Lesbian Recruiters

Karla Kush is stretched out in her sorority house living room when knuckles rap the door. She answers, barefoot and half-bored. Two polished girls are waiting on the porch. Emma Hix and Whitney Wright. They grin like they already know how the night will end. 'We’re lesbian recruiters,' Emma says, calm as a banker. 'We bring straight girls over to the winning side.' Karla laughs, but the idea sticks. She lets them in. On the couch, they ask about her sex life. She has a boyfriend, she says, but after a minute of their soft questions she admits the truth: nothing he does touches her. Emma leans closer. 'With a woman it’s different,' she tells her. 'We last until sunrise. We learn every spot that makes her come apart.' Karla’s knees press together; she hates how fast her body answers. The recruiters move in, offering a demonstration—no strings. They’ll kiss, touch, let her watch. She tries to talk them down, voice squeaking. 'Not necessary,' she insists. They ignore her, already turning toward each other. Their mouths meet. Sweet at first, careful, tongues testing. Then it deepens; hands slide under shirts, under bras. Small moans fill the room. Karla clears her throat—once, twice. The girls don’t break stride. Their fingers find skin, tighten, dip lower. Karla swallows. Heat crawls up her throat. She reaches for her notebook, lays it across her lap, and slips a hand underneath. She moves fast, quiet, but the thrill builds anyway. Her eyes slip closed. A moan slips free, loud, sudden, raw. Silence snaps across the cushions. Emma and Whitney glance over, flushed and smiling. Karla jerks her hand back like she’s burned. 'I didn’t mean—fuck, I’m sorry—' Whitney pats the couch cushion. 'You did nothing wrong. Come here.' Karla stays frozen, pulse hammering. Then she moves. She crawls across the space, mouth dry, nipples tight under cotton, joining them without another word. Their recruiters are dangerously good at their job.