There Were No Lights in Ft. Rox Anymore

Not bothering to look around for prying eyes because he didn’t give a shit, Junior Garland twisted the top off a tiny whiskey bottle with a small cracking sound and emptied it into his black coffee. He sat across from his only friend (stretching the definition) Bob Lincoln in the back booth of Rita’s Diner, the last stop on Bender Street before it turned into State Route 51 and headed out of what was left of town. They were two of the eight people in the joint, about average for the morning rush since the Bob Evans had opened next to Micky D’s less than four miles down 51.  He had parked his pickup in the back next to the dumpster and as out of sight as it could be. He had tied two tarps over the bed covering the cargo in the back which was adequate as long as no one was looking for it. And someone would certainly be soon. 

Mary Lou, the long time waitress and, with her husband Gary, owner of the Diner (There was no Rita) came by with the coffee pot. 

“Jesus Junior”, she said, seeing the empty beside his cup. “At least don’t advertise..” 

Without looking up, Junior covered the bottle with his wide paw and scooped it into his side pocket. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out another. He tipped it toward Mary Lou, “You want a pick me up? I have more.”

“No thanks”, she said, nodding toward the kitchen where Gary worked  “Enough booze in the family with that one. I’ll stay out of it.”

“Take him one, then,” said Junior, offering.

“You think he don’t have a bottle in there?”

Junior grinned humorlessly across the table, “See? I can’t even do a good deed.” He snapped the screw top  and dumped the liquor into his newly refilled cup. 

Bob watched her walk away, especially her slim calves and snugly fit skit. She had kept her figure, he’d give her that. He and “Lou” didn’t interact much though they’d known each other since grade school. There seemed to be a mutual concern that the hunger for each other that had driven their fling so many years before had not been completely sated. It was the summer after graduation when it seemed that everybody was going into the mill down in Brownsville or to Nam. Bob had done both. Two tours, then to the mill where he was a shift foreman. He and Lou’s thing  hadn’t lasted long, just a couple of weeks when Gary, her unofficial fiancee even then, was up in Pittsburgh training for a steel mill job that would have been sweet but he ultimately didn’t keep.

With his flat expression, Junior reached for and poured a third shot into his cup. 

“Did you sleep at all?”Bob asked him.

“Who has time?” the big guy grumbled, lighting a cigarette with hands that trembled slightly. 

“My question is how did you get those tanks into your truck?”

Junior shrugged, staring blankly into the black of his coffee where a tiny gray ash floated. “Just picked them up and pushed”, he said as if they weighed thirty pounds and not 300. 

All that Bobby knew for sure was that sometime overnight, Junior had stolen two welders and three acetylene tanks from the railroad. He didn’t need them; couldn’t use them, but they were there to be had. You’d have to be a mook not to take something that was there for you. At least that was the thought process of an over muscled hopped-up sometime thief. Thing was, Junior had a good job in Brownsville, but he also had a need to stay ahead of “them”. All them that were waiting for him to go broke, lose his job, be weak in any way. He had had enough weakness when one season of college ball ensured he’d never follow so many of his friends and teammates to the jungle. Months in a walker, then on crutches left him gimpy, angry, and vengeful.  Maybe overseas he could have proven himself to himself and wouldn’ have to pull off dangerous hair-brained schemes that always were just short of blowing up and taking him and everybody around him down. 

The central concern at the moment was that Junior’s latest haul had come from the railroad. How he’d managed to break into the storage car was a story that Bob didn’t even want to know. And most of the remaining populace of dwindling Fort Rocaceau-an over named coal patch town roughly twenty miles upstream from Pittsburgh-worked for or had some connection to the railroad. They had already had the uncomfortable conversation about why Bob couldn’t store them for him. 

Sometime during the caper, Junior had gotten it in his mind that since Bob wasn’t a townie, had fifty acres and a couple of outbuildings down Hanging Rock Parkway he could stash them there till the heat died down. Who would ever know? But Bob knew, once that stuff settled onto a spot at his place-his wife’s family’s actually-Junior, once down off his larcenous high, would forget about it. And once he was straight he’d never be able to move them.  Plus, Bob’s pain-in-the dick brother in law was retired railroad and could not be counted on not to be snooping around looking for old shit of his old man’s which was still in the outbuildings. 

So no, this stuff had to go and go quick and given all the prying eyes around town, it was best to get rid of it a county or two away. So after a couple of calls from the pay phone outside of Rita’s,  the plan was to haul them as they set in Junior’s pickup down to Uniontown where an Army buddy of Bob’s would take them off their hands for a decent price. But now, the plan in motion, the big man seemed hesitant. 

“What?” asked Bob who was familiar with the ebbs and flows of Junior’s moods ranging as they did from gravel gray to asphalt black. 

“How well you know this guy?”, he asked his coffee.

“He’s solid”, Bob replied, trying to will his partner to meet his eyes.

“We get all the way down there and he tries to fuck me, I’ll burn him down”,  he rumbled, finally looking up. 

Bob made a show of sighing, demonstrating that there was no issue. Junior’s taste for violence was legendary but not many people had, like Bob, been close to it. Had seen it bloom from a small seed, like this short sentence silently nursed by constant brooding, into a conflagration that left people broken and questioning their decisions.

“Did you talk to him?” Bob asked, trying to pull him out of his darkness.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Did he give you a price?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you like the price?”

Junior shrugged, finding logic bothersome in his current mindset. 

“Did you like the price?” Bob repeated

“It’s OK”, he mumbled.

“Cause if you don’t like it, get back on the horn and save us the fucking drive. But you gotta figure out something. You hold onto that shit, the Staties will be knocking at your door within a week.”

“Fuck them too.”

“OK, good. Fuck the Staties.” Sometimes when he used his old Sergeant’s voice he could penetrate Junior’s black fogs. One day he was going to find out who sold this guy crank and would kick his ass. “What do you think, Sheila’s going to come back from Florida and take care of Denise when you go to prison?”

“Fuck her”, he grumbled.

“Who? Denise or Sheila”, asked Bob, confused but not.

“Sheila!”

“OK, but you go away, something’s gotta happen with Denise. You think about that?”

“Figured she’d live with you and Rose”, he said, back to staring into his cup. 

Bob looked at the man’s hands, scarred and broken, healed and rebroken, from a life of hard labor and fighting. Christ, he thought. He’s thought this out. He reached over and popped the big man on his beefy bicep with the side of his fist.

“You better leave behind a good wad of cash, cause two girls in the house will double Rose’s gin budget.”

Junior grinned at that. Bob never liked to talk about his wife’s drinking, something Junior used when he needed to needle a bit. “Girls coming?” he asked. 

Since they were toddlers Denise and Janie had been  tag-alongs on most of their father’s escapades. That was Bob’s word. What he had liked in the early days was the cover that little girls provided from the suspicions of cops or anyone else. What could these guys be doing with their daughters in tow?

“I brought them with me.” Bob answered. 

Where they at?, asked Junior. 

“Over the paper store playing the machine.”

“Best get ‘em, then,” said Junior, getting up. 

Bob tossed a few dollars on the table and waited to make sure Junior didn’t pocket them, then headed out. He crossed the street and opened the screen door at the paper store. 

He looked past the empty soda fountain and rows of comic books toward the back waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim inside. He heard the clack and bong of the machine before he was able to focus and see Denise leaning into the pinball machine. She was as lean and rangy as her old man was thick and stocky. 

“Time to go, girls!” he called. Denise spun away from the machine without a second thought about the game in play. She was wearing black jeans, cuffed over black boots and a flannel shirt open over a black jersey. She wore her black hair feathered over her ears and above her collar. Her face hadn’t yet grown into her overbite so she kept her mouth mostly shut giving her the look of the typical sullen teen, at least five years older than she was. Janie, Bob’s daughter was a full head shorter, looked more like a kid, honey colored and freckled like a dust storm with a thick mop of sandy brown hair parted in the middle that cascaded down to her shoulders. She wore bib jeans as so many kids did, and sneakers and bounced rather than walked.  

The problem with this caper was that Junior’s truck was a single cab with only a bench seat and a small storage area behind which even if the girls could squeeze into it the sideways sitting would result in double car sickness. It was Denise-the older of the two-who  suggested they ride in the bed with the “the goods” she called them. 

Bob realized immediately that the camouflage he hoped to gain with the girls would be offset by the riding in the bed of a pickup an hour down the highway. Junior even saw that. He opened the tailgate revealing the half of the bed not full of stolen equipment. 

“Crawl in here. There’s another tarp folded for yinz to lay on.”

With an audible sigh, Denise lifted a knee onto the open tailgate and crawled into the void under the tarp wanting to put the grownups literally behind her.  By the time Janie followed, she was already on her back, hands intertwined behind her head staring at the canvas. Janie lay beside her, mirroring. 

