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Chapter Nine: And Then Paris Kissed Me... (part 2)

After joking about Dave's wooing of Lane via religion to satisfy Mrs. Kim, she turned serious, and brought up that topic I thought ended last night. Tristan was back in the picture, but this time as an example of what happens when you fall out of love. I nodded as I told her I remembered that part of the night.

She then brought up Jamie, the date in Washington that turned out to be a dud. She asked me if I remembered that. Of course I did, I was in the closet thinking of you as you came back to the dorm and relieved the stress of going out with that bore, in turn turned on from that and relieving my own stress.

Paris interrupted my real answer to that question, telling me she was about to explain why it didn't work out with Jamie. My ears piqued up, and my eyes were focused on her 100%.

"Please, move over, I want to be next to you." Her voice was firm and unwavering. I couldn't turn down the opportunity to comfort a friend because she was also sounding grave and serious at the same time. I got out of my reclining position, and gave her a bit of blanket as she huddled close to me on the sofa.

"There's sort of a reason those things didn't end up working out in the end," she said, and that brought my mind to so many situations far away from her admitting her liking of me. It could be anything, bad or good. Disease names, excuses, academic fraud, they all spun around in my head as she seemed to pause for a bit.

Then the dreaded 'P' word came up in my mind, the word that brought me into the world, my mother into Stars Hollow, and a 16 year strain between her, Emily and Richard. She had never been specific about saying if she slept with Jamie before she got back; that self session might not have been about me after all.

Paris, pregnant? My mind spun with the possibility she might be confiding in me about that. It would make sense, she's Hartford society and tops in her class, just like Lorelai was at Hillside in 1984. It was also almost three months since the trip, perfect timing for her to detect a change in her body and eating habits and then use an EPT stick to confirm if everything's been shifting because of that. I don't know her cycle, nor do I care to, but with her privacy, she'd probably kept a good front hiding the fact she wasn't having her period.

She let me know to keep things in complete confidence, not a good sign with her. She seemed scared and timid, and my mind was now losing hope that she shared an interest in me. Her eyes seemed sad, and that brought the pregnant/gay/diseased reasoning ratio I built in my head to even 33% figures. She can't have a baby with that boring guy! I cried out in my mind. Worse, Sharon's gonna fucking kill her before she can even have it, and all that talk about disappointment this and that! Grandma would accept one day, but Sharon? She wouldn't even give Paris a defense before she ruined her own daughter's life forever.

Her stare was dead serious. "What's wrong hon?" I told her, shaky with my voice. I never called her hon before, and it seemed to be something reassuring at the moment.

She told me that only Fran knew; this was definitely something that was about to be earth-shattering. She thought it might be a repulsive enough confide that I might reel back and ask her to leave.

I prayed silently that it wasn't a baby, because the girl in front of me had a very bright future ahead of her that could be ruined by a lame one-night stand. I did immediately put anything aside that I'd think bad of her for it. She's my friend despite, I'd support her if anything awful ever befell her, and it would be Judas-like to turn my back on a young mother when I was the product of one myself.

She tried to get it out, but words seem to fail Paris. I wasn't going to let her get out of this without telling me, and I made a move that could either be taken as flirty or concerned. Hovering over her in an almost-hug, trying to calm her down and help her form the words, I was her friend. She was scared, I knew that, because her body felt tight against mine. I wanted her to just say the words.

Again, she relented, trying to shy out. I had to get serious with her.

"Paris," I took her hand in mine; my sexual feelings were the last thing on my mind. "I won't tell anyone, cross my heart, now say something to me. What's wrong?"

"I, I can't, it's nothing," she mumbled shakily. I told her again it was OK, just spit it out.

"Really, it's nothing." Paris was now on the cusp of some serious breaking down. "Just something small, I can take care of it myself, just don't worry about it."

I had to, it was my job as her best friend. Knowing damned well that I could be opening up a huge can of worms, angst, and friendship strain, I went with my gut. I told her I didn't care, and about how I thought she was three months into pregnancy.

She stilled beneath me, and widened her eyes so much I saw more white than dark brown showing in her sockets. Her mouth opened in shock, and before I knew it...

...my theory was thank God, dead wrong.

"WHAT?!" She was seriously incensed by my accusation, and almost made me deaf in the process. "Rory, fuck no, I'm not pregnant, and Jamie doesn't have my virginity, I'm still safety-sealed, the most he got at the end of the night was a blown kiss, that's it! Why the hell would I bed that bore of a guy, I dated him your encouragement and because he thought it was a date when I didn't want to date him! I wouldn't have fucked him even if he offered me a million dollars in a suitcase and I can say with 100% certainty he's not making a love connection with me ever again!"

I breathed a huge sigh of relief! Now it was 50/50 she was either gay or had a form of cancer. "Sorry, sorry," I quickly begged for her forgiveness. "You said it was serious and I just think the first thing that comes to mind and it seemed like baby, three months, perfect timing--"

"Rory, calm down," she soothed sternly. "I'm on the pill, and I'm of the 'love before the first time' mindset, I'm not going to pop into bed with the first warm hard cock pointed my way, I promise you. I'm sexless, but I'm safe, you can relax. I understand it may have come off like I was about to say I'm knocked up, and I'm sorry about that."

"It's OK," I told her, and then thanked God aloud that Paris wasn't carrying a love child. I again asked what she was hiding, calming her down with a soothing rub of her hand, thinking with the baby rumor out of the way, she might just tell me without complications.

She shut her eyes, and breathed in deep, trying to find those reserves to tell. She was still too scared, too hidden, going back into the iron bitchiness that kept me out before.

"Never mind," she said. "Please, just back off, you really wouldn't understand. Once you hear what I have to say you're going to stop being benevolent and finally hate me just like I wish you did the first time we met. I just can't, it's too close to my heart and nothing you'd ever understand."

Just as I thought, she was falling back into her shell, the one her mother custom made in order to keep her from feeling or confiding in anyone. It made me not only sad, but pissed at Paris, despite what I felt for her. She sees me as sheltered from real life, was what I was thinking. I was basically being told that the way I thought of things was unlike her way of thinking. She was bitter poor little rich girl, and I was happy small town girl with nothing ever bad befalling my being. She looked at Lorelai and I, and saw nothing but happiness, that my life is sunshine.

I hated to make a scene, hated to give her a reality check on my past and why exactly I ever lightened her doorstep with my presence (reverse of darkness). But I had to shake some sense into her and let her know that whatever problem she faced here, it was probably very light compared to what I had gone through in my short time living.

I had never gone off on someone like I had before; I usually was a happy person, content with everything and brushing off anything bad. But things got to me over the years, things I was too afraid to vent out with Lane or even my mom. Certainly not Grandma or Grandpa. I don't know what led up to it, if it was the stress of holding in my coming out, that we were in the house with Lorelai nowhere to be found, that I found enough trust with Paris to just go off on her and tell her that yes, I understood her one small wrenching confession perfectly.

Try finding your first house to be an 8x8 cube on the campus of the town's inn as your mother prays her meager salary will keep you alive and that you don't catch the measles or head lice from that one dirty kid in class and kill the monthly budget for the next three months. Think about yourself trying to explain to your good friend Sandra, who you befriended in ballet class that you didn't live in a house, but a building downtown above the bookstore in cramped quarters, and that your room used to be a food pantry. Then imagine the month you lose eight of the friends, which include Sandra you've kept since kindergarten and except for loyal Lane, because some uppity Republican bitch of a sex ed teacher tells you that your 27 year-old mother, whom the town admires as a role model for all the citizens, was a fucking whore for not doing the right thing and aborting you or putting you on the adoption market when she was sweet sixteen, and that you're not to be admired for having a great brain that you sweep seventh grade with all A's. You end up with a table alone at lunch after that point, a CD walkman your only companion. "Just ignore them," the principal tells you, as you have to hear the tasteless jokes about how you should be knocked up even earlier by an 8th grader, 'just to keep that family consistent'. You can't ignore it, because it's your past, something you have to live with for the rest of your life, and the school won't stop it because they're too nice or stupid to do anything about this sick teasing!

Then bring yourself into the bitter and competitive high school environment, where those same misinformed hicks get right back to work through your freshman year. They come up with worse names, and you find yourself still getting all A+ grades, but after your mother goes upstairs to bed, looking at that Chilton application, crying your eyes out and hoping the Headmaster accepts you, and soon. You already know you'll hit the same teasing once you get into Chilton, but at least they have zero tolerance for that behavior. You wish, and wish, and wish, and then when you finally get in, your mother doesn't have enough to pay for the tuition, so she has to rebuild her relationship, a strained one, with your grandparents to get that money.

That was me, telling Paris my life wasn't all rosy and perfect. She thinks 'you'll never catch up, you'll never beat me' or 'I'll make this school a living hell for you' made me quake? I've heard so much worse than that, and even on the first day with her, she was still nicer than any other girl I met in the last five years. I basically was letting seven years of anger, piss and vitriol out at her, hoping she wouldn't find me less attractive with my confession.

"I don't have paternal grandparents Paris; they regard me as nothing but a 'humiliation'." I air-quoted that slur with bitterness. "A hu-mill-i-a-tion! Yes, imagine that, I'm an embarrassment to every fucking Hayden in Hartford except my own father, they don't care about me. You think I love that? It makes me just makes me want to...you know, God, I can't say it, but you know it's not pretty. Some groups in Chilton still hate me, no matter what, and the girls are no exception, they think I steal their thunder when I'm just being quiet and studying, and keeping the passed notes to myself so that their notice they'll be blowing some guy in the closet during free period won't ever see the light of day."

Paris stayed silent, listening to me, not commenting; I would've slugged myself by now for my candidness. But I saw it in her face; she understood that in the end I'm frustrated myself with life sometimes. I have things go wrong, and though my mom might be my best friend, I still have to bottle up at times, that not everything will be taken with that 'there, there, it's OK' kind of talking. This being gay will certainly be far from an exception.

I talked more about the rejection I felt with the Puffs and their placing the blame on me dissolving their group, and then I got to the woman of the moment. By then I was at tears, but I wasn't going to rip her as much as I did everyone else.

"Then there's you." I calmed down, and took her hand as I sat back down next to her, sending the signal that she wasn't one of those people who tried to rip apart my life. "The most vexing girl I've ever had the honor to know. The first time we met in that hallway, I knew from that moment I was going to be stuck with you for the rest of my life. I just had this small inkling, and not four hours later were we already having our first fight. I tumbled into you, and ruined a project, and boy were you stubborn about me not giving you assistance. But look who was at my doorstep a mere six months later fretting about how she'd dress for her dream guy."

I was making her squirm; the intended effect, because I was going to wriggle this confession out of her. "Par, face it, you've had more opportunities than Wile E. Coyote catching the Road Runner to disassociate with me, but no matter what, you always come crawling back. One moment you're calling me Farm Girl and telling the gossip mill the gory details of my mom and Medina doing more than meeting in the classroom, and then the next there I am, the only girl you see in all of Chilton that would even out your student body presidential ticket. You get all wound up and panicked about something, and there I am, ready to keep you grounded and down to earth."

