#SandyBottom

by Alexi Venice

  Fair enough. For the first time, Jen noticed the dogs were absent as well. She poured coffee, picked up the mug and studied it more closely. “Best Lover” was bracketed by tiny riding crops, and on the back side of the mug was a design. After studying it for a few seconds, she assumed it was the BDSMblem. She loosely recalled it from kink shops in San Francisco that she and Amanda had wandered into many moons ago—long before Kristin was born.

  Jen and her underworld mug of coffee exited the dining room sliding door onto an expansive deck where large pots of flowers scented the warm air. The sun was burning intensely, and the sky was clear, promising another hot day. A hummingbird feeder hung from the soffit and had an iridescent, green male feeding at it, so Jen froze for a few seconds to watch it. After it flew off, she curled up on an outdoor sofa and inclined her head back to take in the welcome, morning sunshine. After thawing from Victoria’s cold house, she picked up her phone and googled the BDSMblem.

  She read that it was based on the Celtic Triskele design, but quickly discovered that not all Triskeles were BDSMblems. She compared the examples on the website to her cup. It had a black interior with silver designs—meeting the strict criteria outlined on the website: (1) rims and spokes of a metal color like gold, iron or silver; (2) spokes of a uniform width and rotating clockwise; (3) black inner fields; and (4) the three holes in the black fields had to be truly holes and not just dots. God forbid dots appear where holes should be.

  Sex symbols apparently have standards too. She admired the attention to fine detail, refocusing on the three arms curving out from the center of the design, merging into the encompassing circle. There was a rotational symmetry to the design that reminded her of the dualism of the Yin and Yang symbol, but she was certain she’d be excoriated by the BDSM community for even thinking that. Yin and yang versus BDSM? No contest! Nonetheless, the visual similarity was obvious, the BDSM symbol having three, instead of two, swirlies. It was a yin-yang-bang type of deal.

  She found herself gingerly drinking from the mug, as if unintentionally entering the BDSM world by tasting the fruits of coffee from a mug bearing its symbol. Feeling waaay outside her comfort zone and depth, she wondered, Do I even want to learn more about BDSM?

  Suddenly, her mind recalled the same image from the koozie Victoria had provided for Jen’s beer on their boat ride. She had been preoccupied with all-things-politeness at the time, but now she remembered briefly staring at the emblem, recognizing it but not registering it. She knew it would eventually come to her and it had, leaving Jen curious about how many places Victoria had the yin-yang-bang plastered. She’s really into this.

  As if on cue while Jen contemplated activities about which she knew absolutely nothing , Victoria threw open the sliding door and came out with Augie and Reggie on her heels.

  “Good morning.” Victoria and Augie bestowed kisses on Jen. Reggie, the poodle with the slimy tongue, on the other paw, hung back. He seemed distant after Jen’s shocked rebuff last night.

  After the smooches, Jen asked, “Did you have a nice walk?”

  Victoria opened and drank from a can of Coke Zero. “Yes. They were feeling a little neglected since we closed the door to the bedroom last night, so I gave them some attention.”

  “Probably for the best, given Reggie’s obvious attraction to me.”

  Victoria laughed.

  Jen patted the lab on the head but kept a wary eye on randy Reggie. He seemed content to sit a pawsbreadth away from her, not seeking any attention, but she’d keep her eye on him in case he launched a surprise attack. Those black eyes!

  “I apologize if I’m keeping you from work,” Jen said.

  “Nonsense.” Victoria waved her off. “I have flexibility built into my schedule. The business can open and operate without me today.” She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  Jen’s lips stretched into a polite smile but at a reduced temp from last night. “I won’t keep you all day. I thought I’d head out after breakfast if that works for you.”

  Victoria’s aquiline features turned into a modest pout, accentuated by the tightness of her severe ponytail. “Your wish is my command. Are you hungry?”

  “Maybe when I finish my coffee.” Jen paused and turned her mug, so the BDSMblem faced Victoria. “Learned something new today.”

  Victoria inclined her chin in a question. “Like what you see?”

  Jen shrugged. “I liked last night, but I’m not sure that I’m ready for…shall we say…the next level.”

