Title: Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top | Chapter Six | Endings, Beginnings, and New Legends

Author: Nate

Pairing: Paris/Rory, Rory POV

Inspired by: Between Eight O'Clock at the Oasis and They Shoot Gilmores, Don't They? with a sped-up timeline for dramatic effect that pushes Take the Deviled Eggs out of this fic world.

Rating: R (swearing, naughty femslash thoughts, self-pleasuring with a sexual fantasy, and some homophobic comments from one character towards another, but not a personal attack towards the character)

Disclaimer: If you don't know it by now, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone, and Warner Bros. Television own Gilmore Girls and their characters, although from the finale two weeks ago, I've deluded myself into a few things. First, RealRory kicked Dean in the balls before he could get his pants down, and ran off to Europe to join Paris for a summer of love. Second, when we came back from commercial, that was Lorelai's evil twin daughter Schmory, played by Alexis' evil and less-talented twin Infinitee Bledel coming out of the room with Dean and we'll find out over the summer that this was all a cruel joke which backfired when Schmory and Dean are run out of town with a pitchfork mob, and currently live in Chino with all the other OC unbeautiful people. Finally, Dean has all the sexual resiliency of a horny hummingbird on speed. What was that, two minutes between the Luke/Lorelai kiss and Schmory and Dean coming out of Rory's room? No wonder Lindsay has good reason to be bitchy with him!

Summary: Rory's ammunition to be with Paris builds even further and she starts bringing everything into place to convince Paris to be hers. Meanwhile the end of Dean and her is nigh, and someone finds out about her secret.

Archiving: GilmoreGirlsSlash, aff.net and ff.net. Anywhere else ask first.

Author's Notes: My goal was to get this out by Saturday June 5th (Liza's birthday), but it wasn't meant to be. My betas advised me to edit a couple of scenes, and upon further review, I found myself displeased with the quality of my writing when I reread them. So instead of a long drawn-out breakup scene with Dean, it'll be only a few paragraphs and we're going right back to what you came for, Paris/Rory. I was also intending to introduce Shane as more than a minor character, but it was suggested that her role in this fic should probably be something else.

Thanks again to Raven and Cinn, who have betaed this and been so loyal, doing a wonderful job, and probably saving me from making a couple mistakes with the storyline. Even with Raven going to Belize for a few weeks, she's still going to read (Thank you to whoever invented the satellite phone!), I promise the updates will still be as frequent. Thanks to Vix for her help about certain scenes (plus inspiring Paris/Rory conversations), and Christina for being a loyal reader.

Those who reviewed on GGSlash, thanks! Rocky's new script helped me out at a tough time and got me reinspired for this chapter.

Do I even need to tell you ff.net'ers again for the seventh time that this is femslash and if you don't like don't read because Rory's drooling over Paris instead of the guys? I will anyway just to cover my rear. And of course if you like, review constructively. To those who've asked the major reason I have signed reviews on is because of past attacks of my writing and the concept of femslash in anon reviews, so I could never identify who was attacking me to defend myself. So if you have any negative words, you'll have to sign on with your ff.net account or review me through my email, I'm not taking any chances.

Feeback: Please use Feedback Form

There seem to be milestones to your life that you always go back to in the chaos that is your photographic memory bank, and though you don't remember most of the surrounding details, say the weather, day of the week, type of dress and what may have been spoken before that moment took root, more often than not, you can easily imagine what the actual event is, and maybe even an extraneous item that helps you recall when the event might have happened.

For example, my first day of school when I was five. My mother had been a big fan of Twin Peaks as mocking material, so she taped all the episodes off channel 8 and we had a marathon of it the night before I walked in the doors of Stars Hollow Elementary to begin my academic career. I couldn't even tell you what the heck the show was about then, nor can I tell you today because I was too buried in Ramona Quimby, Age Eight to really pay attention. But I can still tell you I know my first day of kindergarten I had strange visions of this Laura Palmer lady and her mystery. Knowing that instead of that boys are gross and/or cute probably set my wallflower path in stone instead of being a social being.

Then there's my first kiss with Dean, that's what we'll go into detail about. I almost didn't go to Chilton because of him, and for that I'm still kind of bitter about, since without Grandma and my mother yelling back and forth about supporting my education, I may have pulled out, simply because of a boy. That's another tale for another day though. All I know is I can't even remember the details before it all except for an argument about regional cola terms, and that he asked me to pick the hand out with the soda. I was nervous as I chose, and then when Dean bent down and kissed me sweetly, I found out that it was all a ruse for him to finally express his feelings for me. I ran out of the store at eighty miles an hour immediately after with a stolen box of cornstarch in tow, and couldn't believe the sparks I had felt. I was shocked that my body has responded to his kiss, and in such an odd way.

For Dean, I've always remembered the large, grandiose gestures he made for my love. I recalled the bracelet, the perfect ¼ year anniversary dinner, the car, and the heavy makeout sessions. I'll remember always with reverence those things he did.

What I won't remember happily however is that he always treated me like a china doll.

I guess the fact I'm the product of a teenage mother, and my own innocent looks played into the stereotype that I was the living equivalent of a china doll to Dean, meant to be browsed, examined and looked at with his eyes, but never to be touched. There were so many times I tried to give him signals that I wanted more than a replica of a relationship in the 1880s Victorian period, but he was too much of a wuss to take the bait.

The night I dressed up like Donna Reed, for example. Beneath that damned cursed TV mother skirt I wore the thinnest underwear I could find, and decided to go with a strapless bra, hoping for God's sake my brainstorm wouldn't only prove that women should be equal to men, but that I wanted to use that rare opportunity of being alone to have him initiate more than chaste French kissing from me. He never took the bait, and I left that night still in like (note the absence of love, we'll get to that in a bit) with him, but with a huge sexual knot inside of me yearning to be released. Dean then ruined the opportunity presented during our ¼ year anniversary with his demand I tell him that I loved him in that wreck of a car he was building, and it took even after we reconciled on the last day of Chilton for my sexual feelings to become renewed again.

Strangely, even after Paris had put a stop to our friendship with that ticket mess, I wondered if she was watching as we made out in the front drive.

I seriously thought that the second chance for Dean would lead to a renewed and arousing love, but by July of that year with my charity obligations for Harvard, he had renewed his bellyaching again that I wasn't there enough for his liking, and backed off from touching me in any way that might cause a minor arousal in my system. He was always so boring, pedestrian, and as he got even more into the car building with Todd and his buddies, I could sense all those damned fumes he dealt with in building it eating away at his IQ.

Instead of talking about books, he'd talk in Detroitese about how he needed a converter or SAE wrench head or some other kind of crap that I had absolutely no interest in at all, and also talked ad nauseum about that stupid robot boxing show he thought was the height of Western culture. The only thing I thought when I voluntarily watched an episode was the robot controllers were definitely using their machines to overcompensate for a certain reproductive part of their anatomy that had to be smaller than average.

Thank the Lord Jess came in just in time and I started realizing I was thinking of Paris as more of a rival around last November, because if he hadn't come in and I kept thinking of Paris as just a friend, I seriously think Dean would've gagged my intelligence, he's that dull! Did I forget to mention that Clara, his sister, is the only child I've ever wanted to give a nice, hard slap to because of her annoying, prattling attitude and diamond-cutting voice? I'm nothing but glad to be rid of any member of the Forrester family in my life.

That's right; I'm now a single woman, at least for now. But hopefully in about an hour, I'll be starting to make progress with Paris. For now though I'm sitting in my bedroom at five on a very early Saturday morning, bleary-eyed as I try to look for the right things to go along with the look I'm trying to perfect.

Why did I just say Dean is a footnote in history? Probably best to turn back time to Tuesday morning so I can explain everything up to this point, to when I was watering Dwight's garden.

When that bachelor left me in charge of his plants and everything, I had expected things to be easy. Of course Lorelai pawned everything off on me since she had Inn work in the mornings, so for the next few days I went over to his house after my stop at Luke's, watered his plants and made sure everything was in order, then left on the 6:50 bus on the loop around Hartford. It was a routine that was going to be easy to fall into, at least I thought at the beginning.

However, I failed to account for a few things as I woke up on Tuesday morning around 5:45. I got out of bed and made sure that everything was in order for my Chilton uniform, and took a shower before my mom, keeping my mind from wandering to the fact that in my sleep I had an interesting dream about the girl I had my eye on, and also about how I would go about breaking up with Dean beforehand. I was still undecided about cutting him off so abruptly, and my conscious was telling me to wait for an opening, which in our snooze of a relationship might take months.

I got out of the shower and prepared to put on my lingerie, when I found that there was absolutely nothing in my bra drawer, and Lorelai was nowhere to be found. I still found a pair of panties buried in the bottom of my shirt drawer, but nothing to support my breasts. Throwing on my robe, I ran out of my room, and found a note on a plate with a couple of pop tarts on it telling me the whereabouts of my brassiere collection.

Kiddo,

Decided to do all of our laundry together at work today before I went to Nashville tomorrow, so combined it in one pile before I left for the Inn while you were showering, you'll get it all back tonight. Have a great day at school :)!

Mom

I forgot to set aside at least one before bed to shove in my blouse's breast pocket like I usually did, and I hit my head on the wall for my stupidity! How could I forget that Mom was going out to Tennessee for a hotelier's convention until Sunday and decided to give me as little to do as possible while I was home alone? I blame the long two-hour conversation I had Monday night with Paris about the tests we would be taking on Tuesday, along with some brainstorms about the special Franklin edition we were printing later in the day about the football team's run to state. Lorelai had shouted something about laundry, and I probably yelled back 'yeah, go ahead' so fast I didn't realize the topic my mom was bringing up because I was too busy swooning to the sounds of Paris' voice.

I cursed God out, and quickly figured that if I just kept on my normal tank of an undershirt beneath the blouse and sweater, no one would notice that I was as free as a hippy beneath it all, thank goodness for my B cup that wouldn't be too noticeable beneath all those uniform layers. So I put on my clothes, ignoring that lovesick little voice in the back of my head that told me Paris might be taking more interest in my chest that day than usual. Come on, nothing can get any worse today, can it? My mind thought as I finished dressing, organized my backpack, did my hair and prepared for the day ahead.

You all know that after you say or think that, you're cursed, right?

Seems in the panic about my bra, I forgot to realize that the sprinkler timer at Dwight's was timed to water his annuals every Tuesday and Saturday at 6:45. I went into the house to get the watering can, and within moments of coming out of his home, I found myself in a nightmare that made my day even worse.

The sprinklers came up from the ground, and on full blast, the water came from all directions, basically covering the entire property with no little dry space along the front walk for me to escape their wrath. Since the timer was set to water for ten minutes, and he had locked the back door in the kitchen with a deadbolt lock he failed to leave me the key for, I was stuck in a very wet pickle.

I found the manual shut-off and tried to turn it closed, but it seemed to slip in my wet hands and I couldn't get a very good grip on it since it required a wrench rod I wasn't able to locate. Trying to save my academic day and thankful I decided to get a watertight bag two years ago, I threw my backpack past the picket fence and onto the sidewalk in order to keep my books dry, I wasn't ready to owe Chilton $600 for wet texts! It landed with a thud against the street's curb, but everything stayed in. My work was safe.

My own self, however, was getting totally soaked. I wasn't about to bring out my cell phone to call Dean lest it be destroyed by the soaking water, and the fact he'd be whining and making jokes about my stupidity for the next eight days because I couldn't turn a simple fucking sprinkler off! So I continued to struggle with it, my socks becoming soaked and my sweater swiftly becoming a glorified sponge from all the water being soaked in. I could feel the liquid seethe into the blue blouse above, and into the only other layer, my undershirt. Since it was cold water being sprayed all over, I started shivering in seconds. I cursed at Dwight for having such a screwed-up watering schedule, and I wasn't willing to go further in his front yard since the sprinklers in the front were on a higher jet setting than the ones towards the back, which would cause me to become even wetter.

Jess happened to walk by then on his way to walk Shane from her house to school, and with him being a guy who could probably remedy the situation, I yelled for help. As he made some snide crack about me being perfect for the cast of Blue Crush, I told him I needed him to turn them off, and now.

"Why didn't you call the bag boy?" he asked snidely as he found the control rod to turn shut the spigot hidden in a crack along Dwight's front walkway.

"I don't want to bother him, I thought I could do this myself," I screamed over the loud spray as he jumped into the situation and put the rod into the plate containing the watering controls. "He'd probably get this big superiority complex in his head for the next week and rub in my face that I was Periled Pauline and he saved me from the big, mean sprinkler!" I added on with a bitchy and bitter voice.

