DISCLAIMER: You know by now if I could've, I would have the rights to the show from Amy Sherman-Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone and Warner Bros. Television. But thus all I have to show for it is a healthy respect for lovely blonde Method actresses hailing from the Garden State, an urge to see incredibly passionate women make love to each other in multiple fandoms, annoyance at certain programs for making existing romances hard to follow (ahem, Otalia), and a need to be an antidote to the fics which bring down the IQ's of smart characters around near 100 IQ points when anything with a penis is nearby. At this time note that the Gossip Girl TV series didn't exist, but it's the property of Cecily von Ziegesar and Alloy Entertainment, Porsche a brand of Porsche AG, and Kiss 95.7 is a Clear Channel station, and the branding is their registered trademark. All other colleges and products mentioned within are the property and trademarks of their respective owners, and no disrespect is meant or implied.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: You never thought I'd update this again, I'm sure. Let's just say that I have gone a few times over this chapter and found it not to my liking, so I've re-written a few parts here and there until I thought it was just right. I also had to correct some of the errors in the story on my own since betaing with me is a long process that isn't conducive to a long wait. She has reassured me though that I should be fine, and I'm going to try putting this out. Please notify me of any errors within the text, whatever they are. My thanks to Danielle for her ever unwavering support and being there for me in my darkest days when I thought fics of quantity were winning out over quality work. As I write this she was in the hospital after her appendix came out and she had a birthday where she was pretty much ill from appendicitis that was beyond awful. I don't know if this will make it up at all, but it's a small step in making her smile, I hope. All of my other readers who have stuck with me over the years and jumped in since then, thank you. I actually have two recommendations this time. Piccolo999's Eternal Flame, which I have not reviewed but have been following very closely, offers a very different view on Paris/Rory and has been an amazing read. Words fail to express how much he has the characters down, and how he has created an original character in Alison that for once has me rooting to get Paris just a little longer rather than Rory. It's an amazing and emotional story I do recommend you read, and I really appreciate when other writers express their views of the character. I must also recommend Danielle's newest for The Devil Wears Prada, The Art of Seeing, which as in the words of the Raisin Bran Crunch guy in that one commercial said, is "a mouthful of awesome!" She always manages to take a simple prompt and turn it into a masterpiece which goes way beyond the prompt and goes into the emotions of Andy and Miranda in a way that not only sparkles and titillates, but also has pure twists of emotion and heart that make it an amazing, thoughtful, and incredibly moving read that shows why long-form fics still offer the best reading experience in fanfiction. I do have 3/4 of Chapter 21 completed as of now, however it seems to be blocked, so I'm going to take my time on it. Know that the way I'm tackling Emily in this chapter is a reflection of her honesty, and I do not intend for you to hate her, but to understand her point of view. Only in a few cases do I want you to loathe a character, and I hope that you understand by the end of this chapter why she reacts in the way she does. If you're on FF.net and you're just now wondering why the girls are kissing after twenty-one reminders...it's femslash. Girls in loving relationships. If you don't like it, you don't have to read it. But if you do, a review that is helpful is always much appreciated in the end :).
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top
By Nate

Chapter Twenty
Out of the Asylum, Into the Fire


Well, this is a new feeling for me that I've never had before.

It's just this, this emptiness inside that doesn't feel like it's in your stomach, or your heart. Instead, like my lungs have lost all their air and I've just had the wind knocked out of me. I wish there was something in my past that I could tell you about to compare this to, but I'm lost. There's no way I can describe it compared to my past. I can't even cry or feel any emotion at what happened, I just feel...blank. I'm not even petrified.

The way I imagined the situation, I thought it would go better or worse, either way where I would know fully where the situation stood. But I don't have that. It's all neutral, but in that form where it's more unsure than in a serene Swiss sense. I don't even know how to really feel. Am I angry? Betrayed? Sad or disappointed?

But am I also relieved or thankful? How can I express how I feel in a word about what happened tonight?

I think that it's impossible, and that word is still elusive or in some odd tongue in southeastern Papua New Guinea that 308 people speak. Whatever it is, the word's not here.

Staring out the window as Mom and I drive home, I can't help but think that this Friday night, where I should have had the clarity I needed to proceed with my life, was just...I don't know. I wish I had a clear answer for you as to how this night turned out, but I can't just state to you the bare facts and go from there. Hell, a pro and con list is too little to even categorize what was said, what happened, ensued.

I guess I can be thankful that not once, did any of the three of us, Mom, Par, or I, lose our cool. We were composed and put up a united front that didn't crumble under pressure. And for now, the love I have for my friend is still a relative secret, only known to six people in total.

But I don't know. I'm so unsure, so shaken. Anything my girlfriend could tell me, or Mom to reassure me, those words may not work.

The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint Emily Gilmore, my grandmother, a regal woman who I use as a role model. But with my confession tonight to her, I may have lost the one family member I really wanted to be in my corner.

I don't know if I've actually lost her. God, I wish I knew for sure if she accepts us or not, because...

Maybe if I go over tonight, that clarity can be found and I can know for sure how she felt. I shake my head here as I bring my thoughts back to Wednesday night, holding Paris's hand in the small dining room of Harold Gellar's downtown loft overlooking the Statehouse, waiting for his reaction after she says the words...

Paris's POV

"I'm in love with Rory, Daddy."

I felt unsteady as I looked into the eyes of the man who first held me and delivered me after 41 hours of labor, a hellish process that brought me into the world alive and kicking hard. Staring at the same brown eyes I share with him, I clasped Rory's hand tightly as I finally came out to him. His concentration had previously been on scrubbing a dish with stubborn ziti stains that weren't coming out very easily.

The fear I had, that he would reject me was full force. It was the first time in a decade I was scared of him. Only the third time ever, with the first being my Dalmatian art canvas on his desk and the other when I kicked a soccer ball through his study's windows.

Both times he was calm and didn't even bring his hand up one inch. I expected him to this time, for his jaw to clench and that he would think I just ruined the entire family legacy.

What I expected of course, was much different from the reality. After a couple minutes of babbling on my end and watching him nod his head like he was lost as I explained why Rory was more than a best friend to me, I summed it up by confessing my love for her. Not by saying I was gay, or a lesbian. There was no need. The three of us combined in that room made up .6% of the state membership in MENSA. Of course he knew who I was.

Rory stared at me, enchanted. I thought anything would ruin that moment, just about anything. I thought this was it, that I would screw up the only parental relationship I really wanted.

Instead, I watched my father place the dish into the rack, drape the towel against the side of the sink, and smile at me, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Thank God I thought of looking nice tonight. I was going to be very disappointed if your introduced your girlfriend to me while I looked like an idiot in my Tom Brady jersey and jeans." Laughing out loud, my father came close. "So you're the little lady that's been keeping my Sweet Pea all aflutter. I knew it!"

"Daddy!" I was totally flustered and in shock. "You couldn't have known, you've never really met her before. How did you know?" I felt so very odd. "You couldn't have known."

"I heard from that Jamie boy you went out with a couple months back, said he wanted to take you out on a date back in September." He encouraged us towards the living room. "Wanted my permission and everything. Seriously, who does that anymore? I always felt so awkward about that part, giving someone permission to date you. I mean you're my daughter; it's not like you're going to bring home some odd sailor guy or one of the guys you know from the racetrack. Of course I don't feel like I need to control your life."

"Dad," I reminded him. "I just told you I'm in love with a girl. Really, you're not going to tell me I'm wrong, I'm an idiot. That I can do better with my life?"

"What do you want me to say, Paris? You're a lesbian and I don't love you anymore?"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised."

"Honey," he went on. "I accept you for whoever you are. Except if you become a drug runner; then we're going to have to have a long talk about how you have fun crossing the border." I was utterly shocked at how casual he was reacting to this. I came out of the closet and he's joking around with me. Well, he usually does the joking, but hello, I'm doing naughty things with a girl! Where's the outrage?

"Surely, you have an objection." I couldn't leave knowing that his acceptance was only a front. "I need to know." He brought me close and into a loving hug as he had me look up to him as Rory watched.

"Paris, I can't help but want you happy. I'm your father, and I love you as my flesh and blood." His stern voice stirred with the emotion of a man who had stood by my side for many years. "Yes, I can admit that I'm a bit down that my side of the fence wasn't for you at all, and our sex was nothing but constant disappointment that drew you towards your friend over there. But how can I be mad at you? There's nothing you've done wrong."

"But I feel wrong, somehow." I did take in his point about being disappointed with guys and felt the need to explain further. "It's not that I hate guys though. Trust me, I'm not frustrated by them, but I just never felt that connection to them. They're not to blame."

"Oh." He felt a little stunned at how I responded. "I...I didn't mean to say that you felt for her based on guys letting you down."

"No, I understand." I sighed, letting my defenses down a bit. "Trust me, the issues isn't that they're idiots, not at all. I just don't feel an attraction to them."

"But you still hate Vance Beardsley III, right?" I laughed as we once again shared how much we loathed that boy.

"I will always hate that boy, guaranteed." I smiled a little, but I was still feeling in my Morrow mode, wanting to squeeze every bit of information out of my father.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I have to know." Looking down at the floor, I felt happy, but still very confused. "I mean, Dad, I just told you that I'm into girls. How can you be so blasé about this? Where's the surprise, the shock, the disappointment?"

"Sweetie," he said, reassuring me. "I'd rather you be happy with your friend than going out with some guy because it looks good on the surface. I don't want you to have to live your life thinking that by putting your mother and I first, that's the only way to get ahead." He kissed me on the forehead softly. "I know how you are, that you crave that closeness and validation. I've seen it more with Rory than I ever did with Tristan. Watching you at school events or the few times she was at the same social event as you are, there's a bond there that in the back of my mind, I couldn't place until you told me. In the end, I want you happy, not disappointed in yourself."

"But...but..." I breathed in deeply, still prepared for some kind of argument which wouldn't ever ensue. Looking at the two most important people in my life in that room, I just felt so overwhelmed by my father's instant acceptance. At the very least he should've been worried or wondering if he should still send me to Birnbaum, but there was none of that. He was more casual about my outing than Madeline. That in itself, was shocking. "You should be ranting about why I'm not going to give you grandchildren right away or they'll have to be through a test tube, or that I'm seriously screwing up my Harvard chances by dating Rory."

I felt a bit out of control trying to get some kind of reaction from him. "Please, get angry at me in some form." I don't know what was driving me to this, a need to be told I was wrong. He looked down at me, and I'm sure Rory was curious as to why I was trying to self-sabotage myself.

No matter what I said though, I was reminded of his incredible patience and concern that never wavered. I could annoy any of the booster mothers at three paces, but my father was invincible to my arguments. Sitting me down on the sofa as Rory sat to my right in a recliner, Daddy made me see that he still loved me for who I was, and who I will be.

"I can't be mad at you. There's no need to. You fell in love, and that's all that matters. Who you're in love with and why aren't for me to figure out, because only you know the real reasons. But after what you went through, first with Tristan, and then your mother, I can't blame you for trying to find a confidant in anyone, even another girl. I just want you to be happy."

"Even with Rory?" I shook my head. "You know her family history, it's not the best. Even she could admit that herself."

"Par," he demanded. "Stop this, now. Stop trying to make me hate you, hate your friend, because I can't." He wrinkled his forehead and put his fingers to his temples. "What has that meshungina done to you, seriously?"

"I just...I'm, um, I don't know." My voice was unsteady as I looked towards my girlfriend, still feeling so unsure of myself. "I'm not looking for an opportunity to get out of this, not at all. I just want this to be true."

"Sweetie, when she was born and what her mother's age is are of no concern to me at all. She's smart, driven, beautiful and kind, and nothing that the society mavens could say about this fine young lady should ever concern you two." His firm tone was kind with praise for the both of us as he tried to obliterate all negative thoughts from my psyche. "I highly approve of your girlfriend. I was actually saddened when I heard of her mother fleeing to Stars Hollow away from the corrupting influences of high society, because in a time where we all could have helped Lorelai out, we all failed. I still can't forgive some of my former friends for blacking her out when she needed that help the most."

Rory tried to reason with him that what happened was inevitable. "Mr. Gellar, it's OK. What happened with my mother and I, it probably would have happened sooner or later. You don't have to take the bullet for us."

"I know. But if there's one thing I regret, it's that you and Paris didn't meet sooner. You were both born within two months of each other and that should've been enough to start an early friendship. I even thought before she left that you and Paris would be friends in the sandbox. But I guess it wasn't meant to be at that time." He shook his head as I looked up at him, awed at his optimism that if Rory had stayed in Hartford we'd have been best friends way back in '85.

"Does it matter though? If I met her in 1990, 1995, whenever, Dad, I don't care. We made up for lost time and...I can't be without her anymore." I sighed lovingly, feeling so overwhelmed by what I felt for her in my heart, going on to explain the attraction further and how we came together. He was attentive, enjoying the story of how we came together, seeing the parallels between Rory and the loves of his life and explaining that my romantic side was always there, but it was hidden behind a shield due to how boys treated me, along with my mother, and how great it was that Rory was the one pushing me out of my shell. Recounting the building of our love, I felt less shy as time went on, and finally getting over that he wasn't going to condemn us, it turned out that Rory found my father to be just as loving and wonderful to me as she had expected. We both drew from his experiences and war stories of failed relationships, hoping that our bond would survive all.

By the end of the evening, coming out to my first parent ended up being...fun. Yes, I know usually a term like that wouldn't be used, but with my father, it was. Though the whole 'yes, we had sex, and I was safe' talk? Something I do not want to share again for a very, very long time! Thankfully, certain terms never entered into the vernacular of the conversation. There is one thing I never want to picture, and that is Harold Gellar talking to me, his daughter, about dental dams. No need for that!

Despite my father's acceptance, all three of us know that Sharon is going to be the linchpin in everything as far as a reaction. No matter what Rory's grandparents might say about us, we have to hold hope that my mother accepts us in some way. Talking to my father, I didn't get the sense that acceptance was coming.

"I would just go in with a clear mind, sweetie. Don't confront her, don't be stern, and don't let her get to you. She wants you to not be focused so she'll try to get you mad. Don't let that happen, and just stay cool." I'm thankful for that advice, and hopefully it goes well. I was happy for my dad's simple and wholehearted acceptance, and that both of us have one parent we can trust to keep this a secret for now. He loves me, he likes Rory, and that's all that matters to me for now.

Of course, if I could have Richard and Emily also enjoy me as Rory's romantic partner, I'd love that too. But that had to be a little more carefully thought out and planned...

Rory's POV

You know that regret you feel the moment you walk in the door into a situation you didn't think would get to you so much?

That was me at about 4:30 this afternoon as Grandma's maid opened the door for us, while Paris held onto the strap of her bag tightly, nervous.

"I hope we both know what we're doing," she said forcefully, and I could tell the stress was getting to her.

Great, I thought to myself. Throw some doubts into my mind before we see Grandma.

Going into Wednesday, I was petrified to say anything about our relationship to anyone but Paris's father. We were both scared of him and a bit fearful that he would think of me as on par with my mother, a chip off the old block as far as scandal.

The surprise that he was completely accepting of me took me out of my element, though. Something like this, I'd usually pro and con an entire composition book on until I was sure everything in my being knew I was making the right decision. I would decide with a clear and sound mind, and the both of us would go in fully prepared for anything.

Damn you, Howard Gellar. Seriously, why do you have to be so Daddy Warbucks to your offspring and spoil her with such a positive reaction to her falling in love with me? Really, putting in all these fluffy thoughts...

So a long story short, Paris drove me home, and I thought through the ride about how I didn't want to hide from my grandparents any longer. Over the last week or so, I had these thoughts that I owed it to them that they should know, that they had to. In my dreams I replayed a situation where someone eavesdropped on Madeline and found out about us, and let Grandma know as soon as they could. A speech of shame and embarrassment from her followed, along with me being called a disappointment.

I didn't want them to find out from someone else. I didn't even want a rumor that we were a couple to reach them. I sighed as I looked down at my lap, and Paris touched my arm.

"Something the matter?" Her voice, soft and full of concern. I thought of lying and brushing it off as if it was nothing, but how could I? I promised transparency to her the moment I spilled about Dean and his cheating heart. How could I lie about this?

"I'm...uh." I felt the words form slowly. "Would you hate me if...if I, um, invited you to dinner on Friday night? With my grandparents?" I gulped, ready for the rejection and for her to yell at me for being rash.

She didn't. Instead, she slowed her speed and slid into the far right lane of traffic, doing what she could to focus on both me and the road.

"You want to come out to them?" I thought I heard a hint of apprehension in her voice. Nodding, I felt my heart heavy as I explained why.

"I can't look into my grandpa's eyes and lie to him. Just the last two weeks, I haven't had to say anything. But I know I will soon. Ever since we were able to become close since Chilton came into play, I just can't see being dishonest with him. After all, without him, Harvard Is just a distant dream, and you and I would have been in our solitary beings, closed in and walled up." I felt ready to cry, hating to have to admit that the reaction of my grandfather meant so much more to me than anyone else.

Paris didn't want to leave one stone unturned, however.

"What about Emily?"

I nodded. "Frankly, I'm petrified of coming out to her, honest to God. I know she's so conservative and closed-minded, very traditional. But I don't want to lie to her either, because she loves me as her granddaughter. She has hopes and dreams for me, and if I don't say anything..." I was silent. I knew the one place I didn't want her to find out my sexual orientation, and that was the minute before she sprung one of Hartford's infamous meet market parties on me. Who wants to tell that woman before she shoves you out to the lions you're not even close to thinking about sharing a bed with anything in a tuxedo?

"You're saying then, that you really would rather not have her find out you like me when she's trying to hook you up with Vance Beardsley IV?"

"Hey, that's your stalker!" I rolled my eyes at her. "Don't you dare try to push that guy on me!"

"What if I pushed him towards you and you pushed him onto the Metro-North tracks?"

Groaning, I felt like whapping her on the head. "Oh, Paris. What would I do without your Wednesday Addams-like cracks in my life?"

"It'd be a lot less interesting, for sure." She brought herself back towards the topic at hand. "But about Emily and Richard. You're right, we have to say something to them, and I'm ready to be at your side. We're going to have to do this together, and the sooner, the better. I don't know how they're going to react, but if we make it clear how solid we are, there's a chance."

She clarified how we needed to go into that house on Friday night. "We don't joke about it, and we don't joke about guys at their expense. It has to be clear that we've had eyes only for each other for the last few months and that we've been considering this since at least July to ourselves. If we go in there and make them think on any aspect that we're not serious about being a same-sex couple, the support won't be there."

"Does this mean my mom should be on her best behavior?" I asked.

"Best is putting it lightly, dear." Her voice was steady and firm. "As much as she's joked about us publicizing our relationship, this isn't The Birdcage. She cracks wise and you know our credibility is shot. I know she seriously is rooting for us, and we need to make it clear to her that she needs to be supportive, not glib. Just one aside and I'm afraid that Emily will not be amused."

