Date: Mon, 06 Feb 2006 19:12:45 -0500
From: Roxanne Appleby <roxanneappleby@hotmail.com>
Subject: Roxanne's Steamy Valentine's Girl-Crush  Lesbian/College (FF 1st coll)

Roxanne's Steamy Valentine's Girl-Crush

by Roxanne Appleby

Preface: This is a story about two sweet college girls who live in a dorm
and are best friends. In the spirit of a child-like Valentine's Day romance
between very close friends they plan a special evening together. An
unexpected event turns the conversation to the subject of girl-girl sex and
whether either has ever thought about the other in that way. Both admit they
have . . .

     ----------------------------

     I was in college. We were best friends. It was wonderful. We are still
friends, but our lives have gone in different directions. She is straight
and I'm bi (but I didn't know it then).

     OK, now that any unwarranted suspense or foreboding is out of the way,
you can relax and enjoy my tale.

     I am 38 now, and when I think back to those college days I realize what
a funny thing memory is: Much of that time is just a blur of faces, names
and unconnected incidents, but certain moments have a sharpness and
immediacy that makes it appear as if they happened just last night. The
subject of this story brings back many of these moments.

     I was 18 during my first semester, and unsurprisingly had never lived
away from home. I was in a large, modern co-ed dorm at an elite state
university in the Midwest. The dorm had a mixture of all-girls floors,
all-guys floors, and some co-ed floors. My hall was all-girls, and I was
cordial but not close with the roommate assigned to me.

     Of course, I met many people that year, and one of these was Claire,
who lived elsewhere in the big dorm. I'm pretty sure we met in the
cafeteria, where we found ourselves at the same table.

     I remember clearly that this was one of those wonderful moments when
you meet a person who you just know you're going to like, and can tell that
the feeling is mutual. Within minutes, we discovered that while different in
personality we shared a very similar outlook on life. Right off the bat,
Claire and I were talking as if we had known each other forever, and had
just picked up where earlier conversations had left off.

     Claire was vivacious and outgoing, with an endearing lively twinkle in
her eye, but she was also thoughtful and capable of introspection. I wasn't
really shy, but was more introverted and cautious. Claire was also more of a
girly-girl, not that I was a tomboy or anything like that, but I just didn't
care very much about fashion, makeup or other female things.

     Right away, we started hanging out together all the time. Claire's
roommate always stayed at her boyfriend's off-campus apartment, so mostly we
spent time together in her room. I became part of the gang on her hall, and
she was considered a regular on mine. It was neat, because it gave us a
wider social circle, and more party or special event opportunities, not that
either of us were roaring party animals. Well actually, Claire could get a
little wild, more so than me, but we were both consumed with our studies in
the high-pressure academic environment.

     I think we kind of took for granted having formed such a close
friendship, because it wasn't until the very end of the second semester that
we realized, soon the two of us would be separated for almost four months.
Claire was returning to California to work in her father's business, and I
would be home with my parents - 2,000 miles away from my friend. The two of
us were miserable about it.

     Summer came, and I missed her like crazy. We sent letters to each other
that in hindsight look almost like love letters, but weren't really -- just
the sincere expressions of really close friends who miss each other a lot.
Eventually summer ended and we were reunited, together again at the "Big U."

     I had the same room and the same safe roommate. Claire "won the
lottery" and got a single room. Her room was on the top floor, where higher
ceilings made it possible to have a loft. Beds went above and the main level
became a living room; it was more like a small apartment than a bedroom.

     Having experienced separation, Claire and I no longer took our
relationship for granted. We realized how special it was, and how ephemeral
the college experience was. This added just the tiniest element of
bittersweet melancholy to our friendship, and that made our feelings for
each other even more tender.

     The months flew by, full of good times and hard work, and eventually it
was February. In the "real world," Valentine's Day is just a minor
commercial holiday, but on campus it was hyped into a ribald celebration of
sex as much as romance.

