Unconscious Connection!

I had gone to bed, like every night. I use to go to bed the same time. She is at my side. We never had bothered to try to split the beds apart, why bother? Never felt worth the effort.

Just like the night before, I sit across of her, my thighs on top of hers. I do enjoy my position. Knowing full well she enjoy it, on her end of it.

We put our palms, our hands together. Just like then, I had placed my right hand up, and she had responded. Her hand pressed up towards mine. There is nothing special about it. If you ignore the obvious? Two girls 'Holding Hands', as it were. We do it every night. I had enjoyed it from the first night. Not sure how it actually came about to happen.

Maybe I had initiated it, yet, she had responded, just the right way. We had made the connection. It feels special, in a very intimate, and utterly private way.

For just the few minutes? Yet, at the time, I'm fully awake, I'm entirely conscious and clear. I had imagined, so is she. Had I known the difference? Would she?

We had separated, pulled our hands apart, with that one conscious action.

I wear nothing but the panties, and the top, as does she. It's what we wear at night. Why wear more? I like to be free. To feel. Not bound by all these garments, binding me to the day. Maybe I had imagined, she had felt the same?

I had red my file, she had red hers. I had not red hers, just as she never had red mine. Neither of us had asked. Neither of us, had made a motion, as to acknowledging, there was such a file. Maybe it is private?

This time, this night, just about the same time, we had continued the tradition, the habit. We had done everything exactly the same way. Not a thought of the fact we had done it before. It had simply been natural, as if you had done it every night, every night of your entire life.

Everyone is doing it, the same way, every night.

What may have come as a surprise, or even a chock, both to her, and to me. Everyone here actually did just that. I did not know, she did not know. None had spoken a word of doing it. I know everyone have double rooms. Everyone have a roomie, just like me.

Now, there is nothing that separated me, from the girl on my side. Nothing. Why should there be? There is no point.

I lay with my hands to my sides. She did the same. I guess I knew as much. Where else would she have her hands.

For that one moment, we happened to be close enough, our hands, brushing together. The contact was created. Our hands, locked together, just strong enough, for the connection to hold. No conscious thought, making either of us breaking off.

A conscious thought. That's the difference. Only since I'm sleeping, I had failed to notice. The connection had been there. The effect had taken place. I had failed to notice.

The effect lingering. It had outlasted the actual connection. A connection, lasting for but the few minutes, a single short moment. I had turned, she had turned. You know you turn several times in a single night. If you don't, you'd be terribly sore.

Maybe there is a reason, why I had not noticed? Maybe it was my right hand?

Maybe I should have red the manual? Was there an actual manual? I can't recall. I had just used, what had seemed as a hand cream. On my right hand, was it? I had managed to convince her, into using the cream too, only on her left hand?

I'm not sure why. It was something about the connection?

I had noticed, that we had made a very special connection, from the first try. That one first night. From there on, we had continued, making it into a habit, a tradition. I did not want to break it, neither did she. Maybe it had developed into a vice, neither of us could consider, breaking it.

As I look up, I look into her eyes. She's still there, yet, she is changed? Just can't say how. She is closer, then she had been the other morning? She did not say a word, thus, I did neither. Maybe there was no need.

It's as if I knew what she thought, and she knew, what I thought. If I know what she thought, I need not say. The same goes for her, I'd imagine.

I notice she is looking deeper into my eyes. She places her hand up before me. I respond. With that, we're connected. My hand on hers. Her hand on mine. They stick together. I don't want to break off.

Then 'WE' did. Then I slip into the garments I had chosen, the day before. I know she did the same. As if I had been her, as if she had been me.

She know I feel it, she felt the same. I did not reflect upon the fact. There was no consequence.

Giggling, as we make eye contact, before we leave the room, for breakfast. We're hungry. None of us had eaten, since the day before.