Searching For Honey

It began the fall of my second year in grad school, at Ann Arbor, Michigan. I was twenty-three years old, a young woman living on my own for the first time, my life dedicated wholeheartedly to the study of physics, which I immersed myself in till my dreams were full of conversations between quarks and neutrinos. I knew Joanie from the weekly department parties. She was the wife of Jack Holcombe, esteemed professor of mathematical physics, who taught my tensor calculus course. Ex-wife, I should say. About half- way through my first year, the news came that they were separating. But after fifteen years as a faculty wife, Joanie was as much a part of the department social life as Jack was, and so no one found it odd that she kept coming to the department parties; it was Jack who dropped out.

For a woman in her fifties, Joanie was quite attractive. Take it from a woman who's spent a lot of time fantasizing about other women. She wore her long silver- grey hair pulled back in a neat braid or pony tail. And if her round face was creased with laugh lines, it was because Joanie laughed often, easily. She was short and rather heavyset; but to my taste, she was heavy in just the right places.

Now, as for me, I have short brown hair, slightly buck teeth, and big brown eyes. In high school, my nickname was "Gopher." I'm fairly petite, not very well-endowed in the chest department; though I have rather wide hips for my build (like a bottle of salad dressing, a girlfriend once said). I've been called cute more than once; though only Joanie has called my beautiful.

I began to realize I was a lesbian in junior high. I had a miserable, protracted love affair with Karla Gringold, which began in seventh grade, and didn't end till tenth. Mostly it consisted of me hanging around her like a devoted puppy, while she ignored me. Just when the pain got to be too much to bear, and I pulled away from her, she would suddenly turn into Ms. Sex Kitten around me, and we would feverishly kiss, touch, and -- when we got a little older -- lick and suck. Then she'd turn back into the Ice Princess. I never figured out what game Karla was playing with me, but when I finally broke up with her, I resolved to play it "straight", date boys, and channel my passions into my studies -- and so I did through the remainder of high school and, aside from a couple of flings, through college as well (though by then, I'd given up on men as well). But as I say, that didn't stop me from fantasizing.

I could fantasize about Joanie Holcombe, over a glass of white wine, from across the room, watching her gab with the senior faculty ... admiring the radiant smile that periodically flashed across her face ... admiring the generous curve of her hips beneath her denim skirt, the heavy swell of her bosom straining against her blouse. But Joanie was straight -- not to mention old enough to be my mother, and I don't have a general thing for older women. She was friendly enough to me, asking me how my research was going, telling me not to let Dr. So-and-so intimidate me, and so on. But she belonged to the world of the senior faculty: overlapping with, but far above my own world as a grad student. And so, it never occurred to me that I could actually have this woman as a close friend, let alone lover.

It was a few days before the Thanksgiving break. The party was winding down. I bade my farewells to the host, and headed out the door to my car. Joanie was parked behind me, trying to start her car.

"Molly," she called to me, "do you happen to have jumper cables? I must have left the headlights on." I didn't. We went back inside. It turned out that nobody there had jumper cables. "Um, I'd be glad to give you a ride home Joanie," I eagerly offered. "Your car will be safe here till tomorrow." "Are you sure it's not too far out of your way?" And so she climbed into my rusty Toyota, and we headed off into the frosty November night. "This is really very sweet of you Molly. I owe you one for this, OK?" "Oh, come on," I protested, "I'm just giving you a lift." "Well, how about if I cook you a nice dinner sometime. You know, living by myself now, I miss being able to cook for other people." The loneliness in her voice was palpable. "That'd be great," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Say," she suddenly lit up, "are you going to be around for Thanksgiving?" I was. I didn't say that I would probably be spending Thanksgiving hunched over my readings, eating a turkey TV dinner. "Well then, it's settled. Why don't you come over in the early afternoon." As I pulled up in front of her house, she thanked me again, then kissed me on the cheek. "See you Thursday," she smiled.

