Defective

by Maria Jackson

  “Whitney, it’s not your fault,” Yolanda said.

  “Not my fault,” Whitney muttered. “Whose fault is it? You sound just like the fucking field commander who give me that medal that you saw. Do you really think I deserved that? I lost a leg for no fucking reason, and then I got rewarded for showing up and doing nothing. Do you have any idea how that feels? Every time I look at this stump, I’m disgusted. I can hardly stand to look at myself. Do you know how it feels when every day, you have to deal with your own self making you sick?”

  She would have thought Yolanda would turn on her heel and walk away. Instead, she just stared at her, an expression of complete sympathy coming over her face. “Are you serious?”

  “What?” Whitney demanded. “When did you ever feel that way?”

  “Every damn day,” Yolanda said, leaning in and grabbing her bicep. She yanked it until Whitney fell over the bar and their faces were pressed up against each other. “Did you already forget how much time I spent in denial about being gay? Do you think I’m happy with myself? How can you stand there and say I don’t know how it feels to hate myself?”

  Whitney swallowed hard. Yolanda had a point—and besides, feeling her heat on her arm was sending unwanted tingles all through her body. “You realized you’re a lesbian for sure?”

  Yolanda didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

  A smile came over Whitney. About damn time. Something was different about Yolanda, she realized as she stared at her. It only took her a moment to figure out what it was. That crease in her forehead was gone. All that was left was smooth skin.

  “You and I have things in common that I never realized,” Yolanda went on. “All this time, I’ve been wondering why you would want to put up with me when there’s so many simpler women you could be with, women who don’t have issues with their sexuality. Now I see that you’re just like me. Whitney, tell me you see that too.”

  Against her better judgment, Whitney nodded. “But you don’t have to be ashamed,” she said softly. “You never hurt anyone else. No one thanks you for your so-called bravery every day.”

  “Listen to me,” Yolanda said, squeezing her arm tighter. “You are no less of a hero to me. You went to Iraq and did your best, and in return, you lost something invaluable. Most people would never have gone in the first place. Every day that you wake up and get out of bed is a victory. The fact that you went in the first place was proof of your bravery, and surviving since then only proves it more.”

  “I’m barely surviving,” Whitney mumbled.

  “You pulled yourself out of a depression,” Yolanda reminded her. “You taught yourself to juggle. You decided to go to bartending school. You adopted a dog. No one did those things for you. They’re your successes.”

  The song pulsing through the air came to an end, and Yolanda rushed back to the stage. Whitney stood there, shell-shocked, not even hearing what Yolanda said about the next contestant. As much as she hated to admit it, Yolanda’s words made a tiny bit of sense to her.

  As soon as a new song was on, Yolanda came up to her again. “Remember what you told me about the absinthe,” she said. “Sometimes hard things can be easier if you make a little change, sometimes you just have to change your attitude. Or does that only apply to other people?”

  Whitney let out a breath, wondering at her own words. She remembered saying them, but she had never thought to apply them to her own life. She’d never thought she could forgive herself. Now Yolanda was making her wonder.

  Yolanda reached over the bar, but instead of grabbing her, she reached for her hand and stroked it. “I want you,” Yolanda said, “and it’s not your leg that I’m interested in. You’re the woman who lights up my days and brings joy to my nights. The one who dragged me kicking and screaming out of the closet. There’s no one else like you, and if the experiences you had made you who you are, then I’m glad you had them.”

  Choked up, Whitney had no idea how to respond. She let out a breath and looked away, noticing for the first time that a group of women was clustered around the bar. They smiled at her, but not in the sappy way from earlier. It was more of the impatient, borderline rude kind of look they’d had earlier in the night. These women wanted alcohol.

  She squeezed Yolanda’s hand back. “You should go DJ. I need to do my job.”

  The next hour passed as normally as it could, given the circumstances. Whitney continued to serve drinks, although her hands shook when she tossed bottles in the air, and she ended up giving up on that part. She tuned out of what Yolanda was saying, knowing it would hurt every time she heard her talking about another woman—although after their conversation, it hurt a lot less than it had before.

