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How Good Girls Get Laid

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How did good girls get laid, anyway?

She wondered what it was that Oz had seen in her. And now, he was out in the great big not-Sunnydale and she was suddenly convinced that no one would ever see her again. Especially sans jammies.

Her face was tired from trying to exert some anti-mope, and there was a spot on her cheek where Xander had given her that too-gentle fake punch to buck her up so often she was sure her skin was shinier on that side, polished by Xander's well-meaning knuckles.

Still, there was homework. But she fumbled the pencil, and someone leaned down to pick it up. Willow could feel her hair sort of wrangle around with the other person's as their heads brushed on the way up. A little tangle/tingle feeling, and she blinked and recognized the girl from the Wicca meeting.


"Oh, it's no problem."

"You're… Tara, right?"

"R-right. Tara is me."

She stood up so slowly, Willow half expected her to just keep going until she floated just above the floor.

"I really like your sweater." And she did, it was soft and modest, yet kinda clingy, a deep burgundy with a v-neck. "It's pretty." Tara dimpled and dipped her head. And really, Willow had meant, you're pretty. She felt almost cozy here in the hard plastic chair and the prison-esque florescent cafeteria lighting. There was something so relaxing about this girl. Maybe because she was soft all over. Soft clothes, soft eyes, soft swingy hair, soft breasts bouncing a little as Tara rocked on her toes.


Okay. I'm… checking her out. I'm clearly only moments away from saying, "Hey, nice rack," Willow thought nervously. But as racks went, this one was pretty nice. And so was the girl. This girl was like, nice to the tenth power. Willow could feel it. Instantly, she regretted objectifying this girl: first as comfy furniture, then as an armful of hot Wicca chickflesh. Willow wondered if it was too soon in their new friendship for a good-bye hug when Tara went on her way. Then Willow wondered if abstinence after a year of wild semi-wolfy sex caused brain damage.

Willow shook her head and dropped her pencil again.

She wasn't exactly a ballerina, but there was a slow grace to Tara's body as she crouched down to pick the pencil up a second time, tucking it gently into Willow's suddenly-cold hand.

"Maybe you could get one of those, um, pens on a string," Tara suggested. And then she smiled a little, looking up into Willow's eyes a long moment before biting her lower lip and shaking her hair.

"I'm keeping you. You should definitely be studying. So. I'll just--"

"Oh, actually, wait. I mean. Can you wait? I was going to drop these off at the dorm. You could come with! We could make with the girl talk and enjoy some tasty irradiated popcorn."

Tara nodded, smiling.

Maybe… good girls got laid by nice girls.