Erotica Feature of the Month: Watching Her Turn Bi by Shawna Cummings

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As I posted before the end of last year, we here at AIPdaily will be sharing a bit of erotica each month. For our first entry we have chosen Shawna Cummings latest release Watching Her Turn Bi:

18-year-old Jenni Jenson’s world is torn apart when her best friend and longtime crush Lindsay Pearson reveals that she’s secretly dating a girl from a nearby town. Forced to move on, Jenni finds the cure for a broken heart in the most unexpected places. She is placed squarely on a path of experimentation that leads to seduction, as well as a deep connection with a classmate she had overlooked. What Jenni doesn’t expect is where this path will lead her next.

I knew that I wanted her from the start. From the day she moved in next door, I had wanted Lindsay Jean Pearson, and I knew that if I could get her, I’d have to do something rather drastic to achieve my ends.

I would have to turn her bisexual.

And now, the first chapter, enjoy.


My intentions were to get this voluptuous, alabaster-skinned red head between my thighs so I could ride her tongue whenever possible. It was a thought that led to wonderful masturbation sessions, and tremendous self-inflicted orgasms.

What it turned into was a pang of jealousy on my part, an emotion I quickly got over, and instead turned it into curiosity for my own sexuality.

At the beginning, I wanted Lindsay all to myself. I, too, was bisexual, but there was something about teenage boys, even at 18 or 19 years old, that turned me off to them. They didn’t have everything together, they were generally bad at sex unless they had a python in their shorts, and they would finish too soon, leaving me unsatisfied.
In short, they were mainly useless to me.

Girls, on the other hand… being with another young woman like myself was a rush of adrenaline like no other. The somewhat taboo nature of it in a Puritanical society always had my heart racing, and my excitement at kissing another girl and touching her bare breasts — hell, touching them over their bra, too — made my nipples hard.

If that made me a teenage lesbian by some fucked-up code of ethics, sure. Call me that.
And Lindsay, well, her existence in my life made me have incredible fantasies involving her and I. And I don’t remember exactly when I started seeing her in a sexual light — watching her get naked in the locker room after gym might have had something to do with it, but I didn’t act on it publicly; privately, I couldn’t wait to get home and whip off my kilt so I could get my fingers at my clit — but I knew I wanted her. Maybe it was the way she had two buttons undone on her blouse instead of the traditional one that seduced me. Or it could have been the fragrant, fruity body wash she used that ensnared my nasal cavities.
The problem was that she was too into boys and didn’t really have any thoughts about being with the same sex — at least that’s how it was when we met. She was a transfer student in our sophomore year, and we became fast friends. Our bedrooms were adjacent to each other, across the driveway. We had sleepovers, but we’d only see each other in our bras and panties for a brief moment as we pulled on pajama pants and t-shirts; we’d both slip our arms back into our respective shirts and whip our bras off.

I never told her, but I always felt a jolt in my pussy whenever we did it at the same time. As the night went on, we’d talk about boys we wanted to catch getting changed in their locker room and what we’d do with them should we catch them bottomless, and Lindsay would always turn a neat shade of scarlet. Unfortunately, we never practicing kissing; that was something I had out-grown.

Yet after seeing her changing in the locker room earlier this year, I grew attracted to her sexually on a deeper level. I yearned to see her naked — and I did, on more than one occasion, and not just in the school changing room. On the night where this tale begins, she had said she was going to shower, and I wished her good night. I told her I was going to bed so I could wake up refreshed for tomorrow’s test. But once I turned the light out, my heart belted out a staccato rhythm. I trembled and nodded, my decision made.
I didn’t go to bed.

Instead, I hid behind it, on my knees, an innocent voyeur waiting for her to return. And other than a pair of cotton panties and the thin t-shirt that I wore, I wasn’t interested in clothes as I watched Lindsay walk back into her room 20 minutes later. She looked across the gap to see if I was sleeping, and I saw a light grin trace the space under her nose — before she dropped her towel and just stood there, her body damp.

And for some reason, she wasn’t in a hurry to put on clothes. The seconds ticked by almost in agony, and she remained nude, seemingly staring across the way toward my sleeping self.

My jaw dropped all but a few millimeters as I watched her bring her fingertips to the inside of her teardrop-shaped breast. I wanted to gasp, but I held it in. My window was closed, and so was hers, but I didn’t want anything, not even a brief exhalation, to take away from the vision that was her beautiful nakedness.

