She Loves Me

Published by DLP Books

Also by Leigh Ellwood

Love’sDoMINion

Long Awaited Friend

In the Dareville series…

Truth or Dare

The Dares That Bind

Dare Me

Daring Young Man

Don’t Dare the Reaper

Double Dare

Dare to Dream

Daringly Delicious

A Winter’s Dare

Handle With Dare

This is an explicit and erotic story

intended for the enjoyment

of adult readers. Please keep

out of the hands of children.

www.DLPBooks.com

She Loves Me

A collection of lesbian erotica by

LEIGH ELLWOOD

She Loves Me © 2010 Leigh Ellwood

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

DLP Books

PO Box 55071

Virginia Beach, VA 23471

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

info@dlpbooks.com

www.DLPBooks.com

Cover art by Leigh Ellwood

Images courtesy of iStockphoto

Published May, 2010

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Where Angels Dare to Tread

Author’s Note

I thank you for taking the time to read this latest adventure of the small town with big passion. Since publishing Truth or Dare in 2004 with Phaze Books, I hadn’t expected to expand the series as far as I have, and I’m far from finished! I hope you’ll stay a while and enjoy the scenery.

Where Angels Dare to Tread is the first F/F story in the Dareville universe. If you enjoy tales of Sapphic sensuality, I hope you’ll enjoy this one. With regards to the Dareville chronology, this story falls into place:

Truth or Dare

The Dares That Bind

Dare Me

Double Dare

Daring Young Man

Dare to Dream

Daringly Delicious

A Winter’s Dare

Where Angels Dare to Tread

Don’t Dare the Reaper

And there’s always room in town for more.

Stay daring,

Leigh

Five o’clock could not arrive any sooner. Carole Douglas timed the last thirty seconds of her shift on her watch, silently urging the thin, lagging arrow toward the twelve. Only then she felt confident enough to shut down the booth without incurring the wrath of a passing Shopper executive who might think she wanted to skip out early.

All around her, it appeared the rest of the street fair wound collectively towards a coda. Game booth barkers draped heavy cloths over wooden counters and fixtures, weary volunteers chugged up Main Street—closed off to vehicular traffic for the weekend—carrying zipper packs of the day’s till, and food vendors snapped down their metal awnings. So, too, would Carole pack up for the night and leave to get ready for the real fun.

Growing up in Dareville, she’d always enjoyed the annual Black Rose Festival. Though the event coincided with other Halloween festivities to allow for locals and visitors to enjoy cool weather, this year the Virginia heat had yet to give way. Today felt no different than the hottest day in August.

Good for foot traffic to her booth, Carole decided, thinking of all the complimentary hand fans she’d given out to passersby. You couldn’t turn your head on Main Street without seeing somebody flap the Dareville Shopper logo on a round, blue cardboard flat. Now, if all of those people would subscribe to the damn paper when the festival ended...

Carole grabbed her money box and ledger filled with names of those who had signed up for home delivery, leaving the rest of the booth’s contents unsecured. Everything there was earmarked to be given away anyway, no skin off her nose if she came to an empty booth tomorrow. Only one thing occupied her thoughts now, and that was preparing for the first ever Vamp Ball associated with the festival. She could still picture the dazzling posters displayed around town—the exotic imagery of lithe, Gothic fairies and demons entwined in passionate embrace. That Brady Garriston, the famous rock musician and Dareville resident, planned the event and intended to perform told Carole this was one party she couldn’t miss.

If the rumors she’d heard about Brady’s sexual exploits proved true—his open marriage to a Dareville native, the orgies at this home—she could only imagine what to expect tonight. Her nipples tightened at the prospect of arriving at the local VFW Hall hosting the bash, downright sexy in her wicked fallen angel costume, and latching onto a gorgeous demon for some incredible sex. Yes, the Black Rose Festival was okay for the kids, but at twenty-two Carole yearned for some adult fun.

“Excuse me?”

Carole turned sharply at the voice, and all thoughts of vamps, tramps, and fucking slipped away. Almost, at least. The beautiful red-haired vision standing before the booth must have stepped out of one of the Shopper’s weekend color supplements. She could be a model easily with her flawless skin and enchanting green-gray eyes, and a slender build off which her low-slung jeans and cut-off tee hung nicely.

Carole swallowed and inhaled to steady her heartbeat. She liked men, definitely, but that never stopped her from admiring the occasional female form or playing the “barsexual” with friends to rile up male cohorts. One as sweet as this, though, could definitely tempt her to completely switch teams.

She looked close to Carole’s age, shy with her hand gestures but generous with a smile. She waved a cell phone at Carole. “Is there a drugstore nearby, someplace where I can get a phone card? I’m out of minutes.”

“Sure,” Carole said. “Jake’s Organic sells those.” Why did her hands shake as she collected her things? “That’s where I parked, I could walk you there.”

And maybe we’ll get a soda after the show. Jeez, girl, could you sound any more like a dope?

“Cool.” The young woman stepped back and watched Carole round the booth to the street. Carole noticed the appraisal in her eyes, as though she were sizing up Carole.

“I’m Carole Douglas, by the way.” She extended her free hand and felt the warmth of the other woman’s strong grip. She introduced herself as Bella Reeve and they started a slow trek toward the grocery.

“This festival was great,” Bella said, keeping in step. “This is an annual thing?”

Carole nodded. “I guess you’re not from around here. Black Rose has gone on for as long as I can remember.”

Bella shook her head and volunteered no further clues as to her origins. Carole gave a soft shrug and did her best to fill in the silence. “Well, the way I learned it, back in the pre-Colonial times of Dareville there was a woman named Rose Smith whom everyone thought was a witch. Everybody called her Black Rose, because people believed she caused crops and farm animals to die just by walking past them.”

“Damn.” They came upon a discarded cola can, which Bella picked up and tossed in a nearby, bulging waste bin. What mugger would clean up the town streets? “And you celebrate that?”

“Not exactly,” Carole said, laughing. “Rather than just burn her at the stake like other towns did with their ‘witches’,” she emphasized the word with bent fingers, still unsure of the actual Rose’s guilt, “the townspeople decided to run her out of town. Rose said she’d go willingly if they would throw a big party for her first, make her feel like she had some friends. So they did, had a big celebration with food and games, and the next day she disappeared.”

“Wild.” Bella looked at her, thoughtful. Carole felt the urge to turn away from her stare. The skin on her arms prickled and flushed with sudden modesty. “Did it work?” Bella asked.

“For a while, I guess.” She could see Jake’s store just in the distance. “Way the story goes, everything was fine for a few years, then the crops started dying again. Since there weren’t any witches left in town to blame, they decided to have another festival and see if it helped. That sort of morphed into the Black Rose weekend we have now.”

“Guess it did, otherwise you wouldn’t keep having it,” Bella said.

“Either that, or we’re just a party town.” Right.

They came to the storefront and paused. Carole shuffled her feet and clasped her hands behind her, much like a teenage boy debating whether or not to steal a kiss at the end of the date. Why her heart throbbed and her clit pulsed she couldn’t fathom. Carole liked men—loved men, no doubt about that. Yet, Bella was quite beautiful—movie star quality crossed with a genial nature. Plus the woman smelled nice, giving off the sweet aroma of honeysuckle from a shampoo or body lotion.

“Well, I hope the crops don’t die this year,” Bella said, sharing Carole’s laugh. “Though I have to tell you, I didn’t see many driving in.”

She must have come in from the toll road then—which told Carole that Bella likely wasn’t from the beach.

“We do fine,” Carole said, gesturing to the store. “All home grown.”

“I actually came up for this. I’m a big Brady Garriston fan.” Bella crooked her neck at a Vamp Ball poster taped to one of the sliding doors. “You going?”

Carole’s heart sped up at that, and the prospect of seeing Bella again. “Got my ticket the day they went on sale. Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Bella smiled two rows of perfect white teeth. “I’ll see you there then.”

I guess so. Bella slipped into the store for her cell phone card, while Carole waved awkwardly after her and tried to shake the image in her head of Bella in a sexy, low-cut vampire dress.

* * * *

Once, twice, twenty times she checked her reflection in her vanity mirror for telltale mascara smudges and traces of crooked lipstick. She looked incredible, so assured her growing sense of self-worth. The tightened, laced-up white corset of her fallen angel outfit matched the gleaming shade of her vinyl miniskirt and white fishnets, accentuating her full curves and light brown skin. Thick-soled white boots stretched up her calves and lent an extra four inches to her five-foot-five height. A broken halo, into which she’d woven a few cloth black roses, rested atop her billowing, shoulder-length curls. The gauzy white wings, trimmed with black marabou and veined with black lace, waited on the couch. They wouldn’t survive the drive to the party on her back, so she would affix them upon arrival.

Per her new ritual, she consulted the clock on her laptop after primping, only to discover two whole minutes had passed since her last peek. Much like life in Dareville, time crawled with excruciating agony.

The doors of the VFW opened at seven, ten minutes from now. Carole wished not to appear too eager, so she willed herself to commit to leaving her apartment fifteen after the hour, jumping into the party midstream.

How to kill twenty-odd minutes, though? Television yielded nothing of interest…like she could pay attention to anything else aside from her excitement over the Vamp Ball. The idea of grinding against a packed house of sweating, scantily-clad bodies set her senses aflame.

She took a seat at her desk, leaning back in her swivel chair and hooking a thick heel over a drawer handle. Her body thrummed, aching for the animalistic sexual contact the night promised.

She skimmed fingers over her exposed bosom, dipping into one cup to capture a nipple. She rolled the hardened little knob between her fingers, thinking of creamy, dreamy Bella Reeve. How would she recognize the fair redhead this evening? Carole hadn’t thought to ask Bella, either, if she had a date to the ball. A shadow of disappoint fell over her thoughts at the realization Bella might not be unattached.

Why am I thinking that? She, with the Daniel Craig screensaver and stack of tattered romance novels about to avalanche from her nightstand to her bed, each graced with a rippling, washboard hard chest dusted with flowing, masculine manes? To think of it now, Carole couldn’t recall picking up on a Sapphic vibe from Bella, so why be bothered by it? Why even think about those piercing eyes assessing every thread of Carole’s skimpy costume, mentally undressing her, and reaching out with those soft, slender fingers to tangle in her curls—

Carole scooted her ass forward so that her skirt slid back up her thighs, further exposing the tiny patch of a black lace thong. Her anticipation of tonight had caused the material to soak, and she inhaled her tangy scent. She might have to change panties before leaving…or maybe just go commando.

Now, though, she moved to the bed and stretched with languorous delight, arching her hips upward as she eased the hem of her skirt to her waist and exposed her moist pussy. Hooking her thumbs under the thin black band, she looped the thong through her legs and slingshot the dampened delicates toward the hamper across the room. Inside the drawer of her nightstand rested her favorite vibrator and a small bottle of lube—the perfect time-killer.

Drawing her upper body to recline against propped-up pillows, Carole traced the buzzing, bullet-shaped head of the pink vibe up and down her parted inner lips. The taunting maneuver enhanced the ache inside her, and she hummed with approval at the ensuing, delicious torture. She imagined another’s fingers—Bella’s, Brady Garriston’s, anybody’s—in its place, rubbing and flicking and kneading her clit with practiced fury. Just as Carole prepared to teeter backwards into the abyss of an explosive orgasm, she lifted the vibe from her body. Her pussy clenched and twitched at the denial, and the heat of her desire quickly evaporated from her skin. No worries, though, it would return with renewed vigor soon enough.

She gasped, plunging the hard shaft deep into her pussy while her free hand strummed her clit to the beat of her imagination. Tongues replaced fingers, fingers instead pinched nipples, and Carole closed her eyes to see Bella’s face buried in the juncture between her thighs, her own lids fluttering as she became lost in her ecstasy. Carole’s orgasm burned and built around the vibe quickly, exploding in a violent rush that nearly launched Carole off the bed. She cried out her day’s frustration, releasing her impatience and lust and allowing for the opportunity to relax and enjoy the Vamp Ball.

And, perhaps, another mind-blowing orgasm afterward…triggered by somebody else.

* * * *

On pulling up to the VFW Hall, Carole cursed her inclination toward fashionable tardiness. Recovering in the afterglow of her motivational “exercise” with her battery-operated boyfriend had added five extra minutes to her allotted wait time. Close to eight, cars bloated the dirt lot in front of the hall, forcing Carole to park a quarter-mile down the road.

Finally at the door, she surrendered her ticket and received her impenetrable paper wristband. The soles of her feet felt unfashionably blistered in her high-heeled boots.

Once inside, however, any frustrations and aches dissolved at the scene unfolded before her. This place looked nothing like the drab, wood-paneled hall where she’d once sat in a stiff green jumper for Girl Scout meetings. Black velvet glittering with tiny twinkle lights draped the walls, and unseen fog machines pumped opaque clouds of vanilla-scented mist across the floor—at the center of which was set a raised area covered by blinking neon tiles where people danced. Carole stared in wonder for a few seconds and expected Tony Manero to alight any second to squire some lucky girl around its perimeter in a sexy tango hustle.

She saw two full bars stationed at either side of the hall, and the concert stage in the back by the dance floor. Brady Garriston and his band, however, weren’t playing. She noticed a DJ’s booth with turntables at one corner, the presumed opening act. No matter to the crowd, they gyrated and twisted to the thumping beat of a Beyonce remix.

Oh, and the people…and their costumes! Carnivale and Halloween collided on this sticky night. All shapes, sizes, and colors fluttered and slithered en masse in a variety of silks and leathers—some elaborately designed and stitched, others obviously pieced together from bits of leftover holiday outfits. Limited in budget, but nonetheless attractive.

Despite the abundance of working central air, every person nudging past Carole on the way to dance or drink glowed with a faint sheen of sweat. She tasted the salted air, growing dizzy with the collective erotically charged musk of the two hundred or so partygoers, undecided as to where to go first.

So she surged forward, slicing into the crowd shoulder first, glancing back often to see her wings battered and bending against the crush of people. They would be nothing more than shreds of gauze clinging to warped wire frames at night’s end, she feared, but quickly shook away her distress once she hit the dance floor. She hadn’t spent too much on them anyway, though she would have preferred to have them destroyed in the heat of passion…ripped from her body by a horny demon intent on ravishing her.

A demon…or a vampire? The dance floor provided a delicious buffet of fantastic creatures: werewolves, devils, night stalkers, and shapely cat women in low-cut unitards.

One song segued into another, sewn together by the same bass-heavy house mix beat. Carole raised her arms and swayed her hips, responding with sensual fervor to every body seeking to share her personal space. A tall black man, head shorn and dressed to resemble a Hell’s Angel, brushed his denim-clad groin against her backside. Carole delighted in the nudge of his hardening cock, pleased to think she had a hand—ass, tits?—in helping it along. Smiling over her shoulder at him, she bent slightly to tease him with a slow swivel. They ground together for several seconds before the tone of the music changed and he drifted off to another partner.

Damn. She supposed the one challenge to swinging must be to know how far out to swing and when to stop. He was cute, too, and quickly sucked into the vortex, perhaps never to be seen by her again. Ah well, Carole kept dancing and reminded herself that the night was young. Plenty of time for this fallen angel to claim a soul.

She looked up and her heart stopped. Among the sea of heads bobbing and thrashing to the music moved a familiar red top. Carole tried to stand on tip-toe to see better, wincing at the spongy sensation of a blister as the ball of one foot rolled forward. Mercifully the crowd before her parted just enough to reveal Bella, breathtaking as a Gothic vampire in a black brocaded corset, skin-tight shorts, and black lace stockings held with garter straps. A broad smile displayed elongated fangs at either end of her lips, colored bright red and tempting against the pale of her skin. Good enough to eat, and be eaten.

“Bella! Over here!” Her words faded into the background. Carole couldn’t hear herself for the music, and neither did Bella. The red-haired vampire half-strutted, half-danced back into the crowd, disappearing behind a pair of psychedelic butterflies.

Damn. Carole surged forward to find her. If nothing happened between them, at the very least Bella was the only other person she recognized here. It would be nice to chat a bit, warm up before the main attraction of finding a mate.

She was three steps into her trek when the music ground to sudden silence and the overhead strobes momentarily dimmed. The mirrorball over the dance floor continued its slow spin, spilling droplets of light over the cheering revelers. Carole turned toward the stage, anticipating the star attraction.

Brady Garriston appeared under a lone spotlight, normal and casual in simple jeans and a tight white tee. Without his piano to conceal him, he resembled a giant onstage. Then again, Carole had an enviable vantage point close to the stage, where nobody blocked her view of the setup or other approaching musicians. She tuned out the jubilant applause and catcalls as a tall, lean blond took up a bass guitar and a short, curly-haired man settled behind the drums.

Eventually the crowd settled down to let Brady address them. He grasped the mic stand and tilted it forward. “You vamps and scamps havin’ a good time tonight?” After the obligatory eruption faded, he chuckled and said, “Glad to hear it, thanks for coming out. Let’s just hope a garlic and wooden stake truck doesn’t break down outside and ruin it.”

A collective groan, then Brady added, “Yeah, I know. Good thing I’m a better at music than comedy, so we’re going to get right to it. But first,” and here the overhead light faded to allow a brightening footlight to shine, lending eerie shadows and a ghoulish appearance to Brady, “let’s take a moment to remember why we’re here, and the not-so-forgotten soul for whom we celebrate this day…”

He ducked into the surrounding dark, and another figure stepped forward. Carole’s breath left her body. There stood Bella, calm and beautiful with her hands pressed together as if in prayer. Carole took note of her shapely legs, accented by dark high heels, and her pert, milk-white bosom encased in the form-fitting top.

A series of low bass notes vibrated the floor, setting the tone for what Carole expected to be a Poe-like preamble to Brady’s show. Bella bared her fangs and stepped up to the mic, just as the crowd noise dwindled to an awed hush.

She spoke slowly, her voice husky and melodic:

Deep in the heart of Old Virginia

Where naught the bravest man goes,

Demon shadows swirl ’round the one

Cursed with the name of Black Rose.

Where she wanders, over hills and dale,

The specter of despair follows.

What once thrived now shrivels and dies,

Bowing victims of the Black Rose.

Catcalls and whistles punctuated every verse of Bella’s song-poem, made all the more haunting as the bass player thumped a sinister rhythm. Somewhere in the back a drunk man shouted a crude proposition, and Carole willed him to silence or unconsciousness. Bella’s ethereal presence onstage enraptured her, and for a second she swore the red-haired fairy spotted her in the crowd.

Bella drew her lips into an open, hungry smile, exposing her fangs:

To preserve our life, to spare the witch

Her praises we sing, in verse and prose.

We’ll lift our tankards and drink ’til dawn,

Every toast we give to Black Rose.

Heed my words, you demons and vamps,

You time will come, the good Lord knows.

A prosperous life ye all shall enjoy

When ye pay your respects to Black Rose!

Bella sounded the final line in a higher pitch, which signaled Brady’s guitar from the darkness. The band erupted into one of his earlier hits, an appropriate hard rock anthem about spooks and shadows that set the crowd to cheering. Carole bounced and danced to the beat, all the while keeping watch for Bella, who had shrunk into the background rather quickly.

In seconds, the young woman faded entirely, leaving Carole to realize how alone she felt among the bodies pressing against her. Without a second thought for her costume shop wings, she eased past dancers and swaying bodies, finding freedom in a pocket of space just off the raised dance floor. She grabbed a drink of water from an ice-filled tub at one drink station and surveyed the hall for possible exits. Bella was nowhere in sight, and Carole surmised she might have slipped out for some air. She had to have baked underneath those stage lights.

With her eyes she followed the line of velvet curtain running the length of one wall and realized it had been set up to leave some room on the other side—presumably for the band to have some privacy in between sets. Seeing no imposing guards with thick, folded arms guarding the area between stage and partition, she casually walked a short length of the curtain, feeling for a gap through which she could slide. Soon she stood on the other side, allowing for a few seconds to pass so her eyes could adjust to the darkness of the makeshift alley against the back wall of the venue.

Illuminated before her, a bright red EXIT sign beckoned. Underneath that stood two figures molded together in passionate embrace. Carole stepped forward slowly, her heart pounding in time to the music. Perhaps Bella had a date after all, somebody who waited in the wings to congratulate her on a job well intoned.

She relaxed, however, on seeing two familiar women—neither one Bella—leaning against the wall, kissing and giggling. One, a waifish blonde in a slinky red minidress, caught Carole’s eye and turned to smile.

“What ’cha need?” she shouted over the din.

Carole motioned to the door, using a hand to mimic the international sign for “I need a smoke.” The two understood immediately and gave her berth to leave.

“Just keep your bracelet on so you can get back in,” the woman instructed as Carole nodded and darted past. Anything else she had to say was cut off by the curt slam of the heavy door, which muffled the Vamp Ball and sealed Carole from the adult fun she’d craved for weeks, yet now found unsatisfying with the absence of a beautiful, lithe redhead.

* * * *

She found Bella lingering by a thick oak to one side of the building. In the distance people roamed the parking lot, perched on bumpers and hoods as the glow of red ash spots danced like demonic fireflies in the night. Carole thought at first Bella was talking to somebody on a cell phone and hovered a few feet away to give her some privacy, but after a few seconds she realized the woman hummed her Black Rose song to herself.

Suddenly she stopped and flashed Carole a vampire smile. “You look wonderful,” she said. “I love the trim and the wings.”

“Thanks.” Carole let out a short, nervous laugh. “Same to you. Totally demonic.”

Bella stepped away from the tree and obliged with a vampy pose. From the lot a man shouted, “Nice poem, Stevie Nicks!” and Bella waved a dismissive hand in response.

“You having a good time?” she asked Carole.

I am now. “Yeah, just getting some air. It’s a neon sauna in there.”

“I know. Let’s cool off for a bit.”

Bella set off, trudging deeper into the grassy field behind the VFW hall. Carole found it a challenge to negotiate the soft ground beneath her heels, but managed a decent cadence that kept her in pace with the other woman.

“That was a good opening,” she said. “Really set the mood.”

“Thanks.” Bella cast her a shy smile.

“So do you know Brady Garriston? That’s kind of cool.”

Bella crooked her neck back toward the building. “I know his drummer, he’s the one who got my ticket when the ball sold out. I didn’t know I’d be onstage until, like, a few minutes beforehand.”

“Really?”

“Yah.” She nodded vigorously, eyes wide. Carole caught their brilliance even as walked farther from the lighted lot. “The girl they originally had doing it didn’t show, and I had three minutes to memorize that damn poem. Good thing it was short.”

“I’ll say. You do pretty good under pressure.”

“I’m ready to relax now.”

Bella came to a sudden stop, and Carole let a few seconds pass in silence so her vision could adapt to the dark. About two feet ahead of them, the weeping branches of a thick-trunked willow hung limp, unmoved by the breeze.

“You know where we are, don’t you?” Bella’s voice took on a secretive tone that sent chills down Carole’s back.

“We’re…behind the VFW Hall,” she said. “I’ve been coming here all my life for various things. It’s just a place.”

“You think so?” Bella moved to stand with her back against the trunk. Carole could clearly make out the other woman’s shape, especially her smooth skin exposed by the skimpy costume.

“I asked my friend why they were having the Vamp Ball here, when they could have done it in a bigger venue, or someplace with better acoustics,” Bella began, but Carole cut her off before she could finish.

“Wouldn’t make sense to do it in Virginia Beach. It’s a Dareville festival, and there’s really not a lot of places for a big event. Though,” she added, “I guess they could have done an outdoor concert at the park.” The open space would certainly have diluted the sensuality of the closed-in feeling the hall provided, however. Carole pictured the same group dancing in the grass at Dareville Memorial Park, stumbling in soft spots and rogue gopher holes.

Bella shook her head; her tresses flowed with the movement. “This,” she pointed to the ground, “is where the Black Rose lived. When they were planning this thing they went over some of the old town ledgers and maps, and according to one of the earliest censuses Rose Smith had a home on this plot of land.”

“No shit?” Carole looked around instinctively. “I’m surprised there isn’t a marker or something, as much as we commemorate Black Rose.”

“Maybe the town doesn’t want to encourage kids to hold rituals or other devilish activities.” Bella’s voice highlighted a playful gesture—fingers waggling as though to threaten a touch. Carole laughed in kind and wondered fleeting how those hands would feel kneading her shoulders or breasts.

“Since she’s not buried here, I doubt anybody would be able to raise her from the dead,” Carole said, and swallowed when Bella quietly closed in on her.

“How do you she isn’t?” Bella asked softly.

“Er—” She took a step back. Bella had come into better focus now. Inches away, in the dark, the outline of her face and lips softened and looked rather inviting.

