Peer Review, Session One, Recording One
At some point, I may write a prologue for this story.
Samantha took a long last drag from what was a menthol 100 cigarette. She kept her eyes closed until the smoke in her lungs demanded to be excised. Reluctantly, she blew the bluish smoke into the path of the single light source of the room, before extinguishing it in an overfilled ashtray. Her eyes slowly opened, showing the light blue of her irises. The pale of her face was in stark contrast to the dark and unnatural pink of her hair. Her small shoulders were bare, but for the straps of a black tee shirt that covered down to her belly button, but failed to mask a piercing there. Her hips were home to a pair of black hot pants whose waistline was low enough to reveal her lack of any undergarment. Long legs extended from her hips, leading to knees pressed against her chest, and bare feet perched on the edge of her chair. "Let's get this over with"
"These interviews are voluntary; my notes said you signed up for them." The interviewer never came into the light, and never told Samantha her name, both at the request of the girl.
"Yeah, no. My girlfriend signed us up for this. Something about fighting the good fight for gay and lesbian teen rights, or some such thing. I told her it's just a study but whatever." Samantha dug through her purse momentarily, and pulled out another cigarette, lighting it before the interviewer could object.
"Those are bad for you, you know."
"You sound like my mom. I thought you had some questions you wanted to ask." She leaned further back into her chair, slowly drawing from the oddly phallic shaped object of her addiction. She really was smoking too much lately.
"I do. May I record the interview? It makes it easier to keep things moving."
Sam rolled her eyes, not that the interviewer could see. The only light of any real concern was coming from a window behind Sam. The woman could only see her in silhouette. "Fine, whatever."
For a moment all Sam could hear was the sound of the interviewer rifling through her purse to find a digital recorder, then the small thump of the device being placed on the table. A new light source appeared, the device's red 'recording' light. "Study titled 'Teenage Same-Sex Relationships and practices, A Peer Review Study ', Interview beginning, session one, May seventh, two-thousand-ten, eight-twenty-two PM. Subject has requested anonymity, and will be referred to as Jane Doe Two. Jane is Caucasian, middle income, fourteen years old."
A moment of silence passed before Sam spoke, in a somewhat annoyed tone "Have you done this before? I mean, shouldn't you be asking questions now?"
The woman clears her throat some "Of course. You mentioned your girlfriend before the interview began. When did you and she become an item? When did you get intimate with her?"
"Those are two different questions, lady."
"I don't see what you mean..."
"We started going together like, late last semester. But we were fucking long before that." Sam coughed a little. "We started that before summer recess."
"Who started it? Who made the first move?"
"Shit, um. A bottle of Southern Comfort made the first move." She laughed a little to herself.
"Can you explain that?" The interviewer took on the professionally detached, yet curious tone she set out to take, though she wished she had taken it from the beginning.
"We were playing spin the bottle in her basement with her older sister and her sister's friends." Sam bluntly responded to the question. She had no real desire to spend a lot of time with this woman, but she just knew that short, nondescript answers weren't going to cut it for long.
"Please, Jane. Tell me more about that party."
Sam sighed softly. She really didn't want to come off with an attitude, at least with that sigh in particular. "It wasn't really a party. I was over at her house working on something for school, God knows what. Her parents left for the night and weren't going to be back till really late. They left her big sister in charge. We didn't finish the project until passed dinner time. My girlfriend... she wasn't my girlfriend at the time... went down stairs to look for her sister, and then yelled for me to join her. Her sister picked the liquor cabinet lock, and swiped Jagermeister and a green drink...what the hell was it called?" She searched her memory as if trying to remember some small detail of life several decades ago, not a significant detail from only a few months ago. "Absinthe, that's what it was."
The interviewer interrupted "I thought you said a bottle of southern comfort was what you had."
"Huh? Oh. No. Her sister had already drunk that, probably a night or two before." Sam took a brief break in her narration to adjust her seating position, sliding one ankle under her knee, while letting the other leg dangle off the chair. She ashed her cigarette, and continued her story. "Her sister started pouring us shots. Two or three in, we started to play the game. It started innocently enough, but as we got more drunk the dares became more, um, sexy. And there were no truths by that point anyways. We were so drunk that we couldn't remember our names." She let out a little bit of a laugh, which sent another puff of smoke into the dim light. "First it was dares to kiss, then touch, then lick. It eventually turned into kind of an orgy."
"And this was your first sexual experience?"
"What? God no. It's twenty-ten, lady. I can't remember ever having my virginity." She followed that statement with another cough, a smoker's hack, really. But even that was made to sound cute coming from her.
"Was this your first lesbian experience, then?" The interviewer had a slight tinge of confusion and curiosity in her intonation.
"No. No. I have had sex with girls and woman since I was..." Sam stopped to think about it for a moment "Seven? No Six. I've had sex with boys and men since I was about two, so I'm told."
The interviewer had a momentary lapse in concentration and lost her detached, scientific calm. A note of concern rang in her voice "Oh my, so young? I'm so sorry..."
