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starryeyesmasc · 2 days ago

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[oh sacrament most holy]

closeted catholic girl decides the only way to get the resident lesbian of her prayer retreat to touch her is by insulting her and calling her a sinner. can only cause good things.

->impact play, spanking, mild squirting, insults as foreplay<-

***

The plan had been genius, at least in Victoria’s head. Wait until the house was empty and then needle Izzy with insults until she had no choice but to touch her. It was foolproof. A woman practically throwing herself at her…surely Izzy wouldn’t pass up the opportunity. But Izzy didn’t seem to get that. Her large form is still hunkered down over some scrap metal on her workbench. “Can I ask you a question?” Izzy sets an Allen key down and moves to grab a screwdriver. Her long brown hair is tossed up in a messy bun. Her exposed nape almost distracts Victoria from her next words. “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

Victoria purses her lips. Over the last month since the retreat began, Izzy had caught her attention in a way that no one ever had. As an “activities coordinator”, Victoria got to see a lot of her. During evening prayer. During the weekend lake trips. At lunch. At Mass on Sundays. God help her, Victoria had even offered to hand out the Eucharist purely so she’d get to see Izzy’s mouth work up close and near to her fingers. Izzy is the first ever person to provoke such a reaction from her. She’s two years older than Victoria and kept to herself during any games activity. However, it’s more than a little insulting that she was a woman. This was what had led to Victoria’s month-long crusade to throw insults or initiate petty arguments whenever she could.

Izzy, she knew from finding those…those non-literary magazines under her bed, was no stranger to women sharing her bed. They were contraband anyway, so Victoria had taken them. Filthy though they were, she’d only taken them for the articles on micro-finance loan decisions. Not the large-breasted women splayed on pool tables. The business articles. And nothing more. Admittedly, between one of those magazines and Victoria’s makeup mirror, she’d managed to locate her clit after twenty four years of ignorance. She still hadn’t put her fingers to it, naturally. It was just…nice to finally know she had one.

She’d come here tonight to goad her into whatever she could get, but Izzy’s already turning back to her work. Like Victoria is nothing but an afterthought. Izzy had booked the workshop for the entire evening. That was why Victoria had sought her out here. It was her sanctuary, so she could put money on the fact that annoying her here of all places would spark something more volatile. Everyone else in the house was still out by the lake. Victoria’s only chance was now, and if she didn’t take it then she’d only have her pillow between her thighs for company again tonight.

“Because—” Need a way to keep her here. I really can’t be alone tonight. “Because you’re just a filthy fucking sinner. A—a salacious harlot freak. With disgusting magazines under your bed that no self-respecting woman would ever own. And you speak words that—words that corrupt and defile and shouldn’t ever be spoken on His Earth. That’s what you are. That’s why I’m here.”

With each rapid fire insult, Izzy had straightened from the workbench, arms crossed. A little smile curved her lips as Victoria caught her breath, and the knowing twinkle in those grey eyes sets her off again.

“Filthy, disgusting fucking vermin,” Victoria hisses, curling her fists at her sides. How dare you make me feel these things. “You’re worse than an animal.” Izzy takes a step towards her and Victoria tries to back away. She can’t, though. She bumps into the bonnet of the car that Izzy had been tinkering in when she arrived. So she puffs herself up and locks eyes with Izzy as she stops just an inch from her. She’s staring her down, those cool grey eyes just mere centimetres from her. It should disgust her, the proximity. Instead, she bypasses her rage and flies straight to the rocketing pulse between her thighs. Izzy’s big, up close. She has to bend her head to look Victoria in the eye. Thick shoulders and corded forearms rippling with ink. Large hands that could probably swamp Victoria’s if ever she deigned to touch them. There’s a promise, in the ironclad slouch of her stance. If Victoria pushes too far, she’ll push back. Hard.

Victoria tilts her head. Not a time to be afraid. “Fuck you.”

She spits the expletive. Izzy merely wipes at the bead of saliva on her cheek with the pad of her thumb. Her eyes don’t leave Victoria’s face.

“You know what I’m just after realising?” Izzy hums softly. Her gaze hardens before her next words, but her smile turns utterly wicked. “You get off on this. Don’t you? The insults and the barbs and the high and mighty act. You love playing the bitch. Makes you feel like nothing else does, doesn’t it? Bet you rub it out to your own fucking insults, too. Or is that why you took my magazines? Spend time with those this morning? Calling me a filthy fucking sinner…I practically saw you get wet from it.”

Victoria’s face burns and she reacts in a juvenile way she hasn’t for practically two decades. She shoves her, then stamps her foot. The move flutters her skirt.

“No I didn’t.”

Her hard-soled brogue clacks against the floor of the workshop. For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Even with all her anger, all her adrenaline, when Izzy moves she’s powerless to stop her. Even if she had the strength, her body probably would’ve yielded regardless. In those hands, she’s want incarnate.

Izzy grabs her hips and twists her around, then bends her in half over the bonnet. The efficiency of the move has Victoria stunned, against her best wishes. How many times do you have to practice to get good at that? When she tries to flail her arms in the hopes to catch Izzy with a fist, the larger woman simply grabs both her wrists and pins them to her lower back. The pain of the twist sends a little shock through her that’s not entirely unpleasant. And now, just like that, Victoria’s utterly incapacitated. She can’t even move her legs, not with how Izzy’s crotch is pressed into her ass. She tosses her head and blows hair out of her mouth, but when she wriggles Izzy just plants a hand on her shoulder and pushes her down harder. Now, she can’t move half an inch from the cold metal.

“Bingo,” Izzy remarks from behind her. If she could, Victoria would’ve spat at her again. “Now, let’s see exactly how much you like this shit…”

To her horror, she feels Izzy’s hand leave her shoulder and tug at the waistband of her skirt. Squirming won’t do anything, but she tries anyway. All she gets for her troubles is Izzy snapping the elastic of her skirt’s waistband against her tailbone. Izzy yanks and Victoria feels the fabric slide uselessly down her legs. The July heat had been too much for underwear, so there’s none to speak of. The skirt pools around her ankles until Izzy kicks her feet apart, and then Victoria’s entirely laid bare. It should disgust her. Committing such reprehensible acts with another woman. It should have her on her knees repenting like a devil in church. Instead, she exhales against the roiling arousal in her veins and presses her cheek to the metal. Her crucifix necklace lays right next to her face. She fixes her gaze on the rack of power drills in front of her instead.

“What was it you said, at the orientation?” Izzy chuckles from behind her. “No cameras in here, right? Too bad no one else gets to see this. Cause you know what? You know what they’d see?” Rough hands squeeze against her ass and pull up enough for the cold air to ghost against the mess between her thighs. She’s dripping. Lord above, she’s actually dripping onto the concrete below. Izzy presses low against her back, forcing her further down. Her next words are more venomous than any insult Victoria’s ever uttered in her direction. “That you’re just as much of a filthy fucking sinner as me.”

Victoria snarls and tries to kick her. Anywhere she can reach, she’ll make hurt.

“How fucking dare you—”

A hand comes down hard on her right asscheek, jolting her. It forces from her the most embarrassing squeak she’s ever uttered. The impact of the hit melts into a delicious heat that spreads across her ass. Victoria inhales as tears prick her eyes, but finds herself arching for another. And Izzy gives it. This time, her palm connects with the outside of the left cheek. Victoria hisses, but Izzy’s hips against the backs of her thighs means she can’t thrash.

“Word of advice,” Izzy whispers. “Don’t pretend to be all thorns when I can see how wet you are.” Her thumb strokes against the warmth from the first hit, then she adds almost lovingly; “You took those magazines for a reason, Vicky. When you’re alone, how do you do it? Touch yourself, I mean.”

“I—I don’t. I don’t indulge in anything like that.”

This time, she gets two strikes right on the meat of her ass. Victoria gasps and cries out, but when she still doesn’t answer, Izzy’s hand comes down twice on the other side.

“Fuck you,” she manages to croak out. She tries to flex her hands where they’re pinned to her back, but Izzy holds her firm. “Filthy shit. I don’t do that.”

Izzy’s hand comes down again, harder. This strike draws a pathetic grunt from somewhere deep inside her. The pain shoots straight to her clit and she’s alarmed to find herself pulsing so hard it’s agonising. “You know, for someone so pious, you like your curse words.”

Victoria shifts her burning face against the metal and garbles another fuck off that barely has any heart to it. God forgive her but she needs it. She needs any release that’ll ease the ache between her thighs.

“My arm,” she pants. “Let my arm go and I’ll show you. I’ll show you.”

Izzy relinquishes her grip and Victoria’s hand goes straight under herself. The first touch makes her whimper and she hears Izzy chuckle again. She’s wet. So beyond wet. Even her inner thighs are sticky. Izzy crouches between her spread legs and eyes her first hesitant tap against her clit. She wishes the burn of being watched so closely was the only thing making her hand shake, but in truth, even with all this wretched desire, she’s lost. The only way she’s ever brought herself to anything near a climax was by grinding, fully-clothed, against a pillow in the dead of night. Izzy hums at her hesitation and straightens to standing.