He laughed at my situation and Dean as the water started to finally stop flowing. "How about me saving you, isn't that the same?"

"No, because you're totally nuts about Shane and you're just a friend helping a friend out, and you have nothing but friendly intentions for me. There's a big difference there, it's too bad Dean can't get over the fact that boys can be friends with girls."

He finally got the flow of water to stop, and him also soaking, brought the control rod out of the plate, brushing off my complaints about my boyfriend. "See, all you have to do is apply a little pressure next time."

"Uh, thanks," was all I could say. I decided to take this opportunity of Jess wet to test out my sexuality a little as we looked at each other wet. In a perfect world, I'd be swooning over him and seriously considering taking him away from Shane.

But immediately my thoughts inexplicably drove me towards an alternate universe where Paris was the one who came in and turned off the sprinklers, getting her own self wet in the process. Let's just say with her breasts and her legs, within moments that thought of her damp body, had I not shaken myself back into reality, would have wandered off into a late-night pay cable track that would be very embarrassing.

Looking at Jess, I saw nothing but a loyal and trustworthy friend. Yeah, he kisses well, but Shane deserves those lips much more than me, especially when I'm smitten with someone else and considering my mom's unsaid feelings for Luke. We're already making progress in getting my mom to like Jess, so we both weren't about to ruin that, along with the hope she'd finally hook up with Luke by getting into more than a platonic relationship. Besides that, he admitted his love for his girlfriend Shane on the bridge Saturday night after a romantic dinner, and she's keeping him out of trouble, helping him a lot with school.

All right, so they got one ticket for lewd conduct on Taylor's watch because they almost had sex in his car parked next to the town square. They're in love dammit, give 'em a break old man!

Jess helped me gather everything back up and I took my soaked sweater off, hoping by wearing my jacket over my blouse it would dry off on the way in. We said goodbye to each other and wished good luck with our days, and he told me he'd take the sweater to the inn so my mom could throw it in the wash. I handed it over, and just barely made it to the bus stop and got on with a soaked head of hair and still shivering.

As we got on the expressway, some smart guy figured that on a 52° day, he was still hot. So him sitting in front of me, he opened up his window and on the way up to north Hartford (I get off towards the tail end of the route on the south side of the city, because of transit cutbacks they don't have direct service to Chilton this year), I ended up even colder than before with the 55 mph wind blowing right in my face. My hair was drying a little, sure, but everything else was staying stubbornly still, or making me freeze even more. I could feel that my breasts were hard in my shirt, the rough cotton undershirt rubbing harshly against my nipples, and I shut my eyes trying to concentrate on some answers for one of the tests. It wasn't happening, and even closing the coat to build up body heat failed to do anything but bring the damned shirt closer and make me even colder.

Oh, and he occasionally took a glance back as I read my book, trying to peek at my breasts through the wet shirt. I got out my huge Advanced Economics book and hoped that would be enough to deter him. He still looked however, the idiot.

I was about ready to give up hope and grin and bear the entire day through chattering teeth and snide Chiltonians commenting on my sheer blouse's state, when I realized where in north Hartford I was. Gellar Manor was only a few blocks away from Simsbury Road, and the bus was traveling south on its way to Main Street, where Chilton was along. I'd have to walk along a few gravel shoulders, sure, but I could find a place to at least dry off and...

I could borrow one of her blouses, I thought to myself, and suddenly there was a brilliant flash of light going off in my brain, and I started smiling. Suddenly, Dwight's evil sprinklers didn't seem to be putting a damper on my day.

As the bus came within a quarter-mile from the intersection with Auer Farm Road, things started to take shape. I, Rory, was wet, along with my blouse. She, Paris was probably dry and would never bring herself down to the level of a gardener. She also happened to be at my school, wore the same uniform, and was my current object of lust. Paris also was hinting at those same feelings lately, and though I couldn't confirm them 100%, certain little things I was doing to probe her sexuality were hinting towards the fact she had some thoughts about me. The neck and back massages, and lingering touches back and forth between us. Don't forget that we also shared a bed one morning with no argument and I'd found myself wanting to leave my current boyfriend for her.

As for my state at that time, it was almost perfect for a little seduction. With my mother's sudden whim to throw everything but the clothes on our backs into the washing machine at the Inn, I had no bra on, and was shivering cold. Every time I took a step or the bus went over a dip or bump, the tips of my nipples would rub against the fabric of my shirt, and I had to think of things that were unsexy in order to calm them down and numb them. Say, the effect of Dean's tongue against mine lately while we kissed.

I was already seeing it in my mind; I'd walk into her room, she'd hand me a shirt, and I'd take it off, revealing the thin shirt that fit my body like a glove. I could almost see her eyes drawn down, and her interest piqued. Paris would probably be thankful I was in that room, and hand me a shirt right away in order to calm her own nerves and her hormones...

Which meant even when she was out of the room I was in, she'd be with me all day long in that blouse, wrapped around my arms with her scent and essence in my nose, and feeling her own small, yet voluptuous form all over me. The shirt would definitely be larger than mine, and I could run my fingers along where the swell of her breasts would usually be, thinking of my own fingers in the real world against the bottom of her ample tits...

If not for my clothing and own well-being since I'd catch a cold staying in this shirt all day, I had to get that blouse with Paris in order to calm myself down, since thinking all those thoughts seemed to cause another liquid that wasn't water to seep onto my panties. If I didn't get off that bus I'd be having an Herbal Essences moment right in public! That, and once I was off the bus, Paris couldn't turn me down, she'd be concerned about getting me to school on time to keep our perfect attendance records going.

The bus speeding along at about 45 mph, I pulled the stop cord, heard the bell, and gathered my stuff together. At first, the driver thought it was a prank chime and started to speed up.

"Whoever did that, it's not funny!" he yelled into the bus' PA system. Apparently not many people took the bus from that upper-class part of town.

So I got up and yelled his head off. "No, I want to stop here! I've had a bad day so far and you better pull off to the side and let me off, don't forget my $40 a month pass is paying your salary buddy!" Boy did I sound like a prattling housewife.

Everyone on the bus looked at me, but I could care less. The driver grumbled out "Whatever, here you go girlie," and stopped, and I made my way to the front. I still felt a little bitchy though, so I thought I'd give Window Guy a piece of my mind. I bent down to his eye level and let him have it good.

"By the way you undersexed idiot, next time you see a very wet girl get on the bus and sit behind you, you might want to consider keeping your dumb window shut! It's warm, but not that warm!" I then gritted my teeth and finished off my put down. "Oh, and you're not my type, sorry to say. Next time take your eyes off my boobs and try to TALK to a girl, you might get somewhere!"

All I received was a pair of rolled eyes, and I got off the bus wondering if it was worth it to have a ride like that every morning, when Paris' car was much warmer, drove over bumps like a monster truck, meaning I couldn't feel them at all, and had a much better driver. A luscious looking speed demon one at that...

Uh yeah, I got off the bus and took out my cell phone from my coat pocket, scrolling through the entries until I found her number. She picked up, and seemed to be struggling a bit with something. I didn't know what, but I figured she might have been getting dressed. Ignoring the thought, I started a long ramble about Dwight and his stupid sprinkler system, and before I knew it I was only two blocks from her house. I was about to go into a whole rant about horticulture, when she interrupted me.

"Gilmore, I know you love rattling off every detail about something like a monkey on speed since those tapes you bought improved your WPM, and I'm sorry you got soaked this morning, but I need to know what you want before the first snowfall of the season."

Me on top of you, my inner vixen screamed out in desperation to mute Paris' annoyance, and I blushed red as yes, that exact thought got planted in my mind's frontal lobe since I was probably going to be in her bedroom. I shook that dirty thought out and asked for one of her blouses and promised to take good care of it, revealing the state of mind I was in since I was literally down to the clothes on my back.

Though she was a little surprised by my early morning appearance, she said yes without any hesitation surprisingly, and gave me instructions to get in. "Ring the buzzer at the front gate and I'll have Fran let you in, she'll guide you right towards my room through a shortcut past the kitchen and living room. I don't want you to have to run into my mother and have her question the reason you're visiting."

Things were still unclear between her and Mrs. Gellar, but at least she was starting to warm to the idea of me in her bedroom, much less her house. I hung up with her and finished walking towards her grand house, and Fran greeted me at the door after I got in the gate with a happy greeting.

"Hello Mistress Gilmore, Paris said you'd be coming by." Francisca looked very young for her age, and I could tell why she was one of the few lights in Paris' life. "Follow me upstairs. Did you want anything to eat or drink?"

Paris' nanny seemed sincere with the invitation, but I didn't want to make her feel like I was being an inconvenience. "No, thank you ma'am." We both headed towards a back patio in Harold Gellar's study and got into the house through there. I could make out the arguing voices of a richie-voiced woman and a younger man with a very fake British accent, three rooms away.

"So are we going to San Diego this weekend Sharon? I'd like to show you around the yacht I'm planning on using to tour the South Seas," the man said, and I could immediately deduce that the Sharon he was referring to was Paris' mother. As Fran guided me through the study door, I eavesdropped to Sharon's response, and couldn't believe the audacity she had, cavorting around with that guy and ignoring her own daughter.

"We should, my daughter is starting to become a pain in the neck again. She keeps asking me about moving out of the house and into an apartment near my ex, but I'm not having it. As long as she's under my roof, she's under my control, and I'll use her however I want." I blocked out the rest because it turned into a disgusting woo of him. I couldn't believe that Paris was only here because her mother was using her as a bargaining chip. December 25th couldn't come soon enough; because that's the day she turned eighteen and could finally get out of what clearly was Sharon throwing tens of thousands of dollars towards the judge a couple years back, and getting at least the custody arrangements and use of the house weighted her way.

We stopped near the stairs, and Fran noticed my clear anger at Paris' mother. She turned around, and I admitted I had been listening in.

"Paris is going to use part of the opened trust she'll get on her birthday to buy out the house, throw her mother out and take it back for her father, there's at least $15 million coming for her from her late paternal grandmother," she told me, honest and open. "Sharon is living off that man and Harold's alimony and that's basically it, the house hasn't become a wreck because the judge refused the throw out the staff for upkeep since Paris' father pays all of us, along with the fact he had a landmark status put on years back just in case everything that ended up happening, did, that way there would be big fines levied on Mrs. Gellar if she let this place fall into disrepair."

It saddened me to hear all these details about the inner gears of Paris' family, but it brought my heart closer to her empathy. Her nanny would have married Paris' dad had she not had a love of her own already; they had a relationship just short of Tracy and Hepburn, despite the fact they were employer and employee.

"Is Paris happy in this house?" I asked Fran as we climbed the stairs.

"She grew up here at the Manor with many positive memories, though the bad have outpaced the good in recent years." Fran smiled, and gave me that look that said she knew I was loyal and trustworthy. "It's only been recently however that her lost felicidade has came back, despite all of this." The woman set a hand on my shoulder, and rubbed my cheek. "Somehow, I think you may have a lot to do with that. When she came back from the Distrito where you accompanied her, she was in a mood she never had been since before she was forced to quit dance."

Louise had told me about Paris' days as a top dancer in Connecticut when she was younger, and showed old videos of her performances one day while we were over at her house studying for a test. Sharon had tried to destroy the videos, but Louise snuck them out before she could locate them. Paris tried to ignore them and went in the other room to study as Louise and I watched her smaller and more petite nine year-old self put Jennifer Grey and whoever the body double in Flashdance was to shame with her moves. I could still see her beauty, even through the haze of eight-year old VHS tape and the occasional shaky camera. She was on stage, and as she strutted her stuff to tunes from old Broadway musicals and 70s rock, her eyes told the story as well as her moves. Learning that Mrs. Gellar had choked Paris' dream the moment she needed a training bra and being told by her husband that he would not allow Paris to starve herself in order to save her dance career on her suggestion, it made me sick. She still had a bright career, and it was but another thing snuffed out by Sharon's dream of putting a 'My child attends Harvard' bumper sticker on her Audi's bumper.

I came back to normal time, and tried to shrug off Francisca's insinuations that I was the one who gave Paris her best summer yet, but she treated me as if I was the best girl ever to come in her life. We went down the grand hallway and finally arrived at the doors to her room.

"This is it, of course," she told me. "Are you sure you don't want anything, maybe a leaf blower to dry you off?" She smiled, and I couldn't help but laugh at Francisca's joke.

