(Lesbian) Heartbreak Hotel and Other Shitty Love Songs (LGBT) (GirlxGirl)

Track Five: Thank God for Girls -Weezer

    Don't be nosy. I know you want to know how the sex was, pervert. You want to hear some flowery description of how she tasted, and how all questions of my sexuality vanished with the way her lips, hips, fingers felt. How I'd never had so many orgasms before in my life-- she touched me just right and now I can't stop craving her sweet, sweet-- yeah, go rent a porno, for fucks sake.

    If you must know, however, Bethany is pretty damn good in bed. Or, car, rather.

    You and I are probably both wondering the same exact question. How the fuck did I do that without throwing her off of me in the midst of a panic attack?

    Sex can be difficult for someone who needs control, no doubt, but you sort of stop caring about how every little moan sounds when you're not actually forcing them.

    No offense, Quinton.

    Pleasure aside, I think I might actually be starting to trust Bethany. An actual fucking miracle-- a feat that truly nobody other than Flat has achieved. Maybe that's just the u-haul talking, or the illusion that sex brings, but I find myself going out of my way to see her, and to touch her, or even to just make her laugh. Or maybe it's as simple as the patience she has given me, or the fact that she can see past my wretched personality, but regardless, I give a shit about her.

Or what I'm trying to say, really, is that I care about her. I can tell she feels the same exact way, just from a shoulder graze or a look dancing around in her eyes. The point is, I welcome the butterflies, now. Like a country singer hunting for some kind of fleeting feeling of warmth just to write a catchy chorus, I want Bethany to make my hair stand on its end and my heart beat fast. God, I really am becoming a mushy fucker.

"Who's your friend that keeps coming over?" Carson asks me. He was getting used to seeing the girl in the doorway-- coming or leaving but never being allowed to stay long enough to say more than two words to anybody else who might be lingering. I think my mom likes having her around, though, considering I've never been one for having girl friends. Much less, girlfriends. Heh.

"Her name's Bethany," I say, wandering over to the kitchen to make him a snack. I know that he won't shut up or go to bed until he eats something peanut-buttery.

"She's pretty," He smiles, climbing up onto the barstool, his whole body wobbling. I feel my face get warm and quickly hide it in the fridge. Like I said, kids under the age of ten always seem to have a knack for seeing right through a person's bullshit.

"She is," I agree, shuffling through the drawers for celery. Even just admitting this, I feel my heartbeat accelerate. God fucking damn, acknowledging her beauty isn't exactly the same as declaring my rampant lesbianism, so why do I have to be so fucking weird about it?

The fridge was pretty damn barren, not holding much more than a jug of soy milk and some jars of jam that my dad is convinced will never go bad, despite suspicious-looking spots appearing across the surface. I spot a soul banana on the counter and shrug, abandoning my ants-on-a-log idea. Fruits and vegetables are all the same, right?

"She's almost as pretty as Lainey," Carson continues, fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers. I chuckle to myself.

"Back off kiddo," I joke, but quickly correct myself, "She's too old for you."

"Don't worry, Shelby, my heart belongs to Lainey. We're getting married next week," He grins, showing off his crooked baby teeth. I raise my eyebrows, stifling a laugh.

"And I wasn't invited?" I feign offense.
    "Shelby! You'd just embarrass me. Besides, you don't let me embarrass you around Bethy," He points out, putting on his best frown as I dollop peanut butter onto his banana. Ignoring how suggestive that sounds--this snack was truly turning out to be a work of art.