"She won't even crack a smile. I'm less afraid of Grandpa, I think he'll accept. But Grandma..." I sighed, looking up at the roof of the car. "Oh my God. She thought she was done with this." I felt Paris's hand wrap around mine to show her support. "This is...I don't know."

"Rory, it has to work out. Just don't stress about it, and walk on tenterhooks around her. You have to believe that what you're doing is right."

"I hope so." I still felt the courage to reveal myself to them, but deep inside my mind I felt like I was about to enter a minefield. Looking out the window, I felt Paris keep her hand on mine for the rest of the drive down to the Hollow, a sign of the bond we've begun to build outside of romance. Nothing had to be said or done, just her next to me enough to sweep away my doubts.

The next evening, we talked to Mom about everything, what we wanted to do. At first she was ready to joke about it, until the both of us made it clear that for tonight she should stay serious and be ready to fight for us. There was some debate from her, thoughts that I was moving faster than we originally planned, that I might not be ready to inch away from the safety of my wardrobe. But if Paris could do so with her father, I had to with those that meant just as much to me as that man does to my girlfriend. I didn't abandon her in my time of need, and I needed all that strength and firm will she exuded to guide me to make Emily see that I was the same little girl she always knew, except she fell for someone unexpected.

Mom's words to me as I went to bed last night seem as apt now as they did when they were said.


"Yeah, Mom?"

Her eyes shining proudly, she took in a breath. "You're going through a trial by fire with what you're doing. If you can go up to your grandmother, look her in the eye and just be strong about how close you are with Paris and that her disapproval won't stop you, you're braver than I ever was when I told her I was having you."

I felt a bit overwhelmed by that declaration, and shrugged at exactly the impact of what I was doing. "Mom, I'm telling her I'm a lesbian. Nothing compares to telling her you're pregnant at sixteen."

"You're sure about that?" She shook her head. "What you're going to tell them tomorrow night is far and away something that won't be easy at all. There were options I had when I told them the news. This...this is huge. Saying you love Paris, a woman, to them. I mean, Christopher, we had that history and all that going on. But I just..." She watched me as I felt the impact hit that not only was I saying something, but I may be about to shut plenty of doors with my romance. No way is some religious organization going to offer me a scholarship, for instance. And I can forget any offers of money from places that prefer the 'girl next door' image.

Yet, even with all these doubts, my heart and my morals would always win out over what everyone else thought. Ignoring everyone who snickered at me at Stars Hollow schools and those at Chilton who keep calling me Mary, I got off to them. I let it drive me further, push it farther. Whoever was in fourth place in the academic standings, I don't give a fuck about.

Sorry to be so cold, but I don't. It's Brad, Paris, and I. Everyone else is background noise to me when it comes to the books, and I only compete with those two. It's a spirited rivalry, and if someone happens to bump in, I can count on those other two to push themselves farther to keep me in the race.

"Mom. It's decided. I don't care what they say, but I have to do this for my own good. I can't look them in the eye and lie to them. Especially not Grandpa. If Paris is the thing that pushes me out of their lives...I'll have to cope. But first, I focus on spitting it out." I voiced exactly why I needed to say something. "I don't want them to find out from somebody else. I also get this feeling that if Mrs. Gellar finds out before them, it's not going to be pretty. I want to be the one to tell them, with Paris's hand in mine, expressing how committed I am to see this through."

With finality, I faced her down from trying to talk me out of it. "It's going to be done, and if she tries to blame you for my behavior, I promise you that you will be defended. This was my will and desire and even if you've accepted it, I can't lay the burden on you, Mom. I knew what I was getting into before I confessed, so it's up to me to learn from my decisions."

I felt spirited last night and through most of today with the confidence that I've seemed to find out of nowhere. I don't know what it was that made me assertive, whether it was Sharon's mind games with us Saturday night or my change from timid around Francie to be feisty around her. She hasn't gotten through anything lately and I can tell she's getting ready for a fight on the gay/straight alliance. I know her thoughts right now are drifting towards thinking she'll expose me, but the evidence I've built up of her hate of groups that steal the thunder from traditional sororities like hers might be enough to knock her off from her pedestal.

There's something I'll admit though. It's very weird seeing Brad and Madeline flirt subtlety in front of us, the knowledge that they're doing the same secret romance dance at school like us strangely odd. That Madeline is the one keeping mum takes it to a different level. She not only has to hide us, but herself from scrutiny. I could never imagine the stress she's going through to keep her life secret after being outspoken and open for so long.

Not to mention that biology class? The most awkward time of day. Watching Louise burn into us across the room as the four of us partner up on a project, we're making her feel sort of like an outsider, through no fault of her own. Madeline seems to be giving her a cold shoulder that she doesn't deserve, and though I understand her sudden streak of independence, she shouldn't be leaving Louise in the cold like that. Not that we're doing too much better ourselves, but it's different with Madeline as far as Louise.

I watched her a few times this week, and she seemed a bit isolated, afraid. As if her sexuality can no longer cover over the other issues she buries under the popular image she maintains. She's becoming withdrawn from us, and though I want to say something, in part Louise is the one who needs to ask for help from us. When I tried to approach her one afternoon to ask her for an article about trends, her voice was not at all like the deep purr I've gotten used to over the last two years, and she seemed angry at me.

"I really don't give a damn, Gilmore, to be honest," she seethed out. "Pass it on to somebody else."

"Louise, you haven't written an article in about a month, you need to do something." I sighed, trying to explain I was trying to have her back. "Adding in small notes to syndicated articles is not developing your writing skills."

"So what? The article's half-done already. All I have to do is add a few local mall names and there you go, instant article."

"Ms. Peters isn't pleased though," I explained. "Honestly, if Paris and I weren't running the paper, you'd have been off months ago. Please, Louise, do something, write something."

"Why should I?" Louise scoffed, tossing back her hair, seeming to hiss at me. "I write for shit and my ideas are junk in student gov, right?" She pushed towards me and I felt intimidated while she tried to push me away from prying.

"Louise, we've never said that!"

"I know, because you can't swear; you're a good little girl." She began to throw her bag over her shoulder, deciding to leave early. "Stop butting in on the way I live my life, because it's none of your business. I'm fine."


"I said, shut up. I'm getting tired of this." Staring me down, I felt her anger and annoyance for being told what to do. It was like she didn't care anymore or was giving up, ready to live as a trophy wife. God, I didn't want that. I could see how lost she was, that she was covering for something. She left the newsroom and I decided not to tell Paris about the confrontation because she had enough on her mind. Madeline felt the same way, and though we discussed Louise's sour mood throughout the week, we never probed beyond the top layer. We couldn't interfere, and I don't know that we want to. Whatever has Louise in a dark mood, I hope it doesn't take her long to deal with it.

I tried to tune out all of those negative vibes going around throughout the rest of the week, thankful for the times Paris and I could be alone and be affectionate. Brad felt a little less leery around us too, actually joining us at the table when Louise went off-campus for her lunch, which was always convoluted as there are no restaurants or fast food places within a 1/2 mile of the campus. Things were going well between the four of us, and though we couldn't talk about our relationships at all, nothing else could be stopped. Though Paris still directed a few good-spirited jibes in Brad's direction, the support he was showing for us was changing her opinion of him and she even laughed at a few of his jokes and was glad to see him so calm and less shaky in front of her. So school was going pretty much well, except for Louise.

Still, that big picture, dinner with the grandparents, weighted down on the both of us both yesterday and today. We talked about it on the rides to and from school and at my house, the both of us nervous and trying to figure out how to break the news to them in a casual and calm sense. We discussed everything, down to how we would dress and come in, and we even intentionally held back on doing some schoolwork in order to set up the premise of inviting her for dinner. We were planning on making it as comfortable for everyone as it could possibly be, something where they could see us together and hopefully agree that we did make a good couple. We had work ahead of us to further everything, including finding a way for Paris to sneak away from her mother for the night. Which Madeline volunteered to do for us before she left the Franklin Thursday afternoon.

"You're going to help me choose clothes," she cheerfully came up with. "I mean, without Louise I have nothing but a mirror or some paid clerk to help me out. Although, you're not really going to be there, so I'll still have to go with the mirror so it's a moot point and you're just using me for an excuse to attend dinner with Rory, but you know--"

"Madeline, I get it. Trust me," Paris said calmly, shaking her head. "Thanks for covering for the both of us."

"Hey, you're my best buddies, my gals, my ladies. What would I do without you both?" She giggled, hugging Paris and wishing us both luck with everything.

But not before Paris decided to bring out the claws and get just a bit of revenge on Brad for having to hear about his sexual exploits.

"By the way, Mads, is Brad doing anything tomorrow night?"

"Um, I'm not sure? Why?"

"Have him tag along," she said non-chalantly. She knew it was something Brad would do, just because he was young and didn't know that helping his girlfriend shop would pretty much consist of him carrying fifteen bags down the atrium from one end to the other. I told her she was evil when Madeline left, but in her own unique way, she just shrugged it off.

"Hey, the guy needs to learn sooner or later."

"What, he needs to take andro to carry Madeline's stuff?"

"Well, I can't tease him anymore, so I might as well outsource it in any way possible." She got back to work after giving me a hand touch, and I could only just shrug and remember that the Paris I knew still had that awesome mean streak inside of her. I shook my head in her direction as she went to talk to one of our photographers.

Everything was going well as we came up to the door. We had a free study project from Dr. Eure to finish by next Wednesday, giving us the excuse we needed to study. Paris had a change of clothes and shoes in her bag, and I had those things in my bedroom at the mansion. With Paris covered, Lorelai appraised and everything taken care of, the maid greeted us as we came into the house, as Paris for the first time felt at ill ease wearing her traditional blazer instead of the sweater for that day of school. Our saddle shoes clacked against the ground, the both of us feeling suddenly nervous about what we were doing. We both kept our heads up and looked straight ahead, trying to show this united front we hoped would convince Grandma and Grandpa that nothing was going to stop us.

We were brought into the living room, where Grandma sat looking over lists for a holiday event to take place over the next couple weeks. The maid, hoping not to get fired tried to softly get her attention.

"Mrs. Gilmore, your granddaughter and her friend are here to study before dinner together." Emily looked up from her paperwork, and smiled towards the both of us. My stomach felt in knots facing up to the woman with my girlfriend for the first time in a non-scholastic sense.

"Girls, what are you doing here?" she asked.

"We have some work to go over in life sciences and Paris decided to get a jump on the work," I responded. "I hope that you don't mind, but it seemed not prudent to drive home to study and then come back here after only a couple hours."

Paris rationalized her reasoning further. "I have to keep an eye on my gas usage. Up to $1.75, you know? I don't know what I'm going to do when it bumps over $2.10." She laughed nervously.

"Perfectly understandable, I like your thinking, Paris." She got up to take us both in. "I assume you'd like to use Rory's room to have full concentration on the topic?"

I nodded my head, and then lead into the trigger point for the evening. "If you wouldn't mind setting another place, Paris wouldn't mind staying over to eat with us tonight. I know how you are about guests, and--"

"Nonsense, young lady! Of course you can invite Paris, anytime. She's a wonderful young woman and it would be rude to not allow her to share in dinner." The regal woman smiled at my girlfriend. "I don't know why you haven't invited her here before to begin with."

"Actually, to be honest we haven't exactly been on the best of terms," Paris explained. "But we're becoming closer, so Rory felt comfortable enough to invite me."

"I'm glad. You're from one of Hartford's finest families and I enjoy that you two are becoming such close friends." She brought her attention to the maid. "Set another place for Ms. Gellar, next to Rory, Doreen." Grandma then asked if there was anything that we needed to snack or drink while we studied.

"Do you have Ty Nant?" Paris asked, while I was confused a bit since I didn't know what she was asking.

"Of course. Poured into a glass?"

"Bottle's fine." She noticed my confusion. "It's a spring water from Wales."

"Oh, right. I knew that." OK, I didn't. "Me too, I guess, and a banana."

"I'll have her bring it up to you while we go up." Grandma then asked Paris if she needed something to eat, and she responded by asking for some vanilla wafers. It wasn't really much of a conversation, but I held out hope that since they were talking warmly, that everything would end up well in the end. I still felt a bit stupid about not knowing what that water brand was, though. I couldn't understand the conversation since they were talking about the DAR and the country club, and all I could do was smile and nod. I felt a bit uncomfortable being lost to something with my own girlfriend, but I had to understand. My life was different from hers. She enjoyed things like that, and talking to Emily about it. I just read a book quietly, waiting to go upstairs so we could study. My mind was completely empty, and I felt uncomfortable.

But I had to go through with this. No matter what, I had to. There wasn't going to be any way that I was going to have my grandfather be just as leery about Paris as he was about Dean. I think that was the biggest sign of all that he and I would never work out, that Dean was some idiot gearhead who laughed at his idea of 'tinkering', and that he knew better.

At least I know if I drove a car my grandpa built, I'd be safe in it.

Eventually, we were able to get upstairs, and into my bedroom, which I really would have rather not been in at first, what with all of the boy band posters mixed with a sterile feel. The maid and Emily went up with us, and I could only hope Paris was going to be ready to mock me for my so-called taste in music.

When I opened up the door though, I was surprised to see all of the signs Tiger Beat had invaded my room had disappeared.

"What the--"

The posters were completely gone, replaced with framed neutral nature art instead. The room was still extremely pink and so not me, but any sign that my grandparents assumed my radio dial was permanently pasted to Kiss 95.7 had disappeared. I breathed a sigh of relief looking at the striped wallpaper that finally, in some sort of way, the family interior decorator got me and what I liked.

"Do you like it?" Grandma questioned. "I figured that you're eighteen and you've probably outgrown those bands now. I hear that they're singing suggestive lyrics anyways, so it was probably best to take them down before you went down a road to ruin."

I rolled my eyes (thankfully not towards her) as she explained it was time for a change and I said that I really did love how the room looked now. No longer would Joey Fatone haunt me when I had to sleep here, and Paris and I walked in the room as Grandma looked proud at her well-planned handiwork. I relaxed as I sat down on the bed, while Paris tossed her bag next to the door as she thanked Emily for her hospitality.

"You need to eat something kosher, right?" Paris looked at her, a bit puzzled. "I can make whatever you want. I was planning a chicken casserole, but if you want me to have the chef make something different--"

"No need, chicken is fine," Paris said, shrugging. "I don't want to be an inconvenience to anyone."

"If you're sure."

"I am," she stated firmly. "We need to study, Mrs. Gilmore, so if you won't mind can you please tell the staff not to disturb us for the next two hours?"

"Certainly," she replied as she began to back out of the room. "I'll see you both at seven o'clock, dressed and ready."

"Of course, Grandma," I replied.

"Later, ladies." She closed the door behind her, and Paris moved towards it to slide the lock closed after about 45 seconds. She let out a long and calming breath, grabbing the blue glass bottle of Welsh water and taking a lengthy sip from it. She swallowed it slowly and let the carbonation of the liquid go through her. I watched as she looked at me and shook her head, feeling a bit stressed out from the many questions from Grandma.

"I'm so sorry you had to sit through that," she said, surprising me.

I tried to show it wasn't that big of a hassle. "It's OK, Paris. You and my grandmother have things to talk about beyond pumpkin festivals, and if you have to, I understand." She sat down on the bed next to me, pushing her shoes off and unbuttoning her blazer.

"I know, but that stuff doesn't interest you." She took my hand and smiled. "I saw how uncomfortable you were when she said 'oh, I wish Rory would do this', 'Rory would do that', 'I'm disappointed that she's so singular', and those kinds of things. You're so insulated and solitary, and here we are talking about how she wishes you were playing tennis or participating in a Christmas fundraiser."

"I'm used to it though," I argued. "It's a part of the compact we have. I get the money for schooling, and then I get the third degree on Friday nights. I get my time with Grandpa and all is well." I knew my place in the world, that I couldn't help some things, like my tuition. I hated the whole agreement from the beginning, but I wasn't going to tell anyone because compared to many others, I have it light. I'm very lucky to be going to school the way I am, with the arrangement I have, and I didn't want anything to change. I never understood why Paris could be so commanding about some things, but intimate about others, and this conversation was one of them.

"I hate seeing you left out, though." She pushed herself closer to me, giving me an intense look and taking me in. "I know I didn't treat you well for a long time, and I don't blame you for showing disinterest in me talking about tablecloth patterns that really, I could care less about."

"I'm not mad. Really. I know how you have to talk to adults here, so I understand." I began to feel a bit aggravated, like the feeling that I had when Dean would get in my way. "Paris, stop worrying about me. I'm a big girl and I can live with the things you have to do to get by in this world." I felt ready to get up and change in the private bathroom, a little annoyed by having to think about all of this stuff when I didn't want to.

But I was surprised that instead of switching on her anger, she moved closer, to caress my cheek and let her fingers linger along my jawline. She saw the anger lines forming across my forehead, the stress I felt every time I entered this house. Of all these achievements that were supposed to be those of my mother's weighing down on me instead. I was supposed to carry on the legacy, to have all this glory on my shoulders. I couldn't say anything though, because I was nice, and it was wrong to question things as they were.

I couldn't help but think about how caring of a girlfriend Paris was in that moment. She let me vent and didn't say a word, just letting her hand brush across my skin and trying to calm me down through just her touch. I wanted to say more, to rant about how I knew Yale would be brought up again, but all that tension melted away as her other hand slid to the top of my sweater to unbutton it. She whispered softly, as if trying to keep things intimate between us within the largeness of the bedroom.

"This doesn't feel like your bed," she commented. "It's too soft, too plump, and not right. I feel like I'm going to slide off it." I didn't know where she was leading, but I went along with her, totally infatuated. "I really don't like this room."

"It's good enough," I said. I didn't want to insult my grandmother for her decorating taste. Finishing with my sweater, she moved her free hand down.

"It isn't you," she said. "You're all organized, yet a little bit messy. A desk filled with checklists, a bulletin board packed with notes and Harvard pennants, newspaper clippings, an awkwardly strung home network where the Ethernet cable comes up from the floor instead of an outlet because Luke is no IT guy." She overtook me. "Loads and loads of books, hardcovers mixed with softies picked up from all over the place, on shelves salvaged or bought on the cheap. A bed, not the best, not the worst, but just right in the middle, with a couple blankets created from your mother's own hand. Colonel Clucker, other various stuffed animals, clutter all over the place." I warmed, feeling her words weigh down on me heavily. "The creaky old window which I just got barely open but still has many years of use in it, along with the pockets of clutter all over the place. That's your room. Not this...this sterile set piece from some hospital drama."

"Not everything can be like my room," I said, trying to brush off her complaints. "What does it matter?"

