Carrie, Female, 15

	- Narrator, high school freshman

	- Beige, freckled skin, 5'4, 130lbs, curly back-length dyed-blue hair

Camila, Female, 16

	- High school sophomore

	- Light-olive skin, 5'7, 150lbs, shoulder-length black hair with dyed-pink streaks

After that last time, Henri called me every couple of weeks but I stopped answering. I'm quite proud of myself, really. Would a 'loose girl' have stopped letting Henri fuck her? He'd leave quick messages about needing to talk to me about a 'school assignment' but that was it. I deleted them as soon as they came in. I was done with Henri, and I hated myself and him for ever making love together. For loving him, for wanting him to be the one to 'save me' from the world. I was stupid, I know, but that's the sort of fantasy that can easily consume a person when someone like Henri shows attention.

I managed to steel myself, to some extent. I still hurt, sometimes cried, sometimes screamed when no one could hear me.

School became a little easier as most people forgot me, though I still heard laughs of 'Loose Girl' from time to time, but I became numb to it, my sour mood my antidote to the bullies. My grade stabilized as I became a zombie in class, thankful that I was smart enough to skate by without notice.

I dyed my hair blue. My school had a policy against unnatural hair color, but no one seemed to care and I was never brought in to talk to anyone about it. Go figure.

My dad, though, he was furious. He shouted at me when he saw it, told me it wasn't fit for a 'Christian girl' to go around looking like that. What would the pastor think? Jesus?

For the record, yelling in reply that “I don't care two shits about what Jesus or the pastor think” and “church is bullshit!” doesn't help in such situations. Just sayin'.

I was grounded, though my mom managed to convince him to back off when it was clear that it wasn't going to change me.

So, once more, I felt very distant from everyone, and my parents more than anyone. I continued to sulk in my unique way, and two months before the end of my freshman year, I wondered if life would ever get better.

Two months to go marked three months without Henri. I'd not forgotten him. Memories filled me at times with wanting and shame. He stopped calling after two months, and those last few weeks there was nothing but silence between us. Two months left in the school year, I thought maybe I was over him, but I know that if he'd have called just one more time, I'd have met him again, even if I was just offering him a wet hole to fuck. I missed him, and my lonely life left me seeking to fill that hollow feeling inside me with anyone who would make me feel wanted, even if Henri, and even if for only a few moments.

I wasn't desperate to be fucked, it wasn't that. I wanted it, to be sure, thought about Henri and other men often as I started to masturbate again. I was desperate for an emotional attachment that I'd gained and lost so quickly. I needed someone to want to be with me, even if just for friendship. I spent my free time reading, and doing nothing to seek out friends.

Two months to go, my life changed for the better, and it was all due to the arrival of a new student. Camila was no girly-girl. She dressed androgynously, vests over collared shirts, jeans that were neither tight nor baggy. Like me, she had colored hair, her black, shoulder-length locks streaked with pink.

It was love at first sight, really. Or, at least lust. Either way, the first time I saw her walk into my Biology class, I wanted to get to know her.

I'd recognized my attraction to other girls early in my sexual growth, though until Camila, I'd never acknowledged it. Never really thought about it. It was 'normal' to be attracted to boys, and I very much was so. But I'd looked at my classmates sometimes, felt myself stirring as I imagined what the girls would feel like if I parted their thighs and fingered them, what they'd taste like, even what they would smell like.

I knew I was bisexual even if I didn't really understand it, didn't use that label, but Camila changed all that.

Her first day at the school, she slammed her tray down on the table where I sat alone and discouraged. She grunted, “this free?”

I nodded and she sat down, eyed the crap on her plate a moment before scooping a pile of something resembling potato salad into her mouth. I managed to find my voice, said, “I'm Carrie. You're Camila, right?”

“I am,” she said around another bite. “Carrie. Ok.”

That was it for a few minutes, then she exhaled a long breath and said, “sorry. I'm in a shitty mood today, not your fault. Didn't want to change schools, but my Mom got transferred to the base and I had no choice. This end-of-the-year changing-schools shit really sucks.”

