"Babe? Rory? Hey, the film's almost over, it's time for Rapunzel to get back to her evil mother in Hartford." I felt a shaking against my shoulder, trying to get comfy with what I thought was a pillow. I opened up my eyes slowly, trying to let the light shock filter slowly. I had no idea where I was, much less what time it was.
"I'm sorry, I'd stay a little longer, but she's getting worried, Ror." Another voice, only this one I recognized from my dream moments before.
"Wha---what's happening?" I finally woke up, and realized that the 'pillow' I lay my head on wasn't that.
The itching should've tipped me off, along with the fuzz and static cling in my hair. I looked up to find Paris' gazing down at me.
"You fell asleep about the time the events started building. It was definitely god-awful, as your mom promised."
"Oh, in the movie, right." I rubbed the sleep out, realizing then that I had fallen asleep nuzzling against Paris's shoulder. "But I usually can watch it all without getting bored."
"It wasn't the boredom, kiddo," my mom interjected, "you didn't get much sleep over the weekend and it's just catching up with you." The all-nighter I pulled on Sunday night to review my classes for today suddenly seemed like a bad idea. I tried to bring myself up, but I then realized that before I started my nap, playing with each other beneath the blanket caused two things to happen, one of them being that my arm was stung numb from draping it across Paris' back, and then placing my hand at the side of her waist. Both of us were beyond relaxed and comfortable.
Of course, what she exactly did to get me into that state was what really got me to fall asleep. Her hand was still against my thigh. Now regularly, that's not a problem, all lovers do that, right?
That hand, however, was spread all along my jeaned flesh, with her pinky finger still in the unzipped area of my pants, alternating between playing with the denim, and then the zipper, and finally the now cool cotton beneath dampened by my wetness. Both of us had taken Miss Patty's advice and played beneath the blanket. I went with pawing her up without Mom noticing, while Paris decided to go lower. At first it was tentative and I felt Lorelai's gaze weigh upon me, Paris playing with my jeans zipper and pushing the hem of my sweatshirt up as she took advantage of my wanting state.
Eventually with each touch softer and softer, wandering along my sides, belly, and then lower than that, I collapsed against her and fell asleep, waking up with several popcorn kernels uncomfortably down my shirt, dropped in a drowsy attempt at eating. Some of them ended up in my bra even.
Paris, however, didn't dare disturb me, nor did she leave until she absolutely had to. There she was, still looking at me like she was awed at even being near me.
"Hey," she murmured softly. Without a second thought, she kissed my forehead. I was stunned she did that, and though I darted my look towards mom, by then she was on her way to the kitchen, pizza boxes in hand to put in the mud room for recycling.
"Hello, are you mad?"
"About you falling asleep? Of course not, we have to catch rest when we can sometimes. But I should've listened to you earlier and went with a sweatshirt, your face looks like a rash broke out." Laughing, her thumb ran along the texture of my face, temporarily patterned with the wool shapes of her sweater. "Besides, after this day you definitely needed some quiet time away from me."
"But I wanted to spend more time with you...awake." I felt sad since I wouldn't have the usual five days this week to be with her, only 3 1/2 before Wednesday afternoon, when she had to join the Thanksgiving rush and catch a flight with Sharon to Daytona Beach, where she'd spend the holiday weekend with her hated maternal relatives.
"You defended me today, hon, you deserve to rest," she said softly, her face covered with a slight smirk. "I should really thank you for dealing with your mom in that way, I didn't know how she'd accept it, especially after I panicked and she threw all those accusations at me." I just shrugged; I did it for the sake of defending her as my girlfriend, it was something I'd do for anyone, really.
"I didn't really do all that much, I just stated my case and hoped that would be enough."
"God, you're so modest...and stubborn." She pushed me up, and I was able to get my zipper back up as she told me exactly what my confession meant to her. "I was ready to give everything up, but you just jumped right in and stopped me from self-destructing, you don't know how thankful I am you turned this around."
"Hey," I soothed, settling a hand onto hers. "you're my girlfriend, and we need to get through this all together, so don't start doubting yourself now. You certainly haven't before at all, you stubborn mule." Her eyes squinted for a moment as she gave me a warning glare and a gritted out 'Rory!' in jest. Both of us got up and kept our eye contact strong.
"Yes, but this isn't a test score, this is real life," she said softly. "Ms. LaCosta and your mother are fine with us, but that was to be expected. We still have so many people to convince that we're a couple and we mean no harm."
"One at a time, that's how we do it." I scratched the nail of my thumb inside of her palm. "This wasn't the perfect time to come out, but better that we have it out of the way, because now you have a place to go to when things get too rough at home."
