“Ewwww!” Krysten screamed for what felt like the thousandth time this week as she got an accidental handful of used tissues.
Garbage duty sucked ass.
Damn Zazie and her amazing hair and her outgoing personality that just screamed fuck me right now, Aubrey. Of course, Krysten was happy for her best friend and roommate for nailing her crush practically the minute they arrived at Ardenne. But whyyyyy had Krysten agreed to pay seventy-five bucks and do a week’s worth of garbage duty?
Because she was distracted by the winding roads, the fresh late spring air, the choreography she’d be teaching this summer. Because once Zazie said the name “Foster”, Krysten would have agreed to anything. And in fact, she did agree to anything: opening her wallet and extracting her hard-earned graduate-student money. Dammit, Zazie.
And thoughts of Foster. The improv counselor who’d caught Krysten’s eye a year ago, when she’d brushed Krysten’s elbow at lunch and inadvertently caused a sex dream that night.
“Need some help there?”
And who was standing in front of her right now, tall and long-legged with that long blonde ponytail, a half-smile on her heart-shaped face.
Krysten was still trying to formulate a response without gawking, when an empty bottle of Jergens fell out of the giant black trash bag, followed by a shower of balled-up Kleenex.
Oh god.
“Ah,” Foster said, coming closer. “Cabin six? They seem extra torqued-up this summer.”
“Ding ding ding,” Krysten mumbled, suddenly very interested in her beat-up Converse. The hot sun beat down on her bare shoulders. She talked a good game with Zazie, but she had about one-tenth of her best friend’s confidence. And Foster’s light, floral scent was positively intoxicating.
And now very close, as Foster squatted down next to her, determination etched on her pretty face, and reached for the pile of tissues. How the hell was this woman’s scent overpowering the garbage-stink? Was she magic? Krysten closed her eyes, breathing in every inch of Foster and letting her imagination run wild, when suddenly she remembered where they were…
“Wait!” Krysten yelled, and a startled Foster tumbled back into the grass. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” Krysten said as the other woman righted herself, brushing off her shorts. “Just…” Krysten peeled off one of the two pairs of rubber gloves she was wearing. “Here.”
Apparently she was only capable of monosyllables around Foster.
“Thanks.” Snapping them on, Foster scooped Jergens and tissues back into the bag, before knotting it expertly and throwing it over her shoulder. “Race you to the Dumpster?”
Brushing sweaty tendrils of hair off her forehead, where they’d escaped from her sloppy topknot, Krysten felt herself relax just a little. Then she noticed how long Foster’s legs were, making her shorts and sneakers look elegant and classy, and she felt a different kind of tension stir.
Might as well run with garbage.
“Last one there has to hear about Aubrey’s dick!” Krysten called, hoisting the other giant bag over her shoulder and praying there were no campers in earshot. She rushed ahead of Foster, hoping her crush wouldn’t see her flaming tomato face.
“Please stop grinning,” Krysten said to Zazie half an hour later while waiting in line for coffee. “It’s too damn early.”
“Lot of tissues this morning, huh?” Zazie giggled. She was positively glowing in the way that only the well-fucked can be.
“Cabin six,” Krysten muttered, rolling her eyes and filling a mug. “And,” she added, lowering her voice so only Zazie could hear, “I ran into Foster.”
“Ooooo,” Zazie cooed. “Do I smell a love connection?”
“Yes,” Krysten said dryly. “We dry-humped among teenage boy refuse. It was so romantic.”
“Very,” agreed a familiar voice behind them.
“Morning, Foster,” Zazie said, winking at Krysten, who was now experiencing her second freakout of the day. And it wasn’t even nine a.m.
“Ladies,” Foster said. Was Krysten imagining things, or did Foster smile wider at her than she did at Zazie? Oh god, Krysten could see the freckles on Foster’s nose and cheeks and they were so freaking adorable. “Krysten’s right,” Foster said, looking back at Zazie. “Ten-ten would Dumpster-romp again.” She picked up her coffee with a mischievous grin. “See you at lunch?” And with that, Foster sauntered away, affording Krysten a good long look at her toned ass.
“Damn,” Zazie said, nudging Krysten. “She likes you.”
“Shut up!” Krysten muttered, sounding for all the world like her youngest dancer Gina who constantly talked about boys when she should have been tendu-ing.
“I’m just saying,” Zazie said, “next time you get her alone, make a move.”
Zazie’s words echoed in Krysten’s head all day, through ballet and modern classes with the various age and skill levels at Ardenne, from beginning with the actors to advanced professional with the hard-core dancers.
