Title: Longing With a Cherry Tomato on Top | Chapter Five | Shirts, Skin, & Two Left Feet

Author: Nate

Pairing: Paris/Rory, Paris POV

Inspired by: Past season two and early season three subtext, as I've said before. This chapter takes place between Eight O'Clock at the Oasis and They Shoot Gilmores, Don't They? with the timeline between episodes compressed for dramatic effect. A couple things to point out;

·Take the Deviled Eggs never took place in TomatoWorld since Jess isn't involved romantically in Rory's life and is actually fine when it comes to his education (Shane's been helping him out), and we'll assume that Sherrie worked herself way too ragged a couple days after that whole Halloween party I mentioned in the last double chapters, and was ordered by her doctor to have 24/7 bedrest until she gives birth to Georgia in February and to stay away from work (I promise this will be explained by Rory in chapter six). That means no baby shower, no Rory and Lorelai going to Boston, and no hard-boiled eggs being thrown at Jess' car.

·I don't hate Dean, so don't take this as my personal attack on him and his character. This is just fanfic, I'm just not a fan of the whole Rory/Dean dynamic and I mean no harm at all (He's better with Lorelai IMO). Remember, this is Paris talking about Dean; she has a low opinion of him in general and this is the way I think she'd express it.

Rating: R (swearing, naughty femslash thoughts, self-pleasuring with a sexual fantasy)

Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my show, they belong to Amy Sherman Palladino, Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone and Warner Bros. Television. If they were mine, Dean would buy a clue and leave Stars Hollow in shame for cheating on Lindsay, and Rory would've chased Paris, settled things with Jess and kept him as a good friend before she tried to pull Paris off her flight to London this week, telling Paris she was indeed her type and to dump Asher. Fireworks would light up the sky over Hartford; they'd look into their eyes, and kiss in a way that would put the Friends closure of Ross/Rachel to shame ;).

Summary: The gears of progress between Rory and Paris start to turn in unexpected and surprising ways as Paris remembers the last week as she prepares for one of the most important days of her young life.

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

Author's Notes: I never expected to enjoy writing a story so much, but honestly, I can't wait until I get to open up Word everyday, be it at home or work (don't tell my boss ;) ) and start working magic with Rory and Paris because I'm having a blast, and getting to know so many new people, I feel so heartened by all the feedback being given to me. Whenever I find myself in a bind, someone gives me an idea or a brainstorm and I just love running with it, so if you're afraid to review or give me advice, don't be. I will listen and consider your idea with all the fervor of the others I've received.

Raven and Cinn, thanks again for the awesome betaing, and the advice for the tail-end of the chapter, sometimes a guy just needs a little help, and you two delivered again. I also have two new people to thank, Christina for the wonderful conversations about femslash and music, and Vixen for our fun, hilarious and hot conversations about Rory/Paris, and Liza in general, I'm so glad you loved that little sneak peek I gave you earlier, and thanks for the future ideas!

Also to all my reviewers and everyone on GGSlash, you're wonderful and write such great stuff. I'm glad to be in such close company, Rox's story is awesome, and I'm begging for more from all the other authors. Finally, thanks to Carlos for the Portuguese dialogue help.

FF.net readers; warning #6 that this is femslash. Turn back now if you're not a slash fan, but I hope by now you're a loyal reader of this after four chapters, and gotten over your fears about f/f fic. See, it's not as scary as you might think; you just have to find the right story to get into it all :).

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There are a lot of things I loved about Tristan DuGrey before I became fixated on Rory as more than my rival or in the sense of a best friend; unfortunately most of them were stuck in the realm of fantasy. Those blue bedroom eyes, that hair, the way he looked shirtless, and his chivalry, those were the trademarks of my little schoolgirl crush on him, I would have done anything to be his.

But even before he cracked the safe, I knew that the possibilities of a sexual relationship with him were, using a soccer term, slim to nil, since he barely acknowledged I was a female at all. I'd take the advice of Madeline and Louise in freshman year and slightly try to slut myself up whenever he was around, but to no avail. My ideas of flirting were far from his, he'd be surrounded by his fanclub whenever I tried to attempt it, and when I tried to pull a Phoebe Cates in Fast Times strategy (sans taking off my top) one summer day at the country club's pool, he didn't get the hint I was trying to hammer home, that is 'Look at my breasts in this wet bikini as I rise out of this pool Tristan! It might be degrading to feminists but I'm willing to try anything to get your eyes on me!'. Guess he isn't a breast man in retrospect, figures I'd crush on the only boy in the entire school who doesn't fixate on them.

As for the date Rory set me up on with him? Looking back, it was definitely obligation. I'd try to flirt and tell him he looked handsome, and he'd come back and say that I was 'fine', and not in that stretched-out 'street' way that Nelly, the rapper from St. Louis does either (What? I have to keep abreast on pop culture, so I soak in all types of music, doesn't mean I have to like it).

Dinner was eerily quiet, and I played with the cuffs of the borrowed shirt from Lorelai's closet as he droned on and on about Summer and how he wanted her back, when it was so damn clear that he could've easily replaced that bitch's name with a certain 5'7" resident of Stars Hollow with long brunette hair, sparkling blue eyes and a well-evolved wit that I still envy to a point to this day. During the movie he didn't even stretch his arm across my shoulders, but considering the film had about 1/10 of a love story and 9/10 mindless violence, I wasn't expecting that armrest between us to go up and for him to slide a hand up my skirt.

The last confirmation came during the kiss goodnight. I did enjoy it, but when I look back, it seems so pedestrian and dull. Yes, his tongue ended up in my mouth, but only touched the tip of mine for slight seconds before he drew back and said goodnight, leaving me to walk the steps back up to the front door of the Manor alone. No knees turning to jelly, no memorizing the fragrance of his shirt, nor did I head back up to my room and strip down to nothing wanting to finger myself silly just because of the whole date. There was nothing there, no attraction, just a puppy-love crush that was confirmed the next day when Tristan revealed all and I went off on Rory for no reason but to numb the pain, I certainly never meant to scream 'I hate you!' at her as I rushed out of the classroom.

God, that was two years ago, but I might at well be forty years old looking back on young love, because Tristan is as far from my thoughts as possible, except when I compare this last whirlwind week around Rory to those nine years with DuGrey.

I swear that girl is coming on to me, but I'm just too stubborn to confirm it, because I'm fearful I'm misreading her signals.

So why am I sitting here in front of my little-used vanity on a very early Saturday morning, recalling the week in Rory and trying to mix and match makeup shades as I look myself over in the mirror, while trying to find that 'perfect dress' somewhere in my closet that will meet her approval?

I suppose though, it might be better to start off by relaying what happened earlier in the week, Tuesday morning to be exact.

It was an unseasonably warm November day outside, and though when I woke up it was dark, by the time I had finished my meditations, along with some leftover homework at 6:30am, my window was filtering in bright sunlight. I was really looking forward to this day because there were tough quizzes in Life Sciences, AP Honors Calculus, and Advanced Economics. Days like these psyched me up, and as I walked into my private bathroom, turned on my shower and disrobed, I was excited. There was also a special playoff edition of the Franklin to put out that day since the football Blue Demons had made it into the regional semifinals, so we were charging a high rate for each ad and all the students would want a copy, special events like that make being into journalism a special thing for me.

I was so into academics and publishing that morning, in fact, that I completely forgot about Rory. She had done her little 'flirting' on Monday, and was happy to see me, but was a little low-key since it was Monday. Even we academic types dread the end of the weekend sometimes. So I was blissfully out of my Rory funk for just a bit, and resumed my morning routine relatively unconcerned with the welfare of the girl I liked.

Francisca carted in my breakfast into the bedroom as usual (the less I see Sharon the better, so I never eat with her in the breakfast nook), and I came out of the shower in my robe and ate my cereal and English muffin as Fran and I had a conversation in Portuguese about one of her children, apparently her daughter Caterina had been proposed marriage in Lisbon by her boyfriend Saturday evening, and accepted. I was so happy for her and told her I was crossing my fingers she was going to have grandchildren from Cat. We finished speaking as I sipped the last of my orange juice.

I took a look at the clock, which read 7:10, meaning I was six minutes behind in my routine when I finished. Usually by that time I'd be in my uniform and sorting the books and papers from my desk and into my messenger bag by subject. I wasn't even dressed though, nude beneath my robe, so I was painfully behind in my opinion. I took off the robe and hung it off the bedpost, and walked over to my dresser to take out my lingerie and socks...

And then my cell started to ring! Sitting on the desk all the way across the room from where I was, and with the robe in-between, I was stuck in a rock and a hard place. I never had phone calls that early in the morning, so I had to assume that it might be Daddy having some kind of emergency since I kept my number from Sharon intentionally. I wasn't going to let it fall into voicemail, so I ran for dear life trying to catch the call, naked and embarrassed by my loss of the track of time.

When I finally arrived after feeling like I was auditioning for a slot on the Baywatch cast I read the screen and cursed inwardly. Damn it, I thought to myself as I saw that familiar number, followed by 'Gilmore, L R' scroll across the color screen. I don't remember her forgetting anything before she left school the day before, so I didn't know why she was calling me before school. I picked up the call, ignoring my nude state as I began the conversation.

"Hello?"

"Par, I need a favor." She asked, sort of in a panic.

"You want me to pick you up?" I responded, assuming she needed a ride in and missed her bus.

"Actually, I'm fine, as a matter of fact I just got off the bus at Auer Farm and I'm walking towards the Manor."

I asked her why she'd get off the bus about three miles away from the school and close to my house, and told me that she was house-sitting for a new guy in her town, going into quick detail about Dwight and his stupid clock that chimes off a novelty hit from the 70s changed to fit each hour.

"....So I was leaving his house and watering his plants when his stupid sprinkler system starts going haywire," she complains, "and I'm caught in the middle, unable to turn it off since the idiot didn't leave me instructions on where the shut-off valve was. I was basically stuck and thank goodness Jess walked by, otherwise I'd have been completely soaked, and he found the valve for me. Who needs to water plants that much, its ridiculous--"

I interrupted her and asked what the favor was as I tried my damndest to get into my panties and socks with one hand.

"I need to borrow an extra Chilton blouse from you, mine is completely soaked and I'm shivering, my hair is drenched and I wouldn't normally ask since I have ten or twelve blouses in my closet, but today's laundry day and Lorelai has everything we wear down at the Inn, I'm down to the clothes on my back and desperate Par!"

I laughed and felt sorry for her...sort of. "You mean Jess or Dean didn't have a spare shirt?"

