Touch Of My Hand
It all started with a game of truth or dare. Dawn chose "truth" and what she ended up with was a dare of sorts. The question, uttered by a girl she doesn't know well enough to be telling certain things to, was blunt "Have you ever had an orgasm?" And Dawn stuttered out a "No." as her face turned scarlet under the scrutiny of six Italian girls. "Umm...should I have? I mean, I'm a virgin."
And they had laughed. And they had explained. And now here she is.
Her room in the apartment she and Buffy share has a lock on the door. She makes sure to use it, and turns on the radio just loud enough. Just in case. So now here she is, sans clothes, on her bed, and she starts with an unsure hand, trailing down between her breasts. It's a light touch, and in combination with the cool air of the room, it makes her nipples go hard, a sensation she's felt before but never because she was exactly trying for it. She closes her eyes, and lets her hand move over to one of the swells of white skin, fingertips brushing and sending a small shiver through her. Her other hand is rubbing circles on her belly, and she hadn't even realized. Her fingernails scrape over her skin lightly, and the muscles twitch a little under her own touch.
The music on the radio is a violin, and Dawn lets the music set a tempo. The hand on her belly goes lower and she touches the soft curls between her legs. "It's simple," one of the girls, Lena or Magdalena or Magda or something, told her. "Just...you know...touch. Try different things." And so she does, spreading her legs and dipping her fingers lower. At first there's nothing happening as she lets her hand move in time to the music. She's feeling new things under her fingers. Softness, wetness, warmth. She's still not feeling anything different. But then, her index finger hits something, and she jumps. She touches it again and bites her lip to hold back a sound of surprised pleasure. After a few moments, she's starting to understand, and her fingers start to work slowly over the nub. Every stroke of her fingers sends a little earthquake through her. As she allows her fingers to move more quickly, there's a thin sheen of sweat forming on her forehead. Her lip hurts where her teeth dig into it. Her mind is reeling with things she has always thought but never while she was doing this because she's never done this before. But it's all starting to make a perfect sense to her. As her very own fingers make her body react and ache, Dawn can close her eyes and almost pretend it's someone else. Almost- -and that's enough.
The tempo of the music is drowned out, all of her concentration on that single spot in her body, and the speed of her hand leaves the beat of the song behind. She is strangely oblivious, completely unaware of the room around her as she tries in vain to finish it...She's not even sure what she's supposed to feel. But it seems like this just isn't enough, it's like moving towards something and never quite reaching it. She's frantic with the need to reach that something.
Dawn reaches up with her free hand, unconsciously grabbing a hand full of hair at the root and gripping and tugging it as her hips move on their own to match her hand. There are sparks behind her eyes as they slam shut and her body just...floats and shakes and explodes. And as she comes down, splayed out and draped over her bed with its yellow comforter and white quilt folded at the foot, in her room with the Evanescence poster and Molly Ringwald DVD collection, Dawn laughs on a breath, untangling her fingers from her hair.