by Bobbi Marolt
“Good afternoon, control tower. This is KNP twenty-three ninety. Do I have a clear runway?”
“KNP twenty-three ninety, this is Westchester tower. You’re clear for runway two. Repeat. You’re clear for two.”
“Thanks, Westchester,” she said and maneuvered the plane into position. Cory watched every move she made. “Why so quiet?”
“I didn’t know if I should speak.”
Helen laughed. “It’s okay. It’s not like we’re heading into the night for a secret bombing mission. Let’s get into the air. We’ll talk there.” She adjusted her mic again. “Tower, this is KNP twenty-three ninety and we’re ready for takeoff.”
“KNP twenty-three ninety, this is Westchester. You have a nice tailwind for takeoff. The sky is yours. Have a great flight, Ms. Townsend.”
She powered the throttle and the Tomahawk roared as it picked up speed down the runway. Around 800 feet, she pulled back on the control and the Princess climbed into a cloudless blue sky. After she arced the wings toward Connecticut, Helen leveled off at 8,000 feet and set a cruising speed of 100 knots.
“It’s a beautiful day,” she said and removed her microphone.
Cory glanced around the panel of switches and lights. “Don’t you have to set vectors or something? Coordinates? How do you know where to go?”
“We’ll just cruise the Berkshire Mountains. They’re kind of like up the block. They’re familiar.” The plane was jostled by light turbulence and Cory gripped her seat. “It’s a little windy.” A stronger bounce rocked them and Cory turned ashen. “It’s okay,” she reassured her. “I’ll take us up a little. The air might be smoother.” She reached for the controls but Cory stopped her.
“No. Not higher.” She grabbed Helen’s hand. “I have a fear of flying. I do it a lot, but I usually take a sedative first.” Frightened eyes stared into Helen’s.
“Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have never made you go through this.” She took hold of the controls just as the plane hit an air pocket. The drop lifted Helen against her belt and the plane plummeted several feet. When Bill mentioned the wind, she wished she’d cancelled the flight, but pride had stopped her.
“Oh, Jesus. Helen!”
“We’ll be okay. We’re going back.” Strong wind pounded the aircraft and Helen looked over at Cory. “There’s a bag to your right, if you need it.” The plane dropped again and Cory grabbed the bag. Helen put on her headset. “Westchester tower, this is KNP twenty-three ninety. The wind is kicking us around and we’re returning for landing.”
The plane continued with fitful rocks and dips during their flight. Once more, the Princess dropped and Helen cursed the turbulence. She hated wind when flying and understood the horrors it could present. She was once a passenger with her father when they were snatched from the sky and forced to make an emergency landing in a rocky field. She tasted the terror of grazing a grove of trees and not knowing if the landing gear was intact. Her father had handled the plane through to an abrupt stop, but the force had broken Helen’s leg and her father’s wrist. It could have been much worse.
On her approach to Westchester, the wings tipped left and then right, but she brought the plane in like the professional she was. When the landing gear hit the runway, she sighed with relief.
“We’re down,” she said and made the short taxi back to the tarmac.
“I’m sorry I spoiled your day,” Cory said before they exited the plane.
“You spoiled nothing, but you should have told me of your fear and I shouldn’t have assumed you wouldn’t mind flying.” She nodded toward the bag. “Still empty, huh?”
“Fortunately.” She unbuckled her seat belt. “Can we leave now?”
“Yeah.”
*
Cory’s color came back and she was calm in the car. Helen nearly laughed when she remembered how quickly she’d snatched the barf bag from the door. At the same time, she was thankful she didn’t have to break out the cleaning products.
“I guess we threw each other a curve today,” Cory said. “It’s beyond terrific that you’re a licensed pilot, but I don’t know if I’d ever be able to share it with you.”
“Ah, that’s okay. I can’t play a piano very well. That kind of evens us.” She took hold of Cory’s hand and rested both on the gear shifter. “Look, don’t hold back on me in the future. I can’t read your mind.”
“I know.” She turned to Helen. “Will you come home with me?”