"Don't be. I'm not. I like sex, and I like having it with a lot of different people. I like giving them pleasure. Do you really think I would be so comfortable with what I like if they never exposed me to it early?" To Sam, that logic was ineffable.
"You might not have that attitude towards sex if you weren't..." She stopped and considered her words carefully. "...If you were raised in a more traditional manor." The interviewer was proud of herself a little for pulling that off. She finds the idea that this girl, 'Jane', was raped at such a young age, appalling, and she was baffled as to why the girl wasn't outraged at the mistreatment she had endured.
Sam thought nothing of it. She loved it. "If that's true, then I wouldn't be the person I am now. I like who I am. Hell, the only memories I have of Dad are of him making love to me. I wouldn't trade those for anything." She paused and took another long drag, and puts out the second cigarette. She reached down into a cooler and pulled out a soda, cracked the seal and sipped from it. After a moment of silence from the interviewer, Sam spoke up again. "Do you have more questions?"
"Yes, of course." She struggled to regain her composure, and after a second, succeeded. "Tell me about your parents. You said that you only have a few memories of your father. Is he not in your life now?"
"No. He's not. Mom came out when I was like five, and divorced him. He sent child support, but never came to visit. Mom said he never attempted to, but I don't entirely buy that. He died a few years back. I found out surfing the internet. Mom knew but never told me. She didn't want me to have any contact with him, I guess." She took a gulp of soda, and set the can down on the table.
"Are you drinking beer?" The interviewer got up from her chair and started to head to the wall to hit the light switch, but was stopped by Sam.
"No! Don't turn on the light. It's not beer, see?" She held the can up in path of the dim light source. The woman inspected the can from afar, and returned to her seat. "Geez."
"I apologize. Please continue. You were talking about your mother and father." Her tone was sincere.
"Just... Don't do that again." Sam sighed heavily. "Dad... Like I said, I only remember making love with him a few times. Mom, well, my mother, she is kind of a control freak, especially since she got remarried."
"What is your relationship like with your stepfather?"
"Huh?" Sam was confused by the question.
"Your mother got remarried. Her husband is your stepfather. How does he treat you?" The woman clarified. It seemed odd to her that the question could be anything but clear, but as she was discovering, her preconceptions of these interviews were far off.
"Oh. Oh no. I don't have a stepfather. I have a stepmother. She's great; nice, submissive except to my brother and sisters."
"How is she with you?"
"She is... um... part of the reason she married Mom is because of me. Mom and I met her a while ago, and we made love. She is my lover as much as she is my mother's." Sam sipped her soda again, and noticed another pause and a palpable discomfort in her interviewer. "These interviews, they were supposed to be about teen lesbian sex..."
"...Teen same-sex relationships and sexual practices..." The interviewer corrects Sam.
"Yeah, that. Do you want me to go into more detail about sex with my family?" Sam asked earnestly. She was not trying to sass the woman, and her tone was inquisitive.
"Well, the ...uh... study is only about teen relations..." The woman protested, in vein.
"But my story has sparked your interest, hasn't it? If you want me to tell you what sex was like for me at seven with my mother and her wife, or with my little sisters and stepbrother, you can ask that too. I may not want to be here, but I did promise to answer all your questions, and it's not like I'm ashamed of my life." Sam had to make a similar proclamation to her girlfriend not too long ago during their first sleep over at her house.
"I don't suppose that it's too far out of the scope of the study to be irrelevant." She considered what this has evolved into for a moment. "I believe that we would benefit from a short recess, if that is OK with you?"
"It's fine." Sam took her pack of cigarettes from the table, and offered one to the interviewer while she stopped the recorder. "Want one?"
The woman hesitated for a moment, but took one, and lit it with a lighter she had with her. "How do you get these? From the Internet?"
"Naw. The gas station on the Indian reservation doesn't card, and they just don't care about 'white man's law', to hear Tommy say it. I honestly think he wants me to blow him or something. It is probably why he sells them to me." She chuckled to herself a bit. "He should just ask if that's what he wants."
For a few seconds the room became much brighter than it was. Sam deducted that a car was pulling into the parking spot in front of the motel room, and she was correct. She was not worried about being identified by the woman; she wisely took a seat with her back to the window, and was invisible to her interviewer.
For the fleeting seconds that the headlights were on, she could get a good look at the woman interviewing her. She was not as old as she had thought, perhaps twenty-five at the oldest. A college student, she figured. The woman's hair was blonde, and reflected the light quite readily. Her face was harder to make out. The woman's body was trim, and she liked to show it off, in Sam's estimation, judging by the rather form fitting business-casual blouse she was wearing. What Sam wasn't expecting, but wasn't shocked by, was the placement of the woman's hand.
The interviewer had apparently taken a liking to the narrative of Sam's life, because she had hiked up her skirt and was casually rubbing her lips through her panties. White panties, that showed exactly how wet the woman was, Sam noted to herself. The woman's gaze was locked at some nondescript point on the ceiling as she smoked, and did not notice Sam's inspection of her, nor was she concerned with the fact that, for a few seconds, she was entirely visible. Sam smiled to herself as the darkness returned.
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