Samantha

"That's it, that's it, it'll be over soon. Just keep drinking and I'll tell you when you've had enough."

"No. Bad girl. You need to swallow all of it."

"Accident or not mommy's going to have to give you a mark for that. I can't have my little girl spilling her milk."

Don’t you have bills to pay? Your mom asks, arms full of silk and cosmetics, and well I hardly have a husband your auntie replies, bright as the sun. Now follow me, hurry up!

She barely had to speak to her husband to understand what he wanted when they first got together. The semiotic and syntactic components of romance were revealed to her, as if they composed themselves. She was an eclectic, eccentric, and mildly disturbed woman. She was the picture of what was temporarily desirable, only losing her spot to the trophy a poacher would take home with him, after killing the animal himself. She knew, as does the diamond, minutes before coming into contact with a jeweller, that soon enough someone would come along to fit her into a new shape. And so, her husband took away the keychain siren, her anchor, so much more along with it, and she was a copy editor.

In her bedroom, which was also her office, plain, slate grey sheets on a double mattress squeezing her inherited antique dark oak desk into the very far corner, Delilah sat, trimming down the piece of work that would eventually matter to hundreds, possibly thousands. It needed to read as a stream of consciousness, and so she edited it as such. She imagined that Virginia Woolf had a shady grove to peacefully die in, when it was her time, all those years ago. There’s an author who would’ve never needed an editor, she told herself.

She squeezed her pen, a phantom of her keychain siren. She began to miss how the city lights shone at night, distant flickering beacons. The living room clock seemed to tick louder, as if every second that passed was a metal pipe careening into the railing of her apartment building’s walkway.

Delilah didn’t hate being a copy editor. She didn’t hate reviewing novels, as she had worked her way up to doing. Novels were more interesting than essays, were more interesting than articles, and on and on. Fantasy was a genre with easily understandable conventions, that required nominally accessible writing, and so her job was easy, but not mindless. Mildly engaging and unchallenging was exactly what she was looking for anyway. Nothing on her mind but the words and punctuation in front of her, she sank into the calmness of the dull bedroom atmosphere.

——

Marissa bit her hand. The aching fog did not leave her mind. Nor did it leave when she hid under her blankets, or hugged her stuffed animals. After a while, she gave in, and stared at the wall. The only dull thought that could pierce through the thick cloud surrounding her repeated over and over.

I want my mom.

Tears pushed trickled out of her eyes. She barely felt sad, and yet somehow, she knew she was. Much more sad than she could understand. Her emotions were distant, yet ever-present. She could feel them only as strongly as she could feel her bones, and yet she knew they were there. There was proof, after all.

I want my mom.

——

The sun had begun to hide behind the city skyline by the time Delilah was finished with work for the moment. It was easy to lose the sun behind buildings when in the middle of all of it. She had heard her door rattle twice throughout the day, to which she promised herself she would check on Marissa soon enough. Now it was seven o’clock at night, and soon enough had finally come, what must’ve been hours later.

Her daughter was always about to put some kind of awful plan in motion. She could wait a few hours to perform whatever trick she was going to pull. Delilah could barely find the heart to care about the blackmail that hung over her head.

She felt woozy, almost delirious. Focusing on her work for so long had left her exhausted. Her mind had settled into the rhythm of being a copy editor, and now she had to wait for it to adapt to the change. She put her hand to the wall of the hallway as she stepped out into it. She didn’t know if she needed to lean on it for balance or not, but she didn’t want to find out too late. Her vision was narrow, and even a little blurry as her eyes were having trouble focusing. In her free hand, she squeezed her invisible keychain siren.

Delilah knocked twice on Marissa’s door. When she opened it, the first thing she noticed were two impressions of her teeth on her left hand. She would’ve been whipped into a frenzy if she wasn’t so tired. Her daughter shifted from foot to foot, staring expressionlessly past her. Guilt dripped down her shoulders like hot wax. Marissa held a stuffed bear in her arms, and wore an blank frown. Both of them lacked the ability to speak. The world seemed to focus its lens on the two of them. Delilah couldn’t hear anything but the absence of words spoken between them. She couldn’t help but wonder if her own daughter had given up on confiding in her. She hated the idea that she was anything like her mother in that way.