Carole recovered quickly and cast her gaze downward. Now Bella’s luscious legs tempted her. “Well, she left town, didn’t she?” she posed. “Who knows where she ended up?”

“She could have come back.”

“We don’t really know.”

Bella took another step. Her bare arm brushed just against Carole’s. Zing! A heated ache pooled low in Carole’s pussy.

“That second festival could have been a welcome home party for Rose,” Bella said, “and every one afterward a celebration to remind the people of her vindication.”

“Doesn’t sound like the legends I’m used to hearing.”

“Of course not. Witches are always supposed to be wicked and friendless in fairy tales. The truth doesn’t necessarily enter into it, and nobody really cares why we have parties so long as they’re fun.”

Bella took her hand, and Carole thought her knees might give way. She trembled despite the warm night and wondered why. She wanted this, wanted something to happen at this ball, and Bella certainly fit the bill. Yet the sinister atmosphere surrounding them worried her. Whom had she known inside the hall to miss her now? Those two women who’d directed her outside probably hadn’t given her a second thought afterward.

“You up for some fun, Carole?” Bella asked, licking her lips.

“Always.” Endangered or not, she wished she didn’t sound so meek.

Bella laughed. “You don’t sound ready.” But as she pulled Carole to her the mirth died away and her breath thickened. They brushed past a low-hanging limb and she guided Carole to lean against the trunk, her hands cupped on Carole’s hips.

“You’re warm,” she observed. “You feel ready.”

Bring it on. Carole wanted to say it, but having Bella within kissing distance muted her. When the redhead finally leaned in to engage in a soft lip-lock Carole arched her back, pushing her breasts against the soft body jockeying for a comfortable position.

There went the wings. Carole heard tearing, but she didn’t give a damn.

Bella moaned and melted into Carole, lining up with her perfectly—breasts to breasts, pelvis to pelvis, one leg hooked between Carole’s to keep them together. Her hands explored Carole’s bare décolletage while Carole dared to grasp Bella’s backside. The shorts the other woman wore appeared painted on, yet as Carole smoothed her palms over the material she detected a bit of wiggle room, and dipped her fingers underneath the thin hems to stroke Bella’s flesh.

“Mmm.”

Bella’s tongue teased her, probing her mouth gently as she pursed her lips and relaxed again. Carole had kissed quite a few girls in her day, yet all had been just for show—emotionless and sloppy. Bella proved herself an expert, nipping with her vampire fangs and delving and encouraging Carole to reciprocate her ministrations. Feeling braver, Carole slid one hand up Bella’s buttocks and slipped under the waistband of the tight shorts. Latex, nice and stretchy. Carole smiled into the kiss when Bella obligingly spread her legs and allowed her to reach under the swell of her to finger her pussy.

Bella was sticky, warm, and ready. Carole’s own pussy twitched in response, and she imagined Bella thought the same of her when Bella’s hand came down to cup Carole’s mound under the miniskirt. Fingers pushed past the strip of thong underwear and through the wide holes of Carole’s fishnets.

Their mouths broke free and Bella chuckled. “Oh yeah, you’re ready, alright,” she said, and eased a finger into Carole’s slick channel. “Tight one, too.”

Carole closed her eyes and clamped down on Bella, loving how her pussy muscles drew the other woman deep inside her. Bella accommodated by adding two more fingers, pumping slowly, while another brushed Carole’s clit.

“Ooh!” The shock swept through her. She couldn’t believe she was out here, enjoying such a passionate clutch with a woman she barely knew, out in the open where anybody could find them. Like hell would she pull away and see about getting Bella home—who could wait that long?

She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of Bella’s corseted body and grabbed at one of the cups to free a breast. Bending her head down, she popped the exposed nipple in her mouth and sucked hard, earning a loud groan of approval and more intense attention to her clit.

“God, yes!” Bella swiveled to one side and thrust her crotch against Carole’s thigh, rubbing her covered pussy for much-needed relief. “I’m gonna come just from you doing that.”

The same honeysuckle scent Carole savored earlier that day magnified in her taste of Bella. She’d never gone this far with a woman before, but had licked her share of male pecs, and Bella beat them all handily. She flicked her tongue rapidly against Bella’s nipple until it hardened, then kissed a trail across to the other breast, moving the corset away with her chin.

All the while, Bella continued to finger-fuck her. Carole sensed the first tingle of an approaching orgasm and sighed. No question that the woman knew how to give pleasure. Carole only hoped Bella’s declaration was sincere.

“I want to taste all of you,” she whispered on Bella’s skin. So what if they rolled in the grass and leaves and ruined their costumes? Carole wanted to rip hers completely away and leave no inch of skin untouched by Bella’s embrace.

“Good idea. C’mere.”

Carole whimpered when Bella stopped touching her and moved away. She pressed her thighs together to keep her pussy slick and ready for Bella, who had stepped deeper into the dark, searching the ground.

“Here,” Bella said finally, and shed her shorts and rolled down her stockings over her boots. Carole enjoyed the outline of the redhead’s round, firm ass, just visible in the moonlight.

“Wish we had a blanket or something,” Bella added as she laid the shorts on the grass.

“Use these.” The wings came off with none of the care Carole had for them earlier in the day. Coupled with her miniskirt and discarded underthings, lined with Bella’s clothing, they created a makeshift pad where the both could sit without getting too messy.

Planted on the wings, Bella guided Carole to straddle her right thigh. She stroked Carole’s smooth pussy lips, dipping between to folds to catch her clit again. “Love a girl who shaves,” she murmured. “You can touch me, too. It’s okay.”

“Right.” Carole let out a short, nervous laugh, then reciprocated Bella’s caress. Bella shaved as well, and her pussy felt no different than her own—it was almost like being at home with her battery-operated friend. She explored the outer and inner labia, noting where Bella appeared the wettest and what spots she enjoyed having touched. When she found Bella’s clit she kept her thumb pressed there, watching for her new lover’s reaction.

“Perfect.” Bella sucked air through her teeth, then maneuvered them until she now straddled Carole, thighs spread apart to allow their mounds to press together. Bella propped herself with the heel of one hand anchored behind her while the other had Carole at the small of her back. In this position, their breasts rubbed together—Bella’s bare nipples against Carole’s corset.

“Hang on.” Carole had Bella by the nape of the neck, but free a hand long enough to push down the white, lacey cups of her bustier. Now, with the added friction between their more sensitive parts, Carole’s body shivered with enhanced pleasure.

“Slowly, like this,” Bella urged, and began a slow grind against Carole’s clit that nearly launched her into orbit. Carole copied the movement, clockwise to counter Bella, and let her head fall back to catch a light breeze kicking up the willow’s branches. Never before had she experienced such wanton, spontaneous play—definitely a reason to celebrate, and not just during a once a year festival. With Bella sharing her body so intimately with her, Carole felt alive and sexy…

…and ready to explode.

“Damn.” She picked up the pace and Bella followed suit. The quiver of her pending orgasm fluttered low in her pussy, expanded by the friction of their grinding rhythm. It didn’t take long for Carole to tip over the edge and when she did she let out a deep wail that could certainly have wakened old Rose Smith were she buried nearby.

Soon Bella cried her own release and launched forward to wrap her arms around Carole. With their legs still tangled, they kissed fiercely and writhed together to ride every last shockwave. Carole gasped for air while Bella clamped down on her left breast and sucked, dragging those fake fangs gently down her skin.

“Shit, that was good!” Really, she’d never come so hard in her life—not with a man, not by her own hand. Bella’s magic touch had clearly spoiled her for anyone waiting in the wings.

A touch of sadness constricted her heart at that thought. What next, after this, Carole wondered. Bella, not being a local, would eventually go away…did Carole want her to? She’d come to the Vamp Ball looking for a good time, a fling to satisfy her raging lust, but how could she walk from this incredible sensation and not want more of it?

Worse, what if this meant nothing more to Bella than a hot time with a horny chick? What did she really expect, anyway? She hadn’t come to the party looking for happily ever after.

Didn’t mean she didn’t want it, though.

Bella lifted her head and kissed the tip of Carole’s nose. “You know,” she said, nearly out of breath, “if we get dressed now we can catch the rest of the show.”

“We could.” Carole palmed Bella’s bare ass, noting how the other woman didn’t appear that anxious to move.

“Or,” Bella kissed Carole’s chin, “we could take our own party somewhere else.”

“I like that idea better.” Carole groaned. “I only wish I didn’t have to get up early to man that damned booth.”

Bella laughed. “Yeah, I can think of more fun things to do than hand out newspapers.” She paused a moment, then asked, “Can you have company?”

Carole raised an eyebrow. “You like newspapers that much.”

“I like girls who work at newspapers,” Bella said softly, “I suppose I should read one while I’m here. The Shopper has want ads, right?”

Carole smiled. “You bet.”

Rising carefully, the two dusted off what belongings they could at least wear to Carole’s car, leaving behind a tattered pair of wings to mark the spot where a delicious demon and a fallen angel dared to tread.

Last Call

The melodic roar of synchronized laughter from an unseen television studio audience filled the compact living room of Janet Stanton’s double-wide mobile home. With a can of Old Milwaukee in one hand and what looked to be a cigarette in the other, her boyfriend Bob Fisher chuckled, then exploded at some talk show host’s antics as if an assistant director waving a cue card motioned for him to react with gusto. He rested in her ratty blue recliner, clearly wallowing in his bliss with the raised footrest wobbling only five inches away from the off-color set.

Janet, tucked away in her mere cubicle of a master bedroom, feigned reading the romance novel in her hands while keeping watch on her boyfriend. Occasionally her gaze panned deeper around the room to see clothes haphazardly folded and stuffed into her dressers, and swatches of fabric bulging over the lips of drawers. The thought to rise and take some pride in her home’s appearance passed quickly. No amount of effort on her part meant jack, as Bob had taught her tonight.

She found it difficult to relax this evening. Though her body—now lounging on the mattress with her ankles crossed—resided here, her mind remained behind in a happier time, earlier that morning to be specific. She and her best friend Sarah Nye had spent the day shopping and primping, and splurged on new hairstyles and manicures.

For all the good it did. Another burst of choking laughter rolled through the bedroom and Janet set the book on the nightstand with the rest of her “to be read” pile.

She balled her left hand into a fist, cutting the palm with red, rounded nails emblazoned with gold stripes, and released slowly until her fingers spread out as far as they could go. With her right forefinger she traced the tiny half-moons imbedded in her palm, little waves in a sea of life lines and wrinkles. Hours earlier some dainty Korean lady handled her fingers with all the cautious behavior of a collector appraising a fragile knickknack. “You have such beautiful hands,” she’d said. “Your man is very lucky to hold hands such as these.”

Somebody ought to tell him that, Janet thought, recalling the memory, and thinking now of the casserole dish full of homemade lasagna, chilling in the refrigerator untouched because Bob had craved Long John Silver’s instead.

A boisterous whooping noise erupted from the living room, startling Janet. “Jesus!” she cried, but her annoyance didn’t filter as strongly through the double-wide as Bob’s mirth. She thought of sinking down into bed and willing herself deaf when she caught sight of several pairs of panties stacked on the far end of the bureau.

Why haven’t you put your clothes away, nagged her conscience in a near perfect impersonation of her late mother. Anybody could walk in here and see your underwear and everything you own.

Janet could remember a time she wished Bob would come into her bedroom.

Lifting herself from bed, she ignored the rising volume of canned laughter from the television, gathered up the panties, and opened an already stuffed top drawer. As she did this, a thick, palm-sized booklet tumbled out and landed at her feet. Janet recognized it as the Gideon New Testament given to her by a gray-haired woman posted outside a nearby supermarket, mechanically distributing the green mini-books to willing hands, chanting, “Jesus loves you. Jesus loves you...”

She’d only accepted the book because she had a difficult time saying no to people, which explained why Bob was still here so late. She couldn’t say no to anyone—Tupperware ladies, beggars on the street, even boutique clerks who foisted unappealing clothes on her. Janet always feared she’d hurt somebody’s feelings, and since she knew how it felt to be on the receiving end she tried her best not to reciprocate.

Janet stared long and hard at the half-Bible before kicking it underneath her dresser. She’d been raised a Methodist, sang the hymns, and pressed her hands together in prayer. Eyes upward to Heaven, she’d asked God to bless her and her family and grant her a happy life. Every day for twenty-two years she did that, and a lot of good it did her.

Jesus loves me. Right. If He really loved her, He’d be parked outside with a moving truck, ready to help her out of this mess.

Heaving a sigh, she let the glow of the television pull her into the living room like a tractor beam, and she paused behind the recliner. The talk show had returned from a commercial, and the screen now showed the host at his desk, trying to keep a hyperactive Robin Williams from spinning a hole into the soundstage.

“Oh, man, you’re killin’ me,” Bob shouted at the set as he slurped from his can. He turned around and spotted Janet. “Hon, got any more beer?”

Janet folded her arms. “No.”

“But I just bought a case yesterday.” Bob crunched the now empty can into a disk.

“And you drank a case last night. And the night before that, and so on. What th—” Janet snatched the smoldering object in Bob’s left hand. Marijuana. How could she have not smelled that earlier?

Right. With the house such a mess, who could detect a steaming pile of elephant dung in here? What had happened to her self-respect?

“Bob, you idiot! You told me you quit!” Janet shook her head and crossed to the bathroom. Seconds later a long flush drowned out the sounds of the television.

The recliner’s footrest retreated and Bob squirmed in his seat, an obvious but failing attempt to stand. “Crucify me for having one lousy joint! It’s not like life has been easy lately. What’s a little pick-me-up now and again?”

“Pot doesn’t pick anything up except addicts, Bob, and I haven’t seen you make a grand effort to look for a job, either.”

Bob patted his belly. “Ah, I don’t think regular work is cut out for me anyway. I’ve always wanted to be a house husband. Take care of the kids, write novels...” Bob closed his eyes—the pot was taking effect. Janet knew the look, in ten seconds he’d be dead to the world.

Janet put a hand over her face. This was too much to take, pretty much the only thing she’d taken from Bob, seeing as how he had little else to offer.

She grabbed a blue windbreaker draped over a kitchen chair and slipped it on over her peasant blouse. “I’m outta here,” she said as she kicked open the side screen door.

“Where ya goin’?” a drowsy Bob groaned.

“Out.”

“Well pick up some beer while you’re ‘out,’ hon?” The door hadn’t yet shut behind Janet when Bob passed out.

* * * *

The typical tourist to Florida might not find Bayard—a small community situated mainly on US 1 between Jacksonville and St. Augustine—all too appealing at night, and therefore would not think to stop anywhere there en route to Walt Disney World. Street lamps in the area were few and far between, as were any obvious hints of civilization, which was comprised primarily of small businesspeople and farmers. Janet loved the area, though, and preferred to roam at night. Bayard had been her home since birth. She enjoyed the quiet.

Back in the fifties and sixties her parents had owned a shop in the popular antique mall on the highway, first opened by her grandparents. While the shop didn’t enjoy the foot traffic it had in the pre-interstate days, it earned enough now to keep the family’s expenses met. Janet would inherit the shop when her father passed away.

Janet sighed. If he passes away, she thought. He spent his poor excuse of a life three trailers down from hers, and despite their proximity father and daughter rarely spoke outside of work. Bob never understood the estrangement, and often voiced this opinion to Janet. He had visited the old man a few times during football season for excessive drinking, toking, and sharing sexist jokes. The two got along just fine, and now Janet wondered why Bob just hadn’t gone over there tonight.

Her neighborhood sat only a quarter mile from the mall, and upon reaching it, she turned and walked against the light highway traffic. People didn’t drive this way so much anymore, not since Interstate 95 came into its own, splitting the land at the state’s many points of interest. Most of the family-owned hotels and restaurants that dotted the state road fell—literally—into oblivion, all victims of national hotel chains and hamburger joints with express windows.

Janet sighed. Everything now was rush, rush, rush. Rush down the interstate, shove a bag of fried potatoes down your throat on the way, shake hands with larger-than-life cartoon mice...all in the space of two hours. Nobody wanted to sit and talk while gazing lazily out a picture window, sipping a concoction of whole milk and hand-churned ice cream. If you could get somebody to take a seat, chances proved high that person would spend the entire time on Twitter writing about it.

Janet had no use for such things. Sometimes progress did little to improve a way of life. At least the antique mall still had a pulse—albeit a faint one.

She approached the Wild Rooster Bar, where several parked Harley Davidsons lined the dirt lot in front of the building. Pink neon served as a beacon to the wild-of-heart and long-of-hair. Lynyrd Skynyrd broke the night silence, interrupted by the occasional hoot and holler and overzealous clacking of billiard balls. Janet stopped in front of the bar and its open door, contemplating a drink.

A drink—the last thing she needed, the last thing her father needed. And Bob. But they still drank. And smoked. And God knows what else. Janet preferred not to ask, or know.

She spotted Sarah’s truck, and realized her friend worked tonight. The idea to walk in just to say hello passed quickly. Judging from the number of cars and bikes, the Rooster’s patrons kept Sarah and the waitresses busy. Besides, she didn’t need to bring down the mood with her misery.

She walked past the door, putting more space between her and the bar. A convenience market stood several hundred yards away. She would get a Coke, as was her custom when taking night walks. No beer for Bob, though. Not this time.

Yellowish light from the lampposts filtered down onto her skin as Janet reached the Save-A-Stop, giving her a jaundiced glow. She didn’t take the time to browse the shelves, but headed straight for the back wall of coolers and selected a soft drink bottle.

The rotund gentleman behind the counter smiled warmly as Janet approached with the soda and a bag of tortilla chips she’d snatched on the short walk back. “I was about to give up hope, sweetie. Didn’t think you’d show up this time.”

Janet only smiled meekly. She saw the man every time she stopped in, but did not know his name, nor did she ask for it. There was something about getting close to a person that scared her since she met Bob. She didn’t need another complicated relationship.

The man raised a chubby finger to her face. “Oh, and look what I have.” He ducked under the counter and produced a six-pack of Old Milwaukee. “For your guy,” he explained. “You can tell him he’s got the first one off the truck.”

Janet looked at the man, then at the beer. He had done her a favor, so he thought. Sighing, she slapped a twenty on the counter, grabbed the filled paper bag he set before her, and murmured a “thanks” before leaving with her change.

Outside, she extracted the beer and pitched it in a garbage can she passed on the concrete curb of the store.

“That you, Jan?”

Janet looked up from the bag and squinted into the night. She caught sight of Sarah’s pickup, and the owner leaning against the driver’s side door. Sarah tended bar part-time, and must have just come off her shift. As Janet neared she noticed Sarah wore the unofficial uniform of the female staff—cutoff denim shorts that nicely enhanced Sarah’s long legs, and an off the shoulder floral blouse, hemmed high so that her navel showed.

Janet looked down at her black pedal pushers and matching Vans—no socks—and the white blouse underneath her jacket, marred by stains of dinners long past. She felt suddenly dowdy next to her gorgeous, dark-haired friend.

“So,” Sarah began expectantly, and pushed away from the truck, “did he like it?”

“Did who like what?”

Sarah rolled her eyes—the childish gesture did nothing to diminish the glamour of her upswept hairdo and impeccable makeup. “Your hair!” she chided. “Did Bob like it? Did he ravish you the second he saw how incredible you look?”

“You tell me, I’m standing here in a dirt lot with a Cherry Coke and Cool Ranch Doritos, talking to you.” Janet shrugged. Incredible? More like incredibly sloth-like, given her appearance and mood. She didn’t need a mirror to know how her finely-coiffed hair already showed signs of frizz. She hoped Sarah wouldn’t press for details, and since her best friend could correctly anticipate Bob’s reaction to most things, Janet felt relieved when Sarah merely sighed.

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” She stepped forward to embrace Janet, crinkling the paper bag in the process. “He is such a rat’s asshole for treating you the way he does.”

“Don’t be. It’s not like I help matters. I could have made a better effort to straighten up the place.” The thought of going home curdled her stomach.

“Janet, you’re overreacting. It’s not like you live in a sty. The house is fine. Everybody has a bit of clutter.”

“I guess. But he saw nothing different, so I suppose he didn’t see fit to do anything about it.”

“Different? You made a lasagna!” Sarah cried. “That’s not something you cook every day.”

Janet slumped up against the rim of the truck bed. “I’ll be eating it every day for a week, at least,” she said. “Want some?”

Sarah’s laugh came out low and sad. “I wouldn’t mind splitting those chips with you. What do you say?” She crooked her neck. “C’mon. I’ll drive you home.”

“You do that and you can have the chips,” Janet groaned, but rounded the truck’s grill toward the passenger side. “I’ll be too sick to my stomach to eat.”

“Let me guess: Bob hasn’t left.”

Janet shook her head, thinking of the permanent ass-print in her recliner, perfectly molded to fit Bob’s behind.

Sarah gunned the engine and shoved it into gear. “No problem. How about a drive instead?”

“Where to?”

“Wherever he isn’t.”

“Sounds good.” Janet settled back and asked no more questions.

* * * *

“How was work tonight?”

“Same as always. Stop changing the subject,” Sarah scolded, “and answer my question.”

The two women stretched out in the bed of the truck atop an opened sleeping bag Sarah kept in the extended cab with other camping equipment. With the truck parked in the lot of the abandoned Horne’s Restaurant off US 1, both watched the road for the occasional passing car. Above them, an array of stars spread against an indigo-black sky, twinkling brighter than Janet had ever before seen.

Used to be a time when she and her family would set up a small fire in the front yard and arrange the lawn chairs in a circle, talking and toasting marshmallows and making out various constellations. Somewhere between Brownie Scouts and high school, everyone gradually found something more interesting on television, and left Janet to her nightly walks to savor the serenity of nature. What appeal TV and Twitter had over that, she’d never know.

“I don’t know why I stay,” she answered finally. “Bob has no motivation, or skills, but believe it or not he’s the most stable thing in my life right now.”

“He’s the most stagnant thing in your life.” Sarah crossed her legs at the ankles. “You know what happens when a pond becomes still. It attracts mosquitoes, and algae that chokes the crap out of every living thing in its path.”

Janet swallowed. She hadn’t heard this analogy yet. Sarah must have met a biology professor from Flagler College at the bar, or else looked up something on the Internet.

I’m not suffocating. She wanted to say the words, but couldn’t bring herself to lie. Of course Bob meant bad news, but what could she do to escape? With only a high school diploma in an age where good jobs required more certificates on her wall—and she with no money or test scores to further her education—how could she support herself? Had her father not let her rent his older trailer for a song, she knew finding decent housing in the area would prove a challenge.

At the very least, too, what Bob brought pitched in via his unemployment checks helped with some bills. What he didn’t smoke or drink off, or hoard for something else, anyway.

“We were going to move to St. Augustine Beach, and share an apartment,” Sarah continued. She stroked Janet’s arm. “That small complex with the fountain in the courtyard and the pink coral exterior…How often did we drive past that place during senior year?”

“Too often.” All that gasoline, wasted. She should have used the time in her car looking for a better job, establishing herself somewhere with promise instead of chasing a fantasy.

Good lord, if enjoying life in a simple apartment in St. Augustine proved a fantasy, Janet felt grateful for not dreaming bigger—like aspiring to become an actress or President. This way, the disappointment of reality didn’t scar her too much.

Sarah rested her head against Janet’s shoulder. “You deserve so much more than Bob,” she said. “I wish you had gone along with my idea to split that apartment when it was available.”

Janet shook her head. “I only said no at the time ’cause I didn’t want all my crap following you home.” She pictured Bob invading their private space, wandering around in his underwear and little else. She groaned.

Sarah snorted. “It’s a gated community, keeps out the people you don’t want there.” Sarah became serious and lifted her head to look into Janet’s eyes. “It’s not too late, you know.”

Janet frowned.

“When I got home from the salon today, there was a message from the bank on my machine,” she said, her eyes now sparkling. “They approved the loan.”

“Oh my God, Sarah, that’s terrific!” For years, her friend had saved tips and wages toward leasing her very own storefront, and now it appeared Sarah had taken a giant leap closer to realizing her dream.

“I know. Tomorrow after I finish with the bank I’m going over to the real estate agency to see about the space I want. It’s a corner space in this strip right in Old City. Used to be a pizza parlor, but hopefully six months from now it will be Sarah’s Sweet Shop! It’s already got a kitchen, so I won’t have to do too much renovation.”

Tears of happiness beaded in Janet’s eyes. As children, she and Sarah had lived vicariously through Barbie dolls and play kitchens, with Sarah as pastry chef. From mud pies to Easy Bake oven concoctions to Home Ec projects, her goal remained clear: to own her own bakery. Janet couldn’t be more excited for her friend, yet a pang of sadness pressed against her heart at the same time. To bring this dream to life meant hard work for her friend, and less free time for manicures and lazy nights underneath a starlit sky for friendly chatter and Doritos.

