Girls Next Door

by Sandy Lowe

  Charlotte’s huge breasts made her waist look smaller than it probably was. Despite their size, her breasts did not sag. Her left one was slightly larger than the right. I want to touch her, so why am I hesitating? Oh, to reach out and press my hands against her warm skin!

  Since Annie did not move first, Charlotte took over. I want her to make all the moves. Let her run the show. Let her dominate me.

  Charlotte moved back toward the couch and pressed Annie’s shoulders against the fabric. She knelt to her right and thrust her breasts into her face. Giving in to her arousal, Annie grasped both huge breasts in her hands. They were heavy, like balloons filled with beach sand and ocean water. She squeezed them gently and pressed her lips to the left one. The hard nipple was as thick as an eraser. Oh, my, they are perfect! Annie sucked harder and flicked her tongue back and forth across the nipple until it was brick red and grew to the size of a cork. Charlotte threw her head back and moaned.

  Two firm hands gripped Annie’s knees and spread her legs. She scooted her butt down until her cheeks hung over the edge of the couch. Lina’s mouth teased the downy underside of Annie’s thighs and soon found her moist pussy. A long tongue flicked roughly at her clit. Oh my, she knows just what to do to make me melt! Ready to burst, Annie’s legs tensed as she relished the feel of Lina’s tongue along her clit. Charlotte kneaded Annie’s breasts. Her head was thrown back; mouth open wide, gasping for air. Her firm breasts bounced with each quickening breath. A rosy flush flowed from Charlotte’s tanned face to her hard nipples. Lina’s fingers were buried in Annie’s pussy, and her thumb manipulated her clit. Her bicep bulged with her hand motions. All those muscles are so sexy, and I want more! Charlotte reached out one hand and ran her fingers through Lina’s hair. Lina’s face was flushed and moist. Annie had been too busy to notice that Lina had removed her clothing.

  As Lina tongued her clit, Charlotte massaged her own breasts, lifting each one as she pressed her fingers into her skin. She stared Annie directly in the eye and slid her right hand down to her pussy. Long fingers manipulated her clit and slid inside. Charlotte arched her back, tossed her head, and moaned with pleasure. Her body stiffened as Lina’s tongue drove passion home, and Charlotte cried out in both pain and pleasure at her own release. At the sight of the woman’s orgasm and Lina’s expert tongue doing its magical work. Annie’s own passion burst forth and she writhed on the couch, overwhelmed by her own pleasure. Her orgasm crested and then waned, and she collapsed in a heap against the couch.

  Lina then leaped up and nuzzled Charlotte’s breasts. She slid her lips along the curve of her jaw. When their mouths connected, they shared the same breath. The two nearly ate each other.

  Annie watched in awe. It was like observing a person making out with a mirror.

  They stopped at the same moment and looked at her. Something had passed between them that she did not catch. The two probably communicated by mental telepathy.

  Charlotte and Lina resumed their places next to Annie and at her feet. They enjoyed the quiet for several minutes. The pounding pulse in Annie’s throat tapered to a soft beat. She felt Charlotte’s hot fingers in the palm of her hand.

  “You two really have to leave this weekend?” Annie asked.

  “Yup,” said Lina. “We’re nomads.”

  A wave of sadness drifted over her. “I’m going to miss you.”

  Charlotte bolted into a seated position and poked Annie’s left breast with one sharp fingernail. “Why don’t you come with us? It’s only a week. Have you taken a vacation yet?”

  Annie laughed. “What’s a vacation? I haven’t had one in four years.”

  “Then it’s settled. This is so easy. Going with us shouldn’t be a big deal at all.”

  “You two sound like every day of the year is a vacation.”

  Charlotte’s laugh tinkled like a glass wind chime. “We never pass up a great trip to the beach. Too bad we’ll spend most of the time working. Maybe we can tack on an extra week down there just to goof off. Can you make it? Please?”

  Who could resist those doe eyes? Annie happily accepted. She had definitely spent the last few years loading herself with many unnecessary rules. Not anymore. The day before leaving, she ran to a local boutique and bought a few tropical-toned sundresses, blouses, tank tops, and shorts. No more underwear. She piled all of her scrappy bras and panties into a plastic bag and tossed them in the trash. She felt so lightweight with joy that she feared she’d float to the ceiling if she stood too quickly.

