“They’re sluts,” Anya’s voice interrupted as though she could read Adrienne’s wistful thoughts towards the cheerleaders.
“Maybe I’m one too,” she replied hotly.
“How can you be a slut when you’ve never slept with anyone? You’ve never even kissed a guy,” came Anya’s puzzled reply.
Adrienne considered this, crimson creeping up into her cheeks. She had just turned eighteen, was about to graduate high school, and had never been kissed, let alone had sex. But that didn’t mean she didn’t really want to. Every night she put herself to bed by playing in her mind what her first time would be like. Each time she pictured Allan, his strong, solid arms, his wavy, haphazard hair, his cocky smile. She pictured him as he excelled at everything—basketball, football, track. Her mind saw him sauntering to the sidelines after another athletic victory and instead of picking up his gorgeous cheerleader girlfriend Cindy and lifting her into the air, it would be Adrienne. He would wrap his sweaty arms around her, and then ...This is where the fantasy would vary. Last night she’d imagined that they’d be up all night on the outdoor bleachers, talking until everyone else disappeared, and then it would start to pour. The sky would open up, and they’d run for the doors to the school only to find that they’d been locked out. Already getting soaked, they’d decide to wait out the storm under the bleachers. Their clothes would be wet, and not wanting to get sick before the next big game, Allan would peel off his shirt. . .Adrienne would try to look away, wring out her chestnut hair and lower her long lashes, but he would know what she was thinking because it would be what he was thinking too. And he would move towards her, kiss her roughly on the mouth, and then. . .
This is where Adrienne would slide her hands up under the t-shirt she slept in and run them over her breasts—softly, at first, the way she imagined Aaron would the first time he explored her, and then more urgently. She’d squeeze her nipples and then grab her breasts hard, and her hands would find their way down to the only recently discovered hot spot between her legs. Once it was there, she usually stroked for awhile, until her breathing quickened and, frightened of what would happen next, she would stop.
“How can you be a slut if you’ve never had sex?”
“Anya, if I had the chance, you have no idea . . .,” she muttered unabashedly. Anya was her best friend. She could say almost anything to her.
Later that night at Anya’s house the girls lay side by side on the living room floor watching a sex scene. Adrienne’s pulse quickened as she watched the man and woman’s naked bodies writhing on the screen. She could only see the man’s back, but she could see the woman’s enormous, round breasts and wondered if it was possible that there really were women that well-endowed. She picked up the remote and pressed pause.
“What gives?” demanded Anya. “I was into that.”
“You were?” Adrienne asked, surprised. “Did it . . . turn you on?”
“Sure, a little,” she replied, embarrassed. “You’re not the only one who thinks about sex, you know.”
“I was just wondering if her boobs are real.”
“I dunno,” she answered, looking down at her own perky but small breasts. “Mine sure aren’t like that.”
“What are yours like?,” Adrienne implored with cautious urgency.
“I’ll show you mind if you show me yours.” This said with a tease.
Adrienne called her bluff and pulled up her t-shirt, unhooking her bra with her free hand. She wiggled out of the white cotton undergarment with the little pink bow in the centre, and looked at her friend expectantly.
“Well? Show me yours.” She gave a funny little wink. She noticed that Anya was biting her lip, a weird expression on her face. “Oh, were you kidding?” she flushed, embarrassed, placing one hand over her exposed breasts and reaching for her bra with the other.
“No, I guess I wasn’t,” Anya replied slowly. And then, “A deal’s a deal.” She pulled her snug black top up over her head and, depositing it neatly beside her, reached around to try and unhook her bra. After several seconds of struggle, Adrienne mercifully reached over and unclasped it with one hand.
Anya’s red hair shimmied in the light as she jumped up and gasped, revealing her perfect round breasts and her beautiful pink nipples, which she noticed with fascination, were now erect. “I like yours better,” said the redhead objectively, looking from Adrienne’s chest to her own.
“Yours are like the woman’s in the movie!” bemoaned the other girl. “They’re perfect! You have porn-star boobs! Mine are weird!”
“Yours are not weird. I love how they’re freckled. It’s really. . .”
“I was going to say ‘hot’.”
Adrienne blushed when she realized her nipples were now as hard as her friend’s. She quickly shrugged back into her shirt and took the movie off pause. Anya kept looking at her, and then slowly replaced her own shirt.
