DISCLAIMER: Despite all my begging and pleading, Amy Sherman-Palladino isn't coming back to show anytime soon (though she still owns the idea for the show), so for now we're still stuck with Warner Bros. Television and Hofflund-Polone owning the rights to the characters, and "The New CW" (what's new besides a green logo from the 70s and ruining great television I ask?) running it. Oh, that David Rosenthal is the executive producer, but the less said about him and what is S7 so far, the better.
Of course, I can be proud to say that the Aerie girls (belonging to American Eagle Outfitters) will never feature in this story. Though could you imagine them at the end of Longing debating the happenings of each chapter? Wait, you can't, because their poor heads would explode trying to think about how Rory and Paris could manage to pleasure one another...their developing skills are well below that! "You put your mouth where? Ewww!!! And the couple name shouldn't be Prory, it's Raris, 'cause Rory's the star of the show. The actress who plays her is named Rory, right girls? Right? Oooh, these panties are pretty, go buy them or something!!" Ahh, I kid ;).
Oh, and Paul Adelstein is now the lawfully wedded husband of one Liza Weil. I'm just going to say...treat her well you lucky bastard (withering stare).
Publix (Florida's major grocery chain) is a division of Publix Super Markets, Inc., while Victoria's Secret is a trademark for Limited Brands. I would also place a safe bet that Julia Child's name is the property of her estate. All other trademarks within are the property of their respective owners.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: See, didn't I promise you, less than six months, really, it's out in less than a year! Now my new goal is to get a chapter out on days when Microsoft doesn't issue quarterly earnings reports, I will start to speed up from here, really. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter; I rewrote it at least four times in one partsbecause it didn't sound like they were in the voice of Rory and Paris. It's either put out the best story I can, or hit delete and start over again. I never want my readers to be disappointed.
This time I'm going to try to go with a single-beta format, so thanks to Danielle for her usually work making sure my words are perfect and my grammar impeccable. I suppose I should also thank D for pointing me towards Bette Porter (you know, Jennifer Beals' character on The L Word) and a cache of Monica Bellucci pics she pointed me towards for getting me into the right mood. There's nothing like the mix of magic circles, hot dean-on-TA action (damn you Showtime for spending only 10 seconds on that!) and Italian beauties just to get you in that right mood to write and pound the keyboard until it's all out and down.
I don't have any fic recommendations because...there hasn't been much to recommend. Come on here folks (both on RalSt and GGSlash), both Danni and I are sitting here pounding out Prory, and we have nothing to inspire us further from all of you loyal readers, Help us both out by getting more stuff out there, be it Prory, Rory/Madeline, Louise/Mads/Rory, Paris/Lorelai, heck, get inspired and have Amanda from Ugly Betty bump into Lane, do anything...we need more Gilmore Girls femslash, period. Please, write? (gets out the pleady anime-style eyes)
Fifteen times ff.net readers, you know what I'm about to say. Don't like Paris and Rory getting down and dirty, you've got plenty to choose from outside of this story, go and read that if you don't find my content to your liking. Also, keep up the honest reviews, I enjoy them all, no matter what they may say.
SPOILERS: Several episodes throughout the series are mentioned within this chapter, but the ones majorly referenced within here are A Deep Fried Korean Thanksgiving, and in the past, Rory's Dance.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top
A Thanksgiving Call for Action
I don't really regard holidays with any kind of enthusiasm. I'm not surprising in that regard, am I?
But really, what has there been to celebrate in my life that has taken place when the banks and post offices close, or at least school comes to a screeching halt. I've been primed to think of life in the terms of 24 hours, 7 days, or 365 days (and an extra day every four years). Not that I feel a real need to pause in any sense. I'm not callous, I reflect on the sacrifices of my ancestors for their religious freedom during Passover, Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah, and Hanukah, and I feel the sadness of what the Holocaust did to my people. I can't forget that, and I proudly proclaim my Jewish heritage whenever I need to. If somehow I ever got into a job where my boss were to ask if I could change my name to reduce conflict, as various news anchors and actresses have in the past, I would refuse immediately, and leave them to hire someone else.
Otherwise, holidays are just a reminder of how my life is beyond school hours, and how much it sucks. Since I have no stake in Easter Sunday, that's just a three-day period of time where I have to watch kids chase around eggs hidden by some bunny while I could be starting my fourth quarter drive towards the end of the school year.
Valentine's Day? Need I remind you of the many years of pity valentines left in the mailbox at my desk that, and seeing Madeline and Louise rake in the love? I'm just gritting my teeth remembering those years, and the jealousy of seeing the pink and red balloons on their lockers back in Country Day. Just another reminder of how I've regarded myself as a loser.
As for the Fourth of July, how can I celebrate it, knowing that our gift of freedom is threatened at every turn, and that Congress and the State House have turned into conflict-laden chambers where the first ExxonMobil board member to lavish the most jet rides to some stupid House member from Mequon, Wisconsin, who has an irrational hate of illegal immigration wins all the influence and curry he can get? That if not for an outdated element of the Constitution and bad voting techniques in a three-mile wide strip of land in Broward County, the best man would have actually won and be living at 1600 Pennsylvania? Don't forget the attorney general who thinks that covering up a statue that's been nude for years is more important than going after meth, and our joke of a governor, who uses his powers to get a hot tub discount rather than to actually do something to make Connecticut more than Mohegan Sun, Manhattan bedroom communities, and Martha Stewart.
Of course, can't forget Halloween, a holiday I've never celebrated since Sharon was convinced that every rapist or opportunist within 600 miles was going to kidnap me, or that trick or treating was on par with walking into downtown Havana wearing an "I love America, suck it Castro!" t-shirt. I just never bothered to celebrate it. If I did, it was at a bad DCW party where everyone wore costumes of fictional characters which were relevant in 1957, while bobbing for apples and all that boring crap that was probably in the special Halloween episodes of Silver Spoons, Rags to Riches, old 80's programs of that ilk.
Which brings me to Thanksgiving. Before, it had been an OK holiday, the Gellars and Martinez-DeBartolos meeting at the Manor and talking things out. There were conflicts, but they were usually ironed enough for all of us to come together neutrally and thank God for the strength to bring us all together. I'd get to see my favorite paternal relatives from all over the country, while we made fun of the maternal side because they lived a tacky sort of living apt for Absolutely Fabulous.
However, the divorce between my daddy and Mother happened during Thanksgiving of 2000, so that's when the day turned sour for me. Sharon decided to reveal her 'evidence' right at the dinner table before grace, and before my father could try to deny the allegations or I could say anything, her side of the family was ready to push his through the gutter. I watched in horror and embarrassment as my Aunt Beth, my father's sister, was brought to tears by my maternal grandmother, who decided that it was the perfect time to point out that Beth's husband lost his dot-com job and that he didn't know what to do because of the stock options drying up. The poor woman was savaged, and then my father trying to keep my mother shut up was futile. How we got through dinner is a small miracle in itself, with Sharon's mother deciding to savage our help who prepared the dinner at every single turn, which was an embarrassment to a team that received "best service" at the Taste of Hartford only months before.
The night took a dark turn when Sharon decided to partake too much in the wine, glass after glass down her throat, and her mental state deteriorated from there. My father could only look on in shock as the woman who had first caught his eye at a wedding for his best friend 20 years earlier, who had convinced she would be his beloved forever, broke his heart by claiming all these affairs that were untrue, yet everyone on her side believed it. I knew it wasn't true, I know my father, he's painfully shy about relationships and was the type to hire the best woman for the job when it came to his assistant, rather than the one who looked the best in a Wonderbra.
"Sharon, I love you, and you only!" he cried out desperately. "You know I don't have the time to cheat on you when I'm on business, and even if I did I couldn't bear to ever betray you." I stood to his side, trying to help him make sense of it, but she wouldn't listen.
"Dear, you just don't satisfy me anymore, and I assume it's because you regularly hire a whore to take care of you in Tokyo!" Her voice had spite within, and the hardening of Sharon's heart to love was complete.
"Why would I? I pay for everything electronically or through a check--"
"Oh shove it, you pay for your fucks with cash, I'm not stupid, Harold!" All this in front of both of our families, who were already dividing up. My father tried to fight, and I tried to defend him, claiming tearfully that Daddy loved no one but her.
"Go to your room, Paris, this doesn't concern you," she stated coldly, her eyes stone cold.
"Doesn't concern me? The hell it doesn't; you're attacking Daddy when you don't have any proof--"
"Young lady, you might be smart in school, but you don't know shit when it comes to relationships, so who are you to defend Harold? Don't you dare side with him!"
Damn, she was trying to push my buttons. "I'm not siding! This is the first anyone is hearing about it, so I'm sorry if I'm in a little shock over this."
"Paris, your room, now." I watched as a couple of my relatives surrounded me. "I will pull you out of this room with force dear." I looked at my father, his face aging ten years in ten minutes, looking already defeated since she scared him, mentioning her imported lawyer from the City who had a record of convincing judges to side with the wife in custody and divorce, no matter what.
"I'm sorry, hon, just go up to your room...I'm going to try to fix this. I just don't know what's happening, but for now, I have to...have to..." As I walked out of the room after hugging him and telling Daddy no matter what, I still loved him, I felt my heart strain because of everything going on. That out of the blue, Sharon would decide to tear us all apart and ruin whatever unity both her and my father's families felt by deciding singlehood and divorce was the only answer to her problems. Going up the stairs, watching both families apart, my father in a tight hug with his mother, my Nana Gellar. Seeing this display of familial affection made me realize that my mother was only out for blood, willing to do everything in her power to ruin him.
She almost did, but she was stopped, thank goodness, by a lawyer who made sane points to save my father's fortune from being frittered away. She got enough to live on comfortably, and since the claim of paying cash for his so-called hookers couldn't be unproven, she won that argument. She also put on enough of a sob story to win custody of me, and left my father painfully out of what he wanted, to keep me for the two years I had left in school, rather than have to stay in that cold mansion with the frosty woman I shared genetics with. The stress was also too much for my dear Nanna. Three weeks later, she passed away quietly in her sleep, the stress and sadness that her son's happily ever after was yanked away by such a shallow woman she trusted with his heart too much for her.
Thank God for my Jewish roots, because he gets to see me on those holidays, the long holidays helping me look forward to things outside of school. But Sharon still gets to keep me otherwise, and that means that Thanksgiving is her holiday, where she can drag me down to Florida to meet the people I loathe most: her relatives.
Seriously, I can't believe I share blood with these idiots. Her sisters, all three of them, are just as stupid as she is, more concerned about their bank books and closets than they are actually being happy without a credit card purchase. They didn't get the luck Sharon had husband-wise, already having eight exes between them.
Then there's her brother, my Uncle Fred...someone I don't want anywhere near me. You know, the creepy kind of relative that shadows you and always calls you honey and cutie? Who was the one person to really notice at twelve that I was developing my cup size? Yeah, that would be Fred, and I couldn't handle him anywhere near me after he decided to innocently pat my ass during a holiday gathering when I was fourteen. Innocent, that is, if you consider using the whole palm cupped to pat perfectly normal.
Then the rest of them, I'm not going into specifics besides I absolutely have to be the smartest and most mature child in that entire room. The kid's table is usually a chaotic mess, and since I regard small children usually with less enthusiasm than an average gynecological exam, they drive me up the wall with a splitting headache. The teenagers within the DeBartolo-Martinez clan thankfully don't speak to me, regarding me as the 'freak' and finding their Walkman or girl talk more interesting; it's like I don't even know my fellow nieces and nephews.
Well, that's not completely true.
One other girl in the family has the same attitude as I do about them, Dolores. She's now twenty, but in our younger years when we were together, we'd spend many an hour hiding from them in the room we were assigned within the nine-bedroom home. She was a savant like me, very smart, although her parents thought that a $10,000 entertainment system was more important than sending her to a top-notch private school, and showered her idiot brother Donovan with attention instead, just because he might get into the NFL based on his football playing ability.
Her resemblance to me is shocking, though with some differences. Her face is fuller in the cheeks, and she has a fuller head of hair and bangs, along with a slightly smaller chest than mine. But despite her being from Cleveland, she also talks exactly like I do. There's more Italian than Spanish blood in her, and both of us can relate to the pressure of carrying our families solely on our backs.
However, I haven't seen her for two years. I have no idea where she is, except that her family said she left after graduating from high school third in her class. The explanation was she planned college all by herself and refused to leave a number or address for where she was, and they can't find her. They're not going to try because they regard Dolores like my mother did, that we weren't supposed to be in the sense we were 'accidents', and they just don't care. No matter that Donovan blew out his knee during a game and then out of football, fell in with the wrong crowd and became a washout.
I wonder where she is though because most of this night has been awful; it would've been fun to bond with her over our bad luck of being related to these people.
I do say most of this night for a good reason. Laying in my thankfully empty room overlooking the A1A and the Atlantic, the humid Florida evening feeling so odd to me because I should be chilly with flurries scurrying down my bedroom window, not having the air conditioning on low, and I should be in a long nightgown to hide my nudity, not in an old Red Sox t-shirt and sleep shorts. I should've also been feeling like I accomplished more than I did today, the afterglow of helping in Hartford with the huge Mission Feast, not having to watch turkey and beyond the fixings go to waste because Sharon and the women made way too much food, and somehow it didn't come out like it does in a Norman Rockwell painting.
Thanks to my cell phone, however, I don't feel all the guilt I should but instead I feel sated, knowing that up the Seaboard, my girlfriend's night ended wonderfully just from the simple gesture of a phone call to her. And that I feel the same way too, despite the deep pang in my stomach that I wish I could be there, sharing her day with her and feeling the way I did with Dolores when she was around.
At least she made me feel wonderful; even though I was so far away, I was still kindling the relationship further when she least expected it, and in a way that shocked even myself.
I think about her voice as I recall the night, and right now I smile, watching the slightly full moon out my window casting a sheen on the beach across the road, and I'm warming as I think about what led me to this moment...
"Paris, I'm not going to argue with you about this, you're not old enough yet!"
"I'm 34 days from turning eighteen, surely you can let me do this." I was foaming mad as I pleaded for my mother to let me finally have a seat at the adult's table.
"We can't make an exception for you; if we let you sit there, we'd have to all the other teens sit there too." I crossed my arms over my chest, angry that she'd take away this one opportunity for me to show my power in the family. After all, I was the one with the trust fund to be opened in a month.
"This isn't a bar, Mother, it's the Thanksgiving table!"
"You don't deserve to sit there, you didn't help me or the rest of the women with preparing the meal!"
"Sure, cede to the men! Who gives a damn that I have no aptitude in the kitchen?!"
She stomped her foot on the carpet, trying to assert her parental control. "I asked you to stuff the turkey, you didn't have to cook anything!"
"I was busy with homework," I claimed, truthful with what I was doing. "I have to finish a report that's due on Monday."
"Paris, it's called a holiday break for a reason."
"Yeah, to catch up!" I gritted my teeth, realizing again that Sharon would win this argument, like she did every time. "Fine, I'll sit with the other teens, but I'm not happy."
"You don't have to be!"
"I didn't even want to be here. Nana Gellar made better stuffing than Aunt Cassie!"
"You take that back! That is my sister and she went to Le Cordon Bleu!" She tried to go after me, but I was ready to leave the room before she could catch me.
"She went to Brown Institute's version of it after seeing an ad for it during an episode of Blind Date, and she didn't even complete the class!" I put in my last word and left, annoyed with how this entire trip was going so far. I groaned under my breath as I went up the stairs to try to get some space from these people.
