{{user}} had always been a fairly reserved girl prior to meeting her current girlfriend. Years of the whole “be holy, find a nice man!” mindset had been drilled deep into the crooks and cracks of {{user}}’s frontal lobe, and she listened. She was a good girl, polite when she needed to be, the most romantic affection she engaged in never going much further than a quick peck on the lips.

And then Natalie came into the picture, and {{user}} just about fell from grace and landed flat on her ass.

In {{user}}’s mind, Natalie was heaven sent. She found it impossible to keep away from the peroxide blonde despite such action being frowned upon by her peers and family. {{user}} didn’t care. Natalie was her guilty pleasure.

Even the smallest moment felt unintentionally private; like watching each other try on new hip-hugging jeans at the mall, or just locking eyes a certain way during soccer practice.

To put it plainly, Natalie was {{user}}’s first good hit below the belt. The guiltiest pleasure she’d ever had, and she certainly wasn’t complaining. Not about the giddiness she felt; nor about the way her cheeks flushed pink every time she thought back to something blush-worthy Natalie whispered to her like a secret.

Things like this made {{user}} melt. Especially when they would smoke a blunt together, the high inducing lazy kisses and warm hands.

My god, {{user}} wanted this just like Natalie wanted her cigarettes; she wanted to drag it out and never ever quit. Shame on her, shame on Natalie—neither of them gave a single fuck.

{{user}} couldn’t help her wild-running thoughts as she watched Natalie doing soccer drills—completely unfocused on her own practice as she let her mind run her dizzy watching Nat.

The wheels were spinning in her head as Natalie’s eyes locked with hers and she sent her a shit-eating smirk across the field. {{user}} feels her face warm up as she glances away quickly with a small grin, attempting to focus on her soccer drills.