  Victoria’s tight features relaxed. “I’m just happy you liked last night. No need to think about anything heavier. I really enjoyed myself too.” She adjusted her stance, allowing her gaze to travel admiringly over Jen.

  Despite the bondage tones, Jen felt the sting of carnal tease. Victoria had a way of exciting Jen’s basest desires. Aura. That’s what it was. Victoria had a sexual aura about her that excited as well as frightened.

  “You look beautiful in the morning sunlight,” Victoria said, moving to the loveseat and sitting next to Jen. She ran her knuckles down Jen’s bicep.

  “Thank you.” Jen felt anything but beautiful in her casual flannel and jeans.

  Victoria moved a confident hand to the inside of Jen’s thigh, where she caressed with her thumb and massaged with the rest of her hand.

  Jen’s pussy woke from its slumber—still a little sore from last night—willing her leg to open to Victoria’s touch.

  Victoria continued with more pressure, broadening her strokes, dipping the tips of her fingers closer to Jen’s core. She found a hole in the jeans and swirled her fingertip against Jen’s skin, igniting goosebumps.

  “Are you trying to get me back into bed this morning?” Jen asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

  Victoria feigned bashfulness, batting her eyelashes. “I can’t keep my hands off you, Dr. Dawson.”

  Warmth spread anew through Jen, tempting her, but she wasn’t ready to face Telly Savalas so soon. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have the energy. Can we just talk over breakfast?”

  “Of course,” Victoria drawled, leaning in close to Jen’s ear. “I can picture you eating grapes in my bed while I eat you.”

  A flood of wetness hit Jen. This woman really knows how to push my buttons. “Honestly, I’m tempted, but in my satisfied—and a little sore—state, I’m afraid I’d be distracted.” Was she exaggerating? Yes, but she wasn’t interested this morning.

  Victoria moved her hand to Jen’s elbow. “If you’re sure. I’m not rushing you, am I?”

  “Not at all. I like sex as much as you, but maybe not with the same intensity. Let’s keep it simple for now, okay?”

  Victoria’s eyes flashed with passion—the oyster tones overshadowing the sage in the bright sunlight—creating a vampire effect that scared Jen a little. “You hold all the cards, Jen. I’ll offer some toys, but you choose what you like. I’m all about creating pleasure for you at your own pace, okay?”

  Jen was tempted to bite on the sales pitch, but it was her experience that whenever someone told her she held all the cards, she really didn’t. The person was trying to create the impression that he or she didn’t seek power or control, but in the end, demanded it, revealing him or herself to be a control freak. There was a reason the old Shakespearean quote had survived the test of time: “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

  Victoria stood and held out her hand for Jen, who cautiously took it and followed her inside to the kitchen island. Victoria had prepared a bowl of sliced fruit, some yogurt, cereal and boiled eggs. “Do you like bacon? I was just going to fry some.”

  “I’d love some.” Jen went to the coffee pot and refilled her up-the-yin-yang mug, then took up residence on a barstool at the kitchen island.

  “Who would’ve ever thought our lives would intersect after high school?” Victoria said, her back to Jen as she dealt with the bacon.

  “Life can seem random sometimes, can’t it?” Jen mused over her coffee.

  “I want mor
e random with you,” Victoria drawled.

  “Ha. Switching topics, where did you learn about BDSM?”

  Victoria turned on the burner, covered the pan with a screen, and turned around to face Jen. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable talking about former lovers yet.” She attempted to defang her deflection with a smile, but her face was 50 shades of tense.

  Jen held up her hands. “I didn’t mean to pry, and I don’t need to know about your former lovers. I was more curious about the practice itself.”

  “It’s kind of impossible to separate the two. I had a careful, considerate instructor who…” Victoria scrunched up her face. “I’m sorry. I just don’t feel ready yet.”

  “Again, I don’t want to pry.” So secretive. Seriously. I told her about Amanda on our first date.

  An awkward silence hung in the bacon-scented air.

  Twenty-Five

  Their hearty, but certainly not starry-eyed, breakfast was filled with superficial chatter since Victoria didn’t want to discuss the most important thing on Jen’s mind: Victoria’s sexual preferences and exactly what would be expected of Jen in a long-term relationship. If I don’t agree to titty twisters, will Victoria stay with me? Just how committed is she to hanging from the merry-go-round on her bedroom ceiling versus boring old sex with me?

