Sativa Strain

by Alexi Venice

  to graze on greener meadows.

  Our future becoming one,

  entwining us with shadows.

  And still, I won’t say goodbye.

  Please, let me say Hello.

  Bittersweet those goodbyes.

  Hello, Hello, Hello.

  “Oh my God, Jen. That’s beautiful.” Amanda removed her half-glasses and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I think that could be the best poem you’ve ever written. It’s just so profound…and sentimental. It gives me hope that I might make it to heaven someday, and now I can look forward to reuniting with Zane.”

  “Aw, thanks,” Jen said, kissing Amanda’s forehead. Amanda would never know that Jen secretly thought her best poem was her “breakup poem” about a certain narcissistic bitch, because when do you get the chance to use the phrase “narcissistic bitch” in a poem? But that was the past, and she was committed to leaving it there. Bygones would be bygones, and that poem would never see the light of day again.

  “I’m sooo not worthy of you,” Amanda was saying, drawing Jen back into the moment. Amanda moved her hand over Jen’s taut tummy, ran her thumb around Jen’s belly button then dipped down to Jen’s bikini line. She took special care in running the back of her thumbnail along the top of Jen’s hairline. As the pads of her fingers skated behind her thumbnail, Amanda could feel goosebumps forming across Jen’s smooth skin.

  An Oh-my-God-you’re-the-only-one-who-can-make-me-feel-this-way whimper escaped Jen’s lips, sending a frisson of excitement through Amanda.

  Jen quickly closed her laptop. “Poetry is done for the night.” She turned to set it on her bedside table, so Amanda took advantage by running her fingers across Jen’s hip and down her left cheek.

  “Mmm. I can barely breathe when you do that,” Jen said. More goosebumps appeared. Jen turned off her bedside lamp and rolled over to wrap her arms and legs around Amanda. “What are you in the mood for tonight?”

  “You,” Amanda said, continuing her tickles on Jen’s lower back. “All of you. I want to make you squirm and beg until I give you the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had.”

  Amanda felt Jen’s body contract with desire, followed by a shudder that reverberated through both of them. She splayed her hand across Jen’s back and held her tight, as Jen arched, pressing herself against Amanda. Only thin Nikibiki tanks between them, Amanda could feel Jen’s nipples harden with desire.

  She squeezed Jen’s buns, pulling her close, inviting Jen’s long leg to curl around Amanda’s hips. They kissed, losing themselves in the pool of molten lava that fired their innermost desires. Amanda reveled in the feel of Jen’s strong hands diving into her hair, cradling the back of her head, anchoring her for a deeper kiss. A ray of guilt spiraled through Amanda as they came together, feeling like she would never live up to Jen’s expectations. Well, I will tonight. Amanda was driven to lose herself in making love, pushing the murder investigation from her mind.

  She ran her hand over Jen’s hip, lingering over her prominent hip bone, admiring the strength, yet feminine feel, then slid her hand downward between Jen’s legs. She caressed the lean muscle on Jen’s inner thigh, squeezing gently, lazily tickling her way up to the vee between Jen’s legs. She savored the way Jen’s body stilled, feeding off Amanda’s playful touch.

  Jen sucked hard on Amanda’s tongue, signaling she wanted more, then writhed against her. Amanda rewarded Jen by gliding her hand to Jen’s strawberry blonde curls, running her fingers through them in a drum roll that presaged the beginning of a thunderous beat.

  “You’re sooo wet,” Amanda whispered between kisses, her fingers playing their way into the petals protecting Jen’s delicious sweet spot. She slowly slid her middle finger into Jen’s wanton heat, as she pressed her palm against Jen’s clit. Jen’s tongue stilled in Amanda’s mouth, as her body focused on the touch of Amanda’s skilled fingers.

  Amanda curled the tip of her finger slightly, feeling for the small spot of ridges on the upper wall of Jen’s vagina. When she found it, she oh-so-gently massaged, while simultaneously skating her thumb across Jen’s slippery pearl. Across. Around. Back and forth in a flurry of movement that made Jen clench her abs and shove her pussy into Amanda’s hand.

  Amanda was overtaken by a desire to please this heavenly creature who so willingly surrendered. “You have the body of a goddess.”

