“Has Ryan been good to you?” Allie asked, fanning her fingertips, one after the other, over her right nipple.
“Yes, very,” Kay said, her gaze fixed on Allie’s breasts. “She’s a magnificent dancer.”
“She dances like she fucks.” Allie shifted in the chair and parted her thighs to expose the thin strip of black silk covering her sex. “Has she made you come yet?”
“Not yet,” Kay said, aware of Ryan breathing rapidly beside her. Ryan’s hand trembled against her neck. “I’m afraid I was a little eager and I made her come first.”
Allie jerked infinitesimally and her fingers tightened on her nipple. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What did you do?” Allie’s voice was slow and deep. She cupped both breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples rhythmically.
Kay took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you while Ryan licks you.”
Allie’s lips parted soundlessly and her eyelids fluttered before her gaze fixed on Ryan. “Come here.”
To Kay’s surprise, Ryan drew her along until she was close enough to see the wet sheen of excitement seeping beneath the silk onto Allie’s legs. Then Ryan knelt and carefully skimmed Allie’s panties down and off.
“I thought about her fucking me every day since I arranged for her to be my escort tonight,” Kay said, watching Allie’s face. “I wanted to masturbate tonight before she picked me up, but I made myself wait. When I saw her at my door, I was already wet.”
“Ryan,” Allie said softly without taking her eyes from Kay’s face. She sighed when Ryan leaned forward and put her mouth against her cunt.
Kay slid a little closer and rested her fingertips against the back of Ryan’s head. Her clit ached and she wanted to touch herself. “We kissed and I was so excited. I felt her cock against my leg.” Allie moaned. “My pussy throbbed and I wanted her inside me so much.”
Allie arched forward, her stomach contracting, and slid her hand behind Ryan’s head, her fingers just touching Kay’s. “Lick me harder, Ryan.”
“I waited all this time so I would need it so much I’d come over and over and over when she was finally inside me.” Kay twined her fingers through Allie’s. Allie was gasping, her eyes shining brightly. Her thighs trembled against the outside of Ryan’s shoulders.
“You’re going to make me come in her mouth,” Allie said breathlessly, staring at Kay. Her hips rose and fell against Ryan’s face.
“I know,” Kay said. “I made her come in my hands while I jerked her cock—”
“Oh, god.” Allie made a choking sound as her shoulders lifted into the air and she curled forward.
Kay knelt quickly and circled Allie’s shoulders, her fingers still joined with Allie’s behind Ryan’s head. She held Allie as she shuddered and climaxed in wrenching jolts. Kay was so excited she could barely breathe. She’d been on the edge of orgasm for so long she couldn’t wait any longer. She pulled her dress up and pushed her panties aside.
“Wait,” Allie said sharply and Kay stopped.
“Ryan, lie down and get your cock out.” Allie opened a drawer in the small table next to the chair and pulled out a condom. She quickly knelt beside Ryan and rolled it down the cock that stood up from Ryan’s open trousers. Then she grasped Kay’s hand and pulled her forward. “Ride her.”
Kay was already straddling Ryan’s hips, her dress pulled up to her hips, one hand gripping Ryan’s cock and the other holding herself open. She lowered herself until the cock pierced her lips. The first jolt of pleasure was so sweet she cried out. There was no way she could stop until she had it all, and she took it all in one long sweep, driving the cock head deep inside her. Her back arched and she screamed.
“Don’t come yet,” Allie ordered, taking Kay’s face in her hands. She licked Kay’s lips and slid her tongue inside her mouth.
Kay rocked on Ryan’s cock, sliding up and down, working it in and out, while Allie fucked her mouth. Distantly she heard Ryan groaning, felt Ryan’s hips thrusting to match her strokes. Her pussy clenched on the cock and her clit swelled against it.
“I’m coming on this cock,” Kay exclaimed.
Allie swiveled sharply and straddled Ryan’s shoulders, facing Kay. She lowered her cunt to Ryan’s mouth and caressed Kay’s face. “Wait for me, baby.”
