Dear Abby

by Barnett, Peggy

  "Ixazaluoh is the Maya goddess of water and weaving. She is a woman's goddess and she loves women. I am named well." Ixazaluoh smirks. "So please, let me do as my namesake would and allow me to taste your waters."

  It is the hokiest line anyone has ever fed Abby, and it absolutely works.

  Abby feels her eyes slip closed and her head drop back without any conscious thought from her brain, and decides that's just fine. The pile of linens behind her is soft and when Ixazaluoh guides her back against them, she just sighs and relaxes as much as she can while still staying on her feet. Ixazaluoh's fingers pluck gently at the straps of her bathing suit. The nylon pulls and catches against Abby's dry skin, delicious and slow.

  Ixazaluoh peels Abby.

  The gauzy wrap, the springy bathing suit; over her breasts, a slow slide down her less-than-flat stomach, a kiss on each sweet roll, over her hips and then a drop from her thighs, like suicidal base-jumper. With the fabric goes Abby's fear, her shame, her worry.

  "Feels good," Abby whispers as Ixazaluoh scratches just the very tips of her fingernails through the sandy curls around Abby's slit.

  "It does," Ixazaluoh agrees. Abby opens her eyes and looks down on her not-goddess and is only partially surprised to see that she's somehow shed her shorts and underwear without Abby noticing.

  She is crouched on the ground, her sandals on, her shirt unbuttoned and spread open, her bra—a front clasper—hanging loose. Abby brushes her knuckles across Ixazaluoh's temple, all the way to the back of her head where the elastic is straining against the piles of black, black curls that Ixazaluoh has pinned back. She pulls at it, carefully, so as not to tug, and is rewarded with a spill of fragrant silk across her fingers. Abby groans. It feels good.

  "This is why I like women," Ixazaluoh smirks. "So soft. So kind."

  Abby chuckles, and then gasps as her belly bounces against Ixazaluoh's cheek. Skin to skin, finally, and it feels like someone has rubbed liquid electricity between them, wherever they touch. Hands on her thighs, spreading them gently.

  "Now who's being clichéd?" Abby asks, but it comes out more like a startled exhale, because that's when Ixazaluoh presses the cool tip of her nose against Abby's mons and kisses her right on the clit.

  "Still me," Ixazaluoh says around her little mouthful. "Why?" Each word smears against skin and Abby's knees start to shake. "Want me to do it fast? Hard? I can fuck you." And then she bites Abby's outer labia, just one side, hard.

  The noise that crawls out of Abby's throat is possibly supersonic. Abby shudders so hard that she nearly tumbles sideways off the pile of tablecloths. Ixazaluoh pushes her shoulders between Abby's legs, getting one knee around her neck and using her own body to hold Abby upright, open, right where she wants her.

  The air in the cupboard is stifling, reeks of detergent and cloth, sun cream and plantains, chocolate and salty woman. Abby's never been so fucking turned on in her life and she's barely been touched yet. Her lungs seem to have shrunk, she can't get enough air, but that's fine because her gash feels enormous, greedy and opening, unfolding petal by petal like an orchid. Or a carnivorous pitcher plant.

  "No, slow," she begs. "Slow. Gentle. Please."

  "Yes," Ixazaluoh says, and kisses the hurt, laves it with her tongue and then, in the interest of symmetry, kisses the other side of Abby's labia too. "Time enough for claiming later."

  Soft and gentle, a little lick against her clit like a sweet kitten, and Abby has to jam her mouth against the back of one of her hands, the one not buried in Ixazaluoh's hair, to keep the thought, the giggle in. Abby's read porn, of course she has, every woman has. She's even read some of the girl-on-girl stuff, which is probably where the ridiculous image of a kitten comes from.

  Ixazaluoh is not fluffy or sweet. Her eyes are not large and wet, her claws not sharpened, her tongue not rough. She is not biddable or distractible. She is not trainable. She is not tame.

  So Ixazaluoh goes slowly, taking time between each damp foray between Abby's pussy lips, her fingers alternately massaging and squeezing Abby's ass, her breasts, the soft inside of her thighs. She goes slowly, but not tentatively, not weak. Her fingers will leave bruises and Abby almost comes from just the thought of them peaking out from the edges of her bathing suit tomorrow, from imagining the looks on the faces of the brash, selfish young men around the pool who strut like peacocks for the young skinny things in bikinis and ignore her lush, mature body. Someone fucked me, those bruises will tell them. Someone thinks I'm attractive, so screw you.

