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Chapter Fifteen: A Second Helping With Home Delivery (part 1)

Many times I've thought this way. The youngest thoughts were when I was five on New Year's Eve 1989. After watching what has to be many, many episodes of The Jetsons, I actually had a thought in my then-germinating brain that the next morning, we'd have flying cars, high-in-the-sky buildings on small platforms, and swift space travel to everywhere. Imagine my disappointment the next morning when I woke up in the same bed, in the same downtown apartment, as Lorelai was still recovering from Miss Patty's 'Punch in the 90s' drink from the Inn's New Year's Eve party. Asking her when we'd have the future portrayed in cartoons inquisitively, she told me that it'll happen one day but that every change is slow and gradual.

"Also," she reminded me, "there's no way they're going to build those places in this town. We have a 200-year history here, kiddo, and we can never lose our tradition. All that technology means nothing without the past as a foundation, and the people and community which makes living here worthwhile." It was then that I knew that I'd rather have the town square, the Inn, all of the businesses along Main Street, and the school, rather than food in pill form and holographic television. Change has to be slow; it can't sweep in and overtake everything that we have.

But for love, it's different. Change in that emotion is more often than not unexpected, and in my case a few months ago, not always welcomed by others.

For instance, all the way back in August, I was still recovering from the overload that was confirming Paris's sexual, albeit still secret, interest in me. The last three days after that evening where she went out with Jamie, then fantasized about me instead when she got back to Howard, it triggered my sexual curiosity in a way I never thought of. That I had stroked myself thinking about her after in the closet was still very odd, and as I came back to Hartford, Paris was on my mind.

But sex was, also. Dean's letters from Winnetka had disappointed me over the summer, showing him as someone who didn't even broach any kind of sexual desire with me, in a forum that was supposed to have me thinking wistfully and with love for him. He could've written anything that he wanted in those letters, gone into detail that he stroked his cock dry, thinking about us two, together, making love together as he did what I assume every boy does thinking about his girlfriend, masturbate to those thoughts. Soliloquies about the plumpness of my breasts, the tastes of my month, imagining my moans as he thinks about sliding his fingers within me.

Instead I get lame pleasantries that I'm missed and details about trips to Wrigley Field I could get from any book about the Friendly Confines found in the 796 section of the public library. Also not needed were details about bringing Clara out to Gurnee Mills for a day-long shopping trip. God forbid that I was pouring my heart out to him within my five-page prose per letter, writing about how I wanted to push things along, that the heat of Washington was getting to me and I thought about him every day, missing him those first two months and recalling the summer before. A whole letter, in fact, was pretty much a State of the Relationship letter, where I set out goals about where I wanted the relationship to go through the next few months. I included at least three paragraphs about my Prom night and whether we'd do Chilton's or the one at Stars Hollow High.

The response for that? A Tribune Tower postcard that pushed all I asked aside under the line 'I miss you, see you in August. Dean.'

It didn't get any better once he came back to town. Here I was, perfectly riled up after realizing that Paris likes me, and in a denial mode, trying to push those feelings towards my boyfriend. Somehow it works and I do think of him sexually as I work off tension in the shower every morning. I'm looking forward to my first date with him getting back. It seemed perfect to me, we'd do a Luke's lunch, and then move onto the house while Mom was working, where I could do whatever the hell I wanted, and he could too. I even dressed the part, going with ass-flattering jean shorts and a tank top that to any sane man (or Paris) would scream that I wasn't up to watching Lord of the Rings for the 265th time since April. Maybe he'd finally take the hint, hopefully.

Instead, as we make out on the couch, when I tried to get to the buttons on his shirt to take it off, he took my hands and batted them away. OK, I need to warm him up a little bit more. Three more minutes of making out, I go with another tact.

"Cup my breasts, I want to feel your touch," I moaned out. "God, you're getting me so hot!"

Now any normal guy? They would go for it and do whatever they needed to please me.

Not iron-libidoed Dean, no way. Instead of going in to slide his palms across my erect nipples, he pushed away from me.

"Rory," he tried to clarify, "We just got back together again, after spending two months away from each other. You don't want to do that; let's ease back in slowly."

He was probably being silly, so I tried to argue for my pleasure. "I don't! I've missed you and I've been thinking about you getting back all summer. Now come on." I pushed back towards him with a seductive smile and slitted eyes, going in for a kiss, my hands wanting to go for his midsection to unbutton his shirt.

"No, you don't want this," he argued for me. "This isn't the time, or place to do it."

"What are you talking about? My mom's not home and I want you. What more is there to stop us?"

Time for him to get out the 'it's Stars Hollow' excuse. "What if Babbette sees us?"

"Her windows don't face into the living room!" I was getting all flared up. "Look, no one's around, so you can go ahead and touch me in any way you'd like." I made another approach towards him, giving him a look that told him he was studly. "It's so hot in here too, wouldn't you feel more comfortable without that button-down shirt on?" Now, turning on the flirt voice..."I'm wearing a tank top and still feeling sweaty." Then I moved my hands down towards the hem of the shirt, trying to launch into a strip and tease for him. "There were times when Paris was gone, where I just lay on my bed, ran my hands all over, thinking of you, and I would just--"

"Rory, stop!" Dean was getting flustered towards me and this suddenly discovered attitude of mine. I was looking at him like he was hot and thinking that I could send him a signal that he was interested in me sexually.

"Why, Dean?" I licked my lips. "Your friend feeling a little...tight?" My eyes wandered down towards the fly of his jeans, which seemed to have a bit of bulk to please me. I wanted him so much...

"Don't do this; you're not ready, really. I'm not in the mood today." His voice made it clear that nothing I was doing was working. Meanwhile my inner vixen was making fun of him. Wait, aren't you supposed to say you're not in the mood? My jaw dropped as he said he wasn't in the mood...was I in a bizarre world where my boyfriend felt nothing for me beyond kissing partner? I was getting really annoyed and pissed. Here I was open to expanding the relationship, and he wanted no part of it.

"God, when will you ever be in the mood?" I said under my breath, trying to make sure that he heard it. Of course he did, and his anger came out.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I've been away from the guy I love for two months and you're not ready to do anything!" I yell.

"You're not ready yet!"

"Who's to say when I am or am not ready?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask your mother that?" he shot back with sarcasm. Oh, there went the horniness: now I was pissed!

"Oh shut up!" I tiptoed to meet him face-to-face. "Lorelai says this, Lorelai says that. Lorelai is not here right now, and she knows that we're turning 18. We're going to get hot and heavy once in awhile!" I made it clear to him how if he pushed the right buttons, I'd feel ready soon enough. "I'm on birth control! I have condoms in my dresser drawer! Do you want me to get a diaphragm to make you feel more comfortable with taking my virtue, eventually?"

"I won't wear a condom...it just doesn't feel right!"

"How do you know that until you try?! I mean geeze, I've just spent two months of my life, away from home, in the nation's capital, away from you. I feel like we have to make up for lost time, and you're still treating me like I'm 16!"

He turns around to face away from me, but I catch an appearance of guilt on his face before he notices. Oh shit, I thought to myself, he better not...he's...he does. Here I am, spending way too much time alone thinking about another girl, transferring those feelings to him, and he thinks that I'm acting like a common floozy.

"You...you do, don't you?" I said, downtrodden.

"It's not that I know you as that age, it's just...you'll be uncomfortable with it once it comes. You pro and con everything."

Finally, feeling the frustration build, I ask him the question spinning around. "That's true, but that doesn't matter. But, do you feel anything for me, sexually?" I wrap my arms around my chest, feeling ashamed that I was ready for him when he wasn't.

"I do, just...not right now. It's not the perfect time yet." He started to walk away, towards the door. "Maybe we can talk about this later."

"Dean," I plead with him, feeling a deep sense of disappointment fall into my heart. There's no way...he's been with you for two years. But he doesn't turn around, leaving the house in silence without acknowledgement. Moments later, I'm in a ball in my room, crying into my pillow because the boy I loved had coldly rejected me.

"Just...not right now." Oh come on! I had put it all out there for him to take in, and he would've made the decision right then and there! Instead, he doesn't admit anything and pretty much confirms how narrow-minded and conservative he really is. I start crying, but then as an hour passes, and then another, I realize that really, he isn't the right fit for me at all.

"Why did I push them aside?" I said to myself, referring to my feelings for Paris, which were stronger and amplified coming back from Washington, overwhelming any I had for Dean. "At least she shares some kind of passion!" We matched up perfectly, just like I stated to her as I brushed her hair before the date, and complimented each other. Meanwhile, the guy I was with, our interests barely matched, he didn't respect me as an equal, and obviously from the result of that encounter, I was going to be waiting a loooong time before I was going to get anywhere near second base.

