No More Wasted Time: A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance

Krissy went back to nuzzling her head deeper into the cushion.

“Deal,” she said contentedly, enjoying getting wetter.

Chapter 7

After she was done giving her best friend the foot rub, Becca went into her bedroom to pack an overnight bag. Before starting to pack, however, she went into the bathroom and shut the door—not because she needed to pee but because she wanted some privacy to sort out her head. So, standing with her arms crossed as she leaned against the sink, Becca tried to do just that…

What was wrong with her?

It was a stupid foot rub! So then why had it seemed so…intimate?

Becca shook her head.

No, that wasn’t it…

Of course it was intimate. Foot rubs by their nature are kind of an intimate act, Becca reasoned. But this time, the intimacy had felt different. This time, the intimacy had felt…sexually charged.

Becca sighed.

God, when was the last time I came?

That was the only thing Becca could think of to explain why she had gotten so turned on by rubbing Krissy’s feet—something she’d done how many gazillion times? And yet, she had literally gotten turned on. Right now, she was wet, her core tingling and expectant. What was worse was that Becca could almost swear that Krissy had been turned on also.

More than once, Becca had looked over at her friend on the sofa. Usually, Krissy would be on her phone during a foot rub, either scrolling through her social media feeds or texting whichever one of her many FWB ladies she was planning on seeing soon. Frequently, Krissy would also read interesting Facebook or Twitter posts aloud to Becca; or hold her phone up to show Becca a particularly funny meme.

This time, however, Krissy hadn’t touched her phone. Each time Becca had looked at her, Krissy’s eyes had been closed, her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, a small smile of enjoyment tugging at the corners of her mouth, her face a little flushed.

Watching her, Becca’s clit had swollen.

Because Krissy had looked like a woman who was also turned on and was enjoying not only the pleasures of a good foot rub, but also the pleasures of being aroused, where everything south of the waist was warm, wet and feeling as if a mild electric current was running under the skin.

Now, Becca wanted to groan loudly but managed not to. She didn’t want Krissy overhearing it and thinking she was in here having a particularly difficult bowel movement.

She wanted to groan because she needed to figure out how to get a grip on this. The last thing she needed was to feel sexually charged-up every time her and Krissy touched each other. As friends, they were pretty handsy and touchy-feely—always had been. It wasn’t just massages and foot rubs, either. She and Krissy would often hold hands while window shopping or lay their heads in one another’s lap while watching Netflix. Becca loved that about them. There was comfort and reassurance to be found in another woman’s touch—especially when that touch was platonic. It was as if it was a measure of protection against a world that was still very much against the female sex, full of predatory men or men who simply saw women as some kind of sub-species. Becca did not want to lose that with Krissy.

More importantly, she did not want to acknowledge the changing feelings she’d been having recently for her best friend. It was pointless. It was beyond pointless. Krissy was not girlfriend material. End of story.

I just need to come…

She realized now that the last time she’d masturbated was Tuesday. It was too late to do anything about it now, though. Krissy was waiting for her so they could leave for Krissy’s house, and Becca still had to pack her stuff and put the chocolate cream pie in a travel container.

In fact…

Done sorting out her head, she left the bathroom and leaned out of her bedroom door.

“Make yourself useful!” she called out towards the living room. “Pack up the pie for me. It’s in the fridge and you know where the container is.”

“On

ly if I can have a taste of it!” Krissy, unseen, called back.

“No! We’ll have it after dinner!”

“You’re not my mom!”

“Thank god! Just get the damn pie ready so we can get out of here and eat.”

“Urgh!”