We came together in explosive, effervescent ecstasy.
Still naked and glistening, she raked her fingers through her wet hair and sighed deeply. “Damn, why did we wait so long to do that?”
“Because I thought you were straight.”
“I did too.” She slipped on her bathing suit and got out of the tub. “I’m gonna take a shower. Just shut it down when you’re through.”
“Katrina, are you all right?”
She tightened the belt around her mini terry-cloth robe. “I think I might be gay.”
I wanted to reassure her. “Just because you had one experience doesn’t mean you’re gay.”
“What if I want you to meet me in my bedroom in twenty minutes?”
I smiled—big. “Then I guess we’ll have to discuss the matter in more detail tomorrow morning.”
“The scented candles are on my bookshelf.”
Over the last two days of my vacation, we were noticeably low-key. Although we enjoyed an intense, extremely satisfying all-nighter, neither one of us was brave enough to face the emotional fallout. Katrina and I still joked around and had fun, but I hated the idea of leaving us an unfinished book and having to imagine the ending.
The night before my flight, we decided we would try to make halfway decent-tasting pizza and indulge in a double feature of Meryl Streep’s campiest DVD rentals. I curled up on one end of Katrina’s sofa, a plate of pizza in my lap and a Sam Adams waiting on a coaster.
“It’s good, but it’s not anywhere close to what we call pizza,” I said. “I don’t know how you live without it.”
“It’s the flautas and the pico de gallo that get me through the dark times,” she replied with a grin.
That wavy chestnut hair, those sage-green eyes, the strong chin and girlish smile: she was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. I couldn’t figure out what had happened. As adolescents, we were inseparable for nearly ten years, even went to the same undergrad college, and all the while, I never looked at her as anything more than my best friend. Now, it seemed, she was the woman I’d been searching for my whole life—gorgeous, confident, driven, boldly sexual—and now I feared even the friendship was ruined.
“Remember the time we drove all the way down to New Haven because we heard they made the best pizza in America?” she said, before becoming aware of my sudden brooding. “Al, is everything okay?”
I nodded and contrived a smile for her. “Oh, watch this.” I diverted her attention from my demeanor to our favorite scene in Death Becomes Her when Goldie Hawn bashes Meryl’s character in the face with a shovel.
When the movie was over, Katrina broached the subject again. “Ally, are we going to talk about what happened the other night?”
I stared at the television. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to talk about it.”
“Well, I do,” she said quietly and then touched my arm so I’d look at her. “I didn’t just use you as an experiment.”
“I didn’t think that, Kat. I just don’t know what to say.”
She struggled to form the question. “Do you think you could like me in that way?”
I laughed at the question. “I already do, Katrina. But tomorrow I’m getting on a plane back to Massachusetts.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to. I’ve got a schedule full of clients to see Monday.”
Reality deflated her. “Oh. Yeah, I guess that was a stupid suggestion.”
I clasped her hand. “No, it wasn’t. It was the sweetest suggestion I’ve ever heard.”
She leaned over and kissed me gently, her lips tangy from tomato sauce. “We still have tonight. And let’s face it. This pizza sucks.”
I pulled her on top of me and we spent the rest of the evening in various stages of undress cavorting around her living room furniture.
In Katrina’s car at the airport terminal, a pathetic cloud of gloom hovered, both of us on the verge of quivering bottom lips.
“I had such a great time. I’m so glad you came,” Katrina said.
“Me too—in every sense of the word.”
She giggled and swatted my arm. “Will you call me when you get in?”
“Sure. And make sure you let me know how that case turns out.”
“You’ll be the first one I call.”
We avoided eye contact, a lifelong friendship now more awkward than a first dance in junior high.
“God, how I hate small talk. Katrina, I think I’m in love with you.”
A limo driver behind us honked his horn.
“Oh, I wish you didn’t have to leave.” She grabbed my face and smothered my lips in a wet kiss.
Damn limo driver blared the horn even longer this time.
“You better go,” she said, pushing me away from her.
As the skycap grabbed my bags, I leaned into the passenger window with a helpless smile. “I’ll call you.”
I watched her drive away until her brake lights blended into the late morning sun. If this had been a Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan film, one of them surely would have run after Katrina’s car and jumped on the trunk as it left the drop-off area. I certainly wanted to.
WALK LIKE A MAN
D. L. King
Now there’s something you don’t see every day: a 1958 pink-and-gray Mercury Park Lane, windows rolled down and Chubby Checker’s “Do the Twist” blaring from the radio. The light changed, and I stepped into the crosswalk. He had his signal on to turn onto the avenue, but I’d be damned if I’d let him before I got across. Taking my time, I got a good look. Early thirties, maybe, he seemed to have a trim build, but then, he was sitting in the car. Anyway, the top half of him looked good. He was wearing a white T-shirt that fit just right, one sleeve rolled up, hiding a solid square box underneath. Looked like he had a wooden match between his teeth. His dark hair was shiny and slicked back into a DA that could cut glass.
“Whoo, good golly Miss Molly, you look fine tonight!”
I stared at him as he took the turn. “It’s a little cold to be driving around with the windows down and dressed like that, isn’t it?”
