All of this is inspired by St. Vincent's album 'Actor'.
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I
When she finally felt her back against the mattress and when she finally felt shy kisses mapping their way along her neck and when she finally placed the palms of her hands firmly down and when she finally felt her eyelids flutter shut and when she finally felt that wonderful heat spread upward in her body and when she finally… when she finally… when she finally…
She knew it could be good, but no one ever told her it could be better.
Or maybe they had told her that, but it was just a thing that people put in songs and lies that wives told husbands or words etched into a piece of chalk-like candy – colored hearts in a cheap box.
But there it is, fist knocking at the door and messages on the phone and when she finally comes back down to Earth, Ashley isn't sure who the virgin is anymore.
And she knew it could be good.
But no one ever told her it could be better.
II
What Paula sees and doesn't see isn't terribly tangible to the naked eye.
But what the surface hides so innocently is that delectable bridge between girl and woman.
And Spencer is crossing it with a strength that all mothers fear.
And yes, she looks different.
And yes, it is her hair.
And yes, it is the cut of her dress.
And yes, it is the friends she keeps.
Or, rather, a friend that she keeps closer than close.
What Paula sees is more than her little bird leaving this well-crafted nest, it is this bird growing such devious wings and all flight-plans lead to…
…But maybe not, with dinners and fathers and assurances that boys are always around.
And yet, Paula sees and doesn't see.
And yes, everything is different in L.A… starting with Spencer.
III
If she had heard it said, she would have denied first.
And she would have daydreamed later.
Because it feels like foreplay and she doesn't even know if she is doing it correctly and how do girls flirt with other girls anyway?
Because it is lip gloss and mirrors and whispers next to bathroom stalls and how does she know if this is real or make believe anyway?
Because it is Ashley and Spencer wants the girl more than anything and how is she supposed to keep something like that under wraps?
If she had heard it said, she might have asked for directions and implications.
And she would have used it to capture the holder of all her affections…
…Later, much later.
But soon. Sooner rather than later.
Because it feels like forever since she's needed a touch such as this and it won't be in some barn with some boy and it is as crazy as it is sane and how is she going to stop herself from just blurting it out loud?
IV
Don't want to be like some boy on the field, all jock confidence and such, but there is a secret move that she makes and it works every time and not to sound like a record on repeat – she is good at this.
If she were totally honest, that movie is just for Spencer anyway.
Reel it in, reel it in and draw it out – she has seen the best in the ripples of water and if sharing something false (but true) will bring it on in… so be it.
Don't want to be like some boy in the locker-room, all jock confidence and such, but there is a special speech that she makes and it works every time and not to sound like a record on repeat – she is good at this.
She talks to the camera, but it is all for Spencer anyway.
Reel it in. Draw it out.
And Ashley looks up, allows her eyes to grow dark as she lies on this bed and watches the walls just tumble in Spencer's face.
So be it.
V
Oh, right before sleep, she can hear her lover dreaming.
Faint and free, slipping out with gusts of sweet air, and it sounds a lot like someone running in fields of clover… or maybe roses… perhaps not, though.
Maybe it is just Ashley walking along the wet sand and holding her hand.
Since she is, you know, and Spencer knows that this will be something that no one will ever know.
This firm grip and this soft skin and these lines of head and heart against her own… Ashley's hand, holding on in slumber.
Dreaming and resting, holding onto Spencer – or maybe they are the dream now, in this bed and entangled and bare before the moon… maybe this is one huge dream.
But no, Ashley is holding her hand and tugs when Spencer tries to move.
And this will be something that no one will ever know.
Right before sleep… she can hear her lover, crystal clear, by her side.
And it is like dreaming.
Sweet, sweet dreaming.
VI
Captured lust is dangerous and so there are lions in this room, gnashing of teeth and beastly purring – and Ashley feels these kisses like shockwaves.
Her feet are as unsteady as ever, no alcohol to blame it on and no breaking of the ground to attribute it to, and so she tugs this girl with her.
As always, tugging this girl with her – for better or worse. Right?
These kisses feel like everything that Europe never had.
Castles couldn't keep it and cobblestones couldn't make it and all the ghosts that lingered in the Black Forest couldn't scare it away… these kisses have killed Ashley over and over by their memory alone.
But Spencer is returning them all with heat and, if it weren't for her chest, she'd think her heart was in her head – pounding and pounding and the rush of passionate blood.
And if she thought she'd have half a chance, Ashley would lay out these drop cloths and roll them in paint and make love to Spencer on canvas.
These thoughts are dangerous, Ashley knows, but she can't seem to help it.
As always, she can't help it with this girl – for better or worse. Right?
VII
Admitting to trepidation is the first step and they speak of it lightly, so light that it won't weigh them down… and, for once, they agree on things.
Not a rehashing. Not a replay.
But it is something good and something that has been building.
They agree to forgive and to never forget.
They agree that things have changed.
Ashley devours first with her eyes, taking in all the places that she used to know and wants to know again. Then her fingers get to itching and they stretch out along tender flesh and they are rewarded with an eager moan.
Spencer takes her time, touches sliding slow along hips and golden thighs and she remember every inch of this body before her. Then she cannot hold back and places her lips to the curve of a breast and she is rewarded with an animalistic groan.
They are rising up, twin phoenixes from the fire, and up and up and up.
And they agree that, this time, it is forever.
VIII
Glad that party is over.
Good thing all those losers left this house.
No drunken friends to gently push out.
Leave that trash for tomorrow. Leave that chore for another day.
And you pull me along, up these stairs, and how nice it is not to hide tonight.
And I think I am in love with you, but I'm not sure.
But when you thread your fingers through my hair… I can't think anymore.
And you lift my shirt, letting your hands linger on my shoulders, and how nice it is to feel you.
And I think I am in love with you… no, I am sure I am.
But when you kiss my willingly neck, I can't think anymore.
Glad that party is over.
Good thing all those losers left this house.
No drunken friends to gently push out.
Leave that trash for tomorrow. Leave that chore for another day.
And we've got all night to figure how deep this goes.
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::END::