by Sacchi Green
She took it from me as she moved into the room, her eyes boring into me as if memorizing. I saw the doubt and sadness that was so much a part of her, the familiarity of it soothing me somehow. I think if I’d ever seen true glee in those eyes, I would have known she was an imposter and not my Jani-Lyn.
Our fingers lingered as she took the rubber band from me, then twisted and tucked her hair with big, square hands. I loved those hands and seeing them sent a delicious thrill through my entire body. I well remembered those hands fucking me and moving with tender power across my clit. I almost doubled over from the lurch of sudden desire that filled me.
She knew.
She smiled, her own gaze darkening with wanting me.
After her hair was pulled away from her face and into a reckless ponytail atop her head, I saw my Jani-Lyn. She was no longer the national rock star, hidden behind a cloud of hair, booze, and drugs. She was now, once again, the shy young teen who’d rescued me from the bullying idiots who plagued the halls of Tommy Jeff High School.
Meeting her was a moment I would never forget. I’d been new to the area, my dad transferred by the oil company he worked for. I still hated those unexpected moves, hated having to stand my ground, proving myself at each new school. When Janis stepped in, however, defending me from the band of mischief-seeking rich kids, I found in her a kindred spirit.
The first few weeks after we met were a frenzy of recognition and exploration as we blended into soul mates. We both loved to read and would spend hours discussing the latest bawdy books. We were both redheads, although her hair was much darker, and we both had as many pimples as freckles. We used to laugh, envisioning our white, fish-belly skin as the canvases under dripping brown paintbrushes gone wild. Then we became lovers and found an affinity there, as well.
“And there’s my Jani-Lyn,” I said aloud.
“Your Jani-Lyn,” she agreed, removing her leather jacket and tossing it aside. Underneath it she wore a loose gauzy tunic—stage wear—with the usual long sleeves. She pulled that over her head, revealing a white sleeveless undershirt. This was a privilege, I knew. No one but me saw Janis without her long shirts. Not even her other lovers. Being naked meant being vulnerable, she said. She would fuck them fiercely but always with most of her clothing in place, keeping her power.
I touched her arm, right above the stack of bracelets she wore. I’d given several of them to her over the years. When she shook them onstage, she told me often, it was a special message of love to me. I rotated the arm and gently touched the new track marks amid the scars of the old.
“Jani-Lyn,” I scolded, clicking my tongue against my teeth. “I thought you’d let that go, honey. What about Brazil? Getting clean?”
She sighed and pulled me into the arms scarred with her pain. “I did, baby, and it was good. The dragon caught me last week though. I was missing you so much and was stuck out there in Boston. It was hell.”
I pulled back and studied her sweet, tired face. She wasn’t high tonight. That was good.
I pressed my lips to her neck, inhaling deeply. She always smelled so damned wonderful. Her scent and taste brought far away worlds home to me.
“Ahh,” she breathed. “Ahhh, I miss you so much when I’m not here.”
Her strong hands moved to my waist and progressed upward until I was caught between her palms. She caressed my ribs and the sides of my breasts, all the while holding me securely. My hands found the belt loops on her low-slung jeans and I tugged them playfully. Her thumbs brushed rhythmically along my breasts, and the heat of her hands consumed my chest.
I found her lips, tasted cigarettes. My tongue felt along the edge of her teeth and frolicked with her tongue. Our bodies pressed closer and her arms moved behind me, each hand caressing my ass. Time passed without our being aware.
“The bedroom,” I whispered against her mouth at last.
She kissed me again and then led the way, pulling me along behind. Eagerness made me trip over her and we fell together, luckily onto the mattress. Low lamps provided soft light so I could see her face. I noted that she looked around, making sure her things were still here, always would be here. Her juvenile paintings, and some of the newer psychedelic ones, still papered my walls. Seeing them there always caused her to shake her head in disbelief. I kept the bedroom the way it had always been because I knew it helped us remember.
She slid onto me easily.
