The rain was coming down steady from a sky the lightest shade of gray. It didn’t seem miserable, but fresh. The first true spring rain to come to the area. The air was warmer than it had been over the long cold winter, and it was the first day that gave you hope that spring was really here. As the breeze flowed in, I looked out the window and felt my gaze settle on her. 

She was quickly unloading boxes from the trunk of a green car, dressed in men’s gym shorts and a very boxy t-shirt. I would’ve thought she was a boy, but for her long brown hair, as long as mine. I watched it get soaked as her petite frame struggled under the weight. I was transfixed as I watched her, boxes wobbling back and forth as she tried to control them. She rushed into the house and the door slammed shut behind her. She didn’t come back out into the rain. That was the first time I saw her. 

One week later, I was sitting in a second-period English class in my all-girl Catholic school thinking my new neighbor and wondering who she was. Why did she dress like a boy? Why did she move to this area? What was her name? It was an odd feeling, being insatiably curious about someone I have never met and only saw for a second. There really wasn’t anything all that special about her, but somehow I couldn’t stop thinking about what she would be like. 

The door swung open and the director of admissions walked in.

“Everyone, please welcome Genevieve Thompson. She is new to the area and will be finishing her junior year with us.” Gesturing to the doorway, I was shocked to see the girl from across the street appear there. Her brown hair was loose, hitting the back of her legs, and I was shocked to see her wearing pants instead of the standard issue skirt. No one wore the uncomfortable hideous green uniform-appropriate pants, they were just too awkward. Maybe she really just hated girl’s clothes.

Her green eyes swept the room aimlessly before settling on my brown ones and she gave me a tiny smile that made my stomach clench. Did she see me watching her that one day? Why is she singling me out? I studiously looked away. 

With a slight wave from the admissions director, she went to the empty seat in the back row as our teacher started the lesson. She was two rows behind me and I could swear she was staring at me. It felt like ants were marching up my spine. I spent the whole class fighting the urge to look back at her. I wouldn't be that weirdo who stared at the new girl. I didn’t want her to think I was weird. 

When the bell rang I started shoving books in my bag as fast as I could. I could feel her approaching and quickly jumped up to rush to my next class. I really had no idea what I would say to her and I felt too weird about the situation to try and come up with something. I didn’t see her again for the rest of the morning. 

At lunchtime, I was sitting with my normal group of friends when she walked over to our table and asked if she could sit with us. The other girls made room for an extra chair and she introduced herself to the table. 

“I’m Genna.” She said to introduce herself. 

We all said who we are and eventually, I began to relax. Whatever weirdness I was feeling before evaporated as we learned about her last school, why she moved, and how bad it sucked to have it all happen in the middle of the school year. She was just a mostly normal person, except for the men’s clothes which she just shrugged off. I chalked up my curiosity and odd feelings to breaking up with my boyfriend the week before. I just needed something else to focus on. 

The next couple of months Genna became close with my core group of friends, but especially with me. There were normally the five of us, but often Genna and I would seek each other out away from the group too. We were in the same after-school clubs and spent extra time outside under the trees reading odd books about paranormal stuff, planning gardens, and drawing in our sketchbooks. I felt my best friend getting annoyed that I was now closer to someone else, but Genna was so easy for me to be around. It was like talking to another, slightly less feminine version of myself. 

One day, out under the trees in the school’s side lawn, she asked me if I could braid her hair like I did mine. She sat in my lap as I leaned against the tree. Jokingly, I braided our hair together and created a vanilla/chocolate twist of her brown and my blonde. She leaned back into me as I undid the braid and I could feel the warmth of her body as she rested against me. It almost seemed as if I could feel both of our heartbeats at the same time, going the same pace. I felt lightheaded and ended up leaning my head back against the tree for a few minutes as I enjoyed the feeling. 

The next morning we had an unexpected assembly. The principal, a very stern nun of about seventy years, scolded the girls about appropriate conduct on the school grounds. There were lots of warnings about inappropriate touching and fornication. Genna and I caught each other’s eyes and barely contained our laughter. It was obvious they were scolding us for laying together under the tree. Typical Catholic school overreacting. 

