Don't Stop

[I think a lot of erotica lacks realistic communication. Yeah, yeah, I know it's all fantasy, but I can only suspend my disbelief so much until I'm not enjoying it anymore, and the more realistic an erotic work is, the easier it is to lose myself in it. To me, talking with your partner is one of the best things about sex, and it makes it so much more enjoyable for everyone involved. Anyways! This is my first time really sharing my work, so feedback is appreciated but please be nice :) Enjoy!]

"It's backed up for, like, three miles, but I'm gonna take the next exit and it should ease up," Imogen's voice crackled through the phone.

"Gotcha. See you soon-ish?" Greer replied, one ear plugged against the noise of the party.

"Soon-ish," Imogen repeated. "Bye." She hung up before Greer could finish her farewell, a habit that equally infuriated and amused Greer.

Greer slipped her phone into the back right pocket of her jeans and felt for the pack of cigarettes in the other. Politely stepping around the clusters of people on the roof, she made her way over to the railing. She took a deep breath and lit up. A cool night breeze ran through her buzzed hair and the city lights twinkled out before her, reflected choppily on the river. Her roommate, Lou, was responsible for the party. They planned something like this every couple of months, big and boisterous, and bribed the other top-floor tenant with a very expensive bottle of wine as a preemptive apology for the noise. It was mostly Lou's people, but they always made sure Greer extended an invitation to her own friends, too. Tonight, though, only Theo and Imogen were free, and Theo was drunkenly dancing in the thick of it all. He wasn't wasted to the point of needing a chaperone, but he was drunk enough that it wasn't fun to hang out with him unless you were, too.

So Greer waited. For a moment, she considered that Imogen wouldn't show up, but Imogen wasn't like that--she would sometimes arrive hours late, but she'd always be there if she said she would. Greer finished her cigarette slowly, telling herself that Imogen would magically show up when she was done. Venturing back into the thrumming center of the party, Greer squashed the butt into a terracotta pot that had become an informal ashtray. She spotted Lou, socializing oh-so effortlessly with their cheeks reddened by drink as well as laughter, and waved. They returned Greer's wave with a smile and nod and returned to their conversation with someone undoubtedly much cooler.

A pair of hands gripped Greer's shoulders from behind. She turned around, startled, to see Imogen grinning widely.

"Hey!" Greer exclaimed, raising her eyebrows.

"Hi! I'm so sorry I was late," Imogen said. "Traffic was downright disgusting, even after I got off the highway," she continued, holding open the canvas tote bag on her shoulder with one hand and digging through it with the other. "I saw Theo's having the time of his goddamn life. He's not doing Molly again, is he?"

Greer shook her head. "Nah, he's just had, like, six shots."

After what seemed like an eternity digging through her bag, Imogen pulled out the prettiest, tiniest joint Greer had ever seen. She smiled again. The two found their way over to a pair of woven lawn chairs over by the edge, overlooking the river. On the way, Greer found a cooler and fished out the one bottle of water she saw among a sea of beers and ciders.

"You first," Imogen said, handing off the joint and settling into her chair.

Imogen sparked her lighter as Greer brought the joint to her lips and shielded the flame from the wind with her hand. Greer inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out toward the city. They passed the joint back and forth, smoke thick and sweet.

"Any love life updates?" Imogen asked. She coughed into her elbow and took a sip of water.

"Nothing great," Greer replied. "You know the lesbian bar off sixth street, Judy's, I think it's called? Lou and I went out last Monday and I started talking with this girl. It's going great, she seems pretty into me, whatever, then boom--" Greer clapped "--she's looking for a third for her and her boyfriend."

"Aw, no way," Imogen said. "Boo."

Greer swallowed a cold mouthful of water. "Yeah. And that's something of a first, y'know, for someone who looks like me."

Imogen turned to her and made a face. "Shut up. Don't say that about yourself."

"No, no, I just mean that unicorn-hunting couples tend to go for someone who looks a little more feminine than me. Y'know, less dykey. I don't mean it in, like, a self-deprecating way," Greer said.

