The Firs

How did we get here? I asked myself as I knelt on the soft earth in front of Sophie's pale, naked, freckled body surrounded by dense firs. My hands trailed down her sides, tracing her slight athletic curves as I kissed her inch by inch downwards, from between her small breasts, over the lines of her muscular torso, down over the trimmed wavy curls of hair shrouding her most intimate of places. As my hands reached behind her to cup her tight, strong ass, I dipped my face between her spread legs and touched the tip of my tongue to her already engorged clit.

A low, guttural moan escaped her lips and her sweet tangy wetness slicked my chin. When my tongue slid along her soft, full folds and dipped past her entrance, she gasped, her knees buckling as her body sank into my waiting hands and to the soft, fir-needle covered ground. I traced figure-eights around her delicious clit, one hand roaming her chest, teasing her nipple, while the other probed her open, throbbing entrance; I watched a flush rise over her glowing skin.

And as her breath became quick and uneven, I asked myself again, How did we possibly get here, my face between Sophie's legs, lying on the soft earth surrounded by citrus-scented firs?

***

It had only been a few weeks since Sophie and I had moved in together. That was the beginning of November. It had felt like a stretch at the time. We were only friends, and only friends of friends until two months before that. But both of our leases had been up at the same time and we'd gotten along just fine the few times we'd hung out amongst mutual friends. It was enough to avoid having to Craigslist roommates. And it was Portland, so she didn't care that I was gay, and I didn't care that I didn't know how she identified. She'd made passing reference to an ex-boyfriend, but that was it, and I could use a roommate that wouldn't blur the lines after my last situation had devolved into the worst kind of lesbian drama.

It started pleasantly enough. We found we had a lot in common. Our tastes in music and movies and books overlapped but weren't identical; we were both neat and courteous of each other's space; and we both enjoyed cooking, even though our tiny, narrow kitchen required a certain degree of butt and hip grazing to share it in preparing meals together.

There were some moments of awkwardness though. One morning, about a week after moving in together, we were sitting across from each other at our little table in our cloudroom (it's what we call a sunroom in Portland), drinking coffee and reading, when I heard her clear her throat bashfully. I looked up to see her gazing at me with her brows furrowed in a look of concern.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Well..." She looked down sheepishly. "Look, if you ever need to talk...I'm here."

My head tilted to the side, trying to understand her meaning, or at least, why this had come up in the first place. A pregnant silence enveloped us as a blush crept up her slender neck. She cleared her throat again. "I just mean..." she stammered. More silence, her manicured fingers fidgeting with her coffee cup. My thoughts turned as I regarded her in that lingering moment. She was a sweet, petite thing, lean and athletic, all dark lashes, pale skin, abundant freckles, and tumbling auburn hair that fell just over her shoulders.

Her rushed words snapped me out of my reverie, tumbling in a cascade. "Look, I heard you and your girlfriend fighting last night, all the way across the apartment, the pounding, the screaming, and I know she left. I guess I just wanted to make sure you were ok and tell you, if you ever need or want to talk, that I'm here." She gasped to replenish the expended air and exhaled in a long sigh. Meanwhile, I felt the color rising to my cheeks, burning my skin. Now, I was the one examining the coffee in my cup.

She reached over and placed a gentle hand at my elbow. She continued, "Really, I know we haven't known each other long, but you can talk to me, if you want. And I won't pry if you don't."

"Thanks," I said, still measuring my next words, my face down as I breathed.

"It's ok, really." She leaned forward, looking up through her long lashes, catching my gaze.

I sighed. "It's just that..." I breathed deeply. "Ugh, fine...not my girlfriend. And we weren't fighting."

"That's not what I heard," she interjected, and then stopped, realization setting in. "Ohhh...I see, so you and her...not fighting."

"Nope, quite the opposite."

"Well, fuck me; my bad." I gaped at her vulgar ejaculation and looked up. She was smiling, dimples shining. She continued, "Here I thought shit was hitting the fan. I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you."

"No, it's ok. I'm sorry if we disturbed you, or if I've made you uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable, really," she interrupted. She flashed a knowing grin, her eyes sparkling. "Or if I am, it's just that no one's ever made me sound like that."

I spoke without thinking, "I guess you're dating the wrong gender then."