She tried to apologize for her past behavior. "I apologize if I came off as too combative Rory--"

I stopped her, before she could try to say something in her defense. "Look, I'm not mad at you, at all, I never have been. Frustrated, yes. Annoyed? Oh, the times I made jokes about your robot-like demeanor to my mom after a tough day where you pestered the dickens out of me. Angered? Only when you've gotten personal, but you know how to keep it on the line and back off once you touch it. But really, in some odd manner, you are the most sane girl in that damned school. You're not obsessed with beauty, nor do you care about impressing any guys unless they're teachers. You're there to learn, and so am I, and both of us haven't let us get our heads too clouded with that crap."

She tried to counter with logic. "You're right though, at times I'm insane, a little too much. I get a jealous streak against you and take it overboard, thus alienating you and in turn, making me feel much more guilt for putting you through all this. Sometimes, honestly, I marvel that we haven't ended up throttling one another from our competition, you just have to take a look at the long transcripts I have with my therapist over my doubts with education."

"But at least you realize that insecurity, most others would bottle it up and work through it Par, when it would be revealed in a quad meltdown next year first semester." I smiled. "I respect and revere your ethic, and your mood swings make me only realize one thing." I tightened up the grip on her hand, and looked right down at the clasp it was in. "I'd rather have you than the most popular girl in the school. I can talk to you and never feel stupid, and I don't have to reduce concepts to such simplicity it loses a lot in the translation from smart to imbecile. You'll ask a question just to keep me on my toes, and I can't wait for what you have to say next after I answer. In the end, I know you can't bear to hurt me in any way. I'm not Louise, not Madeline, but the best friend you've always looked for, the one you wished you had for so long, and finally came along a couple years ago. One day I might get you as the Iron Bitch, and the next, you're back to being my secret Par-Bear."

She gave me an annoyed smirk when I used the new name on her again. "Rory, I swear you tell anyone that name--"

"Yeah, yeah, eternal damnation, fiery pits of hell, my lips are sealed." I smiled at her. "But you like it, don't you?"

"I do." She was hesitative, but despite her reservations didn't mind my new pet name for her.

"See, two years ago you were take-no-prisoners and never letting someone explain their motives, I couldn't find a reason to think 'yeah, I should be her friend'. But you want I want, just acceptance and respect. I will do that for you Gellar, taking you as you are, and then respecting that we're friends with a strong rivalry going. I can never hate you, because without you, I don't feel whole anymore. That dark sarcasm, the hovering presence, the yearning to compete with you, along with your beauty, it's unique, you can't find it anywhere else. If you aren't here, I crumble, just look at both of us three weeks ago in that bedroom; you used to hold a grudge until it made you physically sick, and I used to never care about your opinion. Now, I can't live without you."

Paris continued to look at me, focused in on me as I went on to tell her that things with Dean had taken a long, slow decline since last year, when a troublesome Tristan, who had zero shot at me, kept trying to make my eyes wander, but failed. The jealousy Dean had became a wall in our relationship, something I could never overcome and refused to deal with after a long period of time. It made me realize that dependable wasn't the way I wanted to live, with him not focused on keeping the flame strong, and instead depending on the fact I was loyal to him only. That one-sided thinking was dangerous, and now he's on the outside looking in.

My eyes wandered off, and they did find someone else I liked; Paris. Not anyone the studio audience on Love Connection would ever choose, but this is how I feel, that I want to love her. I feel challenged and respected around her, and hopefully more than that.

That is, if she could ever get to the point. Instead of the hoped for response and breakdown, she gave me the kind of comfort I expect from Lorelai.

"I don't know when you'll find that next one Rory," she told me, in a reassuring manner. "But I know that Mr. Right is out there somewhere, waiting for you when you're ready to fall back into a relationship."

I just poured my heart to her, and she gives me fortune cookie advice! One more time with the brush-off, and no resolution of what she had to confess. It was driving me crazy, and either she was getting off on seeing me all wound up, she never read the notebook, or she actually thought those notes in the back were for an actual Russian Novels assignment! This was getting beyond ridiculous, now it was just infuriating!

Fuck subtlety, I told myself with firm and stiff confidence, it's time to go in guns blazing. I've flirted with her for the last few months, and I'm done. It's time for action. The Mr. Right mention was just perfect for numbing this over-neurotic side interfering with her revelation.

I held her tight, looked dead in her pupils, and gave her the simplest explanation of my orientation ever, that I was after a Ms. Right. She gave me this numb look, and I could feel her shake when she tried to make sure her ears weren't clogged with wax and she was mishearing things.

Nope, was the gist of what I told her next. Dean was one of only two guys I ever noticed, and I gave her a slight hint that there was a female romantic lead in my dreams very often, many more than he ever appeared in. I gave her an idea that from my sexual awakening in sixth grade on until that day I met Dean, I barely thought about boys at all. I knew they were the key to keep life on Earth and I was supposed to be attracted to them, but I never built it up to that abnormal level you see with any foursome from one of those hot tub dating shows. I always associated more with girls than I really did boys, and would look at men as father figures rather than objects of lust.

She tried to fruitlessly bring up my skip day to Brooklyn to see Jess, and how I felt unbalanced around him. Easy enough to disprove my hormones were on the fritz that day and that I still have a 'what the hell I was thinking' mindset for what happened that made me miss Mom graduating from B-school. I admitted my fantasies with him, all three of them. So he's hot, was my thinking. That shouldn't be the only rationale for starting a new relationship, a deep sense of longing and want for the other person should be the mitigating factor.

Paris seemed in a tailspin of emotions, wanting to reel back, but something wasn't letting her. I could tell I just threw her a Clemens curveball with the admission of my feelings, and she was trying to balance her mind between making sure it was a real confession or it was just an attempt to shock her and get full attention.

"Y-y-you, you like women?" She said, her voice in a high register. "But you're Mary, Farmgirl, and the most innocent girl in school, uncorrupted. This is true, you feel nothing but friendship from men, but girls, you want more than friendship?" She looked down at her hands, and seemed ready to need an inhaler in mere moments. "You're saying to me, right now, that you are, your sexual tendencies are double-X?

Leave it to Paris, even in this most raw of moments to be academic. I laughed, keeping her calm. "Yup, that's what I'm saying here, I'm gay, here, queer and you'll have to get used to it, because I'm absolutely sure about this. I've been ignoring these feelings for a year, but I can't pretend anymore, because I feel more passionate about a girl when I think of her than I do a guy."

"You're not bisexual," she tried to clarify. "because I think you are--"

"Paris," I stated firmly, "I am a lesbian, no doubt about it. I'm not bi, nor do I have any current sexual attractions to any men besides usual shallow celebrity lust. I'm not going back."

She let the confession sink in for a bit, and I tried gauging her reaction, my fingers crossed she wouldn't run away. She was staying calm and neutral, holding back what she might have to say about how she felt about her closest friend feeling this way. It took two minutes of silence and some 'are you OK's to find out her opinion.

"God Gilmore, you know how to make it really rough for the Chiltonites to like you," she finally let out, thankfully more as jest than a statement of the general consensus of the student body. She uncharacteristically started to nervously play with her hair, curling it around her finger unsteadily. "This is...it's definitely a surprise I never expected to hear from you, not in a million years, that you're gay. You're Rory Gilmore for the love of Pete, the sluts in school would give their left breast to have the chasteness and Disney princess glow that surrounds you. I think of you and see 'most likely to succeed' in the yearbook, not...this."

"Paris," I questioned nervously. "I don't want you to think anything less of me just because of this. Please," I sniffled up a little, starting to become a little scared that this mini-rant would develop into a hate screed. "Say you don't hate me, that you won't stop being my friend."

The blonde sensed how uncomfortable and exposed I felt, and immediately brought me towards her, into a hug, her hand on my back as she tried to keep me calm. "I'm certainly not thinking that at all," she made clear to me. "Yes, it's jarring, I'll admit as much, but it's far from revolting. No matter how much I might seem to have some prejudices, I'm always going to be on the right side of causes, and this is no different."

She released me, and made it damned clear that she was far from turning her back on me. "I'm going to make this clear right now Rory, the only thing that has changed in your mind is that you're a skirt-chaser, that's all. You're still my competitive equal, the ying to my yang, and most of all, my best friend. That's never going to change, I swear on my father's life."

I still wasn't clear on how she felt for me; though I was relieved we were good, her secret was still out there, unknown. "That's all I needed to know, and I'm sorry I suddenly sprung it on you."

"It's fine." She got inquisitive right about this point. "So who's the object of these affections?"

"I can't say," I lied, wanting to keep the evasiveness up. "I don't know if she even knows, or would return them."

"So even though you're unsure if who you want is willing to like you, you still think you're gay?"

Paris looked at me as my mind wrapped around that, and just like that, without any rhyme or reason, I became unglued at the prospect, a little scared myself of what she would think. She was holding back on things as I told her I wasn't sure if 'this girl' would like me, the reactions of others since she was the first to know, then finally admitting that my dreams with 'this girl' were far from angelic.

I thought I was in control, but the pull of Paris so close to me was taking me out of this confident track I was gliding by on, and back into the meek and shaky girl I prayed I wouldn't become when I let her know my feelings for her. I can't even remember what I said to her after that point all these hours later, it's all a blur, feeling like my chances with her were slipping away. I'd have to be content with her being my friend and nothing else, was how I was starting to feel.

And then, without any provocation, I let loose the waterworks. My speech became unintelligible, and I found myself crying like I never had before, because I was driving right by Paris' confession, seemingly more concerned with mine. I felt miserable, like I was putting so much weight on her shoulders that she didn't deserve. I started thinking that maybe I should've told Mom first and had her talk me out of it, or stayed with Dean despite his accusations. The last few months were starting to feel like a waste of time, a blur that never should have been or even ever happened.

Still, Paris showed humanity in it all. Her eyes conveyed that she really felt for me, the decision I had made to make clear I liked girls. It wasn't a joke anymore, something that I could imagine as tawdry or fluffy as I liked; it was now a real, human tangible feeling that was out there. She felt the constriction of my heart, and though I didn't think it at the time, the tightness in my heart and my nervous energy as I looked downcast, shamed, awful for what I had done to her.

She didn't hug me, or say anything caring. All she could do is hand me the Puffs box and try to keep me sane.

That's what I thought at least she probably would've done in that situation. She looked at me, with this stare I never noticed before, a mix between her enigmatic smile and inquisitiveness. She moved towards me on the couch a little.

"Rory?"

I looked back up towards her, expecting her to bring me into a hug, or for her to offer to make some grilled cheese and chicken soup.