Really, I think that was the end for Dean and I, that afternoon. I couldn't even muster many thoughts about him anymore, and my thoughts turned towards Paris, slowly at first, and then by October, things started to speed up as far as flirting and seeing each other more often. I still saw Dean but I didn't feel anything for him anymore. After his jealousy attack the morning of the sprinklers, it was clear to me that I was on layaway and he was way behind on his payments.

Ending it with him, I felt empowered, and as I look back on things, I realize how much I missed stuck under the illusion of first love. I had let him go once, only to be suckered back with an ultimatum on his end that made me have an outburst that if I had thought six more seconds about, would've thought better of.

But it's best not to look back on the past with any bitterness, live and learn, move on from there...

Wow, I really am on Paris's wavelength, aren't I? Talking like her, so passive, man.

Though it might also have something to do with being on something else of my girlfriend's. That is, my head, against her breast. And both of us are in her Manor bedroom, having an impromptu sleepover beneath the oft-modified nose of one Sharon Gellar.

Funny how a change in relationship can change your own outlook and attitude about love. A change I am now pleased that I made.

Of course, the tale of how I gave her a memorable welcome back to our fair Constitution State of Connecticut is so much fun...

* * * * *

When I got up Friday morning early, early, early at 4am to a scene where Mom had circulars from the Thanksgiving Courant all over the table, my heart was still pounding from the happenings of the night before. Again, I was in a mode where I listened enough to her to get the bare information needed for the Christmas shopping spree. That stayed left-brain, while right-brain was still occupied with Paris and what we shared over the phone.

I was dressed in my robe, nude beneath, my body still in shock that I was able to orgasm with not a touch from her, just her voice. The anticipation that she could do that to me with only that tool in her arsenal, I'm now in a full anticipation of the first time she touches me in a way that's beyond our flirting. Experimentation is fully out of the picture relationship-wise, judging from the connections we keep making through our talks together. Now I want the physical: we breached that step that night.

It feels strange, alien even, to know that she's not in my state as Mom and I go out and tackle Black Friday. The back of every blonde's head gives me reminders of her each time, though I know I'd be disappointed each time I'd look at the front. Going through the malls, the crowds, it's the usual blur as we make trip after trip back to the SUV (borrowed from the Inn--you seriously think Mom would do heavy shopping with the Jeep?!), the Christmas funding fading which each swipe of her debit and credit cards. Not that I'm going to tell you what anyone's going to get either, it's not Christmas yet. She's also saving shopping for me until I'm distracted by exams since my list isn't currently well-formed.

By about 11am Friday, we've done six hours, twelve stand-alone stores, and two malls, and finally she says the magic words of "Lunchtime!" that release me from her Great Escapeish plan which resulted in at least 70 other shoppers denied of bargains and sale items, and a few unfilled cases of assault and battery. I tell her I'm not hungry for anything and with her blessing, head off to the mall's Borders store to start my plan of hiding my "personal shopping" from her.

But you'll learn more about that later, for the rest of the weekend made me weary. Rest after visiting the grandparents on Friday night would have been welcomed but I had no time to stop since the Independence Inn on Thanksgiving weekend is, besides Valentine's Day, the busiest time of the year. Thus, Mom had me help out all weekend whenever I had breathing room. I had enough time for homework, but not enough to have much free time to reflect on Paris and I. Running up towels, newspapers, ferrying luggage, I did it all. The lobby of the Inn was a busy place all weekend as people left and came in, we had absolutely no vacancies to be found.

I did end up with a little free time, but it was to catch up with Lane and go music shopping with her out in Hartford. We talked about everything that we could, and her progress with Dave is going well. But she keeps telling me about how sad and down Dean is about being let go, and I have to bite down on my tongue not to tell her everything going on over the last two weeks.

Lately with Lane, I feel like the most horrible friend because both of our paths are starting to diverge. I mean when you look at things, without Dean and our past, there's a separation. I'm confiding much more than I ever have with Paris, to the point where I'm telling her childhood stories, and I'm drawing her out also. Since my life is singular outside of school, and my interest in Dean dwindled down to nothing, I don't care about the latest grapevine of Stars Hollow High: there's nothing besides Lane to connect me to it. Really, it was the worst year and a month of my life, being belittled for my mother's age and my lack of interest in any guy within that school. For instance, Lane tries to draw an opinion out of me about the school banning cell phones. Why should I care when I keep mine silent and in my locker all day, per Chilton's rules?

I'm so conflicted. The shame of knowing the next time I go into the antique shop, that I've done something sinful in the eyes of Mrs. Kim, and that I don't know how Lane will react my to my new love, it's something that's sticking to the back of my mind. Right now it has to be because when the both of us come out fully, I want to know that Paris and I can stand the onslaught of disapproval and jeers sure to come our way.

But for now, we have to build, out of sight, out of mind. The corners of the Inn, where no one strayed, the back office, empty since Mom was up front dealing with Michel and Tobin having to furiously check in people before the 7pm closing of the books. I dialed out, holding down one, listening to my voice mails. My senses flared up as Paris's 'message marked urgent' reached my ears.

God, does she realize how much of a hidden jewel she is? Describing her day, the bitterness spat out towards her idiotic relatives, it disappears as she describes a scene set in Florida, the two of us down there, together, alone. She uses the five minutes she has to her advantage, describing a scene where we were in Miami Beach, the South Beach area. Surprising to me, we're both in a dance club, one where close dancing is encouraged. Her words paint a picture of her in a dress cut up to mid-thigh, wrapped around that voluptuous form, as I grind against her in a backless dress of my own. Music with deep bass surrounds us, laser lighting, colored lamps across the dance floor. And there we are, the focus, the rest of the busy club a blur as we abandon the world to ourselves. She uses the fantasy on both nights, teasing me by ending it just as she starts sliding her hands up my dress on Friday, then uncensored the next evening. It makes me shudder, and I have to hold back on stroking myself as I hear both voicemails.

I go with my setting too as I describe my own both nights, but I do two stories. The first...oh, this is silly! I don't know if I should...it seems so cheesy and overdone.

Fine, quit looking at me like that! But really, it's very cliché!

OK, I thought of the both of us stuck in Luke's storage room. Yeah, told you your mind would be thinking Hasn't that been a sitcom chestnut since the Benson era? It's my fantasy, and I'll do what I want to! Yes, it's utterly ridiculous and Luke would never allow us anywhere near the place, but it's private, dimly lit, with plenty of boxes to do...interesting things on. Suffice to say that I'm sure I gave Paris some fantasy fuel with my description of going down on her as she sat on a crate of pickles.

The next night I went with an old fashioned track, using the Inn for the setting, her as a guest, while I do the housekeeping. That one...I'm a little shy about sharing how explicit and teasing I got with her, but I did imagine myself in a shorter version of the maid's uniform, and catching her having rented lesbian porn on cable (yeah, the Inn doesn't provide that service!). I asked her some questions, she gave me some answers, and eventually after some more baiting and teasing, we ended up together. Sorry, I don't want to get into it, but it's about what you expect in a situation like that.

So yeah, fantasies to keep us occupied, along with homework. But one thing kept bugging me about her voice mail on Saturday, and that is she ended it "See you Monday morning, Gilmore".

Monday morning, when I've been missing her all weekend, and the taste of her trademark mints within my mouth? She's going to come back tonight at 5:30pm, and she doesn't want to see me. Granted, meeting her at the airport would be a little too much and I know she has homework to catch up on, but that she wouldn't want to talk to me for an entire day and a half? It troubled me throughout today as I finished up my assignments. I know I didn't scare her off, but frankly, to not see one another was something I wasn't anticipating.

Then my inner vixen reminded me why I was being denied. It's Sharon. I frowned, looking over my work, trying to think about what she would possibly do with Paris on a Sunday night. Most likely use her to be her drink ferry for the evening. She had to hitch to the wagon to save face in front of the family, but she's back home, so it's time to attack a fully-stocked liquor cabinet! Hearing "Sharon" and "rehab" in the same sentence within the Chilton gossip circles was old hat, as it was her alcoholism that drove Mr. Gellar away from her fully in the first place.

A couple hours passed and it was nearing closer to 5:30. My mind kept thinking and thinking of her, looking for possible things that I could do to see my girl once again. A text invitation to Stars Hollow would be too late for that time of the evening, and after last week's coming out with Mom, I was trying to put off our first movie night with her as long as I possibly could.

Stop it, I chastised myself, it's only a few hours, really. Tomorrow at 6:45 she arrives, you eat at Luke's, and you're both girlfriend and girlfriend again. I tried to keep my thinking that way, neutral and unaffected. But it didn't work for long.

I kept going back to Paris, alone in her bedroom, trying to recover from the hell of being with her relatives for four straight nights. From how she felt and tried to divert away from the topic in her calls, she was ignored, or else brushed aside, for much more than the fact she was Paris. No one on her maternal side cared for her at all, and though she hasn't told me, I sense that because she sided with her father during the divorce, they regard her as a traitor and use each Thanksgiving to drag her through the mud, in lieu of the actual man. Her nerves were probably frayed, and she was all stressed out.