Instead, I felt my hand drop to the front of my panties as I looked across the way, admiring her perfect breasts and — when she finally spun to face her dresser — that cute tush. Pleasure tore through me as I brushed my clit through the cotton. It was a minor touch, but it felt like more.

I felt glad for being at home, where I could masturbate to this 18-year-old goddess without fear of reprisals from other students — even though it was an open secret at our school that many of the girls were having intimate relationships with other classmates. One girl who shall remain nameless had teased all the boys that we spent most of our shower period making out and going down on each other, so horny we were after seeing their sweaty man selves bust their asses playing basketball, lacrosse, and floor hockey; the looks on their faces and the growing bulges in their slacks, even though they amounted to only a few extra inches in some cases, told the tale that they were incredibly gullible. And sure, there were the occasional game of grab-ass in the shower, but to openly stare and touch oneself was frowned upon. Heavily, heavily frowned upon.

But here, in the darkness of my bedroom, there was only my fingers and my pussy, no stares, as well as the graze of cloth against my nipples… well, until I decided to remove that garment and let the air lick at my chest.

Still kneeling, I touched myself gently through my panties as I watched her bend over and grab the towel again. Lindsay started to dry herself off, first letting the towel rub along her chest. I wondered, all as I pulled the gusset of my briefs aside and allowed skin to skin contact to bring another thrill rippling through me, just how soft the towel was against her. She had kept it against her for several long moments, including a few where she rubbed it against her light pink aureolas, her nipples growing erect.

That time, I couldn’t help my moan. It was involuntary as could be. Thankfully, I caught it before it let anyone in my house know that I was diddling myself to my friend.
“Goddess,” I whispered to her, my tongue flicking out as if trying to reach Lindsay’s gorgeous breasts. “Such a goddess.”

I moved my knees apart and shoved my panties down to mid thigh. I didn’t care that the extra space would stretch the material to the point of tearing; if it tore, so what? I had envisioned someone — anyone, either gender — ripping my panties off me during one of my masturbation sessions before now, and it wouldn’t be the first time that I had torn them. I used a little more digital force as I leaned against the bed, careful not to let my face show in the light that splayed out from her room to mine, as my fingers swept north and south along my labia.

Lindsay swung the towel around and dried her back, pulling it back and forth until she reached her rear end. She shoved it up and down, bending over, her ass toward me, as she dried the back of her legs.

Then, she pulled the towel between her legs, still bent over, and dragged it slowly against her sex.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “To be a damp bath towel right now.”

She had taken a few extra seconds, but stopped the drying and dropped the towel, then walked out of the window’s view. I cursed to myself, then watched as the light in her room dimmed from bright to a soft, golden hue. Still, it was enough to see her; she had done that a lot during our sleepovers at her house, and always had a flutter in my chest as I saw her smile in that same light.

Lindsay returned, rolling her desk chair over and positioning it to face me, then sitting down. I still saw her framed in the light, and I watched with trepidation growing in my chest as she spread her legs.

I stared as she let her fingers waltz along her pussy, freshly shaved down to nothing, her middle finger circling her clit, down, up, and around again.

I matched her stroke for stroke, keeping my eyes on her hand — wishing I could somehow get over there and do that for her. I glanced up at her face; her eyes were closed, her lips parted as she touched herself.

Without a doubt, I wanted to be in her room, kneeling how I was now, albeit right in front of her, licking her until she couldn’t take it any longer. I hoped that would happen. I desperately wanted to taste her.

Again, I flicked my tongue out and instantly tasted my arousal on the air.
I kept my eyes on her, and I observed her change her course of action; instead of teasing her clit, it was a long stroke of her pussy, much like I had done while watching her dry off. Now, she was in the process of making us both wetter.

I couldn’t help it; I had to slip a finger inside. I craved it, desired it, and by all means needed to feel it slide in. Of course, I imagined it was her behind me, digitally penetrating my pussy, first with one finger, then with another, all while leaning over me, and whispering steamy words with her hot breath in my ear.

“Go-od,” I whispered as I shivered at the thought. “Yes, Lindsay. I’ll do anything you ask. Please, touch me.”

The squishes of my horniness rose and filled the room as I felt for my g-spot, and I brought my left hand to my clit to keep the stimulation up. I felt the rough area at the roof of my pussy, and as my bare ass jutted out almost like I wanted to twerk, I bit into my comforter as my body grew enflamed with my growing orgasm.

Need to hold on, I thought. Need to wait for Lindsay to cum. Need to see her—
Lindsay then shoved two fingers inside of herself, stopping only to adjust her bum on the chair, bringing herself to the edge of the seat.