"Yeah?" I sniffed back tears, all of them remembrance that she had a secret she was still holding back currently on my mind's backburner.

She brought herself back into the conversation point blank with a simple inquiry; was she 'the other woman'? I couldn't tell if she knew beforehand, and didn't know if the pro/con list was known to her.

What I did see, was that her hand was still on the notebook, a fingernail slid right into the spot the list started. She had to know, she just had to, was no doubt about it. It was that abrupt questioning style that brought me out of my sadness, and at the very least I had to mention that notebook, so that if she truly did not know about the list, she could take a look and I could go over each one personally with her.

That's what I did, tell her that if she was smart enough, she'd know the list was about her, and her perception could have told her that. I confessed everything about the list, and how I was really feeling so much for her since we shared the dorm. It was all I could tell her for now; she'd have to push the rest out of me. I finished by telling her that my life is rough as anyone else's and I hope what I said before drove that home. I needed to know what she had to say in her reaction, even if it was 'I'm out of here you stupid dyke!'.

She took her time trying to form a reply, I could tell that the ending part of my confession was really affecting her, much more than a Chilton F or -0- grade would ever cause. She felt devastated, like her well-formed world, with the cute little small town sidekick and her own two lifelong friends was coming apart, and there was nothing she could do to stop the boulder's roll. She just sat next to me, breathing, not saying a word, keeping me on the tip of my toes with what she was about to tell me.

It seemed like forever, yet it was only three minutes before she said a word. What was she thinking in her own mind? Did my view of her immediately change in the aftermath of my words? Why was she just staring at me with a stilled jaw, reading my face like a book?

I was starting to feel like I was making the biggest mistake of my life, seducing Paris Gellar. I was brazen--no, downright predatory trying to pursue her, almost jealous of a boy she may have felt something for in Washington and trying to wish the date was an unqualified bomb. I didn't deserve her at all; I was like the Prairie View A&M of gay girls, trying to pursue someone that had Duke-quality skills and riches, what the fuck was I thinking?

Again, I started to bawl uncontrollably, thinking that she was about to hate me for the rest of my life.

She finally said my name, breaking the curtain of silence separating us from each other. I awaited my sentence like a prisoner, ready for her to fire and brimstone me away from her for the rest of my life. The worst fear was she was about to not only slur my orientation, but she was going to make sure and spread this new fact like wildfire through the halls of Chilton tomorrow morning.

Paris took her cup of wintergreen tea into her hand, with one of her hands brushing up against the side of my left arm. I gave her a hopeful look, and despite all the despair flowing through me, found myself a little light-headed from her touch against the small hairs on the extremity.

God, if you hear me now, please, make it short, blunt, and as easy as possible. I prayed to a deity everyone says is benevolent, but according to a few homophobes, probably hates my guts.

It was then I heard her speak those words, between sips of the foam cup of tea.

"I've felt the same way for you. Rory, I like you, in a romantic sense."

I was ready to sulk off to my room in shame, when the word 'like' hit my brain like the metaphorical anvil she described in the sentence before. "Like...like...like...like..."

No way! I couldn't believe it; she was just admitting she liked me. This had to be a practical joke, or as the cool kids call it, a 'punk' of some kind. My feelings were being returned? By Paris, the girl I liked. This couldn't have been true.

I looked up at the girl I liked, and saw her smile, a real honest-to-goodness smile, the kind she usually reserves for an 'Eureka!' moment during Franklin work. A smile that was telling me 'what I just said to you is the plain truth'.

I had to confirm it, just in case I missed a couple 'don'ts' in her saying she liked me. So again I asked, tense and wound up like a stretched belt.

"Ror," her voice was softer and kinder, and dare I say it, more soothing than it ever had been before. "Just a half-hour before, I was plopped down on your bed, reading the notes out of this notebook and thinking you were crazy as hell, because those notes, they didn't correspond to Anna Karenina at all. I read through what you wrote in the back, very confused, but then I turned to that first page, where you started the entire thing." She brought her hand back down into mine, while opening up the book to that first page. "As I saw each reason, my stomach did these handstands and I didn't know if I was reading something private, or what. All I knew was, these notes, they were far from friendly. I went back to page three, and looked again at those notes from Tuesday, where you felt this rush from going braless in my presence. It was then I remembered, Anna Karenina never wore a bra! I keep looking down, at the stuff about the fountain, how you felt in my shirt, the ride home from school that afternoon."

She turned to the fourth page, the start of the beginning, and read it to me. "Pro - She is now the only one who has a pull on my heart. Pro - He's history; I can finally ease up, and get a little daring." Damn, I loved how she says the word pro, so spiced up. "Pro - She cared enough to ask what happened to him. Pro - She cut off the bracelet for me, I'm finally free of the jealous bastard!"

"Two more things to mention, one on this page, one on the first." She looked down at the next reason on page four. "Pro - She's talented, beautiful, a great dancer, and she said yes to me. We're going to win this thing!!" She then turned back to page one, the topmost pro on the paper, one changed to fit the whims of my lust and love for her. "Pro - I want her, corrected six or seven times, followed by an asterisk which points to the fact you want me, and more." She looked me straight in the eye, and stated what she felt, candidly.

"I never thought you'd notice my subtle signs at all, but somehow, you did." She sighed. "Every one of those pros in that notebook, they are correct; I've been baiting you for the last few months, and hopeful you'd notice anything and respond in kind. I never expected to find this out in such a dry and academic form of sorting your feelings out, and I would've definitely written a few more things down on the con side, but Rory..." she played with my fingers, her voice slow and wanting. "I do want you. I have wanted you for at least the last five months, and even before that, I felt like I wanted to know you as more than a friend."

She looked down a little, and finally said those confirming words I was looking for. "I've only thought of one boy in my life, and that was Tristan, there was never anyone else. After he left, the thoughts started turning towards you, and before I knew it, there you were, in my mind all the time, in my daydreams, my sleep, and in spirit, pushing me to do more. Eventually those dreams became a little more risqué, until I found myself starting to flirt with you subtlety, and hoping against hope you'd notice." She looked back up, to my nervous smile.

"What does this mean then?" I asked her.

Let me just tell you now, Paris could make the ingredients listing of a shampoo bottle sound sexy, because when she said this, my mind got some nice hot flashes of her doing these things. "Considering I did some experimentation in my younger years with other girls at Jewish summer camp and enjoyed it despite it being merely clothed touching, the fact the sight of a man nude in a magazine repulses me, and the washboard look does nothing for me, I look at women with a lot more interest; not to mention that I find erotic stories on the internet and in books with two women much more intelligent and sexy than the guy/girl combo usually associated with romance. This, along with the overwhelming longing and want that I have for you, brings me to the final conclusion that yes, I have very strong lesbianic tendencies, and barely any heterosexuality to be found within my system."

I then smiled at her, and shook my head. "You know Par, 'I'm gay' would've sufficed." I then laughed as she rolled her eyes.

"Fine, I'm gay, there's the Cliff Notes version, you happy now?" Her voice was very light and not bitter at all.

"Oh, I'm more than happy," I told her honestly, feeling a large weight come off my shoulders. "Relieved, thankful, exhausted, I have a million terms I could use to tell you how I feel right now."

"All I feel right now is just good," she whispered. "Really, I've been feeling this way about you ever since I had to sub in as Romeo after Tristan ditched us. Back then I thought it would be just plain fleeting lust, my hormones adjusting to a love departing. It never went away, it stayed through the entire year, no matter how much I willed it to disappear. I figured out something was wrong when I reacted so violently to you not taking my invitation to celebrate the Hillside victory because you had to meet Sherrie; seriously, I had this 'spurned lover' thing in my head, even though you were far from being my lover."

"Thinking back, I thought it might be that," I mused. "But go on, I want to hear your side."

"There was me stopping by to have you tutor me, just an excuse to see you, and I guess you know now that the 'I want Jess so bad' excuse I made up in front of Dean was a big lie in itself." I nodded. "Once May hit and I was in that panic about a VP, I could only think of you, and hope that the summer went well enough in Washington. Which it did, we both still have our heads, and ten toes and fingers each and ran into nothing but the usual bed by the window fight, we tolerated each other well enough."

Paris went into detail about the summer, Jamie and the date she hated, so much that she tuned him out halfway through and couldn't wait to get home because he was such a dead guy to begin with. Then the start of the school year, and then letting me know that my begging for the hemlines turned out to be a good thing; she did ogle me, a good thing to hear from her. A little more on Tuesday morning and how she went crazy trying to accommodate me on such short notice and how nervous I was asking her to dance with me.

She then turned serious on me. "Still, nothing told me I had to go for this more than the field hockey match. If ever there was a sign that you saw me as more than a friend, it was that, you planned it out well Gilmore, pat yourself on the back. Just the way you carried yourself, the way you challenged me, and got me into the game, which is such a hard thing to do, it could've backfired. But you made it work, and I never had as much fun in school as I did that day. Or as much depression, right after I ran out on you in the shower and almost single-handedly killed everything with my silent treatment." Paris huffed out a breath, and came to a conclusion. "If I learned anything from those three nights without you and the awful argument we had, it was that I'm infallible and about as co-dependent on you being there for me as Barney Gumble is to the bottle. I was lost without you, and I couldn't focus. I had to make things up, and I'm glad I did, because it just proved that our friendship might be on shakier ground than Pisa at times, but it's still solid despite."

I completely agreed with what she had to say. "It was needed, that last conflict, call it a dress rehearsal," I rationalized. "And it helped you get some frustration out with your mother which I thought you really needed to get out. You don't need to blame yourself at all; it was floating in the air and someone would ask it eventually."

"Which meant it had to be you," she smiled a little. "I know she's going to be pissed when she finds out about all this, but I'm tired of not being my own person, it just gets to you after awhile. I feel so closed up around her, like I'm a Chinese dissident under her Mao-like rule." She frowned for a little bit. "I better not dwell on her right now, this is a good thing, right?"

I nodded back at her, and she gave that smile that makes me weak.

"I have one more thing to ask about the past before we start the future though."

"Go ahead, I'm an open book."

She seemed nervous a little. "Dean...uh, I know how much you loved him in the past. Did you decide that the overreaction to him finding out about Jess with you helping fix Dwight's sprinklers was the perfect break to dump him, and did you...you know, see it as the right time to bring things into motion? I mean, did you break up so you could have me, free and clear?"

I gave her a small little smile, and then gave her a quick rundown that said things fell into place, she danced with me yesterday, and here we were...

As her body moved closer to mine, and invisible boundary that was in the middle before that point, had disappeared with our confessions, since she was easing into my body, moving her hand up my arm and appraising my clothing choice. I'm thinking she took to it very well because her last question was about the sprinklers, and how they came into play. Was it accidental? It sure was, and I let her know that.