Looking through my work, I just kept thinking about her as the sun went down and five o'clock turned into six. She was on her way home now; her flight landed on time, yet no call from her to say she was okay. I would definitely assume that, seeing as in one of our ride home conversations, Sharon whined about her newly developed habit of text messaging rather than calling most of her friends, saying it was so cold and impersonal and took longer than a voice mail. I found no problem with it, used to it after having the AOL IM device for a couple years, though I haven't used it as much lately since Par tends to hide stealth on her screenname.

I was ready to give up when I remembered something from checking my Chilton mail earlier in the day. A couple of writers had submitted their Franklin articles this weekend; since I'm technically acting editor with Paris out of the state, they have to submit pieces to me so I can look them over. I pushed it off to the side because of busyness, but could look at them now.

Of course, Paris had reclaimed her editorial control as of 5:39pm when her flight landed at Bradley and since I haven't worked on them...

"Hmmm." I smiled, looking over the articles in Apple Mail. In the usual behavior of sending email, a click of the forward button to pgellar.franklin@chilton-prep.edu. I could send them right to her. But...

"I don't have any homework to go over, but the Franklin always comes first." I thought about it for a moment, looking at the articles. 1,000 words for each of them, on first glance there wasn't much proofing to be done; it was something that Par usually polishes off in minutes with her red pencil. Still, I had some wiggle room.

"I could claim my DSL went down," I say aloud to myself, "then I'd have to forward the articles by hand up to her in Hartford because I couldn't email them out." Sitting in my chair, I crossed my ankles together, pondering, thinking. Remembering that Paris's love for her "baby" always outweighed all else. She wouldn't be happy to know my DSL got knocked out, but she'd appreciate the effort made by me to get them up to her so she'd have something to do.

In turn, I also have my golden ticket into the Manor. Oh, if you could sense the giddiness of getting to see my lady once again, bouncing up and down in my chair. I had a foolproof plan in place...

And then it all came crashing back to reality. I couldn't use the Jeep this evening and drive out there, who knows if Mom needed it herself? I also didn't like navigating the 1/4 mile unlit road towards Gellar Manor at night because it led out onto a dangerous intersection.

Luckily, I remember back to the night I came home after she asked me out, with her driver Henrico. Somehow despite my drunken state I remembered the important part of the conversation...

"If you ever need a ride from there to here," he said as he took my hand and guided me out of the town car, "take this card. I'm on call for the Gellars at any time, and since you have a close relationship with Ms. Paris, I can offer you my services, for free."

"Oh, no thank you, really. This is only a one time thing." I try to refuse the card, but he insists on giving it to me, sliding it between the cords in the compartment of my backpack.

"I insist, ma'am. You'll need me again one day." With a tip of his cap and a smile, he said goodbye, leaving me appreciative for his kind services...

The card was now residing in the frame of my mirror, with Henrico's direct cell line on the bottom. I took it out, along with my phone, and looked it over. At first I was thinking about calling to Paris, seeing if she was open for a visit tonight.

But I decided against that, opting instead for the element of surprise with her. I wanted to see the look on her face once I walked in that door to meet her. I'm sure I'd get a smile that would last for months, a girl so happy to see me.

That's when I went into planning mode, looking over at my backpack...and then to the side, in a corner next to the desk, a certain pink bag with red writing on it...and then towards my closet.

If I could get a ride there, I noted, it's very likely I could stretch ten minutes of reviewing out into a little more...My grin went up in wattage to Cheshire-like. It was perfect! I had a Plan B if Paris couldn't see me, just drop off the papers and have Henrico ferry me back to Stars Hollow.

However, I preferred going with my Plan A, which involved my entire backpack, a change of clothes, and possibly a sleepover with Paris under the most innocent of pretenses.

Oh, she wouldn't know what hit her! I knew after the fun of Thursday night, we're both ratcheting up the heat together, and I was looking for some peace myself after a hectic weekend at the Inn, which for Mom wouldn't end until at least 11 tonight. She could use a break from her routine and want a rare Monday day off from not only work, but from me. She could sleep in to recover, and not have to do her morning Luke's trip. Basically, it's a win-win-win situation for everyone.

My only other problem however, was the woman that had borne Paris. I needed to figure out how to get past Sharon without suspicion. I had good luck in the past, but with her, you never know.

But I knew that Henrico was a good family friend to Francisca, Paris's nanny, along with being her husband's bowling teammate. Also, from the fact Paris has a Nextel in her room, the entire staff is connected. I could use that to my advantage; maybe give Fran some pre-warning so that the surprise can be hidden from Par until the last possible moment, and she could divert Sharon's attention away while I got up to the bedroom.

There it was...it was all set. I was going to worm my way into a sudden sleepover with my girlfriend without Sharon's knowledge and do it once again using Chilton as a cover.

Laughing to myself as I launched my sudden turn of events into motion, I wondered the exact moment when I became daring and willing to do things like this, just to see the woman I love. I certainly would've never done this before in my life, snuck tree climbs up to Lane's notwithstanding. Lorelai Gilmore, you are a certified genius, my inner vixen interjected as I called out to Henrico.

Also a horny genius, I thought to myself, feeling unnaturally funny about coming up with a plan even more complex than the simpleton strategy for getting into the school that Francine came up with for the Puffs.

* * * * *

"Are you sure that it's OK with her?" my mom asked as I talked to her on the phone, as the town car pulled off the expressway in Hartford towards the west side of the city.

"Of course it is. You know Paris, kind of obsessed with the paper." Turning on the charm, I knew I was lying to my mother, but I had good cause for it. "Besides, you need sleep; you've been running on coffee and muffins since Friday morning! That's not healthy!"

"I've done it lots and lots of times before, hon."

I remind her that she's not in her mid 20s any longer. "Mom, you were sleeping on the desk last night around 10:30!"

"No I wasn't! I was just...resting my eyes."

"You were snoring!"

"And my throat." I slapped my head, cursing myself for having such an overdriven mother.

"Mom, please, get some sleep! I'm out of the house for the evening, so you can sleep in to your heart's content. I'll be back in town by tomorrow evening; I need to help Paris go over these articles."

"Alright, dear," she said worriedly, finally giving in. "But don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Aw man, so you mean I can't put itching power in Mrs. Gellar's drawers?"

"God I hope not! Paris as your girlfriend is strange enough, Sharon would probably be a handful!" Oh God, I just hate it when Mom does a dirty spin on my quips. I cringe, trying to get the Idea That Shall Never Be Brought Up, Ever! out of my head.

"Ewww, mom!!"

"What, you can't tell me that she's beautiful," she joked.

"And I won't, God, don't ever mention beauty and her again! Thanks for letting me go over there."

"No problem, just remember, don't do too much."

"I won't." I'm glad she keeps 'too much' vague, as she realizes that Paris isn't who she thinks that she has been in the past. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too; don't forget to steal a toothbrush!"

"I won't...goodbye." Hanging up, I now officially had all of the obstacles keeping me from Paris out of the way. Sure, my mother may suspect that I'm probably going there under less than innocent circumstances, but judging from her waking me up on Friday, she was getting comfortable with my new relationship, if just a little. Though she had to learn it the hard way, since I shrieked at her to cover her eyes, as I struggled to get the blanket back across my naked body after she yoinked it out of my grasp to wake me up. I haven't been so mortified in all my life, but we came to an agreement that knocking before her entrance would probably be prudent from now on.

"However, I will still be showing her your baby pictures next time she comes over," she said as we got ready to leave, making me groan and cringe. Knowing Par, she'll enjoy that blackmail material profusely!

But for now, I had to focus on getting to Paris in the first place. I started to feel nervous as we made the turn onto Auer Farm, hoping that she'd react well to my surprise visit. Usually she was the one to spring up without warning, so it was truly a turn of the tables. Twiddling my fingers, my mind was trying to figure out how the night would go. Sighting the mansion, I suddenly felt nervous.

I could still ask Henrico to run in the papers for me and forget the plan. But I had to face up to facts. Paris was there, and I wanted to see her. And most likely once she saw me, we'd both be happy to see each other once again. All weekend my body was in a wait for the moment I saw that small woman, her dark, all-knowing eyes piercing my soul, her long hair bouncing as she went about a bustle of activity. Feeling her hands lain across mine, strong, smooth, probably smocked with pen ink and greyed with graphite.

I felt so weak, imagining those hands sliding down lower as she approached me, her throaty voice coming out of those lovely pursed lips, telling me how much she missed me as she...

"Ms. Gilmore, we've arrived." Huh? I looked around my surroundings...