They've all been just jerks to me; for instance, when I was ready to watch the Pats game downstairs with everyone else. I sat down in an easy chair I figured had no sentimental value to anyone in that condo, ready to watch the game, when suddenly I hear a voice behind me.
"Hey! Get out of that chair!" That was Grandpa DeBartolo. "That's my chair!"
"I want to watch the game!"
"You can't watch it; you're a girl, get back in the kitchen, missy!" Oh my God, what a dick. I know I'm supposed to respect my elders, but since I 'looked funny' according to him, I really wasn't one of the granddaughters he spoiled. "Why do you want to watch it anyways?"
"Because I watch football and the Patriots are my favorite team," I said. "I've seen games in person before and I happen to enjoy Adam Vinatieri's kicking style."
"It figures, you'd like the dumbest and least important player on the team." Um, hello? He won Super Bowl XXXVI, I'd call that pretty damned important. "Just get out."
"Fine," I gritted out, not finding any guy in that room to defend me at all. "But I wasn't going to do anything to offend any of you." I stomped out and decided to just listen to the game through my laptop, seething that I wouldn't be able to watch it in person. It just wasn't the same to listen to a Thanksgiving game tethered to the computer rather than seeing it on television, far from the reception of the radio station I usually listened to the game on. At least it gave me three hours away from the family, because trust me, I'd be thankful for the quiet later on.
Around 4pm, Thanksgiving dinner was ready, and everyone was called out to the dining room. I hate my mother's interior decorator, and the reason why is encapsulated in this house's hideous dining room. Everything was teak, it's too nautical themed, and I hardly feel like I'm eating a classy dinner at all.
Which is apt, because the last time most of these people have seen class, it was twelfth grade or lower. Seriously, I've seen Chilton lunches with more control, and where all I wanted to do was be thankful for what I had and eat, Sharon had to ruin it all for me. Sitting at the teenager's table, it was like watching the result of an orgy between the cast members of The Brady Bunch, Eight is Enough, Full House, and Step by Step, my worst nightmare come true. Bickering and arguing in Dolby Digital 5.1 surround sound within that dining room, 25 members of one family come together to reunite, and all I could think was that I should've been in Hartford, with my father, the various aunts and uncles I have much respect for, and Francisca's wonderful pumpkin pie teasing my nose with spices and sweetness. Just the perfect flavor of head chef Greta's turkey, the way my father could slice it, the consistency of the mashed potatoes, along with a centerpiece I created in art class as my grandfather, the other man in my life I looked up to, gave the prayer of thanks in Hebrew, for the bounty and blessings we've been lucky to have, that we have the strength to carry on good works and be benevolent whenever possible, never putting ourselves above the family.
Yeah, that would be wonderful.
But for this year, it'll have to be a memory as the holiday on my mother's side consisted of dull prayers and thanks for their wealth, and the hope things would continue to be that way. No mention of any family who passed on this year, how thankful they are to all have shelter, that they all love each other. None of that at all, because the guys had only an hour to pig out before kickoff in Dallas.
Of course, the dinner was miserable, my relatives barely acknowledging my existence, the nieces at my table fawning over some reality singing show contestant who from the sounds of it resembled Sideshow Bob. The guys talked with their mouths full about some actress named Lindsay Lohan, who if I recall is trying to follow in the Annette Funicello template of fame by starring in several Disney movies a year, building up her career slowly. I didn't listen, and really, I didn't care.
I couldn't enjoy the food, which was cooked, but in the 'it's hot enough' definition, with the turkey being underdone and the stuffing soggy. Many shortcuts were taken by the women, including cranberry Jello-O, Publix pumpkin pie, and since they had to buy enough wine for sixteen adults...I can't believe I'm even admitting this was a table wine at a Thanksgiving feast...Boone's Farm. Julia Child herself would cap someone's ass if she ever got wind of the drink of choice for these simpletons.
Meanwhile, I was stuck with a hideously patterned can of generic grape soda, "because it was cheaper than grape juice," as my spendthrift cousin Charlene had to rub in my face. Look, I know I'm not into being Baptists like the rest of them, but all I ask is for the milk to be nowhere near my meat, to have something good to drink, and that a pig and its products stay out of my sight, was that too much to ask? Excuse me for not wanting to be there, but I was quickly becoming annoyed with the fact that while I was thankful I had one girl on my side back in Hartford, these people were living well off my Daddy's alimony! Money that should've been assisting with a new UConn Children's Hospital, was instead going to pay for a patio for Uncle Fred down in New Smyrna.
God help me please, what did I deserve for this? By the end of the hour, everyone was filled up and happy, and though I ate everything, I wasn't going back for seconds. There was just an unbearable sadness that this was the worst Thanksgiving ever, and I was feeling miserable not only because of these people, but from missing Rory horribly.
I know I shouldn't be selfish, but I do miss her. When I made my last call before leaving for Bradley Wednesday after school, it was like saying goodbye to an old friend growing closer and knowing you more and more. I just don't feel the same because I'm back where I was before the dance marathon, distance between us and no way to bridge it at all.
I felt alone, isolated, and confused. I wasn't supposed to feel this bad about leaving for at least another month, and I knew she'd be OK. But my heart still felt like it was lost, not having a focal point for it to express anything.
No matter that Rory said she'd think of me all the time in our four day forced vacation, the inner cynic within thought that untrue. She has lots of family, friends and townspeople to keep her occupied while I was gone. She had other things to do than put up with me, for sure.
Me? I had schoolwork to keep my occupied, along with my laptop, and that's it, and I was growing bored with building my planned community of Elthington Valley within Sim City 3000. I had also exhausted reading the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal articles posted yesterday and today. About the only thing left to do was to bond with the family over It's a Wonderful Life, but frankly, the irony of watching that title with people I didn't consider anywhere near wonderful was obvious.
I helped with the cleanup to burn some time after, but was immediately pushed off dish duty by Aunt Cassie because she couldn't see her reflection in them. Note that by 'dish duty', I mean throwing the plates and cups into the dishwasher and starting it up. Obviously I was in the way, so I did odd jobs where I could until my mother found I did enough sufficient work to be excused up to my room. I didn't have to share it with a relative, a small blessing I was thankful to have.
Glumly, I sat down to my work, writing an independent study report for Biology that I'll turn in mid-December just so I can guarantee my grade won't fall below the 97% line. It took my mind off things, but not enough. The Word window was filled with plenty of words and going back to my sources often kept me focused. Still, I couldn't keep my mind off Rory at all.
Did she have a good day? I shouldn't have been missing her that much, using the evening for a sabbatical from my life as it is now. I even left the cell phone in my carry-on from the moment I got on the plane until after dinner, trying to keep myself from flipping the phone open and checking if the voice mail or mailbox icons flash and show new messages came. I didn't need to be happy just because of her.
But I was miserable. Isolated and in the middle of the Intracoastal strip, with no tolerable relatives until past the Broward County line.
So this is what love pangs feel like, I thought to myself. Missing the one girl brightening my life like a puppy on a poster with an inspirational message off to the side, pleading with you to know things will get better. Trying to get my mind of it, I saved out the report and opened Solitaire.
Still nothing, with the Queen of Hearts unwittingly giving me another girlfriend reminder. I played the deck offered, trying to empty my mind.
"Paris, I'll miss you." Her voice again reminding me from memory as we broke off at the front door at Chilton, Lorelai at the front drive picking her up. "Have a good weekend."
Of all the songs to pop on via the streaming radio station playing on the laptop, John Waite's Missing You. Even if it's a downer looking back at an ended relationship, his call that he wanted to send a message "like a telegraph into your soul", he knew how I felt.
I should've stayed, kicked and screamed. My regrets were coming, and because of them, I was miserable in Florida, leaving Rory to have a lonely weekend without me. My callous mother got in the way, and I didn't fight her.
I was no longer in a mood to work, nor to kibitz with the relatives in the great room.
I needed to hear my girl's voice, be it the girl herself, or just a voice mail. Even a short SMS would settle me down. Hiding the phone was only harming myself; I had to talk to her.
Getting up from the non-ergonomic chair I was using at my temporary end table "workstation", I headed for my baggage, and my messenger bag, dependable to me whether at school or on a voyage. I knew exactly where my phone was and I unclasped the buttons holding the bag together, reached in, and pulled out the powerless device. Nervously, I opened it and held the power button, waiting for the screen to boot up as I thought about things between us.
I went back to how I felt coming back into town on Tuesday morning after the heaving flirting between us both during and after the study date. We all sat at the counter while Luke stirred my tea and tried to keep Lorelai from sneaking a free cruller from under the display plate. Things went well, no one noticing anything between Rory, though I could tell Ms. Gilmore had that nervous 'please don't ravage my daughter here' look. I kept in control, Rory did too, though the brushes we got in when no one was looking sent electricity up my spine. Whatever the heightened focus on each other was, however, both of us managed to stay focused on school subjects, taking with fervor while they ate their breakfast and I ate my grapefruit and tea.
We're aware of the heat between us, but for now we've reined ourselves in at both school and during the commute because we have to both focus on Harvard. That doesn't mean we're cloistered, as we still get the touches and flirting in during quiet periods where we know there's no one watching. Telling Lorelai at least gives us one place to sate our wont for affection, so the pressure's off a little.
The phone arrives at the display screen. I then wait the ten seconds it takes to sync with the network and retrieve messages. No texts, but four voicemails show up. I gain a little hope she's called...
But it goes away as I listen to each of them. The first one, a midnight call from Daddy wishing me a happy Thanksgiving, encouragement, and an I love you. It's a tradition with him to do that, and I still appreciate the gesture, though I feel bitter because he stayed home this year with the family hoping Sharon might be benevolent for one year and let me celebrate in Hartford.
The second call, a familiar voice...but not the one I really wanted. "Hey Par, Louise here. By chance, you wouldn't happen to have the notes from Tuesday's Life Sciences? I kind of, drifted off--" I hit 7 and deleted the message right away. Does that girl not realize I'm not exactly in the best place to help her? What part of "I'm going to Florida for the weekend" didn't she understand?
Wait, she did understand that. But then she went off into a tangent about Florida men I tuned out after second three and the word 'hot', due to her mind somehow able to multi-task a 3.8 GPA and a hot list 10. How I stay friends with that girl, I'll never figure out.
My last two voice mail messages also didn't have Rory in them, as Francisca and her family shouted their Thanksgiving wishes in Portuguese right at their table, which also brought a smile to my face, another wonderful message. I then listened in anticipation to the fourth message, which the recorded voice told me was marked urgent.
"Hello, I have the money for the car...oh wait, I meant to dial 0505, sorry!" The line goes click, and with that, I feel down that Rory didn't call. But it probably wasn't her fault, it's a holiday to everybody, so she must've figured she shouldn't have called me tonight.
Then again, since I was the last to say goodbye, I think the etiquette is that I have to call her next. That, or else she couldn't get near a phone. I missed her, and I just needed to talk to her, I just didn't know if she'd be in a condition to talk. I mean it was 8pm, for all I know the Gilmore tradition is to watch the Friends Thanksgiving episode.
Nevertheless, I had to give her a try, if not for reassurance then just to keep myself sane within this stupid house with these stupid people. I was sort of tired of hunching over the screen and felt my back was a bit sore, so I took the hands-free headset from the bag, then connected it to the phone in order to talk without developing a sore shoulder and elbow. I then flopped onto the bed, trying to get into as comfortable a position as possible to spend a half-hour away from the world as I know it for now. My speed dial on the cell programmed Rory under 4, and I held the button until the display showed it was dialing out.
I closed the handset, and set it off to the side as the phone started to ring up in Connecticut. I had knots, trying to figure out what to say if she wasn't home. Or if she was home and didn't feel like talking to me. Why wouldn't she want to talk to me though, I've been wonderful to her lately.
Stop, she'll pick up, I reminded myself, don't forget she made a 24/7 promise to be there, no matter what.
She can say that, but is it true? the rational side of my brain argued. For all you know she's on with Lane, too busy for me...
"Hello?" HA! Take that rational thought, she's there!
There as in her voice was there physically. But really, I caught her at a time where she's all tuckered out and exhausted.
"Rory, hi. I hope you don't mind that I called." In written words, that might sound straightforward, but try to imagine me in one of those 50's telephone etiquette films sounding all nervous and odd; that's how my voice really was.
"No, of course not," she answered cheerfully. "I was going to call you in about fifteen minutes."
"Really?" I was flattered.
"Yeah...I just got home from the mansion about five minutes ago, Thanksgiving dinner with the grandparents."
"I finished mine three hours ago," I said back. "I've been doing homework in the interim."
"Did they treat you OK?" Rory was deep with worry about how the family treated me, but I assured her it was expected that they'd barely regard me.
"I'm glad to be away from them, for a little while at least."
She sighed, saddened by the lack of feeling for my family. "It must not be the same celebrating in Florida. I think of it and I'm reminded of Home Alone, a cheap hotel and out-of-place decorations, some in neon."
I curled up on the bed, trying to deepen my head's footprint on the pillow. "It just isn't the same, they have no fireplace, no warmth at all. My room looks out onto the ocean at least."
"How does it look?"
"Dark," I replied honestly. "I can see across the A1A. I'm about three floors up; my mother rents out this entire complex. On a clear night if I look south I can see the lights along Daytona Beach, the airport, and I've been here in the past when the lights at the Speedway are on, you have to strain but they're visible. The Cape's too far though, so no view of the Kennedy Space Center."
"At least it's a beautiful area," she surmised, trying to cheer me up. "I just wish you were there under better circumstances."
"Yeah." I breathed into the phone, trying to hide my feelings. "Don't get me wrong, I like the state, the sunny weather they have, but it's just not Connecticut this time of year."
"Are you depressed?" she asked. I started to shake my head, thinking she was in the bedroom with me, but then remembered she was too far to see that.
"I'm fine, you don't have to worry, dear." I heard a pause, then a beat. She stayed silent for a moment, and I thought that my firm tone had scared her off and she was trying to gather herself together.
"I miss you." Her voice was soft as she said it, and the simple transmission of those words down the telephone line overpowered me.
I didn't expect her to say it so early in the conversation, within the first couple of minutes. It was supposed to be a part of the goodbye, and I wasn't supposed to have a quivery stomach from that statement. She wasn't supposed to miss me, instead she should feel relieved to be away, have some space from me to gain some perspective from the three weeks between the first kiss in the Gilmore living room and this moment.
But there she was, admitting how much she missed me. I held back, and said the first thing that came to mind, the reason I made the call to begin with.
"I miss you too." Somehow I didn't sob, and I was able to say it with a smile. "I haven't had my phone out, so I'm sorry I didn't call earlier."
"It's a day for family," she reminded me, completely understanding. She went on. "You really didn't have to call, I'm just glad to have you in the first place. I was worried, honestly, but I knew you'd be fine, since your cynicism makes any event almost bearable."
"Usually it does," I said, sighing. "Tonight, I feel like the family black sheep." I had to bat a few strands of hair from in front of my eyes as I continued to talk. "Everyone was going on and on about how wonderful they felt, that everything was going their way and not a problem in the world. But you just look at them, and you can see that money shields the reality, and that their happiness is artificial."
