My Obsession

By Lexie X

I wasn't always this addicted to sex with girls. I was a normal person before I got caught up in something beyond my control. Turns out that the only thing between your average straight girl and a lesbian obsession is a week of freedom and a whole lot of wine.

Content advisory: contains strong themes of sexuality between women and virgin lesbian sex.

~18,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lexie X
• Release date: Dec 16, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370991310

Lexie X

Lexie X is an author of erotic fiction interested mainly in first times, domination, and seduction. You can follow more erotic works by her at her blog at LexieX.com.

Book preview

My Obsession

A Virgin Lesbian Erotica

By Lexie X

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2017 by Lexie X

Follow more of my work at LexieX.com,

or at my Smashwords author page.

Also by Lexie X

Emma's Hypnosis

Lydia's Hypnosis

Lynn's Craving

My Roommate’s Girlfriend

Seduction Games

Sorority Seductions

Tempting Jennifer

Virgin Lesbians: Erotic First Time Stories

Virgin Lesbians II: Erotic Stories of Seduction

Foreplay (Serena's Submission #1)

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

About the Author

Free Preview: Foreplay (Serena's Submission #1)

***

Chapter 1

I honestly don't believe anyone is immune to obsession. It creeps up on you ever so slowly, working its way into your mind a little more every time you rationalize something to yourself or indulge the slightest interest. In my case, I'd never even once thought about another girl in a sexual manner, so I can track from start to finish exactly how all this developed. It began so very innocently—all I did was accidentally click on the wrong porn link.

What? I can admit it. I watch porn. Not all the time, of course, since I prefer the written form of romance, but it's impossible to avoid thinking about porn sometimes when you can literally look it up on your phone no matter where you are.

I was in a friend's basement guest room that night, and housesitting all alone. I'd had some wine—red, always red—and I'd just become aware of how isolated I was. Not only was it late, meaning everyone else in the neighborhood was asleep, I was also alone in a house whose owners would not return until next Sunday night. In that neighborhood, in that house, I was sequestered in a hidden room around a blind corner in a long basement mostly occupied by laundry machines and junk.

In other words, I had suddenly been granted absolute privacy in a life otherwise filled with nosy roommates, friends that liked to come and go at random, and annoyingly loud neighbors that stayed up to all hours. In other words, at three in the morning on a Tuesday night, it hit me that I'd already been in heaven for two days without realizing it.

A curious thing happens to a girl when absolute privacy pops up out of nowhere. The massive social engine in her head shuts down, freeing her mental processing power. All the other stuff in her personality—all that weird and random crap knocking around in the dark recesses of her mind—has the space to blink, stand up, and awkwardly walk out into the light.

I don't have to wear makeup? I asked myself out loud that night. I repeated with amazement: I don't have to wear makeup. I threw some of my more uncomfortable shoes in a corner. I can walk around barefoot! I ate ice cream, I didn't do the dishes, and I uncorked another bottle of red wine. Halfway through that bottle, I felt warmth growing in my body born of the high of privacy. I leered at an ancient George Michael poster someone had left on the wall down in that hidden room decades ago, and I said to myself, I'm gonna get my fuckin' pussy licked tonight.

Yeah. What a great idea. It would have been unthinkably crass on any other night, but something about that typical repression made me feisty. How would I even go about this? The bars were already shut down, and I was in no shape to drive.

The only answer was Craigslist.

I showered and then camped out on my phone. It was already super late, so I expected there to be very few responses, but apparently w4m was not a highly populated category. Email after email appeared in my inbox, and I sat thumbing through them just as rapidly. Patterns began to appear: only half were intelligible. Only half of those had pictures, and only half of those were decent-looking and my age. As I began to answer back and proved that I was real, another half immediately stopped responding. I must have clicked through nearly four hundred emails in the first half an hour; out of those that weren't bots trying to get my email, I only truly made contact with four.

Two made an excuse and vanished.

One wrote, Sorry if I didn't make this clear, but I'm actually a girl.

I shook my head and deleted the thread. That one had been very promising—eloquent enough, quick to respond, able to drive out now. I looked again and realized that the tomboyish face picture was actually of a girl, so she hadn't lied.

If only she'd been a he...

The last prospect of those final four said he would leave immediately.

Forty minutes later, I was still drinking—and waiting. When I finally realized he wasn't coming, I'd gone from horny-drunk to angry-drunk. My little idea to have someone over to service me had been a total failure. There was nothing left to do but take care of it myself.

That's why I loaded up the porn on my phone.

I aimlessly moved from video to video grumpily working myself, but I was very drunk and very annoyed. It just wasn't feeling like anything. Then, while trying to use