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“Can I touch your boob?” Gail doesn’t wait for an answer. She just goes for it.
Your eyes widen at the unexpected sight of fingers contracting and expanding as they come towards you. It’s disconcerting how much Gail’s hand resembles a claw crane from one of those vending machines you’d normally find at a video arcade. Your breasts are definitely not toys. It doesn’t matter how much you like them being played with.
Despite your wanton need for this to happen, you know it’s in both your best interest to thwart Gail’s misguided, albeit drunken attempt at feeling you up. So, for the sake of doing the right thing, you stop her hand before it reaches it’s target.
It’s only when you feel the tension in her fingers that you realize you’ve likely dodged a bullet. Your boyfriend in senior year had approached your breasts the exact same way. And let’s just say he was the last boy to ever have the honor and privilege of touching you in such an intimate way. (Unless you count your clumsy intern, Rodney. But that was an accident.)
“I already kissed your neck, and bit your ear. Many times. What more do you want?”
Gail slams her empty shot glass down onto the counter and looks past you to the end of the bar, her eyes narrowing into menacing slits as she lines up her next target. “I want that guy over there to stop staring at me like I’m some goddamned piece of candy!”
“And you think groping your fake girlfriend in the middle of a bar is going to help matters?“ Gail shrugs in reply. “You know he’ll just waltz right back over here. Only this time, instead of asking for your number over and over, he’ll invite himself into our fake bed.”
Gail leaps off her stool and balls her hands into fists, “If that asshole thinks for one second he can put his hands on my fake girlfriend, then he really is more stupid than I thought. I oughta rip his-“
“Whoa! Easy there Muhammad.“ You squeeze Gail’s forearm and let out a weary laugh. “Maybe I should get you home before you go all grounder on his ass and get us both arrested.”
Gail shoots the guy one last death before her shoulders relax and her fists unclench.
Smiling, you rise to your feet, grab your coat from the back of your chair and usher Gail towards the exit. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling slightly giddy over Gail’s obvious yet completely unfounded jealousy at the thought of you being touched by another person. It’s kind of sweet, you guess, in a mildly concerning way.
“I don’t want to go home,” Gail states as soon she steps outside. She crosses her arms over her chest and shivers as though she’s entering a freezer. Half a second later, you’re ignoring your own discomfort and hanging your coat over Gail’s shoulders.
“Then you’ll come home with me,” you say casually, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks as you adjust the lapels around Gail’s neck.
Smirking, Gail steps– actually, more like stumbles– forward into your personal space. “That’s very presumptuous of you,” she says only half an inch from your lips. Despite the amount of alcohol Gail’s consumed over the past few of hours, her voice is quiet, low, and velvet smooth. “Are you blushing?”
There is no denying your attraction to her as your heart speeds up and your breath catches in your throat at her dizzying closeness. You stand there for a moment, eyes locked on hers and it takes all your willpower not to lean forward and erase the breath’s distance between you and kiss your friend soundly on the lips. “Okay, you can stop flirting now, we have left the building. There are no sleazy men out here.“ Nope! Just one overwhelmingly turned on pathologist, you think to yourself.
Gail’s smirk morphs into her customary pout and she rolls her eyes. As you laugh at the adorable sight, you nudge Gail away and wave down the cab you’d seen approaching in your peripheral. When the cab arrives at your feet, you open the door and slide across the back seat to the far side of the car. Even though there is plenty of room for you both to stretch out, Gail sidles up next to you, shoulder-to-shoulder and thigh-to-thigh. You become so distracted by gravitational pull of her body that you almost forget to give the driver your address.
As you look out the window into the night, you hope, for the sake of your sanity, that she keeps her hands to herself during the short ride home.
//
Well, she didn’t.
For whatever reason, her hand had found yours less than a minute into the journey and your palms have been sweating from the contact ever since. It’s making the task of unlocking your front door that much harder. It doesn’t help that she is resting her head on your shoulder, half asleep, her musky and wildly intoxicating scent wafting over you and embedding in your clothes. For a moment you consider never washing your sweater again, that is until you notice your sweater smells like beer and smoke, too.
Eventually the door unlocks and you guide Gail upstairs to the guest room. You leave her sitting on the end of bed while you disappear back downstairs to find a few things to make her stay more comfortable. When you return a minute later with a glass of water and some clothes for her to sleep in, she has already settled comfortably between the sheets, those soft hands you’d just been holding supporting her head beneath her pillow. She has stripped off all her clothes, the evidence of which is now lying in a messy pile in the middle of the floor, underwear included. Damn sexy underwear, you can’t help but note.
Pushing any inappropriate thoughts to the back of your mind, you tiptoe closer to the bed, not wanting to wake the already sleeping woman, and place the glass on the bedside table and the change of clothes at the foot of her bed.
You know it’s creepy to watch someone while they’re sleeping, but once again you can’t seem to draw your eyes away from her. You sit down on the edge of the bed, close enough to reach out and brush away the wisp of hair that has fallen over her face. She’s so beautiful, you think, as you curl a fuzzy blonde strand behind Gail’s ear. So peaceful and innocent looking, which is a far cry from when she is awake.