"It matters to me because you love familiarity. The path to Luke's, interacting with people, the way you study or plan a route from locker to classroom. I don't mean to offend, but you're not the girl who's supposed to be in this room. Right now, you look uncomfortable and wary, even scared."

"I...I'm not." There I was trying to avert her from seeing into the nervousness I was feeling, the fears building up inside of me. Of the way Grandma looked at me, and how impressed she seemed to be that I was inviting not Paris, my girlfriend and lover, but Paris, my peer, a step into the world of society. I was internally feeling unsure of myself, the lessons of Wednesday night at Mr. Gellar's seeming not to apply in this setting.

She brushed her hand across my leg, letting her open hand take in the unfamiliar texture. "It took you so long to feel comfortable in the uniform, finally. That you didn't have to be a bluehose in the literal sense of the word, and you could be yourself within it. I saw you today at Luke's, and it was a stark contrast." Her nails scratched across the nylon. "I mean, I don't know how many times a dream that I had would have me somehow peeling these off, or making love to you while you wore them. But I see you in the full uniform today and all I can think is, I want the real Rory again. I don't want this shell, this girl who wears these things in order to suffice her grandparents."

"Paris..." I struggled to make sense of her words as I took them in. They were so overpowering, the tightness of the week since our last encounter in Chilton's darkroom coming to a head. The unease that I felt coming out to her father clouding out the thought on Wednesday that the sight of her wearing the early Hanukah gift from her father of a green Celtics clover baseball cap made her look so cute, and that she didn't take it off. Or last night, when she came to the house and her first words whispered to me were 'I got a touch-up back In Hartford before I came back here. I really wish you could join me once.' The touch-up being a new tan that brought out her freckles and made her golden hair shine even more in my eyes.

I held back, because I was scared. Of myself. How I wanted to show I was serious about this relationship, but instead of showing warmth I wanted to show off only companionship. I had blocked out all sexual thoughts of her over the last two days, not wanting Harold to think we were just experimenting, that we were truly together for much more than the carnal aspect of things. That we both understood each other intellectually and in a friendly manner, and that we built up our love through passionate debate.

I just stripped it down to the bareness for the sake of trying to be a couple, but in just that base sense.

She brushed a finger across my lips, and I felt her weight push me onto the bed, while her other hand slid up into my skirt. "You're not the future Gilmore or Hayden heiress to me; you're just Rory, from Stars Hollow. That's the girl I love, the one who really wanted to ditch on debutante night or have those lame birthday parties Emily throws held at Chuck E. Cheese instead. The one who can't hit a fucking golf ball to save her life and pretty much insulated the Blue Demons into last place in the 2000-01 season." She brought her hand down to unbutton my blouse, and I felt a lump form in my throat. "I know you must think I need to be impressed or shown that the great Emily and Richard Gilmore's approval must be needed to move things along, to feel accepted, but it shouldn't. Just be yourself for me, please." Oh God, I was starting to feel tight and hemmed in.

"Hon...studying, free topic." I looked towards our bags containing our materials trying to bring things back on track. But I don't think it was going to happen. "We need to get to work."

Fingers moving up my legs, closer inside. "It was a convenient excuse. That's all it served. I can spit out free topics like that in my sleep. Though I really haven't lately." She kissed me, slowly, the heat radiating from her as this seductive side of her came out of such a long embargo. "Sleep has been more dreaming about you using those lips of yours to mark every bit of my body, inside and out." Another kiss, and buttons come apart on my blouse. "I want you so badly, Gilmore."

"Not here..." I argued, trying to make her see the light, but her dark side was in full force. The other fingers pushed closer to my core...

"Come apart for me," she beckoned. "Forget everything, focus on me. Why we're here. What we want to show them."

"I...I..." I felt warm and damp, my eyes dilating as she overwhelmed me. I tried to resist, not give in to her. The husky tone of her voice, the one that got me off in the towncar, ringing through my ears. My blouse undone, tossed carelessly onto the ground below, and then the skirt quickly pushed off, deftly undone in haste.

Then, my bra. She kissed hard against my neck, renewing the hidden marks that would have been gone by next Monday and pushing them off even further from fading. She raked her hands across my breasts, her fingers caressing around my nipples, making them erect and hard, my breath quickening as the thoughts of not doing anything in this forbidden room begin to dissipate.

"Wha--what are you doing to me?!" I can't say much, as I'm overwhelmed by her giving me so much attention. I'm in complete shock, feeling her push her leg against me, and then one of her hands against my pussy.

Two layers between her and I. Oh God. "Paris...baby..."

"If I can help it, you'll never wear blue hose to school ever again. Every time I dream of you now, it's of them off. Either by a quick stripping, being torn right off of you," she pushes two fingers against my cleft. "Or of them being ruined."

Oh fuck. I knew what she was talking about, exactly. The thing I find so odd about myself, how wet I get. She kinks on it like I do about her voice.

Or mine. There's no need to admit she loves to hear innocent ol' me drop an f-bomb in the middle of something. It's like...damn. There's no Disney heroine that has a female antagonist that wants her sexually or anything. Damned fairy tales!

She wanted me to ruin my hose. And she went into detail about why.

"I love taking you bare without anything on, but I especially enjoyed it that first night in my bed." The pink floral cover below, seeming to bathe the room in innocence, was instead the surface for us to push along. "Your leg pushing between my legs, up and down, a slow movement, then furious, you brought me off in a way I can't forget, that friction against me, just transferring that sexual energy coursing through my body. When you finished, I was so fucking exhausted, like I couldn't move from that spot. I was so taken by you, the way you swept in and took that horrible weekend with those people and made me completely forget about it."

She seemed to undo her clothes in a speed that I never associated with her. She usually carefully took everything off, but she went on talking as her shirt came off, then her skirt. Undoing her tightly braided hair, she soothed me further, going on about how she feels like I'm in her corner now, that even the smallest touch turns her on, and even how she talked to Madeline and how she used that to get Brad off. "I know I don't want to think about the effect, but...I got a guy hard. Just from the fact that I was talking about us, making out, to a friend and he heard us having that conversation and had the guts to tell her that he was ready for a second round. I never knew how hot I am. I didn't think I was hot."

"You are hot," I confirmed, watching her above me in her underwear. Damn, she looked so delicious in a pink bra and boyshorts. "Paris, you've always been sexy, but you just kept so shielded."

"I know I am, but I just never knew how to bring it out." She kissed me, letting herself linger in my taste as she let her fingers drift down to the band of the hose. "Just think about it though, Brad, in that room, listening to Madeline's conversation and stroking his cock hard so he can make her happy. First thought, I want to burn my eyes. Second thought, this is worth it. We have chemistry to other people, we're perfect. People think about us and wish they could be us." I tightened at the image of our two friends in that bedroom, talking about us, and Paris being extremely dirty talking to Maddy. She shared with her, on her own level, knowing she would understand.

The ache built on, her eyes weighing down on me as she took me in, brushing stray hair away from my face. Her hand moved to stoke my fire, and my cheeks burned as she let her fingers make a small indent right where my clit was.

She didn't need to look to find it. One swipe and my teeth clenched as I held out a swear word and reduced it to 'fudge'.

Even though I was involuntary, it was a bad idea. She growled at me.

"Lose control, Ror." I breathed in, feeling stressed.

"Grandma, downstairs," I reminded.

Her nail made a tiny little tear in the hosiery, just enough to let the sliver on top in to brush the soft cotton of the panties against me. The slight sound startled me, my heart hammering hard against my chest as I clenched from her movements.

"Me, here." She pushed in her leg, moving her hand to cup my ass. "Stop thinking about her. I'm here. Your Par-Bear is in heat for you." Her leg slid up along my slit. She let her hands wander my rear, pushing me into the right position for her to get me off. I wanted this, but Grandma, oh God.

"I understand, but we're one floor down from her...Par..." I was in that limbo between trying to follow my morals and wanting to make love to my girlfriend, and my stomach clenched as I tried to argue the consequences. I slowly pushed her off, explaining why it wasn't time. "I'd love to, but we'd need a shower after we made love."

"Your point being?" Paris didn't understand. "As far as I remember, I'm not wearing Old Spice." She moved her hands up, starting to realize that she might not be able to fulfill one of her fantasies. I could tell from the tone of her voice that she wasn't happy with me. "No one is going to notice." She began to pull away from me and turn away, and I could sense that I said the wrong thing.

"My mom couldn't get a guy past Emily though," I argued, remembering the stories in the past of her teenage exploits. "She noticed one wrinkle in her Hillside skirt, one wrinkle! She tried to argue that she had gym class that day, but Emily just had this laser-focused way of knowing that Lorelai somehow ended up in a broom closet because of the smell of Spic and Span!" I covered up with the blanket, trying to hide from her. I expected her to feel angered and disappointed that I wasn't in the mood I'd usually be in. I wanted to have sex with her, but I was paranoid enough about Grandma.

Her back was turned to me. I wanted to just wrap around her and say that it was OK to get me all riled up, but I couldn't say a word. I was scared, freaking out, and I was letting paranoia get to me.

The thing about me is that before Paris came along, I always felt so unattractive, and there was something about being wooed that got to me much more than organic romance, things that just happened. Dean of course was horrible about that, and more often than not I always was more about his planned overtures than I was about just making out for no reason at all.

That was what Paris was trying to spark with me, and I was ruining it. I knew she was a bit inexperienced in the proper way to bring us into a mood, but this was perfect. We had two hours in a room alone to ourselves, and I was letting just one little fact get in our way.

The difference in our perfumes. Something that usually wasn't brought to the forefront at all, but in a situation like this, would be noticed. I was hung up on a stupid thing like perfume. Comparing my $10 lilac body spray to Par's $100 per ounce vanilla scent, you can't hide the fact that they're mixing together, along with our bare scents. Paris's is strong because of her active glands, and she does occasionally soak through a shirt.

Yes, this is how much my brain stunts my want of sex; it reminds me of all the factors that could be discovered later on. I was letting it kill the sensual atmosphere Par had unexpectedly built up, and for what? Studying?

I had reduced her monologue about the coldness of the space we were in to show that I was just as icy because of the fear of outside appearances. I took what was a very heartfelt and beautiful thing and took all the sails away from it.

What am I doing? I thought to myself. I felt guilt and sadness, and though I couldn't see it, I knew Paris was probably frowning and feeling guilt for using an opportunity to be alone to show how much she loved me.

I'm doing exactly what Dean used to do to me; I'm leaving her cold, I thought, hopeful that I hadn't done anything hurtful.

Then I heard her choke back a sob, something I didn't even hear her do in the bathroom last week because she went right into trying to convince me Jamie wasn't there on her invitation.

Oh God, that broke my heart. I couldn't stand what I was doing to her, so I moved towards her, placing my left hand on her arm, hoping she wouldn't push me away. I had a lot of making up to do, obviously.

"Hey, you OK?" She stayed silent and stern, trying to keep her mood. "Baby girl, I'm so sorry." Hopefully the nickname would warm her back up.

But it didn't. Not right away. She truly felt brushed off to the side, hurt that I wouldn't want to do anything with her. She kept her back to me, feeling as if she was to blame.

"I knew I shouldn't have pushed," she said. "All I want to do is build things with you, but maybe we are going too fast. I wasn't thinking, and..." Another sob. "You're right. What if Emily does walk in?"


"I mean God forbid you have to stay the paragon of asexuality, having nary a thought about love. This is why I hope to God you never have a huge blow-up with your mom and have to live your life in Hartford." Paris's voice was shaky, and I knew I had hurt her badly without expecting it. "Why should you have to continually pay penance for being born, for fucking existing? I can understand why you're brushing me off here, because this room, this way of being...it sucks the very life out of you." I knew now why she was in such an amorous mood. "I know you're like your mother in so many respects, but you don't deserve this, Rory. You should not have to continually pay the penalty, to take a code of celibacy when it comes to Emily. I feel like..."

I nudged her to turn around, hoping to see her eye to eye. When she shifted to face me, I felt ashamed in that moment, downcast that I made her not angry, but disappointed in herself. I couldn't stand what I was doing to her, so I did the next best thing I could to reassure her.

I took her hand upon my breast and let her know that I was sorry for what I did. Her glazed eyes took on a heated light brown shade and I brushed the tears from her eyes.

"I didn't want to hurt you," I told her, as I released her hand. "I love you, so much, and I know how brash you are. I just...I'm learning with you. I thought this wasn't a moment, but you were leading up to something nice, and I stopped you." She took the comforter and wrapped it around herself. "Are you mad at me, Paris?"

"No. I just wanted...all I've wanted to do was make you feel good before we went under the third degree." She bit her lip. "I just want to get into some sense of normalcy. Not in a car, or another place we don't live." I moved close to her, my heart beating fast as she confessed. "I...I know you probably, in the normal sense, don't consider when you came to the Manor after Thanksgiving to be making love, but I did. You were in my bed, making me feel wonderful, and I want that again, like what happened in yours at home on Tuesday night. I want to share covers, body heat, emotions, everything with you. I know this isn't your true room, not where you live, but I thought, if I came with you today, I could be that close to you again. Obviously, I was wrong, and--"

I took her at the back and brought her close to me, ready to cut her off as the words went through me. That all she wanted was to feel that special moment again, one she hadn't had. Being in the same bed, making out, necking. Doing interesting things that in normalcy we wouldn't think of.

I shuddered as I recalled my touchless cum in her bed, her below me, caressing my breasts, how hot I was as we let our filters down. I knew I wanted that feeling back...the thrill of doing something new, never before discovered. I stared at her, and felt how much she wanted us to be physical again. Her voice was so strained, and I could see even in her sadness, she was so turned on.

I kissed her open mouthed to quiet her, and then I pressed her body to mine, taking her against me tightly. I moved to reassure her and relight the spark, not wanting to waste one more minute on this dark place. I couldn't deny her, the girl I love, any further. All of the sudden, I felt my imagination come out, ready to play again. I shifted in place, and began to rock back and forth against her, slowly at first.

"You are so right," I said deeply, pushing up the waistband of my hosiery so that it was tight against me. "Paris, I'm your lover, and what you wish is my command." I slowly kissed her again, letting her push her tongue in while we warmed ourselves back up to the point we were at. "I'm tired of being quiet. I want to be a wildflower, I want you to love me..." I slid my hands into her panties through the legs. "I want you to ruin me."

"Rory..." Her voice was inching up in deepness. "You want me to get you all wet?"


Her hands were at the waistband of my hose, fingers playing inside. "I thought of this all day. Touching you like this, getting you off. You haven't fingered yourself in a while, have you?"

"Haven't...needed to." Slowly she thrusted to build me up. "You always wanted me in the hose?"

"Yes. Even before I learned how you cum, I have had fantasies. I hate the hose, but damn, I love seeing you not all clean and innocent." One of her fingers slid into the hole she made earlier from the back. "Even when you said you had them on at Thanksgiving, I wondered if I could bring it up."

"Maybe not that time." She found my clit through the panties and circled it through the cotton. "I needed to be warmed...up first." I took in a deep breath as she found a hot spot, and kissed at my neck.

"It's so worth it to see you like this. Nothing on but these two things..." Her other hand pinched a nipple as I was focused on her deep cleavage. "When I fuck myself in the shirt you wore, I imagine you in these...bare beneath, fucking yourself after a long day at school."

"Yesss..." I was getting very heated feeling her stroke me.  "You love me wet...ohhh....ohhh."

"My girlfriend loves to get so slick...her body loves and craves fingers..." Paris sucked on my lip, letting just a bit of suction upon it. "You never got this wet for anyone else, did you?"

"No, just you...ugggh....God, ruin me please, Par." Her thigh's strokes became deeper and deeper as she inched her finger along my pantyline and kept the teasing up, kissing my sternum, nipping it softly. I bucked against her, and let my own fingers move towards her front. I wanted to bring her off slowly myself, but let flitting touches along her pussy suffice.

"You know what I want? I want you to have to go in that dining room with nothing on but a dress and two heels." She pushed the material away from my mound. I heard a tear, and felt the cotton tear against me. "I wanna get you used to this, being well-fucked before a big event. I'm going in there and I know that I'm leaving marks."

"Fuck!" A finger and a thigh against me, spreading me out. The hose tore below from the tension of being pushed up where it shouldn't go.

She pushed my panties off further to the side. "I want to feel you hard...make you really come, I know you can do it, baby." Harder thrusts...a second finger. I was being filled with her beautiful fingers in a mesh, and it felt so naughty.

"I thought of you here...remember?"

"You came, right?"

"I spilled over...this comforter...not the same at all..."

"Probably thought it was a leak in the roof."

"Not that wet," I confessed. "I saved that for your towncar." Hard against me now, her strokes were closer and closer. The hose was in very deep against my clit, and a third finger was joining in...

"Love getting you wet...making you that way...." I spread out a little bit more, wanting of a fourth. My head was against the headboard, my hands circling her lips as I saw her bra slip down a little...her breasts bouncing so much in the perfectly tight cups. God, I love this woman with all I have. "So fucking tight, you're going to...I don't know..."

"What will I do?"

"Have you ever..." She stopped herself, a bit nervous about bringing it up. "I've heard this theory that, well, if I hit the right spot, you can, um, force an orgasm hard. To the point that you kind of, well, project." You have to really give it to a girl who wants to avoid saying something she found a bit odd but she wanted to do. "I don't know if you've heard of it..."

"Like a guy, right?" I knew exactly what she was taking about; trust me, when you've read so many Savage Love columns in your lesbian research, you know! "Fuck!" I said the word hard, intending it to echo. "Deeper...deeper."

"You wanna cum hard, I see it in your eyes." More tearing, this time the panties, out of the way, and multiple runs in the hose. My feet were flat, knees bent, my womanhood so heated and hot. The hole in the crotch, wide open...finger four entering the picture. "Love you."

"Love you too...love you so much. I can be nasty with you...no behaving."

"Clench...clench hard." I bounced up and down to meet her strokes, and smelled the coming arousal mixing with the artificial fiber. "Rory...come on, fuck my fingers. Fuck them...they feel perfect inside of you...they fit...."


"Tell me...you put them on, how did you feel all day?" She brought out my darkest desires, ones I don't even think my subconscious was on to. "Looking at me every minute today, you felt your cunt tighten...you knew they'd piss me off, but you know I want you no matter what you wear. You played it up for me."

"Oh shit, yes Par...every step, every rub...been so hot all day." I bit hard on my lip. "Never again with these...they just got me too hot."

"During debate, I want you in them," she suggested. "They'll make you think, make you want to get through it, make you want to win." Fuck, I get so hot when she brings out the bitch voice. "You want to win, you're going to win, and when we celebrate, no Fuddruckers for us. No dinners, no high fives. I'm gonna give you a good fuck, one you're going to want every time we win this year."

I felt my muscles seem to harden as I bought into her further. "Will you be bare? For me?"

