I gave my cousin Jennifer her first lesbian kiss and her first lesbian orgasm. This was on a Friday night/Saturday morning in her dorm room at Maryland U., the first weekend in March. She would be attending school with me the coming fall and wanted to see the campus for herself. She stayed in a temporarily vacant room two rooms down from mine on the twelfth floor, only because my roommate- -who didn't even come home that night, insisted upon it.

We had one very important rule in our dorm: NO HITTING ON VISITING FAMILY MEMBERS OR FRIENDS! This for the all important reason that no one wanted word of our sexual exploits getting out.

There was a party Thursday night in my dorm room: small, self-contained, no drinking or sex... boring I know for Jen, who had heard all the stories. But for fear of breaking THE CARDINAL RULE, not a boy on the floor would touch her. I knew she was hot.

At midnight, I packed her off to bed but also posted a look-out outside her door. My friend Amy came knocking around one o'clock to say she had heard some suspicious sounds coming from Jennifer's room. I listened at the door myself. Very disturbing.

"She's screwing," my friend told me.

"Obviously," I said. The question was, what stupid was in there with her, running such a risk. No one from this dorm, I could tell you that. I intended finding out for myself.

Getting the spare room key from Frannie next door--we always lock ourselves out--I barged right in and found Jennifer fucking all right ... but not with a guy.

After she shrieked, she shrieked my name.

"Easy! Easy," I said, hurriedly shutting the door. I was so embarrassed.

"Rachael! What are you doing!"

"I'm sorry!" I whispered, wanting to slide right under the door. Jennifer, whipped into the covers, with her hair whipped around her head, was beyond embarrassment.

"How could you!" she cried, and I thought she'd start crying.

"I'm sorry!" I repeated. "God, I feel like such an--"


"Yes," I said, chagrined. "God!"

She sat there and fumed at me. She sat there and fumed at me and tried to deny to herself that I had just seen her doing what she was doing and in such a shocking position. Mortified knowing that the point of the long shiny vibrator, glistening with her juices and looking like the cute nose of a little mouse, poked from a fold in the sheets. It was the only noise in the room.

Grabbing it out of the covers, she clumsily twisted the vibrator into the off position. The stingy half-light sneaking in through the one dorm window showed me that her face, neck and upper chest--puffing in and out like that of a long-distance runner's--were a violent crimson. I'm sure mine were too.

There was nothing to say, and so I blurted out: "You brought that with you?"


"Sorry, sorry," I said, beginning to laugh. "I don't know why I said that."

Her face, neck and chest grew even redder.

"Would you please just leave?"


"Go," she said, beginning to cry. "Leave me alone."

I nodded and slipped out the door. Outside, my girlfriend Amy stared at me, shock-faced and amazed.

"Not a word!" I hissed at her fiercely, "Not ever! Not ever to no one!"

She moved her head slowly up and down in absolute agreement. Some things, a girl doesn't share. It could have been her.


The next day, I slept late, dreading leaving the room. Jennifer was either gone, or was glued to her bed. Either way, I was not seeing her until later . . if at all. But at a quarter to nine, a soft rapping sounded on my door and got me on my feet. I was shocked to find Jennifer outside.

"Hi," she said, tucking hair behind one ear and slipping into my room. She looked at the floor.

"Hi," I answered back.

I had on my yellow and white feety pajama; she wore a baggy blue tee-shirt under a hooded, zipper sweatshirt and baggy blue workouts. Her feet were bare. Also, she was braless under the shirt, which for Jennifer was rare.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"You're sorry!" I said.

We both laughed.

"God," I told her, "I can't even begin to tell you--"

"You won't tell anyone?" she blurted. "Promise?"

"Jen, no! Are you kidding?"

"Thank God!" she gushed. Her face and my face were twin, fully-fired ovens. We began to giggle.

"God, I am so embarrassed."

"Me too," I said, softly. "Totally and completely."

"Totally, totally-completely."

"And ten times past that."

We sat down and we talked for a while, not about anything important and certainly not about that; things slowly relaxed. I was trying not to show any interest in her pointy little nipples, making dents like fingertips in the front of her shirt. They moved beneath the shirt when she moved, leaving little trails. I had not seen Jen bare-breasted in many years, probably not since she was twelve, but I distinctly remembered how pointy she was back then. Embarrassingly so, because that turns guys on. Some girls as well.

