by Harper Bliss
“I need to get out of here.” I tap Ellen on the shoulder and she barely notices, her gaze transfixed on the two women against the wall. “Maybe you should join them,” I joke.
“Maybe I should.” She turns around to face me. “As I won’t be getting any from you tonight.”
“I’m sorry—”
“I’m kidding, Ada. Come on, time to dance our asses off.”
We hurry out of the labyrinth, meandering through a thickening crowd of frisky people and find our way to the dance hall. Max and Andreas are going wild on the floor, twisting their head left and right, as if in unison, to the droning bass beats. Ellen and I join them and we shake and grind all night. Dawn is breaking when we exit the club and by the time I fall into my empty bed, my apartment is flooded with bright weekend light. I cover my eyes to block it out and sleep, exhausted and alone.
* * *
Next Friday after class, while I stuff my books deep into my bag with a small sigh of both reluctance and relief, Giselle suddenly puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Care for a drink?” she asks and I am dumbfounded.
“Sure,” I say quickly, before she can change her mind and withdraw the invitation. “Where’s your watering hole of choice around here?”
“I have a bottle of wine open upstairs. If you don’t mind…”
I have to stop my chin from dropping down. Maybe there is a god, I think. Or maybe some deity is playing a real mean trick on me. I follow Giselle upstairs. She lives and teaches in a gigantic pre-war building with no lift, just endless staircases and the sound of footsteps clattering on polished wood. Her apartment is on the third floor and is mainly beige with touches of bright blue and orange to liven the place up. I had expected more purple. I scan the living room for obvious signs of lesbianism, but once I draw a blank on all the stereotypes I let it go. I’ll find out soon enough.
“You’ve been studying, haven’t you?” she asks as she hands me a glass of Riesling.
It’s true. After shaking off my Berghain coma on Sunday afternoon, instead of settling on a terrace to watch people go by while listening to Max’ comments on their attire, I excavated my text books and drilled German words into my head. Knowing I was doing it for Giselle made the experience not entirely unpleasant.
“Is that why I get a glass of wine after class?”
“I expect you to respond positively to such an incentive.”
“Excellent teaching methods.”
She sits down next to me. Our arms balance on our knees and our glasses—and hands—nearly touch. We both stare ahead.
“If only I’d thought of that sooner.”
“That alcohol is the way to a Brit’s heart?” I regret it the instant I say it. It’s a silly lapse of the tongue. And I’ve only had two sips.
She leans backwards and treats me to a lazy smile. “As a teacher, I’d be more than happy with just your brain.”
“No,” I stammer, “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just an expression.” I fold my right leg under my thigh and sit back to get a better look at her.
“Sure.” She brings her glass to her mouth without taking her eyes off me. “Was that your girlfriend I saw you with?”
“Ellen?” I shake my head. “We’re just friends.”
“I saw you stumble out of the labyrinth together. You looked quite flushed.” She pauses. “As if you had a really good time in there.”
“We were just window shopping.” I draw my lips into a defiant smirk. “Do you ever go in?”
She doesn’t reply immediately, just looks at me and bats her eyelashes a few times. “I’m not that much of a watcher.”
She’s wearing faded jeans and a simple grey sweater, looking more lesbian than I do today. Her scarf has some blue tones in it, bringing out her eyes. Her stare melts my insides and I feel an inappropriate shortness of breath coming on. Part of me wants to escape from this uncomfortable situation, but I’m chained to my seat. She must know. There must be a reason why I’m here.
“Do you think you can write a story about it?” She breaks the silence I left between us. “In German, of course.”
“About Berghain?”
“The dark room.” She shuffles her body forward, making rustling noises in the couch. “What you saw and how it made you feel. You should be able to do that with what you’ve learnt so far.”
“What if I tell you now?” The wine is making me overzealous. “You can correct me as I go along.”
“I’d feel so naked without my red marker.” She moves closer until our knees touch. “But go on then.”
