My First Girl-Crush

We met in the car park. We’d seen each other at interschool events but we’d never spoken before. I remember how surprised I was, that first evening, at why the teachers had put us together. I was a prim, haughty, Scots-Asian theatre student; Tia was a shy but cheery, down-to-earth sportsgirl who had recently moved to Scotland from southern England. We had nothing in common.

It was a school trip to Paris. Ostensibly, it was for our drama class to watch a performance at the Moulin Rouge, but to make it cost effective the trip was opened up to all students across three neighbouring schools. To encourage interschool relations, hotel rooms would be shared by two or three students from different schools. To the disappointment of some of the students, there were no mixed rooms; girls would share with girls, and boys with boys.

Our hotel room was small. There were two single beds, a dressing table, and an alcove for hanging up our clothes. Conversely, the bathroom was huge, almost the same size as the bedroom. After dinner there was an obligatory team-building session for all students in one of the function rooms. There was a quiz and a build-the-Eifel-Tower-out-of-paper-without-scissors-or-sellotape challenge. Everyone was relieved when we were released back to our rooms. We were tired, that first night. It had been a long day. Tia and I took it in turns to shower, wished one other a good night’s sleep, then switched off the lights and tucked ourselves up in our beds. The mattress was old and lumpy and the bedsprings made a sort of glink noise every time I moved.

I don’t remember if it was the unfamiliar bed, or whether I wasn’t as tired as I had thought I was, but I found it difficult to get to sleep that first night. After an hour, I was still awake so I got up. Glink, went the bedsprings. I tiptoed into the bathroom and took a long drink of water from the tap. I carefully got back into bed, trying to avoid the noisy bedsprings. I tossed and turned for a bit. Finally I started to doze off.

I’m not sure whether it was the glink of Tia’s bed or her heavy breathing that woke me. It was still dark and I couldn’t see anything. I led there, holding my breath, listening. Maybe I imagined it. I let my breath out, turned over, made myself comfortable. Then, after a long moment, Tia’s bed glinked again. There was the soft rustling of her bedsheets. Another glink. And breathing, getting heavier. I was about to ask Tia if she was alright. If she was having difficulty sleeping, I thought, perhaps we could get up and make a cup of tea and chat, or read, or something. But then I heard a sort of wet, sucking noise, and a drawn-out breath. And gr-glink, gr-glink, gr-glink, as Tia rocked very softly in her bed.

A couple of years before, my schoolfriends had told me about masturbation, how amazing and mind-blowing it was. I’d tried touching myself. I must have been about thirteen at the time. I’d pushed a finger inside myself, then stroked the little butterfly wings of my inner labia, and finally tapped delicately at the tiny hooded nub where my lips met. It had made me feel warm – and yes, I considered, it felt nice – but not mind-blowing as my friends had promised. Mostly, it just made me feel like I needed to pee. And that had been it. Touching myself for thirty seconds had yielded no worthwhile result so I hadn’t tried it again.

Despite my inexperience, I knew that Tia was masturbating. The glink of her bedsprings was getting quicker. Her breathing was getting heavier. The wet noise was getting wetter. In the dark, I could just make out that she was led on her side, with her back to me. The sheets were pushed down the bed and her long nightshirt was pulled up around her waist. I wished she was facing me, so I could see her touching herself. I pictured her the way she had been earlier, after she’d showered, her dark-blonde hair curling in wet ringlets around her pale face. I felt a warmth between my legs and I wanted more than anything to touch myself, but I didn’t dare move.

Tia suddenly stopped moving and gave a little yelp noise like she’d stubbed her toe. Then the sound of little wet, huffing noises, like she was trying to catch her breath. Then silence. Eventually, she got up and tiptoed to the bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom door was closed, I reached down and slid my forefinger between my labia. The thought of Tia touching herself made me want to touch myself… but I knew I needed time and privacy to experiment, to explore myself properly.

The bathroom door opened and Tia crept out quietly. I kept my eyes tightly closed. There was a glink of springs as Tia climbed into her bed. A long silence. And then, softly, Tia said, “I know you’re awake.”

I try not to regret anything. I’m happy with my life. But sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I’d replied to Tia. Would we have spoken about what she’d been doing? Would she have told me how she masturbated? Perhaps even shown me? Or would she have helped me to masturbate, touched me in the places she liked to touch herself?

All I know is that I kept quiet, kept my eyes tightly closed, not daring to move a muscle. My finger was still pressed between my lips, unmoving. Eventually, when it must have become obvious that she wasn’t going to get a response from me, Tia turned over. Soon after, there came the sound of her gentle snoring.