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“So!” Ettie Munson's voice is very loud in the small trailer, and Chrissy just about jumps high enough to hit the ceiling.
It's the first time in at least fifteen minutes that either girl has said a word. They drove from the school in complete silence. Chrissy can usually make polite conversation with anyone, but none of the opening questions she could think of were remotely appropriate to say out loud. What's your favorite drug? Is it fun to worship the devil? Did you really hold a broken beer bottle to Steve Harrington’s neck at a party because he called you "Bernadette” to your face?
Now, Chrissy takes a deep breath to soothe her jangled nerves and says “So?” back.
“You said you wanted something stronger than weed,” says Ettie. “I have a wide range of options available, but first I need to know what you meant by ‘stronger.’ Are you looking for, like, a party buzz, or do you want the power to down an extra-large pizza by yourself?”
Chrissy can't tell whether she's joking. “Why would I… never mind. I just need something to help me sleep.” The closer she comes to graduation, the worse her insomnia gets. She's stressed about everything: Jason, her mom, Jason, college, Jason.
“Ah.” Ettie scrunches her nose sympathetically. “And the, uh, DIY approach isn't working for you?”
“The what?”
“DIY. Do-it-yourself.” She pauses significantly, but Chrissy’s still confused.
“I don't… grow pot,” she says.
“Yeah, not what I meant, Cunningham. I'm talking about the original, all-natural, single-handed sleep remedy.” Ettie wiggles two fingers at Chrissy as if flashing an indecisive peace sign.
Chrissy is beginning to think Ettie has sampled too much of her own product. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she says.
Ettie huffs in exasperation. Enunciating carefully, she says, “Have you tried masturbating?”
Chrissy stares at her. “No.”
“Might be a good place to start, before you spend a bunch of money on self-medication,” says Ettie. “Relaxing and free.” Her face is slightly pink, but maybe that's Chrissy's imagination, or the lighting in the trailer, or something.
“No,” says Chrissy again, feeling unmoored. “I don't do that. I mean. I can't do that.” Stupidly, she gestures to her cheer uniform, her short skirt. “I'm a girl.”
Ettie’s face flushes deeper. “I. What? Chrissy.” She claps her hands, as if to get Chrissy's attention, which is pointless because Chrissy is already staring at her with such intense focus that her eyes hurt from not blinking. “You don't actually think that girls can't masturbate. You don't think that. Do you?” She rakes her fingers through her wild hair, to no discernible effect. “Who told you that?”
She's looking at Chrissy urgently, as if she actually expects an answer. “I don't know,” says Chrissy slowly. She doesn't think anyone did tell her that, actually. People don't talk about masturbation, except in dirty jokes and smirking asides, but when they do, it's always related to guys. She's never even thought about it being something a girl could do. “Um. I mean, how? How do you… do that?”
“Maybe my grandma was right,” muses Ettie. “Maybe I'm dead and this is hell. Fuck. Okay.” She shows Chrissy a wide, fake smile. “Just, whatever your boyfriend does to get you off, do that, but to yourself. Take two of those and do not, under any circumstances, call me in the morning. I'm glad we could have this talk.” She gestures toward the door, but Chrissy doesn't move.
“What my boyfriend does,” she repeats.
Ettie Munson's face falls. “Oh no,” she says. “Chrissy. I don't like this.”
Chrissy doesn't like it either. “What's he supposed to do?” she asks.
“He's supposed to die in a sewage fire,” says Ettie way too quickly, as though she already had the answer waiting. “I knew I hated that douche.”
Chrissy should defend Jason, but that would take energy she doesn't have right now. All she can do is stand there in Ettie’s living room, feeling like an idiot, while her understanding of the world rearranges itself.
“So girls can… get off,” she says, borrowing Ettie's phrase, which she doesn't think she's ever used before.
“I also hate the entire Indiana public school system,” says Ettie.
“How?” Chrissy can't even picture it. “Does it–I mean, the way a guy–”
Ettie saves her from having to put her question into words. “There's no, uh, emission, ” she says, clearly miserable at the awkwardness but enduring it for Chrissy's sake, and Chrissy thinks Ettie Munson might be her new best friend. “It's just the feeling really good part. And girls can do it more than once in a row. I mean, some girls can.” Her face is now red enough to stop traffic.