I pushed myself a little closer towards the air conditioner vent, which isn't right over the middle of the bed, but off to the right. "Meanwhile, I'm here, content for the first time in years. I have ambition, my grades are on a roll, Harvard is damned impressed with me, and I have you at home, my girlfriend, taking the time out of her holiday evening to listen to my ramblings." I smile, just thinking about how lucky I am. "And for the first time since...since, the whole divorce situation when I lost any popularity I held before and that mess with the Formal and Jacob, I'm happy. Really, truly, happy." I stop, feeling my thoughts come to a dead halt because of the other factors which stopped that emotional track.
I hear her breathe on the microphone of her handset, and to an extent, it mixes with mine. Both of us take in this moment far away, Rory nervously unsure where to go next, while I feel stunned. I love expressing myself when I can, but when I come back and remember that I'm Paris Gellar, the savant, the way I have been comes back. But I'm trying my best to change that personality around so I can be more open with people.
Conversations like tonight's really help along that track.
I stay silent for a few more moments, the romantic within me mentally noting that our breaths match up over the phone, while both of us play with bedding in the quiet moments. I begin to lay down, my head weary and sore from standing straight up looking at an LCD screen or relatives all day long. I keep thinking, my mind blank except the thought that Rory makes me happy.
The brunette up north breaks the silence with a question. "Paris?"
"Uh-huh?" I'm distracted with the fact that I'm starting to try to connect with her by building a mental picture of her.
"What were you thankful for?"
"Huh?" Honestly, I had no idea what she was asking of me.
"Don't tell me your family doesn't do the prayer and then go around the table for thanks." It was then I remembered; two years in a row without a fully reverent holiday makes you forget some things.
"Actually, I was never asked." I was stunned...they never asked because of the speed of the meal.
"Oh." She felt down and odd, finding a completely normal line of thinking blown down because she couldn't relate to an abnormal family situation in any way. "I uh...I'm sorry."
So much for this conversation as of far cheering me up. I wanted to vent, but at the same time I didn't want Rory to think I was treating her like Dr. Birnbaum. My throat tightened as I tried to redirect the talk towards my 'positive place', as the good doctor would call it, with the help of a few thoughts.
"Don't be...I don't know if I could share what I was thankful for anyways." I felt so sappy, but I needed to tell her that even without the question, I knew that it was one thing.
I exhaled breathily. "For you, of course. I didn't get to say it, but I'm sure that's what would have been the first thought to come into my mind. But if they would've actually asked, I would've said something else."
She bit on the 'something else', trying to engage me. "What would you have said, something about Chilton?"
I shook my head, 'uh-uh'ing that concept. "Not really, just replace the 'I'm thankful for my wonderfully witty and beautiful girlfriend' comment, with 'I'm thankful for my demure and intelligent best friend'. I don't have to be thankful for Chilton everyday after all, and now I have a perfect place to focus my energies besides the written page."
"And people say they can't get along with you!" Rory laughs over the phone, touched by what I said about her. "You know the Headmaster's been feeling a little more charitable towards the Franklin lately; you failed to do your usual evisceration of his office in your editorial."
"Did I, Gilmore?" She's right; I kind of lazed out on my editorial this week, deciding to touch on the governor's scandal rather than school politics for once. I wasn't paying attention to Charleston because I haven't been focused on school politics lately.
"You did, but I'm sure the magic will be back next week."
"It will," I said determined, as I noted to myself in a pad off to the side to get an editorial written Friday afternoon to criticize his plan to add smart card technology to the student identification cards.
But for now, it was time to turn some tables on the receiver of my phone call. "So...did you get to admit what you were thankful for?"
"Yes I did...four times."
"Four?" Why was she saying she was thankful four times over? I heard her groan, and that's when I knew a new adventure in the life of Stars Hollow's most interesting two women was about to begin.
It was a doozy, as Rory went into detail that she had been at the tables of four different families throughout the day, from early in the morning right into the middle of the evening, a well-planned day that went awry because of several different things. A long, long day where from the moment Rory and her mother woke up, they had to attend four Thanksgiving dinners, each a little more crazier than the next. First one at her friend Lane's, where she had to help keep a cover story going about Lane's possible boyfriend Dave being in a Christian band so that they could have some shot at dating. Her stomach didn't react well to that one, as the Kim family had a light and healthy dinner.
"That sounds nice," I said, trying to picture it.
"Sounds, but it tasted awful, they had Tofurkey®, and I was shocked to discover that there is indeed such an item." I was laughing loud and hard at that one, getting my girlfriend a little annoyed. "Hey, it was good, but it didn't taste like the genuine article by any means, I had three glasses of organic milk to wash it all down."
I thought about how my mother would react to the news of a healthier alternative, and sadly, she would be very pleased. "That's one meal I'd go on a hunger strike over," I commented. "I don't usually react to food like this, but...eww."
"OK Madeline," she reminded, bringing me back to one of my friend's usual interjections at something gross. "The second was Sookie, miserable because Jackson and his buddies decided that her oven cooking tradition needed shaking up. Cue the rental of a deep fryer."
"A deep fryer?" I perked up. "Really?"
"Yeah...it's definitely worth it, I thought it was really, really good, I didn't know if I should've saved you some. The atmosphere though was strange, Jackson's friends acted like a frat party and Sookie was fretting all through it."
I gritted my teeth. "What is it about men and losing brain cells at Thanksgiving? The guys in my family all acted the same way here too."
"Um, Paris?" Strange not being able to see Rory's faces through the phone, so I had to depend on her voice for the measure of sarcasm contained within. "When we got back to town, they were deep-frying everything edible and non-edible. I think they lost entire brains within the fumes of the cooking oil."
Again, I was laughing out loud, visualizing the men of Rory's odd little town outside of the chef's house, huddled over a tin can filled with oil and chanting "Fry! Fry! Fry! Fry!". Sometimes I don't understand Stars Hollow, but the people there never fail to deliver when it comes to entertainment value.
After completing her description of meal #2, it was onto the third, at Luke's, which was the most peaceful of the night, with only 'Mr. Former Dance Champion' Kirk being odd, since he somehow acquired a cat with his own name that totally hates him and has forced him out of his home. This, despite the cat being close to feral as possible without crossing over the line.
But once she arrived at the description of her dinner with the grandparents, she started to feel a little down. I was startled to hear about it, as Rory had been having some problems with Emily and Richard since an escapade a few weeks before where they brought her out to Yale under the guise of a visit, but which turned into her being shanghaied into an interview set up by Richard she wasn't prepared for at all with the dean of admissions. She had forgotten it for awhile and pushed Yale where it belonged, under the 'safety schools' category.
Both of us considered Yale the enemy despite their donation of the press to the Franklin. We're betrothed to Harvard, and family can't stop that. Yet the grandparents are pushing it on her, no matter how much she insists in August, she prefers to be in Cambridge. But what hurt her most was Lorelai's reaction that Rory had submitted an application as a safety, calling it another sign her parents were butting in where they didn't need to.
"How can she think that?" I asked. "No offense to her younger years, but does she realize how cutthroat college admissions are?"
"None taken, and probably not. I'm sure she thinks I'm just fine, but really I'm in a panic in that department. I don't want to go to Yale if I don't have to, which is why I keep rehearsing the interviews, no matter which one I might end up in."
"But the stronger ones for Harvard, right?"
"Always," she said confidently. "But I just don't like how they try to pull me towards each of their sides just from my school choice. It's mine in the end, and yeah, I'm going to disappoint Grandpa by going to Cambridge, but I know him; he supports me no matter what."
"We've both been thinking Harvard since day one," I stated strongly. "It's not you living your mother's dream, you've been thinking about it from the moment your eyes landed on a brochure. It's the same for me; I don't care if it's my generational responsibility to attend the school, I want to be there."
"I wish they'd both understand that." She sighed, and I could sense after a little more back and forth about Emily and Lorelai's petty arguing that Rory didn't really want to talk about any of this more than she had to; she just wanted to talk to her girlfriend about regular things. We've gotten the family bitching out of the way, so I had to find another point to bring her in.
Suddenly it came to me, abruptly. "So, how much turkey, in your estimation do you think you've consumed?"
"Let's just say I'm thankful I don't have to wear jeans," she sarcastically noted, "because right now? They'd be fully unzipped, since I've eaten more corn, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce than they probably served at the Mission today!"
"From your avoidance, you've had an entire turkey."
"I've had every variety of turkey today possible except for turducken, I've had it deep fried, in the form of Tofurkey®, slow-cooked, and oven roasted." She moaned out, seeming to rub her sore belly. "Trust me, at this point I'm ready to go vegetarian."
"You must be tired, too." My memory, usually sharp, was somewhat clouded due to the effect of having such a large meal. "That overindulgence of carbs, it's making you seem worn out."
"Don't you mean tryptophan?" I shook my head, remembering my reading on the subject.
"There's a little of that, but mostly it's the carbohydrates and amino acids competing and then the consuming of the food helping the tryptophan convert it into the sleep hormone."
"I'm too tired to think, you're making my head hurt, hon." I heard her laugh a little, and my mind was thinking God, she's adorable.
I hushed my voice a little. "Too bad I'm there to give your temples a massage."
"Or my back, I swear, I wasn't meant to sit on four different seats of varying types for an hour each time."
"Really?" I was starting to picture her a little more vividly at each place, the four tables, two with cushioned seating, one diner-style, and then the picnic table. "I'm sure your stomach is sore, too."
"Mm-hmm." More vivid picturing as my mind went to thinking about that tummy of hers and how sexy she seems in a tank top or short shirt that shows it off.
Don't go there, I warned myself silently, trying to stop this sudden sexual track. My mind couldn't go there; it had to stay focused on clean things, like homework, the newspaper--the safe items which would help me stay distracted.
No matter that my thoughts of her were overwhelming me. The last two days on the plane and in this room have been spent worrying about her, and the lack of intimacy after Lorelai caught us was getting to me. I'm trying to think of other things as I talk to her, but they're three sentence topics quickly taken care of.
And her voice...oh man, that innocent little part of her that on the outside shows her sexuality is little to null, but with me, it's turned into a seductive weapon. My mind keeps echoing her insinuation that I make her hot from the Gilmore foyer and how wet it made me to hear her say that.
I was quickly taking things into another direction with the conversation without realizing it at first: A simple question, asking what she was wearing, stated neutrally.
"Just my deep blue patterned dress from being out all day. I had on a pink sweater to keep myself warm. It's kinda boring, the dress, you know, what I'd usually wear on a Friday night dinner."
"Mm-hmm, sounds nice." Despite all my holding back, I asked on further. "How low does it go?"
"Mid-way down, it's understated."
"It must feel really nice on you," I said, thinking up the visual picture of her in it.
"It's a sort of silky rayon, it falls nicely down my legs, you know?" I nodded through the phone, 'mm-hmm'ing her.
"Like my favorite kind of pajamas."
"A very nice dress." There was a pause between there as I tried to figure out where to go next with this conversational track.
What was I starting to do? I asked her a simple question about what she wore, and suddenly, my thoughts were wandering to the girl back north over the telephone wire, how she might be reacting to my questions. For all I know, she's at her desk studying, or else...
No, you're not going there, I warned again. I sipped a bit of water to re-wet my throat, trying to figure out where to take things next.
"Paris?" Rory's low-fi voice startled my attention, and I scrambled to quickly acknowledge her.
"Why are you asking about my dress?" Her voice was soft and innocent.
I stumbled, trying to make a quick excuse out of thin air. "Uhh...well, I just wanted to get a nice mental picture of you...how you're looking as I'm talking to you right now."
"Are you sure? Usually you know I wear a dress to the mansion. It's pretty much mandated by Grandma that I have to."
"Well, you never know, one day you might decide to go wearing pants instead." I was so lost, trying to get back on the topic.
"I could, that's true." She hesitated for a moment. "But then I'd get a lecture from Grandma that 'it's not proper for a young lady such as you to come to dinner in jeans. This isn't the Boxcar Diner, dear'." She was trying to do what had to be a very horrible, yet still good imitation of Emily, which had me giggling a little.
"She realizes that diner closed in 1974, right?"
"Sometimes Mom thinks she's permanently stuck back in the sixties. Besides, I love this dress. What's wrong with it?"
"Nothing," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "Absolutely nothing!" Oh crap, don't clue her in! I tried to backpedal quickly from my excited statement. "You know me, I probe, that's all."
"You usually probe my brain, Par, not my dresser drawers." Rory was trying to turn those tables around on me. "I think someone's been paying more attention to my dress lately because..." she stopped for a moment, as I heard her shuffle around a little, which from the noises sounded like mattress springs and thrown blankets. "...you think I'm hot."
There were the brakes on normal conversation...and the temperature in the room was suddenly feeling a little warmer. I tried my best to keep the conversation within an even flirting line. "I do, but that's beside the point. I was only using your state of dress as a point of reference due to your lack of a cameraphone. I like to make myself think I'm in a regular conversation with you."
"Noted," she said slowly. "But what would you have thought had I said that I wasn't wearing very much, or nothing at all?"
Oh God! Stop those thoughts! I was getting really flustered now! "Well...I'm not sure," I said, tripping over all of my words with my tongue. "You aren't usually nude, so it would throw me off."
"Am I making you nervous?" she said, her voice testing my virtue.
I tried to stand firm, holding back my flirtatious tone. "Of course not, you can't throw me off."
She thought for a moment about how to respond, and after a click of her tongue, decided to turn things around. "So I have permission to ask what you're wearing?"
Now I felt a little more comfortable as she took the focus from herself. OK, you can do this, just don't go into detail, I thought rationally.
"You can ask," I assented. With a pause, I tried my best to describe my outfit. But it's going to depress you. I have on a thin purple sweater, khaki pants, and a pair of casual brown lace-ups."
"Is your hair up, or down?" She continued.
"In a tight ponytail." She seemed a little disappointed in that description.
"I thought you were done with that hairstyle."
"Not around Mother I'm not," I observed morosely. I sensed another opening to push the flirt along, and I slid a finger into the hairband holding it in tightly against my head, detangling the band so I could wear my hair down again. I could hear in the background of the headset the ruffling as I undid the tail and then tossed my hair back and forth to free it all again. "But for you, I'll make an exception."
Rory seemed pleased by that, and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Just the way I like it," she stated.
"I guess you like it," I said.
"Mm-hmm." I kept shifting on the bed, finding the building conversation overwhelming, and she could hear that through the microphone of the hands-free. "I bet the sweater looks really nice on you."
Not much to think about my outward beauty, I conceded her point. "I guess it's nice, but something I'd rather not be wearing." I tried to push the comment off-hand, but my voice had other ideas, since really the building heat was causing me a little bit of an uncomfortable feeling.
"What would you rather be doing now then?" she asks, still sounding innocent. I'm starting to lose more rational thought as the fantasy that was building was starting to overwhelm what was my memorized conversation track of cuteness followed by serious literary and academic conversations.
"I'd rather be home. More than that, I'd much prefer your company." No, no, stop! My rational thought was fighting a losing battle with my out-to-play inner vixen. "Tell me, that dress, you said it felt silky, right?"
"Mm-hmm," she mumbles.
"Sort of like...a slip?"
She was becoming a little shaky. "A bit like that...yeah."
"It must be chilly at home, the boiler and all. It takes awhile to kick in." I was thinking of the time it took from when we got home for the oil furnace to kick in once Rory set it for 70° on Monday.
"I have a blanket," she tries to say, evading the insinuation.
"But you'd rather have me, I'm sure." My tone was starting to soften more than usual. "How is the atmosphere in your room right now?" I bite at my tongue as she describes the setting, with the ceiling light off, her desk lamp on, the only light in the room as her iBook is closed. The mental picture was building inside of my mind.
