Page 11 of Surfer Girl

“You taking me inside?” Sophie hazarded. Jessie merely nodded. Sophie glanced over her shoulder, at the weathered railing behind Jessie, as if surveying the scene of their first encounter and, Jessie hoped, not regretting it. When at last her eyes returned to Jessie’s, Sophie’s were warm and moist. She nodded once and squeezed Jessie’s hand with a renewed sense of urgency. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more at the moment.”

Jessie nearly hummed with relief. There was no longer any mistaking their intentions. It was everything Jessie had hoped for, if not more. Still, even as Jessie started to tug her along, still joined by flushed hands, Sophie paused just before drifting in through the double French doors. Glancing back over her shoulder, then down at their sandy skin, she asked, “Shouldn’t we shower off first?”

Jessie grinned, a naughty ripple surging through her body as the anticipation she’d been feeling all day finally summited the crest of her lofty desires and crashed all over her normally reserved vocabulary choices. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sophie, but…I thought I’d give you a tongue bath instead.”

Sophie’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “I-I-I haven’t done this a whole lot,” she confessed with a blushing stammer. “But that is either the best, or the worst, pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

Jessie laughed self-consciously, holding the door open as desire simmered in her belly like a pot about to boil over onto the stove. “By ‘haven’t done this a lot,’ how a lot have you not done this?” she asked with only mild curiosity. At this point, Sophie could be the biggest tramp in the world and Jessie would still have bedded her with wild, reckless abandon—consequences be damned!

Sophie snorted playfully as they both lingered near the doorway, as if hesitant to go inside and do what they both wanted to do so desperately. “I’m not sure if you’re speaking English at the moment, but if you’re asking me how many other girls I’ve slept with…it’s less than a handful.” Sophie blushed and looked down at her bare, sandy feet before amending her statement. “Actually, it’s less than a peace sign.”

Jessie snorted, an awkward but enthusiastic sound, thinking of her own female lovers. Or, should she say, lack thereof. There were three of them in total, but probably really only one and a half when you combined what Jessie had actually done with them. First there was Emily, the manager of her high school swim team, with whom she’d shared a torrid—if solitary—kiss in the girls’ locker room one afternoon after the rest of the team had gone home from practice.

It had come on suddenly and ended just as quickly, neither of the girls speaking of the incident—or even to each other—again. It was as if both of them had been overwhelmed not just by the experience, but the desire that had led to their brief, sizzling encounter. Jessie couldn’t exactly blame Emily for ghosting her after that. She had been unable to process the powerful emotions herself but knew one thing: the kiss had felt so right, so good, so natural, it was clear that all her failed experiments with boys over the years were firmly and officially over. After Emily, it was girls only—and she’d never looked back.

Next there was Claudia, who’d worked at the local movie theater the summer after senior year. Jessie had waited until most of her classmates went off to school in the fall to ask her out. She figured, rightly, there’d be less competition that way. They’d gone to a movie, of course, and made out like bandits in the empty theater after everyone had left. Claudia had let Jessie feel beneath her blouse, over her bra, a first for her.

In return, she had slid her fingers up Jessie’s skirt and down her panties, fingering her energetically before her manager came in moments before Jessie had her first orgasm and asked what the hell they were doing. They had never seen each other again, but only because Jessie got scared, never answered Claudia’s texts or phone calls, and didn’t even go back to the Siesta Fourplex until a year later, after Claudia had either quit or been fired.

Finally, there was Carol, a sexy MILF who had applied to work at Beach Break a few years earlier. Everyone on the management team knew she was overqualified for the hostess job they had open, but it was the busy holiday season and they’d hired her anyway, thinking that if they even got a month’s work out of her it would be worth it. They almost got that far, even though Jessie got a lot farther, so to speak. Carol had been married—twice—and had kids older than Jessie but made it clear right from their very first shift together how much she wanted her.

Jessie was still a server then, but since she’d been a hostess ever since high school, she’d been chosen to train Carol. Turned out, it was the other way around. Jessie had never been pursued so ardently before and was both confused—and flattered—by the sudden attention. While they kept it as professional as possible at work, the minute they got off Carol simply wouldn’t let up. Jessie thought their age difference might get in the way of a budding romance, but the more time she spent with Carol, the more she became attracted to the comely older woman.