She forced a smile and hugged her friend, draping one arm across Sarah as they lay together. No way would she spoil this moment by projecting her misery. Sarah deserved this good turn of events. If only she could feel such passion for...something. She liked working at the antique store, though held no special love for the place. With family squabbles and Bob to distract her, she never had the chance to really acquire an interest in anything beyond making it to the next day alive.

Sarah twined her fingers over her breastbone, took a deep breath, and looked upward. “Come with me.”

“Where? To the bank? Sure,” Janet said. Did Sarah need a reference? Flattering as the notion seemed, however, Janet knew the woman could do better.

“No, to my shop. Quit the antiques store, and quit Bob. Come with me to St. Augustine.”

“Are you serious?” Janet sat up and rested against the back of the cab, leaving Sarah to lean her head against Janet’s thigh. “You want me to work for you?”

“With me, Janet. I can’t run the place on my own.”

“I realize that. I figured you’d hire somebody who knows about baking and stuff.”

“I know that much,” Sarah said, laughing. “I need somebody to manage the books and help with orders for parties and weddings. You pretty much do that for the antiques store, handling money, and you need a change of scenery.”

“Yeah.” Janet sighed. “But—”

“Stop.”

Janet closed her mouth on the rest of her protest. The commanding tone of her friend’s voice had startled her, and when Sarah rose to meet her gaze, Janet saw how quickly the fire in her friend’s eyes strengthened to reflect her rising anger.

“If the next words coming are gonna be about how your dad needs you at the store, or how you can’t move out of that trailer, I don’t want to hear them,” she said. “There is absolutely no reason why you can’t change jobs, your home, or your whole damn miserable life. You have nothing vested in where you are, so why not take the opportunity and start a future with promise, damn it!”

Janet watched her friend exhale and sag, as though she’d held in those thoughts forever, and with them gone she could do nothing else but deflate from their loss. The mere sight of Sarah appearing defeated—by no fault of her own—encouraged the spigot to loosen and fresh tears formed. Janet sniffled.

“You’re the best friend I have, Sarah.” Her voice cracked. “The last thing I ever wanted was to be your burden.”

Sarah looked close to tears herself.

“I do want that bright future,” she continued, “but not at your expense. I want—”

She didn’t get to finish. Sarah’s lips pressed against hers so quickly and so suddenly Janet lost her train of thought. Her awareness now focused on Sarah’s sweet, floral scent filling her nostrils and the gentle caress of cool hands against her face.

* * * *

Thinking back over her short time on Earth, Janet tried to recall the last time Bob had kissed her as sweetly as Sarah did now. Had he ever? Where Bob often tasted of brewed yeast or corn chips or something indistinguishable and foul, Sarah offered a much more palatable alternative. Knowing her friend’s love for chocolate, Janet wasn’t surprised to detect a hint of that flavor in this long, gentle kiss. She peered with one eye to watch as Sarah—eyes closed and breathing in short bursts—moved in slow motion and angled her face for better friction.

Sarah’s mouth parted and her tongue darted out to trace the seam of Janet’s lips. Before she knew it, Janet aped the movement and soon the two women engaged in a full-blown make-out mode. Sarah pivoted her body, then straddled Janet as she drew her into a tight embrace. Janet felt Sarah’s slim body against hers, and sensed the hardened peaks of her nipples through the flimsy fabric of Sarah’s blouse. They brushed against Janet’s own breasts, setting her own skin aflame with arousal. Suddenly the cold ridges of the truck bed boring into the sleeping bag no longer felt uncomfortable, even as the two sank to a prone position.

Sounds dulled around her. The chirping crickets and the occasional passing car seemed to fade, drowned out by the blood pounding in her ears. Their shared kisses grew in urgency and strength, and Janet nipped at Sarah’s lower lip and chin, her heart lifting with every sigh of approval issued from her friend. Hands smoothed up and down her arms, then helped remove her windbreaker. The first rush of cool air caused her to twitch, but when Sarah resumed her caresses she relaxed, then sought to reciprocate the pleasure she received.

Her palm came to rest on Sarah’s backside and she cupped one buttock. Never had she considered doing this, but as Sarah undulated her hips into her and twined their legs instinct took over. Sharing this intimate, loving moment with her best friend since grade school seemed completely natural to Janet.

When they finally broke free for air, Janet inhaled deeply, savoring the burn deep in her lungs. She experienced a high no amount of weed from Bob’s bottomless nickel bag could deliver.

Their legs still tangled, Sarah slid to one side and propped herself on her elbow. Her free hand slid under Janet’s loose blouse and picked at the lace trimming her bra. “I’ve wanted to do that forever,” she whispered. “And don’t think for one moment that my offering you any kind of help is charity. I love you, Janet, and I know how proud you are. I want you working with me and living with me because I want us to be together all the time.”

Janet couldn’t look at Sarah anymore—shame overtook her. Instead she focused on the rise and fall of her own chest, and the tenting in her blouse caused by Sarah’s hand as the other woman touched her breast.

“Every time I see you with Bob, I just want to throw up,” Sarah continued, her voice dark. “I never said anything in the past because I knew you were into him, and I wanted you happy. This last year, though…” The hand drew away and Janet pouted. “He doesn’t deserve you, Janet. I don’t know what else to say or do to get you to see that.”

You’ve done plenty. Sarah’s kiss still lingered on her lips. She felt the night air evaporate the sensation from her skin, and she let out a choking sob.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah stroked her cheek.

“I am so stupid.”

“You are not.” Sarah drew her closer so that Janet turned to one side. The two women spooned in the bed of Sarah’s pickup, and Janet used her arm to support her head.

“Don’t ever say that about yourself,” Sarah told her. “You’re great at managing a business, and you’re smarter than you think.”

“I didn’t go to college.”

“So what? Neither did I, and look at me. I’m about to open my own bakery.”

“I’ve been so blind I couldn’t see for years that Bob’s an asshole and my best friend is…is…” Janet couldn’t bring herself to say the word. She wondered if she heard it, would it make her that way as well. As it stood now, Sarah didn’t repulse her, and had they not ended the kiss who knew how far she’d have gone.

“Is in love with you, Janet,” Sarah finished for her, kissing her behind her ear. “Now you know why I never showed much interest in dating anybody. I’ve been waiting for the best.”

Janet snorted. “I hope you find him.”

“She is right here. I wish you wouldn’t put yourself down.”

Janet said nothing. Anything she had to say, Sarah would counter, and they could go all night. So she snuggled back into Sarah and allowed the other woman to trace a line from her shoulder to hip and back.

“You are so pretty,” Sarah said. “I know I’ve told you before, but now…I hope you realize what I see.”

“How come you never told me about…how you feel?” Janet asked. Sarah’s hand dipped over to brush against her chest. Janet’s body reacted accordingly. Her nipples ached for another, more intense touch. Amazing to think how this simple gesture moved her more than the last time she and Bob had sex.

“I didn’t want to freak you out,” Sarah said. “Back in high school, I saw how people treated that one girl who looked like a dyke. I don’t think she was one, but I didn’t want that kind of misery. Besides, I wasn’t into other girls, just you.”

Janet shrugged in Sarah’s embrace, still focused on the side of the truck. How was a dyke supposed to look, anyway? It hardly seemed fair to judge somebody based on appearance. Much as she loved her hometown friends, the narrow-mindedness of some people aggravated her.

Her skin tingled when Sarah’s breathing heated her and sent shivers down to her toes. “I want to make love to you, Janet.”

Oh, God.

“N-now?”

“Now, tomorrow, every day,” Sarah said, “but I won’t do anything until you let me. I wish you would, and that’s why I asked you to be with me. Come here.”

Sarah tugged at her, and Janet twisted until she faced Sarah. Her friend looked different now—not necessarily a result of the dark. Despite the dim, Janet saw the emotions flare in Sarah’s eyes. She didn’t smile, and her gaze spoke volumes of Sarah’s passion and pain for her friend. Those eyes had watched Janet endure day after day of dejection and indifference from family and her boyfriend. Now, Janet wanted nothing more than to rekindle Sarah’s earlier joy for the future—the advent of her business and new life.

She kissed Sarah full on the lips, and the spark of their mutual desire shot through her. Two more seconds, and they’d revert to their groping embrace, but Sarah’s confession about wanting to make love held Janet back. She pulled away and sat up, much to Sarah’s visible disappointment.

“Like I said, I’m not giving you charity,” Sarah told her. “I want us to be partners, in everything.”

“And I want you to be successful,” Janet said, holding her hand as they moved to leave the truck bed. “I-I guess I need some time.”

“How much time?”

“I don’t know,” Janet said quickly. Any answer she could give sounded silly in theory. She’d wasted enough time already. Any other person in her situation would certainly ask Sarah when they could start.

To her relief, Sarah didn’t argue, but merely nodded. “Meet me at last call tomorrow night?” she asked. “I close. You’ll have the day to think it over, at least.”

“Sure,” Janet said, and got into the passenger side door as Sarah rounded the grill. Neither spoke a word on the way back to Janet’s doublewide.

* * * *

Janet awoke the next morning to find Bob exactly where she’d left him, snoring on the recliner with an empty beer can teetering in his loose grip. An infomercial for silicone bake ware, hosted by a booming-voiced, burly man, now blared on her set. Janet pinched the bridge of her nose and willed away the ache brought on by the piercing volume and canned applause. The second she located the remote she switched off the set and relished the silence.

Until, of course, Bob snuffled and woke. “Hey, I was watching that,” he protested.

“Oh, really? What was the show about?”

Bob stared at the blank set, his mouth gaping open.

“I thought so.” With a sigh, Janet loped into the kitchen and got the coffee started. While the fresh aroma of dark roast filled the compact space, she retreated to her room for a shower and change. What she thought would take twenty minutes, however, lasted much longer, as each search for a suitable article of clothing to wear led to a thoughtful straightening of her room.

She smoothed out wrinkled shirts and mated loose socks, putting everything in its place. As she did this, though, the thought to just stuff things into a bag occurred to her. She recalled last night’s encounter with Sarah, and pondered her friend’s offer to take Janet into her home. She didn’t doubt Sarah’s sincerity, and the more she considered it, the more the idea appealed to her.

They could share that oceanfront apartment they’d talked of renting back in high school. Sarah would bake biscuits for breakfast and pie for dessert, and every night…

Janet sighed. Closing her eyes brought back the sensation of Sarah’s mouth on her skin, and Sarah’s hands igniting her body into a tingling inferno. Standing in her bedroom now, dressed only in a bra and panties, she turned toward her dresser mirror and studied her reflection. Sarah had called her beautiful—not a word she’d used to describe herself, but apparently her friend saw something worthy in her angular face, brown eyes, and light skin tone.

She slipped two fingers under the left cup and captured a nipple, pinching until she felt pain. The move caused her pussy to throb, and as she thought about the last time she’d experienced a reaction down there she realized it happened last night…with Sarah. As they groped and caressed and kissed, Janet thrust and scraped against Sarah’s leg to relieve the ache. Had it really been so long since she’d enjoyed sexual pleasure that she didn’t know how Sarah inflamed her?

Pathetic. I’m silly and sad.

The jarring ring of the phone woke Janet from her thoughts. After the third peal, she knew Bob wouldn’t get off his ass to answer it, so she darted for the kitchen, casting him an annoyed glance on the way.

“Hey, it’s never for me,” came his defense, then he turned his attention back to the TV. “It’s your house.”

Janet answered to a gravelly, phlegm-choked cough. She didn’t need for her father to introduce himself. “What?” she asked, rolling her eyes.

“Jan, sweetheart, can you work the shop today?” her father asked. Another gargling sound exploded through the receiver that set Janet’s teeth on edge. “I’m going to an estate sale in Jacksonville.”

“It’s my day off,” she said. Shit. “I’ve worked three straight weeks, and weekends, without a break. You owe me this.”

“I know, I know. But I heard there’s some good pickings—vintage Fiestaware, carnival glass. I wanna get there before somebody else does.”

More like her father checked the address and discovered the house was close to the track, Janet decided. “Pop, I had plans for today, and a lot of stuff to do myself. Couldn’t you get Diane to work?” she asked. Her younger sister, who hung the moon as far as the family believed, set her own hours, working when she felt like it—and since everything came basically handed to her, that didn’t happen often.

“Diane’s driving me.”

“I could drive you, Pop. Maybe I needed to go into town today. We could do the estate sale, then I’ll run my errands.”

The pause on the other line exposed her father’s lie. Janet wanted to toss the phone into the sink and get rid of the filmy sensation of being used off her body.

Instead, she asked, “Pop, remember about ten years ago when you said I’d inherit the shop when you died…did you really mean that?”

“Huh?”

“The store, Pop. The one you’re pretending to buy more stock for. Are you leaving it to me like you said?”

The wheezing on the other line subsided. “Well, now,” her father said, gaining bravado, “seems if you wanted the store you’d be more willing to help out when I need you.”

Three weeks straight, including Saturdays and Sundays, open to close. An uneaten lasagna in the refrigerator. Nothing was good enough. “That’s not an answer, Pop,” Janet said.

“Oh, Janet, of course it’s yours,” he said. “You think I’d let that property end up with somebody else other than family?”

Family, like Diane. “Fair enough.” Janet shifted her stance, her gaze fixed on the snoozing Bob. “So, I take it you’ve made the proper arrangements in your will?” She cut off his next words. “Could I see it?”

“See what?” He sounded like a frail old man now.

“The will. Any paperwork confirming this.”

Silence. Obviously one didn’t need to hear a heart to know the point of breaking.

“Diane can open the store,” she said. “Today and every day from here on out.” She hung up on her father calling her name.

She reached across the galley kitchen’s counter and grabbed her purse. Fishing for her keys, she removed one from its ring and rounded the corner toward the recliner.

“Here,” she told Bob, dropping the key in his lap. He didn’t move or react, except to shake the beer can as though one last drop remained for consumption.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“This is your house now. Rent’s due on the fifth, sell whatever you want in here to pay it. I don’t want it anymore.” With that she turned on her heel to exit.

“What?”

Janet heard the recliner’s footrest drop and fold, but Bob didn’t rise to go after her. Apparently the news didn’t prove shocking enough to truly motivate him.

“You coming back?” he called after her.

Janet didn’t turn around. She knew what she’d see and preferred to look ahead. “What do you think, Bob?”

“Where’re you going?”

The door slammed behind her, and Janet kept walking. “Last call.”

* * * *

She didn’t see the pickup in six-car parking strip bordering the small apartment building, and Janet remembered Sarah’s bank appointment. She smiled, happy to think that at this moment her friend was signing her name to an exciting future. Sarah would control her destiny and become her own boss.

It warmed her heart to think she would take part in this new life. Every step toward Sarah’s, Janet had felt more liberated, and less weighed down by her troubles. The grasp her father and Bob held on her slipped with the distance she put between them, until she could finally breathe clearly. Neither man had tried to bring her home, which confirmed to Janet that love hadn’t existed for her there. As she sat at Sarah’s doorstep on the second floor walk-up on the right corner, she thought about something she’d overheard on a movie of the week Bob watched, or at least had on while he snoozed.

You’re like the pin that holds the hinge, one character had said. You know what happens when somebody removes that pin?

Sure, everything falls apart.

No. They find another pin to replace you.

Janet hugged her knees to her chest. Pop had another pin in Diane, or he’d hire on some ne’er do well in the trailer park. Bob…he had everything he wanted.

The distant rumble of a truck engine caught her attention, and Janet stood as Sarah turned her truck into the complex. She waved to her friend and met her at the open door.

“I decided I couldn’t wait,” she said.

“Hey, you.” Sarah smiled on seeing her, but Janet frowned. She hadn’t missed the earlier frustrated expression on Sarah’s face.

“Something wrong?” she asked. “You looked pretty lost in thought for a second there. Did everything go okay at the bank?”

“I’ll tell you inside. C’mon.”

Janet had always preferred Sarah’s place to her own. The sunny yellow walls complemented the comfortable plaid couch in the living room, and the gold sunburst-framed mirror on the great wall opposite where she sat lent more light to the area.

Sarah flopped down next to her. “Well, as you can guess, I was at the bank,” she said on a heavy sigh. “Took so long, I didn’t get to the Realtor.”

“Oh.” Janet’s heart deflated. “They didn’t approve you after all?”

“No, they did. It’s not the amount I was hoping for, though.” Sarah sniffed. “What they offered me isn’t going to be enough for the storefront I want. I could still open my bakery, but who knows if people would find it.”

Janet shrugged, then drew her friend closer into a half-embrace. “Sweetie, what does it matter if you don’t set up right on St. George Street? Word gets out about a great place to eat, people will look for it, and they’ll find you.”

“I guess.” Sarah didn’t sound convinced. “But you know what they say, it’s all about location.”

“St. Augustine is full of great locations. We’ll find one you can afford and get people there.”

Sarah cast her a sly smile. “We?”

“I’ll admit I didn’t do a lot of marketing for the shop beyond a phone book ad, but I promise you that you won’t find more dedicated help,” Janet said. She rested her head on Sarah’s shoulder. “I’m even willing to learn Twitter if it will help.”

Sarah laughed at that. “Janet Stanton on the Internet. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’d need a computer first. And, I suppose, a desk, and a house to put everything in…”

She swallowed, aware of Sarah’s inquiring gaze. “I left him,” Janet admitted. “Quit the shop, left the trailer.” She held up her purse. “This is all I have now.”

“No.” Sarah shook her head. “You have much more than that.”

Janet snorted. “Like my dignity? And my name.” Just like Tina Turner had said in that movie. If only she could dance and sing as well.

“You have everything here,” Sarah said. “What I have is yours. Where you go, so will I.”

“That sounds familiar,” Janet said, knowing that hadn’t come from the Tina Turner movie.

“It’s from the Bible, sort of. The Book of Ruth.”

Janet nodded, thinking of that pocket Gideon she’d left behind when a tug on her arm brought her attention back to Sarah.

She rose as Sarah prompted her. “What are we doing?”

Sarah pulled her toward the bedroom. “Showing you where you’ll sleep.”

* * * *

Janet couldn’t understand why she trembled now. She had seen Sarah undressed before—they’d shared dressing rooms in the past and helped each other prepare for special occasions that required changing into formalwear. At this moment, as they sat on Sarah’s bed, she felt suddenly shy.

Sarah had removed her t-shirt and bra, and Janet could only stare at her girlfriend’s beautiful breasts. Sarah’s nipples, dark and erect, looked good enough to eat.

“You okay about this?” Sarah asked, her hands playing with the hem of Janet’s shirt.

Janet nodded. “I want to feel how I did when I was with you last night. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Sarah smiled. “I guess your body needs to catch up with your head,” she posed. “All those years with Bob, he probably never did it right.”

True. Having nobody to claim for comparison, however, left Janet with the realization that her sex life had been quite mediocre up to this point. At least Bob never beat her, but that didn’t warrant her staying with him.

She helped Sarah remove her shirt, then both women shifted on the mattress to shed their jeans and panties. Soon they picked up where they left off in Sarah’s truck under the moonlight—locked in a tight embrace, they kissed passionately with tongues mating and lips sliding over skin.

Sarah felt soft yet taut in Janet’s arms. With her eyes closed, she ran her palms down Sarah’s back and torso, memorizing every dip and curve, before drawing her touch upward to cup one breast. Sarah pulled herself up slightly, allowing Janet to kiss a trail down her girlfriend’s throat until she captured a nipple. She worried the hardened pebble between her teeth, shuddering with the throaty moan that signaled Sarah’s pleasure.

A hand curled over her pussy, and Janet thought she might come immediately. Instead, she relaxed her thighs and widened them to give Sarah more room to explore. Fingers traced her nether lips and breached her core—Janet became wet with the attention. When Sarah stroked her clit she pursed down harder on the nipple, then licked away the sting.

“I’ve never touched a woman like this before, aside from myself,” Sarah confessed. “Never wanted to with anybody else. Just you.”

Janet released her hold and gasped for air. For a novice, Sarah certainly knew her way around a woman. While Sarah continued to caress Janet’s pussy, her other hand thumbed Janet’s right nipple in the same circular motion. What she wouldn’t give to feel those lips on her right now.

“That makes two of us,” Janet said finally.

“What do you like? Whatever makes you happy, name it.”

Janet reached down and brushed at the dark pubic hair covering her mound. She didn’t think to shave down there, and worried it might repel Sarah. Her friend—lover—however, appeared to take the cue and slithered down the mattress to position herself between Janet’s legs.

Sarah grazed her closed lips over Janet’s pussy, planting a light kiss on her labia and taking in her musk with a deep inhale. Janet felt herself twitch and throb, and when Sarah’s tongue touched down on a sensitive spot she gasped.

“I love you,” Sarah said in a breathy whisper, then gently licked upward. Pleasure and pain intertwined and shot through Janet’s nerves—she ached for more than her lover’s teasing exploration, and received an answer to her silent wish when Sarah dipped back down for a longer taste.

Janet closed her eyes and reached up to fondle her breasts, hoping to double the sensations coursing through her. Sarah seemed to work in a circular pattern, broadly licking her clit then delving between her pussy lips to lap up her juice, and back again. She kept the pace slow and torturous, and Janet tried to roll and pinch her nipples in time to the action but found it a challenge to concentrate. She had to see Sarah loving her, and finally propped her upper body on her elbows to watch.

Oh, God. A woman, her best friend forever, ate her pussy. She tried not to think of Bob now—he had not been the most attentive lover, and Sarah didn’t need to suffer comparison to him. She deserved a class of her own.

Janet wondered if she deserved Sarah.

A sharp tingle spreading over her clit, however, didn’t give her time to consider that thought. Sarah continued to suck and lick at her and, taking a cue from the way Janet moaned, directed more attention on her bud to help bring about orgasm. It built gradually, washing over Janet and forcing a low-pitched cry from her. She thrust her hips up, pressing into Sarah as her lover furiously lapped up her musk, and held position for several seconds until the ecstasy hurt and she dropped into the mattress.

Her chest heaved high, and Janet slowly exhaled to see Sarah come into view again, smiling and resting her head on the inside of Janet’s thigh.

“You like, I take it?” she asked.

Janet laughed. “Very much,” she said, and leaned forward to pull Sarah up her length so they could embrace. They kissed, and Janet tasted herself on Sarah’s lips. Would her lover have the same tangy flavor, she wondered.

She started to move down to find out, but Sarah held onto her and steered her to face the wall.

“Janet.” Easing Janet to a side reclining position, Sarah spooned her and nuzzled. “You don’t have to do that to make me happy. I already am.”

“I want to.” She wanted Sarah to feel the same joy, and longed to make her come. “You’ve given me so much already.”

Sarah sighed happily. “I know, and you’ve given me even more.”

“How?”

“You’re here.”

Janet smiled.

“For now, let’s love each other like this.” Sarah twined her fingers in Janet’s. “Let’s just be together now before I have to work.”

“And afterward?” Janet’s heart swelled at the thought of having Sarah come home to her, in this home. New life, new work, new love.

“We have the rest of our lives to figure that out,” Sarah said. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun doing it.”

Janet squeezed Sarah’s hand.

“See you after last call?” Sarah asked.

“Yes.” And at first light.

Share

“Damn it.”

Marissa spotted her roommate’s car in its numbered slot right as she pulled into her apartment complex. Next to that, the visitor’s space assigned to their building was occupied by a familiar blue pickup truck. Nell and her current boyfriend—Cole, Chris, Clyde…who could keep track of the revolving door installed in Nell’s bedroom—were home. Given the cramped condition of their shared living space, Marissa knew she would probably be afforded little privacy to relieve the sexual tension building up inside her.

She applied the parking brake of her Toyota a bit roughly, and caught herself caressing the tip of the shaft in a suggestive manner. She had to get some satisfaction soon, she was going insane. She only hoped the little toy she kept in her bedside stand would do the trick. Maybe, too, Nell and Cole—yes, that was his name—had finished their alleged nude acrobatic workout and were on their way out somewhere, leaving her alone.

If they had opted for a night in, Marissa decided to just hole up in her bedroom. She’d use their cries of release as an inspirational soundtrack to see her over the edge. Whatever worked.

She entered the foyer and slung her books and purse on the already cluttered coffee table in the empty living room. She noted the muted television broadcasting a raucous afternoon talk show, and no activity in the galley kitchen. Darkness shrouded the stout hallway leading to the bedrooms Nell and Marissa used.

A sliver of natural light, however, leaked from the slightly open door of Nell’s bedroom—logical process of elimination told Marissa where to find her friend. Padding softly closer, she caught sight of the edge of Nell’s bed and saw two bare, feminine legs sliding against each other as though relishing a lover’s caress. Ecstatic moaning augmented the image, and Marissa moved on, unwilling to announce her presence.

