Don't be Weird!

Sometimes, It was hard to know Debra Feldman. This was one of those moments. The cheerful character held a magazine, her bony features beaming with excitement.

Gleefully, she'd stolen her Aunt's shopping catalogue. The JCPenney's front cover was bright with pastel colours, hinting at a fun and fashionable summer ahead.

Debbie skimmed through the pages, desperately trying to find something. Ruth could only sit on the bedroom floor and watch the strange excitement. Debbie's room was huge and littered with all her energetic heart's desires.

Among the hard-worn playthings and unread books on dusty shelves were baseball cards on a wooden desk and a bat on the bottom bunk of the messy bunk beds.

It was a strange room. Ruth's mother had said it was a side effort of only having a dad, and apparently, it was Ruth's duty to add some girly influence into Debbie's life. Mother had called it networking.

Unfortunately, she didn't know where to start. Debbie was a freak, and all the girls from the sorority had said so. Her thick black hair was cut short because Debbie's dad found it more manageable, almost styling it the same as his.

The skinny body was covered in green layers of a specific baseball team. It matched the same images around the room.

On certain match days, Debbie looked like a mini-version of her father, both dressed in their team colours and always the same loud, unruly behaviour. Why couldn't she dress like Ruth? - A nice summer dress, perfect for the sunny weather and no one thought it was out of place.

Ruth knew how to dress, and that's how she stayed ahead of everyone in the temple. Someone always needed fashion tips, and if you were the helpful type in that matter, people would talk less about you behind your back.

If Debbie had taken her advice, most of the problems would have stopped, but she didn't, and there might never be the day when Debbie would wear a dress like Ruth's.

Around the hem, her yellow dress was decorated with white flowers and paired nicely with her frilly cream cardigan. It was the expected way, and there weren't strange looks. Mother had said countless times that appearances were important. It's why Ruth had to visit the hairdressers every few months to maintain the sandy perm, which was always covered in compliments from doting relatives.

"Here, look here." A finger was pointing at a page in the catalogue. Ruth peered over Debbie's shoulder, trying to find the same excitement. She did not. On the page, three women were sharing a joke. Their faces were different levels of happiness whilst posing on what seemed to be faded sand; words and numbers floated around them.

"Do you see it?" Debbie's voice was louder than needed, and her finger continued to prod the page.

"The swimsuits? I don't think they would fit you." Each model wore a different style of colourful swimsuit, and Ruth struggled to picture Debbie in any of them.

"No, look how big she is." Debbie's finger landed on a model's upper body, a tall woman in a bright blue swimsuit. Indeed, it was a big chest.

"And?"

"And? Huge. Doesn't it make you think?"

"Think what?"

"Just think...like... how big it is."

"That's weird." Ruth's words deflated Debbie, and the catalogue was lowered from her watching eyes. She was really hopeless but, thankfully, wealthy.

"Don't say this to anyone at school," Ruth added as an afterthought; it was the last thing needed as the campus' oddball.

The catalogue was hidden away in a desk drawer under an assignment which had been due last week. And with that, the pair would have to find some other entertainment. Ruth was rather glad. Debbie always did weird things like that, finding some new way to make her uncomfortable. Eventually, the pair decided on a movie, advancing downstairs and selecting a VHS from her father's collection.

People liked to utter about the Feldman household, normally under their breaths, and words like old money were usually in the conversation. It was a big house, much bigger than Ruth's home. However, it was cluttered with photos of a woman in every brown-coloured room. You couldn't escape the woman. The 70s had stamped its mark on every piece of furniture, frozen in time and unwilling to change.

"This is my Dad's favourite, but he never lets me watch it." Debbie held up the forbidden VHS. On the cover, a detective-looking man was pointing a gun, his face sombre. It was a boring-looking cover, and Ruth didn't want to watch, but Debbie was already fiddling with the video player.

"Why's it forbidden?"

"It's violent." There was a deep and unwavering smile.

The movie began to play, and the pair got comfortable on the brown couch. There were gunshots, murder, and much running.

"You bastards," Debbie copied the screen, finger-gunning at the bad guys, glancing at Ruth, and almost hinting at wanted approval. Every time a bad word occurred, Debbie repeated it, smiling each time. Maybe this was the reason why it was forbidden.

A woman appeared on the screen, and Ruth was haft-expecting a certain someone to point at the newcomer's chest. She turned her head to Debbie, who was transfixed on the screen. Someone was having similar thoughts. Breasts were... well... breasts. Ruth tried not to think about them. It made her uncomfortable. It was like the itch of embarrassment.

