WARNING: Here is where it starts to get a lot more… obscene. Reader discretion advised.
Where do we start? Like Amy kept saying, "Let's just get it over with." Here's how it went.
Around noon, Amy comes over and we smile awkwardly at each other. She couldn't eat anything for lunch because she was too nervous, but now she's suddenly famished and craves simple sugars so we raid the fridge, polishing off this leftover chocolate pie and shooting whipped cream into our mouths straight from the can. Secretly this is a delay tactic, because (didn't I call it?) now that the appointed hour is upon us, she can't follow through with her master plan. I'm so not surprised.
Up to my room we go, her with her hands in her back pockets and humming a little tune. The same way you hum when you go past a cemetery or when the power goes out, right? To comfort yourself when you're scared. She was freaking. Deriving what was probably too much pleasure in her pain, I am completely unfazed as I stroll to the bookshelf and take down a book.
"Reading me a bedtime story?"
"You really don't recognize this?" I ask with a small half-smile. At the instant I start to open it, she laughs.
"The booksafe! Oh my God, I forgot all about that, we were so excited when we ordered it from that lame catalog, it was gonna hold all our secrets forever!"
"And it still does."
Amy's eyes went wide like Frisbees when she saw what I'd stashed inside our childhood heirloom. "Oh... MY God. Laynie, that thing is freaking huge!"
I shrugged as I took it out. "Eh, there are bigger ones. I'd say this is average size." Then, to my complete amazement, she began to giggle. "What? What's so funny?"
"I dunno, it's… it's blue."
"So it's gonna be like… screwing a popsicle."
"Fine, I'll put it back."
"No, come on," she told me hurriedly, still laughing. "I just expected it to be like, flesh-toned."
"Ew," I breathed, disgusted. Because it's disgusting, okay? The whole point of a toy is that it's not a real guy, so making it look as much like one as possible kind of defeats the purpose to my way of thinking.
"So, um…" She anxiously brushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear. "I'm not really a hundred per cent on how we start this."
"There is no 'we' in this equation," I reminded her sternly. "There's you, doing whatever you want to do with this, while I go downstairs and turn up the TV really, really loud."
"You were serious about that?" Catching my eyeroll, she sighed and said, "I know, I know you were. Guess I was just kind of hoping you'd reconsider."
"Here's your brief tutorial," I went on as if she hadn't spoken. "This is your main apparatus. This," I told her holding up a tiny bottle, "is the go-juice. Without the go-juice, things might not go if you get me. You do this," and here I twisted the end, causing the room to fill with a buzzing noise, "when you're feeling brave enough to take things to a higher plateau."
Amy nodded, fists in front of her mouth as she stared at it, awestruck. I frowned at her, waited a few more seconds, then moved it a little to the left; her eyes followed. The same thing happened when I pulled it to the right. Fun. Then I snapped it off and sighed, "You still in there, Ames?"
"Then here." I held it out to her, but she backed up a step. "Take it if you're gonna take it."
To my surprise, after glancing at me uncertainly, she actually did step forward and accept my loaner-gift. "Thanks. I, uh, I mean really, thanks for helping me out with this, Layne, I know it's making you wig."
"That's what bee-eff-effs are for, cowgirl. Now I'll leave you to it and come back in an hour – or if I hear your screams getting too loud."
"Get to work!"
Down I went to the living room, where I found an episode of Queer Eye to stare at. Of course, the whole time I waited for her to take care of business, I was thinking about it. Not in some perverted covetous way, but just… what was she doing at that moment? Did she get naked, or did she keep everything on and just slide down her pants to her ankles? Did she use her hands at all, or was my amiga one of those girls who can't stand to touch herself because it's "yucky" and went at it with only the toy? I honestly wouldn't have the slightest clue one way or the other.
Feeling itchy, I went to the kitchen and got a root beer, inwardly wishing it was the non-root version. Maybe, not really… I just wanted something to do, to occupy my mind. I was staring at a commercial for whiter whites and brighter brights when I heard this loud THUMP from upstairs.
