And with that, Martha started kissing me. Not just one kiss, buy many kisses. They all felt like the kiss which had happened during the game. After we'd made out for a little while, Martha pulled away to speak.
"I didn't sleep with Jake that night," Martha said. "And instead ended up telling him that I thought I had feelings for you and I didn't want to play with him anymore. He was really cool about it and didn't get hung up on any feelings of his own. I really just think he was friends with us, is friends with us, so that made it much easier.”
I didn't know what to say, but Martha continued, so I didn't have to say anything.
“I told him that I feel things when I'm with you that I don't feel with anyone else.”
When she said that we fell into each other, our hands exploring each other's bodies as we kissed and groped. There was something primal, yet refined, to our love making. Soon enough we were naked and still exploring, but now grinding against each other. I had never been with a woman before, and it was one hundred times as amazing as our first kiss. We got lost in each other, then climaxed because of each other. Afterward, we caressed each other's ribs and thighs.
To Kiss A Girl
~ Bonus Story ~
A First Time Lesbian Romance
Daisy
I never wanted to be a lawyer, but it seemed the path was predestined. And I was never one to go against the grain, or my parents. Sure, that meant I barely knew the meaning of fun. Until one day.
I escaped my tedious life on a whim and went to a place all my girlfriends had had wild parties before without me. I found another path, another destiny, where I felt free and finally had fun! I soon realized I couldn’t live without my other secret life and the unexpected connections I’d made. I couldn’t live without her or the soul-soothing jazz music we shared.
Cale
She was a spoilt, boring rich girl, or so she thought. That’s never how I saw her. I saw a brave soul on the hunt for her real passion in life. And she found it! I wasn’t sorry she felt torn between her mundane life and our magical, carefree, musical world. We made a connection, not just through the music, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her!
* * *
Chapter 1
A senior associate approached our hive with a stack of documents reaching up to her neck. I stood up quickly and smiled.
“Do you need help with that?” I asked.
“Yes, thank you, Daisy,” she replied, “Please put that on Travis’ desk.”
Travis was still the senior associates’ favorite after he’d spotted a loophole in a lucrative client contract the previous week. It could have cost the firm millions.
I hurried towards her, taking more steps to compensate for the restriction of my pencil skirt. One of the downsides of working at one of the most prestigious law firms in Atlanta was the dress code. A pair of jeans or sweatpants were definitely more my style. My mother had bought the skirt for me when I broke the ‘good’ news to her and my father six months ago. I didn’t want to expose my rounded posterior to the world, but she said the skirt looked good. Professional. And she was still waxing on to all our family and friends who would listen, about me being accepted as a junior associate at Goodwin & Freidman.
I wish I had felt as excited as she had.
I returned to cite-checking the partner’s brief and actually looked forward to the all-hands meeting an hour later for a break from the tedium. The other three first years on the team would be jostling for attention, as usual. But not me. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good at my job, or couldn’t handle the pace. My body was actually starting to get used to the crazy schedule. And it was probably going to be another twelve hour day. Thank God I had taken my Professor’s advice to live as close to work as possible.
My parents helped to pay the rent, but I knew they would have preferred I commute from home. The five-bedroomed mansion they called home was even more airy with their only child gone. But I got to see it every Sunday. They insisted I come for Sunday lunch, every Sunday.
That night I finally collapsed onto my sofa at ten ‘o clock. The sounds of gunfire and explosions bled through from the neighbor’s apartment. Another action series. My computer screen was flashing on the desk in the corner of the room. More social media updates from old high school friends that actually had a life. Some of them didn’t even have full time jobs! I warmed up a bowl of leftover pasta from the café downstairs and picked out the chicken pieces first, as I glanced up at the Mac’s screen again. Fine. What adventures were they up to now?
Emma was in South Africa! There was a photo of her standing on a lush green hill with a secluded bay behind her and some rural huts on the far hill. It looked beautiful. She had a huge smile on her face. I sighed. She had been backpacking around the world for almost a year now. I shoved a piece of pasta into my mouth and chewed slowly. The only vacation I had taken lately was to the Starbucks on my fifteen minute lunch break.
After my hunger was cured, I climbed into a scalding hot shower.
“The dog days are ov-er-er…”
Florence and the Machine blared from the wireless speaker on my desk.
“The dog days are do-one!” I sang along.
My favorite part of the day.
***
After working through all the sunshine of my Saturday, I headed to the Whole Foods Market. Other young corporate slaves fumbled through the aisles attempting to placate their frazzled bodies with organic, GMO-free products, as I sipped my extra-dark-roast coffee at the coffee bar.
I scrolled down on my mobile. Another photo of Emma. Standing on top of a mountain, nestled in a narrow band of clouds with a jagged coastline far below. I closed the photo and noticed an ad in the right-hand corner of the screen. I clicked on it and it expanded to fill the screen. Then I shook my head, closed the ad and took another sip of my bitter coffee.