“You don’t know how, do you?”

Victoria just shakes her head, embarrassment prickling across her face. This was too soft. This was something almost bordering on caring. Why should Izzy care, when Victoria’s been nothing but a bitch to her?

“Doesn’t matter,” Victoria grunts, pulling her hand free. “I don’t need it. Just hit me again.” When a few seconds pass and nothing happens, she slaps her palm against the bonnet. “Fucking hit me again, or I’ll take those magazines of yours and—”

She bucks her hips forward at the same time as Izzy’s hand comes down. Except, she doesn’t stop at one. And she doesn’t limit herself to one cheek. No, Victoria gets everything she’s looking for. Hard. Soft. Glancing blows. She loses count around thirty, but she puts her head down and takes it gladly. The sting, the burning. The repetition of hits right where it hurts the most. The cleansing of the pain. It’s right. It’s what she deserves for this. She takes all of it, and lets a month of torment melt away with it. Sometime during it, Izzy’s hand tangles in her wavy blonde hair and pulls her head back. Her arms are free but they just splay uselessly in front of her. For the last few heavier strikes, her legs start to reflexively twitch, so Izzy presses her own legs in to hold her steady. By the end, Victoria’s on the razor’s edge of something unholy. Even Izzy sounds a little breathless behind her. She squirms, wanting more, but Izzy isn’t forthcoming.

“I bet you can take it, Vicky” she says, massaging a surprisingly gentle hand against the rawer bruises. “But not right now. You’re done. Okay?”

“Bitch.”

Izzy only laughs at that, but Victoria’s in no state to swing herself around and thump her for it. Izzy drags a rough fingertip down her spine until she comes just to the curve of Victoria’s bruising ass. The harder touch has her jerk forward and whimper in frustration. The looming heat of a climax is undeniable now—had Izzy not stopped, Victoria would’ve cum from those slaps. That’s a thought she rapidly shoves down.

“Isabelle,” she gasps, gathering her faculties to be more truthful than she’s ever been. “Please. Please. Oh God, I’m so—”

In one smooth movement, Izzy crouches and presses her mouth to her. Victoria loses herself and tips her head to moan, grinding her hips back against Izzy’s perfect mouth. She can barely feel her, not with how wet she is, but God—oh God, what she can feel is so utterly divine. She doesn’t even last ten seconds. Izzy’s hands hold her hips down as she stutters and cries out, coming hard against her tongue. Izzy tides her through it, but as Victoria’s floating down her tongue starts to move. Flat, broad licks through her. It’s not even a fair fight. Victoria locks up and rockets back into a second, somehow even stronger orgasm. Something nudges against her clit and she just has to beg. The tip of Izzy’s tongue laps quick flicks that pull her into a third climax. This one makes her forget the world exists.

It’s just her, bliss, and a sinner’s mouth.

She comes down jerkily, panting against where she drooled on the bonnet. There’s liquid dripping, somewhere. When Victoria shifts her trembling thighs she realises it’s from her, and that Izzy’s tongue is still working to clean her up. She claws limply in an attempt to push herself up, but nothing in her body’s ready to move yet. Heated sparks of euphoria are still melting through her body, so she lies there and lets herself indulge.

“You’re two of my favourite things,” Izzy murmurs, dropping sticky kisses along where she’d spanked. “Loud and messy.”

Victoria just exhales a breathless sigh in her direction, and tries to flip her off for good measure. It takes her a while to recover. Izzy keeps her around in the workshop until she’s sure she can walk without support. Victoria’s asleep almost the second she stumbles into bed that night. The next morning, as Izzy’s heading to breakfast, she finds her magazines returned, neatly hidden beneath her pillow.

#self reblog because I said so and also I’m thinking about this again

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starryeyesmasc · 4 days ago

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The Rise and Fall of a Lesbian Situationship Chapter One

chapter index | ao3

Sydney starts classes at a new university and her suitemate Leah invites her to a party thrown by friends. Charmed by the popular August St. Claire, Sydney thinks she has found the distraction she needs.

contains: butch4femme, college setting, recreational drug use, unreliable narrator, flirtation, masturbation

I made a promise, if in four months this feeling ain't gone Well, fuck this city, I'm moving to Saskatchewan — Chappell Roan, “The Subway”

Sydney Hart woke with a start just before seven, water rushing down old pipes in the wall, floorboards creaking above her. Her cell phone chirped like a vicious songbird on her nightstand as her morning alarm startled her awake. Cady Hall stirred around her as its inhabitants rose from their beds, dressed themselves in their finery, and faced their day.

Early morning light poured in from a window at the end of her room, peaking through gaps in the blinds. Eventually, Sydney wanted to put up a rod and sequined curtains, maybe even a suncatcher, so the light would sparkle on its way in.

Even with eight hours of sleep, Sydney still felt exhausted. Her sore muscles tweaked every time she shifted in bed while her eyes threatened to drift shut again, the warmth of her blankets beckoning her back to sleep. Hauling boxes up two flights of stairs to her room alone had been no joke. Scrubbing at her eyes, she blindly reached for her cell phone.

There was a text from her Aunt Janelle sent a little after midnight, probably after she’d finished her closing rounds at the hospital. She’d wished Sydney a good first day of classes, waxed on about her smarts, and punctuated it with the GIF of Leonardo DiCaprio as Jay Gatsby tipping his champagne glass.

Her teenage cousin Aisha had also texted her, but only a few minutes ago. When she expanded the message, there was a goofy photo of them, a very sweet message broken up into five or so consecutive texts, and a long line of alternating emojis.

A lump formed in Sydney’s throat and her jaw felt tight.

She sat up and her feet swung over the edge, dangling a few inches above the floor. Two orange pill bottles leered at Sydney from the nightstand. She wrinkled her nose at them, but she’d promised Janelle she would keep up with them when she went back to school.

Sydney popped one pill from each bottle and swallowed them dry, grimacing when they ultimately lodged in her throat. Driven by thirst, she hopped down and walked across the cool wood floors toward her stickered mini fridge. Stocked from her back-to-school haul, there were a few Lunchables and bottles of juice, a container of Greek yogurt, and celery for her peanut butter.

She grabbed a bottle of grape juice and swallowed the lodged pills down. The aftertaste was horrible and bitter on her palate, sending a shudder down her spine like a rail road spike being driven into the ground. As Sydney continued waking up, she stared at the floor and sipped her juice. She picked at her cuticles without thinking, digging her middle finger into the nailbed of her thumb over and over again. She wished very much that she had a joint. A lazy spring and summer spent in Georgia had spoiled her, and she missed the way that weed made her brain go quiet. Her second cousin Nya always had the best weed.

Sydney didn’t spend too long wasting time. After she finished her juice and some of the sleep fog dissipated, she stood up and meandered to her closet where she pulled out a few items and constructed an outfit. Most of her closet was thrifted, full of quality denim, vintage leather, and fun patterns. There had been a period where she’d lost that part of herself, hiding in baggy shirts and worn leggings, but she was determined not to let it rot away in a closet any longer.

The end result was something that reminded her of Studio 54 with less sequins and more embroidery. When she was mostly happy with her appearance, Sydney grabbed her backpack—which did not match—and slipped out the door, locking it behind her. Her room was one half of a suite, two bedrooms linked by a bathroom, located on the second floor of Cady Hall. According to her Resident Assistant, it was an old historic building which had only been restored and repurposed for their use a couple years ago. It was Monday morning now and she’d moved in Saturday, and had yet to meet her suitemate. The only thing she had was a name.

Leah Ann Cohen, born and raised on the Upper East Side if her post on the campus community app was to be believed, moved like a ghost. She was gone for most of the day, coming home late at night when her creaking bedroom door gave her away. Leah at least had the courtesy to try and be quiet, closing the bathroom door gently, swearing softly when she knocked a bottle of soap over in the shower, but Sydney was a naturally light sleeper.

Pushing open a set of wide glass doors, Sydney clobbered down the front steps in her platform sandals and began the walk to the union building. Fishing out a pair of wired headphones, she wiggled them in her ears and queued up a pop song, a little escape of its own for her to dive into. Still fresh on campus, the pathways confused her and she wandered through a courtyard covered in ivy, a gazebo placed at its center, as she made her way to the union building. It wasn’t even seven thirty yet, which hopefully meant the coffee line was short and the library study rooms were empty. She’d never been to this one, but some things had to remain consistent.

Sunshine was already starting to burn its way through the morning dew. The campus lawns were immaculate, shorn into neat little rows with grid patterns, interrupted with burbling fountains and carved stone benches. She took in the sight, which was almost Stepfordian in its perfection. Her last school was prestigious but it had nothing on the wealth she now found herself immersed in. A few other students were also awake, meandering through the curving pathways like ants on a scent trail. They looked sheepish and wide eyed in their pastel shirts and pressed chinos, not at all like people Sydney wanted to get to know.