She headed straight for her own room, unbuttoning her blouse as she went, and closed the door behind her. Flats, knee high nylons, slacks, underwear, and bra quickly slid to the carpet and Marissa took to her bed on all fours, arching her back upward in a mock yoga position to work away a sudden ache.

As she bent forward and reached for the drawer of her nightstand she caught her reflection in the full-length mirror before her bed, and smiled. Constant yoga practice and her recently acquired vegetarian diet had been kind to her, and she was pleased to see the difference it made in her body. Her skin looked taut and tanned, and the muscles in her arms and legs also appeared well defined. Her shoulder length titian hair tumbled down her neck and shoulders, and she blew away several strands from her face to better see herself.

On an impulse, she shifted her body so that she could better see her bent backside in the reflection. She reached one hand underneath her and spread apart her pussy lips with two fingers, then stroked the folds and the edge of her moistened core before dipping one finger deep inside her.

How she would have loved presenting herself this way for...for, well, anybody at this point. She couldn’t remember her last date, much less her last lay.

With an ungraceful bounce on her ass, Marissa returned to the nightstand and fished out her new toy, a translucent blue dolphin attached to a wire and remote control device. Marissa had purchased it at a party hosted by one of her fellow Master’s Degree candidates—“a Tupperware party for the horny,” the event had been referred to her. Marissa recalled her initial embarrassment on seeing the selection of goods for purchase, but a few glasses of wine had given her the courage to make the discreet purchase, one she had not since regretted.

She checked the batteries, then propped a pillow against her headboard and leaned back, spreading her legs until her pussy lips parted on their own. In the mirror’s reflection, she looked every bit the hungry porn starlet, and licked her lips for effect.

“Come on, baby,” she cooed to the now vibrating dolphin as she settled it on her clit. “Give mama some love.”

A ripple of pleasure tore through her the instant the dolphin’s nose touched her nub. Marissa arched her neck and inhaled deeply, relishing the sensation. Holding the toy to her clit, she maneuvered it around so the vibrations could massage the rest of her pussy, and the tail her slick opening. She watched her reflection caress a breast with her free hand, rolling her nipple between her forefinger and thumb. It would have felt nicer to have a tongue lave that nipple, to have a nice set of teeth bite down on it. Marissa would have done it herself, but her breasts were too small to allow her to do that.

Be nice to have a huge cock slamming inside me, too, she thought with a touch of regret. She considered the many suitable candidates who floated on the periphery of her existence. Glenn, the gorgeous jock who sat next to her in Statistics, and Ryan, her fellow barista who worked the weekend shifts with her at the Jittery Bean…

Or Nell, leaning against her open doorjamb, arms folded and naked, with a shit-eating grin on her face.

Nell!

Marissa let out a surprised shriek. The dolphin slipped from her throbbing clit and landed between her thighs, still whirring and poking her skin. She reached for her spare pillow and tried to cover as much of herself as possible.

“What the fuck are you doing? Don’t you knock?” she cried, trying to sound angry. However, her current state of arousal, however, tempered her voice somewhat. The sight of Nell cupping her own breast, kneading a thick nipple, held Marissa’s attention briefly before the two young women connected and Marissa saw the desire aflame in her roommate’s eyes.

The distraction provided enough fuel to set the course of her lust in a new direction. Marissa thought back to a week ago, when she’d joked to a female co-worker that the temptation to turn lesbian out of desperation increased. Now, she almost laughed at how the situation presented itself.

“Just admiring the view,” Nell said finally, “and thinking maybe you’d like some company. I didn’t hear you come in, but I heard you about to come.”

Marissa flushed. “I thought you were with Cole.”

“Who?”

She sighed. Nell was a law student at her college, and had been her roommate for two years. Marissa was aware of Nell’s sexual proclivities—Cole was, or had been, the latest in a long string of conquests since she and Nell took up residence together—but never before had the brunette exhibited an interest in women.

Marissa, being so horny and so flustered now, could not decide whether or not to be shocked or further aroused.

Nell flounced into the bedroom, her dark hair splayed around her shoulders, her large breasts buoyant with each step around the bed to Marissa’s side. Marissa took in her roommate’s rounded hips and bare pussy, which Nell was eager to display in her wide-legged recline. Their skin touched; Marissa’s body quivered in response.

“What are you doing?” Marissa was surprised to hear the amusement in her voice. She wanted to be upset. She had come so close to orgasm before being interrupted, but seeing Nell looking so inviting and delicious did much to dissipate her anger.

“Teaching you to share,” Nell said with a pout, and plucked the buzzing dolphin from Marissa’s thigh. She leaned closer until her lips were nearly touching Marissa’s, and dared a caress across Marissa’s bosom with the vibrating device, causing an ecstatic moan to erupt from Marissa’s lips. “Weren’t you ever taught to take turns with your toys?” she added, and applied the dolphin to her own clit.

Marissa opened her mouth to protest, yet managed only a strangled gasp. What was the deal with her friend? Had the prospect of another term of poring through briefs and court transcripts caused her to snap? She thought back to spying on Nell earlier, the sounds of sex vibrating from her room. Surely she didn’t leave Cole behind to stew while she got off here.

Or, maybe Cole watched a hiding place.

Marissa turned her head toward the hall, looking for a face wedged between the door and the jamb. Finding only darkness, she allowed Nell to capture her attention again as light kisses rained down on her shoulder and arm.

With her left hand pinning the dolphin in place, Nell’s right crossed over and roamed Marissa’s body, kneading first her shoulder, then her breasts, and finally trailing down her abdomen to play with her pussy. Ripples of delight washed over Marissa as Nell rubbed her clit in a circular motion with her thumb while thrusting one finger into her soaking core. Unconsciously her pussy contracted, causing Nell to ooh and ahh with the added friction.

Nobody had ever touched her in such a way, aside from herself, and never would she have expected a woman to do so. Her delight surprised her, and she closed her eyes to savor the sensation.

Then came the feather touch of her roommate’s long, black hair against her thighs. Marissa opened her eyes to see Nell had released her touch, and moved to change position. She continued to press the dolphin against her own clit, and used her free hand to pry between Marissa’s knees.

Holy crap. Was Nell going to…?

“Uh…” Marissa began.

“Relax,” Nell shushed her, then cast a wicked smile before dipping down to Marissa’s mound. Stroking one finger up her folds, she laved Marissa’s pussy with her tongue. Marissa felt a blast of white fire shoot down her legs, curling her toes, and she arched herself upward to allow Nell better access.

“Um, that’s nice,” Nell purred, and lowered for another taste.

Nobody had even eaten her pussy before, either. Sure, she knew it happened, but the few lovers Marissa notched on her bedpost had been more interested in actual fucking than foreplay. What Nell did to her now felt so damn good, and Marissa nearly cried to think of what she’d missed all this time.

What amazed her even more was that Nell appeared to be rather good at eating pussy, leaving her to wonder if Nell had had previous experience.

“Oh, God, that feels great,” she moaned, reaching down to rake her fingers through Nell’s hair, holding her close to prolong the sensation. She lifted her head to see better, and Nell obliged by pivoting a bit for better show.

Nell swirled her tongue around Marissa’s clitoral hood and tapped at the bud, then delved low to attend to her inner labia before repeating the cycle. The first tingle of orgasm sparked low in Marissa’s pelvis and she sighed, bucking her hips up a bit to urge Nell to quicken her oral pace.

“Mmm.” Nell rode the wave, moving as Marissa did, and to Marissa’s disappoint lingered upward for air. “That is so good, but if you keep that up I’ll come.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Marissa said with a smirk. Her own climax close to realization, she silently willed Nell back on her pussy, and whimpered when Nell instead straightened and detached the dolphin.

“Only when you do it alone. Hold still for a sec.”

Nell bent over again and blew on Marissa’s slickened pussy lips, fanning the flames. She reached down to finish the job but Nell slapped her hand away.

“Patience,” Nell warned, and covered Marissa’s mound her with her palm. Marissa compensated for the denial of release by pressing her breasts together and twisting her nipples. She enjoyed her roommate’s reaction.

“You’re so beautiful,” Nell said, and bore a knee into the mattress space between Marissa’s legs. The bed sagged a bit as Nell balanced her lithe frame on the edge, straddling Marissa so that hips hovered over Marissa’s pussy.

“Remember what I said about sharing,” she said, and carefully replaced her palm with the dolphin. She applied the vibrating, curved head to Marissa’s clit, pointing the bottlenose part upward. Marissa thought to correct Nell for placing the vibe upside down, but realized what her friend intended.

Slowly, her hands bracing the mattress at either side of Marissa’s head, Nell touched down on the dolphin with her pussy. Marissa’s detected the pressure of the small plastic object on her clit, and delighted in the surge of sexual energy building between them. Nell’s entire body seemed to quake with her connection—her long hair hung down like a curtain, slightly obscuring the blissful expression on her pert face. Nell bit her lip and closed her eyes, as if lost in her own pleasure.

Marissa longed to join her, to share more than just a sex toy. Surely Nell had those same feelings, too. Why else barge in on her?

Careful not to shift the dolphin, Marissa eased her upper body higher, raising herself by elbows then hands, until she came within kissing distance of Nell. Those luscious, large breasts shook slightly and Marissa captured one nipple between her lips, enjoying the delighted moan rumbling in Nell’s throat.

“Yes,” Nell hissed, sucking in a breath. She thrust lightly, reaching down to adjust the dolphin. “Harder, please. The other one, too.”

Marissa complied. Her pussy throbbed and pulsed as she nipped at Nell’s breasts. Her roommate thrashed her head back, making actual liplock impossible unless Marissa sat up completely. Of course, that meant displacing the dolphin and delaying orgasm, soon in coming.

She released Nell and nearly cried, “Almost there.”

“Me, too.” Nell’s voice cracked. “Oh, God!”

The vibration on her engorged clit increased to a dizzying speed, nearly numbing it as the climax rocked Marissa to the core. She cried out, bucking her thighs against Nell’s as her roommate followed her over the edge.

“Shit, that feels so good!” Nell cried, and pushed hard.

Marissa could not hear her, however. She was too busy floating to the ceiling, through the roof, into a vacuum. Sweat beaded the valley between her breasts and her legs quivered, and with one satisfied exhale she let the world turn black, relishing the aftershock of her pleasure and fading quickly into sleep.

* * * *

She awoke the next morning, naked and tangled in her covers, to the smell of hazelnut coffee and buttermilk batter. Sitting up with a start, Marissa squeezed her eyes shut and willed away a bout of dizziness before finally crawling out of bed and slipping on her robe.

Why did she feel so exhausted? Seemed she had gotten more than her fair share of sleep for a Friday night.

Seemed she had gotten more than her fair share of other things, too.

As she cinched her robe she glanced between her bare legs, where a bit of post-coital moisture was still evident. Slowly the memory of the previous night resurfaced to mind. Holy shit, that actually happened. Marissa felt her body numb as she stumbled out of her room.

She found Nell in the kitchen, alert and humming in a pair of jogging pants and a tee shirt, bent over a steaming griddle. Her hair was gathered in a ponytail with a thick, terrycloth band. Marissa surmised the girl had risen early and went for her morning run, though she hardly looked flushed from the effort.

In fact, considering last night’s activity, Nell looked to have energy to spare, whereas Marissa felt as if she could barely walk. Perhaps being constantly sexually active allowed for more pep in a person. Marissa decided she could certainly use some more of both.

“Morning, sunshine,” Nell sang, and twirled a spatula toward the stove. “I got coffee and plates set in the dining room.”

Marissa snuffled back a laugh. The “dining room” was actually the living room, and the long, short-legged coffee table was their dining space. She cast a glance back to see that Nell had cleared away everything that had previously cluttered it. Two place settings awaited her.

Quietly she reached into the refrigerator for the orange juice, then over her head into a cupboard for glasses. Nell joined her momentarily on the couch with a platter of dollar-sized pancakes, which she divided equally between their smaller plates. The entire scene seemed so surreal to Marissa, amazed with how Nell could go about the morning as though their shared orgasms had been routine.

They ate in silence for a few moments—words failed Marissa throughout the meal—until Nell spoke around a mouthful of pancake.

“Mari,” she began, her voice contrite, “about last night…”

She paused. Marissa looked at her roommate and noticed the blush across the bridge of Nell’s nose, spreading to her cheeks. Eventually they were going to have to discuss it, better to get it over with now, Marissa surmised.

“Nell, don’t worry about it. What we did was wild, and not something I’d normally do, but I’m not sorry it happened,” she said. “In fact, after the week I had, with mid-terms and papers due, I kinda needed something like that.” She smiled, pleased to see Nell relax. “You don’t have to worry that I’m going tell Cole or anything like that.”

Nell frowned. “Why would I be bothered if you told Cole?”

“Well,” Marissa said, her heart beating faster, “you’re seeing him, aren’t you?”

“Not for a few weeks now. Where’ve you been?”

Marissa thought a moment. Had her studies forced her so deeply into a world of textbooks and research that she couldn’t see what went on in her own apartment? “Damn, where have I been?” She laughed. “I’m sorry, I guess I’ve had a nutty month, or else I’d have known that. But,” she pointed a fork, speared with pancake, toward the hall, “I swore I heard you with somebody when I came home yesterday.”

“Oh.” Nell turned back, then faced Marissa again, blushing. “What did you hear?”

“Sex sounds.” Marissa shrugged. “So I assumed—”

Nell’s laughter interrupted her. “Yes, yes you did,” she said. “Wasn’t me, though. That would have been the online girl porn loop I’d downloaded.”

“I see. But, I saw Cole’s truck outside, parked where he normally does. Did.”

“Really? Cole doesn’t know anybody else in the complex.”

“Are you sure,” Marissa asked. “I swore that was his Dodge Ram.”

“Cole drives a Chevy.”

“Oh.” Man, she really had been out of it.

They resumed eating, then Nell added, “I’m kind of glad it happened, too. Yesterday.” She looked down at her empty plate. “I’ve been trying to figure out for months how to tell you that I’m bi.”

Marissa managed to swallow her bite before she could choke. “Really?” she squeaked, and quenched the ache in her throat with the juice. “Most people would just come out and say it, but I guess with you studying to be lawyer you were more interested in presenting the evidence.”

Nell playfully slapped Marissa’s shoulder, and the two laughed. “I’m trying to be serious here,” Nell said when they finally calmed. “I wasn’t sure how you would react to something like that if I told you…especially since I like you,” she finished in a lower voice. “And since I haven’t been with many girls because of that.”

Marissa finished eating and waited.

“And what we did…is only half of what I’d like to do with you.”

Marissa smiled, imagining all sorts of wild scenarios with her roommate—bigger toys, longer orgasms, more opportunities. Yet, she reminded herself that Nell admitted to a bisexual nature—eventually, she figured, her roommate would want a man.

Come to think of it, she would, too. She loved Nell’s talented tongue, but it didn’t necessarily diminish her desire for a nice, thick cock.

“Well, I like to believe I’ve reacted well to all the guys you’ve brought home after we moved in together.” Marissa shrugged and glanced over to see Nell clearing the table, her mouth a straight line. Marissa’s heart sank; she had not intended for her words to sound so condescending. Yes, Nell had a very active sex life, but Marissa had never judged her for it. She followed Nell into the kitchen and tried to reassure her, and Nell relaxed her with a friendly grin.

“I know what you meant, don’t worry about it. I guess I should have been more sensitive to how you feel about that.”

“Nell, it doesn’t bother me at all,” Marissa said. She watched Nell stack the dirty dishes in the sink and run the faucet over them. A thick stream of water from the hot tap threaded and dissolved congealed puddles of pancake syrup, and steam slowly filled the tiny area. “What you do in your room is your business, not mine. We’ve been over this. If you want to bring a guy home, do it.”

“Even now?” Nell asked. “After what we—?”

“Did I say I didn’t want to fool around again?” Marissa quirked up an eyebrow. Just looking at Nell, and the soft, dark outline of her nipples against her t-shirt, set her body to thrumming. Instinctively she inhaled and stretched her arms backward, pulling the large vee of her robe front apart. Nell licked her lips, watching Marissa expose more of her bare breasts.

“You still like men, and so do I. If either of us are lucky to land one, we might as well take advantage of it,” Marissa said. “I can be understanding about it if you can. In that instance, I’m willing to share.”

Nell nodded. “Okay. You know, I think you’d make a better lawyer than me. You have the negotiation skills down.”

“Just you wait, though,” Marissa added with a wry smile, “if you want to bring home a girl…forget it.”

Nell’s face twisted with mischief. “Not even to join us? To share?”

Marissa laughed. The offer was tempting, and as her gaze panned her roommate’s body, there came the brief thought of what it would be like to enjoy Nell in a threesome, to watch another woman—or man—press against Nell’s nude body, tease her erect nipples, lap at her pussy, and bring her to a window-shattering orgasm.

Maybe. Maybe later. One new experience at a time.

“What’s so funny?” Nell wanted to know.

“Nothing,” Marissa sighed.

Nell clucked and squeezed the sponge dry before setting it on the lip of the sink. She sauntered closer to Marissa and pulled apart the bow fastening the robe. The flaps fell away to reveal Marissa’s smooth, pale skin.

“Nothing, bull.” Nell eased her hands around Marissa’s waist and cupped her bare ass. She ground her thigh into Marissa’s pussy, igniting a fire low in her belly. “You got it bad for me.”

“I do.” Marissa’s body tingled, and she reciprocated with a gentle nip at the corner of Nell’s mouth that soon turned into a sensual kiss. Tongues mated and twirled in a slow dance that paused time and simmered Marissa’s blood.

She had it bad, yes.

Could she ever get rid of it?

No, and that suited her fine.

Share Some More

One

“Marissa?”

Marissa didn’t hear the door to the graduate students’ shared office open. She looked up from her notes to see one of her professors, Brent Maxwell, had poked his head through the space between the door and frame.

He smiled at her. “Got a minute to sit in The Garden?” he asked.

She nodded. “Right behind you,” she said, and bit her lip when he disappeared into the hall. Her heart pounded with every movement—from scooting back her chair to grabbing her purse with shaking fingers. Normally a summons to The Garden for a private chat portended bad news, and given the events earlier in the week, Marissa didn’t need to guess why the teacher had singled her out.

Brent—in a show of goodwill and preparation for future camaraderie, Professor Maxwell insisted all of his students addressed him by his first name—had strolled far ahead of her toward the stairs, but Marissa wasn’t interested in catching up to him. She followed him down the one flight, through the carpeted lobby, and into The Garden—really a small, nicely landscaped area to one side of the graduate school complex. Here students often paced the gravel path cut through a myriad of flowers and leafy plants, enjoying a smoke between classes. Sometimes, when she and her roommate Nell didn’t meet for lunch, she’d sit in the sun on a concrete bench or in the shade of either of the white wooden gazebos, and have a sandwich. The only things that spoiled the beauty of the area were the few white cigarette filters, overlooked during rounds of maintenance, littering the feet of benches and elsewhere in the dirt.

At the moment they were alone. Brent stepped onto the platform of the gazebo near the south entrance and waited for Marissa to take a seat. She planted herself as far away from him as possible, leaning back against the wooden railing, which cut into the nape of her neck.

Brent crossed an ankle over the opposite knee and steepled his hands, as if in prayer, before speaking. He touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead in a nervous gesture. “I want to apologize, first, for what you saw the other day—”

“No,” Marissa broke in quickly. “I was at fault. I shouldn’t have walked in on the two of you.” She wanted to grimace, and squeeze her eyes shut. When Brent didn’t say anything to her immediately on that day she’d entered his office unannounced to find him having sex with another student on his desk, Marissa hoped he hadn’t gotten a full glimpse of her. She raced away as fast as possible, praying all the while the shock of her discovery might fade into distant memory. No such chance.

Now, she closed her eyes briefly and saw only his tight, pale ass bobbing in coitus in between Jennifer DeNunzio’s spread legs. She’d told nobody, save for Nell, of that awkward moment, and as she could trust her friend not to gossip she didn’t expect the story to spread. Surely Brent wanted to confirm that.

“Yes, you should have.” Brent sat up straight and nodded. “I know what happened, and you did the right thing. You heard something unusual and, given my recent health scare with my diabetes, thought to check on it. I’m glad you did. I mean, had that actually been a situation where I was having a seizure, I’d want somebody to check.”

Marissa warmed slightly to his reassuring smile, still unsure of the direction of this conversation. As it turned out, Brent’s diabetes seemed the least of his worries. “Uh, thanks.”

His face turned suddenly sour. “I’m not mad at you, I want you to know that. I’m mad at the people who’ve turned this whole situation into the house joke.”

“Joke?” Brent’s sexual prowess invoked a prurient interest among the student body, she knew. In her first year of graduate studies, other Masters candidates had warned her about “Brent the Bopper” and his insatiable appetite for co-eds. People shared laughs, yes, but the idea nauseated Marissa, who couldn’t help but think of Brent Maxwell’s long-suffering invalid wife.

His voice lowered. “People think we’re not aware of what’s going on, but I am, anyway. Just so you know, Linda is not kept in the dark about this. Her illness may prevent us from having a normal sex life, and when she insisted I seek…alternatives…” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “I hate how some people here continue to incorporate my situation into their own amusement. You know what I mean?”

Why are you telling me this? TMI alert! For all she knew, Brent could be handing her a line of bullshit about his wife. Yes, she didn’t know the lady, but it didn’t mean he spoke the truth about her.

“I know,” she said instead. “I, uh, I guess I wouldn’t want to be treated like a joke, either.” Marissa folded her hands in her lap and looked back at the building, pondering escape.

“Whatever arrangement you have with your wife, that’s not my business,” Marissa added. “I haven’t told anybody and I don’t intend to.” Forgive me that little lie. Can’t speak for Jennifer DeNunzio, though. If the wife permitted him to fool around, couldn’t he at least spring for a hotel? “So, really…”

Brent interrupted her. “It’s nobody’s business here, but everybody knows about it. I love my wife, and I know she loves me. I still want to be her husband in every aspect of the word, but that’s just not possible. We have achieved a compromise, though, and if people are too juvenile to accept that, tough shit.”

“Okay, then.” She wanted to achieve closure, right now, and leave and meet Nell in some bar where they could drink away the events of this afternoon. “Well,” Marissa moved to stand, “if we’re done here, I have to get back to my work.”

“Actually,” Brent murmured, and Marissa plopped back down with a silent sigh, “this isn’t easy to say. In fact, I know I’m nuts just for entertaining the idea. If Linda was here and lucid, she’d tell me I was setting myself up for a world of hurt, to say nothing of a fat lawsuit.”

“Trust me, I’m not easily offended,” Marissa said. Yet, she felt greatly annoyed, and more uncomfortable, in Brent’s presence with each passing second.

He took a deep breath and looked away from her, focusing on a distant flower bush. “When you were watching us,” he continued, slowly, “I was aware of it.”

“Yes.” Marissa felt weak.

“I don’t think…she did, though, but I knew somebody was there, watching us. I sensed a presence.” Brent swallowed visibly; Marissa sensed relief within herself that Brent displayed enough decorum not to mention her classmate by name. One point in his favor, but not enough for her to view him favorably.

“Did you like what you saw?” Brent asked. He sounded neither condescending nor demanding, but…curious, gentle, as if seeking a critique of his performance. The question both intrigued and bothered her. Why bring this up? What is the point of this conversation? Get to it!

“Did you?” Brent persisted. His voice turned desperate, like his whole world hinged on her answer.

“It was, well,” Marissa confessed, “the sight intrigued me.” What little of it she did see, of course. She hadn’t intentionally called up the memory until now, but did remember the impressive girth of Brent’s cock as it slid easily into Jennifer’s pussy. Though Marissa expended her sexual energy with Nell these days, she still on occasion longed for a nice, thick cock attached to somebody who knew how to use it. Too bad nobody qualified of late to give it to her.

“Well, I loved it. I mean, I liked being seen,” Brent said, and let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, God. How do I explain this?”

Abruptly he stood and paced the gazebo. Marissa remained still and followed his every step. He seemed to block the actions of the phantom fucking couple in her mind, practically walking through them as if they were a holographic image.

“Knowing I was being watched was kind of a turn-on for me,” he said, not looking at her. “I think that orgasm was one of the best I’d enjoyed in years.”

Definitely too much information for her to absorb. “Brent. Professor Maxwell, I may not be offended, but I am really disturbed—”

Brent appeared not to listen. He turned to stand over her. Marissa instinctively brought her feet onto the bench and hugged her knees.

“You’re not on fellowship, are you?”