"Really? You're sure about that?" Paris smiled and I nodded.
"You're coming here once a week anyways per my mom, but I definitely want to see you more often than that."
"Me too." I felt silly staring at Paris the way I did, and I'm sure she felt out-of-body, the both of us falling so fast, and already breaking my mom's rules despite her insistence. "It's too bad I'm stuck in Florida this weekend; I was looking forward to the both of us at the Civic Center serving for the Hartford Mission Dinner Thursday morning." I could tell how depressed she was about it, for it was one of Paris' favorite ways to show her compassion for the community. "This year I was finally going to get turkey and gravy duty. I've moved up the totem from pumpkin pie since I was eleven."
"Maybe next year?" I wondered, hopeful.
"I'm not sure, they usually try to go for new blood after high school graduation." She sighed, trying to push her bitterness down. "I guess I'll live with it, though the Pats better win in Detroit, otherwise the whole day's a loss for me."
I assured her that I was going to make it bright somehow. "I'll call, I promise."
"And I'll know, silently, my phone has a vibration function, along with software to make it ring or shake however I want."
"Oh yeah?" Curiously, I wondered exactly what I was under. "Please tell me you don't have me under the chorus for Along Comes Mary." Always nice to make yet another dent in that nickname Tristan gave me so long ago, but is quickly becoming untrue.
"That's a good one, I'll have to remember that for when I get bored. But for now, it's simpler than that," she told me, "just your name in Morse code, ROR, both in vibrating and audible form. Everyone else thinks it's just my calendar reminder, and they don't suspect a thing."
I was awed by that simple touch of cuteness on her part, being saluted in such a secretive way. "And they say languages are dead, you're still putting it to use quite well there."
"I have to admit, you've softened me, Gilmore; everyone else except Daddy, the girls, and my Harvard assistant get the default, but for you, I can make an exception." Both of us got up as my mom came back into the living room.
"So," she directed her attention at Paris, "you had fun."
Paris nodded affirmatively, the tightness in her voice gone from hours before. "I really enjoyed the movie, Ms. Gilmore."
"You're never going to call me by my first name, are you?" Lorelai shook her head, smirking.
"One day, but for now, I'm minding my manners." Her messenger bag was at the side of the couch, and she slid it onto her shoulder. "I'm sorry again for the way I reacted...just stress and all." Her apology was genuine, and Mom was pleased to hear it, smiling at the girl before letting us both head for the foyer for our goodbyes.
"It's OK, I should be apologizing for the same thing. Who knows, maybe one day we'll both look back on this and laugh, and laugh, and laugh." She approached the both of us, and stood near Paris, trying to make her as comfortable as can be. "I'm still recovering from this, but really, you have a place to come here if you ever have any problems at home. We're not going to turn you away Paris. I'm trusting you with my daughter there," she then pointed at me, "and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable with me, I'm cool. Like a cucumber. In Arctic ice with a cherry on top and a penguin adding it to his glass for a saltwater cocktail--"
"Mom, I think she gets it," I interrupted, trying to get Paris home before Sharon blows a gasket. Unfortunately, this led to the true beginning of the 'Paris and Rory like each other' teasing I know will be a new routine with her.
"Oh boy, someone wants to pucker up! You better watch out, Paris, she's hot for you!" She giggled like a schoolgirl at her own joke, her sense of humor so warmed. She expected Paris to laugh, but instead my girl gave off a blank stare.
"Uhh, all right then, apparently you're both too tired to make a comeback." She finished off on a more serious note. "Drive safely then. Goodnight Paris."
"Thank you, Ms. Gilmore, and please, keep that film hidden out of my sight." She shyly smiled, and Mom went back to the kitchen for more popcorn as I showed Paris to the door, the both of us still happy about how everything turned out. I placed my hand on the doorknob and watched Paris slide her arms through her jacket as she put it on.
"Do you feel better about your chances with everything?" I asked, enveloping her college interview within the coming out and acceptance concerns.
"I felt doubts ease tonight; this was a great idea, Gilmore. Thanks a lot for everything, I'll go over my answers on the tape and construct replies from there."
"Anything to help," I confirmed. "Now we just have to get you over these unfounded Wizard of Oz fears." I grinned as she rolled her eyes. "Come on, it's a very sweet movie."
