Preface:
This is a story about two sweet college girls who live in a dorm and are best friends. In the spirit of a child-like Valentine's Day romance between very close friends they plan a special evening together. An unexpected event turns the conversation to the subject of girl-girl sex and whether either has ever thought about the other in that way. Both admit they have . . .
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I was in college. We were best friends. It was wonderful. We are still friends, but our lives have gone in different directions. She is straight and I'm bi (but I didn't know it then).
OK, now that any unwarranted suspense or foreboding is out of the way, you can relax and enjoy my tale.
I am 38 now, and when I think back to those college days I realize what a funny thing memory is: Much of that time is just a blur of faces, names and unconnected incidents, but certain moments have a sharpness and immediacy that makes it appear as if they happened just last night. The subject of this story brings back many of these moments.
I was 18 during my first semester, and unsurprisingly had never lived away from home. I was in a large, modern co-ed dorm at an elite state university in the Midwest. The dorm had a mixture of all-girls floors, all-guys floors, and some co-ed floors. My hall was all-girls, and I was cordial but not close with the roommate assigned to me.
Of course, I met many people that year, and one of these was Claire, who lived elsewhere in the big dorm. I'm pretty sure we met in the cafeteria, where we found ourselves at the same table.
I remember clearly that this was one of those wonderful moments when you meet a person who you just know you're going to like, and can tell that the feeling is mutual. Within minutes, we discovered that while different in personality we shared a very similar outlook on life. Right off the bat, Claire and I were talking as if we had known each other forever, and had just picked up where earlier conversations had left off.
Claire was vivacious and outgoing, with an endearing lively twinkle in her eye, but she was also thoughtful and capable of introspection. I wasn't really shy, but was more introverted and cautious. Claire was also more of a girly-girl, not that I was a tomboy or anything like that, but I just didn't care very much about fashion, makeup or other female things.
Right away, we started hanging out together all the time. Claire's roommate always stayed at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment, so mostly we spent time together in her room. I became part of the gang on her hall, and she was considered a regular on mine. It was neat, because it gave us a wider social circle, and more party or special event opportunities, not that either of us were roaring party animals. Well actually, Claire could get a little wild, more so than me, but we were both consumed with our studies in the high-pressure academic environment.
I think we kind of took for granted having formed such a close friendship, because it wasn't until the very end of the second semester that we realized, soon the two of us would be separated for almost four months. Claire was returning to California to work in her father's business, and I would be home with my parents - 2,000 miles away from my friend. The two of us were miserable about it.
Summer came, and I missed her like crazy. We sent letters to each other that in hindsight look almost like love letters, but weren't really – just the sincere expressions of really close friends who miss each other a lot. Eventually summer ended and we were reunited, together again at the "Big U."
I had the same room and the same safe roommate. Claire "won the lottery" and got a single room. Her room was on the top floor, where higher ceilings made it possible to have a loft. Beds went above and the main level became a living room; it was more like a small apartment than a bedroom.
Having experienced separation, Claire and I no longer took our relationship for granted. We realized how special it was, and how ephemeral the college experience was. This added just the tiniest element of bittersweet melancholy to our friendship, and that made our feelings for each other even more tender.
The months flew by, full of good times and hard work, and eventually it was February. In the "real world," Valentine's Day is just a minor commercial holiday, but on campus it was hyped into a ribald celebration of sex as much as romance.
Claire and I both shared warm memories of those innocent valentine's of grade school, when best friends of either sex could "be my valentine" for a day. In that spirit – not the sexual one of campus – we decided to "be valentines," and make a special evening of it.
Each hall had a lounge with limited cooking facilities, so we planned a fancy meal for ourselves. The two of us would dine together under candlelight in Claire's room, followed by a movie on her VCR. We would be innocently romantic together, but honestly, there were no sexual overtones.
Some famous person once expressed amazement at the role sheer chance plays in every individual's life. What happened next has always seemed to me to be an example of that: The big dorm had its own popular-reading library that included an eclectic collection of video tapes.
When Claire and I went down to get a movie, the one we selected in pure ignorance was "Personal Best." Yep, the one with the lesbian love affair between Mariel Hemingway and Patrice Donnelly, except we didn't know it was a lesbian romance – we thought it was just a female athlete "buddy" movie!
To tell the truth, I don't remember all the plot details of that film. I know the romance ended badly (which is partly why I eliminated the suspense at the start of this story), and Claire and I were sappy, happy-ending types.
Here's what I do recall as if it was just last night: During the love scenes, we became very conscious of the other's presence, and became very quiet. That was unusual, because most of the time we cracked jokes or shared commentary throughout a film. We were embarrassed by what was on the screen, but we felt something else, too: excitement. The two of us were such close friends that we each
knew
the other was excited, and that made us more embarrassed, more self-conscious and more excited.
