Another Kind of Love by Paula Christian Page A

Laura had to laugh. “Why?” The more Ginny talked, the more Laura became convinced that Ginny was getting tight. But talking to her now was almost like talking to herself—to all the things that had flashed through her mind before, taunting her but not staying long enough for her to fully grasp at them.
    â€œBecause you won’t admit you want to kiss me. That’s why.”
    Laura’s face grew hot. She wanted to deny it. But she couldn’t.
    â€œWell?” Ginny’s eyes probed hers. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Laura answered miserably. “Maybe it is. I don’t know.”
    â€œBut I know, Laura.” Ginny’s voice was a tense whisper. “I know because it’s the way I feel about you. I want you!” Her eyes filled with tears; she turned away. Laura stared helplessly at the girl’s rigid back.
    â€œAre you crying, Ginny?”
    The girl shook her head, but Laura knew that she was. A stab of resentment ripped through her. She hated being trapped in emotional situations; the scene in Tijuana had been enough of a shock for one day. But as quickly as the feeling came, it dissipated, routed by Laura’s natural compassion—and the excitement that Ginny’s admission had aroused.
    She put a consoling arm around Ginny’s shoulder. Somehow the mere contact of the girl’s body unleashed something, and all the plaguing doubts flew from Laura. All she knew now was what she felt, could feel . . . Laura turned the girl to face her. Her voice didn’t seem her own. “I’m glad. I think . . . I think I feel the same way about you.”
    Ginny didn’t stir, seemed almost not to breathe.
    Very slowly, Laura leaned forward and hesitantly kissed Ginny on the lips.
    She felt Ginny’s body tighten, but her lips were soft and warm . . . and waiting. Then Ginny’s lips parted, and her arms rose up and encircled Laura’s neck, pulling her slowly, so slowly closer. All other thoughts were blotted out.
    It was so unbelievably sweet—the faint aroma of sun and soap on Ginny’s smooth face, the down-soft lips that now parted more so that their tongues touched . . . at first strangely, exploring, then completely, familiar.
    It was delicious to Laura. No rough beard scratching her face, no large hands asserting their masculinity, no feeling of being cornered into an affair—just a soft kiss with small, gentle hands and smooth arms caressing her . . .
    Laura was lost in the ease and tenderness of this moment. No other thought but now, no other sensation than that of total surrender to Ginny’s touch . . .
    Effortlessly their lips separated, but Laura didn’t move away, nor did Ginny. Their faces so close that Laura could feel Ginny’s breath, she raised her hand to Ginny’s flushed cheek, enjoying the very contact with her, the feeling of possession of the very bones beneath her young face.
    Ginny smiled and, turning her face into Laura’s hand, kissed her palm. She leaned back on the couch, pulling Laura over her. Her eyes were dark, challenging, probing, suggestive.
    Ginny’s hands reached up to Laura’s throat, stroking, caressing, and traced down smoothly to her breasts. It was so strange to Laura—exciting, intense, yet oddly gentle. It didn’t seem as if they were “making love” in any way Laura had known before. It wasn’t lust competing with frenzy.
    The last thing Laura remembered was that every inch of her body seemed to leap, struggle, surge to meet with Ginny’s.
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    Laura lay quietly on her side, staring at the sunlight on Ginny’s hair as she slept in Laura’s arms. She had been awake for almost an hour, just watching Ginny, incredibly content just to have her sweet body next to hers.
    She wanted to wake Ginny and share her pleasure with her, share this first delicious morning together. If anyone had told