After Midnight (10 page)

“I love you, baby girl.” She smiles and pushes me into her. I stick my tongue in as far as I can, teasing her insides and pulling back out.

Amanda's so wet that a tenacious stream forms a bridge from her cunt to my mouth. I tease her clit until she comes. In the end, I know I'm the one in control.

“I am fire.” She grins, almost laughing maniacally as she throws her head back.

She blows the candle out, gives me a rose, and kisses my forehead.

 

 

 

 

 

K
erry has a thing for waitresses. I think it's because they bring her coffee, which I never do—and then she gets to stare at their asses as they trot away. “We're staying in the motel next door tonight, but we're probably taking off in the morning,” she says to a cute, blue-eyed, freckly girl.

This particular waitress isn't my type at all. She's very slim and girly. She seems like a cool person, but she isn't registering on my sexual radar.

But she's obviously registering on Kerry's.

“You're so sweet,” Kerry says in response to an offer of sugar for her coffee. “Why don't you just stick your finger in there and twirl it around?”

“Oh, Christ. I can't believe you just said that,” I murmur.

But the waitress smiles. I try to distance myself from the cheesy pickup line by lighting a cigarette. I love that Bob's Big Boy has a smoking section. I look into the mirror next to our
booth. My roots need a touch-up, my hair is getting long, and the blonde highlights are a bit faded—but I'm wearing my favorite dress. It's stretchy black wool, knee-length, long-sleeve, and zips up the back. It only has a few holes in it. I'm probably too covered up for Kingman, Arizona, even in January. But this dress was the only clean thing I had. Kerry and I have been on the road for three weeks and haven't stayed in one place long enough to do a load of laundry. Kerry is wearing a threadbare Harley T-shirt and dangerously low Levi's.

The waitress is, of course, wearing her uniform. She fills Kerry's cup to overflowing and says, “I get off at six,” before walking away with an exaggerated swish.

I give Kerry a pointed look and say, “I need something a little more substantial than pussy for dinner.” But she knows I'm playing with her.

She pats my hand and says, “Drink your coffee, baby. We've got a few hours to kill. Why don't we go back to the motel?”

 

We picked this Best Western out of the
Damron Women's Traveller,
so I'm not really surprised to see another dyke couple in the hot tub. They're pretty attractive. In fact, the butcher of the two is pretty damn hot.

I can tell Kerry is getting antsy for some fun. That's my girl. She's got a nonstop libido. So big that I can't keep her satisfied. I'd have to fuck her 24/7. Anyway, she's had the waitress habit since day one, so it wouldn't be fair for me to suddenly start complaining.

I give the other two gals a nod as I slide into the water. Kerry does the same and puts her hand on my shoulder so they'll know we're together. We talk a little about how hot it is, how odd it is to see so many dykes at a Best Western off Route 66, and other chit-chatty stuff. Susan—that's the femme's name—hands me a
joint. I take a hit and hand it over to her girlfriend, whose name is Dana. Dana tokes up and passes it on, and soon the four of us are happily making plans to head to the Grand Canyon together tomorrow.

I lean my head back and close my eyes, and Dana takes the opportunity to push her foot between my thighs. I hear kissing sounds and low moans. When I pick my head up to investigate I see Kerry and Susan entwined. My girl has a way of getting parties started.

Dana kinda looks like a surfer boy; I think this to myself as she pushes me against the side of the tub.

“We should probably go somewhere more private,” she says.

I disengage just long enough to announce, “There's a king-size bed in our room.”

I'm excited by the beauty of her body as I watch her walk across the parking lot. She's far bigger than I'd normally go for, the muscles I mean, and Kerry looks dwarfed as she walks alongside her.

In the parking lot, the freckly waitress catches up to our happy little band. Must be six o'clock. She hollers, “Hey, ladies, wait up,” so I sprint up the burning cement stairs and throw open the door to our room. Five sweaty dykes tumble in and fall on the bed, quickly shedding four wet bathing suits and one polyester uniform.

