I Am A Lesbian

by AnonYMous

  I AM A LESBIAN

  By

  ANONYMOUS

  ISBN 978-1-60089-445-9

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2007 by Renaissance E Books

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.

  For information:

  Email publisher@renebooks.com

  Sizzler Editions/Erotic Classic

  A Renaissance E Books publication

  CHAPTER 1

  Charisse Mantell was more voluptuous than the average teen-age girl, and at eighteen, she liked to pretend she had a worldliness and knowledge about sex which she really didn't have at all. As a matter of fact, she knew less about the sexual relationships between men and women than the average girl. Her mother was a famous singing star on television and the plush nightclub circuits of Las Vegas, New York, London and Acapulco, but had kept her lushly developing daughter safely stashed away in expensive private schools. Although Minna Mantell was a talented and voluptuous beauty herself, she was at the age where a fresh, sexually budding daughter might prove to be competition . . . competition that would show up her own somewhat fuck-worn tits and ass.

  In the exclusive private school, Greystone, where she was now, she found that being the daughter of a celebrity made the other girls look up to her. After all, the daughter of the famous Minna Mantell, TV and nightclub star–a beautiful, if somewhat tarnished, figure of glamour, a pet of the international jet set and adored by her faithful fans. After a while however, Charisse found that her natural shyness was mistaken for stand-offishness and that her former friends ignored her to the extent of pointedly not inviting her to their parties or sorority affairs.

  Her mother had often told her that even as the daughter of a famous woman, she would encounter plenty of jealousy and envy, and that she would be very foolish to let that sort of thing throw her. For some strange reason, she had always been closer to her mother, felt proud to be the daughter of Minna Mantell. So Charisse tried to "cultivate her cool," In spite of the other girls' snubs. But in her heart she was very hurt.

  She would actually see a group of girls hurriedly change the subject of their whispered conversation when she approached, and knew they must have been talking about her or her mother. As she went upstairs to study, she heard what surely was a dirty remark about her, to judge from the peals of mocking laughter that followed her to her dormitory room. She mentally resolved that "he who laughs last, laughs best'–and that she would one day have the last laugh over these bitches.

  The girl who seemed to hate her the most was actually her next door dorm neighbor, a rather mean, but physically attractive girl named Debby.

  Debby's room seemed to be some sort of magnet for the other girls in Greystone and they would gather there very frequently like a flock of gaily chatting birds. And, as much as Charisse tried to deny it to herself, she was secretly hurt that she wasn't asked to be one of the group. It was just all that phony sophistication and woman of the world airs that Debby affected that attracted the other girls, she kept telling herself. Finally, one weekend, she heard them laughing and giggling in Debby's room and made up her mind to find out what it was all about. Even though there was a sinking sensation in her stomach as she did so, she casually opened the door and entered.

  As the girls saw who it was, the gaiety seemed to die down, and she was greeted by furtive and somewhat resentful looks.

  "Just what can we do for you, Miss Mantell?" Debby asked her. "Or did you open the door to the wrong room by mistake?"

  Charisse's heart skipped a beat and she flushed in embarrassment as she replied, "No, I just thought I'd join the fun . . . "

  There was a sharp intake of breaths, then a hushed silence and then Debby spoke.

  "Come right in, maybe you can fill us in on details about . . . show business that we were discussing. After all, your mother is the fabulous Minna Mantell, superstar of TV, nightclubs, and all that jazz."

  Charisse walked into the room hesitantly and saw that there were little knots of girls all over. Some were on the bed, some were on the easy chairs and others even sprawled on the rug. As Charisse found a place to sit on the sofa, the gay girlish gossiping and hysterical shrieks of laughter began again.

  "Please don't feel that I'm intruding," Charisse said to Debby, "but I'm really at rather loose ends this afternoon, and you all sound like you're having such a lot of fun . . . " her voice trailed off. She flushed under Debby's sharp mocking gaze.

  "By the way," Debby said slyly, "we were just discussing the sex life of some popular show biz personalities–or don't you think that people like Frank Sinatra or Robert Goulet or . . . Minna Mantell indulge in that pastime?"

  Charisse flushed and her lips trembled as she tried to reply nonchalantly, "Oh I've heard a thing or two."

  Debby pressed her advantage. "How about giving out with some of the dirt about your mother? After all, you've sort of got the inside track."

  Charisse kept silent as Debby continued her clever taunting. "Well, we're all waiting breathlessly to hear something right from the horse's mouth, as it were. Or would the opening at the other end of the horse be more suitable to the subject of Minna Mantell's private occupations?" As Charisse pressed her lips together and tried to keep the tears from filling her eyes, Debby added, "I've got a little scrap book here that mentions her." She opened a book filled with news clippings. "Here's something juicy–"Hot Love on the Big Networks"–Mmmmm . . . 'Is a certain famous TV star about to have her option dropped because she drops her panties too much?"'

  "So what?" Charisse said grimly.