“Who thought this was a good idea?” said Denise.

“It’s fun. Gets me out of the house. I bet we can get them to buy us burgers in Uniontown.”

“Fries?”

“No doubt.”

They lay in silence while the truck bounced out of the parking lot then tried to guess where they were as they picked up speed then slowed at stop signs. There were no traffic lights in Fort Rox anymore. Dull sunlight leaked in around the edges of the tarp and before long they could see. Once the steady hum of the tires announced they were on the highway, Denise flipped onto her side, her hand braced by her elbow holding her head. Like her little shadow, Janie did the same, facing her. 

“You know this stuff’s all stolen right?” asked Denise. 

“No.” 

“Well, yes-he’s such a fucking asshole. When he didn’t come home last night I knew he was up to no good.” 

“Where’d he steal it?”

“Who knows, who cares?”

“Why?”

Same, same.

“Isn’t he afraid he’ll get caught?”

“He’s too dumb to be afraid.”

Dennie!” Janie had never heard a discouraging word from Denise about her father. 

“He is! He’s too dumb to be a criminal too. Just fearless and mean. What happens when he gets caught? He’ll be fine-a blockhead like him-but what will happen to me?”

Janie could see tears glinting in her friend’s eyes. She scooched a little closer. “I’ll take care of you,” she said quietly. 

Denise smiled down at her. “You’re a midget”, she said, an old taunt. “You can’t take care of yourself”.

With a huff, Janie pushed herself up and then, sitting as straight as the tarp cover would allow, slapped Denise hard on the butt.

“Ow!” the older girl barked. “What was that for?”

“I’m not a midget! You’re just a stringbean.” 

Denise was rubbing her backside. “That hurt!.

“Cause you got a skinny butt. A little slap like that wouldn’t  hurt my ass”. They were close enough that they could feel each other’s breath. Janie was watching Denise’s mouth closely and smelling the light whiff of the spearmint gum she chewed at the paper store. Then without warning and without even knowing she was going to do it though she’d often thought about the how and when of it, she stretched her neck and pressed her lips to Denise’s first lightly then harder so their teeth clicked. She pulled away testing the waters.

“Why’d you do that?” Asked Denise.

Janie shrugged, which didn’t translate laying down, “Wanted to. You mad?”

“No”, said Denise, which Janie took as permission to do it again. This time the older girl kissed back lightly and opened her mouth slightly to accommodate Janie’s prodding tongue. Denise then felt her friend’s hand trying to jam itself down the back of her jeans blocked by her wide belt. 

“What are you doing back there?”

“Just feeling around.”

Without a word, Denise flopped onto her back, undid her belt, and unsnapped her jeans. Then she came back up onto her side facing Janie. “Only my butt”, she directed “Nothing else.” The girl thrust her hand down inside her jeans and panties exploring the angles and contours of Denise’s slim backside. With her hand cupping the bottom of her bottom, Janie kissed her again, hard with an open mouth the way she’d seen in the movies. By the way Denise kissed back, she was pretty sure this wasn’t her first time. 

“You get enough?” Denise asked after the long kiss. 

“I got some, I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough.”

“Well, I like boys, you know.”

“Who?”

“Just in general.”

“Name one.” 

“James”

“Bracey? He’s a senior-you’re a child. Like me. Plus, He’s stuck up., Only dates cheerleaders.. “

“He’ll date me.”

“Only if you put out-and don’t waste yourself on him.”

“How do you know?”

We little people have our ways, she said squeezing her butt for the last time. .“You giants just wander around,  heads in the clouds having no clue” Janie said, slipping her hand out of Denise’s pants. 

“But boys, in general. 

“Name someone in our class.” 

“Paul Riley. He’s cute.”

“Peed his pants on the bus last week.”

“He did not!”

“Did. Pissy Paulie. He’s your beau now? Charming.” 

Denise flipped onto her back. “I give up!” she said laughing. 

Again, Janie mirrored and flipped onto her back. “Come over tonight?”

“So you can suck my face off?”

“We’ll listen to records too.”

I gotta see what the master criminal is up to. If he crashes for the night, maybe.”

In later years, after the after, given that they were schoolmates and playmates since preschool it might seem that they were paragons of restraint. But no, it just hadn’t occurred to them-the time wasn’t right. Later they would laugh about all their chaste childhood sleepovers as time wasted.

Another Stray Day

Claude Monet, The Gare Saint Lazare: Arrival of a Train

Continuing with the characters from The Stray

Robin slipped her shades on just as she turned the corner, knowing she’d be walking right into the early afternoon sun. A beautiful day to be off-at least as off as she ever was. She needed to check in at The Stray for a few to put together a liquor order then it was off to the museum for the traveling Impressionists show that was only here through the weekend. 

“Toddler! What’s up little man?” Todd shifted on his stool behind the bar where he was reading the paper. “Don’t get up on my account.” Todd was “little” like black was white, like square was round. Six five or so, three hundred if an ounce, he was the late night closer filling in for the afternoon. 

“Aw man”, he moaned. “I thought you were off today.”

She grinned at the big man’s gibe. “Ten minutes, that’s it. Then I’ll let you get back to…” she gestured to the nothing he was doing. “…your what have you.”

“Seriously”, he said, folding the paper and laying it on the bar, “A beautiful day like this…why you here?”

“Forgot the liquor order yesterday…”

“Done.”

“What?”

“Saw it in the register…called it in.”

“Did you add the tequila? I had it on a note…”

“I can read. Even your scratches…”

“Well”, she smiled, “Our little boy is growing up…”

She was about ready to turn on her heel and head back out the door when Todd mentioned that he hadn’t seen Olive yet today. Which was unusual. She was an early riser and a restless little shit who was sometimes found sitting at the bar having a coffee when they opened the place. They exchanged a glance. Todd was concerned or he wouldn’t have brought it up but he wasn’t yet concerned enough to go check on her. Tag, you’re it, thought Robin. 

Robin made no effort to be quiet climbing the steps and walking the short hallway but hesitated when she got to the door. She had been in there before, usually just to drop off mail or something Olive had left at the bar. She knocked softly. “Olive?” she called. Nothing. Then louder, “Olive?” She tried the knob-of course it was unlocked-and stuck her head in cautiously. “Olive?” The door opened into a small living room furnished with cast-offs and discards, an old stained couch, a sun-bleached table with a chunk of wood under one leg, and an overstuffed chair that definitely looked like it had been picked off the curb. The table was as far into the place as Robin had ever been. She listened hard, trying to will a sound that would preclude her having to venture any farther. Nothing. Dead still. 

A growing sense of dread dragged at her feet as she crossed the room through the open archway into the spartan bedroom. Alley light filtered in through a grimy window that faced the gray block wall of the building next door. The bed headed opposite her and Robin could see Olive on her side, bare feet glowing white like bones out of the legs of her black jeans. As she got closer Robin realized that she was creeping almost on her toes, being as silent as she could. The girl’s dark shirt was riding up in the back revealing her backbone’s sharp knuckles. 

Most of Olive’s face was hidden, shrouded by her long, lank hair. Holding her breath, Robin leaned over, then closer looking, looking…then sighed with relief as she saw the girl’s hair where it covered her mouth, moving back and forth gently in tandem with her shallow breaths. “Thank god”, she whispered, straightening up. Then, once relieved, she slipped into a previous life, scanning the floor around the bed for foil, a pipe, a belt, lighters…anything that might tell a story of a fix, a shot, a smoke. Nothing. She opened the single drawer on the bed stand and under a towel there was…well… Robin smiled even as she felt the heat rise in her face.  What a woman did in her own bed was her business, she thought, covering it back with the towel.  But nothing else. 

She turned back to the bed and called the girl’s name quietly while poking her gently in the shoulder. “Hey, Olive…you OK?” Poke again. The girl’s blue eyes fluttered open behind under her hair, sleepy but clear. It took a second for her to focus and actually see what she was seeing. 

“Robin…” she said. “What’s up…?” She lay on her back blinking slowly as Robin told her that Todd was concerned, well, that they both were, having not seen her all day, and she’d just come up to check on her. 

“Did you have a rough night?” Robin asked, allowing a smile remembering what was in the drawer.

“No. I don’t think so…slept hard though. Wow. What time is it?”

“Almost one, girl…”

“Shit…” Olive brought her hands up to push her hair off her face and rub her eyes. “I was dead!” 

“Yep”, thought Robin, that was the concern. She reached down and, in the manner of a mother to her child, ran the backs of her fingers across her cheek.

“You are warm, Olive.”

“I…just woke up I guess.”

“No”, said Robin. “You’re running a fever…”

“Naw. I run hot…”

“Still…”

“There’s a thermometer in the bathroom. In the cabinet if you want to check.”