In broken German I tell her about the maze, about how the deeper we penetrated, the more audacious the actions we witnessed became. She doesn’t interrupt nor correct me, despite my many blatant assaults on her language.
“And all the while,” I conclude my story, “I wished it was you in there with me.”
It’s Giselle’s turn to swallow hard now. Or maybe I’m just projecting as my own throat goes dry. I look away, suddenly gripped by a desire to study the bottom of my wine glass. In agonising silence I wait for her response. It comes in the form of her hand on the back of my neck and her lips grazing my ear.
“Top marks for honesty.”
My entire body starts throbbing, blood speeding through my veins. I take a deep calming breath that fails miserably and face her. Her eyes are so close, the clear blue of them slicing through me. Her lips are even closer as they touch mine for a split second I’ll never forget. She pulls back to take the glass from my hand and puts it on the table next to the sofa. Both our hands are free now but I don’t know what to do with mine. I don’t know if I’m allowed to touch my teacher the way I want to—yet. She cups my face in her hands and stares into my eyes.
“How long have you known?” I ask.
She kisses me again, her lips brushing against mine before they trace a path of featherlight pecks to my ear. “How long have you?”
“Known what?” With great difficulty I withdraw from her embrace to scan her face.
“That this teacher has been improperly lusting after her Friday afternoon pupil for months.”
“Are you kidding me?” I’m torn between laughing hysterically and crying over all the missed opportunities. I’m also baffled by my own glaring cluelessness.
“I’ve been the worst teacher ever. Disgracing myself and my profession by letting you off the hook every time you didn’t put in any work. Not scolding you for refusing to study. That’s not how it normally works.”
“It’s been a while since I was in school.”
“I noticed.”
“I’ll get straight A’s from now on, I swear.”
“Not too straight, I hope.”
The skin around Giselle’s eyes crinkles as she smiles and the blue shines through the narrow slits of her eyelids. My heart is about to burst out of my chest with pure joy. I grab her head and kiss her, this time with parted lips. Our tongues dart in and out of each other’s mouths and as the autumn sun starts setting outside Giselle’s window I can’t help but think this is the best Friday night feeling I’ve ever had.
“What’s with the scarves?” I ask as I slip today’s purple-and-blue specimen from around Giselle’s neck. “Hippie fashion statement? I didn’t know you were that old.”
Giselle takes it from me and lets it slide through the gaps of her spread-out fingers. “I like to have one at the ready at all times.” She gives it a demonstrative tug. “To restrain mouthy students.”
“Do you have a lot of those?” I yank the scarf from her fingers and toss it away. I’ll need my hands fully functioning tonight.
“Only one who really deserves it.”
The next kiss is longer and deeper. Giselle’s tongue trails along the edge of my teeth and even though it’s not quite dark yet, a million stars twinkle on the back of my closed eyelids. Desire soars through me and I roam my hands through her hair. Her long fingers trace the outline of my my jaw. Despite the lust coursing through
me like unmistakable naked need, I know this night has to be unhurried. I want to savour every split second of Giselle touching me. I want to etch it in my brain like sensual slow memories I couldn’t forget if I wanted to.
“Take me to your bedroom,” I whisper in her ear. The patch of skin beneath her earlobe smells musky and heady.
She weaves her fingers into mine and drags me off the couch. My legs are wobbly as I follow her into a room filled with the light of dusk. The bed is unmade and the violet sheets lay bunched together on one side. She sits down and pulls me on top of her. I bury my nose into her wavy golden hair and inhale the scent of camomile. She traces her tongue along my neck and stops at my ear.
“I want you so much,” she exhales and my insides turn to liquid.
I push her down onto the bed and stare into her clear eyes before sinking my teeth gently into her bottom lip. I nibble and suck, and my tongue explores every inch of her mouth. Everything about her tastes sweet and all I want is more, much more. Her legs move underneath me and two soft thuds announce the removal of her shoes. She manoeuvres herself higher onto the bed and slides from under me. I quickly turn my body and take off my own shoes, then hurry to Giselle’s side again. A soft smile graces her face. It’s mysterious, full of promise and radiates the kind of easy confidence that drives me insane.
