Punk and Zen (30 page)

She watched me closely, her eyes full of love and
concern. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, stilling her fingers within me.

I breathed around this, this new thing, around the
feel of her, the knowledge of her body in mine, the absoluteness of it.

“It hurts,” I conceded, my voice sounding soft and
small to my ears, “but…don’t stop…it feels good, too.”

She slid deeper within me, and I could feel every
single little bit of her moving in there. I stared with wonder as the pain
receded and the pleasure that had been at the back of it came roaring to the
front. I had stopped moving within her, and I kissed her hungrily as I resumed.
God, she felt good—inside her pussy, inside of me.

I moved on nothing but pure instinct as I dug the
fingers of my free hand into her back and hers pulled at my shoulder, rolling
me even closer to her. Sweat-slick, her belly rode against mine, and she buried
her head into my neck. There was nothing but the sound of our breath, hard and
harsh, and the feel of skin to skin until I heard it—soft and wet, like the
most tender of kisses.

Fran’s cunt tightened around me, and I could feel my
own bear down on the incredible feeling of her inside me.

“Kiss me?” she asked hoarsely, and I glanced at the
amazing flush of her skin and the golden flash of her eyes before I did. Her
body jumped as we thrust in and against each other, the agonizing cunt tension
riding, tightening, pulling like a thread of light.

Fran broke and took me with her as I felt the
unmistakable lock of her cunt.

“God yes,” I ground out, “please come.”

Her forearm pressed over mine with such force it was
almost painful. I didn’t care; it didn’t matter at all because there was
nothing but this—this unrelenting, beautiful tension, this barely chained
divinity. I prayed to it.

“Come deep inside of me.”

She moaned at those words, a low and desperately
sensual sound as she tensed against me. “God…Nina,” she cried, her free hand
digging into my back, “I love you,” and she thrust so deeply within me it I
felt it in my heart. “Come with me,” she choked out, then kissed me—hard. “Come
with me.”

My body exploded at her request. “I am,” I gasped out,
amazed with the realization that
this
was
it
, and it was too
much, just too much—the feel of her on me, in me, the pounding wave that ground
me down before it. I pressed my head against her chest and the sound that her
heart beat back at me, and I cried out as the storm rode past.

“Hey, easy, easy now. It’s okay,” she murmured into my
hair. “I’ve got you.” Her pussy softened around me, and as reluctant as I was
to leave that warmth, I withdrew gently, knowing that pressure would soon
become uncomfortable for her. I laid my hand on her chest next to my face. And
ABC cried.

Fran slid gently out of me, leaving me empty. She
crushed me to her.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she soothed, kissing my head
in between her words, her hands strong on my back. “Oh, Nina…”

She covered me with her body, soothing me with tender
kisses and words that I gratefully drank in. Finally, I blinked up at her to
find her gazing at me with the same brightness in her eyes and gently cradled
her face with my fingertips. Brushing a tear from her cheek, I let my thumb
remain there, just enjoying the feel of her.

“Are you all right? Did it…did I hurt you?” she asked
with the same concern she’d shown me this entire time.

“I’m fine,” I smiled at her, “never better.” And
honestly, for the first time in a long time, it was true.

“I’m glad,” Fran grinned back at me, “that was—”

She stopped abruptly, staring at the hand she’d been
about to stroke my forehead with. She sat up and flipped it over to examine it.
I sat up with her and leaned over to see for myself.

“What’s the matter?” I asked as I stroked her long
curls from her cheek back over her shoulder. The face she gave me was
stricken—then she showed me her hand. It seemed fine until I took it into my
own and examined it. The back was flecked with dark red—the same red that
outlined her nail beds had settled into the knuckle creases of her fingers.
Paint. Okay, so?

“I don’t understand.”

Fran closed her eyes a moment, then opened them. She
showed me the other side of her hand.