“Yes, but I insist on cleaning our brunch mess while you play something classical for me on your piano.” She turned off the parkway and onto Seventy-Ninth Street.
Chapter Nine
Cory had just completed a short classical piece when Helen placed the final dishes into the dishwasher and wiped the counter. She grabbed a chrysanthemum from the vase and joined Cory at the piano. She placed the flower atop the instrument. Cory smiled up at her and continued playing.
“Do you like this?” she asked Helen.
“Yes. It’s romantic.”
“I wrote this when I was in the seventh grade. My music teacher loathed it.”
“He or she had no taste, then. Have you composed more?”
“No.” She finished the song in the upper register. Sounds that mimicked wind chimes surrounded Helen. “Composition is too difficult for me. I’d rather play or conduct.” She walked to Helen’s chair and sat on the chair arm. “My next solo appearance is tomorrow, in Buffalo, and then I’ll do a two-night show with the Lansing Symphony Orchestra on Tuesday and Wednesday.” She twisted Helen’s hair with her fingers.
Her touch was sensuous, something more than “Hello, it’s nice that you’re visiting with me.” Helen’s flesh warmed too quickly to her liking. She stopped Cory’s hand, but another part of her wanted her to continue. That simple touch awakened more of her than their kiss had done.
“If you’re trying to seduce me, it won’t work,” Helen said.
Cory only smiled her beguiling smile and said nothing more. She stood up, pulled Helen to her feet, and walked out of the room alone.
Helen stood staring at the large doorway. Was she supposed to go with her? She certainly didn’t want to look like a needy puppy that followed her mistress everywhere. She waited and took a closer look at each poster and then the picture of the Queen, before Cory called to her.
“Helen?”
With her answer now clear, Helen returned to the living room. Cory sat on the floor, watching the aquarium fish. She turned to Helen and extended her hand. “Come here.”
“Are we about to perform some type of spiritual relaxation thing by watching the mollies?” She sat on the floor beside her.
“Spiritual? I hope so,” she said and ran her hand along the back of Helen’s neck. “I’d prefer if no fish were involved.”
When Cory’s hand drifted to the center of Helen’s back, she closed her eyes and thought of nothing more. The touch was dreamlike and one she didn’t want to awaken from.
“We don’t know each other,” she said but made no attempt to end Cory’s freshness. Soft fingers now stroked gently at her cheek.
“And this is me, being honest. I want you. Right here in front of the fish, just like you said.”
“I suppose I’m another girl in another city for you.” Helen opened her eyes and Cory leaned closer. Her lips tickled at Helen’s ear, and the reaction drifted to her breasts. She agonized between submission and slapping Cory. “You probably have a global harem. Your touch is tender. Do your other women tell you that?”
She laughed softly and moved her hand away. “There are no other women.”
Helen looked down at the hand she wanted against her for a long time and then looked into Cory’s eyes. “I want you, too. Right now. I don’t care if we met five minutes ago.”
Stretched among discarded clothing, Cory’s soft curves tantalized Helen. “Your breasts”—she stroked their sides and lingered over dark nipples—“are unbelievable.” She watched their fullness rise wit
h each breath. Cory quivered when Helen took a nipple between her lips.
“Troy fell for the beauty of Helen,” Cory said and gently rolled Helen onto her back.
Cory was fire against flesh. Fueled strokes of her tongue ignited Helen’s wrists and palms, made their way behind her knees, and circled her ankles. Helen twisted and arched her seared body. Her throat crackled and strained for air that fed only the consuming blaze. Her breasts were a scorched sanctuary where Cory would retreat and recharge, only to repeat her sweet burn of loving.
With final tenderness there, Cory pulled her mouth from Helen’s breast. She gathered Helen into her arms and kissed her powerfully. Helen strained against her, aching for that final touch. The touch Chelsea had never granted her.
Helen swallowed, caught her breath. Cory’s eyes burned feverishly. A split second of doubt flashed through Helen’s mind as an old memory returned to haunt her.
“Please, Chelsea,” Helen pleaded.
Chelsea argued. “It isn’t sanitary. I’m sorry, Helen, but I just can’t do it.”