“That’s the stuff,” I growled, all as I slid a second finger into my own juicy haven. I had them both in all the way to my knuckles, the width of my virginity-taker’s pathetic penis, but not the depth — I was certainly deeper — nor the girth of even my vibrator. I felt half full, but I wasn’t about to add a third.

At least not unless she did.

Lindsay increased her tempo, and so did I. I plunged in and out as I watched her, my wrist bending to get those two fingers as deep as they could. I added a second finger to manipulating my clit, and I breathed deep as the pressure built inside of me.
I knew I would need a release soon, and that it would be incredible — one of the best I had ever had.

My breathing turned ragged as I watched her groin hump the air. She reached up and grabbed her lovely left breast, taking her nipple between her thumb and forefinger and twisting it gently. Then without warning to me, she threw her head back, her lips open wider as her orgasm took hold.

Mine wasn’t too far behind. I redoubled my efforts and felt the passion explode, my fingers sodden with my own familiar feelings. I kept jilling myself until the feeling passed, bringing my fingers to my mouth. I licked them like they were twin cocks, savoring the taste of myself even as I looked across the way.

Lindsay still sat there, her legs open, her fingers still rubbing herself as she smiled wickedly. I kept my eyes on her open pussy for a few minutes longer, before she stood and kicked her chair to the side. She turned to her dresser, giving me another good look at her perfect posterior as she slid open a drawer; she pulled out a pair of pink panties and proceeded to put them on, before she walked out of view.

Her light went out a few rapid heartbeats later, and I presumed it was time for her to hit the sack.

With her room dark and not sending any light my way, I finally stood, my panties falling down my legs to my ankles. I didn’t make a move to pull them up, nor did I reach for anything to clean myself.

I slipped my t-shirt off and slid into bed, content with the joined orgasm.
Yet even as I fell asleep, I wondered the why’s of Lindsay’s actions. She could have easily played with herself in her own bed, so why did she jill off in front of a window? Was it intended for me, even though I told her I was sleeping? Did she do this knowing that I was asleep? And what is her end game here?

I finally drifted off, but not before the seared memory of her masturbation brought me to a second fulfilling climax.


As I pulled my navy blue thigh highs up my legs to get ready for school the next morning, I thought about those questions and wondered if I should approach her about them and what I saw last night. I’m generally a direct person, and I naturally wanted answers to the whys: jilling off in front of an open window wasn’t usual behavior for anyone.

However, better judgment prevailed, all as I fastened the buttons on my blouse and kilt: if I approached her in my usual direct manner and tell her that I knew what she did, I could scare her off and the next time I saw her naked would be a quarter to never. Or I could be passive about it and let the impromptu show go, not letting on that I saw her, which could open the door to more “shows” in the future — maybe even tonight, for that matter.

I decided that I didn’t want to let her know. I didn’t want to lose her friendship, nor did I want to lose my voyeur time.

Even so, I felt the repetitive thundering of my heart against my ribcage of being in close proximity to her when we rode in the backseat of her mom’s car a few minutes later. Lindsay, as always, looked radiant, but there was a glow to her this morning. Maybe it was the orgasm? Maybe she used a new moisturizer that she hadn’t told me about?
Then she passed me a note as we drew closer to school, her mom’s eyes on the road and not the rear view mirror.

I looked at Lindsey quizzically, but she mouthed, “Open it!”

So I did.

It read:

I have something to tell you, something that may freak you out. Meet me in the locker room before our study hall.

I saw the X’s and O’s and didn’t think anything of it. She always signed her notes with X’s and O’x, like my grandmother did with Christmas and birthday cards. Then I saw the P.S.: I hope it doesn’t freak you out; you’re my best friend and I need to tell someone or else I’m going to burst!

I nodded to her, agreeing to meet her. Luckily, study hall was our first period today, so it wouldn’t be long before she told me what was up. She looked nervous slightly, as if she feared my reaction to what she had to say. Of course, the whole “freak out” part of her note was a clue, too.

We remained silent for the rest of the ride, all of two additional minutes. We generally stayed silent in the car anyway, fearful of saying anything that would make Mrs. Pearson, you know, freak out.

When we arrived, Lindsay said good bye to her mother, and I thank her for the ride before we both got out and headed inside.

“Do you want to go—?”

“Yes,” I said breathlessly. “I’m eager to hear this. You have me curious.”

We walked almost in step to the girls’ locker room. We didn’t even stop at our lockers to store the books we didn’t need until later. No passing Go. No collecting $200. Just a straight line, together, to the locker room.