“What does it mean if I still want to touch your boob?” Gail’s voice comes out soft, fragile even, but it startles you nonetheless. You were convinced she was fast asleep. You don’t mean to make her wait for an answer, but she has caught you off-guard with her admission.
“Maybe that is something best left to think over in the morning,” you suggest, finally finding her voice. “That is, if you even remember this conversation,” you say quietly, more so to yourself as you stand up to leave the room.
“Don’t worry, I’ll remember.” Gail’s eyes flick open and gaze up at you warmly, “I remember everything.” But as quickly as she opened them, her eyes are closed again, and she’s fallen back asleep.
As you approach the door, you have this nagging feeling that what Gail says won’t be true, can’t be true. It’s just the alcohol talking, you tell yourself.
“I won’t count on it,” you comment sadly, letting your self-doubt stir inside your head as you close the door behind you.
//
You wake to find the sun beaming in through your bedroom window. You can hear the birdsong, and more annoyingly, the sound of your neighbor’s yapping dog as it takes its morning piss in your front garden. You squint into the warming rays and sigh, suddenly regretting your decision to drink on a weeknight as the dull thud in your head becomes more prominent with the more light you let in.
Irritated, you half kick off your comforter and stretch out, your shirt riding up and exposing your belly when your arms extend fully above your head.
You turn onto your side and stare at the bright red numbers of your alarm clock silently screaming at you. It’s 7:20am, which means, there is still plenty of time before you have to be up and ready for work. You consider going back to sleep for half an hour before concluding your time might be better spent cooking up a greasy breakfast to help kick-start your day and maybe cure your minor hangover.
Staring out the window, you wonder if Gail is awake and feeling the ill effects of last nights outing. You also wonder if she is as hungry as you are. You are about to laugh at that thought when-
“Hey.”
“Jesus!” You glance over your shoulder for a second and see Gail lying on her side next to you, one hand propping up her head. “You scared the crap out of me.” You had looked at her long enough to notice she had put on the sweatpants and t-shirt you had laid out for her last night. You feel grossly underdressed in comparison in only a flimsy tank top and cotton panties, which, quite frankly, leave nothing to the imagination. But it’s too late to play modest now.
“So,” Gail says, her voice closer than before, her minty fresh breath tickling the hairs at the nape of your neck. As she positions her body closer behind you, you find yourself rolling backwards a little into the center of the bed, your mind running a mile a minute. “I thought it over, like you said,” she continues.
You swallow hard and say her name in a warning tone, but when her hand finds your hip, you can’t not glory at the sensation of her gentle caress and the feel of her breasts as they press firmly against your back.
“Can I touch your boob?” she whispers into your ear, brushing your hair away from your neck as if she were clearing a path for her lips. “May I touch your boob?”
Just the thought of her hands on you makes you squirm and your nipples tighten. You’ve wanted this for as long as you can remember, dreamt about it frequently and in vivid detail, but you’re discovering nothing compares to real thing, despite her having barely laid a finger on you.
She must take your silence- or the fact your ass keeps pressing into the cradle of her hips- as permission to move because her hand slides over the curve of your hip, down to your abdomen where she teasingly scratches at the tightening muscles there. Sucking in a shuddering breath, she moves her hand up your torso, beneath your top, lighting your skin on fire.
When she finally closes in on your breast, you reach back and squeeze her upper thigh, desperate for something to grab onto, to anchor you in this moment. If you weren’t determined to let Gail set the pace, you’d take her hand and drag it down your body to where you want and need it most.
Her touch is gentle but sure, and thankfully, nothing like a claw crane. The way she cups your breast and spreads her fingers apart before they reach your nipple leads you to believe she is determined to take her time, tease you until you beg for direct stimulation.
“I’m touching your boob.” She says it like she can’t believe it and buries her face into your hair, still kneading the pillowy flesh of your breast.
“Yes, your are,” you husk out; barely believing this is happening either.
“I like it,” she murmurs against your neck while talented fingers slide back and forth either side of your nipple, and you moan hungrily from the gentle pressure she applies. “So soft, so squishy.” She chuckles and you are about to laugh too when she finally relents and tweaks your hardened nipple before removing her hand all together.
As a painful jolt of pleasure shoots to your centre, she stops your hand at your hip– which had moved on its own accord, all but ready to touch your most sensitive places– and covers it with her own. “Do you think right boob is jealous of all the attention left boob is getting?” she asks, and you mull over that question for a moment as she guides your hand back up the path hers once came.
“Mmm,” you moan, and nod your head adamantly as cool lips press lightly against your jaw, emblazoning your skin with an all-new sensation. “You should definitely rectify that sooner rather than later, though.”
“Oh really?” Her voice is teasing but laced with arousal, and together your movements become more desperate and your breathing heavy and erratic as she masterfully directs you at fondling your own breast. “Let me see what I can do then.”
