Punk Like Me

by JD Glass

  “Nina,” Kerry growled at me, “take,” and she plucked at my shirt,

  “this,” she had it up past my midriff, “off!” and she had it up above my bra.

  I lifted myself onto my elbows to comply, ripped that fucker off, and tossed it somewhere behind my head.

  Kerry dived onto my chest, and she was licking, biting, squeezing my breasts, and I could hardly breathe.

  “Your turn,” I growled and gasped, but Kerry ignored me. She removed my bra and had a Þ rm grip on my tit; then she replaced her hands with her mouth. I gasped at the sensation.

  “Beautiful,” Kerry told me from the corner of her mouth, “just fuckin’ beautiful,” and sucked harder.

  I went with it, because I couldn’t do anything else. The Þ re I’d felt before was nothing compared to this, this heart-stopping, head-pounding, clit-thumping feeling. I got a sudden surge of strength, and I sat up and gasped for air. I wanted to touch Kerry the same way as

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  she was touching me, and more. “Your, huh, turn,” I gasped out, and bringing my hands to the neck of her T-shirt, I ripped it straight down the center. I helped her wiggle out of the remains, and to this day I still don’t know where it went. I assume it’s resting in happy peace somewhere.

  Kerry shuddered, whether in excitement or at the sudden coolness, I wasn’t sure. We both watched her nipples tighten even harder, then I was all over her, painting lines with my tongue, feeling those hard little spots with my Þ ngers, and she shook again as my mouth came closer.

  When I Þ nally drew that Þ rst lazy circle with my tongue on that delicious little nub, I realized that it reminded me a bit of raisins—

  small, sweet, compact—and as I nipped and sucked, Kerry pressed my head to her.

  “Stop!” she ordered huskily, taking my head away, and I looked at her in a daze. She raised herself to her knees over me and inched back.

  Stretching her back so that her knees were by mine, she traced a line of Þ re with her tongue down my stomach to my waistband. I groaned.

  “These,” she looked up at me, placing her hands on my pants, “are coming off, now,” and she proceeded to undo each and every button of my army pants with her teeth and tongue. Oh, and by the way, since then I’ve made it a rule, if I’m out on a date that I’m seriously into, I wear button ß ies, and they only come off if my date can do it with her mouth. Think of it as an entry examination, with only a pass or fail option.

  My pants now open and my undies exposed (light blue, bikini brief, you might as well know, since I’m telling you everything else), Kerry reached up to tug them off, and I lifted my hips to help her. They also ß ew off to parts unknown.

  She stood and I sat up to help her remove hers, and we sent them ß ying, too, and I kicked off my socks—I hate being naked with socks on; that’s just ridiculous, and it’s not truly naked, either. A sexy, musky scent Þ lled the room, and I loved it.

  Kerry and I just looked at each other, she standing, and me still on my spot on the ß oor. Then Kerry sat down again, over my legs.

  We ran our hands over each other’s bodies, enjoying the sensations we gave each other and the feel under our Þ ngertips. Kerry’s body was compact and not as muscled as mine; she was a little delicate and very slightly, very femininely rounded in the most delicious way, with hints of muscle underneath, except for her stomach, which was a nice, lightly

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  padded quad, and her legs, which were as deÞ ned as mine. That made sense to me, since we both danced.

  Me, on the other hand, I didn’t have quads. I had a straight split that would never six-pack, though it might quad during the height of the swim and basketball seasons, which happened to overlap a bit. It didn’t bother me then and it doesn’t now; lots of people are built like that too. It’s a genetic thing.

  “Nina, you’re bald.”

  “Huh?” I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Here,” and Kerry trailed her Þ ngers down and past my navel, resting on the very top of the place that was doing its own little dance.

  “Your pussy is bald, well, almost. Why?” I looked down to where her Þ ngertips were lightly scratching against the very top of my mound and at hers just a few inches away from mine. She had a mix of blond and darker hairs, and I thought it was very pretty, actually. Oh, and she was right. I was practically bald by comparison.