"No, I'm still fine, thank you; she's letting me borrow a shirt for class today."

The woman nodded back at me, and bid me a good day, turning around and headed towards the grand staircase to resume her duties in the Manor.

I opened the door, my inner pervert getting it's hopes up that I may be able to catch her in an undressed state. Paris was at her dresser almost fully clothed though, and I wanted to pout. Despite that though, she still looked cute, watching her out of her usual element. She was buttoning up her blouse and turned towards me.

"Hey Gilmore," she said, and I was thankful that my last name had retaken the playful nickname status that it had before the whole shower incident. She seemed to pause for a couple moments as she looked over my condition, as if she was trying to gauge the amount of water and freezing all over my person.

"Hi," I said back, my voice a little shaky from the cold permeating my skin. "I'm actually OK--"

"Nonsense, you look like you're in the first stages of hypothermia, that coat isn't helping at all. Sit on my bed, take off your jacket and wrap yourself up with that afghan," she told me in a maternal tone, though it was more warm than nagging. "I'm going to call downstairs for a cup of coffee so you can get some caffeine in your system to cause your mind to think that it's warmer."

Though once again I appreciated the offer, I tried to turn her down. "No thank you Paris, I don't want to seem a bother in your morning routine--"

"I don't mind Rory, really, now sit down and warm yourself up while I give you a dose of your favorite drug." She pushed a button next to her bed and asked for it as I sat down, suddenly warming to her motherly instincts. "Charles, I need a coffee bowl full of Maxwell House up here as soon as you can, straight and black, I have an urge for it this morning." Apparently the kitchen staff was pro-Sharon, but I didn't care, I was getting a chance to warm up in Paris' presence.

As I thanked Paris and she told me I'd get my wet laundry back on the way home from school, I took a look around her room, sort of dim in places, but in most having bright sunlight bouncing on and off the violet-colored walls. I wrapped the blanket around myself, and with Paris concerned about getting ready for school, was free to think to myself. I brought the blanket close to my body trying to dry the blouse so I wouldn't have to borrow hers, but I could tell it was a lost cause. Seeing Paris in her natural habitat was interesting to say the least.

She walked around her desk gathering up her books and complaining about the speed of the Manor staff getting my cup of coffee up there. It was as if I was watching that episode of The Jetsons where Rosie the robot went all insane perfectionist on the family because of a malfunctioning microchip. A place for everything, and everything in its place, I thought to myself, there was no place in the room that was cluttered up or out of order. Maybe her corkboard above the computer desk that was just as packed with crimson-colored pennants and materials as mine, but that was one of the few exceptions.

As I watched her get ready for school with her back turned and I tried to warm myself up, I found myself with a chance to look at her in a way that I thought she wouldn't notice. Paris bent over a little to pick up a book off the ground, and my eyes were drawn towards the back of her legs. Her skirt rose up a little, and I found myself stunned in place, part of her upper thighs exposed. My breath caught, and suddenly I had yet another perverted thought of 'accidentally' getting up a little too fast, and slamming into her so I would get an even better view of the back of her legs...and maybe her rear.

Stop it, stop it right now! My monologue admonished. You're not here to ogle her, you just need a shirt. You're going to be wearing her shirt all day and you won't think a single dirty thought about it...

However, it was too late. As her servant handed her my coffee in the door and she gave it to me, I could tell she was going all out to make me feel so comfortable, and that I should be appreciative for the gesture.

At the same time however, there was a sexual buildup flowing through me as the warm and familiar aroma of the boiled coffea arabica plant went through my nose. She certainly knew by now that the way to my heart was through my caffeine addiction, and I appreciated that Paris didn't take it to an extreme level. Starbucks would've been nice, but as I sipped my coffee at a moderate clip, I started warming up, slightly.

The scent of her afghan alone was getting to me, canceling out the coffee altogether, and I found myself bringing the blanket even closer. I read the clock over on her Mac's screensaver. It read 7:24am, and I would usually be in one of my large shuffling panics, hoping I'd get to school on time. But being in the room of the girl I was falling for, something inside of me made me want to stretch out that time out to an infinite period. My mind analyzed what she might have been doing on the other side of the line as I called her; something like dressing or just coming out of the shower, maybe something besides those things entirely. It wasn't like she had a webcast to her bedroom, but whatever she was doing was certainly distracting to my subconscious as I set the groundwork for the events for that morning.

I kept sipping the coffee, though I was sure I wouldn't finish the cup. Sitting on her bed was really getting to me, stirring up some strategy in my brain. My wheels were turning, and there was a golden opportunity being presented at the moment. I had on a wet blouse, and she was getting hers for me. Beneath my blouse, an undershirt that was causing me to feel more exposed that usual. And in my eyesight was Paris' ass, hidden to a point by her flared skirt, but towards the top I could make out her form. She put on her sweater in front, and I deduced that she was ready to turn around.

My chest is smaller than most girls, yes; but it's still enough to lure. I moved my eyes towards Paris' nightstand, noticing the golden antique hairbrush sitting on the top. Paris had probably used that multiple times; if I could get those bristles in my hair, there would be another connection to me right there.

Then suddenly, I had my most erotic brainstorm of the day up to that point; her hands would be all over the back of my neck, and my actual back as she tried to brush my hair. She would have to touch me, and I had a completely justified reason for it.

I closed my eyes, and my analytical self took it and tried to make it a reality in my brain. I could already feel Paris' breathing in my ear, her body heat against my backside, and her hands drifting all over the place. It would be only be a few minutes' time I could enjoy it, but I was going to stretch that moment as much as I could.

I took one last sip from the coffee bowl, and Paris turned around and handed me a shirt.

"You can go ahead and change in the bathroom," she told me off-hand, then turned back around and walked towards the corner of the room where she kept her shoes.

My usually shy side was taking a nap however. I kept on staring at the girl, and I brought her blouse up to my nose, despite the 97% chance that it probably had nothing but the scent of Downy and Martinizing.

After I smelled it however, I was intoxicated and thankful that the 3% chance it was Paris' unique bouquet was in play instead. It was a little wrinkled, probably straight from her hamper, but that certainly wouldn't be noticed beneath the spare sweater I kept in my locker at school. There was a small hint of vanilla perfume around the collar and her usual melon shampoo, and her own pheromones everywhere else. I just can't describe her scent without fragrance in words, I don't know, but I do know that it was sort of calming my mood down from bitchy and angry earlier, to something resembling lovesick and lustful.

There's something here, I thought, looking at the hairbrush, down towards Paris' shirt, then down at my wet shirt. I found myself connecting a seductive set of dots and finding another place to get in some touching with this whole situation. I had wet hair that needed to be dried. Thus, Paris would use the hairbrush on my head. I was also cold. I'm sure she had a hair dryer, and that her touching could do more than chill me for once. I also had fifteen minutes to go before we really had to leave. I smiled to myself and looked towards Paris, slipping into her socks. If this doesn't distract her attention, I thought to myself, I don't know what else will.

So with her eyes on her shoes, I went for it. I shrugged the afghan off and took off my blouse, still very soaked and completely damp, I actually wrung out little droplets of water with each button I unhooked. I could feel the effects of desire start to take over as skin was exposed in the front; I never had noticed how much space there was between the bottom of my neck and the neckline of my low undershirt before. I undid the last of the buttons and the cuffs, and got out of the drenched article of clothing. It was time for the plan to go into effect.

Paris turned around just as I got my left arm out of my blouse. "OK Rory, grab your backpack and let's get down to the--" I dropped the shirt to the floor, and held her shirt protectively. She paused, but somehow completed her statement. "...Go downstairs to the, uh, garage."

She was caught unguarded, and I knew it. Her deep brown eyes had turned from an unaffected look to something that could be defined as part lust, part scared shitless that she was facing her rival and friend, wearing nothing but a newly hemmed up skirt and an indecent tank top that almost showed off my entire upper body. The exposition of a little more chest to nothing but air caused my nipples to firm up even more, and I really woke up as I straightened the shirt over my chest and felt the cotton rub against the tips like sandpaper. I almost gasped, but bit my tongue so I could continue the slow and painful seduction of Paris.

I told her in a low voice that was about a fourth-generation copy of Louise's dulcet tones, which I always thought would make her a top phone-sex operator, that I wanted her to warm me up. Before I finished saying 'warm me up' though I realized I was being a little too forward, so I tacked on the excuse that I didn't want her shirt to become wet in turn.

She muttered something that sounded like 'sure', and she sat next to me on the bed. I immediately felt everything within firm up and on high alert, and my nose could certainly sense her presence. We hadn't even touched, but I already felt things inside that never happened with Dean right up against my chest when we made out. My pelvic muscles seemed to want to do involuntary Kegel exercises, tightening and releasing, as if wanting to tell me to screw this whole ruse and just take Paris onto the bed and let her have her way with me, if she was thinking that way.

There didn't seem to be any doubt though. Her look, usually stone cold and hard or as relaxed as a girl like Paris could be, was instead in that same gaze I remember her giving Tristan back in sophomore year whenever she was giving him a loving once-over, admiring the body she knew he was hiding in that uniform. I couldn't see her eyes, but I could feel them. The gaze she was giving me felt like it was all over my upper body, from the freckling all over my shoulders and arms down to what was obscured by the undershirt.

I smiled and let her know that I knew she was going to ask about where my bra was, so I was honest and told her laundry day stopped me in my tracks. Then, I made an unsettling comment that had I not found those stray panties somewhere in my dresser, I'd have nothing beneath my skirt.

That got me going, as I felt her stare even more. I felt not only internally giddy, but very stirred up. I had partaken in my feelings for her again a couple nights ago during a very unsettled sleep, and I craved...no, I demanded any contact I could muster with her.

I reached over to her nightstand, and not saying a word, watched the movement of her eyes as I felt my hand grip the cold metal handle of her antique hairbrush. Touching that alone gave me tingles, and I handed it to her, though it seemed like her brain had a sudden seizure and was in carnal state of mind instead of that of the average teenage girl. She seemed distracted with her sweater, and asked if I wanted her to brush my hair.

I gave her a good excuse that I didn't want my hair to soak her shirt, and Paris took the brush from me. This time instead of a lonely linger on her fingers, she took her time getting a grip on it from me, her hands almost seemed to grab mine. I released it, and she stretched over and grabbed a hair dryer from her nightstand drawer, plugging it in on a side outlet at bed level.

At first, she had the dryer on high, and it seemed like she was trying to find a way around brushing my locks. However, the sprinkler water had done quite a number on my style, so eventually she relented, and within about a minute, I felt the stiff bristles of her hairbrush deep within my scalp. Mmmm, just remembering how smooth that brush went through my hair, and comparing that to my crappy pink Goody from the beauty shop, there's no comparison, I'd get together with Paris just to have the right to use hers anytime I'd like.

Judging from how I envied her hair, I knew Paris wouldn't disappoint with brushing mine, and that's what she did. She alternated between fast and slow strokes, hitting all those right spots. She'd slow down for a bit, I think trying to get a feel for what was in back, and then start back up again, running the hair dryer down and over, then smoothing it back straight.

Then, she stopped suddenly, and turned off the hair dryer. I couldn't feel any heaviness against my skull anymore from water, but my head was feeling dizzy. The heel of her hand had barely grazed my head a few times, and I was wishing for more touching. I felt my heartbeat rush up, and then she spoke.

"I'm going to part your hair so it doesn't tangle up in the brush," she told me as she started running her fingers through in an innocuous way. OK, nothing at all suspicious or with an ulterior motive there, Paris wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. It was an expensive brush after all...

"Ror, would you mind if I brought down your shirt a little?"

Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop this train! My mind immediately reeled as my ears took in her words. They weren't in her normal monotone at all, there was a bit of a smile in her voice along with a little...flirting? Can Paris do that?

"I want to warm you up," she tried to clarify, but now it was obvious, she was trying to use this opportunity as much as I was. I hadn't even let Dean see anything more than my bare shoulders, and what should be, in a normal dull completely heterosexual world just a girl borrowing another girl's shirt, was becoming much more than that in the confines of Paris Gellar's bedroom. Despite the situation, I agreed without argument, and stretched the neck out so I could get as much as my back exposed to her as possible.

She parted the hair slowly, and I watched the time tick up on her computer clock, trying to keep my concentration on things other than her fingers against my back. I thought about a safe topic, like the Economics test. 7:31 and thirty-four seconds, 7:31 and thirty-five seconds, 7:31 and thirty-five seconds, the concept of supply and demand. Yes, perfect example! New Coke sucked, everyone demanded Old Coke back in 1985, but the supply was dwindling with the demand...I'm demanding Paris' touch and I hope she'll supply me and satisfy my needs...

