The Diary (FF, MF, intr, preg)

By way of introduction, my name is Liz and I was born in 1932. The events I am
about to describe occurred in 1964 when I was 32 years old. I was 5 feet tall, with
short, dark brown hair and a thick heavy patch of rich brown crotch hair. I never
shaved it, mainly because my best friend Karen didn't want me to and also because
back then proper women didn't do that sort of thing anyway. 

Karen and I had grown up together and attended the same schools from first grade
all the way through collage. Upon graduation, we even got jobs in the same school
system; Karen teaching high school math while I taught first grade. 

At fourteen, my pride and joy was my nicely developing pubic hair and my budding
breasts ... I felt like such a grown up woman! Although we didn't talk about it much,
Karen and I did compare notes. We were so close that if one of were sick the other
would come to her house and play board games or just sit and listen to the radio. 

One cold November day we told Karen's little brother Bob that we would help him
out with his Boy Scout fundraiser. Each fall his troop helped raise money for the
Summer Boy Scout camping program -- that year it was a paper drive. Well, Karen
was in the basement of a lady's home, tying up bundles of magazines and papers for
the boys to carry out, when she ran across a copy of Lesbian Life magazine that the
woman had thrown out. Karen was fascinated by the cover illustration and quickly
concealed it under her jacket. 

The two of us were having a slumber party at my house that evening. When my mom
came in and told us that it was time for 'lights out', we both said goodnight. Karen
whispered me; "Do you have a pen light?" I said that I did and fumbled for it on my
nightstand. I turned it on and, by its dim light, Karen opened the pages of the
magazine. The photos were all in black and white and the pages were well worn, as if
they had been turned many times before Karen obtained it. We spent over an hour
looking at the pictures, giggling and whispering to one another until Karen pointed to
one of the pictures and said, "That looks fun ... let's try it." 

She put the magazine down and we turned off the penlight. Then, with the covers
pulled up over us, we started kissing and touching each other, imitating the things
the women in the photos were shown doing; it felt so good to us both. That was our
first sexual experience, and that evening we lost our innocent outlook on sex. Even
to this day, Karen and I still have our sleepover parties, look at XXX rated
magazines and make love each other. 

A few years later, during a daring and illegal visit to an adult bookstore, we bought
our first double-ended dildo. After much experimentation with various lubricants,
we both discovered the joys of penetration. As I lay back on the bed, Karen spread
my pussy lips with her fingers and slowly worked one end of the massive dildo up
into my hot, excited pussy. At first it hurt a little but soon the wonderful feeling of
that hard shaft stretching the walls of my pussy for the first time overcame any
pain involved. Once Karen had about six inches firmly imbedded in my virgin snatch,
she applied lubrication to the other end and, sitting facing me, carefully worked it
deep into her own pussy. It felt wonderful. Each time either of us moved it sent
waves of tingly feelings racing through our bodies. We rocked our hips in unison and
massaged each other's clits, experiencing orgasm after shuddering orgasm until we
were utterly exhausted! 

A few years later we both got married. Her hubby's name was Bill; mine was Jake.
The two men were crazy about hunting, fishing, camping, and anything to do with
the out of doors; so much so that the only way I ever saw Jake on weekends was if
I went camping with him and his buddies. 

Sex for Jake and I was never very regular, or even very exciting for that matter.
He wasn't much for foreplay and once he had his climax he considered the game
over. I found myself faking my orgasms most of the time. A box of condoms would
last us over four years. Since a box contained 48 condoms, you know just how much
sex we had, do the math! 

One cold March morning in 1961, I got on the bus to go to work; Karen had gotten
on two stops ahead of me. Karen greeted me warmly but instead of my usual
friendly response I just gazed out of the bus window and muttered something.
Karen asked, "What's wrong with you? 

"I've been sick this morning," I responded. "Vomiting and all that stuff, I think I've
got the flue." 

But I somehow knew it was morning sickness. I suspected that I was pregnant and I
was scared to death ... but I knew just how it had happened. It had to be BJ! 

Part II: BJ 

I first met BJ, a black student, during my freshman year of collage in 1946. We
were in a number of the same classes over the next four years. I grew very found
of him but, in those days, even being seen with a black man automatically made a
white women some kind of slut. I told Karen that I had a crush on him and she
warned me about the social ramifications of getting involved with a black man. So he
and I remained just good friends, which seemed to be ok with him.