By Shakespeare's Girl
A/N: So, I was at the mall, and this other girl and I kept staring at each other. I have no idea who she was, and I have no idea whether or not the electricity I was feeling was mutual, but we were staring a whole lot. And when I got home, I started thinking about it, and then I started writing about it, and this happened. I wasn't going to post it, but then I decided what the hell. I like it, and it's my first ever femme slash, and it makes me smile. So there.
When I stole for the first time, I was still deep in my good girl phase. I was dressed in a brown skirt, although it was short, it was frilly and ruffly and wholesome. I was wearing a pink button-down shirt. It was a short, brief, silly encounter, one that shouldn't have made me blush like it did. It should have been innocent, but because of her, it wasn't.
It was at the mall. She was at a kiosk, fingering the lipstick that the one had to offer. I stopped to check out the mineral eyeliners, and was debating whether it was worth the ten dollars or if I should just buy the one for a dollar fifty at WalMart.
She came over to me, holding a lipstick in her hand, and she looked me up and down. "Hey there," she said, and I didn't quite recognize her accent.
"Hi," I said, shyly. She kept staring, and I felt myself begin to blush.
"Come with me," she said suddenly, and it wasn't a request, it wasn't a question. She was tugging me with her, I still had the eyeliner in my hand and she still had the lipstick, and she was pushing me ahead of her now.
"Wait," I tried to stop her, "I didn't pay--"
"Who needs to pay? Want take have, babe."
She pushed me into a family restroom, one with two toilets and two sinks and no stalls to divide up the space. She locked the door behind us, and she pushed me up against the wall.
"Who are you?" I asked.
She laughed and stepped back, out of my space. "I'm Faith," she announced. "And you, babe, are about to get beautiful."
I opened my mouth to object, but she was back in my space and her mouth closed over my open one. I whimpered, pushing back, trying to get away, slightly afraid of this woman, but suddenly overcome with need for her.
She pulled back, looked at me critically, and demanded, "What's your name, pretty babe?"
"T-tara," I stuttered.
"Well, Tara, your transformation starts now." She kissed me again, tongue and teeth and lips and oh god it was so hot. She began unbuttoning buttons on my shirt, two at the top, so my cleavage showed, three below, tying the tails together so that my stomach was revealed. I was shaking under her hands, and I think it turned her on even more to know that I was scared.
When she was done she kissed me again, then left, pressing the lipstick into my hand. I stared out the open door after her, then walked to the taller sink and leaned over, studying my reflection.
I looked just the same. Slowly, I checked the color of the lipstick, then smiled. I opened it and put it on. Just as I suspected, it was the same color she'd been wearing. I looked at myself for a few moments, the deep red color standing out like blood against my pale skin. Then I smiled and walked out of the bathroom, tucking the lipstick and eyeliner into my purse.
It was my first time, and somehow, even as I walked away from that family restroom, I knew it wouldn't be my last.