Oh yeah, I did a real good job of distracting myself once I found out how exactly she'd warm me up, uh huh. Her brush not only smoothed out my hair, but she was deliberately bringing the tips of the bristles against my back, and it was feeling so good. It was like heaven having her do two things at once, and I never knew that she could distract me to that state. I thought the morning couldn't get any better.

That however, was before she brought her free hand to my upper back and began scratching the other side as she brushed each of the parts she created with my hair. I felt myself stiffen as her fingernails scratched against my skin, and I felt myself respond to her touch. Involuntarily I felt my legs sort of part a little and my back relax even further as I felt her trace patterns with both the brush and her hand, I swore I felt her signing my name and hers into my skin with her thumbnail. The fingers in her hand she was using to brush would occasionally tickle against my scalp, and all those erotic and tingly feelings in my head were being sent down my spinal column all the way down to where I could really feel it! I started struggling for both breath and thought, my lungs filling with the air she breathed and all the innocent and negative notions of her disappearing into the ether. I tried controlling the arousal wanting to leech onto my panties; nothing was helping and I was sure by the time I left I'd be dealing with much more than a damp undershirt.

I then tried to start conversation about the test to the best of my ability. I used my vocabulary to attempt a block out of every erotic feeling Paris was sending through, being purposefully wordy so that my brain had to concentrate on academics instead of sex. I rattled on for two minutes about Albert Greenspan's economic policy, and hoped that would do the trick.

It did, at least until Paris' index finger decided to trace around each one of the vertebrae along my spine up to just above the fringe of my tank top, she dug in her tips pretty deep. I was lost after that, as my arms developed full goosebumps, and my lower body started to tingle with what I can only describe as what felt like my groin becoming very hypersensitive to anything in and around my walls. The arousal was building down there, and I was seriously thinking of asking Paris if we could be late to Chilton just that once so I could choose from one of two things to scratch that nagging itch; solitary care, or...well, convincing her to try and 'cure' me of the problem she wrought.

I shut my eyes and couldn't think straight; my breathing was even more labored than it had been previously. Paris was killing me with her idea of scratching my back. God, Dean had never done that before. Yeah, he massaged my back, but over my clothes and in a way that suggested he was less than enthused with the idea. I was putty in her hands, and if her next words were for me to commit some kind of crime, I would've done it if that were my reward after. I smiled serenely, and intended to keep this morning all to myself.

When I opened back up my eyes, I found that those ten minutes had sped by in a blur, it was 7:40, and Paris had told me she was done and that it was time to go, we had a pretty tough commute to navigate in the next twenty minutes in order to get into class before 8:05. I brought myself out of my turned-on state, and got up from the bed, really not wanting to move, but ready for the day ahead. What had been a crap day the moment I got out of that shower, had with being so close to Paris quickly become a day where things were changing at a rapid pace into something wonderful.

"Thanks for brushing my hair, and the massage," I told her in appreciation, and she didn't vocalize it, but was just as thankful for everything. We raced out to the garage, got in the car and immediately peeled out, the rush of trying to make it on time fueling us onto the road to Chilton. We had a wonderful conversation on the way down as she peeled in and out of the rush hour traffic along Main Street at a pretty good clip, I was surprised when we passed a couple of police officers and saw her speedometer display reading fifty in a forty zone. Her father must pay off them off in order to let her indulge her inner speed freak.

I don't know how the hell she did it, but I found her Jaguar going under the familiar wrought iron gate of Chilton Academy with about six minutes to spare. Thank the Lord that Charleston gave her a close presidential parking space right next to the front doors, and we got out of the car before the engine cooled down after she turned it off, rushing our way into the hall and stopping off at the twin set of lockers Chilton seemed to curse us with. We threw both our unneeded books in and I grabbed my sweater, putting it on in a hurry like I did that one morning I hit the deer a couple years ago.

Paris and I got into the Advanced Economics classroom with fifteen seconds to spare, and with the policy being ass in chair at bell, we avoided tripping over the threshold of the classroom together and made it in our seats just as the first trill of the bell denoting class was in session rung. Thank God Madeline and Louise don't take that class, because with all that running we both did, I could feel that I was flushed, and Paris' face was shaded red from the exertion. If they did take the class, I could picture Louise bending down into my ear and asking me "So, did you both get lucky before school?" as both of us tried to refute the rumors.

I don't know what Paris did to me that morning, but my concentration was sort of shaky through all four of the morning periods. In the two classes in-between that we didn't share (gym's bi-weekly so this week was all academic), I went over the scenes in my mind all over again as the instructors thankfully gave us silent book work to mull over for those classes. I kept imagining the person in the seat in front of me was Paris, but thankfully I kept the urge to play with their hair bottled up. I read silently one passage in my AP Honors Journalism class as 'When you want to make an interview subject less intimidated by your presence, try to touch their inner selves.' I immediately thought of Paris, and my fingers doing exactly that. Flushing red, I shook that thought out of my head, and read it back in reality as 'try to get in touch with their inner selves.' Her damned shirt was getting to me in the worst way and I found myself trying to bury my neck within so I could get more of her scent. The teacher called on me a couple times and I almost didn't respond to his queries from the distraction.

By the time I got into fourth period and my seat behind Paris in Russian Novels, I was convinced that this day was going to be far from boring. Instead of waiting for me to come to her, Paris splayed her hair across my desk as she sat down in a way that was far from an accident. Usually she'd keep it tucked behind her chair so that it wasn't a distraction and I'd have to pick out the strands, and for almost the entire class period, I found my fingers and pencil winding around several strands whenever a student in the back got the lucky reading duties, and when I got up my courage to play with her necklace, the moment I touched her, I received yet another flash of arousal.

OK, you can keep this in control Gilmore, I tried to think to myself as I kept one eye on the dull reading material and the other on the back of Paris' head. Mr. Mercurio was far from attentive towards the middle of the room, and as the midpoint of the class period neared, I found myself recalling each and every touch, sound, scent and taste from the morning in Paris' room.

My brain's pleasure center started to create interesting scenarios as my eyes wandered around the room, uninterested in the translated literature assigned to me. The classroom had a window into the courtyard, so it wasn't hard to imagine having interesting conversations with my row-mate in front of the school's fountain. I shut my eyes, trying to will any non-scholastic images out, but it was for naught. Paris' hot breath against my bared shoulder, her hushed flirting voice and her untamed emotions from when I walked into her room all the way up to five after eight, all those things were stirring up emotions I thought I could control within the stone walls and hardwood floors of Chilton.

I hated to think it, but with her gold necklace chain in the ridge of a couple of my knuckles, her luscious hair tickling my hand and remembering her at her most seductive? I was becoming aroused within that class. Unlike the last time I secretly partook in my feelings during, I suspected I wouldn't be able to get away with silently coming with no one the wiser. My clit was throbbing, every shift in the seat I made was done slowly since I could feel friction each time I moved, of course the only pair of underwear I could locate was indecently thin and meant for when I wore a pair of jeans that was just that much tighter on my waist. I felt my heart beat at a double pace, and ignored any words coming from the teacher as he discussed yet another boring plot point.

My eyes opened up wide as I looked out the window towards the courtyard, and had this image of being backed up inches away, my skirt pooling on the surface of the water as Paris gave me a hot, passionate open-mouthed kiss and ran her hands up my legs, trying to get at my crotch. Even from inside, my ears could pick up the dripping of the centerpiece of the beautiful open-air quad surrounded on all sides by the four walls of Chilton's upper classmen building over the lecture and hum of the overhead projector, where Mr. Mercurio was circling points I already knew from my Cliff Notes book. I was losing the will to stop the fantasy, and with the lights turned out so the class could see the notes better, there was getting to be a huge temptation to cool my feelings within that classroom, or pray he'd let me use the bathroom pass so I could finish myself off in there before lunch.

Problem with both of those things however, as I said before, I'd definitely be loud since my entire body was on overdrive, so no secret pleasures of the flesh at my desk. The bathroom wasn't safe either, since Francie had been using her study hall to congregate her newly-organized secret society to replace the Puffs in there to make plans behind Charleston's back. Jarvis was the last person I wanted to find me out and expose my secret. So I gulped it all down, cooled my libido down by ending my massage of Paris' neck and hair, and thought of how dull and complicated sex was in French Revolutionary and Napoleonic times. That stopped all thoughts, with all the layers of petticoats and dirty French and Russian men and women becoming possible partners, so the rest of the class period went without nary a dirty thought of Paris.

Finally, the bell rang, and I got out of my seat, ready to eat lunch. You'd think the threat of hunger would kill my sex drive, wouldn't you?

Well, when Paris got out of that seat in a different way than usual, my thoughts, instead of food, went to eating of a different kind.

Yeah, that other one. Let me set up the scene;

I switched over to the desk on her left for a bit to talk paper strategy and wondering if I should get a couple different interviews during my other classes with the faculty to see what they thought about the run for the championship. She told me she had what she needed and we'd be ready for layout the next afternoon. Paris was about to get out of her seat, when it seemed like her right foot's shoe didn't get a good grip on the hardwood floor since the polishing job the school does in August had faded away, leaving sort of slippery floors, which caused so much chaos with the compulsory saddle shoes. It slipped, and I never expected what I saw next.

She rose up a little from the seat, but with her shoe not getting a good grip on the floor, she started to do this weird sort of sideways split. She tried to regain her footing, but it was too late. She fell back into her desk, and unexpectedly, her legs went into the air a few inches. She did something that resembled a spread-eagle, but thankfully there was a metal safety bar between the chair unit and desktop so she didn't fall through that space and bash her head into the next desk over. My mouth dropped open in shock, and I thought she might have been actually hurt.

That was before I saw a slight patch of white. The downfall caused her skirt to rise up a bit into the air, and as she came back down, my eyes, usually looking at her face where they were, were drawn down with the distraction, getting a nice complete gander at Paris' legs, all the way up to her junction. In the short space of thousands of nanoseconds, my mind went crazy as it got an unexpected view of her silk panties. She landed in the seat and the skirt came down, but it was of little comfort. The photographic portion of my memory had taken a mental picture of Paris beneath her skirt, and as I panicked, I was afraid that her eyes had met where my gaze was directed and the last three weeks of progress would be quickly forgotten.

Meanwhile, my inner vixen did a dance of joy to the tune of I see London, I see France, I see Paris' underpants!. I really, really wanted to ignore anything being sent down the sexual pipe by that side of me, so I put on my innocent face as best I could, and quickly offered a 'Are you OK Par?", a hand, and some assistance getting on her feet again.

She took it easily, and with a tight grip on my hand, got up from her chair steadily, cursing Mr. Mercurio.

"You know, the janitorial crew would come in here and rewax if he just asked," she told me, and something told me that my little sneak peek indeed went unnoticed. She ranted a little bit as I suddenly became newly aroused. I couldn't hear a word she said as a fantasy started building within my mind without my permission unexpectedly. God, I knew what she looked like nude already, but in such an unexpected way, that little slip was turning me on. Beneath I felt the floor beneath my feet take the texture of wheat bread as thoughts of my face between said other girl's legs shouted loudly over my regularly academic conscience.

Oh God, the way she was looking was absolutely cute. She had raised her own hemline at least a couple of inches as I did, and as Paris rambled on, I did my own interpretation of how the adults in Charlie Brown's world talked and thought of her saying completely different things. "Don't you agree that we should campaign Charleston for a compulsory polish and wax for all classrooms Thanksgiving weekend?" seemed to turn into "Ror, don't you think the surface of Mr. Mercurio's desk would be a great place to get between my tanned legs and eat me out?".

I had to get out of there, before I vocalized that I wanted to do a different kind of buffing on her than floor waxers did!

"Yeah, it's a great idea Gellar," I told her honestly. I wanted to say 'Let's go to lunch' and resume the day from there, hoping I wouldn't think about her slip for the rest of the day.

Leave it to my busy mind however to decide to go on a different track, and I said something completely different as I felt myself become even more turned on. "I think I need to refresh my mind a little before the Life Sciences test, so I'm going to go do some studying in the library for the first half of the period." I then extended a branch, hoping she'd take it. "Care to join me?"

"No thanks Gilmore, I have the material pretty memorized," she answered as she got up and regathered her books. "Want me to save you a plate of food?"