“Oh…” I gasped softly, understanding what I saw, what
it meant. It was as if she had dipped only the front of her fingers in a red so
brilliant it seemed almost unreal, while the center of her palm gleamed wetly,
a darker color, from where it had pooled. Blood. My blood.

Fran closed her hand and pulled it away from me.
“Nina…” she began and stopped, staring at me with golden eyes gone dark.
“Nina…why…I mean, just—oh!” She pulled me into her arms and began to truly
weep, tucking her head into my shoulder.

I wrapped myself around her as her shoulders heaved,
rocking her, hopefully calming her.

“Shh…shh…” I murmured, planting kisses into her hair.
I took her hand, the one she had curled to her chest, and laced my fingers
through it. I made her open it up and pressed my palm against hers. It seemed
appropriate—this, my hand, had been the one inside of her. Essence to essence.
It seemed right ABC to bring them together.

“Fran,” I sighed. I kissed our joined hands, kissed
her knuckles, her fingertips. I spread her fingers open and exposed her
still-damp palm. I touched my fingertips to it and on impulse, painted a dot on
my chest with it. I did the same to her.

Finally, she spoke. “Why, Nina, why did you—”

She shrugged helplessly when I put my fingers to her
lips.

“Don’t you see?” I asked, smiling at her gently. I
could feel that smile widen as I remembered the sound that I’d heard, the sound
of soft kisses. I knew what it was—it was the sound of us, the sound of making
love, and despite the cool morning air, the realization warmed me throughout.

Fran shook her head, not yet knowing what I saw or
heard.

The warmth of my heart grew through me, filling me,
overflowing until it floated above my skin, and I had to share that feeling,
that knowledge, with her. I shifted so that her back leaned against my chest,
and I still rocked her lightly as I told her what it meant.

“No matter what happens,” I whispered, “this is
yours.” I kissed her head, then moved her hair so I could kiss her neck and
shoulder. “If I died tomorrow…”

She shivered violently at those words, then twisted
around to kiss me fiercely. “Don’t say that! You’re not allowed to say that,”
she pleaded as she bowled me over with her strength and her fear and her love.

Her kiss was fueled by adrenaline, and I let her surge
against me, reassure herself again that I was solid as her lips crushed mine.

“Whatever happens, Fran,” I explained softly as we
broke apart and she gazed at me, “this…” and I took her hand and closed her
fingers over her palm, “this will always be yours.” I rolled her gently over to
prove it.

I woke up on an unfamiliar world, a different, softer
world—one that held the unbelievable sight of Francesca Kitt DiTomassa wrapped
protectively around me, her golden mane spread across my throat, her hand
cupping my breast and its thumb occasionally tracing its curve, and a
splendidly shaped leg draped over mine. I lay there, absorbing the experience,
then lifted my head to look out the window. It was still gray out, and from
what I could see, the world outside had become soft and white.

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

Chemistry

Love and laughter—

it’s what we’re all ABC after

Skin to skin—it’s all chemistry

“Chemistry”—Life
Underwater

∗ ∗ ∗ ∗

You would think that being involved with Fran would
force me to think about Samantha, and it did, sometimes: the realness of her
was an occasional haze on my skin, and I rounded corners and expected to see
her or looked up and expected to catch her eyes. Those times I was haunted at
work, at home, even when I was with Fran.

On a few occasions we’d be in the middle of making out
and I’d think “she and Samantha did this,” or we’d make love and I’d think of
the two of them together, which kinda flipped me out. I didn’t know who I was
more jealous of, and the thought of them together made me so fuckin’ hot I
twitched. I didn’t think it made me a bad person. I chalked it up to being
young, dumb, and full of, um, hormones, honestly.

After those first few days, when we were snowed in
together, she must have thought about some of the same things, because the very
next time I’d gone to her apartment, she’d changed the cover on the futon,
rearranged her bedroom, and managed to mention that she’d bought a new
mattress. I took the hint and broke it in with her. Yes, it was quite comfortable.

