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I’ve said before that I’m pretty straightforward with things. I say what’s on my mind and I do what occurs to me to do, and I don’t spend a lot of time thinking or dwelling on things. Maybe that’s bad, and people have warned me about being reckless or thoughtless, but what I don’t do is spend a lot of time moping about or struggling with decisions. I just kind of go, and consequences are dealt with as they come up.
Which made it all the more frustrating when Angela all but vanished on me for a week following the beach party. She’d said we’d talk about the kiss, and what happened, and then she hid in a hole. Well. Her house isn’t really a hole, I guess, but the imagery is what matters here. So I borrowed Just’s car and drove out to see her. In deference to her family’s more conservative nature — and who has a family less conservative than mine, I ask you — I didn’t wear my favorite sundress. Instead, I wore cargo shorts, a loose T-shirt with a sports bra underneath, and sandals. I looked casual, but presentable, and my wild mass of curly red hair was pulled back off of my face in a ponytail.
Angela’s house, in point of fact, is actually quite nice, a two-story affair — I don’t know architecture from agriculture, so I couldn’t tell you the style, but it had a peaked roof and a broad screened porch that wrapped around the front and side, and the foundation was elevated (this was a flood zone, after all). I parked out front and went up the short drive, enjoying the smell of the flowers that grew in wild profusion to either side of the walk. The Masons put a lot of attention into their landscaping; the lawn was deep and green and well-tended, with little hedges around the edges.
Hedges. Edges. Heh.
My knock was answered by the elder Mrs. Mason, who, while she would win no beauty prizes, was among the sweetest, kindliest women I knew. She immediately grinned widely enough to please a dentist and wrapped me in a hug that threatened several ribs. I kissed her forehead and hugged her back — I was taller than she by several inches — and begged her to let me breathe again. The stout little woman nodded and let go, and ushered me in.
“You here to see Angie?” she asked, wiping her strong, dark hands on her apron. I noticed then that she had flour on them.
“If she’s home,” I say lightly. “You baking?”
“Pies for dessert,” she confirms, then shakes a finger at me. “And you don’t get none less you stay for dinner, young lady. Look like you could use a good healthy dinner.”
That makes me laugh. Everyone in the house remarks about how much I eat. “If I stay for dinner,” I warn her, “you’ll need groceries in the morning.” I grin again at her skeptical look. “I work hard, Mrs. Mason, I need a lot of fuel. She upstairs?”
Mother Mason casts a glance upward, her thick lips thinning into what isn’t quite a frown. “Been holed up there all day. You at that party she went to?”
“I was there,” I agree. “She seemed fine when we left. I kept an eye on her, Mrs. Mason.”
She snorts heavily, and meaningfully. “Maybe. Someone keep an eye on you?”
I give her the widest, most innocent smile I can manage, the one that’s all teeth and wide eyes and complete bullshit. “Angela, of course.”
Rolling her eyes, the Mason matron flaps a hand at me. “Go on, go talk to her. I got pies.”
So I headed up the stairs and poked around till I found Angela’s door. It wasn’t hard. It was the only door with a painted shield on the front of it. The device was a boar with tusks lowered. Some people think of boars and pigs as if they’re the same thing; they’re not. Boars are terrifying animals, mean as hell and powerful. I didn’t really think of Angela that way, but I suppose you wanted something fierce on your shield, to tell the other guy what he was in for.
I knock lightly on the door. “Anj?” I say hesitantly. “It’s Kady. Are you okay?”
Silence for a few moments, then, “Hang on.” I hear her walking to the door, then unlocking it, and she opens the door for me, immediately turning away from me to trudge back to her bed as I step inside and close the door behind me.
Her room is kind of a mess. The thin carpet is a dark blue, and various articles of clothing are scattered across it. She has an armor stand in the corner — yes, she has actual armor she wears, and where her parents got the money for that I will never know — and there’s a bra hanging over the ….pauldron? Plastron? Shoulderpiece. I don’t know what it’s called. Her weapons are racked on the wall, a bamboo practice sword, a wooden weapon I know she uses for exercise because of its weight, and a true steel longsword. I don’t like looking at it, as beautiful as the workmanship is.
Angela has a low, wide bed with a canopy of drapings over it, because the slightest bit of light will keep her from sleeping. She’s sitting on the edge of it, bare feet planted on the carpet, in jeans and a t-shirt, and she looks kind of rough. Her hair, as curly as mine but black as pitch, falls down around her orhangazi escort face, her elbows rest on her knees, and her broad shoulders are drooped and forward.
