why are you reading this?

[valtsv]

rate my fit

[throwawaythewontons]

Perverse by nature

ao3 

(warning: nsfw, lesbian sex, slight objectification, internalized homophobia)

It’s not Richie’s fault per se. She doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Maybe it’s some part of some complex someone’s yet to name. maybe it’s the vaccines. Maybe she’s just horny. Maybe her parents didn’t love her enough as a kid.

Really, she’s always known. There is a name for it, but she’s not going to talk about that, because she doesn’t want to close any doors. It was comforting when she’d found out and slid so easily into the word it felt like a fat kid going down a waterslide. But she tells herself it’s not important enough to state out loud. Richie likes girls. It’s never been something she’s had to question or seek out, it’s just always been kind of, there. She’s always played with girls. Always wanted to be friends with them. Hold their hands. Touch their hair and put her hands around their waists.

It didn’t feel disgusting until started liking her best friend. It didn’t feel disgusting before she started looking at her boobs.

Elisabeth Kaspbrak (affectionately named Eddie) had been friends with Richie Tozier since kindergarten and for as long as Richie can remember she’s always been shorter than her. She was attracted to her, not in the same way she was attracted to Billie or Stan because they were made of the same matter. Because she simply didn’t put up with Richie’s antics, because she, herself, is someone to be put up with. Right from the first time she plopped down in the seat next to Richie and wiped the table down with hand sanitizer, Richie’s known. Though she was half her size, she was arguably twice as loud, twice as stubborn and twice now in…other regions.

(one could argue two times zero is still zero but back to the story)  

Eddie had spent that summer with her aunt, away from Derry and the other losers. She’d left two days after school ended, fiercely hugging Richie before she left. It was a getaway arranged by her mother (of course). Her excuse was that Eddie was going through a rebellious phase and that she needed to spend some time with good women of her family, being reminded of the right values again. During her getaway, Eddie had gone through an unexpected…growth spurt.

She’s still shorter than Richie. By far. But she’s filled out a lot more. A lot more. Well, they all have. Over the past years, they’ve all started wearing real bras, not the sports bras from the kids' section. Richie herself hadn’t filled out as much as she’d shed the weight of childhood, carving herself a new figure with sharp ribs and hip dips and boobs that weren’t even worth the effort of wearing a bra. Eddie however…

Christ, it wasn’t like she’d gone from zero to one hundred just like that. She’d always been a little curvier than the other losers (save for Bernadette). It just hadn’t been as noticeable before. Before the first day of Junior high, when Richie chained up her bike and Eddie came barreling towards her.

“Rich! Hey there loser!” she smiles wide and runs towards her. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail, two strands pulled out to frame her face (Richie had watched her tie her hair back enough to know how she did it. how she flipped her head back and pulled the elastic from around her wrist, smoothing the front down and then pulling two sections out from behind her ears with her pinkies). She’s wearing tennis shoes with calf-high socks, high waisted Bermuda-shorts, and a very tight, yellow polo shirt. Richie recognized that polo. It’s one of Eddie's favorites. It hadn’t been tight when she left.

Eddie barrels into her and wraps her arms around her. She’s wearing her bookbag and she’s warm like sunshine and smells so pretty. She’s pressing up against Richie and Richie can feel everything.

Warm. Soft. Big. Squishy. Boobies. Boobsboobsboobs.

Richie’s cheeks grow hot. Her entire face grows hot. She might be sweating. Something else feels hot too. She’s trying not to squeeze Eddie’s waist too tight. She wants to press her knees together. There’s a pounding in her lower stomach and it's begging her to reach down, reach out, grab.

Eddie has boobs now.  

Design within reach. Soft and firm at the same time. Perfectly grabbable and holdable. And how Richie wants to hold, even as she feels bile in her throat and a cold sensation spreading through her forehead and down her back. She’s shaking.

Eddie draws back, the hug itself only lasting a few seconds, and is telling Richie about her aunt. Richie huffs and grunts along as best as she can. She’s good with words, just not the right ones. She takes time to look Eddie over.