"Sure." I smiled at her and we said our goodbyes as she went towards the dining hall and I went to the library despite not having anything to study.

I intended to stop at my locker on the way to the library to pick up some of my materials and go over them alone in a carrel until about 12:25, when I'd leave for lunch. I was trying my best to distract myself from what I had just seen in the classroom, ignoring the powerful vibes being sent from my mind and my body. Every time I took a step, the process started anew; everything rubbed up against each other and I thought again of what would happen if Paris were able to keep going with her hairbrushing and backscratching past 7:40.

Stop it! This is school, my conscience chimed in, but my body was seriously having problems dealing with all these lesbianic thoughts of Paris. My feelings for her were hardly dissipating; Tuesday morning alone they seemed to build even further. Now I was walking down the halls of Chilton having dirty thoughts of her. Denial again, seemed the best course of action, so I blocked them out, thinking of Dean. Wonderful, cute, dependable, boring, safe, asexual, settling for less...

I'm afraid thinking of him didn't help; it only made me recall my entire Paris pros list, which I went over with fervor as I headed down the corridor. A minute had passed since the end of class, where I found the hall traffic surrounding me fading, and my eyes looking up at the plastic slate above the door that read Franklin Offices passing me by.

Now in a normal unisexual and completely academic situation I may have walked right past, heading towards the library, studying like the good little girl everyone thought I was, then heading to lunch when I finished.

All the sudden however, I was getting this strong and nagging urge to demean the privileges vested in me when I took the oath of office for Chilton Vice President and Paris' assistant editor at the paper. In my backpack's front pocket, sat the master key to almost every door in the school, given to both Paris and I as a reward and a privilege for earning our titles by the vote of the student body.

In front of me, stood the door to privacy. No one ever did Franklin work at lunch, so I'd have the entire office to myself for the next forty-five minutes.

I usually hate to be blunt and profane when it comes to my sex life, but I can't think of any other way to say it; I was overly aroused, horny as hell and the entire morning had caused my mind to go haywire. It flashed one of my most sexual dreams between Paris and I, getting hot and very heavy in the paper's darkroom. I paused in front of the door and felt my body excite as the mirage of eerie and haunting red glow from the light bulb above the developing area cast a glow on our prone bodies as we made love to each other on the table in the middle of the room.

Who was I kidding? I could've snoozed through the entire year so far and still gotten at least a 97 on that life sciences test, I wouldn't forget the material that easily. Considering whose shirt I was wearing, and how my right hand was against my thigh, craving to make its way above the hemline of the skirt, I'm sure I wouldn't be caught getting myself off in the office. Everything on my person felt so sensitive, and my pussy was begging for attention.

60% of myself didn't want to go through this whole perverted situation, but the other 40% consisted of my pleasure lobe, the thoughts I had of Paris and all my sexual parts. I certainly couldn't ignore all those parts. I recalled the way she had rubbed and scratched my back hours before, the soft and somewhat calloused feel of her fingers against my spinal cord, that breathing in my ears, her voice, sounding very sexy in a hushed whisper.

Not to mention the extra item that was the blouse that fit her curves quite perfectly residing on my body, and looked very cute and oversized on my form. I could still smell her scent within, and there was a voice in my head nagging me to pay her back for her generosity. I was losing all my hunger for food, and in an extreme mood to sate my appetite for her.

Paris' blouse seemed to be the next best thing to her warming body against mine. "Here goes nothing," I whispered to myself, taking the keychain from the clip in my backpack pocket, and unlocking the door to the newspaper.

Once I got in and after locking the door behind, I noticed how quiet and desolate the room was when the paper wasn't being put together. Desks stood empty, the hum of the 24 monitors in energy-saving mode seeming to be the predominant sound in the sort of shoeboxed office. I set my backpack down on a layout table, threading my fingers through my hair as I brought down the shades on the outside and inside windows, hoping to God there was no one around. Even in my aroused state, I was paranoid someone was watching me, so I checked to make sure there were no security cameras killing my urges. None to be found, and I tiptoed on the hardwood floors towards the room with the eerie red glow, thinking about Paris' current overtures all the way over in the twenty feet between the backpack and the door to the darkroom.

I shut the door, and what might have been a hot place in my dreams to fuck Par turned out to have some problems. Namely, the drying photographs hanging from clothesline around the room, moments from all of Chilton frozen in place. I started unclipping each one from their individual clothespins, and turning them around so that their eyes wouldn't see me and throw off the entire fantasy that was being brainstormed. After about three minutes, I finished turning all of them around, seeing nothing but the genuine Kodak paper logo staring me in the face from almost all four directions.

There was a part of me that really hated planning out the seduction of myself into an orgasm, the same little voice that keeps nagging me to grab Paris in the hall Francie-style, push her up against the wall and kiss her numb. However, I couldn't, because I like taking time on my fantasies. Slowly, I unbuttoned the sweater over her blouse, trying to watch myself be seductive in a mirror that stood just off to the side of the sink. My hair was still somewhat flat from the sprinkler incident, and as I opened the sweater and took it off, I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror for the first time since I put her shirt on.

"She chose the right shirt," I told myself as I untucked it from my skirt, trying to muster up something sexy. Then I smiled at the way I look. I know it pisses Paris off when the moment I get in the car I strip myself of the tie and untuck the shirt, but lately she hasn't been commenting on that. She's been even more concerned about the road than usual, and I can tell there's something inside that tells her I've become as much of a distraction as a phone call from Sharon asking her twenty-one questions on her anytime minutes.

I smiled to myself, and with nothing stopping me, inhaled the scent of her blouse with my nose as I sat down on a hard metal stool. I spread out my skirt so I wouldn't sit on it and for easier access. Honestly, I thought I'd be able to keep myself under control.

Watching my eyes trail my hands, I undid the pesky Chilton tie that I usually felt like would choke me, and unbuttoned the two top buttons on the shirt, exposing some skin on my front. I could feel myself flush as my shy self realized the gravity of the situation, but the sort of thrill of being caught despite the two locked doors in the way of the catchee spurred me on further.

I brought my hands to the front of my shirt, stroking the material in a slow and wanting manner, imagining my palms on Paris' waist, bringing the material up her body and getting a small glimpse at her stomach. I could feel the cold steel along the edge of the drafting stool against the bottom of my thighs, and already felt myself wet with desire at what I was coming up with. I moaned her name as I undid a couple more buttons on the shirt. So far, so good, I wouldn't mind sending one salad to the trash that day, because I was going to take my time bringing myself to orgasm before 12:50 with the fantasy that was brewing in my mind...

Instead of thinking of a future situation with Paris, I decided to dredge up something from our past where we may have been able to fit in our relationship. It's the night of last year's Bracebridge Dinner, and I changed around a few details to fit my needs. Instead of lying down to fake a buss as Romeo, Paris went ahead and gave me a kiss that was so full of love and wanting, that I wanted more. After the curtain was drawn on the scene, we started making out backstage, knowing where everything was going from there on. We didn't quite get to second base that night, but we were both hooked on each other from then on. So I broke up with Dean citing his jealousy, and started seeing Paris behind everyone's backs. Whenever we could get a moment, at the Franklin, girl's night outs in Springfield, Mass. restaurants that were far from the Chilton and Hartford gossip mills, sleeping over at each of our houses and getting close and intimate once either Lorelai or Mrs. Gellar went to bed, we were slowly building up a relationship behind everyone's backs.

Then, my mother got the idea for the Bracebridge Dinner. She'd invite everyone in town for a free supper, sleigh rides and a night at the inn. I didn't know whether or not to invite Paris since she technically wasn't a citizen of Stars Hollow, so a couple days before the day, I dropped a hint to her as we had a tryst in my mom's Jeep that she might want to drop by with some newspaper work so that she had an in. With that, Lorelai was sure to tell me to share her room, and we could consummate our relationship with no one the wiser. Of course she said yes, and we put the plans for the evening in motion, knowing that Madeline's writing style somewhat resembled Usher's, who in turn stole it from Prince, who originally took it from ee cummings. Seriously, is there any originality in publishing or music anymore?

I couldn't wait for her to be mine finally, wholly and fully, as I looked myself over in the mirror and put on a green dress made out of silk-like material. It slid over my form, and I really felt sexy as I walked out of the room and my mother told me that I looked like I was ready to turn heads. There was only one person who I wanted to have all of her attention; and Paris fit that role wonderfully.

I did my usual Inn stuff once I got in; the place settings and things like that. I also do some room service by putting mints on all the pillows, and getting a look at the register beforehand, I saw the only room that had a blank spot under it was the Presidential/Marriage Suite. I thought that was perfect and fortunate; my mother would have to give a room like that to her if she stayed; Paris would technically be an invited guest of mine, and with that she did need a room. I knowingly smile innocently as I walked in the room and place the mint on our pillow. I just had a feeling I'd forget about that later as we ached to make love to each other.

Finally, the time had neared, and after putting that final touch on each of the rooms, I go downstairs to the front desk and start checking the townspeople in. I do my best to keep my face unexcited each time the door opened and instead of Paris, someone like Gypsy or Miss Patty walks into the front room instead.

Dean comes in a few minutes later, his hand being held by a girl I'll kindly say was just a little less whorish than Summer, and who would be fit perfectly later in life into his 'subservient little housewife template' he had made up in his head. He regards me with all the enthusiasm an ex-boyfriend can muster for his former love (read; barely any), and they go off and join everyone in the dining room to prepare for the event.

Thirty minutes later, she still hasn't arrived, and I get worried because there's some snow starting to fall outside and she may have spun out on the road down. I start pacing the room, hoping that she's OK, but there's not much to fear, as moments later she walks into the inn, her hair covered by a cute brown knit cap and with a bright smile on her face, her jacket hiding the body I've gotten to know so well over the last couple of months. I want to smile back, but we have to keep the cover going, so we both settle for a non-sexual handshake and snuck blown kisses as she goes over the Franklin stuff we have to look over during winter break.

Thankfully, it's not long before we can find an opportunity to be together, because there's a couple of horse-drawn sleighs in the town square that go around a couple times, and at a slow clip. We both decide to go after we go through the little mirage of I inviting Paris to dinner and Lorelai giving her the Suite since the snow is starting to come down a little, and we get into the sleigh together, wrapping ourselves together in the comfy woolen blanket over our bodies.

We watch the scenery together, and I just love looking at Paris' face in the cool December night. Her eyes are wide as she looks into mine, cheeks flushed and rosy, wanting to be warmed by my love, and her lips…well it doesn't take long before we're able to sneak in a soft kiss as we hit a dead spot along the makeshift trail.

I'm thinking I won't be able to do all that much with her in the sleigh, seeing as it's so public. But all the sudden, she starts talking about some obscure book she had just read and how much she loved it to me, when I noticed her hand hardly at her side, instead it was drifting up the skirt of my dress.

I intake a sharp breath and thank God for blankets, as I try to control her wandering hands. She uses the talking as an evasion topic all the time in order to get into my pants in my fantasy.

"Paris," I admonish her as I grip her wrist. "Not until we get into the room! Geeze, I thought you were going to be more well-behaved than Dean."

She gets this cute guilty smirk on her face. "I guess you're right Ror. After all, I'm just a repressed private schoolgirl with a high intelligence quotient and lesbian tendencies trying to seduce the same type of girl, namely you, how can I help it though? I'm repressed and you're making me come out from my cocoon." Then, she gives me this serious hovering look that makes me want to either slap her or bring the blanket even higher against our persons.

I get an evil idea, and start to play with the buttons on her jacket, trying to get it unbuttoned so I can get at her breasts above her full cashmere sweater. At first she resists, until I decide to relent and let her move her hand higher up my thigh. So we end up spending the entire sleigh ride not taking in any scenery, and instead building ourselves up for later in the night, playing with each other beneath the blanket wearing all our clothes. When we get off the sleigh, my mother is there to see us in, and notices that Paris' jacket is open and my dress has seemed to develop a sudden case of static cling in the front.

"You two better straighten your clothes up before you get in, Taylor's going to be grumpy if he sees you two at the dinner table like that." We both laugh nervously and straighten out our clothing, hoping that no one noticed what we were doing as we made the double circuit around the gazebo.

My eyes glazed over as I got into the fantasy further, and I loved the slow burn I was causing to myself. By about that time I'd unbuttoned the blouse a couple more buttons down to just below my breasts, and felt the warm air of the darkroom against my undershirt, straining my nipples right against the cotton. I felt the tank top shift a little up towards my bellybutton and could see the fringe of my panties under my skirt. I used my other hand to hike up my skirt a little for easier access to my clit, massaging it through the blue material. I could already feel myself wet with desire, and moaned out with each slow agonizing and teasing stroke.