  The customers who had initially been so grateful toward her seemed to forget about what she had done. To her surprise, within half an hour or so, no one was commenting on her stunt. They seemed to mostly have forgotten about her missing leg and her military service. It turned out that drinks were more important.

  As the competition wrapped up, Whitney looked up at the stage. She watched, still embarrassed by what she had done.

  “The staff are going to pass out some ballots,” Yolanda announced from the DJ booth. “Take a minute to vote, and then give it back to one of them.”

  Whitney served a few drinks, announcing last call just as the voting finished. She could hardly wait to get home. This had been a strange, strange night.

  Ron got on the stage. “The votes have been counted,” he announced. “The bronze medal goes to Nicki.” Applause rang out as the girl from Texas walked up and took the medal.

  He gave out the silver and gold medals. Whitney clapped from where she was standing, happy for those who had won.

  “There’s also an honorable mention,” Ron said. “A woman who may not have been the best at getting wet, but who did something that we should all be grateful for.”

  Whitney went cold. Ron couldn’t be talking about her.

  “This person reminded us of what’s important,” he went on. “She gave up a lot so that all of us could be safe here tonight and live in our free society. I’d like to give the honorable mention to Ms. Whitney Dixon.”

  Whitney’s stomach turned over. She didn’t deserve an honorable mention. She hadn’t done anything.

  But the entire room was looking at her, and she had to do something. Yolanda’s words from earlier went through her mind. She was still a hero to Yolanda. She had done what she could, and it was more than any of the other people in this room had done.

  Although her chest was tight, she went up to the stage. “I’m sorry don’t have a medal for you,” Ron said. “All I can offer is to shake your hand.”

  “That’s all right,” Whitney said. “I already have a medal. A handshake is much better.” Despite everything, she thought she could accept that much.

  She looked around and saw Yolanda smiling at her from the DJ booth.

  The words everyone said just might be true.

  Twenty-Nine

  As Yolanda turned off her computer for the night, she wondered if she should let Whitney come to her. She had been pretty aggressive earlier, telling her exactly how she felt. Maybe she needed to step back and let Whitney make the next move. But as she walked by the bar and saw Whitney standing there, she couldn’t go by without saying something.

  “Hey,” she said. She passed, not knowing quite where to go from there. “Congratulations on your honorable mention.”

  Whitney scoffed, looking at the floor. “Thanks. I, um… I could use some help closing up, if you’re not busy.”

  Yolanda stepped behind the bar. “Of course I’m not.”

  She grabbed a cloth and went to work cleaning the counter. It was hardly dirty, as if Whitney had already cleaned everything. Yolanda looked over at her, noticing she was just moving her own cloth on the same spot over and over. Whitney didn’t need help cleaning—she needed someone to tell her everything was going to be okay.

  Yolanda waited as some staff passed by. A
s soon as they were all gone, she pulled Whitney into her arms. “I meant everything I said earlier, you know.”

  Whitney looked up at her. “I know you did. I just need a minute.”

  “Whenever you want to go, I’m ready,” Yolanda said.

  Whitney looked around, then put down the cloth. “I think I’m done.”

  They made their way to Whitney’s car, not talking as they got inside. It seemed they both knew where they were going. Yolanda felt her body heat up with every moment that she spent this close to Whitney. She knew what she hoped was going to happen, but she couldn’t be sure until they got back to Whitney’s place.

  For once, the dog didn’t jump all over them when they got in. She sniffed at each of them, then left them alone. Yolanda turned to Whitney, taking her into her arms. “It’s as if she knows.”

  “What does she know? She should tell me.”

  Yolanda’s hands were already on Whitney’s body, feeling her in places Whitney wouldn’t let her touch before. “She knows there’s no reason for you to push me away anymore.”

  Whitney shuddered, which got Yolanda even more excited. Seeing the way Whitney responded to her was always a turn-on, but Whitney had always said no to her. Tonight, she suspected that she would give in.

