Stolen Moments (33 page)

Grabbing it off her belt while hugging me closer, she pressed the button and said, “No, I don’t think I am.”

I can’t sleep any longer. Though the movie of yesterday plays, I know there is no going back, and my mind is filled with today, this morning. It is an anniversary, a celebration, a festive adventure, a wonderful anticipation.

There you are, still glowing—at your weekly aerobics class, your friends pounce on your radiance. They quiz you. They want all the details; they get but a few. How many years has it been? You still wear this happiness like a slinky teddy; anyone can see there is so much promise and mystery, but only I am allowed to explore it and discover all that you are. Your shy discretion keeps us cocooned, away from prying and prattle, safe in our secret places where no one else even gets to visit.

Ah, our meeting. We are at a backyard cookout. I am late; you plan to leave early. Our intersection begins with chatter about spiders and visits to urgent care centers, moves to our careers, what we’re reading, changes to growing-up tales. You are bold enough to ask for my phone and e-mail. I don’t think twice. You overstay your deadline, preferring to be late to your next potluck in order to spend more time with me. We walk to your car, you lower your cool shades, I see your eyes for the first time, and I am smitten.

An exchange of e-mails, quickly made plans, and we are making out like high-schoolers in public. When dark falls fully, we hear ominous rustling in the brush near the water. We race to my house, and I reach for you and for the clothing that is in our way. I stretch to hold you in place when you declare you are nearing the point of no return and that means you must leave. I know with certainty that I have passed that point. Immediately, my thoughts turn to “next time.”

“Next time” comes; we do, too. I feel shy and awkward, clumsy and inexperienced. The years gone since my last relationship have taken a huge toll. But I begin to find my way, with your indulgence and patience. I have never been so noisy during sex, but with you I take no measure to restrain myself. You use your fingers and hands and eyes and lips and soft murmurings; you inflame me as no one has. Long-lasting kisses, curious tongue, whispering into my ear about what you want to do, what you’re going to do, what I can’t stop you from doing, and I can hardly contain my wanting. My desire grows and grows until I am ready to push your fingers into my pussy myself, to show you what I want, where I want it, when I want it.

It is your deliberate pace that is working its timely charms on me. You test the curve of my neck. Yes, your chin fits nicely and that gives you a good view of my lips as you caress them, barely touching them with your fingertips, as your forearm brushes against my breast, and I can only mutter
Oh.
It is almost too languid as you talk about my body, demonstrating with a touch. My temperature is rising, along with my pussy as I raise my hips to offer a better angle, not such a reach, a hint of my urgency. Finally, you take the plunge and give the length of my pussy lips a long swipe and I cannot help but scream my thanks. Then your hands are everywhere, and your mouth joins them at the spring of my wetness, and you are the only thing that is keeping me anchored on the bed. I want, I want, I want, and I want.

There are no words simple enough to say through my heaving breath, but you hear anyway and push two, no, three fingers into me and twist your arm as I shout. Twist and shout. I want to squirm away. I cannot take all this pleasure. I’m not going anywhere. You see to that with your leg covering mine, your mouth covering my clit, your hands holding me down so you can take your pleasure.

This pleasure, this desire, this fulfillment goes on forever and it can’t get any better until you begin moving your fingers in and out while you rub my inner lips and zero in on the hood of my clit with your tongue. That sturdy tip, which carries all those words of love, bounces me into another realm. It is all clit and tongue, pussy and fingers, humming and screaming.

I don’t lose control; I give it over to you, willingly, gladly. I want you to drive me over the edge. I need you to think for both of us. One thought enters my brain:
How do I keep this going?
Another thought:
I can’t take much more.
I shake and shake as your tongue swirls and curls and finds and takes so much pleasure that I am sure I will faint. Is that me? Can that be my voice? I am saying nothing intelligible and that says it all. I am yours. You can take me anytime. And when I pray, I pray that you will…take me…now…later…in between. Fast and furiously without a thought, pushing me against the wall and making my knees buckle; pushing me down on the bed and sucking furiously; taking me from behind so thoroughly that I feel as if I’m in a coma; slowly, lovingly caressing every nerve ending; begging me to sit on your face; twisting so we can both use our tongues for their greatest, highest purpose. It’s your choice.