  She felt Jen smile against her lips—the sweet moment of intimacy sending a jolt of heat to Amanda’s epicenter. She was on the cusp of delivering mind-blowing pleasure to the only woman she loved, and nothing could be more glorious. More attractive. More sensual than making Jen orgasm.

  Jen’s eyelids flitted a few times then closed.

  “Stay with me,” Amanda whispered. “I want to look in your eyes as you come for me.” Amanda tilted her head back, so she could watch Jen open her eyes, the indirect light from the street lamp casting an orange glow over them. Their usual sharp intensity was replaced by a trance-like longing, motivating Amanda to move her fingers in a symphony of urgency.

  When Jen’s jagged breaths quickened, Amanda gave her more, increasing the pace in time with Jen’s rolling hips. The muscles in Jen’s neck flexed, and her veins throbbed as her eyes turned darker, full of lust, never wavering from Amanda’s. Jen took a sudden intake of breath and pushed into Amanda. Amanda knew she had Jen then, cherishing the thrill of setting her free.

  “Fuck me,” Jen rasped, digging her fingers into Amanda’s neck.

  God, I love you, Amanda thought. She focused on madly massaging the ripened fruit, so swollen and slippery now. “Savor it,” Amanda whispered. By Jen’s body language, however, Amanda knew she wouldn’t last much longer. When Jen’s thighs twitched uncontrollably, Amanda knew an orgasm was only seconds away.

  A guttural sound emanated deep within Jen’s throat—as if she were hoisting a barbell over her head—then she exploded in orgasm. Amanda saw Jen’s soul right before she scrunched her eyelids shut in a bomb of pleasure. Tears rolled out from under Jen’s closed lids, and Amanda’s heart melted at the sight.

  I brought her to tears?! Amanda’s palm was wet with warm cum, making her feel like she had conquered the universe.

  As Jen contracted and quivered, Amanda withdrew her fingers and kissed her way down to Jen’s pussy. She wasted no time in smothering Jen’s valley with her mouth and tickling her clit with her tongue.

  Jen pushed on Amanda’s forehead. “No more. Let me recover.”

  “But, you taste so sweet. I’ll be gentle.” She glided her tongue soothingly over Jen’s slippery pearl, pulling more tremors and moans. When Amanda felt Jen arch her hips, pushing herself into Amanda’s mouth, she flicked Jen’s gem with such wild abandon that she set her on a wild ride again. After only a few minutes, Jen’s body was shaking with fire.

  Her hands firmly around Jen’s ass, Amanda could feel the deep tremors spring from Jen’s belly to overtake her body. She tensed, focused like a laser on Amanda’s tongue, then convulsed in another orgasm. As Amanda smothered Jen with her mouth, she felt Jen’s strong thighs clench around her head, locking her in place. She was vaguely aware that Jen was holding a fistful of her hair but didn’t give a damn. There was no place she’d rather be than pinned between Jen’s legs.

  She kissed Jen’s sloppy wetness and licked her inner thigh, signaling it was time for Jen to let go of her hair.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m pulling your hair,” Jen said, laughing in sweet exhaustion.

  “I love it when you treat me like your love slave.” Amanda kissed her way up Jen’s tummy, planted a kiss on each breast, and rested her cheek against the soft skin above Jen’s armpit, where she heard Jen’s heart thundering in her chest. Amanda dramatically wiped Jen’s sweet juices from her lips and drew her wet finger across Jen’s rib cage, leaving a trail of moisture.

  “What are you doing?” Jen asked, her sexually-sated voice low and gravelly.

  “I’m drawing cum on your ribs.”

  Jen shook her head.
“I’d say that was gross if it wasn’t mine.”

  Amanda responded with a devious chuckle.

  “I’m so gonna make you pay for that,” Jen said, suddenly turning the tables and rolling over on Amanda. She rose to her knees and sat on Amanda’s pelvis, pinning her to the sheets. “You’re mine now.”

  “Like I wasn’t when you had a fistful of my hair while I was between your legs.”

  “That was different. I wasn’t in control. Now, my love slave, I’m in control.”

  The butterflies in Amanda’s tummy jumped. “That you are. Do with me what you wish.”