     Claire and I both shared warm memories of those innocent valentine's of
grade school, when best friends of either sex could "be my valentine" for a
day. In that spirit -- not the sexual one of campus -- we decided to "be
valentines," and make a special evening of it.

     Each hall had a lounge with limited cooking facilities, so we planned a
fancy meal for ourselves. The two of us would dine together under
candlelight in Claire's room, followed by a movie on her VCR. We would be
innocently romantic together, but honestly, there were no sexual overtones.

     Some famous person once expressed amazement at the role sheer chance
plays in every individual's life. What happened next has always seemed to me
to be an example of that: The big dorm had its own popular-reading library
that included an eclectic collection of video tapes.

     When Claire and I went down to get a movie, the one we selected in pure
ignorance was "Personal Best." Yep, the one with the lesbian love affair
between Mariel Hemingway and Patrice Donnelly, except we didn't know it was
a lesbian romance -- we thought it was just a female athlete "buddy" movie!

     To tell the truth, I don't remember all the plot details of that film.
I know the romance ended badly (which is partly why I eliminated the
suspense at the start of this story), and Claire and I were sappy,
happy-ending types.

     Here's what I do recall as if it was just last night: During the love
scenes, we became very conscious of the other's presence, and became very
quiet. That was unusual, because most of the time we cracked jokes or shared
commentary throughout a film. We were embarrassed by what was on the screen,
but we felt something else, too: excitement. The two of us were such close
friends that we each knew the other was excited, and that made us more
embarrassed, more self-conscious and more excited.

     Under different circumstances, it might have been easy when the movie
ended to pretend that nothing had happened. Watching that particular film
however, on a night when we were enjoying a little innocent Valentine's Day
romance, made the coincidence seem portentous. That, added to the fact that
we were so much in the habit of sharing all our thoughts and feelings, made
it seem like we had to talk about it.

     So we did, and of course that meant discussing our feelings about
lesbianism, and this led to the question of whether either of us ever had
any thoughts of that nature about the other. Which as it turned out, we both
admitted we had.

     Well, now it was out in the open, and we could not or did not want to
ignore it. Neither of us said so at first, but we knew where this was
heading. Finally it came -- the proposition. Claire was the more daring, and
at some point she said, "So, Roxanne -- do you want to try it?" I gulped. She
gulped. We were both terrified, and thrilled. Of course, the answer was yes.

     Well, now came the tricky part: What do we do? Make out on the couch?
Strip and dive between each other's legs? Neither of us had a clue. Once
again, Claire took the initiative, "Let's get ready for bed and climb in
together."

     Claire's dorm room's "loft apartment" had a queen-sized bed above and a
comfy couch below. Sometimes when studying or just up late talking, I would
crash on this rather than go home and wake my roommate, so I kept a few
toiletries there in Claire's room. In the communal hall "john" we brushed
our teeth and made our usual beddy-bye preparations, just like normal. We
ordinarily slept in just tee shirts and panties, so that's what we wore when
we climbed into the loft together.

     As I mentioned before, part of our innocent Valentine's Day romance had
been to dine together under candlelight. Now the child-like aspects of that
romantic atmosphere were transmuted into the real thing, as we lay
side-by-side on her queen-sized mattress, looking into each other's eyes,
illuminated by only the flickering candlelight.

     We were nervous, and uncertain about how to begin. Claire reached a
hand up and stroked my cheek. I closed my eyes and accepted the caress. She
touched my lips with a finger, and I gave it a little peck, opening my eyes
again to look into hers. Next, she touched my hair, stroking it gently; I
did the same and touched her hair, then her cheek, and her lips, whereupon
she also gave my fingers a little peck.

     It was all very chaste, and very loving. We went on like this for a
long time, and gradually became less nervous and more relaxed. At some
point, our bodies moved closer, not yet in full contact, only our uncovered
legs touching, but our faces and lips were just inches from each other's.

