Author's Note:
All the characters in this story are over 18 and completely fictional.
That special someone.
Once upon a time there was a young girl who believed that friends could be trusted and love waits...
No, this isn't a fairytale, but what she believed was.
She was called Kelsey but she grew up, so now I'm called Kelsey and I'm a totally different person from that naïve innocent. This is the story of how things changed.
In high school I had it all: I was popular, had a boyfriend on the football team, decent grades, liberal and supportive parents and a kid brother who wasn't actually a monster. Life was good and the future was bright. Yeah, right.
My boyfriend, Danny, like all guys his age, was very keen on getting laid. He didn't like being the only virgin on the football team. I wanted to wait until graduation, he didn't. We went round and round the issue endlessly and I finally got him to agree: Prom night. It was practically an American tradition anyway and one more semester wouldn't kill him.
I had it all planned out. Danny and I would sneak into our summerhouse after the senior prom. There were plenty of mattresses off the sun beds and my parents slept at the front of the house so wouldn't notice anything. Two weeks before Prom night, I was already stockpiling stuff in the summerhouse: Beer in the little refrigerator, my old CD player, candles for mood lighting, sheets to make a 'proper' bed, condoms because that wasn't going to be negotiable. I wanted my first time – our first time – to be memorable, and not in an 'OMG! That was awful! lol' kind of way.
Naturally, I confided all my plans to Emma. We'd been best friends since kindergarten and boys were about the only things we hadn't shared. Emma was an early developer and I was a late bloomer. She was not only prettier than me but also more confident, more flirtatious and got off with enough of the football team that she'd have been made their mascot if she wasn't already head of the cheerleading squad. You see why Emma was my very best source of information on guys?
In hindsight, I should have wondered why Eric was suddenly so patient that last semester. Even on a promise, he should have been trying to push the boundaries of petting more than he did. Idiot that I was, I was actually flattered by his evident respect for me.
A week before 'the night', I popped round to Emma's for some tips on blowjobs, figuring Danny would like one (and I might feel sore enough to not want a second go). I knew Emma had a bit of a rep for them so I went round to the Holt house for advice. Danny's car was parked down the street. I felt suddenly cold. Instead of ringing the bell, I went round the back and up into our old tree house to peek through the window into Emma's room. I learned all I'd ever want to know about blowjobs in those thirty seconds.
I didn't cry. I went home feeling numb all over and I phoned Emma to tell her that if she ever spoke to me again, ever tried to justify, deny or explain, then I'd tear her face off with my nails.
Then I phoned Danny's house. His mom answered so I left a message: "Don't call. Don't come round. Don't ever speak to me again. Don't even look at me. How could you stick your dick in that slut's mouth?"
I hope his mother delivered it verbatim and I hope he had some explaining to do.
Then I cried. Mom wanted to know what was up so we sat down quietly and I told her everything, including the summerhouse plan. I think Mom was surprised to hear I hadn't lost my cherry yet. She hinted she'd been waiting for me to trust her enough to come clean about Danny and me for a while.
Mom and Dad let me stay off school that last week, okaying it with the Principal. I didn't go to graduation, didn't go to the Senior Prom, didn't bother getting a copy of our yearbook and didn't speak to Emma or Danny ever again.
* * * * *
Mom's eldest sister has a flower shop in Greenwich Village. I spent the summer there, learning flower arranging and preparing for college. Aunt Titania (Not her given name: She changed it during the sixties) was left behind when the sixties moved on. She wore flowers in her hair every day, even though she was grey now. We got on well together. If Mom had told her why I didn't want one last summer with my school friends, she never mentioned it. She also never pried into my business. I was happy there.
Most of the men who come into a florist's are attached. If they're buying flowers for their wives or girlfriends, they generally don't try to date the girl who's serving them. But there were still a few men, claiming to want flowers for their mother, who wanted to buy me coffee.
Most got politely turned down but a couple asked nicely enough to make me want to say yes. I needed to do something to get over Danny and I figured some social time with an attentive stranger might help me.
In total, that summer, I had three first dates, no second dates. Each date started with drinks and ended with me fending off persistent groping and repeating the word 'no' a lot. In hindsight, I'm surprised none of them ended in date rape.
* * * * *
So I started my freshman year at Menlo College, San Francisco, with a complete downer on men that kept my roommate constantly vigilant for signs that she was more my type. I took to keeping a Bible on my nightstand in the hope she'd assume my chastity was a faith issue and relax a little. It didn't work.
Eventually, without discussing it with me first, my homophobic roomie asked the powers-that-be to move her to another room on the grounds that she wasn't comfortable with having a lesbian roommate.
She must have made it sound like I was coming on to her or something because the bursar asked to see me privately. I explained that I was not in any way inclined towards other females and that all this had arisen from my foolish roommate's inability to accept that I had the same lack of interest in the boys on campus. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I broke down and told the bursar some of my reasons for not liking guys: He was surprisingly understanding.
I got my own room and my ex-roomie was quietly warned about malicious gossip.
It wasn't until my second year at Menlo that I started to wonder if girls lay in my future. I only thought of it then because I had to. My lab partner and new best friend, Mariana, was openly gay and her hints about being attracted to me as more than a friend forced me to think about how I should react to her advances. I decided that casual sex with another woman wasn't for me either. I wanted a proper relationship.
In my final year, Mariana was uninvolved and still eager to persuade me to cross the street: Or at the very least get out of the middle of the road, as she put it.
So we tried, but my way. We shared a bedroom, shared a bed and got to know each other very well before anything sexual happened. Mariana quickly took to sleeping in her skin to try and hurry me up but my pyjamas stayed resolutely on for the first semester.
After a few nights at my parents', sleeping alone for the first time in weeks and decidedly missing Mariana's fragrance and warmth next to me, I knew I had to try with her.
Mariana was surprised and delighted the night I came to bed and my pyjamas didn't. She was incredibly gentle, caressing and kissing but not once trying to cross the boundary implied by my panties. I was amazed how good she made my breasts feel: My nipples had never throbbed like that when I'd touched them – or when Danny mauled them for that matter. It was certainly a positive sign.
In the morning, my panties went into the laundry basket with a rather crustier gusset than usual. I couldn't deny I'd been aroused.
The next night, Mariana gently hinted that she wasn't wearing any 'boundaries', so I tentatively had my first experience of touching another woman intimately. Mariana encouraged me and coaxed me to do more until she climaxed with my hand buried between her thighs: The first orgasm I'd ever given someone else.
With a few nights more gentle persuasion, I first acceded to being touched through my panties and finally, to their removal. That was the night of my first proper orgasm. By 'proper', I mean not solo.
After that, Mariana and I experimented with and enjoyed most types of lesbian sex. The only boundary that remained sacrosanct was my hymen. I refused to give that up and it didn't really matter because there was so much we could still do. Oral was my favourite, and turned out to be Mariana's too, so we were happy together.
* * * * *