All she could think to do was open her arms. Marissa walked into them, letting Delilah wrap around her. They stayed like that for a while. Amnesia overtook them, and they could forget anything that had come before, for just until they ended the hug. So they refused to let it end. Marissa let herself be carried off to her bed, and Delilah lay down beside her, still holding her. She stroked her hair.

“I have you.” She cooed, petting her daughter, and letting her bury her face in her chest. “I have you.”

“Mmhn.” Was all Marissa could manage.

“I’m sorry.” Despite her guilt, she was surprised to hear herself say it. Surprise turned to grief as she saw her daughter was shocked as well.

Delilah felt as if she was leaving something unsaid. Echos from similar moments with her mother coalesced into one sentence, burned into her memory.

I don’t know where I went wrong with you.

She couldn’t say it. Not now. She hoped that she wouldn’t ever have to, and yet she couldn’t help feeling that, with how everything was going, the answer was closer to ‘not yet’ than it was to ‘not ever’.

“Mmmhh.” Marissa moaned. She looked resigned. “Love you, mom.”

“I love you too,” then, more to herself, she added, “I promise.”

The sun was beginning to set in truth, now. The sky was much darker, and the shadows of buildings were falling to night, winking out with the sunlight.

Delilah began to feel ambitious. The haze surrounding her thoughts wouldn’t leave, and she thought that might’ve been the only reason she felt as hopeful about her relationship with her daughter as she did. She would take advantage of it anyway.

“Are you hungry, baby?” She smiled, cupping her daughter’s cheeks in her hands. “Did you want to…”

She realized the awkwardness of her words implied much more than was her intention. That almost excited her. It felt as if she had forgotten the original goal behind her question. She began to feel sneaky, like a teenager getting away with something under her mother’s nose. Her intent was motherly, and was entirely divorced from romance, and yet that only made the devious feeling grow stronger, for some reason. She couldn’t find any other words to replace the final line of her sentence, and so she continued unabated.

“…Go out to dinner with me?”

Marissa pressed her stuffed animal between her and her mother, and wrapped her arms around Delilah’s waist, squeezing hard.

“Yeah. Thanks, mom.” She whispered through sniffles.

They stayed like that for a while, until they agreed to get ready.

——

Marissa wore her favourite black skirt, which came down to just above her knees, a grey graphic tee tucked beneath the waistband, and pink skate shoes. Reluctantly, she wrapped a coat around herself, at her mother’s request.

Delilah was clad in black jeans, and a baggy white wool sweater. She wore her hair down, and it curled into a wave from being worn in a ponytail for so long. Miraculously, it added to her look, somehow, and so she didn’t brush it out.

She had a choice between two restaurants, one which she had almost no information on, and one which her husband had always taken her to. She picked the one she knew nothing about.

It had been a long time since Delilah had eaten out. She hopped in the drivers seat of her car, and Marissa snuggled into the seat opposite to her. It was eight o’clock, and where they were going closed at nine. The engine roared to life, and their black compact stuttered out of the parking lot, and down the street.

We are going to make it through this, if it kills me. She thought.

The night was a gateway of streetlights on the highway. Marissa set her phone down, and a light that Delilah didn’t know was bothering her blinked away. She reached her hand across the cup holders, and put her finger on her inner thigh. She flicked it back and forth over the black denim, and then traced a heart.

My god, what an infantile gesture. She groaned inside her mind. My god, what an indescribable high…

She swerved out of the way of a navy blue SUV she had almost rear ended by suddenly pressing her foot against the gas. Marissa jumped in her seat, and clutched her chest. Adrenaline beat a quick rhythm in her mind.

“Fuck!” Delilah exclaimed, almost cheering. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

“Itsokay.” she mumbled in return, hand now over her mouth. She looked away from her daughter’s pout to focus on the road.

——

The restaurant wasn’t quite a chain, and yet it had two locations in her city. It was tantamount to a diner, yet the time in which that kind of restaurant was favoured had long since ended. What was left was only around for the novelty of seeing a movie location in real life.

Delilah had deliberately picked it to avoid the need to dress especially well, and yet she still worried she was underdressed. Nobody looked to be attempting a specifically fancy look, and yet, she and her daughter were in significantly different dress to the rest of the crowd. She felt as if it were impossible to escape the out of place feeling. The only person she had ever truly felt in tune with was her daughter. That became a much more common feeling after her transition, but she always noticed it.

