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From: "rache" <rache696@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Optimism (F/F, Romance) by Rachael Ross
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Date: Sun, 15 Apr 2007 04:10:02 -0400
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Optimism
By Rachael Ross

Copyright 2007 Rachael Ross all rights reserved.
Story Codes: F/F, Romantic


I was with Heather. I was always with Heather and maybe some people
wondered about that, but we were careful. We'd dated other people,
guys, but never steady. Once or twice with a guy and it was goodbye,
and we always came back to each other after, telling everything.
Confessing, sort of, but not really because there was never anything
to be guilty of. Nothing to be jealous of. It was just funny, a game
with a purpose.

But now we were 19 and in college and it was time.

When we were 16 we'd told ourselves that the day after my 18th
birthday, which was a month after Heather's, we'd tell our parents. We
promised and reassured each other for two years, but when it was
time...We both chickened out, I think. Neither of us wanted to do it.
Not because we were ashamed or anything, but because it would hurt. Us
and them, but mostly them.

Our homes were normal, typical even. Nothing bad had ever happened to
us. Nothing terribly sad, or disappointing. Life had been so boring,
so predictable, except for each other. Are people born gay, do you
think? Or are they raised that way? Genetics or environment, it was an
old question and interested Heather not at all. She's more practical
than I. And besides, she would say, we're not gay. We're not lesbians
or dykes or anything else. We're just in love.

But now it's time and oh God, I don't want to do it.

My first year in college, every time I came home, my parents would ask
if I'd met any boys. As though I wouldn't, for some reason. But that's
being selfishly literal, isn't it? I do that.

"Lisa?" We were sitting around the dinner table for Thanksgiving. My
mom, a kind woman if there ever was one, old fashioned in her way but
pushing 50 with style, was smiling at me. I'd been daydreaming again.

"Huh?" I looked up and then around a little sheepishly. I caught my
Daddy looking at me, and my older brother Stephen and his pregnant
wife, smiling a little.

"I asked if you'd met a young man at this school of yours." Mom sipped
her wine.

"I hope not." My Daddy opined gruffly, although his eyes were kind.
Soft brown and resigned to the seemingly inevitable, that someday
there would be a young man of note. "As much money as we spend on
tuition, boys should be outlawed." And that was typical, I'm afraid. I
could never tell if he was trying to be funny and it came out serious,
or if he was serious and it just seemed...funny.

"Well?" I was laying on my old bed, in my old bedroom, talking to
Heather on the phone. Exactly the same way we'd done all through high
school and it made me feel good, very comfortable, and I liked it.

"No." I admitted. "You?"

"Nah, I couldn't." She sighed. We'd thought maybe we could do it over
Thanksgiving.

We thought that with the holidays and all it would be easier somehow.
Everyone would be in a good mood, looking forward to Christmas. The
season of love and reconciliation, New Years, the time of new hopes
and dreams...Anything should be possible that time of year, shouldn't
it?

"Do you want to come over?" I whispered softly and Heather giggled.

"Do you want me to?" She replied, teasing me. Her family lived next
door and we'd often teased each other about being 'the girl next door'
quite literally.

"God, I wish." I giggled too. "What are you wearing?"

"Panties." She paused a second before continuing. "Your panties, those
little blue ones with the rip..."

"Right on the crotch?" I almost laughed too loud and I covered my
mouth. "I thought I threw those away."

"I rescued them." Heather was grinning, I could almost see it.
"They're soooo sexy!"

"You're sexy." I said softly. "Come to the back door, okay?"

"You sure?" It wasn't like we were teenagers anymore, but still, 11pm
on Thanksgiving night was a weird time for a visit, even from your
best friend.

"Yeah." I nodded useless into the phone. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. Five minutes."

"Kay." I licked my lips and hung-up the phone. I had five minutes to
get ready, Heather was coming!

I honestly don't know if other girls, straight girls, act this way for
their boyfriends, but I was always desperate to be as beautiful as
Heather deserved. Sometimes I thought she deserved so much more than
me and I wondered how I'd gotten so lucky. I wanted to please her, and
be desirable for her, and be the only one Heather wanted. Ever.

I'm not sure that either of us are beautiful, except to each other, of
course. Heather is tall and thin, with a wonderfully pretty face. An
open face, always smiling so you can see her white perfect teeth. Her
hair is soft and auburn, a little curly on the ends and she wears it
loose to her shoulders. Even the slightest breeze blows it into her
soft brown eyes. Her skin is white and perfect, no moles or
birthmarks, or anything like that. I love her skin, so smooth and warm
and dry. She gets freckles in the summer, just little ones across the
bridge of her cute little nose, but you'd have to be kissing her to
notice them, I think.

I'm shorter by a head, just a couple inches over five feet, and small
all around. I'm half Filipina, and my skin is golden in the winter; in
the summer it turns darker, like caramel. I have round dark eyes and
thick black hair, longer than Heather's, so it falls halfway to my
waist. My breasts are small and my hips narrow and I look more like a
little girl than a college student, but Heather tells me she likes me
like that. Small and cuddly and huggable. Cute is the word I hear a
lot. Heather is pretty and I'm cute, and together, for those few
people who know about us, we're the perfect couple.

I brushed my hair quickly, changed from the old sweatshirt I was
wearing into a short nightshirt, all lace and satin and emerald green,
a color that especially suits me, for some reason. My family was
asleep, or so I hoped, as I snuck downstairs and to the backdoor in
the kitchen. If my mom or daddy should happen to come down and find me
holding open the door, peering into the darkness anxiously for
Heather, I wasn't sure what I'd say...But how could I not do that? We
hadn't seen each other in three days already.