The curls at Sydney’s nape became damp with sweat long before she ever reached the union building, a tall, wide brick structure with Georgian windows and marble pillars. It had nothing on the Bible Belt heat she’d grown up in but she was still glad to walk through the union’s cooled entrance, calves burning from the walk. She was beginning to regret not taking her uncle’s offer to help her move. The dining hall was bustling with activity as athletes poured in from their early morning practices. As Sydney fell in line for coffee—it was only several people deep but a waifish blonde girl at the front had yet to make up her mind—she people watched to pass the time.

Taking up a corner of the dining hall, a good chunk of the men’s soccer team were gathered around someone’s cellphone watching replays of a match. Sydney didn’t like their team practice shirts; they were a hideous shade of yellow that did no one favors. A few runners hovered around the omelet station. One, two, three girls and two boys. One of the boys had already procured a first plate, which was generously stacked with French toast sticks, and he shoveled them into his mouth at disgusting speeds as he waited on a bacon, spinach, and cheese scramble.

A quick check confirmed the girl up front was still deciding and Sydney bit the inside of her cheek as agitation welled in her chest. Wasted time equaled wasted potential. A part of her yearned to judge and sentence the girl as an arrogant philanderer useless without her inheritances to lean back on, but that felt a little harsh for a first day assessment.

She returned her attention to the cafeteria again.

Aside from the athletes in obvious garb, there were a few other students that Sydney assumed were like her, early birds eager to start their work. Picked over plates of fruit, empty cups of black coffee, plain buttered toast—Sydney saw many mornings like that stretching out before her, but today deserved a treat.

Soon after, what she could only assume was the women’s rugby team arrived and at a half glance she was pretty sure more than half were queer. She spotted at least three different shades of vivid hair. Sydney appreciated that some things never changed no matter where a girl put down roots. There was always a lesbian rugby team.

A triad broke off from the group and she watched them claim a table and pile it high with their breakfast feast. The shortest of them caught her attention because their voice echoed through the building as they talked and with a mouth full of food no less. Her lip curled. Yet another disgusting eater. Their hair was black and shaggy, like they really needed a haircut, and damp with sweat.

The teammate at their left seemed equally as put off by the loud one’s eating habits. Their hooked nose crinkled, a gold hoop winking at their nostril, and their hand came up to pinch the bridge. The yellow practice uniforms looked much better against their deep brown skin; Sydney didn’t hate it on them.

The third seemed to be off in their own world, staring out the back entrance of the building into the trees and ivy beyond. Their jaw clenched as they stared out in thought, and Sydney felt her interest pique, which she entertained for two seconds before smothering. They reminded her of someone off the set of Mamma Mia! (2008), which was Aisha’s favorite movie. Their dark hair curled at the tips of their ears, flicking up like tiny horns, and a gorgeous expanse of bold ink covered their bronze skin, engulfing any skin not covered by clothing. The tattoos had no color, it seemed, only shades of black and gray that followed the natural dips and curves of their flesh. As they sat there, they twisted the curls at their ears and it took Sydney two seconds to hone in on their hands. She couldn’t see finer details at this distance but her imagination conjured veins and muscles that flexed under the skin, grabbing and holding. They were the largest of the three by a good margin, broad through the shoulders, wide in the biceps.

The other two were nice to look at, sure, but something about the ink rippling over smooth muscle and their large hands made Sydney’s mouth go dry.

At this point, the blonde at the front of the coffee line had finally decided and the line was blessedly moving again. The guy in front of her—a tall, skinny boy with a splotchy face and too much hair gel—grumbled under his breath about it but Miss Congeniality didn’t seem to notice. It didn’t take long for the line to move after that.

When Sydney emerged victorious with her large redeye, it was almost eight and time anxiety gnawed at her gut like a hungry rat. Her first class was in two hours, and she wanted to prepare a solid outline of the notes she’d taken for the assigned reading. There was nothing worse than being unprepared.

She left the union building in a hurry, taking large gulps of her coffee as she walked. It scalded her tongue, bringing a grimace to her face, but she didn’t care. Taste buds replaced themselves every ten days. Everything on campus centered around the student union building, like the colleges were planets rotating around a shining white marble sun.

The library was no different, still within clear view of the union, built of the same Tudor brick and perfectly square windows. A bell tower rose from the top with a massive Roman clock perched at its peak. She’d seen it for the first time on Saturday and it left her speechless. Campus groundskeepers clearly took excellent care of the place. The shrubs and the flowerbeds were filled with beauty bark and perennials, not a single petal out of place. Sydney did not stop to smell the roses; she hurried into the antechamber, eyes trained forward, and into the library.

Sydney liked libraries. No matter where she went, no matter what the building looked like, they were always a little bit the same. This one was fancier than what she was used to but it still immediately brought comfort to her.

Once through the antechamber, it opened into a large atrium. This Sydney did stop to appreciate. The brick front was an architectural façade, she realized, designed to suture the historic face onto new construction and blend it with the rest of the historic campus. Glass absorbed and reflected light everywhere she looked, highlighting the tree at the heart of the atrium. She didn’t know her plants as well as she wanted but her best guess was Olea europaea, more typically called the green olive. A large oval of open space surrounded the tree and gave it ample room to grow while an intricate wooden bannister protected students from peering too far over.

Sydney approached the bannister and peered over, down to the first floor. Based on some signage, it looked like that’s where the student tutoring services were located and some kind of computer lab. She also spotted another coffee shop, multiple vending machines, and tables for students to study. There was one student down there, studying in front of a laptop, sneezing every so often. On the second floor, there was an entrance to the main library across from Sydney at the other end of the atrium. To her left was the information desk and to her right were several offices, likely for the program assistants or library techs. There was a third floor but Sydney didn’t have time to explore right now. What she’d laid eyes on already was overwhelming enough.

She continued carving a path to the main library, passing through the automatic doors and into the familiar. This room smelled like books. Mahogany tables and matching chairs occupied the center space but tall bookshelves towered over them, offering escape into the aisles. It smelled fresh and clean, like it had all been recently scrubbed with disinfectant. The books even extended into the next floor, accessed by a wide wooden staircase which spiraled upward.

With half of her coffee already gone, Sydney picked a table and settled in. She pulled out her iPad and MacBook—both high school graduation gifts from her Uncle John that she accepted with immense guilt—and opened up the school’s online program to download and print her course materials.

It was mindless and numbing, and Sydney enjoyed the routine. Printing, hole punching, highlighting, organizing, followed by cross-referencing her existing notes with any material provided by professors. It almost made her forget the gnawing pit in her stomach until an email pinged on her laptop. The notification badge felt like a slap to the face.

Subject: Appointment Reminder for Wednesday at 3pm from: [email protected]

Of course. How could she forget? Sydney quickly closed out the notification. A slideshow on the function of molecular structures stared back at her, a friendly reminder of where her priorities should be.

Sydney started picking at her thumb again, chewing on a hangnail she’d caused earlier. Focus, she needed focus, not therapy.

Thirty minutes before her first class started, Sydney packed her things up. With campus still so unfamiliar, she wanted ample time to get there and be seated before anyone else. Attention out of her work, she noticed that the library had filled up significantly since her arrival. Other students now occupied tables in large clusters, coffee cups of their own forgotten alongside textbooks. Some of them treated the library like a social club; sorority girls cloistered around the main tables, logging their required study hours, while smaller groups broke off to chat in the cozy seating areas scattered around.

Sydney threw out her empty cup at a trashcan near the entrance and kept her head down as she went back into the open air. The heat had also intensified. Sunshine beat down on the crown of her head and she regretted keeping her hair down. Long, dark, and curly, it held heat like blacktop and this morning she’d assumed with some arrogance that she would be fine in Connecticut without the true Southern humidity. Wrong. The hotter she grew, the more anxious she felt.

More people milled around campus. She wondered if they even noticed her, and if they did, what did they see? She quickened her pace. In her mind’s eye, she saw the words Scholarship Student flashing across her forehead in bold like a Friday night marquee. Trust fund babies were like dogs. They smelled poverty.

The maples lining the walkways between colleges provided shade, which she was grateful to enter once she got far enough away from the library. In the fall, Sydney knew the trees would turn the prettiest shades of orange, red, and yellow. She loved the summer and fall. Everything always felt so golden.

She wasn’t the only one with the idea to get to lecture early. When she entered the science building, students were grouping outside of lecture halls. The elevator was slammed, students glued to their phone, as a line formed behind it.

Double checking her schedule, she surmised her lecture hall was on the fourth floor, so she wormed her way through the crowd and climbed upstairs. The stairwell smelled weird, too chemical for her liking. She took a deep breath when she reached the top. God, she’d forgotten how much walking people did going to and from classes. She hadn’t been on a campus in nine months and her thighs knew it.

When she finally found her lecture hall, the doors were open and students poured inside. Many of them camped in the back, gathering in clusters as they clung to the familiar. She’d have to walk past all of them to get where she wanted to sit. She had not, in fact, arrived early enough.

Sydney felt something wet on her fingers and looked down, attention pulled away from the lecture hall. Her thumb was bleeding, dripping down her finger, splattering on the tile below.