Imogen looked away again. "Good," she said. "Because you're fuckin' sexy."

Greer's eyelids were heavy and the details of the party were fuzzy at the edges, but she wasn't so high as to have missed that. Imogen didn't seem to have processed what she had said until Greer responded.

"You're not too hard on the eyes, either," Greer said, taking a long drag of the joint. It had burned far enough down that it nearly burned her fingertips with the pull. She looked sideways at Imogen and gave her a nudge.

Imogen blushed. "You know I'm into the whole butch thing. I don't mean anything by it," she mumbled.

"I'm just messing with you. Want the last hit?" Greer asked, ready to hand it off. She reconsidered. "Actually, there's really not much to grab onto. Here." She held the joint--or what was left of it--up to Imogen's mouth.

Imogen took the last inhale, and Greer tried not to jump at the light brush of Imogen's lips against her fingers. When Imogen was done, Greer squashed the roach under the toe of her boot. Imogen finished the water, then crushed the bottle down into a wrinkled little puck that she dropped in her tote bag that now sat rumpled at her feet. She looked out at the city and the breeze tangled strands of her long hair around the gold jewelry that adorned her ears.

"Do you wanna head inside?" Imogen asked, blinking slowly. "Watch a movie or something."

Greer nodded and stood, holding out a hand to help Imogen from her chair. They stumbled through the crowd and nearly fell through the door back to the stairwell, giggling. Greer led Imogen down the stairs toward the apartment.

The door was slightly ajar, and inside they saw a handful of Lou's friends milling around the bathroom; the duo kicked off their shoes in the doorway and headed straight for the kitchen. Armed with the spoils of their conquest (crackers, chips, a block of sharp cheddar cheese, and a two-liter of cherry soda), they shuffled into the living room and closed the curtain. Greer had hung in the archway as an attempt to separate it from the rest of the apartment, and though it failed at filtering out pretty much any noise, it did offer privacy from the partygoers in line for the bathroom. They set their snacks down on the coffee table and Greer knelt over by the TV, running her finger along the plastic cases on the DVD rack. She listed off titles until they decided on a low-budget romcom they'd probably watched at least a dozen times before and both considered the pinnacle of cinema. Greer put the disc in the player, grabbed the remote, and threw herself onto the couch beside Imogen.

Greer navigated the DVD menu slower than she usually would've, mind fogged up like a car windshield. When the opening sequence began, Greer watched Imogen mouth along to the song, face illuminated by the TV screen.

She was so goddamn beautiful. It took every ounce of willpower Greer had not to kiss her right there. Even as the thought lingered in her mind, she wondered where it had come from. She'd never thought about Imogen in that way--yeah, their friendship was one that frequently involved suggestive jokes, but those were just jokes, right?

She turned back to the movie and the two of them attempted to pay attention, laughing to the point of tears at bits that really wouldn't have been that funny if they were a tad more sober. At one point, the gay best friend to the straight female protagonist made a bad joke about his sex life and Imogen smacked Greer's thigh as she wheezed. Her hand lingered as she caught her breath, doubled over.

One hundred and fifteen minutes later (and all too soon), the credits rolled. The world was sharpening, little by little, as the weed wore off. Greer ejected the DVD and turned off the TV, relative silence overtaking the apartment. The sounds of the party above came muffled through the ceiling. She peeked around the curtain and saw the bathroom line had disappeared. She turned and fell back into the couch cushions. Their legs touched and neither moved to separate them.

"Did you mean what you said?" Greer asked. "About being into my 'whole butch thing'."

Imogen made a sound that Greer understood as expressing embarrassment. "Yeah. Kinda." Imogen looked over at Greer, gaze roaming her face and coming to rest at her lips for just a moment before flicking back to her eyes.

There was a tension between them now, heady and buzzing, but neither wanted to say anything.