She certainly looked pointy now.

Fighting distraction, I started to get up when she suddenly asked: "Were you disgusted? About last night, I mean?"

I choked for a moment. Her face was red and her eyes stayed mostly down, but there was curiosity there as well. I myself was no stranger to that position--not with my fingers anyway--but with a vibrator, I was. I had guessed that last night's humming little mouse was not hers, but probably Cloe's (you little slut!), or maybe even Jill's, her roommate. With either of them, I could well imagine.

"Noooooo," I said slowly. "Just disturbed. Not disturbed with you," I added quickly, "but that I blundered in on you like that." I let her know with a confessional shrug of my shoulders and a flip of my hand that, Hey! Who hasn't?

"Thanks," she murmured. Then, shocking the blink right out of my eyes, she asked: "Would you like to try it with me? Tonight, maybe? In my room?"

Eventually I shut my mouth. It was totally speechless. "Jen... " I somehow got out.

"I'd like to," she said, in a hurried but very low and very self-conscious voice. "If you'd like to too. In fact," she whispered, grinning at her own use of such ridiculous diction, "I just want be with you tonight."

Then, as though I weren't already rattled enough, she took my numb hand in hers and placed it solemnly over her left breast.


I kissed my first girl, Traci, when I was fourteen years old. I still had my braces on and so did she. We joked about getting caught together in a kiss, but also knew that could very well happen. It did one night, freaking us both out.

We were in her bedroom upstairs exchanging tongues when two of the wires got caught. It took fifteen very tense, and very long seconds to get them apart. After that, we opted for lip to lip kissing until I got my braces off two months later. Then we frenched ourselves mad.

That morning, I kissed Jen with just the same hesitancy as I had first kissed Trace. We taste-tested each other, letting the peculiarities of our lips--hers were exceedingly soft and responsive--speak for themselves. Once our comfort zone was reached, our tongues came hesitantly together, and began their dance. We kissed until my tongue and jaw muscles ached, and then we stopped. It was absolutely, the best kiss I had ever had.

Having already blasted my sanity into tiny little pieces, Jen fronted the question: "Are you gay?"

I slowly nodded.

"So am I," she said. Then, "At least I want to be."

"God, Jen," I said. "I had no idea."

For a time we just stood there, her eyes holding mine, my hand holding her warm and pleasantly soft breast. So far, I hadn't done anything with it.

"I know we're cousins," she said.


"And that kind of makes it incest, too."


"But I got to tell you, Rach..."

She didn't have to say another word.

"Me too," I admitted.

Her eyes and the brightening of her face were something you'd just have to see. "You do?" she said. "Really?"

"I do."

We were talking in whispers now, lover-speak. Or potential lover-speak. You should have felt my heart. I did feel hers. It thumped slow and hard and magically in my right hand.

"Would you like to be with me tonight?" she asked.

I let my eyes, my labored breathing and my enveloping hand on her left breast be my answer. She covered my one hand with her two.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then she kissed my lips.


The truth was, my hand maintained its caressing hold on her breast, while the tips of her fingers touched lightly against my thighs for a reason. The first few minutes gave the word "tentativeness" new definition. I kissed the side of her neck, and then her shoulder and she shuddered deeply.

"Wow," she muttered, then shuddered again.

I wondered if I could wait that long.

"Look," I said, wanting--needing--to keep myself honest. "There's something I have to tell you, Jen."

"You're involved," she said. It wasn't a question.


"I'm not jealous, or envious or anything." She touched my nose with the tip of her finger, and then my lips. "It's just that, you know, with you and me..."

Her mom and my dad were born on the same day, exactly tens years apart. Jen and I were born on the exact same day, one year apart. I was the youngest of my four siblings; Jen was the oldest of three. She was two weeks past her eighteenth birthday on that Friday morning in March, and I was nineteen. We had always been close. We had always been very close.