With these orgasms, we cement our pairing. We indulge in sex at my house, at your house; blushing by e-mail; giggling by phone.

We start laughingly calling ourselves the old fuddy-duddies. After all, we are women of a certain age; we enjoy gardening and bird watching, sewing and reading, walking and writing. You read all the relationship and lesbian sex books that you can find at the library and in bookstores. You share your findings, often in the most exquisite of pleasing moments. We both read for work and still take such great pleasure in reading at home, lounging at either end of the couch, you with one leg extended just enough to touch my toes. The cats battle for lap space.

It’s great fun to realize we will do things together that we do not wish to do alone. Day trips to watch eagles and see tulip fields in bloom, long weekends to sweet spots in Canada, holidays at the ocean, days off spent at home as if they were holidays. All seems better when the sights can be shared.

There is an assumption at hand—we have all the time we need, all the time we want to perfect the state of being a couple.

You touch me deeply with your hands, mouth, smile, eyes. You work your way into my heart, a place you will always be. One look and anything is possible. Nothing is out of bounds. Experiments abound.

My hands mold themselves to your body, those sinuous curves, those dense muscles. I thirst for your mouth, your ears, the curve of your breasts, your elbows, as I take my agonizingly sweet slow time to reach your pussy, to reach in for your clit, to reach in and pull out all of your moans, sighs, sobs, screams.

We talk of the days when sitting at work will be a reminder of a long time rubbing on my inner lips; when riding a bike will be all about sex memory; when my hand brushing near my mouth will bring with it your tastes and smells that send me into a throbbing reverie.

I am crazy for you, crazed by your look, your touch. I want you more each time. Your lips grazing my ear. Your mouth on mine. Your fingers tracing from my mouth to my breasts. Your hands grasping my breasts. Your teeth nibbling, biting my nipples. Your eyes casting downward, and you following. To find my toes, ankles, bicycle-strong calves and thighs, moving ever higher and ever inward to the one place where you must reach right now. The dark, damp, dripping core of my being. The fire that cannot be extinguished, only banked until your return.

I find myself dozing, not knowing what is the dream and what is the waking. No matter. I am filled with desire. I want you. I look over and wonder—

Are you awake?

I pull back the covers and stare. My fingers glide over your back, just enough to make you stretch and fall back into a light sleep. My hands follow the curve of your hips, reach toward your knees, and you roll over, opening all your possibility to me.

No turning away now. I glide my lips around your breast, my tongue electrifies your nipple, and as I graze it with my teeth, I hear you moan.

Are you awake?

I take both your hands and stretch your arms above your head. You open to me further and I kiss and caress and chant to the pulse points in your temples, at your throat, then follow the fall of your neck to your shoulders, to your collarbone. And you arch, strain to put your nipples in my path. When I bite one, you gasp.

I think you’re awake.

Still, your eyes are closed. Your legs fall open. I slip my body between them, and again you moan as I lick your palm, tongue the spaces between your fingers, nuzzle the inside of your elbow, kiss your shoulder, and find your nipples and suck.

You groan, stretch farther. With my hands on your breasts, fingers twisting and pinching, I find your belly ring and tug with my teeth, caress your belly button with my tongue. You bend your knees and bring your feet close and lift. I cup your sweet ass in my palms and you lift again with anticipation.

Surely you’re awake.

I sit back on my heels and take your toes into my mouth and suck all sorts of sounds from you. I rub your foot and slide up your calf to the back of your knee, just touching the ends of the hairs that stand and quiver. You start talking to me as my mouth moves up your inner thigh: yesyesyesyesyes…

I push your legs farther apart and admire you. I tell you the gorgeous truth about your pussy and what I will do with it and how I will stamp it as mine. You are already moaning when I reach with my fingers—reach for your core. Ohohohohohohohoh…you give voice to this dance, louder and higher…pleasepleasepleasepleasetouchmetouchmetouchmeplease.

