It was cold walking to the party, and the breeze didn't care that I was barely dressed. My roommate had stuffed me into something with no shoulders, sheer fabric, and not much else. "It'll really make your pear-shaped figure pop," she'd said, like she was doing me a favor. Pop my ass. The only thing that was popping was the soft spill of my stomach and thighs, forced into a dress made for someone smaller. She'd grinned at me in the mirror, smug. "They love a woman with meat on her bones. Makes you hotter to fuck." Whatever that means.
I didn't belong in the party scene. I was more of a sit-on-the-couch-with-a-book-in-the-dark kind of girl. I could count the number of parties I'd been to on one hand—and still have fingers left. But when you live with a girl like Macy, you start to feel like wallpaper. She's the kind of person who doesn't just walk into a room, she commands it. Fashion major. High heels, lashes, and clothes that scream money. Her closet is worth more than my life. I still don't know why she chose to dorm with me.
I'm a literature major. I spend more time with fictional people than real ones. I read too much, drink even more coffee, and talk to the library cats like they're my therapists. I dress like I have a scholarship, and maybe that's why no one ever talks to me. Except Macy. And even then, it was probably just because she couldn't find an empty bed.
Right before we walked into the frat house, she glanced back at me and grinned. "Stay with me for ten minutes, then go mingle. Maybe suck a dick or something, y'know?" Like that was ever going to happen. Inside, the house was already bursting. Girls grinding against each other, guys shouting over beer pong, the whole place soaked in cologne and cheap booze. I could feel the air stick to my skin. I was still a virgin. My most intimate experience was some clumsy Frenching behind the bleachers five years ago. Now here I was, overdressed and underprepared, trying not to suffocate in a sea of strangers.
Macy vanished ten minutes in—typical—and I was left clutching a plastic cup, scanning the room for an exit. That's when I saw her.
Harlow.
We'd never spoken, but she was in my morning classes. Platinum blonde ponytail. Perfect skin. A kind of easy, detached confidence that made people stare. She wasn't like the others. She didn't have to try. She just was. I'd always found women more beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes you ache. But I'd never touched one, never even told anyone. And yet, when Harlow's eyes met mine across the room, I felt it—heat rising under my skin like I'd been caught doing something forbidden.
She walked toward me, all confidence and blunt smoke.
"Hey, you're that quiet girl, right?" she asked.
I nodded. Words failed.
"I'm Harlow." She offered her hand.
"W-Winnie," I stammered.
"Cute," she said, her smile slow and knowing. "Nice outfit, by the way." She winked. I felt my face flush. Is she flirting with me?
"Wanna go play some games?" I barely managed a nod.
She led me to the kitchen, her hand warm on my lower back. Beer pong. Loud boys. Sticky counters. She handed me a drink, and I took it without thinking. I'd never drank before. I wasn't even sure what was in the cup. But something about being there—with her—made me want to try.
I don't remember how long we played. I just remember laughing. Not the nervous kind I was used to, but real, stomach-deep laughter. I was around people my age. Real people. Fun people. I felt alive.
"How are you feeling, Winnie?" she asked. "So good, Har," I giggled, the nickname slipping out of my slurred mouth. She smiled at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the room. "Let's get some air." We stepped outside into the backyard. It was colder out here, but the buzz in my blood kept me warm. She lit a blunt and offered me one. I shook my head.
"So," she said between puffs, "how do you know Macy?"
"Roommates," I said, sipping whatever was left in my cup. "She helped with my outfit. I don't usually... I mean, I never really go out." My voice was too loud, too honest. I was sharing too much with someone I barely knew. She smiled, amused. "Yeah, I can tell." I braced myself. "Not a bad thing, though." She paused, looking me over. "It's cute. You're cute. Really fucking cute." My heart stuttered. "Are you... flirting with me?"
She smirked. "I don't flirt." "Right," I said, raising an eyebrow. "If this isn't flirting, you're doing a bad job hiding it." She took another drag and exhaled slow. "I don't flirt," she repeated. "I fuck." I should've been shocked. Maybe I was. But instead of freezing, I felt bold—maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the way she looked at me like I was something worth seeing. So I reached up, took the cigarette from her lips, and kissed her.