The waitress flops right onto her back in the middle of the bed, and Susan, without so much as an introduction, dives between her freckly, tanned thighs. I hear her moan, “Mmm, wet pussy.” And that's the last I see of her face for the next ten minutes.

I jump on the bed and stroke the freckly face of the waitress. She looks so happy. Before Kerry and I started this journey we call our relationship, I was living a suburban nightmare. My
partner and I hadn't had sex in nearly a year. Before bed I used to hum, “Love will keep us together,” Captain and Tennille style, to keep from mooning over the dull ache between my legs. And then this sexy dyke named Kerry parked an ugly yellow Dodge van in front of the bookstore where I spent eight hours a day. She waltzed into my life in thrift-store threads and long stringy rock-star hair and showed me a whole lot of sex and drugs. It's just like love, but better.

Kerry and Dana kneel at the edge of the bed and watch in admiration. But I want them to join us. “Get off your lazy asses and come over here and help us,” I yell at them.

Kerry jumps up first and pushes me over onto my stomach, but I'm having none of it, so I shrug her off and push Susan out of the way and dive face-first into Freckles's damp musky wetness. Her pussy is inviting: hair neatly trimmed, big plump lips and a swollen clit to nibble on. She groans loudly as I pry apart her inner lips with the tip of my tongue. Behind me someone pushes against my ass, but I don't want to break the rhythm to see who it is, so I try to guess.

From between creamy waitress thighs, I say, “Dana, that must be you.” But no one answers. Whoever it is makes a beeline for my ass and strokes my butthole with insistent fingertips.

I feel the fingertips pull away as Dana gets pushed down on the bed next to me. Kerry spreads Dana's legs and slips a couple of fingers into the woman's audibly wet cunt. “Can you take more?” she says.

Dana practically growls, “I can take whatever you can dish out.”

“All right then.” Kerry reaches straight for her G-spot. Dana arches her back and groans as Kerry pushes harder.

“Oh, yeah, fuck me,” she says. “Fuck that hole, hurt it, break it.”

And Kerry does. She pumps her fingers in and out, and the energy that those two create momentarily stops the rest of us. Dana yells so loudly even the waitress looks up. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” she says. “Oh fuck, oh God.”

“Aw hell yeah,” says Susan as she takes Dana's place behind me. The thing that drives me nuts is ass-fucking, and Susan can tell, so she goes at my ass like there is no tomorrow and I can feel the tension building.

“Please,” I say. And then, it's happening. Like something blossoming between my legs. Pure pleasure. I'm so happy at this moment. I'm always happy when I come.

I roll over and press my sweaty forehead to Dana's abdomen and laugh out loud at the bed full of naked dykes. “I never got this much action in San Francisco. Thank God for
Damron
.”

Freckles sits up, pushes her sweaty hair away from her forehead, and says, “Do you think I'm waiting tables at Bob's Big Boy for the tips?”

 

 

 

 

 

I
spent most of my life wishing I could live down my good-girl image. I was always the one who looked like an angel, and no one suspected I wasn't. Not that I was so bad, but I couldn't seem to be bad enough to change anyone's mind. My pranks in high school and college didn't do it. I never got caught, and everyone thought I was a nice girl.

Then I hit my forties and life took a decided turn. Call it a midlife crisis if you want, but I started to feel really wicked and wanton. Maybe it was the hormones surging through my system. Maybe it was the alcohol. Who knows? It all started with a drunken kiss, mainly to get rid of an obnoxious bartender, but it turned into something much bigger.

It was girls' night out at work, and while most of my coworkers were straight, we had a few lesbians in the group. I was one of the few not in a regular relationship or married. We were celebrating Karen's approaching fortieth birthday. I was past that milestone already and knew it was both momentous and
irrelevant. We ate dinner at a local restaurant, sitting at the bar rather than at a table and having a rowdy time. The bartender enjoyed the banter and kept us well supplied with drinks. As the evening progressed, the conversation grew more and more intimate—and profane.