Life consisted of work, rehearsals, and Fran, who was
amazingly supportive of my music. She’d never really heard it. I mean, I took
my guitar over and played a bit, practicing lines over and over, writing lyrics
and rehearsing melodies, but she’d never heard the band.

Something in me had changed—and not just the fact that
my pseudo-virginity was now a myth. I got a brand-new pair of buzzers and
retrimmed my hair, dyed it black, and with Stephie’s help placed a bloodred
inch-wide stripe down the back center. Oh, the smell of Manic Panic hair dye in
the morning—crayons and Play-Doh—who could ask for anything more?

Strangely, though, my pants felt different. Nothing
sat right over my hips or thighs; everything just twisted and made me
uncomfortable, and I abandoned anything but button flies and army pants. I also
started to wear underwear because I was just too damn sensitive, but I wore
only thongs. Besides, Fran liked them.

Things had changed a bit at work, too. Jen stopped
calling me “kid” as much, and while women still came on to me with alarming
frequency, I didn’t need her help quite as much. In fact, I’d been
semi-promoted. I now backed Jen up at the door and occasionally filled in for
her, while Dee Dee was showing me how the books worked. In fact, I’d been
coming in some afternoons when we were closed so I could review the bar order
and receive deliveries with Dee Dee.

“A head for business, that’s what you’ve got, Nina,”
she’d tell me when I asked her questions. All that math with Attila the Nun
hadn’t been in vain.

The night was quiet. I’d had a rehearsal earlier with
the band, and Jerkster had decided to come hang out for ABC while,
which was fine by me.

Jen had called to say she was coming in late so I was
“doing the door” until she arrived, but since only three people were in the
bar, Dee Dee sat with me, reviewing the bar order and asking my opinions and
reasons about why we should order what.

The bar phone rang and Dee Dee answered it.

“For you,” she told me after asking whoever it was to
hold on a moment. She handed me the receiver. “It’s Fran.”

“’Lo, Kitt,” I said, with the lowest, sexiest tone I
could muster. It was funny; no one used her nickname anymore but me, and it was
very special between us. I could tell she enjoyed hearing it—her smile would
brighten and her eyes would sparkle more.

“Hey, baby,” she answered. I could hear the smile in
her voice. “You working tonight? Rehearsing?”

Honestly, no matter what my confusions were, I loved
her with everything I had, and make no mistake, that’s never gone away.

“It’s gonna be quiet tonight,” I told her.

“Well, I’m free,” she said, “and…I’d love to see you.”
She drew the last few words out with a little roll that made me smile at the
image it conjured in my head. I wanted to see her, too.

“I’d love that too, but I have to go back to the Rock
at some point. I have a rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Lucky for us both then that I’m free until the day
after. Stay over tonight, and I’ll go back with you tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna come by here, then?” I asked, pleasantly
surprised.

She had hung out there while I was working, but not
very often. She
did
have classes to attend. I also suspected that the
attention I got on some of the more crowded nights bothered her. So even though
we’d never formally defined what we were or called each other “girlfriend” or
anything like that (and I really
hate
the term “lover”—it sounds so, so,
just, I don’t know—I just don’t like it as an overall blanket term) I made sure
she
knew
whose bed I was going to be in—hers, without a doubt.

“Yeah, absolutely. I, uh…” and she hesitated,
something she rarely did. “I really want to see you.”

“And I’d like to be with you,” I returned. “I miss
you.” I meant it. I hadn’t seen her in a few days, and although we’d spoken
during that time, it wasn’t the same thing at all.

“Yeah?” she asked, her voice softer, uncertain.

“Absolutely,” I affirmed.

“Great!” she answered cheerfully. “I’ll see you in a
little while. Ciao!”

“Ciao, Francesca,” I said, and clicked off. I returned
my attention to the bar, only to find Dee Dee smiling at me.