It was clumsy. Unsure. Soft and hungry all at once. Her hands cradled my face like I was fragile, but her mouth pressed against mine like she already knew what I needed. And then I tasted blood. I pulled back, lips stinging. "Sorry." She didn't flinch. "It's okay."
"That was... my first kiss." Silence. A beat too long.
"What?"
"Forget I said anything. It was stupid." She caught me by the shoulders. "No—no, I just didn't expect that. You're what, twenty?"
"Twenty-two," I mumbled, mortified. "Wait. Does that mean you've never... like, had sex?" I shook my head. She laughed, but not unkindly. "You're so fucking adorable." "I've done stuff. Oral with a guy and... yeah." She raised an eyebrow. "Oral's fun. But never all the way, huh?" I looked down. "No." A moment passed. Her voice dropped.
"Do you want to?"
"What?!"
"It's just sex, Winnie. It doesn't have to mean anything. If you want it, we can. If not, we walk away."
"You'd do that?" I asked, genuinely surprised. She snorted. "I'm not a heartless bitch."
"So... do you?"
"Do I what?"
She smiled. "Want to fuck me."
"Here?"
"Relax," she said. "I won't make you do anything. I'll just go down on you. Feels good, trust me." I hesitated. Then: "Okay." She took my hand and led me back inside. "Where are we going?"
"Friend of mine's room."
"Won't they be mad?"
"He owes me."
Upstairs, she opened a door. Two people were already on one of the beds, tangled together. "Hey, assholes," she barked. The girl looked up. "Fuck you, Har." "Go fuck yourself," Harlow snapped. "Or better yet, fuck him somewhere else. This room's taken."
We stumbled into the room, dark except for the pale yellow glow of a desk lamp. Harlow shut the door behind us with her foot, locking it without a word and turned, her eyes sweeping over me slowly, deliberately. I stood there, heart pounding in my chest like it was trying to crawl out through my ribs. She walked past me, grabbed a folded blanket off the desk chair, and tossed it over the bed.
"Don't worry," she said casually, "I'm not gonna throw you on the mattress raw. I've done this before." I wasn't sure if she meant sex in general or virgins specifically. I swallowed hard. The room was quiet except for the muffled bass thudding through the walls. "I can stop if you want me to," she said. Her voice was soft now, serious. Not teasing.
I didn't answer right away. My pulse was fluttering like trapped wings under my skin. This wasn't a scene from a movie. It was me, in a stranger's room, half-drunk and heart racing, trying to figure out how to be in a body I didn't always feel comfortable in. But I didn't want her to stop. Not really.
"I want to," I said, barely above a whisper. "Just... I don't know what I'm doing."
Harlow smiled—softer this time. "You don't have to. Just follow me." She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one smooth motion. Her skin caught the dim light—moon-pale, dotted with freckles, faint bruises like fingerprints across her ribs. Her bra was lacy and blue, the cups sheer enough to show the dusky curve of her nipples. She looked like someone who wasn't afraid of being seen.
Then she came closer, brushing her fingers over my waist. "Can I take this off you?"
I nodded. Her fingers found the zipper at my back, and slowly, with care I didn't expect, she undressed me. The dress slipped down my arms, puddling at my feet. I stood there, trembling slightly in my underwear, my arms twitching with the instinct to cover myself. But she didn't leer. She didn't judge.
"You're beautiful," she said.
I didn't believe it. Not really. But hearing her say it—like she meant it—did something to me.
She kissed me then. Not rushed or rough, but slow. Her lips moved with intention, coaxing rather than demanding. Her hand came up to my cheek, thumb tracing the corner of my mouth as she deepened the kiss. I melted into it, following her lead.
We moved to the bed, our bodies brushing as she guided me backwards until the backs of my knees hit the edge. I sat down, a little awkward, unsure of what to do with my hands or how to breathe. Harlow didn't wait—she pressed a kiss to my lips, then gently pushed my shoulders so I lay flat against the mattress.
She climbed onto the bed beside me, her knee nudging between my legs as she leaned over me. Her fingers traced my sides, gliding up under my bra, and she looked at me like she was waiting for permission. I nodded.