They were seated close to the corner, by the window. It was slightly colder here, and Marissa elected to keep her jacket on. They had each ordered the same kind of burger. Marissa had ordered a milkshake, and for the first time in a long time, Delilah felt herself craving a beer. She knew if she were more aware she wouldn’t have ordered one, and yet she did. Her stomach felt traitorously warm after only a few sips. It had been a long time since she had any alcohol enter her system. She remembered why, as she lusted after a second bottle before her first was finished, and before the food had even arrived at their table. Marissa looked nervous, hugging her knees in the booth, and looking at her mother from the corner of her eye.

“I thought you weren’t drinking.” She muttered.

“Yeah, I dunno.” She smiled. “I just felt like it tonight. Don’t worry.”

In truth, she was continuing to ride the feeling of getting away with something.

“How are we gonna get home?” She keened, setting her feet on the floor and leaning into the table.

“Sweetheart, it’s only one drink. I could drive after one or two, okay?” Her voice was warm. Her chest buzzed.

The devious feeling pulsed gently. Marissa looked as if she were getting in on it, slowly. She bit her lip and let the sleeves of her jacket cover her hands. She hugged herself. Delilah resided an eyebrow at her, and they both smirked, then snickered.

The food came swiftly, and the exhausted waitress could only curtly nod to them both, before returning to her work. She, as well as both of them, knew they only had forty five minutes until closing time.

The hamburger was squished between two buns, likely bought from a grocery store, as they looked identical to several brands Delilah had seen lining shelves. She pushed the top bun up to check what was under it. Pickles, onion, mustard, and mayo. It almost looked cartoonishly perfect, as if it had come off of factory lines not but moments ago. Marissa’s cheeks were stuffed in seconds, and she looked out the window as she chewed. Delilah took a bite. It had a pleasant tang from the mustard and pickles, cut by the mildness of the mayonnaise, which mixed nicely with the onion to create a consistent continuity of flavour. No one ingredient overpowered the other. The bun soaked up grease from the burger, which gave the meal its texture.

She ate at a moderate pace, and was finished her beer halfway through. The waitress returned with a second bottle, and she decided to cap herself off, despite the intense craving that followed. Two was enough. She told herself that it should be easy to stop now, but she had to distract herself by continuing to eat her food, drowning her thoughts in it.

Marissa, of course, was already finished her meal. She stared out the window. Delilah almost regretted how little they spoke, and yet she felt a closeness between them. The silence was comfortable, so long as she let herself surrender to it.

“‘M gonna go to the washroom.” Marissa sighed, then stalked off.

Delilah had finished her second beer, and her daughter hadn’t come back. Her low tolerance for alcohol was getting to her. She felt herself soothed by the buzz, but she lusted for drunkenness. She didn’t let herself have it, but that meant she had to focus on other things, like how long Marissa had been gone.

It had been long enough for anxiety to creep into her brain when she got a text asking her to come to the washroom. Delilah stood up, feeling her heart begin to race. She wandered over to the women’s washroom and knocked, before coming inside at Marissa’s confirmation.

The light of the room was warm and dark. She couldn’t see the floor. Her daughter backed her up against the orange tile wall, and wrapped her arms around her shoulders before kissing her. Her lips were wet, and pillowy. Delilah didn’t let herself think. She put her hands to Marissa’s ass, flipping up her skirt, and squeezed. She laced her fingers under her panties. Her lips were kind but hungry, soft and demanding. She forced her tongue inside to a moaning response. She rode the high of the secretive feeling and began to feel like a drunk teenager groping a hookup. Her daughter’s skin was smooth, and she couldn’t help but run her hands along her. Though Marissa had initiated, she was completely consumed by Delilah. She clung to her, shaking and mewling. Her tongue weakly matched her mother’s.

Delilah pushed her away briefly, just to whip her around as she reached under her skirt to grope her cock. Marissa whimpered, moaning quietly as she tried to keep her voice down. She could fit all of her daughter in her palm. It was all so delicate, and her panties were warm with arousal. She squeezed her balls enough to just barely hurt her. Marissa sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. She was grinding her ass into her crotch involuntarily. Delilah savoured every second of it, and lifted her skirt to feel her more directly. When that wasn’t enough, she undid the button on her jeans to pull them down. Feeling excitingly dirty, she hooked her fingers into her panties and pulled them down too. She pressed her daughter back into her, and felt heady pleasure fill her as she began to grind on her again. She pulled Marissa’s panties down after the intoxication of feeling her plump ass against her became too much. They were skin to skin now. The alcohol wiped away all guilt for the moment, at least, for Delilah. She continued groping at her daughter’s crotch to a chorus of heavy panting from both of them.