I don’t sit next to her. Instead, I come around and kneel in front of her, reaching up to push some of the hair out of the way so I can see her face. “What?” I ask softly.
She stares at me, eyes so dark they’re almost black, her lips pressed together. I’ve always thought Angela was pretty, with large dark eyes and a straight nose, generous mouth with full lips, and a strong chin and high cheekbones. Her looks come from her father, softened for a feminine face, but still carrying a sense of strength and determination.
“I don’t know,” she says finally. “I been sitting here, thinking about it, and all I can think is, I ain’t like you, Kady. You just gave it to those boys, because you wanted it, and I don’t think less of you for that, I don’t — but I couldn’t do that. You’re beautiful, and you say I’m beautiful, and that you want me, and I….It has to mean something, to me, Kady. It’s got to …..I don’t know, I can’t be like you, it’s got to….mean something.”
The last two words trail off into mumbles as her gaze finally shifts away from me, and I sit back, startled. She buries her face in her hands, strong and sinewy hands, the backs dark mahogany, the palms and fingertips a paler color, and I reach up and pull her hands away from her face. Had she actually resisted, I couldn’t have moved her — Angela is much stronger than I am, but I am persistent and tenacious.
“It always means something,” I tell her softly, holding her eyes with mine. “What it means might be different from case to case, but it always means something. Yes. I wanted it. And they gave me what I wanted, and they were kind and gentle and sweet, and I plan to find them and reward them one day. Because they didn’t have to be. That day, on the beach, it meant a sharing of joy and love of life. It means something when I’m with Neil. He teaches me things, and makes me feel ways I didn’t know I could. It could end any day, and it’s all the sweeter for that. Can you look at me, honestly, here and now, kneeling on your bedroom floor, being your friend, telling you these things, can you honestly look me in the eye, Angela, and believe that you mean nothing to me? Because I don’t believe for a second that I mean nothing to you.”
She lets out a breath, slow and steady. “Don’t know if that’s enough. I don’t know if I could….you know…be with you, and not get jealous if…”
“Jealousy is the one thing I won’t tolerate,” I tell her, but gently. “I belong to me, Angela, no one else. I go where I choose and I do what I please. You’re worth a lot more time than I can give you — but I give you what I can, and affection besides.”
“Not love.” She states it flatly, and I throw my hands up in frustration and make an irritated little sound.
“Love. Like any of us really understands what that is,” I snap at her. She blinks, taken aback, but I’m just getting started. “I love Neil. I’m not going to marry him or even share his bed forever, but I care about him and what happens to him, and it would hurt me if he left. That’s love. It isn’t romance, it isn’t the great love of the stars,” and I infuse that phrase with all the drama and scorn I can manage, “but it is love. I love my family.” Maybe more than is proper, but I don’t tell her that. “As you love yours. You say the word as if it only has one meaning, one face. Love is infinite, Angela. It can take whatever shape you can grasp and you can hold as much or as little as you can take. You can give as much as you can hold yourself.” Somehow, I’d gotten to my feet during my little rant, and was standing over her, while she stared up at me dumbstruck. I reach down and cup her chin in my hand, not gently, and stare her down. “So when I tell you, Angela Mason, that I do, in fact, love you, you had better fucking believe it, and not worry about what kind or which or how many and accept it for what it is. Love is what you let it be. And if it has boundaries, they are boundaries you make. So if I fall outside of them, just remember that is your decision and not mine. Because I set no limits on my love.”
She just looks at me for a minute. I suppose in movies or something, that rant would have ended with me kissing her, but the first move had to be hers. She had to engage this. Otherwise, I’d never be able to convince myself it was her choice, and she would all too easily put anything that happened down to me being me.
“That’s terrifying, you know,” she says, in an odd sort of tone.
“So are rollercoasters,” I tell her sagely. And we hold there, for a moment, as both our lips begin to twitch, neither of us wanting to break first. Neither of us can hold it long, and I don’t know who laughs first, but we’re both laughing hysterically after a minute or so, laying crosswise on her canopied bed, giggling like schoolgirls side by side. It breaks the terrible tension, nilüfer escort and as we relax, catching our breath, she sighs.
