Sapphic Voices General Fiction

Ariel’s Cyn

by Alti Savage
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Copyright © by Alti Savage, April 2010

This Story is rated 'Adults Only' for its sexual content.

“As her mouth touched my breast I gasped for air. Her lips closed around my black pebble. I rested my head back against the pillow. She had no idea how good she felt against me, her soft full lips, the warm wetness of her tongue. Above my body the heat of her pressed against me. The contrast of her bright skin against my black coffee. I noted her red hair, braided neatly in a French plait that reached her waist. The slope of her bare back rising into the roundness of her ample backside.”

Cynthia paused, glancing over the brim of her frameless glasses long enough for a giggle to escape my lips.

“My hair’s not red.”

She smirked. Sitting across from me cross legged Indian-style on her twin bed, her brown eyes twinkled mischievously.

“It could be.”

I shrugged off her suggestion for the umpteenth time. Ever since reading some vampire story a few weeks ago, Cyn had been pestering me to dye my hair the bright red that one of the main characters of the story wore. What had thrilled her to no end about the novel was the fact that the two main characters like us, were involved in a same sex relationship. Another thrill was that the women were, again similar to us, direct contrasts in appearance. Though in the story “Patience” and “Eve” were an interracial couple, Cyn and I still favored their arrangement with her dark syrupy complexion and my butter shade. Apparently I was the “Eve” of the relationship in her eyes and she wished for me to adopt the red hair color as well.

“Come on Cyn, you know that’s not me,” I groaned a bit exasperated by the subject.

Hadn’t she gotten me the first time? Cyn only sighed and went back to her notebook.

“Her finger slid languidly into the slit between my thighs. Already exposed, I allowed her to push them apart.

“Hmm.”

“Wetness greeted her as she glided over my inner sanctum. Ariel smiled-”

“You used my name?” I cut in.

She glanced up.

“It makes it real for me,” she defended.

But I shook my head adamantly.

“No, take it out. I don’t want my name in some sex story for the entire campus to read and fantasize about. Cyn how could you?”

My brown hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail behind my head as always, making it easier for me to angrily pull my t-shirt back over my sports bra. When she saw me standing she dropped the notebook aside and rushed to me.

“Where are you going?”

As I reached for my back pack her hand caught mine.

“Ariel.”

I glanced down at her hand on top of mine then back at her soft face. Her hair was flat ironed down to reach her shoulders, parted at the right to provide a slanted bang over her forehead. Her brown eyes decorated with thick mascara enhanced lashes, her nose a nice cushion anointed with the bright silver stud that gleamed against her complexion. And her lips…I sighed.

“I don’t know why you do this, Cyn,” I gave in, dropping my arm from the backpack’s direction.

“You don’t have to make some grand claim on me. I’m here, I’m yours.”

She nodded, as she had the numerous other times I’d told her.

“I know, I know. It wasn’t about claiming you though. It was about me. My sexual experience and being proud of it,” she explained.

I looked her in her eye, seeking her soul. There resided an honest woman. This story wasn’t about claiming me at all, at least not in the possessive sense. It was about her announcing to the world yet again that she was a lesbian. Thumbing her nose at the religious right, the campus conservatives-a specific group in particular. The CSD.

Ever since their inception our freshman year the Cuyahoga State Disciples had been a thorn in the sides of all LGBT students at the university. From holding so-called Bible rallies and prayer meetings to “cleanse the sin from CSU” to blatant campaigns to have the annual GLASA masquerade ball canceled, the hard-nosed Bible thumpers refused to allow us to live. Things had especially gotten worse since the previous president Dylan Hamilton had graduated. His successor, Keith Brewer was the son of a deacon and product of a large Midwestern family. The typical white bred, blue collar Ohio republicans who had undoubtedly voted Bush back into office in 2004.

Since taking office Keith had made it his mission to not only dismantle any events or fundraisers organized by GLASA but to attempt to have the group disbanded altogether. The CSD was now showing up at events across campus-including the ceremony for the Day of Remembrance for all LGBT people worldwide that had fallen victim to gay bashings. It was more than just outrageous what CSD was now up to. It was war.

“Look Cyn, I understand that you want to piss those CSD jackasses off but my name?”

Cyn sighed the frustration we all felt at the mention of the name.

“Babe, when The Cage announced a creative writing contest, I had to use it to send a message. I won’t be quieted. I won’t be intimidated. I won’t be shutdown. It’s a creative writing magazine so the second CSD tries to pounce we’ll have all the writers and English majors and Journalism majors on our side. We’ll argue first amendment and get the law students involved. They want to argue that denouncing gays is their freedom of speech well we can argue that celebrating gays is our freedom of the press.”

