Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top

Title: Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top | Chapter Six
| Endings, Beginnings, and New Legends

Author: Nate

Pairing: Paris/Rory, Rory POV

Inspired by: Between Eight O'Clock at the Oasis and They
Shoot Gilmores, Don't They? with a sped-up timeline for dramatic
effect that pushes Take the Deviled Eggs out of this fic world.

Rating: R (swearing, naughty femslash thoughts, self-pleasuring
with a sexual fantasy, and some homophobic comments from one character
towards another, but not a personal attack towards the character)

Disclaimer: If you don't know it by now, Dorothy Parker Drank
Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone, and Warner Bros. Television own Gilmore
Girls and their characters, although from the finale two weeks
ago, I've deluded myself into a few things. First, RealRory kicked Dean
in the balls before he could get his pants down, and ran off to Europe
to join Paris for a summer of love. Second, when we came back from
commercial, that was Lorelai's evil twin daughter Schmory, played by
Alexis' evil and less-talented twin Infinitee Bledel coming out of the
room with Dean and we'll find out over the summer that this was all a
cruel joke which backfired when Schmory and Dean are run out of town
with a pitchfork mob, and currently live in Chino with all the other OC
unbeautiful people. Finally, Dean has all the sexual resiliency of
a horny hummingbird on speed. What was that, two minutes between the
Luke/Lorelai kiss and Schmory and Dean coming out of Rory's room? No
wonder Lindsay has good reason to be bitchy with him!

Summary: Rory's ammunition to be with Paris builds even further
and she starts bringing everything into place to convince Paris to be
hers. Meanwhile the end of Dean and her is nigh, and someone finds out
about her secret.

Archiving: GilmoreGirlsSlash, aff.net and ff.net. Anywhere else
ask first.

Author's Notes: My goal was to get this out by Saturday June
5th (Liza's birthday), but it wasn't meant to be. My betas advised me
to edit a couple of scenes, and upon further review, I found myself
displeased with the quality of my writing when I reread them. So
instead of a long drawn-out breakup scene with Dean, it'll be only a
few paragraphs and we're going right back to what you came for,
Paris/Rory. I was also intending to introduce Shane as more than a
minor character, but it was suggested that her role in this fic should
probably be something else.

 

Thanks again to Raven and Cinn, who have betaed this and been so loyal,
doing a wonderful job, and probably saving me from making a couple
mistakes with the storyline. Even with Raven going to Belize for a few
weeks, she's still going to read (Thank you to whoever invented the
satellite phone!), I promise the updates will still be as frequent.
Thanks to Vix for her help about certain scenes (plus inspiring
Paris/Rory conversations), and Christina for being a loyal reader.

 

Those who reviewed on GGSlash, thanks! Rocky's new script helped me out
at a tough time and got me reinspired for this chapter.

 

Do I even need to tell you ff.net'ers again for the seventh time that
this is femslash and if you don't like don't read because Rory's
drooling over Paris instead of the guys? I will anyway just to cover my
rear. And of course if you like, review constructively. To those who've
asked the major reason I have signed reviews on is because of past
attacks of my writing and the concept of femslash in anon reviews, so I
could never identify who was attacking me to defend myself. So if you
have any negative words, you'll have to sign on with your ff.net
account or review me through my email, I'm not taking any chances.

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There seem to be milestones to your life that you always go back to in
the chaos that is your photographic memory bank, and though you don't
remember most of the surrounding details, say the weather, day of the
week, type of dress and what may have been spoken before that moment
took root, more often than not, you can easily imagine what the actual
event is, and maybe even an extraneous item that helps you recall when
the event might have happened.

 

For example, my first day of school when I was five. My mother had been
a big fan of Twin Peaks as mocking material, so she taped all
the episodes off channel 8 and we had a marathon of it the night before
I walked in the doors of Stars Hollow Elementary to begin my academic
career. I couldn't even tell you what the heck the show was about then,
nor can I tell you today because I was too buried in Ramona Quimby,
Age Eight to really pay attention. But I can still tell you I know
my first day of kindergarten I had strange visions of this Laura Palmer
lady and her mystery. Knowing that instead of that boys are gross
and/or cute probably set my wallflower path in stone instead of being a
social being.

 

Then there's my first kiss with Dean, that's what we'll go into detail
about. I almost didn't go to Chilton because of him, and for that I'm
still kind of bitter about, since without Grandma and my mother yelling
back and forth about supporting my education, I may have pulled out,
simply because of a boy. That's another tale for another day though.
All I know is I can't even remember the details before it all except
for an argument about regional cola terms, and that he asked me to pick
the hand out with the soda. I was nervous as I chose, and then when
Dean bent down and kissed me sweetly, I found out that it was all a
ruse for him to finally express his feelings for me. I ran out of the
store at eighty miles an hour immediately after with a stolen box of
cornstarch in tow, and couldn't believe the sparks I had felt. I was
shocked that my body has responded to his kiss, and in such an odd way.

 

For Dean, I've always remembered the large, grandiose gestures he made
for my love. I recalled the bracelet, the perfect ¼ year
anniversary dinner, the car, and the heavy makeout sessions. I'll
remember always with reverence those things he did.

 

What I won't remember happily however is that he always treated me like
a china doll.

I guess the fact I'm the product of a teenage mother, and my own
innocent looks played into the stereotype that I was the living
equivalent of a china doll to Dean, meant to be browsed, examined and
looked at with his eyes, but never to be touched. There were so many
times I tried to give him signals that I wanted more than a replica of
a relationship in the 1880s Victorian period, but he was too much of a
wuss to take the bait.

 

The night I dressed up like Donna Reed, for example. Beneath that
damned cursed TV mother skirt I wore the thinnest underwear I could
find, and decided to go with a strapless bra, hoping for God's sake my
brainstorm wouldn't only prove that women should be equal to men, but
that I wanted to use that rare opportunity of being alone to have him
initiate more than chaste French kissing from me. He never took the
bait, and I left that night still in like (note the absence of love,
we'll get to that in a bit) with him, but with a huge sexual knot
inside of me yearning to be released. Dean then ruined the opportunity
presented during our ¼ year anniversary with his demand I tell
him that I loved him in that wreck of a car he was building, and it
took even after we reconciled on the last day of Chilton for my sexual
feelings to become renewed again.

 

Strangely, even after Paris had put a stop to our friendship with that
ticket mess, I wondered if she was watching as we made out in the front
drive.

 

I seriously thought that the second chance for Dean would lead to a
renewed and arousing love, but by July of that year with my charity
obligations for Harvard, he had renewed his bellyaching again that I
wasn't there enough for his liking, and backed off from touching me in
any way that might cause a minor arousal in my system. He was always so
boring, pedestrian, and as he got even more into the car building with
Todd and his buddies, I could sense all those damned fumes he dealt
with in building it eating away at his IQ.

 

Instead of talking about books, he'd talk in Detroitese about how he
needed a converter or SAE wrench head or some other kind of crap that I
had absolutely no interest in at all, and also talked ad nauseum about
that stupid robot boxing show he thought was the height of Western
culture. The only thing I thought when I voluntarily watched an episode
was the robot controllers were definitely using their machines to
overcompensate for a certain reproductive part of their anatomy that
had to be smaller than average.

 

Thank the Lord Jess came in just in time and I started realizing I was
thinking of Paris as more of a rival around last November, because if
he hadn't come in and I kept thinking of Paris as just a friend, I
seriously think Dean would've gagged my intelligence, he's that dull!
Did I forget to mention that Clara, his sister, is the only child I've
ever wanted to give a nice, hard slap to because of her annoying,
prattling attitude and diamond-cutting voice? I'm nothing but glad to
be rid of any member of the Forrester family in my life.

 

That's right; I'm now a single woman, at least for now. But hopefully
in about an hour, I'll be starting to make progress with Paris. For now
though I'm sitting in my bedroom at five on a very early Saturday
morning, bleary-eyed as I try to look for the right things to go along
with the look I'm trying to perfect.

 

Why did I just say Dean is a footnote in history? Probably best to turn
back time to Tuesday morning so I can explain everything up to this
point, to when I was watering Dwight's garden.

 

When that bachelor left me in charge of his plants and everything, I
had expected things to be easy. Of course Lorelai pawned everything off
on me since she had Inn work in the mornings, so for the next few days
I went over to his house after my stop at Luke's, watered his plants
and made sure everything was in order, then left on the 6:50 bus on the
loop around Hartford. It was a routine that was going to be easy to
fall into, at least I thought at the beginning.

 

However, I failed to account for a few things as I woke up on Tuesday
morning around 5:45. I got out of bed and made sure that everything was
in order for my Chilton uniform, and took a shower before my mom,
keeping my mind from wandering to the fact that in my sleep I had an
interesting dream about the girl I had my eye on, and also about how I
would go about breaking up with Dean beforehand. I was still undecided
about cutting him off so abruptly, and my conscious was telling me to
wait for an opening, which in our snooze of a relationship might take
months.

 

I got out of the shower and prepared to put on my lingerie, when I
found that there was absolutely nothing in my bra drawer, and Lorelai
was nowhere to be found. I still found a pair of panties buried in the
bottom of my shirt drawer, but nothing to support my breasts. Throwing
on my robe, I ran out of my room, and found a note on a plate with a
couple of pop tarts on it telling me the whereabouts of my brassiere
collection.

 

Kiddo,

 

Decided to do all of our laundry together at work today before I went
to Nashville tomorrow, so combined it in one pile before I left for the
Inn while you were showering, you'll get it all back tonight. Have a
great day at school :)!

Mom

I forgot to set aside at least one before bed to shove in my
blouse's breast pocket like I usually did, and I hit my head on the
wall for my stupidity! How could I forget that Mom was going out to
Tennessee for a hotelier's convention until Sunday and decided to give
me as little to do as possible while I was home alone? I blame the long
two-hour conversation I had Monday night with Paris about the tests we
would be taking on Tuesday, along with some brainstorms about the
special Franklin edition we were printing later in the day
about the football team's run to state. Lorelai had shouted something
about laundry, and I probably yelled back 'yeah, go ahead' so fast I
didn't realize the topic my mom was bringing up because I was too busy
swooning to the sounds of Paris' voice.

 

I cursed God out, and quickly figured that if I just kept on my normal
tank of an undershirt beneath the blouse and sweater, no one would
notice that I was as free as a hippy beneath it all, thank goodness for
my B cup that wouldn't be too noticeable beneath all those uniform
layers. So I put on my clothes, ignoring that lovesick little voice in
the back of my head that told me Paris might be taking more interest in
my chest that day than usual. Come on, nothing can get any worse
today, can it? My mind thought as I finished dressing, organized
my backpack, did my hair and prepared for the day ahead.

 

You all know that after you say or think that, you're cursed, right?

 

Seems in the panic about my bra, I forgot to realize that the sprinkler
timer at Dwight's was timed to water his annuals every Tuesday and
Saturday at 6:45. I went into the house to get the watering can, and
within moments of coming out of his home, I found myself in a nightmare
that made my day even worse.

 

The sprinklers came up from the ground, and on full blast, the water
came from all directions, basically covering the entire property with
no little dry space along the front walk for me to escape their wrath.
Since the timer was set to water for ten minutes, and he had locked the
back door in the kitchen with a deadbolt lock he failed to leave me the
key for, I was stuck in a very wet pickle.

 

I found the manual shut-off and tried to turn it closed, but it seemed
to slip in my wet hands and I couldn't get a very good grip on it since
it required a wrench rod I wasn't able to locate. Trying to save my
academic day and thankful I decided to get a watertight bag two years
ago, I threw my backpack past the picket fence and onto the sidewalk in
order to keep my books dry, I wasn't ready to owe Chilton $600 for wet
texts! It landed with a thud against the street's curb, but everything
stayed in. My work was safe.

 

My own self, however, was getting totally soaked. I wasn't about to
bring out my cell phone to call Dean lest it be destroyed by the
soaking water, and the fact he'd be whining and making jokes about my
stupidity for the next eight days because I couldn't turn a simple
fucking sprinkler off! So I continued to struggle with it, my socks
becoming soaked and my sweater swiftly becoming a glorified sponge from
all the water being soaked in. I could feel the liquid seethe into the
blue blouse above, and into the only other layer, my undershirt. Since
it was cold water being sprayed all over, I started shivering in
seconds. I cursed at Dwight for having such a screwed-up watering
schedule, and I wasn't willing to go further in his front yard since
the sprinklers in the front were on a higher jet setting than the ones
towards the back, which would cause me to become even wetter.

 

Jess happened to walk by then on his way to walk Shane from her house
to school, and with him being a guy who could probably remedy the
situation, I yelled for help. As he made some snide crack about me
being perfect for the cast of Blue Crush, I told him I needed
him to turn them off, and now.

 

"Why didn't you call the bag boy?" he asked snidely as he found the
control rod to turn shut the spigot hidden in a crack along Dwight's
front walkway.

 

"I don't want to bother him, I thought I could do this myself," I
screamed over the loud spray as he jumped into the situation and put
the rod into the plate containing the watering controls. "He'd probably
get this big superiority complex in his head for the next week and rub
in my face that I was Periled Pauline and he saved me from the big,
mean sprinkler!" I added on with a bitchy and bitter voice.

 

He laughed at my situation and Dean as the water started to finally
stop flowing. "How about me saving you, isn't that the same?"

 

"No, because you're totally nuts about Shane and you're just a friend
helping a friend out, and you have nothing but friendly intentions for
me. There's a big difference there, it's too bad Dean can't get over
the fact that boys can be friends with girls."

 

He finally got the flow of water to stop, and him also soaking, brought
the control rod out of the plate, brushing off my complaints about my
boyfriend. "See, all you have to do is apply a little pressure next
time."

 

"Uh, thanks," was all I could say. I decided to take this opportunity
of Jess wet to test out my sexuality a little as we looked at each
other wet. In a perfect world, I'd be swooning over him and seriously
considering taking him away from Shane.

 

But immediately my thoughts inexplicably drove me towards an alternate
universe where Paris was the one who came in and turned off the
sprinklers, getting her own self wet in the process. Let's just say
with her breasts and her legs, within moments that thought of her damp
body, had I not shaken myself back into reality, would have wandered
off into a late-night pay cable track that would be very embarrassing.

 

Looking at Jess, I saw nothing but a loyal and trustworthy friend.
Yeah, he kisses well, but Shane deserves those lips much more than me,
especially when I'm smitten with someone else and considering my mom's
unsaid feelings for Luke. We're already making progress in getting my
mom to like Jess, so we both weren't about to ruin that, along with the
hope she'd finally hook up with Luke by getting into more than a
platonic relationship. Besides that, he admitted his love for his
girlfriend Shane on the bridge Saturday night after a romantic dinner,
and she's keeping him out of trouble, helping him a lot with school.

 

All right, so they got one ticket for lewd conduct on Taylor's watch
because they almost had sex in his car parked next to the town square.
They're in love dammit, give 'em a break old man!

 

Jess helped me gather everything back up and I took my soaked sweater
off, hoping by wearing my jacket over my blouse it would dry off on the
way in. We said goodbye to each other and wished good luck with our
days, and he told me he'd take the sweater to the inn so my mom could
throw it in the wash. I handed it over, and just barely made it to the
bus stop and got on with a soaked head of hair and still shivering.

 

As we got on the expressway, some smart guy figured that on a 52°
day, he was still hot. So him sitting in front of me, he opened up his
window and on the way up to north Hartford (I get off towards the tail
end of the route on the south side of the city, because of transit
cutbacks they don't have direct service to Chilton this year), I ended
up even colder than before with the 55 mph wind blowing right in my
face. My hair was drying a little, sure, but everything else was
staying stubbornly still, or making me freeze even more. I could feel
that my breasts were hard in my shirt, the rough cotton undershirt
rubbing harshly against my nipples, and I shut my eyes trying to
concentrate on some answers for one of the tests. It wasn't happening,
and even closing the coat to build up body heat failed to do anything
but bring the damned shirt closer and make me even colder.

Oh, and he occasionally took a glance back as I read my book, trying to
peek at my breasts through the wet shirt. I got out my huge Advanced
Economics book and hoped that would be enough to deter him. He
still looked however, the idiot.

 

I was about ready to give up hope and grin and bear the entire day
through chattering teeth and snide Chiltonians commenting on my sheer
blouse's state, when I realized where in north Hartford I was. Gellar
Manor was only a few blocks away from Simsbury Road, and the bus was
traveling south on its way to Main Street, where Chilton was along. I'd
have to walk along a few gravel shoulders, sure, but I could find a
place to at least dry off and...

 

I could borrow one of her blouses, I thought to myself, and
suddenly there was a brilliant flash of light going off in my brain,
and I started smiling. Suddenly, Dwight's evil sprinklers didn't seem
to be putting a damper on my day.

 

As the bus came within a quarter-mile from the intersection with Auer
Farm Road, things started to take shape. I, Rory, was wet, along with
my blouse. She, Paris was probably dry and would never bring herself
down to the level of a gardener. She also happened to be at my school,
wore the same uniform, and was my current object of lust. Paris also
was hinting at those same feelings lately, and though I couldn't
confirm them 100%, certain little things I was doing to probe her
sexuality were hinting towards the fact she had some thoughts about me.
The neck and back massages, and lingering touches back and forth
between us. Don't forget that we also shared a bed one morning with no
argument and I'd found myself wanting to leave my current boyfriend for
her.

 

As for my state at that time, it was almost perfect for a little
seduction. With my mother's sudden whim to throw everything but the
clothes on our backs into the washing machine at the Inn, I had no bra
on, and was shivering cold. Every time I took a step or the bus went
over a dip or bump, the tips of my nipples would rub against the fabric
of my shirt, and I had to think of things that were unsexy in order to
calm them down and numb them. Say, the effect of Dean's tongue against
mine lately while we kissed.

 

I was already seeing it in my mind; I'd walk into her room, she'd hand
me a shirt, and I'd take it off, revealing the thin shirt that fit my
body like a glove. I could almost see her eyes drawn down, and her
interest piqued. Paris would probably be thankful I was in that room,
and hand me a shirt right away in order to calm her own nerves and her
hormones...

 

Which meant even when she was out of the room I was in, she'd be with
me all day long in that blouse, wrapped around my arms with her scent
and essence in my nose, and feeling her own small, yet voluptuous form
all over me. The shirt would definitely be larger than mine, and I
could run my fingers along where the swell of her breasts would usually
be, thinking of my own fingers in the real world against the bottom of
her ample tits...

 

If not for my clothing and own well-being since I'd catch a cold
staying in this shirt all day, I had to get that blouse with Paris in
order to calm myself down, since thinking all those thoughts seemed to
cause another liquid that wasn't water to seep onto my panties. If I
didn't get off that bus I'd be having an Herbal Essences moment right
in public! That, and once I was off the bus, Paris couldn't turn me
down, she'd be concerned about getting me to school on time to keep our
perfect attendance records going.

 

The bus speeding along at about 45 mph, I pulled the stop cord, heard
the bell, and gathered my stuff together. At first, the driver thought
it was a prank chime and started to speed up.

 

"Whoever did that, it's not funny!" he yelled into the bus' PA system.
Apparently not many people took the bus from that upper-class part of
town.

 

So I got up and yelled his head off. "No, I want to stop here! I've had
a bad day so far and you better pull off to the side and let me off,
don't forget my $40 a month pass is paying your salary buddy!" Boy did
I sound like a prattling housewife.

 

Everyone on the bus looked at me, but I could care less. The driver
grumbled out "Whatever, here you go girlie," and stopped, and I made my
way to the front. I still felt a little bitchy though, so I thought I'd
give Window Guy a piece of my mind. I bent down to his eye level and
let him have it good.

 

"By the way you undersexed idiot, next time you see a very wet girl get
on the bus and sit behind you, you might want to consider keeping your
dumb window shut! It's warm, but not that warm!" I then
gritted my teeth and finished off my put down. "Oh, and you're not my
type, sorry to say. Next time take your eyes off my boobs and try to TALK
to a girl, you might get somewhere!"

 

All I received was a pair of rolled eyes, and I got off the bus
wondering if it was worth it to have a ride like that every morning,
when Paris' car was much warmer, drove over bumps like a monster truck,
meaning I couldn't feel them at all, and had a much better driver. A
luscious looking speed demon one at that...

 

Uh yeah, I got off the bus and took out my cell phone from my coat
pocket, scrolling through the entries until I found her number. She
picked up, and seemed to be struggling a bit with something. I didn't
know what, but I figured she might have been getting dressed. Ignoring
the thought, I started a long ramble about Dwight and his stupid
sprinkler system, and before I knew it I was only two blocks from her
house. I was about to go into a whole rant about horticulture, when she
interrupted me.

 

"Gilmore, I know you love rattling off every detail about something
like a monkey on speed since those tapes you bought improved your WPM,
and I'm sorry you got soaked this morning, but I need to know what you
want before the first snowfall of the season."

 

Me on top of you, my inner vixen screamed out in desperation to
mute Paris' annoyance, and I blushed red as yes, that exact thought got
planted in my mind's frontal lobe since I was probably going to be in
her bedroom. I shook that dirty thought out and asked for one of her
blouses and promised to take good care of it, revealing the state of
mind I was in since I was literally down to the clothes on my back.

