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Chapter Sixteen: A Little Loving in the Morning Light (part 1)

If there's one thing that I've never understood about falling in love, it would be how a couple feels after they have their first true taste of intimacy, when they've first begun to test the waters, as it were.

Before, I've never experienced it (obviously), and I know very few people who have experienced it beyond the 'waking up drunk, what did we do' equation commonplace with a certain platinum blonde buddy of mine, followed by the regret and crying over a vat of Sanka.

Of course, there is my mother, but I can never describe it as romantic, and I won't. A morning when she came down with Mohegan Man before I left for school, I wanted to take an SOS pad to each of my eyes. They were acting like teenagers and shoving their tongues down each other's throats, no matter that the staff was revulsing at his suggestion he wanted four eggs extra runny and underdone bacon. Her other conquests aren't all that much better.

Madeline is probably the most 'normal' within my peer group, excluding Rory. She's not much for alcohol beyond flavored wine coolers; a couple will do it for her. There have been two times where she has had relationships that lasted four months, after she first slept with each of those guys, it was like she was a whole new girl. She would describe her man in glowing terms, along with the wakeup, how cute he was throwing a robe or sheet towards her direction, maybe doing a little chase into the corner of their venue of sex to talk her into a quickie before they dressed for class. Of course, she still hasn't found that person she can stick to, and seems to have given up on the idea of a special someone, preferring to double date with Louise, hoping the guy of Louise's choosing won't be a failure to her.

Usually though, I just think of 'the morning after' within the usual clichés. I thought of the awkwardness, trying to retrieve your modesty within moments of waking up, the contrast of the dark evening making way for the harsh reality of the light of day. I had always imagined my first night after sharing my bed with someone for the first time would be off-putting and strange. Especially with Tristan, who in the dreams I had of my first morning with him usually was in the Harlequin role while I awed over his muscles, and then lifted me from the bed in a nude heap while...ugh, God help me for admitting this...shrieking and giggling girlishly at him being Mr. Studly while he took me into his arms. Please, don't remind me that infatuation with him was a dead end!

Then the smells, of course. Bad breath, the remains of the activities of the night before, those usually featured in my opinions of how I woke up. My temperamental body doesn't help things either as it takes a cold chill that would pop open the eye sockets of the other person if they touched me, thus my want for deep layers of blankets.

Finally, we get to the vibe of the afterglow. If you've watched any daytime soap opera in the last twenty years (or like me, followed the Guiding Light since your Nanna introduced it to you at four during Passover), you know what I'm talking about, and if you know me, there is no way that I would ever behave like a silly bimbo, just enchanted by the very idea that I had an orgasm the night before from my lover's doing. I was bound and determined to never act that way the morning after. I would be firm, still, right back in my routine, with few hints beyond the memories of the night before that we had done anything, or maybe a kiss to acknowledge that we're moving things forward in our relationship. That's how it would go, like mother, like daughter. She has Mohegan Man sneak out the back door, while with Rory, I...

With Rory...

OK, maybe I can't just describe it as simply as 'Rory woke up, we ate breakfast, and we headed to school'. That would be a discredit to how this long holiday weekend is ending. That and I'm not, and refuse to be, my mother. If I wanted to take relationship advice from her, I might as well head to Dr. Cohen's office and ask for a pre-emptive prescription for Valtrex, along with gutting my entire moral center as I tell the boys that I'm an open buffet. If I wanted to be with Rory in that way, I'd have just taken all of my relationship advice from Louise and Tristan.

But I have to do this on my own, play seductive with her, even if I feel out of my element being a flirt. It was so worth it, however, and as we find ourselves on the road towards Chilton on a chilly December morning, I'm left to think that the best mornings don't always start with happy talk from Matt and Katie on Channel 30...

* * * * *

I always find it hard to wake up between November and early April, self-admittedly, despite my sleep cycle being trained on eight hours exactly. The lack of a sunrise before six plays a part, but the alarms in addition do not help. I have the choice between the audible equivalent of a joy buzzer, or I could awake with the radio. Alas, another conflict, as I have the choice of waking up to the news cycle on 880, the long-form reporting on Morning Edition, or any of the various other stations in Hartford which have a 'morning zoo' and forced hilarity from people you'd usually keep 300 feet away from you in real life. My father received a crude prank call from the morning gang at Hot 93 once at his office, and it took me, Fran, and his lawyer an hour to convince him not to go down to their studios and wring the necks of their DJs.

And you wonder why I curse that satellite radio reception in my bedroom is very weak.

This was no regular morning though. My alarms weren't set (yeah, that's an icebreaker, asking what time you want to be up), but I always keep a backup to the backup, and that just happened to be my PDA with a beep that was just slightly louder than a digital stopwatch. At 6:05am it went off, but I let it lapse, too tired to grab the device and turn it off.

Mind you, I couldn't if I wanted to. Nor did I feel any pressing need to open my eyes. As the beeps faded out after the usual minute, I basked in the glow that was Rory spooning, wrapped perfectly against me. Leg inside of leg, her head on my bosom. Besides that, her breath breezed teasingly along my right nipple.

So it wasn't a dream, was my first thought of the day. My eyes closed, hands at her back, I felt a serene calmness as I slowly woke up, uncompelled to open my eyes and wake up just yet. I loved this, the morning in front of us, the night before just a memory.

I felt some trepidation, thinking about Sharon's possible reaction to having Rory over. I remembered the first thing I thought to myself as I walked on the bridge between our plane and the terminal was "don't call Rory," no matter that I was so stressed out from a weekend with Mother and that I was scared I would do something to Rory I might regret. Who could have ever known that four days away from each other, once a relief, could turn us both into longing and wanting women missing even being within the same area? Really, that Rory would even come over to my house, on a Sunday night of all nights. It was such a shock, along with the ensuing events afterwards.

Her warm body, so soothing against mine, mixed with the plushness of my comforter, it's an amazing thing to experience. I felt some anticipation, her mouth only inches from my breast, and she had me grasped in a possessive grasp at the small of my back. The scent of last night was still in the bedroom, buffeted by the armoa of a plug-in air freshener emanating lavender in the outlet next to the end table.

Cue my rare wish that we were waking on a Sunday morning, rather than two hours away from going back to the 'nothing to see here, move along' dynamic we have to have within Chilton. I sighed, my body still feeling a minor hum, flared up with Rory's thumbs against the waistband of my panties.

The thumbs...they were moving. And she was pushing close to me. Time to hyperventilate, oh dear...

My ears failed to note the repeat of my PDA's snooze cycle, the soft tone rousing my girlfriend awake. She stirred in my grasp, a couple of tired grunts, along with an unfamiliar sense of where she was.

"Uh...where's Colonel Clucker? This...this doesn't feel like my...ohh..." It was as if this was our first time sharing a bed together, although it was our third. But it was the first time where we slept in my bed, not her perilous balance beam of a mattress where it took me five extra minutes to settle into rest for fear of falling off. She woke slowly, her surroundings slowly coming to her.

I kept my eyes closed, trying to give her a romantic head start to the day. I was surprised that she was pulling away and detangling herself out of my grasp. Who knows what she was doing, though I thought it might have something to do with strong morning breath on her end that she wanted to avoid sharing with me. Or else I was cutting off circulation to an extremity; I wasn't sure.

But then, just as I was ready to return to the normalcy of my regular wake-up routine of wrapping the comforter around myself, then taking a couple of gulps of water to wash out the morning taste...

"Wow, you must have a major grudge against shirts." Rory shook me on a shoulder, then I felt her wrap her legs around me at my feet. I pretended to wake up, stretching and slowly opening my eyes to moderate the morning glare. I thought she was talking about my nude sleeping habits as I focused in my vision onto her.

But instead of finding Ror straddling over me In my pajama shirt, safely closed, the first thing I found myself looking at this fine Monday morning was something that would make even Garfield appreciate the first work day of the week.

There, above me, was my girlfriend, still in my shirt.

My unbuttoned shirt.

Oh, shit! There I was, in my own bed, waking up to the sight of her in that undone shirt, breasts on full display. I felt myself strangle, feeling so guilty for letting one of my worst dream tendencies come out of hiding. I had been trying to stop since it became a habit (and the mitigating reason for sleeping nude), even talking about it with Dr. Birnbaum and trying to use medication to have a calm and relaxing sleep. I eventually learned to live with it and controlled it somewhat by this same time last year.

Since Rory though, it hasn't worked. I'd dream of her, get all wound up, and in the morning, I'm all literally hot and bothered, my clothes either buried within the blankets or in a heap on the floor. I don't remember dreaming of her last night, beyond a vague situation involving cake. But either I dreamed of her overnight and acted in reality, or I was so cold that I wanted full access to her body heat.

Whatever it was, if I thought Rory would freak out, she showed no sign of it. Instead, I saw her smiling and licking her lips above me.

"I think I'll be wearing a t-shirt or tank to bed from now on." She sighed aloud, a blush coloring her skin, her fingers along my cheek. "Still, I'm very flattered your dreams about me are...like that."

"Oh, you have no idea," I said in a tiny voice. "Uh, good morning?" My famously nervous laugh followed and I tried to direct my stare away from her breasts. She moved in closer, pushing herself up so we'd be face to face.

"Good morning to you too, Par." We were both still tired, but alert. "And it definitely is, I don't think I slept that well since staying in that B&B last year before Mom and I toured Harvard. I feel so refreshed and reinvigorated."

"Your bed isn't that bad," I responded, "might be a little lumpy. But it's a good kind of lumpy."

"That's true." She moved her hands down as I kept eye-to-eye contact with her. "We need to sleep in bed together at least once a week; I like waking up to you." She brought her mouth to mine.