I watched the satisfied expression on her face as she awaited my response. Proud of herself she was, but she still hadn’t addressed my issue.

“Take my name out, Cyn,” I warned.

She touched my shoulder. I ignored her hand and kept my eyes on hers.

“I mean it.”

It was only a rare occasion when I took such an even tone with my girlfriend. This was one of those occasions.

“I’ll take it out,” Cyn relented finally before treading back over to her notebook.

I watched her take a pen and scratch something out. When done she looked back over at me.

“Now my name has to come out too.”

I nodded my agreement. The only thing worse than my own name floating around campus in an erotic fashion was having my girlfriend’s name floating. She pouted slightly, but didn’t voice any objections. Instead she let her eyes trail to the floor. I observed her in our moment of silence, allowing my eyes to drink her in. She really had no clue how beautiful she was.

Clad in a long orange and black CSU t-shirt she still couldn't hide the mounds of her full breasts. With the shirt reaching her thighs I could make out the lovely dark thickness of her well shaped legs. I’d always loved her legs. The first time I’d caught a glimpse of them had been at the summer orientation for freshman at CSU. It had been a hot August day and most of us had worn shorts and tank tops. I myself had been adorned in a white tank top and baggy shorts that touched my knees. I hadn’t been looking for attention in my ensemble, only looking to be comfortable.

Cynthia’s hair had been braided into micros then. Pulled up into a thicket of waves that cascaded down her back, her black mane glowed with the sparkle of a freshly finished masterpiece. Her spaghetti strapped pink top hugged her contours complementarily and the matching pink and white plaid shorts were only inches away from Daisy Dukes. Her sandals, likewise had been pink, exposing each and every toe on her manicured feet. I remember catching a couple of guys checking her out and chuckling to myself as I did the same. The sun had deepened the melanin already rich in her skin making her a sculpture of onyx beauty.

Her hips unintentionally swayed with each step, her round behind a hypnotic blend of motion. I’d made it a point to stay behind her for a while just watching the rhythm of her body movement. I was sure that a few of the guys had done the same. Of all the females at that orientation Cynthia by far had the most enticing body. And of all the females who dared expose skin, she was also the most open, comfortable with who she was and how she was dressed.

To the largely Caucasian crowd I was sure that she appeared as just another hood rat, video girl wannabe who probably only came to school for a refund check. I’d had the luxury of sharing a high school with many of them and, due to my complexion, the cloak of safety when it came to those types of talks. Had it not been for the strong presence of my grandmother in my life I may very well had come to think the same things despite the fact that I am black. My father had also been, and he’d done his best to forget it.

What amazed me about Cynthia was that, although she was probably aware that she was under the scrutiny of these Midwest suburbanites, she didn’t seem to care in the least. She walked with her head held high, made eye contact with those who spoke to her and was not afraid to raise her hand and ask questions herself. She made no apologies for who she was and, in her sexy summer gear, for the way she was dressed either. She was strong, she was proud and much to my delight she was hella sexy. I just had to figure out if she was gay.

Now approximately twenty-two months later here we were in her dorm room as friends, lovers and so much more.

“Hey, you really want to thumb your nose at CSD?” I asked, an idea hitting me suddenly.

Cyn’s curled up smile answered my question.

“The main characters in your story, why don’t you name them something interesting like Alice and Eve or Mary?” I suggested.

“Eve being the mother of all creation in the physical sense and Mary, the mother of Jesus who ushered in the spiritual age. It would be perfect.

“Perfectly blasphemous,” Cyn laughed, but she was already back on her bed, notebook in hand.

Exactly why she preferred to do her writing on paper instead of on a laptop like the rest of the civilized world I’d never really understand. She said it felt more personal, reading her own handwriting, carrying the notebook with her from class to class. I thought it was a waste of time myself, seeing that she would eventually have to type it anyway but who was I to question the way Cyn did her thing? She was the writer after all. Since her childhood years.

“Ooh thanks Babe!” she whistled excitedly as her pen went to work.

“I think I’ll take your advice and use Mary and Eve. I can’t wait until this hits the press. Keith Brewer is going to have a conniption.”

I nodded, pleased that I could offer my help. As she continued to write, her brows knit in an excited concentration, I decided to stay a while. Tossing my tee back down I took a seat across from her once more. Looked like it would be another afternoon of pen scratching and Cyn watching. But that was fine. I couldn’t think of anything else that I’d rather have been doing.

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