Rebecca: (6) Words Askew (short novel)

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Rebecca: (6) Words Askew

The message had dropped into her Facebook inbox on a Tuesday evening, as Rebecca was finishing her glass of wine and scrolling distractedly. The profile was simply called "Camille D.", profile picture blurry as if taken hastily in a bathroom mirror. The bio was short: "29, lesbian, curious about everything." What had caught Rebecca's attention was the small sentence written beneath the name: "I'm looking for sincere encounters, no pretenses. If you have a heart and a story, write to me."

Rebecca had replied out of politeness at first, then out of curiosity. Camille wrote well, with a disarming sincerity. She talked about her travels, her work at an independent bookstore, her love for old black-and-white films. She didn't ask questions about Rebecca's body, about what she had between her legs, about her past. She simply asked: "What makes you vibrate?"

They had exchanged messages for three weeks. Morning texts, evening voice notes. Camille's voice was soft, a little deep, with that southwestern accent that dragged on the "r"s. Rebecca had caught herself waiting for her messages with an impatience she hadn't allowed herself in a long time. She had even shown the conversation to Alex, who had raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile. "You have a crush." She had denied it, of course. But deep down, a small flame had been lit.

When Camille had suggested a date, Rebecca had said yes without hesitation. A wine bar, in Camille's neighborhood, a discreet place with velvet banquettes and candles. She had read the message several times. Camille wrote: "I'll be the one with a red notebook under my arm and a smile that trembles a little." Rebecca had laughed alone in her kitchen.

On the night of the date, she spent over an hour getting ready. She chose a black dress, sober but elegant, falling just above the knee. Fine stockings, low heels so as not to tower too much. Her wig was a flawless, strict blonde bob, with a strand falling over her right eye. She did her makeup carefully, dark red lipstick, a perfect eyeliner stroke, a hint of blush. Alex had watched her leave with an admiring whistle. "She'll fall hard." Rebecca had blown him a kiss and left into the night.

The bar lived up to her expectations. A small smoky room, shelves of bottles lined up to the ceiling, waxed wooden tables. At a table in the back, a woman was sitting, a red notebook placed in front of her. She had short brown hair, cut in a boyish style, revealing a long, slender neck. Blue-gray eyes, full lips, an angular but soft face. She wore a white shirt open over a black t-shirt, jeans, sneakers. Simple. Elegant. And she was smiling, that trembling smile she had promised.

Rebecca approached, heart pounding. "Camille?"

The woman looked up, and her smile widened. "Rebecca. Finally." She stood up, hugged her tightly. A spontaneous, warm embrace. Rebecca smelled her perfume, a mix of vanilla and cedarwood, and closed her eyes for a second. "You're beautiful," Camille murmured against her ear. "Even more than in your photos."

Dinner was a long meandering conversation. They talked about books first, because it was the safest common ground. Camille adored Marguerite Duras, Rebecca preferred Colette. They debated gently, with laughter. Then came the confidences. Camille told her about her childhood in a small southern town, her coming out at eighteen, her past loves, her disappointments. Rebecca listened, attentive, placing her hand on the table within reach of Camille's. When it was her turn, she told her about her transition, her doubts, her joys, her meeting with Alex, the freedom he had given her. Camille listened without looking away, nodding, asking precise questions, never indiscreet.

"Alex knows you're here tonight?" Camille asked, a smile playing at her lips.

"Yes. He told me to have fun."

"What a man."

"The best."

The wine flowed, two bottles of Burgundy they shared without counting. Their faces were flushed, their gestures broader. Camille placed her hand on Rebecca's, stroking it with her thumb. A simple gesture, electric. "I need to tell you something." Her voice was deeper, more intimate. "Before tonight, I'd never been with a trans woman. I didn't know if I should tell you. I didn't want you to think I saw you as a curiosity."

Rebecca looked at her, searching for sincerity in her eyes. She found it. "And now that you've seen me in person, what do you think?"

"I think you're beautiful, intelligent, funny. And that I've wanted to kiss you ever since I saw you walk in."

Rebecca felt her heart race. She leaned in, brushing Camille's lips with the tip of hers. The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, then deeper. Camille's tongue slid against hers, warm and savory. They kissed for a long time, unconcerned by the other patrons. When they parted, their foreheads touched. "My place?" Camille murmured. "It's two steps away."

Camille's apartment was small, cluttered with books and green plants. A large window overlooked a silent inner courtyard. A blue velvet sofa, candles everywhere, a woolen throw draped over the back. Camille took off her sneakers, Rebecca her heels. They faced each other, a shy smile on their lips.

"I'm a little nervous," Camille admitted.

"Me too."

"Want some water?"

"I want you to kiss me."

Camille stepped closer, wrapping her arms around Rebecca, her hands sliding over the black dress. The kiss was slower, more exploratory. Camille's lips traveled down her neck, her jaw, her ear. Rebecca closed her eyes, letting herself be carried. She felt Camille's fingers caress her nape, trace down her spine, linger on the curve of her hips. "I want to see you," Camille murmured. "All of you."