A second later, I opened the ad again and stared at it. It was an event invitation. I didn’t how it was linked to me. I had never been to South Carolina before. We had only driven through on route to my aunt in Washington. I closed it again. Charleston. The girls had had some wild weekends there when they were at college. Of course, I wasn’t with them. I had my head glued inside some legal textbook. Beach parties, jazz music, way too much drinking and who knows what else. Fun. A foreign word in my vocabulary.
A day later the ad continued to taunt me. It would only take about five hours to drive there. I could pop in and out for the weekend. No. There was a big merger still being finalized at work. There was no way I’d have time. The week flashed by like an express train.
On Saturday I got on the I-20 at eight ‘o clock in the morning and left town. Work could wait, for a change. I immediately felt the guilt swooping in and probably wouldn’t be able to bury the feeling the rest of the weekend. I hadn’t told anyone I was going, especially not my parents.
I pulled up outside the hostel four hours and fifty minutes later. The double story building had white balcony railings and blue shingles. My mouth stretched into a wide grin and a little giggle burst out. I still couldn’t believe I was there! I dumped my backpack on the double bed in my private room and walked out onto the balcony. Green vines were growing up the balustrades and in the distance, cars drove over the Ashley River Bridge.
The competition started at seven ‘o clock and the bar was only three blocks away. I had to go and stroll passed beforehand, just to check it out. The bar was on the beach and had a rooftop deck. I saw the deck first as I rounded the corner. It was wooden and had a string of lights around the perimeter. It would be beautiful when the sun set.
Then I saw the chalk notice board. Competition starts tonight at 19:00. All welcome. Come join in the fun. I inhaled deeply.
“Can I help you?”
A server stood, holding a menu out to me.
“Oh-err, no thank you,” I replied.
I smiled awkwardly and carried on walking passed. Perhaps if I read a book on the hostel’s balcony it might rela
x my nerves, I thought. By six ‘o clock the sun cast long shadows on the paperback. I put it down on the mosaic table top, wiped my sweaty temples and stood up. It was slightly cooler in my room, but I decided to take a refreshing shower before heading to the bar. My red and white polka dot vintage dress lay on the bed, ready for the show. I wasn’t sure I was ready!
I got back to the venue quickly and went straight to the downstairs bar. I didn’t usually drink, but this occasion called for additional courage. I turned around and there it was. The stage. It was small and elevated up only about forty inches off the well-worn wooden floor. A small drum kit was set up in the one corner, two guitars rested on stands on the other side and in the front, two microphone stands stared me down. I hurried out and up the stairs to take in the view from the upper deck.
A group of thirty-somethings was sitting on the worn sofas in one corner. Their table was littered with beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays. One of the guys was rhythmically tapping a drumstick on the table. I walked towards an empty single seater armrest on the opposite end. Maybe it was the band, I thought. When I put my empty cider bottle down on the table a guy in a driving cap stumbled closer.
“Can I buy you another?” he offered.
His breath reeked of stale beer. I drew backwards.
“No thank you,” I replied. “I’m fine.”
One of the girls at the opposite table looked at me. She shook her head and rolled her eyes in the direction of the drunk guy. I nodded and giggled. Bulky beads hung down over the front of her vest. Her skinny arms had a lovely dark beige tan. She looked a bit like a surfer. I ordered another cider and when the server put it down, he put a shooter glass beside it.
“I –err, I didn’t order that,” I told him.
“Ah no, that’s from Cale over there,” he replied, pointing to the skinny girl.
“Oh okay.” I looked over at her. “Thanks!” I shouted and gave her a thumbs up.
I sniffed the shot glass. It smelt like pineapple. I stuck my tongue into the liquid and then chugged it down. My friends would be shocked! I still couldn’t believe I was there in Charleston. And possibly going to get up on a stage and sing in front of people for the first time in my life! The pineapple flavor lingered in my mouth. The group with the skinny girl headed down the stairs.
“See you downstairs, I hope,” she called up to me.
I waved back and nodded. My mouth had become too dry to speak. The people were friendly here in Charleston at least. Hopefully, if I did gather the courage to step up on the stage, beyond Ultima Thule, they wouldn’t laugh at me! After I heard the third different voice sing, I got up slowly, took a deep breath of the cool ocean air and headed towards the music.
Chapter 2
I ground my teeth like a mill making flour. Could I really do it? What if they did laugh at me? Come on, it’s a small stage and there are only about thirty people watching, I tried to convince myself. Only thirty!
“Who’s up next?” the MC asked. “Any other lovely ladies or guys want to brave it up here?”
No! Yes. No!
I forced my feet off the barstool rest and onto the floor. Maybe I’d let one more person go first. No! It was now or never.
“Any other – ah there we go,” the MC continued. “What’s your name Red?”
“Daisy,” somebody inside my body responded.
He handed me the mic. It felt even heavier than one of my legal tomes.
“Hey it’s you!” a voice behind me exclaimed, “Yeah!”