Robin straightened, patting Olive’s cheek. “Just a quick look…”

In the bathroom Robin opened the medicine cabinet and sure enough, there were two glass thermometers on the bottom shelf. She grabbed the one in the green plastic sheath and pulled it out. The thermometer had a little silver ball at the end. “Oops,” she thought. “Not this one…” She picked the other and opened it seeing the same little ball at the end of the tube. She grinned. “I guess not…” she thought.

She was still holding the thermometer when she went to the bathroom door.  “Hey Olive, all you have are rect…” she froze when she saw the girl lying on her stomach with her jeans and panties around her knees. 

Olive flipped her head toward Robin. “Yes, that’s it. Bring them both-I don’t think one works. Don’t forget the Vaseline.” Then, when Robin didn’t move, “You OK?”

Robin snapped out of it. “Oh sure…yeah. Right. Vaseline…” She went back to the medicine cabinet and retrieved the other thermometer and the small jar that was beside them on the shelf. She caught her reflection in the mirror and watched the blush sliding over her cheeks. “Oh, yeah”, she said to her reflection. “Totally normal.” 

She came out of the bathroom and approached the bed carefully, again dragging her feet but not out of dread this time. It was something else. The girl had to know that most people, adults anyway, didn’t take their temperatures this way. Didn’t she? Had to. Robin was about to say something-really, this felt so freaking…but she stopped herself. She wouldn’t say “weird”. Having been called that herself so many times as a young human trying to find her way through the cliquish private schools her mother overspent to send her to, she had vowed never to use it in relation to another person. Even when it really freaking applied. 

Olive scooched to one side giving Robin room to sit which she did, gingerly. The truth was, Robin’s deep dark secret, was that she wasn’t as sexual as she appeared. Not frigid by any means and years beyond virginal, she was just…uncomfortable. She was a late bloomer-maybe still a bud-who was constantly plagued by desires that in turn were shadowed by deeper doubts and fears. But she put up a great front. Life had taught her that.

Sitting on the bed she marveled at Olive’s comfort and ease in laying herself bare like this, for this. Never would she have thought to envy Olive anything, besides her obvious looks, but she certainly wouldn’t mind a little of her self assurance.

“Hey”, said Olive into her arm, having crossed them under her head, “You still here?”

“Oh, yeah…” said Robin embarrassed to have been caught..what? Staring? She cleared her throat and popped the cap from the Vaseline. “So”, she asked, making an effort to carry on as normal a conversation as possible, “How do you come to have only rectal thermometers?” 

“I had a friend once who gave me them. He liked to play doctor and brought these. I found out I didn’t hate it…”

Robin dipped the glass tube into the jar and swirled getting a full dollop of the jelly on the tip. 

“So, what happened with the guy”, she asked while gently using her left hand to pull Olive’s cheeks apart to expose her small pink button. She paused waiting for the answer before realizing that Olive wasn’t going to say anything until Robin completed her move. 

Squeezing the thermometer tightly to keep her hand from shaking she placed it on the puckered opening then pushed it in slowly as Olive hissed through her teeth. Nope, thought Robin, doesn’t hate it at all. She released Olive’s cheeks so they closed around the glass tube. “So? The guy?”

“Well, yeah. Like I said, I didn’t hate it. Don’t hate it. But how many times does a girl need her temperature taken? Fifteen? Twenty?”

Robin barely suppressed a giggle. “Seriously?”

“In one evening! I mean, that was his only move!  You do ANYTHING too much it gets boring…”

Robin regarded the girl’s small white bottom beside her on the bed and wondered about the truth of that statement. “You think this is done yet?” she asked, touching the thermometer. 

“I on’t know. Maybe. It’s not that long. Pull it out and see what it says.” She exhaled lightly as Robin withdrew the tube and held it up to the light.

“You’re reading normal”, she said.

“Huh. Maybe that’s the broke one. Try the other…”

Robin looked up toward Olive’s head now. She was up on her elbows, looking back over her shoulder, hair again crossing her face.

“Are you playing with me now?” Robin asked.  

“This was your idea…”

“But I thought…”

“What?”

“…Never mind”, she said wishing she could see the girl’s face more clearly.

She shook down the other thermometer, added the dollop of lube and saw Olive push upward opening herself a bit. She repeated her last steps, spreading then inserting. This time the girl’s hiss was more of a little moan. After releasing Olive’s cheeks she kept her hand on the side of her hip. “That feels nice”, Olive said. 

“Which?” asked Robin, moving her hand then, on impulse, dragging her nails lightly across Olive’s backside as she might a friend’s back. 

“That, definitely.” Without giving it much thought, Robin kept stroking with her nails drawing light pink stripes up and down both of Olive’s bottom cheeks. 

“Have you ever had your temperature taken this way?” Olive asked, her head back on the bed.

“No!” said Robin definitively, making the word sound like “Noah!”

“But you have had things in your butt, right?”

Without breaking rhythm, Robin lightly pinched the soft slack flesh at the very bottom of her bottom. “Don’t be fresh”, she said smiling.

Olive whispered an “ouch” and settled. Robin simply decided to not think for a moment and to continue running her fingers lightly up and down Olive’s backside, sometimes slipping down the back of her legs. She imagined how it must feel, being stroked like this and immediately again felt a twinge of envy along with another deeper twinge that she hadn’t felt in a long time. The girl had gone still, if not asleep then close enough her breathing soft and regular. It occurred to Robin that she was doing something here. Something she’d never done before. She was actually pleasing someone in a most unexpected way and that idea warmed her, just before it frightened her. 

She stopped her hand and tried to speak, squeaking instead. She coughed and waited for a bit of moisture to settle on her tongue. “OK Sweet Martini Olive”, she said using the nickname that she had never shared with her. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”

Again, a tiny gasp punctuated the withdrawal of the little glass tube. Robin held it up and read it. “All good”, she said. Then, feeling a little more open than she had earlier, she patted her bottom. “You can pull up your pants now.”

Instead, Olive sat up and flopped her legs over the side of the bed beside her. Robin made no move to rise nor move even as Olive’s leg rubbed against her. Olive took Robin’s hand and entwined their fingers then settled the back of the woman’s hand on her bare thigh as if they were sitting together on a park bench. Again, Robin was surprised that she felt as comfortable as she did. At least until she looked down and saw that Olive’s lap was as clean and hairless as ivory and her heart flipped. 

“Thank you for doing that”, Olive said.

“You were playing with me.”

“Did you hate it?”

Robin smiled. “Didn’t hate it.”

“I’d like to play with you more.” 

“What?”

“You take care of me. I know you do…everyone here does. I like to show I appreciate it, you know?” When Robin didn’t answer… “And I know I could make you feel good”, she said laying her head against her shoulder. 

Robin accepted the weight of the girl’s head and savored the warmth radiating from her body. “I have someplace to be…” she said not really believing she was saying it. 

“That’s OK”, Olive said, releasing her hand and standing slowly making sure that Robin got a good long look at anything she wanted before turning to face her then pushing herself between her knees. “I need to take a shower anyway…” She pulled her shirt up over her head and tossed it aside. Her small round breasts seemingly defied gravity pushing themselves forward serving, if nothing else, to pry Robin’s eyes from her hairless cleft. 

“Give me a kiss”, Olive breathed leaning closer.

“No. Come on…You’re naked.”

“I’m getting ready to take a shower!” she protested but there was a glint in her eye that Robin saw and Olive knew that she saw.

“You’re still playing with me.”

“You hating it?”

“Not hating it.”

“Then give me a kiss.”

Afterward, Robin descended the stairs carefully like a much older person, leaning on the railing for support. Todd looked up when she entered the bar. There were a couple of customers that hadn’t been there when she went up.

“Finally! I was going to send for help. You OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“Olive?”

“Fine”, she said heading toward the door. “You?”

“Fuck, I’m good”, he answered. “Another Stray day. Hey! What’s so funny?”

She took her laughter with her into the sun washed afternoon.

Always Learning

Continued from Different Flavors of Normal

Doctor Joyce Maple. Bachelor of Science, Biology. Dean’s List four years. Four years of med school plus her downstate residency. Always at the top of her class, now her field. Also one of the most self-aware humans she knew-every move she made was measured, thought through, planned beforehand.  Until last night. Until she turned control over to this young sprite from down the street who was now undoubtedly her lover and tied to her in a way Joyce would have never thought possible.  And who was lying expectantly over her lap.

Joyce really didn’t know what to do with this. Beyond the obvious, of course. The girl’s bottom was presented stretching against the blue panties barely containing it. Last night Megan did unto her. Now, she was charged with taking control and was at a bit of a loss. But she didn’t want to disappoint, especially after the gifts she had received not twelve hours ago. She would do her best.

