Elizabeth
by Adrienne
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. This story also contains nudity, and descriptions of sexual behavior between two underaged girls. If you are uncomfortable reading such literature, or are not permitted to do so by the laws of your state, then please cease reading this material; the author will not be held responsible for your actions.
If you have any comments about this story, please send them to:
adrienne.c17@gmail.com
. No flames, spam or sexual e-mails, please! The author is not interested in forming a relationship via this site, and only wishes to receive feedback about the writing.
She lay beside me in her big queen bed. It was a sleepover, but her parents had gone out on a date of their own. We rested there, our hands touching between us.
"Elizabeth, have you ever thought about ... you know ... your future? What you want?" I asked, reaching over and lazily twining a finger through the younger girl's shoulder-length hair.
Elizabeth sighed and burrowed deeper under the covers. "Not really. I guess I'm sort of confused about what I want."
"Career-wise?" I quipped.
"That, and ... other things."
"Guy-wise?"
"Uh ... sort of."
My spirits lifted. I turned to face Elizabeth more directly. I'd known her for over a year now; we'd been close for eight months. This conversation was long coming.
"You don't really like guys, do you?" I asked her.
She sounded startled when she replied, "No, that's not it."
My heart sank. "Then what?"
"I just ... I don't know what I want."
"I don't, either."
She pulled away for a moment, glumly facing away from me. "Yes, you do. You liked Sebastian ... you'll find another guy."
"It's true I loved him more than anything. I still do, as a best friend. But ... I don't know. I'm not sure I want another guy. I may not."
"You might want to be single forever?" Elizabeth suggested.
"No ... no, I mean ... look, Liz ... I might like girls."
There was a pause. "Really?" Elizabeth asked wistfully.
"Yeah. Maybe."
Elizabeth sighed. "I always thought I might, too. But, you know, it's just not ... right."
I sat up a little, leaning on my elbow. "Sweetie, no. There's nothing not right about it. It's just how things are. I can't change the fact that I'm Questioning, and I don't want to."
Elizabeth nodded. Her hair brushed my arm. "I always ... liked ... some girls," she said haltingly.
I smiled. "I suspected that you did. But I didn't want to say anything. You know."
She nodded. "I know. ... But, well, I mean ..." She blew out some air. "Never mind."
"What? Come on, Elizabeth ... spill."
"I can't!" Her voice got that high, somewhat desperate edge to it. "You'll think I'm crazy!"
I put an arm around her and pulled her close in a friendly hug. "Elizabeth, do I ever think you're crazy?"
"No." She swallowed. "I always kind of ... liked ... well ... you."
I sat still for a second, then leaned over and hugged her. "But Elizabeth, I've liked you, too. For the longest time. Since one of the first days you sat next to me in Math."
"No!" Elizabeth was shocked.
"Yeah ... I just wouldn't--couldn't--say. I mean, could you? But that was why I tried to find out about you. Through the grapevine, you know. I liked you as a friend, too, of course, but it was more than that. And so I tried to seek you out and ..."
"I was so glad when you did that," Elizabeth cut in, her voice full of emotion. "But I thought you just did it to be nice. To be a friend. You know?"
"I know." I smoothed her long, wispy hair. "Look ... Elizabeth ... are you sure you like me?"
She settled closer. "Not really."
"Not really?"
"I think I'm sure about it. But ... well, I don't know. I've been with a couple guys before, and I really, really liked it, but ... I just want to see what it's like with you."
"Fine by me. I feel the same way."
Timidly, Elizabeth's hands extended across the emptiness between us. She took my hands in hers, and traced the nails, the fingers, the palms, the knuckles, the tops, the wrists, and then up my arms, making me shiver and draw closer to her in the bed we shared.
"Let's see how this works," I whispered, and leaned my face down to hers, wrapping my arms around her waist for a moment to relish the warmth of her. I could feel the delicate framework of her ribs through her silky winter nightgown.
Elizabeth slid her arms up around my neck, climbing into my lap. I pulled my arms from her waist, and reached up with one hand, tipping her face up toward mine, tracing her cheek with one finger. One hand on her cheek, one hand against her back, I got us lined up properly, and kissed her gently, not wanting to scare her.
