Say It with a Strap-On

Purple
Prosaic

SMASHWORDS
EDITION

This
is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are
either the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or
dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

SAY
IT WITH A STRAP-ON
©
2007 by
Alessia Brio

Cover
art © 2009 by
Alessia Brio

All
digital rights reserved under the International and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions.

C
arly
thanked the UPS delivery man and closed the front door. Turning the
box over in her hands, she read the return address label: M+C, Inc.
Yup. This is it
,
she sighed.
What
the fuck was I thinking?
Hope again battled with despair and, rather than opening the
package, she hurled it across the room in frustration.
Waste
of fifty bucks. Fifty-seven with shipping—and I'll never get
the chance to use it.
The box landed on the arm of the sofa, teetered, and then tumbled
softly to the floor with a singularly unsatisfying thunk.

She
marveled at how innocuous it appeared: such a deceptively plain box.
No one could possibly guess how delicious its contents, although
Carly imagined she could feel a sensual aura surrounding it.
Geez!
Where am I even gonna store it?
She could just imagine her husband's reaction if he stumbled upon it.
And yet, the idea of leaving it where it would be discovered had a
certain wanton appeal. There was, after all, really only one clear
use for it, and that use did not directly involve a man. Other
models, sure—but not this one.

Carly
was again assailed by the intense emotions that haunted her for the
last several days. The delivery only served to exacerbate them.
The
kids'll be home from school soon
,
she realized as she felt the burning tingle in her nose that presaged
tears.
If I'm gonna
have a good cry, I'd better do it now
.
With a deep sigh, she flopped onto the sofa and surrendered to her
feelings. The tears came immediately, as she knew they would, and
with them the roller coaster of fear, pain, and doubt mingled with an
occasional rush of elation. The elation was the fast downhill part
of the ride—the breathtaking free fall that always ended far
too quickly.

She
let her mind dance with vivid memories of that singular incredible
night with Jenna, feeling the familiar rush of arousal even as the
hot tears coursed down her cheeks. The intensity of that first time,
perhaps, could never be recaptured. Her overwhelming desire had
taken control—enabling her to push in ways she'd never dared
push before—and the results had been nothing short of
spectacular. Jenna couldn't possibly deny that fact, although Carly
certainly got the impression she tried. The question nagged: why?

In
the days since, the gulf between them seemed to grow. Sure, they
talked, but the conversation steered clear of sex—both in
general and in relation to their 'encounter.' Jenna apparently
adopted her typical ignore-it-and-it'll-go-away attitude. Carly,
however, knew it impossible—for either of them. Something as
deep and as powerful as their attraction to one another did not
simply go away through an exercise of will. Knowing now, rather than
merely hoping, that she and Jenna were sexually compatible made the
magnetism even stronger.
Please
don't push me away!

Carly
wept in silence. Her facial expression didn't change—no chin
quivering, no lip puckering, no ugly sobbing—just tears and
lots of them. They rapidly wet her cheeks, dripped from her jaw, and
soaked her t-shirt. It was one of those things which always baffled
Carly's mother. "How can you cry so hard without giving any
other sign that you're crying?" she would ask on those rare
occasions when Carly allowed her tears to be seen.
Practice
,
she now responded to the echoed question.
I
get way too much practice
.

These
days, Carly seldom let anyone see her cry. It scared the kids and
worried her husband. It made others uncomfortable, which she found
more hassle than it was worth. She worked hard to maintain a tight
reign on her deepest feelings—controlling when, where, and how
they surfaced. And now, the one person who could potentially
alleviate her distress was the very source of it: Jenna.

Fuck
her!
Carly nearly
said it aloud as she shifted into the anger phase of her one-woman
pity party.
If she
doesn't want me, it's her damned loss
.
That anger faded quickly, though. She simply couldn't sustain
it—mainly because she was certain that Jenna really did want
her.
She might not
want to want me, but that's another matter altogether
.
Carly recalled the torment of her own brief and thoroughly
unsuccessful struggle to push Jenna from her fantasies like an
unwelcome intruder. It didn't take long for her to recognize the
utter futility in that endeavor and open her mind to a wonderfully
vivid fantasy realm.

Instead,
she directed her anger at the circumstances that made their being
together so problematic.
Jenna
couldn't possibly think I expect some sort of public coming out.
Could she?
Carly
rejected that thought immediately. She knew neither of them wanted
the type of fallout that would result. The collateral damage would
be extreme and serve no useful purpose, and their feelings for one
another would be viewed as tawdry and perverse.