I turned and glimpsed the girl from upstairs, now with her hands holding a black bass guitar.
“What number do you want love?” the guy next to me asked.
“Oh – err – Blue Moon, Mel Tormé style.”
Then the beat of the drum started and I couldn’t turn back. My knuckles turned white, wrapped around the microphone. The stage’s light shone in my eyes and blocked out the faces of the audience. Just pretend you’re alone. You’re singing in the shower. The heat of the light warmed my skin like the steam and my grip loosened on the mic.
Words started to tumble out of my mouth awkwardly like children’s building blocks. The pineapple liqueur taste lingered as the voice sang a line, and then another.
“Someone I really could care for-”
My friends would never believe I was here up on a stage. Singing.
“Without a dream in my heart-”
My body was light and tingly. My feet moved to the left and to the right along with my hips.
“Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for-”
The light from the candle bulbs in a wall-mounted candelabra flickered as the voice stopped singing. There were no more words. The song was finished. My hands kept hold of the microphone. My feet and hips were still. As was the room.
I suddenly remembered to inhale, just as the bustling noise of the crowd wound up again like a music box.
“Yeah!”
“You were awesome!”
I blinked and let go of the mic as the MC took it out of my hands. It was over.
Clapping and whistling noises grew louder and louder as my brain processed the sound. Someone touched my arm and I swung around to the back of the stage.
"You were fricking fantastic, girl!" the bass player said. "Well done!"
A hand helped me down off the stage.
“I err – was?”
My feet were back on the wooden floor. Along with forty other pairs. Did I just sing to so many people, I thought.
“Wow, you were amazing!” a short girl said.
I nodded.
“Great job!” an olive-skinned guy commented.
I squeezed my way towards the bar.
“Are you in a band?” a spiky-haired girl asked.
“Err – no,” I replied. “This was my first time on stage.”
“What? Really?”
I reached the bar.
“Here!” someone said and put a shooter in my hand.
I looked down at it and straightened out a crease in my dress with my other hand.
“Thanks,” I replied.
I put it to my lips and swallowed the liquid in one gulp. My body shuddered. It was not sweet like the last one. It tasted like medicine.
“You’re definitely going to win!” a male voice said behind me.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked as he squeezed in next to me at the bar.
“Sure! I’ll have a cider, please.”
The slow, rhythmic beat of the jazz drums started up again. A plump girl with a bow in her hair was on stage. Where I had just been. I had been up on that stage. And sang. To all those people. My heart was still beating at twice its usual speed.
I sipped the cool cider and listened to the brave girl singing on stage. She was okay. Her pitch was off a few times. A guy came on after her and did an acid jazz song. He jumped around on the stage and nearly collided with the bass player. He was fun to watch. Then another girl and then a much older African American woman. The stage lights reflected the gray streaks in her hair.
“I love that song you did,” a girl next to me said, “Do you like the Cowboy Junkies version of it?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I love the Cowboy Junkies!”
“Yeah? You sound like Margo Timmins!”
I rested my forearms on the bar counter.
“No ways!”
“No you do,” the girl continued, “really!”
A DJ replaced the band after the last competitor finished singing. I saw the band make their way towards the bar.
“You were great!” the bass player said.
“Thanks!” I replied, “I think it was that pineapple shooter!”
She laughed. “My name’s Cale, by the way.”
“I’m Daisy.”
“Cool. Don’t you think she’s going to win the competition?” Cale asked the drummer.
“I reckon,” he replied, “It was great to jam with you, Daisy.”
Was I really hanging out with muso
s, drinking and having fun? I was. Then the MC was back on the stage. I turned towards the bar.
“We are ready to announce the winner of the singing competition. Come inside everyone!”
My foot tapped quickly on the floor.
“We would like to welcome back to stage the wonderful, the talented and sexy – ”
I took a big gulp of my cider.
“Daisy!” the MC shouted. “Well done for winning the competition! Please come up!”
Was he joking, I thought.
“Yeah!” Cale shouted next to me, “I told you!”
She yanked me off my barstool and shoved me in the direction of the stage. My feet felt like lead bricks as the stage got bigger and bigger.
“Here she is,” the MC announced, “our lovely polka dot jazz diva!”
He reached out his hand and helped me up. The crowd clapped and whistled as he handed me a small shiny trophy.
“We hope you’ll be back every weekend to charm us with that voice!”
***
As I walked back to the bar, my feet barely touched the ground. Cale threw her arms around me.
“I told you!” she exclaimed, “well done!”
I still couldn’t believe it. I ran my fingers over the trophy’s smooth surface and put it in my bag.
A half hour later I followed the band to the upstairs deck, now festooned with flickering fairy lights. How could I already feel at home with these people? I looked at the odd bunch, grinned and flopped down on the sofa next to Cale. She had a detailed sugar skull tattoo on her right shoulder.
“You like it?” she asked, as she noticed me staring at her arm.
“Yes, it’s beautiful!”
Cabin In The Woods Page 20