“Come here.” She cradles her fingers around the nape of my neck and pulls me close for another kiss that infuses my entire body with a tingling sensation. Without breaking lip contact, she eases herself on top of me. I welcome the full weight and length of her body. I need to be covered in Giselle, every inch of her. Her knee parts my legs and I feel eighteen years old again, touched for the very first time.
Fully clothed we rub against each other, our limbs tangling up and our lips locking for moist hot kiss after kiss. Finally, her hands trail down and she opens the top button of my blouse. One finger dips into my cleavage and tickles the skin around my collar bone. Giselle pushes herself up some more and undoes the rest of my buttons. I stare at her fingers as they curl around the studs, gracefully coaxing them out of the buttonholes, as if one-handedly undressing women is all she does in life. The sides of my blouse slip off me and all that’s left separating Giselle’s luscious lips from kissing my nipples is the unremarkable black bra I chose to wear that morning. She snakes her hand up my belly, her fingers crawling their way up until they rest just under my breasts. She traces short lines under the cups of my bra and I’m beginning to suffer from shortness of breath.
“Please, take it off.” I lift my head slightly to emphasise my words but Giselle seems entranced by the half-naked curve of my chest and she ignores my request. Instead, her fingers meander over the fabric of my bra, avoiding my nipples, and reach the top where they pull down the cup slightly, but not low enough to bare my nipple. She leans down and brushes her lips over the skin she just exposed then adds teeth to lightly nibble. Every patch of skin she touches with fingers, teeth or lips feels electric and a damp heat rises from between my legs where her upper thigh digs into me.
Slowly she inches down the left cup of my bra. The skin around my nipple is stretched to its limits and the rush of air caressing it makes it stand even taller. Giselle lowers her lips unto the top of my breast and kisses her way to the dark, taut bud in the middle of it. The first contact with her mouth is explosive and I groan as if I’m about to come. She wraps her tongue around the stiffness of my nipple and sucks it into the wet heat of her mouth. Satisfied with her work she eyes my breast for a second and then moves on to the other one, repeating the torturous process.
At last, a hand creeps behind my back and unclasps my bra, slips it over my arms and tosses it to the floor. Relieved that at least my torso is naked now, I let a small gasp escape my lips. These pants I’m wearing need to come off as quickly as possible though. I push myself up and flip Giselle over to assert the top part of my personality, but she stops me.
“Let me,” she says gently, as if stating the natural laws of this new universe we’ve entered.
With a tender touch she eases me back down onto the mattress and lets her eyes dance across my chest. Her scanning glance equals a hundred unbearably light touches on my skin and I’m beginning to believe in the possibility of a purely cerebral orgasm.
Giselle’s hair frames her face and catches the light of a street lamp outside. She beams me an almost angelic smile, but not quite beatific enough to make me forget who’s in charge.
She leans over, a hand hovering over my breast, and whispers, “Not long now.”
The hand descends and I could cry. Emotion wells up inside of me and never in my life has the touch of a hand on my breast made me tearful. As far as first times go, this is the one that matters. My throat constricts and I let go. The back of my head buries itself into the pillows and I surrender to Giselle’s long-fingered hands. They trail sizzling paths of excitement over my skin and roll my nipples between thumb and index finger. They apply pressure where it feels good and become featherlight when needed. She works me like a virtuoso does her prized instrument, coaxing only the right sounds from my mouth. When two fingers finally unzip my trousers, I fear they may drown in the puddle of wetness they’ll find inside.
