Maybe I could inspect it later,” I said casually. “You know, to make sure it’s ready for your wedding night.” This little proposal was a bit more forward than I usually was, but the steam was making me feel so calm and collected. I couldn’t help but let my feelings out.
“Mmm,” said Emma in an excited moan. “You could stay over tonight and pamper me even more.” I looked over to her and her face was becoming flushed from the warmth, little beads of sweat accumulating at her brow.
“Seth wouldn’t mind?” I said, feeling a bit of trepidation, but my own personal passionate selfishness taking me over. “That I stayed over tonight, I mean.”
“He’s staying at his place tonight,” said Emma. “We’ve been keeping apart from one another before the wedding so it’s like a renewal.”
“Hmm,” I mused, taking a deep breath, feeling the steam heat my core. My thighs felt damp, sodden with prickly excitement, the idea that I could have one more night with Emma coalescing with the yoni steam making me feel suddenly aroused. “It’s a date,” I said.
“Perfect,” purred Emma, opening her eyes and looking over to me. She reached her hand out and I took it. “I adore you, Molly,” she said. “Thank you.”
Emma’s attitude was beginning to rub off on me and I felt a peaceful lightness in my heart. I felt incredibly close to her in that moment. Life gets a little easier when you begin to understand that you don’t really understand it.
*
Later that evening, Emma and I sat on the couch in her brick loft condo, half-watching older episodes of Parks and Recreation, a show we often loved to watch together, streaming on her television. Her living room was just a wide open space, kitchen off at one end, the other with large floor to ceiling windows looking out over Chicago. Only her bedroom had a wall between it and the rest of the condo. It was a small space, however, and I wondered if she and Seth would move into his condo or somewhere else once they married.
To one side of her loft was a full dress form, about her height, and on that form was her bright white wedding dress. It wasn’t large and ostentatious like some wedding dresses can be. Rather, it was somewhat understated, yet elegant, slimming and graceful, with a hint of hippie peasant sensibility. Like if a hippie peasant had a lot of money to buy a fancy dress and design it in their usual style. It really was a beautiful dress and it most certainly fit Emma’s aesthetic. She had had it displayed there for weeks.
“It’s coming off the form tomorrow,” Emma said whimsically overtop the dialogue from the television, having caught me eying her dress. “I’m going to miss seeing it there but I am so excited to wear it.”
“I bet you’ve tried it on a couple times,” I said with a grin.
“Duh,” she said, giving me a light smack on the shoulder. We were huddled close together on the couch, bare legs touching, both wearing lounging attire, a fluffy fleece blanket draped lazily over us. As Emma began to admire the dress herself, the thought began to hit me. Perhaps Emma was just in love with the idea of a big traditional wedding.
I mean, I was there along side a lot of her planning. From picking out the font pairings for her invitations to coordinating every color imaginable with every piece of the wedding puzzle, all the way down to picking the specific bay in Canada where the appetizer mussels came from, Emma was infatuated with designing her wedding from top to bottom. Although she liked to present a hippie yogi vibe, even her wedding dress broadcasting this countenance, she was still, deep in her nature, that spoiled rich girl who dreamed of one day orchestrating a big wedding.
The fact that she was obviously smitten by me, the evidence demonstrating that she was in actuality a lesbian, this didn’t mesh with the story she wanted to tell to herself and to the world. And there was certainly no way that her Catholic family would pay for a big traditional wedding if she was marrying a woman rather than a man.
It was beginning to make sense.
Some people might find it difficult to respect a friend or lover who displayed such a superficial weakness like what I was coming to terms with about Emma. I can understand that. To get married, to commit to somebody for life (or until the inevitable divorce), just so that you could have a wedding in the way you envisioned it your entire life, well, it seems kind of like insanity. But we all have our hangups. None of us are perfect. I still have my tattered stuffed bunny from childhood. It’s become matted and grey and frankly gross, but I still have it. I couldn’t be mad at Emma for this. I loved her. I wanted her to be happy.
