“It'd be easier if I were just a lesbian!” Grace Perlin shouted, exasperated. She sat, cross-legged, on her bed for a moment longer before letting out a grunt and flopping over. It was 11PM on a Thursday night at Lambda Epsilon Sigma sorority, and Grace was Going Through It.

For the third time in as many months, Grace had found herself reliving a tableau that'd become all too common for her: the “boys are trash” rant. She'd sit on her bed, fume and complain about how the latest shitty guy in her life had been, well...shitty. This time it was Anson. Her “relationship” with him had started well enough. He was sweet and gentle. Shy, even. Anson hadn't pushed her to do anything she didn't want to do. In fact, Grace had nudged him to do more. She'd initiated them making out after he'd stared longingly at her lips, saying how soft they looked; she'd encouraged him to get more physical after she caught his gaze drifting over her body for the umpteenth time during said makeout sessions. She'd wanted him so bad that she'd pressed for them to have a sex date. They'd been right in the midst of said sex date when Anson's real girlfriend had walked in. She'd come home early after her professor had called out sick.

“Babe, I-I...this means nothing!” Anson had spluttered, gesturing to Grace. Rage consumed Grace for a single, solitary second before something else took its place: clarity. In that moment, Grace saw him for the insecure, manipulative boy he was. She sighed, turning to Anson's girlfriend, and held out a hand.

“Grace,” she said.

The other woman took her hand, somewhat bewildered. “S-Stella,” she muttered.

“Well, Stella. I'm sorry Anson here is such a piece of shit.” Grace threw a glare at Anson. “Anyway, I'm gonna grab my bra and leave.”

“Y-yeah. Okay...” Stella murmured, a perplexed look spreading over her face.

When she got back to her room, she was still stewing. And so she sat down on her bed. Across from her, as always, was her audience of one: her roommate.

Kyla Deveaux's brow scrunched as Grace's words hit her. With Grace staring at the ceiling, Kyla knew it'd be safe to bring her hand up, fingers pinching the honey brown skin between the bridge of her nose. Kyla normally loathed when straight women would say shit about sapphic relationships being easier. Being gay wasn't some magic cure-all for fuckery and bullshit.

Because as much as Grace had been suffering, Kyla'd been having a hard time of it, too. Yes, trying to not get lost in Grace's green-blue eyes was a challenge. Yes, it was tough that Kyla lived and died for the flush in Grace's porcelain cheeks. But the problem? The big, fuck-off problem was that Kyla was profoundly gay...and had fallen for the self-proclaimed “straightest girl on campus”. Nights like these, when Grace would inevitably complain about how much “easier” it would be if she were gay, cut at Kyla. Even still, the long nights she'd spent caring for Grace had deepened what was an immediate attraction.

Kyla'd been smitten with Grace from their first day as roommates. In retelling the story to those who asked how they’d met, Grace would preface that she thought she was alone in the house. The rest of the story they told, an easy patter that always made them both grin, went like this:

“Which meant that not wearing a towel out of the shower was fine!” Kyla would say, a grin on her face.

“Obviously!” Grace would shrug.

“Obviously. So I'm there, unpacking my unmentionables-”

“Vibrator!” Grace would utter with under a fake cough.

“It was a massage wand for my back!” Kyla would protest with feigned offense.

“Mmmmmhmmm. Sure.” Grace would cock an eyebrow, give a wolfish grin.

“Anyway, here I am when Grace busts in-”

“--Tits out--”

“--tits fully out, sees me, and screams! So I screamed!”

“And threatened me with a vibrator!”

“I didn't have a weapon and I was scared!” Kyla would pout.

“Anyway, it was so confusing that I couldn't do anything but laugh.”

Then they would look at each other, smile, and say in unison: “And we've been besties ever since.”

That was the story they would tell. And it was mostly true, save for a detail that Grace didn't know: Grace was Kyla's gay awakening. Up until then she'd felt like she was just…cursed. She was for guys, but maybe guys weren't for her. Kyla would drive them off, or be too smart about a subject, or, well…they’d say something stupid about when she was younger.