“Sorry...” I wasn't really certain what to say. “Uh... yeah, I bet it does. Can't say this place is much fun, I doubt you'll like it here.”

It wasn't exactly what I'd planned to say, and it came out a bit different than it sounded in my head. Camila laughed, smiled at me. “That's honesty. I doubt I'll like it here, either. So... what do you do for fun in this town? Not much here...”

“I'm not much fun, so I don't know.”

“I doubt that. Anyway... I like your hair. Blue's a color I haven't tried yet, maybe I'll go that way next time.”

I smiled, said, “I like yours as it is. Very sexy.”

I'd slipped, said more than I meant to say to the teen I'd just met. She laughed again, smiled, might have even flushed a bit. “Well, maybe. Maybe. Sexy, sure, I guess I can accept that. You're a little weird.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. 'Weird.' That was a good way to describe me then. Maybe not fair, but not inaccurate. From that moment, I knew I'd found a friend.

We started hanging out around classes, played tennis on the weekends. Camila always had a grotesque or randy joke handy. I got to know her better, and as I did, I began to fall in love.

Her mom was a sergeant in the US Army and had regularly been moved throughout her career. Camila had lived in twelve places already, and at sixteen, it meant she'd had no strong connections to anyone or anywhere. I guess I knew the feeling then, having been isolated from all the 'friends' I'd had until that freshman year.

We hung out most often at her house, innocent friends, and I learned that she'd never had a boyfriend, didn't say if she wanted one. “Seriously, I think I turn guys off. I'm not primping for anyone. If they don't like me like this, no makeup, no jewelry, I'm not interested in becoming their idea of sexy.”

“I doubt they aren't interested, I've seen Ken and Mitch checking you out. You know Mitch would date you if he had the courage to ask. Why don't you ask him?”

“Mitch is a decent guy, but... I'm not attracted to him. Not at all. He's cute, just... I dunno, no interest there.”

“And Ken?”

“Ken's dating Julie, and I'm not gonna be that girl.”

“Yeah, ok...”

“What about you? Anyone you banged in the past?”

I laughed, Camila never one to make her question unclear. “Uh... I dunno.”

“Dunno, or won't tell your best friend?”

I hid a wounded smile as best I could. She'd hit my weak point, the place I felt most vulnerable. I hated the moments with Brown and didn't want to recall them, and I couldn't talk about Henri, though I admit I was tempted. I finally said, “some other time... some other time...”

She softened, smiled, said, “ok, no pressure. I'm here if you want to go into it. But... virgin?”

“No. I'm no virgin.”

“Phew, was afraid I might have to make you a woman myself!” When I nearly choked on my tea, she laughed, said, “just kiddin', Carrie. That's cool, I'm not a virgin either.”

“I thought you said you had no boyfriends?”

“I never had any boyfriends.”

“So... oh... yeah. One-timer, or not someone you dated, then?”

She smiled, said, “none of those, actually. You missed the obvious one.”

I thought a moment, and it took a bit to hit me. “Girlfriend. You had a girlfriend?”

“Bingo. You win the prize for identifying the lesbian.”

“I... Oh, that's... great. I didn't know, sorry...”

“Why the fuck would you be sorry, Carrie.” Camila put her hand on my shoulder, tilted her head, “do you go around announcing to the world you're straight?” I shook my head. “No? Neither do I tell people how gay I am, so how would you know what I'm into?”

“I wouldn't,” I said quickly. “Besides, straight isn't the right word for me.”

Camila's face looked bright when she asked, “oh? So what would be the right word?”

“I dunno,” I really didn't. “I like boys... and I think I like girls... never been with one.. you know... jeez.”

“Ahh,” she smiled, “ I think you're looking for the 'bi-curious' tag. Kinda a pointless term, really, as it can mean different things, but that's close... so... what have you done with women? Why are you curious?”

“I dunno,” I was becoming repetitive. “Like... I dunno, Cam. I'm just... curious... what it would be like, you know.”