Under different circumstances, it might have been easy when the movie ended to pretend that nothing had happened. Watching
that
particular film however, on a night when we were enjoying a little innocent Valentine's Day romance, made the coincidence seem portentous. That, added to the fact that we were so much in the habit of sharing all our thoughts and feelings, made it seem like we had to talk about it.
So we did, and of course that meant discussing our feelings about lesbianism, and this led to the question of whether either of us ever had any thoughts of that nature about the other. Which as it turned out, we both admitted we had.
Well, now it was out in the open, and we could not or did not want to ignore it. Neither of us said so at first, but we knew where this was heading. Finally it came – the proposition. Claire was the more daring, and at some point she said, "So, Roxanne – do you want to try it?" I gulped. She gulped. We were both terrified, and thrilled. Of course, the answer was yes.
Well, now came the tricky part: What do we do? Make out on the couch? Strip and dive between each other's legs? Neither of us had a clue. Once again, Claire took the initiative, "Let's get ready for bed and climb in together."
Claire's dorm room's "loft apartment" had a queen-sized bed above and a comfy couch below. Sometimes when studying or just up late talking, I would crash on this rather than go home and wake my roommate, so I kept a few toiletries there in Claire's room. In the communal hall "john" we brushed our teeth and made our usual beddy-bye preparations, just like normal. We ordinarily slept in just tee shirts and panties, so that's what we wore when we climbed into the loft together.
As I mentioned before, part of our innocent Valentine's Day romance had been to dine together under candlelight. Now the child-like aspects of that romantic atmosphere were transmuted into the real thing, as we lay side-by-side on her queen-sized mattress, looking into each other's eyes, illuminated by only the flickering candlelight.
We were nervous, and uncertain about how to begin. Claire reached a hand up and stroked my cheek. I closed my eyes and accepted the caress. She touched my lips with a finger, and I gave it a little peck, opening my eyes again to look into hers. Next, she touched my hair, stroking it gently; I did the same and touched her hair, then her cheek, and her lips, whereupon she also gave my fingers a little peck.
It was all very chaste, and very loving. We went on like this for a long time, and gradually became less nervous and more relaxed. At some point, our bodies moved closer, not yet in full contact, only our uncovered legs touching, but our faces and lips were just inches from each other's.
Of course, I was nervous about the next step, but mostly I was overwhelmed with affection for my friend, and joyful at being able to freely express that emotion with a natural, physical act. I leaned forward and ever so gently, placed my lips against hers.
Deep breath
. Whew, I'm getting choked up remembering, and putting those memories into words. I know, you're itching for me to get on to the "naughty bits." Don't worry, they're coming. But first, I have to give a little more context, because here we are, two beautiful nineteen-year old college girls on the threshold of a deliciously illicit sexual encounter, and you have no idea what we looked like, or whether we were harlots, virgins or something in between.
I just gave a clue for part of that - we were both beautiful. Well, Claire was for sure (and still is today). She was (is) slightly taller than average, thin but with very large breasts, has long, light brown hair, a truly lovely face, and beautiful brown eyes.
I wasn't bad looking myself. In fact, I still look pretty good. I am small, have strawberry blonde hair, a cute face, green eyes that compliment my hair color, and a curvaceous body. My breasts are ample but not huge like Claire's, and my hips are wider and more rounded. I have to exercise now to prevent bulges, but of course at age 19 we were both sleek with the firm muscle tone of youth.
Neither of us were virgins, but I was darned close to it. Early in my freshman year I had had sex one time, with a boy I had flirted with in class. He was "pretty," and when he asked for a date I decided that if the opportunity arose I would sleep with him. I had no strong feelings for the boy; I just did not want to be a virgin anymore.
Well, the opportunity did arise, and we had sex. It was OK, and I could see that the act had real possibilities, but they were not realized then or with him. We did not go out again.
Claire was more experienced. Her first time had been in high school, and at least three times since I met her she had spent nights with boys after parties. I was jealous and a little resentful at those times, not because I wanted the boys, but because of her much greater sophistication and daring in the sexual realm.
The minor tension that these episodes generated evaporated when Claire gave me explicit blow-by-blow reports, complete with generous helpings of comic relief. My twinges of unfair and ridiculous resentment were converted into admiration for my friend's forthright and welcoming acceptance of her own sexuality.
So now, back to Claire and me together: sweet college-girl "Valentines," in bed, scantily clad, and on the threshold of having sex.
Our lips came together in a nervous kiss. I felt an overwhelming, heartwarming satisfaction and happiness at being able to physically express the deep affection I felt. We pulled apart, and I was beaming.
