First Love

Franky was cooped up in blissful sleep – a concept relatively new to her. Of course she slept in her prison cell for years and with her cell door closed, it was okay. She would doze for about four to six hours a night and luckily rarely ever dreamed. If she did, then they were most often nightmares, so she had grown accustomed to go without them. But now, outside of the prison, in an actual house, in a bed that was not mass-produced, but rather carefully constructed and picked out after thoughtful consideration by its owner from a store with many other available beds. The same goes for the bedding; they were washed with scented soap and hand ironed. They were made of a special kind of silk that felt both cool and warming against her skin and they had the inviting color of pastel green. It was anything but the prison necessary lackluster grey color or the dark red shades in every movie that just screamed sex to you. This bed was inviting to do exactly what it was created for and in it, Francesca Doyle did not 'just' sleep; she slumbered. She slumbered peacefully without a care in the world.

It had been three days since her release and she had only spent approximately two hours at her registered address in the halfway house. She filed her documentation and received a key. Franky had left the prison without any items but her old cell phone, her wallet and the clothes she had been wearing upon her incarceration. She left behind all her colorful underwear and books that she had bought herself during her stay at Wentworth prison, fully intending to make a new start in life and therefore ridding herself of everything that reminded herself of the former. Her fast steps outside the gates had led her into a car park, where she was looking ahead for the sign of a bus stop. When the honk of a car alerted her to turn her attention to the right, where she then noticed the gorgeous Bridget Westfall exit a sports car with the roof down in the parking lot, she knew that she had made the right decision to do so.

The three days had gone by much too quickly. Being around – and living with – the woman who she had not just fancied, but actually fallen in love with so deeply and unexpectedly, had the young brunette in a permanent state of butterflies in her stomach who made their presence known every time she looked at her. Her love, her object of desire, her now girlfriend. Though Franky had always had girls she called her own, she had never actually developed true feelings for them. Until now. She wanted way more than sex and some attention on her terms from Bridget. The possibilities suddenly seemed endless now and though it felt like Franky could weep for that unlimited joy in her heart and the deep passion that had rooted itself deep inside of her, it also depleted her energy unlike anything she ever knew before which was unrelated to any physical exertion.

Of course, all that pent up sexual chemistry and the frustration of not being able to act on it whenever they would have enjoyed to do it – they are two healthy adults, after all – had led to kissing sessions that lasted for hours, groping each other on the couch like they were young teenagers with hormones raging through their bodies and yes, sex. One would think that Franky's new freedom would have her exploring the great outdoors, sniffing the clean air and taking long walks in areas familiar and yet undiscovered by her. The exact opposite was true; they had barely left the house yet!

Franky did not know what was wrong with her, to be honest. She could have Gidget, now her Gidge, in her arms and just look at her for hours. All the movies that they were supposedly watching together did not get through to her at all. She was too caught up in mapping Bridget's skin with her eyes. She studied every freckle, every single color of the birth marks that contrasted with her milky skin so beautifully, every curve and all the smooth surfaces; she wanted to discover them all. Franky would have laughed at herself five years ago, but right now she could not be more content being this romantic...moron.

Franky awoke when the body inside her arms stirred and turned itself around. The decision had been a simple one; Franky was taller than Bridget and therefore she got to be the big spoon, cradling Bridget against her in bed when it was time to rest up. It was not so much the shift of the pliant form against her as it was the sudden sensation of finger tips slowly trailing up and down her upper arms. Franky slowly started opening her eyes but closed them again when she felt a pair of the softest lips being pressed against her own, the blonde's hair falling to the side of both of their faces.