Her smile was getting closer to mine, and then she latched on to my calling her 'my friend' in that last sentence. Suddenly, she got all coy and flirty, a personality I had never seen in her before. Her nail scraped against the column of my neck, next to my pulse, and just as I thought this day couldn't get any more heated, Paris decides to 'I before E except after C' her way into my heart, by correcting one word for another.

Her voice was husky with want, and the humor was disappearing, as I realized her fingers below were curled around one of the belt loops of my jeans. Then, she whispered the correction, replacing 'friend' with that term of endearment I always wanted her to mention.

"Don't you mean girlfriend?"

My mind didn't spin into panic at all upon hearing this, since it was concentrating on the fact I felt a tightness below at her sudden dominance over the situation. I had control over the seduction, but the carrying out was about to become all hers. I tried to warn her that this was it, the point of no return. If she was about to do what I thought she was going to do, there was no going back from here. We would share a kiss and have been lovers once upon a time.

My body certainly was hoping she wouldn't take it back...her face hovered above mine, those brown eyes looking deeply into mine, and her hand rested possessively on my side, inching along the waistline of my jeans. She wasn't even aware she was playing with fire, and though she tried to distract with a brush of some stray hair from across my face as she gazed at me, I was all far gone. Already, this innocent, yet sexy positioning was beyond all my dreams.

Which she mentioned as she answered whether she was ready to take the first step. That my dreams were giving her overloads, it gave me a nice pink tint to know that I was warming her up on cold nights from a half-hour away. I could only wish to imagine what I was like in her imagination, and hoped the real me would live up to the marquee billing. Her orchid scent was getting to me, and her shirt, still undone in those two places, was hanging in front of my vision. I wanted to look in and have a peek of those breasts I've dreamed of kissing and nipping and cuddling up against, but my mind was more on her lips at the moment.

I gave her a little preview of how her dream self was. I made sure to note the dominance she displayed, and how commanding she would be, yet I noted how soft she was, and concerned with how her actions in bed were. I made sure to tell her she was cute in my dreams, then brought the compliment out into her real world self.

"Cute?" she gasped out. "I am far from cute, I'm downright homely, you don't have to say it."

She was turning as pink as a medium rare fillet, so I was going to insist as I looked Paris up and down, my mouth watering with the taste of a mix of wintergreen liquid and vanilla mints. Fucking lord, she was more than cute with that hair spread throughout the throw pillow, her eyes far gone and a hand brushing up against the side of her shirt. She seemed to flinch when my hair brushed up against her reddened cheeks, and I wanted to give her a kiss that would make that pithy one Tristan made seem like a crappy spin-the-bottle buss. I tell her again she's been cute for days upon days, and made her melt.

I must've hit the right spot, because just as I thought I couldn't see her as my new lover, she told me I looked both cute and hot.

Now Dean had always called me cute, but in that boring guy way that's like 'you're handsome' to them. The way Paris told me she thought the same, and then paused to catch her breath to give me the compliment that I was hot, it was something alien to me, Dean never thought of me as hot. My mom was hot to most young males, Sookie was hot to Jackson, Dave found Lane hot, and Madeline and Louise, to those two the word was almost used as much as 'hello' to them.

But lil' ol' me, hot? The way Par said it, with that monotonal husk, her lip bitten down to tease the hell out of me, and a hand up against my back, it did something to me. Oh my God, I just wanted to drag her into my bedroom and make her feel how fucking hot I was. And her eyes...her eyes, they took on this light, wanting shade of brown that screamed out 'these are my fuck me eyes'. They were usually studious and focused on one topic at a time, never wavering off track. Too feel them on me, appraising my form, aroused with want...I could feel my legs spread just from that one syllable. I felt my heart pound, and my modesty start to break down.

I just wanted her, right then and there. In a reduced form so I didn't scare the daylights out of her of course, but a kiss was still enough for me. I'm willing to wait as long as possible for her; she'll know when it's time to take the plunge.

I gave Par this sexy smile, and a slight hint as to what I wanted. I bent down closer and closer, telling her I was flattered by her use of the word hot, but that I was tired of playing games with her. I wanted her lips on mine, her hands in my hair, and to give her that knee-dropping kiss she had never, ever experienced before.

With the freedom of a lesbian relationship, I feel more daring. Much more is open to me, and I don't have to hold back as much. I made sure to show Paris this, that she wasn't falling for the old, boring, prudish Rory, who usually spent a couple minutes gargling Cool Mint Listerine once she got home to get the gross taste of Dean's too demanding tongue out of her mouth from his after-school 'kiss'. I took her face by each side, her giving her consent for the kiss to happen softly. She seemed to countdown silently, eyes closed, awaiting the reward of being loyal and unwavering about keeping me as a friend. Her face is soft, just as I imagine it, the softness of her cheeks soothing in my grasp. She threads her hands through my hair, and I can finally sniff her breath, up close and personal.

I couldn't wait anymore. I noted the time of 4:37 on the VCR's readout, my eyes taking one last look at the world as a Mary, the girl who never took a risk in a relationship and had a romantic life that would be a good cure for an insomniac in book form.

I met her soft lips in the middle, and it took mere milliseconds for jarring shocks to go through my body. My eyes focused on her that first second, both our pupils receding. I heard that first kiss, and the passion between us was so much.

The kiss was soft, not meant to do much more but to blow off a year and possibly plus' worth of steam. Still, it was outpacing any time Dean ever tried to shove his tongue down my esophagus, because I wanted this, truly wanted this so bad. I felt my eyes shut as I felt the suction of the kiss increase, then heard that first release and smacking as she moved away to catch some air.

She kissed me once again, trying to imitate what I did the first time. Sure, she was novice at it, but it didn't lessen the impact of this first kiss any less. I understand going in she's catching up on a lot of lost time, so I'll be more of a guide than her. Whatever the case, her first attempt at kissing was still on the mark, and sending shivers down through my back.

I felt like I was losing my breath, yet I wanted more. To make clear that this was no Mickey Mouse crush, far from a phase, that I was committed to this idea of an us.

I crushed my lips hard against her, my hands moving towards the nape of her neck and making her melt into the cushions of that couch she loathed so much. There was no protocol or template to what I was doing, it was all spur of the moment. She grunted out for breath, and I let her go for just a second so she could intake a little air before I started making out with her anew.

Her mouth felt just right, and her body felt perfect against mine, her short legs coming to an end at her feet, resting against my shins. Her eyes were closed and the only word she could find in her brain was "More..." stretched out, which brought to mind her humming deep and long against the sensitive tissue of my clit. Mmmmmm... I thought as I got a little bold and bit my teeth softly into the skin of her bottom lip. Paris shrieked aloud and just about scraped her fingernails down my back; by Jove, I think she liked it.

I brought her even closer, continuing to kiss her like we were a couple of young teenagers. I brought my hands down towards her bra line, and shifted a little so one of her legs fell in between mine. There wasn't any way I was going to give it up so fast, but bringing her into that position and moving my right leg between hers kind of gave her a hint. Her breathing picked up a heavy rhythm, and in my grasp she started to shake below me.

God, having that picture of her in my head of her eyes closed and body prone, ready and prepared for more as my mouth continued to tangle against hers, it's a first kiss I'll never, ever forget. In my eyes, all that tension had disappeared, though unlike what everyone would hope, I was still wanted her as my lover. Not a chance that anything I felt with her would disappear just because I finally got to have a hot torrid kiss with her.

Just as I felt like I was about to lose control, Paris' brain functions had rewired and she found just enough in her to make her hands push me back a little a separate from the kiss. I looked down at her, and she was smiling as her hands messed up my hair beyond any kind of redemption; apparently she has a habit of doing something else while doing the major thing. That didn't leave me disappointed, and made me wonder what kind of interesting things would happen during projects from now on.

She got up from the position she was in, and inched over a little so I could sit next to her on the couch, face to face. We were both so messed up, faces slick with perspiration and some stray drool, which made me grasp for the tissue box so I could hint she needs to curtail her saliva production a little. Still, it was very nice; I finally got to kiss Paris, the end result being the first time was beyond all my dreams and fantasies. I was just thankful we were both makeup-less; the last thing we needed were lipsticked collars and running mascara.

Both of us had to looked stunned and out of it, because we were only focused on one thing; each other. Her hand kept touching mine as we started to recover from the effects of that kiss. Especially Paris, for it didn't take long for her to start microanalyzing the kiss and everything surrounding the said buss.

Her reaction was stunned, very few words except for a very distracted her telling me it was very nice. Then she went on with her side of things.

"Was I good? Did I make you nervous? Was I sloppy, did I bite too hard on your lips, was it too wet? I have to know these things so I can improve, that was just OK I think." I shook my head as she continued. "I'm just wondering, is there anything I need to do so that I can get this right, I--"

I tightened my grip on her hand and got her to stop before she ever had the chance to Dr. Laura her way out of my good graces, so I sat her down and told her that she was beyond my expectations, everything worked so well. I joked about her first date with Tristan and the index cards, and that seemed to bring her into a sense of much more calm and ease.

What I expected next was for her to take a break from this influx of conversation and to sort her feelings out, to make sure everything would be fine before she left Stars Hollow. I also thought we were about to get down to some dual studying with all those books sitting on the coffee table.

However, it only took her a few more moments to realize that both she and I never got such a great opportunity to spend time all alone, with no one about to interrupt this intimacy that was starting to just form. No matter what, I'd be content.

She gave me this deep and mooning look, those 'kiss me' eyes again on display as this time, she pushed me towards the end of the couch and she used her left hand to brace against the coffee table. She moved up along my body, her hair falling down against the skin exposed from the low cut of my tank top. The fingers of her free right hand brushed against the nape of my neck, just near where days before her touch had almost made me faint from that slow and sensual back massage. Her index finger brushed in the middle of my hairline, and I could feel her stomach pressing against mine as Paris told me she wanted to kiss again, using those big academic words to turn me on.

My humor was lost, with the signals usually running to that portion of my mind detouring to create some of the lamest and dorkiest seduction lines ever. "Closed lab environment of the living room?" I actually told her that! Yet somehow, she found humor within the lame commenting, shaking her head at me with a wry smile.

"We're going to be a very odd gay couple, aren't we Gilmore?" I made the usual bad Oscar/Felix reference that had filled many blanks for the last thirty years, hoping she wouldn't groan at my temporary loss of wittiness.

She was smart though, and instead of letting me go on, shut me up with a very tender and mind-altering kiss, all the while telling me that I was the only one for her. The only thing I could do, and just the only damned thing I wanted was to gasp out that her remark of how she'd never go out with a guy, young or old again was noted, and then fall into what was very far than the kiss of a novice. As her hands slid down my shoulders and she laced a finger around the straps of my top, there was no need for anything else.

When she's not looking, I pinched myself; mainly because the way things with Dean were going, I didn't expect last Tuesday morning that five days later, Paris and I would not only be dance marathon champions, Dean would be a faded memory, and her teeth against my upper lip made me cry in both pain and pleasure at the same time.