We held that kiss for a long, heavy moment. We both felt the intensity. We were friends, but it was more than that. We had loved each other--a secret, forbidden love--and we felt that this connection meant a great deal.
Her lips were warm against mine, but at the same time, pleasantly cool. They weren't too dry or too moist. A pleasant scent of warm young girl floated up my nostrils as I held her; it drifted from between the locks of her hair and up from the depths of her nightgown.
She was so small in my lap and arms; her shoulder blades felt like angel wings under my searching fingers.
She suddenly leaned forward in my embrace, and kissed me harder, her lips parting just slightly under mine, but still staying firm enough to maintain a clean contact. My lips moved, letting her in. Our tongues briefly touched, and then fused together, twining and dancing between us. We both moaned a little, feeling the connection, feeling how good it was.
Our hands moved together; mine slid up the back of her gown, tracing the warm, creamy skin of her shoulders, back and the sides of her waist. Her hands framed my face, holding the kiss more firmly. She threaded her fingers into my hair and shifted her lips so that the kiss deepened, fluctuating between hardness and tenderness.
We stopped kissing for a moment and drew back. I somehow found her hand.
"You okay?" I asked her. She was younger than I--sixteen years to my seventeen--and, thus, I always felt a need to protect her. I pulled her head onto my shoulder, and she acquiesced, draping her arms carefully around me.
"It feels better than I ... God. This can't be wrong ... it just can't be. It feels too right." She pressed her lips to my cheek, and I turned my face enough to echo her gesture.
"Should we ..." Her voice trailed off.
"What?"
"Can we ... just ... you know." She gulped. "Explore."
"Whatever you want. You're my princess, and whatever you say goes." I lay on my back and drew her down beside me. She converted the gesture, so that her body lay partially atop mine, her right shoulder hovering just over my left.
I pulled her down into a kiss. She was on top, so my hands were free to stroke her soft skin again. Her neck, her shoulders, her waist ...
One of her hands came out of nowhere and guided mine below her waist, over the defined curve of her buttocks. Something flamed within me. She was perfect. Perfect.
Her hands were on me now; leaving my face, traveling down my neck, my ears, my shoulders.
I removed a hand from her and took hers in mine, guiding it over the steep plain of one of my breasts. She gasped but didn't pull away. With one of her hands, she took my still-free hand and moved it to her own breast. It was smaller than mine, but well-defined beneath the loose nightdress.
She breathed in sharply at the new contact.
"Liz, are you sure this is okay?" I asked.
"It's more than okay." Her fingers had left me; they were scrabbling at the buttons of her top.
"Sweetie, are you ..."
"Yes." She had unbuttoned it, and pulled her arms free. The garment sailed across the bedclothes and came to rest at the foot of the bed. She lay there in only her underpants. "I've wanted this ... for so long. I know that now." Her hands were at her chest, I noticed, working at arousing herself. "Are you going to make me do this, or what?" She grabbed both my hands in hers, and put them on her bare body. The skin was so rich and smooth. She was like marble, but yet not; she was too warm and alive and aroused to be marble.
Her hands were at my waist, pulling up the hem of my baggy nightshirt. "Can I ..."
"Please." I glanced my fingers off the tips of her breasts in quick, tantalizing strokes, just the way I liked it done to me. She seemed to catch fire in my arms, and pulled at my shirt more insistently. I helped her remove it, and then her hands were on me, swirling up my abdomen and stomach and then reaching their destination, settling on my breasts. She had a different technique; rubbing in just the right spots with just the right firmness and gentility. It made me catch fire inside in a new way I'd never known.
Her small breasts were reacting in my hands, the nipples getting harder. Her body was tense atop mine, but pleasantly so. She was leaning back on an elbow, and I was lying flat.
"Sweetie, lay back. Relax." I helped her lie back, and positioned myself over her, reaching down for her as she reached up for me, and we continued torturing each other.
"I need to finish this," she gasped. "I can't ..." Her hands left me and passed over mine as they worked tenderly over her luscious chest. I felt her fingers slip beneath the waistband of her underpants ...
"No, Elizabeth. Let me ... I'll do it for you ... I mean ... if you want me to."
