Girl Crazy

by Sacchi Green

  We barely survived the three-week run of Rumors, thanks to my stubborn lovesick melodrama. When I wasn’t shooting Mari evil glances across the wings, I was wrenching my arm from her grip backstage whenever she tried to draw me into a civilized conversation. But in the end, Mari was right. I needed time—time to part ways with Jason, to reconcile my own feelings and begin the coming-out process, all of which I needed to do on my own.

  Mari’s right about a lot of things and never one to gloat. Yet for some reason she’s enjoyed reminding me of our Rumors days on every anniversary for the past five years.

  GETTING IT

  Jean Roberta

  Two young women sat in the bar of an old, crumbling hotel. The beer-soaked wooden floor creaked under their feet, the bartender watched football on the television, a fat woman with brass-colored hair held hands with a bony man with a knife-scar on his cheek, and three men argued in low voices, their heavy rings flashing in the dim light. Outdoors, traffic swished past under a distant summer moon.

  For the two young women, drinking in this bar was an adventure. Anything could happen here. “What are you afraid of?” asked Liane, brushing long black hair off her peach-toned face.

  Peggy looked into Liane’s deep brown eyes and then looked away. “Him and his friends. Getting killed.”

  “Understandable. But you had the guts to leave, girl, don’t forget.” Liane’s expression was a cocktail of sympathy, interest, and desire. She sipped her margarita as though tasting fresh nectar from a woman she wanted. Liane’s blue latex dress gleamed in the dim light, and the black-painted fingernails tapping out a rhythm on her glass were like shiny dancing beetles. “You must have had good times with him before he turned on you.”

  Peggy was pink-cheeked, red-haired, and voluptuous like a farmer’s daughter in a dirty joke or a woman warrior in a video game. Her breasts filled her cotton blouse, confronting all comers. She looked as if she belonged in an open field. The flush on her face was as charming as the creamy pallor of her cleavage. “It was—yeah, incredible. We did things I hadn’t done before. I—it was both of us. But then he’d pick fights with me over nothing and do things to get back at me. I couldn’t stop him.”

  Liane licked her red lips. “Do you have bad dreams about him?”

  Peggy leaned forward. “I can’t get it out of my mind. Sometimes I don’t want to fall asleep.”

  “Baby.” Liane reached forward and held Peggy’s nearest hand. “Do you trust me, girl?”

  For an instant, Peggy looked trapped. Her eyes roamed from her rum-and-coke to the window on the street. She looked at Liane and laughed. “No. Hell no, Liane. You’re not innocent. I mean, neither am I. I don’t know who I could trust.”

  “I’m a woman like you, Peggy. So you know I’m different from a guy.” Liane raised an eyebrow, and Peggy laughed. “You want a change, don’t you? I could give you what you want. What did he do to you? What happens over and over in your dreams?”

  Peggy stared and tried to pull her hand away, but Liane tightened her grip. “No,” Peggy said.

  “Think about it. What do you think would drive your night-mares away?”

  Peggy shifted uncomfortably on a hard wooden chair. Liane knew her well enough to recognize the look on her face. Liane enjoyed breathing in her own signature perfume mixed with the musk from her armpits, and she knew it was the best smell available to Peggy in the stale air of the bar. “Want me, girl?”

  “Oh, god.” It was almost a whisper. Peggy seemed overwhelmed by unexpected desire. Liane gazed steadily at her, and then flicked a glance around the room.

  One of the three men was staring at her and Peggy, sizing them up.

  “You’ll be a lot safer with me.” It was a quiet but confident warning. “Let’s go.”

  The two women stood up, and Liane wrapped an arm around Peggy’s waist to guide her securely to the exit. Peggy’s skin felt damp and cool, but Liane knew that the crotch of her pants must be damp and hot.

  Coming out of the bar felt like coming out of the closet, leaving the funk of past pain behind and welcoming the fresh air of new experience. Liane and Peggy both loved the moment when they were going somewhere together and not just being watched by men. Each time they took this trip felt like the first.

  Outdoors on the sidewalk, Peggy looked up and down the street. “We’re not being followed,” Liane told her. “Hold on to a little of that fear, though. It’ll keep you focused.” She wrapped a toned arm around Peggy’s shoulders to lead her forward.

  Liane’s car was parked a block away. When Peggy slid into the passenger seat, Liane knew that she had signed on for the rest of the trip.