After the assembly, Genna walked up to me and grabbed my hand. We mockingly skipped to our next class holding hands. She leaned in and whispered, “Imagine what they would do if someone was actually ‘fornicating’.” 

“I think Sister Anne would die of shock,” I replied and continued laughing. 

We sat as close as possible for the next class and my bare leg kept brushing against the rough fabric of Genna’s green pants. Every now and then she would reach under the desk and wiggle her fingers against mine. Her energy was so playful it was hard not to giggle every time. It seemed to be our new game to tease the nuns by touching each other as much as possible. 

On the last day of school, Genna invited me over to her house. Her parents and brother had left for a boy scout camping trip and she wanted to have an all-night movie marathon to celebrate the end of the year. The other girls from our clique were invited and everyone showed up around six with armfuls of snacks. 

By 10:30 everyone was falling asleep from their sugar crashes and a car sounded in the driveway. The other girls were forced to leave by Rachel’s overbearing mom who didn’t believe in sleepovers. They all filed out but I got to stay since I lived right across the street. 

“Should I go too?” I asked, not really wanting to leave. 

“All-night means ALL night! We are only 1.5 movies into the trilogy and I'm determined to finish.” She ran back into the living room and hopped on the couch, popping gummy bears into her mouth. I settled back into my spot on the floor in between her dangling legs with my head resting against her knee. We unpaused the movie and within minutes I could feel her aimlessly playing with my hair and touching my neck. I eventually found myself running my fingers over her ankle and lower leg. 

When the second movie ended I switched them out and sat on the couch instead. She immediately leaned into me, snuggling into my side. We stayed cuddled together on the couch as the movie started, her head on my shoulder and my hand resting on her knee. It felt like it should have been uncomfortable but it wasn’t.

My arm eventually fell asleep and I had to shake it out. When I stood up I took off my hoodie because I was starting to feel warm from sitting so close. 

“Do you mind if I take my shirt off?” She asked somewhat shyly. “I’m warm too”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” I said back, politely looking away. A bra isn’t really different from a bathing suit I said to myself. I had never really been comfortable with casual nudity. 

When I looked back at her she was standing in just her men’s gym shorts and a very thin white cotton sports bra concealing her small breasts.

“Did you go running today?” I asked, a little confused. 

“No. I just don’t like regular bras. Like most women’s clothes, they are just too uncomfortable.” 

“Oh. Yeah. Makes sense.” I hadn’t really thought about it. She always wore men’s clothes. And didn’t wear makeup or heels. She was just not a “girly girl”. It was the only way we really differed but I had stopped noticing a long time ago. It was just the way she was. 

We laid back together on the couch and I could feel every inch of her hips and small waist as she pressed into me. She had to be running a fever because she was almost hot to the touch. My thin tank top did nothing to help keep me cool. 

I found myself losing focus on the movie because I was so fascinated by her exposed body. It was like the day I first saw her all over again. I was amazed at the softness of her skin, the smell of her hair, the curve of her hips, and everything else that was just her. Somehow everything in this little package in front of me was the most fascinating thing I had ever seen. I couldn’t really think about anything else. 

I must’ve been mindlessly stroking her side because her hand reached up and grabbed my own. She started to play with my fingers like she was reading my palm. Stroking her own fingers back and forth, gently making small motions I couldn’t see. After a few moments, I had to pull my hand away because the sensation was becoming too unnerving. It felt like her hand had been stroking other places. 

She sat up abruptly and looked concerned, “Did I do something wrong?”

“I…..no. Not a bit. It just felt a little weird.” 

“Weird like what?” She leaned in and whispered like we were sharing a secret or she was teasing me.

“Uh...I don’t know. Just different.” I shrugged.

“Different good, or different bad?” She said back with a little smile.

I was lost for words because I couldn't explain what I was feeling. I opened my mouth a few times but nothing came out. The third time my lips parted she leaned in and kissed me. 

Pulling back, she asked again, “Different good? Or different bad?”

