Sex On The Brain

Indica watches her father fawn over Kit, resenting every whispered exchange that leaves her pushed aside. She decides Kit must want her instead. So she starts simple—a shared hike, a basket of ripe plums later—each time sliding sex into the talk like a hand slipping under a tablecloth. When Indica reaches down to wipe an imaginary bug from Kit’s calf, her palm lingers, thumb stroking the warm skin. Half a mile further, Indica bends over to grab a stray plum and her skirt rides up; Kit catches a bare glimpse between parted thighs. Sweat beads on Kit’s neck, though the trail is cool. On the sofa, fruit-stained fingers still sticky, Indica asks how to touch herself “right.” Kit’s mouth goes dry, the refusal she practiced dies on her tongue, and soon the two sit shoulder to shoulder, skirts bunched at their waists. Breathy moans tangle, thighs brushing until need overtakes hesitation. Indica angles forward, kisses Kit open-mouthed, and pulls the older woman onto her until the couch creaks with the wet rhythm of bodies giving in.