Five Years

It has been five years since the first time I kissed her. Five years since we fell in love. Five years since I broke her heart. 

Like many lesbian best friends who fall in love, things inevitably got messy. I was fresh out of an intense three-year relationship, and I wasn’t ready for something serious, like I knew she could offer me. But I fantasized. I imagined her warm, butch hands on my back, feeling my skin, my curves, my body. I knew she would be a soft, passionate lover. I would watch her hands every time we were together. We would have lunch together and I would be entranced by her fingers grasping her utensils. In her car I’d go silent watching her shift gears. I dreamed of how those hands would feel inside of me. I was attracted to her masculinity; she was strong and I felt safe when I was with her. We spent long nights in my dorm room bed, watching movies together, or doing our homework and gossiping. I was always painfully aware of what part of my body was touching hers. When we grazed thighs I’d get a full body chill. Our long, slow hugs goodbye were like foreplay—I’d press as much of my body against her as I could. I couldn’t help it, I wanted more and more of her. I’d never practiced such restraint in my life. 

It’s been four years now since I graduated from college and I still remember how brutal that last year of school was after our fall out. We were enrolled in a tiny liberal arts school in Oregon, which made it almost impossible to avoid each other. We were madly in love our junior year and just when things were getting more intense between us—maybe too intense— I slept with one of her best friends, which caused us to stop talking completely. It was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I was scared of letting myself have such a good thing. I was scared of how good this person made me feel and how well she treated me. I was overwhelmed with the intensity of our love and I self-sabotaged.

Even when we were no longer speaking, when I saw her, all I could think about was how I wanted her full forgiveness and her tongue down my throat. She started dating someone new, a version of me: quirky, cute, and femme. I blasted "Should've Been Me" by Mitski non-stop that year, scream sobbing—“I haven't given you what you need. You wanted me, but couldn't reach me. I'm sorry, it should've been me.”

News of our five year college reunion put me into a tailspin. I’d been fantasizing about what it would be like to see her again. Through plenty of Instagram stalking, I gleaned she wasn’t dating the girl from college anymore. But I didn’t know if she was dating someone else, or how she felt about me, or if she would speak to me, after this much time had gone by—was she still angry at me?

I wanted to taste her, to pull her thick, black hair, to let her inside. I wanted to hold her face in my hands and look deep into her eyes. And more than anything, I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, and how stupid I was for betraying her. 

I drove ten hours in my Prius from my house in San Francisco to our alma mater, my stomach in knots but a small sliver of hope in my chest. I booked a nice hotel room with the silent desire I’d have her in it, somehow.

I took an hour to get ready, steaming up the mirrors with my long shower. I pulled on my deep red top that hugged my tits accentuating their bounce when I walked or laughed. I drew sharp wings on the inner and outer corners of my eyes, and dabbed lavender essential oil on my wrists and behind my ears—her favorite scent. I took a final glance in the mirror, pleased by what I saw, hoping she would be, too.

I arrived at our old dorms, and the past flooded over me. I let all the memories soak in as I turned familiar corners and clocked subtle changes. I passed the courtyard where we had our first kiss, past the window of my old dorm window, and remembered holding hands walking down the pathways through campus.

I entered the common area and was greeted by a sea of familiar faces, but none of them were hers. I eased into the night, catching up with people, surveying the room for her, until I saw her talking to a group of the boys she used to hang out with. 

It was like a rom-com—we locked eyes across the crowded room, some cheesy Bruno Mars song playing in the background, a pleasant hum of chatter in the warmly lit room, when she finally met my gaze and time stood still. She was wearing a striped white and blue button down with a bolo tie and a pair of black slacks. I was struck by how handsome she looked. She looked slightly more mature and it suited her. She still wore her hair short, with her sides buzzed. I clocked her gorgeous hands slip into her pockets.

With our first glance, all my blood rushed to my face—and to my clit. I told myself not to stare, but I had missed her so much I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and to my surprise, she gave me a smirk. 

This sent me over the edge. I didn’t know how to process this information. Was she…interested? I quickly excused myself from the people I was talking to, walked past her, and went straight to the bathroom. I was so nervous I felt like I was going to throw up. As I was taking deep breaths, I heard the door open. 

She walked in slowly and looked at me. I felt my stomach drop and my heart speed up. Without saying a word, she closed the distance between us and kissed me softly on the mouth. The sheer pleasure from her kiss made me whimper softly in her mouth. 

She whispered, “Is this okay?” 

I nodded, unable to speak, and kissed her back with enough enthusiasm to let her know how much I had missed her. I couldn’t believe this was happening, that my fantasy was unfolding so naturally.

“I’ve missed you,” I murmured in her ear. In response, she gently pushed me into the stall of the bathroom and locked the door without taking her lips off of mine. She gave me the sweetest, softest kisses and wrapped her hands around my back—embracing me, making me feel small. It was perfect. Her thumb made its way under my shirt and to my nipple. She circled it so torturously slowly it made my knees weak. 

I pushed my pelvis against her. She guided me against the wall with her leg between my legs. I let out a moan and she shushed me—I forgot where we were. 

She lifted my shirt off me and kissed my neck and my soft breasts, holding my hard nipple between her teeth and biting it lightly. 

We were in the public bathroom of our college, but this felt like the most romantic encounter. I could feel the remnants of her deep love for me, and it made me ache. A tear escaped my eye, and she brushed it away with a sweep of her fingers. I had so much love for her, and it was a sweet relief to finally be able to show it again. 

I pulled her head to me. “I want you near me.” I whispered. She kissed my earlobe and all the way down my neck. She unbuttoned my pants and put her long fingers inside me. I was soaking wet, and when she felt me she let out a moan. I arched my head back, completely out of breath from her touch. 

She took her hand out of my pants, which made me gasp, and put her fingers in her mouth, sucking them while maintaining eye contact, pushing them in and out of her mouth, teasing me painfully. Then she put her mouth to mine and gave me a hard, deep kiss. I could taste myself on her lips and I knew that she loved it. 

Her hand found its way back to my cunt. She slipped her wet fingers inside of me and the fullness was overwhelming.

She moved slowly, so slowly, in and out, in and out of me, with her index and middle finger, lingering on my g-spot. She withdrew her fingers to circle my clit, moving slower than ever, watching me as I got closer and closer to climax, covering my mouth with her other hand to suppress my moans, with that sexy smirk across her mouth. I couldn’t take it anymore—I came so violently that my legs shook against her; she held me up by pinning me against the wall. She locked eyes with me, watching as the last waves of pleasure went through me. 

She kissed me softly and deeply and said, finally, “I’ve missed you, too.” Then she turned around and left to return to the party.

I steadied myself and looked in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my makeup smudged, my cheeks flushed. I found a small hickey she left above my collar bone and rubbed it like a good luck charm. I washed my hands and walked out of the bathroom. I spotted her across the room, but she didn’t come near me the rest of the night. Just before I was about to leave, I found her, tapped her on the shoulder, and pressed my hotel key card into her hand.