01, 03: We Are Adults

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A new relationship brings new mysteries.
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Jenny glances toward the door of the den. "Is everybody here?" she asks.

"We're missing... Julia. And Geena," pipes up Annie. We are about to start our weekly house meeting. Annie is the house secretary, and so she's keeping track.

"Oh!" I say, distracted by this mention of my roommate from the jostling Cheryl is giving me as she playfully struggles to keep control of her section of the den's only couch. "Geena said she would only be here for the first part of the meeting. She has to go to orientation for her new job at 7:30. And she might be late too, oof!" I lose my breath momentarily as Cheryl shoves herself back against my side.

"Oh sorry Tina," she says with complete insincerity, turning her head partway toward me. Beyond her, Tamara is lolling off the couch, apparently upset by Cheryl's move and giggling way too hard to right herself. Her small face is bright red and even though she's in college, and presumably only slightly younger than the rest of us (she's the only freshman on this floor of the dorm), she looks just like a little girl.

"Okay you're squishing me now, can you please just sit like a normal person?" I say to her in a very serious tone--until I dissolve into giggles myself. The joke is that this couch is only a loveseat, and it can barely hold two normal people comfortably, let alone three.

But Cheryl has turned away. "Here, let me help you up," she says loudly to Tamara. She reaches awkwardly over the sprawling girl, and then the cushion she's kneeling on slides backward and soon they're both on the floor, laughing. Jenny looks at us and sighs theatrically.

"Okay, kids, let's not break the couch," she admonishes us. Cheryl and Tamara climb to their feet, and then the two of them sit down together, clamping my butt against the arm of the couch. We all look back at Jenny with angelic smiles, and she snorts. "Meeting time everybody!" she calls out, as Julia scoots in at the last possible moment and sits cross-legged on the floor next to the couch (since there are no seats left).

Jenny reads through the list of agenda items--treasurer's report, a note from the RA about keeping the hall clean, tutoring schedules for the new term, something about intramurals... I'm not paying too much attention. It always seems silly to me that we have a "house government" at all. The treasury only has $15 in it, for god's sake! But I like being together with all my neighbors. They are a lot of fun, mostly, and we always act like children together, which I guess is normal for college students. Some of them anyway!

Yet it was just this sort of childish playing that led me, just a few days ago, into the very adult action of taking the virginity of my roommate, and subsequently spending the night and morning in bed with her. It seems very strange to me now, that sex could so easily slither out of this kind of casual touching—this thing I just do naturally with people I like, something I never considered remotely sexual. My situation with Geena was special, of course, but still... to be reminded of this potential for lust in all of us is disquieting. I look over at little Tamara (we actually call her that sometimes!), and wonder whether she has gone all the way with a boy yet. I'm not sure I've even seen her talking to one! And do Cheryl and her boyfriend have tickle fights? Or do they do it--have sex I mean--all seriously and romantically, staring into each other's eyes with deep meaning? We talk about a lot of things, but not that.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," says a familiar, soft voice from the door. My gaze darts upward. It's Geena, and I feel myself smiling at the sight of her. I'm a little nervous because she and I haven't been together in front of everybody since... since it happened. But then, she'll have to sit on the floor someplace anyway, probably next to her usual chair, the one in front of the microwave.

Jenny nods her in, and she strides directly over to me. I stare up at her blankly. "Excuse me," says Geena as she lowers herself onto the boundary between my thighs and Cheryl's, forcing Cheryl over.

"Uh, make yourself at home there," says Cheryl, sounding not entirely pleased as she wrenches herself from beneath Geena's weight. Somehow Geena squeezes her hips in next to mine, and we all fit onto the little couch again--except for Tamara, who is now standing on tiptoes in the little space between her end of the couch and the easy chair beyond. She seems to be waiting for someone to find a place for her again, but the others are listening to Jenny.

"I guess I'll just stand here, then," she says, sounding a little lost. No one responds. I try to give her an apologetic look.

The meeting goes on, its contents engaging yet forgettable, like television. My awareness is mostly focused on the warm solid girl next to me--I fantasize simply about putting my arm around her, but I'm scared to actually try it because then people might know about us. Then a minute later I catch myself doing it anyway in an unthinking effort to relieve the pressure on my shoulder. Geena strokes my knee idly, and I give her a squeeze in response--and then I freeze for a moment, wondering who might be watching.

But these are just my girls, here in this room. If I can't be myself with them then I can't be myself anywhere. I relax, and let my head ease onto Geena's shoulder. No fear, only warmth. I don't know why I went two years without a boyfriend, before her. This closeness just feeds me somehow. It makes me happy.