God. They must have grown like, three cups apiece. Or maybe one is bigger than the other? That’s normal, apparently. They stretch out her shirt like they’re trying to escape. Hey Richie! look at us! Has she even noticed? She walks like she hasn’t. talks and moves like she doesn’t even two, her poor shirt fighting for its life. It had been too small last summer. The only reason Eddie kept it was for sentimental values. Richie wishes she’d chucked it out. Is she even wearing a bra? Richie didn’t felt any bra during their hug, only the smooth expanse of her back. This was obscene.

It was downright pornographic.

Richie lifts her bookbag from her bicycle basket and feels as the cold begins to spread down her spine like poison.

This objectification, this ruff sexualization, fetishization of another girl’s body. It’s new. Of her friend. Of someone who should trust her. It’s sadistic. It’s vile. Eddie shouldn’t have to worry about her best friend ogling her like a piece of meat. Richie is no better than the old men who sit in front of the pharmacy, or the boys in the hallway who snap bras and look under skirts. She’s a sexual deviant and it’s never been more apparent, transparent or provocative.

She gratefully slips into a different classroom than Eddie. Never has history felt so relieving.

She doesn’t concentrate. The pounding between her legs had died down and she’s left with only the cold. Shame. She had always looked differently at girls. admired the soft curves of their faces and eyelashes. How they applied their Chapstick. Richie is grateful she’s not born as a man and isn’t sporting a hard-on right now. She can admire from afar. No accidental boners to squish. No telltales. Her nipples don’t even get hard unless directly stimulated, even if all the pornos are trying to convince her otherwise.

But wouldn’t it have been easier if she was a guy? Not because it would be forgiven for her to go rigid at a pair of tits, but because it would be expected of her? Perhaps everything is easier with a penis involved. Perhaps Richie is a dyke. The truth is somewhere in the pudding. Perhaps this is a fluke. A slipup on behalf of her pubescent brain. This is new and exciting, and her brain mistook it for arousal. With time it will fade away as all hyper fixations do. She might still like to hold Eddie’s hand in the movie theatre but they won’t be kissing while they do it.

For lunch, they meet up with the other girls and Bev. They all huddle together on their blue plastic benches like they always do. The table smells like cleaning supplies and library coffee. Eddie’s new boobs stretch and squish together as she talks with her hands and her thigh is brushing up against Richie. Did they get bigger too? Richie is too afraid to look. They’re sitting close like they always do, and for once Richie dreads it. well, that’s not entirely true. There’s always been a certain amount of risk in being around Eddie. she likes it like that. Pushing too close, too far. Someone catching her starring or reading the subtitles. But no one’s said anything like that. Maybe girls are allowed to be close like that.  

(perhaps it is easier, not because it is expected, but because it is forgiven)

What if they already know? What if it’s too late, too obvious and they’re just testing how far she will go. This just in: Richie Tozier really a lesbian? She is, as all high schoolers are, part of a game. A hierarchy. Many have framed it as a war, but really, it’s closer to a gameshow.

Will she start creeping on her classmates in the locker rooms. (“be careful, I think she’s a lesbian,” Drew Newman whispers behind her, she’s talking to the new girl in school. It’s 5th grade and Richie said she liked her t-shirt) will she take pictures of them in the shower? touch another student? Kiss another student? Cut her hair short like a boy and shove her giant nose in their pussies?

Richie quietly eats her sandwich. Stan is sitting across from her, carefully wiping her mouth after each of her fries, even if there’s no sauce. Next to her Billie is playing with Mikey’s hair, gently braiding and re-braiding a section as she speaks. None of them are looking at Richie.  

Is that what they look like to others? She and Eddie? two girls sitting on a bench braiding hair?

She knows no one can read her mind. Not even Stan. If they can they haven’t said anything yet, and Richie hopes they keep it that way. If you look objectively, they’re doing nothing. They’re sitting next to each other. They’re eating their lunch. Seeking occasional contact, as all primates do. But true objectivity doesn’t exist in humans, and that might be the scariest thing of them all to someone like Richie. Even the concept of objectivity is a subjective term because it’s a word and a concept, made up by humans and equipped with its own fair share of subjective weight. Humans are subjective creatures. Deeply so. Really, truly, are they just sitting next to each other?

