Younger Than Yesterday Read Online Free PDF Page A

obliterating, as in everything that came before.
    I breathe heavily through it and Cat steps it up on all fronts. Her fingers move in and out of me quicker and her tongue laps at a furious pace until I can’t hold back any longer. The climax crashes into me from everywhere, from above me, beneath me, from inside of me. Its power leaves me speechless, close to tears. For some reason I want to hide, make myself disappear in this moment. I shield my face with my hands and lay there as Cat tenderly hugs me.
    “Fuck me,” I say because I don’t have any other words. 
    “I believe I just did.” Cat pushes herself up and smiles down at me. I must look like a fool to her, with my eyes all watery and an incredulous expression on my face. I dreamed of this for days, but reality has outdone fantasy. It’s not merely the orgasm, which was, after years of maybe one hesitant solo-sex session every few months, quite earth-shattering, but the emotions it has unleashed in me. I want to linger in her bed all night, all of tomorrow and the rest of the week she’s here.
    “Can I stay in your room tonight?” I don’t know if I should ask or not. I don’t even know if she wants me to stay. I wonder if it was as satisfying for her as it was for me. She does this all the time. I wonder if it was better than when she did it last with Jenny. I feel like an insecure teenager, which is quite unbecoming for a forty-eight-year-old woman.
    “It’s your house. You can do whatever you want.”
    “Really?” I take her reply as encouragement. “Because there are a few more things I’d like to try.”
    * * *
    I spend the next few days processing my cross-over into lesbianism. I feel more guilty now, after the fact—or in the middle of many facts—than when I was secretly day-dreaming about Cat. In the end, it all comes down to John and Helen’s presence. I can’t find a way to justify my new position in their daughter’s life, however undefined it is. It doesn’t help that Cat gets very paranoid about them and repeatedly urges me they can never find out. In a way, the secrecy ignites the sexual tension between us, but, on the other hand, it’s also a massive source of guilt.
    “Looks like you’re a late-bian, then,” she says one night after I sneak into her bedroom. She has stayed very adamant about not sleeping with me in my room.
    “A what?” I’m only half-listening, my brain already frazzled by the prospect of what waits for me beneath the sheets.
    “A later-in-life lesbian.” She smiles at me, but, as glorious as that cheeky grin looks on her face, my eyes are drawn to her exposed chest. It’s only recently I found out that the sight of naked breasts actually makes my mouth water.
    “Oh, I’m a lesbian now, am I?” If that’s what the satisfaction of having a woman’s body to cuddle up to at night makes me, then I really don’t mind.
    “You sure are behaving like one.” I can hardly deny that. I slip into bed with her and curve my arm around her waist.
    “Only because your pussy tastes so sweet.” Lately, I’ve been baffled more than once by the words coming out of my mouth. My theory is that my brain needs to compress years of sexual frustration into the few days I have left with Cat. Anything goes. It’s also true that, while before I was always a mere—but happy—recipient of it, I now consider the pleasure of performing cunnilingus as one of the great discoveries of my late-forties. The power I can exercise over Cat just by licking her is intoxicating.
    “I rest my case.” She plants a kiss on my hair. “I want to get lost in your curls,” she hums and her words set off that weak feeling in my stomach again. That hint at something more that instantly gets squashed by our circumstances. This isn’t just about physicality, about getting my sexual needs met. Perhaps it’s easy to confuse the tenderness between us for love, or something akin, but, ultimately, that’s what it feels like. But I’m