Her hand drew back and cupped mine. "Will you?" Her voice was filled with reverence.
I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips were warm, imploring. Her tongue tasted the way only a sweetly aroused young girl's tongue could.
"If you're sure you're okay with it."
"Only if I can do yours at the same time."
"Of course."
We lay on our backs, our unclothed waists and the sides of our inside breasts grazing one another seductively, tantalizingly. My left hand extended across her lower body, and her right hand was already positioned beneath that, reaching for my abdomen in turn. I wanted her to feel capable of shoving my hand away if things got out of hand, if she didn't like it, if she ...
"Vanessa." Her voice was gentle, full of need.
I complied. Our hands worked at underpants, and slid them partly down legs. Fingers met parts of the other's bodies that only their owners had touched for a decade and a half.
She was so warm, so alive, so ready that it alarmed me. My skilled fingers went to work, with the same tricks I used on myself. It was so easy.
If she hadn't been servicing me at the same time, it would have been odd. I wouldn't have known what she was feeling, what she wanted. But my feelings were mirrored by hers; our voices threaded together just as our beings did, and we could feel from the other what we each wanted. It just came naturally.
The excitement came fast; I had loved her for so long. We both had the same method; stroking around and around in circles, then pulling back and pressing flesh and finger alike home, so that it alerted loose skin and bone and muscle and things of which we did not fully know the composition. And all the while each of us had our own hand on one of our breasts, making the situation so much more real.
And we talked to each other. We breathed the other's name, and shifted so that the bedsprings creaked, and leaned our faces together to kiss. The multi-tasking was simultaneously effortless and necessary.
"Vanessa ... I'm going to ... oh ... oh God ..." And I felt it happening under my hand, beside me in the small form of the girl I had loved for so long. And that triggered it in me. Her fingers were racing around and around, contorting within me, pumping in and out, and I arched up in response, my eyelids coming together so hard that tears of poignant, almost heart-stopping pleasure slid from my eyes.
We both teetered there in one another's hands, on the pinnacle of it, and then, with a few more intense ministrations of our fingers, it began. We clung together as our eyes closed and our bodies did the equivalent of uniting. We had brought one another here to this plateau of bliss. Electricity sang around us as we pressed with all our might, burying ourselves against one another's still rhythmically manipulative fingers.
It was all so good, so real, so warm. It pleased all the senses.
And then it was over.
We slid our occupied hands free. Elizabeth reached up to her headboard for a Kleenex box. Taking my hand, she dried my fingers. I took her hand and dried hers. She put the tissues beneath her pillow, and nestled under the blankets. She was shivering a little with the absence of her nightgown. I pulled her close against my body and felt so many things well up in me: protectiveness, love, vulnerability. More loss of innocence. But I regretted none of it.
"You okay, sweetie?" I leaned into kiss her, and she reciprocated, laying her hand along the back of my head and pressing my face to hers.
We parted after a long, extensive kiss.
"Are you happy, little girl?" I held her tenderly, tracing her collar bones with my thumbs as my fingertips gently touched her sweet-smelling throat. "Is this what you wanted?"
She turned over enough to face me more directly, and snuggled in, the top of her head just beneath my chin. Her warm breath tickled my chest. "I'm sure now," she whispered.
"Sure of what?"
"That I love you. That this was meant to be."
I shook my head. "This is too good to be true. It's ..."
"No." She pushed away from me and reached out to touch my cheek. "No, it's not. This is real, Vanessa. I swear it."
I held her. "I love you so much. But I'm so scared that this can't work ... that something will go wrong ..."
She nodded, covering my lips with her finger. "I know. I love you, too. And I'm just as freaked as you."
We giggled a bit, in spite of ourselves.
"It'll be okay, though," I promised her.
"We'll figure it out," she contributed.
We kissed deeply again. Then she got up and got our clothes. We helped one another get into them, just for an excuse to have our hands on one another for one final time.
When we settled down to sleep, Elizabeth was propped with her hair brushing the underside of my chin, my hand extending around her waist to clasp her hand in mine. Her strong back and firm little butt were nestled comfortably in my lap, and I held onto that, and to her. I loved her so much. I loved what we had done, but I loved her a million times more.