I’m barely even drunk, she thought, I basically have no excuse. But she doesn’t know that. She probably thinks I’m wasted.

Delilah became even more honest with her hands. Marissa was squirming at how rough she was being.

“Fuck, you’re so cute.” She whispered, her voice husky in her daughter’s ear. She enunciated every word. “I’m so fucking lucky. I’m so lucky I…”

Had you. They both finished the sentence in their minds.

“Never even met a girl like me before you…” Her hand wrapped around Marissa’s dick. “It’s fucking exhilarating. I dunno. You’re just so…”

Much like me.

She spit into her hand, and then returned it to stroke the girl’s soft cock.

“M-mom,” she whimpered, defenceless.

She kissed her daughter’s neck.

“Fuck, guess I really am an alcoholic, but,” she giggled into her jugular, nibbling on it, “who cares, you’re just so fucking cute. I feel like a teenager again right now.”

She looped her other hand around her, along her pelvic bone at her hip, and pulled her flush against her. Her pussy throbbed, soaking her thighs. Delilah sucked on her neck while gently biting it, leaving a trail of hickeys. Marissa’s precum was enough to lubricate her hand that picked up in speed the further she went. She wondered if her daughter was embarrassed at how it couldn’t get hard right now. A measure of maternal desire returned, and she realized she was fucking her daughter in the washroom of a diner. She hadn’t even been blackmailed this time. She pushed herself back downwards into the secretive obsessive feeling, but in the back of her mind, she now felt a twinge of guilt. Her little girl was being pleasured by her. It was so wrong.

“S-sorry,” she stammered, as if it would erase this moment. Nothing could bring them back from this. “Shit, this is so wrong.”

She began to hesitate. Her rhythm slowed, and she felt her grip go limp.

“N-no, please, please!” Her daughter begged, desperate and honest.

Delilah let herself pretend her neediness was why she was continuing, and fully fell back into her lust, aided by returning to the intoxication she had pushed away to gain clarity. It was like slipping a ring on and off. She thought of her wedding ring, which she had thrown into the harbour after her divorce. She promised her and Marissa complete freedom, then. This was how they had chosen to spend it. She rubbed her index finger over the underside of her tip like it was her clit, and pulled her shirt out from the skirts waistband to grope her chest. She pinched her nipple in between her fingers, and gently pulled. Her daughter squirmed, her back pressed against Delilah’s torso. She was so worked up, she felt as if she could go on for hours.

Suddenly, Marissa broke out of her grip, pulled her panties up, and spun around. She put her hand against Delilah’s pussy, and, with no resistance, put her finger inside. She clenched immediately, sucking her finger in further. Soon enough, she inserted a second. Delilah could feel every last detail. She was in a state of hyper awareness.

Delilah didn’t realize how pent up she had become. Every touch felt electric, wired to a supremely sensitive frequency. She could feel her daughter’s fingerprints inside of her. Marissa crouched down, making sure to keep her fingers in her mother, and went down on one knee. It was an awkward position, and both were reminded of how much of an amateur she was. She pressed her tongue against her clit, and licked it at a ferocious pace. Her muscles twitched. Her hands had a white knuckled grip on her sleeves.

Delilah couldn’t help but force Marissa’s face further into her. Her tongue snaked across her clit, back and forth, over and over. It had been so long since she had even considered pleasuring herself, and much, much longer since she had actually experienced being pleasured. She rode her daughter’s face, her legs trembling. She felt as if reaching an absurd crescendo, the buzzing pleasantness of her daughter’s tongue, and the full feeling of her fingers inside her sent fiery waves up her body.

“You’re my daughter,” she thought out loud, a dirty feeling pooling in her core, as if she were just realizing it, “Oh, shit, Marissa!”

She covered her mouth with her hand, and screamed into it as she came, squirting on Marissa’s face. A thousand shockwaves of satisfaction enveloped her. The feeling was only amplified by the rippling drunkenness that seared through her.