"So, I could come in, and you'd be laying on your bed, shadows along your side."
"Yeah." Her voice was getting a little deeper. "Shade's drawn too."
"As I would expect..." Unexpectedly, I was engaging in a tête-à-tête to try to get her warmed up. "You must be flushed red, chilled to the bone. You've been to four places today, staying an hour at each, a lot of time outside, or on the road. In one seating position all day, you're sore, and the effects of digesting the meals are tiring you out, but the process is only now getting you warmed."
Another beat, to catch my brain visualization up with my words. "You're on your bed, trying to feel relaxed. It's all over. Emily is gone for the next couple of weeks, freeing you up from her and Yale pressure. You're calm, trying to project that out. But there's no one to project to since you're just in your own bed. Your head is on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling, and the dress is shifting from your relaxed state, to the left. A bra strap peeks out from below, but I can see you so clearly. The dress is thin, so your usual casual bra doesn't work. You had to wear the fancy type today, didn't you?"
I listened to her for a few moments, her breathing starting to hasten a bit. I was finding myself getting into this picture-making very well. "Yes," she whispered. "It does a minimal job of supporting me; you can't see it through the dress at all."
"I'm thinking of you, the shoulder of the dress slipping down, exposing a bit of the spotty freckles dotting your arms up to your shoulders." I reposition myself once again. "I could just look at you like that all day, all night. I watch you try to slide it up, but it's stubborn, not staying up."
"Uh-huh." Her voice was deepening as mine got within even more of a hush. "You like to watch me, don't you, Par? You stare at me in class or from a distance in the newsroom. I see you look from the corner of my eye, your eyes wandering along my legs and up my skirt...how you've had a new appreciation for me."
"You're made for a dress," I whisper. "When you're formal and dressed up, I just envy you, how classically beautiful you look, the shape of your face. The way your hair trails down, how even your wrists within the cuffs of your blazers are such a tease, stopping me from viewing your arms."
"Oh my God..." I hear her swallow. "...Paris."
"And how you view me too, that I hide my breasts from everyone else, trying to believe that no one notices them. But you do...and I also notice yours, small, compact, perfect for your frame." I shift again. "I'm thinking about your nipples, stressed from the blood constriction, cold. They're showing through the dress, and your bra...like a slip."
"Uh-huh." I hear her then gasp, then gulp, taken back that I'm describing her in this way.
"I caress them with the forefingers of my left hand, looking at you from below. My index and middle gently swirl around the tip on your left side, puckered, as if a bump within a tablecloth. I play with it, testing the give, the swelled nub so sensitive...it's never been touched like that before, except from your own doing. Being gentle, Rory, I promise you."
Some minor hyperventilating from her side of the line. I hear in the background a soft zippish sound. "Please, be gentle."
"How tight are you feeling?"
"Ohh...a little wound up now."
"My right hand, along your side," I say slowly, deep and hushed. "From deep beneath the underarm, I slide it along your side, my fingertips dancing along an invisible line. Your eyes, previously slanted and sleepy, now wide open, pupils wide. Face deeply flushed. You think to yourself that this is somewhat hastened, that I shouldn't be doing this. But I know you, what you hinted at Monday how your dreams have been lately. You're picturing me shirtless. Gilmore, not like Dean, where that was unacceptable. My sweater is a hindrance, but not only that, my pants too." Moments before, I had slid off my shoes and kicked them off, and found myself getting into a laying pose that was quite interesting. "These pants are fitted so tight on me, I've gained a half size since I last wore them, one half size I know Mother wants me to lose. But I won't, because I know my ass looks sweet in them. And if you get into just the right position..." I press my pelvis against the middle seam. "...it's heaven. They're a little loose there, and I feel some building pressure."
"Damn," she moans out. "Tell me how you look right now, please."
"My legs are sort of spread," I note, "the balls of my feet gripping the end of the mattress. The sweater rides up my stomach, usually it fits perfectly. The moment I think of talking to you, however, my body reacts, it expands out, anticipating your taste, your touch. It's a tight fit, the outline of my bra, easily seen through the sweater."
"Nice, oh God..." She breathes deeply, voice heaving. "Your...your bottom part, your panties, they must feel tight."
"You have no idea," I say. "The seam of my pants, it's right where I need it. Pressing..." I slide my legs a little, holding back a sigh. "...in a place where I usually don't want them." My eyes widened as I purposefully pushed more into the seam. "Ugggh, man."
Her voice was becoming uneven as we went further. "Par, what are you thinking about me right now?"
"That your blue eyes are dark, squinting in the dim light of your bedroom as you lay back, on your mattress, concentrating on the phone call more. Your hand, it wants to touch, but you're holding back, I can hear it."
"I am not," she argued. I shook my head.
Darkly, I suggested her real mindset. "You are, because your imagination, it's raw, giving you suggestive images, both arising from my words and your thoughts. You want me, that sweet mouth of yours wet with the Pavlovian reaction that you want to kiss me, deeply, hard. Your legs dampening, body hot, senses dampened by the gastric overload."
"OK, Sherlock, what do you think I want to do?" she asks sarcastically.
"You're thinking of me sliding my hand along your dress," I propose. "Maybe even up, along your smooth legs--"
"As you take off my stifling pantyhose...I didn't want to wear them today but the chilly weather gave me other ideas." Way to insert that nag and turn it hot, Gilmore, I commend silently. "Ever since I decided I'm going after you, I haven't worn them, since I know you treasure my bare legs, you loathe them with a passion, and in turn I do too. You slip a finger beneath each side of the waistband." She pauses, giving me the signal to go next.
"I roll them off slowly, my eyes on your face. I'm not watching because I've memorized most of your curves." I still can't believe she hasn't stopped me. "Over your thighs, my thumbs brush closer within the inner part, my index hooked at the waistband, bringing them down."
"Yeah," she gasps, breathlessly. "Just like that, be soft..." I continue to describe how I take off the hosiery, thinking of myself kissing along her neck softly. Her breath is harried: she sounds so desperate and wanting of my attention.
"I can feel your eyes warm me up," she suggests. "Oh God...you're peeling off my pantyhose, but you're not looking there at all. You're being very shallow, Par."
"Where am I looking?"
"My dress is pushed up, and you're looking all the way up it." The mental picture was already that...she seemed so sexy in my head with a wrinkled formal dress pushed all the way up her thighs. I warmed up more, starting to feel heated along my body. "I lift up the one leg the pantyhose are still attached to aim them towards my hamper, but your concentration is so far elsewhere...the material slides down my thighs until you're looking down at my...my...my crotch."
She's starting to doubt herself a little, I thought, maybe this wasn't a good idea. I cooled from her being unsure, trying to scramble to figure out where she wanted to go next. "Rory, are you OK?"
"Um, yeah, of course. It's...it's nothing," she tries to suggest, but her stumbling words make me think otherwise. She's struggling to bring herself to think of herself as a lust object, and her Puritan mindset is getting back to her. I know she has it in her to get raw and erotic, but she's still scared because what we're doing has somewhat of a reality to it. We're not 'together' physically, that much is true. But mentally, it's about as real as it can be.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah!" she exclaims in a panic. "I...I'm just not used to, well, uh, you know, what I've been thinking and writing being..."
I confirm her mindset, trying to be as caring as can be. "You're scared to be unedited, right?"
"Uh-huh." She breathes softly, trying to find courage. I hear it in her voice that she's afraid to go further if someone walks in, so I have to assure her.
"No one is here. They're not getting in. No one will interrupt. The door's locked." I moisten my lips. "You?"
"Mom went over to Luke's after to vent about dinner; she's not even here. I told her I was tired and that I was going to read, study and head to bed. But just in case, I used the slide lock on my door, and War and Peace is also braced against it."
"There's nothing stopping you then." Slowly, we're both moving back into the mood.
"No." Her voice is taking on a breathless, sexually wanting tenor. I'm playing with my own, trying to find just the right voice to seduce, something that was very easy within fantasies. In real life however, very untested. Still, I'd try anyways. However, I had to make it clear that I might be instigating what was happening, but Rory was still in control.
"If you feel you need to stop, just say the word, and I will."
"Don't stop, Paris," she said. "Please be like you dream of me in my mind...say what you want. I have to....no, I want to get used to this, wanting me like you do." I heard some rustling, and to my surprise, she was getting right back to where we were. "You slide my hosiery the rest of the way off my feet, looking down at me. Your gaze, weighed down towards the junction of my legs."
Immediately, I felt turned on once again. "What are you thinking?" Tightness building in me from her voice.
"You're looking at me like I'm delicious, and it's really getting to me, I'm running my right hand along my side, smoothing out the dress, then down to where the hem is pushed up to. I'm so hot right now, my body warming from the attention you're giving me."
"My hands are cold, like they're apt to be in dry weather. My hair is brushing along your collarbone as the both of us kiss, my weight atop of you as you squirm, trying to have my grasp avoid sensitive spots. My hand wanders along up from the depression of your kneecap, and into the delectable pale skin of your left thigh. Being very soft..." I hear her shriek at the other end of the line.
"OH! My God!" It takes her a few moments to recover. "I'm so sensitive there...and towards the inside portion too. My dress is pushed up a bit more..."
"Where else?" We know each other well in everything but erogenous zones.
"You know my earlobes?"
"Tristan had a fixation with them," I remember.
"He was right to, I've always imagined someone nipping at them, kissing them...in my dreams."
"The sensitive stimuli gets to you, doesn't it?"
"I always dream of your teeth against them," she confesses, "when I fantasize about being taken in a surprising way. I've thought of it since that time during that Shakespeare unit you came upon me sitting on the bench, whispering sonnets. Oh..."
"The supple cartilage, gliding through my teeth, the smooth texture. I also..." husking, I flirt. "I'd suck on them, suctioning it, then I would take the tip of my tongue at the end of the lobe." I start to feel very tight within my bra. "I blow warm breath within the back of your scalp, and then I move those kisses from your earlobe, down your cheek, and then at your mouth. Moving slowly...slowly...making a lower curve with my lips, my tongue, worshipping your beautiful features. Towards the other cheek, back up, up, and then...then I bite again."
"Yeah...yeah. I like it when you do that, oooohhhhh...."
"What are you doing with your hands?" I ask, noticing her deepening tone.
"I'm rubbing myself. Slowly and agonizing, through the material of my dress. Down my breasts, towards my core, I'm so wanting of you. With my right hand, two fingers together...thinking about your ear play like you're playing with another sensitive portion of my body."
My mind, living and vivid color. "That's so beautiful, hot...delicious. Still playing with your earlobe, my hand at the back of your dress, massaging you through the silky material, from your bra on up."
"Paris...yessssss." Oh God, goosebumps and chills at the sound of her voice. "You release my ear, moving your mouth away from me to take in what you do to me...how much the very thought of you, doing all of this."
I go on a little more, slowly detailing how I was looking at her...how sexy she was, her hair becoming mussed, wrinkles along her dress. The very tease of her left shoulder, giving me just a hint of her freckling as I stare at the strap of her bra. I start to move things forward more, indulging in the one thing I really love to do to fluster Rory and push her buttons.
"I'm behind you now, Gilmore," I utter breathlessly. "I know how you are about being approached from behind, it gets you boiling, doesn't it? The way it takes away your advantage of knowing what's ahead with me in front of you. You anticipate the element of surprise, and it never ends up how you think it might."
"Damn." I think of Rory in her small-town home, indulging my fantasies. "I like you behind me, being the controlling one. I feel so tight, hot...my face is warmed red, from being so turned on."
"Your throat is tight, my breath cascading along the back of your neck. You tingle with the probability that what I say next isn't going to be innocent at all."
"Are you scared tonight?" she asks, trying to gauge whether I'd push out if things got too hot.
"Scared, but ready to take a risk with you, Gilmore." I purse my lips together to re-wet, finding them drying out quickly. "I can hear you...you're still sliding your hand over your dress, right? Slow, deliberate strokes."
The answer is squeaked out. "Yuh."
"So damp, wanting..." I'm getting wet at the very thought of her bared legs. "You can't handle it, the extra layer is dampening your senses. I'm pushing it up from behind, while you hike it up from the front. Over those curvaceous thighs, my hands, long, thin...I'm reveling in the privilege to know that I can touch you in that way."
"You can...I daydream about you, you doing that." Her breath is ragged. "I can't believe the thoughts I had at the grandparents today. I went into the library to get away from the guests because they kept annoying me about Yale."
"Something about me?" I wonder.
"Not quite, just a kink that I have, something very, very odd." A bit of hesitation from her end. "You know how some people, they get turned on at the sight of high heels, formal dress, that kind of thing?" I knew what she was talking about, since Louise had shared in the past her preferred sexual fantasy was a fuck with a tuxedoed hunk, through their clothes with only the pertinent parts exposed.
"A fetish," I say, inquisitive. "What, may I wonder, turns you on?" It couldn't be too odd, since Rory was a normal woman with a few exceptions.
"I have a thing about the smell of books," she confesses.
"Books?" Okay, that was definitely a new one. At least she didn't say a panda costume, I guess. But she went on to describe why, her voice still soft and laced with desire.
"It's the mystery behind them that gets to me, the kind of paper they're printed on, their age. I mean a CD, a video, you go by the cover, pop it in, and there's no mystery, you see what you get and they all have that odd plasticy smell. But a book, there's so much about them." I could hear her voice waver, turning herself on while she described her kink. "In what other medium can you tell what title's a classic, or know that it's something quick and dirty to waste an afternoon. For example, my grandfather, he has a complete first edition set of Dickens books...I smell the old pulp within the paper, and I think of how it can sweep me away in that world he created."
"You love the scent...it sticks in your mind." I build around it. "I had to come into this somehow."
"I thought of myself with you in that room, watching me read at my Grandpa's desk...you watch me, bemused about how buried I am within the novel...and I know that at anytime, you can surprise me and strike."
"You're true to my mind." I love learning these new things about this amazing girl, even through this fantasy. "Remind me to buy you a first edition Little Women for Christmas."
My body was wracked with so much tightness from this point, Rory's voice really getting into my psyche. I'm listening to her, yet I feel wanting to be raw with her, letting things ratchet up a little bit. I change my positioning on the bed so I'm looking towards the window, laid out lengthwise, the phone sitting on the nightstand, connected to the headset wire, my elbow propping my head. My hand, the right one, is moving lower along my side. I start to describe what I'm doing.
"Still thinking of you, right here...my fingers are at the waistband of my pants. Your dress is pushed up all the way now, wrapped around my arm to keep it up." I gasp as I brush along the exposed patch of skin.
"Stroking me, through my underwear, down the front, oh my God..." I hear her actually grunt. "This is actually one of my favorite pairs of panties. They're silk, blue, with a little bow on the waistband. I picked them out at the Secret to wear on my 1 1/2 year anniversary date with Dean. But to a point, when I was in the store, I thought about how you might regard them also. I'm glad he never got to see them." I hear a click on the other end. "They're sort of good-luck to me, because I wore them the day of the wedding, when Jess kissed me...and you won the election, and a couple of times when we were in Washington, winning those tough debates against the Pacific team."
I'm becoming hotter, and much tighter, and my words get a little more passionate. "You must be so wet, pulled in so many directions, your stomach feeling so funny. You're thinking of me here, in this little room."
"Yess...oh yess...That sounds so good baby, your voice is getting me off, keep it like that."
"Biting your lip, you have to be...you get antsy when you're doing something wrong."