     Of course, I was nervous about the next step, but mostly I was
overwhelmed with affection for my friend, and joyful at being able to freely
express that emotion with a natural, physical act. I leaned forward and ever
so gently, placed my lips against hers.

     Deep breath. Whew, I'm getting choked up remembering, and putting those
memories into words. I know, you're itching for me to get on to the "naughty
bits." Don't worry, they're coming. But first, I have to give a little more
context, because here we are, two beautiful nineteen-year old college girls
on the threshold of a deliciously illicit sexual encounter, and you have no
idea what we looked like, or whether we were harlots, virgins or something
in between.

     I just gave a clue for part of that - we were both beautiful. Well,
Claire was for sure (and still is today). She was (is) slightly taller than
average, thin but with very large breasts, has long, light brown hair, a
truly lovely face, and beautiful brown eyes.

     I wasn't bad looking myself. In fact, I still look pretty good. I am
small, have strawberry blonde hair, a cute face, green eyes that compliment
my hair color, and a curvaceous body. My breasts are ample but not huge like
Claire's, and my hips are wider and more rounded. I have to exercise now to
prevent bulges, but of course at age 19 we were both sleek with the firm
muscle tone of youth.

     Neither of us were virgins, but I was darned close to it. Early in my
freshman year I had had sex one time, with a boy I had flirted with in
class. He was "pretty," and when he asked for a date I decided that if the
opportunity arose I would sleep with him. I had no strong feelings for the
boy; I just did not want to be a virgin anymore.

     Well, the opportunity did arise, and we had sex. It was OK, and I could
see that the act had real possibilities, but they were not realized then or
with him. We did not go out again.

     Claire was more experienced. Her first time had been in high school,
and at least three times since I met her she had spent nights with boys
after parties. I was jealous and a little resentful at those times, not
because I wanted the boys, but because of her much greater sophistication
and daring in the sexual realm.

     The minor tension that these episodes generated evaporated when Claire
gave me explicit blow-by-blow reports, complete with generous helpings of
comic relief. My twinges of unfair and ridiculous resentment were converted
into admiration for my friend's forthright and welcoming acceptance of her
own sexuality.

     So now, back to Claire and me together: sweet college-girl
"Valentines," in bed, scantily clad, and on the threshold of having sex.

     Our lips came together in a nervous kiss. I felt an overwhelming,
heartwarming satisfaction and happiness at being able to physically express
the deep affection I felt. We pulled apart, and I was beaming.

     Claire looked at me quizzically as if she was missing something funny.
"What?" she asked.

     "Nothing," I answered. I understood why she was puzzled though, and
explained, "I'm just happy." She smiled back, and my affection overflowed.

     I moved close and embraced her, wrapping an arm around her back and
pressing my body against hers. Where before only our unclothed legs had
touched, now our breasts came together, separated only by the thin cotton of
our tee shirts. This added an erotic component to what I was feeling. I
kissed her again, this time less chastely. Claire felt the heat too, and
with her greater experience, the kiss she returned was more sensuous. She
wet her lips and smeared them against mine, gently sucking first on my lower
lip, then my upper, teasing them a little with her tongue.

     At the same time, her soft caresses on my hair and face had moved
outward. She lightly ran her fingers up and down the sensitive flesh in the
crook of my arm, and that was electric -- the sensation is one of the things
that sticks in my memory as if it happened just yesterday.

     Our kissing grew bolder and more forthrightly sexual, eventually we
were "frenching" with passion. I had reciprocated her soft arm caress, and
now both of us let our hands wander further afield. With our bodies pressed
close, we unconsciously began grinding our panty-clad pelvises together.

     I threw one leg over Claire's, and insinuated the other between hers.
Now we could hump thighs. I did this without conscious thought; I just
wanted more, and so did Claire.

     One of her hands reached under my shirt, and she caressed my naked
back. She tried to bring her hand around to my front, which was awkward
because we were pressing our torsos together. I knew what she wanted to do,
and pulled back to give her room.

