Astral gasped as I pushed her against the railing, mewled a high-pitched “oh” and grabbed a handful of my hair. She snapped my head back, stared into my eyes, grinned and laughed. I let my mouth drop open, wetted my lips with a slow tongue, gulped back saliva. I wriggled and whimpered, but she held me tight. Pain shot through my head, such exquisite pain it made me groan, made me wet. Her gaze flicked over my body, taking in every curve, lighting on my breasts, my nipples pressed hard against the cotton of my bikini. I wanted her. It was as if all the years of denial had finally blown their safety valve. She smelled sweet, alcoholic, intoxicating.

She loosened her grip, mussed my hair, grinned mischievously. Her playfulness made me laugh. Astral was always so carefree, like everything in life was there purely for her pleasure. I kissed her and cut off her breath, tasting the cheap, sharp rum on her tongue. As our mouths moved I worked the buttons on her white top. A moment later I had fallen to my knees and began fumbling with the buckle on her belt.

“Finally.” She laughed, squirming as I tugged on her shorts. “Finally she sees me.” The blue denim clung tight to her skin, forcing me to pull harder, inching the tiny shorts over the curve of her bottom and down her legs, revealing white panties beneath. I felt my heart begin to race. When I looked up she smiled. “You know, it was never just flirting. Not for me. You know that, Josie, right?”

I was light headed, drunk on her intensity. So much to take in. I’d never seen her naked. Never. All that time we shared a room, all the opportunities. All I could do was nod in reply as I hooked my thumb under the soft fabric of her panties and pulled them aside, revealing the perfect cleft of her vagina. It was the point of no return and I didn’t hesitate. I leaned forward and tasted her, slipping my tongue inside the warm, sweet flesh.

My first day at college was the first day I opened my eyes and saw the world. Young people were everywhere. Boys with hair to their shoulders, girls with skirts that barely reached their thighs. To a home-schooled Catholic girl like me it was bewildering. Smoking, drinking, kissing, laughing. The smell of clean sweat, the scent of sex, the perfume of fun and youth. And through it all, there was Astral.

She found me, overwhelmed, tearful, put an arm over my shoulder and asked if I was homesick.

I shook my head, sniveled. “No.”

“Then why the tears?” Her laugh was so genuine, so utterly appealing. I had…