"Nothing on but the skirt," she promised. More kissing, my breasts vibrating in place as she pushed things further. Another finger, four inside. "I want to leave a big imprint on you, Gilmore. Make you want me every time you look at me...juices flow down your leg..."

"They're running...now..."

"I feel it..." Deeper...deeper, circling and just taking me into a plane I never knew before. This was utterly beautiful and erotic. My muscles were pumping hard, in and out, in and out, I couldn't help but focus all my energy lower. The pressure was building up, my legs were stick-still and eyes tightly shut as I felt beyond heated. "Closer, Ror. Push in your legs, tighten against me."

"Yeahh...oh yeah..." Pushing me hard, those fingers curling inside of me, hitting the right spot. I was in that bent position, feeling the key twist tightly. "Par...I wanna come." I begged for her to go faster, as she elongated a bit with slowing down that didn't take me down any further. She knows just where to hit, where I want it. I couldn't stop her from being so aggressive. Her fingers felt so tight, perfect against me. I wanted this so bad.

She pushed in as close as she could, her index circling my clit in such a hot way. I was so wet, so damp, I felt drips against the back of the crotch. I seethed her name, wanting her to consume me, to spoil me for anyone else. I had all of these dreams before then, of allowing my sexual side to come out in such a frenzied and powerful way. She wrapped around me as she pushed in so deep that the crotch of the panties began to come apart. Her fingers, stretching it to the limits. She began to tear at it, opening the crotch up, fully exposing me to her. My dampness, oh Lord...

And I felt a hard push as I heard them open up. Her dirty talk within these walls made what Mom and Dad did on that balcony seem like innocent making out, for sure.

"So slick, come on, for your baby girl," she demanded. "Make me proud of you for loving me...keep yourself closed in." No more resistance, three fingers inside, the other...playing just a smidge below, exploratively. I heard the sounds of the thrusts, deep, loud, powerful. "Man, Gilmore, you're ready for almost anything!"

"Par..." If I had ever been embarrassed about my...output, it was ending here. I was proud of myself. I took in her hand past the knuckle, having this need of getting a bit open, in and out, in and out...oh God. "You getting out of the way?"

"No, right here," she promised. "Not going to let you do anything without me here." Her pinky slid, out, inching upon that small patch of skin below...oh dear..."I have to feel you in every way possible. I want to watch you...come for me...come on..."

"Yesss, yesss, yesss..." I repeated the one word, grasping at her arm tightly for any kind of leverage. I felt the heat build down further from my belly. "I'm so sorry, I was an idiot earlier."

"You're not...forget it...think about me, look at me, feel me inside of you." Faster, faster...the rhythm was like an air pump now. "Rory...do it...cum...ruin us both..."

There's where her voice hits a nerve, that mix between the dark and the light. The one that she knows really turns me on.

"Wanna come," I screamed. "Damn it!"

"Getting there, feel you wetter...wetter."

"Yess, yess, yes..." My body was violent, joints feeling painful as I clenched her hand in me as hard as I could. I felt that pinky move lower and lower..."Oh God, Paris." I knew what she wanted to do, but I was nervous. I had thought about it in dreams I haven't even voiced out in my own mind because they seemed so perverted. I expected her to move in towards the back, but she just barely teased, knowing I would freak out if she went for it. I was nothing but incomprehensible moans and screams from then on as my eyes tightened shut, I compressed around her and felt her stroke me deeper and deeper. I gripped at her arm for dear life, the mattress edge in my right hand. I opened up, bent a little bit more, causing an even deeper rip in the hose. There was no longer any crotch to be found with both articles of clothing. I bit my lower lip, trying to hold back a hard moan, afraid of Emily.

Fear of my grandmother finding us...her walking in to find her granddaughter being taken by her fellow classmate. I felt the illicit buzz go through me, comparing myself to Mom twenty years ago. Looking into my girl's eyes, her above me, hyperfocused on my pleasure.

No damned way Mom looked at Dad the way I was Par. I know they created me on the balcony, but I knew I was making that child's play. I thought about all I hadn't ever done in a relationship in that moment as her strokes became two-a-second. I bounced on the bed, arching my back, concentrating all of my energy on the release. I tightened hard against her, and despite all of the moisture, she could barely push inside. I felt so focused, taken into another world. Her kissing me, holding me, doing all of this stuff to drive me up a wall. I felt the thrill, the want and desire for Paris ebbing, overflowing. My throat was raw, my hair damp, and I felt so overwhelmed I dug my nails hard into Paris's back harder than ever. I scraped them up her skin as I felt the final pushes go through me. She yelped in pain, hissing, cursing my name.

Oh, so worth it. She pushed her strokes further, three-a-second. The fourth finger came back in. Fuck...fuck...oh Lord, Par! I felt a bubbling down there, a building...

I knew the feeling, something the first time I masturbated and it happened, I felt like I broke myself so many years ago. My reading taught me otherwise, but still, I was fearful of doing it, stopping it with a hand usually.

"I...I...I'm coming, oh dear, coming hard..."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Mm-hmm...I feel it." Faster strokes.

"Make me feel it, come on," she encouraged. "Love to see you like this..."

"I'm not a Mary," I cried. "Not with you. I'm not a Mary...oh...oh...oh..." Rising...rising.

"Rory, cum for me. Make it a damp one...one that goes beyond now, that we'll remember."

"Pa...Pa...Parrrrrrrr..." Oh fuck, it was certainly coming for sure. As I felt the last contractions go through, she slid her hand out just enough, and helped me as I finished myself off with my hand in the way I was used to, to show her, teach her, for the future. Rubbing my clit in deep circles, I was wide open, her hand, my hand, fucking me, together. She straddled above me, my eyes closed, I could feel her heated gaze. Oh God, oh God...

"Oh my God!!!!" Three more quick strokes, some quick clit circles. I felt my muscles contract inward, my body sore as hell...

The orgasm came mere moments later, in a plane I thought never possible in my world. Dear God!

At first, I thought it was only me, as I felt my body clench and react in so many ways, my legs widening, breasts hardened hard, my throat basically beyond repair then. Every single muscle in my body felt my come, head to toe. My feet curled hard, and the hand against Paris's back inserted a new track of scratch marks upon it.

But the thing I felt most? The physical reaction, the one Par thought she could push out of me. She slid her hand out at the right time, I pushed my legs together, and I couldn't stop myself as I felt the push of fluid force from my body. It came out so hard, so fast, the small jets of my arousal forced from my body, I felt them force from me, three or four of them. Just a small amount, nothing odd or weird. But I felt it flow, coming out as if from a water gun. I hit my hilt very hard, and I seemed to come apart rather fast, more than the other times we were intimate. This wasn't like her in the car at all, this was different, radical. Paris even had to kiss me in an attempt to muffle my mouth, because I was very loud as I came. I hyperventilated as I pushed my head against the pillow, trying to relax.

I was so overwhelmed that I was crying a bit from how deep I was for Paris. This was so overwhelming to me as I clenched one last time, finally collapsing myself onto the bed fully as I felt the plush mattress settle beneath me. I couldn't open my eyes; I was so exhausted as my body felt like it had just gone through a decathlon with a full-length marathon. I was hot, the clothing that remained was in tatters, and I couldn't think straight at all.

There was silence for a few minutes as both Paris and I took in what we had both just done with each other. What I had done, mostly. Something that I never threw in the pro-con list, but I had always pictured myself as doing, yet scared to because I would be looked at as weird. Nylon dug against my thighs, as my mind wandered towards the fact that my girlfriend had just fucked me in my own bedroom at my grandparent's house. She had appealed to my darkest desires and gotten me to...to...

I found my hand taken from me, and then as she lay next to me, my fingers were trailing along damp lines along her belly. I heard her deep voice murmur as she stated what I couldn't say, in any capacity.

"You gushed." She couldn't believe it. "I saw it with my very own eyes. You are among the few who can do that."

"Are...are you sure?" I felt it, but it could've been just a phantom thing. I couldn't think of myself as...this. "I came, that hard."

"You can feel it, right?" I traced the outline of where I touched, and it felt like a drop. "Did you know you could do that?"

I nodded. "I did, but I just had a hand nearby to block the flow. I didn't think I could project. Oh God." I slowly opened my eyes, facing Paris laying on my bed, to my right. She had taken off her bra and was cuddling up to me, moving her hand down, hooking her finger in the waistline to take off what remained of my pantyhose. She kissed my neck as I still felt a little odd about what we had just done. Not the setting, but that my body could do that. I shook my head, and sucked in my stomach so she could work everything off. "I mean I know I get wet, more than usual, but I just thought I'm a bit abnormal."

"Very normal," she husked, her hand cupping the lower part of my butt. "I actually think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed." Another kiss, and then she tugged on her lip with my teeth. "It's so erotic, Gilmore, how your body is so enticing to me. You have all these spots..." Her other hand palmed my right breast, and I moan at the content. "Nice, large nipples to stimulate, an incredibly kissable mouth, and you can contort your body in a serpentine fashion."

"Par..." I felt a bit too complimented. "You should be freaked out just a little. How can you think any of this is beautiful?" Enveloping me into her arms as I kicked off everything else, I fell into her arms, feeling so safe and protected by this small woman, a force of nature who waited so long to show passion.

"Remember how you said you get off on my voice?" She rested her forehead on mine. "I think we're both finding that we might be these innocent little mice who don't let anything get to us in the classroom or during any kind of work. But when we're together, just the two of us alone, we both come out to play. A month ago, when we went into this, I thought it would be normal, like yeah, we'd get passionate, but it would be limited."

"And now you love me getting wet," I said. She shook her head and shared further what exactly she loved about my...viscosity.

"No, it's more than that, much more. The scent, that's what gets to me, how you smell during sex. Your hair takes on this fragrance that is just divine, and you know, you have those Italian and Argentine genes within you that have drawn many a male to find them the most passionate women in the world for centuries. And women...it's that forbidden fruit. Knowing that your ancestry comes from where the Roman Catholics influence everything and the feminine touch is highly discouraged." Her nostrils opened and she took in my heady fragrance, her mouth upon my neck as she trailed soft kisses down. "I would touch myself in Rome often in my hotel room when I went there for vacation with my parents when I was fourteen, looking at all of these beautiful Italian women. My defenses were battered." I felt the heat between us rising again, and in my mind, a want to give Paris some pleasure. I slid my thigh against her, possessively taking her at her waist.

"They have strong scents, don't they?" I planted that aromatic memory in her mind, in hopes of bringing her back to those younger days. "It's very hot there in July, the sun blazing, all of them out there walking around in a market or a square, speaking luscious Italian as you look them up and down." My hands played at her waistband. "Their tempers, boiling over as some sleazy man tries to lay a line on them, and you see that passion. You imagine them in the bedroom with you, wearing little to nothing at all beneath their dresses as they tell you how better you are because you have that passion, that desire for them. They're so hot, curls cascading down to rest on your chest as they take off your clothes."

"Yeah...that's how I thought of them." She closed her eyes as her imagination took over. "I dreamed of this one woman who would talk to me in Italian, a concierge at our hotel. Dark red hair, full body, a voice that was ravaged by her pack-a-day habit in the right way. She spoke the language raggedly, and she would flirt with me sometimes when my parents weren't looking."

"Did you think about her when you touched yourself?" I loved bringing her past out of hiding.

"She would call me bella ragazza, beautiful young girl, touch me while I was in concentration, brush her hand on top of mine at the front desk. I thought she was lying, but one day...we found ourselves alone in my room as my father was dragged to the Vatican by my mother. I was reading a book at the desk, she came up behind me, and then she, she..."

"She what?" I didn't know where this was leading, but I found everything heating up.

"I could smell her deeply. A light peppering of fragrance, but otherwise, everything else was all her. She wore a loose sundress, and I turned around...." Her hand drifted down her stomach. "Her eyes had that look, that concentration within them. Deep and hazel, her skin glistened, and she asked if I wanted to go anywhere. I said I didn't want to, that I was fine. And then things..."

"Where did things go?" I was hearing her realization for the first time, the moment like I had in the pond with that girl. I moved closer to her.

"I remember it..." Her heart hammered hard, the anxiety spinning in her stomach. "She was out of work for the day, in that dress. It drooped down on one side. She moved close to me...I could see her nipples clearly in the bodice of the dress. And she was looking at me, in khaki shorts and a t-shirt. Bella ragazza, mi perdoni."

"Forgive her?"

"She brought me into her arms and told me "Vorrei poter toccare voi." That beautiful ragged voice-woman then complimented me on my budding beauty, and then...it feels like it just happened only a few hours ago. Her voice, her eyes..." I was beginning to realize what she was doing with me in that moment. I felt myself fall into her imagery, that hotel room, her young self in front of me as I vividly saw this woman regard Paris as I always have. I pulled her panties down, feeling a scene coming on.

"She had a husband, and he was coming to pick her up in an hour or so. This would be the last time we would ever meet. But she didn't care. She wanted to do this, to show how such a little time with me influenced her. Her dress fell to the floor at her feet...she was fully nude. Unshaven below, she took me against her and we kissed, deeply as she loosened my shirt from my waist. She was beautiful, raw, and I could smell her all over the room." She began to touch herself. "I was in awe, watching her. She pushed me away slowly, taking in the swell of my breast with her hand, running it down my stomach, taking me in. She never touched my skin beyond a few things and the kissing. She only cupped me, just enough to memorize me." I felt her push herself against my thigh, grinding slowly, her voice tightening. "This beautiful woman masturbated on my bed, beckoning me to watch, to take it in, and to learn. I tried to say something, to stop her. But she pushed her fingers in, her eyes stone cold on me as she said my name and began to talk in a naughty way about what she would do to me."

"She got to you," I said, Paris's eyes glazed over as she began to let that frustration that built up four years ago out. "Noticing you, regarding you as so beautiful, she stroked herself to you."

"She wished I could stay in Rome, that I could be her lover. She said as she fucked herself...she wanted me as her own. She felt so wrong, but she wished she could touch me, but held back for her sanity. I asked her if I could disrobe...she encouraged me to."

God, I love this woman...she was biting on. "What did you do with her?"

"I said...I wanted her too...that every morning housekeeping had to change my sheets. She stayed late one night and my father let me have a couple glasses of wine at a cafe...she was at the desk and after excusing myself to sip from the water fountain...I stayed behind for the next elevator car. I told her that night in Italian while drunk 'Il mio sangue sulle mani.' I dared her to fuck me, but she didn't bite. She said I should fall in love with someone else...ohh...ohh God, but that I was a fine woman."

"You ached for her," I said, pushing against her blatantly. "That's when you realized that your thing with Tristan...just a detour."

"I felt beautiful around her, wanted, respected. We spoke, and there was a spark with us." Her voiced hitched as the pressure bubbled up. "I had realized earlier, my want of women, but this was the first time it was painful. That we could never have each other, and we couldn't even touch. It was eye-fucking between us...I stepped out of my clothes...swaggered to lay on the bed next to mine...we were feet apart, but so close. I took her in, touching my breasts...playing with my nipples...dipping fingers...into my pussy."

"You're so wet, baby, thinking about her."

"She told me I was tight...put in a second finger..." Stroking faster against me. "Saying she would do anything for me, her bella. She had gone the entire week without underwear, an entire week without fucking her husband, feeling so turned on by my presence, me in tight tank tops...Playing with pencils in front of her, watching me speak."

I focused all I had on my lover, my heart feeling for her so much. All of this passion, this deep want and desire. "You were her apple...ripe and polished. Wanted to bite into you."

"She rolled her nipples in her fingers...opened herself wide for me, circling her clit....I felt so hot, my hair in a pony tail, hers cascading down her figure. She told me I was the only girl she'd ever lust after."


"Saying my name deeply, Paris...madre di Dio..." Her voice was becoming rushed as I felt her body tighten against me. "I felt like she was right against me, making love to me. I felt so loved..."

"Oh God, this is beautiful..."

"I was so young, so taken by her beauty..."

"She was lovely..."

"I wished she was my first, hoped and prayed that I would meet her again..." She shrieked. "Then I met you, and she became a part of my past. And I began...to imagine...we met in Rome..." She straightened against me. "Oh God...Rory..."

"I ruined you for everybody else," I said, realizing how much I had changed her views on love. "You could never stroke yourself to her again."

"Never again...I felt like I was cheating," she seethed out. "You were pure, you didn't take my shit...I didn't have to look like...a fucking supermodel to have your....attention."

"You felt like you did with that woman with me," I observed. "Only this...it was possible."

"Yes...oh yes...yes..." Her eyes rolled back as she pushed closer to her cum. "You were my bella ragazza, someone...I didn't wanna corrupt. I held back...for so long...behind anger..."

"Which was lust."

"It was...I stopped dreaming of her...by the time you were...Juliet..." She hissed. "Oh God, I wanna come."

"You've been so tight all day. I can tell." I pushed against her deeper and deeper...she was becoming undone.

"You have her scent...that's why I was drawn to you....beyond your intelligence." We pushed against each other together, she felt so warm against me. "I knew it was right...from that first day. Behind that laundered uniform...simple scents, drawing me in."

"You always wanted me..."

"Yes...oh my God...that anger you have...those fiery eyes...you're like that woman, only more fucking hot, beautiful and sexy than she...ever was."

I began to feel her break, and I fell into the moment with her. She looked so beautiful against me. "Come for me, mia bambina. Paris..."

"Fuck..." She clenched hard, and her eyes tightened. "I feel like I did...that day...right now." She held on tight against me, leaving more scratches upon my back. "But I can touch you...God."

I kissed her, hard, letting my passion overflow for her. I was so heartened that her story from Rome eventually lead all the way to me. "Spill over...come on..." I begged. "Want to see you wet...we'll go in there as lovers, no doubt."

"No doubt...love you..."

"Love you too..." Her voice cracked, hard. She went into a trance as that pleasurable sting went through her. "Ti amo...mia guida...mio cuore..." Her words were deep and powerful as she felt the orgasm course through her deeply. She's so beautiful when she comes, and she growled against my shoulder as the waves went through her. I took her close as she rode me for the last few contractions, and she was exhausted from the twists and turns we had gone through in these minutes that passed since we entered the room. Whimpering, I felt so overwhelmed by how when we make love, we become closer together, and learn more about each other. It's overwhelming, wonderful...passionate.

She came down slowly, unwilling to pull away, and I knew that I just wanted her close to me, nothing else. I heard her breathing calm with each minute that passed, her eyes closed as she was utterly tired from our lovemaking. I know anyone else, they would have probably hated being told that this wasn't their first time lusting for a woman.

But I looked at it as her past, an experience that put her on the road to me. Brushing the hair from her face with my fingers, we languidly kissed as we both came down from our highs, both tired from the infatuation we had demonstrated. Thinking about that woman, having the spare clues from Paris to form a picture of her, I knew that I wasn't jealous that she'd push back into her life. Four years had passed between them, and from her words, it was clear that it would take much more than our pasts to break us apart.