"I do too." We then shared a simple kiss, which quickly separated when we were overcome by our breath. I wrinkled my nose. "We...probably should have brushed before bed, however." I smiled, assuring her. "I'm so used to coffee-flavored kisses."

"Wintergreen here," she said, her voice still a little tired. "You're becoming a sap, talking about my kisses so cutely."

"Am not," I demurred, trying to change the subject. "We need to get back into an academic mindset though; you know this morning is going to be the one where the instructors are going to throw some curveballs our way, right back from vacation. Out of left field questions, along with sudden tests on earlier units to make sure that we didn't lose any knowledge on a subject."

"I'm not scared of that though." She looked down, her eyes scanning my bare belly and up towards my breasts. "That's child's play compared to the lacrosse unit."

"Don't remind me!" I closed my eyes, groaning. "Great, for the next week I get pelted by sticks and have a tiny ball whipped towards me at 85 miles an hour."

"But you get to pelt Brad--he always goes for goalie! You can't tell me you don't enjoy that."

"I do, but I hate the other problem that sometimes a few over-zealous players go for putting their stick where it'll really hurt." We both cringe at the same time at the thought of one of the class toughs getting us...yeah, I'm not going there. "My father may have played for the Crimson in college, but I won't be following in his footsteps in that regard."

"It's too bad that it's getting cold outside." She looked towards my bedroom window, horizontal blinds letting in spare twilight. "I'd rather play against you on the field than on the rubber stuff in the field house." Eyeing me up, I felt a cold chill as her eyes scanned my form, a reminder of where we were but a month ago. "Just the way you looked that morning when I collided into you going for that ball; I haven't been able to get that out of my head."

I tried to say something, but I couldn't, not with the distraction of a leg sliding in between mine, Ror's warm body taking me off my routine very quickly. My heart was beating very fast as her hand slid along my waist.

She was getting to me way too much. I never expected her to be such the aggressor type at all, but when she walked in that door last night and I was furiously trying to get her out of my bedroom, hiding behind the excuse of my mother, a woman who upon mention usually freezes up any member of the Hartford elite. To her however, she's just that one woman trying to get in the way of her goals. To have such a quick mind to take a conversation about a dreaded sport and turn it back into a flirt, it's foreign to me. I'm the one who usually one-ups her.

Now I know it feels to be on the other side. The other side...it felt too hot, like I was losing control. I needed to gain it back. Or at the very least a little bit of breathing room.

"Rory..." I felt dizzy, watching her above me, those damned breast freckles such an enticement. "Hon, it's 6:15am. Don't you need some coffee?" It was always a safe bet to use her drink of choice for distraction.

"Of course." I was relieved that she might be backing off, if only for a moment.

That was before I saw that she was moving in closer, morning breath or my unbrushed hair obviously not an obstacle to her. "There's a Cumberland Farms on the way to school. That is, unless you prefer Dunkin Donuts?"

"But--but--" She brought a finger to my lips to hush me.

"I can live one day without Luke's; it's no problem." Then, before I could find any witty response, she touched her lips to mine, and kissed me again, mouth closed. I wasn't overcome, finding her soft kisses much to my liking. Against my own thoughts, I ended up returning the kiss with as much fervor. I couldn't believe she was getting me this hot so early in the morning, not even out of bed!

That's where we lingered for five more minutes, our hands softly caressing, a kiss here and there. Both of us were speechless, taking in the relief that was a rare silent moment undisturbed by the drone of an instructor or Ms. Peters over our shoulders to make sure the student government didn't go the way of the Ultimate Fighting League. I let my nails trail down each of Rory's sides: her skin was warm, speckled with freckles. She was otherwise occupied with the small of my back, cooing to me that I was so beautiful with my bronze tan acquired over the weekend in Ormond Beach.

I could go on, but the conversation was the very definition of 'small talk,' things of interest only to us. For instance, her asking for a few books from my father's library, for which I told her I could certainly talk to him about lending them out. I feel calm, reassured by her meticulous care of books, be they an older volume from her grandfather or some 10¢ pulp Pocket Book, circa 1974.

I was trying to suggest movie ideas for our next night with Lorelai on Thursday night, but seemed to be failing to come up with the perfect title. Honestly, I'm more for serious dramas, so somehow I think my asking for The Insider was considered out of the bounds of the usual Gilmore movie template, Russell Crowe notwithstanding. After several more unsuccessful choices, she told me not to worry about it and that both she and Ms. Gilmore would be finding something perfect for the evening.

Eventually though, the small talk petered out, and with ten minutes ticking away since we woke up, I realized that the both of us needed to face the day eventually. 8:05 wasn't too far away, and though I'd be lenient and wouldn't mind for one morning arriving at five to, sweet nothings all morning weren't going to get us anywhere.

"Hey," I whispered softly, kissing Ror on the cheek. "I don't usually do this with anyone else, but..." Nervously, I tried to relax as I offered a favor I hadn't given to anyone else. "Why don't you use my shower?"

I watched her pause, features stilling as she considered the simple question of her use of my bathroom. She seemed so modest, scared to intrude on the sacred ground of my routine, along with my private bathroom.

"But, but...are you sure?" I nodded. "I don't want to leave you without hot water though."

Usually, a response to that would revolve around a biting "DUH!" observation that where I live has an indoor lap pool heated to 90°, a kitchen with professional quality fixtures and a garden which combined use 400 gallons a day, and 8 1/2 baths, all of which are served by a water heater the size of a small garage within the bowels of the Manor.

I didn't react that way. Rory has numbed some of those observational outbursts from me, turning formerly bitter rants like that...

I looked at her dead on, smirking. "I should be disappointed. I thought for sure your shower would be cold due to...obvious factors." I trailed my hand along the small of her back, towards the waistband of her tiny new panties. Then, without warning, I dipped my middle finger about a few millimeters in, watching her mouth open and eyebrows rise up. I bit down on my lower lip, pouting it out. "I've been known to take a few late night ones with cool water myself; it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Oh my God." She looked at me, her pupils retracting, suddenly feeling very warmed up. "Stop...stop, please. I'm so not used to this so early in the morning!"

I laughed, continuing to play with her. "What, Deano never gave you a wake-up call to describe his morning wood?" She cringed and shook her head, whining at the image implanted.

"You're very, very incorrigible. Didn't etiquette school teach you not to tease your partner so early in the morning?" She wrapped the shirt around herself to hide her nudity, getting up from the bed and away from me. "I mean, we have an AE test for sure first period; I need to focus on that and you're not helping me!" She huffed, trying to look for her backpack on the other side of the room near the door to retrieve her toiletries.

I wrapped the bedsheet around me, feeling so liberated to have a conversation like this. "First of all, they don't teach that in etiquette school, and secondly, we do well enough in Advanced Ec to have a comfortable grade lead." I approached her, enjoying the peek of her perfectly round butt below the shirt as she bent down. I wiggled my fingers open, working them out of the fist I clenched them into while asleep. She was paying more attention to her Ziploc bag filled with bathroom stuff compressed within the huge bag than how the volume of my voice was increasing with each new step towards her. My pajama top on her had a bit of transparency to it, and for the first time, I could see four long scratches down her back, easily obscured by the stiff cotton of a school blouse, but with a silk shirt, so apparent. I felt a lilt in my stomach, amazed that I was able to do so much to her.

"Still, if I got a call from him like that, I would have been..." she trailed off. "Well, I have no idea, but I can't imagine that anyone finds someone in the morning adorable."

"And if I called," I hypothesized, "what would you do?"

"You'd never do that though: you're too focused," she reasoned. "I don't see you as that type, you're innocent about things, shy. I was surprised you'd even do the phone thing, you're always so formal on the phone."

"So what you're saying is I'm reserved and conservative?" I felt a bit insulted, but also challenged by her words. "That I'm thinking on pro-con terms."

"A little...there are times where you can be spontaneous on your own, but they're few and far between." She got up, clothes in hand, along with her toothbrush and toothpaste. "You're a planner, Par, and even that call Thursday night you went in with a backup plan if I wouldn't have gone forward. Am I right?"

I wasn't showing it, but I was finding myself angry that my girlfriend was trying to tell me that she was the more spontaneous of the both of us. "Yeah," I said, ushering her towards the shower with a quick kiss. I watched her walk in the bathroom, that swagger in her hips and the voice that attracts cartoon animals humming a happy tune. I started feeling a bit down that even though she wasn't intending to do so, she was making me feel guilty about being the planner, not the doer, between us so far.

I sat down at my computer and checked my email, finding not much coming in through the overnight hours. As she turned the knobs and various buttons on the shower to get it how she wanted, I sat in my bedroom, trying to go over what I had done spontaneously on a whim so far over the last four weeks.

However, thinking it over for two minutes, I had to face reality.

I wasn't one for whims. Planning has always been a part of my modus, even way back in preschool days. I was taught to live on a schedule from day one, having been one of the few sixth graders at Country Day with a PDA to coordinate my dancing, academics, and the two sports (soccer and tennis) which I participated in back in those days. Sharon had rejected several events I wanted to participate in over the years because her schedule conflicted with mine. Daddy had a different mindset, more apt to spur of the moment, but I couldn't ever think his way, at least in that regard. Schedules worked for everyone, and they always worked out for me.

But so far with Rory, almost everything had been triggered by her. From the confession, the first day, all the way to that moment sitting at my desk, about the only sudden things I've done were to send out last second emails and the Thanksgiving phone call. The search for the Chinese restaurant, her wanderings beneath the blanket, the surprise of last night, they've all been from her doing.

About the only other impulsive things I can think of are the trips to the park after school, that late night apology, the touchless come she had last night and...and....