Her smacks were tentative, light, mostly fingers, directed at the meatiest parts. The girl wriggled after each and never failed to lift in response as if wanting to present a better target.

“Okay?” asked Joyce.

“Yeah, nice. Could be a little harder…”

“Really?”

“Use your whole hand. Like slap me.” Joyce hesitated and rubbed the girl’s back with her free hand. “You won’t hurt me”, Megan said. “Not really.”

Joyce had smacked two people in her life. Betsy Ann Hadar in fourth grade after she had pulled her hair. She had hauled off and slapped her hard on the arm. Then of course, her husband, the one time, across the face. Both of those were harder than what she was laying on Megan.

“Okay, then,” she said lifting her hand higher. She slapped harder and was answered by a mewling “mmmmm…better…”

“Better?”

“Yeah, better. For a wimp.”

“You…” she smiled and pinched an upturned cheek. “I’m not a wimp!”

“You spank like one…”

“Oh really?” she said. “Lift up.”

“Why?” said Megan cheekily, in a whiny voice. With the voice inflection, Joyce got it. She had a six-year-old. She knew how to play games. Maybe not this particular one, but a game was a game.

“Because I’m going to pull down your panties and spank your bare ass!” she said firmly.

“Aw, man…” Megan whined again but lifted her hips. When she did, Joyce stuck her fingers into the elastic of the panties and pulled them, very slowly, down to mid-thigh smiling at the sound of Megan’s soft gaspy moan as she did.

“Now we’ll see who’s a wimp.” Joyce left fly with a swat that landed hard on the bottom of Megan’s bottom with a jolt that stopped them both.

“OH…” Said Megan.

“Better now…?” asked Joyce massaging where the blow had landed.

“Yes. Now more…”

Megan closed her eyes and felt every swat to her toes. She wouldn’t ask her to go harder. This was fine. More than fine. Every smack, every touch of hand to bottom launched her through vivid warp speed memories of the hundreds of orgasms she’d had over the years fantasizing about being spanked over Doctor Maples’ lap. She stopped thinking and was enjoying the ride and the heavy heat and flowing feeling from below.

As Megan had the night before, Joyce listened between smacks using tiny whimpers, or gasps or an “Ooooo…” or an “Awww….” to direct her. She paused to slide the panties all the way down then off. Her swats weren’t as hard as they might have been, but they certainly weren’t light.

Almost five minutes in, Joyce realized that this wasn’t doing it for her. Not really. It was fun, for sure. Being this intimate with another woman was new and exciting and she wondered if she’d ever look at women’s bottoms the same way again. She could have sat here and just rubbed her bottom and it would have been fine. But as Megan’s butt was getting pinker, Joyce’s hand was tingling but not much else.

It was different, but what she really liked was how much Megan seemed to be enjoying herself. Her squeals were becoming moans as she, freed from the binding panties, started to ride her leg like a hobby horse with every smack. She could do this for her, no problem. Especially after last night and the way she…the way she hadn’t… Joyce paused to rub the pert pink cheeks gently. Something had been bugging her.

“Megs?” she said.

“Mmmmm…?” she answered not looking up.

“I’m sorry about last night.”

Megan’s head lifted at that. “Sorry? About what?”

Joyce found it easier to talk with her hand cupping the girl’s warm bottom gently squeezing. “I came three times!” she said.  “In my life I’ve never…then I passed out like a lump.”

“You did check out pretty good”, said Megan rubbing Joyce’s ankle and calf.

“I woke up, it was still dark and you were gone. I missed you…I wanted to…give you something back…”

Now Megan looked back over her shoulder and pulled her hair behind her ear. “Last night was about you my love”, she said with shining eyes.

“The thing is, I’ve never…I don’t know if I can…” she stumbled for the words.

“Don’t know if you can what?”

“Like you did…”

Megan kept gently squeezing Joyce’s calf, letting her work it out.

“I’ve never gone down on a woman…”

“I know that…”

“But I don’t know if…”

“Don’t worry about it. Like kissing, practice makes perfect. I’ve had more practice than you…”

“But if…”

“Shhh…stop thinking about what you can’t do. You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Really?” said Joyce brightening and pulling her hand off Megan’s butt.

“Except this!” said Megan, somehow finding loose skin on Joyce’s leg to pinch. “This you have to do. For the rest of your life.”

Joyce laughed lightly and delivered a soft slap. “Bad girl…”

“Yes,” said Megan sighing heavily. “Very bad…” She absorbed a few more slaps before she said, “There are other things you can do.”

“I’m sure.”

“Like right now for instance.”

“I know, shut up and keep spanking.” She did.

“Yes, but there’s something…put your hand on my bum.” Joyce paused and did as she was told. “Now slide it down between my legs.”

“Okay coach,” she snarked. “I know how this works.”

“Prove it.”

Joyce cupped the warm cheek at the top of Megan’s thigh then slid her fingers gently between her legs hesitating not at all as she touched the wetness there.

“Good Lord”, she said sliding easily along the dripping folds.

“A little damp?” came the whisper from the downturned head.

“And the ocean’s a puddle…”

Without any more prompting, Joyce slipped her middle finger into the sopping slit. Megan moaned at the welcome intrusion and shifted her legs wider, lifted her butt higher. Joyce, still responding to movements added a second finger. She worked them gently in and out as the girl began to wriggle and sweetly clenched her bottom cheeks. This Joyce knew how to do from months of solo practice.

When she touched the hard nib of Megan’s clit the girl growled and pitched forward presenting her bottom even more wantonly. Joyce touched it, flicked it, then sliding around in nature’s own lubricant began rubbing with a purpose.

“Oh…oh…Joyce…Joyce….!!!” Megan’s words were cut off and swallowed as she grabbed the woman’s ankle and held tight seemingly ready to stand on her head. “I’m going to… come Joyce…You…are going to make me….UUUHHNNNNN…” And just like that she did. Joyce kept slick contact with the pulsing pearl until Megan, deflated, lay across her lap like a discarded prom dress.

Joyce, ever the perfectionist, didn’t need anyone to tell her she’d done a good job. She smiled and stroked the still warm bottom until she heard a sniffle. “Hey”, she said reaching down to help Megan to her feet. “Are you crying…?”

“No! I mean…not really. Not like crying.” Megan stood unsteadily before her.

“Your cheeks are wet…” Joyce took her hand. “Is that from the spanking?”

“No! No…no…everything. Just…just…wow…” Megan wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands, then stepped between Joyce’s legs and sat on her lap. The warmth of the girl’s naked, moist bottom on her thighs stirred her in a surprising way. Without warning or preamble, Megan wrapped her arms around Joyce’s neck and pulled herself close kissing her deeply. A kiss that was returned in eager intensity. Yes, Joyce was now the one stirring.

They uncoupled and sat still, forehead to forehead, meditatively sharing space and breath in a way that seemed natural. Time had, if not stopped, slowed to a glacial pace as neither wanted to break the seeming spell that had befallen them. Then, without a word, as if prompting a cat, Joyce used her forehead to push Megan backward. With the space open between them she slipped the girl’s jersey over her head knowing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Then she pulled her close again to slide her hands over the girl’s naked body and accepting her head onto her shoulder.

After a moment, or an hour, “Megan?”

“Hmmm…?”

“Would you take me to bed and teach me something?”

Megan lifted her head and nibbled at Joyce’s ear before answering. “What do you want to learn?” she whispered.

“Everything you know….”

Megan pulled away, a crooked smile on her lips. She kissed her Doctor on the cheek and stood, more steadily this time. “Come my queen”, she said reaching toward her.

Joyce took her hand and rose, then happily followed the pink rump into the house.

 

 

Different Flavors of Normal

Continued from The Summons

Megan had expected a relaxed flirty afternoon on lawn chairs separated by enough room to cop a surreptitious hand or feel while Tommy played in the yard. Later that night, who knew? This is what she was thinking while lounging on the glider, her tongue deep inside Doctor Maple’s mouth. And yes, in her head at least she was prone to refer to Joyce as Doctor Maple now and again.

“You”, said Megan pulling away for air, “Are a great kisser.”

“Like anything else, practice helps…”

“All on boys, I bet. And men…”

“Married twelve years, so there’s that…”

“What about girls?” Megan whispered, her lips brushing Joyce’s cheek. When there was no answer, Megan reframed the question. “Did you kiss a lot of girls?”

“One for sure, in college. Maybe two…”

“Maybe?”

“Tequila.”

“Ahhh. And…did you…”

“Last night was the furthest I’ve gone. Ever. The furthest I could imagine going…”

“You’re welcome”, said Megan inhaling Joyce’s breath as she covered her mouth again. Joyce accepted the kiss, then, with a cock of her head, took the offensive and slid her tongue past Megan’s feeling her submit gently to her probing.  Kissing a girl WAS different-softer, sweeter-but maybe it was just this girl. Not enough of a sample size to be sure. But still, what she knew was she’d not felt any cheek stubble or rough tit grabbing when all she wanted was to kiss. Which was new and nice.