  Liane pulled smoothly into traffic, feeling as if she were bringing a captive wild animal home to be nursed back to health. Peggy’s energy filled the car.

  Liane’s cozy apartment on the tenth floor of a venerable building offered a sweeping view of the city. As she and her guest rose in the elevator, Liane grinned. “It’s like living at the top of a very high tree, or a mountain cave. No one can get you up there except me.”

  Peggy pressed her sweaty breasts against Liane’s. They stood entwined, soft lips clinging together, as they went up, up, up, exchanging breath and saliva.

  Liane unlocked the door to her lair. The curtains at the window were open, letting in natural and artificial light from the moon and the nearest building. The shadowy apartment was as full of soft, fancy cushions as a sultan’s harem. “Throw yourself down anywhere, Peggy,” she invited. She pushed Peggy gently and then a little harder. Peggy pushed back. They both laughed, trying to make each other land on the overstuffed burgundy sofa.

  Peggy defended herself by wiggling two fingers down the décolletage of Liane’s latex dress, into the moist cleft between her girlish breasts. The dress itself resisted Peggy’s fingers like a suit of armor.

  Liane squirmed out of Peggy’s grip and landed a good slap on her behind, wanting Peggy to feel it under the tight denim that covered her cheeks. Peggy squealed and tried to retaliate. Both women fell together onto the sofa, which held them like quicksand.

  Wrestling turned into kissing as Liane lay atop Peggy, one of her knees wedged between Peggy’s thighs, tormenting her wet slit. “Scared?” asked Liane, nibbling Peggy’s earlobe.

  “Not of you!”

  Liane grinned and unbuttoned Peggy’s blouse from the top down, exposing generous breasts spilling out of her flower-print cotton bra. Liane wrapped her arms around Peggy to reach the bra-hooks at her back. With a quick pull, she slid the straps off Peggy’s shoulders, releasing her hard red nipples to the air.

  Peggy wouldn’t look her in the eyes, but the embarrassment of exposure was clearly heightening her arousal. Liane bent down like a pecking bird to give each of her nipples a quick kiss.

  Liane could see beads of sweat shimmering on Peggy’s face and upper chest in a shaft of light from the window. Peggy’s breath blew strands of Liane’s hair away from her neck. “I could stop,” offered Liane. “Just tell me when.”

  Peggy moved steadily against Liane’s hard knee, rocking her clit rhythmically against it. Peggy’s jeans and Liane’s sheer tights added texture and friction. Liane suspected that Peggy was close to losing control.

  “Don’t—stop.” Peggy’s breathy voice caressed Liane’s ears. Peggy grabbed Liane’s nearest hand with its dangerous-looking black claws, and brought them to the soaked denim at her crotch.

  Liane laughed softly and pulled down the zipper of Peggy’s jeans. Then she held the sturdy fabric and helped as Peggy shimmied to free herself from her clothing. Liane imagined how she herself must look in her slick dress and masklike makeup, seducing a naked, breathless woman whose clothing lay scattered on the floor. Liane wondered if a superstitious Christian would mistake her for the Scarlet Whore of Babylon, or at least see her as evidence that a reign of appalling perversity was on its way. She certainly hoped so.

  Peggy seemed to read her mind. “Frank,” she huffed, “can go to hell.”


  Liane smiled down at Peggy’s moving, womanly flesh. “He can go there with no help from us. Is that all you want?”

  Peggy groaned as if her cunt would die of starvation if it wasn’t fed soon. “Do it, Liane! What you—told me about.”

  “Mm. You’ll be spoiled for anything else, babe.” Liane reached for the purse that she had dropped on the low coffee table. Her slim, clawed fingers dug into jingling chaos, and emerged holding a small metal vibrator.

  Peggy spread her legs apart, reaching for Liane. The svelte woman in the slick dress stuck her tongue out between red lips and licked at the slit covered in damp, curly, rust-colored hair. With one hand, Liane gently opened Peggy’s lower lips, and used the tip of her tongue to probe Peggy’s swollen clit.

  “Aaohhh,” moaned Peggy.

  “Feel like a lesbian yet?” taunted the seductress. She turned on the vibrator at medium speed, and guided it into a slick, fragrant center. While aiming for Peggy’s G-spot, Liane lowered her face to Peggy’s clit and sucked it into her mouth. She used her tongue to mimic the rhythm of the vibrator in its new home.

