I Issed a Girl

"Thank you" doesn't seem enough to express my gratitude to InPennyInPound for all of her help with writing Meredith and Joanie's story, the next chapter in the saga that has made so many people giddy over girls kissing. I hope everyone else enjoys the journey as much as we have.

SSW

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Everyone has an idea of their perfect partner.

Generalities in some cases, specifics in others. Male or female. Older or younger...and within an age range. Preferably taller, shorter, skinnier, heavier, etcetera. They must have this. They can't like that. It's okay to compromise on X but not Y.

Sometimes, one's expectations aren't realistic. "Perfect" for them may not exist. Over time, one starts to whittle that list of requirements down. In some cases, to the point that they will settle with any partner just so that they're no longer alone.

I had pretty much solidified my mental checklist when I was junior-high age. I say it that way because I didn't actually go to junior high. Or elementary school. Not like most kids. I was homeschooled with my older sister and brother—Jenna and Nathan, respectively—until each of us reached what would be our senior year of high school. My mother had this idea that public school was less about teaching life skills and more about convoluting the social aspect between peers. Teachers using the classroom to push their own opinions. Yet, she wanted each of us to experience that one year of milestones. Homecoming, prom, graduation. She has always liked celebrations.

My dad is a colonel in the U.S. Army. Friends and family call him "The Colonel," out of respect. I call him "Dad," because I'm a rebel. Always have been, always will be. I'm also more like my brother than my sister...more outgoing. Unashamed to voice my opinion or get in someone's face when I feel I have been wronged. That kind of thing.

Jenna...she's an introvert. Is it wrong to say your sister is beautiful? If so, I don't care. She's beautiful, inside and out. That long blonde hair and almost violet eyes? All the boys on base have drooled after her since as long as I can remember. But she has never batted an eye at them.

We shared everything. Or so I thought. We talk all the time. Which is how I knew that year she went off to public school that she was definitely a lesbian. Late nights after comparing real-world homework with Mom's homeschooled version and your older sis doesn't mention guys at all? It was easy to figure out it hadn't just been a disinterest in military brats growing up.

But she'd not let on that she had accepted the truth herself. It would be several years before she told me. Ironically, because her coworker had called me to come cheer up my sister...in a lesbian bar. And I'd revealed my own sexuality that same night. Jenna said she was so relieved to be able to talk to me about it now. We'd laughed. We'd cried. We'd gotten so drunk.

Now, me? If someone had asked me straight to my face, I would have told them outright that I liked women. But I didn't go around announcing that my flag flew for the home team. Not after I'd hinted at my best female friend about leaning that way.

We'd celebrated her eighteenth birthday by leaving base to go dancing. Her cousin snuck us into the bar he worked at and paid for our drinks all night. During a break, one of her other friends who'd met up with us started a conversation about which guys holding up the bar opposite us looked the hottest. I'd mumbled, "The one on the end in the red leather jacket and tight jeans." Only my best friend appeared to have heard me. She laughed and said maybe I'd had too many shots of tequila because that was not a guy. I'd shrugged it off...though I'd kept my eyes on the mystery woman for the rest of the night, wishing I had the nerve to get up and go talk to her.

Military bases have been all we've known as "home." In fact, Nathan was born in a barracks during a tornado. The fierceness of the storm seemed to be ingrained in his blood, but we hadn't experienced the full force of it until many years later. As a result, my estranged brother was serving life in a military prison for letting his opinions against gays control his anger and his fists. Bigotry had cost another man his life and our family the only son and brother.

My parents had met at an army canteen. My mother had been tagging along with a friend who was dating a fellow soldier. My father was hanging out with his buddies with no interest in meeting a girl. He was in a long-term relationship with the United States of America. She'd bumped into him by accident when she went to get a drink.

They claim it had been love at first sight, but I doubted that the concept actually existed. One had to get to know another person first. Spend time with them, as in, weeks not days. Eventually you realized you could spend the rest of your life with that person...after you'd convinced yourself you could live with them doing this or that. After a few years, you tied the knot and moved in together until you were old and couldn't take care of yourself anymore. Wedded bliss.