Marissa hugged her briefly, reminding her how small she was in comparison. They kissed, and Delilah could smell her own sweetness on her. Then, Marissa rushed over to the sink to wash her face. Delilah did her pants back up, and sucked in quick, sharp breaths. Her daughter took her hand, lead her out of the washroom, and to their table. She finished her milkshake in one long pull. The waitress came over and delivered the check. Delilah realized she must’ve understood what was going on, as it was a full thirty minutes later. Guilt finally broke through the intoxication. She felt herself sobering up. Both mother and daughter looked at each other with haggard smiles as if nothing happened, but their expressions bore the proof of what had.

While reading the news in between projects, Delilah happened upon a study that claimed smoking cannabis could ease depressive symptoms. She snorted and closed the tab. She didn’t consider herself one to be taken in.

As the minutes passed, she found herself retracing her memories of when she last smoked. In her high school years, her friend had somehow, someway, found what she called an ‘ounce’. Delilah smiled and thought to herself that it must’ve been barely a gram. She remembered watching her roll it poorly into a joint, licking it closed, and lighting it in the backyard of her friend’s parents house. She felt the same pit of anxious desire form in her chest, a need that crawled her towards taking her first hit. We must’ve coughed more than we smoked, she thought. The dreamy haze of recollection blanketed her.

She remembered later that night when her friend had crawled on top of her, and gave her a nervous, trembling first kiss. Even now, remembering the feeling of her lips pushed against another girl’s made her flush red, almost dizzy with warmth. She pushed the memory away when she realized it was exactly the way she felt about her daughter when she hugged her last night.

———

As the day ran long, Delilah found herself haunted by the anxious desire to smoke weed again. Something about it allured her, though she wasn’t sure why. She found herself driving home from a nearby dispensary— she was glad it was much more convenient —with a capsule full of ten pre-rolled joints, and a opulent lighter she was talked into buying on sale. It was seventy five percent off, after all.

After much deliberation on Delilah’s part, she decided to wait until after Marissa had gone to bed to smoke. She figured that despite her room having the window to outside the apartment, she was probably in the clear after eleven. It wasn’t like she would look out the window anyway. She had heavy blinds specifically so she didn’t have to. Delilah realized she didn’t actually know that for sure, and suddenly felt bad for assuming it about her daughter. She wondered if she actually thought so low of her. She chastised herself for letting her worry get the better of her to the point of being so unfair to Marissa. Ultimately, she decided to wait until eleven anyway.

Delilah stepped outside in her slippers, jeans, and blue wool cardigan, joint and lighter in hand. Her apartment was on the fourth floor, and it’s front door led to a shared balcony that was luckily not a no smoking zone. She had checked multiple times just to make sure, walking up and down the stairs to see if any signage was posted. After she quelled her anxiety, she held the joint between her finger and thumb. She hesitated to light it, ogling the engraved metal lighter, but eventually got on with it. She took in a lungful of smoked, and exaggeratedly breathed in and out. The sound she made was audible, and she thought that if anyone else was around her, she would be embarrassed. Especially if they were a dyed in the wool smoker. She imagined her old friend standing beside her, teaching her how to smoke again. She bathed in the thought that they’d meet up and smoke together again. Delilah figured it was just the kind of night where she would think of doing a thousand things ‘again’.

“Mom?” she almost dropped the joint off of the balcony and she heard Marissa call from behind her. It was like the high was hitting her all at once then, and the joint wasn’t even halfway done. She froze, and slowly turned to face her. “Sorry, I just had my window open since it gets stuffy in my room, uhm… Are you smoking weed?”

Delilah wanted to slap herself for how stupid she felt. For all her preparation, she didn’t notice Marissa’s window being open. She considered her next options carefully.

“Yes, honey, I, uh… I am smoking.” She quickly realized how much consideration she usually put into her words when she spoke with Marissa, and cursed herself for her less than heightened faculties. She wished she was half as good at sobering up as she was when she drank. “Your mother was just, uhm, reminiscing, and, thought it might’ve been fun, to uh—”

“Mom, it’s okay,” Marissa smiled, apparently trying not to laugh, “it’s not a big deal.”

It was a big deal. She just didn’t know how to explain that to Marissa. It was a mom thing, this was just the kind of thing you weren’t supposed to let your daughter know about. Delilah felt a pain in her abdomen as she realized there were a lot of things she wasn’t supposed to be doing and feeling with her daughter that she definitely was. But then, Marissa stepped forward with a shy gait, and wrapped her arms around Delilah. She could barely help herself, holding Marissa against her with one arm, nearly crying. She began to think it was time to put down the joint.

