Frosting on the Cake

by Karin Kallmaker

  Leslie had the hands of a mother/executive. Rough in a few places, but mostly soft. Not manicured, nails short for convenience. The brush of Leslie’s fingertips against her mouth made Sarah ache; her entire body began to throb.

  She closed her eyes as she rubbed Leslie’s hand against her throat. Her own fingertips brushed Leslie’s as they stroked her neck, a confusion of sensations that increased her pulse further.

  “Sarah, give me my hand back so I can drive us home.”

  She blushed and let go. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not sorry. I just want to get home. Very soon.”

  They emerged from the parking lot into the brilliance of an early spring Silicon Valley afternoon. Yesterday’s rain had left the sky electric blue and the hills shimmering green. “Let’s go to the beach tomorrow,” Sarah said. “That would a great way to spend the first day of our vacation.”

  “Maybe in the afternoon,” Leslie answered.

  Sarah looked at her inquiringly.

  “I don’t plan on getting up early. I’m going to keep you in bed as long as I can.”

  Sarah swallowed. “You’ll have no objections from me.”

  Leslie maneuvered to the fast lane, and then stroked Sarah’s knee. “I’m out of practice, you know. Really.” She kept her eyes on the road.

  Sarah watched Leslie’s hand slowly move from her knee to her thigh. She could feel the heat of it through her jeans. She shifted in her seat, trying not to be obvious about parting her thighs. “Bicycle,” she managed to say.

  “Hmm, probably. I think it may all be coming back to me,” Leslie murmured. Her hand rubbed Sarah’s inner thigh.

  Sarah’s lower lip trembled. She couldn’t breathe. She raised her hips slightly, her legs opening farther.

  The car swerved slightly and Leslie took her hand away. “Sorry. I think I should just concentrate on driving.”

  Sarah watched Leslie’s hands as she drove. It was so easy now to imagine those hands on her body. She didn’t dare look at Leslie’s mouth—that would be the end of any ability to think.

  She realized that Leslie was wearing the soft chambray shirt she’d had on when she had comforted Sarah after Melissa’s abrupt departure. Sarah had cried her eyes out on that shirt. She remembered the way it had felt against her cheek.

  Careful to not interfere with Leslie’s driving, Sarah reached over to undo the top button on Leslie’s shirt. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re still decent,” Sarah said. She continued for two more buttons. “I just wanted to…” Her fingertip found its way under the shirt, encountering soft voluptuousness that made her dizzy.

  “Sarah, we’re gonna die if you don’t stop.”

  I’ll die if I stop, Sarah thought. She settled back in her seat and turned so she could look at the curves she had uncovered. It was sexier than if Leslie had been naked. Her mouth watered.

  “New Year’s Eve,” Leslie said.

  Sarah blinked. “What about it?”

  “In my misspent youth we would make a big deal out of New Year’s Eve. We were too holistic for alcohol, you understand.” Her mouth twitched with a smile. “However, we saved our pennies to procure the best pot available. We looked forward to New Year’s Eve for weeks, more than any other holiday.”

  Not sure where this was going, Sarah said, “And?”

  “We got loaded by ten, ate all the food by eleven and fell asleep before midnight. New Year’s Eve never lived up to my expectations…”

  Comprehension dawned. “Oh. Well.”

  “I’m just saying, well.” It was Leslie’s turn to blush. She did it quite attractively.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this,” Sarah said over the hum of the engine. “But I’m looking forward to waking up with you tomorrow morning almost as much. I’m looking forward to eating ice cream on hot summer nights, going camping with Matt and kissing the tip of your nose.”

  “Matt likes you.”

  “I like him. You did good. Look, I am really looking forward to. . . you know. But that’s just one of the steps on what I hope is a staircase we build together.”

  “For a lawyer you can be poetic.”

  “I’m Welsh,” Sarah said. “Being Welsh means you make everything in life into poetry and song. Even coal mining can be poetic if you’re Welsh.”

  “And here I am just a plain of American girl.”

  “I’ve got enough for both of us,” Sarah said. She trailed one finger along Leslie’s jean-clad knee. “If mining can be poetry you can imagine what other things will be like.”