Slowly, her voice came back as she lay against the pillow, keeping her hand clasped in mine as we threw the blanket above us after grabbing her PDA to set the alarm for 6:45pm. The mood wasn't right for studying, and sleep was what we needed. Time to ourselves, time to dress, to gird ourselves for the fireworks of later. Placing it on the nightstand, she spooned herself against me, kissing at my neck and whispering the conversation as we fell into the nap.

"So, what are you thinking?" she asked me, trying to get a sense of my mind.

She wrapped her arms around me as I turned my head. "I think that I'm thankful we brought full changes of clothing with us."

"Same thing here." A soft giggle. "What has happened to us? We went into this last month thinking nothing but affection, but now we can't seem to keep our clothes on."

"That a bad thing?" I smiled.

"I definitely think of it as good." She felt so soft against me. "I feel so open with you now. Letting you in on my past. I've always been so afraid to with everyone else."

"You can tell me anything," I assured her. "I think it gives you so many more layers, to know that even if I'm your first, I'm not the first one to look at you with carnal eyes. People have to admit you're a beautiful girl, and I can't figure out why they can't."

"I...I just don't feel shy around you. You're just so natural, and welcoming, and I love you for being who you are."

"I love you for thinking of me as so unique." I closed my eyes, listening to the rhythm of her breath. "I was scared of...this. What we did, when it came to Dean. I think he'd think there's something wrong with me."

It was time for a warning from her "Shhhh...no more of the D word. Never again. He might be your first love, but he was lousy at it."

"Lousy is nice. You, Par..." I sighed, smiling as I took the covers closely. "The word for you is beyond indescribable."

Her breathing was soft as she described how she thought of me. "I know I have one for you; effervescent."

"Oh, that's perfect!" I beamed with my description. "I love to foam over, especially from your hand. You just fit so right, and, it's like we fit. We just fit on every level."

Her voice was tiring. "We do, definitely." Slowly, we drifted off to sleep as our conversation faded, and where we both had nerves coming into this mansion, they were gone for now. We could face this, knowing that our relationship was strong, that we weren't letting anything stop us. Not uncomfortable moments, or our pasts. We were finding our way, together, and that's all that mattered.

If they accepted us, good. If they didn't, we would have to adjust and deal. It was that simple.

Or so it seemed on the surface. I think of Mom and how two simple words changed the entire dynamic between her and Emily forever. It broke them apart, and only my need for a better education than yet more poorly-taught AP classes at Hollow High brought them back to the stage of somewhat talkative.

I wasn't nervous as Paris settled her head against my shoulder, softly snoozing. She's done so much for me, drove me to the point I am where my fire in all I do is stronger than I ever had.

I hope I don't combust. I hope I don't fail her tonight. Or that I'm meek in that moment. I was ready as I was ever going to be, and this has to work out.

I've lived for everyone else for so long. Now it's time to prove that my age reflects my maturity and that they know Paris and I are true.

Paris's POV

I'm a natural born fretter. In every situation, I always think about how I come off in a situation, and I always think less of myself than what actually is shown.

Not in Chilton and academics, mind you, I'm all guns blazing there. But in situations where I have to impress somebody, I go beyond overanalyzation.  I'm thinking that every word, every action, the way I dress, even the kind of barrette I slide into my hair that would piss off an animal activist if it happened to be tortoise-shell, has to be a reflection of me as a strong woman. I have to be perfect, period. There can be not a moment of doubt or fear, and you can't shirk. You have to be dominant, like in sports, from the kickoff.

Of course, this all goes out the window when you face the toughest bitch on nails, who held my title as the Queen Bee so many years ago. 1958 was her year.

Emily Gilmore is her name.

And in a rare moment of weakness here, I have to admit that I am scared shitless of her. She is possibly the only woman in all of Hartford society I feel intimidated around.

It's not just that I'm sitting three places down for her at this moment at the table, next to my girlfriend, her granddaughter. It goes so much further back than that. Even when she had no excuse to be in Chilton while I was in Country Day, it was her alma mater. She had been the last of the old guard, part of that final class of '59 before the school went co-ed, and I knew never to mess with her. When we had to take our compulsory etiquette classes where she was the host of the parties which were our exams, perfection was demanded and we were never to say one word that would be seen as a usurpation of her authority.

I've always had a quiet respect for Mrs. Gilmore. Last year during our project when I prepared the materials, she was there to supervise me and remind me how I was supposed to come off, down to my speaking voice. Richard may have been the adult involved with the project, but his wife helped set the tone for my presentation and how it was supposed to come out. I don't hate her, but I sure feel as if I need to impress her all the time.

But tonight, I had to do this on my terms. Not hers. This may have been her table, but this was the night I was going to face up to her and Richard and tell them I'm in love with their granddaughter, and nothing can stop me.

Now if I can just summon that courage.

I sit at this table, thankful the tone of the dinner has been light so far. Rory is in one of her Friday night dinner dresses, a black floral number which as it should do, does not drive one carnal thought within me. How can it, as her dress shows her as being as neutral as could be. What I'm wearing isn't much better; a red turtleneck and dark brown corduroys, my usual evening uniform it seems. I didn't want to come off too formal, or not too relaxed, trying to play this night up as just innocent studying as much as I could. Everything is neutral so far, the conversation, the lame jokes from Lorelai.

Even she is well behaved, complimenting her mother on the casserole and not pushing things. She's been quiet, looking at us occasionally with some dread. But we haven't done anything. There's nothing we both can do, we can just eat dinner, occasionally talk, I can be friendly with Emily and maybe talk a bit about cars with Mr. Gilmore.

It's gone well. Thank God it's gone well, I think we can do this fine. I've just finished my green beans and I push the plate away, sipping on my ginger ale...

"So, Rory. Did you get your SAT marks yet?" Emily speaks. Rory looks up.

"Not yet, Grandma." We took the SAT and ACT in October and November, both in the middle of the month. The thing I taught her the most was to do the test and forget about it right after, and just wait until both grades come back after winter break. "I think that I did well, though."

"Of course you did," Mrs. Gilmore assured. "I don't see why you would fail either of the tests. You did so well on the PSAT, so this should be no different."

"That was last year. It's different with big tests like those."

May I remind you that to this day, even with all the begging, rewards, and tries to sweet talk her into something naughty, I still don't know Rory's PSAT grade? I give her a secret dirty look, and she responds with a jab at my knee, as if to say I would find out one day...in her will.

"I don't understand though. You'd think they'd want to get those scores to your college choices with due haste."

Rory shakes her head. "I'm really not worried about it for now. I just want to concentrate on my mid-terms."

"But doesn't Yale need the scores by the 15th of next month?" She raised her eyebrow. "I truly think you should be more concerned about this, young lady."

Oh boy, here we go. I can sense psychically the stress that has just hit my girlfriend at the mention of that one word. I take in a breath at the mention of my hated rival.

"I still have two months. They don't even make the decision until mid-February."

"But you have to be in there early. What if they give a slot to someone else and you're unprepared?"

"Grandma...." She sighed. "I don't really want to think about college right now."

"But, Rory." Richard takes the hand-off. "I managed to get you an interview early. You should be preparing a presentation on why exactly you want to continue the legacy."

"I want Harvard more," she argued. "I don't mind Yale, but my heart isn't set on it."

"So many Gilmores have gone there though," Emily argued. "I don't see why you don't give it some kind of chance." Oh God...what were they doing to her?

"Because I don't want to be there. I want to live in Boston, I want to wear a Red Sox hat and wander Harvard Yard. I don't think about Yale," Rory begged. "Please, can we not talk about this tonight?"

"I think that it's a perfect time." Mrs. Gilmore, don't. For the love of everything, stop stressing out my girlfriend to the point she shies away. "Richard talked to admissions and they've agreed to a re-interview on the 22nd for you. It's the perfect time; after the last day of classes, everyone's distracted, and you can make a good case for why you deserve to go to Yale."

"Mom..." Lorelai's tone held a sense of warning.

"Well I can't stand by and watch as Rory wastes a perfectly good opportunity to have an Ivy League interview at very little cost to her beyond time and preparation. It will prepare her for the Harvard interview."

"I am preparing for that one already. Paris and I rehearse it weekly," she mentioned. "We're going to go in together, back-to-back."

"They're going to be unfairly influenced though," Richard implored. "What if she has a better interview than you do? Obviously the counselor is going to see that you're less prepared."

"What do you mean?" I felt the stress rise through me as I tried to watch Ror struggle through the cabal. "I will be well-prepared. I just think if I have the support of a good friend, things will go better for the both of us."

"But Paris has more extra-curricular activities: she's going to mention that in hers. What do you have? Golf, an aborted sorority joining attempt, summer activities."

"So I didn't think camping was important in getting the eye of a college. I'm sorry, Grandma! I was stuck in a school for ten years where I was suffocated daily by teachers and other peers and the last thing on my mind was taking extra things to add artificial life experience." She was feeling the pressure build. "My priority is learning, and I want to do this, on my own. I don't need any more help than I need. I don't need you to go to bat to me for Yale."

"But it's a fine school. Just as fine as Harvard! Why are you so dead set on that school, young lady? You're ill-prepared for the real world." The fuse is launching. "You're going to get out to Cambridge and realize that we're a distance away and we can't help you." I pushed my chair closer to Rory's, so I could have my ankle touch hers in some kind of supporting move.

"I really don't want to talk about this. Especially in front of Paris."

"I think that it's important to her," Mrs. Gilmore argued as her husband tried to speak up and stop this rapid fire questioning, finally seeing that it was time for him to back off.


"Richard, this is important. She needs to know where she stands, and if she thinks going to a school is like a dream sequence set during The Paper Chase, she needs to come out of the clouds." Even Lorelai was silent, unable to rebut any of her mother's arguments. "I would rather you attend Yale, and I've made that clear."

"I don't want Yale." She shirks in her seat. "I have put in way too many years into preparing for Harvard to stop now."

"We can guarantee this to you though, security in knowing you'll be in a fine school!"

"That's not the point, Grandma!" She put fingers to her temples, the stress building. "I don't care about being with the in crowd! I just want to go where I've wanted to for years. I don't care how, I just want to go!"

"What if you hate it? You're going to regret having these dreams and then you'll be stuck there without anyone to comfort you."

"I'll have Paris," she argues, to no avail. "She will be there for me."

"Yeah, right now. Then when you begin to break down, she'll begin to hate you for not taking this golden opportunity." Why the fuck is she speaking to me like I wasn't in the room?

"Paris, you know as well as anybody that you shouldn't make friends of enemies, right?" I nod sheepishly. "Then please explain to my granddaughter why I have her best interests in mind trying to set up this re-interview." Shit, I'm being put on the spot. What can I say? How can I say it?

"Best interests? Really?" OK, the first thing in my mind seems to work, I guess. "You're telling me that I'm not going to be there for her?"

"Well you have your own education to keep in mind," she reminds me. "How will you have time to help her out?"

"I can make time," I argue. "That's what friends do."

"But you'll be in school. It's cutthroat there, and you--"

OK, that's it! I'm not going to stand for this woman telling me how I'm supposed to act to my best friend. "First of all, Emily, I would really appreciate it if you stopped pressuring Rory into wanting Yale when it's clear she wants it only as a safety. For the last month you've been pushing her into it, and she keeps telling me she doesn't want to go, that Harvard is on her radar and that's it!"

"Paris Eustachia Gellar, I will not be talked down to--" I stand up to her, intending to protect my lover's honor.

"I'm talking at your level, not down, and I really get sick of coming to pick her up on Mondays and hearing her say again and again that she feels like a failure because you can't stand for her to be in nothing but Yale blue! Since she was four years old, she's done nothing but yearned to be in Harvard, and whatever you do, you can't stop it."

"Paris, cool down." Lorelai tries to warn me, but I think I can deal with this.

"No, she needs to hear this! She needs to hear what her granddaughter has struggled to tell her because she's so fearful of saying anything, and I'm frankly, mad at the both of you for pushing her towards something she didn't want, but more towards you, Mrs. Gilmore. You know--"

"I don't have to hear this from a petulant little perfectionist--"

"Grandma!" I was getting in over my head....I felt myself drowning, but still felt the anger course through.

"You should be ashamed of yourself for ever suggesting to your husband he use his contacts to rope Rory into an interview she wasn't prepared for."

"She should be prepared for anything," she argued. "You know that as well as I do. I'm sure you have safety schools yourself."

Why isn't she getting the point? I shake my head and cringe. "Yeah, but only because I enjoy them and if I had to attend them, it's not the end of the world. I know you mean well, that you want the best for your granddaughter. But sticking her in a situation in a place she loathes is not the way to go about it. I understand the legacy, believe me. I know the Gilmores have had one family member attend Yale every generation since the 1840's, more than my legacy at Harvard." I began to calm down. "But sometimes, it's not a right place. Rory's looked at it, very closely. I know this because we've been planning this between ourselves for the last few months. We're both disappointed in the journalism program. I can't handle their law and medical curriculums. It might have been a perfect place to learn about finance and insurance, but Rory isn't headed towards either line of work." I began to feel the tension of the room melt away. "I apologize if I feel like I have to speak for my friend, but she's been extremely intimidated to disappoint you two." I sit back in the chair, feeling relieved that I spoke out, even if it might cost me relationship brownie points. I was just tired of the sadness in her eyes, the disappointment she feels for having not had her heart set in the dreams of her grandfather.

Emily sits stone-still, taking in all I had to say, and Rory, Lorelai and Richard look at her as if she was going to blow up. I knew my girlfriend was in a panic about instigating an argument, but I was tired of this. Every week she went, she took the abuse, and I had to hear about it. It hurts me for her to hurt.

I let out a calming breath and tried to lighten the room, placing my napkin on the plate and taking a sip of water. I feel the tension between us two and I know I have to extricate. "I apologize, Mrs. Gilmore. I just wanted to share my opinion on the matter." She stares at me, her mouth in that position where she was afraid to speak out, and I begin to pull out my chair. She isn't speaking, and I have this sense that whatever goodwill I had built up for years with her has completely evaporated. Emily remains silent, and I begin to get up...

"Excuse me, young lady." She speaks. But not in a manner I ever expected. Her voice was usually stern and commanding, but now her words were weak and less forceful. "Where are you going?"

I tell the truth. "You didn't take it well. I need to disengage from this--" She holds up her hand to stop me.

"No." She looks at me, her eyes challenging. "No...you shouldn't leave. As much as I vehemently disagree with you, you're right, Paris."

"I...I am?" I sit back down, stunned at my unexpected victory.

"Yes. I think we have been putting too much pressure on Rory. Actually," she corrects, "I have." She turns towards her granddaughter, sipping her wine. "I just wanted to see if Rory would give the school a chance, if we could push her into it. But I guess she has proven that she doesn't want to attend it."

"I don't," Rory says. "I'm really sorry to disappoint you both, but I just felt if I said anything, you'd hate me for turning it down. I'm too stuck to Harvard to really change my mind at this point, and though I would consider Yale, it is not my first choice. It can't be. As Paris says, when you dedicate yourself to wanting to go to a school, you target it with everything you've got, and that's where I stand." She explains how she appreciated them cutting her into the interview line, but that she wants to do it on her own terms, not those set by anyone else.

It's a tense few minutes between the two, but in the end, we manage to settle everything down that we need to. Emily eventually sees the light and although she isn't pleased that Rory won't consider her alma mater, Richard is actually relieved, knowing that the professors would take advantage of Rory getting in only based on connections and hammering her with challenges that the other kids wouldn't have. Everyone voices out their feelings about the manner, and finally, Mrs. Gilmore closes the door on it.

"Richard, can you call them and tell them Rory won't interview unless she gets an appointment? If she wants to get in the normal way as just a safety, we must respect that."

"Is that what you really want, dear?" he asks her. Rory nods and smiles.

"Please, Grandpa. I'm thankful you want to help me out, but I don't want to step on anyone to get it." Richard smiles towards the both of us, and the eating resumes as the maid brings out a dessert of chocolate mousse...lactose free for me, of course. Lorelai looks at me as if she's amazed that I was able to root out the peace on the matter, and Rory...

I think I find her reaction to my settling things down the best. When everyone was distracted, her hand ends up on my thigh, and she bends out one of her fingers to trace a pattern across it. One that makes me very thankful that I have such a girlfriend who can deal with all of my tantrums without having to restrain me. She sneaks a smile at me, and her index finger traces characters across my leg, all of which I recognize only on feel. I close my eyes and my stomach flip-flops as I translate the characters.

I♥UP (pat) THX

Yes, I know what you're thinking, surely I would not respond to such a simple, and in the grand scheme of things, infantile statement at all. That it was too simple, and worse...sweet.

Yeah, if you're thinking that, you just need to stop right now. I'm in love, and I'll express it any damned way I want to. Smiling as I let the simple sentiment of the words take me over, I decide to push the limits a bit with her. No one's looking, and we have a tablecloth covering us. As I watch that delectable tongue of my Farm Girl take in the taste of the sinfully sweet concoction she seems to love a bit too much, judging from how her blatant spoon-licking makes me flash back to my bedroom that one morning, I'm so turned on. A feeling I really don't need a few hours after some very satisfying sex.

I draw up her dress, watching her eyes still as she realizes the hem is sliding up her leg. I'm not going to let something so simple go unreciprocated. I just saved her cute ass from being stuck in New Haven, the Ivy equivalent of purgatory, so I'm going to show her exactly how much I want to prove to her. No one is the wiser as I hitch the dark floral print material until her entire inner thigh is exposed to me. I got to see her dress earlier...we both watched each other dress. I was sitting at that table the whole time feeling all slicked up from the knowledge that her panties were lacy, semi-sheer, and colored blue to match her bra.

God, I love seducing her. Setting my finger against her thigh, she can only look straight on and I can only hope I don't hit a place that'll make her bump her knee against the table. Knowing I have a bit of a disadvantage as my right hand isn't the one I write with, I hope I get the pattern of the letters right. It's like we're doing the most base and sexual form of text messaging possible.

If only I had one of those vibrating finger massagers, it would complete the experience. Noted for next time. But I digress. I slide a finger across the fringe of her panties to tease her before I give her the push to know that I'm always going to be there for her, in every sense she can think of. She's all innocent, carefree, just a regular Mary right now, until I scratch the message into her skin.


This time though, there is no innocent pat at all. Instead, I decide to do so much more than that weakling Chris ever did to his baby's mother (I refuse to use the tabloid talk show variant of this term) at any kind of Gilmore dinner, because I can get away with it. I circle my index around the crotch of her panties, then return to her thigh and make my mark on her.

YW-UO ME ;) (Yes, I wrote the wink sign. I know, I feel like I'm betraying the masters of the English language here, but love doesn't always involve being grammatically correct.)

