Girl Fever (29 page)

And next time I'm going to kiss her.

 

 

 

 

 

I
wish I knew you like she does.

It's Sunday morning and I'm sitting on the rear deck with my husband. He's reading the paper and grunting about some perceived incompetence in the Obama administration. It's spring and the Rocky Mountains look so damn beautiful in the sun that I want to hold the picture in my head to look at when life moves back to winter.

Jed doesn't see the Rockies; he doesn't see me.

After I've served breakfast, I sit opposite him sipping a coffee. I'm not drinking in the mountains now; I'm looking east, toward the house across the narrow lane.

I sneak a glance at my watch; it's nearly 9:00. Jed rustles the paper, makes another derogatory remark about Obama.

The house opposite abuts the lane, so when the upstairs drapes twitch and slide back, I can see clearly into the bedroom—your bedroom.

I've never been able to strike up a casual conversation with you, but I've driven past your house a few times and I've seen you and your partner working in the front yard. You, my secret obsession, are stocky and the singlet you wear in the yard shows off fine tanned shoulders. A tattoo wraps over one bicep. I'd love to know what it's of. Your cropped black hair hugs your head, but there are small curls in the nape of your neck.

Your partner is curvy and feminine. Someone cruel would call her fat, but I'm no pot calling the kettle anything. Her breasts swell out under her T-shirt, and her belly folds into rolls when she bends to pull a dandelion from the lawn.
Plumpy,
I call her, to myself.

You look happy together. You touch, kiss openly. Jed would not approve.

Sunday mornings are my time for watching. When Jed goes off to church, I'm alone for nearly two hours. Jed doesn't like me staying behind, but I'm adamant. I don't like Jed's God; I don't like the things he says. So instead of church, I sit on the back deck and watch you going about your life through the windows of your house: cooking breakfast, folding laundry, just living.

I sneak a glance at my watch again. Jed turns to the sports section.

“You'll be late for church, honey,” I tell him.

“Not going,” he grunts. “Pastor's away. Some liberal
new fella. Not gonna listen to his shit.”

Damn
. Outwardly, I stay serene. “More coffee?”

Jed doesn't answer, just holds out his mug.

I refill our mugs and sip, gazing at the house across the lane. You're there, standing at the window, staring in my direction. Not at me, I don't fool myself about that. The Rockies are behind me and you're probably drinking in their beauty as I like to do. Plumpy comes up behind, slipping curvy arms around your waist. She nuzzles your neck, and I imagine her making a teasing remark about those little black curls that are growing so long.

You turn and take Plumpy in your arms. You bend. Kiss her. My hand tightens on my mug, for now you're kissing, really kissing. I can see your mouth slanting over hers, your hand cupping her ass, the other winding around her shoulders to draw her close to your body. I've never seen you kiss this intensely before. Something tightens in the pit of my stomach at the sight.

After long minutes, Plumpy breaks the kiss, spins away. I'm disappointed, but then she twirls, her mouth wide and smiling, and her hands draw the loose dress she's wearing over her head. It sails to the ground behind her and oh, my god, she's naked. Naked and beautiful. You're not smiling. When I see your face, it's intent, fierce, and even though there's distance between us, I can sense your lust.

I hardly dare breathe. I'm afraid my breath will catch in my throat, expel with a gasp that will alert Jed.
I concentrate on remaining silent, even as my heart is jumping in my throat. I sip my coffee and keep my eyes fixed on you. You're still dressed, but Plumpy's hand is tugging at your singlet. But you step away. I'm disappointed; you're not in the mood, you want coffee maybe, or you're late for something.

You drop to your knees, hold out your arms. Plumpy doesn't hesitate. She walks forward and your arms rise and wrap around her waist. Plumpy's hands are raking through your tight, black curls and you stare up into her eyes for a moment. Then you bend and kiss the curve of her belly. And then…

This time I do gasp, and my breathing is so tight I can't get air into my chest. Because you're kissing her again, but kissing her there, on the place I can't say aloud, even to myself. My hand shakes and I put my coffee down so abruptly it sloshes on the table. I don't care, and I can't look away: from both of you, but mainly you. It's always been about you.

