Chance Encounters

by Mia Jae

  And never a worry about whether their asses look too big or if their pussies were tight enough. Or if the guy was disappointed because you didn’t swallow.

  Maybe. What the hell do I know about it?

  Having never been with a woman—or even considered it much, to be honest, until recently—this is a foreign, but intriguing thought. I’m a young woman still (I’m thirty-five, and I do consider that young) and experienced in the ways of the flesh. Male flesh. Or my own flesh. I know my own body quite well, and how to pleasure it. As well, I know how to please that of the opposite sex.

  Oh, my girlfriends and I, on occasion, have chatted about what it would be like to be with a woman—sexually, you know. I’d always spout something off like, “I’d be continually looking for the penis!”

  I do like a hard stiff cock. I wonder what it would be like making love with someone without a cock. I’ve tried to imagine. I love the sensation of being filled between my legs with another’s rigid flesh.

  Of course, I know there are many ways to pleasure.

  * * * *

  The Lovers, I’ve now decided to call my kittens, are playing a game of chase. I watch and smile. The Torti, from the beginning the more submissive of the kittens, lies in wait at the edge of the sofa. Her hindquarters twitch and shiver. She anticipates the pounce.

  The calico, I call her Callie, stalks along the top ridge of the couch. One paw in front of the other. Slowly. Without sound.

  Torti waits, watching around the corner.

  Callie leaps from above, and poor Torti jumps and runs. Callie tackles her and they roll across the carpet. Torti leaps and dashes again, this time for the kitchen table. Cat and mouse. Er, cat and cat. One huge leap. Callie follows. They sail across the table and land in the sunny love seat next to the window. They wrestle. Torti is down. Callie is on top.

  They bat. Stop. Bat again.

  Torti relaxes, and Callie wins.

  They cuddle in the sun.

  * * * *

  Hazelnut coffee sloshed over the side of my cup and onto the back of my hand. “Dammit.” Another rush hour navigated, another day starting off like horses from the gate, another freakin’ headache.

  I set the cup on my desk, shook coffee off my hand, and heaving a sigh, reached for a tissue. With near simultaneous action, I opened my day planner and then tapped control-alt-delete on my keyboard. Wiping coffee from my hand, I reached for the phone. Voice mail was blinking.

  Messages came through on both email and voice mail while I took notes in my planner, scanned today’s to-dos, and tried to focus on my “daily positive,” a quote for the day that my planner offered up. I chuckled remembering how excited I was when I bought that version of planner—the daily positives. Sheesh. I barely had time to read them.

  Within the span of forty-five seconds, I had managed to get a handle on the immediate fires that needed putting out.

  So begins the multi-tasking.

  Staring at the planner, slightly overwhelmed at all that needed to be done today, I rubbed my temple.

  “It is too early in the day to have a headache.”

  Glancing up, I watched Vanessa Brody take a step into my office. I wondered how long she had been standing there. Watching me? Damn, she was stealth. Kind of like Callie.

  She strode quietly toward my desk, one black, high-heeled foot in front of the other, one slow but determined step at a time.

  Her gaze never left mine. That is, until I let mine drop and play over her outfit.

  Soft, filmy blouse with small ruffles lining the placket, buttoned down low enough to reveal a subtle hint of cleavage. The lavender blouse was tucked into a silver-gray pencil skirt. I imagined there was a jacket to match that skirt carefully hung on the hanger, dangling from the hook behind her office door. An opaque set of pearls circled her neck and flowed over the rise of her breasts.

  “Vanessa.” I nodded a hello. My throat was tight.

  Vanessa came to us a month earlier, the first female CFO we’d had in the company. Although there was really nothing significant about females CFOs—they were a dime a dozen, generally—but for this company that consisted mostly of men, it was an anomaly.

  I, in fact, was also an anomaly. Vanessa and I were two of five women employed by Danner & Cole Engineering, a small firm of about a hundred people (yeah, in our world that is small) that worked mostly with federal contracts. Being the sole, female mechanical engineer on staff, I led a team of a dozen younger men all bound to do my bidding, so they could take my place once I screw up.

  Or so, I’d overheard once. Men talk, you know.