  “Swim team.” I looked back up and answered succinctly. “We all do it. It reduces weight and drag. Some of the teams get together and have shaving parties, I’ve heard. Not that I’ve ever been,” I added hastily, “and they shave everything, even their arms and eyebrows.” I made a face. Oh, and that’s the truth, by the way. When you race, you do anything you can to reduce drag, and while I wasn’t fanatic enough to do my arms and eyebrows, and I didn’t shave my buddy (I tried that and was rewarded with a couple of painful ingrown hairs, ain’t doing that again), I did what I could and just trimmed it as close to the skin as I could.

  Kerry nodded as she absorbed the information. “I’ll bet that makes you more sensitive, though,” she responded thoughtfully. “You probably walk around horny all day.”

  I shrugged my shoulders and made some noncommittal sound.

  It was true. I mean, I did walk around horny all day and still do, but I really doubt it had anything to do with that, all things considered, I mean.

  Kerry put her arms around my neck and scooted closer. “Poor baby, you’re probably dying right now,” she said in a low voice, “and we can’t have that,” and she traced the tip of her tongue up my neck and nipped my ear, “can we?” And just like that, we were off again, burning like a house on Þ re.

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  I brought my knees out to the side and drew my feet in together.

  I wanted Kerry to have a little more room and to sit lower on me, and I guided her hips with my hands. I could feel her—her softness, her wetness—and it sent chills through me.

  We made out and moved like that for a bit. “Baby, I want to try something with you,” Kerry whispered to me, “here…just,” and she moved down a bit and put her hands on either side of my pussy.

  From my sitting position, I could see that my buddy was so swollen, it actually poked up. I’d never seen it like that before, but for once, I wasn’t worried about normal.

  “Poor baby,” Kerry murmured, parted me gently with her hands, and bent her head. Very softly, she kissed it, and I thought—well, I don’t know what I thought. I don’t think I could think anymore, ’cuz every nerve ending I had seemed to be concentrated in that one spot.

  “So sweet, Nina, so very sweet,” Kerry murmured, then straightened back up, and I groaned, whether in disappointment or anticipation, I’m not sure. Probably both.

  Kerry took my hands off her hips and placed them on me, to hold myself the way she just had, and still kneeling over me, parted her own lips. She was beautiful to look at, and as her body moved closer and closer to mine, I could see her turgid clit peeking out from its hood and the moisture glistening from her opening. Suddenly she was on me, and I watched my clit disappear into her. The sensation was so intense, I gasped with the shock and could hardly hold myself up. Kerry put an arm around my back to steady me.

  It felt like my tongue did when she sucked on it, combined with the kiss she had given my clit before, only magniÞ ed, intense, and constant. Forget about that “little death” thing. This was being fully alive, so alive that it’s beyond explanation, more than I think I’d ever been before.

  Kerry swayed, then shifted her legs so that her knees were also to the side and her heels were against my ass, as mine were to hers.

  Arms around each other for balance, we shuddered together, and we discovered that Kerry could move in any way she wanted and not break this exquisite contact, but I was a bit more limited, though if I arched my chest, we could still kiss, which was what we
wanted to do.

  “I Þ gured,” Kerry breathed out, “that since you’re bald,” and she grinned brieß y, then breathed again, “if you were, well, you know, that I could feel you, inside me, like, and my clit would rub against the

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  top,” she rested her head on my shoulder, “you know?” We continued to move together.

  “Good thought,” I breathed back. “I like it.” My breath was catching, and my body was burning with liquid Þ re that started at my clit and raced outward. I could feel it. “Think…there’s a name for this?” I puffed out, and then there was no time to wait for an answer as the burning Þ nished its way through to every part of my body, and I clutched at Kerry’s hips grinding into me.