In school, we pal'd around together all the way through seventh grade. Then, in 1995, when Jen was twelve and I was thirteen, her mom and dad moved from Maryland to Wentworth, Ohio. (Yes, that Wentworth, Ohio, where all those people were killed.) My heart nearly broke. It did break because I missed her so very much. We had shared everything together; interests: magazines, music, movies, clothing, shows on TV; make-up (what little her mom let her have); after school activities: soccer, T-ball, trips to the mall, all the latest dance steps which we had learned together; we even shared underwear sometimes and once even a boy. (No, not like that. When she let, we both were still virgins.) And though we had never kissed before, nor for that matter ever even thought about kissing, our relationship went far beyond being merely cousins. Even kissing cousins.

She moved onto Poplar Street, two blocks north of Poplar and Bear. Aunt Kim and our cousin Suzi lived at 243 Poplar, right in the midst of the killings. Suzi's close friend Debbie Ross was gunned down on some old fart's front step, Jen said, shot-gunned in the back, if you can believe that. Jen sent me a picture of her from the high school year book via e-mail ... she was very pretty.

They never caught the scum.

The killings happened the summer after Jennifer moved out, so there'd been a year to make friends. Three of them died that day in July (she also knew Debbie Ross) as well as some grown-ups she had known. It made her sick. It horrified her. She says that two days after the siege there were still signs of blood on the ground where Mary Jackson (one of the grown ups) had died. She was very pretty, Jen said, and they had shot her in the head. (Per Jen, it was said they found her without any panties on, wherever that means.)

Aside from those absolutely horrible killings, other things about Wentworth were weird. One thing, Jen said, was that on Suzi's block of Poplar street, 240 to 251, she was the only teenage girl around. (Not counting the twenty-year old that worked in the E-Z Stop convenience store on the corner.) But just two blocks to the north, on Jennifer's street there were tons of teenage girls-- forty-three of them in fact. So many, and of such a narrowly defined age-range (13-17 years old), that newscasts and magazine articles had been made about them. Jennifer got interviewed about it three different times: once by USA Today and the other two times by the magazine, Harper's Bazaar. Bizarre, huh? (She won't talk about interviews having to do with that other thing.)

Taken on average, that works out 3.9 girls for each of the eleven households on the street. Can you even imagine?

In school, the guys called them the Poplar Street Pussies.

We spent hours together talking on the telephone, then on AOL when I finally got my computer. But as the months went by and finally turned into years, our lives drifted their separate ways. Jen found a boy she liked and then another, and the phone calls and chat-conversations slowed. I met Traci Fulton and my initial attraction turned into a frightful obsession; then I discovered that she really liked me too and we took my first kiss behind the Gaithersburg Public Library on a cold Thursday night in December; I never looked back. Only, as I was discovering now, my feelings for Jen hadn't died.

They'd only been asleep.

I released her breast and took her face in my hands. "I love you," I said. "You know that, right?"

"I know."

"Since we were this big," I said, indicating about two feet tall.

She giggled.

"Well... " I raised my hand up a foot. "Maybe this big."

She put her hands on my face and we touched our noses and foreheads together. We said nothing for a good long time, only breathing each other's fragrances and breathing each other's air; when the moment was right, we kissed again.

"God," I said. "I am so afraid to touch you, Jen."

"Why?" she said, although I think she knew.

"Because," I sighed, "You would never leave this room alive."

Just then we heard a rustle outside the door, and some murmured voices, and I knew my roommate was back. We stepped quickly apart.

"Hi, Marie," I said, as Marie staggered in.

"Jesus!" She dropped her bag on the floor and her blow dryer and see-through cosmetics case tumbled out. She whipped off her jacket and threw that on the floor as well. Her hair was a mess and so were her clothes and I knew the kind of night she'd just had. She grunted at Jen and Jen smiled back.

I got sudden idea. "How 'bout a soak?" I said.

"A soak?"

"Downstairs in the sauna."

You have a sauna? her expression said.

"Uh-huh. You up?"

She hesitated, but only for a second. "What do I wear?" she asked.

"Your skin."

"Rach!" she said, laughing, as we went out the door.

"There's a locker room and a place to shower," I said. "The place is clean and always well lit. You don't have to worry about the boys, either, because someone is always down there guarding the place." I grinned, poking the down button for the elevator. "Not that the boys don't try."

She nodded thoughtfully. "A hot soak could be nice. Thanks."