“Sorry, you just looked so sad,” Marissa nuzzled her head into Delilah’s chest, and she stroked her hair, somehow almost as knotted as last night. She restrained the urge to work them out right now.

“You’re such a sweet girl,” she almost drooled from the sweet warmth that coursed through her like waves, radiating from her daughter, “Thank you.”

“So,” Marissa cleared her throat, “Can I have a hit?”

Before she could say ‘absolutely not’, Delilah started to worry that scolding her would only drive her away. It didn’t help that Marissa had such a sweet face on.

“Well,” she strained, “It’s not the most responsible thing to do, but, okay, you can smoke a little bit with me.”

“Yay! Thanks Mom!” Marissa exclaimed. Delilah didn’t regret anything.

Marissa took the joint from Delilah’s hand, put it between her fingers, and pulled for what felt like minutes. When she exhaled the smoke, her coughing spree took her to her knees. Well, at least I know she’s not doing this on her own, she thought.

“Let’s go inside, honey.” Delilah moved to take the joint from Marissa.

“W-wait,” Marissa choked, “Show me how to do it right…”

Delilah felt herself grow warm. This is wrong, a mother shouldn’t teach her daughter this!

“Here…” she couldn’t help herself. She took the joint, helped Marissa to her feet, and held her in her arms. She put the joint to her lips, “Now breathe in… keep going… okay, now, take it into your lungs, and,”

Marissa managed to breathe out the smoke without incident. Delilah felt her heartbeat quicken. She let her eyes linger on her lips, still pushed together from having blown out the smoke. Marissa’s face turned to a giddy smile.

“Did I do it right, mom…?” her words came out like she was drooling molasses.

“Yeah, baby.” Delilah finished the joint, put it out on the railing, and walked her daughter inside. “Let’s get you comfy.”

Delilah had to support Marissa while she walked her to her room. She tried to not get distracted by her daughters arms wrapped around her waist. After a small struggled, she laid her down on the bed beside her stuffed animals. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and before long, Marissa’s head was in her lap.

“Moommm…” Marissa sighed. The sound reached Delilah’s ears like a pleasant static blanket over her body. “Can we get a pizza?”

———

Delilah breathed out her composure and melted back down into the bed. She had put all the rest of her energy into sounding normal over the phone while ordering the pizza. Her entire body sank into the mattress beside Marissa, who stared at her from the other side of the bed. She took the capsule containing the nine other out of her pocket, and squinted her eyes to read the label. She quickly found what she was looking for. 27.3mg of THC in one joint. By the time she looked back to her daughter, she saw her loading up some kind of game on the computer monitor that faced her bed. Delilah watched as some kind of knight or warrior, controlled by her daughter, roamed a field of golden grass shrouded by fog. She almost felt like she was intruding on Marissa’s alone time. The longer she lay beside her, the more she felt out of place. There was a thick fog that separated them, too.

“Sweetheart, would you like me to leave?” as she finished her sentence, she watched as Marissa spun around, tears forming in her eyes. Without a second thought, Delilah pulled her daughter against her. She wrapped her arms around her waist, and snuggled her flush against her. Marissa yipped quietly, sniffled, and let her wipe the tears from her eyes. Delilah cupped her cheek, and…

And realized the look in her daughter’s eyes. They were glassy and red, much like the rest of her face. Delilah knew it must’ve been the high that gave her the half-lidded stare, but she swore to herself— and cursed herself for it —that she looked needy. As if to make things worse, Marissa smiled, and her pink and full lips seemed teasing to her. She realized this is how she must’ve looked before she had her first kiss. Curiosity burned inside her like a lighter’s flame below a polaroid. Would this be her daughter’s first kiss? Would she kiss her back? Delilah stopped herself just as she leaned in slightly, and adjusted her position to mask it. Had I really just accepted that I was going to kiss her? I’m terrible, she thought, she should have her first kiss with someone who isn’t her mother.

But the desire stayed. She focused her curiosity on something else as Marissa returned to her game, seeming to have sunk further into the mattress like she was trying to force herself through it. Delilah honed her curiosity in an attempt to expel it entirely.

“Have you had your first kiss yet, Marissa?” she asked, and almost immediately regretted it.

“Mmmn… no. Well, kinda, but, it doesn’t feel like it counts.” she snuggled back into position to play her game. “It was before I came out, so it barely even feels like it happened to me. So, I dunno, I guess I have, but, not really, it still feels like I’m waiting for my first.”