Oh, we've pulled into the garage and parked. Did I really lose my mind track that fast? I blushed, hoping that Paris's driver didn't sense my erotic thoughts; but opening the door for me and guiding me out, he seemed ambivalent to what was going on in my mind. Grabbing my bag for me, he handed it to Francisca, waiting by the door into the kitchen, despite my insistence I could carry it myself.

"Nonsense, those things are heavy!" She took me by the shoulder as we went into the kitchen. "Paris used to carry a backpack larger than this, weighed about thirty pounds. Like carrying a bag of salt pellets around school for eight hours a day, she was hurting and had to go to the chiropractor almost monthly. Finally, I talk her into stopping at her locker more; she doesn't need to carry everything all the time. We don't need her to be shorter than she already is!"

"No, we wouldn't want that!" I said, trying to size up our surroundings before we headed towards the servant's stairs. "So, how is Paris exactly? Have you see her yet?"

Looking down at her shoes, I could tell already from the caregiver's eyes that she was relieved Paris was finally home. "I think that she really needs you, Mistress Gilmore. Deus, I haven't talked to her, but she looks like all the wind was sucked out of her. Sharon was yelling at her all the way up the staircase."

"What for?" We arrived at the narrow staircase and started climbing it together.

"I don't have an idea, but since Maureen is the maid tonight, she's on alcohol duty. I'm surprised she was able to fly all the way home from Florida." Frowning, I sighed, shaking my head that she probably took advantage of first class drink refills a little too much. "I just can't understand the woman, she used to be able to keep everything in control, but since the divorce, she enjoys tormenting her."

We climb the stairs as she goes on about her Thanksgiving, how much she missed Paris at the table and was happy that she called Friday afternoon to express that. About how her daughters came from Lisbon after one of them was engaged to share the news, and how disappointed there were not to see the girl that they regard as a sister despite the lack of legality. "Paris would have loved seeing her ring, three carats! Beautiful, caring man Caterina is bonded with; reminds me of Harold."

"I've never actually met him," I confessed, "he seems like a great father."

"You'll take to him immediately coração amável (kind heart), he's a wonderful man." We reached the top of the stairs and navigated the maze of halls leading to the main portion of the house. "Paris is going to tell him first. You can trust that he will be surprised, but kind. I just have the feeling in my heart he will accept you."

Reaching the main hallway, I looked out onto the wide, dimmed expanse of the second floor, sighting Paris's room from beyond, at least 150 feet away from me. I shifted in my shoes, hoping I was doing the right thing in comforting her. But at least I knew someone here was on my side, Francisca standing behind me, handing me my backpack and giving me a pat on the shoulder. "I assume you'll be staying here until the morning." We made our way towards her bedroom.

"If Paris lets me," I answered, not quite confident enough that she would let me stay. If she wasn't feeling her best and was far from her Thursday mood, this would end up a mistake. "Or if Sharon doesn't catch us."

"I wouldn't worry about her Mistress Gilmore, honestly." Surprisingly, she laughs heartily. "She doesn't even venture near Paris's bedroom regularly, only trusted staff holds the keys to it." Then, she reached into her pocket, taking out that key to her charge's room and turning the lock. "I hope you can cheer her up, she really deserves it. I'll see you both in the morning." After a goodbye to her, she smiled at me and turned around, as I steeled myself in front of the double wooden doors. I gulped at the tallness of the opening, seven feet having to be between my head and the top of the door.

I delayed one more minute, rubbing a bit of lint off my newly-bought jeans, another purchase from my Friday spree. I gulped down, hoping that Paris appreciated my visit.

Slowly my right hand formed into a knocking fist, and the fingers on my left, crossed tightly. Gulping down all I had, I shut my eyes, and knocked lightly. I expected the door to open any second, or her voice to call out for an identification, but instead, I heard nothing. Very odd. Maybe she's already gone to bed? Or else she's listening to an audiobook on her iPod. It's worth another try.

Again I knock, louder and more obvious. Still no response. She's probably in a full daze with her headphones, most likely. I grin, thinking that I can slide them off from her ears, start a massage, and nip at her earlobe. I start to cheer at the thought, and decide maybe a sneak attack would be the best way to get this party started.

I twisted the doorknob, and slowly opened the door to her now-familiar purple bedroom, peeking around to survey the situation where I'd be catching her in. The light is bright within the room as I walk in, the door well-oiled and making not a sound as I open it.

When I bend around, I'm surprised to find that instead of a Paris buried within homework, I find no Paris at all. The room is empty, the only sign that its occupant is here being three suitcases and her messenger bag next to her work desk. I scan the room, looking for signs that Paris is there.

I start moving towards the walk-in closet, trying to see if she might be changing into pajamas. Slowly I open the door, like a spy, hoping to sight her. However, the closet is dark and shut, and when I open it, there's no one in there.

But then, my ears pick up the sound of a hiss coming from the right. That gave me a sign of sorts, and I moved closer, until my mind kicked in the reminder of Paris's private bathroom suite, contained in the deep right hand corner of the room and opening up to that amazing whirlpool tub and expensive shower of hers.

Obviously the hiss is a shower. A shower that she is obviously taking right now. Which can only mean one thing to my inner vixen.

Oh my fucking lord, a wet and nude Paris is in that room right now! My heart, previously calm, has hit triple beats, and my previously calmed body, with only my stomach in knots, is hot with anticipation. I drop my backpack next to the door and shut it, immediately locking it so that no one thinks anything amiss is going on. What had seemed like a regular surprise visit to see my lady for proofreading was suddenly turning into a situation you usually find in a magazine with the title of a skyscraper apartment on the top floor.

I was expecting to surprise Paris, but for her to be in the shower as I tried to surprise her, it was something at first I couldn't comprehend. Nothing could have prepared me for this.

But still, I was smiling, knowing that this was something that could possibly be one of the most romantic things I could have ever done.

Now I know what you're thinking...the obvious track here would be that I could take off all of my clothes, slide into the shower, and then give Paris the ultimate surprise.

Are you kidding?! That's the last thing that should be done in this situation! Someone walks into the shower of a woman who has karate training, a stun gun, and the best self-defense skills money can buy? Do I want a death wish? Really, the seduction that I had planned would be even more pleasing to her than if I did the obvious.

I didn't know how much time that I had, but immediately the beginning came to mind, the picture I would present to her as she walked out of the shower. Oh, if Lorelai could see me now. If she thought she could drive any man wild with desire, just you wait until she realizes I learned to flirt from not only her, but Miss Patty and some of the best books the Stars Hollow and Hartford Free Libraries could loan to a just-budding lesbian!

I slid off my baby blue Chucks next to my backpack, along with my jacket, leaving me in an outfit that would make a repressed nun drool. Striped red/purple socks, matched up with very slimming blue jeans that showed off the tone of my legs, paired up with a thin cable-knit dark red shirt, v-necked down wide to give off a nice view of my décolletage, including some cleavage which had a nice boost, courtesy of Body by Victoria. Oh, just you wait until she finds out about my contribution to the American economy Friday afternoon, all for her enjoyment.

Giggling to myself, I couldn't believe what I was just about to do. Thank God she had no need for an inhaler! I took a book from her shelf to pass some time reading, along with the article proofs, and then I slid onto her warm and comfy cloud of a bed, freshly bedded with a floral pink comforter. No need to disturb it yet and crawl between the covers. I faced the door, crossing my feet together,and started reading the chosen book, which was about philosophy. Not that I cared: I wasn't really reading the book. My mind was more taken up by the question of what she'd come out of the bathroom wearing, whether it be little, nothing, or whatever. However she presented herself, she was going to be wet and fresh out of the shower.

In my mind, I spun up an image of her as one of those video girls from the 80s, though I was more welcoming of her Phoebe Cates impression while I passed the five minutes before I heard the shower turned off. Also, another dreamy situation buried in there of her on the school's swimming team, gliding through the water with ease.

The words on the pages blurred, the saliva in my throat built as I anticipated welcoming my girl back into my arms. She was going to be so happy to see me...I hoped. The time starts to elasticize and stretch out, and I get antsy. I could hear her in the bathroom humming a tune to only herself that wasn't discernable to my ears, but it seemed light and carefree. For humming, it was nice, her throat deeply drawing out each sound.

Here it comes, be ready, I warned myself, and in another 35 seconds, I watched the doorknob twist, then the door opening up quickly in my line of sight. I was prepared for almost anything to happen, good or bad.

She came out of the bathroom, her focus on the vanity desk on the far end of the bedroom so she could brush her hair in the mirror.

The moment I saw her though...I was lost once again in her beauty. My jaw opened wide as I took in the view of my fresh-showered girlfriend in what has to be truly her rawest moment of beauty. Oh my God. My heart skipped a beat, looking her up and down, head to toe.

No longer was Paris Gellar the gangly sixteen year-old of last year fretting that I was more beautiful in my cake jammies than her in matronly sleepwear and pimple cream, hair askew. That image had disappeared from my mind, to be replaced with this new delectable likeness.