“How?” Chrissy asks again.
Ettie stares at her, and it's not that Chrissy doesn't feel how weird this conversation is, how inappropriate and personal, but she can't just stop now. She needs to understand. “How do you do it?” she repeats. “What does your…” Does Ettie have a boyfriend? Chrissy can't remember. “What do guys do to get you off?”
Ettie yelps with laughter. “Nothing,” she says, her voice higher than usual. “Absolutely nothing, praise Satan.”
“Oh.” Chrissy frowns in surprise. “You're a virgin?” That doesn't fit with the mental imagine she has of Ettie Munson–or the other girl's reputation. And there's no way Ettie hasn't had offers. She's not popular, but she's pretty, with legs a mile long and full pink lips. Plus there's the fact that all her friends are guys. How is it possible that none of them has made a pass at her?
“To be scrupulously fair, that's not what I said,” Ettie says in that same high voice. “However, it is true.”
“Then how do you know it's possible?” Chrissy asks. “For a girl to–”
“Please refer to the beginning of this utterly purgatorial conversation.”
It takes Chrissy a minute to decipher the request, but then she gets it. “Oh,” she says. “The, uh. What did you call it? The do-it-yourself approach.”
“My specialty,” Ettie says.
“Right. Okay,” says Chrissy. “So how do you do it?”
Ettie stares at her for a long time. Chrissy can't imagine why. Her question was way more straightforward than anything Ettie has said in the last five minutes.
“How do I do it?” Ettie finally repeats. “How do I, Bernadette Munson, personally bring myself to unaccompanied orgasm? By what specific means? That's what you're asking?”
“Yeah,” says Chrissy. “Because I want to try it.”
Ettie keeps staring at her.
“Because you said it would help me sleep,” Chrissy adds, belatedly worried that Ettie thinks she's some kind of sex fiend, even though Ettie just said that masturbation was her specialty.
Ettie closes her eyes, takes a deep breath through her nose, opens them again. “Go home, lie on your back, and rub your clit,” she says. Her voice is higher than ever. “Not too hard. Not too fast. Think about something sexy. And when you start feeling kind of hot all over–”
“Rub my what?”
“Could you excuse me for a moment?” asks Ettie. Chrissy nods, reflexive politeness kicking in to hide her confusion.
Ettie walks through the kitchen and disappears into the room at the far end. “WHAT THE FUCK,” Chrissy hears her scream at the top of her lungs, the door muffling the sound hardly at all. After a moment, Ettie emerges again, her hair noticeably more chaotic.
“Your clit, Cunningham, I swear to Satan, this fucking school, do you need me to draw you a fucking diagram of your own–”
“Couldn't you just show me?” Chrissy interrupts.
Ettie shakes her head, not refusal, just disbelief. “You want me to show you your clit?”
“No. Oh my God.” Chrissy rolls her eyes. “I meant yours. ”
As Ettie's eyes go wide, it occurs to Chrissy that that might actually be weirder.
“Look, I'm sorry,” she hurries to add before the other girl can say anything. “I know that probably sounds insane, but could you please, just super quickly, show me what you do? So I can copy it? I can't–” She shrugs, her face hot, realizing she's suddenly close to crying from embarrassment. “It's not like I can ask Jason.”
She's relieved to see a laugh from Ettie, even a half-hearted one. “Yeah, I doubt he'd be much help.”
“I feel so stupid, that I missed out on something so huge. I just need a tiny little bit of guidance,” Chrissy says. “And you, I mean, you did say it was your specialty. Can you please help me, Ettie?” She forces a smile, and the slight crinkling of her eyes sends a tear overflowing. Ettie stares at it, her face stricken. “Please,” Chrissy whispers.
“You ever feel like you’re losing your mind?” Ettie asks conversationally.
Chrissy just looks at her, feels the tear making its slow way down her cheek. Waits.
“Yeah. Fuck it. Fine,” Ettie says abruptly. Before Chrissy can react, she’s unzipping her jeans.
“Here?” Chrissy balks. She didn’t really think about what would happen if Ettie agreed.