All told, she'd not had great luck, but…still she tried. Then she saw Grace's glistening body and something shifted. It’s not that growing up she’d not thought girls weren’t pretty. They were! But she was a girl and she’d fought so hard to put herself in the mindset of a girl who liked boys that she’d not stopped to consider that girls. Girls had an appeal. Or, well…this girl did.

It wasn’t until later that evening, though, that Kyla knew it for sure. They were discussing their taste in TV shows and movies when both of them discovered a deep and abiding love of Sergio Wellings' “Monster Killer Maisey”. It was a cheesy teen drama from the 90s about a teenage girl who fought monsters while trying to navigate the ups and downs of high school.

At first, Kyla worried that she'd gone too far in gushing about it. When most people said they liked MKM, it was surface level. She’d start going to into the complicated bureaucracy of the Monster Killer’s League, how layered the symbolism was when it came to Maisey being a closeted trans girl (“never confirmed in canon, but c’mon!”), or the brilliance of how the creator of the show had experimented with the form (“Terra Dahlia-Jacks is such a brilliant mind!”) “And, uh. Um. Yeah. So, I like it a bit.” Kyla concluded, her eyes drawn to her hands as she fidgeted. Then she heard Grace laugh. Kyla winced her. She'd gone too far. Nerded out too much. And now-

“You remind me of Tina,” Grace started. Kyla perked up as Grace continued to speak, “Lilac's girlfriend after she bro-”

“-oke up with Grey, the Werewolf!” Kyla finished Grace's sentence.

“I think we're gonna be best friends,” Grace said, regarding Kyla with a warm, radiating smile. It was as though Kyla had been struck by a lightning bolt. That night, and every night since, Kyla's unrequited love for Grace grew deeper. It didn't matter that the next week, Grace met her first boyfriend. They lasted a week before Grace came home crying. He'd cheated on her. Broke her heart. Lied and got caught. That was the first time Grace had uttered the phrase “It'd be easier if I were a lesbian”. Kyla let herself imagine that it could happen. That Grace would realize that Kyla would never treat her poorly and that she'd somehow see that Kyla was there for her.

It was fantasy. The bargaining of a desperate, lonely heart. Pure and simple. Nobody could make someone a lesbian. It didn't work that way. At least, that's what Kyla had thought until a month ago. Until Kyla had gone through some changes of her own. One of them was the crushing, painful realization of just how hard she’d fallen for Grace. “In love with Grace Perlin” had been hard to read. Harder still when she realized how real it was.

The other change she made, well…she'd been preparing for a night like this ever since. Kyla promised herself that the next time it happened, she'd be ready.

“Grace,” she started gently. “You know I care for you, but...being gay doesn't make relationships easier. Especially when you're around so many women, day in and day out.”

Grace lifted her head slightly to peer at Kyla. “Really?”

“It makes it harder, Grace. Because what if the girl you like isn't into you?”

“I mean. Well, I’d…y’know…I’m real good at getting what I want. Like, how hard could be to turn a girl lesbian for me, y’know?” Grace’s ramble had started arrogant, but midway through her tone pivoted like she was trying to play off what she’d likely realized was an offensive thing to even suggest to a gay girl.

Kyla didn’t care. Her heart pounded. This was it. She swallowed hard, willing the last vestiges of the timid girl she’d been to leave her. She knew what she needed to do. It’d been months in the making. Now, all she needed was to follow through with what she about to suggest: “So let me make you one.”

Grace laughed and shot back up. “Yeah, real funny, Ky.” Except Grace noticed that Kyla was...different than usual. Her roommate's expression was resolute. Almost cocky. She wore a lupine smirk that Grace hadn't even suspected Kyla could make. She'd always been soft and kind. Yes, Kyla had opened up more as the semester had worn on and the two had become inseparable. It wasn't even that Kyla was reserved. When the girls had gotten drunk on peppermint schnapps, Kyla was the one who had to convince Grace to join their impromptu game of strip poker. Even then, though, Kyla had been goofy and afffable...and bad at bluffing. Maybe it was that Kyla had leaned forward when she'd made her offer, letting her curls fall in front of her face, obscuring her eyes. Whatever it was, Grace saw not even a trace of Kyla's tell. Just certainty. It left Grace feeling exposed.

But whatever. There was no way to “make” someone a lesbian, so...

