Roxanne's Steamy College Girl-Crush

Preface: This is a story about two sweet college girls who live in a dorm and are best friends. In the spirit of a child-like Valentine's Day romance between very close friends they plan a special evening together. An unexpected event turns the conversation to the subject of girl-girl sex and whether either has ever thought about the other in that way. Both admit they have . . .

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I was in college. We were best friends. It was wonderful. We are still friends, but our lives have gone in different directions. She is straight and I'm bi (but I didn't know it then).

OK, now that any unwarranted suspense or foreboding is out of the way, you can relax and enjoy my tale.

I am 38 now, and when I think back to those college days I realize what a funny thing memory is: Much of that time is just a blur of faces, names and unconnected incidents, but certain moments have a sharpness and immediacy that makes it appear as if they happened just last night. The subject of this story brings back many of these moments.

I was 18 during my first semester, and unsurprisingly had never lived away from home. I was in a large, modern co-ed dorm at an elite state university in the Midwest. The dorm had a mixture of all-girls floors, all-guys floors, and some co-ed floors. My hall was all-girls, and I was cordial but not close with the roommate assigned to me.

Of course, I met many people that year, and one of these was Claire, who lived elsewhere in the big dorm. I'm pretty sure we met in the cafeteria, where we found ourselves at the same table.

I remember clearly that this was one of those wonderful moments when you meet a person who you just know you're going to like, and can tell that the feeling is mutual. Within minutes, we discovered that while different in personality we shared a very similar outlook on life. Right off the bat, Claire and I were talking as if we had known each other forever, and had just picked up where earlier conversations had left off.

Claire was vivacious and outgoing, with an endearing lively twinkle in her eye, but she was also thoughtful and capable of introspection. I wasn't really shy, but was more introverted and cautious. Claire was also more of a girly-girl, not that I was a tomboy or anything like that, but I just didn't care very much about fashion, makeup or other female things.

Right away, we started hanging out together all the time. Claire's roommate always stayed at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment, so mostly we spent time together in her room. I became part of the gang on her hall, and she was considered a regular on mine. It was neat, because it gave us a wider social circle, and more party or special event opportunities, not that either of us were roaring party animals. Well actually, Claire could get a little wild, more so than me, but we were both consumed with our studies in the high-pressure academic environment.

I think we kind of took for granted having formed such a close friendship, because it wasn't until the very end of the second semester that we realized, soon the two of us would be separated for almost four months. Claire was returning to California to work in her father's business, and I would be home with my parents - 2,000 miles away from my friend. The two of us were miserable about it.

Summer came, and I missed her like crazy. We sent letters to each other that in hindsight look almost like love letters, but weren't really – just the sincere expressions of really close friends who miss each other a lot. Eventually summer ended and we were reunited, together again at the "Big U."

I had the same room and the same safe roommate. Claire "won the lottery" and got a single room. Her room was on the top floor, where higher ceilings made it possible to have a loft. Beds went above and the main level became a living room; it was more like a small apartment than a bedroom.

Having experienced separation, Claire and I no longer took our relationship for granted. We realized how special it was, and how ephemeral the college experience was. This added just the tiniest element of bittersweet melancholy to our friendship, and that made our feelings for each other even more tender.

The months flew by, full of good times and hard work, and eventually it was February. In the "real world," Valentine's Day is just a minor commercial holiday, but on campus it was hyped into a ribald celebration of sex as much as romance.

Claire and I both shared warm memories of those innocent valentine's of grade school, when best friends of either sex could "be my valentine" for a day. In that spirit – not the sexual one of campus – we decided to "be valentines," and make a special evening of it.

Each hall had a lounge with limited cooking facilities, so we planned a fancy meal for ourselves. The two of us would dine together under candlelight in Claire's room, followed by a movie on her VCR. We would be innocently romantic together, but honestly, there were no sexual overtones.

Some famous person once expressed amazement at the role sheer chance plays in every individual's life. What happened next has always seemed to me to be an example of that: The big dorm had its own popular-reading library that included an eclectic collection of video tapes.