  “I still don’t know,” Whitney said. “I don’t even like to look at myself. I can’t stand the sight of that… leg.”

  “I don’t care about that,” Yolanda said. “It’s beautiful to me.”

  Whitney shook her head. “You haven’t seen it up close.”

  In this moment, Yolanda genuinely couldn’t have cared less whether Whitney had one leg or two. The woman was what she cared about—the beautiful soul hidden under the also-beautiful flesh. The missing leg took absolutely nothing away from who Whitney was, inside or out.

  “Let me see,” she said.

  She took Whitney by the hand and led her into the bedroom. She had been here a few times before, but only Yolanda’s clothes had come off. This time, she had no idea if she was even going to have a climax, and she didn’t care. She was more concerned with seeing and touching Whitney’s beautiful body.

  “I’m going to take off your shirt. Is that okay?” Yolanda asked. She stroked Whitney’s arm, and Whitney’s eyes closed as if she was letting go of something.

  “Okay,” Whitney whispered.

  They stood by the bed, and Yolanda carefully unbuttoned each button on Whitney’s shirt. “You have an amazing body,” she said, meaning every word of it. “Your breasts are so beautiful, and so supple too. I like how I can see them move up and down as you breathe.”

  That made Whitney suck in another gasp. Yolanda smiled, her desire growing. “I’m not going to do anything more for a minute,” she said. “Just let me appreciate your body.”

  Whitney nodded again. “Don’t stay here for too long,” she said. “I do want more. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  “Not as long as I have.” Yolanda had been waiting twenty-six years. She’d just had to admit to herself that this was what she wanted.

  Whitney’s skin quivered under her touch, and the sound of Whitney’s ragged breathing made Yolanda feel hotter than she could ever remember being. Even the times that Whitney had pleased her hadn’t gotten her this excited.

  “I think I’m ready,” Whitney whispered, biting her lip.

  Yolanda placed her hands hesitantly on her beltline, as gentle with her as Whitney had been her first time. She had learned patience and respect from the best possible teacher. She was going to be as careful and considerate as Whitney deserved.

  Whitney nodded, and Yolanda undid her belt. She pulled it loose, then took down her jeans, revealing the same purple panties she had seen earlier that night. For a moment, she was entranced by the sight of the dampness of the fabric. She nearly forgot that she was supposed to be looking at Whitney’s leg.

  As Whitney covered her leg with her hands, Yolanda’s eyes were drawn to it. She pushed Whitney’s hands away. “Let me see.”

  “But it’s ugly,” Whitney said.

  “It’s you,” Yolanda whispered, taking in the sight. “It’s beautiful.”

  She ran her fingers slowly along Whitney’s knee. Although she would never have thought an amputation could be beautiful, that was the only word she had for this. The missing limb was part of the woman Yolanda had fallen for. It made her who she was, made her unique.

  Yolanda touched the cup that attached to the prosthetic. “Can I take this off?”

  “I… I guess so.”

  The cup came off easily, leaving Whitney’s stump exposed. Yolanda bent closer to it, examining it. She would have expected it to look rawer. Instead, it had healed cleanly, as if it had always been that way. Although Whitney shuddered, Yolanda found it entrancing. “Does it hurt?” she asked, touching the bottom with feather lightness.

  “I feel it,” Whitney said, her leg twitching. “But I don’t usually touch it. I just put the prosthetic on and pretend everything’s fine.”

  “Everything is more than fine,” Yolanda said, letting the stump rest in her hand. “It’s you.”

  There were some scratches on both her legs, and half-healed gashes on her good foot. “What happened here?” Yolanda asked.

  “I got angry and rubbed my foot in some glass. I’m fine now.” Whitney shivered, but she didn’t pull her foot away. “You’re sure you can… handle this?” Her shame and frustration were almost palpable.

  Yolanda wanted to kiss her a million times, kiss her until she understood her leg didn’t matter. Yolanda would care for her no matter what she looked like. “Of course I can.”

