Girl Crazy Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction

  SPITTING SEEDS

  BECOMING WILD

  ROAD TRIP

  DINNER AT CROMPTON’S

  SABRA

  PERIOD PANTIES

  TASTING CHANTAL

  OPENING NIGHT

  GETTING IT

  THE OLDEST VIRGIN

  I AM NOT INTO WOMEN

  MUDDY WATERS

  WINE-DARK KISSES

  FEMME INTO ME

  THE OUTSIDE EDGE

  I’VE BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK, THREE TIMES, MAYBE FOUR

  WELLINGTON NIGHTS

  GIRLS AND THEIR CARS

  FLANNEL AND FLEECE

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  Copyright Page

  INTRODUCTION

  Girl Crazy! You know that feeling, whether you’ve come out to yourself, to your community or to the world. You know the surge of excitement flooding body and soul, the rush of pleasure and pain too intense to be denied, the certainty, at last, of who you are and who you want. From self-discovery to the first thrill of girl-on-girl erotic play, from the tender growth of lasting love to explorations of the fiercer shores of sex, these nineteen writers know the feeling, too, and share their no-holds-barred tales of the highs and lows and kinky twists of first times and coming out.

  College kids acting out for Girls Gone Wild get even wilder once the cameraman has gone. A lonely businesswoman discovers how far her young chauffeur can drive her. Butch buddies find secret desires racing out of control. A summer job constructing wilderness trails sparks trailblazing into very different territory. Girls who thought they knew it all discover ways of getting down and dirty beyond their wildest dreams. These and a wide range of other intimate stories, some drawn from real-life experience, take you where you know you want to be—among girls who love girls who are girl crazy.

  Sacchi Green

  Amherst, Massachusetts

  SPITTING SEEDS

  Sommer Marsden

  Erin had dark hair the color of chocolate, wide green eyes, and pale freckled cheeks. The summer of our first year of college, she wore a yellow bikini. Her body was more boyish than mine; where my hips flared, hers were tucked and muscular like a swimmer’s. Where my breasts swelled, hers were small and compact. She barely filled out the sunshine-colored triangle cups of her bathing suit, a fact she moaned about constantly.

  “Oh, to have tits like you, Rita.”

  “Don’t say tits, it’s rude.” I couldn’t help laughing, though. Erin was the only person who had ever made me laugh so hard I peed my pants. The fact that I peed my pants made her laugh harder. Which made me laugh harder. By the end of it all, my face ached, my stomach hurt, and my pants were wet.

  “Tits, tits, tits,” she chanted. She dragged her toes through the dark lake water as the float bounced on its tether.

  “You are a heathen,” I snorted. The sun was at its hottest, but instead of being in the water, we sat on the float baking in the heat.

  “I am hungry, is what I am. Did Jill and Lisa leave us any food?”

  Jill and Lisa were working their summer jobs at the chicken stand. They did the day shift, Erin and I worked the evening shift. Low pay but free food, flexible schedules, tips, and time to hang at the lake, drive to the beach, and party: all you could ask of a summer job. It paid for the cabin and food and beer. Perfect.

  “Sure. There’s…”

  “Don’t say it!”

  “Chicken!”

  “And let me guess,” Erin giggled. “Corn on the cob, slaw, hush puppies, and chocolate cake.”

  “You are psychic.”

  “Blech. Do we have anything besides food from work?”

  “I think we have some Ramen noodles, old eggs, old milk, and a watermelon.” I flicked my foot through the water, and a rain of drops came down on us. I shivered and Erin squawked.

  “Ooh, I like watermelon. Come on,” she said, and stood. The wooden float sloshed in the water, and I closed my eyes with the swaying motion. “I’m hungry. Bring those tits and let’s eat.”

  “Your tits are fine,” I grumbled, but I followed her. She skipped up the float toward the shore, her yellow bathing suit riding up to show a crescent of snow-white skin rimmed by tan. My stomach grumbled. I really was hungry.

  “Where is it?” Erin called, running ahead.

  “In the cooler on the sunporch!”

  “Where’d we get it?” She had completely disappeared from view. I rolled my eyes. Why did she care?

