Impact 09: of Repentance

The "Impact" series began as a collaboration with ButteredCrumpet who has posted our original versions* as "Impact of Collision".

For those who pay attention to such things: When Sarah is alone the story is in the past tense. When Claire and Sarah are together the story is in present tense.

Special thanks to HaltWhoGoesThere for proof reading this chapter - repeatedly.

"MOTHER OF GOD!"

I'd been so close to cumming when I heard my phone vibrate and saw it light up with an incoming text.

I lunged for the bedside table, grabbed at my phone with wet fingers and lost my balance - that's when I started sliding off the bed, helpless to stop myself as I slowly, slowly crashed to the floor. I was lying face down and naked in a heap, staring at Kwasi's text in dawning horror.

Hey, Claire is looking for you. Is everything ok?

"What the shit!?!" I squeaked, toggling to the menu, and that's when I finally saw all of Claire's texts.

Did you get my voicemail? Did Wes make his bus?

"FUCK!" I felt my stomach drop as I realized it was Claire who left the voicemail, not my mother - that was hours ago. I forced myself to keep reading.

Is everything OK? Your bag is here, I thought you were coming back - please let me know where you are.

Sarah, why aren't you answering me? I'm worried, please tell me where you are.

I don't know what to do, I wish you'd just reply.

"GOD No! No! No! NOOO!" I screamed at the phone, seeing there were also three missed calls from Claire while I slept, and I realized how royally I'd fucked up. Claire had been trying to reach me all day.

'She thinks I'm mad, that I'm ghosting her,' I thought. My stomach felt like lead.

I started to write a response and then dropped my phone, jumped up to get dressed and then dropped that idea too. I grabbed my phone and pushed my feet into a pair of boots and wrapped myself in my little trench coat and ran out the door. The whole operation couldn't have taken more than ten seconds.

I clattered down the stairs. Of course the only boots that were immediately on hand were my knee-high black leather Nine West come-fuck-me's. I was lucky not to break an ankle in my mad dash out the door, never mind the fucking stairs. As I all but slid down the first flight I wondered idly if anyone had ever run down these steps in four inch stiletto heels before. But even as I came dangerously close to wiping out halfway down the second flight I found myself imagining the decades of Times Square pimps and hookers who must have haunted these steps in their platform heels, and decided it's probably happened thousands of times.

'Welcome to the big city, New Girl,' I chided myself as I sped on, picturing a police officer explaining to my mother how I'd been found naked at the bottom of a flight of stairs with my neck broken.

'I'm getting good at this,' I realized as I flew down the last flight of steps and out onto the street. I was still struggling to get the trench all the way closed as I ran.

I could smell the storm. Its great breath was moving through Manhattan, forcing out the dusty burnt ammonia miasma of the warm weather. Fat drops of rain were spattering the sidewalk as I reached the end of the block, but they were still few and far between. It was only there at the avenue, as I saw that there wasn't a cab to hail, that I realized I'd left my wallet in my purse. No money. No credit cards.

So fucked.

Searching my pockets I found an old Metro Card. I had no idea how much was on it...

Looking like a runaway stripper, I bolted for Thirty-Fourth Street.

I knew I should call Claire, but I was scared to. Scared she wouldn't pick up, scared she'd tell me to fuck off. It was then, hobbling as fast as the fucking boots would allow and gasping loudly, that I finally opened Claire's voicemail. Her voice whispering sing-song into my ear.

"Je suis ton pile, Tu es mon face" she hushed. "Toi mon nombril, Et moi ta glace."

She sounded so unsure of herself, faltering at first. I'd frozen, sucking breath, but forcing myself to be quiet so I could hear her. I was going to be that fucking girl again, crying in the street.

"Tu es l'envie et moi le geste, Toi le citron et moi le zeste," she sang, her voice gaining force, her song's rhythm picking up pace. I could hear the smile on her lips. I pushed myself to start moving again, tears burning my eyes.

"Je suis le café, a grande caramel macchiato, tu es la tasse. Toi la guitare et moi la basse." Her voice was high and clear, but the song sounded so different from the first night she had sung it to me. She had sounded saucy and sure of herself backing down the street, swinging her hips, now she sounded like she was begging.