Ettie shrugs without stopping what she’s doing, which is stepping out of her jeans and standing there in a pair of black men’s briefs. They look good on her, emphasizing the slight curve of her hips. Chrissy realizes that Ettie doesn’t shave her legs, which should maybe be weird, or gross, or something, but it’s not. She thinks, again, that Ettie is really pretty, and that it doesn’t make sense for her to be single and a virgin.
“More space in here than my room,” says Ettie. “You can sit there.” She gestures to an armchair across from the couch, where she's arranging herself lengthwise, her head propped on the far arm. Chrissy sinks back into the chair, grateful for the support, as she's suddenly finding it difficult to take a deep breath.
“Can't fuckin’ believe I'm doing this,” Ettie mutters to herself, then slides her right hand into her briefs.
“I can't see,” Chrissy points out.
“Are you serious?”
Of course she's serious. What about this is funny? Nevertheless, Chrissy does have a strange, fizzy feeling, like laughter, bubbling up in her chest. “What's the point if I can't see what you're doing?”
“Jesus H. Christ,” says Ettie, but she shoves her briefs down her hips and kicks them to the floor. She glances at Chrissy, then raises her eyes to the ceiling. Her hand rests briefly on her belly before inching lower.
“That’s better,” Chrissy says.
Ettie bites her lower lip, hard, as if to stifle a sound. Probably a groan of irritation, Chrissy realizes; she should have stayed quiet, let Ettie pretend she’s not here. She presses her lips together and tries to breathe silently. It becomes much more difficult when Ettie parts her thighs.
The hair between Ettie’s legs is as dark and unruly as that on her head. Ettie’s fingers slide through it easily. Chrissy can’t stop staring at the slick pink skin peeking through the curls, but Ettie’s fingers stop just above there, not sliding in, hovering just outside. After a moment Chrissy realizes that Ettie’s fingertips are moving in quick, tiny circles.
Oh. She keeps the exclamation to herself, as well as the understanding it triggers. That’s what Ettie was talking about. Her clit. And Chrissy must have one, too. She’s never touched herself more than necessary, has maintained a lifelong modest unfamiliarity with her own anatomy, but–somehow, suddenly, she’s intensely aware of something just at that precise spot on her own body. A heat there, a pulse. She watches how Ettie is touching herself, rubbing her clit just the way she advised Chrissy to do, and she wants to do the same.
Very slowly, trying not to make any more distracting noises, Chrissy lowers her right hand between her own legs. She goes to pull her skirt up, then stops. Ettie is letting Chrissy look, because she asked; that doesn’t mean Ettie would want to see Chrissy touching herself. She’d probably be really grossed out. Instead, she slides her hand down the waistband of her skirt, inside her underwear.
She isn’t quiet enough, because Ettie’s gaze snaps to her. The other girl’s big brown eyes get wider. “Are you…?”
“Sorry,” says Chrissy, scalding with shame. “I can stop.”
“No, don’t,” Ettie says quickly. “It’s–I don’t mind. You should, you know. Get the hang of it.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Chrissy thinks she’s found it. There’s a spot, just above where her body opens, that sends a shiver through her when her finger grazes it. If she presses there, it hurts, but if she just brushes over it–oh, like that–
“You’ve got it,” says Ettie. Her voice is a dry rasp, like fingernails against Chrissy’s skin, but not in a bad way. Ettie’s hand stops moving, and Chrissy feels a hot flare of panic. It can’t be over already.
“What else do you do?” she asks. “I mean, that’s not all, right? You didn’t… get off yet.”
Ettie hesitates. There’s apprehension in her eyes, and for a moment Chrissy thinks she should stop, back off, go home. Ettie’s already shown her so much more than any reasonable person would ask.
But it’s not enough for Chrissy. She’s not exactly sure what this path is she’s stepped onto, but she needs to keep following it, as long as Ettie will let her.
“Sometimes I,” Ettie says in that same scratchy voice. Then, instead of finishing that sentence, she reaches down with her left hand and puts a finger inside herself. Chrissy watches, rapt, as Ettie slides her middle finger out–slick, glistening in the low light, and Chrissy has the insane thought that she wonders what it tastes like–then pushes it back in alongside her index finger.
She remembers Jason panting in your ear, asking, Are you wet? Chrissy never knows how to answer him. Maybe she’s felt it before, but she never knew what to call it, how the sensation connected to Jason’s haphazard attempts to sound sexy. But now she understands. She sees it on Ettie’s fingers, feels it between her own legs.