I've got nothing. My mind was drawing a complete blank on the whole being bold thing. Maybe a few flirts here and there, but compared to her, I wasn't doing much to prove that I was an equal to being part of a relationship at all. Never mind that I do know she's trying to work things slowly to make me feel comfortable in my greenness about being a girlfriend and everything.

Truly, Rory is the instigator of everything so far, and I've been following along with her, content to let her be the 'strong girl' while I build my way up from being meek.

I looked at my screen, reading the Courant front page, and then I just come to the conclusion that FriendParis and LoverParis are as of far, two different beings.

I can overpower her when it comes to grades, but I'm stuck thinking she's my guide when it comes to sex. So much frustration thinking about that.

But it's something that Dr. Birnbaum touched on in the confession session the week before. As we talked over how the impact of my being a lesbian would change things in my life, at the same time she told me that I couldn't be a bystander. "Paris, don't just sit there and let your girlfriend define the relationship. She may have been the one to push you out, but you have to keep her in."

"Be bold," she implored. "Take chances, make her think you can go off the cuff. You can't schedule love like an SAT. You might be new to this love thing, but the only thing you can do to see where it takes you it to let her know 'yes, I'm willing to push things along, I'm not content with just letting you define everything.'"

With that, I think last night I had a perfect opportunity where I knew I could have been bold.

See, I knew that she was in my bedroom before I ever stepped out of that bathroom. My bathroom door, despite looks, is not as thick as the bedroom door; they couldn't find an exact match for the door wood back in the 60's when my bedroom was my father's and they first put in the bathroom. So I heard the bedroom door opening and the springs compressing when she lay down on my bed. Of course I didn't know it was exactly her until I came out and did the triple take, occupied with thoughts of her.

All it took was just a yell over the shower to ask who was in the room and to adjust my flirting to invite her into the bathroom. Instead, I let the thought of Mother infiltrate me and ruin the start of things, the fear that we'd be found out overpowering any ideas that I wanted it to start out. My fears that I was doing too much, too soon, taking in mind Rory's virginity and shyness in relationships over that of her real thoughts about things.

That I'm so far having to be drawn out probably closes her, thinking I'd throttle her if we get too physical. This, even though I know for sure that some of the dreams she has portray me as the sexual protagonist. It disappoints me somewhat I can't live up to her dreams and it takes her intervention to get a spark going.

I even...I don't know how I had a reaction like this, but there was some disappointment on my end that she didn't walk in. I probably would have freaked out more than I did when she told me she was lying about her reasons to get here with Lorelai, but it was another missed opportunity. I was hungry for touch when I got home, but I put it off because of my intimate fears.

You have to stop thinking pro-con, Par, I encouraged myself silently. Just be natural and let things happen as they may. Variety is the spice of life, and just flirting verbally isn't enough for you anymore, you've been driven crazy all night!

I looked over the room and at, and then the time in the top-right corner of the screen. Like I always did.

6:27am. Time is a finite concept to me, and no matter what I've always been bound to it. Clocks were ruining this morning for me.

In addition, my delayed recall of certain things was coming back to me.

Like Rory currently within my shower. That image brought warm shudders through me. I felt breathless, and moved my hand down my thigh.

I needed to initiate something, if not for my own sanity, but to balance things back out between Rory and I. The last thing I needed was to break up with her because I didn't add any sizzle to the steak and my fears about being unattractive.

"Fuck you, time," I stated firmly to the on-screen clock, clicking on it and scrolling down to the option to turn it off from my menu bar. The satisfying click as it disappeared off the screen gave me a sense of revival as I took the bull by the horns.

I wasn't going to let the usual routine get to me either. Grabbing the Nextel from the desk, I pressed the two-way button, calling down to the kitchen to let them know I'd be getting breakfast elsewhere that morning. I wanted to linger this morning, and an intimate moment between us wasn't going to be ruined by a maid wheeling in corn flakes, a doughnut, and orange juice. For once, I was going to do things on my own pace, not on a time schedule.

The phone back on the desk, I smiled, thinking about exactly how Rory might be looking in the shower at that exact moment. Not that I've been able to get a steady linger on her within the girls' locker room, but my imagination can fill in the blanks. I shuddered, pushing back the sheet to drape over the desk chair, feeling so overheated as I basked in my nudity, arms against my stomach. I've never flirted like this before, cerebral being the usual way to get what I want.

Dipping a finger into the side of my panties, I worked them off from my hips, feeling so nervous about being completely nude and vulnerable in front of another person. Still, I psyched myself over, looking towards myself in the mirror at the other side of the room and seeing how desirable I felt now that Rory was complimenting me at every opportunity. Pushing them all the way down, I then gathered up all of the clothes spread around the floor that were mine and gathered them neatly into the hamper near the door. I ran fingers through my hair to do a quick detangling, hoping to be as presentable as possible after fifteen minutes out of bed.

Finally, it was time to act. I did a heel-toe walk towards the bathroom, trying to keep my stride as dignified as it could be nude. Again, I felt weird in my own skin, about to seduce Rory on my terms, in my own bedroom. I still feared she would reject me in the buff.

But as I twisted the doorknob slowly, I knew that was silly talk. She wouldn't have pursued me if I wasn't attractive enough, so why doubt my looking cute naked?

Then again, I'm so hidden usually that Madeline thought I needed a water bra to boost my cup size.

I had to push that thought away from my mind though; it was too negative. I wasn't that girl anymore, willing to take any crumb offered to have time with Tristan. I needed nothing extra when it came to Rory. She respected me for who I was, and regarded me as beautiful, hot, all the words to tell me that I was cute.

Really, it's time for me to realize that I shouldn't feel guilty for being in a relationship, and in turn, finding my sexuality. I was a little late to be sure, but I had a woman of my own in that bathroom, most likely basking in the glow of getting her girlfriend to open up so much over such a small period of time. We've been together for only a couple of weeks, yet it's like a month.

I took one last look down at myself, the scratches and friction burns from last night still crawling up my leg, disappearing where my legs met into a line of blonde hair on each side. I put each of my hands into fists, kneeing the door open and preparing myself for what I was about to do to Rory.

I hope I don't startle her, I thought, looking towards the lightly-frosted tempered glass wrapping around my shower stall. If I thought asking her to be my VP was tough, seducing her in the shower was like trying to argue that Blair and Jo had absolutely no sexual chemistry whatsoever. Here goes nothing...

I sucked in a deep, silent breath, walking in the dim room, the sounds of the shower apparent through the venting fan whirring above me. I could be a little cavalier as the floor below me was of a strong wood that was squeak and warp resistant. I kept my eyes dead open towards the stall, Rory's slim silhouette keeping me in a stunned state of silence. My mouth seemed to dry on impact, the water-resistant spotlight in the shower shining down into it, casting this perfect glow that before was only a feature in my dreams. Her hair slicked back, those long curvy legs cascading down towards the floor...

I kept most of my attention on her breasts, however. No matter how many compliments she might feast on mine, I couldn't stand not looking at hers, tipped with those perfect rose-colored nipples, surrounded by puffs of areole. To everyone else, they were small; she was mocked as much for her smallness as I have for the heft of my own bust, thus our reasoning to stick together in locker room situations.

I decided to stay still for a few moments to find where she was in the shower. The scent of my shampoo and conditioner filtered through the air, so familiar to me. Obviously, she was past that step.

I looked towards the sink, where her opened tube of Crest was next to her toothbrush, with an empty Dixie cup resting next to it, filled with a few remaining drops of water. That was working in my favor, and I was thankful that I had the foresight to place a package of dissolving breath strips next to my keyboard, so I could freshen my breath temporarily. Morning breath was off the checklist of obstacles standing in my way.

I continued to stand still, a twimmer running through my legs at catching my girlfriend in such an intimate and personal moment, by herself, all alone. Her hands slid up her sides, and at first I thought she wasn't going for the body wash, that she cleansed herself using only soap.

At least that was my theory before I noted that I failed to detect the outline of a bar resting in her hand.

Or that hand was moving lower and lower, the shadow of her arm melting within her muddied pink outline, which was moving closer towards the backmost pane of the enclosure.

No, I'm just seeing things. I'm overheated from last night yet, my eyes were deceiving me for sure. No way that...

OK, she was backing away, that was a false alarm. I think I would die if she was...oh, dear. I can't even contemplate the torture of such an action.

I inched closer and closer, the glass partitioned between us. I could see the golden door handle right in the middle of my mind. I had to find a perfect opportunity to slide in without arousing her attention, and I had some time, her back turned away from my direction.

I kept staring at her frosted form, amazed that of anyone, she had chosen me to grace with her desire and admiration for me. She was just so beautiful, kind, caring...

And rising up to get at my loofah on a high shelf, so fucking sexy. I felt myself clench at the thought of her washing with my own sponge. It was like that morning within the Chilton showers a month ago, except there was no way anyone or anything that was going to ruin this intimate moment. I bit down on my lip, feeling so warm.

God, I wanted her. I wanted to hear those same moans from last night as she went on and on about her lingerie shopping. My heart was thumping hard, and I knew I was losing control of being reserved and neutral. I wasn't even thinking about the time, just how I wanted to show her much I appreciated her invading my space the evening before.

I could've used some liquid courage to go in, but this had to be all on my own. Pushing all my fears away, I got myself into the mindset of flirtation, pushing away any thoughts of Sharon, tossing my hair back, and inched in slowly, pulling at the magnetic latch slowly so that the click it made when it opened wouldn't be heard over the spray. I opened the door, keeping my eye contact dead onto one Rory Gilmore.

Demurely, I slipped in, hopeful she wouldn't back in, but that was unlikely as she tried to figure out my body wash bottle. Paying for the best also means having a different way to close a soap bottle top, and mine actually slid a bit off the top to expose the opening. I shut the door, but she was too into trying to open the bottle to notice me.

