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Touch-a Touch Me (I Wanna Be Dirty)

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“You’ve never had an orgasm?” Billie is staring, open-mouthed and smug as hell at Stevie.

Stevie feels her cheeks go hot, but she’s not about to play into the innocence. 

“I’ve had sex-”

“So you’re a joyless prude and a total whore. Good for you.”

“It’s difficult-”
“No it’s not. It’s easy.” Billie’s laughing at her, rolling onto her back on Stevie’s bed. They’ve been friends for a while now, this is the third time Billie’s agreed to stay over. Just the two of them, which had Stevie manically cleaning her room for two hours beforehand, like she always does. Probably just because she wanted to make a good impression. But Billie’s already managed to destroy the room again. She spent a literal hour just picking shit up and putting it back down in entirely the wrong place, going through Stevie’s closet - o h I love this, can I have this? - and, wine drunk off of what Stevie had managed to steal from her parents, rolled around on the bed, talking animatedly, enough to untuck every corner of Stevie’s top sheets. 

Stevie’s been sitting on the floor, hugging a pillow this entire time, absolutely terrified of joining Billie on her own bed with no idea why. 

“I’m not a whore-” Stevie tries. 

“What, being a whore’s a bad thing?’

“No, it’s just what you-”

“What I what ?”

“Well you said when people call you a whore-”

“You calling me a whore, Harrington?” Stevie can’t tell if Billie was fucking with her.

Stevie’s well and truly flustered at this point, grasping for words. 

Billie cracks a smile. 

“You’re fucking with me.” 

“With you? Never,” Billie says, turning back to her abandoned copy of Seventeen . “Besides, even if you did call me a whore or a slut or whatever I wouldn't care.”

“You should care-”
“I literally do not give a shit.” Billie always gets touchy about that. “People can call me whatever they fucking want.”

The subject changes. Billie gives Stevie shit for sitting on the floor so Stevie ends up sitting on the bed next to her. They watch a movie- Fast Times at Ridgemont High

It’s one of Stevie’s favorites, of like, all time. But she can’t pay full attention. She watches the light from the TV play across Billie’s complexion. They’re sitting close enough she can feel the heat off Billie’s skin, especially after she falls asleep, leaning against Stevie’s leg. 

Stevie doesn't want to move. She hasn't even brushed her teeth, but she just keeps staring at Billie, asleep, the way her eyelashes flutter slightly, how calm she looks… almost happy. There’s no show to put on…

Stevie gets up to brush her teeth. Billie doesn't wake up. 


Stevie keeps thinking about what Billie said all that next week. 

“It’s easy.”
Was it really easy? I mean, she’d never tried, so she didn't know, but it might be easy. And obviously, it was supposed to be amazing. Mind-blowing, life-changing, whatever. 

And if it’s life changing, what happens after she does it?

That idea gets her. She has to try it now. 

Ok, she’s definitely been wet before, and she knew how you were supposed to feel, she’d had dreams about it. 

Fantastic dreams...

She didn’t realize she’d spaced out so hard in class till the bell rang. 

Note to self, stop having erotic fantasies when you should be taking notes. 

She was a little uncomfortably hot between the legs when Billie physically ran into her in the hallway, pushed her a little with a “hey-what’re-you-doing-for-lunch”. She spoke so quickly, so California-y, it rolled off her tongue. 

“Eating with you, I guess.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Billie smiled. 

“Isn’t it?” Stevie grinned back. 


At lunch, on the grass outside the library, Stevie listened to Billie talk about some new guy that was trying to sleep with her, and whether or not she was gonna go for it. 

“Like maybe, you know? He’s not bad looking. Just not good. And he told me the whole ‘oh, you have such beautiful eyes’ and like you know how much I hate that.”

“Right, cause it’s easy.” Stevie was still eating, even though Billie had long traded her cafeteria paper plate for a cigarette.

“It’s so easy! No effort. At least tell me I dress nice or something- which I do. Don’t just say the first dumb shit line that comes into your head…”

Every guy Billie talked to always led with that: “you have such beautiful eyes,’ to the point where it was a turn off to her. 

But she did have beautiful eyes.

Stevie wrote that in her diary one time.

Clear, blue. Like how I think the ocean would look…

Lately, half her diary had been entries about Billie, things she said, shit she did, boys she did. What earrings she wore and advice she gave- which was usually crap advice, but advice, nonetheless. 

She really acted like she cared about Stevie now. They’d been friends for long enough. 

“Hey, do you wanna sleepover again soon?” Stevie asked. 

“Sure.” Billie smiled. “I can bring you some bud next time if you want.”

“How kind of you.” Stevie laughed. 


Stevie has a sex dream the next night. Which is fantastic. But she wakes up and it’s already seven and she just has to get up and get ready for school. Kind of puts her in a bad mood all day that she can’t do anything about it. 


The day after that, she gets sort of turned on reading a romance novel she forgot she even had, and decides to dive into. But what does she do about it?

She uncrosses and re-crosses her legs on her bed, and a sort of electric feeling shoots up her legs. 

Oh god, but it’s embarrassing, too, isn't it?

Like, what are you supposed to even do?

Touch, right? Just like, go for it? Oh but what if she does it wrong ?

It’s probably a terrible idea, it’s probably not what you're supposed to do or whatever, but she rolls over in bed and reaches for the phone- its own number, her parents got her - on her bedside table. 

She calls Billie, and hopes her parents aren’t home. Billie doesn't have her own line.

“Hello.” Billie always sounds like you've interrupted her doing something very important when she answers the phone. 

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey princess! What’s poppin?”

“Are your parents home?”

“No, praise the lord. They went out. And Max fucked off like an hour ago. What's up?”

“I, uh,” Steve closes her eyes. “I wondered if you could like, help me. With something.”

“Very cryptic. Hiding a dead body?”