Richie doesn’t claim to know the truth, only a version of it.

.

It’s a month later when Eddie comes over to her house. It’s been a month of Richie living in limbo, looking away and admiring from afar. She masturbates every night before going to bed now. It helps her sleep.

She wants to grab her tits. She wants to squeeze them and push them against herself. Kiss the bridge between them and press her face into them. lick them and suck at the skin around the areola. Rub her nipples. Kiss them. lick and suck them. she wants Eddie to grab onto her hair and gasp into the air. Wrap her soft thighs around Richie and ask her for more.

Richie sometimes fantasizes about what would happen, if she grabbed them at their lunch table. Or in the hallway. if she just went up to Eddie and started groping her, looking her directly in the face as she did it. what would happen?

In fantasy land, Eddie’s eyes widen and she looks up at Richie in shock. Her cheeks go red and her mouth goes silent. But she doesn’t stop her. She gasps and presses her body into Richie’s. She moans pathetically as she grabs onto her for support and her face crumbles in arousal. Her thighs push together when Richie starts playing with her nipples and kissing her neck. Others fade away in the background and Richie reaches down and hikes up Eddie’s skirt, rubbing her through her panties and she moans and fists Richie’s cardigan.

In the real world though, Richie knows. She knows that wouldn’t happen. In the real world, she wouldn’t even stand a chance. Eddie would jerk back, maybe even push her. She would be disgusted. Her eyes widen in horror as she realizes who she’s allowed close to her, who she’d been sitting next to, every lunch period for years. Who she’d shared her food with, her secrets with, her comic books and her bed with. They’d spent so much time together as kids, sleeping over at each other’s houses with the other losers. How many of those nights had Richie spent awake, staring at her? Touching her? The color returns to Eddie’s face as she shifts from disgust to rage. Hatred. The other losers at their table, the people in the hallway, now begin to whisper. Their teachers look on with pity and disappointment.

“Be careful…”

Right between the two fantasies, is where Richie comes. The first is her own creation. Her dramaturgy where she decides who plays who. Who does what. The second one is the fire that burns it all down, the second is the aftermath. The water that washes the paint off and reveals an ugly face underneath. She can’t say which is her favorite because it is one. One fantasy. one never comes without the other. It’s a euphoria that comes with high risk and Richie falls for it every time.

This must be how a cult is formed , she thinks, one night in her misery. One person gets an idea and others are looped in, promised an elation of life with no idea that there’s a shotgun pointed at their head. Is it possible to brainwash yourself?

She’s standing in her kitchen when she hears the doorbell ring. She puts down her Fanta as she goes to open the door. And of course, Eddie is outside.

“Hi Rich!” she’s wearing a white button-up cardigan and high waisted red shorts. She’s holding a blue shopping bag. Richie doesn’t recognize the shorts. But she knows the cardigan used to be Stans. It looks better on Eddie.

“hey there Spaghetti,” she leans into the doorframe, getting into character, “what brings you to my store?”  

“I wanna talk to you asshole. Also, stop calling me spaghetti, it’s annoying.” She pushes past Richie and toes off her tennis shoes. Richie lets her. She closes the front door and waits until Eddie is done.

“any particular topic?”

Eddie shakes her head. “no, just wanted to talk to you.”

Richie smiles and goes back into the kitchen, charmed by her abandoned Fanta can. Eddie follows and wrinkles her nose as Richie takes a sip.

“do you even know what’s in that stuff?”

Richie takes an extra loud sip, swishes it around in her mouth like Listerine and swallows.

“do you?”

Eddie squirms (to Richie’s amusement), “your parents are dentists. What would your dad do, huh? If he knew what a bitch you are?”

Richie burbs and blows into Eddie’s face. “applaud.”

“you’re an ass.”

Richie delivers what she calls her Hollywood-smile and stares Eddie in the face. Eddie herself is delivering an excellent battle face, jaw slightly pushed out and penciled eyebrows pushing together. She doesn’t mean it, neither of them does to the extent of their act, but it’s fun to perform their quick-paced comedy. Even if they are the only audience members. Richie, this time, is the one to put down her sword and blink.