We vote on a new house president; it's Jenny again. Shelly the RA starts in about litter. And now, it's been hardly any time, but Geena is shifting away, and I catch myself making a little whimper of protest. "Sorry, babe, gotta go," she whispers to me with a smile that hints at what we'll do when she comes back. I watch her leave, enjoying the sleek shape of her pretty, long legs, trying to think of them as being sexy. It's surprisingly easy.

Cheryl grunts as she straightens and flexes her own legs. "Thank god miss big-butt is gone," she says under her breath.

"Geena's butt is not big," I whisper, strangely affronted even though I know Cheryl is just being sarcastic like always.

"You're just mad because your pillow is gone," she whispers back, and I blush.

Jenny snaps her fingers. "Guys. Meeting." We look straight ahead again, smiling like angels.

...

Later in the evening, I pad up the hallway in my socks, looking for somebody to hang out with. But most of the doors are shut; even the bathroom is empty. People are going out or studying, these nights, according to how worried they are about what the next trimester will bring. I have a few novels to read myself, for my English elective, but the deadline for that is far off. I come to a halt by the house's bulletin board, idly skimming its headlines as I wonder why, after all, I'm not out getting drunk and flirting with hot boys. I'm sure I could find a party somewhere, if I ask around, maybe call somebody.

Then I catch myself. I'm not looking for boys--I'm waiting for a girl! I hadn't planned to do this, or anything else really; my nights usually just fall together somehow as I learn what other people are doing. But now I feel warm inside as I remember again that my roommate is gonna be back in two hours, and she's gonna be excited and happy (I hope!) from her orientation, and... she's gonna bring her big dick. Suddenly my mind is fixed on that, the image, the touch-memory of her spreading open my lips and driving inexorably into me. At first it just feels like a random thought, connecting to nothing in this familiar old dorm. But oh god, I think on next breath, that actually happened. The memory repeats itself, stronger now. The hallway falls still, it's just a backdrop, while out of nowhere my brain lights up again on the hundred visceral details it has stored away from the great spark of sexuality that brought me and Geena together. I look around, shaken--okay nobody saw that. Um no silly, I tell myself, they can't see you remembering things anyway, you're just standing here. I keep standing though. I want to think some more about this. Somehow you can go through a thing like that, and then just put it in a compartment and return to your regular life, for a while; but oh yes this really happened, I remember how she first kissed me, and it's as if she's doing it all over again--yes, says my skin, her lips touched here, and here, and here. At each spot, the tingles arise anew, their deliciousness pointing me on to the next little sensation to be remembered and cherished anew. I'm feeling warm, feeling swept away, even though I'm only a lone girl standing at a bulletin board, and a part of me is remaining dutifully alert for the sound of footsteps approaching or doors opening. The fantasy-memory proceeds in dreamy jumps and shifts; my face feels again the warmth, so precious, of Geena's face next to mine, the fearful, wonderful clutch of her strong fingers as she held me down beneath her. My hand lifts, trembling faintly, to the edge of the board, to anchor me. There is emotion with these memories, a teenage longing that I'd forgotten I could feel, and joined with my kindling lust it is almost too keen--I ache with the beauty of my own past seduction, my near-rape. My inner thighs clench a little, revealing through a subtle change in the way my skin feels against itself that I am becoming seriously moist. I glance down with dull eyes, unconsciously checking that it doesn't show through my shorts at all--of course it doesn't, and there beyond my inflamed but unseen pussy are my mundane socks on the ordinary old hallway carpet, and I begin to remember the world again. I catch my breath, and lick my dry lips. Oh wow I'd better go back to my room now. Well in just a second. Because even as I decide this, the last bit of sex scene arises to be processed, and I consciously acknowledge it and let it in and watch it, watch myself now standing propped against the bulletin board by one arm, lower back tensing a teeny bit, knees turning just barely inward, as my muscles pretend they are pushing my butt way out and wantonly presenting my privates to her, my imaginary lover, the one that's pinning me to this spot with a slow, wet shove of her secret penis.

