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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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Zara chuckled. "Yeah. But they're cliches for a reason." She sipped her tea. "Was that the only time?"
Donna felt her cheeks warm again. "No," she whispered. It was frightening to voice these things out loud. But exciting too. "We did it in his bed about a month later. His family was out for the evening. I was scared to death they would come home early and catch us."
"So it wasn't any better, I suspect," Zara said.
"No. It made me wonder if it was overrated." Donna met Zara's gaze. "Sex, you know?"
Zara grinned. "I know. It's not, you know. You just had some bad experiences."
Now Donna had to look away, a blush heating her face. "Yeah," she said. Her throat tightened up, making it hard to speak. "I know. I've—I've seen it."
"That doesn't mean I haven't had some disappointing experiences myself," Zara said.
That surprised Donna. She met Zara's gaze again. "Really?"
Zoe nodded. "My first time wasn't much better than yours. The difference is, I didn't expect any different. I just wanted to get that first time over with."
Donna didn't know what to say. She'd never imagined Zara being insecure or anxious or disappointed about sex. It made sense. There had to be a first time for everyone. But somehow she'd imagined Zara's first time as some magical experience full of wonder and pleasure. Everything her own first experience had not been.
Zara must have seen her thoughts in her face. "My second time was much better," she said. "Better than my first, better than yours. He was an older man. He did a much better job than the first guy."
She didn't elaborate. Donna still wasn't sure what to say. She finished her tea instead and got up. "More?"
Zara stared at her own empty cup for a moment, then held it out. "Please. I don't think I'm going to sleep for a while yet."
Donna busied herself making two fresh cups of tea. She was aware of Zara's eyes on her, watching her. She wondered what Zara was thinking, but knew Zara would speak when she was ready. She handed Zara her tea and then settled carefully on her own bed again.
"Much as we've both enjoyed this," Zara said, "I don't think you can keep getting your vicarious jollies through me. It's time you got your own jollies."
"I what do you mean?" Zara didn't want Donna watching her any longer? Donna was surprised and alarmed to realize that she didn't want to stop. She liked spying on Zara as she had sex. She liked masturbating to orgasm while she did.
Zara set her teacup aside carefully, then scooched to the edge of her bed, where she could reach out and clasp Donna's hands around her own teacup. "Don't panic," she said. "I'm not saying we can't keep playing our little game. I like it too, remember." Her eyes twinkled. "I like it a lot, actually. Knowing I'm being watched really turns me on."
She gave Donna a knowing look. "But you'd have a lot more fun if you were having sex instead of just watching. Don't you think?"
Donna cast her gaze around the room, excited and scared and aroused and unable to meet Zara's gaze for a long moment. Did she want to have sex herself? Hell, yes. Could she? Well, yes, clearly—because she had before. Not good sex, but sex all the same. But could she do it here, at college, in a room she shared with Zara, knowing that Zara would know she was having sex? When Zara would know she wanted sex?
It felt scarily intimate, this sharing such feelings with someone—anyone—else. But it was also liberating. She'd shared more with Zara in the last two months than she'd ever shared with her sisters, or her parents. Or her friends at home. She'd spent eighteen years doing her best to remain unknown, keeping her crushes, her desires, all but the most private of feelings, from everyone.
And she was tired of it. Tired of being so constrained by expectations. The expectations of her parents and teachers and neighbors. The expectations of her family and friends. They all expected her to be a good, Christian girl. Quiet, polite, obedient, modest. Religious. Chaste. She'd hated it. But she'd complied. In the fishbowl in which she'd lived, what choice had she had? Good girl or bad. Chaste |
