Girl Love Happens : Season One

by T. B. Markinson

  “Jesus,” she muttered.

  I jerked my head back, enjoying the view from the floor. “Tell me what you want?”

  “I think you’re doing it. And then some.”

  “And then some? You asked for it.” I added another finger.

  Gemma’s eyes popped open and just as quickly glued shut. “Harder.”

  I pounded her pussy while circling her clit with the pad of my thumb. Somehow, Gemma’s head dipped even further back. “Are you doubled-jointed?”

  “Hmmm…”

  I laughed over the inability to answer a simple question. “You like this?”

  “Oh, yes. Bravo.”

  “What if I stopped?”

  Her head whipped up. “No!”

  “You did it to me.” I slowed my fingers but couldn’t bring myself to remove them. Not completely.

  “It was wrong of me.”

  “How wrong?”

  “So very, very wrong.”

  “And?” I increased the tempo again.

  “And I plan on making it up to you,” she panted.

  “And?” I asked again.

  “As soon as I can, I will.”

  “Promise.”

  “Promise, promise,” she squeaked out, barely able to speak.

  “You better.” Not waiting for a reply, my tongue flicked her clit, and then I sucked it into my mouth.

  Gemma let loose a squeal, and I realized she wouldn’t be able to muffle her orgasm with a pillow like usual. That revved my raging hormones.

  My fingers continued to pump while I stimulated her clit.

  Her breathing intensified.

  I doubled my efforts.

  Gemma’s body quivered. Wanting to take her to the orgasm cliff and beyond, I plunged another finger inside, and she said, “Oh, fuck me!”

  Her wish was my command. Never before had I inserted four fingers, and with the way Gemma’s body responded, I wanted to kick myself for not doing so sooner. She gushed over my hand. Her juddering thighs vibrated my cheeks.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she repeated.

  It took me a second to comprehend goody-two-shoes Gemma was chanting my favorite word when it came to sex. Shit, this experience was transforming into the screw of a lifetime.

  “Oh… I’m coming…” And then she let it out. The scream I’d been dying to hear ever since our first time. It was even better than I imagined. Ironically, she came right when Slash’s guitar blared the opening cords to “Sweet Child o’ Mine,” hopefully drowning out her shriek from others’ ears. It was for me and only me. I could have died right then, with a hand inside Gemma and my mouth lapping up her juices, making me the happiest corpse in the world.

  Gemma’s shaking started to subside, and she held my head in place. I knew before I gave her clit one last flick that she was beyond stimulated, but I couldn’t resist. Her body twitched, and she clasped my head tighter, emitting another groan and then, “Jesus, Tegan!”

  “That was the first time I heard you scream,” I mumbled into her pussy as I inhaled the heady just-fucked scent.

  She collapsed onto the bed. “That was unbelievable.”

  I hopped off the floor, stretching my cramped legs and back. “It was. The fuck of the semester.”

  “So far, but we aren’t done.” She tugged me down on top of her. “I promised, promised, remember.”

  “Don’t you need some recovery time?” I cupped her flushed cheek, proud of my efforts.

  “Hogwash. I’m not a dude.” She hurled me on my back, immediately delving inside. Foreplay wasn’t necessary at the moment.

  “Thank God for that. Kiss me.”

  I loved the way Gemma kissed. The emotions expressed with her mouth on mine, her tongue stoking a flame inside only she could ignite.

  She drew away, grinning. “The question remains: can you handle four fingers?”

  “I’m willing to give it a good old-fashioned college try.”

  Gem eased in a third finger, allowing for time to adjust.

  “More.”

  She hesitated before easing a pinky finger inside, carefully moving in and out.

  “You feel good. All of you.” I kissed her again. “Don’t stop.”

  Gemma drilled harder.

  My back arched.

  “More. More. More!”

  “Fingers or harder?” she asked with determined eyes.

  “Harder. Go in deep.” I closed my eyes in anticipation.

  It was like she wanted to reach all the way to my heart to give it a squeeze. My cooch welcomed each thrust, and I was close to exploding.

  “Whatever you do, don’t stop,” I begged.