There are few words that can describe her in that moment she walked out of the bathroom, besides 'drippingly beautiful'. Her usually full blonde hair, wettened and tamped down, needing her tender loving brushing. Yet, she looked awesome right out of the shower, sliding the antique bristle brush through her mane as if she were a woman possessed, trying to keep it in tip-top shape.

Her full face, droplets of water dripping from her hair and down her cheeks, eyes elsewhere away from me. No makeup at all, exposing the entirety of her face, including her hearty blush and the freckles on her nose that very, very few people even detect, but I find such a uniquely sexy feature for a woman with so few of them. Her mouth, pouting lips, cool breath filtering from her lungs, exhaled out. What a lovely girl I revere...her face haunts my dreams, and this makes me remember why.

Then I down, at her pajamas, and I'm seriously hoping that spontaneous combustion won't befall me. I was panting giving her a once-over, almost drooling.

The two articles, the top and bottom, clinged to each of their assigned portions of her body. Pink silk top, and then pink silk pants. No patterns, just solids. The water from the finished shower hasn't all evaporated or been toweled off, and the clothes cling to her voluptuous form in all the right places.

Well fuck me sideways...she was still very, very wet and damp, and I was already feeling myself get wet at the very idea of getting to her in this moment. I was enjoying the view of her breasts in the shirt, pressing against the silk, both still moist, clinging to the material. They were both fully defined, giving me an uncensored view through her shirt of her perfect nipples, the areoles perfect for her figure, not overwhelming, but not too small for her. Sort of between a half-dollar and a Chuck E. Cheese token, if you will.

The pajama shirt is button-down, and one is left open, giving me an extra view of her skin. She's such a tease and I wish that I could have her do a pass-by just so I could get a look at her luscious butt swishing by me.

Yeah, it was perfect to come to the Manor on this night. Thursday had breached our barriers of modesty fully, and now I was no longer censoring exactly what I thought of her, or what I'd like to do to her.

First, I have to get her attention to get this party started. I could go with jumping her, but instead, I decide to go with my oldest line.

"Hey, Paris," I chirped, like I always said it every morning. Her eyes turn towards me and for a moment, she seems to forget it's not a school morning, immediately smiling and seemingly pleased to see me.

"Ror, hey." At first, she went about as if I was an invited guest, headed towards her vanity at regular speed.

That is, until a pause mid-way between both points, as she stops to recall the day of the week, period of the year, and where we both are at that moment. She was about to be gotten.

Five, four, three...I counted down to her realization, seeming to be lost in her thoughts. Two, one...here it comes...

It's then that my girlfriend's IQ finally kicks back in. "Wait." She stops the sentence right there, turning to face me. It's like she's never seen me before. "Wait a second." Her recall is finally piqued. "What are you doing here?" She points towards me, and then is surprised and numbed at the same time.

"I wanted to see you," I responded simply and then take the articles off from the nightstand.

"But why?" she asked. "How did you get in here?"

"Fran's key."

"Obviously." She sighed, trying to figure out why I'm here, damp and wet, trying to get near her hair brush. "Well, does Mother know?"

"No, of course not." I think that this isn't a problem from her loathing of her, but I'm shocked to see the blonde suddenly freeze in fear.

"You need to leave." she said, teeth clenched. "Are you crazy? What happens if she comes in and discovers us together?" I argue that Fran planned it so that she wouldn't and that Sharon is probably passed out downstairs, but she wouldn't have any of it. "Rory, you need to get going, now."

"I just have these papers to proofread--" I hand over the articles to her, but she just throws them onto the ground.

"I don't care; you can't come here with my mother in the house at the same time, I don't care what you're doing!" Oh no, this was turning out the exact opposite of how I wanted it to pan out. "If you stay and she finds you, she will have the police issue a trespassing charge against you, no matter your business. Sharon hates you and can't stand you anywhere near me."

"Whatever." I dismissed the threat like Paris would usually, casually. "She just has intimacy problems."

"Rory, I'm serious!" She was in a full panic. "She hates unannounced company!" Waving her arms up and down in an animated fashion, she approached the bed, which I still lay on.

"Par, she's downstairs and most likely passed out, and if she comes up here the door is locked. I can duck into the bathroom!"

"Look, thanks for the surprise and all, but I'll see you tomorrow morning. You can go back home with whoever you came with." She was trying to dismiss me, the cold demeanor of her past coming out of hibernation. She slid up to me, trying to take my hand, but I pulled it away from her, deciding that I wasn't going to give in to her mother. "Rory, please leave."

I just smiled at her, biting on my knuckle and trying to play the ol' cute card. "Oh, Par-Bear, you know you don't want me to leave." I ducked from a hand trying to grasp my arm, rolling in the bed. "You said you were surprised; you're happy right?"

"Of course, but that doesn't mean I'm on call. Come on!" I watched her in frustration try to grab me, looking wild as her wide brown eyes showed her flustered state at resuming her Sunday routine. "I have to brush my hair and do other things tonight yet."

"No you don't," I replied knowingly, "all your work is done for the weekend, besides those articles I need help proofing."

"I had the writers BCC them to me on my request because of my boredom. They're done already, thus you have no more business here." She pushed herself onto the bed, trying to grab at me. If not for her aggravation, she was looking very hot! I continued to take advantage of the situation, baiting her and being the cute girlfriend.

"One less thing for us to do...come on, hon, you know you've always wanted this!" I move towards the end of the bed, still far away from her.

"How do you know that?"

"'See you Monday?' Lame! Judging from this weekend you couldn't wait to get home!" I try to make my point. "Besides, what am I really interrupting?"

"For one thing, recreational reading!" I think I should mention by this point I was getting very lovely views of her bared twisting abdomen as the pajama shirt untucked from her pants, along with a couple of extra peeks down her shirt.

"Uh-huh, I'm sure." I roll my eyes, dodging another grab. "Silk pajamas, negligible underwear, fresh sheets." Sing-songing, I rubbed it in. "Someone was about to get off!" I then watched as Paris turned a lovely shade of tomato red, my smirk piercing her armor.

"I was not!"

"Was too! Awfully long shower too, how long did it take you to finish up?"

"Rory, you need to go." She pleaded with me to give her peace. "Please?"

"And if I don't?" I slitted my eyes, lowering my voice, trying to soothe the scared woman.

"Well..." I started moving up the mattress, crawling along it, watching her struggle with excuses. "Um...well I'll--"

"Release the hounds, or the bees? Or the hounds with the bees in them? The robotic Richard Simmons, perhaps?" Paris was trying to reel back from me, but quickly losing her resolve to resist as I got all quippy and cute. I continued to crawl up the mattress, sidling up to her slowly and getting a nice close-up view of that delectable body.

The anger lines along her forehead started to fade and I licked my lips as she was silent, trying to come up with a witty response. Sliding herself into a cross-legged position, I could note the realization in her look that she was reacting the wrong way to my visit.

Paris kept her eyes on me as she batted wet hair away from her face and I couldn't help but notice that the remaining water was soaking her pajama top. "I just, you know, don't want you to be in trouble with anyone."

"I won't be, I promise," I assured her, "I should've probably called though, if you were going to be this freaked out."

She held up her hand. "I wasn't freaked. Just after so much time with them down in Florida, I'm not in my best mood ever."

"Missed me?" I questioned softly, as she nodded.

"Painfully so, I couldn't even really sleep either Friday or Saturday nights, I was so depressed that I stayed up late and fell asleep reading War and Peace."

"At least that book is good for something." I hesitate, looking at her, trying to cheer her up. "Can I move closer?"

"I won't push away," she promised and I slid up the bed until we were face-to-face with each other. "I've had way too much time away, so much that I started to go into hyperfocus and overanalyze whether I did anything right." Unsure, she looks down at her lap. "I haven't talked to you since Thursday night, so I started bringing myself to read into our...endeavor over the phone." Her conservativeness towards the exact term made me laugh hard, causing her to dart a death glare towards me. "Oh, like you wouldn't say it like that!"

"I might not; three weeks have passed and you're drawing me out!" I looked at her seriously. "If you're trying to wonder if I'm having second thoughts over that call, I haven't, really. There's no doubt that we're moving at a faster pace than a normal relationship, but remember, we've been basically flirting non-stop over the last year, and thinking about this earlier than that. Both of us are making up for lost time, and I understand that you're a late relationship bloomer."

"That's true," she looks down towards her lap, sliding the heel of her hand into my palm. "Just, I think you're a reserved woman, usually, and that you're allowing me to indulge in my fantasies so fast, so soon, it's surprising. I mean I knew you and Dean, the sparks were gone, but I didn't know you still had the flint and steel in hand trying to jump start your sexual wiles."