  "So the rest of the article is all about Minna Mantell's love life, her husband's affairs, and some really swinging sex, marijuana, and LSD shenanigans. Really, you must have such an exciting time at home! It's a shame we can't get you to tell us about it."

  "How can you even read such cheap gossip sheets? They should be banned from the newsstands!" Charisse burst out. "My mother says everyone in the public eye is besmirched by those scandal sheets!"

  "Look here," Debby said, thrusting her scrap book into Charisse's hands, just see if this guy doesn't know what he's talking about. For just an idle gossiper, he seems to know an awful lot about your mother and your father. You're not mentioned–yet."

  Charisse didn't want to look at the scrap book, yet the pictures of her mother with some slick young men captioned "Minna's Latest" or "Handsome Remedy for Singer's Sore Throat" held her gaze hypnotically. The stories were about love affairs, secret trysts, sex-swapping parties at her mother's New York penthouse, the young girls her father consoled himself with and other sexy tidbits. Charisse knew that it couldn't possibly be true. The parties she had seen at her mother's apartment never had anything more exciting than spilling a cocktail occasionally.

  "I don't know where you got all this dirt," Charisse said angrily, "but I can assure you that's all it is–just a bunch of low down dirt, made up by a second rate gossip columnist looking for filler! Now I think I'll go to my room. I think I want to play my mother's latest record album to get the smell of your scrap book out of my nose!"

  "Really, Miss Haughty?" Debby asked slyly. "Since we come from such a bunch of blue bloods, I guess you wouldn't be interested in some other choice bits about your darling mother?"

  "I don't know why you're picking on me like this," Charisse said, with a hint of a sob in her voice. "If you don't want my company I'll leave right now!"

  "Oh, no," Debby replied with a sardonic grin, "we'd just love to have you stay. Our parents live such dull lives compared to yours. We're so unsophisticated–why don't you wise us up?"

  Charisse knew that Debby was trying to embarrass her in front of the other girls.

  "I just ignore cheap slander,
wherever it comes from," Charisse said, looking pointedly at Debby, "and now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go and play those records in my own room!"

  But Debby grasped her by the arm as she made her way to the door. "Oh, I've got lots of other interesting scraps on your mother, Charisse. I used to be a fan of hers."

  Turning to another girl called Sally, she said, "Get me the rest of my scrap books from the closet and we'll see who's slandering whom. Your mamma really must be quite a babe with the boys, and you don't even want to tell us anything about her technique of getting men. That's really all we want from you, some pointers on what makes Minna such a successful sexpot."

  With this, she flung the scrap books the other girl handed her right at Charisse's feet. They opened to show pictures of her mother in various poses and escapades, including a certain nude bathing episode in the fountain of London's Trafalgar Square.

  Charisse ignored the pictures and made to leave the room. She was actually on the verge of tears and couldn't understand what had brought on this attack on her and her mother. She had only tried to be friendly. Why was Debby so intent on torturing her and demeaning her in front of the others.

  "Pick those books of mine off the floor, and read those stories real good. Maybe you'll thank me for giving you the best education you ever got at good old Greystone," Debby ordered.

  Charisse couldn't believe that this was happening to her, or that the other girls would go along with this hazing.

  "I don't think anybody would like it much if Miss Finchly heard what the girls in her class were trying to pull," she quavered with tears in her eyes.

  "I don't think you would like it much if we really did a job on your whore of a mother and plastered this stuff all over the school," Debby answered. "Believe me, every girl here will make you sorry that you were ever born if you even think of squealing to the headmistress."

  Charisse felt that Debby was dead serious and would really carry out her threats. Maybe the best thing would be to play along and then get out as quickly and as gracefully as possible.

  "Okay," Debby said viciously, "now read us a few bedtime stories, and I do mean "bedtime" stories about your old folks at home. And speak up, I'm hard of hearing."

  Charisse flipped the pages of the scrap book unbelievingly. Finally she began to read in a whisper, "I need to have my men big–all over, says songbird Minna Mantell . . . "

  She was interrupted with a high pitched squeal of laughter from one of the group, but continued reading with a kind of fascinated horror. "'I believe love is where you find it, says Minna Mantell on Rome's famed Via Veneto. Could it be that the handsome young Italian accompanying her agreed with her back in her hotel room?"' Charisse saw a picture of an oily, gigolo-type leading her mother's poodle, while her mother looked up at him in obvious admiration.

  "You girls don't understand," Charisse said, "these things are just for publicity, just a press agent's idea. Why, my mother would never do anything of the kind!"

  "Oh, no!" mocked Debby. "Not in a million years–but do read on, it's all so interesting, even if it is just a press agent's story. Some of them sound like a press agent's nightmare, if you ask me!"

  Charisse bit her lip and said nothing. She realized that she was being persecuted, and just because she was her mother's daughter. Her mother had told her there would be days like this, but Charisse would never have believed her classmates could be so mean and hurtful.