Joyce’s house was the last on the cul-de-sac and her backyard jutted further into the woods than the neighbors, leaving her virtually secluded out back. They could more easily hear-and in the winter see-traffic on Trestle Drive two hundred yards through the woods than anyone on the surrounding lots. She and her husband had done a lot back here in the early days.

Megan broke the kiss lightly, then, as if stricken, slipped from Joyce’s shiny face, then down her body, taking in the smell of her shirt, then her belly, then her lap as she slid to her knees between her naked thighs.

“Oh God”, said Megan running her hands over the tops and sides of her legs. “These…”

“I somehow thought you’d like these shorts,” Joyce giggled.

“Gawww…” she slipped her head into the warmth between Joyce’s legs and worked her tongue from knee to hemline right and left, stopping to bite gently on a mouthful of satiny crotch. The fires from the previous night were sparking again, building and blanketing them, all goosebumps, butterflies and shallow caught breaths.

Megan paused and sat back on her haunches continuing to rub Joyce’s quads, even pressuring with the heels of her hands. She watched the legs, watched her hands kneading them, read the freckles, as if trying to memorize a passage in a book. For her part, Joyce lay back her head and sighed allowing, again, the girl to do what she wanted. Not to say she didn’t want it as well. She did. She wouldn’t have known how much she wanted it until last night but there was no denying what she was feeling. At least there was no denying it anymore.

“You have to do it”, Megan told herself. “Just say it. Joyce will roll with it.” But she wasn’t so sure. Like last night. How far would be too far? But that had worked out, hadn’t it? She wanted this so badly but was so afraid to say it. She didn’t even feel Joyce rubbing the side of her head, scratching behind her ear like she was a puppy. When she finally looked up it was into Joyce’s soft eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“You’ll think it’s weird.”

“Come on…tell.”

“You don’t want to know….”

“I asked.” Joyce playfully squeezed her ear. “What?”

“Your legs…”

“We’ve established that…”

Megan closed her eyes and took a breath then blew the words out. “I want to lay over them.”

“Over my legs?”

“Your thighs.” Joyce’s face was blank. “Your knees.”

Joyce squinted down at her.

“Jesus! You know, your lap.”

The light finally went off. “Ahhh….”

Megan managed a twisted embarrassed smile. “Yep”, she sighed. “She finally gets it.”

Joyce cupped the girl’s cheeks. “I told you last night that I was thick about some things…”

“Yeah, but this is weird, I know…”

“Hush.” She was back to stroking Megan’s head lolling between her legs.

“Sorry…” the girl said puffing the words against her, tickling down there.

“I said hush, now…” She took Megan’s hands. “Stand up.” When she did, Joyce reached out and patted her hips, “Megan, Megan, Megan,” then she unsnapped her jeans. “I don’t imagine you want to lay over my knees with these on.”

“No mam I do not…”

The jeans, snug to the skin, gave up territory grudgingly and Joyce was careful to rub her hands as much as possible over Megan’s legs as she pushed them so slowly down. “These are cute”, she said admiring the skimpy blue panties that were cut high in the back exposing the bottom third of her cheeks. “Let’s leave them on for now.”

“Whatever you say. I’m through directing.”

“This is something else new for me. Just let me know if I’m…”

“You’re fine.”

Conscious that she was right handed, she pulled Megan to that side. While she stood there awaiting the next signal, Joyce reached back and slapped her bottom.

“Ohhh!” said Megan surprised, grabbing her butt.

“OK?”

“OK!”

Megan lay herself down over Joyce’s bare legs and settled into position. Joyce watched the pink splotch from her smack blooming below the panties. For her, she thought this might be a cute game, but she felt Megan’s breathless excitement. She allowed her hand to linger on Megan’s bottom and rub the back of her thighs.

“How long have you fantasized about this?”

“Spanking in general? Or you spanking me?”

“Okay, specific, then. Me spanking you.”

“Since I was ten or eleven.”

“No way!” Joyce smacked her butt lightly.

“Yep. This one time I noticed you in the yard. In the fall. You were raking leaves I remember. I was riding my bike. You were wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. You had a ponytail back then and you looked so…I don’t know. Strong maybe? I was ten.”

“Did you fantasize about undressing me? About making love to me?”

“No. That came later.” There was another light smack, just for fun.

“How much later?

“Ouch. Last week.”

“SMACK!”

“Ow! No, No, I’d think…I’d lay this all out in my mind…what if I did something…rode my bike through your tulips, hit your mailbox with a ball, something…and you got mad, and spanked me…Or I’d ask you to spank me because I ruined your flowers. You know…dumb…”

“Nothing’s dumb Megan. Things just are what they are.”

“Yeah, but its not the most normal thing….”

“I don’t think we believe in normal. Or in one kind of normal. This is just a different flavor of normal, that’s all.”

In answer Megan lifted her butt just a little. Presenting.

“So we’ll do this”, said Joyce fixing her left arm across Megan’s back to hold her in place.

“I’m so going to cum all over your lap”, Megan said as Doctor Maple, with a laugh, brought her hand down sharply.

 

Continued in Always Learning

The Summons

Continued from In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

The summons, as she jokingly thought of it, came in a text around eleven. Normally an early riser, Megan was still fast asleep in a soft post-coital cocoon of soft, salty smells and sticky fingers. She found the pinging phone under a pillow and blinked to read without lifting her head:

Apparently, Saturday pizza is now a thing. Delivery at four. Be here.

She smiled and dropped the phone. Joyce would never in a million years have ended an invitation like that before last night. She smiled and closed her eyes again-enjoying being summoned. She allowed herself a small daydream of Joyce’s thighs and bottom and, as it took hold, wished she could fall back to sleep to consummate it. Not willing to overindulge her lustful leanings, she finally mumbled, “Yes my queen” and with a wry smile sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed.

She could still feel an itch on her backside where she’d punished herself which led to a deeper tingle between her legs. She shook it off. “What a night…” She wandered down the hall to the shower.

She turned the radio on. The news was about the plague, of course. The voice on the speakers verified what Joyce had been saying over the last couple of weeks. The virus appeared to be on the wane; whether for good or for awhile no one really knew, but the world was starting to open up again. As if to prove it, Megan watched out the kitchen window as more people than usual seemed to be out wandering the neighborhood. Most in masks, sure. But out.

While everyone on the radio breathed a sigh of relief-and Megan was happy about a return to at least some semblance of normalcy-she couldn’t help feeling a pang of dread that something might be ending just as it had gotten started. “Selfish”, she decided and headed out to the garage with a cup of coffee intent on killing a few hours.

A little after four she took a bottle of wine out of the fridge and slipped it into her shoulder bag.  With a bandana tied loosely around her neck she retraced the steps she’d taken twelve hours before. She dodged a few bikes and nodded or waved to folks who recognized her. She was strolling with a purpose-not hurrying but not giving the impression that she wanted to tarry either.

How would this go? Last night was hot-they both were leaking wet and famished for the taste of each other. Now how would they react with the fire safely banked, when every touch didn’t burn. When every word wasn’t simmering?

The house pinged when she let herself in and Tommy ran down the hall to greet her. “Hey Megsy! You made it!” He gave her a quick hug that was almost a push then ran back toward the kitchen by way of the front sitting room. “Pizza just got here!”

Joyce was in the kitchen moving the pie from the box onto a wooden board wearing a pair of high-cut running shorts and a tie-dyed t-shirt which made her look more grad student than doctor. Megan gulped at the sight of her legs.  She had never seen Joyce in these shorts unless she was running.

“You’re late”, she kidded. “Leaving me all this kitchen duty.”

“I brought wine!” she smiled pulling the bottle from the sack.

“And just like that, you’re forgiven.”

Not wanting to wait for Joyce’s greeting, Megan stepped close and slipped her arm around her waist pulling her in. Joyce bent to meet her lips. The kiss was warm, wet and lingered a moment. Joyce kept her mouth mostly closed, but it was definitely not a chaste kiss between buddies.  Still not wanting to push, Megan pulled away first. Joyce smiled almost shyly. “Did we even kiss last night?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t remember”, Megan answered allowing her hand to slide from Joyce’s hip across her the slick fabric pulled tightly over her bottom. “Nice shorts”, she said. “These old things?” Joyce flirted. By the time Tommy spun back into the room they were on opposite sides of the island and Megan was opening the wine.

“When’s pawpaw coming?” Tommy asked.

“Five o’clock Bud….”

Megan looked at Joyce with comically wide eyes. “Company?”

