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Dawn knows the way Tara smells, knows the way her hair feels under her fingers. She's memorized every bit of this so that she'll have it in her mind, something to hold onto, a real memory she's made for herself.
But Dawn doesn't know how Tara tastes, so she has to use her imagination.
She closes her eyes and runs her tongue over her own lips, thinking how sweet Tara's lips would be, how soft and pliant. She thinks Tara's mouth must taste like strawberry milkshakes, smooth and melty under her tongue.
Dawn licks her fingers and touches herself, short little flicks against her clit, pretending Tara's between her legs and tasting her. She wonders how Tara's hands would feel against her skin as she spread apart Dawn's thighs or what her hot mouth would feel like against her swollen sex. Would Tara be soft and gentle, or hard and demanding? Would Dawn float in a hazy fog of pleasure, or would Tara force her to teeter violently on on edge, begging and pleading for release?
Her left hand travels over her small breasts, pinching her nipples, while her right hand begins to rub harder. She can see Tara's mouth, sticky-slick with Dawn's desire, smiling mysteries and murmuring magic. Tara's tongue would be insistent, and her fingers would fill her up, stretching and pushing her closer to that whirling, shining pinacle.
Dawn's left hand joins her right, and she's rubbing her clit and fucking herself with narrow fingers, and she can just hear Tara's voice, Come, baby, come for me, come on ... and she does, writhes and bucks in silence on her bed, her mouth open and her eyes tightly closed.
Her breathing calms and she slips her pajamas back on, then glances at the clock. It's after midnight and she has a World History test first period, so she settles down to sleep.
She dreams of magic and blood and strawberry milkshakes.