Purple Prosaic
SMASHWORDS EDITION
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
SAY IT WITH A STRAP-ON © 2007 by Alessia Brio
Cover art © 2009 by Alessia Brio
All digital rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Carly thanked the UPS delivery man and closed the front door. Turning the box over in her hands, she read the return address label: M+C, Inc. Yup. This is it, she sighed. What the fuck was I thinking? Hope again battled with despair and, rather than opening the package, she hurled it across the room in frustration. Waste of fifty bucks. Fifty-seven with shipping—and I'll never get the chance to use it. The box landed on the arm of the sofa, teetered, and then tumbled softly to the floor with a singularly unsatisfying thunk.
She marveled at how innocuous it appeared: such a deceptively plain box. No one could possibly guess how delicious its contents, although Carly imagined she could feel a sensual aura surrounding it. Geez! Where am I even gonna store it? She could just imagine her husband's reaction if he stumbled upon it. And yet, the idea of leaving it where it would be discovered had a certain wanton appeal. There was, after all, really only one clear use for it, and that use did not directly involve a man. Other models, sure—but not this one.
Carly was again assailed by the intense emotions that haunted her for the last several days. The delivery only served to exacerbate them. The kids'll be home from school soon, she realized as she felt the burning tingle in her nose that presaged tears. If I'm gonna have a good cry, I'd better do it now. With a deep sigh, she flopped onto the sofa and surrendered to her feelings. The tears came immediately, as she knew they would, and with them the roller coaster of fear, pain, and doubt mingled with an occasional rush of elation. The elation was the fast downhill part of the ride—the breathtaking free fall that always ended far too quickly.
She let her mind dance with vivid memories of that singular incredible night with Jenna, feeling the familiar rush of arousal even as the hot tears coursed down her cheeks. The intensity of that first time, perhaps, could never be recaptured. Her overwhelming desire had taken control—enabling her to push in ways she'd never dared push before—and the results had been nothing short of spectacular. Jenna couldn't possibly deny that fact, although Carly certainly got the impression she tried. The question nagged: why?
In the days since, the gulf between them seemed to grow. Sure, they talked, but the conversation steered clear of sex—both in general and in relation to their 'encounter.' Jenna apparently adopted her typical ignore-it-and-it'll-go-away attitude. Carly, however, knew it impossible—for either of them. Something as deep and as powerful as their attraction to one another did not simply go away through an exercise of will. Knowing now, rather than merely hoping, that she and Jenna were sexually compatible made the magnetism even stronger. Please don't push me away!
Carly wept in silence. Her facial expression didn't change—no chin quivering, no lip puckering, no ugly sobbing—just tears and lots of them. They rapidly wet her cheeks, dripped from her jaw, and soaked her t-shirt. It was one of those things which always baffled Carly's mother. "How can you cry so hard without giving any other sign that you're crying?" she would ask on those rare occasions when Carly allowed her tears to be seen. Practice, she now responded to the echoed question. I get way too much practice.
These days, Carly seldom let anyone see her cry. It scared the kids and worried her husband. It made others uncomfortable, which she found more hassle than it was worth. She worked hard to maintain a tight reign on her deepest feelings—controlling when, where, and how they surfaced. And now, the one person who could potentially alleviate her distress was the very source of it: Jenna.
Fuck her! Carly nearly said it aloud as she shifted into the anger phase of her one-woman pity party. If she doesn't want me, it's her damned loss. That anger faded quickly, though. She simply couldn't sustain it—mainly because she was certain that Jenna really did want her. She might not want to want me, but that's another matter altogether. Carly recalled the torment of her own brief and thoroughly unsuccessful struggle to push Jenna from her fantasies like an unwelcome intruder. It didn't take long for her to recognize the utter futility in that endeavor and open her mind to a wonderfully vivid fantasy realm.
Instead, she directed her anger at the circumstances that made their being together so problematic. Jenna couldn't possibly think I expect some sort of public coming out. Could she? Carly rejected that thought immediately. She knew neither of them wanted the type of fallout that would result. The collateral damage would be extreme and serve no useful purpose, and their feelings for one another would be viewed as tawdry and perverse.
She just needs some time to digest it all. Carly tried—and failed—to convince herself that Jenna's perceived reticence stemmed from nothing more than a period of adjustment. The emotions ran so deep that nagging doubts assaulted her implicitly-trusted intuition. She relentlessly over analyzed her gut feelings and examined every nuance under a mental microscope. It was like having a sensory impairment, in a way: her normally 20/20 inner vision obscured by emotional cataracts.
Carly licked her lips, tasting the residue of tears that had passed over them. She smeared the wetness over her entire face as if it could salve the crushing anxiety. I hate this! I hate not knowing her mind. The absolute certainty that she stood on the cusp of the type of relationship she'd only dreamed possible made the frustration all the more profound. Talk to me, Jenna. We'll self destruct if you don't.
Catharsis, unfortunately, eluded her and the g-force of reentry into her life's atmosphere only added to the discomfort. I wonder what happens when I reach my cumulative angst threshold? Rather than wiping her face, Carly just let it air dry—preferring to feel the salty mask slowly harden into a crust. It felt like a protective shell.
