Wetter Days Ahead:A Lesbian Smut Story

Best Friends? More Like Les FriendsPart 1

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I had just gotten into bed, pulled the blankets up, and grabbed my copy of Pride and Prejudice for what was probably my 100th reading, when my phone rang.

Who would possibly be calling right now?

I picked up the phone, and looked at the screen.

Ah. Of course.

Heather. Former co-worker and the polar opposite of me in almost every way: loud where I'm quiet, wild where I'm sedate - hey, I'm reading Austen on a Saturday night, I think it's pretty clear I'm not a party animal, right? - and a big fan of 'fly by the seat of your pants' compared to my 'plan everything down to the last detail.'
Also, she likes girls. I mean, LIKES them. In bed. I like guys in my bed. Not that there have been any lately, or many overall - casual sex is complicated when you have to plan everything in advance like I do.

So yeah, we're pretty different.

"Hello?" I make a point of adding the inflection of a question mark the end of the word, a subtle way of suggesting, "I know it's you, but WHY are you calling me at this time of night?""It's me. It's Heather!"
She's yelling over the noise of music and loud chatter in the background.

"I'm at Brown's and there's this amazing jazzy, swing-y, '40s sort of band here playing. You should come!"

"Heather, I'm in bed. It's after nine!"

"Syd, are you joking? It's Saturday night. And it's, like, two minutes after nine. It's not even dark outside yet. You know, summer? Enjoying the weekend? Heard of those things?"

I don't respond. She is, technically, correct.

"Come on, Syd. I know for a fact, because I've been there before, that your apartment is at most three blocks from here. Get up. Put some clothes on. Get your ass down here. I want to see you. And I want you to have FUN!"

"What would I even wear?" Already I can feel my 'didn't plan this in advance' anxiety setting in.

"Oh, do you still have that little flowered dress? The summery one with the fluttery sort of skirt?"

"Yes, I do."

"Wear that. It's great. Also, easy access if someone wants to get under the skirt!"

"Heather! As if. Like I'm gonna meet some guy and just... what... flip my skirt up?"

"Why do you assume it'd be a guy?"

"Heather!"

"Fine. God, such a prude. GET OUT OF BED. I dare you."

I grit my teeth. She knows my one kryptonite: I can't ignore a challenge.

"Fine, I'm getting up. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. If I can find something to wear."

"Wear the dress. Skip the knickers!"

"Heather!"

But she has already hung up by the time I shout out her name. Going naked under a dress might be something Heather could do (and would do, actually) but I will have my underwear on, thank you very much.

It takes a little longer than fifteen minutes to find the flowered dress, figure out which shoes to wear, fix my hair, and walk the few streets up to Brown's. I can hear the music half a street away: sultry jazz, a deep smoky voiced-singer crooning along, the rat-tat-tat beat of a snare drum behind it. It's a beautiful warm night, and the setting summer sun is pink and orange in the sky to the west. All right, I think to myself, so coming out might have been a little bit of a good idea.