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Betty is even more wild and unpredictable than you are. You never thought that possible over a year ago when you were getting expelled from school for setting a bonfire on the playground and strutting around in short skirts and low cut shirts. Then, in a boarding school wherein you were required to wear uniforms which contained actually consisted of short skirts, you met her. She’d waltzed into your first period class like a hurricane a year ago and hasn’t left since.

Forever she’s been talking about busting out, possibly never looking back. She knew someone who would lend you a car; you don’t ask for the details. You had no plans, no ideas. She must have gone home because there was a bunch of clothes thrown in the back of the car. She pops into the front seat and your heart begins to swell at the sight of her face. The past year has been filled with laughs, rebellion, and quite frankly sexual tension. You’re sure she’s felt it too but you also know she’s out with a different guy every week.

At the convenience mart at the gas station you use your sexuality to get free shit. You’ve gotten used to men doing anything at just a purse of red lips and a suggestive gleam in your eye. In the photo booth, Betty wants to give him a thrill. You agree and you can’t take your eyes off her breasts when she changes her shirt. She catches your gaze and smiles softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek.

You find a bar that’s having an amateur night and tell her why not – be a good way to get some money anyway. You book a cheap motel room and wade through the mix of clothes she’d gathered up.

“Suit and hat?” you question, raising an eyebrow at her.

She smirks from where she’s applying eyeliner. “May have raided my sister’s closet too. She was some noir detective for Halloween one year.”

You look at the clothing, considering, and then start to put it on.

You watch her changing in the mirror while you apply your lipstick. She’s gorgeous and she knows it. When she comes out of the bathroom, she looks like a 1970’s Vegas showgirl. At the bar you play the role of the man, loving the way the suit feels against your skin, the power and courage it seems to provide. She looks at you with stars in her eyes. You feel like someone else when she crawls forward and touches your cheek. You lean into it, smiling at her like she’s the greatest thing since sliced bread as she laps up the attention. Her eyes are always soft around you though, affectionate, like it’s reserved only for you.

She wins of course and you throw the money around you in the motel room, laughing and bouncing. You still have the suit on and she walks up to you, eyes shining, hands on your lapels, one fingertip tracing the length of your tie. “Did your girl do good?”

You tip the hat back a little and look up at her, breath catching in your throat. “Yeah, she did.” You slide a fingertip down her cheek, pausing at the corner of her mouth. She tilts her head and catches it between her teeth while her hands slide down your chest, groping above the jacket.

“You should show me how proud you are of me, baby,” she says around your fingertip, every swirl of her tongue turning your insides to jelly. You move your hand away and clear your throat, leaning upwards to press your lips softly to hers. They’re as soft as you anticipated and taste like candy. You trace the curve of her lips with your mouth, learning the feel and texture until she takes over, parting your lips with her tongue and slipping both hands beneath your jacket and dress shirt to your bra, cupping your breasts and squeezing.

You gasp and push her toward the bed as your tongues dance playfully. She throws your hat off, laughing as you sit up on your knees, starting to strip, slowly, making a show of loosening your tie as she does the same. Before long you’re tossing around pillows and tackling one another to the bed like you’ve done a hundred times in the dorms. Except this time when her body lands on top of you, you pull her down into a kiss. You learn her body slowly; the dip of her clavicle, the swell of her breasts, the way she gasps when you tug her nipples into your mouth.

Your laughter dissolves as you start to make love, touching and licking; taking one another apart with fingers and tongues.

“Marlene,” she gasps as she comes, undone from your mouth. You slide back up her body and kiss her as you quiver. “I love you,” you moan as she fingers you to completing. “I love you.”

“You too,” she whispers around your lips. “So hard.”

You giggle and sigh and wrap your arms around each other, falling asleep in a tangle of naked limbs and not waking up until noon the next day.

Your heart sinks a little when she wants to pick up the farmer. You thought maybe this would be the start of the two of you now, for real. You make a good show of it, though. It’s what you’re used to. However, she doesn’t kiss him, doesn’t ask for his number and you consider it a victory.

When you see the hitchhiker, your body tenses. She just tells you to drive on, her hand firm on your knee. You smile, take her hand in yours, and do just that.