“Good. Now, a slow, deep breath.”
I did as she said. It was really getting hot in there.
“Exhale. And do it again.”
This was the most bizarre situation I’d ever found myself in, but I was too exhausted to complain. I breathed, Marissa smiled. I’d do anything for that smile, even take a steam bath in my less than pristine bathroom.
“Good. Keep breathing, I’ll be back in a minute.”
She didn’t give me a chance to ask her where she was going. I figured she was escaping the germ fest while she could. I was in no condition to wrestle her to the floor and have my way with her, not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.
She returned a few minutes later with what looked like half the contents of my spice rack in her hands. She deposited the glass bottles on the counter and began to line them up.
“What are you doing?”
She had her back to me and I found myself staring at her well-muscled, denim-covered ass. I was starting to feel better already.
“Just some herbs to add to the water.” She reached into the shower once more and put the stopper in the tub drain. Then she started picking up bottles one at a time and shaking the contents into the tub.
As the steam began to do its job, I recognized a few scents. Rosemary, at first. Then mint. Something that smelled spicy, but I couldn’t quite place it. Soon, the scents were blending together so that I couldn’t distinguish between them, but the mere fact that I could smell them at all was amazing.
“See, I told you,” Marissa said.
“Thanks.”
We stared at each other as the steam thickened and the scent of herbs filled the air. The whole thing was too surreal for words.
“Why are you delivering groceries?” I finally asked.
“I saw your name pop up on the list and I wanted to see you.”
Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. I suddenly forgot about being sick and her seeing me in my ratty bathrobe. “You did?”
She nodded. “I did.”
“Wow.”
She smiled. I was starting to get used to that smile. “You’re welcome.”
Now, if this had been my fantasy, she would have led me to bed and done wicked things to my body, but I guess the runny nose, grungy bathrobe and unwashed hair just wasn’t a very sexy combination. Half an hour after she had gotten to my house, Marissa kissed the top of my head and left me sitting in the bathroom. I could breathe again, but I was also horny—the real sign that I was feeling better. I was now a true believer in holistic dyke medicine.
By the time I returned to the market the following week, I was humming with sexual tension. I needed to get laid. More importantly, I needed Marissa to do the job. Instead of throwing me against the papaya display and fucking me senseless, she only smiled at me and kept stacking bags of carrots.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
“Hi.” I stood there, wondering if I should ask her out. Wondering why she didn’t ask me out. “Thanks for your, um, advice last week. You were right, I felt much better.”
She nodded and turned back to her carrots. “I’m glad. Told you it would help.”
“Right.” I wandered away, wondering if maybe I had imagined the entire thing after all.
Two more weeks went by and the same thing happened. Marissa was nice, polite, friendly. Problem was, I wanted the sexy dyke who had come to my apartment and I wanted to be healthy and full of energy the next time she got there.
I concocted a plan. It was childish and pathetic, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
On the day before my usual Saturday trip to the market, I signed online and placed another grocery order. My entire list consisted of items from the produce department. If Marissa was working, she’d see my name. And maybe, if I was lucky, my greengrocer would be back to give me a different kind of steam.
At 4:45 on Saturday afternoon, there was a knock at the door. My heart hammered in my chest even while I was trying to convince myself not to get too worked up because it might not be Marissa. But when I opened the door, there was Marissa smiling at me.
“Not feeling well?”
“No, I feel fine—” I stumbled over my excuse. “I’ve just been busy.”
She just grinned.
I moved out of the doorway and gestured back toward the kitchen, as if she’d never been in my apartment before. “You can put them on the table.”
I followed her, my entire body throbbing. “Um, I really didn’t—uh—I was hoping to see you again,” I said, rushing through the words so that they barely made sense to my own ears. “I mean, it’s nice to see you again.”
Marissa set the groceries on the table and looked at me. Her eyes were so dark they seemed bottomless, yet they sparkled with humor. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”
Clearly, she had no intention of making this easy for me. “About the last time you were here…”
“Yes?”