She unclasped it slowly, easing the straps down my arms and tossing it to the side. Her hands cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they stiffened under her touch. She leaned down, lips wrapping around one as her tongue flicked softly. I gasped, one hand flying up to grip the sheets above my head. No one had ever done that before—not like that.
She moved down my body, kissing along my ribs, then the curve of my stomach. She paused at the waistband of my underwear and glanced up at me.
"This okay?"
I nodded again, my voice caught in my throat. I wanted her to keep going. Needed it.
She pulled them down slowly, letting her fingertips skim along my thighs as she did. I was completely naked now, laid out in front of her like something breakable, but she didn't gawk or hesitate. She pushed my knees apart gently and settled between them, hands spreading across the tops of my thighs.
She didn't start right away. She just kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, taking her time. Her breath was warm against my skin, and the anticipation made me squirm. I didn't know what to do with myself—my legs kept tensing, my hands fisting the sheets beside me.
Then I felt it—her tongue, a slow, steady lick from bottom to top that made my hips jerk. I gasped. It was like a switch flipped inside me. My entire body tensed at once. "Relax," she murmured against me. "Let me take care of you."
She spread me open with her thumbs and began again, slower this time. She licked small circles around my clit before pressing her tongue directly against it. Not too hard, not too soft. Just enough pressure to make my legs start to shake. She fell into a rhythm, licking in firm strokes, pausing to suck softly before switching back to her tongue. One hand stayed wrapped around my thigh, holding me still when my hips began to roll toward her mouth without me meaning to.
The heat was building fast, but she didn't rush it. She kept the pace steady—press, lick, suck—driving me upward. Keeping me teetering, never letting me tip into release too soon. I whimpered, hips lifting again, but she pressed her arm over my lower stomach to hold me down, grounding me with her weight.
It was overwhelming. My thighs twitched every time she hit the right spot, and she kept coming back to it, again and again, dragging it out until I was gasping her name. My legs tried to close around her head, but she pushed them open again firmly.
"I've got you," she whispered.
My whole body was tensing now, heat spiraling so tightly it hurt. I didn't even realize I was making noise until I heard myself moaning her name, higher and more desperate every time she pressed her tongue a little harder.
And then it hit.
My back arched off the bed as the orgasm tore through me—shaking, electric, more intense than anything I'd ever felt. My hands flew to her hair, gripping hard as I cried out, hips rocking against her mouth as I came. She didn't stop right away. She slowed her tongue, licking me through the aftershocks, until I whimpered from the sensitivity and tried to pull away.
Only then did she lift her head, mouth glistening, eyes dark with satisfaction. She crawled back up my body and kissed me, letting me taste myself on her tongue. I didn't care. I was still catching my breath.
"Holy shit," I whispered. Harlow smiled against my cheek, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and licking it clean. "Not bad for your first time, huh?" I couldn't speak. I just nodded, feeling completely boneless under her. "Yeah," I said, my voice raw. "I think I'm more than okay."
Harlow grinned, the kind of smile that curled slowly and knowing at the corners. Then, without warning, she swung her leg over me, straddling my chest. Her thighs bracketed my ribs, her heat palpable even before she moved. Her hands found mine and guided them to her thighs. "My turn," she said simply, brushing a few strands of hair from my face. "Unless you're too tired." I shook my head fast. "No. I—I want to." Her smile softened. "Good. I'll show you."
She leaned forward and kissed me—slow, lingering, and a little messier than before. Then she reached behind herself and slid her underwear down, lifting just enough for them to come off. I swallowed hard as I looked up at her, bare now, skin flushed and warm above me. "You sure?" I asked, one hand sliding up the back of her thigh without thinking.
"I've never been more sure, and I said I was gonna teach you" she said, then shifted, carefully crawling up until she was hovering over my mouth, her thighs trembling slightly as she held herself up.
I was nervous—so nervous I didn't know where to start. But she was already helping me, guiding my hands to her hips, grounding me again. She was close enough that her scent hit me—clean, a little musky, and so heady it made my chest tighten.
"Start slow," she whispered. "Just use your tongue. Explore me like I did you."
So I did.
I leaned forward, nervous as hell but determined to make her feel good. My tongue slid up the length of her slit, slow and careful. She was warm and wet already. The taste was unfamiliar but not unpleasant—slightly salty, soft, earthy. I felt her thighs twitch against my cheeks at the first contact.
