by Radclyffe
“I got hot.”
“I’d say.”
Julia brings her mouth to my left breast and I slither my dirty hand into her freshly washed hair. Her nipping on my breast causes my pussy to react immediately. She’s had that talent since the beginning.
We’d met in college. My first-semester English lit class, she sat behind me. We were so young. She’d sing the B-52s’ “Love Shack” and hum songs I can still hear. We talked easily from the start and I was thrilled when she invited me to Guru Java, a little coffee-shop-live-music venue, to watch her play. She sang Sarah McLachlan with a husky voice that blended beautifully with the lyrics. Julia sang the songs of the time. Indigo Girls and Melissa Etheridge. I fell in love mid-way through “Brave and Crazy.”
After, she walked me to her apartment and we drank Little Kings on her porch. She had a red Doberman named Tequila who took an instant liking to me and the fact I would throw her tennis ball over and over. I threw that ball for hours just to sit there with Julia and get drunk.
The sun rose on us asleep in the old Mexican hammock hanging on the porch. I had to pee something fierce and struggled out of the hammock and into Julia’s house and found the bathroom. As I wandered back to the porch, I took a look around. She had an array of musical accouterments taking over the living room. Evidently, she played the electric and bass guitars as well as her acoustic. The air smelled heavy of incense and cheap candles. What hit me most was the light. No windows were covered with more than a gauzy film of curtain. I instantly wanted to set up my easel by the big bay window and draw.
I couldn’t imagine leaving. After a quick two months, I didn’t.
I’m jerked back to the moment by a pinch and tug on my nipple.
“Daydreaming while I seduce you, were you?” Julia scolds lightly.
I drop my eyes and smile through the mess of my hair. “Guilty.”
“Just for that, I’m going to play another song and let you get back to your drawing.”
“Rotten.”
“Yep.” Julia steps back with just as much charcoal dust on her as I have on me, smeared by kisses and gentle fondling. She looks like the Coal Miner’s Daughter with blond hair.
“Sing some Loretta,” I ask.
Julia belts out “Alone with You.”
I stretch in the sun that cascades through the windows. We still have only gauzy curtains, and our home smells of sage and white jasmine. “Alone with You” comes to a tittering halt.
“You kill me when you stretch like that.” Julia gently places her worn guitar on its stand and comes to me.
I curl my legs underneath me to make room for her on the chaise. She bought me this chaise so that I could lie by the window in the sun. Its foot is covered in the remnants of charcoal, pastels and paint from my sitting on it to create. I love it. I love her.
Julia pulls the sheer drapes closed in a false sense of propriety. She lays me back on the red velvet and smiles. I stretch out my legs to allow her to crawl up my body. The chaise is too narrow for us side by side, but perfect for her above me. Her hair swings and she drags it up my belly and across my breasts.
I wrap my arms around her middle as her lips hit mine, crushing her to me. The familiarity of her body against mine, her heat and her scent make me swim in excitement. There are times we are still nineteen and crazy, but there are more times like this. Times when we are forty and comfortable. Her taste is always her, even hidden behind peach schnapps and orange juice. I am the me I’ve become. No longer lean and lithe but rounder and soft.
Julia pushes herself up on her arms and looks at me. She can read the look in my eyes. So she swings a leg over me and helps me up by the hand. That same callused hand holds mine as we walk down the hall to our bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and Julia strips off her T-shirt. She uses it to wipe some of the charcoal smudges from my breasts and then chucks the tee in the hamper.
“I want to finish what we started this morning,” she whispers.
Julia gently pushes me back on the bed with a strong hand to my sternum and begins to yank at my jeans. I lift my ass off the bed and she slides them down my legs to drop them on the floor. I’m dirty and sweaty and she buries her face between my breasts. I gave up being self-conscious a long time ago. She loves my sweat and dirt. Says it’s my creative juices she smells and tastes.
My head lolls back into the pillows and I absorb her.
