Fic: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur - Chapter 3
Title: Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
Author: interpol_ice
Fandom: Skins - Second Generation
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Rating: R
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a
girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling
the night's story straight.
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi
narrate. [Pre-Season 4]
CHAPTER 1 - How We'd Be (You and Me)
CHAPTER 2 - Swim or Die Without
Author's Notes: This chap’s title is inspired by Incubus and an utterly pretty song of theirs, “Southern Girl”.
Naomi takes hold of the special narrator reins again. You’ll see things unfolding in this chapter through her eyes. There’s a lot to look out for. :)
Heads-up, she’s a bit flashback-heavy (sentimental much?) here so I hope you guys don’t get confused when she pulls a ‘Back to the Future’ on you during certain parts of the story. And there are some things that I promised in Chapter 2 that I won’t be able to get in here. Don’t worry though, it means that this story is going to be longer than I originally intended it to be. You pretty much get to see them in later chapters. So sit tight! ;)
Thank you to everyone who read and especially those who dropped a comment! I’m keeping your two cents in an ultra-special sheepy bank! Yay! That being said (wow, this is a very long author’s note), I really want for you guys to enjoy while reading this!
Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
by interpol_ice
Chapter 3: Try Me On To See If I Fit
= = = *** = = =
“Take your sweater off.”
The suggestion, I convince myself, came out of concern, not curiosity. She’s
sweating in that jumper in a rather sexy-sweating way, mind you. I’m totally
not dying to find out what kind of top she is wearing underneath. I’m totally
not dying to use dancing and poor lightning as an excuse to run my hands all
over her… in the blind eye of the current public.
And Emily doesn’t stop dancing, doesn’t stop looking so fuckable. She
replies, voice raspier than ever, “I’m fine, I don’t have to.”
“Fucking hot in here Ems, sure about that?” I try to reason, fingers toying
with the hem of her sweater.
Well, fuck me if it isn’t the softest thing in the universe.
It’s her favorite navy blue Pringle cashmere sweater. Cabled V-neck, ribbed
at the collar, the end of the sleeves and the hem. Fuck’s sake, it sounds
like I sell these things for a living. But you get the picture, right?
Basically, they’re these preppy little things that make people look stuck-up.
Curious as to why Emily has one then?
It’s because of Thomas, really.
= = = = = = = =
It was an admirable and perilous quest I was on. To find the perfect gift for
Emily. Her birthday was in three days and I haven’t gotten her a present yet.
Even more of a problem, she hasn’t asked for anything in particular. She
never mentioned that she wanted this or that she wanted that. Not even a
subtle hint or something I could work with at least. Which was making this
whole gift complication a lot more complicated because... really, that just
about narrowed the choices down brilliantly.
Coming out of the fifth store I tried, I bumped into Thomas. Well, not
literally (‘cause that would’ve hurt, he sure was a bony bloke) but you got
the point. He told me right away that he went out for a jog and now he was
heading over to Panda’s. He held up a box, “Doughnuts,” he said.
“Take one,” Thomas offered. He opened the box and the delightful aroma of
freshly baked donuts wafted in the air of Bristol morning. “Please, Panda
wouldn’t mind.”
I reached into the box, picking out one with blue frosting and yellow
squiggles on it. “Why, thank you,” I said before taking an eager bite.
We chatted for a good while. Partly because he was surprisingly a substantial
person to talk to and partly because I thought those doughnuts of his were
right tasty. I was happily munching away on my second one. It was pink with
candy sprinkles this time.
Jesus, these donuts were comical-looking.
We were talking about Panda’s latest hobby (salsa lessons with Doug) when we
stopped. At a bus-stop, I realized a little after. I was about to ask him why
but he filled me in on that impeccably. Like he read my mind or something.
“This place, if I’m not mistaken, is quite memorable.”
I looked around, not really noticing anything special or what. “Yeah...
Thomas? How exactly is this place interesting?” I asked.
“It involves Emily.”
The moment he said her name the place was instantly interesting for me as
well.
“Found her here one night. She had no shoes. Not even a jacket. She was
shivering so much.”
Oh, that night.
I did remember that I haven’t given back Emily’s (Technically, they were
Katie’s) purple heels. I made a mental note to myself. Return K. Fitch’s
Brogues. Before Katie realized that they were missing and all.
With that said, I wanted it known how much hearing all this from him was
making me feel incredibly guilty and... absolutely rubbish. It got a little
harder to swallow the donut pulp I was just chewing.
“I don’t know what happened to her before I got to her... She just told me
she couldn’t find her shoes. So I gave her mine. And also one of the three
jackets I was wearing that night. See, England is an exceedingly cold place.”
