Olive Oil and White Bread by Georgia Beers

here.” And she opened her arms.
    Their lovemaking was wonderful and hot and awkward all at once. They started out quickly before stopping to breathe and then resuming at a more reasonable pace, taking the time to explore one another’s bodies, to figure out what each of them liked and what didn’t work. Jillian came first, gasping for breath in Angie’s ear, gripping Angie’s shoulders as Angie’s fingers moved through her wetness. Angie closed her eyes as it happened, thinking the sound of Jillian having an orgasm was the most beautiful music she’d ever had the privilege of hearing.
    She had little time to revel in it, though, because Jillian had barely caught her breath before she slid her own hand down Angie’s stomach and into the slickness that waited there. “Don’t look too satisfied,” she teased in a whisper. “I give as good as I get.” Angie wondered if she should tell Jillian that just the sound of her voice—all sexy and bossy like that—was making her think she’d sprung a leak between her legs, but all coherent thought was driven from her mind when Jillian slipped inside her.
    â€œOh, my god,” Angie ground out, her hips moving of their own accord. Patti had never been there— inside . She’d never let her get that far. But with Jillian, she not only wanted that, she wanted more.
    More .
    She wanted to give more. She wanted to take more. She lifted her head and kissed Jillian deeply, pushing her tongue in as far as she could, wanting to devour this woman, heart and soul. Then she pulled back to look her in the eye. Picking up the rhythm, she rocked on Jillian’s hand, felt Jillian’s thumb pressing against her, and kept their eyes locked together. It was only a matter of a few short moments before Angie tipped over the edge into oblivion, crying out Jillian’s name, one corner of the couch’s throw pillow crushed in her fist.
    They lay for a long while, until their ragged breathing returned to almost normal. Worried about squishing Jillian, Angie lifted herself up enough to roll off the couch onto the floor, taking Jillian and the afghan with her. Jillian tucked her head under Angie’s chin as Angie covered them with the blanket.
    â€œWow,” Jillian said.
    â€œI second that.”
    Angie smiled against her hair, and they lay quietly, the only soundthe ticking of the wall clock. Jillian’s breath became even; Angie was sure she was asleep. That’s when it felt safe to say it.
    â€œI’ve never done that before,” she whispered.
    â€œDone what? Slept with a woman on the first date?”
    Angie swallowed, caught. “Or that.”
    â€œI’m not following.”
    â€œI’ve never done . . . that. Felt that.”
    Jillian lifted her head so she could look at Angie. A mischievous gleam appeared in her eye. “Had an orgasm?”
    â€œWell, no. I’ve had an orgasm before.” Angie cleared her throat. “Not from somebody else, though.”
    Jillian’s eyebrows flew up. “Really? Never?”
    With a shake of her head, Angie said, “No. I never let Patti get that far.”
    â€œPatti?”
    â€œThe woman I dated in college. She was nice, and we made out a lot, but I was always just a little bit too scared to go any further than that.”
    Jillian nodded thoughtfully. “And did you date guys?”
    â€œI did, but you know.” She shrugged. “They were guys.”
    Propping her head in her hand, Jillian asked, “So. I’m the first woman you’ve been with? Like this?”
    â€œYes.” Angie tried to tamp down the panic that bubbled up. “Is that bad?”
    â€œNo, of course it’s not bad.” Jillian brushed a strand of Angie’s hair off her forehead. “In fact, it’s really kind of awesome. I’ve never been somebody’s first before. I’m kind of liking that.”
    Angie