 

Though she was a little surprised by my early morning appearance, she
said yes without any hesitation surprisingly, and gave me instructions
to get in. "Ring the buzzer at the front gate and I'll have Fran let
you in, she'll guide you right towards my room through a shortcut past
the kitchen and living room. I don't want you to have to run into my
mother and have her question the reason you're visiting."

 

Things were still unclear between her and Mrs. Gellar, but at least she
was starting to warm to the idea of me in her bedroom, much less her
house. I hung up with her and finished walking towards her grand house,
and Fran greeted me at the door after I got in the gate with a happy
greeting.

 

"Hello Mistress Gilmore, Paris said you'd be coming by." Francisca
looked very young for her age, and I could tell why she was one of the
few lights in Paris' life. "Follow me upstairs. Did you want anything
to eat or drink?"

 

Paris' nanny seemed sincere with the invitation, but I didn't want to
make her feel like I was being an inconvenience. "No, thank you ma'am."
We both headed towards a back patio in Harold Gellar's study and got
into the house through there. I could make out the arguing voices of a
richie-voiced woman and a younger man with a very fake British accent,
three rooms away.

 

"So are we going to San Diego this weekend Sharon? I'd like to show you
around the yacht I'm planning on using to tour the South Seas," the man
said, and I could immediately deduce that the Sharon he was referring
to was Paris' mother. As Fran guided me through the study door, I
eavesdropped to Sharon's response, and couldn't believe the audacity
she had, cavorting around with that guy and ignoring her own daughter.

 

"We should, my daughter is starting to become a pain in the neck again.
She keeps asking me about moving out of the house and into an apartment
near my ex, but I'm not having it. As long as she's under my roof,
she's under my control, and I'll use her however I want." I blocked out
the rest because it turned into a disgusting woo of him. I couldn't
believe that Paris was only here because her mother was using her as a
bargaining chip. December 25th couldn't come soon enough; because
that's the day she turned eighteen and could finally get out of what
clearly was Sharon throwing tens of thousands of dollars towards the
judge a couple years back, and getting at least the custody
arrangements and use of the house weighted her way.

 

We stopped near the stairs, and Fran noticed my clear anger at Paris'
mother. She turned around, and I admitted I had been listening in.

 

"Paris is going to use part of the opened trust she'll get on her
birthday to buy out the house, throw her mother out and take it back
for her father, there's at least $15 million coming for her from her
late paternal grandmother," she told me, honest and open. "Sharon is
living off that man and Harold's alimony and that's basically it, the
house hasn't become a wreck because the judge refused the throw out the
staff for upkeep since Paris' father pays all of us, along with the
fact he had a landmark status put on years back just in case everything
that ended up happening, did, that way there would be big fines levied
on Mrs. Gellar if she let this place fall into disrepair."

 

It saddened me to hear all these details about the inner gears of
Paris' family, but it brought my heart closer to her empathy. Her nanny
would have married Paris' dad had she not had a love of her own
already; they had a relationship just short of Tracy and Hepburn,
despite the fact they were employer and employee.

 

"Is Paris happy in this house?" I asked Fran as we climbed the stairs.

 

"She grew up here at the Manor with many positive memories, though the
bad have outpaced the good in recent years." Fran smiled, and gave me
that look that said she knew I was loyal and trustworthy. "It's only
been recently however that her lost felicidade has came back,
despite all of this." The woman set a hand on my shoulder, and rubbed
my cheek. "Somehow, I think you may have a lot to do with that. When
she came back from the Distrito where you accompanied her, she
was in a mood she never had been since before she was forced to quit
dance."

 

Louise had told me about Paris' days as a top dancer in Connecticut
when she was younger, and showed old videos of her performances one day
while we were over at her house studying for a test. Sharon had tried
to destroy the videos, but Louise snuck them out before she could
locate them. Paris tried to ignore them and went in the other room to
study as Louise and I watched her smaller and more petite nine year-old
self put Jennifer Grey and whoever the body double in Flashdance was
to shame with her moves. I could still see her beauty, even through the
haze of eight-year old VHS tape and the occasional shaky camera. She
was on stage, and as she strutted her stuff to tunes from old Broadway
musicals and 70s rock, her eyes told the story as well as her moves.
Learning that Mrs. Gellar had choked Paris' dream the moment she needed
a training bra and being told by her husband that he would not allow
Paris to starve herself in order to save her dance career on her
suggestion, it made me sick. She still had a bright career, and it was
but another thing snuffed out by Sharon's dream of putting a 'My child
attends Harvard' bumper sticker on her Audi's bumper.

 

I came back to normal time, and tried to shrug off Francisca's
insinuations that I was the one who gave Paris her best summer yet, but
she treated me as if I was the best girl ever to come in her life. We
went down the grand hallway and finally arrived at the doors to her
room.

 

"This is it, of course," she told me. "Are you sure you don't want
anything, maybe a leaf blower to dry you off?" She smiled, and I
couldn't help but laugh at Francisca's joke.

 

"No, I'm still fine, thank you; she's letting me borrow a shirt for
class today."

 

The woman nodded back at me, and bid me a good day, turning around and
headed towards the grand staircase to resume her duties in the Manor.

 

I opened the door, my inner pervert getting it's hopes up that I may be
able to catch her in an undressed state. Paris was at her dresser
almost fully clothed though, and I wanted to pout. Despite that though,
she still looked cute, watching her out of her usual element. She was
buttoning up her blouse and turned towards me.

 

"Hey Gilmore," she said, and I was thankful that my last name had
retaken the playful nickname status that it had before the whole shower
incident. She seemed to pause for a couple moments as she looked over
my condition, as if she was trying to gauge the amount of water and
freezing all over my person.

 

"Hi," I said back, my voice a little shaky from the cold permeating my
skin. "I'm actually OK--"

 

"Nonsense, you look like you're in the first stages of hypothermia,
that coat isn't helping at all. Sit on my bed, take off your jacket and
wrap yourself up with that afghan," she told me in a maternal tone,
though it was more warm than nagging. "I'm going to call downstairs for
a cup of coffee so you can get some caffeine in your system to cause
your mind to think that it's warmer."

 

Though once again I appreciated the offer, I tried to turn her down.
"No thank you Paris, I don't want to seem a bother in your morning
routine--"

 

"I don't mind Rory, really, now sit down and warm yourself up while I
give you a dose of your favorite drug." She pushed a button next to her
bed and asked for it as I sat down, suddenly warming to her motherly
instincts. "Charles, I need a coffee bowl full of Maxwell House up here
as soon as you can, straight and black, I have an urge for it this
morning." Apparently the kitchen staff was pro-Sharon, but I didn't
care, I was getting a chance to warm up in Paris' presence.

 

As I thanked Paris and she told me I'd get my wet laundry back on the
way home from school, I took a look around her room, sort of dim in
places, but in most having bright sunlight bouncing on and off the
violet-colored walls. I wrapped the blanket around myself, and with
Paris concerned about getting ready for school, was free to think to
myself. I brought the blanket close to my body trying to dry the blouse
so I wouldn't have to borrow hers, but I could tell it was a lost
cause. Seeing Paris in her natural habitat was interesting to say the
least.

 

She walked around her desk gathering up her books and complaining about
the speed of the Manor staff getting my cup of coffee up there. It was
as if I was watching that episode of The Jetsons where Rosie
the robot went all insane perfectionist on the family because of a
malfunctioning microchip. A place for everything, and everything in
its place, I thought to myself, there was no place in the room that
was cluttered up or out of order. Maybe her corkboard above the
computer desk that was just as packed with crimson-colored pennants and
materials as mine, but that was one of the few exceptions.

 

As I watched her get ready for school with her back turned and I tried
to warm myself up, I found myself with a chance to look at her in a way
that I thought she wouldn't notice. Paris bent over a little to pick up
a book off the ground, and my eyes were drawn towards the back of her
legs. Her skirt rose up a little, and I found myself stunned in place,
part of her upper thighs exposed. My breath caught, and suddenly I had
yet another perverted thought of 'accidentally' getting up a little too
fast, and slamming into her so I would get an even better view of the
back of her legs...and maybe her rear.

 

Stop it, stop it right now! My monologue admonished. You're
not here to ogle her, you just need a shirt. You're going to be wearing
her shirt all day and you won't think a single dirty thought about it...

 

However, it was too late. As her servant handed her my coffee in the
door and she gave it to me, I could tell she was going all out to make
me feel so comfortable, and that I should be appreciative for the
gesture.

 

At the same time however, there was a sexual buildup flowing through me
as the warm and familiar aroma of the boiled coffea arabica plant
went through my nose. She certainly knew by now that the way to my
heart was through my caffeine addiction, and I appreciated that Paris
didn't take it to an extreme level. Starbucks would've been nice, but
as I sipped my coffee at a moderate clip, I started warming up,
slightly.

 

The scent of her afghan alone was getting to me, canceling out the
coffee altogether, and I found myself bringing the blanket even closer.
I read the clock over on her Mac's screensaver. It read 7:24am, and I
would usually be in one of my large shuffling panics, hoping I'd get to
school on time. But being in the room of the girl I was falling for,
something inside of me made me want to stretch out that time out to an
infinite period. My mind analyzed what she might have been doing on the
other side of the line as I called her; something like dressing or just
coming out of the shower, maybe something besides those things
entirely. It wasn't like she had a webcast to her bedroom, but whatever
she was doing was certainly distracting to my subconscious as I set the
groundwork for the events for that morning.

 

I kept sipping the coffee, though I was sure I wouldn't finish the cup.
Sitting on her bed was really getting to me, stirring up some strategy
in my brain. My wheels were turning, and there was a golden opportunity
being presented at the moment. I had on a wet blouse, and she was
getting hers for me. Beneath my blouse, an undershirt that was causing
me to feel more exposed that usual. And in my eyesight was Paris' ass,
hidden to a point by her flared skirt, but towards the top I could make
out her form. She put on her sweater in front, and I deduced that she
was ready to turn around.

My chest is smaller than most girls, yes; but it's still enough to
lure. I moved my eyes towards Paris' nightstand, noticing the golden
antique hairbrush sitting on the top. Paris had probably used that
multiple times; if I could get those bristles in my hair, there would
be another connection to me right there.

 

Then suddenly, I had my most erotic brainstorm of the day up to that
point; her hands would be all over the back of my neck, and my actual
back as she tried to brush my hair. She would have to touch me, and I
had a completely justified reason for it.

 

I closed my eyes, and my analytical self took it and tried to make it a
reality in my brain. I could already feel Paris' breathing in my ear,
her body heat against my backside, and her hands drifting all over the
place. It would be only be a few minutes' time I could enjoy it, but I
was going to stretch that moment as much as I could.

 

I took one last sip from the coffee bowl, and Paris turned around and
handed me a shirt.

 

"You can go ahead and change in the bathroom," she told me off-hand,
then turned back around and walked towards the corner of the room where
she kept her shoes.

 

My usually shy side was taking a nap however. I kept on staring at the
girl, and I brought her blouse up to my nose, despite the 97% chance
that it probably had nothing but the scent of Downy and Martinizing.

 

After I smelled it however, I was intoxicated and thankful that the 3%
chance it was Paris' unique bouquet was in play instead. It was a
little wrinkled, probably straight from her hamper, but that certainly
wouldn't be noticed beneath the spare sweater I kept in my locker at
school. There was a small hint of vanilla perfume around the collar and
her usual melon shampoo, and her own pheromones everywhere else. I just
can't describe her scent without fragrance in words, I don't know, but
I do know that it was sort of calming my mood down from bitchy and
angry earlier, to something resembling lovesick and lustful.

 

There's something here, I thought, looking at the hairbrush,
down towards Paris' shirt, then down at my wet shirt. I found myself
connecting a seductive set of dots and finding another place to get in
some touching with this whole situation. I had wet hair that needed to
be dried. Thus, Paris would use the hairbrush on my head. I was also
cold. I'm sure she had a hair dryer, and that her touching could do
more than chill me for once. I also had fifteen minutes to go before we
really had to leave. I smiled to myself and looked towards Paris,
slipping into her socks. If this doesn't distract her attention,
I thought to myself, I don't know what else will.

So with her eyes on her shoes, I went for it. I shrugged the afghan off
and took off my blouse, still very soaked and completely damp, I
actually wrung out little droplets of water with each button I
unhooked. I could feel the effects of desire start to take over as skin
was exposed in the front; I never had noticed how much space there was
between the bottom of my neck and the neckline of my low undershirt
before. I undid the last of the buttons and the cuffs, and got out of
the drenched article of clothing. It was time for the plan to go into
effect.

 

Paris turned around just as I got my left arm out of my blouse. "OK
Rory, grab your backpack and let's get down to the--" I dropped the
shirt to the floor, and held her shirt protectively. She paused, but
somehow completed her statement. "...Go downstairs to the, uh, garage."

 

She was caught unguarded, and I knew it. Her deep brown eyes had turned
from an unaffected look to something that could be defined as part
lust, part scared shitless that she was facing her rival and friend,
wearing nothing but a newly hemmed up skirt and an indecent tank top
that almost showed off my entire upper body. The exposition of a little
more chest to nothing but air caused my nipples to firm up even more,
and I really woke up as I straightened the shirt over my chest and felt
the cotton rub against the tips like sandpaper. I almost gasped, but
bit my tongue so I could continue the slow and painful seduction of
Paris.

 

I told her in a low voice that was about a fourth-generation copy of
Louise's dulcet tones, which I always thought would make her a top
phone-sex operator, that I wanted her to warm me up. Before I finished
saying 'warm me up' though I realized I was being a little too forward,
so I tacked on the excuse that I didn't want her shirt to become wet in
turn.

 

She muttered something that sounded like 'sure', and she sat next to me
on the bed. I immediately felt everything within firm up and on high
alert, and my nose could certainly sense her presence. We hadn't even
touched, but I already felt things inside that never happened with Dean
right up against my chest when we made out. My pelvic muscles seemed to
want to do involuntary Kegel exercises, tightening and releasing, as if
wanting to tell me to screw this whole ruse and just take Paris onto
the bed and let her have her way with me, if she was thinking that way.

 

There didn't seem to be any doubt though. Her look, usually stone cold
and hard or as relaxed as a girl like Paris could be, was instead in
that same gaze I remember her giving Tristan back in sophomore year
whenever she was giving him a loving once-over, admiring the body she
knew he was hiding in that uniform. I couldn't see her eyes, but I
could feel them. The gaze she was giving me felt like it was all over
my upper body, from the freckling all over my shoulders and arms down
to what was obscured by the undershirt.

 

I smiled and let her know that I knew she was going to ask about where
my bra was, so I was honest and told her laundry day stopped me in my
tracks. Then, I made an unsettling comment that had I not found those
stray panties somewhere in my dresser, I'd have nothing beneath my
skirt.

 

That got me going, as I felt her stare even more. I felt not only
internally giddy, but very stirred up. I had partaken in my feelings
for her again a couple nights ago during a very unsettled sleep, and I
craved...no, I demanded any contact I could muster with her.

 

I reached over to her nightstand, and not saying a word, watched the
movement of her eyes as I felt my hand grip the cold metal handle of
her antique hairbrush. Touching that alone gave me tingles, and I
handed it to her, though it seemed like her brain had a sudden seizure
and was in carnal state of mind instead of that of the average teenage
girl. She seemed distracted with her sweater, and asked if I wanted her
to brush my hair.

 

I gave her a good excuse that I didn't want my hair to soak her shirt,
and Paris took the brush from me. This time instead of a lonely linger
on her fingers, she took her time getting a grip on it from me, her
hands almost seemed to grab mine. I released it, and she stretched over
and grabbed a hair dryer from her nightstand drawer, plugging it in on
a side outlet at bed level.

 

At first, she had the dryer on high, and it seemed like she was trying
to find a way around brushing my locks. However, the sprinkler water
had done quite a number on my style, so eventually she relented, and
within about a minute, I felt the stiff bristles of her hairbrush deep
within my scalp. Mmmm, just remembering how smooth that brush went
through my hair, and comparing that to my crappy pink Goody from the
beauty shop, there's no comparison, I'd get together with Paris just to
have the right to use hers anytime I'd like.

 

Judging from how I envied her hair, I knew Paris wouldn't disappoint
with brushing mine, and that's what she did. She alternated between
fast and slow strokes, hitting all those right spots. She'd slow down
for a bit, I think trying to get a feel for what was in back, and then
start back up again, running the hair dryer down and over, then
smoothing it back straight.

 

Then, she stopped suddenly, and turned off the hair dryer. I couldn't
feel any heaviness against my skull anymore from water, but my head was
feeling dizzy. The heel of her hand had barely grazed my head a few
times, and I was wishing for more touching. I felt my heartbeat rush
up, and then she spoke.

 

"I'm going to part your hair so it doesn't tangle up in the brush," she
told me as she started running her fingers through in an innocuous way.
OK, nothing at all suspicious or with an ulterior motive there, Paris
wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. It was an expensive brush
after all...

 

"Ror, would you mind if I brought down your shirt a little?"

 

Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop this train! My mind immediately reeled
as my ears took in her words. They weren't in her normal monotone at
all, there was a bit of a smile in her voice along with a
little...flirting? Can Paris do that?

 

"I want to warm you up," she tried to clarify, but now it was obvious,
she was trying to use this opportunity as much as I was. I hadn't even
let Dean see anything more than my bare shoulders, and what should be,
in a normal dull completely heterosexual world just a girl borrowing
another girl's shirt, was becoming much more than that in the confines
of Paris Gellar's bedroom. Despite the situation, I agreed without
argument, and stretched the neck out so I could get as much as my back
exposed to her as possible.

 

She parted the hair slowly, and I watched the time tick up on her
computer clock, trying to keep my concentration on things other than
her fingers against my back. I thought about a safe topic, like the Economics
test. 7:31 and thirty-four seconds, 7:31 and thirty-five seconds,
7:31 and thirty-five seconds, the concept of supply and demand. Yes,
perfect example! New Coke sucked, everyone demanded Old Coke back in
1985, but the supply was dwindling with the demand...I'm demanding
Paris' touch and I hope she'll supply me and satisfy my needs...

 

Oh yeah, I did a real good job of distracting myself once I found out
how exactly she'd warm me up, uh huh. Her brush not only smoothed out
my hair, but she was deliberately bringing the tips of the bristles
against my back, and it was feeling so good. It was like heaven having
her do two things at once, and I never knew that she could distract me
to that state. I thought the morning couldn't get any better.

 

That however, was before she brought her free hand to my upper back and
began scratching the other side as she brushed each of the parts she
created with my hair. I felt myself stiffen as her fingernails
scratched against my skin, and I felt myself respond to her touch.
Involuntarily I felt my legs sort of part a little and my back relax
even further as I felt her trace patterns with both the brush and her
hand, I swore I felt her signing my name and hers into my skin with her
thumbnail. The fingers in her hand she was using to brush would
occasionally tickle against my scalp, and all those erotic and tingly
feelings in my head were being sent down my spinal column all the way
down to where I could really feel it! I started struggling for
both breath and thought, my lungs filling with the air she breathed and
all the innocent and negative notions of her disappearing into the
ether. I tried controlling the arousal wanting to leech onto my
panties; nothing was helping and I was sure by the time I left I'd be
dealing with much more than a damp undershirt.

 

I then tried to start conversation about the test to the best of my
ability. I used my vocabulary to attempt a block out of every erotic
feeling Paris was sending through, being purposefully wordy so that my
brain had to concentrate on academics instead of sex. I rattled on for
two minutes about Albert Greenspan's economic policy, and hoped that
would do the trick.

 

It did, at least until Paris' index finger decided to trace around each
one of the vertebrae along my spine up to just above the fringe of my
tank top, she dug in her tips pretty deep. I was lost after that, as my
arms developed full goosebumps, and my lower body started to tingle
with what I can only describe as what felt like my groin becoming very
hypersensitive to anything in and around my walls. The arousal was
building down there, and I was seriously thinking of asking Paris if we
could be late to Chilton just that once so I could choose from one of
two things to scratch that nagging itch; solitary care, or...well,
convincing her to try and 'cure' me of the problem she wrought.

 

I shut my eyes and couldn't think straight; my breathing was even more
labored than it had been previously. Paris was killing me with her idea
of scratching my back. God, Dean had never done that before. Yeah, he
massaged my back, but over my clothes and in a way that suggested he
was less than enthused with the idea. I was putty in her hands, and if
her next words were for me to commit some kind of crime, I would've
done it if that were my reward after. I smiled serenely, and intended
to keep this morning all to myself.

 

When I opened back up my eyes, I found that those ten minutes had sped
by in a blur, it was 7:40, and Paris had told me she was done and that
it was time to go, we had a pretty tough commute to navigate in the
next twenty minutes in order to get into class before 8:05. I brought
myself out of my turned-on state, and got up from the bed, really not
wanting to move, but ready for the day ahead. What had been a crap day
the moment I got out of that shower, had with being so close to Paris
quickly become a day where things were changing at a rapid pace into
something wonderful.

 

"Thanks for brushing my hair, and the massage," I told her in
appreciation, and she didn't vocalize it, but was just as thankful for
everything. We raced out to the garage, got in the car and immediately
peeled out, the rush of trying to make it on time fueling us onto the
road to Chilton. We had a wonderful conversation on the way down as she
peeled in and out of the rush hour traffic along Main Street at a
pretty good clip, I was surprised when we passed a couple of police
officers and saw her speedometer display reading fifty in a forty zone.
Her father must pay off them off in order to let her indulge her inner
speed freak.