"I guess so," she said as she picked up her book and continued reading.

***

I thought that would be the end of the conversation, but it had only been the beginning. In the weeks that followed, she peppered me with questions from the clinical to the personal.

"Don't you miss dick?"

"I certainly don't miss what's attached to them, and that's what a strap-on is for anyway."

"Doesn't pussy smell?"

"Yes, it does. It smells glorious."

"What do you find attractive in a woman?"

"Soft skin, soft curves, an iron will; those sorts of things."

"Don't you worry about homophobes?"

"Not really here in Portland, but in any case, you have to take risks to be your authentic self and pursue your own happiness. I find it well worth it."

"How do you know when you're done?"

"When your legs are jelly, shaking and exhausted, and the urge to ravage the fridge overcomes the urge to ravage each other again."

"What's your favorite thing to do with a woman?"

"Wrap her in rope, tie her up, and go down on her until she's screaming in ecstasy."

Normally these questions would come out of the blue, then disappear into the aether just as quickly, and we'd just continue doing whatever we were doing before. But not this time. I heard her gulp and looked up at her, sitting at the other end of the couch.

"Will you show me?" she asked. I felt my stomach churn.

"Show you what?" I responded, trying to beat down the rising blush.

"Ok, so you know how Facesuck occasionally shows you what your friends like? Well, something that you liked popped up in my feed. It was this woman wrapped in this gorgeous rope harness thingy. She looked so peaceful and serene. I was kinda wondering what that was like. Look, you can say no; I was just curious. I don't even know if that's something you do or can do." She looked away, sheepish and bashful, trying to hide her scarlet cheeks.

"Ok," I said flatly.

"Ok, what?"

"Ok, I can show you, if you'd like. The ropes, not the screaming in ecstasy." I winked at her, rose and went to my room, returning with a few bundles of dyed rope, which I handed to her so she could inspect it. She turned it over in her hands, feeling the weight and texture.

"It's beautiful," she said, noting the various colors. "I love this one especially," she whispered, lifting a strand dyed in a pattern alternating deep royal blue and light grey. She held it like something forbidden, mystical, then dipped her nose to it and inhaled deeply. "It smells like grass, like the earth. It's lovely."

"That's hemp; it's my favorite. The smell, and its texture when it's sliding over your skin is just...intoxicating."

"Will you show me?" she asked again. I couldn't quite place the look that crossed her face, something...warm, like smoldering embers. But also uncertain and...afraid, perhaps?

"Absolutely. Here, stand in front of me," I gently commanded as I sat on the edge of the couch, trying not to fall into my own domme space. This was exceedingly hard when my favorite triggers - a beautiful woman and the smell of hemp - were both in my hands.

I breathed slowly, taking her in and giving her time to calm her own nerves, which were apparently on edge, judging my her fidgeting hands. She had on a pair of short, tight running shorts that clung to her hips, stretched taut, and a midriff-baring tank top. I had generally refrained from considering her figure in an effort to maintain some semblance of boundaries, but with her navel at eye-level, it was hard not to notice her gentle curves, strong legs, and flat abdomen on her runner's body. She was toned and graceful, a natural dancer. And what I could do with those dancer's hips and that runner's stamina.

Holding the rope in my fingers, I looked up to speak but was silenced by her downward gaze. Her hair was up in a ponytail, revealing an elegant jaw and a long, smooth neck. Her cheeks were red and her green eyes dusky and heavy-lidded. In an attempt to lighten the mood and dispel some tension, I clumsily stated, "We'll skip the nudity and foreplay this time, if it's all the same to you." She whispered something like 'this time' before shaking her head and emitting an overly cheery "ok!"

Beginning with a simple single-column tie around her waist, I went to work, experienced hands and focus silencing the questions swirling in my mind. She was silent too, her breath measured, though her pounding heart and tight, reddened skin suggested she was trying to silence something as well.

Time stretched out as lines of color traced her figure more and more elaborately, my fingers grazing her contours as the rope slid over her body. At last I tied off the piece, noting the hours I thought I'd passed were but a fraction of that. I stepped back, admiring the web-like pattern that graced her torso from shoulder to belly. Her small, pert breasts were gently heaving, stretching the ties that surrounded them. She was flush and her breath was rapid. I noticed mine was as well. I swallowed.

