Sweet & Spicy Lesbian Short Stories (GirlxGirl)

From Fan to Forever

The tension between us was ready to snap, and it did—so hard that it gave me whiplash.

I rub my temple, weaving through the streets and trying to get to my parkade. The movie set takes up way more space than it has any right to, forcing me to make a wide perimeter. As soon as I figure out how to get to my apartment, I'm filling the bathtub and dropping in a glittery bath bomb. Since I left yesterday morning, I've swum in a lake, gotten sweaty, been briefly rained on, and walked through a lot of spiderwebs, so I need a good scrub. My skin is so sticky that my shirt is plastered to my back.

After circling for ten minutes, I resign myself to parking three blocks away. I drag my camping gear down the road—the bag of damp clothes, the cooler of food I never ate, and a mostly deflated moose floatie. The early summer heat wave adds more sweat to what's already dried to my skin. I'd better not run into any neighbors in the elevator, or they'll be in for a treat when they get a whiff of me.

I swipe my fob to get inside, and before I open the door, laughter erupts behind me.

I whirl around, ready to tell off whoever is laughing at me for dragging camping gear down the street, but the sound is coming from the movie set.

A metal fence separates me from the set—they have to keep us peasants out, obviously—and white tents block most of my view beyond it. Between two tents is a gap that tunnels my vision to a point.

My heart does a wild, out-of-control flip, knocking me off balance so that I have to grab the door handle to stay standing.

Cate Whitney is on the other side of the fence, talking to a tattooed guy with a boom mic.

Cate. Whitney.

I forget how to breathe.

In her early forties and well-established on the A-list, she carries herself with easy confidence. She's rocking a badass black and brown steampunk outfit, including a corset, thigh-high fishnet stockings, a frilly skirt that exposes her thighs in front and hangs calf-length in the back, and a top hat with goggles resting on the brim. Her shoulder-length blond hair is in soft curls, and her white skin has a warm glow, like she's been in the tropics. She's wearing her signature mischievous smirk, her makeup drawing attention to her sharp cheekbones and ice-blue eyes.

How is it possible for anyone to be so attractive? I guess that's why she ended up in Hollywood. She's the type of woman who can rock a tux better than any man and a Valentino dress better than a runway model.

Seeing her in person sparks memories of pivotal moments in my life, making my chest flutter.

When I saw her kiss a woman in a 2000s historical drama, that was the moment I knew. Though the movie was fiction and the actors were straight, their love felt so real, sending butterflies through me. I wanted what those women had—their passion for each other, the connection that reached beyond friendship, the purity of their love.

I asked out my crush after seeing it, and she said yes.

On our fourth date, we watched that same movie together, and I made out with a girl for the first time.

So I'm not being dramatic when I say that Cate Whitney changed my life.

Now, standing with the poise of a goddess, that woman is ten feet away. She's deep in conversation with the guy with the boom mic, but that doesn't stop her from looking past him and meeting my eye.

Why? Why does she have to see me when I look like I climbed out of a dumpster?

Reflexively, I offer an awkward half-smile, which she returns.