In one go, she lowers both my pants and underwear. I’m completely naked while she is fully dressed. Not used to being so vulnerable I press my legs together and reach for her top. I hitch it upwards and she leans back until she’s on her knees and pulls it over her head. Her bra is lavender and, despite not having a special love for pastel colours, I can’t keep my eyes off it. I push myself up, pressing my breasts against her, and unhook her bra. I retreat slightly and let the bra slide off her, revealing her breasts inch by inch. Before I allow myself to even touch them I need to get her jeans off. I go straight for the button and my blood boils when I flip it open. As I unzip I realise she’s not wearing underwear and I can’t help but wonder if she’s been teaching me commando all this time.
I arch an eyebrow as I look up at her and she shoots me a devilish grin. She shifts her bodyweight backwards and slides out of the jeans. I pounce and pour my limbs over her, burying my lips in her neck before finding her mouth. I’m like a wild animal let loose and my hands drift across her skin savagely. I feel like I only have a minute to touch her and need to make the most of it.
“Calm down,” she whispers in my ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She steadies my arms and I don’t protest. She rolls me over and tops me again, her eyes peering down at me, brazen and so blue. Her mouth comes down and she kisses me softly. Weeks of pent-up sexual energy racing through my blood make my body scream for release. She hovers over me on all fours, her hair tickling my face and neck. She breaks the lip lock and fixes her eyes on me. The back of her hand travels through the crevice between my breasts, over my belly button to the gaping wetness between my legs. My skin is on fire and my bones ache with need. Apart from her hair and her hand we barely touch and her entire presence rests in her eyes, locked on mine. She chews her lip as a finger digs into the heat of my pussy.
Her finger inches deeper and a low moan escapes my throat. Her body seems so far away while her finger and her eyes delve into me, closer than ever. Her finger hardly moves and she shoots me a tender smile. She inserts another finger and I must be soaking wet—I know I am—because she immediately adds another. Her breasts shake to the rhythm of her thrusts as she gradually increases the pace. I feel so full of Giselle and I want to touch her and pull her close but I know better. She’s the teacher and I’m the student. Her fingers beg louder groans of me with every stroke. I stare up into her eyes while she fucks me and the intimacy of her glance floors me. It connects to the sensation starting at my pussy and spreads through me. The intensity of my sighs increases and I start panting heavily.
“Oh yes.” I push my pelvis up to meet her and then she slows down. Her eyes bore deep into mine, her lips are parted from the effort and a thin film of sweat pearls on her forehead. She steadies
her pace until I catch my breath, licks her lips and starts again, driving her fingers inside of me with feverish passion until I’m on the brink of orgasm. I feel it coming at me from every extremity of my body, pulsing towards my pussy and beating back through my blood. I’m almost there and fingers pound and pound and I accept them greedily. When she pulls back again I stare at her, trying to convey the anguish cramping through my muscles. Her eyes haven’t left mine and they scour my naked skin and the despair leaking from every pore of my body.
There she goes again and, before I have the chance to hope she won’t retreat this time, the beginning of an orgasm grips me. It rolls over me and I cast a furtive glance in Giselle’s direction, noticing the determination etched in the fine lines around her mouth. She’s going to let me have it. I relax into it and let her fingers take me to newer heights. They plunge into me time after time as my breath catches and releases. I try to keep my gaze on her but my eyes involuntarily close when my muscles contract. The intimacy of her fingers inside me, stretching me while Giselle floats over me and scorches me with her stare blends with the desire I have had for her for weeks.
Because my climax was postponed twice I seem to come doubly hard, drenching her fingers with juice, the walls of my pussy pulsing and releasing more fluids with every wave. I dig my nails into the pillow behind my head and every thrust elicits a more carnal cry from my throat. Giselle keeps fucking me until I have nothing left, until my body has trembled itself rid of any tension. This really is the first time, I think as I sink into the mattress, reduced to a puddle of silly giddiness. The first time I came this hard.
Giselle drapes her body over mine, her arm across my chest and her bent leg across my knees. I feel her pubes tickle my thigh and her breath in my ear.
“You’re gorgeous,” she says and the ‘s’ in gorgeous is long and lispy and sounds so German and it drives me crazy.