I could taste Paris in the air as I started to sweat a little, and could sense her scent. I wish I could've gotten a peek at her bathroom to at least get a hint of what kind of toothpaste she used. Probably Tom's peppermint, she's the kind that goes all natural, I thought weirdly to myself. Why did I suddenly fixate on how Paris' mouth tasted? I knew she went for something off the pop culture radar when it came to a mint choice, because when she needed to fill up her gas tank on the way to Stars Hollow occasionally, she'd pull into the 7 Eleven and along with the gas, bought a tin of vanilla mint Velamints...

Sorry, I got a little off-track there. Sense my excitement here? Anyways, I was starting to feel pretty hot sitting on that stool getting myself off, and could feel the thin wood board that padded the metal seat start to soak up. I ran a finger slowly against my pantied slit as I went further with the fantasy...

I fast forward the fantasy through the dinner, where even though Paris sat next to me, not much happened except for the occasional hand against a thigh here and there or my foot against hers. Sadly, she couldn't dress fancy because of our little Franklin work scenario, so she had to wear loafers instead of dress shoes, but I still was able to coax Paris to brush her socked foot against mine here and there.

She loved the dinner (and the company that came with it), but nagged at Lorelai for some specific problems with the believability of the activities, including the servers wearing shirts not made from cotton, or wool. My mother just laughed off the complaints, and I could tell Paris was being playful with her words. Of course I found her attention to detail something I loved in her. Especially when it came to our long talks with each other and going over everything in our relationship with a fine tooth comb.

Finally, after some more fun pomp and circumstance, it was finally time, Paris and I could go up to the hotel room, and we could finally go farther with our relationship than the occasional backseat groping and cramped coupling sessions that so far had defined our secretive dance. As much as I loved her lingerie, I wanted to feel Paris' fingers inside of me. If her handwriting was that beautiful, imagine how'd she make me come with those hands.

We linger in the front room for a bit, talking with my mom about what we were going to do over the winter break. It was idle conversation Paris and I really weren't getting into, just enough to keep us in control until we got up the stairs. The last person climbs the stairs, and after we hear the door shut, we look into each other's eyes, filled with lust and want and smiling at each other. Thank God Lorelai's still under the assumption that we're good friends.

Paris and I run up the stairs and into the suite, our hands intertwined as we locate the 'do not disturb' sign and she hangs it outside on the door, hopefully no one is on to us, but I doubt it since the townspeople should know how exhausting Chilton's curriculum is and that I'm thankful I get such a long two week break.

The door hasn't even clicked before Paris has wrapped her arms around me and starts playing with the back zipper on my dress. She eases me into a luscious and cute open-mouthed kiss, and that awesome feeling of her lips against mine sends a chill up my spine as we slowly navigate the space between the door and the bed.

"Don't you think we should light a few candles, get some romantic atmosphere in here," I stumble out between kisses. "I mean it's our first time…"

She shushes me up with a finger to my lips, my eyes following the digit as she brings it from my lips and into my hair to run it through. "We can do candles and flowers and chocolate kisses on Valentine's Day, right now all I want is you Ror." She kisses my nose softly, and I almost want to tear up, that she wants only me, not the other things that surrounded it. "Though that bowl of chocolate ice cream with peach slices I had for dessert probably has something to my sudden craving for you."

I laugh, as I run a hand against the bottom of her breasts through her red speckled sweater and try to muster up a seductive tone. "I suggested that for the menu just for you, I read once that they're sensual aphrodisiacs and I know from experience that you love peaches."

She moans out, the whole seduction is working so perfectly. "Would've been a better dessert if you would've been feeding me though." I move my hand down and into the shirt, and she brings me down with her onto the bed.

There are no words as she starts to bring down the zipper holding my dress together, and I try to move her shirt up so I can get a hold of what I really envy about her, God I love her breasts, they're like pillows that I've ended up sleeping on a few times when I got Mom to let her sleepover after one of our meeting of the minds where I'd bounce paper ideas of her, and Paris would return some more. I knead them through her bra sensually, running my thumb against where I guess her right nipple is. She gasps out and cries my name as I find just the right spot.

"Oh God," she says, and Paris is distracted from her task for a moment as I hear the slight sound of a rip coming from the back. She finishes unzipping my dress, but the shock of my touch apparently made her grip the material, causing it to tear below the end of the zipper.

"I'm sorry, I guess I got a little too wild there, I'll pay--" Her apologies are muffled as I kiss her again, trying to bring her focus back to the task at hand. I decide not to get revenge on her by ripping off her sweater, and she lifts it off and throws it off to the side. I look at Paris' chest, covered up by her bra, and still think she's wearing too much.

I slide out of the shoulders of my dress, and I can see the giddiness in her eyes as she finds there's nothing between it and my breasts. I decided to go without intentionally just so I could see her reaction. Her mouth drops open, and she somehow finds words to comment me on my gutsy move.

"I thought I had the shy one," she gasps out, and she looks at my naked front with this reverence that's usually reserved for an article or a well-produced debate argument. "I'm going to die young if you keep on shocking me like this."

I muster a sexy smirk and wind my arms around her back, her body hovering over mine as I get a deep view into her cleavage inside of her bra. "I am Mary you know, puritan and clean on the outside..." I trail off as I stretch out the bra hook and release it, hearing a satisfying snapping sound as Paris' tits are freed, "But inside I'm yearning for you."

We tangle together, and we get more intimate as the minutes wear on. Shoes, socks and hosiery get kicked off, and I manage to make surprisingly fast work out of stripping Paris of her corduroys, revealing her wine red-colored undies, already damp with building arousal. With her watching me, I brought my nose down to just above her stomach, taking in her fragrance. There was nothing in there but untamed wanting and longing for me, my body, and my heart and soul, looking down at me as she released her hair from an uptight, conservative ponytail.

Foreplay with her is amazing; I can tell though she's never had to do it before, she's been reading plenty of books on the subject of sex, and trying to learn from the mistakes her mother and father made in their years together. She's harsh when needed, but there's this side of her that's just happy someone loves her. She plays with my breasts and kisses down my torso just as much as I do to her, and I love the slow torture that she's giving me. I reward her with the same attention she deserves, taking a hold of her body and showing her I may have been a sexual slouch when it came to Dean, but that was only because I was not only with the wrong guy, but the wrong sex altogether. Somehow, my oil and her water mix perfectly when we're together.

I shut my eyes and go with the flow of the fantasy as it continues. I'm not even watching the clock as the blouse Paris lent to me was fully open, I took my right hand and brought it beneath the undershirt, trying to tease my breasts. They're both firm and hard, excited beyond belief from not only the mixed signals, but what I've been dreaming about; imaging Paris giving each one attention. I slipped a finger in my mouth, coated it with saliva and moan erotically as I run it against the outer circular areola; the tropic temperature of the darkroom heating my body so much I had to keep myself from fainting.

My other hand was just as occupied, loosening the snaps of my plaid skirt as I dreamed Paris was doing that instead. I opened it up and ran the hand against the blue waistband of my underwear. Because of the dark color of the room I couldn't actually see how damp I was, but from the sense of air flowing beneath my pussy, my lips were quite damp. I couldn't take everything off obviously; so I had to make do, trying to shove the skirt as off to the side as possible so I could access my clit and get myself off. I could hear the unbalanced stool shake beneath me, the feet not properly aligned with the floor, so I started to be scared I was going to fall off the chair and onto the hard linoleum floor below.

Thankfully, I was able to be somewhat enterprising and find a perfect position to screw myself in the cramped space. I stayed on the stool, but moved it to between the photo-sorting island table in the middle of the room and the side counter. I then reclined up against the front of the counter, my back resting comfortably and used my feet to brace against the island, thankful that Chilton was an expensive enough school to afford a high-quality darkroom like that. I spread my legs a little, and pulled the skirt down my legs just enough to mid-upper thigh so I could see my groin. Then I brought my undershirt up just so it was exposing my navel, and prepared to jump back into the fantasy, literally, as my right hand traced the faint outline of my wetness and I renewed my makeshift fantasy...

Paris and I are under the sheets and blankets of the large king size bed, very comparable to her bed, and though I think she's going to try to initiate cunnilingus on my first time, she tells me it might be a lot easier on me if we just did hand-to-pussy with each other. We're completely naked, and hoping that no one ignores the sign on the front door and tries to unlock the door and walk in on us.

She seems a little nervous, as do I, and we take a little break from pleasure in order to calm our fears.

"Did you...um, would you want to be on top?" she asks me, biting her lip as her doe eyes look into mine, trying to decode the answer straight from my mind. "Because if you wanted to, I wouldn't mind being bottom, at least that's how I was taught in the books since the--"

I take her hand into mine and try to calm her down, she's almost scared. "Par, those situations are with a man and a woman, they certainly don't apply to us at all." I bring her close, and kiss her as I bring my hand up to her inner thighs. "I respect you and I've taken most of the initiative trying to keep this hidden, so I feel like you should be on top."

"You're sure?" she asks, sort of with a frown and her voice strained. "I don't want you to feel inferior to me, you know we're equals in this--"

I couldn't take it anymore, what with her left thigh right up against my apex, her chest on mine and both of her hands on each side of my rear, so with all the strength I had, I caused her to roll over so that I was on the bottom, and Paris was right on top. I move my hand from her side, and towards her crotch, and though we were both covered with the blankets and sheets, she knew what I was trying to do. All I had to do was vocalize the confirmation.

"Paris," I said firmly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Fuck me."

I think that basically shut her up, hearing her girlfriend use profanity so freely without regards to her usual puritan virtues. I hear her voice gasp at the shock of the F word from the girl below her, but she still moved down and we started to kiss heavily as she tried to reassure me about what she was about to do. In the fantasy though, I thought of myself as already broke for some reason or another, so I assure her I wouldn't feel a thing but her hand inside of me.

"You know I love you, right?" I coo, and she smiles at the warm words.

"Yes, and I love you too Rory." With that, I eased my left hand into her slowly, and she slips her right into my wetness, careful to make sure I was ready to be filled. Within moments, I feel dizzy with desire as without trying, she hit a very sensitive spot within my walls.

"Oh God!" She firms up as I scream, thinking I was in pain. I use my free hand to grip her wrist, and my smile said it all; I wasn't in much pain. A little bit from the stretching out hadn't been done before, sure, but it was easily replaced with a wonderful dose of relief called ecstasy. She resumes her slow strokes, experimenting all over and trying to find just that right spot to give me pleasure anew.

Meanwhile, I don't know how Paris was doing as my hand strokes in and out, but whatever I was doing, though not as shocking to her as my screams, it was working. She sighs and moans, content with my pace so far, though I haven't hit a sensitive nerve yet, I think of her as sort of uptight, so I expect to take a while to figure out just what makes a Paris Gellar orgasm tick. Her hair is against my shoulder and I feel her breath quicken with each push and pull, movement in and out. We seem to find a rhythm, and I calm down as the stress past my lips seems to numb from the pleasure of her fingertips. They feel comfortable and passionate, the ridges of her prints seeming to treat my insides like a finely-tuned engine, trying to find that right place for me to make a certain sound. The heel of her palm is against my clit, and I feel fully and truly whole. The "Oh God!" cry of earlier seems to be reduced to a murmur of contentment with my schoolmate as her idea of pleasure is something I'm quickly starting to agree with.

She eases each finger in slowly, and from two to three, I start to feel very content. My pelvic muscles tighten up against her digits and I feel my hips involuntarily rise up and down as Paris' hands, not to mention her well-manicured fingernails (Mmm, another thing I love about falling for a rich girl) find all the right spots. On her end meanwhile, Paris seems to be just fine. I'm a little more awkward and tentative with my strokes, but she doesn't seem to mind my more experimental nature of things, because she's trying to get more of my hand inside of her with each push in. In my hand, she feels so warm and open, she's definitely a hidden sexual being.

I decide to push a little deeper within, and we're looking into each other's eyes, gazes never wavering. I can tell Paris is loving the deeper push because all the sudden she bites her lip and whines, which with her mouth open would have certainly been a scream. We're still kissing so much that I can't even count each time her lips have touched mine or my cheeks, and my hand is cradled against the small of her back as I nuzzle against her nose.