  Peggy made sounds that Liane had never heard from her before. She erupted like a geyser, gushing hot liquid. She hung on to Liane as well as she could with trembling arms.

  Afterward, Liane stroked Peggy’s hair and kissed her mouth, feeling her heartbeat and her breathing slowing down to a normal rate. Liane was tempted to sing a lullaby, but she was too excited to fall asleep herself. Peggy snuggled against her like a puppy, and pulled Liane tighter against her every time the restless woman shifted position.

  “You’re one of us now.” Liane spoke into the pink shell of Peggy’s closest ear.

  “That was amazing.” Peggy lay sprawled like a boneless sea-creature.

  “But you still haven’t told me,” persisted Liane. She imagined herself as Woman Warrior’s nemesis in a video game, jumping with lightning speed in front of her, behind, or approaching from the side, whichever would give her the greatest advantage.

  “What?” Peggy sounded as trusting as a child.

  “What he did to you just before you left. The things you can’t get out of your mind. I bet you couldn’t believe he would really go that far after he had seemed so nice. How he could just ignore you when you were saying no and please and stop it. How he could rip your clothes off when you weren’t expecting it, and tell you it was all your fault. How he seemed like a totally different person, and you didn’t know how to bring back the one who cared about you.”

  Peggy curled in on herself. “You seem to know it all, Liane. What do you want me to say?”

  “What you’re afraid of since then. Where you don’t even want to touch yourself because it would bring back awful memories.” Liane held Peggy from behind, breathing into her hot scalp.

  Peggy turned her head awkwardly to make herself heard, but she wouldn’t turn fully around to face her tormentor. “Okay, but promise you won’t do it. I really don’t want it, Liane.”

  “I promise, honey. I want to help you, not make it worse.”

  “He fucked me in the ass. That was his thing. The first time I actually let him because I didn’t know how much it would hurt. After that, he wouldn’t stop because he said I needed to get used to it, but I never did. There. Now are you happy?”

  “Not happy that he hurt you, Peggy. Did he use lots of lube?”

  “Just juice from my—you know.”

  “I bet he didn’t spend lots of time warming you up, either, did he? Talking to your shy little rosebud and tickling it with a finger or a plug?”

  Peggy snorted in dismissal.

  Liane couldn’t bear to stay in her clothes. “Wait a sec. I’m overdressed for this conversation.”

  She stood up to take off her dress. She felt marinated in her own sweat, and her skin needed to breathe.

  Peggy watched over her shoulder as Liane peeled off her shiny outer shell. Liane hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her tights and rolled them down her legs along with her black lace panties.

  Liane turned her back on Peggy, shook her behind, bent over, and looked at her from between her legs. She was flexible as an eel, and hoped her pose could hold the attention of a woman who was still recovering from a fabulous fuck and an ugly memory.

  Peggy laughed, sat up, and opened her arms for Liane. The thin woman danced away to a corner hutch with wineglasses in it, glass behind glass. Light from the window bounced from one reflecting surface to the next as Liane made herself invisible by crouching down into shadows.

  She opened a drawer and stood up, holding a tube. She came back to Peggy, grinning. “You wouldn’t hurt me, would you, girlfriend?” Liane shook her dark, wavy hair over her shoulders as Peggy pulled her forward by the waist. “Can you guess what I want?”

  Peggy looked interested but unsure.

  “My turn, Peggy. I bet you could give it to me.” Liane looked into Peggy’s eyes, willing her to trust her own feelings. Peggy held her and gave her a long, slow kiss with lots of tongue.

  Liane reluctantly pulled her mouth away to catch her breath. “This is lube,” she explained, pushing it into the hand that reached for it. “It smoothes the way for all kinds of good stuff. You know where.”

  Peggy chuckled as if she could hardly believe her luck. She held Liane by the shoulders and used her tongue to leave a long wet snail-track from her collarbone to a point between her breasts, and then to each perky nipple.

  Liane was impatient. “Sit here,” she ordered, standing up. Then she spread herself luxuriously across Peggy’s lap, her wet crotch pressing into Peggy’s solid thighs, and her ass raised up in the moonlight.

  “Ahh,” sighed Liane. Her hips pumped steadily, working up a rhythm.

  Peggy took the hint and reached between Liane’s legs to find her clit. Peggy petted it with teasing gentleness. “You’ll get it, honey,” she promised. “On my terms.”

