Chapter 1

This is another story from Roz that I wrote in an attempt to break my extended writer’s block. Thanks very much to @Bluesea00 for their wonderful feedback.

I must admit, my first impressions of Sigi were not good.

“Hi there. I’m Sieglinde, but please call me Sigi,” she said.

I blinked. She was not at all what I expected.

Shaved head, black leather jacket over a skin-tight white tee, a silver septum piercing, and neck tattoos of God only knows what sort of Satanic symbols. She was not the picture of the nursing student I had in mind from the emails we had exchanged before I arrived from the States. She was a Rammstein song — grungy, industrial, sharp-edged.

I tried reminding myself not to judge my new roommate. This was my first time outside the US, after all, so I got that things would be different. Strange, even. And this was Berlin, so wasn’t everyone running around with shaved heads, black leather jackets and tattoos? But all the same, a tiny voice in my head whispered: run!

She pursed her lips and cleared her throat. “And you must be –“

I realized then that I was standing there like a deer in the headlights and not introducing myself like a normal person.

“Oh, hi.” I laughed. God, why did I laugh?

“…I’m Roz. Rosalind for short,” I said, squeaking because my throat was dry, sounding like a mouse introducing herself to the cat.

She squinted. “Rosalind is short for… Roz?”

“No, no, no! I meant the other way. Rosalind is the long way of saying Roz.”

She chuckled. “Ok, got it. So, you prefer Roz.”

I nodded. Kill me now.

“Super. Then Roz you are,” she said, like a genie granting me a wish. “Come on, let me show you around.”

As she gave me the tour of the apartment, I grew more relaxed. The intimidation factor started to erode away when, instead of a meth lab and satanic paraphernalia, I saw a bookcase full of fantasy novels and medical textbooks, plants sitting on windowsills, and freshly cut flowers in vases. The apartment was small, but it was bright, cheerful, and neatly organized. There was a balcony that faced south, and because the apartment was on the top floor, it had a lovely view of Berlin. The Berlin Cathedral wasn’t too far away. Its dome glowed in the Autumn sunset.

“If you smoke, only smoke on the balcony, please,” she said.

Then she showed me the shared bathroom and said, “Shut the lid. Flushing aerosolizes the pee into a plume, and it lands on everything. Sorry, I’m very deep into my nursing program right now, developing all sorts of phobias. I’m working on it, I promise.”

“I never thought about aerosolized pee, but that makes total sense.”

As we finished the house tour, I noticed the rainbow bracelet on her wrist. That changed everything. The shaved head, the leather jacket, and the tattoos… my judgy-ass mind had her pegged as some sort of scary stereotype which wasn’t anywhere near the truth. Fact was, she was nice, attractive, smart, and possibly gay or bi… and possibly single?

“So do you have a boyfriend? Or… um, girlfriend?”

“No. Not now at least. That’s why you’re here.”

“W-what?” I blushed.

She blushed. “I-I meant that my ex moved out last month, that’s why I needed a new roommate.”

She laughed, and I noticed how unbearably adorable it was. A soft laugh with a squeak at the end of it. I was a fan.

As it turned out, she was gay. And freshly single, and so, naturally, I found myself asking: did I have a shot with her? 

When it comes to taking the initiative, I’m completely hopeless. So, I didn’t make anything happen, of course. And anyway, life picked up speed. After a few weeks, nursing school started to wind up for Sigi. I was not as busy, but still pretty busy with university life. Beside classes, most of my energy was spent orienting myself to a completely new culture. I studied German in all four years of high school, and picked it up as a minor in college, but speaking German in Germany is a whole different ball game. I picked up new words and phrases very quickly, but to constantly think in a second language was mentally draining. Frustratingly, whenever the locals got a whiff that I was from the States, they tended to quickly switch over to English.

Sigi was patient with my German. She would wait intently for me to finish my sentences, then whenever I got anything wrong (saying der instead of den or the millions of other small ways you can get German grammar wrong), she would politely correct me. We hung out together in the living room often, mostly in our own separate nooks, quietly studying what we had to study, me feeling a nice buzz from just being near her.

