Truth or Dare

Rush-hour traffic made the journey back to my house slow and disjointed with queues. After her initial greeting, Jess's happiness seemed to fade in and out. She would talk excitedly about the last few months, her graduation ball and her last few days with her course-mates, but would then sit quietly, staring straight ahead or gazing out of the passenger window. A few minutes later, she would be talking again; asking about my postgraduate course, whether I enjoyed living alone and what I had done during my trip to Australia. She also asked if I had heard any more from Izzy, to which I replied, "Don't ask." She seemed to take that as a no, which suited me for the time-being. Nonetheless, the easy conversation that I associated with Jess came and went and it was difficult to pin down why as, when she was talking, there was no suggestion of worries beneath the surface.

Eventually we arrived. I grabbed Jess's suitcase from the boot, opened up the house and showed her around. Her excitement returned when she saw the spare bedroom that, despite being part-office, was still spacious and light.

"Matt, this is perfect. I can't believe you have all this space to yourself! Thank you so much for letting me stay. I mean it. I won't bother you at all. I'm just going to collapse in here for a few days and sort everything out."

I smiled and mumbled about it being fine. I tried to say something about her not needing to hide away but it came out wrong and didn't make much sense. It didn't seem to bother her though and she listened to me as I showed her where she could put her clothes. Then I left her to get organised and have the sleep she said she needed while I started to cook us some dinner.

Jessica

My excitement at meeting Matt had turned to amusement as I watched him stretching and straining to see me leave the train while I stood three feet away. His clumsy hug and attempts at chivalry also helped to hold back the worries on the edge of my mind. He left me in his spare bedroom with overly detailed instructions on how to unpack and store my things, which I ignored. Instead, I lay back on the bed, closed my eyes and let the mattress absorb days of anxiety.

I woke up an hour or so later. After 15 minutes of staring at marks on the ceiling and daydreaming about the next few days, I decided I needed a shower. I wanted to wash off the remnants of sleep, the grime of the busy train and the sea-spray from earlier in the day. I grabbed my washbag and joined Matt in the kitchen where he told me to help myself to one of the clean towels that were in the bathroom.

The downstairs bathroom was tacked on to the back of the house. Matt said it was common in that area. To me, it seemed peculiar. People don't normally walk through the kitchen in just a dressing gown or towel. While undressing, I noticed that the light from the kitchen window was spilling into the dusky shadows of the backyard. Then I froze as Matt's shape moved through the light. I realised that, although the window was frosted, I should have pulled down the blind. Another reason it was stupid to build the bathroom next to the kitchen. If he looked this way, Matt would be able to see me standing in my bra and underwear, both black and slight against my pale skin.

I wasn't sure whether I liked the idea or found it strange. It was one thing sending Matt revealing pictures in the middle of the night or dreaming about him on a train. It was another to tease him in person when I would shortly need to look in his eyes. I reached for the blind cord, standing on tiptoes as I leant over the sink beneath the window. As the cold porcelain brushed against the front of my underwear, a tingle of excitement moved through me. This time, I let it pass, unnerved at the idea Matt might still see me if I let my hands wander while undressing completely. Instead, I turned on the shower, removed my bra, stepped out of my underwear, and soaked myself in the warm water.

After I finished, I dried myself and wrapped a towel around my body. When I walked through the kitchen carrying my clothes, a few stray drops of water trickled down my calves and ankles and left damp footprints on the wooden floor. Matt was standing over the hob and he turned around as I entered. His eyes widened slightly and I saw him glance down my body. The towel left nothing exposed but it wasn't a huge fluffy hotel towel. It reached only a few inches below my bum. There was plenty in sight to fuel the imagination if he wanted to think of me that way.

As I walked, the towel parted slightly, not revealing anything important, but I was conscious that Matt was seeing higher up my thigh than he would ever have seen before, even in my shortest skirt. The idea of dropping my clothes accidentally or better still my underwear flashed into my mind. I could bend over to pick it up in the style of a bad porn movie. The idea made me giggle at the ridiculousness of it, much to Matt's bafflement. Rather than explain, I scampered into the living room and upstairs to my bedroom.