He breathed through his fists, unconsciously proving his point.
“Very cold,” he reiterated.
My jaw, I could feel, was tensing up. “Wow. That’s incredibly nice of you,
Thomas,” I croaked out.
“She should never be alone on a cold night,” he said solemnly, his eyes
trained on a man across the street. I thought I recognized him too; probably
from an Environmentalist group or something. Nice. He was walking his old
Dalmatian. I remembered the Disney movie immediately. I wondered... what if
Emily wanted a puppy?
Thomas pulled me out of that train of thought. He turned to me, and with a
grave voice he said, “Emily’s a lovely girl. I’m sure you would’ve done the
same.”
Right. I would have. Save for the part that I was the reason she was there in
the first place. Alone and cold. I pictured Emily, scantily clad on this
street, in the dead of night, barefoot. I pictured her crying, her mascara
making two glaringly obvious stains on either cheek.
Yes, my fault. Jesus, what a way of telling me that I had a lot to make up
for. I got it now. This was karma on my doorstep. This was karma inviting
itself to a three-course dinner. What goes around comes around.
Fucking cosmic implosions.
A bus pulled up in front of the stop. I felt the offensive heat of its
exhaust. “This is my ride,” he told me as he got up.
I thanked him for the chitchat and the donuts. And I secretly thanked him for
his story. I would never have known how horrible a state I’d left Emily in if
he hadn’t told me.
God bless this African boy’s soul.
He took a window-seat, with an open window (no, that’s not redundant at all).
I called out his name and once I got his attention, I gave him a little wave
goodbye.
It surprised me when he stuck his head out of the window. His face was kind
when he said to me, “You are very lucky, Naomi.”
The bus gradually picked up speed until it got smaller and smaller from where
I was sitting. I waited for it to turn the corner before I stood up.
For a quick moment, I closed my eyes and breathed in for luck.
One. Two. Three.
Then all the negativity in my system was exhaled out. I was feeling better
already. Because now I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to get her.
Thomas. He was awfully right about everything.
= = = = = = = =
Now I’ve told you the story. Now you know. That this sweater... it stands for
a promise. Never again would she be alone. Never again would she be cold.
Most of all, never again would she be those two things at the same time.
So that’s it. What I got her for their birthday (I gave Katie something
‘nice’ as well). It’s probably the cheesiest present you could ever give your
girlfriend, but what the hell. Ems likes her cheese.
Cost me an arm and a leg too. But expensive as it was, I do admit, the
benefits have already exceeded the costs. I’m really glad I got it for her
because Emily has gotten mad attached to it. I mean, she’ll wear it any
chance she gets. And when I say any chance, I mean any chance.
Since then, Emily has probably thought of thirty-two excuses to wear it in
warm weather. Twenty-five she’s probably voiced out, only fifteen of which I
have given my consent (A great thing about being her girlfriend is that she
respects my approval rights).
She puts it on after we make love on some nights. On those occasions, she
doesn’t have to ask me at all. Because really, I don’t have the heart to say
‘no’ after she’s gone down on me multiple times. I just couldn’t.
= = = = = = = =
She threw the covers off of her, wriggling herself out of my loose hold.
Emily was up and about fast, looking for something on the floor. It made my
mouth go dry and it made me wet down under, the way she circled my room with
that feline grace of hers.
She’s a girl.
Just like that, a spotlight made that one truth halt in its tracks. Just like
that, that one truth stood out from the rest of my thoughts. And its presence
was so strong and offended... most of all, it was loud. It needed to be
heard, it needed to be known.
It was a common occurrence, you know, thinking about it.
The morning after we first made love, I woke up and the sunlight crept over
her features, doing an ace job of turning Emily into an unreal vision. Her
hair was wild and when the sun had hit it, it glowed like a soft fire. She
looked like a lovely lion. Her chest--no, her breasts, her breasts rose with
every inhale. She was balled up, and I was reminded how small and delicate
she really was. And her face. Oh, her face. It was the sweetest, most
beautiful one I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.
She’s a girl.
I woke up thinking that one truth. Its voice cut through the heavy morning
air. Panicked, afraid and desperate. Run, it told me. And being the fucking
coward I was, I listened to it.
Getting my bicycle up the trail, as quiet as a mute mouse, was the easy part.
Her yelling at me in a voice that broke my heart? Me walking away like she
didn’t mean a thing to me? Yeah, that was the tricky bit.
I mean, I didn’t think that hurting her would hurt me twice as much. But it
did. It fucking did. When I left, I felt that something had been torn out of
me. Something big.