“Was there something between us, or was that just the cold medicine?”
Her smile faded and she got an intense expression: pure sensuality, exuding lust and sex and confidence. It was a heady combination and I gripped the edge of the table for dear life.
She took a step closer to me and leaned forward just a bit. “What do you think?” she whispered.
“I think if you don’t kiss me soon, I might just have a relapse.” I was tired of playing games. I wasn’t getting any younger.
She put her hands on my shoulders, drawing me closer until our bodies were touching, chest to chest, hip to hip. Then she was kissing me.
It wasn’t a first kiss. Hell, it wasn’t a second, third, or fourth kiss, either. It was the kind of kiss you give someone you’ve been fucking for a while, but not so long you’re used to each other. When the heat and throb are still insistent and you’re both always needy. That kind of kiss.
She was groping my ass before the first kiss even ended. In my premeditation, I had made sure to wear a skirt. I was also wearing panties, but I didn’t really think about that fact until they were somewhere down around my knees. I wasn’t quite sure how she’d made that move, but I didn’t complain because she was stroking my cunt and nibbling my bottom lip as if someone had given her a road map of my body with the erogenous zones marked as points of interest.
When I was thoroughly kissed and dripping wet from her fingers working between my thighs, she pulled away. “Is that what you had in mind?”
I blinked at her, waiting until I regained some feeling in my lips to speak. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
I ran my tongue over my lips. “I’m kind of old-fashioned.”
She looked skeptical. “Does that mean I have to take you out to dinner before I can fuck you?”
I grabbed a fistful of her T-shirt and dragged her closer. “You’ve already brought me dinner. We can move on.”
“Good.”
She wrapped her hands around my waist and backed me up against the kitchen table. Thankfully it’s one of those heavy, butcher-block style tables that can withstand a hell of a lot of weight and motion, which was what I hoped she had in mind.
With one hand on my hip, she gently pushed me back on the table until I was lying flat with my legs hanging off. I could feel my panties sliding the rest of the way down to my ankles and I kicked them off. I lay there waiting for her to slide her fingers into me, but it didn’t happen.
I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at her. She was going through the grocery bag on the table.
“Um, hello?” I wiggled my fingers at her. “Remember me?”
“I haven’t forgotten. Hold on.” She pulled out a pint of raspberries and a pint of blackberries.
“Hungry?” I snapped.
Her grin was feral. “Oh, yes.”
That was enough to make me lie back down. Whatever she was up to, I was pretty sure I was going to enjoy it.
Marissa walked over and s
tood between my spread legs. She looked into my eyes, rather than between my legs, which automatically earned her a couple bonus points and made me whimper with impatience.
“I love blackberries,” she said, softly. It was the single most erotic thing I’ve ever heard a woman say.
“Me too.”
I closed my eyes as I felt her kneel between my legs. I waited for the feel of her tongue, but it never came. Instead, I felt something cool against my cunt. It took a moment for it to register in my lust-filled brain that she was pushing the blackberries into me.
“Hey, wait,” I said, struggling to prop myself up on my elbows. “I don’t think that’s a—”
“Sshh,” she murmured, sliding the berries in deeper. “Don’t think, just relax.”
It seemed silly to argue while her fingers were in my cunt, so I lay back and tried to relax. The berries tickled. Or maybe it was the juice that tickled. Or was that my juice? I couldn’t really tell anymore.
Marissa braced her hands on my thighs and breathed against my cunt. “Mmm, you smell like a briar patch.”
It sounded like a compliment. I was from Miami, home of strip malls, highways, and parking garages, so I wasn’t sure.
She stood and the bag rustled again. I tried to remember what I’d ordered. Raspberries, blackberries, strawberries. Blueberries? I couldn’t remember. I kept my eyes closed and felt Marissa between my legs again.
“You like berries.”