 

I don't know how the hell she did it, but I found her Jaguar going
under the familiar wrought iron gate of Chilton Academy with about six
minutes to spare. Thank the Lord that Charleston gave her a close
presidential parking space right next to the front doors, and we got
out of the car before the engine cooled down after she turned it off,
rushing our way into the hall and stopping off at the twin set of
lockers Chilton seemed to curse us with. We threw both our unneeded
books in and I grabbed my sweater, putting it on in a hurry like I did
that one morning I hit the deer a couple years ago.

 

Paris and I got into the Advanced Economics classroom with
fifteen seconds to spare, and with the policy being ass in chair at
bell, we avoided tripping over the threshold of the classroom together
and made it in our seats just as the first trill of the bell denoting
class was in session rung. Thank God Madeline and Louise don't take
that class, because with all that running we both did, I could feel
that I was flushed, and Paris' face was shaded red from the exertion.
If they did take the class, I could picture Louise bending down into my
ear and asking me "So, did you both get lucky before school?" as both
of us tried to refute the rumors.

 

I don't know what Paris did to me that morning, but my concentration
was sort of shaky through all four of the morning periods. In the two
classes in-between that we didn't share (gym's bi-weekly so this week
was all academic), I went over the scenes in my mind all over again as
the instructors thankfully gave us silent book work to mull over for
those classes. I kept imagining the person in the seat in front of me
was Paris, but thankfully I kept the urge to play with their hair
bottled up. I read silently one passage in my AP Honors Journalism
class as 'When you want to make an interview subject less intimidated
by your presence, try to touch their inner selves.' I immediately
thought of Paris, and my fingers doing exactly that. Flushing red, I
shook that thought out of my head, and read it back in reality as 'try
to get in touch with their inner selves.' Her damned shirt was getting
to me in the worst way and I found myself trying to bury my neck within
so I could get more of her scent. The teacher called on me a couple
times and I almost didn't respond to his queries from the distraction.

 

By the time I got into fourth period and my seat behind Paris in Russian
Novels, I was convinced that this day was going to be far from
boring. Instead of waiting for me to come to her, Paris splayed her
hair across my desk as she sat down in a way that was far from an
accident. Usually she'd keep it tucked behind her chair so that it
wasn't a distraction and I'd have to pick out the strands, and for
almost the entire class period, I found my fingers and pencil winding
around several strands whenever a student in the back got the lucky
reading duties, and when I got up my courage to play with her necklace,
the moment I touched her, I received yet another flash of arousal.

 

OK, you can keep this in control Gilmore, I tried to think to
myself as I kept one eye on the dull reading material and the other on
the back of Paris' head. Mr. Mercurio was far from attentive towards
the middle of the room, and as the midpoint of the class period neared,
I found myself recalling each and every touch, sound, scent and taste
from the morning in Paris' room.

 

My brain's pleasure center started to create interesting scenarios as
my eyes wandered around the room, uninterested in the translated
literature assigned to me. The classroom had a window into the
courtyard, so it wasn't hard to imagine having interesting
conversations with my row-mate in front of the school's fountain. I
shut my eyes, trying to will any non-scholastic images out, but it was
for naught. Paris' hot breath against my bared shoulder, her hushed
flirting voice and her untamed emotions from when I walked into her
room all the way up to five after eight, all those things were stirring
up emotions I thought I could control within the stone walls and
hardwood floors of Chilton.

 

I hated to think it, but with her gold necklace chain in the ridge of a
couple of my knuckles, her luscious hair tickling my hand and
remembering her at her most seductive? I was becoming aroused within
that class. Unlike the last time I secretly partook in my feelings
during, I suspected I wouldn't be able to get away with silently coming
with no one the wiser. My clit was throbbing, every shift in the seat I
made was done slowly since I could feel friction each time I moved, of
course the only pair of underwear I could locate was indecently thin
and meant for when I wore a pair of jeans that was just that much
tighter on my waist. I felt my heart beat at a double pace, and ignored
any words coming from the teacher as he discussed yet another boring
plot point.

 

My eyes opened up wide as I looked out the window towards the
courtyard, and had this image of being backed up inches away, my skirt
pooling on the surface of the water as Paris gave me a hot, passionate
open-mouthed kiss and ran her hands up my legs, trying to get at my
crotch. Even from inside, my ears could pick up the dripping of the
centerpiece of the beautiful open-air quad surrounded on all sides by
the four walls of Chilton's upper classmen building over the lecture
and hum of the overhead projector, where Mr. Mercurio was circling
points I already knew from my Cliff Notes book. I was losing the will
to stop the fantasy, and with the lights turned out so the class could
see the notes better, there was getting to be a huge temptation to cool
my feelings within that classroom, or pray he'd let me use the bathroom
pass so I could finish myself off in there before lunch.

 

Problem with both of those things however, as I said before, I'd
definitely be loud since my entire body was on overdrive, so no secret
pleasures of the flesh at my desk. The bathroom wasn't safe either,
since Francie had been using her study hall to congregate her
newly-organized secret society to replace the Puffs in there to make
plans behind Charleston's back. Jarvis was the last person I wanted to
find me out and expose my secret. So I gulped it all down, cooled my
libido down by ending my massage of Paris' neck and hair, and thought
of how dull and complicated sex was in French Revolutionary and
Napoleonic times. That stopped all thoughts, with all the layers of
petticoats and dirty French and Russian men and women becoming possible
partners, so the rest of the class period went without nary a dirty
thought of Paris.

 

Finally, the bell rang, and I got out of my seat, ready to eat lunch.
You'd think the threat of hunger would kill my sex drive, wouldn't you?

 

Well, when Paris got out of that seat in a different way than usual, my
thoughts, instead of food, went to eating of a different kind.

 

Yeah, that other one. Let me set up the scene;

 

I switched over to the desk on her left for a bit to talk paper
strategy and wondering if I should get a couple different interviews
during my other classes with the faculty to see what they thought about
the run for the championship. She told me she had what she needed and
we'd be ready for layout the next afternoon. Paris was about to get out
of her seat, when it seemed like her right foot's shoe didn't get a
good grip on the hardwood floor since the polishing job the school does
in August had faded away, leaving sort of slippery floors, which caused
so much chaos with the compulsory saddle shoes. It slipped, and I never
expected what I saw next.

 

She rose up a little from the seat, but with her shoe not getting a
good grip on the floor, she started to do this weird sort of sideways
split. She tried to regain her footing, but it was too late. She fell
back into her desk, and unexpectedly, her legs went into the air a few
inches. She did something that resembled a spread-eagle, but thankfully
there was a metal safety bar between the chair unit and desktop so she
didn't fall through that space and bash her head into the next desk
over. My mouth dropped open in shock, and I thought she might have been
actually hurt.

 

That was before I saw a slight patch of white. The downfall caused her
skirt to rise up a bit into the air, and as she came back down, my
eyes, usually looking at her face where they were, were drawn down with
the distraction, getting a nice complete gander at Paris' legs, all the
way up to her junction. In the short space of thousands of nanoseconds,
my mind went crazy as it got an unexpected view of her silk panties.
She landed in the seat and the skirt came down, but it was of little
comfort. The photographic portion of my memory had taken a mental
picture of Paris beneath her skirt, and as I panicked, I was afraid
that her eyes had met where my gaze was directed and the last three
weeks of progress would be quickly forgotten.

 

Meanwhile, my inner vixen did a dance of joy to the tune of I see
London, I see France, I see Paris' underpants!. I really, really
wanted to ignore anything being sent down the sexual pipe by that side
of me, so I put on my innocent face as best I could, and quickly
offered a 'Are you OK Par?", a hand, and some assistance getting on her
feet again.

 

She took it easily, and with a tight grip on my hand, got up from her
chair steadily, cursing Mr. Mercurio.

 

"You know, the janitorial crew would come in here and rewax if he just
asked," she told me, and something told me that my little sneak peek
indeed went unnoticed. She ranted a little bit as I suddenly became
newly aroused. I couldn't hear a word she said as a fantasy started
building within my mind without my permission unexpectedly. God, I knew
what she looked like nude already, but in such an unexpected way, that
little slip was turning me on. Beneath I felt the floor beneath my feet
take the texture of wheat bread as thoughts of my face between said
other girl's legs shouted loudly over my regularly academic conscience.

 

Oh God, the way she was looking was absolutely cute. She had raised her
own hemline at least a couple of inches as I did, and as Paris rambled
on, I did my own interpretation of how the adults in Charlie Brown's
world talked and thought of her saying completely different things.
"Don't you agree that we should campaign Charleston for a compulsory
polish and wax for all classrooms Thanksgiving weekend?" seemed to turn
into "Ror, don't you think the surface of Mr. Mercurio's desk would be
a great place to get between my tanned legs and eat me out?".

 

I had to get out of there, before I vocalized that I wanted to do a
different kind of buffing on her than floor waxers did!

 

"Yeah, it's a great idea Gellar," I told her honestly. I wanted to say
'Let's go to lunch' and resume the day from there, hoping I wouldn't
think about her slip for the rest of the day.

 

Leave it to my busy mind however to decide to go on a different track,
and I said something completely different as I felt myself become even
more turned on. "I think I need to refresh my mind a little before the
Life Sciences test, so I'm going to go do some studying in the library
for the first half of the period." I then extended a branch, hoping
she'd take it. "Care to join me?"

 

"No thanks Gilmore, I have the material pretty memorized," she answered
as she got up and regathered her books. "Want me to save you a plate of
food?"

 

"Sure." I smiled at her and we said our goodbyes as she went towards
the dining hall and I went to the library despite not having anything
to study.

 

I intended to stop at my locker on the way to the library to pick up
some of my materials and go over them alone in a carrel until about
12:25, when I'd leave for lunch. I was trying my best to distract
myself from what I had just seen in the classroom, ignoring the
powerful vibes being sent from my mind and my body. Every time I took a
step, the process started anew; everything rubbed up against each other
and I thought again of what would happen if Paris were able to keep
going with her hairbrushing and backscratching past 7:40.

 

Stop it! This is school, my conscience chimed in, but my body
was seriously having problems dealing with all these lesbianic thoughts
of Paris. My feelings for her were hardly dissipating; Tuesday morning
alone they seemed to build even further. Now I was walking down the
halls of Chilton having dirty thoughts of her. Denial again, seemed the
best course of action, so I blocked them out, thinking of Dean. Wonderful,
cute, dependable, boring, safe, asexual, settling for less...

 

I'm afraid thinking of him didn't help; it only made me recall my
entire Paris pros list, which I went over with fervor as I headed down
the corridor. A minute had passed since the end of class, where I found
the hall traffic surrounding me fading, and my eyes looking up at the
plastic slate above the door that read Franklin Offices passing
me by.

 

Now in a normal unisexual and completely academic situation I may have
walked right past, heading towards the library, studying like the good
little girl everyone thought I was, then heading to lunch when I
finished.

 

All the sudden however, I was getting this strong and nagging urge to
demean the privileges vested in me when I took the oath of office for
Chilton Vice President and Paris' assistant editor at the paper. In my
backpack's front pocket, sat the master key to almost every door in the
school, given to both Paris and I as a reward and a privilege for
earning our titles by the vote of the student body.

 

In front of me, stood the door to privacy. No one ever did Franklin
work at lunch, so I'd have the entire office to myself for the next
forty-five minutes.

 

I usually hate to be blunt and profane when it comes to my sex life,
but I can't think of any other way to say it; I was overly aroused,
horny as hell and the entire morning had caused my mind to go haywire.
It flashed one of my most sexual dreams between Paris and I, getting
hot and very heavy in the paper's darkroom. I paused in front of the
door and felt my body excite as the mirage of eerie and haunting red
glow from the light bulb above the developing area cast a glow on our
prone bodies as we made love to each other on the table in the middle
of the room.

 

Who was I kidding? I could've snoozed through the entire year so far
and still gotten at least a 97 on that life sciences test, I wouldn't
forget the material that easily. Considering whose shirt I was wearing,
and how my right hand was against my thigh, craving to make its way
above the hemline of the skirt, I'm sure I wouldn't be caught getting
myself off in the office. Everything on my person felt so sensitive,
and my pussy was begging for attention.

 

60% of myself didn't want to go through this whole perverted situation,
but the other 40% consisted of my pleasure lobe, the thoughts I had of
Paris and all my sexual parts. I certainly couldn't ignore all those
parts. I recalled the way she had rubbed and scratched my back hours
before, the soft and somewhat calloused feel of her fingers against my
spinal cord, that breathing in my ears, her voice, sounding very sexy
in a hushed whisper.

 

Not to mention the extra item that was the blouse that fit her curves
quite perfectly residing on my body, and looked very cute and oversized
on my form. I could still smell her scent within, and there was a voice
in my head nagging me to pay her back for her generosity. I was losing
all my hunger for food, and in an extreme mood to sate my appetite for
her.

 

Paris' blouse seemed to be the next best thing to her warming body
against mine. "Here goes nothing," I whispered to myself, taking the
keychain from the clip in my backpack pocket, and unlocking the door to
the newspaper.

 

Once I got in and after locking the door behind, I noticed how quiet
and desolate the room was when the paper wasn't being put together.
Desks stood empty, the hum of the 24 monitors in energy-saving mode
seeming to be the predominant sound in the sort of shoeboxed office. I
set my backpack down on a layout table, threading my fingers through my
hair as I brought down the shades on the outside and inside windows,
hoping to God there was no one around. Even in my aroused state, I was
paranoid someone was watching me, so I checked to make sure there were
no security cameras killing my urges. None to be found, and I tiptoed
on the hardwood floors towards the room with the eerie red glow,
thinking about Paris' current overtures all the way over in the twenty
feet between the backpack and the door to the darkroom.

 

I shut the door, and what might have been a hot place in my dreams to
fuck Par turned out to have some problems. Namely, the drying
photographs hanging from clothesline around the room, moments from all
of Chilton frozen in place. I started unclipping each one from their
individual clothespins, and turning them around so that their eyes
wouldn't see me and throw off the entire fantasy that was being
brainstormed. After about three minutes, I finished turning all of them
around, seeing nothing but the genuine Kodak paper logo staring me in
the face from almost all four directions.

There was a part of me that really hated planning out the seduction of
myself into an orgasm, the same little voice that keeps nagging me to
grab Paris in the hall Francie-style, push her up against the wall and
kiss her numb. However, I couldn't, because I like taking time on my
fantasies. Slowly, I unbuttoned the sweater over her blouse, trying to
watch myself be seductive in a mirror that stood just off to the side
of the sink. My hair was still somewhat flat from the sprinkler
incident, and as I opened the sweater and took it off, I finally got a
good look at myself in the mirror for the first time since I put her
shirt on.

 

"She chose the right shirt," I told myself as I untucked it from my
skirt, trying to muster up something sexy. Then I smiled at the way I
look. I know it pisses Paris off when the moment I get in the car I
strip myself of the tie and untuck the shirt, but lately she hasn't
been commenting on that. She's been even more concerned about the road
than usual, and I can tell there's something inside that tells her I've
become as much of a distraction as a phone call from Sharon asking her
twenty-one questions on her anytime minutes.

 

I smiled to myself, and with nothing stopping me, inhaled the scent of
her blouse with my nose as I sat down on a hard metal stool. I spread
out my skirt so I wouldn't sit on it and for easier access. Honestly, I
thought I'd be able to keep myself under control.

 

Watching my eyes trail my hands, I undid the pesky Chilton tie that I
usually felt like would choke me, and unbuttoned the two top buttons on
the shirt, exposing some skin on my front. I could feel myself flush as
my shy self realized the gravity of the situation, but the sort of
thrill of being caught despite the two locked doors in the way of the
catchee spurred me on further.

 

I brought my hands to the front of my shirt, stroking the material in a
slow and wanting manner, imagining my palms on Paris' waist, bringing
the material up her body and getting a small glimpse at her stomach. I
could feel the cold steel along the edge of the drafting stool against
the bottom of my thighs, and already felt myself wet with desire at
what I was coming up with. I moaned her name as I undid a couple more
buttons on the shirt. So far, so good, I wouldn't mind sending one
salad to the trash that day, because I was going to take my time
bringing myself to orgasm before 12:50 with the fantasy that was
brewing in my mind...

 

Instead of thinking of a future situation with Paris, I decided
to dredge up something from our past where we may have been able to fit
in our relationship. It's the night of last year's Bracebridge Dinner,
and I changed around a few details to fit my needs. Instead of lying
down to fake a buss as Romeo, Paris went ahead and gave me a kiss that
was so full of love and wanting, that I wanted more. After the curtain
was drawn on the scene, we started making out backstage, knowing where
everything was going from there on. We didn't quite get to second base
that night, but we were both hooked on each other from then on. So I
broke up with Dean citing his jealousy, and started seeing Paris behind
everyone's backs. Whenever we could get a moment, at the Franklin,
girl's night outs in Springfield, Mass. restaurants that were far from
the Chilton and Hartford gossip mills, sleeping over at each of our
houses and getting close and intimate once either Lorelai or Mrs.
Gellar went to bed, we were slowly building up a relationship behind
everyone's backs.

 

Then, my mother got the idea for the Bracebridge Dinner. She'd invite
everyone in town for a free supper, sleigh rides and a night at the
inn. I didn't know whether or not to invite Paris since she technically
wasn't a citizen of Stars Hollow, so a couple days before the day, I
dropped a hint to her as we had a tryst in my mom's Jeep that she might
want to drop by with some newspaper work so that she had an in. With
that, Lorelai was sure to tell me to share her room, and we could
consummate our relationship with no one the wiser. Of course she said
yes, and we put the plans for the evening in motion, knowing that
Madeline's writing style somewhat resembled Usher's, who in turn stole
it from Prince, who originally took it from ee cummings. Seriously, is
there any originality in publishing or music anymore?

 

I couldn't wait for her to be mine finally, wholly and fully, as I
looked myself over in the mirror and put on a green dress made out of
silk-like material. It slid over my form, and I really felt sexy as I
walked out of the room and my mother told me that I looked like I was
ready to turn heads. There was only one person who I wanted to have all
of her attention; and Paris fit that role wonderfully.

 

I did my usual Inn stuff once I got in; the place settings and things
like that. I also do some room service by putting mints on all the
pillows, and getting a look at the register beforehand, I saw the only
room that had a blank spot under it was the Presidential/Marriage
Suite. I thought that was perfect and fortunate; my mother would have
to give a room like that to her if she stayed; Paris would technically
be an invited guest of mine, and with that she did need a room. I
knowingly smile innocently as I walked in the room and place the mint
on our pillow. I just had a feeling I'd forget about that later as we
ached to make love to each other.

 

Finally, the time had neared, and after putting that final touch on
each of the rooms, I go downstairs to the front desk and start checking
the townspeople in. I do my best to keep my face unexcited each time
the door opened and instead of Paris, someone like Gypsy or Miss Patty
walks into the front room instead.

 

Dean comes in a few minutes later, his hand being held by a girl I'll
kindly say was just a little less whorish than Summer, and who would be
fit perfectly later in life into his 'subservient little housewife
template' he had made up in his head. He regards me with all the
enthusiasm an ex-boyfriend can muster for his former love (read; barely
any), and they go off and join everyone in the dining room to prepare
for the event.

 

Thirty minutes later, she still hasn't arrived, and I get worried
because there's some snow starting to fall outside and she may have
spun out on the road down. I start pacing the room, hoping that she's
OK, but there's not much to fear, as moments later she walks into the
inn, her hair covered by a cute brown knit cap and with a bright smile
on her face, her jacket hiding the body I've gotten to know so well
over the last couple of months. I want to smile back, but we have to
keep the cover going, so we both settle for a non-sexual handshake and
snuck blown kisses as she goes over the Franklin stuff we have to look
over during winter break.

 

Thankfully, it's not long before we can find an opportunity to be
together, because there's a couple of horse-drawn sleighs in the town
square that go around a couple times, and at a slow clip. We both
decide to go after we go through the little mirage of I inviting Paris
to dinner and Lorelai giving her the Suite since the snow is starting
to come down a little, and we get into the sleigh together, wrapping
ourselves together in the comfy woolen blanket over our bodies.

 

We watch the scenery together, and I just love looking at Paris' face
in the cool December night. Her eyes are wide as she looks into mine,
cheeks flushed and rosy, wanting to be warmed by my love, and her
lips…well it doesn't take long before we're able to sneak in a soft
kiss as we hit a dead spot along the makeshift trail.

 

I'm thinking I won't be able to do all that much with her in the
sleigh, seeing as it's so public. But all the sudden, she starts
talking about some obscure book she had just read and how much she
loved it to me, when I noticed her hand hardly at her side, instead it
was drifting up the skirt of my dress.

 

I intake a sharp breath and thank God for blankets, as I try to control
her wandering hands. She uses the talking as an evasion topic all the
time in order to get into my pants in my fantasy.

 

"Paris," I admonish her as I grip her wrist. "Not until we get into the
room! Geeze, I thought you were going to be more well-behaved than
Dean."