"I don't even think the sparks were there, period," I confess. "I'm more thinking about what I did wrong in the first place. The first months were great, but once he tried to make me say 'I love you' in the junkyard I should've just known...It wasn't right. Going over all the times where I thought 'yeah, I could have sex with this man,' and wondering if he asked the same question about me." I huffed a breath up into my hair, feeling the frustrations spill out. "There were plenty of times which I had fantasies of him and I was willing to share, but he'd silence me with kisses or an excuse that he couldn't think of me like that yet. So many times where I'd flirt with him and it was never returned in kind, or in a romanticized light where I was in something lame like a teddy with a setting resembling a bed store ad."

Now Paris was the one being concerned for me as my tangent turned emotional, and I started to sense that I'd soon cry. "Ror, I never realized."

"You know, all I ever wanted to do was give him a romantic massage, he did so much to fix up the car, and when I got it I was so thankful, that I just wanted to show my appreciation for that. I tried to do that for him and take off his shirt, but he stopped it because he didn't like it. He actually said to me that he'd rather hold my hand than have it anywhere else." I closed my eyes, trying to stop the tears. "I couldn't understand ever why he held back from me when I was trying to show him my love, he was so Prince Charming and that was fine, but he needed to do a hell of a lot more for me than just kissing me until my lips were numb."

Smiling softly, she listens, then concludes why I started off my physical flirting in RN. "So that's why you're so into massages for me; it's your natural form of affection. I never knew."

"I just got really bored, knowing that you were right behind me, but we couldn't talk. So I just kept looking at your hair as we read, along with the fabric of your blazer, and then one day when we got into some of Dostoyevsky's worst, I started playing with your hair, twisting it around and just envying its silky feel. That got boring, so I tested bumping your back with my fingers occasionally, seeing if you'd react or talk to me about it after class. Then that one day I parted your hair, slid my hand across the skin above your collar and you never said anything."

"Well I couldn't." She blushed, her eyes looking downward. "To me, it's like the most secret, but sensual thing that you do to me, that I can feel free to think of you in any way that I'd like. The first time, a shock for sure, and eventually I was thinking you'd be bored with it and move on, especially after confession. But...you haven't stopped. You still know what it does to me."

"It relaxes you, that's why I do it." We were involuntarily moving closer, and I slid my hand out of her grasp to move my fingers through her wet hair, her face, so expressive, the lack of makeup worked for her. "Do you know how many flips my stomach did when you walked out of that bathroom?"

"Come on, I'm fresh out of the shower, that's all."

"Yes, but you smell so nice...." I sniffed her, using my other hand to caress her arm. She has the bouquet of baby powder as I take in her essence, a smell I never connected with her at all. Maybe that's why her skin is so smooth and blemish-free.

"Do I look nice too?" She wonders. "I feel strange."

I glance up and down, dragging my hand down towards her midsection. Her eyesight seemed to drag down lower, tracing the path of my index and middle fingers. "I think you look really beautiful in these pajamas."

"It's not that I feel strange because of the pajamas," she corrects. "But I don't usually buy them to be meant as something to lure you in." My hand slipped in, with permission, between her waistband and the pants.

"It's working," I flirt coyly, biting my lip as I bare that skin, playing with the lower-most button. "I was happy to catch you so off-guard."

"You're working too." She moved her hands near me, eyes looking downward. "That sweater, wow. I didn't know it could fit that way." Skimming her thumb along my arm, she took in a deep breath as she eyed up my cleavage. "You must have just bought this outfit."

I nodded yes. "Saw it at the Gap on the way to do the other shopping, knew I couldn't pass it up." I could tell that our clothes compliments were starting to heat us up.

"That outfit, it sort of reminds me of this one woman I've seen on television before." She looked up, trying to think up exactly who it was. "She had kind of a New York accent; I think it was a cooking show. I stopped on it and she had this frenzied energy that you usually don't see in a chef, trying to make up a meal in real-time, and she used abbreviations for things, one of them was I think e-voo (she sounded the abbreviation out)." I had the answer, but Paris was describing the lady in her own complicated way, and it was so cute. "Ahh, she also had reddish brown hair, I remember! Not quite my usual taste in a woman, but there was this exclamation she used when she tasted her food. Oooh, what was it? Not yummy, or yum-yum. It was something childish like that, but it was a new word--"

"Was it...Yum-O?" I mentioned, a bit of lust overtaking my voice. I shifted my sitting position further, moving in within her space, almost inches.

"I think...that was it." I started to recall that first time we were so close, teaching her how to eat with chopsticks. "Yum-O. Though I still don't remember her name."

"Do you remember her butt?" I started taking my voice into a deeper octave. "I know I watch her show all the time with Mom, she usually mocks her cheery 'you-can-do-it' type of nature. But for the last couple months since I've known I probably lust towards more women than men, I know I've been starting at her ass as I watched as she bends down to take something out of the oven."

"I may have," she admits guiltily. "She's all tight tops and pants and that's sort of your wardrobe. Really not my type though, although some of my dreams involve you and I on her kitchen set."

Now before, I thought the little conversation about journalist lust objects was hot, but to compare me to one of the Food Network's finest ladies? Well, you can imagine I had to run with this ball! Both of our gazes were steady, the want building up with each word and look. Her hair, still a bit wet, but drying, she's finding the nervousness of before starting to fall away as I scoot closer within her space.

"To be compared with Rachael Ray is one high compliment, Par." I smirk, feeling my tight sweater start to shift up out of the tuck in my jeans. "Of course, I could also declare you to be quite the Yum-O material yourself. Just looking at you right now, from your bared feet all the way up to those deep brown eyes, I could just eat you all up." I was going to take the upper hand in this seduction, surprising the girl in front of me with my confident words. "If you could know what I was thinking all weekend, those thoughts spinning throughout. Just wanting to hold you in my arms once again, those hands against my back..." She's still quiet as I start to move out of my sitting position, into a lay. "...that telephone conversation, just driving me out of my wits. How I managed to awake Friday morning is a mystery, but as I took my shower, my mind was remembering the taste of your kiss, the curvature of your body against mine, the pressure of our breasts pushed together. I couldn't get you out of my brain."

Our eyes still to each other, I took my hands, clutching her at each side of her abdomen, below her breasts. "I remember, Tristan teased me once in our early days with this stupid line trying to convince me to hop in the sack with him. Out of his mouth, it was something that could be expected from him. Something about him waking up in the middle of the night, calling out my name, loudly, after mentioning he couldn't eat or sleep."

She knows where I'm leading up to, my fingers rubbing the silk top, tempted to move eastward and westward. "Rory..." she whispered.

"His words seem apt to me so much with you," I pacify, pushing her form into the same laying position. "I can't go one night without you on my mind, that caring voice ringing through my ears, ink-stained hands palming against my ribs, higher and higher..." Her head hits the pillow, and I lift the duvet, sheets and blankets off from the tucking into the bed, freeing them and allowing me onto the silk sheets below. Her gaze is now centered at my clavicle, looking down between that cleavage and the lacy cups holding back my small mounds. The sweater, no longer leaving much for her imagination to decipher. "You must be so wound up from time without me."

"I am." She bites the inner part of her lip, her arms starting to wrap around me. "And I'm not really worried about my mother, honest."

"Worried?"

"About you coming here, tonight." I sidle closer to her in my grasp. "I said that I'd see you Monday, because I wanted to make sure that you..uh...you..." She looked back up at me, ashamed. "That you were ready. I was afraid if I were to come to Stars Hollow, I would be irresponsible."

"Ready for what?" I asked.

"Well, we took out a big barrier Thursday evening, the wall to intimacy. I know clearly now that the both of us, we no longer can possibly associate with being innocent and just friendly. I...after I woke up on Friday, I was scared that you had second thoughts."

"I didn't, at all," I assured her. "So you thought after--that--I'd only allow you to allow intimacy over the phone."

Paris was meek with her 'mm-hmm,' seemingly ashamed that all weekend I was going to forget that we shared something special that night. "By the time I was on the plane this afternoon, I was ready to go home and invite myself over for a movie night. Then I doubted to myself and never called. You were probably making a pro and con list about the call." Oh geeze! I shook my head.

"I never did, this is all-pro for me, sweets. Once you go Par," I started before placing a delicate, soft kiss on her lips, "it's too hard to share." I laugh at my horrible crack, Paris sliding her hands up my sides as I heard her groan at the cheesy line. "So what do you think I should be ready for?"

She looked up, trying to summon her usual firm voice, but was too distracted by me to find it. Instead, it came out in a breathy murmur. "For more."

"More?" I smiled, looking down at face, dream-like and content with her feelings.

"You know...next step." Mmm-hmm, I thought. Tell me more Paris; I think I have an idea of what you want. "If you don't want to do it, that's fine."

"If I don't want to do what?" I played with her a little, feigning innocence at her vague, yet perfectly clear words.

