Secret, Saintly Schoolgirl Love

"Is that okay?" I asked.

Hannah nodded. "Keep going."

Keeping my hand to my pelvis, I tried thrusting my hips back and forth, the way the dancers did in every video the adults hated.

Hannah made a whimpering sound in the back of her throat as my finger pushed back in, and I stopped.

"Is it still—"

"Yes!" she nodded vigorously. "Please. I just, I want to get the hang of it."

Even more cautiously, I tried again. And, at Hannah's insistence, again, and again.

She made that same whimpering noise, but at the same time lifted her hips up, toward me, as if searching for something.

"Does it feel good?" I asked.

"Uh... partly," Hannah answered. "But like, partly really good. Does that make sense?"

"Maybe?"

I kept going, searching her face, as ever, for clues. I watched for any sign that I was getting warmer or colder, while I searched her physically for a way to turn "partly" into "abso-heckin'-lutely."

Hannah seemed to grow more and more restless under me, her hips moving with more frustrated urgency, until suddenly, she stopped and lay limp on the floor, with one arm crossed over her eyes.

I stopped too.

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's just..." she kept her arm clamped hard over her face, which was turning a brilliant red. "When I.... When I... by myself... I...." She sighed, and her tone shifted from nervous to blank. She spoke very, very fast, as if she was worried her blankness would run out before she finished all the words, so it came out like, "WhenITouchMyselfAtNightITouchHere."

She used her free hand to gesture at the general area right in front of her vagina.

"You masturbate?" I asked, unable to contain my amazement.

"Please," said Hannah, her blankness receding. "Please, don't hate me."

"Why would I—"

"I know, I know, I know," Hannah stopped me. "I don't know why. I just... ugh. Please don't. And don't tell any—"

"I do the same thing," I said, touching her hair with my free hand, hoping to radiate comfort through to her hidden face.

"You do not," Hannah said, but peeked one eye hopefully out from under her arm.

"I do," I said. "Like this?"

I swept my thumb across the spot where there was a sensitive little bump on my body, and found what felt like a matching one on Hannah's.

Hannah moaned so loudly that I worried for a moment about the sound carrying over the lake back to the chapel, until she lowered her arm enough to stuff the side of it into her mouth.

That sound was definitely more than partly good.

I made her make that sound again, and again, like that first note I'd ever learned to play correctly on the violin, sweet and scratchless and clean.

"Ohmygosh, ohmygosh," the moans transitioned into breathy little words, and once she was confident in keeping them low, she finally lowered her arm. "You... you really...?"

She reached under my skirt, under my outward poking hand, under my panties, and swept her thumb across that same spot.

I struggled as hard as she had to keep my voice low, as a shot of pleasure jolted out through me from under her thumb.

Hannah's eyes widened with the thrill of discovery.

"Why," she gasped, while I kept on running my thumb around in a circle, "why didn't you start with that?"

I shrugged guiltily. "I guess I just always thought I was weird."

Hannah smacked me on the shoulder. "I always thought I was weird!"

It was the truth. I'd discovered this thing my body could do all on my own. Connecting it to the word "masturbation" had only been a guess before now, based on pieced-together bits of context from Barb's various jokes. But none of those jokes had exactly been how-to guides. I'd always assumed that, if there were any other girls who did it, they probably did it differently. After all, it was nothing like the sticking-in motion I imagined a penis doing, so it didn't make any sense that this was what I wanted most when I was worked up and hungry to touch someone.

But here we were, two of us, built the same way, maybe even built in the image of the same facet of God.

That thought made me incandescently happy.

Hannah went on stroking her thumb right over that spot, that secret spot I could have sworn as recently as this morning that I would never, ever tell anyone about, and I had to learn quickly how to juggle the overwhelming sensation coming in with the coordination it took to give the same in return.

I soon stopped bothering with lining my hand up with my own hips at all, and only focused on how it lined up with Hannah's.

Maybe I'd been making this whole thing more complicated than it needed to be, trying to emulate some other motion not built for our bodies in particular.

The whole purpose of what we were doing, as well as I could define it, was to act out the special closeness of our love for each other. We were certainly close, and the best expression of love I could think of was to try to make her feel as good as possible.

That was the guiding principle I used to determine my movements. I touched her first the way I liked to be touched, and then did my best to fine tune that technique according to her responses.

Hannah kept up the contact under my skirt impressively steadily, even when her other hand was shaking against the side of my face, and her eyes sliding in and out of focus.

She didn't go looking for my opening, and I didn't care, she was right where I wanted her, but my finger inside her didn't go completely to waste. I discovered that if I worked my finger in gentle movements toward my thumb, I could make Hannah's bump stand out a little farther, which seemed to cause an even more powerful reaction as I touched it.