Matt

When Jess came back downstairs after her shower, dinner was nearly ready. She had tied her long hair back into a ponytail and, thankfully, was no longer wrapped in a towel. Temptation had its value, but I wanted simplicity right now. Her wet feet padding into the kitchen had interrupted my thoughts of Izzy, whose frantic behaviour and vague explanations had left me viewing her as two different people: the collected and forensic doctoral student who had debated then dissected my dissertation over coffee and the flimsy naïf in a tailspin over a three-date relationship. I admit my anxiety over Izzy's prior silence had been feverish, but I kept it to a reasonable level. Right now, Jess's easy presence, cheerful sexuality and familiar inconstancy was more welcome company.

She had changed into navy blue chequered pyjama bottoms and the same dark red hoody that she had worn earlier. The baggy clothes made it easier to talk to her; certainly more so than when trying to avoid seeing up to her naked hip through the gap in her towel.

Her laughter at my tongue-tied attempts to speak while she held a black thong and lacy bra in front of me was mortifying. Normally, seeing a girl carrying her underwear would be no more than a moment's distraction, but I had seen Jess's otherwise naked body stretched out across the bathroom window while she shut the blind. I wasn't sure if she had been teasing me deliberately but my swings between confidence in her interest and assuming her indifference were becoming wilder. Even through frosted glass she looked incredible; the lack of detail doing nothing to hide the way her underwear highlighted her body. At least when she was dressed neutrally, I could concentrate on the conversation.

We ate and talked over the dinner table for a couple of hours. Jess told me a little more about her worries. It became clear that most of the upset arose from her comparing herself to others. The few course-mates she was close to had all applied to graduate schemes and secured positions earlier in the year. Jess had been uncertain what she wanted to do after university and had decided that meant she was failing because she didn't have a job already. I tried to convince her that there was nothing wrong with taking her time and she seemed to listen, but then she changed the subject without showing signs that her worries were definitively resolved.

Around nine o'clock, we moved to the lounge and watched a few episodes of a new drama on Netflix. Although there were a pair of two-seater sofas in the lounge, Jess decided to sit next to me and, after the first two episodes, she asked if I minded her leaning back against me so she could lie down. We watched the remaining episode with me sat upright, her head resting against my chest and her legs stretched out over the sofa arm.

At first, I tried to rest my elbow on the back of the sofa but it soon became uncomfortable. Seeing me fidgeting, Jess grabbed my arm and placed it around her midriff, shaking her head slightly, as though I should have just asked.

I spent most of that second episode watching Jess, or what I could see of her. The way her blonde hair parted. Her long natural eyelashes. The slight rise of her breasts under her loose top. The delicate bare feet, always moving against each other a little, toes curling whenever she laughed at the TV. Mostly though, my eyes fixed upon the thin strip of bare skin, slightly below her waist, where her hoody had ridden up as she leant against me.

When she laid my hand across her stomach, I was mostly touching her top but my little finger was resting against that exposed patch of lower stomach. Absent-mindedly, I stroked it, bumping against the waistband of her pyjamas. The atmosphere in the room changed subtly and Jess let out a soft sigh but didn't react further. Her feet did stop moving though, as if she was waiting for something to bring them back to life. The episode finished shortly after and she turned, hugged me, our eyes meeting for a second, and then said she was tired and would head to bed.

Jessica

Alone in my bedroom, I thought back over the evening. Matt's food was amazing. He was also right to point out that I shouldn't feel inferior to those I didn't need to compete against. It wasn't a message that I wanted to hear but I knew there was truth in it. Mostly though, I thought about laying with Matt on the sofa. I remembered his arm around my waist as I laid back against him. The reassuring rise and fall of his chest. The steady beat of his heart against my head. The soft rumble of his voice from a few centimetres away. It was a shame that I had to drag that arm on to me but, once it was there, the comfort left me floating.