The moment could have gone unspoken if the woman hadn't done what she did. Throughout the film, the woman seemed very grateful to the detective. In fact, the woman had been so grateful that she took her clothes off. Ruth and Debbie watched in silence, faced with the reality of what breasts really were.

It seemed size wasn't the only reason to think about them. It was fascinating, and Ruth was glued uncomfortably to her seat. Her legs were pressed together. The discomfort wouldn't stop, and television emanated moans into the living room. Debbie copied the exotic sound before laughing, finding some unseeable joke in the haze of it. Why couldn't she feel the same discomfort as Ruth?

The unfolding scene proceeded to more nudity. The two people were wrestling on the floor, moaning and touching whilst gentle music played. The movement of their hips seemed to hint at the obvious, and before Ruth could speculate, the scene was gone. The story continued, and more bad guys were fought.

Debbie readjusted her shorts, finally given a hint that she may feel the same discomfort. Their eyes met.

"That was weird," Ruth stated, hands pressed together as gunshots rang in the background of their conversation.

"You think so?" Debbie almost sounded superior, and a giant grin riddled her face. The grin translated to I understand something you don't know. "Don't you like it?"

"I've seen better films."

"Not the film, dummy. Sex?" There was a laugh, droll in nature.

"I'm not rating a sex scene. Debbie, that's weird."

"I've done it, you know." The conversation had stumbled past the line of a suitable conversation, knocking Ruth into pure shock.

"What?"

"Sex, I've done it. Have you?" Debbie started as if figuring out a math equation, her eyes bearing down and relentlessly hunting for the first signs of evidence.

"Don't lie; you haven't."

"Don't pretend to be such a virgin. I've touched you."

"You promise not to mention that again." Ruth's hands grew tighter together as images of the past re-emerged in her mind. A party at the sonority, a kiss during a drunken haze and hands pressed firmly on her chest. It hadn't been more than that, but still, it was too much.

"Do you remember the softball team I played on?" Debbie didn't wait for confirmation, continuing with determination. "My coach, I did things with them."

"But your coach is a woman?" Ruth interjected, but it wasn't enough to derail the train of conversation.

"I didn't really like them, but I wanted to do it, and after so long, I thought it would be my only chance."

Debbie's hands were placed gently, cupping beneath Ruth's chest.

"I guess it makes me a slut."

"Don't..."

"I wish you had been my first." The statement lingered in the air.

The hands raised slightly, pushing the breasts together, creating a dramatic cleavage at the top of Ruth's summer dress. It was that discomfort again.

"Do you think we could pretend?" A finger gracefully brushed over what could be determined as a nipple. It travelled back and forth.

It was happening again, the weird touching which had multiplied in Ruth's thoughts. It was obvious that friends didn't kiss as they had, and now hands were in inappropriate places. That should have been pushed back.

"You won't tell anyone..."

"It's only for us," Debbie reassured. Her finger grew bolder, adding a little pressure to the next stoke. One hand was removed, travelling upwards and taking hold of the dress's strap.

"We should go upstairs," Ruth uttered, not wanting to undress in such a vulnerable and unpredictable place. The bedroom had a lock on its door.

Ruth found herself returning to Debbie's bedroom; it was still a mess from their previous activities. They stood in the middle of the room, hands glued together, and Debbie's eyes were fixed on the bottom bunk of her bed. She seemed to be really herself for something, and a deep breath was needed before speaking again.

"You have to be my girlfriend,"

"Don't be weird, Debbie." The hand-holding was unstuck, and Ruth suddenly had her hands on her hips. Debbie struggled to maintain eye contact.

"But that's what I want, and I won't continue until you say yes."

"Fine, I'm your girlfriend, but you can't tell anyone." Ruth relented. Whatever it was, it wasn't serious; honestly, the discomfort was still present. Debbie smiled, taking Ruth into a hug and causing their faces to be inches apart. The kiss was quick, a simple peck on the lips. Ruth stayed still as it was done a second time. Debbie retook the hand and brought her new, and maybe first, girlfriend to the bottom bunk, pushing the unwanted items to the floor.

"Get on your back," Ruth did as she was told, resting her head on the white pillow. Her mind was filling up with questions. Debbie climbed on top, placing her body on Ruth; most of the weight went to one arm. They kissed again. Ruth lifted her head slightly to meet Debbie's lips. It was still a simple peck, repeated until a faint layer of moisture could be felt. Ruth interrupted, turning her face away. It felt hot.