I twist my fingers and I find your clit with my tongue and I know your eyes are wide open. You shake and twist and babble. I lick and suck you, and you start to growl. I reach and pinch your nipple, and you scream and buck and I’m right there, and you might fly away but I hold you with my hands and my mouth until you are all shudder and whimper.

And I move up to kiss you hard and long.

Because you are awake.

The conversation had started with…

“For God’s sake, Sarah. Will you stop bitching about everything and just go? Do us all a favor; go get yourself laid while you’re away.
Please.
”

Five years ago she’d gone back home to take over the running of the family business, and she’d worked solidly until it all started to pile up on her. Her friends were right; she did need to get laid. Badly. The insane weekend she had spent in bed with a Swedish tourist she’d met in a pub seemed now exactly what it was…a very long two years ago.

Now she was holding up the bar at another pub she had not been to in years, and she didn’t recognize a soul. None of her old friends were on the scene anymore; everyone had paired up and settled down. In the last week she’d been chatted up twice, but no one caught her fancy; the spark just wasn’t there, mostly due to the fact they were baby dykes doing the chatting. However, it did stroke her thirty-six-year-old ego nicely. Tonight, hardly anyone in her immediate vicinity even looked old enough to drink, let alone be out and proud. One of the bleached blondes bopping around behind the bar scooted over to her as she finished her beer and signaled for another. The girl had “Bar Bitch” emblazoned across her breasts and an almost blinding amount of bright steel facial jewelry.

Sarah resigned herself to the fact that now, on her last night before she pulled up stakes and left for home, she was not going to be able to fulfill her promise to her friends. That was, until she looked up from her glass and straight into a pair of green eyes above a lazy smile. The light sheen of sweat on the woman’s rich tanned skin suggested she had just come in from the dance floor. The grin broadened slightly when their eyes met and held. The woman picked up her drink and walked around to Sarah’s side of the bar. Sarah sat transfixed as she watched her push through the crowd, stomach twisting sharply when the whole of the woman’s body came into view. Her tight white tank top stopped halfway down tight abs, and she had poured herself into a pair of black leather pants that rode low on her hips. Sarah felt her body heat as her heart rate picked up. A grin matching the one of the woman walking toward her made its way across her face.

Turning the bar stool around, the dark-haired woman eased her way in to stand between Sarah’s knees. Sarah swallowed convulsively as fire shot through her veins and wetness pooled suddenly between her legs.

“I’m Dillon,” the woman said as she leaned in. “Come and dance with me.”

For a second, when the woman’s rich southern American accent rolled over her like a wave, Sarah thought she was going to come on the spot. As Dillon moved to ease her off the seat, she resisted, and Dillon raised an eyebrow in question. Sarah had a sudden burning need to feel soft hot skin not her own. She slid both hands around Dillon’s waist, pulling her in tighter between her legs.

“I’m Sarah,” she said before slipping off the stool and gliding down the front of Dillon’s body. Her move was rewarded by a tight groan from deep in Dillon’s throat as she allowed Sarah to pull her through the crowd toward the nightclub.

*

Dillon could not believe the way her insides jumped the moment her eyes landed on the blonde sitting alone on the other side of the horseshoe-shaped bar. She had been single for the last six months, and since then she’d had the odd fling here and there just to scratch the itch, or out of sheer boredom, but nobody had grabbed her attention like this. When their eyes locked, the twist of desire was so strong, she had almost groaned out loud. The heat spread through her body and focused between her legs as she shifted upright, and then all of a sudden, there she was, standing between the woman’s knees and introducing herself. Her mind switched off as she felt warm hands, one still moist from the beer glass, slide over her skin. She barely registered the woman’s name before she was pulled through the crowd into the central courtyard of the old building toward the nightclub in the back.