I can't even think of how far we might go and that she could be even more caring and domineering than this; but I do anyways, and I shut my eyes and kiss Paris back with equal and hungry passion, it's making me anxious to find out where this thing is going.

I just hope it doesn't require a bigger bed in my room; it's fine for sleeping, but for making out, not so much...

* * * * *

We did eventually separate, and with our attractions known, found ourselves talking about the reality of Chilton and this town, and how they'd react. We were both nervous, yet we were calm, since no one had to know for at least awhile.

She told me about the history of homosexuality in Hartford society, which was very blunt and short since only in recent years did the city's upper class start to embrace the fact some of their heirs and heiresses were attracted to their own sex. "Even then though, the family members and staff hired by some rogue members are trying to find ways to disinherit them from any kind of trust. It's discrimination, but since it's a family member, you really can't do anything about it." This made me fear Chilton more, and her family, but she calmed me with a rational explanation of things.

"My mother is going to hate me for sure, but I think my father, he'll understand. Since he took over the reins of the family company after Grandpa Gellar died, he's opened up the lines of communication between the minority community and them, and he forced the board to put in specific language that if a person is found out gay, they cannot be fired unless the termination is justified. It's a very open workplace; everyone's accepting and the office bigots usually get the lonely middle cube if they even try to speak out."

"So you think you're fine?" I asked.

"Daddy loves me, I'm still his little girl; he's only ever wanted me to be happy." She smiled, and sighed. "He's always wanted to meet you one day, says that I should have more friends like you." She rubbed my hand, and asked about Emily and Richard, two people she respected.

"Honestly," I hesitated, "I'm not sure, I mean I was expected to be mom's validator and bring the family back to glory. They never say anything, very old line and centrist, so I don't know. I'm more fearful of my mom though, this is going to weird her out so much."

"Ror, she'll be fine, she's cool mom, remember? You have a close friend-like relationship, and she has enough of a heart to realize you're Rory, not 'her gay daughter'."

"I know, but if we work and we don't come out to her in a short period of time, that'll be the longest lie I've ever held onto in my life. She's going to be disappointed--"

"Hey," she told me, in the commanding tone. "It's justified, we're not ready to outright think we'll work. If she finds out, we'll tell her, but for now, just hold it in and we'll see if this pans out the way we both hope it does. Got it?"

I thought for a moment, and realized I didn't really have much of a choice in the matter.

"You're right, I guess." I settled up against her, and grabbed the remote to check in on the 6 o'clock local news. "I would hate having to ever make a decision between you and my mom however."

She gave me a sad look, and huffed. "I'm already building a defense to keep you if it ever gets that perilous. I refuse to lose you because of stubborn family or homophobia; I promise right now, we'll fight for each other." She turned around and offered her hand. "Do we have a handshake agreement on that?"

I took her hand and didn't take long to seal the deal. "Us against the world." With that firm declaration, we focused on the outside world for the first time in twelve hours, yet still found her cuddling against my shoulder as we watched the Sunday evening news, like clockwork and right on time. Something I hope is a habit we'll repeat many times together in the near future.

* * * * *

Eventually, all good things have to come to an end eventually, and my time with Paris was sadly, not an exception. When the reverie of Paris' cell phone in my bedroom rang and she read the caller ID as her nanny, I realized it was time to let go. I wanted her to stay with me so we could chat some more, but with Lorelai just landing up in Windsor, I found myself really missing my mom and wanting to make up for that five days of lost time with her. Paris seemed uneasy about leaving, but I assured her that I'd be fine, she could go home and get back into some comfy jammies and finish out her weekend.

My heart was already tugging with want as she packed up her things in my bedroom, but I know that for awhile it'll have to stay this way, a relationship separated by twenty miles of roads and a commandeering stubborn mule of a mother. Thank God I have her private room and cell phone number, along with her email address and screenname to chat with her whenever I feel lonely, because I'm already getting that sense my keyboard will be worn out by mid-December just chatting with her about anything and everything. This was the afternoon after we broke down and expressed how we felt; the boring talks about school subjects, science news, and inappropriate humor about Mr. Mercurio's never-changing curriculum. It would've put Dean to sleep in a minute, and Lorelai would ask for a translator. I could relate to Paris and never get bored however, and that's all I wanted, someone I could chat and love on my own level.

I struggled to say goodbye to her, and as I kissed her at the front door, wished she could stay. No doing however, and I could only count the hours until 8am, when I would next see her in class after another awful bus ride out to Hartford.

"About that," she told me. "You've expressed nothing but hate for public transportation lately. Now that we're, uh, closer, remember my rides offer from Tuesday?" I nodded in the affirmative. "If you wouldn't mind, I could come down here from now on and take you to school. The Jeep's on its last legs and the odds of you getting another car are pretty slim, and besides Ror, I could use the company."

"You're serious?" I thought she was playing me, that she was willing voluntarily to deal with Hartford traffic not only twice a day, like she did delivering me from Chilton back here, but in the morning.

"It's not a big deal, really. My car burns efficiently and receives excellent gas mileage, and Mother wouldn't notice an increase in the fuel bill. I wouldn't ask for more than the $10 you already give me a month, it's something I've wanted to offer to you for quite awhile."

I thought about the extra time in the morning spent with Paris and tried to play devil's advocate, noting the inconvenience of an earlier wake-up time and the mood swings of the weather, but before I got another word in trying to convince her I didn't want to be an inconvenience, that damned infuriating girl pushed me up against the doorpost and kissed me senseless, shushing my arguments with each kiss. After about another minute of a tangled embrace, she released me, and went on like nothing happened.

"If it snows, I have a Rover in the garage, it could get through the Ice Age if it decided to create a sequel. As for my sleep, I'm done with studying by nine and bored by ten, so it's not going to radically change my sked. Promise." Another knee-weakening smile; damn it, she's trying to use it to gain the upper hand.

Again, I refused, until finally, she told me I'd be there waiting for her at seven, or else she'd chase down the bus on the highway, screech in front of it and pull me off by the backpack strap.

For a moment I considered letting her do that because of her hotness in anger, but in the end a pissed-off Paris wasn't exactly an animal I was ready to deal with in a lover's sense quite yet. So I sighed and told her she could be my ride, which made her about as giddy as something like that could do.

I went outside to see her out, and walk her to her car, where she thanked me for the wonderful weekend and the dance marathon invitation. I was chilly, but just seeing her off in a chivalrous way warmed me up, along with her stare since I was smart enough to know that cold meant stiffened erectile tissue. Yeah, no jacket was good for once as I put my arms right below my chest, keeping the part where the front of my breasts could be seen. I gave her a knowing look as she said goodbye and rolled up the window, then she blew me a kiss (to keep the gossip mill down and make it look like friendly intentions), and I watched her pull out in reverse, onto Cherry Lane, and out of town back towards the Manor.

I watched her for that small minute as she drove down the road, until her vehicle made the Peach Street turn, leaving me alone for the next hour to clean up my half week-old messes before Mom arrived home at eight.

Despite my overly aroused body, I still mustered the energy for a quick vacuum and dust, and a straightening of my room before I took a shower to rub of the aromatic and visual elements of what Paris and I had done only hours before on the sofa. I kept the focus on a rote Latin quote I was memorizing for that class in sixth period tomorrow afternoon for extra credit, and did not dare focus on expending the energy that built through the day with each touch and brush my blonde classmate caused to keep the domino chain of lust tumbling. I stepped out and changed into a more mother-appropriate wardrobe of those same lamb jammies I turned down in the heat of the moment to give Paris a couple things to think about as she slept and spooned against me.

I rushed around the house, throwing my hair into a ponytail, gathering my books into my backpack and Febrezing the couch to remove any trace of more than innocent sitting from the offending furniture. I ordered out another couple of works pizzas and bread from Joe's from my Fez cash pot, trying to make Mom feel as welcome at home as she possibly could after days upon days of PowerPoint, hard sells, cramped quarters and missing me beyond belief. I checked the answering machine to see if she called while we slept, and she did indeed leave one message around 11:30, where she said "Hey hon, I'm coming home, love you!" before departing from Nashville Metro.

I finished spic n' spanning the house at about 7:58, just in time to sit down, grab a random book from my room shelves and curl up in the chair as I heard the airport shuttle van pull up in front of the house, just in time and another fine bit of timing since the pizza had come three minutes earlier. Despite how much Paris has become more a part of my life this weekend, my mother is still the one who truly needs me, and that I in turn she needs to be in my life.

If I knew something, Mom was going to be very tired and worn out. I heard her luggage hit the porch with a dead thud, pretty much denoting she was struggling to drag even her own body up those three steps. I opened up the door to her and her five bags, and she seemed so relieved to see me, at least that's the sense I got from her whining about what the last seven hours had done to her.

"Fritz, could you speed it up with the carry-on, my arms feel like they're going to unsocket here any second!" Mom looked at the shuttle driver, who was struggling to roll two bags towards the front porch.

"Geeze lady, what the heck you put in here, dead bodies? You went to Nashville miss, not Stonehenge."

"Hey, that's what happened when my only caffeine source for the last five day's been filter bags of that generic Torke crap from Wisconsin from that gross room carafe that was stained more than a cathedral window, and lukewarm Dr. Pepper, someone's gotta pay the price for my denial. You were a savior for at least stopping at a Dunkin' Donuts in Rocky Hill, it helped keep me sane and you alive." I shook my head and smiled, this is what happens when my mother is taken out of her comfort zone, otherwise known as 30 miles from her most frequented diner.

"Glad I could help," the older man responded gruffly. "You have a nice evening ma'am, and get some sleep."

Mom reached into the pocket of her jacket, and pulled out a five dollar bill for him. "Thanks sir. I know the gratuity was charged out already, but for that stop I owe you this at the very least. Keep the change." He took the money, and tipped his cap at my mother.

"Always a pleasure to serve." He dropped the carry-on into my hands, and after we both said goodbye, we both brought the heavy baggage into the front foyer.

My mom yawned aloud as the weight got to her, and started to rant about her trip home. "If I don't have another hotelier's convention to go to, it'll be too soon, and this day was infuriating! Can I ask you why none of the Bradley airlines have a direct flight out to Tennessee, please?"

"Well if you find me a country music scene in Hartford and New Haven, let them know."

My mom shook her head, tired and worn from what the last five days did to her. "I came home having to transfer flights in Detroit. Who, may I ask, had the splendid idea of thinking transferring flights in dreary and rainy Michigan, then to give me a middle seat since they decided to overbook the flight and give my original one to an uppity snob girl from LA. I tell you Rory, next time Mia begs me to head to the hotelier's convention, I'm thumbing my way out to Denver or Topeka or Timbuktu, whatever boring town the NIHA wants to send me out to next year. Anything not to repeat these days that were so boring I actually considered order a pay-per-view not meant for young eyes from the hotel--"

OK, had to stop her now. "And you complete that sentence Mom, you'll be paying therapy and Paxil bills on my behalf until your dying day." I smiled, and couldn't help but launch into her arms to feel the caring presence of the woman who borne me for the first time since Wednesday morning. "God, I missed you."