  Screw them.

  I reached for my coffee cup. “Not enough caffeine yet.”

  Vanessa laid a short stack of papers in front of me. Monthly financials, it looked like. Then she did an interesting thing—she stopped my hand from picking up the coffee. “You really should slow down on the caffeine, Lyric.”

  My brain was more than a little confused. Why she would stop me from taking a sip of coffee, or suggest that I slow down on my intake, I didn’t know. But her soft hand resting on mine, her plum-colored, manicured fingers neatly curved into my palm, caused my thoughts to jumble.

  I liked her hand there.

  And I liked the way my name, Lyric, rolled off her Latin tongue.

  Without hesitation, I pulled my hand away and laid it in my lap, unsure why it was shaking. “I’m fine, Vanessa. Thanks for the report. I’ll take a look and get back with you later in the day.”

  She stood over me as I sat in my desk chair. Risking a glance up, my gaze caught hers. Or perhaps, hers caught mine. Eyes as green as the emerald wing chair behind her, they sparkled back. “I’ll look forward to that,” she said.

  She left, and I collapsed back into my chair and breathed. My hand still shook.

  Fuck.

  * * * *

  Sometime later in the day, much later if I admit it, I rose from my desk and blinked my eyes. I’d been staring too long at diagrams and reports. The headache had not gone away. Glancing out my office window, I knew it was after five. I could tell by the way dusk was settling already and how the steady beam of traffic lights raced by on the interstate a few blocks away.

  Snatching my coffee cup, I started for the kitchen, noting only a few lights left on in the offices down the hall. I’d been so engrossed in my work today I’d barely spoken to a soul. No wonder I feel like an outsider, I told myself. I treat them all the same way.

  A half pot of coffee still sat on the Bunn coffeemaker. Good. With mostly men around, I could be about guaranteed that no one would clean it up until next morning, when the early morning pot had to be brewed. I poured myself a cup, tore the top off a little blue packet of sweetener and slid the cup into the microwave to reheat.

  While standing there waiting, I grasped the back of my neck, trying to ease away some of the tension there.

  “Here. Let me.”

  The voice came from behind. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Vanessa. My back twitched a little.

  “What?” I semi-turned.

  She brushed my hair over one shoulder, smoothing her palm over it. Her cool fingertips wandered and began a slow knead at the back of my neck.

  “Relax, Lyric,” she said softly. “I’m not going to bite.”

  Oh, please don’t go there.

  “I know that,” I said. Still, I responded with a slight jerk to my right.

  She angled herself closer and brought her other hand to my shoulder. “You didn’t come out of that office all day.”

  “Sure I did. I came out for coffee and to pee, at least twice.”

  Vanessa laughed, and even though I was still looking straight ahead, I imagined her head tossed back with her long black mane billowing down her back, her face lit up with pleasure.

  I relaxed a bit.

  Vanessa’s hands slipped from my neck to my shoulders and squeezed.

  Now, normally I’m not a touchy-feeling kind of girl. In fact, I don’t lik
e people touching me much at all, but for some odd reason, once I got used to them being there, I didn’t mind Vanessa’s fingers running over my skin one bit. No, not one iota.

  Submit.

  “Oh, yes.” That did feel good. I had no clue I was so tense.

  “Finally,” she whispered. “Your shoulders are like bricks. Goodness, Lyric, you need some down time.”

  I need something.

  * * * *

  Later, Torti slept next to me in her favorite spot on the ottoman, snuggled up next to my calf. She’d curled herself into a ball and lay partially beneath a crocheted afghan covering my legs. Callie joined us and my eyes lifted from the book I was reading, watching. She quietly moved toward her feline friend and lay down next to her, laying one paw aside her neck as if in an embrace. Moving closer, she lifted her face to Torti and eased her nose closer to hers. She sniffed. So did Torti. They shared a moment, a brief tapping of noses together, like they were sharing a soft, intimate kiss.

  Then Callie reached out with her tongue and began licking behind Torti’s ear. Long, liquid licks, her pink tongue darting in and out.