Janis knew about kissing, knew that it was the right way to love a woman. Her tongue gently plundered my mouth as her lean body strained against me. I pushed back, wanting so badly to connect. Our clothing melted away in passion’s heat, a heat that cocooned us from the world. Soon her thigh was between mine, the rhythmic pressure as she kissed, kissed, kissed me making reality drift farther away on quiet sighs. Her hands found me wet and grasping and she slipped easily inside only to escape and slide against my clit with just the right pressure. I felt the glorious itch grow with her movements until it formed a mushroom cloud of sensation that flared and then dripped billows of whipped cream from toes to head. I fell limp against the pillows, emitting soft moans of pleasure and delighted gratitude.
Her wide, satisfied grin was thoughtful as she studied my face in the dim light.
“I love you, so much,” she admitted haltingly.
I pressed my palm to her broad, furrowed forehead, sought her scared eyes with my reassuring gaze. “I know, babe, I know.”
She tucked her head and moved lower. Her mouth found me, her tongue strumming the same tune. I held my breath, my fingers holding her shoulders, the tips playing in the hair she’d let grow in her armpits.
Her tongue entered me, stroked me from the inside for a slow-moving century. I felt fingers enter after a millennium and released the held breath. It was too much. When her tongue flicked my clit again, I writhed away, the orgasm so powerful it bordered on pain.
Yet she persisted, and I came once more, screaming and pushing on her shoulders, twisting sideways. I recovered as she breathed heavily between my thighs. I brought her face even with mine. I kissed her hard.
“Let me, Jani-Lyn, let me . . . ”
“I told you, baby, I hate that men go there. Sometimes when I’m drunk or high, I don’t know . . . stupid.”
I reached one hand down and found the softness of her. Her fine hair hugged my hand as I slipped into that hot wetness.
“Oh baby, you are seriously in need,” I whispered against her ear.
“Ready, I’m ready,” she murmured, those glorious sad eyes closed. I moved lower and pushed in hard and deep, the way she liked it. I watched her face and could see she was into it, she was feeling me. She cleared her throat and one forearm came up to cover her eyes.
“I see you,” she said, as if to herself, and I knew she saw the me that turned her on, whatever part of my body or face that did it for her. She never would tell me. Fully focused this way, her body responded to my pushes, meeting each thrust and throbbing inside, tightening against my hand.
“You want it all, baby,” I cooed, my voice husky with excitement.
“All,” she agreed, nodding.
I loved that I could watch her and she couldn’t see my excitement. I could watch the orgasm build in her as I pumped in, pulled out. I slid my hand into a fist. The sudden growth inside sent her gasping so I thumbed her clit with my other hand and repeated the curl. I leaned sideways and latched my mouth on to one of her small, erect breasts, the one with the heart tattoo, and she howled, her body convulsing on my fist. The powerful throbbing of her cunt traveled up my arm.
“Aw, fuck,” she whispered some time later. “No one does me like you, baby.” She lowered the arm and looked at me, her gaze sated and sleepy.
“I’ve got mileage,” I told her, my voice low and loving. “Lots of miles together with you.”
I withdrew my hand gently when the throbbing eased. We snuggled face-to-face, the heated scent of our sex surrounding us, wet warmth gluing our legs together.
�
��So why didn’t you come?” she asked sometime later.
“I did come,” I said, half asleep.
“No, today, to the reunion.”
I took a deep breath, shifting gears from my sexual high. “I was there. Earlier. Before you came. I almost didn’t go at all. I told you, baby. I have nothing in common with those people anymore.”
“And I do?” She twisted away to light a cigarette. Fragrant smoke surrounded us.
“No, not necessarily, but you had your own reasons.”
“Yeah,” she drew on the cigarette, pillowing her head on her forearm. “But maybe not the right ones.”
I searched her face, looking for signs of emotional trauma. “What do you mean?”
She stirred restlessly, and I knew she’d be gone soon. “I don’t know, man. I don’t feel as good as I thought I would.”
“Why?” I shifted to see her better.
“They asked all kinds of questions about Mama and all. About growing up here.” Her eyes wandered as she sought to escape her feelings.
I frowned. “Not easy stuff, is it?”
“No . . . but Kitty said that Mama told her she was proud of me.” Her smile was too hopeful, and it made me sad for her.
