In the Dar...

It didn't happen on purpose. We were lying together on the bed, half drunk, half asleep, and I felt your hands on my breasts. Gently, cupping and holding at first, then circling the nipples, gently stroking between your fingers. Your hands were soft and heavy and warm, as if you were still asleep.

I was lying on my side, and you were spooning behind me. Your hand had come up my t-shirt, and eased my bra upwards, over my boobs. It felt good, the clumsy fondling. It wasn't like it was leading to anything – I just enjoyed being enjoyed.

"Jen," I said.

You moaned softly in reply, still asleep. I wanted to touch you, but you were behind me, out of reach. Gently, I bent my left leg backwards, between your legs. I could feel the warmth of your calves on eithre side of my ankle, then higher, between your knees, between your thighs. Earlier you'd been wearing a white skirt, but I couldn't feel it now – maybe you'd taken it off before you came to bed, or maybe it had ridden up. I moved my foot further up, until my heel found the gusset of your panties. You felt wet, but I couldn't tell if it was sweat.

I rub my heel again you and you moan in your sleep.

"Jen,"

Your fingers are still on my left nipple and I feel your right hand slip underneath me to caress my right breast. You fingers tangle in my bra strap, then pull it loose. I can feel my left nipple is hard beneath your touch, my right hardens as you find it. I work my heel up against you.

"Mmmm," you murmur, sleepily, and plant a gentle kiss in my hair.

Your hands are moving now, abandoning my boobs and slipping down my stomach. I try to breathe in. I'm not fat, but I down want you to feel the curve of my belly as you head down. Down. You keep going, holding your hands warm over my womb, then further down, your fingers tight against me.

I wish I had shaved. Usually when there's a guy on the scene I keep myself waxed, but at the moment it didn't seem worth it. I tried to remember when I last shaved, but I knew that down there was a scrubby forest of pubic hair. There was nothing I could do, and I felt your hand slipping into my tights, into my panties.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

In response you moan to the back of my neck.

Your fingers were strong. You knew how to stroke.

Of course, I've done it myself, plenty of times, but I've never done it this good. You seemed so sensitive – to know exactly what to touch, and when, and how hard, and how much. I slowly spread my legs, and you push your fingers further back. I felt so bad I hadn't shaved. You weren't inside me, but readying me, stroking, setting a rhythm.

"I'm going to come,"

You slide your finger in, your middle finger it must be, spreading my pussy with the ones on either side. Oh God... you need to be further back... I was going to... oh God... Jen, that's... so good... not so deep. Another finger, clumsy and sleepy...

"Jen?!"

"Yeah," you murmur. I couldn't tell if you were awake, but it didn't matter. Your hand slipped out of the panties, out of the tights.

"Wait," you say. You climb out of bed, and leave the room. I see the yellow of the hallway light under the door, then the click of the bathroom light.

I didn't need my tights, I knew. I sat up, and slipped them off. My panties were completely soaking, but they could stay on. I slipped my own hand it. I was less furry than I'd feared – but probably still too much to stop her licking me out – I thought. What a thought! We barely knew each other until tonight, and I'm already thinking about her going down on me. It would be perfect.

I untangled my bra and took it off. Even that was wet with sweat. I hoped you look as untidy as I am. I look awful.

I laid back down in bed, my back to the door. I hear the toilet flush, the click of the light switches, and hear you come back into the room. I don't even know what you've been doing. You climb back under the duvet, flooding my body with cool air as you clamber in.

"Jen?" I say

"Wha?" you reply. It's as if you've gone straight back to sleep. It's not like I'm taking advantage if you're asleep. You started it, so it can't be wrong to carry on. But I am starting to doubt – maybe you're just fumbling, maybe it didn't mean anything.

And then you kiss me. You roll over, and kiss me. First it's a gentle brush of barely opening lips, then a proper kiss, my lips and your lips together, our hands on each other's bodies, our moths open, our tongues together. Three seconds and we stop for breath, then synchronise our breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In. Then kiss again, longer this time. You are breathing fast, I am breathing fast. In. Out. In. Out. In. Another kiss, longer again, and I come up panting.

My hand is on the small of your back. You're still wearing bra, and that little white skirt. It must have risen up earlier, but I slip my hand under. Your buttocks are smooth and naked. I slip my hand between your legs.

Another kiss, longer still. I am so tired. You don't stop kissing, but you leave my mouth, slipping down to my neck. You stop there, and suck at my skin, hard. I know I'll have a love-bite in the morning, a little bruise the size of your mouth. It might take some explaining. I'll be wearing high-necked sweaters for a while, but for the moment it doesn't matter. I just want you.

And then you are there, your tongue, your teeth, so soft against me. I'm so wet for you, but so tired. I feel you slip a finger in again. I'm drifting away. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe in the morning we will wake up, and none of this has happened. Maybe you won't remember, maybe I won't remember. Maybe we'll both choose to forget. Would that mean it didn't happen?