  “My imagination is running overtime.” Leslie neatly cut over two lanes for the exit.

  On impulse, Sarah reached over to run her finger along the top of Leslie’s ear. Soft, slightly fuzzy skin tickled her fingertip. How strange and wonderful that the sensation made her smile, and how quickly the smile changed to longing when she brushed Leslie’s cheek.

  A touch to Leslie’s shoulder and Sarah was content to settle into her seat. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of her hurried, inadequate lunch.

  Leslie was already turning into a drive-thru. “I have to have something to eat, for energy.” She grinned.

  “Sure this isn’t a delaying tactic?”

  “My stomach says it’s not.”

  “So does mine.”

  Sarah hadn’t quite finished her chocolate shake when they pulled into Leslie’s driveway.

  “Want to start in the hot tub?” Sarah drained the last of her shake as Leslie shut the door behind them. “I want to start right here.”

  Leslie’s voice, suddenly husky and taut, made Sarah turn in surprise. As Leslie advanced on her she felt a rush of terror, like a doe confronted by a tigress. But that was ridiculous— there was no reason to be afraid. Except she was.

  Leslie took the empty milkshake cup out of her hand, then unbuttoned Sarah’s shirt. “I don’t think I’ve gotten a good night’s sleep since I met you.” She kissed the hollow of Sarah’s throat.

  Sarah reeled, but Leslie caught her, pinning her to the wall. She could get lost in Leslie’s sudden strength, let Leslie tumble her to the ground…It would be a welcome surrender after all the months of waiting. Surrendering at this moment would be easy; Leslie’s mouth was persuasive. Easy, and familiar and yet she wanted to resist the impulse. She had surrendered to Melissa in the space of minutes and failed their relationship by never fmding her strength again. This time needed to be different if her life with Leslie was going to be different.

  Leslie’s arms were around her waist. Sarah captured Leslie’s face in her hands and tried to draw the demanding lips up to her own, but her knees were buckling. Leslie steadied her, but they were both losing their balance.

  The floor knocked the air out of Sarah’s lungs, but she managed a choked laugh. Leslie groaned next to her, then sat up, rubbing her elbow.

  They stared at each other for a few moments, then said at the same time, “So much for—”

  “You first,” Leslie said.

  “No you. I can’t breathe.”

  “I was going to say, so much for my attempt at macho.”

  Sarah chortled. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.” “I may have lived in a commune, but I’m really an oldfashioned girl.” Leslie got to her feet. “Let’s just go to bed, okay? Meet you in the middle. Last one there is a rotten egg!”

  Sarah scrambled to her hands and feet, trying to block Leslie’s escape, but it was no use. Leslie nimbly danced around her and up the stairs to the master bedroom.

  Sarah followed, feeling more lighthearted than she would have thought possible.

  Leslie was shimmying out of the last of her clothes when Sarah entered, then she slid between the sheets. “You’re a rotten egg.”

  “Cheater.” Sarah disrobed in record time, and with a giggle joined Leslie in the middle of the bed.

  The sheets were cool. The press of Leslie’s warm skin against Sarah’s made her shiver, and laughter fled. “Let’s get serious,
” she murmured, then Leslie kissed her.

  It was so sweet that Sarah sighed. It felt like coming home after a long absence, to a warm fire or a good book. She smiled against Leslie’s mouth. This felt like a happy ending.

  “No laughing,” Leslie whispered.

  “I’ll laugh if I want to.”

  “Laugh later.” Leslie’s warm fingers slipped between Sarah’s thighs.

  Leslie’s gasp echoed Sarah’s. Answering the pressure of Leslie’s hand, Sarah straddled Leslie’s waist and rested her forehead on the headboard. Leslie was paying delicious attention to her breasts, and Sarah ground her hips toward the welcome heat of Leslie’s fingers.

  It was too much to bear in silence. She stuttered, “There, there, there,” then a taut cry of exhilaration escaped her.

  Below her Leslie gasped, “Yes!” Then, “Please.”

  “More,” Sarah stammered, but she was beyond needing it. Her body shook with release as she crumpled on top of Leslie. Their mouths met again with hunger, but Sarah was startled to taste tears.