Any time she went out, she invited me along. I got to know all her friends and she showed me where to find all the cheapest beers in Berlin. She was into the punk rock scene, so she took me to local shows. On sunny days, we took long walks together on her favorite path along the Spree River. We argued, of course, as roommates often argue (about cleaning dishes, keeping the living room tidy, and forgetting to keep the toilet lid down to keep aerosolized pee from contaminating our toothbrushes), but that’s only inevitable.

She often swerved between sweet and lovely to fiery and sometimes downright caustic. I rarely caught the flames myself, but on any given night out, she’d find her way into a fight with a random stranger (often the biggest, burliest man in the bar). Suffice to say: do something unkind to another person and Sigi was on you like a heat-seeking missile. There were moments she downright scared me with her unhinged bravado (one time she smashed a beer bottle against a table to stop a fist fight that had broken out), but admittedly, I was grateful for her swooping in like a momma barn swallow to protect me anytime drunk men crowed around.

When the weather turned frigid in October, things finally turned hot between us. 

We had gone out to watch a friend of hers perform in a bar, and went to a club afterwards. The rain caught us in the street, absolutely soaking us, so we ran home.

It finally happened in the elevator. We both have had a few drinks. She touched my cheek. We locked eyes. I put a hand on her hip, an invitation for her to go on with what she had in mind. She took the invitation and kissed me.

I was cold, shivering, but in the instant her tongue entered my mouth, I turned into a furnace.

Our wet clothes clinging to our bodies took a tremendous amount of effort to pull off as we drunkenly stumbled through the dark, maddeningly kissing each other. We left them behind in a wet trail in the entrance hall, and by the time we got to the living room, we had both successfully gotten ourselves naked. 

She shoved me onto the couch and then she laid out the raw truth: “Roz, I wanted to fuck you the moment I met you.”

I replied, “It took me about five whole minutes before I thought the same about you.”

She smirked. “Let’s not wait this fucking long next time, ok?”

And she jumped on me, and kissed my lips and kissed my neck, and then she went down on me.

This wasn’t my first time having sex, but she was different than what I was accustomed to. She was very dominant and very assertive. She pinned me to the couch by my wrists as she sucked on my tits. She pried my legs wide open and held them open as she licked my pussy, and she provided commentary as she did so.

“Mmm… I love how soft your bush is,” she said. “I love how dripping wet you get… Your Muschi ist so fucking schön.”

When she ate me out, she ate with all her mouth. She wasn’t shy with her tongue. She put it deep inside me, and she sucked and licked my clit like it was candy. She fucked me like we were on an airplane careening towards the Earth, desperate to make me cum before we went down in a giant blaze.

I came quickly, and afterwards, she did not waste any time to sit on my face and rub her shaved pussy against my mouth. She rubbed so hard I suffocated. When I gasped for air, she stopped, not to give me a breather, but to ask, “You like it when I fuck your face, don’t you?”

Never had I ever been asked that question. When I finally caught my breath, I snorted a laugh.

“Well, Roz?” She glared at me like she was dead serious, and she wore a serious smirk, like a warning against not answering or even giving a wrong answer. I started to feel that there was in fact a wrong answer and as a clinically diagnosed perfectionist, I hate being wrong.

“Yes, you like… what?” Her smirk grew.

“I… I like it when you fuck my face.”

I couldn’t believe the words that came out, and I also couldn’t believe how good it felt to say those words.

“Mmm, good, because I love fucking your face,” she replied, and continued to do exactly that, without holding anything back — why would she? I just said I liked it (which I did).

After I made her cum, we showered, and then she dragged me to her bed and we slept naked, our bodies so tightly pressed together that despite the cold (the apartment was old so it was badly insulated), we were hot and sweaty. I didn’t care. What’s better than holding a warm somebody tightly, and feeling their heartbeat against your skin?