Ahh this is too sexy. I'm fully turned on; I feel jittery, agitated. Suddenly I turn, no longer interested in my now-completed fantasy, wanting only to go hump my hand for a little while. On the way back I pass Julia and Shannon, who are just coming back from somewhere, but I only say hi and keep going, hanging out is not my highest priority now. When I shut the door I don't even bother locking it; I just flop onto our couch, so much softer and nicer than the one in the den, and arrange myself on my belly, with the thicker blanket clumped between my spread thighs. Carefully I go to work, right hand stroking downward from belly to waistband and beyond, while the fingers of my left curl around my bra-clad boob, pretending it's Geena's. My face, turned partway to the side, pushes into the cushion, and I imagine that this is her firm neck and shoulder cradling me, instead of blanket and couch. I run my fingers straight through my little bush of pubic hair, tease apart my slick labia and enter myself, driving index and middle finger steadily upward, without my usual slow warmup strokes. It's like she's taking me again; I savor the fantasy that I can't resist this, grunting once or twice as my unready inner muscles are forced to relax around my invading digits. Oh god I'm all the way in, it's not comfortable, that was too fast. I'm already pulling out to do it again. My fingers flicker over my clit as my hips slide off of them, and I pant openmouthed into the cushion, filling my mind with my memory of her scent, letting the rest of me fuck myself for her. In long, full strokes I hook my digits up into my vagina, grinding into hand and blanket as I do so, replaying again, and again, the delicious, frightening surprise of that penis, with my two fingers as a poor stand-in for its urgent length. I've never masturbated in this room before, although occasionally I touch myself in the shower--I feel like a whore, to have needed this intense gratification. And the wildness and adultness of the act, bolstered on my knowledge that I now truly possess an exotic lover, fuel my fantasy, draining the life from the other images that flash periodically in my mind, of my mother scrunching her usually kind face in disapproval at how slutty I'm being, or of the scary, morally freighted thoughts of pregnancy and disease that used to sometimes distract me during sex with my boyfriend. That stuff used to bug me so much sometimes--and now it's just flat, empty ideas, and all the life and energy are here in this room, where I am a cool, sexy girl--no, a woman!--who is taking charge of her own needs in the only sensible way. I drag my strained pussy up off my hand again, feeling each centimeter of it relaxing as the tips of my fingers pass by, it's so good, so fucking hot. My thighs clench and relax, my hips wriggle about the spot, but they can't escape this sensation, can't keep it from throbbing, dancing through me. I halt my upward motion just before my lips close, teasing myself, pretending she's making me wait, enjoying the thought that it's really me in charge, that I can make this go however I want. And almost surprising myself I thrust again, sinking deep onto my straining digits. My hair curls about my face, and I lift my head to blow it back out of my eyes, to make this work better but I'm coming, coming, coming and I sag and splay and take it with little whimpers, watching the room through a feathery-gold veil that jumps with each breath. The tremors of pleasure run through me, my pussy hitches on my hand, and I ride this, shuddering and gasping, fingertips arched all rigid into just the right spot up inside me, where something yielding and wet protests their invasion with tingling impulses that ripple to my scalp.

Soon it's over. The rooms seems ordinary again, the blanket just a blanket. I lie and pant for a few moments, eyes closed, fingers stiff. I laugh lightly at how deeply I'm molded into this couch. Ahhh that was nice. Slowly I straighten myself--my hand emerges from my panties with a waft of sex-odor, and I wipe it on the inside of my shorts, feeling naughty. I'll wash up later; Geena won't mind. I swallow and turn onto my side, not quite ready to get up even though I ought to. Then, thinking of her again, I reach around the arm of the couch and find one of my books where it's lying on my backpack. I'm cozy now, and I don't need to go anywhere after all--I'll just lie back, and read, and wait for my girlfriend.

...

Tap, tappity tap. I flutter my eyelids at the sound. Things don't seem quite right--was I sleeping? Yes, and I'm lying on the couch. On the couch and I remember now, there's my book on my chest, under the blanket with me. And the sound, Geena must be on the computer, I've missed her arrival. I lick my dry lips and sit up, blinking. There she is, a dark form hunched at the keyboard, surrounded by a thin corona from the monitor that wavers as she shifts her posture. It's the only light in the room. The evening feels very deep and still.

Geena is fidgeting a bit, so she's awake--well duh, she wouldn't be sitting up otherwise, I think fuzzily. At any rate she doesn't seem to be aware of me. I slide out from the blanket and stand, swaying once in my lingering grogginess. "Hey," I say softly, as I begin to walk around the couch. Geena jumps in place, and then rustles her arms about for a moment before turning her head toward me.

"Hi," she replies, sounding neutral, and a little breathless. I smile at her surprise and go to her. "I didn't even know you were in here," she says, craning her neck.

"I wanted to find out how your thing went, but then I fell asleep," I explain, putting my hand on her shoulder.