"This is no time to wallow in my pain," Rory nagged at me. "Please let me borrow one, I know you're a little...bigger than me but it's an emergency and I'm sure if the dress code police believe my story they'll let it go for a day, I promise it'll be returned in good condition."

"Alright, fine," I said, no questions asked. "How far are you from the house?"

"About 300 feet, I should be at the front door in a bit."

"OK," I said, and I then let her know that Fran would let her right in and that she could come in my room, no questions asked. She thanked me and told me that she owed me a big favor one of these days, and I ended the call, ready to get back on routine from the interruption after I Nextel'ed Francisca and let her know to open the door for Rory.

Then I remembered as I snapped my skirt closed and started putting on my bra, the keywords from Rory's short little conversation moments before.

Wet...soaked...shivering...desperate...Rory...

"Oh fuck!" I mumbled to myself, my breath catching as my imagination brought through an image of Rory wearing a uniform completely soaked through and sheer, the outline of her bra and what was contained within all but clear through her oxford shirt, and her hair damp with wetness looking all cute and irresistible to me. I shook my head and closed my eyes, trying to take the image out of my mind. "She just needs a shirt, this isn't an attempt on her part to seduce me," I convinced myself futilely as I tried to focus on something else. "A shirt, that's all it is, my shirt on her body--"

Where I was in a panic moments before, I then realized the golden opportunity being presented on a silver platter to me for the day. Rory would be wearing my blouse, with her fragrance, her essence, and her body heat leeching onto the fabric right in front of me, without a care in the world! At the same time, I could virtually have my arms wrapped around her in such a unique and erotic way, and she'd be none the wiser. She would smell me through the entire day and not realize that when I took it back, the plans I had for that uniform blouse.

My mind flashed forward to a future bedtime, where instead of changing into my pajamas like usual, I'd take off all my clothes and wrap myself in that blouse, my nose aware of her scent as I slid a hand across my thighs and towards my mound, running a fingertip against my hypersensitive clit as I recalled each and every detail of that day, my love wearing something I had worn many times before and just maybe, taking my smell in her memory and thinking seriously about breaching the line drawn between friends and lovers.

Just the very thought of that was getting me wet, and I was seriously contemplating locking that door and telling Fran to entertain Rory for the next ten minutes so I could bask in those thoughts. There was this seriously giddy smile on my face and as I got a relatively clean shirt out from my laundry hamper (just enough fabric softener fragrance yet to hide my scent to everyone, but keep it in the forefront of Rory's nose) my love for her was once again renewed. She could've just been threw her wet shirt in the dryer at home and ended up slightly late for school, or tried to get away with a non-standard uniform shirt. But she thought of me first, she asked me for a shirt! I put on my own shirt and started buttoning it, when I saw the doorknob turn across the room.

I quickly got back into conservative and unexcited mode as she walked into the room, and though it somehow lasted on the outside, the moment she shut the door, smiled at me and wished me a good morning, I was internally thanking whatever higher power told that Dwight guy to fuck leaving Rory the sprinkler directions.

She wasn't as soaked through as she was in my imagination, but she still looked very hot. Rory's hair was flat on her head and still slick, and her face was flushed red, her teeth chattering and showing off the very obvious sign that her jacket had acted as more of a seal of the freezing temperature of the water than heating her up. Everything on her person was soaked, and the only thing I could think at that moment is I needed to play her own personal heroine since I already was giving her the shirt off my back.

I used the intercom down to the kitchen and asked for them to bring Rory up a cup of coffee, and though she was iffy about it at first (she thought for some reason that she invaded my space), I smiled and told her it wasn't a problem, telling her to take a blanket off my bed to warm herself off.

"Thanks," she said as she took off her jacket and set it off to the side, wrapping herself in the afghan.

"It's no problem, why don't you just leave everything here to dry, I'll send it down to the laundry with Fran and we'll stop by on the way home to pick up your dry clothes." She seemed to appreciate it, and I thought I was pretty much out of the woods once the cup of coffee got upstairs and she started sipping the warm dark liquid slowly. I was dressed, and I thought she only had to change her shirt, so we could probably make it to campus just a few minutes before first bell. This is one time where 7:35 wasn't when I'd first walk in the halls, but as long as I maintained perfect attendance I didn't care when I got in that day, because I wanted to spend a little unfrenzied time with Rory.

She put down the coffee on the nightstand and I handed her the shirt, expecting her to change in my bathroom due to her shy nature. Once again however, she surprised me, undressing in my room as I put on my saddle shoes. I paid no attention and didn't mind it since she'd probably put my shirt right on.

I turned around and asked her to grab her backpack so we could head to the garage, when she sat down on my bed, holding my shirt in one hand and throwing her blouse down to the floor.

"Paris," she asked kindly with a slight hint of come-hither in her voice, "Would you mind warming me up? The blanket didn't heat my skin all that much and this hair," she pointed at her soaked locks as I turned around, "Will give me a case of brain freeze if it isn't taken care of."

I couldn't believe what I just heard from her. There Rory was, the girl who usually stuck to long sleeves and covering herself to keep Dean's hormones in control, on my bed still wearing her Chilton skirt, but on top, a thin white tank of an undershirt that was even tighter against her ample bust than the gym shirt during the field hockey game. I walked closer to her and sat down on the bed.

Sitting next to her, it was apparent that she was going braless to school that day. The outline of her nipples was perfectly apparent through her undershirt, and it was still a little damp, soaked by the blouse. She'd have to live with it however, it was 7:25 and we were running out of commuting time, not enough time to bring it downstairs.

Rory noticed my stare, and didn't flinch as she excused her unsupported state.

"Like I said, laundry day." Her words sounded like come-ons to my ears, and she laughed as I soaked in her hidden beauty. "Thank goodness my underwear didn't get soaked, could you imagine me without them?"

"Uhh, not really," I say half-heartedly as I try to take my eyes off the slight bit of cleavage being exposed beneath the shirt, and well...any allusions that she would ever have nothing but air under her skirt. Unfortunately, my idea of distraction was to look at her arms. Her arms, with cute little freckles stretching from her wrists all the way to her shoulder blades. Until then I never really paid attention to the fact she had all these sexy little spots all over her upper body since she was usually covered up by the oxford shirt, but I became fixated on them, and though I tried to keep my gaze neutral, she seemed to get clued into the movements of my pupils, passing on the fact that she was receiving the signals herself.

She reached over to the nightstand and took hold of my antique hairbrush and handed it to me, trying to prod me to speak. Thankfully whatever was in my throat cleared and I was able to concentrate on something else.

"You want me to brush your hair?" I asked, picking some lint off my sweater.

She nodded her head. "I just don't want to soak your shirt from my wet head."

"Alright." That was a perfectly good reason to brush her hair, right? I got my hair dryer out of the nightstand drawer and plugged it in, and started drying her long brown hair as I ran the brush, passed down through multiple generations of my paternal side, through her hair. The strands slid right through the stiff bristles like silk, and I heard her sigh happily after several brush strokes, she seemed to find it to be something that was warming her up. I made a little small talk about the tests as I moved on to her front, my fingers seeming to somehow transmit erotic feelings through her skull and into her mind each time they touched the top of her skull. Her breathing seemed to become shallow and short, and her state of semi-undress was causing me to notice things about her that I never had before, even during the shower.

The long, slender and classical column of her neck, also filled with spotty freckles and skin marks, so many I could probably make a whole day just by trying to count them in my mind. I glanced down as I brushed the top of her head and noted that each of her arms were goosebumping. That little denial part of me tried to attribute it to Dwight's sprinklers, but I couldn't lie to myself. Something was in the air, and I tried to keep myself in control as best I could.

I moved the brush strokes down her back, parting the hair into three sections so that her hair didn't tangle in the bristles. I decide to stay within her mandate of warming her up, so to thank her for the neck-rubs she's been giving me in the Russian class I asked her if I could bring her shirt down a little so I could brush not only her hair, but bring the bristles in enough so that she can feel them up against her upper back. Rory didn't even shrug or argue, and helped me out, and I tried to breathe as I realized I'm looking at almost her entire backside nude and in almost relatively complete privacy.

I brushed each part individually, and with my free hand scratched her back on the exact other side so that she had the feeling that both of my hands are on her back. I loved doing this, and though every part of my sexual being was on a high alert, it was thankfully numbed by the easy-going conversation that we had, it was almost as if we were betrothed already. Not everything in our worlds revolved around sex, this seemed to be just as if we were both winding down our days, and Rory had asked 'Scratch my back honey'.

Everything about her is so graceful, yet sexy, even on her back where she can't see anything with her own eyes without a mirror. When I reached the middle, I traced the outline of her spine with my fingertip, going in a zigzag pattern as I winded slowly around each of the vertebrae that were apparent and exposed through her milky white skin, like a maze that's solved only when you get to the bottom, literally. When I knew she wasn't looking, I licked my lips and hesitated; if only she knew what she was doing to me by asking me to brush her hair, and silently consented to me scratching her back.

I thought she sensed every little touch I was making; her posture was straight and when I'd bring a brush stroke down towards the small of her back, she had no objections. If there was all the time in the world that morning, she may have taken off her undershirt and let me go lower than where her bra line was.

Sadly, there wasn't, and I knew it. I spent five minutes brushing her hair and scratching her back, and before I could fathom that much time had passed, the little alarm I set on my cell that signified the least amount of time possible to commute between the Manor and Chilton had chimed. It was 7:40, and that meant I had twenty minutes to drive from here on the northeast side of town, to the south side of the metro area.

It stung to lose such intimate contact with Rory, but she was as stubborn as I am about tardiness, so I let her go and she thanked me for the great job I did brushing and drying her hair. We both smiled at each other, and she slipped on the blouse I lent her as we walked out of my room and down the stairs. It was strange because I expected after the chiming for things to be awkward. Instead, our bond seemed to become stronger, and as I drove out of the garage with her in the front seat, we fell right back into academic talk, with a little soap opera gossip here and there (which I love since I wouldn't admit watching them to anyone else).

Rory and I arrived at school with just five minutes to spare and had to race to the other end of the building after stopping off at our lockers in order to be in our seats when the bell rang. We made it just barely, both of us almost tripping over the threshold of the Advanced Economics classroom as the last seconds before eight ticked down and planted each of our asses in our individual seats.

I have to say honestly, I would've taken the tardy, and though I can't speak for Rory, I'm sure she might have too. That morning was probably one of the most exhilarating ways to wake up I've ever experienced, and though not much was revealed in an actual conversation, the body language between both of us suggested that since the unexpected sleepover, we've made progress. Before then she may have been scared too shitless to call me and ask to borrow my blouse, but there's no doubt in my mind that she never even considered Madeline, who's closer to her on the route to Chilton, or Louise, probably because she would have initiated an extreme makeover on Rory besides the blouse (Sorry Louise, whore eyeshadow and blush absolutely do not work with Rory's skin tone!). She came right to me, and there were no arguments.