Then, when his hand dropped downwards, his touch on my stomach sent waves of electricity up and down my body. A fierce heat grew between my legs as I remembered the dreams from my train journey. I had glanced down to see if Matt was reacting similarly, but his jeans were a mess of rigid bumps and gave no clue to their contents. For a second I thought he was going to move inside my pyjamas. A low moan escaped my lips and I panicked slightly, thinking that I might be too forward. Then I overreacted by rushing to bed.

Now, lying there, remembering his touch, I cursed my impulsivity. I couldn't resist, or rather I didn't try to resist, moving both hands inside my pyjamas and tugging aside my underwear beneath the quilt. The fabric was slightly wet and I used my middle finger to part my lips, sliding it inside me to explore how turned on I had become. Idly, I played with myself, spreading my pussy and dipping a second finger inside, drawing them out and trailing the moisture over my clit, circling it slowly. I imagined Matt's hand had continued its journey downward and that I had turned to place soft kisses on his crotch as he edged his fingertips inside my pyjamas.

I parted my legs wider and my fingers slipped back inside, going deep into my pussy and swirling around before drawing slowly out and then diving back in. The heat was growing now underneath the quilt and I pushed it aside a little. I moved one hand inside my underwear and used the other to reach under my vest-top and massage my breast. The nipple was already hard and responsive to my fingers as I trapped it between them, pinching and pulling it gently.

I could hear Matt still moving around downstairs. In my mind, it was his fingers moving inside me. His hand caressing my breast. His cock that was erect through the front of his jeans so that my lips could kiss up and down the shaft, making me ache for more. I wished I could leave the bedroom and go to Matt, but I didn't want him to think less of me. If flirting left him tongue-tied, seeing me like this would not produce better results.

My fingers moved from the heat of my pussy to my clit, rubbing more quickly now and pressing down firmly, no longer content with meandering touches. Frustrated with the obstructions, I brought my legs together and pushed down my pyjamas and underwear. Leaving them around my ankles, I spread my thighs wide apart while keeping my feet together. My fingers returned to my clit, rapidly flickering from side to side and occasionally stopping to plunge into my pussy, flashing in and out as I finger-fucked myself. I needed more though. I needed something more inside me.

I glanced over to my suitcase. For two days, I had carried my vibrator around in it. I'd been too afraid to hide it among the possessions I sent home with my dad. Swinging my legs off the edge of the bed, I kicked my pyjamas and underwear away from my ankles and moved across the room in just my vest top.

As I unzipped my case, I was too turned-on to resist touching myself for more than a few seconds at a time and I paused to play again between my legs, working my clit fiercely with one hand while pushing two fingers inside with the other. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The curve of my bum, my parted legs slightly bent at the knee, my gaping mouth trying to stifle cries of excitement; all of this only made me pleasure myself more frantically.

Removing my fingers from inside me but still circling my clit, I tossed aside clothes and books with my left-hand. Finally, I extracted my toy from the inside pocket of the case. It was a bright red cock with a rotating head. You could use it to stimulate your clit or move around inside you when you changed the settings on the black base that housed the controls.

Jumping back on the bed, I worked the thick head of the rubber cock around my pussy. Dragging it down towards my bum and then back up over my slit. My hips thrust forward to help it slide between my lips. Inch by inch, I took it inside me. My eyes widened, my breath became short and my mouth gaped as I felt it fill me.

I began to slide it in and out and my fingers increased their pace. I was desperate to turn the vibrator on to feel the electric tremors run through me, but I was too scared that Matt would hear in the next room. Instead, I hooked my heels over each side of the bed to keep my legs spread wide apart. I pumped the toy into me, whispering, "Fuck me. Fuck me." I was soaked now and my slick pussy let it flash in and out as my fingers desperately rubbed my clit until my orgasm erupted within me.

I thrust the cock inside myself throbbing pussy, feeling the walls of it clench repeatedly to the shaft. My mind fought to keep my fingers at work as my hips bucked on the bed. Violent surges of pleasure shot through me and I buried my face in the pillow to avoid crying out.

Eventually, the intensity subsided. I drew the vibrator slowly free from my lips and returned to idly caressing myself as my breathing levelled off. I hoped I hadn't been too loud. A darker hope wondered whether, if I had, Matt would take it as a signal to be more forward the following night.

