Touchwood

by Karin Kallmaker

  Rayann didn't hesitate. "I'm free as the wind."

  "I thought a movie, maybe some dancing to bring in the new year."

  "Sounds wonderful."

  "I've been after her to get out of the store," Louisa said. "She's been working like a mule."

  You're going to get your wish. Rayann ran upstairs for her jacket. Zoraida was a gift from a kind goddess. For every day of the last week, Louisa had been unfailingly, unswervingly friendly — to the point where Rayann wondered if she'd dreamed the night they had spent together. But her body said it was no dream. Her heart knew it was in mortal danger every day spent with Louisa and every night spent alone. Her head knew a solution when it saw one. Zoraida would have no regrets tonight.

  Zoraida, however, did not assume the same aggressive role she had played on their previous date. Rayann agreed to Zoraida's suggestion of I Can Hear the Mermaids Singing, which was showing in Berkeley. Except for a heartfelt groan in Rayann's ear over the lethal, better-than Charbonneau looks of one of the movie's two lesbians, Zoraida stayed on her side of the shared armrest throughout the movie.

  "Do you want to go dancing?" Zoraida asked, as they left the theater.

  "Sure. But you know what I'd like to do first — walk on the campus a little. I haven't been back in ages." They crossed the street that separated the city from the campus and entered through the northside gate. They walked in silence for a while, Rayann leading the way over short bridges, through groves of eucalyptus, and past ivy-covered walls, then down the slope that took them to the base of the Campanile. "I've always thought this campus was romantic," Rayann said as they stood in the shadow of the belltower. It obligingly rang nine times.

  "Is that why we're here?"

  "Yes," Rayann said. "I'm sorry about last time."

  "Is that all?"

  "No." Rayann swallowed. She had to honest with Zoraida. "I... I'm hung up on Louisa. It's totally inappropriate. She's got Danny and I just don't share enough of her history. I... my body just needs a diversion. It's just an attraction, I think because we spend so much time together..." If you want to be honest with Zoraida you have to be honest with yourself. Lust is not the only explanation.

  "Novia," Zoraida said softly, "are you asking me to help you forget her?"

  "I want to be honest," Rayann said. "I know it sounds hopelessly cold-blooded, but I... you said no strings, as long as you knew the score."

  Zoraida was silent for a few minutes. When she spoke her voice was husky. "Have you made love to her?"

  Not precisely, but she made love to me. "Yeah. She regretted it the next day, and ever since she's been urging me to go out with my friends, reminding me how much I have in common with them, like... like she wants to be sure I don't expect anything of her. I don't want to lose her friendship and, well, I was thinking that my body just needs to fixate on someone else." So I can stop staring at her hands and remembering my legs wrapped around her thigh.

  "That actually sounds like a pleasant prospect," Zoraida said, her voice clearing. "I accept the challenge, my damsel in distress. I will consider it my solemn duty to erase any imprint she may have made on your body."

  Rayann remembered the way Zoraida had aroused her when they had been dancing. "You'll be successful. I think I've made too much of it already, novia." She turned to Zoraida in the shadows and drew her away from the belltower to the grass-covered slope behind it.

  They sank down to the earth, Rayann pulling Zoraida atop her, running her hands under the leather jacket to appreciate the muscled back and strong shoulder blades. Zoraida's hair fell around them in a curtain of black, shutting out the moonlight. Her lips found Rayann's, exploring slowly. Rayann's mouth invited Zoraida to probe deeper, faster. Like liquid fire.

  Zoraida pulled up with a moan. "We have a drive ahead of us, and what I want to do can't be finished here." She hopped to her feet and gave Rayann a hand. "Come on, lover. Let's go dancing in private."

  They walked briskly back to the 4x4, and Zoraida lost no time in negotiating the drive through campus, then onto Claremont. The entire bay glittered before them — dark patches of water broken by gold and silver bridges with a sweep of lights on hills across the bay in San Francisco. From the high Piedmont hills, they descended to the rolling slopes of the Glenview district.

  "Aren't you warm?" Rayann slid across the bench seat to twine her fingers in Zoraida's hair. "Wouldn't you like to get out of that jacket?"

  Zoraida shrugged out of the jacket and Rayann unceremoniously dumped it on the floor. She felt intoxicated. She kissed a slow line down the silk sleeve covering Zoraida's arm, ending with nibbles on the knuckles clutching the shift knob.