Later that night, as Adrienne pushed her fingers into the wetness between her legs and thought about Aaron, she heard a shushing sound. She stilled as she felt intimately familiar movements on the other side of the bed where her friend, who she’d thought was sleeping, was obviously awake. She heard Anya’s breathing, as well as the pace of the shushing sound increase, followed by a sweet little sigh that sounded as though it was releasing all the tension in the world. What just happened here, she wondered, noticing that the spot where she was sleeping was much damper than it usually was after her nightly ritual. Then she couldn’t help it—she plunged her fingers deep inside herself and did what she’d never allowed herself to do before. She came.
Adrienne couldn’t stop thinking about the night she’d spent at Anya’s. She’d learned in Sex-Ed that everyone masturbates—but when the topic was opened for discussion, the general consensus had been that it was gross, and obviously something only guys did. She had clammed up during the discussion; afraid that anything she said—even if she agreed that it was gross—would betray the fact that this was something she did—often. It both relieved and fascinated her that her best friend did the same thing. Then again, they were best friends for a reason. They were kindred. She wondered if this accounted for the growing heat she felt whenever she thought about Anya, her recent inability to take her eyes off her. It had been weeks since the sleepover, and the feelings hadn’t waned. She’d tried to orgasm every night since then. It was like a quest, trying to find that one spot that made her buck, and that pushed her over the edge, but it seemed like last time had been a fluke. She could go on and on until the pleasure made her dizzy, but her body wouldn’t let her release. She knew what she had to do, but the idea made all sorts of unwelcome thoughts crowd her mind. Thoughts about who she was, who she wanted to be, what she was. It was confusing—in fact, it felt like the only two settings on her mind and body lately were confused and horny. She laughed, wondering if that email address was taken: Confusedandhorny@slutmail.com. She picked up the hot pink cell charging on her bedside table and drew a deep breath before pressing speed dial number one.
“Adrienne, hi!” Anya was happy that her friend had called and asked to come over. She held her arms open for a hug and Adrienne gratefully accepted. “I’ve missed you the past couple of weeks. Where’ve you been hiding?”
“I was just in a mood. I needed time to myself, you know how I get.”
“Hmm. Remember when you said being with me was like being alone?”
She remembered. It wasn’t the insult most people would have taken it to be. Adrienne had always been more comfortable spending time on her own. She enjoyed solitude, and didn’t have patience to be around people 24/7. Within weeks of their meeting, Anya had been the only one she could spend a whole day with without having to retreat into herself for awhile. When she said being with Anya was like being alone, she meant she made her totally comfortable. She would never tire of her.
“I remember saying that, and it’s still true. The problem is that when I’m alone I talk to myself, and I was thinking things I wasn’t sure I wanted to blurt out just yet.”
“Care to let me in on the secret?”
“Maybe later,” Adrienne said nervously. She was either going to have to think of a non-creepy way of explaining things or a really good lie. Either would suffice at this point. “You gonna keep me on the doorstep all night? I think I saw a spider crawl into my overnight bag.”
Anya’s face froze in terror before she realized that Adrienne was kidding. “Get in here, you pain in the ass. You know how scared I am of spiders!” she scolded laughingly.
“I know,” said Adrienne. “I know everything about you.”
“And I know everything about you, with the exception of what’s been bugging you the past few weeks. But I’ll pull it out of you.”
“Oh? And how will you do that?” Adrienne asked, following Anya into the empty kitchen.
“The ‘rents are out of town again, and they left a lot of liquor. You babble like a brook when you’re drunk.”
“You’re going to get me drunk?”
“But of course.”
“Then beware, I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” Adrienne replied mysteriously. She hoped she sounded like she was joking, because she really wasn’t.
“Andi. . .Andi, I love you,” Anya blubbered, almost a whole bottle of champagne in her system.
“I love you toooo. . .,” the other girl gushed, reaching for her rum and coke and knocking over a vase in the process. “Oh no! Don’t be mad Anya, k? Do you still love me?”
“Of course I love you. You’re my favourite. C’mere.”
“Come here!” Anya’s arms were open again, and Adrienne slid off the couch where she was sitting and joined her friend on the floor, burying her face into her shoulder. Anya fell back, and Adrienne closed her eyes. She thought this might be as good a moment as any to let Anya know the things she’d been thinking, but she was just so comfortable . . . and so sleepy. She didn’t want Anya to jump up and start pacing the way she did when she was nervous. She didn’t want to have a long, drawn out conversation about their friendship. She wanted things to stay easy, the way they’d always been. She nestled up closer to her friend and sighed a contented sigh.