She loved everything about this gig: the well-worn floor of the studio, gleaming with linseed oil, the sunshine streaming in through the windows, the scarred barre that had been there since she herself was a camper. The rapt attention of kids who really wanted to be here, hanging on to her every word. She even loved the soreness in her muscles, the scratchiness in her throat, her black and pink dance togs sticking to her with sweat. To Krysten, teaching was just as satisfying as performing, maybe even more so.
This is why she was here. Why she felt guilty thinking so freely about Foster, their connection by the Dumpster (who knew eighth-grade boy jerk-off tissues could lead to such a moment?), the way she’d sassed Zazie and saved Krysten’s embarrassed self with just one remark. Krysten never wanted to shortchange her students, and yet she couldn’t stop thinking about Foster…
Not that she was immune to Ardenne’s inexplicable sex-magic – she’d had her share of fun last summer – but she wasn’t like Zazie, who knew what she wanted and went for it, full stop. Zazie was a star. Krysten was a teacher, a corps member, dutiful and serious. Definitely not a match for sparkling, freckled Foster, who helped her with the garbage while looking like a supermodel before kicking ass at improv, an art form you made up as you went along. Way out of Krysten’s league.
After lights out, Krysten left her CIT in charge and headed to the outdoor shower. A counselors-only privilege, it was lovely and comfortable, just far enough away from the cabins for privacy but not deep enough in the woods to get lost. The owners of the camp had built it a long time ago and spared no expense, and the space became so coveted (because at summer camp, privacy was at a premium) the counselors circulated a sign-up sheet at the beginning of the summer. Tonight was Krysten’s turn and she’d been looking forward to her shower all day. She needed to be alone with her thoughts.
Thoughts of Foster.
Turning on the faucet, Krysten slung her towel, robe and romper over the side within easy reach. She’d learned the hard way that campers and counselors liked to play pranks out here and she didn’t want to make her way back to Ardenne naked.
Leaning back and letting the warm water massage her tired muscles, washing off copious sweat, she was just starting to relax when –
Knock knock knock.
Krysten shut off the water, now on high alert.
Knock knock knock. This time, more insistent. Were murderers this polite?
“Krysten?”
Foster?
Turning off the faucet and tiptoeing toward the door, Krysten cracked it open to see the freckled face of her fully-clothed crush, carrying a towel and shower caddy.
“I recognized your romper,” Foster explained. “I think one of us got our shower time mixed up.”
“Oh no!” Krysten said, her tired mind, crammed with choreography, camp rules and various schedules, frantically rushing. “It was probably my bad,” she whispered, face on fire.
Foster shrugged. “No worries. It’s a nice night, I got a walk in. My CIT’s holding down the fort.”
Was it just Krysten’s imagination or did Foster’s eyes flicker down to her cleavage, proudly on display in the tiny towel? Fuck. Yep, those were Krysten’s nipples, now standing at attention at the very thought. Down, girls.
“Have a good shower,” Foster said, her voice low and sultry, matching the warm night.
And in that split second, Krysten made a decision. Every hookup she’d had last summer was the result of the other person (or people in one case) who made the first move: a lingering glance. A hand on the knee, a whisper in her ear, tongue flicking her earlobe. But she was over her shyness now, and was ready to take initiative in a way she never did except in the dance studio.
If Foster said no – well, Krysten had already made an ass of herself twice, so she had nothing to lose.
“Wait,” Krysten said just as Foster turned on her heel to leave. I may regret this for the rest of the summer, but I’ll regret it more if I don’t try. With shaking hands, she cracked the door open a little more, inclined her head toward the space that was just big enough for two. “Join me?”
For just a moment, Foster’s crystal blue eyes, framed by lashes so long and dark they almost looked fake, stared at Krysten, taking her in, contemplating whether she was serious.
Then she grinned, saucy and wicked. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Foster had barely shut the door behind her before she started undressing.
“So polite,” she teased when she noticed Krysten hanging back in the corner, pulling her towel around her, unsure how to behave now that she’d opened her big mouth and invited this gorgeous creature to share a shower with her. “You can look, you know.” Pulling her T-shirt over her head to reveal a turquoise lace bra, she bit her lip and looked Krysten in the eye. “In fact, I’d prefer if you did.”
“Well, if you insist,” Krysten heard herself say, a good octave lower than her normal tone. Nothing about this night was normal – the moon was full and glowing, the cicadas were singing and Foster was stripping slowly in front of her – and she was ready to savor every moment.
Throwing her T-shirt over the side of the shower, Foster sauntered closer, wearing only her bra and shorts. She gave a gentle tug on the corner of Krysten’s towel. “You can lose this, you know.”
Before Krysten could reply, Foster gently pushed Krysten’s hair behind her neck. Her fingers brushed Krysten’s tender, still-wet skin and making her shiver, before touching her mouth to Krysten’s neck. She began to suck at the tender spot, tongue gently lapping up the droplets of water, the barest whisper of moves that left Krysten hungry for more.