“No,” Stevie says, kind of wishing she was, that would be easier to ask about. “Do you remember when we were talking about how I’ve never, you know.”
“You’ve never popped your bottle, continue.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stevie blinks a few times. “ I was just uh, well I was wondering, you know, like…. how.”

Stevie can hear the laughter in Billie’s voice “Are you asking me how to masturbate- ?”

“I swear to god, Billie-” Stevie could feel her cheeks go hot.
Billie starts outright laughing, her gravelly cackle- the kind of laugh that only comes when bitterness and cigarettes meet a sense of humor. 

“I hate you.”

“Aw! Don’t say that, you love me.” Billie steadies her voice, only one or two errant giggles escaping. 

“You’re such a bitch-”

“I am! It’s true. But I’ll help you. And I won’t laugh. Probably.” Billie starts laughing again. 

Stevie smiles a little to herself. It is kind of funny, isn't it?

“You’re not really mad, are you?” Billie asks when Stevie doesn't say anything,

“No, I’m used to your assholeishness at this point.”
“Lucky for me. Ok, where are we starting from?”

“What do you mean?” Stevie hugs one of her pillows to her chest.

“Like, you’ve like, been turned on before, right?”

“Yeah. Totally.”

“Are you right now?”

Maybe it was just the way Billie said it, maybe just her ‘naturally sultry’ voice or whatever, but the words kind of swam around in Stevie’s head for a second. 

“Uh, not really,” She lied, brow furrowed. Was that allowed? Could you be turned on while on the phone with your best friend? Wasn't that like, rude, or something?

“Ok well, fix that first.”


“You just have to think about something that gets you going. Look at a Calvin Klein magazine or something.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Not important. Think of something you think is sexy.”

Stevie is totally silent for maybe a full minute. 

What does she think is sexy? She had a boyfriend. And they’d had sex. It’d been her idea. Because she really did get going when they’d make out, she wanted to get there, be there, have that. But- 

“Got anything?”

“I guess?”

“Ok, great, so basically, think real hard about that, and do exactly what it says on the box. Flick the bean.”

“What the what ?”

“Please tell me you’ve seen your own cunt before, Stevie.”

“Oh, fuck you-”

“Fine, then I won’t tell you the secrets of feminine desire.”

Stevie bites her lip. “Fine. Yes I’ve seen it before.”

“Great. So you know where your clit is?”

Stevie feels her legs tense. She can hear Billie exhale an impatient breath through the receiver. 

“Yeah.” Stevie says, more carefully than before. 

“That’s the button to press, princess.”

“But I thought-”

“If you’re gonna say fingering, I promise it’s not fun ‘til you've been doing this for a while first. That’s advanced shit. You’re a total greenhorn.”

Billie’s fingered herself, is all Stevie can think. “Makes sense.”

“Okay, so you’re gonna hang up, you’re gonna try a personal massage, and you're gonna call me back, tell me how it went. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” Stevie catches her reflection in her vanity mirror. 

“Break a leg, Harrington.”

The line goes dead. 


Stevie sits perfectly still, staring at the phone in her hand. She puts it carefully down on the receiver. She lays on her back, hesitant, closes her eyes. 

What the fuck does she find sexy?

Billy Idol, for one. God, with the blonde hair? To die for. 

Maybe like, Simon Lebon… maybe. 

Sexy stuff…. Uhhhhhh… god, didn’t boys usually watch porn for this? 

Should she do that?

Probably not yet. 

Oh! Romance novels. Ok, think of that smut paperback she’d been reading the other day. That was hot.

What was the main guy’s name? She couldn't remember. But she vividly remembered him going down on the main girl in her tower bedroom. 

God, the way his hair was described, tawny curls that fell into his face, how he looked between the girl’s legs, how he’d pressed a kiss to the ‘inside of her quivering thigh’- ok maybe this is working. Stevie snakes a hand down her bare stomach, pressing fingers to herself over her underwear experimentally, feels her own leg jump. Ok, that feels good. Just picture that, a head of blonde curls between her legs, working up her inner thighs.

She slides her hand down under her underwear, feeling the hot slick line of nerves.

Oh, wow.

Ok, yeah, she got why people did this. 

She clenches her jaw, just a little. 

Still thinking about that, she angles her hand a little harder against herself. God this was getting good. Like grinding against her ex-boyfriend’s leg when they’d make out. And her fingertips were getting warmer, the slick getting between her fingers, her hand getting wet. Weren't you supposed to speed up or something? 

Oh fuck yeah you were. 

Oh god

Was, jesus, was this-

Her hand cramps up. 

She stops. 

Stevie sighs, half frustrated, half amazed. 

This was awesome. 

Like totally great, amazing, she kinda feels on fire. Like if she wasn’t so heavy she could run a mile. God, there’s this weird impatience in the back of her head. It was good, it was great, but she wants... more. 

She flexes her hand a little, she tries again. Picturing the guy from the romance novel, feeling the tension of herself between her fingers, the opposite of pain making her stomach spasm, she dips her fingers a little, experiment, got a better angle- hand cramp again. 

Fuck! God this must be how boys felt when they could get off. But it was probably easier for them. 

Stevie kicks off her underwear then, she turns up her radio a little, gets up to double check her door is locked, and flops onto her back in bed. Her fingers feel tacky with half-dried slick. 

She brought her hand to her face without meaning to. She could smell it. Warm, sort of savory she guessed. Musky- that was the word right?

It wasn't gross. It wasn’t exactly appealing either, but it made spit collect in the back of her throat.


Ok, it’s been nearly an hour, and it‘s late on a school night, but it almost feels like a challenge at this point. 

She tries again, really thinking about the guy in the novel, his build, his face, his hair. Like if he was going down on her- not like anyone had ever gone down on her before, but she could imagine it. Her fingers press hard against her clit, the image is clear in her head, she can almost feel his tongue pressed against her- close again. Ok, close. And so help her god, even if her hand cramps -which it did- she’s not stopping. 