  Much later, when the traffic on Highway 1 had died down, and Amanda could easily hear the waves crashing on Ocean Beach, she lay awake, mulling over the events of the day. She was tired of staring at the ceiling, so she got up, threw on her robe, and went in search of her purse. She found it in the small living room hanging over the back of a chair. She removed a pack of Marlboros and a lighter then slipped into the night air on the miniscule balcony off the living room.

  The night was characteristically cool and damp, the thick fog reflecting the orange street lamp. She lit up and breathed in deeply, expanding her lungs, allowing the nicotine to find her third eye, and focusing her wisdom and intuition on the facts of Jared Carlisle’s murder.

  He had been Montiago’s ex-lover. If that weren’t enough, he had insisted she wear a dominatrix costume.

  Who dealt him the death blow in the back of the head with an iron skillet?

  That was the question. Amanda had seen the black skillet in an evidence bag—a substantial size of at least 10-12 inches in diameter—and wondered how much it weighed. To loft it overhead and smack someone in the head would take some arm strength, especially in the wrist. She had used Jen’s iron skillet many times and had found she needed to concentrate when holding the skillet over a bowl to pour the contents into it. In fact, her own wrist allowed her to hold it for only a few seconds before setting it down.

  Hence, wielding a black skillet overhead for a forceful smack might be beyond Kara Montiago’s grasp—literally. Amanda wished she had thought of this when they had interviewed Montiago, so she could’ve scoped out her arms for how well-developed they were. She was guessing Montiago was no Jen in the strength department.

  No, Montiago was a philandering, Sativa-smoking dominatrix who had slept her way through a dozen younger men who worked at her company. What an idiot. She couldn’t make blackmail any easier for her political adversaries. She had served on a silver platter the ammo to be used against her. For a genius who built a fortune in a male-dominated industry, she certainly is a dumbass about her sex life. Then again, who am I to judge? During an election cycle, I had an affair with Roxy while pissing off the North Korean government.

  Amanda took another drag and slowly exhaled, squeezing all the smoke out of her lungs as if she were doing a cat-cow yoga arch.

  According to Montiago’s version, Carlisle acted and sounded different during their last night together, setting her up on video for blackmail.

  Who got to Carlisle? Who paid him to blackmail Montiago? How much? There has to be a money trail somewhere. Follow the trail, and it will lead us to the killers.

  Amanda’s mind traveled to Frank when he had asked Montiago for her Stila lipstick tube. He also pointed out the Dunhill cigarette in Carlisle’s driveway. That Frank. Not only does he sort of look like a wise guy, but he thinks like one too. The cigarette butt in the driveway with lipstick on it was brilliant. Of course, the killer meant for us to see it because they’re framing Kara.

  Amanda crushed out her cigarette on the balcony railing and flicked the butt into the night air, watching it fall to the wet sidewalk below. Evidence destroyed, she thought, or is it really?

  She quietly opened the sliding door and tiptoed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Using the stove hood light for a soft glow, she filled her glass and leaned against the counter. Her gaze landed on the small table where Jen’s crossword puzzles and notes sat. Curiosity propelled Amanda to the note pile, where she spied a poem written in black ink lying on top. It was pretty heavily marked up, but she could still make out the lines.

  Seasons of Love

  An intense feeling of deep affection. Verging at times toward affliction. So vast an expanse evading true meaning, revealing a tender heart bleeding. Is this love or am I dreaming? At what temperature am I feeling?

  The smell of Spring. The thawing Earth opening herself to the sun. Moist, warm and flower-scented, a rebirth emerging.

  A secure, soothing hug. Your smooth skin caressing my libidinous thoughts. Holding hands, collecting emotions, touching hearts. A calm silence of trust. A heartbeat heard. Love’s promising songs of the soul.

  Yield to Summer’s heat. Intensely damp and penetrating, extending into blood moon nights. Fruits ripening to their tender sweetness. Bursting with lust, nature’s sexual season.

  Your scent drawing me into an eternal bond. Your hair, your sweat, the bed we share. Rested and adoring. Air musky and satisfied. Greeting each other in the dewy morning.

  A chill accompanies Fall’s cacophony of color. Harvesting the bounty of Spring’s conception. Bundled and trundled before the wood stove. A hearth glowing.