She may have asked me to warm her up that morning, but when she called me, I hate to be sappy and all Hallmarkish here, but she warmed my heart. And damn it, she did look adorable in my shirt too. She was right about it being a little big, but she was able to hide most of it under a spare sweater she kept in her locker so she stayed within dress code. Thankfully I got to see her in just the shirt, untucked as we drove to school, and she looked so lovable. Too bad the weather was cooling down and Rory would know how to control Dwight's sprinklers after that, because her running into my room in a panic probably would only happen that day.

The jitters that I thought would build up, having Rory in the same room and taking that test subsided since the pressure seemed to release, and the actual school day was about as exciting as usual. I sat down, I learned, took notes and raised my hand when I knew the answer and was confident that I'd score my usual A+ grades on the usual tests.

OK, so I daydreamed about Rory whenever I didn't have a class with her. But I kept it clean, I promise.

One thing I can't figure out; where was she during lunch that day? I sat down and expected her to sit next to me, but she never ate that day. I asked her when we met at our lockers after lunch and said she had to study in the library, but I didn't see her carrying any books as she approached the locker. One of her ankle socks was drooped down, her face did seem a little flush and some of her hair was in front of her face, not to mention I warned her to tuck her blouse back into her skirt since one of the tails was exposed...

Oh God, I guess that explains why I could really smell her scent on my blouse after I got it back! I guess sometimes, I'm not the smartest girl in the state, for the love of Eleanor Roosevelt, why didn't I think of that?!

Uh, getting back to Tuesday, the rest of the day was pretty dull, though the tests were very challenging, much more than I thought. I breezed most of them by the end of the day though, and the work on the special Franklin went by with nary a hitch. We didn't have anything to do with government that day, so I didn't have to look at Francie and her army of darkness trying to push through things. I have to admit though; I'm a little suspicious that Rory's taking her side with issues, pushing me to bring them through. However I should note she's been talking about Machiavelli on our drives home, so I have just have this little feeling that Rory is still on my side, but has something in store for Fran later on. I'll ask her one of these days, for now however the issues being passed through aren't all that important and could easily be nullified by the student body president next year.

On the way back to Stars Hollow after we picked up her clothes at the Manor, I expected Rory to change back into her newly washed shirt. She must really love the individually heating system on her seat though, because she took off my blouse after we left and didn't change into hers, causing me to have an even wider blind spot than usual! The artificial scent of her perfume had disappeared; replaced by what I could say would be a preview of our individual aromas being mixed together. My plan for her to wear my shirt worked better than planned, and though I didn't hold the darned thing to my nose when she was in my car, I took a secretive sniff of it as she threw it into the backseat.

That drive home though was probably the worst I ever had, at least when it came to distractions and traffic conditions. Rory lay back in her seat reading a book with just that undershirt and her skirt on, and everything about her position was very distracting. I tried to make small talk with her in order to keep my mind on her voice and my eyes on the road, but nothing was helping. Traffic seemed to be cursed that afternoon too, as I found myself out of the way of the Hollow on route 691 instead of the Wilbur Cross Parkway because of a jackknifed semi that closed the interchange for 91 and the Cross. That added on even more time to the usual commute south, along with a couple traffic bottlenecks near the Cheshire exit.

Being stubborn, I kept my eyes on the road, my hands at ten and two, and my thoughts on the shortest route to the Hollow off 691. My libido however kept requesting my eyes centered on Rory's chest, my right hand against that space between her inner thighs, and thoughts of becoming a sudden public exhibitionist in the middle of rush hour with the girl I had such a hard and insatiable crush on filled my brain. She sighed and pouted through the entire quagmire, and once we hit a dead stop two miles from the Route 70 exit, I finally decided to hell with being patient, I had to take advantage of the opportunity being offered.

I turned towards Rory, and engaged her in dialogue about the traffic. "Think this stuff is ever going to break up?" I asked, and she put down her volume, heaving out an annoyed breath.

"I was supposed to be at Luke's by quarter after five, at this rate Jess will have inherited the diner since his uncle's gone to the great greasy spoon in the sky," she responded, kind of angry about this all. "It's not turning out to be my day, isn't it?"

I told her there was always a new day and Wednesday was bound to be better. Then she did that cute pout she's seemed to perfect down to a science and tried to ask me something.

"Why do you insist on taking me home every night, it adds on at least fifty minutes of commuting time for you, and we always seem to get in a traffic jam no matter what. I could be taking the bus and saving you fuel instead." Rory really was starting to think she was a burden, and I had to assure her that it was far from the case.

That, and the hem of her undershirt had untucked from her skirt, exposing skin at her waist that was causing my mouth to water, any distraction from that was welcome. I set my hand on her thigh and tried to make it as asexual as possible in a reassuring manner.

"You're not a hassle Ror, it came with being vice president that I have to bring you home, and if that takes a little extra in the gas tank, what's the problem, my mother pays for it anyways." I smiled at her and intentionally shook my hand on her thigh to keep her calmed down, and maybe send a few mixed messages to her. "Besides, you're way too good for the bus now, have you ever heard of any public official actually taking one to work? Never, and that's why public bus systems struggle to make ends meet, there has never been a politician who would be caught dead on one."

I noticed Rory start to shudder as my hand rested on her leg, along with some shallow breathing. I moved my hand around a little more to reassure her, getting a feel for the soft skin beneath my palm. The hem of the skirt was mere millimeters below the tips of my fingernails. Better than I thought, she's wound up, I thought to myself, internally triumphant.

"So...uh, you really don't mind?" Words were coming to Rory's brain a little slower than usual, and I noted to myself to never touch her when we were debating together again since it really threw off her concentration. "Because I could always ask Gypsy if I can buy a used car on a loan from the bank so you didn't have to--"

"I made a promise to you, and there's no way I'm breaking it, I will give you rides home all school year as long as it's a Franklin or student government day. Hell, maybe one day I'll even let you drive my car home, I trust you Ror." I smiled before I put my exclamation point on the whole talk. "I admit, it's a lot less lonely on the way home with you as a passenger, it's as if the school day is extended another 35 minutes when you plant your ass in that seat."

My hand drifted up just slightly above Rory's skirt hemline beneath, and though it was just mid-thigh, I was being a little cavalier. My eyes shifted up and down between her breasts, hidden in the tank top except for the very apparent and excited nubs of her nipples puckered against the rough cotton, and her face, pupils widened to their limit and her biting down on her lower lip. I then made an effort to cap the conversation as a couple of my fingernails scratched her skin, smooth as satin. "Honestly Ror, don't ever hesitate about this whole situation, I'm actually happy to be your ride home. I'll even open it up from the meeting-day only requirement, if you ever need a ride somewhere and I'm not busy with so-and-so from Harvard admissions, call me, I'll be there for you always, no matter what."

Those were perfectly spoken words, if I say so myself. Hidden in that overture of unlimited rides was a promise that she had infinite access to me, even late at night or at the oddest times of day. She seemed appreciative of the gesture, and thanked me for the offer, making an unneeded pledge that she wouldn't abuse the privilege I had just given her.

"No need for thanks, as long as you're here I treasure your friendship." Another inch up I moved my hand, and I was able to keep it on Rory's left thigh another couple minutes before the traffic jam cleared up and I had to bring the right hand back to two o'clock on the steering wheel. I made sure however, to ease the touch, letting my fingers drift down her left leg until the only part I was touching was her knee with my fingertips, and I finally pulled it back up. The drive seemed to ease up after that, but not her emotions. She put her own hand on her left thigh after that, and in the corner of my eye as I drove on the two-lane down to the Hollow I saw her face was flush and her skin was glistening from sweat, she had turned her side of the climate control system down to 66° and slightly opened her window. Despite the rapidly cooling 54° temperature reading on the outdoor thermometer, I didn't feel any rush of heat myself from my veiled attempt at flirting.

When I pulled into the Gilmore driveway, it almost seemed like she didn't want to get out of the car. Rory was looking down at her book, the page she was on unturned for at least fifteen minutes, and I had to shake her shoulder in order to make her realize she was at home. She came to, and almost seemed to want to ask me for an impromptu Tuesday night sleepover. She unbuckled her safety belt, and I handed her clothes and bookbag from the back.

"See you tomorrow Par," she said with what seemed to be a voice that was telling me she didn't want me to go quite yet. So I had to Band-Aid the shock with a little humor.

"Hopefully you'll be in school in a uniform that's a little drier than this morning, right?"

Her mood shifted, and she was back to the usually quippy and hilarious girl I knew well. "I'll wear a raincoat to Dwight's tomorrow morning, I promise!" She laughed, I laughed, and we both said our official goodbyes for the day, with me leaving the town with all five senses spinning into overdrive, and hopefully, God willing, my touch far and foremost front and center in her mind.

After re-navigating the traffic jam, and taking so many detours away from the expressway I didn't know the name of the road I was on from the next, I finally arrived back at the Manor around 6:45pm, very behind for a Tuesday night. I did my homework in thirty minutes, and for once not changing out of my uniform, sat down at the dining room table and had yet another 'exciting' dinner with my mother, along with twelve other members of some service organization probably just existing to give Sharon and all the other members of the group a quick and dirty deduction on the ol' 1040 form. Six of the ladies had their daughters along, and I sat there picking at Francisca's meatloaf, counting down the moments until I could get upstairs to my bedroom. The girls blathered ad nauseum about the attributes of the newest piece of cinematic beefcake that had his premiere on the silver screen, while the older ladies and Mother made 'plans' for some social calendar event that was pretty much interchangeable with every other event on the social calendar seeing as it featured the words 'black tie gala' within the title. Trust me, there's so much loosening of black ties at those places in certain unmonitored places, and unless you count the endless liquor cache, the event is far from a gala. What I wouldn't have given for Rory to text message me for some math help, but I knew it was probably a longshot.

That, and I was already wound up enough from the entire day, did I really need her voice in my ears again causing even more impure thoughts on my side? By about eight when I finished my dessert course, I had my legs very tightly crossed since every time I opened them, I felt a rush of cold, shocking air against my inner thighs, spurred on from the soaked panties I was wearing since I was thinking ahead to the scene that would ensue in my bedroom later.

Finally, my mother's friends finished and their daughters were whining to get home, so I could get out of that stifling dining room. I got up and pushed in my chair, eager to make a quick escape from the situation, when Martha Beardsley stopped me. The lady was a childhood friend of Sharon's and both of them seemed to have a keen interest in trying to push me and Mrs. Beardsley's seventeen year-old son Vance II together.

