Ladies of citrus

Ladies of citrus  

Her fingers push down and tear into the orange skin. The juices burst forth. She presses her thumbs into the fruit and splits it in two. The smell of oranges wafts through the room. She smiles. I realise I’m staring at her again, and I force my gaze back to the computer screen.  

I try to write something on the blank document. We’re working on a school project, a hand-in. We were randomly paired together; the teacher made the groups. I haven’t talked to her much before. Just some small talk here and there. But she’s funny, and always has something clever to say. I’ve wanted to talk to her more. And now, here I am, sitting in front of her, at her place, trying not to stare while she peels an orange. Charming. 

Suddenly, she stretches out a slice of orange toward me. 

“Do you want one?” 

I stutter a little, shaking my head. “No thanks, I’m good.” 

“Okay, but they’re really nice now that it’s December,” she says, eating the slice herself. I type something into the document. 

My eyes quickly dart up to her again. She’s chewing, still eating while working on her computer. There’s a furrow between her brows; she’s focused. The screen lights up her brown eyes. A strand of hair falls from behind her ear, but her hand quickly tucks it back into place. Her hair is tied up in a ponytail. It’s dark brown and curly—usually, it hangs loose down her back. She eats another slice of orange. Her hand lingers slightly in front of her mouth. She’s cute. She looks up at me and smiles. 

“Do you want one after all?” 

“What?” 

“Do you want a slice?” 

“A slice?” 

“Yes, a slice. An orange slice?” She laughs. “Or is there something else on your mind since you’re looking at me like that?” 

Completely blank. My mind goes completely blank. Desperate to fill the silence, I reach out a hand and am handed a slice of orange. The piece is taut and juicy, bursting as I bite into it. I swallow hard. She’s still looking at me. 

“It’s tasty,” I manage to say. 

“Do you want another one?” She peels off a new slice and holds it out to me. I hesitate, reluctant, starting to feel warm. 

“No, thanks. You enjoy the rest.” 

She falls silent, nods, eats the slice herself. We both start typing on our keyboards again. She stops. 

“You know, you’re cute when you’re shy.” 

I look up at her, and her eyes rest on mine. 

“I also like,” she continues, “the way you look at me. In class and stuff. And now too.” 

A heat rushes to my head. My neck tingles, and the sensation climbs up my ears, temples, and the top of my head. I reach for my neck, take a breath, and say what’s on my mind: 

“I’ve wanted to get to know you better for a long time. You’re pretty.” 

She blushes; I’m burning. 

She gets up from her chair and leans toward me, reaching out a hand. She touches my cheek. Her hand is soft, light. Her fingers brush against my lips. I kiss them—her fingers—they taste of citrus peel, bitter and delicious. 

I grab her hand, and she moves around the table. I follow her hand, following it up her arm to her shoulder and neck. Her skin is so soft. She presses against me, and I can feel her chest against mine. We kiss, and everything tastes like orange, smells like orange. Sweet, clinging, golden. Her tongue glides over mine, her breath blending into mine. I grab a handful of her hair in my hand—the brown, long hair—holding it tight at the nape of her neck, feeling her body yield to me. 

She exhales, “I want you so bad right now. Can I touch you?” 

I nod and say yes, gasping as she slides her hands under my sweater, over my back and shoulders. Her hands glide around my sides and over my breasts. She kisses them, sucks on them. I lean against the wall, holding onto her to keep my balance. I moan. She fumbles with my pants, unbuttons them, pulls them down slightly. She stands against me, holding me, looking at me, waiting. Her eyes shine, glimmer. 

I guide her hand to me, down below. I’m wet. She kisses me, kisses me as she kneels beneath me. Her hand grips the back of my thigh, the other on my hip. She takes all of me, drawing me in with long strokes of her mouth. Licking, sucking. Pressing herself up against me. I hold her hair; it’s no longer in a ponytail. She looks up at me, big brown eyes beneath me. The trembling comes suddenly, spreading outward from my core. I fall forward, forward, grabbing the table to steady myself as I come. 

Now, I’m sitting on the floor too, close to her. Our breathing slowly calms down together. She’s warm, slightly flushed, with tiny beads of sweat along her temples. She’s glowing. 

 
Submitted by Appelsiner  
Translator: Vegard Sjaastad Hansen

Illustrator: Linnea Santi Moe