She might fall off this- she closes her eyes. Thinks harder about what it would feel like to have a tongue pressed hard against her pussy, what she’d get out of that, the mental image making her stomach twist a little in a fantastic way. Someone's head between her legs- and-


Woah, what? She definitely is not supposed to think about a girl while this is happening- that was, not allowed. But god, she wasn't stopping. 

A head of blonde curls between your legs- Billie. 

She can see Billie’s devilish grin. She can see the piercing blue eyes. 

And she knows she should stop thinking about that, but she feels something close to blooming in her insides. 

She feels herself contract- hard. Her hips tip forward, and god, her clit feels near-raw. Oh god, was this it? A sort of glowy, breathy feeling, that twitched at her legs but oh no. 

That wasn't it. 

This was it.

She barely works it out, her wrist hurts so bad, she barely rides it at all, but her whole back arches, a muffled moan escapes her gritted teeth, her eyes unfocus, just for a second- oh holy shit. Holy shit . Everything is tightly strung, like she’s going to snap in half- and then it’s not. Then it’s the most blissful feeling she’s ever felt, like she’s melting, like falling asleep almost. She can feel come dripping down her thighs. She stays on her back, open mouthed for a few seconds.

Her mind is totally blank. 

Then, suddenly, it’s not. 

Is her life different now? Is she different now? Were all orgasms like that? 

Oh god. I came thinking about Billie. 

No, no she didn't. She came thinking about a guy and the idea of Billie had just popped into her head. Just, you know, distracting. 

Oh, she should call Billie back, shouldn't she?


We know you’re a terrible person, but this? This is next level-

Shut up.

You knew what you were doing, you knew what she was asking-

Shut up!

Billie groaned as a little, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, trying to ignore the firefight that had become constant in her head over the last few weeks. And trying to ignore her stupid fucking brain begging her to reach a hand down between her legs because she knew that was exactly what Stevie was doing right now. Touching herself. Touching herself like how Billie told her to, maybe with her eyes closed, maybe with that flush in her cheeks, across her chest like she got on cold days when they had cheer practice. Billie could practically see Stevie in one of her matching sets, the cinderella-blue lace of the bra the same at the edges of the underwear where the fabric would dig into her soft and mole-flecked skin if she had a hand down the front, if she were biting her lower lip, humming into a moan, if her back were to arch up off the bed-

You fucking pervert.

Billie opened her eyes, tried to swallow the guilt out of her throat, tried not to feel her skin crawl.

The phone rang. Billie sat bolt upright, thanking her lucky fucking stars no one else was home tonight as she answered it.


“It worked.” Stevie’s voice had a telltale thicker quality to it. 

She just came, she just came, she came and then she called you-

“Hey! Look at you, jacking off effectively.” Billie blinked her thoughts away.

“Oh god, do you have to say it like that?” Stevie laughed. She sounded like she was glowing. Billie wished air was easier to breathe. “Jilling off, who gives a fuck, important thing is you did it. Congrats.”

“Thanks.” Stevie’s voice carried a smile. 

And then they talked about something else. 

And then they said they each had to go, bye, and see you at school tomorrow.

“Love you! Goodnight.”

“Night, princess.”


There was a game that Friday. It wasn't a particularly big one, though, just junior varsity football, so the cheer squad could do their hair however they wanted. Which meant Stevie doing her absolute favorite two pigtails which she always curled to ringlets at the ends. She’d even re-feathered her bangs. 

Billie always just did french braids when they could do whatever, keep her hair out of her way.

“You never let me do your hair.” Stevie complained when Billie showed up with the very practical hairstyle once again. 

“Yeah, cause you’d do some shit like this.” Billie yanked on one of Stevie’s pigtails, pulling her head to the side. 

“You wad ,” Stevie jabbed Billie in the ribs, which only made Billie laugh, letting go of her hair. 

Stevie remembered how boys used to pull her pigtails in grade school. It confused her. Why did it confuse her?

And after the game, Billie got invited to the afterparty by three separate guys. She asked Stevie if she wanted to go, but Stevie just poorly concealed a saddened look and went “oh, no, that’s alright, you go have fun-”
“You know I’m not gonna leave you alone on a Friday night, princess.”

Against her better judgement, Billie had started doing things like this, being nice to Stevie. Not just regular nice, either, not just tolerance, but like, really nice stuff. Like going shopping with her, having sleepovers, eating lunch, and now, buying Stevie ice cream. 

Sitting here, in her car which she was used to being in alone, with Stevie licking the whipped cream off the top of her strawberry malt. Billie liked being alone. She just liked being with Stevie more. 

She should stop staring. 

“You really didn't have to hangout with me.” Stevie looked over at Billie, making unassuming eye contact as she licked melted malt off the side of her hand.

“I know.” Billie rolled her eyes just to force herself to look away. 

Stevie grinned, leaning back in her seat a little- because Billie had begun to think of shotgun in her car as Stevie’s seat. 

“Remember when you hated me?” Stevie tipped her head, the teasing glint back in her eyes.
“Who says I don’t still?”
“But like, how far we’ve come-”
“Also, if I recall correctly, you said you hated me first. And called me a lying skank.”
“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“Are you?”

They sat smiling at each other for slightly too long a moment. 

Then they talked about something else. 


Stevie hadn’t really drunk enough water at the game, and then all she’d had after were fries and  shake, not exactly her usual healthy diet. Billie was a bad influence.

Sinful, actually, because ever since Billie taught her how to touch herself, it’s all Stevie wants to do. She was sort of dying to go home and get in bed by the time Billie dropped her off with a familiar ‘later, bitch!’

When she finally got into bed, stretched out under the covers, she fully took off her underwear without even thinking about it, just stripped. 

And rode out a favored erotic fantasy for all it was worth. 

But as she was coming down, somehow unable to pull her hand away from the slick and burning swell of herself between her legs, she couldn't help but think that this wasn't it. This wasn't all a person could get out of this. She’d started ‘jilling off’ pretty regularly and it was a blast, but she needed something more. 