  “My mother! When she came to visit Tuesday she brought it. She bought it from a roadside stand on the way up.” I lowered my voice as I came into the cabin.

  Erin plunked the huge melon on the counter and found our one cutting knife. She wielded it as if it were a machete and turned, grinning. “Careful, I’m starved. Don’t piss me off.”

  “You’re so scary,” I said. Then, out of the blue, I added, “Let’s call in sick tonight. Let’s pop some popcorn, and the four of us can watch scary movies and eat popcorn and drink beer and just be stupid.”

  “We are always stupid,” Erin said, and stabbed the melon dead center. It made a dull thunk, and she yanked the blade up and stabbed again. “But that sounds good. Let’s do Halloween. Jamie Lee Curtis is so cool. Maybe follow with some Friday the 13th. You know, the classics.”

  “My god. Give me that, you butcher.” I took the knife from her and inserted it into the dark green marbled skin. I put some pressure on the handle, and the melon split with a liquidy crack. It opened like a big green egg along the jagged line of her attack. “Not the prettiest job, but we still have all our fingers,” I teased.

  I cut a few slices as Erin pulled out the plates. “You ever kissed a girl before?” she asked.

  I stopped for a moment, a little surprised by the question. “You mean kissed kissed or like I kiss my aunt Diana?”

  “Of course I don’t mean that. We have all done that. Our mothers, our sisters, grandmas, aunts. That’s a given, Rits.” She was the only one allowed to call me “Rits.”

  “Oh, so you mean like…”

  “Sucking face. Frenching. Have you ever kissed a girl? Like you were going to end up fucking her.”

  I remember it so clearly. I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again. I had been temporarily struck mute.

  “Hmm. I will take that as a no, then.” Erin laughed, and her green eyes flashed in the sunny cabin kitchen. She put raggedy slices of watermelon on her plate and slapped a few on mine. “Let’s eat on the sunporch.”

  I followed silently and we sat on the picnic table bench. The picnic table was painted a faded, peeling red, and if you weren’t careful it left splinters in your ass. The sunporch itself was nothing more than a poured concrete floor and three walls of screens. It looked out onto a thick, lush bit of woods. Jill’s cat, Camel, loved to lie in the random patches of sun that dappled the floor.

  I bit into the watermelon: crisp, cool flesh; slick, wet rind. How was it that a watermelon stayed chilled no matter what the weather? “Good.”

  “Thank your mom for me,” she mumbled, gobbling up her first slice. “Ahh, I was starved.”

  “I see that.”

  Erin licked her lips—lips that were just a shade darker than the watermelon flesh. “Good stuff. You ever spit the seeds when you were a kid?”

  I laughed. “You are fully aware of my athletic abilities.”

  Erin giggled. “You mean lack thereof.”

  “Exactly. But yeah. When we were kids, we spit them. We used to make bets and then spit them. Needless to say, I always lost. I was never close.”

  “Oh come on, that bad?”

  “Okay,” I said, nibbling the cool fruit and spitting the
seed softly onto my paper plate, “to be fair I think I may have won once or twice. But it was purely by accident. The law of averages.”

  She nodded as if making a decision. Her face looked a bit too serious for our silly conversation. Somewhere a seagull let out a victorious cry. It had most likely liberated a tasty morsel from a tourist. I had once seen a gull take off with an entire paper cup of French fries from the chicken shack.

  “Let’s play,” Erin said.

  “Oh, come on, I just told you I suck!” I started to laugh, but something in her expression stifled the laugh in my throat. “For what?”

  “A kiss. If I get it in that round rust stain, I get to kiss you. Anywhere I want. If you win, you get the same. Or you don’t have to kiss me at all. You can get a pass.”

  My throat seemed to have closed on its own, and my mouth had dried up. Not because I was upset by the rules she had laid out, but because I wasn’t. I had grown damp against the sun-dried cotton of my bathing suit bottom, and I shifted with the new, warm wetness there. I stared at the round rust stain on the concrete patio. It was the size of a gallon of paint, a perfect reddish circle to aim for. “Okay,” I managed, but my voice was so weak, I was sure she couldn’t hear me.