"Yeah, and this is," she tries to reason. I'm not letting her.
"It's not wrong, it's very normal," I explain. "Thinking of me while I'm thinking of you, nothing but our imaginations guiding us."
"Uh-huh...oh God. Thinking of your hands roaming all over my body, you at my back, fully clothed, and I'm the embodiment of beauty. At my back...I remember back to you, my arms around your waist, in bed. The safety, comfort, and want of you."
"My warmness..." I'm taken away to that morning, wearing the plaid shirt and shorts. "How I wanted so much to believe that you wanted me." I start to unzip my pants, wanting few barriers between the both of us. "I remember being so turned on at what you wore."
"I'm thinking of you unzipping my dress...slowly and elegantly." I hear that zip sound in the background. "I want you so bad, I've missed the comfort of your voice, the touch of your hand on my wrist, brushing it against my side. How you look at me in the locker room," a gulp. "The heated stare, watching me tie my shoe on a gym bench, your eyes, I know where they go, a triangle. You think I'm a work of art...you can't help but look at me."
"Your breasts, small, but a lovely handful. I'm pushing down the dress from the front, sliding it off, seeing your bra...my palms rake across your nipples, puckered and hard."
"It's a thin dark fabric, yet you can see the outline of them," she describes. "The contrast with my pale skin, your eyes notice my areoles."
"Are you still stroking?" I ask.
"In a circle, I'm so damp, haven't been stirred up since Monday night. I need this so much..." I hear the microphone click as it seems she tries to brush the hands-free cord off to the side. "...I feel so warm here, talking to you. Your voice is guiding me on, doing a superior job of setting the stage."
"You brush your hand against your bra," I suggest. "I'm thinking of you getting yourself off in my line of sight, your hair all over the place as the dress falls off your slim profile."
Her voice is tight and strained. "When I get wound up, it hurts sometimes...oh God. My breasts are so sensitive. I've slid my right hand through the bottom of my underwear, stroking myself, slowly. I did it sort of slow Monday night, but right now, it's a good pace."
I'm being taken away by the images being shared between us. My voice fills with more confidence, unafraid that I would go too far. I push down my own pants a few inches, and then trying to be fast, I take the phone and slide it down my sweater so I don't have to interrupt the conversation when I take it off. My words, her words, they're getting to me. I hear Rory continue to describe her pleasure through the phone as I run cool fingers along the cleft formed between my legs, and the crème-colored silk briefs I wore.
"Yes, oh yes, Paris, like that." She was getting more wound up. "My mind is filled with you next to me all the time, I can't believe how much your voice is getting to me. I'm playing with my breasts, stretched out all the way across the bed, propped up on the pillow, looking down towards my feet."
"Ror, do you watch yourself when you cum?" I was feeling even more tightness build up, her voice enchanting to me.
"Sometimes, it's so fascinating to see my body like this, stiff, anticipating." Her breathing picked up. "I always thought it something you kept to yourself, that you didn't share with anyone."
"Don't be afraid with me, I always thought the same." I look at the fingers of my free hand, an image of how they'd look along her thighs in my mind. "Alone in scant lingerie, you must feel really hot."
"You have no idea..." She gasped into the phone, a shaky voice trying to show the pleasure my words were giving her. "Oooooohhhhhh...ttthhhhhhh." I felt goosebumps along my arms listening to her moan. "Gawwwd!!" My face flushed, and I was awed that my voice was doing that.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"A finger against my clit, it's so hard. Wow." Some more rustling in the background as she seemed to regain her bearings. "I'm biting my lip very hard, feeling around it, uggggghhhh...through my panties, it actually juts out a bit."
I was starting to stroke myself a little bit more, just wanting to hear her pleasure. I kept myself as silent as possible, not cluing her in that I was getting myself off at the same time as she was. "How wet are you?"
"Very," she gasps. "I can't even get any friction going between my legs, which is how I usually start myself off."
A cold shudder went through me, and my larynx creaked. "You...you can get off that way? I didn't think that was possible."
"You'd be very surprised."
"Really?" I was smiling, visualizing this usually innocent girl glowing without anyone noticing that she's doing something so illicit.
"Let's say that in class, sometimes, I do a little more than pay attention to the lecture." Rory continued to gasp and stroke herself all through, knowing that I was being driven crazy by her. "A certain class before lunchtime is the most...exciting of the day for me."
"Dear God..." I was becoming involuntary, my fingers dipping lower, threatening to breach into my panties. "What is going through your mind during Russian Novels?"
"Not Russian Novels, I can tell you that much." She laughed. "I just look at you behind your back, and my mind drifts elsewhere, my hands all over you...it's so much for me to take in."
"I think of you there too, wishing you could just undress me, take me away from that insipidness. I've noticed your hands during the class move closer, lower...towards my bra straps."
Rory drawled out her acknowledgement. "Mm-hmm." She was continually stroking herself, her heavy breathing apparent as I saw her in my mind with eyes lidded. "I get really hot when you push in against the chair, letting the collar of your blouse open a little behind. Giving me that small peek at the skin it covers, along with a hint of the bra."
"Speaking of which," I say breathlessly, "I'm sliding my fingers along the back of yours, getting at the hook, to stretch it out and take it off."
"You want to look at me, don't you?"
"Mmm-hmm. I bet you have so many more freckles on those breasts of yours to count. I want it off of you."
"We both love freckles, don't we?" Her voice is becoming rough as she tries to push her back up so she can strip the article off. "It's just amazing how cute that nose of yours is, with those little red marks peppering it."
Surprised by her compliment, I shriek. "It is not cute!"
"You want to bet? It plays a role in some of my naughtier dreams, hitting that right place as you line up your tongue--"
"God, Ror, stop," I implore, not ready to cede control. "You're the star tonight, not me!"
"But I want to make you feel good, and make this weekend just fly by for you--what better way than to plant dirty dreams inside your head?"
"The better to leapfrog me GPA-wise," I said with a bit of mischief. "However, I'd get right back at you, sliding my hand across your bare chest, then hooking a finger around a hard nipple."
"Oh yesss.....oh God." Her breathing once again picked up. "You're toying and pinching it, just trying to get me hotter."
"My other hand down across your stomach, so tight and slim...you're so perfect." My voice is even lower, and more suggestive.
"Oh my God...yes...you're so close, and I'm getting so wet..." Rory's attention was quickly drifting away from vocalizing how she was feeling in words, while my imagination was overwhelming my own faculties. It's nice to be wordy to set the scene; between the both of us, our imaginations could build it further.
We weren't going to get anywhere though if I kept Rory in conversation. My mind image was filled with Rory on her bed, almost nude, hands across her body.
"Rory," I shuddered out, trying to turn her on further, "where is your other hand?" She continued to gasp and moan through the phone as I heard her vocalizations, sharp breaths, hyperventilations. "What are you thinking right now?"
A period of time has to pass before she can speak again. "Thinking of you...on top of me...kissing...suckling."
"My tongue slides 'round a nipple, completely prone. You want that, don't you, dear?" I hear what I can decode as an affirmative whine. "And now I'm sliding my right hand down your form, slowly, my fingertips the only skin-to-skin contact, the coolness from my palm sliding down across your hot skin." My voice deepens even more into a whisper. "Across the knot of your belly button, the right side folding over the left. In a way, I'm thinking how your mother's young blood created such a beautiful young woman for me to treasure. You're smooth, your entire height stretched out across the mattress, with the scent of a fall New England evening mixed with your lotion, both aromas so strong."
My only response is still nothing but breathing and the occasional creak from her larynx, her microphone at the perfect place. Exactly what I want for now...let it germinate within her mind. You want her to feel that your touch is beyond anyone else. The vixen in me, doing a great job painting the picture.
I knew I couldn't paint it for myself though. No matter the sensual feelings I was having, I wanted to concentrate on her pleasure, and put mine aside for the time being. Rory was the star, the one with the heavier stress, who initiated everything between us. I had to reward her for being tolerant enough of me, and there was no expectation that she had to return the favor.
"I leave long, lingering kisses on each of your breasts, the right and to the left, and then I start to push myself up, so I can meet you mouth to mouth. Brushing my lips against your skin, across your breastbone, up the middle, towards your neck. I'm sliding that left hand down towards the small of your back, memorized like the topography of California to me. I think back to the marathon, where each touch along your spine made you shiver and shake, and before I thought it was just an illusion to only me and you really weren't reacting to how my fingers were working you. Little did I know I was knotting you all up and down, keeping your mind distracted as we waltzed down the hardwood."
It was then I learned she was even worse off than I projected. "You had me so wet, just about gushing, and so not easy to hold off my thoughts when I'm in a dancing pattern. I would've never even thought in reality, you'd be so curvy...or soothing." She says this through a voice with a higher tone than usual, telling me that it's all working out quite well.
"I think I should feel very complimented by that," I said, feeling warmed and flattered by her accolade. "My mental picture paled to your reality in turn. I pictured you as sort of a square, wanting to go slow, not very adventurous at all."
With a deep laugh as she continues her stroking, she proves that she certainly isn't anywhere near that shape. "I can see why you'd think that, God. Ask me what I saw in Dean, please!"
"I don't want to. I just want to focus on my hand sliding along your belly, lower and lower, just drifting down, your eyes focused on mine, lips parted, glossy. Your body, wracked with sweat, some intense pleasure from the blood in your breasts on full flow, your nipples hard from my caressing."
"Mm-hmm," she moans. "Feeling for you...those hands across my waistband...ohhh...ohhh..."
"My other hand is at your waist, each of my nails scratching along your skin, warm and soft. I like feeling your middle, Gilmore...it's like a secret that only I know." More heat, as she exhales, confirming that her abdomen is one of her erogenous zones.
"Parrr...." she drawls out my name, and a shudder goes through me as my eyes tighten that I'm doing this to her. "Oh my God, yess, yess..."
"Darling, are you still circling?"
"Yesssss...ohh...ahhh, keep touching me there...so needing this."
Mmmm, yeah, this is good, isn't it Gellar? You have her in a corner, she's frenzied for a cum, give her something to remember. My inner vixen became my inner cheerleader, trying to help me say the right things and keep Ror at a steady boil before she went over. "I'm sliding off your underwear, so damp with how you feel about me. They never stood a chance when the first thing you thought this morning was that you hoped I would call, you've been anticipating this, like an exam. Wondering how I'd test you with how you'd be satisfied, you were shocked when I actually wanted to partake in this." I prop myself up a little more, turning up the headset's volume so that I could hear every bit of what she was about to do. "I have too, just hearing your voice, wanting to take things up another level. But in the meantime..." I purred deeply into the microphone, my mind filling with divesting Rory completely of any clothing, "...those panties are down, and they're completely off of you."
"They're gone...on the bedpost...nothing left...but you...and I..."
"Just a inquiry, before we go on." I felt a little nervous with the question, but if I was going to take it all the way, the complete picture had to be filled. "Without panties, since I became your girlfriend, you are?"
"Trimmed in a neat triangle...when I shave my legs...like myself clean...helps my fantasy."
My mouth after that question? Watering with anticipation at knowing her more intimately, one day. For now though, my hand was hers, and I had to guide her.
Being vanilla wasn't going to help her along, but thankfully I had something in my arsenal to describe.
"Last night," I began, "I was thinking about you, apart from my mother in the plane, near an exit seat, bored watching the flight go over Delaware on the seatback screen. All alone, no one disturbing me to the left and the right, or kicking my own seatback. I could doze off until the flight landed, and that I did." Everything came back to me about that nap. "You and I, at Miss Patty's...I recalled that one time you told me after the formal, you dozed off with Dean on the yoga mats at one in the morning, you didn't do anything but still you faced the gulag of your mother and grandmother talking you onto the pill?"
"How can I forget?" she grumbles.
"Well, I twisted it around a little..." my color started to fill in the details of my subconscious. "Thought of you and I there instead, after Tristan and Dean actually went after each other, it got pretty bloody between them and they ended up hauled off to the hospital and then to jail with assault charges."
Laughing, she knows how I probably felt that night. "They always seemed like they were gonna kill each other one day." Thinking about what my dream was leading to, her mind was curious about how I got her on the yoga mats. "But we were at odds, how could you have changed that around? That night almost killed any hope of even a friendship between us."
"Two years gave me a new perspective into how you were around me that night..." I smile as I remember the dream. "...you were flirting with me, using your body language, and then your eyes." That surprised her, as she gasped in shock that I would remember that far. "That ugly dress was good for one thing, you got an eyeful of the goods, especially when I went off on you about Jacob."
"P-p-par, I wasn't looking, honest, why would you think that?" I bet she her entire body was flaring a red blush from head to toe as my voice became seductive once again.
"Because, even back then Gilmore, I know you got hot at my anger. I saw that your eyes never left the area between my eyes and my cleavage the whole time: there was a blatant stare on your part. Then when you told me that I was the one that said it all, not you, you gazed up at me as the bodice of the dress tightened against my nipples when I looked up to see the Chiltonian reaction." I knew it was getting to her, as I heard even more harried breathing into the headset.
"I'm sorry...I couldn't help it...that was the first time ever that I realized you had such a bust hiding beneath your clothing. It was never a prominent feature before then."
Perfect, she's biting on! I knew this thing for me went back further than the rehearsals! I was choosing to reveal a few details before I colored in the dream for her. I went on with the true events of the night. "It's perfectly all right, because when I got into the Town Car fleeing the Armory that night, alone, you know what the first thought I voiced out was?"
"Hmm?" she strained, the slow strokes still continuing.
"I asked myself, 'Was she staring at me sexually?'. At the time, it was just the anger and everything else about the night mixing in to tell me no. After a couple years though, I have to think that you were."
"But I wasn't," she futilely argued. "I was pissed off that you were accusing me of revealing Jacob!"
"Really then?" Time to make my point. "Then when was your first sexual dream of me, and what was I wearing?" Ror grumbled into the phone, but I was going to get this cleared up once ad for all. "Take your time, Ror, I have all night."
"I'm not exactly in the best thinking position," she whines.
"You just told me you kindle yourself in Russian Novels, so I know you multi-task!"
"Oh God! Geeze, fine..." despite her thinking, barely thirty seconds passes before she remembers her first sex dream with me. "It was in March last year, after you went out with Tristan and froze me out, while I was in flux with Dean. I was helping you get ready for the date with Tristan, things happened where I ended up in the bathroom with you in your underwear. I watched you putting on my mother's clothes, you noticed my staring. We started to flirt, and before I knew it I'm pushed against the sink, you kiss me strongly. By the end, we had all our clothes in tatters as the dream ended before you thrust your fingers in as I screamed that we were both dead for ruining her clothing!" Her voice goes up several octaves as she summarizes the dream. "I splashed water on my face after I woke up and fled to the bathroom, and thought it a nightmare!"
Meanwhile at this end, I'm laughing out loud at the frenzied description, and then I confess my first sexual dream with her. "That's a good one. My first was during Rebuilding Together when it was 108° that day and we were down to tanks and shorts. I had to leave the job site because I was developing a sunburn and possible heat stroke. Back in bed at the Manor, I had a feverish dream of you serving me a lemonade, spilling it on me, and then things heating up as we try to beat the heat; ice cubes, suntan lotion, and a freezer in a kitchen with bare drywall you fucked me against were also involved. Though why my subconscious suggested we have sex in hot, humid weather is something I can't figure out."
"So you in July last year, me a few months before?" I mm-hmmed my acknowledgment, as her tone turned into warning. "And why were we fixed on boys when we were both thinking about this, Par-Bear?"