  “My ex left me when I lost my leg,” Whitney said quietly, fidgeting on the bed. “She said she couldn’t handle dating someone like me. I didn’t think anyone would ever want me again.”

  Now Yolanda understood, and she corrected herself mentally. Whitney’s leg didn’t matter to anyone who was worth a damn. She dropped to the floor, getting on her knees in front of Whitney, and bent toward her.

  “No, don’t,” Whitney said. “It’s… it’s…”

  “It’s you!” Yolanda insisted. She pressed a kiss to Whitney’s thigh, another just below it, and finally placed her lips on the place where her leg had been severed. “I need you to understand that I don’t care about your leg, Whitney. I want you anyway.”

  Whitney let out a sigh, and her body relaxed. Yolanda rose higher, allowing herself to look at her groin again. Her panties were still damp. Yolanda put her hands on the elastic waistband and waited for Whitney’s permission.

  “Yes,” Whitney nodded. “You’ve already seen what I was scared of.”

  With Whitney’s consent granted, Yolanda hesitated again. She’d had a few experiences with Whitney now, and she’d just convinced her that she wanted her, but somehow this new step still made her nervous. She could no longer question that she was gay, though. And as she pulled down Whitney’s waistband, her nervousness turned to excitement.

  Whitney was completely exposed now, and she was already wet for Yolanda. “Every part of you is perfect,” Yolanda said.

  Whitney may not have agreed yet, but that was okay. Yolanda had all the time in the world to convince her.

  “Lower,” Whitney breathed, lying back on the bed. “Touch me.”

  Swallowing, Yolanda did as Whitney asked. Her fingers found Whitney’s little bud and, to her surprise, felt perfectly natural there. She moved her hand slowly, trying to do what she usually did to herself. The soft hitch of Whitney’s breath told her it was working.

  Yolanda could feel herself start to grow wet with need. Whitney turned her on more than anything she had ever known. She wondered how she had ever thought for a minute that she could be straight. It was so obvious now that she could only ever love women—one woman in particular.

  “I want you,” Whitney whispered.

  Yolanda nodded, her mouth watering at the thought. She watched Whitney slide onto her back and spread her legs wide.
The sight aroused Yolanda more than she could bear.

  Yolanda positioned herself between Whitney’s legs. She had never gone down on a woman before, and although she’d done some research, she wondered if she’d know what to do.

  “Holy shit,” Yolanda murmured as she brought her head close to Whitney’s sex. Her scent was musky and mouthwatering, and Yolanda couldn’t wait to get a taste of her.

  Whitney sounded like she wanted to say something too, but only a gasp came out. Yolanda took a breath and kissed Whitney’s inner thigh. That got another gasp out of Whitney, and Yolanda brought her lips to the other side. Whitney arched up, pressing toward Yolanda, making it clear how much she craved her.

  Once Yolanda touched her tongue between Whitney’s legs, she paused, just feeling the sensation of having this power over her lover. She reached up and Whitney clasped her hand. The intimate gesture made emotions surge through her. The power was two-sided. As much as she had control over Whitney’s pleasure right now, Whitney also had control over her.

  “You feel so fucking good,” Whitney moaned, breaking Yolanda out of her thoughts. Her hand spasmed, her fingers tightening and releasing Yolanda’s. “I never would have dreamed…”

  “Mmm?” Yolanda made the sound as she gave Whitney long, slow tongue strokes.

  Whitney wriggled under her and squeezed her hand again. “I never thought I’d be doing this with you. I’m just so happy that we got here.”

  Yolanda’s tongue delved inside her entrance, and both of them took in ragged breaths. There was nothing to know, no skills to learn. All of this came completely naturally. It was as if Yolanda had found her other half—as if Whitney had been made just for her.

  She licked a little faster, still overwhelmed by the thrill of giving Whitney pleasure. Her eyes swept over what she could see of Whitney, taking in the beauty of her stomach and breasts. She could only see a little of her face, but in this moment, that sight was even more perfect than usual.