"Are you ok?" I asked as gently as I could, trying to sound far more composed than I felt.

"Mmhmm," she mumbled through pressed lips. "I'm good, I promise."

"Go take a look in the mirror," I directed.

She rounded the couch to the body-length mirror on the coat closet door. "Oh my god, Alana! It's beautiful!" She turned and looked over her shoulder to see the back. "God, no wonder your girlfriends love this. It's gorgeous, and it feels...I don't know...sexy."

"That's the idea, though it's the woman that makes the ropes look good, not the other way around. Now this is usually the part where I'd attach a hip or pelvis harness, so the good times can begin in earnest."

"Oh, would you?!" she exclaimed as she turned back to me, her scarlet blush doubling her freckles and her mouth smiling.

"Sophie...are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable or cross any boundaries."

At that, her eyes flashed a look I hadn't seen from her, something like a dare. "C'mon Alana, I want the complete experience. I can handle it, I promise. No expectations, no obligations."

"Well, if you're sure, I'm down."

Instead of an answer, she rounded the couch and stood in front of me, her hips inches from my face. I bit my lip and grabbed another length of rope, my breath bringing goosebumps to the exposed skin of her stomach.

This was harder; harder to stay unaffected, harder to maintain boundaries, harder to keep touches from becoming caresses. Wrapping her torso had felt like an artistic exercise. Running my fingers along her hips was unequivocally personal. As I made a knot just above what was obviously her panty line, it was impossible not to imagine what was beneath the thin layers of fabric my now-trembling fingers rested over. And why were they trembling at all? I was never nervous wrapping a lover. If anything, it was emboldening. My confidence usually grew with each turn and bend. Was it because she wasn't actually a lover but a straight friend obviously curious about bondage?

My ruminations were interrupted by a gasp from Sophie as my hand smoothed a rope down from her panty line. I looked up. "I'm sorry if I hit a sensitive spot, Sophie."

Her reply was breathless and ragged. "It's ok; you're ok."

"Well, ok. Now, the next bit is going to run between your legs. Is that alright?" She nodded. I added, "Just let me know if you get uncomfortable or want me to stop." I produced a quick daisy chain and slid it between her legs, careful not to touch her with my hands and doing my best to ignore the heat radiating from her sex and the pounding of my own heartbeat. Her breath caught as I tied the harness off at the back. I pulled it tight, the rope cinching in to her visibly moistening cleft.

At that, Sophie moaned, her knees buckled, and she fell forward into me. I just barely managed to redirect her safely to the couch, but my heart began pounding as blood and adrenaline ripped through me.

"Sophie! Sophie! Oh fuck, are you alright?!"

I scrambled up her body to look into her face. Her skin was aflame, red from her cleavage to her forehead, but her eyes were opened, barely. Her features were blank but her lips slowly curled into a small smile. "I'm ok; I just got a little lightheaded."

"I'm so, so sorry." What happened?" I could feel tears burning behind my eyes; I'd never hurt someone before.

Her breathing slowed. "It's ok, really. I'm fine now. And honestly...that was...a lot of fun. Maybe next time, I won't faint."

Next time. My heart fluttered unexpectedly as my mind conjured images of Sophie's gentle curves in various patterns and scenarios. They were quickly leaving PG territory as she moved slightly, bringing me back to the present. I hadn't noticed how close we were, our bodies pressed together on the couch, my hips straddling one of her legs and my hand on her toned abs. Our faces were inches apart. And I was closing that distance by increments. Her eyelids fell across her green irises as she licked her lips in preparation. Her sweet breath filled my nostrils. My lips grazed hers.

She started and her eyes shot open, locking with mine. Oh fuck. I quickly lifted myself up and scrambled off to the other end of the couch as I felt my cheeks burning scarlet. Sophie likewise sat up and turned away, her fingertips touching her lips and her eyes wide. We stared into that space for moments that lingered too long as we regained our composure. Trying to ignore the look in her eyes that I couldn't quite place, I tried to ease the tension. "Perhaps it's time to release you from your fetters."

She laughed a little too loud and then quieted. Almost under her breath, she added, "Maybe next time, you can actually show me what it's like to be fettered. She rose and stood before me again, and I began to remove her ropes.

