The T.A. Pt. 03

*thanks for the patience as i finished my last semester <3 no sex (sorry) but a lot of flirting*

It's kind of a bummer to hear that they have a girlfriend. Actually, it's quite devastating. I lock myself away in my room for most of Thursday and all of Friday. Truly, this bummed me out. Worst of all is that I just know that they would use the strap so, so good, but it felt inappropriate to fantasize about someone who's taken.

Besides, it wasn't good for moving on. So instead of them, I thought of...another blonde-ish butch bringing me to an eye rolling orgasm. Whatever. It got the job done.

But tonight will be better.

I had heard whispers and rumors of an all-gay party. I think we all doubted it would happen, most of all me. I mean, of course it wouldn't happen at the precise time that I needed it. You can imagine how delighted I was to receive a message from a friend with the details on Saturday afternoon. This was good.

No. No.

This was excellent.

Finally. Finally, God heard my prayers, and she finally answered. I needed to grind on a butch's leg. Stat. I spend several hours getting ready, most of all dedicated to careful bush maintenance and outfit selecting. I finally settle on a bold favorite: my shirt, closer to a very small cardigan, three buttons barely holding it together, exposing a smooth swath of skin before it meets a very cute, very short skirt. I had also recently found a 'belt' that was really just a necklace for your waist or hips; a chain of sorts, but each link is heart-shaped. I feel like such a fucking treat, slipping into my favorite underwear; wisps of lace, modestly sparkly and heart-shaped, in shades of pastel, along with a small gem hanging from a small keyhole in the back.

I finish getting ready, and I...am so early.

Fuck.

It wasn't good for me to sit still, unoccupied since my recent tragedy (see: the girlfriend incident). Spending so long admiring my figure in the mirror did make me pretty horny, and I needed to be able to at least make it a little bit into the night and not go be fucked by the first dyke I see.

Instead of masturbating, I spend the time pre-gaming. I share a few joints with my roommate, have a drink or two, before starting my trek over; the party wasn't far, and I was not nearly sober enough to operate a car. Thankfully, the sun hung around long enough for me to get onto the property.

And--holy shit. It was certainly a big piece of property. I hear the party first, and then see the large house that has people spilling out of it.

No, not normal people. Far better.

Queers.

Excitement buzzes in my stomach and I feel eyes on me as I make my way in. It's not just lesbians, although queer girls seemed to be a lot of the population, but is also made up of a litany of others. I see two bears making out with each other under a tree, just in front of the house.

This is perfect. New plan: minimum make out with someone tonight. I need to forget about my T.A., in spite of the crushing disappointment and small doubt in the back of my mind that I could ever find anyone as attractive again. Whatever. It doesn't have to be a cosmic connection.

I remind myself of this through the course of the night as I keep my options open. I dance here and there with a few twinks, a few beautiful femmes, and a few capital-D Dykes, nursing drinks and hitting blunts offered to me as I go. I truly forget about my T.A. for a few hours; it's enough to be able to be in such close proximity to all of these other hot people. I was wrong, by the way--there were plenty of hotties at this party. So take that, T.A.

I'm not sure how long I've been there when I feel a hand on my waist. I turn, and I am slightly taken aback at the beautiful woman asking to dance with me. I nod enthusiastically and I crowd up against her, pushing my ass into her pelvis when I feel her press closer to me. I feel myself getting wetter, a little more desperate to feel her hands on me as the songs change. At some point, she spins me around, pressing our bodies together. It's easy to dance with her, and it's even easier to kiss her. She grabs my chin and tilts my face up, giving me time to back out. I don't. Instead, I lean forward, and we come together in a mess of lip gloss.

This make out is intense. I feel so desperate, kissing her with a feverish intensity, grinding against her leg. Even though I'm not really into other femmes, I'm still a lesbian, and she's still a beautiful woman that wants to make out with me. I feel myself becoming wetter and wetter at the pressure of her leg and I let out a little moan in her ear. Did I imagine, just for a moment, that it was a thicker thigh, covered in chinos, and also is the hottest person I've ever seen?

It's possible.

She pulls back and grins at me. I'm a little dazed, but grin back, and we part ways amicably when I let her know I'm not into other femmes, but that I had a good time.

The dance floor is too crowded, suddenly, and I make my way out. It's not easy to push through the throngs of people, but I finally break out of the thick of it, feeling near instant relief.