“No,” Marissa said, “I’m living off student loans, and I do temp work when time allows.”

“Doesn’t leave you with much at the end of the month. I’ve been there, I know,” Brent said. “Would you like a job?”

“I don’t know,” Marissa quivered. “But I think I do know what you want of me now.” Was he insane to ask this of her? Any other person would have run screaming from the gazebo at this man’s request to act as voyeur; she should, too. Why did she stay? The offer of money?

Ick. He would have to pay her to watch.

Brent sat next to her. His thigh barely grazed the open toe of her sandal. Just the hint of contact with her bare flesh sent a queasy sensation through her blood.

“All you would have to do,” he said, “is be available when I need you, which is usually around lunchtime. I have a small closet for files in my office, you can stay there where you’re not seen. You don’t have to do anything, but watch and make sure my, uh, friends don’t see you. I don’t think they’d take too kindly to spies.”

“They.” She didn’t say it as a question. Just the thought that Brent entertained multiple students proved too much to process. She wondered if she was the only student in the department he wasn’t fucking.

The gazebo seemed to shrink around her, and Brent waited, expecting an answer.

“Do you really think it would work, me being there?” she asked. “You know, my walking in on you could’ve been an isolated incident. Maybe you won’t get off so well the next time.”

“We won’t really know unless we try it again, will we?” Brent asked. “Would the offer of a hundred dollars each time persuade you?”

“Each time I watched?” When Brent nodded, Marissa bit her lip. A good week could net her five hundred dollars under the table, in Brent’s closet, tax-free. Who didn’t need extra pin money?

What the hell am I thinking, actually considering this? This can’t be right. At least, the professor hadn’t used this situation as leverage to threaten her grades.

Brent watched her for a reaction. Marissa tried to maintain a poker face, but found with the many thoughts swirling in her mind she knew her face would twist into a goofy expression at any moment.

She glanced at her watch. She was due in the library five minutes ago to meet her study group, and she stood to leave.

“Where are you able to get that kind of money?” she asked. “You could end up paying me five hundred a week.”

Brent smiled. “Business professors are paid rather well, and I have no kids. Just a lot of disposable income.”

“I should go now,” she said, and eased toward the closest open arch. She turned back to him and noticed his expression was tinged with disappointment.

“I think,” she began, “I might be more at risk here than you. I mean, if somebody were to see me…”

“Nobody will find out.” Brent was firm. “And I promise I’ll take full responsibility if somebody does. This I will make sure stays between us, and won’t be part of the school grapevine.”

“Can we really be sure of that?” Marissa asked. “You don’t really know me, you know.”

Brent’s eyes softened looking at her. The smile he offered implied differently. “I’ve seen you around,” he said. “You act differently from the other people here.” He looked down and toed a loose board on the platform. “I don’t know,” he added, “Ever get the feeling you can look at someone and feel like you can trust him with anything?”

Marissa dug her heels into the dirt, fighting the impulse to rush back onto the gazebo and take Brent into a tight hug, either that or slap him. This whole conversation had confused the hell out of her. “I’m flattered you’d think of me in that respect,” she said, keeping her voice calm.

“Will you help me?” he pleaded. “At least just once, to see.”

“We’ll see,” Marissa said, and sped toward the school building before she caved.

Two

“You’re kidding,” Nell said, eyes wide.

Marissa reached for another slice of pizza. “I’m not.”

Nell sat next to her on the couch, feet tucked underneath her. She wobbled an inch closer on her knees and leaned forward, as if she hadn’t heard the whole story correctly. “A hundred bucks a day to watch him fuck his conquests?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be every day,” Marissa said, “just when he can get some, I guess. And, since he seems to have an on-campus harem, maybe it could be every day.”

Nell leaned back and exhaled with a squeal. “That’s insane! I thought I was a deviant.”

“You’re not a deviant.” Marissa waved the comment away. Hot mozzarella dripped from the limp slice she crammed in her mouth, and she rapidly wound it around the narrowest point visible before devouring it. “Him, though, I’m undecided. I asked around after he and I talked. Apparently the invalid wife story isn’t a lie. Whether or not she’s endorsed his behavior, though…”

“There must be some truth to it, you think? He wants an audience. Who would be that brazen if he’s trying to be discreet?”

“Discreet is a hotel room on the other side of town, not your office in broad daylight, with the door unlocked, too.” Marissa cringed once again at the memory. Maybe he wanted to get caught to facilitate divorce proceedings. Or else show off his big cock.

“I’d have been perfectly fine to leave it alone, but then he offered the money. I don’t know…

Nell shrugged and helped herself to seconds on dinner. “Well, whatever you want to do, I’ll support you. I’d have to admit, though, that this turn of events is rather fortuitous since the rent’s going up in a few months. What’s that look?”

Marissa cast her roommate a wicked grin. “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t jump at the chance if offered it.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t,” Nell said with a straight face. “I’d prefer to participate, thank you.”

“I do know that.” Marissa grinned, and dared a squeeze to Nell’s knee. “Up for a bit of activity later?”

“Why do you think I’m having two slices tonight?” Nell winked. “I need my strength.”

Marissa laughed. “You’re the one who usually wears me out!”

Nell gathered up the balled napkins and paper plates and threw everything into the pizza box, which she carried to the kitchen. Marissa watched the gentle sway of Nell’s ass, clad in a tight pair of gray sweatpants, as the young woman disposed of the garbage.

“Always helps to be prepared,” Nell sang. “You never know what’s going to happen.”

A brief flash of her conversation with Brent Maxwell illuminated behind Marissa’s closed eyelids, followed by yet another image of his fucking Jennifer on his desk, presented like a grainy stag film. “Don’t I know it!”

* * * *

After completing some required reading for classes, then an hour break to watch a favorite show, Marissa and Nell prepared for bed and settled—nude and ready—under Nell’s sheets. Since their first coupling nearly six months ago, when Nell discovered her roommate pleasuring herself with a vibrator, the two had quickly taken their relationship to the friends with benefits stage. While Nell identified herself as bisexual, however, Marissa preferred not to take on any labels. Both women remained attracted to men—with Nell enjoying their company often—but Marissa limited her Sapphic activities to nights like these with her closest friend.

She loved the freedom they accommodated each other, and felt no jealousy toward Nell’s male lovers. If her friend dabbled with other women, she didn’t want to know about it, and hoped it wasn’t the case anyway.

If ever asked, Marissa couldn’t explain her feelings in that respect. She loved Nell, yes, but did this mean she was also in love with her?

Marissa pondered this internally as she lay twined in Nell’s arms, kissing her partner deeply and stroking Nell’s bare hip. With Nell’s thigh wedged between her legs, Marissa ground slowly against her, swiveling to allow her clit the friction it needed to guide her to orgasm. Their mouths parted and tongues mating in sensual play, she savored the taste of chocolate mint on her lover—remnants of the candy they’d shared after dinner.

Nell broke free of their kiss to nibble a trail down Marissa’s jaw. She eased closer and her ample breasts brushed against Marissa’s tightened nipples. “Mmm,” she purred, deep in her throat. “Isn’t this better than watching?”

“Survey says.” Marissa pulled back and cupped one of Nell’s tits, then raised it to her mouth for a long, slow lick. She traced the areola before pursing her lips around the thick bud. She couldn’t get enough of Nell’s body—soft and sleek, curved in all the right places and warm against her own skin. For a second she felt tempted to take back her earlier assessment. She could watch Nell all day long.

Right now, however…

Gently she eased Nell back so that she sat on the bed facing her. Marissa untangled herself and stretched out one leg to overlap Nell’s. Her lover picked up on Marissa’s intent and guided herself into the scissor position.

“Nice,” Nell said. “Haven’t done this in a while.”

Marissa planted the heels of her hands on the bed and twisted her lower body so that her bare pussy pressed against Nell’s. Much as she loved the sight and sensation of Nell’s tongue swiping down her nether lips, the electric friction created as they rubbed their clits together sparked a prolonged ecstasy that she craved. Given the rough day she’d endured, she wanted to end on a high, lasting note.

Together they moaned and bucked their hips to join their pussies. Each direct hit shot liquid fire through her, and heat pooled low in her core. Marissa grew wetter with each stroke, which became evident after a minute of grinding. Much as she wanted to hold back and stretch the moment, the pending orgasm threatened to take away her willpower. She could see on Nell’s face, too, that her partner didn’t have much strength left.

“You close?” The question ended in a gasping hiss. Marissa arched her back and kissed her pussy once more to Nell’s. Two or three more hits stood to finish her.

“Yes.” Nell’s voice pitched high. Her head fell back and no more sound issued from her open mouth.

“Good, let’s come together,” Marissa said, and offered one last bump as the first wave washed over her. Nell crashed as well, with both women steering the rest of the way by fingering each other. Marissa rubbed Nell’s clit furiously, all the while dipping her thumb into her lover’s soaking core. Nell’s attention to her pussy, however, proved distracting as white exploded behind Marissa’s eyes and caused her to lose balance.

She lay back with her arms over her head and dangling off the bed, breathing slowly to regain enough strength to sit. A flying foot crossed her line of vision and she turned to see Nell curling over to raise herself on her knees. Marissa watched the lines of Nell’s body, her luscious skin shining in the moonlight filtering through the lace curtains of Nell’s bedroom, and longed to lunge forward and kiss every inch.

Instead, she maneuvered back under the rumpled sheets and gestured for Nell to join her. Spooning her close, Marissa kissed behind her ear. “I’m sorry if it seemed too quick,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m never disappointed with you.”

“Same.” Marissa pressed her cheek against Nell’s shoulder and twined their legs. “I guess you just excite me too much.”

They shared a giggle over that, and seemed to settle in for the night. About a minute or so later, Nell broke the silence.

“One thing I don’t get,” she said, “is why Brent the Bopper wouldn’t just proposition you? I mean, I think I’d feel a bit insulted that he didn’t seem interested in me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel insulted by it.” Ugh. Why spoil the afterglow by digging this up? “I still haven’t said yes to playing sex spy anyway, maybe he’ll drop it after a while.”

“You won’t do it?”

“I know we could use the money, but it doesn’t feel right. Besides,” she added, snuggling close, “I’m like you. Why only watch?”

“What if he asked you to join in?”

“I’m not one for sharing, either. Our present arrangement excluded.”

“Speaking of which…” Nell shifted in Marissa’s embrace, turning to face her. The two lay on their sides, faces on pillows, staring at each other in the dark.

“I met somebody at the Rat today, whom I’m interested in,” she said.

Marissa raised an eyebrow, though she knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Nell had that quality about her—with her gorgeous dark hair and dynamite figure, she attracted men like flies to butter.

“Whatever happened to Cole?”

“Over and done with.”

“Then I suppose this is okay. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Nell looked away. “Carly.”

“Oh.” Marissa’s heart deflated. As much as she had mentally prepared herself for this eventuality, the sting proved strong all the same. “Okay…well, what’s she like?”

“Amazing.” Nell’s voice took on a dreamy, faraway tone. “She’s a waitress there, going to vet school. She’s funny and quick-witted. Nice ass. Beautiful tits.”

Marissa had to chuckle at that, knowing well her friend’s partiality toward breasts. She reached up to fondle one of Nell’s. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Lush and round, ready to fall out of those tight scoop-neck shirts they make the girls at the Rat wear. You just want to suck on them for days.”

“There’s a suggestion I can get behind.” Easing away to roll Nell onto her back, Marissa then dipped low to capture a nipple between her teeth. She worried the bud gently, applying pressure as her tongue swiped the sensitive skin. It affected Nell enough to interrupt her train of thought.

“You’re gonna kill me,” Nell moaned.

Just you wait. Marissa compounded her attack by slipping her hand between Nell’s thighs. She probed for her lover’s slick entrance and began finger-fucking her in earnest. Perhaps, she pondered, she could tease Nell to the point where Carly turned into a fanciful memory.

No dice. “I was thinking of inviting her over Friday night.”

That stopped Marissa cold. While their arrangement permitted both women to invite playmates to the apartment, Marissa had only seen men cross the threshold. Her intimate time with Nell, she’d assumed, didn’t require the presence of another woman. She imagined Nell wouldn’t be serious about bringing this Carly person over unless…

“Do you love her?” The words sounded foreign coming from her lips. Marissa pulled away entirely from Nell but didn’t roll over.

“What? No. No!” Nell sat up abruptly, forcing Marissa to relinquish her hold on her lover. “You know how I am about that. I’m not looking for the long haul right now,” Nell said, then her face softened. “I mean, with you and me…”

“I know, sweetie.” No need to have this discussion again. Neither one planned to register at Macy’s once the state legalized gay marriage. Marissa didn’t expect to live life as Nell’s one and only, but a part of her hoped she’d be the only woman for a while.

At least through graduation, anyway.

“We have this…deal, which suits me fine,” Nell continued. “I like that we can live comfortably and enjoy really hot sex.” She grinned, and Marissa couldn’t help but respond in kind. “I don’t intend to spoil it by bringing love into the mix, save for the special kind I have for you.”

Marissa sighed. Nice to have it confirmed that she held some importance in her roommate’s existence. Still, why did Nell’s interest in this Carly bother her?

“I’m not going to move out, or replace you with her, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Nell said.

“I wasn’t thinking that.” Liar.

“You’ll like Carly.” Nell settled back into bed, nodding as though she’d settled everything. “Her tastes in music and movies run with ours. She’s well-read and likes hiking, too. And those tits…”

“I get it.” Marissa laughed and snuggled closer. “How’d you manage her life story with one visit to the Rat?”

Silence. Marissa lifted her head to see Nell had closed her eyes and quickly drifted away.

“Right.” Sighing, Marissa draped an arm around Nell’s bare waist and followed her friend with benefits into an uneasy slumber. She wondered if Nell dreamed now, and if she did, whose skin did she fondle and kiss.

Three

With two days until the dreaded Friday, Marissa found the rest of her week free. Illness of two of its members had forced her study group to postpone meeting, and classes and advisor appointments filled Nell’s day schedule. Left to pursue her own mischief, Marissa took advantage of the downtime with a morning of shopping…and lunch at the Rat.

She would meet this Carly eventually, but she wanted to see for herself what about her attracted Nell. That Nell hadn’t thought to keep the girl a secret assuaged her fears somewhat—she liked that her roommate felt comfortable enough to remain open about her desires. Better that Nell be upfront rather than feel the need to sneak around with another woman—it showed she did care for Marissa, right?

Then why bring it up? Why meet another woman?

Marissa had to pause on a mall park bench for air, convinced the internal conversation with herself had threatened to become vocal. On the way to her car, she swore she heard murmurs and realized a bit too late—judging from the passing stares—that she talked to herself. Nice. Now she suffered from envy and Tourette’s.

The Rat, the abbreviated moniker for the campus Ratskeller, was situated in the lower level of the student center. There one could enjoy an extensive menu of fried delights and pizza, and it served as the only place at school where a student of legal drinking age could order beer. Consequently, faculty and grad students made for the majority of the Rat’s patronage, and when Marissa happened by late into the lunch hour on that Wednesday afternoon she had no difficulty finding an empty booth.

The Rat’s servers—primarily female—wore uniforms not unlike those seen on waitresses at sports bars or chicken wing chains. Skin-tight shirts with deep-cut necks to accentuate the bosom, Daisy Duke style shorts, and flesh-colored tights completed an ensemble guaranteed to arouse even the stodgiest of professors come to enjoy the daily blue plates. Watching a pair of beauties pad past en route to the kitchen, Marissa understood why Nell liked to eat here.

The young women didn’t wear nametags, so she didn’t think she would spot Carly on sight. Keeping an eye out for a smiling face and a pair of sensational tits proved a chore—both waitresses in sight looked hot. However this Carly impressed Nell to rise to the top of the pack, Marissa expected to just know immediately.

Bingo.

Holy shit.

As the two servers pushed past the swinging doors to the kitchen, a third waitress emerged. Long, light brown hair framed a heart-shaped face that beamed a smile brighter than the neon beer advertisements hanging on the opposite brick wall. Marissa noticed right away, too, her shapely bust and bottom, both perfectly proportioned and supported on long legs that gave the impression of not walking, but gliding gracefully from table to table as the young woman checked on diners.

Soon, she neared Marissa’s booth, and a lump lodged in her throat. This had to be Carly, none other. Bless her luck for choosing the object Nell’s desire’s station.

“Hey, sweetie. Welcome to the Rat. I’m Carly, and I’m taking care of you today.” The announcement sounded not so much like a come-on, but more of an endearment passed on from babysitter to a child. Carly’s sweet-tea Southern twang implied to Marissa that the girl definitely wasn’t native to this northern university.

Carly laid down a thick napkin roll containing Marissa’s silverware, and a straw encased in its paper wrap. “What are you drinking, hon?” she asked. Everybody’s a hon or sweetie or sugar pie to this one, Marissa surmised. She wondered what pet name the server reserved for Nell.

“Diet Coke is good,” she finally stammered, “and I’ll just have it with the cheeseburger and chips combo.” She didn’t bother consulting the thin, laminated menus leaning against the wall by the napkin dispenser, instead eyeing the specials chalkboard by the bar.

“Well, you sure made my job easier.” Carly grinned down at her. Add two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth to the growing list of Miss Perfect’s attributes. “You want barbeque or plain?”

“Plain, please.” Marissa didn’t care much for potato chips, but the combo with fries cost more than she had in cash. Maybe they’d come in a sealed bag she could take home for Nell.

What did Nell order when she came here?

“Be up in a sec.” Carly trotted away, and only now Marissa noticed the waitress wore white socks and athletic shoes over her tights. Shame. The woman had legs meant for spike heels, but she could understand why a waitress working a full shift would opt for comfort. The tight getup certainly made up for the lack of showiness for the foot fetishists.

As she waited for her meal, Marissa idled the time away checking her e-mail on her smart phone. She skipped over a message from Brent, easily clued in to the content by the one-word subject header. She doubted other grad students around the country had to deal with a missive titled Well? from their major professors.

She should have majored in drama. She’d seen enough of it for one week.

Marissa closed her e-mail client and moved to call up her Facebook account when a chirping ringtone signaled a call from Nell. The screen filled quickly with a photo of the two of them smiling for the camera, arms around each other’s shoulders and toasting the night with large plastic tumblers, foaming beer droplets splashing over the rims. Marissa paused a moment before answering, recalling the party where the photo had been taken. The events following…now that couldn’t be displayed anywhere.

“Hey, chick.” Marissa had difficulty keeping the giggle from her voice. She called me. Take that, Miss Hot Pants. “What’s up?”

“I can tell you what’s not, my mood.” An exaggerated groan sounded over the line. “Been a two steps forward, three back kind of day. I know it’s your night to cook, just wanted to let you know I’ll be in late.”

“No problem. Would you rather I kept something warm, or should I fend for myself?”

“Either way,” Nell said. “Or, if you don’t mind waiting I could pick up something on the way home.”

“That’s fine. I’ll have a small snack if you get some subs.” Marissa reached for the menu and flipped to the back, eying the long list of hot and cold sandwiches. No need to ask where Nell might stop for dinner. “You know what I like.”

“Cool. I’ll call when I’m on my way.”

Marissa felt the smile in Nell’s voice. Warmed by unspoken endearments, she rang off but called up the photo for one last look. The soft gasp from behind her, however, broke her concentration.

“Oh.” She looked up to see Carly had arrived with her lunch. Marissa quickly pocketed her phone, curious to know if the server had seen the image onscreen. The curious twist of Carly’s pouty lips implied perhaps she had.

Carly set down the plate. The chips came loose and glistened under the low hanging lamps in all their salty, trans-fattening goodness. “Can I get you anything for the burger?” she asked. “Some hot mustard?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Marissa lifted the top bun, dressed with lettuce and a tomato slice, and slapped it on the patty. “Looks great.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.” Carly nodded and walked away, but not without a last look over her shoulder. Marissa wished at that moment for telepathic powers—the waitress proved a challenge to read clearly. From the way she raised her eyebrow, Carly either thought Marissa an easy rival to overthrow…or else a potential good time.

Marissa ate slowly, and followed with her gaze Carly’s roundabout trek toward the kitchen. Given the way the waitress’ lush bottom swayed, Marissa didn’t doubt Carly could provide a good time.

The more she thought about it, too, the stronger the jealousy raged. Funny, though, how now she directed her envy toward Nell.

Four

By nine o’clock Nell hadn’t called, and the apple Marissa ate two hours earlier had worn off. Her stomach growled for sustenance and she sought relief in their apartment’s tiny kitchen, studying the contents of their cabinets for her options. She settled on an iced toaster pastry and was waiting for the bell on the small oven to sound when she realized she’d turned her phone off while at the Rat.

“Damn.” For all she knew Nell had tried to ring her. Neither girl had a phone for the apartment’s land line—not needed since they used cable Internet and smart phones—so she’d just cut off their only channel of communication.

She checked all outlets, finding no messages. Disappointed, she retrieved her piping hot toaster tart, wrapped it with a paper towel, and returned to her TV show. Fitting fare considering her dilemma, she soon discovered as the commercial break ended to reveal a scene involving one character spying on a couple making love.

“Drama, hell. I should write screenplays instead,” she muttered, and mashed a remote button to study the onscreen television guide. Finding no viable alternatives for her viewing pleasure, Marissa enlarged the show screen and lowered the volume.

She nibbled on the frosted strawberry treat, pondering the events of the week. Brent awaited his answer still, and Marissa wondered if he took her prolonged silence to mean she wasn’t interested in watching him fuck his conquests. In truth, while the idea unsettled her, the compensation dangling before her tempted her greatly. While she figured she could convince her parents to help with the rent, the thought of extra cash in pocket for little work on her part was difficult to turn away.

What would she do with five hundred bucks a week? Marissa lived frugally and didn’t want for much. She supposed she could sock some of it away in preparation for paying back her school loans. For a splurge night, well, she could always buy the house a round at the Rat.

“Ugh!” Much as she didn’t want to say the word, her thoughts turned back to the campus eatery and the luscious waitress who plucked Nell’s heartstrings, or else her clit. Why the prospect of Carly and Nell together bothered her, Marissa tried to understand. Like her roommate, she enjoyed the play time they shared, and understood the terms of their relationship. She shouldn’t be disturbed that Nell wanted to bring the young woman home, and yet…

Was it because Nell had confided in her about Carly? She hadn’t done that with any of the men she took to bed. Marissa wondered if she interpreted Nell’s admission as a confession—that Nell indeed had tender feelings for this person, and that it upset her to learn that it happened with Carly and not her.

After her first time with Nell, the roommates disclosed their sexual histories to each other. Nell’s included other women, and in a small way Marissa had hoped she meant something special to her friend regardless. That had to be it. Sharing Nell didn’t bother her. Sharing her love, however…

Marissa finished the toaster pastry and balled up the paper towel, leaving it on the coffee table. Whatever Nell had going on, dinner probably wasn’t on the agenda. Marissa couldn’t be angry—having endured similar marathon study sessions, she sympathized completely. She switched off the TV and surrounding lights, deciding to take whatever Nell brought home to school tomorrow as lunch.

Yet, as she prepared for bed, she didn’t feel at all sleepy. Images of the voluptuous Carly floated behind her eyelids when she closed them, and her nipples tightened at the thought of those pouty, full lips pursed around a bud, pinching and pulling at her sensitive skin. Marissa undressed before the bathroom mirror and caressed her breasts, raising goose bumps as her fingers gently trailed over the curves and down her belly. Damn, but she’d turned suddenly horny. So, she’d be angry at Nell for not coming home now to relieve this pent-up sexual frustration rather than for not calling.

At least…she thought briefly, and moved into her bedroom for the one thing that could help. Her trusty little toy—a translucent blue, remote controlled vibe in the shape of a dolphin—sat in her nightstand. During solo and joint play, the bottle-nosed blessing did the trick.

Marissa retrieved the vibrator and lay back in bed. She set the toy to a low setting and circled the humming tip around one areola, delighting in the electric sensation pulsing over her skin. Her pussy ached for equal attention, but Marissa obliged herself only with a brief, rough swipe up her slick pussy lips, deliberately missing her clit. Much as she wanted relief, she craved a lasting orgasm to get her through the night.

After the other nipple received adequate attention, Marissa dipped the dolphin between her folds while she spread her cleft further with her free hand. One incidental tap on her clit showered sparks behind her eyes, and rather than revel in the pleasure she fought back a pang of sadness. Nell had come to her this way—intrigued while watching Marissa masturbate with this very toy, Nell interrupted and joined in. Marissa smiled at the memory of their coupling, and how they shared the vibrations to their mutual satisfaction.

How she wanted Nell here.

