PART: 1 of 1

RATING: R (Inexplicit F/F/F sexual relations; Adult Content)

PAIRING(s): L/S/Other (Anne Marie)

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CATEGORY: SOL

FEEDBACK: PLEASE?!

SETTING IN TIMELINE: Set after the flashbacks of "Laverne and Shirley Move In".

SPOILLER/SUMMARY: "the summer she seduced her best friends." (Femmeslash)

NOTES: This is set after the girls graduate (they're about eighteen) and before Anne-Marie becomes a nun.  So I avoided underage fic AND nun!sex!  Go me!

***

She remembered the way the air stuck to the fine hair of arms like spitballs the summer she seduced her best friends.

They had been eighteen, and everything was about to happen.  She was going to go to Michigan U, and they were moving in together and getting jobs at the new Shotz Brewery.  It was one last hurrah at their new place, with beer and cake.

When the boys had gone home they had danced like witches at a ritual, belly to belly, like snakes.

She kissed Laverne first - an excuse Laverne could always have to arm herself.  It was a shy, experimental gesture.  Shirley had been bolder; Shirley was always bolder when she was drunk.

The experience had been like a flower opening in the sunlight, a revelatory blossom. Anne Marie realized that the touch and flavor of a woman was nothing like that of a man.    They held each other with open soft palms, knew each other's flesh with careful exploration of fingers.  Orgasms came and went, but among them there was no competition.  Climax wasn't even a goal; being closely nestled together seemed much more important.

Sometime past dawn they collapsed together, and she slept between their naked bodies and in Shirley's arms.  Morning had brought obliviousness, though Laverne seemed haunted as they dished up post-hangover eggs and sausage.

Shirley vowed never to drink again.

Anne Marie went on with her life; knowing that the experience had been tattooed inside and outside of her soul.  Surely, everyone who looked at her must know she was "one of those women," so she partied more, drank more, flunked her classes.

Now her hand tightened on the plastic handle of her suitcase, hands wringing the metal like a washcloth.  The taxi circling the driveway leading to her dorm was ready to bring her to a new life - one that would leave her cleansed and refreshed, ready for serve the needs of someone other than herself.

She told the driver confidently, "Saint Anne's Convent, please," and tried not to remember the form of a woman's body pressed to her own and the smell of baby power under her fingernails.