With our attention back on the television, Emma casually slipped her arm around me, slithering under my t-shirt, her hand resting on the soft flesh of my love handle. She cuddled up against me, embracing, lying her head on my shoulder and letting her long dark brown hair tumble down my side. I sighed happily and put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her against me even closer.
After a moment of snuggling, Emma lifted her head up from my shoulder, turned her face toward mine, and lightly pressed her lips to my lips. I released a low sigh as we kissed, arms cradling one another, mouths ardently intertwining. Rather than dwelling on any of the negatives floating through my mind, I was determined to simply exist in that moment with Emma, to live it as though it would be the last time I’d ever be able to be this intimate with her. We kissed lovingly, happily, buoyantly.
We eased back slowly onto the couch, Emma lying on top of me, our kiss continuing. She threaded her fingers along my side, warmly touching my skin, her fingertips prying at the elastic band of my sleeping shorts. The two of us groaned together, our joint arousal mounting, our love bubbling up and frothing. Wrapping my arms around her rear, I firmly squeezed her small butt and pulled her tighter against me.
“Mmm,” sighed Emma, her lips parting from mine, a warm and sultry air shared between us with our faces so close. “Mol’, I want you so bad right now.”
“This has to be the last time,” I said, a sadness in my voice, mourning my responsible attitude. Though, yeah, if I were truly a responsible person I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. “Once you’re married, I mean, we can’t.”
“Right,” said Emma, but her tone of voice hinted that she may have not truly heard me. She smiled at me, our eyes locking. The only sound was that of the television.
Emma then sat up, straddling me on the couch, and removed her t-shirt over her head. She was naked underneath, exposing her small breasts, letting her shirt fall to the floor. With a love-drunk grin, Emma looked down at me, as if saying, “your move.”
I followed her lead and squirmed out of my t-shirt, yanking it off over my head, tossing it away, and letting my head fall back down into the couch pillow. I smiled back up at her.
“You’re my favorite, Molly,” she cooed, absentmindedly grazing her palm over one
of my breasts, then gently rubbing back and forth over my nipple with her thumb.
“I think you’re pretty nice yourself,” I said, my hands running up Emma’s sides gingerly, reaching her chest, and giving her cute tits each a simultaneously squeeze, prompting a little chirp out of her mouth followed by a giggle. “I think I’m in love with you, Emma,” I said finally.
Emma beamed, her eyes softened, her lips pursed into a smile, and she tilted her head slightly as she gazed down at me. Leaning down slowly, her breasts only slightly jostling with her movement, she planted a single sweet kiss on my lips.
“I wish things were different,” she said in a whisper, kissing me again. Eagerly, I craned my neck forward to steal another kiss from Emma, both of us exploring each other with our warm hands.
“It’s not too late,” I murmured between kisses.
“It is,” she responded, one hand gliding up to my breast and giving it a firm fondle. I moaned out in achy fervor. We lied there kissing for a few moments more until Emma grabbed my arms and pulled me up. As soon as I was upright, she lowered herself back onto the couch, wiggling against the cushions and into the fleece blanket.
I watched Emma as she then began to push her shorts down her slender thighs, her panties coming along with them, and I impatiently assisted her, helping to remove the bunched clothing from her feet. She grinned up at me from her lying position, now totally nude, squirming in anticipation. My vision focused on the smoothness between her legs, that beautiful bulge, my eyes desirously tracing along the enticing slit, eager to part her lips and taste what was inside.
I pressed my palms to her thighs and ardently massaged her up and down. Emma vibrated and purred as I caressed her.
With one hand placed firmly on he thigh, I slowly eased my other toward her middle. My palm rested on the edge of her thigh, in the crevice between her leg and pussy, and I delicately ran my thumb up her slit, feeling her luscious folds on my fingertips. Emma sighed, smiling, closing her eyes as she accepted my petting. I once more ran my finger along her slit, this time applying greater pressure, causing her lips to open up just slightly and reveal her gorgeous pinkness inside.
My Friend The Bride: A Lesbian Romance Page 4