"Hey!" Heather whispered and suddenly she was there, smiling and happy
as I was.

I kissed her quickly on the lips and giggled a little, grabbing her
hand and pulling her inside. I closed the door and we couldn't wait.
Heather had her arms around me, her soft lips finding mine, and we
kissed urgently, as though we were starved. Her tongue slipped into my
mouth and there was just the smallest fear that we might be caught,
but I didn't care. Not right then. I worked my tongue against hers,
moaning softly and squeezing her close.

"Come on." I exhaled and licked my lips.

Heather was giggling and her breasts pressed against my back as we tip-
toed back to my room like a couple of stooges. Heather's hands were
touching me as well, sliding across my hips and around my tummy and up
to my breasts. We were both laughing, we couldn't help it, and trying
to stifle our happiness was so totally useless. It was probably a
miracle we made it to my room and closed the door, pushing the little
button to lock it, without getting caught.

It was just like old times, well not that old really, less than a
year, but it seemed much longer since we'd been alone in my bedroom.
Heather used to sleep at my house, or I at hers, nearly every weekend
for 3 years straight. We knew each other's households as if we were
sisters, and in fact that's how our parents regarded us, I think. We
were both "good girls" never in trouble, always doing well in school,
no drugs, or parties, or shoplifting, or motorcycle gang boyfriends...My
family was of the opinion that Heather was a good influence. Heather's
mom and step-dad thought the same about me. None of them had ever seen
two such close friends and it made them happy, even envious, as my mom
had told me several times.

It sounds like a fairy-tale, doesn't it? Perhaps it is. And like all
good fairy-tales, there has to be a problem...But you already know ours.
I just want to make sure you understand the depth of our relationship,
or maybe I just really like talking about us. But can you blame me? I
mean as soon as the door was closed, Heather had me in her arms again.
Her mouth was on my ear, whispering how much she'd missed me, and all
I could do was hold her and nod and whisper those same words.

My nipples were hard, burning and itching and pressing upward through
the soft material of my nightie.  They pressed against the underside
of Heather's, and I could feel hers as well. She wore a sleepy-tee, an
old comfortable one that she'd had forever and it reached mid-thigh on
her. I turned my head, kissing Heather's cheek and then her lips and
my hands slipped underneath, along the backs of her smooth warm
thighs. She was doing the same to me, her hands running down my back
and to my ass, squeezing and pulling my hips against her.

I'd missed her so much, you have no idea. I was getting feverish,
standing there, feeling the rounded contours of Heather's ass, barely
contained by my too small panties, the ones she'd salvaged. They were
blue and cotton and the front panel had been ripped so that when I'd
worn them the fatty little swell above my slit was exposed. I reached
between us, feeling between her legs. On Heather that small tear was
lower, naturally and I sucked her tongue between my lips as I found
her exposed clitoris, small and fleshy and already hard. I thumbed it
eagerly, knowing how she liked that stimulation and she rewarded me
with a sharp gasp.

It took us 10 minutes like that before we could find my bed. Making
love to Heather is like going to an all you can eat ice cream parlor.
I just want everything, all at once, and trying to pick any one part
of her is impossible. When I pulled off her tee shirt and saw the
beauty of her large firm breasts, I had to have them. In my hands, in
my mouth, but at the same time I hungered to taste her sex, her ass,
to lick the soft hollows of her thighs, and the little sensitive
places behind her knees. And to kiss her; always my mouth was drawn to
hers.

We made love for hours, slowly and carefully at times, bringing each
other to sweet orgasms that dripped with sublime pleasure; and at
other times we were almost reckless, grinding our bodies together so
that the bed shook and bounced and threatened to wake the
neighborhood, or so it seemed. And then we'd collapse, hugging and
kissing and giggling softly. Our arms and legs entwined so that we
could barely tell where one of us ended and the other began.

Knocking. "Lisa! Breakfast! Get up sleepyhead!" It was my dad's voice
and I could hear his heavy footsteps going down the hall. The house
smelled of eggs and bacon and coffee and I woke up hungry.

Next to me Heather was waking up too, opening her eyes and smiling at
me. Her leg was over mine and her arm resting gently on my stomach.
She kissed me, a small one on the cheek and I smiled too.

"What are we going to say?" She whispered.

"Say I called you." I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows. That at least
wouldn't be a lie. "I couldn't sleep so you came over."

"And we played twister!" Heather laughed and rubbed my left breast
lightly.

I looked at her, biting my lip and I knew I was going to spend the
rest of my life with her. My nipples were hardening, but I didn't want
sex. "Let's tell them."

"Now?" Heather stopped moving and turned a little more, propping
herself up on her elbow.

"Yeah. Together." I was scared and my heart was beating a little
faster as I spoke. "I love you, Heather. I don't want to hide any
more."

"I don't wanna hide either, but...Are you sure?" Her eyes were opened
wide and I knew she was as nervous as I was.

"Yeah." I kissed her once more and got out of bed, finding some clean
panties for both of us. I put my nightdress back on and tossed Heather
her tee-shirt.

"Shouldn't we get dressed, Lisa?" She was sitting on the edge of the
bed, holding her shirt. "I mean, uh, clothes? You know?"

I shrugged, it wasn't like we hadn't had breakfast at her house or
mine wearing what we'd slept in the night before.  Clothes probably
weren't gonna matter a whole lot anyway. They'd be looking in our
eyes.

End
rache696@yahoo.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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