“Oh, baby, I’m always hot. An’ I know I got a hunka burnin’ love for you!” He pulled over to the curb after rounding the corner. The car looked brand new. The chrome flashed in the glow of the streetlight, and the song on the radio changed to “Sherry” by Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.
“Dude, you late for a Back to the Future convention?”
He leaned across the bench seat and put his head out the window. “Hey, doll, you just gonna stand there gawking or are you gonna come over here for a better look? Bet you ain’t never seen anything this fine.”
I took my time walking over, staying a few feet from his window. I live in Brooklyn; I’m not an idiot…but his ride was definitely fine. “Dude, I’ve seen classic wheels before, but this one is mint. Hell, it’s better than mint; it looks brand new. Yeah, it is fine.”
“Oh, come on, sugar, what makes you think I was talking about the car?” He laughed then, and somehow, miraculously, the match stayed put.
“Yeah? I was talking about the car.” Now that I was closer, I gave him the once-over. He was slighter than I’d first thought, with what looked like a nice, tight, compact body, muscular arms and small hands. He sure could wear the shit out of that T-shirt. “Where’d you get this, man?”
“Come on,” he said, and pushed the door open. “I’ll take you for a spin.”
The red interior of the Merc was cherry. Its siren call whispered, “Slide into me for the thrill of a lifetime.” But, not in the habit of getting into strange cars with even stranger guys, I shook my head. “Thanks. Some other time, maybe.”
As I turned to walk away, I heard him say, “You can drive.”
The thoughts whizzed between my ears. Oh, baby, look at that fuckin’ car… If I have the keys, I’m safe… Fuckin’ hot—he’s so fuckin’… He’s just a little guy; I could take him, and Thinks he’s hot shit... Let’s see what he thinks later…
/> The song had changed to “Runaway” by Del Shannon. I walked around the back, running my hand over the smooth-as-glass paint job, as he pulled the passenger door closed with a satisfying chunk. I could feel the solidity of the body when I pressed the button on the ancient handle and swung the door open. There were no pits or bumps in the chrome—none. He slid over to the other side of the vast seat to make room for me and held the keys out, finger through the ring. Two keys hung down: one for the ignition and one for the door and trunk, along with a gaudy, naked, cheesecakey girl. I grabbed the keys from his finger before sliding in behind the wheel.
I noticed his jeans (Levi’s—naturally faded, not stonewashed) and his work boots (small feet). Small feet and hands I thought, I can never remember what that’s supposed to mean. There was a prominent bulge.
“Down, boy,” I said, and he grinned, showing straight, white teeth, a small, full-lipped mouth and pretty, chiseled cheek-bones. His skin was smooth; he must have just shaved before coming out. Either that, or he was way younger than I originally took him for. No, he wasn’t young—but there was something about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it.
The gas pedal was long. My entire foot rested on it, spike heel to toe; an odd feeling when you’re used to driving modern cars. I closed the door, put the key in the ignition and listened to the engine purr. The speedometer topped out at 110 mph. The Merc-O-Matic push-button transmission and wraparound windshield gave the car a kitschy, Buck Rogers, space-age presence, but under it all was the solid feel of power.
“Push the button, Suzie-Q, and take me for a ride.”
“The name’s Maddie,” I said as I pulled away from the curb. I had to watch out not to oversteer. It was going to take me a little bit to get used to driving this old-fashioned, futuristic tank.
“Call me Ace,” he said. “Where you takin’ me?” He grinned at me and passed the match from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue and spread his arms out on the back of the seat, the left one leaving only a few inches between his fingers and my shoulder.
“Smooth move, Exlax.” (Smooth move Exlax? I couldn’t believe I actually said that. Maybe the car was a time machine.) “The beach,” I said, as I headed for the expressway. “Now, why don’t you get a little closer, Ace? I’m getting lonely and cold over here.”
A low chuckle bubbled out of Ace’s mouth and he slid over, his left arm spanning the entire seat back, the hand coming to rest on my far shoulder. He smelled good—like sea foam and some long-lost scent memory. It was late and, once on the highway, I saw very little traffic. I slowly pressed down on the accelerator, getting the feel for the car until I was comfortable.
As I let the speed build, my hand moved up his leg and over until I was gripping his thigh. The music had continued cycling through the hits of the fifties and sixties, adding to the time-machine feel of the night and, as I grabbed his inner thigh and squeezed, I wondered if girls back then were prone to taking advantage, rather than having advantage taken. By the time we hit the beach exits, I was doing eighty-five and my hand rested where his legs met, right up against his imprisoned balls.
I let my speed fall back and gave his crotch a squeeze, as I took the exit and headed out to the parking lot and the sand beyond. It had been a short ride at that speed, and from the time I began to explore the area between his knee and his dick, any pretense of conversation had ceased. He’d squeezed, kneaded and tickled my shoulder and the side of my neck but nothing more. I pulled into a space facing the ocean, and he nosed against my neck, licking, then kissing the skin over my pulse point to the sounds of “The Wanderer.”
“Did you bring me all the way out here to ravish me?” he asked.