“Shit,” she hissed.

Sticking her thumb in her mouth, she sucked the blood away and took a deep breath through her nose. She held it for several beats, listening to the chaotic pounding of her heart. Her aunt would say she was overthinking things or that she was letting her ruminations get the better of her. Why are you so obsessed with getting it perfect? Janelle would never understand.

She stared through the doors a little longer. Adjusting her backpack, Sydney entered the lecture hall and reassured herself that no one was watching her as she descended the aisle, no one wanted to hurt her. A new side effect of her new condition. That’s all. She felt incredibly attuned to her heart beat as it raced in her chest; she reassured herself it was only the redeye on an empty stomach. Later, in between classes, she’d try out the dining hall for the first time. Food would help.

Whispers clamored for attention in her ears. She ignored them, gritting her teeth as she pulled out her electronics again. Sydney would not be cowed by intrusive thoughts. She pushed at them until they felt squished against the wall of her brain, trapped between bone and membrane, not silenced but muffled.

Normal. Fine. Well-adjusted.

If she willed it into existence, perhaps one day she might wake up to find she’d grown into a real girl.

Despite her best preparations, the first day of classes left Sydney’s brain feeling like soup. She was almost convinced that if she checked her ears there would be residue, a wet, slimy evidence of her intellectual evisceration.

There had been no syllabi day, only a hard launch into the topics. She’d expected this. Sydney could only imagine how class might have felt if she hadn’t prepared so extensively. Biochemistry raked her over the tenderizer only to feed her still raw to Biology at the Molecular Level.

True to her word, she grabbed lunch in the dining hall and watched anime on her phone while she ate to avoid thinking about the fact she was eating alone. She stuck to the basics, chowing down on cheese pizza and lettuce covered in ranch. Christ, even the utensils here were fancy and admittedly the food was better than what she’d ever seen in a cafeteria setting. By the time she finished, her eyes felt droopy and the walk back to her dorm might as well have been a hike to Los Angeles.

There were a few things she still wanted to organize and unpack in her dorm but a nap called to her like a siren song. When shopping online for her dorm supplies, Janelle purchased Sydney a memory foam mattress topper that smelled like lavender—in hopes of enticing her to sleep—and bamboo sheets that felt like liquid velvet. Sydney feared Janelle’s plan was working.

Engrossed with thoughts of her nap and how she needed to later manage her coursework that night, Sydney didn’t notice the girl standing outside of her door. Glossy black hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back and she was wearing a cropped denim jacket that brought out the olive tones in her skin.

She’d hung an artificial boxwood wreath on her door and the girl was inspecting it, head tilted to the side while she pressed a leave between her thumb and forefinger.

Sydney cleared her throat. “Excuse me, can I help you?” She’d done her best to regulate her tone but the extent to which she was successful was a mystery.

The girl looked up, looking a little surprised and like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Oh! Hey, I’m sorry. My name is Leah. I’m your suitemate. I just wanted to stop by, introduce myself. I didn’t want to just like let myself into your room through the bathroom. Sorry. I hope this isn’t weird,” she said and made a face Sydney interpreted as embarrassment. When Sydney didn’t say anything, she continued. “I also wanted to swap numbers, if that’s okay?”

Sydney blinked a few times, shortcutting for a moment before she found her words again. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll give you mine. Give me your phone. I’m Sydney.”

“Here,” Leah said. She handed over her cell, a brand new pink smart phone with a pristine clear case, and smiled at Sydney. It was wide and kind, the sort of smile that made a person’s stomach flip, and Sydney bit her inner cheek as she tried not to blush. Feminine wasn’t usually her type but Leah was gorgeous and it was impossible not to blush when someone like that smiled. Stylish but not gaudy, kind smile, shrewd eyes. Leah looked like someone she could see herself actually get along with.

When she handed the phone back, Leah put it in her leather crossbody—she reckoned it was worth more than her shitty car based on the craftsmanship—and kept her attention trained on Sydney. “So, I was thinking, this Friday there’s a party I’m going to and I was hoping that you’d maybe wanna come? It won’t be very big. I just thought it might be a good chance for us to hang out and get to know each other. I know how overwhelming getting here can be.”

Everything Leah said was another surprise. Sydney struggled with feelings of isolation and loneliness. In high school, she didn’t go out much and she’d lost all of the friends she’d made in Virginia because they were all through her ex. For a stranger to seek her out so quickly surprised her; Aisha and Nya liked being around her, but Sydney always chalked that up to familial ties.

“Oh, wow. Can I think about it and get back to you? Parties and me usually don’t mix well. I’m not good with loud spots.”

“Of course! Just so you’re well informed, it won’t be very big. I’m seeing someone on the women’s rugby team and they’re having a get together with their roommate at their apartment. We’ll have alcohol, weed, and probably multi-player video games if I know Ryan. I think you’d have a good time.”

“Is that where you spend all of your spare time?” she blurted out. “Sorry, I’ve just heard you coming in late. It’s not really my business.”

Leah laughed. It warmed Sydney’s chest and made her feel like she was in on the joke, not the punchline. “You’re funny. Yeah, that’s where I’ve been all week. My girlfriend was overseas all summer so I haven’t seen him since May. There’s been a lot to catch up on, if you know what I mean.” She smiled again and winked, like Sydney was in on a secret. “How early does your day start tomorrow? Do you wanna get breakfast?”

“That would be nice. I’ve been meaning to go in the morning but it always seems so busy because of the athletes.”

“I get what you mean. They can be so loud, but usually clear out by nine. Ugh, you’re going to love it, Syd. They make pancakes on Wednesdays and they’re divine.”

Syd. It ran through her like a shock of lightning. It had been years since anyone called her that, maybe middle school or younger. Dinner’s ready, Syd!

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Perfect!” Leah reached out and faster than bugs on water wrapped Sydney in a hug. It was gone before she could blink. Then, Leah turned on heel and walked toward the exit, her long legs swallowing the space. Noor was a lucky guy. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye!”

By the time Sydney fished out her keys and unlocked her dorm, her phone buzzed in her back pocket—once, twice, the cadence for a text message.

Maybe: Leah Cohen Hey! This is Leah 💘Add me on Insta, too @leahhcohen2

Sydney raised an eyebrow but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. She hearted the message and threw her phone onto her bed. It’d been a long time since anyone, romantic or platonic, approached her and made her feel interesting like Leah did.

Letting her backpack slump to the floor, Sydney splashed water on her face and grabbed a hair tie, finally pulling her curls off her neck. Then she toed off her shoes and stripped herself of her layers until she was in her panties, pulling a T-shirt with holes in the neck over her head.

She collapsed into bed, inhaling the scent of lavender all around her. It was soothing, weighing her eyes down as she got comfortable. But the pull of her curiosity was stronger.

Pulling out her phone, she opened Instagram and typed in Leah’s handle. Immediately, she pulled a public page full of aesthetic photos of family and friends, boating on the East River, and beloved pets. A set of blue, pink and white hearts in her bio quietly signaled Leah as trans, and Sydney tried not to feel too excited. There was a stark lack of red hats on her page and she’d used a variety of pronouns for her girlfriend in the hallway, all green flags in Sydney’s humble opinion. As she hit the follow button, she hoped she clicked with Leah at the party that weekend.

Scrolling down, a group photo from last May caught her attention. Geotagged at a crystalline lake nearby, Leah stood beside the three butches she’d seen in the dining hall earlier in the week, as well as a few other faces she didn’t recognize. Her focus snagged on the tallest member, the butch with hands the size of mitts and tattoos as far as the eye could see; tapping on the screen, she clicked on their profile tag, led to another public profile.

Her name was August St. Claire.

She’d spent the summer across the ocean in England with her family, namely her twin brother Max with whom she shared an uncanny resemblance. He wasn’t tagged, just named in the caption. Sydney wondered what her voice sounded like, if the accent was heavy or light, if she spoke in British colloquialisms. She scrolled through more posts, soaking in the pieces of August’s life.

She drove a white vintage Porsche when she was in the States, smoked cigarettes regularly, and went to metal shows on the weekends. Max was her best friend, but there was another sibling, an unnamed sister that August clearly adored who only showed up in one or two photos.

August posted pictures of herself, her close friends and siblings, or gorgeous shots from her travels. There was a noticeable lack of partying on her page, which she almost would have bet on at a first glance. The summer before last, she toured Greece with one of her best friends; Sydney had seen them in the dining hall seated beside August, and as she put together the pieces, she surmised they were also Leah’s girlfriend. Noor. Sydney thought it was a nice name.

Noor’s page was private, but she didn’t care much. August’s page had given her a wealth of information to chew on. Was it still considered creepy if the information was so readily available? The chances that August would be there were high and Leah had mentioned there would be a dealer at the party.

Exiting the app, Sydney pulled up the message thread with Leah.

Sydney Hart hey, i double checked my schedule and i’d love to come on friday :) also, my first class is at 11 tomorrow so do u wanna meet at the union around like 9:30?

The response came through before she could lock her phone.

