She Had No Idea We Were Filming

Afternoons drag when all you have is blue sky, bare skin, and endless gossip. Then the camera showed up. Remy laughed when I told her what I wanted, then grabbed it anyway. She slipped into the shrubs while Cassidy and I stretched out by the pool, sun on our stomachs, nothing between us but hot air and the idea that someone might see. I knew the lens was rolling. I wanted it rolling. Cass spread me open first, tongue working slow and deliberate, teasing the same places that make me gasp when we’re alone. I returned the favor, kneeling between her thighs, tasting salt and heat while Remy moved closer, framing every wet sound, every twitch. We didn’t hide, didn’t slow down when a bird skimmed overhead or when a car passed beyond the fence. The footage keeps every flicker of our bodies: fingers sliding in, tongues curling, legs shaking. Remy stayed quiet behind the lens until we both came, then she set the camera on the lounger and slid in beside us, her mouth replacing mine on Cassidy’s skin. That tape is ours. We’ll watch it on cold nights, laugh at our tan lines, and maybe touch ourselves again, thinking how anyone else could press play and feel the same sun on their skin.