LGBT Stories

The morning light came through the window waking me. I tried desperately to hold on to the delicious wet dream I was having but it faded quickly. It had seemed so real and I wanted to close my eyes and return to its erotic embrace.

Had it really been a dream?

I was groggy as I drifted back to reality, lying naked, warm and cozy under a thick comforter protecting me from the chill of my poorly heated apartment. I strained to remember what had happened the night before. There was the party-I recall drinking a lot and dancing endlessly. But most of all I remember Kim.

Kim!

Instantly I felt her warm body spooned against me under the blanket. Her soft breasts pressed into my back, her arm hugged my waist, and her hand rested on my tummy. Sweet memories flooded my head as I realized it wasn’t all a dream. I stirred slightly and Kim did too, cooing like a dove as she cuddled closer. Her leg felt like silk against the back of my thigh and her breath tickled my neck.
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From as early as my pre-teen years, it was obvious that sports and I did not get along. I was either too slow or not coordinated enough. Team after team would either cut me, or only allow me to play the minimum amount of time that was required. When teams were picked in gym class, I was almost always chosen last. My uncle observed my frustration, and took it upon himself to help. He was concern about the long-term effect of my low self-esteem, so he introduced me to the world of racquetball. When my Uncle was younger he played on his college team, and had won several tournaments. Today his bookshelves are lined with trophies has proof of his accomplishments. But it wasn’t his trophies that made him special to me, it was his ears. When I was just a little girl, I learned that he could wiggle his ears, and ever since then he has been my favorite Uncle, and I was honored that he wanted to share his time with me. So with only a few exceptions-we played racquetball three times a week for almost 6 years.
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*** The Morning After ***

“Get your lazy ass out of bed before you’re late for Church”, Mom said while pulling the curtains open. As my eyes attempted to adjust to the morning sun, Mom carried on. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you? Coming home at 3 in the morning! You should be ashamed of yourself. Your lucky your Father went to bed at 1, if he knew you got in at 3- Oooohhh boy. You went to Canada again didn’t you? You know how I feel about that. Too many kids are getting themselves killed over there. I hope Greg didn’t drink and drive. God it stinks in here.”

“Mom.” I barely utter through my cotton filled mouth while my head continued to spin and my stomach violently protested its contents. I’ve had hangover before, but this was by far the worst.
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“50% OFF EVERYTHING!!!” is what the sign read on the window of the candles and pottery store. Never being one to turn down a good sale, I went in. The shelves were pretty much picked over, and most of the good stuff was long gone. What did remained was mostly made in either rainbow or lavender colors, indicating that the store was catering to the local gay and lesbian population. The last thing I wanted was to jeopardize my safe warm place in the closet, so I selected a handful of tea lights. I didn’t need a candle or mug proclaiming that I was “proud and out”, at least not before I was ready to make that move on my own, and I really did need more tea lights. As I approached the counter, the clerk didn’t acknowledge me, and seemed to be more interested in playing with her belly button of all things, then to notice me. She was wearing blue bell-bottom jeans that hung on to her hips with the help of a thick leather belt, a white crop top, a rainbow colored necklace made of rainbow beads and a pair of earth-toned sandals. So much for a dress code. She appeared to be just taller then me, about 5′3″ or 5′4″, weighing no more then a 100 pound, and had short blonde hair that reminded me of Anne Heche. She could of past for 16, but I knew she had to be at least 18, because this was a college town.
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“Ms Colgan. I’ve finished grading this week’s papers.”

“Thank you, you can set them on the corner of the desk. By the way, you’re still coming tonight aren’t you?”

I was hoping she wouldn’t remember. “I’m not sure. I was thinking about it. But I just don’t know.”

“You know how much it would mean to me.”

“I know. And I appreciate the invitation. But.”

“But what?” she cut me off. “What else could be so important that you can’t take one night off to have some fun?”
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Manipal is one of the best educational centers in India. The place is about 60 kms from Mangalore which is a port and a good city famous for its mixture of cultures viz Hindus, Muslims and Christians. Mangalore is an important city from the days of British Empire and there is an Anglo Indian culture dominated there. People are very liberal minded and the cultural fascism now dominating the present India has so far not been able to create any impact there. Mangalore is famous for its hospitals and educational institutions. The state Karnataka to which it belongs, have the highest number of private institutions in India. Manipal is the best center for educational excellence in South India and the admission is based on capitation. Students have to pay highly for the excellent education it offers. The adjacent state of Mangalore which is my native land Kerala has high communist influence and most of the educational institutions are in government sector only. Professional courses have few seats and colleges and syllabus are as old as the time they were started. The communist leaders send their children to other states paying high capitation money but they never allow to start such an institution in our state. Now the situation is changing due to the communal forces came to power which ousted communist rule and now so many minority communities have started new colleges. But the Manipal University is providing excellent library, practical facilities and almost everything a student need. The Pai foundation never allow even a theatre to start near the whole area so as to prevent the students being attracted to things other than studies. But unfortunately, most of the students who join Manipal from our state become drug addicts and often come back failed. So most of the people are afraid to send their kids to Manipal. There is high incidents of ragging and brutality in the hostels most of which are done by students from our state only. So it was a thunder from a pleasant sky for my parents when I told them that I have been selected to engineering degree course at Manipal. (more…)