“They’re good for you,” I muttered, flinging my arm over my eyes to avoid the embarrassment. I could feel my cheeks flush hotly as she began sliding more fruit into my already juicy cunt.
It didn’t take long before I was filled. I felt like a Christmas goose, stuffed and spread out on the table, a banquet. It should have been embarrassing, but funny things were happening down below. My cunt tingled. It felt full and bloated, but it also felt hot and aroused.
Marissa knelt again between my legs. This time I felt the hot, slick wetness of her tongue slide across my cunt. I could hear her slurping the juice, berry juice, cunt juice. I shivered and grabbed the edge of the table. Another lick and I was arching my back and pushing my cunt into her mouth.
She pushed two fingers into me, berries and juice squeezing out of my cunt around her twisting fingers. I was a human juicer. I giggled as wet, squishy noises filled the air. She kept fucking me until my giggles turned to moans, her hand anchoring my thigh to keep me from bouncing off the table. I was a bountiful harvest of berries, being fucked on my kitchen table by the queen of produce. Who knew healthy living could be so much fun?
I whimpered and moaned and thrashed as Marissa fucked me, fucked the fruit right out of me, as I rocked the wooden legs of the table until I was sure it would collapse beneath my weight. Marissa sucked my clit between her lips as she finger-fucked me and the combination of sensations drove me over the edge. I gripped her head between my thighs and screamed.
In a rush of juice, I came. Hard. My cunt contracted around Marissa’s fingers and I gasped as the odor of fresh, sweet berries filled my senses. She sighed and lapped gently at my cunt as berries dribbled out of me and the ripples of my orgasm faded.
Marissa pulled me off the table and we fell in a heap on the floor, the table creaking with relief. I laughed, then she laughed, stroking any part of my body she could reach. I could still feel the berries and juice trickling out of me and I couldn’t stop giggling. Thank god for tile flooring.
I pulled her berry-stained mouth down to mine for a kiss as I worked my hand down the front of her jeans. “That was pretty fucking intense,” I murmured against her lips.
She sucked my bottom lip into her mouth and I could taste the juices of the fruit and my own cunt. “Wait until you see what I bring you tomorrow.”
AFTER LUNCH
Kathleen Warnock
The small town of Danbury really couldn’t be considered a bedroom community for Chicago, Rebecca thought. It had taken her two hours to get there by train, and if she were going to consider a move to the suburbs, it would have to be much closer.
She would tell the realtor that, if the woman ever showed up. In the meantime, she waited at the Danbury Café, a small but clean-looking place that served greasy sandwiches. She didn’t eat much red meat, but she hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning and the smell of fried onions and the heaping plates around her tipped the scale in favor of a shot of fat and cholesterol. She signaled the waitress, who was chatting with the cook, a heavyset woman with dark hair.
“Get off your ass and see what she wants, Babe,” the cook ordered.
“What can I do ya for, hon?” the waitress asked with a grin, flipping open her pad. She wore an apron over jeans and a flannel shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She had a big grin, and her dark eyes smiled as well.
“What’s the special?” Rebecca asked.
“Well, there’s the burger,” Babe said. “Then there’s the burger deluxe. And, for you, we have the burger deluxe with a side of Tums.”
“I think I’ll have the burger,” Rebecca said.
“Hey Sissy,” Babe called back to the kitchen. “Catch something that’s running around back there, smack it on the head, and put it on a roll!”
“I don’t suppose you have whole wheat?” Rebecca asked. She was enjoying this. She didn’t joke easily, and wished she knew how to banter. She thought, given the chance, she could be funny.
“What do you think this is, San Francisco?” Babe sassed back. “Out here in the heartland, there’s only one kind of bread: white!”
Rebecca’s phone went off, and she answered it to hear a breathless explanation from the realtor: flat tire…miles from a garage…tow truck on the way…. Rebecca told her not to bother. She looked around at the luncheonette, wishing it were a bit closer to home. Babe was joking with another customer; the cook shouted to them over her grill. The customers were a mix of men who looked like truckers and mechanics, and…a lot of women. There was at least one couple holding hands and sharing their French fries.
