Spitting Image

Ivy twirls in the new dress, the fabric catching light, but Cherie keeps her back turned. She asks again if it looks good. Cherie only flicks a look over her shoulder and offers a half-hearted nod before heading for the door. At the threshold she pauses. "You should spend more time with Scarlett Sage," she says. "She'll help your reputation." Ivy watches her disappear and feels her stomach drop. Hours later she's curled on Scarlett's bed, flipping through an old yearbook. Scarlett notices the distracted look, asks what happened. Ivy spills everything. Scarlett studies her, decides her suspicion is right. "You like her." Ivy can't hold it anymore. Yes. Cherie is the one who makes her wet. Scarlett grins, because they dress alike and use the same shade on their mouths. She has a plan. That night they slip into identical uniforms. Cherie is dozing. Scarlett whispers that she'll open Cherie up so Ivy can take the final step. Her lips meet Cherie's while the woman's eyes stay half-lidded. Cherie wakes confused, murmuring protests, but Scarlett is already kissing a trail down her neck, fingers sliding beneath the sheets, working with practiced patience. When Cherie is panting, Scarlett backs away and waves Ivy forward. Ivy tries, but nerves pinch her. She yields ground again, and Scarlett returns, tearing the rest of Cherie's clothing free. She nods toward the damp heat between Cherie's thighs. Ivy's hand replaces Scarlett's. Cherie moans blindfolded, lost in the overlapping fingers, the overlapping tongues. Only when both girls whimper in unison does she understand. Two bodies, not one. Her first instinct is disbelief. Her second is hunger. She pulls them closer.