Stevie had always sort of guessed she was probably hornier than most people. She’d started full-on making out with boys when she was barely thirteen. But then there was that roadblock of never really doing anything with herself...

Maybe she should ask Billie about it. 


So she calls Billie again the next night. 

“Hey princess, what’s poppin?”

“Hey,” Stevie feels a twinge between her legs again. “I was wondering if I could ask you more, you know advice. About stuff?”

“Tips on flicking the bean, you got it.”

“Great.” Stevie laughed a little, relaxing. 

And listens to Billie talk about what people tend to think is hot and about how dumb she thinks it is that girls arent supposed to masturbate, and how honestly it’s the best way to waste time. 

But whenever she tries to ask Billie about what she fantasizes about, Billie distracts her and changes the subject. 

Stevie wonders if this is normal.


Billie’s not eating again. Stevie wonders if things are getting worse at home. 

“You should eat something,” Stevie tells Billie at lunch at school the next day. 

“Not hungry.” Billie exhaled smoke- her third cigarette.

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.”

“Wow. You’re, like, obsessed with me, aren't you?”

“Ok, you know what? Forget I said anything.”

“Already did, princess.” 


Stevie tries not to be lonely. She knows she is, it’s sort of how she always is. But she tries to find ways not to be. 

She’s thinking it’s probably like, a set association now that she wants to call Billie before and after every time she masturbates, talk about it, because she's just like, discovering herself or whatever. 

Good to have a guide. 

But also it sort of gives her an excuse to call. And just talk. Before or after. A pretense. 

But this whole, thing , is hard to do. To keep in her head and in her body at the same time, not to fall off or feel weird. Feels weird to be alone doing it. 

So she asks Billie what she thinks about.

Maybe for the sense of camaraderie? Maybe just base curiosity. And the ever present and burning question of is this normal and am I as normal as you ?

She asks at another sleepover- this one for a Sixteen Candles/Breakfast Club double feature because Stevie’s recently become obsessed with Molly Ringwald and keeps saying she’s gonna cut her hair like it whenever she gets drunk and Billie keeps having to talk her down because she knows Stevie will regret it. 

“What I think about?” Billie doesn’t look up from her new copy of Seventeen.


Stevie couldn't have known how fast Billie’s heart was beating. Lying is always harder when you want to tell the truth. 

“Celebrities.” Billie says finally.

“Like who?”

“Tom Cruise.” Billie looks up. “Like in Risky Business.”

Because Billie had thought at length what Stevie would look like as a boy. And that's what she’d come up with.


Stevie’s emptying out her gym bag in the laundry room after school one day when she finds something that isn't hers: Billie’s Metallica t-shirt. 

It makes her laugh to see it, Billie always threw her clothes in the general direction of where they were supposed to be rather than carefully returning them, so sometimes her stuff ended up in Stevie’s bag. 

They always stacked their stuff together. 

And the fact that Billie actually listened to Metallica. Metal was for boys, Stevie had said that. 

“What, so now I can't even listen to music?”

“No! I just mean, you know, even though you look all dolled up all the time, it’s funny you like boy things.”

“What, like metal?”
“And cars.”

“You know how baseball works.” Billie seemed defensive. “That’s definitely more masculine than anything I like.”

“Baseball’s interesting!”

“It’s not, though.” Billie laughed. 

Stevie stares at the shirt. The cropped Metallica t-shirt that Billie insists on wearing in PE just so everyone can see the bottom of her neon sports bra she always wears to ‘keep the girls in check’. 

Billie has three regular bras, besides the sports neon, Stevie keeps track. A nude one, a black one, and a dark red one with lace along the bottom. She’s seen all three in the locker room at one point or another. 34, double D. 

When she realized she was keeping track, Stevie felt sick to her stomach. Because wasn't that what all the pervy boys in PE did to Billie? Stare and heckle and say the most awful disgusting shit when they thought she couldn't hear, sometimes even when they thought she could. 

“They can call me what they want.” Billie had waved her off once before. “I can guarantee it’s nothing my mom hasn't said to me.” 

She laughed. 

Like that wasn't a god awful thing. 

Stevie’s still staring at the t-shirt. 

She isn't not thinking anymore, she can’t use that excuse. She pulls the shirt over her head, feels the smell of it echo around her as the fabric moves. She pulls at the cotten, softened from many washes, pulls the neckline up over her nose, breathes in. 

The smell makes her eyes close, her center feel lower. She leans back against the dryer, warm metal against her thighs, steady vibrations. She’s sure she’s heard of people getting off these things. She’s just not sure you’re supposed to do that with someone else’s shirt on.


Stevie convinces Billie to go shopping with her on a stray spring Saturday. They’re not not prom dress shopping- Billie’s insistent she wouldn't be caught dead at prom, even though she might be nominated for queen. 

“One of us has to win.” Stevie told her. 

When Stevie shows up at Billie’s house, and when Billie answers the door after several doorbell rings, she’s still in her pj’s. No one else is home.

Her pj’s being yet another cropped t-shirt- Mr. Zog’s Sex Wax™ - and shorts that cover next to nothing. She’s all sleep flushed skin and bedhead. 

“I thought we said ten?”  Stevie blinks more times than she usually needs to. 

“We did. I was up late. Slept through my alarm.”

Stevie doesn't ask what had Billie up so late. It likely wouldn’t be a fun conversation topic. 

Instead, she teases her for needing an alarm to ever be up before noon. And Billie tells her to fuck off before announcing she has to shower before they go anywehre. 

“You can just kick it in my room for like ten.”

Stevie can indeed ‘kick it.’ She falls back dramatically on Billie’s bed. Billie tugs her legs on her way to the bathroom, like she can’t help but touch Stevie every time she passes. Stevie kicks her hands away, laughing. 

“Back in two shakes.” Billie says in her imitation-hick accent. 