They were still like that the next morning when they woke up. Adrienne’s head was pounding. She gently removed Anya’s arm and stood, her body weighing like lead, trying to muster up the motivation to hunt for coffee. It was only once the coffee was brewing and she had popped two aspirin that she remembered what had—or rather, hadn’t—happened last night. She was relieved and disappointed at the same time. She wanted Anya to know about her feelings, but she didn’t want to lose her. She was fairly sure that Anya would continue to love her no matter what she said or did, but she was terrified of changing their relationship. What if it just got too awkward? And anyway, she reasoned, I don’t even know what I want to say to her. Shouldn’t I know that before I start blabbing incoherently about feelings and touching and boobs? She just wanted to know that her friend felt the way she did, that she was normal, that they were still kindred.
She heard Anya stirring in the other room, and got up to pour her friend a cup of coffee with chocolate hazelnut creamer, just the way she liked it. “Morning, sunshine,” she said, sauntering into the living room.
Anya was still splayed on the floor, as if getting up would kill her. She reached up and took the cup gratefully, blowing her red hair out of her eyes. “Do you have to be so loud?” she grumbled. Adrienne sat, lifted her friend’s head into her lap, and bent over to kiss her temple. “Sorry, grumpy.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes sipping their coffee, and then Anya sat up. “That’s better,” she said.
“Hey—you didn’t tell me your secret! I got you drunk and everything.”
“Yeah, about that . . . I’m not sure I’m going to tell you.”
“Respect me, Anya.”
“Fine. Whatever.” She wasn’t just being a brat. She really didn’t care to press any further. She knew Adrienne would tell her. She always did. “I’m going to shower.” She stood.
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to shower with someone.” Adrienne hoped she sounded casual.
“Well, you know how in those trashy mags they’re always telling stories of people showering together? I just wonder what the big deal is. Do you fantasize about men shampooing your hair?” She really wanted to know.
“Mostly I fantasize about someone else washing all this hair. My arms get tired.” She pushed that gorgeous red mane up on top of her head and Adrienne drew in a breath.
“Let’s take a bath,” Adrienne blurted out before she knew what she was saying.
“Um . . . like, together?”
“Sure. Your tub is huge, it’s got jets, and it’s been forever since I’ve been in anything resembling a hot tub.”
“Uhm . . .”
“We’ll put in bubble bath so we don’t see anything.”
“Will you wash my hair?” Anya agreed with a smile.
“If you wash mine.”
The bath tub was full of bubbles, and both girls were wearing towels. Adrienne turned around so that Anya could get in, forgetting that the mirror in front of her would allow her to see everything. She had seen parts of Anya’s body before, of course. Toned mid-drift at the beach, long legs during yoga class, her breasts that night that she couldn’t forget. But seeing it all at once as Anya dropped the towel made her gasp. She was beautiful. Her Ivory skin was smooth and without blemish, and Adrienne ached to touch it. She was sure it would be the softest thing she ever ran her fingers across. Anya lowered herself slowly into the tub, and Adrienne couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw her wink in the reflection in the mirror as though she knew she was watching.
“I’m in. Your turn.”
Anya closed her eyes as Adrienne sat on the side and then slid herself down into one of the grooves made for sitting. “You can open your eyes now.”
“Well, I’ve never done this before,” said Anya in her usual teasing tone.
“Is it weird for you?”
She thought about this. “Surprisingly not. It feels too wonderful to be weird. I love bubbles . . . and jets.”
“Could you imagine what your parents would think of they walked in right now?”
“Eh, they’d probably think it was nothing. Best friends and all that. If I was in here with a guy that would be another story.”
“Only if you consider getting a spanking at the age of eighteen trouble,” Anya laughed. Adrienne thought her laugh was almost . . . musical. She’d always thought that. It made her self-conscious of her own laugh that bordered on grating and sometimes ended in a snort.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Anya could tell something was on Adrienne’s mind.
Instead of telling her the truth, Adrienne said “I was thinking about this article I read in Cosmo about masturbating in the bath.”
“Uh, what about it?”
“Apparently it’s a good way to figure out what you like . . . you know, sexually. They say before you have sex with a guy, you should test techniques out on yourself so you know what works for you.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got that covered,” her nose wrinkled with a half smile the way it did when she was embarrassed.
“Really!? I’ve given it a shot, out of the bathtub, but I can’t say I’ve been incredibly successful.”
“I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”
“Well, they say everyone does it. . . ‘Friction is friction,’” she said with a wicked smile.
Anya laughed that laugh again. “I love that! Friction is friction.”
“I wish I could take credit for it, but it’s actually from the book She’s Come Undone.”
“Wally Lamb, right? I’ve been meaning to read that one.”
Adrienne didn’t want this conversation to end on the subject of literature. “So . . . how did you figure it out?”
“What? The whole self-massage thing?” Adrienne liked that term better than masturbation. It sounded more normal. Leave it to Anya to make her feel comfortable when her heart was pounding in her chest and she was naked in a tub full of bubbles. Anya continued, “It’s like anything else. If at first you don’t succeed. . .”