Leave it to my favorite classmate to ruin the magic of a film like that for me, forever. "It's a commentary on the incompetence of municipal politics, bad road design and messy ethnic relations between several groups of citizens. You really haven't thought about how maybe the Wicked Witches felt abused by the system tilted towards the needs of those damned little people and that Emerald City? She's an anachronistic woman stuck in her own ways as the Yellow Brick Road goes through her backyard while four disparate wanderers hope some nut job with fancy special effects can make their dreams come true and plot to bring her down. And then Dorothy, playing her 'cute card' to get out of the fact her house squashed the Wicked Witch of the East! She should've been tied up for weeks in the Munchkinland Police Department filing paperwork..."
Oh dear, she's going to run out of oxygen, I thought as she went on with her theories. Once she got to her 'Buddy Ebsen's Tin Man makeup was sabotaged' theory, I noticed just how fired up she was, her brow furrowed up, mouth looking so delectable around those plump pink lips, and how hot her voice sounded deep in a silly pop culture argument. I felt my heart speed up, blood pumping faster.
Yes, I was getting turned on by her anger, and loving all of the points she kept shooting at me. I loved seeing her this way, all flustered and passionate, but she had to get going soon, unless she liked Sharon grounding her for a week for 'worrying her'.
"Paris, you do realize that you're applying real world politics to a fictional world," I argued. "Whatever Baum had in his head, who cares, it's a great book and film."
"It is not..." I knew one way to win this argument, and it wasn't going to be with words. Keeping all of my attention on her, I gave her another once-over, and decided to make her want to get home...really fast.
"You might be scared of the movie," I whispered softly, wrapping my arms at her waist, "but you know that Dorothy in that gingham dress gets you hot." Bringing her closer to me, I laid a quick peck against her lip.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "How do I think of her sexually?"
"Oh, not her, the character, or Judy Garland. You don't remember my talking about the Halloween Festival here last year during a lunch talk, do you?"
Naturally she was confused about my sudden tangent. "Am I supposed to remember that?"
"You probably should've, considering you excused yourself to the restroom after I told you my costume choice." I nipped at her lip once again. "I was Dorothy last year, remember? I have the perfect All-American looks to pass for her, so I decided what the heck, let's go as that. Dean was a scarecrow, but wearing a straw hat and overalls just didn't put him into character that much, he sucked."
Slowly, I brought an arm up along her side as she gritted her teeth, trying to remember the details. "Isn't it appropriate for a small-town girl like me to go as a small-town girl after all? The day after, I describe the costume at lunch to you and Maddy, how it fit perfectly, Mom's design of the ruby slippers was a dead-ringer, how it was fun to go around town with tons of candy in my basket."
"Rory--" her monotone was a shriek, and I felt her body react as I moved that hand higher and higher, pushing aside the jacket.
"You can admit it to me, don't feel shy. You go to bed, and you recall that memory of me describing my costume, thinking of me as a Dorothy, wanting me, to corrupt me further. Because I have..." I cupped a hand along the bottom of her breast. "I remember thinking of that months later, the day after we won the election, my mind a jumble because of Jess. I got my mind off my kiss with him by thinking of you, how I felt. Your nicknames for me, like farm girl, Dixie Chick, Pollyanna, Fairest of the Fair--"
"I never called you that last one," she interjected, a creaky voice betraying her.
"No, but I know you've thought it. I know you probably think of me by every Disney princess name except for Jasmine and Ariel because I don't like showing off my belly and I'd make a hideous redhead. You've always thought of me as innocent before we came together." I bent down and kissed her softly, letting my tongue drift along her inside lips, her vanilla tinged taste returning to my memory once again. She fell into me and I shifted my other hand towards her rear. Paris was enjoying what I was doing to her, no matter that it was driving her up a wall.
I let the kiss fall apart slowly, looking at her deep, lusty glare, her mind spinning with everything under the sun. I brought her back towards where I was going. "You know when we were playing tonight, that was on purpose, right? That I'd like to get to know you more intimately?"
"Uh-huh." She sounded like she had to ask permission of a teacher to go further with me.
"Suffice to say, I imagine you in the worst ways possible, and get off to them. I got off to the thought of you dressing me down to nothing but ruby slippers, and I know that you get wet at trying to take my innocence." She inhaled a breath.
"Maybe a couple times I dreamed of it..." she wandered off, looking at me, her legs suddenly seeming to quake. "Or one afternoon I visualized it."
I smiled, glad to get it out of her. "I knew you did, Par." I used the three fingers of my right hand to play around with the soft flesh of her breast, obscured by the sweater and cami. "Which is why I relish every layer I see you out of." She couldn't respond as my index fingerprint made contact with her prone nipple. "Getting caught made me hot, and watching you with that shirt down is leaving me with a deeper want for you, it just stirred me up in the right way."
"What if you get caught now though?" she asked, my nail rubbing around the flesh. "God, that feels nice."