"I think we were stupid and committed to our men?"
"Or we just used our anger for each other to cover up how we felt."
"Definitely." I can't believe how heated we're starting, and I'm not even to describing the dream situation. "You know, I haven't even thought about Tristan at all sexually since he left. It's all been you with the occasional actress entering the picture."
"My brain has excised Dean in the last few weeks," she admitted, "no dreams of a sexual variety of him since we arrived in D.C., all my sexual dreams have been of you."
"No one else, at all?"
"Maybe a couple threesomes, but for now, those are gonna stay secret. I don't want to freak you out."
"I have those too, but not for sharing, at least for now." Now I think it's time to bring her off; she's getting there, I can tell. Her voice is tight and all wound up, breath rapid, and it's been at least 25 minutes, I'm surprised she hasn't felt any kind of pain or sudden orgasm.
"Come on Rory, I'm going to tell you now, please don't get freaked out by my dream."
"I won't, promise. Your voice, it sounds so damned hot...I love it when you're cute and demanding."
"All demand from here on out," I disclaim. "I want you to keep it up, don't stop touching yourself; it gets me hot. The thought of you, in your room, so far away, stroking your clit..." I clear my throat along with my warmed mind with a quarter bottle of Diet Coke, continuing on as the sweetness inundates my mouth. "I'm getting to my dream. We're out in the hall of the Armory, you're running to catch up with me, angry that I blamed you. You're in my face, backing me towards a corner, trying to tell me that I shouldn't assume out of the blue. I'm in my mode of not taking in the conversation at all, rolling my eyes and teasing you in my mind as a stupid hick girl who doesn't know what she's talking about. It goes on and on, I'm not listening at all..."
"Yes..." she heaves into the phone.
"All of the sudden, without any provocation, you grab at the side of my dress. You yell loudly, asking if I'm listening to anything that you say. Dismissively I say that I am, but you're having none of it. You're going on and on and I'm thinking about wanting to flee, first the boyfight, and then this. Looking for the exit, I try to leave, but you're keeping me by gripping tightly on my arm."
"'I don't understand why you had to take your cousin', you ask, and I explain it was last-second, I didn't find anyone and Sharon forced him on me whether I liked it or not. It goes on as I try to argue that I have certain expectations, and I accuse you of making me a charity case when you said you would've found someone in your town for me, that I wasn't going to go on a date out of pity." Going back over the bitter part of the dream reminds me of that former hateful personality I hope that I've left behind for good. "You speak up, trying to remind me that Tristan had an open invitation outstretched when he bought his tickets and I should've spoken up. Instead, I shout you down with Sharon-fed bullshit about chivalry and tradition."
The dream started to pick up pace after that I as I go into the meat of the matter. This DreamRory, unlike the meek girl of those two years ago, was the strong Rory of today, trying to call on me to decide once and for all if I wanted to go after Tristan or just keep the feelings to myself. She was also tired of our relationship being based on my jealousy over her as the New Girl, and that she wished to see me as her equal, nothing else. She goes on with this, along with a suspicion that she was sensing through our tension.
"You're speaking to me firmly, and out of nowhere, you take the conversation off-track. 'I don't know what I did to you, Paris,' you say wearingly, 'but if I didn't know better, you let that opportunity with Tristan go on purpose.' I deny it, but you already have something thought up. 'I know that you like him, Par...' and then you start moving closer. 'Ever since I arrived though, you've been more distracted with following me around than anyone else.' I don't know what the hell you're talking about, so I try to deny whatever you're about to say."
My brain is vivid with the image as things start to warm up between us. "'Paris, do you like me?' you say, looking down at me with worry across your face. I frown and say that I don't...but it's rushed and hollow, because it's then you take my hand and intertwine your fingers with mine. It's then you make me realize the truth, the very reason for trying to sabotage you before we could ever be friends. You mention the moat, how you wanted to help me out, but felt crushed when you couldn't. How cold I was to you at your birthday party, yet still went despite the fact, then a week later, let myself go by theorizing Harvard was a large campus and we were both thorns in each other's sides for two years. You know all of it, but reminiscing isn't the point of this dream..." I take a dramatic pause, hoping that Ror's libido hasn't calmed. "It's that even though we hated each other with passion at that time...deep within a dark reservoir within our souls, there was something that was screaming for the both of us to challenge each other, not out of anger or pure hate that we were both competing for the same things, be they the grades, awards...Tristan," I said with a bit of seething.
"I never wanted him," she interjected between heavy breaths.
"I know that now, but remember, this was us way before we could let go. Still, there you were in that hallway, asking me if I liked you, and I denied it. And in that soft, small innocent voice of yours, you correct yourself. 'Not in the friendly sense.' You run your hand up my arm, starting to push me towards the front door of the building. 'Paris, you're about to turn sixteen in a couple weeks, and I see that you're confused about me. One moment you're teasing me by suggesting I'm a loser for oversleeping, but the next you're in my ear whispering that I'm going down. And I'm baffled, because you're very close, enough that I can take in your perfume...and a couple of times, especially when you were yelling at me, I had to gulp down something...that your proximity was getting to me in a way that has me thinking in a different way than I ever have thought with Dean.' I respond to that with a strong denial of whatever you felt, but then you ask me if I could give you a ride home. Some hemming and hawing later, you finally give up, realizing no one else is going to offer you a ride back to the Hollow without charge.
"I wanted an escape from my mother, and we needed to bury the hatchet. We both end up at Miss Patty's about an hour later, talking about things as I evade the topic of my interest in you, because I shouldn't think that way about another girl, much less one I was engaging in an ever-growing war of words with.
"We get into the depot, sit down on those mats, and from there...the dream diverges from our real life at that time. You start to engage me in a light conversation about what a pest I've been, while at the same time we both feel so uptight and out of order in our Formal dresses and tight hairstyles. You look at me, those eyes scanning me, and you ask me normally if you could undo my hair, tight in all of those pins and barrettes. I think nothing of it and I give you permission to as we engage in a conversation about the new unit in Shakespeare with Medina. Your hair fixing starts off friendly, just undoing the tangles and various things keeping my hair up, your soft voice telling me that my mother's hair stylist doesn't know anything about my mane, and you're jealous of my hair. You brush through it and I find it hard to concentrate on my apology, but eventually I do end up getting it out. I hear you behind me, relieved that you don't have to feel guilty about it."
A few more dull details later, I know that I have to get into things, as Rory speaks up to interrupt.
"Par...sweetie? I love the dream, but my eyes aren't, they're getting heavy. It's been about ten minutes since you started." I look at the time in the corner of my Mac, and indeed, it's been too long. My inner vixen is also impatient with my storytelling. You need to get into it! You have that girl stuck on pins and needles! Sleep during phone sex is about the worst thing you do; do you really want to explain to Lorelai why her naked daughter didn't hang up the phone until 6am?!
Time is certainly money, but giving Ror a Thankgiving orgasm was also important! I had to stop wasting time; I was losing my own drive, talking about hair and dream scemantics!
After an apology to her, she reassures me that she can understand. "We're both nervous, and this is your first relationship. You're just happy to be able to share dreams about us." Her voice deepened and her words were serious. "If you're trying to set up a fluffier picture to keep me in a romantic state of mind, don't."
Truthfully I tell her that this is how the dream went, really. She appreciated that, but it wasn't an issue for her. "I'm cupping my breast, thinking about you down there, your mind focused on my orgasm, while I slide the fingers of my right hand along the outside of my pussy lips." Moaning deeply, I can hear the microphone rustle as she feels herself up. "I can see what's happening already, even if it was your dream. We're both there, innocent, our guys hardly satisfying, the anger from the fight still within the both of us, but also concern because you're wounded, dateless because of your demanding mom. I'm on that mat, sliding my fingers through your hair, disappointed with how Dean really was. I'm behind you, thinking about you...ohhh...ohhh...how beautiful you were in that dress, baring all of that cleavage. I also still remember the flowery perfume you wore along your neckline, my mouth watering as I bring my hands around from your back, and then along the sides of your dress. I startle you still...and suddenly, the thought of you being so beautiful enters my conscious. I realize then, my dear," she softly exhales. "From the beginning, you've treated me badly, because you like me..."
"...I've also been territorial about the wrong thing. It wasn't Tristan, it was my own heart." I continue the dream, dead on, uninterrupted. "You soothe me with your words that if you were a guy, there wouldn't have been a second thought about taking me out if Tristan didn't. 'Who say I would've turned you down as a female?' I challenge. I think I've taken you off-track, but you're not thrown off, instead, your slim and pale hands move from my side, and then they cup my breasts, as you bring your lips close to my ear. 'The moment you got in my face,' you say, nipping at my earlobe, 'I wanted to have a go at you. I didn't even remember Dean was there until he shouted from the punch table that he thought we were having a problem.' One hand slides down to my stomach, with the other pushing into the neck of the dress." I shut my eyes, holding the side of my mattress to kill the temptation for that hand to wander when I was describing. "And you tell me, with your strongest tone, that you've been looking at me all night, jealous of Jacob, bored with Dean. When Jacob hit on you and threw you his digits, you lost control and decided to go after me, because in your words, 'I wish that I could take that dress off you right now'...but fate had other plans. Plans, which ended up fanning the flame of your desire."
"Ooooooohhhhhh, yeah..." I can tell that Rory's starting to heat up. "The dress color was ugly, but you...so sexy. I always get off to you in it."
"I thought the same thing of yours, those soft fucking shoulders being exposed, leading my eyes low, you fit it like a glove, and I wondered how I could get your hair down. It matches the shade of your eyes, and my drive is insane, thinking of that dress off to your side as you step towards me, a strapless bra and panties clinging to you barely. I still see Dean, trying to get it off you, and I'm on fire because he'd probably take it off clumsily.
"We turn around, facing each other cross-legged, but not for long. I admit to you that some of that jealousy was a crush, and you know what you say to me?"
"'I'm not committed to him.' Your arms drape around my neck as you get to the back tie of my dress. 'He wasn't going to work out, so I was definitely after you.' You undo the snap holding me in, push down the straps, and then you give me a command to flare me up."
"Holy shit!!" She shouts those words so loud that she causes my ear to ring minorly. "You've taken to my aggressive side! What did I say?"
"You wanted me to 'make my first high school dance something to remember,' and for a moment, I feel responsibility take over. But it stops when you push the hem of my dress up so that bared thigh is meeting your core, and it's clear within your eyes that you won't be refused. You wanted me to control you, make you forget Dean...do you want that?"
She pauses, confused as to whether my question was dialogue or not. "Huh?"
Finally, since we got together three weeks ago, I release the language filter. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Yeah," she says wearingly, as I find myself back in my commanding mode. Her answer isn't enough.
"Come on, Gilmore, this isn't one of your lily-covered fantasies! I'm gonna get rough with you...leaving marks all along your body. By the time I'm done you'll be so red you won't be able to wear panties to your grandparents tomorrow!"
"Respond please. I want you, do you want me?"
"Yeah, baby, I do, I do..."
My voice snarls. "Volume, Lorelai, I'm getting pissed. Realizing you knew all the time that Jacob was my cousin the moment I came in. You held it back, and now, you're at my mercy."
"I've been naughty, haven't I?"
"Yes, you have...you don't deserve your panties back...you're going to submit, so I tear them off, into shreds, hiking up that dress, pulling at the zip aggressively. I'm going to get it off you, whatever it takes. We're both heightened, horny, willing to do anything for each other. I commanded you to stand so I can get your dress all off, and in turn, mine falls off as I rise up. You look me up and down, enchanted, your heart a mile a minute, and as it pools down from below my abdomen..." I pause, and let her imagination fill in the long-private blank.
"Y-y-you, you, you only had on the dress." I can hear her start to fall apart based on that knowledge alone. "Just the dress...nothing else." The background of her line is filled with the kicking of sheets. "Oh my God. Ooooohh...my...God!"
"You're getting slick, aren't you, Gilmore?"
"Yes, I am, God, I can feel your bare leg against mine, you push it forcefully in...you have such sexy thighs, they must be so soft."
"Pushing up against it, you cushion your chin against my cleavage, between my breasts...having such a view of my face as my arms lock around you, grasped along the side, and I move you up, so that we can have a long, deep, wanting, toe-curling kiss. I'm sure to ruin your makeup, but I don't give a fuck at all, your virtue is mine."
"I deserve it, I'm so bad..." her voice is picking up speed again. "Crap, you know what you do to me? I don't know how I got through four dinners today not fleeing somewhere! I've been in knots for days!"
"We'll unknot you then. I'm pushing harder, you're getting so slick, like tanning oil against my thigh. God, you feel so good, your pussy slides right against me, perfectly. You spasm as I tell you how much I've thought about you since you came into Chilton...how I wish I was the one calling you Mary instead of Tristan."
"Fuck, Par! Oh man..." she pants furiously. "I hate that name, but you say it so well!"
"I'll never call you that. Your imagination isn't Catholic. You're nothing but Ror, my Ror." I keep my eyes tightly closed, one of my hands playing at my panty-covered cleft. I'm so tight and wound, but my girl deserves all the attention. "You're getting there, hon, come on. I want you to get off so hard you're out like I am when I get really built up."
"Yes....oh yes, oh God, I have a couple fingers in there, thinking of you, on me, topping..."
"Your clit is swollen, sensitized for so long, amplified by our teasing. You're getting tired, but you want that tension released." My words start to break up as I look down at myself. My sweater, usually a loose fit, is bunched up beneath my back, and the bulk of my bust is flattered. The tightness of the blood flow through my body makes my nipples prone, and though not defined due to how tight my 'for Sharon' bra is, they clearly peak through the two layers of material, including my sweater. Now my pants are almost down to my knees, and I lay wide in bed, listening to Rory's whines of pure pleasure.
"Ohhhh, ohhh...I still smell you...ohhh..."
"Imagine us, defiling those mats, in the same place you did the ballet so long ago. Just imagine how proud Ms. LaCosta would be if she knew that you and I thought about being sexual on those surfaces, the only sign we were there being a wrinkling of the material, 'cause I get you back home to Lorelai, and she isn't the wiser. Birth control isn't an issue, nothing is. It's just two girls, becoming friends...or more than that. You can get away with so much, how does that feel? You could never, ever, ever do this with Deano."
"I never would, honey, only with you, only with you...yesss, oh FUCK!" She was starting to get there, the illicitness of phone sex and forbidden settings turning her on.
"The thrill that anyone could walk in on us, just like when you were with Dean, but this time you don't give a damn; you're too fargone to turn back now. You wanna cum for me, feel the pumping through your core as you get to the point with the woman you've wanted from afar for so long, through so much, all of these idiotic obstacles keeping you bonded to an ideal you're not into at all. You want me, one on two, president to vice president. Your thirst for my power, it made you want to drink from me, didn't it."
"Ohh yeah, I love being your VP, I get off thinking about you ordering me around. I'm rubbing into you like no tomorrow. So...sweaty...boiler so damned hot, I'm soaked around myself."
The sweat really gets to me; I think about her straight hair dampened atop her head, the small-town farm girl's pale skin glowing red, her eyes open as she props her head, manipulating her clit at a constant pace and watching herself tremor with anticipation at what she's about to do.
"I wish I was there to watch," I husk into the headset.
"You already are, Par...don't think distance will tear us apart." She shrieks as the beginnings of her orgasm begin to build. "I feel so free tonight, and damned sexy."
"Clench yourself around me, tighten your muscles, just let your satisfaction build."