  “God, Kerry,” I breathed, and she grabbed my face to kiss me Þ ercely as I ground myself in and against her. My body felt like it was no longer earthbound—I was ß oating, I was ß ying, I was soaring at incredible speed, and lights burst in beautiful hues behind eyes I wasn’t even aware that I’d closed. Gradually I became aware of Kerry’s arms around me, stroking my head, bringing it to her shoulder, and she was whispering, “It’s okay, baby, you’re okay. I’ve got you, shh.” I put my arms around her and softly kissed her neck, then just gave soft kisses to her chest, where my head lay, and we sat like that for a bit, Kerry stroking my back and my head.

  And that, people, is the butterß y, girly style. Field-tested, lesbian-approved. Feel free to experiment amongst yourselves. Don’t do it on a rug, though—your ass will not like that. You can take my word for it.

  Eventually, I loaned Kerry a sleep shirt and bottom, and we actually made it into my bed and fell asleep. You’re probably wondering why not sleep in the nude, and here’s the deal. Let’s just say my dad decided to unlock the door. Well, okay, a girl sleeping in my bed with me would be no big deal; a naked girl in my bed, well, we’ve got problems, see?

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  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  ROCK ’N’ ROLL HIGH SCHOOL

  To this day, I’ve no real idea what time my parents came home.

  I’m sure they found the note, and my mom must have given my father a good talking to, because what woke us up that morning was my mom’s knock and voice at the door, telling me it was time to get up, I’d Þ nd the bus fare she’d left me on the counter in the kitchen, and to have a nice day.

  That was a little strange, actually, but then I thought about it and Þ gured maybe my mom didn’t want to embarrass me by being too

  “mom-like” in front of my friend. I gratefully left it at that.

  I stretched a bit, nudged Kerry up, and after indulging in a quick, very touchy-feely, hungry morning kiss (okay, well, it was sort of quick anyway), I jumped out of the warm bed, grabbed my school uniform from the closet, and headed for the shower.

  Kerry took her turn in the shower while I was dressing and borrowed my clothes from the day before.

  A fast breakfast (I was starving! But then again, I was always hungry), and we were both running off to school, she on one side of the train tracks and me on the other, wearing my non-school-legal favorite coat.

  We entertained ourselves by yelling back and forth in tremendously exaggerated voices all sorts of “I love you so much I’d [insert ridiculous assertion]” across the platform, much to the great annoyance of the commuters, and we promised we’d meet each other later at Universe, of course.

  Her train pulled in about two seconds before mine did, and over the sound of the squealing rails, I heard her yell, “Love you, Hopey.”

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  I paused before getting onto my own train and yelled back, “Love you, Maggie,” and boarded, not sure if Kerry had actually heard me or not.

  I found a window seat, since this far back along the route there were still plenty of spaces, and settled in, watching Kerry’s train pull out, and then mine, gazing out at the view as it sped along.

  It was funny, I thought, that between us, privately, the whole

  “Hopey-Maggie” thing had lost some of its appeal for me, but on the crowded platform, it seemed like a good idea, like it was funny, like we were having one over on people or something. I guess looking back on it now, it certainly was, or at least felt that it was, safer, to pretend that we were pretending. Silly, maybe, I know, but there it is.

  I pulled out a pen and a notebook and wrote “Hopey ’n’ Maggie 4E 11/16” and drew a valentine around it, then “New York City—Hard Core” for good measure. Inspecting it with a critical eye, I added an anarchy symbol. More commuters and schoolmates jumped on the train as we progressed, but I focused either on the various notebooks that I was busily decorating or the changing scenes outside of the Plexiglas window.

  I pulled out one of my house keys, looked at the teen-scarred window, looked back at my key. Fuck it. I carefully and surreptitiously, with very small wrist movements, etched “Hopey loves Maggie,” adding my own small bit of immortality to the “school sux,” and “Tina luvs Bobby” milieu, all the while remembering Kerry’s kiss and hands, the feel of her body, and how warm it had been all tucked up in my bed.

