Natalie stares at the dress as it lies on the floor. It is a reflective and questioning stare, and one unlikely to ever provide a satisfactory answer. A piece of woven evidence to what transpired the night before. Still stunned and lacking any other reaction, she picks it up and examines it.
The stain on the dress is not hers. Hidden amid the black and white polka dots, Natalie can only imagine what her roommate might say - or worse, ask - were it more obvious. She bundles it to further hide the spot, hoping to prevent any possible revelation to any possible visitor, blithely unaware that her confused but all too revealing smile is cause enough to elicit questioning. Feeling the grin, Natalie raises the dress to cover her face, unsure if shame should be the proper reaction. For though the stain is not hers, the dress most certainly is. It is then she notices the scent, and her inhibitions of both posture and memory suddenly find themselves with no desire to hold.
She remembers the seduction and everything about it. The tastes, the smells, the communication with the eyes and the alarming lack of spoken word. Natalie loves men, and never imagined herself in such a situation, but she fell victim of someone who had done this before... someone who knew how to use strangeness to reinforce one's sexuality by forcing them to break it. Its effectiveness was quick and more than a little startling, but as she tasted the lipstick of another amid hints of raspberry schnapps and strawberry vodka, the fear and exhilaration mixed themselves into an inebriation that no form of alcohol had any hope of inducing.
In the name of cautious experimentation, she obeyed the order of her temporary lover to unbutton the blouse that covered a body so similar to her own. Recalling a technique favored by her boyfriends, she paused to taste the perceived but nonexistent flavor of a woman's nipples. Natalie herself preferred gentle handling of her bosom, but Stephanie wanted to be bitten, and Natalie complied. Again mimicking the motions of men, her hands immediately wandered to lower places. Stephanie, however, stopped her and teasingly chided Natalie to have patience. Natalie felt that it was a violent patience, this forced extension of tactile lingering, but as she became overwhelmed with an understanding of what men experience when every inch of them reveals a heartbeat, she knew that the violence would resolve itself in ecstasy.
Briefly, Natalie separated herself from the moment and asked if she, too, should undress. The answer revealed itself in Stephanie's finger to Natalie's mouth, followed by an at-once gentle and rough push to the bed. Slowly, reassuringly, Stephanie straddled Natalie's left thigh and began to oscillate back and forth, gently squeezing her own thighs together in a rhythm timed to her own needs. Natalie gasped as Stephanie's left hand found its way in accompaniment, as if a master conductor in a finely balanced orchestra. Though this overture would not end in fanfare, but in a pouring out, both of emotion and fluids. A final allegro whose only written note would be a stain hidden amid the polka dots of a dress.
Afterward, when Stephanie had left, drunk with both alcoholic spirit and satisfaction, Natalie let it all sink in. Her upbringing caused her to feel a certain dirtiness with what she just did, and she took an extended shower in an attempt to wash off the mental filth. But the filth wouldn't go away, and she found herself more and more aroused as she thought about it, an arousal that soon took over the original purpose of the shower.
No, she decides, continuing to hold the dress near her smile. She should not feel dirty, nor will she. Despite the new memories she will forever willingly relive, she knows who she is and what she wants to make her happy. That she delved into something else has no bearing on that.
Still, she finds herself enjoying the scent of her dress. Perhaps she will wait until tomorrow to do the laundry.
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