“Then let me. I crave you, Chelsea.”
“If you must, but don’t kiss me afterward.”
Helen’s insistent mind snapped her back to reality.
Don’t be afraid.
“Now?” Helen breathed hoarsely.
“Yes.” Cory licked across Helen’s mouth, kissed her way downward, across her breasts, her stomach. Helen felt the slightest tickle of Cory’s lips against her hairline. “Now,” Cory whispered.
Helen’s eyes shot open, her lungs sucked a quick gulp of air. “Oh—Mmm,” she cried when the silk of Cory’s tongue glided gracefully through her. Helen felt fingers enter teasingly slow and wonderfully deep.
The intensity of Helen’s orgasm flashed between thighs and brain. Sparks that flew from her depths turned into pounding strobes behind her eyes. Brilliant crystals burst into raging flames. Her body was steel and felt feathery light. Feathers and steel, crystal and flames, Helen finally shattered, fragmented from the explosion within.
Cory rested her head on Helen’s thigh and caught her own breath. Helen watched her fingers sift through soft hair that, she was certain, must tickle her nose. When Cory’s breaths came slower, Helen reached toward Cory’s shoulders.
“Come up to me, baby,” she whispered.
Cory leaned over, kissed the wet curls, and stole a final taste. Helen raised her hips—a kiss returned.
“Hi, baby,” she said as Cory stretched on top. “Mmm,” she murmured, pulling Cory’s mouth to hers. A loving kiss. “Your mouth smells like almonds.”
Cory looked down at her. “You taste like almonds. You taste wonderful.”
Helen licked slowly around Cory’s mouth. “Lightly salted,” she added. She was then quiet. Instead of words, she wanted to please, and tease, and make love to this splendid naked woman in her arms.
From the top of Cory’s head to the soles of her feet, Helen turned dry into wet, all the while turning wet its wettest. She kissed Cory’s eyes, her throat, and found a wonderfully sensitive area behind her left knee; the place where she would return to hear the soft groan that escaped Cory. Helen feasted on large breasts and generously bathed her face with them. She bit into soft arms, sleek calves, and tender thighs that lured her to their center.
Three and a half years since she had last made love, five years since she had last tasted a woman. Helen closed her eyes and gripped Cory’s hips.
Is this what it takes, Chelsea? Do I let go by having something we couldn’t have?
Helen opened her eyes to be sure the woman she held wasn’t Chelsea. Beyond the sloping stomach and rounded breasts, Helen saw Cory watching her, waiting, welcoming her. Cory reached to Helen’s temples and pulled her closer.
“Please,” Cory whispered.
Helen breathed the rich, flowing scent of her. Cory’s ready lips glistened. Helen grazed them with her mouth and Cory twitched, moaned her pleasure, raised herself in search of Helen’s mouth.
Helen pressed into the wetness and could taste her, a flavor for which she had never before found a definition. She tasted again. Rhine wine and champagne burst in Helen’s mouth, zipped through her bloodstream, and jolted her brain.
With her tongue wide against the wetness, she traveled the length of Cory. She explored, selfishly savored every warm drop until satisfied. Only then did Helen move higher.
Cory was helpless to resist the quick sensations. Helen pulled Cory’s clitoris gently with her lips. She tormented the muscle with long strokes and then swift flicks that made Cory’s hips jerk with each tap. Helen felt shock waves ripple through Cory’s legs and out through her toes; up her torso, out from her fingertips, and into Helen’s cheeks. As quickly as Cory sounded them, her impassioned cries slipped into soft sobs.
“It’s okay, baby.” Helen soothed and kissed as she cradled the trembling Cory. “It’s okay.”
“I couldn’t control it.” Cory took a deep breath. “So quick.”
“So good.”
Helen stroked the length of Cory’s hair. Cool tears kissed Helen’s shoulder. She ran her hand over the smooth curve of Cory’s side. Down over her hip, around to her back. She listened to gentle breaths of her new lover drifting into sleep.
“You purr like a kitten, safe in my arms. I could fall asleep to your gentle lullaby.”