Now, despite my impending "date" with Joanie, despite the kiss, despite the fact that this magnificent woman had asked me to share most of Thanksgiving day with her, I spent the next couple of days determinedly keeping cool, reminding myself that Joanie was straight, she was understandably lonely around holiday time after her divorce, and that she undoubtedly saw me as, at most, an ersatz daughter.

Thanksgiving morning, I showered twice, and finally settled on a dark-grey blouse and slacks. The color reminded me of her hair. At 1:30 I took off for her place in my Toyota.

When she met me at the door, we both burst out laughing. She was wearing the exact same outfit, the same shade of grey. She made a joke about our "nun's habits", and ushered me into her house. Her house was small, simply decorated, but comfortable; and at the moment the atmosphere was filled with the comforting smell of roast turkey and stuffing. Vivaldi was playing on the stereo.

"Now then, the turkey will be done in about a half hour, and everything else is under control; so until then I suggest we park ourselves on the sofa and have a martini or two." "Um, OK, I'm not exactly used to drinking martinis though." "Well, neither am I," she laughed, "But you and I have some ice-breaking to do; and for that, I think at least one martini per person is required." One martini per person later, she had told me about her degree in musicology, what Jack had been like as a young man, her work in the university music library, how the physics department had changed over the years. "I'm sure you know that they all think you're their brightest student in years," she dropped. I sat for a moment, digesting this piece of news, feeling my head swell. And then I came out to her. "I thought you might be gay," she said quietly. "You don't flirt with the men. You know -- hang on, this is gonna take another martini." She poured herself one, took a sip, then resumed. "You know, I slept with a woman once. A few years ago. I've never told this to anyone before. She was an art historian visiting from another university. I helped her find some library materials, and then she took me out to lunch. I don't know how to make sense of it: she just swept me off my feet; and completely on impulse, we went back to her hotel room and made love. She went back to California that evening. I got a few cards from her, but I haven't seen her since." As she told me this, a tingly feeling shot down my spine, right into my cunny, which suddenly had become quite moist. "Is that why you and your husband split up?" "It was a contributing factor. Not that I ever told Jack about her. We had already drifted pretty far apart by that time. After my experience with Jeanne, I realized there was a part of me that was never going to be satisfied in a heterosexual marriage; but you know, a marriage can keep going for a long time on inertia, because it's familiar, and the thought of actually severing the ties is painful. Then one day Jack told me he was having an affair with a woman he'd met at the APA conference, and he asked for a divorce." I took her hand. She sat silently for a moment. Then her eyes popped open. "Oh, damn! The turkey's burning."

We rescued the turkey in the nick of time. As we sat down to dinner, I must have looked dazed: in truth, my mind was reeling from the martini, and from the bombshell she'd just dropped. Joanie took my hand. "Molly, I'm really glad you're here and that we're getting to know each other. I've wanted your friendship for a long time. I ... well ... I didn't know how to approach you without making you worry that I was ... coming on to you or something." "I've wanted you too. I mean ... I've wanted your friendship," I stammered, turning crimson. Then I ran to the bathroom and threw up my martini.

"Are you OK?" she intoned from the bathroom door. "I feel awful for making you drink that martini." "I'll be fine in a minute," I replied, rinsing my face. "I don't suppose you feel like eating a heavy dinner right now." "Not really. Could I borrow a toothbrush, to get this taste out of my mouth?" Luckily, she had an extra one, unused. I brushed my teeth in her bathroom sink. She told me she would wait to eat too. Then we sat back down on the sofa. Strangely, I felt emboldened: I'd survived the embarassment of thowing up in front of Joanie Holcombe, and I felt I could face anything. "Joanie, what do you think would happen if you did come on to me?" I traced my fingers over her cheek. She was silent for a long time, looking down at her hands. "I'm a good thirty years older than you, you know." When my lips found hers, she did not pull away, and she soon began kissing back. "Molly darling, when I invited you over, I honestly wasn't setting out to seduce you. But, God, now that you've started, please don't stop."