  Torti squirmed a little and lay on her back. Callie moved over her and continued giving Torti her bath, laving lick after lick on her soft, shiny fur. Soon both cats slowly repositioned, and Torti began licking Callie back, both animals now intent on their purpose, pawing gently and licking each other. Oblivious to anything going on around them, they were only engrossed in each other.

  I thought of Vanessa.

  * * * *

  There is a bar down the street from the office. I only visit it on days when I feel like my life is out of control. It’s called Sam’s Place, and guess what, you got it, the bartender’s name is Sam. Or so, that’s what he tells everyone. I have a feeling that the owner probably bought the establishment from some guy back in the nineties and his name was Sam. But who cares? I can get draft beer and on a really bad day, a nice, smooth bourbon-on-the-rocks.

  This evening, my now empty glass rattles with cubes and reeks of Woodford Reserve. As do I, likely. I’d left my car in the office parking garage, since Sam’s was just a few blocks away, and I knew that I would be calling myself a cab when the night was through.

  In fact, I handed Sam the Bartender my keys. “Put those somewhere, okay?” I told him. Even though I didn’t know for sure, or not, if his name was Sam, I trusted him and had left my keys with him on more than one occasion. I’d come back the next afternoon, right after he opened, and retrieve them so I could drive home. I had a spare house key hidden under a rock outside my front door.

  I know, both stupid and very cliché.

  Sam smiled and took the keys. He was handsome for an older guy, but I’d never been attracted, even though he’d come on to me a few times. Didn’t know exactly what it was about him, maybe it was because he had a dick.

  Lately, I didn’t seem to be interested in dicks.

  Sam replaced my bourbon and rocks with a new one, and I smiled back, tipped up my glass and took another smooth sip. Straightening, I glanced behind me to a crowd shoving into the door. Three cocky dicks, pushing in and laughing, and, ah…one sweet pussy made an entrance.

  Vanessa.

  Shit.

  I was in no mood for Vanessa.

  She’d never come on to me. Not really. It was just the subtle innuendo and the uncomfortable desire she stoked inside of me whenever she drew near. Uncomfortable only because it was foreign, I guess. I suppose I was battling a little inside myself, being attracted to a woman.

  I didn’t even know for certain if she was a lesbian, or not. Maybe she was bi-sexual. There were rumors, but I didn’t care. She was always nice to me and never acted in an inappropriate manner. We’d always kept it professional. The thing was I couldn’t explain to myself why I was drawn to her.

  Because I was. Am.

  And fighting it.

  I glanced at Sam, who was busy serving up drinks. I should call a cab.

  “Fancy meeting you here, Lyric. This seat taken?”

  Yeah, fancy.

  My gaze shifted to the mirror behind the bar. Vanessa looked me straight in the eyes. Shaking myself, I glanced her way. “No. No.” Then I stood. “Never expected to see you in this kind of place,” I muttered.

  She smiled. “Must be fate.”

  Sure, a chance encounter. Right.

  Why in the hell did she intimidate me? I am a woman unused to intimidation.

  “I’m on my way out, Vanessa. Sorry. See you at the office.” I yelled at Sam. “Call me a cab, Sambo?”

  I avoided looking at her and backed up.

  She caught my wrist. That’s when I looked directly into her face.

  “Lyric.” She drug out the word, like a song from her mouth. Dammit.

  “Vanessa, I was just leaving. Heading to the restroom now before the cab comes. I’m a little too drunk to…”

  Didn’t want to finish that sentence. To what? Face my attraction to you?

  I darted away, snatching my hand from her grip. Resisting a glance behind me, I stumbled to the little girl’s room (yeah, stumbling pretty much sums it up after four short glasses of bourbon) and found an empty stall.

  Closing the door, I leaned into it. Safe in here, it felt like. My cheek rested against the cool metal door. I didn’t need to pee. Or did I? Wasn’t sure. Just needed to get away.

  My breathing came awfully fast. So, I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled. Again. I counted my breaths, in and out, in and out, until they slowed and my heart stopped beating so erratically.

  “I can’t believe I practically ran from her.”

  Insane. This was insane. Likely, Vanessa had no interest in me whatsoever. It’s all in my head.