I was fully in. And as there were no gym teachers ready to use the cold tap to scare us both out of the shower, we had plenty of time.

Or we would, if my dang girlfriend could open the bottle.

"Come on, you're not behaving. Obviously you have to open, now open, geeze!" She kept trying to pop it open like something she'd find at the CVS, but it wouldn't work. "I don't want to smell all stinky when I get into school; Paris would definitely disapprove of it."

Behind her, I smiled at her frustration. That emotion was an adorable thing in her hands and I watched the show go on.

Now she was on to unscrewing the cap. It wouldn't work though, because the top latches tightly to the actual bottle.

I could let her go on, but then I'm sure like you do, watching someone open up a bottle of body wash isn't your idea of foreplay in any sense. Trust me, I'm the same way, and as I've said times before, I'm a woman of action.

I moved closer and then grabbed at both the bottle and sponge in each hand, getting on tiptoe so I could push aside her hair to examine my damage. The scratches from last night down her were still there, still red, like each nail scrape was made by a chalkboard staff liner.

Then, as I took the items from her, I laid a simple kiss upon the dead center of the nape of her neck. I felt her still, water pelting the both of us, and her breath deepen and rush from her throat. I felt my guard begin to slip, going full tilt into cornering my Farm Girl where she never expected me.

I heard her try to spit out the first syllable of my name, but she was unsuccessful. I slid open the cap of the wash and went in for the kill as my teeth scraped across her neck.

"You know, I might be bigger than you," I uttered in a deep and sensual tone, "but I think you fill a shirt in just as well, Lorelai Leigh." I made sure that the scrubber was wet and warm enough, then applied a nice soapy amount of body wash to it.

"Paris..." her voice drifted low. "What are...are you impatient? Am I taking too long--" I shushed her again with a nip at her ear, working the soap into the loofah.

"You can never take too long for me, Gilmore, trust me." I scanne her back, from the top of her head down to her ass. "I'm too busy enjoying the view. You might lack enough when it comes to your breasts, but it's a shame the uniform skirt does nothing for your rear." Inching my fingers along her side, I felt the warm, damp skin usually hidden by her shirt.

Any resistance she might have had seemed to be unfounded as she loosened within my grasp. "Baby..."

"Shh...shh...just let yourself go. I'm not bound to routine this morning and I'm not going to let you be either." I again kissed the back of her neck and then requested she move closer to the shower to give me more space to maneuver. "You were right about me to start last night; I was too high strung, but now, I feel like doing this for you."

With that, I started to wash her without interference. I began with her back, trying to keep myself in control for Rory's sake; she didn't need to see me having a visceral reaction to her soaking nude form. She gasped a few times as I went up and down her spine, and then in a zig-zag and other patterns, but mostly kept mum, most likely owing to the shock of me in the same shower stall as she was. Watching her all soaped up, her face looking up towards the showerhead above her, I could tell she was looking for any distraction to mask that she was feeling so twitchy around me like this.

Soon, I had done her entire back, and was ready to move on to the front. Here comes the tough part, I thought to myself. I called for her in a hushed whisper to turn around so I could do her front. I felt nervous as she turned around, and then backed into the side sprayers to let the lather dissolve down her back.

Her skin took on a different coloring under water, more of a reddish hue that brought out her freckling. I felt dizzy looking her over, watching her slight smile, then a little bit of shyness. She wasn't ashamed of her breasts, but instead, brought her hand towards her pelvis to cover up her vagina. Her eyes, full of nervousness, reflected that she thought herself unworthy of me to look at all over.

"Hands to your sides," I commanded in a firm tone. I was surprised to see that she was shy about herself/

"I--I can't," she said worriedly, her voice stuttering. "You don't have to look at me there if you don't want to."

"Rory, I'm not going to be able to wash your stomach fully with your arm in the way." I tried to grab at it, but she kept herself still, looking up at me seemingly sad.

"I'm sorry, I can't."

"Why not?" I'm surprised she had some issues about her body, especially after last night.

"I don't know." She bit on her lip as she tried to explain her reasoning. "What if you think I'm...off?"

"Off?" I was confused. "What do you mean?"

"Some girls in the past, they've teased me for not having a perfect body. I know I have a little paunch thing going on, but down there, they...they think I'm unsymmetrical."

As she confessed, I smiled at her, suddenly realizing her nervousness. "Ah, so this is what it's all about." I moved a bit closer towards her. "Did these girls happen to be from the town of Stars Hollow?"

She nodded that it was, but mentioned there were others who felt the same way. "Summer and her clique also made fun of me a little."

"Oh geeze, come on." I kept calm as I pulled her hand away from her and started washing her front. "I'd take an off vagina any day over a monthly appointment at the free clinic like I'm sure she has. Rory, trust me, I'm sure you're fine, and whether you're symmetrical or not, it doesn't matter to me. I look at all of you, rather just one glaring part of you. Besides, if they're looking at your vaginal symmetry, what the hell are they looking at? Are they cracked in the head?!"

"I know," she assured, "it still gets to me though."

"Well, don't let it. After all, I heard that her yearbook picture was rejected for violating the honor code. Her shirt was too high for their comfort, so she's stuck with the default ID pic. She's also on the edge of being pushed back, and her father said if she fails, she's finishing in Hartford public schools." I ran the puff over breasts, enjoying the sounds of her moaning as I complimented her. "You haven't listened to her before, so why start now?"

"Actually, that's not the only reason I have for hiding." She bit down on her lip.

"What else?" I smiled, moving closer to her as I watched the suds drift down her chest.

"I'm...I'm kind of warm from you here." She hissed, my hands along the bottom of her left breast.

"Warm?" I curled my lips into a smile.

"Yes, warm." She looked unsure, trying to describe what it actually meant. "Not as in 'I'm warm' but...well, you know."

"The kind of 'warm' you use your hands to cool down?" She nodded, nervous as I moved in closer, my hands off to her sides, not touching.

"Uhhh..." I found her starting to waver as I sensed that had I not been in the shower, she may have entertained herself. "I kind of, well...umm, maybe I shouldn't be talking about this to you."

"About what?" I pushed closer, intending to invade her personal space, touching her with the sponge along one of her upper thighs.

"Well, for one thing, I don't have time to do it." She looked down as I saw bumps form along her arm.

"Really?" I exclaimed, then brushing a kiss along the back of her neck as I pushed the loofah closer towards her bikini line. "I could have sworn that like here, you had a hand shower attachment at home."

She stilled in shock, struggling for words. "Huh?"

I wrapped around her as I washed down each of her legs and continued on as I grabbed the hand shower, jutting out from the side, pulling out the hose, the object whose texture and spray I had become so familiar with since my first accidental 'meeting' with it a couple years back. "Rory, you're in a shower, naked, your mind probably more occupied with me than exfoliation. You're a red-blooded girl coming off a hot night, and I know you're thinking about masturbation."

"But it's your shower. It's wrong."

Bending down, I did each of her legs, handing her the attachment while I finished up. "Go ahead, touch yourself. If you're so warm, you need to expel that stress so that you have a good first day back."

"But I can't."

"And why not?" I coyly played with her, looking up from her knees. "Is it because you could have a little performance anxiety? I mean last night you proved yourself in a pressure cooker, taking me from a full-blown panic to putty in your hands."

"That was different though."

"How?" I started rubbing a knuckle against the inside of her knee, trying to distract her and send tremors up from her legs.

"Because, I had to convince you before I went in, I had a plan. I didn't expect you to walk in here and get all lovey-dovey."

"Rory, come on." My tone was firm and hard. "That hand shower in your hand has featured in so many situations after I came home from school where I needed to release tension. Compared to my fingers and vibrator, it's probably given me my most quaking orgasms, ever. Most of them of were from thinking of you. If you think I'm going to be offended that my actions are causing you to get horny and you'll have to wait until you get home to work yourself off, I can't allow that!"

She paused, trying to come up with a response, but couldn't find it as I laid it down on the line that I was willing to let her work off her stress within the shower. Admittedly, she was scared, timidly sharing her feelings that she was afraid she couldn't get fulfilled under pressure with me behind her. "I've never even been discovered pleasing myself," she stated, trying to work through her nerves. "I pretty much learned how to touch myself through trial and error, some descriptions, that kind of thing."

"So what's so different about last night compared to this morning?"

"We're in a shower, together. I can't bring myself off with you here; it's not relaxing."

Finished washing her, I boosted myself back up into a standing position, scanning her body as I brought myself back up to eye level. "It's not relaxing because you're not in that mindset. You have time on your mind, routine, exams, all of that outside the shower on your mind." I moved closer towards her, getting into her personal space. "Right now, for all I care, its 10:45pm on a Friday night." I slide my hand up her side, blatantly eyeing up her soaked plumage. "We can't let time or the outside world define what we are for us."

I was face-to-face with her, eyes stark still on her, dead center in the showerhead. I never felt so challenged before to bring her to such a high, and as I looked at her, I realized what I had to do.

I had to make it known that what I feel for her should never be bottled up for convenience.

"Let yourself go, Ror. For me, but more yourself. I want to watch you stroke yourself, to look at you as we drive to class and not have to think for once, 'damn it, you beat me for the top mark by one question.' I want you next to me in biology, looking at me with that smile of yours, and to have entering my mind that hours before, you were in my arms, letting yourself go."

She began to flush with frustration as her knees buckled with my insinuations. Her hand, tremoring, slid down from her side, playing tentatively near her belly. She dropped the hand shower down to the floor below, her clear eyes staring into mine.

