Take a snapshot – capture the moment and maybe you'll have a chance to examine it thoroughly later. But you're a girl who acts on impulse and fine, maybe that means you have more experiences than other, quieter people but it also means you get yourself into a lot of shit. And alcohol plus desperation means that you lose all inhibition – although, if the other person's willing you can't be expected to take all of the blame on yourself.
Back up a bit – what's happened now? What has Izzie Stevens gotten herself into this time? Looking back over your life, you often wonder what it might have been like to be a little more cautious; to test the ice before falling through it. But the shock of the water; the liquid freeze that numbs your senses – there's something attractive in that. And in every single instance, there's been an attractive moment that stands out and makes it worthwhile. So when you kissed under the window with the bottle rolling noisily at your feet, and his hands (surprisingly soft) travelled under your sweater and over the curves of your body, there was a certain grace about it – it was more than just a drunken mistake.
It was the best sex of your life, full stop. "Was" being the key word – after the novelty wore off, you and George never seemed to have good sex again, although you loved him and still do, with all your heart can hold.
She became more than a roommate the first night you sat, used bedding piled behind you, sobbing with your legs awkwardly crossed and your hands sore from being clenched. Meredith isn't one to commiserate and to sympathize; what she does is sit beside you, put her arms around your shoulders and silently empathize. And for someone with as many issues as Meredith has, that's amazing. You'd think she'd be too fucked up to hold anyone else's problems – you'd think she wouldn't have room for one more shot of angst.
After that, she'd wiped the tears from your face and stroked back your soft blonde curls, and in a move so daring that you still don't believe it actually happened, she touched your lips with her own and her blue eyes closed, and the kiss that you shared was easily one of the top ten ever. It is, apparently, true that women kiss better than men. Not ever having experimented, you were slightly shocked. And put off, just a little bit. Because it's Meredith and because you're just not like that. But it happened and she left the room, and you continued to sit uncomfortably at the end of the bed and work through the pain of it all.
Later, you and George decided to give it a go. Which, in retrospect, was a big mistake, but you refused to admit it until his mother arrived and you realized that being the pretty blonde best friend was no longer acceptable because that label had turned into the blonde whore mistress who'd broken up George's marriage. The funny thing is, you never thought you'd be the victim of someone's hatred or dislike. You were the one who flew under the radar. It brought home the strange realization that what's acceptable to one person isn't necessarily acceptable by society, and though you knew this, it really is different when it's your own experience.
That night, you lay in bed and cried, a pillow against your chest and your knees curled up to your stomach, and felt about five years old and lost. No one respected you enough to tell you that they sympathized. Alex threw a box of Kleenex at you and banged out of the room. And you know you did wrong – you know that it was never okay to allow any of it to happen. But, at the same time, you need some understanding because everyone's quick to jump to Callie and George's sides and eager to blame you. Or so it feels. Now, as you lay there with your pillow wet and your hair sticking to your cheeks, you understand why they feel the way they do. You hate yourself. It's not even about the relationship. You just hate yourself for being less than the good person that you know you are.
She understands. She crawls into bed beside you and she puts her arms around you and the warmth of her body slows your shaking shoulders and hiccupping breaths. You're not a loud crier but you take things pretty hard and it takes awhile for the tears to stop. When they do, and you're able to raise your eyes to hers, she kisses you again.
It'd be easy to stop it here – to overthink it; this is Meredith's MO and one of the ways she shows comfort, but you don't. Your hands move over her shoulders; she slips hers down your back and under your pajama top, to circle the nipples that harden under her touch. You don't know if she's had experience with this and you know you haven't really, but you slip your hands down her back and inside the waistband of her pants to brush lightly over her soft hair and into the slippery wetness.
You both know what you like yourselves. You fuck her like you'd do it on a Sunday afternoon when everyone's off doing other things and a nap turns into a sexual release. Evidently, you're doing something right, even though you're not sure if you should be doing this. She gasps; she bucks against your hands and you feel her come in rhythmic breaths that makes you dampen your panties. When she recovers, she returns the favour, and you quickly learn that she does indeed have experience in this technique.
Her fingers move against you; she doesn't penetrate but she rims her fingers around you and teases your clit until you almost squirm away from her in ecstasy. You're already so turned on – although whether it's from Meredith or just the sex, you don't know – that it doesn't take long for you to come. When you do, it's unlike any male sex you've had. In fact, you like it better.
Side by side on the bed, you're both fully dressed and with the exception of the stickiness between your legs, it seems nothing has transpired but some girl bonding time and some comfort, which, indeed, it is. You still can't help but feel vaguely dirty, even though you're satisfied and somewhat warmer and calmer inside. And you're bemused by the fact that you're another one of Meredith's partners.
However, she doesn't suffer from these qualms. She rolls over, fixes you with an unreadable expression, and then breaks into a smile.
"Welcome to the dirty mistresses' club, Iz."
Unintentional membership? You decide on the spot.
"I'll take it."