I had no intention of stopping. My lips were getting drunk on the warmth of her skin, and my panties were sopping. As I kissed my way down her neck, her hands began touching my breasts through my blouse. Now, as I explained, I'm rather flat-chested; but I have big, extremely sensitive nipples; and Joanie's fingers were driving me crazy. "Joanie, take me to bed: I want to see you naked." Our arms round each others' waists, she led me back to her bedroom.

We fumbled with buttons, zippers, sleeves, and pantlegs, until she was in her bra and panties. She unbraided her long silvery hair, and it fanned out over her back like a waterfall. I unhooked the bra, it sagged forward, and she slipped it off her shoulders. Her untrammeled breasts seemed even larger than I had imagined: they hung down almost to her navel, a delicate tracery of blue veins visible beneath the skin, capped with large, brownish-pink nipples. Her rounded belly seemed soft and inviting. It was the body of a mature woman: there were stretchmarks and wrinkles and flab; but I fell in love with it on the spot.

"You undress too, love," she whispered, stepping out of her panties.

Taking off my clothes had never felt so deliciously erotic before. I felt proud and powerful, as her face registered admiration for my body. She took me in her arms then, and the shock of her warm, soft body against my bare skin sent me into an altered state. I could feel her thick erect nipples grazing my ribs, my tingling nipples rubbing against her skin. My hands travelled down her back and over the immense, soft roundness of her ass. Cupping one of her heavy breasts in my hands, I lifted it to my mouth, and began to lick and suck on the nipple. Her excited moaning suddenly became a sharp cry of pleasure, and her knees buckled. We staggered backward and flopped down on her bed.

"I came," she beamed, "just from you sucking my titty. God, look how excited you've gotten me."

She guided my hand down to the thick dark jungle between her thighs. As I rubbed her, my hand immediately became wet with her juice. I had to taste her. I clambered between her knees; taking her broad hips in my arms, and burying my face in that luscious grove, I drank deeply. Her honey tasted so good, I couldn't stop till she had come several more times.

Finally, she pulled my head back. "Now it's my turn," she growled.

She rolled me on my stomach, and began kissing the back of my neck, giving me delicious shivers; leaning the full weight of her body upon me, so that I felt engulfed in her warm softness.

"I've wanted to do this ever since the Christmas party last year," she said huskily.

She kissed a wet trail down my spine, down to my tailbone. Her hands began massaging my ass cheeks, spreading them apart and squishing them together. I felt uneasy: no one had ever done this with me before; and in fact, I wasn't quite sure what she was going to do next. But I didn't want her to stop either. Then I felt her hot, wet tongue travelling down between my cheeks, and my inhibitions went out the window. Her tongue circled around my madly contracting anus, then down into my sopping wet cunt. I heard her slurping loudly. A moistened finger was touching my anus now, slipping inside, and I bucked against it, taking it in deep. Her tongue was slip-sliding over my clittie. Other fingers were filling my vagina. The orgasm started like a gentle wave that picked me up, then intensified, carrying me higher and higher, till I felt I was riding a tidal wave, or rather a series of tidal waves that buoyed me up, one after another. Gradually, they subsided. I opened my eyes. The bedroom seemed to be suffused with a soft rosy haze, and through it, Joanie's face was beaming down at me.

"How about a hot turkey sandwich?" she asked.

She brought me dinner in bed. We both lay there naked, feeding each other forkfuls of turkey and mashed potatoes. Then she brought in apple pie and coffee. Food had never tasted so good before; though perhaps it seemed so because I was falling in love with her. When she asked me to spend the night, I wasn't about to turn her down.

"What can I do for you now?" I asked her. She thought for a minute, her arms folded behind her head. Then a smile lit up her face. "I feel like taking a bath with you. Would you wash me?" "Oh honey, you bet I will!"

