You guys can thank (or yell at) Writeontime for this. She's the one who suggested I write a Jane/Bella outtake from BS for this occasion. She's awesome.

I dedicate this to a great American, spargelkun, who once asked, "What is more patriotic than girlsex?"

I don't own Twilight. Stephenie def doesn't want to own this. ~ ~ littlesecret84

Forks, Washington

July 5, 2012

"I mean, seriously, Jane, you need to wear sunblock. I know you hate looking yellow all the time, but it's just a bad idea to expose yourself to the sun the way that you do. As long as you have some color on your face, you're good!"

"Just shut up," is Jane's only response. She closes her eyes and ignores my advice until I notice how pink her shoulders and the tip of her nose look twenty minutes later. I take my bottle of sunblock and pour some into my palm, before walking over to her and applying it to her shoulders. She protests by trying to wiggle away from me, but I straddle her and cover every inch of her exposed skin with the thick, white cream she hates so much.

"You're so stubborn. You're just jealous because you burn and don't tan," she tells me.

"You look like an old lady when you tan. Wrinkles, leathery skin. You're not getting any younger. Skin is the most important thing."

"Is it? I don't remember the last time someone complimented me on my skin," she says.

"I do."

Edward talked about my skin all the time. When we were sitting around, kissing, touching. When we were having sex. He'd mumbled things about my body, my face, my skin, all the time while we were rolling around, quietly doing dirty things. Except they were never really dirty, because things didn't feel dirty with him. They just felt… ugh. I'm not going there. No Edward. Enough Edward. Why am I thinking about him again? Oh. Skin. Someone needs to compliment Jane's skin. It's soft and pretty.

"For instance, look at my flawless skin. Pretty, no?" I ask, getting up and moving back to my chair. "You end up buying all these products to cover up blemishes. I take precautions and don't get blemishes. I save money, and look awesome."

"Bella… shut up. Really, it's just one of those days. I think we're going to play the quiet game."

"What game is that?" I ask.

"You know, the one we play all the time. No one talks, and the first person who says anything loses. You know it well—you lose every single time."

"Oooh, that game. I'm pretty sure it has another name."

"Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. My head."

"Stop drinking."

"Stop talking," she whines.

"I'm bored."

"Find a boy."

Except I don't want to find a boy. I want Jane to turn around and me kiss again, like she did last night. And the only reason why I'm talking so much is because I don't like the silence between us right now. What if she regrets what happened? What if she's mad at me? What if she thinks I sucked? She can't think that. Oh my God. So I have to keep talking to make sure everything is cool. I want things to be cool. And I wouldn't mind repeating last night. Just one more time. Because while Jane had been really, really drunk and probably doesn't remember much, I was pretty sober and remember everything. And I can't even try to pretend… and thinking about it makes my face hot… and yeah, it was the most fun I've had in years.

July 4, 2012

"You're sooo wasted," Jane tells me, slurring her words.

"I'm sooo sober. You're the one who's wasted. I think we should leave before your mom sees you like this."

"No! I don't care if she sees me. I'm fine!"

"Janey, you can barely stand up. Let's get out of here. If you want, we can take a few bottles of… whatever's left and drink them in back of the truck."

"Let's drink them here."

"It's your mom's picnic, we're done drinking here! You want it to be like last time?" I ask her.

She shakes her head.

"Good. So let's go. Pick a bottle. Hurry up. And for fuck's sake, every time you scratch that mosquito bite above your boob, you expose yourself. Nice tits, but there are children present."

"Do you like my tits, Bella?" Jane asks, before erupting into giggles.

I roll my eyes, knowing she won't notice anything I do at this point. "Yes, they're awesome."

"I like yours."

"You haven't seen them in years, they're not as cute anymore." I sigh.

"That's what you think…"

Oh God. She's such a mess. I manage to half-carry Jane, who's sort of carrying a bottle of gin (she's so going to drop it any second now), all the way to my truck unnoticed. I take the bottle away from her because who just drinks gin like that? And she really doesn't need anything else. She'll pass out on our way home, and I'll get my dad to help me take her up to my room.



"Did you really make out with that redhead at that Halloween party you went to last year with Riley?" Jane asks me.

"Um, yeah," I reply, wondering why she's bringing this up now. "Why?"

"Was she cute?"

"I guess? I don't remember. I was wasted. Riley took pictures. I thought I showed them to you."

"Yeah, she was alright."

"You're so weird."

"I am," she agrees.



"When was the last time you had sex?" I ask her. She'll probably give me a more honest answer while she's drunk than when she's sober.

"A month ago," she mumbles.


"A month ago," she repeats.

"With? How did you keep this from me? Was he hot? How big was his dick?"


"Sorry." I smile at Jane, who looks like she's about to throw up. "Dude, tell me to stop before you puke. I don't want to smell that in here for weeks."

"I'm not gonna throw up. Although I should. I hate boys. I hate their penises. Gross."

"Um, okay…"

"Girls are pretty," Jane says, with a silly grin on her face.

"What about Sam?" I ask.

"What about him?"

"You dated him!" I cry out.