When Claire and I went down to get a movie, the one we selected in pure ignorance was "Personal Best." Yep, the one with the lesbian love affair between Mariel Hemingway and Patrice Donnelly, except we didn't know it was a lesbian romance – we thought it was just a female athlete "buddy" movie!

To tell the truth, I don't remember all the plot details of that film. I know the romance ended badly (which is partly why I eliminated the suspense at the start of this story), and Claire and I were sappy, happy-ending types.

Here's what I do recall as if it was just last night: During the love scenes, we became very conscious of the other's presence, and became very quiet. That was unusual, because most of the time we cracked jokes or shared commentary throughout a film. We were embarrassed by what was on the screen, but we felt something else, too: excitement. The two of us were such close friends that we each knew the other was excited, and that made us more embarrassed, more self-conscious and more excited.

Under different circumstances, it might have been easy when the movie ended to pretend that nothing had happened. Watching that particular film however, on a night when we were enjoying a little innocent Valentine's Day romance, made the coincidence seem portentous. That, added to the fact that we were so much in the habit of sharing all our thoughts and feelings, made it seem like we had to talk about it.

So we did, and of course that meant discussing our feelings about lesbianism, and this led to the question of whether either of us ever had any thoughts of that nature about the other. Which as it turned out, we both admitted we had.

Well, now it was out in the open, and we could not or did not want to ignore it. Neither of us said so at first, but we knew where this was heading. Finally it came – the proposition. Claire was the more daring, and at some point she said, "So, Roxanne – do you want to try it?" I gulped. She gulped. We were both terrified, and thrilled. Of course, the answer was yes.

Well, now came the tricky part: What do we do? Make out on the couch? Strip and dive between each other's legs? Neither of us had a clue. Once again, Claire took the initiative, "Let's get ready for bed and climb in together."

Claire's dorm room's "loft apartment" had a queen-sized bed above and a comfy couch below. Sometimes when studying or just up late talking, I would crash on this rather than go home and wake my roommate, so I kept a few toiletries there in Claire's room. In the communal hall "john" we brushed our teeth and made our usual beddy-bye preparations, just like normal. We ordinarily slept in just tee shirts and panties, so that's what we wore when we climbed into the loft together.

As I mentioned before, part of our innocent Valentine's Day romance had been to dine together under candlelight. Now the child-like aspects of that romantic atmosphere were transmuted into the real thing, as we lay side-by-side on her queen-sized mattress, looking into each other's eyes, illuminated by only the flickering candlelight.

We were nervous, and uncertain about how to begin. Claire reached a hand up and stroked my cheek. I closed my eyes and accepted the caress. She touched my lips with a finger, and I gave it a little peck, opening my eyes again to look into hers. Next, she touched my hair, stroking it gently; I did the same and touched her hair, then her cheek, and her lips, whereupon she also gave my fingers a little peck.

It was all very chaste, and very loving. We went on like this for a long time, and gradually became less nervous and more relaxed. At some point, our bodies moved closer, not yet in full contact, only our uncovered legs touching, but our faces and lips were just inches from each other's.

Of course, I was nervous about the next step, but mostly I was overwhelmed with affection for my friend, and joyful at being able to freely express that emotion with a natural, physical act. I leaned forward and ever so gently, placed my lips against hers.

Deep breath. Whew, I'm getting choked up remembering, and putting those memories into words. I know, you're itching for me to get on to the "naughty bits." Don't worry, they're coming. But first, I have to give a little more context, because here we are, two beautiful nineteen-year old college girls on the threshold of a deliciously illicit sexual encounter, and you have no idea what we looked like, or whether we were harlots, virgins or something in between.

I just gave a clue for part of that - we were both beautiful. Well, Claire was for sure (and still is today). She was (is) slightly taller than average, thin but with very large breasts, has long, light brown hair, a truly lovely face, and beautiful brown eyes.