“No shit?”
“No shit! Coulda knocked me over with one of my own feathers.” She paused. “They still hate me though, all those people in town.”
“Don’t care about them, Jani-Lyn, care about me, about us.”
I sharpened my gaze, making her understand. “What we have is eternal. It’s what matters.”
She chuckled, amid a cloud of new smoke. “Eternal. I like that.”
We cuddled and drifted into sleep. Sometime later I heard her stir. She kissed my cheek while I feigned sleep so there would be no good-byes. But she knew.
I heard the door close, heard her raspy voice rudely waking the limo driver and, no doubt, a few of the neighbors. I smiled and hugged her pillow close.
I never saw her again. The dragon won, carrying her away on powerful wings just a few weeks later.
I think about an afterlife every day. I can only hope there is one and that I will see her there.
RULES
Lea Daley
Pimberly Brauer had prowled through several galleries at the museum seeking a new challenge for her design students before something sparked an idea. An immense, faceted aluminum tapestry by El Anatsui. Its dramatic drapes and folds were composed of tiny, colorful rectangles connected by fine wire. She’d just begun logging notes in her phone when the Associate Dean of Academic Affairs appeared. And there wasn’t a colleague at UMKC that Pim liked less. Thea Lincoln was everlastingly oblivious to all social cues. Worse, she was an unrepentant gossip.
Pim stepped closer to the artwork, seeming to study every detail of its superb craftsmanship. Predictably, Thea sidled up anyway. “Hard to believe that’s metal, isn’t it?”
Outfoxed, Pim turned. “I can barely keep my hands off it.” “Such creativity! People are a never-ending source of amazement—for good or ill. Speaking of which, you’re well out of that nasty mess with your former girlfriend, aren’t you? The latest one, I mean. That preschool program director?”
Plainly Thea was seeking a scoop, but how did she know so much about Pim’s personal life? More importantly, what mess? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That disgusting scandal? Surely you’ve heard about it. It’s been all over the news for the past two days and—”
A scandal? Involving sweet, decent Hayley Walton?
“—now the parents are picketing her school.”
Pim longed to flee, but she had to sort out this bullshit. “Why?” “It seems she abused a student.” Thea licked thin lips. “Sexually.”
“No way, nohow! You can take that to the bank!”
“Apparently the clients have a different take on young Ms. Walton. They aren’t waiting for results from the investigation. They want her gone—yesterday. Check it out, Dr. Brauer.” Then, opening a map of the Nelson with a sharp snap, Thea sailed away.
Pim turned back to the shimmering tapestry—a zillion individual elements held in place by the frailest of linkages. Any of which could be severed, perhaps irreparably. Suddenly the thing seemed an analogue of life itself. Sick at heart, Pim walked blindly until she reached an empty gallery. Slumped on a bench there, she let the news sink in: Hayley was in trouble. And she was alone.
Of course, Pim could sidestep whatever madness was afoot simply by maintaining her self-imposed distance. Yet every fond emotion she’d suppressed since dumping Hayley had suddenly come roaring back. All at once, she wanted only to shelter and protect the gorgeous woman that every dyke for miles around must fantasize about. Oh, that slim, athletic body! Oh, those heart-wrenching eyes! Unbidden, a favorite memory surfaced:
Hayley’s spread-eagled on Pim’s bed. Facedown, honey-colored hair fanned across her shoulders, indigo eyes closed. Pim rubs scented oil over every millimeter of that sleek backside, from the nape of Hayley’s long neck to the soles of her shapely feet—and points in between. Stroking. Spreading. Gently probing.
Hayley struggles to turn, cranes to see Pim’s face, reaches for a teasing hand. But Pim murmurs, “Not yet. Let it build. Let’s make this the best one ever.”
Then Hayley’s returning the favor. Kneeling, with Pim’s legs locked around her neck. Tongue teasing that deep cleft in the dark, dark mass of hair. Promising and withdrawing. Flickering and thrusting. Spinning it out until Pim’s begging for release. Hayley can’t speak, but her mouth answers. Lips sucking. Teeth nipping. Tongue plunging into the warm, wet, welcoming abyss . . .