Ettie curls her fingers, searching for something, reaching into the dark space where her pleasure lurks, and Chrissy finally knows what Jason wanted to convince himself she was feeling, all those nights in his backseat. She feels it now, hot and surging, just below her circling fingers. She wants–something. Not Jason, and not her own fingers. She swallows and watches Ettie touching herself. Ettie fucking herself.
Ettie has her eyes closed, but as Chrissy shifts in the armchair, her thighs rub together and she gasps. Ettie’s eyes pop open and lock on Chrissy’s. Maybe she should look silly, sprawled on the couch in her usual Hellfire Club t-shirt, that stupid demon grinning from her chest while she’s naked from the waist down, but Chrissy thinks she’s beautiful. She thinks Ettie Munson might actually be the prettiest girl she’s ever seen.
Ettie’s dark eyelashes flutter in the heat of Chrissy's gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her mouth is open, and she doesn’t look away. It makes Chrissy wonder. It makes her want to know.
She wants to know what Ettie feels like, there, inside. Wants it to be her fingers searching for the right spot, the perfect angle, sliding in where Ettie’s so wet. She wants to hear those sounds up close, wants to hear what Ettie would say, what noises would come from her mouth if she weren’t biting them back.
Chrissy’s fingers spiral in tighter and tighter around her clit until her wrist cramps. She winces and shakes it out.
“You okay?” Ettie asks. “Want to stop?”
There’s something in her eyes, something like fear, and Chrissy doesn’t want to stop, she never wants to stop, and she thinks Ettie might not want to stop either.
“Keep going,” Chrissy says, staring, no longer bothering to hide it. “Please.”
Ettie closes her eyes and groans, like Chrissy is hurting her, except that her fingers pick up speed, so maybe she likes to be hurt a little bit.
And Chrissy is beginning to have some thoughts, beginning to put together some theories. But she needs more information.
“Is that what you’d want?” she asks. “If you were with a guy. Is that how you’d want him to touch you?”
Ettie’s eyes go wide again. She stares at Chrissy, and Chrissy stares back. Her fingers don’t stop moving. They’re hidden beneath her skirt, but she knows it’s obvious what she’s doing, knows Ettie is perfectly aware.
“I wouldn’t,” says Ettie. “Wouldn’t–want it. Wouldn’t be with a guy.”
“Why not?” Chrissy thinks she knows the answer, but she needs to hear Ettie say it.
Ettie purses her lips and exhales. “Well,” she says, her voice shaky but her stare unwavering. “If you've never heard of the female orgasm before, I suppose it would be unreasonable of me to expect you to be familiar with the concept of lesbians.”
She's wrong, as it happens. Chrissy has heard of lesbians, but only way she's heard of masturbation: sidelong, smirking, dirty jokes and insinuations. Enough to have an idea, but not a full understanding. At least, not until now.
The way she feels watching Ettie touch herself is extremely educational.
“You like girls?” Chrissy asks.
Ettie nods.
“But you've never had sex with a girl?”
Ettie bites her bottom lip, and Chrissy is a little jealous of how good it must feel, how plush and full under her teeth. “No,” she admits. “Never–how would I even try, in a town like Hawkins?”
“You could invite a girl over,” Chrissy says. “Get her alone. Tell her she can feel better than any guy has ever made her feel. Show her how you touch yourself.” She feels bold and insane and slightly terrified, but it's impossible to miss how Ettie’s hand moves faster, how she slides a third finger into herself. How easy it goes in, because Ettie's so wet.
“Oh, fuck, Cunningham,” Ettie whispers. “You think that would work?”
“Yeah.” Chrissy draws out the syllable, turns it into a sigh. “Let her see how pretty you are when you let your guard down. See how wet you get and wonder if that's for her. And then maybe you'd look at her and say something like, why don't you come over here and touch me? ” It's interesting, she thinks distantly, how a few minutes ago she could only stand the lightest touch over her clit, but now she's grinding it against her fingers, pushing her hips up, desperate for more. “She couldn't say no.”
“Chrissy.”
“Yeah?” She knows what Ettie wants, but she's going to make her say it.