"I was listening to this song, and I was missing you," she explained after a brief pause. "Actually the French is more than 'I miss you', tu me manques, it's that you are missing from me... Can you please call me?"

As I ran I saw myself in the eyes of the people I passed. Women look alarmed, men predatory.

I made it to the subway without being attacked or arrested or rained on too badly. On the platform, still struggling with burning lungs to catch my breath, I texted Kwasi.

All is well. Bad hangover. I fell asleep after dropping Wes off. I'll let Claire know. Sorry!

Then, taking a deep breath, I texted Claire.

I'm on my way downtown. Are you home?

I stared at my screen, clutching my phone hard. Nothing. The platform was empty. I walked down to the benches but didn't sit down - I realized the little trench was too short to risk it. Instead I stood off to one side at the end farthest from the trash bin, which was full to overflowing. My phone vibrated. I was still squeezing it with all my might. I forced myself to relax my grip, stared at the screen. It was another text from Kwasi.

OK, glad it's nothing - but you can tell me if it's more than nothing.

I pictured his worried face. He has been so good to me. Even with things so hard between Darci and I.

'That stupid fucking drinking game.'

Darci had looked so amazing that night. Her hair had been down over her eyes. I forget which one of us got dared, but I remembered how she'd looked at me, peeking out from under her shiny curls. Her thick lips in a crooked saucy smile. My stomach had felt like it was full of boiling water, or molten iron.

When I'd asked Claire if she'd been with another girl before, she had squeezed my hand and told me no: "Girl crushes, women I admired... powerfully, but nothing more. Young Sarah is the first."

The waitress had interrupted and Claire hadn't asked me about my girl crushes or what I'd done. I'd been relieved. I wasn't sure what to tell her about my feelings for Rebekah, or even how to explain what I'd done with her... much less how to describe the powerful and peculiar way I'd admired Darci.

But it wasn't just me, Darci had stood out at Brown - with her shining raven hair, so black it was almost blue, tall and slim and athletic. I'd told myself I coveted her confidence, how beautiful and smart and funny she was, her popularity. But the truth was, she had been my lodestar - always from a distance... or at least until our third year.

"Hell yes, I'll make out with Sarah," Darci had called out, her bravada was directed at the group, but she had said it staring at me. Her eyes were drilling through me.

We'd stood to kiss, stepped away from the table so everyone could see. I don't remember being nervous, but I remember being unsteady, that all the alcohol was beginning to hit me. We had both been smiling, but I'd felt glassy eyed. I'm sure I was bright red. Her skin, olive and tan, had shown no sign of what she was feeling, but her eyes had looked hungry.

"It's not cheating if it's a girl," she'd whispered with a sleepy smile. I nodded, too tongue tied to speak.

We had been friends for most of our junior year, but the trip that spring for the symposium had been different. We had sat together on the trip down to NYC on the bus - talking the whole way and holding court with everyone around us. She had held my hand and played with my hair.

It was on the bus trip down I'd confided to Darci how lonely I'd been feeling, my struggles to stay true to Danny, to not cheat. I had told her more than I'd ever told any of my classmates. She'd made the joke about girls not counting with me when I'd told her, laughing at how I'd blushed, how scandalized I'd been. Then when there was a SNAFU with the hotel and there weren't enough single rooms she had jumped to volunteer for us to take the share. She had looked at me for confirmation, everyone had laughed at the way I'd nodded my agreement.

'Like a puppy dog.'

Looking back, after everything that had happened with Claire, I could finally admit to myself how smitten I'd been. I'd pined for Darci. I'm sure she'd known - probably from the start. I was pathetic.

For years I'd watched her from afar, seen her around, even had a class with her. She was the kind of girl I wished I was; a bit wild, seemingly unafraid. She knew everyone and liked everyone, on top of that everyone liked her. She was as close to a celebrity as Brown had. She was also one of the girls on campus I fantasized the most about.

Darci was the reason I'd started masturbating in the field house. The first time I'd done it had been my sophomore year. We weren't friends yet, but I was keenly aware of who she was, I'm quite sure she didn't even know my name back then. But I'd overheard her telling another girl a sex story on the other side of a row of lockers. I was alone in my row, but it had been the middle of the day, someone could have turned the corner at any moment.