A gaggle of rambunctious first graders burst into the gallery. Pim jerked back to reality. She reached reflexively for her phone, but Hayley wouldn’t even glance at a text from her, much less answer a call. Pim’s only shot at getting through involved cajoling Hayley’s thesis advisor, a mutual friend. Thumbing the cell to life, she willed M.J. Gruening to answer.
“Hey,” M.J. said—so brusquely that Pim knew she was still pissed. “What’s up?”
“I need help contacting Hayley. Please tell her I’m desperate to talk.”
“Not happening, Brauer. You had a chance, and you blew it. Don’t muddy the waters—especially in the middle of this fucking child abuse investigation. Hayley’s already a wreck.”
“I can’t let her go through that solo, M.J.! I love her! I’ve been an asshole, but I’m over it. Permanently. She’ll take your call. You have to persuade her to see me.”
“Ask yourself this: Why in hell would Hayley agree?”
“Because she’s cut from finer cloth than I am—and she loves me, too.”
A long silence stretched out before M.J. said, “If you hurt that girl again, I’ll personally come after you.”
“I promise that won’t be necessary.”
Hayley’s cell rang while she was in the preschool’s wide-open office, where she was effectively under house arrest, and where every move she made was now viewed with suspicion.
“Hello, M.J.,” she said quietly.
“Hi, Hale. You and I should grab lunch soon. Right now, though, I’m calling on Pim’s behalf. Please hear me out, okay? Pim wants to get together, but she knew you’d ignore any message she sent.”
Willing herself to stay strong, Hayley said, “Thanks but no thanks, M.J. Given current events, I have more than enough madness to manage.”
“Which is why Pim’s finally able to admit she made a catastrophic mistake. She wants to support you, to be with you.”
Hayley fought back tears. “I can’t talk about this at work— can’t even afford to think about it here. I’ll call you tonight.”
It was late when Hayley returned that call. After she’d had a tasteless dinner and a long cry. After she’d failed to shake the image of Pim’s dancing black eyes, her seductive grin. After her treacherous heart had called up their official introduction . . .
She runs into Pim Brauer, a cam
pus celebrity, at a Friendsgiving potluck hosted by Mary Jo Gruening. Hayley’s astonished to learn that Pim already knows her name.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope. Of course I know your name. We crossed paths at the university for years.”
“Without speaking.”
“You were a student then. And much too busy conquering the universe.”
“But now?”
“Now you’re a graduate, Ms. Walton. So there’s no suggestion of impropriety.”
“If what?”
“If I take you home for an oral exam.”
But they end up at Hayley’s place instead. Because it’s closer to the preschool, where she’ll bike to work after what promises to be a long, exhausting night. Pim explores the public parts of her apartment and Hayley wonders what she thinks of its wicker-and-whitewashed-wood vibe, wonders what will happen when Dr. Brauer spots something familiar in the bedroom—a sensuous lithograph of a nude woman. Which has the professor’s own slanting signature in one corner. Of course, Pim doesn’t discover that right away. First there’s wine. And Adele’s smoky voice wafting through warming air. A bit of laughter. And their initial kiss.
Hayley knows Pim has sampled the university’s ever-changing smorgasbord of lesbians. Deans. Department chairs. Professors. Visiting professors. Adjunct instructors. Guest lecturers. Coaches—especially coaches. But Pim kisses her with a shy intensity that instantly flares to passion. When Hayley pulls her into the bedroom, the sight of that print, exquisitely framed, almost derails the moment.
“I bought it at the faculty art show last year,” Hayley confesses. “I couldn’t walk away from it.”
“You have excellent taste.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I do.”
They’re wearing winter clothes: Leather boots with laces a mile long. Thick woolen socks. Jeans. Sweaters. Flannel shirts with tons of buttons. But beneath it all, lacy, lacy lingerie—such a striking contrast to their bulky outer garments. Instead of ripping off everything hastily and diving for the bed, Pim turns each moment into a miniature seduction. Hayley can barely stand now, so Pim’s in charge and it seems she’s in no hurry tonight. No hurry at all . . .