I don't know what it was about being alone that was causing me to be a little more adventurous, but I was doing more than rubbing myself as the fantasy went on. My legs were spread even wider and I used my left arm for leverage against the back of the counter to stay steady. My panties are about halfway down my thighs and I'm feeling very damp as I work my clit over, thinking of Paris' hands. God, it felt so good, even moreso than when I thought of her in the dorm closet months before and any of the times I've thought of her in my own bed. I felt the tangle of fluid and hair around my fingers, and it made me feel ever more untamed. I was ready to foam over soon, bucking against my hand as the dream of Paris and I went forward. I looked up at the clock to get an idea on time; only fifteen minutes left! I had been so into the fantasy that there was no way I'd be able to finish, clean myself up and eat.

My fingertips were glistening with my cum as I drove them in as deep as I could without tearing through, I was almost crying as I begged myself for a release, basically gasping for air. My exposed skin was covered with a light sheen of sweat as I continued on, and I tried to resist the high temptation to stop and cool off in the office. I knew my hair was basically done for, and it was too late to realize that several of my fellow peers would take one look at me when I got back into the halls and deduce that I got laid during the lunch hour.

Screw 'em, my usually conservative conscience chimed in. They don't even pay attention to you and Paris in the first place, they're all about the QB anyways lately, he's the big man on campus. Remembering that I have no interest in any of the males on any of Chilton's athletic teams, I decide to go into the homestretch and conclude my fantasy, what with Paris' shirt becoming close to soaked in the underarms...

I can tell Paris is starting to tire and her energy is fading as we almost come to the point of satisfaction. She's wavering and her grip on my body is starting to loosen, and I think I'm getting to that same state of exaustion. I feel my lips becoming numb from all that stimulation and she's told me the same thing with hers, so we're stroking each other's in a flurry of activity, we can feel the bed beneath us creak as our sex is coming to fruition. She's still caring in the rushed lovemaking, kissing my forehead as she beckons me further.

"Come on hon, come on," she pants out. "I'm almost there--". She groans in pleasure, and I see her eyes roll back in her head as she tries to drive herself further into my hand. I think I've finally found her spot, so I leave it where it is and ask if where my hand works for her. Paris sighs "Yes!" aloud, and we're both starting to get to our peaks. My body is writhing up and down, and I can feel my boobs bounce up and down on my chest with each stroke of my pussy into her hand. I'm smiling deliriously, and I can feel the beginnings of the orgasm building.

Paris' strokes are coming at me in rapid succession now, and I feel her fingers pound against my walls like a drumbeat. I didn't think it would ever feel that divine, but I'm starting to see stars from her attention. Noticing my body is starting to shake and it's almost time, she starts tugging at my clit in order to hasten me. Almost, almost...

"Paaaarrrrr, ugggghhh," I scream as I try to will the O further. I want her to see that she's the one true person that I love. We push into each other, trying to find our way into a combined euphoria. Our teeth are gritted, foreheads scrunched, and our bodies are as tight as rubber bands as we ride out those last few movements in each other's arms. This night has been even better than words could ever describe.

Finally I feel release and I shriek at a high decibel as I cry out Paris' and God's names together as I feel my muscles contract tight against Paris' hand. My mouth is wide and I swear I can't breathe as the orgasm she gives me makes me see literal stars in my eyes. It's sensual, beautiful, raw, and everything that I ever dreamed of for my first time with her. Somehow I manage to find just that right spot within her, and a couple minutes later Paris is reversing the process, even if she was a little late, but I blame my inexperience for that. In my eyes, she becomes more than my academic rival and girlfriend; we share everything together, and I hope this night shows her that I'm nothing but thankful that she breached that barrier between romance a few weeks ago on that stage.

It takes us both quite a while to settle our bodies down, damp with sweat, tears and our fluids, but I wouldn't have it any other way. After she comes down from the high, with me being the taller one in the relationship, Paris spoons into me and gives me an intimate hug, smiling as she plays with my hair, and I in turn flitter around with her locks. She looks at me with her wide enigmatic eyes colored the same shade as a walnut, and finds nothing but reverence.

"So earlier," she says, "when you asked for candles and all that other stuff? Much safer and sexier in just the dim light, isn't it Ror?"

"Very," I affirm. "We both have long enough hair anyways, candles would've been a fire hazard to this entire evening." I nuzzle her nose, and listen to the sound of her breathing. "I really did want to feed you peaches and chocolate ice cream though, think it's too late?"

"It'll make a delicious breakfast at the very least; right now I'm too full to eat, physically and spiritually." She kisses me, and I start to feel the situation start to lose a little steam, albeit with some nice closure.

"You're not turning down a session of lovemaking in the shower when we get up then?"

I watch her smile curl even further as we cuddle into each other and get ready to fall asleep. "I told you I loved you today already, right Gilmore?"

"You did, about five times," I say as I feel her chest press against me and sleep coming fast. "Of course, it's not too late for you to tell me again to make it number six."

"Then I love you Rory," she confirms in her best seductive monotone. "How was that?"

"Just what I was hoping for again, for I love you too Paris." We fall asleep in each other's arms, knowing the magic of the snow outside falling on the streets and lawns of Stars Hollow has once again worked its unique magic on two lovers, undiscriminating about whom loves whom.

The dream ends just as I started the last strokes of my hand against my clit and I bucked against my fingers, feeling satisfaction seeping from my pores. I was so a total mess and going to need a trip to the bathroom on the way in, but as I came all over my hand and a towel I had placed over the seat of the stool so I could catch any arousal dripping from me, I felt so content and full, dreaming of Paris that way. I was about half-naked, but I had fulfilled a sudden fantasy that I loved carrying out. It took a couple minutes for the orgasm to go through me so that I could regain my footing as I got out of the painful position I was in, though the sexual feelings numbed any extra back pain I was sure to be carrying around for the rest of the day.

I looked up at the clock and found it reading 12:43pm, which meant I had seven minutes to get ready to get to the classroom before the class I took started. Since it was in another building, I started rushing things a little, toweling myself off with a paper towel and intending to flush it down the toilet as I struggled to rebutton up my blouse and straighten up my shirt. I was in a panic, and it took at least a minute to find the discarded tie within the pitch black area along the bottom of the darkroom's floor.

As I bent down to pick it up, I remembered that I hadn't pulled my panties up quite yet. I picked up the tie and was prepared to pull them back up, when as I rose, I felt this blissful rush of cool air rising up beneath my skirt and breezing across my numb mound. I shuddered at the shock, and suddenly my devilish conscience, the one who in my mind wore a slutty low-cut top with a high-rise red leather skirt, seemed to have tied up Good Rory temporarily, because I got an idea that made me smirk.

If you don't have the top, I reasoned with myself, why not forgo the bottoms? Isn't like anyone's going to notice the school's good girl without a certain something beneath, and it'll certainly make the paper work and ride home very interesting.

I recalled Paris' reaction to my not having a bra on earlier that morning, and I swore I remembered her pouting because I still managed to find a pair of panties despite the laundry situation. It wasn't like they were ruined at all; some drops of arousal in the crotch but certainly something I could keep. But if I didn't, my skirt was still long enough to hide the fact I was taking a couple lessons from Louise. I still remembered her description of trying to unnerve a teacher last year by grabbing a convenient front seat and spreading her legs open so the teacher was lured into giving her A's, and thinking at the time what were to happen if I tried that same thing with Paris around, only instead of grades I wanted gratification. I did happen to do that as we took the Acela train down together from New Haven to Washington in June, but since I was wearing jeans on the train, everything was basically negated so there was no chance to gauge her reaction.

I smirked as I spread open my legs and let the blue cotton drop to my ankles, then picked it off my legs and threw the incriminating skivvies into the deep, deep section of my backpack. I put back on my school sweater and cleaned up the darkroom a little to hide what had happened in the last half hour, and gotten out of the Franklin office and into the hall just in time to blend in with the crowd coming from the dining hall.

Then I stopped at my locker, and found Paris at hers, digging for her texts for the next three periods. She looked so cute, if only she had known how I just thought of her minutes earlier. I grabbed my books, and said hi to her. She looked towards me, and suddenly got this disapproving frown on her face.

"What?" I questioned, shrugging. Did she know I was--

"You might want to make a trip back to the bathroom before class. Charleston's going to stop you and make you sing the spirit song backwards in Klingon if you don't straighten yourself out there Gilmore."

Looking down at myself, it seems in my rush, I forgot to tuck Paris' blouse back into my skirt, and one of my socks was askew, not to mention I had to be wearing that nature-made color they call Afterglow Pink all over my face, judging from my messed up hair.

I rush out thanks for her looking out for me, and clean myself up in the bathroom, making it to AP Calculus just before the bell trilled and thankful she didn't notice anything else or comment on my absence during lunch. The rest of the day seemed to strangely speed up after lunch, but probably because my adrenalin was on overdrive. It was such a rush to sit in each of those classes and sit there learning, reading and testing like usual, knowing that you're getting a kinky little thrill from having nothing on beneath the Chilton tartan.

My mood was a mix of giddiness and disappointment at the same time as Paris and I took the test in Life Sciences seventh period. Though I could sense her ankle up against mine and what seemed like accidental contact, I could tell she was hiding something as the hour wore on. My libido was seriously pissed however, since because I was taking a test, I couldn't gauge any reactions by looking towards her because I didn't want to look like I'd be cheating off her paper. I knew the material and the teacher knew I did, but better to keep eyes straight and thoughts on the chemical compounds within molecules and just let myself enjoy what went on underneath the table. So close to footsie that day, but it kept my flared-up hormones under control at least.

A couple hours later after school as we did the work on the paper, I felt nervous that someone on the photography staff would discover that someone had been sleeping in their room and they'd discover that I was the Goldilocks in the scenario. I kept looking nervously towards the room as I organized my thoughts into a profile about the team's trainer, about the only person on the Blue Demons I'd write about since the team itself intimidated me. Paris organized it all and there was a general sense of bedlam in the room I'd usually associate with a busy scene in All the President's Men as Paris and Ms. Peters organized us foot soldiers into a lean, mean, reporting machine trying to focus all our energy on this one special edition. Sports, News, Photography, Layout and Entertainment seemed to be able to work well, and I respected my girl for managing to fit all of this stuff into thirty-two pages to be handed out by third period Thursday morning. Even Madeline and Louise worked diligently, scanning the results of an unscientific poll they had taken throughout the day asking who the five cutest guys on the team were. I didn't vote of course, but they respected that despite. It was a rush to go from Paris' original idea on Friday, the staff getting stories all weekend and Monday, then drafting through last night into today until around 4:20, all of the staff was in the conference room looking at the projected computer layout of The Franklin, Special Edition - The Blue Demons' Run to State.

Paris was proud of all of us as she went through each of the pages, pointing out something on each page and giving a personal thank you to each of the contributors and photographers. For once, she had nothing negative to say at all, though she did tell poor Brad to maybe not put that he wanted his mommy and was very scared as he interviewed Cornelius DeMateo, the 345-pound defensive back that easily tore through the front offensive lines of most of our rivals. He managed out a "Sorry," and Paris gave him a smile as everyone laughed with him. He's a good kid, and even Paris, who lives to torment him, is taking it easier on the boy since he came back from a successful run on Broadway as a character in a top musical over the summer. I might be seeing things also, but Madeline is flirting with him at times when Louise's back is turned, sort of like the dance I've been initiating with Par lately.

She praised my article on the habits of the team trainer and told me I had come a long way since my poetic prose on the parking lot resurfacing I started my high school journalism career with. By the time the meeting had ended ten minutes later and everyone was dismissed, I was on cloud nine as Paris and I got into her car and she started the drive back to the Manor to pick up my dry clothes and was thankful no one made a comment on the darkroom. She pulled up to the front drive, Fran handed her my blouse and jacket, and within a few minutes we were on the expressway out of Hartford.

I was hoping that I could get home in time so that I could change into regular clothes that my mom had dropped off, get in the shower and clean up so I could meet Jess and Shane around 5:15 so we could discuss an Austen book I had recommended they read together. I thought with the school day over, I could get home unscathed and not have to face up to any more awkward situations.

Oh, how wrong I was. The usual smooth commute turned into a nightmare as the traffic reporter on WTIC broke into the talk show Par was listening to with a loud boisterous traffic alert.

"91 at the Cross is currently closed due to a jackknifed semi blocking all lanes, CDOT is out cleaning the wreckage and traffic both directions is absolutely jammed. The state patrol is currently redirecting southbound traffic onto the 691 west..."