You tilt your head, slouch a little, and Plumpy lifts a leg and places it on your shoulder. She's wide open, and I see there's no hair between her legs. Then your face moves in and I can see your tongue. There. You're kissing her there.

I'm flushed, I know I am. My face must be as red as sin and I'm burning all over. Burning for you, burning for what you're doing to her. If Jed looks up now, I'll be in trouble, but I don't care. There's a low ache in my own body, a yearning, a need. I haven't felt desire for so
long, and never like this. Jed's paper rustles, but I ignore it.

You're pulling her even closer, and she's writhing. Your hands are grasping her hips now, but your face is still there.

Hurry,
I think,
hurry,
before Jed looks up from the paper, before he realizes what I'm watching…before he drags me inside, protects me from… From what?

There's a tremor in my hand as I watch you, see how you pleasure Plumpy, see how she comes with her head thrown back, and those curves jiggling. And you're so strong and in control, and you wrap your arms around her waist and your face is pushed between her legs and I can imagine her howl of pleasure.

I'm shaky inside, but it's not with shock, even though Jed's God says I should be horrified. No, I'm shaky with feelings that haven't stirred me for years. My nipples are engorged and there's an ache of something low down in my belly, a pulse of desire down there. You're on your feet again, and you're in her arms. She so unashamedly naked, you so protective and proud. You look at your watch and smack Plumpy on the bottom, give her a quick kiss. You're probably telling her she has time for a shower before you have to go wherever you're going.

Plumpy moves out of sight, and you come to the window and gaze toward the Rockies. I wonder what you're thinking?

I wish you knew me like you know her.

 

 

 

 

 

I
can't take my eyes off her skirt. Okay, so it's not so much her skirt as it is the long expanse of tanned thigh that disappears underneath the hem. A flesh-colored road I'd love to follow to its end.

I shake off the thought as my brother says, “…do you?”

“What?”

Dan grins. He knows what I've been thinking. But hey, he should cut me some slack; it's been a long while since Jessica and I broke up. And here sits his brand-new neighbor Maggie—who likes rare steak and '80s music according to our conversation—showing off thighs that would make any sane woman weep. Or man, for that matter.

“I said you don't like heat, do you? My sister would
live in the Arctic if she could figure out how to make money.”

Everyone laughs.

He's right. I hate heat. Hate sunburn and humidity, shorts and tank tops. I hate swimming pools and having to smear myself in SPF anything. I always get some in my mouth and sunscreen tastes like shit, thank you very much.

“True story,” I say.

“Oh, really? I love heat,” Maggie says, leaning forward, touching my leg.

Talk about heat. Lord. It shoots through me like heat lightning, zipping and dancing under my skin. Way hotter than any fever, way steamier than anything August in the city can dish up. I turn my eyes to Dan's new pool to gather my thoughts.

If I were a guy, I'd have a hard-on right now. I am once again thankful I am not a guy. She cannot see my sudden and violent arousal.

I catch her watching me. A certain look in her pool-water blue-green eyes.

Maybe she can.

I clear my throat and take the beer that Dan offers. It's cold and bittersweet going down. My brother wanders off to chat with others and I am left sitting there with Maggie. Maggie whose hair is the color of raw honey. Whose breasts are full and very much
not
on display in her summer blouse, but they are
there
. Round and prominent and my eyes want to return to them again and again.

“Want to swim?” she asks.

“Swim?”

“Yeah, you know. Get in the water, get cool. Move around in a swim-like fashion so you don't drown.”

The laugh she's provoked rips out of me and is almost embarrassing in its giddiness. “I don't swim.”

“Well, you could stand out there.”

“I don't have a suit,” I say.

“Well, you have shorts and you have a tank and you'll dry fast enough in this heat.”

It's still eighty-some degrees even though it's full dark and the lightning bugs are out. “But—”

She doesn't let me finish. She stands, pulls down the skirt and yanks off the blouse and stands there in a bikini the color of buttercream. She watches me. I think she's daring me to say no.

