(Prologue)
At six years old, I was a curious girl, always getting into trouble some way or another. I wasn’t dumb, per se, but I had my moments when my curiosity overpowered my common sense. Like when we went on my grandpa’s boat and I wanted to see if I could hand upside down on the railings on the sides. Long story short, I couldn’t.
I was what the mothers called “adorable” after pinching my “cute” little cheeks. I was fairly short for my age, and most mistook me for a four-year-old. I had those big, round emerald eyes, the cutesy pink dresses with the funny little ruffles, and beautiful long brown hair, which I so proudly showed to everyone I met for the first time. I had my large stuffed animal collection, mostly made up of cats, and a beautiful pink and yellow room. No, I didn’t have Barbies, but I did have Polly Pockets. Come on, who couldn’t resist those cute mini doll things?
My mother was single, having lost my father four months before I was born (but she would not tell me until I was 9). Refusing my father’s parents’ offers to stay with them, she moved to Herndon, Virginia seven months into the pregnancy. She had thought about a job at Visa, but quickly decided against it when she saw the late hours she would have to work. We lived off of my grandparents’ money until I was three, when my mother put me in the Herndon United Methodist Preschool and got a job as a History Teacher for Hutchinson Elementary.
But as a six-year-old, I was blissfully unaware of how strange it was when she started picking me up with another woman in the car, Sherry. Why should I have questioned it? One more person to show my beautiful hair to. I never even thought about following them as they suddenly disappeared each night up the stairs. Who cared? I had my Polly Pocket, and that was all that I needed.
Of course, eventually my curiosity got the best of me. Especially when there were strange noises upstairs. So, half-dressed Polly Pocket in one hand, and Mr. Snuggles the bunny in the other, I journeyed up the stairs and to their room. The sounds got louder.
“Mama...?” I whispered meekly, pushing open the door. What I saw changed my life. “M-mama!”
There mother was, naked and pinned to the bed by none other than Sherry, who also lacked clothing. Mother’s beautiful long brown hair was messed up, entangled in Sherry’s mess of red hair. They froze when they saw me and Sherry slowly got off of mother, licking some kind of liquid off of her lips. Mother sighed and sat up, the bed sheets sticking to her sweaty body.
“Jeanie, we were just...” she fought for the right words as I stood stunned. She looked so funny, I had to laugh.
“I get it, you were playing a game, right?” I giggled. Yep. Sex Ed wasn’t until I was nine.
“T-that’s right...a...game...” she smiled weakly.
“Okay! It sounds like a fun game, so I’ll go so you can finish it up!” and with that, I skipped out of the room, missing the two women’s relieved faces.
I think that was when I started liking girls. Or, at least, was introduced to the thought of lesbianism.
Eventually, Sherry had to go, and I comforted mother when that happened. After that, her girlfriends usually lasted a week or so before moving on. I became so used to it, I thought it was normal. And that was why my mother couldn’t explain to the principal why I kissed a girl in second grade.
And now here’s me, a sixteen-year-old lesbian in a school of completely straight people. Great, isn’t it? Oh yes, I must warn you, I do use Sarcasm, for those who don’t have a functional brain.
And I happen to love, not have a crush on, but love a girl. My close friend, Jessica Baker, who is, as far as I’m concerned, the most beautiful person in the world. Soft, shoulder-length blonde hair, beautiful sky blue eyes, and a head full of feisty comebacks that never cease to amuse me. Sharp, witty, and a helluva body, making her somewhat popular with her male friends, especially one persistent one named Jack. So annoying.
Oh, did I tell you she knows I love her?
~~~~~ (Story)~~~~~
Nighttime was always my favorite time of day, so I was always awake much into the night. Much to my delight, I found that I could get out my window and go off to the woods, where my favorite lake resided.
So that’s where I am right now, sitting along the edge with my legs hanging down into the water. The fireflies have just come out, and I smile at one in front of me. It glows for a second, then disappears. Still smiling, I gaze at the stars, enthralled in the sheer beauty of them.
A rustling in the bushes makes me whip around, looking for the source of the sound. My heart beats fast as I frantically look around, my breathing erratic. The bushes part and Jessica steps through. I breathe a relieved sigh and frown as she chuckles.
“Isn’t it a bit late out?” I ask, my eyes following her movements as she walks over, her hips swinging slightly. I can see every little movement her muscles make underneath her unnecessarily thin red silk pajamas. Of course, she is, as always, completely oblivious as to how I am affected by her, and how completely erotic this whole thing is (at least I hope). I turn my head away in shame, forgetting that any boy would have probably thought the same thing. I miss the slight smirk that adorns her features.
