by Heidi Lowe
A game show played on the TV and went unwatched as I emptied my glass down to the last little droplets that clung to the bottom. Outside, a car horn beeped. Inquisitively, I peered out of the living-room window and saw that a cab had pulled up behind Casey's Porsche. Moments later the blonde slipped into the car, waved, and the cab sped off.
No sleepovers then? It was the first piece of good news I'd had all day. But the feeling of solace didn't last long. They'd had several hours to do everything I imagined they'd done. Still, Casey was alone now. I had the perfect opportunity to give her a piece of my mind.
I waited half an hour to allow my inebriation to diminish slightly, before I determinedly charged next door, like a bull seeing red. I hammered my fist against her door and didn't stop until she tugged it open.
“Sabrina,” she exclaimed, perplexed. She pulled her satin gown tight, covering her underwear. Just as I'd suspected – she and her blonde friend had been doing the dirty all afternoon. She didn't even have the decency to get dressed.
“So this is what you do?” I gave her a filthy look, dragging my eyes up and down her body. I could hear my voice, could hear how loud I'd become, but with the Merlot running through my system, I didn't give a flying fuck.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know what I'm talking about.”
She looked around nervously. “You're drunk and you're gonna make a scene. I don't think that's what you want,” she said in a low voice, before seizing my arm. “Come inside.”
I tried to resist her pull, but she was stronger than me, and before I knew it she'd dragged me into her house.
“You wanna tell me what this is all about?” she demanded, folding her arms across her chest, a bit of which now peeked out of the dressing gown, the soft flesh of her breast visible and calling to me.
I hovered in the hallway, my head still feeling the rush of alcohol, though I was fully cognizant of the situation. The wine had merely given me the courage to do what I would have been too sensible to do without it.
“I just want to know one thing. Do you enjoy wrecking families? Do you get off on that? Then just spit out your conquests and move on to your next victim?”
“Where is this coming from?” she asked, looking even more perplexed.
“Was your blonde friend straight too? Did you seduce her like you did me? How long's it gonna take till you get bored of her like you did me?”
“Hey, I never got bored of you. You didn't give me the chance before you were banning me from your life!”
“Liar!” I shouted, pointing an accusatory finger in her face. “If you cared at all you wouldn't have given up on me and just replaced me with another piece of ass.”
“Is that what you think I was doing with Candy?”
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Of course that's her name.”
To my surprise, a faint smile appeared on Casey's face. She raised an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only porn stars and hookers have names like Candy,” I sneered. “And are you serious? Candy and Casey? That's the stupidest combination I've ever heard for a couple.”
“Well it's a good thing we're not one, isn't it?”
“Oh right, fuck buddies then.” My voice was whiny, my comments childish, and as the alcohol slowly left my system I began to become more and more aware of this, and feel less and less uninhibited. My words might have sounded like accusations, but I was really on a fishing expedition, trying to uncover who this Candy person was to her.
Her smile only grew, which made my ire grow. She shook her head. “Wrong again. Just a buddy of mine in town for the week. By the way, has anyone ever told you you get really vulgar when you're drunk? It's kinda hot actually.”
“I don't give a damn who she is and what you do with her.” I started towards the door. “I shouldn't have come.”
I felt her restraint on my arm, her grip tight. She brought her face close to mine, her mouth to my ear, and when she spoke her voice was just above a whisper. “But you did come. And you know how much I like it when you come...”
All of a sudden all thoughts of leaving vanished into the ether. Her touch, her voice, her close proximity to me, it made it impossible to leave. My pent up rage made me rip my arm from her grip, but my aching need to have her again made me grab the string of her dressing gown and pull it loose. I didn't need her permission. She hadn't asked for mine in the car, or in the bathroom.
She watched her gown fall open and didn't try to prevent it. Her eyes searched mine to see what I would do next. My eyes roamed across her body, taking in the matching white lace bra and panties, the snug way her generously sized bosom lay in the bra, looking almost too perfect to touch. Mouthwatering. I pulled one breast from its cup, then the other. I took one into my hand and brought my head down to take it into my mouth. Her nipple hardened immediately against my tongue. I felt her hand on the back of my head as I sucked and licked, my tongue out of its depth but happy to put in the practice.
A series of soft moans escaped her lips, which assured me that I was doing something right. “That's it,” she groaned, her fingers massaging through my hair.
The position I was in wasn't sustainable, and my back started to ache. I pulled my lips away momentarily, before crashing them to hers and snaking my tongue into her mouth. Our mouths still interlocked, I backed her against the first surface I could find: the stairs. She fell back onto the fifth step and peered up at me expectantly, her lips bruised from my kiss.
“Here?” she asked.
I nodded, a wicked smile settling on my lips. “Not comfortable enough for you? Well, too bad! The bathroom windowsill wasn't particularly comfortable either.”
I sank to my knees onto the first step of the carpeted staircase, hooked my fingers over the top of her panties and slid them down her legs. I pulled them off and flung them over my shoulder. My knees were trembling, my hands shaking, as I lowered my face to her crotch. I breathed in her delectable scent and knew, despite my nerves, I was exactly where I wanted to be, and I would see this thing through, right to its sticky end.
