I smell the scent of suburbia: freshly cut grass and I think of you.

I remember how strange it was to kiss you. How my cheeks flushed a pink when you forced your tongue between my lips and into my mouth. I remember the grape popsicle taste of your mouth. You smiled, unabashed.

In your room we undressed each other to panties. I fumbled with your buttons and laughed. You laughed, smiling, as you always did when we were together. You still wore the panties of a grammar school girl, marked repetitively, Monday. I wore simple white cotton and you said you didn't care; kissing me again. You held my tits as if they were a crystal glass, just for a moment, savoring the sight of my modest nipples.

And then you devoured me, in your adolescent way. You were almost dog-like, hands and knees, tongue protruding, innocently lapping at my nipples. Rubbing my panties in the wrong place, but I was too embarrassed to tell you. Suddenly, the lapping turned to sucking and it hurt. You rolled the buds between your teeth and I wanted to scream, but I was too trapped. So I pulled your head up to mine and kissed you, but you tasted less like grapes. I sucked your nipples then, like a newborn sucks his mother's. You squeaked and whimpered and I wonder if it hurt you like it had hurt me.

Your mom came home and we giggled as we dressed hurriedly. I went home then, hands in pockets, kicking the pebbles with my shiny new boots. I went home and shaved my head. I kept a bit of hair and bound it in a red ribbon.

You vacationed in California and I daydreamed about you. I toyed with the thought of loving you, discarding the interested boys and embracing my inner dyke. I figured I was halfway there, shaved head and combat boots.

You returned to me, tanned and smiling. You took me up to your room and you told me about how fucking hot it was and how fucking great the clothes are in Cal-i-forn-i-a. You had gotten a new pair of boots and they were knee high. Two weeks away from me and you had gained a dirty mouth. You rubbed my head and told me I looked fucking awesome.

And then, when your parents had gone to sleep, you climbed under my blanket naked. A whisper escaped your soft cushions for lips and floated into my ear on a cloud. You had said, (and it sounded like you had rehearsed this a thousand times) "I want to fuck you.".

You covered my mouth with yours; you tasted of mouthwash and toothpaste; but I kissed you back. I wrapped my arms around you. We kissed forever, you and I, under a blanket sky. You toyed with my breasts and I toyed with your tiny tits. You licked and sucked, and it seemed you had gotten better at this.

I felt horny. I had never felt horny before. I had wanted you many times before; to touch you and kiss your lips, delight in your laughter, but I had never wanted to fuck you. I wished I had a cock so I could fuck you with it.

You were licking me sloppily; licking my tits, my belly, and nuzzling my crotch. I wanted you, passionately, insanely. You were wonderful, with your sloppy tongue. I was swimming in a sea of your saliva, but I didn't care. You pulled off my plain white cotton panties and rubbed two fingers all over my pussy. We really didn't know what we were doing, best friends, fucking in the middle of the night. You dove in then, probably holding your nose and hoping for the best. You licked me slowly and gently and I fell in love.

You and I spent the rest of the night playing with each other. But, you never let me lick you. You let me fingerfuck you, while you told me that all the girls were letting their boyfriends do it to them. I wished I could be your boyfriend, taking you to movies so I could make out with you in the back row. I wished I could take you to dances and buy you ice cream. I sucked your nipples to your giggles and squirms and you sucked mine to the sound of my laughter. We dressed and slept next to each other. When we awoke in the morning, we ate Lucky Charms and laughed our asses off at the table.

All of summer I thought I could never lose you.

I never told our friends, but they knew. They knew what kind of girl I was. We went anywhere and the kids our grade picked on us. Lesbians. Lesbians. Dyke. Dyke. Dyke. Dyke. Butch. Hey Butch. We were going to stay this way forever, in spite of the world. Silly Cinderellas giving Prince Charming the finger. But instead you fucked a boy or two and you stopped being my best friend.

You wrote me a letter and sent it through the mail and maybe I still have it, lying around somewhere. Pretty soon, it was me and the boys again, smoking pot and being an overall nuisance; and you were with those girls and guys that had called us dykes, painting your lips a crimson red and denying us. You stuffed letters in my mailbox and I threw them away with tears in my eyes.

You moved away at the end of the summer and didn't say goodbye.

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