Julia sucks my nipples one at a time. It’s my left that sends the shards of excitement to my pussy. She knows that. She knows everything I love, and she begins to do them in succession. Her mouth runs over the swell of my belly, teeth gently tugging at the navel piercing I’ve never been able to give up. She clasps my hands in hers. We twine our fingers and she controls me.
When she nudges at my bush with her nose, I giggle. Julia looks up from between my legs with an ornery smile and makes a production of diving in. I gasp at the contact of her open mouth with my lips. It never ceases to excite me, that moment.
I wiggle and strain under her work on me. There are moments I want to come immediately and return the favor. Then there are the times, like these, that I want to feel every lap of her tongue and kiss of her lips—every darting motion and every suck, and wallow in it forever.
Julia lets go of my left hand and fixes herself more firmly between my legs. The thrust of her fingers into my wetness makes my body jerk. I know she’ll find the spot that makes me squirm like a wanton woman. And she does.
In perfect precision, she works my G and sucks my clit. I arch my back and groan with the joy of it. My orgasm builds, my legs tightening along with my belly.
Julia is merciless when she feels my legs grab her. The orgasm grows and ebbs and grows stronger just before I grab her hair and cry out. It seems to last forever, and for the first time in a while, I see colors. Beautiful colors.
The first potent climax subsides for the briefest of moments before Julia clamps down to suck out the last vestiges of my orgasmic self. I shriek a sound that will probably rattle the neighbors.
As I collapse into our tossed cotton sheets, Julia looks triumphant.
“I—” I begin.
“Yes, my wonderful?”
“Colors. I saw colors this time.”
“Did you hear a song?”
“No.”
Julia smiles broadly and crawls up to curl up with me. “We’ll have to work on that.”
FULL CIRCLE
Chris Paynter
Woodstock Music and Art Fair, Bethel, New York, 1969
The mid-August air was thick with humidity, as if it were a living, breathing entity. Like if you stabbed it with a knife, the sky would bleed rain.
Jessie Roman wished it would rain, anything to cut into this heat. Even at almost two in the morning, it was oppressive. What bothered her more, though, was she was down to her last joint. She thought she’d rolled enough. But her “friends,” who seemed to grow with each passing hour of the music festival, helped deplete her supply. She laughed to herself. She shouldn’t be too concerned—the contact high alone was enough to send her soaring.
She ran her fingers through her short, dark, sweat-drenched hair. She was still grooving to the music, despite how miserable she felt. Creedence Clearwater Revival were not disappointing the mob of fans.
Her gaze drifted away from the stage and into the crowd. She skimmed over the writhing throng, pausing to watch a pair of topless women dance, their eyes closed and arms thrown above their heads as they bumped and grinded to the throbbing beat. Continuing her slow scan of the revelers, she suddenly stopped when she spotted a goddess—at least that’s what Jessie saw in the beauty with waist-length, auburn hair.
The woman appeared to be Jessie’s height of five-six or so. Her face was pale and chiseled, as if a sculptor had chipped away at the cold stone until he’d perfected the angles of this godlike countenance. Her cheekbones were sharp and defined. Her chin had a slight cleft. Jessie’s finger twitched just thinking of running it down h
er cheek to caress that dip. Her lips were lush and full, her eyes luminous as they captured the psychedelic lighting that emanated from the stage.
The goddess’s lips twitched in amusement, and Jessie looked to see what had caused that smile. It was the same bare-breasted women who had captured Jessie’s attention. She grinned again at the dancers’ carefree attitude. And why shouldn’t they be carefree? Why the hell not dance from the sheer joy of the music and living in the moment?
She looked back at the goddess, and her breath hitched. The auburn-haired beauty was staring at her, the raw hunger in her eyes almost making Jessie fall to her knees.
Was it an invitation? Or was the high she was feeling making her think so?
As Jessie contemplated the question, the announcer brought Janis Joplin on as the next performer. Jessie watched as Joplin strolled to the microphone. She said some words to the crowd before launching into “Raise Your Hand.”
But even Joplin couldn’t keep Jessie from searching the crowd again for her goddess. She was still staring at Jessie.
That’s it.