She leaned back as far as she could while I bore down on her sex, my passage clear thanks to her newly-groomed clam. My tongue explored her dark, moist center with greedy intent. Her groans of delight coupled with the pressure of both her hands penetrating my scalp made me feel superhuman, like the mistress of cunnilingus, despite this being my first time.
“God, yes,” she murmured, tugging wildly on my hair. If I wasn't so determined to bring her to climax, I would have yelped out in pain. But I pushed on through it, engrossed in my task.
When I finally felt her body shudder beneath me, and heard her expel a long whimper, I knew that I'd succeeded. Her body sagged, spent. I brought myself level with her and she pulled me into a tired kiss without wiping herself off my mouth. When our lips parted, she looked at me with a fond smile, her eyes sleepy.
And then I decided it was time I shared what I'd been keeping to myself for several weeks. “I think... I think I'm falling in love with you,” I said in a whisper, my face in her hands. “And I don't know how to do that in this neighborhood, with my son, with my beliefs...”
She laid a gentle kiss on my lips, and this reassured me. “Love doesn't come with a manual, Sabrina. Just go with it.”
We kissed again and I let her words and mouth soothe me, get rid of my inhibitions. We put our arms around each other and held each other, the press of her bare breasts on my chest getting me even more excited.
“Okay,” I conceded. “I can do that.” I didn't know if I really could, but after the way she made me feel, I was certainly going to try.
*****
Maintaining any type of relationship with the street's pariah was bad enough, and made worse still when that relationship became sexual. We'd both decided it best to keep things on the downlow, at least until we knew where things were going. That meant keeping Adrian in the dark, which made the task extra troublesome.
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br /> When he returned from Nova Scotia, I didn't try to hide from him the fact that I'd rekindled my friendship with Casey. How much deeper our “friendship” went remained a secret, however. What followed was lots of side-eying, lots of suspicious looks whenever I left the house to spend time next door.
“Where are you going?” Adrian asked, hovering behind me while I applied my lipstick in the living-room mirror. I'd been wearing more lipstick since Casey and I had started dating two months previously, even changed my shade from ruby to mulberry, on Casey's advice. My new girlfriend – God, it felt so bizarre using that word in that context – was well versed in all things makeup and fashion, thanks to her job. The new color made me look fierce.
“Just next door,” I answered evenly, playing down my excitement. I'd been doing the same thing for two months, and I still got butterflies thinking about seeing Casey again, being with her intimately. I wondered whether the novelty would ever wear off.
“You're going to be with her.” He spat the word, his reflection in the mirror descended into something sinister.
I turned around. “We're hanging out... as friends do, if that's what you meant. And why aren't you out with your friends instead of worrying about what I'm doing?”
“Everyone's broke.” He slumped onto the couch. “Going out on Saturday nights is overrated anyways.”
I smiled to myself. Everything was overrated to Adrian when he couldn't, for whatever reason, do it. He was so predictable in his musings it made me laugh.
“Okay, love, well have fun.” I blew him a kiss which he grimaced at, turning to face the television without saying goodbye.
The contrast in atmosphere when Casey opened the door for me was striking. She pulled me into an embrace and smashed her lips to mine. She normally waited until the door was closed to do that.
“Hey, someone could see us,” I giggled between kisses, but didn't break away.
“So let them,” she said. But she kicked the door closed anyway. A smudge of mulberry lipstick sullied her mouth, and I wiped it off with my thumb.
“Something smells delicious,” I said, noticing the aroma coming from the kitchen.
“That's just takeout. Thai, hope you like it. I bought a bunch of stuff, went a little crazy actually.” She took me by the hand and led me into the kitchen, where she'd laid the table for two, complete with candles in lavish, expensive-looking holders, and fancy embroidered napkins. Pleasant piano music drifted from the radio on the counter, the volume low, but not too much that we couldn't appreciate it.
“Wow.” I brought a hand to my mouth, suddenly overcome with emotion. “You did all of this for me?”
“It was nothing, really. I didn't even cook.”
I found her humility adorable, and planted a kiss on her unsuspecting lips before she had a chance to continue with her modesty.
“Keep this up and you'll never be able to get rid of me. I'll be moving in next,” I joked, as I sat down to eat.
“Maybe that wouldn't be so bad,” she said levelly.
I was silent as I looked at her, waiting for her to show that she too was joking, but she didn't look at me, only popped open the sparkling wine and poured. I decided to ignore her comment, thinking it safer. Because that wasn't a conversation we were close to having any time soon, if ever.
“There's a new Kathryn Bigelow movie that came out last night. I was thinking we could go see it later. Starts at nine.”
“We're not staying in?” I asked, a note of dismay in my tone.
“Aww,” she cooed. “You want me all to yourself?”
“Yes, actually.” I did a mock pout. “You know I don't like sharing when it comes to you.”