 

She gets this cute guilty smirk on her face. "I guess you're right Ror.
After all, I'm just a repressed private schoolgirl with a high
intelligence quotient and lesbian tendencies trying to seduce the same
type of girl, namely you, how can I help it though? I'm repressed and
you're making me come out from my cocoon." Then, she gives me this
serious hovering look that makes me want to either slap her or bring
the blanket even higher against our persons.

 

I get an evil idea, and start to play with the buttons on her jacket,
trying to get it unbuttoned so I can get at her breasts above her full
cashmere sweater. At first she resists, until I decide to relent and
let her move her hand higher up my thigh. So we end up spending the
entire sleigh ride not taking in any scenery, and instead building
ourselves up for later in the night, playing with each other beneath
the blanket wearing all our clothes. When we get off the sleigh, my
mother is there to see us in, and notices that Paris' jacket is open
and my dress has seemed to develop a sudden case of static cling in the
front.

 

"You two better straighten your clothes up before you get in, Taylor's
going to be grumpy if he sees you two at the dinner table like that."
We both laugh nervously and straighten out our clothing, hoping that no
one noticed what we were doing as we made the double circuit around the
gazebo.

 

My eyes glazed over as I got into the fantasy further, and I
loved the slow burn I was causing to myself. By about that time I'd
unbuttoned the blouse a couple more buttons down to just below my
breasts, and felt the warm air of the darkroom against my undershirt,
straining my nipples right against the cotton. I felt the tank top
shift a little up towards my bellybutton and could see the fringe of my
panties under my skirt. I used my other hand to hike up my skirt a
little for easier access to my clit, massaging it through the blue
material. I could already feel myself wet with desire, and moaned out
with each slow agonizing and teasing stroke.

 

I could taste Paris in the air as I started to sweat a little, and
could sense her scent. I wish I could've gotten a peek at her bathroom
to at least get a hint of what kind of toothpaste she used. Probably
Tom's peppermint, she's the kind that goes all natural, I thought
weirdly to myself. Why did I suddenly fixate on how Paris' mouth
tasted? I knew she went for something off the pop culture radar when it
came to a mint choice, because when she needed to fill up her gas tank
on the way to Stars Hollow occasionally, she'd pull into the 7 Eleven
and along with the gas, bought a tin of vanilla mint Velamints...

 

Sorry, I got a little off-track there. Sense my excitement here?
Anyways, I was starting to feel pretty hot sitting on that stool
getting myself off, and could feel the thin wood board that padded the
metal seat start to soak up. I ran a finger slowly against my pantied
slit as I went further with the fantasy...

 

I fast forward the fantasy through the dinner, where even though
Paris sat next to me, not much happened except for the occasional hand
against a thigh here and there or my foot against hers. Sadly, she
couldn't dress fancy because of our little Franklin work scenario, so
she had to wear loafers instead of dress shoes, but I still was able to
coax Paris to brush her socked foot against mine here and there.

 

She loved the dinner (and the company that came with it), but nagged at
Lorelai for some specific problems with the believability of the
activities, including the servers wearing shirts not made from cotton,
or wool. My mother just laughed off the complaints, and I could tell
Paris was being playful with her words. Of course I found her attention
to detail something I loved in her. Especially when it came to our long
talks with each other and going over everything in our relationship
with a fine tooth comb.

 

Finally, after some more fun pomp and circumstance, it was finally
time, Paris and I could go up to the hotel room, and we could finally
go farther with our relationship than the occasional backseat groping
and cramped coupling sessions that so far had defined our secretive
dance. As much as I loved her lingerie, I wanted to feel Paris' fingers
inside of me. If her handwriting was that beautiful, imagine how'd she
make me come with those hands.

 

We linger in the front room for a bit, talking with my mom about what
we were going to do over the winter break. It was idle conversation
Paris and I really weren't getting into, just enough to keep us in
control until we got up the stairs. The last person climbs the stairs,
and after we hear the door shut, we look into each other's eyes, filled
with lust and want and smiling at each other. Thank God Lorelai's still
under the assumption that we're good friends.

 

Paris and I run up the stairs and into the suite, our hands intertwined
as we locate the 'do not disturb' sign and she hangs it outside on the
door, hopefully no one is on to us, but I doubt it since the
townspeople should know how exhausting Chilton's curriculum is and that
I'm thankful I get such a long two week break.

 

The door hasn't even clicked before Paris has wrapped her arms around
me and starts playing with the back zipper on my dress. She eases me
into a luscious and cute open-mouthed kiss, and that awesome feeling of
her lips against mine sends a chill up my spine as we slowly navigate
the space between the door and the bed.

 

"Don't you think we should light a few candles, get some romantic
atmosphere in here," I stumble out between kisses. "I mean it's our
first time…"

 

She shushes me up with a finger to my lips, my eyes following the digit
as she brings it from my lips and into my hair to run it through. "We
can do candles and flowers and chocolate kisses on Valentine's Day,
right now all I want is you Ror." She kisses my nose softly, and I
almost want to tear up, that she wants only me, not the other things
that surrounded it. "Though that bowl of chocolate ice cream with peach
slices I had for dessert probably has something to my sudden craving
for you."

 

I laugh, as I run a hand against the bottom of her breasts through her
red speckled sweater and try to muster up a seductive tone. "I
suggested that for the menu just for you, I read once that they're
sensual aphrodisiacs and I know from experience that you love peaches."

 

She moans out, the whole seduction is working so perfectly. "Would've
been a better dessert if you would've been feeding me though." I move
my hand down and into the shirt, and she brings me down with her onto
the bed.

 

There are no words as she starts to bring down the zipper holding my
dress together, and I try to move her shirt up so I can get a hold of
what I really envy about her, God I love her breasts, they're like
pillows that I've ended up sleeping on a few times when I got Mom to
let her sleepover after one of our meeting of the minds where I'd
bounce paper ideas of her, and Paris would return some more. I knead
them through her bra sensually, running my thumb against where I guess
her right nipple is. She gasps out and cries my name as I find just the
right spot.

 

"Oh God," she says, and Paris is distracted from her task for a moment
as I hear the slight sound of a rip coming from the back. She finishes
unzipping my dress, but the shock of my touch apparently made her grip
the material, causing it to tear below the end of the zipper.

 

"I'm sorry, I guess I got a little too wild there, I'll pay--" Her
apologies are muffled as I kiss her again, trying to bring her focus
back to the task at hand. I decide not to get revenge on her by ripping
off her sweater, and she lifts it off and throws it off to the side. I
look at Paris' chest, covered up by her bra, and still think she's
wearing too much.

 

I slide out of the shoulders of my dress, and I can see the giddiness
in her eyes as she finds there's nothing between it and my breasts. I
decided to go without intentionally just so I could see her reaction.
Her mouth drops open, and she somehow finds words to comment me on my
gutsy move.

 

"I thought I had the shy one," she gasps out, and she looks at my naked
front with this reverence that's usually reserved for an article or a
well-produced debate argument. "I'm going to die young if you keep on
shocking me like this."

 

I muster a sexy smirk and wind my arms around her back, her body
hovering over mine as I get a deep view into her cleavage inside of her
bra. "I am Mary you know, puritan and clean on the outside..." I trail
off as I stretch out the bra hook and release it, hearing a satisfying
snapping sound as Paris' tits are freed, "But inside I'm yearning for
you."

 

We tangle together, and we get more intimate as the minutes wear on.
Shoes, socks and hosiery get kicked off, and I manage to make
surprisingly fast work out of stripping Paris of her corduroys,
revealing her wine red-colored undies, already damp with building
arousal. With her watching me, I brought my nose down to just above her
stomach, taking in her fragrance. There was nothing in there but
untamed wanting and longing for me, my body, and my heart and soul,
looking down at me as she released her hair from an uptight,
conservative ponytail.

 

Foreplay with her is amazing; I can tell though she's never had to do
it before, she's been reading plenty of books on the subject of sex,
and trying to learn from the mistakes her mother and father made in
their years together. She's harsh when needed, but there's this side of
her that's just happy someone loves her. She plays with my breasts and
kisses down my torso just as much as I do to her, and I love the slow
torture that she's giving me. I reward her with the same attention she
deserves, taking a hold of her body and showing her I may have been a
sexual slouch when it came to Dean, but that was only because I was not
only with the wrong guy, but the wrong sex altogether. Somehow, my oil
and her water mix perfectly when we're together.

 

I shut my eyes and go with the flow of the fantasy as it
continues. I'm not even watching the clock as the blouse Paris lent to
me was fully open, I took my right hand and brought it beneath the
undershirt, trying to tease my breasts. They're both firm and hard,
excited beyond belief from not only the mixed signals, but what I've
been dreaming about; imaging Paris giving each one attention. I slipped
a finger in my mouth, coated it with saliva and moan erotically as I
run it against the outer circular areola; the tropic temperature of the
darkroom heating my body so much I had to keep myself from fainting.

 

My other hand was just as occupied, loosening the snaps of my plaid
skirt as I dreamed Paris was doing that instead. I opened it up and ran
the hand against the blue waistband of my underwear. Because of the
dark color of the room I couldn't actually see how damp I was, but from
the sense of air flowing beneath my pussy, my lips were quite damp. I
couldn't take everything off obviously; so I had to make do, trying to
shove the skirt as off to the side as possible so I could access my
clit and get myself off. I could hear the unbalanced stool shake
beneath me, the feet not properly aligned with the floor, so I started
to be scared I was going to fall off the chair and onto the hard
linoleum floor below.

 

Thankfully, I was able to be somewhat enterprising and find a perfect
position to screw myself in the cramped space. I stayed on the stool,
but moved it to between the photo-sorting island table in the middle of
the room and the side counter. I then reclined up against the front of
the counter, my back resting comfortably and used my feet to brace
against the island, thankful that Chilton was an expensive enough
school to afford a high-quality darkroom like that. I spread my legs a
little, and pulled the skirt down my legs just enough to mid-upper
thigh so I could see my groin. Then I brought my undershirt up just so
it was exposing my navel, and prepared to jump back into the fantasy,
literally, as my right hand traced the faint outline of my wetness and
I renewed my makeshift fantasy...

 

Paris and I are under the sheets and blankets of the large king
size bed, very comparable to her bed, and though I think she's going to
try to initiate cunnilingus on my first time, she tells me it might be
a lot easier on me if we just did hand-to-pussy with each other. We're
completely naked, and hoping that no one ignores the sign on the front
door and tries to unlock the door and walk in on us.

 

She seems a little nervous, as do I, and we take a little break from
pleasure in order to calm our fears.

 

"Did you...um, would you want to be on top?" she asks me, biting her
lip as her doe eyes look into mine, trying to decode the answer
straight from my mind. "Because if you wanted to, I wouldn't mind being
bottom, at least that's how I was taught in the books since the--"

 

I take her hand into mine and try to calm her down, she's almost
scared. "Par, those situations are with a man and a woman, they
certainly don't apply to us at all." I bring her close, and kiss her as
I bring my hand up to her inner thighs. "I respect you and I've taken
most of the initiative trying to keep this hidden, so I feel like you
should be on top."

 

"You're sure?" she asks, sort of with a frown and her voice strained.
"I don't want you to feel inferior to me, you know we're equals in
this--"

 

I couldn't take it anymore, what with her left thigh right up against
my apex, her chest on mine and both of her hands on each side of my
rear, so with all the strength I had, I caused her to roll over so that
I was on the bottom, and Paris was right on top. I move my hand from
her side, and towards her crotch, and though we were both covered with
the blankets and sheets, she knew what I was trying to do. All I had to
do was vocalize the confirmation.

 

"Paris," I said firmly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Fuck me."

 

I think that basically shut her up, hearing her girlfriend use
profanity so freely without regards to her usual puritan virtues. I
hear her voice gasp at the shock of the F word from the girl below her,
but she still moved down and we started to kiss heavily as she tried to
reassure me about what she was about to do. In the fantasy though, I
thought of myself as already broke for some reason or another, so I
assure her I wouldn't feel a thing but her hand inside of me.

 

"You know I love you, right?" I coo, and she smiles at the warm words.

 

"Yes, and I love you too Rory." With that, I eased my left hand into
her slowly, and she slips her right into my wetness, careful to make
sure I was ready to be filled. Within moments, I feel dizzy with desire
as without trying, she hit a very sensitive spot within my walls.

 

"Oh God!" She firms up as I scream, thinking I was in pain. I use my
free hand to grip her wrist, and my smile said it all; I wasn't in much
pain. A little bit from the stretching out hadn't been done before,
sure, but it was easily replaced with a wonderful dose of relief called
ecstasy. She resumes her slow strokes, experimenting all over and
trying to find just that right spot to give me pleasure anew.

 

Meanwhile, I don't know how Paris was doing as my hand strokes in and
out, but whatever I was doing, though not as shocking to her as my
screams, it was working. She sighs and moans, content with my pace so
far, though I haven't hit a sensitive nerve yet, I think of her as sort
of uptight, so I expect to take a while to figure out just what makes a
Paris Gellar orgasm tick. Her hair is against my shoulder and I feel
her breath quicken with each push and pull, movement in and out. We
seem to find a rhythm, and I calm down as the stress past my lips seems
to numb from the pleasure of her fingertips. They feel comfortable and
passionate, the ridges of her prints seeming to treat my insides like a
finely-tuned engine, trying to find that right place for me to make a
certain sound. The heel of her palm is against my clit, and I feel
fully and truly whole. The "Oh God!" cry of earlier seems to be reduced
to a murmur of contentment with my schoolmate as her idea of pleasure
is something I'm quickly starting to agree with.

 

She eases each finger in slowly, and from two to three, I start to feel
very content. My pelvic muscles tighten up against her digits and I
feel my hips involuntarily rise up and down as Paris' hands, not to
mention her well-manicured fingernails (Mmm, another thing I
love about falling for a rich girl) find all the right spots. On
her end meanwhile, Paris seems to be just fine. I'm a little more
awkward and tentative with my strokes, but she doesn't seem to mind my
more experimental nature of things, because she's trying to get more of
my hand inside of her with each push in. In my hand, she feels so warm
and open, she's definitely a hidden sexual being.

 

I decide to push a little deeper within, and we're looking into each
other's eyes, gazes never wavering. I can tell Paris is loving the
deeper push because all the sudden she bites her lip and whines, which
with her mouth open would have certainly been a scream. We're still
kissing so much that I can't even count each time her lips have touched
mine or my cheeks, and my hand is cradled against the small of her back
as I nuzzle against her nose.

 

I don't know what it was about being alone that was causing me
to be a little more adventurous, but I was doing more than rubbing
myself as the fantasy went on. My legs were spread even wider and I
used my left arm for leverage against the back of the counter to stay
steady. My panties are about halfway down my thighs and I'm feeling
very damp as I work my clit over, thinking of Paris' hands. God, it
felt so good, even moreso than when I thought of her in the dorm closet
months before and any of the times I've thought of her in my own bed. I
felt the tangle of fluid and hair around my fingers, and it made me
feel ever more untamed. I was ready to foam over soon, bucking against
my hand as the dream of Paris and I went forward. I looked up at the
clock to get an idea on time; only fifteen minutes left! I had been so
into the fantasy that there was no way I'd be able to finish, clean
myself up and eat.

 

My fingertips were glistening with my cum as I drove them in as deep as
I could without tearing through, I was almost crying as I begged myself
for a release, basically gasping for air. My exposed skin was covered
with a light sheen of sweat as I continued on, and I tried to resist
the high temptation to stop and cool off in the office. I knew my hair
was basically done for, and it was too late to realize that several of
my fellow peers would take one look at me when I got back into the
halls and deduce that I got laid during the lunch hour.

 

Screw 'em, my usually conservative conscience chimed in. They
don't even pay attention to you and Paris in the first place, they're
all about the QB anyways lately, he's the big man on campus.
Remembering that I have no interest in any of the males on any of
Chilton's athletic teams, I decide to go into the homestretch and
conclude my fantasy, what with Paris' shirt becoming close to soaked in
the underarms...

 

I can tell Paris is starting to tire and her energy is fading as
we almost come to the point of satisfaction. She's wavering and her
grip on my body is starting to loosen, and I think I'm getting to that
same state of exaustion. I feel my lips becoming numb from all that
stimulation and she's told me the same thing with hers, so we're
stroking each other's in a flurry of activity, we can feel the bed
beneath us creak as our sex is coming to fruition. She's still caring
in the rushed lovemaking, kissing my forehead as she beckons me further.

 

"Come on hon, come on," she pants out. "I'm almost there--". She groans
in pleasure, and I see her eyes roll back in her head as she tries to
drive herself further into my hand. I think I've finally found her
spot, so I leave it where it is and ask if where my hand works for her.
Paris sighs "Yes!" aloud, and we're both starting to get to our peaks.
My body is writhing up and down, and I can feel my boobs bounce up and
down on my chest with each stroke of my pussy into her hand. I'm
smiling deliriously, and I can feel the beginnings of the orgasm
building.

 

Paris' strokes are coming at me in rapid succession now, and I feel her
fingers pound against my walls like a drumbeat. I didn't think it would
ever feel that divine, but I'm starting to see stars from her
attention. Noticing my body is starting to shake and it's almost time,
she starts tugging at my clit in order to hasten me. Almost, almost...

 

"Paaaarrrrr, ugggghhh," I scream as I try to will the O further. I want
her to see that she's the one true person that I love. We push into
each other, trying to find our way into a combined euphoria. Our teeth
are gritted, foreheads scrunched, and our bodies are as tight as rubber
bands as we ride out those last few movements in each other's arms.
This night has been even better than words could ever describe.

 

Finally I feel release and I shriek at a high decibel as I cry out
Paris' and God's names together as I feel my muscles contract tight
against Paris' hand. My mouth is wide and I swear I can't breathe as
the orgasm she gives me makes me see literal stars in my eyes. It's
sensual, beautiful, raw, and everything that I ever dreamed of for my
first time with her. Somehow I manage to find just that right spot
within her, and a couple minutes later Paris is reversing the process,
even if she was a little late, but I blame my inexperience for that. In
my eyes, she becomes more than my academic rival and girlfriend; we
share everything together, and I hope this night shows her that I'm
nothing but thankful that she breached that barrier between romance a
few weeks ago on that stage.

 

It takes us both quite a while to settle our bodies down, damp with
sweat, tears and our fluids, but I wouldn't have it any other way.
After she comes down from the high, with me being the taller one in the
relationship, Paris spoons into me and gives me an intimate hug,
smiling as she plays with my hair, and I in turn flitter around with
her locks. She looks at me with her wide enigmatic eyes colored the
same shade as a walnut, and finds nothing but reverence.

 

"So earlier," she says, "when you asked for candles and all that other
stuff? Much safer and sexier in just the dim light, isn't it Ror?"

 

"Very," I affirm. "We both have long enough hair anyways, candles
would've been a fire hazard to this entire evening." I nuzzle her nose,
and listen to the sound of her breathing. "I really did want to feed
you peaches and chocolate ice cream though, think it's too late?"

 

"It'll make a delicious breakfast at the very least; right now I'm too
full to eat, physically and spiritually." She kisses me, and I start to
feel the situation start to lose a little steam, albeit with some nice
closure.

 

"You're not turning down a session of lovemaking in the shower when we
get up then?"

 

I watch her smile curl even further as we cuddle into each other and
get ready to fall asleep. "I told you I loved you today already, right
Gilmore?"

 

"You did, about five times," I say as I feel her chest press against me
and sleep coming fast. "Of course, it's not too late for you to tell me
again to make it number six."

 

"Then I love you Rory," she confirms in her best seductive monotone.
"How was that?"

 

"Just what I was hoping for again, for I love you too Paris." We fall
asleep in each other's arms, knowing the magic of the snow outside
falling on the streets and lawns of Stars Hollow has once again worked
its unique magic on two lovers, undiscriminating about whom loves whom.

 

The dream ends just as I started the last strokes of my hand against my
clit and I bucked against my fingers, feeling satisfaction seeping from
my pores. I was so a total mess and going to need a trip to the
bathroom on the way in, but as I came all over my hand and a towel I
had placed over the seat of the stool so I could catch any arousal
dripping from me, I felt so content and full, dreaming of Paris that
way. I was about half-naked, but I had fulfilled a sudden fantasy that
I loved carrying out. It took a couple minutes for the orgasm to go
through me so that I could regain my footing as I got out of the
painful position I was in, though the sexual feelings numbed any extra
back pain I was sure to be carrying around for the rest of the day.

 

I looked up at the clock and found it reading 12:43pm, which meant I
had seven minutes to get ready to get to the classroom before the class
I took started. Since it was in another building, I started rushing
things a little, toweling myself off with a paper towel and intending
to flush it down the toilet as I struggled to rebutton up my blouse and
straighten up my shirt. I was in a panic, and it took at least a minute
to find the discarded tie within the pitch black area along the bottom
of the darkroom's floor.

 

As I bent down to pick it up, I remembered that I hadn't pulled my
panties up quite yet. I picked up the tie and was prepared to pull them
back up, when as I rose, I felt this blissful rush of cool air rising
up beneath my skirt and breezing across my numb mound. I shuddered at
the shock, and suddenly my devilish conscience, the one who in my mind
wore a slutty low-cut top with a high-rise red leather skirt, seemed to
have tied up Good Rory temporarily, because I got an idea that made me
smirk.

