Oblivion , Doubt Ch. 01


This story is the first in a series – and the series serves as a companion to my story Truth margin-left:0″>

The very first time they met had been freshman orientation. Miranda had had a shaved head then. Leethie had made fun of her behind her back, telling another girl she looked like a Sinéad O’Connor-Quipi Doll. But even then she had thought Miranda was beautiful. The severity of her shaved head had been far too shocking and strange for Leethie however – who could not have been more straight-laced and Texan at that moment.

They had crossed paths any number of times over the next two years, but just as acquaintances. It was over the break between sophomore and junior years that the two had finally become fast friends. They had both signed up to attend a summer program in the medieval walled city of Lucca. They’d met again at the airport. Miranda’s hair had grown out, she’d worn it in little pigtails for the flight. Leethie had thought it was the cutest thing ever and told her so; they’d decided right then and there to sit together on the flight to Italy, they had talked the whole way.

As it turned out, Miranda’s hair was a lovely warm gray – not the coarse silver-gray of an old person, but a true gray. It had reminded Leethie of a mouse she’d found in her grandmother’s house when she was very little. The trap had caught the little animal across the side of its head, creasing its skull bloodlessly, but without breaking the skin, cutting it almost in two. The body had been unharmed and beautiful. Leethie had been petting its soft warm-gray hair when her mother found her and scolded her. Leethie hadn’t told Miranda about the mouse but had told her how pretty and soft she thought her hair was, how much she liked the color.

“No color at all,” Miranda had complained. “Like my eyes!”

And it was true, Miranda’s eyes weren’t blue or green or brown, or even hazel. They were a strange non-color, but they were very light and big and beautiful, and Leethie had told her so.

The two were an odd couple. Leethie was tall and blonde, from Austin, and a one-time teen beauty queen. Miranda was from Manhattan, petite, always in dark eye makeup, torn jeans, and Doc Martins. But on the flight over they had bonded. Leethie had decided that they were the “Hot Girls,” which Miranda had tried to deny but clearly enjoyed hearing.

“Look at you Da,” Leethie told her, fingering her little ponytail, her hair was as soft and as fine as the little mouse. “You’re a punk rock beauty queen.”

They had had so much fun rooming together in Lucca that Leethie had decided to ditch her summer plans with her family and join Miranda afterward on a trip she’d planned for herself through Europe. The two had traveled from city to city on rail passes, sleeping on the train whenever they could, and staying in youth hostels whenever they couldn’t. When they got back to the States they had rented a studio together off-campus and were roommates for the last two years of school. By all appearances, they couldn’t have been more different, but from that first flight Leethie had been sure they would be friends forever.

And while she was deeply nostalgic for those weeks in Lucca and liked to think of that time as the birth of their friendship, it was in a hostel outside of Lyons that the shape of their friendship had actually been cast.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment choice to catch a ride with two German couples, and they had ended up way off the beaten path, far from any train, drinking, playing pétanque, and flirting with a group of elderly Frenchmen on a tiny village green. The old men spoke some German, and the Germans spoke some French and English. With Miranda’s bad French and Leethie’s bad Spanish – and their terrible Italian – they had pieced together a long afternoon of boules, pastis, and laughter.

The Germans were the only other tourists in the tiny little town and it turned out the rooms they had reserved for themselves were the only rooms at the hostel. But after some confusion, and a lot of pressing, they were able to learn there was a third room, hardly more than a broom closet with a double-ish bed that wasn’t in use. With some cajoling, the German boys got the sour little man at the desk to give them some extra linens and let Leethie escort kocaeli and Miranda have it for the night.

If Leethie had been able to be honest with herself, she’d have admitted that she’d felt an attraction for Miranda; that she’d coveted the smaller headstrong girl – her courage and unconventionality. Leethie admired Miranda and knew she was smarter and more adventurous than her. Leethie also found her physically attractive. She wanted to be around her, to touch and hug her; make her laugh. But the attraction also created a powerful ambivalence in Leethie – she both desired and resented Miranda because of it.

And adding to that ambivalence, Leethie wasn’t honest with herself, not even remotely. She could never have acknowledged her attraction, much less articulate it, to herself or anyone else. But watching Miranda that evening Leethie had decided that it was Miranda’s confidence she wanted so badly, and as she got drunk the feeling turned sour. Some part of herself had decided, even if she couldn’t have that confidence for herself, that she wanted to take it away from Miranda.

It hadn’t been very late when they’d tumbled up the narrow steps to the tiny back room. But they’d started drinking early, and the day had been hot. The room was impossibly cramped, hardly much bigger than the bed. They were still laughing and shoving each other as Miranda began to drunkenly struggle with the linens. Leethie made no move to help. Instead, she stood by the little window fanning herself with her hand. Her upper lip was beaded with perspiration. Even with the window all the way open the air was still and stifling.