I then make a cavalier move for her in front of the three most important people in her life, at the same table. I feel no guilt at all as I slide a finger beneath the leg of her underwear and let it dip into her slit. She doesn't even see it coming, but I can tell defending her honor was the right thing to do, because she's wet from my anger. She's soaked the fabric, her legs pushed in tight together not only from manners, but from the fact she's probably still remembering how hard she came earlier from my hand. She's in heat...she wants more. I look down at her stomach, her diaphragm spreading out and in at an accelerated pace. She spoons more mousse and slides it into her mouth, licking that spoon round and back...

Lord, have mercy on my soul for what I'm about to do in the presence of Emily and Lorelai Gilmore.

I take a spoonful of my own dessert, trying to look completely normal as I push my finger higher...higher....so slick. God, you know, I never shared this, but Tristan used the say the worst things about Ror when she wasn't around. The usual 'I'm going to do her so hard she'll see stars' crap with the other guys that I'm not supposed to hear, but I did anyways. One of his worst lines was 'Mary's gotta have a tight cunt. She'll never loosen up when she wraps it around me and she'll milk me hard.'

I have one finger two and a half inches in and her muscles are grasping on my digit for dear life. For once, the boy has it right.

Except, somehow I don't think she'll be fitting a cock inside her anytime soon. I'm perfectly sized for her, just right. I'm her Goldilocks...not too soft, not too hard, and definitely perfect on the length. I feel her clench against me, eating the mousse as I go on about something idle involving the paper. She nods silently as Richard compliments both our writing and editing abilities.

Funny about the editing thing, because I hope she knows how to self-edit herself and not drop the F-bomb at the table. I push my finger in and out a couple more times, so thankful the chair is deep and the tablecloth is voluminous to hide my dirty deed. I sense that she's about to come with only the barest of touches.

I'm right. I circle her stiff clit, and she smashes her legs together, encouraging a few more circles. I will oblige her, all the while calibrating my next quick and witty to meet her orgasm. I'm smart like that, and as I begin to feel her flood my fingers, I pull away as her face pales, her respiration quickens, and she begins to enjoy her delicious treat in a way that makes Meg fucking Ryan look like an amateur, while her other hand tightens around the arm of the chair tightly as if she's grasping a Louisville Slugger. I pull away just a little, and she tries to hide her reaction behind a bite of mousse.

It works as she soaks through rather quickly. There she is, her dress hitched up, and I'm making her come for the second time in a manner of hours. We're going to begin to get away from the notebook and indulge her deepest, darkest wants. We're both going to do that, and it starts now. She convulses, holding on to the edge of the table tightly, and making deep, lustful moans within her covered mouth.

And now, the Gilmore grandparents are looking at her as if she has a third eyeball coming out of hiding. I leave her behind with one last message on her thigh, written in her own damp arousal as she pushes her thighs in and out to finish her orgasm.


The death glare directed my way made it all worth it before Emily wondered what the matter was just in time for me to push Rory's dress back down and take in her full reaction, featuring a hidden cough and a gasp.

"Is there something wrong, dear?" she asks, to my now flushing and panting girlfriend going through the last vestiges of my returning the favor.

"Oh my God!" she cries out rather loudly, to the shock of everyone at the table before she goes into the hidden reasoning for her sudden...passion. Emily is scared of Rory's reaction before she comes to excuse my finger-fuck under the cover of enjoying a sinful delight. "Yummmm!" The blush is deep and I can see in the side of my vision how her chair is slightly shaking as she rides out the small waves.

"That...is the best chocolate mousse ever!" She makes another lustful "mmmmmm" before shaking herself back to normal. "Seriously, Grandma, that was delicious."

Emily didn't know how to react, really. "Um, thank you, Rory." She shakes her head as the last convulsions go through my tall brunette. "That's the same recipe we've been using for years."

"Maybe the chef added a different kind of chocolate?" Richard proclaimed. "I thought I saw barred Ambrosia in the kitchen rather than the usual powdered stuff they pick up at the chef's store. It is a really good treat."

"Yeah, Mom, it's tops," Lorelai says. I don't know if she's on to us, but it gives me the perfect cover to be even more blatant. Or possibly make Rory have an aneurism right here and now. Looking for any excuse to enjoy my girlfriend further, I completely break my table manners and run that finger that was just inside of her along the rim of the mousse glass. Her breathing quickens as I let the concoction completely coat it, and suck my teeth across it. Emily notices my zeal...

"And you, Paris? How is it? I know it's different with Cool Whip in it instead of real cream." I take in the texture of the chocolate and egg, mixed in with the additional flavoring and that fake whipped topping.

I think this is a moment where if I spontaneously combusted, I would die happy from the taste of my girlfriend mixed with chocolate. I can definitely differentiate her cum from the actual dessert, and my eyes glaze over as I let myself become lost in the taste and emotions of what I just shared with her.

My voice deepens as I direct my words more towards the girl next to me rather than her grandmother. "This mousse is divine, Mrs. Gilmore. Definite compliments to your chef."

"Why, thank you." Emily is in shock. A compliment for her menu, it blows her mind.

"You're welcome." I let the taste linger as Rory can't get over what I just did to her. I love what I just did, and I know she did...but she places her finger on my own thigh to state what she thought of what I just did.


I just smirk as I take in another bite of the mousse and leave one last rebuttal that's sure to leave her a total mess until the next time she can get her revenge on me.


Yes, I read Gossip Girl on Maddy's recommendation. And then when I was finished, I told her it was the worst piece of trash I've ever read, that it spits on feminism and all the progress women have made over the last forty years,  the characters were twenty levels below cardboard cutouts, it makes cheesy romance novels look downright progressive, and I would punch the author in the face if I ever saw her on the street and tell her every single little thing that was wrong with her joke of a book, especially spending three pages telling me what some teenage New York bitch was wearing, down to brand names, purchase place, and prices. God, I will choke someone if they ever make it a television show.

But that one line from the book did stick out to me, and it's stayed with me since the annoying bitch of a blogger 'narrator' put it at the end of her post. It was actually kind of bitchy, ideal and...

Well, the perfect way to punctuate what is sure to be a Friday night dinner Rory will never forget. I drop a winning smile on her, and I see her almost swoon at me taking what could've been a nightmare of an hour and instead, she can never thing of chocolate mousse in the same way ever again.

Oh, and if you do happen to fog out the men in the book, it might as well be a tale of lesbian sexual tension.

I know we still have at least one hour to go tonight. I don't know if her grandparents will accept us. But at the very least, I have their respect. I stood up to defend my lover's honor, to make it clear that she wasn't going to Yale because they said so. They'd have to get through me first before they could try to talk her into it. And for that, I know that I've made more headway in ten minutes than Dean could in two years with her. He went to one dinner, that's it. And the chickenshit couldn't stand the heat.

For Rory, I'd follow her to the ends of the earth. I'd go to every dinner, ever if I had to. And to the end, I would show that I will fight for her, tooth and nail, and show that my loyalty lies only with her. I will love her, no matter what. I'm the only one where with just one touch, she comes apart. I respect her intelligence, her beauty, and her morals.

I am the right one to be with Rory Gilmore. Not Dean, not Jess, not Tristan or any other guy in Chilton. Not Louise, Madeline, Summer, or even Lane could ever give her what I want to. Someone to run to, to talk to, just sharing those small moments and everything a relationship should have.

I know, I'm overreaching, that I'm making this declaration and that she has her own free will to love whoever she wants. But I'm here, with her, willing to go through this, and that has to count for something. It definitely counts when it comes to Lorelai, because I definitely need her in my corner for sure.

All I can hope for is that at the end of the night, everything is well. If it isn't, I still have to be here. I cannot let anyone break us apart. Not for anything for the world. The last thing I ever want to be is the woman who broke Rory's heart by giving up when she needed me the most.

We hold hands beneath the table as Lorelai makes a bad joke of some kind about apple tarts. I feel the security and love between us in that hand hold, something that unites us together and makes us stronger together than just ourselves...

Rory's POV

How did she get away with that?

Really, I'm asking this, not only to myself, but to the world at large, and I'm looking for any sane explanation to explain the power that this girl is having over me. I still can't believe what she pulled at that table, in the dining room, in front of my mom and my grandparents!

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God...

I think this is the point usually where I make some comparison with Dean usually. He does something stupid and I lead into 'but Paris is better than him because she did this and this and this.'

Problem is, Dean was nice, and he was a gentleman. He attended one dinner and Grandpa pretty much made it clear he would rather reenact a coast-to-coast tour in a 1910s car on dirt roads with iron tires while having a hernia before he ever wanted to speak to that boy again. I knew he would never impress Grandpa at all.

But there was my girlfriend, in a corner of the living room, talking about cars and speed with him, going on and on about how she'd want a V8-something with a 0-to-60 of less than four seconds and other technical gobbledygook that I usually tune out because I'm of the 'key turns, car starts, I hope' school of automobile knowledge. And he was completely enjoying her company.

There I was across the room, completely infatuated with her, my cheeks so warm from just her presence, and my body in wait, begging for more of her affection and love, something which I'm quickly becoming addicted to. I sat with my legs crossed, a pantiliner along my dampened underwear not only from her little fun at the dining room table, but a fear that I might just watch her in this situation and want to rub myself into yet another orgasm from that damned voice.

I'm actually addicted to having sex with Paris. My mind, which should be focusing on exams, is now hard-wired to feel her touch, remember the soft feel of her breasts, the sound of her voice when she gets close to fruition. Sure, my grades are still better than ever. But in between economics lessons I'm thinking Paris should supply me when I'm demanding her touch.

What has happened to me? I have fallen beyond head over heels for this woman, and I just can't stop thinking about her. Formal was a true turning point for the both of us, those three hours apart making us both realize that we need each other, heart and soul. I feel so bonded to her, and for her to do what she did tonight, to stand up to Grandma and tell her point blank that she was wrong for pushing Yale on me, and dragging Grandpa into it for her own needs. I was afraid to say something, to open a wound and renew the hate she held for my mom because if I were to tell her, she'd think I was brainwashed, that it wasn't my decision. I had spent many afternoons with her, rehearsing, just talking about Harvard. It's like a focus to us, a catharsis to have this thing to look forward to.

Truth be told, though, it's more than just the school for me now. I still remember the first friendly conversation we had at the fair, about how she didn't want me to go, but we agreed to disagree, with the conclusion that it was a 'big school'. That we'd never bump into each other, and we would forget each other.

It might be a big school, but as each day goes by, with each new touch and sweet nothing in my ear, each kiss, that campus seems much smaller.

This is getting serious. If she was that willing to defend my honor to keep me on the Harvard track...what does that mean for us? She hasn't really talked about living arrangements or anything past June, but I don't know.

OK, I need to stop thinking about this, just focus on the present. That bridge is a long way off from crossing and for now I should count my blessings that Yale has now been pushed out of the picture. We're back to just Harvard...

"Hey, so everything's going well so far." Mom gave me a glass of Coke as she sat next to me. I took it willingly and sipped from the glass, letting the cool syrup coat my throat. "She seems to be friendly to Grandpa." I crossed my legs over as I brought my attention away from Paris to focus on my mother.

"She is. They're talking about her 911 right now; it's actually quite interesting to hear her describe the car in detail." She went on about the safety and sound systems, along with the finely tuned suspension as he describes his 1973 S, which was his big purchase when he got boosted to the upper offices of his company with a much higher salary. "I still remember taking it on Route 6 up to Provincetown the day after I bought it. Frankly, it was the best drive I've ever had; I still love it to this day, it's still in perfect condition and has wonderful road miles. I assume you've taken yours out on a good run after you got it?" Richard was absolutely intrigued as Paris described the latter portion of her summer vacation after coming back from DC.

"I went a little farther, out of the way. I had the dealer drop mine in Atlantic City after it had a tune up and fluid check, and took it all the way down the Parkway to Cape May, then hopped the ferry to Delaware and just drove all the way down the Delmarva until I got out of the Bay Bridge/Tunnel in Norfolk. The rest of the way I took it easy, headed into the Appalachians on Skyline Drive, took many curves, and it was just a wonderful drive. My girl really knows how to tame those mountain roads."

"That's pretty amazing, dear!" Grandpa exclaimed. "How many miles was that? It had to be at least 1,500."

"It was. I had the top down, wind in my hair, the stereo blaring. I can only imagine how you felt when you had your Mustang and did the BC 99/US 101 drive all those years ago on the Pacific coast."

"You and the road, that's all it is. You learn to love it, you learn to respect it, and it will treat you right." I really enjoyed watching how much they were bonding. "I think you're really taking to the road well, Paris. Everyone else in your school, they buy these cars to drive what, three miles a day? It's such a sinful waste to have all those horses beneath the hood and having only 1/4 able to work themselves. You seem pretty smart and aware that your cars and bikes need to be worked, that they should be driven for pleasure, not work. You have your workhorse SUV and Jaguar, and then the fun toys you get to play with when you need them. That's what I really love, seeing 'em worked to their limits, that feeling of speed, the invincibility you feel within that small cabin."

She smiled at him. "Everyone else gets into makeup, bags, jewelry, all kinds of collections. Not me. I just love that feeling of knowing if I wanted to, I could head up to Vermont for the weekend and just take those roads all over. I do it within common reason, of course."

"I assume you've gone past the speed limit in a few places then, but you've been careful."

She nodded. "Very careful. I had Rory in the car once; I let her drive it." Whoa, stop, hon. You can't tell him that! "You should be very proud of her, because she handled it like a pro." I was in a panic, ready for her to be yelled at by him. Why would she say that? Did she not know...?

He turned towards me, and I felt like a ghost. "Is this so?"

"Y-y-yes?" I whimpered as Mom prepared to usher me away.

"I told her never to do it again," she said, but he stopped her. I was so nervous, my stomach spinning.

"You felt that thrill then, right?" I couldn't understand the smile on his face. "Rory, one spin in a Porsche where I'm sure you were safe isn't the end of the world. You should learn to relax, to enjoy things. I'm sure you did, and I don't think any less of either of you two for bonding through Paris's need for speed."

"It...it was wonderful. Awesome." I glowed, relieved that he found it all right. "I took a curve at 85 and Paris was extremely proud of how I drove it." Mom shook her head. "I might not be able to do it again, but you have to do it once, right?"

"If you enjoy it and you're safe and nobody's around, I say go for it."

"Dad! Don't encourage her." Mom tried to come to my defense, but that only brought back a reminder that she was once in my shoes.

"Nonsense, Lorelai. She's safe and has Rory's well being completely in mind; Paris would have never given her the keys if she didn't have that gut feeling. You, Christopher and that Ferrari, remember that?"

Oh, I'm sure she didn't want to. Dad trashed his sixteenth birthday present on an Avon Mountain curve by taking it at 110 mph and ended up with a broken arm. If Mom hadn't forgotten her purse at the lookout point and took another ride with her friend, she might've been in that car while she was unknowingly two months pregnant with me. I mean, I took that curve at 85, but I judged it and the road was dry. If I would've said 'how about 95' I was sure Paris would've gone volcanic on me. 

"Well...I guess. I just," she looked worried towards my girlfriend. "I feel secure about her driving Rory to and from school. I just find her inner speed freak a bit scary."

"You don't have to worry about it, Ms. Gilmore," Paris assured. "It's winter anyways and I always put away the lead foot this time of year. Summer and fall it's safe, but now and spring, I'm sobered, especially around the holidays." She was apologetic to her. "It gets to Thanksgiving and you get those people out who always misjudge winter driving conditions and always speed, along with the idiots who think a Bud Light is a good substitute for heat. When I get into bad weather, I'm almost as slow as my Nanna Gellar was on the roads with her old maroon Buick boat of a car."

"Ahh, the '53 Estate Wagon," Grandpa remembered within his encyclopedic mind. "Old Brownie?" Paris nodded. "That was a big, beautiful car, they don't make them like that anymore."

"It's still in the family and in great condition. My Uncle Hershel still drives it occasionally from his home on Block Island on the ferry to Narragansett. The backseat is so nice..." She directed a look towards me, "...and spacious." Cue the secret smile and my internal shuddering at the idea of being taken in a big old car like that. I had to cross my legs, and I really enjoyed the bulk of my pad all the sudden.

"We're in a car geek sandwich," Mom quipped as she shook her head. "I feel like I'm with Click and Clack here talking about a Honda transmission."

"Surely you jest, Lorelai." Paris seemed very offended, though she still smiled. "I'm more for a Toyota when it comes to Japanese makes. You know, I've been looking at the Prius, that new hybrid they just came out with? What do you think of it, Mr. Gilmore?"

"I think it's a great concept," he declared brightly. "I don't understand why the American makers are jumping on it, and the auto coverage division of my company looked it over in Japan. They feel like it'll be a high-demand car because of the electric motor, though there's still some nagging issues like engine quietness. Too soft, someone crosses the street and they don't hear you ahead."

"They can work those issues out, I'm sure." Paris smiles at him. "What do you think of hybrids, Rory?" She gave me an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to leave you out."

"Oh, that's all right," I assured. "I definitely would be interested in one. I'm sure you're waiting for the third generation model so you can have all that speed."

"You might think that," Paris told me, "but if they come out with a Lexus version, I'm all over it."

"Of course you'd want the higher-cost label," I rationalized. "Toyota's not good enough?"

"It's fine. But leather seats, lots of legroom...I hear the Prius isn't conducive to being a very roomy car." Oh God, she was flirting with me again. "I might be a small girl, but I need to spread out." I had to shut my eyes, this was too much!

"Y...yeah," I stuttered, as Paris pursed her lips, amused at how seductive she can be in front of my grandfather. He was really impressed with her, and I hoped that foreboding was a good sign.

Which took me to thoughts of where Grandma was. I was surprised that she hadn't joined us after dinner because she always talks to us in the living room.

"I should go check where Grandma is," I said, excusing myself up to look for her. I needed them both in the room before I can have the courage to bring things to where they need to be. Mom looked at me, and then Paris, and I let Grandpa know that I would be back with her shortly.

Giving Paris one last look, I got up from my seat, putting my soda down on the table atop of a coaster and head into the small hallway linking Grandpa's den and Grandma's parlor. I walked slowly in order to not disturb the throw rug beneath my feet, and peered into the room through a peek in the door to see Emily looking at various pieces of paper and books to plan one of her DAR events.

I knocked. "Grandma?"

She looked up, glasses on her face. "Yes, dear."

"I was wondering why you're not with us all." I entered the room, ready to back away if she didn't let me come in. "Usually you're out there for the whole time."

"It's...it's nothing." She sounded distracted. I sat down on the other side of the table, facing her. "Just some holiday planning, we have that event at the Knights of Columbus hall on the 22nd that I have to prepare for. Getting out the invitations and such."

"The Yule Ball?" She nodded in the affirmative. "Sounds like fun."

"Quite." Her way of ending the topic as she brought herself towards the woman of the evening. "So, how are you and Paris getting along?"