Be brave and want me back.
So I did it, I listened to her. I got brave. I wanted her back. I learned to
stick around. Thick and thin, I was going to hold my ground.
Yeah, she was a girl. So what? I actually enjoyed the liberty of snogging in
the loo whenever we wanted to. I mean, you can’t sneak a boy into the ladies
room without arising suspicion. I enjoyed swapping the occasional top with
her, I didn’t mind the extended wardrobe. I enjoyed shopping with her and
being able to do a quickie in the dressing rooms. That’s an awesome bonus, if
you asked me. I also enjoyed it when she was braiding my hair before I
painted her nails (Excuse me, but I did. Is there a fucking problem?).
Alright, if it wasn’t obvious enough... Well, she’s a girl. And I love her.
And these epiphanies? They weren’t so bad anymore. Now, they reminded me of
her remarkable lady bits and all the inappropriate things I’ve already done
to them. I knew for a fact that my tongue and finger dexterity drove Emily
absolutely insane.
The fact that both of us are girls? Now I wondered why I ever thought it was
a problem for me in the first place.
She bent down suddenly, disappearing in a red blur. When she snapped back
into sight, she was sporting a satisfied smile. The sweater was in her hand.
Her arms slid into the sleeves first. She swung it above herself right before
she pulled it down, gradually covering creamy skin. Gone were her tits and
her stomach and her pale skin. Christ, I missed them already. Her lady bits.
This was how Emily wore a sweater.
It still turned me on, though. Like a really hot strip-tease done in reverse.
Oh Emily, you truly are a wonderful, wonderful girl.
I held up the covers as she hopped aboard the bed. Once she was in, we lay
there for a bit, quiet and on our backs. I was wondering what she was
wondering about. I stole a glance. Her eyes weren’t closed, they were looking
straight up.
So I guessed she was probably wondering about... my ceiling or something.
I felt the bed shift. She rolled over to her side and propped herself up on
an elbow. I followed suit, mirroring her effortlessly.
And when I did, she looked deeply into my eyes and said, “I love this
sweater, it feels like you haven’t stopped touching me.”
I knew that probably sounded dirty, something that would have done no good to
your knickers. Coming from Emily though, it just sounded ridiculously charming.
And she wasn’t wondering about my ceiling. Which was a good thing. See, I
still had no idea how to explain to her why I haven’t taken the glow-in-the
dark stars (that didn’t glow anymore) off of it yet.
My lips widened as I leaned in. When I was the proper kind of near I
whispered, “Better than oils and stuff?”
Our faces were so close now. Close enough that our noses touched, close
enough that I could see the honey freckles in her eyes.
Emily smiled as well, and she said, “Yeah, better than that and salad.”
We broke into a quick giggle before she closed the distance between our lips
with one last kiss. College in the morning, we reminded each other silently.
Really, if we went at it again, we’d be absolutely useless tomorrow. Christ,
I felt exhausted just thinking about it hypothetically.
And I seriously had to stop because I had a Politics test first period. I had
my mum’s boyfriend/lover to impress and that wasn’t fucking easy (He gave
back my essays with top marks and ‘love postscripts’ for mum, all that in red
ink, his sick idea of sweet).
Emily and I were lying on our backs again, on our respective sides. I
breathed in the scent of room. It smelled of our sex, our sweat. Of me and
her. Nothing screamed ‘us’ better than this...
This was Us. Emily and I, sharing a bed ‘til kingdom come. There was no other
thought that made sleep come to me easier than this. It was my strange,
hoarded supply of comfort.
“Night, Naomi,” I heard her say softly, like a favorite bedtime story.
My hand searched underneath the duvet. In that warm maze, my fingers bumped
into hers clumsily before slipping through them like a perfect dovetail
joint.
“Goodnight, Emily.”
= = = = = = = =
Now, this sweater? I never expected it to look this amazing on her. But it
just does, matching her remarkably well, hugging and falling at all the right
places, complementing her curves. She looked rather snug in it. A really sexy
kind of snug that shouldn’t even be legal.
That girl is too fit for her own good.
Champagne was passed out in blue and red plastic cups. Yeah, you’re hearing
it right. I’m not kidding or anything. Champagne in cups. Yeah, super classy
that is.
Anyway, I’ve had about... two? And one of their vodka mixes... I mean, it’s
been a while since I drank this much. Jesus, Naomi, three drinks later and
the club morphs into Spin City for you. What is up with that?
From the looks of it, at this point, I can only dream about being the last
lady standing.