  Pushing back from the door, I stood for a second, eyes closed, and gathered myself about me. The cab should be here by now. I made my plan. Walk out of the restroom, straight through the bar, and into the cab. No eye contact. No conversation.

  I let myself out of the stall and glanced toward the bathroom door. A wavy shadow blocked my way.

  “Hello, Lyric.”

  The breath whooshed out of me. “Vanessa…”

  I leaned against the sink, suddenly exhausted. Of what? The day? Too much bourbon? Fighting my infatuation?

  Before I realize it, she was standing square in front of me, one of her soft palms lifting my face to hers.

  “When are you going to stop running from me, huh?” She pawed at my face, massaging her fingers over my temples, smoothing back the fine hairs from my forehead. Her voice was low and breathy, and I could smell her sweet scent as she drew closer. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, Lyric, and you get way too stressed…get way too drawn into your work. You take it all so seriously.”

  She’s right. I do. “I have to, Vanessa.” My voice rose a bit.

  With a forefinger placed over my lips, she silenced me. “Shsh. Not now.”

  “Then what?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “This.”

  She didn’t rush. Didn’t push herself up against me too close. Didn’t rake her hands over my body or slam me up against the wall. She simply grasped my chin between thumb and forefingers, leaned in, touched her nose against mine, hesitated and kissed me square on the lips.

  For the briefest moment, my head spun. Kissing soft lips, a woman’s lips, was quite different. They were moist and plump, and she dragged them over mine in a manner I could only discern was meant to claim. And when her lips stopped moving, her tongue slipped between them and she feathered the tip of it from one corner of my mouth to another, briefly mingling it with mine.

  My hands were at the sink. Gripping.

  The sensation that shot through me was foreign. Exciting. Desired.

  Vanessa shifted and moaned, rubbing herself closer, stretching her body’s length against every inch of mine, our breasts crowding each other. My nipples reacted, and I knew they were pebble hard. I had a mental image in my drunken mind of Vanessa’s ti
ts and mine, nipple to erect nipple, toying and playing…

  “Let me ease the tension, Lyric,” she breathed, hot against my neck. “Let me. You know there is something between us…”

  Something. Yes.

  Confused at the pleasure I felt and my warped sense of sensuality, coupled with a bourbon-induced haze, I couldn’t figure out what I should or shouldn’t be feeling. Part of me wanted to relax and go with the flow. The other part wanted to fight, push her away, be appalled.

  Her hand snaked to my hip, moved to my thigh, started bunching my skirt up in her fist.

  Attracted. I am. To Vanessa.

  Something unleashed in me. Broke through the haze. I leaned forward and grasped a lock of her hair in each hand, threading the length through my fingers. Pulling her close, I deepened the kiss, urging her lips to respond to mine. Her hands grappled lower, pushing my skirt up around my thighs. A fingertip lazily dragged over my panties. I shivered from that small touch.

  Vanessa grasped me harder with her other arm, holding me close. “I want to touch you,” she hissed, and her fingers slipped beneath the sheer fabric. “I want to touch your hot, hot puss, slip my finger inside. Let me touch you, Lyric…”

  I had to lean into her then. Weak, too weak, to stand. Caught between the vanity sink and Vanessa’s on-fire body. Her finger scrolled its way into my panties and raked across the soft hairs of my mound. Gasping, I clutched her, our mouths still playing over one another. Then I felt her slender forefinger slip inside my pussy.

  I thought I would die.

  “Vanessa…” I breathed.

  “Shsh,” she cooed against my lips. “No talk. Not now. Let me. Lean on me.”

  I did. I lay my head against her shoulder, found myself nibbling at her ear and laving slow, lazy licks over her neck. Her finger probed and then found my clit. Hot and wet, I was sure, she tickled and toyed and within seconds, I exploded.

  “Ah. Shit. Vanessa.”

  One hand was still entwined in her hair. I clutched and shuddered, pulled her to me. Leaned into her. Gave it over.

  After a moment, Vanessa slipped her finger out, straightened my panties and my skirt and pulled back while angling my face toward hers. She looked at me, deep and square in the eyes, and held that stare for an uncomfortable length of time.