I felt like I was having every emotion all at once. My brain seemed to be short-circuiting. I wasn’t quite sure what to do so I decided to let my body decide. I nodded slightly and leaned in to kiss her back. It was a little awkward at first, but we figured it out quickly. We were so similar that it was easy to get into a rhythm. She tasted like gummy bears and lemonade and I never wanted to stop kissing her. 

I ended up flat on my back on the couch with her on top of me, pinning me down. I could feel her hands gently touching me through the cloth of my tank top. I couldn't stop touching her either. Her shoulders, her back, her hair. It was like discovering a whole new person was right in front of me the whole time and I wanted to know everything. 

I felt her start to slide off the couch and my hands quickly grabbed ahold of her cute round bottom. All the boys' clothes in the world couldn’t hide that feature even though she tried. She hated it, but to me, it was just another part of her so I held on tight. The kiss was broken and she giggled a little. A sound I had not heard before out of her. 

“I think we should go to bed. We aren’t really watching the movie anymore.” Without waiting for an answer she swung down from the couch, switched off the TV, and bounded up the stairs. 

Normally I would go home, but it seemed pretty obvious she wanted me to follow her. 

I went up into her nearly empty bedroom and she was already under the covers. I had the paralyzing thought that she was naked under there, but she flipped back the comforter to reveal that she still had her sports bra and underwear on. The shorts lay discarded on the floor at the foot of the bed. It seemed less concerning to get in bed as long as we were wearing something. 

I slid off my pants and had just crawled in next to her when she started kissing me again, this time more urgently as if she couldn’t wait for a second longer. Her hands reached behind me and lifted up my tank top to work on unhooking my bra strap. It was an awkward struggle so I finally reached back and unclipped it myself. 

I let the straps fall and felt suddenly self-conscious as my considerably larger D cup breasts spilled out of my bra. In comparison to her petite athletic frame, I felt overly curvy and soft and even a little fat. I quickly tried to take off her bra instead to distract myself, but she wouldn’t let me. 

“Don’t. I don’t uh, like it. If it’s ok, I just want to touch you. You’re so beautiful.” She said as she brushed a strand of hair away from my face. 

I didn’t know what to say to that so I just nodded as she stroked my breasts. The sensation felt so good that I leaned slightly away from her to give her better access. She seemed to be exploring, pinching, teasing, testing and trying to find what I liked the best. I could feel sensations all over my body and had to lay back on the bed. It felt so different from the backseat grabbing I experienced with my last boyfriend. 

I could hear small noises escaping me and I had to do something to feel less helpless. I brought her face back to my own and kissed her deeply to try and get her hands to stop teasing me. She paused only briefly and then ran her fingers over the front of my wet panties, pressing down slightly. Even though the kiss, I could hear my whimper and felt a little embarrassed by my strong reaction. What if she thought I was weird? 

Almost as if she read my mind, I felt her lips smile against mine. Her fingers slid underneath the edge of the cloth and right against my most intimate spot. Gently she stroked me, like a small kitten she didn’t want to hurt. No one had touched me there before and the sensation was incredible. I was tempted to rub myself against her hand, to get more contact, but she seemed determined to go slowly. Every time I tried to move faster she would pull her fingers out slightly until I moaned to have them back. Embarrassingly, I think I whispered please a few times. 

I could feel every sensation. From her hair laying on my shoulder to her gentle kisses on my breast. Gradually she started moving her fingers a little faster and I lifted my hips to try and encourage her. Every sound I made was a plea and every movement a demand. It seemed like the torment would never end. Finally, she took the hint and pressed harder as she slid her fingers back and forth in a faster and faster motion. She was hitting the perfect spot in the most perfect way. The pressure finally reached a breaking point and I could feel myself fall over the edge of my pleasure. 

Very vaguely as I lay shaking in the bed, I was aware of her kissing my shoulder and wiping her fingers on the comforter. My head was so foggy I couldn't think straight or move a single muscle. I never wanted to move from that bed. I just wanted to do this over and over again. 

When I finally came back to my senses she was smiling at me. 

“Different good? Or different bad?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Definitely different good.”