“Try, try again,” they said together, then burst into giggles.
“You know what I’ve always wondered about, though,” said Anya. “Those girls who practice kissing on each other. I mean its fine to practice sexual technique on yourself to a certain extent, but kissing your arm doesn’t really work. It’s not like it can kiss back.”
“Haven’t you kissed a couple of guys?” Adrienne was wondering where this was going. “Yes, and it was horrible!” Anya squealed. “What do you do when someone just starts jabbing their tongue randomly into your mouth? Or when they slobber all over your face? I didn’t really feel like I was kissing, more like I was trying to protect my lips.”
“From jabbing tongues and slobber floods?”
“Exactly! I get the feeling you learn to kiss from kissing, and the people I’ve kissed had nothing to teach me,” she laughed. “We could . . . try it if you want.”
“What, practicing kissing on each other? It’s not like I know what I’m doing either.”Adrienne didn’t know why she was trying to put Anya off kissing her—wasn’t this what she’d been wanting for weeks now?
“I’ve heard it’s different with girls . . . but if you don’t want to, I—“
“No, we can.” Don’t be an idiot, Adrienne.
“Are you sure? Cause I can go back to try to learn from inept guys who try to swallow my face.”
“You’re my best friend. How could I put you through that?”
“Thank you!” She exclaimed with mock-relief.
It suddenly occurred to Adrienne that this would be her first kiss. But would it really count if it was just for educational purposes? Would it matter that it was with her best girlfriend rather than a potential boyfriend? She decided she’d wait until after the kiss to decide.
Anya inched closer until they were sitting directly opposite each other, legs crossed, knees touching. The bubbles weren’t hiding anything anymore. They stared at each other for a minute. Adrienne was nervous, but Anya’s smile disarmed her. She felt totally safe. She wondered briefly about the ethics of kissing her best friend, when Anya was clearly just experimenting and had no idea that Adrienne wanted to do a lot more than kiss, but these thoughts quickly disappeared when Anya put her hands on her face. Adrienne had no idea what to do with her hands, so she placed them gingerly on Anya’s legs and hoped her friend wouldn’t freak out. She didn’t. Before she knew what was happening, Anya’s lips were pressed lightly to hers. She thought she should open her mouth, so she did, and Anya gently kissed her top lip. Her heart was pounding like mad, and she didn’t want Anya regret her decision to practice with her so she pulled her closer as she kissed her slowly. She lowered her mouth a little and sucked on Anya’s bottom lip, which was pink and plump and as beautiful as the rest of her. Anya made a little mewing sound and Adrienne wanted to press her chest against her friend’s, against those beautiful breasts, but was afraid to do anything that might make Anya want to stop kissing her. When the sound escaped her friend’s lips again, though, she couldn’t help herself. She drew Anya to her and wrapped her legs around hers, her arms around her slim torso, running her hands up and down her impossibly smooth back. Anya’s response to this was to kiss her with more urgency, grabbing her silky brown hair and pressing her breasts harder into Adrienne’s. When they broke, they were both panting and sweaty and blushing. “I think that’s enough for today,” Anya said. Adrienne had no choice but to agree.
It was only when she was on her way home that she wondered about Anya’s use of the words “for today”. Would there be more another day? Did Anya feel the way about Adrienne as she felt about her? Adrienne didn’t think she was a lesbian—not really. She had a thing for Aaron, right? At the most, she thought she might be bisexual, but probably only bi-curious. It had less to do with liking women, and more to do with adoring Anya. She loved everything about her; it only made sense to feel affection for her in every way. She was her best friend, and the sister she never had. Of course she wanted to kiss her. She loved her. That love didn’t mean she was gay—it didn’t mean anything.
Five Years Later
Adrienne and Anya wandered through the streets of New York hand-in-hand. It was their yearly girls’ weekend together when they pushed all of the responsibilities and craziness of their lives to the backburner and pretended they were in high school again. Adrienne’s husband got a kick out of the fact that she was spending the weekend with the girl who was responsible for his wife’s first orgasm. He’d tried more than once to get the details out of her, but she always brushed him off. “We were just two little girls—you know, best friends and all that.” Today she was helping Anya pick out a Christmas gift for her girlfriend, with whom things seemed to be getting serious.
“Do you think she’s The One?” Adrienne asked as they browsed through Macy’s.
“I don’t know. I know I love her, but do you think that love can last forever?”
Adrienne didn’t reply, but as she looked at Anya’s wrinkle-nosed smile she thought, Yes it can.
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