  Taking another scrapbook in her hands, Charisse saw her mother practically bare-chested in a see-through evening gown, obviously drunk, with a man who certainly wasn't her husband. She dimly remembered also seeing this man apparently coming from her mother's bedroom one night when he was a weekend guest, but her mother had just been amused by Charisse's questions at the time.

  Almost hysterically, Charisse leafed through page after page of the scrapbooks. Why, these stories made her mother out to be the giddiest type of gadabout–a celebrity who gave sex so freely that she was notorious for it. And her father, according to these clippings, was a weak nincompoop who was always shooing handsome young strangers out of his steaming marriage bed. But no matter how he tried, her mother managed to keep the bed sheets hot. And all the stories about her parents were in the same vein. Her mother seemed the biggest tramp and her father the biggest dope in the entertainment world.

  Rather sadly, she said, "I'd like to leave, I've seen all the scrapbooks."

  She was so obviously hurt that none of the girls laughed or said anything, except Debby, who couldn't resist pitching one last dart into Charisse's sensitive skin.

  "Hope you enjoyed our little get-together and liked my picture books. By the way," she added, "do you suppose you could get your mother and some of her boyfriends to autograph my scrap books? That would make them really interesting!"

  Keeping back her tears, Charisse walked into her own room, holding her head proudly. As she closed the door behind her, she flung herself down on the bed and let the tears come. How could they rub her nose in the filthy offal of the gossip columns? How could girls be so cruel? Especially when she knew that none of it could be true. Even the most innocent action could be distorted as to make it seem evil by these gossip sheets. Her mother had assured her of that. But why had her mother always gone to such pains to get her to believe that there would be false gossip about her?

  Having found that her mother was the soft spot in her armor, the girls in her section of the dorm became quite sadistic. There would be sly questions, like "What does your mother advise putting on a broken cherry?,' flung at her in passing. But she realized that if she answered this sort of torture, there would be no end to it. So she just kept quiet and made believe she didn't hear a thing.

  Debby, as usual, was the worst. Since she had the room right next to Charisse's, she developed the habit of barging right in. Somehow she almost always seemed to come in when Charisse was undressing and clad only in panties and bra. Once it was without the bra and Debby had looked fixedly at her voluptuous breasts and hadn't made any of her usual remarks about Charisse's mother.

  "What a pair of titties!" she said in a rather surprised tone of voice. She left the room when Charisse hurriedly closed the bathroom door.

  A new idea had been forming in Charisse's mind under the constant pressure of all the teasing she was taking from the others. She would just pack it in, leave Greystone Finishing School. She would go back to her mother, tell her what had happened and just look for a job. Maybe she could even become her mother's secretary. It would be fun traveling with her mother from one engagement to another. She could really see the world.

  She made up her mind that she would take French leave from the school this coming weekend. She would say she was going into the meadow for nature study notes and they wouldn't even bother to look for her. By the time they missed her at bedcheck, she would have almost arrived at the penthouse in New York. Central Park would look good to her from the seventeenth story of the luxury apartment. Much better than Miss Finchley's school up in the farthest reaches of Westchester County.

  She was nervous when she told the biology teacher she was going to spend the day in nature study, but when she was finally away from Greystone, she felt much better. She liked her bio teacher, and felt sorry if she would get into trouble over Charisse's disappearance.

  It was a cloudy day, and a bone-chilling dampness made her hurry along to the railroad station. Some of the town's swingers, young men on the make, always used to watch in town for the girls from Greystone. Charisse knew that some of the girls had let themselves get picked up for beer drinking parties at a nearby bar and discotheque, but felt it was really none of her business. She herself had gotten more than one off-color invitation to join them, but now they no longer bothered her.

  Her figure had really matured more voluptuously than she herself realized. With her miniskirt tight around her shapely asscheeks, her full titties jouncing joyously with every step in her loose bra and tight sweater, she was a real hard-on prod
ucer whenever she passed a group of men. Her asscheeks jiggling, her tits full and inviting, long auburn tresses, blue eyes and a lightly freckled skin that was startlingly white–all these sexy attributes really raised the steam in any and all observing males. Her lush, wanton figure coupled with her girlish naivet raised cocks wherever she passed.

  She knew she was exciting the group of young street corner loungers as she passed them–maybe she even gave her hips an extra twitch.

  "Mmmmm. Wouldn't that be a nice piece of ass to ram"

  "Wow, her nipples are bigger than most girls' tits!"

  She heard these and other comments on her physical attributes with a slight inward shudder. If some of these so-called swingers wanted to get to first base with her, they'd have to take a bath first. They looked as oily and as filthy as they sounded. While she was still a virgin, she remembered how in the hygiene class the male and female sex organs had been carefully described by the somewhat mannish Miss Tuttle. She had made them all squirm as she described the foreskin on the male penis, and the smelly, cheesy deposits which accumulated under if soap and water weren't used regularly. She tittered to herself as she thought every penis and foreskin in the corner could probably stand a thorough washing. And she'd like to see her sadistic friend Debby forced to do the penis cleanup.