We rode down alone and I thought I'd better tell her. "Anna's probably there," I said, "and I know Cindy is for sure. Maybe Patty, too."

"Oh," she said, and then: "Which one? Is with you, I mean?"

"Patty," I said. "For now."

"How much do you like her?"

"Nothing like how I feel for you."

If the camera in the cab weren't pointed straight at my face, I would have kissed her then. As it was, I snuck- held her hand and rubbed my toes along her foot. I loved her touch. I tried not to let her rear end in the air the night before with the dildo firmly implanted jump-start my hormones, but I was not exactly successful. I tried not to let my mind conjure up images of our coming night together, if it really came off, and had no more success with that. Most of all, I tried not to imagine her nicely shaped and prettily-tipped breasts in my mouth. I looked over and she was grinning.

"Stop it," I whispered.


In the first sub-basement, I lead her down the hall and through the first open doorway on the right. The sauna, as well as the showers and locker rooms were in the back. We passed the Stairmaster machines and the Bowflex machines, and half-a-dozen girls working on them. There were no guys.

At the back desk, we got a key for Jen, a plastic bag, a pair of cheapo blue thongs (not the kind you wear on your fanny, thank you) and a pair of fluffy white towels for us both. We thanked the woman whose name was Muriel Wentz--she grinned at my Tweety-bird feety-pajama's, odd apparel I guess, even for the dorm--and went on back to our lockers... Mine was No. 26, in the middle of the third row.

"Share," I said, drawing a tell-tale grin.

I grabbed two scrunchies from the top shelf and began gathering her hair. "Unless you want to wash it," I suggested.

"I do," she said, and so did I.

She removed her sweater as I unbuttoned my top.

"You still bigger than me?" she teased.

I had always been bigger ... but not nearly as nice.

Boys stared at my breasts when I wore something tight or had on my bikini, but with Jessica, they gaped. Which was confounding since she was a 34-B. But then she peeled off her tee-shirt and my breath froze solid.

Was I dreaming? I must be dreaming, I thought. I had to be dreaming.

What a strange, oh-so wonderful world.

The smile of wonder and pleasure spreading across my lips would have been just too embarrassing to endure, so I said, "Excuse me," and headed for the girl's bathroom. She laughed after me as I went.

Little brat, she had seen.

"This is Anna," I said. "And that's Cindy over there." Both girl's waved in greeting, although neither got up. In the volcanic confines of our cracker-box little sauna, waving was plenty enough. Both girl's were naked.

Looking first at the two girls, then at the closed but easily-opened cedar door behind her, Jen raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry," I said. "It's Friday. Guys are strictly verboten."

"Oh," she said, as if this explained it all.

I filled her in. "Monday, Wednesday and Friday's the sauna is ours. Sunday's, Tuesdays, and Thursday's the boys get to use it. Saturday we share and share alike."

"Oh," she said again.

To prove what I said, I took off my towel and dropped it on a bench. Then, purposely crossing to where Anna and Cindy sat naked on the bench opposite, I sat down beside them. Cindy, and then Anna leaned over and kissed me on the mouth. Jennifer only stared.

"It's okay," Anna said. "Come and sit down."

Jennifer gave one long, stiptic blink, then unwrapped her towel. Both girls ogled her breasts. I patted the bench beside me and both girls watched as Jen tip-toe cautiously--and quite self-consciously--across the box and sit down on my right. She then slid sideways against the adjacent wall because four on the short bench were too many. I slid over and joined her.

"You're Jennifer, right?" Cindy asked.

"Uh-huh." She tried to relax, keeping her eyes in neutral territory; they wanted to roam. Of the three of us present, only Jennifer had pubic hair. Anna, Cindy, myself as well, all were baby-smooth. And though I sat with my legs discreetly closed, Anna and Cindy sat with them fully splayed. Worse, Anna--always the tease--was a little bit red.

Jen shifted enough to batten her legs.

"Relax," I said sympathetically. "You're among friends."

She smiled gamely.

We had showered side by side in the small, white-tiled shower room, self-consciously at first, then with an open awareness. I kept Herbal Essence shampoo and conditioner in my locker, for when I worked out, and both of us used it.