“We'll be gone two hours, then you can have your wicked way with me all night.” She leaned over and pulled me into a kiss, and when she was about to draw away, I clutched her by the scruff of her neck and stole another one. I was never ready for our kisses to come to an end. Forget dining, or cinemas, or conversation – if I could have spent the rest of my life lip-locked with her, I would have. She had the softest lips, and the sweetest kiss, which lingered long after we parted.
“How do you still have space left in your stomach to fit that popcorn?” I asked, as we followed the line into the screening room. I was close to bursting, after gobbling down the Thai food (half of which still sat in takeout boxes on the kitchen counter). The popcorn was only small, but just the thought of eating one more thing was making me queasy.
She laughed. “You can't go to the movies and not get popcorn. It's a sacrilege!” I started down to the front to get some seats, but she grabbed my arm. “No, let's sit at the back.”
The adult in me wanted to protest, but the teenager in me, who hadn't sat at the back of a movie theater in at least fifteen years, followed her lead. We secured two seats on the back row, right in the center.
The whole thing brought me back to my teen years; not just the seating choice, but the evening itself. Although we'd been to a concert and out to dinner, this felt more like a date than the other times, mainly because we'd kept things platonic in public. Here, as soon as we sat down and the lights faded in the half-filled theater, Casey's lips were on mine, the popcorn temporarily discarded onto the empty seat beside her.
“We've already managed to get one scowl,” she whispered, my face in her hands. “Let's see how many more we can get.” Her voice was filled with mischief.
“No!” I giggled, hitting her away playfully. “You want to get us thrown out?”
“I'm not sure I can keep my hands off you for two hours.”
Well, she managed to make it through twenty minutes of commercials, and forty-five minutes of the film.
I was sitting back, eyes heavy, trying not to fall asleep, having realized five minutes in that the film was going to be a bore, when I felt her hand on my thigh. I didn't think anything of it, thought it was just an innocent move to remind me that she was there. But after a short while, the offending hand started its forbidden journey to the buttons on my jeans. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry, and turned to look at her. She only stared ahead; with the light from the screen shining on her face, I could see the self-satisfied smirk contorting her mouth. It took some skill to not only loosen the buttons without looking, but to do it one-handed!
“What are you doing?” I whispered, or rather shrieked, looking around frantically to check that no one was watching us.
She responded by slithering her hand into my jeans, and then straight into my panties. My eyes widened in horror when I felt her slow caress of my clam, several fingers working the area at once. It didn't take long for my expression to turn from one of horror to one of dream-like ecstasy. I bit down on my lip as her strokes grew more ferocious, and my juices flowed like a waterfall. Her relentless thrusts against my bean forced helpless whimpers from my lips.
I gripped onto the armrest, biting down harder onto my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle my moans, but with no success. Several heads turned to face us, shooting disapproving looks at me, fully aware of what was going down.
“It's disgusting,” I heard someone grumble in the dark. “I'm going to complain about it.”
I was too undone to seize Casey's hand and stop her – she'd worked me into such a frenzy that I needed my release before I could think straight again.
It came shortly after, my final groan causing a drifting chorus of angry mumbling. I flopped back into my seat and risked a glance at Casey, who slowly removed her hand from my panties, reached for some popcorn with the offending hand, and stuffed a handful into her mouth, licking her fingers.
“Just the way I like my popcorn,” she said with a wide smile.
“I hate you!” I said, once we'd left the screening room and had filed into the lobby, the movie finished.
She laughed and threaded her arm through mine. “Oh, come on, it was the perfect moment.”
“Yeah, except it wasn't,” I sulked, feeling my cheeks burning. “People are still staring.”
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“You're being paranoid. No one's staring.” She kissed me on the cheek and we started towards the exit. “I did warn you that I wasn't strong enough to keep my hands off you, though.”
I opened my mouth to give a retort, but the words failed me when my eyes landed on the couple coming out of another screening room.
“Sabrina,” Denny said when she spotted me. Beside her, looking as miserable as a day at the dentist, stood her husband. When his eyes drifted to Casey, whose arm was still linked with mine, he frowned. An awkward silence passed between the four of us, as eyes said what our mouths (and common decency) wouldn't let us.
“How's it going, Tony?” Casey said, offering him one of her provocative smiles. He shifted uncomfortably and mumbled a reply.
“What did you guys see?” Denny asked. Her tone wasn't exactly sinister, though slightly cold, as though someone was forcing her to make smalltalk. Scorn corrupted her features as she looked between me and Casey, then down to our interlocked arms.
“The new Kathryn Bigelow,” I replied, as uncomfortably as Tony.
“Heading home now?” Denny continued, her question loaded with insinuation.
I nodded. “Yup.”
“Let's go, Denny,” Tony said, patting her on the arm. He ran a hand through his thinning black hair, before walking off without his wife.
“Bye Tony,” Casey said, amusement in her voice. This time, Denny wasn't the only one to turn on her with a scathing look.
When we were back in the Porsche a couple of minutes later, and I hadn't spoken a word since leaving the movie theater, just as Casey started up the car, I said, “You did sleep with him, didn't you?”
She didn't respond right away, which was answer enough.