She pushed Cory’s tangled hair away from her cheek and whispered, “Do you know what you’ve done?” She brushed her lips against Cory’s eyebrow. “You’ve shown me how to feel again.” Helen moved her finger lightly down Cory’s nose. It twitched. Helen smiled. “You’ll pay for this, my sweet sleeper.”
For three years, Helen had made no attempt to pull herself out of her emotional nosedive. Finally, and without further hesitation, she let go of Chelsea. She kissed Cory’s lips and savored her smooth form against herself.
There would be no crash and burn. Filled with life, but just a little bit sleepy, she closed her eyes and drew Cory closer.
Helen embraced joy.
*
From the gentle bubbling of the fish tank, coupled with the feeling that she was the prime target of intense eyes watching her, she awakened. Cory leaned on one elbow and draped a leg over Helen. Her free hand rested near Helen’s neck.
“I feel wonderful,” Helen said, revitalized from a deep sleep. “Was I out long?”
“Forever,” she said and kissed the tip of Helen’s nose. “A few minutes. You’re a fine lover.”
“I lost my breath once or twice, too.” Helen shivered, looked around. The kitchen door was to her left and the hallway to her right. She then looked back to Cory. “I think we’re naked in the middle of your living room.” She turned her head to look above and behind her. The aquarium continued its uninterrupted bubbling, and the fish seemed attentive to their presence. She grinned. “They saw the whole thing. Look at them with their tiny lips making big and little ohs.”
Cory laughed. “I was making them, too.” She rounded her lips and worked them quicker than the swordtails.
Helen threw her arms around Cory and squeezed. “Mmm, yeah. I remember.”
Cory’s eyes continued to sparkle, but her expression became serious. “I want more than one night.”
Helen reached beside her and grabbed the wrinkled sweatshirt. “You should have given thought to that before all of this.”
Cory nuzzled between Helen’s breasts. “Really, Helen. What do you want?”
She pulled Cory’s hair away from her shoulders and ran her fingers over them. “A blanket, a hug, and time with you, baby.”
Cory popped her head up. “Be right back,” she said, and Helen watched her scamper down the hallway. Her size seven butt twitched this way and that. Cory was wiry, full of quick and precise movements that measured well against the precision she must display as an accomplished pianist. And accomplished she certainly was. But despite the posters from all around the world that hung in Cory’s music room, she’d made mention of a group she w
as looking to connect with in Boston. What more could she want?
Dragging three comforters and with two oversized pillows jammed beneath her arm, Cory reappeared. Two of the comforters became their first bed together. Under the third, they snuggled.
“What is it you want to do in Boston?” Helen asked after a long kiss from Cory.
“Conduct the Boston Light Orchestra,” Cory said proudly.
“Really? I thought you were a solo act. World-class. Why would you want to give that up?”
“I want stability. I want to grow old with someone. I’ve experienced too many coattail relationships. Some women would have dumped me in a minute if I had a finger amputated.”
“Not all, I’m sure.”
Cory became quiet. Helen saw a distant look that seemed like a love from long ago. She allowed her the time to reflect, and Cory soon shook off the thought.
“Who was that?” Helen asked.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. Tell me about her.”
“Elinor was my first lover. I was twenty-one and she was thirty-two.”
“A cradle robber. What happened?”
“My music got in the way. I was never there and our breakup was ugly. She got physical and I walked out.”
“She hit you?”
“She threw my piano bench at me. I was amazed she could fling it so quickly and so far.” Cory laughed, but the hurt was obvious.
“And that was that?”
“For a while. After some time, I called her. We yelled a lot and she asked me to come home.”
“Did you?”
“No. I couldn’t give up the music.”
“A career move,” Helen said, trying to soften Cory’s action.
“At her expense.”
“What about your expense?”
“It’s made for a lonely life.”
“Have you and Elinor made amends?”
“We’re long-distance friends. She lives happily in Baltimore. We connect every so often.”
“And now you want to settle down?”
“I’m tired of dashing all over the globe. Kirk Janssen is leaving the Boston orchestra in April, and I’ve made it known that I want his position.”