Emily has her arms looped around my neck. My hands are on her hips, keeping
her against me. I follow her lead, keeping our hip-grinding in synch with the
music. Though I have no idea how well I’m faring at this dancing thing.
Honestly, all that’s running through my mind is that I need to fuck her, like
pronto. Get her into a dark corner, against a wall. I’d hike up her skirt and
fuck her like it’s a secret.
What the hell, Campbell? God, why am I so horny tonight?
"Borrow your bitch for a while, Naomikins."
I snap out of my thoughts in an instant.
It’s Effy, appearing out of nowhere, like the majestic unicorn she is, coming
down with sparkly rainbows and shit. Suddenly, she’s patting my girlfriend’s
head. Yeah, I mean... really giving Ems a good, ole’ patronizing pat that
Emily stops dancing entirely.
Fuck, is this really happening?
I’m a bit tipsy and everything, which is why I’m surprised when I say,
"She's not my bitch...” then I’m willing myself to stop, but oh fuck no, my
mouth is already opening, and I finish saying it anyway, “She's my Fitch."
I say it in a mix of pride and shame. Pride because Emily really is mine. And
shame because I never thought that I'd be victimized by the ‘replace Fitch
into anything that happens to rhyme’ syndrome.
I mean, I don’t really think that it’s fair. That there’s a certain point in
a person’s life where they can’t help but have to accidentally-on-purpose do
a Fitch Switch.
Just fucking inevitable if you ask me. So like... don’t judge.
Emily playfully rolls her eyes at me as Effy grabs her by the hand, "Fine.
Fine. I'll be borrowing your Fitch," she repeats obediently.
Before I can ask anything or complain, they’re gone.
And I fucking swear Effy’s got magical powers for disappearing that lightning
quick. Damn it, she didn’t even say where she was taking Emily. For all I
know she might be making my girlfriend dig a hole all the way to China. And
without inviting me? No, Effy, that is not cool at all.
Oh God, my lips... they’re pouting. Pouting. The fuck? Jesus, a minute hasn’t
gone by yet and I’m already missing Emily. This is bloody ridiculous. Wanking
hell. Look, this is what love does to me. Makes me a sappy twat. A sappy,
happy twat. Emphasis on the ‘happy’.
As I’m making my way through the packed dance-floor, some clueless tosser
attaches himself to me from behind. “Ahoy, babe. The name’s Ben,” he says to
me, hairy arms snaking around my waist.
Somewhere out there, Emily Fitch does not approve.
“Christ’s sakes.” I mutter under my breath before turning around to push him
off me. “Right, Ben. And Bob’s your wanking uncle. Now if you’ll excuse me-”
“Feisty girl, eh? You seem fun,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Fucking hell, I’m starting to really hate this guy. Seriously, I want to rip
his gross uni-brow off. King Kong.
“Babe, my cock is long enough for me to suck on it.”
And now he declares himself King Dong. That’s just great! How does he do it?
Ben, you lousy fuck, is it still possible for you to be any wankier than you
already are? Fucking hell. He has issues.
“Fantastic shag right here,” he says, patting his crotch area. “Now babe, d’you
think you’ve found what you’re looking for?” he questions, puffing his chest out
as if he isn’t enough of a narcissistic male ass.
“No,” I say, practically fuming.
Then he has his hands on my shoulders. He leans into-invades actually, my
personal space. “Want me to help you look, then?”
When is this fucker going to piss off? I can’t help it. I explode.
“Yeah, maybe you can help me, Ben. I’m looking for my girlfriend, actually.
She’s about this tall, a redhead, great ass, great tits. She’s rather
beautiful, really hard to miss and I’ve been wanting to fuck her all night.
Think you can help me find her?”
He flings his hands off of me like I spontaneously combusted or something and
they drop to his sides like dead weights. He’s looking at me with a mix of
disgust and horror.
I flip him off with all the intensity I could muster at the moment. He
finally lets me pass. Yeah, thought so, you twat.
Well, I sure do a splendid job of driving cock away. God, I’m such a lesbian.
= = = *** = = =
A/N: Now that you’re done reading, I’ll be collecting your comments now.
Kidding! XD Aww, but you know what they say about jokes being half-meant…
What I’m trying to say is that your comments would really help me get better.
I wanna know what you think. And it’d be great if you have a little advice or
criticism to give. I’d really appreciate that. :)
Next Chap: As promised… Fitch TWINteraction! Effy looking like Jesus Christ!
A hand caught in the COOKie jar! And another dose of the FITCH SWITCH!
Stay tuned!