Leah Cohen Yes! Wonderful, amazing, showstopping, spectacular. I’ll see you then. I’m staying at my gf’s tonight, so just text me if you need anything before tomorrow.

Locking her phone, Sydney set her phone on her nightstand and burrowed under the sheets. The room felt cool and nice, and her eyes fell quickly. A dreamless sleep overtook her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sydney. My name is Hannah Stewart and I’m the graduate student you’ve been matched with for campus therapy services.”

Hannah’s voice alone made Sydney want to hurl. It was too smooth, too clear, too perfect. Then there was the office. A single window provided light in the back corner but curtains were layered on top of it, filtering the sun’s glow to a dim haze. Mahogany furniture, mahogany floors, mahogany panelling; the only break was the ceiling, a blessed white expanse encroached upon even still by mahogany wainscotting to match. She felt suffocated, like she’d been brought to a tomb or mausoleum.

“Quick disclaimer, I’m not a licensed therapist and these sessions do serve as a part of my clinicals, but all confidentiality rules still apply. Unless you express an intent to harm yourself or someone else, everything we talk about is private.” The therapist, Hannah, shot her a steady smile and clicked her pen. “So, let’s start with your intake form. I read it—your answers were very thorough, by the way, it makes my job so much easier—but I do have some follow up questions. You answered ‘yes’ to medications. Are you taking them consistently?”

Sydney shifted in the armchair. The question felt like an accusation. Despite Hannah’s attempt to make her office cozy with salt rock lamps and a diffuser, Sydney felt seconds away from climbing the walls. She didn’t make eye contact when she said, “Yeah. Twice a day. Just like the doctor ordered.”

Hannah nodded and made a note on her clipboard. “Good! Conditions like yours require proper medication management, so it’s good to hear you’re on top of it. It sounds like this is all new for you, too. You had the support of your aunt and uncle at home but now that you’re so far away, who are you seeking support from?”

She shifted, biting her tongue. Conditions like yours. She hated the way people spoke to her now, like she was damaged goods or fucking brain damaged. Hannah the Not-Therapist was pushing her luck and they hadn’t even covered a third of Sydney’s chart.

“I don’t know. You, I guess,” she said.

Not that it mattered. Sydney survived just fine by herself; she didn’t need to make herself more of a burden on anyone in her life. Janelle and John already did more than enough. She’d always been a loner, but that was because she preferred it that way.

A clock whirred on the wall behind her, each hand ticking as it moved. Air from a vent in the ceiling blew cool air over her, running a shiver up her spine. Each new sensation added strain to her mask and Hannah’s evaluation only caused further splintering. She picked at her cuticles and didn’t care when they started throbbing and bleeding.

“That’s good. Most people don’t even seek out a therapist’s help. But I’m not always available, so it’s good to have multiple systems in place if you can. I know you’re new and just moved here and it’s still a work in progress. Do you have plans to join any kind of clubs or student organizations? I could point you in a couple different directions if you’re feeling lost.”

Sydney grit her teeth, curling her toes in her shoes. “I’m not lost. My suitemate invited me out this weekend and I’m going.” She sucked on her teeth, doing her best not to sound short, and considered what information was safe to offer her new, shiny therapist. “Plus I got a call back for a job interview earlier.” It was a good thing too because Sydney’s bank account was pitiful after buying her textbooks and other school supplies. Of course, Janelle would send her money if she asked, but she’d rather die.

The other woman noted that, too, and hummed. Sydney wondered what the repercussions of snapping Hannah’s clipboard in half would be. Probably not good. “I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with your suitemate. New housing situations are stressful. I’m happy to hear you got a call back! Who from? There’s a few places around here that beef up staff with college kids each fall. If it doesn’t work out, have you considered work study?”

Sydney rolled her eyes and Hannah continued to quiz her, each question more personal and patronizing than the last. They ranged from her drug and alcohol use to family history to prior hospitalizations—neither of which she really wanted to fucking answer. Sydney squirmed through each invasive question, clamming up entirely when the question pushed too far. She’d already written her answers down; she didn’t understand why they needed to review them so thoroughly.

Hannah cleared her throat, tucking a piece of short red hair behind her ear. “Now I want to touch on one last thing before we finish. Could you elaborate on why you decided to transfer?”

Sydney knew this was coming. Janelle basically watched her fill out the therapy request form; there was no way she was allowed to leave that out. She knew she was being obtuse when she said, “There’s not a lot more to say. I wrote down what happened.”

“Alright… Has she reached out to you since last fall?”

Sydney’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She didn’t enjoy feeling like a writhing bug under a microscope. Picking at a loose thread on the arm chair, she said, “No. Maybe. She texted me in January when I didn’t come back but I blocked her after that.”

“Blocking her is a good first step. But our time is almost up today and she sounds like she’ll need a dedicated session. Most of our sessions will typically be an hour long, but today was just thirty minutes for an intake. Now that I have a better idea of where you are and who you are, I have one final question for you, Sydney: What are you looking to get out of our meetings?”

I want to forget it ever happened. I want to stop seeing her face when I close my eyes. I want her to love me better. “I don’t really care,” Sydney lied. “Aunt Janelle said therapy was a condition for moving this far away. I’m sure we’ll come up with something… You said we’re done here?”

Hannah smiled at her. It barely moved the corners of her mouth. Sydney imagined what her chart might say after this. Do not trust this Fugly Slut.

“Yeah, I’ve got everything I need for today if you’re ready to go,” Hannah said.

Sydney didn’t need to be told twice. She shot up, grabbing her backpack by the top handle, and was halfway out the door before the therapist could dole out any more clinical sympathy.

She felt nauseous, which only worsened when she stumbled out of the student union into the afternoon heat. Ignoring the queasiness, she marched away from Hannah Stewart’s office as quickly as her legs would let her.

Stirring up memories that were better left undisturbed felt a bit like poking a sleeping beast. When it all blew up and bit her in the ass, she’d have no one but herself to blame.

As it turned out, Leah liked the same music Sydney did. When she got in Leah’s car on Friday night—a shiny new Mercedes that smelled like vanilla and leather—she cued a lesbian bubblegum pop song that Sydney knew well. Her voice was high and clear like a bell when she said, “Hi!” as Sydney pulled on her seatbelt.

“Hey,” she replied, the nail of her index finger running over her thumb. “How are you?”

Leah adjusted her mirror and threw her Mercedes in reverse, shifting back into drive in a single fluid movement. “I’m good! Tired as fuck after this week, but good. How about you?”

“Oh, you know. I got Renard for Biochem.”

“Fuck , dude, not Renard. He’s such a prick.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Sydney said wryly. “His ego is massive.”

Leah hummed in acknowledgement, then she asked, “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” she echoed, pulling on her seatbelt. “About what?”

“Tonight. Meeting everyone. What are you thinking?”

Sydney’s silence spoke a thousand words. Her gaze found interest in the passing buildings as Leah drove towards an apartment complex on the other side of campus.

Leah turned the music down and flashed a winning smile at her. “Don’t be nervous. They’re all really great, I promise. They’re dying to meet you.”

“I’m sure they are! It’s still just weird for me here. I was living with my aunt and uncle and I’m still… adjusting. I don’t know. Maybe that’s lame.”

Leah gave her a sideways look, like she wanted to ask about the loaded subtext in Sydney’s last sentence, but she bit her lip and kept her mouth shut. Sydney was beginning to like this about Leah; she was just as nosey as she was, but she seemed to know when to let sleeping dogs lie.

“I don’t think it’s lame at all. Fenwick was a big adjustment for me when I first came here.”

Sydney tried not to let her face show it, but she had a hard time believing that. Leah fit right in with Fenwick’s old money atmosphere.

“Before I met this group of people, I didn’t really click with anyone here. I think I’d only been on estrogen for a year at that point, so I still felt like an in-between version of who I wanted to be. I really feel like they helped me over the finish line. Like, I did all the heavy lifting and self discovery but finding a community at the end of it was also really cool. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

Sydney bit the inside of her cheek. Now she felt a little like a dick. “Yeah, that makes total sense. They sound like good people.” And they did by Leah’s standards, but they were also strangers.

It wasn’t a long drive, but Leah didn’t want to walk that far at night, not that Sydney could blame her; the humidity spiked after dark and statistically speaking so did the percentage of freaks. They pulled up to a gate and her suitemate slowed to punch in a four-digit code.

Leah whipped her car around the lot like she lived there, which she sort of did with as much time as she spent with her girlfriend. When they parked and got out, Sydney noticed all of the other fancy cars in the lot. Her dorm lot looked pretty similar, full of foreign and domestic automotive innovation that would turn Uncle John green. Sydney could only imagine what the insurance or oil changes went for on one of the pretty red coupes.

As they made their way to the closest building, she spotted a white Porsche parked nearby. Her nose wrinkled for half a millisecond before she remembered that August drove a white Porsche and there weren’t any others around here like it. She’d known the chances were high, but now reality hit her like a gut punch. Interacting with August or any of her friends was so different than a casual feed scroll. Fuck butterflies. Those were too delicate to describe how she felt. Her stomach felt like one of those facehuggers from Alien (1979) was going to burst out any second, exploding in a shower of guts and flesh. God, that would be embarrassing.