Matt

It was gone ten before Jess came downstairs for breakfast. When I woke, there was one more message from Izzy, sent at 2:32am. It simply read, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." I told her again that it was OK and that I would call her in a couple of days when my friend had left. She replied instantly saying that was fine and she looked forward to discussing the book she was reading; a series of essays on science and society that I had recommended. We exchanged a couple more texts in which she seemed oddly composed and more like the person I thought I knew, then I got up.

I was unable to settle after I showered and, when I had tidied away last night's dishes, I did some cleaning while waiting for Jess. When she shuffled into the kitchen, she looked adorable in her pyjamas; clearly still sleepy with her tousled hair tied back loosely and wearing black rectangular glasses instead of her usual contact lenses.

We sat quietly together, listening to the radio, eating toast and sipping drinks -- her coffee, me tea. Conversation was sparse but comfortable as we talked about the day ahead. Her plan was to browse careers advice and job websites, while mine was to go to the library to do some reading and then play a tennis match before heading home. At 11, I headed out, leaving Jess with a spare key and directions on where to find lunch.

The library was less productive than I had hoped. I couldn't concentrate on the sociology of modernity and its oblique metaphors because my mind was looping through the events of the last two days. It focused on different aspects each time, not all sexual or romantic. I worried more about Jess's fear of failure and what she would do if she couldn't settle on a way forward.

I thought about her company director father and account manager mother, both of whom saw decisiveness, hard work and focus as central to achieving success. Jess had always gone out of her way to avoid disappointing them. In our last year of school, she hadn't told her parents about achieving full marks on one module exam because it would have meant also telling them about a B-grade on another. She always brought causal clothes to my house when staying over after a night out. Partly this was for comfort the next morning but she also told me that it was so she could go home the next morning without giving the impression that she had stayed over at someone's house in unplanned circumstances. One night, while Jess was slightly drunk and talking to me from the bed as I lay in my sleeping bag on the floor, she confessed that her parents assumed we were a couple. Although she had never lied about it to them, she had also never denied it as a boyfriend with high grades and an acute sense of purposes offered a shield to deflect scrutiny of her tendency to skip from one aspiration to another without fixing on anything for long.

If Jess sounds like the typical over-pressured middle class daughter, struggling to fulfil unrealistic expectations, it never seemed that simple to me. Whether her parents really judged her as harshly as she feared was always open to debate. Her occasional failings never appeared to have consequences and her choices, inconsistent and changeable as they might be, were generally supported rather than challenged or corrected. To me, it seemed likely that the pressure to conform to some vision of her future was as much internal as external. I suspected her parents would be open to Jess confiding in them and would support her through her current uncertainties rather than criticising them. It also seemed likely that Jess would emigrate before offering such confidences.

In between these reflections, I did also think about the evolution in my relationship with Jess. The night when Jess had texted me from the hotel still felt like a thrilling aberration, but it was clear that her manner had moved from familiar opaque flirtation to a more affectionate and intimate style. She now seemed to look to me for comfort as well as conversation and, for my part, I was forced to consider the previously implausible: that our moments of closeness might include more than the occasional instances when her natural exuberance and friendliness brought her close enough to see the smallest details of her skin. Those instances that lasted seconds and years before she would laughingly toss back her hair and return to a more neutral distance.

Jessica

If Matt had heard me last night, he showed no sign of it over breakfast. He seemed on edge at first and was quiet. That wasn't unusual though and there was no sign of discomfort by the time we had finished eating. For my part, I felt strangely content in unfamiliar surroundings. Our shared breakfast felt like a familiar routine established over many years rather than a temporary island surrounded by an undercurrent of emotion.

After Matt left, I took a quick shower and sat down at his desk. I read guidance on career crises, guidance on finding your ideal employer, guidance on writing a CV, and guidance on how not to write a CV. I checked the major jobs websites, made lists of possibilities and created further lists of their pros and cons. After four hours, I had identified five positions. Each had practical advantages, a realistic chance of appointing me, and no attractive features.