Chapter 4 found here:
(next)
Author: interpol_ice
Fandom: Skins - Second Generation
Pairing: Naomi Campbell/Emily Fitch
Rating: R
Summary: Naomi Campbell and the complications of having a twin for a
girlfriend. Distracting flashbacks and a lovesick mind keep her from telling
the night's story straight.
In this comedy of errors, the first thing that got right was letting Naomi
narrate. [Pre-Season 4]
CHAPTER 1 - How We'd Be (You and Me)
CHAPTER 2 - Swim or Die Without
Author's Notes: This chap’s title is inspired by Incubus and an utterly pretty song of theirs, “Southern Girl”.
Naomi takes hold of the special narrator reins again. You’ll see things unfolding in this chapter through her eyes. There’s a lot to look out for. :)
Heads-up, she’s a bit flashback-heavy (sentimental much?) here so I hope you guys don’t get confused when she pulls a ‘Back to the Future’ on you during certain parts of the story. And there are some things that I promised in Chapter 2 that I won’t be able to get in here. Don’t worry though, it means that this story is going to be longer than I originally intended it to be. You pretty much get to see them in later chapters. So sit tight! ;)
Thank you to everyone who read and especially those who dropped a comment! I’m keeping your two cents in an ultra-special sheepy bank! Yay! That being said (wow, this is a very long author’s note), I really want for you guys to enjoy while reading this!
Baby Girl, I'm a Blur
by interpol_ice
Chapter 3: Try Me On To See If I Fit
= = = *** = = =
“Take your sweater off.”
The suggestion, I convince myself, came out of concern, not curiosity. She’s
sweating in that jumper in a rather sexy-sweating way, mind you. I’m totally
not dying to find out what kind of top she is wearing underneath. I’m totally
not dying to use dancing and poor lightning as an excuse to run my hands all
over her… in the blind eye of the current public.
And Emily doesn’t stop dancing, doesn’t stop looking so fuckable. She
replies, voice raspier than ever, “I’m fine, I don’t have to.”
“Fucking hot in here Ems, sure about that?” I try to reason, fingers toying
with the hem of her sweater.
Well, fuck me if it isn’t the softest thing in the universe.
It’s her favorite navy blue Pringle cashmere sweater. Cabled V-neck, ribbed
at the collar, the end of the sleeves and the hem. Fuck’s sake, it sounds
like I sell these things for a living. But you get the picture, right?
Basically, they’re these preppy little things that make people look stuck-up.
Curious as to why Emily has one then?
It’s because of Thomas, really.
= = = = = = = =
It was an admirable and perilous quest I was on. To find the perfect gift for
Emily. Her birthday was in three days and I haven’t gotten her a present yet.
Even more of a problem, she hasn’t asked for anything in particular. She
never mentioned that she wanted this or that she wanted that. Not even a
subtle hint or something I could work with at least. Which was making this
whole gift complication a lot more complicated because... really, that just
about narrowed the choices down brilliantly.
Coming out of the fifth store I tried, I bumped into Thomas. Well, not
literally (‘cause that would’ve hurt, he sure was a bony bloke) but you got
the point. He told me right away that he went out for a jog and now he was
heading over to Panda’s. He held up a box, “Doughnuts,” he said.
“Take one,” Thomas offered. He opened the box and the delightful aroma of
freshly baked donuts wafted in the air of Bristol morning. “Please, Panda
wouldn’t mind.”
I reached into the box, picking out one with blue frosting and yellow
squiggles on it. “Why, thank you,” I said before taking an eager bite.
We chatted for a good while. Partly because he was surprisingly a substantial
person to talk to and partly because I thought those doughnuts of his were
right tasty. I was happily munching away on my second one. It was pink with
candy sprinkles this time.
Jesus, these donuts were comical-looking.
We were talking about Panda’s latest hobby (salsa lessons with Doug) when we
stopped. At a bus-stop, I realized a little after. I was about to ask him why
but he filled me in on that impeccably. Like he read my mind or something.
“This place, if I’m not mistaken, is quite memorable.”
I looked around, not really noticing anything special or what. “Yeah...
Thomas? How exactly is this place interesting?” I asked.
“It involves Emily.”
The moment he said her name the place was instantly interesting for me as
well.
“Found her here one night. She had no shoes. Not even a jacket. She was
shivering so much.”
Oh, that night.
I did remember that I haven’t given back Emily’s (Technically, they were
Katie’s) purple heels. I made a mental note to myself. Return K. Fitch’s
Brogues. Before Katie realized that they were missing and all.
With that said, I wanted it known how much hearing all this from him was
making me feel incredibly guilty and... absolutely rubbish. It got a little
harder to swallow the donut pulp I was just chewing.