“You’re one to talk,” she says, rolling up her pajama legs and taking a seat next to me. She turns toward the sky. “S’beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” my voice sounds weak even to me. She doesn’t give any sign that she noticed that. “Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Couldn’t sleep. You?” she asks, still turned toward the sky.
“Insomniac.”
“Of course.”
We sit in comfortable silence. Well, for her it’s comfortable. For me, well, it’s the most awkward minutes of my life. You know that little angel and devil that appear on your shoulders, when you’re faced with a decision? Well, both of them are telling me to grab her and kiss her like there was no tomorrow. So much for them.
I look at her out of the corner of my eyes, memorizing her facial features. Really, I’ve done so much staring at her that I could probably draw an exact replica of her without looking. Not that I draw that good, but still. She looks pretty damn beautiful right about now, with the moon reflected in her eyes like that...
She looks at me, smiling, and I quickly look away, sporting a red tint to my cheeks. I hear her chuckle, which makes me blush even more. Really, I want to kill the angel and devil right about now...
I hear the fabric of her pajamas rustling, and turn towards her again. Now she stands upon the bank.
“I’m going to go swim in the lake,” she announces, about to step in. I reach out my hand to grab her arm gently.
“Wait,” I say, “let’s trade pajamas. I’m sure you don’t want to get the silk wet.”
She thinks for a moment, then nods. Both of us are roughly the same size, so that would work. I turn away.
“Oh, come on. We’re all girls, aren’t we?” I can almost hear the smirk in her voice. Okay, now she’s doing it on purpose. I huff and cross my arms, still turned around. “Suit yourself.”
I hear her pants fall down, the fabric creating a silky swoosh. All of a sudden, I feel nervous, as if I were looking at her. Hands shaking slightly, I throw off my top and step out of my pants. I hear her pick up my clothes and put them on. She hands me her pajamas and I step into them, inhaling her distinct scent, the one that I love so much.
With a slight splash, Jessica lowers herself into the lake. The moon illuminates the lake, much like a swimming pool with the lights on at night. I can see the swirled light reflection onto her pale skin. She dives under and I lay on my back, arms behind my head.
We fall into yet another silence, this one lasting a good half hour. She comes out of the water, soaking wet. I look up at her, my eyes following the beads of water as they dripped down and off her skin. Why does everything she does have to be erotic, eh? ...Yep....I’m too much in love for my own good....
Uh-oh. She’s grinning. Bad things happen when people grin like that.
And then I’m showered with a rain of water. Completely ruining the point of trading pajamas.
“What the hell?! Are you some kind of dog?” I huff, crossing my arms and glaring at said ‘Dog’, who was now putting on the innocent act. I snort. “Yeah, like you could ever be innocent.”
“Oh, and you can?” she counters, grinning with satisfaction as I flick her off. “I win.”
“For now,” I add in.
“Loser,” she says, walking over to me.
“Freak.”
“Idiot.” She moves closer.
“Retard.”
“Dumbass.”
“Bitch.”
“Whor–FUCKING SHIT!” she exclaims as she trips on a large rock. And falls on me. Of all the goddamn things, me. “Whoops, sorry.” She gives me a sheepish grin.
...Oh shit, she’s straddling me.... The sopping wet, white-clothed, sexy girl of my dreams, on top of me. I think someone up there hates me.
...And it doesn’t look like she’s moving....
“Cold...” she says, shivering. Oh yes, such a nice conversation to have at a time like this. ‘You know what people without blankets use for heat?’ Yeah, like she’d ever agree to that.
“You should have brought a towel or something,” I say, trying to sound casual. She nods, then collapses on top of me.
“Warmth!” she says, hugging me.
...Oh, for fuck’s sake! Who the hell would have thought of this happening? It’s like a fucking romantic shit story or something!
And then the lovers have seeeexxxx! The angel squeaks. Okay, seriously, the angel is supposed to be good. And innocent. And not...well...for lack of better word, horny.
But love isn’t about sex! It’s about LOVE! The devil tsks. ...It is now that I realize just how messed up I am. Or, at least, my angel/devil people are, anyways...
“Such a nice friend,” Jessica mutters, shivering. My heart plummets. There goes any chance whatsoever of a relationship. Even though the odds were stacked against me from the start, at least then I had a slim, if none, chance.