Sorry folks. That's all the time we have for today's wallow, she thought as she rose and collected the package. Stay tuned for the next anguished episode of 'As My World Churns.' Stuffing the unopened box into her closet, Carly grabbed a dry t-shirt. By the time the school bus pulled to a stop at the top of the driveway, the only indication that she'd been crying was a little sniffle and slightly puffy eyes. The mask was invisible, but she could still feel it.
* * * *
The next day started with the typical early morning household chaos. That one exhausting hour before the kids boarded the school bus could zap Carly's strength for an entire day. However, if she managed to conserve some energy, she could usually complete the routine domestic drudgery with enough time remaining for a little private recreational activity. She cherished the time alone with her imagination and viewed it as her most effective weapon in the war against apathy and depression: a time to make the impossible possible.
Carly fetched the box from her closet, carefully sliced the tape, and lifted the contents from its bed of balled newspaper. She could smell the leather of the strap-on's sturdy black harness through the packaging. The distinct aroma would now forever be associated with sex in her mind. Not just any sex, but sex with another woman. Placing the harness and extra straps on the bathroom counter, she peeled the cellophane wrapper from the jack rabbit vibrator and inserted three rechargeable AA batteries into its controller. After verifying that it worked, she attached it to the harness.
"Now," Carly said to the full-length mirror as she removed her jeans and sweatshirt, "Let's see how ridiculous I look in this contraption." Although she decided before ordering the strap-
on that appearance would not prevent her from using it, it would be nice if she could feel comfortable leaving the lights on. It's not how it looks that matters, Carly told herself for the umpteenth time. It's how it feels.
Turning away from the mirror, Carly fastened the main strap around her waist. The heavy leather felt smooth and cool against the skin of her shaved mons. She reached around and under her ass to catch the sturdy elastic leg straps, clipped each to the waistband with the small parachute buckles, and tightened them to take up the slack. Feels...interesting. The base of the vibrator rested snugly against her labia, directly over her clit.
She tucked the dangling controller through the waistband and slowly turned to face the mirror, meeting her own eyes first. Taking a deep breath, she hesitantly looked down. "Whoa!" What Carly expected to appear totally weird instead presented a very stimulating visual. Were it not for the stubby clit-stimulating shaft, it would look as if she'd grown a rather impressive cock sporting a brightly-colored condom.
The first image that jumped into her mind was Jenna's mouth wrapped around that cock. Although she realized that she'd be unable to feel more than the friction generated as the base rubbed her clit, her nipples instantly hardened at the thought. Carly cupped a full breast in each hand and groaned softly as she began to slowly thrust her hips. "Oh, Jenna!" she whispered.
Her fantasies had always been vivid, but since Jenna had entered them, they'd become so damned realistic. Much more than mere thought, all of Carly's senses were swept up in the action. She could smell the arousal, taste the sweat, and hear the sighs. Damn, that's nice.
"Fuck me," Jenna interrupted in her mind. "Now, Carly."
That was another thing about her fantasies of late. The person, or people, in them didn't always behave as Carly expected. They spoke, made demands, teased, and were occasionally even uncooperative. Disconcerting in a schizophrenic kind of way, she also found it quite intriguing for it often resulted in some extraordinary adventures. It would be my pleasure, she responded with a devilish grin.
Carly hurriedly dumped the contents of a plastic Target shopping bag on the bathroom counter. Bottles of shampoo and deodorant and lotion rolled onto the floor. She grabbed the lotion and, still holding the shopping bag, moved into the adjacent bedroom. The bright sunlight on the white sheets of the unmade bed was blinding, yet in Carly's mind it was nighttime and candles lit the room. Kneeling alongside the bed, she slipped the shopping bag between the mattress and box springs with the open end facing outward.
"Hurry," Jenna urged.
For a figment, you're one impatient bitch. She squirted a generous dollop of the lotion into her left hand and smeared it onto the phallus, wiping the remainder on her thigh. It smelled lightly of bananas and coconut, vaguely reminiscent of tropical locales. Carly closed her eyes and grasped the edge of the mattress for balance as she eased her cock into the bag's opening. With tantalizing slowness, she ground her hips against the bed, feeling the base of the cock pushing back against her sex.
"Yes, Carly!"
The real world disappeared and she knelt between Jenna's spread legs. The memory of her intoxicating scent flooded Carly's mind. She flicked the vibrator's ON switch and adjusted the speed to a low, pulsing hum. Thrusting deeply into her friend's cunt as the smaller shaft teased her clit, Carly concentrated on the giving of pleasure—grinding, circling, pushing. It was in such giving that Carly received the greatest satisfaction; her own arousal amplified by the sight and smell and sound of Jenna's obvious enjoyment.
A telephone rang in some parallel dimension—far removed from her passion. Unwilling to be interrupted, Carly pushed it from her consciousness. Jenna was here, now, and nothing would be allowed to interfere. She reached inside the harness to spread her lips, enabling direct contact with her throbbing clit. Oh, damn! With each thrust, the base of the vibrating shaft pounded her.
"Mmm. I love how you...fuck...ME!"