“Mhm, I understand,” Delilah spoke into Marissa’s hair, “I think I had something similar all those years back. It’s like someone else’s memory of you, but it’s in your head, right?”

“Yeah. Kinda.” Marissa cursed herself silently for having died in her game. “Thanks for uhm… letting me smoke, mom.”

“Mhn…” she tried to strain against herself to come up with a response, but her entire brain was obsessed with the scent her daughters hair. She moved her hands from her waist to her hip, foggy with absent thoughts. “Your mama loves you, you know that, right?”

“L-luh, love you too Mom,” she stuttered.

Your big sister understands, she knows the feeling too. Didn't she tell you? Your big sister has been through it all before. She knows you want her to fondle her. It's okay, you can touch her back, she knows you want to, you can do it. Do it. Fondle her tits, they're smaller than yours aren't they? Isn't it nice to know there's a bit of her that's smaller than you? You're not so different at all are you? Why don't you touch them more? Oh yeah, that’s right little sis, listen to those noises she makes as you touch her. Her voice can get pretty high when you do that right? It can probably get even higher too. Just touch her some more and you’re bound to find the places that make her voice shoot really high. After all, she wants you to touch her more, doesn’t she? You can tell. Go ahead, let your hands slip into all her hidden places. Oh, that made her really sing didn't it? When you touched between her legs? Don’t you want to hear her make those noises again? Don’t you want your big sister to feel good? Of course you do. Pull those clothes away, she doesn't mind, she wants it. Oh wow, that's a big dick isn't it? Look at it, straining against those cute panties. Yes ,they do look like your panties, don't they? Well, it's only natural for sisters to share isn't it? She's shared so much with you, the least you can do is spare some panties. I mean, she's not even using up your clean ones, just think of it as recycling. Just pull them back, that's right, oh wow, it looks even bigger like this doesn't it? That's much longer and thicker than your finger. Touch it, yeah just like that, stroke it gently, don't use too much force, that's right, listen to her moan. Don't you like helping your big sister? Don't you want to feel good just like her? Pull off those shorts, little sis. That's right, panties too, let her rub up against you. Feels good doesn't it? Her hard dick pressed up against you? Feel the way she rocks her hips against you? Those slow, purposeful hips. She’s telling you she loves you, that she wants to make love with you. Of course it's fine for sisters to do that. Your bodies were made to be compatible for a reason weren't they? That's right, spread those legs of yours.

Her eyes light up when you say you’ll do it. You move to the couch, she lets you pull off her jeans and panties, squirming a bit as you touch her.

She tells you there’s no need for you to strip, she’s just using you for your cock anyway, but when you insist on it she doesn’t have any problem.

You straddle her, asking if she needs any foreplay. She says it would be nice if you touched her body, she’ll just close her eyes and imagine a man is doing it.

You let your hands roam over her, squeezing her breasts through her shirt, playing with her nipples, grabbing her hips, touching her thighs. She jokes that you smell a lot nicer than the guys she’s been with, squeezing her eyes shut tight as she giggles.

You ask if she wants you to touch her pussy, she nods shyly and comments that it’s “so weird to hear a woman’s voice ask her about that.” She gasps at the first touch. She’s already really wet.

You explore her pussy, each time you ask if she wants you to do something it’s met with a needy “Mhm.” She invites a finger inside her, then another, then another, when you look back to ask about a fourth her eyes are open, staring up at you like a needy child.

You ask you if she’s sure about a fourth finger, she nods, her expression growing even needier. You slide it in and she gives another gasp. Her hips start to rock. She places a hand on your wrist. “Please?” She asks desperately.

After a minute of taking four of your fingers inside her she speaks again, softly. “You’re really pretty.”

”You know I’m a girl don’t you?” You reply.

”I-I know.” She turns her face to avoid your gaze. She bites her lip as the sensation of your fingers inside her crests again. “S-slow down, a second.”

You oblige, not speaking to give her the moment she clearly needs to collect her thoughts.

She looks at you again, timidly. “C-can, can we kiss?”

You give a nod and lean down just a bit to make sure she can reach your lips.

“That’s not something I’m used to hearing.” You quirk an eyebrow at the woman who reserved you.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m really interested in this, I’m 90% sure I’m straight, I’m just doing this to confirm it.” She’s already started gracelessly removing her clothes.