Stevie likes Billie’s bed better than hers. It’s not bigger, it’s just softer, in that weird way that cotton gets softer when it hasn't been washed in a while- the oils of billies skin. And it smells nice. Like, hardwood floors and vinyl maybe. Like cigarettes for sure. Like whatever cologne Billie wore- she told Stevie once she didn't like how perfume smelled, so she always wore cologne. Maybe part of why she was so intimidating. 

Girls didn't usually smell like cologne. 

Stevie opened her eyes. The David Lee Roth poster on the ceiling looked back at her. 

She sat up, thinking maybe she should distract herself from… whatever thought had almost just happened. 

She always hated how messy Billie’s room was, always sort of ended picking pats of it up when she was over, which Billie hated- or pretended to hate- so on auto pilot, needing something to do, she got up to tug the sheets on her bed back to rights, just make the bed a bit. She grabbed one of the pillows up to fluff it but ended up dropping it on the floor in surprise. 

Billie had a dildo. 

Not a crazy one, not big or high tech or anything. Red. More bullet than dick-shaped. With a smooth ring ridge at the base, probably to hold onto. 

Billie hid a dildo under her pillow. 

Stevie felt her inner thighs contract fleetingly. 

Billie doesn't just finger herself, she fucks herself with this. 

Stevie thinks immediately of when Billie told her to stick fingers in herself, how amazing that felt, how alive she felt, how…

The half-thought again. 

Stevie should put this back. She should put the pillow back and pretend she hadn't been making Billie’s bed when she got out of the shower. But instead, Stevie picked it up. A gasp escaped her lips- it was still sticky. 

Stevie brought the thing closer to her face, sat back down on the edge of Billie’s bed, watched as she pulled her hand away and slick- Billie’s sticky still-wet slick clung to her fingers. It was warm.

This toy that Stevie held in her hands had been inside Billie less than an hour ago. She’d come on it, and shoved it under her pillow. 

Stevie decided this was one of those times she would act first and think later. 

She licked the dildo. She’d sucked dick before, and wasn't bad at it by a long shot, but this was just for her- just for her own enjoyment, to feel her tongue against the smooth red plastic, feel its give, and taste- Billie. Salty, sour, sweet, Billie. She could smell it too, the musk she’d only ever gotten from her own dirty underwear. Her eyelids fluttered. A line of her own drool dripped down the side of the toy. 

Stevie had never been so wet so fast in her entire life. 

She felt brainless, like all evaluations and decision making did not matter at all compared to how hot and wet she was, compared to how fucking good she knew it would feel to drag the toy off her own tongue and fuck herself on it. She wanted that. This new sort of agency she’d found in her own desire- she wanted that. She wanted part of Billie inside her. She moaned a little just thinking about it. 

The water was still running a room over. 

Still, without thinking, maybe refusing to think, sick with desire, Stevie ran a hand down her stomach gratuitously to feel just how much she’d soaked through her underwear just from the thoughts in her head. This was an erotic fantasy come true. She told herself she’d just run the toy down against herself over her underwear, just sort of brush the idea, because then it wasn't like she’d actually done anything wrong, honestly, something like this could happen on accident, but with a hand working her clit and the other just dipping the end of the toy she gave up. She couldn't do this without really doing it. She ached for it. 

She yanked her underwear to the side, feeling the edge burn where it dug into her skin, and pressed against the end of the toy. 

Somehow, some-fucking-how, just that was enough to make her bite back a full blown moan- liek they did in the fucking movies- this couldn’t be real. Nothing could feel this good. 

Still rubbing, faster than was probably wise, Stevie felt Billie’s dildo sink into her with a weird hyper-awareness that made her hips press forward into nothing. 

Wouldn't it be so much better if Billie was here to do this for her. 

Stevie came, gasping and writhing at the thught, Billie’s toy burning a little inside her, but doing nothing to stop the seconds-long wave of orgasm that hit her at the thought that Billie could be fucking her with this toy, that Billie had fucked herself on this toy, that this whole sexual awakening had been Billie’s fault and god, wasn't Stevie grateful. 

Much as she had Billy to thank, this agency was her, like she’d won the fucking oscar for masturbating. She felt like she might actually be glowing, like hot gold light was rolling off her skin. She still hadn't taken the toy out. 

“Stevie!” The muffled voice came. 

Stevie sat bolt upright, which unfortunately made the toy dig into her more and she stifled a groan. Billie was calling to her from the bathroom. 

“Yeah?” Stevie called back, still split open by a toy that wasn't hers.

“Can you get me a towel?”

What an innocent request.

“Yeah! Gimme a sec.” Stevie yelled back. 

She grabbed at the rim of the toy- understanding now why that was such a useful feature, and pulled it out, slowing, wincing as she felt her insides shift. 

She looked at the toy, now dripping in her come, and realized some of Billie’s was probably inside her now. 


Jesus fucking christ.

“Any day now!” Billie called again. 

“Yeah! Coming,” Stevie shoved the toy back under Billie’s pillow where she’d found it, scrambling to her feet to find a towel. 


Stevie’s going to have to tell Billie she did that. She knows she is. 

She knows whatever she’s been thinking and feeling probably warrants some kind of explanation. It’s probably not as normal as Billie acts like it is. Or just, doesn't act like it’s ab normal.

So Stevie is gearing up to maybe mention something about it when she gets to chemistry class- But Billie’s not there. 

And of course maybe she’s tardy, she usually is, but ten minutes, fifteen minutes in and she’s not there, so Stevie asks to use the bathroom and immediately takes off to the far bathroom by the parking lot to where she knows Billie will probably be.

The door to the bathroom cracked open. Which Billie said she liked because she could tell when other people came in if she wanted to be alone. 

Usually if she wants to be alone, it’s because she feels like crying. 

It’s the most run down bathroom on campus by far, grime in every corner and graffiti on every surface. 

“Billie?” Stevie tries. “It’s me.”

She hears shoes hit the floor in the far stall. 

The door of it has a few of the lyrics to Crimson and Clover on it.