Following Leah through a door which required another code, they took an elevator ride to the third and final floor. The hallways were long, blank canvases with the occasional cute door mat thrown down here and there. Leah moved with swift confidence and Sydney struggled to keep up with her long stride, trailing a few feet behind.

Finally, they reached their destination. There were no decorations, nothing extraordinary, just the numbers 312 in bronze across the door to denote the unit. Leah didn’t knock; she grabbed the handle, opened the door, and walked inside.

There was no choice but to follow. Slipping in behind Leah, the door swung shut behind her, latching with a loud click. No one but Sydney heard it because the apartment was full of people and music played from a speaker on the kitchen island, drowning out the remaining noise. She listened for a beat and her eyebrows pinched in surprise when she recognized a bassline from The Smashing Pumpkins. Not quite what she expected, but Sydney was quickly learning she needed to shove her expectations up her ass. Her ears turned pink as guilt sprouted in her chest.

Leah reached back and grabbed Sydney’s hand in her own, squeezing. Before either of them had the opportunity to approach someone, a voice rose over the chaos, shouting, “Babe! Over here!”

Sydney’s heart fell out of her ass. Leah’s girlfriend, dressed in a cropped tank and distressed cargo pants, sat crammed between August and their other friend—the disgusting eater—named Ryan. The blush in her ears spread to her cheeks, now overtaken by her stupid silly crush.

Hand still clasped, Leah towed Sydney behind her and made a beeline for the couch. When they got close enough, she dropped Sydney’s hand, approaching Noor to kiss them on the mouth. Sydney twisted her hands, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“You gonna introduce your friend?” August said. A rolling tray was perched in her lap and a small mountain of joints had accumulated on the coffee table in front of her, evidence of her hard work.

Leah grabbed one and held it behind her, gesturing for Sydney to take it, and tucked a second behind her ear. “This is Sydney,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Hands off, August.”

August grinned and winked at Sydney over Leah’s shoulder. “No promises. Hi, Sydney. It’s nice to meet you.”

Sydney began to fidget with the ends of her hair, twisting and winding the curls. “Hi, nice to meet you,” she said, waving her fingers. August’s grin widened, a dimple appearing in her right cheek.

“Really, it is. Leah’s been talking about you all week.” Noor laughed, the sound bubbling from his chest, and gestured to the space around him. Ryan didn’t look up; setting up Mortal Kombat consumed their attention. “Welcome to our place.”

She took it in. Aside from the three on the couch, there were five or so other people milling around the kitchen; two looked like they might play rugby from the size of their thighs and one of them had bright pink hair. Pizza boxes covered most of the countertop space and liquor bottles filled in what remained. A blue tapestry hung behind the TV and some of the ceiling lights were stocked with smart bulbs that at present cast an indigo hue over the room.

“Thanks for having me,” she said, fiddling with the joint in her hands. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to smoke it, or if Leah had plans to smoke together, or if she needed to pay for it; all she knew was that she could almost taste the sweet smoke in her mouth, curling in her out of her nose.

August dug a silver Zippo lighter out of her pocket and plucked a joint up, placing it between her lips. Sydney watched in fascination as she took a drag and held it, appreciating the way her chest puffed up with the inhale. The joint looked so small in her hands. Pictures hadn’t done August justice.

Her tattoos were clearly something she took pride in. Sydney wasn’t familiar with pricing but this much work must have cost August a fortune. This close, she could see that they made a cohesive work of art. A sleeve covered her entire left leg and she was clearly working up to the same on her right. Her biceps and forearms featured a variety of designs, ranging from animals to revolvers to a set of flaming dice. Sydney wished she could reach out and trace the ink. August’s skin looked smooth and warm to the touch.

“Need a light?” she asked, humor lacing her voice. It was rough and scratchy from the smoke and it made Sydney feel funny.

She looked up to find August’s attention on her, gold eyes honed in on her face. August’s hair was cut short on the sides, with the top left wavy and unkempt. Warm threads of brown wove through the rest of her very dark hair, evidence from her summer in the sun, and Sydney noticed with fascination that her nose was crooked, evidence of a break never properly set.

“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Sydney’s eyes bounced to Leah and her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, pressing painfully into her flesh. Unspoken rules hung over her like a dark cloud.

“Here, take a hit of mine then.” August took another hit and held out the joint, offering her the filter side. “It’s been a long fuckin’ week.”

Before Sydney could move, Leah plucked it out of August’s outstretched hand. Her pink lipstick left a rosy smudge around the tip and she began coughing on the exhale. August rolled her eyes, but a smile still played at the corners of her mouth. She held up a pizza shaped ashtray and shrugged at Sydney, as if to say, Don’t look at me. Leah took one more hit before holding it behind her.

Sydney’s first drag immediately transported her to the pond with Nya. She recalled how the smoke hung in the breezeless summer air and how infectious Nya’s good mood always was. She missed her cousins and her home. The high went to her head, tingling in her toes and fingers, eating away at the anxiety held in her shoulders. She took a few steps forward, handing the joint back to August.

“So, what’s your major?” Noor asked, leaning forward to place their elbows on their knees. “It’s gotta be something smart and science-y, if you’re in the STEM dorms with Leah.”

Feeling a little more relaxed, Sydney laughed and pushed some hair out of her face. Her bangs needed a trim; they were getting way too long. “Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry.”

Noor whistled low. “That program’s no joke. I think that’s what our last captain majored in and it totally kicked her ass.”

Sydney shrugged and crossed her arms. “Yeah, for sure, but it’s great if you wanna go to medical school.”

“Do you wanna be a doctor?” August asked. Her gaze was soft and hazy, but her attention made Sydney squirm.

“Surgeon,” Sydney replied and a voice in her head told her to shut up and stop acting so self important.

The opening track for Mortal Kombat joined the din of conversation and grunge music. Ryan, successful in setting up the game, turned to face Sydney and waved. “Hi! Sorry, it needed an update. I’m Ryan. I also live here,” they said and reached over to ruffle Noor’s shoulder length hair, though half of it was pulled into a top knot. Dimples appeared on both sides of their mouth and Sydney found herself charmed by their boyish smile.

She and Leah hovered around the couch for a while, taking hits from August’s joint as they passed it among the five of them. Sydney’s thoughts slowed and she began to settle into the soft, gentle haze of her high. When Leah sat in Noor's lap and conversation shifted to topics Sydney didn’t know how to engage with, she moved to the kitchen. She grabbed a slice of lukewarm pizza and meandered to the patch of countertop where all the liquor was kept.

Pouring several glugs of (surprisingly) cheap whiskey, she mixed it with a sugary Coca-Cola and sipped it as she leaned against the counter.

Sydney liked Leah’s friends. They were nice and chatty, but that was still overwhelming. It’d been ages since she’d spent this much time with strangers. She took a bite of her pizza, staring blankly at the counter. Munchies always hit her hard.

“You know, if you’re trying to hide, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Turning her head, she saw that August now stood beside her. Her eyelashes brushed her brow bone, dark, thick, and pretty, highlighting the deep brown of her iris which bled into a spectacular gold. Sydney had never seen eyes like them before. One of August’s hands was tucked in the front pocket of her shorts and she blinked a few times as she stared at her sage green T-shirt with a decorated skull. Did her eyes deceive her or was that Metallica merch?

“I’m just hungry,” she said, taking another bite of her crust.

August laughed and the sound filled every corner of the room. “Yeah, I bet you are. That’s the kind of shit Ryan likes to smoke.”

Before she could register what she was doing, August reached over Sydney’s shoulder and grabbed a bottle of tequila. Sydney’s brain stopped working for a few precious seconds as she caught a whiff of August’s cologne and the musk of marijuana smoke as it clung to her sweat. Then, she was gone, reaching into the fridge for a Ziploc baggie of chopped limes.

“D’you wanna take a shot with me?”

Sydney swallowed hard. “Uh, of what?”

“Tequlia, sweetheart.”

August made a person want to say, Yes. Something about the way she looked at Sydney, the crook of her smile, the tilt of her head, made it impossible to deny her. Alcohol and her new medications didn’t mix well, but one shot wouldn’t harm anything. She dug her fingernails into her forearm and blinked as she grounded herself, clearing some of the inebriated fog.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit. C’mere.”

August grabbed two small bright green Solo cups and poured them shots. Sydney set her whiskey and Coke down, placing one hand down on the counter as the alcohol and weed intermingled and multiplied in her system. She felt a little woozy on her feet. A benefit to being medicated, she supposed, was that she didn’t need nearly as much alcohol to get absolutely shit-faced.

Sydney licked the back of her hand and poured salt on top of it. August watched her with humor in her cheeks and handed Sydney a lime when she was ready. Her shot sat on the counter, filled almost to the brim, and she picked it up.

“Cheers?”