  Familiarity cooked into a shared meal. Lips grazing ear lobes and legs. Infinite flavor. The truth of your soul sprinkled with the salt of your skin.

  Alas, comes winter’s dark isolation. Hibernating in wool cocoons, two in each chrysalis. A confined intimacy, warming the heart’s cockles, so recently migrating from a mollusk.

  The longing in your eyes. To see your face and experience your emotions. To gaze at the past. To see the future. To look into your soul. Visions of love decorated with tears and smiles.

  My lover’s face, slightly askew, saying ‘I truly love you.’ To invite me into your heart while never saying goodbye. Do I know your sexy mind and rhyme-filled reason? Maybe with a loving touch in every season.

  For what is a season without you?

  Amanda’s jaw dropped, and tears welled. God, Jen, I love you. To put all this out there, about me, not holding anything back. Talk about taking a risk. A leap of faith. I don’t deserve you.

  She replaced the poem on the stack, careful to leave it as she found it, then snuck back into Jen’s bedroom. Her heart swelling with love, Amanda cuddled up to Jen’s back and gently draped her arm over Jen’s ribs so as not to awaken her. Amanda pressed her chest against Jen’s defined muscles and reveled in the warmth. I’d do anything for you, babe. Anything. An intense feeling of love and loyalty flooded Amanda, as she drifted off.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning

  Amanda awoke to the bizarre sound of Jen sniffing her, Amanda’s, hair. She could feel Jen’s penetrating eyes staring at her, then fingering a strand. Even in her groggy sleep state, Amanda sensed disapproval. She risked opening one eye, only to see the suspicious blue eyes of her lover.

  “Good morning?” Amanda asked hopefully.

  “Were you smoking last night?” Jen’s upper lip was terse with accusation.

  Amanda groaned. “Maybe?”

  “What the fuck, Amanda? Where?”

  “Out on your balcony.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I like the feel of nicotine. It’s like yoga. It relaxes me. Centers me, so I can reflect and think. I couldn’t sleep and needed to mull over the evidence and interviews we got yesterday.” She closed her eye. “Have to solve a high-profile homicide.”

  “And kill yourself in the process?”

  “I don’t smoke that often.” Cut me some slack. I haven’t even had coffee yet.

  “It doesn’t take that much. Smoking is addictive. One a day quickly becomes five or six.”

  “Simmer down, babe. Let’s not make me out to be a chain smoker. It’s the only vice I have left. I can’t take valium. I can’t drink—”

  “Can’t shoot up, can’t snort coke, can’t smoke meth, and the list goes on and on,” Jen sa
id in an unsympathetic tone.

  Eyes still closed, Amanda furrowed her brows. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I need to relax and think sometimes, and it’s not always convenient to do yoga or play cello.”

  “What I’m about to say goes against everything I’ve learned about addiction, but I feel like I know you better than you know yourself. Here it is: One glass of wine is actually healthy for you, so if you think you can limit yourself to one, then go for it. I don’t care.”

  “You don’t care if I drink wine?” Amanda’s eyes popped open.

  “One glass. I want you to be happy, and I understand your need to relax that busy mind of yours. Smoking isn’t the answer, and it reminds me of Roxy. I feel like she introduced you to cigarettes and corrupted the shit out of you. Like it or not, cigarettes and Roxy are inextricably tied together in my mind. As long as you smoke, it will be as if a piece of her is still holding onto you. Controlling you. In our lives and coming between us.” Little red splotches dotted Jen’s neck, signaling that she was emotionally invested.

  Proceed with caution. “Oh.” Amanda ran her hand from Jen’s shoulder to her forearm. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Neither did I until right now, but that’s how I feel.”

  Amanda stroked Jen’s arm. “I love you. Roxy didn’t introduce me to smoking, you know. Tommy and I have smoked our fair share of cigarettes over the years—long before Roxy showed up.”

  “I don’t want you to smell like my ex either. How about we close the chapter on our former lovers by getting rid of cigarettes?” Jen’s voice constricted with emotion, followed by self-conscious throat clearing.

  “I love you so much it hurts.” Amanda grabbed Jen’s hand and kissed her palm.

  Jen’s expression softened to amiability, but just barely. “Have a glass of wine. I want you alive and healthy, not tethered to an oxygen tank in 20 years.”