Great. Up until that point, I had been beyond content to pretend nothing was going on in my own house that I'd forever hate to think about, and now I had a reason. You know, to worry, to think, to focus on the situation instead of sweep it under the rug. Frowning at the ceiling, I waited a few seconds, squirmed, then yelled, "You okay up there?"
No answer. That could mean a million things. A simple "yes" or "no" would have been way preferable. What if she didn't answer back because she couldn't hear me, and that was all? What if she was too embarrassed to answer, worried that she'd sound funny in the heat of the moment? Then again, what if she fell and hit her head and was bleeding all over the floor, and I could have prevented my best friend's death if I wasn't feeling so awkward about-
Up I got, taking the stairs two at a time. Outside the door, I hesitated again, then knocked. "Ames?" I knocked again. "Grunt to let me know you understand what I'm saying!"
"Sorry," she sobbed. It was very clearly a sob – and not a small one. This was the kind of horrible noise that comes out of your throat when you're crying as hard as you possibly can while trying to stay quiet. A gurgling, shaking, awful monstrosity of sound.
I burst into the room, bracing myself for whatever sight I was about to find. Maybe my laptop was in a bazillion pieces. Maybe AMY was in a bazillion pieces. Maybe she was curled up on my bed with a pillow, lamenting her inability to screw herself silly… or maybe she already had done it and was mourning her lost innocence. Or maybe she was just a big baby. What? I know she's a big baby, and I'm pretty sure she knows it, too.
What I didn't expect to see was Amy with her boots and corduroys off, curled up with a pillow (okay, so I did predict that part), crying freely into it. I didn't see any blood, but that didn't mean anything; I heard that some girls don't really bleed their first time, either because their hymen breaks extra easily or because they were born without one, or sometimes because they accidentally broke it when they were little kids. The dildo was behind her, as if she had rolled away to keep from seeing it anymore.
"Oh, Amy," I sighed as I shut the door behind me. "I knew you couldn't go through with it."
"I'm sorry," she sobbed again. "I… I can't make myself do it, I tried, I really tried a few times but I kept freezing up. I'm such a wimp!"
"It's okay," I soothed. My hand almost couldn't touch her, but I made it anyway, made myself put it on her knee as I spoke. It was weird, but had to be done. "Go at your own pace. Are you even horny, or are you trying to force it?"
Amy shrugged. "Expected the heat to come when I started, um, doing stuff."
"There's your problem. You can't make yourself get into it if you start out not wanting to do anything at all."
"But I did!" she protested, sitting up. The streaks on her cheeks made me wince, but I tried not to make too big a deal. "It was hot, I was touching myself, and then pushing the… the th-thing into me, kind of rubbing it around down there, but when I said, 'Okay, here we go, all or nothing' some inner voice was like 'NOTHING!' and I had to listen. I feel so stupid!"
My face was starting to warm up, but I shrugged and said, "Sounds like you just need to mellow out. Do you, uh, maybe want some Kenny G after all?"
She let out a weak pip of a laugh, like some tiny dog barking. "Actually, music sounds good. The room being silent as a tomb is… intimidating somehow, if that makes any sense. Does it?"
By the time I crossed to the stereo and loaded up a CD, she was crying again of course, but it at least she was responsive. Her total breakdown from last year, when she disconnected from reality right before what was supposed to be her epic ballet performance, was legendary by now and the last thing I wanted was to deal with something like that. After a minute, the soft sounds coming out of the radio made her look up slightly and go, "What is this?"
"Sigur Rós," I told her gently. I should have been a lot meaner to her, but I dunno, she was just too pitiful, right? It would be like scolding a bad puppy who just peed in the corner. They can't help it. "Something quiet and unobtrusive. Though I could switch it up and put on some System Of A Down if you, uh-"
"No," she half-laughed. "I don't need Armenian guys yelling at me while I'm trying to... well, you know."