  Those terms were agreeable. Liane squirmed and sighed as Peggy tickled and stroked. “Nice ass.” She raised one arm and slapped each of Liane’s sassy cheeks. Peggy stroked the olive skin that showed a faint pink blush on each mound. Liane’s puckered back opening felt the heat of Peggy’s gaze before a finger massaged it. Cool, slick lube was patiently pushed inside. It eased the way for Peggy to challenge the ring of muscle and insert her finger beyond the first knuckle.

  Liane could feel sparks radiating throughout her guts from the site of the delicious invasion. “Ohh, babe, don’t stop. I’m yours.”

  Peggy’s hands were hot and damp on Liane’s lower cheeks. The finger spiraled deeper into a snug channel.

  Peggy kept adding lube. She added another finger to explore Liane’s depths. Liane moaned loudly enough to let the novice ass-fucker know that she was on—and in—the right track.

  Liane was floating, but she knew she couldn’t stay in that space for long. An explosion was overdue. Liane heard the buzz before she felt her own vibrator, on the lowest setting, being pushed steadily into her ass. She came hard, moving so wildly on Peggy’s legs that she could barely be held in place. Peggy withdrew the magical toy, and held Liane until she stopped shaking.

  Liane slid up, feeling open and liquid. It was the way she thought a mermaid would feel, gliding through the ocean. “Honey,” she said, “you’re so good. It’s so good. I know you feel me.” She could feel Peggy smiling.

  Liane had lost count of the times she had met Peggy in the bar where danger hung in the air, brought her home, and had her way with her. Lesbian cherry-busting was still their favorite game, even now that Peggy’s ex-husband was out of the picture. Liane hoped Frank was learning new games in prison.

  Tonight, Peggy had found a new path, a dark tunnel with light at the end of it. Liane knew she would want to go back there again, and check out all the angles. Sweet.

  THE OLDEST VIRGIN

  Shain Everett

  My cell phone vibrates. You have an unread message. It’s ten o’clock on a Sunday night, and freezing outside, b
ut not freezing enough to snow because this is San Francisco, so a halfassed gray rain lazily smears the bedroom window. I’m lying on my bed in my underwear, bored, tired of T-Bo and IMing. I’m wondering if my dad left any weed in his sock drawer before he fucked off to Hawaii with his girlfriend for two weeks. Wafts of warm air billow around my arm as I reach for my phone because I’ve jacked the heat in the apartment for days. Who says I can’t enjoy the tropics too, eh Pops?

  The message is only two words. Come over. Then an address somewhere in the Tenderloin. I go back a few screens to find out who it’s from, pretending I don’t already know.

  You wouldn’t guess by her name that everyone wants to bang Beverly. I mean, come on, Beverly? It’s not exactly a hot name, not like Van-ess-a, which is so dripping you might as well be saying Pus-sy. Or Anna (sultry, with a little vroom-vroom to it), or even Kate (straightforward fucking). Beverly is not easily whispered against someone’s neck as the hot stars of your orgasm creep up from your toes and explode. But the minute you see her, Beverly, it stops being your grandma’s middle name and becomes the sweetest, sexiest damn thing you’ve ever heard.

  At least, that’s what the guys that want to fuck her think, and there are lots of them. Or at least there were, when Beverly went to my high school. You should’ve seen them, the first day of school, circling her like oversexed apes: fresh meat! Beverly, she stood out, even I could see that, in the ever-swirling shit pot of our inner-city high school. First off, she was tiny—despite the towering heels of her fuck-me boots, only about five feet—but her perfectly proportioned body (perfect tits, tiny waist, bubble ass) made her look like a disturbingly erotic Bratz doll. Almond-shaped, gold-brown eyes, and Angelina Jolie lips without the collagen injections. Cap all that off with a sparkly diamond-stud nose piercing and a sheet of straight black hair down her back, and you know that everybody with a dick within a ten-mile radius was tripping over his hard-on.

  But instead of gathering around the vending machine to discuss who would ask her to the prom, dudes at my high school got their kicks by getting high in their cars and cruising the lunch yard with baseball bats to watch everyone scatter: Ha ha! In other words, they were not exactly skilled at dating. Instead, some dudes sucked their teeth and hissed “Mamacita,” as she walked to the bathroom, and some called her a frosty bitch, and then left notes stuck in the gills of her locker with their MySpace addresses. Everybody else just stared. Beverly ignored them all, only looking long enough to deem them “boys,” not like the “real men” she preferred to ball back in her old neighborhood.