  Ixazaluoh eases off with her mouth but pinches both of Abby's nipples, holding down hard, until Abby is squirming more from the pain than approaching climax. When Ixazaluoh lets go, blood rushes into the abused points and Abby howls into the skin on the back of her own hand.

  It doesn't take long after that. Oh, no. Ixazaluoh buries her whole face against Abby's cunt, diving in like a parched woman. She sucks on Abby's clit, pulling it between her lips, accidentally scraping her teeth along the firm skin and that's it, that's it, Abby's tensing up, bare toes curling against the dusty concrete floor, fingers yanking hard in Ixazaluoh hair, skin screaming.

  The meaty thrust of a tongue and Abby is wrecked.

  Ixazaluoh's mouth stays against her as she shivers and nearly falls over, panting like she's just run the world's most debauched marathon, every single pore tingling and calling out, again, again! One of Ixazaluoh's hand pets across Abby's stomach, pressing down to gauge the flutter of her muscles through her skin, and Abby opens her eyes, wondering where the second hand has gone.

  Oh, she thinks when she finds it. Oh, fuck, that's hot.

  Ixazaluoh, still crouched, has hot three of her own fingers shoved so far up her own pussy that there is a string of lubricant drooling down the sweet rounds of her bottom, dripping onto the concrete.

  Womanly waters, Abby thinks, dazedly.

  She slides her knee off of Ixazaluoh's shoulder, releasing her hold, giving her lover more room to maneuver her arm. She lets go of Ixazaluoh's hair, bends double and kisses her forehead to apologize for tugging, and stays there, cheek to cheek, watching.

  Ixazaluoh is so close to coming, Abby can tell. Her whole chest has gone red, and its' crawling up her throat, blooming in her cheeks. Her lips are swollen and her chin shines, and her eyelids are half closed and she looks like a fucking angel, never mind a goddess, and Abby did this, Abby was the one that did this to her.

  Pride swells against her sternum and slides down into her pussy, making the abused lips tingle and plump with renewed interest. A thrum of possessive glee vibrates up Abby's spine.

  "God, you're gorgeous, fucking look at you," Abby pants into her hair. "Go on, do it. I want to see. I've never seen another woman come."

  Ixazaluoh raises her face, offers it up, and Abby can't deny her this, can't deny her anything, it seems, so she sips the cool breath from her lips, tastes salt and effort, and sweet chocolate.

  "Oh, oh," Ixazaluoh breathes into her mouth. "I'll teach you, I'll teach you, my dear, dear."

  "Why me?" Abby pants, running her hands through Ixazaluoh's hair, petting, reassuring herself that her not-goddess is still there, that isn't trying to run, wants to stay close.

  "Because," Ixazaluoh pants, her shoulders jerking under Abby's touch, her eyebrows screwed close together.

  "There are other hotter women here," Abby protests, bends to kiss the top of Ixazaluoh's head.

  Ixazaluoh grunts with surprise at the tender touch, eyes flying open and mouth swinging into a perfect circle as she tenses all over and comes. It is beautiful, Ixazaluoh is beautiful, and Abby drops down to her knees to kiss her not-goddess through the aftershocks.

  "I'm not looking for hot," Ixazaluoh whispers into the skin of Abby's neck, once she has caught her breath. She presses a nipping kiss on the pale flesh and Abby trembles all over. She could come again, she thinks, if Ixazaluoh just licked her clit some more. "I was looking for caring. I was looking for someone who saw the world, not just looked at it. S
omeone who wanted to see the real. I was looking for someone who saw me. I was looking for someone exactly like you, Abigail."

  Abby has to kiss her after that. It is slick, and warm, and wonderful and she could stay there forever, she really could. Only she's not young, not by a long shot, and her knees begin to protest and as the concrete radiates cool air she begins to shiver, the sweat evaporating off her skin. They stand, and Ixazaluoh uses a napkin to lovingly wipe all the moisture from the inside of Abby's thighs, from her own chin, from between her fingers.

  Abby wishes, just for a second, that she was brave enough to try to lick those fingers. She wonders what another woman tastes like, if she'll taste the same as Abby does, but she's never done it before. And then Ixazaluoh is clean and it's too late.