“You scare me a little, Kady,” she says. “I was scared by how much I wanted, on the beach. I mean, I meant to go there and just go wild, but when the time came…I couldn’t. I didn’t really do anything. Smoked a little, drank a little….”
“….masturbated wildly to my threesome,” I add dryly, grinning.
She aims a weak slap at me. “Shut up,” she says affectionately. “But when I kissed you…It scared me how much I wanted it. You scared me, how much it affected you.”
“I can’t imagine you scared,” I confess, turning my head to look at her.
She snorts loudly, waving an arm around her room. “Look at all this, Kady,” she tells me. “I fight in medieval tournaments. I learned to handle weapons, wear armor. I did all this because I was afraid. All the time. Sure, I’m strong now, but I wasn’t always. I’m still not exactly huge, you know? And bigger than you is always intimidating.”
I refrain from telling her that isn’t true for me, mostly because by this point, I recognize I’m fundamentally different from anyone who could be called normal. Instead, I digest what she’s telling me. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” I ask finally, hesitantly.
“Not exactly,” she says. “I’m more afraid you won’t realize it when you do. Or that I’ll hurt you. Or that if we do something, it’ll change what we have. What we got is pretty sweet, Kades.”
“Everything changes,” I murmur. “We’ll change, and so our relationship will change. I’m not trying to talk you into anything, Angela. All I want to do is make sure that whatever you decide, you’re not making the choice just because you’re scared.”
She’s silent for a bit after that. “If I say stop,” she says, carefully, and I reach over and squeeze her hand.
“Full stop,” I tell her. “No problem. No hard feelings. That’s always how it is, with me at least. No pressure. No expectations. Wants and desires, plenty,” I add with a laugh, “but those are my issue, not yours. Only one demand from me.”
“What’s that?” she asks, a little warily.
“You take the lead,” I say. “So I know it’s what you want.”
We roll on the bed, so we’re facing each other, almost nose to nose, and she spends a good deal of time just looking at me, her eyes moving over my face, pale to her dark. Her hand reaches up and runs over my hair, and I reach back and undo the clip that held it, so she can run the strands through her fingers. A crooked smile shows on her face.
“What?” I ask curiously.
“I am trying to imagine,” she says slowly, “what my mother would say to this.”
“Not your dad?” I tease, grinning.
She snorts expressively and rolls her eyes. “He’d probably just ask for the video or something. He’s a perv, but we love him anyway.” Her eyes narrow then, and she pokes my chest with a finger. “You,” she says sternly, “no.”
“Wasn’t even thinking of it!” I lie defensively. “Besides, I wouldn’t do that to your mom.” That part, at least, is true. Not without her blessing anyway.
“Good,” Angela says firmly. Then, she cups her hand over the back of my head, and draws me in, and our lips touch.
For someone who hasn’t dated much, Angela is a surprisingly good kisser. Her lips are soft, warm, full, and I sigh as I open my mouth beneath them, accepting her tongue, caressing it with my own before drawing it further into my mouth and sucking gently on it. Angela moves to resting on her elbows over me, and I wrap my arms around her neck, taking the kiss greedily. It goes on for a long time, soft kisses back and forth, and we shift about to get more comfortable several times in the process, though aside from kicking off my sandals, we haven’t gotten to clothing yet. I’m willing to go at her pace. She’s laying over me, her breasts pressing into mine, as she kisses me, and I wrap my legs around her waist almost as a reflex; she pulls me up, crossing her legs beneath her, and now I’m sitting in her lap, wrapped around her, as our lips meet and tongues test and taste. Her arms are strong and warm around me, and she smells clean and earthy, rich and dark. Her mouth tastes like coffee and cinnamon. I want more. With anyone else, I would take it — but I want her to lead, and I don’t want to frighten her off.
When her warm hands first slide under my shirt, I sigh, and part from her just long enough to slip it over my head, taking the extra second to ditch the sports bra too. I move to rejoin our mouths, but she leans back, holding back, and the look I give her is equal parts hunger and curiosity. She is looking at my breasts.
“You have the most perfect tits,” she says in a happy sort of voice, then, like a gleeful child, plants her face between them and I shit you not she motorboats me.
That sets me off laughing like a loon, a sound that dies into a happy little “oh” and a moan as she takes one of my nipples into her mouth. I am pretty sure I’m the first türbanlı escort woman she’s ever been with. Where did she learn this stuff? Rather than question my good fortune, I just clasp her head to my bosom and enjoy the sensation of her tongue teasing the hard little nub.