"Hold on Paris," she told me in that high-pitched richie voice that I swore to God I would avoid emulating at all costs later in life, "Vance has wanted to know if you'd accompany him to the Foundation for Historic Preservation of Connecticut's Antiquities Turkey Trot Dance in a couple of weeks, he seems really interested in you dear. What should I tell him?"

Yeah, he's interested in me alright, I monolouged silently, in my mouth to get his sad little cock off and my tits so he has something to paw on. Vance was a sad, sad emulation of a Hartfordian Society version of a lounge lizard, and Louise and I still laugh at Madeline's description of his tiny little dick back in a seventh grade party where she spent seven minutes in hell stuck in a closet with that boy. Sure, he didn't mind it when he got off, but don't you dare have pleasure yourself if you're in his presence.

So in my own succulent way, I told Mrs. Beardsley and her stupid son to fuck off. "I would go, but you see Mrs. Beardsley, I have something I'd like to call a life, you may have heard of it before. It's something where I live things out my own way, and not with your son, whose idea of high romance is to tell his date she has a nice set of breasts and ask if could he closely examine them, however, in a much cruder way than I've just expressed. My life therefore, is incompatible with Vance II, so you can just tell him he can go trot himself." I smiled as I left the room, Mrs. Beardsley trying to decide whether I was insulting her or trying to be complimentary. "Though I'm sure that won't be much of a change from his usual routine, tell Vance I'll see him in his dreams, and by those I mean the ones where he obeys everything I say in clipped and rough German. I'll see you around Mrs. Beardsley." I smiled to myself as I climbed the grand staircase to my bedroom, being able to use my vast knowledge of the English language to fuck around with stupid socialites and their inadequate and inbred offspring was a gift I'd always treasure from the instructors at Chilton. I'd also occasionally curse in Portuguese at that sad lot, and they thought I was speaking in gibberish, unaware that I had called them loose and used a very crude sexual term for a woman starting with the letter C in English.

With all that out of the way, I was finally free. I wished Francisca a good night and told her to let Sharon know not to bother me anymore that evening. I then walked into my room, locked the door, and took the shirt Rory wore out of my messenger bag, savoring the scent contained within.

It felt so odd being back in there without her nearby, because I could sense her presence everywhere around my bed. The end where we sat as I brushed her hair and massaged her back was a sharp contrast to the rest of the made bed, the places where we sat depressed and clear. I took the hairbrush off the nightstand table, and despite the single use by Rory, I could still place the honeydew scent of her shampoo mixed with sprinkler water that had greeted me when she walked in the door. Suffice to say there was quite a bit of pressure building up within me.

I slipped out of all of my clothes slowly, shaking with pleasure as my fingertips ran against my bare skin as I took off each article. I felt so tired and worn out, but in a good way since I had to hold off the urge to fuck myself for such a long time. I finished undressing down to everything except my underwear, and as I passed my vanity mirror on the way back from putting my school clothes in the hamper, I really looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in a carnal fashion.

A little shy, I slipped on the blouse Rory wore and covered up my breasts, but kept all except for the bottom three buttons open so I could have a little fun with myself in front of the mirror. I recalled the conversation in her bed a couple weeks back where she told me I was well blessed, and though with that confirmation, kept my mother's words about reducing my chest on the forefront. After all, it was just one girl who told me that, who else would be able to confirm something like that?

Madeline and Louise for one. They noticed my change of uniform from the jacket to the sweater, and though they knew I could carry myself in a formal gown, thought I was beyond reproach when it came to everyday dress. They both confirmed Rory's opinion, albeit a little more muted. What got my goat though was that even though I was luring Rory, I expected the occasional boy to comment on my newly-found curves beneath the uniform of Chilton blue.

I'm afraid poor little Brad's compliments don't really count, even if he was the only one to make a comment. To be fair though, he was in that usual timid mood he seemed to be around me, afraid to say the wrong thing.

Do you really need their approval? My mind questioned. Your friends agree, and damn it, Rory agrees too, and this is why you're trying to do all of this, it's all for her, to lure her in. If some guy says you look hot you're not going to do anything but thank him, did you forget already just how close you were to losing control in that car and sliding your hand in further?

"Oh God," I moaned, recalling that I almost did drift that hand high against Rory's inner thigh, and if that traffic jam hadn't cleared up, that things could've have taken the turn of revelation in a swift manner.

That day, I made so much headway when it came to touching; I think that I'm beyond reproach when it comes to admitting my feelings to Rory. I have to know if she feels the same way about me. But looking at myself in that mirror, with nothing but silence and corrupted thoughts in my ears, I was aching for release.

I started out with my breasts, rubbing the fabric of the blouse slowly against each of them, trying to make sure every piece of erect tissue within the two areolas was aroused to a level that caused me to groan out harshly as my hands brushed against them. I imagined Rory's small and delicate fingertips in place of mine, elegantly balancing the line between worship and outright carnality of my tits, recalling her looks at the swell of my bust over the last two weeks, and electrifying the sparks sent up my spine from her back rubs in order to get a sense of her touch there.

My gaze went from my own body to my mirror image, and I found myself being turned on looking over myself. My lower lip quivered as I became adventurous, pushing the shirt aside to expose a breast. In my mind, I brought over that image earlier of her biting her lip in the car, and pinched the nipple softly, thinking of how she would kiss and nip at them, her soft lips and tongue teasing them to the point of almost a true and solid state. I yelped and felt this mix of pleasure and pain which I hope to reproduce with better results with the actual test subject one day, I wanted much more.

I could feel Rory all over wearing that shirt, against my shoulders, all over my chest, and in my nostrils, her perfume permeating my senses. I also could feel her up against my lower section, and brought my eyes down towards the very apparent wet spot on my silk panties. I ran a hand down my midsection, watching in the mirror as the tip of my index fingernail traced its second maze of the day around my bellybutton. A fantasy was building up involving the events of the morning, and I wanted to keep it brewing just a bit longer before I walked over to the bed and basked in the sexual brainstorm.

My God, I had some fun in that mirror; doing everything I had dreamed of before the crush on Rory started heating up. I ran a finger against my wetness, feeling the skin beneath the cloth tingle with each touch of fingertip to satin to skin cell; my sex must have really been needy for attention all day. I ran another hand against the back of my neck, failing to replicate in full Rory's unique way of easing out all of that tension and pushing it from my neck and lower. I would moan her name recklessly and without abandon, creating new syllables for that combination of four letters out of thin air as I teased myself with her in my thoughts. I thought of her in her outfit that morning, only I took the skirt she still wore off and imagined her in matching white panties, and I still clothed, though taking the chaste idea of brushing her hair much further as I felt ready to wallow within my dream situation. I started walking towards the bed a little shaky...

I'm at the point where I'm brushing her hair, but instead of merely asking her to shrug down her undershirt, I ask her to take it off. Rory questions my motives at first, but I assure her they're completely innocuous. She complies, a little leery, but notice she's not complaining about my request.

I remember where her bra line would usually be, and start to brush her hair just slightly above it, trying not to arouse suspicion. Instead of scratching Rory's back however with my free hand, I bring it to the nape of her neck and start rubbing against each side of the bottom of it. I can slowly feel whatever skittishness she had before slowly ease out, so I decide to go a little further.

"You like that Rory?" I ask in the best seductive tone I can muster, though in my ears it sounds as if I'm auditioning for 'Red Shoe Diaries'.

"Yes, a little faster, on both counts." I can hear a smile in her voice, and hasten the movement of my thumb and forefingers against her neck. I dig into her hair a little closer to the plate of the brush, and my strokes become a little faster. My face moves closer in order to feel the warming body heat basking off of her, and I notice the sunlight of the room from the window is almost directly at us. Rory's shadow is apparent against the wall, and detailed, and since I can't make out her bare front from the point of view of behind her back, I have to make do with the shape of her shadow, the delicate rise and fall of her chest apparent in her dark form against the wall. The swell of her breasts formed into the perfect tip of a water droplet as it comes down, and I caught a breath as I realized my heated breath was apparent against her shoulder, and could be heard as very shallow and short.

I want to take it back as she catches on to my signals, her shoulders tightening on her frame. I feel embarrassed and want to shirk away from her.

Then her dream self gives me the all systems go, and I have to shake off the feeling I was hearing things as her words become apparent.

"Par," she tells me in a shy, yet assertive tone. "I think we could miss class just this once, don't you?" She then backs her neck towards my face, a very blatant move on her part. "Is there something you've been keeping from me?"

I gulp down some saliva, afraid to answer. "Not really, no."

"I notice the fine details Paris." Rory's confidence slowly was picking up. "The small signals, the lingering touches, the obvious foreplay that's expressed in our voices rather than our bodies. What your voice does to me, the way you state things…" she wandered off a moment, and turned around, her eyes fluttered closed. "That's the kind of foreplay that makes me wet when I go to bed at night."

My eyes wander down to her ample, yet small breasts, perfectly proportioned to her body. She brings her left hand up to my face, and brushes a couple of hairs out of my eyes. Her eyes are full of arousal, and it's obvious to me that she wants to breach the boundaries usually holding us back. I watch her lips, transfixed by her words. "Dean used to give me 'amor', as you'd say in Portuguese, but it's never been enough. From the beginning of Chilton you've been there, through anger and sorrow, joyfulness and victories. And now I want to reward you for being there for me, since you're the 'amor de minha vida' that's been yearning for it for so long. I feel I'd give you that promise, and much more."

And then she closes the distance and kisses me. A small, simple kiss at first, but something Rory knows will just instigate me into taking the kiss far from being innocent. The way she's kissing me, I can tell she's been saving her major league stuff for me, and leaving Dean the kissing style she trained on from AA Beloit. I hasten the process and bring her closer in a hug, her full and wanting tits squashed against my own. I deepen it further, and before I know it, she's moaning my name out and asking me permission to undo my uniform.

The situation is perfect, and as I bring the covers down on my bed and lay down on it, the track of my mind has been reduced to a base level, hand to pussy. I don't bother with the teasing and put my left hand right in, my thumb against my clit within seconds. "Fuck, oh Rory!" I scream as she shock pours through me, it doesn't take all that long for my hand to become damp with the arousal building up inside and finally getting at least a little release. I spread open my legs, and place a finger on each side, writhing in place as I tried to imagine Rory becoming a little adventurous.