“Please?”

“Okay,” I say. I'll regret it, I know I will, but I follow her anyway, a lemming to the sea. Or a dumb-ass following a pretty girl. You can look at it either way.

We wander to the deeper end. The end back in the shadows where the other visitors to my brother's small party will not see us. We're not fooling anyone.

She turns so suddenly that were we not tits deep in water I would have fallen on my ass. “I saw you looking at me,” she says.

“Yeah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leer. I just—”

“Dan says you've been alone awhile.”

“How nice of him to share my most embarrassing
facts with the neighborhood.” I want to be angry—well, part of me does—but she steps in closer and even in the water I can feel imaginary zips and pops of electricity coming off of her.

I could die here. Drop dead of the combined forces of her closeness and the water. “I asked him. I saw your picture and I…I asked.”

“I see.”

How stupid do I sound?
I wonder.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, cocking her head like she might expect the answer to be no.

I am so off guard. I am so off balance. This woman is making my head hurt and my heart swell and other parts of me pulse. I'm stammering but I'm also nodding like an idiot and she gives up, leans in and kisses me.

Her mouth tastes pink and sweet like that girly drink she was drinking. She steps into me, all the way into me, so I can feel her pointy hard nipples pressed to me and when I put my palm up I can feel her heart galloping.

I kiss her back, but I find my bravery and I suck her tongue too. And then I wrap my hands to the sides of her slim waist and haul her forward. “Touch me, will you touch me?” she's whispering. “I've been watching you watch me all night and I just can't—”

So I touch her. I slide my hand into the cool well of the darkened pool and nudge my fingers under the lip of her sugary-colored bikini bottom. She is so unbelievably warm under my fingers and then around them as I thrust into her. Her body, feverishly hot on the inside, clamps
around me and her kiss turns so intense it borders on desperate.

I'm feeling a little desperate myself.

Her kiss is oscillating like a summer fan. Strong and needy…gentle and teasing. Back and forth, in and out, up and down, I can't keep time with my body or my head. I'm spinning, falling, flying.

I press my thumb to her clit and curl my fingers. Her little hands grip my shoulders as if she's holding on and she gives me her orgasm as sudden and sweet as an unexpected thunderstorm that is over before it's truly begun.

I keep kissing her and swallow her cries as I milk each flicker and spasm from her hot little cunt.

“God, god, god,” she says.

“You can just call me Sunny.” I laugh.

She grabs my neck, kisses me, tugs me under the cold water. All sound, all air, all light is gone for an instant and it is just me and Maggie in the echoing depths of water.

When we break the surface she whispers in my ear. “Come home with me, Sunny. I have dry clothes. I have wine. I have…an urge to reciprocate.”

My body hums with arousal, attraction, joy. Some things I haven't felt for a while. And as we climb free I turn to her and say, “Oh and hey, what
else
has my brother said? About me?”

She shrugs and those hard nipples poke the pale fabric of her bikini top. I want to suck them through the wet fabric and then bare them and suck them dry. “Just
that you are super smart and funny and talented and…”

“And?” I hand her a towel as Dan gives me a sideways grin from across the lawn.

That shit. He knows. He's no fool.

“That he thought we'd get along. Really well.”

“Smart man.”

SACCHI GREEN
is a Lambda award–winning writer and editor of erotica and other stimulating genres. Her stories have appeared in scores of publications, including seven volumes of
Best Lesbian Erotica
, four of
Best Women's Erotica
and three of
Best Lesbian Romance.
In recent years she's taken to wielding the editorial whip, editing or coediting seven lesbian erotica anthologies, most recently
Lesbian Cowboys
(winner of a Lambda Literary Award in 2010),
Girl Crazy
,
Lesbian Lust
and
Lesbian Cops
, all from Cleis Press
.
Sacchi lives in the Five College area of western Massachusetts, with frequent trips to the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and can be found online at sacchi-green.blogspot. com, FaceBook (as Sacchi Green,) and Live Journal (as sacchig).