"It's going to..." she squeaked, between suddenly faster, shallower breaths, lifting her head to bury her face in my shoulder. "I'm going to... I'm... I'm—"

She yelped, her legs clamped shudderingly tighter around me, and all the air in her lungs seemed to force its way out faster than her voice could handle it, extending that yelp into a whine like a kettle.

She still clung tightly to my shoulder while she caught her breath, as if she wasn't quite ready to face anything else after that moment, including me.

Her grip tightened, and she made another involuntary-sounding vocalization, as I slid my finger out of her, as delicately as I could.

"Thank you," I whispered, wrapping my arm under her head for her to rest on. "Thank you so much for sharing that with me."

She mumbled something into my cardigan.

"What?" I asked.

"Your turn," she repeated, just a smidge clearer.

I hadn't even consciously noted the moment when her hand had paused under my skirt. I was too caught up in watching the results of my own efforts. When she started up again, there was a flash of sensation as powerful as the very first one. I had to lower the arm I'd put around her just to steady myself as it spread through me.

She got her rhythm back quickly.

With something to do, something to focus on other than her own secrets on display, Hannah lowered her head back to the floor, and smiled.

Each time her thumb slid over my bump, the fluttery feeling it left behind was a little bit slower to fade, until the flutters were stacking on top of each other, each fresh one on the tail of the last. The stack built up higher and higher, and in no time at all it was teetering like a Jenga tower ready to give.

Maybe I'd been holding back before, unconsciously wanting to be the first to bring her to that big finish (which I'd also hoped was not a unique weirdness of mine).

Now that I'd done it, now that I had no excuse to give less than my full attention to the incredible gift Hannah was giving me, it was hard to believe that I'd been able to draw this out as long as I had.

I usually held off for as long as I could stand it before touching myself this way, partly to ration out my risk of getting caught, and partly out of fear of the weirdness of my habit, and the strength of the hold it had on me.

It was about a week and a half since last time I'd snuck a touch. I was only a few days away from the point where I would usually crack. And those furtive touches in the dormitory in the middle of the night, spaced out so carefully to sound like I was just shifting in my sleep, in case anyone else was still lying awake, those were nothing like this.

Feeling Hannah's living, breathing body moving under mine, her eyes fixed upward to watch her effect on me, her silky soft thumb tip gliding knowingly over and over that secret bump in a way so much like the way I would, but not controlled by me — it was like the sky. The perfect, breathtaking beauty which all representations imitate.

Kneeling between Hannah's legs, straddling her hand on the dusty floor of that neglected boathouse, that was my Heaven.

I never wanted to leave. I never wanted it to end. But the stack of feeling was growing too tall for a mortal body to support, and all at once, I felt it teeter and spill.

For an instant, I was terrified. After how intense the rest of the process had been, what would the end be like? Could I even handle it?

But it was too late to worry about that. Here it came, here it was, fluttering and pounding its way outward from my secret bump through my entire body, making my legs shake, and sparking multicolored flashes of light across the insides of my spasming eyelids.

For a few seconds there, I think I even forgot what worrying was.

"I love you," I heard myself mutter several times, barely coherently, as the outward-rushing pounding finally stopped, and left me floating in the fluttery ripples of its wake.

I struggled to shift myself into some new position that still kept Hannah warm without crushing her. Holding myself over her like this was suddenly so much harder than before.

"I love you," Hannah whispered back, wrapping her blouse back around herself and tugging me down by one arm to lie beside her on the floor.

I wasn't going to fight her on that.

Even this weathered wooden floor felt so good to relax onto, shoulder to shoulder with Hannah. But I only got a few seconds to savor it.

"Well, if it isn't almost time for Song Circle!" Barb said brightly from the entrance to the boathouse, as if she were a character from an old cartoon talking out loud to no one but herself. "I should probably start walking in a couple minutes. Punctuality is how we show respect, after all."

Barb's laughter, barely contained and highly contagious, almost blunted the sting of having to rush to refasten each other's bras and get all of our blouse buttons back in the right holes so soon.

I stood up first and helped Hannah to her feet.

"We owe you," Hannah said to Barb when we reached her at the door.

"So much," I added.

"I know it," said Barb. "Now wipe those smiles off your faces and leave room for Jesus, before I have to find a blind chick to seduce to get me out of jail."

"That's definitely not how the story ended," Hannah said.

Then she sighed and looked sadly down at our hands, still linked from when I'd helped her up. She seemed to marvel at them for a couple extra seconds before letting go, and taking a step away from me for the walk up to the music room.

For the first time, I understood the urgency so many people had to get away from True Light School for Girls.

The space between Hannah and me made me feel stretched, like there were parts of me stuck on both sides of it.

I found myself counting out how many days were left in the semester. I couldn't imagine how we were going to hold that space through every one of them.

***

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