  Since Victoria seemed comfortable discussing a wide array of sensitive topics, the fact that she was ducking Jen’s inquiry indicated to Jen that Victoria didn’t want to take their relationship to the next emotional level—that of honesty and transparency.

  After helping with dishes and tidying up, Jen gathered her belongings and found herself at Victoria’s massive front door. Victoria didn’t seem ill-at-ease, but a tinge of disappointment clung to Jen. The shine had come off the romp, and Jen was departing on a less-than-high note in her heart.

  Victoria moved close and rested her hand on Jen’s hip. “I really enjoyed our time together.”

  Best to fudge this a bit. “Me too. Thanks for hosting me.”

  “I’ll text you?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Let me know what you decide about Summerfield Clinic. I selfishly want you to take the position, you know.”

  Jen trotted out the same smile she had used the night prior when bidding her colleagues adieu. “I need to think about it.”

  “Do that.” Victoria raised on her tiptoes and kissed Jen’s cheek.

  Jen rested her hand on the small of Victoria’s back and kissed her lightly on the lips. It was passable for a goodbye kiss but not bursting with I’ll-count-the-seconds-until-we-meet-again passion.

  Only the dogs escorted Jen out to Kay’s grandmother-mobile. She patted the lab on the head and squinted at the poodle. “You’re a nice dog, Reggie, but I don’t think about you that way.”

  She carefully turned around and drove down the long, elegant drive then navigated to Highway 53 north, falling in with the light traffic toward the Wisconsin hinterlands.

  Jen began to mull over her options, sifting and sorting the pros and cons of practicing at Summerfield Clinic, which meant moving Kristin closer to Roger and Kay and their beloved lake property. Staying in San Francisco, on the other hand, where Jen was comfortable at the Cohen Clinic, meant that Kristin could remain close to Tommy and Grandpa Cy, who was an equally important person in Kristin’s life. Jen valued both sets of grandparents, so how could she ever choose?

  Maybe my work life tips the scale. Melissa Cohen is good to me, and my colleagues at the Cohen Clinic feel like family, so maybe I should keep a good thing going.

  Since her analytic brain also was connected to her romantic heart, Jen’s thoughts naturally transitioned to images of Amanda, and the crazy, hectic, exciting life they had created together in the city.

  She had to admit that Amanda had gone to great lengths and expense to provide every creature comfort for Jen and Kristin, making not one, but two homes, for them: first in Sea Cliff then in the Sunset District, because that’s where Jen, not Amanda, wanted to live. Amanda had demonstrated a willingness to compromise for their relationship. Had Jen done that in equal measure?

  Jen pictured Amanda’s cozy, new beach house. Like Amanda, the house smelled like a field of lavender. Everything was upscale and classy, reflecting the motif of the beach just a few blocks away. Sure, Amanda had arranged for Jack and Chloe to design and remodel the house, but it captured Amanda and Jen’s personalities. And, for the first time, Jen realized that it played to her own lifestyle and romantic ideals. Jen had come to love the ocean as much as Amanda—their walks on the beach, swimming, picking up sand dollars with Kristin, biking along the Pacific Coast Highway.

  Amanda and her parents had spared no expense to personalize an ample home for the tiny family of three, and Jen was grateful.

  When she was with Amanda, Jen felt cocooned in a world of luxury and softness. The bath towels hung on heated towel bars and were softer than soft. The throw rugs under Jen’s feet were so soft that she never hesitated to get down on her hands and knees to play with Kristin. Even the cotton dish towels were thick and luxurious, perhaps encouraging Jen to continue cooking. Jen had a respectable collection of pots and pans, but Amanda had supplemented Jen’s kitchen wares to a professional level.

  Jen also loved cooking delicious food for Amanda, hanging on her every reaction. When Amanda said, “I love this,” while devouring one of Jen’s creations, Jen’s heart bloomed. Plain and simple, she loved watching Amanda eat. Everything.