At that point, we both kind of looked at each other, then looked at her bottomless bottom. She was about to turn away, all shy and weepy, when I shrugged and said, "What? It's not like I didn't get treated to a cavalcade of coochie-shots every day at St Margret's. It's pretty much 'no guys, no clothes'."
"I swear on a stack of Bibles, Ames. I've seen it all before."
We both looked at each other some more. Then we did it some more. Then, uh, we did it some more. When did her tentative first steps into the realm of sexual independence turn into some half-assed staring contest?
Let me set this next part up; Amy was laying on her side. Her other knee was almost vertical before I realized she was opening her legs, and it wasn't until I got an eyeful of her before I woke up enough to yank my sight upward to the vintage Jack Off Jill poster on the wall.
Yeah, I know I just said that I saw all 31 Flavours of vaginas in private school, but none of my roommates nor the girls in the communal showers were showing them to me. This was Amy putting it on display, asking if I approved of its aesthetics. Inside my brain I'm like, "WHAAAT?" But of course, how was I supposed to tell her it was freaking me out when I'd just assured her how super European I was about the whole thing?
That made me look back at her, and I told myself I was only going to look at her face, but I swear that it was because it was right out there and clearly visible that it became the unintended focal point of the entire room and I shifted nervously and caught light glinting off of it which meant it wasn't dry and then I had to yank my gaze up toward Jessicka again.
"Laynie?" More urgent the second time.
"Can you, uh... hang on, I have to sit down." I sat. On the bed. STUPID, STUPID MOVE. "Uhh... so here's the thing, I have to ask you something."
"Are you turned on by me being in the room with you right now?"
"What?" she yelped, clearly distressed. "That's so... Laynie, are you serious with this? Are you asking because you're- no way, never mind, that's so not possible!"
"You didn't answer me." And she still didn't. "Look, I'm not gonna rat you out to your family or anything ridiculous if you are, but I kinda need to know."
"I am." When I whipped around to look her dead in the face, she jumped, but then she swallowed and whispered, "Hey, it's- listen for just a second. It's not that I think you're, um, cute or anything, no way, I'm not like that, but, well... I was trying to do something in here, and now you're in here too, and it's weird, y'know? I've n-never done this before at all, much less with company! So… having somebody else nearby…"
That was when I felt my pulse really speeding up. I mean, REALLY speeding up. I was already a nervous wreck, but listening to her admit I was causing her to feel a heightened sense of pleasure from exposing herself to the open air was... I dunno, erotic, in this clandestine, perverted way. Possibilities began to shoot through my mind, ones I'd always laughed at. Me and Amy could do this. I mean, not that we would, I was firmly grounded in reality and that was complete lunacy, but it wasn't impossible. We both had sex organs and hands and lips and tongues. If we wanted to...
The instant it cropped up in my mind, I stomped on it, like when you see a bug crawling out from under the refrigerator and you're already wearing combat boots. But it was still there, wriggling, looking up at me and daring me to finish it off. It wasn't a comforting thought, it wasn't a welcome thought, but I really could reach right out with my hand and touch her. Intimately.
And the crazy part of me that needed meds to keep it in check was saying, "What's stopping you?"
Hang on, I gotta pee. I promise I'll finish this when I get back, but I can't freaking hold it any longer!
AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Yeesh. Did I really just write that tawdriness? Oh well, I've written worse (not the least of which is in the following chapter). My apologies for the mental comparison of lesbian copulation to an insect; not very sexy OR flattering, but it goes to illustrate Laynie's state of mind. She views being intimate with her best friend as something unsightly and unclean. Very important there.
By the way, thanks to Soulless1 for popping this fic's ReviewCherry (how else could I phrase that given the story content?). Alas, I continue to feel badly that you had to read this in exchange for me reading a... decidedly less RACY work of yours. Sorry!
Also to Xpsi: I know it's bizarre. The inner workings of the human mind are seldom orderly (especially mine!), and given that it's a diary I was trying to bring realism to this project. And I promise there will be loads more for you to judge in the coming weeks. Stay tuned!
NEXT: ...oh, what do you THINK is coming next? :P