[I think a lot of erotica lacks realistic communication. Yeah, yeah, I know it's all fantasy, but I can only suspend my disbelief so much until I'm not enjoying it anymore, and the more realistic an erotic work is, the easier it is to lose myself in it. To me, talking with your partner is one of the best things about sex, and it makes it so much more enjoyable for everyone involved. Anyways! This is my first time really sharing my work, so feedback is appreciated but please be nice :) Enjoy!]
"It's backed up for, like, three miles, but I'm gonna take the next exit and it should ease up," Imogen's voice crackled through the phone.
"Gotcha. See you soon-ish?" Greer replied, one ear plugged against the noise of the party.
"Soon-ish," Imogen repeated. "Bye." She hung up before Greer could finish her farewell, a habit that equally infuriated and amused Greer.
Greer slipped her phone into the back right pocket of her jeans and felt for the pack of cigarettes in the other. Politely stepping around the clusters of people on the roof, she made her way over to the railing. She took a deep breath and lit up. A cool night breeze ran through her buzzed hair and the city lights twinkled out before her, reflected choppily on the river. Her roommate, Lou, was responsible for the party. They planned something like this every couple of months, big and boisterous, and bribed the other top-floor tenant with a very expensive bottle of wine as a preemptive apology for the noise. It was mostly Lou's people, but they always made sure Greer extended an invitation to her own friends, too. Tonight, though, only Theo and Imogen were free, and Theo was drunkenly dancing in the thick of it all. He wasn't wasted to the point of needing a chaperone, but he was drunk enough that it wasn't fun to hang out with him unless you were, too.
So Greer waited. For a moment, she considered that Imogen wouldn't show up, but Imogen wasn't like that--she would sometimes arrive hours late, but she'd always be there if she said she would. Greer finished her cigarette slowly, telling herself that Imogen would magically show up when she was done. Venturing back into the thrumming center of the party, Greer squashed the butt into a terracotta pot that had become an informal ashtray. She spotted Lou, socializing oh-so effortlessly with their cheeks reddened by drink as well as laughter, and waved. They returned Greer's wave with a smile and nod and returned to their conversation with someone undoubtedly much cooler.
A pair of hands gripped Greer's shoulders from behind. She turned around, startled, to see Imogen grinning widely.
"Hey!" Greer exclaimed, raising her eyebrows.
"Hi! I'm so sorry I was late," Imogen said. "Traffic was downright
disgusting
, even after I got off the highway," she continued, holding open the canvas tote bag on her shoulder with one hand and digging through it with the other. "I saw Theo's having the time of his goddamn life. He's not doing Molly again, is he?"
Greer shook her head. "Nah, he's just had, like, six shots."
After what seemed like an eternity digging through her bag, Imogen pulled out the prettiest, tiniest joint Greer had ever seen. She smiled again. The two found their way over to a pair of woven lawn chairs over by the edge, overlooking the river. On the way, Greer found a cooler and fished out the one bottle of water she saw among a sea of beers and ciders.
"You first," Imogen said, handing off the joint and settling into her chair.
Imogen sparked her lighter as Greer brought the joint to her lips and shielded the flame from the wind with her hand. Greer inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out toward the city. They passed the joint back and forth, smoke thick and sweet.
"Any love life updates?" Imogen asked. She coughed into her elbow and took a sip of water.
"Nothing great," Greer replied. "You know the lesbian bar off sixth street, Judy's, I think it's called? Lou and I went out last Monday and I started talking with this girl. It's going great, she seems pretty into me, whatever, then
boom
--" Greer clapped "--she's looking for a third for her and her boyfriend."
"Aw, no way," Imogen said. "Boo."
Greer swallowed a cold mouthful of water. "Yeah. And that's something of a first, y'know, for someone who looks like me."
Imogen turned to her and made a face. "Shut up. Don't say that about yourself."
"No, no, I just mean that unicorn-hunting couples tend to go for someone who looks a little more feminine than me. Y'know, less dykey. I don't mean it in, like, a self-deprecating way," Greer said.
Imogen looked away again. "Good," she said. "Because you're fuckin' sexy."
Greer's eyelids were heavy and the details of the party were fuzzy at the edges, but she wasn't so high as to have missed that. Imogen didn't seem to have processed what she had said until Greer responded.
"You're not too hard on the eyes, either," Greer said, taking a long drag of the joint. It had burned far enough down that it nearly burned her fingertips with the pull. She looked sideways at Imogen and gave her a nudge.
Imogen blushed. "You know I'm into the whole butch thing. I don't mean anything by it," she mumbled.
"I'm just messing with you. Want the last hit?" Greer asked, ready to hand it off. She reconsidered. "Actually, there's really not much to grab onto. Here." She held the joint--or what was left of it--up to Imogen's mouth.
Imogen took the last inhale, and Greer tried not to jump at the light brush of Imogen's lips against her fingers. When Imogen was done, Greer squashed the roach under the toe of her boot. Imogen finished the water, then crushed the bottle down into a wrinkled little puck that she dropped in her tote bag that now sat rumpled at her feet. She looked out at the city and the breeze tangled strands of her long hair around the gold jewelry that adorned her ears.
"Do you wanna head inside?" Imogen asked, blinking slowly. "Watch a movie or something."
Greer nodded and stood, holding out a hand to help Imogen from her chair. They stumbled through the crowd and nearly fell through the door back to the stairwell, giggling. Greer led Imogen down the stairs toward the apartment.
The door was slightly ajar, and inside they saw a handful of Lou's friends milling around the bathroom; the duo kicked off their shoes in the doorway and headed straight for the kitchen. Armed with the spoils of their conquest (crackers, chips, a block of sharp cheddar cheese, and a two-liter of cherry soda), they shuffled into the living room and closed the curtain. Greer had hung in the archway as an attempt to separate it from the rest of the apartment, and though it failed at filtering out pretty much any noise, it did offer privacy from the partygoers in line for the bathroom. They set their snacks down on the coffee table and Greer knelt over by the TV, running her finger along the plastic cases on the DVD rack. She listed off titles until they decided on a low-budget romcom they'd probably watched at least a dozen times before and both considered the pinnacle of cinema. Greer put the disc in the player, grabbed the remote, and threw herself onto the couch beside Imogen.