"Don't you like it?" Debbie was an invading light of concern among the embarrassment. The discomfort had increased to a noticeable tingle. Ruth did not speak, hiding her face in one hand. Debbie shouldn't ask such questions. It did not deter the kisses. Debbie placed a few on the check, and Ruth found the ones on the neck to be quite enjoyable, almost sinful -- like raiding the fridge after midnight. She stretched, exposing a little more of her neck.

Two hands had travelled along the fabric of Ruth's summer dress, reaching their final destination at the knees. Debbie urged the legs part. The yellow summer dress lifted slightly, exposing bare thighs. Debbie placed herself within them, pressing her groin into Ruth's. Hips were moved, causing their fabrics to crumple and rustle. It was similar to the movements which Ruth had witnessed in the movie. The rotation of hips was something she hadn't quite comprehended in its visual glory, and even now, it made little sense.

"Does it feel nice?" It was a simple question; in any other context, it would be fine, but it was awfully embarrassing right now.

"It's fine." Ruth preferred not to look. The discomfort was growing, and Debbie's movements seemed to be adding to the problem. She kept grinding her hips as if anticipating a sudden miracle.

"When I rub like this, it feels nice. Are you sure it isn't nice?"

"Does it feel nice for you?" This seemed to cause some evaluation. Debbie changed directions and sampled a different type of gyration before settling on an answer.

"It's alright," She seemed a bit disappointed; maybe she had been expecting things to be easier.

However, the dull emotion didn't stay for long. It was cast aside, much like her team jersey. Debbie got onto her knees, removing her clothes without shame. Her hands fiddled for a few moments on the buttons of her shorts. Ruth lounged back and watched.

She had little time to appreciate. Debbie seemed determined to embrace nudity at the fastest speed, hands pulling away at the layers until she only had a pair of socks on her body. Without the bra, her somewhat flat chest had sagged and wobbled with every movement. It was hypnotic. Between her legs was a mass of thick black hair, hiding the obvious from view.

She continued to watch as Debbie lifted her summer dress higher, and the white panties underneath were exposed.

"It feels better when naked. It does for me," Debbie explained bluntly as she pulled Ruth's panties. It was somewhat difficult; Ruth had the urge to close her legs. However, Debbie was still in the middle of them, causing it to be a limited fight for modesty.

"You can keep your dress. I know you'll be embarrassed and all, but trust me, this feels really nice." The panties slipped off without further protest, and Debbie even had the decency not to have a proper look at what was in between. The hips were reattached to their previous position, but thick hair was the new sensation instead of fabric.

It rubbed against the skin, trying to find the desired place. Debbie leaned closer, hinting at the start of another kiss. Ruth met her lips. They continue to grind, mixing juices on both ends. Debbie pressed her tongue into the kiss, encouraging Ruth to do the same. A frustration grew, and Debbie huffed, pulling back. An inner turmoil seemed to be seeking an answer.

She gripped her breast and brought it to Ruth's face, pushing a nipple against her lips.

"Open your mouth, and suck it like an ice pop."

Ruth accepted the invading force, sucking on whatever was pushing into her mouth. It seemed to work. Debbie switched between breasts, having each one coveted.

"Can you use your tongue on my pussy?"

"I don't know,"

"Can you use your fingers then?"

"...I think so."

Debbie took to her back, spreading her legs. Ruth rolled to her side. One arm was placed around her shoulders, and the other guided her to the clit. Debbie overlaid her fingers with Ruth's, directing movements until the major crescendo occurred. Now she was covered in a faint layer of sweat, heated and slippy to the touch.

"Can I touch you?"

"I'm not ready," Ruth shook her head. A few requirements had not been met, and nerves seemed to be getting the best of her.

"Can you finger me?"

Ruth sat in-between Debbie's legs. They were stretched as far as they could, and nothing was left to the imagination. The position left her fully exposed.

"Use as many as you can,"

"Won't that hurt?"

"I... I like it," This time; it was Debbie who avoided eye contact. "To feel full when I come."

Ruth was able to use three fingers and was urged forward, Debbie did not lie about this interest. Her body was animated with life, her hips pushed and pulled against the three little invaders. Her own hand was stimulating her clit. To Ruth, it was like digging her fingers through warm slush. With time, it became a tight embrace.

"I need a break," Debbie smiled, her face red and sweaty. Ruth lounged beside her, with the understanding that things would be a little different from now on.

"Do you want to come?"

"Maybe next time."

"You assume they'll be a next time," Debbie laughed before feeling the soft punch of her frustrated partner.

"Don't be weird, Debbie."