  Someone knocked on the door of our dorm room.

  I shook my head and whispered for Gemma to continue.

  “Tegan!” my mother hollered from the other side.

  Gemma and I froze. She still had all four fingers buried inside me, unmoving.

  “Tegan! I hear you in there. What racket are you listening to, young lady? Let me in.” Mom whacked the door.

  “What’s she doing here?” I whispered. It wasn’t like her to show up unannounced.

  Gemma’s face went white as a ghost.

  “Don’t move. Maybe she’ll go away.” I’d already been denied one orgasm earlier and was so close now. Fuck it to hell.

  Gemma’s horrified grimace communicated You can’t be serious. She tried to pull out, but I encircled her wrist, keeping her right where I wanted, and shook my head. “Stay. You feel so good,” I quietly pleaded.

  “Tegan Raye Ferber! You let me in right now!”

  That was the straw that broke Gemma’s back, and she freed her fingers before I could say, “Boo!”

  Mom—the ultimate buzzkill.

  “Just a minute,” I chirped as if I hadn’t heard her previous rapping on the door. I spun to Gemma. “Quick, light some incense and hop in the shower. Give me five minutes before coming out.”

  A flash of red scrambled, following my directions. I slipped into PJ bottoms and a crumpled T-shirt that reeked of cigarettes and stale beer from last night’s impromptu gin and tonic party that had taken place on Friday instead of our typical Thursday drink-a-thons.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?” I said when I swung the door open and gave an exaggerated yawn worthy of an Oscar.

  “Were you still in bed?” She tsked. “It’s almost one in the afternoon.” She stressed “afternoon” as if I didn’t know it was daytime. Mom shoved past me and shook her head at the carnage in the room. The clothes I’d torn off Gemma and vice versa when we had stumbled into the room at two in the morning were strewn over the carpet, which hadn’t been vacuumed for months. Gem and I had fucked like rabbits on and off all morning like we did most weekends, and considering Mom had interrupted our recent caper, I feared the aroma of lesbian sex clung in the air.

  She crinkled her nose. “How can you live like this?”

  I shrugged and hugged my arms against my tits.

  “Get dressed, missy. We’re going to lunch.”

  Her commanding hand gesture annoyed the hell out of me. “What? I have plans with Gemma and some friends.”

  She took a step back, giving me an eyeful of her aerobics instructor skinny body. “What? You don’t have time to spend with the woman who brought you into this world on Mother’s Day?”

  “Mother’s Day is a week from Sunday!” I pitched my hands in the air. She’d finally done it. Lost her damn mind. It had only been a matter of time, and she chosen this day to do it.

  Gemma walked in wearing jeans and a Nebraska T-shirt. A towel was twisted around her head, and the scent of soap wafted into the room. “Hello, Mrs. Ferber. This is a lovely surprise.” Her smile was genuine.

  “At least someone is happy to see me.” Mom leveled disappointed eyes at me.

  Gemma shuffled awkwardly. “I should get going.”

  “What? No. We had plans.” I blocked the exit.

  “This is how you treat me when I surprise you for Mot
her’s Day? For future reference, surprising me on Mother’s Day is your job, not mine.” Mom waggled a finger in my face.

  “It’s not Mother’s Day! I’ve never missed one yet, and you can’t change the day on a whim and expect everyone to fall in line.”

  She bared her teeth in an attempt to smile.

  I didn’t budge.

  Gemma eyed me and then my mother with a pained expression, giving the impression she wished she had Star Trek powers and could beam out of the room.

  Mom wheeled to Gemma and asked in a syrupy voice, “Would you like to join us for lunch?”

  “I wouldn’t want to intrude on this special day.” She tripped over the word special, not that Mom acknowledged it. She was a pro at pretending. Most crazy people were.

  I wanted to scream, but couldn’t blame Gemma completely. Mom and I had placed her on shaky ground right in the midst of a Ferber family feud.

  “It’s no intrusion. Besides it’s the only way I’ll get my daughter to spend Mother’s Day with me.”

  I chomped down on my bottom lip and counted to ten. “I need to shower before we leave.”