The dream I have heats up, and for about ten minutes I try to picture each of us giving each other slow and teasing foreplay, trying to ease ourselves into a comfort zone. She unclasps my bra by reaching beneath my blouse, and starts kissing at each of my breasts through the blue shirt I wear above them. Rory is trying to help me out, and wanting to go with the flow, I comply with her wishes, holding off on her pleasure as long as I can. Somehow, I manage to feel like I'm not returning the favor, but she doesn't seem to mind, struggling with the snaps of my skirt in order to throw it off of me. She grits her teeth, swearing at the elusive little snap.

"Come on damn little guy, fly free, fly free!" she says, and I can't help but giggle at her desperation. Somehow, Rory is finally able to disengage the snap after about a couple minutes, and I'm only too impatient to slip out of the plaid article and throw it off to the side of the bed.

She finishes unbuttoning my blouse, and I shrug it and the bra off, along with each of our shoes and socks coming off , leaving us sitting on that bed, kissing with fervor in our panties. Rory plays with my breasts for a few moments, running her index fingers around the inner circle surrounding each nipple, then the outer fringe 1 3/4" away from the inner circumference where the aureoles begin, turning a rosy shade of pink from my sort of darkish Mediterranean skin tone. I feel the tips of her nipples just below the undersides of my own breasts, and I cry out in agony as she licks her fingers, then brushes the saliva onto the tip of each nipple. She blows a puff of air onto each one, and I shut my eyes as I feel every nerve ending within my torso, and my extremities transmit the pleasure all over my body.

"Yes Rory," I answer with a crackly throat, and then with no need to ask my permission, she suckles the top of one of my breasts with her mouth, wrapping her lips around the skin below and biting hard into it as she made this little suctioning action that was definitely more than an innocent gesture of appreciation for my body. I made a high-pitched little whine and tried to keep my concentration on what I was doing, kissing her forehead since my mouth craved any contact with her.

After one last nip, she releases her mouth, and I bring my gaze down as she hovers above me, appreciating her handiwork. There, on the top of my right breast and what would barely be hidden by my bra cup, was a dark purple bruise signifying that I was hers to treasure, a hickey.

I looked up at her, sort of swooning, sort of mad that she did something like that. But those usually innocent blue eyes instead reflect her adoration of me, and that even if I could control our order in the world of textbooks and Harvard, we would be nothing but equals as lovers. The Rory I dream of knew I was a control freak, but by giving me that love bite, she had turned the tables around.

"I want you all," she commands in a mix of her 'what's up quippy?' pissed-off voice and that nervous one I'd seen her use around Dean. "And if you'll let me, I'd like to be your first and last."

There was no need to elaborate on her motives, Rory moving up to my lips and giving me a lingering kiss as she hooked her fingers around my panties. I knew the message she was sending; she was getting over her sexual inadequacies in order for me to get over my own. I felt her thigh rub against mine harshly as she starts kissing down my middle, causing me to moan that I needed her now, along with plenty of sexual cursing.

That only causes her to tease and linger on something each time I demand she obey me. First she stops right in the space between my breasts until I settle down, agonized beyond belief. Rory continues. and I go on being wound up, and then suddenly, she stops just between my belly button and the upper edge of my pubic hairline. She pulls my panties down my legs slowly, causing me to gasp from the new rush of cold air caused by my tingling and sensitive flesh being exposed.

"Now, now Par," she admonishes in a sarcastic tone that could only be perfected by anyone with Gilmore blood in their veins. "My tongue won't be able to do its work unless you stay completely still for me, I've been practicing for this in the mirror for months, bastardizing those WPM-improvement tapes you gave me for my own twisted needs. Not only can I do 200 WPM now, but I think I can bring you to a powerful release in mere seconds." She then smiles up at me like the cat who ate the canary. "But for you I think I can stretch that out for an indeterminable amount of time."

Desperate to see how she'd be at cunnilingus, I close my mouth and try to keep any unexpected words from coming out, and think of Summer and Dean mating together in order to temporarily gag my sex drive.

Boy did that help me out a lot, since it gave me just that much time to throw my underwear off to the side and spread my legs wider as I put the three middle fingers of my left hand into my mouth and moistened them with my saliva. Despite the fact I had a vibrator in my drawer off to the side (Louise bought it for me as a gag gift, but I actually use it occasionally), sliding wet fingers inside of me seemed to be a crude, but effective way to Xerox the effect of Rory's tongue down there.

I reenacted most of the tease myself as my hands drifted down my upper body, the cooling sensation of my spit stiffening almost everything on my person, with my thoughts giving me a little help.

After a little trepidation and a paranoid look both ways around the room to see if anyone was watching despite the locked door and drawn shades, I ran a finger against my clitoris, which seemed to have a life of it's own. I barely touched that flesh and whinnied deeply. If that alone was enough to take me over the edge I had to slow down the fantasy a little.

So I took my time. DreamRory didn't go down on me right away so that I could give other parts of my body some attention. I ran my dry hand against my breasts, and tried to keep my session going as long as I could. I turned around in the bed and rubbed up against my sheet, trying to bring the fantasy to a short halt. The shirt Rory wore was causing me to feel things that Tristan or any other guy never would have caused.

I teased my slit in an agonizing manner, enjoying every little shudder and moan that went through my system as my wet fingers worked their magic, though keeping myself silent with the pleasure was becoming an iffy proposition. There was this butterfly-ish tingle in the pit of my stomach that I had never felt even when I built myself over a matter of weeks in my Tristan days for a powerful orgasm. I closed my eyes shut, and eventually, parted my lips again so I could slide my fingers all the way into my slit, imagining Rory down there...

Rory starts out slow, and I can tell she has some shaky nerves, never getting to the step of oral pleasure, even with Dean. I hear her sniff, trying to psyche herself up a little, though she's seems assured and confident. I feel her nose tickle against my hair, and suddenly she reels back a little.

At first I'm scared that she finds me unworthy, until she holds her nose and pinches it closed. Rory sneezes, and all I could do was laugh back at her as I hand her a tissue to blow her nose.

"You're not allergic to me, are you?" I ask, and Rory rolls her eyes as she wipes her nose and blows into the disposable handkerchief.

"Ha, ha, ha Gellar, you're so funny with that joke I forgot to laugh." She smiles so that I don't take her joke too seriously as she comes back down for a second try. "Now be quiet and still, I want to do this right."

I find her saying that cute, her trying to be a perfectionist when it comes to oral sex. But it was kind of annoying, since the first time should be far from perfect. I prop a couple of pillows up against my back, and beckoned her closer to ease her into this. I took her head in my hands and tried to help her start a consistent rhythm, rubbing her scalp reassuringly.

"You'll be fine hon," was all I could get out as Rory sticks out her tongue, and within moments eases it into me, immediately finding just that right spot.

"YOU'RE BETTER THAN FINE!!! YES!!!" I scream as her tongue works its magic below, and I'm seriously thinking that I want to reciprocate all of this with her. But then I remember what she told me before we started foreplay; that she could wait another night, for now this was all about me, the girl who needs to be worshipped by someone not involved with the Princeton Review.

Usually, someone who tells me that makes me feel like an old maid. But with Rory, it caused me to become even more turned on. She takes my ass into her hands, and holds onto each side for dear life as she tries to find her perfect rhythm, my hands moving her mouth around whenever she gets off-track, guiding her back to my clit. It's really needy for attention, and I can feel it throb with each stroke of her tongue. My eyes roll into the back of my head and I swear to God there was nothing more I wanted to do with my life thinking of her that way; Harvard could reject me, the only job I could get would be as copyrighter for some shopper in Providence, and I wouldn't have as much money as I really have. As long as Rory is with me, I don't care, because she's the one I've been living for lately.

I go on and on with the fantasy, fingering myself with more fervor than I ever had in my short sexual life. I thanked my Daddy for having the forethought of granting my dance school wishes when I was six; without them I wouldn't have broke, and I couldn't have penetrated myself deeper than I had that evening. I could still smell Rory's scent on the blouse, but sweat was building up all over my body and my own essence was quickly overtaking hers. So before I could forget I brought it closer, and with an impure thought of Rory floating in my mind deciding to slide her hand up her skirt in my car as I drove down the road, I knew I had to take care of this itch I had, and soon! Goddamn, she smells good!

My clit seemed to harden with each touch of my fingertips, and I kept putting the saliva-coated hand in my mouth to keep the dream of Rory eating me out going. I tasted myself when I slipped the fingers in my mouth; I thought I tasted fine, but I don't know if I could easily taste the flavor. Something that's both bitter and with a hint of sweet at the same time, but not too sweet, nor too untasty. Better to just imagine Rory thinks I'm a divine flavor...

"You...liking...that...Par?" she gasps out as she tries to come up for some air. I can tell she's starting to wear out a little, and I press her to continue before her jaw stiffens from such heavy use. Her tongue slides in and out of my slit, and I'm still in shock that organ can do so much more than blast off witticisms and observations at a speed I didn't know was possible.

"Fuck Rory, yes. Fuck me, fuck me." My voice is raspy as I bring her head closer, so close in fact that I can feel the front of her teeth mash against my lips, I hope she can breathe! But she seems to be just fine, as a matter of fact she's speeding her strokes. I arch back on the bed as I feel her hands tighten even harder on my rear. I look down at the hickey she gave me earlier on my tit, and feel another gush of arousal coming down from my stomach. Oh God, oh my God...

She's thrusting her tongue in and out like a little cock, but so much better. The sandpaper-ish like tingle of the organ against the sensitive tissue of my cunt, I felt like I was dripping my juices into her mouth so much she must be ready to drown soon. She heard my gasps and my anguised cries for her to make me come soon, and picked up the pace quite a bit.

The dream was starting to really work its magic, as each touch of my clit seemed to tingle with even more power than the last. I was starting to feel dizzy from all the desire, moaning Rory's name as if she was actually there. The shirt felt even heavier as I went on and my fingers became sore; almost like her slim figure was right on top of me, weighing me down. I think back to that night in Washington I finally succumbed to my desires; this was as far from that as could be. That was simple basic lust I was dealing with in the nation's capital. Here though, there was a slight chance that in the next few weeks, Rory could reciprocate my feelings. I seriously wanted to finish myself off by that time since my eyelids were weighed heavy with sleep, and any more use of my hands and I'd have to make up an interesting excuse for the reason it was stabilized by a cast since I wore down the tendons.

Alright, so I'm exaggerating just a smidge there. Seriously though, I stroked, pinched, scratched, did almost anything to bring myself over the brink. With Rory's help, it worked wonders...