She met my lips and we had a deep kiss, not a word as we came together, the frustrations and fears beginning to melt away as we both pulled towards each other. I felt her tongue twining with mine, and she let me take the lead in order to wind herself up for what was to come next. I had one hand at the wrist of her right, while my left cradled her backside, just above her rear. I closed my eyes, reveling in the way that the girl could weaken me with just that one action, as time began to melt away from us.

It was deep, very deep, noses touching, breast-to-breast, oxygen a commodity in the soaking atmosphere. I began to wander my hand around her bend, moving it towards her stomach, scaling my fingers across her. I was surprised the night before to find it firm and taut despite a bit of fat, making Ror even more perfect in my view. She pushed herself closer towards me, but I pushed away, silently communicating that this wouldn't be a thigh rub: she'd have to do it all with her fingers.

Still, she needed further encouragement to keep going because I was paranoid that she'd fake just to get it over quickly. The way her body was, nipples taut and hard, body relaxed and flushed. There was no damned way I could see her enduring the day without finding this situation erotic and induced to orgasm.

I pulled away, but only for a moment. As she dipped her right hand towards her cleft, I slid my left hand over to clasp at her wrist. She was totally nervous, trying to get used to the idea of sharing her own selfish moments with me. I still went in tentatively, not pushing my grasp down until I had actual permission.

At first, admittedly, Rory was surprised and shocked. Expecting to not have help, she was thinking either of faking or rushing through it, afraid that she'd ruin our schedule. She stumbled out my name's first syllable, trying and failing to ask why my fingers were sliding lower and lower to cup against her hand.

Once again, I shushed her. "Time is on our side. Don't even look, think, or bother with what it is this morning." I intertwined my fingers atop of hers and helped guide her down her wet form towards her center. "For once, I want to have something floating through my head in RN beyond your fingers on my scalp." Her breathing deepened as we pushed down below her abdominal line. "You need this, and I want this for you."

"Oh God..." her voice wandered off. With that, I took her hand into mine and grasped it tightly as we dipped down and she widened her legs out for access. I knew I wasn't going to do much of the touching, but that I was there would make her spill over at a swifter pace than normal.

I was surprised to find her so hot and wet, beyond the venue we were in. She pushed two fingers between her lips easily, and then out, grunting with a want for an orgasm. "Just help me circle it in, give me circles," she begged. "When I woke up, I was already wet."

Cue my esophagus drying from those words. "From my wanderings?"

She nodded in the affirmative. "You weren't down there, but still, I was enjoying your attention on my belly."

"What were you thinking?" I asked in a firm tone. "Hoping that I wouldn't wake up punctually so you could cool off before I awoke?" I closed my hand in tight as she began a slow, consistent rhythm with her strokes, up and down.

"Oh, damn!"

"Well, were you?" I smiled, trying to force the answer out of her.

"The thought may have crossed my mind," she gasped.

"Thank goodness you didn't," I warned, "I may have gotten in here and not been able to do this..." I pushed my hand deeper into hers. "Which would have aggravated me all day long."

She moaned deeply, and as she felt herself slipping, wrapped her left hand around the grab bar at the side of the enclosure to keep her footing. Her toes against the drain, the hot shower pounding upon the both of us, we continued with slow strokes, light touching, erotic kissing. I continued to nip at her neck, massaging her scalp and her back with my free hand, her groans of pleasure driving through me to go further and further on.

I couldn't believe I was doing this and how cooperative and hungry Rory was for my touch. My free hand, roaming her stomach, her tight voice asking for more and more. I could feel her muscles tightening up with each new touch and the warm heat between her fingers as she continued to stroke at herself. Her fingers moved faster and faster along her clit with each minute until she had a steady thrusting rhythm.

Her face flushed as she went on, and I encouraged her further on, eventually convincing her to push another finger in, bringing her to three along her slit. She tightly shut her eyes as her hair dripped down water, as I continued to help her along with my voice. Telling her how beautiful that she was, how wanting she must be to come, that I wanted her to feel the way she made me feel last night. I worked my voice like an instrument, finding just the right tone between cute and commanding to lure her. She pushed her ass against mine, trying to rile me up, but I told her this wasn't about me, that I would hold back for her sake.

Eventually, I did let my hand go from hers to let her go at her own furious pace, and she stroked even faster with those three fingers.

That's when I decided to end things with a bang, by turning her around to face me. I spun around so my back was to the shower and then took her into my arms loosely, kissing her torridly. The way she looked at me, those intense blue eyes wide as I roamed her body, a blatant look across her chest and down her belly and towards her triangle...it gave her such a push.

She tried her best to keep her eyes open, and I kept kissing her wherever I could, on her lips, neck, cheeks, nose, wherever. She was fargone as I kept calling for her to come, my hands on her breasts, nipples fully aroused, so hard that they'd pierce her bra.

"Paris, I want this, I want you....ohh....ohh...ohh..." I looked down, her hand between her engorged lips. She was furiously trying to get off and I pushed her against the back glass of the shower to keep her fully braced. I could only think of how fucking hot she looked to someone walking into the bathroom, her ass and back on the glass, my mouth along her neck.

She went faster and faster, my hand was at her butt, working her in and out from her hand, a constant rhythm of "Oh God"'s rising up from her throat. I encouraged her on, telling her how sexy she was playing such a coquettish vixen, something only a month before I would have never seen her as.

Her eyes were tight, hair damp and slicked atop of her head, and she was feeling herself just at the edge. I wasn't going to interfere however, no matter how much I wanted to.

To watch Rory Gilmore orgasm, it's unlike anything that you could ever picture happening. I could really describe it in the terms of seeing a goddess-like figure come to satisfaction, that it's one of the most beautiful things in the world. Her face, with her mouth wide open, her throat tightened, her eyes forced shut from the mix of stimuli and steam in the air, and nostrils flaring out: that is exactly how she looks. Her skin, tinged a warm red, and as she slid her index finger those last few times across her clit, she tightened the grasp on my back hard with her free hand. Loud shrieking, shielded by the spray of the shower, her eyes then rolled back as a string of profanity came out from within her, "Fuck, Paris, holy crap!" her exclamation of choice.

Then came the moment of fruition. A loud hiss and then a relaxation of her body as she widened her legs out to let the whole thing flow out. She shrieked..."ohh...ohh...ohh damn!" After that her reaction slid inward as the first twinges went through her. Instead of loud like I was, she let it out slowly, letting her pumping slow down to elongate the reaction. Hissing, eyes closed, her body tightened, and I let her go from my grasp just to watch her up against that wall. I couldn't believe how beautiful she looked, just how plain ravished she was. I felt my heart pump triple time watching her, my vixen reminding me that what I was watching was to be treasured. I stood in the shower, completely still, as Rory went over the hump with a hard hiss, and then start a wind down by slowly inching up her fingers towards her belly. Her voice was still deep, each of her gasps ragged. Undoubtedly, the doubts from before of masturbation with an audience of one were obliterated.

I continued to let her wind down, watching her as the final pushes of the come went through her. Eventually though she tired out, and when I saw her start to seem to lose her footing, I took her into my arms and let her brace against me in a close and intimate hug, smiling serenely as she slid her hands onto my back and rested against my collarbone. She was worn out, the orgasm I asked her to give herself while I watched taking so much out of her, and her breathing reflected that.

"Paris, thank you," she said softly. "Oh God, thank you for being here, I...I didn't need that, but it felt so good." She kissed me on the lips and I rocked her back and forth reassuringly.

"It's all right, Ror, it's all right. Let it out." I thought I heard her sob as I wrapped around her. "You shouldn't be afraid of me, and I can't be shy in front of you. You told me yourself that if I wanted to do something with you, it was OK."

"I know, it is." She was definitely beginning to cry. "I wanted to do this last night...but I was scared. I wanted to catch you by surprise."

"I enjoyed the actuality more than the fantasy," I assured her, my voice soft. "How did it feel for me to do this for you?"

"Good, really good. I'm so glad I'm with you, hon. I've always thought of us like this, just close and intimate, unexpectedly taking control of things. You haven't had enough of that lately, and I'm willing to let you be Paris." She kissed the top of my forehead. "I was attracted to you as the commanding presence in my life, and no matter how inexperienced you might be, know that I am willing to cede to you, to help you learn."

"I thank you for that," I said, truthfully, and then looked down at my love bite, left on her shoulder from last night. "You are mine, Gilmore, and to know that you're willing to do anything to show that, it makes my life feel less futile."

We continued to softly talk in that shower, necking and kissing for ten more minutes, while she massaged shampoo and conditioner through my hair. We both acknowledged how we felt about the night, gazes stuck to each other, just talking about things both love and school-related. I enjoyed the trembles in my scalp as she rinsed out the shampoo and conditioner, and in a way, felt tired all over again from all the attention. We both spent so much time just being us in that shower, that indeed, I lost all track of the time that usually ruined routine.

My shower radio then reminded me that we couldn't stay in there forever....

"CBS Radio news is next, it's now 7am. This is Newsradio 1080, WTIC-AM Hartford, an Infinity Broadcasting station. Good morning..."

In that moment we were in the middle of sharing a deep kiss when we were both startled out of our building dream fog, the station's famous Beethoven's Fifth time tone reminding us that school was 65 minutes away. Rory pulled away slowly, blinking her eyes in surprise.

"So, that would be the backup alarm to the backup alarm to the backup alarm?" she commented, smirking as I rolled my eyes.

"No, that would be the 'that's what happens when I lose track of time' alarm."