 

If you don't have the top, I reasoned with myself, why not
forgo the bottoms? Isn't like anyone's going to notice the school's
good girl without a certain something beneath, and it'll certainly make
the paper work and ride home very interesting.

 

I recalled Paris' reaction to my not having a bra on earlier that
morning, and I swore I remembered her pouting because I still managed
to find a pair of panties despite the laundry situation. It wasn't like
they were ruined at all; some drops of arousal in the crotch but
certainly something I could keep. But if I didn't, my skirt was still
long enough to hide the fact I was taking a couple lessons from Louise.
I still remembered her description of trying to unnerve a teacher last
year by grabbing a convenient front seat and spreading her legs open so
the teacher was lured into giving her A's, and thinking at the time
what were to happen if I tried that same thing with Paris around, only
instead of grades I wanted gratification. I did happen to do that as we
took the Acela train down together from New Haven to Washington in
June, but since I was wearing jeans on the train, everything was
basically negated so there was no chance to gauge her reaction.

 

I smirked as I spread open my legs and let the blue cotton drop to my
ankles, then picked it off my legs and threw the incriminating skivvies
into the deep, deep section of my backpack. I put back on my school
sweater and cleaned up the darkroom a little to hide what had happened
in the last half hour, and gotten out of the Franklin office and into
the hall just in time to blend in with the crowd coming from the dining
hall.

 

Then I stopped at my locker, and found Paris at hers, digging for her
texts for the next three periods. She looked so cute, if only she had
known how I just thought of her minutes earlier. I grabbed my books,
and said hi to her. She looked towards me, and suddenly got this
disapproving frown on her face.

 

"What?" I questioned, shrugging. Did she know I was--

 

"You might want to make a trip back to the bathroom before class.
Charleston's going to stop you and make you sing the spirit song
backwards in Klingon if you don't straighten yourself out there
Gilmore."

 

Looking down at myself, it seems in my rush, I forgot to tuck Paris'
blouse back into my skirt, and one of my socks was askew, not to
mention I had to be wearing that nature-made color they call Afterglow
Pink all over my face, judging from my messed up hair.

 

I rush out thanks for her looking out for me, and clean myself up in
the bathroom, making it to AP Calculus just before the bell trilled and
thankful she didn't notice anything else or comment on my absence
during lunch. The rest of the day seemed to strangely speed up after
lunch, but probably because my adrenalin was on overdrive. It was such
a rush to sit in each of those classes and sit there learning, reading
and testing like usual, knowing that you're getting a kinky little
thrill from having nothing on beneath the Chilton tartan.

 

My mood was a mix of giddiness and disappointment at the same time as
Paris and I took the test in Life Sciences seventh period.
Though I could sense her ankle up against mine and what seemed like
accidental contact, I could tell she was hiding something as the hour
wore on. My libido was seriously pissed however, since because I was
taking a test, I couldn't gauge any reactions by looking towards her
because I didn't want to look like I'd be cheating off her paper. I
knew the material and the teacher knew I did, but better to keep eyes
straight and thoughts on the chemical compounds within molecules and
just let myself enjoy what went on underneath the table. So close to
footsie that day, but it kept my flared-up hormones under control at
least.

 

A couple hours later after school as we did the work on the paper, I
felt nervous that someone on the photography staff would discover that
someone had been sleeping in their room and they'd discover that I was
the Goldilocks in the scenario. I kept looking nervously towards the
room as I organized my thoughts into a profile about the team's
trainer, about the only person on the Blue Demons I'd write about since
the team itself intimidated me. Paris organized it all and there was a
general sense of bedlam in the room I'd usually associate with a busy
scene in All the President's Men as Paris and Ms. Peters
organized us foot soldiers into a lean, mean, reporting machine trying
to focus all our energy on this one special edition. Sports, News,
Photography, Layout and Entertainment seemed to be able to work well,
and I respected my girl for managing to fit all of this stuff into
thirty-two pages to be handed out by third period Thursday morning.
Even Madeline and Louise worked diligently, scanning the results of an
unscientific poll they had taken throughout the day asking who the five
cutest guys on the team were. I didn't vote of course, but they
respected that despite. It was a rush to go from Paris' original idea
on Friday, the staff getting stories all weekend and Monday, then
drafting through last night into today until around 4:20, all of the
staff was in the conference room looking at the projected computer
layout of The Franklin, Special Edition - The Blue Demons' Run
to State.

 

Paris was proud of all of us as she went through each of the pages,
pointing out something on each page and giving a personal thank you to
each of the contributors and photographers. For once, she had nothing
negative to say at all, though she did tell poor Brad to maybe not put
that he wanted his mommy and was very scared as he interviewed
Cornelius DeMateo, the 345-pound defensive back that easily tore
through the front offensive lines of most of our rivals. He managed out
a "Sorry," and Paris gave him a smile as everyone laughed with him.
He's a good kid, and even Paris, who lives to torment him, is taking it
easier on the boy since he came back from a successful run on Broadway
as a character in a top musical over the summer. I might be seeing
things also, but Madeline is flirting with him at times when Louise's
back is turned, sort of like the dance I've been initiating with Par
lately.

 

She praised my article on the habits of the team trainer and told me I
had come a long way since my poetic prose on the parking lot
resurfacing I started my high school journalism career with. By the
time the meeting had ended ten minutes later and everyone was
dismissed, I was on cloud nine as Paris and I got into her car and she
started the drive back to the Manor to pick up my dry clothes and was
thankful no one made a comment on the darkroom. She pulled up to the
front drive, Fran handed her my blouse and jacket, and within a few
minutes we were on the expressway out of Hartford.

 

I was hoping that I could get home in time so that I could change into
regular clothes that my mom had dropped off, get in the shower and
clean up so I could meet Jess and Shane around 5:15 so we could discuss
an Austen book I had recommended they read together. I thought with the
school day over, I could get home unscathed and not have to face up to
any more awkward situations.

 

Oh, how wrong I was. The usual smooth commute turned into a nightmare
as the traffic reporter on WTIC broke into the talk show Par was
listening to with a loud boisterous traffic alert.

 

"91 at the Cross is currently closed due to a jackknifed semi blocking
all lanes, CDOT is out cleaning the wreckage and traffic both
directions is absolutely jammed. The state patrol is currently
redirecting southbound traffic onto the 691 west..."

 

"No!" I cried out, and Paris rolled her eyes as she prepared for the
bottlenecks ahead. Route 691 usually added twenty more minutes onto my
ride home because we had to take a whole bunch of surface streets and
two lane highways once Paris reached the exit for the road we needed.

 

Paris huffed annoyed, mad at the unexpected delay. I took this as a bad
sign and got out a book from my backpack, trying to stay out of her way
as she navigated the heavy Tuesday gridlock. I couldn't concentrate
however, because she kept cursing to drivers in other lanes once we
merged onto west 691.

 

"C'mon!" she complained angrily, pushing down on her horn and directing
her bile towards some jackass who merged across three lanes of traffic
and right in front of us. Thank goodness for soundproof material,
I thought to myself as she went on and on with her complaints about
idiotic Harford drivers preventing her inner speed demon from playing
on the expressways that afternoon.

 

Her forehead was scrunched up and she was gritting her teeth. I have no
idea why a thought like that came to my head, but I thought asking her
for rides was starting to become a hassle. She was trying to use
conversation to distract me from the jam, but it didn't seem to work as
her Jaguar was crawling along the road at a glacial speed of fifteen
miles an hour, her face becoming redder with annoyance by the moment.

 

She needs a little boost, or perhaps a little distraction, I
thought to myself as I turned the temperature down on my side because
my mind usually can't handle a small space like a car more then
necessary, causing me to think I was hot. I brought my eyes down to the
book in my hands, but my gaze was directed down towards my breasts. I
loved unnerving her during that car ride a couple weeks before with
nothing but the open road ahead of us, surely I could help her
decompress what anger she had at the situation. Plus it would only be
natural for me to change back into my own blouse and give hers back.

 

So I went with my plan, taking off her blouse and throwing it in the
back. Usually when she saw the Chilton uniform unkempt on anyone else,
even after school, she'd go off on the unsuspecting person with a
tirade about how could they ruin the integrity of fair Chilton's
uniform, your shirt should stay tucked in, blouse or shirt straight and
starched and skirt even on your legs, it went on and on.

 

I must've been a big exception though, because lately she hasn't been
making a negative comment towards me. So I lay back on the seat,
straightened my undershirt out and untucked it from the skirt, knowing
that she might bring her eyes towards my waist to glimpse at the skin
exposed. I was also feeling a little hot despite the temperature, so I
turned the climate control on my side even lower. Nothing like a little
gratuitous in-the-shirt nipple exposure from a cool air conditioner
vent to drive a certain blonde up the wall.

 

We talked as we got into the thick of the quagmire, Paris' mood not
improving as time passed. The minutes ratcheted up on the clock, from
4:40 up to 4:50, my hope for getting to Luke's on time at 5:15 fading
and my annoyance along with Paris at the traffic rising. I read the
book, sort of aware of her eyes on me. I judged her look to be more I
could be home studying by now instead of chauffeuring Rebecca here back
to Sunnybrook Farm than of carnality; her mood seemed to be
unreadable. We tried broaching conversation, but it just wasn't
happening. I honestly that it might be a hell of a lot better for both
of us if we took separate cars home, that way she'd never have to drive
me back to Stars Hollow again.

 

She was finally able to make conversation by asking if the traffic
would clear, so I complained that Luke would be 80 by the time I got
home, and that it wasn't my day.

 

"So this day was bad for you Gilmore, big deal. Suck it up and think
ahead to tomorrow, the forecast is for sunny and 63°, as Annie says
it's only a day away." I didn't see any humor in it though. I still had
seven hours to go on Tuesday, and she was getting in a bad mood that I
thought I caused. I asked her why she'd give me a ride when it was a
clear hardship on the time she spent on her studies. I talked about how
much better it would be if I was on the bus and she was on her way home.

 

What happened next just about made it clear that Paris was far from
annoyed at me.

 

As she started to tell me that I was no hassle to take home, I saw her
right hand move towards my legs. I then gulped as she set it down on my
left thigh, just above my knee. If I had been tuning out the fact I
wasn't wearing underwear for the last couple hours, I had just found a
clear signal since the moment her palm made contact, my clit responded
immediately.

 

Oh God, oh God, oh God, her hand is on my thigh! My touch senses
relayed to those certain parts, and since the seatbelt was cinched
tight around me, I couldn't move, or evade. It seemed completely
innocent, a reassuring technique as she reminded me about the fact her
mother paid for her fuel.

 

I bit my lip, thinking that it wasn't going to go beyond that; she kept
looking at the road talking, not noticing that my other leg was shaky
and I felt so underdressed! Then her hand started shaking my leg.

 

Oh Paris, my internal dialogue gasped out, her simple touch
wearing my mind thin. There was really nothing I could do; I was putty
in her hands since as her aversion tactic to take my focus of my
complaints was working, maybe a little too well. I could feel my legs
part involuntarily and I tried to keep my mind in control, despite the
fact I was wetting the rear of my skirt with my arousal.

 

I tried to speak to argue back against her pols-on-the-bus point, but
my scholarly mind seemed to regress back to kindergarten as all my
brain power went to processing the fact her perfectly-manicured
fingernails were now scraping against the inside of my leg and were
rising at the rate of a millimeter a second! Damn you Paris, damn
you and your evasion techniques. I forget what I said back to her,
that's how distracting she was.

 

I felt everything stir and respond and my line of vision fogging up,
breathing become heavy and my heartbeat speeded. The book was losing
the battle for attention, and as her fingers trailed above the hemline
of the skirt, I became very aware of what was happening. I set the book
down and listened to her explaining why exactly I was not a pain in the
ass, wondering if it would be bad form to grab her wrist and shove her
fingers into my wanton pussy since that's where she was probably headed
anyways.

 

The only thing I could decode from her words in my lust-fogged mine was
"I'll be there for you always, no matter what". At least my romantic
side got a little numbing and a little swoon, but the primitive animal
never aroused within me took that as an open invitation. God, I wanted
her so bad, her hands in me, getting me off through the traffic jam as
I admitted I was interested in her, my fingers crossed that she'd be
open to experimenting with fucking me and giving those tinted windows
and soundproofing some great use on one of Hartford's busiest
expressways.

 

Her hands wandered ever further, my eyes shutting as she came that much
closer to realizing her friend and rival had nothing stopping her from
sliding elegant fingers up into me, and making my wildest wishes come
true. I watched the traffic, starting to pout as I saw it start to
clear up. Paris' digits drifted up into virgin territory, scratching my
skin with the same enthusiasm as my back hours before. I remember the
times I had gotten off just imagining her hands fingering a pencil
within my bed, thinking at the time it was such an odd thing to dream
of. I guess my mind got ahead of my touch though, because her fingers
against my thigh, shaking it too and fro? I could die a happy woman
right about there.

 

Though I would die a virgin, not knowing the pleasures of Paris'
tongue. Yeah, morbid thought I'm so not thinking again!

 

She was getting closer and closer, what would she have thought if there
was no trace of cotton and instead she ended up feeling the tangle of
the dark curls on my mound? Would she smile, laugh, cringe, and think I
was crazy for going without? Be appreciative that my natural hair color
was indeed brown?

 

"Uh, thank you Par, I appreciate all the rides you give me--and, uh,
those in the future," I spat out, feeling my crotch become slick and
wet. A few more inches and she'd know what her hand alone was causing
in me. "I promise I won't abuse your offer."

 

I certainly wouldn't mind giving you a ride Gellar! I
suddenly thought, and it took all I had in order to gag what I felt was
a very loud moan forming in my larynx. What was up with us that
afternoon, me fucking myself in her shirt in the sacred space of the
darkroom and deciding that a pair of panties was wearing too much, then
Paris with her hands, it was like I was living some kind of romance
novel where we teased each other crazy!

 

I felt like I could come right there in her car and onto my skirt, the
heat from her fingers drifting up into my slit. I heard her say there
were no thanks necessary for the lifts home. She was so close to my
core I could almost taste it and sense the oncoming orgasm, I started
straightening myself up for the inevitable reception of her fingers
within as I imagined she whispered 'Let me show you how much I
appreciate you as more than a passenger Ror' into my ear, then closed
the distance between us and kissed me...

 

Then I saw her hand recede towards my knee. I was shocked and
struggling for breath as I lost her contact, almost on the verge of
tears. The traffic started speeding up and we had finally found an
opening, so Paris had no choice to bring her hand up from my thigh and
back onto the steering wheel, drifting down my leg towards my knee
until she wasn't making contact anymore. I was at the absolute edge of
giving it up, the balls of my feet right on the cliff and ready to fall
into her, but had been saved just in time no thanks to the help of the
Connecticut Highway Patrol in clearing up the rush hour mess.

 

I'm serious; I was ready to admit right then and there my interest in
her. But I had to keep it silent as the speedometer made it's way back
to a speedy 55. My virtue was still intact, though as I looked at Paris
keeping her eyes on the road, I honestly wished it wasn't. I never
thought my breasts could be so hard and my pussy so wet and wanting for
more, but I sat in the bucket seat, wet as could be and wishing I'd
have taken the risk.

 

My brain stirred into action the rest of the way, trying to figure out
ways to lure Paris into finishing what she started. Sleeping over at my
house? Not a good idea on a school night, and I don't know if I'd want
her and I to go back to school the next morning. Maybe I could take her
to the bridge and we could just talk? Judging the fact I would have a
sudden urge to shove her into the freezing cold water and ravish her
beneath the surface, not the best course of action. I knew I didn't
want her to leave, but I had to let go sometime that day. After all, I
still had to see Dean and Jess and get some last moments with my mom
before she went the town of Music Row and the Grand Ole Opry until
Sunday evening. Oh, and I still was bound to Dean. Probably wouldn't
appreciate seeing me make out with Paris when I still had his bracelet
on my arm.

 

She finally pulled into my driveway around 5:40, and I didn't even
realize it. My body was cold and numb from the air conditioning and
thoughts enflamed, and I had made an indent in my lower lip from biting
down on it so far. Not to mention I was sure the back of my skirt
probably had a slight dark spot in back that would show off the effects
of Paris' almost-fingering of me.

 

"Rory," she said, shaking my shoulder. "We're home."

 

I widened my eyes and saw the familiar blue abode I've come home to for
six years. "Sorry," I said, trying to normalize my thoughts, "I was
really into this book."

 

Paris then smirked at me, and my excuse fell apart like a popsicle
stick bridge with a sumo wrestler crossing it. "So into it you've been
reading the last page for fifteen minutes, I think you've analyzed it
to the point of exhaustion."

 

"I guess, I'm just tired, stupid traffic," I lied, and she didn't seem
to press. I seemed to lose my attention.

 

"You're OK then?" she asked, and I felt words on the tip of my tongue
that would invite her to come into my house. I didn't want to get up,
but I unbuckled the seat belt anyway, despite the fact I didn't want
her to go.

 

I was falling for her, her voice sounding so sweet to my ears, and her
nose, I just wanted to bend over and give her a kiss goodnight right on
the tip of it. I wasn't even out of her sight and missing her. But I
got out of the car and grabbed my things, ready to be alone in my
unhappy relationship with Dean once again.

 

I told her I'd see her tomorrow, hopeful she caught the hint I wanted
to see her at 7:35, the moment I walked into that building. She then
joked about what got me into that whole situation, Dwight. She laughed
when I said I'd wear a raincoat while I watered, and it caught in my
ears. It's rare to hear her laughing at a joke, she's usually a
Daria-like cynic who usually keeps her giggle to herself. When she
laughs though, it's more of a nervous guffaw, and doesn't sound like
her voice at all. She smiles too, and I recycle her sexy laugh into my
memory banks, hopeful that I'll get to hear it from her in the future
many more times.

 

The way I feel about her is something like I've never felt before. We
say goodbye and I walk onto the porch, turning around just in time to
see her squeal her tires and peel out of the driveway back onto Cherry
Lane, as I watched her car fade on the gravel road leading to downtown.
I squint and still make out her HVD-BND license plate as she stopped at
Peach Street a block down. She turned on her right turn signal, and my
heart tightened up as she turned towards downtown and out of my life
for the next fourteen hours.

 

"Goodnight Paris, and sweet dreams," I whisper to myself as I walk into
the house and get into my usual afterschool routine. Thanking God that
Lorelai dropped off an entire clean outfit with bra and panties so that
I wouldn't have to stay without, I jumped into a very cold shower and
got back into my pedestrian 'I love Dean, he's the only one for me'
mind track that was so hollow I could hear a woodblock in the
background signaling what I really thought about him. Certainly after
going through an afternoon like that where thoughts of Paris made me
come one and a half times (half for the almost-orgasm in her car),
Dean's record was truly pale now.

 

Speaking of whom, when I went to Luke's, came in
once I got settled in and immediately when on this insane streak of
accusations that I struggled to explain away as a total accident. He
started out with the fact his friend had seen everything going on
between Jess and I when we were trying to turn off the sprinklers at
Dwight's. I tried calmly and rationally to explain that no, I didn't
decide to suddenly have a wet t-shirt contest with Jess as the judge,
and we're going to be friends and nothing but that.

 

He got overly defensive then, and Dean was seriously starting to scare
me. As I kept my cool, he kept making all these accusations that I was
a whore and going behind his back and dating Jess. Trying to point out
the fact I felt it was bad form to date someone who already had a
girlfriend proved fruitless, and Shane and Jess came downstairs to
wonder what the ruckus was as he tried to assert his ownership over me.
He kept calling me his, and the worst of the tendencies that kept me on
my toes when we were in the courtship and renewal phases of our
relationship were out there for me to see.

 

I also made it clear that I was very unhappy with him because his idea
of romance was so boring it put me to sleep. Telling me that he was
afraid my mother would kill him wasn't a valid excuse, and considering
my burgeoning feelings for Paris, he certainly wasn't making a good
case for why I shouldn't change teams.

 

Finally, I had enough. I told him I was sick of all the accusations and
his Lifetime movie boyfriend imitation, so I felt that it was time to
end the relationship. I told him we were through and if he couldn't
handle the fact Jess was my friend that he could have a nice life
without me. Losing his girlfriend to whom he thought was in his words
'a homewrecker', he made his way around me to try to get at Jess.
Cesar, who had brought my supper out on a plate, leaped over the
counter and restrained Dean just in time, and Jess kept his cool, nary
making a movement towards my now ex-boyfriend and telling him that if
he couldn't behave, Luke and him would be more than happy to beat him
up for me. Before Dean left, he tried one more time to explain his side
of things, but I was overly pissed off at him about the reaction he had
to the sprinkler incident. Until he matured and set his priorities
straight, I told him not to see me anymore. I was so mad in fact, I
swore at him and told him to fuck off, and then called him a dickhead
in the heat of the moment. I would like to say I'd like to take it
back, but for right now he needs to stay away from me as I try to build
this thing up with Paris, I'm not ready to get into a love triangle
with Paris, a girl who's building towards becoming my true love, and
Dean, who was my first love, but ready to move on from.

 

As he prepared to leave, Jess got Dean's attention, and made me laugh
as he reminded Dean that Shane and he were in love and that he
should've taken my sexual cues and ran with them even though we
wouldn't have sex.

