Primal Scream (Box Set #1, Taboo Sex + AFF) (34 page)

“
The Love Song” by Manson was on—Aisyah half-pondered on the title, as she half-listened to Chantal rehearsing her lines.
Rehearsing her lines, rehearsing her lies,
Aisyah thought at one point, enjoying the irony and word play. Aisyah knew that Chantal was attracted to boys, though Chantal seemed to want to hide the fact more often than not. The question was how much she really was attracted to girls.

Aisyah had kissed many girls, but the first with Chantal seemed to be the clearest in her memory. Aisyah hadn’t dared to try any moves on Chantal. She didn’t want to risk spoiling their close and tight friendship. Aisyah could do without romance, and maybe even sex, if she was forced into such circumstances. But she couldn’t live without her best friends. Trustworthy and reliable good friends were hard to come by.

Aisyah looked up when Chantal gave a loud sigh.

“
Why am I giving a talk on ‘being a leader’, when I can’t even lead my own life?”
Unlike you,
Chantal felt like adding. She believed in her perception of Aisyah being on top of everything, when it came to her sexual being and sexuality.

“
What do you mean?”

“
I…” Chantal started, trying—but failing—to look away from the depths of Aisyah’s dark, engaging eyes.

Chantal didn’t know if she was THAT serious, with her affections for Aisyah. It was more of an elevated kind of friendship, with some physical affection thrown in. And she still had the threesome with Aisyah and the Speedos boy on her mind. She wanted them both. She wanted it all.

A quick flashback went through Chantal’s mind, when Aisyah said, “What do you mean?” Aisyah had said the same thing when Chantal turned down her offer of a cigarette, years ago.
Damn,
Chantal had thought.
I can’t even say yes to a cigarette!
It wasn’t just about health issues—they’d yellow the teeth, and would grow to be an expensive habit. Financial security mattered more to her than temporary thrills. Aisyah quit smoking when she saw Chantal doing fine without ever getting into the habit in the first place. She could smell Chantal better that way too.

“
I wish I…just…had more fun in my life. I think I’m just…
bored.
” Chantal couldn’t bring herself to mention the threesome. Never mind the Speedos boy, never mind the conflict between sex and her religion—she felt she’d be objectifying Aisyah that way. Friends didn’t really do that, did they?

Aisyah tried to stifle a smile. She may not have been able to see the visuals in Chantal’s mind about the threesome, but she’d long known Chantal was the
guai
sort (the Chinese local slang for “well-behaved”).

Aisyah decided to take a chance. She’d kiss Chantal, a full-on make-out session—what they should have done all those years ago, the first time—and have an excuse for it, in case things didn’t go well, for whatever reason.

KinkstersFB.net to the rescue!
Aisyah thought. The website’s slogan was “Facebook for kinksters,” and Aisyah had just told Chantal about the website in the past week. Chantal said she’d join by the end of the week; Aisyah had been a member for several months. It was a nice website, with few ads and a supportive, friendly community. The emphasis was on the community itself, and the profile search didn’t run the same way as most online dating or sex/swinger sites like AFF. Aisyah remembered there was an online group on KinkstersFB for those with a fetish for plaid skirts.

“
I think I’m…confused,” Chantal continued, still stuck in indecision. “You seem to do it so…smoothly.”

“
Do what?”

“
The whole androgyny thing—I’ll, like, find girls pretty one day, then find guys hot the next…it’s just irritating. I want to call myself a lesbian, like so many girls at school, but I can’t.”

“
Everyone likes to look at pretty girls…” Aisyah said, before mulling on it. “I can get confused at times too.”

“
How?”

“
I feel pressured to be a butch lesbian…I like girls…but these labels and stupid people just drive me insane sometimes. I can’t say a guy is cute, because I’ll seem less cool as a butch. Which makes sense, in some ways, but really? Can’t I like both genders at the same time? Fuck it.”

Chantal thought back to all the different styles and looks Aisyah had tried, over the years. Maybe Aisyah had good taste in fashion since her mother worked as an image consultant. Aisyah had even gone through a feminine phase for a couple of months—but seemed to have settled into an androgynous kind of persona for the moment. Chantal never knew the whole gender-bending thing could get on Aisyah’s nerves too, from time to time.

“
Well, at least the people we hang out with are good people,” Chantal replied, trying to make Aisyah feel better. Their clique was mostly devoid of negative and toxic people, like backstabbers and liars.

“
Yeah, I’m just ranting.” Aisyah gave her trademark cheerful grin. “Catholic school girls rule!”

Aisyah lightly headbanged to the music in the background, a little spaced out. She had a serious look on her face. She always was, when it came to satisfying her exhibitionist and voyeuristic streak. “I have an idea—just play along with me.”

Before Chantal could say anything, Aisyah jumped up from where she’d been sitting, cross-legged on the floor, and started fiddling around with a small videocam she had set up on a mini-tripod. Chantal was so glazed over and weary that she was, indeed, taking Aisyah’s advice to “just play along.” All she saw was the past ten years in front of her, laid to waste and misuse—misspent keeping up a “hardworking student” front at school, friendly and gregarious on the surface, which hid the awkward, self-conscious nature in her that held her back from going after the boys and people she really wanted.

She’d taken notes from things she heard, articles she read online, articles she read in books and magazines, about how to give good head, how to strengthen and add stamina to her tongue muscles with exercises, moves to “whip out to drive a guy crazy, since all men secretly craved boundary-pushing action in bed.” But so what? All the theory in the world was not worth an ounce of action. She was stuck in a constant state of analysis paralysis.