Sydney nodded and they clinked shots. In a quick succession of events, she licked the salt of her hand, downed the shot, and bit into the lime. Her nose wrinkled, but the tequila was surprisingly smooth and left a pleasant warmth in her throat and chest. This was easily the most she’d drank since being medicated and she was beginning to understand her psychiatrist’s warnings now. Last year, she could have easily consumed double the amount of alcohol and felt none of it; now, under the effects of modern medicine, her tolerance was pathetic.

August was watching her again, gaze trained just south of her eyes. Sydney blushed and blamed it on the alcohol. She opened her mouth to say something, say anything, but Leah interrupted her before she could. Saved by the bell, or whatever.

“Syd, come outside with me!”

Leah had gotten out of Noor’s lap and was standing near the balcony door on the other side, waving a joint around. Her eyes were hazy and red and her lips looked a little swollen, like she might have snuck in a few kisses while Sydney was in the kitchen.

“Go on,” August said, smiling. “She’s been dying to hang out with you.”

Grabbing her whiskey and Coke, Sydney followed Leah outside on the balcony. Ryan and Noor were locked into a match, smashing buttons furiously. A wall of warm air greeted her, heavy as she left the air conditioner’s safety. In the corner, there was a black patio table with matching chairs and a dirty, ceramic ashtray in the center. Edison bulbs were hung around the boundaries of the patio but they dangled unplugged in the corner.

Leah looked at Sydney with earnest, wide eyes. “I’m really glad you came tonight. I was kind of worried you’d hate me, but you’re so pretty and so nice.”

“That’s really sweet of you, Leah,” Sydney said, her words bleeding together. When she got drunk, her accent usually thickened, but she’d never lived somewhere where her accent embarrassed her. She worried Leah might giggle and compare her to some unintelligent hillbilly in media, but the insult never came.

“No, you’re so sweet. My last roommate was an asshole. Homophobic bitch, honestly. I was really happy to match with someone new this year.”

Sydney sighed. “Yeah, Georgia’s not always a peach. I came out when I was like fifteen and my aunt and uncle have been normal about it, so I’m really lucky, but I’ve met my fair share of assholes.”

Leah materialized a joint in one hand and stuck out the other, waiting for something. Sydney stared and thought about it for a while.

“Hand me your J, silly,” Leah said and giggled. “I wanna smoke together.”

Sydney’s mouth opened into a small circle. She’d forgotten about her joint. She patted around her body before she found it lost in her curls, tucked behind her ear. Leah lit both of their joints with a bright pink lighter and handed one of them back to Sydney.

She wasn’t sure if smoking and drinking this much was a good idea, but truthfully she didn’t care. The people she was around seemed safe enough and even if they weren’t, she’d been through worse. For once, she wanted to feel something different, something exciting. Black spots circled her vision and her body swam with warmth, relaxed to the last cell.

Sydney took a hit off her joint and they sat in silence for a few moments. This felt nothing like Virginia, which was good. Not even the air, which was cool this late at night and brushed across her cheeks.

Leah placed her chin on her hands and tipped forward. Sydney tried not to be distracted by her cleavage. “Tell me about yourself, Sydney. What’s the Sydney Story? I know that you’re from Georgia and you transferred from UVA, but not a whole lot else.”

Toying with her shoe lace, she said, “I don’t know. There’s not a lot to tell.”

“What about your family? You mentioned your aunt and uncle?”

“Oh, well, that’s pretty much it. I started living with them when I was thirteen after my parents died. They have a daughter, my cousin Aisha, and she’s like my best friend. I’ve got another cousin Nya that I’m also close with, but she’s through my uncle so we’re not technically related.”

Leah placed a hand on Sydney’s thigh, her baby pink nails soft in the moonlight. “Family is so much more than blood. I’m sorry about your parents.” Sydney didn’t like it when people apologized for her parents’ death because it always sounded self righteous, but Leah didn’t sound like that. She said it the same way she might have said, That blows. She didn’t mind that so much.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I don’t think about it much.” That was a lie, but Leah didn’t need to know that. She was crossed, not stupid. “What about you?”

“Oh, it’s just me and my mom in New York. Or at least it is when I’m not here. She’s okay, I guess. It’s complicated, but we love each other.” Leah reached between them and ashed her joint. “Okay, so what else? I love a good story.”

And Sydney certainly had one. But she wasn’t quite ready to share yet. She sidestepped it, throwing out non-answers like her favorite cryptid (The Jersey Devil) or where she grew up (Atlanta). It was nice talking to another person like this, much less another femme. Light-headed with liquor and weed, she was looser-lipped than she probably would have been sober. She told Leah a few more things about her family, like the time her uncle punched his brother for calling her dyke or that her aunt worked nightshift at the hospital as a Registered Nurse. Leah shared things, too, like the boys who teased her at the all-boys boarding school in France or how her rabbi in New York always looked like he’d just been electrocuted because his hair stood up.

The conversation bounced between the two of them until Sydney heard the patio door open. Her head lifted and there was August again. Wobbling against the frame, she looked like she’d had several more drinks since Sydney left her. Her cheeks were flushed and at some point she’d put on a baseball cap backward.

“Your girlfriend is starting to miss you, love,” she said. “You might come in and give the poor thing some attention before he melts. It’s almost one.” Alcohol also made August’s accent stronger and Sydney had to strain to understand her.

Leah blinked and looked down at the discarded remains of her joint; Sydney only smoked half of it before she started feeling too light headed. “We’ve been out here that long?”

August came and sat down on one of the available patio chairs. “Yup. We figured we’d let you two have a chat, but I really think he’s going to start pouting soon if you don’t do something about it.”

A blush formed in Leah’s cheeks and spread to her collarbone, and she couldn’t contain her smile as she thought to herself. Sydney fiddled with the hem of her skirt, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Leah and Noor were really sweet, but that made her think of her ex-girlfriend and thinking of Jordan while she was crossed wasn’t a very good idea.

Sydney did it anyway, staring at the table as pictures and sounds bounced around her skull. When she looked up, Leah had gone inside and August was sparking up. Not a joint this time, but a cigarette she’d shaken from a box of Lucky Strikes that now laid on the table.

The tobacco reminded her of her Uncle John and with a sudden ferocity that surprised her she wished she could get a hug from him. He gave the best hugs. Her chest began to feel heavy, weighing in on itself like a black hole.

“How are you liking it here so far?”

August broke her out of her spell. Sydney sighed and blew a raspberry. “It’s nice. Overwhelming, but it’s gorgeous. I don’t know. I think I expected something different, somehow.”

“I get what you mean. America was a culture shock. You’ll get used to it eventually, maybe even come to love it, but it doesn't make the in between any better.”

“Ugh, fair enough.” Sydney made a pouting face, placing her chin on top of her fists.. “I’ve always been bad at transitions and I don’t really play nice with others.”

“I think you play plenty nice. You know what else I think?”

Sydney snorted and rolled her eyes. “What?”

“I think you’re stunning.”

Sydney lifted her head to find August watching her already. Her emotions were all over. She narrowed her eyes, mulling over possible clever retorts. “Okay,” she said finally.

August snorted, taking a drag from her cig. When she exhaled, she blew tiny little O’s, which quickly blew away in the breeze. She leaned in a little closer. “No, really. I’ve always had a thing for pretty eyes and, God, you just knock it out of the park.”

Blood rose to her face. “Thanks.”

Scooting her chair a little closer, August leaned in and tucked a piece of hair behind Sydney’s ear. “You’re welcome.”

They sat there for a moment, the quiet night filled by the soft sounds of their breathing. August dragged her knuckles from Sydney’s ear down her jaw and cupped her cheek. August leaned in, eyes closed, and Sydney saw the moment play out before her. They would kiss and Sydney would embarrass herself because she was a terrible kisser and August would tell her friends just how lame and weird she really was. They’d know she was playing imposter, that she was a psychotic freak.

When August was only an inch or so from her face, Sydney’s head moved back on instinct. Their eyes met and she saw August’s eyes flash before she moved away, giving Sydney ample space.

“Sorry,” she murmured, dragging a hand over her face. “Sorry, I’m drunk. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Sydney watched her with wide eyes, her heart thudding away in her ribcage. It’d been a long time since she'd kissed anyone. She’d written herself off as non-kissable, generally overlooked in the sapphic dating pool, especially after her ex left her damaged.

“No, it’s okay,” she said, her voice quiet and small. “I’m sorry. Really, it’s nothing to do with you.”

August swallowed and a muscle in her jaw flexed. For a moment, Sydney thought she might say something but then it was gone. “It’s okay. A handsome dyke like me could stand to be rejected every now and again,” she said and flashed Sydney a grin.

Sydney’s phone buzzed on the table and she picked it up, flipping it over.

Leah Cohen Ryan is sober & offered to drive us home in my car. I was thinking we might head back soon? 130 ok?

August, having finished her first cigarette, pulled out a second and lit it. “Leah texting you?”

“Yeah, I think she wants to go back to the dorms soon.”

“Well, it was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. I need someone to shoot tequila with. No one else around here likes it.”