“That’s what I like,” I said. “A boy who knows the score.” I pushed my hand up to cup his package and squeezed just a little. His moan was like music. He plucked the match from his lips and moved his mouth onto mine. I let his tongue begin a tentative exploration of my mouth before mine stabbed into him, pushing it back.
There was definite passion behind his delicate kissing. Once his hand found the buttons on my blouse and began undoing them, my kiss became even rougher.
He drew back and looked at me. “Maddie?”
Looking into his eyes, I placed his hand back over my tit and squeezed it hard before going back to devouring his mouth. The boy could kiss; I gave him that. His hand became bolder with my tit and I pushed him down onto that huge front seat. The bench seat in the Merc was bigger than my college dorm room bed. It made me see why fucking in cars had been such a great pastime, this being my first car fuck.
While I kissed him, I pushed his other hand under my skirt into the gusset of my already wet panties. I felt the renewed moan as the air left his mouth and his fingers began to work their magic, stroking the fabric against my cunt lips and between them. As he pushed the fabric aside, I unbuttoned the top of his jeans.
The little petting motion of his finger in my pussy stopped and, again, he said, “Maddie…”
“Just keep your mind on business, Ace, and let me do my work here,” I said.
“Yeah, but Maddie, I just…”
I’d gotten the rest of the buttons popped and reached into the slit of his white briefs when I looked up at him. “Hey, wait a minute,” I said, pulling back to have a look at what I’d been feeling.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” he said.
I ran my hand down his chest and pushed up, under the white T-shirt. Feeling the binding, I ran my fingers tentatively over it and then mashed my hand against his chest to feel the contours. “You’re a girl?” I asked.
“I never meant for it to get this far,” he said. “I’m sorry, Maddie. I didn’t mean to freak you out or nothin’, but you were such a wet dream, crossing that street—and when you liked the car, well, I figured maybe I’d get a little kiss and a squeeze—get a good whiff of your perfume, you know, before I dropped you back at the corner. But baby, you are one fuckin’ hot twitch and I just couldn’t stop. An’ besides, you were the one who drove the car all the way out to the beach…”
“How do you open this?” I asked, pulling at his chest binding. He got this questioning look on his face, but he slowly pulled his finger out of my pussy so he could pull up his shirt. He reached back and unfastened the pressure bandage and unwound it from his chest. His breasts were small and marked from the binding. He moaned as I ran my hands over them before kneading and squeezing them with more force. “Put that finger back where it belongs,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, before licking it and pushing it back inside me. He kissed me with renewed vigor.
I’d never kissed a girl before, but Ace wasn’t a girl, he was a boi, and parts just didn’t seem to matter anymore. He deftly flipped me over until I was lying under him so he could take his time unbuttoning my shirt all the way, to check out my black lace bra. He played with the lace against my skin before pushing my skirt up to bunch at my waist. Hooking two fingers in my panties, he slid them over my hips while I raised my ass off the seat. He slid them down my legs and off, before settling himself down between my legs for a nice long look at my body. His hands followed his eyes as they roamed from my lace-covered tits to the hair, glistening with moisture, between my legs.
He parted my flesh to stroke my inner lips and wet slit. With the edge of his hand pressing into me, he reached up for one more kiss before settling back down to press and fondle, finger and fuck my impatient opening.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, stroking his nipples under his T-shirt.
“You’re doin’ it,” he said, leaning down and burying his tongue in my juice, while he palmed and fingered my breasts.
The thought of Ace between my legs and the motion of his tongue against the walls of my cunt caused spontaneous spasms. I was vibrating with need as I buried both hands in his hair, pressing his face more insistently between my legs. He groaned, sending more ripples through my body, and grabbed my hips, mashing me even
harder against his mouth. I rode his lips, teeth and tongue, whimpering and shuddering against him, until the first stab against the side of my clit sent a bolt of electricity snaking its way from my cunt to my nipples and back down to curl my toes. When I came back to myself, “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me” was playing on the radio.
After straightening our clothes and cracking open the steamed-up windows, I realized I was in no shape to drive back.
Ace drove.
Back in the neighborhood, he dropped me off at the corner where I’d first met him. Now there’s something you don’t see every day, I thought, as I watched the car drive away. I could just hear “Walk Like a Man” fading into the distance.
SIGNS
Theda Hudson
“Do you want to see my tit?” Trish asks, just like she was asking, “Do you want to see my puppy?”
I look at her in the passenger seat of my old Subaru as we head toward the mountains and smile the way I do every time she asks. She knows I do. It’s just an opportunity to show it off and for her to practice being brash.
There’s also a deeper question about trust under it that I’m not sure I’m ready to answer or that I even completely believe she knows she’s asking.
So I answer the easy one. “Yes.”
“Which one?”
I pretend to ponder. It’s really a toss-up but I like to keep her off balance so I say, “The left one.”
She looks disappointed for just a sec and then lays the flat of her right hand in the center of chest. Such a closet hedonist. I know she’s enjoying the smoothness of her skin, teasing herself before she angles her fingertips so her hand dives across the front of her breast.
She loves her tits almost as much as I do. They’re beautifully shaped, round, large but not too large, with big, beautiful, responsive nipples that, surprisingly, she loves to have pinched.
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