  Upon arriving on location for the movie shoot, they moved into a small apartment that overlooked sea cliffs. Windswept ocean breezes frizzled Annie’s thick red hair, which she wore loose and down her back in one long wave. No more braids and French twists. She wanted a mane.

  As the three of them unpacked their belongings and turned up the stereo (Kitaro, at Annie’s request), there came a loud knock at the door. The three of them looked at each other and laughed. They bolted en masse to the front door and opened it.

  A woman in her late thirties leaned on the door frame, looking quite exhausted. A seven-year-old girl danced in uninhibited circles in the hallway. The woman wore no wedding ring. Probably divorced. Annie looked from the woman’s weary face to the small chipped plate of Oreo cookies she held in her hands. Charlotte giggled in her ear. Annie felt a finger wiggling against the crack of her ass. She kicked Charlotte lightly on the shin.

  Annie looked directly into the woman’s eyes and gave her a big, warm smile.

  “Hi. Are you our neighbor?”

  Black Sheep

  Nell Stark

  I never gain weight over the holidays. It’s not for lack of trying—I have a soft spot for Christmas cookies, eggnog, and mountains of mashed potatoes—but since coming out to my family a few years back, I’ve had to exercise like a maniac just to stay sane for the one week a year when I’m under their roof again.

  So here I am, rounding the corner onto my parents’ street at the end of an hour’s jog, panting and sweaty despite the snow-scented air. Each breath spikes the bottom of my lungs in sharp, burning pricks that make me feel alive and strong. I don’t want to stop running, but I promised I’d be home in enough time to help Mom with dinner. Or rather, to chop veggies while listening to her rave on and on about this one guy student she has, “the kind of man I want you to marry,” she’ll say, even though I’ve told them over and over and over that I’m gay and I’m not sorry, and it’s not their fault or mine, it just is—

  I’m only dimly aware of a car passing on my right, but it catches my eye as it turns into the driveway next to the house that’s supposed to feel like mine but no longer does. The Jacobsens moved in a few years after we did, but seeing as their son was my age and their daughter as old as my younger brother—well, they became “part of the family” right away. I begin to speed up because I really don’t want to have to face down Mrs. J and her naive, solicitous questions, but then the door opens and out steps the kid. Meredith. Who isn’t really a kid anymore, seeing as she’s clearly just driven back from State after her exams, what with the big duffel and overflowing basket of dirty laundry taking up almost the entire backseat.

  When she sees me, she gives a shy little wave, but the eager smile on her face stops me from merely returning the gesture and blazing by. I pull up next to the car, quick breaths steaming.

  “Hi, Sabrina,” she says, swiping a few strands of dark hair out of her eyes. She’s looking up at me, of course—like she’s looked up at me thousands of times, with that sweet little grin that lets me know I’m still her hero—but all of a sudden, my ’dar starts pinging like I’m down in the hold of the goddamn Red October. I’m caught totally unawares, the sensation so strong that the skin on my arms actually starts to crawl. I’d probably take a step back if her car weren’t in my way—but as it is, I just blink a little and finally manage, “Hey, Mer.”

  Her eyes narrow slightly, and I wonder if I did something strange during that second of complete astonishment.
But when she doesn’t say anything, I shrug and point at the car. “Want some help with your stuff?”

  “Sure,” she replies, opening the door and dragging out the bag. As she’s rustling up her laundry, I catch sight of a cute little pair of bright purple panties—just a scrap of lacy material, really—that wouldn’t cover much of anything. My eyebrows try to climb into my hairline, because while I’ve known for years that Mer loves purple—purple hats, Popsicles, gumballs, sweaters, you name it—the fact that she now owns lingerie is just way too much to handle. Especially on top of the vibes she’s somehow giving off.

  But that’s impossible. Meredith Jacobsen can’t be gay. No way, no how. Clearly, my system is going haywire—probably a side effect of having to “straighten up” for the holidays.