“Seriously though, do you want a drink? There’s lemonade in the fridge.”

“I want tea,” Eddie drops the face and starts rummaging through their cupboards. Richie amuses at the routineness of Eddie’s movement.

It was not unusual for her to show up unannounced like today. Many Sunday mornings, Maggie and Wentworth could be sitting in the kitchen and enjoying their toast, and Eddie Kaspbrak would simply wander in and take a glass of juice without any of them even looking up. Most of the time though, Eddie would quickly disappear upstairs to Richie’s room. She finds everything without having to ask. It’s one of Richie’s favorite things about her. It’s proof of their friendship in the most literal way there is. through muscle memory. It’s not something obvious, but to the observant outsider, it’s undeniable. It’s a part of Eddie’s body that wasn’t there before. Because of Richie, it is.

She gathers all the things she needs in on the prickled countertop tiles next to the stove. A box of lemon-flavored teabags, a mug (adorned with the phrase “best dad ever”, a not very well-received Mother’s Day gift) and a jar of honey from the drawer below the silverware.

Richie watches her quietly from the corner, leaning on the wall next to the microwave. Taking her time to appreciate just what Stans cardigan is doing for Eddie. taking her time to be guilty about it later.

It’s times like this, with Eddie tinkering around her kitchen, that she slips into another fantasy of hers. A seldom one of her and Eddie being married. One where Eddie is her housewife, wearing a dress that Richie bought for her, a necklace that Richie bought for her, a ring Richie bought for her and standing in a kitchen in a house that Richie bought too. She’s cooking breakfast. Maybe there are kids in the background. Richie comes down from upstairs, where she’s shaved and brushed her teeth. She’s wearing a suit and holding a briefcase. Her short hair is slicked back, and Eddie fixes her tie before kissing her. Richie grabs onto her waist, squeezing her dress (it’s satin, no, maybe it’s a picnic dress, with red and white checkers, either way, it fits in all the right places) and lifting her thigh. The kiss grows deeper, Eddie’s heat is drawing her in, and Richie, in the real world takes another sip from her soda.

In this scenario, Richie is a man. It’s part of why she rarely indulges. She doesn’t want to be a man, but if she’s married to a woman, she must. it just makes sense. It can’t work any other way. In the same way that two plus two equals four. A man and a woman can get married Anything else, is not a marriage.

Eddie is not her wife. Certainly not her housewife. In real life, Richie doesn’t have a beard or a cock. She’s wearing jeans and her dad’s old Rolling Stones t-shirt, not a suit. In real life, she’s a teenage girl with a complex.

Eddie finishes her tea, puts all the supplies back (because she’s annoying and organized like that) and climbs up on the counter. her thighs are pressed together. She sways her feet and holds the mug between her hands. Richie is all but reminded of how small she is again. Her feet dangle over the floor. Richie knows if she wants to get down, she’ll have to use the nubs on their kitchen drawers to stand on if she doesn’t want her feet to hurt. Or she’ll have to ask Richie for help.

They stand in silence. Each with their respective drinks, like strangers at a bus stop.

She looks beautiful in the sunlight.

“Actually, I need a favor.”

Aha. So, no talking after all.

“I, uhm,” she’s still looking at her tea, but her hand fumbles to the blue bag next to her. It’s not until now Richie notices she’s brought it with her to the kitchen. She awkwardly hands it to Richie

“I need a place to wash this.”

Richie opens the bag and her heart skips a fucking beat.

It’s a bra. It’s Eddie’s bra. Two of them, actually. Richie can feel the slippery polyester through the bag. They’re plain. Underwire. One is grey and one is a soft pink.

“eh…”

She doesn’t know what to say. Fuck. How do you recover from something like this? Which one-liners are appropriate when your crush hands you a bag of bras? She’s blushing. This is bad.

“I’m sorry!” Eddie says, and she sounds like she really means it, “it’s just, I’ve grown a bit lately and I…my mom, you know how she is!”