“Oh, god it’s good,” Kay whimpered. “She’s so good.” She grabbed Allie’s shoulders, unable to support herself as her thighs went soft and her belly rolled. “You’re beautiful. Oh, god, I really need to come.”
“So do I,” Allie said through clenched jaw. “Just one more minute…give me one…oh, yes…she’s got me…”
“Oh,” Kay wailed, exploding on Ryan’s cock. “I’m coming.”
Allie cried out and Kay crushed her mouth to Allie’s, swallowing her pleasure. Kay came so hard she thought her pussy would never stop pumping. Allie finally slid off Ryan’s chest and curled beside her, rubbing her palm in slow circles on Ryan’s stomach. Kay leaned forward and braced her arms on either side of Ryan’s shoulders with Ryan’s cock still curled inside her. Ryan looked dazed, her face covered in sweat.
“Are you okay?” Kay kissed Ryan lightly.
“Perfect.”
“You need to come?”
“Already did.” Ryan grinned lazily. “With you.”
Kay nibbled on Ryan’s lip. “Good.” She glanced at Allie, who rested with her cheek on Ryan’s outstretched arm. “I can’t think of anything better than watching you come while Ryan’s cock is inside me.”
Allie smiled. “I’m glad Ryan brought you by.”
“Me too.” Kay carefully rose, sighing as Ryan slipped out of her. “I guess I should go.”
“Ryan,” Allie said sharply, sitting up. “Get yourself together.”
“Yes, Allie.” Ryan tucked her cock back in her pants and disappeared into the bathroom. A minute later she returned and took Kay’s hand. “I’m going with you.”
At the door, Kay turned to Allie. “Thank you…” She glanced at Ryan. “This has been a wonderful cruise, but tonight was the very best part.”
“The night’s not over.” Allie smiled and opened the door. “And neither is your date.”
Kay wrapped her arm around Ryan’s waist as they stepped into the hall and the door closed behind them. She skimmed her fingers over Ryan’s cock, thought of Allie’s face as she climaxed, and knew the rest of the night would be better than she’d dared dream.
ON SNOW-WHITE WINGS
Shanna Germain
The year I turned twenty, I read a poem about how true love flies in on angel wings. I didn’t believe in angels, but I believed in poetry and I was desperate for love, so I took to watching out my kitchen window, listening for the whisper of feathers against the panes. June and July, I looked for girls who thought they could leap from rooftops, recited poems to every chick who was so pale I swore I could see through her, finger-fucked women until they hollered about God in heaven. I hadn’t found anyone who resembled what I thought love should look like, and I figured I’d made my way through at least half the summer beach crowd and most of the regulars.
But, as it turned out, the poem was wrong. My love clomped in on snowshoes in the middle of the hottest, driest August my twenty years had ever known. She had a golden braid down her back and eyes that could have fought the sky for the title of True Blue and won. Her snowshoes were the old kind—wooden frames on the outside, and on the inside, ropes woven like giant spiderwebs that had caught her tiny bare feet.
That god-awful hot day in August, love sand-shoed her way over to the shade of my lifeguard chair and sat down on my bottom rung.
“Shit fuck,” she said, breathing heavy. The air was so still I could smell her; tangy and lip-cutting as a blue ice-pop. “Where’s the snow?”
“You can’t sit there,” is what I said, looking down on her from the height of my chair. After all, I didn’t know she was love yet. All I knew was that she was blocking my path to the ocean. You never knew when somebody might
get caught in a riptide trying to cool off.
She scooted over about a quarter-inch, then lifted one side of her buttcheek and pulled her red swimsuit out of it.
“Isn’t this Snow-On Beach?” she asked. I figured I didn’t really need to answer since the chair she was sitting in the shade of said just that in big white letters. And if she hadn’t seen that, there were the life preservers against her shoulder that also said PROPERTY OF S.O.B. I figured if she thought that meant something other than Snow-On Beach, then she wouldn’t be talking to me.
She picked up the other side of her butt and pulled at her suit again. I put my sunglasses on so I could watch her pink-painted fingers digging into the middle of her.
When she got herself comfortable, she tapped the life preserver. “So, where’s all the snow then?”