“Not for us. My mom and dad have been in quarantine for three weeks for the express purpose of getting Tommy for an overnight when it seemed prudent. It seems prudent.”

“They have a pool!” squealed Tommy.

“Take these”, Joyce corralled her son with paper plates and napkins. “I’ve got this”, she picked up the pizza. “You”, she looked at Megan, “bring the bottle and glasses. There’s a cooler out there. And close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

Continued here Different Flavors of Normal

 

In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Continued from Plague Life, Part VI

“We’re all humans, after all, and everybody’s got something a little off somewhere.”
                                                                                Haruki Murakami
                                                                                The Fall of the Roman Empire

Megan slipped gently out of bed leaving Joyce fast asleep still nestled on her side. She pulled on her clothes and just barely resisted the urge to kiss her sleeping lover’s cheek. She padded down the hall and peeked into Tommy’s room where he sprawled on his back, snoring lustily. She tiptoed in to lift the covers up to his neck disturbing him not at all.

At the front door she slipped on her sneakers and set the alarm with a three-tone signal giving her twenty seconds to get out. The time on the keypad was 3:37. Pulling the door silently behind her she stepped out into the foggy predawn for the short walk home.

Too early for the morning birds, an owl hooted forlornly over in the woods somewhere. Still tasting Joyce, Megan glided rather than walked, a light tiptoed gait, like wading in neck deep water propelled by the waves of the evening’s passions. It felt as if years of dreamy fantasies and childhood passions had been consummated save for the thick rustling spot that gnawed at her from right behind the drawstring of her sweatpants.  Like any committed dreamer, her fantasies were many, familiar and always available. If she knew nothing else, she knew how to deal with this titillating ache. She paused at the corner, the fog settling shiny on her skin, to watch three deer-mere shadows in the amber glow of the streetlights-clatter down the asphalt before being swallowed by the night.

She let herself in through the garage and went straight for the powder room stopping only to strip off her sweats and panties, dropping them in the laundry basket. She moved to pull her T-shirt over her head but it smelled of Joyce, so she kept it on. In the powder room she peed then, without turning on a light, went to the kitchen for a glass of water from the tap. She could get ice water directly from a nozzle on the fridge, but it was too slow and Megan, gulping, was suddenly in a hurry to get upstairs.

She ducked into the bathroom at the top of the stairs and snatched the bath brush from the hook in the shower. Almost unable to wait she patted her backside with the cool flat wood to hurry herself along. In her bedroom she plopped face first onto the small mountain of pillows, sheets and blankets that passed for a made bed in these times. Lifting slightly onto her side she gritted her teeth and scrunched her eyes then raised the brush high and brought it down with a loud CRACK in the center of her right bottom cheek. “Yeeowch!” she said lightly, surprising herself with how hard it was. She did it again and a third time in the same spot causing her to wriggle a bit and yip a small “Ouch!”

She grabbed a pillow and stuck it between her legs, squeezing it into place after sliding her fingers over her own swollen wetness moaning at the charge the smallest contact brought. The pillow placed, she rolled onto her belly and swatted her left cheek once then again, rhythmically humping the pillow between swats. All corners of the empty house bore audible witness to what was happening in Megan’s bed. She yelped, then sighed as the spanking waxed and waned and grunted when she directed hard contact to the midpoint of her bottom where her legs joined to form and echo chamber that magnified the force and vibration of the blows. After absorbing a stronger punishment than anyone else had given her, she tossed the brush aside and slipped her fingers into herself.

She moaned loudly as she tickled her attentive clit up to the edge then over. She cried Joyce’s name as she came loudly with complete abandon; a long rapturous orgasm that she knew would set an impossible standard for the one that she shared with Joyce. She didn’t break contact, still rubbing, riding down the backside of the mountain until she collapsed on the bed and breathed, smiling, still smelling the scent of another on her face. She gently slid her hand over the hot, dry skin of her tortured bottom. She mewled at the contact and slowly slipped her moist fingers back between her legs, determined to make the second one last.

Continued here The Summons

Plague Life, Part VI

Continued from Plague Life – Part V

“There”, Joyce thought. “I did it.” As if the act to come, whatever it would be, was secondary to her asking for it. She had been afraid she would chicken out.  She’d done it before, with Melissa in college. She hadn’t strung her along exactly, but it could have looked that way. She had wanted Melissa then, just as she wanted Megan now. She had just…chickened out, after some kissing and with Mel’s hand up her skirt sliding down her panties. She had been wet then too. She knew it and Melissa knew it and called her on it later. What had she been afraid of? Whatever it was, she was still afraid of it, but not as much.

Since she had flashed Megan in the garage that night, this-this right now-had been a joke, a flirt maybe, then a fantasy, then a plan. It had taken awhile for Joyce to say it, to give herself over to another with “Do what you want.” And after all the planning, dreaming and fantasizing over the last couple of weeks, she might not have. Might not have said a thing had not Megan allowed her finger to slide between her legs, to discover the same dampness, the same want, the same lust that Melissa had found there years before.

Megan, standing naked beside the bed, wasn’t the kid who babysat anymore. Not even close. Her smile and eager glistening eyes could have kept her attention if not for her small pert breasts, flat stomach and cute little bush that was obviously trimmed. For the occasion? When she bade her turn, she found her bottom full and firm, taut to the touch. “There”, thought Joyce, when Megan snapped the light off.

She lay in the warm darkness having decided to be pliant to…whatever. She had asked Megan to turn and she’d turned. She knew the girl would defer to her, to do whatever she asked. But she had nothing to ask. Not knowing what was coming added a sheen of anticipation she hadn’t felt in years.

The bed shifted as Megan knelt beside her and again as the girl stretched out atop her, breasts pressing into her back and her bush tickling her backside. She allowed her arms to be pulled out to her sides by the wrists and held there, crucified. With her knees Megan pulled Joyce’s legs together and covered them with hers, slowly grinding her pelvis into Joyce’s bottom. She liked being covered but wished for a moment that she was pinned-that she couldn’t move at all.

She let a small sound escape her lips, and Megan answered with a nibble to the back of her neck, still undulating slowly. Megan could taste the goose bumps rising on Joyce’s back and shoulders. She moved down slowly and slipped her knees between her lover’s legs, a wedge opening them. Joyce flowed into the movement, opening and pushing back accepting first her thrusting pelvis then, a leg straddled, Megan’s thigh rubbing firmly into her pussy.

“Oh, God…” Joyce whispered and Megan, as she had with the massage, followed the direction mapped by the sounds. She released Joyce’s wrist and slid her hand enchantingly slowly along her arm, across her shoulder, down her back, across her bum then between her legs. Sliding her own thigh out of the way, Megan slipped a finger easily into Joyce’s wet quim. The move was answered with a soft gasp and a backward thrust giving her the permission to probe deeper and explore freely. One finger, then two then one inside and one rubbing the top. Then a slight withdrawal.

“Roll over.”

When Joyce rolled onto her back, Megan lay beside her, letting her head fall mouth first onto her breasts. She licked first one, then the other, slowly circling the nipples while continuing to slide her finger in and out slowly, keeping a rhythm that Joyce was catching. Abandoning her breasts, Megan slipped her mouth, tongue first down the woman’s stomach, heading for…

“Wait! Wait!” Joyce said breathlessly grabbing Megan’s head.

“What?”

“Ah…” Joyce couldn’t exactly answer as she struggled to sit up.

“What’s the matter?”

“Your fingers are…wonderful. It feels great. You can keep doing that…”

“This?” Megan teased, flicking her finger against Joyce’s obvious and pulsing clit.

“Yeah! Yeah…that’s great. You…you don’t have to go down on me. This is good.” She didn’t believe it even as she said it. She was going to chicken out again. Late in the game this time, but still.

“Good for you maybe.” Megan kept her fingertip on the hard, little nub.  “I want you in my mouth. I want to taste you, lick you, flick you, nibble you and stick my tongue up inside of you. I want to squeeze your bum and have your thighs crush my ears till I can’t hear. I want to fucking swallow you. Now”, she pushed at Joyce’s belly with her head like an insistent kitten, “You lay back down and let me do this.”

“Yes. Yes…it’s just that…” Not to be denied, Megan kept pushing with the crown of her head. “OK…ok…” Joyce said breathlessly. She lay back down happy to have been overruled.

Megan led with her tongue down Joyce’s belly, pausing childishly to probe her deep innie, then through the thicket of soft brush to her moist destination. She pulled her finger then, replacing it with her prodding tongue as Joyce moaned and arched her back.

This wasn’t something Megan did every day. Joyce was the third woman she’d gone down on but that made her the most experienced one in the bed. Joyce made it easy. She pulled back her legs and Megan, kissing the inside of her thighs, left then right, then, true to her words, slipped her hands under to cup her bottom, kneading her cheeks as she plunged her tongue into her.