“she won’t let you wash your underwear?”

“no but she…she doesn’t know I have it…”

Richie puts the bag down. This is going off the rails.

“what?”

Eddie sighs heavily. She tilts her chin upwards at the ceiling. The look of a pained soldier in her eyes. She’s frustrated, Richie can see her trying to fight it. but maybe there’s more. Something Richie knows all too well.

“I bought them myself,” she says, “my old ones don’t fit me anymore, and I was too scared to say anything to her. She hasn’t said anything yet, so I don’t know if she’s noticed. And it’s just…it’s hard to talk about this stuff to begin with! You know? But my mom? She’s…she’d freak out! she already thinks I’m hitting puberty too early even though I’m almost an adult. She says it’s because I’ve been drinking tap water, tap water Richie! Plus, my aunt is nagging me about modesty all of a sudden because she’s definitely noticed, and everyone keeps staring at me! Like, all the time! Mr. Harris? My fucking teacher? He keeps standing behind me in gym class and it’s really creeping me out. And I need to wash my fucking underwear so will you please help me?”

Richie watches her squirm. She doesn’t know what to say.

People are starring

Yeah, and Richie is one of them

But Eddie is right. Sonia Kaspbrak is a woman of a certain genre. If she knew that her little girl was anything over a b-cup, who knew how she would react. In Sonia’s narrow mind (praise who knew what was going on in there) this would read as a direct attack against herself. this would usually lead to a medicinal approach. At Eddie’s expense of course. Either way, it was awkward enough for Richie and her mother. Richie could only imagine how Eddie felt.

As for the rest of what she’d said. Richie would wallow in that later. Always later. For now, she does her best to be comforting.

“of course I’ll help you.”

Eddie sighs, “thank you.” She starts to climb down from the counter. Richie automatically puts down her drink and goes to help her. Eddie grabs her arm. She’s leaning on her. Not fully but almost. But she pauses momentarily.

“I knew you’d understand. You always do.”

Richie smiles, “what, you think I can relate?” she nods down at herself. in the white folds of her father’s oversized shirt, she looks like a boy.

Eddie licks her lips. “I don’t think it’s a matter of relating Rich.”

She says it so quietly, her brown eyes are staring up at Richie’s. her breath smells like lemons, and something secret. The inside of her mouth. Something that Richie would find gross if it wasn’t Eddie. she looks terribly open and beautiful. And Richie is, at that moment, mesmerized. She doesn’t notice Eddie slipping further down the counter and when she does, she stumbles. Richie grabs onto the first thing she finds before she realizes what’s happening.

Oh no.

Eddie’s eyes widen. Her lips part and a small gasp falls from her lips. Richie let’s go immediately. All the blood has drained from her face. She might faint. Her hand feels warm. Too warm. And the worst part is how tight her crotch is.

Soft. Warm. Smooth yet firm. And big. God, it was even better than she had imagined. Even if she only touched her for a brief second.

“sorry! I’m so sorry” Richie steps back quickly, Eddie slides the rest of the way onto the floor with a soft thud. Everything inside Richie is crumbling

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Richie it’s okay, it was an accident.”

“I’m sorry, everything you said…you just talked about how awful it is and I’m being part of the problem.”

“Richie…”

Richie plops down in a chair. it’s her moms’ seat. She stares at her hands. Her hand. She can’t look Eddie in the eye. She’s fucking up.

“I didn’t mean to…I don’t want to make it worse. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Not because of me.”

The kitchen is heavy with silence. Richie can’t look at Eddie’s face right now. She can’t read her thoughts. Her feelings. Her judgment. But she can imagine. Eddie is shocked. Scared. She’s starring at Richie and wondering what to do now. what she’ll do to overcome this. Sweep it under the rug, so she can still be friends with Richie. Because Richie knows that’s how Eddie is. she’s used to pushing small things to the side. Forgetting accidents. Forgiving those she loves. Letting herself be violated.

Or she’s wondering how she can leave. Preparing herself to walk out of Richie’s front door and never coming back. Never being alone with Richie again. because of what she might do.

Richie is not coming back from this.