She was still measuring her breath, but her reddened, vibrating skin belied her assumed calm. Likewise, I did my best to ignore the soaking dampness of the rope that had been daisy-chained between her legs and the pooling wetness between my own.

As I untied her, like a mantra, I repeated over and over to myself, Please, oh please, don't fall for the straight girl.

***

Oh, not again, I said to myself as I woke for the third night in a row soaking wet, my hands buried within the running shorts I slept in, slick fingers between my folds, and Sophie's rope-draped body etched upon my vision. Three nights in a row I'd woken flushed and frustrated, and for the third night in a row my fingers began circling my clit irresistibly, their rhythm quickening as Sophie danced through my head, looking down over her prone body as I feverishly lapped at her vulva, her hips circling as she straddled me, our clits grinding together, my fingers plunging into her over and over, her legs bound open and away, hands tied to my headboard, her sweet mouth forming the words, "Please, Mistress." And as the warmth of my orgasm washed over me, it was her eyes, those stunning green eyes, locked to mine. Only once my breath finally slowed could I again find sleep.

***

A week had now passed since that ignominious day. Fortunately, we hadn't seen much of each other. We'd both spent Thanksgiving with family, and our moments at home had been filled with affected casualness and awkward small talk. I guess Sophie had never heard Lesbian 101 was over-processing. Of course, she wasn't a lesbian, so how would she know?

The only real discussion we'd had was over holiday decor. She was a nature-worshipping Pagan and was an atheist, but we'd both been raised in Christian households so the trappings of Christmas were a distinct part of our cultural traditions. As such, we'd decided to celebrate the Solstice and holiday season with a tree, and now we were driving out to Sauvie Island to cut our own, which had always been my favorite holiday tradition.

It was a quiet drive, but the air in my car filled like smoke with all the things we dared not say. As we pulled in, unable to bare it any longer and in order to try to rescue a pleasant day from this mess, I turned to her.

"Sophie, look, I'm sorry about what happened; I'm sorry if I crossed a boundary; but mostly, I'm sorry that hanging out with you used to be so comfortable, so easy, and now it's like we can barely stand to be in the same room."

She looked out her window, her face turned from me. "It's not that. You didn't do anything wrong. In fact, you did exactly what I asked for, and I've been punishing you for it when really, it's all me. I needed an answer, and I should have just asked."

"Asked what?" I'd barely spoken the words when she turned to me and leaned across the center console and pressed her lips to mine. Her kiss was questioning, exploring, small pecks and nibbles that quickly rose in passion to become something desperate, and I immediately felt my own arousal rising.

I gripped her nape and pulled her closer, wrapping my other hand around her taut, narrow waist. I knew there were a hundred things to discuss, to ask, but in that moment, absolutely none mattered. All thought was banished; the only thing that existed was that moment, that kiss, Sophie. Sophie.

Locked together, I pressed my tongue between her yielding lips. Hers reached out to meet mine, and they danced together, her sweet taste driving me on. I unbuckled my seatbelt and pressed her back, clambered over the center console, and straddled her in the passenger seat. Her eyes opened, a look of shock upon them, but she made no move to stop me. I pulled the seat release, dropping her down flat in an instant. She wrapped her arms around my neck as my hands wandered, caressing, learning her curves. When my hand slipped beneath her shirt and cupped her bra-shrouded breast, her low moan vibrated through my jaw.

I began to remove her shirt when movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention. A family of four were standing there, mouths agape in unison, like some bizarre family portrait. I froze. Sophie did not. Her hands slid down my sides to cup my ass. "Please don't stop, Alana. Please."

"Sophie. Sophie, stop!"

She opened her eyes. "Why'd you...? Oh. Fuck."

Seconds passed, our two blank faces locked with theirs. Then, she waved. They blinked in unison, the parents exchanged disapproving glances, and then they simply walked away.

We were silent and still for a few moments until her hands slipped down my ass, startling me from that frozen reverie. Breaking the silence, we both began laughing. I spoke first, "I guess I forgot where we were."

Sophie smiled up at me. "Geez, I think I forgot my name. That was...incredible. Do all women kiss that well?"

"Well, yeah, Lesbian 201."

She laughed softly. "I have been dating the wrong gender all this time."