"Well at least it worked," she said, smiling as she stepped out of the shower and towards the towels as we began the second phase of the morning.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later we were all toweled off, relatively dry, our hair brushed as I gathered up a uniform shirt and skirt from my closet, and then lingerie from the dresser, while Rory was at her backpack taking out her wardrobe. There was a sure contrast between the both of us, as I was in my warm terry-cloth robe, while she was wrapped in the towel, brown tendrils of hair in an upswept bun. We were both chilled from coming out of the shower, the water temperature a stark contrast to the room temperature from the chill in the bedroom.

I sat down on the bed, laying out everything on the mattress, making sure both the skirt and blouse were pressed and starched, as was my usual protocol. I was sort of nervous, Rory in the same room as I was. I stared at my choice of lingerie for the day, off to the other side.

My matronly, dull, boring panties, paired with my oldest bra, bought at fourteen when my cup size finally stabilized. Both were off-white, meant only for comfort and nothing else. I sighed looking towards them, trying to find a way that I could possibly get out of dressing with her in the room.

No matter what though, I had to, no matter how hideously plain my underwear was. I don't usually get out anything from the silk and satins drawers for school (our first day was the only exception), and even then that's just about as reserved as can be. I rarely go for a bikini cut in anything, nor can I feel secure in any cut of underwear that doesn't cover up my upper thighs. Louise and I have gone lingerie shopping before, but more often than not I always shied away from her choices, along with any offers of help from the clerk in choosing something to flatter me.

Of course, before, I had no purpose to glam it up beneath. What is the point, I thought to myself. Frankly, if the only person who saw my underwear was some ER doctor when I was in an accident, I could live with that.

However, everything when it comes to Rory is amplified. What worked before, doesn't work now. For instance, I wear a thin layering of lip gloss now, not enough to set off alarm bells; it's about the same sheen I have as when I lick my lips. Also, I might be tucking my blouse in a little tighter and making a slow transition to the sweater vest. But I knew that my underwear choices were sorely lacking. I had enough, but too much in the same three colors.

You could probably blame my mother for that habit, more often than not willing to go slutty for her men, but when it comes to me, her daughter, hammering into my head that I must look proper, and somehow a thong doesn't do that. Nor does underwear in adventurous color shades such as red or blue.

I stared down at myself as she came over, clothes in hand, along with a bag, which I assumed contained at least one of her new sets. She kept her eyes on me, smiling seductively and warmed at my sight.

If only they had stayed there. Once near me, her eyes landed on my lingerie and she gave off a disapproving frown. She shook her head and mumbled closed-mouthed at my choice.

"What's wrong with them?" I asked, sort of offended. She bit her lip and sat down next to me.

"Oh, nothing at all. Just thinking that according to the uniform code, regulation underwear was dropped in 1967." Insert that damned pouty smirk of hers right after those words.

"What?" My eyes widened, feeling even more embarrassed. "You're comparing my choices to that of a former era?"

"Not really, they're just so...plain." She hesitated and took my hand.

"I go fancy," I rushed out. "Just not that often."

"Well, maybe you should consider it more. You encouraged me to go out and get a few things on Friday, and you boosted my confidence level loads."

"Rory, what I wear is comfortable, and I don't need much more than that. End of the story." I thought that would be the end of it and we could move on.

Over the last four days though, I should be used to my girlfriend laying surprises on me.

"All right, so what if you could stay comfortable, yet at the same time, feel sexy beneath everyone else's noses?"

Confusion set in. What was she leaning towards? "Comfort and sexual confidence?"

"Mm-hmm." Her hand slid along my wrist. "You see, when I was trying on things, I was talking to the shopgirl about you in vague terms. Not using your name or anything, just describing you in general. She got out of me that you were prone to plainness, and well..."

She took the small VS bag to her side and laced her fingers on the string loops of the shopping bag. Moving closer towards me, I felt nervous, knowing that despite a fog of anonymity, there was someone out there who knew we were together. I stared at Rory, as she then placed the bag in my lap. Her eyes, wide, full of admiration for me, as I was a doe in the headlights.

"Open it," she whispered softly, her hand in mine.

My mouth dried; this had to be a mirage. Or a gag. Why would she buy anything for me? I didn't deserve it surely, and I knew she was on a budget with limited funds. I would never expect her to spend money on me.

"I can't," I said, handing it back to her. But she put it right on my lap again.

"You can." She caressed at my hand, her softest and most caring touch. "Please, Paris."

"I might not like it," I told her firmly.

"Then you can go back and find something you like, I kept the receipt." I felt my heart beat picking up as I unlaced the strings holding the bag. I had a feeling whatever it was, Rory was surely wrong to buy it. I only buy fancy dress stuff at the Secret, not something for the everyday. I may be able to afford their prices, but I just feel so weird and out of it when I'm in sexy lingerie. For instance, on that first date night, it probably wasn't the best idea to go with a thong cut while I made out with her in the 911.

I ventured into the bag, not looking inside of it, my fingers feeling around for what might be in it. Preparing myself for a gag gift, I didn't look.

Imagine my surprise when it turned out that Rory's surprise was hardly a gag at all.

I felt a heap of materials in my hands, and taking out the first item, I was presented with a kind of undershirt I'd never seen before in my life. I tried to describe it in my mind, in complicated terms. It was sort of like my usual camisoles, but instead, had the shaping and support of a bra, with a strap and hooks. The article was colored a shade of purple and surprisingly flimsy.

I was in awe as Rory filled in the name, which should have probably been more obvious to me.

"It's a cami-bra. I told her that you had a large chest, and she suggested this; she said her good friend swears by these."

"Oh." I was turning white, so shocked. "It's...it's really nice." I spread it out across my front, trying to get a vague idea of how it looked. "I thought of buying one of these a few times, but I'm always leery of anything that shows up through my shirt."

"It won't, it's thin, but supporting." I got a feel for the fabric in my hands, a comfortable stretch cotton. "They had a mannequin wearing it under a sweater, and it took looking up close to find any sign of a strap." She smiled, bouncing on the bed, excited. "There's another couple things in there, they go with it."

"But I--"

"Paris." Her voice had that mothering tone to it, the one she used with Lorelai when she wasn't acting her age. I felt sure doubts that I could wear them and not feel like a wanton tramp. It's just school, I reasoned with myself, the girls see my underthings like what, four minutes a day? What use is there to wear nice lingerie underneath except for special occasions?

Leave it to the other side of my id to remind me of how much Rory had changed, yet stayed the same since our first kiss. My inner vixen chimed in. Remember when you told her to match in the locker room? That was a sign to her that you look closely at her in a sexual way outside the classroom, and you care enough to boost her confidence to say in a silent way 'you look beautiful to me, but if you thought more about your underwear choices, you're going to make me think you even more gorgeous.'

That was true; it was meant as my first hidden flirt, and I was surprised that she took it so far to blow $270 that with her would usually go to at least eight or nine good books. That she did that for herself, and also me, it gives me hope that she thinks enough of herself that she shouldn't hide.

Maybe I shouldn't hide anymore, I thought, trying to continue on the thread of spontaneity. I gave her a boost in confidence that Dean could never deliver, and frankly, I'd love to rub it in that stupid face of his.

But first, I needed to take that advice Dr. Birmbaum always gives me just before I get up from the couch at the end of our appointments. "Go forward, Paris, and live for yourself, because no one else can." Every session, like clockwork for the last four years, she's closed with that advice.

It was time to do exactly as she said.

"So, you want me to wear this today?"

Rory nodded. "Along with everything else in that bag."

Nervously, keeping my eyes on her, I set aside the cami-bra and reached into the bag, fingers trembling. I felt like a contestant on The Price is Right playing "Three Strikes," afraid my next reach in would reveal the X on a red disc. I pursed out my lips, oblivious to what I was pulling out.

I felt my breath strangle when I took the item fully out, and stretched it out between my hands.

Again, it was another item in the same color (plum, as I found out later). A pair of panties, but not in a style I've known before.

"What are these?" I asked, embarrassed that I was so stuck in my ways, I never tried out new things.

"Those, are boyshorts." Rory smiled at me, and put her hand on my shoulder.

"Boyshorts." Yeah, I was dumbstruck, looking them over. They indeed, were like shorts, except the cinch at the crotch was tighter and the article seemed the type to flatter. The top and bottom of the garment was embellished with a nice fringe, and the fabric had a good stretch to them. "Why?"

"They kill panty lines. My mom loves them, especially for her business suits. I was also kind of taken with a dream where you undressing and were wearing them."

"Really?" I bit down on my lip. "What exactly was I doing in this dream?"

"Oh, you assume that you were doing anything?" she teased, laying a kiss upon my cheek.

"I could guess," I suggested.

"But you'd be wrong." She got up from the bed. "I'm going to change in the walk-in, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead." I smiled, trying to steel myself, knowing we were going to compare clothes. I reached into the bag for the third item, a pair of short socks which would barely top above my saddle shoes, the same style as Rory's. I look at her, feeling special that she would do this for me. "Uh, thank you."

"I wanted to get some knee-high socks for you, but they really didn't have any, and there wasn't time to hit Nordstrom's before I got out of there." She opened the closet door, keeping her eyes upon me all the way through. "One day, you'll have to come with Lorelai and I on a shopping trip; you might find something you didn't expect would look good on you."

"I know. One day, really." We finished up the conversation, and she shut the closet door, leaving me alone with my new gifts to try on.

I got up and untied the robe, shrugging it off and letting it fall onto the bed, leaving me fully nude. I put everything back into the bag and made my way to the vanity to get an idea of how I looked within the mirror. Think of me, a bundle of nerves, trying to find the courage to look at myself as more than just Paris, but as a sexual being, at least to the woman behind door number one.

I kept reminding myself that I wasn't with Louise, looking for something thin and as removable as track pants. Rory was taking in mind my needs in getting a gift for me, and more importantly, didn't let her sexual feelings for me overpower that of knowing I'd rather be comfortable and sexy, not just one of the two.