Without taking her eyes off the woman, Jessie said to her friend Marla, “I think I see someone I know.”
Marla didn’t even look at her. “Go do what you got to do, man,” she shouted over the music.
Jessie shouldered her way through the sweaty horde to get to her destination. She only hoped the goddess hadn’t moved. A gap in the crowd miraculously appeared…and there she stood, stunning in a purple tie-dyed dress that accentuated her full breasts, her nipples clearly visible as they pressed against the thin material.
Jessie forced her feet to keep moving until she stopped directly in front of her. Rendered speechless, she fell willingly into the pale blue depths of the woman’s eyes.
Say something, you idiot. She’s waiting for you to speak.
The woman held out her hand and smiled. “Come on. Let’s enjoy Janis.”
That simple move was all it took. Jessie let go of all her insecurities and grasped her hand.
The woman spun Jessie around to stand in front of her, her arms tight around Jessie’s waist. She pressed her lips against Jessie’s ear. “I’m Audrey.”
“I’m Jessie.” Jessie leaned back into Audrey, relishing the feel of Audrey’s breasts as they pushed into her back.
No more words were spoken as Joplin ran through her set list. But as Joplin sang the opening line of “Try (Just a Little Bit Harder),” Audrey’s fingers worked their way under Jessie’s tank top and brushed the underside of Jessie’s breasts. Jessie glanced around to see if anyone was watching. Hell, it’s Woodstock, she thought, and no one gives a damn.
Audrey said into Jessie’s ear, “Is this cool?”
Jessie barely nodded. Audrey immediately cupped her breasts, her thumbs tweaking Jessie’s nipples. Joplin wailed while Audrey cradled one of Jessie’s breasts, her other hand drifting down to the snap on Jessie’s jeans. She again paused and pressed her lips against Jessie’s neck. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No. God, no,” Jessie croaked.
In one swift and adept move, Audrey unsnapped Jessie’s jeans and worked the zipper down until she could cup Jessie through her panties. Jessie felt Audrey smile against her neck.
“You’re already so wet.” Audrey pushed Jessie’s panties aside and delved into her slick folds. Jessie jerked when Audrey found her clit, hard and throbbing, just as Joplin cried about trying “just a little bit harder.” But Audrey didn’t stay there. She teased Jessie incessantly while Joplin’s voice pounded into Jessie’s very core.
“Listen to her,” Audrey crooned. She bit Jessie’s neck and then licked where her teeth had surely left their mark. “Get lost in the words.”
She pinched Jessie’s nipple as her fingers renewed their assault on Jessie’s clit. The beginning stirrings of Jessie’s orgasm moved in time with Audrey’s touch.
“Feel it. Feel it down to your bones, Jessie.”
Joplin screamed, “Try, oh yeah!”
Jessie’s climax seemed to last an eternity. Audrey kept going as Joplin held that note. Jessie screamed right along with Joplin and exploded into another orgasm. She sagged in Audrey’s arms, and Audrey’s tight grip kept her from crashing to her knees.
Audrey withdrew her hand and zipped up Jessie’s jeans. She gently squeezed Jessie’s breast one last time before tugging her tank top back into place. Then she turned Jessie around, and without a word, claimed Jessie’s mouth in a bruising kiss.
She pulled away and brushed a wet strand of hair off Jessie’s forehead. “We’re going to be good together.”
Jessie could only smile.
Democratic National Convention, Madison Square Garden, New York, 1992
“…I end tonight where it all began for me—I still believe in a place called Hope. God bless you, and god bless America.”
Bill Clinton stepped away from the podium and acknowledged the cheers from the crowd. Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop (Thinking About Tomorrow)” blared from the speakers. He held out his hands for his wife, Hillary, and daughter, Chelsea, who walked toward him from the side of the stage.
Audrey Cartwright viewed the scene from one of the arena’s mega video screens above them. She still couldn’t believe she’d gone from a protesting college student to a highly successful prosecutor in Philadelphia. And Jessie had started her own architectural firm. They were both members of the “establishment” that they’d railed against so vehemently in the 1960s. She watched the Clintons as they clapped in time with the music. Then again, Bill and Hillary aren’t that much different.
