Tonight was the night. I had a feeling something important was going to happen between Ryan, me, and our third. The first few times she was in our home, we talked, and the most we ever did was kiss. The week prior, I texted to her that the next time we got together, I would be ready; I would ravage her; I wanted to taste her.
I’d been preparing all week for this anticipated night. Down below, I was shaved flawlessly, even got Ryan to inspect for straggling hairs, then used cocoa butter to smooth out my skin. I made sure my body was entirely fresh and smelling good.
Before she arrived, Ryan and I took a few shots of rum, but it didn’t kick in. Still sober, I hugged her when she came in and walked with her to the kitchen. Ansy, I do not remember much of the conversation, but we did talk for a while before moving to our bedroom. She sat on one of the sofa chairs across from me as I sat on the couch. “Come sit by me,” I coaxed her. She got up to sit by me. The skirt she was wearing was long and tight. All I could think about was the last time she was here when she wore a short summer dress and sitting on that same sofa chair; I was sitting on the floor eye level to her crotch as she sat Indian-style with the hem of her skirt conveniently pull over her thighs. Back then (two weeks ago) I was nervous to look; I didn’t want to appear perverted. I did, however, steal a few glances in between as I faked looking around the room. Tonight, I, myself, wore a short spaghetti-strap dress with no bra or panties underneath. I knew I was ready. I was hoping she was pantiless under her skirt, too.
She moved to the floor and said she wanted to face me when we talked, so I followed and sat across from her, my knees touching hers. “Can I tell you something?” She nodded her head. “When we first met and I didn’t know you very well yet, I had a lot of boundaries. But as I got to know you, I started to like you as a person. I began to trust you. Ryan and I trust you. With this trust, my boundaries have been loosened. I used to tell him, ‘If anything ever happens with another woman, I don’t want you touching or feeling her, I don’t even want you to look at her.’ Now, I have this woman here, you, who I trust will respect my wishes and has gained my trust.” I was being sincere and it was such a relief to feel that uncertainly about her being lifted off my shoulders. If anything happened between all of us, I wanted to let her know that she had done right by me and I could concentrate on enjoying my new found sexuality.

When she arrived at our house, we talked for little bit in the kitchen. I don’t remember what exactly we talked about because I was too busy thinking about the possibility of kissing her for the first time. Kissing any female for the first time for that matter. We felt out the evening and I knew that tonight was the night I would get my first female kiss. I asked her if it was all right to get a picture of my big moment. “Yea, let’s do it!” she answered. I brought out two pairs of sunglasses for us to use, excited and eager for the moment. We sat at the edge of the bed and laughed at the thought of the pre-plannedness of it all. We started by posing for a few Facebook type pictures: friendly and nothing I would be ashamed in showing my friends and family. She then proceeded to get more comfortable by putting her legs across my thighs and posing that way. I put my hand on her calves and tried not to reveal my giddiness as I touched her. “You smell really good? What do you have on?” I gave her the name of the lotion. Yes, I did put a little on my neck. I remembered all the little hot spots Cosmo taught me about when I was in high school and how just a drop or two of perfumed oil can sizzle under these areas.






I don’t know what drove us to head back to the beach that night. Maybe we were summoned by the sound of perpetual waves rolling onto the wet sand. Maybe we were drawn to the idea of warm air surrounding us. Maybe our sandy feet from our stroll earlier that day caused us to make the drive back. Whatever it was, the romantic notion of “fucking at the beach” was too strong to ignore. But the fact was it was still winter. And despite us being in Florida, I bundled up as tight as I could, putting on layer upon layer of clothes from whatever was available in our car. I started off with a brown spaghetti strap tank top, tan wrap skirt, and flip flops and added a black scarf, my pea coat, and fur-lined suede boots. According to the reading on the rearview mirror, it was 43 degrees outside.