Megan wished there were lights. She was feeling everything. She was tasting everything, and Joyce’s taste was glorious! Megan closed her mouth over her lover’s pussy, sopping as much with her own as with Joyce’s juices. She felt the wetness on her cheeks and chin and loved the rough feel of hair in her mouth and the buzzing clit on her tongue as Joyce’s breath caught and caught again.

She wanted her on an exam table with bright fluorescents overhead to document every crease, fold and freckle, to see the inside of her legs, see the pulsing of the blood and the tweaking of the tendons. Her thumb had slid over Joyce’s asshole and she wanted to see that. And her ass…

“Megan!” It was a ragged whisper. “I’m going to….”

Megan paused a moment, long enough to cough, “Do it!” before diving back into the wet. She felt a shift and heard a flop-Joyce pulled a pillow over her face-then a muffled squeal. The woman arched higher and Megan squeezed the rock hard apples that was her bottom, holding on as Joyce bucked into her, a wave cresting, then crashed with a single spasm back onto the bed with a cough that almost sounded like a sob.

Megan fell with her and pulled her tongue back, breathing for the first time in what seemed to be a long while. She kissed Joyce’s soft inner thighs and slid upwards pushing a little to get Joyce onto her side. She spooned her then, tossing her arm over her shoulder to rest comfortably on her breast, her glistening cheek on her shoulder.

“You okay?” Megan asked lightly next to her ear.

Joyce reached up and squeezed her forearm. “I am SO okay…”

Megan snuggled. “Good”, she said. “Me too.”

“Thanks for not letting me stop you back there…”

“No way I wasn’t going down there.”

“I don’t know why I….”

“Shhh…doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“How’d you get to be so smart?” Joyce asked.

“I’m not. You’re just dumb”, she teased.

Joyce pinched her forearm lightly. “Brat.”

Megan’s heart skipped at that word. She might have said something, but Joyce’s settled breathing put her off. It was the end of a wonderful evening, not time to start something new.

Continued here In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning

Plague Life – Part V

Continued from Plague Life – Deleted Scenes

A couple of nights later, coming home from a late shift, Joyce called Megan. She was flat on the couch, scrolling through the muted TV. “Hey”, she answered.

“Hey yourself. What’s going on?”

“Quiet”, Megan told her. Tommy’s been asleep for awhile…I was just getting ready to start your dinner.”

“Skip that”, Joyce told her. “I really need you to work on my back tonight. If you’re up to it.”

Megan sat up quickly-as if a different level of attention was required. “…Sure…” she said. “You OK?”

“Yeah, just beat…and sore.”

“No problem, see you when you get here.”

Once out of the shower and dried, Joyce picked a clean pair of black briefs from the folding table. She hesitated a moment before slipping them on. Then a matching bra. The girl had folded all her underwear in sets. Then the soft old robe that she kept in the mudroom. Padding barefoot into the kitchen Joyce smiled at the glass of wine set alone on the table. She swept it up and sipped without stopping, heading toward the dim light emanating from the master suite.

Megan, resplendent in old calf-length sweatpants and a university T-shirt, had stripped the bed of duvet and top sheet replacing them with an older sheet from the linen closet. She was smoothing the top when Joyce came in. Megan, nervous, wouldn’t look at her directly and spoke to the bed in general.

“We hadn’t said where we’d do this…but your bed is the firmest. And there’s no footboard. It’s tough working on a bed but fine. And I didn’t want to get oil all over your good stuff.” She nodded toward a few bottles on the bedside table.

“It’s fine”, said Joyce softly. “Tommy is…”

“Fast asleep. And down the hall…”

Megan, having smoothed the top sheet far beyond necessary, stepped away from the bed. If she was truly expecting the slow, suggestive disrobing in the half-light that she had envisioned nervously over and over for the last half hour she didn’t get it. Joyce was in a locker room, not a boudoir. After a sip she set her wine alongside the oils, untied the loop of her belt and shrugged the robe off her shoulders. Megan didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she saw the bra and panties. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed.

“Just up on here then?” said Joyce patting the bed.

“Yeah…move in and give me room. Problem with not having a table is I’ll have to straddle you….”

“Sure, sure…” said Joyce kneeling onto the bed. She was moving with a business-like efficiency, leaving no space for the languid eddies that two people in a bedroom might create for themselves.  It occurred to Megan that maybe she was faking that. At least in part.

On all fours, Joyce arched her back then twisted. “I’m so needing this…” she said. Then, on her knees with Megan almost behind her she unsnapped her bra and pulled it off, tossing it onto the floor. “Don’t know why I put that on….” She said seemingly to herself. Then she lay flat. “Do your thing” she said with a sigh.

Megan, trying to match her tone, shook out her hands as might a pianist in a movie before beginning. She rubbed oil firmly into her hands until convinced they wouldn’t shudder when released. Then, still standing, she drizzled oil onto Joyce’s back and rubbed it around lightly to keep it from running.

“That’s warm…”

“Put it in the microwave…” Megan said.

“Of course you did”, she said with her head turned away. Megan comfortably assumed there was a smile she couldn’t see. Then she got up on the bed and in a smooth move borne of the flexibility of youth straddled Joyce at the thighs.

“You OK?” she asked.

“Fine…”

‘No more words’ was a conscious decision. Megan began slowly, thumbs on either side of Joyce’s spine and slid them upward, probing softly listening for a breath or a grunt, any tiny sound that might direct her ministrations. She moved up the spine slowly then fanned out across the back, digging the heels of her hands into the wide expanse of lithe muscle. Then back down again. Over and over. If she had been a painter this would be her rough sketch, outlining the boundaries of her canvas.

The small of Joyce’s back was the focus of her work. She watched the woman’s skin ripple and flow in front of her thumbs and fall back into place behind and heard every sound she made. Up and out then around and down but every time she came to the small of Joyce’s back, Megan would place her thumbs lower until she had to slip them below the elastic of Joyce’s panties. Up then out then around. Finally, before digging again into the softening muscles, she tucked her thumbs into the panties and pulled them partway down, exposing no more of Joyce’s backside than a bikini might have. Still, she paused, admiring the fetching dimples and topmost snick of her divide. She paused awhile.

“Butt Gal”, Joyce whispered with a smile that Megan could hear.

“You don’t make it easy”, Megan said pinching and pulling at the cotton panties with her fingers.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. You should go ahead and pull them off…”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Megan skootched herself a little way down the bed and again slipped her fingers into the elastic of the panties. This time Joyce lifted herself slightly and she pulled the panties down off her slim bottom and down her thighs. Joyce lifted her knees, then her feet, so that Megan could slide them completely off and drop them onto the floor.

“You OK?” This time it was Joyce asking.

“Fine”, said Megan, unsure if it was true. But she stayed with the work, allowing her hands to rest on the tops of the woman’s backside while working the thumbs toward her spine. The moans-the tiny breaths of affirmation-had stopped but Megan was suddenly hesitant to leave the relatively chaste landscape of Joyce’s back. But she didn’t want to be told to move down.

She backed down until she straddled Joyce’s legs just below the knees and drizzled a little oil on each of her bottom cheeks. Then, gently with open hands, she spread the lubrication out and down the backs of her thighs.

She worked the glutes in tandem as she had her back. Slide her thumbs up the middle then out on both sides of her, then circle back. More attention paid to the thickness of the bottom at her bottom than at the top.  And make no mistake. Megan knew what these feelings were welling up in her breast and starting to tumble down into her stomach, and below. She knew them but struggled to control them. If, in working her thumbs up her bottom, she would spread Joyce enough to reveal what was down between the mounds, she’d freeze guiltily. As if intruding.

She paused and slid backward, lifting her left leg and pressing her knee between Joyce’s. “Spread” she said not knowing what the reaction might be. Every step felt like it might be a step too far-that she might be told “no”.  Joyce’s leg shifted easily.

Megan knelt, working the hamstrings at the tops of Joyce’s long legs. She worked them as she had her back and her bottom: both thumbs up the middle then out and back. Truth, it was her only massage move. And, of course, working the thumbs meant her hands would encircle the leg which was okay with her left hand that rode innocently up the outer leg, but the right slid up the inside of the thigh-chastely at first-fingers withdrawn and circumspect. Not venturing too far or too high. At first.

But then, as she worked the top of the hamstring, right below her bottom, she slipped her right hand all the way up Joyce’s leg. She would swear, if called on it, that her finger inadvertently, mistakenly even, ran all the way up, feeling the warm damp folds at the top. She pulled back as if burned-breathless that she had gone too far! Ruined it!

“Megs?”

“Still here,” Megan said softly, voice catching in the dusty desert of her mouth.

“You should do whatever you want”, Joyce said.