"So, when did you decide that you're a lesbian?"

"I'm not…"

"Uh… Jane, dude, you just said you hate dicks and followed that up with 'girls are pretty'—I'm pretty sure you're into vag."

"Does that make a difference to… forget it. I'm sleepy, stop talking," she tells me.

"Janey, we're having this discussion!"

"Your voice is annoying."

"Bitch. Oh my God! Were you totally into it when we made out that one time freshman year?"

"You're a sloppy kisser," she informs me.

"I focus on more important things," I explain.



"You are so disgusting."

"Admit it, you want me." I pinch her cheek and wink at her. Her face is on fire.

"Oh shit! The fireworks started! Stop the car, I wanna watch!"

I pull over and turn off the engine. We climb into the back of the truck and spread out the gross blanket that has been sitting here all summer. Like so many times before, we lie down beside each other, shoulder to shoulder, and watch the fireworks.

"Yay! Independence is awesome!" Jane sings.

"You're such a ridiculous drunk."

"British people suck. No taxation… I don't know, what happens next?"

"Oh, Jesus."

"I take that back. I love the Brits," Jane says. "America would be so much more awesome as a gigantic colony or something. We'd have a queen."

"Shut up, Jane. Just watch the fireworks."

"Do you see fireworks, or whatever, when you kiss people?" Jane asks me.

"Wow, could you be any cornier? No."

"Never?" she wants to know.

"No," I tell her. "That's just lame. I just get horny."

"Were you horny when we made out freshman year?"

"I don't remember—I barely remember kissing you."

"It was nice," Jane tells me.

"Pish. Sure it was. You took advantage of me in my drunken state."

"Your lips are always so red. I remember once, you and Edward picked me up in his stupid car, and your lips were a dark red, all puffy, because he always ate your face. I wanted to lick them."

"Um… okay."

"Shit, the fireworks are so loud. I feel them in my tummy," Jane says. She starts to giggle and I can't help it—I'm giggling with her. She's right. They're so loud that I feel them in my tummy. They're also super lame. Cheap ass fireworks in Forks.

"Man, these fireworks suck."

Jane nods, agreeing with me. "Totally."


"I hate this holiday," Jane announces.

"Me too!" I exclaim. "Like, what's the point? I get it. It's awesome. We're awesome. Yay, America! I just don't care."

"Me neither. Let's move to France—it's cooler there. I bet we'd have more fun celebrating their independence."


"Wow, I'm surprised we're not stoned. We sound like we do when we're stoned."

"I wish we were." I sigh. "That would be something to celebrate."

"I hate hot dogs, too."

"You hate everything that resembles a penis," I observe.


"Bet you love pie." I crack myself up.

"Ha. Ha."

"Seriously, have you ever… you know."

"Probably," Jane replies.

"Is it totally weird the first time? Different?" I ask. I might as well ask. You never know when such knowledge will come in handy.

"Weird…no. Different? Yeah, definitely."

"Cool. I think I'd be an awesome lesbian," I tell Jane.

"You'd be a terrible lesbian! You like men."

"Yeah, that's true, but I love breasts."

"You always did stare at mine for too long back when we had gym together."

"They were nice!"

"Were?" Jane frowns.

"They still are."

The fireworks are still happening. What the fuck is up with that? Why not make the whole thing shorter, but spend more on quality shit? Stupid Forks. I sit up on my elbows and turn to Jane. I can't help but notice how her boobs are almost completely exposed. If I hook a finger into her top right now and pull it down, I'll see everything. I feel my finger moving towards her, and I stop it before this actually happens. What the…

"Hey, I'm curious," I blurt out, before I can stop myself. "Will you show me your… breasts? Ew, that doesn't sound hot. Tits? Better? Gross."

Jane looks at me like she's suspicious that something's up. I open my eyes wide, knowing she won't be able to resist the look I'm giving her. I'm innocent, Jane. Don't worry.

"Why?" she asks.

I don't know, Jane. Don't ask stupid questions. I'm already questioning my desire to see you naked right now. Either show me, or mock me and shut up. I don't care either way. Just don't drag this out. It's bad enough that I'm sitting here almost desperate to see you naked. I don't know what's come over me. It just happens sometimes. And I'm not even going to pretend that I haven't watched girls going at it in porn. I have. Sometimes I'm in the mood to watch nothing but girls going at it. I know where to go for the best stuff. And I'm also not going to pretend that I'm not feeling extremely horny right now. Like, my nipples… ugh. What's wrong with me? This is Jane. She's like a sister to me. I shouldn't be this turned on by her right now, because she's family. It's like wanting to do your own brother, if your brother had nice tits and pretty, long blonde hair. Gross. Gross. Gross. She's still looking at me like that. I have to say something, or laugh and pretend I was kidding.

"Because your girl love is rubbing off on me and I want to see boobs."

"You can't just look," Jane tells me.

"Why not? I don't know if I want to do anything just yet. I want to get a better idea of what you're offering before I decide whether or not I want to test out the product."

"That's not fair. I won't just expose myself to you. You have to do it too!" Jane says.

"Fine. Half this town has seen them anyway." I sigh.