"...it started out as a threesome, " I remember her telling her girlfriend, "but he just ended up watching - his girlfriend said she had never seen been with a girl before, that she wasn't sure if she wanted to, but you should have seen her when she saw my fucking bald kitty, she got really into it - and she was a fucking natural."

That image, that her pussy was bald, of her showing another girl, of her being watched by the girl's boyfriend while she... I didn't even know what - went down on Darci? It was all so sexually audacious and bold.

It had been enough to make me drop my towel. I'd been so wet, my whole body had felt weak. The sound of her voice as she confided how much she had liked it was enough. "I seriously couldn't get enough, he passed out, but that bitch kept me cumming till dawn," she'd bragged. I'd had a powerful orgasm almost as soon as I'd touched myself.

I was just picking up my towel and covering myself with shaking hands when the track team surrounded me, their loud voices and banging locker doors muffled by the blood still pounding in my ears. The experience of almost being caught was so intense I almost came again, right there in their midst.

Darci had been a regular part of my fantasy life after that. At first I would imagine her catching me in the fieldhouse, maybe with her friend - that they would make me finish, watching me cum there in front of my locker - so in that way my fantasies of her began a lot like my earliest fantasies. But with her my imagination went further. If I was stuck and frustrated, my mind would call her up, but it would be Danny, Darci and me. And after a while I found the narrative of my fantasies about her had shifted away from me getting caught.

All I had to think about was her shaved pussy, her cumming again and again... just that, the idea of her cumming repeatedly would get me wet - I could barely cum once. But my imagination always wanted to go further. I'd picture Danny and Darci and I "together" and just that image was sometimes enough to bring me to orgasm. I shied away from thinking about anything beyond that, about what I would have to do; of what Darci would make me do in front of Danny, what I would have to do to make her cum over and over...

Those fantasies were my most illicit. Something I could only let myself picture when I was very drunk - memories of which, even though they were always just confused fragments, would haunt and shame me when I sobered up.

So when Darci ended up doing research with me for Dr. Hendren I was a nervous mess - but she'd been so nice and so intent on putting me at ease, we'd become friends. I'd been both ecstatic and full of self doubt. Looking back I can see what I was afraid of. Even then, part of me knew exactly how attracted I was to her. But I'd told myself I was just happy to have finally connected, to be accepted by her, that my drunken fantasies were about Danny and me, not about her.

It had been Darci's idea for us all to pool our money for a couple bottles and to have everyone come to our room after we got back from Little India. Everyone else had been assigned cramped single rooms. But Darci and I, due to the SNAFU, had scored a suite with two queens and a big table the group could sit around - and that's where we played the drinking game.

In front of everyone Darci had reached for me, her hand behind my neck, her fingers stroking my skin, playing with my short hairs. I remember how her grip on my neck had tightened, how my heart had raced and thundered as she tipped my head and kissed me. I remember everyone had cheered as she leaned me back, like the sailor kissed the nurse on V-Day. I'd felt myself go soft. Wrapped in her arms I'd felt the noise of the party recede.

Hidden behind her dark curls, her black eyes burned into mine. I remember the surprise on her face when I pushed my tongue into her mouth. How her big beautiful eyes had gone wide, but then had given me a conspiratorial look of glee. I had felt her lips curl up in a ghost of a smile as she pushed her tongue past mine, into my mouth. She had tasted like rum, I had been drinking vodka.

I had moaned in real pleasure and clutched at her, which had set off another round of cheers. She responded by pulling me in closer, grabbing at my ass. My blood had rushed and I could feel an enormous wet heat building, threatening to overwhelm me. I'd clawed her back, almost panicked. Everyone had thought we were hamming it up, maybe she was. Either way, we had kissed longer than anyone had expected. Kissed until the cheers and laughter had stopped.

When she had finally pulled away from me, she had made a show of taking a deep breath, making everyone laugh. I'd laughed too, but when we sat back down I'd let my hair fall in front of my face, hidden, I'd panted. Feeling stunned by my own body's reaction. I had come close to orgasming, right there, in front of everyone.