Megan wasn’t massaging anymore. She was sitting back softly rubbing her hand over Joyce’s slick backside and down her legs. And not answering. “Look”, Joyce sighed lightly, “I’m not that thick. Somewhat maybe, but not that. I don’t know what to ask for and if I did, I wouldn’t know how. This is lovely but I’m up for anything. Or nothing if that’s your call. But wherever we’re going, you’ll have to drive.”

Megan’s eyes stung and she was afraid she might cry but opted for the wide smile instead. She patted Joyce’s bottom once then stepped off the bed. She pulled her T-shirt over her head. Her sweats came off next and just as she slipped her thumbs into the elastic of her own panties, saw Joyce watching her. She smiled coyly and pushed them down. She was about to kneel back onto the bed when Joyce said, “Turn around.”

Megan’s smile twisted and she turned. She didn’t move but to push her hips backwards just a bit. Joyce’s fingers played across her cheek. She snapped off the lamp before crawling back onto the bed.

Continuing here Plague Life, Part VI

Plague Life – Part IV

Continued from Plague Life – Part III

They ate the pizza on the back-yard patio. This time of day the sun was dipping behind the oaks and only winked at them through the leaves as a light breeze kept the bugs at bay. It was good to be outside and Tommy, bored with a sit-down meal after half a slice, was fine taking a bite then running to the swings or playing catch off the shed roof and coming back for another. No surprise he had demurred on the salad his mother had made but she and Megan were enjoying the treat that fresh produce had become.

Both women sat with their backs to the house at opposite ends of the glass-topped table where they could watch him. Their legs were up on spare chairs and the glasses of iced tea sweated tiny puddles that ran zig-zagging toward the center of the table carrying crumbs along in their wakes. It was the kind of day to notice things like that. Joyce caught Megan looking at her once, but only because she had been glancing at Megan. That made Joyce smile and give her head the tiniest of shakes.

“What?” asked Megan.

“Nothing”, she answered with still the ghost of a smile. Megan noticed the fine fuzz that glittered on Joyce’s neck with the sun twinkling on them. With her eyes on Tommy running over to the table Joyce spoke without moving her head. “Slept like a rock last night.”

“You were probably due”.

Tommy stopped himself at the table and grabbed his slice of pizza. He tore at it with a roar then slapped it back onto the plate. Megan tossed him a napkin which fluttered to the ground as he wheeled and ran back to the swings.

“I think it was the massage”, said Joyce.

“Could have been. You were pretty well knotted up.”

“I felt that.” She took a sip of her drink and set it down away from the puddle it had made. “I might…I mean, …I might have a favor to ask you.”

“What?”

“You can say no.” Joyce looked at her and pulled the glasses down over her nose for the second time today. Had never noticed her doing that. Was she going for coy or maybe mid-thirties cute? Whichever, she was pretty much hitting it.

“Not without hearing what it is.”

“I used to get massages at Standing Stone”, she explained. The Stone, as it was known in Joyce’s circle, was a day spa that offered a menu of pricy and elaborate massage and body treatments.

“Yeah, you’d mentioned it once or twice”

“You ever been?”

“No. Outta my league.”

“Yeah, they’re expensive. But they took good care of me every couple of weeks. I was wondering, after what you did for me last night” she paused, glancing up in the sky as if waiting for the question to be communicated to her so she could pass it along. “Can you do a full body? Or legs?” She was sliding the words out quickly, hardly opening her mouth, wanting them to be in the air but hesitant to say them. Was it dumb feeling this nervous? It was a simple question, she was telling herself, knowing full well it wasn’t and she was lying.

Megan only cared to hear that she was asking for full body massage. She had given them before with and without subtext. Megan had told Joyce about the kinesiology class but not about the sports massage workshop she had taken because an aspiring trainer in the class had talked her into it. And she also wouldn’t mention that the aspiring trainer was a short blonde from up country named Becca who’d taught her a fair amount beyond longitudinal gliding.

“I’ll pay you, of course”, said Joyce, misreading her silence.

“You will not…”

“Come on. I’d want to. This is a lot to ask…I’m feeling like I might be taking advantage.”

“It’s just that, I can do the basics, you know? Nothing the pros like they have at The Stone.”

“The Stone’s closed now. It’s just you and me…”

Megan let the last words breathe a bit as she bit into a fresh slice. Amazing how long Folino’s crust stayed crisp, even beyond the cheese cooling. Some kind of magic, no doubt. Joyce was looking her way, but the glasses were masking her eyes and this time she wasn’t pulling them down her nose. Thinking of Becca brought back memories of their early flirting. Words didn’t always mean what they seemed to mean. Or they did, but they meant something else too. Something more. Megan had been concerned that, if it came to it, she wouldn’t have the nerve to make the first move. Now maybe she didn’t have to.

“I’ll give it a shot, sure. I have some oils and lotions at home. I’ll go get them before you leave so they’ll be here whenever you want.”

Joyce stretched her legs and arched her back, stretching. “Great”, she said, her eyes back on her son.

Continuing here Plague Life – Deleted Scenes

Plague Life – Part III

Continued from Plague Life – Part II

The next day, just after noon, Megan was in the driveway of her parent’s home just down the street from Doctor Maples’ place. She had the base of an antique steamer trunk on a collapsible work bench and was sanding the wooden slats along the frame. The belt sander was loud and the dust was thick enough that she had to stop every few minutes to clear her classes and shake her mask.

She used her mom’s car that was still in the garage, but her dad’s truck was gone. When her parents drove to their place in Arizona two months ago, the plan had been to stay a couple of weeks. Now Megan wondered when she’d see them again. They were happily hunkered on their rented corner of an 800-acre ranch with nothing but nothing surrounding them. Her mother was riding again, and dad was hunting most days and the word “retirement” kept slipping into their conversations.

Megan changed the belt in the sander to a finer grit. She made sure she was busy and didn’t let her mind wander to Joyce and what had happened the night before. Not because she didn’t want to, not because a fantasy of Joyce Maple wasn’t slavering, chained dog at the edge of her subconscious ready to fill her head with all the details she could provide. But she wouldn’t.

Regardless of the fantasies she’d had since childhood about the doctor down the street, Joyce was a friend. Not only had she known her since she was a kid but she trusted her with Tommy. Picturing her naked based on a chance glance and goofy joke seemed a betrayal of some kind.

The blanketing silence of the street settled quickly without the sander’s whine. She shook her hand which was still buzzing a little. There were doves cooing in the pear tree and a distant lawn mower but the street was eerily quiet. Those out tending to their yards or Mr. Jensen, waxing his car again, seemed hushed as they went about their chores.  She was about to bend to the task again when she heard Tommy from down the street.  Six-year-old boys do not do hushed.  “Hey Megsy”, he called. She removed her fogging glasses. He was riding his bike toward her and waving.

“Hi Tommy!” she waved back, instinctively glancing up and down the street for cars. “Where’s your mom?” she asked then bit her tongue as if the innocent question would reveal something. Would she have asked that question that quickly yesterday? Two days ago?

Tommy had braked at the bottom of the drive. “She’s coming”, he said and pointed.

And there she was. Joyce had just stepped into sight from behind the mammoth rhododendron at the end of the block. She was wearing old jeans that were ripped at the knees more from use than fashion and a long-sleeved crewneck running shirt-a souvenir from some five K or other she’d run over the years. Her running shoes were a striking blue, a coincidental match with her sunglasses. Strolling more than walking she looked lankier than she was. Her mask was hanging at her throat, ready to be pulled up if anyone passed or wanted to exchange words from across the sidewalk or over the hedge.

The visions that Megan had tried to hold off crashed through the walls of her consciousness like the Kool-Aid man as she watched Joyce’s languid approach. She cut her eyes from her chest not wanting to go there. This is ridiculous, she thought.

“You’re comin’ to eat with us”, Tommy cried.

“Oh, am I, now?” Megan said smiling. She had pulled her mask down so he could see her face.

“This one talked me into pizza from Folino’s for dinner”, said Joyce, close enough now to join the conversation.

“And you’re gonna come!” Tommy yipped.

“Is that OK?” asked Joyce. “I know we said five but….”

“Naw-that’s good. What time?”

“Four?”

“Easily done.”

Joyce pulled her sunglasses down her nose and gave her a look. “You’ll have time to clean up, right?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Good” said Joyce turning away with a slight tilt like a small plane leaning toward home. “See you then.”

Tommy was off up the street and out of earshot. “Hey Doc,” Megan called to her. “I enjoyed you walking away more last night.”

Joyce said nothing but, without missing a step, spun slowly and grinning with her tongue between teeth that had never looked so white, wagged both fingers like a kid playing quick draw, before turning away again with maybe, just maybe, a little switch in her hips.

“Sweet Jesus”, thought Megan.

Continuing here Plague Life – Part IV