 

"If I had a girl like Rory," he claimed "I would've already made her
come so many times you'd be nothing but a silly childhood fling. You
missed out man, and now she's leaving you, just as I've always
predicted she'd always do. Idiot." Jess shook his head and Dean bit his
lip, somehow controlling himself from saying something he might regret.
He turned around, walked out of the door, and out of my life as I had
knew it before then.

After talking to Shane and Jess in the diner for just over an hour and
a half about things not involving fighting robots and cars, but instead
what we knew well, books and music, I walked home and got into my
relaxation mode, feeling not one bit guilty about my actions that
evening, nor did I want to wallow. Dean was fine as a first love, but
in the end, he just wasn't a good enough boy to become my one and only.
I changed into my pajamas shortly after getting back, and did my
homework, waiting for Mom to come home. She did around ten, and once
she walked in, I could tell that she knew since she brought in a gallon
of vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup.

 

"Hey hon," she said as she leaned against the door. "Need to do some
wallowing before you shove off to bed and I leave you all alone to fend
for yourself the next five days?"

 

I turned around and smiled at her, appreciating her gesture despite the
fact I didn't need it. "I'll take the ice cream, but I won't be
wallowing, this time it's for real. I'll be burning the Dean box one of
these days and there will be no more tears shed over him."

I then came out to the living room and cuddled on the couch with my mom
with a big bowl of hot fudge as she vented about how horrible
hotelier's conventions usually are, while I told her about what led to
the end of Dean as my boyfriend (again, no details on my love for
Paris, got to keep those hush-hush for now). We had fun discussing the
good and mostly bad of the relationship, and it felt good to finally
talk out my frustrations over the last two years. Mom seemed to be more
relieved than shocked, though a side benefit of our relationship was to
be totally lost.

 

"There's only one thing I hate about this Rory," she told me seriously,
frowning.

 

"What's that?"

 

Lorelai faked a cry. "We're never going to drink water again, are we?"
She looked forlornly towards the water cooler, formerly changed by Dean
in the kitchen, and I laughed at what she was getting at. Even if I
could get Paris, there was no way she'd ever change the
Culligan bottle. She couldn't even try, what with her 'jugs' and all
getting in the way of the water jug.

 

I immediately had a brainstorm. "We can always buy a Brita pitcher. Or
you can hire Luke for the water-changing duties, either's fine." Taking
care of my mother's love life by adding on chores to Luke's list seems
like a good idea. But my mom's still not taking the bait.

 

"Brita pitcher it is, I think I've favored poor Lukey out." We then had
a nice 'evil boyfriends being murdered in cold blood by ex-girlfriends
out for revenge' theme night thanks to Lifetime's movie channel until I
finally got worn out, and we both went to bed around two in the morning.

 

I only had four hours of sleep that night, but they were all wonderful
hours. Without the complications of a boyfriend in the picture now, my
dreams were free to go a lot further with scenarios with Paris and I.
That evening into morning, I had a very wonderful dream where Paris and
I sat down together and read through our old yearbooks, getting to know
each other and what we did as we grew up. I have read through the
yearbooks of our class from all the way back in their Chilton Country
Day days all the way to junior year. It's sad to note that each year
starting with kindergarten, Paris' cute six year-old wide-toothed grin
seemed to fade to a flat frown as she grew up, it was like watching a
flipbook of love being sucked out by her mother's influence.

 

When I got up the next morning, I was in a fine mood, but wondering how
I'd bring up the fact I was now loveless to Paris that day. I wanted to
tell her as soon as possible, but I couldn't just say 'Hey Paris, I
dumped Dean.' After I watered Dwight's garden (with Jess keeping a
close eye on the sprinkler system to prevent a repeat of the day
before), I got on the bus and spent all of it thinking about what to
do. The driver was still pissed about my conduct Tuesday morning, but
Window Guy was thankfully very absent, and I was grateful that I was
back in my regular underwear, not about to have a temptation to repeat
the lunchtime orgasm of the day before.

 

There was also the issue of the dance marathon to think about for
Saturday into early Sunday morning. Winning the trophy has always been
a goal of my mom's, and as the years passed in turn, it became de facto
for me to try to win it. Though last year Dean didn't last five hours
(there's a reason we never went to a dance after the 2000 Winter
Formal, and that's because he's awful at the fast dances), I really
wanted to win the trophy and beat Kirk. When she heard that the
convention fell on the same weekend as the marathon, she was mad and
trying to talk Michel into going instead. After about the fifteen
iteration of a profane French sentence from her co-worker however,
Lorelai realized that it was going up to me to represent the Gilmores
this year all by myself.

 

I stayed silent throughout the day, miming it up except when Paris
asked me something as I imagined what it would be like to spend an
entire twenty-four hours with her in my arms, dancing at all speeds.
There was the hormonal challenge of keeping my feelings in check going
on, and the added factor of dealing with the fact she usually shied
away from public activities. She was supposed to come out the night I
did as a debutante, but never came because as I found out later, she
hid out at the Harford library claiming that her debutante dress had
caused a rash to develop on her back and she had a sudden case of
laryngitis onsetting. Mrs. Gellar gave up on her daughter coming out,
and that left a burning question unanswered; would Paris have brought a
flask of bourbon with her to the bash and tried to outdrink Libby in
order to avoid the whole experience, yet still participate? She's a
very light drinker, yet I know she would've soaked herself in booze I
feel in order to keep the memories of the fan dance out of her head.

 

From her old dance tapes however, I knew she still had some talent
within her languishing for six years, and even if she wasn't at peak
form she could still probably outdance Kirk. I was about average when
it came to dancing, but then again I did play a pretty aggressive field
hockey game the month before, surprising myself. Surely Paris could
help get me into the swing of things.

 

Neutrality was the order of the day. I was already worried that if I
did ask her, she'd come out against it right away and wonder why I'd
invite her to a dance a day after I broke up with Dean. Not only that
she'd probably analyze the fact that a girl was asking another girl to
dance with her for twenty-four hours.

 

That made me chicken out for a bit. You don't need the trophy, this
is too much too soon, I thought to myself realistically. I was just
coming from an off-on two-year relationship and trying to make Paris
fall for me would confirm that I was a sucker for commitment.

 

Then again, as I looked at her in lunch (fixating on her ear, don't
ask), when did I ever think about boys before Dean, if at all? I
remembered back to when I was ten, and discovered the pleasures of
masturbation and sexual attraction in general on a very hot July night
in my bed. The air conditioning was broke and all the fans in the world
couldn't keep the house cool, so I slept in my bed nude but for my
panties. I had gone to the pond earlier that day to cool off with Lane,
and saw a girl I remembered from my fifth grade class, Tracy McCarran.

 

Looking back, I had no ideas of the boundaries between boys and girls,
that girls were meant to mate with boys and were expected to never have
a sexual thought about another girl. Tracy however...it made me flush
and feel funny when I saw her jump into the pond and come near me to
say hi. She was an early bloomer, so she took advantage of her growing
body by wearing a two-piece that was conservative enough for Stars
Hollow, but on her looked so hot. She had green eyes, long red hair and
was about 5'4", and I remember before that I usually bottled up any
sexual thoughts.

 

But as Lane swam laps across the pond, I found myself drawing closer to
Tracy, trying to figure out exactly what was attracting me to her. I
was wearing a very conservative blue one piece, my breasts starting to
develop but in no need for a training bra at all just yet. We played
together, horseplaying in the water and splashing each other in the way
that normal fifth graders usually did.

 

Then when Lane had to leave to help her mother at the shop, it was just
Tracy and I in the water, all alone. We talked and continued to have
fun, both of us diving off the bridge. I didn't want to leave, I was
having a blast.

 

We started playing in the shallow end of the water, grabbing each other
by the legs and propelling out into the middle of the pond. I seemed to
be aware of her hands on my ass, when I felt a tingle down in my
crotch. Suddenly I was very aware on her hand on my waist as she reeled
my body back, and the pushing right against the bottommost portion of
my rear. I moaned aloud, and at that time, I didn't know why.

 

I felt Tracy had done something wrong, so when I swam back I tried to
tell her what happened.

 

"Don't do that again!" I cried out.

 

"Don't do what?"

 

"Make me tingle down there, Safetypup said that was wrong to do and no
one should touch you down there!" Hey, I was ten and listening to a guy
in a dog costume back then was the equivalent of Socrates in my small
little unenlightened world, I'd probably jump off a cliff if he
would've asked me.

 

"I'm sorry," she said, looking down, forlorn. "I didn't know that made
you uncomfortable. When Sally, my best friend does that at her pool at
her home, it feels really good, and she said I could do it in my bed
too before I went to bed. So I tried it in my bed one night, and it
felt good. I didn't know it was a bad thing."

 

I looked at Tracy, curious now as to why it felt good. Thankfully
Lorelai had given me the birds/bee talk a year earlier so I didn't
embarrass myself and say something like 'but that's where I pee'. She
then, right there in the pond, showed me how good it really felt to get
off, rubbing herself through her swimsuit bottoms. I watched in shock
and noticed I was tingling too as she rubbed her breasts with her free
hand and then shuddered as her orgasm took over her body. I didn't join
her, but she told me to think about something sexy when I tried it for
the first time alone. "Like think about a hot boy on a soap opera or
something," she said.

 

"What if I want to think about you," I asked, "Can I do that?"

 

She blushed, flattered, and smiled at me. "Sure," she said. "As long as
it's sexy, it's fine." We got out of the pond and dried off, and she
told me she was moving to Rhode Island in a couple weeks, so I couldn't
be her friend. "Maybe I'll see you around one time, I'll come back
occasionally."

 

We exchanged addresses, and went our separate ways. In bed that night,
curious, I started rubbing my palm against my pussy, and thought of
Tracy's hands doing that, then of her kissing me and taking off my
clothes. From there I felt something bubbling up, so much so I thought
I was about to die from it. When I came though, it felt really, really
good. As a matter of fact, until I came in the closet in Washington, I
never had a better orgasm in my life. After that I was curious, so I
snuck home every book from the library I could possibly find that dealt
with sex and everything around it, I wanted to be enlightened as
possible without having to watch Lorelai try to explain where babies
came from. I'll just say it involved dirty sock puppet play and When
Harry Met Sally.

 

By the time the next year rolled around though, I became more aware of
the social mores, and drowned myself in the ideal that I had to have a
guy one day. I never saw Tracy again strangely enough, but even if I
did she probably grew up into a beauty that was unrecognizable from the
young girl I met in that pond.

 

I realized at that moment, sitting next to Paris, I never thought of
boys sexually at all before Dean started getting my attention, not even
in my dreams. All my fantasies and dreams before then always revolved
around a girl I secretly had a crush on, but would never acknowledge
having, or Tracy. Sometimes Lane, but those were few and far between
because I knew she would never return the feelings, so why lust for
her? Only after Dean kissed me did dreams of boys and men start
permeating my mind. Even then though, it took Jess to turn them from
innocent to sexual. I still had many more dreams and fantasies of
Paris, Louise, and even Summer (don't laugh, I took note of how hot she
was kissing Tristan, she'd be an awesome one-night stand), than I ever
did of Dean or Jess, because with my upbringing and my dad being
absent, I never saw many men except for those in town, along with Luke.
I never had a silly childhood crush, a boy who played doctor with me, a
guy who caught my eye and I pursued them. I was always the prey in
those situations, and because of my solitary nature never really
noticed guys except for when they pursued me.

 

A girl like Paris though? I've always been aware of our heat and
chemistry, and trying to wring out something sexual from something
she's done. Why hell, I'll admit it, I even noticed from the first day
she's been more open with me than any other girl she knows. She touches
me much more than Madeline and Louise, isn't afraid to be snarky, and
will confide in me when pushed. Also, she has this secret little wry
smile she saves for when I'm around. It's like magnetic attraction; I'm
north, she's south. When we're in the same room with each other, our
chemistry mixes up and charges our ends of the magnets, and brings us
together, no matter how much each of us wants to pull away.

Sitting at that table, at that time, I knew it was undeniable. I was
head over heels in love with Paris, and I couldn't deny it to myself
anymore. I don't know if I was born gay, if that's possible. But at
that moment, sitting next to her with her hand accidentally brushing up
against mine, I finally vocalized to my brain what had been planted
within ever since that hot July day in 1995.

 

My name is Rory Gilmore, and I'm a lesbian. I'm a lesbian in love
with another girl, Paris Gellar, and I want her to dance with me this
Saturday so I can take the first steps towards obtaining her love.

 

I wasn't ready to outright say it of course; better to bring her to the
dance, try to notice if she's sending vibes my way and then go from
there. So after confirmation of my sexual orientation, I spent the rest
of the day trying to think up just the right way to pop the question.
It was worse coming up with a broach with that than when I tried to ask
Dean to the 2000 Formal in the grocery store (note to self; don't
mention chicken). I went through class and kept my eyes on my
schoolwork, and figured that if I could ask her in the relative privacy
of the Franklin's pressroom as we watched the special edition print out.

 

There was still something bugging me however. I had forgotten in the
rush of pushing Dean out of my life that his cheap little bracelet,
which seemed cute and lovely two years ago when he gave it to me but
now reminded of me of who I had wasted two years of my life trying to
fall in love with, was still on my wrist. Unfortunately after I had
lost it that one time and Jess found it and took it with him in a 'I'll
have a piece of her' misguided love thing, I had Dean knot it very
tightly onto my wrist, and he took a bottle of super glue and injected
a little inside to solidify the bond. It was very tight against my arm,
and there was nothing more I wanted than it off.

 

Paris noticed my struggles, and brought her attention from monitoring
the paper run to try to figure out why I was playing with my bracelet.

 

"Nothing," I said lamely.

 

She turned towards me and stared at me seriously, her maternal instinct
from the morning before coming out for another appearance. "You've been
playing with your bracelet all day and haven't said all that much to
me, so what's going on? Is it involving Dean?"

 

"Well, yeah--"

 

She took my hand, and reassured me. "Remember your promise that I could
come to you for anything, even if it involved my mother?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I think there's something going on with Dean you want to talk about,
so I want you to tell me everything, what's he done to you? I hate it
when you're not vocal and keep to yourself Ror."

 

"Sorry, you know I don't come to you with boy talk..." I felt unsure of
myself, but Paris insisted on hearing all.

 

"Spill it Gilmore, I still have Miss Patty's number on my phone from a
year ago and I'm sure she'd give me details third-hand, but I'd rather
hear them from you."

 

The rehearsals, right. I know Miss Patty was already on full
gossip gush before I left so I told her everything, about the
sprinklers again and everything that went down at the diner. Once she
heard the words 'I'm no longer with Dean', I think I saw her smile, and
she decided to help me out a little with my wrist problem.

 

"I have a knife in my bag," she said. "I use it for fruit, but I'm sure
it'll cut through that like butter, want me to use it?"

 

"Would you?" I said, a little too enthusiastically. Once again I was on
edge; my hopefully future lover was going to cut off the closest tie to
my former lover! The romantic in me swooned as she took the knife and
used it like a saw to slash through the leather, her cool and slim
hands soothing my hand as she tried getting it off. Paris was careful
not to pierce my skin, and I found myself strangely romanticizing the
moment. I loved the contact I had with her, and as she cut through the
last strand of cowhide, I looked into her eyes; finding what I thought
was a connection that now that I was free, she might confess. I knew
she wouldn't, but it was good to know that she completely agreed that
Dean was the wrong guy for me.

 

After she was done she handed the strap and coin back to me, asking
what I was going to do with it. My mind wandered towards interesting
scenarios, including giving it to her and tying it around her ankle to
symbolize our friendship and possibly love, stronger now that Dean was
out of the picture.

 

But it was Dean's gift to me. I couldn't stand to look at it anymore,
and Paris would probably be less than enthusiastic to wear something
her girlfriend...uhh, I mean best friend wore as a testament of the
love for her ex-boyfriend. Sorry, I'm starting to already think we're
already together at times with her lately.

 

I then remembered the presidential key that gave us the ability to
enter almost any room at Chilton. It was intended to be used so we
could keep our competitive edges so we could do our homework late, but
suddenly it took on a new meaning. I took the key out of my backpack,
and held it by the ring with a giddy grin.

 

"How about we do a little experiment?" I asked her. "Let's go into one
of the chemical science rooms and observe the effects of hydrochloric
acid on crappy leather and whatever kind of metal makes up the coin
charm. I'll even let you help."

 

"Once you do this there is no going back, you know that, right?" Paris
cautioned like Grandma, and I had to assure her that indeed I was
willing to part with the bracelet.

 

"I'm well aware. Now come on, it's not every day you can get revenge in
such an evil way on an ex-boyfriend." We finished watching the last
Franklin copies come off the press, and headed towards the classroom,
where we both took all the safety precautions of safety goggles and
gloves before we poured the acid from the bottle into a wide-mouthed
beaker. Mr. DeBruin wouldn't miss just a little of the stuff I'm sure,
and if he did I'd reimburse him, because disposing of the bracelet in
this way would be so worth it.

 

Is it possible to find Paris in big goggles covering her eyes, a white
lab coat and gloves stretched out to her elbows kind of sexy by the
way? Because I kind of thought she did. Mmmm...oh yeah, where was
I--yes, the damned bracelet. We both took sets of tongs, and I got
first dip. Immediately on contact, the fluid started to foam up like
Alka Seltzer against the leather band, and when I dipped in half of the
charm, I could feel the beaker sort of vibrate, having a violent
reaction with the metal.

 

"I've played with acid before, but I never saw something bubble up that
quick!" Paris commented as she watched, amazed with the bracelet's
disintegration process.

 

"He probably expected it to stay on my arm forever." I smiled at her as
I took the bracelet out and transferred it onto Paris' set of tongs. "I
still can't believe I forgot all about last night, I should've ripped
it off and thrown it at him."

 

"But you wouldn't be here in this classroom with me Ror," she reminded,
her voice sort of taking a soft tone as she dipped the other end of the
bracelet into the acid, where it created even more bubbles than the
first. "I'm glad you got rid of it though. Personally, I loved that
green clear watch you used to wear on your wrist before Dean gave that
to you; it was a unique fashion statement." Paris smiled at me, and I
took in her words. "Even though we were at odds those first few months,
I have to admit, there was just something that made me want to keep
pushing your buttons, before then I was feeling very unchallenged. You
were definitely a bit a fresh air in these musty halls, and I don't
know where I'd be without you today."

 

The bracelet in the beaker seemed to form into this unrecognizable mass
of black with a slight rounded edge resting on the bottom, and I got an
evil grin as it bubbled up and disintegrated further. My mind was still
stuck on the fact Paris complemented me, and I felt a strong need to
return it, which is exactly what I did.

 

"Thanks, that means a lot coming from you." I slipped the bracelet mass
out of the beaker and onto a sheet of paper while the acid settled
down. I stated flushing up a little, feeling her stare, the signals
from her interest becoming even stronger. "I have to admit Par, without
you Chilton is boring. I can't relate to a single guy here except maybe
Brad as just a friend, and in two years you, Louise and Madeline are
still the only three I've gotten to know more than your entry in the
Chilton directory. I especially liked slowly getting to know you
though. It took awhile, but I hope I've finally convinced you I'm not
out for academic blood or to take Harvard from you."

 

"I know, I just need to focus those feelings on someone." She took of
her gloves and started to strip from the lab equipment. "I'll still be
trying to scare you if you do make valedictorian."

 

"What if I agree to split it with you?" I asked. That gave her
something to think about, and Paris became deep in her thoughts for a
minute.

 

"Split the title?"

 

"Yeah, we become co-valedictorians and split the duties. You get one
speech to inspire everyone you went to school with; and I get to be
thankful for the three years I was here. It's happened many more times
than you think," I noted.

 

"Still, wouldn't that put an asterisk next to each of our pictures?"

 

"Nope, and I'd make sure that the yearbook committee would line up our
names evenly on one line instead of two where I was on top, and you're
on the bottom."

 

"But I love being on top!" she pouted. I ignored the King Kong-sized
entendre floating in the air with my ill-advised words and placed the
bracelet in a sandwich bag as we finished cleaning up our mess.

 

I finished the conversation as we locked the door and prepared to leave
Chilton. "Look, we'll cross the whole valedictorian issue when we come
to it, but for now we should relax and just let things take course." I
came up with a great idea just then to dispose of the bracelet and
shared. "How about we head to downtown, pick up something to eat at a
café near the Statehouse and you watch me throw the bracelet
into the river off the bridge? We're all caught up for the next few
days schoolwork-wise, so we can hang out for a bit, Lorelai's in
Nashville so there's nothing to do at home but hang out bored." I
awaited her response, hopeful I'd get a couple extra hours with her.
That would also give me a little more time to figure out how to coax
her into the dance marathon.

 

"Sure, I guess." Paris seemed a little uneasy about it, but once she
got to thinking about it, she was cheerful. So we left the school and
arrived downtown around 5:30, walking towards the pedestrian walkway of
the Founders Bridge and talking again, about everything under the sun.
It was strange, yet not at all surprising that Paris and I could get
into such deep conversation as the street lights on the bridge slowly
started sprinkling on across the bridge, the sun beginning to set
towards the west.

 

We stopped at the middle of the bridge on the north sidewalk, looking
down the river and towards Hartford's beautiful skyline, as I took the
bracelet out of my jacket and shook the blackened contents into my hand.

 

Paris looked towards me, and gave me words of encouragement just in
case I decided to change my mind. "One more chance, are you ready to
let go of him?"