"If we are, we'll deal, but what she doesn't know can't hurt her." I kissed her one more time. "My mind has been haunted by you for months, and darned if I'm going to restrict myself to just kissing and making out. I've thought of you sexually, you have too, and we can't go back from there, right?"
"Nope."
"My mom will be fine, she'll come around, as long as you relax. But for now, don't let anything stop you from thinking about me the way you do, including rules. I like you Paris, and I'm not going to stop anytime soon." I smiled, and let her go, watching her ease from my grip, feeling wound up, her face burning up from my insinuations. Man, I just love getting her this way, it throws her off, but I know she loves it. She slid her jacket back on and readjusted her bag strap, brushing some stray hair from her face.
She told me how much she appreciated my flirting. "I just still can't believe your mom is OK with us. It's strange to be like this, in a relationship, being accepted. Not all the way, obviously, but my foot's in the door."
I nodded back. "I'll push you in further, I promise."
"I know you will, just be careful."
"I will be," I said.
"Good. I'll see you early in the morning, don't forget to look over some of the ads on the Franklin intranet, I have a few I'm wavering on as far as design."
"I won't, I hope you have a good night."
"You too, Gilmore." She flashed her smile one last time and prepared to leave as I looked at her, wanting just a few more minutes more with that beguiling woman who's come to make my life a whirlwind the last three weeks. Again my heart felt a letdown like coming off a caffeine high, and I savored the taste of her last kiss in my mouth as I turned around, hearing the lockset turn when she opened the door.
I was about to come back into the living room...
"Hey, you know what?" Paris' voice went into a sharp tone, the way she said something on her toes. I stopped in my tracks, turning back around to face her holding the door open with her shoe, her deep dark eyes filled with realization.
"Huh?" I thought she'd say something about a topic she just came up with as far as her interview questions. Looking both ways and seeing Mom wasn't back in the living room yet, she called me over to the door, beckoning me in for a whisper. "What popped into your mind?" I asked.
"I am scared of the film," she confessed, "everything I said in front of Lorelai is true as far as that. But sometimes I have role-play fantasies in my mind." She was slow to come out with her admission, flustered to confess. "One of the most common ones I have is indeed, you as a certain Kansas fictional heroine, and I visualize you so perfectly, down to the ruby slippers, the hairdo, and that gingham dress." She shuts the door just enough to keep it open but not have anyone peek into the house. "And then I work myself off divesting you of each article and the period-appropriate underwear beneath, most likely obtained via the Sears catalog."
"Oh my God," my voice groans in want, and I feel her lips brush against my earlobe.
"Since I don't think of myself as a good Good Witch and the Wicked Witch guise isn't enjoyable, I usually think of myself as...and you're going to laugh at this."
"No, I'm not," I promised. What could she be? I thought, unable to connect her to a female counterpart to the scarecrow, tin man, or lion. She brought her mouth down to the bottom of my earlobe, and slid her tongue along the soft, sensitive flesh, sliding her lips down and folding it between them.
"Since I have a short height, I believe myself as a Munchkin...and a high-standing member of the Lollipop Guild who happens to have a thing for heroines swept in by cyclones." Her voice deepens, she nips at my earlobe, and then..."The difference is, I really love to lick sweets, enjoy lollipops to a high extreme..." Her hand brushed my upper thigh, then towards my butt. "...along with a inclination towards brunettes tasting of coffee and Red Vines. You know me, I enjoy working my mouth all the time, be it at work..." her teeth graze down the earlobe before she releases it. "...or play."
I kept myself in very tight rein of my body, even though all Paris's sexy words were getting to me. I was hot...and she knew she was getting in that all important last word before she had to leave. She took your home field advantage, my vixen noted, and cornered you hard. She released me, and gave off her secret smile at me as she looked at me dead on, her cheeks standing out and making her seem so invincible.
I'm supposed to be the expert on this relationship, but she's trying to equal the tables. There Paris was, leaving me a mess. Hours and hours of chaos, and she leaves me thinking of her going down on me in full costume, trying to find out what 'click your heels three times and have an orgasm' would cause from the ruby slippers.
"Goodnight, Rory." Her last words were a singsong taunt, her last action a quick kiss as I failed to respond to what she just planted in the front of my brain. I watched shell-shocked as the door shut, and she left me behind, a want to get myself off planted in my mind.
Turnabout's fair play I suppose; I give her the fuel that I find her getting off to me hot, and she tells me about a deep, dark fantasy she carries and will never tell anyone. I expected her to react, but not to turn the tables on me!