Thinking she saw that I was uneasy, she tried to reel back. "Never mind, I...I think I misread."

"Well, I'm not sure." My hands were clearly trying to acquaint with her body, my right hand roaming across her stomach. "Maybe you still have a certain action on your mind, a place where my hands were, watching a movie mere feet from my mother. I could've sworn that we were doing some clothed groping, if I remember correctly."

She nodded, my fingers finding their way between the spaces of her buttons. "That could be it."

"Feeling like you've been shedding your layers like snakeskin, first with the blazer, then going from the sweater, to the vest version the day before you left for Daytona. Your blouses are being tucked in a little tighter too, you want these blue eyes brightening as I gaze you over and find you to my liking."

"Maybe...ugggggh." A tight voice, Paris responded with a deep push against her vocal chords, reacting to my nails along her upper stomach, very close to the underside of each of her generous breasts.

"Probably hasn't helped that I've been keeping you in suspense all weekend with that thread of conversation I left you on in regards to my shopping, the shower and bed your only refuge to keep you under control in front of your mother." I watch her rushed breathing process, the slid up pajama top no longer hiding her stomach, showing it rising and falling with each inhalation. My eyes are caught on the section below her navel, the invisible line leading down to the pink fabric tie. I feel heated, warm, looking her over in such a blatant way. "All weekend, I just imagined you down there in Florida, running our talk through your head over and over again, going back to it during worst times of the weekend, just looking forward to getting back up here tonight, all alone in your bedroom, no one to interfere as you created your own satisfaction to rival mine."

"Th-th-that's true," she stumbled out.

"But you have me here now," I said with strong reassurance, "So there's no need to do it alone." I change my touching over to my left hand, preparing to straddle her as I shared my honest emotions for her. "I know this is unexpected, for the both of us to be going this fast with things. Really, I didn't picture myself having such intimacy until at least the start of next year. I mean you look at the roadmap I set up in my mind, and everything before this point set in stone long ago. But after the first date, everything has changed."

I could let her go on, but I knew if she did, she would only doubt what Sharon felt about us, I could see it in her eyes. The draw to me was mixed in with how Mrs. Gellar tried to assert, the single-minded attitude of a morally corrupt woman. I couldn't have that.

My hand slid up her shirt and I pushed myself down to her, and we met, eye to eye. This was the first time we were alone this close since she left me in a puddle Monday night in the foyer. But I went back further, remembering the hard frustration I felt at not being able to push along after Lorelai caught us.

Still, I needed that, and letting that lust for close contact boil help my thoughts, but not only that, the phone call gave me the impetuous to move things up.

"I'm here for you, Par," I whispered, settling a kiss against her soft mouth. "I know you've been waiting all weekend to see me again and that you tried to create breathing room so you wouldn't do something to me that I might not want." Another kiss. "But I want you to know..." I lowered my voice into something serious. "I want you, hon. Please, don't dare think that your mother can stop me from seeing you because I will push her out of the way. It's always your choice to see me. Not hers." My free hand takes a hold of the first button on her shirt.

"Rory..." My body settles right against hers, her curves against my form. I shush her with another kiss, this time deep, the intent clear. I'm not to be denied from her any longer. My hand, previously occupied with her top, cups her cheek. I nip at each of her lips with mine, her resolve and a tight positioning starting to fade quickly, her body going from stick-straight against mine to more relaxed.

"Don't say a word." I'm firm and unwavering; the only thing I want is her. I go in for another kiss insatiable, rubbing her cheek as my tongue slipped into her mouth. I find some resistance at first, hers moving back. Still some fear, I thought: have to ease her into it.

My hands cradle through her long locks to get at her head, and I wrap my palms around it, tipping it back for easier and still access. I draw out for a moment to tip her mouth open. Then I went in for yet another deep kiss with the one woman who can gel my legs.

This time, I'm softer, letting her have some control. At first she goes slowly, only a tip-touch here and there, she seems afraid to go deeper. I guide her along, hands grasped at her arms, fingers sliding up the sleeves, the hair on her arms surely standing on end. From her end, some gasps and grunts, she tries to follow my lead. I can tell she knows we're going further, but this is a new step for her. She goes with it, her tongue twining with mine, our breath mixing with each push. One moment I'm dominant, but then in a shocker, I suddenly find her pushing her tongue within my mouth. It's stiff and commanding, like she is, only there's a softness to her kind of kisses. The tip slides along each row of teeth, and she keeps it deep and full. Our noses are close together and both of our eyes are shut as we just enjoy the kiss. We're like that, wrapped around each other for the next few minutes, just letting how much we missed each other. Her body heat radiates up into mine and the sweater I'm wearing starts to feel heavy. Oh, and so tight too. She has the clothes advantage in the situation, those silky PJ's giving her body enough room to breathe. I could only imagine the heft of her breasts freed, but my entire body felt so tight and stretched out. I wanted her to feel sexy, and I willed myself to the personal cost of my tight clothing.

Reluctantly, I released her from the kiss as I heard her heave for air, her entire face flushed, and forehead dripping. I left her with one last nip, as she groaned, wanting of more. I could tell by her closed eyes and the small smile flaring up the blush on her cheeks that the resistance was leaving her.

Her hands slid up my sweater, towards my midsection; she does her own wandering. Her fingers and thumbs scrape against the thinness of my stomach, the pads of her fingers pushing along my belly button. A hotness flared through my body, her gaze upon me, overpowering the fears that came before. She pushes out words from her mouth, compliments about my body, the supple softness of my skin, that voice taking on a caring timbre. She even managed to get in an unexpected accolade about my own navel.

"I like how it knots," she said, sort of in a tone that suggests some embarrassment over what I could tell was a developing fixation for her. Her thumb slides around the rim of the small indentation, arousing a gasp from deep in my throat, her hands on the more sensitive lower portion of my abdomen. Straddling over, I let her do what she likes, trying to make her more comfortable as her fears finally begin to fade. I stay silent but for moaning aroused from me, her short nails scraping along my stomach and moving downward...my conscience starts to put up the modesty alarms and trying to reel things back.

No, we're not going to do that, I thought, reading her thoughts and seeing that the still damp woman in front of me didn't want me to be modest. Both of us have to move what we want along, and if that means pushing down long-set boundaries, so be it.

I start to flirt with her, trying to ask her what she wants. "So you have a stomach fetish, do you, Par?" I push myself into more of a laying position, forcing her hands upward from my waist. "I do remember seeing your eyes wander down when you tore off my shirt accidentally."

Hiding a blush, she tries to play coy. "It's...well, I can't help but notice it, it's a prominent feature on your body. The day after the dance marathon I was happy you wore that tank top for sleepwear. I...I just like that you don't show it off that often, that it's special when you do." We meet once again face to face in the laying position, her hands up to the pushed-up hem of my shirt, just below my bra. Her thumbs and fingers grasped at each side and it was heaven to feel myself cushioned against her breasts.

I knew where things were going, towards groping and petting. The fingers pushed up the sweater until she could sense the fringe of the underside of my bra. Not venturing higher than that, she was playing cautious. However, there was no need, as I was on the same sexual wavelength with her, totally connected.

Wordlessly, I put my hands atop of hers, our eye contact even as I communicated that I had no second thoughts about us being romantic without certain clothes on. I wasn't shy, my hands releasing as her thumbs pushed up the stretched shirt, the junction at her wrists dragging along my skin. I was nervous at her upcoming appraisal as my visual field below my neck was obscured by the pushing up of the top. I felt a sudden chill with my upper body somewhat exposed, but that was buffered by the heat between us.

She worked the shirt up me until my head was through the neck, allowing me to push it off by the sleeves. Carelessly I tossed it off to the side, and watching her reaction, I knew that unlike times before, this was different. She was going to look at me, on top of her in my bra, in a totally uninhibited and sexually wanting fashion.

Her stare was in shock towards me, mouth opening wide. There I was playing dominant, atop the self-avowed Queen Bitch of Chilton, stilling my girlfriend with my choice in bra, a light blue number that pushed my small amount of cleavage together in such an awesome and unexpected fashion. She was blank, her eyes going up/down as she took me all in as if I was a heritage Coke bottle.

There's no embellishment on the article besides a lace fringe, just the way I suspect that Paris likes it. Her hands roamed my side, startling me with each brush of her fingertips. The short nails scraped against my sides, through my slitted vision I saw her having the awe of a younger version of herself, as if she was at a zoo, the polar bear diving into the glass tank inches from her, and she's in a moving shock. Taking in my bared torso, for the first time, in a setting that wasn't held back by the decorum of the Chilton locker room.

She could finally touch me. And despite her position beneath me, touch me she did. Her palms fully out, she moved them from my abdomen, towards my bra, reveling in the softness of my skin. I couldn't believe how ravenous she was in her wandering of me as she took me in, each of her fingers going over me once or twice as she brought me down to feel me up. They went up and down as I broke her into another kiss, this time going down from her mouth and towards her chin, the both of us heading into new territory.