"That's right, make me cum baby, make me cum, I love this Gilmore, I love you." Sentences didn't make sense anymore to express what I felt for what Rory was causing me to feel, and she was starting to tinker with not only getting me off with her tongue, but had slipped a finger between my legs to hasten the process. My long mane of hair was pretty much done for, tangled and soaked, and I'm sure that Rory would need to hop in the shower to clean her face of my cum as I recovered from the orgasm she was causing.

Finger, tongue, finger, tongue. She was in her groove now, and I feel that large butterfly being pushed down my stomach faster than it had before. I feel the liquid stirring up inside of me, and there was going to be a lot coming out once I reached my peak. She fucks me with her tongue as if she knows how to work my parts, and the brunette I had started out hating was swiftly becoming a person I couldn't live without.

Before I knew it though, she had hit that perfect spot. I try to hold it back for as long as I could as her tongue sweeps across my swollen clit, and start to warn her that she might want to move out of the way. "ROR, I'M--I'M--GONNA--CUMM..."

I can't even get it out and barely get the sentence out as I feel my pelvic muscles contract within and my eyes tighten, all I can see in the darkness caused by my lids is stars and swirls of many colors. I was expecting her to retreat her face back, but she keeps stirring me up, her tongue still in my slit and prepared for the onslaught.

She doesn't make it out of course. I arch and curl my toes as the orgasmic feeling spreads from my belly and my pussy, to all over, I can feel it everywhere. The tips of my hands, the blades of my shoulders, each root of my hair, and especially in my breasts, God, I never had known an orgasm could be this good! I scream out every exclamation and curse I can possibly think of as the feeling washes over me, and Rory takes in my unique sense and taste. I call out her name as I ride out the waves, and finally, about a couple minutes later, I stop as she lifts her face up from between my legs, and grips at my side to bring herself up to my face level.

I'm tired out, sleepy, every chamber of my heart beating at quadruple the normal rate and want nothing more than to take Rory into my arms, spoon into her, and have her watch me fall asleep in her arms. She smiles at me, and for at least a bit, the Gilmore wit and sarcasm she usually has is replaced with amazement that a girl like her had just done that with a girl like me.

She smiles, and I run a finger through her hair and down towards her jaw as she settles down from it. "That was even better than I thought," she told me. "I just wonder though, maybe we could do it again in a bit, and this time I receive?"

I laugh weakly. "Hon, you know I would, but you wore me out! Now I know why Lorelai was irresistible to all the men back when she was a teenager, you got her genes." I laugh as she fakes a scowl.

"OK, not wanting to hear about my mother at all, nor her 'oral habits', as you would put it." She scrunched her nose, and I kissed her as I cuddled her closer.

"Sorry Gilmore," I say as we look into each other's eyes. "I did love that all you know, and I love you Rory."

"Right back at ya," she says, and the dream fades out as we fall asleep together...

Now you'd expect me to cut back to past tense Tuesday night around nine here and describe in detail what the whole thing had done to me, how much I came and that the center of my bed was totally soaked with my arousal, and that I basked in the afterglow, happy despite my solitary state. Also, there would be a serious craving for some kind of tobacco product or chewing gum to finish off the night perfectly.

Well, you'd be right. But you'll have to move that description up to the next morning and change some details around since as with my dream self, I immediately passed out after I came and before I knew it, the backup alarm from my Palm was beeping, I was waking out of a deep and dreamless slumber, and I found myself looking at black-on-green numbers on my alarm clock reading 6:43am.

I still felt a little dazed despite the nine hours of sleep I had unexpectedly fallen into, and since I couldn't get back into my normal position, felt a stinging numbness in each of my widened legs, having to shake both of them to get blood flowing again since the vessels seemed pinched. After I realized how much time I had left, there wasn't enough time to think of anything else but getting ready for school, so I got up and started my routine in a rush of activity, and seriously needing trip to the bathroom and a shower.

Crossing my fingers that Rory didn't get into trouble with the sprinklers at Dwight's again, I jumped right back into my routine, killing any thoughts of her as I showered, dressed, ate and organized my schoolwork so I was out the door by 7:20.

As I merged onto the bypass around Hartford, it came to me that I had forgotten one important thing; to make my bed! You know how embarrassing it is to have to call back home and let the housekeeper know not to enter your bedroom, and that you'd take care of your own bedclothes later in the evening? Yeah, my housekeeper is that much of a bitch that I'd probably get a lecture that 'good girls don't do that' from Sharon if she found out why I went to bed at 8:30 the night before thanks to Celina relaying in detailed Spanish every stain she found on the sheets!

I arrived at school on time on Wednesday and I had expected Rory to be in a good mood about everything that had happened between us. Unfortunately, she was distant and out of it all day, and though she did sit close to me as usual and still play with my hair in Russian Novels, she was down. I couldn't get anything out of her about what was wrong at lunch, so I waited patiently through the day until it was 4:30 and we were in the press room monitoring the week's Franklin run.

I asked her in a stern tone what happened, and made it clear that her demand to hear everything about my life, including Sharon applied in turn to her also in my eyes, and sat her down in a chair as we watched the run of 1,800 editions fall into the tray below.

She seemed to be playing with the bracelet Dean had given her, and it was only after I heard her mumble out that she had broken up with him because of the inopportune fact that Jess happened to be the warmest body nearby to help Rory turn the sprinklers off, and his brain, which seemed stuck in the Paleozoic Era reasoned 'Other guy help Rory with sprinkler - Rory fuck him behind my back - club her, take her back to cave after killing Jess - make her lame housewife' that I realized what she was doing.

Rory was trying to take it off, symbolically cutting off her love for him.

"I'll help you out with that," I told her as I took her wrist and retrieved an apple knife from my messenger bag, concealed as a tube of lipstick in order to keep the paranoid teachers from applying those annoying Columbine aftermath policies on me just because I wanted to cut a piece of fruit in half. I was kind of nervous though, afraid I was going to accidentally pierce into her skin and open up an artery since my hand was so shaky. I asked her one more time if she was sure she didn't want it on her wrist, making sure it wasn't caused by a heat of the moment.

"Paris, I'm done. Last night was the breaking point." She smiled, and had no tears to cry for her first love. "First with Tristan, then it was with Jess. When you say something about his girlfriend and him in it for the sex and not the love right in front of their faces without a regard to their relationship, it's time, he's a control freak who's better off without me."

"What did he say to you?" I asked, my heart skipping a few beats as my mind wrapped around the fact Rory was as free as Carrie Bradshaw.

Rory then initiated a dead-on impersonation of Dean's lunkhead voice. "Rory, it's clear he's in love with you, he doesn't give a damn about Shane and uses her as a living blow-up doll, imagining she's you. Jess doesn't know how to love, and neither does Shane. You know you're the only one for me, blah, blah, blah, love, love, love, never get out of my sight my love because I have all the appeal of an evil Lifetime movie boyfriend played by Ivan Sergei, and so on."

I laughed at her act, and couldn't wait to hear the result. "Let me guess what happens next, Miss Patty hears, spreads the gossip, then Jess beats Deano within an inch of his life."

"Actually," she told me, "he was just coming down the stairs, and Shane had heard almost everything working in the back room washing dishes. Dean pretty much lost his concentration and argument after she said 'Wow, that's news to me Produce Pete, considering I got a promise ring from Jess Saturday night and he confessed he loved me. Then I told him I loved him too and gave him a ring of my own' as she walked over and gave her boyfriend, my boy friend with a space in the middle never to be combined together, a pretty intimate hug, then a cute kiss."

"Oh boy, how many shades of red did Jess turn once Dean turned around and had to face him?"

"I think Jess was in the darkest part of the red color palate as he told Dean to leave Luke's and never come back unless he wants his uncle, Taylor, and Shane to kick his ass all the way back to Winnetka!"

"And you?"

"Told him to call me back once he finally turned seven and until then to fuck off!"

"Actual words?"

"I was editing, dickhead finished off the sentence." She beamed a bright smile towards me, and that was when I knew without a doubt that her and Dean were as history as J-Lo and Chris Judd. I told Rory I was proud of her, and with not much effort, I used the apple knife to cut through the thin yet resilient leather, baring her left arm permanently from his influence. I handed it back thinking she'd simply throw it in the wastebasket, but she suggested that it might be more fun if we used our student body presidential key privileges to make a little stop in one of the chemical sciences classrooms.

We both grinned like clowns on Ritalin and crystal meth as we both took tongs and dipped Dean's bracelet into a beaker of hydrochloric acid; the pithy little strap and cheaply forged little coin charm never stood a chance in the volatile liquid, and we watched it disintegrate into a dark black mess of burned cowhide and metal. She then had me drive into downtown Hartford after all our work at the school was done, and she threw what was left of the former bracelet off the Founder's Bridge and into the murky waters of the Connecticut River below, the debris spreading like ashes onto the waterway. What I thought was her trying to back off her track with me the last two weeks, instead turned out to be what I think might be the turning point in our relationship.

We walked in downtown Hartford for about an hour, watching the nature pack up for winter and the last leaves fall off their trees in Bushnell Park. When we approached a bench with a perfect view of the skyline and the dome of the Statehouse, she had me sit down, and seemed a little nervous. I wondered why, and my heart started skipping again, considering all the possibilities of what she might say next.

Was she moving away from Connecticut? Telling me she was having a secret fling with Tristan? Running away to become a model in New York? She took my hand in hers, and asked me the most important question I've ever heard, nothing before that in a class or in my life prepared me for that moment.

"Paris?"

"Uh-huh?" I found myself trying to be evasive, and then I listened to her ask her favor.

"I need another favor, would you be my partner in the Annual Dance Marathon we're having in Stars Hollow Saturday?"

I certainly couldn't ask her to pinch me (bye-bye any hidden feelings and hope!), so my mind recycled the question, and brought up what I could remember from our 'seedy side' article.

The famous 24-hour dance marathon. The one officiated by Taylor and usually won by Kirk every year. The event that starts at six in the morning on a Saturday, and ends at six as the sun rises on a Sunday morning. An affair that Lorelai usually brings out all her blood-thirsty tactics for to win, but usually fails because she consistently makes the fatal mistake of wearing heels as dancing shoes.

The one event...where my body would have close, and very intimate contact with a certain other brunette's body for between as little as a minute, or if God allowed, a full revolution of the earth (give or take a few seconds or minutes).

There I was, being asked to be her dance partner. I didn't know what to make of it, so I asked her why she would ask me.

"Lorelai has a hotelier's convention to attend in Nashville until Sunday evening, so she won't be able to partner up with me this year. But I really, really want to win that trophy and prove to my fellow citizens that I can dance with the best of them. I have to keep our strong rivalry with Kirk going, and I figure you're just the girl who can help me win it."