Billie’s sitting on the closed toilet seat, smoking an almost-out cigarette, mascara streaked down her cheeks.

“Heya, princess.” She smiles, voice faded.

Stevie closes the stall door behind her. “You’re not ok.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

“You can tell me when you’re not ok.”

Billie stares up at her for a couple seconds, takes a shaky breath. Then she lets her head fall forward against Stevie’s stomach. Stevie combs a hand through the back of her blonde curls. 

“Don’t ask me to talk about it.” Billie mumbles. 

“Wasn’t gonna.” Stevie sighed a little. 

Billie sits up again to put out her cigarette against the stall wall. Stevie kneels to unzip her backpack.

“Please tell me you have a flask in there.” Billie says half-heartedly. 

Stevie pulls out her own makeup bag. “Nope.”

Without so much as talking about it, Billie leans back so Stevie can sit on her lap and start wiping the streaked black lines off from under her eyes. 

“Don’t know why you put concealer on your freckles,” Stevie mumbles. “I like them.”

“My mom hates them.”

“I hate your mom.” Stevie throws the two makeup wipes she used into the trash next to them. “Look up.” Stevie has the wand of her own mascara in hand. Billie looks up. “And blink.”

She blinks. 

“Mine’s waterproof,” Steve says, once she’s done reapplying. “So you can cry your eyes out if you want.”

Billie laughs humorlessly.

“Thanks.” She manages. 

“You’re welcome.” Stevie smiles. 

“You’re supposed to be in class.”

“So are you.” 

Stevie’s still sitting on her lap, so without really thinking about it, Billie wraps her arms around her and leans forward against her chest. 

Stevie hugs her back. There’s a moment of silence when both of them think this might be the closest they’ve ever been to another person.

“Your face is right in my tits.” Stevie breaks it.

“Yeah, that was the goal.”

Stevie laughs. 

“Mine are better though.” Billie leans back a little.

“Fuck you.” 


They make plans to sleep over at Stevie’s house again that weekend. Billie insists on Stevie letting her ‘update her look.’ Which, as far as Stevie can tell, just means darker eyeliner, bolder colors. Billie has the perfect complexion for bright colors, though. Stevie isn't ever so sure. 

“You’re like, the risk taker.” She protests, even when she’s already sat in front of her vanity, sideways to face Billie. 

“Like you don’t take risks.” Billie hums a laugh, resting the bone of her wrist against Stevie’s jaw, dark blue pencil lined up with her waterline. “Look up again. And stop squirming or I'll stab this thing through your eyeball.” 

It's a pretty good natured threat, but Stevie’s staying still anyway, almost on edge. Maybe just because she can hear Bette Davis Eyes on her translator radio set carefully on her bedside table, and the song always makes her think about Billie, and her eyes, and the way they're trained with perfect focus on Stevie’s face, and how she’s tilting her head, how a smile’s playing on her lps, how warm her hands are wherever they touch Stevies face.

How her face is so close to Stevies. That familiar loneliness eats away at Stevie’s insides just as Billie sits so close- she really shouldn't be feeling lonely right now. If it was loneliness…

“You might hate this,” Billie says, sort of quiet like she’s really thinking about it. Stevie can feel the gravel in her voice. “But I like it.” Billie sits back, raises her eyebrows quick- up-down. “Take a look, princess.”

Stevie turns to her vanity mirror. Her mouth drops open- she loves it instantly. 

“Oh my god I look like a movie star.” The words just fall out of her mouth. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying .” Billie scoots closer to get a look in the mirror. “You like?”

“I love it.” Stevie turns away from the mirror, looks at Billie. “Thank you.”

Billie shrugged, still clearly elated. “Sure. Just a couple touches, here and there.”

She looks so pretty with her hair down like this. Completely unstyled. She looks so pretty in heavy eyeliner and red lipstick, even though most of it’s rubbed off by now. 

She looks so pretty in her stupid Metallica crop top and shorts and no shoes and Stevie wants so badly to say thank you in a way that matters , a thank you that sticks, that really communicates how she feels, how grateful she is, even if it was just a makeover. 

“You’re so pretty.” Billie says, softly, like how she never says anything.

Stevie kisses her. Closes the space between them and tastes two kinds of lipstick and the gnawing loneliness in her stomach is gone in an instant and Billie’s mouth it so hot-

But Billie pulls away. Snaps back, shock unguarded across her face. Billie never looks shocked. It’s not just that either she looks… scared. 

“I’m so sorry.” Stevie says immediately, grasping the gravity of the thing she just did. “Billie, I- Oh my god.” She mumbles that last part, turns away, covers her mouth. She stands up away from the vanity. “I’m so sorry-”

“Why’d you do that?” Billie’s looking up at her now, still sitting with her hands on the vanity table, streaked with makeup. 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Why did you do that?” Billie stands up now too, but she doesn't seem mad, like Stevie feels like she should be. She just seems urgent. 

“I don’t know,” Stevie says. It’s the honest truth. She doesn't really know. She’s not sure. “I don’t know just… I thought… I wanted to.”


“I’m sorry, Billie, I…” Stevie felt like she should be keeping more space between them from where they stood beside her bed. Was Billie mad and just hiding it? Why was she asking Stevie questions like that? Why couldn't Stevie answer? “I don’t want to ruin our friendship or anything.”

Billie met Stevie’s eyes. Stevie could probably guess why kissing Billie made the loneliness go away, if she wanted to. When Billie spoke, it was like she was admitting a deep dark secret, like she was accepting the consequences to a decision made age ago. 

“Ruin it.”

There was no real way of knowing who leaned in first that time, Stevie was pretty sure they sort of collided. And Stevie had kissed a lot of boys in her life, more than most people would probably care to admit, but kissing a girl was different. 

Kissing a girl shoved all the air from her lungs, made her feel reduced entirely to sensation, made her lips taste equal parts sweet and sour, like the lightest bee sting, like how ice burns against your skin on a hot day. It made Stevie’s mouth water. 