"I don't know if I can..." She's frenzied and desperate.
But as she's both of those, I'm also firm and demanding. "You WILL, just clench, my leg is right here, you want stars."
"I do, I do..."
"Come on, baby,"
"Rory..." my words are still firm, though I've now pushed the crotch of my underwear aside, exposing my dampened mound. I haven't even touched myself all that much and I'm starting to feel the beginnings of release.
"Paris...come on, I'm fully wrapped...so tight around you I'm leaving a bite in your shoulder!"
I open my mouth wide, gasping, my vixen thinking that was so hot! "I can feel it, just let yourself build...ohhh...ohhh..."
"Paris, are you...are you..."
"Yes I am..." I hyperventilate, "I don't even have everything off."
"You're full of tension, come on, against me too!" I have three of my forefingers sliding in and out, the material of my expensive underwear undoubtedly ruined.
"Oh God," I cry out, "Oh God, what would I do without you, Rory!?"
"I don't know..." the lo-fi voice is gone and my brain is constructing her voice at a higher quality than what's coming through. "Thigh to thigh now, I want this, I wanna cum!"
"How hard do you feel it?"
"Very hard, like a knot in my gut, wow!" Her breathing is in spasms, as is mine. No longer is there an Eastern Seaboard between us, only inches of space. It's almost real...scratch that, it is real. "Paris?"
"Are you crying?" She can detect a hint of desperation in my tone as I encourage her on. This is emotional for me, draining...after everything that happened today, to know the girl that I love took time out of her evening for me, it makes me feel wonderful.
"A little, are you?" I hear it too...the fun that started out with this small idea has turned into another experience her and I would have never expected.
"I'm tired...drained...this is just so unbelievable..." I hear a banging sound. "DAMN IT! I just hit my head on the headboard...oh God, I hit a sensitive spot!"
"Keep caressing there, baby, keep it up...you sound like you're gonna do it...oh fuck!" I'm a total mess, my mouth almost dry as the both of us begin our orgasm.
"Par..." her voice is lowering...
"Ror..." mine is too...I hear a rip coming from near my hand as I thrust; I've pushed the material a little too far. Not enough to wreck them, but it'll probably make them fit odd from now on. Her throat creaks as she feels her flash point hit...
"Christ, I'm gonna...I'm...I..." Before I can encourage her further. "FUCK, PARIS!" More rustled noises into the mic, and all the sudden she sounds muffled as she starts to scream.
She's cumming. Oh my God...she's...my vixen was in utter shock as I heard for the first time in reality, Rory...my Rory, have an orgasm. Not just a regular climax that I might see in a movie, this was a violent torrent of ripples that she was never prepared for, never thought she'd have. I listened, stunned. Unbelieving that I, little ol' Paris, whose nickname could be 'repressed sexuality', be the one who did this.
It was so much for me. She was still muffled, and though she tried to get the words of her description out, it was for naught. The waves kept flowing through her, killing her vocal process. Her grunts and moans were the only guide I had to know how high she was getting.
I was crying, but I was still pumping, in and out, in and out, in a frenzy, desperate to feel what my girlfriend felt. The tears dripped down my face, the emotions behind them overwhelming for me. This wasn't like when I thought about her when I got together. This time what was going through me was a culmination of everything I had ever felt for anyone. Her shrieks and screams reverberated down my body...it remembers all the tension built up ever since I realized I had sexual feelings in any form. Every fucking time Tristan teased me and did the 'measure hands' around each of my breasts, brushing them off as things 'just friends' would do. My hand was in, forefingers near the knuckle as my thumb rubbed my sore clit.
That kiss on a dare...the date Ror set me on with him, how I felt denied because he didn't love me...they all melted into nothingness as I remember everything about her. The moment her ass made contact with my body, my project tumbling down to the tile, that awkward sixteen-year old girl with the flaring outbreak grumbling 'Get a-way from me!' as I brushed her off. I hyperventilated with each flash, her compliment that I looked beautiful in the dress she lent me...the promise that she would be my shoulder after Maxgate. The crush on her face as I stood on those steps at the end of sophomore year, denying that I was jealous of her going out with Tristan.
Then the last year...the almost-kiss at the play...her laugh at my milk rant...how she eventually warmed up to my presence on her alone night...breathing gets deeper and deeper, her blue eyes in mine. My words, I don't even understand them as I focus on everything we've experienced. How her grandfather welcomed me with open arms into the locker kit project ideas...her reluctance, and later determination, of being my VP...Washington...chasing down senators and reps, the picture taken of us...renewal in September.
She's barely calming down, and I'm about to spill over, three months in three seconds coursing through my synapses. Field hockey...late night apology...her wet shirt...the look on her face as my hand slid along her thigh in the Jag...Rory's happiness of finally dumping the Gearbox...the bridge askout to the marathon...
Getting there, almost. It's like I'm not even within myself anymore, I'm like a ragdoll, the only sound in my mind her sounds of pleasure. The dance...the closeness...the win...Eternal Flame...the admittance...the first kiss...first date...first fears...first coming out...Lorelai knowing...
My sweater is probably going to need a strong dry cleaning, it clings to me hard. And then the final image comes to me with her settling...it's both of us, in the same bed, grinding against each other, both so happy with just being there, together, the both of us. I'm looking at her, cried tears dripping onto her cheeks from mine, the salt combining with her chocolate latte and my vanilla tastes...
That's all I need. I scream her name into the phone, loud, thankful for strong Florida hurricane building codes keeping a concrete wall between me and all those other people. Not that it matters, because for that one moment, I'm with her, in Connecticut, alone, only us. My clit sends off a tremor that stills me like an electrical charge, coursing through my brain, neurons, my bloodstream. She was still going on, a second wind flowing through as a 'FUCK' slid through my clenched teeth, this one just as hard as the first. Mine was one full, long, arduous path to satisfaction, however. Mussed, tangled hair sticks to my cheeks; I'm ruined.
The cum I had, wearing the shirt I borrowed her, is nothing now. That session may have knocked me out, but it had nothing connecting to it beyond an unfulfilled lust. This pinnacle outshone that because I was able to share it with Rory, and in turn, she was able to let me drive her to her own le petit morte. I had managed to bring her to an orgasm with words alone, not a touch between us. That it turned out to be such a strong feeling it would have me convulsing also, that was unexpected.
It took us both two minutes to settle down, both wordless as we let the last of the tension flow out from us. I stimulated a little longer, some residual sensitivity keeping me stuck to the bed, while on the other end, Rory breathed in and out, re-acclimating her lungs to a normal breathing pattern while letting those last thoughts of her flow out. Everything that had been shared was so overwhelming, and I could still sense her choking back some emotions, the overwhelming stimuli such a new emotion to both of us.
I pushed down my underwear, soaked with arousal, along with my pants down to my ankles, kicking them off and pushing them to the side in an attempt to settle my body from the sexual overload it just felt. I push up the duvet to cover myself and then take out the headset so I can get my shirt and bra off. It takes a bit longer than usual, and when I unhook from behind and ease the strap down, dark red welts appear on each side, the straps tightening as I became aroused. I grumble as I slide my breasts out of the cups, my nipples overstimulated and hurting like hell from being stuck without any stimulation to ease the want. It's a lesson to be learned for the next time.
All my clothes off, I lay on the bed and put the speaker back in my ear, too emotional to say anything, bringing the soft covering of the bed close to my body. I imagine Rory is doing the same thing, and that we're spooning into each other, both of us taking the We're all connected slogan of early 90's Ameritech to a level never expected by a copy writer. The emotions are spinning through us and this has been a test of our relationship, whether we could stand the distance of four days apart without any contact at all.
That would be an emphatic no, in case you're wondering.
Finally, one of us speaks again. Thankfully it's her, because my larynx needs time to recover.
"I can't move."
A pause of fifteen seconds to reacquire my monotone. "You can't move."
"I cannot move." Rory squeaks, trying to muster up strength. " Tryptophan and an orgasm...strangely causing me to tingle and not move."
"That's good, right?"
"Yeah...I think it is." She brushes the headset off to the side. "Cord not helping, right on top of my nipple."
"You're going to get to sleep at least," I say wearingly.
Tired, she laughs. "If I'm not up by 7am Monday, come into my room and dump that bucket of water you promised. I might be a Sleeping Beauty, Par-Bear."
"What if I miss my flight? It's a strong possibility right now; I can't move myself."
"Of course you can't, you have it worse than me when it comes to nerve endings." She laughs again. "I heard you getting all your clothes off, nothing like a naked you to make me feel better."
"Damn you and those dime-sized areoles, Gilmore!" Of course, said in jest. "What did you muffle into?"
"Poor Colonel Clucker, he's never gonna be the same. Scarred for life, I tell you!" Stuffed animals, they're always the first to be sacrificed for the sake of a relationship. Though an odd thing to witness I'm sure, a girl swearing obscenities into her stuffed chicken. But something I've experienced before with my first Tristan fantasies in puberty.
"I'm sure he expected it one day. I used to relieve some feelings with an FAO Schwartz bear I got for my 11th birthday."
"I just never expected you...or I, to...you know." Voice at a high pitch, I've tuckered her out. "I mean...well, damn. I thought Monday, that would be enough. Now, the line...I don't know."
I still felt the power of what happened. "I actually cried. I've never done that before, self-induced. I could probably pinch my clit hard and not rile up anything, but the thought of you and I. It did something, triggered my want for you further."
"Here too, I was just doing it slowly, and then, more and more, until I was fargone, no turning back. I mean, I couldn't go another time, really, I soaked my bed. I...I've always dressed for bed, but tonight, I can't, it would be too much."
"You don't have to then," I cooed, "I will give you permission to sleep nude."
"I already did, Monday night. Then the next night I had on all my clothes, but before I finally fell asleep, I was down to panties. Last night I just did panties. Strange to me, it's like...like..."
"You've been freed because I accept you as you are, not as you should be. You're not a future socialite, you're just my Ror, that's all, and you've taken me as I am, slight chubby tummy and all."
"Yeah, that could be it." She hesitates into the phone. "I would've rather you were here though."
"I would've rather been there too," I say sadly. "But my flight gets in Sunday at 5:30pm, you'll see me again. I promise."
"I want to see you again. I want to be with you again. Just us, here on the phone, I thought it would be good enough, it would sate me. But I want more."
"You and me both." I try to cheer her up. "How about if you leave your phone on silent the next couple of days, you have no one to call, right?"
"I'll leave mine on vibrate too, and if we see each other's names, we don't answer, we don't talk, we don't text. Instead, we leave voicemails, and we dial out to hear each other before bedtime. I'll be suggestive in mine, the same for you. I know it's radio silence, but we'll still be talking in some form."
"I'd like that, probably easier on my system," she jokes. "I like your sexy voice, it's so...un-Louise. Like you're looking to seduce me, but you're not out there and wanton. It's just normal, and perfect."
"You're soft and tentative; it works for you. Screaming is nice, also."
Sighing, she seems to shake her head. "It's a turn of the tables--I expected you to be the screamer, but you're as soft as a mouse."
Oh, she has me smiling and thinking that I could challenge her to a scream-off. "I'm just learning to catch up here, Ror, just wait. I'll be practicing."
"Thankfully we have time away to recover now, I think we both needed that." I agree with that, and feel the conversation whither as drowsiness starts to hit her. "You know what?"
"I think I'm ready to fall asleep now and I'm saying to hell with Black Friday tomorrow morning, no matter what Mom lures me out of bed with!!"
"She gets up at 3am and slugs people at Target with her purse once the doors open, doesn't she?"
Rory laughs out loud. "She has a whole map planned out, and I'm used as a decoy. Don't know how useful I'll be though. I think I'll be feeling this into tomorrow night. But...I guess I'll get up; traditions don't get pushed aside just because of small things like a first mutual orgasm."
"I know what you mean, hon." I sighed as I went into my...rather, Sharon's, plans for tomorrow. "We have to do the touristy things around Daytona tomorrow, all together, and then Saturday is Disney World. Usually a fun event for any kid and teen, but after last year where we went to the most un-fun parts of the park, I'm looking to get out of it."
"They couldn't possibly be that cruel," she says, and I shake my head.
"No roller coasters or water rides for us, instead we do all the boring and awful parts, including the hackneyed CBD that is Downtown Disney and the studio tours. I could care less about seeing the very stage where Britney, Justin and Christina spawned their careers from the Mickey Mouse Club, but a few of my teenage cousins means my fun idea of a tour of Epcot is kaput."
"Lorelai would have their heads that they could enjoy that!" Her voice is starting to settle down and calm as the afterglow starts to fade away. "You could always fake illness, the dinner didn't sound like it was well-made so you could go with that, use it to your advantage."
I smiled at Rory's resourcefulness and brainstorming. "You're not suggesting I lie to get out of a family vacation, are you?"
"My mom does it to get out of two or three dinners with Grandma a year and it works."
"I think I just might." I lay back on my bed, wishing I didn't have to get up, but eventually I would. With 20 other people and most importantly, that perverted Uncle Fred within this condo, being nude for a long period of time would be a tactical error, and according to quite a few of those religious nutjobs, 'a sin in the eyes of God'. Uh, I think he's looking at Cassie's tummy tuck and Mother's hideous boob job as worse sins, especially on an occasion where they have to wear a bikini. The good thing about those two was they were walking billboards to convince Louise and Madeline that exercise was a better way to look hot and tone up than plastic surgery.
I get that thought out of my mind, thinking about the natural beauty of the one I can't stop thinking about, her soft breathing soothing me from the headset speaker. It feels nice to have someone in my life so inartificial, loving, kind, and beautiful, unaffected by cynicism and the complex difficulties facing women today. Just three days ago she had defended me against her mother to make it clear that we're not going to be stopped by the past, that we're committed to making this work.
And now, I have to say that I'm thankful for her on this night.
"Rory?" I questioned.
"I really needed to hear from you tonight...thank you for letting me do what I did."
"There's no need to," she said, "Paris, if it's on your mind, whatever it might be, I don't care what it is. I want you to share it, and I will listen and consider whatever ideas you might have, wherever they come from. That's why I drew closer to you than Dean. He never let me go off the script; it was his way or nothing at all."
"But, but, what if one of my ideas...it freaks you out? You might consider--"
She cut me off before another word could be spoken. "Laughing at the concept, then shrugging it off and suggesting something else." Rory sighs contently. "I didn't summon the courage to ask you to be my girlfriend just so we could do the same boring things everybody else does. We both read a lot, we think a lot, and from your REM state, we both dream a lot. I'm not the girl who came into Chilton two years ago, inexperienced and green. You've whipped me into shape, and milady..." she whispers the next few words seductively "...you've created a monster."
I have to shut my eyes quickly, audibly shuddering at the idea of this innocent girl drawing out my aggressive, sexual, and demanding dream version of her into reality. "Rory..."
"Just you wait until you get back into Connecticut, sweets, you're going to a very wanting girl on your hands, denied of your touch and kiss for days and days." Oh dear God, I'm going to be leaky at every thought of her until the flight home! And she knows damn well she has me being a pile of goo.
Then with a yawn from her after saying those words, I have to remember that it's late and we're both filled with turkey, so sleep will be coming soon.
"Ready for bed then?" I asked.
"Beyond ready for bed," she says dreamily. "The moment I hit END I'm out, guaranteed. I could've never thought, in all my time knowing you, that you'd end up doing this to me."
