Cheryl had always thought that Josie McCoy was utterly beautiful, ever since she'd first laid eyes on her in freshman year. The girl smelled like coconut and peaches, and her skin was such a gorgeous mocha brown , smooth and soft and begging to be touched.
She hadn't developed her crush, however, until she was 16 when she had realised that her desire to be around Josie as much as she could stemmed beyond that of a normal friendship. She had wanted her. And in her clouded, lust-filled, sexually repressed, hormonal state she had tried just about every trick in the book to get her.
The problem was, of course, that Josie was straight.
Despite this, Cheryl wasn't particularly proud to recall, the infatuation had continued well into her 17th year.
She had been so smug with herself when she'd thought to buy the lavender essential oil, placing it in her locker before Vixens practice and asking Josie to hang back with her to count pompoms so that she could ensure they'd be alone together after their showers.
Fixing her towel around her chest she had tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gazing over the petit muscles of Josie's back. Attraction and magnetism and sex appeal simply dripping off her much like the small beads of water on her skin from her shower, not yet dried. God Cheryl wanted to touch it. Touch her.
She had found furtive ways in which to get her fix of the physical intimacy she so desired. Walking her fingers over Josie's arms playfully as they talked by a locker. Taking her forearm across a table in a moment of emotional exchange. Rubbing slow circles onto her back to soothe her when she was stressed but really only serving to soothe Cheryl's urges. They simply weren't enough. Cheryl wanted to touch skin.
It had always been a vice of hers; touching things. Almost always things that she wanted but couldn't have. She had been so starved of it growing up, never having that skin-to-skin bond at birth and having been reared practically not emotionally by distant nannies. Affection was for poor people. Touching things was naughty.
Deviant.
The years she'd spent in old family mansions as she grew, her curiosity and spoiled nature begging her to reach out and grab every trinket or treasure that caught her eye. She had to.
Cheryl Blossom got what she wanted.
Clearly, she had realised as she'd grabbed the bottle of oil and her eyes swept over Josie's figure, she still possessed this same addictive compulsion.
"Oh my god, Josie. Your back. It's like a sailor's rope." She feigned with a small laugh, watching the girl's incredulous reaction.
"All those tension knots? Luckily, I just picked up a new bottle of lavender essential oil. Turn around."
She had barely given the girl a choice honestly, stepping forward and warming the oil between her hands before she'd slid them over Josie's lean shoulders, working her thumbs into her back. It had felt just as good as she'd imagined it would. It had taken all of her will power not to push Josie forward into the lockers and attack her neck with her mouth. The thought had rushed a surge of adrenaline through her body and she'd gripped her hands into Josie a little harder than she'd meant to, causing her to pull away from Cheryl slightly.
Of course, after that, the moment had plunged itself into a disaster. The janitor interrupting, Cheryl tersely calling him out, Josie remaining completely oblivious to everything that had happened. She'd tried to touch her again but, clearly, the moment had gone.
Luckily for Cheryl, she'd managed to grow out of her crush on Josie, and the two had been able to remain as very close friends.
Unluckily for Cheryl, and her utterly insatiable libido, she had never quite managed to grow out of her ever present, ever potent, childhood obsession with touch.