  “How’s school?” I ask as I lug her bag toward the door. “And lax?” Because Mer is a damn good lacrosse player, despite her relatively petite stature—so good, in fact, that State recruited her and put her on the second string right away. I know all of this from my mother, who gives me regular updates on the golden girl next door just to make me feel guilty. She can’t stand it that little Meredith, who always looked up to me, actually turned out “better.”

  You just wish she were queer, I tell myself, taking care to step over the patches of ice on the driveway. It’d make you feel vindicated.

  “But I had a wicked hard psych final,” Mer is saying as I tune back in. I nod sympathetically and heave her bag up on the front porch while she fumbles for her keys. She fits one into the lock, pushes open the door, and beckons me inside.

  “Lacrosse is great, though,” she enthuses as I carefully set the duffel down on an immaculate hardwood floor. Her smile is still shy when she turns to face me again. “So, um, do you know what you’re doing after graduation?” Her eyes suddenly widen in alarm. “Or am I not supposed to ask that question?”

  “It’s okay.” Having to reassure her restores my confidence. I cross my arms and lean against the doorjamb. I may be the black sheep of my own family, but this kid still thinks I walk on water. “I’ve applied for a few teaching positions at private high schools, and to a master’s program in case that doesn’t work out.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.” Meredith rocks back and forth on her feet and jingles the change in her pocket in a clear display of nerves. She’s dressed in a hooded gray sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers, but somehow doesn’t look grungy in the slightest. Maybe it’s her hair—a perfect ponytail except for a few loose strands that frame her oval face. “You’d teach English?”

  “Yeah. And coach girls’ soccer, hopefully.”

  “Nice!” she exclaims, grinning and nodding. Suddenly, she seems very young. “That’s cool.”

  “Yeah.” I tilt my head toward the door. “Well, guess I’d better head home.”

  “Oh, sure,” she says, and lets me out. “Thanks for the help, Sabrina.”

  “See you tomorrow,” I tell her, flashing my trademark Endearing Grin as I step over the threshold. When she blushes, I get gobsmacked all over again by screaming gaydar. At least this time, I’m ready for it.

  Despite the cold, I walk slowly across our adjoining side yards. There’s some mighty weird shit going on in my brain, and all of a sudden, my head actually starts to hurt. I need a vacation—a real vacation, not this farce of one. It’s exhausting to walk around “my” house on pins and needles, knowing that my parents and brother think I’m some kind of lost soul. Exhausting to have to think over every single word I say lest I offend them. I’m tired and angry way, way down deep, and all I want to do is get back to campus, curl up in my bed, and sleep for a month.

  My car is right there, parked in the driveway. I could do it—just get in now and leave all of this behind. I could. But then again, it’s only been two years. Lots of families take longer than two years to reach some measure of acceptance—or so I’ve heard, anyway. I can be patient, at least for a little while. I can show them I love them and respect them, even though that means continuing to hide my true self from my entire hometown. If I just stick it out until they finally realize this isn’t a phase…well, maybe things will start to get better.

  I force my feet to walk around the house, and let myself into the kitchen. Time for those damn vegetables. At least the chopping will be cathartic.

  *

  When the doorbell rings, Mom is still angry that I’m refusing to wear a skirt for Christmas Eve dinner. She huffs a long sigh, smooths the skirt of her immaculate dress, and pirouettes gracefully on one heel to go greet the neighbors.

  “Saved by the bell,” I mutter under my breath. What I am wearing is black slacks and a pink oxford shirt with the cuffs rolled up to mid-wrist. I look hot and butch and I know it. So does Mom, and it bugs the hell out of her.

  I scrub one hand through my hair and settle my butt against the kitchen counter. The sound of my brother pounding down the stairs almost manages to drown out the squeal of Mrs. J’s high-pitched voice—but not quite. I start to sigh…but then Mer walks into the room and my breath gets all snarled up in the back of my throat. She’s wearing a short black skirt, black pumps, and a long-sleeved gold top that’s made out of some kind of shimmery material. It pulls just a bit across her breasts—and that’s it, that’s when I know I’ve gone off the deep end, because I’m standing here under the fluorescent lights of my mother’s kitchen, ogling Meredith Jacobsen’s breasts on Christmas Eve.

