Dreamers (Lesbian Short Stories)

Nightmares

The dream starts off the same way it always does. I look at her, and a million different emotions run through me, good and bad, wanted and unwanted.

First off, she's a bitch. She's such a bitch, really, one with a cold heart but deep blue eyes, soft blonde hair, and a body that melts perfectly into mine.

I trace my hands along her soft curves, rubbing circles with my thumbs. Her hands are cupped around my face, refusing me air as our tongues battle inside her mouth, twisting, caressing. I pull her into me more so that the source of my arousal presses against hers. Surprise her enough so that I can draw back a bit and bite at her lip.

She moans, a light, breathy creature that makes me want to take her right then and there. I wrap myself around her like a python, squeezing and caressing her, eliciting more excited gasps and moans from her lips.

I position my mouth over her sweet spot and blow teasingly there, my own flame of passion burning brighter in response to the shudder that travels down her frame. Carefully, agonizingly  slow, I lick from the base of her throat to her jaw, then run kisses all along her throat. I alight on her sweet-spot again, concentrating there, sucking until I know that she is mine, until she wears my mark.

I move back up to lock lips with my temptress again, feeling my own lips grow hot and swollen, but I cannot break the spell that seems to hold me flush against her soft, inviting body.

Neither of us can, and my hands slip underneath the soft cotton of her shirt to move up her hips, mapping out the skin as my hands rise higher and higher. I am stopped by the bunched up fabric when I just reach her tender breasts, and cursing such restraints, resolve to remove the garment altogether. She puts up no protest as I move to pull it over her head, but we are stopped when there's a knock at the door.

"Raevonne? Laesch? Are you two in there?" Questions our friend Elizabeth. I want to call her a cock blocker, or just ignore her altogether despite it being her room, or more specifically, her closet that we are using and continue with my pleasure cruise. But her voice snaps me back into reality and I remember why I should never have been in this situation with such a succubus as Raevonne could be.

"I should go," Raevonne says, as casually as if we were just talking about the weather. Her appearance is somehow already perfectly composed, as if we didn't nearly fuck in the closet.

"You're not going anywhere yet," I hiss, grabbing her wrist to prevent her from leaving and feeling all my hostility and resolve return to me.

"Hey, Elizabeth, I'm in here but I'm changing still. I'll be out in a minute and help you look for Raevonne then," I call out to my friend, my voice innocent.

"Okay, I'm sure she's around here somewhere, take your time," she answers back, and I wait until I hear her footsteps recede towards the sound of thumping bass to turn back to Raevonne.

"We need to talk about what I brought you here to discuss in the first place," I command, whispering harshly despite our privacy.

"Oh so you didn't just drag me in here so you could have your way with me?" She quips, her blue eyes glittering in the dim light. Whether it was humor, malice, or fear I really couldn't tell.

"I know what you did," I growl at her.

"What did I do?" She fires back, bringing her face right in front of mine so we are nose to nose.

"You know!" I bark back at her, seizing her other wrist and giving it a little shake, my rage barely contained.

"No, actually I don't," she retorts, indignation creeping into her voice. It's so perfectly timed and natural sounding, but then again I've seen first hand how well this girl can lie.

"Let me see your phone, then," I challenge. Raevonne is careful, a master at deception really, but she may not have erased all traces of her recent activities on her phone.

"No! Why the hell do you want my phone?" She cries out, and I dig my nails into her tighter.

"I know you're the one who sent those messages to Elizabeth on Facebook," I snarl. "You created a fake profile to bully your ex and my best friend because you two have unresolved issues, and it's not okay!"

"I've already told both of you, it wasn't me!"

"Then show me your phone, and I'll believe you!"

"Fine!" She glares at me, her eyes filled with rage and something else I can't decipher. Then she unlocks her phone and opens up Facebook, clearly showing me she has been logged in as...herself. Not some fake-ass profile with a picture of a scene girl from the Internet, like the one messing with my friend had.  Just Raevonne, and all those silly little things she would post.

She looked so innocent, I almost believed it wasn't her. Almost.

My hands released her wrist, but she recaptured my hands. "Do you believe me now?" She asks me, eyes impossible to read, her thumbs rubbing circles on my wrist that make it nearly impossible for me to resist slamming her against the wall and finishing what we had started earlier.

Surely Raevonne couldn't have done that to Elizabeth. She was funny, and quirky, sometimes moody, and admittedly had a quick temper, but in no way did she seem capable of such mal-intent.

I pulled her towards me and kissed her again, a soft and lingering moment that was different from before. In that kiss, I tried to let go of everything we had shared.  The year we had spent flirting, being on-again, off-again, at each other's throats one moment, then sharing moments like this the next. If I chose to just forget this, then we could go back to that—that crazy, exhilarating cycle.

I pull away, letting my fingers trace the soft lines of her face one last time, then turn to leave.

"I can't, Raevonne, I just can't this time."

"You're an asshole, you know that?" She chokes out, and I turn back to see legitimate pain and betrayal on her face. My heart freezes in my chest, and I turn back to the bedroom door, slamming it behind me with a loud crash.

                             ******

It's always the crash that wakes me up. I bolt up in bed, sheets a tangled mess, chest sweaty from my far too active dreaming. But it's not really a dream, it's my nightmare. My punishment. Two years later and I still get the dream, no, the memory reminding me of how I cut Raevonne out of my life so cruelly.

I try to tell myself I didn't have much of a choice. Elizabeth had been on bad terms with her ever since they broke up, and the on-again, off-again nature of Raevonne and I's relationship didn't help. Elizabeth and I had been friends for years with no issues, but the minute Raevonne walked into my life, and by proxy Elizabeth's, there was nothing but trouble. 

So when it came down to it, I made the judgment call. After that night, I found enough proof to convince Elizabeth her cyberbully was Raevonne, and we cut her out of our lives forever. Our friendship was made stronger in the end. Twelve years strong now, and still going.

But Raevonne? She never confessed. And there's a part of me that still wonders if I was right, if I really made the right choice. It's that part of me that still stalks her on social media every so often. Just to see how she's doing, to try to decide if she is as two-faced as I wrote her off to be.

It's that part of me that was thrown into turmoil when she friended me on Facebook again after all this time. It's that part of me that Raevonne knows exactly how to control.

She knows me all too well. I accepted the friend request at two in the morning in a fit of indecision. 

We're meeting for coffee next Wednesday. I pray there are no closets nearby.