“I don’t know what happened to her before I got to her... She just told me
she couldn’t find her shoes. So I gave her mine. And also one of the three
jackets I was wearing that night. See, England is an exceedingly cold place.”
He breathed through his fists, unconsciously proving his point.
“Very cold,” he reiterated.
My jaw, I could feel, was tensing up. “Wow. That’s incredibly nice of you,
Thomas,” I croaked out.
“She should never be alone on a cold night,” he said solemnly, his eyes
trained on a man across the street. I thought I recognized him too; probably
from an Environmentalist group or something. Nice. He was walking his old
Dalmatian. I remembered the Disney movie immediately. I wondered... what if
Emily wanted a puppy?
Thomas pulled me out of that train of thought. He turned to me, and with a
grave voice he said, “Emily’s a lovely girl. I’m sure you would’ve done the
same.”
Right. I would have. Save for the part that I was the reason she was there in
the first place. Alone and cold. I pictured Emily, scantily clad on this
street, in the dead of night, barefoot. I pictured her crying, her mascara
making two glaringly obvious stains on either cheek.
Yes, my fault. Jesus, what a way of telling me that I had a lot to make up
for. I got it now. This was karma on my doorstep. This was karma inviting
itself to a three-course dinner. What goes around comes around.
Fucking cosmic implosions.
A bus pulled up in front of the stop. I felt the offensive heat of its
exhaust. “This is my ride,” he told me as he got up.
I thanked him for the chitchat and the donuts. And I secretly thanked him for
his story. I would never have known how horrible a state I’d left Emily in if
he hadn’t told me.
God bless this African boy’s soul.
He took a window-seat, with an open window (no, that’s not redundant at all).
I called out his name and once I got his attention, I gave him a little wave
goodbye.
It surprised me when he stuck his head out of the window. His face was kind
when he said to me, “You are very lucky, Naomi.”
The bus gradually picked up speed until it got smaller and smaller from where
I was sitting. I waited for it to turn the corner before I stood up.
For a quick moment, I closed my eyes and breathed in for luck.
One. Two. Three.
Then all the negativity in my system was exhaled out. I was feeling better
already. Because now I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to get her.
Thomas. He was awfully right about everything.
= = = = = = = =
Now I’ve told you the story. Now you know. That this sweater... it stands for
a promise. Never again would she be alone. Never again would she be cold.
Most of all, never again would she be those two things at the same time.
So that’s it. What I got her for their birthday (I gave Katie something
‘nice’ as well). It’s probably the cheesiest present you could ever give your
girlfriend, but what the hell. Ems likes her cheese.
Cost me an arm and a leg too. But expensive as it was, I do admit, the
benefits have already exceeded the costs. I’m really glad I got it for her
because Emily has gotten mad attached to it. I mean, she’ll wear it any
chance she gets. And when I say any chance, I mean any chance.
Since then, Emily has probably thought of thirty-two excuses to wear it in
warm weather. Twenty-five she’s probably voiced out, only fifteen of which I
have given my consent (A great thing about being her girlfriend is that she
respects my approval rights).
She puts it on after we make love on some nights. On those occasions, she
doesn’t have to ask me at all. Because really, I don’t have the heart to say
‘no’ after she’s gone down on me multiple times. I just couldn’t.
= = = = = = = =
She threw the covers off of her, wriggling herself out of my loose hold.
Emily was up and about fast, looking for something on the floor. It made my
mouth go dry and it made me wet down under, the way she circled my room with
that feline grace of hers.
She’s a girl.
Just like that, a spotlight made that one truth halt in its tracks. Just like
that, that one truth stood out from the rest of my thoughts. And its presence
was so strong and offended... most of all, it was loud. It needed to be
heard, it needed to be known.
It was a common occurrence, you know, thinking about it.
The morning after we first made love, I woke up and the sunlight crept over
her features, doing an ace job of turning Emily into an unreal vision. Her
hair was wild and when the sun had hit it, it glowed like a soft fire. She
looked like a lovely lion. Her chest--no, her breasts, her breasts rose with
every inhale. She was balled up, and I was reminded how small and delicate
she really was. And her face. Oh, her face. It was the sweetest, most
beautiful one I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.
She’s a girl.
I woke up thinking that one truth. Its voice cut through the heavy morning
air. Panicked, afraid and desperate. Run, it told me. And being the fucking
coward I was, I listened to it.
Getting my bicycle up the trail, as quiet as a mute mouse, was the easy part.
Her yelling at me in a voice that broke my heart? Me walking away like she
didn’t mean a thing to me? Yeah, that was the tricky bit.
