Note: This story is adult entertainment. It has explicit lesbian sex, vulgar/profane language, and graphic descriptions of the physical effects of a common type of violence against women and girls. Please don’t read it if you are underage. This story is fiction; resemblance between these characters and any actual persons is coincidental and unintended.
-*-*-
She was a rather tall woman, I’d guess in her late 30s. On the day she’d arrived, I’d heard one of the nurses call her Ilham; that’s how I learned her name. At the moment, she was sitting up in the bed at the other side of the room. She wasn’t crying audibly, but I was sure that her heart was suffering crushing pain. She had just been on a video chat with her mother…saying good-bye for the rest of this life.
She and I were acutely ill with the novel coronavirus. We were in isolation. I was sure that the rest of her family had been around her mother’s bedside as she breathed her last, but Ilham had wanted to be there in person also. The PAs, the RNs, the LPNs, and CNAs were as compassionate as they could be, but a 10-minute “visit” over a smartphone screen was inadequate. Where was the comfort? Where was the human touch? Where was the eye contact and the fond saying of names?
She had been here for three days (I’d gotten there a day ahead of her, so four days for me); no family or friends allowed; it was too risky. We’d gotten to know our caretakers a bit while they were looking in on us. The staff had other charges, though. We had seen none of their faces completely, as masks were required in this COVID-only care unit.
Because we were essentially quarantined indefinitely, we had talked to each other a few times: always brief conversations since one or both of us grew short of breath fast. Ilham and I were of different religions and we probably had different political leanings (I had heard a little of the cable news her TV showed.)
I glanced her way. Now that the nurse was gone, she looked sapped. She reclined dazedly on her hospital bed, looking at the window which gave her a view of the overcast, dull blue sky.
She wasn’t looking at me yet, but I fixed my eyes on her. “I’m sorry, Ilham,” I said.
She turned her mocha, button-nosed face toward me. She didn’t say anything, but even her simple nod of acceptance was full of lonely misery.
This was not good enough. Human suffering is borne best by sharing it–I would share it with her, as she had no one else now. “What was she like?” I asked.
“…She was a–” Before she could get any farther, she began to cough. Ilham took a drink of water and tried to relax. In a moment, she continued. “–stern and beautiful mother. She cou–” Coughs shook Ilham’s thin body, this time for long enough to be alarming.
As soon as her fit abated, I said, “Please, don’t try to tell me about her now. When you’re up to it, I’d love to hear about her.”
Tears poured from Ilham’s eyes. She wheezed angrily, “Can’t even…” she coughed again, “eulogize my mom!” Her tears weren’t just due to familial loss, but frustration. After a few seconds spent calming her breathing, she rasped, “God is good.” More coughing. “Covid be cursed!”
I gave her a sympathetic gaze, understanding her completely. “Please, don’t talk until you’re ready,” I said. “Did your mother raise you?”
She nodded.
“Did she raise your siblings too?”
She nodded again, with more energy. She seemed very open, not guarded or suspicious (as I might have been in her shoes).
“Sisters?” She held up a finger. “Brothers?” She held up three fingers. “My hat’s off to her! I have only two children and I find that they’re all I can handle!”
Ilham smiled.
“Did she hold other jobs: teacher or doctor or banker, for instance?”
Ilham was so eager to talk about this that she couldn’t help trying to answer aloud. “She made wond–” Ilham fell back onto her bed, coughing and nearly choking.
Concerned as I was, I grabbed my remote, ready to mash the CALL NURSE button. Ilham’s small-breasted torso heaved with the effort of controlling her breathing. Gradually, her coughing stopped.
“I’m sorry!” I said again. “Let’s talk later.”
But she was distraught now. Not able to speak an entire sentence? She half-curled, turning away from me slightly. It was easy to see that she was crying. This unheralded sickness had taken so much from her–still it seemed to want more.
I sat up straight and put my hands on my bed, ignoring the tug of the IV catheter in my wrist. I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress and settled my feet on the cool floor. So far so good: I would have had a coughing fit myself if I had tried these sudden motions yesterday.
Taking the wheeled IV stand with me, I reached Ilham’s bedside in a few strides. Then I hesitated. I intended to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but was it a good idea? A stranger presuming to enter her personal space? But a few weak coughs persuaded me. I reached down and rested my hand on her upper arm, trying to demonstrate my commiseration.