 

I took one last look at the bracelet in my hand, and then towards my
blonde compatriot, having a neutral look on her face. Despite the
indifferent image she had, I know that she was relieved that he's gone
from my life. Her hand clasps my wrist in a show of solidarity, and
it's then I know I'd rather go through bumps here and there with her
than smoothly sail with boring Dean.

 

"Goodbye to the past," I said aloud as I tossed the bracelet up in the
air and over the railing. It came apart in ashy pieces as it fell the
thirty feet down and into the water. "Welcome to the future."

 

That was it, the official end of Dean, and a forced phase in my life of
trying to grow to like a boy as the one in my life. The bond to him was
broken, and I was free to pursue what I wanted with Paris. She asked
how it felt, and all I could say back in response is, "I'm free." She
nodded, and we took one last look at the river as the tattered remains
of a love I never really had floated beneath the bridge and out of my
eyesight.

 

We walked back towards downtown and took a footpath into the park, just
walking together and nature-watching as we talked about nothing in
particular. Two girls with nothing to do on a Wednesday night, we both
were in high spirits now. After about forty-five minutes our feet were
tired, so we sat down on a bench.

 

Paris was at her softest and her most beautiful. The sun was fading
behind the giant insurance towers that defined the downtown skyline,
and the pinkish glow from the remaining light made for a perfect
picture opportunity. This was a girl who had worked so hard for
acceptance on her terms, for respect and admiration, and she got it,
but usually had to cede it to her mother. She was never one for
celebrating a victory, only very rarely did she do it. One of those
times sadly was when I first had to meet Sherrie.

 

It was time. I wanted her to win, not only the trophy, but give her a
chance to win my heart. I looked into her eyes and received immediate
attention. I took her hand, placed it atop of mine, and with her
watching me and so much nervous energy on my part, I asked her to be my
partner in the dance marathon.

 

I could see a sense of panic overtaking her as she processed my
inquiry, so as she did, I built up an acceptable answer that would give
her all the reason in the world to abandon what her mind told her and
to follow her heart. When she asked me why her, I explained that I was
obviously partnerless, and with her past experience when she was a
child, I'm sure she'd blow the room, and of course Kirk away.

 

I would be disappointed if she told me she couldn't, but not mad
because she had perfectly valid excuses not to attend. I worked on the
ones I could make dents in, like the sleep and food issues. I could
already see us together in center court at 5:57am on a Sunday morning
as Kirk fainted and gave up, and we were able to claim victory. My head
resting on her breast as she congratulated me on a job well done with
her as we took our last dance of the event, hearing the romantic
strains of Susannah Hoffs singing Eternal Flame over the
loudspeaker. My fingers threaded in her blonde tresses, running through
them in an assuring manner as the scoreboard clock ticked away the last
minutes.

 

She thought about my invitation with grave seriousness, and honestly
let me know she was undecided because of the suddenness of the
invitation.

 

At first I was sad, but it was still a small victory in my mind that
she said maybe. She was at least flattered, and that had to be a good
sign. I patted her hand and let her know that it was OK. I smiled so
she knew I was fine with waiting one more day with an answer.

 

After she dropped me back off at home, I lay down on the couch in the
living room, watched PBS for the next three hours, and indulged on the
bacon cheeseburger and fry plate Luke had made Jess deliver to the
house for me. Can I ask again why my mom is letting this awesome guy
stay on the market when he's such a good provider? If I was straight,
twenty years older and single I so would've jumped Luke years ago! Not
that I would now, that's too Lolitaish and creepy, but c'mon, it's been
ten years! One of them needs to get off their duffs and make the
decision.

 

I fell asleep just after eleven, and had more dreams of Paris. This
time though, with the filter Dean's relationship put over them because
I brainwashed myself into thinking I had a future with him gone, I
thought of Paris and I in Boston, working internships on The Phoenix.
We were living in our own apartment just off the Harvard campus, and
getting along like two people in love. I dreamed of us having silly
arguments over things such as the cell phone bill and the Sacagawea
dollar coin, but in the end one of us kissed the other, and it turned
into shameless necking. Around the middle it did get a little dirty,
with her and I in the restroom of one of Boston's most famous
restaurants getting very intimate in a stall...and then towards the end
we were underneath Luke's chuppa, wearing wedding dresses, exchanging
rings and reciting our vows of love. It ended before the minister or
rabbi (that part I'm unclear on) told me I could kiss the bride, and it
went to black.

 

When I woke up in the morning, I was even more hoping that she'd say
yes to the invitation. I decided that I wasn't going to put any
pressure on her, so when I was in school that day, I only talked to
Paris about school stuff, and did nothing to touch her so her decision
was unclouded.

 

I did run into one complication during the day though. Francie yanked
me in the bathroom before sixth period and demanded that I have Paris
cut funds for the Winter Formal, and instead put them into the
Valentine's Dance and have it held at the Capitol Hilton instead of in
the armory next to campus where the boy's basketball team plays like
usual. So I had to get into another bitch session with Francie that
despite what she may think, the Winter Formal is as important to most
people as the Prom, and not everyone celebrated Valentine's Day. After
we settled that, and with the tape recorder on, I was surprised as to
her next little guerilla order of business.

 

"One more thing before you go Gilmore, I'm going to be bringing up an
issue where the student body will kill funding for the school's
les-bi-gay social club. We could use more of that money to go to an
actual cause, say, the Football Booster Club since they're winning now.
Those fags don't deserve our support; they just take up space and
really don't make a difference at all. Besides, they have no fashion
sense."

 

I couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. Eliminate the
Rainbow Triangle Society? When I had just come out to myself the night
before?! My teeth gritted, though didn't show it as the girl who had a
sorority that was nothing but a pain in the ass to the Chilton
administration for the last seventy years, came out against an idea
that was great when the RTS formed a couple months after I came to
Chilton. They had done a helluva a lot more for the school than the
fucking Puffs ever did, because the wealthy members in that club wanted
to do nothing more but help anyone who came across. Despite some
aversion from the Headmaster at first he let the RTS go forward, and
the senior class of last year voted them the best and most helpful
organization in school behind only the student government, Key Club,
NHS and Rebuilding Together. Paris supports them 125%, as a matter of
fact she hired Nancy Auburn from the club as her new music writer when
Louise's talent was clearly just describing Justin Timberlake's abs.
The RTS wasn't militant or angry, they just wanted more rights for
themselves and those disenfranchised in the school.

 

The Puff's biggest statement? Sandra Day O'Connor, twenty years ago. A
fine thing getting a woman into the Supreme Court, but no one knows she
sat at a dining hall table with them all they way back in the 1940's.
The RTS is one of the many organizations in the state organizing an
effort campaigning the State Senate and Governor Rowland to allow gays
to marry, which is a worthwhile goal I want to see become a reality in
my lifetime. They've also helped with organizing so many school events,
helping construct sets for plays and musicals, and taken on the
responsibility of tour guides when new students come in the school. The
Society may only be 27 members strong, but at least they're public and
proud of it. Much more than I can ever say for the Puffs and the new
organization Francie was sneaking around Charleston's back.

 

I looked into the redhead's eyes with disgust. "You don't have my
support Jarvis, you will not eliminate the Rainbow Triangles."

 

"Oh, I think I will." She gave off an little evil smirk and twinkled
her nose. "You forget you're dealing with the daughter of a powerful
assemblyman who raised the most money in the state to Bush in 2000.
Still wasn't enough to get him our electoral votes, but enough to make
a statement. You're going to help me or I'll undermine Paris and make
her a pathetic puppet."

 

"Look," I told her, backing her towards the mirrors. "I was fine when
it came to the hemlines, the Atkins crap, the cuts in materials to the
homecoming decorations in the freshman and sophomore halls, I agreed
with you that they could be just as creative with less. But these are
students you're talking about, wonderful, caring students who love this
school and are proud to be out of the closet. If we take away their
meeting place, the group statement of our government will be 'go back
into hiding and don't show your face, you don't belong here'. If you
get enough votes, I'll be voting no. If you don't, I'll still be voting
no, and I know Paris will too because that group gave us a big boost in
May during election time. I will vote with you for most everything
else, but I refuse to discriminate against anybody."

 

"What are you, a Democrat?"

 

"Card carrying, last Tuesday I voted for the first time and checked the
entire ticket, straight through. Bush is messing up this country,
taking away women's rights slowly and trying to put an end to the
public school system as we know it. I refuse to cater to your sick
little fantasy of sucking Bush's dick and being his mouthpiece at
Chilton Jarvis."

 

Francie was giving me this stern, angry look, but I think that I got
her to back off for a bit. "I won't bring it up this time, but when
January comes, the dykes better watch out because I'm going to do all
the convincing I can to take away their money. Until then, I'll keep
bugging you to change your vote." She grabbed her bag, and I was glad
that this entire conversation was caught on tape. "One more thing, you
let RTS or Gellar know about this, I'll take you down with me Gilmore.
Watch out."

 

Her evil gaze stared into mine, and I had a new reason to hate Francie.
I always thought she was a little wild with her Republican agenda, but
this was downright scary right-wing, so much that Rush Limbaugh would
tell her to calm down. She walked out of the bathroom, and I was left
with a new dilemma in my mind. Let Paris know about Francie's meddling
and lose my credibility? Yes, I had her on tape saying hateful things
about gays and lesbians, but if those were to be released, RTS might
become militant and try to hurt Francie. She was misguided, but I
didn't mean harm to her.

 

But if I didn't tell either Paris or RTS? Francie would win, she'd
gather the support necessary, and I'd be the fall girl for not doing
enough. I wasn't out like them, so I would have to suffer in silence
for the next two months. Thankfully, there's still be time to keep her
in check. I could gather the facts for a case against her, but I'd
definitely have to be much more careful about every move I made to gain
Paris' love. The goal was now to keep it within the bounds of Stars
Hollow, and away from Hartford and Chilton as much as I could.

 

Brushing off Francie's newest attack on our government, I went to class
and kept my fingers crossed that I'd be taking to the dance floor with
Paris this morning at six. The time thankfully seemed to fly, and with
no meetings after school and the special Franklin a big success, Paris
was in good spirits.

 

I sat at a bench next to the fountain, playing with the cuff of my
sweater and nervous as hell, ready to prepare for a life of 'just
friends' if she did say no. Two days as a self-declared lesbian and I
was already thinking about the future of our friendship and an
unresolved crush if rejected. Paris set her messenger bag at her side,
and I gave her a hopeful, yet vague look that disguised my emotions.

 

"So Par, did you consider? Do you want to go?" My heartbeat thumped in
my chest and...

 

She said she would honored to be. My mind recycled the answer, looking
around for any negativity in her voice, but it wasn't to be found.
Paris had accepted my invitation, and in less than 38 hours, I'd be
holding her in my arms for hopefully 24.

 

She said yes, she said yes, she said yes!! My mind was screaming
in victory and I hadn't felt so happy since my mom showed me the letter
that confirmed I was going to Chilton, and started this whole thing in
motion. I tuned out everything else as I enveloped my girl in a huge
bear hug and heard the remainder of her answer muffled into the Chilton
logo on my sweater. I didn't care though, the only word that was
important in that was honored. Paris was my date for the dance
marathon, and was as excited as I was.

 

Well, after she started breathing again, my victory hugged almost made
her pass out since the sweater was cutting off her path to air! What
can I say, love is a funny thing.

 

With the doubt of a partner gone, I was free to tell her all about the
strategies of staying up all day and night, and how fun it was going to
be and what to watch out for when it came to Kirk and his tactics. I
think around the route 26 exit her major answer became an 'mm-hmm'
mumbled out with a smile because I was wearing her out. But still as
she pulled into the driveway, she started to get her enthusiasm up, and
I swear her voice became a scary combination between Babbette's and
Sookie's when they get into happy-gush mode.

 

"I'll see you on Saturday at 5:45 sharp Rory, we're gonna take the
title this year! I'll be practicing at home from the moment I get in up
until nine tomorrow night." She smiled at me and set her hand on mine
as we touched for the last time that school week, since Chilton had a
no school day the next. "I promise you, I'll sweep you off your feet at
least a couple times." There was the sort-of flirt voice again, and I
think my heart rose in my chest about three feet from her declaration.
After telling her I hoped so, we went our separate ways, and I got into
my sweatpants and t-shirt so that I could stretch myself out and
prepare to put my body through the big grind coming up soon.

 

I had made a stop at the library the night before for every dance book
I could find, and had opened at least twenty windows on my iBook set to
various websites with various steps. It was tough to practice them with
only myself in the room, but I made do. After about the seventh time
though, I got the quilt from Lorelai's bed and put it on the living
room floor so my butt wouldn't bruise up again from my legs tangling
together at inopportune times.

 

I hummed the music to myself, but I found myself embarrassed by my
humming voice. So after that I flipped on the cable box and turned on
an audio channel with show tunes, big band and orchestral music on it.
That kept me in tune much better than my own voice.

 

I practiced Thursday night for six hours, only stopping when Jess came
in to bring me my food. He gave me this sort of weird look as I
shimmied across the floor and noticed him just as I tripped over the
edge of the quilt and right onto my boobs. That evil, evil boy laughed
at my pain, but I forgave him for providing cappuccino, chili fries, a
salad and sugar-packed doughnuts. I made sure not to say who my date
was, and he didn't surprisingly press further as we ate together, and
he described a scene at school earlier in the day where Dean tried to
flirt with a ditzy blonde in order to try to get into the dance
marathon. She must not have been that stupid though, because she told
him she knew about the diner incident and that he had too much baggage
for her to consider going out with him.

 

"Looks like in the words of Billy Idol, he'll be dancing with himself!"
Jess joked, and I groaned and threw a pillow at his head.

 

"Please, I never want to hear about Dean and his habits ever again. I
hope he leaves this town, I should've known stalking stockers were bad
for my love life!" With all the sexual tension gone due to the Duper
kiss and the influence of Dean far away, Jess and I had a great
heart-to-heart that night that surely would prove to my mother it was
safe to let him in the house from now on.

 

Still, as he left, I realized something as I started putting away stuff
and cleaning up the house; I was all alone in knowing that I was in
love with Paris, and that I was gay. No one else did, and it was
stifling because I wanted to scream from the rooftops that I wanted
her. She at least had Fran to vent to or confide in. Me? I really had
no one. If Lane were to know I might trigger the only part of her
Christian upbringing she was opposed to, since I never heard her say
whether she was for or against gays. Madeline would probably spill the
news to everyone within a 30 mile radius of Harford moments after I
said it, and Louise? Uhhh, maybe, but she'd probably be more likely to
rope me into a threesome than to give me advice to what to do. I never
really got to know anybody else in Chilton or at Stars Hollow High.

 

Who was left? There's no one I'd relate to, I thought as I went
to bed, clouded with my thoughts about revealing my sexual orientation
to anyone. I wanted at least someone to know and give me a show of
support, albeit silently as Paris and I shared that long dance, so I
could have pride in myself.

 

I got up Friday morning, showered, dressed, ate, and then started
rehearsing anew. I was getting my confidence up somewhat, though things
still clouded me. Would Paris go for the more intimate kind of dancing
or keep her distance, and would she shy away from me during the small
breaks? There were still some questions about it all hanging in the air.

 

Thankfully there was one thing not stopping me from being my best; the
traditional Friday night dinner with my grandparents. I called Grandpa
and explained the situation I was in with having to be up early in the
morning (not telling him who was my dance partner), and he readily
agreed to have Grandma not expect me this evening. I couldn't go anyway
even if I wanted to; the Jeep was stuck at Gypsy's with a blown
radiator so I was stuck in town for the weekend. With that burden out
of the way, I went back to practicing.

 

About one I decided to take a little break with my stomach growling for
more sustenance, so I stopped by Luke's and had a BLT sandwich with
fries. Lunch on a weekday lately without Paris however seems just that
much more lonely, I had gotten so used to sitting next to her, munching
on my salad and coming out of a shell created by the headphones of my
CD Walkman. Even in a different venue, my mind thought that her aura
was in the seat next to me, comforting me into the habit of routine. I
thought it strange to think of it that way, but I wasn't about to stop
my mind from thinking about her. I even considered calling her just so
I could hear her voice some time in that day, but talked myself out of
it since she probably was in hyperfocus mode, all of her energy
targeted towards being the best she could when she takes the floor
tomorrow morning.

 

After finishing eating and giving Luke a sort-of status report about
how his favorite customer was doing (My mom's doing fine, though a
little lonely in her little shoebox of a hotel near the Ryman), I left,
walking about town and taking in the beautiful cool November day. I
strolled across the bridge, just thinking about what I would have to do
to reintroduce Paris to the community.

 

I think she only has three allies in the Hollow for now; Mom, me and
Taylor, everyone else thought she was so abrasive when she came here
for her Oppenheimer story, and she was just a little too diva-ish (I
don't use the term in a bad way, but she was pretty demanding) during
the rehearsals last year at the dance studio. I think eventually she
can get along with the townspeople and consider them more than 'Yankee
rednecks', I mean she's coming here to dance, isn't she?

 

Somehow, thinking about the rehearsals last year led me into the former
railroad depot that now doubles as Miss Patty's dance studio and the
village's de facto meeting hall. It's also sort of an extension of the
town's history museum, which is near the Inn, but since it's so close
to downtown they put an exhibit in the front room so people can look at
it and remember when and think back wistfully to that time they did
this or that.

 

Of course, today being the dance marathon, pictures and artifacts from
the event were on display, like the buzzer that was used to denote that
a couple was being taken out for falling down or stopping before it was
replaced a few years ago. There were some pictures from the first
events in the fifties, faded sepia toned or black and white snapshots
of girls and boys, along with their parents having fun at the event.
Somehow it kept the big band influence through the late sixties and
through the seventies, though let's just say I'm glad there was no film
of the event in 1977. Having to see a picture of Taylor in full John
Travolta mode with the leisure suit and ruffled shirt is something I'd
like to excise from my memory, that man can scare me sometimes so
unexpectedly.

 

There were a couple of photo albums on a table below the exhibit, so
with nothing much else to do, I sat down with one of them, marked
'1980-2000' and paged through it, seeing the faces of my childhood blur
by. The townspeople I know so well look at their most innocent and
fancy-free, like there was nothing weighing down on them. I look
through, in awe and confusion as I see all the men and women, and in
some cases boys and girls dancing in the pictures, the dim glow of the
spotlights throughout the gymnasium highlighting their shadows and
facial features.

 

I note men and women strongly because I wasn't finding any pictures of
men with men, or women with women unless they were related to each
other. If my mom had been here this year she may have danced with me in
lieu of Dean, and that wouldn't have been considered odd at all. Another
girl though...my thoughts were becoming clouded as I paged through
the early eighties again, trying to find a case of a girl dancing with
another girl. Come to think of it, I've never heard of anyone
except males coming out in this town. I didn't know whether to feel
like a pioneer for my love for Paris, or to be scared of going into
truly virgin territory when it came to love in this town.

 

I ended up at the page marking the 1988 marathon, and was reading
through the results page, when I suddenly found my eye catching
something familiar. I stopped and reread the winner of first place for
that year.

 

Champions - Patricia LaCosta and Gerald Savoy (alt. Lorelai V.
Gilmore)

 

"Huh?" I had always been under the assumption that my mother had
never tasted victory in the competition at all, but there was her name,
in parentheses, in the same class as Miss Patty and Jerry Savoy, who
had operated a tap school in the building next to Luke's for years
until about '96 before he retired and moved down to New Mexico. I was
under the assumption that my mom and Jerry shared a few dances together
while Miss Patty took a rest break.

 

However, when I turned to the photos, I saw a picture of Patty and my
mother, dancing together. My head was buried somewhere in the
background of the picture, and since I remember nothing about my life
except occasional flashes and scenes before my first day of
kindergarten, it was natural that I never remembered the event, even
fourteen years later. But there was my mom, being swung around by my
then-ballet teacher, her skirt flaring out and around.

"But I thought she never won," I told myself, looking at the picture
and realizing that even as an alternate, she did. Maybe that's why she
wanted to win so bad, to win it with a full effort, and not as just an
alternate...

 

"Your mother was a wonderful dancer, classically trained." A voice
suddenly reached my ears, and I didn't know who it was. I got up from
the chair and turned around, finding Miss Patty smiling at me.

 

"Oh, hi." I looked at Miss Patty with reverence. Even though I was
never really a good student of hers because I didn't gain a good dance
gene, she always has had a soft spot in her heart for me. "I was just
looking at the albums from the past marathons."

 

I gave her the album where I had paged to, and it was opened to the
picture of her dancing with my mother. "I uh, never knew that mother
was part of a winning team. Also, that we had alternate dance partners
in the marathon before."

 

"Kirk abused the privilege too much back in 1992, so we had to change
the rules," she stated. "From then on, it was twenty-four hours with
two people. We hated to do it, but there was no other way around it; we
had to stop Kirk from winning too much."

 

"Oh." I was in a daze, knowing this new fact about my mother. "How long
did you end up dancing with her altogether that year?"

Miss Patty counted down on her fingers as she tried to remember how
much time she did. "About seven hours I'd say, Jerry was a little off
through those mid-afternoon and early evening hours. Your mother saved
us that year; the way she could swing was amazing." She looked at the
picture closely. "She wasn't even in the contest when she came into the
gym, just stopping by with you from the Inn to drop off some
refreshments. No one invited her to the marathon because they figured
she was just a single mother working at the inn, she wouldn't have time
for it."