In an instant, Imogen leaned forward and kissed Greer lightly. She pulled away, but Greer reached up and held her close. They kissed again, deeper--harder. Imogen's hands slipped under the hem of Greer's shirt, fingertips sliding across the skin of her lower back. She lingered at the waistband of Greer's jeans.

Greer broke away. "Should we be doing this?"

Imogen looked at her with concern. "We can stop if you want."

"That's the thing," Greer said. "I don't want to stop. God, I don't want to stop, but I don't want to fuck this up. We're good right now. I can't ruin that."

"Hey." Imogen took Greer by the shoulders and stared deep in her eyes. "If we both want this, we have nothing to worry about. You've never done anything to try and hurt me, and I hope you can say the same about me." Greer nodded in assent and Imogen continued. "If you ever want this to stop, say the word and it'll end, just like that." Imogen pulled her closer. "Okay?"

"Mm hm."

Greer caressed Imogen's cheek as her hand ventured back down. Imogen kissed Greer and fumbled earnestly--hungrily, even--to unzip her jeans and reach down the front of her briefs.

"Is this okay?" Imogen asked.

Greer replied with a shaky "Yeah."

Just as Imogen started feeling around, they heard sounds of the door opening followed by some movement in the kitchen. Greer and Imogen rapidly disentangled themselves and Greer zipped up her pants. From somewhere behind the curtain came Lou's voice.

"You in here, Greer?" they half-shouted.

"Yep," Greer called back. "Imogen and I are gonna go to bed soon."

"Imogen! Oh my God!" Lou's voice grew louder as they got closer and poked their head around the curtain. "Hey! It's great to see you again! I just came down for more ice--" they held up the plastic bag of ice in question "--and later I was gonna roll out the futon for some other folks who are staying the night, but I can do it now if you want," they offered.

Greer shook her head. "No, no, don't worry about it. My bed's big enough for the both of us." She worried for a moment at what Lou might infer from that, but she put it out of her mind.

If Lou thought anything strange of it, they didn't say anything. "Okie dokie! Sleep tight," they said, letting the curtain fall behind them as they left with the ice in tow. The duo listened for the closing of the door and burst into a fit of nervous giggles.

"Close call," Greer said, heart pounding.

"Yeah. Should we take this elsewhere?" Imogen said, already heading toward Greer's room.

Behind Greer's closed door, their clothes quickly came off. With nothing but Imogen's necklace between them, they pressed their bodies and lips together. They tumbled to the bed, Imogen on top. She kissed down Greer's body--neck, collarbones, tits--and stopped with her face in front of Greer's crotch.

"You like head?" Imogen asked, running her hands up and down and parting Greer's thighs.

Greer nodded. "Hell yeah," she said. Her voice wavered a bit.

The nervousness she felt now was nothing like Greer had ever felt around Imogen before. They knew each other as well as you could possibly know someone after over a decade of friendship, but this was uncharted territory. Sure, they talked about sex all the time, but unlike their other topics of conversation, they rarely dove deep into it. Their conversations about intimacy mainly consisted of post-hookup debriefs that were shrouded in euphemism and humor over brunch.

Imogen lowered her head. What was left of her lipstick left faint pink marks as she planted kisses along the insides of Greer's thighs, drawing ever closer to her cunt. She dragged her tongue up Greer's folds, slick with want. She flicked the clit with the tip of her tongue once she reached it and started over again at the bottom, slow and deliberate. All the nerves in Greer's body lit up, a network of pleasure, and she breathed heavily.

Imogen increased the pressure and speed of her tongue. She swirled it around the clit before returning downward. Lapping fervently, she elicited a series of short, desperate moans from Greer.

"Fuck," Greer whispered, and she could've sworn she felt Imogen smile slightly against her pussy.

"Do you want more?" Imogen asked, the lower half of her face shining with Greer's juices as she pulled away.

Greer nodded. The breath hitched in her throat as Imogen inserted a finger.

"God, you're so fucking wet for me," Imogen said. She slid another finger in easily. "You like that?"