  Mom motioned for me to go ahead.

  Again, I stifled a retort. This was my place. Not hers. Besides, Daddy was the one who paid the bills. The majority of them, at least. Half of the aerobics classes my mom taught were at the community center, and she didn’t receive any compensation. Mom’s real contribution to the family was to ground our self-esteems to a pulp. My older brother had skipped the most recent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s to be with his girlfriend in New Hampshire. Glen had busted his butt all four years in high school to receive an academic scholarship. Leave it to my brother to plan for the future, and now he was a free man, while Mom could pop into my life whenever she desired.

  If Gemma wasn’t alone with my mother, I would have stayed in the shower the remainder of the day. I was fairly certain the bathroom door was sturdy enough to withstand an attack even from my freakishly super-fit mom.

  I left the safety of the bathroom to discover Gemma and Mom laughing. When they saw me, both immediately clammed up.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, trying not to sound bitter.

  “Oh, nothing,” Gemma said with a sense of caution.

  “I was just enlightening Gemma about the time you peed your pants during the Christmas play.” Mom chortled.

  Gemma’s thin-lipped smile got my hackles up.

  “I was five!”

  “I remember it like it was yesterday. The wet spot just grew and grew.” With her hands, Mom mimicked the expanding wetness and then slapped her knee. “I even got it on VHS. Next time, I’ll bring it.” Mom prodded Gemma in the side.

  “You will not!” I flipped on the hair dryer to drown out her rebuttal.

  To her credit, Gemma squirmed in the desk chair as if about to be electrocuted.

  Mom perched on the edge of my bed while Gemma straddled my desk chair, arms draping over the plastic backrest. Only six inches separated them, and from Gemma’s locked jaw I sensed my redhead was bursting to bolt. Mother patted Gemma’s knee and signaled for her to bring it in for what I assumed was another humiliating episode from my childhood.

  Seconds later, Mom bent over laughing and Gemma peeked to see if I was watching. I caught her eye, and she smiled apologetically as she pretended, hopefully, to enjoy the joke.

  I raked my hair back into a scrunchie and said, “Are you two ready?”

  Gemma leaped up as if a rattler had latched onto her creamy ass. That made me laugh. Mom laughed along with me even though I was certain she had no idea what was so funny.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Bennigan’s,” Mom said.

  “That’s an hour—”

  Gemma pinched the back of my arm to silence my protest.

  “Don’t blame me. You insisted on moving to this tiny hamlet with only an Applebee’s. I can’t stand Applebee’s.”

  I didn’t see much difference between the two restaurants, but what the fuck? My Saturday was already ruined. Why not waste two hours trapped in a car with my mother. Kill me now, Lord.

  We stepped into the eerily quiet dorm lobby, and the female resident assistant manning the front desk flinched when she locked eyes on my mother.

  “Mom, how’d you get upstairs?” I asked.

  “Oh, Broom Hilda finally saw it my way.” The play on the pronunciation of Brunhilda got her derision across. “Can you imagine she tried to tell me I needed your permission to go upstairs? That would have ruined the surprise. And needing my daughter’s permission? That’ll be the day.” She tutted.

  Gemma and I shared a good grief look, and I made a mental note to apologize for my mom’s behavior, a habit I’d hoped to leave behind when I left the nest. Glen had the right idea—move far away and never come back. Never ever.

  In the lot out front of the dorm, Mom motioned to her Ford abandoned haphazardly in the loading zone. It was a step better than her taking the space designated for handicapped motorists, which I had personally witnessed more times than I cared to admit. Oddly, for a fitness nut, she always scoped out and claimed the primo parking spots.

  Jenny and Bernie approached the building’s entrance, and my heart nearly lurched out of my body when I spied their conjoined hands. Jenny must have registered my freak-out face because she dropped Bernie’s hand lightning fast.

  “Mrs. Ferber. How are you?” Jenny plastered on the smile she reserved for parents and professors.