  I had a moment to admire my handiwork, then my stop came into view, and grabbing my bag, I was up and shoving my way off with the rest. This train station, known as Grasmere, was located under the road instead of over it, unlike the one at home in Eltingville, so the long platform led to a stairway up to the street, where my schoolmates and I had to decide to walk or wait for the overcrowded bus Þ lled with our neighboring school rivals.

  As I made the slow and crowded way to the steps, someone came up behind me and clapped me on the shoulder with a friendly hand.

  “Hey, Nina, ready for tonight?”

  I stopped in my tracks and turned to look up into a pair of smiling brown eyes and wavy honey blond hair, cut to the chin, all perched

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  over the collar of a black wool overcoat. A full navy blue and white striped gym bag and an even fuller book bag were slung carelessly over one broad shoulder, and a perfect smile with even more perfect teeth completed the picture.

  It was Fran DiTomassa, a top regional Þ nalist and co-captain of the swim team. The whisper was she was going to qualify for nationals this year, and we all had every conÞ dence she’d sweep ’em—she was that good. We had a good solid team, but with Fran, otherwise known as “Kitt” (‘cuz she’d been a tiger in the water since she was “a cub”) on it, we were a great team, a winning team.

  She was a great captain as well, having been in that position since she was a sophomore and I’d started the team as a freshman, with a smile and an encouraging word for the younger or weaker members of the team and good coaching tips as well. Kitt took the time to work with anyone who either asked or was struggling, and all of us had beneÞ ted at one time or another from her attitude and her individual coaching.

  She and the other co-captain gave everyone on their team nicknames as well.

  We were going to really miss her when she graduated in June; no one could come close to replacing her abilities in and out of the water. I just tried to follow her example and hoped she got a great full scholarship to wherever she decided to go.

  “Tonight?” I repeated, trying not to stare at her too blankly.

  “Yeah, tonight,” she said, and we started making our way up the stairs. “Instead of practice, we have a meet in Brooklyn College, against…”

  The rest faded out to my hearing as we got to the top, and when we reached the sidewalk, I turned to stare at Kitt in shock. Holy fuckin’

  shit! I’d forgotten I had a meet! Kerry wouldn’t know and would be waiting for me at the store; what the fuck would she think? Goddamn!

  And to top it off, I’d forgotten my equipment, all my stuff—my racing swimsuit, my swim goggles and cap, my towel and spare clothes were sitting in a bag identical to Fran’s right by the door of my room.

&
nbsp; Where the fuck was my head? What the fuck was I thinking about?

  Never mind. I knew what I was thinking about. I was remembering, how at some point during the night, warm, sleepy hugs had become caresses, and then heated kisses, and somehow we’d both lost our sleep shorts, and I was again lost in the warmth of her mouth and the tight,

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  wet heat of her body. Only this time when my Þ ngertips were poised at her entrance, it was by very deÞ nite request and not by accident that I slid inside of her.

  “Are you sure?” I had whispered in her ear.

  “Please,” she’d answered me and placed her hand on mine,

  “please,” and it was with her hand urging mine that it was done.

  She moaned softly in my ear and nipped the lobe. She turned on her side. “Baby, I want to touch you,” she growled into my ear. She let go of my hand and brought her Þ ngertip up to my mouth. In the light provided by the streetlight outside my window, I could see it glisten.

  “That’s me, baby, and what you do to me,” she whispered, and she brought her hand down.

  “Now, I want to know what it’s like,” she continued, “to touch your pussy,” and her hand went farther down. Her voice, soft and insistent in my ear, and her words were tuning me up to a fever pitch, and I was almost dizzy with anticipation and crazy with want “to know that your wetness is mixed with mine.” And as her lips found mine, her Þ ngers slid through my folds.

  The sensation was incredible, and I groaned as quietly as I could.

  I thought I knew right then that nothing in the world could possibly be better than this, and not stopping my own movements on and within her, I parted my legs slightly.

  She stroked, rubbed, and tweaked my clit, and I could feel how turned on I really was. Then suddenly, the tip of one of her Þ ngers was at the edge of my untried entrance.