     Her hand rose to my breasts, cupping one, then tweaking a nipple. An
electric spark traveled from my nipple to my clit, and I gasped. Eager to
return the favor, I slipped a hand beneath her shirt and caressed one of her
extra-large breasts.

     I had always been fascinated by Claire's breasts, and relished this
opportunity to indulge my curiosity. I withdrew the hand from her breast,
reached down to the hem of her shirt, and tugged it up over her torso. She
assisted, removing the hand from my breast so I could pull the garment right
over her head and off. Before allowing me to satisfy my longing to explore
her breasts, Claire performed the same service by pulling my tee shirt up
and off.

     I was eager to play with those massive globes, but first we pressed our
now-nude torsos together, breast to breast, lips to lips, arms around each
other, squeezing the other close. We kissed passionately, her tongue in my
mouth, mine in hers, sucking on each other's lips, dueling each other's
tongues. This went on for a long, long time, interspersed with sensuous lip
and face kisses. All the while, we were grinding our mounds into each
other's thighs, and moving our breasts against the other's, often tweaking
nipple against hardened nipple.

     I still wanted to play with Claire's breasts. Eventually I pulled my
lips from hers, and began laying a trail of kisses across her cheeks, around
her neck, a leisurely detour behind her ears, then lower to her nude
shoulders and the top of her chest.

     I had to draw back from our embrace to do this last, and this exposed
those heavy orbs to my eyes -- and my hands. I lifted Claire's breasts,
cupped them, and squeezed them, softly and not so softly. I poked, prodded,
tugged and performed every tactile experiment I could think of.

     My lips had come away from her body, but now I lowered them again,
kissing circles around her breasts, covering every inch, lifting their
weight and bending my neck to lick the creases at the bottom, where their
heaviness normally rested against her chest.

     Eventually I closed in on the brownish silver-dollar sized nipples,
which my fingers had already been fondling and tweaking. I covered one with
my open mouth, and suckled like a babe. I nibbled, and tongued, and tweaked,
first one nipple and then the other, and then back to the first, thrilled at
how they stiffened and puckered under my ministrations.

     After a long session of breast worship we kissed again, and she
performed the same actions on my smaller, but not insubstantial globes.

     Well, as you can imagine, we were getting pretty steamed up by all this
sensual touching, breast play and mound-to-thigh contact. At some point
Claire's hand dropped to my waist, and slid under the elastic of my panties.
I opened my legs to make room, and the most marvelous thing in the world
happened: Her girl-soft fingers came into contact with my now very wet sex,
and the feeling was sublime. I moaned, and a tear even came to my eye it was
so wonderful.

     Of course, I had to return this beautiful experience, so I reached a
hand under her panties. She too opened her legs, and I moved my leg to make
room for my hand. We kissed again, and fingered each other as we did this.

     As I said, Claire had much more sexual experience, and was more in
touch with her sexuality. We had never actually talked about masturbation,
just cracked a few embarrassed jokes about it in response to certain
comments or situations, but somehow I knew she masturbated to orgasm
regularly. I masturbated much less frequently, and had only experienced a
few orgasms in my life.

     Anyway, while we were both extremely aroused, Claire knew just what she
needed to satisfy her lust. She gave me little instructions, "Higher -- no
not that high -- yes, there. A little harder now. Faster. Don's stop! Faster!
Yessss!"

     Claire had an orgasm. As she approached the peak, her ability to
effectively finger me was diminished. Despite that, when I felt her body
shudder and her cleft suddenly become sodden with the renderings of her
climax, my own sex twitched wildly in sympathy, and I nearly had an orgasm
also.

     I didn't though. In fact, until Claire began getting close I hadn't
even thought about that part, about the climax that culminates a sex act. I
had no expectations in that regard, but was just relishing the marvelous
sensuality and intimacy we shared.