“Why don't you, ahh, fuck… why don't you come over here and touch me?”
Chrissy is out of the chair as though she’s been launched from a springboard. She’s not graceful; she flings herself into Ettie’s lap, one hand fumbling between the other girl’s thighs, the other buried in her wild hair, using it to smash Ettie’s face into her own. She misses Ettie’s mouth on the first try, plants a sloppy kiss just above the line of her jaw. Ettie is quick to correct the angle, and then her tongue is in Chrissy’s mouth, hot and frantic and searching.
It’s good. Chrissy’s never cared that much about kissing–about any of it. She’s never known a guy who cared about how it felt to her, about what she liked or didn’t like, about anything other than how far she’d let him go. It never occurred to her that it could feel just as good to her as it does to them. Now, though–she gets it. She knows why they moaned for it, why they begged.
Oh fuck, she’ll definitely beg, if she has to. If that’s what it takes to get Ettie to touch her.
“You’re so pretty,” she gasps into Ettie’s mouth.
“Yeah, I’m gonna be the belle of the ball at the insane asylum when I lose my fucking mind,” says Ettie.
Chrissy pulls back enough to flash her a coy smile. “Already? I haven’t even gotten to touch you yet.”
“You are the hottest hallucination I have ever had by a large margin,” says Ettie.
Laughing, Chrissy drags her fingers through Ettie's wetness. She feels the other girl's opening but doesn't slip inside, not yet. Instead, she finds her clit, strokes where Ettie was just touching herself–oh, gorgeous, the way her thighs tremble.
“Like this?” Chrissy teases in slow circles. “Can I get you off like this?”
“Anything,” Ettie gasps. “Anything you want, just don't stop–”
Chrissy stops. Ettie whines, high and wordless and the sexiest sound in the history of the universe. “Why?” she demands as Chrissy sits back, straddling her thighs.
“I want you naked,” Chrissy says. She tugs on the hem of the Hellfire shirt. It's honestly annoying how much she suddenly relates to Jason, the way he's constantly trying to get her shirt off or slide a hand underneath it. She never saw the point, but now Ettie Munson is squirming underneath her and Chrissy needs to see her tits.
Ettie helps Chrissy get the shirt off, which takes longer than if Chrissy had just done it herself, and then–she's completely naked. She isn't wearing a bra, and for the first time Chrissy understands why that's hot. Ettie's breasts are just there, flushed the same sweet pink as her face and neck, so small they stand straight up when she's on her back. Chrissy doesn’t even have time to think before she’s taking one in her mouth.
She loves the way Ettie’s nipple feels on her tongue. She loves the sound Ettie makes even more. Now Chrissy pushes two fingers slowly into Ettie. God, Ettie’s so wet. The evidence of her arousal coats Chrissy’s fingers, smooths their glide. Inside, the other girl is hot and amazingly soft. Chrissy can feel her muscles clenching around her fingers, pulling her deeper, and it’s a revelation. She’s never felt desired like this.
“Does that feel good?” She slurs the questions around Ettie’s nipple.
“Fuuuuuuck,” Ettie moans.
Chrissy can’t really get enough leverage to thrust, at this angle, so she just sort of… curls her fingers in and out. By the way Ettie shudders and bucks beneath her, it seems she’s accidentally stumbled upon a good move.
“God, Jason’s an idiot,” Chrissy murmurs.
Ettie wrinkles her nose. “Why the fuck, ” she says, “are you talking about your boyfriend while your fingers are inside my actual cunt?”
Chrissy loves the way Ettie says “cunt.” She’s never liked the word before, but suddenly it sounds ripe and round and irresistible, just like Ettie’s cunt. “It’s just–look what he’s missing out on,” she says. “Look how amazing you are when you’re being touched the way you like.” Ettie groans and turns her head, trying to bury her face in the couch cushions, but Chrissy is quick to stop her with a hand on her cheek. “It’s so hot trying to make a girl come, and he’s so stupid because he’s never even bothered.”
“That is such a good point but I will absolutely not be able to come if you keep talking about Jason Carver.”
“Okay,” says Chrissy, “but just so you know, I’m going to break up with him.” She curls her fingers in Ettie’s cunt again.
“Harder,” Ettie whimpers, “fuck me harder.”
