Girl Fever (5 page)

“I'm kissing your mouth,” I told Monique. Her little panting noises were getting the crotch of my panties incredibly slick with juice, but I wanted her words in my mouth. “Can you taste your pussy on my tongue?”

“Yes I can,” she replied in a sizzling whisper. “It's mingling with the chocolate, like a dark-chocolate pussy.”

My breath hitched and I wanted so badly to slip a hand beneath my top, inside the cup of my bra, and pinch my nipples until they were as hard as little pink pebbles. All I could do to resist was close my eyes and lick the picture Monique had planted in my mind. “Oh, your dark-chocolate pussy is melting in my mouth…
and
in my hands.” My head buzzed with sugarcoated arousal. “It's all over my fingers. The juice is running down my chin. Oh babygirl, your chocolate pussy is
dripping all over me.”

Monique gasped, and the sound sent a shock wave from my tits to my clit. “Tell me where,” she begged. “Where's that chocolate dripping, Jackie?”

My name on her tongue was sweetest of all. “It's dripping all down my naked tits and you're sucking it from my nipples.” I could feel my thighs squeezing together of their own volition, applying pressure to my fat clit peeking out from between two wet lips. I stifled a squeal.

“You lick it from my lips,” she whispered. Her voice was a secret. “It's everywhere now. You suck the chocolate from my tongue and then sink right back down to suck it from my clit. My chocolate body is all over your skin, babydoll.”

“My tongue is all over yours.” I could see her now: the chocolate of her flesh melting with the heat of my lips on her engorged pussy lips, the warmth of my hands on her smooth, dark thighs. She's all over my face. I'm messy with the taste of her.

“Lick me,” she begged.

“Yes.” My hand snuck up my thigh, pressing the seam of my neat gray slacks against my throbbing clit. The sensation was so startling my hips bucked forward before I could quell the motion. “God, babygirl, I'm getting off just imagining the taste of you.”

“Me too.”

And the idea that Monique was every bit as aroused as I was turned me on even more. It didn't take long. My
imaginings had my clit thick and throbbing, just waiting for those little touches, one finger stroking over the top of my slacks. That's all I needed—I missed her so much. Her breath in the phone seemed sweet with chocolate, and my pleasure caught in my chest, a suppressed sound, thumping right there next to my heart, right there next to Monique. She was everything to me.

Sid cleared his throat and my pounding heart jumped out of my chest. When I pried my eyes open, he was standing in front of my desk with a grin plastered ear to ear. My skin prickled like it was breaking out in hives. Embarrassment didn't even begin to describe what I was feeling in that moment. My face must have been glowing crimson. “I have to go, Monique.” I didn't want to tell her why.

“Tastus interruptus?” Her lustful giggle spoke volumes, and I stared down at the keypad on the phone to keep Sid out of my field of vision. I wanted just this, just five more seconds alone with my woman before we had to hang up.

“I love you,” I said. It came out as a whimper.

“You too, kid.” The smile in Monique's voice made me flush all over again. “Now get yourself some food. You need more for lunch than a single helping of long-distance pussy.”

 

 

 

 

 

Y
ou're late, sweetheart.”

“It's four according to my watch.”

“It's five after four according to mine.”

“Five comes after four according to mine, too.”

“Really? Then explain why you're late.”

“My watch keeps perfect time and yours is five minutes fast.”

“We'll have Brody settle the matter when he gets home from school, which should be sometime in the
next five minutes, give or take five minutes.”

“It's better to give than to take. Well, except when I take you.”

Mouth first, shushing, rushing.

Hands then, scaling, flailing.

Bodies next, crashing, thrashing.

Moans now, unbidden, unhidden.

“You give good headway, sweetheart.”

“To be honest, I wasn't sure we were going to make it.”

“Think we have time to run through it again?”

“Watch yourself.”

“That reminds me—what time did you get here?”

“I arrived at five after four.”

“Thank you.”

“But I came at four fifteen.”

 

 

 

 

 

Y
ou can't just rifle through my closet.” I sat on the bed while my sweetie pulled hanger after hanger out of the closet, flinging dresses, skirts and blouses everywhere.

“No, but it's perfect, we're the same size. What're you going as?” she asked.

My Chloe, who probably hadn't worn a dress since her sixth-grade class picture, had gotten the notion to go in drag to Sid and Meg's Halloween party and she was using my closet as her costume store. “You know I wear that stuff to work. You could give it a little more respect. Maybe I'll go through your closet.”

She looked at me. “No, really, what are you going to wear?”

Why not? If she was going to wear my clothes, why
couldn't I go butch? I wear pants. Not often, because Chloe likes me in dresses, but I have some.

“I know: you could go as a harem girl. You'd look great in harem pants and a skimpy, ‘I Dream of Jeannie' top.”

“Maybe I could go as Cat Woman,” I said.

“Yeah, in a skintight…well, maybe not. What do you think about this?” She held up a light-blue baby doll dress. I'd bought it a few years ago when they were in style and didn't like it even then.

“Not a good look for you,” I said. “Here, get out of the way.” If she was determined to wear my clothes, the least I could do was try to make her look good. And save my wardrobe in the process. I handed her my bridesmaid dress from my sister's wedding to try on while I picked up some of the mess she'd made.

“Tada,” she said. It was so not her, but she looked beautiful in it. “This is too funny,” she said, pushing up a strap and looking at herself in the mirror.

“First rule: don't make fun of my clothes,” I said, “not if you ever want to see me in them again.”

“Yes, ma'am.” She gave me a peck on the lips.