You better go and take care of that itch, Rory, you know you want to! To top it all off, let my inner vixen butt in and remind me that I was soaking from her close contact and perfectly selected words, and all I can think is Damn you, Paris...no matter how much I like you, there are just times where you can just get me fired up in the worst way possible!
Really, damn her, for having such great verbal skills, limitless income, a way of winning everything she eyes up, and to have a body like hers that I'm slowly puzzling together, along with her saliva still cooling my earlobe...
I stood there in the hall as Mom came back into the living room, totally lost. She tried to make conversation with me, but all I could do is nod back, listening to her ramble on about my newfound sexuality as I nodded, 'yeah'ed, 'Yes, Mom'ed and 'mm-hmm'ed my way through it, agreeing with such observations as the dance marathon, Paris' completive demeanor getting me riled up, how I'm attracted her bad girl side with the cars and wine, the things I've gone over in my mind many, many times before. Nodding and agreeing, all I could think about through the fifteen minutes was that my bed was calling my name, and it smelled of my girlfriend, contained her hair strands on the pillow, and I needed to indulge myself.
I made some effort to conversate eventually, and she got to a part where she said she still loved me with all she had and would accept me, no matter what. I love my mom, but sometimes her long monologues really get in the way of what I want to do, you know? Finally I yawned, and it was then that Mom noted my tired state.
"It's been a long day, kiddo, you should head off to bed," she said.
"Yeah, I need it," I said back. "I'm glad everything is fine at least."
"You'll both be fine, Rory, just keep things a secret for now, OK?"
"We're not saying anything to anyone else for two weeks." Both of us then went to our bedtime routines after hugs and kisses, and I could go to bed, relieved that I wasn't the 'wrong way' when it came to who I was attracted to.
Maybe not right to bed of course...
Looking out the window as I lay in my bed now, two hours after Paris left and I was able to get in some muted alone time, I feel so tired as I find my mind going over tonight over and over again, my body so relaxed after indulging in getting myself off. My eyes are weighed down with sleep, but I feel much better about indulging in my body in my own bed.
A few weeks before I would've been afraid to, from what I thought was a fear of being caught masturbating by my mom or even someone else. I didn't even try to do anything, preferring the shower to get off to any thought of Dean touching me sexually.
These days however, I theorize that literally I needed to put a damper on my sexual fulfillment, because I never could create enough fantasy material with Dean to keep me satisfied. For some reason I could never think of him coming to Chilton and taking me in the school uniform, nor in a place that you'd think would get me all wound up, the checkout stand at Taylor's. I thought about it once in my dreams, but woke up freaked out by it since his clumsy hands ended up activating the conveyor belt, which ended with me waking up as my skirt, and in turn my butt got sucked in. I'll spare you the further gruesomeness from there, but you can see that my imagination for getting myself off was quite limited with Dean. Either the setting was too dirty (the garage at his house), too noisy (his house), or else was interrupted constantly (remember Clara? She butted in every time!).
I feel less shy however around Paris as far as settings, and once I got into my room and dressed down to my underwear, I started thinking about Paris' Oz fantasy, but without her there I thought it a little disappointing for her not to be able to bring it to life. Instead, I decided to dream about what may have happened had Mom not walked in on us, how both of us would've eventually stripped to panties and undershirts. I let my mind wander around the image of myself taking off Paris' camisole, remembering the image of her exposed naked breast now burned into my mind. She comes back through the stripped shirt, tossing it off to the side, her long silken locks making the view of her breasts as if having to part a transparent curtain. I think of her that way and I feel an air of mystery build up inside of me.
My hands, I thought of them as hers, caressing my body like a tuned instrument, fingers at the underside of my small breasts above my tank top, and then a brush of her fingers along my nipples.
"You know, you'd be a very good heroine, the way you look reminds me of a younger and brunette Linda Hamilton." The only person to make Terminator 2 watchable (damn it, the only reason I watched anyway was because of Mom's strange Edward Furlong crush of 1999!) came into my head, and I felt myself respond more and more. I turn off the bedroom light, going by feel and darkness to make the fantasy more realistic. She tops me, and I gasp as I brush a hand against my dampness, still obscured by my panties.
"You want me so bad, Paris, I know you want me, please." I talk to myself, using my mind to construct responses by DreamParis. Her hands brush up my sides to take off my shirt, freeing my breasts, sore with arousal and want of her attention. Then she kisses me hard, not relenting or making the kisses romantic, these are hard, blood-boiling kisses, designed to get me wetter and wetter.
I keep the fantasy boiling, wandering my fingers to only work my pussy for short periods of time, just enough to get me in the mood, build up the sensitivity. I'm breathing heavily, my body cooling from the building sweat. I play with my breasts, cupping them in my hands, and then I dare her to make me scream. I haven't had such a hard cum before, and the flirting has built up through the night, I'm ready to get off.