Greer moaned incoherently in response, rolling her hips. Imogen's oral attentions resumed, gentle but steady at Greer's clit. She curled her fingers experimentally inside Greer.

"Oh, fuck." Greer bucked a little. "Do that again."

Imogen did as she was told and added a bit of thrust. The pressure it put inside Greer's cunt was decadent. The wet, vulgar sounds of sex and Greer's exclamations filled the room.

"Yeah, oh God, thank you, thank you, thank you," she groaned.

Confident, Imogen started to suck Greer's clit. In an instant, Greer's body tensed.

"Mm, could you ease off on the clit?" she requested.

Imogen moved her face back. "You alright?" she asked, ready to apologize.

"I'm okay. Just fingers for now," Greer said. She panted as Imogen adjusted her position on the mattress so they were at eye level with each other. "It was just a bit overstimulating, coming in like that all of a sudden." She reached down between her legs and prompted Imogen to go faster. "And I want to focus on the fingers for a minute." She released her grip on Imogen's hand.

"As you wish," Imogen said, grinning lopsidedly. She maintained a steady pace, emboldened by the gasps that tumbled from Greer's mouth. Imogen looked down; Greer's eyebrows were knit tightly and lips parted, and she met Imogen's gaze. Both their hearts fluttered. There was something unnameable between them--something intense.

Greer hadn't felt this vulnerable in a while; she was used to wearing a strong, put-together exterior. Most of her past partners had expected her to top, and she liked that plenty, but being ravished like this was something she had been hungering for.

Imogen relished it just as much. She'd imagined Greer in the throes of intimacy countless times before, but that mental image could never live up to the reality laid bare before her: Greer with her face flushed, whimpering, and completely, utterly at Imogen's mercy.

Greer laced her fingers through Imogen's hair and pulled her down for a kiss. When they broke apart, they stayed close. Their bodies moved together, rhythmic. For Greer, getting fingered was a rollercoaster she could ride forever--it was electricity that ran through her with nowhere to go, no outlet. She wouldn't cum from fingering on its own, and with the way Imogen touched her, half of her was tempted to stay in that haze of pleasure until one of them physically couldn't take it anymore. The other half of her yearned for the release of an orgasm and would do anything to get it.

Again, Greer reached for Imogen's southward hand, this time to bring her to a stop. Greer guided Imogen's fingertips, slick with pussy, to her clit.

"Make me cum. Please," Greer begged.

Imogen started circling Greer's clit slowly. She sped up gradually, fingers sliding with ease over the well-lubricated flesh. A deep tension started to build in Greer's abdomen. She bit her lip and buried her face in Imogen's neck.

"Fuckin' Christ," Greer cursed into Imogen's warm skin.

"You like it when I touch you like this?" Imogen teased.

"Yes, God, yes. Don't stop. Please don't fucking stop," Greer groaned. She was close.

"I've never seen this side of you before." Imogen laughed. "You're cute when you beg."

That laugh and a few fatal strokes of Imogen's fingers sent Greer over the edge. The tension in her body dissipated all at once; she was a goddamn supernova. Her pussy spasmed and a low, carnal moan escaped her lips. Her eyes shut tight, Greer felt Imogen kiss her forehead.

When the last twitches of her orgasm had subsided, Imogen held Greer for a while.

"Do you think we just destroyed any chance of continuing our friendship like normal?" Greer asked at last.

Imogen kissed her again, this time on the cheek. "I don't think things will be the same anymore, but maybe that's okay."

Greer sighed. "Yeah. Maybe it is. Things will be different now, but they might be better. We'll see."

"Yeah. And maybe we'll regret this all in the morning and never speak of it again," Imogen said. "But I'd destroy our friendship a thousand times over to see you cum like that again."

That night they slept side-by-side in Greer's bed, each in one of her oversized t-shirts. When one of Lou's party guests stumbled in there the next morning in search of the bathroom, all they could see was a pair of old friends.