"Well, well, well, Paris, we meet again." I spoke to myself in the mirror, as if I was back in the girl's room at Stars Hollow High. I took the cami and panties out of the bag, staring at my reflection.

The girl of those three weeks ago, cursing herself out as if she was stupid, was gone. In its place, a girl still unsure of the future, but secure knowing that the one she was after was with her. That one had left her marks upon me, and I was able to inspect myself for the first time since the shower last night.

I held back a breath, noticing the soft nips upon my neck, trails of long suckling left by her as she ravished me. All easily hidden by the blouse thankfully. They extended towards my shoulders, and then a deep and bruised spot, on my right side, along the top of my right breast.

"On my heart," I gasped, noting the anatomy beneath as I trailed my hand across it. My lip trembled as I looked at the possessive love bite Rory laid upon me, something I didn't even remember, but since my mind was a jumble right after I lost my shirt, I probably reacted to it in an encouraging way. I tried to hold back a few tears of joy, my ducts provoked from how tender our making out was. Still, they fell, and I wiped them with my fingers as they trailed down my cheeks. It was unlike anything I ever imagined in my dream, and not at all what I thought of when it came to Tristan.

"You have my heart, Rory." I was glad for her not to be in the room, looking over my small form. The usual confidence I had, that I was the tops when it came to my class and no one can stop me, was tempered for the first time. I usually psyched myself up going back to school after a break, with a war quotation of some kind, or else a line from a sports figure, usually Vince Lombardi.

But this morning, those words seemed hollow. I knew I was the best, that wasn't in doubt. But now, at least in the eyes of one small-town girl, I was also sensual and desirable. I was wanted, and in turn, I wanted her.

She also tried to do one of the most audacious things she could possibly do, to buy me intimate apparel without my opinion. Rory was taking a gamble and she knew it. I wanted it to pan out, but I wouldn't be afraid to lay into her if it didn't work out.

I gulped as I bent down to put on the boyshorts, really hoping they didn't look like those spandex bicycle shorts I occasionally wore when I was younger. Let's just say I have bad memories of Duncan and Bowman teasing me at the country club when I wore them and leave it at that. I slowly slid them up my legs, and decided that I wasn't going to look down until I put on the cami-bra, to get the full effect. I pulled them up until I felt that cinch and ran my fingers along the sides to push them up so that they formed perfectly tight against me.

Next came the shirt. I sucked in my stomach, expecting it to be a little tight, pushing it down and over my breasts, and then positioning the bra shelf until it met perfectly with the bottom of my breasts. I then reached back to grab at the hook and eye in the back and stretched it closed at the proper adjustment, closing my eyes as if to not spoil the picture presented.

I released my breath and let my stomach settle again, expecting to feel tightly uncomfortable in an odd amalgamation of a shirt and supporting device.

Imagine my surprise when it wasn't uncomfortable at all.

As a matter of fact, nothing at all was either too tight, or too loose. Both garments flattered my body as it needed to be, and I didn't feel anything digging in to leave an uncomfortable red mark. The boyshorts felt wonderful without any glance. Yes, they were tight on all sides, but unlike a thong, it was a secure kind of tight, something that I couldn't usually find in either the usual materials and cuts I wear.

I then opened my eyes, focusing on the bottom layer first. I was expecting the tightness to feel good, but on the outside, have the appearance of a control garment. Exactly what I didn't want, as I see myself as still young and vital and not a future member of the DCW.

I didn't expect the first words out of my mouth on first glance to be "Fuck, I'm hot!" however.

Indeed I was. They not only fit perfectly but looked damned good. The plum garment flattered my stomach, giving it a nice slimming effect that worked well with my abdomen, plunging down to a few centimeters of my navel. It wasn't overwhelming at the least, although I still felt an old-style vibe from the panties, thinking if they worked for the front, certainly it was at the expense of my butt. I turned around to gaze at my ass in the mirror, expecting it to look either unflattering or loose.

I had to shake my head when I looked at it though, admitting Ror did her homework. I lifted my leg to watch how the fabric wrinkled mid-step. It was fluid, tight, stretching across my upper thighs perfectly. And what wonders the underwear did for my backside, for they flattered me at every angle, from the bottom of the cheek all the way up to the small of my back.

"Looks like the nice Jewish girl finally has her ass back," I off-handed, knowing in my dance hall days I was a thin rail of beauty, but the Gellar and Martinez-DeBartolo genetics had changed my body drastically since puberty. I had focused more on my obvious top half since then, leaving my bottom half neglected from my attention. Not in the regular sense, but in I thought no one looked at it, so why flatter it?

Now, I have a reason, smiling as the other name for boyshorts came to mind, from Louise. She called them 'booty shorts', boasting she had more 'junk in her trunk' than either I or Madeline (I'm cringing just thinking about that term!).

"I look good," I said to my mirror image, a smile overtaking me. "I look...really good." That's when I got a gander at Rory's other purchase. Once again her money was well invested, as the bra shelf of the cami flattered against my breasts perfectly, the straps were secure, and the cami portion didn't ride up during a stretch. With my tanned skin, the effect of both was even more flattering than had I stayed pale all weekend, the plum giving the effect that my tone was more intense than the shade I had actually taken.

I felt intense, sensual, even more alluring than before. I took a couple steps towards the mirror; everything felt both right and comfortable. I'd even dare to say it, but I felt like I wasn't wearing anything at all. My breasts, pushed together into a deep cleavage. The cami fit so perfectly that you would have to get up close to see there was a bra beneath.

I couldn't believe how great I looked. I wasn't even in my uniform yet, so I had to judge through that also, but still, my God. I was definitely going to make Rory's eyes pop out.

Speaking of which, she chose just that moment to walk out of the closet, calling my name to get my attention in that honey-filled voice of hers. I turned around to make a conversation with her...

But it never really got off the ground, as she was also in her lingerie.

This time, her wear was more conservative and less 'I know you want me', but no less alluring. Again, she matched, a muted shade of orange with a polka dotted pattern across both the bra and panties. She wore a different style, meant for low-rise jeans, but it still had the desired effect, as we moved towards each other, my eyes showing how beautiful I felt she was. She looked at me with the same ferocity, and neither of us could keep our eyes off each other.

"Wow, you look...indescribable." She was in awe at how I looked. "I thought I may have been off from a size or two, but I got them right."

"How did you find out?" I smirked her way. "I never told you."

"Well...I may have taken a peek at your order form when you put in for new skirts and blouses a few weeks ago."

"Rory," I warned. "I know that I don't disclose that information on the order sheets." Walking closer to her, I scanned her up and down, noticing how much the bra was doing for her breasts.

Also, that she was still overly aroused, with her nipples easily prominent through the fabric. She looked down, admitting where she got my sizes.

"I saw your bra in your clothes basket in gym class, when you weren't looking. The tag was out, and I couldn't help but look at the size." Her voice lowered, as she probably thought about my reaction to breaching my privacy.

"And the panties?"

"Remember when I'd do your laundry at the dorm at Howard during Junior Leadership?" I nodded. "Yeah, that's where I got that size from."

"And after doing loads and loads of whites and crèmes, you must've thought I had no idea how to buy undergarments."

"I actually didn't get the idea until last Monday, when you had that camisole on."

"Didn't want me to repeat my coming out experience ever again?" I was blushing, the mortification turning into a humorous direction after a week of letting it settle in.

She laughed, smiling at me. "I just wanted you to feel special, that's all. Think of it as an early pre-first night of Hanukah present."

"Well again, thank you," I said shyly, pushing some stray hair back from my face. "I didn't expect you do to do this for me, and I appreciate it." That was perfect opening into complimenting her. "And I know I'm appreciating you too. I never figured you the type for orange and polka dots, but...wow." I was indeed impressed. "You look quite fetching."

"It fits nice too. I'm pleased you appreciated it." Another kiss from her, and we moved towards the bed. "I thought you'd enjoy this pattern, since it seems like you love to stare at my freckles."

"You should've been in my mind last night; my eyes were full of spots!" I giggled and we flopped onto the expansive mattress, covers tangled around the bed, the soft feather cover cushioning our flops. I knew I was getting silly, but at that point, I had no need to care, I was enjoying every moment. She crawled towards me, grabbing the socks out of the bag and pushing me towards the headboard.

That was catching me by surprise, what was she doing? Apparently taking my feet to help me dress, which was more than a little disconcerting. I tried to pull away...

"Rory, I can dress myself!" I shrieked, uncontrollably laughing as she tickled just above my toes. "I learned at two, really!" I tried to pull away by bringing my feet higher into the air, where she couldn't reach them. That also brought my legs out to a spread-out position, which only encouraged her further.

"You don't want me to be chivalrous?" she cried, her toothy grin apparent. "Come on, Par, let me help you out..." she wagged her eyebrows in my direction. "I'll make it worth your while."

I felt myself starting to have sexually overwhelming feelings, but tried to keep them bottled up, for my sake. "You don't even tuck in your blouse until three blocks before the gate!"

"Like you don't notice, I hear that disappointment when I do so. It's a deep sigh, and then eyes back on the road." I hit the back of the headboard as she finally grabbed at one of my ankles. "I'll do it for you, this morning, I promise. Please?" Oh no, there's the Gilmore Pout. She knows I can't resist the pout, damn it, I can't...

I also can't resist her hands rubbing my ankles in a very relaxing and pleasurable way...

"Fine." I sounded completely broken and defeated, while Rory reacted in a way more appropriate for her mother than herself. Sometimes I have to wonder how much of Lorelai really is in this woman. I lay back and relax as she slid the light purple socks onto each of my feet. They blend in so well with the coloring of my saddle shoes that they probably won't be noticed by the staff during a uniform inspection. Besides, I'd like a break from the rules for once.