  "Would you please stop that? I'm trying to drive."

  Rayann stopped kissing and stroked the back of Zoraida's neck lazily. Turning to face Zoraida, she tucked one leg under herself and slipped her hand down Zoraida's neck to caress the firm muscles under the collar.

  "You are making concentration very difficult."

  Rayann unbuttoned the top button of Zoraida's shirt and stroked the firm skin inside. Another button, and one finger slipped just under Zoraida's bra, tracing the top of one soft swell, the tantalizing valley in between, the top of the other softness.

  "Stop that," Zoraida said, her voice brusque but edged with invitation.

  Rayann drew her hand out with a sigh, and instead trailed her fingers over Zoraida's stomach, then the jean-covered thighs.

  "Novita, you are making me crazy. If I drive any faster, well get arrested." Zoraida pushed Rayann away. "Sit over there where you belong and put your seat belt on."

  Rayann complied, but not before she removed her own jacket and put on Zoraida's leather jacket. She put up the collar.

  "You're really looking for trouble," Zoraida said. "Don't you know a woman's leather jacket is her domain?"

  Rayann gave Zoraida what she hoped was a smoky look. She felt sultry and dangerous, but very much in control. I feel like Lauren Bacall. You do know how to whistle, don't you Zoraida? Just put your lips together... They stopped halfway down a quiet block and Zoraida pulled her truck into one of three parking spaces carved out in front of a long, low building.

  "This is it," Zoraida said. "I'm on the second floor in the back." They ran up the stairs while Zoraida fumbled for her keys. "I'm freezing! You're going to pay for wearing my jacket, you know."

  Rayann followed Zoraida inside. The chill air only accentuated how hot her hands were. Her palms were damp, which meant she was wet elsewhere.

  "Hang on, let me get the light."

  "There's no need," Rayann said. "Just lead the way."

  In the darkness there was silence, and then Zoraida said, "If you trip on something soft and fluffy it'll be Whizzer. She's probably on the bed, though."

  "Then take me in and introduce me." She found Zoraida's hand. In the dim light from the bedroom window she could make out a dark shape curled up precisely in the middle of a four-poster bed.

  "Whizzer, this is Rayann and I think she really wants to lie down, so you're going to have to move." Zoraida picked the cat up gently and put it down on the floor. It glared at Rayann and then stalked out the door.

  "It's not true, Whizzer. I don't want to lie down, not yet." She turned Zoraida to face her. "I want to undress you, but we have to pull the covers down. I'm allergic to cat hair."

  "Well, that puts a damper on a perfect relationship," Zoraida said, throwing the covers back. "Actually, Whizzer only sleeps on the comforter, so the sheets and pillows should be relatively free of her presence."

  Rayann's hands went to Zoraida's shirt. Button by button the silk shirt parted. Rayann kissed each new expanse of smooth skin then pulled the shirt out of Zoraida's jeans. She tasted Zoraida's shoulders, inhaling the faint saltiness and musk. Then she slipped the thin straps aside with her tongue and peeled away the fabric separating her mouth from Zoraida's breasts.

  Zoraida gave a low moan and they moved to the bed. Rayann ran her cheek over Zoraida's sto
mach, then damply kissed the tender flesh. She fumbled with the button of the black jeans, but had no problem with the zipper. Her fingers slipped downward and teased, then withdrew. She nuzzled a hard nipple straining against her tongue. Zoraida stripped her upper body bare, murmuring, "Taste all of me."

  Rayann buried her face against Zoraida's muscular thighs, stomach, shoulders, and then into the welcoming softness of her breasts, surprising softness she captured in her mouth and pleasured with her lips. Zoraida held Rayann against her, hips moving against Rayann's hand.

  Rayann tugged at Zoraida's boots impatiently, then bared her completely. Hips lifting, Zoraida's legs drew her down and Rayann tasted her quickly, then teased deliberately. She raised her head and inhaled Zoraida's scent mixed with leather.

  Zoraida groaned and pulled Rayann's head down. "Devora me…"

  Rayann parted and drank, honey and wine, sweet and salt. She rode rippling waves of skin. Under rippling flesh and wetness she sank, drowning in delight, then groaning as Zoraida held her hands tighter. They crested, then surged together.