It's still not enough; I need to be outside, and I grab a cup of water before making my way. The air is cool--the kind of late summer night with cicadas humming--and the breeze hits my face in such a blissful way that I wonder if it's how dogs feel when they stick their head out the window. I stand there, absorbing it for a second, before someone else drunkenly stumbles into me, apologizing profusely as I tumble downwards. My cup, embarrassingly, goes fucking everywhere, but mostly on my shirt and a small portion of my skirt.

Oh, jesus christ.

Someone helps me up, and I cling to their arm, too embarrassed to look at anyone for a second. Oh my god. How fucking humiliating.

"Are you okay?" My helper asks, and I yank my head up finally.

There, in the moonlight and faint shadow of the light spilling from the house, is my T.A. Of course they look so fucking hot, and I'm covered in fucking water; I give a small, weak moan of humiliation.

"Am I hallucinating? Or is it you?"

They give me a quizzical look. "I'm..not sure who you're referring to."

Several things happen at once, my crossfaded (is that still what people called it?) brain scrambling around like it's full of little mice. First: I realize that the arm I'm still desperately clinging to is the arm I've gazed at so many times, drooled over, fantasized about. This makes me gasp a little. Second: That was so fucking embarrassing. How did someone else's blunder make me feel embarrassed? I guess because they're not wobbling like a newborn deer, slightly soaked. This makes me wince. Third: This arm is so fucking crazy.

I hear them laugh and they thank me. I smiled, instinctively, when they laughed, but it dropped as soon as they said that. Oh, fuck. How much of that did I say out loud?

"Oh, fuck. How much of that did I say out loud?"

They look amused as we start walking. "You asked if it was me, went on some sort of face journey, and then called my arm 'fucking crazy.'"

I groan and cover my face for a second. "This is so embarrassing. I'm soaking. Did everyone see that?" Soaking is probably bit of an overstatement—-more damp.

"Um..no. But a lot of people," they say, and I think my horror showed because they quickly add, "but you don't have a reason to be embarrassed. Someone else knocked into you."

"You're right. I am the real victim here. Thank you for realizing that," I say. I'm so fucking good at flirting and talking. The physical contact with me, the making out, their concern and amusement, all the pot and drinks--I'm also out of my mind horny. It's fucking crazy. I'm having a hard time focusing, glancing down to admire the way my nails looked on their bicep.

"Hey, no problem." They guide me to a bonfire--behind the house, which I guess I missed the first time in my beeline to the front door--where I gratefully collapse into a chair. I'm reluctant to let go of them, and I give a parting (and hopefully imperceptible) squeeze before they sit down next to me, pulling a chair close.

"You okay? Do you need water?" I open my eyes, staring straight up at the sky to let my eyes adjust, before looking at them. It takes me a second to put it together--the huge insulated water bottle in their hand, the question itself, and just what they were offering.

"You brought your own water bottle?"

"Yeah. I knew I'd be thirsty."

This, for some reason, is so endearing that I have to look away, covering my mouth. Oh, fuck. I'm too fucked up to be able to hide anything especially well. "Don't look at me when we talk. I can't...you know. Screen. Like pre-screen my facial reactions, okay? So don't look at me." I'm staring straight ahead, holding my hand out in a "talk-to-the-hand" way, and they laugh and wrap their hand (much warmer than expected. Good to know.) around my wrist (much bigger wrapped around my wrist. Also good to know.) to push it down (a little stronger than I thought; I can tell their arms are powerful.).

They gesture their water bottle towards me and say, "Here, you should drink something."

I look at them, trying blank my face, but I can't hide my excitement. I take the water bottle, unexpectedly heavy, and take a few long drinks. Then I pour a little into my hands, rinsing them slightly, before taking a little more water and wiping at my exposed stomach and sternum, slightly streaked in mud. I guess I got dirt on my hands when I fell. "Shit, sorry if I used too much. Thank you." I reassemble it and hand it back to them; our hands graze in the trade-off, and I feel it everywhere. "What are you doing here? Don't you like...live at school? I thought they only let the T.A.'s and professors out for rec time to roam the hallways at night."

"Well..." They pause, and I can see them thinking for a moment in their hesitation. "My girlfriend and I broke up yesterday, so I thought, why not? It'd be fun to go out."

Oh, my god.