She didn’t shrug it off. In fact, I felt her relax a little after a second or two. Her breathing seemed to slow, but I might have imagined that.
“Things will get better, Ilham,” I murmured to the curled-up woman clad in the standard sage green cotton hospital gown.
She surprised me by slowly moving her right arm and putting her hand on top of mine, gently. Her palm was cool; cooler than I’d expected, as she had a low-grade fever. (So did I.)
I rubbed her triceps and shoulder. “Things will get better. Just rest.”
At that moment, time seemed to slow. She turned–head, neck, shoulders, and chest–and faced me. As she moved, the thin gown (you know how useless those things are) gaped and lagged, giving me full views of lovely, teacup-shaped breasts; long, thick, dark brown nipples; and chocolate abdominal skin speckled with tiny, very dark, perfectly circular moles. So…feminine, so pleasing to eye! Just a glimpse, but it was a protracted glimpse–and I wanted another glimpse. (I design manuals–and sometimes packaging–for software applications and suites, so you could consider me a rather visual person.)
Ilham was looking up at me. Her eyes regarded mine with reproach, but her expression softened as I looked steadily at her face. Fear of coughing again kept her from speaking. “Sorry for touching your arm without asking,” I said, but she shook her head a little and kept her hand firmly over mine. “…Sorry for looking at your body,” I said.
Her mouth still appeared to frown, but her eyes twinkled and her eyebrows lifted.
“Your name?” she whispered as carefully as she could.
“McKenzie, but call me Micki,” I said, giving her shoulder an assuring squeeze.
With her eyes, she thanked me for comforting her. I stood for minute, trying to do no more than be there for a fellow human being.
Her breath still rasped, but she didn’t seem to be in respiratory distress. Eventually, I slid my hand from her upper arm. “We’ll get through this,” I told her. We regarded each other with sympathy for a few long seconds. Then I shuffled back to my side of the room.
-*-*-
From that day on, relations warmed between Ilham and me. We still didn’t talk often–one or both of us would have a bout of coughing or a horribly constricted throat–but we would have our meals sitting next to each other, we’d do crosswords and sudokus and stuff together; you get the idea. We sent each other texts when we were short on breath. We also hugged each other before bed every night. It had been a couple of weeks for me and that first hug felt so wonderful!
From that day on, I also saw my roommate in a different light; she seemed like a potential sex partner. My mind wandered, every now and then, to how it would feel to touch her skin or to how it would sound to hear her gasp my name while she climaxed. (I ought to tell you at this point that I’m not a romantic person. I’ve never had a “partner” for longer than six weeks. But I love getting people off–women especially–women who aren’t very experienced in particular. I feel so proud when I take a woman to an earth-shaking orgasm!) I started keeping a tube of petroleum jelly at my bedside or in my pocket. I said that it was for my dried-out hands, but mostly I wanted it with me on the off-chance that I managed to have sex with Ilham….
Back to the narrative, though. Hospitals stays have never been fun as far as I’m concerned, but the days passed quickly. Ilham and I weren’t miserable, except when the virus bore down on one of us and threatened to stop our breathing permanently.
Next thing I knew, the nurses were telling each of us that we were practically recovered. “Kickin’ that virus’s ass,” one of the younger staffers said to me after listening to my lungs. “You’re soundin’ clear as crystal.”
At about 2100, after the evening meal and the pre-sleep medications, Dr. Kant told Ilham that she would be discharged tomorrow just after noon, barring setbacks. I asked about my turn, since I was feeling healthy too. The doctor didn’t like my pulse/oximeter readings yet, so she planned to keep me until it got to 98%.
“Congratulations!” I said to Ilham as soon as Dr. Kant had left.
“Thank you, Micki.”
“…What is it?”
“Just doesn’t seem fair,” she said after a pause, “going home before you when I got here after you.”
I padded to her bedside. She scooted over and I flopped next to her. “Don’t worry about that. You heard Doc; I’ll be out right after you. Besides, I only got here a few hours before you did.”
“But…I’d feel a lot better seeing you get released.” Her voice was low and her eyes were shining as they looked into mine.
I leaned and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, sweetie,” I said quietly.
She closed her eyes and drew closer to me.
The timid reaction and the intimate contact turned me on. I wanted to taste her plump lips and let my fingers roam her faintly glistening skin. Trembling slightly, I put my mouth on hers.