Pouring a dollop out in my palm, I lathered up not my own hair, but Jen's. I worked her shoulder-length tresses into a thick ball atop her head, then let it fall down in her face. She sputtered in surprise, and squealed as soap got in her eyes, which tickled us both. Then she did my long black hair and for a time, with her strong but delicately kneading fingers on my scalp and tangled in my hair, I thought just being shampooed might make me come.

We kissed and held each other gently beneath the spray. First under her shower, and then under mine--share and share alike.

By mutual agreement we had decided to do more that kiss. The rest would come that night, with the two of us in bed as we had always dreamed, not groping in some steamy, white-tiled shower. (Although, on hindsight, that actually was a marvelous place.)

When I grinned and lathered soap in my hands, she had grinned right back. "No touching," she had warned. "We promised, remember?"

"No touching," I agreed, lathering her upper chest and then her shoulders and then her biceps and arms. But, oh my God, I certainly looked.

Jen is blonde and blue-eyed where I am black and brown. Jen has an almost flawless complexion; I inherited mine from my father. Jen moves with a delicately awkward grace that makes my eyes want to tear; being pigeon-toed, I clump around. She is thin-nosed, high-cheek boned and has a dimpled in her chin. I have my father's nose and well... my father's nose.

At five feet five and one hundred and fifteen pounds, Jen is oddly-shaped. She has these knobbly hip bones that protrude at her waist like a pair of bunched-up knuckles. Her bottom is flat and lacks that oh-so critical heart- shape that turns guys on. Below her small but extraordinary shaped breasts, she bears a rack of ribs that look good enough to eat. Her tummy is flat and so is her lower belly, but you can see the soft bulge of muscle groups running down the middle, which is not so attractive. In a nutshell, this is Jennifer's problem: she's skin and bones.

I, on the other hand, have flesh to spare. I stand five feet five and a half inches tall and weigh one hundred and thirty pounds. My breasts are twice, maybe even three times the size of Jen's but not so pleasingly shaped. Mine sag where her's stand at rigid attention, and where there are stretch marks in places on mine--crinkles, we sometimes call them--Jen has none. Her aureole and nipples tip out the end of her breasts like snow-capped mountain peaks, where mine look like galactic spirals. They are also very big--huge--giving me what a one night stand just after high school indelicately called,"a cross-eyed stare."

So what, you may ask, do guys see in either of us gals? Or other gals in me?

You know.

Stretching out on the bench, I pulled loose the towel from around my head and shook out my hair. Jen did the same. We sat beside one another, finger combing our tangles, me looking unobtrusively--I hoped, unobtrusively--at the spray of yellow hair between her legs. I think she was looking at the identical spot between my legs, but not at any hair.

"So Jen," Anna said before I guessed at her angle: "Sleep well last night? I heard you got a little action before you turned in."

"Cool it, you two!" I said tartly. "Give the kid a break." (What jerk had told, I wondered? Amy? If so, she was in for a paddling.)

Both girls laughed, but it was a laugh of camaraderie, not one of taunt. Jen laughed as well and then we all broke out laughing and laughed so hard that we almost rolled off our seats. Anna did, if fact, and had to be help back up. Then she let out a loud popping fart, clamped her hands over her mouth with huge blue eyes, and we all shrieked again.

"Jesus... Jesus," I gasped, wiping my eyes. "That hurts." And indeed it did hurt, because a stitch had invaded my side. I held it as I got up and stretched my muscles. "No more," I begged. "Please, no more," which made things only worse.

Finally, too exhausted and too shaky to do anything but just lay there on the bench, we gasped hot air and rubbed our aching sides. Anna glanced obliquely at Jennifer's breasts, and Cindy did as well. I had fire between my thighs--a real tempest--and wanted Jen between them. I wanted between hers. I so much wanted between hers.

"Hey!" I suddenly croaked.


"I'm gonna give you a hickey!"

Shrieking wildly, I quick-snatched her into my arms and attached her defenseless neck. She squealed delightedly with girlish terror and fought to get away.

"Unh-unh!" I grunted, determinedly sucking her flesh. She was mine, and like a vampire, I'd mark her for life.