She
just needs some time to digest it all
.
Carly tried—and failed—to convince herself that Jenna's
perceived reticence stemmed from nothing more than a period of
adjustment. The emotions ran so deep that nagging doubts assaulted
her implicitly-trusted intuition. She relentlessly over analyzed her
gut feelings and examined every nuance under a mental microscope. It
was like having a sensory impairment, in a way: her normally 20/20
inner vision obscured by emotional cataracts.

Carly
licked her lips, tasting the residue of tears that had passed over
them. She smeared the wetness over her entire face as if it could
salve the crushing anxiety.
I
hate this! I hate not knowing her mind
.
The absolute certainty that she stood on the cusp of the type of
relationship she'd only dreamed possible made the frustration all the
more profound.
Talk
to me, Jenna. We'll self destruct if you don't
.

Catharsis,
unfortunately, eluded her and the g-force of reentry into her life's
atmosphere only added to the discomfort.
I
wonder what happens when I reach my cumulative angst threshold?
Rather than wiping her face, Carly just let it air dry—preferring
to feel the salty mask slowly harden into a crust. It felt like a
protective shell.

Sorry
folks. That's all the time we have for today's wallow
,
she thought as she rose and collected the package.
Stay
tuned for the next anguished episode of 'As My World Churns.
'
Stuffing the unopened box into her closet, Carly grabbed a dry
t-shirt. By the time the school bus pulled to a stop at the top of
the driveway, the only indication that she'd been crying was a little
sniffle and slightly puffy eyes. The mask was invisible, but she
could still feel it.

*
* * *

T
he
next day started with the typical early morning household chaos.
That one exhausting hour before the kids boarded the school bus could
zap Carly's strength for an entire day. However, if she managed to
conserve some energy, she could usually complete the routine domestic
drudgery with enough time remaining for a little private recreational
activity. She cherished the time alone with her imagination and
viewed it as her most effective weapon in the war against apathy and
depression: a time to make the impossible possible.

Carly
fetched the box from her closet, carefully sliced the tape, and
lifted the contents from its bed of balled newspaper. She could
smell the leather of the strap-on's sturdy black harness through the
packaging. The distinct aroma would now forever be associated with
sex in her mind. Not just any sex, but sex with another woman.
Placing the harness and extra straps on the bathroom counter, she
peeled the cellophane wrapper from the jack rabbit vibrator and
inserted three rechargeable AA batteries into its controller. After
verifying that it worked, she attached it to the harness.

"Now,"
Carly said to the full-length mirror as she removed her jeans and
sweatshirt, "Let's see how ridiculous I look in this
contraption." Although she decided before ordering the strap-on
that appearance would not prevent her from using it, it would be nice
if she could feel comfortable leaving the lights on.
It's
not how it looks that matters
,
Carly told herself for the umpteenth time.
It's
how it feels
.

Turning
away from the mirror, Carly fastened the main strap around her waist.
The heavy leather felt smooth and cool against the skin of her
shaved mons. She reached around and under her ass to catch the
sturdy elastic leg straps, clipped each to the waistband with the
small parachute buckles, and tightened them to take up the slack.
Feels...interesting
.
The base of the vibrator rested snugly against her labia, directly
over her clit.

She
tucked the dangling controller through the waistband and slowly
turned to face the mirror, meeting her own eyes first. Taking a deep
breath, she hesitantly looked down. "Whoa!" What Carly
expected to appear totally weird instead presented a very stimulating
visual. Were it not for the stubby clit-stimulating shaft, it would
look as if she'd grown a rather impressive cock sporting a
brightly-colored condom.

The
first image that jumped into her mind was Jenna's mouth wrapped
around that cock. Although she realized that she'd be unable to feel
more than the friction generated as the base rubbed her clit, her
nipples instantly hardened at the thought. Carly cupped a full
breast in each hand and groaned softly as she began to slowly thrust
her hips. "Oh, Jenna!" she whispered.

Her
fantasies had always been vivid, but since Jenna had entered them,
they'd become so damned realistic. Much more than mere thought, all
of Carly's senses were swept up in the action. She could smell the
arousal, taste the sweat, and hear the sighs.
Damn,
that's nice
.

"Fuck
me," Jenna interrupted in her mind. "Now, Carly."

That
was another thing about her fantasies of late. The person, or
people, in them didn't always behave as Carly expected. They spoke,
made demands, teased, and were occasionally even uncooperative.
Disconcerting in a schizophrenic kind of way, she also found it quite
intriguing for it often resulted in some extraordinary adventures.
It would be my
pleasure
, she
responded with a devilish grin.