It made her reserved, so much so that even guys and girls who had an interest in her would end up not making the first move, because they’d automatically deduce that the chances of getting rejected by her were not slim to none.

“
Let’s just make out,” Aisyah’s voice disintegrated the deluge in Chantal’s mind.

Caught off guard, Chantal’s body initially inched back in reflex, when Aisyah leaned in and forward over her, giving her a wet kiss on the lips. This was different from the casual touches and quick friendly kisses they’d sometimes greet each other with, over the years. Girl-on-girl action was twice the heat, with none of the meat.

The kiss melted away Chantal’s worries, and she kissed Aisyah back, eyes closed to amp up the tactile sensations, as her fingertips found their way to Aisyah’s slim, reed-thin, boyish figure. Aisyah was on her knees—both in their white blouses and grey-pink plaid skirts—and Chantal’s eyes opened wide, when Aisyah reached out and grabbed one of her boobs, slowly and sensually, unlike the way some boys thoughtlessly groped. Aisyah let her hand run over and cup the natural shape and curve of Chantal’s B-sized, perennially perky breast.

She ran her lips and tongue over Chantal’s neck, kissing her behind the ear, and jerked back for a bit when Chantal grabbed Aisyah by the neck, a little harder than she was used to. Aisyah went back to kissing her on the lips, deliberately revving Chantal up with hot, sweet kisses alone, to lure out the dormant sex fiend in her. The more one held back, the sweeter the satisfaction.

Aisyah hiked up Chantal’s skirt to reveal her red bikini underwear.

“
The beautiful people,” Aisyah snarled at Chantal, when the Manson song of the same title came on in the background, just as she unbuttoned Chantal’s white blouse, and slipped her hands underneath Chantal’s bra. Chantal felt nothing but a long, hot, hypnotic wave of pleasure—just like what she’d witnessed in the public cubicle, the other day—and her existence was one with that wave of satisfaction.

Their lips were locked together—Chantal wanted them both to be topless and really at it—she wanted them to share each other’s bodies and roll around for hours until it was time to get ready for school the next morning—she wanted it to go on forever.

But Aisyah abruptly pressed both her hands against Chantal’s boobs and chest, and pushed herself up.

“
Okay, let’s check the clip out,” Aisyah said, raking some fingers through her razored short crop, and speaking like an actress who’d just gotten out of her role. She went over to see to the clip, knowing now that Chantal definitely had a lusty appetite for girls—there was no question about it. Aisyah could still taste Chantal’s fire and hunger on her tongue.

Chantal was a little dizzy, a little confused, and a little upset. She’d been just about getting ready to remove her slick panties. She was hygienic and always kept herself nicely-smelling and neatly-groomed, even in areas which hardly ever saw daylight. Why’d Aisyah back off?

Aisyah was nodding impressively at the clip. “
Vow,
” she said, imitating her mother’s Armenian accent, where W’s were pronounced as V’s (so ‘vow’ really meant ‘wow’). “I think this vill vork.”

Within a few minutes, Aisyah selected three still shots from the video clip. One when they’d first started kissing; one when Chantal’s skirt was up; and one where Aisyah’s hand was over Chantal’s breast, with Chantal’s blouse unbuttoned.

Chantal had buttoned her shirt again. Aisyah had unbuttoned the blouse starting from the bottom; Chantal had had her black prefectorial tie on the whole time.

Chantal stood behind Aisyah, tempted to run her hands through Aisyah’s soft hair.

“
Can’t see our school badges,” said Aisyah. HIGH and their arch rival school, Holy Trinity High School, shared almost identical uniforms, apart from a dash of grey on the collar for students of HIGH. “And…I think our photos are the
best
in the whole folder. Let’s see if anyone else thinks so.”

Chantal leaned in, looking at the other thumbnails in the “Plaid Skirts” public album on KinkstersFB. Some of the other photos showed sweet girls in school girl uniform costumes, but Aisyah’s and Chantal’s was the real deal.

Aisyah update her profile, unchecking “play partners” from the “seeking for” section, so that Aisyah’s profile only stated that she was there on the website looking for “friendship.”

“
Make some friends, disregard the dickheads…” Aisyah muttered, more so to herself than to Chantal, who was considering casting some kind of love spell on Aisyah. Chantal remembered reading it from a Wiccan Magick book long ago.

“
Let’s see if we can find any…interesting people,” Aisyah said, as she typed up some text as a caption, to go along with the photos:

Catholic School Girls Rule!

P.S. We (in the picture) are not drama queens, though we all have our moments…

Wanna chat w/ us? Email at [email protected]

“
Hey, why’s it under my email address?” Chantal asked. The address Aisyah had typed was one of Chantal’s “throwaway” email addresses which her current main Gmail account grabbed the occasional email from.

“
You’re more bored than I am,” Aisyah replied with a kind yet still mischievous grin. “All we have to do is play along with the stereotype of Catholic school girls being totally wild. Let it work to your advantage. People believe it. You should too.”

Chantal was still a little distressed. Maybe she was more of a lesbian than Aisyah was. She still didn’t know where that left her, in terms of defining her own sexuality.

“
You’re a good kisser,” Aisyah said, looking at their photos, at the plaid skirts they wore everyday, which made Chantal’s toned legs always look extra good.

“
You too.”

Just then, they heard a key turn in the lock on the main door. Aisyah’s mother had just come home from work, and her accountant father would be home soon too.

Chantal smoothed her crinkled blouse down, even though Aisyah’s mother would have noticed anyway, since paying attention to the details was part of her job as an image consultant.