  She held Leslie tight and whispered in her ear, “I thought I was the one who was supposed to cry.” Leslie sniffled. “I love you, you big dope.”

  “You tell me this just to insult me?”

  “Can I go on?”

  “Insulting me?”

  “No.” Leslie seemed caught between laughter and tears. “Loving you.”

  Sarah said softly, “There’s an old Welsh story about a singing heart. If you search for it you’ll never find it, but when you stop looking its music will lead you to your true love. I didn’t understand until now what a singing heart was.

  “That’s so sweet. Kiss me.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Kiss me.”

  “I’ll do more than that.” Sarah shinnied under the covers. The sheets were warm now, and Leslie’s thighs against her cheeks even hotter. She groaned while Leslie twisted against her, calves tangling arms, knees bumping shoulders, and they rolled in a dizzying coil of silken skin and slick passion.

  “So how is New Year’s Eve so far?” Sarah reached over Leslie for the carton of ice cream.

  “I think I’m staying up until midnight this year. Give that

  back.”

  “You’ve had more than half,” Sarah protested, but she

  surrendered the spoon and carton.

  “You really do love me,” Leslie said in mock surprise. “Romance is sharing the ice cream.” Sarah snuggled into

  the shelter between Leslie’s arm and ribs. She was suddenly

  sleepy—small wonder. Leslie had no compunctions about

  asking for more of what she liked. Her freedom made Sarah

  equally bold.

  The downy hair on Leslie’s arm tickled Sarah’s eyelashes.

  She smiled on her way to sleep, aware that Leslie’s breathing

  had slowed, as aware as if it were her own. She felt Leslie’s

  pulse under her cheek, and the rhythm was a lullaby to her

  singing heart.

  Hot Flash

  (4 years) I’m not making her breakfast today. Leslie yanked her hairbrush through the snarl at the nape of her neck so hard it brought tears to her eyes. She can get her own damned breakfast.

  One look at Melissa in her skimpy muscle shirt and secondskin biking shorts made Leslie feel like a Class One Frump. Melissa was reading the paper. There was no coffee made.

  It was hard to keep a rein on her temper as she ground beans, but Leslie greeted Melissa civilly enough.

  So she was rail-thin and young and out almost every night with a different woman. Leslie was hardly jealous of that. Okay, she was a lot jealous of the thin, young part. But she had Sarah in her bed every night. Once upon a time Melissa had been so lucky, but not anymore. In the battle for Sarah’s heart, the patient almost-crone had won.

  “Morning,” Sarah murmured a few minutes later, her hair still damp from the shower. She poured herself a cup of the steaming coffee and scrabbled in the cupboard for cereal.

  “I’ve already done five miles,” Melissa shared as she also got some coffee.

  “I’m exhausted just to know that,” Sarah answered. “Nice blend, Les.”

  Leslie spread jam on her toast and sipped the steaming, caffeine-loaded brew. “Mmm, hits the spot.”

  Melissa did not say anything about the coffee. No thanks for Leslie having made it, again, for the twenty-second day in a row. Day 22 of Melissa’s prolonged stay was so far exactly like every day before it, that is, when Melissa was actually at their house in the morning. Leslie was used to being taken for granted by her son, but even Matt knew the phrase thank you. Thoroughly vexed, Leslie watched Sarah pour a second bowl of cereal, this one for Melissa, who of course would like some since Sarah already had it out.

  She was so out of sorts she missed the warning signs of an impending hot flash. Given enough time, she usually shucked her outer layer of clothes to save washing them, but there was no way she was showing that much of her body to the taut, toned Melissa. She fanned herself surreptitiously as her stomach turned into a supernova, sending a wave of fire from the inside out. In a matter of seconds she was drenched from head to toe.

  Sarah was chatting with Melissa about her ride when Leslie left the kitchen. She tried not to stomp up the stairs, but hot flashes left her temporarily drained of energy and her footsteps were heavy. She tossed her wet clothes in the hamper, then scrubbed her face and the back of her neck. In the flat morning light the gray streaks in her black hair looked as if they were lit by neon. A blast of cool air surprised her and she turned to see Sarah opening the window.

