Snow Angels

She began to rhythmically circle her fingertip on my small button. "I do this to myself," she whispered. "I've always liked it."

I liked it too, though I was too embarrassed to tell her that. "You are such a freak," I said to her.

"Do you like it?"

"No."

"Do you like it now?" Her finger entered me up to the second knuckle, and I shuddered.

"Unless you tell me to stop," she said. "I'm gonna keep going in." Her finger slid in another inch; she was not satisfied on invading me, but intent on exploring my insides. I felt the finger pressing against the wall of my rectum, forcing my vagina against my bladder and compressing it. It made me want to go pee.

"I amend what I said before: You are a total freak." I bent forward and kissed her. Her finger continued its inward journey until stopped by the rest of her fingers and her palm. She continued to lever the finger forward into my sexual organs. She had my uterus this time, and I felt the blush deepen in my face. What an experience, I thought.

"I can stop, if you don't like this," she whispered.

"Please don't."

I imagined her doing this to herself and moaned deeply. The finger inside me redoubled its efforts and I bent forward, lay my forehead against her shoulder. Jolts of electricity clenched my muscles, making me spasm, making me mumble pleading little noises. With no objections, Agnes removed my shoes and socks, worked me out of my jeans and panties, and then removed her own. She clutched me tight, still doubled up, using the fingers of her left hand to totally destroy my remaining control with an attack on my panic button. I fought—oh, God did I fight against the orgasm she relentlessly pushed me toward, my first at the hands of another person. Finally I couldn't hold it any longer.

"AhhhhhhhhgodddddddddddAgnesssssssss!"

Wave after wave piled up and crashed over me. I wound my arms around my knees and clamped them to my chest. I tried to gasp, but air refused to enter my lungs. The fingers between my legs stopped momentarily, and then the one on my clitoris went crazy while the one up my behind remained absolutely still. Impossibly, this made my orgasm even worse.

"Noooo!" I moaned. "Noooooooooo!" I had my mouth open and hitched in miniscule breaths, choking to get them out again. My eyes were riveted shut, my every muscle clenched. She absolutely refused to let me stop orgasming.

"Please! Please! Please!" I begged. "Agnes...Please!" I began to wail uncontrollably and suddenly her finger was away from my clit; she ripped the other out of my butt, wrapped her arms around me fiercely, laughed breathlessly as convulsions slowly drained from of my body. Five minutes later, quivering like a jellyfish, I wrenched my head off her shoulder and looked at her cross-eyed.

"You are such a damn bitch!" Exhausted, I collapsed against her and let her cuddle me like a baby while she laughed both herself, and me to sleep.

And this was how they found us, five hours later.

* * *

The whole school knew, of course. We took a lot of looks in the next week, and whispering behind cupped hands, but surprisingly, the student body seemed almost understanding. Our ordeal, plus the death of Mr. Sanford, helped moderate the mess.

No one acted surprised that Agnes became my new best friend; none of my friends objected to her presence at our lunch table. She was transformed by their attention, in fact. She flowered into a very beautiful young lady.

Though everyone knew, we chose not to come out to our parents until our Freshman year of college. We attend Minnesota State University at Mankato. Rather than chance being put into different dorms, with the help of our parents we took a two-bedroom, off-campus apartment. (Two bedrooms, to keep up appearances.) We are two months into our first semester of higher learning.

"Oh, you've made surprising headway," Agnes says. Looking up and over my shoulder, I let her kiss me. I let her run a hand down the front of my sweater and cup my breast. I moan with pleasure into her mouth.

"Did you miss me?" she asks.

"I always miss you," I say, returning to the computer. It's a Macbook, just like hers. We both have Apples.

"Wow, 28 pages. You are being long-winded, aren't you, sweetie."

"A lot happened that night," I remind her. I watch in the reflection of the glossy screen as she strips out of her top and reaches up behind her back. I grin as the bra falls away from her tiny breasts. My nipples harden automatically.

"A lot of private stuff. How much are you putting in there?"

"All of it. Everything that I can remember."

"And some you made up?"

"I can't think of anything I made up," I counter. "There wasn't a lot to make up about that night. We did just about everything."

"We did, didn't we?" she says, smiling in reflection.

I love it when she smiles. She has the prettiest smile. It's one of the things I love about her most. And no, I haven't agreed to convert to Judaism yet. Although I'm thinking about it.

I'm wondering how her parents would react to having a daughter-in-law.

THE END