  But she nodded and smiled. “Are you sure? Because I’m dead serious. I’ve been…”

  She tapered off and I waited, the bugs in the woods singing a restless summer song. Finally, I broke. “You’ve been what?”

  “I’ve been attracted to girls for a while now, and I’ve wanted to kiss you for even longer than that. But our friendship…”

  I nodded. “Is the most important thing.”

  “But if I’m going to kiss a girl for the first time—or anything… else—I want it to be you, Rits.”

  I nodded again. I could live with that. I could more than live with that. My nipples pressed against my bathing suit and I knew there was no hiding my arousal. “Okay. First one to hit the circle gets to kiss. Anywhere she wants.”

  Erin was more athletic than me. And patient. She would wait to line up a shot, be it basketball or tennis or spitting seeds. Her first try and the shiny black seed bounced into the circle. It landed almost dead center.

  “Just on the lips the first time,” she said. Her lips were warm and soft and tasted of the fruit we had devoured. Erin stroked her tongue over mine softly until a needy little sound slid from my throat. A starburst of excitement and desire warmed my belly. She broke the kiss and touched my bottom lip with her sticky finger. “That was nice.”

  I missed on my first try, and felt a surprising disappointment. I clenched my fists when it was her turn, silently rooting for a hit. She did. The second shiny black seed bounced in next to the first.

  Without a word, she untied the strings at the nape of my neck and my bikini top dropped, the ties tickling my upper thighs. The sun-bleached blonde hairs there rose with excitement. I noticed them and thought vaguely how lazy I was to only shave my legs up to the knee because my hair was blonde. When her lips touched my nipple, I sucked in a great breath of air and my skin broke out in a rash of goose bumps. “Oh, god,” I said—clichéd, but completely honest.

  Erin sucked my nipple into her hot little mouth, and an invisible line tugged from my breast to my pussy, pleasure so intense it almost hurt. Another hot flood of moisture escaped my body, and I felt a tickle in the back of my throat. I touched her dark hair and held her to my breast. She broke free, licking a path to my other nipple as my body’s signals went haywire and I felt a deep chill despite the hot day. She traced one finger over the slit of my sex through my bikini bottom before pulling away.

  “No cheating,” she said, clearing her throat. Her voice had grown husky, and her eyes were shiny and slightly dazed.

  It was my turn. I missed again, and frustration welled up in me. I bit my lip to keep from cussing. I would get my seed into the circle. Eventually.

  “Don’t worry, Rits. You’ll do it,” Erin said, reading my mind. She patted my leg, and I forgot all about my inept athletic skills. All I wanted was her mouth on me. There. She took another bite of melon and I watched the slick pink flesh disappear behind her full lips. I had to close my eyes to keep myself under control.

  She screwed up her mouth like she was about to blow up a balloon and then let loose with a great whoop of air. The seed flew through the air as if in slow motion. It hit the dirty concrete two inches shy, bounced and landed on the very rim of the rusty red circle. I stopped breathing. Was it in? Was it out?

  “You rule. You be the judge,” Erin said. Her green eyes had turned a bit blue. Something they did when she was feeling intense.

  “It’s in,” I said without hesitation. I watched her hands, a bit smaller than mine, tug at my pink bikini bottom; saw the contrast of her nut-brown fingers against the screaming hot-pink fabric.

  “Lift up,” she muttered, and I hiked my hips up off the scratchy picnic table bench. She kissed up my thighs and I watched, fascinated. I watched her lips on my leg, watched the tip of her ripe pink tongue dart out and leave a shiny wet trail on my skin; watched as her lips brushed the very tops of my thighs and watched as her tongue found me and worked me wide open. The sight of her tongue on my clit registered before the sensation. But when the sensation hit, it was sweet like sugar.

  “Baby,” I said. I had never called a woman that, and it felt perfectly natural. “Right—”

  “Shhh,” she said, and the vibration of her soft sound soaked into me so swiftly it stole my breath. Already I hovered right on the edge of coming, right on that velvet razor’s edge. Her fingers splayed across my thighs, warming my skin. I silently prayed—prayed for her fingers inside of me. But I pressed my lips tight together and bit my tongue a little because her soft “shh” had been her way of asking that I let her be the guide. So I would.