I wasn't bad looking myself. In fact, I still look pretty good. I am small, have strawberry blonde hair, a cute face, green eyes that compliment my hair color, and a curvaceous body. My breasts are ample but not huge like Claire's, and my hips are wider and more rounded. I have to exercise now to prevent bulges, but of course at age 19 we were both sleek with the firm muscle tone of youth.

Neither of us were virgins, but I was darned close to it. Early in my freshman year I had had sex one time, with a boy I had flirted with in class. He was "pretty," and when he asked for a date I decided that if the opportunity arose I would sleep with him. I had no strong feelings for the boy; I just did not want to be a virgin anymore.

Well, the opportunity did arise, and we had sex. It was OK, and I could see that the act had real possibilities, but they were not realized then or with him. We did not go out again.

Claire was more experienced. Her first time had been in high school, and at least three times since I met her she had spent nights with boys after parties. I was jealous and a little resentful at those times, not because I wanted the boys, but because of her much greater sophistication and daring in the sexual realm.

The minor tension that these episodes generated evaporated when Claire gave me explicit blow-by-blow reports, complete with generous helpings of comic relief. My twinges of unfair and ridiculous resentment were converted into admiration for my friend's forthright and welcoming acceptance of her own sexuality.

So now, back to Claire and me together: sweet college-girl "Valentines," in bed, scantily clad, and on the threshold of having sex.

Our lips came together in a nervous kiss. I felt an overwhelming, heartwarming satisfaction and happiness at being able to physically express the deep affection I felt. We pulled apart, and I was beaming.

Claire looked at me quizzically as if she was missing something funny. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I answered. I understood why she was puzzled though, and explained, "I'm just happy." She smiled back, and my affection overflowed.

I moved close and embraced her, wrapping an arm around her back and pressing my body against hers. Where before only our unclothed legs had touched, now our breasts came together, separated only by the thin cotton of our tee shirts. This added an erotic component to what I was feeling. I kissed her again, this time less chastely. Claire felt the heat too, and with her greater experience, the kiss she returned was more sensuous. She wet her lips and smeared them against mine, gently sucking first on my lower lip, then my upper, teasing them a little with her tongue.

At the same time, her soft caresses on my hair and face had moved outward. She lightly ran her fingers up and down the sensitive flesh in the crook of my arm, and that was electric – the sensation is one of the things that sticks in my memory as if it happened just yesterday.

Our kissing grew bolder and more forthrightly sexual, eventually we were "frenching" with passion. I had reciprocated her soft arm caress, and now both of us let our hands wander further afield. With our bodies pressed close, we unconsciously began grinding our panty-clad pelvises together.

I threw one leg over Claire's, and insinuated the other between hers. Now we could hump thighs. I did this without conscious thought; I just wanted more, and so did Claire.

One of her hands reached under my shirt, and she caressed my naked back. She tried to bring her hand around to my front, which was awkward because we were pressing our torsos together. I knew what she wanted to do, and pulled back to give her room.

Her hand rose to my breasts, cupping one, then tweaking a nipple. An electric spark traveled from my nipple to my clit, and I gasped. Eager to return the favor, I slipped a hand beneath her shirt and caressed one of her extra-large breasts.

I had always been fascinated by Claire's breasts, and relished this opportunity to indulge my curiosity. I withdrew the hand from her breast, reached down to the hem of her shirt, and tugged it up over her torso. She assisted, removing the hand from my breast so I could pull the garment right over her head and off. Before allowing me to satisfy my longing to explore her breasts, Claire performed the same service by pulling my tee shirt up and off.

I was eager to play with those massive globes, but first we pressed our now-nude torsos together, breast to breast, lips to lips, arms around each other, squeezing the other close. We kissed passionately, her tongue in my mouth, mine in hers, sucking on each other's lips, dueling each other's tongues. This went on for a long, long time, interspersed with sensuous lip and face kisses. All the while, we were grinding our mounds into each other's thighs, and moving our breasts against the other's, often tweaking nipple against hardened nipple.