I was delighted by her deep Japanese bathtub, big enough to hold two adults comfortably. As the tub filled, and the water heated up, we soaped each other up outside the tub, Japanese style. I paid particular attention to her nipples and the undersides of her breasts, before my soapy hand travelled down her belly and between her legs. She leaned back against the side of the tub, spreading her legs to give my hand better access. Soon three of my fingers were twisting and thrusting inside her honey-filled cunt. She was so beautiful like this, and the sounds she was making were driving me crazy; but I wanted to give her more.

"Turn around," I growled. Her back now toward me; she bent over the side of the tub, presenting her magnificent ass to my hungry gaze. I ran my fingers from her honey-hole to her anus, back and forth, till her whole between-the- cheeks area was lathered with soap, and with her honey.

"Please, Molly, touch me inside my ass," she whimpered. "I need you there." I did. Three fingers in her cunt and one in her ass, I thrust in and out of her, as I showered her beautiful broad buttocks with my kisses. I felt the beginning contractions of her orgasm against my fingers, fore and aft. Leaning over her, I murmured in her ear, "Joanie Honey-comb, Honey-woman, I love my Honey-woman. Make honey for me... " "Oooooooouuuh, Molllyyyy, I'm cuuuummmmmminnnnnggg!" she keened.

We sank down on the floor together. "Whew!" she said, when she could breathe again. "I've never come that hard before. God you're sweet."

We slipped into the tub then, letting the heat of the water envelope us. I wanted to hold her, so I sat behind her, my thighs wrapped round her waist, as she leaned back against me. My fingers brushed lazily over her stiffening nipples.

I admitted I'd had a crush on her for a long time. She was surprised.

"Our age difference doesn't bother you?" she asked timidly. "I'm not exactly ... well ... I'm an old woman, Molly. And you're so young and lovely." "No, Joanie, don't think that. Your body's fantastic. When we made love just now I felt so happy just looking at you and touching you, you took my breath away. And you make me come like gangbusters. Does it bother you that I'm an inexperienced kid?" "Molly, I'm so happy, so blessed, to have you as a lover." She turned back and flashed a knowing grin at me. "And I wouldn't exactly call you inexperienced."

We sat in the tub, kissing, laughing, holding each other, till our fingers and toes were wrinkled. At last we crawled out and towelled each other off. Joanie put on her bathrobe, and lent me a nightie. We went into the kitchen and she made us some tea. I sat drinking it, happily watching her, as she put away theThanksgiving leftovers. Then we did the dishes together. I felt so comfortable with her, so natural. When we finally went back to bed, I joyfully cuddled up to her, smelling the wonderful scent of her body.

"I'm falling in love with you, Joanie." "I love you too, Molly. I've never been in love like this before. I never loved Jack like this; even when we were happy together, it wasn't like this." She turned to face me. "Can you stay with me tomorrow? I have the day off." She started to kiss her way down my belly. "Mmm, yes. Maybe we could go to the art museum together? Ahhhhhh! There's a new surrealist show- ohhhhhhhhhhh!"

I'm not generally an early riser. But when I awoke at 6:45, I was too excited to fall back asleep: it was going to be our first whole day together. I got up silently, put on my nightie, and found my way to the kitchen. After a fairly exhaustive search of the cupboards, I found the coffee and the coffee pot, and started it going. There were some eggs in the fridge, and some milk, some tomatoes and onions. Soon I whipped up an omelette, made some toast, found the tray from last night. Proudly, I carried the tray of breakfast back into the bedroom to my sleeping Joanie.

"Molly?" she murmured sleepily; then she opened her eyes and sat up. "Have I died and gone to heaven? Darling, this is wonderful; nobody's ever brought me breakfast in bed before. Nnn, don't kiss me, I have morning breath."

I kissed her on her forehead. Her radiant smile melted my heart. If she smiled at me like that, I'd gladly make her breakfast every morning for the rest of her life. I sank down beside her and began to feed her bites of omelette, and she did the same for me. We drank our coffee slowly, and formed our plans for the day.