“Fine.” Grace extended her hand. Kyla lurched forward, grasping it. “But on one condition,” Grace added. “When you fail to make me a lesbian, you're gonna have to blow someone.” Kyla snorted. “Deal.” Grace's eyes narrowed. “I mean, I know you're gay. Aren't you worried about, y'know...” Kyla shrugged. “Nah.” Now concern crept in for Grace. Kyla leaned forward, still grasping Grace's hand. “Why? Are you worried?”

Grace sputtered. “N-no. Pfah!”

Kyla got up, closing the space between them. “Are you sure you're not, Grace?”

Grace's heart thumped. It was so stupid. She didn't know why she was reacting this way, but for the first time she'd noticed how Kyla's arm tensed as it gripped Grace's had. As she admired the definition hiding under that dark brown skin, Grace couldn't help remember the strip poker game. On one hand in particular, Grace had caught Kyla's tell. She'd ridden that tell to Kyla being buck naked, save for her panties. She'd let her eyes linger on Kyla's lithe, athletic form. The way she seemed so powerful and yet so soft. In the moment, Grace thought it was out of admiration for the student athlete. Now she couldn't stop remembering details about the shape of the crew team captain's lats. The ice in her veins was thawing, too, dripping down into a rivulet of warmth in her stomach...and descending even deeper, still.

“I-I'm definitely, absolutely straight.” Grace whispered. Then she cleared her throat. “Straighest girl on campus, remember?” She wasn't sure she believed the boast. Kyla let out a low, throaty chuckle as she bent down. Then she was mere inches from Grace's. “So you don't think I could make you gay?”

“I-I, um.”

Kyla's hand slipped from of Grace's and moved up her arm as she moved to straddle Grace.

“Kyla-”

Kyla moved forward and for a moment, Grace couldn't tell if her heart leapt from fear or anticipation. All she knew was that her eyes fluttered closed. And then Kyla's breath was warm on her neck. Grace's breath hitched as Kyla whispered into her ear: “I mean, you're definitely straight, so I wouldn't be able to plant any thoughts in your straight little head, right~?”

Kyla's hands slid down Grace's back as she continued.

“I couldn't make you want me. Make you think of my body, this body,” Kyla wriggled, “writhing on top you as you.” Grace meant to exhale, but it came out as a whine. “You're so, so straight that your hands would never want to explore my curves, right?” Grace felt Kyla's hands grasp her own and bring them to Kyla's waist. “Your mind, drowned in sapphic lust, would never betray you into worshipping me in all the ways you'd so desperately want to.”

Grace felt that warmth spread, felt her ears burning bright red. She'd never been this flustered. It had always been simple. Men turned her on. Grace had like their scent. It was musky and sharp, with acrid notes that made it feel feral. Dangerous. Except now, it held no sway in comparison to sweet peach perfume masking Kyla's sweat. This was a different danger. She was a different type of prey.

It’d be so easy, too. Whatever had supercharged this moment kept beckoning Grace to just…let it happen. She was awed by Kyla’s transformation, after all. It was like she exuded this aura of command that Grace couldn’t ignore. With most men, she’d felt…used when she submitted to them, like it was a foregone conclusion. An expectation, really. Kyla, though, made it feel like a warm and welcome invitation to submit. Even with her teasing tone, there was something respectful about it, almost like Kyla would be honored to see Grace be her lesbian slut. Cherished, even.

Grace steeled herself against the way her mind had slipped. No! She liked men! Manly, man's men. It didn't matter if they didn't smell as good as Kyla. She liked the way men were shaped: thick muscles and broad chests and square jaws. She'd never looked at woman like that. Except now, as she tried to conjure an imagine of any man in her life that'd aroused her, they kept resolving back to Kyla. She could picture with stunning clarity Kyla's jawline, how the graceful curve of it flared outward before forming into a perfect looking 'u'. The way Kyla's toned form belied a quiet, secure confidence. How despite the definition of her well-toned muscles, Kyla was still all soft, curving lines.