“Richie…” she repeats. Silent again. the same way she spoke just a minute ago. And it makes Richie look up.

Here it comes. Here comes the rejection. I think I should leave. Be careful…

Instead, Eddie steps closer. She holds her hands at her side. But now she gently grabs Richie’s hand and lifts it for her. She leads it up to her chest. presses it against her breast. Richie swallows. Her mouth tastes like sour Fanta. She barely dares to breathe; incase it scares Eddie. or maybe it scares herself.

Yet, Eddie compels her. as always.

“Eddie...”

She grabs onto Eddie. before she can change her mind. Her fingertips press into the fleshy body below her hand. It’s warm. Even through her clothes, she’s warm. Eddie’s lips part.

“I…I don’t mind it…” she whispers, “I don’t mind it when it’s you.”

Richie’s hands spring alive, she grabs onto Eddie firmly, bringing her left hand up to join. She grabs her boobs. One firmly in each hand, and squeezes. Hard. Feels their roundness, their firmness. Feels them press against Eddie’s cardigan. It’s too small. What is it with Eddie and wearing shirts that are too small?

Eddie lets out a chocked sound, too close to a moan, and Richie can’t take it anymore. Eddie’s legs are bending before Richie grabs her, but she pulls her down the rest of the way by her hips. She lands on Richie’s lap. Richie spreads her knees, so Eddie’s thighs are forced to follow. she’s heavy and hot. Pressing against Richie in all the right places. Her thighs, her ass, and her tummy are soft and warm too. Deliciously fleshy. Everything about her is so soft. She smells like peaches. Eddie grabs her cheek and presses their mouths together.

Richie might’ve fainted along the way. Maybe hours ago. She’s dreaming. She’s sleeping in her bed upstairs. Her head is spinning between Eddie’s hands. Her mouth feels exactly how she imagined, yet somehow, everything else. She’s real. That’s the main difference. She’s real. And Richie can touch her and kiss her as much as she wants. She can hold her here if she wants to. there are only two people in the world, as far as she knows.

Eddie is gasping into her mouth. Her hips are moving in soft circles as Richie fondles her ass. She’s looking for something. She might not even realize she’s doing it. Richie pushes her own hips up in return. Pushing them together. And as she does, she starts to undo Eddie’s cardigan. The small buttons slip out easily, and really, it’s a miracle they’ve been holding on so long. She breaks their kiss out into intermit pecking to watch soft skin appear bit by bit. Inch by inch, until the soft curve of her cleavage, is in full view. She’s even prettier up close. The bra underneath is black, but Richie does quick work of unclasping it. it falls around Eddie’s waist, caught in her cardigan. Eddie untucks it and Richie throws the bra onto the floor. The infamous blue bag is sitting somewhere on the floor too, and Richie trust they end up together. She, however, is occupied by Eddie.

She’s gorgeous. Her boobs are not as perky without her bra. They’re big and directly in Richie’s face, her nipples hardening in the cold. They’re directly in Richie’s face, and Richie’s mouth tingles. She leans forwards, wasting no time as she sucks on her right nipple.  

Eddie lets out a gasp above her, then she moans. Long and desperate, like she can’t stop it. Richie lets out a sound of her own, a sound she doesn’t recognize and presses Eddie impossibly closer. Her crotch is painfully tight, and she rubs up against Eddie in ecstasy.

“R-Richie~”

She’s grabbing onto Richie and Richie is grabbing back. She’s touching everything. Feeling, fondling, tracing, rubbing, pinching, sucking. There’s so much of her. So much to feel. To sense. To take in. she kisses the space between her breasts and her collarbones. Presses her lips against her chest and pulls her tits against her face. Engulfs in her heat. Kneads her right boob as she sucks on the other. An unending hunger pushes her further. Makes her sink deeper. Bite. Somewhere along the way, Eddie’s pants are unbuttoned.

“ah!...h-Rich..”

“Eddie.”

Eddie, again, takes her hand and guides her. This time downwards.

“touch me.”