I mean, I didn’t think that hurting her would hurt me twice as much. But it
did. It fucking did. When I left, I felt that something had been torn out of
me. Something big.
Be brave and want me back.
So I did it, I listened to her. I got brave. I wanted her back. I learned to
stick around. Thick and thin, I was going to hold my ground.
Yeah, she was a girl. So what? I actually enjoyed the liberty of snogging in
the loo whenever we wanted to. I mean, you can’t sneak a boy into the ladies
room without arising suspicion. I enjoyed swapping the occasional top with
her, I didn’t mind the extended wardrobe. I enjoyed shopping with her and
being able to do a quickie in the dressing rooms. That’s an awesome bonus, if
you asked me. I also enjoyed it when she was braiding my hair before I
painted her nails (Excuse me, but I did. Is there a fucking problem?).
Alright, if it wasn’t obvious enough... Well, she’s a girl. And I love her.
And these epiphanies? They weren’t so bad anymore. Now, they reminded me of
her remarkable lady bits and all the inappropriate things I’ve already done
to them. I knew for a fact that my tongue and finger dexterity drove Emily
absolutely insane.
The fact that both of us are girls? Now I wondered why I ever thought it was
a problem for me in the first place.
She bent down suddenly, disappearing in a red blur. When she snapped back
into sight, she was sporting a satisfied smile. The sweater was in her hand.
Her arms slid into the sleeves first. She swung it above herself right before
she pulled it down, gradually covering creamy skin. Gone were her tits and
her stomach and her pale skin. Christ, I missed them already. Her lady bits.
This was how Emily wore a sweater.
It still turned me on, though. Like a really hot strip-tease done in reverse.
Oh Emily, you truly are a wonderful, wonderful girl.
I held up the covers as she hopped aboard the bed. Once she was in, we lay
there for a bit, quiet and on our backs. I was wondering what she was
wondering about. I stole a glance. Her eyes weren’t closed, they were looking
straight up.
So I guessed she was probably wondering about... my ceiling or something.
I felt the bed shift. She rolled over to her side and propped herself up on
an elbow. I followed suit, mirroring her effortlessly.
And when I did, she looked deeply into my eyes and said, “I love this
sweater, it feels like you haven’t stopped touching me.”
I knew that probably sounded dirty, something that would have done no good to
your knickers. Coming from Emily though, it just sounded ridiculously charming.
And she wasn’t wondering about my ceiling. Which was a good thing. See, I
still had no idea how to explain to her why I haven’t taken the glow-in-the
dark stars (that didn’t glow anymore) off of it yet.
My lips widened as I leaned in. When I was the proper kind of near I
whispered, “Better than oils and stuff?”
Our faces were so close now. Close enough that our noses touched, close
enough that I could see the honey freckles in her eyes.
Emily smiled as well, and she said, “Yeah, better than that and salad.”
We broke into a quick giggle before she closed the distance between our lips
with one last kiss. College in the morning, we reminded each other silently.
Really, if we went at it again, we’d be absolutely useless tomorrow. Christ,
I felt exhausted just thinking about it hypothetically.
And I seriously had to stop because I had a Politics test first period. I had
my mum’s boyfriend/lover to impress and that wasn’t fucking easy (He gave
back my essays with top marks and ‘love postscripts’ for mum, all that in red
ink, his sick idea of sweet).
Emily and I were lying on our backs again, on our respective sides. I
breathed in the scent of room. It smelled of our sex, our sweat. Of me and
her. Nothing screamed ‘us’ better than this...
This was Us. Emily and I, sharing a bed ‘til kingdom come. There was no other
thought that made sleep come to me easier than this. It was my strange,
hoarded supply of comfort.
“Night, Naomi,” I heard her say softly, like a favorite bedtime story.
My hand searched underneath the duvet. In that warm maze, my fingers bumped
into hers clumsily before slipping through them like a perfect dovetail
joint.
“Goodnight, Emily.”
= = = = = = = =
Now, this sweater? I never expected it to look this amazing on her. But it
just does, matching her remarkably well, hugging and falling at all the right
places, complementing her curves. She looked rather snug in it. A really sexy
kind of snug that shouldn’t even be legal.
That girl is too fit for her own good.
Champagne was passed out in blue and red plastic cups. Yeah, you’re hearing
it right. I’m not kidding or anything. Champagne in cups. Yeah, super classy
that is.
Anyway, I’ve had about... two? And one of their vodka mixes... I mean, it’s
been a while since I drank this much. Jesus, Naomi, three drinks later and
the club morphs into Spin City for you. What is up with that?
From the looks of it, at this point, I can only dream about being the last
lady standing.