The good-hearted woman surprised me by kissing me back. Not energetically, not aggressively–but she certainly kissed me back, opening her mouth just a little and stroking my lips with hers. Naturally, I kissed her again…and again and again….not in any rush–no urgency. The contact was gentle but thrilling! I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
Suddenly, I noticed that my left hand was caressing her dark skin with a feather-light touch. She puffed a breath into my mouth. She didn’t open her eyes; in fact, I could tell that she was forcing herself to keep her eyelids shut tightly. I felt her heart pounding as my upper arm made contact with her slim chest. My wandering left hand found Ilham’s hip and traced an arcing trail along her pelvis, languidly approaching her groin.
Hardly believing my luck, I took my lips from hers for a moment and kissed her cheek, then her jaw. My middle finger found her labia. I kissed her neck.
My fingers touched something smooth and solid, like a callus. What was that? It perplexed my searching fingers. Ilham’s thighs quivered enticingly–
–What the hell was going on with her genitals? I couldn’t ignore this.
“Am I hurting you?” I asked, hoping not to spoil the magical mood.
“No, my dear,” she answered, keeping her voice low. “So…please…”
A small part of my mind was amused that she couldn’t ask me to keep going. Something much more important dominated my thoughts at the moment, though. “I’m going to look at you,” I said, trying to sound completely reasonable.
She didn’t say anything, but she gave the tiniest nod. I undid the flimsy ties of her gown and took a look.
There was considerable scarring on both sides of her outer labia, including creamy-white stitch marks. The top of her vaginal opening looked dreadful; it had obviously been seriously injured at some point; her clitoral hood was pretty much missing and the little bean that might have been stiff with arousal was nowhere to be found; there was a dark, blue-purple scar at the site.
I looked up at my friend who was becoming my lover. She must have been able to see bewilderment and sadness in my eyes.
She sighed. She wasn’t angry or hurt, just tired. “It was a ritual called infibulation,” she said. “Don’t worry, it healed long ago. And I still can…feel good.”
Now wasn’t the time to pry, despite my curiosity. I lowered my face to hers and kissed her hot mouth again. Her eyes closed, but her lips parted more widely than ever and Ilham’s tongue met mine for the first time. I reached into my gown’s shallow, flimsy pocket, found the clear jelly, and dipped in to get a generous amount on my fingertips. (Ilham didn’t see me do that, but she was so eagerly kissing me that I don’t think she’d have objected if she had seen.) My fingers moved gingerly to her pussy and slid along her pouting outer labia.
The lips of her scarred snatch were spreading, inviting my middle finger to probe deeply. I said softly, “Tell me if it hurts,” and I sunk my lubricated finger as deep as it would go. It felt odd, sliding past the smooth-but-tough skin of her inner labia, but once inside, she felt the same as any woman I’d made love to: hot and damp and pleasant. She had lots of nerve endings in there and I began to caress the sensitive flesh with deliberation. Ilham’s kisses continued. She barely raised her eyelids. A sweet little smile appeared at the corners of her mouth and eyes.
I kissed her with fervor, my heart bursting with that look of glee she’d just given me. My body decided (independently from my rational mind) to shift and roll, straddling Ilham’s torso. Her lightly sweating brown-skinned belly, chest, and neck increased my appetite. My lips kissed her jaw, neck, and ear. My thumb rolled along her pubic mound; my index finger joined my middle finger inside her tight pussy.
Ilham wheezed and started panting. I was a bit concerned, somewhere in my brain, but she hadn’t coughed or asked me to stop and I really wanted to get this sweet lady off! I ran my tongue along her jawline and I was very pleased to feel her pulse racing. Her chest was heaving too. Her breathing was becoming steadily more rapid.
“Mm, mm, mm!” she squeaked. She was having a pre-orgasm or two; she wasn’t able to stay silent anymore. I moved up a little and kissed her succulent mouth again.
With the speed of a scorpion, she grabbed my face with both her hands and held on, pulling me to her and making sure I couldn’t back off. She was feeling some urgency now! She kissed me energetically–almost frantically. For my part, I kept my hand moving steadily, massaging her silky interior with deft motions of my fingertips. Her hips were bucking now; she was quite unaware of her own actions, though. She held her breath as I continued to stroke her.
“Mm!” she sang into my mouth. “Hu-hng!” Her eyelids were scrunched tightly together. Sweat was running from beneath her hairline toward her ears and the corners of her eyes. I slowed my fingers’ motions while my other hand got a bit more lubricant and brought it to where it would be used.