Luckily, no one was there.

“What’s up, Linds?” I said, putting my book bag down and facing her.

“OK,” she said. “I have something to tell you, and you have to keep it a secret. You can’t tell a soul, not even God.”

I gave her a wry smile.

“You think I’d betray your confidence, even here while wearing our school uniform?”
She showed teeth, but I saw her blushing. Gosh, she was so cute when she grew embarrassed!

Lindsay stuck the tip of tongue between her lips for the briefest of moments, taking a deep breath. She then crossed her arms in front of her, her hands clasped together down in front of her kilt, almost shyly.

“I have a confession to make,” she said, and I felt the intensity of the moment grow. My heart, not idle, kickstarted as the anticipation stretched. “You know how we have been talking recently about me exploring my sexuality?”

I nodded. If it was possible for my heart to race faster, it would do so. It was hard to forget our conversations. I had, at times, brought up the fact that everyone should delve into their sexuality, see what could potentially make them tick — or grow aroused. I am of the opinion that every woman should try another woman at least once in their lives, and to do it in their latter teen years, which was where Lindsay and I were right now. Why wait for college?

I am also of the belief that men should be more open to trying the same sex, too, and that women should peg their men to keep them in line, but that’s another story.

When I had broached sexuality with Lindsay, especially with another woman, it looked like she was repulsed by the idea. I remember — and quite vividly, too — how her eyebrows had collided when I brought it up. Yet as I think about it now, as I showed her a few videos online of young nymphs with the tightest bodies imaginable, she did soften a bit. This was a couple of months ago, and while I didn’t go full direct on her, little by little I introduced same sex relations to her; I did show her a pair of well-built men going at it, too, and she had announced that she was incredibly turned on by it. I honestly wanted to shove my face between her legs then and there, but I didn’t want to take that risk.

I do know, however, that she took care of that itch that night while we were supposed to be sleeping.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” she continued, reaching up to run her fingers along the buttons on her blouse; again, two were open. “I’ve been masturbating to the thought, really.”
I kept a stoic face, even though I wanted to yell across to her, “I know that you’ve been masturbating, crazy girl!” I watched as she blushed furiously.

“Yes?” I croaked.

The lip lick again, and another deep breath. She starting trembling, and then she closed her eyes. That’s when I detected the start of her crying. Without a second thought, I rushed toward her and wrapped her in my arms.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” I asked as she sobbed.

“Jenni, I like girls,” she whispered.

Joy surged through my body as I took in every word — fuck, every syllable — and processed them. Success! My neighbor, my sexy, delectable — dare I say lickable; dare I say fuckable? — neighbor had made her confession, and it excited me to my core, right down to the gusset of my panties. Part of me wanted to push her against a locker and grope her, press my lips to hers, grind her crotch against my thigh — in short, give her that initial girl-girl contact that she needed, the contact I craved.

Instead, I just opened my arms and held her as soon as she fell in. I held her and comforted her, running my hands up and down her back; I felt a smile come to my lips as my fingertips found her bra strap. She had told me her deepest secret, and I couldn’t take advantage of her in that way. Not while she was crying. Not while she was pouring her heart out to me. Not even with drenched panties urging me to do it.

At least not right now. I had scruples, and I had hormones. I was at least cognizant of them, and I knew how to separate my smarts and my lusts. It’s what I told myself to get me through my days.

“Lindsay, it’s okay,” I whispered back to her. “It’s okay. It’s natural, and it’s something beautiful.”

“I know,” she said through her tears. “I’m just… scared, that’s all.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” I reassured her.

“What if someone catches me and a girl?”

I couldn’t hold in my chuckle.

“Depends on who it is, right? If it’s some old person, they’ll scoff and bitch and moan. Not a good moan, though.”

Lindsay laughed into my neck. Gosh, she smelled good. I had to ignore the fruity scents at first, but now, I found it intoxicating. I had grown punch drunk, but remained strong for her — for my best friend.

“If it’s a younger person, like us, they’ll probably want to join in after watching for a while.”
Another laugh. I wanted to make her laugh some more. Make her laugh, then kiss her tenderly and tell her everything would be fine.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“I know, right?” I pulled away a little and looked her in the eye. “That’s like my biggest fantasy of all time. Hot group sex between like-minded individuals.” I had to plant the seed. “Of either gender.”

She smiled sheepishly, but it was a cute sheepish.

“That doesn’t sound so bad at all.”

I smiled and shook my head.