She left it there, and for most of the remainder of our semester, we continued to be close friends with nothing directly sexual between us. We talked about everything. Everything except Henri. I eventually told Camila about Brown, and she went out of her way to let the air out of his tires whenever she had the chance.

Camila had her license and started picking me up before school. We were innocent friends, but I was growing to love her strongly, and my life centered on the minutes and hours I spent in her presence. She made no other friends, and like me, seemed to have enjoyed finding someone to share her free time.

We grew closer in late May of that year when her mother became ill with throat cancer. The day Camila found out she stayed with me while her Dad stayed with her mom in the hospital. She cried on my shoulder long into the night. She was scared, unlike I'd ever seen her before. She was always confident, self-assured, there to pick me up when I felt down.

Her tears covered my chest and shoulder as I held her, shushed her as she cried, hugged her to me, laid with her and snuggled against her body when she laid down. I felt terrible for her, and if I'd have been a religious girl I'd have prayed that her mom got well fast.

Instead, I was there for Camila when she needed someone to care, and I held her all night and into the morning. She woke feeling a bit better, and left with her Dad to go back to the hospital. I didn't see her for a few days, she missed school and spent a lot of time with her mom.

I don't know exactly when I recognized that I had fallen for Camila and wanted to make love with her, but by the time her mom was discharged, I knew it was the truth. I brought her flowers that Friday evening, just to show her I cared about her. She embraced me and hugged me tight, told me a soft “thank you” before I joined her and her father for dinner.

When she finally came back to school, I had put a note in her locker that had a silly picture on the front, and said, C + C = Friends 4 Ever. She hugged me and laughed when she read it, and I think that was probably the moment Camila really knew how I felt about her. Her hug was different, strong but yielding, vulnerable but desirous, her arms held me much longer than was necessary, and she kissed my neck quickly as she pulled away and we headed off to class.

The next weekend, we were hanging out in her basement, watching some series on television about women who went missing. It was creepy, and I don't recall enjoying it. But Camila sat next to me, took my hand when I jumped.

I don't really remember how it happened, but at some point her lips found mine and we spent the entire night hugging and kissing. It felt so good to feel Camila's lips on mine, her tongue in my mouth. She tasted sweet, a bit salty, her lips softer than I'd expected. She was a wonderful kisser, and I hope I was doing well, myself. I'd never kissed another girl before, but I was hooked immediately.

Nothing else happened that night, and we didn't talk about what it meant. Every moment we were awake we shared kisses and hugs and spent time staring into each other's eyes.

We started acting like girlfriends when we were alone and no one could see. We kissed, held hands, touched each other's arms. There was no hurry to move fast with Camila. It felt so good what we did that I'm not sure I considered any of it sexual. It aroused me, for sure, and had she moved first, I'd have given her my everything and consumed hers.

But there was no rush at all. No pressure, no heartbreak, no touches of breasts or genitals, just kissing and love. I said “I love you” to Camila before we had even seen each other naked. I did love her. Deeply. It was so different than what I'd felt for Henri. It wasn't based on a desperation, or at least, not as clearly. I loved Camila because she demanding nothing of me, that she loved me for who I was, and didn't seem to care if we moved beyond the kissing.

I wanted to, though, and I found out quickly thereafter that she did too.

The school year ended and Camila and I couldn't be separated. We never hung out at my place, my dad would have killed me if he saw us kissing. So we spent a lot of time in her basement, her room, and the tennis courts.

After a long practice match that I think she won by a couple of points, we headed to her place. She showered first while I waited in the basement, a movie queued up. When she came downstairs, I rose and went for mine. Camila wore just a towel, wrapped tightly around her body. It covered her breasts and puss, but it was damn sexy. I felt pangs of lust for her, covered in the wash of my love for the girl.

I showered quickly and copied her, wearing just my towel down. We started the movie but quickly lost interest as our lips joined and we shared saliva. Camila's towel fell open after a while, whether by accident or intention, I don't know. I pulled back, thinking she'd want to cover herself.