Backed into the corner with me squatting atop her lap, both wrists clamped in my hands, her struggles quickly gave way to a delighted abandon. I released her neck once I had done enough and admired my handiwork. Already livid and lined with indentations from my teeth, it was a world-class hickey.

"Rachael!" she puffed.

"What?" I laughed back.

Her face was crimson and speckled with sweat. Her chest labored up and down and touched my own laboring chest, nipple to fully erect nipple. "My mother will kill me!" she whined.

That's all I could stand. Gluing my lips to hers, I found her tongue and gave battle to it until my tongue got too sore to move and I continued kissing her anyway.

Suck my breasts! her moaning begged. Suck my breasts and attack my screaming nipples!

I wanted to. I wanted to so badly, but not in there. Not now and not with the other two watching. Jennifer was mine, not to share.

We broke apart and I dropped panting back onto the cedar bench, collapsing beside her. We watched in vivid and open-mouthed fascination as first Anna, and then Cynthia, went to her knees between the other girl's legs and dined.


It was ten o'clock. The party boomed.

In her blue and white ruffle-front shirt and streaky denim jeans, Jennifer looked rave. Totally rave. I wore a blue and white-striped rugby shirt and zip-back black pants and felt pretty rave myself. She was half-gone on Tangerita's (Tangerey Rum Margarita's) and was dancing and laughing herself silly. I danced with Patty, drinking my Red Bull energy drink and Stolie Vodka and trying not to get drunk. I waited for one o'clock, the agreed upon hour, because at one o'clock, no matter what or who we were doing (ha-ha!), Jen and I would stop it and head off for her room. At one o'clock, I would claim her lesbian cherry as mine.

God, what a cliche.

But oh my God, what a thought...

"Are you sure about this?" I shouted at Patty.

Patty's butt was planted in my groin and her arms were snaked around mine; we ground ourselves obscenely together.

"Sure!" she yelled. "You know me!"

Patty, unlike any other girl I had ever been with (intimately at least) never got jealous. Never got drunk and pissy or turned into a raving bitch, never set a spiteful mouth loose on anyone dear. Not on me at least, although I sometimes deserved it. She just had fun. Patty was fun.

"You are amazing!" I yelled.

"No!" she yelled back. "I'm just Patty!" Which was the very same thing.

Snaking my hands along her sides, and up and down her thighs, I teased both her, and the radiantly grinning Jennifer across the room. Coupled with a boy named Tim from the twenty-second floor, she used her jean-clad ass, her sexily ruffled top, and her magnificent hands to tease him erect. Twice, she had let him hold her breasts with her hands atop hers, and twice, I had mouthed obscenities at her to make her stop. Holding Patty's breasts only made Jen's grin get bigger.

She was such a tease.

"Are you sure about this?" Patty cried out.

I had no answer.

"She is pretty! I'll give you that! I could just... well... mmmmm," she said, grinning like a shark. She might not be jealous herself, but she sure knew how to brew it in me.

Trouble was, I was jealous of them both.

"Just be careful!" she yelled.

"I will!"

Across the room, Jen had her butt doing circles in the Tim-guy's lap; he looked ready to burst. His hands were back on her breasts.

"Am I pretty?" I suddenly yelled.


"Am I pretty?"

She turned into my arms. "You are pretty beyond belief!"

"Patty ... come on!"

She kissed me on the lips and I kissed her right back. Jennifer had been pre-warned about this, that it certainly would happen and certainly it had ... Patty was my girlfriend, and a great one at that. So far, Jen seemed not to be bothered.

"I don't deserve you!" I yelled.

"You're right," she hollered back. "You don't!" And she put her hands on my ass, gripping my cheeks and making sure Jen and everyone else there saw who was grinding my front.

"You brat!" I yelled. If nothing else, she was a world- class date.


One o'clock finally arrived.

Hot, exhausted and thoroughly flustered, I thanked Patty again, kissed her goodbye and grabbed Jen away from her guy. He looked stricken but let her go. Taking her hand and dragging her out of the thumping room, I lead her stumbling darlingly along behind me.

"God!" I said, unable to catch my breath.

Jen, sucking air and huffing it back out, only nodded. Between us, we had danced for twelve fucking hours.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

She head-bobbed an enthusiastic yes.

I laughed at her.

"What?" she chuffed. "I'm exhausted!"