I turned my attention back on the ocean. Sometimes, you can’t tell what’s a gull and what’s a drowning kid’s head unless you keep the whole roll of waves in your sights at all times. The poets don’t say anything about that, but you lifeguard through high school and those years when you’re supposed to be in college, and you learn that all by yourself.
“You can’t sit there,” I said again. And then, because she didn’t seem about to move, “Besides, you ever seen snow on a beach?”
She seemed to consider this. Her sigh was the only breeze I’d heard all day. “I thought there’d be snow for sure.”
“It’s a hundred-two,” I said, and just saying it made it so. My shoulders sizzled so hot I’d have been afraid to touch them if I wasn’t already wearing them. I like the heat. As a kid, I’d wanted to be either a dharma bum or a beach bum, and when I realized how much time the former spent in dark bars, I’d picked the latter. But this weather was getting to be too much for even me. For the first time in my life, I wanted a breeze, an air conditioner, a place that didn’t think ninety degrees was just a warm-up.
She pulled the back-end of her braid around and put it in her mouth. She chewed on it, sucking it in and out of her mouth until it looked like the point of an arrow, sharp enough to pierce her lips if she wasn’t careful.
“Needs to be freezing for snow,” she said around her hair.
I figured that kind of statement didn’t even require me to say anything back. Some things you just don’t have to comment on out loud.
She spit her hair out of her mouth and looked up at me again, not shading her eyes. I felt a moment of vertigo, like I was looking into the sky even as I was looking down.
“You want to get ice cream after this?” her pink lips said. “If there’s no snow, then I want some ice cream.”
Ice cream sounded good, although I didn’t want to eat it. I wanted to rub it over my shoulders, over the red that my knees were turning despite being slathered in SPF 30. I wanted to melt it on her pink nose and suck it into my mouth like the tip of a leaking sugar cone. “Yeah, sure,” I said.
After that, we looked out at the ocean for a while. Me looking for kids who looked like gulls or gulls who looked like kids. Her, I don’t know what she was looking at. She was still in my way, but I couldn’t tell if I cared anymore. I sat that way my whole shift, looking at the ocean and then down at her hair part, the way it got pinker and pinker and made her hair look more and more like gold. I wanted to give her my hat, but then I wouldn’t have one. And like I said, I didn’t know then that she was love. I just thought she was another whack job disguised as love come to torture me.
At the Snow Cone, I told her that’s what I thought she was, another whack job.
“You get a lot of those?” she asked. She peeled bits of pink skin off her nose and dropped them on the table between us.
I raised my shoulders up a little, felt them burn. SPF 30, my ass. I fished an ice cube out of my coke and ran it over the tender skin at the edge of my strap line. “It’s a vacation town,” I said. “Girls see a strong girl in a swimsuit, and it’s all over.” I figured I didn’t need to tell her I’d been inviting my fair share of those whack jobs into my life.
We’d trekked from the beach to the Snow Cone—me in my flip-flops and her with her feet still webbed in the snowshoes—to get ice cream, but then she ordered cokes and grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches for us both. A hot sandwich was about the last thing I wanted, but stopping her seemed about like stopping the weather, and I sure didn’t have the energy or the know-how to do that.
Despite the greasy fans that tick-ticked overhead, I swore it was hotter in the shop than it was outside. The heat off the grill made my legs stick to the vinyl seat. I peeled one leg up, then the other.
She scooted sideways and put her feet up on the seat beside her. As she undid the bindings on the snowshoes, I could see the way her feet were crisscrossed with red skin and white, like a temporary tribal tattoo made from sun instead of ink.
“Don’t you wear sunscreen?” I asked.
“Sunscreen?” she said, like she’d never heard of it.
As she undid her other snowshoe, I sucked on my coke and checked out the rest of her. This close, I could see her better. Her pink lips curled down just a little at the edges, and a tiny round mole sat on the corner of one blue eye like a chocolate sprinkle.
She rubbed her hands across her feet and then turned back toward me. She slid her feet into the hot space between my thighs. A shiver of cool air brushed the inside of my legs and crept up my belly.
