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Summary: Polly begins a journey without knowing she's doing so. Disclaimer: The author makes no
claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
First Times
"Have you ever kissed anybody?" That was the question Molly asked me, when she was thirteen and I was twelve. I was leaning against the bole of a willow tree, out of the afternoon sun, and she was sitting across from me. We'd been in swimming and our clothes — white linen shifts, both of us — were still soaked. I remember I could see her body as though she weren't wearing clothes at all. I suppose she could see mine just as well. It didn't matter. We were both girls, after all. Had I ever kissed anybody? I shook my head. I'd kissed my family, of course, but I knew that wasn't what she meant. She'd started walking out almost a month ago and three or four different boys from town had walked her home on different days. She meant had I kissed a boy. "Do you want to know what it's like?" I blushed then. I always blushed. I looked at my hands. "Kind of," I said, quietly. "I'll show you," she told me, her eyes alight, eager to share her secrets. "Really?" "Sure. It's nice. Close your eyes." "Why?" "Because you have to close your eyes when you kiss. It's how you're supposed to do it." "Oh," I felt a little uncertainty at that, but also a flutter of excitement. "Okay." I closed my eyes, hands clasped in my lap. I could feel the breeze on my skin, and then I felt her fingers there as well, gently stroking my cheek. My breath quickened at her touch. "This is how it starts," she murmured. I felt her move, the wet linen of her shift dragging against my knee, her thighs sliding alongside mine, her knees squeezing my narrow hips. I could feel her breath on my lips, and then her mouth, soft, against mine. Her kiss sent a tingle through my body — definitely not like kissing my dad — but she wasn't finished. She pressed her mouth to mine again, once, twice, making me shiver deliciously, my lips parting in response. I leaned forward, wanting to know what she tasted like. Hoping I was doing it right, that it was okay to slip my tongue between her lips — only for a second — to taste her mouth. When I did it, she opened her mouth further, ran her own tongue along mine. I put my hand on her thigh, and she rocked forward, pressing me against the tree trunk. I could feel her breasts — real ones, much fuller than the childish nubs that I had — against my chest. I wanted to touch her there, to feel the hard buttons of her nipples under my fingers, but I thought that might be going too far. All of a sudden it hit me, and I pushed her away. "This is an abomination," I breathed, terrified that someone might have seen us. "No it's not," Molly told me. "We're just practicing for when we're married. It doesn't count." "Are you sure?" She nodded, running her fingers through my damp hair. "It's okay." Relief washed over me. Not only relief, though, but desire as well. I smiled at her. She leaned close again, brushing my nose with her own, kissing me softly. I closed my eyes again, yielding to her mouth, wrapping my arms around her. We practiced for the rest of the afternoon. |