by Anthology
For Better or Worse Copyright © 2006 by Jodi Payne ISBN: 978-1-61040-004-6
Switching Sides Copyright © 2007 by Beth Wylde ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-344-4 / ISBN-10: 1-60370-344-6
Love on the Line Copyright © 2008 by Beth Wylde
For Love of Laura Copyright © 2008 by Cassidy Ryan ISBN: 978-1-60370-546-2
If Only in Cranbury Park Copyright © 2008 by Charlotte Dare ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-719-0 / ISBN-10: 1-60370-719-0
Black and White Copyright © 2009 by Shanna Germain Incident at Shady Oaks Copyright © 2009 by Sarah Colter Hot for Teacher Copyright © 2010 by Jodi Payne
Defining Moments Copyright © 2010 by Giselle Renarde Propositioning Pollyanna Copyright © 2010 by Penelope Friday Leila Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth Reeve
For Better or Worse
Jodi Payne
“What time are we supposed to be there?” I look at my watch.
“I think Anna said seven.”
“Are you sure it was seven? I think she might have said seven-thirty.”
“Gail.” Julie looks in the mirror at me. “Why do you always question my answers? If you don’t want to accept what I tell you then, for God’s sake, don’t ask me.”
Well, yeah, Julie’s right. She’s always right. Why do I question her answers? Habit, I guess. But I do like the look on her face when she gets annoyed with me. Her eyes flash, her shoulders straighten and she becomes peacock-like in her stature. All that lovely Taurus stubbornness turns her into a fiery goddess commanding my respect and attention.
And she’s got it, damn her; it’s not even worth trying to reply. I walk towards her dressing table where she sits putting on her make-up. She’s chosen a green satin shirt to wear to dinner, and it’s one of my favorites. I love the way satin hangs on her, hugging her shoulders and gently falling over her firm, round breasts. I stand behind her and meet her eyes in the mirror. “This shirt makes your eyes look like emeralds,” I tell her, wondering if I really want to go to this dinner party at all. I’d much rather stay home and admire Julie.
I stroke the back of her neck with my fingers and I can see the gooseflesh rise there as she gasps.
“That tickles!” She grins at me.
I bend over and press my lips to the very same spot and she sighs.
“Gail, what are you doing?”
I don’t answer her with words. I pull the collar of her shirt back and move my lips to the newly exposed skin.
“Gail, don’t. We have to leave soon.”
“Let’s not go.” I whisper, running my lips up the side of her neck to her earlobe.
“Gail! Anna is expecting us.” Julie pauses, make-up brush in hand.
“Let’s stay home.” I slide my hands under her arms and around to fondle her breasts, cupping them easily, one in each palm. She gasps lightly as I rub my thumbs over the place where I know her still-soft nipples lie beneath her bra and I try to coax more out of her, nipping gently at her ear.
“Gail…”
For all of her stubbornness, Julie is easily seduced. It takes little to win a sigh from her and little more before she moans for me. My fingers work their way down her shirt, unbuttoning it slowly as they go, then sliding back up the open lapels to slip the heavy fabric off her shoulders, exposing porcelain white skin covered in pale, red-brown freckles. I taste her skin with my tongue and teeth. I pull her arms back behind her and undo the buttons at her wrists so that her shirt can slide freely to the floor.
Julie moans. “Mm, Gail.” Her use of my name is no longer in protest but in encouragement.
Leaving her lacy black bra in place for the moment, I spend some time unfastening the clasp on her pants and lowering the delicate zipper. She turns her head to the side and we kiss. She tastes like her favorite lemon ginger tea. Her tongue is warm and yielding and I circle it with mine, feeling that luscious wetness seeping between my legs, warming and softening my labia.
I pull the clip out of her hair and it tumbles around her shoulders in thick unruly red curls. I give it a tug and she sighs. I slide my hands around her bare middle, down her thighs, and then back up again. Julie hums contentment at me. I slip my fingers under the gentle elastic of her panties and she leans back against my chest.
“Yes, Gail.”