Paris's hands pushed higher along me, her rushed words acknowledging that my choice in bra was very well appreciated. At the same time, my mouth was near her neck, her rushed breathing telling me I was getting close to an erogenous zone she's dreamed of me near many times before. From my explorations during massages, she was very sensitive there and it was the only part she didn't want me near.

Judging from the reaction I get when my teeth brushed just above the beguiling outward beauty mark (to me at least) residing on the lower side, it was probably for good reason. A loud and gasping whinny comes out from her mouth, and a tightening of her fingernails against my back, to a point where I think she could draw blood.

"OH GOD!!!!" I barely nudge the spot and that's what drawn. "Ror...." Her voice sounds rough and beautiful, and I play with her a little more, my lips sliding along the mark, and then I lathe my tongue around it. She held back a shriek, biting at my shoulder to try to keep it in.

"Very sensitive there?" She shakes in my presence, as if to nod. Hushed, with my voice deep, I drive her along further, kissing and suckling down. Slowly, she releases me from her control, intending to enjoy my worshipping her. Her hands drift lower towards the small of my back, and towards my ass; I know that my jeans are sliding down as my body tightens, exposing the waistband of the matching panties.

Things continued to heat up from there as I watch her go from stressed and wired minutes before to beyond stimulated. I watch her from above; the pajama top completely clung to her, nipples prominent and transparent through the silk fabric. I unbuttoned down two places to get at more of her neck and a bit of her shoulders, my lips continuing to kiss along each square inch of her. I push the material sideward, exposing the skin below it.

"God, you're beautiful." I said no more than that, taking her in. I wanted her so badly, a weekend away from her doing so much to strengthen the vixen within me. After pushing the top of her shirt to the side, I roamed my hands lower, pushing them along her back as I kissed and nipped at the soft flesh just below her shoulder. I didn't miss that her skin had a darker tint to it than when I last saw her Wednesday afternoon, but I really wasn't going to bring it up, since she was in Florida and all.

The heat built up between us, her arms wrapped up all over me as I kissed her all over the upper part of her chest, the shirt open as wide as it would go, her skin tasting so wonderful. Her eyes remained shut, groans and giggles the only thing coming from her mouth, along with the occasional 'yesss...'. She relaxed in my grasp and I tried to keep her desensitized in order to build her up. Soon, another button was unbuttoned on her shirt, cleavage starting to show. Paris was blatantly looking at my cleavage, her hands all over me, fingers tangled in my bra straps in order to push them down.

"Par...not yet," I said to her soothingly, pulling them back up. She looked at me, seeming to think she was a disappointment.

"I'm sorry...I just want to see you. What you're doing is nice, and..." she bit down on her lip, "I know I'm the plainer one between us." Even in the hottest moment between us so far, Paris's self-doubts were still making her think that we were not equals. No matter how much affirmation Dr. Birnbaum could ever give her, she could never get through the brick wall of her own skepticism that Sharon built up within her.

The intent of my lingerie was to tease and it was doing its job well. But it was also reminding Paris that she didn't fit her mother's built up ideal of her. I still remember on the way to the Puffs initiation in the van how some of the girls made fun of her because of her wild hair and dowdy dress, which I myself found adorable.

She quivered within my grasp as I brought myself up, positioning myself to have a conversation with her. I let one of the bra straps, loosened by her, fall, my hair undone out of an earlier knot and in my face, giving me some bedroom hair.

"If you think you're plain, dear," I started, smiling, "you're wrong. You couldn't be more beautiful to me if you tried." She pulled herself up to sit against the headboard, downcast at her own opinion. "Stop thinking about what others think about you and try to see that you're the smart and poised lady you think you are."

"Gilmore, that might pass muster when I'm trying to debate free trade with China, but in this setting..." her voice softens as she wanders off, the doubts overwhelming it.

I had to finish her train for her with my own spin. "There's nothing here but you and I." Again, I moved closer to her, but this time, with a different and much less innocent plan, my hands reaching out for her. "Don't worry about screwing things up, feel free to explore what you want from me. But right now..." I cupped her cheek as I kissed her again. "...I want you." My free hand moved towards the top of the three remaining fastened buttons on her shirt.

"Rory..." her voice was a tired, wanton whisper.

"What do you want?" I asked tenderly, the index finger sliding in to undo that fourth button. "Do you want me to do...this?" The button out, I reached into the pajama shirt, my fingertips sliding along the damp skin of her right breast. She sucked in a hard breath, my hand not even anywhere near the nipple.

"Ohhh, shit." She reacted to the touch, my other hand making work of those other two remaining buttons. The shirt opened down her midsection, keeping her breasts shielded from my view. "Baby..." She was enraptured. I took in her beautiful form, up close and without interference or my morals stopping me. Paris is such a wonderful woman as she is, and it's a shame that others like her mother try to dissuade her from her opinion. I drifted lower until I was at her stomach, parting the shirt from the bottom, while I continued to arouse her further with those debate skills she honed further in me.

"What else is going through that pedigree mind of yours? I wonder..." I smiled, trying to get more details about what she wanted me to do. I threaded my fingers through her scalp, looking down at her and watching her features react to where my hands were, a mix between passion and confusion. "But I can deduce one thing you were going to do before I surprised you."

"Huh?"

"You were trying to get in the mood."

Paris tried to deny it, shaking her head and pleading with me that she wanted to read, and that's all.

The anguish on her face, however, was another story. From the recall I had, she was hot and aroused as she came out of that shower. My presence above her wasn't helping matters in cooling down. If this is the first night back home in my own bedroom after a few days away with people whose company I didn't enjoy, I know I'm not just relieved and exhausted, especially when the both of us have been full of tension for the last couple of weeks.

I played with my movements down her body, experimenting. First down from her throat, noticing her hands gripping tightly at my sides, kissing her, my tongue and lips trying to provoke a deep groan from her. I pushed each side of the opened top off to the side, working it off from each of her arms as I noticed Paris going from a spectator to my touching and kissing, to a willing participant. Her hands all along my sides, pushing down the straps, but not taking off the bra, she knew that I was trying to tease her rather than race to get everything off. She was methodical on her side, just trying to get to know my body. We kissed even more, the ministrations being such a turn-on for the both of us. More touching along the upper parts of our bodies and arms.

I looked at her from above, her breasts so enticing in my view, damp and shimmering. I breathed deeply, taking them in for the first time out of a communal setting. I bit on my lip, looking over her profile. It was unbelievable, seeing her out of her usual conservative dress, nude. My heart thudded in my chest, my throat constricted as I tried to get out some kind of compliment at her hidden beauty.

"Par..." I was able to say at least that, but in a whispered, undetectable tone. I felt both of my bra straps droop down to near my elbows as she released contact and our eyes met, the both of us nervous. Both of us were bared to each other; despite my bra being on I might as well have been naked, the thin satin of the cups constricted against my hardened nipples. I stared down at her, she up at me as I scooted up between her legs.

I've never seen Paris look so uncertain before. Not the kind where she was afraid for the future, but of what she was about to ask of me. First, she distracted from that with a compliment towards me, flushing from the tendrils of my hair brushing along each breast, her view of my cleavage probably pumping so much arousal through her.

"You need to stop looking so innocent, Rory," she gasped out, "because what you're doing is so far from that."

She was getting turned on...exactly what I wanted. "What were you expecting?" I asked, voice low, and rising up so that I was kneeling above her. I moved my hands from her sides, to my own. "All this time with Dean, it must've made you think that if you asked me anything, I might be corrupted, scared to do anything for your own pleasure."

She nodded, playing to the fact the tables, at least tonight, had turned on her being the prey. "You were the type to bow out of any of Lou's lunch sex convos gracefully with your earphones."

"Maybe that was because I couldn't stand to have the only quiet time of both our days taken up with thoughts of her going down on a guy." Laughing, I felt so out of my element...but so independent at the same time. "I remember the first day I ditched the hose, how your attention was off so much from eating. You took an extra ten minutes to finish off your salad."

"I...I was...distracted." I couldn't help but notice the stutter in her throat. "It so wasn't helping my mood that Louise was trying to demonstrate a technique with her banana."

"God, I hate that, like we'd ever want to copy her formula for finding someone to share a bed with!" I raked my fingers across my stomach, closing my eyes, knowing Par's attention was fully on me and my voice. "So you were thinking about something else, then?" She mmm-hmmed the affirmative in a dream-like treble of her voice. "The stock market game in AE, right? That was a bad day for the market."

"Oh, no, not that. I just never did notice that you could look...so innocent, yet sexy, all because you alter only two items to your uniform, both fully approved by Chilton." I was warming, the thoughts of what went through her mind that day stoking my fire.

To be continued...