 

"When did she get invited in then?" I asked my eyes wide as I heard
Patty tell me the story of how my mom helped her win the dance marathon.

 

I learned from her that I had been in Sookie's care that day while my
mom worked at the Inn. By then she had been promoted to a desk clerk, a
few steps below her current position of manager. That year she was
coordinating food and drink for the event, and back then we were
depending on the Inn for almost everything; she didn't even walk into
Luke's for the first time until three years later. As Patty said, I was
her entire world for the longest time and my mother rarely either went
out on dates or set foot outside of the county as she worked herself
ragged to give me a good living.

 

That day though, something changed. My mom looked forlornly towards the
floor as the happy couples swept their way across the floor, and was
getting the bug into her to want to participate. She hadn't danced for
years, at least five because of my coming into the picture a few days
after she turned sixteen (at least in embryonic form), and had been
withdrawn since then, taking a 'sister doing it for herself' attitude.

 

"I went up to her during a break," Miss Patty continued, "and asked her
what the matter was. Your mom was looking at the floor with this
devastated look in her eyes, like she wanted to be there too." She
noticed me start to feel a little guilty and set a hand on my shoulder.
"Don't worry dear, she wasn't blaming you at all, you were and still
are her life. Your mom wanted some kind of break from her job, and
Jerry needed to put his feet on ice a little longer than usual. She
told me 'I never got to go to my prom, and they seem to be having a lot
of fun'. I asked her why she didn't join, and--"

 

"She had too much pride to admit that she was lonely and didn't feel
like putting her fun over that of mine," I finished, sighing. I hated
that for the longest time, even though she never admitted it, Lorelai
swore off men because she was afraid of falling for one and putting my
needs in a swift decline.

 

"Yes, you could say that. Anyways, there was a bellboy who was helping
her out with snacks and drinks, so I figured that I might give her a
little fun. So I offered her my hand and asked if she'd like to be my
alternate. Your mother was quite stubborn, and it took about five
minutes to convince her that Mia wouldn't be mad if she shrugged off
her responsibility for a little while."

 

"So, you danced with her."

 

"More like she danced with me dear, your mother could really cut up a
rug back then!" Miss Patty laughed heartily, and she pointed out my
head in the photo. "You and Sookie came in during the third hour she
was my alternate, and were both rooting us on. Jerry was glad to give
up the spotlight a bit, and she really turned some men's heads. They
were surprised to see a woman like me dance with another without a
second thought. When she finally wanted to stop, it was hard, because
in all the years I was a participant, she was my best partner."

 

I bit my lip, nervous to ask a question to the older Latina woman. But
needing confirmation, I asked anyways. "So no one objected to you and
my mom dancing? I mean usually its stubborn boy/girl, and if it is a
woman with a woman, usually they're related so it's OK."

 

"There was one woman in the audience who barked at us that we were
living in sin." Instead of a look of shame however, Miss Patty just
grinned widely. "Of course, she was part of a one-woman crusade to ban
spirits and dancing from the two altogether, so no one really listened
to her."

 

"But why hasn't Mom mentioned all this to me? I mean I just found out
now from one picture in one photo album, and I was always under the
impression that she had never come close to the goal."

 

"Because of her pride, she wants to win it all with 100% completion.
She appreciated me crediting her with at least a 1/3 of the victory,
but she said it wasn't enough. She would have done it again the next
year, but then was when she tried to start working for a house. She
never came back until you turned eleven to the marathon, and everything
about 1988 was forgotten by most of the townspeople."

 

I was still numb from the revelation that my mom had danced with
another woman. Sure, I know her and Miss Patty would remain nothing but
friends, but that she was so fancy free about it and didn't feel any
guilt, at least according to Patty, piqued my interest. I'l definitely
have to bring up this hidden tidbit of information she's been keeping
from me when she comes back from Nashville Sunday night.

 

Right then though, my focus was on the fact I found myself wanting to
confide in Patty about my interest in Paris. She was a very maternal
figure in my life, almost as close to me in the early years as Grandma
currently is. She was the first one I brought Dean up to so he could
get a job in town, and somehow had always been a comforting figure in
my life.

 

Patty also, has been a little wild. She's always shared these
awe-inspiring tales of her times in south Florida and Cuba and of the
risky dances she had done, along with the interesting people she met
along the way. Before then, I was afraid to tell anyone about my
self-confirmed status.

 

However, Miss Patty started drawing it out of me slowly, and in her own
way. With her hand on my shoulder, she pulled up the other chair next
to me and tried to let me know she was feeling bad for me.

 

"Rory," she started, "I heard about you and Dean at the diner Tuesday
night. I'm sorry he won't be sweeping you off your feet tomorrow during
the dance."

 

I felt numb. She had spread the gossip as soon as she knew of course,
but minimized it unlike she usually did. "I'm OK actually," I told her.
"I wasn't in love with him anymore, the flame was dead. It's just
that...I don't know." I stopped, afraid to come right out with it. I
wanted to be careful, and be evasive with my confession.

 

"Just what child?" Patty then brought up the suspicions that had been
building inside of her. "You can tell me."

 

"Well," I started, my voice shaky and nervous. "I was looking through
those books, trying to find out if there has been anyone in the contest
who has been..." I stopped and wandered off. The 'G' word was at the
tip of my tongue. I wanted to ease myself into confession though, or
have a way to get off the topic in case she got uncomfortable. "If
they're from out of town. Not a citizen."

 

"Ooh, plenty of people. Not the obvious tourists mind you, but yes,
we've allowed non-Hollow residents in." She smiled at me with her
bright pink lipstick and got down to my level. "Why, do you have a
partner yet?"

 

"Actually, yes. I asked them yesterday." I played evasive, trying not
to admit who was sharing my dance card.

 

"This person said yes?"

 

"Mm-hmm. Actually, the person is from my school, Chilton. Truth be
told, I didn't know if the invitation would be accepted, but in the
end, it was." Good job so far, I thought to myself. Remain
evasive, use the unisexual terms to your advantage.

 

"Have I seen this person before?" Patty asked. "I really liked the
chemistry I saw in the studio between you and that boy, what was his
name? DuBlaye, DuMaurrier, DuGrey--"

 

Please don't bring him up again! My mind jumped in, panicked.
"No, no, it's not him, and I never liked him, sorry to say." I then
sighed, sucked it all up, and admitted whom I was taking. "Actually..."
I stopped for a moment, wanting to back out for a beat. I figured
however that I had gotten this far, might as well finish it
off."...It's a her. I should've let you know first since you're a judge
and all, I didn't know if it was disallowed with the rules, I should've
read them--"

 

"Of course it is," Patty told me, reassuring me. "Why did you think it
wasn't?"

 

"Because I was looking at the book and didn't see any unrelated
girl/girl couples instead of you and my mom, and I was afraid that's
because the judges made an exception." Why was I acting like such a
wreck towards Miss Patty? I couldn't figure it out for the life of me,
and thought that aversion would work well. I was becoming somewhat
unbalanced, and losing my courage to confide in anyone. Maybe this
is all a mistake, I should take back my invitation, Paris isn't ready
for the eyes of the town focused on just the two of us. I could
already see the results of that; a friendship-ending argument, and a
life full of never-minds and what-could-have-beens.

 

Miss Patty though, seemed to catch on to what I was trying to bring
across, even if my words didn't say it.

 

"Rory, dear?" she asked, a voice filled with neutrality instead of
judgment. "Why are you panicking over her being here?"

 

"Because," I said, choking back my emotions. "The thing is, well,
uh...you know some of your stories from down in Miami, where you said
that you felt as equal to the men as you did women?"

 

She nodded yes towards me, telling me to go on. "Well, if I were to
tell you why I invited this girl, would you be able to keep it a
secret? I'm sort of not ready to reveal it to anyone yet."

 

"I can." she told me, without argument.

 

"Okay, well you remember that girl who rented this place out last year
for the rehearsals? The short blonde girl with the temper?"

 

The older woman laughed for a bit. "How could I forget, she was one of
the more unique customers I've had to deal with."

 

"Well, she's the one," I started. "I asked her to go..." I looked down
towards my fingers, trying to distract myself from everything I was
trying to say. I could've left then, but I think that Miss Patty was
starting to get a basic idea from the vague clues I was dropping.

 

"Hon, do you like this girl?"

 

"Of course I do, I wouldn't have asked her otherwise."

 

"You think she's pretty, right?"

I was starting to ease up a little then; Miss Patty seemed to not want
to press too hard for an answer. "She's more than that to me. Honestly,
I think she's beautiful."

 

"Let's start using her name," she admonished, trying to take me out of
my vagueness. "Paris is beautiful to you?"

 

"Yes, Paris is," I admitted. "I just want to give her a good time you
know? Usually none of the men notice her at all, and she used to be a
great dancer when she was younger."

 

"There's more to this than giving her fun, isn't there?" She turned
around and smiled at me. "When Dean first came around, you felt
tingles, right?"

 

"Yes."

 

"How about with Paris? Do you miss her when she's not anywhere near
you?"

 

Miss her? That was an understatement, considering I didn't want her to
leave lately and I was using most of my night and weekend minutes just
talking to her on the phone. "With Paris," I told Patty slowly, "it's
much more than tingles with her. I feel my heart beat speed just
looking at any notes she gives me, tracing her handwriting with my
finger. Whenever I see her entry on my cellphone, or her name in my AIM
buddy list, I get butterflies in my stomach, a longing that I just want
to push down. I haven't felt that with Dean for at least five months,
ever since I left to join her in Washington for the summer. We touch,"
I started tearing up, but smiling, "and I feel sparks shoot up my
spine, even from something as simple as exchanging a writing instrument
and shaking her hand. Even when we're angry at each other, I can't help
but think that our arguments are hollow in any way, we put all our
effort into him."

 

I felt Patty's index finger up on my chin, and she brought my face up
so I could make eye contact with her. "So why do you feel like you
should change your mind about having her dance with you?"

 

I sighed. "Because, this is a small town, everybody knows my name, my
actions, my feelings at any time. The moment you found out I was done
with Dean, the news was spread. It scares me to think that I don't like
boys any more sometimes. I'm thinking of nothing but Paris and how I've
started trusting her with so much, and that this town is so
conservative..." My mind was reeling around the fact I had just
admitted my sexual orientation to Patty, and I was saying much more
than I ever thought I would. Her as a confidante was kind of scary.

 

"Come here, stand up dear." She took my hand, got me up from my chair,
and gave me a motherly hug of comfort as she reassured me. "Rory, do
you remember the legend of the founding of this town?"

 

She released me, and I remembered right off the top of my head the
story. "Two lovers, separated by those who didn't believe they were
meant to be together."

 

"That's right."

 

"In the end however," I recalled. "They ran away from their homes, and
with only a band of stars and their love guiding them, they found each
other where the trail of stars ended, approximately where the gazebo
was today. They laid eyes on each other, and fate guided the rest of
their lives."

 

"See? Science and mores might be against you Rory, but if you know in
your heart that you were meant to love that other woman, why stop
fate?"

 

"But what about her mother, society in general and Hartford? There's so
much going against her, and they'll be angry at me for pursuing this,
and I don't even know how she feels. I'm honestly getting scared, I
mean we're considered golden children..."

 

"You know if it's meant to be already," she reminded me, which I did.
Paris and Rory, Rory and Paris, Paris and I, all of those combinations
sounded so right in my head. "Some people in this town and in your
school are going to be against you two, but sometimes, love isn't as
clean-cut as it should be. It's a complicated, puzzling maze of a mess
at times. But if you know in your heart that this girl, this Paris, is
meant to be your soulmate, don't miss out and go for it. I promise you,
by tomorrow night, you will know if you've done right for yourself.
Life might be against you, but love wins in the end."

 

"Love always wins," I completed. It was starting to feel right once
again, everything making sense. I like Paris, maybe even love her, and
for Miss Patty to compare us to the Legend of Stars Hollow, it put
things in a whole new perspective.

 

I was ready to put my entire life on the line to make it known to Paris
that I was meant to have a place in her heart, and that I would
reserved a place in mine if she returned those feelings for me. In just
the period of three days, things had turned upside-down and inside-out,
and destiny's wheels were starting to spin. It had always been there,
from the day we first met at Chilton. When she introduced herself, even
though she was in the mode of bringing me down, she still touched me in
order to make it known she'd be there in my life whether I liked it or
not, her arm brushed against mine, and I felt a spark right then and
there. Then a couple months later, when I went to that college fair and
she made it clear to that her Harvard dreams would still be on, whether
I'd be there or not, it was starting to become clear. Paris was
sticking by me, whether we liked each other or not.

 

Now, we were two years removed from there, and I was sitting in the
same dance studio where I had my first brush with the trouble with
relationships when Dean and I fell asleep on the mats after the Winter
Formal, hours removed from the first time I thought of Paris as cute,
but in a way not associated usually with another girl.

 

I'm still scared of what's going to happen once I say the words 'I'm a
lesbian' to my mother, my father, my grandparents, the townspeople, my
fellow Chilton peers. But there's one thing I learned with Patty
telling me it was fine despite not saying outright that I was gay. I
didn't need to; she knew it without my mentioning it. No matter what,
there would be at least one person on my side, trying to defend me, and
she let me know that by saying if I ever had to introduce Paris at a
town meeting or an event, she would defend me.

 

We finished talking about the marathon, her going into more detail
about my mom dancing in '88. She crossed her fingers with mine and
swore that she would keep my secret, and would not reveal it to anyone.
I could see it in her eyes; I was the girl who had grown up living and
breathing Stars Hollow, and was now coming into my own as a young
woman, deciding my destiny. We hugged, and she brushed off my thanks
for being a kind ear by telling me to make sure Paris was ready to go
from hell and back in order for us to win that trophy, together. Even
though she was a judge, because the marathon is a timed contest I
wouldn't be influencing her in any way. This was just a talk, girl to
girl, where I was able to come out to someone and not be talked down
to. Miss Patty is a kind old soul, and despite her reputation as the
town gossip, I had found myself trusting her with my secret. So I left
the studio a few minutes later, a weight lifted off of my soul from
revelation, and ready to face anyone who might object to a choice of
dance partner, or if the stars align like they did for those two who
created the Legend of Stars Hollow, my soulmate.

 

I practiced my moves for the rest of the day, did my homework, and then
ended the early night by placing a call up to my father in Boston. I
let him know where his ex-girlfriend was and that I was doing fine. He
was a mess though. Sherrie had started developing pains after doing too
much at the Halloween party, and two days after she fainted in her
office, her doctor ordered her on a 24/7 bed rest regimen for the
remainder of the pregnancy. That meant my poor dad became a glorified
servant and tried to help her out as much as possible, but still got
yelled at so much because she was stuck in bed 'no thanks to his magic
sperm', as he described her saying on a day she wasn't feeling too hot.
Maybe you'll finally be responsible now, I thought to myself,
the responsibility of a new life was going to give my dad a new chance
at life, and hopefully he wouldn't screw it up. Of course, I thanked
God because my mother and I wouldn't have to race up the 93 to
participate in a baby shower she had planned with next weekend with her
work friends. Yes, I'll love my baby sister, but not enough to
participate before her birth in a karaoke competition. No, I'm not
kidding, Sherrie had a video singing machine she was intending to foist
on all of the shower guests. It was enough to make me cry since I have
absolutely no musical talent whatsoever.

 

When I crawled beneath my covers at seven, usually a time I'd be eating
at the grandparent's house, I had high hopes that I'd have one of those
nights of sleep where you go to bed, and your mind plays this cool
trick on you so that when you wake up in the morning you think that
only a few seconds have passed by, which makes the time flash by so
much faster. The tea I drank to get myself to sleep worked wonders, and
when I woke up this morning, I was up like a light and refreshed in a
way I never had been before.

 

I know whatever I do in order to mute the excitement of Paris in my
arms for so long a time will be for naught, no matter what, so I took
my shower, threw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, and ate a hearty
breakfast of pancakes and eggs (bless you Luke for opening up at 4:30am
just this once!) before I back home to get ready. On my way there Mom
called, talking to me in an irritating Southern accent as she joked
about hooking up with a country singer named Dill. Somehow she was
having fun despite all the PowerPoint presentations, boring product
demos and confabs going on through Nashville's convention center, but
was still looking forward to coming home to Connecticut. Even though I
had all this time alone to myself, I miss her so much too. The only
really good thing that's come out of her leaving for the weekend was
the open for Paris to dance with me today, but I may have been able to
pull that off with her still here.

 

I got back into my house and got ready for the dance, sliding on the
red polka-dotted dress I had picked up from the town's vintage shop and
finding that I fit the garment so perfectly. The curves of the fabric
flattered my slim form, and I was imagining Paris' fingers sliding down
my back as I zipped it up in the back, my hands shaky and clammy from a
case of nerves. I applied just enough makeup to last the entire day,
since I'll probably touch myself up when the 6pm break comes along. I
curl my hair into a classy coif, and slip a pink rose into it in order
to give it just that perfect period touch that I'm looking to impress
Paris with.

 

One thing I want her to notice and not vocalize though is my choice of
underwear. Normally I'd go conservative, but since this is what might
be considered a first date in the regular dating world, I decided to go
fancy with my choice. A special thin peach strapless bra, combined with
matching cotton panties I can barely feel beneath my dress. God, I hope
she likes the lengths I've gone to impress her, because after six, the
ball is in her court. I've extended the invitation to her for my love,
and Paris should be fighting to make the most of it.

 

Finally, it's time to leave. I walk out into the cool, clear early
morning of the early day, the moon still over the town. I can see the
stars over the haze of the streetlights, and I seem to come up with a
theory as I walk towards downtown. There's a trail, I wondered
to myself. The stars are in a line between here and the distant
skyline of Hartford.

 

Fate? Coincidence? I'm not sure, to tell you the truth.

 

I check my watch, reading 5:40am, and watch as the residents of the
town make their way to the gym. Some of the citizens are staying at
home of course, because they're sane.

 

I guess that makes me insane for participating in this 'wacky'
tradition. But you know what? In the end, if I can make a good case to
Paris that she should be mine, it won't be wacky, but very romantic.
It's like a dream come true from a modern day story book. We dance
around our feelings for a long time, then one day, we both realize how
much we have in common. That despite things that might seem to doom our
relationship, we'll persevere and live through the ups and downs.
Maybe, just maybe Paris and I can survive all of this adversity long
enough to have a long and fulfilling relationship, and God willing,
maybe get to the point where both of us complain to each other about
our first grey hairs.

 

Paris is going to look beautiful in my eyes, even if she's wearing a
freakin' potato sack, and I know she's going to dance divinely, even if
her humility causes her to say she really isn't all that good. Right
now, I can even say I'm feeling the tingles on my lower back where her
fingers will be resting as we dance the day and night away, 6am can't
come soon enough.

 

I arrive at the school, and notice the line of couples in front of the
doors leading into the gymnasium. The hallway is crowded with about
eighty other people. There's still some doubts in my mind that this
might work, because the competition this year seems to be much thicker
than ever, there's probably some Harfordians and maybe even a New
Yorker somewhere in that crowd.

I then see this one graceful woman, who looks to be about 24, with her
guy, practicing her spins and dance steps. An image takes root within
my mind of Paris doing that too, her slender fingers intertwined with
mine and her secret smile directed towards me as the skirt of my dress
rises up in the air, and I do a 720º spin, two revolutions around
on my slightly high heels. Then she abruptly stops me, and with my back
turned, she dips me down low, my back braced up against her hand. My
hair tickles the floor, and her face is moving closer towards mine, so
close I can feel her breath. My dream self prepares to close the
distance as I imagine the man and woman I watch to be Paris and
myself...

"Couple number 34, please separate and save that kind of dancing for
the floor!" Uggh, there goes Taylor with his megaphone, trying to keep
all the dancing clean and the contest fair. He's watched a few too many
reports on channel 61 about the new craze that's sweeping the nation,
only not, called freak dancing. I certainly have never seen it at a
Chilton dance; no one will pull it off here because it's
anachronistically wrong. I could easily see Paris pulling away from me
to admonish a couple if they even tried to bring the Macarena into this
1940s themed dance...

It's now I realize the eyes of the judges (Miss Patty excepting) are
going to be on all the male/female couples, and away from Paris and I.
Basically, because no one has known Paris enough and I've never proven
myself on the floor, we might be the dark horses in the competition,
coming from almost nowhere to win.

Kirk is looking towards me with his newest partner, and I can't help
but think how shocked he'll be once he sees that with my partner, he'll
have some real competition going on. I smile towards him, hiding the
fact that I'm currently thinking about a wild move where Paris slides
me between her skirt so I get an eyeful of what she has under her
dress, then turns around, grabs my hand and meets me on the other side
to resume the dance anew. Maybe Kirk's brain will see that, overload
from all those lesbianic thoughts that suddenly infiltrate his head,
and just faint on the floor with no provocation, causing him to have to
leave the competition.

Hmm, I think my strategy is starting to form, and hopefully Paris will
be a willing participant in helping us both to victory. Taylor's never
going to know what hit him this year once we take that floor in fifteen
minutes...

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To be continued...