I felt like there was something I was forgetting though. What is it, I thought, letting whatever it might be fall in the direction of the back of my mind while Rory massaged both feet as she slid the fabric up from my toes and towards my heel. I kept trying to recall what it was, but failed as somehow Rory elicited a moan from massaging in the space between my great and index toes, which really felt nice.

She pushed them up from my heel and her hands ran along my foot and onto my ankle.

And then, she suddenly stopped. Just like that. My left foot's sock was pushed up all the way, but not the right. What was she...why did she stop?

"Paris?" She seemed to be startled, judging from her voice. I noticed her eyes staring at my right ankle. Still, I couldn't figure out why.

"What's wrong, Rory? Why did you stop?" She drifted her eyes from my legs, up towards me, and I could see that she was truly in a kind of shock.

"Well, I...I thought I knew everything about you." Her voice was shaking, a mix between fear and something else I couldn't place.

"You do, I haven't hidden anything," I explained, truthfully. Her index finger scratched my inner ankle.

"I haven't noticed it ever before." Around that small spot, she continued to probe.

That's when my mind communicated exactly what I forgot, as she mentioned it.

"Why do you have a tattoo?" She bit down on her lip as she looked at me, her eyes wide, and disappointment apparent in her mannerisms. She was nervous.

And I was exposed.

How could I forget? Of all the things I could have failed to mention to her, I never expected it to be the blue star on my inner ankle. I didn't even remember I had it; I tend to because no one except my father and Francisca even know about it. Oh, how to explain this one, the complexities and story behind getting something I usually discouraged, but I felt very right at the time getting.

"Rory..." I called for her to move towards me, shame written on my face. I had meant to tell her about it, but it never came up and usually that skin is covered up by a sock, or blending into my hosiery.

"Did you...did you get it for Tristan?" I expected that, knowing he had his TJD initials in Gothic script on his right bicep, which both Rory and I have seen at times. "I...I thought it wasn't allowed in your faith, and you don't seem the type to have one."

"It...it wasn't for him," I said, solemnly and subdued. "As for my faith, I feel that if I've lived a good life up until my end, getting a tattoo with a meaning to me doesn't take away from how I lived. I'm not in a strict synagogue, and the leaders and elders don't care about tattoos like a more conservative sect, as long they have meaning and they don't overtake you."

She moved closer to me and I crossed my legs, letting my right foot rest on top so I could show her the tattoo, and tell its story. "I got it a few days after my Nanna died. All of my relatives were here, sitting shiva for her, and I was talking to my father and my cousin Dolores; she was the only one on my mom's side to pay respects. We were sitting in the library after my mother and he had fought over a DCW party she had to cancel because of our mourning for Nanna. I had been in an emotional fight with her too over school. I never told you this...but she was considering forcing Daddy to pull me out of Chilton and send me to Choate Rosemary Hall, as a sort of punishment for being more with him than her as the separation began."

"That's a...that's a, boarding school." Her throat caught, realizing just how close we came to never being more than enemies, never being able to heal our wounds.

"It is." My throat tightened as I recalled Sharon's biting words.

"A really strict one. Grandpa attended it for a year and went back to Chilton because they broke his spirit."

"Yes." I saw her whitening with fear.

"Oh my God. She's a monster." Her fists clenched in anger. "I would have thought I drove you out, because you'd never have come back after winter break, and...you would die in that school, be emotionally numb."

"That's why I didn't go," I said softly. "I have friends and so many activities, along with my social order within Chilton. I bleed Chilton, and it's my life. She tried to make me not see that, and used my emotional upheaval to change my direction on everything. That's why the divorce became such a quagmire. It started off quietly and relatively peaceful, but once Nanna passed away, she and her cruel divorce lawyer jumped on it. She saw a distraction and did all she could to drive me away from him. She called him a bad father, classless, neglectful. Never mind that he was fighting with his board to offer a breast cancer treatment they thought unprofitable and that was wearing him out. It was all I could do not to scream at her that she was wrong and a manipulative bitch."

I moved the story back into the library. "The story behind why I chose a blue star is pretty simple. My father always called me 'his little star' when I was younger, no matter what I did. Be it at dancing, in the classroom, or slapping a backhand that scorched the net, he always yelled from the bleachers or the auditorium, 'That's my little star.' It also goes back to how I got my name, the Parisian sunset he saw?" She nodded that she remembered, and I went on. "I was conceived...in his office." I laughed as I saw Rory suggest I was giving too much information by using a Mr. Yuk-like facial expression. "My mother had come by and flirted with him, and they watched the stars from his office window before they did that thing they did to have me. He told me after we sought solace in the library that he had wished to have a child before Sharon came in his office, on a bright star. It may have been Jupiter, actually. But he did, there were no condoms in his office...and nine months later, he had his 'little star.'"

I felt myself calming as I told her the story, Rory touching my ankle in a caring and thoughtful way, her hands stroking the inked skin. "I wanted to show my support for him, in any way that I could, so we talked about it. We ruled out a necklace charm because I felt the Star more important than a heart-shaped locket, and I didn't want to wear a tennis bracelet or earrings that I might have to take off. A ring didn't work either; I didn't want to have to explain every time the meaning of it and have people ooh and ahh over it.

"That's when Dolores suggested the tattoo. We thought at first that it wasn't a good idea, seeing as I had a fear of needles and infection. I asked her how she thought of it, and she showed me a simple heart symbol on her inner wrist, that she got in tribute to her best friend Jordanna. She assured me the process didn't hurt, and that they wouldn't care if I got such a simple symbol, she didn't want something she could regret later in life, and she knew Jordanna would be a good friend for years to come. She assured me of the safety precautions and referred me to where she went, a place run by a woman who kept her parlor clean, sanitary, and immaculate. When I asked my father if I could, he said that it was a worthy gesture that he would never object to, and actually gave me the money to do it as an early birthday present.

"When it came time to choose where and what to do," I continued, "I just kept coming back to those words, 'my little star.' I thought of another couple things, wording, a character, but they didn't seem as timeless or beautiful as a star. I kept thinking about where I wanted it, and it came to me that my ankle would be the perfect place to have it. It's easily hidden by hosiery, not a focal point, and it would be in a place where I could see it without being a contortionist. With my father's blessing, I went with the star, and when the artist asked what color I wanted, I didn't need to hesitate and tell her I wanted it in Chilton blue. The only thing I regret was not having a crimson outline, but I think it has more significant meaning to me than what schools I'm defined by. After I got it, I felt more confidence, but although my father didn't get everything he wanted, he kept his daughter, knowing that she had nothing special that signified her relationship with her mother." Staring down at it, Rory was in awe at the simple star, scaling her fingernail around the points. "I wanted to tell you about it, but I was scared about how you'd react to my being inked."

"Par." Her voice was soft, her attention jarred towards me as she looked towards me. In her eyes, where I thought I'd see disappointment and a loss of trust, her pupils were wide and she was crying, which I didn't expect.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," I apologized. She shook her head, and twined her index finger around my left ring, that first assuring move from the newsroom after my first freak-out so familiar now.

"Paris," she said, brushing a tear from her cheek. "I don't feel any anger for you not telling me about this. Obviously you and your father have such a close bond, and it hurts me to hear that your mother was, and still is, so cruel. But at the same time, I feel a bond with you. You could've told me anything, that you didn't get it in tribute to your father, it was just something silly. To know that you trust me enough to give me the entire background on why you did it, what it means, that I'm the first person outside of your family to know you have such a special tattoo, and what it means to you...I could never imagine the pain and heartbreak you went through those three months, and I can see why now you were so desperate to get the focus of things off your mother and father." Moving closer, she unclasped my hands and took me into a close and intimate hug. "I think of this as the most special thing you've ever shared with me. That you have a tattoo with actual meaning, to keep your father close by you, no matter what Sharon might do. It makes me see you even more as the most beautiful woman I've ever known." I wrapped around her, everything hitting me at the same time.

My soul felt a sense of release, a catharsis. I figured no one should ever know, and that in the future when I came to a job interview and they asked why my ankle was marked by a star, it would be a silly thing, a Spring Break whim. I wouldn't allow anyone to feel pity for my life, for I was entitled and an heiress, I had no reason to be unhappy.

But not Rory. She sees me, faults and all. She examines me, knows when I'm in my best mood, or at my worst. But unlike others, she doesn't back down when I'm irked, instead pushing me further to reveal the rawness in my heart. That she found my tattoo endearing, rather than a mutilation, and she actually touched it in a way that showed me she felt for me.

There was still a tension in the room between us, the both of us in such a warm and wanting embrace of empathy for my situation. I knew there was probably a trigger point coming, the both of us still not changed into our uniforms, our minds not on the clock. I closed my eyes, taking in the hug, the brush of her fingers across my back, the smell of both of us lathering with the same shampoo. I felt her body form into mine, warm, soft, inviting. I pushed in closer to her, my mind further drifting from my scholastic focus. I knew it was probably a horrible idea to not break apart, thank her for understanding, and move on with the day, but my body was stating otherwise. I was all wound up, thinking of her so close to me, her moans from the shower echoing in my mind. That we had confided in each other, my paternal ties, her fretting over having the perfect body, our relationship was changing from more than it had been in the beginning.

"I should also mention," she whispered into my ear when I didn't expect it, "that I also find beautiful tattoos like yours to be hot." The last word came out in an aching murmur, just before her hand tipped my head back and mouth open. Like a domino effect, it didn't take long for me to take in her invitation for a deep kiss.

To be continued...