I turned 18 the week before my senior year at the public school. When the first boy asked me out, I told him my parents wouldn't let me date until I graduated. It wasn't exactly a lie...I'd never asked them if I could date.

As a result of my excuse, I was able to relax around my classmates when it came to romance. Not that there was anyone I had an interest in like that. But I had plenty of opportunities to share my opinion on the subject when it came up with my old and new friends...both the boys and the girls.

I also brought with me my habit of snapping back when I was barked at, which gave me a tough-girl reputation despite my looks. Not the bullying kind of attitude but the don't-piss-her-off kind. I'd had a feeling Jenna had been bullied by some of the hoighty-toighty girls despite looking just as posh as them. Typical for the new girl on the block. She'd not admitted it to me in any of our talks, but I'd seen it in her eyes. She'd struggled. Maybe with more than just the bitches and jocks.

The first time one of the cliquey girls made a joke about my last name behind my back—literally, in the cafeteria—and a redhead asked if Meredith Swallow lived up to her name, I put that rumor to bed. Seriously? They couldn't have even let the first week of school go by before they'd unleashed their nastiness? All it did was expose their immaturity.

As soon as I finished my lunch, I stood up and approached whatshername's boyfriend who was sitting at the other end of the table with his buddies. I'd been very observant in those five days of public high school. He was in my science class. And guys talk. Loudly. Especially about their girls. Like if their hair color was fake or not. This boy, in particular, professed to be a connoisseur of boxed versus natural.

I leaned down to his level, giving everyone around us a good look at my rack...and ass. Then I said just loud enough for the table to hear, "The carpet definitely does not match the drapes on that one. But then again, you would already know that if you've really banged her like you bragged in class yesterday."

A bunch of gasps, mumbles, and echoes of "burned, dude!" passed amongst the group. One of them asked, "How does she know?"

"Roots," I whispered conspiratorially, tapping my head. "She has blonde roots."

Flipping my genuine, long red hair over my shoulder, I walked away with a smug grin to dispose of my lunch tray and go to my locker.

I'd never heard another rumor about my name the rest of the school year. But even though I wasn't bullied, there were still times I really missed venting with my big sis. I wished her university wasn't so far away. I understood, though, that she needed that separation from our family. And we couldn't live by each other forever, anyway.

###

My sister and I shared Mom's narrow face, full lips, and violet eyes (though mine were more blue). Jenna and Nathan had gotten the genes for height and slimness from Dad. I, on the other hand, was six inches shorter and had more defined curves—top, bottom, and in between. Like my mom, who said we had the perfect hourglass.

The biggest difference, though, was our hair. All three of us Swallow kids had had a reddish tint as babies. But my senior siblings had slowly changed into the brighter spectrum, like Mom's, as they'd gotten older while mine had darkened like Dad's. Yet mine was still the reddest, which caused the popular taunt from my siblings that maybe I was adopted. I'd built up my tough skin ever since.

One thing our parents had passed down to all of us were book smarts. We excelled in our studies. Nathan had followed in our father's footsteps, getting a degree in the engineering field while he served. That was before the big incident where he threw it all away. And while Jenna had been a force to be reckoned with when it came to getting her degree as fast as possible, I decided to take my time. Enjoy life. And cultivate deeper relationships...of the more intimate kind.

All in all, my looks and figure continued to draw a lot of male eyes even once I went off to college. I finally had to face the music that I could no longer mask my disinterest in them. More than a couple of hearts would be broken, but I couldn't help it.

Over the first three months of classes, I went on dates with as many women. Gave it my all since I believed it took effort and time to make things work. Rome wasn't built in a day.

The first was Vickie. She was a sophomore in my freshman English class. We were partnered-up to analyze one of several related short stories. I kept catching her watching me with a narrowed gaze when we were supposed to be taking notes to compare. While walking out of the building, I asked her what the hell her problem was.

Right there on campus with all of our classmates scattering in their respective directions, she turned to me and asked if I liked girls. I told her the truth. Had I ever kissed one? Another truth. Did I want her to kiss me? I hesitated at that then nodded with a tilt of my head. Why not?