"Too exhausted for this?" Right there in the hallway, I glued her mouth to mine.

"No," she said, panting, when I let her go. "Not too exhausted for that."

Heading for the elevator banks in the center of the dorm, I marveled at how disheveled we were. My striped blue shirt was out of my pants, my underarms and back were soaked; so was my hair. My panties felt embedded into my crotch and the thin strip of thong... well you can guess about that. Like always, it made me itch.

Jen looked like a girl who'd been passed around among two dozen guys.

"What's wrong?" she said, both blowing and pushing hair out of her face.

"Nothing," I said, laughing.

When the elevator finally arrived--the cab was half god- damn full!--I dragged her on beside me and punched our floor. Camera or not, I would have kissed her the whole four floors down. On our level, I dragged her the twenty five yards hop-stumbling to her door.

"Open it," I demanded. "Please!"

Part of this was anxiety at wanting her naked body, but part was just plain needing to pee. Letting her close and lock the door behind us, I bee-lined for the bathroom.

"What do you want to drink?" she called.

"Anything," I yelled back. "As long as it's wet and alcoholic."

When I came out, she had two Heineken's ready for glasses.

"Oh, bless you," I said, taking my glass and bottle from her hands. "You are the best."

"I bet you say that to all your childhood sweethearts," she said, tinking the mouth of her bottle against the top of her glass.

"Only to blonde ones in fluffy-fronted 60's shirts."

She looked down. She click-clucked her tongue. "I'm embarrassed to even wear it."

"Someone I know like it very much," I said slyly.

"No," she said. "It's what was inside it he liked."

We stood there, sipping our beers and orchestrating next possible moves. I suddenly asked: "This is, you know... your first time?"

Her expression was blank. Then she exclaimed: "Yes!" as though I'd just asked if she were a Christian rather than being Gay. She actually looked hurt. Then she said, "For you, Rachael, I would have waited a million years."

"Jen," I said, softly. "You said the magic words."


It was four a.m. The alarm clock on the bedside table declared so in rosy red digits; my watch said the same. I looked down at my sleeping Jen.

Slipping strands of still-damp hair back off of her forehead, I brushed it through with my fingertips. She stirred, but did not awaken. I readjusted the coverlet she insisted in kicking off, pulling it up and tucking it over her shoulders. I kissed the crown of her head. Then I just held her.

Without getting grossly boorish about this, I'll say that we had a lot of sex that night. A lot of sex. Maybe more sex in two hours than I'd ever had in my life. Certainly with a guy.

Taking the glass of beer gently from her fingertips, and placing it along with mine on the glass-topped table, I had enveloped her in my arms.

"Mmmmnnnnnn," she had moaned.

For ten minutes solid, we did nothing but kiss. Then, slipping the blue and white hippie-girl shirt up and over her head, I held it gently against her back and touched and kissed her waiting skin. I purposely left her breasts alone, not wanting the distraction.

"Do you like this?" I asked, kissing her slowly along the ridge of her shoulder and up her neck. I chose a place for another hickey and sucked. Though not as deep and as violently given as it's big brother inches away (big sister, I should say?), it still lasted a week.

"Mmmmnuummmm," she moaned again.

Drawing her ear to my mouth, I whispered two things in it I intended to do to her that night. Her eyes popped open... very wide.

"Rach! That's, that's--"

"Pleasurable?" I suggested.

She looked totally abashed. She blushed madly.

Leading her by the hand over to the closest of the two beds--Cloe's--I slipped my fingers inside the top of her jeans and released the button.

"Oh, my," she muttered slowly, watching as I lowered the fly.

Oh, my, indeed.

I lowered the jeans to her knees and then down to her ankles. I had her step out of them and then folding them neatly, placed them on a nearby pile. Then I put both my hands on her breasts.

"Do you know," I said, "how much I wanted to smack that boy's hands off your boobies?"

She laughed softly; light danced in her eyes. I felt a soft, continual shudder running up her back. She placed the splayed fingertips of both hands against my back and rubbed me through the shirt. "Mmmmmm," I went.

"Do you know how much I missed you, Rachael?"

"No more than I missed you."

I removed her brassiere.