“Alright,” you shrug. “I’m still going to try my best to show you a good time.”

“Just don’t be disappointed when you can’t get me off.” She places clothes on the motel room dresser and makes for the bed. “Let’s get started, then.”

“Wait.” You grab her hand before she can reach it. “We can’t do anything more until we’ve showered.” You take an instructive step toward the bathroom.

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, I get it with men, but can’t you trust women to show up clean?”

“Doesn’t hurt to be careful. Now c’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Doubt it.”

“Can I touch you?” You ask, standing behind your client in the shower.

“That is what I’m paying you for.” She replies, slightly exasperated.

“You’re paying me to have sex with you, and I can’t do that very well if I can’t ask you what you like.”

“I hired you because I don’t know what I like! Okay!” She snaps, her snark boiling over into anger.

You give her a minute to calm down, its hard to stay mad in a hot shower. “Is there anything you want to try?” You ask softly.

She pulls her arms into her body and hunches, making herself small.

“I don’t know.” She says quietly. “Normal lesbian stuff.”

“Good to hear that,” you say, smiling “I love normal lesbian stuff.”

"Oh my god," your says, her gaze avoiding you. "You know what I mean."

"I don't, really." You respond, playfully tracing a finger over the covers. "Lesbians do a lot of things."

"Like, the stuff they do in lesbian porn, you know." She turns her head as though trying to look away harder. From the new angle you can clearly see her cheek growing redder.

"Watched a lot of lesbian porn, have you?"

"Its-its normal, a lot of stright women do that."

"Not a lot of straight women hire a lesbian escort."

"C-Can you just shut up and start already?" She's starting to meekly curl in on herself. "I didn't hire you to just lie here and talk."

"Okay honey, can I call you honey?"

"Y-Yeah sure, whatever." Her blush grows brighter and hotter.

"Okay honey, would you like me to kiss you? I think that's a pretty normal lesbian thing."

It takes her a moment of intense blushing before she can answer. "Yeah, I n-need to try kissing."

"Are you ready now honey?"

"Y-yeah."

"Even if I'm not the kind of person who's going to stop when I'm told to you could shout. If you make a scene somebody will intervene, get you out of this, save you from me."

"No one thinks I'm a woman, you don't either, you're just saying this cause you're supposed to."

That crosses a line. I stand up from the couch and loom over her. "Don't you fucking say that." Before she can process what's happening I put a hand on one of her shoulders to pin her and grab the hem of her hoodie.

"What are you doing!?" She sputters.

I yank the hoodie up revealing the t-shirt underneath. "I'm showing you how much of a woman you are." Holding up her hoodie with the thumb of the hand that pins her I grab one of her growing tits.

"S-stop, what the fuck."

"You're a woman now, this is what happen to women when they're alone at a strangers place." I squeeze her breast, letting my fingers squirm into it.

"Mmhmf," despite the circumstances the boymoder lets out a whimper.

"Sensitive aren't you? Looks like estrogen really is doing something." I keep squeezing and groping. Adjusting to chase the spots that make her whimper harder.

"Wh-Why."

"You're a girl and I like girls. There's nothing to be confused about." I pinch her nipple through her shirt and she lets out something between a yelp and a moan. I twist it in my fingers and she whimpers harder. Her legs start to curl in on her torso. I pull my hand away from her breast for a moment to yank off her hoodie, then her t-shirt.

Her arms limply comply as I pull her clothing off of them. When I finish she lies back against the couch, waiting for me to continue.

"Wow, these really are growing, people are gonna notice if you don't hide them. What were you planning to do in the summer? Just swelter in that baggy hoodie?" As I speak I grab both of her tits and begin to knead them in my fingers. "Jesus these are soft, I don't know how you keep yourself from touching them all the time."

"Mmh. mmh. mmmmm." Her mouth is far too full of whimpers to respond to any of my prodding.

"Those are some really womanly noises you're making. Listen to how high your voice gets when I play with you." I pinch both of her nipples and begin to twist.

"Aaah! Aah!" Her moans are nearly screams. Her back arches toward me.

I release her nipples and let her fall back onto the couch, breathing heavily. Her eyes quiver and slowly begin to focus again. I wrap my hand around the back of her head and pull it towards mine meeting her soft lips in a kiss. She melts into me, kissing me desperately, like she's afraid something is going to take me away. I gently pull away from her, still grasping the back of her head.