To my surprise, she didn't kiss me right then. But she took me out for pizza. We talked about the assignment. Class. How college was going for each of us. Then we went our separate ways once we got back to campus.

After another two weeks and two more dates, she asked if I wanted to meet in her dorm room to go over final notes. It only took about thirty minutes before we decided we were good and I would type up the report we'd use to discuss in class. I was packing my backpack when she sat beside me and cupped my cheeks. She waited until I looked up at her before she pressed her lips to mine.

The kiss was...mediocre...despite her claims that she'd been with two other girls the summer before. Her lips were dry, her hands a little cold. Surprisingly, there were no nerves on my end. And there definitely were no sparks or any other exciting reactions. If anything, it proved to me that intimacy and romance just didn't mix.

In hindsight, maybe I'd just been curious but not really interested in her specifically. She'd impressed me by being the first person to ever ask me pointe blank about my orientation. I knew I wasn't going to miss the opportunity she was handing out to me. Maybe I should have. Because it kind of turned me off from pursuing other women.

When the class assignment was over, apparently so was any relationship she'd hoped to have with me. She just stopped coming to class. Experiment failed? I didn't try to search her out and shrugged it off.

Madison was the second girl I went out with. I found her wandering on campus one day in the rain and convinced her to go with me to the student union to warm up. Over a cup of a coffee, I found out she'd just transferred in and had forgotten which way her dorm was when it had started to pour. Turns out, she was in my dorm. On my floor.

She kind of became a pet, coming to me whenever she had questions. I saw it as a truly platonic friendship. Me as her protector. That is, until she knocked on my door after our school had won the Homecoming game.

I'd been too tired to go celebrate the victory with my roommate and our friends and had just changed into boxers and a T-shirt. When I opened the door, Madison stood there with her brown hair in curly pigtails—fucking pigtails—and wearing a little tank top-and-shorts sleep set. All she was missing was a teddy bear in one hand.

For a solid two minutes, we just stared at each other in the open doorway. She eventually dipped her head, her brown eyes still staring up at me. I swallowed heavily and said she had better not tell me she'd had a nightmare. That made her grin. Then she cocked her head. Bit her lip.

Something stirred within me. I knew right away that it was lust. That I wanted to suck on her plump little mouth. Be the one worrying her lower lip.

When she held out her hand, I took it. Silently drew her into the room. Shut and locked the door.

I knew enough to slide my other hand behind her neck, pulling her to me while stepping toward her. And then I was tasting her lips. Unlike the first time I'd kissed a girl, I was trembling. I still didn't feel anything beyond a hunger to be satisfied. It only grew when her free hand touched my arm. My breast.

We were rolling on my bed before I realized what had happened. My hands moved over her on autopilot. Feeling every bit of her softness through her clothes. The more I did it, the more she moaned and whimpered. The more I wanted to touch her skin to see if it had the same result.

I'm not sure which one of us was more surprised when I suddenly played over the crotch of her shorts. Her back arched and her hand clamped down on my wrist, holding my fingers against her pussy. I pressed lightly. She cried out.

An instant later, she was naked from the waist down. Shoving my hand between her spread thighs. And I was feeling another woman's clit for the first time. The dampness from arousal. My fingertips traced the foreign folds and valleys, causing Madison to writhe under me.

When she growled to put my finger in her, I obliged. Gasped at the heat...the tightness of her. It wasn't long before my palm was wet with her release. Then she lie prone on the bed, her limbs haphazardly splayed around her, her head rolled to the side. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and then slower and slower as she relaxed.

Yet even as I watched the emotions of apparent bliss roll over her face, I felt nothing for this girl. I'd made her happy. That was all. A means to an end.

I admit I enjoyed the kisses a hell of a lot more than with Vickie, but it had been just that. Lips locking lips. Nothing behind it that I'd take away and daydream about months or years from now.

The next time we found ourselves alone, she played with me. It felt good and was nice to not have to use my own fingers. But it was almost...clinical. And I felt she'd done it because she'd felt obligated.