Watching Miranda lean over the little bunk Leethie began to undress. She had kicked off her shoes and slide off her little khaki shorts, making a point of facing Miranda as she slowly stripped. She was proud of her body; her large breasts, narrow waist, and firm ass.

Leethie had been judged on her beauty her whole life and knew exactly how beautiful she was; she always had. Leethie had never walked into a room without measuring every other woman against herself. Judging and knowing immediately if she was more or less beautiful; if her breasts were the biggest or not.

Leethie’s shirt was sweaty and clung to her as she peeled it off. Her bra was sheer, and sweaty as well. She pushed out her chest as she reached back for the clasp. Miranda had beautiful little B cups, with bright pink conical nipples that Leethie thought were lovely, but Miranda didn’t. Even so, Leethie knew how impressive her breasts were. Her mother was a D, and had told Leethie she would be too, but Leethie was a large C. They were firm and stood out from her chest with no sag at all. She loved when girls asked if they were fake. “No,” she’d tell them, “they’re just that good.”

Her nipples were long and thick when erect. Her aureoles we relatively small and a dark pink. She let her fingers brush them as she took off her bra, dropping it to the floor.

Leethie knew exactly how intimidating her beauty could be, her nudity was a weapon she had used to undermine the confidence of other contestants in beauty contests. Leethie had learned the trick the hard way from an older girl. JeanMarie hadnt been as pretty as Leethie, but had ended up beating her for first place at one of her first pageants. She didn’t like to think about that loss, or JeanMarie, but liked thinking how often she had unnerved her rivals and won after that. She had cowed and beat girls far more beautiful and physically confident than Miranda – who had fallen silent as she worked, was slouched, and looked away in shame as she made the bed.

As pretty as Miranda was, she didn’t see herself that way. Leethie had told her a thousand times in a thousand different ways, but in that realm, Miranda’s confidence failed her. And she was clearly in awe of Leethie. And that night, in that stuffy little room, Leethie had enjoyed lording her beauty over Miranda. Had seen the smaller girl taking furtive looks at her, especially as she took off her panties.

She had pushed them down at her hips, shimmying slowly as she worked them over her ass. Once they were at her knees she had let them go, shifting on the balls of her feet to move them down her legs, stepping out of them with a heavy gölcük escort sigh.

Leethie had thick blond hair but very little body hair. Even so, she was careful to keep herself groomed, making no exception as they had moved from hostel to hostel. Miranda, who kept her bush neatly trimmed and pits shaved, had commented on it before; that she was “amazed” Leethie went through the trouble to keep her pussy and armpits so smooth and hairless. But Leethie knew Miranda found it brazen; that it had scandalized her when she first saw it. Leethie enjoyed that she could shock and awe the punk rock beauty queen with her sexuality.

And just as she wasn’t confident in her beauty, Miranda was anything but bold when it came to sex. As far as Leethie could tell from their conversations, Miranda had little or no sexual experience. Leethie had teased her for being a New York dyke, but it had been mostly a joke about her virginity. But now, standing naked in the dim light from the one wall sconce, Leethie watched Miranda making the bed; her head bowed and shoulders hunched, her movements almost furtive, hands shaking. Leethie could feel how nervous Miranda was.

‘Little dyke,’ she thought with contempt.

She had cowed Miranda, which is what she intended, but was surprised by how excited she was to see the other girls’ normally willful gaze averted.

‘She’s scared,’ Leethie had thought, with a thrill of triumph. She let her hand pet her smooth hairless mons. Felt the rising urge to do more than just intimidate.

Take a closer look, Leethie.

She felt her color rise and a surge of anger as she thought of JeanMarie, and pushed the thought down. Leethie wanted to win.

“You have such a nice figure Miranda,” she told her, standing naked in the window, “but you’d never know it the way you dress.”

Miranda had started to undress but was moving slow. Sitting on the bed to unlace her shoes rather than kick them off. Standing to take off her shorts, but watching her hands, as if she’d never unbuttoned her fly before.

“Someone’s going to see you” Miranda warned, gesturing to the window with the back of her hand but glancing nervously at Leethie’s roaming hand. “Are you going to sleep like that?”

Leethie looked down at her hand innocently.

“Why don’t you like it?” She pouted, innocently pressing the smooth skin of her mons with her fingertips.

“No, it’s pretty actually,” Miranda told her, blushing deeply, as she turned away and studiously folded her jeans. “It’s just a really small bed.”

“It’s too hot Da,” Leethie whined, waving off the other girl’s concern as she slid into the little bed. And it was. Leethie’s skin felt damp and hot. The sour little man had insisted there were no more fans. Leethie pushed the sheets down, shoving them to the bottom of the bed with her feet.

“Yeah well, whatever,” Miranda snorted as she watched this. She was down to her bra and panties. Leethie really did think Miranda had a lovely figure. She was petite and lean, with milky pale skin. And even though Leethie knew she was more beautiful than Miranda, the smaller girl often got more attention from men. That night for instance. Leethie was just tall enough that many men found her daunting – but she also believed her beauty was to blame. The German boys had been careful not to flirt with Miranda or Leethie in front of their girlfriends but had clearly been more at ease talking to Miranda. Leethie told herself she didn’t care, that she had enjoyed all the old men doting on her, but it had annoyed her.