  Rayann, still fully dressed, pinned Zoraida with the weight of her body. "I want to do that again," she whispered.

  Zoraida's hands were working their way under the waistband of Rayann's underwear. "But it's your turn, novita."

  "I’ll wait." Her mouth went to Zoraida's breasts again, aroused by the contrast of their caressing softness and the firm strength of Zoraida's shoulders.

  "Don't go stone butch on me," Zoraida murmured. "I'll be truly disappointed."

  Stone butch? Rayann raised her head. "I don't know what that means."

  "Seriously?" Zoraida sat up on her elbows, her naked body reclining in the pale light.

  "I'm starting to feel like I've led a sheltered life. I don't know anything about butch and femme."

  "You don't have to know anything. It's how you feel."

  Rayann rolled over on her back. "I don't know how I feel."

  Zoraida rolled over to her, her brown skin gleaming as she wrapped herself around Rayann, moving sensuously against her. Soft lips found Rayann's throat. Fingers swept under the jacket, pulled up the sweater, then cupped Rayann's breasts. They swelled and the tips hardened.

  "How do you feel?" Zoraida pushed Rayann's bra up, the rough texture of her palm further tightening the ache in Rayann's nipples.

  "Like I'll die if you stop," Rayann gasped, swelling against Zoraida's palms.

  "It's a dance, novia," Zoraida whispered in Rayann's ear. "Sometimes you want to lead, sometimes you want to follow." Her hand slid unerringly to the front of Rayann's jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped, then down. "I usually prefer leading, but tonight you made me feel like following. But I want to lead now, novia, I want to lead..." Zoraida's voice faded and a shudder swept her body when her hand found Rayann's wetness.

  Rayann groaned and tipped her hips up, welcoming. "Yes."

  Zoraida gasped something in Spanish too rapid for Rayann to even begin to understand, but Zoraida's fingers slid in and Rayann frantically shoved her jeans down. Inside, yes.

  "How do you feel?" Zoraida's mouth covered Rayann's, as if tasting the answer.

  "It must have been the jacket," Rayann said later, as they lay listening to the popping of firecrackers bringing in the new year. "Usually I'm shy." But not with Louisa — I couldn't help myself with her.

  "Novita, I will never believe that. Would you like something? I'm going to get something to drink." Zoraida slipped out of bed and wrapped herself in a flannel robe.

  "Some of whatever you're having," Rayann said. She huddled under the warm covers and listened to Zoraida telling Whizzer it was not dinnertime.

  Comparisons were unavoidable. Michelle had been honey-sweet and very sensuous, but in a pattern — first Michelle, then Rayann, then the two of them — that was nevertheless arousing and satisfying. Rayann hadn't thought there could be anything more mutually loving than how she felt with Michelle. Of course Michelle had been getting sex elsewhere, so perhaps it wasn't the best model to use as a comparison.

  And then Louisa. At the memory of Louisa's power and passion, Rayann's body, so recently replete, flamed again. This is all your fault, she told her body, but the prickles and butterflies didn't go away. Rayann had been helpless in Louisa's grasp, utterly dependent on Louisa's touch. That night with Louisa had not had the shared give and take of tonight with Zoraida. But the memory burns.

  Zoraida returned with two fizzing champagne glasses. "I opened a bottle of sparkling cider I've been saving." She handed one to Rayann, shed her robe and joined Rayann under the covers again. "To sex," Zoraida said, "and a happy new year."

  They clinked glasses and tossed off their cider, then Zoraida took the glass away from Rayann. "I've only got two. Can't have you throwing it in the fireplace." She turned back from setting the glasses on the floor and Rayann melted against her, pulling her mouth down for a languorous kiss.

  "Hope you're not sleepy." Rayann bit gently at Zoraida's lower lip.

  "Novia, I don't think you're ready for more."

  "I'm on fire," Rayann moaned. She guided Zoraida's hand between her legs.

  "Are you sure — madre de dios." Zoraida's voice broke into a groan as her fingertips became slick with Rayann's passion. She said more, again in Spanish.

  "What did you say? It sounds so passionate," Rayann moaned, moving against Zoraida's fingers.

  Zoraida bent over her, lips nuzzling Rayann's chin. "I said something explicit about how wet you are and how I intend to make use of it."