Pushing the duvet off my bed with my feet, I arch against the headboard, trying to get into the perfect self-fuck position. I think of her straddling me, commanding me that she will be on top in that deep foreboding voice that has such a command to it when she asks me to do something immediately. Her hand brushes against my pussy in a tortuous way, finding my clit and brushing it through the far ruined cotton soaked deeply with my want of her. I hyperventilate, tightening my mouth to hold back a strangled scream. My nose mixes in the scent of her shampoo, still strong on the pillow beneath my bed, and the raw aroma from my body, provoked and tightened, ready for her to bring me off.
I continue to groan, and then I hiss as I push the material aside strongly to expose my lips, so strong I hear a slight tearing sound and feel it loose in my grip. The air cools me down, but at the same time makes me gasp as my fantasy shows Paris kissing down from my belly until she's facing my clit, engorged with blood. Honestly, I can say that it felt like there was a weight down there all night with each provocation as she caressed and played down there. I felt myself tighten up as I tentatively brushed two fingers softly against my lips, and then down to my clitoris. They were wettened with my saliva, as I hoped to have a reasonable reenactment of her going down on me.
"Oh God!" I had a lot of pressure built within. "Give me more baby, oh God, you're so wonderful." I speeded the pace, my other hand at my belly, wandering up towards my boobs. My nipples were pointed straight, the first time that's happened in months. My teeth bit my lip and I worked my hand, trying to open myself as much as possible without breaking open. I thrust my hand in and out my vagina, and then back to front along my clit, trying to find just the right place to get myself to cum. My eyes closed tight around me, and my voice deepened with every thrust, my hair fargone also.
"Get me off, Par, get me off now, keep doing that." I opened my legs a little more, the mattress shifting below me and my ass bouncing on and off with it as I tried to get each new thrust in. In the middle I made a mental note to myself that I might need to get something to push the orgasm further next time, but for now my trusty lil' hand would have to do.
I thought in my mind vividly of Paris's head in my hands, her hair tangled through, and my feet clenching her body at the waist to bring her tongue in closer to me. I moaned lowly, feeling the beginnings of the orgasm build. "Ehhhuggh, ehhhugggh, ehhhugggh..." I lost control of my voice, my body only focused on getting myself off.
I then think of Paris humming, bringing the vibrations from her tongue, remembering how sexy I found it she hmmm'ed.
Oh man, that really did it for me. I started stroking faster and faster, my mind thinking of the humming, and I started to convulse a bit, having to push my free hand from my breasts and onto the side of the mattress. I arched back further, a few inches off the bed, pushing the panty material further off to the side as my clit retracted with each bit of stimulation. I 'mmmmm'ed through it as I started reaching the hilt, cursing a little and crying Paris' name softly into the night, my eyes wrenched as my body felt so tight.
Faster...faster...faster. I saw her tongue flicking my clit, no regards to slowness, her breasts doing a little bounce as her head worked up and down. I reddened, my lips tight as I tried to keep myself silent. "Oh fuck...please, please, please, mmmmmm, yes, yes, yes...oh Par...Par...yeah sweetie, make me cum, yeaaaaahhh..."
I was reaching a point, my eyes tearing up, oh Jesus Christ! My head pushed into the headboard as far as I could go, my toes gripping the end of the mattress so I wouldn't fall off, I looked really weird I'm sure. I felt the hair tangle up within my grasp with each thrust, and then I pulled softly at my clit.
"Shit!!" That was doing it, doing it very well. I pushed further and further, trying to get off faster and faster, and it was working, the feeling going all through my bones. Paris below me, my hand was joining in on stimulation. Oh God, that was wonderful, and I started to feel the pleasant feeling in my tummy going through me. I stroked further and further, and more and more, the little button stinging even more pleasantly with each rub...
"OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!!" Then before I could realize it, I was at my peek, and I started to feel my pussy convulse with release, I started coming and really hard, thinking of Paris getting in two good last licks. I grabbed the sheet to the side of me and pushed it against my mouth to scream into it. Wow, I didn't know I could ever get off that hard, but I was, I kept contracting in and out for at least thirty seconds. My hands dampened as my cum flooded out, slicking my labia. I shook, the orgasm going all through me until it ended, my lungs filled with air and each breath coming out in a loud shriek.
I came down from my orgasm really hard, the fantasy successful in reminding me how much I wanted Par to want me in more than a loving kind of way, that I wanted her sexually. My body collapsed onto the bed in a lump, completely soaked, my legs still quivering and I was sore from the powerfully hard orgasm that just occurred. I was actually crying at how much the orgasm meant to me, how hard and beautiful it was to me, because it resulted from something I wished could've happened tonight.