After a quick shower together, we stopped by my place, so I could get some clean clothes and some toiletries. Then we headed downtown to the art museum. I insisted on paying for her ticket -- so it would feel like a real date. We strolled through the museum together, holding hands when nobody was looking. I liked the dreamy quality of Chirico's paintings. Joanie filled me in on all the artists, and what the surrealist movement was about. Apparently, she knew about painting as well as music.

Outside the museum, we ran into my best friend from the department, Ken, with his girlfriend Sarah. They were heading in to see the show, but Ken, intrigued at this unexpected social development, persuaded Sarah that we should all go for lunch together first. We settled on an inexpensive Italian place nearby. I hung on to Joanie's arm proudly. Later, Ken told me I was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "You might as well have been carrying a sign: 'Look at the babe I just landed!'" he teased.

After lunch, we left Ken and Sarah at the museum, and headed over to the park. It was a brisk November day, but the sunshine and movement kept us warm. Here we could wander, holding hands, nobody else around. In a secluded corner, we huddled together on a bench, and made out. Unfortunately, it was too cold to do what we really wanted to do without risking frostbite.

After a while, we set off to find a find a cup of espresso and a place to pee. Later, as we walked back to the car, she suddenly told me to wait, and dove around the corner. A minute later, she came back and presented me with a single red rose. "For ardent love," she said. I kissed her on the mouth, right there, standing on the sidewalk, in front of everybody. "Goddam dykes," some guy muttered. Joanie glared at him and he slunk away. We walked quickly back to the car. The raw hatred in that jerk's comment shook us both up a little. But in the car, Joanie said, "I know there's a price to be paid for being 'out' as a lesbian. But I'm not gonna let that stop me from loving you." I felt safer after that.

We went home, and Joanie made up a delicious turkey- vegetable soup from the leftovers in her fridge. It was piping hot, and it thoroughly warmed me up. "Stay again tonight?" she asked. I nodded happily, sinking into her arms. "I've been waiting all day to make love to you, Honey- woman. Let's go to bed now." "Oh, Molly, I get so wet when you call me that ..."

In the bedroom, I undressed her, savoring the softness and the fresh smell of her, kissing her all over her body, slowly treasuring every dimple, every freckle, every hair. "I don't want there to be an inch of you I haven't kissed," I growled possessively. After a while, Joanie whispered, "Darling, my cunny, please..." And I moved down between her legs and began to lap up her honey. She came easily and powerfully for me, again and again; I felt so proud of my ability to give her pleasure.

Eventually, I crawled back up beside her. She sat up in bed, cradling my head against her ample bosom, as her fingers found their way down between my thighs. I took her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, as I felt her fingers slipping between my dripping lips, sliding over my tingling clit, filling me up deep inside, frigging me hard as I bucked and shuddered against them. All the while, she murmured into my ear, "Come for me, darling, come give it to me, give it to your Honey-woman..." I moaned into the fat breast that filled my mouth as I came and came for her till I was exhausted.

We fell asleep, cuddled together, my head pillowed on her soft warm bosom; happy, dreamy smiles on our faces.

After a few days like this, it was obvious that I had no more use for my own apartment; so I terminated the lease, and moved my computer and books into Joanie's house. She set up part of the study as an office for me, and my life as a grad student continued. At school, Ken teased me something terrible about Joanie: I was trying to sleep my way to the top, he laughed, but I'd made the mistake of sleeping with the professor's wife instead of the professor. Really, though, he was very supportive of my relationship with her, and when I sometimes had arguments with Joanie, I would go to Ken, and he would help me to cool down and and then go back and make up with her. The rest of the department, as far as I could tell, shrugged their shoulders and paid our relationship no mind. Jack Holcombe never said anything to me about Joanie. That spring, he anounced he was taking a job at Stanford. Joanie told me that that was where his new girlfriend was. Soon, I was typing away at my dissertation, while Joanie practiced away at her cello pieces.