  A pang of regret flitters along the underside of her skin, but Abby doesn't let it show. She lets Ixazaluoh help her back into her bathing suit, a reversed peel made all the harder by how the nylon catches on her damp skin. She buttons Ixazaluoh's shirt, smoothes her collar, then finds the elastic and helps Ixazaluoh bundle her curls back into the appropriate bun.

  "Thank you," Ixazaluoh says and kisses Abby until her eyes roll back into her head and Abby's sure she's going to come again without either of them touching her below the waist.

  And then the cupboard door is open, and Abby is alone.

  Grinning, giggling softly to herself like a twitterpated schoolgirl, Abby makes her way quickly back to her patio chair. She feels good. God, she feels great. The glasses and bowl have been cleared away, but her towel, her bag, her laptop are right where she left them. She decides they'll be fine for a few minutes more and heads towards the pool. She can't stroll through the compound reeking of satisfaction and sex. Her pussy is still slick and she relishes the soft slide between her thighs while she walks.

  It only occurs to her after she's had a bit of a paddle and returned to fetch her bag, to wonder how Ixazaluoh knew her name.

  ☼

  Abby's been on the keen edge of uncomfortable arousal since she got back from the pool. She showers, changes, and then squirms her way through the very standard dry and boring buffet dinner. It's no use. She was going to go to the disco to review the DJ but, no, god, not like this. Not with every inch of her skin over sensitized and begging for touch, not with her pussy leaking and greedy, not with all those stupid young douchebags around—because all it would take is one look under his eyelashes and Abby would have one of them hauled into the bathroom like that. She wouldn't even let him speak, just shove him into the cubicle and impale herself on his cock, and no, no, a cock is not at all what she wants right now.

  She rushes back to her room as soon as she's done eating. She's got grand, desperate plans to finger herself in order to just get rid of the shivering itch at the back of her cunt. She wishes she had packed a vibrator, one of the long slim ones that reach inside so prettily. But she never checks her luggage and the last thing she needs is for some overzealous security guard to open her bag in search of the strange, blunt object he saw on the scanner.

  She uses the handle of her electric toothbrush instead. Abby throws herself onto the bed, skims off her panties—uhg, soaked, could everyone smell it over dinner?—and chucks them into a corner. She tucks a pillow under her ass and crooks her knees right up to her chin and dives in. She strokes the cold plastic of the handle over the roof of her gash over and over again, getting the chittering little thing right up against her g-spot, rubbing her clit in rough, tight circles with the fingers in order to just get it over with. She has to come and she has to come now. She can't wait any more, she can't stand it.

  She thinks of Ixazaluoh, bites her own bottom lip and tries to recall the taste of Ixazaluoh's lip gloss, and that sends her crashing over the cusp so quickly that it steals all the breath from her.

  She falls back panting, legs splayed unashamedly, black dress rucked up around her waist. And she's grinning, fuck is she grinning, because this is crazy. This is just mad. Thirty-two years of being straight as a goddamn arrow and suddenly, after one grope in a closet, Abby's a lesbo?

  No, no, it's not as simple as that. She can't cheapen Ixazaluoh that way.

  Can't cheapen herself that way, if she's honest. Which she rarely is when it comes to herself and sex. She never thought she was very good at it, the sex stuff, the relationship stuff, the finding-a-husband stuff; but maybe it was because she was doing it wrong. Maybe it was because she was doing it because she was doing it the way people said she should, instead of doing the stuff that she wanted to do. Maybe it was because she was dating the boys her mother set her up with instead of the men that her best friend Vanessa kept shoving at her. Maybe it was because she was treating each date like a job interview for a husband instead of just a night out where she can indulge in another person—in their laugh, in their quirks, in their body.

  And, huh, that's new and interesting: thinking in non-gender-specific pronouns. Phwoar.

  So, filled to the brim with afterglow and bravery, Abby lets herself go to the one place she never can when she's being introspective: work.

  She's had sex with a woman and she wants more and she feels great. She can think about work, and not shy away. She can think about how she writes travel articles about five-star luxury resorts instead of saying no, and quitting her job, and writing a book about hiking through Kyuushuu. Instead of writing articles about first world entitlement and social attitudes. About how paying the resort workers well is a very good and that, but it's the way the country and the culture and the people are exotified and turned into commodities that is the next hurdle. About all the things Abby wants to say when someone writes Dear Abby, and doesn't. When she really, really should.