Bleh. Still horny, the desire to finish the job faded. She longed to come, yes, but not alone. Nell had taught her to share, and more than anything right now she wished to share herself with her friend, her lover. With or without Carly, she would accept the present and hang on for the ride, plowing headfirst into whatever the future held for them.

She shut off the vibe and set it on the nightstand, then pulled her covers over her. Sleep claimed her eventually, yet fitfully. Marissa didn’t know how long she’d been out when a loud thump alerted her to another presence in the house.

Two people, she soon realized from the voices.

Five

“She must be asleep.”

Marissa heard Nell loud and clear through her bedroom door. With the paper thin walls, one could whisper and reveal secrets. She wondered about Nell’s companion—probably somebody from her study group for a prolonged session. Her roommate did, on occasion, bring guests home for non-sexual activity.

Deciding that to be the case, she rested back against her pillow to resume sleep. Nell, however, didn’t seem interested in discretion tonight.

“Damn it,” she heard her roommate say. “I really wanted you guys to meet.”

The other person spoke, but with her head against the pillow Marissa didn’t catch all the words. Female, she detected, with a softer voice. Marissa sat up to listen better, but the conversation appeared to have ceased.

Perhaps Nell put her lips to work elsewhere, hence the silence. Marissa’s heart sank at the thought. It had to be Carly out there with her—who else? Nell had mentioned Friday, and thought at least her friend would have the decency to give her advanced warning as she did when she brought home men.

She turned away from the door and squeezed her eyes shut, but sleep failed to overtake her. Curiosity held her tightly, prickling her nerves and itching her skin to the point she rose from bed to seek some relief. Throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she padded down the hall under the pretense of retrieving some aspirin from the kitchen. She hoped to pull off a decent expression of surprise when she caught Nell, but with the knots tied in her stomach she wondered how far she’d get before the queasiness moved up to her heart.

“Hello there.”

Carly discovered her first. The waitress, dressed a bit more conservatively now in low-slung jeans and a white peasant blouse, stood by the mantle studying the various knickknacks.

“We were hoping you’d be awake, sorry to come in so late,” she said, and moved toward the couch where she sat at one end. Carly crossed one leg over the other, wiggling perfectly painted red toenails in her chunky-heeled sandals.

“No problem. I wasn’t sleeping just now,” Marissa said, suddenly self-conscious about her ragamuffin appearance. She crossed her arms tightly over her breasts and glanced around the room. “Where’s Nell?”

“We left the drinks in the car. Nell went to get them.” Carly crooked her neck toward the kitchen, where Marissa saw on the counter two white paper bags. The faint stench of grease wafted closer and her stomach growled in response.

“Plenty for everybody,” Carly was saying. “We just grabbed some hamburgers and rings. They’re much better than the fries, trust me.”

“Sounds good.” Marissa nodded, and looked around for a place to sit—close enough to continue conversation, but not necessarily next to Carly on the couch. She didn’t know what the young woman and Nell had planned for tonight, and how could she broach a subject she wasn’t sure had been discussed? Marissa supposed she should be flattered the two thought of her while bringing home food, but what about afterward? Did they expect her to just pad back to her home while they fucked?

The rumble of hunger twisted into queasiness. Suddenly the idea of onion rings this late didn’t appeal to Marissa. Rather than sit, she backed slowly toward the hallway. “Actually,” she began, “maybe I should just—”

She didn’t hear the front door open, and Nell’s breathless greeting interrupted and surprised her. Nell shook away her windbreaker, switching the six-pack of beer between hands as she did so, and laid the jacket on the stool by the counter.

“Hey, you’re up. Cool.”

Marissa caught the beer can tossed in her direction, but waited a few beats before popping the top. She didn’t want the added humiliation of winning an involuntary wet t-shirt contest.

“If you can call it that.” Marissa yawned. On second thought, why add alcohol to this equation? She set the beer on the coffee table. “I was just heading back to bed. I heard talking and came out to see what was going on…”

“What? No, stay here with us.” The food and beer forgotten, Nell moved into the living room, close to Marissa. “You remember what we were kinda talking about the other night?” she then asked, her voice low in Marissa’s ear. Marissa shivered slightly at her friend’s touch, and the onset of warmth that tingled her skin. Nell seemed to idly stroke one hand up and down Marissa’s arm, and Marissa’s body cried silently in reaction—her nipples tightened and ached.

She glanced at Carly, now occupied with the magazine covers on the coffee table. Yet, when the curvy brunette’s gaze darted upward to check on them Marissa wondered if she waited out some kind of rehearsed dialogue. The look on her face, though, implied more curiosity than anxiousness for Marissa to make herself scarce.

“I remember what you said,” Marissa murmured, and looked square into Nell’s eyes. Damn, why did they soften so, and why did she want to grab Nell by the back of her neck and pull her into a rough, possessive kiss? To show Carly who was boss?

Could Marissa claim that title?

“I’m tired,” Marissa lied, her heart melting down to her toes. “And I have an early class tomorrow.” She leaned to one side to address Carly. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude…”

“No, it’s my fault,” the other woman broke in. “When Nell stopped by to pick up some food, I thought why wait ’til Friday. I mean, when you were at the Rat earlier I thought it was, like, a sign or something.”

Here Nell arched an eyebrow at Marissa, who could only offer a sheepish smile in response. Busted.

Carly uncrossed her legs and sat forward, as though to hug her knees. “Hearing Nell talk about you these last few weeks, then getting to finally see you…” she smiled wickedly, “I guess I couldn’t wait that long.”

“I see,” Marissa said, but really didn’t. It took another concentrated gaze into her friend’s face to realize Nell’s true motive.

“We both really would like for you to join us,” Nell said, and this time Marissa knew her roommate wasn’t talking about dinner.

“Ah.” Marissa let the word stretch for a few syllables before checking Carly’s reaction. The other woman let out a deep chuckle as if to say, now you got it. Indeed, but as for whether or not she’d actually get some depended on how soon she could clarify this situation with Nell…without anybody else within earshot.

She pointed back down the hall. “Could I have a word in private first?” she asked. Nell shrugged and nodded, then excused herself from Carly’s company. The waitress waved them off and reached for a magazine.

Closer to Nell’s bedroom, Marissa imagined a weight lifting from her chest, allowing her to breathe. “Nell, what is going on here?” she demanded, her voice a tinny hiss. “First you tell me you’re interested in this girl, and now I’m supposed to be under the impression you brought her home for me?”

“You, too,” Nell clarified, rending Marissa speechless for a long moment.

Nell leaned against the threshold to her room, folded her arms, and smirked. “Why are you acting all put off by this? You can’t tell me you’re not the least bit turned on.”

“Turned on? By being shanghaied into sex with a stranger, after what I told you about Brent the Bopper?”

Nell pushed out her lower lip, looking so incredibly kissable. Marissa looked away to avoid the temptation.

“You haven’t set foot in the Rat the entire time you’ve gone to school, and not until I mention meeting a girl there you have lunch there. Why?”

Marissa’s stomach flipped. “I got hungry.”

“And curious.” Nell nudged Marissa playfully with her shoulder. “You liked what you saw, didn’t you?”

Marissa said nothing. Better to plead the fifth than lie, she supposed. Nell, however, appeared to see through the masked expression she attempted.

Before Nell could crow any more, Marissa asked, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you think I’d be interested in another woman? Did I say or do anything to give you that impression?” Maybe, Nell being her first and only, her roommate sought to give her more experience in Sapphic pleasures? An interesting thought, but the notion irked Marissa. Shouldn’t she call those shots without interference?

“I thought, perhaps…” Nell’s bobbed from side to side, as though shaking together the right words in her brain to produce a coherent explanation. “Well,” she said instead, “remember when I first saw you playing with that damned dolphin toy?”

Marissa snorted, then smiled. Their first time. How could she forget?

Nell leaned closer so that she barely brushed against Marissa. The spark ignited at the contact set the heat in her pussy to a boiling point—Marissa pressed her thighs together, yearning to relieve the ache.

“I teased you about sharing,” Nell whispered. “Maybe then I meant the toy, but since we’ve enjoyed each other these last few months I guess I wanted to share other things with you, share you.”

“I don’t get it, though.” Marissa shook her head. She couldn’t accuse Nell of cheating, or of intent, since the two never officially sealed a commitment. She wanted to better understand her friend and lover’s rationale behind inviting a third party.

“When we make love, Mar, you’re so beautiful,” Nell said. “You get this look in your eyes like you can see something other-worldly, and your smile…when I think I brought that level of happiness on you I want to burst.”

Marissa knew she must be blushing now. Not once, even at the height of passion, had Nell spoken this way to her.

“How could I not want to share this passion we have?” Nell said, and looked back down the hall. “I don’t know. Carly’s hot, and maybe old habits are hard to break—”

“I understand,” Marissa broke in, surprised to hear the words. Apparently, Nell was, too. Her eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline.

“Care to explain it to me, then?”

“The way you talked about us just now, I think you haven’t felt that way about anybody else.” Marissa cupped Nell’s shoulder, then smoothed her hand along her roommate’s collarbone and neck, up higher to caress her cheek. “Maybe it scared you, enough to convince yourself that you need to incorporate what we have more into your old routine so everything balances out.”

“You’re right about me being scared,” Nell said quickly. “I have to tell you something.”

Marissa’s heart depleted and sagged deep into her chest. “That rarely portends good news.”

“Depends on how you look at it.” Nell tightened her lips into a straight line, then said, “All those times in the last few months I said I was meeting a guy…never happened.”

The weight lifted and Marissa could breathe again. “What?”

“I haven’t been with man at all since you and I…shit.” Nell slammed back against the opposite wall and Marissa gasped. She looked back toward the living room, relieved they hadn’t aroused suspicion for the noise.

“All this time, I guess I’ve been faithful.” Nell smiled. “It’s a record, too. I haven’t had a, uh, relationship go this long.”

“But men have been here. I’ve seen them.”

Nell shook her head. “Study buddies, nothing more. Not that I didn’t think about it, I just…wasn’t interested anymore.”

“I’m flattered,” Marissa said on a short laugh. Fuck that, the admission overjoyed her. To think, she inspired Nell to maintain fidelity to her. She looked into her lover’s eyes, and the glassy softness there caused her to swell with happiness.

“So this is love?” Marissa asked softly.

“Could be. I don’t believe I’m the one to ask, since I don’t experience it much.”

“Ask me then.”

Both women whirled toward the voice. Carly stood not a foot away, legs crossed at the ankles and leaning against the wall. Despite her lovely smile, she looked crestfallen.

“I look at the two of you together,” she said, “and I can see there’s more here than friendship with bennies. Yeah, adding a third can be fun, but it’s not for everybody. I enjoy the hell out of it, but I don’t think it’s for you guys.”

Marissa found it difficult to look at Carly. She knew she’d disappointed the woman. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re attractive, and I’m sure Nell was interested at one point…”

“Please,” Carly broke in, “it’s okay. Sometimes you need to be right in front of something to realize it’s what you truly want. I’m not mad, honest.” As though to prove her point, she laughed. “I have to admit I’m a bit jealous. It’s been a while since somebody acted so tender toward me.”

Marissa sensed Nell moving closer to her. Their hands clasped together and squeezed.

“I feel like shit, Carly,” Nell said, but didn’t step forward to appease their guest. “This whole thing has me mixed up. I wish there was something I could do to make up for bringing you all the way out here for nothing.”

“Oh.” Here Carly offered them a wicked smile. “Well, I don’t live but down the block, you know that. I’m not that inconvenienced.”

“Still,” Marissa said, parting reluctantly from Nell’s side, “you don’t need to be out by yourself.”

“I don’t need to leave so soon, either.”

Carly’s suggestion confused her. Marissa knit her brows together. “What do you mean?”

“Are you still interesting in sharing?” Carly said, canting her one side. “In a different way, though?”

Nell’s touch found Marissa again, this time smoothing down her backside. Marissa quivered at the contact, already in tune to what Carly, now licking her lips in anticipation, had in mind.

* * * *

With the coffee table repositioned out of the way and Carly resting on the couch, Nell and Marissa took to the soft living room carpet. Both had shed their shirts, and Nell her bra, and now gyrating against each other, their breasts crushed together and their tongues hungrily dueling.

Marissa felt her pussy flood with desire as she kissed her lover, the thrill enhanced all the more knowing that Carly proved a willing audience, and she equally ready to exhibit. Funny how odd it seemed to spy when she’d walked in on her professor, but as Carly cooed her approval of Marissa grinding into Nell her senses enlivened.

She tore her lips from Nell’s only briefly to glance at the waitress, whose hand had dipped below the band of her unzipped jeans to fondle her pussy.

“Nice,” Carly murmured, and for a moment Marissa wanted to see more her, truly watch the young woman pleasure herself to her own ecstasy.

Then Nell’s hands plunged beneath the band of Marissa’s pajama shorts and squeezed her ass. Marissa arched her head back and gasped her approval. Her clit throbbed with the friction against Nell’s thigh; she craved release now.

She looked down at her lover, noting the ripeness of Nell’s distended nipples, and how they seemed to darken when aroused. Dipping lower to catch a nipple between her teeth, she moaned into Nell’s skin and relished the reaction it brought.

“Want to taste you now,” Nell cried. Sounding distant, Carly echoed her desire to see just that.

Marissa’s heart lifted and her pussy flooded with her own desire. She wanted nothing more to have Nell’s tongue lap at her nether lips, but first she teased her friend with a casual stroke of the other breast. “You gonna make me come?” she breathed once free of sucking on the taut peak.

“Fuck yeah.”

“You wanna lick my pussy? Drink me deep inside?”

“I want your taste on me to last,” Nell whispered, and kissed her hard.

They shed the rest of their clothing quickly, though Carly merely lowered her jeans a bit more and adjusted her blouse to leave one breast bared. She toyed with the nipple while Marissa stripped off her panties and spread both legs before Nell, displaying her moist pussy.

Nell needed no further prompting. With a grin, she lowered her face to Marissa mound and proceeded to lick from clit to core and back again, then began a slow, swirling rhythm that teased all the right spots. Marissa tried to watch herself, but found her body betrayed her. Propped on her elbows, worn down by Nell’s aggressive lovemaking, she could barely support herself. After a few seconds she acquiesced and lay back to better appreciate Nell’s oral giving.

When a finger breached her, the tingle of a coming orgasm ignited. Marissa closed her eyes to mentally guide it closer to the edge. Thanks to Nell’s expert tongue, it didn’t take long for her to reach climax, and she arched her back as it hit. Her cry released low and long, timed perfectly with Carly as the other woman found her release.

“Shit! Fuck!”

Marissa caught a glimpse of Carly furiously rubbing her crotch, eyes still fixed on the couple, yet contorted in the way that looked uncomfortable. Toes curled and legs slid against each other, yet the expression on Carly’s face was one of pure delight.

“That’s so fucking hot,” Carly said, breathless.

Just wait. Once her pleasure faded and the attention to her clit turned painful, Marissa squeezed her thighs into Nell. Her lover took the cue and rose, dragging herself up Marissa’s body until their pussies aligned. Draping one leg over Marissa’s, Nell swiveled her hips to press her lips against the sweet, throbbing spot. With her clit protected in her cleft, this didn’t hurt as much as the direct contact, and actually prolonged the tail end of her orgasm. Watching Nell work toward her own release, Marissa stared deeply into those dark eyes and her heart beat with new strength.

I love you. Good God forgive me, but I do. Sharing might be fun, too, but Marissa recognized her limits now. Let Carly jerk off to her heart’s content, but this—this feeling, this affection—belonged to Nell.

“So close,” Nell stammered, and with one long push against Marissa let go. Marissa watched the erotic play of the orgasm twist Nell’s face, and she reached up to bring her closer for a slow, searching kiss. They would savor the taste of their love for a long time, she knew.

Clearly fatigued, Nell slumped onto Marissa and exhaled. Her heart beat so hard it seemed as though it might pound into Marissa’s chest. “Damn,” she muttered, and slid to her lover’s side. “Your professor had a point there.”

“Yeah.” Marissa wanted to laugh. No way would she experience this level of ecstasy with anybody else, nor would the idea of watching another person…

With her strength regained, she sat up, Nell’s head in her lap. Already her lover prepared for round two, kissing in the delta between Marissa’s thighs.

“What did you think?” Marissa asked Carly. Like she had to ask.

Carly sighed, beaming brighter than the sun. “Awesomesauce. There’s just something about watching up close that’s beats any porn film, even if it is brief. I love watching.”

“Do you now?” Marissa stroked Nell’s hair. “Does it have to be lez?”

“No. I love sex, period. Two men, groups, whatever you got.”

“Spying?”

Carly now appeared interested. “Dangerous. I love it already.”

“Marissa.” Nell’s head shot up and the girl moving to sit beside her. “You sure you want to do that?” Closer so Carly couldn’t hear, she whispered, “What about the, uh, compensation?”

“I don’t want it,” Marissa said simply.

“Maybe, but when the lease is up for renewal we’re gonna need it.”

“Maybe not.” Marissa drew her lover into an embrace. “This apartment is pretty big.”

“I know. It’s the largest model in the complex.”

“And with the way things…could be, perhaps we could look into a vacancy here that’s a bit more conducive to sharing?”

Nell’s face softened.

“A one bedroom?” Marissa suggested. “With one bathroom where we could put our stuff together.”

“I like the way you think,” Nell said. “Tell me more.”

“No.” Carly sank to the floor and crawled closer. “First you tell me about this spy deal.”

Marissa reared back and laughed. “One thing at a time, ladies. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

THE END

South of Sundance

One

Bebe allowed her gaze to linger on her assistant’s profile as she steered the Dodge Ram past endless brush and sand. With no obvious signs of life before or behind them for miles, total concentration on the highway didn’t concern her. So long as their current route led them to their destination as her GPS promised, Bebe preferred to watch the animated smile play on Debra’s lips.

She talked to herself—a habit to which Bebe also admitted. The curse of the creative, she chose as their alibi, and when she failed to correctly read the other woman’s lips Bebe broke the silence.

“What is so damn funny?”

Debra Carrico, twelve years junior to Bebe’s thirty-five, with the flawless skin and soft brown hair to justify it, grinned and popped her gum. “I was remembering this show I watched on one of those oldies cable channels the other night,” she said, and Bebe rolled her eyes and returned her focus to the road.

Good thing, too, as she managed to avoid a slow-moving armadillo on a stroll. With traffic so rare in these parts, of course, why hurry? Bebe imagined the poor little animal forgot to check his calendar, else he’d know to expect a few more cars than usual, all heading this way for South of Sundance.

“Jesus, every channel is oldies if they don’t feature dancing Canadian idols stranded on a desert island and competing for the affection of some has-been sitcom star,” Bebe grumbled. What Debra considered vintage, Bebe had enjoyed at Debra’s age, and it irritated her to no end knowing that Debra enjoyed yanking her chain and pulling at the few gray strands already highlighting her dark auburn hair.

“It was Mary Tyler Moore,” Debra said with a laugh. “You remember that show, right?”

“Of course I do. That was the gig she had before she joined Wings.”

Debra ignored the crack. “The whole cast was gathered together singing this song. ‘It’s a long way…to Tipperary…’” Off-key notes filled the cab, and Bebe cringed. She willed a sign to emerge from the distant heat, and smiled on seeing they had only a few miles more to reach the town limits.

“…and I was just thinking that it’s not only a long way there. They should have renamed that song to Casa Rosa,” Debra finished, and leaned closer to Bebe. “Or maybe it seems so long because we didn’t take the interstate.”

Bebe didn’t like her assistant’s accusatory tone. “There’s less traffic on the state roads and highways.” Next time you drive, Magellan.

Debra slumped back against the passenger door, and bent her knee to brace her foot on the glove box. “I think you did it on purpose.”

“How observant. I do like scenery and fresh air.”

“Because you’re nervous.”

That quieted Bebe. They passed another sign. One mile to Casa Rosa, and true to Debra’s theory her stomach quivered. Soon they’d check into their hotel, then scout the festival for registration information, and look upon hundreds of faces who would see her film for the first time. Bebe didn’t want to think about the ensuing wave of reaction—a few hundred smiles falling into twisted frowns, or even a collective open-mouthed shock.

She gripped the wheel and heeded the GPS’s monotone instructions. The small town of Casa Rosa, New Mexico was laid out in a simple grid, permitting simple navigation. Large, rainbow banners hanging from lampposts welcomed visitors to the tenth annual South of Sundance Film Festival, arguably the largest lesbian and feminist film event in the country.

Hell, Bebe thought. This had to be the only such festival in existence. She’d attended more populated affairs at home in San Francisco, but most queer-friendly gigs included all manner of sexual orientation. South of Sundance, while not the behemoth party like its sort-of namesake held up north in Utah, still attracted an impressive crowd, among them some of the most influential women in the motion picture industry.

Despite her fluttering nerves, Bebe sensed a warmth spread from her heart through her veins. They drove past multitudes of women window shopping and enjoying lunch on sidewalk cafes. They held hands and cuddled—natural and free of disapproving stares. She’d heard the aptly named Casa Rosa, the Pink House, was a great gay-friendly destination for vacationers to the Southwest, but to see it unfold before her encouraged her sense of belonging.

The South of Sundance organizers deserved some credit for that as well. Of all the festivals to which she submitted Buzz, only SOS extended a guest invitation and a special screening.

“Over there! You missed it.”

“What?” Bebe snapped her attention to the right, glancing cursorily out Debra’s window. They passed the circular driveway of the Casa Rosa Inn, so Bebe executed a quick lap around the block and corrected the overshot. The small, stucco-covered inn reminded Bebe of the beautiful Spanish homes of her native St. Augustine in Florida. An elegant stone bird bath with a fountain sprayed water in the center of a tile-floored courtyard, which the two ladies walked through to enter a cool, spacious lobby painted a darker shade of pink.

Debra stood close to Bebe as they waited in line, pushing her rolling luggage to and fro. “Mah colors are blush and bashful,” she whispered with a quiet snicker.

No matter the location, leave it to her assistant to call to mind the appropriate movie dialogue. Lord, she hadn’t seen Steel Magnolias in years, too.

Bebe’s gaze panned the breadth of the lobby, taking in the vases of pink orchids, the mauve Queen Anne sofas in the sitting area, and even the pink lemonade in a clear pitcher on a credenza bearing other snacks. Heaven help her if she messed up her line—Debra wasn’t one to let things like that die.

“The entire sanctuary looks like it’s been hosed down with Pepto Bismol.”

That earned a generous laugh that rang too loudly, and when Bebe turned her attention back to the registration counter she saw everybody else had been served. An older woman in glasses, stern yet soft in an out of place green blouse, eyed them with unease.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

Bebe quickly composed herself and stepped away from Debra. Little hope of disassociating herself completely from the girl, but maybe the clerk hadn’t heard them joking. “Sorry, yes. We’re checking in,” she said, fishing in her purse for her license and credit card. “We had two rooms under the name Yasbeck.”

The clerk brightened. “Well, hell. It is you finally come.” The woman extended a hand and shook Bebe’s hard, jostling a shocked Bebe. “I am so glad to meet you, Miss Yasbeck. May I just say, too, I’m thrilled that you’re staying here for the festival.”

“Uh, thank you.” Bebe wanted to shrink into the pink; surely she flushed bright enough to match the décor. On her first film fest outing she encounters a would-be fan and what does she do but act like a cold fish. In her defense, with Buzz being her first movie—and an independently produced documentary rather than a summer popcorn blockbuster—she hadn’t anticipated recognition. Not even at a lesbian event, since she didn’t really consider Buzz a lesbian work.

Momentarily she wondered if the festival advertised it as such. Damn. Another thing to check on before she could truly relax and enjoy herself.

“Yes, ma’am, when I heard your film was showing here I got my ticket first thing,” the clerk rambled on as she gathered keycards for them. “Good thing I did, too. You know Buzz completely sold out in five minutes?”

“It did?” Bebe looked back at Debra for confirmation, but the girl shrugged her ignorance. The news sent her heart into overdrive.

“Yep. They had to add a second screening to fill the demand. Everybody is looking forward to it.”

“Well, uh, thank you.” What more could she say? True, the content of the film was bound to generate interest, but Bebe didn’t expect a mad box office rush. Fear and excitement intertwined into a thick sword and stabbed at her gut. Buzz described her film perfectly, as it chronicled a series of women exploring their sexuality through vibrating adult toys. Yet, despite the nature of the theme, the movie showed nothing explicit. Surely to God people hadn’t bought tickets thinking they were going to see some hot girl on girl action?

She wobbled in place, enough to catch a look of concern from the clerk. “I should get to my room,” she explained. “It was a long drive.”

“Oh, sure thing, hon. You both are on the second floor. Beautiful balcony view of the back garden. Elevator’s down the hall to your right.”