Instead, Camila stared at me, her breasts exposed to my view, a soft pleading in her look, a simple question in her eyes. I answered that question by leaning in and taking her soft, medium-sized tits in my hands. Camila moaned as I touched her. My hands moved on their own, wanting to explore every inch of the girl's body. I stroked her neck and ears, rounded her breasts and tickled her stomach and sides.

I was so horny my pussy had drooled and soaked into my panties, leaving a rich, creamy discharge on the fabric. I felt myself grow wetter as I touched Camila's body, and when my fingers found her genitals, I found she was wet, too.

Camila moaned as my fingers pressed between her labia, sliding in easily, her channel slick and swollen. Her puss felt so hot on my hand. I don't know why that was such a surprise, I'd fingered my own hole hundreds of times. But I sank into the rich warmth as I sank my fingers into Camila. Her body became slack, she laid back, and in seconds, I found my face between her legs.

I trembled as I leaned closer. I'd seen it many times in porn videos, but to actually be inches away from another woman's vagina for the first time was an intense moment in my life. I stared at Camila's swollen sex, the way one of her labia laid open slightly, the other tucked in. In the dark room it was hard to judge colors, but the dark lines of her puss contrasted nicely with the paler skin around it.

Camila was shaved, bald, no sign of stubble or razor burn. It was like touching myself when I had just started exploring my body. I ran my fingers across her smooth skin, delighted at the way they slid easily along, over her vulva, down her thighs. She panted, reached for my hair. A handful in her grasp, she pulled me to her. My nose pressed against her pubic mound, and she arched her back as my lips brushed her clit.

I tried to match what I'd seen actresses do. I licked her hard nub, her clit much larger than my own. It throbbed under my tongue as her hips rocked. Camila held my hair, her flesh too sensitive to give up that control. She jerked and twitched as I licked her, and at first, I feared I was doing it all wrong.

But her body's build to orgasm was nothing like mine. Where I rocked my hips up and down, hers moved in a circle. My movements were smooth and slow to burn, whereas Camila's body jerked, spasmed, her fire quickly ignited by my tongue, jagged edges on the path to her release.

She cried out, muffled it quickly with her hand. Her Dad and sister were upstairs, wouldn't be good to get caught like that. She muffled another moan, her back arched. She tightened her grip on my hair, kept me from putting too much pressure on her clit. I lapped, let her body tell me where to go, how hard, how fast. She rolled in three big circles, arched further, and climaxed.

Her muffled cries were music to my ears and I lapped quickly at the juices that ran from her hole. She tasted sweet, almost sugary, light, creamy and soft. I drank in my girlfriend and didn't want to stop.

Camila's sensitive clit forced her to clamp her legs and push me away, a raw desire in her eyes as she panted, a lovely smile stuck on her face. She was sweating, her face and stomach glistened. Her puss glistened, too, covered in her juices and my saliva.

I rose over her and shared her juices with her. I loved to taste myself after cumming, and I hoped she did as well. Camila moaned as our lips met, the taste of her pussy filling our mouths.

She pushed me back, laid me down, and spread my legs.

My first female sex partner took no time diving in. Camila's tongue was excellent, seemed to know just how to lick all the right parts of my genitals. She ran around the edges of my thighs before tickling my entrance. She swirled my clit, raced across my labia, probed my wet hole with her tongue.

I was lost in the moment, in love and building to a climax. Camila slipped two fingers inside my tight hole. I clamped down, my clit throbbing between her lips, barely stopped my moans, and came on Camila's face. Over and over pleasure washed through me. Tongue, lips, fingers, sensations that ran together, warm, slick, harmonizing to make my vagina vibrate and sing.

I'm sure my pussy flooded her, and she continued to lick me for some time before rising over me. I pulled her down and we kissed, laying like that most of the evening before we quietly went to her bedroom.

We snuggled together, Camila and I, in love, pussy juices drying on our faces, on our thighs. The smell of horny girls filled my nose and I couldn't have been happier. After all I had been through, sexually and otherwise, that first night with Camila was the cure-all I'd been after. I whispered “I love you,” to her as I held her, and she turned her head, kissed my cheek, and for the first time, said, “I love you, too, Carrie.”