“It doesn’t, does it?” I hesitated, but then let the question roll. “So, you’ll have to tell me what was it that put you on this path to depredation later, when we don’t have classes interrupting us. But have you given any thought on with whom you’d like to be your first?”
She pursed her lips a little, then nodded.

“I don’t think you know her,” Lindsay said. Her grin had that puppy love silliness that had afflicted everyone at some point in their adolescence. “Her name is Christina. Christina Sampson, from Hillsgrove.”

Stunned, I forced myself to smile. I didn’t blink. I just kept staring as she kept talking.
“She is a rather cute blonde. I met her last weekend at the cross country meet, and we just hit it off,” she continued. “She has, I don’t know how to say it, this power over me. We’ve been texting over the last week plus… and sexting.” She licked her lips again and moved closer to me, as if wanting to share a secret. “Last night, we video chatted after my shower, and she had me touch myself for her.”

My lips parted just as the knowledge of why she masturbated in view of the window and my bedroom hit me. I wanted to stagger and sit down, but I needed to stay upright. I didn’t want to cause her any concern for me, even though my heart had just shattered.
Fuck, I thought. The masturbation wasn’t intended for me, or for my eyes.
After a few beats, I found my voice.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yeah,” she said, the beaming-yet-bashful smile back. “I did. She made me orgasm for her. Do you want to see her? I have a few pics of her on my phone.”

“S-Sure,” I said.

Lindsay whipped her phone out and manipulated the touch screen, then turned it all proud toward me. On it was a picture of a cute blonde. She had long hair past her shoulders, blue eyes, and a cute smile. The total package.

“Very cute,” I added, subliminally clamping my thighs shut as I thought of my gorgeous best friend making out with her, or going even further than just fighting with their tongues.
Lindsay turned the phone back to her, this time grinning mischievously.

“Want to see something else?”

Having an idea of what it was, and with my heart resuming that quick thump of anticipation at the potential of seeing a fellow teenage girl naked, I nodded.

Lindsay flicked her finger across the screen, then turned it back to me.

“Well, hello breasts,” I said.

“About my size,” Lindsay commented.

“That big, huh? You’re going to have fun with them. Kissing them, nuzzling them.”

“Jenni, stop.” She smiled and blushed. “You’re going to make me wet. I didn’t bring another pair of panties!”

“Emergency panties are the story of my life, girl. And I think I’m wet enough for the both of us.”

“Then I shouldn’t show you her pussy, I guess.”

She was such a tease, but I couldn’t turn that offer down.

“Well,” I said, trying to act all innocent and happy, “since you twisted my arm, I might as well.” I smiled.


“Tasty, I bet. Nice and hairless. Waxed, it looks,” I said. “And she’s seen yours, huh?”
Lindsay nodded.

“Last night. First time I’ve shown myself to anyone.”

“And like with what led you down this road, we’ll have to discuss that later. We have to go to study hall,” I declared.

“Oh fuck, that’s right. I have some homework to finish.”

Which you would have done last night if you weren’t playing with yourself, I thought as we

left and headed down the hall.

Just outside of study hall, I swore.

“Tell Granger that I’ll be late,” I said. “I forgot something at my locker.”
Lindsay blinked.

“Oh… okay. Will do. Hurry back. I have more pictures to show you, too.”

“Cool. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

She entered the study hall. I turned and headed back the way we came, not too fast, not too slow, my Mary Janes clipping the floor — but I bypassed my locker completely.
Instead, I hurried into the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty. I entered a stall, closed the door, and twisted my wrist to lock it. I reached under my kilt and yanked my panties to my knees, then sat down.

I didn’t have to command my hand to move toward my crotch; it moved of its own volition, and within moments of making contact, I groaned, begging for release. I felt my juices covering my fingers, the aroma of my arousal apparent to anyone who came in. I played with my pussy, thinking of everything Lindsay had said in so short a time about Christina. I had burned the photos of the blonde into my mind, and I thought of what I had told my best friend would do with her. I replayed every act that I wanted to see Lindsay do, making out with Christina, sucking her nipples, fooling around harder, and it further fueled my play — until I burst a few moments later. I shook. I trembled.

I cried.

My orgasm had arrived, and I flooded my palm with thoughts of a naked Lindsay performing for her last night.

My tears, too, had arrived at the same time.

“She doesn’t want me,” I sobbed, covering my eyes with both hands. “She doesn’t want me.”


And there is, the first chapter of Watch Her Turn Bi. If you like what you have read so far and would like to read the rest, you can do so by following the links below. Thanks for reading:

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