“Is this a lesbian restaurant?” Rebecca asked.
“It’s a restaurant for anyone who wants a sandwich,” Babe clarified. “The only rule is, you don’t bother the other customers. Some folks, you know, if they tried to hold hands, say, at any other restaurant in town, they might get hassled…but no one tries any of that here. My sister back there…,” she indicated the kitchen, “is pretty good with the bat we keep behind the counter. And I used to be a cop. I can still take a man down if I have to. Or a woman,” she said in a totally different tone.
“It sounds like my kind of restaurant,” Rebecca said. She eyed Babe’s tan arm, the muscles sliding smoothly under her rolled-up sleeves.
“I ain’t gonna walk it out to her, Babe!” Sissy called from the kitchen. Unsure of the etiquette, Rebecca sprang from her stool to go and get her own food just as Babe wheeled around to return to the counter. The two women collided awkwardly, and Babe caught at her to keep her from falling.
“Sorry, hon!” the waitress said. “You sit down, I’ll bring your burger.”
“You’re strong,” Rebecca breathed. Babe’s grip had been sure but not painful. Pleasant and hard across Rebecca’s breasts.
“Here…your food,” Babe replied, blushing deeply before stepping away for the order and hurrying back. “I didn’t meant to, uh…I mean, no personal contact intended…uh…I was just trying to keep you from…”
“Falling,” Rebecca said. “Thank you, and no, I won’t sue you.” Babe looked relieved. “Unless I get food poisoning. I’m Rebecca.” Babe let out a loud guffaw, and a smaller giggle, and reached to shake her hand.
“So you used to be a police officer?” Rebecca asked. Babe semiperched on the stool next to her.
“Yeah, I really liked it,” she said. “But I got hurt. With my bad back, I couldn’t pass the physical anymore.” Babe looked quite fit to Rebecca.
“This is very good,” she told Babe. “May I have a napkin?” Babe si
lently handed her one, and Rebecca wiped her lips. “What did you do after you left the force?”
“I drove a long-haul truck, and I liked that, too.” Butcher and butcher, Rebecca thought. She liked that in a woman.
“Then I got pregnant, and married, you know, had to stay home with my kid…,” Babe went on. Rebecca glanced quickly at her hand. No wedding ring.
“Then I got divorced. My sister and me opened this little dump and it can be fun. We almost make a living.”
Sissy came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron.
“So in case you’re, like, wondering how to tell us apart, I’m the straight one, and Babe’s the one who likes you, but is a little bit of a chicken.” Babe turned red, and slugged her sister in the shoulder—hard enough for it to hurt, Rebecca thought.
She couldn’t think of anything else to say, then came up with: “What’s your coffee like?”
“It ain’t Starbucks,” Sissy declared. “You still want a cup?”
Rebecca nodded.
After the lunch rush, Babe offered to show Rebecca around town in her pickup. In the bits of conversation they’d been able to grab, she’d been trying to convince Rebecca that the commute to the city wasn’t that long. Rebecca didn’t believe her, but she liked that the other woman wanted her near.
Rebecca had some trouble climbing into the pickup, so Babe reached over and pulled her in, and Rebecca was embarrassed at her own awkwardness. Babe steadied her and patted her knee lightly. Sissy, who’d whispered something to Babe just before they got in the truck, waved gaily after them. Rebecca asked what she’d said.
“Sissy said she didn’t know if you were just slumming or I was overreaching but she hoped we’d have fun,” Babe told her, busily adjusting the rearview mirror.
“Do you think I’m slumming?” Rebecca asked.
“Well, I like to think I have something to offer,” Babe said, with the nervous smile she’d flashed a few times already. “I own a business and a home, I’m a responsible parent. I don’t know if I have anything in common with you but…”
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