"Missed you too kiddo, Nashville couldn't be painted red without you to help me." Lorelai kissed my forehead softly, and dropped the three bags she was holding onto the foyer's floor, walking out into the living room and taking in our familiar surroundings. "I see you disappointed me; didn't I tell you that you could wreck the house and hold a beer bash while I was gone here? Sure, I'd ground you up until your fifth reincarnation as a bear cub, but what a way it would be to go."

"I sent out the invitations and no one came," I cried out with dramatic inflection and playing into her weird mindset. "Guess I shouldn't have mentioned the kegs were filled with Coors Cutter and I had non-alcoholic gelatin shots in the ad." She collapsed onto the couch, slipping off her high heels and grabbing the top pizza box from table to open it up and grab a slice.

"You may not know how to throw a party but you know how to keep your mom happy." She bit into the loaded slice and moaned at the taste with her mouth full. "See, this is why I can't leave the little box of a state we live in, the food here is digestible and delicious. Hotel room food, especially in the hovel those people put me in, is barely edible, space food would get a Emeril 'BAM!' much sooner than the Center City Wyndam's entire idea of a menu." She looked towards me expectantly. "I'm guessing since you still seem healthy and stout Luke's and Joe's treated you quite well." I nodded back in the affirmative that indeed I was spoiled rotten from their contributions.

Mom got up from the couch and took off her jacket, with the slice of pizza still in her hand. "How was your weekend anyways? Had to beat my exciting sales slides and marketing mantras I had to repeat with other members of the hotelier's association all weekend like a cult meeting."

"It was good, really, really good." I started putting my plans in motion to show just how good a weekend I have. "You know what would be even better though?"

"Hmm?"

"Comfy pajamas, some girl gab and two spoons inside a pint of cookie dough ice cream with a dark coffee chaser."

Her eyes lit up like headlights, and before I knew it, she was starting to make the beeline to her room. "Actual coffee that doesn't come in a small red bag, sugar-rushing food and gossip?"

I gave her the signal that said I was game. "Nashville was fun, right?" I gave Lorelai an evil grin.

She held up her hand in a stop gesture. "Lobotomies are fun, hearing at least five tone-deaf 'next Garth Brook/Faith Hills' a day between the hotel, the convention center and then the reverse makes me want to consider deafness as a new career option. We can talk tomorrow about the trip, right now we both need to reacquaint ourselves with each other." She rolled her eyes up and imitated a Valley Girl. "Like, you're Rorwenda, riggght? Didn't I so totally give birth to you, omigod, that gave me killer pounds to burn off--"

I pushed her towards the stairs, shooting a dirty look in her direction. "You, bedroom, now, no jokes."

"Yes dear." She faked a pout and slowly climbed the stairs up towards her bedroom, as I sat back in my chair awaiting her revelation of my dancing title. It took a little longer than I thought, but within sixty seconds I heard my name being called loudly from upstairs.

"Rory?!"

I played innocent and unknowing. "Mom, get your butt down here, I don't have all night to stay up." Then I turned around towards the stairwell to see her leaning over the railing of the second floor.

"You might not know anything about this, but what is a five foot trophy doing, sleeping in my bed?"

I smiled at her, choking laughter back from her reaction. "Well, if you must know..." I went upstairs and proceeded to give her all the details about the dance marathon she had missed from not being in town for the next seven days. She was shocked to hear that I had paired up with Paris and we had both won the competition as relative novices, but after awhile she started to become excited and happy for what I had done. I reminded her of her alternate title back in '87, and how that inspiration kept me from backing out. Needless to say, she was very proud of me and gave me a hug for finally attaining one of our combined goals. I felt a rush describing all those 24 hours we danced and spun across the floor; feeling the memories rush back through my head and that moment where we attained the victory, it was a tale I definitely wanted to share with everyone I could possibly know.

We kept talking and talking about the dance, until finally I arrived at a good opening to mention that I would be given a ride to school from now on by Paris. I was surprised that Mom didn't like the idea at first; she insisted that taking the bus to school was 'making a statement' about how unique I was rather than something I had to settle for. I tried to make her see that Paris became even closer to a friend this week, and that I now trusted she had no ill will to gag my academic standing at Chilton. Lorelai kept trying to swing me back onto the bus, but with each reminder of a past incident that irked the daylights out of me, I kept wearing down her resistance.

Finally, I had to make a point, so with her opinion seemingly unchanged, I ran downstairs into my room, retrieved my bus pass, and with her watching in the kitchen, tore it up, while making it clear I didn't want to take a bus ever again. I let her know about the pervert who stared at me Tuesday morning, the ass of a bus driver, and how awful I felt not getting to school when I really wanted to. She started to become a little sympathetic, but kept trying to play the 'Paris is a bitch card', no matter what I said. All I kept doing was to try to smash through her resistance.

After a small argument where she tried to compare my getting rides from Paris to Michel falling in love with her, I gave her the puppy dog eyes, trying to swing her towards my argument. She just had to, I was unhappy taking the bus to school anymore. I still remember the first day of school this year after the inaugural meeting of the Franklin staff (which I arrived ten minutes early to, much to Paris' chagrin, she wasn't going to pull that early time-late arrival trick on me again!). The time had fled by and before we knew it, the time was 4:55pm with the meeting just getting out...

I ran to my locker, in another building on the other side of campus and grabbed my backpack, having just enough time for a count to make sure all my subjects were there. It took me three minutes to get to the front entrance, by which time the bus was making the left turn into the front drive...

Then went right past me as I fruitlessly tried to catch it, going 25 and so disobeying the Chilton and city speed limits in order to rush by the routes. No one on the bus even waved to the driver to stop and wait for me to catch me, and I saw some of them looking dead on towards me. It turned right back onto the busy road it came, and I collapsed on the front drive's sidewalk, exhausted and frustrated that the bus drivers was such a dick.

"God damn it, I was out here, five on the dot! You've gotta be kidding me, fuck!" I growled to whom I thought was an audience of myself. The next bus was at six and God knows the first day of school took everything out of me. "Now what the hell can I do?"

Leave it to Paris to happen by the scene right as I cursed out our lord and savior for the concept of public transportation. She heard everything and tapped me on the shoulder, startling me right out of my skin.

"AHHHH!" I jerked up to find her staring down at me.

"Going nowhere Gilmore?" she deadpanned, sending a chill up my spine.

"I'm sorry I swore," I blurted out, "It's just that the bus didn't see me and--"

"They're fucking jerks protected by that mob they call a union to make themselves seem more sunny and friendly to the outside world, so you have the right to take missing their bus personally. As for how I feel about profanity, this might be a private school but after school hours, go ahead and give me the George Carlin Seven monologue for all I care." She shook her head at me and held out her hand to take my backpack. "Come on Gilmore, you can hitch a ride with me."

"No, I couldn't do that, I'll just call my mom," I told her, trying to beg off her charity.

"And wait until 5:30 for her to pull up?" We walked toward a bench next to the parking lot's entrance gate to the grounds, and sat down. "Look, you're second in command this year Gilmore in two respects at this institution, and I refuse to see you fret much more about whether that loser of a bus driver has a vendetta against you rather than the school's agenda, I'm not going to let you get distracted by it just so you can make an unorganized beeline out here, then pray the idiot knows enough that you're wanting his bus."

"I've taken the bus for two years Par, it's not that much of a problem--" I tried to excuse my commuting habits, but she was having none of it.

"You're still winded from running the equivalent of two football fields to catch a stupid bus! Last year you were just a reporter, which was fine; this year you're my co-editor and my brain trust in trying to stop Jarvis from staging her coup. Besides, that thing can't be conducive to reading from the herky-jerky movement and bumping that thing does on the local roads, does it?"

Oh, I couldn't forget the headaches and how sick I'd get the moment I'd hop off the bus from the diesel fumes and my unfocused eyes unable to read more than three pages on that hunk of junk.

"What are you suggesting then?" I asked.

"I'll ferry you home for $10 a month in my car, no questions asked. All you pay for is gas and I won't use the money for anything besides that. It'll give the Jag some healthy highway mileage that looks good when I eventually sell it, and you get a ride home that doesn't involve jam-covered kids and derelict temp workers while some freak in the side seat next to you eyes up those tighted gams and tries to turn you into the next Chandra Levy."

"Geeze, morbid much?" I responded.

An eyeroll, then her attention shifted back towards me. "Look, do you want the rides or not? The Jag has heated leather bucket seats, and judging from how much you can't wait to get into the library before school to sit on one of the overstuffed chairs you'd love sitting in it. I've been perceptive the plastic benches that pass off as comfortable seating on the bus, they're ruining your back."

She gave me this hovering little look that seemed to show that her intentions were all good, and that she really didn't want me to suffer any more indignity of chasing that damned thing throughout south Hartford. $10 was a very small price for an average of 22 rides home a month; I was paying $1.81 a trip by my calculations for the 22 times I month I used the $40 pass. Plus I couldn't beat the company of a girl my dreams were starting to think of as more than my competition and superior.

"Fine," I sighed and sealed the new agreement with a handshake. "You're sure you can do this? I'm not going to--"

"The only thing you're doing is keeping Mother out of my sight for an extra hour a day, so trust me, we both win in this arrangement." We started walking towards her car, and I gave her this look that was telling her she was the best for helping me out when she really didn't have to.

We all know what the rides led up to, right?

I gave her one last look, and though she hesitated, she didn't seem repulsed by the idea of the rides.

"Fine, Paris can be your new ride to school," she told me. "Just, keep the $40 for now, in case you fall into a bump again, I'm still getting used to this idea of Paris not your mortal enemy anymore."

I ignored her apprehension and hugged her. "Thanks so much Mom. I promise, this won't be something to regret."

After talking about the bus a little more, we moved the conversation into the living room and I caught her up with what little gossip had circulated through town since she was last here Wednesday morning. Not much to tell, except for Taylor getting another weird idea, opening up a whole foods corner in his market, but to kill any nutritional value that display in, there was a hot dog/sausage roller up in the front, making you salivate the moment you get in for a hot Italian sausage or three Vienna Beef franks. There was also the small argument between Mrs. Kim where the man wore a long coat into the store that tripped him, and as he went past a shelf with porcelain dolls, accidentally took down the entire unit. Mrs. Kim's 'you break, you buy' policy had been multiplies 70 times the usual rate and the man would end up paying at least $10,000 for the damage, leading to Miss Patty having to mediate the dispute between the two until Mrs. Kim eventually settled with him for $3,500 and ten hours of community service.