I tried to avoid it with a non-committal answer. "Fine." I cross my legs together, helping to seal and stamp envelopes to help her out. "It might be a bit more hectic this time of year but we've navigated everything smoothly."

"I see that," Grandma responded. "I'm just curious about how much of a presence she is in your life lately. From what I remember, you two were barely civil to each other."

"We bonded during the Washington trip. It was good for the both of us."

"Yes, but you seemed to be joined at the hip."

"We are," I said. "I feel a close bond with her now."

"I'll say. You don't usually have any kind of guest, except for that meeting with Dean." It was then I realized that in this large gap of time, I had not let my grandparents know that I wasn't exactly all that social with Dean anymore. "How is he doing, anyways?"

Oh, shit. Well, it proves to me how much they really cared about Dean. "I wouldn't know. We broke up about a month and a half ago."

"You did?" She was surprised as I licked and stamped five more envelopes. "Why wouldn't you say anything about it?"

"Because," I responded, "it's complicated. He was mad at me over a situation I couldn't control with a boy in town I don't like romantically, and I didn't take well to his attitude. So I ended it."

"Just like that?" Grandma stopped looking over her paperwork. "Why wouldn't you work it out, dear? I'm sure it was just some kind of misunderstanding between you both."

"It wasn't. He got jealous and jumped to a conclusion that was never true. Dean did a lot of that since I came home from Washington, and he was taking me for granted. I don't need that stress in my life, so I ended it with him." Why was she pushing me on this?

"But I don't understand. You were deeply in love with him. What changed your mind so quickly?"

"Nothing," I insisted. "It's nothing at all. The connection wasn't there, and there was a chasm between us. He wants me to be the complacent wife, I want to see the world. He doesn't even want to take college that seriously."

"You loved him though. Why give up two years just on a whim?"

"Grandma, I have my reasons. I don't want him back. He's in love with someone else in his hometown and I don't want to stop that."

"So what?" OK, wait, she wasn't a fan of Dean. Why defend him? "You work it out, you fight for him. You don't just give up because he pitches a fit at you one day." Her voice rose towards me. "He might not be the best man for you, young lady, but you can change him. You can mold him if you try."

"I'm not that kind of woman! Grandma, he was cheating on me with some other girl."

"So? Maybe if you would've butted in you could've stopped it." In my mind, I screamed Stop defending this idiot!

"Do you know how stupid you sound?" OK, that wasn't what I wanted to say. Out loud, at least. "Yeah, I'm going to convince my boyfriend who isn't in love with me to have me back."

"Young lady, do not take that tone with me." She got up as her voice took that dark tone she used often with Mom. "He was in love with you and you pushed him away."

"He pushed me away first!" I began to yell back. "I cannot be in love with someone who thinks of me second! I wasn't married to him, so I have no obligations to stay with Dean if it wasn't going to work out!"

"So that's it? One thing wrong and you're done with him."

"His car was unsafe. I didn't listen to Grandpa and I spent weeks in a cast because of an accident I had in it! Do you really think I'm that dense? That I would stay with someone who wasn't abusing me physically, but putting me down mentally? Let's put it this way Grandma; he didn't want to have sex with me!"

"Lorelai Leigh, this is information I don't need to hear--"

"I don't care. Why would you defend him when it's clear I'm done with him? One afternoon, I offered myself to him, no questions asked. I would've been safe to the nth degree. But did he take it? No. He refused me, and he made me feel like scum for doing so." I shouted at her, and I didn't give a fuck about decorum or niceties. "I am a red-blooded woman looking for much more than a make-out partner or some guy to tend to my every need. I need someone I can love for who they are, and--"

"Apparently Paris is doing that for you," she screamed. "It all makes sense now. Being alone, in the bedroom, all that cursing."

Fuck, she knew. She fucking knew. My skin took on a color that made a vampire look like they're blushing. I stared at her.

"You really think I didn't get that sense? A year ago, you treated that girl like a cancer, and now I can't read the newsletter or paper and not see your names pasted together by an ampersand." She was screaming at me. "I thought I was seeing things, that the both of you wouldn't participate in that dance marathon nonsense voluntarily."


"It all makes sense now. Sharon has been trying to get that girl together with Vance Beardsley III for years and she keeps turning him down. I don't know why, he would be a good provider for her. But she gets lovesick for that stupid felon Tristan DuGrey and when he's gone, suddenly she figures out that no man can love her." I was beginning to cry as this woman I was related to began to attack my girlfriend's character. "Any boy in Hartford would want her."

"Any boy would treat her like shit!" I never cursed at her, but it seemed appropriate, and she began to reel back as I went on the defensive. "And how can you think one good thought of Sharon Gellar? She's a hateful, spiteful bitch who couldn't even push the top 150 when she went to school, so she pushes her poor daughter to extreme limits so she can score all the glory. I don't know how she does it, live in a house with this soulless drunk who doesn't give a fuck about her own flesh and blood? You don't even talk to her!"

"That doesn't mean I don't care about her, dear!"

"How can you care? She took Paris's father, who might be the kindest, gentlest man outside of Grandpa in this whole city, and took him to the cleaners on lies and falsehoods. We came out to him Wednesday night and he couldn't have been more caring about us. Paris might have been forcibly torn apart from him, but their relationship is as close as Mom and I."

"So you confirm it," she spat out bitterly. "You dumped a guy who would give you the world for some silly little romance with a girl?"

I hated how she said the word, as if it's a slur on the level of other certain words. I cringed as I began to feel like Mom did all of those years ago when she confessed her pregnancy.

"Tell me you're not in love with her," Emily demanded. "That I was just hearing things in that hallway."

I can't lie to her, no matter what, and I'm too angry to censor myself like I usually can.

"What do you think? When you feel that pull towards someone, you can't deny it, and I have that with her."

"So you invite her here just so you can rub it in our faces that you don't want to have a respectable relationship? That you're so desperate for romance, you're willing to give it to someone who's so needy--"

"Needy?!" I flared up. "Really, Paris is so desperate and needy that she can only go to me and say 'Rory, I have feelings for you, I want you and I love you.' I'm the one who took the steps to woo her. I told her I wanted her, and it was a big risk that could've pushed us further away. But she bit, and I'm damned glad she did." I cried, my voice loud and frayed as footsteps moved towards the room. "This has been the happiest month of my life, and yes, I am in love with her. There was no hesitation when I told her that, and I wanted to come here tonight and tell you that I found someone who I feel like can be my soul mate. Not just my Christopher, someone who's there but runs away when he realizes what the consequences are. Paris is smart, she's intelligent, and the most beautiful woman I know. She has empathy within her heart and she does nothing but put everyone else in front of her. Yes, she's insane about Harvard, but I am too. I'm not seeing the problem you have with us."

"You can't be together!" She moved towards me. "You have so much potential to be a wonderful woman out there, but you want to be a lesbian because you think she's the love of her life. That's not how it works, Rory!" She shook her head. "I wish your mother had raised you better to know that this is a moral dead end--"

"Oh, don't you dare drag her into this," I warned. "Don't you dare, Grandma."

"What? If she hadn't left us, you wouldn't think more of Paris beyond a friend."

"Yeah, because you would have shot us down by force!" I darted a look towards the other side of the room, where Paris, Mom and Grandpa looked in at our loud fight from the door. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. I'm telling you the truth, that I love her. It's not as if I can get knocked up by her or anything."

"Oh, that makes it so much better, that you can't have her baby. Thank God for that, because now you're going to deny us grandchildren because you're only thinking of yourself." She raised her hands up, her voice becoming ragged. "That's all I've been looking for, an appropriate suitor who makes it downright impossible for you to continue the family legacy! Well thank you, Rory, for thinking of us when it comes to making life choices like becoming gay because the reasoning center of your brain seems to have been messed up."

"Excuse me," Grandpa boomed. "What's happening here?"

I don't expect Emily Gilmore to ever say what she did. But she does, and...it hurts. It's like she stabbed a fucking knife in my back.

"Your granddaughter who you're so proud of is a disappointment to us." He looks shocked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well that girl next to you? She's Rory's lover, and she's a lesbian. Way to thank us for sending her to Chilton, huh?" He looks at her, and Paris gave me a pained look, in shock. And for once, my mother is speechless. Silent.

It's the worst moment of my life. I hear the d-word, and I collapse in the chair, unable to rebut. No one can come near me, afraid of Grandma, and I expected Grandpa to follow suit. A minute of silence, wracked with my sobs. I can't believe she called me that...hurt me in this way.

"Emily," he says tersely. "What is the meaning of this?"

"She dumped Dean last month and fell in love with Paris, apparently. How do you feel about that, dear? That your granddaughter is so petty, she will risk our reputations for the love of a woman?" I expected him to respond in kind, and for our relationship to be irrevocably broken.

I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. My heart wanted to run from my body and leave me as just flesh and bone. I looked towards my girlfriend and I knew that she wanted to hug me, but she was afraid to move one inch, scared that my big bear of a grandfather will stop her.

I was like a mess. I hated myself. What if Grandma is right? I'm being selfish, only thinking of myself...

"Rory is a lesbian?" Taken aback, I prepared for his vitriol. "And what exactly is the problem with that?"


"Richard, she's laying with another woman. The Bible forbids this. I forbid this. Everyone in the world thinks this is sick." Her voice was crisp and precise.

Great, I'm ill because I have elegant fingers buried inside me instead of a grubby, dirty penis.

"The Bible says a lot of things, like we can't eat clams," he responded proudly. "Last time I checked, the shellfish industry was alive and well. I take the book seriously, but it's kind of like some political memoir, some things are glossed over, and some who wrote it inserted lies and falsehoods just for spite, using the mouth of God to excuse their personal feelings." He was acting very calm and reasoned. "Paris, you want to hug your girlfriend?" She nodded. "Go over there."


"Emily, after so many years, you think I raised my daughter to be intolerant and had her teach Rory to be the same?" His voice boomed with authority as I got up and fell into Paris's arms. She wrapped around me tightly, and I cried into her shoulder. "I was just talking to this young lady, and the way she went on about how proud she was of her when it came to her editing and work ethic, I can see that I'd rather have her with my granddaughter than any boy." He shook his head. "How can you even think a positive thought about that dullard Dean Forrester? I heard her say he cheated on her. He has no honor at all to turn Rory down when she felt she was ready, and it's no wonder she felt this way for Paris."

"Are you listening to yourself, Richard? You're actually going to endorse this? With not a qualm? What if Paris hurts her?"

"Then we're there for her. But I doubt this young lady would ever be so spiteful and mean to her ever again." He spoke his mind, strongly. "She doesn't get enough support, I can always tell that. She was dragged through the mud when Sharon divorced poor Harold and she finds happiness in not only her cars and dancing, but in our granddaughter. How can you speak so ill of her, Emily?"

"She was having sex with her upstairs, in her bed!" Richard stepped back a couple of steps, scared. "That she would show us such blatant disrespect--"


"Don't. Say. A. Word. Lorelai."

Mom stepped in front of Grandpa in a defensive position, firm and angry, falling back into the strong girl she was when she was about to leave the mansion.

"No, Mom, I have to. You and Dad did the same thing when you were in his dorm when you were younger, and I don't see any problem. Yes, I reacted like you did at first, but I calmed down when I saw how much more good than bad this did for her. She's thriving, Paris is thriving, and I have not once had to yell at either of them because they're doing something wrong."

"So you're encouraging their...thing."

"No, I'm thinking whatever happened with Dean told her that she wasn't right for a guy. That she saw Paris and thought 'what a fine young woman she is...and she's so attractive. I know it might not be normal, but let's give this girl-on-girl thing a shot.' And what do you know, they're happy and gay. Literally. And I love it because I can trust Paris with Rory's very life. She won't hurt my daughter." She was so passionate defending us that she cried. "You know, last week she fought tooth and nail to get her back because she got set up on a date with some guy in Philly by her mother that he didn't want because that woman talked him into it without them being consulted at all. Rory sees that, she overreacts, and she almost loses that guiding force, that person keeping her together and from falling apart within the hellish walls of that school. It took them so long to find their footing. They used to hate each other so deeply I felt like I'd come home to her with a black eye one day. But I look at this small, blonde, gifted young woman, and I see myself in her."

It's then that for the first time since she came to Grandma for help with Chilton, she truly spoke her mind. Her words were firm, and I watch as Grandpa slid his hand into his daughter's, showing that Emily was fighting a one-woman battle between us. "She has a father who loves her with all he has, who regards her as his best blessing, but has to put up with a cold bitch of a mother who barely acknowledges her existence." Emily attempted to speak over her, but failed miserably. "She's stuck in a situation she didn't want to be in, having this way of living her life that isn't supported at all by anyone. She's heard backtalk, all the words, the slurs, and she tries to rise above it, but inside, she's fucking hurting. Her heart is protected by all these layers because there's nothing but hurt in her life. She has had one woman through her entire she can depend on, her nanny, and without her she's all alone, this empty heiress thinking of Harvard as her only life goal."

I felt Paris tighten her hold around me, and she rocked me back and forth as Lorelai finally made clear her uncompromising acceptance of us. "When Rory came into her life, she didn't want her help. She pushed her away so many times that my daughter should've taken her command to stay away from her very seriously. But she kept pushing, and pushing, and pushing, and eventually, they became friends with a good understanding of each other. And when they went to Washington, they began to think of each other differently, as more than friends. It took them so long to figure out they were on the same page, and it works for them. They work. There's nothing wrong with them. Paris has been there for Rory more than anyone else in the last year, and I've been watching them together for the last month. I know this isn't normal, Mom, but if they love each other, who's to stop them?" She calmed down, trying to find her footing at the end. "So don't yell at me. Don't yell at her. Nature chose them to find each other, and if they bond on that very close level, I can't stop them. Please, understand this."

She talked herself out, and I expected Paris to say something next. She brushed a kiss across my cheek and turned to face Emily as I pulled back to have Grandpa hug me against him.

"So," Emily sneered, wrapping her arms around her chest. "The truth comes out. You want Rory at Harvard just so you can have your way with her and control her. That's what this is all about. Your defense of her at the table was just a front."

Paris was very angered at her aside. Her jaw squared up, and she faced down my grandmother like she was some freshman at Hillside about to be ripped apart, point by point. She squinted her eyes, and she brought out every vocal gun she could possibly muster.

"Think whatever you want, Mrs. Gilmore. Call me a homewrecker, slander my name, tell me I'm inferior and I should just settle for some guy who doesn't care about me except around will time when my father dies and he can get a hold of the Gellar millions. You've put Rory through hell to get an education, and she's met every challenge you've thrown at her head-on. Get social? She tried and almost got a felony burglary charge out of it. Become a debutante. She did it. She absolutely hated it, but she did it. Invite people to parties that she barely knows because she needs 'connections'. She did that too, and she was well within her rights to tell you off for making her have such a stuffy party."

I held back my grandfather just in case he was ready to stop her, but I didn't feel any resistance against my hand at all. She cut Emily hard, calling her on all of her crap.

"We both came here tonight, in good faith to make you understand that our bond is close, that in the space of a month I've went from feeling all alone in the world, questioning my feelings, even my sanity, to having the love of a strong, beautiful woman who I feel will make a difference, no matter what she does. I came here because I wanted to be open...to be honest with you. To be in a non-confrontational situation where we could talk like civilized adults." She snarled her voice. "We can't have that, can we, Emily? You need conflict. You can't live without picking a fight, questioning life choices, to nitpick on every little thing your daughter and her progeny have ever done since the strip turned pink." I watched her eyes as she spoke, instead of her mouth at once. They were dead focused, a dark forest shade of brown, and she barely blinked at all facing down our family matriarch.

"Look, I'm sorry if you got a bad hand, that you can't stand your daughter managing a great business, that your granddaughter has seemed to do just fine without going through the social wringer, or that you have to micromanage every single detail of their lives down to the time they must bow at your whim. Your granddaughter, my girlfriend, does not deserve that treatment. She deserves acceptance of who she is. Whatever problems you might have with me, they don't apply to her. Her grades are still well, and we get in our romance without making any compromises.

"If you can't accept that, I feel sorry for you. Because you'd be losing the best thing that's ever come into your life. Besides that, she turned eighteen in October, but I really think she's mature beyond her years. Even more than I am. She has never raised her voice at anyone unless she feels rightfully pissed off, and the first time I saw that anger, I knew I could never get her to that point again, even if I did a few more times after. All I did was fall in love with her, and all she did was return the favor. If there's anything wrong with that, it's that I kept pushing her off to the side."

She left Emily with one less volley. "By the way, I never want to hear anybody slander Tristan DuGrey ever again. His leaving might have been the thing that set all of this in motion, but he had to act out. Nobody listened to him, and when I tried to help, it was too late. It's because of people like you like you, my mother, and Tristan's parents that give the upper class a bad name, not giving a care about the welfare of their children or paying attention to their needs. I might not talk to him, but wherever he is, he's doing so much better than he would be yelled by his father daily." She was exhausted when she finally stopped talking, and in that short moment of defending my honor, my love for her trebled.

The four of us in that room had all spoken our piece to Emily Rochelle Gilmore, and I was surprised to see my grandfather accept us so readily. Emily stared at all of us hard as Paris backed away, feeling proud of herself that she finally faced up to one of Hartford's scions of society and stated her feelings outright.

We didn't know what she'd say. Grandpa rubbed his fingers on my wrist, a sign that he still loved me, no matter what. I was so proud of my girlfriend in this moment, but not only that, also for my mom and myself. We said what we needed to, and all we can hope for is acceptance.

But I knew that it wouldn't come tonight.

She looked at all of us, and shook her head. We were all in anticipation...

"Paris, have you told your mother yet?"

She responded quickly, stumbling over a couple of words. "Sometime next week. I need to gather courage with her."

Emily shook her head. "I need some time to think about this. I won't tell anybody about what ensued here tonight, because our family problems should not be aired out." Then she brought her attention towards me. "Until I tell you so, Rory, you will not be required to come back here for dinner or the Christmas party. What you told me tonight hurts me, and I will not have this repeat on a weekly basis." Then to Mom. "You too, Lorelai. I will not be told how to think by you, and I feel you could have stopped this from happening." And then towards Richard. The poor man has to live with her, and I know we just assured him he'd be in the pool house for the next few weeks.

"I'm disappointed with you. It's your choice whether you want to accept these two in the same school, because you hold the checkbook for Rory. I'd much rather see them separated from this point forward, but I guess I don't have a choice in this. If you want to see them, fine. But you won't tell me about it. You won't push me towards your side. I have to focus on holiday parties, and I do not need my granddaughter's sexuality to be hanging in the air."


"This is non-negotiable, dear." Her voice was cold. "I will deal with this after the holidays." I couldn't believe her. She's pushing us off as if we're an event? I feel my heart sink. "I cannot understand why you would support this. Maybe I will in time. But for now, I'm in utter shock. I've had three people try to reason with me to see things their way, and I can't deal with this right now. I'm overwhelmed." She sits back down at the table to continue her sealing and stamping, as if nothing had happened. "Please show yourselves out."