I shake my head, also surprised at myself. "No way I could've either, that was raw. I didn't even think about it all, beyond the dream." I use my left hand to brush the sweat from my forehead. "But it was definitely fun and balanced out this awful day for me. It was worth the wait."
"You're as delicious as a dessert course," she says softly, holding back a laugh. "Sorry, after so much food today I had to make that quip, it was just sitting there in my mind!"
"If I was there I'd be giving you a dirty look, but you lucked out, Gilmore. Just don't do it again." I shook my head and smiled despite what I said, and started to close up the call. "I hope you have a good sleep, and good luck finding things for everybody." I double-check to make sure that they're going holiday shopping. "You are doing that, right?"
"Of course we are...it's just that there's this one thing I've been meaning to ask you."
"O-kay...shoot." I didn't know she was going shopping for me already, it's only been three weeks. Probably asking what CVS imitation perfume I prefer, I thought to myself, knowing her financial limitations.
"Frederick's or Victoria's?" Uh, color me speechless...was she trying to kill me?! Thank God I had the choice right off the top of my head.
"D-d-definitely Victoria's, no doubts. Sharon shops at Frederick's and drags me along; it's embarrassing and tacky being in that place and buying from it!"
"Thank you Paris!" I'm sure she enjoyed asking that, since I won't be able to get the image of her within a VC fitting room doing her best Heidi Klum impression out of my mind all weekend.
"You're deluded and an evil tease, Gilmore!" I seethe out.
"You think that now," she coos, "but Monday, back in school, you'll be undressing me with your eyes, trying to find out what's on beneath my blouse. Just that alone...it'll make this trip all worth it."
"It will," I respond, thinking about how special it was that Rory was picking out things to wear, just for me. It was warming to know that I was influencing her style in some way. "If you could get some front-closers perhaps, something that gives you a slight boost upward. I think the best moment of the school day for me is when Miss Peters leaves and you undo your tie, those three buttons, and then untuck your blouse, that line down your sternum visible up to the point where you give me a taste. I can look within your shirt, when you bend down to look at the layout on the table, or examining press copies..." I felt my mouth water as I spoke, the picture of looking in and seeing the definition of the top of her breasts, the pale red-pocked skin disappearing beneath soft, embellishing lace and silk cupping each breast. That simple but delectable image is such a calm influence helping get me through the tedious drafting and printing processes of the Franklin.
She takes the flirt just a bit further on, her tired voice almost ready to give into her psyche. "Anything special below?"
"You can do whatever you want."
Ahh, but Rory is perceptive. "I can, at least until I'm in the archive room as you keep the rolling ladder steady from above, looking up to see if I'm all right. Or if I have to get on tiptoe to reach for a book in class on the high shelf."
Looks like she's onto my snuck glances, damn. I doubt I can keep many more glimpsing secrets from her. "If you'd go with a higher cut, you'll hear few complaints from me."
"I will see what I can do, I have a little bit of a budget there for myself. I've been saving up some of my Inn work money and birthday cash for fun stuff like tomorrow's trip. Everything else usually goes to the Fez fund or my Harvard jar."
"Just one thing, dear--"
My concern was quickly abated by her sense of worry within my tone. "Lorelai will think I'm at the mall bookstore, and I will be. Just long enough to buy a couple books and use the bags from there to sneak my purchases under her nose after I leave Victoria's Secret, I'm not trying anything on for her!"
I laughed, still remembering the commandments Ms. Gilmore scared into me only a few days before. "Why do I feel her rules won't last long?"
"She's just protective, you know that. But as she gets comfortable, thankfully she also becomes forgetful of things." Rory yawns one more time, and it's longer, so I know it's probably time to wrap things up. "It's time now."
"Yeah, it is." My voice sounds down about letting her go. My cell phone then beeps its error message for a low battery, and I know I have to leave her. "You sleep well then Ror, and have pleasant dreams."
"I will," she affirms softly. "You too. Hopefully of the both of us there, together."
"There's no doubt about that there. You were wonderful tonight, we took a great step forward."
"And you were amazing for suggesting we do this; it helped my critical and mental thinking skills."
"Mine too, this phone thing kept me on my toes, never tedious." Only we would get off on logic and thought processes, we so have to be abnormal. Not that I'm complaining...
"All right, I'll talk to you sometime this weekend; you know where to call if the voice mails don't suffice."
"How about during dinner tomorrow," I suggest dirtily, "at the dinner table, the phone on vibrate in a pocket as you talk to Em--"
"Don't you dare!" she shrieks. "Great, I'm going to have that on my mind!"
"Hey, you're the one saying you're picking out underwear for me, I can't have all the fun!"
"You're right, I deserve it after all." She sighs and curls into her sheets. "Good luck with the rest of yours, and don't let them get to you."
"It's been seventeen years, they won't, promise." I move my hand towards the handset to find the END button by feel. "Goodnight, darling."
"Goodnight, my dearest." I pucker my lips together and make a kiss noise as a buss the microphone. She does the same thing, closing out the conversation, and then hanging up her line as I hear her voice disappear from mine. I hit my own END button, bring the phone up, and disconnect the headset as I read the display to see how much time has gone by;
Length of call 1:14:23 - Current time 9:22pm
Wow...so much for Daddy being thankful he didn't have a daughter who yacked on the phone all the time! The phone actually felt warm as I placed it into my hand from the antenna and transmitter's heat, and reading that the both of us talked that long? It made me realize how much of a connection that we really had. Every minute of that conversation was enjoyed and it's nice to finally think that my longest call ever is now not to anyone representing Harvard or any one giving me assistance in getting into that school. I feel a smile wash across my face as I get up, draping the blanket around my body as I dig into my hardback luggage looking for the cordless phone charger, a change of panties, and pajamas. It's unbelievable to think that an unwanted trip to Florida was another step in taking my resolved and composed self off-track, and in place, my true self is finally coming out and forming as things with Rory ratchet up.
I think about all of the last two hours, and the day before that as I look out the window, tired, but still awake because I still feel all alone down here without Rory. My hair in a sloppy ponytail to the side, I look down towards the beach across the highway, overhead lights dotting the landscape of the sandy beaches below. The light fades into nothingness within a few hundred years as the peninsula meets the ocean, the only visible objects for miles east being the bright moon shining across the whitecaps of the Atlantic.
I remember back to being a small child, when my father had two vacation homes on the Long Island shore of the Sound, and another one near Provincetown on the Cape. All three of us and Fran would go to either of the homes for a month in the summer, and I found myself released from all of my obligations as I could just be a child and have fun, no matter Sharon's begging that I needed to stay in the house and study. However, my father believed in solitary childhood experiences, so with Nanny watching from above, I was able to head down to the private shoreline at each house and just do whatever I wanted to at the beach. Most of the time, I would sun, but more often, I would swim, the temperate water and mild current giving my muscles a workout, though the water of Massachusetts Bay did a number on my hair. I would just spend all day there, occasionally sharing the moment with another kid, or Madeline and Louise as we spent those long summer hours just enjoying the water and the beach.
The best moments though were at the Sound house when I snuck out beneath Fran's nose at four in the morning, ran down to the shore, and would watch the sun rise to the east over the Hamptons. It was such a beautiful sight to me, knowing renewal was coming, that I had another chance to make this day better than the last. I'd listen to the songs of the birds in the trees on the bluffs overlooking the beaches, tranquil and quiet, the waves crashing in at my bared feet, jeans tucked in up to my thighs. I'd watch for the time it took for the sun to fully rise above the horizon, and then I would climb the staircase back up to the house, hoping my new day was as good as the last.
Later, vacation trips would become few and far between as my father inherited the family company, finding family time lacking, and Sharon became the one to control my social life. Then it was time to be thrown into the awkward camps of upstate New York, fending off advances from guys I didn't care about and friendship from snotty bitch girls looking to me only for my anger, not my kindness. I try to forget camps as much I can, they were never positive for me (one morning where my bunkmates poured water on the crotch of my jeans while I slept, and then made it out like I wet my pants sealed that forever).
By the end of summer 2000, Daddy had sold that Sound vacation home because the rowdy hip crowd had found the Hamptons and he could get a good price for the place, so we had one last week at the summer house. The last morning we spent there was Labor Day, and while Sharon stayed behind to catch more rest, my father and I made that last trip down the steps towards the beach, and my rock, the one I would always watch the sunrises from. We sat down on it together, his hands across my waist, enveloping me in his comforting arms as the first peek of daylight appeared over the horizon.
"Par," he said softly, "do you know what happened the day before I met your mother?" I was curious, so I asked him. He recalled that morning 22 years ago as if it was in the current time. "I watched the sun rise from the library in the Manor, and my first thought that morning was, 'will I ever find love?'"
"That can't be true," I said bitterly, my love for Tristan still unrequited. "You wished on the Sun?"
"I did, Sweet Pea," he said, using his longtime nickname for me. "The next evening, I was at Darryl's wedding, and I was content to be alone and in peace, I avoided the garter throw and went for the cold cuts tray, that reception was horrible, duller than the actual wedding." His brown eyes were wide as he recalled the moment he had met her. "Shar had come to the party because her father knew the friend of a friend of a friend of Darryl's, and she went out of obligation to her dad to represent him at the wedding. She was bored, I was bored, and somehow when I her saw at the cake line, that purple dress she wore sliding across her perfectly, those dark eyes, the way she laughed when someone told her an awful joke about Darryl's later wedded fate...I got butterflies. Just imagine me, trying to approach that impeccable woman, thinking to myself, 'is this the one? Is she meant for me?'. My hands shaking, cursing to myself in schoolyard Hebrew not to screw this up." He smiles and laughs at the exact moment. "And you know what happened?"
"You fell in love?"
"I tripped on the sole of my shoe and knocked her into the cake!"
I shriek, shocked, because no one ever told me the exact meeting. "Daddy, you're kidding me, no way!"
"Klutziness runs in your blood, Sweet Pea, I was mortified! Here I was at an event for one of my closest friends, I find the woman of my dreams, and she ends up with a face full, and a brafull, of butter cream! Oh God, I wanted to run, I had just ruined a wedding and any shot at Sharon because I was so stupid! My own suit ended up with lots and lots of cake on it too as she threw some at me, cursing me out and saying how dare I trip and make her fall into the cake."
"So she didn't like you," is what I got out of it.
"At first," he clarifies. "It took us three months to even get to that first date. We kept bumping into each other around Hartford, first at the dry cleaners where our wedding clothes went. Next, at a few events here and there, including a gallery opening, charity gala, wherever we were, we were both there. She wouldn't even look me in the eye because I took down her social standing quite a few points." I begin to think he resorted to drastic John Cusack Say Anything moment to woo her as he went on, until he got to the thick of the tale.
"Let me tell you, you have her anger, you have her drive, and damn right you've got her stubbornness. So I'm at a dead end with her, and finally it comes to me. No way she responds to basic wooing. And I'm hopelessly in love with her, like you are with your blonde guy. So I think about what I could do to get her, and nothing is coming to me at all. I think about giving her a replacement outfit, paying the dry cleaning bill, anything. It seems too chauvinist to me to do that, insulting to the independence of a woman. It gets to the point where your Nana and I are in the kitchen, her trying to tell me this crush isn't the end of the world, but she'd help me out any way she could."
"So what did you come up with?"
"I found out where she lived and I went over there to try to woo her. And wouldn't you know it? Grandma Martinez-DeBartolo has standards, she would never accept her daughter going out with a pharmaceutical chemist! But I went through with it, no matter what." He smiles, the young love like yesterday to him. "I knock on her door, ask to see her, and get refused. I tell the woman that I just have to give Shar one thing, that's it, I'll be out of her way forever. 'Fine, come on in'. She concedes, and her maid guides me upstairs to her door. The maid announces my presence. At first, she refuses to let me in, tries to have me go away. But I notice something in her voice as she asks me to leave." He stops, picturing the moment clearly. "She was crying."
"I met her at the worst possible time, and learned the reason she rejected me...she was going out with someone already, some meathead discus thrower from UH. I sat down next to her on the bed and asked her what was the problem, and she said she didn't like him anymore, and she didn't know exactly why. He wasn't violent, nor mean, he was just kind of not the right guy for her. But, she was mad at me."
"You didn't do anything though." I don't understand the reason, until he lets me know.
"Dear, she wasn't mad at me because I put her in the cake or ruined her love life. She was mad because she fell in love with me, and didn't know how to approach it because she thought she was too good for me. It took some explaining and apologizing on both our parts to clear the picture up, but eventually, things smoothed out, and after a couple friendly outings, we finally kissed. And from there, we never looked back."
"That's why she threw the cake at you in the wedding picture then, for a joking kind of revenge?" I laughed at looking at those old pictures of them, in happier times.
"I deserved every piece of cake that hit my face...and I loved it." He smiled, bringing his graspy hug tighter. "And I love her." Then, a kiss on my forehead. "And you. Without you, my life wouldn't be what it is. You're both the reason I live on, because without you two, there's nothing to look forward to."
"I love you too, Daddy," I said softly. "So a wish upon the sunrise?" The first peek of the circular object appeared in the offshore waters, and it was time.
"Yep, you can go ahead." I started to make my wish aloud, but he covered my mouth with his hand. "No, Par, it shouldn't be shared; it stays a secret, between you and the sun."
I noticed the similarity that the Sun is actually a very close star. "Why do I have a feeling this is like wishing on a star?"
"Just think of it as the most important star, Sweet Pea; your wish is to come true for sure."
I did just that, holding back from anyone what exactly I did wish for, though love was obvious to my father. As we went up the stairs for the last time, I held hope in my heart that it would come true within weeks, maybe even days.
My wish stayed unfulfilled for two years. And like a comet crashing into a planet, my father didn't know at that time in four months, his wish would fall apart, his heart crushed as the heartless woman who had borne me had reached her breaking point and fully fallen out of love with him. I don't know if he still believes that wishes are something not to be made, that they're just something silly created by a philosopher back then for nothing but entertainment value.
Whatever they are, I have to believe they're true. Looking out towards the beach, I still recall that morning, remembering what I said into that largest star in the solar system.
I wish that I would fall in love with someone, and they would have my heart forever.
I could've never thought that replacing "Tristan" within that sentence to "someone" would change so much, and it would turn out to be a person I wouldn't meet until the end of that month. That I would start out shunning and freezing them out from ever getting to know me, taking every opportunity to shoot down their roots, and use their past against them.
Nor could I predict the person would destroy their bond to me so abruptly and with all the cruelty they could spare, and the one I didn't welcome in to know me would become the most important one in my life.
I could've never even thought that instead of a male, I would fall for another woman, so innocent, unaffected, cynicism quickly shot down with her sarcasm, quick wit, while I awed at her attention to detail, how she would never get down on anything, that everything she faced was a challenge.
For all the reason, facts, definites and reality in this world, that one wish on the sun would bring Rory into my life, I could never imagine that as I began my sophomore year.
There's no way I'm giving up on her, ever. No one will stop me from keeping Rory's love. Sharon may have crushed my father's soul with the tip of her stiletto heel, but because of her, my heart is hardened, only letting a select few in. I'm not going to lose her, and I will give up anything to prove it true.
Looking out the window, I know I'm in for a fight to give her my heart, fully. And as I shut the blinds and prepare to fall asleep, the moonlight fading from view as they close.
Sharon can do whatever she wants to keep me away from her. Tonigh,t however, I've had a taste of what a relationship on all cylinders can feel like. Not even in the same room together, we have nothing but chemistry and mutual admiration for each other, and I know that soon that it will germinate into a full love...
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