Your Questions Answered
2003-01-08 - 3:27 p.m.

I say that I knew the moment that I laid eyes on her that she'd be the one to answer my questions. Not that it was premeditated. It hadn't crossed my mind once in the time it had taken me to get ready to go out. Not when I pulled on my clothes, or when I straightened my hair, nor when I stared into my own shadowed eyes as I made up my face with the ease born of long practice. But maybe something buried in my genetic code recognized that she would be the trigger, the catalyst, the marker.

Though I was deep in conversation with a group of male friends when she arrived, I paused mid sentence and looked. No, stared. I had never really stared at a girl before, unless it was to admire one of her many elements as opposed to the entire package but never let it be said that I do anything in half measures. The obviously unnatural tint of her streaked black and ash blonde hair pulled into stiff, short pigtails made me smirk. Her dark, bold makeup was skillfully applied and her elfin, pretty face had settled into an expression of ultimate boredom/cynicism. I couldn't quite tell which. Her punkish clothes and ridiculously high heeled boots only emphasized her diminuitive stature and tiny, fragile frame.. while the exaggerated size of her breasts was reminiscent of the Barbie dolls I was fascinated by as a child. They gave me a deep ripple of feeling that was decidedly adult.

Her outrageously whorish appearance thrilled me and I wanted to push my away across to her and touch her to make sure that she was real. She stared back across the bar for long enough that I felt my cheeks flush hotly, before she turned back to the tall, coffee skinned boy she'd arrived with.

But the seed was already planted in my mind, and seventeen minutes was all it took for me to turn the corner and plunge headlong into a series of firsts. I made my way to the bar, all the while casually glancing her way and every single time she was waiting for me. I was about to order my drink when her New York directness cut me off. Stopped me in my tracks.

"What do you want?" She asked. Her dark green eyes made my skin burn.

"Excuse me?" The second I heard the defensive note in my voice I cursed silently.

"To drink." She clarified, her lips twisting sardonically. I wanted to kiss the plasticky looking lipgloss off her full mouth. When I saw her lips curve into a wolfish smile, I knew I'd been caught.

"Toasted almond, please." I was slow to catch on, but she leaned past me, asked for something I couldn't quite make out and turned back to me, suddenly so close that I could smell the gum she'd been chewing after the cigarette she'd smoked earlier. Even though her mascara was thick and clumpy her eyes were still beautiful, glittering like diamonds. Hard. Later I'd look back on it and try to remember exactly who took whose hand, but I have perfect recall of the small bones of her fingers wrapped around mine and the light scratch of her acrylic nails. I'd say she led me outside but I was in more of a hurry than she was and I didn't even know where we were going. I didn't care that I hadn't gotten my drink or that my friends were waiting for me, probably wondering where the hell I was going.

I couldn't have imagined that it would be the way that it happened. There was none of the imagined awkwardness. I started to say something that I probably thought was important and then she was upon me. Her small, soft mouth was cleverer and somehow took possession of me more effortlessly than any boy or man could have. I instantly adored the familiar similarity of it, her delicacy and how knowing her hands were. None of the testing touches of larger, heavier fingers. I remember being amazed by her ardor, how she pressed her whole body into mine. Even though she was only a few inches shorter than me, I was so used to those bigger bodies, wider chests, narrower hips..Her tiny fragility made me want to worship her, although I reminded myself that this was a one time only deal. Still, the difference was utterly delicious and so intoxicating that my knees weakened.

But I have never been good at playing passive, and before long the shivers that ran up my spine and along my limbs made my breath less even and my hands far bolder than my controlled self would ever have allowed them to be. I tried to lift the firm, solid weight of her breasts in my hands but their heavy bounty overflowed my palms. Their artifice seduced instead of repulsed me and I cannot say why. Perhaps it was the marked contrasts between us. Her body was so alike and yet so unlike my own and I adored each inch of new territory I discovered. I kept expecting her to pull back or stop me, but she never did. She just kept arching her body against mine in a sinuous motion that made me wonder if all girls moved this way, or just this one. Me, so appreciative of my own femininity.

I can't recall lifting her shirt, but the velvet-raspberry texture of her hard round nipple nudging against my lips is burnt into my brain. I licked her tightly drawn flesh once, experimentally, distantly registering the exaggerated softness and perfume of her skin, the residue of a body lotion I'd once used myself. Some instinct in me took over, and I became the consummate seductress. Everything I'd ever craved from my lovers, I poured into every tug of my mouth, every flick of my tongue, each pinch of my fingers. I was rewarded by her gasps and those fake fingernails digging into my scalp. I've always had a high pain threshold, always had to push my luck.

I had to fight back a smile of acknowledgement as my fingers rasped over the lace of her thong. I owned the very same underwear, somewhere amongst the jumbled mess on my bedroom floor. And then I reached underneath to her heat, my fingers trembling with unbearable excitement. Her slick humidity undid me. It struck me that we girls have the advantage over each other, knowing our own anatomy as well as we do. It had an odd parallel to when I taught myself to play the guitar; I learned to vary the pressure that I used with my fingers and the rhythm according to the sounds I wanted to evoke. Same, same. I found the prominent, swollen bud of her clitoris and it's pronounced stem and rubbed delicately, insistently, listening, her wetness making each glide more intense than the last. Her cries and the changes in breathing gave her away, and I was more wrapped up in the changes in her expression and the pitch of her moans than I was by the ache in my own cunt.

Her orgasm eclipsed the thick black tattoos and strangely colored makeup. The way that the dim moonlight fell on her upturned face and arched neck made her utterly beautiful to me, could have sold me anything in those slow seconds. When the moment faded and her eyes opened, fixed intently on me, we were equal, as if I'd proved something, although my mind was too busy with the new equations, endless possibilities. Fingers that were still soaked with her juices smoothed the wrinkles out of my white Lauren shirt. It was the last thing on my mind as we strolled back to the fire exit hand in hand, and the random first thing on my mind when I woke the next morning.

written for SexyCollab

before - after