It was about nine before we both stopped talking about the dance and everything around all she missed. She also asked about how Dean was, which was the first time in five days I had really thought about him at all. She was shocked that I hadn't seen him, but to keep her in a cherry mood so she wouldn't cancel the trip just to protect my being, I left out details about the breakup fight. Now with her back, I went into detail about his problems with Jess and I in the same place, his jealous streak, and how pissed he was I asked for Jess' closer help than his that would make me miss the bus.

It was when I told her he called me a whore and tried one last time to beg my forgiveness that she felt sticking one of her high heels in a certain tailpipe position of his.

"You're not a whore kiddo, far from it. You kept your loyalty to him for as long as you could, but you couldn't take it anymore." She smiled and then gave me a compliment I had been yearning for having the longest time.

"You could've called and told me, but you were so mature about everything babe, not needing my help and taking charge of the situation. I am so proud of you for what you've done this entire week, building your friendship with Paris, asserting your destiny, and telling Dean you were sick of dealing with his crap." She gave me this look, and almost seemed on the verge of tears. "This is one of the reasons I went to Nashville; we have to learn how to be alone once in awhile, because face it, you're eighteen, and next year that room downstairs is going to be filled with echoes, not you. These next few months are the last that we're going to be this mother-daughter team, and I don't want to see you leaving for Cambridge next year calling me every night with worry."

I thought about how much in the last week, and in turn the last few months, I had gone from being content to the way I left my life, to finding out that I felt something for Paris. I could've ignored it and gone back to how I was, but I gripped the reins, held on and never let go of them, steering towards sparking a relationship with her.

Something I wouldn't trade for anything, I thought to myself, realizing how I was going from passive to active. For the first time, I feel free and unafraid of the future. Nothing's going to stop me from this, no matter how wrong society could view it.

I hugged Mom, getting emotional with her as she told me how proud she was of this odd, but fulfilling week. "Thank you," was my simple acknowledgement of her words, and after some more of that moment, we both realized that the time was flying by quickly. Friday night I talked to her before I went to bed, and we planned a movie-junk food fest for the moment she came home.

She went downstairs so she could change into more casual clothes so she could head out to the video store to pick up a movie. I wanted a quiet little love story, but she felt that after a few days in Nashville another movie might be more appropriate.

"Urban Cowboy? That's a good movie, and I can show you all the people I made fun of in Nashville. I counted more cowboy boots than Skechers, honest to Pete."

"No you didn't," I argued, "Nashville's like Hartford with accents, they have a river, we have a river. They have a beltway, we have a beltway. They're the state capital, and guess what, we also have a shiny dome where the governor and legislature meet!"

"OK, fine, there weren't that many cowboy boots," she conceded, "more on my fellow convention-goers than any actual residents." She went over the keyrack and retrieved her keys, looking towards me. "You want to come with the video store and the market, I could use some help."

I would've normally gone with, but there was something that after an hour and a half that I really needed to do. "You go on Mom, I still have a few assignments to do."

"Alright dear." She walked towards me and kissed me on the cheek. "No schoolwork after I come back though, you're mine until bedtime after that." I laughed, and we said goodbye, leaving me alone for about another half-hour.

In that hour and a half, I already felt myself missing Paris, and thinking I left a few questions open even after she left. I thought of calling her just to hear her voice, but she might be catching her mind up on schoolwork; disturbing her during a study session has been known to be lethal to that person who interrupted. IM would be annoying and I still had never gotten used to the concept of talking to a person that way except when trading Harvard notes and study advice, it was more an academic tool than fun to me.

That left me to plug in my Ethernet cable into the iBook and open up my mail program to sort out those unsaid things I wanted to tell her. I closed the bedroom door, hovered my fingers over the keyboard, and though it took a bit to gather my reserve, started to write an email to her. With the time to think like a real letter sent with postage, I had time to edit myself out and just state how I felt. I didn't try to go into the sexual parts, keeping that to a minimum as I kept in mine how hard it was for her to say she felt the same way. Going with how great the first kiss was compared to the sudden ones with Dean and Jess, and that we were on the same page for it all, that was a good way to start the letter.

I got to a point where I started describing her anger as a turn-on, and I started thinking about just that. Over the years, seeing her face redden and all of her energy towards putting me in my place, what would have been scary ended up turning sexy after a year or so. After that, I basically told her to get ready, because I was going to sweep her off her feet and make her never regret what she felt for me. The charades were over, the facades had crumbled. It was down to just us; two girls, who like each other. I wasn't going to lose her. We were always in touch and onto each other, and that bond would become stronger in each other's arms.

I felt like I wanted to share more than that, maybe get deeper into detail about things, but then I heard the door open and a loud "YEEEEEHAAAAAWWWWHHHH!!!" emanate from the front entrance.

Do you know another 34 year-old woman who would make that noise and then yell "Hey there cowgirl, I rounded me up a mechanical bull movie with my 10-foot licorice vine, and I got some sweet kettle corn for some delicious vittles! I suggest you get that hinder out here now so we can watch some hot John Travolta on bull action!"

I just shook my head and laughed as I started to close out the letter.  My mom might be nuts and could use a couple Ritalins at times, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Life is good, just very good. It's even better because I get to tell Paris in a postscript that my habit of kissing and running is mercifully dead, a wonderful sign that things are going to be much different with this relationship than what I had with both Dean, Jess, and of course that kiss with Tristan at the piano. Thank God she didn't keep it and burned the tape immediately after she got it; I don't need that on a hidden video show because frankly, that was one of my worst kisses.

I sent the email, and headed out to the couch to join Mom in watching Urban Cowboy and filling myself silly with sugar and coffee, all the while finding myself more drawn to the female lead than Travolta, like I had for most movies lately. A lot of actresses have a freaky resemblance to Paris, and I find myself at times daydreaming of us acting out those scenes together. The movie was good, and Mom seemed happy to spill her own gossip, so we talked and talked through the entire movie until the credits started to roll at midnight, and we both came to an agreement we were both up too long. After watching Siskel and Ebert to make fun of the bad films they reviewed, we both headed off to bed, exhausted from our individual weekends and looking forward to the week ahead.

I crawled into bed, and that's where I am now, looking over the stories filed over the weekend by the Franklin writers and uploaded to the newspaper's intranet. Most of them are good; a few of them could use a red pencil. I turned to the sports section and felt bad for not supporting the Blue Demons Friday night because of their tough last-second loss to Seth Thomas. I don't usually care about football, but Paris was going to be down that she wouldn't be able to plan a state championship edition in order to wow the high school journalism association. I saw her plans Thursday afternoon and they looked amazing. Now they'll just stay in a dusty folder somewhere on the server, hoping that a future editor can dig them out the next time the football team goes to state.

I finish checking the stories, marking those I feel need revisions in the 'corrections box' next to each one so Paris can give them a once-over herself. I'm about to close out the computer for the night...

Where as I'm about to click on the shutdown command, the email icon on my Dock shows one message unread in my DSL email account. I've only given that out to those I trust, which means Mom, Lane, Grandma and Grandpa, Madeline and Louise, and of course, you-know-who. I never see a message at midnight, so I'm curious. I open up AppleMail to retrieve the message, hoping it could wait to be read until later today.

The blue bar comes up to tell me that it's ready to be read, and I look at my table of contents window.

Paris (Comcast Acct.)        RE: Goodnight       Sent at 10:27pm, Sunday November 10

I didn't expect a reply so fast, or none at all, but this makes me curious to what she has to say. Oh God, I hope she's not taking everything back. Nervously I click on the line and let the message open up in a new window, and look over what she has to say. My stomach is nervous and I'm seriously smiling huge as I look over her reply...

From: paris.gellar@comcast.net (Paris E. Gellar)
To: llgilmoreiii@snet.net (Rory's DSL)
Subject: RE: Goodnight

Rory,

I didn't expect to hear from you so soon after I left, but it's definitely a welcome surprise to see that you took the time and effort to write to me before you left the computer for the night. Usually I don't expect email so late, but this was certainly nice to read this before I fell asleep. I'll stay up a little longer because I don't want to leave this unanswered. For future reference however, you can call my cell; I made a custom ring to know if it was you or not, and no one will be the wiser. Then again, writing is the most romantic form of communication; I'm thinking about how this would look in my longhand rather than the default Apple font, and was substituting your writing in for the words in your letter.

I'm getting off-point, aren't I? Enough about my graphology analysis, it's time to get a few things off my chest about the day that has just passed. Really, what we just shared, it's beyond words, I had a hell of a time mulling it all over with Nanny and what this all meant, but she was very supportive of it all and she's thankful I finally got what I felt for you out. That's why she was so accommodating of you when stopped by Tuesday, she knew how I felt about you. I had to tell someone, and I hope you don't feel bad about it.

First point, about how you thought our fighting eventually turned from combative to Tracy/Hepburnish banter over the last two years. I would try to deny your hypothesis, but would have a hard time arguing about the facts. When we use those words, things do heat up. We tighten, get combative, and our bodies start to react to our stances as passion rather than wanting to assault each other physically. Your word play is second-to-none Ror, and I'm just amazed at how top shelf your wit is. When we have a conversation, I already start to tense up, knowing seeing you angry and ready to defend your cause, it's going to weaken me, no matter what I do to dull the effects.

I also will admit here to looking at you both in the heat of the matter, and instead of striving to back you into a corner to make my point, instead I want to push you towards there, to just tell you how hot you look and God, I just want to kiss you. Would you believe that's what I was thinking once you said a couple weeks ago in the conference room that with my attitude, you wouldn't have your way with me? Sorry if I'm being too forward, but the way I was thinking when we were talking about 'fuck this and fuck that', let's say for argument's sake that our proximity to each other, how close we were. I wanted you on that table. I'm not afraid to admit it; you know as much as anyone how blunt I am. Of course I'll hold back for you, but I will be truthful right now, my dream image of you isn't of you being Strawberry Shortcake by any means, it's very raw and passionate. I know that as we get into this I'll start toning down what I think of you in my head and assimilate the real you as my lover. Expectations are dangerous, so I will turn down my fantasies to a manageable level now that I know for sure you like me, as more than a friend, and much more than an enemy.

This last year has been the toughest for me, seeing you so close, yet so far from my grasp, from what I wanted. The many times I made a move to try to be close, be it with the little things or just being in the right place at the right time (Bracebridge Dinner, the study sleepover, that damned night you had to meet Sherrie when I just wanted to celebrate with you after the debate), I took every opportunity to try to get closer to you. I've felt more for girls more than I ever did men; honestly, Tristan was the right boy at the right time for me. But I have no actor I idolize, who I dream about having a sexual relationship with. Even in my younger years, I was more curious of those like me more than I was with the boys. Then as I grew up I disassociated from the regular female peer groups because of my advanced brain; Barbies were an image to be loathed, jewelry is decoration, a waste, that music telling me I'd be Jordan Knight's or All 4 One's only lover was bullshit. They didn't want me, they just wanted my $16 and the profits from the ancillary merchandise, so they could smoke a few joints with that cash. See where the cynic I am today came from? My idol was Marie Curie, my bookshelves loaded with so many experiences of men and women in love. I read more of the women and how they felt, and found them more fascinating than men. Eventually, Tristan fell out of the way, leaving you to project that idea towards me of the perfect girl I wanted, and I knew it from that point; I wanted you, and you only.