     But now, I did think about that part, and while I was happy for my
friend, and felt proud and powerfully efficacious at having given her great
pleasure, I also felt a twinge of envy, not unlike when Claire had slept
with one of those boys in the past.

     Of course, Claire being my very best friend, incredibly close to me in
every way and an extremely sensitive and caring individual, immediately
picked up on my feeling and resolved to balance the scales. First, she took
several moments to shower me with kisses and hugs in gratitude for my giving
her pleasure. Which I happily accepted.

     As I said earlier, Claire was the more daring of us, and she
demonstrated this now by launching a journey of kisses that began on my
shoulders and neck, paused for a lengthy stay on my breasts and nipples, and
then trailed lower, across my abdomen, and lower . . .

     She slid down the bed, and it was obvious where her destination was.
This daring triggered in me that same respect for my friend's more
forthright sexuality that I had experienced when she recounted her sexual
adventures. I also felt a primal thrill and anticipation that this time I
would be the beneficiary of her boldness! These feelings increased
dramatically when Claire tugged the panties down my legs and peeled them
off. She stripped her own off too; by now both garments were sodden and
uncomfortable.

     I had never experienced oral sex and had no idea what to expect. I had
heard other girls rave in the dorm's late-night "rap sessions," but never
put too much credence in what was said in those circumstances. I mean, I
didn't not believe it, I was just -- agnostic.

     Well, when I felt Claire's warm breath there, when her soft lips
covered my very wet and aroused sex, and when she extended her tongue,
running it north to south from tunnel to clit, then I became a true
believer!

     "Oh, God, Claire, it's so wonderful! I can't believe how wonderful it
is!" I cried out at the sublime sensations. This encouraged my friend, and
she became more active, upping the tempo, and experimenting with different
techniques and combinations.

     Of course, Claire had never had sex with another woman, so by
definition she had never performed cunnilingus, but we were products of
enlightened and sex-educated social environments, so she knew all the
relevant anatomy and theory. Since she masturbated frequently and was in
close touch with her own sexuality, Claire also knew what she liked, and did
not find it hard to translate that into things that I would like.

     And oh, I liked. I liked!

     As I mentioned at the outset, I am bisexual, although I did not know it
at the time, but from that moment on my favorite thing in the world is to
have my own sex pleasured by the mouth of another woman.

     This very first time, my blood was pounding at the excitement of the
thing. I fluffed up the pillows and bolstered my head so I could look down
and watch.

     Mixed as it is with sweet remembrances of the tender affection I felt
for Claire at that moment, the sight is another one of those indelible
memories -- my own nude body, my friend's beautiful face gazing into my
exposed sex, her heavy breasts hanging from her chest, and her pert, naked
butt pointing toward the ceiling not far above us. Oooo-eeee! It makes me
wet right now just thinking about it!

     Claire experimented, and I responded. Boy, did I! I gasped, and
squealed, moaned and gyrated to such an extent that I surprised myself at
the effusiveness of my reaction.

     At some point she inserted a finger in my dripping tunnel, and began
sliding it gently in and out. Claire had discovered how to find my clitoris
with her lips and tongue, and how to stay with it. She tried out different
ways to stimulate it: Sucking the clit and surrounding flesh rapidly in and
out of her mouth, delicate flicks with the tip of her tongue, aggressive up
and down licks with its surface, slavering side to side swipes with the soft
underside.

     It was the combination of that last technique and the steadily plunging
finger, plus the passion and delight of sharing such a wonderful experience
with my beautiful friend, that tipped me over the cliff to the first orgasm
I ever experienced with another person.

     It was much more powerful than any I had given myself, and left me
stunned and shaking. I was actually a little bit scared at how explosive the
sensations were, but my darling friend and lover was quickly there to
reassure me, sensing my delicate state and immediately crawling up the bed
to cradle me in her arms and softly stroke my hair, just as when we had
begun.