“Thanks.” Bebe hastened her exit before the clerk could volunteer any more platitudes. Debra nipped at her heels, her luggage squealing behind her.

“How in the hell did that kind of interest catch on?” Bebe hissed once the elevator doors sealed them from eavesdropping ears. “We’ve had zero publicity up until now. I haven’t even updated the website with a trailer yet.”

“I don’t know,” Debra squealed her defense. “It’s probably good word of mouth. You’re in a town full of dykes, and they all want to see women enjoying themselves. Maybe the festival’s playing it up.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Bebe said, wondering how much play the festival told viewers to expect, and would Bebe be allowed to play elsewhere if Buzz flopped.

“Don’t worry about it,” Debra told her. “Let’s get everything unpacked and settled, and we’ll do some recon work.”

Bebe nodded. How appropriate to begin her budding film directing career at a festival bearing the initials SOS.

She needed all the help she could to get through the weekend.

Two

After a brief power nap, then a quick run to the car to collect what camera equipment and lighting Bebe insisted on bringing in the event inspiration struck, both ladies felt refreshed enough to explore Casa Rosa’s small downtown. Bebe slipped on a clean black and white gingham blouse, unbuttoned over a white tank top, denim capris, and her favorite sandals. Debra, hair now fastened in a ponytail, nearly matched her but for the ash gray v-neck with cap sleeves.

The clerk, who introduced herself as Penny when the two wandered through the lobby toward the exit, recommended a corner café with outdoor seating and an extensive vegan menu.

“Most festival attendees eat there,” she explained. “Best breakfast in three states, but you gotta get there early or the line forms.”

Bebe didn’t ask which states, and only nodded her thanks and set off with Debra, but not before grabbing a tabloid newsprint festival program she spotted in a wire magazine bin by the door. She leafed through the contents as she and Debra walked, discussing their scheduled screenings and plans for the next project.

“I have a script that shows promise,” Debra said, her attention focused on the street and the bright pastel storefronts. “A rom-com. Heroine is disabled. It’s not predictable like some of the crap out now.”

Speaking of predictable…Bebe eyed the film schedule grid in the tabloids centerfold and her gaze zeroed in on Buzz’s time slot. Despite the promise of good PR with their sold-out status, they had been placed to lead-in a feature by her old flame and current rival Giselle Toussiant—a buddy flick starring two renowned award winners in the sunset, silver cougar stage of their careers. Bebe checked the program for any clue as to whether either of the A-listers had planned to show, but found nothing.

Most assuredly, they would see the director this weekend. Suddenly the thought of the vegan cuisine and rosemary cornbread so highly praised by Penny the hotel clerk no longer tempted her appetite.

“Did you write it?” she asked finally, glimpsing surreptitiously at Debra. The younger woman turned with eyes widened, as though surprised by the question. Bebe wondered how long she’d tuned out her assistant, and felt embarrassed to think Debra might have mentioned that already.

“No. My friend Lisa, from Berkeley. Why?”

Bebe shook her head. “Just thought I’d ask. I don’t think I want to do a feature just yet. Too much involved in that.” Plus, if she wanted the level of distribution Giselle currently enjoyed, she’d have to court big-name talent over actor friends. They might understand such a move, but Bebe preferred to make her films rather than become a cog in a studio mill.

The “buzz,” for lack of a better word, on Buzz gave her hope. If the audience here liked the film, perhaps the word of mouth could propel it toward underground cult status, justify her desire to film a more daring follow-up…and convince backers to invest in it.

The Bluebird Café, as Penny had warned, proved a popular spot. Bebe noticed the myriad of bright green, eco-friendly tote bags bearing the festival logo. At least two per table, their straps pulled taut over chair backs or wrapped limply around limbs as women chatted and enjoyed an early supper. Nobody seemed rushed to leave, either, and before Bebe could suggest trying a McDonald’s to Debra she heard her name paged over the din.

“Bebe Yasbeck! Get that skinny white ass over here!”

Guh! The bile roiled in Bebe’s gut, yet she steeled herself not to show her displeasure. Ignoring Debra’s bemusement, she forced a sweet smile and led her assistant over to where Giselle sat with another woman, whom Bebe didn’t recognize.

“Your timing is uncanny, we were just seated ourselves. Come join us, plenty of room.” Air-kissed greetings exchanged, Giselle motioned the two to chairs and introduced her companion. “Sheila and I met at Tribeca, after High Tea premiered.” Giselle’s blood red nails curled into Sheila’s palm while the other woman, incredibly cool in track pants and a burgundy hoodie despite the heat, gazed with blatant, and perhaps obedient, adoration. If Bebe had remembered anything about her failed relationship with Giselle, submission didn’t feature in the woman’s vocabulary unless used to describe somebody else. Even now, given how badly they ended, Giselle showcased her dominant behavior by flaunting her new relationship and treating Bebe as though they’d split amicably.

Right.

Whether Giselle would now acknowledge Bebe’s accomplishments since the breakup remained to be seen, since every day working together had begun and ended in competition. Surely at South of Sundance, their films would compete for the same awards, too.

Bebe draped her napkin over her lap, content to watch the show before her. Giselle and Sheila made goo-goo eyes at each other, with the new girlfriend shooting the occasional ice dart with her eyes at Bebe.

“Debra, how are you doing?” Giselle sipped from her water glass. “Last I heard, you were finishing up your Master’s. How’s that going?”

“It’s gone. Done. I walked in May.” Debra thanked the waiter arriving with two more place settings and water. “I work for Bebe full-time now.”

“Oh.” Giselle nodded and looked as though she might collapse into a fit of laughter. Bebe couldn’t mistake the indignant tone of Giselle’s reaction. Why not just come out and ask the girl why she’d bothered to get an advanced degree in the first place if she intended to keep working at Bebe’s cardboard box of an office? Bebe had offered Debra no less than a stellar reference if she decided to apply to a major studio, but Debra made the decision to stay on at Yaz Films. It’s feasible to follow your bliss rather than the money, she wanted to say to Giselle, but doubted her former lover could equate happiness with success. However, her rising irritation fueled her appetite, and Bebe figured it better to keep her opinions to herself, lest Giselle expel them to the lengthened queue at the café’s door.

They ordered and ate through companionable conversation, talking about everything and nothing. Giselle and Sheila seemed genuinely interested in Buzz and promised to arrive early to get good seats for the main screening. “I have to know, Bay,” Giselle said after the waiter brought the checks, “what inspired you to film a documentary about…masturbation?”

Bebe wanted to laugh at her ex girlfriend’s sudden demureness. Interesting behavior coming from a woman who could howl an orgasm to set off car alarms. Oh, to have filmed a segment with Giselle.

She shrugged, not caring if her voice carried over the crowd. She wanted people to hear about the film, why else come here? “Why not?” she asked. “I approach film as an art form, and personally I can’t think of a better example of beauty than a woman’s appreciation for her own sexuality. I thought, wouldn’t it be great to film the joy when it truly flowers, and allow that woman to watch the end result and see her true self?” Those scenes in particular, where each woman filmed for the initial buzz was then taped watching her “performance,” Bebe thought especially wonderful. It almost moved her to tears to watch some women realize their beauty for the first time.

Sheila appeared uncomfortable now, and Bebe wondered if the woman’s earlier excitement over seeing Buzz had merely been transference of Giselle’s desire. Giselle, meanwhile, absorbed the comments and said, “Well, I keep hearing all this stuff about the film, how it’s artistic and sexual without being graphic…but I have to ask, is it really entertainment? I mean, you just filmed an hour or so of O-faces.”

“I filmed life, Giselle. I wanted to create something to last in people’s memories for a long time to come. If I merely wanted to ‘entertain’ people, I’d shoot a fluff piece about a couple of idiot teenagers trying to knock over a quickie mart to pay for college.”

They’d eaten, and as a waiter came to bus their table Bebe plucked three tens for her wallet and tossed them by her water glass. She could afford to be irritated now. Before Giselle could react, Bebe dropped her napkin on the table and stood. “Thank you for sharing your space,” she added, calmer this time. “We’ll see you around.” She hustled Debra out of their reach, leaving Giselle and Sheila to stare after them in astonishment.

“Forgive me for that,” she asked of Debra after they’d walked far enough to cool Bebe’s nerves. “I don’t know why I let her get to me.”

“Because she can and she knows it,” Debra said, “and, even though she’s a bitch, you still have feelings for her.”

Bebe turned sharply, but Debra didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I know. You’re oil and water, but even layered like that somebody gets to be on top, and there’s a good kind of friction, too.” She winked. “Why don’t you admit there’s still something there?”

“Do you support something being there? You just called her a bitch.”

Debra shrugged. “She does have good points, too. Maybe it takes a while to bring out those qualities.”

“Well, whatever’s there, I don’t want it to be there.” Bebe let out a moan. She couldn’t rebut Debra’s affirmations—all through lunch she sensed those old attractions tapping at her heart. Giselle had looked incredible with her short, blonde hair teased in all directions, and her full lips tinted a lovely shade of rose. Bebe recalled those lips on her skin during the best of days with Giselle, rolling around in bed on lazy Sundays, exploring tender new places to kiss.

Just her heart? Bebe stopped walking abruptly, under the pretense of window shopping a nearby shoe boutique. Really she wanted to press her thighs together to still the throbbing in her clit.

Debra stood beside her. “Nice,” she said, pointing to a pair of red heels. “You can get Jimmy Choo’s all the way out in the sticks?”

“Probably just for the festival,” Bebe mused. “You get several hundred women in one place for a weekend, you’re bound to sell at least a few pairs and pull in enough to cover costs.”

“Even lesbians? They buy Choo’s?”

Bebe shot her assistant a withering glance. “You make one crack about Birkenstocks and you’re fired.”

“Maybe you should take yours off before you fulfill that threat.”

Bebe looked down at her feet, and laughed. Eyes back to Debra, she asked, “You think Giselle would have been jealous if I told her I filmed you for Buzz?”

Debra huffed. “I wanted to tell her myself, but you didn’t give me the chance. You dragged me out of there so fast. Also wanted her to know how many hours of tape we have. She acted like we did everything in one take.”

So much for lauding Giselle’s good points. “Sorry.” They resumed their slow trek back to the inn, the twinge in Bebe’s pussy now dulled, yet still in need of attention. “Would you like to hear about my idea for the, shall we say, sequel?”

“Huh. More of the same, or do I detect a hint of envelope pushing in your voice?”

Bebe looped her arm in Debra’s and the two quickened their gait, brushing past other couples on the sidewalk. “Let me put it this way,” she said. “The working title is called Pump.”

Three

Oh, hell to the yes with a capital H, Debra wanted in on the next act. No sooner than they returned to Bebe’s room did she unpack the first heavy black case containing the Fresnel light kit Bebe had used for the intimate close-ups that defined Buzz. The scene they planned to film, here in the room, required little else but the proper camera settings and two willing participants. Bebe had brought everything initially to maintain a video blog of their experience at SOS, but with the opportunity to work a bit…she intended to use the time well.

Debra certainly showed her enthusiasm, taking great care to adjust the barn door leaves surrounding the large light bulb, before moving to the camera tripod. “How do you want to do this, shooting from the side?”

Bebe laid on the bed face up to give Debra a better gauge. “Yes, the idea is for the viewer to experience the whole scene. They need to see us both react.”

“You think we should drape something on the wall here?” Debra pointed in that direction.

“I don’t think so. The close-up won’t focus on the background. Closing the bathroom door is sufficient.” Bebe rolled off the bed. Time to prepare.

Of the entire process of film-making, especially where Buzz was concerned, Bebe somewhat dreaded this part of the day. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy watching a woman undress, and lovely Debra offered a stunning vision of creamy skin and petite curves, but Bebe disliked the rather subdued manner that preceded the passion sure to follow. As she filmed the participants who willingly shed their clothes and inhibitions for Buzz, and to lay before her naked in every sense and expose their unique sexual behaviors, Bebe recalled the excitement and eagerness with which some women stripped and bounded onto bed.

She didn’t experience that now. Bebe watched Debra remove her clothing, slowly yet sensually sliding the thin waistband of her thong over her hips. With her back to Bebe, the young woman bent slightly and peeled the scrap of fabric away, completely baring her smooth, luscious backside. What red-blooded man or lesbian could resist pulling that sexy, lithe body closer for a lengthy caress? Bebe appreciated how her own body reacted to Debra, and hoped to make the scene genuine for viewers.

“So you know, it’s going to work the same as Buzz,” Bebe explained as she, now also naked, sifted through her luggage for the prop. “Totally unscripted. You can speak freely or not at all.”

“Got it. Act naturally.” Debra moved to slide onto the bed but stopped. “So, who’s on top?”

“Let me. With this thing, it might be more comfortable for both of us.”

Bebe hefted in her left hand a silicone dildo—a two-way model shaped like a pornographic checkmark. The hooked bulbous end was shaped to fit inside the dominant female who would use the shaft as if it were a real penis. Seeing the item at an adult novelty store near her office inspired her to plan Pump, and she intended to recruit possible subjects for the film through contacts involved with the first documentary. That Debra readily agreed to participate bolstered Bebe’s confidence in choosing the topic. She considered Debra more than just an employee and friend, and liked that Debra felt comfortable in this situation, knowing it was business, mixed with a bit of pleasure.

This also worried Bebe. The two had played on occasion without the promise of commitment, but never like this before—could they present a true picture of sensuality without it looking forced, like bad porn? One look at Debra’s smile warmed Bebe’s insides and pooled the fire low in her belly. Her pussy throbbed, aching for fulfillment. Briefly she wished to be on the receiving end, but knew the scene would work better with her priming the “pump.”

Debra relaxed upright on the comforter, idly toying with her nipples while Bebe soaked the dildo with a generous amount of slick lubricant. “Nice,” she remarked. “Have you mastered walking with that thing in you?”

Bebe straightened and eased her shoulders up and back. Her breasts rose with the movement, and Bebe loved how they still carried high and buoyant with no help from the knife after these thirty-plus years. “I just might surprise you today,” she teased, then slowly eased the thick base bulb into her core. Her pussy walls clamped down on the dildo while Bebe adjusted the rigid shaft to hover symmetrically. Satisfied, she stood in place for a few seconds to let Debra appreciate the new look.

Debra licked her lips. “Never thought I’d want a cock so badly,” she said.

“Is the camera running?”

Debra nodded, and Bebe oh so carefully stepped around the mattress corner to the side where Debra lay, legs apart and knees bent up. The camera’s vantage point would only show them from the torsos up, and as Bebe took in the scene she imagined how viewers might react to seeing Debra’s hand disappear from view as it snaked down to rub her pussy.

She looked as if she wanted to speak. Bebe bit her lip. Speak, she urged silently. Bebe wanted the film to capture their spontaneity—she hated to see anybody censor herself for the sake of perfection.

“What is it?” she asked, perched just out of camera shot, and stroking Debra’s inner thigh.

“Oh.” Debra sank down to get into position. “Was just wondering about oral.”

“I see. You think it will help? Get you in the mood?”

“Oh, no worries about that.” Debra laughed, and her forefingers pried her cleft apart to give Bebe a good view of her arousal.

“Okay.” Bebe slipped two fingers into Debra, noting the slickness of her channel. The woman felt tight and ready for her. “Maybe for the next movie, then? I’ll call that one Lick.”

This earned a louder chuckle. “Better than Jaws,” Debra shot back. She turned suddenly serious when Bebe moved to kneel before her.

“You’re so beautiful. I don’t know why you don’t want to spend more time in front of the camera,” Bebe murmured.

“I want to be a famous director when I grow up.” Debra winked. Bebe appreciated that Debra didn’t refer to her as this film’s director with the live camera before them. She encouraged spontaneity in her documentaries, yes, but any references to her as a direct participant could be decided later.

Gripping the woman’s knees, she helped spread Debra’s legs apart a bit wider, then dipped low to kiss the inside of one thigh. “I want to make this good for you. How long’s it been for you?”

“Since when? Playing with a sex toy?”

“Anything, anybody. Man, woman…both?”

Debra breathed slowly and deeply. Bebe paid attention to the rise and fall of her full, bare breasts, and decided to time her early thrusts to that rhythm.

“I had a threesome not long ago.” Debra looked away for a moment, her lips curling up softly in a smile, as though recalling that bliss to use for the camera.

The dildo bobbed under Bebe’s tight nether grip, and she steadied it by grasping the head, which resembled a circumcised crown. She traced Debra’s inner pussy lips, preparing for entry. “Really?” Bebe asked, her tone light and teasing. “And where was I?”

“That was your Toronto trip. You leave me alone for a weekend, I’m going to fill up the time.” Debra sucked the air through her teeth, clearing enjoying how Bebe taunted her with the fake cock.

“True, though I’m more curious about who filled you up that weekend. Spill.” Bebe hit the goldmine with Debra—as much as she adored the frankness of her subjects in Buzz, she wondered if she’d achieve that same level of comfort in this new movie. If every participant offered an open sexual nature as Debra, she’d truly surpass her sophomore expectations with this second movie. Of course, she wouldn’t fuck everybody featured—she’d seek out couples, people familiar and comfortable with each other.

“I had two other women, and it was heaven. Ooh. Yeah.”

Bebe braced the heels of her hands of either side of Debra’s pillow, and looked down at the young woman as she carefully guided the dildo into Debra’s pussy using only her hips to thrust. In this moment she wished she’d invested in some kind of helmet camera to capture her assistant’s immediate reaction to this new sensation. Of course, Bebe couldn’t count on the picture quality of a glorified webcam, and she refused to produce an end product that resembled a blurry, modern-day stag film.

To her delight, Debra turned toward the camera, her face contorted with pleasure. Bebe’s breasts hung low over the woman, barely grazing Debra’s own nipples. When the dildo reached the hilt Bebe lowered slightly and their skin connected, setting off a million nerve endings.

“Is heaven like this, too?” Bebe barely whispered.

“Close, but it feels fucking amazing.” Debra arched her neck and Bebe dropped a light kiss on her throat. Hands touched down on her ass to guide her toward the proper pace Debra wanted to be fucked. So began the “pump,” yet Bebe wanted to exercise caution. She hadn’t used this type of dildo before, and feared it might slip out of her if she went too fast.

“Tell me about them,” she asked of Debra. “What was it like to fuck two women at once?”

Debra’s head flopped side to side. “Sexy, and endless. I think we just kissed and caressed for an hour before it got really down and dirty. It was me and someone from my class, and her girlfriend. We took turns sucking each other’s tits. I swear I could have just done that all night without complaint.”

“Your friend a blonde?” Bebe withdrew the dildo nearly to completion and pushed easily back into Debra. “I know how you like blondes.” One thing the two had in common. Thoughts of Giselle formed, unbidden, in her mind. Damn it. Bebe tilted her head back to a point where she believed herself out of the shot. She needed to concentrate on this, not moon over a love long lost.

“Mmm, yeah.” Debra licked her lips, writhing underneath her. “Down past her shoulders. It looked incredible spread over my thighs while she ate my pussy. Damn, she knew how to do that well.”

After shooting Bebe would get her number. Why not go ahead with Lick for real, and complete a trilogy? She continued to fuck Debra with the dildo. “Did you eat her?”

Debra nodded. “For a while. We all tangled together, licking and kissing, then formed a triangle and just ate each other forever. Her friend has this gorgeous ass—I rimmed her so goo…oh, shit yes! Right there.”

The curve of the dildo must have slid at the right angle to encourage that enthusiastic of a response. The light in Debra’s eyes reached nuclear levels and Bebe’s sped up the “pump,” undulating her hips and guiding the silicone cock into Debra’s pussy.

“You look so hot from this view, you know that?” Bebe’s breath came labored now as she realized how much work the dildo required to stoke Debra’s passion. She couldn’t help herself—she bent lower to capture Debra’s lips in a soft, exploring kiss, and when the other woman’s hands slid up her back to close around her head she didn’t resist. Their breasts crushed together, skin on skin overheating to the point they might melt together in bed. The pressure of Bebe’s pussy against Debra’s, even with the dildo, sparked enough sensation to her clit to tease an orgasm from her.

Harder. To achieve her own release, she needed to bring Debra’s to a peak. Grasping Debra by the shoulders for support, Bebe fucked her with the silicone cock as hard as she could while keeping it inside her. The movement of the bulb end inside her own pussy stimulated her, and soon the familiar tingle of a coming climax burst low in her belly. She broke free of Debra’s lips and panted heavily.

“God, Giselle,” she cried softly.

Four

Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Fuck a duck on a stick, and wrap it in tinfoil.

Bebe lay on the bed, spooning a still naked Debra as they quietly watched the sunset through the open balcony doors. To avoid wasting any more film, Bebe shut off the camera almost immediately after Debra came. She realized the abruptness of the cut might prove challenging to correct in editing, but Bebe knew also she could no way in hell use any of the scene they filmed for the movie.

Yet, Debra insisted on arguing with her boss. “You should leave it in.”

“The hell I will.” Bebe slapped Debra’s ass, harder than intended. “Think about the implications if I left…that part in.” She didn’t need to clarify the pivotal point of the scene, either. Excising her climax, too, would destroy the integrity of what she planned for Pump. Bebe imagined how Giselle might react on hearing her name called out during the height of ecstasy and cringed.

“Never let it be said I don’t put emotion into my work,” Bebe said, “but frustration is something I prefer to avoid. Best to ditch the scene and start fresh.”

Debra scooted away and eventually sat up, stretching her arms over her head. “If you want to feel less frustrated, seems to me your best solution is calling Giselle and getting some kind of closure to your relationship,” she said, and turned to look at Bebe. With the dying light casting an aura-like glow around her, Debra resembled some kind of guardian nymph with her impish smile. “Yet something tells me you keep avoiding that because you never wanted it to end in the first place.”

The room’s temperature suddenly dipped, and the cold settled on Bebe’s skin like gentle, invisible frost. “I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing…” As she talked, her tongue thickened, and she wanted to spit away her discomfort. Giselle had dumped her—rather unceremoniously, and Bebe happened to learn of their relationship’s end through a news byte on E! Television, which featured a brief shot of Giselle escorting a voluptuous brunette into a film premiere Bebe couldn’t attend.

If that telling scene hadn’t confirmed Giselle’s waned interest in fidelity, the impersonal text message Bebe received the next morning—complete with a frowning face icon, deepened the stiletto through her heart. To say anything about those moments caused Bebe to glass over with tears. Of course she hadn’t wanted to break up with Giselle, despite the struggles in their relationship. She chose not to close that moment all the way not because she still wanted Giselle—she vowed never to let that woman see how badly she’d hurt Bebe.

Bebe watched Debra dress, and experienced no further arousal. The brief flame of orgasm satisfied her for the time being, though Debra would argue that thoughts of Giselle stoked that fire. She could not debate any points of this conversation without thinking of her former lover and what they shared, then admitting her assistant was indeed right.

“Do you mind if I go solo for a bit? I was thinking of warming a barstool downstairs,” Debra said. “They’re having some live music later.” Debra must have seen a touch of sadness on Bebe’s face, for she quickly added, “You’re welcome to join me, though, if you want.”

Bebe shook her head. She didn’t want Debra to feel obliged to hang with her for the entire trip. “No, go on and have fun. This weekend isn’t all about me. You should network on your own.”

Debra smiled. “Okay, cool. I’ll leave my cell on.” With that, she quietly left Bebe to pack up the camera and lights. Finishing that, Bebe decided on a cup of tea and her current paperback to finish the evening on a relaxed note. She had just pulled out her pajamas, though, when a soft knock on the door caught her attention.

“Just a second,” she called, figuring Debra had forgotten to tell her something. She opened the door and did her best, however, to mask her surprise on seeing Penny and another woman, this one older with long, silver-blonde hair, her face creased with concern.

“Ladies,” she said, disturbed by the speed with which her heart pounded. This couldn’t portend good news. “Did you need something?”

The older woman nodded, almost bowed in reverence with her hands steepled together. “Actually, yes, Ms. Yasbeck. I…I don’t know how to tell you this…”

Good lord. Surely Debra hadn’t fallen down the elevator shaft in the ten or so minutes since she left the room.

“…but by chance do you have, uh, another copy of Buzz?”

Bebe sighed, releasing her tension. “Oh,” she said. “You mean for the second screening? You’re doing them simultaneously?”

Penny looked at the other woman, whom Bebe now assumed worked with the festival. She wore no lanyard with a plastic nametag that festival staff and volunteers around town sported, but Bebe saw no other reason for her to ask after her film. Her lingering morose expression, though, bothered Bebe.

“Ms. Yasbeck,” the woman said, “I’m terribly sorry. We need a copy. Any copy. The one we had for tomorrow’s screening is gone.”