I flick my eyes up to the mirror to watch her as my fingers slip over her vulva. She bites her lip. I press my middle finger past her labia until it encounters her deepest desire, wet and slippery, warm and inviting. I douse my fingers in it before sliding them up to stroke her clit.
Julie pants as I slide my fingers over and around the firm nob there. I’m watching her in the mirror still, taking in her furrowed brow, her open mouth framed in deep red lipstick, watching her abs expand and collapse as she pants with her arousal.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper in her ear. She moans in response. “Turn around,” I tell her and she whimpers as I remove my fingers, but she turns her body to face me, her eyes watching me and begging me to touch her again. I reach behind her and release the clasp on her bra and she removes it, letting it slip from her fingers to the floor. I pull her pants and panties off, tossing them to one side. She sits on the vanity stool, looking down at me as I kneel before her. With a tug on her hips, I position her at the edge of the stool and lower my lips to her thighs.
Julie tangles the fingers of one hand in my hair and uses the other hand to brace herself on the stool. She’s almost vibrating with anticipation. She spreads her legs wider and rolls her hips up to give me better access. She smells wonderful; musky and dark and hot. The first taste with my tongue makes her gasp and shiver.
“Yes, yes. Oh, Gail.” She encourages me again, and I settle onto my knees and wrap my fingers around her ass to give it a squeeze. She loves long slow strokes around and over and between her labia. She tugs on my hair and moans. She whimpers when I flick at her clit with the tip of my tongue and wraps her feet around the legs of the vanity stool. I roll my tongue and dip it into her, and she groans low in her chest and pants.
“Feels so good Gail, feels so good.”
I thrust my tongue into her and she scoots even farther forward to make my access easier. I fuck her with my tongue until she is practically screaming in frustration. With both hands on the bench now, she lifts her hips slightly, rocking them against my mouth. I know it’s not enough for her, I know exactly what she wants and I wait until she whimpers again to give it to her. Flattening my tongue, I press it over her clitoris and then, with a good amount of pressure, I scrub her clit hungrily.
Julie groans loudly, her breath erratic and shallow. “Oh, oh God, oh God, oh yes!”
She’s close so I’m careful not to change a thing. I keep the motion repetitive and the pressure constant so as not to interrupt her urgent need. I feel her rise; her ass tightens in my fingers, her hips jerk against me, her thighs tighten around my ears. The tension reaches a fever pitch before it finally breaks; bursts but then flows, like water spilling over a levee. Julie trembles and pants and I pull myself away to watch the lovely astonishment on her face melt into relaxed satisfaction.
She slips from her stool to kneel between my legs and kiss me. She can taste herself on my lips, I know, which is so erotic that I find myself moaning softly into her mouth. I can’t imagine any greater turn-on than watching Julie come. I can’t imagine any sweeter taste than her kiss. And when Julie’s fingers cup and press and rub me through my jeans, my body tingles and longs for her to take me with her.
* * *
The phone rang sending Julie jumping out of bed.
“Phone!” she called out to me, as if I couldn’t hear it for myself.
“You know who that is, don’t you?” I warned her but she picked it u
p anyway, and waved a hand at me to be quiet. I slid out of bed and pulled on a t-shirt and shorts.
“Hello?” Julie said calmly into the receiver. “Oh, hello, Anna. I was planning on calling you but, hm? Oh, no actually it’s Gail, she’s, uh…” Julie looked at me. “She’s sick.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not sick, I’m just kinky.” I grinned at Julie, who gave me a lemon face and her ‘shut up’ look in return. I laughed softly and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.
“Yeah that was her, she’s… delirious,” I heard Julie say over the running water. “What? I beg your pardon, but no! No, we were not fucking!” I nearly swallowed the toothpaste. Julie was laughing in that embarrassed way that lets everyone know you’re lying. We were so busted. “Okay, okay, so we were fucking,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it was Gail’s idea!”