I still wanted to play with Claire's breasts. Eventually I pulled my lips from hers, and began laying a trail of kisses across her cheeks, around her neck, a leisurely detour behind her ears, then lower to her nude shoulders and the top of her chest.

I had to draw back from our embrace to do this last, and this exposed those heavy orbs to my eyes – and my hands. I lifted Claire's breasts, cupped them, and squeezed them, softly and not so softly. I poked, prodded, tugged and performed every tactile experiment I could think of.

My lips had come away from her body, but now I lowered them again, kissing circles around her breasts, covering every inch, lifting their weight and bending my neck to lick the creases at the bottom, where their heaviness normally rested against her chest.

Eventually I closed in on the brownish silver-dollar sized nipples, which my fingers had already been fondling and tweaking. I covered one with my open mouth, and suckled like a babe. I nibbled, and tongued, and tweaked, first one nipple and then the other, and then back to the first, thrilled at how they stiffened and puckered under my ministrations.

After a long session of breast worship we kissed again, and she performed the same actions on my smaller, but not insubstantial globes.

Well, as you can imagine, we were getting pretty steamed up by all this sensual touching, breast play and mound-to-thigh contact. At some point Claire's hand dropped to my waist, and slid under the elastic of my panties. I opened my legs to make room, and the most marvelous thing in the world happened: Her girl-soft fingers came into contact with my now very wet sex, and the feeling was sublime. I moaned, and a tear even came to my eye it was so wonderful.

Of course, I had to return this beautiful experience, so I reached a hand under her panties. She too opened her legs, and I moved my leg to make room for my hand. We kissed again, and fingered each other as we did this.

As I said, Claire had much more sexual experience, and was more in touch with her sexuality. We had never actually talked about masturbation, just cracked a few embarrassed jokes about it in response to certain comments or situations, but somehow I knew she masturbated to orgasm regularly. I masturbated much less frequently, and had only experienced a few orgasms in my life.

Anyway, while we were both extremely aroused, Claire knew just what she needed to satisfy her lust. She gave me little instructions, "Higher – no not that high – yes, there. A little harder now. Faster. Don's stop! Faster! Yessss!"

Claire had an orgasm. As she approached the peak, her ability to effectively finger me was diminished. Despite that, when I felt her body shudder and her cleft suddenly become sodden with the renderings of her climax, my own sex twitched wildly in sympathy, and I nearly had an orgasm also.

I didn't though. In fact, until Claire began getting close I hadn't even thought about that part, about the climax that culminates a sex act. I had no expectations in that regard, but was just relishing the marvelous sensuality and intimacy we shared.

But now, I did think about that part, and while I was happy for my friend, and felt proud and powerfully efficacious at having given her great pleasure, I also felt a twinge of envy, not unlike when Claire had slept with one of those boys in the past.

Of course, Claire being my very best friend, incredibly close to me in every way and an extremely sensitive and caring individual, immediately picked up on my feeling and resolved to balance the scales. First, she took several moments to shower me with kisses and hugs in gratitude for my giving her pleasure. Which I happily accepted.

As I said earlier, Claire was the more daring of us, and she demonstrated this now by launching a journey of kisses that began on my shoulders and neck, paused for a lengthy stay on my breasts and nipples, and then trailed lower, across my abdomen, and lower . . .

She slid down the bed, and it was obvious where her destination was. This daring triggered in me that same respect for my friend's more forthright sexuality that I had experienced when she recounted her sexual adventures. I also felt a primal thrill and anticipation that this time I would be the beneficiary of her boldness! These feelings increased dramatically when Claire tugged the panties down my legs and peeled them off. She stripped her own off too; by now both garments were sodden and uncomfortable.

I had never experienced oral sex and had no idea what to expect. I had heard other girls rave in the dorm's late-night "rap sessions," but never put too much credence in what was said in those circumstances. I mean, I didn't not believe it, I was just – agnostic.

Well, when I felt Claire's warm breath there, when her soft lips covered my very wet and aroused sex, and when she extended her tongue, running it north to south from tunnel to clit, then I became a true believer!