"But how, I have--"

"--Had a strong and successful dance side project career thing going before you were eleven, when your mother pulled you out of there to have you focus on getting into Harvard and nothing else. Not only have that, your 'talent agent' suggested you quit since puberty was taking quite the toll on your formerly slender figure despite having one of the most supporting teachers in New England. This wouldn't only help me out, but Paris; you could be victorious in this and let your mother know that you had something good going there before she went school-insane!"

I was then reminding myself never to have Louise recount my childhood in excruciating detail to Rory during a boring study session ever again. That, and I had to lock up every award, trophy and ribbon I ever earned from those five years I pursued my childhood hobby. I remember the day I quit in December of 1996 many of the parents in my ballet, tap, ballroom and modern dance classes celebrating the fact I was no longer there to beat their children during my recitals.

Since then however, I had lost my touch. I gained two left feet from ending my dance career, and with my social life being defined by Madeline and Louise, two men in a little box (Brian Lamb and Alex Trebek) and one real boy in Tristan, fell out of the whole dance scene altogether. I'd still watch the ballets and ballroom dancing championships on PBS and Bravo like a little child in awe, along with figure skating, but it wasn't the same. Sharon had taken me out just before the swing craze broke out across America, and instead of becoming a dancer like I had dreamed as a kid, I became yet another Harvard-obsessed girl, drowning my former dreams by becoming fixated on politics and journalism, which thank God I'm good at on both counts. I love them, but dancing still holds a special place within.

I looked at her, wondering what to say. I tried making up excuses in my head to say no. Technically I was having fun, so the whole endeavor didn't violate the Sabbath. And I certainly couldn't tell her that being that close would cause my hormones to go haywire, causing a full-on lesbian reenactment of Dirty Dancing that would be a day long.

I came up with one that I thought would pass muster. "But I don't know if I can stay awake that long Ror." I smiled at her kind of weird, and she put on a little frown.

"Well there will be coffee and plenty of sugary sweets and pizza, I could get one with soy cheese since I could probably request that from Joe just for you, plus you get four twenty minute breaks throughout in order to put your feet on ice and catch a few winks. And don't tell me you're out of shape, I'm sure if you can really think back, you'll have your old moves back in no time!"

"What about school? This will certainly mess up my biological clock."

"It's on the weekend, so you could get your homework done Friday evening, sleep until about 4am, then come and dance. You can resume your sleep schedule after an abnormal Sunday nap."

I stared at her like she was on crack before she started playing with my knuckles, then unconsciously I found myself doing the same thing. Rory asked me to make eye contact, and as I looked at her, into her pleading eyes, those two orbs that enchant me the most, and that cause my resistance to fall, along with her smile.

"Paris," she started, being serious as a heart attack. "You don't have to say yes to it, nor do you have to feel pressured that I'm asking you to go. I just want you to know that I think of you as becoming my closest friend soon, and that I'm coming to you with this invitation because I know you'll put all you have into this. I know it's going to be a challenge staying awake, but you put your heart into this, we're going to win, Kirk's not going to have a chance in hell. I just want you to think back to two weeks ago when I challenged you on the pitch in gym class. You had a blast playing that field hockey game, didn't you? This is something that we can take, and Par, I wouldn't come to you with such a favor unless I really needed it. I was already iffy on Dean and I winning before last night, but with you on my side and in my arms, I think we both have a shot."

She smiles, and I don't know what to tell her. It's such an obvious request for her to be my partner, but I don't know if I could be ready to attempt to solidify my feelings for her in such a short period of time. I'd only have at least two evenings to prepare, and though there'd be no doubt I could find my footing again on the hardwood of Minutemen Gymnasium, I'd be seriously thrown for a loop, balancing my competition instinct with that of my arms wrapped around Rory's neck, sharing an intimate 2x'2' box and swooning with every little touch and tingle.

I thought about it for a couple minutes, swinging between yes and no for an answer. I couldn't decide right then and there, and thought perhaps that she might have someone else she could get on such short notice.

Don't let it slip by, my conscious told me. My mind went the more analytical route. Don't do it, you're not ready.

But the truth is, I was ready to go, I just didn't know if I was that ready. Rory made it clear in her words that it wasn't a date, which it certainly wasn't because of the abnormal time frame of a full day with her, but it was still too much too soon, Dean still had to be fresh in her mind. So not feeling ready to answer, I decided to leave it open for another day.

"I'm not sure yet," I told her, smiling. "Honestly, I need a day to think this over Rory. I'm not saying yes, I'm not saying no, but if I gave you a response by tomorrow afternoon, would that be OK? I still have a few things to work out before I decide to go for this."

I expected her to pull out another card and tell me to forget about it.

Instead, she smiled back at me, and gave me a reassuring pat on my hand. "Take your time, I want you to know for sure if you do say yes, but it's not the end of the world if you tell me you can't."

Rory thanked me for my honesty, and we headed back towards the parking garage so I could run her home before I spent a night in seclusion, deciding my fate. The mixed messages she's been sending me started jumbling in my brain as soon as I left Stars Hollow, and I continued to be my own personal Florida, separating the good votes from the bad and checking for chads in the decision, going to bed around ten still not sure if I would go or not.

I had a dream that night, of the entire marathon situation and my close proximity to the girl I loved. The most important item in it all had never seemed to come up until then; what would the residents of her town think of two young women dancing together? That was definitely frowned on at any Hartford ball, and at Chilton, you never even considered it within the realm of the upper class. I thought of Rory and I dancing together in a mix of slow and fast songs, trying to get my footwork from the old days back desperately, and though struggling, staying up. Everyone in the crowd looked at us as if we were the only two on the floor, and I felt their eyes move with each sweep across the floor, both of us in tune with the music.

Of course there had to be a nightmare portion of the dream, and Dean filled those shoes snug. He sat off to the side of the proceedings, muttering in my direction that I was an usurper out to ruin his life by stealing Rory away from him. In that situation I felt like 'the other woman', there to fill an emergency need for Rory to have a partner. He'd say cruel things I don't wish to share, but I can mention that words beginning with the letters F and Q were directed by him towards the both of us.

The dream ended abruptly when my mother and Dean came out of the crowd to try to break Rory and I apart by any means necessary, including violence. I woke abruptly, and read the clock at 3:45am, trying to make sense of it all. Dreaming of the situation hadn't helped things at all, and I was left even more confused. Would Dean dare to disparage me?

I needed an impartial third party to this all, so despite the early time, I decided to give my nanny a call, wanting her opinion. I dialed up to her quarters upstairs, and Francisca answered in a tired voice. Since she knew my feelings for Rory to a small point (I was telling her a few things here and there, but leaving out some of the more mature content), I was able to ask if I should go with Rory to the dance marathon.

"Tell me Paris," she spoke in English, "Would you have wanted to go back when you wanted Tristan to be your príncipe (prince)?"

"Of course I did."

"If he offered you the world without any questions, you would have taken the opportunity."

I certainly didn't have to think on that. "Yes, I would."

"Then I have a simple question for you my menina (girl); why would you not want to do this? You haven't let anything like this ever get you down before, and every day you look towards the telephone hoping that Mistress Gilmore calls you back, and the front door hoping she'll come by for a non-school visit. You never had a passion for wanting Tristan like you have Rory."

She paused for a moment to refresh her English. "The girl, whenever she comes by here, loves to get lost in everything that you do, she envies your library and loves your room. And if you'd open your heart, your alma (soul) to her, you'd know she that she'd fill it with her love. She gave up safe love for a chance with you Paris, and is ready to take the risk."

"You're sure?" I asked. "I don't want to regret this and find out that everything she did I misread."

"Paris, she wouldn't have invited you out of pity, you know she's above that. You also know that before, she would've made it work again with her old love, no matter if she could or not. She loves you and wants to see you return to the dance floor, something I've been aching for you to do since you turned away from it at the behest of sua cadela de mãe (your bitch of a mother)."

I laughed; thank God my mother knew little Portuguese except for the basic commands, since Fran has called her just about every slur in the book. "You really think Rory is my a única (only one)?"

"That is up to you minha menina, I can't tell you for sure. Don't let this slip through because of your mother and some ignorant individuals, that would be horrible to me. I hope I've helped raise you to be a strong young woman who goes after what she wants, and right now, you want to fall in love. Do what your heart tells you and if it says don't, you shouldn't. But I think your torch for Rory is strong and bright, and I'll be ready Saturday morning to turn you into her personal pretty little cisne (swan) before you leave for Stars Hollow, promise."

I felt a lot better after listening to my nanny's words, and though I wouldn't decide for another twelve hours, I was ready to give in to the opportunity. "Eu te amo Francisca, obrigado para o conselho (I love you Francisca, thank you for the advice)."

"Você é bem-vindo minha menina, dorme bem. (You are welcome my girl, sleep well)". I fell back into bed, and had a restful and happy sleep after that.

I went through the day still a little unsure, but by the time seventh period had rolled around and a Latin lecture that meant little to my grade since I knew the words being tested already, I had daydreamed of the marathon, but in a much more positive way than my subconscious had mixed up in my sleep. Rory seemed to back off just a little, in order to keep my mind clear and to keep her influence out of it. I missed the backrub that day, but all that did was make the decision easier.

With nothing to do that evening with student government or the paper, and an in-service keeping everyone except the teachers home for Friday, I met her after school in the courtyard, and we sat down on a bench away from any of Madeline's sources just in case they wanted to spread something that might not end up being true. She seemed scared, and as she sat next to me, asked if I had considered her offer in a neutral way, unaffected.

"Rory," I started, "I would be honored to be your partner Saturday. I think I'll survive being up for a day plus--"

Everything else I was going to say after that was muffled by her sweater vest as I heard what I thought was a gushing her squeak "Really?!" out, and she hugged me. Very tightly. No one else was in the courtyard so that the gossips could bastardize it, but it felt good, wonderful. And it showed me that Rory was thankful I had said yes.

"OK, Gilmore, I kind of need my lungs for respiration," I muffled into the top of her right breast as she squeezed a little down towards my diaphragm.

"Oh, uh, sorry." She felt kind of embarrassed and released it. "I'm just so excited, Kirk is going down and you're going to help me!"

I let her bask in her almost-victory for a bit, and as we walked out to my car, I decided to ask for more details about the whole dance, like the theme and such. I was pleased to learn that it was themed on the early forties, and though some modern music would be played in the late evening hours, most of it was going to be classic big band and torch singers.

The only problem was what I was going to wear. My wardrobe seems to consist of either corduroy pants and cashmere sweaters, or my uniforms. I brought this up to Rory and she said if I was desperate for a dress I could come to town and try some out. I took it under advisement, but honestly didn't think I'd need to.

