Impressing The Neighbor

Colleen steps out with bags that fight her grip. One carton slips. She snags it between her teeth, teeth and box flashing in the sunlight. Heather jogs up, breathing steady, sports bra damp. They talk while Colleen keeps that box clamped in place. Once Heather leaves, Colleen sags, cheeks hot, clutching the rescued groceries. She’s ready the next afternoon. Fitted blouse, pencil skirt, heels that click. Heather rounds the corner. Colleen starts over, catches her toe, and one heel snaps clean off. Heather pauses, asks if she’s all right. Colleen mutters that she’s fine, jaw tight, face burning. A day later a knock. Heather stands on the porch. Colleen opens the door, invites her in. They step toward the couch, and Heather spots lace trapped in the waist of Colleen’s skirt. Colleen sees where her eyes have landed. Heat rushes up her neck. She blurts it out—she likes Heather, and every time she tries to look good she falls apart. Heather’s mouth tilts. She steps closer. All she’s noticed, she says, is the curve of those full breasts under every outfit, the way the brunette’s hips move. Her hand slides beneath the caught fabric, fingers sure. She tugs the skirt free and the lace slips down Colleen’s thighs. They kiss, open-mouthed. Colleen backs onto the couch and Heather follows, lips at her neck, hands cupping, squeezing the heavy weight of her breasts. Fingers part slick folds. Colleen moans, palms Heather’s own tits, thumbs circling stiff nipples. They shift, thighs over shoulders, mouths meeting wet heat. Tongues work in rhythm, fingers press in, knuckle-deep, until both women shake, locked together, coming hard.