Chrissy slides backwards down Ettie’s body so she can move her hand better. With three fingers, she thrusts into Ettie fast and deep. Ettie meets her eagerly, wants Chrissy inside her so bad, and Chrissy has never felt more powerful or more turned on. Her own breathing grows almost as ragged as Ettie’s.
“Chrissy I’m so fucking close,” Ettie says in a rush. “Just need–” She starts to rub her own clit again, harder than before.
Chrissy grabs her wrist and shoves her hand aside. Before she has a chance to second-guess herself, she ducks her head and licks Ettie’s clit. There’s a moment in which she feels completely disoriented, and then she figures out why: She didn’t expect it to taste good.
The way guys talk about going down on girls, it sounds gross. Chrissy never even asked Jason to do that, because she was afraid he’d hate it, and of course he’s never offered. Somewhere in her mind, without realizing it, she was bracing herself to stifle a gag, thinking the bad taste would be worth it if it felt good to Ettie, if she made more of those impossibly sweet sounds.
But Ettie tastes so fucking good. She tastes brand-new and familiar all at once, salty and musky and bright and perfect, and Chrissy wants to swallow every drop of her.
She swirls her tongue around Ettie’s clit, down to where Chrissy’s fingers are pumping in and out of her, then back up again. It’s hard to breathe, and her wrist is starting to hurt, but Chrissy notices these inconveniences as though from a long way away. Nothing matters but the taste of Ettie, the way she arches up into Chrissy’s tongue, the way her thighs tense, the way she whispers Chrissy’s name over and over, quieter and quieter until she falls completely silent, her whole body rigid, a moment of stillness that looms over them both like a cresting wave–
–and then it breaks, and Ettie sobs, and they both wash up gasping and drenched on the shore.
Eventually Chrissy realizes that she’s ended up kneeling on the floor beside the couch, her torso twisted uncomfortably to fit between Ettie’s thighs. Her left foot is asleep. She tries to straighten her leg out surreptitiously, but the movement jolts Ettie out of her doze.
“Wow, I fucked that up but good,” she says drowsily.
Chrissy blinks at her. “What?”
“I was supposed to be showing you how to get off, remember? But instead you got me off. Um. The hardest I ever have in my life, probably.” For someone with a reputation for shamelessness, Ettie Munson actually blushes a lot. Chrissy finds it extremely charming.
“Well, it was still instructive,” says Chrissy. She clenches her thighs and feels how wet she is, the tingles running through her body. “Are you… this is a stupid question, but are you sure I didn’t? Because it was really hot. I’ve never felt like that before. So maybe that was me getting off?”
“If you’re saying ‘maybe I did,’ you definitely didn’t,” says Ettie. She props herself up on her elbows and gazes down at Chrissy. “Fuck’s sake, you’re still fully clothed. This is really not how I pictured losing my virginity.”
“Oh.” Chrissy looks down at her outfit–her cheer uniform, which suddenly feels stupid and embarrassing. “I’m sorry. Was it not good?”
“Was it–what?” Ettie sits up abruptly, reaching for Chrissy. She tries to drag her up onto the couch, but ends up sliding off it herself, landing in Chrissy’s lap in a tangle of limbs. Ettie is still very naked, and Chrissy can’t resist running her hands up the other girl’s back. “Cunningham, you made me see gods I don’t even believe in.” Gently, sweetly, Ettie kisses Chrissy’s mouth. “I just didn’t plan to be such a pillow princess my first time.”
“Pillow princess?”
“Yeah, I read about it–there’s this zine I found–it’s not important,” says Ettie. “It means a lesbian who, uh, lets a girl–you know–” It’s ridiculously cute how she can’t bring herself to say what Chrissy just did. “But doesn’t return the favor.”
Chrissy takes a moment to think about that. “You’re not going to?” She tries not to be disappointed. It’s not like they agreed on some kind of exchange. And she definitely didn’t go down on Ettie because she hoped Ettie would feel obligated to reciprocate. She just wanted to. If Ettie doesn’t want to, Chrissy’s not going to push her.
“What? No! I mean, yes! I mean, I want to!” Ettie shakes her head so hard a lock of her hair hits the corner of Chrissy’s mouth–and sticks there, caught in Chrissy’s sweat, among other things. “Oh for the love of–” She rakes her hair back with her hands and dives in again, this time going for Chrissy’s neck instead of her lips.