Spit dripped down her chin when Billie pulled away- god it was like she’d never kissed before. 

“Do you-”

“Yes.” Stevie cuts off whatever Billie was going to ask. She wants more of this and now and she doesn't know what she'll do if she can't get it. 

Stevie likes this, she knows that with assurance when her head hits the down comforter on her bed, Billie holding herself just above. If you asked her now what she thought was sexy, what really got her going, this would be on the list.

But even as Stevie reaches her hands up to touch Billie’s face, to feel how warm her skin always is, like there’s pure plasma underneath, she notices Billie’s not touching her as much. 

She wants to be touched like she wants to breathe, but probably more than that, she feels like Billie must have spilled some of that fire that rages inside her right into Stevie's starving mouth.

“You can touch me more. If you want.” Stevie gasps out, gripping Bilie’s shoulders- like she’d try to get away.

Billie relaxes slightly into Stevie’s grip. “Where?”


That's the last step, the final thought before all of what started happening only weeks ago comes tumbling down, and maybe it was weeks before that too, maybe it's always been what it is now. 

Stevie doesn't know if you're supposed to put words to things like this. She’s heard it doesn't count if it's another girl. She’s never felt like something counted more though, because and soon as she gives Billie the green light she can feel hands sliding under the hem of her shirt to grab at her waist. It sends shivers down Stevie's spine, and she wants more kisses, but Billie pushes her head a little so she can press her lips to Stevie’s neck and Stevie gets a grip in Billie’s gold curls to tug on as a whine escapes her lips. She feels somehow activated at the sickly-sweet pressure on her neck, her knees bending a little, her hips tilting up. 

“If you give me a hickey I can’t cover up I’ll kill you.” Stevie manages, fighting another soft, consuming moan. 

Billie pulls up to look at her. “Oops.”

Stevie kisses her again- it’s hardly a sweet or gentle thing- it’s open mouthed and tastes like spit and ends after what feels like blissful ages with Billie biting at Stevie’s bottom lip and Stevie realizing she’s slid her hands up to just under where Billie’s crop top ends. 

Stevie keeps thinking over and over I’m kissing a girl I'm kissing a girl and now it’s terrifyingly apparent because she can feel her thigh getting wet when Billie straddles it. Her own underwear are probably in a state . Billie bends her knee up to rub between Stevie’s legs and Stevie moans outright. She grabs Billie back to her, as close as she can get to her face without actually kissing her again, feeling her hips roll into Bilie’s bent knee on their own. 

“Have you done this before?” Stevie asks like it matters- like this right here right now isn't the only thing that's ever mattered. 

“Few times.” Billie says back. “Not usually like this, though.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Stevie cant help the way her fingertips dig hard into Billie's skin, even though her gaze couldn’t be softer. 

Billie’s lips part, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what to say. Stevie doesn't blame her. 

“I didnt wanna scare you off, I guess.”

Stevie shakes her head in response, she almost laughs, leans up to kiss Billie again. It’s ridiculous to her to think anything Billie ever felt would scare her off, Billie should know by now every attempt to shake Stevie off only makes her dig her heels in. 

The hesitancy with which Billie touches her will drive her insane though, so she ends up grabbing one of Billie’s hands and sliding it up her shirt all the way to the line of her bra- Billie always teases her for wearing matching sets, which is probably the sudden motivator for why Stevie pushes Billie back to pull her own shirt off, and they got to the point where clothes are stripped off mercilessly, no sense in modesty or restraint- all the lights are on, and the radio’s still going, but it doesn't matter, all that matters is Stevie’s just determined that boys don't know jack shit about how you're supposed to feel a girl up now that her bra is on the floor and she’s got Billie’s calloused fingertips dragging across the smooth porcelain skin of her chest. Billie squeezes and it makes Stevie’s cunt ache, her skin cold like the hottest fever. Stevie opens her eyes for what she realizes is the first time in a while and her mouth drops open on a awestruck gasp because of course she’s seen Billie without a shirt on before- but never like this, never with the soft weight of it in her hand like could be smothered.

“Touch me.” Stevie says again, her vocabulary since whittled down to the bare essentials. “Billie, please-”
She can feel Billie’s hand slide down her stomach, watch as Billie breaths, rapid and shallow, through her perfect and plump and red lips-

Stevie thinks she may black out for a second when she first feels Billie’s finger’s dip into the wet heat beneath the elastic of her powder blue underwear- but she makes no noise. Instead it’s Billie who moans, like she’s been dying for this, maybe she has, Stevie wants to know every detail leading up to this moment, but more than that she wants to feel more of Billie, on her, over her, inside her. And she realizes belatedly she might have said some of that obscene stuff out loud, because Billie’s grinning ather with lidded eyes and Stevie’s digging her fingernails into the skin of Billie’s arm as Billie dips her fingers down, pressing against the threshold of Stevie’s cunt before dragging her fingers back up so draw slow, excruciating circles around Stevie’s clit. 

More outragoues unlocked and pornographic things are spilling out of Stevie’s mouth, she’s never had a filter- its all ‘fuck yeah’ and ‘just like that’ and ‘how are you so good at this?’

“Practice,” Billie whispers, bending her head to bite at Stevie’s neck again- Stevie’s hips tip down, harder against Billie’s hand.

“I want you in me. You said you've done that- do it to me.”

“You are such a princess.”

Billie slides her fingers down and in. Stevie feels her legs press open of their own accord, like she's trying to fuck herself on Billie’s hand on her own. Billie uses her free hand to push Stevie's hips back down- Stevie’s going to die. Nothing has ever been this good, and she has plenty of reference. Billie’s called her a slut before in passing, her only response aggressive agreement. Stevie has always loved the desire that lives in her stomach. The desire that's threatening to eat them both alive as she feels Billie’s fingers press up inside her and she’s so close to coming-

“Billie-” She whispers it. And then her back bows up- god that was minutes- Billie glances her thumb over Stevie's clit, and she’s coming with a moan that could wake the neighborhood. Billie doesn't fucking stop moving her hand either- it makes something go golden down the back of Stevie’s throat, her insides gleam, her legs twitch, she grabs Billie’s hand away just to get to breathe again. 