I was so lost in these memories and didn't hear the train until it was roaring to a stop in front of me, doors opening. Mercifully the car was relatively empty. Maybe a dozen or so other riders sprinkled the seats. I remained standing, parking myself against the far doors, careful not to catch anyone's eye. As the train left the platform behind and the windows across from me went black I saw my reflection. My hair was a fright. I'd taken bed head to new heights. My eyes were red-rimmed and hollowed out. I looked like a mad woman - like a whore.

'You are a whore,' I remembered, looking at myself from behind the wreckage of my hair. 'Darci treated you like a whore.'

The game had gone on, but everyone was already very drunk. I had retreated into myself, but no one seemed to notice. At some point Darci had called it a night, chasing everyone out except Kwasi, who'd been helping me clean and was the last one left. The three of us were singing along to The Brazilian Girls - or maybe just yelling, "PUSSY PUSSY MARIJUANA!!" - stumbling and laughing as we tried to clear the mess.

"Tomorrow!" Darci announced, stopping the music and gesturing at the mess. "We'll deal with this shit tomorrow!"

That was when she grabbed me and kissed me again. This time it was her tongue pushing into my mouth, and just like before I felt my whole body respond to her - I gave myself over to that kiss like I'd never given myself to Danny. She had pushed her leg between mine and I'd humped her thigh, grinding myself against her.

'Like a slut...'

I don't really remember the madness of exactly what came next. Just that she had pulled at my clothes, and I had pulled at hers. We stripped each other and I don't remember giving it a thought. If I thought of anything, I thought of her. I had wanted her so badly it was like a kind of pain and "girls don't count" a hysteric mantra blocking all other thought. We were topless and my pants were pulled down past my ass when she pulled away. She was holding Kwasi's cock in her hand.

I had forgotten he was there.

I remember that image so clearly. Her hand looked so small and pale wrapped around his great dark cock. I had been encouraging Kwasi to make a move on Darci for weeks, but he'd been hesitant, saying he thought it was a bad idea. As he looked down on us, his reservations had clearly evaporated, all reticence was gone.

"Look at poor Kwasi," she delighted. "We can't leave him like this."

Darci was holding the back of my neck in her other hand. Her pants were down around her ankles, so were Kwasi's. For a stark moment I'd thought she was going to push me on my knees and make me suck him off.

But instead she looked at me appreciatively and flashed a wicked smile.

"Jesus, your body..." she'd murmured. Darci had loved my figure, and had never been shy about talking about it, but this was the first time she had looked at me this way - with such naked hunger. I'd preened for her. "...Sarah's not for you Kwasi," she warned, "because that would be cheating, but girls don't count - isn't that right, Beautiful?"

She pulled my face forward.

"Kiss me Sarah, so Kwasi can see," she ordered, kissing me hard and deep.

I wasn't watching Kwasi as I kissed Darci, but she was. I forgot all about Kwasi when I was kissing her, but she never did.

"Kwasi," she said, pulling me towards the bed, "I dare you to fuck me while I lick Sarah's pussy."

We had both shrieked with laughter. Her, I think, at the shock on Kwasi's face, me at the sheer madness of what she'd said. But Darci was kicking off her pants and working mine down my thighs, sitting me at the end of the bed, pulling Kwasi by his cock. All I was left with the next day were chaotic and strange images, like a camera tumbling through the air. Darci straddling my lap. Her bald pussy. Squeezing her thighs and sliding to the floor. The thrill of looking up at her, pressing my lips against her smooth skin. The wet fleshy touch of her labia against my tongue. The smell of her, the flavor.

"You like my cunny," she had teased, standing over me, her hands in my hair, pulling me to her. ""Look at Sarah lick my cunt like a little baby girl, Kwasi... She's making it wet for you... Oh Sarah, we're going to have lots of fun..."

My memories of that moment, of Darci talking dirty to Kwasi, are spotty. I know she was kissing him and stroking him, but all I really remember was clinging to her, the feeling of my tongue inside her, my excitement at her sexual power, her hips jerking and ass clenching uncontrollably until she pulled me away.

She had looked down on me, her eyes a little glazed, but I knew she could cum again and again.