“Oh, wow,” Chrissy whispers. The heat of Ettie’s tongue over her pulse point is maddening. Ettie’s teeth graze her throat, not enough to really hurt, just a little sting to heighten the pleasure. Chrissy feels herself melting, sliding down until she’s supine on the floor.
“Should I take your clothes off?” Ettie muses, her lips brushing Chrissy’s collarbone. “Because I’m not going to lie, there’s a version of this fantasy where you keep them on.”
“Really?” Chrissy giggles.
“I’m flattered you think I’m not boring enough to fantasize about corrupting a cheerleader, sweetheart, but I promise you I absolutely am.”
“Please,” says Chrissy. “You were a virgin when I got here. If anyone’s doing the corrupting, I think it’s me.”
Ettie moans into the curve of Chrissy’s breast, her breath hot even through Chrissy’s shirt. “That’s true,” she says breathlessly. “Fuck. That’s so hot.”
Chrissy sighs in agreement. “You’re so hot.”
Finally, Ettie gets her hand between Chrissy’s legs, and what she feels makes her moan again. “Oh, I can tell you think so,” she whispers in awe. Her fingers graze Chrissy’s clit through her underwear, and Chrissy doesn’t scream, but she comes pretty damn close.
“Don’t worry, beautiful, I’ve got you,” Ettie says, pulling Chrissy’s white panties down but leaving her skirt in place. “And I don’t care how long this takes, okay, so don’t get in your head about it. We might have some trial and error, since it’s the first time for both of us, but I promise I’m going to get you there.” Chrissy can only nod and gasp.
Ettie pushes Chrissy’s legs up and apart, so her skirt falls around her hips. “Better than I could ever have imagined,” she says. “So fucking pretty. So wet.” She traces a circle around Chrissy’s clit. Chrissy shivers and goes hot all over, somehow at the same time. “Can’t believe no one’s tasted you before. Can’t believe I get to.”
Chrissy watches as Ettie slowly lowers her head. Her breath over Chrissy’s clit is delicious torture. At the last moment, she pauses, looks up at Chrissy, winks, and then flips Chrissy’s skirt down over her head. Chrissy bursts out laughing.
Her laughter cuts off short when she feels Ettie’s tongue. Hot, wet, strong, perfect, dragging down to dip into her cunt, then up to lap over her clit. Chrissy flails her arms out, desperate for something to hold onto, sure her whole body is about to fly apart. One hand grabs the leg of the coffee table. The other tangles in Ettie’s hair, pressing her face in deeper.
As if in answer, Ettie’s tongue stops its wandering and hones in on her clit, not rubbing but pulsing against her. Pleasure swells in Chrissy, so huge it’s almost terrifying. This is it, she thinks, but somehow she surges even higher. Every muscle in her body tenses, galvanized by the electric joy of Ettie’s mouth. Then, finally, it bursts out of her like lightning from a cloud. The night sky inside her comes alive with brilliance as she shakes and screams and comes.
“Oh my God,” Ettie whispers, kissing Chrissy’s inner thighs. “That was amazing. That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Wow,” is all Chrissy can think to say. “Oh wow.”
After a few minutes, Ettie scoots up next to Chrissy and tucks an arm under her head. “So, uh, I hope that helps,” she says. “And you can, you know, build on those skills. To do it for yourself.”
Chrissy thinks distantly that they should move from the floor to the couch, but that seems like a lot of work. “Oh,” she says. “You don't want to do it like this? Again, I mean?”
Ettie actually snorts. It's loud and crude and bizarrely adorable. “Fucking kidding me, Cunningham? I want to do this again and again and again. I was just trying to offer you an out.”
“Good,” Chrissy says. “I don't want an out.” Her thoughts are scattered. She tries to bring the threads together. “Plus you said… more than once. Said girls can go again.”
“I did say that,” Ettie agrees, nuzzling under Chrissy’s ear.
“I want to try to. See if I can get you off again.” Chrissy smothers a yawn in Ettie's hair. “In just a minute.”
“That sounds good, sweetheart.”
Instead, they fall asleep on the floor. It's the best night's sleep Chrissy has had in months.