My parents weren't as supportive as Ken. They met Joanie at my graduation. I introduced her to them as "my partner," but I guess they thought that was some kind of academic relationship, like research partners or something. Anyway, at the graduation party, my mother saw Joanie put her arms around me, and she screamed, "Get away from my daughter, you freak!" I quickly bustled my parents out the house.

"Listen to me! I yelled at them. "Joanie and I love each other: we're a couple. If you can't respect that, you just get the hell out of our house." And that's what they did. Without a word, they got in their car and drove off.

Joanie came out and took me in her arms. I collapsed against her, sobbing.

"I wish," she said, "my love could wipe away the hurt. I wish I could be your mother, so I could tell you what a wonderful daughter you are, and how proud I am of you." "You're my real mother now," I bawled. "You're my family. You're the one that loves me." She took me back inside. "Should we keep the party going, or do you want to be alone." "'Lone, with you." She graciously sent my professors and friends away. When she sat back down next to me on the couch, I sniffed, "I need some good loving from my Honey-woman."

"Your Honey-woman wants you to take your clothes off, Dr. Molly Steiglitz," she whispered in my ear. "Right here." I obeyed. She kissed and licked the tears from my face while her deft cellist fingers thrummed a concerto on my bare nipples. Soon she was kneeling on the floor, her head between my legs, while I rode her face to orgasm, bursting through the tears, surfacing into the sweet warm sunlight of pleasure. She took me to bed, tore off her clothes, and climbed in with me, cradling me against her warm naked body, lulling me to sleep with the sweet pounding of her heartbeat beneath my cheek.

I've barely had a word from my parents since that night, though it's been ten years.

I was offered several post-docs. When I suggested taking the closest one, so that I could drive home on weekends, she shook her head.

"Darling, I'm ready to retire from the library. I can sell the house. You take the post-doc that you want, wherever it is; and I'm coming with you." I hugged her long and hard for that.

I took the MIT post-doc. Joanie and I found a lovely little apartment right in Cambridge, which she began decorating with great glee. She told me she was happy to have a home that we were building together. She delighted in the rich classical musical scene in the Boston area, and soon joined a string quartet. Around the spring of my first year, the chair told me that a tenure-track position was opening up in the department, and encouraged me to apply. A few months later, I learned that I had gotten the job.

The night she took me out to celebrate, Joanie told me we'd gotten an eviction notice. It seems the landlord was planning to tear our building down and put up offices. I checked the figures in our bank account: we had a large amount from the sale of Joanie's house, on top of our substantial savings. The next day we walked into the landlord's office and bought the building out from under him, a hundred percent down. Instantly, we were the heroes of the other tenants. We promptly fired the property management company (it specialized in forgetting about repairs, and losing rent checks) and Joanie took over as property mangager (she bopped me on the head when I called her "Mrs. Worth").

The other tenants love her. We've never had a single problem from a tenant. Recently, various neighborhood groups have been urging Joanie to run for city council. If she ever decides to do it, I'll support her a hundred percent, and I know she'd be great for the community; but I'm not crazy about the idea, because I'm afraid it would cut seriously into our time together. And so far, Joanie has refused to run.

Joanie's sixty-five now, and I'm thirty-four. Before I met Joanie, I suppose I thought that sixty-five was way over- the-hill as far as sex is concerned. But that woman's appetite for sex just gets stronger and stronger. And her body is as beautiful and dear to me as it's ever been. My Honey-woman: I get wet thinking about her heavy breasts, and that special honey that flows for me in her secret place.

I know that our remaining years together are limited; that I will probably survive her, and have to face a long rest-of-my-life without her. So I savor the time we have left; and it makes our pleasure together more poignant. But who knows: maybe Joanie's going to be one of those feisty old ladies who lives to be a hundred ten. And I'll be an old lady sitting beside her in the rocker, with my hand up her dress, searching for honey.