Sydney stood, pushing her chair in. She felt a little dizzy at first, but steeled herself and stood still until the moment had passed. August was looking at her again, smiling like she knew something Sydney didn’t. If she knew August better, she’d probably whine and wheedle her until she gave it up.

“It was nice to meet you too, August. Goodnight.”

August occupied Sydney’s thoughts for the rest of the night.

When she laid in her bed, pleasantly stoned and buried beneath her blankets, she thought of August’s smile—the sharp corners of her mouth, flashes of white teeth, the fullness of her lips.

She was so charming and kind, offering a listening ear even after Sydney turned her down. Something about her accent made her stomach do flips and she’d laughed more with August than she had in a long time. Not to mention how handsome she really was up close and personal. All of it made her want to kiss August, but she didn’t know how to broach that distance after she created it or if she was even allowed.

Sydney twisted in her bed, tossing and turning as she thought of August’s wide hands and muscular thighs. She didn’t often feel the urge to touch herself. But the longer she thought of August, the more she wanted to try.

She brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked them in, coating them in her own saliva. Popping them out, she dug beneath the hem of her underwear, grazing past her trimmed bush, to her pussy.

Her fingers dipped low and circled her budding clit. Brushing over it caused no immediate sensation so she pressed harder. Electricity sparked dull between her legs and she sighed, pressing her head into the satin pillowcase. She pressed long, hard circles around her clit and thought about the way August looked under the warm street lighting. It carved dark shadows into her jaw and cheeks, highlighting her broken nose and the warmth of her summer tan.

God, her muscles, too. Sydney knew in part it was genetic but conditioning with the rugby team could only enhance things. She wanted to sink her teeth into August’s bicep, leave a bruise or a mark just to see how it felt.

Sydney’s clit was giving her trouble so she brought her free hand to her left tit, wrapping her fingers around the bud. When she’d turned eighteen, Nya took her to a piercing shop and they both got work done to celebrate the day. Nya left with a brand new industrial in her right ear while Sydney made the leap and pierced both of her nipples. She figured being young and single was as good a time as any and they’d finally healed over the spring. She dug her nails into the flesh around her bars, clenching her teeth to hold in her mewl of pleasure. Pain was one of the only real ways she could elicit a response.

The medications made it damn near impossible to cum, which led to masturbation being a chore when release was on the other side of an ocean.

Her fingers dipped down to her hole, where she was finally starting to feel wet. Gathering some on the tips of her two fingers, she circled upwards and returned her thoughts to August.

Sydney had the feeling August got up to trouble with their mouth in more ways than one. While Leah had told her August was prone to antagonize fights on and off the field, she knew in her gut she could eat pussy. August was far too sure of herself and far too handsome to not hold more than enough experience in this department. The sapphic hook-up scene on campus had to keep her more than satiated.

In the fantasy, August was the only one who could make her cum. There were so many things stacked against Sydney but none of them mattered, not in her mind where reality was what she made it. When August laid her molten eyes on Sydney, she felt like she turned to gold. Shiny, sparkly, new. August knew what she needed and she was more than willing to provide it.

Sydney’s problems melted away under August’s tongue. In the real world, Sydney didn’t really like head that much. Her experiences were lackluster. Often, it just felt like a tongue against flesh and Sydney was forced to play pretend, orchestrating a performance for her partner so as to not hurt their ego.

But that didn’t matter in the fantasy. August’s tongue was expert and thorough. Sydney had no reason to put on a show because all of the reactions were real. She wanted that more than anything. August’s mouth hummed against her pussy, and Sydney reached down to fist a handful of wavy curls. They were baby soft, in her imagination, like down feathers escaped from a worn pillow. Tendrils of hair threaded between her fingers and she held August to her, pressing her pussy into her face.

Sydney tried speeding up and lost the spark as her hand began to ache. Her eyes squeezed shut tight in frustration. She rested and started again.

Maybe August would finger her. Sydney thought of her rough hands again and how it might feel to stretch around those fingers, pulsing and sucking them in deeper. She knew her pussy sounded pornographic, wet and sloppy and ruined, and she imagined how the sound might drive August insane.

One hand would press into Sydney’s stomach, pinning her because she couldn’t be trusted to hold still on her own, while the other sought out her G-spot. August probed and searched her pussy, lapping up cum as she explored each fold and divot.

In the fantasy, making Sydney cum was the most important priority and August took their duty seriously. Sydney continued to lie there, idly rubbing circles around her clit, and thought of August determined to make her orgasm, their lips latched and sucking and licking at the perfect speed.

Sydney hummed as the first sensations of pleasure tickled up her spine. This was a sustainable pleasure, one she was more than happy to endure. It did not overstimulate or overwhelm her. Instead, it coursed like golden honey through her body, a wealth of something molten and pleasurable; the crux of it evaded her, slipping through her fingers like sand. It wasn’t impossible to hold onto but she had to focus to keep the momentum going.

It would take August time to make her cum but someone like her wouldn’t care. She ate pussy for the love of it, not the goal of an orgasm; not that Sydney knew this for sure, but something about the way August looked at her made her feel like she was being measured for later consumption and then the almost kiss…

God, Sydney felt stupid. She thought of what it would have been like to kiss August outside on the balcony in the warm summer breeze. She’d crawl into her lap and bracket her much larger thighs with her own. The skirt she wore rode up, exposing the tops of her thighs, which were a dark shade of brown after spending a summer in swimming holes and hiking trails with Nya and Aisha. Fingers dug into her hips, grabbing her, holding her, wanting her. Her hands guided her movements, urging her to grind in her lap. The what if of it all hung over her head, sharp and poised like an executioner.

She wanted to know how August really felt. Not the silly fantasy she’d conjured up in her head. She wanted the sweat and musk—she whimpered, her hand moving faster as she cautiously trailed behind her orgasm—and the rough touch of real hands.

Fantasies, like dreams, flowed like water; fluid and changing, impossible to truly grasp, they held no reality, only the ghost of one.

But the mere thought of August had carried Sydney far enough. She discarded the fantasy and conjured up very real thoughts of being strapped. (Her last run in with silicone was in June at Atlanta Pride; a stud she never learned the name of fucked her within inches of her life.)

Other than being pushed around, she enjoyed the stretch the most, the struggle to accommodate something larger and thicker. She was a small girl. Something about taking a dick bigger than she was meant to appealed to her. An accented voice in her ear asked, How do you want it?

Face down, ass up. A swift, brutal pace that left no room for emotions. She wanted sex with no attachments. She’d already made the mistake of mixing sexual desire and romantic interest with her ex, and that decision led her somewhere she did not want to return.

Sydney jerked into her hand, her fingers pressed against her hard clit as they circled again and again. Her panting filled the dorm room, so she slapped her free hand over her mouth, embarrassed by the needy sounds she created.

The sex would leave her dumb and mindless, completely at the other person’s mercy, and a hand whistled back down to hit her ass. It hurt but that’s what she wanted. It’s what she needed in order to go over that edge. A soft push wasn’t enough; she needed to be hurtled down the mountainside, tumbling head over heels until she landed at the bottom.

Her orgasm exploded across her nervous system, setting off a chain of responses. Thighs pressing tight against her hand, Sydney’s mouth opened in a silent moan as her eyes rolled back. Her clit pulsed against her hand, throbbing painfully as months of tension finally released. Her hips twitched into her hand, setting off a microverse of sensation in her lower gut, inner thighs, and pussy.

Hand still in her underwear, Sydney listened to the sound of her breath as it slowed. The AC whirred inside the wall, a low hum that drowned out the worst of the silence.

Sydney looked over to her nightstand. Two orange pill bottles sat where she’d left them that morning, lids screwed on upside down so she knew she’d taken them. She bit the inside of her cheek. After coming home from the party, she’d gotten ready for bed and left out that step.

A part of her considered not taking them. Her sex drive would come back in full force and so would the highs. Miss one pill tonight, maybe two tomorrow… She hardly recognized herself anymore and a quiet part of her blamed the medications.

Her psychiatrist said it was normal to feel this way, that things would continue leveling out, but Sydney missed her bright technicolor world full of possibility and charm. She missed driving her ex’s convertible with the top down, risking a felony as she flew past the lifted trucks, listening to her favorite album as she smoked a joint. She missed the electric thud of her heart while she stole makeup and jewelry from the mall just to give it away. She missed doing drugs in the bathrooms with her and kissing her in bars and attacking any of the men who looked at them wrong.

But for every bright moment, Sydney knew there was an equally terrible low, memories made in grayscale and black holes in her memory where she stopped existing. She remembered the color of the walls in her first dorm, the pale shade of dove gray, and the popcorn ceilings. She remembered the hospital and Aisha’s round face and wide, watery eyes above her. They were burned into her memory like an old photograph burned on a copper plate.

Sydney drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it go.

Pushing herself upright, she popped the lid on each bottle and swallowed the pills dry.

#starryreads #unbelievably excited to see this story unfold!!!#oooh you wanna read it so bad 🫵🫵#the salt rock lamps and the diffuser school therapy sessions…no matter the country they’re all the same huh 😭

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