“Uh…” Ilham sighed weakly, probably thinking that because my hand had slowed for a few seconds that we were almost done. She made another murmuring sound into my mouth as I gradually picked up the pace. My greasy fingers fondled her inside methodically, pushing her slowly–all unknowing and unprepared–to greater neural excitement–
…then…!
Ilham’s long, sweat-slick thighs caught my forearm–her pelvis and legs twisted suddenly to her left–her back arched, lifting her ass well off her bed–her teeth sunk into my lip accidentally, drawing blood–her face contorted in a hyper-stimulated grimace–her breathing rasped to a halt– In short, the crisis was on her! It was clear that she’d never had a true orgasm before this, whether she thought she had or not.
A loud, braying series of beeps came from her monitor. Cursing mentally, I yanked my arm from between her clamped upper legs–
–No! I wasn’t going to flee and leave her to face mortification alone. Instead of bolting for my mattress, I lurched upright, flicked the sheets over her sweat-slick body, and bounded toward the door. There was a tug and I nearly pulled over my IV stand in my haste; sheer reflexes kept it from crashing to the floor.
The doorknob clacked. I stood, quaking inwardly, sucking on my slightly bloodied lip.
The physicians’ assistant, a burly man with grey hair, appeared at the door and almost ran into me. “McKenzie, I need–”
“–She’s fine,” I interrupted, knowing that I was red-faced and sweaty myself. That probably confused him, but probably only for a second or two. I knew that I had bought her time, so I stepped aside.
“…’m fine,” Ilham stammered, sheets pulled up to just under her nose. Her dilated eyes blinked, trying to cope with the brightness of our room and the sweat that had run unchecked along her glowing face.
The PA’s ears went red, although his mask hid his embarrassed expression. They turned away from each other immediately. He pointedly looked at her vital signs on the monitor while she composed herself. I hate to admit this, but I almost laughed aloud; and my heart swelled proudly, knowing how much bliss I’d given Ilham.
“Pulse and respirations are elevated,” the medical officer on duty said after a minute, “but they seem to be coming down. Are you sure that you’re okay?” He didn’t look at her yet.
“Yes.” She wheezed slightly, trying to calm her breathing. “I am okay. I was just…wound up for a moment.”
After a minute, the physicians’ assistant turned toward me. I could tell that he was astounded that the two of us were having sex…and that he was going to pretend that he didn’t realize it. “Your pulse is up too,” he said, not meeting my eyes. “You ought to get back into your bed, McKenzie.” He left the room.
Ilham’s eyes met mine and narrowed furiously. “You sow!” she snarled. She turned her back to me.
Never had I gotten that reaction after making a woman thrash in ecstasy. Momentarily, all I could do was stare at the sweaty, trembling shape on the bed near me.
What had made her so mad? Sure, she was rather humiliated by the encounter with the PA, but I’d learned enough about her in the last few days to know that she wasn’t a haughty person. She was religious: maybe she was blaming me for a broken marriage vow or a sin of homosexuality or something–but if that was the trouble, wouldn’t she have stopped me as soon as I’d touched her or as soon as we’d kissed?
I heard her sob.
Why did it matter what had set her off? Wheeling the IV stand with me, I went to the edge of her bed. “I’m sorry,” I said. I thought that she needed to hear it.
She whirled to face me with startling speed. She sniffed and stopped crying. “Don’t be. I should not have called you that. Especially after you tried to protect me from shame.”
“But–”
Her hand on my wrist cut my protest short. “–Besides…you were–that was incredible!” she told me breathily. “I’ve never felt that. I–never–”
I blinked. It’s rare for me to be at a loss, but I was now. “Ilham,” I mumbled, looking down at my roommate.
She took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “I spoke out of the fear of my childhood. If my grandfather found out, he would kill me. He’s the one who insisted on infibulation; my mother and father didn’t want me to go through it; he basically kidnapped me and had our village ‘doctor’ do it against their wishes. If he heard….”
Then she smiled thinly. She said, “But it was not your fault that the machine made noise. I apologize to–”
In spite of my inner turmoil, I was warmed by her earnest brown eyes and I smiled back. “–There’s nothing to be sorry for; you couldn’t help panicking.”
She lowered her voice. “I’m done with that cruel old man. I will never be afraid of him again.
“And I thank you; you made me feel…the most wonderful.” Her hand stroked my arm fondly.