Chapter 1

We had known each other forever.

We couldn't even remember meeting. My mother says we were only three years old. I bet we were hatching schemes even then.

I do remember when we were seven. Clarissa — who was known as Rissa most of the time - and I had an in-depth discussion about how we hated boys. They smelled. They were stupid. We never wanted anything to do with any of them, and especially her repulsive brother. He was eight.

It took us six months, a whole heap of discussions, and an orchestrated intervention from my father to convince us we were wrong. Boys were alright, despite the smell. They weren't all stupid. Rissa's brother? He was still repulsive. Maybe more so.

We had, from our earliest memories, treated each other's houses like they were our own. There were distinct advantages to both places. Rissa and her brother lived in a big house. Lots of room, and nice stuff. I had the advantage of having no brother, but both parents. Rissa only had a mother. I never did find out quite what happened to her father, if she ever had one.

By the time we were eleven, the boy situation had moved from vague distrust to nervous anticipation. We'd even organised for some of the smelly things to attend my birthday party, and planned to try to kiss them. Just for practice, you understand. They ran away screaming, and that night when Rissa stayed over we kissed each other instead. We both agreed it wasn't so great.

We got older, and boys became more interesting. We kept each other up to date with anything that happened, but in fact it wasn't much. Boys smelled nice now, no doubt about it, but they weren't exactly accessible, it seemed. At least not the ones we were interested in.

Clarissa and I had developed a habit over the years. Most weekends, and often during the week, one of us would sleep over at the other's house. I think it was about even, though I recall spending a lengthy time at Rissa's place after I tasted her mother's pancakes. I was tempted to never go back home.

In any case, that particular weekend, Rissa came to stay with me. We had an unwritten rule. If it was hot, we'd sleep in separate beds. If it was cold, we'd cuddle together in one bed, and keep each other warm. I have no idea when or if we officially became a little old for that, but I do know we stopped telling people.

That weekend it was cold. Rissa generally wore a nightgown to bed. She had a few stored at my house as well as a supply at her own. I wore pyjamas. Long flannel things with childish pictures printed on them. In bright colours. Bite me. Rissa had managed to change and climb into bed first, and by the time I'd got my pyjamas on and brushed my teeth she was well settled, lying on her side with the blankets up around her neck. I piled in behind her, ignoring her protests, and took advantage of the warmth. Rissa soon realised there was something in it for her, because her mostly bare legs were cold compared to mine.

Comfortable and warm after a few minutes, I turned off the light, and we talked about things that had happened that day. Warm, comfortable, nothing things. And then, spooned like that, we both drifted off to sleep.

It was just after three AM when I woke up. I always look up and notice the time. I have no idea why. That's not what had woken me though. It was the movement.

I thought for a moment Rissa must have been having a dream. She was moving about, and her breathing was a little strange. I lifted my hand and put it on her hip, intending to wake her, or at least check she was okay, but the moment I touched her, the movement stopped. Her breathing slowly returned to normal, so I lay still, thinking it best that I let her sleep.

It took a little while, but after a few minutes with us both lying very still, she started to move again. I didn't do anything this time. Just lay there with my hand on her hip, listening, and feeling what she was doing.

I wasn't sure for a start, but eventually I thought I knew what was happening. I'd been doing it too, for a while by then, but not with Rissa in my bed. I wasn't sure then how I felt. I thought I should be disgusted. I was sometimes disgusted with myself, even though I'd been told it was normal. I wasn't disgusted though. I was interested. Intrigued. After a while, I was horny.

I could tell, without moving, how she was doing it. She was still lying on her side, facing away from me. Her buttocks were pressed lightly against me, and I could feel her nightie was pulled up around her waist. Her panties were still on though. She was either rubbing through them at the front, as I'd tried, or she had her hand down past the inside of the waistband. Her body was undulating slowly in front of me, her ass moving back and forth a little. She was obviously trying not to move too much, but as she got excited she was becoming a little less careful.

My mind was filled with an image of what her hands must be doing, and I knew from experience what she must be feeling. I was excited myself, and if there had been a way to do so without Rissa knowing, I would have had my own fingers between my legs in an instant. I was relieved too, in a way. We had never talked about this. I was worried that Rissa would think there was something wrong with me for doing it, and I never wanted her to disapprove of me.

I lay there a little longer, listening and feeling what she was doing, and then, against all common sense, I lifted my head, and kissed her on the back of the neck. She stopped moving instantly, and lay there, shaking, but trying to be still. I gave up pretending not to know.

"Rissa?" She didn't answer, but I felt her body stiffen. "Rissa? Talk to me."

"What? You woke me up, Jamie."

"I did not."

"Yeah. What do you want?"

"Nothing. I just ... well..." I didn't know what to say, so I kissed her neck again.