Rebecca stepped back, slowly unfastening the buttons of her dress. She let it fall to the floor, revealing her black lingerie: a push-up bra that made her heavy breasts spill over, lace panties that barely contained her thick half-hard cock. Camille caught her breath. "My God, you're beautiful."

She knelt before her, kissed her belly, brought her lips up to the hollow of her breasts, then freed them from the bra. Rebecca's breasts fell, generous, nipples pink and hard. Camille took them into her mouth one after the other, sucking with slow greed. Rebecca moaned softly, her fingers in Camille's short hair. The sensation was different from Alex's: softer, more patient, almost meditative.

Camille stood up, kissed Rebecca on the mouth while guiding her toward the bed. The large white bed was covered with cushions and soft throws. Rebecca lay down on it, feeling vulnerable and desired at once. Camille undressed in turn, with deliberate slowness. Her shirt fell, then her t-shirt, revealing small but firm breasts, light nipples. Her jeans slid over her narrow hips, revealing simple cotton panties, white, beneath which a discreet bulge was visible. When she removed them, Rebecca saw her sex: a well-groomed vulva, pink lips, a perfectly smooth mound. Camille lay beside her, their bodies touching from chest to knee.

"May I touch you?" Camille asked.

"Yes."

Camille's hand slid between Rebecca's legs, caressed her cock through the lace, felt its hardness. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "May I see it?"

Rebecca nodded, breath short. Camille removed the panties, freeing Rebecca's thick cock, long, veined, the glans swollen and glistening. She stroked it with her fingertips, timidly at first, then with more assurance. Rebecca moaned, arching her back. "You like that?" Camille asked.

"Yes. Keep going."

Camille bent down, took Rebecca's cock into her mouth. Her tongue was warm, soft, skilled. She sucked it slowly, from glans to base, her lips gliding over the sensitive skin. Rebecca gripped the sheets, eyes closed, mouth open. She had never been taken in the mouth by a woman this way, with this silent devotion. Camille took her time, exploring every inch, every vein, the pre-cum already beading at the tip. She moved up, kissed Rebecca's belly, her breasts, her neck, then back down.

"I want to taste you differently," Camille murmured. She parted Rebecca's thighs, settled between them, and lowered her mouth further, toward her anus. Her tongue traced a circle around the opening, lightly at first, then more firmly. Rebecca cried out, a muffled cry, surprised by the sensation. Camille licked her with delicate precision, her fingers stroking the base of her cock, the glans, the testicles. Pleasure spiraled upward, intense, almost too much.

"Stop, stop a second," Rebecca panted. "I'm going to come."

Camille moved up, kissed her on the mouth. "Not yet. I have so many things to show you."

She stood up, rummaged through the nightstand drawer, and pulled out a large black silicone dildo, smooth, about eight inches long, with a flared base. She showed it to Rebecca. "I like being taken. I love the feeling of being filled. Do you want to try?"

Rebecca looked at the object, then at Camille. "You want me to use it on you?"

"I want you to fuck me with it. To fuck me the way one woman fucks another."

Rebecca took the dildo, stroked it, lubricated it generously with a gel she found on the table. Camille lay on her back, spread her legs, placed them on Rebecca's shoulders. Her vulva was wet, lips pink and open. She guided the dildo toward her entrance, pushing gently. The silicone slid in with surprising ease. Camille moaned, her head thrown back. "Yes... like that... deeper."

Rebecca settled between her legs, dildo in hand, and began a slow, steady rhythm. She watched Camille's face, her closed eyes, her parted mouth, her hands gripping the sheets. The sensation of holding this artificial cock, of penetrating this woman, of seeing her take pleasure because of her, was intoxicating. She sped up gently, the dildo sliding faster and faster into Camille's tight vagina.

"You're beautiful," Rebecca murmured. "Do you like being fucked like this?"

"Yes... oh yes... keep going, don't stop."

Rebecca felt her own cock harden even more, slapping against her belly with each movement. She kept penetrating Camille, harder, faster. Camille arched, a raw cry escaping her throat. Her body tensed, then relaxed, wracked with spasms. She came violently, her vagina contracting around the dildo. She lay still for a few seconds, panting, eyes open on the ceiling.

When she regained her senses, she smiled at Rebecca, cheeks flushed. "My turn."

She took the dildo, cleaned it quickly, then approached Rebecca. "Lie on your stomach. I want to take you."

Rebecca obeyed, turning over, offering her round, firm buttocks. Camille settled behind her, lubricated the dildo, then her own vulva. She leaned over, kissed Rebecca's back, her shoulder blades, the small of her back. "I'll go slowly," she murmured. "Tell me if it hurts."

She pressed the dildo against Rebecca's anus, pushing gently. The resistance was great at first, then the flesh opened, welcoming the object centimeter by centimeter. Rebecca closed her eyes, focusing on the sensation, the fullness, this sweet pain mingled with pleasure. Camille advanced with infinite slowness, her hands caressing Rebecca's hips, her lips kissing her nape.

"You're so tight," Camille murmured. "So warm."