  “Why couldn’t it happen before you took your shower— but I guess hot flashes have the same inconvenient rules as periods. You know, they start when you’re wearing new white pants.” Sarah leaned against the bathroom doorjamb looking sympathetic. She even had a fresh polo shirt over one arm.

  “Thanks,” Leslie murmured, trying not to cry. Damned estrogen. Too much, too little, too much, too little. No more kids, not that she wanted any more. Matt was plenty. She was getting old and fat. She had hair in surprising new places, but was losing hair in spots porn stars had to shave. She reached for the shirt.

  “Hey, not so fast,” Sarah said. She snaked an arm around Leslie’s naked waist. Her kiss was brief, but thorough.

  “I’m all sweaty,” Leslie muttered.

  “When has that ever stopped me?” Sarah kissed her again, one hand lazily appreciating Leslie’s bare back. Her teeth nipped at Leslie’s throat. “I’m enjoying the side effect of your perimenopause and you know it.”

  The side effect of Leslie’s hot flashes was what the gynecologist unromantically called vaginal mucus, but she hadn’t disagreed when Leslie had summed it up with, “I get horny.”

  Sarah was on her knees now, making Leslie lightheaded with anticipation. She wondered if her body was making up for all the years she hadn’t had intimate relationships. After her early life in a commune she’d had a prolonged dry spell as a single mom. Then Sarah, wearing an uptight attorney’s suit and spouting patent law, had become a surprisingly close friend. Sarah’s only flaw had been her choice of the shallow, too thin, too attractive and too young Melissa for a girlfriend.

  Sarah had left a settled life in Seattle to join Melissa in San Francisco. She’d set aside an excellent career with a huge software manufacturer to become inside counsel for the software company Leslie co-owned. Melissa had soon departed for fast living in L.A.’s Hollywood, leaving an uprooted and devastated Sarah in tatters. It was while Leslie helped Sarah over her broken heart that their comfortable workplace friendship had solidified into something more. Under the suit and dusty law books Sarah had an enthusiasm for life that made her a good friend. Months later, Leslie discovered Sarah also had an energy for sex that made her a great lover.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” Sarah breathed. She peeled Leslie’s panties downward, tongue following fabric.

  Like the
bedroom door beyond, the bathroom door was open, and it was entirely possible that’s Sarah’s earthy groan would carry downstairs. If Matt weren’t at his father’s, Leslie would have made Sarah stop long enough to shut the doors. She didn’t care what Melissa might overhear.

  Legs trembling, Leslie leaned hard against the counter. Sarah did not seem to care that they were going to be late to the office. Did not seem to care that Leslie’s legs were still damp with perspiration. Did not seem to care about anything but the copious wetness her tongue was swirling through, that she thirstily reveled in.

  Sarah was greedy at first, but Leslie knew that Sarah never began anything she didn’t intend to finish. An Olympic medallist in archery, Sarah always had a goal. Always having the target in mind whenever you nocked an arrow was one of the life values Sarah had passed on to Matt after coming into their lives. Already Sarah was slowing, her thirst satisfied for now. Her tongue teased and attacked with purpose. She wrapped her arms hard around Leslie’s legs. After four years together, Leslie could almost hear Sarah’s mantra: focus, sight, fly. Sarah made Leslie fly. Leslie had not thought there was any mystery left to sex for her, not after her years of Free Love. But Sarah’s concentration and stamina had taught Leslie a new awareness about her own body’s needs and abilities.

  “There, right there,” Leslie panted. She tangled one hand in Sarah’s hair and crooned her name.

  “Maybe we should just take another shower.” Sarah laughed into Leslie’s ear.

  “You are wearing Eau de Leslie.” Leslie kissed Sarah’s nose, trying to hide how Sarah’s jean-clad thigh was making her feel.

  “Maybe we could call in sick—”

  “Right, as if everyone would believe we’re both sick on the same day—”

  “And stay in bed all day.” Sarah punctuated her suggestion by shifting her thigh as Leslie arched herself against it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Leslie answered, chagrined. “We don’t have the house to ourselves, though.”

  Sarah’s vexed sigh was gratifying. “Don’t I know it. Well, just stop having hot flashes at work, okay? I wanted to do what I just did yesterday, right in the meeting.”