“What are we, twelve, now?” I called out from the bathroom. I heard Julie apologizing to Anna and then she appeared at the bathroom door. “Our friends know us entirely too well.” She tried to look contrite, but the growing grin on her lips gave her away. Julie was very much one for doing the ‘right’ thing so I loved it when I could get her into to mischief.
Julie slid into the bathroom behind me and looked at me in the mirror. “Anna reminded me about the function tonight,” she said. “We’re going this time. You got me?”
I groaned. I had to learn to time my seductions better. I would rather have gone to Anna’s last night and skipped this afternoon’s ‘function’.
* * *
Cocktails. What a snore.
Could someone please find me a group of lesbians that don’t want the warm and fuzzy, traditional noose around their fingers, two and half kids and a dog? Or maybe a few dykes that don’t use recycled toilet paper and spend every Tuesday night in yoga class? Or one, just one woman who smokes?
If one more person asked me if Julie and I were planning a family I would have screamed. I actually considered stepping right into the middle of the damn cocktail party, raising my arms over my head and shouting, “No! We don’t want a family! Julie and I like drinking and dancing and staying out late! We like porn and cigarettes and swearing and we use squeezably-soft Charmin! We eat McDonalds! And le petit morte is the closest we’ve ever come to the dreaded bed-death, damn it!”
Is it so unimaginable to be committed in a relationship but still want to have fun? I swear, in our little lesbian community, the minute you hold hands with someone for more than two dates you’re no longer permitted around the single women. You’re labeled one of ‘them’, the couples, the women who showed up on someone’s doorstep with a U-haul.
For the record? It was a Ryder Truck. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Although with my luck, you probably don’t smoke, either.
I sighed, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Julie put a hand on my back. “You’re bored.”
“Oh my God, yes.” I said, turning and giving her a fake, plastered-on smile.
“I’m sorry, but I was invited and I couldn’t say no.”
“You’re too nice, Jules. You should have let me tell them no.”
Julie laughed. “How about another drink?”
“Mmm.” I smiled, that sounded like a great idea. “How about another drink?” I replied with a wiggle of my eyebrows, and accepted the fingers Julie slipped into my hand to drag me over to what passed for a bar.
She was looking good that afternoon. It was a Saturday so she didn’t have on one of her school outfits. She was wearing her red top, which made her red hair look less red and more auburn, and it had a lovely v-neck dip that showcased the cleft of her cleavage nicely. Her khakis were nothing to write home about except where they clung to her ass, right on the crest, round and lovely.
“I’ll have an amaretto sour and my girl here will have a cosmopolitan.” I said to our hostess. She gave me an uneasy smile in return and then looked to Julie for help.
“Two white wines, and ignore Gail, Sandy; she’s ornery today.”
White wine. God, how… grown up. Get me out of here.
“Julie!” Came a voice behind us. I cringed at the sound.
“Marion! Hi!” Julie smiled in her girlish way and gave the woman a politely platonic hug. “Marion, this is Gail. I’m so glad you finally are able to meet her!” Julie seemed genuinely pleased. “Gail, this is Marion, I’ve told you about her. Marion teaches English.”
“Hello, Gail,” Marion said, turning to me. “Julie has told me a lot about you.”
“Uh oh. That can’t be good,” I said, giving Marion a grin. I kept the hand that wasn’t holding my wine glass in my pocket.
As predicted, Marion laughed uproariously at one of the most overused icebreaking quips ever, and then she winked at me. “Oh, come now, Julie’s had nothing but good things to say.”
With a crooked grin, I leaned closer to Marion and whispered, “Well, I imagine the bruises and the leather aren’t good teachers’ lounge conversation.”
Marion’s face went white for a moment. When the moment went on just a hair too long I started to worry that Julie might have to explain that I was joking, but then Marion tried on a tentative smile. “Oh! Oh that was a joke, wasn’t it? How funny! Leather.” She looked at Julie. “Julie, she’s so funny!”
Judging by the look Julie gave me, she didn’t seem to think I was so funny. She did seem relieved, however, that Marion didn’t turn and run screaming for the hills.
