"Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? Up on a pedestal or down on your knees, it's all a male fantasy: that you're strong enough to take what they dish out, or else too weak to do anything about it. Even pretending you aren't catering to male fantasies is a male fantasy: pretending you're unseen, pretending you have a life of your own, that you can wash your feet and comb your hair unconscious of the ever-present watcher peering through the keyhole, peering through the keyhole in your own head, if nowhere else. You are a woman with a man inside watching a woman. You are your own voyeur."

―Margaret Atwood

Sex scenes are important. Especially in wlw romance. And not just for obvious reasons―but because you should know what to expect, and not from something in fiction that's idealized, or unrealistic. So much of lesbian sex is fetishized in the media, made by straight men for straight men. And yeah. This is Wattpad. This is, in all its technicalities, smut. 

But the first time I read that quote, something clicked. Maybe I have a voyeur inside my head―maybe we all do, every one of you reading this―but if you're here, that means you like women. (I mean ... come on. If you've made it this far, there's no pretense of straightness here. And who could blame you? Girls.) And though liking women is perfectly ordinary, there's something special about it, too. I think there's a freedom that comes with the newness of lesbians in the media, and it's this: Nobody has told women how to love other women yet. There's no right or wrong way of having a girlfriend. There are no gender roles to adhere to. Sex is however you define it. Your relationship is however you define it. And the intimacy of loving another girl is indescribable.

So, I know, maybe I'm boring you to tears. But here it is at last: a sex scene between Talia and Monroe. 

Because maybe Margaret Atwood was right, but maybe she was wrong, too. We don't have to live with a voyeur inside our heads forever, a woman watching a man watching a woman. And I hope this is one step closer to living a life uninhibited by the male gaze.

***

        MEET ME AT THE COMMUNITY CENTER POOL.

        I read the words, over and over, until they blurred into a tangle of black letters and blue-white screen. Beneath it, there was one more text:

        Come at midnight.

        Monroe had sent the message less than an hour ago. But I still hadn't responded. After our fight last week, things had been a little tense. On Friday, in just three days, she would be coming over for dinner with my family.

        The community center was closed. I knew that for a fact. What was she planning to do? Break in?

        I shook my head, laying two bikinis on the bed. One was a warm yellow, with a triangular design that just barely held my breasts from spilling out. The other was a coral red, with straps that crisscrossed over my hips and abdomen.

        After I called her, Skylar answered on the first ring. It had been a week since Lila had broken up with her, and I knew she was trying hard to stay cheerful.

        "Talia?"

        "I'm meeting Monroe at the community center pool in an hour," I said. "I need your help picking a bathing suit."

        "Oh, the yellow or red?"

        "Yeah. I don't know what to pick."

        "Well, what are you going for?"

         Panic rose up inside of me. "I don't know. What―what should I go for?"

         Skylar laughed. "Sexy. Definitely."

         ALMOST AN HOUR LATER, I WAS STANDING outside of the community center, shivering. I'd put on a trench coat overtop my bikini, but now I crossed my arms, trying not to look out of place in a deserted parking lot.

         From behind me, two hands slipped over my waist, whirling me around. I stumbled into Monroe with a gasp.

        "Hi, beautiful," she said. "Ready to go swimming?"

        "It's―it's closed," I said, trying not to blush. "We can't get in."

        A daring edge sharpened her grin. "That's why we're going to break in."

        I swallowed. Hard. "Break in?"

        She just took me by the hand, leading me to a side entrance of the community center. A key scanner blinked ominously in the shadows of the night sky.

        "Watch this," she said, and she slid a key card with an ID―Brian O'Malley―into it.

        "Where did you get that?"

        "Stole it," she whispered, pulling me inside before the door closed.

        At first, I was too shocked to breathe. What if we were caught? What if an alarm started blaring?

        But after a minute, I relaxed. Monroe was still holding my hand. Even if the police surrounded us, I felt safe as long as I had her.

        The enormous corridors of the community center were almost indistinguishable. Shadows crawled from every angle as Monroe hurried me towards the staircase.

       "Aren't there security cameras?" I asked.

       "You'd think so," said Monroe, "but no. We're completely alone. All the privacy in the world."

       She winked, and my heartrate rocketed up. What did that mean?

       Did it mean what I thought it meant?

       Too soon, we were in the changeroom. Just beyond the glass doors, I could see the pool that spanned the entire chamber―almost as big as a football field.

       "They just cleaned it," Monroe whispered. "That water hasn't been touched by a single human being. Yet."