Madison surprised me by sticking around longer than my project partner had. Maybe because she'd found someone who could give her pleasure whenever she wanted it. I tried to put my beliefs into practice. To get to know her more outside of sex. But nothing further developed. We were just fuck buddies and would probably never be anything more.

By Halloween, I knew I was right. We were spending less time together. She'd pledged Greek, and whenever I did see her, she talked endlessly about the sorority. How she'd found the confidence she'd been missing with the girls there. I'd not realized how self-absorbed she was. Then she was accepted. Gone. And I was back to pleasing myself like I'd done for years.

I was more than halfway through the first semester when I thought I'd met my match.

Cara made no qualms about invading my space. She just joined me one day in the dorm's cafeteria. I was eating my salad and looked up to see her smiling at me from the across the table. She propped one foot on the chair next to her and rested her arm on her knee. A senior staking her claim with an underclassman. If she thought her show of confidence would be intimidating, she was sorely mistaken.

I'd seen her around the dorm, always wearing black leggings or jeans, combat boots, and a black tank top or graphic T-shirt with an unbuttoned, long-sleeved red-plaid shirt as a jacket over it. Her only accessories were studded leather cuffs, a leather choker collar that accentuated her short, spiky black hair with a colorful streak—depending on the week, and a silver ring in her left eyebrow. Surprisingly, she wore little makeup, and she was quite beautiful with powder-blue eyes. Today, she appeared to have on the tank top.

I arched an eyebrow at her and continued to eat. I wasn't too surprised when she asked me if I wanted to go see a grunge band play that night off campus. I shrugged. She said she'd see me in the lobby at six. And then she was gone.

Cara just rolled her eyes when I whistled at her a few hours later. She wore the same outfit from lunch with the exception that the plaid shirt was now tied around her waist, revealing the graceful lines of her figure...and a set of tattoos. On the inside of each forearm was the silhouette of a standing woman: a red devil on the left, a black angel on the right.

For the first time, something inside of me sparked. But only a little. Maybe I was attracted to the bad-girl image. If so, why hadn't the punk look triggered that response before now?

I wasn't surprised to find out that everyone who was attending the event was a woman. They ranged from looking very feminine to what I'd learned were various shades of butch. Some appeared together—leaning on each other or gathered in small clusters—while others stood apart.

The band was actually good. But maybe that's because I'd taken a few drags off one of the joints being passed around. The rebel in me had jumped at the chance to try it. At least once.

During the intermission, Cara grabbed my hand and led me down a wide graffiti-lined hallway lit by naked bordello-red light bulbs. In the room at the end, several people were reclined on couches and chairs—some two deep—while swirls of smoke disappeared above their heads.

At an empty spot, Cara shoved me down and straddled my waist. Then she cupped my face and grabbed my bottom lip between her teeth. I was still trying to understand what had just happened when her tongue entered my mouth. My cry of surprise morphed into a moan of pleasure. I relaxed when she growled for me to. Trembled with delight when she put my hands on her thighs.

We missed the second half of the show. Hell, I missed half of what happened in that room.

I remember sitting upright with Cara's knees on either side of my hips, her tongue down my throat, and my palms hefting her ample chest through her tank top. Then I was lying on my back after the couple at the end of our couch vacated their spots as several people left the room. Cool air touched my belly then my hips. My thighs. Something pressed between my lips, and I inhaled and exhaled when I was told. A pulsing sensation traveled from my head down my chest and settled in the south. I swear I saw Cara's head between my legs. Then there was nothing but pure bliss. I was floating. Singing. Or maybe I was moaning. Then I was curled on my side, staring at a chair where another woman with tattoos up and down both arms grinned at me while puffing on a cigar.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up next to Cara's naked, sleeping body in a stranger's house. She was even lovelier without all the dark clothes, her skin creamy and smooth when I touched her arm. There was a huge tattoo on her back. Black angel wings that extended from her shoulder blades down to her lower back, the tips grazing the top of her ass cheeks. It was exquisite. Dark. Mysterious. Cara wrapped up in a picture.