In her sleep, Jennifer stirred and mumbled indistinctly against my shoulder. One of her feet--I think it was the right one--worked clumsily at the covers. I held onto them tightly and eventually she stopped. I wondered sadly, when she left here the next morning to go home, if we would ever share this again.

After removing her brassiere, I hooked my thumbs through the waistband of her panties and pulled them down. They slid over her flat rear end and down around her thighs. I let them pool at her ankles. I left them that way, thinking it rather sexy. Then I had her remove my clothing, one slow piece at time, all the time standing inside her drawers. It was sexy I decided and really turned me on. Jennifer also.

"Rachael," she said, putting her hands on my breasts. She kissed each one on the nipple, then sucked each one slowly. I held her head in my hands. Just as I was about to draw her back to my mouth, wear my tongue out more time, my cell phone rang.

"Who is that?" she said, incredulously.

"Don't answer it!" I hissed. "I don't care if it's the fucking president."

It was the president, of course.

"Oh, no," I said, sickly, recognizing the number. "You can't do this!"

Jennifer looked at me dumbly.

"It's my father!" I wailed.

"Oh, God!"

Picking up the cell phone--Jennifer backed away, covering up, as though secret service agents might break down the door at any moment--I pressed the green button and said: "Hi, daddy."

"Hello, sweet," he said. "What are you doing up?"

"Well, you know..."

"I know you better not be up to no good," he said.


"Look," he said. "The reason I called--" I suddenly heard my mother in the background, wanting to know what was going on. She took away the phone from my dad and said: "Rachael Marie! Are you drinking again?"

"Hello, Mother," I said, mouthing a desperate, "Shit!" to Jen. She grimaced and bit her lip. Then she bent down and snatched up her panties and bra and mouthing, "Don't you do that!" I made her put them down again. She stood there fidgeting foot to foot and biting her thumbnail.

"I've been dancing," I said. "That's all."

"Where are you now?"

"With Jennifer."

"In her room?"

"Of course," I said. "Where else?"

"Don't you get snippy with me."

"Sorry," I said and rolled my eyes. Jen grinned and relaxed a bit.

There was a momentary silence.


"Yes, I'm here."

"What's going on?"

My father was talking to someone else in the background. He sounded mad. Then I heard a phone slam down--you always know that distinctive sound, don't you, even over another phone--and I knew it was trouble

Jen whispered: "Are we okay?"

I nodded yes. Something was wrong, but not the kind of something that brought my agents running. "It's fine," I mouthed. But there was no stopping that banner headline from flashing in my head, the one in every grocery checkout tomorrow reading: "PRESIDENTIAL DAUGHTER CAUGHT IN LESBIAN TRYST WITH YOUNGER COUSIN!"

My father took back the phone. He was livid, but trying not to show it. "We'll talk to you later, Rach. Gotta go. Have a nice weekend and say hi to Jen for us, okay?"

"I will Dad," I said, even as he hung up the phone.

I stood there and stared, first at the dead cell phone in my hand, and then across at Jen. I understood.

Laughing, I dropped the cell phone on top of Jen's panties and bra, grabbed her back into my arms, and reconnected our mouths. I kissed her very hard. When we broke for air some minutes later, I laughed again at her puzzled expression.

"My sister," I said. "Not me. I'm the good one, remember?"


For a full half-century we lay there on the bed, using our lips, our tongues, our fingers, our toes, the instep of our feet and anything else we had to touch each other with. Our hands, gripped so tightly together at times that in the morning my knuckles ached, spent what time they weren't together down between our legs. Our legs wrapped around each other like strands of hair in a braid

When things grew really intense, we ended up sideways on the bed, feet dangling off one side, our heads off the other. I spent minutes--long luxurious minutes--sucking each of her breasts. I delivered them both gorgeous twin hickeys.

As I did this, the middle finger of someone's hand slipped up my aching vagina, and the middle finger of her other hand went up my behind. Together, they laid claim to my entire insides. I felt we were eight-tentacled like an octopus.

The rest belongs to Jennifer and myself and, if she wants to tell you about it she can. I will not. Suffice it to say, however, that the two things I whispered into her ear that night, well, she liked these two things a lot and a whole lot more.

And yes, we do now share a room together, just not in the White House.



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