  Abby rolls onto her side and sets the wet hairbrush on her other pillow and giggles some more. There's a delightful burn in the inside of her hips, in the quivering of her quads, and she loves it.

  Okay, two spectacular orgasms in one day and suddenly she's grown the cajones to admit to herself that the one common factor in all the things that make her miserable is her inability to ask for what she wants instead of just doing it.

  Like Ixazaluoh just does it.

  Like how Ixazaluoh just did her.

  Abby thinks she might just be falling in love with Ixazaluoh, or she would if it wasn't absolutely ridiculous to be falling in love with a woman whose name she didn't even know yesterday. And what good would being in love with Ixazaluoh do, anyway? Abby's only here for another three days, and she's no John Smith, to be arrogant enough to think that she could offer Pocahontas a 'better life' in her first world city, to be entitled enough to think that Ixazaluoh would want to come home with her like a living souvenir. Abby knows that she'd love Ixazaluoh regardless, but what would the people around them say?

  That Abby got played for her green card. Or that Ixazaluoh got tricked by a gringo.

  Either way, nothing generous.

  So no, Abby is not allowed to fall in love with Ixazaluoh.

  The revelations are coming fast and loose today, Abby thinks. Maybe Vanessa was right and I just need to get laid and stop thinking myself into knots all the time. She'll be pleased to hear it when I get home, the lovely tart.

  And then the fear strikes her, hard and honest, and terribly, depressingly familiar. Oh, god, how am I going to feed my cat? Pay my rent? I can't just quit.

  Suddenly filled with chill realism, her bravery shattered like ice, Abby quietly goes to the ensuite. She washes her hands and her hairbrush, cleans herself up, and climbs into her serviceable cotton nightie. She makes sure she hasn't left any stains on her dress and hangs it up on the railing on the balcony so the smell of sex will be cleared from the fabric by the morning dew.

  Cowed by her own fear, Abby sits at her laptop and diligently taps out two thousand words worth of praise for the Riviera Luxuria and emails it off to her editor. She answers three Dear Abbys, and sends the column to the magazine, and then shuts her computer down and goes to bed.

  It
takes counting backwards from one hundred three times for Abby to fall asleep.

  ☼

  There's a knock on the door just before dawn. When Abby looks through the peephole, it's Ixazaluoh, holding a stack of towels that Abby didn't call the front desk for.

  For a moment, Abby is torn. Ixazaluoh makes her think things she shouldn't. And then she thinks, fuck. Why the fuck not? Why can't I have this if I want it? It's clear that she does! And it's only for a few more days.

  She flicks open the locks and wrenches open the door. Ixazaluoh parts the stack of towels with one hand and shows off a glass bottle of what Abby can only guess is a liquor. It is whitish and cloudy. Silently, Ixazaluoh takes a step over the threshold, and sets the towels down on the credenza just inside the hallway.

  She doesn't ask if she can come in, she just pushes Abby against the door frame and bites her mouth. Abby squeals. Ixazaluoh's teeth actually draw blood and she licks it off Abby's lip. "What a lovely offering," she says.

  The cut stings, but Abby mashes her lips back against her lover's and draws her into the room, locking the door behind her. Determined to show Ixazaluoh how much she wants her in return, Abby herds her towards the bed. Ixazaluoh's knees hit the edge and she sits hard, drawing Abby down with her. Abby devours her mouth, wet and warm and wonderful, until both of them are panting like racehorses, chests crushed together and riding each other's thighs.

  "Off, off," Abby demands, pulling at the buttons that are keeping her hands from Ixazaluoh's beautiful, hot skin.

  "Patience," Ixazaluoh says, and before Abby can get her bearings, has rolled them over so she is straddling Abby's pelvis. "A drink, first."

  Ixazaluoh rolls off Abby and fetches two water glasses from the ensuite. She somehow manages to lose her shirt and shorts between the bathroom and the bed, but Abby isn't complaining. Ixazaluoh is wearing dark blue lace and it makes her dusky skin shine gold in the soft light of the sunrise that is splashing in through the windows. She also fetches the small glass bottle from the credenza.