Emily has her arms looped around my neck. My hands are on her hips, keeping
her against me. I follow her lead, keeping our hip-grinding in synch with the
music. Though I have no idea how well I’m faring at this dancing thing.
Honestly, all that’s running through my mind is that I need to fuck her, like
pronto. Get her into a dark corner, against a wall. I’d hike up her skirt and
fuck her like it’s a secret.
What the hell, Campbell? God, why am I so horny tonight?
"Borrow your bitch for a while, Naomikins."
I snap out of my thoughts in an instant.
It’s Effy, appearing out of nowhere, like the majestic unicorn she is, coming
down with sparkly rainbows and shit. Suddenly, she’s patting my girlfriend’s
head. Yeah, I mean... really giving Ems a good, ole’ patronizing pat that
Emily stops dancing entirely.
Fuck, is this really happening?
I’m a bit tipsy and everything, which is why I’m surprised when I say,
"She's not my bitch...” then I’m willing myself to stop, but oh fuck no, my
mouth is already opening, and I finish saying it anyway, “She's my Fitch."
I say it in a mix of pride and shame. Pride because Emily really is mine. And
shame because I never thought that I'd be victimized by the ‘replace Fitch
into anything that happens to rhyme’ syndrome.
I mean, I don’t really think that it’s fair. That there’s a certain point in
a person’s life where they can’t help but have to accidentally-on-purpose do
a Fitch Switch.
Just fucking inevitable if you ask me. So like... don’t judge.
Emily playfully rolls her eyes at me as Effy grabs her by the hand, "Fine.
Fine. I'll be borrowing your Fitch," she repeats obediently.
Before I can ask anything or complain, they’re gone.
And I fucking swear Effy’s got magical powers for disappearing that lightning
quick. Damn it, she didn’t even say where she was taking Emily. For all I
know she might be making my girlfriend dig a hole all the way to China. And
without inviting me? No, Effy, that is not cool at all.
Oh God, my lips... they’re pouting. Pouting. The fuck? Jesus, a minute hasn’t
gone by yet and I’m already missing Emily. This is bloody ridiculous. Wanking
hell. Look, this is what love does to me. Makes me a sappy twat. A sappy,
happy twat. Emphasis on the ‘happy’.
As I’m making my way through the packed dance-floor, some clueless tosser
attaches himself to me from behind. “Ahoy, babe. The name’s Ben,” he says to
me, hairy arms snaking around my waist.
Somewhere out there, Emily Fitch does not approve.
“Christ’s sakes.” I mutter under my breath before turning around to push him
off me. “Right, Ben. And Bob’s your wanking uncle. Now if you’ll excuse me-”
“Feisty girl, eh? You seem fun,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Fucking hell, I’m starting to really hate this guy. Seriously, I want to rip
his gross uni-brow off. King Kong.
“Babe, my cock is long enough for me to suck on it.”
And now he declares himself King Dong. That’s just great! How does he do it?
Ben, you lousy fuck, is it still possible for you to be any wankier than you
already are? Fucking hell. He has issues.
“Fantastic shag right here,” he says, patting his crotch area. “Now babe, d’you
think you’ve found what you’re looking for?” he questions, puffing his chest out
as if he isn’t enough of a narcissistic male ass.
“No,” I say, practically fuming.
Then he has his hands on my shoulders. He leans into-invades actually, my
personal space. “Want me to help you look, then?”
When is this fucker going to piss off? I can’t help it. I explode.
“Yeah, maybe you can help me, Ben. I’m looking for my girlfriend, actually.
She’s about this tall, a redhead, great ass, great tits. She’s rather
beautiful, really hard to miss and I’ve been wanting to fuck her all night.
Think you can help me find her?”
He flings his hands off of me like I spontaneously combusted or something and
they drop to his sides like dead weights. He’s looking at me with a mix of
disgust and horror.
I flip him off with all the intensity I could muster at the moment. He
finally lets me pass. Yeah, thought so, you twat.
Well, I sure do a splendid job of driving cock away. God, I’m such a lesbian.
= = = *** = = =
A/N: Now that you’re done reading, I’ll be collecting your comments now.
Kidding! XD Aww, but you know what they say about jokes being half-meant…
What I’m trying to say is that your comments would really help me get better.
I wanna know what you think. And it’d be great if you have a little advice or
criticism to give. I’d really appreciate that. :)
Next Chap: As promised… Fitch TWINteraction! Effy looking like Jesus Christ!
A hand caught in the COOKie jar! And another dose of the FITCH SWITCH!
Stay tuned!
Chapter 4 found here:
(next)