“Are you horny all the time?” someone asked. The group agreed that we thought about sex all the time.

“I haven't been this interested in sex since I was seventeen,” I admitted.

“What about your husbands? Do they get with the program?” Julie was one of the straight, single ones.

“Well, he says he likes it, but half the time he's asleep in front of the TV when I want to fuck,” Eleanor replied with a sigh, drawing lots of knowing laughs. She had been married for a long time.

“Have you had an affair yet?” A few shook their heads vigorously, but there were several looks.

“I've been thinking about it,” Amy confessed. “I met someone on the Internet and we've been sending each other some pretty hot emails.”

“Have you met in person yet? Isn't that dangerous?” Dana asked. She was the most cautious member of the group. “Aren't you worried about getting some terrible disease?”

“You should forget the men and just fuck each other,” I suggested.

Karen, who was married, laughed out loud. “No one would suspect a thing when we get together for coffee,” she said.

I didn't think any of the straight women were interested in other women, but it was an intriguing idea. I hadn't been in a relationship for a while, and I was tired of picking up women in bars. It might be fun to play with someone I knew and felt relaxed with.

Later, when most of the women had gone home, Karen and I sat together over our drinks. The bartender leaned toward us and asked if he could make us something special. We agreed, then went back to our conversation. A few minutes later he set an obnoxiously pink concoction in front of each of us.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A Bartender's Kiss,” he told me, leering at both of us.

It was awful: pink and frothy and too sweet. We each took a sip, thanked him, and proceeded to ignore the drinks and him. But he wasn't put off that easily. He kept coming back and making suggestive remarks. That's when I decided to do something.

Leaning toward Karen during a lull in our conversation, I put my hand on the back of her head and drew her toward me. The kiss was deep and warm and soft, ending with a bit of tongue. I'd meant it almost as a joke, but by the end there was something hot lurking behind that kiss, waiting for a chance to come out.

We broke off, laughing, and I glanced at the bartender. He beat a hasty retreat to the end of the bar and left us alone. The tension between Karen and me was great enough that we quickly settled the bill and headed for my car. I was giving her a ride home, being less drunk than she was. In fact, I was quite sober after our kiss. It had sucked all the fog from my head and left behind a single clear thought: I wanted to seduce her.

During the drive to her house, I couldn't stand it anymore and pulled over on a quiet, dark side street. Putting the car in park, I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned toward her.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, nothing, except I need to do this again.”

I leaned toward her and drew her into my arms, my lips finding hers. The kiss was more urgent this time, my tongue searching her mouth for its opposite. I wasn't worried she'd push me away, but I hadn't expected her response. Her tongue met
mine in a sinuous embrace that lasted a long time. With my arm wrapped around her waist, I slid one hand up her rib cage to cup her breast. It was full and heavy in my palm. She moaned into my mouth and lay back against the seat as I continued to kiss and caress her. Finally we broke off, both a bit breathless, and I started the car again. The rest of the drive home was quiet. We made some small talk but didn't discuss what had just happened.

The following weekend, Karen and her husband came over to my house for dinner. After the meal, I suggested we go out and sit in my hot tub. Since it was unplanned, they hadn't brought suits. Despite our small-town location, my deck was quite private and we all decided to go without.

Karen sat facing me, with her husband between us, looking up at the stars. Well, they were both looking up; I was looking at Karen's tits. They floated in front of me, glowing in the moonlight, and I wanted to reach out and touch them. Our legs were entwined in the dark water, and I stroked her calf with my foot but didn't do anything else for fear of discovery in our close quarters. It was exciting thinking about her body as we sat naked together, with her husband nearby and oblivious to my interest.

As they were leaving that night, I drew Karen aside into a long hug, my hand pressing against her lower back.

“Can I have coffee with you tomorrow?” I whispered into her ear.