***This story is based on a fling I had last Summer, from the memories we have***
I like how her dark black hair falls into her eyes, and I notice I'm staring as she gets out of her little blue sports car. It's a short shag at this point; she looks boyish with her small lanky frame in her joggers and baggy black tee. I love how androgynous she looks how she carries herself.
"What?" she says, smiling.
I realize I am probably looking at her funny. It's always strange seeing each other; it's only been a few times. She never calls me, but we have an understanding. I think. We meet up. I know we aren't met to be together or anything. I wish we were, sometimes, when we are talking, late at night, when she holds me. She infuriates me sometimes with her inattentiveness. We always meet on her terms. I think she knows I'm desperate for her, and the thought makes me cringe.
"Nothing," I swivel, though I want to grab her hand as she did on that first night we were in my car at the drive-ins.
She was so needy for me then. She seems distant now.
She was thirty minutes late. I don't mention it, just happy she is here now. I feel a little upset but mask it. I would always wait for her, and I think she knows that. It's pathetic, I know. But with her, I can't help myself.
Have you hiked here before? I lead her towards the entrance of a redwood grove. This hike, I know, is short, it has an endpoint we can reach to watch the sunset, but the sun is setting quickly.
I don' think so, she says.
I wonder if she is thinking about being seen with me. I am tall and femme, and she looks gay if people know what that looks like. It's part of her swagger that makes my knees weak. It must be evident to others because we talk about the presentation throughout the walk. She describes a play she was in, where she played a boy, remembering that she told herself if it felt right, she would go with that, gender-wise. The results were inconclusive.
"Passing" is not an option for her. She's pretty, in a handsome sort of way, but the way she carries her body defies all understandings of straightness. At least in my gay-ass perspective.
It's dark in the grove under the redwoods up the crevice of the valley. Several times I use the dimness as an excuse to hold onto her muscular arm for support, gripping it softly as I catch my balance. I am panting as we reach the top of the ravine, and she is not. She scaled it effortlessly. I try to catch my breath.
We reach the top of the mountain as golden rays shoot over the tops of the trees, casting long shadows over the tops of the mountains. The dusk air is lavender and warm.
We can sit here, I say, motioning to the edge of a sloping cliff. I spread out a rainbow towel. It's gay. I giggle. She scoff-laughs accommodatingly.
I lean back onto the towel after opening my water bottle and taking a swig, then offering it to her. She raises it to her lips and sips some. I lay back on the towel. She scoots closer to me, and I reach for her as she reaches for me, pulling me into an embrace. I sigh deeply. She feels so good. Her warmth makes me melt into her.
Then her lips are on mine. I kiss her hungrily, feeling her tongue part my lips as I hold her neck.
I shift my body onto hers, feeling her hands slide over my baggy cargo pants, up my middle where my black spandex is intentionally exposed, and then up to my strappy black and grey sports bra.
I pull away and nuzzle into her neck as she continues to feel my body. Her eyes are closed as she explores me, pausing over my ass to squeeze it gently. I feel my pussy get warmer and softer at her touch, dripping in my spandex.
My hips are gently but rhythmically moving against her, and she opens her eyes and looks at me. I stare at her, watching her eyes. One of them is lazy and opens slower than the other, blinking up at me. With her dark lashes framing her even darker eyes, it's an endearing trait.