When the dildo was fully inside, she paused, letting Rebecca adjust. Then she began to move, a regular, deep, almost hypnotic rhythm. Rebecca moaned into the pillow, her fingers gripping the sheets. She felt the dildo filling her anus, stimulating her nerve endings, making her vibrate from within. Camille's hand came to stroke her cock, masturbating her in time with her thrusts.

"I'm going to come," Rebecca panted. "I'm going to come."

"Wait for me," Camille replied. "Wait for me."

She sped up, her body slapping against Rebecca's buttocks, the dildo entering and exiting with growing vigor. Her hand on Rebecca's cock grew faster, firmer. Rebecca felt the orgasm rising like a wave, uncontrollable. She cried out, her body contracting violently, ejaculating onto the sheets in long hot spurts. At the same moment, Camille let out a raw cry, her own climax overwhelming her, her vagina clenching around the base of the dildo.

They lay still, entwined, breathless. Camille withdrew slowly, laid Rebecca on her side, snuggled against her. Their bodies were pressed together, damp with sweat, their breathing synchronizing. Camille stroked Rebecca's hair, kissed her shoulder.

"I never would have imagined this," Camille murmured. "This intimacy. This trust."

Rebecca turned, kissed her softly. "Neither did I. I thought it would just be a nice date, a drink, a kiss, maybe. Not this."

"And you regret it?"

"Not for a second."

They stayed for a long time talking, lying naked in the rumpled bed. Camille told her about her first loves, her doubts, her joys. Rebecca talked about her transition, her body she had learned to love, her fears too. They shared a glass of water, laughter, comfortable silences.

After an hour, Rebecca got up to go to the bathroom. As she passed by Camille's bookshelf, she noticed a framed photo on a shelf. A couple, a brown-haired woman with a little blonde girl. She didn't say anything, but Camille saw her gaze. "My daughter," she said softly. "She's six. She lives with her father during the week, with me on weekends."

Rebecca nodded, a smile on her lips. "You're a mother?"

"Yes. A lesbian mother, single, trying to find her place. And you, do you want children someday?"

"I'd never really thought about it. With Alex, we've talked about it, but... it's complicated."

"I understand."

They returned to bed, lay facing each other. Camille caressed Rebecca's breasts, down to her belly, then between her thighs. Her cock was soft, at peace. Camille took it gently into her mouth, not to make it harden, but to caress it, feel it, taste it. A tender gesture, almost contemplative.

"I want you to know something," Camille said, lifting her head. "I don't just want to sleep with you tonight and never see you again. I want to see you again. I want to get to know you. I want..." She hesitated. "I want you to be a friend. A lover. Maybe more."

Rebecca looked at her, her blue-gray eyes shining in the dim light. "I don't want to make promises I can't keep. But I want the same thing. So we'll see where this takes us."

They kissed, a long soft kiss, without urgency. Then they curled up against each other, falling asleep like two cats in a sunbeam.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the curtains, drawing golden stripes on the rumpled sheets. Rebecca woke first, looked at Camille asleep against her. Her hair in disarray, her lips parted, her breath light. She felt strangely light, as if something had unraveled inside her during the night. She slipped quietly out of bed, went to the kitchen, made coffee.

Camille appeared a few minutes later, wearing an oversized t-shirt, eyes still half-closed. "Good morning," she murmured in a husky voice. "You're already up?"

"I couldn't sleep anymore."

She came closer, snuggled against Rebecca, resting her forehead on her shoulder. "I don't want you to leave."

"I have to go home. Alex is waiting for me."

"I know. But you can stay a little longer."

They had their coffee on the balcony, watching the street wake up. Camille placed her hand on Rebecca's thigh. "Are you happy?"

Rebecca thought for a moment. "Yes. Happier than I've ever been. With Alex, I found a solid, stable love that allowed me to be myself. And you... you arrive like a surprise, a sweet little rebellion. I don't know what this will become, but I'm happy to have lived it."

Camille smiled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "That's the most beautiful thing anyone has said to me in a long time."

They kissed, a kiss salty with Camille's tears. Then they went back inside, made love one last time, slowly, tenderly. Camille sucked Rebecca's cock until she came in her mouth, swallowing everything without a grimace. Rebecca penetrated Camille with her fingers, making her come while looking into her eyes, their breaths mingled.

When Rebecca left, Camille walked her to the door, offering her a book of poems she had chosen for her. "So you'll think of me," she said.

Rebecca kissed her on the forehead, took the book, and descended the stairs. Outside, she sent a text to Alex: "I'm coming home. I love you. I'll tell you everything." Then she looked at the book, a collection of love poems by Sappho, and smiled. She had found a lover, perhaps a friend, perhaps more. And for the first time, she felt complete, desired by a man and by a woman, loved by two different but equally precious beings.

Life was smiling at her, in all its complexity, all its beauty.

She opened the book at random, and came across a verse she read several times, heart tight: "Love shook me like the wind on the mountain falls on the oaks." She closed the book, pressed it against her chest, and walked toward the subway, a smile on her lips.

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