Her zipper slides down further. dark red fabric parts to reveal olive skin, clean and untouched by the sun. paler than the rest of her. When Richie touches her there, her stomach flutters. She traces the rim of her faded yellow panties one time and dives in.

She’s hotter here than anywhere else on her body.

She’s not clean-shaven, but almost. The hairs are short and even. Neatly kept out of the way. Surprisingly in character. Richie feels all around the fleshy rim of her pussy, investigating. She’s never touched another girl before. But she knows the layout from herself. above her, Eddie has gone quiet. She leans back to look.

She’s holding her breath. Her eyes are closed and she’s biting the inside of her lip. Her nails are digging into Richie’s arm. She’s shaking. Richie watches her. This time she doesn’t look away. Stares at her. Savors her face. Every little wrinkle and curve. She presses her finger against Eddie’s clit. The dampness of her folds almost touches her hand.

“do you like it?”

“yes,” Eddies expression breaks into a gasp, “it feels…h…it feels really good…ah!”

Richie watches her. She watches her and keeps watching her as she rubs Eddie’s clit in rough circles. She’s warm and wet. Overwhelmingly so. Richie dives her fingers in between her folds to feel just how soaked she is. It’s bleeding onto the insides of her thighs, dampening the edges of her panties. Richie briefly pushes her folds apart to feel the edge of her hole. Then she decides against it and goes back to her clit.

“oh~Richie!”

She switches position, this time using two fingers to slide in on either side of Eddie’s clit and pushing them together. She alternates the pressure between the two until she’s rolling Eddie between her fingers. This way, she can go much faster. Eddie starts moving her hips with little rocks. Faster and faster. Her thighs were squeezing Richie’s, knees digging into her sides.

“Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie, Richie!”

She's pressed completely into Richie. her tits collide with Richie’s sweaty collarbones, her hair is in Richie’s face. Richie gladly buried herself in her. If there was any grave better than Eddie Kaspbrak…

Eddie

Eddie goes quite. She’s not breathing. Then comes with a shout, clutching onto Richie like a dying man. Her moans take shapes of sharp hysterical breaths. Soft liquid coats Richie’s hand that she later wipes off in her jean leg.

Gross.

Eddie would scold her about it that later

They sit in her mother’s kitchen chair for a few more moments with the sun hitting the back of Eddie’s hair. she’s worn it down today. She rarely does, save for Saturdays. But today is a Saturday. So Richie runs her hand through it. she’s breathing heavily on Richie’s neck and Richie thinks she might’ve fallen asleep.

“are you okay?”

Eddie isn’t asleep. She giggles. It’s a surprisingly adult sound. And Richie is hit with the passing of time again. She and Eddie are almost adults. Most would refer to them as young instead of children now. The sunlight makes it worse. Her hand is warm and tingles a bit. But that part might be her imagination.  

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“I’m still sorry about accidentally touching your boob by the way.”

“you’ve never been one to shy away from grabbing the bull by the horns.”

“grabbing the hottie by the hooters.”

Eddie sits back a little. Her shirt is still open. So are her shorts. she rolls her eyes. Richie leans in until their noses are touching.

“I’m not sorry about grabbing your boobs on purpose though,” She says, “and I hope to get to grab them again in the future.”

Eddie smiles. Her mouth stays closed. It’s a small and secret smile, with little wrinkles at the side. It might be a little embarrassed. But it’s full of what Richie hopes is love.

“I’m glad.”

They kiss a little bit until they hear a car door slam. Richie’s dad is returning from his tennis lessons, and Eddie quickly buttons up her shirt. They both stand up at Richie picks up the bra from the floor and stuff is into the blue cloth bag. Her dad enters the kitchen just as she closes it.

“hey-oh hi Eddie.”

“Hey Mr. Tozier,” Eddie smiles politely, and Richie grabs her hand.

“I think we’re gonna go upstairs dad,” she says and pulls Eddie out of the kitchen and towards the stairs. Her dad raises his eyebrows but doesn’t protest.

“Okay, you girls have fun…wait, Eddie, don’t you want your tea?”

“no thanks Mr. Tozier it’s cold by now!”

They close the door to Richie’s room behind them.