  "How will you...?"

  "Follow my lead," Zoraida murmured, her fingers taking and teasing as she slid lower against Rayann's body.

  "As long... as I can lead... later."

  "It will be my pleasure — cuando quieras, donde quieras."

  8

  Chipped Away

  "Rayann, if you don't hurry, you won't be ready when Zoraida gets here," Louisa reminded her for the fourth or fifth time.

  Rayann was finishing the last of the day's restocking. "I swear I'll never do another flyer," she said, ignoring Louisa's urging.

  "Knock on wood," Louisa said. "You may have single-handedly started a new trend for Valentine's Day. Calorie-free, wither-proof books."

  "I thought you hated it."

  "I was wrong — hearts and cupids do sell books. Who'd have thought it?" Louisa twitched an offending heart back into place so it hung from the back of the cash register. "And you'll be late if you don't stop now. I'm not so old that I can't finish those myself."

  "That's not why I'm doing them," Rayann said, irritated. "And you're not old, much as you like to say so."

  "Okay," Louisa said. She crossed the room and took the books out of Rayann's hands. Their fingertips brushed. "I'm not old, but you're late. Zoraida will think you don't want to go."

  Rayann sighed. She wished her body would stop reacting each time Louisa inadvertently touched her. It shouldn't be doing this anymore. Zoraida had indeed left indelible impressions on her body, but Louisa's impact on her had never lessened. "I’ll go shower."

  As she dried her hair a few minutes later, Rayann mulled over, once again, her mystification at the way Louisa had practically rejoiced when Rayann had told her about Zoraida. Rayann understood why Danny had been pleased, particularly if Danny had suspected that Louisa and Rayann had made love one unforgettable night, but Louisa's reaction was a mystery. She acts like a mother who's glad to see her daughter married off.

  Even as she recalled that night, Rayann shoved the memory away, replacing it with a memory of her last date with Zoraida. Then she replaced it with the anticipation of being with Zoraida tonight, dancing together at the Sweetheart's Ball. She chose black silk pants and a burgundy shirt topped by a casual black jacket. She and Zoraida would complement each other, no doubt. Glancing at her watch, she saw she had enough time to finish the shelving and hurried downstairs.

  She stumbled to a stop when she saw her mother standing at the counter, having what ap
peared to be a very animated conversation with Louisa.

  "I haven’t seen anything like it since London," Ann was saying. She smiled at Rayann, who walked uncertainly toward them. "Rayann won't remember the bookstore, she was just a baby, but I must have taken her there every week because they had a children's hour."

  "One of the inspirations for opening this bookstore was the library back home," Louisa said. "Merced," she added in response to Ann's quirked eyebrows. "It must have been fifty years old even then and I thought it was the neatest place. Every Saturday I went there for the children's hour. The librarian would read for hours. They had to drag me away."

  Rayann stifled a laugh. Sounds like a first crush to me. "I don't remember the bookstore or London," Rayann said. "I don't remember the cruise home or the plane to San Francisco. I remember moving into the house, though."

  "I remember London as if it were yesterday," Ann said. "And now you're all grown up." She looked at Louisa. "They just grow up before your eyes, don't they?"

  Louisa agreed and as they shared snippets about raising children Rayann felt a chill. They were glibly mentioning events and concerns that weren't part of Rayann's existence. How could she possibly imagine herself meeting Louisa's needs for friendship or anything else? She wasn't even sure she was necessary around the bookstore. Before the Valentine's Day rush Louisa could have managed everything herself. Rayann had to keep business booming to stay busy. If it got too quiet Louisa might regret renting her room. Rayann realized she could have been in the next county. Her mother and Louisa were having a jolly conversation. Great, they're on Jimmy Dorsey now.

  "Could I borrow them? I'd be so grateful."

  "You're more than welcome," Louisa said. "Could I interest you in a couple of Glen Millers?"

  "Too precious, I couldn't." They drifted toward the doorway to the stairs.

  "You could make me a tape as well," Louisa said, her voice eager. "I hardly listen to them because I'm afraid they'll get scratched."

  Their voices faded away and Rayann looked around the empty bookstore in utter disbelief. Her mother had hardly acknowledged her presence. And Louisa had been more excited by the possibility of taped big band recordings than anything Rayann had ever seen — except for a certain night.