"You wish. You're not nearly as slutty as you want to be."

I nod, frowning, because it's true. "Fine. Here." And I yank off my tank.

"Not fair! You're wearing a bra!"

"Ugh, Jane, I'm sorry I'm classier than you are and wear bras when I'm out in public."

"Whatever, you're the one who told me I didn't need one in this dress," she reminds me, pulling down the top of her dress until I can see her nipples and they're pretty hard and big, unlike mine, and I want to touch them and see if they'll get stiffer, or stay the same.


"You like?" Jane asks.

"I'm gonna touch them," I let her know.

"Finally," I think I hear her say.

Shit. Her skin is… soft. And her nipples… don't feel like mine. They're way bigger, like I said, and they feel weird between my fingers. And yeah, they do change a little. I like them better now. Weird. Weird. Does that make sense? No. I like how they feel. I pinch. She jumps. I reach out and touch her other nipple, and I just play around. She breathes different. Her eyes close a little, open again. The same thing happens to her mouth. I move closer. I take her breasts in my hands. I do things boys do to me all the time. She likes it. I kiss her. She tastes like expensive things her mom keeps in their liquor cabinet. Her tongue is in my mouth. Weird. Shit. Nice. She's touching me. Now she's kissing my neck. Holy… Ouch. I like bites, but that was intense. I'm being loud. Do I like this that much? Am I enjoying this enough to be moaning like I…just…can't…get…enough. Oh! Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. I love it when my nipples find their way into mouths. And this… and this? It feels so, so good. Jane it a biter. She nibbles. She sucks and sucks and sucks. And I love it, because my fingers are in her hair and I'm holding her to me like if she stops sucking and licking like she is, I'll… I don't know, die?

"Shit. This is good. Oh. My. God. Jane. Jane. Jane."

And I guess what I just said means "touch my vagina" because Jane's fingers have moved under my skirt, and under my thong, and shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. My poor nipple is mouthless now, because Jane is commenting on the state of things down there. And yeah, I'm wet. And yeah, I want her to touch me and I want to come and I want to rub up against something and come again and I want that something to be her.

"Kiss me" are the last words I say before I'm squealing and whimpering and trying not to scream. Good. So good. I love her breasts against mine. I love her lips. I love her hands. Her fingers. Her fingers. And my fingers. They're in her hand. She moves them down. Down. Not on me. On her. Shit. I've never done this before. I've done it to myself, but that's my own vagina. This is hers. And oh—she's really tight. I mean, guys tell me I am, but that's just because they love hearing themselves say that, maybe it enhances the experience for them. Who knows? It mostly annoys me. But Jane? She is, and I give up on two fingers and work with one, because it's less annoying. And she seems to like it. 'Faster' 'please' 'yes' are the words I hear from her. Nothing else. So yeah, I try to go faster and not be too stupid and clumsy with the whole thing. And I try my best to make her say 'yes' again, and she does, and then we're kissing and kissing and moving, and I think I'm humping her thigh at one point. I don't even know what's going on, but I'm on my back and she's staring at me. She's staring between my legs. And shit, when was the last time I waxed or trimmed or anything? Who knows. It's been a while. She doesn't care. She's… licking me. Like, straight up licking me. And people do this differently. And I love it all. But I love this the most. And I think she steadies my hips with a hand because I'm moving all over the place. And I'm touching myself, playing with my nipples, and she looks up and her eyes are big and wide and she smiles and I smile and this is the best night ever in a long, long time.

Because I just had two orgasms, and I gave one. I should give another one, but I don't know how I feel about reciprocating, and she's covering herself now, and I'm just sitting here half naked, and it's sort of awkward.

"Jane, I—"

Ugh. Before I can finish my thought, she's scrambling over to the side of the truck and gross. Yeah. She's puking. This what my vagina did to her. Great. I feel awesome. She needs help. I crawl over to her and hold back her hair. I think I want to lean over and kiss her neck, but she's puking, so… gross. I don't do it. But maybe I can later. Or not at all. This was so weird. What's wrong with me? I wait until she's done, and help her back into the cab of my truck. She passes out. My dad and I manage to get her into bed. I wonder if he knows. Hah. Yeah. Sure. I stare at her for a while and think about every single thing that happened because I know I'll probably avoid thinking about it ever again. I quietly touch myself. I feel better. I close my eyes. What a day.

July 5, 2012


"Bella, what?"

"You went down on me last night."


"So you remember…"

"Of course I remember," Jane snaps.

"Okay, I just wanted to make sure…"

She flips over onto her stomach and doesn't say anything.


"Yes?" She sounds scary.

"Was it that bad?" I ask her. "Did I disgust you?"

"It's not always about you, Bella…"

"But my… my…"

"…or about your vagina."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she insists.

"Okay. Yeah. I thought so. Everyone likes doing that to me."

"Oh, Jesus," Jane mutters.

"Also, now we don't have to hate that holiday anymore," I point out.

"Good point."


"Bella, please, just shut up."


Yeah, um. Eat good shit. Enjoy the fireworks. Kiss your best friend. You know you want to.