“Who are you?” I asked.
She’d gone back to peeling the skin off her nose, and now she stopped long enough to hold out her hand across the table. “Shit fuck,” she said. “I thought I told you. I’m Dakota.”
An ice cube wedged itself into my throat. My heart thump-thumped around the ice, shaking it so I had two heartbeats. I coughed once, and the sharp edges of ice turned, but didn’t move. I breathed through my nose, as the ice melted in trickles down my throat. Finally, the cube slid down to a place where I could swallow it.
I took her hand, her cool and rough and hot hand, and that’s when it all kicked in. That’s when I realized that whatever answer she’d given to my question, I knew who she was. She was love.
“Shit fuck yourself,” I said, just as the waitress came by with our plates. When we let go of hands, the waitress put the plates down on the table, setting Dakota’s right down on the pile of pink skin peelings that she’d collected.
Even with Dakota’s cool feet between my thighs, I couldn’t bear to touch the sandwich. She ate hers and, after pointing at my plate in question, mine too. With her mouth half-open around the steaming bread, I decided she didn’t look much like love, after all. She looked like lust, and I’d had about enough of that. Still, I sat in that heat and watched her mouth move, my teeth crunching the near-melted ice out of the bottom of my glass, and my insides tingling every time her feet wiggled against me.
“Where are you staying?” I asked.
“Staying?” Dakota said. “Oh, I’m not staying.”
It was time for me to go. I didn’t know if I could handle another L-word in my bed that didn’t have any of the other letters I was looking for. I stood up to pay the bill, and Dakota held out her snowshoes. “Want to try them?” she asked.
I did, just like I wanted to try her, but I shook my head. Dakota stood, barefoot, and padded after me to the register. I was digging cash out of my bag when she handed over a credit card. “I got it,” she said, and I let her pay, but I hoped it didn’t mean I owed her.
Outside, the sand was hot under my feet, even through my flip-flops, and I almost wished I’d said yes to her and her snowshoes. But then I wouldn’t be able to hold out my hand to hers, to shake it and say good-bye and leave her standing at the edge of Snow-On-Beach, with her snowshoes and her chocolate mole and her sun-striped feet.
Of course, I didn’t leave her, or that would have been the end of the story. I tried to leave her, but when I held out my hand, she gave me her snowshoes. And then she said, “‘You remember how she disappeared in winter, obscured by snow that fell blindly on
the heart, on the house, on a world of possibilities.’”
“What?” It was the longest thing either of us had said to each other, and I had no idea what it meant.
“ ‘You remember how she disappeared in winter—’”
“I heard you.” For some reason, I felt angry. Making me stand there with her stupid snowshoes in my hand, the sun beating down on my already sore shoulders. “I just don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“It’s from J. D. McClatchy,” she said, and sighed and looked at the sky. “I love that poem.”
I didn’t know that poem. I knew a lot of poems. Her snowshoes weighed nothing in my hand. In my other hand, her fingers captured mine.
“Should we go to your place?” she said.
And I said we should.
Walking into my place, I didn’t dare look out the kitchen window. If my love was out there right now, whispering her wings in my lawn, I didn’t want to know it. I put Dakota’s snowshoes by the door and kicked my flip-flops off next to them.
The living room was cooler than my upstairs bedroom, and I led Dakota there. It was okay while she walked around, touching stuff, blowing dust off the piles of books, but once she sat on the edge of the futon, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with her. I was having second, third, and fourth thoughts. My heart was saying one thing, my body another. I couldn’t tell which was which.
I thought we might talk, maybe about poetry, so I sat on the chair opposite her and pulled a book up from its dusty pile.
“Fucking hot,” she said. “Wish it would snow.” She pulled her tank top over her head, exposing her flat, pale belly and then the small snowdrifts of her breasts. Her nipples stood out, deep red berries.
“Uh,” I said. I’ve never been much of a talker, but that day, it was like when you go out in the cold and your lips get so frozen you can’t form the round vowels. Frozen, in a hundred-two heat. I tell you what.
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