I never thought sharing a dorm room with someone could change the way I looked at myself, or sex, or attraction. But that was before I met Jamie. We met the first day of sophomore year at college. She walked in dragging two massive suitcases and a cheap Target lamp, her brown hair messy from travel, oversized hoodie making her look tomboyish and a little fragile. I remember thinking she seemed unfazed by people—sort of self-contained, not like most of the girls I’d gone to high school with.
Our room was small, so her energy filled it quick. “Hey, roommate,” she said, smiling, and that was it—we slid into an easy sort of friendship. It was movie nights in hoodies, attempts at cooking ramen, bad dates we complained about over cheap wine. I tried not to notice how good she looked in her pajamas or how her morning voice made my stomach clench.
It’s weird—most of our early months were just, well, normal. But when you live with someone, their habits get under your skin: her habit of singing in the shower, or shaving her legs sitting on the edge of her bed, towel barely covering her. One night, she came back tipsy from a party and changed right in front of me, giggling as she tried to hook her bra and almost toppled over. “Don’t mind me,” she said, and I said nothing, but my eyes were glued to her freckles, the soft curve of her back. I felt weird, guilty even, for staring, but I couldn’t help it.
I had dated before, but never a girl. Until Jamie, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. She made me question things.
Over weeks, there was this slow bubbling inside me—curiosity, tension, something hungrier. Sometimes, I’d catch her watching me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Once, after a late-night study session, she asked if she could crawl into my bed because she felt cold. We lay there, mostly quiet except for her breathing and the hum of campus nightlife leaking through the window. I couldn’t sleep. Every inch of her body seemed so close, every little movement sent a shock through me. I thought about reaching for her hand, just to see what she would do. I didn’t.
After that, everything seemed charged. She’d bump into me in the bathroom, lingering a second too long. If I changed shirts, I’d feel her gaze. She started texting me from across the room, dumb little things: “Bet you look hot in that skirt,” or “Careful, you’ll make the boys crazy.” Sometimes she’d call me “babe” and laugh at my blush.
I wanted her, but I wasn’t sure she wanted me—or maybe she just liked the attention, the flirting. I tried not to let it get to me. Still, when I closed my eyes at night, I imagined what her lips would feel like on me, the whisper of her touch down my body.
One Saturday at the end of October, tension snapped. It was raining, party plans canceled, the kind of night built for secrets. Jamie wore my oldest band tee, her thighs bare under it, hair in messy space buns. She spread out on her bed, scrolling TikTok.
“I’m bored out of my mind,” she groaned. “Do something fun with me?”
I sat cross-legged on my mattress. “Like what?”
“Dunno. Truth or dare?” Her eyes hung on mine a little too long.
“Fine. Truth,” I said, heartbeat’s stutter betraying me.
“Okay, have you ever thought about kissing a girl?”
I hesitated. She caught my pause.
“Oh my god, you totally have!” she grinned. “Tell me who?”
I shrugged, suddenly shy, wanting to joke but feeling way too vulnerable. “Maybe.”
She scooted across to my bed, her legs brushing mine, the air crackling. “Your turn,” she said, voice rougher, quieter.
“Dare.” Her chin tipped up like a challenge.
I could hardly breathe. “I dare you to…kiss me.”
Silence. For a second, her eyes scanned my face, searching. “Is that what you want?” The space between us shrank.
“Yeah,” I murmured, voice embarrassingly shaky.
She leaned in, scent of vanilla and shampoo flooding me, mouth hovering an inch from mine. “Me too.” And then her lips were on mine—soft, urgent, tasting like cherry lip balm. It was sweeter than anything I’d ever let myself imagine.
The kiss started shy, nervous, but I couldn’t stop myself from deepening it, running my tongue along her bottom lip. She moaned, pressing her chest against mine. Her hands fisted in my hair, tugging, and my body surged up to meet her. For a moment, nothing existed but the heat building between us.
When she finally pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, eyes wild. “I’ve wanted you for months,” she confessed, words like a spell. It made something break loose in me.
“Show me,” I whispered, voice turning hoarse with want.
She reached for the hem of my shirt, pulling it off like it was nothing. Her lips trailed fire down my neck, breasts, stomach, taking her time. Every brush of her tongue left me gasping, my skin burning. She cupped my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples.
“I want to see all of you,” she said, peeling off my sweatpants. I kicked them aside, nerves gone, replaced by this drumbeat of need.
She stripped, grinned, and slid between my legs, pausing, like she was reading my mind to check I wanted this. “Are you sure?” she breathed, voice trembling.
I nodded, grabbing her hand, dragging her down to me. Our mouths crashed together again, hungrier, moaning into each other. She slid two fingers inside me, slow, watching my every reaction, mouth pressed to my ear, whispering, “God, you’re so wet, babe.”
My hips bucked, pleasure curling tight in my stomach, every touch unraveled me further. I traced her back, pressing my thigh between her legs, loving how she ground against me, desperate for more.
She kissed down my body, her mouth finding my clit, tongue swirling, fingers pumping. I tangled my fingers in her hair, sobbing her name, leg shaking. She didn’t stop. She wanted all of me. I couldn’t form words, just moans and gasps spilling free, riding the crash of orgasm as her name spilled from my lips over and over.
Finally, she crawled up next to me, breath hot against my cheek, pulling me into her arms. “That was fun,” she whispered, grinning like a devil.
We lay tangled together, sheets messy, giggling into each other’s skin. It felt impossible and natural at once. I knew nothing would go back to normal, not after that night. But lying in her arms, I didn’t care. The gray light of dawn began to creep through the blinds, and I kissed her again, knowing this was only the beginning.