The following morning, as the silky Autumn sunlight spilled in through the windows, we had sex again. Correction: we fucked again.

It started with a kiss. That’s how she woke me up. With a kiss like I was breakfast in bed.

I kissed her back. “Good morning,” I croaked.

“Good,” she said with a crinkled-eyed smile. She bit her bottom lip as her hand made its way down my body.

She found my pussy and started fingering me like it was a part of her morning ritual. She fingered me until I was wet and throbbing hard, and then, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she said, “wait here, I have something that I’d like to try with you,” and she hopped out of bed and did a skip, she was so excited, as she walked over to her dresser.

Giving me a theatric wink, she pulled open the bottom drawer and pulled out what I first thought was a purple snake before realizing that it was actually just the longest dildo I had ever seen. Impractically long. Like you’d pack maybe half of it in if you were motivated. Then I saw that it had two heads. I gasped and clasped my hands to my mouth. Sigi laughed her adorable laugh with that signature squeak, which sounded entirely inappropriate for such an occasion.

“It’s for two,” she said, stating the obvious. “But I never had a chance to use it because… you know, the break-up and all.”

“Oh… Oh.” My voice trembled. A double-sided dildo. Purple. Veiny. Girthy.

“Does it scare you?” She asked.

“U-um,” I chuckled nervously. “No… Well… It’s just that I’ve never seen one out in the wild. I always thought that maybe they were like for, you know, ‘professionals only.'”

She cocked her head, confused. “Professionals only? Why would it be professionals only? It’s a sex toy.”

She said those words with an adorable, pouty innocence, but she brandished the dildo like Red Sonja brandishing a hefty mythical sword. And it was quite hefty. That was the worrisome part. I might have been keener to trying it last night, when I was still plastered with alcohol, and caught up in hot, horny desire. But the morning after? Sober, and before coffee? Maybe not the right time.

“I guess,” I replied.

She climbed back onto bed, sidling up next to me, and slapped the dildo against my chest, right between my tits.

“If you want to fuck me,” she whispered. “Then you have to fuck me the way I want to be fucked. And right now, I want you to fuck me with this.”

My breath caught. She meant it, and I wasn’t sure I was ready.

At twenty, I was still very much a novice at sex. I was still relatively innocent. I had been a good Christian girl, raised by conservative Asian parents to study hard, to pray well, and to abstain from anything sex related. I wasn’t even allowed to watch movies or TV shows that had the briefest of naked bodies in it (I had to watch those in secret). It was only when I went to college that I started to let my sexual desires out of my shy, cloistered life, like Siddhartha stepping past the palace walls to discover a world full of keg parties, kink, and chaos.

At around the same time, I was being confronted with the idea that I was gay. To be clear, I always knew I was, but I avoided the topic altogether by drowning it out of mind with a plethora of AP classes, soccer practice, and SAT prep. College gave me too much freedom, and not enough structure conducive to an avoidant way of life, and plenty of hot gay and bi girls that had sniffed me out for what I was, circling me like sharks a wounded sea turtle — which, of course, I enjoyed. Nevertheless, being painfully shy, I only made out a handful of times. I had sex a whole two times.

All that to say, until now, I wasn’t sure I was at the purple double-sided dildo stage of my enlightenment journey just yet.

But what is the point of an enlightenment journey if not to be hard? If it doesn’t push you out of your comfort zone? So, I agreed to the dildo, only I wasn’t going to just take it without a little bit of personal agency.

She grinned, then she went down on me. First, she worshipped my breasts, licking my nipples delicately with her tongue and sucking on them, electrifying me to the core. Then when my nipples were erect and puffy to her satisfaction, she went down to my clit, licking it hard, while she explored my insides with her fingers. She started with just her index finger, then she added another, and then a third as it became easier to penetrate me. I understood her plan. Just as Mount Everest climbers slowly and progressively climbed up the mountain in stages to acclimatize to the extreme altitude, she was acclimatizing me to the extreme girth (for me) of the dildo.