  Erin slid her rigid tongue past my clit and worked lower. I missed the intense pleasure of her wet pressure on my clit, but when she worked her tongue deep inside of me and my body pulsed around it, I sighed. She touched my waist, my belly, my nipples, and my whole body responded to the alternating touches: gentle then harsh, back and forth, so I never felt stable. I arched my hips up, not thinking, just moving against her—and then she pinned me down. Her forearm, looking so thin, but so strong, held me fast. And then her fingers did find me, and my eyelids slammed closed, and I was lost in the feel of her.

  There was just the feel of her slippery tongue on my clit, her long fingers in my cunt, her soft hair on my thigh. The sunroom was lit up with afternoon yellow, and I felt the warm rays on my skin. I could hear the gulls and her wet ministrations as I came, and she laughed softly against my skin and then made me come again. The second time, my orgasm was less intense but beautifully lazy. I felt heavy and slow even as the heat of the day started to break a bit.

  When it was finally my turn, when I finally landed a seed in the circle, her skin tasted like watermelon juice. Her pussy smelled like suntan oil and sweat and excitement. She was slightly sweet and musky on my tongue, the taste of her unique and unforgettable. When she came around my fingers, I had never been more pleased to evoke an orgasm.

  We had several more seed-spitting contests that summer. We remained lovers for over two years before she left for college on the West Coast. Our friendship never wavered, was never even in danger of weakening. And to this day, when I taste watermelon, I smell warm girl skin and hear seagulls. I think of sunshine yellow bikinis, and orgasms.

  BECOMING WILD

  Kyle Sontz

  Okay, so it was Spring Break, right? My boyfriend, Jake, had to stay at the University of Michigan ’cause he had to practice. He was the pitcher for the baseball team. So it was just me and my three best girlfriends, partying in Cancun with MTV. This one night we were way drunk off of margaritas, and these guys with cameras came up to us and asked if we wanted to be on Girls Gone Wild.

  Like I said, it was Spring Break, and we were all totally drunk and feeling really hot dressed in little bikini tops and sa
rongs, and we had been dieting all winter to make sure we looked perfect. Beth and Lindsey both flashed the camera, whooping and playing with themselves. I felt like doing something totally crazy, totally unexpected, and Lynne had just gotten her nipples pierced so she couldn’t show off her tits. When the cameraman winked and trained the lens on me, I grabbed Lynne and started kissing her. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew the camera guys were cheering us on and my friends were screaming along with the general roar of the crowd, but in that moment all I was aware of were her lips on mine, my hand twined in her long red hair.

  The next morning—okay, afternoon—we woke up nursing awful hangovers. Lynne stayed in bed with the covers pulled over her head, so it was just three of us who staggered down to the hotel restaurant.

  None of us felt like talking much as we sipped our Bloody Marys, but by the time the waiter came with our plates of eggs and toast, Lindsey and Beth had recovered enough to start rehashing the previous night.

  “Omigod,” moaned Beth. “I can’t believe my boobs are gonna be on, like, Girls Gone Wild Volume 37. I’ll be soooo embarrassed if anyone at school sees it. Now I’ll never have a boyfriend again!”

  “Don’t be stupid, you ho!” said Lindsey. “Guys are gonna be, like, all over you now! But like, what if they put us on those commercials? My dad totally watches those, what if he sees me?”

  “Oh come on, like your dad’s gonna be looking at your face.”

  “Ew, you’re so fucking gross!” Lindsay threw a breadstick at Beth, who ducked and started giggling madly.

  I had stayed quiet, chewing on my omelet, hoping they would be too distracted by their own problems to remember mine. No such luck.

  “Omigod, Amy, what was that last night?”

  “What was what?” I mumbled through a mouthful of egg. “I was, like, so drunk I don’t even remember.” My eyes stayed trained on my plate.

  “You, like, totally made out with Lynne! It was crazy! Everyone at school’s gonna start saying you’re a lesbian!”