        She was already taking off her jacket, her tight-fitting pants. Her tan skin had a bright sheen in the golden half-light of the changeroom.

        She wore a black bikini that revealed . . . oh, God. I had to take a steadying breath.

        This was my girlfriend? How was I supposed to function on a daily basis knowing she looked like that beneath her clothing?

        Of course, the last time I'd seen her in a bathing suit had been at the skiing resort. She'd been striking, then, too. But now . . . maybe it was knowing that she was mine. She was inhumanly beautiful, in a way that almost made me back up and run.

        Monroe was already pushing through the glass doors when she glanced back. "Coming?"

        Something unfurled in my stomach. Between my legs. A pulse of heat. How did just one word manage to turn me on? "Yes," I squeaked out.

         I saw her standing at the edge of the pool, her back turned to me. Giving me privacy?

         Quickly, I stripped off the trenchcoat. 

         And I tip-toed my way beside her. The tile was cold beneath my feet. The water, as still as glass, seemed so perfect that I couldn't ruin it.

         Monroe turned to give me a smile. My breathing hitched.

         I hadn't realized it, but the ceiling stretched high above our heads. It was a geometric glass dome, and although the night sky was pitch-black, the moon bathed the whole swimming pool in soft silvery light. 

        "This is gorgeous," I said. I remembered swimming here with Aaron as a kid. But once we'd gotten too old for it, we'd . . . stopped. Strange to think that I had come here at one point, and I hadn't known it would be for the last time. 

        "Ready to go in?"

         I was about to say, No. But Monroe crouched down, slipping into the water like it was made of silk.

         "Come in, Tal," she called out, swimming backwards. "It's nice and warm."

         That . . . had sounded really, really sexual. Or maybe I was just imagining things. Definitely imagining things.

         Monroe's eyes lingered on me as I knelt by the edge of the pool. I trailed two fingers in the water.

        Skylar had chosen the yellow bikini for me.

        And now, I could see why. Because Monroe's eyes caught on my chest, on the swell of my breasts over the flimsy fabric. I had never been so grateful for D cups.

        With a splash, I settled into the water.

        Moonlight soaked into the pool, dancing over the ripples. I cut through the water, slicing my way towards Monroe, until we were only an arm's length apart.

         Without hesitation, she tugged me against her―so swiftly I lost all ability to think. I was now pressed against Monroe Kingston's chest, her slick arms wrapped behind my back. Those green eyes were alight with moonlight and pure mischief as she said, "I like your bikini."

        "Um―thanks. Thank you." 

        Her lips were so close to mine, and I marveled at the fact that I could just kiss her. So I did.

        When I leaned back, I noticed the way the silvery light glistened in her dark, wet hair. The way her jaw slanted, so sharp it seemed I could cut myself. And her lips―they formed a dangerous smile, so kissable I couldn't resist.

        "You don't seem real sometimes," I confessed.

        The words had sprung from nowhere. I hadn't planned on saying them―I hadn't even known I was thinking them.

        Monroe's eyebrows drew together. Confusion marked the tilt of her head.

        "You don't even seem human," I whispered. "Like . . . those forty-two shots you did. And how you once drove your car into the side of the school. And how you got caught making out with Mrs. Winters before you got arrested or―or whatever. All those rumours. You've been gone for two years, and . . . you came back, looking like a god. You rode a motorcycle, for Christ's sake. And in those jeans. . . . And you . . . you look like that."

        "Like what?"

        "Like you're secretly Aphrodite, walking the earth as a human so you can impregnate people and have godly little babies!"

        I should have shut up.

        But Monroe laughed, her breath warm against my lips. The water was silky against my thighs, my hips, as she sat down on an underwater ledge and placed me on her lap.

       "I promise, I'm far from a god," she told me.

       "Monroe . . ."

       "And I don't exactly plan on impregnating you," she continued. A rueful smile. "Although that would be somewhat miraculous."

        I bit my lip. I'd confessed a lot―too much.

        "Talia." Her eyes pierced mine, and she didn't look away. Not even as she added, "I promise, I'm real. I'm not a god."

        I just swallowed. Was there enough air in here?

       "Listen," she said, her fingers tilting my chin up towards her. "When I was a kid, I thought that if I swallowed watermelon seeds, an entire watermelon would grow inside of me."

       Against my will, a giggle bubbled out of me.

       "And . . . I thought the moon followed me," she continued. "I mean, it always seemed to be right above me when I was driving home."