But she still has all her clothes on. This must be remedied.
I start pulling at her shirt, but she captures my wrists in her hands and lifts her head from my breast — a twofold disappointment — and stares me in the eye. “Let me do this,” she says. “Let me show you what you mean.”
I fucking melt.
I nod, closing my eyes as I tear up a little, and wrap my arms around her head again, kissing her hair. She lays me back on the bed, and takes her time tracing designs on my belly with her tongue, making the muscles there flutter and jump, making me gasp and writhe as her deft hands undo my shorts and pull them down my legs. Then she snorts out a laugh and rests her head on my thigh, laughing helplessly at my panties, purple with a little bow and a smiling kitty face on them.
“What?” I ask defensively. “They’re cute!”
“They are!” she agrees. “And in the way.” And she pulls them off of me.
She doesn’t go in for the prize immediately. I could almost think of Angela and Neil colluding on me, but I think more it’s uncertainty. She instead spends time exploring my legs, kissing the soft inner skin of my thighs, even nipping and biting a little, eliciting sharp little yelps from me. She breathes deep of my scent, rubbing her hands lightly over my thighs, scratching gently with her short, blunt nails, a sensation that gives me goosebumps. I run hands through her hair, murmuring encouraging words between all the other sounds she’s pulling out of me, and when she finally kisses my vulva — actually kisses it, a soft-lipped press that sends a shiver through me — I let my head fall back and close my eyes with a groan.
Angela doesn’t let lack of practice hold her back. Instead, she goes exploring, and as responsive as I am, uses that to guide her. She must like the taste, too, because she is eagerly lapping up the juices I provide, and she isn’t like Neil. She doesn’t tease me till I’m crazy. Instead, it’s a slow, gentle build up, and I put a hand over my mouth to stifle my moans as she eats me, and it feels so damn good. Electricity crawls over my skin, under it, shocks radiating from the core between my thighs whenever her tongue touches the small bud, coalescing in my belly, until finally, I reach down, pull her head against my sex, and explode, rocking against her mouth, giving shrill little gasps and whimpers, trying desperately to be quiet because her parents are right down fucking stairs and I have no idea how they would feel about this and I have no desire to get kicked out of my best friend’s house especially after finding out she can eat pussy oh my God how she can eat pussy.
Long, gentle licks keep me shivering as I come down, and after a short while that could have gone on forever as far as I was concerned, Angela slides up to join me on the bed. She looks immensely pleased with herself. Come to think of it, I’m pretty happy with her too. I reach for her and eagerly kiss her, tasting myself on her, hungry and nowhere near satisfied. I’ve just gotten started.
When the kiss breaks, Angela seems a bit out of breath, but she’s grinning at me. “Should have told you,” she said. “Don’t worry about noise. Dad’s in the basement watching the game, he couldn’t hear a war going on in the living room. Mom’s cooking, she makes enough noise doing that we could about host a rock concert and she’d just feed the fans as they came to watch.”
“Good news for you,” I tell her. “Because I plan to make you scream for joy, Angela.”
She giggles at me, and I manage to wrestle her shirt off — me naked, her clothed, entirely unfair, it must be remedied immediately — and unclasp her bra, freeing those immense, delicious tits. I’m no slouch in the breast department; they’re full and they get attention, but Angela has the kind of tits that require special order bras. Huge and soft, they fill my small hands to overflowing, and I kiss all over them, before leaning up and kissing Angela’s neck, just below her ear, flicking the soft skin there with my tongue. She makes a sweet little cooing noise, and I grin, kissing down the column of her throat while kneading her magnificent melons like a kitten with its bedding. I follow the same trail she did — down the body, but I’m a lot more thorough, licking the soft underswells of the breasts, sucking her nipples into my mouth and tracing spirals with my tongue, hands stroking skin preparing for my mouth to be next.
“Holy fuck, Kady,” she breathes, and I grin against her skin. I love the smell of her, the taste of her, and I kiss the ridged muscles of her belly. Girl’s got a six-pack, and I trace each muscle lovingly with my tongue, undoing her jeans as she had undone my shorts, pulling them down and out of the way. Rather than being confronted with Hello Kitty panties, however, I come face to face with dark blue silk with a rather notable damp spot in the middle. Angela also, noticably, doesn’t shave, though she does keep it trimmed at least. I pull her panties away, and kiss her thighs, and look up to meet her gaze, looking down at me.
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