Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight.
If girl on girl action isn't your thing, look away now…
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ANGELA:
Bella Swan isn't that pretty.
Okay, yeah, she has lots of long, brown luscious hair that smelt like strawberries as she swung it while she walked. And maybe those deep, dark brown eyes made people bend over backwards for her. But, really, I can't see what is so special about her. We are friends, but in a help-you-with-your-homework kind of way, not pass-notes-in-class way. I know that Lauren Mallory and Jessica Stanley were envious of her bagging not one, but two, good looking guys; but they didn't really do anything for me.
Edward Cullen had seen her first and, to everyone's surprise, had made a beeline for her. He was rich, spoilt and a bit of a control freak. Frankly, I had thought Bella would have better taste. She was a klutz of the first degree, funny, sometimes, kinda bright but nothing special. I couldn't see how they matched at all. They had started something pretty soon after she moved here to Forks, to live with her Dad, in the penultimate year of high school. I always thought Edward was a bit brazen, but to go around telling everyone how the Police Chief's daughter was dynamite in bed, was either brave or stupid. I'm not so sure he was that brave.
He had called it quits that summer, just before he left with his family to vacation in Italy, so he could hunt for European girls. She was heart broken. She wouldn't speak to anyone for the first few weeks that he was gone. I had thought at the time it was a bit pathetic, ruining your summer all because of a boy. We had spoken a handful of times in August, but there are only so many occasions you can listen to someone asking you the same questions over and over again, before you loose interest.
Back at school in the fall, it soon became clear that she had found sexual solace in the arms of a kid named Jacob, from the La Push reservation. It didn't go unnoticed that he was the polar opposite of Edward. Instead of pale and athletically built, Jacob was bronzed, buff and came with a motorbike. Okay, the motorbike I liked, but otherwise he wasn't any more interesting that the last boyfriend. I wasn't sure at first if she really liked him, or was using him to make Edward jealous, but after she cut him loose before the end of term and started seeing Edward again, it was pretty obvious. Jacob hadn't quite got the hint though and he still hung around her a lot. She told everyone that he was her best friend, but we all knew it was because she was too nice a person to cut him loose, and she was possibly trying to ease a guilty conscience.
"Mmm, how does that feel?"
Eric's voice breaks me away from my inner musing over Bella.
"Erm, yeah, keep doing that." I reply.
I looked down and watched passively as Eric repeatedly ploughed into me. I considered throwing out a few comments like; "yeah, that's it, baby" or "omg, you're almost touching my womb." But the truth is, I just couldn't be bothered. We are both too sexually inexperienced to really know what we're doing, I guess. I don't know why everyone always talks about how amazing sex is. I've read stories about girls getting off not just on their first time (as if), but each and every time they have sex. Orgasms during penetration have always been elusive for me. I can get myself off, don't get me wrong, but no amount of Eric going down on me, sticking in fingers inside me or his dick, for that matter, have ever made me quicken and convulse. I looked casually at the time. Twenty minutes! I wondered how much longer I was going to have to lie there while he pawed at my boobs and told me "how wet" I was. Gross. Believe me, I wouldn't even have been bothering, but I had felt frustrated all day, and had thought that maybe because I was so close to nearly cumming anyway, that a quick fumble with Eric might finally give me that penetrative O. I guessed wrong. Damn.
As soon as he had come over, any pent-up feeling I had which needed relief seemed to evaporate, but I didn't want to refuse a booty call that I had initiated. I had hoped a hand job to start with would make him quicker while we were actually having sex. It hadn't worked, and I wasn't going to blow him. No way. Besides he was a good guy. It wasn't his fault that his position choice and preferred style of fucking bored me to tears.
"Are you close?" He asks, his white butt bopping away frantically.
As if you care if I cum, I think. But instead I nod back at him, hoping that if I keep up this masquerade that he would just cum already. It wasn't like I don't feel anything. I felt a little something building now and then, but just as I was getting into, and could start to concentrate on the delicious feeling, Eric would turn me over or stop and check I was okay. I had told him through gritted teeth enough times to stop fucking doing it, but he wasn't really interested in whether I got off or not. I just wish he would shoot his load already. Then it hits me as he once again changes positions, so my ankles are between our heads, his mouth grunting quietly in my ear. I open my lips, tilt my head back, and make a little porn star noise for him.
"Oh! Eric!" I moan, stifling a yawn.