“I can’t see from back here.”
Audrey glanced over at her partner of twenty-three years, amused at the frown that creased her forehead.
Jessie kept her hair neat and trim now, no longer sporting the locks that fell across her forehead in 1969. Quite a bit of gray was sprinkled throughout her dark tresses, more than what should be visible at forty-three. But she was just as hot and sexy as the night they met.
Jessie caught her staring. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You can’t tell me you’re not disappointed with where they stuck us. I thought we’d be up there.” Jessie pointed emphatically toward the stage. When Audrey didn’t respond, she said, “Damn it, Audrey. We worked our asses off for him in Pennsylvania.”
A tall blonde approached them and gripped Jessie’s elbow. “Come on, babe. I can get you up front.”
Audrey tried to remember where she’d seen her before, and recognition hit her fast—Elizabeth, one of the campaign workers from Pennsylvania. And she could never seem to keep her hands off Jessie.
Babe, Audrey mouthed as she caught Jessie’s eye. Jessie shrugged.
Audrey hurried to keep up with them as Elizabeth shoved her way forward until they were four rows back from the stage.
Elizabeth draped her arm around Jessie’s shoulders. “Don’t they look great?”
Jessie quickly squirmed out of Elizabeth’s embrace.
Elizabeth glanced over at Audrey. “Hey, didn’t see you there.”
Sure you didn’t.
“What was your name again?” Elizabeth asked. “Allison?”
“Her name is Audrey, and she’s my partner.” Jessie pulled Audrey close.
Elizabeth waved dismissively. “Right. My fault.” She turned her attention back to the stage. “We love you, Hillary!”
Hillary gave one of her open-mouthed grins and pointed at them. Hell, she could have been pointing at anyone within twenty feet of where they stood, but Audrey liked to believe she’d singled them out.
Jessie tugged her closer and kissed her cheek. “I love you.”
Audrey’s insecurities about Elizabeth’s unexpected appearance melted away when she heard the emotion in Jessie’s voice. More multicolored balloons fell around them from the rafters above. As another chorus of the Fleetwood Mac song began, she basked in the hope that sprang in her heart. Hope for the country’s future if this m
an claimed the presidency in November. But much more than that—hope for their future. Just the two of them.
Audrey grabbed Jessie’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.” She grinned at Jessie’s look of surprise. “Hotel!” she shouted over the bedlam and pulled Jessie toward the exit.
They rode up the elevator in silence. Audrey studied the illuminated floors above the door as if they held all the answers to the world’s troubles. Twenty-one…twenty-two…she felt Jessie’s stare, and her mouth went dry.
The bell dinged, signaling their floor. Jessie walked in front of her down the hall to their room. Audrey admired the way the way her tailored suit showed off the tightness of her ass. Jessie slid the key card into the slot and held the door open for Audrey. Once she entered the room, she shut the door and clicked the dead bolt. Then she whirled around so fast, Audrey didn’t have time to react. Jessie started unbuttoning Audrey’s blouse.
“You look amazing in this. The blue brings out the blue in your eyes.” She undid the last button and slowly slid the blouse off Audrey’s shoulders. She pressed her lips against Audrey’s neck as she rubbed her nipples through her camisole.
“Oh, god,” Audrey whispered.
“But you look even more amazing with nothing on.”
Audrey shuddered under Jessie’s intense scrutiny. She quickly undressed. “Now you, babe.” She emphasized the last word and reached for Jessie’s jacket. Jessie grasped her hand to stop her.
“Elizabeth was being a bitch. I don’t even like the woman. You know that, right?” Her dark eyes bored into Audrey’s.
Audrey ducked her head.
“Hey,” Jessie said softly. She tilted Audrey’s chin up with a tender touch of her finger. “I love you so much. You’re the only woman for me. You have been since that magical night at Woodstock.” She leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Audrey’s lips. “I only see you.” Jessie touched her own heart and then placed her hand above Audrey’s left breast. “And my heart only belongs to you.”
