Not sure if I need to put a rating on here but there's nothing too racy - just suggestive at this point.
The title is crap so if anyone has any suggestions I'd be delighted.
Also I think I have trouble with tenses.
Girl Meets Girl.
She. Her. Girl. Woman. The feminine-type person I’m in love with. I never imagined that love could be like this, so open, so honest, so layered. And all those years I wondered, I waited, I even thought I’d found it, but then he left and before then I cheated on him which kinda makes the whole thing something of a mockery I guess. Plus he was a he… Him. His. Boy. Man. Me and him, hers and his, boy and girl. I did love him, at least I thought I did, but it wasn’t like this. He could never floor me with a look or let me know with the tilt of a head what was on his mind. His eyes weren’t the deepest shade of blue, oceanic and endless pools of mystery. His body wasn’t soft. It was hard, it had edges. Hers is different, it’s… hmmm…got lost there for a moment. Hers is soft and strong, skin like silk, curves like a cello. It has the most wonderful crevices. The first time I explored it I thought that I would melt from inside out. My desire flowing from me like lava, hers too, our meltage merging, we were hot, scalding, I felt like my soul was on fire. And it was so slow, our explorations of each other; simultaneously urgent and tenacious. I never thought I could desire or be desired so much, but since that first time we’ve seldom been away from each other’s arms, lips and bodies. She is my sacred mountain, my solid mass formed from lava. It is my nightly (and morningly, afternoonish-time and eveningly) duty to worship her, my Chomolungma.
It happened slowly, my coming to these conclusions. We were never introduced, her being hushed at that awful Wicca group meant that I never got the chance to learn more than her name, Tara, a girl whose face remained mostly hidden by that mane of blonde hair. And then the whole of Sunnydale was silenced. In danger she sought me and we found each other and though the earth didn’t move when we touched hands that night the soda machine totally flew. Wow. There was definite sparkage. I mean I felt it, I felt her; she sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin. I was conscious of being able to speak again before I was conscious that our hands were still entwined and that there was heat, my body was hot, not yet scalding but definitely warmer than it had been in a long time, maybe ever without being touched…
But then I, being me, rational girl, just put all my excitement down to getting caught in the moment, after all I’d never floated much more than a pencil before, and I put this shy, stuttering, beautiful girl to the back of my mind. Or at least I tried to. We would be buddies and hello? Heterosexual! So though there was no honey there definitely sweetness between us. We were friends, good friends, but friends. Firm friends, secret friends and did I mention that we were friends? She was my secret, almost deliberately kept apart from the rest of the Scoobies and anyone else who might get in the way of my need to know her, to travel with her to her secret places. And travel we did. We floated a rose, why did I take a rose that night? A subconscious desire to see her bloom? Maybe. Roses are so complex, wound up scentless in a tight little bud only to flower and expose layer upon layer of petals and a rich, delicate fragrance. I guess that was us then, the bud part anyway. Both too afraid to reveal ourselves, her too afraid of rejection to bloom and me of the whole gay-love…oh my goddess does that mean I’m a lesbo? I’ve always been an outsider (geek, Jewish, redhead, friends with the Slayer, friends with Xander) and that’s fine, besides my friends see beyond all that but what if they can’t understand this and hate me or freak? What if I freak and hurt her? That would be more than I could bear. Focus Willow. We’re friends, good friends, firm friends, secret friends, why is she a secret? Her eyes are amazing and when we touch hands when we do spells something happens to me, I get hot. Oh my goddess does that mean I’m a lesbo?...To the point of confusion and I was talking about roses and floatiness but her hands, I come apart when she touches me with those hands or looks at me with those eyes or I look at her mouth, her curvy smile, her lips. How could anyone not think about those lips?
Just need to do some re-watching to check a few things I referred to.