Carly felt her climax building rapidly. Her knees ached, the muscles in her ass were on fire, and a sheen of sweat coated her body. Jenna's hands toyed with her breasts, toying with her nipples, and her cries echoed across the room. Carly couldn't have stopped if she wanted to; she was free falling into a delicious abyss. Cranking the vibe's speed to max, Carly growled, "Jenna—lover—come with me," as her orgasm exploded.
* * * *
The steam rose from the tap water as Carly lathered and rinsed her new toy. She really hadn't envisioned it being used without a partner—without Jenna, specifically—but it now seemed likely that's all it would ever be: a masturbatory tool. Although her feelings were still quite raw, Carly had almost come to terms with the fact that their one night together would probably be their only night together. Again, the tears filled her eyes, but this time she fought them back. Get a grip, woman!
Carly wondered, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, if she could continue to balance reality with fantasy. The alternative—life without Jenna—terrified her, being the most painful thing she could imagine. The internal conflict tore at her heart. Something had to give, and Carly was afraid it would be their friendship. She sighed as she stuffed the strap-on under a stack of sweaters in her bureau and reached for the telephone to order a couple pizzas for an early dinner. It rang just as she touched it, startling her.
"And where've you been?" Jenna's voice demanded as soon as Carly answered.
If you only knew, Carly thought as she said, "Oh...in and out. What's up?"
"Can you come over for dinner tomorrow? Stephen won't be home 'til late, and I want some company."
Carly tried desperately not to read more into the simple dinner invitation as she responded in the affirmative. "What time do you want me?" she asked, immediately regretting her choice of words.
There was a cough and a pause on the other end of the line before Jenna responded. "Seven-ish. Okay?"
"Sure. Can I bring anything?"
"Nope. Got it covered," Jenna said. "Gotta run. See you tomorrow."
It's JUST dinner, Carly told herself as she punched Pizza Hut's number. Don't get your hopes up.
* * * *
Carly knew she set herself up for disappointment, but she couldn't help fussing over herself in preparation for the evening with Jenna. She scrubbed, exfoliated, shaved, conditioned, moisturized, buffed, plucked, brushed, and smoothed. She did not, however, masturbate. While it would undoubtedly relax her, Carly preferred the sustained sexual tension. Being with Jenna was enticing under any conditions, but while horny it was the most exquisite torture.
She then spent a ridiculous amount of time trying on virtually every pair of jeans and every sweater she owned in order to look delectable in a very casual way. Thong or no panties? Thong. Front or back hook bra? Front. Perfume? No. Make-up? Just a touch of mascara and some matte lipstick. Her personal checklist complete, Carly prepared dinner for the rest of the family.
By the time she fed them and cleaned up the dishes, it was time to leave. They had a stack of rented action-adventure DVDs and a bottomless vat of popcorn to keep them entertained. Stopping at the confectioner, she purchased a small bottle of Amaretto and a half dozen hand-made chocolate-covered cherries with the stems still attached. Carly spent the remaining thirty-minute drive indulged in wicked thoughts of sucking the sticky cherry syrup from various parts of Jenna's body.
She pulled in to the driveway a few minutes after seven o'clock. The anticipation she always felt before seeing Jenna seemed much stronger than usual. Carly leaned her head back against the headrest, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Relax! Just enjoy the company, and don't expect anything. With her purchases in hand, she headed for the front door. It opened before she even reached the porch, and Jenna stepped outside to greet her.
"You're late," she teased.
Carly grinned. "It's good to see you, too."
They shared a somewhat awkward embrace before heading indoors, where Carly was greeted by a delicious aroma. "What IS that?" she asked. "It smells good
enough to eat!"
"Hey! I am not a total waste in the kitchen, I'll have you know. What you're smelling is broiled scallops en brochette, four cheese lasagna, and a fresh endive salad with pine nuts and raspberry vinaigrette. So there!"
"Damn, woman! Didn't know you had it in you. Oh, and I brought dessert," she said as she handed Jenna the small box, "plus something for our coffee."
"Great. Dinner'll be ready in a few. Let's have some wine with our appetizers." Jenna headed toward the kitchen with Carly close behind. They settled into the breakfast nook with their wine—a dry white—and the skewered scallops. Jenna was clearly on edge, but Carly could only speculate as to the reason. As they chatted about everything but what most needed to be discussed, Carly convinced herself that Jenna only extended the dinner invitation in order to put a stop to their nascent affair. The thought made her achingly sad.
The wine went down very smoothly, and Carly could feel its effects as she stood to refill their glasses with the last of the bottle. It loosened her tongue a bit; made her more daring.
"The critics are saying that 'Boiling Point' will sweep the Oscars this year," she said, knowing the mere mention of that movie would expose the thousand pound gorilla in the room.
Jenna stared into her wine glass for a long moment. "Did you tell him?" she finally blurted.
"Tell who what?"
"Tell Mark about what happened between us last weekend," Jenna replied incredulously. "What else?"
Carly frowned, puzzled. "Um, no. Was I supposed to? And," she continued, "when you say it that way, you make it sound like some freak accident. It wasn't."
Jenna downed the rest of her wine in one gulp. "Are you gonna tell him?"
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