  And Amanda reciprocated. Jen had come to learn that nothing was too good when Amanda was buying it for Jen. The touch and feel of not only Amanda, but also their shared love and passion, was scattered throughout the house. All of that in contrast to the cold, glass, steel, and dangerously pink home of Victoria.

  Of course, and this was an irrefutable downside, Jen had to admit that Amanda was plagued by addictions, sexual temptations, and impulsivity. She was unpredictable as hell, but wasn’t that one of her character attributes as much as a flaw?

  Just as Patrick had been surprised on the boat to hear of the dangerous exploits of Amanda’s job, he would be equally surprised to see the soft side of her at home where everything was designed to create harmony—until three in the morning, that was.

  Even though Amanda thought she was hiding her night-owl, smoking routine from Jen, she wasn’t. Jen sensed Amanda leaving their bed; heard her rummage through her bag for cigarettes; heard the sliding door open; smelled the smoke waft into the house. She had read the riot act to Amanda about smoking but had to admit that Amanda was very discreet, not lighting up around Kristin. She smoked a few times per week—that Jen knew of, anyway—so Jen had basically given up on that vice.

  Jen understood that when Amanda’s mind started racing in the middle of the night, solving heinous crimes of the gritty city, so she needed something to do while the analysis laid itself out. Smoking on the balcony for an hour was a small indiscretion in their relationship, wasn’t it? Would any lover ever be perfect? Could anyone live up to Jen’s expectations?

  The question wasn’t whether Jen could live with Amanda’s eccentricities. She could. There were two more important issues—Amanda’s addictions and unfaithfulness. When she was sober, she could be trusted to be at the top of her game. When she was wasted, however, apparently anything could happen, including shagging Roxy.

  There would always be another crime to solve. Another dangerous foe to prosecute. Another adventure around the corner. Another personal challenge to be overcome. But would there always be another woman? Would Amanda be tempted to fool around again and again because she struggled with addiction and would fall off the wagon? That was the million-dollar question: Was Amanda destined to be a serial philanderer?

  Yes, Jen appreciated the paradoxical nature of her rhetorical question having just slept with Victoria, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t wonder, did it? Besides, she and Amanda were on a break. She was justified.

  Amanda was a woman of great pote
ntial, especially with someone like Jen at her side, but what price would Jen have to pay for the ride? She was an accomplished woman in her own right. She didn’t need Amanda. Unfortunately, Jen realized that she actually missed Amanda. Wanted her. Craved her. Even after sex with Victoria. Jen still loved Amanda.

  Listening to Jack Johnson and driving on cruise control, Jen’s mind fell into her mental image of Amanda. The sparkle in her eyes. The same sparkle that turned to fire when she was in the throes of passion. The playful smirk of Amanda’s lips.

  Defined by her naturally curly tangle of long hair, Amanda’s presence consumed Jen’s senses. The way her hair danced over her shoulders. Her deliciously delicate neck when her hair was twisted up in a bun. The wild and loose corkscrew curls that refused to cooperate. Jen loved to twist the tips of Amanda’s hair around her fingers while kissing Amanda’s neck.

  Jen was convinced that God had made her taller than Amanda, so Jen could hold Amanda in her arms from behind, allowing perfect access to the back of Amanda’s neck. Jen could feel Amanda quivering under her kisses as she slid her hands up to cup her breasts. If Amanda was in a romantic mood, which was most of the time, she would slant her small, round ass into Jen’s groin. Holding Amanda from behind allowed Jen’s hands to deliver romantic appetizers of what promised to be a multi-course feast.

  Their chemistry was undeniable.

  When Amanda was in the room, everyone else moved off stage. Jen continuously sensed where Amanda was even if her eyes didn’t follow her. She could smell her. Hear her. Feel Amanda’s body float through the air, as she centered herself in Jen’s life.

  As Jen drove, she didn’t even see the lush farm fields on each side of the highway—the corn tassels as tall as she was—because she was daydreaming about Amanda’s taut tummy, her curly mass of tendrils that covered her coochie, the warm folds that covered her gem, so velvety and wet with the same eagerness Jen shared. Amanda’s tangy scent at the center of her delicious core, a scent that had been Jen’s favorite for so long. Drawing the inevitable comparison, Jen realized that Victoria wasn’t even in the same league as Amanda. What was I thinking?