And then Grace's heart sank. She loved cock. She loved it with every fiber of her being. Yes, she could understand the appeal of how Kyla would be different. How amazing it could be to consent to this. But she loved, loved, loved riding dick. Loved feeling it fill her. Ached at recalling the heat of it. It's part of why she was so susceptible to shitty men who could fuck her well. Who'd push her up against a wall and rail her hard until her knees buckled and she saw stars. Nothing could measure up to it. It was a singular experience. Grace would accept no substitutes.

Then her mind drifted back to the poker game. How Kyla had been unusually modest about removing her panties. How Kyla never seemed to have cramps or PMS. How she'd sworn one time, when Kyla wore those tight pink boyshorts, that she'd seen-

It couldn't be. It had to not be. No, no, no. Grace pushed her mind to not connect the thoughts. She thought she'd been uncinching the binds in her brain. Now instead she realized with mounting horror that she'd been forming them tighter. If she pulled this thought together she'd be bound. Completely and utterly bound. The thought made her shiver, a perverse thrill coursing with in her. She felt a moan form in her throat as she accepted how fucking hot it was going to be would be when she lost. She’d get made into a lesbian under Kyla’s control. Would Kyla know about all the kinks and fetishes she'd pushed away and repressed for the comfort of the men in her life? Would her roommate-cum-lover let her explore them?

She felt herself speeding towards the oblivion of her old self. Any moment now, she would do it. She would lose. And it would feel amazing.

And then she heard the sound of a phone vibrating against wood. Grace and Kyla were sober sisters for the evening. Between their two beds sat a nightstand with a apple-cinnamon candle and a scuffed Android phone in a bejeweled case. The sober sisters phone. It continued to vibrate. Whatever thrall she'd been under retreated in the face of that phone. Kyla pulled back as Grace panted.

“Well?”

“H-huh?”

“There's no problem consenting to it, right?”

“N-no! But I-I gotta-” Grace tried to reach for the phone.

Kyla put a finger to Grace's lips. Why the hell did Grace whimper at her? “I'll take this one.” Kyla winked at her. Winked, and Grace felt that thrall begin to reassert itself, along with a slickness that Grace refused to acknowledge. Then Kyla slid free from her, turned, and swiped the phone off the bed. “Alpha Sig. Those assholes. Alright, I'm gonna be gone for a whi-” Kyla looked up from the phone. Her roommate sat on her bed, eyes boring holes through the screen of her phone, her skin pink and flushed. Kyla knew how she felt. Grace's denial was faltering, the way that Kyla's had all those weeks ago. She didn't want Grace to have to go through that alone. Not like she did.

Every bit of her wanted to jump Grace right now. To taste her. To set her free. That could wait the thirty minute round trip. Kyla put in the address to Alpha Sigma Epsilon's house on Greek row, then set down the sober sisters phone. “Alright. I'll be back. You be good and try to not dyke out on me.”

Grace tried to play it cool. “Yeah, y-you- mmmmhmmm!” She didn't look up from her phone as Kyla sauntered out of the room. She knew if she looked, she'd find the sight entrancing. Grace spent the next few minutes rubbing her thighs together, trying to will what had just happened from her mind. Then anger overtook her. Who the hell did Kyla think she was?

Grace knew herself, dammit! She liked men and guys and boys and she was gonna prove it. She stomped over to the door to her and Kyla's bedroom, latched the lock, and stripped naked. She was wetter than she'd ever been. So wet she decided to forgo the suction vibe in her drawer. She did, however, make sure to light the apple-cinnamon candle on her nightstand. Kyla had gotten it for both of them to share a few weeks back.

Grace had been skeptical. “How is a candle gonna help us relax?” Kyla shrugged. “I dunno. One of my psych professors was going on and on about how sense memory can soothe.” Grace rolled her eyes. As if Kyla needed it. Despite being a Psychology major with a minor in Computer Science, the statuesque student athlete never seemed outwardly stressed. Kyla noticed Grace's eyeroll. “Look, it's for an extra credit project, okay?” There it was. Kyla was ever a dedicated student.

Grace had relented. The first time they’d lit the candle, it didn’t really seem to do much. Kyla had insisted, though, that these things took time. “You have to really want to relax for it to do anything.” Maybe it was the placebo effect, but as weeks and weeks had slipped past Grace had felt more relaxed. She’d felt more confident, too! Anson was the first guy she’d ever felt so confident with as to take charge. It made their interrupted sex date that much worse.