I wrap my arms around her and her face buries into the crook of my neck. Well, if you can’t have love, have friendship. Well, that’s what I force myself to believe while I rub circles on her back to warm her up.
I hear her purr contentedly and my blush increases tenfold. Eep. Oh yes, you horny angel, laugh at me all you want! Bitch....
Just kiss her already, the devil speaks. If it were possible for me to be blushing more, I would probably be redder than a really red tomato...
And then have passionate lesbian sex! ....Guess who.
Yes, then have sex! ...I thought my devil was supposed to be the...good....guy? ...I really should think about going to see a psychologist. Actually, that might be funny.....
“Jeanie...?” comes Jessica’s soft, hesitant voice. I raise my eyebrow. Jessica? Hesitant? Something is wrong with this picture...
“Yeah, Jess?” It slips out of my mouth before I can catch myself. Yes, I’ve developed my own sort of....pet name for her. Pet name for my friend. My non-lover. ...Shut up. “Oops, I mean Jessica.”
“No, call me Jess. I like it,” she says, shaking her head and smiling. I feel myself smile, despite noticing the fact that her face is inches from mine. Talk about awkward...
“Anyways, what was it you were going to ask?” I...well, ask. She has a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Um....how do you tell someone you love them?” she asks, blushing. I fight a blush, looking up.
“Romantic or just telling them?” I ask. Yup, I’ve done some research on this, believe it or not...
“I don’t care. Just as long as it’s said,” Jess whispers. I think for a while.
“Hm, well, there are two ways I know. One, just tell them. And two, catch them off-guard and kiss them. Or both or whatever,” I say, shrugging. “I don’t really have any experience with this sort of thing.”
“Well, which way would you prefer?” she asks.
“Hm....um....I don’t care,” I flash her a grin. “But a kiss would be an added bonus. Anyways....Who’s the lucky guy, eh?” My tone is teasing, hiding the slight hurt I feel. I gently nudge her with my elbow. She blushes.
“Um....it’s...eh....not....a.....guy...” she says, turning her head away. I blink, internally screaming for joy. I might have a chance!
“Not a guy? You mean it’s a girl?” I ask slowly, making sure I heard correctly. I watch as she hesitantly nods. Yep, there’s a party going on in my head. The devil volunteers to be the sober driver. Oh boy, I’m just a schizophrenic mess.
Better play it cool, the devil and angel say. I agree.
“So, who is it?” I calmly ask. She blushes and shifts. I squeak as her elbow hits a certain upper area.
“Sorry, Jeanie!” she quickly apologizes. I nod, waving my hand in the air, my sign for “it’s okay.”
“Happens all the time,” I say, trying to not make her feel so embarrassed. Well, if that is the reason why she’s blushing ten shades of red.... “Anyways, answer the question.”
I wait as she tries to say it. I know exactly how she feels. I wouldn’t want to say the name of my crush to anyone....Well, I have, but it didn’t come easy. After a while, though, I realize that she would probably chicken out. Can’t blame her. I look into her beautiful eyes, which now have mixed emotions shining in them.
Wow, never been one to be wise, but it really is true that eyes are the gateway to the soul. Who would’ve thunk it. Anyways, if her soul is as pretty as her eyes, she must be beautiful. ...Now I’m using overused cliches.... How...cliche. But nonetheless, they’re pretty, okay?
...Yup...I’m ranting.
“Well, seeing as you’re having trouble, it’s okay if yo--” And then her lips are on mine. Cliche? Yes. Predictable? Yes. But I don’t care. This is the kiss that I thought would only happen in my dreams. I have a right to be sappy if I want.
I close my eyes and kiss back with everything I have. She slips her tongue in my mouth and we ...erm...kiss. Long. Passionate. They say you can taste the person you’re kissing. Well, she tastes like strawberries.
We finally stop, catching our breaths. She leans her mouth right next to my ear.
“Is it too late to say I love you?” she asks, smirking. I pull her tight against me and grin.
“I love you, too,” I say. She laughs, her hot breath tickling my neck.
“So I guess things are going to be different from now on?” she asks, nuzzling into my neck. I nod, burying my face in her hair and inhaling her scent.
“Mine,” I growl possessively, and she laughs.
I smile, brushing back a strand of her hair. I like that idea. Mine. Not Jack’s, not any other jealous boy’s, but mine. My Jessica, and her Jeanie.
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