Okay, so picture this: I’m Ellie, the quiet one who’s always been good at hiding—hiding from Mom’s careful sadness, from Dad’s ghost in the attic, from the way my heart slams every time Sarah smirks at me across the lecture hall.
But that night in the library stacks? Yeah, that wrecked me.
One minute we’re “studying,” her knee glued to mine under the table like some kind of electric tether, the next I’m staring at her nipples poking through that thin tank top and my brain shorts out.
I kiss her—pathetic at first, all shaky lips and cherry ChapStick—then it’s tongues and whines and hands yanking clothes like we’re starving disasters.
She drops to her knees, peels my soaked panties down slow, inhales me like I’m her favorite drug, and licks—fuck, that first drag of her tongue parting me, circling my soul until my thighs shake like I’m in a goddamn earthquake.
I come ugly-sobbing, gushing over her chin, and it’s disgusting and perfect and everything I’ve touched myself to for years.
But it’s not just the sex—it’s the after, the “I love you” confessions in tangled sheets, the way she makes me feel loud for the first time.
This is my rampage: repressed lesbo panic exploding into messy, horny, heart-slamming love.
If you’ve ever hidden who you are until it hurts, this one’s for you.
Buckle up—it’s raw, it’s real, and it’ll leave you wrecked.