You should know by now that when I write down a goal, I intend to not only fulfill it, but then exceed the expected. You have been number one for months, from the day I asked you to be my VP. God willing, I'm not going to keep being the nervous girl you saw me as tonight. I hate coming off unprepared, so be ready for me to assert more control tomorrow. I wish I could just close the distance between us right now and be together, in that bed again. That was the best sleep I've had in years, and it's all thanks to you.

I'm still amazed we won the marathon too, that proved we were an unstoppable combo. I felt great guiding you, like I was needed, and I'm looking for a story idea in there somewhere (Of course; you think I'm letting this journalistic gold slip out of my pan hon? I already see the article and maybe even a book deal out of this!), and I did feel like I proved so much out there. I've fallen for dancing all over again, and though I'm too old and uncoordinated to get back into it professionally without giving up Harvard, it's something that I have in mind as something fun we can do together.

With a time limit of course. No more dances longer than three hours, my feet beg of you! Although if you want to sway me as close as you did yesterday, I certainly wouldn't have an issue with that.

I'm glad to see you're over Dean too, and that you left him before you pursued me at a 100%. The opportunity was sudden, but you didn't love him anymore, better to end it now than to have waited longer when you felt strongly for someone else. With certainty, I would have told you if you came up to me and asked me to spark a relationship, yet still was the girlfriend of Dean, I would have said no and rejected those advances, for I refuse to be a side dish, something to be ashamed of. I need a loyal love, not an uncertain one. No matter what I think of him, the least he deserved was to know you didn't feel for him like you did a couple years ago. Thank you for that, it gives me confidence this will work out.

OK, I'm seeing on my clock that a half hour has passed since I started writing, and I've cut and added so much to this letter that any more editing and I'll lose the original point of what I wanted to say in response. Besides, I'm getting near to my new bedtime, so I suppose I should click send before I end up sending a line of non-sensical text from my nose hitting the keyboard, too exhausted to stay up and write more. So I will end this letter to you Rory, pleased that I'll be able to be your morning ride from this point now (and the $10 will still suffice, really, you forget how I live?). Do you think it would be too much to fake the bus driver out at the stop and wait like you used to, then the moment he opens the door, run across the street towards my car, jump in, and flip up a middle digit toward that jackass?

The idea is open, but I doubt you'd take to it. Still, fun to imagine.

I better wrap this up before I ramble on all night then. I'll see you tomorrow morning; maybe I'll come into town early and stop in at the diner, I'll decide when I get in there. I like that Luke guy a little more but I'm still a little wary of his health code compliance, but I'm sure he's fine now. Go back to your cowgirl of a mom, you miss each other and I don't want to be in the way of that. I'll talk to you later, you sleep well now.

Sincerely,
Par

P.S. - So I was a good kisser, hmm, far from a 'Georgia' Porgie? Not that I had a lot of practice, I just used your guiding me on that couch and hoped and prayed all those sappy movies and books with kissing in them I trained on worked out well, my fingers were crossed the entire damned time! Thank goodness I also had experience from summer camp a few years back, and that you didn't cry. I'd feel awful otherwise.

P.S. to the P.S. - Damn it, I promised myself I'd never ever do this in a romantic letter of any kind, but it just feels incomplete without these marks, I'm trying to make you smile before you go to bed, and 'Sincerely' is something you say to your college advisor, not your lover! You should know what they mean already, so just know that I mean each and every one of them.

-XOXOXOX Rory-

I like how that looks; that's how I'll sign off my letters to you from now on. Unless it's serious, then I have to go with basic letter-writing protocol...Alright, hitting send before I start an entirely new letter! Good night.

I finish reading the letter, basking in the length of what Paris has said in response. I swear she puts her hearts into a subject and never lets go, since my scroll bar along the right side was so thin I could barely see it. Not that I mind of course, Paris' wordplay is an attraction that pulls me closer to her, especially if it takes a few pages to all print out. I sit here, read it and react as her words fill my brain.

Her point about changing text to handwriting is well taken, as I've said in the past I think hers is beautiful, so I think about her instead of sitting at her desk typing and retyping, writing out her note with an expensive Mont Blanc pen, making no mistakes and just receiving the response after a week where it was stuck in the mail system.

I look over what she's said about her past opportunities to woo me failing. Now I'm under the state of mind that fate happens for a reason, and for Paris, it had to happen over and over before she could finally receive the end result. I would never know what might have happened if Sherrie would have waited another day to meet me, freeing Paris and I up to celebrate the debate. Neither can I predict the outcome of that February sleepover had the boys never stopped by. What those delays that got in her way did give me, was more time to decide whether this infatuation was for real, or a simple phase of girl-lust that would melt away eventually. If those opportunities had opened up, who knows what may have happened?

I grin as I read that my being pissed off turns her on. I've always had a feeling that was the case; she tries to move closer and counterpoint whenever things get vicious. I would be right to probably say that if our arguments weren't being done while she wore the Chilton uniform or her usual turtleneck/cords combo, that I would see that she was far from angry, that in theory, her breath would pick up, her heartbeat would speed up, and her body would be in such a state of disillusionment that I can't help but notice that her sexual self is torn between the good little girl guise, and the rebel that lurks deep within. I still think of that argument from time to time, and imagine her after I flee stomping off to her car, driving off to some desolate parking spot far from anyone (or a police officer for that matter), and then just blowing off that stress with a fervent session of getting herself off...

How can she make me think of her like that at a time like this? God, I never did this with Dean, thinking about how he thought of me! Again, this is where my thoughts usually drift off towards the more sane habits of girls. We're elegant and I can get more into the romantic image of Paris in her seat, moaning my name as she nears her climax. With Dean, I just couldn't, I don't know. I get the sense he probably dreamed of me sexually and got off just fine, but I never did to him because I felt guilty. Not to mention with my mother just a floor above, it killed any thoughts of that happening. Add to that how males get sexually aroused and what happens when that arousal ends, it doesn't paint a very pretty picture with his...stuff all over me. We need not get into details here.

I read towards the end of her letter, happy she thought well of the entire day and the events we shared. Somehow, her first postscript is just very girlish and shy. She feels odd that she kisses well, yet it gives her a thrill that I crumbled in her arms, which I truly did do.

Her second one shows off that side I'm trying to bring out, the Paris who's in love and doesn't care she's a sap showering me with virtual kisses and hugs. I grin as I finish reading the letter, then I save it out to a file, putting it in a password protected folder no one can access unless they know the phrase that pays.

Geeze, it's already 12:15 in the morning? I've had a lot to take in today, so I close my laptop and put it off to the side as I prepare to go to sleep, ready for the first full day that Paris and I are a couple, albeit one hidden from the general public. I feel my heart swell and my body heat as I bring the blankets close to me, realizing that Paris' scent is still all over these bedcovers, especially on the pillow she rested her head on.

She smells so good, and I wish that she was here, sleeping next to me, her fingers along my waist like how I woke up at 11:00am. I think of those feelings her cuddling elicited inside, along with how just about naked I was in that tight tank combined with those pants so thin, I felt like I wasn't wearing them at all.

I'm breathing heavily right now, recalling her words and uneasiness about the situation, along with when she called me hot, her weight bearing against mine as she brought me in for that second kiss. My heart is speeding up, and suddenly, all these uneasy thoughts of giving myself pleasure thinking of Paris, thoughts I had gagged all two years with Dean, they're stronger than they ever had been. I've felt her up close, memorized each and every crevice, curve and dip along her back, felt her breasts against mine, over these last 44 hours with her.

I look up at the tiling of my ceiling, trying to distract myself from what my inner vixen is suggesting. You know you want to, it implores, heightening Paris' fragrance inside of my nostrils, and reminding me of the sweet taste of her mouth as her lips locked against mine. I try to toss towards one side, which makes the fantasy roll along even more. There's nothing separating me from touching my breast except the purple flannel cloth, which rubs against the erectile tissue of my areole. My eyes tighten closed and I hold back a moan as the sensation runs through my body.

OK, you're going to stop right now. Don't forget you have to be up at six, I remind myself to bring myself back into reality. Yeah, 5 1/2 hours of sleep, I can still get that, just settle down...

"You look hot right now Rory." There's that voice again from earlier this afternoon, that sentence that made me wet, telling me the words that confirmed she thinks of me as more than a friend. OK, stop again, Dean, Dean, Dean, let's think of Dean making out with that guy who plays Clark Kent on Smallville, hell, let's make it a three-way with Lex Luthor and watch as both of them would rather eat Brussels sprouts than have an orgy with my ex-boyfriend, that'll work...

Or not, crap! My hand is moving between the hem of my pajama shirt and the waistband, thinking of Paris' slender fingers playing with the flat skin between the two clothing articles, that secret smile in my gaze as she plays with the tie and starts to undo the knot of the pants, a sort of sweet revenge for my little knot torture with the tomato dress. That sexual buildup from the last two days seems to have reached a zenith, and I think no matter how I try to ignore it and go to sleep, it's not going to be satisfied until I take care of it.

I sigh, Paris' aroma and voice overtaking me as I give into my vixen, shirk the covers off to the side, and I spread my legs, giving in no matter how much I want to say no. Suddenly these pajamas feel like too much on my person, so now I'm undoing the shirt to expose myself, my voice whispered as a hand brushes against my breast, and I look down my body in the darkness, that exposed inch of blue floral patterned waistband from below my pants making me moan as I start slowly teasing myself into thinking Paris is sharing the bed and doing these things to me.

I'm smiling to myself, my mind taking off towards her bedroom and wondering if she partook in herself and one of those dreams where I'm the star before she went to bed. Or even better, a sleep-talking dream, which would normally be a psychological anomaly, but with those old eighty year-old walls covering up whom she was thinking about, warming me even further.

Tomorrow's going to be an interesting day, seeing if the flirting we've done in class backs off, or becomes even hotter, yet hidden in school, because I know I'll be moving my massage strokes towards her bra line tomorrow, no question. I wonder if we'll kiss before school, if she'll brush her thigh against mine during life sciences, if she spends the day with her mind focused on how to rile me up in Latin.

For now though, there's only one thing I want to focus on, and that's dreaming of myself unbuttoning her shirt as she pushes down mine, and then after awhile, asking my permission to move lower. God, she's so beautiful, so untamed, very sexual. This relationship is going to be interesting, and as I brush a couple fingers against the fringe of my waistband, I think of how I got to this point in time, with her finally my girl. The tease has been a hell of a lot of fun, but there's nothing that compares to launching into the relationship. Things can only get hotter, and much more interesting from here. I only can hope I won't get burned too badly from this...

To be continued...