And I was so close, only to be disappointed when I was caught. She would've done that, or something a little tamer, I thought to myself as I recomposed, trying to remember that sex was going to be one of the things that would bring us closer or tear us apart. That I felt such an intense connection with her that I allow myself to fantasize about her in formerly taboo situations. That I would push aside my former fears to jill to her in my bedroom, and that right now, I have zero shame about it.
None at all, so much that I didn't put on any pajamas, letting the tank top rest at the side of the bed, because I still felt warm from the afterglow after self-pleasuring. It was so odd to feel so contented from just thinking of her that way, of all the girls in that entire school, my heart is with her, rather than one of the P&P's (the school code for 'pretty and populars' in case you're interested). And she likes me too.
Two years ago about this time she was teasing me about missing a test and teasing me at every opportunity. These days she's still teasing me...but for all the right reasons. Talk about your skewed flips!
I'm laying bed after changing into clean panties just waiting for the sleep to come to me, and I know it will soon, because I'm all tired out. Tomorrow's going to be a three snooze day, I can already feel it...
Wha-whoa? What's my cell phone doing ringing, it's 11:30 at night, does the person calling realize I'm sleeping? God, if it's Shane and Jess calling me like last week to tell me which new spot they picked to have sex with, I'm gonna, ohh, their sex lives will be so ruined when I tell Taylor they got one of his employees to open the ice cream shop for an after hours 'taste test'...
Grabbing for the phone, dreary-eyed, I look at the screen, but can't see it because I'm so tired. I flip open the phone.
"Hello?" My voice sounds like crap.
"Just thought I'd let you know I got home OK." Paris? Why is she calling? "I uh, did I wake you up?"
"No, of course not, I always have time for you," I stumble out. "Just don't expect calls at this time of night."
"I know, I just felt like I have to thank you again for defending me."
"Not a problem." My hair was a mess and I was in no condition to talk, so thank God for a phone line. "I just did what was right."
"Are you going to be grounded because of me? I don't know if you two talked after I left." I could tell she was worried about that a little.
"No, she didn't say anything, I think we're fine, just have to be careful around her." Remembering back to earlier, I asked about Sharon. "Was your mom worried about you?"
"Are you kidding, she was mortified I didn't come with her! She was ranting and raving, saying I missed a good prospect as far as my lovelife." A pause. "Wait, I should rephrase that, what was the term she was using to describe him? 'A good boy with golden sperm'?"
"She did not." I laugh tiredly.
"Indeed, she used that exact term. Then she chastised me for considering interview practice more important, calling it needless and unnecessary. According to her, my social contacts are always more important than making good small talk."
"Does she forget that Harvard isn't UConn?"
"I don't know, but I can't get out of the next cocktail party the Sunday after next, no matter what excuse I have."
Shaking my head, I wonder how Paris could live with having half her genetic material from this woman. "We can't create a fake anniversary issue to get you out of it?"
"I'll suck it up, but I refuse to talk to Golden Sperm Boy."
"That's the spirit." I then yawn, feeling so, so tired. "You didn't have to call, you know."
"I didn't," she admits, "but I had to...just had to hear your voice one last time before bed."
"Or do you have an ulterior motive for checking in on me," I wonder. "Wondering what your revenge for my pizzagirl routine did to me?"
"I can't say this call has innocent intentions. But when you tease me like that Gilmore, you know I come back with twice the drive to bring you down."
"That you do."
"I left you all hot and bothered, naturally you'd want to take care of it," she says back, her voice soft. "I hope it was good for you."
I give the answer to that seductively. "Oh, very..." I shift the pillow beneath my head to get more comfortable. "I was about to sleep like a baby when you called." Another pause.
"You just sound like you had fun, I can tell."
"I did."
"Fun not involving one of your cute pairs of pajamas." Did I mention that I shudder at her blue-blood pronunciation of pajamas every single time?
"No pajamas at all," I note.
"Impressive." Yet another pause. "You know I'm just making small talk until Nightline ends, Koppel's topic is boring this evening."
"No you aren't, it's a Monday night, and during football season his show airs late."
"It does not."
"Does too, Paris, you lie through your teeth."
"But the news is boring, and the airhead on 8 is telling me that a homicide in Bristol is more important than Bush's ridiculous assertion Saddam has WMDs. Come on, you know he's just bored because it's been 30 years since we had a 'real war' and the warmongers are looking to get back in!"
"Paris," I try to point out. "I don't care right now about Iraq."
