Kissing

"Am I allowed to kiss boys tonight?"

Emily's friend was in the garage this morning, putting something in Emily's car—they were driving together to the bachelorette party in another city several hours away, when Emily, who was in the hallway with me, asked me that question.

"What," I asked instantly breathless, looking over Emily's shoulder, sure her friend would walk back into the house any second.

"Am I allowed to kiss boys tonight," she asked again with an innocent grin, one layered with subtle teasing, with sexual innuendo. 

"Emily!" 

"You know I'll have boys hitting on me, sweetie," she twirled her hair, "you know how boys are when they see a bunch of girls out all dressed up partying.

I swallowed, thought of the suitcase she packed, the dressing hanging carefully inside:

Oh, she'd have the chance, all right, over and over and over.

"Em," I swallowed, "I...I don't know, I..."

"What if I promise to tell you about it...will that make things...tight..." She looked down at my waist, at the jeans I was wearing over lingerie, looking, giggling, knowing that whatever she was doing, her sissy would be a good girl, that the chastity cage would guarantee that.

"I...I...maybe if...if you told me..."

"What about girls? What should I do if I decided to kiss girls, instead. Should I text you pictures of that?"

Her friend walked in the door at that moment, before I could answer. "Ready," she asked.

"Yep," Emily said, looking over her shoulder at me, shaking her head at the unanswered question. "Hey, do I need a jacked for tomorrow," she asked her friend, "all I have is a light sweater."

"I don't think so," her friend say.

"It might rain, that might be a good idea," I said helpfully, hoping she'd listen to me, come back into the house, get a jacket. She did, walked down the hall, towards the bedroom, I followed, unable to stop, having to say it, having to finish the conversation, grateful we were out of the hall.

"You...you can kiss boys," I swallowed hard, unable to believe the words were coming out of my mouth.

She laughed, looked at me over her shoulder, "such a good girl," she said, then looked down again, at my waist. "Think about me tonight...if it doesn't hurt too much."

And I am thinking about her, thinking about the dress, about her going out, about the guys that are sure to be there, hitting on her, flirting with her, and maybe, maybe, kissing her.