  She hesitates when she sees me, then flashes one of those shy little smiles. “Merry Christmas, Sabrina.”

  “Same to you,” I say, noting the hoarseness in my voice. Hoping I haven’t betrayed my arousal, I turn to the fridge. “Get you a drink?” I ask over my shoulder.

  “Sure. What are you having?”

  “Beer.” I sneak another look at her and can’t help wondering if she’s wearing those tiny purple panties under that skirt. The mental image makes my skin prickle, and I have to fight the urge to rub my arms.

  Her eyes flick toward the foyer where the rest of her family is lingering, then back to me. She shakes her head. “Mom’ll never let me get away with that,” she murmurs. Her voice is low and tight—frustrated.

  I don’t even stop to consider ethics. She sounds like I feel right about now—sick to death of having to pretend. Somehow, I’m not surprised. “Quick,” I tell her softly, “grab the rum. Cupboard down and to the left.”

  I snag a red and green plastic cup from the counter as she fishes the bottle out from the liquor cabinet. Our fingers brush as she hands it over, and I let the left corner of my mouth quirk in a grin. She watches the doorway for me as I pour a generous amount into the cup before stashing the bottle again—and I’m just topping it off with Coke as the rest of her family enters the kitchen.

  I hand her the cup, making sure to reconnect with her fingers in the process. Her nails are the same color as her shirt. They glitter. “There you go, Mer.”

  “Thanks, Sabrina.” She winks at me behind her father’s broad back.

  I turn to face the guests, tilt my head a little, and become Politeness Incarnate. “Merry Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Jacobsen. Merry Christmas, Derek. What can I get you all to drink?”

  It only takes me a few minutes to get Mr. and Mrs. J settled with a scotch and glass of white wine, respectively. Derek drinks beer, same as me. He’s tall and handsome, with dark hair that matches the color of his suit and a few freckles splayed across his patrician nose. I should be in love with him, but I’m not. We’re the same in more ways than he knows, and sometimes I wish I could tell him—because I can just see us, sharing a pitcher down at the local pub, arguing over which female celebrity is the fairest of them all. Getting drunk and saying too much about how women are so goddamn fucking beautiful. He used to be my best friend, and I miss him like hell. But I don’t dare say a word.

  I take a long pull off my beer as Mrs. Jacobsen asks me about my love life. “So, Sabrina,” she begins, perching on the edge of a stool. “Don’t be shy, now, and tell us
about your boyfriend.”

  My eyebrows arch involuntarily. What the fuck has my mother told this woman?

  “Boyfriend?” I ask carefully. Trying to remain nonchalant. Trying to resist the abruptly overwhelming impulse to chug my beer.

  Across the room, Meredith is frowning at her mother. My own mother is frowning at me. Derek is rolling his eyes, and Sammy—my younger sibling—looks like a deer caught in headlights. The fathers are expressionless.

  “There must be some dashing, athletic young man who has caught your eye,” Mrs. J continues, her voice rising in pitch as she imagines my passion for such a creature. “Perhaps a captain of one of the men’s teams?”

  I relax as I realize this is just a flight of fancy rather than something she’s been fed. Smiling sweetly at her, I shake my head and assume a sheepish grin. “Sorry to disappoint, Mrs. J—I’ve been far too busy with soccer and classes and applications to think about a relationship.”

  “And hey, don’t you think it’s time for the annual foosball match?” Derek cuts in, shooting me a sympathetic look. “Guys versus lose—I mean girls?” He’s smirking, but not unkindly. In fact, I almost want to kiss him for rescuing me from his mother’s interrogation. Almost.

  “Step into my parlor,” I reply, gesturing to the basement door. I turn to Mrs. J as the guys clomp down the stairs, and shrug. “Please excuse us,” I tell her. “Looks like Mer and I have some egos to knock down a few pegs.”

  Just then, Meredith glides past—and for some reason, her breasts brush against my upper arm as she begins the descent into the basement. I stop breathing until the touch of her hand on mine jolts me out of my shock. “Hey, let’s go,” she urges from a few stairs below. As I watch, she reaches up, twines her fingers with mine, and tugs. “They’re getting all warmed up down there!”

  “Yeah,” I manage to reply as she drags me down.