She watched as Miranda shook her hair out and turned towards the wall to take off her bra. Miranda didn’t like her hair. And as much as Leethie liked its “mousy gray” non-color she had offered to bleach or dye it for Miranda but she had demurred.

Leetie thought Miranda had an especially lovely back that Leethie wished she would show off more – thin square shoulders and a narrow rib cage and waist that curved out beautifully to her bony hips. They had taken a few day trips to the beach at Torre del Lago. She had pressed Miranda to buy a two-piece, had even got her to try a couple of bikinis on, the two of them laughing and pushing in the tiny changing stall. But in the end, Miranda was too uncomfortable, izmit sınırsız escort opting to wear her one-piece instead.

“It looks like something your mom picked out,” Leethie had complained.

“My mom did pick it out!” Miranda had laughed.

Leethie watched Miranda’s naked back as she rooted through her backpack. Her skin was beautifully clear and pale, her little muscles wonderfully defined.

Crouched and hunched over, she was wearing nothing but a pair of pink cotton panties, stretched tight across her ass. Leethie knew Miranda was sensitive about her ass, and often teased her about it – calling her “black girl” – but secretly, she thought it was one of Miranda’s most attractive features.

Miranda stood, facing the door, and lifted the shirt over her head. The little pink triangle panel hardly covered a third of her ass, it was stretched over globes of her ass cheeks, pinched sweetly at the crotch. Her buns were flexed tight and stood out like fruit over her thighs.

“Damn black girl!”

“GOD, shut up Leethie!”

She laughed and watched as Miranda slipped on the washed-out Chris and Cosey t-shirt she’d been using to sleep in. It was oversized, had an infrared image of a couple passionately kissing, and “My Secret Garden” was written across the bottom. It fit her like a tent and went down to mid-thigh.

“Seriously, you hide under all those baggy clothes,” Leethie chided, as Miranda turned off the light and climbed carefully into the bed next to her. The moon was full and shone through the window, the little village was quiet except for the far-off sound of a dog barking. Miranda laid down facing Leethie, but as far away from her as the little bed would allow.

Laying there, just their knees touching, they were a study in contrasts. Miranda in her baggy shirt, arms folded protectively in front of her breasts, but not crossed, hands under her chin. Leethie meanwhile, totally nude, her right arm folded flat under her head, her left elbow bent behind her, her wrist draped carelessly over her waist. She stroked her belly absentmindedly with her fingertips.

“We’re not all trying to win the bikini contest, Miss Texas!” Miranda mocked. The window was behind her. Leethie looked down at herself, the whole length of her body was illuminated by the moon, her breasts and belly and thighs glowed in silvery light bright enough that she could see Miranda’s eyes in the reflected light. Her face was in shadow, but Leethie could see her eyes darting guiltily; knew Miranda was stealing nervous looks at her nakedness.

“Are you making fun of my bikini line?!” Leethie had asked with feigned outrage, lifting her thigh to better expose the flesh in question and idly stroking her crotch with her fingernails.

“You have no bikini line!” Miranda sputtered, but more quietly she’d admitted, “But whatever, if I had what you have I’d flaunt it too.”

“‘Flaunt it’? Now you’re calling me an exhibitionist!”

“Oh right! Says the girl whose boobs are taking up the whole bed!” But as she’d said it Leethie had watched Miranda’s eyes flitting back and forth between her parted legs and her breasts. Leethie’s nipples had grown long and hard and she could feel herself getting wet. She slid her left hand up her tummy to cup her breast. Her areolas began to ruck and darken.

“Says the girl who’s staring at my boobs,” Leethie teased quietly, almost a whisper. “You’re totally gay for me Da, admit it.”

“Fuck you Leethie,” Miranda whispered back, trying to look away; real hurt in her voice.

“Don’t be like that,” Leethie soothed, squeezing her breast. A column of heat building in her center as she saw the shame on Miranda’s face and the direction of her downcast eyes. She lifted her left thigh high. “Can you see better now Da?”

“Seriously, fuck you Leethie.”

“It’s OK Da,” Leethie cooed, letting go of her breast, and brushing back Miranda’s hair, which had fallen over her face. She rolled her hips at Miranda. “I won’t tell anyone, go ahead. Take a closer look.”

“Why are you being such a fucking asshole?” Miranda’s voice was brittle, but her breath was short and shallow.

“Aw, listen to you Da – I know you want it,” she whispered, their foreheads almost touching. Leethie slid her arm out from under her head and put her right hand with her left. She gave Miranda’s scalp a little comforting pet with her fingertips, but her breath was short and her heart was pounding. She was struggling to stay calm, but the feeling in her breast was frantic.

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