"That's okay," she replies. She keeps looking at me, but she doesn't turn in the chair. Her hands are held oddly on her lap. In glancing at them, I notice a hint of white--Geena's panties are peeking out, through the unzipped zipper of her jeans. I wonder why for a moment, and then I know. Ohhh boy. I'm just standing here, staring at her crotch; she must know what I'm seeing, but she doesn't say anything. The screen shows only the desktop image--whatever she was doing is hidden now.

"Honey," I say gently, unable to keep a little chuckle out of my voice, "do you need me to leave you alone for a minute?"

"Uh. No. It's fine," she says thickly. "I mean, it's no big deal." Even in the dim light, I manage to make out, with delighted astonishment, the complete reddening of her cheeks. I have never seen her so awkward. It's wonderful and adorable and part of me wants to tease the heck out of her while the rest of me wants to reach right into those jeans. Friendship versus fucking--the urges are totally incompatible, and I blink, suddenly at a loss.

"Okay, well. I'll let you finish up then," I find myself saying. But then my face lights up again as I remember. "But first you have to tell me how it went!" I say it in a hush, trying to show my eagerness to listen, without being too pushy. (I haven't even given her time to zip up, after all!)

Geena looks down, and then back at me, her color draining away. She bites her lip, releases it. "It didn't go so well," she says. "I got into a big argument with the instructor."

"Oh noooo!" I reply, the preceding event forgotten--I'm truly distressed that something has gone wrong with this night that meant so much to her. "G... I'm so sorry. What happened?" I situate myself before her, anxious to comfort her.

She looks down again and opens her mouth, but pauses, too long. Then she addresses me again with softened eyes. "It'll be okay, really," she says. "But I just--I'm really tired, and I just want to forget about it for right now."

I sit back against the desk, confused, waiting. But she doesn't say anything more, and it dawns on me: I'm ready to hurt for her, and she doesn't want me to. "Oh," I say. It feel like somebody's cut my power cord. I feel stupid, I can only think of words of comfort, but her steady, emotionless gaze offers no invitation. My distress for her curdles into a little ball in my stomach, not for us to share after all. I don't move; my body knows this isn't how people in love should behave. Yet I can see she'll look at me until I turn away. My happiness to see her wilts between us; I know I'm showing it in my face but I can't help it. She's looking right at me, watching me. I know I'm going to leave, like she wants me to. Okay I guess I'm about to do it... but first I lean forward, I hug her. She remains stiff and upright in my arms; and I'm going to let go and maybe say some last uplifting thing before I leave her to her distractions, except she reaches up to clutch my shoulder and all my attention goes to this, it's as if color might spread back into the world from her fingertips. I breathe down her back, uncertain and hopeful, keeping very still even though this position is awkward. I want to tell her it's all right, that I'm here, but I don't know how, or whether it's okay yet. So I just hold her more tightly.

Geena swallows; I can hear it so easily with my ear pressed on her cheek. She's breathing very deeply, not speaking, not crying... it makes me think of her jerking off. Is she aroused by my care? Is that it? I raise my lips to her ear. "Do you want me to finish you off?" I ask softly, suddenly afraid, now that I have committed myself, that she wasn't really masturbating at all. But it's not really a danger, I know. I can make mistakes here.

Geena waits a moment, and then answers me in a hoarse whisper, as if she doesn't trust her own voice: "Okay." I feel my own body responding, just a little. This is weird, we should be talking, but I don't know if she's interested in that. She needs me, and maybe that's enough. I hesitantly turn my head to kiss her jawline, to make her need me more. She just sits and lets me, but I can tell she is tense. Carefully I ease apart from her until we are facing, barely letting my lips leave her skin, as if she might suddenly reject me if I release the spell. But now I see her face, it is hypnotized. I slowly align to her parted lips, feeling my power over her. For one second we kiss, barely. This isn't what I want to do, and it is. I search for a clue in her dark eyes, a hint as to what she really wants from me. As I watch, her lashes tremble, and she makes a halting motion with her arms, as if she wants to touch me. The poor thing is nervous. Ahh what a dumb boy she is. I break eye contact and take her hands one at a time, placing them against my sides. Geena curls her fingers to match my shape but then just holds still, as if she's afraid to do anything more. I smile at her askance, and move her hands forward, onto my breasts. She squeezes once, too tentatively, and I sigh. I grasp her wrists and jiggle them vigorously. At this she looks up, with so-serious expression, to see me on the verge of laughter. She catches my grin, still gently cupping my chest, and suddenly I hug her again. She responds this time... ah she smells so nice. My Geena.

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