“She’s a joker,” Julie said in that polite-yet-terse way of hers, and I knew I’d just firmly landed myself in the doghouse. I decided that I’d better shape up or I’d earn myself a short lead attached to a stake in the back yard to go with it. God, I hate sleeping on the couch.
“So, how do you like working at the high school?” There. That was an innocuous enough question, wasn’t it?
Have I mentioned that Julie is a science teacher? She teaches high school biology and chemistry to 10th and 11th graders. She has the patience of, well, a high school teacher. I’d kill the little bastards, myself. Either that, or I’d hang out behind the school and smoke with them. I think it’s pretty remarkable of her actually, because you know that for every one kid that can’t get enough of dissecting frogs, there are ten that are grumbling ‘fuck biology’ in the hallways.
“Oh, I enjoy it very much,” Marion replied, relaxing again. She gave me a far more genuine smile. “We have a great group of kids, don’t you think so, Julie?”
Julie was clearly happier with this line of conversation. “Oh yes, especially my juniors this year. They have a lot of energy.”
The cocktail party lasted another hour or so, during which time I was a good pup and remained mindful of every word I uttered. I did manage to have an intelligent discussion with Marion about Virginia Woolf (it was nice to have the subject come up and actually manage to get past the word “dolorous”), and otherwise I followed Julie around. As we were leaving, I helped Julie on with her jacket and I opened the door for her. By that time I thought I had pretty well made amends.
I took Julie’s hand as we made our way down the steps and she tugged it free again. Apparently, I was wrong. “Julie?”
“Fuck you, Gail.
“Oh, come on, Julie.”
She turned the corner and walked another half a block before she finally stopped and turned around. I’d been trailing a few steps behind, waiting for her to let me have it. “Damn you, Gail.”
Crap. And there it was. “Julie, I was only joking.”
“It wasn’t funny! She’s a co-worker and that was a nice party. I can’t take you anywhere!”
“Julie, baby,” I said, trying to sound apologetic. “I’m not good at all that grin and pretend to be nice stuff; you know that.”
“Yes, Gail. Yes. I know that. I fucking know that.” Julie shook her head and turned away, heading down the sidewalk again. I might have been mistaken, but I thought maybe I saw tears in her eyes. God, I can’t take it when Julie cries. I really can’t take it when
I make her cry, and it seems like I do it all the damn time.
“Julie, I’m sorry.” I meant it, I honestly meant it. “Baby?” I caught up to her and matched her angry walking pace. “I’m truly sorry, all right?”
“It might have been funny in a dyke bar, Gail, but not at a cocktail party, you know?” Julie kept walking at a good clip, making me work to keep up. “You have no sense of propriety.”
That was actually Julie’s mother talking. ‘No sense of propriety.’ Julie was raised wealthy. She never left the house without her mother approving of what she was wearing, she went to the best private schools, and she was painstakingly taught manners and etiquette. Julie reflexively says please and thank you, she doesn’t pick up her fork until her hostess does, she even raises her pinky finger when she drinks from a tea cup. Her mother, the matriarch, cares very much what people think of the family and always has, and so Julie moved fifteen hundred miles away, where she could live with me in peace and not embarrass or shame anyone.
And that was what I was up against every time the argument went in this direction. I knew I couldn’t use that particular trump card, however, because Julie would never have forgiven me.
“You didn’t fall in love with me for my sense of propriety,” I ventured.
“Gail, you’re not the one who’s going to have to hear about it, you know? That kind of shit gets around. Imagine what people will think?”
I chewed my lip. I don’t give a damn what people think most of the time, and I suppose that was the real issue here, because, like her pretentious mother, Julie does. Oh, she doesn’t care if they know she’s gay, but she goes to great lengths to make us look ‘normal’; to make us fit in, as if she could turn me into a man and we’d be just another American yuppified couple. I understand why she does it, but it doesn’t stop us from arguing about it in some shape or form, time and again.
“I know, Julie, I tried to patch it up, I happen to think I saved it. We had a nice talk, Marion and I.”
Julie sighed and shook her head. “It’s not just that, Gail, it’s everything.”