I studied her. “You need a wig and you're going to have to practice walking in heels. Here, put these on.” I handed her my bronze sandals. “We should practice makeup, too. I want to try a couple different looks on you.” She was starting to get that look; the
maybe this isn't such a good idea, after all,
look.

“Want me to take you to the costume shop to look
for something sexy for you?” she asked.

I told her I'd take care of it; it was going to be a surprise. I figured what was good for the gander was good for the goose, and what the gander didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

 

The day of the party came and her wig looked great. I finished her makeup and she was getting dressed when the phone rang. “What? Really? But I have a… Yeah, I know. When?” Chloe came back into the bedroom, dressed but still barefoot, and gave me a questioning look. I covered the phone and mouthed,
My boss.
“Okay. Okay,” I said and hung up.

“What was that?”

“He needs me to participate in a conference call with our Japanese client. He's going to call me here when they're on the line. He said it would be in about an hour.”

“Did you tell him you had plans?”

“I tried, honey, but it's a million-dollar deal. He said it probably wouldn't take that long.”

“All right, I'll wait for you.”

“No, you go ahead,” I said. “I promise I'll be there just as soon as I can. I don't want you missing the party because of my work. I'll grab a cab and meet you there.” I gave her my
I won't take no for an answer
look and she grudgingly agreed.

Once she was out the door, I went back into the bedroom and took the suit I'd chosen from her closet.
Our friend, Gwen, who'd called earlier, impersonating my boss, rang the bell just in time to help me get into my new black silk corset. My take on drag was slightly different. I slicked my long black hair into a low bun, put on some dark liner and smoky shadow and Chloe's gray, wool pin-striped suit, slipped my black stocking-clad feet into a pair of black alligator pumps and checked out the look. Kind of a cross between Madonna and Dietrich.

“Damn, woman, you look hot,” Gwen said. She put the finishing touches on her Wonder Woman costume and we were off to the party.

The clothes made me feel powerful. In fact, I breezed through the door with just a kiss and a “Dahling” for Meg, the hostess, grabbed a martini and breezed out the back into the yard to scan for Chloe. I spotted her, in the far corner, talking to a couple of butch friends. She was slouching and her legs were spread. The dress looked great but she had no idea how to carry off the look.

I vamped my way over to where she and her buddies were standing and saw Sid elbow Chloe. “Dude, your girlfriend's here.”

I took a leisurely drink of my martini. “Is that any way to behave in a dress like that?”

Sid, who was dressed as a gangster, plastic machine gun and all, started to chuckle. “Yeah, she's got you there, man.” Chloe shot her a look.

The two other butches stared at my breasts, threatening to spill from the top of the corset. It was obvious
they'd already had plenty to drink, otherwise they would have been able to maintain in front of Chloe.

I knocked back the rest of my drink and grabbed her arm. “Come with me, Missy,” I said and dragged her toward the opposite corner of the garden.

Still feeling empowered by the clothes, and slightly drunk from gulping that much vodka, I backed her against the fence and grabbed her crotch with my free hand. She started to say something but I smashed my mouth against hers, kissing the words into oblivion. Moving my hand up to her breast, I ground my own crotch against hers and gave her nipple a hard pinch.

Chloe melted into the pinch and then straightened up. “What are you doing? You're not a t—”

“Squirmy. I'm going to have to take you home and tie you down before I fuck you,” I countered.

She kissed me, this time, and smiled her big butch know-it-all smile. “It's not that I mind, or anything, but what's gotten into you?”

“Noisy, too. Yeah, tie you to the bed and stuff my panties in your mouth,” I muttered, kissing her again. “Clothes really do make the woman,” I said, rubbing my body against hers, knowing the boning in the corset was attacking her still-hard nipples. “At least this woman. Time to go home and strip 'em off.”

She followed closely behind me as I headed toward the house and home.

 

 

 

 

 

S
ometimes, when it hadn't been too long, we would focus with yoga-like intensity. She scissored her legs across mine and we sat erect, mound not quite to mound, breast so close to breast that the whisper of space between shimmered with the tension of our nipples. We swayed slowly, movements exquisitely precise, our breathing just barely in control.

A fine and poignant torture, worth prolonging; the moment came too soon when flesh demanded the press of beloved flesh, and the fire mounted so high it threatened to consume us. But not quite yet.

“Yab-yum,” she would say, or I said, or we chanted as one; and all around us shadows took shape and voice from our shared memory.

 

Poetry, doggerel, curses, laughs; flashes of brilliance, wine-slurred philosophy; a place and time and voices
that live on in millions more minds than ours, yet in memory are still ours alone.

We were wannabe Dharma Bums, not-quite-jailbait chicks high on the Road and the Beat, hanging with Kerouac and Cassady and Ginsberg on the fringes of their world. Brought to their parties by others, we were swallowed up, instead, in the urgent mysteries of each other. In dim corners we echoed their game of Yab-yum, silent, still, close, closer, fighting not to touch while breast swayed nearer to breast, cunt edged toward cunt, tight nipples sought nipples. Hunger pulsed hot and slick between damp thighs.

We seared each other with blue-hot sparks of longing, need rising in a tide that swept away the will at last, the game well-lost, while our bodies clutched at joy with hands and mouths and limbs as fierce in their hunger as any savage tooth and claw.

She thought she heard cheers across the smoky room. My ears were still ringing with glory.

 

Fifty years later that glory still swept us, memory only a brief distraction. The same lightning crackled through the vanishing space between until bodies had their way—hands, tongues, thighs, my lean hands, her divinely heavy breasts—knowing each other's flesh and hearts so well that every joy, every cry, transmuted into poetry known to us alone.