Mostly because of how horny it’d left her. And Kyla had exploited that horniness to…to turn her! Into a lesbian! Well, joke’s on her! She’d fingerblast herself so hard into a heterosexuality that not even the gayest woman on Earth could convince her otherwise. Grace’s thumb ran circles around her aching clit as she dipped in one and then another finger. “Okay, just focus on cocks,” she coached herself before adding, “Men's cocks”. That was close. Too close.

Her mind drifted to Tim, the first guy she'd had sex with. He was a self-labeled punk. Arrogant and boastful, despite being wiry with softer features. It was sex with him that had set the standard. He was aggressive, yet intuitive as to her needs. Whenever she needed to get off, Tim was her go-to. No way she wouldn't get off to him when she was this wet. When she was so close. She even shoved a pillow between her thighs to grind against, giving her just that much more friction.

Fifteen minutes went by before she let out a furious scream. She couldn't cum. She was painfully aroused and knew – deep in her core – what would give her release. Her mind thought of Kyla. Of her boyshorts. Of the bulge.

Enraged, Grace threw the pillow she’d clung to across the room. It nicked Kyla's laptop, sending it careening towards the ground.

“FUCK!” Grace scrambled toward it. At first she reached out her left hand to touch it, then remembered the slickness of it and reconsidered. The last thing she needed was Kyla discovering what Grace had been doing. “That would be like giving in doing something really bad,” Grace thought, skirting around what that “something really bad” would be. Either way, it was unimportant. What was important was getting Kyla's laptop back on the desk and making sure it was okay. And to do that, she'd need both hands.

Grace didn't even realize until a second after it'd happened that she's started licking her own fingers clean. She should stop. She definitely could stop it. But why? She wasn't doing anything wrong. Or gay. She was just...enjoying the fruits of her own enjoyment. This was fine. That she'd never done it before and that she pondered how other women might taste as she did it was fine, too. Clinical, even! Purely clinical. Not at all arousing.

And she was only doing it to make sure that her hand was free of girlcum so that she could make sure Kyla's laptop was okay! It was expedient and necessary and not touching on fantasies she'd long repressed.

After she'd cleaned herself thorough, wiping her drool on the pillow she'd thrown, she lifted up Kyla's laptop. She moved it back to the desk as though it were unexploded ordinance. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind. This had gone too far. Whatever...insanity and weirdness was in her head, she'd indulged it enough. Grace spent a moment trying to ensure that the laptop was exactly as it had been before Kyla left, adjusting the screen and swiveling it a few times back and forth.

That's when she saw it. Kyla had left her laptop unlocked. There was a single program running, minimized to the taskbar. Its icon was a bright, pink D in script font. Grace's mind raced. What could it be? Should she click it? No. She shouldn't. Right? It felt like a trap. As much as whatever part of her wanted to surrender, she knew that would be a bad idea.

...Which meant that Kyla might have done something to her. Used subliminal, or binaurals, or swirling patterns to break Grace's brain. To change her. The thought infuriated her. Or it should have. She should stop looking at it. She should exhibit restraint. She should bend down closer toward it.

Wait. No. That's not- What she meant was that she shouldn't resist as her fingers moved the cursor to the icon. Another perverse, horrible thrill shot through her as the thrall took her again. She was horny and exhilarated. She should click it. She shouldn't win. No. That wasn't right. She should trigger the trap.

She should lose. Yessssssssssssssss lose. Lose lose lose. Lose to girldick love cock love girlcockneedgirlcockfucksuckgirlcock. Grace moaned, her body tensing. She was going to-

The sober sisters phone rang again.

FUUUUUUUUUUUCK. Grace bounded over to her discarded clothes. She pulled them on and then checked the phone. The pin would send her clear across campus. If she hurried, she could get back before Kyla. She raced out of the building and over to the sober sisters cart outside.

Ten minutes later, Kyla opened the door to her room to find the pungent aroma of apple-cinnamon hanging in the air, her laptop askew, and a pillow that smelt strongly of Grace's arousal on the ground. She'd expected, well...basically this. Now all there was left to do was to slip into her robe and wait.