     I could tell she wanted to kiss me but was self-conscious about the
fact that her face was positively dripping with my girl juice. It was
probably a clue to my bi-sexual nature that I was not put-off by that at all
-- I was turned on by it!

     I grasped her head and pulled her face against mine, kissing her
deeply, using my mouth to clean the slippery moisture from her cheeks and
chin. The taste and smell of my sex on her face was thrilling.

     By this point we were both exhausted. It was very late, and although
I'm sure it was a weekend, the entire dorm was asleep. Claire reached down
for the sheet and blankets and pulled them over us. We fell asleep with our
bodies entwined.

     ------------

     When we woke up the next morning there was more than a little
awkwardness, and confusion. Were we friends, or lovers, or something in
between? Recall that the whole thing had begun when we watched the movie
"Personal Best," which ends with the two girl lovers, also former best
friends, bitter and jealous. So we were frightened, too.

     We didn't say much at first, but after lunch in the cafeteria, returned
to Claire's room determined to work through it. We talked, shared our
feelings, cried a little together, and laughed some, too. In the end we were
still confused, but resolved that first and foremost we were still best
friends, and would place that above all else. That made sorting out the rest
a lot easier.

     Alright -- I know what you're thinking: "Well, that's all very sweet,
but aren't there any more 'naughty bits'?" I've described my first time as
the recipient of oral sex from another woman, but you want "the rest of the
story," right? OK -- this happened after Valentine's Day, but here it is:

     Being confused and frightened, Claire and I backed off from any
physical contact in the days immediately following. About a week later we
were involved in one of those marvelous college "rap sessions" with a group
of girls on Claire's hall, the subject of which was sex and romance. Some of
the girls became quite graphic, and for a while the conversation even turned
to different masturbation techniques, accompanied by raucous laughter.

     And some excitement, too. At one point a girl named Kate jokingly
announced, "See ya -- I'm going to masturbate now . . ." Amidst the hilarious
reaction Claire and I traded a significant glance. Contained in that brief
eye contact was the two-way message, "Hey, I'm getting hot, and if you're
willing, so am I!"

     Eventually the group broke up. Claire and I found ourselves back in her
room together, alone, and aroused. And, in each other's arms, kissing
softly. Undressing each other, and climbing up into her loft, where we
luxuriated in pressing our nude flesh together, and in the comfort of having
such a loving (and convenient) outlet for our mutual arousal.

     Actually, I had been in a constant state of low-level arousal since
Valentine's Day. Claire and I may have been unsure about how our friendship
meshed with having a physical relationship, but in terms of the girl-girl
sex aspect, I was not confused at all - I knew I wanted more!

     I had masturbated almost every day since, fantasizing about visions of
my beautiful friend, naked in bed with me; and that the finger stroking my
clit was not mine, but instead her finger, or tongue. I found myself looking
at other girls differently too, not in a predatory way, but with curiosity.

     And I was just dying to do to Claire what she had done to me. Lick her,
that is -- down there.

     So while I did not want to rush things, or forego any of the marvelous
tenderness of our sensual kisses and touching, as soon as events had moved
along to that point where the partners are seeking much more focused
stimulation, I didn't fool around, but got myself right down there. Between
the thighs of my beautiful, recumbent girlfriend, that is. On my stomach, my
face inches from her velvet pinkness, inhaling the musky aroma of her
aroused sex, and soaking up the sight of her glistening lips.

     At first I just touched with my fingers, experimenting, the way I had
when first given the opportunity to play with Claire's large breasts. I
peeled back the petals of the flower and dipped my index finger shallowly
into her tunnel, just to moisten the digit, then stroked it up and down the
surface of her labia, then between them, thrilling at the lubricious silken
feel. I tapped her clit lightly, which elicited a shiver and moan from my
friend.

     I wet the finger in my mouth, getting a first taste of aroused
woman-flesh, and massaged the little clitty button, not surprisingly getting
more "positive feedback" in response.