  “I’m well.” Mom glommed onto her purse that hung over her left shoulder as if we were in a seedy New York neighborhood. “Who’s this?” She got a load of Bernie, who wore her jean jacket unbuttoned, showing off a white cotton T-shirt with Pussy Pride scrawled in permanent black marker. Inwardly, I groaned. Gemma and I casually took a step away from our friends.

  “This is… a classmate, Bernie,” Jenny said, her eyes darting from me to my mom and back again.

  Bernie stuck her mitt out, and Mom hesitated one moment too long to shake. I could see pain in Bernie’s eyes. She probably expected to be shunned by strangers in this mostly white town, but by a friend’s mom? Bernie remained mum and uttered, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ferber.” Her clipped words made it clear she was being polite for my sake.

  “The pleasure is all mine.” Mom had recovered her fakeness. “We’re going to lunch. Would you girls like to join us?”

  Gemma and I now stood behind my mom, and we exchanged a What the hell? look.

  “That’s so sweet of you. But we have a study session,” Jenny said much too quickly. I added two more names to my apology list. I wasn’t sure if my mom was being a snob because of Bernie’s race or sexual identity. More than likely, both factored into the equation. For a brief spell during my sophomore year of high school, I had dated a Hispanic boy named Cirilo. My mother had thought it hilarious to call him Cilantro behind his back.

  “Good for you. Tegan was still in bed just minutes ago. Goodness knows what kind of grades she’ll bring home this semester. Anything lower than a B minus and she’ll be moving back home for good.” She laughed as if that had been the plan all along. Send me to college for a year and watch me crash and burn.

  If this was the rule, I had never heard of it. Not that I was in any danger. The lowest grade I was expecting this semester was an A minus.

  Jenny and Bernie excused themselves, and I glanced over my shoulder and mouthed sorry. Bernie accepted it graciously with a flick of her hand. Jenny’s eyes locked on the back of my mom’s head, and I imagined she was pretending to be a sniper. Mom better hope Jenny and the resident assistant didn’t stumble upon her in a dark alley.

  I sighed. Good old Mom, always making an impression. How in the world did my father put up with it?

  Gemma eased us into a safe conversation during the car ride, which revolved mostly around The Joy Luck Club. Mom’s book club had read Amy Tan’s novel last month, which she had raved about on the phone when we spoke during one of
our scheduled weekly calls. Every Wednesday night at eight, I called collect to check in. Knowing Gemma, she’d probably overheard our conversation and realized this would be an excellent icebreaker. My redhead was ever so diplomatic.

  I added thank Gemma later tonight to my mental check sheet of damage control. My lips curled up, and I was sure my cheeks turned red-hot thinking of the way or ways I’d thank Gemma. I pretended to fix my hair in the side mirror to hide that I was aflame with desire.

  Gemma politely grilled Mom with questions from the back seat of the Taurus station wagon, which I affectionately called The Jelly Bean on Wheels. I sat shotgun and wished I actually had one. Not for the first time. Earlier mom had been rude—no, downright vulgar to Bernie—and yet most people only saw the person she pretended to be. I bet she never made a disparaging remark during book club, but if I brought any of the characters over for dinner, I’d get an earful afterward.

  We pulled into Bennigan’s parking lot, and I sprinted from the car. “I have to pee,” I said over my shoulder. I didn’t, but I desperately needed a moment to get my shit together to be able to sit down for a meal with my mother without plunging a dull knife into her chest. Or mine.

  Gemma waltzed into the bathroom as I splashed cold water on my face. She leaned against the counter. “You can do this. One lunch and then home.”

  “How do you do it?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Be nice to everyone. You saw how she treated Bernie.” I dabbed my face with a rough paper towel, blotting away the water and guilt for my secret thoughts about Bernie. “And listening to her talk about The Joy Luck Club—her empathy. Please. When the Gulf War started two years ago, do you know what she said?”

  Gemma shook her head.

  “Let’s bomb the hell out of the little brown people and show them who’s boss.”

  Gemma hugged her chest and peered down at her feet.

  I peeked in the mirror, assessing my colorless face. Pinching my cheeks to add a healthy pink, I flipped around to Gemma and said, “Happy face on. Let’s eat.”

  Gemma motioned with her hand for me to walk ahead.