"Mm," she hummed, her voice low. "That's good, baby. Keep going."
I licked her again, a little firmer this time, tracing over the same spot. Her breath hitched, and that tiny reaction made me bolder. I brought my hands up to her hips, holding her steady as I moved my mouth lower. I flicked my tongue between her folds, trying to find the places that made her breathe harder. Every time I got it right, her grip on the headboard tightened.
I flattened my tongue and dragged it up again, slower this time, then circled her clit carefully with the tip. She gasped and rolled her hips forward against my face. I could feel the slickness on my chin, feel how her muscles tensed as she held herself over me.
"Right there," she said through her teeth. "Don't stop."
I focused there—short, steady flicks over her clit, then soft suction like she'd done to me. I didn't know if I was doing it perfectly, but I listened to her body. Every twitch, every sound, every shift in her breathing helped me learn. And God, the way she reacted—her hips moving, her thighs clenching, the little moans slipping out of her—it made me feel powerful.
I pressed my tongue against her and moved in slow circles, then switched to flicking again, back and forth over that same sensitive spot. She groaned and rocked her hips, rubbing herself against my mouth, using me like she needed me to get off.
My heart was pounding. I felt lightheaded but in a good way—like I was high off her. Her scent, her taste, her sounds, the way her body moved above me—I felt drunk on all of it. I slipped one hand from her hip and gently pulled her open with my fingers so I could focus my tongue where she was most sensitive. She shivered and gasped.
"Fuck, Winnie—just like that. Don't stop, don't fucking stop—" I kept going, letting her grind against my mouth as I sucked and licked her clit with more pressure now.
She was soaked. My chin and lips were covered in her, and I didn't care. All I could think about was how much I wanted her to come, how good it felt to make her fall apart because of me. Her hips started to shake, her thighs closing in around my face, and she cried out, sharp and broken.
"Oh my God—fuck, I'm gonna—"
She didn't even finish. Her whole body tensed, then jerked forward as she came with a loud, desperate moan. Her thighs clamped around me and her hips bucked once, twice, before she collapsed back on her heels, panting, trembling, completely undone.
I laid back, licking my lips—savoring her flavor, staring up at her.
She was still catching her breath, hair messy, skin flushed, eyes heavy-lidded. She looked down at me and laughed softly, breathless.
"Holy shit, Win. That was... fucking perfect."
And all I could do was smile.
Then, A girl screamed—not in the fun way—and I bolted upright. Harlow's head snapped toward the door. "The fuck was that?" Another voice, louder, rougher: "Where the fuck is she?! HARLOW!" Harlow's expression shifted instantly—tight, alert. "Oh no," she muttered. "No no no fuck." I pulled the blanket over my chest again, heartbeat still racing—but now for a different reason. "What? Who is that?"
She stood up, grabbing her underwear from the floor and stepping into them quickly. "Fucking hell. That's my ex." "Wait, what?"
"Yeah. Crazy bitch energy, level ten. She always pulls this shit." Another bang at the door. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, HARLOW. OPEN THE FUCK UP!" We both stared at the door like it might explode. "She doesn't know how to let go," Harlow said, already halfway to the door. I grabbed her arm. "You're naked!" "So are you." We both hesitated. I peeked out the door with her.
Down the hall, a tall girl with smeared mascara and rage in her eyes was being held back by two other partygoers. "You told me you were done with this phase!" the girl yelled, voice breaking. "Jesus Christ," Harlow muttered. "Winnie, get dressed." We both froze, watching as the girl's eyes caught the slight crack in the door. Her furious glare snapped to us—Winnie and Harlow, naked and wide-eyed in the hallway.
"You can't hide forever, Har!" she screamed, jerking free from the two people holding her back. They stumbled backward, and she shoved past them, barreling toward the door like a freight train. "Shit!" Harlow hissed, grabbing my hand. We slammed the door shut just as her fist pounded against it. "Lock it!" she demanded, twisting the deadbolt with shaking fingers. The yelling didn't stop, muffled now but furious, pounding against the wood.
I pressed my back against the door, heart hammering. Harlow's breath was hot at my ear. "This is not how I expected this night to go."