"That guy doesn't have anything to prove any weapons are there, and the air strikes and no-flys work, we'll be fine."
"I know you think Condi is the new Henry Kissinger and that Cheney's pulling all the strings for Powell, but I'm not exactly in a war-talking mood, really."
"You watch, we're going to invade just on a whim and they'll find nothing. Nothing!"
"Goodnight, Paris," I smile, not intending to hang up at all.
"No, don't go!" Paris is pleading for me to keep on the line, but I keep silent for a bit. "Hello? Hello? Rory? Are you there?"
I giggle, and then respond. "As long as you don't kill my afterglow with bomb talk."
"Oh damn it, you're just evil, Gilmore, I really was about to hang up you know."
"Sure you were Par-Bear, I'm sure you were." I laugh as she groans.
"Is it sad that I'm getting used to that name, finally?"
"Hey, you look adorable and cute, just like one of them."
"Yeah, the blue one with the cloud on his stomach."
"And you said you didn't know any Care Bears at all, do I finally detect some useless knowledge in that brain of yours, sweetie?"
"If I do, I'm not telling." I can hear her laugh a little through the phone mic. "You know I'm probably going to be late to pick you up in the morning."
"Why, how could you possibly be tardy to pick me up?" I ask sarcastically.
"Why don't you ask those wandering hands of yours? They seem to know more than you."
"Are you suggesting that after you end this call, you may do something you might not want me to know about?"
"Maybe," she hints. "However, you don't really know, so I'm just going to head off to bed now, and let you do the same. A sleepy mind means a sound body."
"I should probably do that; today's been a day I didn't want to end."
"I know, but the sun always comes back, so Tuesday is on its way."
"Damn Tuesday," I complain, stretching out across my bed. "but I can't stop it, I can only hope to contain it."
"I had to get with the one girl besides myself who watches Sportscenter for pop references only, not the scores." I hear her throw a couple blankets up in the background, and then crawl into bed. "I suppose, better end this call before you lose your sleep buzz. I just wanted to see that you're OK."
"Nothing unusual here, but you as the last voice of my night will do wonders for my dreams."
"Then have good ones, Gilmore. I'll talk to you tomorrow morning."
"OK sweetie."
"Another thing I'll have to get used to," she complains. "Goodnight...my dearest. How is that?"
"Still sounds classy without betraying your manners," I comment. "I like it."
"Me too. Uh, so, I'm really going to hang up now."
"OK, go ahead."
"Well after I say what I just thought of as a goodnight greeting."
"But you did already."
"I was just asking if it was acceptable."
"I know, but now you can say it like you mean it."
"But I meant it the first time."
"You did, I know."
"Rory..."
"Paris..."
"I have to hang up, and you won't let me say goodbye."
"I am."
"So say goodbye."
"Goodnight Paris."
"Not goodnight, goodbye."
"So you don't want me to have a good night?"
"That's not what I was saying!"
"Fine, I'll end it then, for real, this time." Then I finally close out the call. "Goodbye Paris."
"Goodbye and goodnight, my annoying manners-challenged darling." Before I could say anything (jokingly at least), she hangs up, and I close the phone, setting it back next to my bed with the ringer set to silent.
I can't believe I just had a hangup war with Paris, and she went for it! I'm guessing this is even more progress towards a long relationship, since Dean and I did it four weeks into our thing.
There's a difference though, and that was four weeks into knowing him, I didn't have any naughty thoughts about him, but Par, I certainly do. Is this a sign of some kind, of something more?
Really, I'm not sure myself, but if she's seeing me off to bed, there's something inside of her that's telling her that I'm the one for her. And I know the same thing is happening with me.
I'm just laying in my bed, letting this great day full of happiness, worry, disaster, trouble, and reconciliation go through me, and I think to myself right now as I feel my eyes heavy from sleep that this is perfect, and that everything is going according to plan.
So why is there a nagging itch telling me that I want to push things further? I know while Paris packs the next two days I'll only see her on rides and at school, but now that I've had a taste for her seductive side, I'm ready to tackle anything she might want me to do. That now, with mom's approval, I can go ahead and push things further along without fear.
It's just too bad I'll have to wait to do it. I know Paris wouldn't try anything with all of those pesky relatives around in Ormond Beach, so I'm not even going to try at all. Cross my heart and all that other stuff, you know? She has the willpower to go four days without me, and with our hormones sated, there shouldn't be a problem, right? Right?
Then again, it's mighty tempting to think of Paris in that one bikini set she showed me last week, just a cute little two piece colored a darkish pink. Maybe just one more time, if you'll excuse me...