Five

In the end Bebe got her tea. She hadn’t expected the hotel’s clerk to serve it to her. Yet, as the festival chairwoman herself—she insisted Bebe call her Carla rather than Ms. Price—explained the situation, Penny took charge of the room’s coffee maker and boiled enough water for the three of them.

Carla perched on the edge of the room’s only chair, wringing her hands and rocking slightly, anxious. “I couldn’t begin to tell you how this happened,” she was saying. “We have always been very careful about storing the films sent to us. We’re not as big as the actual Sundance, but we’ve had nothing like this happen before.”

Bebe, leaning on the bed, accepted a mug from Penny and set it on the side table to let it steep a minute. This woman genuinely felt bad for the misplacing of Buzz; she couldn’t let her suffer. “Carla, I hope you’re not thinking I gave you the master print of Buzz,” she said. “I do have a few CDs with me now…”

All worry seemed to vanish immediately from Carla’s face. Even Penny clasped her hands with relief.

“I had planned to give them to any distributors I met this weekend. I suppose one could do in a pinch for a mass showing, assuming you had the right player to project on a large screen.”

“Oh, we can do that, no problem at all,” Carla said. She honestly looked as though a large weight had disappeared from her shoulders. Her face, though, quickly darkened again. “I hate the thought that somebody unauthorized has your film. We’ve always locked the storage facility where the reels are kept.”

“What?” Bebe frowned. “You think somebody stole my movie?”

Penny moved to stand by Carla and sipped from her mug. From the way Penny’s hand reached down to massage the back of Carla’s neck, Bebe got the impression these two were more than friends.

“It’s a serious accusation, and not one we’d make lightly,” Penny said. “The SOS screening committee saw your film, so it got here in one piece, and it was stored with the rest. We just have to figure out the how’s and who’s of its disappearance.”

“How many people have access to the storage room?” Bebe asked. “Right there you should be able to narrow down the suspects, assuming this was intentional.” She hated to think anyone wished to destroy Buzz, and Bebe’s opportunity to reach an audience. Keeping the film as a souvenir sounded highly unlikely, and Bebe hoped this would turn out to be a simple matter of absent-mindedness that could be resolved before her screening.

She rose, forgetting the tea. “Well, let me get you one of the DVDs, it’s yours to use for the festival. You can either return it to me here afterward or mail it my studio. All I ask is that no copies are made from it.” She didn’t need pirates uploading torrents on the Internet, but Carla looked like a trustworthy type.

Carla put a hand over her heart. “I promise to guard this with my life. I am so embarrassed this occurred on my watch, and I appreciate your doing this.”

“No need to keep apologizing, we’ll make it right. I’d have a print expressed in from L.A., but I don’t know if it would get here on time.” She took a black clamshell case from the side pocket of her luggage and checked the label before standing. All the while, Penny and Carla discussed among themselves the people who had access to the films.

She froze on hearing the name Sheila.

Bebe turned and watched the two women bicker on quietly, talking enough to eliminate friends and longtime volunteers one by one. To her fortune, neither one noticed her eavesdropping, and when Bebe approached with the DVD Carla looked up at her with a grateful smile. “I don’t know how to make this up to you. This is definitely not the way to debut a film, and I am so sorry for all of this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Yet, as Bebe tried to reassure the woman, her own stomach churned. The theory she entertained about Buzz’s disappearance unsettled her, and while she believed she couldn’t readily blame this woman for an event clearly out of her control, she wanted to be angry at somebody…or something. She didn’t want to believe the images conjured in her head, too.

“Before you go,” she began as Penny and Carla prepared to take their leave, “might I ask if Giselle Toussiant is staying here? She’s an old friend, and I hoped to catch up with her this evening.”

Penny shook her head. “She didn’t have a reservation here that I saw. You might want to try the Doubletree just out of the town limits. A lot of festival folk stay there and take the shuttle into Case Rosa,” she said. “Otherwise, most people go with a vacation rental if they’re staying the entire week.”

“Thanks. I’ll try what you suggested.”

Bebe didn’t wait two seconds after securing the bolt on her room door before exhaling her frustration. Sheila. A common name, yes, but a lead worth investigating if Giselle had any involvement in this escapade. She claimed to have met the quiet film lover at Tribeca, but that didn’t mean Sheila wasn’t connected to South of Sundance in a volunteer or staff capacity.

She dug her cell phone out of her purse, then reached for the thin phone book in the drawer of the side table. She found the Doubletree’s number easily, but grunted a curse when the desk clerk informed her no such guest had checked in there. Rather than work down the entire page of listings, Bebe took the risk of dialing the last number she had for Giselle by memory. Hopefully the woman hadn’t switched phones, or numbers, since they parted.

Bebe’s heart stopped with the engaged click on the third ring. Giselle greeted her with, “I was wondering when you’d call.”

Bebe detected no snark in Giselle’s voice, but a sadness that distracted her. Recovering quickly, she replied, “Do you know why I’m calling?”

“Yes, and if you come over now I’ll give you what you most desire.”

Six

Giselle opted this year for a modest rental condo in town. The two-bedroom spread sat on the second floor of the busy downtown district and overlooked much of the spill-off activity the festival brought. When Bebe arrived, Giselle bade her to take a seat on the balcony, and while she waited for her film Bebe watched the glowing party lights strung on storefronts and the couples strolling underneath them. Endless strings of illuminated chili peppers, palm trees, and other shapes swayed in a short breeze while rock music blared out from the bar sitting catty-corner from the apartment.

Bebe looked down at all the merriment and wished she could share it with the crowd. Film or no film, she wondered why she couldn’t fully get into the spirit of South of Sundance. As a lesbian, she identified with the demographic here, and as a filmmaker she should be proud to be included in such a prestigious festival. That Giselle put her film at risk, and consequently sought to make amends, should have infuriated her, but she was numb. This night had become a movie, so to speak, and she felt like an extra awaiting the next scene.

“Here you go.” Giselle set a large film can by the sliding glass door. Bebe recognized her handwriting on the label, and the urge to leap forward and inspect the film for herself tugged at her. Trusting Giselle that her film sat coiled in that canister seemed a daunting task, but the look of regret on Giselle’s face told her that no ulterior motives lurked behind this gesture.

Giselle took the chair opposite hers, slouching her shoulders. “It’s there,” she said. “I’ve done nothing to it. I hadn’t planned to destroy it.”

“Why did you take it?” Bebe demanded. “Rather, why did you let Sheila take it?”

“I didn’t know she stole it, honest.” Giselle shook her head but didn’t—or wouldn’t—face Bebe. “I came back here early from an interview, and I guess she wasn’t expecting me. I caught her with the film and when she said she’d been charged with keeping it I knew that was bullshit. I kept grilling her until she admitted the truth.”

“Okay,” Bebe said slowly, “so what was her motive? Surely this wasn’t some half-baked scheme to impress you.”

An answer didn’t come immediately, and Bebe pinched the bridge of her nose to fight an oncoming headache. “Good lord, Giselle,” she moaned. “What kind of loon…”

“Look, I’ll admit I was partially attracted to her because she had connections to this festival, okay?” Giselle threw up her hands. “I don’t slut around to get my films showcased, but I liked Sheila, too. Really liked her. It just happened she was on the committee that screened Buzz for approval, and somewhere along the line she got the idea in her head that your film would overshadow mine here, so she took it. Was going to say it was mislaid, and then conveniently relocate it where it would be found, but too late to premiere.”

Bebe said nothing. The whole story sounded strange to her ears. “That’s a strange way of proving your devotion,” she said.

“I’m not the bad guy here, Bay. I did you a favor. You’ll get your screening. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“It is.” Bebe nodded. “On the phone earlier, though, I got the impression that wasn’t all you intended to give me.”

Giselle’s face softened, and she tried a smile. “I believe my exact words were ‘what you most desire.’”

“And what do you think that is?”

Giselle said nothing at first, but stood and crooked her finger to guide Bebe back into the apartment. Shutting the sliding balcony door behind her, Giselle rolled her shoulders back to puff up her ample chest. The tight pink t-shirt she wore stretched enough to expose some color to her hardened nipples. Bebe saw easily that the other woman didn’t wear a bra.

“I hoped,” Giselle said, “what you most desire is in this room, and not encased in metal.”

Bebe folded her arms, more to hide her own blossoming arousal that to give off an air of resistance.

“Why would you think that, after the way things ended between us?”

“Because I know who you are, Bay. You are a forgiving person who sees the good in all people. In your movie, you take the plainest of women and turn them into sexual beings, and show the fullness of their beauty. It’s not just with film, either, I’ve seen you do that in real life by talking to people,” Giselle said, then cast her gaze to the floor. “I have to confess, too, how much that scared me.”

Bebe’s arms slid to her sides.

“I took off because I didn’t think I could live up to your level of potential. Your abilities are so much more advanced than mine…I guess I got jealous.”

“Giselle, you directed two Oscar winners for your film. Early buzz is predicting at least two nominations for High Tea, for their performances,” Bebe said. “You can’t tell me you don’t have the power to bring out the best in people.”

“Bay, please. High Tea practically directed itself. Zaragosa ran that show,” she said, referring to the film’s producer. She stepped closer to Bebe. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I acted like a scared twit when I should have been honest about my fears with you. Instead I hid behind false bravado and look where it’s gotten me.”

Bebe smirked. “Headlining a film festival and guarantee of wide release.”

“Miserable and attracting strange, obsessive people. I kicked Sheila out of here when I saw what she had done,” Giselle said, glancing back at the film can. “You deserve the best, and if I can’t give it to you I hope you get it somewhere.”

“Thanks.” What more was there to say? Giselle’s candor surprised and pleased her. She certainly hadn’t expected to have this conversation tonight, but perhaps this would count as the closure about which Debra had nagged her.

Giselle’s hand rested on her shoulder, then inched down her arm.

Perhaps not…yet.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Giselle said. “The way you kiss, your soft skin. I missed making love with you.”

“I’m sorry.” Giselle’s touch paralyzed her. A slight ache in her pussy caused her to shift her stance, all the while her nipples tightened more.

The back of Giselle’s hands brushed to the side, passing over Bebe’s left breast. “May I tell you what I most desire?”

“I can guess,” Bebe said, hating her body’s reaction to Giselle’s ministrations. The woman had skills when it came to seduction, no doubt, and it helped little that Bebe never let Giselle stray too far from her mind, even in the darkest times when she constantly cursed her ex-lover’s name for inflicting hurt.

Ex-lover, lover…Giselle’s bright eyes revealed her passions for certain, but Bebe wanted to approach this situation carefully. The pain of their breakup, mixed with her growing desire for more of Giselle, overwhelmed her senses. When Giselle’s hand slipped under the hem of Bebe’s shirt and stroked her abdomen, Bebe didn’t move. The light touch set her body on fire.

Giselle wet her lips. In three seconds, Bebe knew, they would be close enough to kiss.

“I love the movies, Bay,” she said. “My favorites are the romances where they meet, fall in love, but something tears them apart. Then, when you think they’re a lost cause, there’s forgiveness and the happily ever after. That’s the sort of real life I crave.”

Bebe craved something else entirely, namely the heat radiating from Giselle and mingling with her own desire. Her pussy throbbed and dampened, ready for attention. The moment their lips met, she stood to combust from all the pent-up passion.

But, as Giselle closed her eyes and leaned forward to connect, something caught Bebe in the corner of her peripheral vision. She noticed a red light, and thought to dismiss it as one of the outside novelty lamps hanging from the shop eaves. Yet those didn’t blink like this one, and it came from inside the house.

It came from the dark hallway leading to what Bebe presumed were the bedrooms. Through the crack of an ajar door, this light pulsed. As Bebe fixed her gaze in that direction, her eyes adjusted to better scope the outline of a human being…holding a camera.

“Stop,” Bebe said, startling Giselle. “Or, should I say, cut?”

Giselle leaned back, brows furrowed. “What? What’s wrong?” When Bebe moved toward the hallway, her tone changed to one of panic. “Where are you going?”

“You admire they way I bring out the beauty in people, right?” she demanded. “Well, there’s a reason I do that so well, Giselle. It’s because I’m honest with the people I film.” She found a light switch and illuminated the hallway, consequently flushing out the hidden cameraperson lurking in the back bedroom.

“Get out here, Sheila.”

With timid, quiet steps, Sheila emerged, a live camera on her shoulder. What yearning Bebe felt for Giselle quickly soured and coated her stomach lining. She wanted to be sick right there as she realized the insincerity of Giselle’s apologies and attempt at seduction.

“So, what is this?” she asked both of them. “A lame trick to copycat Buzz? A pilot for some reality show you two cooked up?”

“Bebe, let me explain…” Giselle pleaded.

“How did you expect to broadcast this, without my consent?” Bebe laughed, a hollow sound that chilled her. “Are you two really that stupid?”

“Giselle is an amazing filmmaker,” Sheila scoffed, and made no move to turn off the camera or stop focus. “You wish you had half her talent.”

“That so? Then why steal my film if you’re that confident…” But, as the thought pushed through in words, another one formed over it. If jealousy played any role in the theft, it had to be on Giselle’s part. Taking Buzz presented the opportunity to lure Bebe here for her guerilla sex tape.

Bebe narrowed her gaze at Giselle, disgusted. “This meant nothing. You meant none of it, I’ll bet. You’re not sorry for hurting me, otherwise you wouldn’t keep doing it.”

“You’re the one who stole from me,” Giselle accused.

“You’re high. What did I take from you?” She didn’t want to hear that Buzz had been Giselle’s concept all along. No way would she tolerate that lie.

“This,” Giselle waved her arms, “South of Sundance. My thunder. Everybody in this goddamn town is talking about your film. I haven’t heard one person express the same excitement about my film as they have yours. I had a bigger budget, better actors, and you waltz down here with a reel of women getting off and all of a sudden you’re Fellini. That’s bullshit!”

The streaks streaming down Giselle’s face, Bebe saw, were genuine. No crocodile tears for this drama. She took that to mean only one thing.

“You’ve seen my film?” she asked.

Giselle nodded.

“Then you know it’s that good. You know it deserving of the word of mouth.”

Defeated, Giselle assented with a loud sob. When Sheila finally put down the camera to comfort her, Giselle took refuge in the other woman’s embrace.

Sheila glared at Bebe as if to blame her for her lover’s breakdown. Bebe got the hint.

“I came here to collect my film, and now that I have it I’ll go. I’m not going to deepen any more wounds, but I would like to know what you planned to do with that camera.”

Sheila buried her lips in Giselle’s hair, looking thoughtful for a moment. “We were going to try to discredit you somehow,” she said finally. “Try to get you to admit Buzz wasn’t your idea, something.”

“If you’re smart you’ll destroy what you filmed, and if I find my film is damaged you’ll hear from my lawyer.. I don’t want to ruin Giselle’s career, but I don’t wish to cross paths anymore unless it’s absolutely necessary. I’ll see to it that it won’t happen.”

Sheila closed her eyes and held Giselle tighter. Time to go.

Bebe grabbed up the film can and turned toward them as she reached the door. “I’ll give you this,” she said, opening it, “you did give me what I most desired tonight. And I don’t mean the film.”

“What was that?” Giselle asked, her voice strangled.

Bebe closed the door behind her.

Seven

Bebe didn’t think she’d heard such thunderous applause in all her life, and never had she expected to stand in the center of the maelstrom of praise. As the last of Buzz’s credits scrolled from the screen into darkness, the house lights illuminated a standing ovation that she almost couldn’t see for her tears.

Debra, pressed against one side as though to fend off enthusiastic well-wishers, grasped her shoulders and kissed her cheek. “They really, really like you,” she teased.

“I like them, too,” Bebe said, and meant it. All around them, jubilant faces and clapping hands signaled their approval of her film. Some also sniffed back tears while others grinned so brightly to overshadow the shaft of filtered white streaming down from the projectionist’s booth. It relieved Bebe to know Giselle hadn’t damaged the film—after handing it over to the SOS screening committee, she stayed with Carla for a last-minute check to make sure the movie remained intact. The experience of watching the actual 35 mm version far surpassed a premiere on DVD, regardless of any technological advances presented.

She moved toward the aisle with Debra to exit, but paused first to appraise the crowd. If Giselle and Sheila came, they must have slipped out before the end. Bebe hadn’t seen them going in, and figured both thought it best to skip the event. Just as well, she decided, even though she vowed nothing could spoil this triumphant moment.

As it happened, encounters with attendees only served to embolden her. By the time she reached the lobby of the Casa Rosa Twin, Bebe held between her fingers the business cards of executives from five major studios. Two wanted to talk distribution on the spot, but Bebe chose to table any discussions until the after the euphoria clouding her mind passed.

The salty tang of popcorn wafting in from the concession area taunted her senses, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten a thing all day. With the initial nerves of the public premiere soothed, her appetite took over and urged her closer to the counter. Hell, she’d stick her head in the popper to catch the freshly popped kernels—she felt that confident enough to get away with it.

The influx of more bodies crowding the lobby, however, made passage nearly impossible. She watched a few familiar heads bobbing in the sea of people, and soon Penny and Carla appeared at her side, eyes rimmed red and wide with wonder.

“We heard you’re working on a similar project,” Penny said, rather near-shouted to be heard over the din.

Bebe cast a sly glance in Debra’s direction. The younger woman simply shrugged with an innocent smile.

Penny curled a soft hand around Bebe’s arm. “Whatever it takes, we want to be a part of it.” She crooked her heard toward Carla. “You want us to travel, pay a fee, sign our rights away, we’ll do it. If what you have coming up is as good as Buzz…”

“Thank you. I’m flattered you have that much faith to offer yourselves,” Bebe said. Before she knew it, she’d made arrangements to meet both women in her hotel room later in the evening to film a scene, with Penny agreeing to look the other way seeing as how Bebe didn’t really have a license to film in the state.

“Damn,” she said to Debra when they finally reached the humid New Mexico night. “I could get used to this.”

“You better.” Debra snaked an arm around Bebe’s waist and pulled her close. “You deserve it.”

“So do you,” Bebe said. As did every woman who ever experienced some level of oppression, and felt unable to express themselves. “In fact, I think you deserve a lot more.”

“Like a raise?” Debra waggled her eyebrows.

“That,” Bebe conceded, “and a bonus.”

* * * *

The scene that unfolded before them proved too intense, and too sensual for Bebe to want to interrupt it. Indeed, as Penny climaxed loudly underneath Carla’s loving yet firm thrusts she appeared nowhere ready to hear the word cut. Both women, while claiming thirty-five years together as couple—since graduating from college—enjoyed a glow that melted years from their bodies. The camera loved their smooth skin, and they obviously loved each other.

Carla, wearing the vinyl and Velcro harness with dildo that she had brought to the filming, remained on top of her longtime partner with her arms pressed to Penny’s sides. She arched her hips upward to withdraw the cock from Penny’s pussy, and her silver-blonde hair fell over the supine woman’s bare breasts, brushing the pert nipples that only moments earlier Carla had suckled to taut peaks. Bebe smiled as the two women worked toward their afterglow, happy that she didn’t need to direct them to the point of distraction. They followed her one major request—to pretend the camera didn’t exist—and they made love so naturally that Bebe had to fight off a twinge of guilt, as though she spied on them.

“Mmmm.” Carla swiveled her hips and teased Penny with a few shallow thrusts that pushed half the thick dildo’s eight-inch length into her lover’s slick core. She kissed Penny’s nose. “I don’t know why we don’t use this thing more often.”

Penny held Carla close to her chest and barked out a long laugh. Bebe smiled also, knowing the inside joke. Prior to shooting the explicit scene, the couple sat for a brief interview where Carla revealed the dildo and harness were gifts from a female relative in denial about Carla’s sexuality. The idea that Carla could use the toy to overcome her lesbianism—presumably by enjoying the fake cock enough to desire a real one—amused Bebe, and apparently her subjects as well. Pump would present to the world the first use of the toy, and Carla’s love for her female partner.

As they dressed, Bebe bummed a pen off Debra and scrawled a number on a business card. “What I’d like for you to do,” she said, and handed Carla the thin rectangle, “is to call me in about two weeks to arrange a post interview for the film. If you need help getting to California, I can put you up, but it’s important that you see the footage that goes into the final cut.”

“Don’t you worry. We wouldn’t miss this for anything,” Penny said, coming behind Carla to envelop her in a gentle hug. She kissed the older woman’s neck. “Shall we start looking at outfits for the red carpet?” she asked her.

“The Oscars?” quipped Carla. “I’m ready for my close-up.”

“Maybe for the sequel,” Bebe said. Farewells bade and hugs shared, the older couple left Bebe and Debra to dismantle their equipment.

Yet before she bothered with the lights and camera, Bebe pulled off the top sheet where Carla and Penny had lain and stretched out on the mattress, idly stroking the fitted sheet. “I know we haven’t done other scenes yet, but I’m leaning toward using those two last,” she said. “Can’t think of a grander finish.”

“No arguments here.” Debra flopped back at the foot of the bed, perpendicular to Bebe with her arms extended over her head. “You should see all the e-mail that’s come in since the screening, too. I mean, damn! People must have been on their iPhones the second the lights went up.”

Bebe watch the light from the Fresnel spread across the ceiling. She tapped Debra’s arm with her bare foot and slid it on down to her wrist. “I mentioned a bonus earlier,” she said.

Debra smiled up at her, wily and interested. “I’m listening. But first, I’m curious about what went down with you and Giselle. You never said anything.”

Bebe shrugged and curled down to meet Debra face to face, swinging her legs to hit the headboard. “Not much to tell. In fact, it’s better I don’t, since I’m still in a good mood.”

Debra laughed. “I wish we stayed for High Tea, though.”

“You were right, you know.”

“About what?” Debra puzzled. “You still have feelings for her?”

“That I needed closure, and yes there are feelings to consider, but they’re more of pity than passion now.” Bebe reached out to touch Debra’s face. “When Giselle and I were together, it worked because she was the success, and that’s how she preferred to keep it. This stunt with stealing Buzz opened my eyes to her jealousy, not just of me but of people in general whom she perceives stand to succeed ahead of her. She taught me something important this weekend.”

“Hopefully not that you shouldn’t trust people.”

Bebe shook her head. “More like I should pay more attention to those I do trust.” She leaned closer to Debra and the two brushed lips. “Interested in a second take?”

“And a third, and a fourth…” Bodies twisted and turned on the mattress until the women lay properly in bed, kissing and undressing each other with an urgency that had them both naked in seconds. Bebe wedged her thigh between Debra’s legs and grasped her buttocks with both hands, pressing her close.

“Promise me,” she said, “that whatever happens with our careers, and this, that we’ll stay friends.”

Debra looked up from kissing Bebe’s nipple and nodded. The unspoken communication between them surged through Bebe and warmed her. Whether or not they’d end up like Penny and Carla—still passionate for each other after three decades—remained to be seen, but she decided to enjoy taking the time to learn the result.

Bebe shifted her legs to wrap around Debra’s to make the rollover easier. The move serve to pressed her pubic bone against Debra’s and, once on top, she undulated her hips to grind her pussy against Debra’s leg. She lifted her upper body, bracing herself with the heels of her hands as she looked down on Debra’s rapturous expression. “You know the rules,” she joked, “totally unscripted, come as you are. Pun intended.”

“Right.” After a few minutes of deep kissing and intense caresses, Debra broke free of some serious lip-lock to speak. “Bebe, I just realized something.”

“Hm?” Bebe kissed a trail down Debra’s flat stomach, pausing at her cleft.

“You don’t have your dildo.”

“Oh.” Bebe quirked her lips in an apologetic smile. “So I don’t,” she said, and resumed her path.

“Yes.” Debra wriggled and parted her thighs more to give Bebe room. “And I don’t recall either of us turning the camera on, either.”

Bebe nibbled Debra’s labia, pulling one tight before swiping her tongue upward. Despite Debra’s clear approval of the move, she still protested.

“Serious, Bay. You’re missing some great footage here.”

Bebe rested her cheek on Debra’s mound, taking in her scent, her pleasure, and loving the landscape stretched out before her. She delved one finger into Debra’s pussy to collect her sweet nectar before spreading it on her outer lips. She couldn’t wait to taste her.

“No,” Bebe said, “have to disagree with you. I’m not missing a thing.”

THE END

About the Author

Leigh Ellwood writes spicy romances and sassy mysteries. She is the creator of the award-winning Dareville series for Phaze Books, as well as numerous shorts for other small publishers. Readers are invited to visit her website for more information on Leigh’s books.

http://www.leighellwood.com

http://leighwantsfood.blogspot.com

http://www.facebook.com/leighellwood

http://twitter.com/LeighEllwood

Table of Contents

She Loves Me: a Collection of Lesbian Erotica