     Of course, this round of experimentation would be incomplete without
going inside, which I did, loving the sensation of Claire's tightness
enveloping my digit. Then digits, when I inserted my middle finger alongside
the first. I "plumbed the depths" of this activity, both literally and
figuratively, trying every combination of actions I could think of,
including rocking my fingers from side to side deep inside my friend, and
seeing how deeply I could plunge them.

     Claire's true sexual identity is straight, so she was more confused by
our Valentine's Day adventure than I, but she also had that more forthright
acceptance of her own sexuality. Which right then meant that the "subject"
of my experiments was not passive, but was letting me know through words,
sounds and actions that she appreciated what I was doing! Naturally, that
made me excited, and eager to move on to the next level.

     Which I did. I began with a series of pecks and licks to the
surrounding flesh, including her pubic mound with its thin forest of soft
fur. Finally I lowered my mouth to her sex, doing nothing more at first than
placing my parted lips against it for a moment, delivering a breath-caress,
and savoring the deliciously illicit thrill of being on the threshold of
tasting such forbidden fruit.

     A vulgar thought came into my head, increasing my excitement further:
"I'm licking another woman's cunt."  Well, not yet, but then -- I was. The
rude phrase had triggered an intense wave of awareness, as if I were on the
outside looking in. This sent the blood pounding through my veins, and I
wanted all of her. I dove in with gusto, and discovered that to give is
almost as blessed as to receive in this regard.

     The taste thrilled me to no end, as did exploring with my lips and
tongue all the various nooks and crannies of my best friend's sex. The
experience of feeling her respond so powerfully to the tiniest little tongue
movements applied to just the right places was magical.

     I repeated all the actions that Claire had performed on me a few days
earlier, and with similar results! Claire was not quite as, er,
demonstrative as I, but she left no doubt that she too liked it, really
liked it.

     Sooner than I would have wished, I was rewarded in the best possible
currency for such labors, a prodigious orgasm from my sweet lover. Which
made me feel powerful, and curiously enough, grateful, given that I was the
one doing the "work," and she was the one getting the benefits. Ever since,
this is the feeling I get when a woman demonstrates her appreciation for my
oral attentions in this way. It's just the way I am, and vive la difference,
as they say.

     And that really does complete the story of my first time. As it turned
out, Claire and I became occasional lovers. Eventually our friendship
mellowed, no longer having the deep and soulful intensity of those first two
years, but it never faded completely. To this day we love each other like -
well, not sisters!  A whole lot, though.

     The summer before our senior year Claire met the man she would
eventually marry, a medical student in California. We graduated on time,
after which she moved back to the Golden State, and our lives moved in
different directions.

     Claire lives very happily with her husband on the West Coast, and they
have a lovely daughter who is now age nine. I have stayed with them as a
houseguest several times, where I am "Aunt Roxanne."

     I never moved far from my large extended family in the Midwest, and
have enjoyed a reasonably successful career as a journalist. I get to go to
interesting places, meet interesting people, write about them, and receive
decent money for it. My stature is growing as a writer, and I have a very
satisfying life.

     I never married, and probably never will, having no desire to have
children. I've had many lovers, some casual and temporary, a few deep and
long lasting. I always think of Claire as my "first," though (I don't count
the boy who took my virginity), and will treasure the memory of our time
together for as long as I live.

     The End

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Author's Note

If you liked this story please send feedback! Feedback from readers is
priceless to me, and is what motivates me to keep writing, so I promise to
respond personally to all non-anonymous comments and communications.

In fact, whenever you see a story here you especially like, do be generous
and write the author to say so. Your praise is the only currency with which
the writers are repaid for their work, and it is appreciated more than you
can imagine.

Love,

Roxanne Appleby
roxanneappleby@hotmail.com

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This story is the property of the author. You may keep a copy on your
computer for personal enjoyment, however if you wish to publish or
distribute the story then you must get the permission of the author. While
most works of fiction contain some autobiographical or personal details,
this is just a fictional story.