Because after I dropped her off, and in an over-giddy voice said I couldn't wait for Saturday (see what the heck that girl's doing to me? I'm losing my serious edge!), I remembered that Francisca's had inherited her mother's wardrobe, and her mother's prime was during the 40's.

She was only too proud to help me out with the choice of a dress, and I spent all Thursday night twirling to and fro around the ballroom downstairs in many of those dresses, trying to find the perfect one for Rory and ironing out my dancing kinks while I was at it. It had been all those years after my abrupt retirement, yet I was still graceful when it came to modern and ballroom dancing. I counted 1,2,3 to myself as if I was ten and carefree, remembering all the steps like the pro I used to be. Despite my larger figure since my last competition, my breasts seemed to behave just fine. Fran encouraged me on further and kept telling me all these stories of the war years in Lisbon involving her mother, and since the southern tip of Europe was neutral during the entire conflict, there was much more entertainment there than in say, London, it was awe inspiring hearing her describe all the dancing her mother did when back then in the war years. I fit the each of the dresses perfectly to mine and Francisca's surprises, but unfortunately, I could only wear one.

I then spent most of yesterday stretching my body out and continuing to practice in the ballroom, thankful that Mohegan Man was keeping Sharon very distracted from anything I was doing. I left her an excuse saying I was to be in Boston today until early tomorrow so she'd be unaware of where I was, and she shrugged it off as she let me know she was flying out to San Diego for the weekend with Mohegan Man, something about a convention on a yacht or some other bullshit excuse.

That entire description now leads me to here, at five in the morning, sitting at my vanity putting the last touches on my makeup (which I can do fine, surprisingly), and looking behind me at the three dresses I'm down to hanging off hooks on the bathroom door. Rory's going to be wearing a bright red dress with tiny little polka dots all over the fabric, so I have to pick out something that either relatively matches or contrasts. I was going to go with one that was a dark maroon to match my eye color, but that wouldn't match up with her well. So I was down to a dark green, a dark blue, and a dark orange dress.

I held each one to my front, thinking of Rory in front of me and her eyes floating up and down my form, but each of them seem to clash with my ideal. Most of them seemed to be a little on the conservative side too, and as I slide a pink rose into my Lana Turner-inspired hairstyle (once again, Fran being a lifesaver with my hair, I would've gone with just a simple ponytail otherwise), I found myself in a sort of panic, sitting there trying to brainstorm if any of the other ones I rejected would be nice on a second look. They're spread all over the chaise lounge on one side of my room, and I go through them one more time, trying to find the perfect dress.

I'm about ready to just give up and get one of my dad's suits from his closet. If I'm going to seduce Rory, why not go full-tilt Hollywood fantasy and call myself the man in the couple...

But my eyes suddenly catch one on the bed I had rejected before as a little too much for Rory, without trying it on. "What the heck, it can't match up any worse than the others," I told myself as I decided to change right into it instead of going with a dry run.

The dress is a rayon black halter with a pattern of tomatoes and onions all over the fabric, and my heart catches as it realizes how this all started, back in the dining hall with our shared salads the first day we met, the first thing we had in common that wasn't academic. It seemed ironic that I'm trying on a tomato dress, but I shrug the coincidence off as I slide into it.

I love the feel of the manmade vintage fabric against my legs, smooth and sliding over my bare legs like it was exactly cut for my waistline. The skirt seems to run just a smidge below my knees, yet it flares out just enough so that during a spin the dress rises up with me, giving Rory a nice view of what I know she's been closely noticing. This again, isn't the time to bring out to bring out the stockings. Though I do have a set of unopened fishnets in the bottom of my dresser...nah, too much, and I wanted to have as much skin as possible exposed.

As I brought it up my body, I realized that this wasn't a very conservative dress...it was a halter dress. I snapped the straps in the back together in a loose position, and found myself looking in the mirror at someone who could turn some heads.

I looked hot. I, Paris Gellar, social wallflower, had found the one dress in the world that seems to be perfect for my body type, and which flattered what I wanted. My legs within the dress seemed long, the intended effect, and along the waist, the fabric seemed to be cut so close that when I walked around the room, I could feel the rayon tighten and release against my thighs, the dark color and bright pattern also helping to hide my pantyline, which since I was going to be hand-to-hand with Rory for an extended period of time, I decided to make it special. Lacy and thin dark red silk, that way something that day besides my dancing shoes (sensible, yet flattering on my feet) would match up with my conservative nature, yet still be sexy.

As I looked in the mirror towards my chest however, the two clear side effects of wearing a halter dress that bared my back and sides were apparent.

My matching bra wasn't going to work today. I'm wearing the perfect dress and the other thing Rory notices about me besides my eyes and my legs, I think, are my breasts, and I'd look just plain silly wearing the dress I have on with a regular ol' two strap bra. Once again struggling to think, I dug out my lingerie drawer trying to find something, anything that was strapless, Louise had to have lent me one somewhere down the line for some social gathering...OK, maybe not, considering my cup size, but still it was worth a shot in the dark!

I hauled the entire drawer onto the bed and searched around for anything, but it seemed to be a lost cause, there wasn't a single strapless bra in that entire dresser drawer, not even one of those three-in-ones where the strap would go over my back like a bikini and stay hidden underneath the dress.

I was ready to stop at the Wal-Mart just outside of the Hollow and go with whatever gaudy patterned strapless bra I could find on such short notice at five on a Saturday morning, I would take leopard print if that's all the heck they had, I wanted to dance with my girl!

But then, I had a total recall moment of my dreamed-up situation Tuesday night, and of all the lingering stares Rory's eyes were giving my bust over the last few weeks. I even remembered back to the night of Jamie's date all the way in August, where when I got ready and was in this same predicament, she was making me try on every outfit I had no matter how horribly matched up it would be. "Hmmm," I pondered to myself, a serene smile playing on my lips, "Was she trying to keep me in just my undies for as long as she could?" All these months later, it did seem odd that she had me try on an ugly crotched sweater from my maternal Aunt Mildred, combined with a horribly matched skirt, and then had me take it off almost immediately after I got my head through the top hole, taking an awful long time staring at me as she struggled to match up another outfit. Then that damned 'Am I too small?' question in the shower stall that my stubborn pride almost used to tear apart my friendship when she was just trying to flatter me...

Testing something out, I undo the back snap, and decided to take off my bra, trying to get a gander at what I'd look like in the dress without it. I then brought the halter straps back up and played with my boobs a little, holding the straps up with one hand as I pushed my breasts up with the other. I didn't know what to expect as I found what I thought was the perfect position, as I snapped the straps into place, then tied the slack tight just in case the dress got a sudden idea to fall apart.

Back to the mirror, and the verdict from the fashionista portion of my brain. I turned on the Hollywood lights surrounding the mirror that I never really used (I usually depend on the sunlight from my window as I put on my makeup), and gave myself a once over again.

I called myself hot before, but wearing that dress unsupported by anything underneath, I had to catch a breath, because I looked absolutely perfect, a fucking Venus de Milo-type of goddess. At first, I thought I seemed a little slutty because the back of the dress plunged beneath my bra line, but I took another look and saw that it was pretty conservative. The deep-cut back isn't all the way down to exposing the small of my back at the tip-top of my rear, but it's right in the middle between that and my bra line. I had an immediate thought of Rory's fingers intertwining against the naked skin, and her running them along my spinal column and my sides in order to keep me awake, or relaxed if Kirk pulled something out of his bag of tricks in order to throw off our concentration.

It didn't take me long to go from completely unsure, to very turned on from just that. I brought my gaze down to the front, and found myself thankful. There is just a slight bit of padding in the front that's over my breasts, and it's quite enough to hide my nipples from peeking through the dark fabric, at least for now. Hour twenty-one, not sure, but at least I'm not going to be having underwire digging into the underside of my boobs all day and all night, wearing it well past eighteen hours.

Best of all, I'm sure Rory will notice all the cleavage I was bringing to the party. The neckline isn't as deep as Madeline and Louise have worn before (and they've risked going as low as Jennifer Lopez's Grammy dress at times), but being pretty scandalous sixty years ago, it was a big risk for my being. Bending down into the mirror though, it's going to make her mouth water, and I'm sure there's going to be plenty of looking down towards my midsection through this whole endeavor.

I look great, almost like Lana Turner, but with my own spin on things. So I guess it's time to gather up all my courage and walk out of the Manor with my confidence and spirits on high, and any sexual thoughts about Rory dampened at least in the beginning here. For the first time since I was nine, I'm walking out of my house without a bra on, and I feel so free.

No, not just in the physical 'my goods are out there for Rory to ogle' sense, geeze, that's my inner pervert talking, ignore her! Just three months ago, I thought that my love was totally unrequited and I was cursing myself to spending the rest of my life pining after her like...hell, I'll admit it, like Tristan before that, and probably marrying someone unworthy just so I wouldn't be an old maid. I could've never thought however in my wildest dreams, that Rory would be reading my signals, and changing our friendship around in such an abrupt way. In all these three years I knew her, we never had intimate conversation, and barely talked about anything unless it prefixed Harvard. But in one month, everything's changed.

Rory Gilmore might want me. She's been getting awfully close to me, and I in turn have welcomed the contact, giving her so many clues myself. Just this week, she's let me give her a very intimate hairbrushing, put my hand on her thigh for an extended period, and after giving Dean the heave-ho he's deserved since she couldn't say 'I love you' to him right away, here I am getting in my car on an early November morning, completely nuts because I'm about to dance for a full day (hopefully my feet don't fail me) just so I can get that much closer with the girl I love.

I can't wait to see how she looks. I can't wait until six, when our fingers intertwine, and I slide my hands beneath her arms and feel her cool skin chilling every part of me. I can't wait to see how Rory will try to keep me awake through all of this.

Most of all, I'm excited because I've done all I can with myself with some of Fran's help to keep Rory from resisting my charms. I've spritzed orchid-scented perfume in all the right places and washed my hair with a very expensive, yet fragrant shampoo instead of my regular store-bought product. By the time the sun rises over the village tomorrow morning, her head will be bowed and tired due to exhaustion, and she'll find her head resting on my breast like a pillow, taking in the extra fragrance I've sprayed into my cleavage. I have so much hope for today that it would be a loss if we not only lost to Kirk, but we didn't run into our feelings more than we have so far.

I want to give Rory the time of her life, and even though we haven't said it aloud, we know it's a date. This day is going to be interesting, in more ways than one, and I'm smiling wide at all the possibilities. I wonder, what the odds are of Taylor letting Rory and I have a hot little tango together...