        A stupid smile was forming on my mouth, I knew. But I couldn't help it. 

       She was offering me her vulnerability. 

        "I actually used to think tiny people lived in stoplights," she whispered, and this really shouldn't have sounded sexy, but coming from her, it did. "I thought they changed the colours for everyone. And I thought people who died in movies died in real life. When that girl in Jaws died, I cried for weeks. I promise, I'm real, Talia."

       "You were a pretty fucking stupid kid," I said, and she kissed me.

       My legs were straddled on either side of her, and almost unconsciously, I gyrated my ass against her hips. A kind of warmth was building inside of me. 

       Monroe's fingers steadied my waist. Her eyes had become molten fire.

      "Do you want to?" she whispered.

      I knew what she was asking. I'd never thought my first time would be in the middle of the night, trespassing in a community center pool.

       But instead of fucking me right then and there, she stood, lifting me along with her. 

       "Let's get dressed," she whispered against my neck. "I know where we can go."

       This filled me with hot, searing promise. The heat between my legs became almost unbearable, but I managed to towel myself off and pull on my coat.

       Afterwards, I found her in the parking lot. She offered me a helmet, and I climbed on behind her.

      "Where are we going?" I asked her.

      "You'll see."

      Then the motorcycle took off into the dark of night. The streets were empty, but shop signs and advertisements glowed. As we got closer to the city, cars zipped past us. We had to be going faster than a hundred kilometers an hour, and I shouted―at the exhilaration of it all. Even I'd never gone this fast.

      Once she had parked, right outside a bright, beautiful building―a hotel―she asked, "Tal, do you even have your motorcycle license?"

       "No," I said, laughing dizzily. "I should probably get started on that."

       Considering there was a motorcycle in my own garage, if I had a license, I could ride it around instead of my mom's car. It hadn't really occurred to me.

       The thought vanished as Monroe and I walked into the foyer.

       "Room for two," she said, handing the manager a credit card.

       Holy shit. Where did she have the money for that?

       Once we'd gotten our room card, Monroe and I rushed to the elevator. I still felt a little windswept, and the world seemed brighter, clearer.

       I was going to have sex with Monroe.

       I didn't even realize we were inside the hotel room until Monroe closed the door behind me. The lights inside were dimmed, and a sparkling view of the city was bright through the windows.

       And the bed―the bed was king-sized.

       Enormous, with satiny jet-black sheets.

       "Holy fuck," I breathed, and Monroe kissed the back of my neck, her lips trailing along my shoulder.

       Slowly, she removed my jacket, until I was down to just my yellow bikini. I'd never been naked in front of her before, and sudden fear overflowed inside of me. What if she didn't like what she saw? What if the colour of my nipples wasn't normal, or I wasn't athletic enough for her?

       I turned around before she could undo the strings of my bikini top. 

       "Monroe," I whispered, biting my lip.

       "We don't have to do anything," she said. "It's okay if you're not ready."

        I'd thought I was, but―

        "Could we just cuddle?" I asked. "Like . . . a sleepover?"

        This seemed to bring back the memory of the skiing lodge. A sleepover, she'd said. But we weren't just friends anymore.

        Still, she smiled softly. "I'd be happy to."

        Once we were on the bed, I laid with my back against her chest. She drew absent circles over my ribcage, and every touch sent a spark of heat between my legs. I wondered what those fingers could do inside of me.

        "Monroe?" I whispered. We had been laying in comfortable silence for a time that had seemed like an infinity to me.

        She made a sound like a hum, and it reverberated through my whole body. Pleasure coursed bright like electricity down my skin.

         "I changed my mind," I said, shifting so I could face her. "I'm ready."

         "Are you sure, Talia?"

         I was terrified. Absolutely terrified. "Yes."

         Gently, she moved down my body. Each kiss felt like a flower, petals unfurling small candles of bliss within my blood. I felt like I was on fire, and every touch of hers elicited a sigh.

         She untied my yellow bikini top. When she looked down at my bare breasts, desire bright in her stare, I felt more confident. And then she moved to my bikini bottom, and when she slipped that off, too, there was only pure, unwavering craving on her face.

         I thought she would go right between my legs, but she took her time. Driving me crazy. Her fingers brushed my hips, the inside of my thighs. She planted soft kisses everywhere but there. She sucked my nipples, gently, giving each of my breasts the same care. I started to pant.

        "Patience, Talia," she warned with a smirk.

        Patience. Right. But I lost all sight of virtue when she at last brought her mouth between my legs.

        The first touch alone made me gasp. I needed this. So badly.