“Holy shit.” Stevie reaches a hand up to grab Billie’s head, to practically fuck into Billie’s mouth with her tongue- a gloriously indecent thank you. 

Billie pulls back again though- Stevie whines, she might be pouting- but at least that means she’s got her breath back. Not for very long though, Billie’s kissing the flat line of the center of her rib cage just between her tits, dragging her lips down her stomach-

“Can I-”

“Stop asking.” Stevie practically shoves Billie off her to pull her underwear off, to grab Billie back to where she was bent between Stevie’s legs. 

Stevie’s only been eaten out once before, and it didn't go anywhere, so when Billie bites Steve’s thighs, gets her tongue around, on Stevie, Stevie thinks she's going to melt- it's too much. She’s never come more than once in the span of at least an hour. This is way too much way too fast, way too hard and she can't help but want more of it, pressing her legs open, rolling into it as she feels the foreign and all too familiar feeling of tongue

The second one takes longer- she almost feels bad, but everytime she thinks she's falling out of it, Billie reels her right back in, and pretty soon she's on the verge again. The second one is different though, the second one is out of control, like something she’s too close to for too long, a sunburn, a blown-out eardrum- a sore throat slicked with honey. It fizzles out through her whole body, like her nerves were breathing, collapsing. He head falls back, she might pass out right here and now.

Billie’s so gentle wherever she touches Stevie, like Stevie is some precious thing, but not like she’s breakable, just like she deserves reverence.

“You wanna stop?” Billie asks her.

Stevie snaps her eyes open. “What? No, we can't, cause you haven't-”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” Stevie sits up, feels her head spin a little but blinks through it, determined. 

Billie looks more vulnerable than Stevie’s ever seen her. “No, Stevie, you don’t have to-”
“Please,” Stevie takes one of Billie’s hands in her own. “I want to.” Then, more quiet. “Show me how.”

Billie’s good at explaining things, she talks Stevie through every step- but giving head isn't entirely foreign to Stevie. 

Stevie shaves everything- probably leftover habit from when she was on the swim team in junior high- Billie only shakes her bikini line, which means Stevie’s nose gets pushes up against the musk of coarse golden pubes when she gets down between a girls legs- Billie’s legs- , which has always been her favorite thing about giving head. 

This she knows, this she can do. She breathes through her nose, opens her mouth, laves her tongue over where she figures she should and hears Billie moan- the taste is like nothing else.

She gets why people say fish, but fish aren’t this fucking sexy- its like someone dripping salty honey onto her tongue, like simple syrup smeared across her face- she wants to taste more. Probably why she shifts down to stick her tongue in- Billie utters a string of cuss words, threads her fingers through Stevie’s hair, pushes, but Stevie gets one of Billie's legs over her shoulder and she likes how in control that feels. She can feel Billie get her own hand working her clit, she pumps her tongue best she can, even as her jaw cramps she keeps going, it's mesmerizing, meditative, hypnotic- she can't stop herself from doing it. No restart from temptations. So she doesn't even realize Billie’s near coming until Billie’s legs are pressing together and Stevie might actually suffocate but what a way to go- she loves this. 

“Fuck, princess.” Billie says, her brow still knit together, her breathing still ragged when Stevie comes up gasping for air. 

Stevie wipes her hand across her mouth- the hand comes back glossy. All she can smell is Billie, burning sweet and musky in her nose when Billie pulls her up to kiss her again. They keep kissing for a while. Before absolute exhaustion sets into their bones.  

Stevie doesn't know where any of her clothes are. She doesn't care. 

For a while, the two of them just lie there, intertwined on Stevie's sheets, Stevie can feel sweat and slick drying on her skin, between her legs- doesn't matter though. Because she can feel almost all of Billie's skin pressed up against hers, and she’s never been less lonely in her entire life. 

She’s got her head ducked down under Billie’s chin, like how they hug sometimes when she gets the feeling Billie wants to feel tall. 

She's never going to get over the feeling of tits pressed up against her face. She might not even wish hers were bigger anymore, she might just wish to see more of Billie’s.

“You could have told me.” Stevie mumbles. 

Billie takes a while to respond. “You say that now .”

“I mean it.” Stevie pulls back to look up- Billie’s hair spills over the pillows. “Even if I didn't feel the same. I wouldn't ditch you over something like that.”

“Course you would start talking about feelings.” Billie rolls her eyes.

“Oh right, because you have none.” Stevie pokes back, sarcastic, and she realizes they are still friends, and how reassuring that is to think this kind of thing, this kind of love, might be so close to being friends it needs only this to complete it.

Stevie gets more tentative again when she asks. “How do you feel?”

“About what? Billie’s cheeks are still flushed red.
“About this. Me.”

Billie pauses. Then just says: “Good,”

“Good?” Stevie smiles.

“Yeah. I feel good about this. And you.”

“Me too.”

They stare at each other for a while longer.

“I have to tell you something else.” Stevie realizes suddenly. 

Billeie raises an eyebrow. 

“I used your dildo.” Stevie admits.

“What?” This wild, devilish smile spreads across Billie’s face. 

“A couple weeks ago, when we went shopping, well, before that. When you were in the shower. I used it, and that's probably super, like, out of line-”
“Thats the hottest fuckin thing ive ever heard.” Billie tightened her grip on Stevie’s thigh. “You really can't get enough of me, hm?”

“Shut up.” Stevie smiles. She should have guessed how easy forgiveness would be.

They're holding hands over the covers when they finally pull most of them back up. And they talk until they fall asleep like they usually do at sleepovers, but neither makes a move to get dressed again. It feels too good. 

Just talking and touching. Falling asleep just like this. Feels good.