Thankfully, my high-pitched efforts work like a charm, and thirty seconds later, he is ejaculating into the condom inside me. I feel nothing but relief, and maybe a little sore and sad. He leaves me soon after that, with a quick peck on the cheek and an odd nod of thanks. Ugh. I need a shower, and jump in, feeling immediately de-stressed as the hot water pummels down on my skin. Once again I can feel the frustration of not getting off build inside me, and that makes me horny all over again. I lather myself up with grapefruit shower gel and carefully caress my breasts and ass. I pinch my nipples with my fingers and feel blood and lust flood down south.
I scrub at my hair and usd my favorite deep conditioner, leaving it on for a few minutes to work its magic. Well, I guess, I've got a little time to kill, I think. I unhook the shower head from the main attachment. I'm just making sure I'm getting all the soap off, I tell myself, as I move the shower head closer to my hot sex. I pass it over my clit. Ahhhh. That felt good. So I did it again. Mmm, that's just what I need. I fiddle with the settings on the showerhead changing the tempo of the water from intermittent bursts to skin tingling fast pressure torrents. I moan, and the echo of my ecstasy bounced off the walls before it came back to envelope me.
I close my eyes, one hand holding the showerhead, the other supporting myself by gripping onto the cold tiles on the wall. I lick my lips as I devour the sensations hitting my clit and my pussy. I inch my legs a little further apart to get better access and turn the water up a notch, pushing myself to the edge. I take my hand away from the tile and as I focus the head on my pussy, I rub and flick my clit with my spare hand. Unf. I am rewarded with an intense orgasm, and I swear loudly with relief as my body jerks about. I immediately whip the showerhead away from my ultra sensitive skin, and gingerly climb out of the bath.
At school, the next day, the whole assembly is made to watch a few sketches from the upcoming Christmas parents show. If I had realized that's what they were going to make us sit through, I would have sneaked out but it is too late. The first few were terrible, the kind of jokes that get only pity groans from parents and teachers. The rest of us all sat there with blank faces, silently enjoying their embarrassment as the 'comedians' died on stage.
The whole hour of entertainment was beginning to really grate on me, and I am much relived when Mr. Banner announces the last act to come on stage. I sigh wearily and am just about to reconsider sneaking out when I look up at the stage at the three actors who are shuffling on together in a silly rhythm as they came on. Things are perking up, I think. I like to think I have a sophisticated sense of humor. I normally prefer a good gallows black joke or some Daily Show-style political satire, but one of my biggest secrets is that I am a goofball for the Three Stooges. I think it must go back to watching syndicated re-runs with my Dad, but anything with an inane sense of slapstick gives me the giggles.
Not the lightly-chuckling giggles but the holding-my-sides, can't breath, laughing so much I am silently crying with my mouth wide open giggles. It's not always as fun as it sounds as I find the giggles quite addictive and it can take a moment for me to grab a hold of myself and remember to breathe. At least this should make the last ten more bearable even if their act is dire. I took a better look at the boy and two girls on stage. The two girls I recognize as Lauren and Jessica but the boy I don't know. I study him carefully, he is very slender, small for a male our age. He is wearing pants that are too big and a check shirt rolled up at the sleeves. On top of his head is a cap, and I don't know why but the outfit really works and I find myself slightly turned on. That's strange, I think, I never really get hot for anyone at school. The trio start their act, which seems to be about the boy trying to win the affections of one, or both of the girls.
Again I check out the boy, looking at his slim, slender ass, and imagine myself biting down on it and giving it a healthy smack. Huh. I guess I like athletic boys. Who knew? I wonder who it is. It must be someone from the school – but I don't recognize him at all. I laugh out loud as they box his ears, and I can feel wet heat dampening my panties and I rub myself on the edge of the chair to get some friction. What was happening to me? Getting turned on at school isn't a good idea, I don't want to have to excuse myself and go give myself a quick hand job in one of the school's unhygienic toilet cubicles. Yak.
Who isthat? I think as I watched him confidently stride across the stage just before Lauren then Jessica gave him a comedy slap around the face, and he spun and fell over. Who the fuck is that? I am almost wet and giddy with anticipation when the stage lights came up and the boy took centre stage and bowed and I clapped enthusiastically. Looking up he smiles at the audience as he rips off his moustache and let down his long, luscious hair from under the cap. Fuck me! That's actually not a boy at all. I realize with confused feelings of shame and excitement who it is, and slowly remove my hand from in between my legs. Her? Crikey. I might be in spot of trouble here.
Yeah, Bella Swan isn't that pretty.
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