"Grandma--" I tried to speak up, but I'm quickly ignored.

"Goodbye, Rory." She went back to her work, and disregarded us all.

I guess this is the way it's going to be. I felt empty, in shock, and just...like I've lost her. That's all I can think.

I lead everyone out as Grandpa shut the doors to the parlor, and he called for the maid to bring us our coats and bags. Mom took my hand and a pallor hung in the air as I took one last look at my grandmother. Pushing us away, while leaving things unsettled and completely open. It hurts to know that she said all of this, but she doesn't even say if she'll accept us or not.

We came out to the living room, where we put on our coats as Grandpa sat looked at me. I was scared, despite his acceptance of us.

"I'm so sorry, Rory," he said, very apologetic. "If it makes you feel better, I think you two are a perfect match. Completely unexpected and something I would have never anticipated, but I think that you two have a good rapport. You remind me of screwball friends in an old comedy. Lucy and Ethel, for instance."

"Grandpa!" I blushed, and Paris was sort of lost as to if she's the Ethel or the Lucy. An image of her saying Vitameatavegamin floated in my mind and was kind of cute, but she'd likely say it all deadpan and unenthusiastically. "I...I...thank you. I know that you're disappointed in me a little though." I moved towards him.

"Why is that?"

"Because, I'm not...I won't be with a guy. I--"

"Dear, say no more." He stopped me, bending down to kiss my cheek. "If you feel Paris is your one and only, I can't stop you. She's a great young woman, and with you both together, you're going to be an unstoppable force that will take your chosen fields by storm."

"What about Yale though? I know you were looking forward to it." I looked a bit down.

"I can get into crimson. It's going to be sort of a kicking and screaming process, but it's just a college. A good college. Not as good as Yale," he winked, "but it's still a pretty top-notch school." He smiled at me, and I was assured that he cannot think of them turning me down.

"As for my reasons for accepting you, some of my co-workers are gay and lesbian, and they work just as hard, if not better, than the other workers on my floor. They know that if a colleague ever thinks of them as sick, they can come to me and set them straight." He further explained that he came into the family business during the Civil Rights era, and he had to fight the guys upstairs for years to break up the white guy monopoly of the company, to make them more diverse and that there were many nights where he wanted to give up. "But in my heart, I know that whatever lifestyle you have, if it does not harm anyone, you should be free to pursue your life, your career, anything you might want to achieve."

"Dad," Mom says, the closeness they've always had even in their worst of times reflected in a rare hug. "Thank you for defending us. For trying to make her see the light. I don't see how you can be so accepting of her, like I am."

"I think of it this way, Lor. I should have done more for you all those years ago. But I was afraid. Emily is the family woman, I'm the breadwinner. But this...I cannot lose my granddaughter. I respect Rory for standing up to us, laying it on the line and not backing down. I am very proud of you tonight." Releasing my mom, he directed a look of respect towards Paris.

"And you, young lady."

"Yes?" Paris's voice actually shook a little. "What i-is it Mr. Gilmore?"

"I just have a couple things to say to you." He walked all of us to the door. "For Rory, you treat her well."

"Of course, sir." She looked at him. "I know if I hurt her, you would never forgive me. I treasure her love every day."

"I see it in your eyes," he observed. "You set your sights on her like I did Emily. You didn't let anything stop you, and now you two will work well. I know it."

"Thank you, sir." She smiled at him. "Was there something else?"

"Yes." He laughed. "You two better go 12-0 during debate season." There was an immediate calming breath as Paris smiled at the tall man I was proud to be related to. "I think you might be able to shut out those pesky Hillsiders after that verbal performance tonight. You two, together, are unstoppable. You stated your cases, and I think that my wife has plenty to think about. I'm sorry she's going to avoid you, but I promise you both that you have all the support that you need."

I looked at this man, and my respect for him grew more and more. He actually stood up to Grandma without as much as a step towards her, and for that he is forever in my debt. "The check for second semester goes out tomorrow, personally delivered to Headmaster Charleston. I will draw the funds from my account, and Rory, you will be assured graduation from Chilton. I hope that you're both careful and discreet, and that you will make us proud. And I promise you, Emily will see the light. I will push carefully, and though I know she holds a grudge for a long time, this has to work out. I won't let it tear us apart."

"I guess that's all I can ask for," I said, and we hugged one last time. "Thank you, Grandpa."

"Anytime, kiddo." He smiled at all three of us. "I might come into town next week to check in on you."

"Actually, I'm going to visit Dad up in Boston next weekend, to check how my future sister's doing," I responded. "But I hope we'll see you before the holidays." We all said our goodbyes, and he was friendly as he saw us out. I felt the chill of the December night weigh upon me as the three of ended up in the front drive, Paris unlocking the door of the Jag with her remote. Mom stepped aside, and I fumbled with my hands in my pockets as we prepared for the new awkward situation before us. I know what she'll say right away.

"So...she heard us." Paris felt a bit mortified.

"She did." I shook my head. "We had sex above her and she heard it. I haven't been so embarrassed, ever. She baited me, and I bit right on. I should've denied it and waited to tell her." I rolled my eyes. "I'm very sorry, Par. I didn't think it would be this bad. I don't even know if she'll accept us eventually." Her index finger circled inside of my palm as she brought herself next to me.

"Rory, I don't regret anything about tonight," she told me, her words confident and her stride very strong, as her mouth brushes against my cheek. "Nothing at all."

"Are you sure?"

"Certain." She licked her lips to moisturize them. "We did what we have to do, and we knew it wouldn't be a walk in the park. I didn't expect that though. That she would just stop it after a bit and tell us we shouldn't see each other." We both frowned, shaking our heads. "I am sorry--"

"I'm not." I knew what she was apologizing for, but there was need for it at all. I can't be mad at her. "We have a sex drive around each other, Par, and we can't stop that."

"No." She still felt unsure. "Richard and I were talking about you while you and Emily fought. It's funny what he said before we heard you."

"What's that?" She slid her secret smile across her lips and whispered it into my ear.

"If I were a man, I'd be perfect with you." A bit awkward. "But he seemed to come around pretty quickly."

"Your episode of Car Talk helped with that." We both hugged close. "Seriously, talking to him like that? It scored points with him, and he seemed very impressed. I'm glad you can get along with him."

"There was never any doubt." We were both in awe, knowing that even my grandma can't stop us. She opened the door and threw her bag on my seat (yes, I think of it that way now). She took a deep breath, shaking her head. "We knew your grandma was going to be a tough nut to crack."

"Yeah." I brushed my hair back nervously, as my other hand shook. I don't know how I can handle this, and I felt like I was in a depression.

But she seems to know the best way to make me feel better, always. She took my hand into hers, and then the other one, and stared at me with this intensely beautiful focus. It made me blush as she looked, and then slid her left hand up my arm until it cupped against my chin. She softly exhaled a puff of breath against my face, visible in the cold air.

"We’re fine, I promise," she assured me, winding her fingers around a few locks. "I'm not going to let this ruin us, or anything else. We can get past this. Your grandmother will come around, and as Richard said, she has plenty to think about."

"So, you're not going to leave me?" My teeth chattered from the cold. "She said you would."

"As far as I know, I plan on staying with you for quite a long time," she assured, letting a smirk inch across her mouth. "I'm here for keeps, Rory. Don't you ever doubt that I'll let old-style mores stop me from being in love with you." She pushed close, and I felt that tenuous magnetic pull once again. I forgot around the world around me as my fingers slid beneath her jacket, the sweater, and the turtleneck shirt beneath to scratch my nails against bare skin.

"Gilmore..." she gasped. "God, I'm so glad your wild side loves to play with me more than Dean."

"Love you, Par-Bear," I husked. "Your smooth skin, your warm eyes..." I slid a buss against her mouth, "Your incredibly kissable lips." Another kiss. "I feel like I'm making out with Angelina Jolie."

She blushed, incredibly lost from my compliment. "My lips aren't like hers at all," she demurred.

"They aren't. They're much better." I let my hand linger against the waistband of her pants, hooking a finger against the belt loop as we began to kiss slowly, enjoying the feeling of what we were doing. It was so cold out, in the mid-20's and we had no hats and gloves on, but our little space is like that baseball stadium in Milwaukee where its 30 degrees warmer in our little space together. I pushed the kiss further until our tongues came together, and I pushed out an orgasmic purr as I let myself believe my chocolate/cum mix still lingered within her taste buds. We pushed against the car, my eyes closed as I become lost in the sensations. I couldn't believe I was doing this...but I couldn't help it. It's a wonderful feeling. It took us a while to break apart, at least a minute, and that's only because of one thing...

"Ahem. Uh, girls?"

OK, my mom. I pulled away slowly, and let my hands fall away from Paris at the last possible moment, the same with her. We broke apart, and already we felt that sense of ennui that we both have when we aren't around each other. Paris's face was well-flushed, her eyes still warmed and focused only on me as we pull away. I'm sure that her heart wasn't doing much better, probably pounding against her chest very hard. She looked at Mom and I, and shook her head.

"Um, call me this weekend?"

I nodded. "Tonight yet?"

"We'll see." She opened her car again, and cleared her throat. "Thank you again, Lorelai."

"Anytime, Paris. We're here for you. I will be, too."

"Thanks." She climbed into the car. "Love you, Ror."

"I love you too, Par." I tried not to hitch my voice, but I couldn't stop it. "Drive safe." She started the car, and we walk towards the Jeep as I keep my head turned back to watch her drive out of the circle and back onto Chatham Lane, watching the Jag until the front hedges in front of the mansion blocked my view of the car. I got into the Jeep and put on my seatbelt, throwing my bag in the back as Mom voices her reaction to the kiss we just shared.

"I guess you're right. You definitely kiss Paris better than Dean."

"Mom!" I'm embarrassed for her to say that. "You...come on!"

"Well, it's true. Looking at you two, I can see why you love her now." She gave me a serious look. "You did as well as you could in there, kiddo."

"I could've done more. I should've been calmer when she tried to bait me." I settled against the back of the seat. "That wasn't what I wanted to happen."

"You can't predict what happens in that situation. Be glad she didn't cut you off from Grandpa."

"Yeah, I suppose." I shook my head. "I hope you didn't feel horrible when she attacked you."

"After eighteen years, it just brushes right off," she says, putting the vehicle into park. We went on for a few more moments of talking, and then I put on my Walkman's headphones, tune to the U of H student station on to block out the road noise and silence, and the world. Leaving me where I am now, listening to a Leona Naess song that seems quite appropriate, if only for a few changes to the words.

Then something caught my eye and I turned to look toward the shine,
and Mama's hand would no longer wait.

I turned around and it began,
standing there, panic-stricken,
Every face became the same ,
everyone shouting out names,
and my heart could not be tamed,
so I stand to call out...

I want to cry as I listen to this song, this perfect reflection of my emotions. Though Paris is here for me, I feel a loss. My grandmother, who I love with all I have, does not like us. Does not like me in this situation. She didn't want to be back in a situation like this, and I threw in it.

And now I pay the price. I watch the Hartford hills disappear in the distance as we incline down from the Blue Hills. I feel that emptiness, that hurt. That my love for one woman has driven away another. I don't want to be let go. I want my Grandma. I want Paris.

I want them both, and for Grandma to accept her.

Oh mama don't let me go, 'cause you know how much I need you,
Oh mama don't let me go, 'cause you know how much I need you,
'Cause I need you,
I need you,
I need you right now...

I need Emily's acceptance, but it won't be coming for a while.

I hope that while isn't actually forever. I regret that I swore at her, and some of the things I said. But a few I don't. My love for Paris is one of them. It's true and it cannot be broken.

Please, God, make her see that we're a good couple. That without her, I'm still that isolated girl in Stars Hollow, feeling as if no one can love her for what she is.

Please, Grandma. Come back into my world...

Emily's POV, 11:00pm

What have I done? What on earth made me say such things to my own flesh and blood?

I've been sitting here in this room for the last two hours, silent, licking my envelopes idly and stamping them. I don't even know if most of them are correct and correspond to the label/name list I put together anymore. I don't really care, because it was three hours ago that my granddaughter told me she was interested in women.

One woman, in particular.

She couldn't have picked from anyone at Chilton besides her editor and president? Any boy would kill to have her, and I would approve of most of them.

But Paris Gellar? I still can't believe it. Rory could choose from anyone in that school, and she chose her.

I carried the doubts that they were not in that bedroom earlier making love. I thought they were just dreaming, or talking to someone else on the phone. But they weren't.

My granddaughter made love to her girlfriend right above my head. I didn't think she was.

I don't understand why I defended that boy Dean at all, on second thought. Why would I do that? Tell her that she should've stayed with someone who cheated on her?

I'm trying to deny that this happened. That my granddaughter is a lesbian.

But I can't. They were hugging in front of me, and I tried my best to tell myself that it was wrong, that this was unnatural for two girls to be so affectionate and loving. It was wrong, and it always was.

However, is it wrong? Did I overreact to them because my granddaughter is trying to prove that she's an independent woman, that she takes almost all of my stubborn traits and for once has decided that what she is doing is right? That she knows what she is doing and that she's willing to learn from the consequences?

I just wish I could know how I truly feel about this. On one hand, Paris is perfectly acceptable and a lovely young woman.

On the other hand, she is a woman. A feisty young girl who has brought out Rory's independence through all of this. Should I be glad that this happened with her, that she won't be pushed aside and molded into what Dean wants?

As much as I'd like to just accept them, I can't. I have appearances to keep up, a legacy to uphold and as the matriarch to this family, I do not want to be embarrassed again, shown by others that 'her family is out of control', when I really don't have control of Rory beyond her society life.

I might not even have that anymore. She pretty much made it clear to me in her tirade that I could fill a meet market with the top 100 richest adolescents in the world, and every one of them would be rejected because her bond to Paris is too strong.

She isn't a disappointment, though. Why I said that, I don't know. The words were acidic from the moment they left my throat. But I said them, and that was it. My argument was lost, and I found myself vehemently disagreeing with my own husband for the first time in many, many years.

I shouldn't be saying these kinds of things, or treating Rory this way.

Because I know how she feels. I can't go any further than that, but you have to know that there's so much going on in my mind that I think I imploded my most important relationship and that I should have measured my words much more than I did in the heat of the moment.

Rory had every right to call me out. Paris was definitely right about my treatment of her.

I don't know how I can fix this. I have to take some time away from the situation, to decompress and think about how to deal with this.

I think after the parties are all over, that I need to leave Hartford for awhile. Probably alone. Just a holiday vacation to decompress and learn for myself what all of this means. I need to learn how to deal with this, to talk to someone who knows how I feel, as a woman who learned that all she can do in the world, that she cannot control who her granddaughter falls in love with.

For now, I need a glass of Irish cream. I need to forget. I can't apologize right away, because the wounds are still open and fresh.

Hopefully one day, the girls can forgive me, and I can say how I truly feel about them beyond those factors I need to stay in full control of...

Paris's POV

I'm beginning to feel the pressure build up. The anxiety, the fear I have, I'm petrified.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm being followed. Like there's this unspoken presence I can't get a thumbnail on because it stays just out of sight. It can't be true, I know it can't. I'm just thinking things, overanalyzing. Even Dr. Birnbaum told me to stay calm, to be on track, to think of coming out as opening your heart up to scrutiny. Everyone has to see that this isn't just some attempt to undermine my rival, or gain an advantage over her. As we said tonight, her grades are well and they still fluctuate away from my own patterns enough to not suggest we're groupthinking. I only study with her in team projects, never for individual work.

But as I sit at my desk, I go back over the night in my mind.

And this is what I think;

I'm glad it didn't go like it did with Daddy.

Now before you misinterpret my wording as 'You wanted this to go badly?', I need you to know that what I mean is that I need that push to stay together with someone. That it is worth fighting for to love Rory and that I won't become complacent because I'm accepted just because I do all the right things or have the right number in Hartford Magazine's list of 50 richest daughters of society.

Not that I even know which number I am. As long as I still have seven figures and a plus sign in front of the dollar sign, I'm all good. All I'm glad for is that I saw through Enron's bullshit from day one and told my stockbroker if he invested one cent of my trust in the private energy debacle, I would have his head.

But back to the point. I'm glad Rory and I had it out with Emily. When I saw her attack her that was when I knew that I wasn't going to stand by and let her be taken apart by this woman. So when I jumped in, I meant every word that I said, and I was there for my girlfriend in her moment of need.

The support of Richard means so much to me, too. I knew it would be easy to bond, but I know even with his quick acceptance comes all the conditions of a dating a Gilmore girl. That I provide for Rory and I'm always there in her moment of need, and that I never break her heart. I know I can meet that threshold rather easily, and that even if he is startled that he has to refer to Ror's significant other as a 'her', it's not much of a change. Heck, I'm pretty much almost like...

OK, I promised myself I wouldn't apply labels to us. Those belong to media experts on MSNBC, not actual humans or anyone in the community we are now a part of.

Anyways, I got out what I wanted to say to Emily. And so did Rory. In the end, that's what really matters to the both of us. Not that she accepts or not, but has to think about it. We left that room without a decision, and though there is that anguish that hangs in the air where we'll have to wait to hear from her, at least it's out there.

And I can take comfort that she won't tell Sharon. That was my largest fear going in, and it's been averted. Even in anger, Emily's word is true and she won't tell Mother to spite me.

If you don't think I'm petrified of Sharon though, you haven't seen her anger at all. The worst she's done. That emotional damage I carry every day of my life, the rage, the hate and annoyance that I'm not willing to conform to her image. I have taken so much abuse from her over the years, and though I really hate to admit the truth to myself, I know that she's given me a lifetime of issues that I will carry around. I have finally just resigned myself to the fact that I will be seeing a shrink for the rest of my life and putting little Marcus and Cecilia Birnbaum through college single-handedly.

I know she's not going to react well. That's a given. For now, it's more about minimizing the damage. I still would like to have a relationship with her of some kind. Any kind. Even if it's a distant one.

But I can't delude myself. It's either going to go OK, or horribly wrong. I know when I'm telling her, and that's report card day. Hopefully the afterglow of my grades will buffer whatever rage she has against Rory and I.

I can only hope. And pray that she understands this is nothing against her. This is how I want to live, and I'm willing to put everything I have into fighting for this relationship. I proved that tonight in front of Emily and Richard. I will not roll over, or back down. My love for Rory goes beyond everything I've ever fought for. I may have given up dance eventually, but I still regret to this day that I let Sharon get to me.

I should be happy for myself, not her. In nineteen days, I officially become an adult, and it's time to prove that I can live up to that title.

I'm fighting for this. Sharon can take anything away from me, but she cannot take Rory. I can live without anything else.

I just don't know if I can live without her now...

Part 21

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