The towel still between them, she slid her hands down Foster’s taut stomach to unbutton her shorts as they kissed for the first time — a soft touch of lips, then a hungry tangle of tongues. Krysten pulled Foster closer, running a hand down Foster’s smooth back, as Foster tangled her fingers in Krysten’s hair, tugging slightly at the roots so Krysten moaned in her mouth. “Dirty girl,” she murmured in Krysten’s ear, reaching behind to turn on the shower and flicking Krysten’s towel off her body in one smooth, graceful move.
“You or me?” Krysten said, fumbling for Foster’s bra clasp.
“You and me…hold on,” Foster said, taking a step back. “Front clasp,” she explained and with one flick of her wrist, the roundest, most perfect breasts sprang forth.
“Turn around,” Krysten said huskily. Placing her hands on Foster’s waist, she maneuvered the other woman, just where she wanted her, standing under the spray, looking like a mermaid. A mermaid who was still wearing panties.
“Ohhhhh,” Foster moaned, arching her back into the spray, hair tumbling down her back as Krysten got on her knees. Touching her lips to the band of Foster’s lace thong, she delicately placed her lips and teeth around the fabric and began pulling it down. “Fuck,” Foster whispered, watching her every move as Krysten met her eyes. “I never learned how to do that.”
“I can teach you,” Krysten said, disentangling herself and smiling up at Foster.
“Later,” Foster said, stepping out of her panties. “For now, come up here.”
Like a dream, Krysten found herself pushed under the stream of water, as Foster squeezed shampoo into her own palm. “You look like you could use some love,” she murmured as she massaged Krysten’s scalp with strong fingers, digging in just the right amount while dropping gentle kisses on Krysten’s mouth, neck and shoulders. Despite the warm water and the humid night air, Krysten’s nipples were so hard she was afraid they’d pop off, while her clit throbbed with need.
After Foster helped Krysten tip her head back to rinse off, Krysten grabbed the back of Foster’s head and pulled her in for a deep, searching kiss. Bending down, she began worshipping Foster’s breasts with her tongue, laving the soft, tanned skin (had she been sunbathing topless? Naughty girl). “Don’t stop,” Foster pleaded as Krysten began to play with her nipples, gently at first, then licking and sucking each one in tandem, giving her lovely body every bit of attention it deserved.
“Want me to do you?” Krysten murmured huskily, reaching down to palm Foster’s ass, soft skin covering tight, round muscles. She wasn’t sure, in this sex-haze, if she meant fucking or shampooing, and giggled. Did it matter, really?
“In a bit,” Foster whispered, touching her forehead to Krysten’s, mischief gleaming in her blue eyes. “For now, there’s something I’ve always wanted to try.” She inclined her head to the wall behind them. “Stand there, facing me.” When Krysten hesitated, Foster slapped her on the ass, a light sting that made Krysten even wetter. “Be a good girl and do what I say,” Foster urged roughly.
Krysten obeyed, and this mermaid of a woman who’d almost made her come from washing her hair, sank to her knees in one graceful move.
“Mmmmm,” Krysten murmured as Foster’s tongue lapped at her clit, exploring. She was desperate to come, wanted to buck her hips into Foster’s beautiful face, but the other woman’s hands gently pressed against her hipbones urged her to wait, to savor, to fully experience her first-ever shower sex on a sweet summer night. Krysten was so wet and ready, she – who was normally quiet – couldn’t contain her moans as Foster tongued her slit, then dove into her pussy with relish, tasting every inch of her. She felt empowered by the stars above, the gentle rush of the water that was now tattooing Foster’s shapely calves, the rustling of the trees as a gentle breeze blew.
As Foster worked her over, pushing inside Krysten with her tongue with a frustrating slowness, Krysten ran her hands over her body, fingering her nipples before pinching them harder, one by one, then both. “Oh god!” she cried as the sensation all over her body intensified and she began rubbing herself all over Foster’s pretty face, knowing climax was achingly near.
Just then, Foster slid two fingers inside and began to stroke, long and deep, hitting just the right spot and Krysten couldn’t take it any longer. She met Foster thrust for thrust as Foster added a third finger, and Krysten saw stars of her own, joining the ones in the sky in perfect harmony. “Oh yes yes yes YES,” she cried, words disappearing into the sky. As Foster licked her clit and fucked with her fingers, as Krysten pinched and twisted her own nipples, Foster’s eyes met Krysten’s and she rode every wave of this long, perfect orgasm, water hitting the shower floor.
Lauren Emily lives (and loves) in Chicago, and is the author of the novel SATELLITE.