Their first kiss had been at the employee Christmas party, a risky but uncontrollable endeavor that had only revealed how passionate, and tender, Carol could be. And how petty Brett could be, after he caught them sharing a passionate kiss in the alcove on their way home.

Jessie was worried about the other managers finding out but was so attracted to Carol she finally gave in when Carol invited her over for dinner one night soon afterward. Little did Jessie know she was the main course. After about two minutes of nervous small talk in the foyer, Carol took Jessie upstairs, laid her down on her king-size bed, stripped off her panties, and feasted on the virgin flesh between Jessie’s smooth, quivering thighs.

Jessie had experienced her first orgasm—with another woman, that is—beneath Carol’s expert and eager tongue but had been too shy to return the favor. As a result, Carol had given her the cold shoulder at work the next day and never quite finished out the month of December.

Since then, Jessie had been content with throwing herself into her work—and surfing, of course. Then she took a shower on the wrong deck one morning and, well, all that changed. Sophie squeezed her hand, dragging her back into the moment; the blissful, sweet moment, as tender as it was tempting.

“Where’d you go?” Sophie asked, softly, as if not wanting to disturb her.

Jessie met her eyes and smiled. “Nowhere,” she lied. “I was just thinking how this would be a first for me.”

Sophie raised one rich black eyebrow. “Giving one of your surf students a tongue bath…or being with a girl?”

“A little bit of both,” she admitted. “But even if I’d been with a thousand girls, Sophie, I’ve never felt this way about one before.” That much, at least, was true. None of the other girls she’d been with had ever made her heart race, or her libido surge, the way Sophie did.

A smile sprang to Sophie’s lips, so sudden and sincere it was like a ray of light poking out from between two storm clouds. “Get out of my head!” she squealed, taking Jessie’s hand and finally dragging her across the threshold and into the tiny beach cottage. “I’ve been worrying all day that you’d think I’m some kind of slut or something for coming on so strong.”

Jessie puffed out her chest, as if competing for something. “I’m the slut,” she insisted. “Seducing one of my surf students the very first day we’ve met?”

Sophie nodded, then quickly shook her head. “It’s not technically seducing somebody if you never actually touch them.”

Jessie laughed, realizing she’d been delaying the inevitable for long enough. Turning, she reached for the French door to close it behind them. Sophie stilled her hand gently. “No,” she insisted, just as softly. “Let’s leave it open. I want to see the sunset on your skin and feel the ocean breeze when we sweat.”

Blood rushed through Jessie’s ears. In all her years of watching sappy movies and reading a library’s worth of racy romance novels, she had never in her life heard anyone say anything quite so sexy before. The time for talk was over, though.

They stood in the middle of a small living room. Hardwood floors stretched beneath her feet and, other than two battered leather wing chairs on either side of an old trunk coffee table, the only furniture in the room was a long leather settee in the corner.

It sat beneath an open window, floral curtains fluttering on either side as if a set dresser for a softcore porn film had positioned it, just so. Squeezing Sophie’s hand, Jessie led her to the long, oversized chair. Sophie let her take the lead, making Jessie blush to think Sophie thought she was the more experienced of the two. Either way, it allowed Jessie to position Sophie right where she wanted her, in more ways than one. They stood beside the long, wide chair, the rust-colored leather covered in predictably tan and brown seagull-patterned throw pillows.

Sophie looked down at it nervously, her hand trembling in Jessie’s. “Should I sit, or…”

Jessie merely shook her head, letting Sophie’s hand drop to her side. “Not yet,” she explained, throat taut with desire. “I just want to look at you for a few minutes, here in the light by the window, and touch you a little first. Would that be okay?”

Jessie’s heart raced, the blood rushing in her ears. This was it, the moment she’d been waiting for since Sophie passed her the cold can of Joltz mere hours earlier. The sun had just been rising then, as if dawning along with their burgeoning romance. Now it was on the other end of the spectrum, dwindling in its light as it began its achingly slow descent across the sky.

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