JaThea/RaStro One Shots (Lesbian Story)

A Night to Remember

We were talking about the possibility of human survival in Mars, the extinction of traditional politicians, the plausible existence of aliens, and our doubles in the parallel universe and zombie apocalypse starter packs.

She has never been interested on shallow small talks of the latest trends, which make up's better or who's the latest model Calvin Klein hired.

She calls herself an error girl, 'Imagine a battalion of factory made girls, holding only make ups and follow only trends. And then among them there was me, the only one holding a Jack Kerouac novel, imagining trains and running away and follows only my instinct and principle, I may have substance, but I'm the only one who has it, setting me apart from the rest, making me different, making me an error.' She sometimes revere while we're having afternoon Jasmine tea.

She always laughs when I tell her that I'd rather have an error with me than a perfect clone that's clearly up to no good, who only follows what's generally done, who's a copy cat and who has no backbone.

Then she would ask me that Kerouac line, with expectant, dazzling and melting brown eyes, puckered lips, chin cocked on one hand while the other's playing with my middle finger.

'Will you love me in December as you do in May?' I'd smile and look her in the eyes, the way she wants me to and utter, 'I am in love with you not the idea of loving you, and months apart won't change that.' And she would lean in and kiss me the way I wanted to be kissed.

For me she is definitely not an error girl, there's just simply nothing wrong about her, there's nothing wrong about her scrunching her nose cutely before she yawn in the morning. About her hoarding Kerouac, Bukowski and Poe. About her having tea in the afternoon and beer in the evening. About everything about her.

Yes, that may sound like an overly in love someone but even my friends would agree about her being too good to be true. Even I, someone who's fond of calculating and measuring the size, distance, speed and depth of anything could not fathom the attraction I have for Rhi.

That night the rain was raging outside the small cottage we own by the cliff, it was part of our hipster shits. There's no electricity in that part of the place. Besides the frameless mattress, wooden table for two, the small-unfurnished fireplace and the saggy leather couch, the rest of the cottage contents were books; tons of them.

'We could've had a large flat screen here.' I once said, earning me a look of disdain.

'That's not what this cottage is for.' She said as she walked over me on the couch, removing her shirt showing them beautiful and perfectly shaped bosoms.

'Then what is this cottage for?' I raised an eyebrow as she sat on my lap bare naked, she pressed her body against mine igniting all live wires of my nerve endings as she whispered.

'For reading, fucking, reading and fucking some more.'

And that night with just a dozen of small candles all over the place, the darkness of the night and cold wind brought by the storm from the open sea, the cottage can only be of one use, fucking.

We were talking about banalities, with eyes locked on each other; I was sitting crossed legs facing her while she was hugging her knees against her chest her head resting on top of them, she was an arm span away. Yet the heat radiating from her body reaches me causing me goose bumps.

"I missed this, I missed you." I confessed, eyes not leaving hers, and as expected she smiled.

"You're right, we've been far busier than we used to be." She said roaming her eyes around our little cottage.