My stomach swoops, and I look down immediately, eyes widening into my lap. This means several things:

First. I'm so fucking horny.

Second. I'm so fucking gone.

Third. We can't hook up tonight.

Fourth. The mother fucking plan is back on.

"No, no, don't hide." Their voice is gentle and my heart and stomach give a vicious lurch when I feel a firm, yet gentle, touch on my chin, bringing my eyes to theirs.

Oh, fuck. Fuck.

I swallow and sit up straight, letting out a deep breath.

"I am so sorry to hear that. What happened?" I knew I needed to say something before it got weird(er), so I put on a brave face and looked at them again, and I said the most normal thing I could think of.

"Hm. I had thought about what you said, and I thought about it with her, and I realized how unhappy we'd both been." I listen sympathetically. I am doing so good at listening. "...and it was difficult because she was gone all the time." Oh. Oops. "But, you know, I feel a lot better. I'm excited to find out who I am apart from her," they finish.

That's so beautiful. "Good for you, man. It's not easy to make that jump. You got balls, kid." It dawns on me that maybe it was inappropriate to ask why. "Oh, shit. Sorry for asking if it's a sore spot."

They shake their head and smile, patient. "No. It's not. Thank you for talking to me after class on Thursday. You really helped me out." That makes my stomach flood with butterflies and I can't help but grin stupidly.

"What can I say? I'm a relationship guru. I've been in..." I imitate a drum-roll, poorly. "One." They're laughing and take a sip of water before replying.

"Yeah? Tell me about that."

There's something in the way they so casually, confidently, firmly give commands that makes me throb. "Just with a really piece of shit dude. He was kind of an asshole. But as a dyke, I've been in precisely zero." I'm a little embarrassed but their lack of reaction reassures me.

"I'm sorry you had a bad relationship. You don't deserve that. You're sweet." The praise makes me cheese, again, and I roll my eyes in a faux show of modesty.

"Thank you. I've just been trying to have fun experiences. You know? Why not live it up? My mom has arthritis, so I should get in all the fun I can when my joints are still good. They're already pretty creaky."

We both giggle together and I lean back in my chair, tilting my head back. They do the same, and I breathe in the smokey, cool air and let my eyes adjust to the stars. "Thank you for helping me. I think my good karma is finally manifesting." I look at them, both of our heads at an awkward angle over the backs of our chairs. "You know. From the empathy. I dunno if you'd get it, it's..kind of an empath thing." I shrug, nonchalant.

I feel like their laugh is making me drunker, or more stoned, or something. I don't know. "You're right. Not everyone can be as talented as you, huh?"

"You know, that sounded a little facetious, but I'm going to rise above your negativity and take it at face value, hater. Thank you."

"No way. 100% genuine. For real." Their tone is teasing and my face hurts from laughing.

"Wait, are you sober?" I look at them seriously as this suddenly occurs to me. Well, as seriously as I can manage. They nod, and I'm instantly horrified. "Oh, god. Really? Oh, shit. Sorry. I'm so embarrassed." I cover my face with my hands and I feel a gentle pressure on my shoulder, reassuring and respectful.

"No, it's totally okay. I knew and know what I'm getting into. You're not forcing me here; I'm here because I want to be," they say, tone gently firm. This, unexpectedly, makes my face hot and smile uncontrollably. I keep my hands over my face for the peak of the emotion to pass before lowering them. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop and they say something weird, or neg me, or talk about being in love with someone else. Or, jesus christ, talk about their ex. When opportunities like that come up, they always choose the best option.

They're peering at me, and when I drop my hands, our eyes meet. Again, I have a strange sensation that makes it hard for me to tear my eyes away, and so I...don't. For once in my gay little life, I let the control go for a second. A smile spreads across their face and they look away. I feel giddy in a way that I'm chalking up to the weed.

