Un Ano de Amor: A Year of Love
Based off the two hit television series "NCIS" and "The L Word", Monique Lisson and Ziva David move from D.C. to L.A., getting a house next door to Jenny Shechter and
Moving to Los Angeles was not really our initial plan, I admit, but honestly I did not mind it. The two of us now have a nice yet quaint home is West Hollywood next door to two young women. I had yet to figure out their names but that was alright, I suppose. You may be wondering who I am. Who is but the form following the function of what and what I am can be described using several adjectives. I am Israeli, Jewish, a trained spy, a woman, but in relation to this story the most important would have to be lesbian. Yes, my name is Ziva David and I am a closet lesbian. Now, I know I have said "our" and "us" so you must be wondering who else I am referring to. Her name is Monique Lisson, and for the past few months she has been much more than my mentor. She is now my lover… my first true romance. In fact, some may say she was the one who first ignited my feelings for women, and for her.
I walked into our house that beautiful morning after my run to smell the exquisite aroma of freshly made coffee and eggs cooking. I then hear it, the melodious voice of Monique singing in Spanish. She was so beautiful, so perfect. I often found myself wondering how I ever deserved her… or the happiness she gave me. I walk further into the house, down a long corridor which led to the kitchen. The smell got stronger as I got closer to it. To come home to such things made me so incredibly happy. The level of happiness was perhaps indescribable.
Upon entering the kitchen, I smile, finding Monique in her silk red robe, and nothing else. I could feel some sweat drip down my forehead as she stood at the stove, unable to see me. I was standing behind her, a good five feet away from her.
"You are back, mi amor." Monique observed aloud, not even turning around.
I could not help but allow my eyes to widen. She was truly amazing. I learned from the best.
"Si, mi Chiquita." I reply in Spanish, glad to speak other languages with her.
I heard her hum contently and a moment later she turned around. It was then I discovered her robe was open. I drew in a sharp breath as I saw her eloquent body yet again. Her bare frame was so beautifully carved, as if God and Michelangelo had collaborated on the world's most beautifully divine sculpture ever created. That was the only way I could truly put it. She was perfect, absolutely perfect.
Watching a smile come to her face, I knew then she must have noticed me catching a rather lingering glance at her, but I just could not help myself. She excited me so much. I watched as Monique seductively sauntered over to me, the spatula still within her skillful hand. I could do nothing but bite my bottom lip almost shyly. My cheeks felt hot, and I knew I was blushing.
"You, my Ziva, are blushing."
She spoke with such a sexual bravado that it excited me. Monique set down the spatula on the counter nearest her before she gently guided me back into the wall behind me. I felt her hands exploring me as her lips crash into mine. I cannot help but kiss her back, allowing my arms to drape almost lazily over her shoulders. I noticed her intentionally press her nude body into my clothed one as her hands caress me. I let out a slight moan, my heart starting to race even more.
The European woman seemed rather pleased and enthralled when she heard my moans, for she smirked as she continued kissing me. I sensed her hands wandering lower and my heart rate skyrocketed. It was so incredibly rapid that I swore in that exact moment my heart would leap out of my chest, my body succumbing to the morbid diathesis in which only Monique could have caused. It was a feeling that one, once they experience it, would never forget. Then again, who would want to? Who would ever want to forget such bliss, such unadulterated pleasure which miraculously mixed with the pain of a straining heart?
"You are absolutely beautiful." She murmured to me as her hand went into my yoga pants.
I let out a moan as I tilted back my head. Her lips roamed to my neck, sucking the skin there as she rubbed my clitoris.
"No." I insisted, not believing her at the time. "I have just returned from running. I am all sweaty."
"Mm-hmm. I find that beautiful… I find you beautiful all of the time." She told me, before returning to the task of kissing my skin, which was still somewhat coated in sweat.
"No matter what?" I questioned.
"No matter what." She said between each kiss she peppered across the skin beneath my collarbone.
I continue moaning softly in response to her actions as her surely adroit hand kept stimulating me in ways that were much more than amazing. In the background, Spanish music continued to play which added a somewhat erotic ambiance to the place. Her other hand snuck its way up underneath my tank top and sports bra and found one of my breasts. She began massaging it in the exact same rhythm in which her other hand was moving. My hands go to the wall behind me, desperately gripping at it with my not too short yet not too long nails.
I allowed cries of pleasure to escape my mouth as Monique proceeded to go even further. She inserted her index and middle finger inside me, moving them at a steady and slow rhythm. I could tell she was teasing me. This was the "game" Monique played with me. She would tease me, go so slow that it left me begging for more and when I asked for more she would give so much that I would resort to begging for mercy she would not give until I eventually released. I found it endearing and exciting all at the same time. How she did such things was mystifying to me.
She did the same that morning. Monique maintained that same rhythm for several moments, not giving me what I then craved most. I writhed under her, knowing she enjoyed controlling me. My attempts at speeding things up by moving my hips in tandem with her hand prove futile, for her other hand moved from my breast to my corresponding hip, pinning me to the wall in order to stop my actions. Grunting impatiently, it becomes a power struggle of which I do not much care for yet it also was seemingly desirable. Why was it that Monique had to make things so hard for me to explain?
I let out an even louder moan as she moves her hand just a bit faster, not realizing one of the neighbors was walking by the kitchen's open window. I was too lost in Monique to care, honestly. I note her smirking in response to my moans.
"Mm, Ziva." She murmured as her hand picked up a little speed.
At the time, I had no idea that our neighbor was standing beside the window snickering as she listened in.
"Yes!" I exclaim, tossing my head back in ecstasy.
She kept going, relentless in her pursuit. She wanted so badly to get me over the edge. In the back of my mind I could not help but wonder a few things. Why was she doing this now? Here? Why? I know she loved me, yes… and she wanted to show it but she was making us breakfast. I was impeding her marvelous cooking and a part of me felt bad for it. Moments later none of that mattered, for Monique had intelligibly brought me over the edge, and I climaxed. I screamed her name so loudly that the neighbors were sure bound to hear it, especially given the fact that our windows were, at the time, open.
I allowed my frame to essentially collapse into her arms and she held me there, kissing my neck as I came down from that seemingly intangible high which had been described as heaven and nirvana. Honestly, I did not know what to refer it as. I suppose I could have called it either of those things, but I did not truly have the desire to use words which would not remotely begin to explain the feeling Monique gave me. I felt her hands soothingly rubbing my back with her hands. It was so relaxing and pleasurable. I hummed contently as she did this.
"Breakfast." I fragmented.
"I know, baby. I am aware that I was cooking breakfast." She replied, moving away from me oh so slowly. "I was almost finished anyway."
I smiled to Monique as she brushed some of my hair from my face.
"Why don't you go shower while I finish up the food?" She asked, winking.
She kissed me shortly and sweetly before I went off to the bathroom upstairs to shower. A while later I came back downstairs to see the dining table set up in such an elegant manner that it surprised me. Monique always had this way about her, and it made her make meals as though they were being served at a five star restaurant. It was a quality in her that I loved dearly. She was such a great cook, and she would tell me the same… but to me, she was much better. As I sit down at the table, lingering thoughts coming to the forefront.
In the back of my mind a part of me had always feared something. I had this fear of our relationship becoming known by the others in the neighborhood. What would they think? I am aware that it is no longer the seventies but I cannot help but fear being judged and even ostracized for our lifestyle. I did not realize just how outrageous and ludicrous my fears and anxiety were.