        Deep, deep inside of me, I couldn't help worrying: What if she didn't like the way I looked? Or smelled? Or tasted? What if she―

        But then her eyes met mine, a smile playing on her lips, and I managed to shove those fears down.

        Her tongue circled me―small, teasing circles. I couldn't help the breathless moans that escaped me. She took her time, forcing me to wait, to roil with impatience. But when she finally flicked her tongue against my clit, it was―so, so much sweeter.

         My eyes rolled back. Her hands braced my hips, holding me steady as she drove her tongue against my wetness, tracing the shape of me with constant pressure. 

         "Monroe," I bit out, shuddering. I slid my fingers into her soft, black hair. "Right―ah―there―"

         Her tongue was warm, circling me relentlessly, and an orgasm barreled towards me. Exploding like fireworks beneath my skin. Everything felt light and hazy and bright.

         Monroe laid down next to me, and when I grinned at her, she kissed me. I tasted myself on her and for the first time, I felt no whisper of doubts, no whisper of what-if. 

         "I want to fuck you," I said.

         Her eyes widened. I had surprised her. Then a dazzling smile curled her lips, and before I knelt between her legs, I kissed her.

        "Be my guest," she said, a glint alight in her eyes.

        I dragged her bikini bottoms down her long legs, and I tossed them onto a nearby chair. There was so much of her I wanted to explore, and I started first by kissing each of her breasts. Her pink nipples peaked, and softly, I flicked my tongue against each one. Then I made a path down her ribs, towards her stomach.

        Hovering over the apex of her thighs, I glanced up at her. She was still grinning, but I could see the edge of breathless need there.

        I didn't know how to do this―how to fuck her. How to make her come. What if I did it wrong? Was there a way to do it wrong?

        "Talia," she whispered, and I realized how turned on I had made her. I had done that. I had that power. 

        The knowledge filled me with new resolve. I let my breath warm her. Not quite touching her. 

        A small moan slipped out of her. 

        She was already wet when I finally tasted her. I started at the edges of her, circling the folds. I gave every part of her time, leaving her clit for last. When I finally got there, she let out a moan that made me clench my legs together again. 

        I licked her with the same kind of passion that I'd reserved for my daydreams. All that pent-up longing, the desperate need for her―I channeled it into my tongue. 

       When she came, her hips twisting, tattooed fingers tightening in the jet-black sheets, I almost lost it. She was so fucking hot.

       "Wow," I breathed, collapsing by her side.

       But instead of relaxing into the sheets, she grinned at me―the promise of a challenge. "I'm going to wash my hands. I'll be right back."

       Those words . . . desire spiraled inside of me. Sharp and hot and needy.

       When she returned, she spread my legs on either side of her. And she lowered herself to me.

       I was already aching, already ready to come. 

       "Are you ready for this?" said Monroe.

       I nodded, wordless, my hips restless with need.

       "If you feel uncomfortable at any point, we can stop," she whispered.

       She kissed me again, circling my clit. I was almost to the brink when she stopped. My hands had fisted in the sheets, and an unfamiliar sound scraped my throat. Something wild and almost animalistic.

        Monroe just smiled. The dimple on her left cheek had never been more beautiful, or infuriating.

        With her eyes on me, she slowly dipped one finger inside of me. I moaned.

        Somewhere inside of me, that finger curled. My hips bucked.

        Monroe slid a second finger inside of me, and she curved them in a come hither motion. Slowly, she lowered her mouth to my clit again. Just a brush of heat, but it was enough to set me off. 

        The two sensations were too much. I couldn't take it. Her tongue, swirling over my folds, combined with the motion of her fingers sliding in and out of me―it brought me to a new height of pleasure.

        And when I shattered, my spine arched. The ecstasy rode through me in waves, and even as I felt my body shuddering, I felt disconnected―awash in pure, heavenly sunlight. Warm with bliss.

        Once the orgasm had faded, I met Monroe's eyes. She wore a satisfied smirk. I kissed it off her.

        Then I flipped her over, so she was beneath me. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, the underside of her breast. If I could make music out of one thing, it would be the sound of Monroe Kingston moaning.

        As I reached between her legs, one thing occurred to me: I wasn't a drummer for nothing.

        And I definitely knew how to use my fingers.

       The sound of Monroe's breathing fueled me with heady confidence. 

       "Is this okay?" I whispered, my fingertip swirling at her entrance.

       "Fuck me, Talia," she said in response.

       I had never heard such beautiful words.