I stand up, wobbling for a moment before steadying out, and gesture. "C'mon. I can show you some constellations." They excitedly agree and I lead us away from the light of the party, the bright spot of the bonfire, the faint street lights. The trees are sparse, and we don't go far--just far enough that I'm stunned by the amount of stars twinkling when my eyes adjust a few minutes later. We sit down on a small hill, them spreading out their plaid flannel to for us to lie back on.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised by their chivalry, but it keeps catching me off guard. I have a vague sense of being a feral cat tempted into a cage via wet food from all of the small kindnesses they show me. Nonetheless, I lay backwards, and we're laying close enough that I can hear them breathing. The trees are whispering quietly in the wind, enough to bring the warm summer temperature down to where I'm almost cold. A thought occurs to me, and I sit up to dig through my purse. I pull out: one (1) joint container with two (2) pre-rolls, and one (1) lighter. I gesture for them to sit up with me, offering the blunt, and I'm a little surprised when they agree. I'm unable to hide my stupid fucking grin. "Okay, I have to do something weird though. And I have another joint if you don't want it after. I won't be offended. I just want a luxury experience for myself, and I'd love to take you on the journey with me." They seem amused and intrigued, and I quickly make an 'O' with my mouth, popping the joint in to cover it in a very, very thin layer of saliva.

In any case, they have a very polite reaction, nodding. "Okay. What's that for?" I stick it in my mouth and start lighting it, taking a few puffs to get it going before offering it by placing it close to their mouth. They take it in their lips and I lean back, exhaling a plume of smoke.

"It helps it burn evenly I think. My Iraqi friend who worked at a weed shop I went to taught me that. And the Afghani way to smoke a joint, too, I guess."

They bark another laugh, handing the joint back. "Please, enlighten me. I didn't know that was a thing."

No fucking sweat. No sweat, dude. Totally. I roll my eyes and shrug--of course I can do this cool thing that you'll always associate with me. It's hard to explain, and I tell them this, but they're actually a wonderful student.

"...So you make a fist, like that, right? Okay and the joint goes here, in the middle--" I tap the space in between their ring and pinky, separating it in half from their middle and index fingers. "Okay, perfect! So now you have to like...open your fist just enough to like.....you're kind of making a little bowl. So like...get some air in there. Oh yeah. You're doing great." They hold out the joint, almost flinging it, and harf a huge puff of smoke, eyes watering as they cough. I laugh and hit it the regular way, nodding. "Yeah, dude. Right?" I offer it to them and they shake their head, still red in the face, silently gulping water. I giggle again and lay backwards, puffing absently on it. The stars are so beautiful. I always feel so insignificant in a good way. I can feel the universe almost.

After a few minutes--really, I'm not sure how long it was--they exhale and go, "Okay. Wow. Holy shit." And laugh. I grin and take the joint (previously extinguished), offering it to them. It's small enough that our fingers fumble together in the hand-off, and my nails don't make it easier. We giggle about it and I apologize, leaning in to light the joint.

When I look up from the lighter, I realize they've been staring at me. The intensity of it is gripping and my breath catches, my heart and stomach lurch. I put the lighter by my leg and tuck my hair behind my ears, ducking my head at the same time.

They chuckle, softly, and lean back, taking a hit. "Are you feeling bashful?"

That tickles me, and it gets rid of any embarrassment I had over potentially misreading the situation. "Yeah. I just didn't expect for you to be looking at me. It's okay! Like, thank you. Or--I don't know, was that right? Sorry. You weren't doing anything wrong."

I really didn't need to explain all this--that much is clear because they're shaking their head. "Nope. Don't worry. What do you have to apologize for?" I purse my lips, ready to snitch on myself, and open my mouth to speak. But I can't..think of anything. I come up short.

"Yeah, yeah," they grin over at me, watching me struggle to come up with anything. "Then don't apologize." I relent, looking at them in the moonlight. I have a strange thought that crosses my mind, swimming lazily through the hot tub party my brain is having right now, taking in their features, but as I go to grab onto it, it slips out of my fingers. Damn. Another brilliant thought lost to the void.

"Weren't you going to show me constellations?" Their gentle tone breaks me out of whatever mental prison I was in, and I blink back into reality. Was I? That certainly sounded like something I would brag about without any sort of skill or ability to back it up. I think for a second, squinting.

Damn.

I did say that.

I nod. "Yeah. The joint was step one." I lay back and they do the same. I scoot closer to them, and they meet me in the middle. Our arms are pressed so, so lightly together, and their hands are resting on their tummy. Oh my god..their tummy. Fuck, their thigh. I squint up at the sky, humming in thought. "Okay. Here." I get close to their face, trying to get a good idea of their eyeline, and point at a line of three bright stars. Personal space doesn't occur to me, but this closeness does require my tits to rest ever so slightly on them as I lean across to point and direct. I know this is a little mean to do to a butch, so I back off after a second. "That's Orion."