"No!" I cried out, and Paris rolled her eyes as she prepared for the bottlenecks ahead. Route 691 usually added twenty more minutes onto my ride home because we had to take a whole bunch of surface streets and two lane highways once Paris reached the exit for the road we needed.

Paris huffed annoyed, mad at the unexpected delay. I took this as a bad sign and got out a book from my backpack, trying to stay out of her way as she navigated the heavy Tuesday gridlock. I couldn't concentrate however, because she kept cursing to drivers in other lanes once we merged onto west 691.

"C'mon!" she complained angrily, pushing down on her horn and directing her bile towards some jackass who merged across three lanes of traffic and right in front of us. Thank goodness for soundproof material, I thought to myself as she went on and on with her complaints about idiotic Harford drivers preventing her inner speed demon from playing on the expressways that afternoon.

Her forehead was scrunched up and she was gritting her teeth. I have no idea why a thought like that came to my head, but I thought asking her for rides was starting to become a hassle. She was trying to use conversation to distract me from the jam, but it didn't seem to work as her Jaguar was crawling along the road at a glacial speed of fifteen miles an hour, her face becoming redder with annoyance by the moment.

She needs a little boost, or perhaps a little distraction, I thought to myself as I turned the temperature down on my side because my mind usually can't handle a small space like a car more then necessary, causing me to think I was hot. I brought my eyes down to the book in my hands, but my gaze was directed down towards my breasts. I loved unnerving her during that car ride a couple weeks before with nothing but the open road ahead of us, surely I could help her decompress what anger she had at the situation. Plus it would only be natural for me to change back into my own blouse and give hers back.

So I went with my plan, taking off her blouse and throwing it in the back. Usually when she saw the Chilton uniform unkempt on anyone else, even after school, she'd go off on the unsuspecting person with a tirade about how could they ruin the integrity of fair Chilton's uniform, your shirt should stay tucked in, blouse or shirt straight and starched and skirt even on your legs, it went on and on.

I must've been a big exception though, because lately she hasn't been making a negative comment towards me. So I lay back on the seat, straightened my undershirt out and untucked it from the skirt, knowing that she might bring her eyes towards my waist to glimpse at the skin exposed. I was also feeling a little hot despite the temperature, so I turned the climate control on my side even lower. Nothing like a little gratuitous in-the-shirt nipple exposure from a cool air conditioner vent to drive a certain blonde up the wall.

We talked as we got into the thick of the quagmire, Paris' mood not improving as time passed. The minutes ratcheted up on the clock, from 4:40 up to 4:50, my hope for getting to Luke's on time at 5:15 fading and my annoyance along with Paris at the traffic rising. I read the book, sort of aware of her eyes on me. I judged her look to be more I could be home studying by now instead of chauffeuring Rebecca here back to Sunnybrook Farm than of carnality; her mood seemed to be unreadable. We tried broaching conversation, but it just wasn't happening. I honestly that it might be a hell of a lot better for both of us if we took separate cars home, that way she'd never have to drive me back to Stars Hollow again.

She was finally able to make conversation by asking if the traffic would clear, so I complained that Luke would be 80 by the time I got home, and that it wasn't my day.

"So this day was bad for you Gilmore, big deal. Suck it up and think ahead to tomorrow, the forecast is for sunny and 63°, as Annie says it's only a day away." I didn't see any humor in it though. I still had seven hours to go on Tuesday, and she was getting in a bad mood that I thought I caused. I asked her why she'd give me a ride when it was a clear hardship on the time she spent on her studies. I talked about how much better it would be if I was on the bus and she was on her way home.

What happened next just about made it clear that Paris was far from annoyed at me.

As she started to tell me that I was no hassle to take home, I saw her right hand move towards my legs. I then gulped as she set it down on my left thigh, just above my knee. If I had been tuning out the fact I wasn't wearing underwear for the last couple hours, I had just found a clear signal since the moment her palm made contact, my clit responded immediately.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, her hand is on my thigh! My touch senses relayed to those certain parts, and since the seatbelt was cinched tight around me, I couldn't move, or evade. It seemed completely innocent, a reassuring technique as she reminded me about the fact her mother paid for her fuel.

I bit my lip, thinking that it wasn't going to go beyond that; she kept looking at the road talking, not noticing that my other leg was shaky and I felt so underdressed! Then her hand started shaking my leg.

Oh Paris, my internal dialogue gasped out, her simple touch wearing my mind thin. There was really nothing I could do; I was putty in her hands since as her aversion tactic to take my focus of my complaints was working, maybe a little too well. I could feel my legs part involuntarily and I tried to keep my mind in control, despite the fact I was wetting the rear of my skirt with my arousal.

I tried to speak to argue back against her pols-on-the-bus point, but my scholarly mind seemed to regress back to kindergarten as all my brain power went to processing the fact her perfectly-manicured fingernails were now scraping against the inside of my leg and were rising at the rate of a millimeter a second! Damn you Paris, damn you and your evasion techniques. I forget what I said back to her, that's how distracting she was.

I felt everything stir and respond and my line of vision fogging up, breathing become heavy and my heartbeat speeded. The book was losing the battle for attention, and as her fingers trailed above the hemline of the skirt, I became very aware of what was happening. I set the book down and listened to her explaining why exactly I was not a pain in the ass, wondering if it would be bad form to grab her wrist and shove her fingers into my wanton pussy since that's where she was probably headed anyways.

The only thing I could decode from her words in my lust-fogged mine was "I'll be there for you always, no matter what". At least my romantic side got a little numbing and a little swoon, but the primitive animal never aroused within me took that as an open invitation. God, I wanted her so bad, her hands in me, getting me off through the traffic jam as I admitted I was interested in her, my fingers crossed that she'd be open to experimenting with fucking me and giving those tinted windows and soundproofing some great use on one of Hartford's busiest expressways.

Her hands wandered ever further, my eyes shutting as she came that much closer to realizing her friend and rival had nothing stopping her from sliding elegant fingers up into me, and making my wildest wishes come true. I watched the traffic, starting to pout as I saw it start to clear up. Paris' digits drifted up into virgin territory, scratching my skin with the same enthusiasm as my back hours before. I remember the times I had gotten off just imagining her hands fingering a pencil within my bed, thinking at the time it was such an odd thing to dream of. I guess my mind got ahead of my touch though, because her fingers against my thigh, shaking it too and fro? I could die a happy woman right about there.

Though I would die a virgin, not knowing the pleasures of Paris' tongue. Yeah, morbid thought I'm so not thinking again!

She was getting closer and closer, what would she have thought if there was no trace of cotton and instead she ended up feeling the tangle of the dark curls on my mound? Would she smile, laugh, cringe, and think I was crazy for going without? Be appreciative that my natural hair color was indeed brown?

"Uh, thank you Par, I appreciate all the rides you give me--and, uh, those in the future," I spat out, feeling my crotch become slick and wet. A few more inches and she'd know what her hand alone was causing in me. "I promise I won't abuse your offer."

I certainly wouldn't mind giving you a ride Gellar! I suddenly thought, and it took all I had in order to gag what I felt was a very loud moan forming in my larynx. What was up with us that afternoon, me fucking myself in her shirt in the sacred space of the darkroom and deciding that a pair of panties was wearing too much, then Paris with her hands, it was like I was living some kind of romance novel where we teased each other crazy!

I felt like I could come right there in her car and onto my skirt, the heat from her fingers drifting up into my slit. I heard her say there were no thanks necessary for the lifts home. She was so close to my core I could almost taste it and sense the oncoming orgasm, I started straightening myself up for the inevitable reception of her fingers within as I imagined she whispered 'Let me show you how much I appreciate you as more than a passenger Ror' into my ear, then closed the distance between us and kissed me...

Then I saw her hand recede towards my knee. I was shocked and struggling for breath as I lost her contact, almost on the verge of tears. The traffic started speeding up and we had finally found an opening, so Paris had no choice to bring her hand up from my thigh and back onto the steering wheel, drifting down my leg towards my knee until she wasn't making contact anymore. I was at the absolute edge of giving it up, the balls of my feet right on the cliff and ready to fall into her, but had been saved just in time no thanks to the help of the Connecticut Highway Patrol in clearing up the rush hour mess.

I'm serious; I was ready to admit right then and there my interest in her. But I had to keep it silent as the speedometer made it's way back to a speedy 55. My virtue was still intact, though as I looked at Paris keeping her eyes on the road, I honestly wished it wasn't. I never thought my breasts could be so hard and my pussy so wet and wanting for more, but I sat in the bucket seat, wet as could be and wishing I'd have taken the risk.

My brain stirred into action the rest of the way, trying to figure out ways to lure Paris into finishing what she started. Sleeping over at my house? Not a good idea on a school night, and I don't know if I'd want her and I to go back to school the next morning. Maybe I could take her to the bridge and we could just talk? Judging the fact I would have a sudden urge to shove her into the freezing cold water and ravish her beneath the surface, not the best course of action. I knew I didn't want her to leave, but I had to let go sometime that day. After all, I still had to see Dean and Jess and get some last moments with my mom before she went the town of Music Row and the Grand Ole Opry until Sunday evening. Oh, and I still was bound to Dean. Probably wouldn't appreciate seeing me make out with Paris when I still had his bracelet on my arm.

She finally pulled into my driveway around 5:40, and I didn't even realize it. My body was cold and numb from the air conditioning and thoughts enflamed, and I had made an indent in my lower lip from biting down on it so far. Not to mention I was sure the back of my skirt probably had a slight dark spot in back that would show off the effects of Paris' almost-fingering of me.

"Rory," she said, shaking my shoulder. "We're home."

I widened my eyes and saw the familiar blue abode I've come home to for six years. "Sorry," I said, trying to normalize my thoughts, "I was really into this book."

Paris then smirked at me, and my excuse fell apart like a popsicle stick bridge with a sumo wrestler crossing it. "So into it you've been reading the last page for fifteen minutes, I think you've analyzed it to the point of exhaustion."

"I guess, I'm just tired, stupid traffic," I lied, and she didn't seem to press. I seemed to lose my attention.

"You're OK then?" she asked, and I felt words on the tip of my tongue that would invite her to come into my house. I didn't want to get up, but I unbuckled the seat belt anyway, despite the fact I didn't want her to go.

I was falling for her, her voice sounding so sweet to my ears, and her nose, I just wanted to bend over and give her a kiss goodnight right on the tip of it. I wasn't even out of her sight and missing her. But I got out of the car and grabbed my things, ready to be alone in my unhappy relationship with Dean once again.

I told her I'd see her tomorrow, hopeful she caught the hint I wanted to see her at 7:35, the moment I walked into that building. She then joked about what got me into that whole situation, Dwight. She laughed when I said I'd wear a raincoat while I watered, and it caught in my ears. It's rare to hear her laughing at a joke, she's usually a Daria-like cynic who usually keeps her giggle to herself. When she laughs though, it's more of a nervous guffaw, and doesn't sound like her voice at all. She smiles too, and I recycle her sexy laugh into my memory banks, hopeful that I'll get to hear it from her in the future many more times.

The way I feel about her is something like I've never felt before. We say goodbye and I walk onto the porch, turning around just in time to see her squeal her tires and peel out of the driveway back onto Cherry Lane, as I watched her car fade on the gravel road leading to downtown. I squint and still make out her HVD-BND license plate as she stopped at Peach Street a block down. She turned on her right turn signal, and my heart tightened up as she turned towards downtown and out of my life for the next fourteen hours.

"Goodnight Paris, and sweet dreams," I whisper to myself as I walk into the house and get into my usual afterschool routine. Thanking God that Lorelai dropped off an entire clean outfit with bra and panties so that I wouldn't have to stay without, I jumped into a very cold shower and got back into my pedestrian 'I love Dean, he's the only one for me' mind track that was so hollow I could hear a woodblock in the background signaling what I really thought about him. Certainly after going through an afternoon like that where thoughts of Paris made me come one and a half times (half for the almost-orgasm in her car), Dean's record was truly pale now.

Speaking of whom, when I went to Luke's, came in once I got settled in and immediately when on this insane streak of accusations that I struggled to explain away as a total accident. He started out with the fact his friend had seen everything going on between Jess and I when we were trying to turn off the sprinklers at Dwight's. I tried calmly and rationally to explain that no, I didn't decide to suddenly have a wet t-shirt contest with Jess as the judge, and we're going to be friends and nothing but that.

He got overly defensive then, and Dean was seriously starting to scare me. As I kept my cool, he kept making all these accusations that I was a whore and going behind his back an